#when i was clinically already almost underweight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inkwell1013 · 3 years

Text

Feeding the Starving artist - Persona 5

Pairings: Various platonic ships. Mostly Yusuke and the Phantom Thieves, but also includes Yusuke and Sojiro (familial)

Genre: Angst, but also fluff, oneshot, found family, friendship

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: This fic deals with some difficult topics including disordered eating habits and child abuse/neglect (implied/referenced).

Summary: Yusuke Kitagawa is the epitome of a starving artist - in more ways than one - and when Ren find out that his friend is dangerously underweight, he and the rest of the Phantom Thieves hatch a plan to help Yusuke with his bad eating habits. Because sometimes the solution is just as simple as it sounds.

- - - - -

Yusuke was stick thin. He always had been, even as a child. The reason was simple: he had never had enough to eat. When he lived in the atelier, complete meals were rare, and he was used to eating meagre scraps of whatever Natsuhiko could find in the cupboards. There just wasn’t enough food to go around.

Even after he left that place in the wake of Madarame’s arrest, unable to shirk the dark memories that clang to it like a thick fog, Yusuke stuck to those same eating habits. It was a comfort. It was familiar. It was enough.

As much as the school nurse told him that he was underweight and insisted that he needed to eat more, he refused to believe her. He was eating the same amount that he ate as a child and saw no reason to change his habits.

He was fine.

In truth, he was not fine. His diet was beginning to affect him, as much as he hated to admit it. He was tired constantly, and every time he stood up too fast, he felt his head spin wildly. Yusuke’s constant exhaustion meant that he was falling asleep at every possible opportunity – on Ren’s shoulder while they drove around mementos, at his desk at school or while they were just hanging out. No one minded, just like no one minded how Yusuke stole food from them when he thought they weren’t looking, chalking his behavior up to his usual eccentricity. It took a few months of this for any of them to notice that something was wrong.

And it was easy to not notice, as Yusuke was good at coming up with excuses. “I’m fine,” he would say. “Just stayed up late finishing a piece. Don’t worry about me.” Or “I just forgot my lunch. Thought I’d borrow some of yours.”

Even so, the more perceptive of the phantom thieves, especially Ren, Makoto and Haru, couldn’t help but worry about their friend.

It all came to a head during their summer vacation. Yusuke had come to visit Ren and left Le Blanc at about six o’clock, insisting that he needed to get back to the dorms before curfew. Ren had gone to take out the trash a little later that evening, and found his friend, sprawled out on the ground, unconscious.

“Sojiro!” he yelled. “It’s Yusuke. He’s fainted!”

“What do you mean he’s fainted?” asked Sojiro. “I swear to God, if this is some stupid prank…”

“No. I swear he’s really unconscious. I think he might be hurt. Please.” Ren could hear the terror in his own voice, and he knew that Sojiro could hear it too, because there was a great clatter in the kitchen and Sojiro came running. He swore under his breath when he saw Yusuke, and quickly placed a finger to his wrist.

“His pulse is weak, but it’s there,” he said finally. “We need to get him inside. Can you pick him up?”

Ren dug his hands underneath Yusuke’s shoulders, and hoisted him upright, throwing one of Yusuke’s arms over his shoulder and putting his arm around Yusuke’s waist. He was horrified to see that he weighed almost nothing. “Is he heavy?” asked Sojiro. “Do you need help?”

“No… I don’t. He weighs nothing.”

“He can’t be that light. Pass him here.” Ren complied, allowing Sojiro to take on most of Yusuke’s weight.

Sojiro’s eyes widened. “He’s lighter than Futaba,” he whispered.

Futaba was a good foot shorter than Yusuke. He should have weighed much more than her, not so much less.

“We need to get him inside,” said Ren. From his hand’s position on Yusuke’s side, he could feel every one of his ribs. This was bad. How did he not notice that something was wrong before?

He shouldered Yusuke’s slight frame into Le Blanc and laid him down in one of the booths. “Fetch the doctor,” ordered Sojiro. “I’ll watch him.”

Ren wasn’t a particularly fast runner; he wasn’t slow, but he wasn’t especially fast either. Even so, as he ran to fetch the doctor, the world became a blur behind him. A single word repeated in his mind, repeatedly:

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

He burst into Takemi’s clinic, grabbing her by the arm. “No time to explain,” he panted, trying to drag her out the front door. “You have to come.”

“Give me a second to lock the door kid,” said Takemi. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Yusuke… my friend… he fainted… and somethings really wrong. He weighs literally nothing. He’s so light.”

“That does sound serious. Where is he?”

“Le Blanc. Hurry.”

***

Takemi’s face fell when she saw Yusuke - who had thankfully begun to stir slightly - and Ren understood why. Yusuke’s appearance was almost ghoulish, he was white as a sheet and there were deep bags under his eyes.

“Is he another one of yours Sojiro?” asked Takemi, in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. “How many kids do you have tucked away back there?”

“No, he’s not,” said Sojiro. “He’s… He’s Ren’s friend. Just spends a lot of time here. You know how it is.”

“You called the doctor?” whined Yusuke, trying to sit up. “That was completely unnecessary. I’m fine.”

“Yusuke, you literally fainted. You’re not okay,” said Ren, placing a hand on Yusuke’s chest and pushing him back down. “Don’t try to stand up, you might faint again.”

“But I’m fine!”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you,” said Takemi, reaching into her bag and pulling out a stethoscope. She pressed it to Yusuke’s chest, and listened a moment. Frowning, she lifted in away. “You have a weak heartbeat. I’ll bet you have a dangerously low blood pressure too. Do you feel any numbness or coldness in your extremities?”

“A little. I thought that was normal.”

“It’s a sign of poor circulation, likely due to your weak heart. Do you know how much you weigh?”

“Umm… the last time we had physical examinations at school I weighed fifty-three and a half kilos.”

“And how tall are you?”

“A hundred and eighty-one centimeters.”

Takemi pulled her phone out her pocket and jabbed a few numbers into it. She scowled. “Your BMI is 16.3. You’re severely underweight. It’s no wonder you’re having health problems.”

Somehow, to Ren, even the word ‘severely’ feels like an understatement.

“I’m surprised your parents weren’t contacted,” she continued. “This stuff is serious.”

Yusuke stared down at the ground, not saying anything. Sensing the tension, Takemi spoke again. “I feel like I’ve touched on a sensitive issue here. You are under no obligation to tell me, but is everything alright at home?”

“He’s in jail,” came the quiet response. “My fathe- my mentor got arrested… for child abuse. And my mother is dead.”

Takemi took in a sharp breath, looking desperately at Ren and Sojiro. “You have a place to stay, right?” she asked. “Because if you don’t, I’m sure Sojiro will…”

“I’m living in my school dorms. I’m fine.”

“That’s good. Look, I can prescribe you some medication to lessen some of your symptoms, like your fatigue and low blood pressure, but the best thing you can do is try to get to a healthy weight. Given your height, you should aim to gain roughly ten to fifteen kilos over the next few months.” She handed him a business card. “If you need any further help, you can call me or come to my clinic.”

She packed up her things and pulled Sojiro to one side, safely out of earshot. “This kid has some serious problems,” she whispered. “I don’t know if it’s an eating disorder or just bad habits, but he’s going to need help. I know it’s a lot to ask but—”

Sojiro interrupted her. “I will. I’ve done this before with my daughter. She had similar issues. I know that I can help him.”

Takemi nodded, begrudging respect in her eyes. “Besides,” continued Sojiro. “The kid has good friends. I’m sure they’ll help him out too.”

Sojiro saw Takemi out the door, but once he was sure she was gone, he headed back to check on Ren and Yusuke. Sojiro’s heart broke a little in his chest as he saw Yusuke’s expression. His eyes were watering, and he looked so confused and lost. When Ren patted him on the shoulder, Sojiro couldn’t help but notice that Yusuke jumped a little at the touch.

“I need to get back to the dorms or I’ll miss curfew,” he mumbled, sitting up.

“Let me drive you,” said Sojiro.

“That’s not necessary,” replied Yusuke, a tad sharply.

Sojiro sighed. “Just accept my help kid. It won’t kill you.”

Yusuke begrudgingly allowed Sojiro to drive him back to the dorms, after Sojiro insisted that he’d rather not find him passed out on the street again.

By the time Sojiro got back to Le Blanc, Ren was already asleep upstairs. He went to lock up the café, craving a cigarette for the first time in years. For the first time since… Since Wakaba died.

It was funny to think that just a few years ago he didn’t consider himself to be a fatherly person and now he had a whole troop of kids. Sighing, he put the key in the lock and turned it, before making the slow trudge home.

***

Ren let out a deep sigh. Pulling out his phone, he made a group chat and invited all his friends, save for Yusuke.

Ren: I’m calling an emergency meeting. Don’t tell Yusuke.

Ryuji: Why not?

Makoto: This is about him, isn’t it? About the thing we discussed.

Haru: I hoped we were wrong.

Ren: Yes, it’s about that.

Ryuji: Why are you all being so cryptic?

Ren: Meet me at Le Blanc at 10am tomorrow. Don’t be late.

Ren: That means you Ryuji.

Ryuji: Dude!

Ren: @Ann Make sure Ryuji gets here on time.

Ann: Will do.

Ryuji: Don’t encourage him!

Ryuji: Seriously, what’s going on? I’m so confused.

Ren: I’ll bring Futaba. Remember, do not tell Yusuke. He can’t know about this.

Turning off his phone, Ren set it down on the table and took in a long, deep breath. He needed to tell them. He needed to be a good leader. He needed to be who everyone else needed him to be.

He was a Joker, expected to fit into any gap, and designed to be a wild card. He could do anything, fill any role, and tomorrow, his role would be that of the messenger, bearing terrible news. He didn’t want to do it, but he had no choice.

***

When Ren stirred the next morning, memories of the previous night flooded his mind. Shit. He dragged himself out of bed and went to feed Morgana. Anticipating the promise of food, Morgana jumped off the windowsill, and onto the table, where Ren portioned out a tin of tuna for him.

“What are you sighing so much for?” asked Morgana between bites. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s about Yusuke,” explained Ren. “And it’s pretty serious.”

“How serious?”

“I had to call an emergency meeting.”

“But those are only for—”

“When someone’s life is in danger. I know.”

Morgana cocked his head. “It’s that bad?”

“Yeah, it is. He fainted, he’s so thin, he’s not eating enough, and I’m really worried about him.”

Morgana flicked his tail. “I had to deal with some food insecurity back before I met you all,” he began.

“When you were a stray?”

“I wasn’t a stray. I’m not a cat!” snapped Morgana. “But yes, when I was homeless, food was hard to come by. Maybe Yusuke’s dealing with something similar?”

“Maybe. He is technically homeless…”

It sounded bad when he said it, which it was. Yusuke had technically been homeless for several months. Even so, it had never been a problem, as he had been living in the Kosei dorms since Madarame’s arrest. It wasn’t like he was out roaming the streets or something.

Maybe the dorms were the problem. There was no one there to check that Yusuke was eating. He could engage in whatever unhealthy habits he wanted, and no one would ever find out.

Ren threw the empty tuna can in the bin, and went to help Sojiro with the café, hoping that having something to do with himself would lessen his anxiety somewhat. It worked, but only a little.

Ren dragged Futaba - who was still groggy, having just woken up moments ago - to the meeting, before setting her down at the table with a fresh cup of black coffee. Morgana came slinking down the stairs a few minutes later. Makoto was the first to arrive after that, followed shortly after by Haru.

Ten minutes after the agreed upon time, Ann and Ryuji both burst into the room, bickering as always. “I can’t believe you made us late,” snapped Ann, sliding into the booth.

“I didn’t make us late,” replied Ryuji. “You were the one who just had to fix your hair before we left.”

“Only because it got messed up while I was helping you find your housekeys.”

“I didn’t know they would be under the sofa! I have no idea how they even got there!”

“You’re such a moron.”

“And you’re not much better.”

Ann rolled her eyes. “I love you anyway dumbass,” she said, giving Ryuji a peck on the cheek.

Once everyone was settled at the table, Ren retold the story of the previous night. A hush fell over the table, and Ryuji was the first to speak up.

“What can we do to help?” he asked.

Ren sighed. “I really don’t know. This is some serious shit. I mean, you guys weren’t there, but it was terrifying. I could count his ribs through his shirt.”

“We have to do something,” said Makoto.

“But Yusuke doesn’t want to be helped,” sighed Ren. “He insisted that everything is fine, even though we both knew it wasn’t.”

“We could just… give him food,” said Ryuji. “We don’t need to make this complicated.”

“Don’t be stupid Ryuji,” snapped Morgana. “There’s no way that would work.”

“No, I’m with Ryuji on this one,” said Ren. “It’s a simple plan, but it could work. So, are we in agreement?” There was a murmur of acknowledgement around the table.

“Alright. Let’s do this,” said Futaba, taking a sip of her coffee.

***

Makoto - always the most organized of the group - was the first to enact her part of the scheme: making Yusuke eat lunch. Her plan was simple and would hopefully work. She had prepared the first phase of her plan that morning, all she had to do now was ‘coincidentally’ run into Yusuke and enact phase two.

It wasn’t that hard to spot Yusuke on the train platform, as he tended to tower a good few inches over people, just as he was doing here. She reminded herself to play it cool.

“Hey Yusuke. Fancy seeing you here,” she said, walking up to him.

“Ah, Good morning Makoto. It’s not that unusual. We do catch the same train line up until the first stop.”

“You’re right,” said Makoto, shifting a little in place, and rearranging her grip on the bag she was holding. Just come out and say it already… The words just wouldn’t form on her tongue.

Thankfully, Yusuke brought it up first. “What do you have there?” he asked.

“Oh this? I accidentally made too much lunch today, and the rest wouldn’t fit in my backpack. It’s such a pain to carry it around though…”

Come on. Get the hint already.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Yusuke, glancing up at the noticeboard for train arrival times. This absolute moron…

“Why don’t you take it?” she offered. “You’d be doing me a favor; I really don’t want to have to carry it around all day.”

Yusuke frowned. “Are you sure? It’s your food.”

“I’m certain.”

“If you insist.” Yusuke took the bag from Makoto with a cautious reverence. He glanced at her one last time, as if making sure that it was really okay to take it, before opening his backpack and placing it inside.

“Oh. I’ll need the lunchbox back,” said Makoto. “You can just come by my house after school and drop it off.” At that moment, the train came screeching onto the platform, and she and Yusuke both stepped in.

Mission accomplished.

***

Yusuke was working on a new painting when his phone rang. He was about to decline the call, but he recognized Ann’s number and picked up. Clearing his throat, he spoke. “Good afternoon.”

“Hey Yusuke! I’m going to that new café in Shibuya tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?” asked Ann.

“Are you sure?” asked Yusuke. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s fine. I want to hang out with you.”

Yusuke thought for a moment but shook his head. “As kind as that is of you, I must decline, as I don’t have the money.”

“I’ll pay for you. Come on, it’s my treat.”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“I have pictures from that art showing I went to last week. I could show them to you.”

Yusuke was about to scoff – did Ann really believe that he could he bribed with pictures of an art showing? – but he stopped himself at the last moment.

He really wanted to see those pictures. He had been unable to attend the exhibit as it was during his exam week, but he had been following the artist online for some time and found their work both beautiful and inspiring.

Who knows if he’d get this chance again?

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come.”

The next day, he arrived at the café at precisely the agreed upon time. Yusuke was one of those people who believe that being late was a terrible sin, comparable only to leaving one’s brushes in their water pot or wasting paint.

His eyes swept around the small café, and recognizing Ann’s distinctive blond hair, he walked over and sat down. There was already a wide array of cakes and pastries spread out across the table. Yusuke couldn’t stop his mouth from watering at the glorious sight, but he quickly reminded himself not to be greedy. This was Ann’s food, not his. He pulled his hands onto his lap, restraining himself.

Ann gave him a bright, cheery smile, and slid a slice of lemon cake towards him. “Here,” she said. “You like lemon cake, right?”

Yusuke stared down at the neat piece of yellow cake in front of him. His mother had made lemon cake for him once, when he was young. He didn’t remember the occasion – a birthday perhaps – but he remembered how it tasted. It was sour, yet sweet, and blindingly bright, like a drop of sunshine.

“Its my favorite,” he said, forcing back the memories. It wouldn’t do to cry over a piece of cake, like some kind of idiot. “How did you...?”

“Do you remember when Haru brought over those pastries the other day? When she offered you one, you reached right for the lemon cake without even stopping to look at any of the others. I assumed that’s because it was your favorite.”

“That was weeks ago. You remembered all this time?”

“Of course. It something that makes you happy, so I remembered it.”

“Huh.” Yusuke took the fork from the plate and cut himself a slice of the cake. It tasted just as good as he remembered.

He couldn’t help but remember what his mother said, as she handed him the piece of cake all those years ago. “That’s the great thing about this recipe. It lets you take something bitter and sad and turn it into something of melancholic beauty.”

“So, you wanted to see those paintings from the exhibit,” said Ann, pulling out her phone.

Ah, yes. That’s why they were here, wasn’t it? Yusuke almost didn’t care about it anymore; he just wanted to savor this flawless taste for one more moment. Blissful.

Even so, he pulled his attention towards Ann’s phone, where she had various pictures from the exhibition. He studied the artwork with a careful dedication, trying his best to etch every line and color into his mind. It was just as good as he expected from the young artist whose early work had enraptured him so.

As Ann rambled her way through many interpretations of the art that was on display, she made a point to push a few plates of sweets in front of Yusuke, who ate them dutifully.

Ann gave a secret smile.

***

Yusuke damn near tumbled over as Ryuji clapped him on the back, and he had to take a moment to steady himself. “Sup dude,” said Ryuji. “I’m going to the gym later. Wanna come?”

“I’m not really a fan of… those places…” mumbled Yusuke.

Ryuji was blissfully unaware of his friend’s apprehension. “I’ll treat you to beef bowl afterwards,” he offered.

Yusuke’s mouth watered at the promise, and he found himself nodding, quite without the preapproval of his mind. “Awesome man!” beamed Ryuji. “You don’t have to workout or anything if you don’t want to. You can just spot me. Anyways, I’ll see you there. What time do you wanna meet up?”

“Whatever time works for you.”

“Is like… five o’clock okay? I have to get changed into gym clothes and stuff.”

“As do I.” Did Yusuke even own gym clothes? He wasn’t certain. He had dropped out of gym class at the end of his first year of high school and never looked back. Even so, he was sure he’d find something to wear.

Rooting around in the deepest, most forgotten crevices of his drawers, he managed to find a pair of frayed, grey shorts and a tank top. These were classed as sporting attire, right? He pulled on the clothes and felt them completely dwarf his body.

He really didn’t want to ‘work out’ as Ryuji would put it. The last time he had done any massively strenuous exercise outside of the metaverse, which was sometime the previous year, he had fainted rather dramatically. It had been a particularly embarrassing moment, as it had happened in front of his entire class during gym and ended with him being carried off to the nurse’s office. He couldn’t help but fear that history would repeat itself.

He took a deep breath that did nothing to quell his nerves and left the dorms.

The gym smelt bad – that was Yusuke’s first thought. It absolutely reeked of sweat, and Yusuke couldn’t help but be a little intimidated by the various pieces of exercise equipment scattered around him that, in his opinion, looked more like torture devices.

Sometime while he was thinking, Ryuji snuck up on him and gave him a bone-crushing hug. “Sup dude. I’m so pumped about this!” said Ryuji. “I was gonna start with some cardio and then do some lifting. Do you want to join in?”

“Um… maybe?” mumbled Yusuke.

“Let’s just start and you can see how you feel. But go at your own pace and don’t push yourself too hard.”

Yusuke let out a murmur of agreement and headed towards the treadmills. If he was remembering correctly, running was cardio. He really didn’t want to run - it just made him feel tired and dizzy - but Ryuji was already setting up his machine, so Yusuke couldn’t drop out now.

He fiddled with the buttons until the treadmill was moving at a suitable pace and set himself into motion. It was invigorating, in a strange way. He even found himself somewhat enjoying the feeling of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

And then, once around half an hour had passed, Yusuke stumbled and had to grab ahold of the handle to keep from falling flat on his face. How graceful.

Ryuji turned off his machine and turned to his friend. “I think you’re a bit worn out,” he said. “Let’s take a break.”

Yusuke nodded breathlessly, and scrambled off the machine, desperately trying to catch his breath. When did he get this out of shape? He was startled when Ryuji threw him a bottle of water, which nearly smacked him on the side of the head.

“Go on,” said Ryuji. “Drink it.”

Yusuke’s thirst had gone unnoticed up until then, but he gratefully gulped down the drink. Somehow it had stayed graciously cool, even in the summer heat. Once he had drank all the water, Ryuji pressed something into his hand, going to drink his own bottle.

It was a protein bar. Yusuke had never had one of these before, but he knew that athletes ate them a lot. Even with the promise of chocolate chips – the message for which was printed on the side of the packet - Yusuke was cautious; he had never been a fan of new food.

He watched Ryuji tear open the packet of his bar and take a large chomp, looking for… something, though he wasn’t sure what. Permission maybe? He was used to asking others for food, whether that be Madarame, Natsuhiko or the school cook, and he wasn’t good at just taking things for himself.

Ryuji looked at him with a quizzical expression. “Why aren’t you eating? It’s really good. Give it a try.”

That’s all the permission Yusuke needed, and he took a bite. Not bad, actually. No one was more surprised than him when the entire bar was devoured in seconds. Maybe he was hungrier than he realized…

Ryuji took the empty bottle from him and threw it back into his backpack, before tossing the empty wrappers into the bin. “I’m going to do some weightlifting,” he said. “Will you spot me?”

“Of course.”

***

It was a hot day, and Yusuke was sweating like a pig. His back hurt too and he slightly regretted offering to help Haru with her gardening. Even so, Yusuke was a man of his word, and stubbornly refused to quit because of something as trivial as a little pain.

He rubbed the sweat from his brow and bent down to pull up the radish he was attempting to harvest. The damn thing just refused to move. He gave it one last tug and it suddenly came loose, sending him stumbling backwards, only just catching himself before he fell. Throwing the radish into the cardboard box at his feet, he went to start on the next row.

Haru appeared behind him and passed him a can of soda. It was chilled – she had probably got it from the vending machine – and Yusuke gulped it down in one go. Haru sipped her own can, glancing over at the box of vegetables she and Yusuke had spent all morning pulling out the ground. There was a good collection in there: some carrots, some radishes, a decent sized head of lettuce, a bag of green beans and more potatoes than Yusuke could count.

“We’ve had a good harvest,” said Haru.

Yusuke hummed in agreement, going back to pulling up radishes. Around an hour later, they were finally finished, and Yusuke said his goodbyes, about to collect his things and leave, when Haru stopped him.

“Wait a moment,” she said, pulling a plastic bag from her coat pocket, and picking a few handfuls of vegetables from the box. She handed them over to Yusuke with a smile. “Here, take these.”

“Are you sure?”

“Think of it as payment for your hard days work.”

Yusuke tightened his grip around the handle and nodded. “I’ve got to get home,” said Haru. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

Yusuke had spent the day with Ren, doing nothing in particular. At half past six, he announced his departure, but when he tried to leave, Sojiro stopped him, setting a hand on Yusuke’s shoulder. It was a strangely gentle touch, something Yusuke wasn’t used to, but he tensed under it regardless. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” offered Sojiro. “I’m making curry.”

Ren appeared in the stairwell. “When are you not making curry?” he said.

“Watch your mouth young man,” laughed Sojiro. Futaba giggled from her seat, and Ren smirked too. Yusuke couldn’t help but feel a little melancholic at the sight, longing for something he never really had. His hand twitched toward them, greedy and wanting, but he stopped himself.

“I want to stay,” he said. “But I’ll get in trouble. Curfew is at seven.”

“I’ll call your school and explain things. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Hesitation fluttered through Yusuke’s mind, but he forced it down. He wanted this, more than he had wanted anything in a long time. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

He let Futaba drag him all the way to Sojiro’s house, rambling all the way about an anime that she was watching, while Ren and Sojiro exchanged a secret grin behind him.

Yusuke had been in Sojiro’s house before, but this was the first time he had gotten a good look around. It really was just a normal house, with a slightly less normal family inhabiting it. Ren went to set the table, and Sojiro went to serve the food, Futaba helping him. Yusuke was caught in the middle, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to get in trouble for doing something wrong, but at the same time, he hated just standing there, useless, and idle.

Eventually he settled for helping Ren lay the table, desperate to be at least a little helpful, and Ren did smile as he went over, which was a good sign. They laid the kitchen table together, and Yusuke surveyed the landscape. The kitchen was quite small, but a good enough size for a family of three. He wondered, briefly, if they ate breakfast together in the mornings.

The realization came to him, deep and cutting, that he hadn’t eaten breakfast, let alone a complete meal, with anyone since Natsuhiko left. These days, he had grown used to eating his meals, when he remembered to eat them at all, alone in his dorm rooms, usually while working on something else. Food was always an after thought for him.

It was strange how much he missed it.

Sojiro came over, holding two plates of curry and Futaba trailed behind him, doing the same. Futaba handed a plate to Ren and Sojiro handed a plate to Yusuke. Once everyone was sat at the table, Yusuke waited for permission to eat, but wasn’t granted it.

It took a few moments for Ren to notice that something was wrong, but he eventually did, giving Sojiro a sharp nudge in the side and gesturing toward Yusuke. Sojiro quickly got the message and asked, “Why aren’t you eating son?”

The reply is simple, at least to Yusuke. “You didn’t tell me I could.”

“You can always eat here,” said Sojiro. “Whatever you want, and whenever you want it.”

Yusuke nodded slowly, picking up his spoon. Taking one last glance around the table, checking that it was really okay, he took his first bite. And then another. Soon, the plate was empty, and Yusuke had never felt so full in his life.

Futaba brandished her plate towards Sojiro like a knife. “I want seconds,” she demanded.

“Okay, okay. I’ll get you some more,” said Sojiro, standing up.

“I’ll have some more too,” said Ren, handing Sojiro his plate with just the slightest hint of a cocky smirk on his face. They all cast an expectant look to Yusuke.

Why not? He had room for a little more. “I’ll have seconds too,” he said. Sojiro smiled at him – a real genuine smile, something he had never seen from Madarame – and Yusuke decided he liked the feeling.

#persona 5 fanfiction #persona 5 angst #persona 5 fluff #yusuke kitagawa #yusuke kitagawa & the phantom thieves #yusuke kitagawa & sojiro sakura #inkwell writes #child abuse tw #disordered eating tw #eating disorder tw

25 notes · View notes

homo-sex-shoe-whale · 5 years

Text

You guys don't need to read this but if you want to, it's here

Content warning: depression, suicide, addiction. Probably some others so just beware

Hey guys. It's about time we have a chat.

I know I'm not running this blog like I used to. I know I'm not as active. And I'm not here to apologise for it because at the end of the day I don't owe y'all shit. Even content. But I do want to get my thoughts out into the universe. Not as a confession, but as a way of making all that's happened to me feel more organised. You'd be surprised how much peace of mind organisation brings me.

My main focus at the moment is keeping myself alive so time can drag me along and frankly, that's taking a surprising amount of the little energy I have.

I always knew I was at a higher risk for depression than most people. My great aunt committed suicide and my whole family found her. I grew up watching my other aunt be clinically depressed. 90% of my relatives are alcoholics or addicts in a way or another. I had emotionally abusive (yet astoundingly unaware) parents growing up. I was violently rejected by my parents when I was outed to them before I was even ready to come out. Yet somehow I thought I was immune to depression. I always thought "That can't happen to me. I'm pretty, I'm smart, and I have everything I need and more."

Then I started feeling this weird emptiness inside. I stopped caring about things I used to love, like TV series or books. I just thought I was maturing and was soon going to develop new interests. Then I stopped caring about maintaining the relationships around me. I didn't have the energy to talk properly even to people I loved. I grew cold and my gf and I broke up. I lost some friends here and there. I just thought I was moving onto a new chapter and that this meant new relationships were coming my way. Then came the sleep disturbances. I woke up 1-2 times almost every night, and took over an hour to fall back asleep. But I've always had trouble sleeping. I started taking sleep supplements at age 10. Just anxiety over college applications, I thought.

Then I started losing weight. I thought it was kind of weird that I felt nauseous every time I started eating, but didn't give it much thought. After all, I've always been underweight. Both my parents were underweight as teens and struggled to reach a healthy weight until their mid-late 20s. At first I was barely 2kg under. But then it dropped more. 3kg. 4kg. 5kg. I had no energy for anything eventually. I couldn't even exercise anymore without feeling like I was gonna faint.

Then I started doing riskier things I wouldn't normally do. Talking to random girls in hopes of hooking up. I knew they didn't care about me, and in turn I didn't care about them back. I just hoped they would make me feel something, even if for just an hour or two. I went out to parties I wasn't supposed to be at and hoped I could perhaps drink my troubles away. I understood why so many of my family members were alcoholics. I processed alcohol faster than anyone else around me- I could take 3 shots of vodka and be sober again by the time everyone else was still on the high.

I went to a pharmacology course once and we talked about why some people were heavier drug users than others. We discussed how some people were genetically fast-metabolisers and others were slow-metabolisers. Fast-metabolisers were more likely to be addicts since they felt the "high" faster than others, but also came out of it faster, meaning they take higher amounts of drug. Just for fun some of us at the course got tested. My genetics told me I was a fast metaboliser, and I wasn't surprised.

I did all this knowing I was genetically and psychologically more susceptible to addiction. And like everything else in my life, I didn't give a shit. I never needed alcohol. I could go weeks without even thinking about it. I knew I wasn't an alcoholic, especially not as a teenager. But I knew how much more than the average person I could drink, especially for my size. I knew it could hurt my body. Again, I just didn't care at all. I wanted to care. I loved my body and I wanted it to last long so I could see better days. No one peer pressured me. No one even suggested these parties to me in the slightest. I was fully at fault. Rather idiotically, I hoped the chemical numbness would distract me from the emotional one. That failure goes without saying.

When I realised it, I had no energy for anything. And that's where I am now. It feels like everything takes so much effort. Getting myself out of bed. Writing pieces of schoolwork that would normally be dead easy. Don't get me mistaken here- I am not, and have not been, suicidal. I already feel dead enough. What I want is to feel alive, not more dead. I'm searching for these things that will make me feel alive. Girls and whatnot. I don't even hate myself or have low self esteem. Fuck, I'm beautiful. I think that every time I look in the mirror. I'm so smart. I just get things. But I just have this emptiness inside of me I can't shake. I just can't seem to care about anything anymore.

I know the appropriate response here is to see a professional. I'm not a fool. I'm not going to say I am depressed because I don't believe in self-diagnosis. However, again, I'm not a fool. I've seen depression before. I know what it looks like. I'm unfortunately well acquainted with it. I know there is a chance I am depressed.

However, it doesn't really matter. I am a minor and my parents don't believe in mental health. Last time I told them I wanted to see a psychologist, they grounded me. They're the type of people who think you can just "get over" depression. So seeing a professional isn't exactly an option.

This is why I say I'm just keeping myself alive and letting time drag me by. I'm moving out in less than 9 months. I'm not a minor anymore next year. I'm in not-so-ideal conditions, sure, but these are not permanent.

It's a shitty situation, but that's ok. Unsurprisingly, I don't seem to care about that either.

If you read this post up until here- congratulations! I don't really expect any replies. Please don't DM me. I don't have the energy to chat. Comment whatever you want, if you decide to do so. I appreciate the well intentioned anons you guys have been sending me, even though the attention is just a bit overwhelming.

Thanks,

Ana.

272 notes · View notes

creampuffqueen · 4 years

Text

Feyre x Rhysand baby headcanons

Alrighty! First one for acotar kiddos!

-Alright alright alright here we go kids

-Feyre and Rhys are clearly the first to have kids. It's just a fact

-Unlike in the ToG world, however, it takes wayyy longer

-In the acotar world, it's been about thirty-ish years since the war with Hybern

-Things have happened. Eris has taken over his father's spot as High Lord of the Autumn Court. Tarquin found his mate. Helion realized that Lucien was his son and took him in.

-And yet, the Inner Circle has remained the same

-The first few years after the events of acofas were kind of hard for Feyre. Even though she knew it would take a while, she was still disappointed when she didn't get pregnant immediately

-Then life got busy, and their focus was elsewhere

-Which is why, nearly thirty years later, Feyre finds herself.. not feeling too great

-The thing is, none of her symptoms scream 'PREGNANCY' that much

-She was nauseous for a few days, no throwing up

-Had an odd craving or two

-Was extra tired for a while there

-So neither Feyre nor Rhys is too concerned

-The real surprise comes when Feyre starts gaining weight

-Now that's odd

-Feyre's been training for three decades. She's like, swole

-But then her breasts start to get sensitive

-And her stomach starts to get pudgy and soft

-The final clue is when her scent starts to change

-Rhys wakes up one morning and smells his amazing wife, only to find... she doesn't smell quite the same

-Feyre feels fine, but because Rhys is Rhys and must be overprotective, he instantly calls for Madja, their healer

-Madja knows what's up right away

-Because she's just cool like that

-"I am pleased to inform you that you are about three months pregnant, Lady Feyre."

-At first neither believes it

-They haven't been trying, but then again, they haven't been preventing it either

-As soon as the healer leaves, making sure that Feyre promises to show up regularly at the clinic, the couple literally just sit and squeal with excitement for like a solid five minutes

-They are freaking ecstatic, like seriously. Feyre has never seen Rhys so happy before. They're both over the moon

-Because Feyre's already three months pregnant and her scent has changed, they decide to just tell everyone

-Rhys drags Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Amren down for dinner. Nesta and Elain, being sort of married to some of those people, obviously tag along

-When they're all gathered, Cassian is being all 'what is this even about'

-And Feyre pretty much just jumps up and down and says 'I'm pregnant!'

-Like, she's still so freaking excited

-Of course, the whole Inner Circle pretty much loses it

-Cassian is yelling and patting Rhys on the back, Mor and Elain are both crying, Nesta is actually smiling and so is Azriel. Even Amren seems mildly less annoyed with them for once

-Basically everyone is just so happy for them

-And because Rhys can't keep a secret, almost the entirety of Velaris knows within the week

-Which means that the Court of Nightmares is also aware

-And the Illyrian camps

-And... other Courts

-The citizens of Velaris are all so kind. Feyre gets tons of handmade gifts and lots of food, which is good because she is mostly just hungry and tired all the time

-The Court of Nightmares is... another experience. They give congrats, mostly so they don't seem rude

-But otherwise they don't bother them too much

-Some of the Illyrian camps are hostile, but most are also at least semi-polite

-It's the other Courts Rhys is worried about

-He doesn't think most of them will try anything. But he is concerned

-He doesn't want anything to happen to Feyre or the baby

-So he makes Feyre always keep someone with her just in case. He just wants a buddy system

-Feyre is annoyed at first, but she doesn't want anything to happen either, so she's fine with it. Besides, she likes spending time with her friends and family

-When Feyre is about six months pregnant, Nesta finds out she's pregnant, too

-Which Feyre is ecstatic about, because it means she gets to experience pregnancy with her sister

-Nesta's pregnancy is, unfortunately, a lot harder

-Which means Feyre can't spend as much time with her as she'd like

-But still, it's fun

-At nine months pregnant, Feyre is irritable and uncomfortable

-Rhys spends a few nights in guest bedrooms because Feyre needs the whole bed to sleep

-And some nights she can't sleep at all, so she wanders around the River House aimlessly

-They have a nursery, toys, and so many clothes they don't know what to do with them all

-All they need is a baby

-One day after her due date, Feyre wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night in a pool of water

-She goes to take a bath, trying not to wake up her mate, when she feels it

-A contraction

-It's not that bad, though, so she takes the bath

-She thinks it's just a false alarm, since it was only one and nearly half an hour later there weren't any more

-But when she wakes Rhys up to change the sheets, she feels another

-Again, Rhys being Rhys, gets Madja

-Poor woman, she was probably being called to the River House twice a day because Rhys is an anxious mother hen

-But, guess, what

-Feyre's in labor!

-As far as Fae births go, hers is pretty easy

-Afterwards Feyre doesn't want to know what a hard labor feels like

-Because she was in labor for eleven hours and was in so much pain she couldn't feel her legs halfway through

-Madja nearly had to pull the baby out herself

-Rhys was there to support her the whole way through, and was honestly the only reason Feyre did so well

-If it weren't for him she thinks she wouldn't have been able to do it

-But after everything is said and done

-A little baby boy is asleep on Feyre's chest

-His name is Cirrus Beddor Archeron

-After Clare, the girl who was an unknowing sacrifice to Amarantha

-Cirrus has a head of night-black hair, and tiny little wings wrapped around his body that are nearly translucent with how thin they are

-For Illyrians, they don't gain much body weight soon after birth because all the muscle and fat goes to strengthening the wings

-Which is true for little Cirrus. He's a tiny little bit underweight until he's about a month old

-But damn is he cute

-When he opens his eyes, Feyre nearly gets her breath taken away. He looks exactly like the boy the Bone Carver showed her

-As he gets older, Cirrus is a good kid

-A troublesome toddler, but hey, what can you expect, really? Have you seen his relatives?

-Every now and then he'll say something very weirdly wise for someone so young

-And it's incredibly obvious how powerful he is

-Like, he's got powers from all the Courts, plus extra Night Court powers, PLUS Illyrian genetics and powers

-This kid is crazy powerful

-Which is why Rhys and Feyre train with him relentlessly

-If Cirrus can't expel his powers properly, he could seriously injure someone else. Or even himself

-He's a smart kid, and a strong one

-By the time he's six years old he's got a handle on his powers

-Not enough to properly use them, but enough to control them

-Which is good

-Because Feyre finds herself pregnant again

-This time she's pregnant at the same time as Elain, which is fun again

-And just like last time, her pregnancy is smooth sailing

-Cirrus will practice his reading by reading books to Feyre's belly

-And Rhys is again, overprotective doting mother hen

-This baby is a girl

-And she's the exact opposite of Cirrus

-Feyre's gold-brown hair and violet eyes

-Wings, but not as much power as her older brother

-Her name is Camille Alis Archeron

-Camille's powers are sort of strange

-She has a tiny bit of each power, but her most prominent is not Night Court powers. It's Summer, Day, and Spring

-Camille is a quieter kid

-Cirrus loves her to bits, but sometimes he's just too much for his introverted little sister

-She does, however, get along strangely well with Mor. Even though Mor is her opposite, she's definitely Camille's favorite aunt

-And this little girl also ADORES books

-She spends almost all her time in the library

-When Camille is four years old, another addition joins the Archeron family

-A second baby girl, with hair blacker than the night, and violet eyes

-She looks exactly like Rhys

-Her name is Caliphe Feyre Archeron

-And she's the most troublesome of the three

-It's because she's the baby

-So she gets away with everything

-Cirrus and Camille love their little sister, but she's kind of... ruthless

-Too much time with aunt Amren

-Caliphe is obsessed with jewelry and all things shiny, and is also obsessed with flying and fighting

-She loves to fly more than anything in the entire world

-And Cali also has the strongest Night Court powers of all her siblings

-Her Daemati powers are out of this world. It's completely insane

-She doesn't have any other powers besides those from her father. Nothing from any other Court

-But still, she's freakishly strong

-Feyre and Rhysand have got three of the strongest Fae on their hands

-And you know what?

-Their kids are their joys

-The reason they get up in the morning

-And yeah, maybe Camille is reading instead of doing schoolwork, and Cirrus is causing trouble in the markets, and Caliphe is stealing jewels

-But they wouldn't have it any other way

-The story Worlds of Fire and Darkness takes place when Cirrus is 20, Camille is 14, and Caliphe is 8

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar gen 2 #sarah j maas #sjm #feysand #feyre x rhysand

35 notes · View notes

redfoxwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

Of Dust and Ashes (Chapter 21)

Happy Friday, those of you still reading. I feel like I’ve lost some of you the last few weeks or so but I expected it. Holidays can take time away from reading. Lord knows they took time away from writing as well. Regardless, I hope all is well in the New Year.

Clint x ofc

Series Rated M for violence, sexual content, high concentrations of triggering content, major character death, gore and well the whole caboodle.

The rest of the series can be found on my Masterlist. Feel free to buy me a kofi- lord knows I run on coffee.

Chapter warnings: Umm… talk of baby care and the joys that come with it?

~~~~~<3

Chapter 21: Is there a difference between Dust and Ash?

Cling and Dee hovered behind Sasha as she put the babe on the scale. The hard plastic was cold, even with the sterile pad placed between her naked skin and the cold surface. The bite was being driven from the room with each passing moment and it didn’t take long for jackets to be unzipped and discarded.

Sasha looked over every inch of the baby girl, remarking at her too light weight and clear dehydration as she went. It had been a blessing that she had avoided frostbite on her small fingers and toes. At Sasha’s direction, Clint set to work heating water on the wood stove, checking the temperature often with his fingers.

Dee dutifully followed instruction, unpacking clothes and blankets. There were bottles and pacifiers. Most importantly, she unpacked cans of formula. The sight of the first can took a weight off her shoulders.

They had taken to calling the baby Elsa, after the snow queen that had plagued both Clint and Dee’s homes. There was a limit of how many times one could watch Frozen before growing to hate the retold story of the Snow Queen. It wasn’t even close to the original story but it was a popular retelling and had made plenty of money.

Under Sasha’s watchful guidance, they began to slowly introduce formula to Elsa. She didn’t take to the bottle right away but their main worry was only getting something into her. Sasha had been worried about blood sugar levels but Elsa was so young and so dehydrated that she didn’t dare trying to pull blood to test. Stressing her tiny body any more than needed could be that last shove over the edge.

After giving her a few teaspoons of formula spread out over half an hour, she began to figure out the bottle much to the joy of the adults. She still wasn’t feeding with much enthusiasm.

They diligently checked her diaper for any signs of waste though Sasha assured them it would be a while before things started moving. Each time she ate, they wrote down how much they allowed her to take. Sasha had made it clear that even if she wanted to drink the whole bottle, they couldn’t risk letting her. To overwhelm her stomach could make things worse for her tiny body.

She was so young and so underweight that everything was risky. They spent the night in that clinic, though the thought of being away from the safety of the farmhouse gave them both anxiety. Clint had made a run up to the farmhouse and returned with more supplies, surplus vegetables and berries, a hunk of deer meat and Trust.

The dog was very much offended at having been left behind for so long. He made his stance on the matter known by pouting for all over five minutes before realizing there was a tiny human who needed sniffing.

Over the course of three hours of micro feedings, Elsa had consumed almost what Sasha would have liked a typical baby to have in one feeding at her age. But it was better than nothing. It was clear that the feeding had perked Elsa up as well. She fussed and looked around with renewed energy. Little legs and arms waved through the air before she settled into a deep sleep. She seemed so much more relaxed than how she had been sleeping against Dee’s chest.

It was almost four hours before she passed urine. They celebrated with sodas. Five hours after her first feeding and shortly after the second proper feeding, she passed stool. It was terrible and stank but the three adults celebrated anyway.

Clint had made them a deer steak dinner, cooked over the wood stove. He sauteed up potatoes- some of the last from Dee’s initial supplies as well as bell peppers and asparagus- grown from the trailer greenhouse.

Dessert was a simple selection of strawberries dipped in milk chocolate bars they had melted over the stove. The meal brought tears to Sasha’s eyes and they sat quietly as she cried.

“I’ve never eaten deer.” She spoke through a mix of sobs and laughter.

Clint and Dee watched as the nurse fell apart. When the tears stopped, she began to put herself back together. It was late in the night and each understood how raw emotions could be. Things were different now. A hearty meal and something like sodas and chocolate dipped strawberries were a reminder of a time when such things were simply expected.

By morning, little Elsa was acting more like a baby her age. Clint set to work making a pot of coffee while Dee boiled up quick oats and made a bottle of formula. In one of the treatment rooms, Sasha was still asleep.

They were careful to move around the space without making too much noise. Elsa had woken many times through the night, as was expected and the three adults had taken turns with her care. Now, they were careful to let Sasha sleep.

“How long are we going to stay?” Dee whispered as Clint handed her a mug of coffee, doctored with sugar and powdered creamer.

“Probably until noon.” Clint’s eyes flicked back to the hall. Sasha had wanted to take Elsa into the room with her while she slept and it had been hard to convince her otherwise.

“What about her?” The taste of the coffee drew a moan from her. It had been a while since she had any cream in her coffee. “Are we going to bring her back with us?”

Clint’s jaw clenched and she watched as the muscle ticked under the surface. He was watching her closely, gauging her reaction to his silence. He was weighing that against his answer.

He knew, beyond a doubt that no matter what answer he gave, she would defer to his choice. As much as he wanted her to see the land behind the gates and the farmhouse as her home as much as his, he knew she wasn’t there yet. And that was alright. It took time. They had time.

He cleared his throat. “I’d rather not take anyone else inside the gates.”

“Other than Elsa?”

“Other than Elsa.” He agreed, leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on her lips, a silent thanks for understanding.

“So what do we do about Sasha?” Dee whispered.

“I figure- she’s a nurse, she’s helpful.”

The baby, sleeping tightly swaddled and placed on a changing table pad on the ground fussed and they fell silent. Trust’s nose was sitting right on the edge of the padding as he watched over her. It wasn’t as safe as a crib but it was better than nothing. The clock on the wall ticked as they waited to see if the fussing would become cries or if she would fall back to sleep. Once she stilled, Clint continued.

“I don’t want to give her access beyond the gate but we have some surplus supplies. I could make supply runs to her, bring her wood and food to help her through the winter. If she stays put that long, we can bring her some plants to transplant into her own garden in the spring.”

“Do you think she’ll survive till spring?” Dee watched the steam rising from her mug. “I mean, if she stays here? What if King Jacob’s men find her?”

“It’s a miracle they haven’t already.”

“Clint?” Dee whispered, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around his bicep after setting her coffee to the side. “What are we going to do with her?”

“With who? Elsa?” He hummed in thought as he rested his larger hand over hers. “Well, we’re taking her back to the house. I’ve got a crib in the attic I can put together for her to use for now.”

“Then what?” Dee whispered and he could see tears gathering in her eyes. “Clint- I can’t do this. I- I can’t.”

He shushed her and pulled her into his embrace. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“I can’t, I can’t raise her. Clint- I- if you want to, okay I’ll go but I- I can’t.”

“I know honey.” He rocked her in his arms, holding her tightly to him. They moved together, clinging to one another in what was almost a dance though there was no music to be heard. “It’s just for a bit, just until we get her mom.”

“What if we can’t? What if she’s dead? What if they killed her already? What if she gets killed when we go for her? What if-”

“Hush.” Clint spoke over her, voice firm but quite. “If something goes wrong, we’ll leave Elsa with Sasha. I’m already planning on helping support her and she’s a nurse.”

“Okay.” She whispered.

“But it won’t matter. Because I’m sure we’ll save her mom. And everything will be okay.”

“What about after-”

Clint cut her off. “We’ll figure after out. I know it’s hard. Please, try to focus on now. Now is what matters. Now, you’re here with me. We’re alive and we’re together.”

~~~~~<3

Sasha didn’t want to allow them to leave with the baby. Eventually, they were able to iron out a deal where Elsa would be returned for checkups and Sasha gave the baby her first round of immunizations. They were sent off with an armful of formula cans. They would have liked to have taken more with them but Sasha wasn’t having it. It was clear that she was withholding it in part to ensure their return.

There was a relief in crossing back through the gates. Dee had Elsa tucked against her chest, swaddled tightly and tucked into her jacket. Little fingers ran over her skin, offering a silent comfort. It reminded Dee that at least this little one was okay. For now.

While Clint pulled the crib up from the basement and assembled it in the living room, Dee busied herself warming water to mix up a bottle. Little Elsa wasn’t fussing but it had been a few hours since she had eaten.

It had been a long time since Dee had care for an infant but she remembered how important regular feedings were, especially when so young and so malnourished. It was easier to be in the house while distracted by the little body in her arms.

The crib was disassembled and stored in large trash bags, keeping to free from dust. That didn’t stop stop Clint from taking a bucket with warm soapy water and wiping it down before assembling it. Dee sat on the couch, Elsa cradled in her arm with a bottle in hand as he worked.

The crib was ornate and clearly hand carved. The way Clint worked with it, the ease and comfort, she wondered if it was his handiwork. She hadn’t seen him do any carving in their time together but he’d mentioned much of the work he’d done around the house and his penchant for doing it himself was clear as day. He was a man of many talents, skills and crafts.

The more she spent with him, the more it amazed her. The media painted him as so average and the least super of the super team. He was marksman with a keen eye and battle hardened and that was all anyone ever said about him.

But he was so much more than that. He was a dedicated father. He was a man with many skills and talents that made him uniquely able to survive. No one knew he was well versed in gardening or keeping chickens. He was a skilled hunter of food game as well as human targets. He could build and repair. He could maybe even carve the ornate scrolls at the top of the crib posts.

“The mattress was in a vacuum bag.” Clint’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. Elsa had almost finished the bottle. While she hadn’t fussed, she was a hungry little thing. “It’s even kept a seal, surprisingly enough.”

“Mine never did.” Dee joked as she moved the baby to her shoulder, softly patting and rubbing her back while Clint laughed.

“Most of mine don’t either. Looked like some of the blankets and baby clothes are still sealed too. I’ll bring them up.”

“Would that be okay?” Dee asked, watching him closely. “They’re your kid’s stuff- we’ve got some blankets. I’d understand if you didn’t want to- you don’t have to-”

“No, no- It’s okay.” For a moment, he was silent and in thought. “I think.” He swallowed hard before starting again. “I think I need to let go. I’m not strong enough to hold onto their stuff, like you. Not when it’s not practical.”

“I’m not strong.” Dee glanced to where the folded blanket sat with the stuffed fox, neatly on the coffee table. It never occurred to her to let little Elsa use that blanket. If she was honest with herself, if she dared to give it voice, she knew she wouldn’t let anyone else use that blanket. The cost didn’t matter. But she wanted to. She wanted to get to a place where she could let go.

“You are.” Clint answered as if it was plain as day. The discussion was closed and he fetched the mattress and bed sheet.

Trust took up residence under the crib, sleeping with his chin resting on paws. Clint’s hand rested on her lower back as she reached down and placed the baby on the firm mattress. Elsa was tightly swaddled and only fussed for a moment before settling back to sleep.

“I’m going to run back to the basement, see what I can find. I’m pretty sure I’ve got some baby stuff still.”

She watched him go before collapsing onto the couch. Trust lifted his head and snorted at her before going back to sleep. Since waking that morning, she’d been hesitant to put Elsa down. Clint couldn’t hold her while driving or assembling the crib. Only now that she allowed herself to relax for a moment did she feel how her arms, shoulders and back ached.

“I got some-” Clint started loudly before dropping his voice. “Stuff...”

“What?” She mumbled, sitting up. She hadn’t intended to or been aware that she had fallen asleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I didn’t mean to sleep.” She stretched and this time it was her back’s turn to pop. “What are we going to do? The crib won’t fit in the RV.”

Clint sighed, fully aware. “It won’t. Elsa will have to stay in the house.”

“She can’t stay in the house alone.” Dee cut him off only to have him talk over her.

“I can stay in the house with her. You don’t have to- I won’t try to make you stay in the house. I know you don’t like being in here. I can’t blame you for that, it’s hard for me even, but I can.

“You can’t take care of her all by yourself. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“I’ll manage. I’ve done worse and it’s just for a bit and-”

“I’m not sleeping in the RV Clint. I’m not leaving you to do it all alone.”

“Are you sure? You can, you can change your mind, you know? If it gets to be too much. I’m just- I understand.”

While he rambled, running his hand through his disheveled hair, Dee watched him. His black tee hugged his chest and highlighted his strong arms each time his bicep flexed to move. She watched as he turned his back to her, rambling words spilling from him as he tried to set her at ease.

But that was all she needed. It was clear as day that he would do anything to keep her safe, body, mind and heart. That was all she needed from him. That was all she wanted from him.

Slipping off the couch, she made her way to him. As she passed by the crib, she allowed her fingers to run over the smooth railing, worn down and discolored with time. Warm fingers rested on his firm back. Under her touch, he tensed up for a moment. It quickly passed and a sigh slipped out of him as he relaxed.

She ran her hands around his side, wrapping around his waist. As a hand rested on his chest, his fingers wrapped around her hands and held them tightly to him. For a moment, he held her like that, simply being together.

“Where will we sleep tonight?” She whispered.

“There’s a guest room just off the hall down here.” He pulled her hand from his chest and placed a soft kiss on her palm. “I’m sure we’ll hear her if she wakes but I found the last set of baby monitors, just in case. I’ve got batteries around here somewhere.”

“You don’t have to sleep in the guest room.” She whispered words she did not want to say, “It’s your house and if you want to sleep in your own bed, you can.”

“I want to sleep by you. Where ever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

“That’s where I want you to be too.” She admitted.

The night seemed to fly by and before long, Clint was leading the way into the room. The door cracked open and a fire burned in the wood stove. She could hear the crackling of it from the room.

Trust had found someone to be more loyal to than Dee. The dog didn’t much want to leave little Elsa’s side. She worried some that the dog wasn’t going to cope well with the baby leaving their side, when the time came. And the time would come.

“You must have been an amazing mother.” Clint’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. He’d returned with a change of clothes for them both from the RV.

“How good could I have been for them to be gone?” She asked but regretted it instantly when pain flashed across his face. He’d lost his children as well. At least they didn’t suffer, not like hers had.

“We both did. And we couldn’t have done anything to stop it.” He spoke to her but the words were for himself as much as her.

She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t true, that she didn’t have to have lost her kids. They could have survived. They didn’t have to know the pain, the way fire licked and ate at flesh. She didn’t have to put them on the bus that morning.

But when she opened her mouth to say it, to admit it, the words were lodged in the back of her throat.

Clint wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest as her silent words gave way to quiet tears. Rather than try again, she rested her head on his shoulder and clung to him.

It’s not like it really mattered, what had happened. She had Clint now and he would hold her through the hurt. He loved her, in that weird way that love was in this world. And she loved him, in the same weird way.

Did it really matter, if her children and turned to dust or ash? It’s not like it could be undone anyway.

~~~~~<3

Tag list is always open:

@usedtobegoodfriend96, @acoholic-muffin, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @winterisakiller, @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox, @queenoftheunderdark, @carissime72, @myoxisbroken, @coyotesongwriting, @wegingerangelica, @faemapfae, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123, @tnystrk-exe

#clint barton fanfiction #clint x reader #clint barton x reader #clint barton x oc #clint x original female character #clint x ofc #Clint Barton x Female Reader #clint x original character #clint x oc #clint barton x ofc

34 notes · View notes

emospritelet · 4 years

Note

Twisted Fate - prompt #1: It's all my fault.

Chapter 11 is up, in which Belle and Gold go shopping. Please send me a prompt from this list or this list to fuel the angst and smut

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[AO3]

When she had found out that she was pregnant, Belle had gone through a range of emotions. The first was panic, closely followed by denial, then by bitter anguish. She had spent much of the day of the test results crying in the university restrooms and lamenting the day she had ever decided to go to bed with Alexander Gold. For a brief moment, she had been tempted to call him to give him the news, just so he could share in some of her misery, but the thought of his cold disdain was too much to face, especially after her father had practically disowned her.

She had made up her mind almost immediately that she would keep the baby, which was one less decision to fret over, but that meant that a number of other choices had to be made, and made quickly. She had the test result confirmed, was given an approximate due date, and had talked to the university about deferring completion of her studies once the baby arrived. She had sought advice from Emma about what to expect throughout pregnancy, had read every book on the subject that she could find, and had tried to ensure that she ate a balanced diet. When she could keep her food down. Overall, she felt that she was about as well-prepared for motherhood as a single woman in her early twenties making minimum wage and with no family to support her could be. Which was not very prepared at all.

Belle had assumed that having Gold tell her categorically that he intended to help out both financially and physically with the baby would make her relax, but in reality it only caused her more anxiety, and she was unsure why that was. Certainly having the apartment had given her some security, and waking up in its large and comfortable bed every morning was like letting out a deep, calming breath. She was free of the constant worry over money and making ends meet, of the landlord knocking at the door to demand rent that she didn’t have. And yet, she still felt an ongoing, exhausting sense of stress, an acidic ball of iron that had settled in her belly and refused to leave.

He was true to his word, picking her up from outside the university in his Cadillac and driving her to the new clinic for her check-up. Belle sat in silence, hands folded in her lap as they went, and once they had parked up Gold offered her his arm. Taking it felt strange, but she tried to put it from her mind, focusing on the doors of the clinic, and beyond them the gleaming waiting area with its plush leather seats and fresh coffee.

There was paperwork to fill out, and tests to be run, but it was nothing she hadn’t been through before. Gold seemed anxious as the doctor held the consultation with her, but Belle was unfazed by the questions asked and the measurements taken. She had expected this first visit to take a little longer, given that she was a new patient. Dr Jekyll was a nervous-looking man who blinked a lot, but he seemed to know what he was talking about.

“Well, the baby seems to be developing as expected,” he said at last. “You’re a little underweight, though. You could do with eating a little more, if you can manage it.”

“I’ve been trying to tell her that,” put in Gold, and Belle glared at him.

“Yeah, well, there’s only so many hours in the day,” she muttered. “I have work and study to take care of, alongside everything else.”

“Then try to make sure you get as much nutrient-dense food as possible,” said Dr Jekyll kindly. “Carry snacks with you as you go about, and make sure you don’t go too long between meals. Building a baby is hard work, you need to make sure your body has the fuel it needs.”

“I’ll try to feed her up,” said Gold.

“Good, good,” said Jekyll vaguely, looking at his notes. “I don’t expect there to be much change between now and next week, but try to make sure she eats a range of quality foods, not just sugar.”

Belle bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from snapping at both of them.

“Well, the good news is there’s not long to go now,” said Jekyll, peering at his computer screen. “You’re due on May fifth, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“A spring baby,” he said, glancing at her over the top of his glasses. “This cold weather will have cleared up by then. A little sunshine to welcome the new light in your life.”

He smiled at her, and Belle couldn’t help smiling back. Yes. She was looking forward to the baby being born. Quite how it would change her relationship with its father was still to be seen.

After the doctor’s appointment, they went to buy paint. Belle had chosen the colours she wanted: lilac and pale blue for the nursery and terracotta for the kitchen. She hadn’t made a decision on the lounge and bedrooms yet, and Gold said it could wait until she was sure. He bought paint trays, rollers and brushes, along with a set of painting overalls for her to wear and several large sheets to spread over the floors and furniture.

“Thanks,” she said, as they packed everything into the trunk of the car. “You know how clumsy I am. I’ll probably track paint all over the apartment without these.”

“I could still get professionals in to paint the walls,” he said.

“Thanks, but I’d like to do it myself,” she said. “It - it would help to make the place feel more like mine, you know?”

“I understand.”

Gold closed the trunk, taking a step back.

“I can always help you out, if you like,” he ventured, but she shook her head.

“Emma and Neal have already said they’ll help,” she said. “We’re gonna have kind of a paint-the-apartment party this weekend.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, if there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”

He flashed her a brief smile, the light catching in his eyes. He looked very handsome with his short hair, and she looked away, pain making her mouth twist. She hadn’t been lying when she told him she couldn’t move past him. How long would it take for her to fall out of love with him? Forever, she imagined, if he continued to act like a decent human being. Damn him.

As the afternoon wore on, he continued to treat her with a gentle solicitude, insisting on taking her for tea at a nearby deli and watching as she ate a piece of pumpkin pie with cream that had been laced with cinnamon and whipped to soft peaks. Pumpkin pie probably wasn’t what Dr Jekyll had had in mind when he told her to eat more, but it was so delicious she didn’t really care. Gold waved away her offer to share, merely drinking a black coffee, and she wondered if he had appointed himself her nutritionist. Chief engineer of the baby-making machine. The thought made her frown to herself, but it didn’t stop her from eating the pie.

After the deli, Gold took her to a large department store that she had never before set foot in due to the prices. Inside was a beautiful glittering paradise of sleek synthetic marble and polished wood, filled with the scents of hundreds of perfumes and toiletries. The baby section was large, a sea of pink and blue and white, and she felt out of place in her scuffed boots and five-year-old coat, although she tried not to let it bother her.

Gold seemed almost animated by the shopping trip, having lengthy discussions with the sales staff about items to purchase and displaying a surprising amount of knowledge about what babies needed. Belle largely left him to it, wandering along behind him with the little shopping cart and only giving input when he asked. They agreed on a set of furniture in pale grey and white, a chest of drawers and dresser with a large, well-cushioned chair in which she could sit and feed the baby. It was a strange thing to think of, that the child inside her would very soon be on the outside, in her arms and looking for her to feed it and keep it safe. It was overwhelming if she thought about it too much, so she tried to put it from her mind. Low-level terror over being responsible for a tiny human would have to wait.

“So, the furniture can be delivered on Wednesday afternoon,” he said, making her look up. “Is that alright?”

“Uh - can we make it Thursday?” she asked. “I have to work Wednesday.”

“Ah. Well, how about next week?” he asked. “You’ll have stopped working by then, right?”

“Right.”

“And I suppose it’ll be better, because the nursery will have been painted,” he added. “You can just take everything for the baby in there, rather than store it elsewhere in the apartment.”

“Right,” she repeated.

“I’ll tell them when it comes to paying for everything,” he said. “Let’s keep looking.”

He hurried off with what was almost a spring in his step, and she watched him go, a wave of sadness washing over her. She became more withdrawn as they made their way around the section, and responded with unenthusiastic murmurs to his suggestions. Gold eyed her with a slight frown on his face at first, which made her bristle, although she tried not to show it.

“I have a crib,” she told him, as he was looking over the third one that afternoon. “Emma was going to lend me Henry’s.”

“Our child doesn’t need hand-me-downs,” he said dismissively. “Besides, what if she chooses to have another baby? She’ll need it back.”

“I think that’s highly unlikely in the middle of her studies, don’t you?”

“I think babies come when they come,” he replied.

Belle sighed, and left him to it, merely nodding when he asked if she agreed with his choice. She could feel herself getting ever more anxious and resentful, and while she told herself that he was stepping up and supporting her as she had wanted, and that she was therefore being unreasonable, she couldn’t seem to shake her negativity. The reactions of the staff didn’t help.

“Are you and your husband finding everything okay?” chirped the third sales assistant in ten minutes, as Belle pawed listlessly through a rack of romper suits. Gold was some way ahead, his free arm filled with clothing in a myriad of colours.

“We’re not married,” she said coldly, and the sales assistant beamed.

“Oh, sorry! Still, plenty of time for that. I guess you’ve been concentrating on preparing for baby, right?”

“I’ve mostly been concentrating on not killing him,” said Belle flatly, and flourished one of the suits. “Do you have this in any other colours?”

“Uh - let me check out back.”

The sales assistant wandered off, and Belle heaved a sigh of relief.

“What about these?”

She looked around to see Gold holding up a pair of patterned booties with pom-poms hanging from strings. He shook them at her, a wide smile on his face as the pom-poms bounced.

“Adorable, hmm?” he said. “How could you resist them?”

“What are you doing?” she demanded, and he looked puzzled.

“Picking out baby things.”

“No,” she said. “No, I mean - I mean what are you doing?”

His confusion only seemed to increase.

“I don’t understand.”

“Forget it,” she sighed, snatching the booties off him and dropping them in the cart.

She could feel him staring after her as she walked off, but to give him his due he soon caught her up, dropping his choices into the cart and making quiet suggestions as to other things they might need. It felt as though he had picked up on her mood and was trying to placate her, which only made her more irritated, and then annoyed at herself for being irrational. It was a relief when he announced that they probably had enough to be going on with, and went to pay for everything. She was silent on the way back to the apartment, and the atmosphere between them was heavy and dark, making her feel awkward as she plucked at the skin on the back of her hand: a nervous, repetitive gesture.

Gold could sense that Belle was annoyed with him, although he wasn’t sure why that was, other than the massive fuck-up that had led to them being in this situation in the first place. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, though, and he didn’t know what to say, so he endured the painful silence on the journey back to her apartment. He helped her carry up the tins of paint and the bags of brushes and rollers, and she thanked him quietly as he set them on the kitchen counter. She had stepped back, towards the window with its view over the park, and was looking out of it and chewing her lip.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked, his voice seeming loud in the tense silence, and she shook her head. He heaved a sigh.

“Belle, you seem upset with me,” he said wearily. “I don’t know why, besides the obvious, so can you please tell me what I’ve done?”

“You haven’t done anything.”

It was said automatically, and in something of a monotone. He wasn’t sure she believed it any more than he.

“Please,” he said again. “I know this is a difficult time for you, and I know the baby’s arrival must be making you nervous, so if there’s anything I can do…”

He left it hanging, hoping she would help him out and tell him what she needed. Belle seemed to wriggle uncomfortably, sucking her teeth a little.

“It’s - it’s hard,” she said eventually.

“I know,” he said carefully. “That’s why I’m trying to make sure you have as little to worry about financially as I can, and why I wanted to get everything the baby might need.”

“No,” she said. “It’s hard - it’s hard having you around.”

She wasn’t really looking at him, her eyes darting furtively to him and then away, her shoulders hunched a little. It felt as though a heavy weight had lodged in his throat and was making its way slowly down towards his stomach.

“Oh,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. You’re a fucking idiot. Of course it’s hard. Why would she want the person who broke her heart back in her life? Moron!

“It feels—” Belle screwed up her nose, glancing away. “It’s like when we’re out shopping together and people treat us like we’re a married couple or something, and it’s like a slap in the face every damn time.”

“Why do you care what people think?”

“That’s not the point…” She ran her hands over her face. “It’s not what they think, it’s - it’s what it is. Maybe I’m not explaining it all that well. I’m not sure I even know what I mean.”

“Okay,” he said, bewildered. “Well, in that case, why don’t you tell me what you need?”

“I need you to go,” she said decidedly, nodding.

The weight settled in his lower belly, spreading outwards and anchoring his feet to the floor.

“Right,” he said, his voice hollow. “Right. Then I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

She was hugging herself now, arms folded protectively over the top of her swollen belly. He wanted to hug her himself, to take her in his arms and hold her close, to offer her comfort and reassurance. It hit him hard in the gut, a painful, breathtaking blow as he realised that he had never done so. Not once. He tried to think of a time when he had shown her some intimacy without them having sex, and couldn’t. God, no wonder she hated him! He swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

“Can I still take you to your next appointment?” he asked, his voice sounding eerily calm in his head, and she nodded.

“Of course.”

“There’s still the matter of seeing my lawyer,” he went on. “Perhaps we can schedule them both for the same day.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Right,” he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Then I’ll see you next Monday.”

She nodded again, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders, still hunched against him, shutting him out.

“I’ll go back to Storybrooke,” he added, figuring it would do her good to know he wouldn’t be in the city. That he wouldn’t be haunting her, stalking her from the shadows as she tried to go on with her life.

“Thank you,” she said again, and hesitated. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” he said, his tone wry. “It’s all my fault, after all.”

She hung her head a little, as though she agreed with him, but didn’t want to say it aloud. He could feel his hand beginning to ache from gripping the cane handle, and loosened his grip.

“Well,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”

She nodded, giving him one final glance. Her blue eyes were filled with sadness, and guilt, and regret. He could feel his own emotions rising up inside him, wanting to burst out and drown him, and so he nodded stiffly and turned away, heading for the door with a slow and heavy tread. She needed space. He could give her that, at least.

#fic: twisted fate #rumbelle fic #my fic #rumbelle #xiolaperry

59 notes · View notes

eddiessecondfannypack · 4 years

Text

Better (Reddie)- Part One

Also available on my wattpad here (ao3 coming soon): https://my.w.tt/ctR7a0grI5

RATING: PG-13 lol

PAIRING: Reddie

WORD COUNT: 1621

Trigger warnings: depictions of eating disorders

When Eddie Kaspbrak is diagnosed with anorexia, he is sent to the painfully cheesy Sunflower Meadows Clinic to “get better”, where he meets the incredibly charismatic Richie Tozier and the rest of the Losers Club. A story of recovery, friendship, loss, and love.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Eddie Kaspbrak sat alone at lunch. Again. Not like that was anything out of the ordinary for him. Maybe it would have been, several months ago. But now? The empty seats surrounding him were part of the routine. He welcomed it. Eddie preferred solitude.

The loud cacophony of the cafeteria blurred into a nonsensical blend of high school chatter and the hum of the machines as the staff hurriedly prepared for the round of hungry teenagers that would file into the cafeteria after this bunch cleared out. Why hadn't Eddie gone to the library? It would be so much quieter there. Eddie knew why, though. He truly didn't think he could make it, as silly as it sounded. The library was all the way on the other side of the school, and Eddie was exhausted. He needed to conserve energy. After all, he had a bio test next hour.

Eddie stared at the textbook on the table in front of him, occupying the space where a lunch was meant to go. Of course, that space had been empty for quite a while as well. Not as long as the seats around him had stood empty, but long enough.

It had been a long time since he'd last eaten. And it'd been even longer since he'd last had a proper meal. How long was he going on? It was a few days at least. Eddie had sworn off food. He could eat again once the stomach fat was gone. Which, at this rate, it looked like it would be quite a while.

He was so close to being healthy. So close to finally being incomparable to his mother, the dreaded Sonia Kaspbrak. But the fat was still there. Whenever Eddie managed to get rid of fat in one place, it would show up someplace new. Someplace that was so glaringly obvious, that he'd wonder how he'd managed to overlook it before. Edward Kaspbrak was far from perfect. But he could get there. He would get there. Or he'd die trying.

Eddie couldn't remember when it all began.

Was it during health class, when the teacher warned against the dangers of obesity? Or could it have been one of his interactions with his mother- the ones where afterwards, he sobbed into his pillow and vowed never to be like her. Maybe it was when Greta Keene had laughed loudly when seeing the insane amount of food his mother packed in his lunch.

("I can't have my Eddie-kins going hungry, I just can't bear it!" Sonia would screech as she piled snacks into his already bulging lunchbag)

The brown paper sack she gave him each morning usually ended up somewhere in the bushes on his route to school. He felt bad about the waste of food, sure. But it was better than facing the barrage of questions Eddie would get if he brought home an untouched meal.

That would get him busted for sure.

He'd gotten the whole thing down to a science. He came home late, when his mother was already sitting in front of the television, usually passed out. He would get a glass of water, and go directly up to his room. It was easy enough to avoid dinner. Not like he was missing anything- Sonia Kaspbrak was only able to cook various casseroles.

The bell rang, almost breaking him out of his mental fog.

Eddie stood up too fast. The room began spinning like the tilt-a-whirl at the Derry summer fair, and he leaned forward, attempting to steady himself. He missed the table though, and immediately crashed down to the floor, his head hitting the hard linoleum floor with a thwack. Someone- probably Greta, that attention whore- screamed.

And then it all went black.

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

Sonia Kaspbrak sat in a hospital room, her son lying comatose in the bed, and a doctor standing across from her.

"What do you mean, he's underweight? He's perfectly healthy! Besides his asthma, of course. I feed my Eddie very, very well." The woman squawked, trying to defend her parenting skills. Sonia always put Eddie at the top of her priority list- where had she gone wrong?

"Well, ma'am, the tests show that your son is severely malnourished. His nutrient levels aren't up to par, and his heart is beating slower than it should be. He will need to have his vitals monitored for a few days, at least." The doctor spoke smoothly, having had to deal with Sonia since the day Eddie was born. He made his way out of the room, telling the flustered woman that he would be back later to discuss a future course of action.

The voices stirred Eddie out of his deep sleep, waking up to Sonia's hot breath in his face, an orchestra of beeping machines creating a symphony around him.

"Eddie! Oh, my dear Eddie-kins. Are you alright? What happened? As soon as the school called me, I demanded they send you to the hospital. Only the best care for my Eddie. I came as soon-"

Sonia's incessant screeching was cut off by a woman in a white coat entering the room.

"Edward Kaspbrak?" The woman's voice was calming and practical. Eddie simply nodded to confirm his identity, too confused by the unfamiliar surroundings to say much. Only one minute ago, he'd been in the stuffy cafeteria of Derry High School.

"And I'm assuming you're his mother-" The woman began, but was cut off.

"Yes. I'm Sonia Kaspbrak. Who are you? You aren't his normal doctor." Eddie's mother sniffed, shooting a glare at the other woman.

"I'm Dr. Krynn. My full name is Stacy Krynn. And, full disclosure, I don't actually work here." The woman- Dr. Krynn- smiled, making crinkles form around her eyes. With her salt and pepper hair and sun kissed skin, she looked like someone who smiled a lot.

"WHAT? I demand that a real doctor is sent in this room IMMEDIATELY!" Sonia's face had grown red with anger, vaguely reminding Eddie of an Angry Bird.

"I'm still a real doctor, ma'am. I just work at a different kind of facility," Dr. Krynn cleared her throat. "See, I'm from the Sunflower Meadows Clinic, in Massachusetts. I was here to do some post-stay checkups with some patients, and the hospital also alerted me about your son's case."

Eddie had heard about Sunflower Meadows. He didn't know very much, but he knew enough. They specialized in teens there. Teens who were crazy. And Eddie Kaspbrak definitely was not crazy.

"I'm sure Eddie's doctors have already told you that he is severely underweight, and his heart is beating much slower than normal. They have good reason to believe your son is struggling with an eating disorder- I recommend that he comes to the clinic as soon as possible."

"MY Eddie? Anorexic? That can't be- I take such good care of him! And only girls starve themselves- my Eddie is perfectly healthy!" His mother protested beside him. "Besides, Massachusetts is just so far away. I simply couldn't bear to be so far away from him!"

"Mrs. Kaspbrak-" Dr. Krynn began.

"It's Ms. Kaspbrak."

"Ms. Kaspbrak, at the end of the day, it is your decision. But Edward will need some sort of monitoring, as he is considered at risk. That can be here, or at the Juniper Hill Asylum. But Sunflower Hills is designed for children like your son, and I'm confident he would receive the best care there," Dr. Krynn took some brightly colored pamphlets out of her lab coat pocket and handed them to Sonia. "Feel free to look these over, and if you decide it's a yes, our phone number is on the back."

As the doctor exited, Sonia Kaspbrak turned towards Eddie with tears in her eyes.

"Are they right, Eddie-bear? Have you been-" She sniffed, and Eddie could hear the snot in her nose. "Starving yourself?"

Eddie thought for a moment.

"No mommy. I'm not."

"Stop lying! I know you're lying. Oh, I'm an idiot for not seeing sooner. You must think I'm a horrible mother." Sonia cried, and Eddie watched her shake.

"No I don't." (Yes I do)

"Well.. I guess there's only one answer then, hm? You'll have to- you'll have to go to that clinic that Dr. Krynn was talking about." She sniffled, looking like a helpless puppy.

"No! Mommy, you can't send me there. It's for crazy people. I'm not crazy!" Eddie protested, all of the alarm bells going off in his head, his gut filling with fear. He couldn't go. What if people at school found out? What if they made him gain weight? Eddie would have to go back to school fat, and even more of an outcast than he'd already been. "Please don't make me go."

"I have to, Eddie. You have to get better." His mother's bottom lip trembled, and Eddie knew his fate had been sealed. There was no use arguing with it.

"Yes mommy." Eddie whispered, and Sonia immediately burst into hysterics, pulling her precious "Eddie-bear" to her bosom.

A few days passed, a couple phone calls were made. And then it was official- Eddie would begin his "recovery" at Sunflower Meadows as soon as possible. Preferably by next week.

In the meantime, Eddie spent his days flipping through the pamphlets and looking at the website on his phone. Everything was brightly colored and full of stock images of kids smiling so wide it looked like it hurt. Barf. Eddie was certain this place was full of hippies who wouldn't be able to do anything to help him.

It was relieving to know that he should be able to carry on as normal.

#reddie fic #reddie fanfiction #reddie fanfic #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #trigger warning #ana trigger #the losers club #it fanfiction #mine #it 2017 #it 2019 #it movie #it chapter one #it chapter two #god im so scared to post this

6 notes · View notes

arcanaapprenticecatherine · 5 years

Text

Julian X MC: Taking in a Stray

I'm worried.

Lately, Julian's been coming home later each night from the clinic and leaving early each morning. His habbit has been to wait till I wake up in the morning before even getting out of bed. He's been sneaking off before I have a chance to wish him good morning or a good day at the clinic. I know that shouldn't be enough to worry anyone, but all I can conjure in my mind are worst case scenarios. Is he cheating on me?

It's early morning. Everything is running through my head. Eventually, I convince myself he's seeing someone else.

He comes down the stairs, painfully aware I'm up and about, and getting mad.

"I see the coffee isn't the only thing that's brewing," he tries to lighten my mood with a joke. I don't want to stall this.

He lets out a sigh as he sees that my expression hasn't changed. He knows a fight is coming.

"What's on your mind, love?"

"Julian, are you cheating on me?" I ask him bluntly and watch for his reaction. His expression completely changes to shock.

"Why would you think that?" He looks heartbroken.

"You've been sneaking off in the mornings and coming back later. I can't think of any other reason..." I'm trying to keep my composure, but I love him so much it hurts to even suggest it, "... other than you're seeing someone else."

Julian nods. "Okay, I can understand why you think I'm seeing someone else. It's not that though, I can prove it. Come down to the clinic with me," he offers, taking my hand.

"I've got my shop..." I start but he doesn't let me finish.

"This is important, there's someone I want you to meet," he pulls me closer to him, his eyes excited.

"SOMEONE?"

"Listen, if I was in fact cheating on you and was sneaking off this morning to meet them, the last think I'd do is bring you," he reasons with me.

"Of course that's assuming you've been meeting them at the clinic," I point out, but he's tugging me out the door, doctor bag in his other hand. He closes and locks the door behind us.

He offers his free arm and I take it. We walk to his clinic in silence.

The clinic is closed and dark inside. Julian unlocks the front door, looking me in the eyes. He looks mildly amused.

"Now, I guess you could technically say I've been seeing someone," he starts as he opens the door, gesturing for me to go in. My heart leaps into my throat, my voice won't obey me. I walk inside, Julian almost on my heels, closing the door quickly behind him. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark interior, but I see something moving about.

Julian moves from behind me, opening the blinds on the windows allowing light in. The moving figure rushes towards him. My magic is ready at my finger tips but I hold it seeing Julian hasn't flinched or tried to move. As a matter of fact, he's dropped to one knee as the figure lunges.

I see a curled tail wagging.

It's... it's a dog.

Julian looks up at me with a smile. "I didn't tell you who I've been seeing because I don't have a name for her yet," he's rubbing the dog's head and chin, allowing it to cover him in slobbery kisses.

I'm stunned. I kneel down next to the dog as it smells me. I realize now that it's young. I gently run my hand down it's back, and it licks my hands and arms.

"I found her, oh about two weeks ago now, sitting in front of the door to the clinic all curled up," Julian looks back down at the dog, and the dog looks back up at him. It looks like it's smiling.

"We've talked about having a dog, and here she shows up right in front of my clinic as if she's waiting for me!" Julian stands up.

I bury my face in the dog's fur. She doesn't seem to mind. As a matter of fact, she rolls onto her back, inviting me to rub her belly. I oblige, looking up at Julian.

"Any idea what kind of dog she is?"

"Not a clue," he shakes his head. He leans down again, catching the dog's legs.

"But look here, her paws are huge and webbed!" He gently messes with the paws to show me.

"What does that mean?" I continue rubbing her belly.

"Webbing generally means good for swimming. I'd heard of people up north, farther than Prakra, having special dogs for rescuing seafarers. I've heard stories of large, long haired dogs pulling five to ten grown men out of the water at once!" He exclaims all in a rush, rubbing the dog's chin whose now utterly happy on the floor with all four limbs in the air.

"Some have described these dogs as looking like bears or bear cubs. I've heard some saying the males can grow to 200 pounds!" He looks back up at me, clearly excited, "but they're always described as having webbed paws!"

He's stopped rubbing her chin, waiting for me to reply.

"How much of that do you think is... exaggerated?"

"I never saw one up close. She doesn't look much of what I did see, from a distance," he regards the dog now pawing at his hand. Clearly an indication to continue the scratches under her chin.

She seems to be good enough with me and Julian.

"I've checked her over. Miraculously, other than just being underweight, she's pretty healthy," he must be waiting for approval, "she's already had a good wash with Mazelinka's concoctions, the same Pasha uses on Pepi. If there was anything in her fur, it's gone now."

The dog looks up at me expectantly.

"Of course we'll keep her," I finally say. "I'll just... oh my poor shop. I'll have to move stuff around off the floor. Make a sign warning customers for the front door..." I make a mental list of things to do. Julian's about as excited as a child whose been released into s candy store.

"Of course, of course," he nods excitedly. "She's been great when patients come in. She does have a fondness for... furniture." He glances at a desk, now all chewed up on one of the legs. He shrugs, leaning over to rub the dog's belly.

"Julian?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry," I sit up.

"I'm sorry, too. I should've told you, I had to get back and feed her and let her out of the clinic," he starts but I interrupt him with a light kiss.

"I'm sorry I... I should have known you better. I just love you so much, I was so scared." A tear rolls down from the corner of my eye and Julian wipes it away. He puts his forehead to mine.

"It's alright. I love you, too," he looks back down at the dog whose now all excited.

"I... I kind of enjoyed seeing you jealous, you know? Getting all worked up over me. Makes me feel wanted. Needed." His eyes are glistening in the morning sun coming through the blinds.

I lean in kissing him again, wrapping my arms around his neck. He melts into my touch, his arms wrapping around my waist, closing the gap between us after the dog got up.

"I'll always want you, Ilya," I push him back to look him over, "I need you too much. I love you."

"I love you, too" he pulls me in again, a tear rolling down his cheek, just to be licked up by a slobbering tongue.

#the arcana game #julian x apprentice #the arcana app #the arcana #the arcana julian #the arcana apprentice #julian x mc #julian x reader

40 notes · View notes

wholesomecacao · 4 years

Text

Imma just scream into the void for a sec (might delete later)

Like, I love my family and all, but I hate how critical of my diet they are.

“Oh you don’t eat enough. Look at how much weight you lost!”

“Ew, you’re eating that crap? Don’t you know that is bad for you?”

Yeah, no shit dad. I’ve head you say that about 50 times already. I don’t claim that what I eat is healthy. I’m just trying to gain back weight from my little adventure in college. Have they ever considered I don’t eat much at home because their constant criticism makes me feel like a shit human and it doesn’t help I’m on and off with my anti-depressants and they KNOW this? I eat the foods I do because I’m still in the mindset of “eat whatever is convenient, quick to make, and filling.” I’m not some health nut whose constantly counting calories or eating kale to maintain a healthy weight because the fact of the matter is: I. Am. Underweight.

While I do concede a healthy diet is important in the long run and there are healthy ways to gain weight, I’m not super concerned with it as of now because I’m focused on getting my life together because I’m not in school and I’m not getting enough hours at my job. (On a brighter note, I actually DID get more hours next week, but I’m not sure that’s really a permanent thing.)

God dammit, dad, there’s a reason I wait for my parents to go to sleep before I eat dinner sometimes because I feel ASHAMED of eating in front of people. Like, I already hate eating at restaurants because of social anxiety and shit, but I SHOULDN’T feel ashamed to eat in front of my own family.

Christ, this is almost as dumb as when my parents tell me to go outside when I’m depressed. Ah yes, I, a person who barely has the motivation to wake up, wants to go for a god damn walk and be super active. Like, I legitimately get mad when my parents tell me this. You think I haven’t TRIED? I literally work outside AT LEAST 5/7 days of the week and then walk home on a scenic path to and from work on most of those days. Do they seriously think my clinical depression can be solved with god damned plants? You know, those things that trigger my allergies. The things that release pollen into the air irritating my lungs making it hard for me to breathe because of my asthma? Yeah, real fucking classy mother fuckers.

And the saddest part is, I HAVE told them at least half of everything I’ve typed here and they continue to criticize my lifestyle. I may not be the most sociable person on earth, but I’m content living the life I chose because I made the decision to live it.

I think the moral of what I’m trying to say is I don’t need their approval to live my life. I’ve NEVER needed their approval to live my life and if they feel like they’re entitled to dictate my life, they’re dead wrong because I’m an adult with the rebellious spirit of an edgy middle schooler and I will decide what kind of life will make me happiest.

FUCK. That felt good to get off my chest. I think my parents are asleep now so I’m going to go eat some cereal to try and make up for missing lunch.

1 note · View note

monica-geller · 5 years

Photo

hello friends! can’t remember the last time i was online for a selfie night but i just hopped on and saw that this body positivity one was going on which is kinda cool for me because i got shit 2 say!

these photos were taken 10 years and a few dress sizes apart, and i had bulimia in both of them. it’s not something i speak a lot about because bulimia tends to (understandably) incite disgust in most people. it IS disgusting, so i get it. i never want to make people uncomfortable by talking about it so if it does make you uncomfortable, don’t feel obliged to read this or anything. vomit is gross etc. but i do think it’s important to talk about because so many people do not understand as much about eating disorders as they think they do. so if you can stomach it, i would encourage you to keep reading.

i was a “healthy” weight in the first photo, and actually technically overweight in the second - ie my weight was higher than recommended by doctors for someone of my size. and my bulimia was so, so much worse at that time than it ever had been. when that second photo was taken, i was living own my own for the first time and bingeing and purging multiple times a day. i would go to the store, buy literally $50 worth of junk food - ice cream, sugary cereal, pasta, you name it - eat it all in one sitting, then immediately regurgitate it. almost every single day. sorry i know that’s gross, but it was my reality. and even though i had already been clinically diagnosed at that point, even though i’d been in therapy for years, it was really easy for me to hide - even from people close to me who knew about my diagnosis - because i didn’t fit the image of what people think eating disorder sufferers look like.

and it’s because of those stereotypes that it took me a long time to realise the seriousness of what i was doing. i thought because i wasn’t clinically underweight, it couldn’t have been that bad. i thought because i could eat fairly normally the rest of the time (ie when i wasn’t bingeing and purging), that it wasn’t really an eating disorder, it was just this weird quirky thing that i did. but the thing about having a disorder that makes you compulsively binge and purge on food is that it fucks up your metabolism and digestion, and often forces your body to store the extra weight. so a lot of people are walking around struggling undetected and i wish that was more widely understood.

i’m not going to lie and pretend that i don’t still struggle with all of this. i think it will probably always be a struggle for me, and i don’t really like talking about where i currently am with my recovery because it just feels too personal and private. but in general, i do want to try and be more outspoken about my journey because i wish i’d had someone say all this to me when i was younger.

i am grateful for the body that i have. i’m grateful that it’s still even working after everything i’ve put it through. i’m grateful that i can use it to do the things i love - the fact that i can dance around my room while blasting shake it off is because i was given a body to do that with. i’m never gonna have another body, so i have to try and appreciate the one that i have.

i guess the point of this is that you can never fully assume someone’s relationship with their body based on what you observe from the outside. you can never, ever tell if somebody has an eating disorder just by looking at them. and if you are struggling with food or exercising or any form of purging, your struggles are real and valid and you deserve to get help for it. always. and i’m rooting for you!

160 notes · View notes

pain-somnia · 6 years

Text

October Prompt: Blood Title: Something Rating: M (for minimal sexual content) Day’s Notes: one of the monthly prompts from the ss server (don’t ask me for an invite I can’t invite you, you have to DM the mod @saradacchi ); if I’m feeling better I may continue this in a second part in fact I already started it; this idea came to me while I couldn’t focus on my wips so I typed it away; yes it’s a vampire au, the prompt called for it

The rules were simple. No drugs, no alcohol, no extreme diets. A donor couldn’t be underweight and they had to submit themselves to bi-weekly physicals. Sexually active donors were to be screened for sexually transmitted diseases frequently.

Sakura just wanted to pay for school.

She knew there were negative connotations to being a donor. Selling blood to feed the vampiric citizens of the world was looked down upon by her fellow humans, despite the fact that blood donations were part of the peace treaty between the two species and were supposed to be anonymous.

Sometimes were anonymous.

Being a donor was supposed to be impersonal. A human went to a blood bank, got their blood drawn and they would receive a check from the government every month.

The process was advertised the same way fertility clinics advertised egg donations. The vampires only wanted young and fit donors to keep the blood of a pure quality that was safe for consumption.

Humans provided healthy blood and vampires protected them from those that would slaughter them for their meals, unnecessarily killing a human when there was no need to drink them dry to feed.

In order to supply the vampires with the blood they needed for nourishment, the human government paid citizens as an incentive to keep them donating.

And Sakura really needed the money. Med school wasn’t going to pay for itself.

It was tough to juggle school work and a job. And although donating paid well it wasn’t lucrative enough on its own.

At least not when she was a cold donor.

For a price, vampires could get their blood fresh, straight from the source. It was the preferred way to feed but not all vampires could afford it. Before the treaty they took it as they wanted it, but without knowing the source well they left themselves vulnerable to disease.

Vampires were stronger and they lived longer, but they weren’t invincible.

. .

Eight o’clock on the dot there was a knock at her door. He was always punctual.

Turning down the corner of the page she was on, Sakura set her book down and gave herself one more once over in the hallway mirror.

Her guest could have entered anytime he wanted. Not only was he too strong for the lock to keep him out but Sakura had given him a key to her apartment already.

“Is it because I have to invite you in?”

“It’s because my mother raised me better than that and she would skin me alive if she knew I was coming and going as I pleased from a woman’s home.”

Sakura was learning that a lot of the myths she grew up with about vampires were false, stories made up by humans to give them a false sense of security.

“You’ve been staying up late again,” was the greeting she received. Sasuke pushed past her with two bags of groceries in hand.

First myth debunked: vampires needed an invitation to enter a home.

“What gave that away?” Sakura retorted sarcastically. She knew she had bags under her eyes from late night cramming. “I just finished exam week.”

“Which means you haven’t been eating properly of course,” Sasuke muttered, pulling out packaged meat and vegetables. A head of garlic rolled on the counter and Sasuke stopped it before it could roll onto the floor.

Second myth debunked: vampires were weak against garlic.

Instead of taking out garlic from Sakura’s diet, Sasuke had added more of it. Garlic apparently had properties that helped her maintain healthy blood circulation and reduced levels of LDL cholesterol.

The pungent odor was irritating but of course it would be considering vampires had a heightened sense of smell. But that’s all it was, just a small annoyance.

“What are we making tonight?”

“Stir-fry.”

Her favorite nights of the week were when Sasuke came over. They would cook meals and chat━her more than him━and it would feel a little like what having a boyfriend was like.

It felt even more so like that when they made their way to her lumpy couch and Sasuke trailed his fingers under her shirt and up her back.

“Sakura…” Sasuke breathed against her sternum. His fingers trailed back down her back, smoothing over her waist before settling on her hips.

She chanted his name as she rode him, his hands on her hips guiding her movements hidden under her skirt. Sakura pressed her body closer━wanting more, aching for more.

Sakura was just reaching her peak when a sharp pain stung at her neck.

Right. That’s what he’s here for…

Sasuke lapped lazily at her neck in tandem with his final thrusts as he came down from his own release.

“Enjoy yourself?” Sakura muttered as she watched Sasuke lick his lips, savoring every drop of blood.

Sasuke kissed her instead of humoring her with a response. His tongue rolled against hers and there was a coppery after taste.

“You should brush your teeth after eating.”

Sasuke only laughed through his nose and kissed her again.

. .

“Fangbanger.”

Sakura dropped her hands from her task of tying her hair up and glared at the other occupants of the gym locker room. The other women whispered to each other in the corner of the locker room, an occasional snicker coming from one of them.

Ignoring them, Sakura stuffed her bag into her locker and tied her hair up as she walked past them, not caring if her bite mark showed.

Not all warm donors had the kind of relationship she had with Sasuke. Most vampires met their donors at the blood bank and had their meal. Most donors weren’t as exclusive but she and Sasuke were one of the exceptions.

. .

“So you’re like...a cop?” Sakura eyed the uniform Uchiha Sasuke wore to their interview.

“That would be the equivalence, yes.”

Sasuke shifted in his seat. Sakura narrowed her eyes at the action not sure what to make of it.

Why would a vampire be nervous of a human?

“How old are you?”

“Not a very original question,” Sasuke scoffed. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Twenty-three. We’re not all ancient. The oldest vampire I know is my great-great uncle Madara.”

“Oh. We’re almost the same age…” Sakura expected him to be much older than her, not only by a year.

“So you’re a student?”

“Yes. I’m studying to be a doctor.”

Sakura tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She expected a question about the color but it must have been obvious that it was natural. Donors weren’t allowed to bleach their hair.

“It’s weird trying to get to know each other like this, huh Uchiha-san?” Sakura wrung her hands in her lap. “The technicians are sitting fifteen feet away from us and it’s just kind of unnatural. I guess it’s like if I went and talked to the pig that would eventually be part of my katsudon.”

Sasuke frowned, the corners of his mouth pulling down and a wrinkle forming between his perfect eyebrows.

“My mother said to treat this as an omiai.”

One of the technicians cleared their throat and Sasuke threw a glare in their direction.

“Oh.”

“Ignore the fact that I’m a vampire.”

A very hard task when there wasn’t a human alive she knew that looked anywhere near as beautiful as the man in front of her. He was more beautiful than most vampires she had seen in passing as well.

“We are learning about each over tea, seeing if our ideals match up, and figuring out if we want to enter a commitment with one another.”

Yeah, sure. Sakura wanted to roll her eyes but held back. And we ignore the fact that you’re paying to snack on me.

But he was her age and beautiful and when he did speak he was smart and funny, although what he usually found humorous was to tease her.

“Because of my work hours it would be more suitable for me to make house calls instead of coming in at the allotted appointment times the facility schedules. Would that be an issue?”

“That would actually work better than having to swing by the blood bank.”

Sakura was relieved. The blood bank was out of the way and even though they reimbursed her for the travel expenses she was usually cutting it close when it came to her class schedule or would have to take an entire day to be two cities over.

“Then it seems our preferences match.”

Sasuke smiled at her, just wide enough for her to catch an elongated canine.

“What’s your blood type?”

. .

After that meeting they set up a schedule for when Sasuke would meet with her for his feedings.

Sasuke would typically come early evening before his shifts but sometimes he would text her or call her to let her know he wouldn’t be coming around until late.

But on the evenings he came early he would bring groceries or hot meals.

“If vampires don’t need to eat why do you know how to cook?”

“Food is enjoyable but it doesn’t fill us or keep us healthy the way it does for humans. It’s sort of like what candy or coffee are to humans. You don’t need it but it’s something you enjoy.”

A knock on the door at nine o’clock had Sakura shuffling to her front door. It wasn’t until she opened the door did she realize that she hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

“Of course.” Sasuke looked down at her impassively.

“I have been studying for the MCAT.”

Sakura squeaked when Sasuke pressed his nose to her throat. His breath was hot but it caused a shiver to run down her spine.

“You’re becoming iron deficient,” Sasuke scolded her as he pulled away. “How many meals have you been skipping?”

“I get busy and I forget,” she mumbled, following Sasuke into the kitchen.

She cringed when he opened her fridge and turned to glare at her. He gestured to the nearly empty fridge and silently demanded and explanation.

“I’ve been really busy.”

“You’re going to collapse one of these days.”

Sasuke packed her fridge up with groceries and pulled out what he needed to prepare a pasta dish. Sakura never brought it up but Sasuke seemed to have a preference for western dishes made with tomatoes.

“How’s work?” Sakura asked. She sat on the counter swinging her feet as she watched Sasuke bustle around her kitchen. “Same old, same old?”

Sasuke nodded as he offered her a plate of food.

“I hate paperwork.”

“It can’t always be chasing down out of line vampires,” she giggled before stuffing her mouth with spaghetti.

Their evenings were quiet but Sakura enjoyed the company. Especially when he kissed her gently, just the two of them in her kitchen.

“Sasuke-kun?” Sakura questioned as Sasuke pulled away from her.

“My break is almost over. I have to head back.”

It wasn’t the first time he left without feeding. And just like the other times Sakura was confused about where they stood.

. .

He didn’t sleep over often but there were times he came over really late and crawled into bed next to her. Sakura would wake up, curled against another body, and smile fondly at the sleeping face of the vampire next to her.

Her bed was too small for two but it didn’t stop Sasuke from slipping under her covers and entangling his limbs with hers.

We’re strange aren’t we?

Sakura couldn’t put an exact name to it, but their relationship while odd was something.

Not just vampire and donor. Not just friends.

But something. Right?

. .

Sakura stared at the bottle the technician slid across the counter to her.

She was waiting for the results of her monthly pregnancy test, something donors with the capability had to submit to if they were sexually active. Although she was on birth control they had to make sure.

Humans couldn’t be donors if they were pregnant.

“Why do I need to take supplements?”

“Because although you are in perfect health, the vampire assigned to you has still been collecting cold donations.”

The technician flipped through the file in her hand and nodded to herself.

“Uchiha-san seems to not be getting all of the nourishment he needs from his warm donor—you, Haruno-san—which is unsettling. If the supplements do not help then there may need to be a change in assignment.”

A different technician approached them and handed a slip to the technician handling her physical.

“Results are negative. You are clear to continue your donor duties. We’ll see you at your next appointment.”

Sakura nodded and collected her appointment reminder and her supplements.

. .

Her thighs were his favorite place to bite. Usually.

Sakura’s brows drew down in confusion as she tried to catch her breath. Instead of the usual nips that followed, Sasuke dragged his lips up her torso, pressing kisses on her stomach.

“Sakura,” he panted, voice breathy against her ear as he thrust inside of her.

Vampire. Donor. What did it matter when it was just them, connected, and he touched her the way he did? Said her name the way he did?

We’re something, right?

Sasuke kissed her as he came, moaning into her mouth. Sakura cupped his face in her hands and held him to her, wanting to be closer, not wanting to let go.

. .

It wasn’t until rays of sunlight broke through the crack of her shutters and she woke to the steady breaths at the nape of her neck that she realized that he hadn’t bitten her at all the night before.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just about that.

#sasusaku #ss fanfiction #day!fics #vampfiction

419 notes · View notes

dark-smiley · 4 years

Text

I have a really fucked up plan.

I'm trying to convince my parents to let me go into a clinic again. Because I need to get help for some non ed related stuff

I won't tell them about my eating habits.

I know for a fact that they let you skip breakfast if you aren't there for an ed so I will do that

I will not eat snacks

I will eat little portions at lunch and dinner and walk around a lot.

The last time I was there another girl did exactly what I listed here and lost 4kg in seven weeks. 4kg in seven weeks. And she was already almost underweight when she got into the clinic.

I will be able to do this as well. I know that it will be helpful when I get home after that as well because I will tell my parents then that I want to go vegan and then I will work out and eat less because I'll get used to it in the clinic.

I think I can do this. I am pretty sure it's going to work and I will have the self control.

1 note · View note

ctrl-alt-cait · 6 years

Text

I’m Fat, and People Need To Get Over It.

When you deal with the medical system regularly (and when you deal with the general public, people at your gym, people at your school, your friends, your family, your neighbors, etc…) you probably know what an emphasis everyone puts on weight.

You get measured for BMI in public school PE, your doctor probably has it on your chart, and if you’re over (or under) a specific number, you’re going to hear about it. A lot. And there are a TON of reasons why the BMI chart is not scientifically sound in the first place: a few, summarized, you can read here. There are a lot of issues with basing health off of weight, and “ideal weight” off of health. Systems like this often ignore the amount of muscle, bone, water, and fat that your average human has, for example. And then, beyond that, even when you do body mass composition scans (which are way more helpful for health predictors), these numbers fail to take into account quite a few things which have bearing on your weight.

Sure, it’s easy to tell me that there are a string of numbers which should determine my body fat percentage. It ranges anywhere from 10-12% for essential fat to live, up to 31% as the borderline for acceptable edging on overweight. 32% plus is considered overweight. And this number can be helpful to me, because now I know that my body fat percentage is about 35%, at the lower end of overweight. And that tells me, in a truly scientific manner, what my chubby looking body is made up of. It still doesn’t take into consideration a lot of things we should look at when treating a patient: economic status, ethnic background, regional background, genetics, family history, mental illnesses, physical illnesses, comorbidity, or previous healthcare. You can hypothesize about why I’m fat all day long, why anyone is fat or underweight, why any of us are measured by this metric at all- it’s theoretical, and it’s interesting, until it’s you, and then suddenly it isn’t very fun anymore.

I have been, since I was 11 and hit menarche, overweight. It has fluctuated a bit over the years, as I’ve struggled with various health issues, and realized that I have at least three different competing illnesses that mess with your endocrine system and metabolism. And yet, I was a sports playing child. My parents emphasized eating your veggies, and limiting sweets. I go to the gym 3-4 times a week, now, and eat a pretty low carb, fiber and protein full diet. I cut out foods that I have gastrointestinal sensitivity to. I have my medical issues closely monitored, and my chronic pain is followed carefully. My heart passes all the tests I’ve had done on it. My liver is fine. My blood tests are well within average. My lungs are pretty meh, but that’s linked to chronic bronchitis. I can do 45 minutes of cardio and get that pulse rolling up at “weight loss levels” every time I visit the gym. I have tried super restrictive keto diets, anti-inflammatory diets, low fat diets, low carb diets, food tracking, visiting registered dieticians, taking nutritional classes myself, super calorie counting diets, etc.

But I’m still fat.

And I run into the roadblock of weight every time I see a doctor.

It has taken years for me to understand the true consequence of dealing with weight in the medical field. It’s simply true that overweight patients get worse care. Weight can be a huge issue in the social world. Obesity stigma has wide ranging public health implications. Being overweight makes you predisposed to eating disorders: being underweight does too. We are obsessed with physical appearance, and we ignore mental health quite handily, setting us up for a crisis of health, both mental and physical. I have had doctors I was seeing for entirely different issues, unrelated at all to weight, tell me that my problems would melt away if I would just lose weight. Some of the greatest hits:

The doctor who told me, in highschool, that I should just walk “for four hours a day after school” to force my body to lose weight.

The psychiatrist who told me that my mental health would improve when I graduated high school because “boys will stop being ashamed to admit they like fat girls, and you will finally get some attention, which will improve your self esteem.”

The doctor who, I found out recently, told my parents that gastric bypass would fix all of my problems, while I was in an urgent care clinic for completely un-weight-related complications.

The doctors who told me that my neurological symptoms were caused by weight, and not the permanent damage I had in my shoulder, or the other health conditions I had, and then accused me of lying about my diet.

And, of course, the psychiatrist who told me that it was okay to have an eating disorder for “a while, as long as you lose weight while doing it” when I expressed that being on a super-restrictive diet was giving me horrible physical side effects and what I feared may be long lasting mental ones too.

I have been recommended unsafe supplements, medications, diets, workout regimens, therapies, and lifestyle change plans to lose weight, all under the guise of helping me. Doctor after doctor has returned my truthfully filled out forms about my exercise and diet with doubt, and labeled me untruthful. Because to them, it is impossible- how can someone live healthily and still be overweight? People ignore the complications of healthcare in bodies that don’t fit a particular mold- take my friend who’s lost her appetite and a clinically significant amount of weight without meaning to, and can’t get a doctor to take her symptoms seriously, because isn’t that what women want? To be thinner? Or, for example, the doctor who was recently in the news for ignoring the symptoms of cancer in an obese woman so long that it metastasized and killed her. Our culture disregards the fact that simply because we know some health complications can come from being overweight doesn’t mean we need to stop looking for a definite conclusion. People of all weights need to be tested, and diagnosed accurately, because assuming all health issues stem from being over or underweight in anyone who doesn’t fit the flawed BMI chart is a public health risk we should not be taking. Perhaps part of the issue is that people of lower incomes and certain ethnic groups are more likely to be outside the range of accepted BMIs, and so they don’t have the recourse to demand the kind of testing the wealthy can. Perhaps part of the issue is that, when it comes down to it, doctors are only human, and humans have an inextricable bias to them that is heavily influenced by their culture.

This bias kills people of non-white ethnic groups, marginalized religions, different body types, non-straight sexualities, and gender-nonconforming people all the time. We have to realize, at some point, that doctors can be, and frequently are, wrong. That doesn’t mean you need to give up on allopathic medicine, and live in the woods with your essential oils to cure everything. But it does mean that we have to consider that maybe some people aren’t getting the best care, the care they deserve, because they are fat. There is a link, in certain cases, between being overweight and heightened risk factors for comorbid diseases. You are more likely to have sleep apnea, gout, osteoarthritis, cardiovascular issues, and gallbladder problems. This has, so far, been pretty well linked. But what drives me nuts about the concern-trolling comments on pictures online of overweight women, on articles about loving your body, on research about health, and in person from doctors and everyone else under the sun: that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to be heard, to be cared for, and to be thoroughly diagnosed. Fatness does not come first.

An example of fatness coming first when, for patient quality of life, it should not, would be certain styles of pain management. This is a field of study that I’m very familiar with and have also been a patient in many times. If I go into my doctor and complain of a full body pain that fatigues me, and makes my life difficult and miserable, I would expect to be treated for the pain. I would expect a pain medication to be prescribed, and tests to be done. Which, side note: I wasn’t asking for opiates. I was asking for a longer term anti inflammatory type of pain relief medication that would hopefully also lower system irritation. But, in my personal case, as a fat woman, I was denied pain medication, told to lose weight, and referred to another doctor.

What do I do in the interim? Suffer in pain, because weight loss is not exactly a quick and easy option, especially after all the things I’d already tried? Be miserable, because a doctor didn’t believe me that I’d put in years of good faith effort to be healthy, and passed almost all the other metrics for it? That’s exactly what I did. I suffered in pain, because no one I saw would give me a prescription other than “weight loss”, and I waited patiently for three months to see the other doctor. When I got to the other doctor, she grilled me about my lifestyle habits, accused me of “not wanting to be better”, told me she wouldn’t prescribe pain medication, and only decided to do a physical examination because I literally described my symptoms in textbook detail. She did what could have only been a 3 minute evaluation of my pain symptoms, pronounced that I was correct about my own damn body and did have fibromyalgia, and then reiterated that she wouldn’t prescribe pain medication until I lost some weight.

So we have multiple doctors in this practice network, now, that know full well I have a debilitating pain condition, who will not prescribe me as needed pain medication because I’m too fat.

Well, unfortunately for them, and me, I didn’t lose weight. I couldn’t lose weight. There was absolutely no healthy, no fad or yo-yo diet way for me to lose weight at this point. There still probably isn’t- I take several supplements that can support weight management, but aren’t contraindicated with my other medications. I live my healthy lifestyle. I am still in pain.

I am still fat.

I will always agree that finding the cause of pain, or discomfort, or disease is necessary to a patient for them to live a good quality life. We shouldn’t be out here blindly medicating people. But we also shouldn’t allow people to suffer while standing on a perceived moral high ground, dangling the carrot of relief over them as though somehow, when they jump through a high enough hoop, we will be able to say, “see? It was your fatness all along.” and the problem will be gone. Even in the face of plain diagnostic results, fatness becomes a quicksand to medical intervention. In part, I imagine it has to do with that aforementioned moral high ground. We have come to view weight as a moral marker, beyond even our cultural obsession with looks. There are “bad” foods and “good” foods- no in between, no moderation, no internal discussion about the harmfully dichotomous nature of declaring fatness a moral failing and thinness an idealized dream. We look down upon “fat slobs” and mock them in our comedies, our dramas, our romantic movies. A fat woman is not desirable, and a fat man is a travesty. Conversely, we will also mock thinness when it goes outside of the accepted range- women with “pancake” chests and men with “noodle” arms. This cultural bias is popular, it’s deeply held, and it is dangerously intertwined with the doctoral hands that hold our lives, our health, and our happiness. Even among overweight people, I’m still nowhere near as stigmatized as people a few sizes bigger than I am, and that breaks my heart.

The biggest thing nagging at my mind through all of this, as I talk about all the ways in which I’ve tried my best to fit into the medical idea of what “healthy” is, is that people deserve care regardless of whether or not they are willing to, or are trying to lose weight. People deserve care, love, acceptance no matter whether they are unhappy with their weight or not. Beyond even the issue of how I have been pressured to make many lifestyle changes, most of which I’m happy with, is the issue of people who should not have to conform to any standard but happiness to get a good quality of life. There are only so many plates you can juggle in your life, and I would never begrudge someone spending the hours of daylight I spend on fitting into an allopathic definition of “trying to be healthy” on something more enjoyable and fulfilling for them.

I could philosophize more about being fat, and the many issues we face in this culture: about the lack of affordable and comfortable clothing, the stigma of working out at the gym, the mockery, the bullying, the laughter, the jokes, the culture of abuse that has led me to psychological issue after psychological issue, the body dysmorphia I struggle with, and the healthcare battle ahead. After all that, though, I will still. Be. Fat.

So I would like to cordially invite all of my doctors, and everyone who has had the passing thought, or the gall to mention it to my face, all of the people in the society I have to coexist with, to get over it. Get over my weight. Get over the hump of grilling me on my daily habits, and tsking like some overblown moral judge when I decide I want to eat a cupcake. Get over your reluctance to take me seriously when I come in with a genuine medical issue. Get over your inability to prescribe me medications that would let me live my life happily. Get over the euphemisms for being overweight, and the skirting around your own implicit bias towards fat people. Get over “heavier girls” and “curvy girls” and “husky men”. Get over all the terrible connotations you have towards the word fat, and the immediate need to correct me like you’re doing me a favor when I say that I am, in fact, fat. I get that you want to be kind. But when you treat the reality of my existence like an insult, it can feel kind of shitty.

It’s not an insult. It’s not a psychological disease. It’s not the body dysmorphia talking.

I am just, plain and simple, a fat woman. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. There are so many things to love about my body- it is functional in so many ways. It carries me to school and back. It enables me to learn amazing things, and experience wonderful days. My body can take me through the forest, my legs can get me to the top of a hill. And if yours can’t? That’s just fine too. Body positivity gets a lot of flack for “normalizing and romanticizing unhealthy behaviors”. But hardly anyone (save a few outliers that the world wide powers of the internet will enable you to find) sees the body positivity movement and decides to become unhealthy because of it, not to mention the fact that average sized people rarely receive that kind of feedback for other “unhealthy” behaviors. It is not a bad thing for us to love ourselves, whether we are disabled, or fat, or outside the cultural beauty norms for any other reason. When I look in the mirror, I struggle with my appearance because other people have told me to for so long that it feels like it’s stuck in my very bones. Would it be such a bad thing for me to not feel that way? Would it be bad for children to grow up loving their bodies for being such miraculous things, without struggling to access fair healthcare, job opportunities, and peer groups?

I’m fat, and I’m happy. It’s time for the world to stop worshipping the God of Outward Appearances, and leave my personal healthcare business alone.

#fatphobia #body positivity #chronic illness #medical bias #fat acceptance #body acceptance #positivity #spoonie life #medical journey #personal opinion

6 notes · View notes

justsomewhump · 6 years

Text

All Sin Comes from Within Ch. 4

Previously...

Killian was a priest who was seduced by the literal demon Pan. This got him in a horrible situation of becoming the completely unwilling toy of Pan and his son, Rumple. Rumple impregnated Killian and now Killian is struggling to understand and accept the creature he's carrying. Last we saw of him, he was growing a baby bump and was ready to drive a knife through it to end his torment.

Warnings: Rape, graphic depictions of violence, mpreg. And blood. So much blood. In ugly ways. #nospoilers

Ch. 1: Tumblr / AO3 Ch. 2: Tumblr / AO3 Ch. 3: Tumblr / AO3 Ch. 4: AO3

With a swift move, Killian pushed the knife through skin and muscle. He clenched his jaw against the pain, but the knife wouldn’t go deep. He felt the blood run down his waist as he pushed harder. He opened his eyes and saw the wide gash, bleeding freely as he kept pushing, trying to penetrate through whatever fucking thing was still protecting it…

He shouted out and thrashed, moving the knife around and giving himself an even bigger gash, deeper around the edges, but without managing to really go through. The knife slipped from his bloody fingers and he collapsed, bleeding heavily.

He looked up as two figures appeared above him.

It was them, Pan and Rumple, looking at him with disdain. “Did you really think it would be that easy?” Pan said and waved his hand. A purple glow emitted from it, and Killian felt the pain go away. He looked down and saw that the injury, along with all the blood, had disappeared.

He didn’t have time to look up at Pan again though, as he felt a foot collide with his face. And his chest, and legs, and back, and shoulders - anywhere in a safe distance from his lower stomach.

They left him bleeding even worse than before. His whole body hurt, he couldn’t open one eye and he was spitting blood by the time he heard someone run towards him.

“Sir! Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Killian opened his one working eye, and through the haze of pain he saw a young man lean over him and check him out for further injuries.

“You need a doctor! Can you stand or should I tell the clinic around the-”

“Help me… stand,” Killian muttered, spitting out a bit of blood.

“Are you sure you can? On your own?” The man appeared truly worried.

“Yes,” Killian answered. If only he knew how worse he’d had it…

The man nodded and grabbed Killian’s arm, wrapping it over his shoulders. He pulled him up and Killian whimpered in pain at the movement. He couldn’t support himself, so he fell limply against the young man.

“It’s okay. The doctors at the clinic can help you.”

Killian coughed a little, feeling more blood reach his mouth, and let the man lead him there, his head lolling with every step.

He dozed out for a few moments, and then he was sitting down in a small waiting room, the young man standing in front of him. They were alone.

“It’s okay, a doctor is coming right now,” the man said.

Killian nodded. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

The man put his hand on Killian’s shoulder softly. “Oh, I did. It was a pity, you lying there, beaten up like that…”

Killian stared at him, trying to drown the feeling of hate over the man feeling pity for him.

“Who did this to you?” the man asked.

“Oh... I don't know,” Killian replied weakly. “Two men... they ran away.” He looked away, embarrassed at having to lie to him. Would the police come and ask him about it? Would he lie to them?

Thou shalt not bear false witness...

“It's okay now,” the man said. “I can stay here, and take care of you.”

Killian swallowed hard. What the hell was he saying?

“You really don’t have to, boy. I’ll get better…”

Killian’s voice died on his lips when the man put his other hand on Killian’s other shoulder. He froze as he saw his face turn from worried to excited.

“But we don’t want that, do we? Pan knows very well I like them bloody and weak.”

Pan? What the-

“Name’s Felix, by the way. You can cry as much as you want. I’m sure you’re used to your screams not being heard. Though I doubt you’ll manage to make any loud sound with my dick in your mouth.”

Killian couldn’t move. Felix put one hand behind Killian’s head, grabbing his hair, and with the other he unzipped his pants, grabbed his flaccid member and rubbed hard and fast. Killian came to and tried to move away, but his beaten and bruised body and Felix’s grip on his hair didn’t allow him any movement at all. Felix grew hard, then grabbed at Killian’s hair with both hands and drove his erection right into Killian’s mouth, pushing it down his throat.

Killian choked. He tried to raise his hand, but a sharp pain in it didn’t let him move it. He squeezed his eye shut, feeling tears sting in both of them. He felt like vomiting and struggled to breathe through his broken nose as Felix pushed deeper. He felt something warm leak out of his nostrils - blood, he supposed. Felix grabbed his head tighter, and Killian gasped weakly as he felt his fingers poke at wounds in his scalp.

He could hear Felix’s moans and they only gave him a stronger urge to puke. If he had half a mind he would have felt lucky that Felix went fast. He shivered, spilled inside his mouth, not taking his cock out until he was fully done, and then he was gone.

Killian collapsed backwards, hitting his head on the wall and knocking himself out.

He woke up in one of the clinic’s beds, all bandaged up and with an IV needle stuck in his hand. The doctors kept asking him questions, but he couldn’t utter a word. He knew he had to let them know about the rape - there must have been a way they could find evidence on it - but he simply couldn’t speak. He was too tired, too hurt, too ashamed, and of course, they didn’t find anything wrong with him besides him being underweight and bruised up, even with the obvious bump of his stomach.

His right arm was broken and he’d hit his head pretty badly when he knocked it on the wall, but with a set of painkillers running through his system he managed to walk out to his car and slowly drive to his place. He painfully dragged his badly bruised body up to his flat and he collapsed on his bed, falling asleep immediately.

His nightmares were plagued by that creature again, in various forms that resembled anything but a human. Black, oily liquid that surrounded him and suffocated him. A fiery demon pulling his intestines out. A horned female-looking demon holding a beating heart in her hand, a heart he couldn’t stop thinking was his...

Following the shock from Felix raping him, his head injury and his stay at the clinic, he’d lost complete track of time, so when he saw Pan sit next to him on the bed, stark naked, all he could do was start crying and beg him to let him be.

But Pan wouldn’t humor him. He grabbed his legs, spread them apart and fucked him hard till the morning.

“Felix wasn’t exactly part of your punishment,” he said when he was done, the first time he spoke that night. “He just enjoys beaten up messes like you were, I’m sure he told you. But if you ever, ever,” he said as he leaned close to Killian’s tear-stained face, “try to hurt my granddaughter again, I’ll make sure he will be. And he won’t be alone then.”

He licked the tear track on Killian’s temple and disappeared. Killian simply kept crying.

With his body in an even worse shape, Killian could barely walk to the door to get the food he had ordered - only to eat as much as he could, which wasn’t much, and then try to sleep again. He couldn’t even clean himself decently that week, and by Saturday he still felt like he was hurting everywhere. Yet Rumple paid no mind. He came and raped him and left him feeling even dirtier and in more pain.

Seeing as Rumple kept coming every week, Killian’s recovery took longer than anticipated. He caught himself wondering if he’d ever recover completely. At his worst moments, he remembered how Pan had told him that he wouldn’t survive the end of it. He cried when his mind wouldn’t stop imagining ways the afterlife would prove to be even worse.

His nightmares kept coming as well. At random intervals, he saw the creature. He woke up in cold sweat and looked at his stomach, trying to stop his mind from imagining how horrendous it would look like once it was born.

Killian had lost all communication with the outside world. The only time he went outside was to buy groceries, and even then he kept it quick, not looking or talking to anyone. The more the bump grew, the more he found himself looking at the big sweaters in the clothing section. It couldn’t be just him, he was sure that thing couldn’t look like a pot belly. It was too round, too... centered in one place, to look normal on his body. He had to hide it somehow. He was too scared and ashamed of it. A little voice in the back of his mind wouldn’t stop telling him how it was all his fault.

Sixteen weeks in he’d managed to gain some weight back, if only due to the fatty foods he was consuming, and his bump was only growing and freaking him out. He noticed how his body hadn’t changed at all during this ordeal. He knew that normally, the hips grew at some point… but then, what exactly was normal in his case?

Rumple was caressing his unresponsive face one night when he suddenly spoke up. He almost never talked, and Killian had found he’d preferred the silence to whatever their horrible voices could utter.

“I know you’re worried, about how it all works. They all are, and it’s understandable. Women, well, sometimes they have trouble when their babies manifest their powers, but otherwise it’s a normal pregnancy.”

Killian shivered at the word. He usually shut down while either of them were there, but small triggers like these could bring him back and make him tumble with fear and pain.

“With men, it’s a little weirder, I admit, with your bodies not being made for such a process… but trust me, even if your body is struggling to adjust, it is a rather normal case. There are only two differences, both of which you already know; a sonogram won’t show anything and the baby sometimes uses its powers.” Rumple petted the bump lovingly, causing Killian to tear up. “And I see you’ve learned your lesson... with how protective she is over you, as if no-one besides us is allowed to even give you the side-eye, it’s a good thing you’ve completely isolated yourself. Otherwise I guess she’d have the whole world aflame by now.”

Killian couldn’t keep it in any longer. The idea that he isolated himself because he feared what she- it’ll do, and not because his psyche was completely torn into pieces, too much to face the world…

“There, there,” Rumple said as Killian started sobbing. He wiped away a tear as it escaped Killian’s eye, then kissed the one that fell from his other eye. He slowly started kissing his whole face, kissing away the tear tracks whenever he reached them.

By the time Rumple entered him again, Killian had shut down once more.

Killian hadn’t stopped drinking. He knew it was supposed to be a bad thing, but he didn’t truly care. All he wanted was the momentary reprieve it would give him. At some point however, he realized it wouldn’t stay in. Even a few shots made him nauseous and eventually he threw it all up. If anything, it made him even more miserable.

It took him a few days to realize it was that spawn’s doing. One day, as he walked through the store’s corridors, he heard a rattling sound from one of the shelves. He turned, and saw that a jar of marmalade was shaking lightly, stopping when Killian looked at it. He looked around to see if anyone was listening or looking. He then looked at his stomach. Besides making him puke the alcohol, it hadn’t done anything with its powers since the road trip, but nothing had happened to trigger it either. Killian heard again the rattling sound and looked up again. That time the jar was about to fall from the shelf.

“What do you want?” Killian whispered as he neared the shelf. Suddenly, the jar fell and Killian jerked to grab it before it hit the ground. “You want marmalade?” he whispered again and looked around in shame and fear. “I haven’t eaten in ages... how do you know you’ll like it?” Right then, all the jars on the shelf rattled momentarily, and Killian shivered to think what would happen if they all fell. “Okay, okay,” he whispered. “I’ll buy it.” He placed it on his cart and picked up a couple of big sweaters before he finished shopping.

The moment Killian placed the jar on his counter, it started rattling again.

“I’m not hungry, you know it,” he said and put his palm on top of the jar, stopping its movement. Suddenly, the kitchen paper roll beside him caught on fire. He gasped, and looked around in shock. He grabbed a fork and carefully pushed the roll to fall inside the sink, then turned the faucet on. But the fire kept on, no matter how much water fell on it. Killian whimpered in panic. “Fine! Fine! I’ll eat marmalade, okay?”

The fire went out immediately, but the paper had already been burnt off. If he hadn’t been freaked out by the creature’s open display of power, especially against him, he would have actually enjoyed the snack.

It was a big mistake, he realized later. As he ruefully prepared a bowl of salad for his dinner, he felt his stomach turn as if in disgust. He was certain, though, that it was the same salad mix he’d been enjoying for years, so he just kept on preparing and eating it. But only a few bites in, his stomach clenched and he heaved, and he ran for the toilet. After he emptied its meager contents, he walked back into the kitchen, not surprised to see that the bowl had dropped to the floor and the salad was spread out around it.

He cringed at the now familiar rattling sound.

The next day, it didn’t let him eat anything else at all. No matter what else he tried to consume, it made him throw it up, and only looked content with marmalade.

Killian whimpered softly after he finished his millionth slice. He looked at the jar, it was big enough but he’d already eaten more than half of it.

“I can’t eat only that thing,” he said.

It didn't reply. Killian trembled to think what it would do if he didn't eat more.

Eventually, he got sick. He started vomiting, feeling even more sick seeing his vomit consist only of marmalade, and he collapsed on the cold bathroom tiles, feeling his fever burn him up. He could hear things being rattled around, and he couldn't be sure, but he could feel something move inside him. He passed out, this time seeing a nightmare of a black, shadowy figure ripping his stomach open from inside and sliding away, below the ground where it belonged. He woke up trembling, but was too weak to move.

Killian didn't know how much time had passed when Pan came. He panicked. It wasn't Saturday yet, was it? Why was he there?

Pan simply sighed. He shook his head and knelt down next to him, putting his hand on Killian's bump. That same purple glow emitted from it, and he suddenly felt all better.

“What did you do?” Killian said.

“I healed you and calmed her down. What the hell are you doing? She could have killed you!”

“Me?!” Killian burst out. “It won't let me eat anything else!” He raised his torso, supporting himself on his elbow. “It wants me to eat only marmalade!”

“Then you'll bloody well eat only marmalade!” Pan stood up and looked at him angrily. “Oh and another thing, you might want to start calling 'it', 'her'. I have the feeling she doesn't like being called otherwise.” Then he disappeared.

Killian growled in frustration. He couldn't care less about what that thing liked and didn't like. However, he looked down at his bump. There was still a part of him that thought he could... negotiate things with it. Perhaps he could simply add bread with marmalade to his weekly menu.

“I don't know if you can hear me now, but... please stop forcing me to eat. I will eat what you want, just... just let me eat other things too. Otherwise I'll get sick again. Please.”

This time, he felt it for sure. Something moving inside him... and a kick from inside his stomach. He froze, looking at his bump with wide eyes as he felt a few more soft kicks.

He was already struggling to accept what was happening to him. Morning sickness, growing belly... and now kicks. He found out he could only feel it move and kick when he was calm. It still freaked him out, of course, but he eventually started getting used to them.

He hated counting. He hated it so much. He knew that it didn't matter. He was going to die and nobody would care, so why did he even bother counting?

Yet he did. He knew he was starting his seventh month, and the sight of his belly terrified him. There were a few small bruises on it, undoubtedly from the thing's kicking. Sometimes it would kick so hard that for a second Killian wanted to vomit. It passed quickly but he feared to see how stronger it would get as it grew inside him.

And Rumple kept coming to hurt him. Sometimes Killian begged to leave him alone, to not hurt him.

“Please,” he said one day. “Now that she-she's growing, it hurts even more. Please don't...”

“I know it hurts,” Rumple said. “You think I haven't done this before?” He laughed and caressed Killian's cheek. Killian couldn't move away. “But it won't hurt her, and that's all that matters.”

Rumple usually pushed Killian on his side and spooned him from behind, but this time he made ropes appear from the ceiling and tie around Killian's wrists, forcing him to stay on his knees and look at the headboard. Killian was crying before Rumple even forced his clothes away.

“Please...” he sobbed.

But Rumple didn't listen, he never did. He entered him and placed his hands on his belly. Killian lolled his head forward, seeing his tears fall on his pillow and his bump move with Rumple's thrusts. That terrified him even more.

But it was nothing compared to what Rumple did then.

His hands still on Killian's belly, he caressed it softly and said, “Kick for me, my girl.”

Killian couldn't remember much of that night after that. He woke up at the sound of the bells tolling, something that never stopped destroying his psyche further. He was hurting everywhere. His knees felt sore, his wrists had rope burns, his backside was bleeding, and his stomach... he nearly cried with how many bruises he could see. He grabbed his tear-soaked pillow and sobbed hard. Why did it have to be like this?

The more the weeks passed, the stronger the kicks became. He found himself unable to walk when the thing was active, it hurt too much to stand on his feet. Very few of his pants fit him anymore, and he didn't have the energy to go out.

His body became weaker and weaker. Following the lack of exercise, the extreme consumption of marmalade and his inability to keep up with a healthy diet, he couldn't do much other than stay in bed all week, only crawling to the shower every Sunday to wash himself from the blood and the filth.

He was losing his meaning. He couldn't even do things he liked anymore, like draw, or play chess...

Slowly, his only pastime became talking to the thing inside him. He knew it could hear him, and sometimes talking to it calmed it down and it stopped kicking him that hard, so he talked and talked. He talked about his childhood, about his mother dying and his father abandoning them, about growing up with foster parents that couldn't give a single damn about him, about foster parents who hurt him in too many ways to count, about finding his brother again only for him to die a few years later, about meeting and loving and losing Milah...

He had a lot of stories to tell, and the more he shared them, the more he realized he didn't have many happy ones.

“I don't... I don't know how this whole thing is supposed to work,” he said softly one day. “I didn't... even before I became a priest, I didn't want to have children. I never thought I would be a good father, after growing up with one who didn't care at all about me. And now it's... I'm scared.” His voice broke. “I'm so scared, I don't know why or how this is even happening, and... I don't know what you are, what you do, I don't know who to blame anymore.” He buried his face in his pillow and sobbed.

It didn't kick him for the rest of the day.

He slowly started getting some of his energy back. His traitorous mind wouldn't stop counting, so he knew he was starting his final month. Final, in every sense of the word.

Nothing truly changed. Rumple came that first Saturday, and by the end of it Killian trembled to realize that he only had three more Saturdays left. If even that.

He cried more and more often. He never remembered crying so much his whole life, as messed-up as it used to be.

He couldn't know when the day would come. He'd known how pregnancies don't always get to complete forty weeks, so he prepared every day to be that day.

Nothing could prepare him enough.

He'd woken up with unusual pains. His back and hips were almost permanently complaining by now, he was used to that, but that day they just felt worse. He struggled to sit up. It was only Tuesday, too close to the tortures of Saturday, so getting to and staying in that position was already painful. He stood up on shaky legs, supporting himself on the bed and took one step towards the door.

He suddenly felt as if something was kicking from inside his chest. He coughed, bending forwards and he saw blood land on the floor. He whimpered, then he felt the taste of blood on his mouth and lips. Another kick hit him and he fell on all four, spitting even more blood and struggling to breathe.

“Help,” he said weakly. “Pan. Rump-” He never finished that last one as he felt another kick and he spit more blood. He suddenly felt a hot, searing pain somewhere between his legs. He collapsed on his side and screamed, the sound eventually getting distorted by the blood in his mouth.

It was happening. He had no idea how, but it was. Instinctively, he turned on his back, but that made him choke on his blood. Turning back on his side, he reached the bed with his hand and struggled to pull himself up. Another kick, and another stab on his hips. He screamed again.

“Help! Help me! Pan, please-” He coughed more blood and gripped hard on the foot of the bed, his hand already stained with blood, and pulled himself up. He could only lift his head and shoulders a bit and support them on the wood, and as he settled he heard a cracking sound.

It felt like an eternity, trying to understand where that noise had come from and why it sounded like that, so eerie and frightening.

When he felt the abysmal pain on his hip, he knew exactly what had happened. He felt the broken bones move around and stab him from inside, as he finally looked at his belly and saw the creature’s arms and legs push against it from inside.

It was literally ripping him open.

“Help,” he whimpered now, too taken over by the pain to speak louder. The creature kicked again and more blood reached Killian's mouth. He coughed, trying to find his breath again, but even that small movement prodded at his broken bones. He pushed his head against the wood and closed his eyes. “Help,” he said again, trying to spit the blood out without moving too much.

The pain was colossal. He dared look down, only to see what was probably the creature's struggles to get out. Killian whimpered. All of those changes his body sustained to bear this thing, only for it to be unable to get out. He looked around weakly, for anything that could be sharp enough to cut himself open.

If he had a chance to think more clearly, he would've panicked at the thought of doing that. But now he just wanted it to be over. And yet he couldn't find anything, not that he could move to reach it.

The creature kept kicking, causing Killian to spit even more blood. He looked at his shirt, stained with his blood, and then at his sweatpants. Would he have to remove them to-

Another burning pain overtook him and he threw his head back again, his screams gurgling through the blood in his mouth and throat. He felt the creature move, he felt his broken bones move around and hurt him more... and then he felt something warm and wet between his legs. If he hadn't been in so much pain, he would've thought he'd pissed himself... but then it spread, and spread, as he felt his skin open down there.

He couldn't move, he couldn't scream. He could barely breathe. And not only because of the blood slowly filling his lungs.

He could only wish for it to be over soon. Yet it felt like an eternity, of his skin opening from the pressure, of his lungs filling with blood, of his own bones ripping through his muscles. And then he heard the sound of fabric being teared apart, and the sound of something leaking. Was that... the water?

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his limited breathing. He was still spitting blood, or more like it was slowly filling and then dripping from his mouth. He was still feeling a constant pressure from under his stomach, until the rip between his legs was finally big enough for him to feel something round and warm try to get through it. He whimpered and felt a shiver run down his spine.

With one final push against his insides, he felt its whole body slide outside. The pain hadn't lessened at all. He lay there, too tired to move or even open his eyes. His time was coming, he knew it, he could feel something cold spread through his blood...

And then he heard a cry. It was wild, loud, but it sounded like a normal baby's cry. He opened his eyes, only to feel tears run from them. His vision was blurred now, but his hearing was as clear as ever. He could hear the cry, soft and innocent and real and right there...

All the fear, all the terror, all the nightmares... he didn't care. She was there, real, his. His daughter. His baby girl. She could be the devil incarnate for all he cared. But his chest filled with an entirely new warmth, and at that moment, only hearing her cry, he knew he loved her. If only he could just move a little to see her...

A high-pitched giggle caught his attention, and he turned his eyes to see Rumple stand next to him, looking at his baby still crying where it had landed. Rumple bent forward and picked her up. All of a sudden, Killian's vision cleared and between his tears, he could see a pink, covered in blood, squirming, but human, baby.

His baby girl.

He felt his lips form a smile. Rumple brought her a little closer, and Killian could see her open her eyes and look around. She was moving her legs and arms around, and she looked so small and so fragile and he just wanted to hold her...

Killian raised his hand weakly, but Rumple drew her back. Killian whimpered weakly and dropped his hand.

“It's customary to have the human parent name the baby,” Rumple said as he held the baby in his arms, almost hiding her from Killian's sight. “You know, since they give birth only to die after...” He made a face and looked at him impatiently.

Killian was too tired to think, too weak... He just wanted to hold her once. But if all he could give her was a name, that he would.

In such a painful yet happy moment, the only person he could think of was his mother.

“Alice,” he gurgled through the blood, not taking his eyes off his daughter.

Rumple smiled his creepy smile and looked at her as well. And then he was gone.

A sudden, unprecedented pain spread through Killian's chest, and he knew it had nothing to do with his multiple injuries. He felt tears run from his eyes and sobs starting to rock his body. They only brought more blood up his throat, causing Killian to choke helplessly on it.

Perhaps he should welcome death already. The only place Rumple would take his daughter was Hell, and Killian would certainly go there anyway, so he felt the need to let go. Perhaps he could see her there one day.

His last thought was of his Alice, praying on his lost faith that she would be fine wherever she was, and then he lost consciousness.

Notes:

Hahaha did you think I would just leave it there?

I hope I can wrap this up with one more chapter though. I have no idea how this fic, that had started only because I wanted to whump Priest!Killian, ended up turning into a Wish!Hook/messed-up knightrook fic, but it did. What can I do?

Please tell me though if you expected it to go there, and what clued you in :D

#ascfw #golden hook #captain pan #i write thangs #content warning #nonconsensual #blood #so much blood #mpreg

14 notes · View notes