Hi sparks 🌟 I'm not sure if you're taking headcanon requests, but if you are could you write Sir crocodile with a frequently ill s/o? (possibly chronically ill if you're comfortable with that)
💥~☆ Hello dear! I am still open for requests! Whether it be just chatting about favourite characters or headcanon requests!! Please do yap to me. Don't be afraid to blow up my inbox! I do love seeing everyones asks and opinions! Now, I have never written for a chronically ill reader, so do forgive me if I get things wrong. I do hope that you enjoy! And I do hope that ive gotten some things correct, every person with a chronic illness has a different experience so this fic may not reflect everyone's experience who is chronically ill!
- Crocodile was a man that didnt like to have many connections. Especially ones that he had been weak enough to let himself get attached to, where he would actually care if they died. Such as Bon Clay, Mr 3 and Daz Bones.
- Warlords of the sea, especially Doflamingo and Blackbeard, were ones that preyed on weakness, anything to get an advantage of empires or favours with information. Baroque works was vulnerable, even more vulnerable with Crocodiles knowledge of Plutons whereabouts,
- But...
- The Warlord that had tormented over Alabasta Kingdom since he had set up base there, had fallen for you. Crocodile had been with you for a few months now, and hed noticed things about you.
- You had originally applied at the position of secretary in Baroque works, to actually have a job so you could feed yourself, the kingdom had gone to ruin and was poor. So this place was your last chance,
- Methodical paperwork, No heavy labour that would cause flare ups. No being out in extreme heat all day, you could regulate yourself.
- The office was small, but it was big enough where you could pace around if you needed to move. It had shelves that could be used as a grip just incase you felt near collapse, there were enough people that walked by your office towards Crocodiles,
- Miss All Sunday was kind enough to drop off tea, water or food when needed, the pay was good too,
- Overtime of getting used to your presence Crocodile had ended up warming up to you. It hsd taken a good year or two for the warlord to say something, he needed to calculate whether this was worth the risk. But eventually he decided you were,
- And that was when Crocodile had quickly started noticing symptoms, how sick you got....on a frequent basis, sometimes you had good days for a few days, maybe even weeks if you were lucky. But when it hit bad? It hit bad.
"Whats going on with you. Out with it. Theres no point in hiding anything if we're going to be together."
- Crocodile couldnt be with you constantly, he still had work to do, he couldnt drop everything. But he had been quietly making preperations,
- Crocodile had eventually drenched your needs out of you, whether cold or heat made you feel better, did you need any KT tape? Specific braces for certain body parts? Specific compression gear for your wrists or legs?
- Crocodile was a man that made plans, strategies, this was just another aspect for him to monitor. And once he found a rythm of how to help you? Yeah, it was easy...most of the time, even he could admit that there were new things that came up that you weren't prepared for,
"...Stop staring off like that"
- Crocodile would say as he would move beside you, resting his hook by your side as he looks down at you,
"You arent a burden. You never have been. Infact, your the most helpful one in this damn organisation. I chose you because I want you... all of you. Every single part. Your illness doesnt make you lesser, and I dont settle for just anyone."
- Crocodile isnt a man to gush praises or sentiments....but with you? He would make a...rare exception. Though dont expect it a lot,
- If you needed a service animal? You bet that Miss Doublefinger had actually trained one of the Bananwani into a massive service animal for you. The creature was big enough to eat anyone that decided to try and purposefully get in your way,
- If you needed cold? Crocodile would place the cold metal of his hook next to the area afflicted. If you needed pressure on that specific part? Hed press his hook into the area, making sure not to apply too much pressure,
- You can absolutley bet that Crocodile would absolutley use the poison filter in his hook to inject anesthetic or painkillers into your system. Besides, a part of him liked the fact that you had a scar from his hook.
- If you needed two parts of your body cold and pressured simultaneously? Then Crocodile would always have some rings rested in ice cold water, hed slip them on his hand and press the cold or ice cube against the other area on your body that needed cooling,
- On the days that you needed warmth? Crocodile would either pull you into his lap so you could both do your work. Or he would drape his coat over you when you both went to bed for the night.
- Crocodile understood some parts of pain. He suffered with constant migraines and aches across the bridge of his nose from his scar, and phantom pain and discomfort on where his other hand used to be,
- Crocodile had migraine medicine, so if you had one? Then hed just slide the packet towards you, he had loads of the stuff stockpiled anyways,
- In the days that Crocodile felt those migrains full force. He would cook for you when you came back from doing his responsibilities. It was rare that Crocodile took a day off, but he appreciated it when you would fill in for him as he could not deal with the damn lighting. The sun reflecting off the desert sand made him feel like shit sometimes,
- If you needed something to keep your hands occupied and constantly moving? Crocodile would pass you one of his rings which had a loose gemstone so you could fiddle with it,
Crocodile may not have the time to be with you constantly when your sick. Whether it be a small cold or a full on absolute shit flare up. But, the warlord will try to make your life easier by handling things and making sure youd never have to fight for them. If you needed sonething? Don't be afraid to ask.
And if anyone complained? Well. Your new service bananawani would eat them.
Pairing: David!Clark Kent x Ehlers-Danlos!GN!Reader
Synopsis: Loving you was second nature to Clark Kent, as easy as breathing. For you, life took a little more effort. So, when your freely-given heart starts to break under the weight of unimaginable sadness, Clark begins to wonder if he's 'super' enough to save you?
A/N: The reader has EDS, POTS and Fibromyalgia. I know that, each person suffers differently with it, so I'm just going off of the experiences my friend's have in their day-to day lives. They've been complaining of late that there aren't enough 'x disabled!reader' fics, so I thought this would be a nice surprise for them. ❤️
Content Warning: Mentions of illness, depression, eating difficulties and pain. This series is 18+. So, minors dni and (politely) go away.
As always, my work is unbeta'd, unmoisturised and dehydrated.
Pairing: Misty Quigley x fem (afab) reader
Word count: 0.5K
Warnings: Mentions of a period, shitty doctor/medical ableism, prescription medication and Misty stealing drugs. It's on brand but brain rot fluff!
A/N: It's just a fluffy ficlet of a chronically ill reader (no specified illness) with Misty, someone who would definitely take care of you like no other! I've been feeling sick so this the first in a miniseries of YJs with a chronically ill reader, Taissa is going to be next! Comments and reblogs are appreciated and I'm open to YJ requests too! I hope you all enjoy 🫶
Your last appointment was with a doctor that was a man who didn’t take your chronic illness/disability seriously. You’re asked if you’re on your period and then have to awkwardly tell him you’re not because you know you can’t say what you want to. Then once again you were just told to keep exercising, healthy food, get eight plus hours of sleep a night etc. and just as you knew he would, you were sent off with a prescription of paracetamol, something that never even made a slight difference in your pain.
When you have a flare up you don’t need to worry about medications! Misty has an array of different pain medications, anti-nauseants, migraine medications etc. all that she’s slyly stolen from work! You’re able to take pain meds if you choose to, which are all carefully monitored by her.
When you’re feeling unwell she doesn’t push you beyond your limits, she’s thoughtful with her care and never makes you feel bad for not being able to do something. She’s happy for workarounds or chill nights in, Misty is honestly so happy as long as she is with you. Your symptoms are listened to and she takes you more seriously than anyone else you’ve ever known. You’re able to stay in bed and hide from the world while overwhelmed with pain and fatigue and not deal with the guilt others would make you feel. Misty seems to get that, there’s things about the other that you both seem to get that you’ve never felt like anyone else ever would.
Misty will make you soup and bring it to you in bed telling you that Caligula helped and then she’ll chuckle with a joke about how he obviously couldn’t do that and it wouldn’t have been hygienic in the first place. You’re put on bed rest and completely pampered by Misty. Covered in heat pads and wrapped in soft blankets when you need and a cold compress on your forehead that is being changed periodically, Misty will regularly check your temperature too.
Misty will smile after she’s done another temperature check, she’ll sit in bed next to you and put on pro-shots of The Phantom of the Opera and any musicals you want to watch. Even if she needs to sleuth online for a slime tutorial that isn’t shaky. You can cuddle Misty while you feel sick and it’ll make her blush that you feel safe around her, that you need her like she needs you and the simple fact that you’re choosing her.
Misty will push up her glasses at the side in that cute way, and it’ll make you smile, even when your body is in pain and weighed down with exhaustion and your brain is in a cloud of brain fog, her mannerisms will still charm you. Misty enjoys this quality time, she honestly enjoys looking after you, more than she probably should. But you’re looked after much better than any other hospital admission would have.
Someone is PISSED. Feral Douma time! [Douma x Reader] [Black, nonbinary, chronically ill/disabled reader] A bit more gore than usual, but not too bad.
Ongoing, up to Chapter 20 on AO3.
Divider by: @/cafekitsune
Akaza watched everything that happened from the top of the courtyard stairs, as he had been tasked with bringing Douma back to the meeting.
He tried to warn him, didn't he? Flaunting a human around was just asking for trouble. He felt a bit conflicted, though. From what he knew of you, you didn't seem deserving of such a fate. And when around you, Douma was actually somewhat tolerable.
Akaza watched as Douma began to ascend the stairs. He moved calm and collected, but the murderous intent was wafting off of him in waves. Everything about the man dulled without you by his side. No beaming smile, fake or otherwise. No light in his eyes. Like he was factory reset. The very air around him grew even colder. With each breath he let out, a puff of cold air could be seen as if it were a chilly winter morning. If he looked closely, Akaza could see patches of frost on various parts of his being. Douma's eyes darted to him when he passed by. Perhaps daring Akaza to make a comment about any of it.
Akaza stiffened. That multicolored gaze was damn near feral. It reminded him of a freshly turned demon that couldn't control their hunger. Akaza never took Douma seriously, nor did the man ever give a reason to strike fear into him, but this...this was different. This was a reminder, one he didn't appreciate, that Douma and Kokushibo were on a completely different level when serious. Whoever poisoned you was going to suffer in unimaginable ways. Compared to the rest, Upper Moon One and Two were MONSTERS.
As soon as the meeting was over, Douma rushed to his residence within the Infinity Castle. He found you still unconscious on the floor, hooked up to IVs. Enmu and Aizetsu were checking your vitals and commenting on observations.
"Oh! Lord Douma, you've arrived," said Enmu with a bow.
"They're stable. I called over Enmu for second opinions. With their already weak constitution, they're probably extremely exhausted from the whole ordeal and might sleep for quite a while," said Aizetsu.
Yes, there's nothing to worry about, My Lord," added Enmu. "They're quite the fighter to have survived. The chance of pain and possible paralysis is still there, though."
Nothing to worry about? Nothing to worry about?!
His own negligence...his hubris almost got you killed! What if you'd never want to talk to him again? What if you never forgive him?
Before you, he was so...so empty! Alone. He thought that was okay. It's how it always had been, after all.
No.
He can't go back to that now. You'd only known him for a few months, but he felt like he lived more in these past months than he had in one hundred years. The two of you hadn't even started on your list yet. You were going to show him the world.
"..ord...Dou...ma?"
Douma snapped out of his spiral and realized Enmu was talking to him.
"I'm sorry. What were you saying? I spaced out a bit there."
"Ahem. I was saying. Perhaps, you'd like to bring some of their stuff here? Or at least a futon. The floor can't be comfortable."
"Yes! Good idea!"
Douma walked over and knelt beside you. You were so still. Your breathing improved, but still seemed troubled. His own chest hurt when your face had crunched up from a wave of pain. He took your hand and held it before pressing it against his cheek, nuzzling his face into it with a purr. He was relieved to feel the warmth of your skin. The warmth of life. How it should be.
"I'll be back soon."
Douma returned to the temple and roughly shed his stuffy formal clothing. His anger still simmered under his skin. He wasn't particularly good at detective stuff. How was he going to find out who did this? Maybe interrogate the wait staff? But the culprit probably didn't even really work there. Perhaps he could use your phone to send a message to this "N" person? He doubted he'd know how to use your phone for that purpose, though.
He quickly freshened up with a small bath that allowed him to relax and calm down a bit. He packed a bed roll, your meds, some snacks he knew you liked, a change of clothes, and your notebook.
He was about to go through a fresh shoji portal when he heard a knock at his door. Only one. Small and quiet. If he wasn't a demon, he wasn't sure he'd even hear it. A few of his long strides and he was back at the door, but no one was there?
He looked down.
A little girl with a tight grip on the doll she carried around stood there, shuffling from foot to foot. Ah, yes. Aiko. Douma had recalled hearing about you helping her and she took quite a liking to you after that.
She tried her best to look beyond Douma's wide pant legs frantically. A worried look on her face after a moment. Was she looking for you?
"I'm afraid your friend won't be back tonight. You can talk to them when they return, okay?"
The girl looked down the hall as if she wanted to make sure no one was around. Her mouth opened and shut. Again it opened. Then, shut. She was obviously trying to speak, but just couldn't get over the mental hurdle of the trauma that made her mute. Her little face twisted and tears pricked her eyes from frustration.
Douma ushered the girl inside and sat her at a low table. He stepped away and returned with a piece of paper and something to write with. He was unsure if she knew how to read or write, but it was worth a try. The girl began to draw instead. Irritated, Douma was ready to shoo her away, but he noticed a familiar stick figure.
It was you. You were lying in a pool of what he assumed was blood as your eyes also resembled crosses. Standing over you was a woman in a colored in kimono, with a bloody knife in her hand. Douma watched intently as the girl drew the woman again talking to her friends and giggling. A stick figure that resembled herself was in the hallway and unseen.
He kneeled to her level. "You overheard someone was planning to hurt them?"
The girl nodded vigorously.
If it took place here, it could only be one person.
"Tell me, is this person wearing a blue kimono?"
Another nod.
Douma took a deep breath. He tamed his face into a small, closed smile. "Thank you very much, Aiko. You were a big help! I'll take care of it and I promise they'll be okay in a few days. I was actually just on my way to see them!"
The little girl perked up and shoved her doll into his arms.
"You want me to give this to them? Won't you need it?"
Aiko looked at the floor in thought. She clearly felt uncomfortable without it, but yet, she nodded. Douma pat her head in comfort.
"I'm sure it'll make them feel better to know you're thinking of them. I have to go now. Run along back to bed."
Douma watched the little girl dash away and returned to the portal with the items in hand. He returned to the castle, but only dropped off the stuff and helped get you comfortably nestled in the futon. He had another mission with the last few hours of the night.
______
Lord Arata returned to his mansion in the Infinity Castle. All smiles. He avenged his daughter's honor, got one up on a kizuki, AND got away with it! The fodder demons he used to carry out the tasks were already disposed of. Tomorrow, he would demand his daughter be allowed to return home and get assigned to another position elsewhere. Surely Lord Muzan would understand after the disrespect his clan suffered this night.
Lord Arata stepped into his home's entryway. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice at first how quiet it was. His wife, five adult children, and all of the wait staff usually made some type of noise at all times of day. After a moment, he called out to his wife.
"Ami? Keiko? Haruto? Hello?"
Silence.
He strained his ears to hear anything.
Plip.
Plip.
Plip.
A small sound echoed from somewhere deeper into the mansion.
Plip.
Plip.
Plip.
Standing outside the door blocking the source of the sound, his brain seemed to work for once and gave him a sense of dread. If only his brain worked more often.
Quickly, he opened the door only to be grabbed by his collar and pulled into the darkness of the room. His body was flung across the room and hit the wall with a loud thud.
"Ugh. W-What? Who?!"
Struggling to get up, his eyes scanned the room for the intruder, but all he saw was darkness.
"Welcome home, Lord Arata. Did you enjoy yourself at the gala?" asked a flat voice.
Whoever it was, was strong enough to hide their entire presence. He couldn't even catch their scent. He gulped. His portly body trembled.
"Who are you? What do you want?!"
Two prismatic eyes suddenly appeared in the darkness. "Upper" and "Two" boldly etched within them.
SNAP
The room was quickly illuminated in full by his lingering ice clones.
Lord Arata got up only to fall to his knees. In the middle of the room, Douma stood there drenched in blood. It was everywhere. The floor, the ceiling, it leaked down the walls. Gashes and cuts marred the wooden interior like a whirlwind of blades was unleashed inside. Sharpened icicles lodged in the walls and floor stuck out every which way. Patches of ice and frost lingered.
He looked up. Bodies. So many bodies. Corpses of his family and staff were flash frozen and strung up on the ceiling by ice vines like chandeliers. Their expressions were literally frozen in fear. Part of his wife's body, or what was left of it, wasn't completely frozen. Crimson blood leaked down onto the floor into a puddle.
Plip.
Plip.
Plip.
"W-Where's Sayaka? I'll have her report this to Lord Muzan! Y-You can't do this!"
"Hm? Sayaka? Oh! Right. I ate her! Funny. She tasted just as bitter as her personality," said Douma with a chuckle.
In an instant, Douma was right in front of him. A clawed hand grabbed him by the throat and shoved him into the wall creating a deep wooden crater.
"I can't do this?" Douma tilted his head in question, his face in mock surprise. "Did you really think I couldn't figure out why Sayaka requested to be assigned to me? Your family would've been even more powerful had one of you gotten close to an upper moon. I already have enough people using me. I simply don't have more to spare. Aaaand conspiring against the kizuki is treason if you weren't aware. Tsk tsk. A veeeery big no-no."
"Ugh!" The grip around his neck tightened, bluish purple claws dug into his skin. He could feel the bones in his neck being crushed and desperately trying to regenerate.
"Your history of incompetence was already noted by Master Muzan. So this was only a matter of time really. But it all worked out, huh? Imagine what would've happened had it been Lord Kokushibo assigned to this! I'm far nicer than he is" said Douma, a hand on his chest in humble self praise.
Across the room, his wife's body dropped from the ceiling and broke into pieces before disintegrating into nothing. One by one, he watched the rest of his family fall and disappear the same way. His legacy, his clan, his pride all gone in the same night.
"At least I'm not some human's dog! You'll pay for this! Just like that pathetic creature you dared to bring around us. They've made you weaker. Your position will be taken and you'll fall in no time at all!"
In his mind, Douma's thoughts flashed back again to you and his mother convulsing in utter pain before going still. He was almost alone again. Because of him and his greed!
The man suddenly dropped to the floor when Douma withdrew his hand.
The lights flickered sending the room into darkness for a fraction of a second.
Douma quickly jumped back a few feet. A weird feeling grew inside of him, from his head to his toes. The upper moon's body jerked erratically. The air grew even colder. Frost spread out from Douma's being across the floors and up the walls.
Flicker
The darkness lasted longer and longer each time.
His breathing rate increased, each exhale through his nose caused a puff of cold air. A powerful wind picked up causing crystals of ice to swirl around his body. His eyes widened as black energy pooled into them like an encroaching ink, turning his sclera into a raven backdrop for the iridescent pupils the darkness couldn't smother. The glow within them burned even brighter.
Flicker
His eyes were like torches in the short absence of light.
His already towering shape grew more toned and a bit taller. His turtleneck sleeves burst around his arms, revealing a blue hue overtaking his hands and spread down to the middle of his forearms. His ears grew pointed, tipped with blue like his arms.
Flicker
As if in pain, the large demon cried out and doubled over, he grasped tightly at his head. His body jerked again and wide wings made of ice tore out of his back like blades with a splatter of blood. With a groan, two crystal horns grew out of his forehead so forcefully, his eyes rolled back into his head. An icy demon tail sprouted behind him and lashed like a whip against the ground, splintering the wood with ease.
Flicker
When Douma stood tall once more, he observed himself in awe for a moment before he flashed a wide, unsettling grin. He began to laugh wildly as his fangs grew longer and sharper, needle-like.
Lord Arata couldn't move. Fear didn't even begin to describe what he was feeling. He could hear the rush of his blood pumping in his ears. His heart was beating in his throat. The pressure of Douma's power had him pinned in place.
"Ooh! How cool! ___ truly is remarkable. Only they could cause me to take this form just from being insulted," he said, his tongue glided over his newly enhanced teeth. "Do I look weaker to you now? Shall we test it, hm?"
Douma began to step forward only for Lord Arata to shiver with each inch.
The lights flickered rapidly.
"I-I'm warning you! You c-can't do this! Please! I'll give you money! Women?! Property?!"
The burly man finally managed to get up and tried to make a run for it, not knowing that Douma let him get up. He always liked it better when they ran.
The light in the room, and soon to be Lord Arata's eyes, was snuffed out for good.
A deafening, inhuman roar rang throughout the room and shook the foundation. The last thing Lord Arata saw was Douma's jaws unhinging before he was mauled and eaten alive, piece by piece. His bloodcurdling screams of agony only echoed in the empty home. No one was left to hear them.
_______
Elsewhere in the Infinity Castle, Muzan folded his newspaper and leaned back in his chair, legs crossed. He hummed in thought, his cheek rested on his fist.
Hiiii, quick question, I’d really like to start a Eddie Munson x reader series but with a chronically ill reader, but I wanna know if anyone would read it. It would be very angsty but also fluffy and maybe some smut here and there but it would delve very deep in to the truth that a lot of disabled people feel unloveable, even tho we 100000% are it’s still a thought that hangs in many of our heads that we are “too much”. Basically the premise of the series is Eddie proving to reader that he loves her so fucking much, and that he loves loving her and everything that includes. At first reader would push him away because of her self deprecating beliefs but Eddie is relentless in proving that she is just as worthy and deserving of love as anyone else. I would try and be as non-descript as possible with what illness reader has. I personally have pots, eds, fibro, fnd, and Endo and feel Eddie would be the best boyfriend and care taker. Let me know if y’all would read!
Pairing: David!Clark Kent x Ehlers-Danlos!GN!Reader
Synopsis: Loving you was second nature to Clark Kent, as easy as breathing. For you, life took a little more effort. So, when your freely-given heart starts to break under the weight of unimaginable sadness, Clark begins to wonder if he's 'super' enough to save you?
A/N: Hi, hi, hi! Oh, boy. This is my first time writing for Superman. So, please be gentle with me! The hyperfixation is strong at the moment, so I'm writing while the momentum is there.
The reader has EDS, POTS and Fibromyalgia. I know that, each person suffers differently with it, so I'm just going off of the experiences my friend's have in their day-to day lives. They've been complaining of late that there aren't enough 'x disabled!reader' fics, so I thought this would be a nice surprise for them. ❤️
Content Warning: Mentions of illness, depression, eating difficulties and pain. This series is 18+. So, minors dni and (politely) go away.
As always, my work is unbeta'd, unmoisturised and dehydrated.
DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, REPUBLISH, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION. I DO NOT OWN SUPERMAN, DC OR ANYTHING AFFILIATED TO IT. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
=============================
"Is there something on my face?" the earnestness behind the harmless question left you feeling caught red-handed in your very apparent observations. It was a struggle to not stare at Clark Kent- covertly or otherwise- but whenever you both found a quiet moment to yourselves, no book, no television programme, no sceneic roadside could maintain your concentration. You always found you gaze drifting to him.
You forced a chuckle that immediately fell flat and you wondered why you had even bothered to try in the first place. "No, you look perfect."
It had been said that opposites attract and when you looked at Clark, you could not have agreed more. You could have sworn he contained his own gravitational pull. You did not know much about Kryptonian biology, outside what your own dear "martian" had divulged to you. So, for all you knew, he may well have done.
There was no denying that there was something magnetic in the way he carried himself. In the way his hair fell oh-so-perfectly, with that singular curl that always begged to be gently pushed back into place. In the way he said 'gosh' and 'darn', when you yourself were known to curse like a sailor. In the smiles he freely gave to those around him- strangers, friends and family alike. In the hug he shared with you every morning before his daily departure to the office. Everything about Clark Kent was gentle. Measured.
He moved through life with care and intention. Despite being literally out of this world, he seemed so attune to his surroundings. As if he were part of the soil. Rooted. No, grounded. He was grounded and level-headed. Always assuming the best of everyone until proven otherwise.
There was something so incredibly soft about Clark that made your heart weep and swoon, just by simply looking at him. Your realisation hitting you, as the dying embers of daylight illuminate your beloved in golden rays, only serving to further highlight just how fucking beautiful he was.
And that terrified you to your very core. From the top of your head, to the tips of your toes. For the most part, you could lull yourself into a false sense of security and pretend that everything was fine, that you were fine. But it was during moments like these that, the insecurity would hit you like a ten ton truck. You would look at your sunshine-personified boyfriend, who through both actions and words, had never given you cause to doubt his affections for you. And yet, no matter how many times Clark professed his adoration for you, that poisonous inner voice in your head would always question, 'why you'?
Why would the one and only Superman waste his efforts on a mere mortal like you? Especially one whose own body couldn't keep its own shit together half of the time. You felt like a mutant. Not a metahuman. Not special, powerful or otherworldly. Different. Other. Wrong. A failed mutation in genetic code, that had left you with a faulty mind and even faultier collagen.
It was difficult to pinpoint when the spiral had started. All you knew was that, you were in the thick of it and you only had two choices at your disposal- up or down. 'Up' meant clawing yourself out of the deathgrip that the depression currently held you captive within. Whereas, down...
...Down meant succumbing to your demons and wallowing in your self-prescribed melancholia.
As of that moment, you could feel yourself sinking deeper into the abyss of self-loathing. A dark, dank place with no light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Just endless sad days and even sadder nights. What a predicament to find yourself in.
That was what made it so easy to pull away, to retreat back with yourself. Slowly untangle the bonds you had once greatly cherished, until you were all but an island. Isolated. Cut off from those you wished to protect from the oncoming storm.
It was better this way. The list of casualities standing at a single numerical value, you. You were too late to save. Whatever this most recent episode brought with it, you would face alone until it eventually passed, as it always did. There was always an end to the vicious gloom, it was just a question of when would it leave you. The next day? A month later? You shuddered at the thought of another year long depressive episode but never say never. It had happened once and lightening could always strike the same place twice.
Despite your best efforts to keep everyone at arms length, you had grossly misjudged one patricular person's investment in your wellbeing. No matter how much you tried to convince him to leave, Clark refused to abandon you in your time of need. The bloody masochist, you had theorised. A sucker for pain, for sure. You could not determine any other reasoning for him wanting to stick around.
He had recognised the sadness within you. It did not take a metahuman with heightened senses or a genius to discern that you were not yourself. Despite all attempts to appear unphased by the crushing sadness that seemed to have taken root in the hollow cavity of your chest, Clark- even with his xray vision- could tell that something was deeply wrong.
He cursed himself for not noticing the subtle changes in your personality sooner. For all his powers and abilities, Clark had been so easily blinded to your evident suffering. Allowing it the opportunity to build and develop under radar, until it was too late and the beast's taloned claws had full sunk into you, refusing to let go anytime soon.
It had been a gradual invasion, quiet decreases in your usual cheerful disposition. Whilst it was unexpected for you to be jolly continuously throughout each of the sun's rotations, the sight of your smile failing to reach your eyes, should have told him everything he needed to know. Yet, he had been too busy, what? Saving the world? Writing yet another self-penned interview with the elusive "Superman"? Whilst you never, ever begrudged him his busy schedule of saving lives and making deadlines, to Clark, it all felt futile when he had been unable to save you. To put a stop to the cause of your suffering.
Even on the warmest of days the city had to offer, your forced attempts to recreate your sunny temperament left him cold. Your boyfriend was distressed by the way that, even when falling apart, you did your best to mask your pain, so as not to cause your loved ones any distress. It was second nature to you, almost as simple as breathing, to want to protect those you cared about from the dark turmoil, that writhed and snarled within your being. It was a threat that required constant neutralising, containment. If you were to let it run rampant...the after effects would be devastating. No bridge would be left unburned. The life you had worked so hard to build would be destroyed within a single afternoon. And your relationship with Clark? You dare not even consider the ruined tatters of the love you held and craved so dear.
"Not long to go, now. We should be there just after sundown. Do you need me to make stop at all? There's one last gas station coming up in about a mile or so." he threw you one of his signature smiles, trying so hard to keep up best and not let his concern shine through. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel guilty for being sad.
"I think I'm good." you replied, assessing the bag of snacks you'd hastily packed that morning. Clark was sweet by name, sweet by nature and had a real penchant for anything sugary. Amongst his favourites, you spotted your own preferred snacks. Just the glimpse of the bold packaging had your stomach doing flips. Nausea rose, as your dulled senses recoiled at the idea of the effort it would take for you to even chew, had you feeling exhausted. Depression really was a greedy bitch, taking away even the simplest of pleasures. "Although, do we have enough water? I've got to take some meds soon."
Without taking his eyes off the road, Clark gesture with his head to the handle in front of you. "Should be a spare bottle in the glove compartment."
There was a momentary click and the sound of your rustling adound, moving maps and random items that had long been forgotten by the dark-haired man. Eventually, you struck gold. "Got it, thanks. In that case, I'm good to keep driving."
Not long now, he thought, as a sign up head informed him to take the next exit. Soon, you would be at the farm. The peace and quiet, the animals, the forecast of clesr skies- that was what you needed. A break, a change of pace. Whilst the city had a lot to offer, it could be...suffocating. Lonely, especially since you worked from home now. What you needed was pampering. Home-cooked meals, easy conversation and tranquility. It might not be the ultimate cure but Clark was certain it would help ease the burdens that seemed to have settled upon your shoulders. "You know, Ma's really looking forward to seeing you? Says I've been keeping you too much to myself."
"She's sweet. It'll be nice to spend some time with her."
"Be prepared, though. Pa said she's been cooking since last night, so we'll probably have a feast on our hands when we arrive."
Your disinterest in food had not gone wholly unnoticed by your boyfriend, whom had easily seen you crush multiple packs of [snack name] during a movie or another roadtrip. Yet, the packet in the bag remained forgotten. Imstead, he now pinned all of his hopes on his Ma's cooking bring enticing enough to help you regain an appetite. "Do you think she made (pie name)?"
"Told me there's a slice with your name on it when we arrive. Especially after I told her how well our attempt to make it went." he could not help but grin at the memory.
It had been a good day. A better day, when your mind was nothing but sunny skies and you had enough spoons to indulge him in his latest whim. Clark always cherished every moment with you. Whether it was trying your hand at being inept bakers or resting in front of the television of an evening. He knew how precious your energy supplies were and yet, you freely used it on him without hesitation. If he wanted to attempt to burn your tiny apartment kitchen down, then by his side in front of the inferno, you would be.
You groaned at the mental image of the chaos you both had caused in that one afternoon. "We got so much flour everywhere."
"And set the fire alarm off twice."
"Three times. I think we nearly gave Ms Oliver a heartattack."
"We really should get her some flowers or something to apologise."
"I already did." your response had your beloved quirking an eyebrow in surprise. "Ordered some to be delivered while we're away. I thought she'd like a bouquet of 'Glynis my Cariad' roses." the memory of the flower stirred something within you. The thought of flower arrangements. Beautiful, pristine. Placed on a coffin. What ones wpuld Clark pick for yours? You shook your head at the thought. Too perverse for your liking. It was too soon for your brain to start being that morose. "They looked pretty on the website." you quickly added, in an attempt to distract yourself.
The smitten look that marred your beloved's features felt like knife to the gut. Unearned praise or overcompensation of your lack of other desirable skills- either way, you deemed Clark to be too easily impressed by your meagre achievement. It was just a bouquet of flowers after all. "Gonna have to start calling you Super(gender)."
"Let's not get carried away." at one point in your life, you would have laughed and wholeheartedly agreed with his suggestion to deem you 'super' anything. 'You know, I think you're right. I am pretty darn super', would have been your response or something equally asinine. Now, you just cringed at the idea of such playfulness and loathed yourself further when, that all too familiar frown divoted between his two brows.
"Hey," he breathed, daring to reach for your hand, which you had to admit, did feel pretty nice. That was the one thing you liked about Clark- and there were a fair few things you liked about him- he ran warm. Slightly warmer than the average human. Like a "martian" storage heater. He was the perfect substitute for a hot water bottle. When you shoulders or neck ever ached from the effort of your simply existing- which was to say, always- he would often place his hands gently upon your person, and carefully massage the offending area. That was your boyfriend, though. Ever loving and attentative. "'a change of scenery'- that's what we said, right? Chance for us to rest, recuperate, recalibrate-"
"'Reduce, reuse, recycle.'" and when he laughed at your dumb joke, you swore there was no finer sound on earth. Or the universe, for that matter.
Oh, how you wished to always keep him smiling, be the source of his joy or subcontract it to someone else who could be because- let's face it- you were running on borrowed resources. There was only so much faking 'til it felt real again you could do, until you burnt through your supply of "synthetic happy". Your inner demons were right, you could only keep him content for so long. No doubt he would one day grow bored of playing the hero in both the real world and at home. There would come a day where Superman wouldn't be there to save you from drowning in your own tears.
"Yeah, something like that." the gentle squeeze of his hand pulled you back to the disquieting present.
It was difficult existing in two realities- the one in your mind and the one that you co-existed with those you cared so deeply for. The dual habition was jarring, leaving you feeling caught in the middle of two experiences. Each memory held multiple perspectives but it was a struggle to discern what real and what was a falsehood told by the sadness. A constant game of two truths and a lie. It would be easier once the depressive episode eased but the unknown date of freedom loomed to far ahead in the distant future and such uncertainties left you feeling adrift. At the mercy of whatever poison the darkness wished to force feed you.
At the sound of your phone's alarm, it was time for your designated medication. All prescribed to help your body run at its reduced capacity. Sometimes you wondered if you would rattle, were someone to shake you. Still, it was always better to take them, than to not have the at all- the alternative was unpleasant and unbearable.
When all was said, done and consumed, Clark did not hesitate to re-entwine his fingers with yours. He liked the closeness, knowing you were nearby. It was safe, familiar. Being with you felt like home, no matter the weather in your mind. "Shouldn't be more than an hour now." he said with glee. The thought of lazy days with nothing but you, the clear skies and empty fields made him feel practically giddy. "'Reduce, reuse, recycle'- here we come." he teased good-naturely, as he brought your knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss.
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A/N: Okay, I think I'm going to leave it there for the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to drop me a like and a reblog. Comments are always welcome! Until next time!
Pairing: David!Clark Kent x Ehlers-Danlos!GN!Reader
Synopsis: Loving you was second nature to Clark Kent, as easy as breathing. For you, life took a little more effort. So, when your freely-given heart starts to break under the weight of unimaginable sadness, Clark begins to wonder if he's 'super' enough to save you?
A/N: Oh, we are so back! Heyyyyy! Chapter 2 has arriiiiiived. Quick side note, I'm currently hosting a 24 hour poll to decide how frequently I should update this story. So, if you want to have your say, you can cast your vote here.
Content Warning: Mentions of illness, depression, eating difficulties and pain. This series is 18+. So, minors dni and (politely) go away. Content Warning: Mentions of illness, depression, eating difficulties and pain. This series is 18+. So, minors dni and (politely) go away. The reader has EDS, POTS and Fibromyalgia. I know that, each person suffers differently with it, so I'm just going off of the experiences my friend's have in their day-to day lives. ❤️
As always, my work is unbeta'd, unmoisturised and dehydrated.
DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, REPUBLISH, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION. I DO NOT OWN SUPERMAN, DC OR ANYTHING AFFILIATED TO IT. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
The solitary pie slice sat congealing in the cooling fridge, out of sight and mind, until you were ready to half-heartedly pick at the golden, flaky crust or allow the sugary filling to saturate your tastebuds. As Ma wiped down the countertops free of any stray crumbs, she found her mind drifting to the inage of leftovers on you plate. Much like her son, you were not one to shy away from a decent homecooked meal. Certainly, had you never turned down the opportunity to enjoy a slice of (pie name). Whilst she knew that your appetite could wane, especially with medication changes and other contentional aspects of your conditions- the older lady struggled to recall a time she had seen you this forlorn.
There had been that one particular year...the one where Clark would frequently call her with updates or asking for advice about how best to bring you back to yourself. He had been so worried, so on edge about losing you in more ways than one. Ma's heart had wept for the both of you. That had been an incredibly difficult twelve months. Never had the family's devotion or love for you ever waivered in that time. Only strengthened, in their determination to help you weather the storm.
She supposed that was what made your general disinterest at the dinner table all the more difficult to witness. You had survived so many battles, if not more than Clark had. Except, your monsters were not from an intergalactic dimension, they were born from the very fibres of your being. You were unwillingly the Alpha and Omega to your suffering. Ma was bitter on your behalf. Incensed that with each hurdle you faced, there was always another figurative hill for you to climb. It was never-ending, no wonder you were sick to death of constantly being the hero of your own narrative.
And yet, you still forced a smile. Played nice and pretended that you weren't completely falling apart on the inside. You had wearily pushed around the [food item] on your plate and forced yourself to take a bite, when compliments for Ma's efforts were being exchanged over dinner. Even on your darkest days, you still called upon your limited reserves of energy to ensure that your loved ones felt appreciated. That level of selflessness had almost caused Ma to weep there and then at the table but she had held herself steady. It would not do anyone any good, if she piled on the undeniable guilt you were undoubtedly feeling for not being fully immersed in the world around you.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, the older woman continued to make quick work of the kitchen, eager to have the chores completed, so she could turn in for the night. Tomorrow was a new day, she mused and while you were staying with them, she was going to do everything in her power to make you feel right at home. Everyone needed taking care of once in a while, you especially. You carried more than your fair share of burdens. It was about time you had a well-deserved rest.
The sight of her son in his pyjamas, hair mused from endlessly running his hands nervously through the obsidian locks and glasses slightly smudged on one frame, where he had accidentally made contact with the glass, made Ma's heart melt. He may have been an adult now but the image of his younger self would forever lovingly haunt the four walls of the farmhouse. Clark would always be her baby boy. "You all settled into the guestroom?"
At the sounding of her voice, he lit up like a fairylight on a Christmas tree, beaming from ear-to-ear. "It's perfect. Thanks again for having us, Ma."
"Oh, shush. You know you're both always welcome here. It's your home." while Martha was glad that Clark had settled into his life in the big city and was making a name for himself writing headlines for the Daily Planet, she had to admit, she had missed having him around. His visits, however brief, were always cherished by the older woman. "Has (y/n) settled in okay?"
"They were reading in bed before I came down." she watched him drift towards the fridge, the chill from its contents cooling the room a degree, as he surveyed the line of shelves with a look of intense curiousity.
With one last wipe of the dish cloth, the kitchen was pristine once more. "What're you looking for?"
"I'm debating taking them something upstairs to eat. (Y/N) usually like to have a snack to go with their nighttime meds."
"There's a slice of pie on the second shelf, they might want some now." wandering over to the dishwasher, Ma routed around in the draw for a couple of items. "Here, take a two forks. Maybe if you offer to share, it'll coax them into having some."
The dejected slump of her son's shoulders told the older woman all she needed to know about the severity of your current predicament and how it was taking a toll on both you and Clark. Always one to wear his heart on his sleeve, it was all the young man could do not to break down in tears right there, in the middle of the kitchen. "You noticed it too?"
Ma was sure her won eyes mirrored the same glassy look, as she took his hand in hers, in an attempt to ground the boy, remind him that neither of you were alone in this battle. "It's hard not to when it's someone you care about." she coukd have cursed the way her voice trembled, when she dare asked the next question. So much for being the rock of the family. She was supposed to leave the mush to Pa. "How far along is it this time?"
Clark just merely shook his head. The fight all but left him, as he carefully lent against the counter behind him. He was so tired, so tired of blindly fighting an relentless, invisible foe, that seemed hellbent on stealing you away from him. For all his powers, Clark had never felt so powerless, when it came to keeping you safe. "I wouldn't like to guess."
"Is it...is it similar to-" she could not even finish her sentence. The flitter of painful rememberance upon his features was enough to make the words bloom and die upon Martha's tongue.
It was a chapter in your shared story that he wished he could forget, could erase completely. Yet, it was a cautionary tale of what would happen, if he did not act with the utmost urgency to help stem this latest spiral. "Not yet. I don't want (y/n) to have to go through another year like that, Ma. I know those twelve months still haunt them." you were warranted a life so much better than the cards you had been dealt. Though you would undoubtedly disagree with Clark in a heartbeat, he saw nothing but good when he looked at you. Not perfect because that was an unrealistic pedestal for anyone to be placed upon but when he stole a glance in your direction- and oh, how he liked what he saw, whenever he did- he only ever noticed your strength, determination and selflessness. Not whatever flaws your brain deemed more perceptible than your kindness. The quality of your heart was all he had ever cared about and against a feather, yours was weightless. "Maybe it's not too late to stop things getting so bad, right?"
If hope were a person, Ma swore that it was Clark, whose imploring gaze held the warmth and optimism of every sunrise in spring. She had raised him to always carry the spark of determination and for you, he would light a thousand fires, to illuminate your path through the darkness. "It's never too late, you know that. There's always hope to be had, Clark. You both did the right thing coming here."
You had fled the shackles of depression before and this time, they were better equipped to support you through this sombre chapter once more. Clark was nit going to lose you to the lies told by the enemy that inhabited your mind. Not now, not ever. And even on the days you felt like you could fight no longer, he would be by your side. Your cheerleader, your anchor through the storm. "I really hope so."
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A/N: Annnnnd that's all for today folks but don't ya worry, I've got more chapters in the works. Until next time, TTFN!
Pairing: Taissa Turner x fem reader
Word count: 0.6K
Warnings: Being sick (illness not named), hospital mentions, just fluff!
A/N: This feels like such ironic timing to post this after E7 just dropped but I swear this was written before I watched it last night 😭But this is my first Tai fic and I'm excited! I have another for her that should be dropping soon, just need to finally finish it! Comments and reblogs are appreciated, I really hope you all enjoy! 🫶
Tai will want to take you to the emergency department, even if you tell her one hundred times it’s just a flare up or a bad pain day, you can tell her you don’t want to make a fuss and that you’ve survived them before, and you can do it again. It’s a never-ending cycle with your health. She’ll make a cute face that makes you sigh as she tells you it’s not a fuss and even if it was, it’s warranted and you should make a fuss, she wants you to!
Taissa will keep insisting that you end up going just to make her happy, it relieves her more than you. She’ll stay with you the whole time, she’ll wait in the waiting room with you and hold your hand. Then she’ll sit with you next to your bed wherever you end up in the hospital. Taissa holds your hand, you can feel her cool exterior melting away with worry as her hands become clammy and you feel each of her warm, anxious hands covering your own. You’re so exhausted and Taissa stays awake the whole time, sleep can wait for when she knows everything has been checked and you’re in less pain.
Even with all the exhaustion making your eyes ache and how heavy your bones feel, you’re still impressed at how well Taissa shows up in a situation like this. If you don’t have the power to talk, she's more than able to talk on your behalf and use her smart, competent lawyer tone when talking to your doctors, explaining your medical history, any relevant information, following up on test results and making things happen. She’s assertive and it’s hot, you know that even if you’re too out of it to really think about or appreciate that about your girlfriend/wife. You’re taken seriously and treated a lot better than you have been in the past, that’s just the power of Taissa Turner.
She’ll constantly refill your glass of water or check your IV if that’s being used for fluids, she’s anxiously reminding you how you need to drink and eat. Even if you’re not hungry, she’ll stop a nurse and ask them to get something for you and she’ll kindly but firmly communicate any allergies or intolerances you might have. Taissa doesn’t even consider going to do it herself or going to a vending machine, leaving your bedside isn’t an option to consider let alone something to do. Taissa wants to be present and do whatever she can, she cares so deeply and you feel that everyday.
Blood tests are done, your vitals are checked more times than you can remember, you’re given medications and when you’re ready to be discharged Taissa happily takes you home and thanks each nurse as if her political campaigns depend on it. You’re glad to finally be back home and to sleep, Taissa will run a shower for you and you’ll both completely crash out and sleep for a deep, undisturbed 12 hours.
After your first big sleep, Taissa insists on you both cuddling on the couch in your pajamas, eating overpriced takeout she paid for, limbs tangled together in whatever way is comfortable for you. You lean into her and feel her arm gently rubbing your forearm as you lean your head into her shoulder and press a soft kiss into the side of her neck. Taissa smiles and it makes your cheeks heat up more, she’s so gorgeous it’s still hard to imagine she’s yours and you are hers. You cuddle into Tai more and pretend to focus on whatever’s playing.
