#but i guess we will see. maybe i just need a higher dose or something

[exculis]

zoloft has DEFINITELY kicked in for anxiety which is craaaaazy. im just like. not panicking about normal everyday interactions on this website anymore. replies and messages and asks are like. no problem.

i used to deliberate over sending shit for hours or days. now i barely feel the need to proofread. WILD.

[regular-lord-reckoner]

little update on me, i guess

i'm feeling a little more like myself, i guess. slowly but surely.

i've appreciated being able to just take it slow and steady one day at a time because that's all i can really do right now.

this week was kinda rough, though

for one thing, one of my managers accused me of not doing something i know for a fact i did do and that it's another person who's guilty of what she's talking about but for whatever reason she just...assumed it was me??

i did stand my ground on that one, though, i was like, "can you give me an example of where that's happened because i actually found a bug in the system last week so i want to make sure it's not that again because i'm pretty sure i did what you're saying i didn't" and she was just like, "i don't have it right now, i'll send you some in the future if i come across them!!!" like yeah, okay i'll hold my breath on that one

and listen, i know i've made some mistakes here and there on the charts i've been doing, i'll own that. fair enough. but this other thing she's talking about is separate and i know i go above and beyond sometimes while the other person doing the same thing i am is just flying through the fucking things and it's because as i've noticed myself, she's not doing the thing i got a ~helpful reminder~ email about

in any case, i wasn't wrong in thinking that shit was coming out of left field because on the same day she also spoke so awfully to one of the schedulers that she straight up quit, so!!! there's that.

then on thursday i had my yearly neurology appointment which was fine, he pretty much just asks if my medicine is still working and if we need to adjust the dose, does a quick little check up and then sends me home with my renewed prescription and an appointment for next year.

the problem was it's the first time i've really had to extensively interact with someone who doesn't know what's been going on with me and so i was just sort of in a daze the whole time because part of me was like...should i mention it?? is it relevant to my health??

because i noticed my blood pressure was a little higher than usual which to be fair could be due to multiple things but like...i dunno, maybe also grief and the lack of sleep i've been getting? maybe!

ultimately though i decided not to mention it and when he asked how i was doing i just gave him The Script "i'm good, how about you?" and things just moved on from there

we did talk a little about tears for fears, though since i was wearing a tears for fears shirt. he likes them AND he's seen the cure recently so...very cool neurologist. he also prescribed me to listen to talk talk so i'll get on that at some point

anyway, after the visit i was like, "well, that was a whole ordeal, let me go pick up some lunch at the new chipotle that just opened up closer to my house!"

and i knew that i'd have to pass the funeral home to get to it and was prepared for that although it still kinda stings (even though it's the same damn funeral home we used for ashley so like you'd think i'd be used to it by now but)

what i was not prepared for, though, as i was pulling out of the parking lot was to see the hospice place we used right behind the chipotle so...that's neat!!

also later on that day my mom told me about someone else we know whose father also just passed away and unfortunately he went the same way my sister did, so...thrusday was just trigger after trigger after trigger!!

i'll also just mention this and try not to focus on it too much because i think she might actually be working on it now, but my mom's drinking lately has been...not great

i get that if there's ever a time to do it that it would be now and i've been pretty patient and cool about it up until recently and have started saying something

i actually had a meltdown about it this week because it's just...a lot.

as much as i understand it's just so many things wrapped together

i just lost one parent, i'm not really prepared to watch another one go, even if it's slowly

family of four to three to now two and it's like she's speedrunning to make it one

there's also just the...yay, i never get to stop taking care of someone!!! element of it

it's like i told her, part of why she thinks she can drink so much and that everything is fine, it'll be okay, it's fine is because both dad and i went behind her to make it that way

together we worked as a team to make sure she got to bed safely, that her phone was inside and plugged up, that all the doors were closed and locked for the night, that the dog was inside and put to bed, that all the food was put up, etc., etc.

now it's just me.

and i've been doing it now for a little while. i don't say anything, i don't bring my feelings into it at all. i'll just gently usher her to bed when i feel like she's had enough even though i know she'll still get up and have a couple more when she thinks i've gone to sleep and so i'll go downstairs again a few times just to make sure she's really finally safely asleep

but yeah, that's kinda reached its boiling point so i dunno, we'll see

this is the first weekend i've had where i haven't had to worry and i'm not so naive as to think it'll be like this from now on so i've just been trying to enjoy it while it lasts

i've also been spending as much time as possible in the pool until we close it next weekend

it is........very cold in there but if it gets above 80 degrees i'm getting in there and getting in the last of my pool exercises and then immediately getting back out lol

but yeah, i think that's about it for now

i'm still doing my therapy every other week and am still journaling away.

i've had a couple of dreams where i think my dad has visited me. there's always just a different vibe when it's someone who's passed, it's hard to explain, but my therapist said it's real so we'll go with that

he never really says much, he just smiles and is just there, looking like himself.

that's been comforting.

in any case, i'm hopeful october will be a good month because it's october, duh!!

i've also taken the week of my birthday off as a treat to myself and even if i do nothing but sleep all that week i'll be happy

i'm going to try to enjoy the rest of my weekend and i hope if you're reading this you have a good one as well and may we both have a better week ahead as we move into spoopy season!

[child-of-the-new-contagion]

asmr sutra 1/x

HANDS WARMedUP.

Judiciously stringing out beads of dram, creating an interference pattern with the tendency toward fear and guilt - trying for vigilance but succumbing to frustrating laziness - creating future periods of drowse and preparing for a long plateau of smooth surfaces overlapping in pleasing stratas, nothing too steep or jagged. Venting inertial damper exhaust to compensate for quantum fluctuation.

Careful staggered doses of dram will keep things delirious but sane. The fog of extra-thick sensation will soon pass, so I'm looking strategically well beyond this next couple hours to a good dozen of good vibes. Don't worry, be drowsy. We'll make it fine, somehow, see what we can get away with.

It'll be a sutra. It'll have floofy cats with curly fur walking across the desk. I can leave this in the hopper, indefinitely, to encourage honesty, if that's what's necessary... but I don't care, actually, I'll be indelicate and still honest-ishy.

What does that kitty want from me? Wish I could give it to her. If only I knew. If only I could trust anything I think cause I got no instinct. Some paranoid hallucinations. Some ability at the best of times to think of the universe as a conspiracy to help me [a subset of the big meta-theory that we're all playing an entertaining role in the cosmic opera, taking turns.] I guess hearing Alan Watt's articulation of the Maya theory did influence me a lot, just not in a brainwashing way, more in the way where I'm willing to become wishy washy about the distinctions between me and you, friend and enemy. Maybe I just wanna be sedated, better yet opiated. I'm not enough of either of those two things.

I don't know how I would contort this into something fit for squeezing through za medium of twitter. My writing is like ensure, force-fed to prisoners to break a hunger strike. That's a good emblem, at least, for the perverse banality of my writing, anyway, let's say, with imagery not worthy of such a medium, like cheapening the holocaust in a third-rate film adaptation of a second-rate stephen king novella.

Let it all flow as it's all disposed to around me. A prayer of thanks for what is, not yearning. Having modest needs taken care of. Modest. In this second, in enjoying the enabling of all this by a vast assemblage of toil from generations past to be here now.

I'll write about "them" all astounding me later.

*

Value inflates to the size of dream symbology, then restricts like a trap, all the air is sucked out, I'm naked, in a vacuum tube. A metaphor too outside your experience to get. 

Let it flow. Fake flow til it goes. 

Savouring the sucking out of nicotine laced propylene glycol from the vape, taking two long drags without a breath of air so I get winded yet vindicated from the dopamine hack I guess, pretending to be higher than I am. Willing it into existence cause I can play in the realm of magic like a lucid dream. 

Savouring the simple pleasures of this weird life circumstance is a good thing to do, often, and dispute how all the problems seem to be piling up on all sides. No problemo, take another puff, it's like quaker oats, the right thing to do. It's moral righteousness. You can shake and quake along with my supine slack if you want. Everyone has their own route to god if they're lucky enough to be able to find one. Alan Jensen found a direct route to God, but he found it profoundly disturbing, ultimately unbearable, so he sold his soul to his ego, bought back a functional life. No flashbacks. 

Savouring watching another failarmy compilation on YouTube with Erin is a good thing to do in these end times. It wouldn't be worth hardly anything doing it by myself, but it's a couch experience way more than the sum of its parts with her.

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 1

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Assigned all cases involving android-related crimes, saddled with a prototype that follows him around like a plastic puppy, Detective Connor Anderson knows this must be karma for all the bad shit he’s ever done.

He thought he'd hit rock bottom, that he didn't have much left to lose, but he's proven wrong by the android sent by CyberLife. And Connor learns just how much further he can fall.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​ 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​​)

November 5th, 2038

Friday 11:21PM

The whiskey was harsh and burned like liquid fire as it slid down his throat. He dropped the shot glass onto the bar top and closed his eyes and savored the bloom of the cheap booze warming his chest. The music from the old jukebox behind him belted out tunes that would have been considered outdated when the place opened.

It was like this most nights. He was alone, exhausted, and well on his way to a pleasant buzz. The one thing Connor had going for him was that he hadn’t started in on his third drink until 11 PM.

That had to be some kind of record. On a Friday night, he was usually shitfaced by 10. Call it the long hours he’d been working, or maybe the fact he felt more self-loathing than usual, he’d somehow managed to hold off on spiraling until nearly midnight.

Definitely a record. And Connor deserved to celebrate.

When he tipped the glass with one finger and caught Jimmy’s eye, he nearly looked away in shame. The bartender had never given him shit before, at least in a verbal sense, but the cool stare he gave Connor now made him want to crawl into a hole and die there.

But Jimmy didn’t say a word, just gave him another dose of poison and turned away, leaving Connor in relative peace to enjoy the game. Denton Carter was kicking ass tonight, so at least there was that.

It was all going beautifully until the door opened and the sound of rain echoed throughout the tiny bar, along with a distinct smell of wet asphalt and dirty concrete. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw two of the other regulars shift in their seats to stare at the newcomer.

Not another regular, then. And by how lengthy the stares were and the sudden shift in atmosphere, Connor guessed the barometric pressure had taken a drop due to a pair of long legs and pretty eyes.

Turning his body only far enough to get a glance for himself, Connor was not disappointed, eyeing the stranger from their black dress shoes, up their shapely legs clad in dark jeans, past curvy hips and—

Oh.

Connor turned back in his seat, hunched over and grimacing in disgust, put there by the sight of a blue triangle on a lapel and a glowing armband around one arm. He hadn’t even needed to look higher for the LED to know what the fuck had just waltzed into the joint like it actually belonged there.

He nursed his whiskey, praying the thing would pass him by and leave him the fuck alone. Or better yet, Jimmy would throw it out.

No such luck, of course.

“Detective Anderson,” spoke a smooth, raspy voice to his right. “I’m the YN800 model sent by CyberLife.”

He elected to ignore it. Maybe if he did so for long enough, it would take the hint and go away.

Again, Connor’s luck was not holding out.

“I called your cell phone, but you didn’t answer,” the voice continued, unimpeded. “I then looked for you at the station after checking your home, but you weren’t there either. Your colleagues indicated you tended to frequent the bars in the area, and I was fortunate to find you at the fifth one.”

His eye twitched. This thing had gone to his apartment?

“Well, here I am,” he answered, dry and caustic as he stared straight ahead at the wall of bottles. He calculated how angry Jimmy would be if he took out his service pistol and shot it through the head.

Pretty angry, Connor decided. It would probably leave a stain. Also, he didn’t want to compensate some asshole company for property damage.

“What do you want?” he finally growled, scratching his nail into the bar top already marred with various scuffs and dings.

“You were assigned a case earlier this evening. A homicide.”

Already, a headache was forming between the eyes at the sound of the android’s irritatingly friendly voice.

“Yeah, and?”

“It involved a CyberLife android,” it said in that same smooth inflection. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

You have to be shitting me.

Connor grit his teeth and clenched his glass tighter, a flush of heat moving through him that had nothing to do with his blood alcohol content. A fucking android was sent to help cops do their job?

Fuck that, and fuck this hunk of junk.

“Good for them,” he answered as he tipped the glass up to his lips. “I couldn’t give less of a shit. Now get the fuck out of my face. We don’t need any help, especially from a plastic pair of tits like you.”

He should have known that wasn’t the end of it. The android spoke again, adopting a tone of what it had probably been programmed as “sympathetic.”

“I understand you may be experiencing reluctance to having an android’s assistance in this matter, but I am—“

“—ruining a perfectly good evening, butting your nose where it doesn’t belong and sure as fuck isn’t welcome.”

Connor put his glass down harder on the bar top than he meant to, nearly spilling his drink.

“I suggest you leave before I void your warranty.”

Connor thought the machine got the message when it finally went silent. He could even see its mood ring spinning yellow out of the corner of his eye before it settled on that annoying placid blue.

He’d just brought the glass halfway to his lips when it said, “I’m sorry, Detective, but I must insist.”

Connor set the glass back down and started to count to ten. He couldn’t lose it now, he’d promised Jimmy he wouldn’t break anything else after the last brawl he’d gotten into.

But the fucking thing just kept on talking.

“My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Connor growled before downing the glass of whiskey.

It was a good thing he had, because its next words made him choke on spit.

“No. Where?”

Connor set the glass down, and for the first time that evening, fully turned toward the android and stared at it.

The damn thing was staring back, head slightly tilted like a curious puppy. It had large eyes to match the image too, earnest and innocent and entirely too sincere. Its attire at second glance wasn’t the typical android faire. A smooth grey android jacket and a dark, patterned tie marked it as something different. Unique.

And just a little too pretty. Every designed, group-focused imperfection on its face made it that much more appealing. Its hair was neatly coifed, pulled up and pinned behind its head, exposing the smooth curve of its neck.

Hanging down the left side of its face was a strategically-placed lock of hair that Connor immediately want to twirl his finger around. He suspected that was the point.

The further down Connor’s eyes traveled, the more he lost his train of thought. The perfectly sensible tie was lying on the slope of its breasts, something even the jacket couldn’t cover. Why the fuck androids had breasts to begin with, Connor couldn’t begin to fathom, and it seemed even more ludicrous now seeing them on a “specialized model.”

The android hadn’t moved apart from its artificial breathing, another thing about the machines that was uncanny. They weren’t human, and the fact CyberLife kept trying to pass them off as such was a goddamn insult to humanity.

He met the thing’s eye, gave an unimpressed huff, and went back to nursing his drink. If the fucking tin can didn’t understand a dirty innuendo, he certainly wasn’t going to ruin its pristine, virginal programming.

Connor doubted everything that had just gone through his head as those unnecessarily realistic tits were pressed against his elbow, without warning or any sense of decency or a concept of personal space.

“How about this, Detective?”

Connor fumbled, nearly spilling his drink, a massive what the fuck! warning flashing in his head as the machine pressed closer.

“I’ll buy you another drink, on the house. Surely that’s worth a few minutes of your time? And if not, you can send me on my way.”

Connor couldn’t speak with that voice right into his ear like a close confidant, sultry and low and borderline pornographic, so it was a good thing the android didn’t bother waiting for a response.

Instead, it turned to Jimmy and said in a louder, more normal tone, “Bartender, another round for the detective, please.”

Jimmy turned from where he was cleaning glasses on the counter, eyebrows shooting upward as he looked from the machine to Connor. It had backed up a few inches, but there were a lot of reflective bottles on the wall. Connor wondered just how much Jimmy had seen.

Connor gave a little helpless shrug as if to say, Don’t look at me, I don’t know what the fuck it’s doing!

But when the damn thing actually brought out real paper money and set it on the counter, Jimmy got moving. Seemed he wasn’t picky about where his money came from, and Connor almost resented the fact he hadn’t thrown the android out on principle.

Who the hell gave it money in the first place? CyberLife? What, did they hand it a few bucks of allowance before letting it off its leash?

Despite all his reservations, and there were a great many of them, Connor was not about to turn down a free drink. Or two.

“Make it a double,” he grumbled, purposefully avoiding the android’s focused gaze. He could practically feel the thing staring into the side of his head, but at least it remained at a distance and wasn’t pressed against his side like a drunk, horny badge bunny anymore.

“Thanks, Jim.” Connor took the glass and tipped it back, drowning it in one go. The slide of the familiar burn down his throat, spreading throughout his limbs, did quite a lot to help ease the tension in his muscles.

He released a heavy exhale, pushed away from the bar, and got to his feet.

“You want to play plastic cop? Okay, then. Keep up,” he said, tilting his head in its direction without actually looking at it. “Or I’m leaving your ass behind.”

Connor didn’t wait for a response, only raised his hand in parting to Jimmy, and pushed open the door to let the rain-drenched Detroit night swallow him whole. But even through the sound of the rain pinging off the hood of his nearby car he could hear the even footfalls behind him, just a little too close for comfort.

Fucking androids.

Next Chapter

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Miss Americana (Part 3)

Summary: The reader recovers from her second dose of Compound V and explores her stronger abilities with Dean. But the events of a fun night out might give Miss Americana and Soldier Boy an unlikely ally...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, implied past torture/assault/killings

A/N: Enjoy this final part! This contains very minor spoilers for The Boys...

______

“Let me hide this stuff and I’ll be back in five, okay?” he asked. You nodded, Dean cupping your cheek before he was gone. It was barely a minute before he was returning, wearing sweats and a henley, a box under his arm. “Brownies from the bakery down the block.”

“I thought you liked pie.”

“I do. But you like brownies,” he said. “Something to look forward to after you spend the night shaking and sweating.”

“Lovely,” you said. He sat down beside you, urging you to lean into him. He tucked a blanket over your legs, watching the fire crackle. “I don’t think I mind if you’re a monster.”

“I can be pretty horrible.”

“You’re not horrible to me. You’ve never been that way. Even if your first instinct was to try to manipulate me you decided not to.”

“I hate most people. Think they’re worthless. Only care about myself.”

“So? I told you when we met...I’m the nice bad guy. I frankly don’t give a fuck anymore about being the pushover, the one that gets hurt. I just want to never be afraid again.”

“We never have to be afraid after tonight. Never,” he said. “You’ll be stronger than Homelander. Stronger than me. You’ll be safe.”

“For a bad guy, you were awfully nice giving me that dose with no strings attached.”

“There’s no strings,” he said. He stroked your arm when you shivered. 

“Partners?” you asked. He leaned down, kissing you more gently than he ever had. No need behind it.

“I like partners,” he said. He was warm as you started to feel cool, Dean drawing shapes on your bare skin. “I had a little brother.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“He got sick right after I shipped out. Died the morning I got my first dose of Compound V. Only reason I volunteered for the shot. They said volunteers got special benefits. I wanted my brother to get to a good hospital and proper care and he was already dead by the time I got my shot. Then uh, then some of us started dying cause they didn’t know dosages or shit. I thought at least Sam’s gonna be okay. Then I spent three days wishing it would kill me so I could be with him instead of having been away for the last year of his life. But I didn’t die. I was the only one. Then they gave me more and...I guess I enjoyed becoming the super soldier over grieving. Then it goes to your head and changes you and...Sammy wouldn’t even recognize me now. At least I know I’m not going to the same place he wound up so he won’t have to see.”

“What was that like, being honest just now,” you asked, goosebumps covering your skin. You bundled into him more, Dean pulling up the blanket.

“I miss Sammy. I haven’t thought about him in years. I hope the kid’s happy wherever he is.”

“Maybe you’ll see him again someday,” you said. You shook, sweat forming all over you, muscles aching. You turned, unable to get comfortable. “How long does this last?”

“About six hours. Then I passed out and when I woke up it was over.”

“Awesome.” You gripped the blanket tight, Dean massaging your tense shoulders. “Tell me more about Sammy. Please.”

“He absolutely hated being called Samuel,” said Dean with a chuckle. “So naturally I did it all the time when we were kids.”

“Keep going,” you said, stomach churning briefly. “Distract me.”

“Let me tell you about the time we jumped off the shed roof.”

You were in sweaty clothes when you woke, lifting your head off Dean’s chest to find him passed out and snoring lightly. You sat up, shaking out your head. Something was different. You stood, deciding to test out flying first. You yelped when you nearly hit the ceiling, freezing and plopping straight down onto the couch and Dean.

He groaned awake, peeling open his eyes to find you hovering above him.

“Sweetheart I’m all for a little rough in the bedroom but not a full body tackle awake,” he said. You moved to the side, the motion second nature quickly but it required much less effort than before. You looked around, nothing in the room heavy enough to test your strength. Dean sat up, smirking as he looked at you. “Wanna arm wrestle?”

“Yes!” you said, Dean chuckling, groggily taking a seat at the counter. You stood on the other side of the island, Dean clasping your hand.

“Let’s go,” he said. You squeezed, Dean keeping up with you for a good few seconds before he started to go down fast. You heard the counter creek and then it was breaking, Dean backing up. 

“Uh,” you said. 

“Don’t worry about it. What do you expect when you got supes in the place? But you, you’re stronger. Stronger than me,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Very good. I um, I’d like to go fly. I think I might be faster.”

“Go for it. I’ll call someone to get this fixed. Just be careful. Try not to fly into any planes.”

“I’ll do my best, Soldier Boy.”

“Again?” asked Dean that night. You flew up high and smiled, Dean letting go of you, free falling a few seconds before you dove down and caught him. He giggled and you flew higher, Dean jumping off. You could heard him laughing and went down, something hitting you on the way. You threw a punch and arms released you, Dean holding on tight when you finally caught up with him. You both looked up and glared, a cape and pair of red eyes looking down. “You do realize the fall won’t kill me.”

“Probably not. But it’d be fun to try,” said Homelander. He floated down to your level, your arm tight around Dean’s waist. “Oh relax. I won’t touch your boy toy again.”

“I thought I said to stay the fuck away from us,” you growled.

“I just thought you’d like to know that Soldier Boy’s internal file will be released to the major news outlets tomorrow. Did you know-”

You grabbed his neck with your free hand, squeezing hard, Homelander pawing at your wrist.

“Any good reasons why I shouldn’t kill him?” you asked Dean.

“None come to mind,” said Dean, Homelander’s eyes red but fading as he choked for air.

“Feel free to speak up,” you said, gripping his neck even tighter. 

“Stop,” said a voice, the three of you turning towards a small drone hovering close by. “Let him go.”

“He tried to kill Soldier Boy,” you said, holding on tight. You didn’t even see the drone shoot out the darts, the three of you hit. You instantly dropped Homelander, flying down to the roof of Vought as soon as you could, Dean out cold already and you quickly joining him.

You woke up on the couch in Edgar’s office, no sign of Dean or Homelander. Everything felt off still as you sat up, Mr. Edgar suddenly sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

“Are you alright?”

“No,” you groaned, stretching out. “What the hell was that?”

“If you’re going to act like children, we’ll treat you like them.”

“Dean and I were having fun, minding our own business-”

“Dean and you stole Compound V for your own benefit. I thought you were going to be more understanding of this arrangement.”

“I have to be stronger than Homelander and now I am. We didn’t hurt anybody to get it. You people let him do whatever the fuck he wanted so get off your high horse.”

“We understand. But you can’t kill him.”

“Why the fuck not.”

“He brings value in, even not as part of the Seven. Miss Americana and Soldier Boy can take over the leadership roles and Homelander is to be left alone.”

“He wants to kill-”

“I said to leave it be.” You stood, glaring down at him. “If an incident like this occurs again, there will be consequences. Dismissed.”

“Gonna throw us back in a hole? That’s kinda your thing isn’t it.”

“We know how to deal with problem children, even supe ones,” he said, standing up. “Back off before all three of you are worth more dead than alive. Don’t make me dismiss you again.”

You stormed out, slamming the door after you, not bothering to look back when you heard the wood splinter. You went straight to Dean’s apartment, Dean unscathed inside. But Homelander standing there, neither of them actively trying to kill the other, that was more than enough to forget your anger for the moment.

“You okay?” asked Dean, stepping over to grab your hand. You hummed, looking Homelander up and down. “You got the same message we did I’m guessing.”

“Behave or we’re all fucked. Yeah. Why the hell is he here?”

“We were spoken to at the same time. While he’s still a psycho and has some major fucked up issues, he has a different idea,” said Dean. 

“Said the mass murderer.” Homelander rolled his eyes. “We all want to be in charge of the Seven. Be the best.”

“You shoved your hand down my pants,” you growled.

“True. But enemies can work together when they have a larger, common enemy, hm?”

“Edgar,” said Dean. “He wants to wipe out Edgar. Ashley is the next logical choice and we can control her. She wouldn’t do jack shit to us.”

“Remove Edgar from the equation and we can all get along. Maybe form a little, trio, best of the best. Still part of the Seven but top dogs. Vought would eat that shit up. Behind the scenes you two fuck or whatever it is you do. Publicly, we’re the strongest go America team there ever was. The soldier from a simpler time, the soldier who fought the terrorists and defend her country, and the everyday man who protects his fellow citizens. All walks of life, all the basis covered. Between the three of us our numbers are sky high in every single demographic.”

“What’s to stop us from killing each other after Edgar is out of the picture,” you said.

“You’re strong enough to kill me. But your little boyfriend can’t fly. You come after me, I’ll drop him in the ocean. Leave me alone, I leave you two alone and we all win,” said Homelander. “Deal?”

“What do you think?” you asked Dean. 

“Lesser of two evils. I think,” said Dean. “I say we give it a chance to see if we can get Edgar out.”

“Fine. We can discuss this more tomorrow. Oh and Homelander. I ever catch you in my or Dean’s apartment again, I’ll snap your neck. Deal or no deal.”

“If you were only a little more twisted we could have had something,” he said. He nodded and left, Dean letting out a deep breath when he was gone. 

“Y/N,” said Dean. You hummed, wrapping your arms around him. “Thanks. For catching me earlier.”

“I’m sure you would have been fine.”

“Probably but I don’t want to test that theory out. If he dropped me in the ocean...I still need to breathe. We have to play nice.”

“We will. Until we don’t have to,” you said. He smirked, kissing your lips. “He tried to kill you. Now I hate him even more. As soon as we can, he’s gone.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned.

“Yes I am and you, you’re my Soldier Boy. We’re going to own this place, very, very soon.”

“Damn straight we are sweetheart. Just a little bit longer and then we can do whatever we want to. Promise.”

_________

[comehomeducklings]

Present [Part 4] (Obsession)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Tom Riddle's Moodboard

Main Character's Moodboard

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

1943 ~ 6th year

“What would be the purpose of a wizard or witch to prepare a Polyjuice potion?” Slughorn asks. “Yes, Mr. Riddle?”

Tom drops his hand from the air, “The potion grants the drinker to take the form of another.”

“Yes! And what would happen if said drinker tried to transform into an animal?”

I know this one so I lift my hand.

“Go ahead.”

I clear my throat, “When the human drinker tries to transform into an animal they would not take its complete form. Only sections of said animal.”

Slughorn nods his head, “Can they reverse after a bit of time like normally?”

“No,” I answered. “It takes an extremely long time to wear off, and you might even have to go to the hospital wing.”

He grins and continues to write on the chalkboard. Even though he can enchant the writer's tool to note down itself, I’m guessing he prefers the old-fashioned way.

Tom and I are even on points. When he answers correctly, I also do right after him. I can see him noting down both our points on the corner of his parchment. The black tally marks standing out. Our points are on my paper as well, just in case he decides to cheat. No chances are being taken today, or tomorrow.

“How long does the potion wear off if made correctly?”

Riddle and I both shoot our hands up. His demeanor is calm and collected while I'm sitting on my feet to have my arm raised higher than his. It’s not very fair that his arms are the length of mine to the third power.

“Mr. Nott, what do you know?”

“A single dose could last from 10 minutes to 12 hours.”

Another question wasted by not getting called on. I don’t mind that much since it doesn't keep me behind. Riddle seems to care a little bit too much. His competitive side is showing and I guess his pal is ruining the race.

Professor stole our textbooks for this pop quiz. The rapid-fire questions should “already be memorized and known,” down to the molecular detail. My knowledge only goes so far.

I trust myself, to a point. There’s definitely going to be a question I get wrong and I’m already dreading it. Every answer that falls out of my mouth is examined and thought over ten times before the action of answering arises.

“For something a little different, Mr. Riddle come to the front of the classroom and write four ingredients that are needed for the potion.”

He stands up and pushes his chair in. His eyes as cold as The Black Lake. While he makes his way toward the board I cross my fingers, hoping he forgets one. I know that’s not the kindest, but nothing with him is necessarily “kind.”

There he goes, writing all four ingredients with ease. His handwriting is beautiful. How does he honestly do that? Does he practice every single day to get it that precise?

Maybe I should practice to improve as well. Honestly embarrassing how bad my handwriting seems next to his. We compared essays once, never again. That was the most embarrassing moment of my life. He just laughed at me and kept pointing out how weird my f’s looked.

I swear my letters weren’t that bad. It’s just that he overachieves everything. Now I rewrite every “f” letter that appears on my homework. Thank you for the new insecurity, Riddle.

“Very good! Very good, your turn,” he points towards me. “Three more ingredients this time.”

While I stand in front of the board, I check out what he has already put down. Lacewig flies, leeches, okay not bad. Knotgrass and the hair of the person the drinker will transform into.

He numbered them so I continued on from that.

5) Boomslang skin

6) Fluxweed

Last one, let's see. We already put Lacewig flies, Knotgrass, hair, the skin, and Fluxweed. I hesitate for a little bit, my brain working at high speed. Anxiety levels are higher than Mount Everest.

7) Powdered Bicorn Horn

There we go, I smile to myself proudly. When I turn back around my eyes meet his. He smirks and nods while he writes down a point for both of us. I’m not sure that it counts for four points, just one.

The questions go on for quite a bit. Our tally marks are piling higher and higher. Each of our count's neck and neck for the top spot.

“What is the brewing time?”

“About a month.”

“How does the potion look before the addition of the final ingredient?”

“Thick like the mud after it pours.”

“It also is bubbling.”

“How does it look after adding the final ingredient?”

“Depends on who the witch or wizard made the potion to look like.”

“Varies in taste and color.”

He seems to be done with questions so Tom and I start counting the marks. On my paper, I seem to be .5 points ahead of him. I quickly look his way to see him come to the same conclusion. He takes a deep breath and casts his eyes to the side. Tom then tilts his quill my way signaling that I did indeed win.

I’m about to squeal quite highly but then I recollect I’m in a classroom. Full of people who are terrified to be anywhere in this castle. That would be quite inappropriate of me so I keep my excitement to myself.

Professor Slughorn wipes the whole board away. Clearing all the information we were learning and reviewing about.

“When I pair you up, each of you will grab the right ingredients for this potion and lay it near the front of your desk,” he says. “It should be laid in the order you would normally use when making the concoction.”

“First up, Miss Horn and Miss Yellowbo.”

The classroom starts to move with life as students pair with one another. Some cheerful noises and annoyed ones from who they ended up with. Most of us here know each other. I don’t think I would mind having anyone in this room as my partner.

“Mr. Riddle and-”

Of course, it’s me. Starting to think the pairings’ on purpose. His face shines too brightly for it not to be well planned out. I make my way to the shelves to start out picking the ingredients.

There’s always a moment where my mind decides to give up on me. Most of the elements are obtained. A few are missing.

I’m going over the variety of bottles containing different substances when I feel a looming pressure on my back. An arm slightly grazes past my ear and picks up Fluxweed.

“How do you manage to forget the very ingredient you wrote down on the board?” Toms whispers right by my ear.

I shift my eyesight to the side to see him already looking at me, “Sorry, I blanked out a little.”

He starts seizing half of the ingredients into his hold. I don’t really mind carrying a couple, but I’m just left with one bottle after he takes most of my possessions.

“Taking all the credit now I see,” I tilt my head as I raise my chin to meet his tall build.

“You were about to spill everything. I’m saving you from embarrassment,” he responds cockily.

I started to argue but he already made his way back to the desk, “Everything was perfectly stable in my arms.”

He continues to ignore me and sets down everything. Including the one bottled ingredient in my hand that he snatched just a few moments ago.

“Nothing is ever perfectly stable with you.”

I’m about to whisper a word no children should hear before Slughorn makes his way to our table. Saving Riddle from my rising annoyance.

“Wonderful! You too got all of them perfectly,” he starts. “I would expect no less from my star students.”

All I do is smile brightly in respect. Trying not to drive any more attention to the outburst of pride he has for us.

“Thank you, professor,” Tom says. He starts picking the ingredients off of the table, still barely letting me take any.

Riddle just walks off while our proffesor continues around the room. When he comes back I just about finish wiping the desk of any accidental spills.

“I won our little game this time,” I nudged his shoulder with my own.

Tom slightly rolls his eyes with a small smile, “I see that you have. Just this one though.”

“And many more to come,” I exclaim.

Our attention seeks back to our teacher, “You’ll all be writing an essay about an imaginary way this potion could go wrong. I expect it to be turned in before class tomorrow.”

I hurry to get my textbook off of my area and head towards the back of the classroom near the doorway.

“Everyone split into two groups. This half will go with Riddle while the other is with me.”

I turn my head once more to look at Tom, he’s reassuring one of the students that they are going to be okay.

I only look for a couple of seconds before leading my half of the group out first. A few stops along the way to make sure perfects are keeping order. Most of my group of students have been dropped off. A couple still lures behind me, I picked them up as I worked my way through the castle halls.

They were also dropped off and now I scatter along the hallway to make sure everyone is where they are supposed to be. Like every other period, the routine stays the same mostly.

My robes have a few wet spots on them still from the tears of younger students attending this school. I fully believe it won’t be too long until the headmaster and the ministry deal with whoever is making our lives miserable here. The murders will surely not go unjustly.

As I am turning a new hallway I happen to meet up with Riddle.

“All good?”

“Of course,” he responds. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

He seems to look around quite a bit. Like he’s searching for something.

“Head back to your class, I will look around once more.”

That’s the last thing he says before moving around me with his hand on my shoulder. Quickly slipping past me.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

“No, no no,” I whisper to myself as I crumple yet another paper in my hand. I throw it on the ground next to me and huff out a breath.

Writing this bloody essay is taking more time than I predicted. It usually comes naturally to me but I can’t seem to write correctly. Every time I make a mistake I have to start over again. My handwriting failing to write neatly for once.

My whole structure and information is already figured out. Writing is what’s taking me the longest. No matter how hard I try, the letters never seem to come out correctly from my quill.

Especially the f’s.

F

f

Infuriating really. I only have an hour left until the library closes. It already technically shut down but the librarian gave me an extra three hours as long as I lock up.

Perks of being Head Girl I suppose.

My head is in my hands as I compose myself. It’s late and I’m tired, it’s not even safe to be out at this time. At least if I happen to die I wouldn’t have to write this essay.

“How long have you been trying at this-” a low voice asks behind me.

I jump in my seat, “Oh it’s just you. Well, it’s been-”

“And failing?” Tom finishes as he takes the seat next to me. The chair turned slightly to me.

I roll my eyes and fall further back into my seat. My head turned upwards, admiring the flying books in the ceiling. Finding their place, their way home.

“Probably an hour and a half,” I sigh. “You’re completely right about how bad my calligraphy is.”

He just nods his head and takes a fresh new sheet from the middle of the table. His quill magically appears from inside his robe. All the papers that have the plans for my essay start to float around his head and workspace. Occasionally glancing up at them from time to time and then going back to writing.

His lips are pursed in concentration, “I write my F’s like this. It’s easier that way and extremely easy to practice and write quickly.”

My head peers over his shoulder as I watch him effortlessly indite.

“You try,” he opens up my fingers that were closing my hand and places a quill in them.

I furrow my eyebrows and start to practice my letters on a separate piece of paper that I originally scrapped. I don’t want to waste paper and there’s no reason to get a fresh new one.

We both work quietly in the night until the last few minutes of opening time. Before I left the room I saw him quickly go far back into the library. I never got to ask him why he arrived here so late.

Never saw the need to.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~ Taglist:

@empath-bunny

@jinxqsu

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

Infodump/Long Post: Caffeine, Sugar, Dopamine, & ADHD

Hi. I’m Nico. I don’t usually infodump on here but Aiden did before & fellow neurodivergent people seemed to enjoy seeing nd centered content, & people gave him a lot of attention, so…

Here goes I guess. I hope y’all like it.

It’s gonna be a bit long but I found it fascinating so—

So first important thing is, this is based on research studies I found & theories I know, as well as my own observations, & may not be absolutely perfect because of that. But for the purpose of sharing information I’m going to tell you the theories & findings & build from there. Just bear in mind these aren’t set in stone & knowledge could change in the future - this is based on recent/current findings & understanding.

((& I don't want any arguing about the theories, the existence of ADHD, the addictive nature of caffeine/sugar (that's not the central topic here), or the way I formatted this in replies/reblogs please))

——

So many of you may know that ADHDers are affected differently by caffeine (coffee) than non-ADHDers (& neurotypicals). It’s actually been so consistent that I can tell if someone is ADHD or not based on their reaction to coffee - even before they’re diagnosed. It’s generally accepted that stimulants affect ADHDers differently. Coffee/caffeine usually puts ADHDers to sleep, or makes them drowsy, or makes them very focused, & it’s sometimes baffling as an ADHDer that some people can drink coffee to feel energized & jittery (it feels like a lie sometimes). That’s not to say that people who aren’t put to sleep by caffeine can’t have ADHD, but it’s very common to be put to sleep/calmed down by coffee.

Based on my personal experience with coffee, I’ve had a 20 ounce black coffee put me to sleep for four hours. I also, just yesterday, had a 20oz sugared latte & ended up hyperfocusing on this (topic of infodump), rewriting an intro template we made around a year ago, & writing stories (a special interest of mine) for around 6-8 hours total.

Now I think I might know why.

So I suspected the other day that maybe it had something to do with dopamine, & I did some research on how caffeine affects the brain. But because I also know sugared coffee (e.g. syrup-flavoured lattes, which is what I prefer) seem to have a different affect (especially depending on how much sugar you use), I looked into how sugar affects the brain too.

——

This is gonna use a few technical terms so I’ll explain them first for anyone who doesn’t know—

Adrenaline/Epinephrine: “A hormone your body can release (especially when you’re under stress) that increases blood circulation rate (quickens heart beat, strengthens force of heart’s contractions), breathing speed, & carbohydrate metabolism, & prepares your muscles to be used. It’s part of the human ‘fight or flight’ response to fear, panic, or perceived threat. An adrenaline rush can feel like anxiousness, nervousness, or pure excitement as your body & mind prepare for an event.”

Adrenaline Simplified - It gives you heightened energy, excitement, strength, & alertness, & a lot of it will make you jittery, anxious, or panicky.

Serotonin: A neurotransmitter compound which constricts the blood vessels and acts as a neurotransmitter. It’s responsible for influencing/stabilizing mood, feelings of well-being & happiness, cognition, reward, learning, memory, & numerous physiological processes (nausea & vasoconstriction (narrowing (constriction) of blood vessels by small muscles in their walls to slow blood flow)).

Serotonin Simplified - reduces depression, regulates anxiety, heals wounds, stimulates nausea, maintains bone health, helps with sleeping, eating, & digesting, & regulates happiness, well-being, & mood stability; it’s a soother & a happy chemical. A lot of it will make you extremely energetic & jittery.

Dopamine: “A neurotransmitter compound. When dopamine is released in large amounts, it creates feelings of pleasure (happiness, achievement) & reward, which motivates you to repeat specific behaviours; low levels of dopamine are linked to reduced motivation & decreased enthusiasm for things that would excite most people. It controls mental & emotional responses but also motor (physical) reactions. Known for being the “happy hormone”; responsible for the experience of happiness. The anticipation of most types of rewards typically increases the level of dopamine in the brain (anticipatory pleasure), & then you get a larger dose later when you get the reward.”

Dopamine Simplified - It’s your happiness/pleasure response to achievements, rewards, praise, etc. It functions as both motivation & reward, & when it’s functioning properly it’s what keeps you focused on tasks until they’re done.

Residual Dopamine: Dopamine that’s “floating” around in your brain, ready to be deployed as needed to motivate you & help you get through less fun tasks.

Temporary Dopamine: Dopamine that you get as a reward from things like beating a level in a video game, winning the lottery, etc. (accomplishments); is released after an accomplishment or event is over.

Note that typically, these chemicals (dopamine, serotonin, & adrenaline) are supposed to be balanced, & they’re supposed to be generally not very difficult to get. In mentally ill or some neurodivergent brains, however, these chemicals are imbalanced.

——

Now that the technical stuff is out of the way -

Caffeine lowers your serotonin levels, majorly increases dopamine, & releases adrenaline.

Sugar raises all three - serotonin, dopamine, AND adrenaline.

So sugared coffee will raise serotonin, dopamine, & adrenaline levels.

So how does that make them affect ADHDers differently?

——

This part is based on something called Low Arousal Theory (& no that’s not sexual).

Basically, the theory states that what makes an ADHDer appear inattentive or hyperactive has to do with dopamine in the brain - both how much we have & how easy it is to get it.

ADHDers, according to this theory, have lower residual dopamine. This causes an imbalance between dopamine and other neurotransmitter compounds/hormones.

Because of this, then, ADHDers have to rely on temporary hits of dopamine, both to focus & to boost their mood. There are often less ways we can get enough dopamine, since our brain doesn’t pre-produce enough & we thus need more dopamine total to be able to focus. So we end up hyperfocusing on anything that automatically gives large doses of dopamine - which usually ends up being things like TV shows (binge watching), video games (blackout hyperfocus where you play for hours & lose time), & social media (like, scroll, comment, scroll, lots of feedback/reward).

——

(Note in this case sugared coffee can mean coffee with sugar cubes/physical sugar added, coffee with sugary creamer added, coffee with milk added coffee with sugar syrup added, coffee with flavoured sugar syrup added, & coffee with any combination of those added (because those will all add at least a little sugar); & black coffee means coffee/espresso with not even milk added)

So if black coffee raises your dopamine levels, that means, for non-ADHDers, that it makes them energized, jittery, anxious, motivated and alert. Sugared coffee has a more significant/amplified, but similar, affect & this often shows up as shakiness & inattentiveness.

Non-ADHDers will get an artificial imbalance & a whole lot of dopamine, adrenaline, &/or serotonin. Since they already have enough dopamine naturally, this spike causes hyperactive/inattentiveness.

For ADHDers, however, their dopamine levels are low, so black coffee will cause an artificial imbalance but will leave the ADHDer with enough dopamine (higher levels of dopamine) to be motivated to do tasks & focus, & this usually causes focused drowsiness in small doses. Large doses (usually 20+ ounces of black coffee) will put the ADHD brain to sleep.

Sugared coffee though, for an ADHD brain, will cause an artificial balance with higher levels of dopamine, so this usually creates either blackout hyperfocus (medium dose of sugar + medium (16-20oz) coffee), calm focus (large coffee (20-32oz) + some sugar), or amplified hyperactivity (small coffee (8-16oz) + a lot of sugar or large coffee (20-32oz) + a lot of sugar; jittery, jumpiness, running around).

((Note the oz are an estimate & will vary depending on your personal tolerance for caffeine & sugar))

Essentially, sugared coffee could have a similar affect to prescription meds for ADHDers who don’t trust meds, get bad side effects from meds, or aren’t allowed meds? (I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it or say anyone should ditch their meds to try it, especially since coffee can be addictive, but I found it fascinating either way (since it explained (potentially) why black coffee could put me & other ADHDers to sleep).)

It also means being put to sleep by coffee, or suddenly able to Do The Thing™ because of coffee, is ADHD culture. (/lighthearted)

~Nico

[clavis-baby]

The (possible) Downfall of Obey Me

5-16-21 (when writing this the event toys out)

(Tbh this post is just be trying to be naïve towards Solomare and at ever aspectthat I mention you have every single right to be upset and mad)

Okay so it’s no secret that Obey me is making bank and is very very obviously trying to make us money on the game with even trying to make us spend money with original stuff that was free to now secretly changing some mechanics behind our back

Here’s a post by @thalfox https://thalfox.tumblr.com/post/653994972840919040/i-just-noticed-a-little-bit-ago-that-the-barbatos that dose a really good job at explaining everything that has changed

(also this isn’t a hate thing fox has actually done a great work explaining everything to good detail of what has changed)

With all the changes I don’t think that it’s shocking to say that players are leavening the fandom because of many reasons to the games getting stupidly harder to even the game development

This is just a heads up this in no way is a post saying “hey this is why you shouldn’t feel this way” I kinda just wanted to see from a business standpoint and be naïve of what’s happening you have every reason to be mad at Solomare because even me I’ve been playing sense week 2 of game released and I’m only on lesson 42 every counter argument that I’m going to make I have complained about at some point

Arguments

(P.s grammar is really bad it’s sort of turned into more of a rant I wrote this at 5 am without any sleep so sorry)

1. Obey me is marketed as a free to play game

First there are many reasons people are mad this main thing that I hear about is from a lot of people is that is a “free game” which lets be honest is ridiculously hard

But still it is still essentially a “free to play game” I personally feel like the main prolog is lessons 1-20 to introduce all the characters to understand and getting the just on how to play the game

Okay and now here’s where I sort of stand with obey me, the gatcha rates are kinda ridiculously lucky when you play for the first week you luck is so amazing and is in my experience with gatchas the best luck I have ever seen for games so it’s not really hard collecting the cards

Now are they the best absolutely no, this I feel like is where you might have to spend money unless they up the skills on the Nightmare A

But what Obey me is technically trying to do is obviously making you pay by releasing your favorite demon card every 2 week which…aren’t essential they are really just hoping that you love your main demon enough to pay

With the high increase on the gatcha rate there really isn’t a pity unless you count the card pieces (but I’m not going to count that because you are more likely to roll your UR before completing the pieces)

Now after lesson 20 once the huge break I feel like Obey me almost expecting the players to keep logging in any doing jobs and some players did do that and boy did it pay off

But those players have not needed to spend a single dollar and are all caught up

Now for everyone else who didn’t the game was so difficult it’s unimaginable and because for that a whole lot of players left the game and personally I don’t blame them because of how much impact the next lessons were

Now sort of like Mystic Messenger you really just have to grind you ass off log in everyday and do JOBS :D and grind but as hard and long as it is you are still able to be a f2p but where obey me fails is that when grinding Mystic Messenger grinding was a lot more fun for me it took about a whole year to just get 550 hourglasses even when I purchased and same with Genshin Inpact it takes a while but with obey me there isn’t really anything else to do once you get to a certain point which I think obey me really lacks and could be part of a reason why people left. Grinding just is not fun (now I do think that on a phone there is so much you can do with a app game but I feel like there could be a bit more they could do)

Personally I’m just going to come out and say it don’t spend your money for one UR card for your favorite demon it’s really not worth it now im one of those Mammon stans but if I ever wanted a specific card for instance the Mammon bunny card when it first came out I wanted it so badly and didn’t get it but I also knew there would eventually be a revival so I saved and did not spend any DV(demon vouchers) until the revival

The events

Some people complain about getting the cards in the events onestly for me this one kinda makes a bit of sense I noticed the first change when the Vampire even came out and how it wasn’t as easy to get the second card but if you think of it it makes sence why

When the first event came out (Santa event) you only had to collect about 30,000 gingerbread compared to the 100,000 in event today but when the first event came out no one was at high enough levels for the AP required and you would every day when times rest to gain gingerbread as well as there was only one part to the story so when people kept leveling up their AP Obey Me had to higher the bar so it wouldn’t be so easy to get all these cards and have a actual reward system but eventually they also added another story lesson starting at the Ruri Chan event

Second thing about the events is that one there started just getting plain out boring.

When lesson 20 finished and we were all waiting for season 2 I was still loving in everyday and logging in at 12 and 8 for the free 30 AP because I didn’t know what else to and would participate in the event but eventually what I think that all otome games that have constant events like Ikemen Vampire and Ikemen Revolution they just start getting repetitive and getting real boring so I stoped playing until there was something more interesting

The last thing that some people complain about the events is that you can’t keep up with the story and the events now I can’t find it but I believe that @0beyme said something about the events a long time ago about how you have to pick between the event and moving through the main story which I kinda think isn’t really the games fault and more just a discussion on maybe missing a event

Add ons

Okay so they did this from day 1 you spend a certain amount of Devil point that you guaranteed don’t have and get out a card

Now this is just spelling out a disaster

Yeah so for the first Charge Mission is when you log in which everyone had but essentially what they want you to do is spend $100 on a game that you just logged into and never experienced or played I don’t really understand what they were even thinking with that but it must’ve worked for them to keep doing them

The second time they did it was when the break was over and season 2 came out and they celebrated by doing another charge mission which was the Lucifer and Simon card which would cost again $100 again I really don’t understand what they were thinking

And now this is I believe the fourth time they have done this for the 1.5 anniversary where they know that Mammon is obviously a favorite for many Obey Me players and where smart to put it on the really stupid charge mission but the difference is, is that instead of it costing $100 it would cost almost $200(same with Levi’s) for one thing I don’t understand

But one thing that you do have to remember is is that this isn’t apart of the main gameplay it really just is a mini game if you would even call it that of dress up and optimization so still I guess would be just a add on that has no effect on the actual story and game so you could I guess still call it a f2p game with really really stupidly high priced add ons

VIP

Umm so I am the first one to call myself out I have bought the VIP package first when season 2 happened and I knew how much I loved the game so personally it was worth it to me to support the developers and gain something out of it

Now I haven’t really seen much complaints on the VIP because people more use it as a “hey the game is impossible with out VIP” but the people who say this ive noticed never bought it

For $9.99 each month it is 100%

IT IS NOT WORTH IT!!! Out of everything you get which honestly isn’t much you get some extra free space in jobs and really that’s it and if you choose to use all your job slots for the highest paying you get around 30,500 about a 10,000 difference not really worth it in my opinion

With VIP you also get other things like higher chance of gifts from Jobs which you will not notice one bit, and +20 AP (which if you play the events is sort of useful) as well as extra packages exclusive to VIPs so after paying $9.99 per month you also get more things to buy and that’s about it for VIP now if you really want to get more grim just use your AP and spend it of normal lessons you will get more AP that way

The Story and Kids

This could be all me just complaining and a theory by I wanted to include it anyway

Obviously many people are not even caught up or even playing but as more lessons went on the less interesting the story became to me I don’t know if it’s a me thing but season one was absolutely amazing the once season two came out it was good but not anywhere as good and one

One reason why I think that it to me became almost bland is the amount of kids that is on the app and how sensitive people were if anything bad happens

It’s no secret that the Japanese versions a lot more non-kid friendly for hell’s sake the characters don’t even swear as well as all the colors I feel like to a American audience bright colors is usually marketed towards kids but in other countriesI think many understand that that is not always the case for instance a lot of people will thing in America that anime is all for kids but I mean look at Attack on Titan or Tokyo Ghoul you would not let kids watch that of literal people getting brutally murdered you just don’t see things like that in the West where something looking kid friendly could also be very adult like

Also wtf dose this in the App Store say +12 with Ikemen Vampire and a lot of other games if you have a game rated +17 then there will be a actual pop up that says something along the lines of how “thier could be violence acts and sexual act are you sure you want to instal”

Now the story I’ve seen people point this out but there isn’t really much character development for instance Beel he dose not have a actual personality his personality (fight me on this one) all you really know about him is that he likes food and his family now I could be wrong cuz I’m on lesson 42 but still not much and this is kinda with all the characters except the special ones where the devs really favor and love for story

Some one mentioned how the developers hold back a lot which I agree with 100% they said how when there is character development they all the sudden pull back and never will almost talk about it again like ???? So there’s this constant bland story

——————-

Honestly if you liked this I might do more cuz as much as this post made me especially at the end I kinda liked ranting so...yeah there is also many other things that I want to rant about but I’m tired soooo

feel free to comment your opinions btw

Bye ima go sleep now

[abcsofadhd]

I’m sorry this is way too long and too depressing, I ended up venting because I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. If you see this ask, feel free to ignore, you don’t need to publish all of it or any of it. My question is at the very end.

I was recently diagnosed about 3 months ago and started meds with the sole, singular hope that I would be able to start tasks. that’s it. no other symptom I have matters to me, i just want to be able to start the tasks I want to start when I want to start them. I’ll accept any shitty side effect if it means I can actually do the work I need to do. I’m so fucking desperate to be able to get my work done, my entire workflow was absolutely destroyed and every coping mechanism I ever adopted rendered totally useless by COVID. My inability to work, meet deadlines, and follow through on promises has been ruining my life since March.

I was tentatively excited (among other weird complex feelings) when I got my diagnosis because I’d hoped that meds would be a solution. I’d read peoples accounts of how all the tasks that were hard for them suddenly became so easy, and I was so hopeful that maybe I didn’t have to be like this forever.

But it’s been three months now, and I’ve been through several stimulants at various dosages, and none of them have done literally anything. I haven’t felt the calm people talk about, I haven’t felt anything at all, and I certainly haven’t seen any increase in productivity at any point. The stimulants I’ve tried either have super inconsistent benefits, or they have no beneficial effect at all at any dose my GP is willing to prescribe.

One of the meds actively hurt my productivity because not only did it give me fucking nothing, I spent two weeks (until I gave up on it and we moved to the next one) coming home utterly exhausted and lightheaded with a headache and laying in the dark at 5pm refreshing twitter for hours and feeling helpless and shitty about how much work I wasn’t doing. That med was the worst one, the rest mostly did nothing except make me not hungry. The most effective one so far increased the frequency that I had hyperfocus, which was better than increasing fuck all, but I still couldn’t choose what to hyperfocus on or switch tasks, so it still didn’t give me the one and only thing I need. And for some reason it stopped even giving me that at higher doses?

And I guess at this point I’ve just lost hope that meds will ever be effective for me. I know it hasn’t been that long, 3 months is basically nothing, I’ve read this can take years. And there’s still other meds to try, and if the next one doesn’t work my GP will refer me to a psychiatrist who might be willing to try higher doses. But in the meantime I’ve continued to not be able to work and faced the professional consequences, and it’s been so humiliating and frustrating and hopeless. It’s like I’m waiting for a miracle to occur, and my life is on hold until it happens. I keep getting angry at random posts that share their success stories and talk about how different it is when you start meds, because that’s exactly what got my hopes up. I feel so helpless.

It’s just so demoralizing that I’ve spent my entire fucking life until 3 months ago assuming that I don’t have it any different from anyone else, so if I was struggling, it must just be because I’m lazy and stupid and worthless. And I just accepted that that’s how I am and I can’t change it, so I was able to make my peace with it and find ways around it. But now, I find out that maybe I wasn’t ever lazy and stupid, and there’s a solution that’s supposed to fix me. And now I can’t go back to just accepting that I’m like this forever, I want that solution to work so badly. But the solution isn’t working, nothing’s different. It’s supposed to be different and it’s not. So I’m still just as worthless as I always was and might still be forever. The status quo remains unchanged except for the fact that I don’t know how to accept it anymore.

If meds just don’t work for me at all, then that means I’m just stuck like this forever, and like. That means I should probably stop wasting my time and everyone’s time and drop out of grad school. If meds cant get me to start necessary, important, time sensitive work, then I will not be able to complete this program and I definitely would not be successful in the competitive career I’ve worked towards. I don’t know.

I’m sorry for venting, I’m sorry this was depressing. The question I wanted to ask is, is there a good way to tell that meds won’t work for you? Is it supposed to feel like something, or not feel like something? Do you think there’s a point when it’s not really worth it to continue trying meds and upping dosages? Thanks, sorry again.

Hey, no need to apologize. Genuinely. 

See, finding the right meds and right dosage takes time. I had to try 3-4 meds at 5 or so different strengths till I settled on one that worked for me.

Everyone ticks differently. So different meds can work differently with people.

⠀

How I figure out the effectivity of meds is how easy it makes it for me to shower. Its usually such an effort for me, usually taking up to an hour of psyching myself up. 

On meds, or rather the right dosage of meds, I can just get up and shower and immediately. 

⠀

Your experiences are valid. They are also common among ADHDers. 

I’ve gotten asks many times from ADHDers wondering if there was a point in trying out different meds. Cause yea, trying different meds can be tiring and take a lot of mental effort.

⠀

There’s also something I wanna add at the end, from what you’ve said.

every coping mechanism I ever adopted rendered totally useless by COVID

⠀

Stress and large changes make coping harder. A lot of ADHDers are struggling more because of it, medicated or not. 

My point is that THAT could be the reason you arent finding your meds to be as useful as they could be. 

Meds make it easier to do things you want to do. Coping strategies allow us to structure tasks to make it easier to do. 

So what happens if our coping strategies fail? 

Well, meds wouldn’t be as effective.

[what-a-silver-lining]

Sugar and Spooks (But Mostly Just Sugar)

It's Grimmtober 2021!

Day 1: Candy

“Hey, honey, what’re you...” Henry stops his sentence short, making eye contact with Sabrina, mid-bite of her chocolate bar.

The slightly unhinged look in his eldest daughter’s eyes might have clued him in on the situation because he very quickly reassessed the situation.

“Alright. Great talk, honey, see you soon.”

or, Sabrina Grimm isn't a big fan of Halloween, but that doesn't apply to the sugary treats the holiday is known for.

Note: It’s been quite a while since I’ve written anything for the Sisters Grimm so bear with me, please! It’s also been QUITE a while since I’ve shared any of my work with the public, much less Tumblr, so that’ll be fun.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Sisters Grimm and I'm not MB. Just a fan partaking in a fandom even for Halloween :)

Some notes about this series: All the stories take place in no particular order of timeline. We’ll see about that though. It depends on how long I manage to keep this up. Not exactly canon-compliant since it’s been a hot minute since I’ve read the scripture, y’know?

So yeah, Briar’s alive (and whoever else I need for the purposes of the plot, I guess). Okay, I’ve kept you along for long enough, enjoy the first prompt!

--

Sabrina Grimm was not a big fan of Halloween.

Maybe she was, once upon a time, before losing her parents to a cult led by her long-lost grandmother’s magical mirror.

But the Sabrina who dressed up as the Sugar Plum Princess to go trick-or-treating around Manhattan would be very disappointed indeed at the Sabrina who grimaced at the thought of parading around in a silly costume and begging people for candy.

Which is precisely what Sabrina Grimm was doing as her younger sister begged her to take her trick-or-treating later that week.

“Please Sabrina?” Daphne begged, hands clasped together and face on the verge of breaking out into a pout. “Red and I’ve been working all month to figure out the optimus path for trick-or-treating!”

This, Sabrina knows, is very true. She’s had to chaperone a few late-afternoon adventures as the two girls timed each other on how fast they could run through the block to yield the most candy. But trailing behind her little sister and Red on the way home from school is very different from being forced to go trick-or-treating. Besides, she had plans.

“First of all Daphne, it’s optimal . And second of all, isn’t dressing up in Ferryport Landing pointless when half the people here look like they regularly shop at Spirit Halloween?” Heck, most of the people in the town have about a million variations of their likenesses up for sale in party stores around the country.

“But mom won’t let us out later unless we get someone older. She and Basil Jr. are just going to kill the mood if we have to stop before 5 pm!” Oh boy, here come the puppy eyes…

“Dad?”

“He’s too old and grumpy for Halloween.”

“And I’m not grumpy enough for you? Uh, how about Uncle Jake?”

“Already asked him. He said he’s going to a party with Briar. And something about a Monster Mash.”

“Granny? Canis? Snow? Charming?? ” Sabrina was running out of options at this point.

“Granny’s got some errands to run and Mr. Canis is going with her. If Snow takes us she won’t be there to give out giant chocolate bars, and If we ask Charming, then Snow won’t be able to convince him to give out his giant stash of imported fancy chocolate.” As Daphne counted off the options with her fingers, Sabrina felt her chance at a peaceful evening slip through her fingers.

Well… almost.

“What about Puck?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Sabrina felt the soft halo of victory engulf her.

Fairy Boy was (more or less) the perfect candidate for Daphne and Red’s shenanigans— with the added bonus of keeping the trickster king from pulling any pranks on her in the spirit of the season.

With a quick shout of “You lucked out this time, Sabrina!” Daphne shot up the stairs in search of Puck. Presumably to work out a costume for him. There’s no chance that Puck will be able to say no to the opportunity to possibly pull a boatload of pranks on the houses that give out crappy candy.

Sabrina thinks that she’ll probably regret this decision by the end of the night on the 31st, but she’s mostly thinking about how nice it’ll be not to have to deal with Daphne on a sugar high on Halloween night.

--

And that’s exactly what she finds herself doing on the evening of the 31st. Not dealing with a hyperactive little sister or a prankster fairy boy with access to a million pounds of sugar. Sabrina’s confident she could probably handle Red, but she’s also never seen the Everafter girl eat a pixie stick.

None of that matters at this current moment, however, because by some stroke of luck, Sabrina is the only person currently in the Grimm household.

After double-checking that Elvis and her dad were actually out on their walk and that Puck wasn’t hiding behind any doors with an unpleasant surprise waiting for her, Sabrina let out a breath of relief.

Setting up the TV to one of the more classic seasonal reruns, Sabrina makes her way into the kitchen to retrieve her secret stash of candy. On the very bottom section of the higher shelf, out of reach of Daphne, and low enough to escape the direct view of Puck sits an inconspicuous box of generic raisin bran cereal.

Moving the box of cereal to the side reveals a second box of the same generic cereal box— gotta be careful in case her mom or dad suddenly crave a healthy dose of cereal for breakfast, right?

Again, moving that box of cereal to the side, right there . A box of plain, steel-cut oats remains the gateway between Sabrina and her secret candy stash.

Taking the box of oats with her back to the living room with the television, Sabrina spares one last cursory glance around the room to make sure there were no witnesses to her mini escapades.

The first treat of the night: a peanut butter cup.

Sabrina makes it through half the movie (and most of the peanut butter cups) before she switches to the next delicacy: a decent-sized milk chocolate bar.

As she’s about to take a big bite out of the bar, however, she hears the front door open.

Sabrina freezes, eyes wide as she realizes she’s probably been caught, and now Daphne and Puck are going to eat all her candy, and just after she’d saved up all the candy over the past couple of weeks. All that sneaking just for—.

“Hey, honey, what’re you...” Henry stops his sentence short, making eye contact with Sabrina, mid-bite of her chocolate bar.

The slightly unhinged look in his eldest daughter’s eyes might have clued him in on the situation because he very quickly reassessed the situation.

“Honestly, sweetie, I totally get it. I think Elvis and I should take an extended walk today, hm, Elvis?” The great Dane barked his agreement. “Okay, so we’ll be heading out. Maybe we’ll catch your mother and brother on the way and we’ll pick up some dinner from the diner?”

Silence.

“Alright. Great talk, honey, see you soon.”

And with that, Sabrina Grimm was once again alone in the house, free to stuff her face with discounted Halloween chocolate to her heart’s content.

Gummy bears, jelly beans, Twix bars, gumdrops, even a couple of pieces of candy corn met their demise as Sabrina continued on with the movie just as before.

Candy after candy succumbed to Sabrina’s sweet tooth binge until a decent dent had been made into the stash. As the credits rolled on the cheesy horror film, Sabrina gathered up the wrappers and candy boxes and cleaned up any remaining crumbs on the couch to dispose of the evidence.

Replacing the box of oats behind the cereal boxes in the cabinet, Sabrina silently pats herself on the back for her sneakiness. Just in time, too, as she can hear the sounds of the other kids stomping around by the entrance.

“Sabrina! We’re back!” Daphne calls from beyond the kitchen door.

“Yeah, Grimm! And we’re not sharing our candy with you!”

“...I’ll share with you, Sabrina..” Red’s voice rings, softer than the other two.

As Sabrina walks back into the living room, she sees that the three trick-or-treaters have already begun trading their candy from their trek around Ferryport Landing. True to Daphne’s word, there looked to be a couple of full-sized candy bars, probably from Snow.

The older Grimm sister sits on the couch, letting out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t been caught. Her stash was safe— at least for today. She snags a Kit Kat and listens to the three (mostly Daphne) catch her up to speed on everything she missed when the trio had taken off earlier that afternoon.

“So actually, Puck had to do a little convincing for Charming to hand over some of his fancy candy but thankfully...”

So Sabrina Grimm isn’t the biggest fan of Halloween, but she does see the appeal of candy.

--

And that's a wrap for day 1! I know, cutting it super close to the deadline! I can't believe I got Ao3, Tumblr, AND FFN

Speaking of ffn, you can find me at LavenderMoonRose on fanfiction.net and Archive of Our Own

[blitzturtles]

Title: Tre

Rating: Mature, for implied adult activity (though it isn't detailed.)

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind

Pairing(s): BruAbba

Summary: “Is… Bucciarati avoiding anyone else?” Giorno asks, quiet. Unsure. By the look on his face, it’s something that’s been bothering him for a few days.

Abbacchio looks up with raised brows, “Don’t think so, why?”

Notes: Please note that Bruno experiences quite a bit of gender dysphoria here. It's reflected in his internal dialogue and could be triggering.

Also, missing doses of T doesn't necessarily guarantee the return of someone's period, but Bruno has a whole lotta bad luck, too much stress, and not enough time.

-

“Is… Bucciarati avoiding anyone else?” Giorno asks, quiet. Unsure. By the look on his face, it’s something that’s been bothering him for a few days.

Abbacchio looks up with raised brows, “Don’t think so, why?”

Giorno frowns. How does he explain that he feels like he’s seeing more glimpses of zippers and Sticky Fingers than the man they belong to? That he feels like every time he turns a corner, Bruno is already leaving? Maybe even fleeing?

“No, no, I think Giogio’s onto something,” Mista cuts in before Giorno can answer.

Abbacchio’s neutral expression shifts to something less sure. His frown reflects Giorno’s, and he seems to lose himself in his thoughts for a moment. He recalls the last several days and tries to replay the interactions in his head.

“I’ll check it out,” he decides, finally. He pushes himself up to his feet and heads out the door before the other two can think up an argument.

“Uh?” Mista looks to Giorno, then the door, and back again.

“I don’t know,” Giorno admits. Something in Abbacchio’s features had only validated his worries.

______ ______

“Bruno,” Abbacchio calls, rapping the back of one hand against their shared bedroom door. He hates to admit it, but the kid is right. Bruno’s been quieter. A bit more aloof, but he isn’t fully avoiding Abbacchio. He knows better than that, which is exactly the problem. The bastard knows just the way to adjust his behavior to avoid suspicion.

The room remains quiet on the other side. No one moves, and the door stays shut. Abbacchio isn’t buying it for a minute.

“Bruno, I’m coming in if you don’t let me in.”

He waits approximately ten more seconds-- no one has ever accused him of being a patient man-- before he digs out his key. The only reason he has it on him at all is because of Bruno’s borderline refusal to use doors. There’s been a time or two where Abbacchio has been locked out because Bruno used his zippers and forgot to flip the lock. It’s not a frequent occurrence, but it’s happened enough to make Abbacchio more diligent about having his copy on his person.

His chest aches with the burning need of oxygen, reminding him to take a breath. He has a vague idea of what might be happening, but he can’t be sure. Can’t know that Bruno isn’t half-dead somewhere beyond the threshold.

One blue eye pops out of a pile of blankets and disappears just as quickly. There’s a quiet groan and possibly a few words, but none of it is audible to Abbacchio.

“Cramps?”

The blankets shift like someone might have whacked them.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Abbacchio says with an undeniably fond tone. He doesn’t take offense to the attempt to shoo him off, but he does feel guilt for not recognizing the signs earlier. To his own credit, it’s been many months, possibly more than a year since last this happened. He’s gotten out of the habit of identifying the warnings. Bruno is a lot like a wounded animal. Unless it’s killing him, he won’t make his pain known (and even that’s up in the air, sometimes. It’s the blood trail that gives him away more often in those cases.)

He bypasses the mass on the bed to slide into the bathroom. He notes the painkillers on the counter and finds some relief in the fact that Bruno at least has those on board. Absently, he brushes his thumb against Bruno’s toothbrush and winces at the dampness of it. That’s one of those things he’s learned from being with Bruno for so long: when his cramps are particularly awful, his stomach crawls its way up his throat. Sometimes more than once, but Bruno being in bed is hopefully a sign that he’s finished with that for now.

With the painkillers taken and his stomach emptied, there’s only one thing that Abbacchio can offer. He crouches down in front of the sink and starts digging through their unholy collection of toiletries and makeup. A not insignificant amount of it is Abbacchio’s, but he finds a crushed box in the back after several frustrating minutes of digging and rearranging.

There’s one left, but it will do. He can bribe the kids to go get him more. Something tells him the reusable is missing in action. Probably tossed after one too many times of someone bleeding on it.

Bruno hasn’t moved since Abbacchio’s break in, and he doesn’t look like he intends to move when Abbacchio makes his way to the bed.

“C’mon. Stretch out for a second,” he holds up the packaging for Bruno to see and gives one of his rare, soft smiles when Bruno unhooks his arms from around himself and uncurls his body.

Abbacchio carefully peels the blankets away to find that Bruno has stolen one of his night shirts and a pair of his shorts.

“Sorry,” Bruno breathes.

The pain in his voice is heartbreaking, and the fact that Bruno thinks Abbacchio gives two shits about a pair of lost shorts (to blood of all things, as if they haven’t both bled on every other thing they’ve ever owned) only makes the ache worse.

“I really can’t emphasize enough how much I don’t care,” Abbacchio says and immediately wishes he had thought his words out, “About the shorts.” He sees the way Bruno tenses for a moment before he relaxes again. He’s on edge. Less sure of himself than he usually is, which means he’s second guessing everything. Even definite truths. And one of those is that Abbacchio would give him anything he asked for without question. A singular set of clothes-- that he knows Bruno will probably replace without his noticing-- mean nothing to him.

“I know,” Bruno admits. His fingers dance at the hem of the shirt. He’s buying time.

Abbacchio doesn’t push him. He waits patiently until Bruno slides the shirt up his belly enough for Abbacchio to place the heating pad. He’s mindful of the dark patch of hair that peeks out from above the shorts. Bruno usually prefers them to be placed higher up anyway, and his belly is relatively hairless.

“There. That’s the last of the peel and sticks, but we can get more,” he reaches to tug the shirt back down but hesitates a moment to press a kiss to Bruno’s hip. He knows that Bruno feels the most dysphoric when he’s bleeding. Sees himself in a way that Abbacchio doesn’t. Being in agony doesn’t exactly help his mental state any.

“I don’t want to be trouble.”

Abbacchio snorts-- if only because the idea of that is so preposterous. “If they knew it was for you, they’d kill each other to get to the store first,” they won’t know. He won’t tell them. They might guess that it’s Bruno that’s out of commission, given his absence, but Bruno isn’t full-time anymore. It’s easy to dismiss his lack of presence as his attention being elsewhere, but Giorno’s made it apparent that he’s noticed. Mista, too.

Bruno might have gotten away with it if he weren’t feeling so poorly. The pain clouds his mind and disrupts the smooth way that he and Sticky Fingers work together. It’s probably why Giorno kept catching glimpses. It’s all Bruno can do to stay upright when the cramps kick in at full swing.

Speaking of, Abbacchio reaches up to gently wipe the tears away from Bruno’s cheeks.

“You can roll back. I’m going to change, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Truthfully, he isn’t changing for his own comfort. Abbacchio has fallen asleep fully dressed more times than he can count, buckle included. He could care less about what he’s wearing, but he knows that Bruno’s nerves are already frayed.

In the time it takes him to switch to his softest night clothes, Bruno has curled back up, facing away from him. Abbacchio takes a moment to shoot off a text before he climbs in behind him. He carefully scoots his body as close to Bruno’s as he can without putting any pressure against him. Bruno uncurls enough to lean a fraction of his weight back into him, and Abbacchio counts that as a win.

Abbacchio reaches up to undo the clips in Bruno’s hair. The braid needs to come out, too, but he doesn’t have the angle he needs to work on it. He settles for petting along Bruno’s arm, a slow drag of his calloused fingers from wrist to shoulder. His nails drag lightly against tanned skin. It’s all about distracting without being overwhelming.

“I missed three,” Bruno says eventually.

“Three? Oh,” well, that explains it. Bruno’s had problems with his cycle coming through in the past. It’s the reason he switched to shots in the first place, and he’s suspected his dose has been too low for a while. The problem is that his own health and wellbeing always comes last. He doesn’t pursue the doctors the way he could; he’s always too busy taking care of everyone else at his own detriment. Sometimes Abbacchio thinks Bruno does it as self-flagellation, but he feels like a hypocrite if he points it out.

The dysphoria creates something of a feedback loop. It’s the one aspect of himself that Bruno struggles with the most. He can typically climb his way out of his cycles of grief. The flashbacks are generally ignored. It’s amazing, Abbacchio thinks, that he ever sleeps at all. There’s enough trauma and stress there to last several people their entire lives. Bruno ignores it all, but he can’t ignore this.

Abbacchio carefully drapes his arm around Bruno and presses his face against the back of his neck. “I love you,” he says, the words pressed against Bruno’s nape.

There’s a wounded sound from Bruno, and he curls up tighter.

Abbacchio moves with him. Careful, but without hesitation. “I love you no matter what, in any way that you’ll have me. I will follow you to the end, and I will give you all that I have.” He can’t refute the words playing in Bruno’s head, but he can make sure he knows that he’s loved. “None of us would have made it without you.”

“That’s not-”

“Shut up,” Abbacchio’s tone is far from harsh, but Bruno does as he’s told, “Fugo might have stayed out of legal trouble, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be dead from pissing off the wrong person. Narancia would have died of an infection. You said it yourself, Narancia was on death’s door when Fugo brought him to you. Mista wouldn’t have survived jail,” another one of Bruno’s assessments that was exactly on point, “Giorno would have probably gotten himself killed trying to take out the boss by himself, and Trish would be dead if you hadn’t killed yourself to save her.” Being revived after doesn’t change the fact that Bruno had died in the first place, “And I would be passed out drunk. Maybe dead.”

Silence settles over them for a long few minutes. Bruno only occasionally tensing and squirming from pain. The over-the-counter stuff barely touches the cramps, but he won’t take anything else. At least the heating pads seem to help some.

“Thank you,” Bruno says eventually.

“Sure,” Abbacchio presses a kiss to soft skin, “I’m always available to grind the truth into that thick skull of your’s.”

Bruno huffs in response, but his hands find Abbacchio’s arm. He curls his fingers around pale skin and finds himself admiring the muscle underneath. Neither of them are particularly built, but Abbacchio has the thicker, wider frame that Bruno had longed for for so many years. It’s odd to remember when they first met, when Abbacchio had a bit more muscle. Bruno’s own body had been a hated thing. Something he used to wish he could shed with curves he could see if he looked for them.

Sometimes he wonders which of their memories are distorted. Abbacchio’s, from the alcohol and the depression and not actually knowing better. Or Bruno’s, from the self-hatred and the dysphoria and the abuse inflicted on him.

He can still remember the first time they managed to lock themselves in the bathroom, all hands and teeth, and Leone-- god help him-- had been surprised.

It had been the first time they made it past making out like teenagers, and Leone had stared up at him from his spot on his knees with big, gold-violet eyes. Confused and at an obvious loss. Bruno can still remember the way his stomach turned as reality kicked in, and he had realized the significant misstep on his part. He had thought, with his waist and the scars on his chest and the width of his shoulders, that it had been obvious. Had thought himself lucky that Leone still wanted him.

”Tell me what to do,” Leone had demanded, all determination and enthusiasm.

Bruno almost laughs at the memory. It’s not funny, really, but he can remember the overwhelming endearment he had felt. Still feels. That’s the thing that Leone can’t accept. Can’t understand about himself: all that he does for Bruno. All the ways he makes Bruno a better man. He can’t imagine doing this on his own. He’ll have to find a way to better show his appreciation when his insides aren’t threatening to tear him apart.

“I love you,” he says, squeezing Leone’s arm.

“I love you, too.”

[maddyanarchist]

Do we really need to fix it?

Hi everyone,

Long time ah!!!

Well, I missed talking to you. But I do have something to share. Something interesting I have experienced in these past few days which maybe of some help to you, well if not just scroll down :)

This is a note to productivity and self-improvement that we all are so obsessed about especially since lockdown started, courtesy of the unlimited doses of procrastination. Well , I hope Netflix is going great, the one and only partner who understands what do you really need when you experience different emotions :).

The drift was amazing haan...if not so cool!. Anyways coming back to topic. Man , I love conversations, specially when they make sense and of course it has to be relatable. So, the other day I came across this interesting content from one of my favorite youtubers Nathaniel Drew on how self-improvement may be ruining one's life.

We all are in some sense, trying to make ourselves work the best way, guilty of wasting time and trying close some holes of the past... this is not just to the singles, even the couples, and I mean to everyone honestly, no limitations on labels. We are constantly in this flux of trying to get the best out of herself and the daily motivations from youtube are no less. Sometimes , it makes sense, but sometimes it does feel boring!!!

After seeing this video, I was taken aback by the conclusions that I have subconsciously drawn, but that really doesn't mean since I realized it , I have figured out, honestly it is still a mess. Even I believe The Big Bang theory is the biggest mess happened that created this universe for no reason. Well, scientists will justify owing to their nature, but do they really have the answer from where they came and if so, are they completely they controlled their entire existence. If so, is the case then I guess we wouldn't have parents in the first place, which says we do need support. Everybody is needed to sustain everybody!!!!

Again got drifted, but the point I am trying to make is all the while we are trying to fix ourselves, or thinking we are not good enough or analyzing how to fix what's wrong me and get what's good in others.... even if we are trying to grow but it is at the expense of our self-esteem. We are trying to be enlightened, trying to seek for higher purpose and want to level up our standards. Well, that' definitely a good mindset to do with, but do you realize one thing, in the midst of everything we are somehow living in the past and future, not in the present!

Present is imperfection , insecurity, rebellious and upfront. Why to give up on that?. Why to give up on because its average and not the most coolest?. But its still you!. Why do you have to be perfect?

Just recollect your childhood. Not everything was perfect, neither were you wishing to be the best ( of course social inclusions are there), neither were you willing to compete, neither were you willing to reciprocate ( unless its meaningful relationships) , but you still were happy, you still enjoyed whatever you had. You didn't want to fix it , you were perfect the way you are.

I often feel, the best way to get clarity is to look back on your childhood, yes its your past, but that's the only experienced data available to you. You knew how you are , and what actually mattered to you.

There is definitely a need to grow to improve, but certainly overriding one's natural beauty and natural self is not the best way through!. So take a step back, go through those moments , revisit them in your memory, you will feel more than happy and confident.

So stop procrastinating, stop overstressing on self-help books, you see too much of anything is harmful and stay balanced. It cannot be just positive right.

Stop fixing , start accepting... you will notice things in a better realm and perspective :)

If you liked this , do leave comments and share what do you feel about the same.

[professional-benaddict]

i'm so excited for drug raid pt 2!

part one here!! eeee took forever before I got around to part two bUt here it is!! I hope y'all like it xx

Cop Tony, paramedic Stephen, 18+ Little Peter, Littles are known verse, police raids, drug dealing, illegal drug use, referenced forced drug use, referenced kidnapping, past abuse, withdrawal, hospitalisation, whump, angst, comfort, 1.5k

The next day, Tony waltzes into the hospital with a latte in his hand. Still riding the high of the raid from the night before, the cop feels at the top of his game. He and the rest of the department have the upper hand. The evidence and statements keep pouring in, and it’s all in their favour, which means not so much in the drug dealers’ favour. It’s their third successful raid in just two months, and yet this feels different. The stakes feel higher, and Tony feels like he should be here taking the Little’s statement. He was the one who found him after all, abused and forcefully drugged at the hands of the drug dealers, and on top of it all he was manhandled by an overly excited SWAT guy. Perhaps the SWAT guy had an aggression problem. He wouldn’t be the first. 

Tony’s intentions feel more pure than that of the SWAT guys, at least to him, and he likes to think that that was why Fury let him come take the Little’s statement out of all the other officers. To be honest, he likes the kid. He’s intrigued, and not just professionally. Tony doesn’t exactly know what it is, but he’s giddy while waiting in line at the reception to find where his informant is. 

“You can just go wait in the car if you want, honey bear.” Tony teases to Rhodey, who’s with him at the hospital. They are partners after all, and they go everywhere together. Well, maybe not everywhere since Rhodey actually takes him up on the offer, muttering something about his overly sensitive nose and the antiseptic smell of the hospital being a perfect mix for a headache. Tony waves him off and tells him to get out of there before he gets cranky. 

The receptionist is not able to tell Tony exactly where Peter is, but directs him to the neurological wing where they can show him where the Little is. So, Tony heads up and tosses his empty latte cup on his way there. After some more waiting and flashing of his badge, Tony is escorted by a nurse to see Peter. 

“He’s going through withdrawal, and quite badly too. Don’t stress him out, okay? You can always come back another time.” The nurse informs while they walk through some automatic and lockable doors. 

“How long is he gonna be here?” 

“Till the withdrawal wears off, but the doctor is planning on having him on psych hold when the withdrawal is over. The Little’s handle it the worst, you know? He’s having awful nightmares and suicidal thoughts already. Poor babe…” The nurse adds sadly. 

“Yeah…” Tony agrees quietly and steps a bit to the side to let a transporter pushing an empty bed pass them in the hallway. A bit further down the eggshell coloured hallway, the nurse stops and gestures to a door. 

“I’ll just head in first and see how he is.” The nurse smiles and slips through the door, leaving Tony to wait in the hallway alone. 

The cop resists the urge to look through the window in the door. Just what kind of shape is Peter in? Last time Tony saw him he was unconscious after a seizure. It’s almost unheard of that Littles take drugs, precisely because they can hardly handle it. Their vulnerable bodies cave in at the smallest doses, while a caregiver like Tony could take triple the dose and still get up the next morning. And that is why Littles are never legally punished for drug possession, and instead they are put into treatment to get rehabbed. Some might say that is the same as prison, if you think about the principals of each setting. Limited freedom. And yet there’s a major difference. Tony isn’t here to arrest Peter, only talk to him. 

A few moments later, when Tony is about to give in and peak in through the window, the nurse exists again and invites the cop in. The hospital room is quite sad, actually. There’s signs of attempts to make it Little-friendly, but the poorly drawn and creepy cartoon dinosaur has the opposite effect that what was probably intended. The hospital bed is Little proof though, with side rails going all around the bed to keep the patient safe. And Peter does look safe, but also absolutely terrible. 

The big, brown eyes go wide when he lays his eyes on Tony, and the cop stays back a bit. The nurse comes forward then and guides Peter to lay back again when he tries to get up. The boy’s movements are clumsy and shaky. Tony guesses he is experiencing muscle aches and fatigue. 

“No, no- I don’t- I didn’t…” Peter stutters and looks pleadingly at the nurse. The cop tries to ignore the feeling of being assigned ‘the bad guy’ role, even though he has not said a word yet. He wouldn’t be surprised if the drug dealers brainwashed the boy to never trust cops, or anyone else outside their gag for that matter. Just another manipulation tactic to keep him in check. As if forcefully drugging him isn’t enough. 

“Shhh, honey bee. The police office is just going to speak to you. It’s all right.” The nurse coos. 

“I didn’t wan’ to do it. They forced me, please…”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. That’s what the officer is here to talk to you about. Just tell the truth and everything will work out, okay? You can push the button anytime and Amanda or one of the other nurses will come, okay?” 

And with that the nurse takes her leave, but not before whispering to Tony to take it easy. The officer nods and thanks her, then turns to the boy on the bed. 

He looks absolutely terrible, that much is obvious. It looks like Peter is hollow inside, and that his skin is just a facade made of the thinest paper. It the wind where to blow, it might just take Peter along with it. But, Tony knows he is not all hollow inside. The boy’s eyes are pained, and it looks like he is aching to tell his truth, to get everything that is inside out into the world and to someone who can do something. Something to save him. And Tony wants to do precisely that, and so he sits on the chair next to the bed with a soft smile. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi…” 

“I’m Officer Stark, but you can call me Tony.” The officer starts. “You’re Peter. What’s your full name?” 

“Benjamin Parker. Peter Benjamin Parker.” 

“Benjamin, huh? That’s cute.” 

“Is’ after my uncle.”

“Is he around?” 

“Dead.” The Little deadpans, fiddling with the hospital blanket. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Tony says sincerely. “Do you have any other family around? Someone we could call?” 

“No- uhm, they all dead. But, Beck took me in.” 

“Quentin Beck? Right.” Tony sighs a bit. Quentin Beck, as in the Beck who is now in custody at the station. They are still putting together the bigger picture and hierarchy of the gang at the station, but it seems like Beck is in the middle there somewhere. And it seems like Peter is very much in the middle of it all too. “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.” 

Peter talks for over half an hour. The boy is so detailed in his descriptions, like he has a photographic memory, that Tony barely has to ask follow up questions, and instead listens as carefully as he can while noting down some key words in his notepad. Sometimes, the boy has to pause to catch his breath or stop himself from crying, but by the end of it the tears finally spill over when Peter starts describing how Beck and the others would drug him against his will. At one point, the boy’s crying is so pained that Tony reaches out to hold his hand. Peter clutches back, like Tony is his anchor in the storm that is his emotional and psychological turmoil. The Little definitely needs to be on psych hold. 

In the middle of Peter’s cry, a nurse knocks on the door and enters with a concerned look. She must have been altered due to Peter’s heart rate picking up due to the crying. 

“Is everything all right here?” The nurse asks, giving Tony a look. The officer feels like she is accusing him of going too hard on the Little. Once again the bad guy. 

“Is- is okay, Amanda…” Peter hiccups and dries his tears bravely. He forces a smile at the nurse when she comes over to check on him. 

“Okay, sweetheart, but I think this is enough for today. You need to rest.” Amanda orders kindly, and once again she gives Tony a look. Getting the implied message, Tony rises from his seat and tucks his notepad, now his very precious notepad, into his jacket. 

“I’ll come back another time, then.” The officer says. 

And Tony does exactly that. 

tag list: @petersmocha @garcia-reid-lovechild @stressedboyinprogess @ikneelbeforemygod @sugar-and-spice-parker @robynofthestars @pastel-parker-bitch @tightaroundthewebshooter @puppypeter @carttorchdeatth @starkerplusstrange @starkermoodboards @smits-stuff @honeybunstarker @xsmallplum @everyonelovespetey @ihonestlydontevenknow @baly0110 @velvetjoker @starkerparkerstark @allaboutthatshowmanlife @itsrachael @holographic-starker @bisexual-spiderling @liesversusjoy @littlespaceofyaoi @spanglesandstars @avengerscollection @bennywantstogotosleep @goldenmogar @justanotherfandomthot

[kaesaaurelia]

have you tried holding your breath?

For @whumptober2021 day 2: Talking Is Overrated (specifically "choking")

In space, no one can hear you swear at the automated system that's denying you entrance to a whole ship full of oxygen.

(Technically this is an AU of some GO fan characters, but it's sufficiently removed from the context that I'm gonna call it origfic. No angels, no demons, and also, alas, no oxygen.)

The goddamn escape pod had gone spinning off in the wrong direction from the force of the explosion, flinging her against the wall before she had secured herself. She didn't know how long she'd been out but it had been long enough that she was well out of reach of anything that looked like a friendly ship, but there was something big the sensors were picking up, the only thing made of metal that she'd be able to get to before she ran out of oxygen, and so, with one hand, she told the pod to beeline towards whatever that was, and with her other hand she felt around the back of her head for any bleeding. Her head didn't hurt, but that was probably due to the nanites, which were still in combat mode and suppressing pain so that she could act.

Her hand came away wet and red, so after double-checking the arrival time estimate and the oxygen content of the escape pod -- really very alarmingly similar numbers -- she felt around for the first aid kit and bandaged herself up.

She had to switch out of combat mode to preserve oxygen, unfortunately, which meant she had to try really, really hard to breathe slowly, because her whole body hurt like hell now, in ways she hadn't been used to since basic training. But she used some of the old-fashioned ingestible painkillers in the first aid kit, and then figured, what the hell, and took a dose of sleep medicine too. If she ran into any unexpected debris, or hostiles, it would eat up valuable breathing time, and she figured she might as well die in her sleep rather than totally panicked and trying to think her way out of the third indisputably fatal situation she'd been in today.

Her last thought, before falling asleep, was that she wondered if the general had known what she was sending her people into. This was not the time she'd been in one of these fucking escape pods, and she was beginning to wonder if her higher-ups considered her disposable.

She awoke to unpleasant sounds and even unpleasanter sensations: the lightheadedness of low oxygen and the forced shuddering wakefulness that the nanites imposed upon her when they perceived her life to be at risk. She rubbed her eyes and squinted out the window and saw the ship that would be her salvation, hopefully.

If she could get into it.

Fuck. How was she going to get into it? It wasn't a ship of any design she recognized -- maybe a good sign, since it meant she hadn't been up against anything like it in combat recently -- but also, how was she going to get in? The hull was pockmarked with the evidence of small impacts, suggesting its shields weren't functioning at all, and the way it was drifting did not seem to be due to any kind of propulsion. Four "wings" of light-collecting panels were folded up, though, which meant probably whoever had brought it out here had done that on purpose to preserve the solar panels from impacts, and there were a few little pink and yellow lights blinking on and off. Warnings? Invitations? "Remember where we parked" signals? It was anyone's guess.

The air was getting really fucking low, and the lights swam before her eyes.

She sent an experimental signal towards it, just to see if it was awake. It took a few seconds, but she got a ping back, and a few more lights stuttered on. So she sent it a request for shelter, and hoped whoever owned this ship was nice, or at the very least wasn't going to take her apart to see how she worked. She'd been there before.

She got a garbled response in characters that didn't resemble any language she knew, but she blinked, and when she opened her eyes again they had resolved into Latin characters. STATE NAME, ALLEGIANCE, REASON FOR REQUEST.

Aw, fuck. This wasn't gonna go well. She briefly considered lying, but it was hard to imagine what they wanted to hear when she didn't know anything about them and also her poor nanites were doing their damnedest to wring every bit of oxygen out of the air and failing.

She had to try. CAPTAIN VICTORIA HEWELL, SOL ALLIANCE, LOW ON OXYGEN, she responded.

The response came back immediately. REQUEST REJECTED.

Shit. Shit shit shit. She typed WHAT THE FUCK, WHY? and then deleted that and instead sent back a more professional query: REASON FOR REJECTION?

NON-RECOGNIZED: INNER SOL ALLIANCE.

It was some fucking automated system, she realized. It had instructions not to let the wrong people in while whoever was in charge was away, and whatever person was supposed to be reviewing the requests was dead or using the bathroom or had fucked off long ago, and she was extremely fucked. I NEED OXYGEN OR I WILL DIE, she explained. Some of these systems were smarter than others.

She waited for a long time -- well, three breaths, but that was a long time these days, given how little those breaths were sustaining her. HAVE YOU TRIED HOLDING YOUR BREATH? the automated system suggested helpfully.

A flash of rage seized her, and in a fit of gleeful hypoxic insanity she sent back GO FUCK YOURSELF YOU STUPID ROBOT I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON A MAGNET. She had just enough time to kind of regret sending that -- the automated system would undoubtedly fail to appreciate either her fury or the end of her life, and it probably wasn't even vulnerable to magnets, and if it was advanced enough to understand her it would probably be offended at being called a robot -- before she passed out again, the dwindling oxygen levels in her blood beyond the capabilities of her nanites' forced wakefulness to help with.

When she came to, gasping, she found herself in a dimly-lit hangar, her escape pod open to let indescribably sweet, fresh-smelling oxygen in. The message flashing on the escape pod screen said WELCOME ABOARD. PLEASE KEEP YOUR MAGNETS TO YOURSELF, ASSHOLE. Then there was a sort of jagged-edged character that looked like... a W, only moreso, maybe? Was it a glitch? A signature? Fuck if she knew. She undid her safety belt and floated free. She was going to have to be more diplomatic than she was good at if she wanted to get back to her life, but at least somebody onboard had a sense of humor.

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 687

1,834 - Words

Gif NOT mine. (Found on Pinterest.)

If this gif is yours please let me know, so I can give you credit.

Gif credit goes to - Unknown.

Year posted - 2020

Warnings - A little swearing.

Notes - None

----

"I'm telling you Charlie you're going to love her." Phil gushed for the millionth time. "So you say." Charlie muttered still doodling in his sketch book, within the prisons art room. "She's a brilliant artist, a local celebrity really." Phil smiled to himself, before his eyes shot to the opening door of the room. "Phil." (Y/n) smiled at the man awaiting her at the bottom of the stairs, her heels clicking noisily as she descended said stairs. "(Y/n) its so lovely to see you." Phil chirped while pulling her into a friendly hug. "I was looking over those drawings you sent me." (Y/n) grinned from ear to ear. "I can't wait to meet the man behind the pen." She added before handing the drawings back to Phil. "Of course of course, he's right here. Charlie mate this is (Y/n)." Phil ushered Charlie over who was sitting quietly observing the two. "We've been waiting here for a little while now, eager for your arrival." Phil added as Charlie approached. "So you're Charlie Bronson? I've heard so much about you, I must say you are a man of reputation." (Y/n) mused while shaking his hand. "Yeah that's me." Charlie sighed under his breath, sounding almost bored. "I've looked over some of your work, and its quite charming really." (Y/n) said as she pointed to the drawings in Phil's hands. "Your style actually reminds me of an uncle of mine, from my father's side. Ironically enough he also spent some time in prison years ago." She continued, her complements fueling Charlie's ego. "Every year I come here in search of an apprentice, sometimes they remain my apprentice for a few years, like my last apprentice did. Sadly however he got on the wrong side of a local here, and got himself killed." (Y/n) wet her lips allowing Charlie a moment to process her words. "Phil here suggested that I take you under my wing, if you're interested of course." She smiled softly. "I don't think the Gov will allow me the privilege." Charlie pointed out, knowing the man hatted him. "Well just between us, he's had quite the crush on me since I started doing this whole apprenticeship thing. I'm confident I can convince him by simply batting my lashes at him." (Y/n) winked with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Is that so?" Charlie smirked a little, finding her rather amusing. "But only if you're interested of course, I'd rather avoid the man if I can. Makes my skin crawl that one." She frowned a little in disgust at the thought of the man. "Alright, what dose this internship entail?" Charlie asked while leaning against the table to his right. "Well first off, I'll be teaching you how to hone your skills as an artist, and help you to find your true potential, to the best of my abilities. I would be visiting you daily, for however long I see fit. Maybe even if you get yourself in trouble, seeings how the old creep can't seem to say no to me." She shrugged a little at the last comment. "Alright I'm in." Charlie nodded his head once, before going back to his original seat. "Okay I'll go see what I can do about the Governor." (Y/n) waved goodbye to Phil before leaving the room. "See I knew you'd like her." Phil smiled while Charlie simply grunted at him.

----

The following day Charlie sat across from the Governor, in his little office. "I don't know how, but you've caught the interest of Miss (Y/n) (Y/l/n), and she wishes to take you as her new apprentice. I have granted her permission to due so, but I'm warning you now Charlie, if you so much as hurt a hair on her head, I'll have you locked in solitary for the rest of your stay here." The older man hissed, his threat only making Charlie smile. "What kind ov a man do you think I am, eh?" Charlie taunted, making the Governor roll his eyes. "I know exactly what kind of a man you are Charlie." The Governor sighed before waving him off. "She'll be here later today, and every day after until you mess up." He added as Charlie was being escorted out of his office.

----

(Y/n) did in fact come back, just a few hours later. Meeting with Charlie in his cell of all places. "Right let's get to it yeah?" She shrugged her bag off of her shoulder and placed it on the foot of his bed, where she rummaged through it a moment later. "Ah here we are." She smiled as she pulled out the new materials she had brought with her. "These are for you." She handed them to Charlie, who slowly looked over everything she gave him. "I'd like to watch you draw if that's alright, I want to observe your process, and techniques." (Y/n) explained, smiling when Charlie sat at his desk. "You can watch, just try not to talk to much. Phil gets real annoying after awhile." Charlie glanced up at her as he began settling everything up. "Of course." She bowed her head a little, respecting his wishes.

As Charlie drew (Y/n) peered over his shoulder, fascinated by his technique, and rather pleased with his natural skills. "How's that?" Charlie leaned back in his chair, looking up at (Y/n), who grinned at him. "It's fantastic, tell me what does this mean to you?" She asked while leaning in a little closer observing the finer details, unknowingly pressing her breasts against Charlie's shoulder. "What?" He exhaled through his nose noisily, almost stunned by the sudden contact. "What does this all mean to you? If anything at all." (Y/n) asked while pulling away so she could properly look at his face. "It's just some of the things I felt while at the asylum." He cleared his throat, having calmed his nerves when she pulled away from him. "Interesting." (Y/n) hummed before going back to her bag. "I want you to try something for me Charlie." She muttered as she unfolded the large piece of canvas paper, she had pulled from her bag. "I want you to try copying this drawing, but in your own style." She explained before using her chewing gum to stick the paper to the wall above his desk. "What is it exactly?" He asked eyeing the strange looking drawing before him. "I'm not entirely sure yet, I drew this yesterday after I left here, I got some inspiration." She tilted her head a little, looking at her work. "Get some inspiration from me did ya?" Charlie teased. "I did actually, while I drew this I replayed our conversation together, remembering the way you held yourself, your facial expressions, mood, all of it really... And this is the product of that." (Y/n) explained, once again fueling Charlie's ego. "Is it a good thing or a bad thing?" He asked while looking from her to the drawing, finding it almost hypnotizing. "Personally I believe it's a good thing, but I guess like most art, it is what you make of it as the viewer." She looked back to Charlie, who seemed pretty pleased with her answer. "Right, well this might take a little while." He stated while scooting his chair in. "Take however long you need." (Y/n) hummed softly while clasping her hands behind her back. "You're welcome to sit on the bed if ya like." Charlie added before picking up his pencil. "Thank you Charlie." (Y/n) smiled before delicately setting on the edge of the mattress, trying to avoid making to much noise.

----

For a little over two months now, (Y/n) has been working with Charlie. And it wasn't until today that he acted out, and got himself into trouble. But as she promised she convinced the Governor to allow her to still visit him. While Charlie sat in his cell, blood oozing a little from the gash on his head, he counted the seconds it took for (Y/n) to reach his cell. Her heels giving her away the second she stepped into his cellblock, clicking away as she approached. "I don't know why you bother." The guard opening Charlie's cell hissed at (Y/n), who in turn held her head up a little higher while glaring at the overweight man. "That's none of your concern." She spat back as the door opened, making Charlie smile the best he could with the muzzle they put on him.

"Christ." She muttered under her breath in surprise, completely stunned at the sight of him all bloody and bound. "Aye love." Charlie murmured the best he could, both blood and drool running down his chin. "What did they do to you?" She frowned before softly sitting on her knees across from him on the floor. "You'll dirty your dress." He almost frowned at the sight of his blood on the floor, as it began seeping into the soft fabric of her skirt. "I don't give a damn about the dress." She waved his comment off, more worried about him. "Besides you're more important to me than some old dress." She leaned forward dropping her voice so only Charlie could hear her. "I'm going to remove these wretched things, but you must remain quiet, otherwise we'll both be in trouble." She waited for Charlie to nod his head in agreement before reaching for the strap on the muzzle. "There." She sighed softly as she pulled the muzzle away from his face. "Alright could you turn for me?" She asked planning on removing the straight jacket. "Nah leave it I'm alright, besides if someone decides to barge in 'ere, you won't get in as much trouble for removing just the muzzle." Charlie pointed out making (Y/n) bite her lip softly. "Good point." She nodded her head agreeing with him.

"So tell me Charlie, what happened?" (Y/n) asked as she removed a handkerchief from her handbag, slowly wiping away some of the blood from his face. "One of the guards took away that drawing you hung on my wall, the one you gave me the first day we worked together, cunt tore it up while talking ill about you. I wasn't gonna stand for it, so I beat the fucker bloody." Charlie observed her face, watching her closely as she frowned at his words. "Those bastards can't just let things be can they, always gotta rattle the cage, and punish those that bite back." She murmured while cleaning the last of the blood away the best she could. "Don't worry. You ever get outta here, I'll give you as many drawings as you'd like, then no one can ever take them from you again." (Y/n) smiled softly at Charlie, who began mulling over her words. Did he want to get out? Or did he still wish to stay?

[impala-dreamer]

Enough Bullshit.

(This is a personal post full of mental health issues and triggers.)

Went to the doctor this afternoon, and while we were waiting, Bill and I had a chat about posters that were on the wall. There was a check list for depression and another with info about bi-polar disorder next to the more common doctor’s office things like prostate health and diabetes. 

He’s a bit older than I am, but we both grew up in a time where mentioning depression or anxiety was not done. You didn’t even tell your doctor about it, because it came with negative reactions like “Well, just cheer up” or “Eh, you’re just sad. Be happy.” 

I live with this fear constantly, still. Not two years ago, I went to my doctor (and saw his elderly partner) and I told them that I was having suicidal thoughts and he told me, I kid you not, “Well, go do something you like. Go shopping.” I got up and walked out of the office and didn’t get the help I needed that day. 

It wasn’t until I had a nervous breakdown months later (while working at an SPNCon) that I realized I couldn’t handle it myself anymore. I saw a different doctor and he diagnosed a panic disorder and I’ve been on meds ever since. Nothing is perfect, but they help. I still struggle with this daily, and while it’s not bad most days, it’s always there, on top of my other medical issues. Some nights I can’t shop shaking, some nights I see my death on a loop. Some nights I have no troubles at all. I struggle with a severe panic disorder and suicidal ideation, and occasionally I turn to cutting to ease the other stuff. It’s just how my brain works.

If I talk about it, I still get people telling me, “Oh, everyone’s stressed right now.” “Just relax.” “Don’t be sad, you’re awesome.” OK, but... I can’t stop this. For me, this isn’t anxiety, it’s physical panic symptoms. I cannot think my tremors away. I cannot use breathing techniques to stop the my legs from moving body from twitching so painfully for hours that I’m left exhausted at the end. But, if I tell them that, I still get the “yeah, right. Just be happy.” Even from the nurse today. “Oh, stress will do that! haha! Ya know, wearing masks can be stressful!” OK, but... no. 

I’ve been having a severe panic attack since Sunday night. It’s been building to this for a while. I’ve been clenching my jaw unconsciously so hard for about a month now, and I knocked a tooth loose. I’m doing it now as I type this, but I can’t stop until I realize I’m doing it. Sunday, I started having strange dizzy spells and my eye has been twitching like crazy every ten minutes or so. I lost vision for a bit the other day, just couldn’t focus my eyes. Yet, I didn’t say anything. 

My husband and friends told me to go to the doctor on Tuesday, and I refused because, in my experience, they don’t do anything. 

I woke up last night scratching a hole into my head. I was bleeding and terrified and I couldn’t stop. I sat on the phone with one of my best friends for over an hour, incoherently crying at her, unable to calm down, unable to move, unable to breathe. I saw a shadowy figure slicing my wrists and suffocating me, and I was crying for Misha. Don’t ask, he usually calms me down, but I couldn’t make my imaginary Misha appear. I was shaking so bad that I was in pain from head to toe. Every muscle in my body was at the fullest tightness that it could be. Every. Single. Muscle. I almost called an ambulance. SHOULD have called an ambulance, but I refused to be a burden to anyone. It was 2am, everyone was asleep. So I shook and gasped and cried until I passed out at 3. Woke up shaking at 3.30. then 4. then 5. I slept from 5.30 - 7, and thought, “OK, it’ll be over. I slept.” No. It was not. I wasn’t able to move from the position I woke up in for 2 hours. Not just get out of bed, MOVE at all. I spoke to another friend online and they suggested hospital and again, I said no. I didn’t want to bother anyone, I didn’t want anyone to worry, I didn’t want to go to get help and then have nothing happen. 

Anyway, I went to the doctor, and he took one look at me shaking on the table and helped. He didn’t tell me “oh, just cheer up.” He told me that if my heartbeat was any higher, he would have put me in the hospital. He took it seriously. He gave me a higher dose of meds to “calm my brain down before we do anything else.” which will stop the dizziness and eye twitch, and then we can readjust my meds. 

Simple. 

Yet, I spent all week in pain and hiding the fact that I was barely holding on for fear of what someone would say. For fear of being a burden. For fear of being ignored or my symptoms pushed aside. 

WHAT BULLSHIT. 

I came home, took a pill, passed out, and I already feel better. I’m still shaking and twitching, but I know it’s going to be OK, because someone listened. I spent a week alone and in pain because we still don’t talk about mental illness in an open way. 

We still look at someone who’s depressed and say “Hey, go for a walk, you’ll feel better.” or... “Well, maybe if you lost 40lbs, you’d be happier.” 

NO NO NO NO. 

Stop making people feel bad for feeling bad. 

Some of us have brains that do not fire in the same way that everyone else’s do. That’s nothing to be ashamed of or hiding. 

I SHOULD NOT BE AFRAID TO SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION WHEN NEEDED JUST BECAUSE OF ANCIENT STIGMA. NO ONE’S GOING TO SHOVE ME IN A STRAIGHT JACKET. 

But that is a legitimate fear of mine. 

It’s WRONG.

It’s DEADLY. 

But I can’t stop it. I’ve been told my entire life that I’m fat and if I lost weight I would feel better, if I practiced some self-care I would be happy. If that works for you, I’m glad. But that doesn’t work for everyone. 

I guess my long ranting point I’m trying to make is: 

TALK ABOUT IT. NORMALIZE SEEKING MEDICAL HELP FOR MENTAL ILLNESS. DON’T REVERT TO PLACATION IF SOMEONE IS IN PAIN. 

SEEK HELP.