#i don't have diagnosed anxiety but i have tried to read up on what it's like to have anxiety and how panic attacks feel

[ramblingautisticman]

So, I haven't stopped thinking about the dyslexic Wade headcannon- like at all- so here is the second part/expansive of this post!

I really like the idea of him being really insecure about it but slowly accepting it more and being more open about it.

I also wrote from my experience, and I'm not officially diagnosed don't come at me, but I struggle alot with reading and writing so yeah!

Anyway, enjoy. Please. I hope everyone likes this as much as I do!

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It isn't that Wade can't read- or that he doesn't want to- it's more that it's a massive fucking struggle. Most of the time anyway.

He's always had trouble reading (and spelling, but he can avoid that with emojis now! How technology grows!) ever since he was a kid.

And maybe it's because he didn't grow up in a great environment, or maybe it's because he was never really encouraged, but Wade never ever mentions it. Not to anyone.

He never told anyone when he was in school that sometimes words didn't really make sense to him, and that he was behind in work because of it, not because he would sit and talk (though he did that too). He never told anyone that he preferred art over english because it was easier to understand a picture to him than it was words. He never told anyone that he struggled to spell simple words like "bakery" and "shopping" but could spell "because" and "beautiful" because of a stupid rhyme he had heard once.

It was just something he had grown up with- something he had assumed other kids dealt with- u til he got to high school. Suddenly, he was surrounded by people writing 3000 word essays like they were nothing and people reading 200 page books during lunch, all while Wade still hadn't finished a single book he owned. While Wade still struggled to understand words that weren't in a specific font or colour- something he had realised shortly after turning 10- and everyone around him could just do it. They didn't take 10 minutes to finish a page of a book. They didn't get headaches from the concentration he had to use while staring at a page trying to figure out if the word "wandering" was spelt correctly. They didn't struggle to read the teachers writing because of the cursive writing. They could all just do it and Wade had to just sit and try.

Naturally, people noticed that he would read slowly and awkwardly when they read aloud in class, or that his work always came back covered in red pen from where he had misspelled simple words. He quickly became a target for bullying. Honestly, he probably wouldn't feel as self conscious as he does if that hadn't happened. If teachers had just stepped in and helped- noticed that something was wrong- he would've gotten some help and grown up with accommodations that would've helped him succeed. But he didn't get any of that. He got bullied for reading slowly and being dumb. He got kicked and punched because he had been spotted reading a book meant for younger kids (big mistake).

Wade tried. He did. He read books as often as he could to try and make his brain click- and it never worked. He would try and spell random words- and sometimes he got them and sometimes he didnt- and eventually he gave up. Eventually he succumbed to the voice in his head telling him he was stupid and that he was just going to have to go through life suffering.

And as he got older, he figured out stuff that helped and stuff that didn't. He managed to find a few fonts that helped, a few overlays that made it easier, and a few things to remind him how to spell certain words he usually struggled with.

He also got better at hiding it. Wade would tell people he preferred calls over text. He would open birthday cards and smile at the writing even if he couldn't quiet make out what it said. He would avoid anything that involved him reading in public.

And again, not because he couldn't read, but because it might take him alittle longer than it should, and the idea people would notice made his stomach fill with anxiety, sending him right back to being that scrawny kid I high-school who got beaten up every lunch time.

All of that only got worse after his accident. Well, the cancer and the torture and the murders, but ya know.

Now people were staring at him anyway. People would look and gasp and gawk as he walked down the street or went to the store to get groceries. Everywhere he went people stared. Everywhere.

So instead of being slightly worried people would notice him focusing too hard on reading, he was fully aware people were staring at him constantly because of his skin, and he liked to avoid giving them anymore reasons to stare.

To his suprise though, moving in with Al had helped. She was the only person he had told, and she was the only person who seemed to understand, telling him about something called dyslexia and telling him that his brain just worked alittle different than his. Then proceeded to pass out after using the last of her cocaine- but the thought was still there.

And she didn't seem to mind that he read alittle slower sometimes, because she still asked him to read her mail to her, and sometimes write letters or cards. Wade would have to ask her how to spell the words, but she never seemed to get angry about it, and she always seemed to know how to spell them. Plus, if anyone noticed it wasn't spelt right, they could blame it on her being blind (how was the recipient to know this letter hadn't been writing by Al? She could probably write stuff if she wanted. She's blind, not stupid.).

When he started to gain friends and family- somehow gaining a little group of them- he didn't feel as bad about them noticing. He still didn't say anything- didn't make it obvious- but he wanted them to know he read there cards. Make sure they knew he read the group chat messages. Make sure they knew he did care (and for some reason, probably because the writer loves this headcannon, it seemed like alot of him showing his cared had to do with reading and spelling), writing them birthday cards and Christmas cards, and responding to every single message.

He found a quick way around the messages. That was easy. Emojis, memes and gifs quickly became his best friend. They were easy to dichiper most of the time, and Wade loved them, so it was a win win! He did write things too, and auto correct usually helped if he was struggling that day, but he was getting better thanks to Al and her bossing about of writing letters to her grandkids.

Writing cards took a little longer, but he spent alot of time on each one, making sure everything look neat and was spelt well. It always made him proud giving someone a card that he knew he spent so much time on, perfecting every last word.

When Logan moved in, it was a topic Wade was trying to avoid. He knew he should tell him- they were getting closer and closer each passing day- but he always felt so stupid trying to explain it. It made him feel stupid, even if he knew he wasn't. Most of the time.

Luckily, it doesn't actually come up for awhile, not until they have moved into their own place and Wade is handing Logan a birthday card with a huge grin on his face, practically bouncing on his feet.

And Logan opens it and reads it, and smirks a little because "I don't think the word awesome is spelt like that" and suddenly Wade's smile is wiped off his face.

He really had tried- maybe he didn't read the word properly off his phone or something- because Wade is taking the card and trying his best to quickly read it but can't, and he let's out a grunt of frustration because rambling at Logan apologetically. "I really tried to fucking spell everything right- I'm the idiot for fucking trying to read the word to spell it- I mean, who does that when you can't even read properly? I can re-do it- gimme like an hour and a half to go get a new card and get Al on the phone to just ask her how to spell it and then I can give you one that isn't fucked up-"

And Logan shuts him up with a small kiss to the forehead, telling him that he "likes this one just fine, has more charm" and Wade wants that to feel reassuring but it somehow doesn't, and it just makes him more annoyed.

So after a small melt down and a good cry in the shower for fucking up Logan's birthday, he explains it to Logan. Tells him about how he sometimes struggles with reading and spelling, but he really did try with the card. He really does try to read and write properly but some days it's hard and some days he can do it easier, and that he never really told anyone until he met Al. He messily rambles about everything- including the bullying- and Wade expects to be met with some laugh or ridicule. Though, this is Logan- and somehow this man loves every other part of him- so why wouldn't he love this part too?

And Logan just apologises to Wade that he made him feel bad about misspelling the word awesome- makes a joke about how it's a hard word to spell- and that Wade shouldn't have been bullied for something he couldn't help. Tells him that it's nothing to be ashamed off, and that he shouldn't let it hold him back. Tells him that if he ever needs help with spelling something he can ask Logan, that if he ever can't figure out a word that he can ask Logan, asks if there are any accommodations he uses to help him.

And Wade tells him the things that help, the things that don't, thanks him for the offer of help, and suddenly it doesn't seem so terrifying that Logan knows. Suddenly he feels better about it. Sure, Al had helped, but hearing this from Logan made him feel less afraid to hide it. Made him feel better about telling his friends so they knew.

And Logan stays true to his words. He helps him when he is struggling with a word- never jumps in a reads stuff or spells things without being asked first- and even uses some of the accommodations. He has his phone set to a font Wade can read easier, and his next birthday card is in big bold writing (Logan's writing is normally really scribbly and hard to read) and on a colour that helps him focus on the words more.

And he tells his friends and they understand, they do the same. They help if asked, they don't rush him in reading their cards or messages- Yukio starts to use more emojis and Collosus tries his best to give Wade mission debriefs in person or voice messages- and it helps him immensely. He gets more confident about his reading and writing, and he starts to work on ut even more. And yeah, he can't get rid of his dyslexia, but he can try and find new ways that help him. He can find books in safe fonts and listen to the audio book as he reads to help (Though, he does prefer listening to Logan read to him, because his voice is so smooth and gruff somehow, and he could listen to it for hours).

Wade hated that stupid part of himself for so long, but now- even if he is 47- he doesn't really mind it anymore. He makes jokes about his spelling errors or words he missreads, and he works on finding new things to help with Logan, and everything is alittle bit easier knowing he isn't going to be ridiculed and judged.

(People who said they wanted this, I hope you enjoy! @wadewnstonwilson @logictoinsanity @zerotoqueero @superbattrash @spoopderman @klszkas @ohitsthemindstuffagain @mangoob @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes (tagging yall who said you wanted to read it!))

[missbluesunflowersstuff]

Some batfamily headcanon

They all have auditory processing disorder at this point, except for Damian and Duke

Damian is the youngest and Bruce and the others protect him most and Duke uses armor plus his powers makes him a little difficult to get hurt

Dick is partially deaf in his left ear and Tim is partially deaf in his right ear

Bruce and Jason suffer from chronic pain

If Steph or Damian just stopped and went into some blank state for more than two minutes call the most responsible adult near immediately, they are having an anxiety attack (they just freeze and stare at nothing, this is their anxiety attack)

Tim has narcolepsy actually this is why he has the worst sleeping schedule of them all

(Tim's narcolepsy may be undiagnosed, diagnosed but his parents hid the result, Tim refuses to take his medication because he believes he can "handle" it, it's up to you)

Jason, Cass and Damian have PTSD

(all of them have it actually, but these three have the worst attacks)

Dick emergency contact is Donna Troy

and it doesn't matter what the batfamily do or say, Dick is always puts Donna as his emergency contact

Damian emergency contact is Maya Ducard

Damian had a lot of nightmares in him early years, the family takes turns to take care of it

Jason and Damian have intrusive thoughts (hurt the others and hurt themselves, Jason villain era was basically 'I let my intrusive thoughts win' ) - today Damian handled it better than Jason did in the past (Jason I love you, but I will never forgive you for what you did to Mia Dearden)

Bruce created a lot of personas for his work and because of it Dick created the "hamburger theory"

If he accepts the hamburger and eats it with both hands it's Batman; if he starts eating his hamburger with fork and knife it's Bruce Wayne; if he's holding the burger with a napkin and smile it's Brucie; but if he rejected the hamburger just run, it's not safe near him in that moment

Dick made this theory when he still was a Robin and this is some 'don't tell dad' information between all of the kids

They usually share information with Cass in audio to help her understand, Babs still helps her with how to read but she prefers to use emojis or audio messages

Cass may or may not respond to their audio, but she will view it

Bruce and the others have no clue about Dick real health status because the only person who has legal rights to it is Donna and she doesn't share with them

One time Tim tried to steal Damian medical records to put in their data, he found out that Maya already did that and now she is the only person in the world legally allowed to have that information

Both Dick and Damian don't regret their decision because they really trust in their sisters more than the bats

(and yes, Bruce feels breyated because of this)

14!Damian is still a little afraid of sleeping, because he doesn't know what kind of dream he might have (he doesn't have nightmares like he used to, but the anxiety is still there)

Duke and Damian usually hang out more than the others; one time Steph asks why in the common channel and Duke only answers "you know that me and him are basically immortals, right? When everyone leaves, we'll still be here" (Duke is immortal because of his powers and Damian... Do you really think his family would allow him die?)

No one knows exactly the kind of shit Damian was submitted in the league and as Tim falls in get his medical records they'll never knows

The same applicants for Cass trying, what exactly Cain did with her is something she'll never tell

Jason actually has amnesia from his league days or some kinda of weird and very selective amnesia, everything just looks like a blur to him

Jason believes that he was hypnotized to forget everything or some weird magic stuff. But on some nights, in the silence of his room, Jason still seems like a fat baby lying near him, he wonders who is the baby and who they are now...

Some days, because of his chronic pain, Bruce uses a cane to walk around the house, but only inside

[wheelie-sick]

my experience with lupus cerebritis 🧠⚡

I was reading about lupus cerebritis (cerebritis= brain inflammation, lupus cerebritis = brain inflammation caused by lupus) trying to figure out if that's where my stutter could have come from. I stumbled across some stories from people who have experienced lupus cerebritis and it inspired me to try to share my own

a big part of cerebritis is memory loss, short term, long term, everything just vanishes. it feels so normal when it happens. that's a big thing with cerebritis for me. my mental state was very altered, everything that happened felt as if it had always been that way. sometimes I could logically acknowledge that it hadn't been this way, that it was new- sometimes I was bluntly forced into this knowledge over and over and over again as I normalized it in my head. other times my brain justified it in warped ways. I was living in a different reality.

I know that at the time there were gaping holes in my memory, things I shouldn't have forgotten. I remember one thing that stuck out- my graduation. I tried to remember my highschool graduation and I just couldn't wrap my head around it. it was as if it was hidden behind one of those bathroom you can't see but the light comes in windows. I could see the vague blur of what happened but I couldn't grasp it. just out of reach. I regained this memory later, I don't know if all of them came back. that's the problem with memory loss, you don't know what's gone.

this memory loss left some very permanent holes in my memory of that semester of brain inflammation. I am missing a lot. this recounting is going to be inaccurate on account of what's gone and what's warped.

the biggest feature of my cerebritis was psychosis. cerebritis drove me deep into a psychotic break.

it started off gradually, a creeping fog that shrouded the world. I don't remember where it began, I don't think it's possible to put a dot on the timeline and say "here! this is where I became psychotic!" it turned into a nightmare that would result in a failed semester of university. what started with mild delusions that people were following me and that I was on a watchlist turned into hiding under my bed with my blinds closed living off of ramen I had stockpiled because I thought the FBI was staking out my dorm room. I heard whispers coming from the corners of my dorm room. I isolated myself from my friends because I thought they were part of a mind reader society that would kill me if they knew that I knew about mind readers.

anxiety & paranoia are part of cerebritis

my writing ability was heavily affected by both my psychosis and cognitive issues. when writing essays I'd get the feedback that my writing was confusing, hard to follow, and made no sense. I once was one of the top writers in every class but now I was falling behind into last place.

lupus cerebritis is not just psychological and cognitive, though. I had gotten a wheelchair about 5 months before my cerebritis really kicked in. I ended up using it nearly full time, in part because of pain and fatigue caused by my untreated lupus but also because I would have bouts of severe balance & coordination issues. I would have trouble standing, I could not walk to the bathroom down the hallway. my body did not want to move the way I told it to.

eventually I got a diagnosis of lupus and was able to start treatment. after failing the conservative treatments I was put on a biologic. within a week I started returning to reality. my balance issues started to fade, my memory started to return. it took a total of 3 months to truly come down from the flare. it took a while to fully realize what had happened. I wasn't diagnosed with cerebritis when I was initially diagnosed, it took a follow up appointment where I explained what happened to be told that cerebritis was likely the cause.

I still live with some of the effects of my cerebritis and my immune system still loves to go after any part of my nervous system. I still have balance issues, I have peripheral neuropathy and a cranial nerve disorder, I still have brain fog and memory loss. brain inflammation leaves a lasting impact. it doesn't just go away and there's always a risk of it coming back.

reblogs welcome

[melodygatesauthor]

Not a Doctor

Jake Lockley X f!Reader (Patient X Therapist)

*skin tone of model in banner does not represent skin tone of reader. Reader is not race-coded.

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake

AO3 LINK

Summary:

You're a therapist who works at a medium security mental facility. One of your patients, diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, has an undocumented alter that starts showing himself to you. When you learn what it is he wants, you find it difficult to resist.

Tags/Warnings:

NSFW, power imbalance, p in v creampie, cum eating, spit kink, obsession, Jake in lust, medical inaccuracies, I probably made mistakes about DID but I tried, no powers/no MK/no marvel, rough sex, inappropriate sex, semi-public sex, patient/doctor relationship, dacryphilia, mild blood, biting/marking, reader is kinda mean to Steven (I'm really sorry), mental manipulation, praise kink, refractory period? What refractory period, Marc and Steven make minor appearances. Jake-centric fic.

Word Count: 12.6k (*cough* don't look at me, I'm but a simple hor)

The first time you met Jake Lockley, he was sitting across your desk in a wheelchair. He was mildly sedated, pupils dilated, brows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t know it was Jake yet, you assumed the original, Marc, was fronting, as he normally was. The manila file rested in front of you untouched, reading Marc Spector on the label. You didn’t even need to open it anymore, unless you were adding notes, as you’d been working with him long enough by now to know the file inside and out.

You asked Marc the same thing you asked at the beginning of every session.

“How are you doing today, Marc?”

A smirk spread over his face, something wicked, a little cocky, and it sent a chill racing down your spine. He looked at you with a face you didn’t recognize.

“I’m not Marc.” He said firmly, dark eyes burning into yours.

You were surprised; the British accent that normally accompanied Marc’s only known alter, Steven Grant, wasn’t there. You opened the file quickly, scouring through, shuffling papers around and trying to stay calm, looking for any indication of a third alter. 

But you came up with nothing during your quick glance. 

You took a deep breath to steady your racing mind.

“You’re not Steven.” You said it as more of a statement than a question.

You crossed your legs and put your hands in your lap, trying to show this new and unpredictable person that you weren’t a threat. You let your facial expression soften. In cases like Marc’s, if there was an undocumented alter, there was no telling if they were friend or foe.

“You’re not a doctor.” He muttered, shaking his head slowly. He had a slight twang to his words.

You gulped uncomfortably. He wasn’t wrong, you didn’t, in fact, have your PhD. You were a licensed therapist, but that was irrelevant information, and there was no way he could really know that. You could see that he was very quickly becoming agitated by the way his breath was coming out faster and his hands were clenching the armrests of his wheelchair. You felt your own anxiety pooling in your chest.

There was training you had undergone specifically for these types of situations. You tried to recall your safety training, remembering the importance of diffusing a situation with your words first, with calling security being a final resort, reserved only for when a patient was beyond reasoning with. The man in front of you wasn’t quite there yet from what you could tell.

The two of you were at a stand still, his chest was heaving and his eyes stayed narrowed on you. After working with Marc and Steven all this time and having no documentation of this alter, you felt at a loss for words. He could be the kindest person you’d ever met, or he could be extremely violent, there really was no telling what he was capable of.

“That’s irrelevant,” you said. “I’m here to help you, Marc and Steven, that’s all that matters.” You paused to see if he would say anything else. When he didn’t, you asked, “What’s your name?” You decided to keep things simple for now.

He leaned forward. Your hand involuntarily reached for the alert button around your neck slowly.

“Don’t you push that fucking button, puta.” He warned, you watched his hand slide forward on the wheelchair arm menacingly.

Your fingers froze over the button, holding there while you determined if this was something you could handle yourself or not. The two of you were at another impasse. If you pushed that button, he was going to lunge, and if you didn’t push it in time in the event he was violent, he could really hurt you, or worse…

“I won’t push the button as long as you and I can have a civil conversation.” You spoke calmly despite the terror building within you.

The man appeared to consider this before he leaned back in his chair. You slowly dropped your arm to show compliance. If he was going to back off, then you could safely let down your guard. A thick silence split through the room, save for the ticking clock above the door.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I’m just here to help. You can call me…” You told him your name. You’d found in your time as a therapist it helped your patients immensely when they felt like you were a peer, not a superior figure. “Alright, do you want to tell me why you’re here?” You asked, trying to keep your shaking voice as light as possible.

“Well…” he let out a snicker, “hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but if I’m here, that’s a bad sign.”

You were supposed to correct patients when they called you names like that, even they were expected to act more respectfully, but you didn’t want to agitate him further. If the worst thing he did right now was call you sweetheart, you’d consider that a win.

He scoffed, “tell me something…why do you smell like nuestra madre, hm?” He was clenching his jaw as he spoke.

You inhaled sharply, realizing you’d made a huge mistake. Your birthday was yesterday, and a friend bought you a new perfume. During one of the many trainings you’d done for your position, you’d been cautioned that certain scents could trigger some patients. Marc’s mother, Wendy…she must’ve worn something with similar notes. That’s why this alter was here. He was protecting the other two from the emotional pain that he thought you might cause. He’d pegged you as a threat.

You furrowed your brow and picked your pen up off the desk. You clicked it and started writing what he said on your legal pad. 

“What are you writing? Huh? You taking little notes about how crazy I am? Telling everyone how fucked up Marc is that he’s got three psychos in the same skull?” This new alter was intense, ready for a fight at every turn. You made a mental note never to wear that perfume again, and started scribbling more about the agitated man in front of you.

“I’m just taking simple notes. All the therapists do it. We have to.” You thought of something that might help him feel safer, “would you like to see them? We don’t typically show patients their notes, but if you ask for them I’m obligated to show them to you.”

It turned out that Jake Lockley did not, in fact, want to see the notes. 

The visit ended shortly after with security intervention. His smile turned manic as he got up from his chair and grabbed a pyramid shaped paperweight from your desk. He turned it around in his hand, the pointed edge facing you and you quickly pressed your emergency button with a look of terror in your eyes. Marc had never done anything like that, especially not to you. He knew you were there to help. This alter clearly didn’t trust you, and it was going to be a struggle to get him to come around.

Security sedated and removed him from your office. You couldn’t stop thinking about him after that interaction. The way his eyes looked, so dark and different, eyebrows scrunched together in nothing but disdain. He looked feral, like a wild animal. As if given the opportunity, he might devour you whole. You’d decided to avoid making any official documentation about him. Marc was so close to moving to a less restrictive program, you didn’t want to ruin that for them until you knew more.

----

The second time you met Jake Lockley was a week later. You were in the middle of a conversation with Steven. Marc would sometimes dissociate when the conversation got too difficult, and you’d just finished talking about Marc’s time in the military. You were trying to figure out more about this other alter. You had a suspicion that he had been around for a while, and that last week wasn’t the first appearance he’d ever made.

You weren’t even sure if Marc knew about him. You cared for Marc and Steven. They’d made so much progress since first coming in, and you didn’t want to see them end up back in a maximum security mental facility. According to their chart, it took months before they finally stopped going on about the Egyptian moon god and being his ‘Moon Knight’. Not that Steven believed in it anyway, that was mostly Marc’s delusion. By the time they’d become your patient, those days were long behind them.

The purpose of Marc being there with you, in that facility, wasn’t to get rid of his dissociative identity disorder. In fact, he’d made it very clear that wasn’t something he intended to do. “Steven’s a part of me, we’re a package deal,” he’d said. He needed to learn to live with it, and function in society in order to be discharged, and that was his goal here. It was just within reach, too. If there was a third alter though, that would be a major setback for them. There was just no telling what kind of man he was.

You supposed that was why you’d broken protocol and kept the new alter out of your chart notes. It was completely unethical to do that, but you wanted to know if this was something worth keeping them in there for any longer. You saw no sense in extending his stay if this alter was just reacting violently to you out of fear.

“Steven, can you tell me something?” You asked, leaning back in your chair and grabbing your coffee between your hands.

“Sure, yeah.”

He always seemed happy to talk to you. You wondered if you were the only one there that treated him like he actually existed, and not like he was some imaginary friend of a mentally ill man. People could be so cruel, even in your field.

“I’ve been looking through your chart more recently, and one very typical symptom of DID is loss of time. Marc said he experienced it quite a bit when you would front, and you mentioned it happening during the last few weeks of you having your job while Marc had control of the body. You know…before the bathroom incident in London.” You strummed your fingers against the cup nervously, unsure if this line of questioning might help or hurt them further. “Have you or Marc…lost any time recently?”

Steven furrowed his brow, his mouth went a little slack while he tried to recall. He shook his head slowly. You could see him trying to think, to a point that his face dropped and he looked almost disappointed. A smirk curled at the side of his lip. Your blood went cold; it was him. The switch happened so fast.

“Hola, puta.” He said, looking up at you through his lashes.

You reached for the button quickly, but hesitated again. It was as if his eyes darkened, and his entire body changed. He wiped some spit from his bottom lip and tousled his hair a bit, straightening his posture.

“Marc must be sick of not having hair gel.” The unknown man commented.

You nodded, “he’s mentioned it once or twice.” You took a deep breath, “do I need this thing? Or are we going to talk like civilized human beings?”

He shrugged and crossed his arms, “that’s up to you. Last time I had a conversation with someone, they weren’t making cute little notes to share with their friends later.”

“Why do the notes bother you?” You asked softly, lowering your arm to the desk.

He looked at the floor for a moment, allowing an awkward silence to hang in the air. When he looked at you again, his eyes were nearly black, pupils dilated. His lips were pressed together tightly and he leaned forward. You shifted uncomfortably, but kept your hands from pressing the panic button.

“I don’t think those notes are particularly honest. Do you?” He tilted his head to the side. “What did you write about me after our little incident last week, huh?”

You were surprised at his ability to recall the time. You began to wonder if he’d been hiding in plain sight and if anyone else had noticed the changes in Marc’s behavior. What you still weren’t sure about, was what seemed to trigger this new alter. You’d been sure not to wear that perfume again. How long has this alter been around? 

“I didn’t write about your incident. The psychiatrist was surprised to hear that Marc had an unusual outburst during our session.” You laced your fingers over your knee. “I’d like to know more about you before I condemn Marc and Steven to more time here.”

You watched his entire body relax at that sentence. His purpose, as it would seem, was to protect the system. When things got scary, physically or otherwise, he would come out. He was in no danger now though, so why he was there now was a mystery to you.

“No notes.” He said firmly, stating his conditions.

“Fine.” You said, pushing the notepad to the other end of the desk. “Let’s just chat then.”

The sound of the clock ticking was deafening. A smirk played over his face again as he grunted and stood from his wheelchair. Your fingers twitched, but you were going to do everything you could not to touch that damn button. Ever since they’d been transferred to this facility, you wanted to help Marc and Steven so badly, and you still meant to do that. He walked up to the desk and held his hand out to you.

Despite your attempt at bravery, your body was trembling as you went to shake his hand. His handshake was firm, and surprisingly his skin was soft. Neither Steven nor Marc had ever touched you before, they just sat in the wheelchair like patients were supposed to. Something told you that this one didn’t care much for the rules or protocol. He turned and went back to his seat.

That was when you learned his name was Jake Lockley.

“Now, what was it you wanted to know, sweetheart?” 

His New York accent was much clearer now. He wasn’t unhinged by nature, in fact, he was quite calmly mannered, however he seemed easy to trigger. It was also hard to tell when he was upset. He seemed to mask his feelings behind a sly grin, brushing off any and every word with a sense of grit. It was like the man you’d met the week before, the one who looked like he might stab you, wasn’t the same one you were talking to now.

Steven had taken a while to sort out, getting him to understand and step into his role in Marc’s life. Steven would come out when Marc was experiencing something triggering, or generally upsetting. If the topic turned to their mother, Marc could talk for a little while before Steven would take his place. Steven had also struggled with understanding his existence. What did it mean to be an alter for a man with DID? The existential questions were still a struggle for even you to comprehend.

“Jake, tell me about what you think is going on here?” You were trying to be friendly, but you could tell he was a no bullshit kind of guy. If you could match his energy, you might be able to get some answers out of him.

“Why don’t you tell me more about you, and then I’ll tell you more about me.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow against his knee.

You interlinked your fingers over the desk and sighed. It was against protocol to tell patients about your personal life. It could create a dangerous situation for you, and potentially trigger a patient. You wanted to get Jake to talk though, so you decided to play along.

“Fine…” you felt tense. No one had made you feel this way during your entire career as a therapist. “You start.”

He seemed amused. His face was cocky, as if he’d won a prize at the end of a game, and perhaps to him this was a game. You leaned back and tapped the arm of your chair anxiously, trying to keep yourself calm despite the weight crushing your chest.

“You married? No, I don’t see a ring.”

So he’s observant, you noted.

“Got a boyfriend then?” He asked, still looking smug.

“No.” You answered bluntly. The important thing with difficult patients like him was to hold your ground, and don’t give them any information they can use against you later.

“Okay, Jake, when Marc was in the Lennox maximum security facility he started some trouble with other patients. It’s also reported that he had no recollection of said events. I guess they should’ve spotted you then.” You looked at him, feeling a little cocky yourself after having done your research since your last session with Marc.

“That sounds more like a statement than a question.”

“Was that you?”

“Si.”

Another pause. Jake rested his chin on his fist. His eyes narrowed, but his brows seemed to soften. He was relaxing, easing into the space. This was good, maybe you could get him to talk more freely.

“Do you wear pretty red lipstick for all of your patients or just for me?”

The heat rose to your cheeks. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but it sounded ragged and shallow despite your best efforts to stay calm. He was being so bold. None of your patients had ever spoken to you like that, so flirtatiously. It still surprised you how different he was from Marc and Steven, despite sharing a body with them.

“That’s inappropriate.” You cleared your throat stiffly.

“Answer the question, bebita.” He demanded coldly. “Answer…or I guess we’re done here.”

“No, I wear this color often.” You answered in an equally cool tone.

“Looks good.” His eyelids lowered seductively. The heat in your cheeks was still burning.

“Uh…thanks.” Your nerves were breaking through the barrier you normally had in place with patients.

“Your turn.”

It was hard to think of another question. He’d rendered you speechless, which you supposed was probably his goal. He was sly, this one, crafty with how he played the game. Suddenly you felt like this was his office, and you were the one under the magnifying glass.

“When did you come about, at what point in Marc’s life?”

You really needed to take these notes, but you decided that it would get you nowhere with him.

“Some time when he was in the service. I don’t remember the exact year.” He cleared his throat now, he seemed to get uncomfortable at the mention of the traumatic event that led to his creation.

“You don’t like to think about that, do you?”

“You already asked your question.” His tone was no longer amused, and you sensed the game was over.

“I know you care about Marc, I do too. If you don’t cooperate with me then he’s never going to leave here.” You tried to play to his weakness, Marc, the only reason he existed. “I want to help him. Please.”

“I think we’re done here sweetheart, but I’ll see you again next time. Maybe wear something nice and we’ll see if I feel more talkative.”

You spent the rest of the day thinking about your appearance. When you got home you stood in front of your full length mirror, turning from side to side. You’d worn what you always wore to work: your white coat, with a solid colored shirt underneath, today you’d worn the blue one, and black slacks. Jewelry was something you were instructed to keep to a minimum given the nature of your profession.

What’s wrong with my outfit? I thought I looked nice enough, you thought.

You caught your own eye in the reflection and chuckled, suddenly feeling foolish. Why did you care what your patient thought of your outfit? Your appearance had nothing to do with your ability to do your job. In a frustrated huff you fell into your evening routine, showering, brushing your teeth, changing into sweats and a comfy shirt before crawling into bed.

For the following week you hardly slept. This alter, this…Jake Lockley…he had a hold on you that you couldn’t explain. You started mulling over Marc’s notes in between patients, questioning all the incident reports that appeared exceptionally violent. There weren’t many, otherwise he would’ve remained in maximum security, but there were a few notable incidents.

When you saw Marc again, he had a broken nose. You’d received word earlier that morning that he’d had an incident overnight.

Patient Name: Marc Spector

DOB: 03/09/1987

Date of incident: ———

Date of report: ———

Incident Details: Patient exhibited hostility toward staff. Staff observed as patient seemed to become severely agitated by the sound of gunshots in a movie playing in the common area.

Patient began yelling nonsensically. Staff observed patient grab a pen and attempt to use it as a weapon to stab another patient. Staff intervened and sedated patient. Patient has no recollection of the incident.

No patients or staff sustained physical injury. Patient will be kept under sedation until further evaluation. It’s recommended that patient be evaluated for potential transfer back to the Lennox Facility.

You looked up from the paper and gave Marc a kind smile. He looked a little afraid, confused, and most of all he looked tired. That’s what got him here in the first place. The DID was minor, he had that handled all on his own, well before he was institutionalized. The insomnia is what caused Steven’s hallucinations, and that’s what caused his mental break that put him in front of you.

“Marc, the sheet here says–”

“I know what the sheet says.” He was embarrassed, that much was evident by his lack of eye contact and the way his lips were pressed together.

“Can you tell me what happened?” You spoke hardly above a whisper.

“Oh, yeah sure, I’d love to talk about it.” He said sarcastically. “Problem is, I don’t remember anything, but you should already know that, right? You read the papers.”

“You know that I care a lot about you and Steven, right? I need you to work with me. I want you out of here too. You’re not…insane like some of the other people I’ve seen.” You were speaking low. You weren’t supposed to talk like that about your patients, no matter how true it may be.

“I know…I know.” Marc’s eyes started glistening. “I think there’s another one… a third.”

You gulped, unsure if you should tell him about this new alter he knew nothing about. Marc was smart, smarter than you sometimes gave him credit for. He knew without you saying anything that there was something you were hiding.

“Doc.” Marc always called you that, no matter how many times you told him to call you by your first name. “What’s going on, what do you know?”

“I need you to stay calm, okay?”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve…I’ve met another one, and I’m still figuring him out. I was waiting to learn more before I told you…or anyone else.” You realized you were squeezing your pen in your fist.

“What do you mean?” Marc was panicking, you could see his bottom lip quivering in his frustration. “There’s another one? How? When?”

He started to stand, his legs shook. You’d never seen Marc so upset before. He walked closer and pressed both hands on your desk, leaning forward.

“Who is he? Tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Marc, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want…”

The shift in expression was subtle, but you could see it plain as day. The anger seemed to dissipate and was replaced with a suave smirk and furrowed brows.

“Hi sweetheart, nice outfit.” He said, tone much calmer than Marc’s was seconds ago.

“Jake.”

“Si, bebita.” His eyes crawled over you slowly, he even bit his bottom lip.

“Sit down.” You said firmly, pulling your white coat over your chest.

He shook his head, “no, I don’t think I will. Been a while since I’ve really been able to stretch my legs.”

He started to pace, stopping to look at some of the artwork and photos in your office. You remained silent, unsure of his next move, and not wanting to give him any fuel to add to the fire. He stopped in front of one photo. They were all generic, stock images that meant nothing, just random and placed there for decorative purposes. The photo he pointed to was of an old cab in a silver frame on the top shelf of your bookcase.

“You know I used to drive a cab. Years ago in New York.” He chuckled like he recalled something funny, “did you always do this…” he gestured around the room, “this therapy thing? Or did you have a different job before?”

“Jake, you know we need to talk about the incident, right? From yesterday?” You were trying to speak gently, hoping he would return the favor, but he was so unpredictable.

“I thought we had a deal, bebita. I ask, then you get to ask.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, letting a stray clump of curls fall over his forehead. He brushed his broken nose with his hand and winced.

“Fuck.” He touched the wound with his fingertip before looking at you, eyes cold.

“Jake, I know you care about them too, why are you hiding yourself from them?”

“No no no, I go first.”

He walked over to the wheelchair, released the brake, brought it closer to your desk, and then set it once again. You watched as he walked over and plopped down in front of you.

“You wore a nicer shirt than the last time I saw you. Did you dress up for me? I like that little skirt too.” 

A big smile spread over his face. Meanwhile, you were fidgeting with the hem of your skirt to pull it down as far as you could. Your cheeks burned, of course you didn’t wear that outfit for him…right? 

You recalled your morning. There were butterflies in your gut at the realization that it was Marc’s therapy day. That wasn’t the most unusual thing, you looked forward to working with some of the patients that you enjoyed talking to, and Marc was one of them.

What was different though, was the conscious effort to make sure your red lipstick was perfect, not one bit smeared or out of place. You’d worn a blouse that showed a tasteful bit of cleavage and in a color that complimented your skin tone. You even broke the rules a little and wore some earrings that dangled just a tiny bit…but of course you weren’t dressing up for the alter of a mentally ill man. That would be…crazy.

“I didn’t dress up for you.”

“Oh? So are you dressing up for Marc then? Does he know you–”

“My turn.” You saw his lip twitch. He seemed to like you snapping back at him. “Why are you hiding yourself from Marc and Steven?”

“They wouldn’t like me very much, sweetheart, I’m not a nice guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My turn.” He leaned back, spreading his legs out.

That’s when you noticed…the unmistakable shadow of arousal in his cloth pants. You gulped, eyes widening as you brought your gaze back to his quickly, trying to act like you weren’t just looking between his legs. He noticed though, without a doubt, Jake Lockley noticed you staring at his erection.

“See something you like?” His eyes were half hooded, a cocky smile spread over his soft lips.

“No.”

You crossed your arms and leaned back, angling yourself so the desk was covering his bottom half from your line of sight.

“What did you do before you were…whatever you are?” He asked.

“My turn.” You said.

It was your coy way of reminding him that he had already asked you a question in an attempt to draw the attention to what was between his legs. He was amused with this game, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were too. If this was the only way to get information out of him, then you were happy to oblige.

“You said you’re not a nice guy. What are you then?” You narrowed your eyes at him. In anticipation of his quick witted remark you added, “and don’t give me a sarcastic answer. Honest answers only.”

He waved a finger at you, “I’ll start being honest the moment you do the same, sweetheart.”

“I am being honest with you.”

“No, no you’re not.”

Jake was gone after that, leaving you with a rambling British man who, ‘didn’t know how he got there’.” Steven cried when you told him that you were going to start seeing them twice a week. It was understandable, since he and Marc had been so close to moving down to a less strict facility just a couple of weeks ago. You didn’t have the heart to bring up Jake to Steven. Your obligation wasn’t to Steven anyway, it was to Marc.

You saw him again. Marc, that is, two days later. He scowled at you for a good five minutes before he finally started speaking.

“I don’t want to hear a word out of your mouth unless it’s about what’s going on in my head, doc.” Marc was mildly sedated again. 

His nose was healing, but it still looked raw and painful. You needed to help him. You needed to keep your interest in his alter at bay in order to assist Marc through this. That was your job. It was hard to understand what it was that made you nearly forget that. You were a therapist, your job was to help Marc Spector rehabilitate into society, and you were failing him by not being honest.

“Last time I tried to talk about him with you, he made an appearance.” You clicked your pen over and over anxiously, unsure how the rest of this could possibly go.

Marc was clearly agitated, and you couldn’t say you blamed him. You often tried to put yourself in the shoes of your patients and thought about how you would feel if you’d just heard someone was taking over your body to do as they wished without your knowledge. Especially if it seemed like that person was doing nothing but harm to you.

“I think he cares about you, that much I can tell.” You tried to give him some sense of comfort with that one thing you had figured out about Jake. “Typically in cases of DID, the alters play a role in protecting the mind of the original in some way. Typically.”

“How is starting fights and nearly getting us sent back to max supposed to help? Huh?” You could see his chest heaving the more upset he got.

“You need to stay calm, you becoming agitated seems to be a trigger for him.” You warned, holding up your hand and lowering it slowly, as though that was supposed to help Marc in any way. “Remember? We talked about this. Deep breaths.”

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. Then again.

“There you go.”

“C-can you, can you help me with this damn…” Marc reached behind his back, “my tag is just…it’s itching and…”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed, standing up and walking over to him.

You leaned over him, reaching behind his neck and gently tucking in his tag. Marc, being one of the more hygienic patients you worked with, smelled nice, like fresh linen. You caught yourself with your face a little too close to his dark curls before you broke yourself from your trance. By the time you leaned back, you weren’t looking at Marc anymore. Jake.

For your own safety, you should’ve run back to your desk immediately, but you didn’t. He reached out quickly, grabbing the badge and security button around your neck. Jake tugged quickly. The straps had safety-release buckles on them, in case a patient tried to choke you, and the lanyard was pulled from your neck. He tossed it to the side carelessly.

“Jake, be careful, if you hurt me-”

“Bebita, I don’t want to hurt you.” Jake said, grabbing your jacket collar.

He pulled you close, leaning up to kiss your crimson painted lips. For a split second, you rested there, enjoying the feeling of his exceptionally soft lips against yours, but only for a split second. You pushed him back and gasped.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hissed through gritted teeth. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

You were flustered, scrambling to go grab the items Jake had thrown, but you made the grave mistake of turning your back to a patient. Another thing you’d seemed to forget about your safety training in your flustered state. He was behind you faster than you could think, right hand snaking down to pull up your skirt and feel around for your cunt, the other was wrapped around your throat, pulling you against him tightly. You stiffened, but you were ashamed to say that you didn’t struggle very hard.

“Got you right where I want you, sweetheart.” He said between heavy breaths.

“L-let me go.” You said, feeling terror, mixed with excitement, trickling down your spine. “If you do something stupid, you’re only going to hurt Marc and you know that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you until you want me…and you will want me.”

His middle finger grazed over your pussy lips through your cloth panties. You were wet, you could feel it when he pressed them against your skin further. You gulped against his thick fingers, still wrapped around your throat, before wriggling against his chest, a feeble attempt to get away.

“You sure you don’t want me already?” He kissed your neck softly, and a single damned moan escaped from you before you could stop it. He chuckled, “course you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

Jake dropped his hand out from under your skirt. A sigh of relief left you, but he kept his other hand firmly against your throat. He reached into his pocket and held out on his fingertips a single paper flower. You furrowed your brow in confusion. Finally he released you, to which you reached your own hand up to rub where he’d held pressure over your neck. You turned to him, but you never took your eyes off the little flower. 

“What is this?” You asked.

“Can’t exactly run out to the store and buy you flowers now, can I?”

Now you looked at him, face full of surprise and uncertainty. Was he…was he seriously trying to court you? Your breath caught in your throat. He had looked at you with clear attraction on several occasions. Him acting this way shouldn’t be overly surprising, and yet you were left speechless.

“You…I don’t understand.” You were scrambling to find the words to say.

“I think you do, you’re a smart girl.” He flicked the flower. You watched as it landed perfectly on the corner of your desk. “When you’ve changed your mind…you just say the word. I know how to keep a secret, bet you can too.”

He was close to you again. This time you didn’t even try to stop him when he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Were you leaning in or was he? You were close, ready to taste him again.

“Erm, what the…”

Steven. Oh shit, STEVEN.

“Steven!” You jumped back in a panic, feeling your cheeks light on fire.

“Sorry! I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to put my hands on you. I’m still gettin’ used to this whole thing of me not being…well…me all the time. I still lose time and I don’t know what’s happenin’. Oh god, was it Marc? Did Marc touch you?” Steven was panicking, his eyes were blown wide and his hands were balled into nervous fists at his sides.

“No, Steven, it’s alright, I’m fine. I just…I dropped something and…um…today’s session is over you can go.” You started walking over to grab the lanyard Jake had thrown earlier from your neck.

“Are you sure? It’s only half past I don’t want to-”

“Go!” You yelled, leaning over to grab the lanyard from the floor.

----

By the time you saw Marc again, you felt like you were the one that needed to be mildly sedated and institutionalized. You couldn’t get Jake out of your head. Was it the kiss? You could still feel his phantom lips on yours. Was it the way he brushed his fingers against your soaking panties? The moment Steven left after your meeting with them last week, you plunged your fingers two knuckles deep into your drenched cunt until you achieved release.

You still didn’t even know who the fuck he was.

Your license was on the line. The responsible thing to do would be to insist that Marc start seeing a new therapist for his condition. You clearly were unfit to help him at that point, far too affected by his alter’s presence. The thought upset you though, that you might never see this mystery man again. You had to at least try to get through one more session, to prove to yourself that you could handle it…to prove that you were a good therapist.

Marc was wheeled in and put in front of you by security. He looked upset, like he had last week when you finally told him the truth about the gaps in his and Steven’s memories. You supposed you owed him some sort of explanation now. You only hoped you could get through it this time without interruption. If you could get through this one last appointment with Marc, you’d follow through with getting him to another therapist.

“I expect that you and Steven understand why I had to keep him from you…right?” You asked softly.

Looking at him was difficult. When you looked into his eyes, you had a hard time not thinking about Jake, and the way he made you feel. It didn’t make sense how he captivated you that way. He was interesting, mysterious, and dangerous. Was that it? Was he a reprieve from your otherwise boring and mundane life? Was it the way he clearly wanted you? He was so cocky, so confident. He quite literally took your breath away.

“Yeah, I know.” Marc said finally. You watched his shoulders slump. “I don’t know what to do.”

He was crying. Marc didn’t cry often, and usually when he did, Steven would take over immediately, but the alter didn’t seem like he was working his way out. You wondered if Steven was still upset at you for yelling at him the other day.

“I can help you, but…we need to keep this a secret.” You were speaking in a hushed tone. “If your psychiatrist finds out about him…you’ll never get out of…”

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence. A dark thought crossed your mind.

“Doc?”

You froze in thought. A smirk crept over your lips. If Marc’s psychiatrist thought he had another alter…then they’d be there…well…forever. There was no reason you couldn’t get yourself transferred to maximum and do your work there if worst came to worst, but you suspected Jake was crafty enough to keep them right here. He could keep them insane enough to still need your care, but too sane for a place like Lennox.

If you managed to keep them there, you and Jake could see each other whenever you decided Marc needed an extra session. It would be so easy for you to make sure Jake could take you whenever he wanted, fucking you until you screamed his name while he filled you over and over. It was too much, the need overcoming you with every second that ticked by.

“I’m ready.” You looked deep into Marc’s eyes. “Jake.”

Marc’s brow furrowed, he shook his head in confusion, “what the hell is wrong with you? Is that his name? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You caught your reflection in the desk, you looked fucking crazed. Your eyes were widened, hungry, and full of need. Who was this woman staring back at you? You hardly recognized her. You touched your cheek, feeling the heat at your fingertips. When you shifted in your seat you could feel the slick permeating your panties.

Clammy sweat stuck to your fingers, and your mouth felt dry. You were breathing heavily. Was it hot in there? Taking off your jacket didn’t help. Marc was talking to you, checking in on you so kindly, but you didn’t care. You felt feral, like you were reverting back several steps in evolution and you only wanted one thing, to fu–

“Doc?!” He yelled, breaking you free from your plaguing thoughts.

Your insanity riddled eyes shot up to look at him. He looked afraid. Not afraid of you, but for you. You gulped and took in a deep breath before finding the words to say.

“I-I’m sorry Marc, I haven’t been feeling like myself.” You took another deep breath, trying to shake the crazed thoughts out of your mind. “I think I’m going to be sick, we have to reschedule.”

----

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for a new therapist. You know you have that right.” You sighed, “I’m also surprised you didn’t report me for keeping things from you.”

It had been two weeks since you saw Marc last. After your episode, you canceled all appointments for the next couple of weeks so you could reset. It had taken the first couple days of your break for you to recenter yourself and feel more like…you. After that you’d started to feel better, but you needed to keep yourself separated from them for just a little while longer.

“You stuck your neck out for Steven and myself more times than I can count. Figured I could do the same for you.” He gave you a comforting smirk. “I know you want to help…but I can tell that this…Jake guy…he’s got you riled up.”

You breathed deeply, “yeah, he really…really got into my head. He seems to be triggered by things like certain smells, colors, and sounds. He says his first memories come from your time in the marines.”

Marc clenched his jaw and looked down. You wondered how hard that must’ve been for him, being discharged from the marines and never really knowing why until now, many years later. He looked back up at you. He really was handsome, despite your best efforts not to look at them that way, but he would never compare to Jake, even if they shared the same face.

“Tell me more about him.” Marc demanded.

“He’s…” you thought for a moment, “he’s harsh, rough around the edges, you know? Doesn’t like your hair gel.” You had to stop yourself from smiling like a fool at the thought. “He knows how to make origami flowers.”

You gestured to the flower that still sat on your desk, right where you’d left it before your break. Marc leaned forward on his elbows.

“What else? Steven said he was very…very close to you when he started fronting a couple of weeks ago.” Marc was pressing.

“He…he kissed me.” You hadn’t wanted to admit that to anyone, especially not Marc. “I think he was going to kiss me again but then Steven came in.”

He stood and walked over to your desk. He was looking at you with such intensity. His brows were turned up and drawn in together. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“What else did he do?” Marc’s voice was low, and that was when you realized that something was off.

You were being played with.

Your lips parted, and you stood up suddenly. It was like the entire mental health break you took meant nothing the moment you saw that face. You had a one track mind around him. You could only think about one thing. You took your lanyard off slowly and placed it on the desk softly. Your heels clacked as you stepped around the corner and stopped at the edge, keeping a respectable distance between you and your patient. Every nerve ending in your body was coming alive.

“He touched me.” You said just over a whisper.

Jake stepped closer to you, just one step.

“Where?” You both stepped closer to each other. “Show me.”

You paused, feeling that weight on your chest once again. You were shaking with anticipation. He was terrible, taunting you like this, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeding into it. Despite taking the time off to reset, and move on from this mental dilemma, the second you realized you were talking to him, and not Marc, you were excited beyond words. He had such a strong hold on you, and you were quickly realizing that there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You reached out and grabbed Jake’s wrist. His skin was so soft. You lifted your skirt up over your hips, never letting your eyes leave his, and then you pulled his hand to your already soaked panties. Jake’s face finally broke, a smirk lifted the corner of his lips. He lowered his lids to gaze at you.

“Why didn’t you come to me when I told you I was ready?” You looked between his eyes rapidly. “I thought, maybe I’d made you up or…that you’d forgotten about me.”

Jake grabbed the back of your neck quickly and pulled you in tight. His fingers slid under the waistband of your panties and slipped over your clit. When you gasped at the sensation, Jake closed his mouth on yours. There wasn’t a single thought other than Jake occupying every bit of your mind while he melted himself into you and started swirling his finger around your swollen nub.

“I couldn’t forget you, sweetheart, not when watching you get all flustered over me has been so entertaining.”

“I’m not…not flustered.” You sounded like you had no air left in your lungs. Your hips slid forward over his fingers involuntarily.

“You’re not?” He leaned closer, lips brushing yours just barely.

Something inside you broke through the fog of your arousal, reminding you how wrong this was. As if you’d been awoken from a deep trance, your eyes shot open, glaring at his.

“No…no!” You pulled back, the waistband of your underwear snapped against your skin as you stepped away from him. “I could lose my license…I could go to prison.”

Jake kept his eyes on you while he stuck the two fingers he’d slipped into your panties into his mouth, sucking on them.

“Tan buena, bebita.”

You ran your hands down your face while looking him over. There was a prominent peak formed in his pants, testing the strength of the seam. You felt your core flutter at the sight. You’d never struggled with shortness of breath, but he had you pressing a hand to your chest, desperate for more oxygen.

“Thought you said you were ready.” Jake still held a sly smirk on his face. “That’s alright, I can be patient, you’ll change your mind eventually.”

“No, I won’t, no. Stop doing this to me.” You walked back around and sat at your desk, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you get that wet for all your patients?”

You picked a spot on the white-washed wall and stared at it. Your jaw was clenched, and you started tapping your finger against your arm nervously. You couldn’t ignore him, he wasn’t just going to leave, and you still needed to find a way to help Marc and Steven.

“Do you at least want to know what I think about when I’m fronting at night when Steven and Marc think we’re asleep?” You saw him shift in his seat out of your peripheral, but you kept your eyes on the wall.

“No.”

He chuckled. Jake certainly loved to toy with you. He also didn’t seem interested in the fact that you declined to hear his thoughts.

“I think about how good those delicious red lips will look when I stretch them out. I don’t even know if you could fit all of this in your mouth, what do you think?” He adjusted the waist of his pants, pulling them down under his balls.

Your eyes shifted, for only a second, and you found yourself staring wide. He had his cock caged in his fingers. It was big, bigger than any you’d seen before. You gulped. This was the point that you were instructed by your training to call for security to get him out of there, but instead you just kept your arms crossed firmly and watched.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” He repeated a question he’d asked you once before.

“Stop this.” You said with little conviction.

“You’ll have to call security if you want me to do that.” He dragged his fist upward over his length, “so if you want Marc to get in even more hot water, go for it.”

He exhaled slowly, looking down while he worked on himself and biting his bottom lip with another firm stroke. He looked up at you, smiling when his eyes locked on to yours. You averted your gaze to your spot on the wall once again. 

“Thought a lot about how wet you get, bebita.” He groaned while he stroked. “How wet you are right now.”

You clenched your thighs together tightly to ease the ache between your legs. All you could feel was the wet slick of your panties sliding around. You wanted him, you wanted him so bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to openly admit it, or to act on it. Your career, and perhaps your life, would be over. 

“Could be our little secret.”

You looked at him again. He moaned, letting his jaw go slack. His head fell back and his eyes fluttered closed. You watched, shamefully, entranced by the way his hand would glide lazily over his thick cock. His free hand grabbed the arm of the wheelchair tightly, knuckles turning white. You were shocked to feel a trickle of drool crawling down your chin. You quickly wiped it away.

What’s happening to me, you thought, you’re his therapist, this is unethical, you should call security right-

“You know sweetheart…” Jake dropped his gaze back on you, and you stared back, “my favorite thing to think about is how good that tight little pussy will look around me, swallowing me whole.”

The lightest exhale left your mouth, and of course he heard it.

“I’m only tolerating this for Marc’s sake.” You reminded him.

“Is that what you’re going to say when I’ve got you bent over that desk?”

He stood and walked over to the desk, dropping his cock with a thud on the smooth white surface. You looked away quickly, but through your peripheral you could see him place his palm firmly over his length and start rutting against the desk.

“Just think about…fuck….how hard I’m gonna fuck you.” The desk scraped over the floor with the thrust of his hips. You braced your hands against it and looked up at him again. “Still not too late, I can take you right now. Just come around here and bend over for me. Lift up that pretty little skirt. It’ll be quick.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head slowly. This was against everything you thought you knew. No patient ever had this effect on you. Why him? Sure, Marc was attractive, but you’d never felt like this. You were staring again, looking up at the harsh faced man and then tracing your eyes down to his cock while he fucked his palm against the desk.

“There you go, bebita, you thinking about how good it’s gonna feel too?”

You were thinking about how good it would feel, to have him bending you over the desk. You hoped he could fuck you so hard your hips bruised. He was so big, he was sure to stretch you beyond your limit. He’d fill you so full his cum would be dripping out of you for days. The thought alone was enough to make the arousal pool in your core.

You looked away from him again, focusing on the wall, but that didn’t stop the breathy and hardly audible moan that left you. This was out of control, you were out of control. He groaned again, forcing your gaze to return to him. He started moving faster. You noticed precum leaking from the head, glistening over the desk.

“M’bout to come, you sure you don’t want this load? Worked it up just-for-you.” He grunted with each thrust. “Fuck.”

He stopped moving, but his cock throbbed, gushing ropes of cum all over the surface of your desk. A small glob dropped right in front of you. Your jaw dropped, and you rolled back in your chair, staring down at the mess he’d made. He tucked his cock back into his pants once he was sufficiently spent. When you looked up at him you noticed the proud expression on his face.

“Better clean that up before anyone sees it and thinks Marc’s gone insane, jerking off in front of his therapist.” You scowled at him before grabbing some tissues out of the box on your desk and starting to clean up the mess with a clear air of aggravation around you.

“You’re disgusting.” You muttered.

Your body was betraying you though. No matter how disgusting you insisted he was, you wanted him more than you ever recalled wanting anything before. It made no sense. You cleaned up the mess, trying to keep your fingers from touching the sticky cum spread all over. You felt the heat in your cheeks burning you alive, knowing he was watching you. When you finally cleaned up the last bit, under his watchful gaze, you looked back up at him, tossing the last tissue in the waste bin.

He leaned forward slowly, bringing his face close to yours. You thought he might try and kiss you, his lips were right there. You even saw his eyes dip to look at your mouth before going back up to look at you. You leaned in a little too.

“That’s a good girl.”

----

You were a mess.

He’d left your mind in complete disarray and he hadn’t even really touched you. After telling you that you were a good girl, he vanished, leaving Steven standing there in a state of confusion. You craved those words again…

Good girl.

I’m a good girl, you told yourself in the mirror before you left on the day you’d be seeing Marc again. You were wearing everything Jake ever said he liked on you. The striking red lipstick, the shirt that had a little cleavage, and a short skirt. The panties were unnecessary, and would only serve to get in the way. You were ready for him…truly ready this time.

You tried to give all of your patients the attention they deserved leading up to your appointment with Marc, but you didn’t care to hear anything they had to say. When you finally saw Marc again, you weren’t sure how you would react. Normally only Jake made you feel like you wanted to crawl out of your clothes and spread yourself on the desk like a buffet for his pleasure, but the line between him, Marc and Steven was getting blurrier by the minute. Even when it was sweet and innocent Steven fronting, you were struggling to keep yourself from soaking through your skirt.

“Are you alright? You seem a bit…out of sorts.” Steven mentioned, looking at you with a concerned and furrowed brow.

“M-me?” You gave him a reassuring grin, “yes Steven, I’m fine. This isn’t about me, it’s about you. You were saying you and Marc have been feeling down lately?”

Steven shrugged, “yeah, been trying to figure out what’s going on. Marc says there’s another one…he’s like me but scarier. He’s mean.”

You nodded gently, “he’s terrible, yeah…” You had to catch yourself before you bit your lip. “You know he came up during Marc’s time in the marines?”

You stood up and started pacing, noticing the slick way your thighs slid against each other with each step. Nothing could be heard except for the clicking of your heels across the floor as you got closer to Steven. Normally a filter would stop you from antagonizing Steven and trying to mentally cripple him so the protective alter would come out, but your care for their safety had left with Jake the last time you saw him.

“I think I remember Marc mentioning that, yeah.” Steven looked nervous as you got closer to him. “S’not like you to get up and start roaming about, you feelin’ alright today?”

“I feel fine.”

You walked to Steven’s right, touching his shoulder and looking down at him. His eyes peered into yours. He still looked too soft and sweet to be the man you craved. You needed to push a little harder. You needed to scare Jake out, because it was clear that he wasn’t coming out on his own.

“It was probably scary, wasn’t it? Finding out that you were responsible for killing so many people?” Your voice was low while you spoke. “I’m sure you don’t remember a lot of it, but just think about it.”

“What are you–”

“Come on Steven, that’s gotta be scary, right? Thinking about how scared those people must’ve been?”

“That wasn’t me though, that was Marc, I didn’t do that I didn–”

“But you did.” You were smiling like you were enjoying this. You weren’t, but you were excited for Jake, you needed him. “What about your mother? Hm? Remember how sad you were when you realized you were talking to no one for months?”

“Why are you saying these things? What’s gotten into you?” There were the tears you wanted, starting to glisten in Steven’s eyes.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, peering deep into his eyes. If Jake was there, he’d see you. Surely, he’d come out. You wondered why he was still hiding from you.

“Jake, I’m ready, please, I mean it this time.” You felt your own eyes starting to water with desperation. “Don’t make me fucking beg.”

Steven looked at you, confusion splayed over his face, “have you gone completely mad?”

“Shut up, Steven.” You shook him, “bring out Jake, now!”

Steven grabbed your arms, “what are you doing?”

You shocked yourself when you pulled your hand back and struck him across the cheek. There was silence after that, Steven just stared at you incredulously. Something so out of character for you should’ve snapped you from your Jake induced trance but it didn’t. You were in too deep. Mentally torturing and striking a patient was grounds for, at a minimum, being fired.

When his eyes darkened and his lips curled up into a confident smirk, you knew you’d succeeded. There was no time to waste, you couldn’t risk him leaving you again. You grabbed his face on either side and desperately pressed your lips to his. Jake moaned into you, standing up and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled you in close and entangled his tongue with yours. He tasted so delicious you could hardly stand it.

“You sure you’re ready, bebita?” He said while you both separated for a second to catch your breath.

“Yeah, yes please, can’t get you out of my head.” You tasted something salty when you went back in for more kisses. You were crying, tears of a needy desperation you thought you were above…until you’d met Jake.

“Good, gonna give you exactly what you need sweetheart, bend over for me.”

You looked at him. He was so fucking handsome, looking back at you with those inexplicably dilated eyes that were akin to the hungry eyes of a predator looking at his prey.

“Anything for you, Jake, I’ll do anything. I need you so bad.” An audibly shameful sob left your throat.

“I know, cause you’re a good girl, si?” He had that cocky smirk splayed over his face.

Your mind stopped working when he said that. A slow nod of affirmation was all you could afford him in response. Jake spun you around and placed a firm hand over your back to slam you onto the desk. He teased you first, trekking a single finger up your skirt and gently tugging it up over your bare ass. You heard a dark snicker leave his lips.

“You are ready, aren’t you sweetheart? Look at that.” His finger touched between your pussy lips, rubbing over your folds and brushing against your clit.

“Oh fuck, been ready for a long time, please don’t tease me, fuck me please.” You begged. Any bit of dignity you had left went out the window when Jake had taken Steven’s place.

“Not yet…” He groaned as he continued to play with you.

Everything seemed to be a game to Jake, even this incessant teasing that drove you closer and closer to insanity. You shifted your hips, desperate for him to touch that burning bundle of nerves that he somehow managed to keep ignoring. It was right there. Maybe he didn’t know where it was.

“Right there!” You shouted when he brushed over it again.

“I know exactly where it is, sweetheart, but I need you to be a good girl for me and let me have my fun, okay? Been waiting a long time. Can you be good for me?” He asked in that suave tone that you couldn’t resist.

“Yes, yes I can be good for you.” You grabbed the other side of the desk and held on tight. When you squeezed your eyes shut you felt even more tears falling down your cheeks. You were such a pathetic mess for him.

“You’re so wet, been thinking about me all day?”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I met you.” You admitted, pressing your lips together tightly to ease the ache in your cunt. Your body was so hot, all you needed was a release that only he could give you.

“Been a while since I’ve felt a nice warm cunt, but I’ve never seen someone so needy like you before.” His voice was gravelly.

You heard him fumbling with the waist of his pants followed by the prodding of his warm cock against your slick thighs. His finger was still toying with your crevices, teasing you to tears. You didn’t dare beg again, you didn’t want to make the torture last longer just for the sake of his own amusement. Jake slipped his finger inside of you. An aroused exhale left his lips at the feeling of your soft walls fluttering around his digit.

“You’re tight, sweetheart, not sure you can handle what I’ve got for you.” He churned his hip forward, brushing his cock against the back of your leg.

“I can, I promise I can handle it.” Your voice was shaking, you were so distressed. “Please, I can do it.”

“Might hurt a little, I don’t know…” His tone was still teasing.

“I’ll do anything for it, please, Jake.”

He took out his finger, leaving you empty. The air was cool against the slick of your cunt. You felt as he grabbed his cock in his fist and dragged the fat tip between your pussy lips. You gasped, so close to getting the thing you’d been begging him for all this time. It was right fucking there.

“P-please.” You sobbed. Your knuckles ached from how hard you gripped the other side of the desk in anticipation.

Jake thrust forward suddenly, and you were full, stretched out over his cock beyond your threshold. You gasped followed by an agonizing whine. Jake moaned loudly behind you while he started thrusting slowly, resizing your walls to fit his wide girth. Both of his hands landed on your hips in a bruising grip.

“This what you wanted, bebita? Fuck, it’s good…tell me. Tell me how good it is.”

“It’s good, Jake, better than…mmmJake-”

You couldn’t speak properly, even to tell him that the way his cock felt splitting you open was better than any of the daydreams you’d had over the last several weeks. Jake’s hand was heavily pressing against your back, pushing you harder into the desk. Your cries grew until they were filling the office. You were thankful for the white-noise machine outside of the door that muffled them.

“Tell-me-how-good,” he demanded between thrusts.

“Best…best I’ve ever–Jake I can’t.”

“Come on, I know you can do it. You’re a good girl, right?”

“It feels so good,” you said in a primal growl. Drool slipped out of your mouth and onto the desk. “It’s so…so good I can’t…fuck…I can’t stand it!”

Jake pulled out of you, and for a moment you felt disappointed. You turned around to see why he’d do that, but he just looked at you, scanning your body with his lust ridden eyes.

“Get that shirt off, take it all off.” He demanded.

You were too quick to comply, moving so fast that under normal circumstances it would’ve been embarrassing. This wasn’t normal though. The way you felt wasn’t normal. Jake watched you every step of the way while you undressed, ripping off your clothes like they’d wronged you and throwing them aside quickly. 

He pulled you in once you were done and told you, once again, that you were such a good girl. Your body tingled with his words. He lifted you, setting your bare ass on the cold surface of your desk. He used a firm hand to force you onto your back. Jake put one leg up on either shoulder while he lined himself up with you.

He thrust into you again, and immediately both of your hands gripped the edge of the desk for stability. One of Jake’s hands, the one that wasn’t squeezing your hip for leverage, reached around your leg and he started rubbing the pad of his thumb against your clit. Your cunt squeezed around him in response and you tossed your head back.

“Open your eyes and look at me, sweetheart, love seeing the way you look at me.” He urged, smirking at you when your eyes met with his once more.

You bit your lip so tight you thought it might bleed. Tears ran down your cheeks in streams that you weren’t even trying to control anymore.

“So pretty when you cry.” He commented.

Jake continued to circle his thumb over your clit while he fucked you faster. You felt your body trembling with your impending orgasm. You were so close to feeling that sweet release you craved at his hands. You’d been so good trying to resist him all this time, you deserved this moment. At least that’s the delusion that had overcome you.

“No holding back now, gonna fill you up sweetheart. Is that what you wanted? Me to fuck you full of my cum?”

You nodded eagerly, eyes glistening while you gripped the desk with all your strength. His thumb kept rotating over you, drawing whining gasps from your lips with every pass. You felt your cunt flutter around him as you got closer. Your mind started to go white, no thoughts other than Jake’s cock fucking you relentlessly.

“Fuck…hope you’re on the pill, sweetheart, cause I’m gonna…gonna-fill-you-right-up…ahhh!”

Jake’s cock gushed inside of you, stretching you further with every strong throb. You lost it, becoming a drooling and crying mess while your thoughts ceased. You came in crushing waves over his length, draining him of every last drop you could. He noisily kept fucking you through your orgasm until his pace slowed to a stop. The room became quiet again, except for your heavy breathing and the clock ticking.

“I need…tissues.” You could hardly speak but you managed to get that out.

“Oh, we’re not done yet.” Jake pulled out of you and quickly dropped to his knees.

You gasped when his mouth closed over your cunt. He was slurping, collecting both your juices and his own in his mouth. When he stood back up, you didn’t know what he had planned. He hadn’t swallowed yet. He leaned over, dropping the mess on your chest. You thought he was done, but he knelt back down for more. Your clit was swollen and sensitive, but he went in again. You felt his finger slip into your hole, hooking and dragging along your walls to bring anything in there into his mouth. Again, he stood up and deposited the mixture onto your breasts.

“Ready for more, bebita?” He pressed a hand to your chest, smearing the combined liquids over your skin.

You stared at him wide-eyed as you nodded slowly. It would seem he had an unusually short refractory period. Jake was pressing his cock against your hole once again. He thrust himself into you, stretching you out once more. It felt just as good, if not better, the second time.

“Gonna cover you in my cum, sweetheart, make you all mine.” He said hungrily, spreading the mixture over your tits one at a time.

He gave extra attention to your nipples, brushing them with his thumb. He continued fucking you while he did, commenting on your sweet whines and how much he adored them. Jake never stopped surprising you with the way his mind worked. Your entire torso was coated in his cum, your cum, and copious amounts of spit. He never slowed his pace, but he leaned forward and dragged his tongue from as low down on your stomach as he could reach, all the way up to your mouth.

The combination tasted sweet, salty, and like something that only you and Jake could make. His tongue tangled with yours in desperate sloppy kisses. When the taste was gone, you craved more, you begged for it.

“More Jake…give-me-more,” you said between breaths.

He gave you a borderline evil smirk when he looked down at you.

“Anything for you, bebita.”

Jake went back down to your side with his tongue, dragging it up your torso and stopping over your cum coated nipple. He got stuck there, sucking deeply and moaning. Drool trickled down the side of your breast. You arched into his mouth, biting your bottom lip to stifle the loud scream that nearly left you. You looked down, Jake peered at you from under his lashes while he slammed into you harder.

“Feed me, Jake.” You begged, wanting to feel his lips on you again. “Give me more.” Your eyes were still watering.

He complied, bringing what was left in his mouth to yours in a flurry of passionate kisses. That sweet taste was there again, making your mind go blank with a feeling of ecstasy and comfort all blended into one. You felt like you belonged to him, like he was your everything, and the connection had been sealed in your combined body fluids and a kiss.

“Jake.” You said softly as he pulled back from you, “bite me. I want everyone to know that I’m yours. I want Marc and Steven to know that I’m yours.”

“That’s twisted, bebita. You want to scare them that bad?” He kissed down your jawline, working his way to your neck.

“I can’t let you go anywhere now, I can’t let them leave.” You explained, letting go of the desk to entangle your fingers in his dark locks.

“Wouldn’t leave you, even if they took me away.”

A sharp pain seared through your shoulder as you felt Jake’s teeth break through your skin. You winced and hissed, trying not to let your body shy away involuntarily. Even if your body did try to move against your will, Jake kept you close. You were still amazed at his ability to keep his hips rolling into you no matter what the top half of his body was doing.

You whined at the agonizing burn of his bite while he continued clamping his teeth into you harder. When he finally stopped, you looked at his face. His lips were glossy with spit and blood. You leaned up, kissing him, letting him make a mess of you even further. All you could taste was Jake and the metallic taste of iron. He pressed his forehead against yours and increased the pace of his hips.

“Gonna fill you up again. I don’t want you to be able to walk right.”

With a firm hand against your chest, he pushed you back onto the desk with a thud. You gasped as he fucked you harder than before. He reached his fingers up to your mouth, sticking two of them in there.

“Suck.”

You made Jake whine when your tongue started dancing over his digits. He tossed his head back for a second before looking back into your eyes with a dark and hooded gaze. His brow furrowed and his moaning changed to something more animalistic, less controlled. You looked up at him from under your lashes while making your muffled moans over his fingers.

“Hold-on-tight,” he said with each thrust.

You grabbed the edge of the desk with everything you could, feeling the white hot ropes filling you again with every throb of his thick cock inside of you. Once again, your eyes were rolling back, obscuring your vision while your body trembled from your orgasm over him. Your screams were still loud, though stifled by his fingers against your tongue. You were both a mess of heavy breathing while his thrusting slowed to a halt.

When he pulled himself out of you this time, you felt empty. You peered at the clock, it was nearly the end of Marc’s session. Jake stepped back, holding out a hand to you. He helped you off the desk before leaning his face into yours. He kissed you softly and then looked at you with a gentle expression.

“Will you come back?” You asked, feeling suddenly terrified that you may never see him again. You were sure you’d rather die than live in that reality.

“You keep me a secret and out of your little notes, and I’ll keep the boys crazy enough to stick around.” He winked at you, “I’ll be back in a couple days, try not to miss me too much.”

You were dressed before Steven was fronting again. He was sitting in the chair and grabbed his head the moment Jake went to the headspace. The last thing he must’ve remembered was you grabbing his shirt and slapping him. You’d fixed yourself up in the mirror as best as you could. You wiped the smeared makeup from your face, and what was left of Jake’s cum from your torso.

Steven touched his cheek, “you…you hit me.”

“Steven, bring Marc out. Things are going to be changing around here, and we need to have a chat.”

----

Moon Knight Masterlist

Jake Lockley Masterlist

Taglist (Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!):

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @ryebreadsworld, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @bloodredwolfsbane, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @romanarose, @360iris, @grumpyahjumma, @ninebluehearts, @burnincrown

[reimeichan]

I was diagnosed with severe combined type ADHD well into my adulthood. The many years of undiagnosed ADHD has a major source of my trauma, and I hate it so much.

I know a lot of people think of ADHD as a silly, quirky disorder. Someone with ADHD has trouble sitting still, has focus issues, has short term memory problems, etc. None of this sounds like anything so bad on the surface.

What people often don't see is... how people like me are treated.

(tw child abuse ahead)

Growing up, I was often punished and berated for things that "normal" kids could handle. I constantly forgot my homework, couldn't get the executive functioning to start on projects until the last minute, would be so hyperfocused in a book that I would miss dinner, be unable to sit still long enough to practice piano, etc. And each time that happened, I would be punished for it. Hit, spanked, yelled at, grounded, belongings destroyed... it was constant, daily punishment. It felt like I could do nothing right. Pretty much all of my punishable actions could be tied in some way to my undiagnosed ADHD.

It was genuinely awful and I have a lifetime of trauma from that. I'm scared of even shaking my foot when I'm by myself in my own room, I feel guilty for spending any amount of time reading or playing video games. I beat myself up for my lack of executive functioning. And my parents never, ever tried to help me learn those skills. All they did was try to beat those "habits" and beat the "laziness" out of me. And tell me that "all kids experience that, you're just making excuses" (I now know that ADHD is often found within the same family, and I highly suspect at least one of my parents to have it as well to the point they normalized their own experiences).

I can genuinely say that many of my mental health disorders (the DID, the depression, the anxiety, the suspected NPD, and anything else I've missed) can all be tied back to my undiagnosed and unmanaged ADHD, and all the trauma that came with that. Hell, even into adulthood, I struggle more with my ADHD symptoms than I do with anything else. If anything, the other things just further exacerbate my ADHD struggles. It genuinely sucks.

This isn't to say I find all aspects of my ADHD bad. I genuinely enjoy the hyperfocus (when it's hyperfocus on something I actually want to hyperfocus on). I think the way my brain jumps from topic to topic, connection to connection, has made me more creative than many of the people around me. And it's very much a part of me that makes me kind of uniquely "me". But also... I know it's such a big part of my trauma history that to try to paint it as this positive thing in my life would be a lie.

But yeah. I wish we talked more about how traumatizing living with ADHD is.

[hetalian-veteran]

Hetalia Feels Like Home

I initially sat down to write something that would be a quick and easy read. Something you could read in a minute or two before you continue scrolling. But the more I thought about what I wanted to say, and everything that ties into it, the more I realized that this was going to be a much longer post.

I want to talk about, what else, Hetalia. But more importantly, I wanted to talk about how this show, and by extension, it's fandom, has not only left a massive impact on my life, but me as a person. I have a lot to say here, so strap in.

I'm going to start by explaining where I was in my life when I first watched the series. Then I will move on to explaining what I liked about it and how it entertained me. I'll also go into the different interests and fascinations that branched off of it. After that I'll discuss my seven-and-a-half-year hiatus from the fandom and what it's been like coming back.

Like many fans, I was a tween when I got into Hetalia. Specifically, twelve years old, and just barely into middle school. And for a number of reasons, this was the first time in my life that I began to seriously struggle with my mental health. While I don't feel comfortable divulging too many details, I will say that my homelife growing up was fairly chaotic. I understood that plenty of other kids out there had it way worse than me, but I can't say I was doing too well either. (Sidenote: me and my family are doing great now, in case you were wondering).

At the beginning of sixth grade, I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and PTSD all in one fell swoop. This, on top of things at home, was already a lot for twelve-year-old me to handle. And having to deal with the stressful changes that came with a new school and puberty was the watery icing on the crummy cake.

As mentioned in a previous post, it was a new friend I made that introduced me to Hetalia. You can read about it here, but in short, I was sent into the show completely blind and found myself both lost and confused. I initially decided the show wasn't for me, but after some convincing from my friend, I gave it another shot. I returned home to watch the show again and tried to have an open mind.

And it was then that it clicked for me. This show was about events in world history and geopolitics. And the countries of the world were all being portrayed as their own personified characters. Greatly stereotyped characters, to be sure. But it was still an interesting concept. One that was new to me. Not to mention, after I got over the initial whiplash and understood the abnormal flow of the almost non-existent narrative, I discovered something. Not only was this bizarre show a comedy, but it was freaking hilarious! I remember sitting at the computer laughing my head off with every episode. When I finally understood how the show worked, it became a fun, wild ride.

And more importantly, it made me happy. During a very dark time in my life, right at the beginning of adolescence, I found a show that managed to make me smile. All during a time where I felt like I forgot how to.

And then I discovered the fandom.

Now, I was not new to fandoms. As someone who grew up deeply invested in the Warriors series in elementary school, and who happened to have access to the internet, I was exposed to fandoms at about the age of ten. Heck, probably even earlier, seeing as I am from a family full of nerds. But the internet definitely gave me a much more immersive way to interact with fandom.

I don't know exactly how I found the Hetalia fandom specifically, just that I loved finding and reading fanfiction, as well as looking at cool fanart and headcanons to add to my Hetalia board on Pinterest. But goodness, if the show hadn't gotten me totally hooked on Hetalia content already, the fandom certainly did.

Now, I made it a point to not be social online growing up. Mainly because I managed to be socially awkward not only in real life, but on the freaking internet of all things. Not to mention my elementary school teachers showed us videos about the dangers of talking to strangers online as a kid, and that scared me straight. As a result, I never talked to anyone online about Hetalia. I was part of a Facebook group, but that was it. Instead, I was just lurking around and taking in all kinds of fan content. And it was the fan content that really dug its claws into my brain, as this is how I learned about all of the fanon.

I saw all the different ways people interpreted the characters, and all the different ways the characters could be depicted regarding different ideas and concepts. Once I realized how versatile the characters could be in fan content, my own creative brain went into overdrive. While I never posted anything, I found myself creating my own fanart and fanfics. And without realizing it, started to construct my own versions of these characters in my head. Characters that began to feel more personal to me individually. As if I knew them.

But Hetalia didn't just get the creative juices flowing. As is the case with many fans, I became deeply invested in world history as well. I wanted to know everything there was to know. I began watching WWI and WWII documentaries frequently. I found myself researching the formation of Europe after school for fun. I endlessly researched the history between Austria, Hungary, and Prussia. I became deeply invested in learning all I could about the Kingdom of Prussia and the Teutonic Knights. It got to the point where my mom got me a book on the entire history of Prussia in seventh grade, and I was over the freaking moon about it!

Hetalia also managed to get me interested in my ethnic background and where my ancestors are from. I began to research my ancestry and was ecstatic when I learned that I potentially had family that hailed from the Kingdom of Prussia. I also got super invested in learning about all the cultures that made up my background, and since then I've been learning all I can in an effort to connect with them. Especially since as an American, that's a part of me I'd often felt disconnected from. Hetalia truly inspired me to dig into my family's history!

Not to mention that the character songs for Hetalia absolutely slapped. A lot of them are certified bangers, and you cannot convince me otherwise. Songs like 'Aiyah 4000 Years', 'Mein Gott', 'Pub and Go', and many others would play in my brain on repeat.

Ah yes. Hetalia truly had me in its grasp. I was deeply obsessed and invested in Hetalia and so much of the content within the fandom.

I mentioned earlier that there was a lot going on growing up, and that I struggled with some pretty severe mental health issues for a tween. The reason I felt the need to bring that up was because I genuinely feel as though this played directly into why I got so into Hetalia. In a world where it felt like everything was falling apart around me, Hetalia gave me a reason to laugh and smile. It gave me new creative outlets to further explore. It helped create new interests, hobbies, and passions. It gave me characters I came to deeply love and find enjoyment and even comfort in.

But most of all, Hetalia became a safe space for me. An escape when things got too difficult or scary to deal with in the moment. A space where I felt comfortable. Where I could be myself.

And then, after four years of being deep into Hetalia and its fandom... I lost interest.

Now, this might sound a little odd, considering how much I emphasized the importance of Hetalia in my life up until this point. But for some reason when I was going on sixteen years old, I just fizzled out. I can't explain it, but over time, I slowly began to care less and less about Hetalia. Not because I hated it, but because I just... Sorta dropped off. I remember having this feeling of, "I've already seen everything the fandom has to offer," so I suppose that could have been the reason. Either way, I started to drift away from the series and fandom that had previously brought me so much joy.

And it was weird. For a solid week there, I was both parts accepting of my losing interest and panicking over it. Again, this only lasted for a week before I fully took off from the fandom and series. But losing my interest in Hetalia felt like losing a dear friend. Which, at the time, was also happening with the friend who got me into Hetalia in the first place. Life took us in different directions, and we drifted apart. And for some reason, my love for Hetalia went with him.

And then I was gone from the fandom for about seven-and-a-half years. Everyone would say that Hetalia was the fandom you couldn't escape from, but I really didn't think that was true for the longest time. I mean, yeah, I would find myself humming 'Pub and Go' once in a while, but other than that? I didn't think about Hetalia at all. I never thought about the characters, I didn't think about the series every time I looked at a world map, and I certainly wasn't shipping countries together. But even so, the effects of my time in the fandom were still there. And over time, I began to dislike it.

Not the effects, but how deep into Hetalia I was back in the day. Like many others, I cringed looking back at my middle school self. Still do, honestly. But in high school the annoyance for my middle school self was unreal. I was irritated by what a freaking weird kid she was. And after I found out about some of the controversies that somehow went completely over my head? I became deeply ashamed of having ever liked Hetalia and being in the fandom. I didn't think about it too much at the time, but there was definitely this feeling of, "I cannot let anyone know I was into Hetalia." A phase common among old Hetalia fans.

And yet, somehow, against all odds, after years of being away from the fandom and Hetalia itself, even after a new season came out... I came back just earlier this year. Several months ago as of writing this if we want to be more precise.

But what was it? What brought me back? Well, I'd say it's a combination of two things.

First off, the theory of Germany being HRE came into my mind. I don't know why this happened, or how this came up. But either way, my brain was now fixating over that theory, as well as the interesting writing ideas that can branch off of it.

Second off, and I think this may be the most important one, is that I had recently gotten into an accident at work that temporarily took away my ability to write and draw for several months. The two things I am most passionate about, and were my number one stress relievers, were now inaccessible to me. And as medical treatments did nothing to help, and my condition got progressively worse, my mental health took a steep decline as well. I began to fret over the idea of not being able to write or draw ever again. I would lay in bed sobbing over the idea. (My hand is better now by the way).

And it was during this difficult time that Hetalia somehow came back and found me again. After Hetalia came back to my mind, I decided to look it up on TikTok just because. And I was floored when I saw how many Hetalians were on there! I even checked back in with the Tumblr side of the fandom and saw that, sure enough, you were here as well! I had seriously believed that the fandom was dead and gone, but it was still alive and kicking to some extent.

And so, I decided, "Why not?" And rewatched the entire series. And next thing I knew, I found myself diving into the fandom once more. I created this blog to try and connect with other fans, and I'm so glad I did. This blog has not only been doing wonders for my mental health, but it's been so fun and wholesome to see the fandom as it is today.

I find it interesting that I found or came back to Hetalia during difficult times in my life. Maybe there's a reason for it, or maybe it's just coincidence. Who can say? But what I can say is this.

Hetalia, and more importantly, its fandom, have been a massive comfort to me in my life. It has affected so many of the things I now love and find enjoyment in. It's impacted my absurd sense of humor. It's impacted the person I am now because I engaged with it on such an intense, visceral level. I find so many of the characters to be comfort characters for me now. No matter what, I'll always have them.

Hetalia truly feels like home to me. And I think that's largely why I ended up coming back after all these years. Now, however long I'll stay this time around is anyone's guess. But even if I do take off again, I know I'll be back. At some point or another, I'll be back.

Because Hetalia makes me happy. Because it gave me reasons to continue laughing and realize that life doesn't end just because something bad happens, or because life is painful. Because it gives me endless creative material to use and draw from whenever I want. Because connecting with Hetalia and its fandom feels like reconnecting with an old friend.

Because Hetalia feels like home.

[katethewriter]

An Hourglass

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Summary: After 8 months on a mission, Wanda and Natasha come home to the worst news they could have imagined.

Words: 1k~

Warnings: terminal illness, cancer diagnosis, I may work in a Dr's office but that doesn’t mean I’m good at medical jargon, angst, just angst, no happy ending

A/N: Someone made a comment about me posting the fluff fic yesterday, so I thought I'd post some angst to even the score. 😂 hehehe, I hope you enjoy, may want to grab the tissues

Sitting in the window seat, you stare blankly out at the city. The sun is almost ready to set. The streets below are filling with night lights.

You see none of it however. Your eyes just gaze, as your mind moves faster than you can keep up. A million thoughts race through your mind, but you still think of nothing.

Numb.

That's what you are. It's how you've been for days now.

Numb and waiting for anyone to bring you back out of it.

As Natasha and Wanda enter your shared home, they notice that everything is near exactly the same as when they left. They weren't expecting a complete remodel, but 8 months could warrant a new piece of furniture or new wall decor.

They call out for you and walk further into the home, desperate to wrap their arms around you after so long apart.

Natasha quickly makes her way through the house, continuing her search upstairs.

Wanda was following closely behind, until they passed through the kitchen. She stops short at the kitchen island, where papers are spread about.

The letter head is what stands out the most. Thomas Hospital. Her anxiety picks up as she reads a doctor's name followed by "Oncology".

Dread fills her more as she scans over the papers, only certain words and phrases catch her eye.

"Patient Name: Y/n L/n-Maximoff-Romanoff"

"...Lung Cancer..."

"...Stage Four..." "...Metastatic..."

"...spread to lymph nodes, kidneys, stomach and liver..."

"Treatment: Palliative." "...Prognosis: 3-5 months."

The Sokovian's heart drops to her stomach.

No. This can't be happening. She can't lose anyone else.

She can't lose you.

Wanda grabs the papers and darts upstairs.

When Natasha strolls into the bedroom, she can't but smile at the sight of you.

"Lyubov," she calls to you, but you don't respond. She kneels in front of the window seat, looking up to you.

"Y/n," Natasha says lightly, placing a soft hand on your knee.

Still numb, you turn to her, but it's like you don't see her. Your eyes almost stare through her. Worry growing in the pit of her stomach.

Your wife's eyes shift to the pamphlet dangling from between your fingers. She can only read the title: "Living with a Terminal Illness".

Her hands shake as she gently takes it from you. She skims the front page for a few seconds, before looking back to you with a new fear in her eyes, "detka, what is this?"

For the first time since you woke up this morning, you're brought to the edge of awareness. Your eyes softly focus on Natasha; your expression still lost.

A movement in the doorway draws your attention, and you slowly look up. Wanda stands in the doorway holding a few papers, and you know. You know she knows.

The witch joins the widow in kneeling in front of you. She tries her best to hold back the tears in her eyes as she asks, "is it true, love?"

All you can manage is a nod.

Quickly, Natasha takes the pages from her other wife and reads as fast as she can.

"You could have called us," Wanda strokes your knee, "we would have come, detka."

You look around you, slowly coming back to awareness. "They... they said it was probably n-nothing. They just wanted to double check," you say in a daze, "...I didn't want to worry you over nothing."

Her heart breaks even further. Even going through what must have been a terrifying diagnosing process, you were still thinking of them first.

The widow looks up from the now tear stained pages, "when did you-?" She stops short, unable to finish the sentence.

"L-last week."

Guilt grip both of them. They've been away on a mission, and you've been left to go through this alone. You shouldn't have been alone.

They should have been here.

That's something they will have to wrestle with for the rest of their lives.

"We're here now," Wanda reassures, reaching up to stroke your cheek. "We're not going out again. You don't have to go through this alone anymore."

Natasha sniffles, setting the papers aside, "We'll be with you the whole time... and we don't even know what this means."

You look to her sadly.

"We don't," she raises her shoulders, "we'll take you to see Cho. She's the best doctor in the world. She can help us." She takes your face into her hands, "we could still have so much time together, so many years. Ok?" She smiles reassuringly, until you nod.

Your numbness finally falls away, and you're left with the overwhelming fear of the situation. Fat tears begin to roll down your face with no sign of stopping.

Your wives sit on either side of you and wrap their arms around you. They stay until you have cried out all of your fear. They let you take all the time you need.

Four months later, when the once happy home feels cold and empty, Natasha and Wanda will kick themselves for spending so much time away. Time they can never get back.

8 months they should have spent with you.

When it gets quiet, they mourn…

You and all of that time they let slip through their fingers like sand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: part 2?

Edit: it’d be more like a part 1.5, those last 4 months.

[cranetreegang]

Close Call - Ominis x FemReader

Summary: Ominis is on the way to meet his love as she returns from Hogsmeade, but things don't go according to plan.

Music to Enjoy: Symphony No.6 In F Major, Op. 68, Pastoral; IV. Thunderstorm, Storm

Word Count: ~1,700 words

****SPOILER WARNING DO NO READ UNLESS YOU'VE COMPLETED LIKE THE LAST QUESTS OF THE GAME****

Warnings: Peeps getting nay nay'd (aka diagnosed with dead)

Read my other Ominis Fics Here

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Ominis briskly walks through the Central Hall on his way to the North Exit. He has a faint smile on his lips as he moves his way past chattering students and steps over scattered books and papers strewn about on the marble floor. His mind strays to various thoughts - hearing everyone worrying about their upcoming O.W.L’s reminds him of how much they need to study. He hopes he’ll have time with her this afternoon to study together and the idea makes him smile. He senses someone approaching him - their purposeful footsteps heading right towards him - and he turns his head towards the oncoming student.

“Ah! Ominis.” Natty’s familiar voice gives him a slight pause as he angles his head towards her.

“Natty. Faring well, I hope.” Ominis continues towards his destination while Natty walks beside him.

“I am. I hope you are as well, my friend.” Natty’s smile can be heard clearly and Ominis gives a slight grin in response. 

As they climb down the stairs, Natty asks, “Speaking of friends, have you seen her? I have something important I must speak to her about.” 

Ominis smirks, “I’m afraid I haven’t ‘seen’ her.” Before Natty can stammer out an apology, he continues, “But, I know where she is. It’s where I’m heading to now. She should be coming back from Hogsmeade soon. Something about going to Ollivanders for an errand. She was rather vague before she left.” 

“I’m surprised you did not accompany her. You two are hardly seen without the other.” Natty teases, her cheeks still warm from his earlier comment.

He has a faint smile as he says, “We’re not joined at the hip. We do have our own lives.” His smile fades as he adds, “Which is why I could not accompany her, as I was busy dealing with a matter of my own. And she insisted it wouldn’t take long.” 

He’s opening the solid, wood door outside when he freezes in place. His limbs are locked and dread squeezes his chest. Despite the gentle breeze fluttering in his face, he feels like the air around him has all but dissipated. He’s not sure why this sudden sense of doom has pressed down upon him and he waves his wand around to find the source of this peril. With only students wandering around the lawn, his anxiety doesn’t quell, but rises drastically. Why… is he feeling this?

“Ominis?” Natty questions - a frown consuming her as she takes in his wide-eye’d, panicked expression. 

“She’s in danger.” He whispers in realization. These horrible, dreadful feelings were coming from her. 

He flares their magic-bond as he sprints forward, whipping his wand to where Hogsmeade is - only to find her magical aura not there. He comes to a halt, his boots skidding against the gravel. His breathing picks up as he spins himself around until he finds her faint, pulsing light in the distance. She’s far. Too far to run there - if he were to make it in time. 

“What is happening? She’s in trouble? H-How do you know such a thing?” Natty manages to get in front of Ominis and he scowls at her.

“I don’t have time to explain. I need to get to her. Now.” Ominis tries to shove his way past, but Natty keeps a firm stance and keeps Ominis in place.

“We can go. Together.” Natty glances at the students flying slowly around on brooms. “Come on.” 

Ominis grimaces, but follows after Natty. 

Natty runs over to the flying class broom stand and snatches one. She gets on the broom - struggling to find a decent gripping - and Ominis doesn’t hesitate to take a seat behind her. 

“Hey!” A student shouts, but Natty takes to the sky before she can be stopped.

“Where do we need to go?” Natty wonders.

“This way. And hurry.” Ominis points his wand in front of Natty - his worries starting to settle now that they were flying towards her.

Natty is not nearly as quick as his love is on a broom, but it’s faster than him. He tries to reach out to her - letting her know they’re coming and to hang on, but he’s not sure if she can notice. His heart is beating rapidly in time with hers and his hands tremble with adrenaline. 

Please. Just hang on. I’m coming.

They fly over the forest and as they get closer, Ominis can feel her distress growing stronger. He can sense her fear and desperation. 

He grits his teeth, “Natty, faster!” 

Natty lowers herself and they pick up speed, but it doesn’t feel nearly enough. They finally spot her on the ground, surrounded by Ashwinders in the heart of a ruined estate. Crackling spells and curses reach his ears and his heart all but plummets to his gut. Ominis curses under his breath and readies his wand. Natty is hovering just above the ground, about to land, when Ominis jumps off, sprinting towards her. 

He can hear her fighting fiercely, her wand moving fluidly as she dodges spells and curses alike. He knows he needs to get to her quickly, to help her fend off the attackers. But the Ashwinders are strong and they keep coming, overwhelming her with their numbers.

“Depulso!” Ominis casts a powerful spell that knocks several of the Ashwinders back. She gasps, flooding Ominis with relief as her eyes land on him. 

“Ominis," she whispers as he joins her side, with Natty finally catching up and joining them as well. 

“We are with you, my friend!” Natty grins towards her - a look of determination and ferocity which matches her own. The Ashwinders gather themselves and begin their attack once again. 

He shields her from the onslaught of curses. They all fight together, their spells colliding with those of the attackers. The battle is intense, and for a moment Ominis fears they might not make it out alive. 

A man appears before her and yells, “Avada Kedavra!” 

The spell makes him freeze and it’s like he’s been dunked into ice. She doesn’t move out of the way and instead counters with a powerful spell of her own. Their magic collides in a deafening shockwave and they’re locked in a stalemate. Pulling himself out of his dread, Ominis turns his attention to the other Ashwinders, keeping them off of her as she fights for her life. Ominis and Natty deflect and counter, dwindling the Ashwinders one by one. 

But then, a bright light fills the air, and the Ashwinders are thrown back by an explosion of crackling, magical energy. A thunderous clap rings in their ears. Natty glances at Ominis in shock - both of them panting as they examine the area to ensure they were alone. The Ashwinders that do remain, run away - disappearing into the surrounding forest in terror. 

Ominis turns to find her. 

She stands there, strong and resolute, her wand raised as she surveys the scene. He feels the light touch of ash landing on him and he can taste the raw magic lingering in the air - electrifying his skin. Ominis can sense the exhaustion within her, but also the unwavering tenacity. She turns to face him and they’re both staring at one another - his wand filling his mind with her bright aura.

He moves to her, whispering her name as he embraces her. She gasps at how tightly he holds her before she holds him just as fiercely back. He closes his eyes and buries himself into the crook of her shoulder. The connection radiates warmly between them and it feels like all is well. 

“Did they hurt you? Are you alright?” He pulls away and is feeling over her arms with pinched brows. 

“You… came for me?” She whispers in incredulousness.

Her mind still can’t believe he’s here. How did he… Her eyes go over to Natty, who’s looking around at the Ashwinders strewn about the ruins with amazement. 

“Of course. I-, why wouldn’t I?” He cups both of her cheeks and she’s in disbelief at how brave he is. She presses her forehead to his with a heavy exhale. 

“You came for me.” She smiles. 

The relief in him is palpable as he strokes both of her cheeks with his thumbs. His misty gray eyes are soft and her knees nearly buckle at the sight. 

“I’m okay. Thanks to you.” She whispers then frowns. She pulls away from him enough to bring out a rectangular box and she holds it between them. Ominis lowers his hands away from her as she opens the box for him.

Ominis’ fingers skim over the contents and he feels a wand. His features harden. There’s a strong determination within her and his sightless gaze tries to meet hers.

"I have to go now," she whispers. "It's time." She tucks the box back into her robes. 

He swallows down the lump in his throat. They’ve spoken of this before, but it always seemed so far away. Now it’s here… and she has to go. And face a most harrowing threat. He brings her into a tight embrace once more - tempted to keep her here, and safe - and she whimpers at the longing he can’t keep at bay.

“I’ll be waiting for your return,” he whispers. “So, please don’t keep me waiting for too long.” 

She lets out a sharp laugh that nearly sounds like a cry. He parts enough to slam his lips against hers in a greedy kiss. Like a parched man, she lets him drink his fill of her - searing this feeling into her mind. All the things they want to say are exchanged between them in their heated kiss. He lets her go with a soft sigh and a longing gaze. She takes several steps away from him, unable to break away from his wanting stare. She mounts her broom and she glances between him and Natty. She gives them a sure nod then takes off towards Hogwarts. 

His fists clench - wishing nothing more than to be with her. But, he knows he can’t. She is the one that has to determine the fate of the wizarding world. He watches as her light goes further and further from him, his heart full of hope and fear. He knows she’ll be alright. She will fight with everything she has. His throat tightens at the thought of that not being enough. Natty comes next to him, wordlessly placing a hand on his shoulder. He turns to Natty, his eyes filled with tears. 

"See. We are not always together," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "But, I'll be waiting for her. No matter what.”

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

AN: originally, i just had Ominis and Natty coming in after MC defeated Rookwood, but then I realized that I can do whatever I want and decided to have them help out MC. Also, wow yeah I really am just rushing to get to my most excited fic which involves a Boggart... >:)

We're nearing the end!! I have these last few fics lined up:

After Ranrok Battle Scene

Her Dealing with Ancient Magic Trauma Pt 1 and Pt 2

Then... 7th Year shall BEGIN!

Been a wild journey and hope to see y'all on the next one B)

[bijouxcarys]

I didn't have anywhere else to kind of talk about this, and I need to get it out of my system somehow, so I'm just putting this on here. Maybe someone can relate to it?

TW/ self-harm, suicidal ideology, please don't read this if it's going to potentially trigger you.

If you don't think this will trigger you, I still suggest you read on. Anyone around you could be experiencing this right now, and it's a very real thing.

Here's the reality of living as an adult with autism, who wasn't diagnosed until the age of 18.

It fucking sucks. To put it mildly.

Growing up as an undiagnosed autistic child is difficult. Especially if you are beaten down verbally by everybody to the point where you believe that you are, in fact, a bad kid. I'm convinced that's had a hand in why I'm so paranoid about my relationships with people. If I'm doing something to upset or annoy them.

You spend your entire childhood being told that you're the problem, when you're just trying to fucking survive in a world that's hard enough to live in without the added stress of developmental disorders, and you're going to believe for the rest of your life that you're the problem.

That is, unless you're able to go and see a therapist or counsellor.

Which leads me to my next point: we are conditioned to believe that we aren't allowed to ask for help, because we can never take on the advice anyways! 18 years of being told that I'm being dramatic, by my own counsellor as well, definitely dampens your willingness to attend any kind of talk therapy.

You get trauma building up over time from the rejection sensitivity, the amount of friend groups you plow through, the anxiety and depression that come as a result of how your brain is wired. It's not even that you have depression or anxiety; a lot of the time, they are symptoms of our autism. But they don't care. They'll feed us antidepressants.

I've been on antidepressant medication for a long time now. I'd argue about 6 years. I'm 22 now, on 200mg of sertraline daily. Last year I tried to come off my medication. Big mistake. Realised I'm kind of fucked without it.

Back in 2019, I used to take my antidepressant in liquid form because I had a sensitivity to swallowing pills. One day, my inability to read social cues and communicate effectively with my friends led me to drink the whole bottle of Fluoxetine.

When you're undiagnosed with autism and you have to go through regular life every day, it's damaging. So dangerous to the mental health of the child. The more we are put in situations that can overstimulate us, and overwhelm us, the more it takes from your ability to cope with life. You get beaten down, and beaten down, and beaten down, until you're an emotionless entity wandering the Earth with no solid ambitions or aspirations. You've spent your entire life in defense mode, mirroring everyone's behaviour and personalities so that you feel the tiniest bit "normal" out of pure survival, that you lose a sense of who you are as a person. You feel stripped of your personality. You don't know what you're doing.

Then you get thrust into the real world. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I don't know how to survive in a world that isn't made for me. I don't know how to tell people I'm autistic, because a) they very rarely understand what I mean by that, and what it entails, and b) I don't even know enough about my autism.

Why? Because I wasn't diagnosed until just before I turned 18 - got discharged from CAMHS (Child and Adolescence Mental Health Service) once I turned 18, with no referral to a counsellor that could help me, and no information on what the fuck I should do next.

I've stayed in education because it's the only thing I know how to survive. I went to college, university, and now I'm doing a master's degree online. And I still don't really know what my goal is in life.

I have no friends, and I flip-flop between being upset about it and being absolutely fine with it. I don't leave the house, I don't work, I even struggle to do the most basic of daily tasks.

I'm constantly fantasising about a life I could have, but ultimately realise I can't have.

My brain is fucked up, and I am traumatised by the life I've had to live and survive in. And now I'm stuck in survival mode.

And I don't know how to live, instead of simply exist.

That's where the suicidal ideology comes in. I'm constantly thinking about how much easier everything would be if I did just off myself. But the thing is, I'm not actively planning it, but the thought brings me great comfort. There's always a way out. And I can't expect that I'll leave this world any other way.

Now... when an autistic person, or any person, tells you that they don't want to die, but thinking about killing themselves brings them a sense of comfort and contentment... there's something wrong there.

There's nothing I want more than to start living. But when it takes 110% of my energy to do the bare minimum... living becomes synonymous with existing.

Not being taught how to deal with the meltdowns, the overstimulation, the understimulation, the food sensitivities, the way the world functions... has fucked me up, for myself, and for everyone else around me.

And when given the choice between spending the rest of my life putting all my energy into living the way I do now, and killing myself and saving myself from the pain, the latter sounds far more enticing.

I don't want to die. But to live is too much of an enigma to want anything other than the silence.

[theindescribable1]

Getting Better!

Tw: A vent

. . . But with a happy ending!

((LONG LONG READ...eat some popcorn while you're reading. Idk, uhh enjoy? I cried writing this so it might be sad))

BUT WITH A HAPPY ENDINGGG!

The Bad Stuff:

If you've known me for a while, you'd know that I have been dealing with some rather intense depression and anxiety. I spent a good chunk of my young childhood feeling down and sad all day, I had trouble sleeping, I had issues. I kept all my feelings bottled up for years, it only made me feel angry and I was rude to people I loved. I spent most of my days alone in my room, never wanting to be around my family. I think my depression started getting worse when I was 8 or so? My sister was diagnosed with a brain tumor, she had cancer. I thought she'd die, I was so scared and in so much sorrow. My parents brushed my aside for a few years while my sister battled cancer. I wasn't really a main priority, I felt like I didn't matter anymore. Everything started to be all about my sister, I felt more alone then ever. My parents spent all day with my sister, treating me almost like I didn't matter for the time being. After my sister successfully beat Cancer, it felt like things were never fair for me. She never got in trouble, I always got the blame for things, she never really had to work or do any chores, but I did. It all just felt like favoritism. It made me feel less loved, less respected, and I just couldn't tell my parents how I was feeling. I felt a hate towards my parents, they didn't find ways to praise me, or give me a simple "good job" I just wanted some slight praise, someone to tell me I'm doing good. It seemed as if my parents never cared for the good I did, but they cared when I got something wrong. They scolded me for doing something wrong, it made me feel as if I had to be perfect, as if I couldn't make a single mistake. I believed that I didn't matter to them, I believed that no one would miss me when I'm gone. That's when the suicidal thoughts came in, I would think to myself; "I am unloved, what's the point of even trying? Carrying on in a world where I just don't matter.." And I would see myself committing acts of suicide, I thought about what would happen. What just made things worse was how hard I found it to make friends, it seemed like no one gave me a chance. Every school I went to, I was always made the subject of fun. I never did anything to deserve it! I did nothing wrong! Why was it always me? Why did everybody just naturally hate me? I was left out if every single friend group, I was never included in projects, I never had a partner to work with, I was always the last one picked to be in a team, everyone always just treated me like dirt. I just wanted to die, for so long I just wanted to leave this unfair and cruel planet. I just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. I was always so stressed, lonely, keeping everything bottled up, telling everyone that I was ok. Keeping everything to myself just gave me headaches, anxiety, stress, anger, and I just couldn't keep my anger to myself. It was becoming more and more difficult. School has always been so difficult for me, bullies, crappy teachers, and I never understood what they were teaching. The entire class was always ahead of me, I never knew how to do anything! I felt so stupid and I had no one to ask for help, I procrastinated every single thing... so many thoughts ran through my head; "I'm so stupid. I'm a loser. No one loves me. I have no friends. Everyone just hates me. Why me why me why me? I just don't want to be here anymore..." All my life up to now, I have always been brushed aside and left with my fake smile. I tried to talk to my parents about what is happening with me, but the first time I tried my mom said; "You don't have depression. You really don't! Just because you feel sad ONCE doesn't mean you're depressed! Look at all that you have! You have nothing to be sad about." It doesn't matter what I have, it matters how I feel! I felt sad and lonely all the time, all day, all night. I was scared to tell my parents again because I just thought they'd brush it aside as me just being "dramatic" and on top off aaaalll of this, my grandpa died and it caused lots of pain.

Things Start Getting Brighter:

I was at a doctor's appointment when I decided that I'd try again... I explained everything to my mom and she started to cry and gave me a big hug. She told me that she'll sign me up for a therapist! That's when I saw hope, a light at the end of a long dark tunnel. I thought to myself; "I'll get better...I'm going to be healed. I'm going to be ok. I'm finally help." After that day, my family started spending time with me, they came into my room more and gave me love. I felt happier, but still not cured- eventually I went in to the first session of counseling! My dad sat next to me for the first couple minutes while the counselor talked to him, I heard him say at one point that he was proud of me, and I couldn't hold back tears. Its because I don't hear those words much...I feel as if no one ever tells me that they are proud of me. . After my dad left, I immediately started to blurt out EVERYTHING. I just went off telling the counselor all the past things, I burst out into tears. I let everything out of the bottle. She could almost immediately diagnose me with some rather intense depression. She gave me advice, things to do, and since then I got a bit better..

So Close To Happiness:

I started to work on loving myself, treating myself to good things! I talked to myself positively! Then I decided I should restore bonds with my family but starting some family game nights and movie nights! Me and my family would play some games together on Wednesday, and movies on Friday! As of right now, I'm in a D & D campaign with my family, uncle, and my uncle's friend! Its going great so far, I'm having fun! I'm getting much closer to my family, I feel loved! I feel appreciated! My family plain as day care about me. I love them, they love me. And I started socializing more, I talked to more people, made a friend group, and I began to hang out with more family outside of my main family of 4. I talked to my cousins more often and got much closer to Carol! I had an online friend who I liked to call Goblin, and we decided to meet in real life. Once they gave me their address, I realized. . .We're neighbors!!!?? We lived in the same neighborhood, so I ran over to their house and they ran out the door, we greeted each other in a fit of laughter. We were online friends for 2 or so years and never knew we were 3 or so minutes away from each other! They are also know as The GGT is that's familiar to you! I was less of an introvert, I had more fun, more friends, many more happy memories! Oh and it got great when I got a lil app called Tumblr. I socialized even more and started getting to doing art! I had a goal, to be popular, to ve somebody of slight importance... well I've just got to say. . Thank you for over 700 followers! I love you all so much and you made my dreams come true! You are all my motivation, my reason to keep on going, my great friends! All of youuuu! I love you all so much! And to this day, I haven't felt really sad, alone, unhappy, I haven't thought about ending my life, in fact...I WANT to live, I want to keep on waking up. I want to continue to see the sun everyday, I want to continue on! I don't want to leave, life is beautiful to me now, I see the good in it all, I know that God has good plans for me, and I will wait for paradise, not skip right to it. I want to live every second of my life, I want to continue to love, laugh, smile, and be will those who love me. I want to accomplish my dreams, to have a good life with many memories.

I love you all, and if you are dealing with some bad things, just remember that there is always someone to talk to, to love you, to understand you.. And I'm one of those! You can talk to me, I'll understand you, and I will always do whatever I can to help you. Live your life, its beautiful...I used to see it has painful, lonely, unfair, dark, and depressing...but truly it isn't. Life is beautiful, and so are all of you.

Stay alive, I love you. I love you all.

[writeraid]

Moon Knight (2022) and the tale of 'Oops! Unintentional OCD representation.'

Disclaimers before I start this: - I have been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. OCD affects everyone differently (for example, I do experience compulsions and the things that can come from them ( Dissasocation, severe Anxiety/Panic Attacks, etc) however I also have issues with things like intrusive thoughts and a need for rountine) so I feel the need to note that this is written from a point of my own experiences.

-On the other hand, I do not have DID. If I somehow misinterepret something/make an error, please do inform me.

-I know that many of these (especially getting into Steven's part) are interpreted by the fandom (including autistic people) as Autistic traits. This is in no way an attempt to 'disprove' that headcanon or speak over other's voices. I actually agree with this headcanon, this is just my way of overanalyzing and reading into things (And also projecting on my comfort characters. Probably. Definitely.)

-I am nothing psycholgical. I was forced to read a lot of stuff on this topic growing up because my mother tried to convince me I was 'normal' while actively knowing I'd been diagnosed. Take all of this tongue and cheek.

-This isn't in any praticular order. it's just me rambling.

-my spellcheck hates tumblr for some reason. spelling errors may be in here. I am sorry.

Essay (it wasn't supposed to go on this long I swear.) incoming after the break:

So, first of all, this is entirely based off show canon. Which means Jake bebe I'm sorry but you aren't going to get much detail in this post. If the comic people wanna jump in, you know I encourage it.

I think, personally, Marc is the most obvious contender for 'specifically ocd things'. Where do I get this? His mannerisms. The specific things he does. the godsdamn cubs hat iykyk.

...bet you thought I was gonna say Steven, didn't you? Yeah, well, I thought I was gonna say that too but then I thought about it more (I'll get to him, I promise.)

So, Marc. Marc Spector. Marc 'Let me become your adopted sister and not in a weird way' Spector. (this man seriously reminds me of my half brother I..it's a little scary not gonna lie.)

What about this man am I reading too much into for this? well..there's a lot..actually. So, the most glaring (i think) is the fact that this.man.hyperfixates.fight.me. When he was a kid, he hyperfixated on space and science fiction (going off what we see in his childhood bedroom..and my limted comic knowlege...) and later, closer to everything that happened with Randall, it was Tomb Buster. My main jumping off point for that is the 'constant rewatching of something linked to a hyperfixation when you need comfort' thing is uh...well lets just say the week after the election I rewatched Moon Knight somewhere around five times. in a row. yeah uh-moving on.

Playing off the back of it and just to be safe- TW (starting at the first * and ending at the second *): Gonna talk about Alchohol and Addiction for a moment.

*

It is..believed (using that wording here both to be safe and because this is coming from the psych stuff my mother made me read to prove I was 'normal'..it didn't.) that those with OCD have a tendency towards addictive personailty traits and higher risk for addictions as a result. That plays a lot into the 'Obsessive' part of the disorder (as well as Hyperfixations.) and can apply to anything from caffeine to alchohol. And everything else. Of course, this doesn't apply to everyone with the disorder, I'm only using this as a lead in to my next bit of analyizing.

To be clear, I don't think Marc is straight up an Alcoholic, I think he has a tendency to turn towards some..unhealthy..coping mechanisms, but I don't think he's been written to be an Alcoholic. I do think what I mentioned a second ago plays into his. Addictive Personailty traits can play into these types of unhealthy coping mechanisms, and I'm choosing to think that's what we're seeing in Marc: He's not necssecarily an Alcoholic, but he turns to it as a coping mechanism in part because he has a tendency towards addiction and a craving for some form of vice hardcoded into his brain. Alcohol isn't the adiction here. Self destructive behavior is.

(I could go even further with this and talk about the semi-popular headcanon I've seen bouncing around that Jake smokes cigarettes as a way to deal with stress and how that could play into this buuuuut I don't wanna.)

(ALSO could go into this and talk about the fact that OCD is believed to be something that can be passed on geneticly and talk about W**dy but I'm not even going to try to get into that)

(I relate to Marc because I to am a neurodivergent midwesterner with Mommy Issues.)

*

Marc also has a lot of mannerisms that I, personally, see myself doing everytime I'm wrangling my brain against intrusive thoughts or a compulsion. Not going to go into much detail here, but I will say: all of Episode Five, Marc bumbling (because thats what he's doing. fight me.) around Cairo in Episode Three, and the last scene in London in Episode Two.

Getting a bit more into headcanon territory now (That is to say, I have no real proof of this, it's all speculation): I think Marc's compulsions tend to be very much drawn from his trauma. This is something that can happen and I have experienced first hand (A great example of this in media is the opening of Lilo and Stitch.). If he drops a plate or a mug, he'll run his hand over the floor again and again because what if there's a piece of glass on the floor still and she steps on it. Also, door locks. but specfically his bedroom door (when he has one *looks at Steven's flat*). He has to make sure it's locked. Because that held her off for as long as possible, and if he just has a few more moments - Layla questions this at first, and he just explains it away as anxities from the job they do.

Also, it's believed OCD can cause Mood Swings. Do with this information what you will because if I try to do anymore over analyzing on that topic alone this post will take two years to read.

..and because of that, I'm gonna put Marc up on a shelf with a blanket and a marble maze and talk about Steven for a bit.

Steven is actually a little easier to talk about here...and that's why I had to put one of the disclaimers that I did up top...because of what I'm gonna get into.

So first off, the entire gods-darn opening to Episode One..after the stuff with Harrow in the very beginning..obviously. The way his little morning routine is shown, step by step like it is, feels like, to me, a ritual. Specifically, one that started as one thing and then turned into a ritual (I've...uhuh...experienced this before.). The way it's filmed feels like the implication is that he does these exact things. in the exact same order. exactly the same. every time. I doubt that's what the intention was, but damn if that doesn't hit me right between the ribs.

That one is the most glaring when it comes to Steven - hell, that was something I picked up on the very first time I watched Moon Knight back in 2022, and ultimately what made me want to come back to this after I rewatched it again and..well, again, watched MK five times in a row the week after the election. There are some other examples that I personally read into as being potential for ocd symptoms/related issues, but they are a lot smaller. The other thing I can say I notice with Steven is repetitive motion and finding what seems to be some form of comfort in that. The Rubiks cube, as an example, that is something that involves a constant string of repetitive motions in order to even come close to solving it (I would know..I have never solved one. yet. But I've gotten very close!).

Now would be a good time to mention that repetition and routine are both things that are at the center of the Venn diagram between people with ocd and Autistic People so..keep that in mind here, that's part of the reason I'm not going as in-depth as I was with Marc because the lines get really blurry at some point.

Anyway, further into headcanon territory here: In case it's not obvious, I think Steven's is much more based on ritual and routine, his compulsions aren't as (seemingly) random as Marc's, based around things like re-doing the sand around the bed at night, every night, and reading the same page in the same book, every night. I also think he deals with intrusive thoughts. (His "A thought can't be evil, can it?" Line from Episode Two is my best proof for this.) Jake, like I said, is near impossible, anything of this sort with him is purely headcanon and speculation. If a comics person wants to jump in, feel free to add in something to this. And again, this is all just overanalyzing and probably me projecting onto my comfort characters. This show, honestly, has gotten me through a lot over the past couple of years, between my...lovely..mother and a lot of ups and downs so at the end of the day it really might just be that, projection. This isn't meant to be taken to seriously, don't think about it to hard. I'm also stopping this now because I don't want this post to take ten years to read.

[moonhowler]

Hello! Welcome to my page!

About me:

I'm an adult in my mid 20's. Even with that fact, I feel like a confused child struggling to keep up in life. Most of the time I have no idea what I'm doing, but that's ok!

I freaking love cartoons! My current hyperfixation is Hazbin Hotel. I recently created a Hazbin regressor oc.

I have both ADHD and autism.

I love reading and drawing agere content. I had a really tough start in life so this community gives me comfort.

Even though I would love to regress, I don't feel like I'm in a safe space to try it, so I think the term age dreamer suits me better right now. I really wish I could feel safe enough to regress though.

My first language is spanish. If there are any hispanic people around here, siéntete libre de hablarme en español.

Maya

Maya is my Hazbin Hotel oc. She died in her early 20's and her soul went to hell, her demon form having both wolf and sheep traits.

She has adhd, autism, ocd, and severe anxiety. She was never diagnosed in life and found out in hell.

She started regressing after dying. It was completely involuntary and it scared horribly because she had no idea what was going on. Her headspace being so young didn't help either. Charlie had to explain to her what age regression was after finding her hiding inside a box in an alley, she was crying and obviously regressed.

She was really embarrassed at first. She wasn't used to people taking care of her, but everyone was encouraging her to regress often to deal with her trauma.

Her little age is 0-3, so she sometimes struggles with walking and talking. She also needs protection, something she hates when is in the older range of her headspace. When she is younger she doesn't seem to care.

She is normally a very calm regressor. She likes to color, watch cartoons, and cuddle with her caregivers while being read to.

Her favorite caregivers are Vaggie and Husk, since they seem to understand her better than anyone else. She loves being with all the hotel staff though...except Alastor. He creeps her out and may end up bursting into tears if she is left alone with him.

Background:

Maya comes from a broken family. Her mom was cold, distant, and had severe mental issues that made her agressive. Maya, being the eldest of 5 siblings, had to basically raise herself and her little siblings all on her own when she was still a small child. She never met her father. He was arrested soon after she was born. He was charged with murder.

The town she lived in was small and word spread fast. Everyone was aware of her living situation and her father's sins, so she was mercilessly bullied throughout her life. She was always in emotional and physical pain. Kids were cruel, and were always trying to get a reaction out of her. To prove that behind her shy, scared and harmless appearance, there was a monster hiding inside of her. Like a wolf ready to pounce.

As she turned into an adult people her age stopped bothering her so much, just giving her nasty looks from time to time or completely ignoring her.

Maya was never a bad person. She was a loving sister, was always kind, and tried to keep a positive attitude even when people where awful to her. She was constantly smiling and trying to help others, even when her intrusive thoughts were always screaming that she was a monster and no matter how hard she tried or how guilty she felt, she would always be a horrible person.

Her life ended in a traffic accident. She was heading home after college when a reckless driver hit her. She didn't even flinch, she was convinced that she deserved death. The reason she went to hell and not heaven was because she deeply believes she doesn't deserve paradise.

She now currently lives in the Hazbin Hotel, where Charlie and all the original residents are trying to help her to go to heaven.

[deusexmachinawitch]

Manifestation and Mental Heath

As I started the challenge I'm currently doing, it made me think about the importance of mental health when it came to manifesting.

While I personally manifested many things and managed to keep them up, I openly admit I struggle with my main manifestation which is my SP. I am diagnosed with anxiety, depression, OCD, ADD and CPTSD so sometimes it is difficult for me to not let intrusive thoughts inside my head and even sometimes spiral. Because of that, I did overconsume but for a good reason which is mostly find methods to help me deal with my mental issues when manifesting.

One of the things I've learned came from "Letters from a Stardust Soul" which is the importance of keeping a healthy vagus nerve to help you manifest. At first, I was pretty skeptic because one thing I've seen when it came to people that teach LoAss for money or offer services with a cost, is that they use all these fancy words and such to prey on people by looking kinda smart. Still, I decided to give it a try by checking videos on how to keep a healthy vagus nerve and I must say, I am very pleased with the results. I've tried both stretching for somatic trauma release and massages for vagus nerve stimulation and they do work quite.

What is the "vagus nerve" tho? The vagus nerve is responsible for the regulation of internal organ functions, such as digestion, heart rate, and respiratory rate, as well as vasomotor activity, and certain reflex actions, such as coughing, sneezing, swallowing, and vomiting.

That nerve is also associated with anxiety or other problems when it comes to mental health. The more I discovered about this, the more many things made sense, including why my gastroparesis and POTS were worse when my anxiety was skyrocketing. As soon as I began doing vagus nerve massages and somatic exercises, I could have a better mental diet because my anxiety lowered a lot. Plus my physical health also improved. Some of the vagus nerve massages use a tool and I realized I can do those massages with either the jade roller or my gua sha stone.

Here are some of my favorites:

Vagus Nerve Massage for Better Sleep (I do this one with a jade roller)

Jade Roller for Lympathic Drainage (Also stimulates areas that are good for vagus nerve stimulation)

Gua Sha for headaches (Really soothing)

All of the shorts of this channel are really good somatic exercises

You can even do affirmations or visualization while doing these! Highly recommended.

Another thing I read about stimulating the vagus nerve, is cold. That reminded me of the Wim Hof method but I don't recommend having very cold showers or baths suddenly because chronically ill people or people with blood pressure problems can go into shock. Trust me, I went there. But, I started washing my face with cold water and also putting my sheet masks in the fridge for my skin care and trust me guys, it is a game changer for me because I feel more awake and energized. Also, applying a cold cloth at the back of my neck is really good.

So, I really recommend the "Wim Hof method breathing exercises" (forever grateful to @pearlygrace for this recommendation) with a round of skin care with cold water and a cold sheet mask. It is a good combo. And if you're like me and need a hot bath even in the summer for joint and back pain, do the Wim Hof breathing exercises while at the bath tub then proceed with the skincare.

I do short affirmations along with my breathing with the Wim Hof method. For example, when breathing in and breathing out I say these for example:

SP loves me, SP wants me I don't chase, I attract I want it, I got it I am God, I am the Law

This is a way to affirm and do the law while relaxing to the Wim Hof method. You might feel light and tingly afterwards, so if you're doing it while in the bathtub, be careful. I also do this before bed to help me with SATS or if I had a very bad day and I need to calm my anxiety before revising or writing in my wish book (scripting).

Also, there was a post in "He's already yours" that mentioned something when it comes to mental diet and living in the end. When you're anxious and always try to be in control, it's not easy to let go of your desire, especially people with ADD/ADHD tend to accidentally end up waiting and desiring instead of actually living like it is already done. Trust, I've been there and I still fall into my own trap sometimes.

But one of the posts from this insta gave me a nice tip which is making a list of 11 things that are non-negotiables in your day by day. Basically, 11 things you have to do every day for YOUR OWN satisfaction and well-being, things that you enjoy and love because above all you have to love yourself since self-concept is what is the most important in this journey.

From my personal experience, having this list also helps me with dealing with the unwanted effects of the purge/transition period and try to state in my God/Sabbath state. They can be things like skincare, watching shows, etc... You know what you like and what can calm you, so write down that list and look at it every day to remind you of what you like and that you're the most important thing in your reality so your happiness is above everything. That is the key of manifesting at least for me.

But if your anxiety is really bad, make yourself an anxiety box. I had one even before I got into law of assumption and it is a game changer in mental health. I have things like lavender scented things like massage oils and such, a head massager, emergency chocolate, instant noodles, fidget toys, etc... Anything that can help to ease a very big anxiety attack is welcomed, especially to soothe yourself during a spiral. Note what foods you like, what shows or books calm you... Stop for a moment, don't check your phone or anything, just think about what YOU really like and what makes YOU happy and calm. Once you stop, things will come easily.

In a cloudy sky, you cannot see the stars. -Satella's grandfather, every day damn day until his passing

Always allow yourself to feel and release, nothing bad is going to manifest from that especially if you affirm that what you feel at that moment won't affect your manifestation and doesn't define you. Your feelings don't define you, but don't give up. Release them now then continue being the God you are. You can have anything you want even if you cry to sleep one whole night, but don't forget that you're the most important thing in your reality so please take care of yourself and don't give up on your journey.

You are blessed and gifted after all.

Happy journey!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Satella ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[phunockery]

Trigger warning allergic reaction, random etymology facts pertaining to sexual acts, talking about death, the melodrama of trying not to die.

(Spoilers) If you're reading this, it means I survived the night.

This is a timed log after finding out I poisoned myself. I don't think I'll die from it but this sucks and I'm feeling emotional and melodramatic.

11:00ish

If I die tomorrow, I didn't mean to. I promise. I just wanted a drink. I usually don't, it usually upsets my stomach. But tomorrow I turn 34 and I was feeling frisky and wanted something to drink while I play my traditional birthday (and sad mood) game: Sonic 2. So I grab a Kirkland hard seltzer from the fridge. Never tried the brand, but it was black cherry and I like that.

I decided to try to time some of my runs, nothing serious. Beat a couple of my pbs feeling good.

After drinking about 1/4th of the seltzer and I notice that my head is feeling funny and I wonder how a 5% drink was making me feel like that. My game play gets bad, but I beat my PB on Chemical Plant 2.

Aquatic Zone is a mess, mild improvement in act 2... And I start feeling itchy. Hives are building. I grab some Benadryl, chew two and as my chest tightens I look up what could be causing this.

11:15

Apparently there is a filtering process called finning that run the alcohol through animal products, like gelatin.

That comes from pigs.

That I am deathly allergic to.

The company does not have to disclose this information and honestly this a best guess, because what else would make me allergic to an alcoholic beverage?

Now I am sitting here, trying to differenciate anxiety and anaphylaxis. Taking deep breaths, epi pen in hand. I'm not going to call 911 because I can't afford it, if you're mad, join the club. (🦅 Insert screams of eagles and freedom here 🇺🇲)

It's almost midnight. I am almost 34 and I am live blogging my allergic reaction because I have nothing else to do

'call 911' that is far too expensive and I don't want to leave my kids with massive amounts of debt because I decided to get treatment (eagle screaming and freedom noises here 🦅)

I messaged a few friends, but they're busy. My friend is probably going to kill me in the morning when she sees this if I'm not already dead.

I'll probably live... I once survived a wedding where the brides mother unintentionally tried to kill me. I was lucky then because there was a doctor in the house... But that was worse. I had lost my ability to breathe immediately.

I'm just itchy. Soooo itchy. I am covered in hives... It doesn't help that my other friend made dinner and no one put cast iron that has cooked bacon and allergy together yesterday... Which I suffered for. Granted I suffered less then than I am now. Now now, but still itchy and cramps.

11:30

I hope to make it to cramps. I should. I can still breath. I am just so itchy. I hate this. I should be getting rest so I can pretend to have a good birthday. Instead I will pretend to have a good birthday and deal with aaaallll the fallout of having a full allergic reaction.

11:35

Chest is no longer feeling tight. A friend has message saying they are going to bed. I sent a message asking if they have a few moments to just sit with me. I think it was too late, they're offline.

11:40 I'm still itchy. My legs, my arms, my scalp, my chest, my armpits... It all itches. This really sucks. (Remembers that sucks used to be a euphemism for bjs and this fact gives me the chuckles of strength).

11:45

double checked messages to other friends. All unread. Some are online, some are not. But I am still alone so you, future reader, remain my emotional support pen-pal.

The skin around my eyes is itchy like I was crying. I don't think I've been crying. I'm upset, but not like that.

Good news: this won't be my worst birthday.

My worst birthday was in 2009. I was BMT for the USAF and on my 19th birthday, two days before graduating, I was acting unusually confused, was sent to the hospital and diagnosed with viral meningitis. I was booted from the USAF shortly after recovering.

11:50 Hell this isn't even as bad the last 7 years that just got progressively worse. I was let go of my job on my 30th birthday and became disabled two days later. (Barely related). Last year I was coerced into going to a water park (I don't do good with loud noises any more) and I wound up breaking a tooth trying to swim in the shallow waters. My ex was not comforting about it and suggested that I not make a scene in front of my kids because they would get upset.

11:55 I can breathe a bit easier. Still left unseen and I turn 34 in 5 minutes.

3 minutes to go and I am trying to fight the sleepy of the Benny's until I feel less itchy.

2 more minutes, I really hope I don't die, my friends don't deserve to have a corpse in their guest room

12:05 made a happy birthday post on TikTok. My voice is definitely affected, but I can talk and breath.

Still left on unseen. I feel bad that they're going to wake up and find out that a friend reached out for help and help wasn't available. That is going to suck. Hopefully I'm still alive and can tell them they're good and deserve sleep.

12:20 a rando has become the first to wish me a happy birthday. A friend messaged to let me know they're glad I'm safe and they're going to bed so they can work in the morning. They hope I find someone to talk to. It looks like it is just you and me

12:23 the stomach has put in its bid for attention. I will spare you the details. The Benny's are taking effect. I am soooo tired and the body itches slightly less. Except around the eyes, it still feels like I've been crying

12:29 my apologies to my friend: I fear I have destroyed your toilet. It should be fine in the morning.

12:30 the stomach still hates me. I hate me. I just want to go to bed.

12:40 tired. Imma go to bed with my Epi Pen on the bedside table. I wake up to everything anyways. The sudden inescapable lack of breath should be more than enough to wake.

I could really use a 'there there's and a hug. And now my eyes are itchy again, at least I know why this time.

Good night.

[auschizm]

This is mostly just a vent because I'm. Kind of a bit terrified and really want to vent in detail SOMEwhere. I would also appreciate encouragement and support but I'm not expecting much, I know I should probably find and go to a professional for help with this stuff.

So. Warning for this being a vent and touching on stuff like injuries that didn't actually happen and a lot of heavy emotions, I suppose.

I was diagnosed with autism in my late teens, but recently I've been strongly suspecting that something else is there--either a really really bad anxiety disorder, or possibly I'm schizo-spec? I'm really not sure, but a part of me keeps latching onto schizophrenia as a possible explanation whether it's the case or not. I've run into a pattern of getting really anxious at night to the point where it becomes impossible to sleep. Sometimes it's paired with what I suspect to be delusions and panic attacks.

A couple of months ago I once woke up in the middle of the night, convinced I'd somehow badly cut myself and that my eyes and sense of touch were both lying to me, even when I tried turning on the light to get a better look. For some reason I didn't believe my sense of taste would lie to me and didn't taste any blood, and I managed to calm myself to go back to sleep. And for a little while I thought that would be a one-time thing. But then I started getting terrified that if I went to sleep, something awful would happen, it'd turn out I had some terrible disease and die in my sleep and never finish any of my novels, or something. And I only really got a full night's worth of sleep two nights this week.

And a two nights ago I had what I think (I hope?) was a panic attack. My whole body suddenly started trembling, and it got so bad my teeth began chattering and I couldn't stand for extended periods of time. I managed to make it stop by petting the dog for several minutes, and when I had another one last night I made it stop by reading a chapter from a book until I relaxed more. But between my mind running away with certain ideas and making it hard to sleep, and losing control of my body in that way, and not even knowing what triggered those things and why it got so bad NOW as opposed to a month ago or a month from now. It's just really terrifying. I thought before that I understood the weird ways my body and my mind worked, and was really good at getting around them, or even just identifying when something like a meltdown or digestive issues were about to happen. And now it feels like I barely know my body and mind anymore. I wish I could just skip to the point where I have it all figured out again.

I am still making progress in figuring it out...kinda. I had some theories about what might help, my parents had other ideas. And it worked well enough that I only woke up once last night and got back to bed within a half hour, so I should be fine again eventually. But right now I still feel sore and weak and frustrated and anxious. I keep feeling silly about asking for help in the moment because it's not like anything's physically wrong with me, and I don't want to wake people up in the middle of the night when everyone else has work tomorrow.

I don't want to speculate about what's causing these experiences and why, but I can definitely relate to the experiences you're describing and they sound both genuinely terrifying and debilitating. And I am so sorry you have to cope with this! I do think it might be worth looking into what's happening here, because it definitely isn't classic autism.

[whiteskullofroses]

Hello,

Loved your Baldwin IV of Jerusalem x Physician!Reader. Can you please write one for Simon Ghost Riley x Doctor!Reader 🙏.

Where the two have been catching the same train for 1 year now for work, in the city. But they never talk but acknowledge each other with a smile & nod.  Until a fight broke out between 2 men which one of them ended up being stabbed & doctor (reader) comes to the rescue with Simon assisting her and is amazed at her competence, assertive & calmness. 

Thank you so much<3

Enjoy:

SIMON GHOST RILEY x Doctor!reader

Warnings: foul language, blood, fighting.

The cold breeze, which fall drew upon the city, kissed your cheeks as you arrived at the train station. There was nobody there beside you and your thoughts. They ranged from your anxiety of the train being late again and that resulting into you being late for work which wouldn't pay off today, to 'will I see him again?'

In four hours you'd be operating on a patient with a brain tumor, a lot of your energy and patience will be required to complete it successfully. You were confident in your skills. Thats what's truly important for a doctor to have. Confidence.

Luckily, the train arrived at exactly 8.25am. Stepping on and grabbing a newspaper to have the time run faster. The train was a second away from passing on to the next station when the masked man finally boarded on.

You moved the paper from covering your face and leered your eyes to his as he sat down and looked up at you. You smiled, he nodded.

Though the two of you have been exchanging friendly gestures for the past year, neither of you ever spoke up. That was usually because there was no time to chat, the train ride to where you got off lasted about 10 minutes, whilst his lasted 5.

When there was a rare occasion like this one, where you didn't have to stay up all night to read papers of different illnesses your patience have been diagnosed with, which were so long you had to complete some reading on the ride, you very introvertently waited for him to reach out.

"YOU BITCH YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME HUH?"

The train was usually packed with people heading out to run their errands but today there was only you, the man with the mask and 2 others.

Both of your heads turned to the drunk and the construction worker.

The drunk guy with a red, stained shirt appeared to be the aggressor when the other tried to calm him down:

"Sir, please sit back down."

That sentence sent the red one over the edge: "SIT DOWN? YOU'LL SEE ME 'SIT DOWN' "

The beer bottle he was drinking from was now broken to pieces as he smashed it on the floor.

You glanced back to the one sitting opposite to you. He was watching them with a death stare. It wasn't until he stood up and ran to the scene that you realised something really horrible went down.

The military man grabbed the drunk and pushed him away from the poor construction worker who appeared to be bleeding.

You ran over as fast as you could and held the hurt ones shoulder: "Were you stabbed?"

The worker was panting, clearly panicking and in pain. "YES!" He shouted out and leaned back on his seat. "Where were you stabbed, sir? In situations like this, you of course knew how to react. Panicking was out of the question, especially when the one hurt is in distress himself. Pointing to his left arm you looked through the ripping of his shirt and noticed it was a pretty deep cut. "Alright sir, please hold your right hand on the wound and apply as much pressure you can."

The army guy was still holding the drunks arms behind his back: "LET ME GO, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"Watch your mouth." Those were the first words you heard him speak. His voice sounded raspy and deep, like a true military man's would.

He watched you with respect. How calm you were and how you managed to somewhat calm the worker down too.

You pulled a shirt out of your bag and tied it around the wound. "This is so you don't lose any more blood"you explained:"I'm dr. Y/L/N, I'll get you to the hospital with me."

The worker gazed at you with pure gratitude: "Thank.. Thank you so so much!"

Simon's eyes never left you, you were just so magnetic to him. Your skills, your assertiveness. It stuck to him like glue.

The train stopped, the doors opened and Simon threw the guy out. Stumbling to the ground and groaning, he was gone for good.

You looked up at Simon and thanked him.

"No problem. What needs to be done needs to be done."

The doors closed and the train moved forward. The next stop was Simon's. You didn't waste any time, stepping out of your shell, standing up and introducing yourself: "I'm Y/N."

"I'm Simon. You can also call me Ghost."

You nodded and went back down to the workers level to check on his wound.

"It doesn't look that bad." Commenting and soothing the hurt one as the train stopped once again.

"See you."

"Goodbye, Y/N."

THE END.