#like my therapist who knows my parents will be all surprised and shit when i tell her how i was raised adn it's like yea michelle i bet

[johannacantsing]

i would LOVE to know what my parents think my childhood was like bc they are not correct

and they are NOT allowed to read my book when i finish it

[queerfanfiction]

Could you write a fluffy smut where reader has mummy issues who cancelled on her for taking her bra shopping and Larissa offered to go with her and helps her pick out the perfect set but then it ends with smut idk you chose :)

Mummy Issues

Prompt is shown above. :)

word count: 3.6k includes: mommy issues, public-ish sex, discussion of trauma, fingering, fluff, mommy kink, praise kink

Your therapist is actually the one who suggested you ask your mom to go shopping with you to find a bra set for an upcoming performance. You’re not saying this specific reparenting technique doesn’t work, but there was no way in hell your mother was going to follow through. Still, you tried anyway. You were vulnerable anyway.

You’re exhausted from parenting your own parent, always considering other’s needs before your own. Fresh out of university and you still have never had anyone else take care of you for a change. The shopping idea was intended to be a low-stakes role reversal where your mom would step up to the task at hand.

Earlier that morning you texted your mom to confirm the meet up in Burlington. You never heard back, which wasn’t uncommon. Since you were coming all the way from Montreal, though, you expected some sort of acknowledgement. You even texted her as you were driving over to no avail. Downtown Burlington was not where you would have picked to shop if your mother was not involved. It was close to where she lived, and she loved the hustle and bustle of Church Street. To you it always seemed like a hot mess. Now you were in the middle of that mess alone.

After waiting in your car for 15 minutes, it doesn’t take a genius to know you got stood up once again. You contemplated just driving back right then and there. This wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do alone, yet none of your friends are in the area any longer. They all had moved away. Overwhelmed by the sheer fuckery of nothing ever working out, you were frustrated and tired. You consider breaking down into tears over the wasted trip and the years of parental neglect represented by this one instance.

The only person who you can think of still in the area is Ms. Weems. You suppose it’s Principal Weems now (thank you social media for that one). Is it weird to invite a former teacher you once had a massive crush on to go shopping? It’s been so long that it would be nice to catch up. You’re not going to lie, you were yearning to see the older woman. Impulsively, you dial the number she gave you for emergencies back when you attended Nevermore. To your surprise, a firm but sweet voice answers—the same voice that you’d fantasize about in your dorm when your roommate was out. You try to control your voice, but too many conflicting emotions make you croak and sniffle a bit when identifying yourself.

“My dear, is everything alright? And, please, it’s Larissa.” A tone of worry was inflected back to you by the other woman.

In an attempt to dodge the question about your wellbeing, you respond, “I’m actually back in Burlington, trying to find an outfit for an upcoming performance. Any chance you’re free?” You tried to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Larissa returned with, “Oh, I don’t wish to intrude, but it was very kind of you to think of me.” Shit, apparently too nonchalant…

You reflect on all the times Larissa had comforted you back at Nevermore. She was protective of all her students, but it truly meant the world to you. You had always thought it was just another day, another student problem for her. There were many times you were neglected or mistreated by your mother that Larissa was privy to back then. Knowing this, as a Hail Mary, you softly let slip out, “I was supposed to meet my mom…”

Without missing a beat, Larissa’s voice turned tight, “Where are you?” You glance at the cross streets, give her your location, and let her know the specific store you’re at. She concludes, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes, love.”

Your heart flutters at the familiar pet name.

—

You’re already occupying the changing room when Larissa arrives. She calls out for you, and you crack open the door to let her into the small fitting area.

You are met with the most comforting hug. Larissa stroked your hair and squeezed you tightly. The last time an embrace has felt so all-encompassing was also from Larissa, which is a bit embarrassing. You guess you just don’t have a lot of good huggers in your life, and it felt so nice to be held close by someone. You breathe out a long sigh, as if all your troubles are muted by the closeness of the woman in front of you. Her scent replaces the air in your lungs, and you consider how nice it would be to never end this embrace.

When she pulls back and sees that your eyes are slightly red and puffy, she bends down towards you to cup your face with both of her hands. All that comes out of her mouth is “Oh, sweetie.” You give her a half-hearted smile in response. Her hands immediately begin stroking your face, brushing hair from your eyes, and occasionally resting her thumb and index finger at your chin. This. This is what being cared for is; the realization hits you and radiates out through your body.

“I’m here for whatever you need. Would you like to debrief about your mother? Or carry on with what’s needed here?” Larissa gestures to the garments in the fitting room without taking her eyes off of you.

Noticing how close she still is to your face makes your head dizzy, and you stutter, “I-I need s-something to wear under a strapless dress that won’t show during a piano performance.”

Reassuringly, Larissa states, “We can do that. You know I have an eye for those sorts of things. We’ll have you sorted in no time.” She then moves her hands to your upper arms and rubs them before turning to examine the items already set out.

“Piano? It’s no wonder. You always played brilliantly at Nevermore,” Larissa continued elatedly, brandishing a supportive smile. You think back to times when you’d be practicing in Nevermore’s music auditorium alone and feel a comforting presence at the back of the concert hall near the doors. You always assumed it was your imagination, not daring to get your hopes up that someone cared enough to support you or cheer you on. Your mother made sure of that…

You feel so much more at ease with Larissa here. Now that you think about it, she has always provided stability and nurtured you. You remember that she would sometimes give you rides to Jericho when the only Nevermore vehicle at the time was in use. You credit a lot of your success with the piano to her too, because she would encourage you to do open mics at the Weathervane and signed you up to play at a parade that Jericho had every couple of years. 

Yes, you felt indebted to the tall, gorgeous woman before you. The years since you’ve seen her have only emphasized her beauty. Her demeanor is both commanding and protective. It’s as if she is more comfortable in her skin than before; there is a sureness in her stance that is nice to see and that you wish you had. Even though you always considered her fashionable, her clothes now exude a kind of pride and carefully crafted style. Larissa’s perfectly-coiffed updo accentuates the smooth, supple skin of her neck before disappearing beneath her expertly tailored dress.

These thoughts invoke a light blush from your cheeks, and you know you can’t speak about your crush on her in the past tense. Your immediate dry mouth while watching her is proof that it never went away. Now you’re wondering if you shouldn’t have sought her out to assist in purchasing the perfect underwear, especially because you see her turn towards the garments and an emotion flashes across her face when she realizes the kinds of items you’ve picked out and need assistance with.

You’ve always liked the idea of dressing up underneath your formal outfit. To you, it made it feel more special, gave you extra confidence. For instance, knowing a sexy lace set was underneath your clothes made you feel as if you had a fun secret. Though, you realize it’s probably inappropriate to expect Larissa to help with this. If she felt uncomfortable, she was hiding it well. You tried to continue on as if everything was normal, even though doing so felt impossible.

When Larissa sits on the small ledge provided in the dressing room, you emphasize, “Thank you again for coming. I just drove from where I am now in Montreal.”

Realizing you should continue trying items on, you reach to unbutton your shirt when you hear, “You poor thing! Have you eaten?”

At this, you scrunch your face and shake off your blouse. “I’ll get something after this.” So many conflicting emotions swirl inside of you. You’re conflicted at whether to relish in the desperately needed maternal care or to shrug it off as a defense mechanism.

You begin to unhook a bra from its hanger and feel like you should ask, “Do you mind?” Larissa interprets that you’d like to change from your bra into the new one, waving her hand dismissively and saying, “Go ahead” in a delicate manner.

Without looking too awkward and challenged, you attempt to put on the new bra while taking  your current bra off in quick succession. It would have worked if the one you were trying on actually fit you. You had a hard time getting it on, and once you did, your breasts spill out of the top half, giving you the illusion of having four boobs. With you panting from the endeavor, you and Larissa begin to laugh at how silly it looks. You’re surprised that you’re not mortified, but instead having fun.

With some of your own tension released, you turn away from Larissa and towards the mirror to decide if you like the bra enough to go up a cup size. As you do this, what you don’t see is Larissa’s curious gaze, as if she is wishing she could reach out and touch the pillowy softness of your breasts.

“So, this one is NOT it.” Your playful declaration pulls Larissa from her lustful thoughts. It’s short-lived, though, since you immediately begin to try on more items. This time you choose a deep maroon matching set, and you turn slightly away from Larissa in order to pull up the bottoms over your current underwear. Because of the limited space in the room, your ass accidentally winds up in Larissa’s face. As if it is all in your head, you pretend the enclosed space is not rife with sexual tension.

“That’s gorgeous,” Larissa coos moments later with her hand reaching out. With both hands, she rubs along the intricate lace detail at your hip bones, and it feels as if your skin is set ablaze. You fight the urge for your breath to turn heavy and wanting.

Even if all of the tension is in your head and one-sided, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll need to stop trying things on soon. Well, at least stop trying on bottoms, because you can feel yourself getting wet under Larissa’s stares and encouragement.

“That fits you so very well.” “I love this on you.” “It looks absolutely spectacular.” “You look stunning.”

Not to mention Larissa has taken a hands-on approach to her support. After briefly touching your hips, she began dragging her long fingers along bits of your exposed skin when she was discussing an area. There’s no way she doesn’t notice the goosebumps that arise each time her touch lingers. At least being half naked in the chilly changing room is an excuse for the tight buds of your nipples. 

The juxtaposition between this experience and what your mother would have had in store for you is dizzying. No doubt she would have critiqued your strong shoulders or the cellulite on your thighs. It would have ended in a fight, you just know it. However, everything out of Larissa’s mouth was refreshing and electrifying. Maybe even healing at times?

The final set you had picked out was a delicate mesh thong bodysuit that was almost entirely see-through. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should you stop trying things on. Larissa must have noticed, because she uncrossed and crossed her legs a few times before voicing, “Go on, honey.”

Embracing the process sheepishly, you slip into the item and turn away from Larissa to look at yourself. You study the outline of your breasts in the mirror, trying to determine if the subtle texture of the mesh would be noticeable under your dress. Or would the distance between the stage and the seats obscure the texture?

You then see that Larissa seems to be studying them too, except her eyelids are hooded and her pupils are dilated. Almost in slow motion you watch her involuntarily lick her lips. Your heart beats quicker, a flash of heat moves through your body, and you suppress a low moan.

Your eyes meet Larissa’s in the mirror.

You couldn’t say who initiated what next. Only that you were on Larissa’s lap, straddling her, while her hands were on you, roaming over your body and settling on your hips. Your mouths are working in tandem with each other, and you welcome her red lipstick staining your lips and neck. Your hands go to Larissa’s face—one cupping it possessively and the other slinking back to grip the nape of her neck. You want desperately to wreck her perfect hair, turning it into physical evidence of your connection and closeness.

Both you and Larissa can feel the heated energy building between you as you frantically attempt to take off the mesh bodysuit. Before you can, though, Larissa steadies your hands and inquires breathlessly, “Is this okay, darling?” Her eyes search your own, and you can make out desire and worry in her eyes.

You have to take a moment to let what she is asking sink in. This feels like such a natural (if not slightly expedited) progression of your feelings for Larissa. You wonder if there is more underlying her question. You know you two will have to debrief your feelings but right now the hormones raging through your body make it hard to focus too much on the worry or questions around if this should be happening. Instead, your body wiggles on top of hers, begging to continue the friction of your hips against her. You involuntarily whine and nod. “I want this, Larissa.”

Seeing your need and the sureness in your gaze, Larissa regains her composure and utters, “Shh, let me take care of you.”

—

Larissa rivals your intensity with her own fierce need. Her kisses are passionate yet soft. Her hands are gentle but unyielding in how they explore your body once the mesh bodysuit is off. With her every caress and tender nip over your skin, you feel so wholly wanted, cared for, and desired. A fire underlies Larissa’s behavior, as if each touch begets more longing and thirst for you. At the same time, you couldn’t have anticipated the fervent need you had to be validated and devoured by this woman.

Once she has marked your neck with her lipstick and teeth, Larissa moves downward to take one of your fleshy, beaded nipples in her mouth. Barely audible to you, she breathes out, “Absolutely beautiful” before flicking it with her tongue and causing you to arch your back.

One of Larissa’s hands runs over your thighs, teasing you and drawing circles and zigzags on your delicate skin. You can’t help but whimper in need every single time her fingers get closer to where your thighs meet. After almost resigning to her pace and authority, she trails up to cup your arousal. Your legs twitch with the sudden contact, and you emit a gasp.

“You’re so wet for me.” Pleased, Larissa enunciates every word, drawing the words out and reveling in how at her mercy you are. “It’s intoxicating.”

Unable to withstand not taking action, you press your lips against hers roughly, trying to close any distance between your bodies. Breathless after many kisses, you move to suck on her neck and whisper, “Larissa.”

“Please.”

Only after this plea does Larissa finally dip a finger into you. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough. You would usually appreciate a sexual partner pacing themselves, but the need for her to fill you is overpowering. You wriggle your hips back and forth impatiently and breathlessly request, “More.”

Larissa delighted in your clear hunger for her, fully intending to give you everything you want. She eases in another finger past her second knuckle before adding a third finger once she realizes how slick and open you are for her. You unintentionally bite down on her shoulder, not expecting to get what you want without more begging.

 You couldn’t have imagined how good her fingers feel inside you. And you absolutely had imagined it. You remember pretending your fingers were hers after late nights riding back with her from Jericho. Or the time she gave you her coat on a chilly night and forgot to get it back, so you ended up masterbating to her scent surrounding you. Okay, you’re not super proud of that one, but at the time it felt world-changing the desire you had. Her fingers working inside of you now are of a different caliber. In fact, you never understood the metaphor of sex as worship or religion, but being on top of Larissa with her half-lidded eyes roaming your body changes things. You want to make her feel a sliver of how good you do right now.

Your hands begin to grab at the fabric of her top, desperate to remove her clothing and pleasure her as she is inside of you. Larissa lets out a low, throaty chuckle before asserting, “Ah, ah, ah. I want to focus on you, love. Let me please you.”

Her interjection just makes your heart swell more for her, and noticeably your noise level swells, as well. You’re not used to undivided attention and care—someone wanting your happiness above all else. It’s more erotic than you could have ever anticipated. At the increase in breathiness and moans, one of Larissa’s hands clamps over your mouth while the other continues to pump in and out of you. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the reflection in the dressing room mirror of you riding her long fingers completely nude while she is fully clothed. The sight makes your knees weaker, and you groan, “Oh, fuck.”

Larissa’s whispers and affirmations throughout only brought you closer and closer to release. She has to know how her words are affecting you. Her hot breath over and over in your ear, inching you towards the edge.

“I’ve got you, sweetie.” “I’ll give you anything you want.” “Shh, stay quiet for me.” “That’s a good girl.”

You feel yourself tighten around Larissa’s fingers, becoming more breathless and spacey as she presses the pads of her curled fingers inside you toward your pelvic bone, urging you to come undone. So, you do. Your entire body tenses, and you feel as if you will crumble under the anticipation and pressure. Tingles shoot down your arms and legs in waves, threatening overstimulation.

Larissa’s fingers still, and she presses you close to her, clutching you tightly. After a moment of your eyes being closed and your breathing slowly relaxing, Larissa asks you to bear down with your pelvic floor muscles. Confused, you obey. She gingerly removes her fingers from inside you, and your body aches at the loss. She proceeds to lean forward with you still on her lap, wrapping her arms around you and begins to rock you.

“You did so well, my love,” Larissa murmurs while stroking your hair away from your damp forehead. “You were so good for me.”

You can’t remember the last time someone was so attentive and sweet with you after sex—if ever. You also have never felt like an exposed live wire due to euphoria either, so… Her thoughtfulness makes your heart swell, and you’re hoping it’s not just due to the hormones flooding your body right now. As if you can’t contain the disbelief and gratefulness, you blurt in awe, “How are you real?”

Larissa pulls away from the embrace, searching your eyes for understanding. “I ask myself the same question about you.” At that, you rest your forehead against Larissa’s, exhausted and happy.

After sensing your heart rate has stabilized, wanting to make sure you go to the bathroom and hydrate becomes Larissa’s next priority. Her voice breaks the comfortable silence. “Let’s get you some food now. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite.”

You two pick up the items in the messy dressing room and sheepishly leave the clothes on the courtesy rack outside. A grin blooms over your features as you think about how being stood up by your mom feels like such a nonissue now. Even the dilemma of what underwear to wear for your upcoming performance seems trivial. Walking out of the store with Larissa’s lipstick all over you, you decide that you won’t wear anything under your dress, especially not if Larissa is in the audience.

—

@sapphicbeloved Remember when you sent this request literal months ago????? Oops. Apologies, and please enjoy!

[beanghostprincess]

Rayleigh and Buggy reunion, but Rayleigh is being over the top judgemental about everything, like idk if u are familiar with crazy ex girlfriend the TV show but Rayleigh shows up and acts exactly like Rebecca's mom does. Overcritical of his life choices and dismissive of what he perceives as excuses coming from Buggy, because he knows Buggy's true potential and is annoyed with Buggy not living up to it. He gives Crocodile a once over and goes "is that what you found to replace Shanks with" and moves on and Crocodile doesn't even have a moment to compute the way he was just insulted because Rayleigh has moved on to criticising Mihawk's cooking instead. Worst part is, this all comes from a genuine place of love and care, Rayleigh is legitimately worried sick about his baby clown son of 39 years, but he cannot express that worry without being extremely invasive about everything. Buggy isn't even responding, he just shoots ppl apologetic looks and rolls his eyes when Rayleigh isn't looking because of course he does this obviously Buggy is never good enough for him and Shanks had always been the favourite (you ask Shanks or any other Roger pirate and they will tell you that Buggy is Rayleigh's baby boy and absolute favourite with utmost confidence, too bad the emotional constipation runs in the crew). Dinner is awkward as fuck, because Rayleigh makes attempts at being easygoing but his motherhenning nature irt Buggy shines through, his conviction that Buggy would be happier with Shanks by his side is making him be overcritical of everyone in that dinner and he keeps discussing the good old days and subtly hinting at Buggy that there is still time for him to go back to Shanks....and Buggy looks close to frustrated tears (and everyone agrees, Crocodile has snapped 5 cigars in half with his teeth and Mihawk is 5 seconds away from banging his head on the table).

Just overbearing father Rayleigh being stifling and trying to overcompensate for his shit parenting choices during Buggy's childhood and Buggy having his daddy issues expanded upon (and Crocodile and Mihawk gaining insight to Buggy's entire deal)

"Idk if u are familiar with crazy ex girlfriend the TV sho-" My therapist literally told me to stop watching it so much because it was affecting my mental health. So. Yes. I know the show. It's one of my favorite shows EVER. Rebecca is just like me fr my beloved. All of them my beloveds. The songs my beloveds. Don't make me go into CEG x OP because I won't finish. And as you can see, I did not listen to my therapist.

Even though I've always seen Rayleigh as the one who understands Buggy the most (Roger and him love Shanks and Buggy equally but it is quite obvious they put more pressure on Shanks to be more like Roger and that only made things worse by making Buggy's inferiority complex exist) and the one who stands up more for him and comforts him when needed, it is true that he might be more judgemental and he'd be worried for Buggy. Like. Think about it. Roger died and the kids (their kids) ended up alone and going their own separate ways. For Rayleigh, finding out Shanks and Buggy aren't together is just?? So weird?? Because they've always been together. Birds of a feather (if somebody mentions the song 'Two Birds' I am punching them because I can't handle that song today please). And it's just... Well, surprising. 'But as long as they're okay' but they're obviously not okay!!! And it's not that Rayleigh is judging Buggy. In fact, I think he would do the same with Shanks. The second Rayleigh sees Shanks he's already saying he drinks too much (even for a pirate) and that he's been acting recklessly and "What the fuck are you doing without Buggy? Is this because of Buggy?" / "I do not drink because of him. It's- It's not about him. He left-" / "HE LEFT AND YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING?????" / "I hate it when you get like this" / "Like what?" / "Like you want to still do something about my life. I'm an adult, thank you very much-" / "No, you're not if you keep acting this way". And I personally think Rayleigh would just be worried for the both of them and also feel extremely guilty because he wasn't there to fix things when they fought, the way he always did. "The second I left you alone you two start a fight that lasts two decades?" and he would say this to both of them and they would hate it.

But yeah, going back to Buggy I think he'd be worried because. Well. Have you seen Crocodile and Mihawk? I mean. They're kind of on good terms with Buggy now (more or... More or less. Kind of. They're not equals but they're some sort of weird thing and they respect and care for each other. More or less. It's- It's complicated. Don't ask) but they're still them. And Rayleigh can't help but see the situation and be like "I'm proud you made a name of yourself, kid, but you don't have to do this if you don't want to" (meaning: You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted) and Buggy takes it as an "You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted because you'd be safer with him" instead of the real "You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted because you'd be happier with him and this war of pride and hearts you have going on is dumb". And he understands Buggy needs to be away from Shanks to grow, but it's just so, so sad to see them like this when they used to love each other so damn much.

Also, I think Buggy would be going through the worst moment of his life and Crocodile and Mihawk would be so done for different reasons. First, they don't give a fuck about all of this drama. And second, they are starting to see Buggy more like a person and understand why he is the way he is, and the things Rayleigh is saying are bothering them a lot. They've been trying to make the clown move on from his past so he's useful for once (because when he believes in himself he's actually not a burden and more interesting) and now this guy (that they respect because it's Silvers Fucking Rayleigh) comes and tries to change things around here? Nope. Not happening.

So basically, what you're trying to tell me is that Rayleigh regrets raising the boys that way and now he's overcompensating and it's overwhelming for everyone, right? I- I love it. Great plot. 10/10. In character. Perfect. It makes me go insane. I love their daddy issues.

(Also, can we talk about how "This Was a Shit Show" and "What'll it be" are extremely Buggy songs??? Because- Because now I want to-)

[solar-wing]

⚣ Therapist BatBro 👓

⚣👓 A/N → Therpist BatBro makes his debut. The second pic is honestly what I feel a therapy session in the Wayne family would look like. This is from another request I got from my previous account.

⚣👓 Summary → Your family isn't pleased with your new hobby or group of friends. But, somehow you've made it a business. Gotta respect the hustle at least.

⚣👓 Words → 2.3k

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 👓

⚣ ENJOY 👓

The way I see it, you're either a vigilante with the fam and all the villains just seem to like you for some reason and ask where you are during a battle OR you're not a vigilante and you volunteer at Arkham (which would be absolutely insane but it's Arkham so it breaks even) and everyone there is cool with you. Even the Joker (which won't fly well with Jason at all).

We're going to go with the second option for this one.

So, since Bruce was adamant about you not joining the family business as a vigilante since you were the youngest and he had an unyielding urge to protect you and your childhood innocence, you needed to find something to do in your free time.

What better than to volunteer at a crazy house for psychopathic murdering villains?

Of course, considering Arkham was filled mainly with criminals your father had put there along with your siblings, it probably wouldn’t be wise to do that since they’d obviously wouldn’t approve.

SO, you did it anyway and just didn't tell them.

BatBro contemplating...

Duke was the first to find out. Batman had supplies Arkham needed but since he was at work and Duke always took the day shift as everyone liked to joke, who better to drop it off than him? Imagine his surprise when he finds his baby bro in there serving ice cream to Mr. Freeze.

"Here ya go Fries, my man. I sprinkled some ice shavings on there to make it a little tangier for you..." You said handing him the cone.

"Ha ha ha, aren't you hilarious." Victor Fries replied with a genuine smile. As far as The Signal persona knew, he was only capable of smirking or mean-mugging the shit of people, with the exception of an occasional shivering face while mocking someone for how cold they were.

'Oh, they're not gonna believe this...' Duke thought, racing home right after. The way he left the institution, the guards almost thought there was a breakout or a fight going on. Nope, but there might be when he told everyone.

Of course, no one believed him at first, just staring at the dude as if he just said the craziest thing in the world like Bruce being an emotionally available parent.

When you came home that night acting cagey and weirder than normal, they figured something was going on and maybe you were at Arkham but for something completely different than what Duke thought it could be. Because, there would be no way Bruce Wayne’s, aka Batman, own son would ever even consider fraternizing with criminals, let alone his enemies. Right?

So, like any other sane, normal family who responded to distressing situations with maturity and rationality... they spied on you.

Damian, Tim, & Cass followed you the next day. Tim was understandably distraught but also curious how you could have managed to form a friendship with Gotham's criminally insane.

Like...THEY WERE INSANE. But, when he really thought about it, considering the family you came from...yeah, okay. He can see the correlation now.

Damian, however, refused to believe his little brother could be so stupid and dense. How could you form relations with the enemy like that? It was stupidity. Plain idiocy at its finest. It was betrayal!

On the other hand, it was a smart move looking from an assassin's point of view. You know the whole keep your friends close and enemies closer deal, but that was his thing. Not yours! So you'd be getting extra noogies and brotherly beatdowns when you got home. In the name of camaraderie and righting your careless decisions.

Cass thought it was fucking hilarious.

Upon their arrival and finding you trading riddle jokes with Riddler, their jaws all collectively dropped to the floor.

"Okay, okay okay..." You breathed, calming down from your wheezing laughter. "Riddle me this...I'm neither a man nor a woman but don't hurt my wittle feelings cause I'm still a person. I'll kick you and scream at you, even both during a tantrum. My ego's bigger than my head but shorter than my height, who am I?"

Riddler took a moment to think about it before the metaphorical lightbulb appeared above his head, "Boy Wonder!" He pointed.

"Which one?" You immediately responded.

"The fourth one!"

"Yes!"

Tim and Cass both had to think about it before they realized the clues in the riddle. They're eyes went wide when they realized who you were talking about, and turned to see Damian who looked ready to tear your head off with his teeth.

"He's in for it when he gets home..." He growled through his grinding teeth.

Damian pissed (Left) | Tim & Cass (Right)

Everyone was mildly concerned when they came home that night and asked them how everything went only for Damian's immediate response to be that he was going to get his revenge sketchbook.

Why Damian has a revenge sketchbook, no one knows. But, everyone was just the right amount unsettled by it.

That night at dinner there was a bit of a tense air as Damian had to be placed between both Bruce and Jason to keep him from lunging at you with his salad fork. Usually, you were used to Damian’s somewhat murderous tantrums, but this was on another level.

He almost looked like he would grow horns out of his head at any moment, which would actually be somewhat fitting. Considering he was the grandson of the Demon and all.

You also noticed how Tim and Cass kept weirdly staring at you. Neither of them said something, which was odd(well except maybe for Cass), but you just ignored it and ate your dinner.

That night, you put some of your old booby traps from when you first moved into the manor back into place. You needed some sort of reassurance and protection to help you sleep. At many points throughout the night, you shot out of bed and grabbed one of the many random weapons you had hidden around you when you thought you heard someone trying to sneak into your room.

Damian definitely tried but had learned his lesson after the last time he got caught in one of your traps. You took a lot of inspiration from movies like Home Alone and The Parent Trap.

The next day, Dick and Steph went to check out the mental institution insane asylum.

Steph also thought it was funny like Cass but in a more ironic type of way. She’d rooted for you to get your own vigilante identity and join the family business. So this was like the ultimate petty revenge and she was here for it.

But Dick just couldn't imagine you in a place like this. His sweet adorable baby brother, in this horrid mess? He was calling it, either blackmail or manipulation. A rude awakening was awaiting him around the corner.

They looked to see you in the middle of practicing a handshake with Bane.

"No Bane, fist bump, then the arm wiggle..." You said, showing him the move for the 4th time.

"Oh sorry buddy," He replied.

"No problem man, let's try again."

They watched you go through the whole routine, Steph taking a video on her phone while Dick looked in surprise and jealousy. How come you and him didn't have a handshake like that? Every little brother should want to have a cool handshake with their cool big brother! Was he not good enough?!

Steph laughing in petty (Left) | Dick breaking down (Right)

When Dick stormed into the manor later muttering about showing you a real handshake, Bruce only raised an eyebrow when Steph walked in looking thoroughly entertained like she just watched the funniest show of her life. It certainly felt like it.

That afternoon, Dick gave you the cold shoulder all day. He even canceled your weekly brother movie night, which shocked everyone, especially your dad. What could have been so bad that would cause Bruce’s first protege to treat his kid brother like this? The same kid who he’d absolutely lose it if they went to anyone other than him for advice or would pout if he didn’t get the first hug from him when in a room full of people.

Of course, he still cracked when you gave him the hurt puppy dog eyes (a trick you learned from Jason that he used to use on Bruce all the time when he was younger). Dick caved and you guys ended up watching a movie, though you were mildly concerned whenever your oldest brother paused the movie and took the time to highlight the friendship and connection between two characters, especially if they were siblings.

Something like a special code, an inside joke, or even maybe a HANDSHAKE. What does it say about a big brother if his little brother doesn’t want to have a cool special handshake with him?!

Subtle.

You just nodded along, making a mental note to avoid any family-oriented films for your next movie night.

But, after this incident, you’d fully managed to get Bruce’s attention. He knew that Dick out of all his children was usually the least likely to get irate over something that wasn’t serious. So the fact that he did, despite how unserious it may have seemed, but it was settled.

Something was going on and your dad, no…Batman was going to get to the bottom of it.

Jason decided to come along with your father, fully prepared to drag you out of the building by force if he had to. He even went as far as calling your boyfriend Conner Kent, aka Superboy, who he and Bruce had a love/hate relationship with because they couldn't really threaten the boy like they wanted to if he hurt you.

Well, Jason couldn’t at least.

Bruce had more than enough kryptonite in multiple storages across his warehouse and had no problem showing it to the half-Kryptonian as a warning.

Conner was more than a little peeved, try fucking pissed when he heard you'd been hanging out with supervillains. And he as well was ready to sling you over his shoulder if he had to. But, probably not in front of your dad who kept throwing pointed glares his way as they moved through the building.

When Batman showed up demanding to see where the volunteer by your name was, they quickly rushed to show him to your location. He couldn't fathom this. The mere thought that his youngest child, his sweet, innocent (on a good day) good-natured son, would be hanging around all his enemies, laughing with them like they were good ol pals?

He'd sooner believe Joker was going to therapy.

The shock of his lifetime was also waiting for him around the corner.

They came around to see you through a window sitting in an office room in business casual attire, holding a clipboard and writing down notes while Joker was laying on a couch with his cuffed hands resting on his chest, venting out his emotions.

"And sometimes, I do feel like I go a bit far. But, I can't take all the blame. I mean, everyone paints me as the villain, but Batsy plays into our little game just as much as I do. Why does he get painted as the hero and me as a crazy clown? Well, you know, besides the clown face, HAHAHA!" He vented, ending with his usual eerie cackle.

"Uh-huh, and how does that make you feel?" You asked while scribbling a few notes on your legal pad and adjusting the fake glasses on your face before turning around at the sound of the door opening.

You felt your heart drop in your stomach when you saw your father, brother, and boyfriend all staring at you with very unhappy looks.

"BATSY! Oh, do come in! We were just talking about you. I think it's about time you and I got some relationship counseling." Joker exclaimed.

Not one word was said while Conner grabbed you by your wrists, (gently of course because he's caring like that) and dragged you out of the room, Jason not too far behind, ready to tear you a new one. Batman held his shoulder, while Joker just watched in amusement, "Guess my hour's up."

You, Bruce, and Jason arguing (Left) | Joker enjoying the show (Right)

You were immediately brought home after getting an earful from Jason to which you offered him his own free session.

He agreed.

Bruce demands to know why you would even consider going there, socializing with those people.

"Well, seeing as how I can't join the family business, I figured I could do some good in some way. And villains or not, they've got good in them! Just you know, when they're not trying to murder people." You answered.

You were interrupted by your other siblings appearing before you felt an arm forcibly turn you around which Conner raised an annoyed eyebrow at, but he kept his mouth shut.

"What does Bane have that I don't? Am I not good enough as an older brother to have a handshake with?"

You sighed, "Is that why you were so upset the other day?! Ugh, would you like to create a special handshake with me, Dick?"

" Yes! Super secret too! You can't have any handshakes with anybody else!" He hugged you while you patted his back.

Brothers could be so needy sometimes.

You could see your boyfriend eyeing you both with the strangest look. In your defense, he had plenty of warning of how weird your family was.

Before things could calm down too much though, everyone heard a shrill voice screaming your name from the top of the staircase.

"Y/N!"

"Fuck..." You muttered under your breath, before turning to see Tim and Cass giving you nervous looks.

“You were there with Riddler, weren’t you?”

They could barely look you in the eye as you turned to see Damian standing on the banister, holding one of your slippers in his hand.

"Who's short now?!" 

Alfred went to get the first aid kit.

Damian with your slipper...

BONUS:

☀️ | Bat Family | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[nosvq]

I don't know why this nasty people still on our Lou and Tommy tag and on Twitter act like some kind of preacher and therapist(I know you're anti and haters tho). Like you yourself aren't invested in your own favorite character and the actor. I saw the delusions you're in when I research mode 911 2 years ago. I know and I see a monster shipper with no sanity left. I thought Asian BL fan and shipper are the weirdest but ouhhh I was so damn wrong.

You think just because we know Lou less than a year we were played and manipulated by him. Just like how you people don't care about a shit your favorite actor did or still on it, you have the audacity to preach us about Lou's past or whatever perception you have on him like come on, ain't no one is a saint here. I know you people see him as someone lower than you, actor with no remarkable achievement and all those words you used on him but are yours that great and who do you think you are? Eww

He is an actor that potray Tommy Kinard so he have all the freedom to give his piece of thought and whatever he feel within the range of his acting and the episode he was in. If he is not important to you, cool not my problem. He is not coming back, fired whatever so what is your problem now?

I'm an adult I know to judge people. It was 2022 when I started 911. For your info there's a reason why I don't really have hyper fixation towards OS or RG and their characters in 911. I don't hate them but they aren't that likeable either with few ruckus here and there, now and then.

If you're weirded by the fact that Lou Ferrigno Jr and Tommy Kinard having a fans that can't stop yapping about them maybe you need to reflect on yourself. Why were you people here? Why were you doing the yapping?

Being casual viewer mean I watch for the emergencies and the first responders. The men there are hot and good looking so does the actresses but I was there not for them. Suddenly Tommy Kinard happened so what if I like him and the actor. Cool firefighter pilot and attractive actor. Duhh

I know you people jealous because I mean Lou is attractive white male, beefy and blue eyes and like you people always called him a nepo baby, hello not everyone here from the US who even know who is his parents , that I don't know what is the issue. Yet people still fall in love with him(surprised 🙀🙄).

He and Tommy are NOT the MAIN CHARACTER(so what , no biggie) his followers also not that much unlike your favorite actors(like I care about how famous people are if I am not attracted I don't) but you did know after watching him on s7 we go on research mode and go watch the shows he was in.

I don't know what is so wrong in liking Lou Ferrigno Jr and Tommy Kinard and still talking about them every day, weeks that you people so pressing about it. If there's people that need a therapy and counseling, it is you people but I guess with that much of negativity and grace of the devil on your every words about him only God can save you.

[delilaha]

Based off a prompt I found on here!

The dissociation part is based off of Pony in the musical after their deaths. I saw it back in April and it was so amazing!! My biggest life flex is that I sat in the second row right in front of the fountain/tire and I don't remember was song it was, but Brody stared at me straight in the eyes for AT LEAST 5 seconds while singing and he was like nodding along like he was telling me personally and I think about it every day (I realized I never yapped about it to y'all yet so here you go 😝)

Anyway enjoy and Merry Christmas!! 🫶

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The house was quiet. An almost eery, unsettling quiet where you could hear the well-loved structure creak with every little gust of wind from outside. Then again, it was an ungodly hour of the night, almost one in the morning. But that wasn't making Darry any less restless than he's been for the past, what, month at this point? It's all gone to shit, if it hasn't already been since their parent's death almost a year ago already. And there wasn't much to do about it but grip his coffee mug and sit at the kitchen table, staring into space thinking about what he could do to make it better. If there even was anything to make better.

What's done is done, anyway right? Dally and Johnny are dead, and they've been dead for a while already. There's nothing to do about it now except try to move on. Except, that's what Darry tells himself, and what he wishes to tell Ponyboy. But, if he was being honest, Darry was worried it would send his youngest brother into some sort of breakdown if he even mentioned their names. Ever since he became lucid enough to head back to school, Pony acts like some sort of robot, stuck in some never-ending programmed cycle of sleeping, eating, breathing, then repeating. When he wakes up, he hardly spares a word to his brothers, and Darry knows it eats at Soda every second. Then, when Darry gets home at the end of the day, Pony is just sitting in front of the tv, staring at the screen but not actually watching. Occasionally, his homework will sit out in front of him, done yet incorrect for the most part, but Darry tries not to bug him about it too much. After all, he hasn't gotten any notes or phone calls home from his teachers, so he doesn't think too deeply about it. There's a time and a place for getting on Ponyboy about his homework again, and now was not it. Darry knows that much, at least.

What he doesn't know is how to get through to Pony. He's tried to get Sodapop to intervene, to try and talk to him before they go to sleep. But Pony has been turning in so early these days, sometimes earlier than eight-thirty. Soda, who has never been one to go to bed before nine, even as a kid, is never able to talk to his brother anymore because he's knocked out before Soda can even change into his pajamas. And talking to him in the morning is a lost cause too, because they have to basically drag him out of bed every morning just to get him to school at an appropriate hour and they feel too bad to wake him up on weekend mornings before they have to go to work.

Darry would try to get him a therapist if he could, but between their tight budget and the fact that Pony would probably blow a fuse if the idea was even remotely brought up, that's not really an option. They're still trying to recover from Pony's previous hospital stay, and Darry would really enjoy to afford groceries for his family.

Sighing with frustration, Darry slams his mug down and runs his hands through his hair, resting against the table in defeat. What is he going to do with this kid?

Darry doesn't even realize said kid walked into the kitchen until he's mumbling a hello. He raises his head to see Ponyboy retrieve a glass from the cupboard and stand in front of the sink.

"Hey, P.B. You okay? What are you doing?" Darry asks, trying not to let the surprise be too evident in his voice. He rests his hands onto the kitchen table and slides his mug out of the way a bit.

"Uhm, just getting water..." Pony says, looking at Darry weirdly. He was already filling the glass with water, was it not obvious?

"Right," Darry smiles awkwardly, looking down at his hands. He picks at his finger nails as he scolds himself for being so meek around his younger brother who he's known for his whole fourteen-year existence. He wants to try to get through to the kid, not treat him like a stranger! Darry watched as he gulped his water down, apparently as thirsty as someone stranded in the desert, wondering desperately how to talk to him. Maybe he could catch him in the morning, he goes into work late anyway, or-

Wait.

He's right there, now, you idiot.

By the time Darry comes to this realization, Pony's already halfway down the hall. He jumps out of his chair, and practically whisper yells to get Pony's attention. He seriously does not want to wake up Soda, God knows he needs the sleep just as much as anyone else in this household.

"Pone, wait, I gotta talk to you about something for a second." Darry says, peaking out of the doorway to the kitchen, and he can imagine Pony's eyes roll even in the darkened hallway. He pivots back around on the ball of his foot and lets out a huff before walking back down the hall, and Darry had half the mind to get onto him about the attitude, but he knew that would only do more harm than good.

"What?" Pony asks, leaning back against the wall facing Darry who was leaning against the kitchen table, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but there. Darry almost sent him back to bed, knowing full well this wasn't the most ideal time to talk about something so heavy. But it's about time to just rip off the bandaid.

"Pony, I wanna know how to help you." Darry began, crossing his arms over his chest. He tried to make his voice sound as soft as possible, so that Pony wouldn't get defensive, but he wasn't sure it was working with the way his brother's expression fell.

"Darry, if this is about my grades, I'm-" Ponyboy began, crossing his arms just as Darry did and pushed himself off the wall.

"It's not," Darry cut him off. "Look, Pone, I know you've been grieving, we all are, but-"

"My God, Darrel," Pony uttered exasperatedly, making to stomp out of the kitchen, but Darry grabbed his arm before he could get anywhere.

"But," Darry continued, "You're acting like a zombie and I want to help you. We want to help you. But we can't help you if you don't talk to us."

"I'm fine, Dar'. I'm handling it." Ponyboy spat, trying to rip his arm back from Darry, but he didn't budge.

"Handling it? You hardly say ten words to us per day." Darry responded. He tried to disregard the way Pony's words bit, but he couldn't help the annoyance that seeped into his voice. "You can't spend the rest of your life sleeping and staring at that damn TV, Ponyboy!"

Pony narrowed his eyes. "Would you rather me run wild and get arrested by the cops every night? I never know what you want from me anymore, Darry. Just let me go to bed." He tried to pull his arm away again but Darry wouldn't let him. "I'm being serious, Darry, stop it!"

"What I want from you is to stop living in a vacuum, Ponyboy! They're gone, and we can't do anything about it." Darry responded, voice low and vexed. Pony stared at him for a second, eyes wide and filled with hurt.

"You better shut up, Darrel," Pony spat, voice raising. "Let go!" He demanded, resorting to slapping Darry's arm, trying to push him away. Tears sprang into his eyes, and whether it was from frustration or grief, Ponyboy couldn't tell. He just wanted to go back to bed and sleep his sorrows away.

Darry's eyebrows furrowed and his mouth formed into a frown, and he tried to ignore the new found pain in his arm. Pony was struggling in his grip like an animal in a trap, but he knew that if he let him go, he'd probably never get to hold him again. So instead, he drew Ponyboy in closer, trying to ignore the way he was tugging and hitting him.

"Stop, Darry!" Pony shouted, although it was somewhat muffled by Darry's chest as he held Pony against him. He tried desperately to push himself away, this was all too much; suffocating and overwhelming. Pony tried to hit his chest, he probably even tried to step on his feet once or twice, but he didn't have any shoes on and his feet were smaller than Darry's so it probably didn't do much. Either way, Darry wouldn't succumb to the blows.

"Pone, calm down, please," Darry said, his voice forlorn as Pony's attacks persisted. Ponyboy let out a guttural sound in response that only broke Darry's heart more, but the hits seemed to slow down the tiniest bit.

"That's it, kiddo, relax," Darry soothed, and Pony finally gave in to his embrace. He didn't exactly wrap his arms around Darry but he dropped his arms as much as he could and dropped his head onto his chest. "It's okay, you're okay," Darry tried to comfort him, and ran his hands up and down Pony's back. He rested his chin on the top of Pony's head and felt as his body shuddered with the effort of holding in his emotion.

You don't have to be afraid to cry in front of me, Darry wanted to say, but instead he just settled to continue whispering sweet nothings and rubbing his back.

But it soon seemed to be too much to hold in anyway, and Ponyboy broke out into sobs. Terrible, raw cries echoed through the house and it was a wonder Sodapop hasn't woken up by now.

"I'm sorry," Pony muttered through his cries and Darry only held him closer.

"It's okay, honey." Darry simply responded, listening as Pony settled down little by little. After another two or three minutes, his sobs reduced to sniffles and leaking tears every now and then. Ponyboy lifted his head from where it was buried in his brother's shoulder, his face red and grief-stricken.

"I'm sorry," Pony repeated, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. He tried to look down, too ashamed to look Darry in the eyes, but he caught his chin to make eye contact.

"You've got nothing to apologize for, Pony, you hear me? Nothing." Darry said firmly, and Pony nodded, looking away. "Let's just go to bed now, okay? It's getting late."

Ponyboy only nodded again, and Darry wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him to his own bedroom. It looked like Pony was about to fall asleep standing up, and Darry wouldn't blame him. He really didn't want to be without his brother tonight and Ponyboy didn't argue when they passed right by his shared bedroom with Soda.

Ponyboy practically collapsed onto the bed and attached himself to Darry like a koala when they were both under the covers.

"Dar', am I going crazy?" Pony asked in the quiet of the bedroom after a second.

"What?" Darry asked incredulously. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because you're right. I'm a zombie, I don't know what's wrong with me." Ponyboy told him, voice quivering.

"Pone... you've been through more in this past year than anyone should go through in their entire life. You aren't crazy. You're just mourning in your own way."

Darry could hear Pony let out a shaky breath and nod against his shoulder.

"Thanks, Darry," Pony said softly.

Darry squeezed his shoulder in response, finally settling into the pillow to crash for the night. Until he was once again interrupted by the bedroom door opening.

"Guys?" A voice mumbled, and Darry recognized it as Sodapop. He picked his head up from the pillow to see him standing in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep. Pony did the same beside him.

"What's going on?" Soda asked, walking over to the side of the bed. Neither of them asked questions when he made room for himself on the other side of Ponyboy and got under the covers.

"Nothing, Pepsi. Get some sleep, you two." Darry mumbled, burrowing his head into the pillow.

"You okay, Pone?" Darry heard Soda ask.

"Yeah, So'. I'm good."

Finally.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Sorry I haven't posted for a month, I've been so busy and not very motivated to write until last night lol. This is your Christmas present though 😍

I know in the musical this part played out a little differently, but I've been wanting to do something like this for a while anyway so why not <3

Requests are welcome as well! I can't promise how quickly they'd come out, but if there's anything you'd like to see I'd love to hear it!

[that-one-kiddo-in-the-back]

The Harley Quinn show is amazing... probably.

Okay, so when I was in like middle school, I was a huge DC fan. I'm not as much anymore as I've dedicated my life to Star Wars. Now, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy are my favorite femfatile villains and have been the lesbian couple Gotham really didn't want, but the LGBTQ fans needed. Both have been abused by the men in their lives and found companionship with each other. Now let see how Lily sees it.

So Lily isn't a fan of the DC universe. Mainly, her problem stems from batman saying that she stopped caring about batman when it became something dark and edgy and used the dark knight as an example of it getting too dark, which if you're gonna blame something for a franchise for getting to dark don't use the dark knight. The batman franchise has been a dark thing way before 2008. Batman, in the 85 years he's been around, has always had a dark streak. All of the villains are crazy patients with a killer clown running around a corrupted city and the main hero becoming who he is after the death of his parents. If you want to blame something for how Batman is now. Blame the dudes in charge in 1939.

Now, Harley Quinn has been the Jokers "girlfriend" ever since her first appearance in 1992. With them being an off and on relationship. Lily says that the abuse Harley goes through with the joker is never really touched upon, which is both true and not. Everyone in comics and shows knows that Harley is in an unhealthy relationship, and all have asked why she stays. It's not that it's not touched upon. it's more of everyone knowing she's not gonna leave him, no matter what he does to her. To everyone around her, they know Harley doesn't want to leave the joker, so why bother convincing her. Like Lily said, you can't help someone who doesn't want it.

Lily starts talking about Ivy and how dispirit the fact that she's a doctor (most of the villains are doctors in their own field) she sexualized except for The Batman where she's just a teenager. Then she talks about clayface being a D list villain who's now a struggling actor (he always was). While she's talking about other characters, her straw man is constantly asking Lily what she thinks of Harley Quinn herself and spoiler alert she doesn't like Harley. What a surprise.

She claims that Harley's character is boring and is only centered around the love between her and Ivy and the abuse between her and the Joker now that might be true for the show which is pretty lame if you don't want to read her comics but what makes me mad is that Lily thinks that Harley being a stand alone villain never made sense because she has no evil goal like Ivy or the penguin but the Joker also doesn't have a goal either. A villain doesn't need to have a goal to do evil things, and Harley is no different. Harley Quinn is straight up crazy thanks to the chemical dunk and has HPD (Histrionic Personally Disorder), meaning she does things for attention. She doesn't need to have a goal in mind to cause trouble, and personally, I think the scariest villains are the ones who start shit just because they could.

Lily then goes on to say that Harley is only a villain because of the people she's dating, then brings up how Harley was the Jokers therapist but threw it away because of

"Bog standard fangirl hybristophilia"

Harley was fucking manipulated by the Joker to see if he could make her fall in love with him not because she had a thing for bad boys. I have not seen the Harley Quinn show, so please tell me that's not what the writers wrote in for her backstory.

I try to watch the whole video, but her saying that a victim of manipulation and abuse did this to herself because she had Bonnie and Clyde syndrome pissed me off so much that I couldn't finish it. All I can say is that Lily really has a problem with victim characters, and we've seen it time and time again from her hating Hunter to Catra, how she's willing to end friendship to save her own mental health and completely forgetting that the person who is reaching out probably has no one else to go to. Lily has no empathy, but I didn't need to tell you that.

[toasttt11]

relieved

March 19, 2020

Hayden has been sitting at the kitchen breakfast nook for a little while since she got back from her early morning run with Quinn and Ellen was in the kitchen when they got back from their run.

Hayden was sipping on a cup of coffee as she just enjoyed time with Quinn and Ellen as Ellen was working on making breakfast.

Jim came down a little while after and got his cup of coffee as well and sat down next to Quinn.

Hayden has been back in Michigan for only a few days but she loves it, she hasn’t even really cared about the fact her season is on pause because she gets to be at home with her family. Obviously she is worried about what is going on in the world right now but she got to be with her family.

Hayden smiled softly as Ellen slid a container of cut fruits to her and Quinn to snack on as Ellen finished making breakfast.

Hayden chuckled at something Quinn said as she picked up a strawberry as Jack and Luke both stumbled into the kitchen.

Hayden shared a fond look with Ellen not surprised the boys woke up once she started cooking bacon.

Luke quickly stole the chair next to Hayden and dragged the chair as close as possible to her and rested his head on her shoulder.

Jack pouted that Luke got to sit next to Hayden but sat down next to Luke and rested his head on the counter.

Ellen smiled as she looked at the four all waiting for breakfast and reminded her of the days they would wait for breakfast before school.

Ellen finished making breakfast and let everyone plate their plates and start eating breakfast.

“Anyone have any plans today?” Ellen asked her four kids as she finished up her breakfast. With being in quarantine there isn’t much they can do but she doesn’t know what they might have planned.

Quinn shook his head no, Jack just shrugged and Luke nodded saying he has to finish up some school work.

“Hay?” Ellen asked after the busy finished telling her if they had plans.

Hayden nodded, “Yeah i have therapy in a little bit.” Hayden nonchalantly said as she took another bite of her eggs.

The rest of the room paused at her words.

“Therapy?!” Ellen said pleasantly surprised.

Hayden looked up from her plate seeing the surprised looks and realized she never said anything, “Yeah i’ve been going for about a month now.” Hayden told her family.

Jack blinked and frowned slightly hating he doesn’t know everything going on in Hayden’s life anymore.

“That’s wonderful darling.” Ellen said happily sharing a relieved look with Jim realizing Hayden is trying to heal.

“Yeah i like it. She’s helping a lot.” Hayden admitted and she saw how relieved Jim and Ellen both were from her words.

“I’m very glad.” Ellen spoke sounding very relieved. All she wanted was for Hayden to be truly happy again and she knows that is all Harrison and Maddison want to.

“My therapist suggested to try and make some changes to the house so Lauren is helping me.” Hayden told Jim and Ellen mainly, she felt kinda bad she didn’t tell any of them about therapy yet.

Ellen let out a sigh of relief, “That’s a great idea.” Ellen has noticed how hard it has been on Hayden being in the house filled of reminders of her parents. She could never repay Lauren for what she is doing for Hayden.

Hayden smiled softly back before Luke tugged on her hand wanting her full attention.

Jim squeezed Ellen’s hand seeing her blinking back tears from being so relieved that Hayden is slowly getting better and healing.

Hayden walked out side after she finished eating as she wanted to get some fresh air and sit in the sun for a few minutes.

Jack walked out of the house following after Hayden who sitting out on the balcony, he walked over and sat down next to her leaning his head on her shoulder.

Hayden rested her head on top of Jack’s head letting out a soft sigh.

“It was shit without you.” Jack bluntly told Hayden. He hated his rookie year. He was in one of the worse places he has ever been mentally and he was getting beat up every night on the ice. He played some of his worse games of his life this past season.

Hayden nodded softly, “It was shit without you too.” Hayden hated being away from her family and it was extremely hard to learn how to live without her family physically by her side. It was also just as hard to play on the ice without Jack.

“I’m sorry your rookie year was shit.” Jack sincerely told Hayden making her let out for snicker.

“I’m sorry yours was too.” Hayden told him sincerely back making Jack chuckle too.

Jack held onto Hayden’s hand as his chuckles died down, “Promise me we won’t let ourselves get that distance ever again.” Jack mumbled never wanting to feel that apart from his best friend ever again.

“I promise.” Hayden firmly reassured Jack. She was gonna be better at making sure she stayed close with everyone and make sure not to shut everyone out because she was in pain.

“Good because i’ll bug you even more to make sure.” Jack playfully teased her. Hayden just chuckled rolling her eyes knowing Jack would do that.

“You like it in Jersey?” Hayden asked curiously wanting Jack to be somewhere he likes and can be happy.

“I do.” Jack nodded honestly, he may of been having the worse season but he really does love New Jersey and could see the city easily becoming his home.

“Good.” Hayden nodded relieved just wanting Jack to be happy.

“You like being back in Edmonton?” Jack asked her back, knowing that she has had a hard time being in her childhood house but he knows she has always loved Edmonton.

“I think i’ll like it more whenever i go back.” Hayden told him honestly, it was hard to live the city how she used to because of all the memories there especially her house.

"Good.” Jack mumbled back closing his eyes enjoying being able to be close to Hayden again, mentally and physically.

[jazzyblusnowflake]

mini update yay-

so lets see, ill start off apologizing for being dead- exam season is around the corner and the only good thing about that will be that i will no longer have to teach or design papers- so i can probably draw a bit again, hopefully at least- so i WILL get back to the requests yall have sent me i promise uwu💕

tho bad news comes in the form of my school principles and viceprinciples bullying me because im a newbie, saying im not good at my job and putting their shortcomings as my fault because who wouldnt like to blame someone else for something they werent able to do- and i feel like the abuse im taking in this toxic environment is convincing me slowly to quit my job and start risking less stable jobs even if it means being my daddies little house girl again for a while. 🙄 at the very least even if im leaching off my parents i still actually HAVE somewhat decent parents and thats not something alot of people could say and im greatful for that.

the audacity was well shown when the principle went on the teachers meeting and was like "some of the teachers here who i will not name dont know how to do their job-" and then told me that i only got my job cuz my dad is rich [which yeah sure my daddy studied 4 years of uni and then credited me sure mmhmm makes sense.] and honestly i feel like im surrounded by 50 year old toddlers-

overall, learning to adult is difficult and im glad some people are helping me figure out how to put together a resume and apply for jobs and all that.... but i guess the next bad news comes in the form of us leaving for russia. i dont hate seeing other countries but having my life uprooted immediately after work ends and summer starts and selling off the car and putting stuff in boxes and yeeting ourselves via plane to live somewhere else for the next 4 years in pure isolation is not something my mental health is gonna be haha about. esp since im gonna have to talk to my therapist and doctor to give me enough meds for me to be able to search for another doctor while im there to give me similar treatment. ughhhhhhh.

overall i feel like i have reached a lovely level of ✨️no longer giving a shit about existance✨️ and thanks to some friends i was convinced juuuuust enough to reconsider ending myself :) in my defense, google was getting annoying for only bringing up hotlines =_=

my eyes cant see well anymore due to constant crying and emotional numbness has taken over me, so i apologize if i may seem out of it or a lil blunt at times when im talking lol i no longer have the energy to PRETEND and hold a mask to seem SOCIALLY appropriate and in this last month of school im gonna be making it everyone elses problem at school.

but other than that im looking forward for school ending so i could just sleep for a while without waking up BEFORE my alarms at 5am.

ok lets see what else uhh... my bday is on 19th and i pray to lord nobody makes a surprise party for me here, the anxiety of being in crowds is already kicking me in the ass im not ready to pretend to have a social battery ugh.

okay thats it mostly, i think.

i actually made this update MINI get it? :D

...ill show myself out...

[gloomskulls]

PRIMADONNA [tasm!harry osborn x sugarbaby!reader]

pairings: tasm!harry osborn x bratty sugar baby!reader

warning(s): yandere themes, obsessive behavior, dark!harry osborn, daddy issues, slight violence, toxic relationship, the reader does not gaf about Harry lol, sugar baby/sugar daddy dynamics, death, lemme know if I missed any!

If you don't wanna see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

summary: to fall in love with Harry Osborn was destined to be thrilling, complemented by his riches and charm. But just as the world fell apart for him, this passion pushed deeper. But now locked up at Ravencroft, lost in madness, the living ghost of the man you thought you'd known.

I had a random surge of writing, now I have spent the last six hours making this and idk if it even good lol. Don't steal any of the shit I make, coz that would make you a shitty person and there's too many shitty people here so don be like them.

A normal, serene night in France saw all this happen: the kind of night when the air felt heavy with an energy only those who have learned to feed upon would notice. The VIP lounge stood, but not so crowded. You wore a red dress hugging all curves, a glass of champagne, and a smile that said everything and nothing all at once.

You always were the queen of the scene, the one who never needed anyone but yourself. You loved the attention, the whispers behind your back, the envy in the eyes of the women who wished they could be you.

Your life was something you didn't dream about, but after realizing how easy it was to earn money in the simplest way possible, without all the hard work and dedication bullshit your elders used to talk about, you immediately caved in to the lifestyle of being a primadonna (or some might say a sugar baby).

Your parents were everything but keen about your choice of occupation, I thought you were going to have a modest job, this isn't a job, it's prostitution! Your parents argued, but you didn't give a single flying fuck, reasoning to them that it was an actual job keeping these men satisfied and that it was the easiest way out of that shithole you call your hometown.

Though you have dreamed about being a doctor once, but would a doctor be able to afford a giant penthouse in just a month of doing their job? Your life was much more glamorous than not any job could provide for it. And you loved your simple but lavish lifestyle, even if it was rather scandalous.

Still, your gaze drifted across the room until you locked eyes with him: Harry Osborn.

Initially, you noticed the look in his eyes, not an excited gaze, but a kind of detachment, an emptiness in his creepy blue eyes that you recognized all too well. The style of the impeccably tailored suit did not match the black mood he had carried with him. His pale face, his strands of dark hair on his face, wore a permanent frown. You knew what he was.

A rich broken kid.

You took a seat on the chair opposite him, with a slight curved smirk on your lips. "Mind if I join?"

He gazed at you for a second, a flicker of surprise narrowing his features and softened after that into an almost shy smile. "Not at all."

And thus began the dance. He shared with you his father, a man with a big legacy, Norman Osborn and the heavy burden it carries. Most certainly heir to a vast empire, he is weighed down by the fate of having to live up to the extreme expectations. You don't pity him, though, nor anyone. Rather, you slip him that sort of detached humor that kept you afloat in a world full of disingenuousness.

"I'm sure your therapist would love to hear his," you said, swirling your drink, "but tell me, Harry, is it worth it having the Osborn fortune if it gives you personal vendetta as a side dish?"

His laughter came with a touch of bitterness. "You don't know the half of it."

“No, but I know a thing or two about men like you." You said as you took a long sip of your margarita "Spoiled, sad little princes who want the world, only end up stuck in their own castle.” You added, you leaned in, meeting his eyes with your own. “Tell me—what do you really want?”

He wasn't exactly the type to answer the question, but he did it. There was a moment of unexpected vulnerability, and Harry opened up about the pressure his father put on him to take control of Oscorp, the shadow of an illness that haunted every Osborn, and the utter confusion with which he approached what he really wanted. “I want out,” he whispered. “But I don’t know how."

“Find your own way out, Harry," you whispered in his ear, lifting your glass. "Stop living in your father's shadow. You live behind someone's shadow for too long, they go away, and suddenly you forget how bright the world is, and it will blind the living shit out of you"

There came a time, a few months hence, when you were no longer a mere fleeting distraction. Harry had become captive to you and not just by your beauty but also the fact that you did not fawn upon him as the others did. The incessant materialism of Oscorp—the parties and the great expectations—mattered not to you, nor did they matter to Harry. What mattered to you was you.

Soon enough, he was caught up in a blur of late-night dinners, designer frocks, and luxury getaways, and he learned to play your role as always cool, always sarcastic, and always available whenever he needed someone to fill in. His mansion became your playground. His penthouse, your fortress. But you had begun to realize how the cracks in his facade grew wider with every day. There was a tension that clung around his shoulders.

You see, Harry was fighting demons. Not the kind children find under their beds, but those of not just a father's shadow and inheritance, but a fatal disease that ran in the blood of his family. Genetic, a disease that slowly eroded the body's defenses against sickness in a nutshell. It was how his mother died. And though his father, while certainly more heartless than most, had lived just long enough for Harry to inherit the empire, it was clear Harry was on borrowed time. And you knew deep down the little time he had left to share in his life, he did not want to spend alone. In fact, he was searching for someone he might hold with, instead of mere love.

Harry had been told late last night that Norman Osborn was rapidly deteriorating, and that he should come home already. Of course, it was a better idea to simply agree with him, not because of his father, but because he looked actually frightened.

The flight to New York was so quiet, between two strangers not knowing what to say, it was the kind of silence that weighed almost like an invisible line hung between them.

As the jet came down, New York's skyline shone distantly, bright and impersonal. This city had molded Harry in ways with which he seldom cared to associate himself and now it seemed to gnaw his back.

"You okay," you asked gently, breaking the silence.

He was seated opposite you, hands clasped tightly together. He barely glanced up. "Fine," he muttered, but his voice betraying him.

You didn't push it. Harry was not the sort of man to let anyone else see him fall to pieces, not even you.

The Osborn estate—it was a mausoleum fashioned out of glass and steel, so cold and so unwelcoming. One would step inside and feel an air shift—heavy with history, expectation, and the unmistakable shadow of death. Everywhere a sterile hallway expanded toward a distant death, every hushed whisper of the staff bore witness to the obvious decline taking place in Norman Osborn.

"It's dark in there, your eyes would adjust" one of the staff informed as he led you to the door where Norman rested, "It's better this way" He added as he opened the door for Harry

Harry gave his coat to the staff as he held you, you both entered the dark room. It was filled with high-tech bullshit that you were certain you could only see in movies, guess anyone's willing to go to an extent to keep themselves alive.

Harry's dad was surrounded by machines, beeping rhythmically.

Harry's dad lay bedridden, reduced to nothing but a former shell of himself, what was left was the presence to this pale, gaunt remnant of him. You now have to stand aside while Harry makes his way toward his father, for even such distance cannot keep one from feeling the strain between them.

"This is not how I imagined I would die" Norman bitterly muttered as he looked at Harry up and down, "Looking at my son and seeing this stranger" He added

"Of such potential Harry, such fierce intelligence, and you throwing it all away for this girl" Norman than stared at you, with an unintelligible gaze.

You nervously shuffled in your position as you felt rather exposed to his cold and calculating gaze, it was as if he was stripping you with every clothing you had.

"Out of everyone, you chose a narcissistic gold digger" Norman chuckled. Harry jaw clenched.

"Don't call her that" snarled Harry. But Norman just chuckled as he spoke.

"You think I don't see shit? You think I don't see the news of you wasting your fortune to her when you should be training to take over me, because God knows when he'll take me out of here"

Harry seemed rather tense at the talk of inheritance. He called out your name, "Go back to the car" he instructed.

You didn't spare a single second before getting out the dark room. The moment you stepped out, if felt as if you saw a train running towards you, Norman's room was really that dark.

By the time you two came back to the condo with Harry, it was almost becoming morning. That lingering weight from the past twenty-four hours felt like a storm cloud over the two of you. Harry, who had hardly spoken since the two left the estate, seemed to be facing a complete collapse now.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, he inhaled sharply and flung his jacket on the couch. He moved erratically, his high-strung behavior slowly coming undone with every step.

"I inherited it," he said suddenly, his voice hollow.

You froze at the moment, not sure if you heard him rightly. "Inherited what?"

"The disease and the fuckin' goddamn company" he snapped, turning around to face you. His blue irises were frantic, ringed red from sleep deprivation and a barely controlled fury. "Retroviral hyperplasia. It's genetic. My dad knew I was gonna get that, and he did not tell me till now. Like it's some fucking family tradition!" He shouted

You flinched, but you just remained there; sarcasm clogged at the back of your throat. Harry did not want your quips or indifference. He needed something, however, even you weren't sure what that something was.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally admitted, your voice lower than usual.

“There's nothing to say,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “My father's dead. I have a ticking time bomb inside my DNA. And because of all that, I am supposed to take on Oscor like I'm the goddamn savior of the family name.”

He fell over onto the couch, his head in his hands. “I didn't want this,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. "I never wanted any of it."

You hesitated walking away, halfway between staying and going. These kinds of moments were not made for people like you-moments when comfort was called for. But there was something in the raw vulnerability of Harry's voice that stopped you.

"You don't have to work everything out right now," you said finally as you settled beside him. "It's okay to think that this is unfair. It is unfair. But you're even allowed to… I don't know… take a breath before you burn yourself completely out."

Harry looked at you then and searched your eyes. Maybe for hope. Maybe for reassurance.

"Why're you even here?" his tone was sharp, yet not unkind.

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a faint, tired smirk. "Because you'd be truly unbearable if I wasn't."

For an instant, the tension broke, and he emitted a dry, humorless kind of laugh. Not much really, but it was something.

You did not know what would come next. The disease. The inheritance. It was all too much for any human being to actually handle, including Harry. But for now, you both sat there together, silent and heavy with it all.

Harry knew that every passing day brought him closer to it. He was on the verge of spontaneously combusting, and that changed everything for him. His father's staff didn't respect him, he would always tell you.

"I'm not like him," Harry would consistently say in a hollow, dry voice, "I won't be a monster, but the world doesn't let you be anything else."

The more Harry delved deep into his father's empire, the more you saw its darkness spreading within him. Torment began twisting into anger, obsession, and paranoia from vulnerability. Then came that his suffocating need for validation, his need for control.

Your sarcasm was not enough to hide your discomfort anymore. All the questioning, demanding, and simplicity came all that weighed you down. He had changed; not for the better.

Harry became obsessed with Oscorp and the disease reached its peak, to the point when he asked his best friend Peter to get a blood sample from Spiderman, to which it backfired by the way he was stomping inside your shared condo.

He became more manic, desperate. When things started not to go his way, he would lock himself in his office for days, brooding over the future of the company, and then he would lash out at people. You would try to keep your distance, but he wouldn't allow it since he needed you as his tether, anchor to the world that was sliding out of his fingers.

Amidst these many nights just as quiet, suffocating, and heavy with tension, so had all fallen into shadow. You would be found in the corner of Harry's penthouse. Scrolling on your phone, pretending not to see, while Harry was pacing in an erratic fashion, filling the room with energy that could have probably made it unbearable. He'd been on this particular circuit for weeks: gearing up with one battle after another with all those sharks in the boardroom who hungered for some blood due to Oscorp's spiraling controversies and his desperate attempts to outmaneuver them.

That wasn't just for the company though. It was really for the disease.

Earlier that day, Harry had come back from a consultation held by Oscorp's private medical team, and though he hadn't even uttered a word to you about it, the reading was all written on his face. He was running out of time. And he was scared.

"Do you even care?" he snapped suddenly; his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension like a knife.

Calm as always, you looked up and met his eyes with just the detached indifference that you knew would annoy him even more. "Care about what, Harry?"

"About me," he spat, his fists curling at his sides. "About what I'm going through. Or am I just some… some project for you? Something to laugh at when I'm not looking?"

The accusation hit harder than you expected, but you were not about to show it. Instead, you leaned back in your chair and crossed your legs, tipping your head like you were bored by the whole affair.

“Harry,” you said, dripping with sarcasm, “you’re spiraling, and I’m the one who’s supposed to care? Maybe take a look around. You’ve got a billion-dollar company, a penthouse, a name everyone respects or fears— and you've got all that to worry, but you worry about whether I give a damn? Honestly, it’s a little pathetic.”

You did not picture him laughing, but he did. A cold, hollow sound that sent chills running down your spine.

"Are you assuming that this is all regarding money?" he stepped towards you, eyes burning with an amalgam of fury and something darker, something unhinged. "Do you think I care about anything when I'm at death's door?"

For the first time, what he said came out raw and real, stripped of whatever charm or bravado he usually wore around like armor. It was just Harry—the boy who had lost his mother, who had spent his entire life trying to live up to a father who never gave him anything but pressure and pain, and who was now staring down the barrel at a disease that would take everything from him piece by piece.

But empathy was exactly what you weren't in the mood for these days.

"I get it," you said, standing up and meeting him eye to eye. "Harry, you've got a raw deal. But guess what? Everybody's dealing with their own shit. You're not special just because your dad was an egomaniac, and you've got bad genes. Just because your life is falling apart doesn't mean you've got the right to use me as an emotional punching bag."

The words were harsh, and you were aware of it. But you were tired just tired of the moods, the demands, and the inability to see you as anything other than a reflection of his misery.

His face contorted with rage as he clenched his jaw while looking fixedly at you. “You really don’t understand,” he said in an almost dangerously low voice, “You think this is all for me? I have fought for my life since the day I was born. I’m not going to allow anyone—anyone—leave me now. Not you. Not the board. No one.”

“Then fight your own battle,” you retorted, voice now oscillating. “I’m not here to save you, Harry. I never was.”

For a moment, the silence in the room fell like a tomb. The lights from the city outside cast long shadows across his face, making him look almost ghostly. And then, he moved.

One stride did it: he passed the distance between you, almost wrenching your wrist off and bringing his face inches from yours while his breath was hot and shallow. “You don’t get to leave,” he said, almost choking back the words as they came out, “Not now. Not after everything.”

Harry found himself staring at you, unblinking, wild-eyed with fury. "I can do nothing without you." He whispered with tears welling up his eyes. "You're the only thing I can control." "The only thing that makes sense," he said, gripping at your arms to try and pull you nearer.

For a moment, you realized that he was not a spoiled rich kid, but was actually someone truly broken, someone who tied his whole identity into the inheritance that he would receive from the empire he was about to inherit, and the disease that would eventually take his life. He had desperation in him, and for the first time, he made you begin to question everything.

"I'm not your savior, Harry," you said, pulling away from the hug. "And I'm not going to stand nearby while you destroy yourself." You sighed as you stepped away from him, "And don't call this love, since it isn't that"

Anger was flashing in his eyes. "You think I'm weak, don't you?" he hissed. "You think I'm a monster in a suit."

You stood there, cold and drained. "Perhaps I don't think anything anymore."

Harry Osborn wasn't your prince. He was a king with no kingdom, and you weren't about to be his queen.

He looked away from you and said, "Then go." The once harrowing voice was now a soft weapon. "Get out of here. But know that you cannot outrun me. You belong to me, and what belongs to me, comes back to me"

Your heart raced in your chest, but you were not going to let him see your fear. You tilted your head slightly and smiled at him defiantly. “Watch me,” you stated, voice calm even as the energy between you crackled like electricity.

You didn’t say anything after that. You just turned around, feeling Harry's eyes glaring daggers at you. You grabbed your bag, your keys, and walked out without looking back.

The adrenaline dissipated as you drove through the rain-soaked streets of the city, as it always happens. Cold and hollow at the pit of your stomach, you knew from the start that Harry Osborn was dangerous—not in an overt way, the ways some men were, but in that sly, insidious way that made you question your own reality.

He was a man not just in pain. He was a man unraveling and you caught in the middle.

And so, you told yourself that it was over, that you would never again return. But the headlights blurred in the rain and the city stretched infinitely before you; you could not shake the feeling that Harry's words were not an empty threat.

You belong to me

It echoed in your mind both promise and threat at once. Harry Osborn wasn't just an overindulged brat with daddy issues. He was a predator.

And you are his prey.

You never meant to return. You swore never to set foot in that penthouse again. Harry's world had become something you wanted no part of, and when you left, you knew that was it—an escape from a man that could never truly be yours and never truly let you go.

But there had been a slip, a mistake. You'd left some things behind in the chaos—clothing, a piece of jewelry, some documents that you couldn't quite remember. And whenever that phone buzzed with a message from the unknown number, an uneasy pang settled in your gut. It was from Felicia Hardy, Harry's assistant.

"I think you should come by. It's about Harry."

You hesitated for a moment. You weren't curious about Harry anymore—not about him, not about Oscorp, not about the empty promises he had made. But something pulled at you—an instinct, maybe. A feeling that you had never let fully shake the grip he had on you. You hadn't been back to the condo in months, but something told you that, whatever Felicia had to say, it wasn't good.

The walk up to the penthouse felt like an eternity. You stood outside the door for a long while, before finally ringing the bell. The door opened swiftly, and Felicia Hardy greeted you with a tight, strained smile.

"You should come in," she said, stepping aside.

The calm demeanor she usually exuded had disappeared. Her frame was rigid. The apartment was at variance too—empty, almost ghost-like—filled with shadows of memories you once shared with Harry lingering in the corners.

"You've kept a low profile," you said as you step in.

"I've been busy," Felicia replied in a curt tone, "There's a lot of things you don't know. Anyway, you have to hear this."

You raised your eyebrows. "What happened? You sound like you've encountered a ghost"

Felicia hesitated, then gestured toward the living room, where she sat down, fingers gripping the arms of the chair tightly, "Harry… he's not the same. After you left, he started changing—more than usual. He got reckless. The whole thing spiraled out of control."

You didn't reply instantly. Harry had always been a very chaotic person whose life was that of extremes, and yet you never imagined he would be broken so bad. You have seen his anger and desperation, but you didn't know to imagine the depth of it.

Felicia rambled on, barely audible above a whisper: "It's his disease. He… he was...desperate" she spoke barely above a whisper "Harry broke a patient from Ravencroft and an ex-staff in Oscorp, Max Dillon"

"He went there with a plan," Felicia continued, voice trembling. "He knew about the mutant cells—Araneus Oscorpeus—those experimental spiders Oscorp had been working on, the ones that could heal—it was supposed to be a part of some new treatment for his condition."

You nodded slowly as the pieces clicked into place. The condition—the disease that had tormented Harry all through his life and shaped his body and mind into something he couldn't fight. He had never been able to outrun his father's legacy—the bloodline that gave him everything and yet all at once, nothing.

Felicia leaned closer, lowering her voice as if to say that the truth might be huge to handle. "But that's not the worst of it."

She looked at you. "He tried curing himself—he believed he could cure his self—but it didn't quite work out. The serum, the cells—it made him insane, operated Harry worse than before. Way worse."

The pieces begin to put together a very dark picture and exceedingly puzzling. In Harry's desperate attempt at saving his soul, he meddled with the ways of God—and the results led to an uncontrollable calamity. He dragged Max Dillon into this insanity and now they were both spiraling out of control. But what after that?

"And then what happened?" you asked, feeling your heart race against your chest.

"Harry's in Ravencroft Asylum."

You blinked, trying to process the words. The name of the infamous facility sent a cold shiver down your spine. Ravencroft wasn't just a place—it was a symbol of the irreversible, the broken.

"What?" you managed to croak, your voice hoarse.

Felicia stepped forward, face red. "He snapped. Completely. After everything that happened, they pretty much had to put him away: he's not the same."

Although Felicia's eyes softened for a second, she didn't spare a moment for pity. "You know Gwen Stacy, right?"

The punch to the gut hit your insides, she was the girl you went to high school with before your parents moved to France, lovely studious girl, everyone loved her as far as you remember. "What about her?"

"She's dead," Felicia said, in her predictable, icy monotone, as if she were using a knife to cut through air. "Caught up in it all. Harry—fuckin spiderman—they're all responsible."

The statements barely made sense to the mind. Gwen, dead? You remembered just talking to her months ago back: bright and smiling, too pure for all the muck Harry had created in his life.

"Harry killed her?" you whispered, unable to push more words past your throat.

Felicia did not flinch. "He didn't mean it that way. But he lost control of himself, he only wanted Spiderman but, something snapped, and he took Gwen… Harry lost it. There were others—civilians, people who got in the way—but Gwen's the one who didn't survive. It was ugly, pretty darn ugly."

Felicia made her stare stone hard. "He's at Ravencroft. They keep him mostly sedated the time. Not a person anymore, not really. His disease…it's totally taking control of him. In the doctors' words, it's irreversible. They can't help him."

Felicia took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something she was still unsure she wanted to say. "He asked about you though. Every time I go there, it's all he talks about. You. Like you're some kind of cure for whatever's broken inside him."

You swallowed, head still swimming. Harry was consumed by the need for control, power, and validation. And now, to know that he was obsessed with you—even now—seemed a bitter pill to swallow.

"Didn't come here to tell you this to make you feel guilty," Felicia said, her voice severing through your thoughts. "I came because you ought to know what happened. Not that you can fix them. Harry's gone. And whatever was left of him is now caged in Ravencroft."

She paused for a moment, giving the full weight to her words. "But you should know this is not just on him, the Goblin disease? That's something passed on by his father. He was born into this, and nobody ever gave him a goddam chance to get free. It's too late now."

"I'm sad to say this," Felicia continued, her voice softening almost to a sympathetic tone "but that's reality. You move on."

Though you nodded slowly, you knew that there was no reason to believe in it. Moving on from someone like Harry Osborn seemed impossible, even if that someone was no longer even a shell of the person that he had once been. He was no longer someone whom you could love; nor could he be said to be someone whom you could save.

As you walked away from the penthouse, the waves of finality crashed down on you. What were you expecting? That he would be better? That he would have changed? But now, the truth was more apparent than ever before: the Harry you knew was dead. And what was left? A monster who destroyed everything he once cared about, including Gwen Stacy - and now, you.

Ravencroft Asylum was a cage indeed. And Harry Osborn lay trapped inside it - a casualty to his own legacy.

And you? You were another casualty in the wreckage.

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

[fitrahgolden]

WEARY MEMORY: 11 - ONE MEMORY THAT I CHOOSE TO CARRY

[NOTE: CW - Pregnancy, discussions of birth control and postpartum depression, and non-graphic depictions of early stage labour (no complications).]

Anthony sat bolt upright, mouth agape. Kate sat up as well, facing him on her knees. When several moments passed without him saying anything, she grew concerned.

“Anthony?”

“You’re pregnant?”

She exhaled. “Yes.”

“Wha… When did you find out?”

“Yesterday. Well, Monday, technically. I’ve been taking tests all week. I took the last one yesterday.”

Anthony fell silent again and Kate grabbed his hands and intertwined their fingers.

“What do you want to do?” It seemed as if it took all his strength to push the question out. He slowly looked up at her. “Are you happy about this?”

Kate bit her lip as she thought. “The first couple of days, all I could feel was shock, honestly. I definitely wasn't expecting to win this kind of lottery.” She chuckled wryly at the thought of being one of the less than one percent of people with an IUD who get pregnant. “I just kept taking tests. And thinking about us. Thinking about the kids. Adding a baby to all this change we're going through, it's…a lot, to say the very least.”

“Yeah,” Anthony whispered, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles.

“And then…” she took a deep breath.

“You thought about what happened after Kav.”

Kate nodded.

“You're scared it's going to happen again?”

“Yeah.” A few moments passed before she spoke again, with more confidence. “So, I called my therapist, got back in touch with my psychiatrist, and read a shit ton about PPD after subsequent pregnancies.”

“Good.” Anthony nodded. “That’s good. Did that help?”

Kate shifted forward so she could sit on his lap. “It helped. It's helping. We could handle it. If it happens, I could handle it. We'd know the signs this time. We'd know which treatments worked for me before.” She pet his cheek. “It may not even happen,” she said quietly, with hope.

Anthony pressed his eyes shut as he rested his forehead to Kate's. “Does that mean you want this, Kit?”

Kate gave him a quick kiss. “I want this, Anthony. But not if I'm alone in that.” She looked into his eyes, the unasked question hanging between them.

“You aren't alone.”

“So, you…”

“I want to have another baby with you. We can do this.”

“We can do this,” she echoed.

“And we're going to do this.”

“We are.”

“We're having a baby.”

Kate giggled. “Yes.”

“Holy shit.” Anthony wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight. He rocked them from side to side as he kissed her hair.

Kate turned to look at him and pointed a finger to his chest. “This is the last time, Bridgerton. You must have inherited your father's fertility, and I am not having eight children. We apparently need a second line of defence. So, I'm going to need you to take care of that after this baby is born.”

“I will, I promise.” He was smirking.

“Ugh, you do not get to be smug about this.” She climbed off of him and laid down.

“I bested an IUD!”

“I hate you.”

“I don't think you do, Kit.” Anthony snuggled in behind her. “You're having my love child.”

“The absolute nerve, going against science like that,” she mumbled. “It's just plain rude, is what it is.”

—

After Kate told Anthony, they basically had no choice but to tell everyone else right away. It was as though saying the words out loud was all her body needed to start looking pregnant. Not that it was terribly surprising that she was showing so early. It was her fourth child, after all.

Telling the kids went relatively smoothly. Kaveri thanked her parents for giving her a baby. Maaran's only concern seemed to be keeping his room. Edmund was the biggest surprise. He hadn't said much of anything when everyone was gathered together in the living room, but later that night, there was a knock on their bedroom door. Edmund wanted to let them know in private that he loved being a big brother, and he was excited to have another sibling to take care of. Kate burst into tears, and Anthony tried his best to convince their son that she was happy.

—

Anthony stood in his blue suit underneath a tent next to the pond on his family’s property in Kent. Maaran stood to his left in coordinating blues, chest puffed up with the pride of being his father’s best man. He looked out in front of him at the small gathering of only their closest friends and family. It was perfect. Or, it would be soon. Three very important people were yet to join them.

Kate had been adamant about having the wedding during her second trimester. After she stopped feeling ill all the time, but before she was too annoyed with still being pregnant to be particularly good company.

Anthony’s jaw ticked with restlessness, but immediately relaxed again as he gasped. Kaveri skipped into the tent, a basket of flower petals in hand. He watched his soon to be second youngest as she paused at the opposite end of the aisle and primly fluffed her poofy white dress. ”If you can’t see Amma’s dress yet because it’s too special, you can’t see mine, either, Dad.” She gave herself a pep talk that was no doubt for her ears only before pointing to her cousin Auggie, who was in charge of the music. Auggie gave her a thumbs up and dutifully skipped to the next track. Finally, Kaveri danced down the aisle, twirling as she dramatically threw petals. About ninety percent of them landed on the wedding guests instead of the ground. Once she got to the front she threw more directly at Maaran, Anthony, and the officiant. Anthony was grateful for a reason to laugh to save himself from crying. He picked his daughter up, meaning to give her a kiss, but received a raspberry from her instead. He set Kaveri down, and she ran to her Paatti Mary to drop off her basket before assuming her second role as maid of honour, standing opposite her father and brother.

“I did really good!” she cheered.

Well, that did it. The first tear fell as Anthony nodded at her and put a finger up to his mouth. Kaveri paid no heed.

“Dad, look! She’s coming!”

Anthony’s stomach dropped before he even looked back down the aisle. Once he did, he was certain staying upright throughout the ceremony wasn’t going to be an easy feat.

Edmund, looking nervous but determined in his own blue suit, moved down the aisle. And on his arm was Kate, kissing her son on the cheek and whispering something to him, before looking ahead, meeting Anthony’s gaze. She looked amazing–and ridiculously out of his league–in a floor length form fitting lace gown. Her hair was down, at his request, and she wore a crown of flowers that matched Kaveri’s.

The walk seemed to take an eternity, but finally, she was in front of him. Ned held out his hand for Anthony to shake. He grabbed it and pulled his son in for a tight hug.

“I love you, Ned.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

At least Edmund was crying, too.

Anthony looked to Kate again as their son joined their hands before taking his place on the other side of Maaran.

“Hello, Mrs. Sharma-Bridgerton.”

“Uh-uh. I'm Ms. for about ten more minutes.” Kate reached up and thumbed away his tears.

Anthony placed a hand on her bump, “Are you alri–?”

“Anthony…” Kate warned. “Not right now. You promised a week of no hovering.”

“Right.” He took a deep breath, grasping both her hands. “You’re my home, Kate,” he whispered. “Thank you for letting me back in.”

“Should you have saved that for the vows?” she teased.

“No,” he said simply. “That part was just for you.”

—

After tea was the dancing Kaveri demanded. By the evening, the last of their family and guests had left, and Anthony and Kate officially started their honeymoon–a child free week alone at Aubrey Hall.

—

“Is this OK? Do you need anything right now?”

“No, don't go anywhere.”

Kate was leaning forward into Anthony's embrace, resting her head on his chest as she swayed from side to side on the birthing ball she was straddling. They'd arrived at the birthing centre five hours ago, leaving Edmund with instructions to call either of his grandmothers if he or his siblings needed anything.

“What the fuck is taking her so long? Your mum had me believing she'd just shoot right out of me as soon as the contractions started. She claimed that’s what happened with Daphne.”

Anthony grimaced. “Lovely visual.”

“Shut up.”

Kate fisted Anthony's shirt with both hands as she keened through another contraction. Anthony rocked with her and rubbed her back while he looked at his watch.

“Fucking hell,” she gasped as it passed. “That had to be sixty seconds.”

“Only about forty, I'm afraid,” Anthony said with a wince.

“Surely that's close enough.”

“Not according to our midwife.”

“Well, who put him in charge?”

“You did, love.”

“Oh, right. He's quite lovely and more than competent, actually.”

“He really is.”

Kate sucked her teeth. “Still. I swear to God, Mary Violet Sharma-Bridgerton. You'd better be here by tonight.”

“Or what?”

There was a long pause before Kate muttered in Tamil, punctuated by another “Shut up.”

Within a few minutes, another contraction started. Kate whimpered into Anthony's shoulder.

“Do you want to bounce? Let's try bouncing.”

“Alright,” Kate groaned, following Anthony's up and down movements.

“Well done, Kit. And that was forty six seconds, as well!”

Kate smiled weakly and resumed swaying.

“I never stopped being in love with you, Anthony.” Kate's voice sounded far away.

“Kit?”

“I'm alright. Just going to my happy place. You're there. It's just you and me. Don't tell Kav.”

They stayed silent for a while, Anthony massaging Kate's hips as she rolled them in circles.

“I never stopped being in love with you, either, Kit.”

“I think we just misplaced it in all of the mess.”

“Yeah.” Anthony kissed her forehead.

“Let's keep better track of it this time.”

Anthony backed up just enough to look Kate in the eye. 

“Kathani Kaveri Sharma-Bridgerton, I promise you that we will never lose track of each other again.”

[NOTE: Thank you to everyone who read this. Keep an eye out for a one shot in this universe coming soon.]

[foggyparadisecandy]

On Tackling Low Self-Esteem

Anyone who's been tuning in to my blog over the last few months knows that I've struggled with a poor self-image forever and a day.

[Thanks mom and dad for being righteous bastards!]

But I've also been working on it in very focused ways and ... surprising to me ... things have started to shift in a positive direction. I'll share a few things that have worked for me - and maybe some of you will benefit too.

Everyone is different ofc so ymmv.

Also as a word of warning: this shit is fucking hard. It's painful as hell because it requires me to question nearly every last thought, belief, and emotion that goes through my head. Some times it's so fucking maddening and exhausting and I'm super emotional these days.

But ... as I said ... it is starting to shift things for me. I'm not feeling the burning desire for external validation any more (as much). I'm not feeling like I need to be a people pleaser (as much). I'm not afraid of rejection or abandonment (as much).

I'm still working on it so I don't want anyone to think I'm some expert. And I'm certainly not a therapist. If you are really suffering, please seek professional help. My heart goes out to you.

THE FOUNDATION

Everyone always says "be kind to yourself" and "be compassionate." I've heard that a million times and it has never stuck until my therapist explained something important to me:

My dysfunctions are because my childhood identity was taught to act in certain ways before I had a logical brain to make sense of the horrible shit heaped on me by my parents. Read that again. For me, it was the key to all my progress.

Before I would get so ANGRY at myself for not learning lessons or doing the wrong things all the time or ... whatever. Now, I say, "it's ok, Foggy. Your inner child was taught coping strategies and you simply need to catch them and relearn them. Those things are deep inside you and it's going to take work. You are ok. You are a good person."

When we are kids and are exposed to trauma (in my case, an absentee alcoholic father and a mother who switched between obsessive love and literally "I'm going to drive this car into a tree at a hundred miles per hour and kill us all" - fun fun fun), our brains don't know how to process it. We create and lock in strategies for SURVIVAL. It gets hard-wired into us.

So ... yeah ... be kind to yourself and be compassionate to yourself. Because you are working against deep programming and it's going to take a while. Your subconscious is FUCKING UP YOUR SHIT because it learned to do what it had to for survival.

AVOID ABSOLUTES

"I always fuck things up."

"I never learn."

"People always disappoint me."

"I'm always going to be alone."

Nah. Untrue. None of those absolutes are true. And if you catch yourself using those words, you are, in essence, programming your own destiny of sadness.

My hypnosis experience tells me that ... we don't need inductions to program suggestions. Repetition does realllllllll well.

So when you say or think those absolute statements, you might think you are stating a simple fact about your life. But in reality, you are telling your subconscious COMMANDS. And you repeat them enough, well, fuck yeah it's going to become your reality.

Think about it a bit. And next time you catch yourself saying absolutes, do your best to soften them.

"I always fuck things up." -> "I fucked up this time." -> "I made a mistake and I'm going to learn from this, the best I can."

"I never learn." -> "This is a tough thing to learn." -> "Ok, I see what I did here. Next time, I'm going to do it different, the best I can."

etc. etc. Work on them. Shift them, transform them, transform your programming.

CHANGE YOUR TALK TRACK

Related to the above stuff, if you are going to program yourself, use powerful positive words. And if you can't believe the BIG STUFF, start small.

"I do my best."

"I work hard at things."

"I am surviving."

"I can count on myself in a jam."

"I have overcome horrible childhood trauma. I'm a survivor."

etc.

Look, friend ... if you've made it this far, you have gone through some real shit, right? You wouldn't be reading about fixing low self-esteem unless you had low self-esteem. So I'm guessing you've had some fucked up shit heaped on you.

And look at you go. You are still here. You are putting one foot in front of the other. You are capable of amazing things.

It might sound trite but I don't think so. NGL, I'm attracted to traumatized people. My therapist says trauma inflicted people can smell trauma on others and we feel bonds instinctively. I think that's true. And I've met a shit ton of hurting people and one thing that is universal: we're all strong and capable.

Examine your life and feel the truth of that. Start with that as your positive vibe to build upon. You are a survivor. You are capable of surviving. You are strong.

WATCH THE STORIES YOU TELL YOURSELF

I find that not everyone tells themselves stories about situations, people, and things. I do so this one hits me hard time and time and time again.

An example: someone I like or love doesn't text me back in a "reasonable time" (if it's someone I really love, reasonable time is immediately lol), I will start to wonder things. For those of you who don't suffer from this, this is going to sound ... nutty.

"I guess they don't like me any more."

"What did I do wrong?"

"I'm such a fuck up."

"They left me. I'm always going to be alone."

That’s pretty much spot on how it goes. And I'm guessing some of y'all are reading this and nodding your head.

The spiral goes deep and it happens fast over the smallest thing.

It could be a look someone gives you. Or they didn't laugh at a joke. Or they forget your birthday. Or they didn't remember that thing you told them a week ago that was important to you.

The stories we tell ourselves are so so so cruel. I still struggle with these. I get high anxiety and fear as my mind starts spiralling.

I'm learning to pause when I start telling myself a negative story about someone else, no matter how "true" the story seems. And ... fr fr fr ... THEY ALWAYS SEEM TRUE!!!!

I pause. I say ... what if there are other reasons at play? Maybe they didn't text back because they are busy? Maybe their phone is dead? Maybe they are in the car and can't text and drive? Maybe ... a million other things that have ZERO to do with me and my worth as a human being.

Because odds are ... that is what's happening.

And if not? If something is legit wrong in the relationshp? Well shit ... going into sad death spiral gloom and doom mode isn't helping anyone with anything. You know what does help? COMMUNICATION.

"Hey, I feel like we've been a bit distant lately. I wanted to check in to make sure everything is ok?"

"I want you to know that I've been feeling a bit of anxiety and want to talk through things. Can we do that?"

"You didn't text me back for a few days, and it made me very anxious. Is everything ok?"

You need to find the things for the specific situation but the right people are going to be ok with honest and open communication. If it scares them off, well, shit ... this is super hard for me to say lol but ... it's ok to let people go if they don't want to be authentic and don't want to deal with you being authentic.

But dial back your stories. Pause them. Remember the world doesn't revolve around you and if they didn't notice your hair cut, it doesn't mean the world has ended and they hate you. They have a million things going on in their life and I bet if you say "so what do you think of my new hair cut?", they will engage on it.

I've got more but ... this is already a lot.

Remember to be kind to yourself. Seriously. You are so strong and capable and you've come so far and faced so much hardship. You deserve someone to take care of you and ... that person you deserve is you.

Take care of you first. People have told me that for a long time and I never understood it.

It's so easy to care for others and be kind to others.

Turn that inwards. You got this.

[symptoms-syndrome]

Hi! I’m curious to hear (in a vague way) what the process was like uncovering the DID if you’re comfortable answering. Like how long did it take? Did your therapist(s)/treatment team first consider other diagnoses? And anything else you feel comfortable sharing.

Hihi! This is sort of a hard question to answer for me, but I can try!

What constitutes my "treatment team" is sort of hard to define in this sense, because IDK if you mean "the ppl over the course of my life" or like "the one who wrote it on paper."

I've been seeing a therapist since I was 6 years old. I started going to outpatient programs like when I was in my early teens for Behavioral Problems. In those I was diagnosed with everything in the book so like. In that sense other diagnoses were considered? I think by the time I was 18 and kicked out of the house/able to see a professional of my own volition not connected to my parents/disciplinary programs, I was mostly labeled as BPD, PTSD, depression + anxiety, OCD, maybe NPD or ODD. I don't really give a single shit about any of those because I don't define myself by diagnoses anymore, or try not to, and my therapists as an adult told me it was majorly fucked that I was diagnosed with all that as a teenager. Most of them weren't even legit they were just labels to try and pin down why I was a Bad Kid. Spoiler for that, the answer was that generally teenagers act out when they're subject to intense trauma basically all the time and aren't listened to and are institutionalized. Tends to fuck your brain up real bad. I'm a lot better now not bc I got over the laundry list of diagnoses, but because I'm in like. A stable and supportive and independent environment.

I was officially diagnosed as an adult, exact ages escape me but probably like 19? It came as a surprise to me but fit like a glove re: my experiences with memory loss, not remembering where I am, meeting people who have met me before but I didn't remember, people telling me I did things I don't think I would, etc. It was really upsetting to hear because it's such a. Permanent and perception-of-life altering disorder. I was definitely hoping it was something that could be like. Cured more easily. It was also definitely hard to come to terms with the fact my childhood was That Bad, when I didn't really think it was before.

My therapist at the time said it was almost stupidly obvious that was what I had, even tho I wasn't like. Aware of it.

So like. How long did it take is hard to answer. Overall, if you count all the time I was being seen by psychiatric "professionals?" Over 10 years. If you count just that therapist? Like one year.

I'm a lil scatterbrained RN, so I might add more detail later or if u send another ask. I guess the question is so open and vague it's hard to answer without a full autobiography LMAO.

But I guess it would be useful to know why you wanna know. Then I could probably give a better answer. Are you considering the diagnosis for yourself? Are you trying to see if ur experience is shared w others? But also keep in mind I'm a weird little anti-psych dog who in general rejects the idea of seeking diagnosis for treatment. RN in therapy I mostly talk about my day to day struggles with whatever (like "damn, I've been really fixated on [specific trauma] this week" or "I made a friend" or "I'm really stressed about this argument I had" or "later this week im going on a date and i don't wanna fuck it up") and occasionally parts stuff comes up. Therapy hasn't majorly changed I don't think. Then again I'm real shit brain right now and my memory sucks ass. Maybe I can answer better later I just know if I didn't answer at all I'd forget.

[agent-oo-z]

Being my specific brand of autistic is weird.

I have this simultaneously advanced and limited self awareness? Like if I sit down and talk about it to another person I can figure out. So much shit about why my brain does what it does. But can I do anything useful with that info? NOPE

So imagine my surprise when, during my SECOND EVER THERAPY SESSION with my new therapist, I had a full blown breakthrough.

Crying, being emotionally vulnerable, admitting things I’ve never admitted to myself LET ALONE another person. All good, all done safely and constructively.

And then at the end, they asked me what one sentence I would say to younger me if I could. And I picked my sentence. “It was never your fault.”

Because yes I made mistakes as a kid, of course I did I was a fuckin kid. But having teachers and my parents and adults in general tell me I was wrong when I said things like “I don’t know” or “I just can’t” made me think I was just. Broken. Or something was wrong with me and it was my fault for being the way I was.

So I told little me what I have always wanted to be told. And it didn’t magically fix everything. Of course it didn’t.

But when my therapist asked if I wanted them to also say it to me/little me I had a moment of painful honesty. Because I did want them to say it, because I don’t believe myself even though I want to. So I told them as much.

And that felt like a major break through to me. Having the awareness to say “I do want you to say it, but I think that’s part of what I’m struggling with” and to get there without being told “hey I think maybe you need to not hear it from me” was wild.

Anyways finally actually having an autistic therapist(specifically an autistic person who I am so ‘drift compatible’ with) has been doing FUCKIN WONDERS

[rileyh20]

Quick vent ig, TW: Swearing, Divorce, Sad stuff, Small mention of suicide.

This isn't what I usually would post, but I felt like I needed to get something off my chest without feeling like I'm complaining. Now, I have a great life, probably better then most people. My parents are usually nice to me, even if I feel like my mom doesn't care for me as much as she says she does. Yes, they are getting a divorce, but that isn't because of me. I knew they were most likely going to get a divorce when I was around 7 (seven) years old. I wasn't surprised, I wasn't even all that saddened. But I'm done being my parents therapist. I am sick of being in the middle of their toddler behavior. I know that isn't fair, but if they actually needed help, they would get help. Especially my mom, I'm sick of her venting to me and making almost every comment I make about the divorce or her! It's not fair to her for me feeling this way, but I am sick of it. I'm sick of her being one of the only things bringing down my mental health, of course she isn't all of it, but she's most of it. I don't need a therapist, despite what people say. Because I am very bad off, but I know this. I don't need a therapist to tell me what I already know. And I would just be complaining at that point! Why would I waste a therapist's time with my shit?

And my mom is so jealous for no fucking reason! My dad tells me to not tell my mom anything when I hangout with his co-worker, or if we do stuff together. Let me say it, she is married with a kid!! And she would have no interest in my dad (sorry dad). I don't get why my mom is so jealous of her for no reason! My mom said once that if I was friend's with that co-worker, I would be betraying her. Betraying. You know what? I am friends with her, and I don't care what my mom says anymore about me being friends with her!! I want to hangout with her and her kid. I want to be able to make my own friends without my mom thinking I'm betraying her.

And for some of you who might think my mom is real for being jealous, she really isn't. My dad's co-worker would never get with him, and he doesn't want her either. They are just really good friends, because my dad is friends with almost everyone!

So I sometimes wish I could see and hangout with my dad more? Yeah. But he doesn't make everything about him when I am with him. He tries his best to shield me away from most things, while also not treating me like a kid. I know I have a good life. Shit, most of my friends have worse lives and parents. So I don't know why I'm depressed, or have panic attacks, or mental breakdowns, or dissociate, or how I can no longer seem to fucking cry anymore!!

Sure, I may think my mom loves our dog more then me. I think my mom hates me at times, but that isn't true. But I am sick of this. I don't want to live like this anymore. Sometimes I think of suicide, but I would never do it. Not anymore. It is not worth my dad crying over that.

My parents have had shitty lives, really shitty ones. My dad's mom and dad got divorced (on good terms tho), then his dad's next wife was abusive and didn't care for him, and now his dad has his new wife who also wasn't that nice, but better.

My mom's mom got divorced after she was born, then again after her sister was born, and then her next husband killed himself. So I could say I have it much better then them.

I don't know why I feel like this, I have a much better life then others, but I don't know..

[beardedmrbean]

Ah thank you the blunderbuss! Yeah that gun basically work as his shotgun or grenade launcher with the rights bullets. He modified it in later games

Also Cyrus is still a mage when he get this magical weapons. He still use staffs, books, and wands. Actually I think I would do a joke that new party members and such are often surprised that he a mage as he don’t look the standard mage.

And yes he does develop a hand to hand combat style as he getting older. Actually that running joke like for a mission

The bad guy: Oh little Cyrus lost all his guns and wands, how are you-OW DID YOU JUST BROKE MY NOSE?!

14 year old Cyrus: My dad was from the slums, beside you forgot the part where items are for concentration? *His gloves glowing blues with electricity*

I mean there are still more powerful mages, but Cyrus have no problem showing he a son of warrior if need.

I was thinking like merchant or a poster. But say Cyrus with his staff in on hand giving him light. And his gun in the other.

Also I like found family, but as someone from a blended one…ugh it just how media and fandoms fetishized it

A older character shows human decency to a younger one: THEY HAVE A PARENT AND CHILD RELATIONSHIP

A relationship where a man adopt a character when the character was 10: THEY TOTALLY HAVE A NUCLEAR FATHER AND SON DYNAMIC. PLEASE IGNORE THE FACT THAT THE YOUNGER CHARACTER STILL HAD LOVING PARENTS THAT TRAGICALLY DIED AND THESE TWO ARE OFTEN AT EACH OTHER THROATS

Old fandom shit but Jesus, writers and fans stop projecting the nuclear family structure into found family ones.

Also for Cyrus “aunts” and “uncles” it more of Darius very close friends that help raise Cyrus so in general he see them as family, but know they aren’t blood related

Remember why media show complex family dynamics before writers with unresolved parental issues treat the audience like their therapists?

Shitty parents sucks, but you guys saying “fuck all white people” don’t help with empathy points.

Thanks for liking my father and son Jrpg idea.

Now to double answer with the good times thing, I bought the compete series on dvd today.

Executives can try to force certain images onto groups. But nope this from black writers who think ghetto culture is the only culture black Americans got.

Sorry this took so long was busy acting as storm buddy for a friend in Iowa dealing with the nados coming their way.

All safe all clear, just slowed me down on here some is all.

Ah thank you the blunderbuss! Yeah that gun basically work as his shotgun or grenade launcher with the rights bullets. He modified it in later games

People thought the flared opening would aid in the scattering, it did not according to recent studies into it.

Also Cyrus is still a mage when he get this magical weapons. He still use staffs, books, and wands. Actually I think I would do a joke that new party members and such are often surprised that he a mage as he don’t look the standard mage.

Those are always the ones to watch out for.

I mean there are still more powerful mages, but Cyrus have no problem showing he a son of warrior if need.

Terry Pratchetts "Discworld" series has a group in it known as "The Silver Horde" led by Cohen the Barbarian, the saying 'beware a old man in a line of work where men die young' these guys are old by old man standards, they have a lot of experience in not dying and they put it to good use.

I was thinking like merchant or a poster. But say Cyrus with his staff in on hand giving him light. And his gun in the other.

I'm a fan of the musical instrument case (robert rodriguez needs to do more movies)

Also I like found family, but as someone from a blended one…ugh it just how media and fandoms fetishized it A older character shows human decency to a younger one: THEY HAVE A PARENT AND CHILD RELATIONSHIP

You'd do well sending things to damnfandomproblems, think we've been over that before tho,

Old fandom shit but Jesus, writers and fans stop projecting the nuclear family structure into found family ones. Also for Cyrus “aunts” and “uncles” it more of Darius very close friends that help raise Cyrus so in general he see them as family, but know they aren’t blood related Remember why media show complex family dynamics before writers with unresolved parental issues treat the audience like their therapists?

Roseanne and Married With Children had to be two of the most honest sitcoms ever created, MWC less so, but both managed to do a good job of showcasing what lower middle class America was in a fairly authentic way.

Family Matters was pretty good till it turned into the Urkle Show, stayed good but in a different way.

Tangentially related, but writing that out put this in my head

And it is one of the greatest TV moments ever, so let's have a smile break.

Shitty parents sucks, but you guys saying “fuck all white people” don’t help with empathy points.

we've actually gotten to a point where folks in some corners can't seem to grasp that, sadly

Thanks for liking my father and son Jrpg idea.

It's fun to read and I can tell you're enjoying fleshing it out some and I'm glad I can be a bit of a part of that.

Now to double answer with the good times thing, I bought the compete series on dvd today. Executives can try to force certain images onto groups. But nope this from black writers who think ghetto culture is the only culture black Americans got.

Good choice, and that will wind up biting them in the ass eventually, just got to be patient is all.