#the mental health nurse i have now is the most normal one of all

[arkadijxpancakes]

Yes. The Weasleys had too many kids. An analysis. (Part 2 of 2)

So, where were we? Right. The Weasleys have so many kids that it fucks with their family dynamic and with the mental health of everyone involved. Last time, we looked at Molly and Arthur during the war. We ended in 1981, which means that all kids are born, now. Molly is still nursing. (It’s common to nurse kids up to two or three years, while slowly weaning them, so I assume that this is what Molly does.) She’s finally done with becoming pregnant every other year, however. And it’s about time, because her workload is bigger, than any single person can handle. And while it will decrease over time, it will stay enormous for the next couple of years.

1982 – Bill (who will be 12 at the end of the year) starts Hogwarts. It’s his first lick of freedom. There is no babysitting-duty at Hogwarts. All he has to do is stay out of trouble and earn good grades. Other than that, he is free to do what he wants. He will be the only Weasley-sibling in Hogwarts for two years. Because of this, his parents probably have enough money in reserve to buy him a full Hogwarts-kit without resorting to second-hand-stuff too much. (He might get second-hand books, but his robes and wand are probably new.)

At home, life is still hard for Molly. She has one less kid to take care of, but the kids who are still in her care are a handful. She still needs to teach Charlie. Percy got 6 over the summer and is a little nerd, so she is likely teaching him, too. Fred and George are still chaos incarnate. (And they are just getting started, really.)

Bill’s duties (chores around the home and watching his younger brothers) get passed down to Charlie. Percy might try his hand on this, too, because he is still in direct competition with the twins and Mum gives him attention when he helps her.

The war is over and the Weasleys start to feel the effects of this. As Death Eaters are captured and sentenced, the Wizarding World starts to feel safe, again. The stress eases off (but Molly is probably still grieving.) 

Arthur’s work schedule slowly goes back to more normal levels, allowing him to spend more time at home. However, he missed out on a big chunk of his children’s childhood. It’s also hard to return to his role as a parent, because at this point, the roles of the family are pretty much established: Molly is in charge and does most of the work. Some of the easier chores are passed down to her kids (first Bill, now Charlie, later Percy). This includes watching over his younger brothers while Molly takes care of her toddlers. It’s kind of hard for him to integrate himself into this dynamic. (Just imagine him doing the laundry or the dishes – it’s very likely that he has a different way for doing this, which could easily disrupt Molly’s workflow or simply just annoy her.) 

I think he will mostly stick to the stuff he did when Bill and Charlie were little. So he’s taking his kids out for trips on the weekends. But this is difficult, too, because it’s not Bill and Charlie anymore, but Charlie, Percy, Fred and George. Their dynamic is entirely different, and it’s hard to keep an eye on all of them, while also satisfying their needs equally. (Especially because Percy, Fred and George start to clash.) As a result, the trips are probably not as frequent as they once were.

It’s also possible that Arthur picks up his Muggle-hobby at this point. (Picking up this hobby causes him to spend at least some evenings in his shed, tinkering with Muggle-stuff instead of helping his wife. I imagine him to fade into the background a little bit, while he leaves the household and child-rearing to his wife.)

1984 – Charlie starts Hogwarts.

There are now two Weasley-Siblings at Hogwarts, but things are still pretty chill for them. It’s still just Bill and Charlie, after all. Bill is probably considered trustworthy enough by his teachers to receive a time-turner, so he can take all electives Hogwarts has to offer. (I do wonder how much Molly’s expectations are playing into this. She clearly expects her children to do well at Hogwarts, both in terms of grades and behavior. At this point, he is either a massive nerd like Hermione, trying to perform well to fulfill his mother’s expectations, or both. He is also setting a standard for his siblings here, whether this is on his own accord or because of pressure he receives from Molly.)

At home, Percy (now 8) takes over Charlie’s duties. He tries to control Fred and George. It’s likely that he fails miserably. They are just too close age-wise for this to work. 

Fred and George are 6 now and start to play rough. Last year, Fred turned Ron’s teddy bear into a giant spider (which probably caused Ron to develop arachnophobia). Next year, they will try to talk Ron into making an Unbreakable Vow with them. So keeping an eye on them is getting harder, not easier.

At this point in time, Scabbers exceeds the life span of his species. Rats can get up to two or three years old. (And Rowling knows this. This information is included in book 3, when Ron takes Scabbers to the pet store to have the witch there check on him.) This is Scabbers third year with the Weasleys, so his time is up. No one seems to notice, though. I don’t blame Percy (or the other kids) for this, but Molly and Arthur should notice that they don’t have to replace a rat or have a talk about how Scabbers is happier in the great rat heaven. They don’t and I wonder why. My suggestions are: a) They are either not paying any attention to Percy and his pet (which would suck) or b) Scabbers is turning into Peter and uses a wand (his own or Molly’s) to confund them as needed (which would suck even more).

1987 – Percy starts Hogwarts.

At the end of the 1986/87 school year, Bill (who is a prefect now) takes his OWL in all 12 courses Hogwarts has to offer. It’s possible he returns his time turner after this or keeps it until his graduation to deal with his NEWT-workload. He now starts his sixth year. Charlie is in his fourth year and is already on the Quidditch team. Molly is very, very proud of both of them.

Percy is a wee first year and doesn’t have to watch out for any younger siblings for once. He can focus on learning instead. He is probably the first boy in the family to end up with hand-me-down robes, as he has a similar build as Bill and Bill has probably outgrown his first set.

Scabbers is six, now. So he has lived twice as long as a normal rat would. Still, no one has caught up to the fact that he is awfully old for a rat. It’s very likely that he accompanies Percy to Hogwarts. (It should be noted that Hogwarts only allows cats, owls and toads as pets, so Percy probably got a permission to bring a rat instead. However, no one at the school notices Scabber’s age either.)

Life at home is still chaotic. Fred and George are 10, Ron is 8 and Ginny is 7. Molly is probably teaching all of them. Her workload is slowly going down to a more manageable level, but keeping the twins in check is still a challenge.

She probably doesn’t expect Fred and George to do chores and watch over their siblings. (At least not in the same way she expected from her older kids.) Mostly, because she can’t trust them to do it. (Remember the Unbreakable Vow? Yeah, that.) Additionally, Ron simply has no authority over them, so that’s not an option either.

1989 – Fred and George start Hogwarts.

In his seventh year, Bill was made Head Boy. By now, he took his NEWTs and left school. He probably returns home for a little while, before he takes the first chance he gets to fuck off to Egypt and play with cursed tombs. (We should probably talk about English wizards, Egyptian treasures and colonialism here, but that’s a completely different can of worms.)

Charlie took his OWL and is now in his sixth year. He’s still on the Quidditch team and should be Quidditch Captain by now. He’s also a prefect. So between them, they got all the big achievements Hogwarts has to offer: Prefect (both of them), Head Boy (Bill) and Quidditch Captain (Charlie). Bill also got 12 OWL, which is an achievement on its own. Molly will measure her other children against this later.

Speaking of Molly: While her home life is going to relax a lot this year, her expectations are still around. She is still expecting her kids to do well in school. Considering that Fred and George are now at Hogwarts, the old demand “Watch over your younger siblings!” is back and in full swing. I can’t see Charlie doing it – he has his head full of dragons and Quidditch and lived five blissful years in Hogwarts without the need to look after anyone all that much. Sure, Percy was at school, but he has already learned to look after himself. I don’t think Charlie will start with this now. Not unless the twins interfere with his prefect- or Quidditch-duties or are completely out of line.

Percy is a different story, however. He is in his third year and still taking after Bill. Just like Bill he takes all electives, so it is likely that he also gets a time turner for this. At this point, Percy has ingrained the idea that he needs to perform exceptionally well at school and Bill set an incredible high bar to reach, but he is willing to do just that. He also spent a lot more time at home dealing with the twins. Molly’s expectations for him to be a good boy and to look after his younger brothers will now put pressure on him again. He will probably try to control their chaotic behavior, but they are 11 now, and they will listen to him even less than before.

For Fred and George, this is heaven. They finally escaped the watchful eyes of their mother and have a whole new world to explore. So many secret passageways and even more victims to play pranks on. Percy is annoying, but they can play pranks on him, too. They will soon steal the Marauder’s Map from Filch’s office, which will open up even more possibilities. It’s great. 10/10, no notes.

Life at home is finally manageable. It’s just Molly, Ron and Ginny (and also Arthur and his Muggle-stuff). This is probably a nice time for Ron, because there are no older siblings around to steal his limelight. However, at this point he has the family dynamic internalized and his self-esteem is pretty low overall.

1991 – Ron starts Hogwarts.

By now, Charlie has left Hogwarts. It is unlikely that he actually finished his education, however. When Harry becomes a member of the Gryffindor team in Philosopher’s Stone, Fred says: “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant.” Had Charlie finished his education, he would have left in summer 1991. The quote is from autumn 1991. In this case, the quote would make no sense, because there were no matches for Gryffindor to lose between Charlie leaving and Harry becoming Gryffindor’s new seeker. So he must have left before then, probably sometime in his sixth or seventh year, after his seventeenth birthday.

It’s important to note that we don’t read about any fights over this. I can’t imagine Molly being happy with this, but he must have had her permission. (Otherwise we would know about it. Molly can’t shut up about the failures of the twins, she would not shut up about Charlie’s failures either.)

Percy is in his fifth year and a prefect. By now he is the career-driven rules lawyer we meet in canon. He will end this school year by taking all 12 OWL – just like Bill. (When Ron is made prefect in OotP, Molly makes sure to tell everyone that he is now a prefect, just like his older brothers, and she seems very comfortable doing so. I assume, Percy heard his fair share of this, when he was made prefect.)

The twins are in their third year and members of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. By now, they have earned themselves a reputation as pranksters.

Ron is the sixth Weasley-kid to enter Hogwarts. While his older siblings might have gotten some second-hand stuff, everything he owns was basically handed down to him: Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand and Percy’s old pet rat. To be clear: none of those things make much sense to hand down (or at least not to Ron).

Bill’s old robes should have gone to Percy after Bill left Hogwarts. They should be of a similar height, while Ron (as an eleven-year-old) should be somewhat smaller. Instead of handling it that way, Percy got new robes as a reward and Bill’s robes were handed down to Ron. This is clear favoritism on Molly’s part. It’s no surprise that Ron (who already feels overlooked by his parents) feels upset about it.

Giving him Charlie’s old wand makes even less sense. We know, that the wand chooses its wizard. Charlie’s wand did not choose Ron, so it would not perform as well for him. In addition, in book 1 the wand is described as follows: “He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.”

That thing is basically falling apart. That was either a lot of wear and tear during Charlie’s time at Hogwarts (considering the fact that we have not heard anything about this with other wands, this is unlikely) or the wand was already a hand-me-down when Charlie got it. In either case, giving Ron a wand that has its core more or less poking out, doesn’t sound very safe. I wonder why Arthur and Molly decided to do this. Did they expect Ron to have a great learning experience with a damaged wand? Did they want Ron to use the wand until it eventually did break, saving them another year or two before they had to buy a new one? (And yes, they would indeed need to buy him a new one in his third year, but they had no way of knowing that. Unless there are prophecies for that kind of shit. And even then. The fuck?)

Money is tight, of course. But is it really that tight? They could afford to get Percy an owl, after all. And buying a wand for their son is an expense they've had 11 years to plan. I understand getting second-hand robes and cauldrons, as they see a lot of wear and tear. But this should not apply to a wand in the same way. This is just really, really odd.

And then there is the elephant – and with elephant I mean rat – in the room: Scabbers. Firstly, that rat should be dead for at least seven years by now. No one seems to notice. No one cares. What the fuck.

Secondly, why is Percy giving his pet to Ron? There just isn’t a great explanation for this. Scabbers has been his pet for ten years. TEN. Percy should be attached to his pet like glue. After all, he has Scabbers since he can remember. Why is he willing to part with his rat? The only reasons I can think of:

1) He does it because Molly asks him to. She is clearly playing favorites, here. Not only does he get new robes when he becomes prefect, but he also receives his very own owl as a gift. It’s possible that this owl comes with strings attached, and Percy is required to give Scabbers to Ron to get the owl. Which would be a pretty fucked up situation for every child involved and should’ve been handled differently.

2) Percy wants to get rid of Scabbers. He doesn’t know about Scabbers’ Peter-shaped secret, of course (otherwise he would’ve reported this). But it is possible that he feels, on a subconscious level, that something about Scabbers is off. Not in a dangerous way (again, he would’ve reported this), just in an unpleasant way. (This would still be odd. Especially when we consider that no one noticed Scabbers age.)

3) Scabbers has decided that it’s time to jump ship. Percy just turned fifteen this year. He is old enough to grow suspicious of his seemingly immortal rat. It’s possible that he cozied up to Ron to manipulate both boys into making the switch. Or he turned into Peter and confunded some Weasleys. Who knows. He’s still a Death Eater and mass murderer on the run, after all.

1992 – Ginny starts Hogwarts.

The flock has left the nest. Molly’s work is mostly over. It’s just her and Arthur who stay at the burrow. She still takes care of the household, but the responsibility for her kids rest on other people’s shoulders, now. There is nothing left to do, except knitting, sending care packages, worrying about her kids careers and hexing the occasional howler. Molly could get a job now or pick up a hobby or two. I mean, she does read Gilderoy Lockhart’s shitty books. She is a fan of his, after all. But she doesn’t seem to enter any community over this (no fan club, no reading circle, no nothing. It’s just her). And there are no other hobbies outside of that. 

Apropos community: We don’t really see her having a community. She is a pretty important side character, but the books never mention that she has friends or other contacts outside her family. It seems like she is focusing on her kids and only on her kids.

Which would explain her meddling. Because Molly meddles a lot, when it comes to her kids and their futures. She keeps putting pressure on Percy to look after his younger siblings – this will expand to Harry after she gets to know him. Percy (still a good boy) does as she wishes. It’s not healthy, neither for him nor for his relationship with his siblings (who are mostly annoyed by him), but Molly either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. In the future, she will be very cross with Hermione after reading Rita Skeeters articles about her. She will also be upset about the twins' career choice and Bill's choice of girlfriend…

And yeah, that’s basically it. At this point, the family dynamic is firmly established and ingrained in her children’s heads. Percy is already set up to explode in the near future. Being Molly’s Golden Child is neither good nor healthy, especially considering all the pressure that comes along with it. His relationship with his siblings isn’t all that great, either.

Fun fact: We don’t know if anyone ever told him about Scabbers’ Peter-shaped secret. If it did happen, it was probably pretty traumatic. That shit-show was his pet for ten fucking years and he handed it down to his younger brother. That’s nightmare fuel, even if Peter never hurt any of them.

The twins have firmly established themselves as troublemakers. At least some of their “jokes” really aren’t funny and border on cruel, neglectful and/or harmful. (Remember the Unbreakable Vow? Yeah, still not funny. In 1993, they also tried to lock Percy in a pyramid. Yes, I don’t think they wanted to hurt him, not really, but that thing was still a cursed tomb. Things could have gone wrong, and at that point they were old enough to know better. In their last year they tested their joke-sweets on younger students who were neither adequately informed nor old enough to consent for something like this. Yes, they tested the sweets on themselves first, but something could still have gone wrong because of allergies and all that stuff. And after they left Hogwarts and started their joke shop, they do sell love potions to students, complete with options to smuggle that shit into school. Additionally, instead of going bad/losing their potency, those love potions get stronger with age. This alone is a horror story waiting to happen.)

Ron is affected, too. His self-esteem is pretty low when he starts Hogwarts and it will stay that way throughout the series. This will inform a lot of his decisions (especially the bad ones) in the future. 

We don’t know much about how all of this affected Bill, Charlie and Ginny. Bill and Charlie just aren’t as involved in the narrative, and Ginny stays kind of… bland and love interest-ish… throughout the story.

So… yeah?

Am I saying that the Weasleys did not love their kids? No, of course not. Especially Molly shows her love regularly. (Her love is more like a water hose than a watering can, however. Very intense and focussed on a single spot at a time, instead of reaching all her kids equally.)

What I am saying is that the Weasleys, as a family, are pretty dysfunctional. Many factors are playing into this – Molly’s and Arthur’s dynamic as a couple and as parents, the number of their kids, the war, etc. It’s impacting all of them negatively. Molly is stressed out, Arthur is out of touch and some of their kids lose their trust (either in their parents, in their siblings or in themselves.) It also makes their love feel conditional. The twins feel this whenever Molly is comparing them with their older (more well-behaved) brothers. Percy feels this when he comes home with that promotion and is demoted from Golden Child to family-traitor within a heartbeat. Ron has internalized it and desperately seeks attention and affection elsewhere.

They still love each other, but it’s a difficult position to be in for most of them.

And the worst thing: I don’t think Rowling notices any of this. She did not intend the family to be as dysfunctional as it is. She keeps portraying the Weasleys as this great, loving family who took Harry in when he needed it the most. And of course they did – but that’s not all there is to it. There are so many issues that go unresolved in the books. Molly never learns to back off. The responsibility for the conflict between Arthur and Percy is placed entirely on Percy, despite Arthur being at fault, too. The twins never really learn that a prank can go too far. Ron doesn’t really solve his self-esteem-issues. Rowling does start to give him some character development regarding his self-esteem-issues multiple times, but he always seems to revert back over the course of the summer holidays. 

The family really deserved more effort to go into the writing.

Note: This analysis is not meant to say that stay-at-home parents are bad or that Molly should have gotten a job while having seven little kids at home. What I am criticizing is the way we treat care work. Because it is work, and a lot of work. A stay-at-home parent is often on call 24/7. A stay-at-home parent never really gets to take a break, never can take a day off, and never just can leave their work for another day. But they do deserve breaks and days off, just like any person with a day job. And that is where their partners and the rest of their families come in.

And this is the other thing I wanted to criticize here: The way we glorify living as a nuclear family. It’s said that you need a village to raise a kid and I do think this is true. Having more people involved in child-rearing (be it relatives, neighbors or professionals like teachers) is a boon. Families had access to this for millennia. Raising your kids with the help of your family and your village was normal, up until very recently. And it’s a shame that the Weasleys seemingly had no help like this. And yes, I do see the fault with Rowling, who wrote them that way. She basically took the concept of the nuclear families of the 1980s and 1990s and slapped it onto the family, without any world building at all.

(Please also note, that I consider stay-at-home parents to be different from tradwives. When I use the term “tradwife”, I am specifically referring to stay-at-home mothers who do not just take care of their household and their kids, but who also commit themselves to having as many kids as possible and who tend to take on other duties (like homeschooling) as well. The most common examples of this are probably families who belong to fundamentalist Christian churches or cults.)

[spotaus]

Everyone say hello to DreamEater AU's very own Dream! (And Fresh!) Otherwise known as Tulpa!

This AU is technically a Dream × Fresh ship story, but honestly it could be taken as Platonic because I view them both as aroace kings 👌. (This is alao Extremely self-indulgent lmao-) I'm gonna put more under the cut + close-ups but what is important is:

Dream is badly injured by Dust and ends up in a random AU after a messy retreat from battle. Fresh stumbles across him in need of a new host and attempts to take over Dream. Dream isn't a normal monster though, and he fights the hostile take-over. His soul doesn't decay like a normal monster's when Fresh feeds, so they end up coming to an agreement to share the body while Dream heals.

SO!!!

The DreamEater au comes from an idea I had years ago. Dream is injured, and it leaves him badly paralyzed while he recovers. In the old concept Fresh just nursed him back to health. In the DreamEater AU, Fresh is actively using Dream's unique vessel to his own advantage. It's like finding a body that fits him like a glove, and so he's content to just keep it. Until, of course, Dream becomes conscious again.

Fresh successfully takes Dream's body for a week or so before Dream is lucid again as a soul, and he tries to reason with Fresh to give him back control. He explains what happened and why he needs to get back. Fresh explains that he's going to keep being a parasite and no way he's giving up the perfect body. It's a long back and forth before Fresh relents and let's Dream take control again, only for him to collapse. Dream can't feel anything from his neck down due to where he'd been injured.

Fresh takes over again, and Dream just kinda lingers along with Fresh, staying in the passenger's seat of the body. He is stressed and worried but knows now that it'll take ages for him to heal anyways. By letting Fresh roam he can see the state of the multiverse at least.

And as things go on, the balance keeps tipping. Farther and farther in Night's direction. It's palpable. Then one night Fresh talks with Dream. It's small-talk, but it turns out he thinks Dream's soul will keep going forever if he can be around happy people. Dream explains that without him to do guardian work there are less abd less of those positive people to feed him so Fresh can keep going.

So, Fresh agrees to help Dream return to his duty, but only minimally since he's extremely injured.

Dream returns most of his wardrobe, and Fresh controls his body while Dream directs him and takes over control of his skull. Any weird actions are chalked up to recovering from his injury. Blue and Ink are thrilled to see him again. All is well for a bit, and though Fresh holds Dream back sometimes, he ends up actually being really good for Dream's mental health by not letting him overwork or stress about things he doesn't need to. Dream teaches Fresh how to use a bow, how to fight with a staff, etc. They become... friends? At least while they help eachother. Having Fresh tag along doesn't hurt Dream at all, and Fresh loves his free buffet of Dream.

Blue is the first one to notice Fresh, but he's not actively hurting Dream so he says nothing.

It's hinted when m, during a fight with NM's gang, someone curses and It's censored. Everyone is on edge because many of them don't like Fresh, and the bttle dispurses quickly afterwards.

It's revealed on a day that Dream is ambushed on an errand and Fresh takes forceful control so he can Fresh-Poof out of the way. Dream's Soul is shown in the other eyelight that's normally dark, and Fresh takes full control just to skate around the gang, teasing and evading them. Dream wasn't happy, but he was grateful after the fact. Everyone knew after that, and Dream started to agree that without it being a secret, Fresh could change up the wardrobe.

Eventually Dream heals almost fully. At that point, Fresh tries not to get involved with NM's conflicts. He also swaps in and out of control with Dream seamlessly throughout an average day. They become actual friends, talking over eachother and playfully swapping control. And eventually that becomes an agreed partnership. Ink doesn't approve of having Fresh around all the time, but he's Dream's closest companion besides Blue, so he stays.

Point is, they care a lot about eachother, even when they started out so tense. They keep eachother safe for selfish reasons, and for their bond.

[charliedawn]

Hey! Would you mind doing slashers catching Y/N in the act of Cvtting or SHing??

I understand if not but I’m really struggling with my mental health right now 🥲😅

Warning : The main subject involves scarification and self-harm. I also really tried to stick to the characters. So, some of their answers might be triggering to some. Beware.

Jason wasn't supposed to come home for a couple of hours. So, you decided to take the opportunity to relieve yourself and took a knife from the kitchen.

You had promised him not to do it again, but it was too much. Life was too much right now, and you needed something to focus the pain elsewhere.

However, before you could do it...Jason came back.

He entered the house and saw the knife in your hand. He understood pretty fast and eagerly reached for it—but fell face forward to the floor.

You knew you shouldn't...but it was just beyond you. You laughed. You held your ribs and started laughing.

However, he quickly came back up and crawled to you—desperately trying to speak and reach out for the knife still in your hand.

"N...N...N..."

But he couldn't. He wanted to say no. He wanted to stop you and finally crawled on top of you to get the knife out of your hand.

Once he was sure you wouldn't be able to retrieve it, he held you close to his chest and refused to let go.

"Jason ! I'm fine ! It was just...I just wanted to...", you tried to explain—but he shook his head vividly and held you closer.

"No.", he finally managed to say and his breathing was hectic as he realized what could have happened if he hadn't came back early.

You tried to speak again, but couldn't.

You had never seen Jason so panicked before. He seemed so...scared.

"Jason ?"

He didn't answer. He only pressed you closer against his chest and almost crushed you in his arms.

You then understood how scared he list have been. You were the only other human being other than his mother that he had ever gotten attached too.

And his mother was dead.

He didn't want to lose someone else.

You closed your eyes and tried not to cry as you wordlessly held him tight. He seemed to breathe back normally when he felt the way you seemed to silently be apologizing to him.

You didn't need words to communicate.

But, he would still keep a closer eye on you from now on.

The Beast smelt the blood and ran faster than the wind to get back home—throwing the gift Barry had chose for you to the floor.

He ran and almost burst the door open.

His eyes widened as he saw you holding up your wrist and crying.

He immediately gathered you in his arms and for once, let Kevin take control of his thoughts. He was the one with the most medical experience, as he had been in and out of hospitals since he was 9.

As soon as he was in the hospital, he told the beast to go look for a nurse and the beast obeyed.

He was the most athletic, and soon found one and growled out.

"FIX IT !"

He then put you in her arms and the nurse was left frozen as the beast seemed on the verge of tearing her head off.

She first took care of you, but found it difficult when the beast was loudly breathing at the back of her neck.

Finally, she called security. They tried to take him away, but he roared at them—refusing to leave you again.

"RELEASE ME ! THEY NEED ME ! I'LL KILL YOU ALL !"

He threatened, but one look from you and he immediately calmed down. You seemed so calm...How could you be so calm ?

You slowly raised your hand and smiled.

You wanted to tell him that everything would be alright—reassure him. But, you both knew it was a lie. You had no clue if it would be alright, but the Horde decided to trust you.

Slowly, Kevin took back control and let himself be dragged away. You followed him with your eyes until he was out of sight and took a deep breath—forcing yourself not to cry.

You had worried them. You had almost died, and the notion left a sour taste in your mouth.

Once she was finished, the nurse allowed you to visit them.

You found them locked up in another room and Hedwig smiled widely as he saw you.

"Y/N ! YOU'RE ALRIGHT !" *runs to hug you*

Suddenly, his whole demeanor changed as his hold tightened and the man before you slowly retrieved his glasses from his breast pocket.

You instantly know who it was. Dennis.

"Dennis...I..."

You wanted to say you were sorry, but he shook his head.

"No need. We know. It's hard. But, we want you to try. Keep trying, Y/N. And know that...The Horde will always protect you."

Your eyes watered and you quickly wiped your tears away to smile at him.

"Thank you...Thank you all."

For a quick moment, you noticed the same scars marring his wrists and your hold on them tightened.

Yeah...They understood.

Michael came back home and froze instantly at the sight of you, your sleeve pulled up to your elbow and one of his knives in your hand.

You both stared at each other in shock for a few seconds before he suddenly surged forward and attempted to grab the knife out of your hands.

You battled for it, but he was the one who won at the end.

He threw the knife across the room and you burst into tears.

"Michael...Please. Just...Just let me go."

He didn't. He held you and refused to let go. His grip neared painful as images of a life without you kept repeating in his mind.

Dull. Boring. Lonely...

Suddenly, his breath became hectic and you could feel drops of water falling on top of your head.

When you looked up, you were surprised to find that Michael was crying.

He was the composed one. The rock. You had never seen him cry before...

It made you cry as well and tighten your grip as you finally sobbed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm here."

He didn't reply, he only looked at your wrist where multiple of your old scars were showing. Had he...Had he done something to make you want to do it again ?

"Did...Was it...me ?", he spelled each word with difficulty and his voice was rough and deep. He didn't like talking, but he needed to know.

He eyed your old scars and you sighed before shaking your head.

"No. Never. It's just...me. I'm the problem. I just feel really bad sometimes, and old habits die hard..."

He listened and slowly raised his hand to slowly move your wild strands/curls away from your face to look you in the eyes.

"Don't. Promise. Never again.", he told you and your eyes watered again.

"Michael...I can't...I..."

"PROMISE !", he cut you off and his eyes were blown wide in concern—pleading. "Please...Promise. Never again."

You smiled weakly and finally nodded in agreement.

"Alright. Never again. I promise."

He seemed to relax at your words and embraced you once more.

He wouldn't let you do this ever again. And if he had to stay awake and watch you 24/7 ? He would.

You wouldn't slip away from him.

"What are you doing, human ?"

You turned around swiftly and saw Penny standing there—his eyes staring at the red substance slowly dripping down your wrist.

You opened your mouth to answer, but no sound came out.

Penny looked...hurt.

"You...You were trying to leave ?", he asked and you could hear how broken he was at the notion.

In a matter of second, he was next to you.

He threw the knife away and examined the wound closely. It wasn't too deep, but he wouldn't take any chance.

He opened his mouth unnaturally wide and drool started dripping down and landed on your scar.

Slowly, the scar started closing and you eyes widened in astonishment.

"Penny...How did you...?"

He didn't let you finish before glaring up at you.

"I don't like using the children...They're not to be used. Their souls are mine...They are not to be shared."

You frowned in incomprehension until your eyes widened at the realization.

His healing abilities...They came from...Oh.

You looked at your closed scar and somehow, it felt odd. It felt...wrong.

You slowly lowered your arm and Penny could tell that you were disturbed. He crouched in front of you and tilted his head.

"I don't want you to leave just yet, little human...It is not your time."

You shivered as Penny looked at you with a twisted smile. There was something wrong with the whole ordeal.

"You said it wasn't my time yet...Why ?", you asked and Penny giggled.

"Silly human. Our game isn't over yet. You can't just leave. It is not how you are supposed to play."

Your eyes watered and you blinked several times before asking, already dreading his answer.

"Penny...What did you do ?"

Penny's expression slowly changed as he leaned forward and grabbed your scarred arm—his touch almost burning your skin.

"You die. When I say you die, little human. Not before. Your life is mine. Your death is mine. Your whole existence is MINE."

There was a certain possessiveness to his words that made you shiver at the realization. It didn't matter how many times you would try to scar yourself. Penny would never let you go.

And it wasn't because he particularly cared.

It was all a game to him.

Your life was a game.

But, a game he would end on his own terms. Not yours.

And for the first time, your heart pounded in your chest. You didn't think it was possible for you to fear Penny, but low and behold...He had succeeded.

He giggled and his eyes gleamed with a yellow streak as he crept closer and clicked his tongue.

"Let's play a little longer, alright little human ?"

Norman made sure to get all of the sharp objects out of your reach when he heard of your precedent "accidents".

However, he couldn't control you when you had to dine with the other residents, even though his eyes were always on you—watching your every move.

So, when you "accidentally" knocked over a glass that smashed on the floor and grabbed one of the pieces, he didn't miss a beat before following you.

He trapped you as soon as you were alone in the corridor and raised his hand significantly.

"Give it. Now."

You took a deep breath before indulging and giving him the piece of glass you had succeeded in picking up. Of course. Of course he would notice.

"Listen, Norman...I...", you tried to talk—but realized you had nothing to say. It wasn't something you could explain.

And he seemed to understand as he sighed and took a step back.

"My door is always open, Y/N. Talk to me. Do not try to harm yourself. It doesn't make the pain go away, alright darling ?"

He stroked your cheek with his thumb and you couldn't look away. His eyes were hypnotic and when he leaned forward—your breath hitched.

"...Y/N. Please. Don't make me send you away."

Your eyes widened at the threat. You remembered the long hours spent in that empty hospital room...You couldn't go back.

"No...Please. I'll be good. Just...Don't make me go." You balled your fists into the fabric of his shirt and your tears coated his collar—but he didn't mind.

He held you closer and kissed your forehead lovingly. He couldn't deny you, no matter how much he knew it would cost him.

Your love was addictive, and he would be caught dead before letting it be taken away from him.

"...Alright. Just, no more of this.", he finally indulged and you nodded half-heartedly. He seemed to recognise the fear in your eyes and held you closer.

"I'm doing this because I love you. You know that, right ?", he told you and you closed your eyes—inhaling his soothing scent.

"Yes...I know."

"HONEY ! I'M HOME !", Freddy announced with a large smile on his face. He had bought you a gift and hoped you would like the flowers he had picked out for you...But then, he saw the blood and froze.

No...

The flowers fell to the floor and the blood coated some of the petals.

Shit. Shit Shit Shit...

He ran inside the bathroom and found you, your eyes barely open and staring at nothing. Your wrists open and blood dripping down the bath tub and mixing with the water.

He desperately tried to stop the bleeding and gritted his teeth as the blood kept flowing.

"HEY ! STAY WITH ME, SWEETHEART ! COME ON ! FUCK ! SAY SOMETHING !"

He shook you and felt panic taking over him as you slowly closed your eyes.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE CLOSE YOUR EYES ! COME ON !"

But, you didn't. You didn't, and he could only watch as your pulse slowly came to a halt.

"No...Nononononono..." He broke into tears and held you in his arms before screaming loudly in pain.

...Until you woke up that is.

You looked around and blinked several times before realizing you were in your bed—safely tucked in. You let out a relieved sigh and closed your eyes. That really felt too real...

But then, you felt a sharp blade against your face and someone breathing heavily above you. Your eyes snapped open and you saw Freddy with rage in his eyes and his ragged breath hit your face as he spat.

"You try that sh*t again, and I'll show you real pain. You don't get to leave. You don't get to leave me, got it ?!"

You frowned and even though you knew you should apologize, you decided to yell back instead.

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ! YOU NEVER WILL !"

He gritted his teeth and pinned you to your bed before huffing a humorless laugh.

"Oh yeah ? I don't ?", he said with a weak smile. "Ya think I don't understand, do ya ?! Let me tell you sumthin', sweetheart...It's the story of a little boy. Lonely. No family. No friends. No fuckin' dreams. So, he tried to get the pain to stop. He'd come home every single day and try to sleep. Sleep so profoundly that he'd finally dream. He'd cut deeper every single night...Dya know what happened to him ?"

"...W...What happened ?", you asked and Freddy's smile dropped.

He then showed you his wrists where deeps scars covered his wrists and forearms.

"...Nothin'. Because no one tried to saved him. No one came.", he then looked up at you and there was determination in his eyes. "So...If ya think I'm just gonna let the only person that ever gave a rat's ass about me do the same stupid shit than I did ? Ya dead wrong."

Your eyes watered as you understood and slowly wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Shit. Sorry, Freddy. I'm sorry."

Freddy took a deep breath and slowly returned your embrace. He didn't care about his old life, but he did care about yours.

He wouldn't let you make the same mistake.

"Go on.", Jack said without lifting his gaze from his newspapers and your eyes widened in shock.

"What ?"

"Do it.", he repeated before finally looking up at you—his eyes expressionless. "I saw you hide that knife in your pocket. I'm not stupid. You wanna become an old ghost like me ? Fine. Have fun with that."

"Jack. I...", you tried to speak—but he cut you off. He suddenly stood up and shouted.

"...Do you know what happens after death, Y/N ?! I'll tell you. It's dark. Cold. And lonely. Terribly lonely."

He suddenly raised himself on his feet and you go couldn't help but shiver.

"Jack. I don't want to die. I just...I just want the pain to go away.", you tried to explain and Jack's eyes softened for a moment. But, it quickly disappeared as he saw the knife in your hand.

"...Pain ? I'll tell you about pain. I'm dead, Y/N. But, I would give everything...everything...to get another chance at life. Make it all right. Tell my wife that I'm sorry. See my little boy grow up. All those things I missed..."

He sighed before huffing a humorless laugh.

"I was an asshole, but truth is ? Life is fuckin' hard. But, it's also great...And you got quite the long road ahead of you. It'd be a shame to waste it."

You shook your head and sat down next to him—staring at the knife in your hands. You were hesitating.

"...What if my life is shitty ? What if the pain ends up not being worth it ?", you asked and Jack sighed.

"...Then I guess I was wrong. But, take it from an old ghost who saw a lot of people try to off themselves ? They usually all regret it so..."

He extended his hand towards you—silently asking for the knife.

"Please...Don't try to end your life. Believe me. It ain't worth it."

You stared at his hand for a few seconds before finally sighing in defeat and indulged.

You placed the knife in his hand and he smiled weakly at you. He then grabbed your arm and pulled you in his arms.

"Come on. You're not stupid like me. You'll have a great life. I'm sure of it."

You were stunned for a while, but you finally wrapped your arms around his waist and ignored the way he felt cold...so cold.

You smiled and replied instead.

"Alright. Let's see how it'll turn out."

Jack nodded before staring at an invisible shadow behind you—glaring at it. He then tightened his grip on you.

Not today, Death.

Not today...

Bo was tending to one of the cars in the garage when he heard a loud curse and ran inside to find quite the show.

You were on the floor with a knife next to you as you were desperately trying to stop the blood flow with a paper tissue...

You had cut too deep and looked up at Bo with tears in your eyes.

"I'm sorry...I..."

"Shut up.", Bo cut you off before running to the bathroom and came back with bandages and a sewing kit. He then put himself to work.

He stitched your wound and carefully wrapped the bandage around it. He was uncharacteristically quiet, and it bothered you. You started to hum—hopping for a reaction...But, nothing.

Once it was finished, he put his material aside and when you wanted to retrieve your hand...He refused to let go.

And when his eyes met yours, a sense of dread washed over you.

"...Bo ?"

He didn't reply.

Instead, he pulled you up roughly and brought you to your room before tying you up to the bed. You started to cry out that he didn't need to do that, but he wasn't having it.

"Ssh...It's for your own safety, darlin'. We wouldn't want ya to have another accident."

Bo had warned you that he wouldn't accept any more of this. He had tried to be soft, gentle and understanding.

But...since nothing seemed to work, he would take things into his own hands. He wouldn't let you cut yourself again.

He refused to give your body to Vince and love you as a wax statue forever. He wanted you alive.

He didn't want you dead. It wasn't an option.

"Listen to me, darlin'. I really wanna trust ya. But, ya gotta make me trust ya. And if I can't trust ya with yourself ? Then, I have no choice but leave ya tied up. It ain't fun for either of us. But, I needya to learn."

You tried to protest, but he shook his head and sighed before pulling out some tape.

"I'm sorry it gotta be this way, beautiful. But, I ain't taking no risk."

Pennywise opened the bathroom and found you sitting on the toilet seat with a pair of scissors in your hand.

He stayed still for a moment before his jaw twitched and he closed the door behind him.

He then crouched in front of you and decided to teach you a lesson—a lesson that would stick.

"Go ahead. I won't tell anyone."

He told you and your eyes widened in shock at his words.

"W...What ?"

His eyes glowed orange and he suddenly grabbed your arm and the pair of scissors. But, instead of taking it away—he pressed the sharp edge against your skin and raised his voice.

"Is that really what you want ?! Fine by me. Want me to do it for you ? Want me to unalive you ? Sure. But, just so you know ?"

He showed you his sharp teeth and showed you his lights.

"I'll devour your soul and make you live your life again and again...Endlessly. So, you better be damn sure. Because if you think your life is bad ? Then, remember that I can make it a thousand times worse !"

You tried to get away from his grip—but he didn't release you. He leaned forward and growled out.

"Oh no, you don't ! We told you a million times. We don't want you to do this. But, since you won't listen to any of the others' advice ? Fine."

He made sure you couldn't escape his gaze as he showed you all of the lives he had taken, children that would never see another day, that would never grow up...

"You want to end up like them ? I'd be more than happy to make it easy for you. Just say the word. And I'd put you to sleep forever..."

You broke into sobs as you cried out.

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS ?!"

Pennywise gave you a cruel grin.

"...I'm a monster, remember ? Monsters aren't nice. I feed on fear. And I know what you're afraid of, bucko. You're afraid of life. And this is why you want to escape it...Because it's too hard. And you want to give up...Poor little human wants to die."

"LET GO !", you finally screamed and used the scissors to stab him in the eye.

Pennywise stayed silent for a moment and then slowly took the scissors out with a sickening squelching sound before throwing them away. He then forced you to look at him.

"LOOK AT ME, Y/N !", he shouted.

Your eyes snapped open and you felt tears running down your cheeks. He wiped them away with his gloved thumbs and tried to smile—but it looked like a grimace.

"Look at me and remember, remember that you fought for your life. Remember that you're strong. You're a fighter. And you'll fight through life."

Your eyes widened and suddenly, you understood what he was saying, why he was acting like this...You stood up and wiped your tears away. There was determination in your eyes.

You wordlessly took the medical kit and started bandaging his eye. You both knew he'd recover quickly, but he still let you.

You *mumble after a while* : "...You're shitty at comfort."

Him *chuckles* : "Yeah...I know."

Brahms startled you by suddenly coming at you from behind. You barely had the time to turn around and then, he ran into your knife.

You looked at the blood on your hands and felt tears running down your cheeks as the knife clattered to the floor.

"No. I didn't...I didn't mean...Brahms. I'm sorry."

He fell to the floor and you quickly dropped to your knees to apply pressure on the wound.

"No no no...HELP ! HELP !", you shouted and nurses came to your aid as they brought him to another room.

You knew he would recover, but you refused to leave his side.

"Brahms...", you whispered while holding his hand and repeated the earlier events on loop in your mind.

You hadn't meant to hurt him. It wasn't intentional—but the guilt caged you in its tight grip.

Brahms' eyelids fluttered as he slowly woke up and felt you beside him. He turned his eyes towards you and he saw that you were crying.

"Y...Y/N ?", he called you and you looked up with widened eyes.

You jumped to your feet and were about to call a nurse—but Brahms was quicker.

He embraced you and cried out.

"Y/N ! YOU STAY WITH BRAHMS ! DON'T YOU LEAVE ME ! DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO LEAVE ME AGAIN !"

He seemed so desperate. You had almost killed him, but he didn't seem to care. He held you tight and refused to let go—sobbing loudly like a child.

It made you cry as well and hug back the slasher as you sobbed.

"Okay. I'm sorry, Brahms. I won't try to leave again. I promise."

You spent the next few days with Brahms until his full recovery and decided to get rid of all your sharp objects.

It was time to heal. And you knew where to begin...

Brahms hugged you from behind and gave you a flower.

"Brahms will make Y/N love themselves again...He promises."

You smiled and nodded.

"And Y/N promises to never leave Brahms."

You smiled at each other and even though Brahms still had his doubts, he would make sure that you'd never think of harming yourself again. Because he'd hate to lose his best friend.

[sysmedsaresexist]

hey does acknowledging the existence of parts make symptoms worse? like if they have a different name or other stuff about them thats different from you as a part, or using we/us, or generally just talking about them as a different part. i see ppl on reddit complain abt 'fakers' and them talking abt parts as if different from themself being against treatment guidelines but whenever i talk about my parts this way w drs/nurses/etc no one gives a shit. how else am i supposed to talk about it

Posting all three asks together.

To the very first question, does acknowledging parts make symptoms worse, yes and no. I have to talk about both, because it depends.

Typically, when people first find out they're a system or start questioning having a CDD, symptoms DO get worse.

A lot of antis and reddit are going on old research (old research doesn't support them, bear with me). Before the age of the internet, most people had someone ELSE point out that they were a system before they saw it in themselves.

This has to do with how mental health was treated a couple decades ago (having problems was Bad™️, deny and hide symptoms, it's still true but it was much worse), and access to resources about symptoms being much, much harder to come by. Amnesia was harder to notice. These days, every time you log in, you can see what your alters were doing while you were gone. There's no denying or hiding it.

That said, take myself, for example. I'm in my mid 30s, and I've been in therapy since I was 4.

Around age 20, after a very serious event, my therapist and I started to discuss alters. Before this point, I had rarely heard them, as far I knew, they didn't have names or personalities. Many of my alters DIDN'T have names. They were little more than emotionally reactive concepts of bad coping methods-- "the angry one," "self harming one."

It wasn't until I worked with my therapist to gain some kind of communication that my system kind of... activated. Suddenly, all my symptoms seemed 100 times worse, I was noticing things more and more, the increased communication was terrifying, we fought and rejected each other. We became more real, gained traits, names, voices.

Typically, this kind of upset settles after a while, but it's normal for it to get worse.

This type of progression of symptoms is well documented, but it's no longer the norm.

Now, is it specifically acknowledging the alters or parts that cause issues?

Fuck no, and Treatment Guidelines don't say that acknowledging them as separate is a bad thing.

The treatment guidelines are very clear that you use the language and words that the client uses.

What the treatment guidelines advise against is encouraging the rejection or disownment of parts. An example is someone who's religious, and believes that their system is related to possession. The therapist is to refer to the alters in the same way the client does-- by name and "we/us", etc, without encouraging the idea that they're actually possessed by a demon.

This is more about system accountability than anything else. The point is to get the system to realize that they are all in this together, and that the actions of one have consequences for all, including the demon in question. There is no hell to return to, when the body goes to jail, so do you.

This is integration.

Learning to get along, compromise on needs and wants, working together, leaning on each other, learning about each other, until together you're an unstoppable power ranger mecha with useful skills spread throughout the system. Everyone has a part to play in success.

You can't do that if you don't acknowledge them and their differences.

Fuck reddit.

[emeritus-fuckers]

Hi! Long time enjoyer of the beautiful works you and your friends write! I recently had to have my leg amputated and once I'm fully healed I'll be getting a prosthetic. I was wondering how the Papas and Sister would react to a s/o who had to have their leg amputated and gets a prosthetic once they've healed? Thank you in advance and keep up the great work! 😊🖤

Papas, Sister Imperator and Delta with an amputee darling

Primo (he/him)

Incredibly supportive the entire time.

He even offers to push your wheelchair while you heal after the amputation.

He learns from the doctors and nurses on how to take care of you properly.

Offers you one of his favorite canes for when you have to re-learn how to walk with your new prosthetic.

He is very patient with you. He knows it's stressful for you.

He'll be with you on your every physical therapy. He encourages you to keep trying, as hard as it might be.

He's very proud of you. And you will know it.

Secondo (he/him)

If you think this man doesn't speedrun courses on how to best assist and take care of you, you don't know this man at all.

He's your nurse now. He expertly helps you with physical therapy.

Gets you regular check-ups and personally drives you there.

If you get too tired, he'll carry you. Yes, you have a wheelchair, but aren't his arms just better?

He gets you the most expensive prosthetic he can find.

A few of them, even.

He paints them however you wish. He's a good painter.

Terzo (he/they)

He hasn’t left your side since the beginning of this journey.

They’re well aware that this is a change that will have major effects on you and possibly your mental health. He’s already got the best physical and mental therapists on standby to help with your every need.

They stay by your side until you’re taken for surgery and is the first thing you see upon waking up. Especially since he crawled in the bed with you.

He brought Alpha and Omega with him to help get you back out of the hospital. The ghouls are gentle and they justified Alpha by pointing out heat helps with being sore.

They get you transportation wherever you need to go, but insists on being the only one to push your wheelchair when you aren’t up for walking.

Terzo also took it upon himself to help you fully customize your chair, prosthetic, crutches and whatever other mobility aids you require.

They also ensure you get plenty of time with him, relaxing in his room and being showered in affection and love.

Copia (he/him)

While you are healing he finds the most adorable rat printed bandages to cover the normal medical ones.

He'll look after you, everything you need. He doesn't want you to do anything that would be uncomfortable for you. He doesn't mind he is really happy to be able to do this for you as you bring so much joy to his life.

You end up cuddled on the sofa with Copia playing video games with the rats being as comforting as possible too.

He is your biggest supporter by far, he is always there when you need him.

While you are learning to walk with the prosthetic he'll happily accompany you.

He looked at you sheepishly as a rat's head poked out of your pocket and a few jump up on his shoulder. He explained that they wanted to come too and help, but only if you don't mind.

He also offers to drive you anywhere you want while you are healing. He offers to take you to the beach house. It's perfect for resting and enjoying a good view and there are some really nice walks nearby for when you are feeling up to it. He'll happily push you in a wheelchair around them until that time.

Old Papa Nihil (he/him)

He's very tender and supportive. We all know what old Nihil can be like, but he really steps up to the mark for you.

Even though he is getting older he is still very strong, so he insists on carrying you out to the garden on a nice day. You two sit and enjoy the sun.

He does have some limitations with his age but he makes sure to find the best doctors and nurses he can to look after you.

He goes with you to physical therapy and if you want he'll join in to keep you company.

You often get the giggles at the old man noises that come out of him on some of the exercises.

He keeps you company while you heal and brings you whatever you need.

He is very good at helping you pass the time, he's had practice when his own health has been bad.

Young Papa Nihil (he/him)

He is 100% there for you, even if he is a little unsure how to be.

He goes and finds advice on how to help as he doesn't want to get it wrong.

He is very good at taking your mind off things, he thinks of fun things to do at all stages of your healing. Things that are within your capabilities at that time.

He is so proud of you and how you push through it. He admits, if it was him, he wouldn't handle it so well.

He'll help you learn to walk on the prosthetic. He finds the perfect place for you to get your strenght back once you are up to walking short distances.

The park at dusk, he knows a way to sneak in even though it shuts then. He used to go there to get high but he much prefers walking with you.

No one else is around, and the park is beautiful in the soft orange and pink light. He knows a spot that has a good view of the sunset and you take a break sitting on the bench and watch, his arms wrapped around you keeping out the early evening chill.

Young Sister Imperator (she/her)

She makes sure you have the best available professionals take care of you.

She might not always be available, but she has at least one Ghoulette taking care of you at all times.

The Ghoulette is tasked with documenting everything about your amputation, physical therapy and all the doctor visits.

While she may not have much free time, Imperator does a lot of research on the subject and speaks to all the doctors whenever she can.

She manages to get some time off around the time of the procedure so she can support you.

She keeps you on a very strict schedule when it comes to physical therapy, but you know she means well.

She does a lot of research before you two pick a perfect prosthetic.

Old Sister Imperator (she/her)

She does so much research she could practically be a doctor, a nurse and a physical therapist at this point.

Her Ghoulettes are all expected to go through training to help you as well.

She knows so much she could probably lecture the doctors. If it wasn't for the fact that she researched them, as well. She knows they are the absolute best at what they do.

She makes sure to get time off around the big day, as well as the first two weeks of your physical therapy.

She makes a small joke about how you'll be running around with your prosthetic just as she runs in her favorite red heels.

She will stay by your side whenever it gets rough, letting you talk about everything you feel.

She'll provide you as much comfort as she can.

Delta (they/it)

Delta being the Ministry’s most unfortunate element transition has lots of knowledge on going through amputation.

They answer any and all questions you have before the procedure, promising to help however it can in your recovery.

When you wake up, they’re waiting by your bed with a huge bouquet of flowers and your favourite food. According to them all amazing patients deserve a treat.

When you begin therapy to work up to getting the prosthetic, they do the exercises with you. Kinda taking over the job of the physical therapist since it knows these exercises.

Actually…they kinda replace a lot of professional help. Since they’re a professional through lived experience.

They help you learn to do the bandages properly. When you get your prosthetic they do their best to assist with putting it on, taking it off, cleaning all the different parts, balance and more.

Kinda worked in your favour having a double amputee by your side. It can really help with both your physical and mental health, having someone like them so close to you right now.

~

Papas I, II and Sister Imperator written by Nosferatu.

Papa III and Delta written by Death.

Papas IV and Nihil written by Nyx.

[blues824]

Good morning I saw that your request were opened and I wanted to request something so may I get the side characters with a Mc like Vil from twisted wonderland and about their overblot?

You most certainly can! Reader is described using the word “queen”, but Vil is described that way too.

Diavolo

The queen to his king. He is most definitely worshiping the very ground you work on because it’s what you deserve in his mind. You’re just so beautiful to him and so graceful. You hold your head high and non-verbally demand respect from everyone in the room.

When he’s going through a particularly stressful day, you offer to finish a lot of it with him and then drag him to your room to do some self care. After all, it’s counterproductive if you overexert yourself.

Of course, you would tell him about the person who you despise the most. He doesn’t understand the one-sided rivalry. Doesn’t that take a toll on your mental wellbeing and overall physical health?

Now, he doesn’t know what to do when you overblot. Relationships don’t come with instruction manuals, especially when something like this happens. So when he sees the ink spilling out of your mouth, he gets Barbatos to go get Solomon for help.

Once you were defeated, the Devildom Prince scooped you into his arms and carried you to his bedroom chamber where he laid you down on his bed. From that day up until you woke up, he stayed by your side. Barbatos was a bit anxious as he was neglecting his princely duties. 

Once the doctors have given you confirmation that it would be okay to get you up, he was with you every step of the way. The others often see you two together, your arm in his as he’s keeping you steady. This just goes to prove his love and dedication to you, his future co-ruler.

Barbatos

Would think you were a fallen angel, like the brothers. Sure, he already saw you coming, but it didn’t stop him from being in awe of your beauty. A lot of other demons have made the annoying comment of you being a perfect match for Diavolo, and he grew a tad bit jealous.

He does appreciate the self-care activities that you make him partake in, especially on the more stressful days. Of course, he still has chores around the Castle, but it’s still nice to be treated every once in a while.

He already knows about your arch-nemesis. He’s seen it using his powers. Now, when you rant about it, he gets to see a personal side of the story. He thinks the whole thing is quite humorous…

…Until he sees how much it takes a toll on you. When you overblot, he would go get Solomon since the old sorcerer has traveled through many dimensions and universes. He is completely worried, but tries to remain calm.

Once they found a way to take you down by causing the least amount of harm, he volunteered to take care of you. Diavolo would temporarily hire someone else to tidy up the castle while his butler was nursing you back to health. He had a soft smile when he saw you wake up after a few days.

 When it seemed that it would be okay to get you moving about, he offered to help you through dancing. You loved to waltz as it used graceful movements, and he was very experienced in this type of dance. He would lead so that you could lean on him and not over-exert yourself. Plus, he loved the closeness it offered.

Solomon

With the thousand spouses he used to keep, he might think you’re one of them reincarnated. In particular, you reminded him of his favorite wife: Moti Maris. He loved her dearly, and you are just like her.

He loves all the selfcare concoctions that you have and their properties, be it magical or just normal. He loves the feeling of your delicate hands on his face as you gaze into his eyes. He feels like a lovesick puppy when you do this.

He would listen to you as you ranted on and on about your enemy. He finds the whole thing quite humorous. He is holding in his laughs as you rant about the things that your nemesis did, even though it was them being nice.

But when he sees the black tears and the black liquid welling up in your mouth, he’s worried. He’s been to your world before, he knows how dangerous it is. He also knows some spells that could reduce the damage done.

After they calmed you down, he was the one to carry you to Purgatory Hall. He was the one that laid you onto his bed. He was the one who relived the death of his favorite late wife in this sad moment. He was the one who let a few tears go as he placed a kiss on your lips. He was the one who pulled up a chair and waited until the day that you woke up.

When the doctors had said that it was fine for you to be up and about, he silently rejoiced. As both your fellow human exchange student as well as your supposed spouse in another lifetime, he volunteers to help you in your recovery. He takes you on walks at night, your arm in his. He has to admit that you look ethereal underneath the moonlight. 

Simeon

He doesn’t remember meeting you in the Celestial Realm, but the first time he met you he mistook you for a fellow angel. He was both surprised and distraught to find out you were human. Human-Angel relationships were looked down upon, after all.

He also enjoys your soft and delicate hands on his face as you apply a hydrating serum of some kind. It wasn’t anything really special, but these close moments of intimacy make him fall even harder for you.

Now, he doesn’t like to talk horribly about others. He will try to remind you that your arch-nemesis didn’t do anything completely wrong, but you weren’t having it. Eventually, it led to an argument between the two of you.

The argument then led to you overblotting. Simeon could only stare in horror as he saw the love of his never ending life go through such a painful transition that could potentially end you. He immediately called Solomon.

Once you were defeated, he knelt down and picked you up in his arms. He carried you to his room, where he laid you down on his bed and weeped over you. After all, there was still a chance where you didn’t wake up at all. He spent days, letting tears fall. 

Once you did wake up, he rejoiced. He volunteered to help you get more active and take you down to a nearby gazebo on the lake. He brings a speaker and his phone (Luke taught him how to use it) and played some music as he softly twirled you around and swayed with you. This experience gave him a reality check and made him realize how fragile you are and how little time he has left with you.

[dinsdjrn]

Congratulations on your milestone, sweetheart!!! 💜💜💜

How about: Frankie, fluff, 20/P?

i had so much fun with this one tysm lucy i hope you enjoy the fluff!!

you that i hold onto | f. morales | 1.3k

frankie "catfish" morales x f!reader

prompt: frankie, "it's always been you", singing together/slow dancing

summary: frankie has a past, but you are his future (aka: slow dancing and admission)

warnings: 18+, insecurity, fluff ❤️

a/n: im putting this in the same universe as parts we rearrange and you can't stop me :)))

megs follower celebration! | main master list

You have always loved weddings. Granted most weddings you had attended didn’t also involve your partner's ex. You knew she would be here when you accepted the invitation, her best friend was marrying your partner's chosen brother. Frankie had always kept in touch with Gabi, his ex-girlfriend. Of course they kept in touch, they have a daughter together who he would take every other weekend. 

You and Frankie had been together for almost a year now and you admired how kind and gentle of a father and coparent he was. He wanted to make sure his daughter grew up in the healthiest way possible, whether or not her parents were together. It wasn’t her fault she was born to two people not right for one another, but she wouldn’t be loved any less for it. 

You and Gabi had met on occasion but never for more than a few minutes at a time. This was the longest you had been in the same room as her, it was also the most you had seen her and Frankie interact. 

You weren’t going to lie, they moved with one another like a river around a rock. As if they had known each other their whole lives and could anticipate the other's next step. You saw why they were together for so long, they could communicate with just a look. You weren’t one to be envious or insecure, but it was hard to feel confident when the love of your life would always be so connected to someone who he looked so right with. 

You knew there wasn’t any regret from either of them in their break up. They were ancient history, but being here and watching them you couldn’t help but wonder. You didn’t know anyone at the wedding super well either, it made it hard to not feel insecure just generally. You normally were very calm and collected, usually helping Frankie through his personal struggles with his mental health. You didn’t want to put your irrational anxieties on him, this was his best friend's wedding. 

Your own insecurities would be alleviated by morning, so you would fake wanting to be here until you made it to the end of the night. 

The reception was well underway at this point in the evening. A few songs had played since the first dance and the cake was being prepared to be cut. You had mostly been sitting at the table nursing your glass of wine from dinner, but Frankie and Santi had pulled you to the dance floor for ‘No Scrubs’ by TLC. Just as you were getting ready to take your leave from the dance floor, the music slowed and Taylor Swift’s ‘Lover’ began playing over the speaker. 

“Dance with me, cariño,” Frankie said, putting his arms around your waist. 

You nodded in response and rested your forearms on his shoulders, hands around his neck. 

“You alright? I feel like I’ve barely seen you tonight?” He whispered softly into your ear as you swayed to the music. 

“I’m okay. I’m happy to be here, Fish.” 

“But what is running through that anxious head of yours hermosa,” You went to deny it. “And don’t tell me nothing; I can read you like a book,”

You sighed, rolling your eyes fondly at him. “You’re annoying you know,“ you said resting your head on his shoulder hoping he’d drop it. 

“Please cariño, look at me?” You moved to meet his gaze. “What is it?”

“There’s just a lot of history here that I’m not a part of, and that’s okay. Obviously we had lives before each other, but…” you trailed. 

“But?” His gaze softened. 

“It’s hard not to wonder what your life would have been like with her. You two still get along so well, all that history, it’s intimidating,” Your gaze shifts away from him, embarrassed to even be thinking this. 

You know Frankie loves you, you know all of the guys love you and you know why they broke up all those years ago. Even knowing all of this it's hard not to see how handsome of a couple they would have once been; how well they fall into a rhythm with one another. 

“Oh, mi amor,” He spoke softly. 

He pulled you into him, bringing you closer, you hugged your arms around his neck and he inhaled deeply. He hummed along to the song as you swayed slowly together on the dance floor. 

“I didn’t know you were a Taylor Swift fan, Francisco,” You smiled as you rested your head against his shoulder. 

“Only for you,” He said, rubbing your back lightly. You knew he didn’t really know what to say to your admission, but you’d gotten used to Frankie saying more with his actions. 

You continued to sway softly to the music with Frankie. As you swayed you couldn’t focus on him, or anything really, your heart was heavier than you’d like to admit. 

“Frankie?” You looked up at him.

“Hmm?” He hummed in reply. 

“I think I’m going to head back to the room after this, to give everyone time to catch up with one another. Okay?” You smiled. 

“No,” He said looking directly into your eyes, his gaze was soft and concerned. 

“It’s totally fine Fish, I just feel out of pl-,”

“No.” He interrupted, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“I need you here, I can’t do the formal shit without you by my side,” He said. 

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“I mean it cariño, you keep me grounded. You support me, make me confident, give me strength to face my past. I wish I had met you sooner, I wish life had brought me to you before anyone else,” He said the truth radiating from his words. 

You smiled at him, tears welling up in your eyes. Frankie’s love language had always been physical touch, he wasn’t one to speak romantically often. When he did though you fell in love all over again. When he could find the words, they were always the right ones. 

“You’re it for me, my beginning, my middle, my end. You know I often can't find the right words to say, but I love you. Eres mío para siempre, you are my forever.” 

You had stopped swaying around the dance floor. Even though you were surrounded by people, it was only you and Frankie. Tunnel vision for one another. He had brought his hand to your face and brushed his thumb along your cheek. Your hands were still around his neck, your finger played with the curls at the nape. 

This moment gave you a second to really take him in, the way his hair was styled up and out of his face, not hidden under his signature blue cap. His eyes were so soft, you knew how much they had seen, and yet there was light behind them. You sighed and leaned into his hand. 

“From the moment I met you, it was you. It’s always been you, it will always be you, mi amor.” 

The music had stopped and the next more upbeat love song had begun, but you and Frankie stayed in place. He slowly leaned down, his lips barely brushing up against yours; as if he was unsure like this was the first kiss you’d ever shared. You brought yourself to meet him and close the gap between you. 

The kiss held everything you couldn’t say, it was soft passionate and loving. Frankies hand that had stroked your cheek, held your face. The other was wrapped around your waist and his grip had tightened slightly drawing you in closer to him. 

As your lips moved against his you felt like this was the first kiss toward a lifetime with Frankie. His admission ran through your head over and over, and suddenly you couldn’t remember why you wanted to leave in the first place. Nothing else mattered as long as you had each other to lean on, a love like this was inimitable, it was forever. 

tag ur it: @cavillscurls @morning-star-joy @tightjeansjavi @cupofjoel @pedgeitopascal @sinsofsummers @thetriumphantpanda & @harriedandharassed @skysmiller will be adding master tag list in the morn!

[svtyandere]

Hello Tim, welcome to tumblr! I saw that your request are open and I'd love to request short fics about Jun! Due to his new digital single Psycho, I couldn't stop thinking about him being a yandere, especially the sub one >>

TW: L/N mention (i tried not to im sorry 💔), probs inaccurate mental health portrayal (but it’s not specified), murder, yandere tendencies

Jun’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. You are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and here you are... walking into his room. You smile at his bright gaze. You smile at him! "I'm here for your meds Mr Wen, I'll be your new nurse. You can call me Ms L/N." Carefully you sit aside him and try your best to steel your nerves; you didn't want to end up like his last nurse. He doesn’t seem to mind though, his smile stretching his face so far, you’re worried its hurting. Jun likes the pain.

You place his pills in his hand and he squirms at the contact. You skin is so warm and soft he might just die. He swallows the pills. He’ll take anything you give him. Getting him to take his medicine is easy, contrary to what you’d been warned of. The only warning signs were his eyes. No matter what you were doing, they followed you like a hawk. But that was easy to negate due to his complete 180. He would respond to his therapists, a bit coldly, but it was progress, nonetheless. It felt easier talking to you, though. He loved talking to you, especially when you would respond. Your voice ascended him every single time he heard it, no matter how trivial the conversation. And hearing about your life was so interesting! Oh, you went out for a walk yesterday? How was it? Is your family okay? Is there any significant other in your life? Are you completely satisfied, sexually? You know, completely normal questions for two lovers a patient and nurse to discuss.

It comes to a head one day though, when you disclose some exciting news. Despite this likely breaching patient and nurse relation, you tell him of your date yesterday. Cheeks flushed and fingers intertwined with yourself, you giggle. And while, under any other circumstances Jun would be over the moon right now, he is bristling with anger. He thought you loved him. Why would you be so kind to him if you weren’t? It didn’t matter. All that mattered is whoever he was… ceased to be. For the rest of your time together, Jun kept a brave face, despite his heart cracking on the inside, especially when you mentioned having a second date again today.

Bribing a guard to find your address and get out was easy. You don’t have a reputation like Jun’s for no reason. While he was refreshed stepping out and finally feeling fresh air again, he had a job to do.

Watching you go on a date with him was hard. Hiding in the bushes outside the restaurant, Jun’s eyes were glued to you. Despite his furiousness in someone else flirting with you, Jun supposed he could use it to his advantage. He found out what made you fidget, what you smiled at, and what you frowned at. It would all be useful anyway, when he began courting you officially.

Jun relished the feeling of your date’s blood lathering his skin. Plunging his knife into him again and again, Jun thought back to you. Every time you had smiled at your date, Jun twisted the weapon inside. He vowed that as soon as he was officially in the outside world, or sooner, if he could, he would win over your heart.

[warmsmiles]

I want to rant on my twitter about this but I have irls on there that I don't want to find out so I'm going to do it here since I only have like 3 followers. but anyways for the past 2 months maybe longer my lymph nodes under both armpits have felt irritated and sorta swollen but I didn't think anything of it cause I wasn't ill and I'd only really notice in the shower (I don't have them very often bc of my mental health issues but I do have them everytime I leave the house). the past month I noticed them not go away and even start to irritate me, causing discomfort when I moved in a certain way or even just out of nowhere. I guess you could call it painful but literally like a 1 or 2 on the pain scale, if that. I finally called the doctor to book an appointment for this coming Tuesday as one has grown big enough to worry me. and yesterday I woke up to it being a 3 or 4 on the pain scale and being fairly larger in size. as I type this it's gone kinda hard ish and its really freaking me out. of course I've been kept awake for nights at a time googling over and over and panicking over it being cancer. but surely not cause it appeared in both armpits at the same time??? I'm hoping that it's just the case that I got a bit ill a while ago but didn't notice cause my immune system fought it off so well but that one of them just got blocked up and isn't draining. that can happen right? or maybe I shaved wrong and it's an ingrown hair gone wild. I don't shave but I occasionally do my armpits once or twice a year out of boredom and the last time I shaved was about a month before the problems. maybe I'm just ill again right now, still fighting off an infection and my body is putting up a hell of a fight without me noticing. but I just can't get it out of my head that it's cancer. I know it's dramatic and every symptom on Google leads you right back to cancer but this one feels kinda probable this time. like yeah, a hard lump in my armpit that's causing me pain, it's textbook isn't it? maybe it'll all be nothing and I'm back to normal in 2 weeks time once I've had some blood work done or a nurse has stuck a syringe in my side to drain the fluid out or I have to spend the next month remembering to take my antibiotics. but that knawing thought at the back of my mind that it could be something so dreadful as to take away the last few years of my early twenties is horrifying. I've only ever known 1 person with cancer and we weren't close after the diagnosis so I don't have any first hand experience with the disease so I have no idea how to feel about this sort of thing. I'm most likely being overdramatic here but I needed to ramble my worries away and it's too dark for me to write in a diary right now so this will have to do. thank you for reading this far if you did.

[bihansthot]

I’m having a dilemma, I don’t know whether or not to get a commission of the egg hatching or save my money for a tattoo. I’m finally talking to an artist that does wonderful pet tattoos about a memorial piece for Jäger. I’m going to be bold and get a big one on the front of my left thigh, I wear short shorts all summer long despite being older than dirt so I feel the placement is good because I can see it often. It’s hopefully going to be a German Shepherd with angel wings surrounded by stars, I’m obsessed with stars and it will tie into my chest piece that way. I think I’m going to save for my tattoo so we’ll have to use our imagination for the egg announcement when it comes which will be very soon, I just hate August so I want to wait until September which I think is fine because who the hell knows how long Zaterrans take to hatch lol If anyone wants to do a bad doodle though feel free! I can afford to tip Ko-fis. The artist doesn’t open their bookings again until October/November so I won’t be able to get my tattoo for a little while but it’s nice to look forward to! I will of course post pictures when I get it done ahh I can’t wait for Fall, Fall and Winter are my favorite time of the year and I finally won’t be so depressed. I have SADs but unlike most people Summer is the season that triggers it, but this hideous season is almost over and the weather is really mild right now so I’m enjoying some fresh air. My partner got home just fine last night so things are back to normal, I have a check in with my psychiatrist tomorrow morning to keep my meds on schedule. I have an echo and check up with my cardiologist next week and a check in with my former GP’s nurse practitioner at the end of the month and then I think I finally don’t have any appointments until October! Woohoo!! Speaking of October my bestie and I are trying to work out meeting in Nashville to see Kard together, she lives in Atlanta and I don’t think I’ve seen her in 12 years? We live on opposite sides of the country which is difficult since we’ve been inseparable since I was 14, she’s my Hanzo friend haha the one I used to role play with all the time. She said she could drive up to Nashville and see the concert with me so hopefully that will happen, bestie plus BM’s tiddies sounds amazing. I need to actually call her and start planning things out because tickets are already on sale but last weekend my mental health was in the toilet because of Jäger’s anniversary so I’ll have to wait until this weekend to call her, I feel guilty calling during the week because she works long hours. So yeah that’s what’s going on in my little world, anything exciting happening with you loves??

[iihauntedmuffinii]

A Breath of Fresh Air (The Boys Fanfic)

SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER TWO: Feeling Too Much

I awoke with pain throbbing in my head and my body felt like it had been beaten to a bleeding pulp. I blurrily look down at myself to see I had been dressed in a hospital gown, and the IVs were jutting out of my arms like a horror show. That was only a minor nuisance in comparison to the group of doctors looking at me through a viewing window. I jerk away from my intruders’ stares trying to pull my IVs out, only to finally notice my arms and legs were chained to the bed.

“Where am I?” I yell out trying to sound strong, but my wispy voice comes more as a strained whimper. The doctors keep jotting their notes down only inciting my ire. I scream at them as they leave the window–the only sight I can see from the outside world now. The empty dark window keeps me company as I wait in my hospitable bed for the entire night.

The interchangeable white lab coats flicker in my life for what felt like a blur. Endless and not distinguishable from day and night. The drugs that were injected into me, the endless tests that drained me to near exhaustion, and the torture to test my endurance were all done by indistinguishable white coats that drained my humanity every day.

“Where am I?” I ask one doctor another day when I'm more lucid. She does not bat an eyelash as she injects me with a green liquid substance I couldn't name. I faint, my instant reaction to the drug. I don’t know if that is what was intended when given to me.

A blur of time passes by me that I cannot decipher. The same pattern of torture continues as I succumb to the reactions of being a lab rat to these so called “doctors.” One shot of mysterious liquid had me breakout in hives and hear a murmuring buzz in my ears. A lab doctor asked me to manipulate his current mood another day. Without thinking properly on what would be the repercussions, and the drug cocktail they’ve been injecting me with everyday might have had a hand in what happened next. But maybe that was all an excuse  to lash out, I don't know.

He burst out into a fit of giggle dropping his clipboard abruptly and falling, face flat on the hard shiny floor. He wouldn’t stop laughing even as the guards dragged him off to who knew where. An inkling of guilt itched at the edge of my brain. Without enough time to think on it a nurse scurries in to quickly drug me. I don’t know if that was a blessing or not.

More days blurred past and more tests were given to me. It felt like my life was someone else's and this current existence was all I knew. Tests were given sporadically to me throughout my time in this zombie-like state. I manipulated emotions, thoughts, and memories. The more they make me experiment on people the more I fear my own powers. My parents’ faint whispers of worry have morphed into disdain and judgment in my mind. Throughout it all I did not ponder enough on who was holding me captive in the first place. Which, thinking like a normal functioning human you would presume I would have. But, on a more coherent night I finally gained enough to think on it. Having that in mind my curiosity and pain fuels me to take my life back. To come up with an escape plan.

So, I decided to fight by measuring the time I was the least loopy and then I would strike. They were giving me drugs between night and morning, and I struck at the brisk hour that was 4am. When the first doctor appears that morning to give me my breakfast of a drug cocktail. All different from the last. The first scientist to go down convulses on the floor in uncontrollable sobs, the sobs echoing into the halls. They did not relent until I forced every single person who entered the room to shake into sobs so hard they were coughing up blood. I would not stop until someone took me seriously or no one was left to stop me from leaving.

“I will speak to whoever has me captive here and bargain for my freedom.” I dryly rasp out looking directly at the camera in the corner. The doctors’ sobs echo in my bare bones of a hospital room, a concert of human pained echoed everywhere around me. It made my stomach twist painfully into knots, but I held my glare on the camera. Determined to not show them any weakness.

“Let my doctors go and I will speak with you about your…predicament.” A dry, serious voice I could not recognize comes through the speakers. I let the scientists go all at once, staggering slightly from the over usage of my powers.

“You have five minutes before I mind control someone you love to murder you.” I bluff, not caring if I sounded heartless, as long as I sounded believable.

A few minutes of silence later; a tall lanky black man in an impeccable pinstriped gray suit gracefully strolls into the bare white room. The convulsing doctors writhing on the floor sobbing in pain seemed to not phase him a bit. His piercing eyes pinning me down like a creepy portrait in those mystery novels. I gulp loudly, nervously moving back and forth, not taking my eyes off the unknown enemy. But recognition came suddenly and with abandon.

“Wait, your Stan Edgar. The Stan Edgar, Ceo of Vought Co!” I exclaim loudly, confusion laces in my voice and expression.

“Your family is being closely monitored at this very moment, Miss Bennett. So, I would be careful with whom you threaten your powers with, as I have much bigger fish than you to worry about.” He does not beat around the bush. My face freezes with surprise before I glare at him, not holding back my disdain. He looks cool as a cucumber. The rumors about him seem to be true.

“What you don’t understand is that I can make you kill yourself at any moment if you don’t do what I say.” I threaten harshly, not recognizing myself in those my words.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I have stated before; I have your family and friends in the palm of my hands. They will be killed if you do something to me, you understand?” He states giving me no real room to bargain anything. He thinks I’m no monster.

“O-okay, don’t hurt them. How about this, I will do something for you anytime, anywhere. Just let me go.” I could feel his cold stare travel across my body judging every movement I made like a puzzle trying to fit all the pieces together.

“No, you have much more potential than that deal grants. What I have decided is that you will be my guard dog.”

“Guard dog?”

“Publicly, you will be The Seven’s super therapist. But to Vought you will be the leash that tethers all these heroes’ sanity back to the company, and reminding them of their best interests.” He stated, not batting a single eyelash. He was stiff as a board not moving an inch and his hard cobalt stare did not deter anytime he spoke. This was no bluff.

“In my contract I want, with my compliance, to be written as a requirement that my family and friends will be unharmed." I firmly state trying to hide my trembling hands behind my back.

“You will be given a contract with those stipulations included; first, you will get cleaned up before coming upstairs to sign.” He leaves with a quick turn, turning his back to me as if there still wasn’t a sobbing doctor laying in the corner of the room. How exactly do I get ‘cleaned up’ in this rotten white empty space of a torture chamber? With that thought a dozen more doctors in white lab coats surrounded me all coming in with an assortment of different weapons pointed towards me.

“We will escort you to the bathroom, miss.” One of a dozen told me, but for the life of me I could not figure out who said it.

I haven’t seen a bathroom for what felt like years, finally I can clean myself like an actual human being. No more bedpan and no more whore baths. I was pushed out of my white jail cell and forced to twist around a bunch of white halls that purposely disoriented the senses. No specific person from what I could tell was directing me. We passed so many white doors before one of the doctors forced me to a stop with a shove. I hurriedly bask in the cleaning process, first throwing myself into the cold little shower.

They all stood outside, waiting with bated breath for the end of it. Cleaning my body and hair for what felt like the first time in months I rejoiced, taking my sweet time. I got out after my fingers began to turn pruny. Getting out I see they left me with my old white blouse that had blood on it and my pencil skirt that looked torn on the sink’s countertop. I guess it was better than a hospital gown. I braided my hair to get it out of the way, but the cold damp wet strands laying on the nape of my neck only chilled me further.

The army of white lab coats swarmed me, pushing me towards our destination. I didn’t brace myself for their rough handling of my person as they dragged me to an elevator. I continued forward in a blur not feeling in control of my body. As if I was disassociating, something I've never experienced before.

The halls were large and I'd even call it ostentatious were it not for some of the more elegant choices in the furniture. The large wooden door, the only one to be on this floor it seems, was opened for me by a petite woman that wore a similar outfit to myself, only obviously clean and polished. The doctors left one by one like ant armies marching off in a uniform line to their queen. I gulped loudly, my dry throat feeling even drier as I was left alone with one of the most important men in the world.

“Come in, Ms. Bennett.” A simple welcome never made my heart stop before, and without my powers I would be able to presume this dangerous man is used to affecting people this way. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. I try to casually sit with some grace, with as much grace anyone could when you previously threatened their loved ones. Stan Edgar smiled at me as if he didn’t just threaten my loved ones as well. I stumble slightly as I sit center on the velvet blue loveseat across his desk.

“Now that you're fit for the company we can discuss our negotiations further.”

“Negotiations? This would be a negotiation if I wasn’t being held hostage.”

“I digress, because of your current predicament I hold most, if not all the power in this dynamic. You should know this by now. So, here is your contract and you have not much more say in the matter.”

“Bullying me into submitting? Probably has worked for you from the beginning of your career, but I’m no victim.”

“But your family, friends, and precious reputation as a reputable therapist is at jeopardy here, Miss Bennett.”

“Well, I see these so-called “negotiations” are over. I will sign but the contract must include my end of the bargain. I will not cooperate further if this is not agreed upon.”

“Of course, read your contract thoroughly and you will see this is included.” I glare daggers at him as I try to decipher his emotions and thoughts. His aura did not show itself nor did any of his emotions, and pushing any further was out of the question. He was not an easy person to read.

"I don't have much of a choice." I spit out.

“Everyone has a choice.” He smiles down at me smugly. I bite my tongue from insulting the man as I sign my name away to a corporation that could destroy me and everything I love. Without further fanfare he called his secretary in  to walk me out.

“Wait, before I go you have to tell me how long I’ve been here?” I asked before the secretary could shove me out, and she looked like she really wanted to.

“A week and three days.” I freeze in place as my thoughts scramble all over the place, reacting like an old broken computer. Error. Error. Before I could ask more the assistant pushed me out of Mr. Edgar’s office.

I enter the fancy elevator feeling numb from head to toe. The ice queen of an assistant was still as a statue beside me, not giving me a glance. If I couldn’t sense her trepidation like a thick fog I would think she was a robot. The aftertaste of lukewarm tap water bubbled up my throat, an annoying reminder of my powers. The drugs have kept my powers from me for so long, it's actually kinda nice to feel like myself again. Wanting to mute and control my powers didn’t equate to me wanting to be in a constant state of fogginess. So, the experience did help me realize one thing; having my powers was a better option than becoming a zombie.

I make this realization as the secretary with no name or introductions walks me out into the lobby. People are everywhere and my senses go haywire. I push myself to gain control and use my standard methods. I stand still completely and begin my breathing exercises. The secretary’s pointy hands dig into my shoulders to get my attention, but I ignore it.

I look up suddenly to a confident Homelander marching towards me with a graceful strut. The presence of his chaotic and tumultuous energy thrums loudly in my ears like a drum with an odd beat. A rhythm I can’t seem to get out of my head. I try to suppress the feeling as I step behind the ice statue that is Stan Edgar’s assistant.

“And what do we have here in our midst?” Homelander’s voice booms across the lobby, presenting himself as playful. His act didn’t feel genuine in the slightest. Those crystal blue eyes crinkled in a way that only further showcased his charming dimples, which all his posters displayed proudly. The uncanniness of it made goosebumps run down my arms and the hair on my neck stand straight up. The chill that ran down my spine did not evade his sharp eyes, and his glaringly white smile grew even wider and more sharp with the long pause of silence that settled between us. “Running away without my permission?” His sudden question within our mutual silence made me flinch back, his amusement only grew more apparent on his face. The assistant interrupted our odd battle of wills, our coup d'etat, if you had to surmise.

“Under Sir Edgar’s direct orders Mrs. Bennett will be escorted out to get her bearings straight, and will return not too long after.” The ice in her tone did not go unnoticed between either one of us. Homelander glared daggers at the petite blonde as she pushed me gently towards the exit. “I will be seeing you early in the morning, won’t I Ms. Bennett?” Her smile is sharp as it is bright.

“Of course Ms…?”

“Good.” She does a quick turn back from where we came from, Edgar’s office, without another word. I quickly turn all of my hyper focus onto Homelander, his body language screams immediate discomfort and annoyance, obvious in the way his body holds himself tight and upright. He noticed my prolonged stare and this seemed to push his edgy and defensive feelings into my brain harder. His discomfort made me want to scratch my tongue off. What I need to focus on is bringing him to my side--not his mood swings, which includes all the other supes I interact with from here on. I can’t have these superheroes see me as anything other than helpful–if an annoying–option to  destress in a healthy way. If that was even possible for some of these people. I can’t be their enemy, cause if I am that means I’m as good as dead. Including the possibility of them targeting my family.

“So, you already have Edgar under your thumb, don’t you?” He gets into my personal space, no one looks my way to see my obvious discomfort nor his threatening tone. A work environment used to abuse if I ever did see one.

“Mr. Edgar has hired me under extreme circumstances, from what you can already guess. I think you will eventually see this as a benefit to The Seven, Sir, if I do say so myself.” I gently try to say without irritating him further. He growls under his breath as his eyebrows scrunch further up creating an extremely fierce scowl that would haunt my dreams.

“To the benefit of Stan Edgar more like. Stealing our secrets in the disguise of “self-help,” makes me want to vomit.” His burning whisper of threat chillingly crawls down my spine and takes hold of my heart, and it won't stop aggressively beating. I know he can hear every quickening thump in my chest, but I can't look away from his cold stare. He wouldn't look away, and in my stubborn childishness I didn't look away either. Trying miserably to calm myself down--as if to win some sort of competition between us, but I don't know when it became this way. I could just decipher a hint of something other than bravado and cold hate from Homelander, something that tasted like yearning.

“You may not like that I invaded your headspace–and by accident might I add–but I saw that you needed my help. And probably everyone else on this superhero team does too, and I don’t think anyone, like your fanbase, would be mad publicly knowing that. It could even help grow your personal outlooks on certain situations–” Homelander cuts me off with a firm hand abruptly thrust near my face, palm open. A strike if just a few inches closer.

“Thank you Ms. Walt-fucking-Disney I really needed a pep talk about how much I fucking needed therapy. Thank you, you’ve won best therapist of the year award! Do you want to know what you’ve won?”

“I understand it will be hard to earn your trust after the way we first met, but I promise I take my job very seriously.” I try to put all my sincerity in my voice as I could.

“You’ve won my ‘Me Not Giving a Shit Award,’ Ms. Bennett.” He pushes his face close in my space looking me straight in the eyes. Him hunched over me with his large body was a threat between the two of us, unsaid but heard.

“I’m sorry Mr. Homelander for invading your personal space without your consent and I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. I will work hard in helping you and your team to redeem myself in your eyes.” I bow my head looking back up to see if there was any hint of approval beneath his icy blue stare. They only reflect back an empty coolness I could not quite decipher, but it tasted bitter.

“We will see how long you will last.” He huffs, a snort of derision blowing heatedly in my face as if he was some kind of bull.

“Homelander!” Queen Maeve appears at his side out of nowhere. Not even a hint of her usual stormy aurora gave away her presence, only making me nervously pick at my nails not knowing what to do with my hands. “We have to get to the shoot for the Saving America campaign at 10, or did you forget?” She drapes her arm across his shoulders, seeming to get a thrill of adrenaline from irritating Homelander. Her closeness was causing a storminess to take over his thoughts, or maybe it was from interrupting his line of questioning. Either way I was thankful for the distraction.

“I know Maeve. I’ll be there in a bit, I have more to discuss with our newly appointed “therapist.”

“What? Therapist?” Maeve asked out loud, confusion written all over her face. Homelander’s glare was intense and seemed to emanate heat. With that intense stare down Maeve turns away with a shrug and leaves me to my demise. Who knew Queen Maeve, known for her helpfulness and bravery, wasn’t so helpful. Probably all marketing.

“Now, when we come back from set I want you back in this building so we can discuss this whole therapy session thing. If you're not back here by the time my shoot is over I will find you...” He trails off as his eyes flicker about watching his surroundings. The sweet spicy taste of excitement tingled on my tongue, his thrill by his demands given to me gave him a sense of dark pleasure. The thought and feeling made me freeze in place like a rabbit caught in a trap, right before its unwitting end. I won’t bend to it, I already have to bend for Stan Edgar, I’m not bending for Homelander too.

“I have an official document given to me by your boss himself. I will be returning tomorrow early in the morning to be briefed for the public and the team, no earlier no later. Ergo, my contract does not include bowing to the whims of any superhero, that includes you.”

“It’s in the smallprint, you just gotta read between the lines Ms. Bennett. Be here or I will find you, got it?” He threatened with his usual charming voice. I could hear the charm being replicated dozens of times in his commercials, usually selling something sugary, unhealthy, and overpriced.

“It’s not in my contract.” I weakly state unknowingly, shaking my head defending my stance, my bouncy golden curls finally dry enough to spring hitting my cheeks without realizing it. His smirk just grows aggressively wider, taunting me with his too sharp canines.

“I guess we will see.” With that he turns away with a dramatic twist in his cape, making me think he so with such flare on purpose. Prone to dramatics then. Meaning if I didn’t show up he may be making good on what he promised, in a dramatic fashion, might I add.

Something to worry about, but before I fret over that I need to try and contact my family...No matter how life threatening it seemed to be I needed to reassure them that I was alright. The lobby was silent, a rush hour dispersed including the heroes themselves. I finally had the energy to leave the extravagant lobby in my well worn and now shoddy clothes. Stumbling out into the city feeling like a stranger in a place I once called home.

I hold my bag’s leather straps in a tight white knuckle grip, and my heart sped up to a degree I couldn’t control. I felt like I couldn’t get enough air, as if I was drowning in a sea of people. The pushing crowd threw me around as I stumbled across sidewalks and store fronts. I trip near a wooden and well worn bench in middle of a busy sidewalk, finally forcing myself to sit. Looking back and forth I find myself far away from the Vought headquarters, at least far enough away for me to not see any visual signs of them.

I force my shoulders to relax and force my breathing to a slow, normal pace. I decide, finally, to look through my non-expensive leather bag. There all of my things lay as if I wasn’t kidnapped not just a minute ago, nothing different to showcase what I went through. I look through each of my inner pockets to find my slick new phone intact with its cute blue glittery case sparkling innocently back at me.

I see over a hundred messages and voicemail notifications on my phone’s home page pop up with a blearing light. The most coming from my parents, Olivia, and my workplace. I start with the most recent voicemail from my mom’s cell phone, my hands start to shake with anticipation.

“Hey, honey I wish you got back to us instead of your new employer THE STAN EDGAR, CEO for The Vought Corporations. The company that establishes super heroes, honey! You know that you can’t be involved in that community, for your own sake. They are dangerous and your powers cannot be used for their gain. Mr. Edgar called us personally to tell us of your new “employment.” That this radio silence is because of an extreme vetting practice that Vought is widely known for. Mr. Edgar even enthused about how valuable you would be as superhero therapist for The Seven. As I’ve surmised, this situation you're in is not an easy trap to escape. But sweety, please come back home and we can escape town together. We know people, okay we can figure it out! You don’t have to do what they’re saying because they have big fancy lawyers, okay? Honey, I don’t want you mixed up in that…” Mom’s voice quivered and stuttered out before continuing. “Please call me back once you can. Love you.” She finishes not mentioning anything about Dad, and that only made me worry more. I move on to Olivia’s most recent message trying not to dwell on my mom’s fear filled voicemail.

“I know I got you those tickets, Daph; I saw you faint in the middle of idle! You’re lucky you scared me only half to death with worry. I was just glad I was contacted by Vought. You getting this job is a huge win for you, even if you have to deal with that superhero nonsense, it'll be worth the paycheck. Call me when you're done with your “super serious company vetting.” Love you, bye!” Olivia’s chirpy voice coming through the speaker gave me an instant dose of calmness. The millions of texts spanning the timeframe of me disappearing to the Morning Cup of Joey showing gave me an example of their wide range of emotions that Olivia and my parents went through. The amount of texts in my phone were more than I’ve ever had before, makes sense, with the doom of it all. I’m glad that at least's Vought’s excuses of “extreme vetting” helped calm them down. And apparently a personal call from the Stan Edgar was good as gold, the bastard.

“Hello, Dr. Bennett, we are glad to hear about your recent successful career promotion in your field. We are sad to see you leave but are happy for you and your future. Your severance and insurance package will be sent to you in the mail. Your families have been assigned another therapist and have been given notice since your sudden departure. We are sorry again to see you leave but happy to see you thrive, good day Dr. Bennett.” The sweet as syrup voice rang from the phone with a bland tone only an A.I. could replicate. I realize it's my assistant’s nasally voice Ms. Sydney Regis’s. I stuff my phone back in my bag glad to never hear that lady’s voice again, trying to look on the positive side of things.

To look on the positive side of things after being held against my will for over a week, to be forcibly removed from a job I loved, and be anxious for the safety of my family and friends at all times cause now I’m the therapist of a bunch of superhero brats! But I’m going to try and stay positive. Cause that’s what a Bennett does, stay positive while in the middle of a shitstorm. That’s what my father always said, so I’m going to do that, things could always get worse.

“Honey, I’m so glad you called. I was worried sick for you! Tell me everything and please honey for god’s sake tell me the truth.”

“Hey mom.” Is the only thing I can think to say, just happy to know she’s okay

“Gosh, it is so good to hear your voice. Mr. Edgar’s call was enough to tell us you are in deep doo-doo, sweety. I mean so deep that we might have to dig you up and scram out of here, if you get what I’m saying?” She not so subtly implies over the phone and silence held between us for just a moment. I can’t help but roll my eyes and give a deep sigh, this was no school board she could talk her way out of. I can’t let them get into the middle of this because of me and my problems. My powers and actions are already targeting them. I can’t have it get any worse for them.

“No, mom. I-I am doing great…the job offer they gave is generous. So generous I couldn’t pass up the job right then and there. So, everything is...great.”

“Honey, I know when you're lying to me. Even on the phone.”

“I’m excited to be a part of this public campaign for promoting therapy and making it more acceptable for people to pursue. I will not only be helping The Seven but also people all around the world.” I say with as much passion as I possibly can out of my already drained being.

“Just promise us to make time for family once in a while, okay?” I can hear in her voice a sense of resignation.

“I promise.”

“Oh, and your dad wanted to say hi,” She chirps before I can threaten to hang up. I can't help but lovingly roll my eyes at their usual routine. I focus on the receiver as I hear my father’s voice grumble what I barely decipher as a hello. “Okay honey. Just remember we're always here for you. Love you.” The receiver dies and the call ends with a final note that makes my heart skip. I hope I keep my promise to see them soon. Before second guessing myself I call Olivia next.

“Oh my god how are you doing Daph? Are you okay? Say something only I would be able to decipher as SOS?” The last bit sounded like a joke but I couldn’t help but latch onto that thought, but not even strong Olivia can fight against Vought.

“I’m just tired from all of the conferences I’ve been through. They make every new Vought employee jump through a million hoops. I guess that’s why we get paid the big bucks.” I fake a happy voice, sounding too cheery and high pitched in my ears, but I hope nonetheless that she goes along with it.

“Wow, I’m so happy for you Daph! A dream job falling right into your lap after such a dramatic exit with Homelander. It’s gotta be one of the most interesting job interviews ever! Have you talked to any of them? Are they all like how they are on TV?”

“I haven’t really talked to any of them yet. I also can’t really discuss any of them anymore because now they're my clients.” I awkwardly remind her of that bit about my job.

“Ugh, somehow Daph you always take the fun out of any situation you're in. I swear I’m glad something interesting is finally happening to you to spice up your life.” If only she knew how much my life took a nosedive.

“Uh, yeah I definitely needed a change in routine.” Just not this type of change.

“Yeah, I’m happy for you. And since I got you this job through my amazing connections, you owe me a lunch date. Since you can afford it now, big boss lady, you can pay for the fancy dinner!”

“Alright it's a date, how does Friday night sound?”

“Perfect, 8:30 and I will send you the google map location. I have better taste than you when it comes to dining out, so my pick.” She huffs that last bit. I swear I could hear her hair flip through the phone.

“I don’t mind. I’ll call you later when I’m more settled into my new job.”

“That better be soon.” She demanded.

“Promise. Bye!” I hang up before she can get me to break down and spill all my feelings at her. I sigh through my nose in a very unattractive huff before I force myself to stand up straight, wobbly more like–but firm against the crowd of rushing people; and decide finally to leave the solace that was that bench. Getting up and walking across the busy streets; I blurrily walk all the way to my dingy apartments.

As I walk up the gray stair in my stale surroundings I can’t help but start to break down. I very quickly fixate on my current life threatening predicament. Not my future threat, no, no, my current threat. Which is the, motherfucking Homelander, superhero to all of America! I weakly open my apartment door only to see an even worse disaster at my feet. A complete mess. Precious photos strewn throughout my apartment were shattered on the floor, but not unsaveable. All of my furniture collected with devotion throughout the years were broken and thrown across the open floor plan. All of my flowers and plants strung across the ceiling with fairy lights were thrown all over the floor with no care.

My absence was noted in my neighborhood, obviously. Looking around I could see my door was bashed into and my lock decimated. I don’t know how I didn’t notice that sooner! Some things were missing from my apartment, but most of it was completely trashed. I guess it wouldn’t be a usual break-in without a few missing heirlooms, right? Luckily I kept all my prized family heirlooms in a safety deposit box linked to my family's bank. A few pieces of art were missing including my TV and BlueTooth Bose Radio, luckily I had my laptop on me when I got kidnapped. I’m still trying to look on the positive side here, somehow.

I start cleaning up the debris one piece of ruined wood at a time, trying not to ponder on the unique pieces of furniture lost forever. Because if I do I think I will start to cry, but I won't. I will not be beaten by this, and I still need to be on my A-Game from now on. Knowing this is going to be a big endeavor in cleaning up, I decide to turn on my laptop, laying nice and snug in my leather purse. I place it on the end of my bed–one of the only pieces of furniture that wasn’t broken, and keep my attention to the screen as I start to clean. I put on the news randomly, not thinking too hard about it.

“A Recent news report has broken out about our newest member in the Seven, and for the first time in history, revealed through an Instagram live! Our new member is none other than Stormfront herself. For the first time ever the team will have an equal number of men and women. Today is a great day for womankind." The cut quickly goes into an edit of a cute spunky woman with a short brown bob gloating over none other than Homelander himself. The background seemed to be at a working set from the brief angle I can see in the Instagram Live.

“Hi. I'm in The Seven. Replacing Translucent. God bless his soul. Ink's barely dry but, yeah, reporting for duty. f*ck, yeah!” The chirpy voice of Stormfront casually reveals this sensitive info to Homelander and Queen Maeve. Queen’s Maeve’s mouth dropped, not able to form a response.

“No, I don't think that this is... It's not true. I don't know anything about this.” The red head I briefly saw yelling at the receptionist what felt like years ago stammered out. She reached her shaky hands out as if to shield Homelander from the information. His facial expression was obvious to everyone, including Stormfront. He looked like he could burst from the seams and split into a million pieces. A sharp smile and dead stare gave all who were viewing it a good idea that he wasn’t happy. Including her Livestream’s chat.

“Wow. Well, Stormfront? Who delivered the good news?” He grinded his jaw as he delivered that question, masking it with a painful looking grin.

“Oh, uh... Mr. Edgar, the big guy?” She holds the camera on his face, knowing a reaction was brewing underneath the surface. Stormfront wanted to rile him up for some reason and I couldn’t fathom why.

“Wonderful. Great. All right!” He turns around abruptly, walking away. “Great!” He shouts back out one more time as if trying to console himself.

Stormfront points the camera back at herself, a smug turn of her lip and the pleasure twinkling in her eyes told me enough. She was a troublemaker. Trouble for me if that was the end of his shoot and expecting me to deal with his tornado of feelings. Or worse, threaten my family and friends because he couldn’t trust me and wasn’t willing to listen.

“Well, I think this is going great.” She chuckles lightly before the feed ends and the news hosts are back on screen.

“Announced just this afternoon, isn’t that exciting Matthew?”

“I know I’m excited Diane.”

I tune out the news hosts and start gathering all my collected garbage to be thrown out through the trash chute, and for some of the bigger boxes I throw them out back in the sketchy alley. I do all of this in pilot-mode. I have no fucking idea how I’m going to win over a super hero who has plenty of reasons to make my situation worse. After that reveal on Stormfront’s Instagram Live he is now more angry than where he left me. His anger is violent and a visual red cloud resided above the surface and fogged his thoughts, and I know I can't read his mind but there is a brokenness to it that most individuals didn’t have. An imprint of pain that even someone as weak as me can see.

I stop dead in my tracks, standing alone in the dark scary alley a brilliant idea bursts from within me. A miracle of an idea that might save me if I act on it fast enough. I saw into his mind so I have an edge over him and he may want to get rid of me because of that, but that’s also to my advantage. I saw a brief snippet of memories between him and Ms. Stillwell. At the time I chose to try and ignore everything that spewed forth from his mind as I blurrily traveled through his mindscape, but some of it leaked through my well trained mental walls.

The conglomeration of his memories that stemmed from Madelyn Stillwell’s presence in his life, the root issue I barely touched on in his mind, was blurrily still stuck in the back of my head. The memory of him stealing her breast milk out of her fridge was one of the first that I found looking deeper in my head. One image of him arguing with her about not being true to himself and being forced to spew out lies about his past. More images blurrily come to me giving me a migraine that had me physically shaking. Consciously unaware my eyes were rolled over and my nose was bleeding as I writhed violently on the dirty alley floor. Just away from sight from the everyday person passing by, behind the dumpster just a few feet away from my apartment. A horrible memory vividly took over my mind like a tidal wave I’ve never experienced before.

Homelander pondered a baseball in his hands before throwing it so far he could not possibly fathom the consequences of how fast and far the ball is going. Watching it fade in the distance Madelyn as always walks onto the scene thinking she can fix everything. Or so he's always experienced.

“That is gonna kill somebody when it lands in Boston.” Madelyn steps up into the barn entrance taking her jacket off casually. As if this was a casual conversation with him.

“Look, I heard what happened. I am so, so sorry.” She quickly stepped closer to him, touching his arm. He turns away taking a few steps to distance himself away from her.

“What kind of place did you grow up in?” He asked, stone faced.

“Well, I moved around a lot, so, uh, it was a bunch of condos.” She huffed, putting her hands on her hips, seeming to steel herself for what he was about to say. He slowly walks back beside her decidedly staring at the beautiful field beyond them.

“So, what if I took you to a house you'd never seen before, full of photos of parents you never met, toys you never played with, Hardy Boy books that you never read? And then I asked you how much all that fake fսcking bullshit meant to you? How would that make you feel?” At that last question he finally looks back at her, and not to her surprise the stare is full of bitter resentment. Cold and unabashed in his cruelety.

“I wouldn't like that.” Without any prompting Madelyn stands closer beside him, shoulder to shoulder. She reaches out once more and takes his arm in both her hands. “I'm really sorry about the blanket. It never should have been there, and Randy Set-Dec has already been terminated. But right now... we need to finish that tour and to show how down-to-earth and ready to serve you are. And I need you to tell the mother story. Please.” She places her head on his chest invading his personal space as well as using her body to tempt him with the right answer. An obvious move Homelander understands, but can’t seem to shake anyway. “Please do it for me.” She begs and slowly starts to rub his crotch back and forth. He takes one weak exhale; that was that.

“It was actually my mom who dragged me along to my first Little League practice, and, uh, pretty soon after that, I-I just loved the game more than anything else in the world. So every year she would bake me a birthday cake in the shape of a baseball diamond. And... oh, I got to tell you, it was perfect. Perfect. Everything, down to the last minute details. Just like her.” He was standing what felt awkward to him, but on camera it made him look authentic. At least that’s what the director said before the end of the shoot.

“Cut. Perfect. So great.”

“So we're done?” He’s asked tight jawed with piercing eyes that seemed to communicate a yearning to murder.

“Uh, yes.”

“Great.” He says with a grimace, walking away from the others trying to get some space away from the crew’s prying eyes. A moment away to recuperate and hopefully through the utmost effort be truly appreciated by Madelyn for once. Anger just rising above the surface he walks across the beautiful fake porch of his fake childhood home to cool off, and he sees something in the corner of his eyes.

There is a bin to the side of the house with a bunch of other props, and there was his blanket. The thing that started it all. He instinctively, without realizing it, reaches his hand out towards the insipid object. Slowly unwrapping the blanket with meticulous precision a memory that he held back for years came to the surface.

He was stuck back in that awful room. Isolated in that bare white empty space with only this blanket and a human shaped target to keep him company. Mr.Vogelbaum would visit, sometimes with another scientist, and sometimes without–to play peekaboo with him.

He’d use this very blanket to play with them. The only hint of warmth he would receive, well other than his female handlers. But that was not something he wanted to reminisce on, nor does he want to remember that room or his blanket. Homelander, no John at the time loved Vogelbaum like a father, but he was no father. He would make Madelyn repay him for doing this commercial, that’s for sure. Homelander’s memories start to fade away as I come back to reality on the dirty alley floor. I feel empty and alone trying to recover my muscle spasms, pain in places I’ve never experienced before. Including my bitten tongue that was bleeding profusely. My mouth tasted of my own blood and I wobbly turned my body over so as not to choke, before puking all over the alley. The putrid puke lay steaming in the alley way just nearby my discarded and broken furniture.

A few tears fall down my face before I clumsily try to wipe them away, forcing myself to stop crying. Stop thinking.

Homelander’s memories still swirl around my brain like a chaotic blender, with no buttons to press to make it stop. They are dark and are filled with hate that my body shakes with my own resigning anger. As if I could start throwing things at anyone who even took one weird look at me. This anger and bitterness tasted cold and hot as if burning coals were shoved down my throat. A form of torture that could not be described made me wither and shake in pain. I get up wobbly and lean against the grimy garbage bin just to stay on my feet.

I’ve never experienced such a vivid vision of another’s memories before. Just like I can’t really read people’s thoughts, only an impression of what they're thinking. I can’t really see people’s memories, well not until now. This has never happened before, well until my power’s rapid increase in fluctuations and my bump in with the Seven. Or at least two of the seven. The threat of being The Seven’s therapist not only comes with the disadvantage of dealing with super powered people with emotional problems, but also the effect of it. These super powered people with personal issues has the powers to make my life a living hell--my family and friend's lives a living hell, and I couldn't bare the thought of that happening at all!

That decision made and promised to myself in the dark alley on a nice summer evening I stumbled back in my creaky gray apartment building and back up to my floor. Where my broken and trashed apartment lay clean clothes and soap. Looking at the time on my broken Victorian clock I see it's already 5pm and my heart stops. Homelander is possibly already back at Vought hunting me down.

I don’t know if the hunt would entail him firing me, hurting me, or my family and covering it up by Vought. Stan Edgar was the master of the operation, but from my memories and impressions I have of the situation, Homelander is my shock-collar. He may also be the reason why I have this and put in this circumstance, for all I know! It didn’t matter in the end, because my family and friends were at risk of a superpower corporation willing to do anything to get what they want. I am not going to get crushed under them like a bug.

I run to my bathroom’s medicine cabinet and take some meds for my powers, not dampening completely like the drugs did in the Vought Labs, but kept me from feeling unhinged when without them. The meds that’s helped me survive in the modern world and will help me out in dealing with Homelander too. I quickly spruce myself up longingly looking at the shower before deciding to ignore it. I don’t have enough time so I for-go what I want and quickly put on a pencil skirt and blouse. I grab my bag and phone before locking my doors and rushing out, more like limping out, but I was trying my best.

I get a cab and get to Vought in record time running through a still busy lobby. The young receptionist was watching videos on her phone of the hero Stormfront from what it looked like, ignoring the people walking by.

“Um, excuse me?”

“Yes?” She takes one dismissive glance at me before continuing to watch Stormfront on her phone.

“My name is Daphne Bennett. I’m the therapist assigned to The Seven and I wanted to know where my office was placed?”

“Sign in here and I was told by Donna you wouldn’t be needing that space till tomorrow?” She watches videos while talking to me and handing me a clipboard to sign-in, seeming to not need an actual answer to her question. She chews her gum obnoxiously as she does this all and gives me a tiny note that shows my office number and floor level as I give her back the clipboard.

“Thanks, Ms?” She ignores my attempt for a name and continues to watch her videos. I sigh before I trudge inside the elevator. Looking back at the small paper I realize something that makes me freeze in place. That the number written down was the same as the level famously known around the world to be where the Seven’s meeting room lies. Great, immediate access to their emotional chew toy, that’s me! That was a harsh thought and I try to compartmentalize that to deal with later.

I reach the top floor and begin my journey down the intimidating halls. The paintings depicting the heroes are dramatic and looked like they were hand painted by a master oil painter. The busts sculpted for each of the seven were so life-like their pores were visible on the surface of the marble. Nothing was left not wanting, so to speak, when it came to decor. I always preferred a little more nuance but I still appreciated the work that was put into it. Even if it is a bit ostentatious.

I walk into my new office–my name on a plaque of this large door and the wooden ornate furniture makes my heart sing, it almost makes up for my trashed apartment I walked into earlier. I take out my grandmother’s tin full of cookies I made before I was kidnapped, just a tad stale. But I preheated them in the oven before rushing off, and not forgetting my milk and cream. I set up my few pieces of china I still had left in my home and filled the cup half with milk and cream. Sadly, there was no place to heat it up unlike my old office.

A let down for sure. I place the warm cookies on my china platter as well as placing the cup of milk to where Homelander would be facing my desk. The scene set up hopefully for him to willingly accept my help and my apology. The more memories that surface from our shared connection makes me think he is not as forgiving as the media portrays him. My mother’s scared voice on the voicemail rings back in my head, a chilling warning.

I cough uncontrollably, grabbing my father’s old handkerchief from my purse. Blood drops stain the eggshell colored cloth, something hard to clean out. I dazedly place it back in my purse out of view, wiping my mouth and hiding any evidence. Just as I shoved my purse under my large wooden desk a woosh sound and breeze brushed past my back.

“I’m surprised you didn’t run.” He sounds bored not seeming up for the conversation even though he’s the one who asked me to be here.

“Did you want me to run?”

“That feels like a question a shrink would ask.” He bites back, setting his hands on the desk, standing over me. I was sitting in my too big office chair in my too big and too fancy desk while Homelander was thrilled to make my space feel even more claustrophobic. I can taste the spicy sweet taste of excitement running through him. An unusually pleasant aftertaste for such a threatening situation, unfair really.

“Hah, well I am one if you want to get down to the nitty-gritty of it.” I reply back forcing myself to sit up straight and stare him dead in the eyes. He smiles and I can’t tell if it's genuine or not.

“You’d think I would trust you after your oh-so-charming introductions. No, I would have every right to melt you down to your bare bone for what you did. But instead you're a Stan Edgar spy!” He growls, his voice growing more erratically loud as he rants. The red storm clouded him and his aura and not even my medication and abuse could make me not see it. The anger and humiliation was evident in his storm filled cloud of despair. So many different emotions flash on my pallet I can’t grasp them all. The taste makes me want to puke but I force myself to swallow my bile down.

“I’m sorry. I have some milk cookies here if you would like any by the way. I made them from my great-grandmother’s recipe, passed down generations on my father’s side.” I push my china platter towards him. He looks dumbfounded at the cookies and small china glass filled with milk and cream. He decides to sit and pointedly only takes the small glass of milk. He doesn’t touch the cookies. The storm starts to quell and his face slowly relaxes, not as tight and wound up as it was from the get-go. So much anger bottled up is an explosion always waiting to happen.

“You smell like blood.” He states, not looking at me but his head turned as if watching the view outside my window.

“What? It’s not polite to point something like that out–wait, how do you know that?” I ask, stupefied and a large smirk crinkles across his face before he leans in slowly towards me. “Wait, no nevermind I don’t care how you know that. If you must know, I'm on my period.” I fumble with an excuse

“No you're not.”

“How do you know that? Ugh, wait no, don't explain! I fell, I’m clumsy, okay!” I exclaimed quickly, again not wanting to know how his weird intrusive powers work.

“You fell?”

“Yeah, it was a bad fall. Still have scrapes and bruises to show off to my superhero co-workers.” A small quirk of an actual smile flickered before falling back to a blank face.

“You don’t have super healing?”

“No, I didn’t really win the superpower lottery when it came to its coolness factor.”

“Or a usefulness factor.”

“Ah, yes, I used to think like that too. When I was younger I felt the burden of my powers were too much and I didn’t want to be around anyone for a long time. I was an angsty teenager who couldn’t see the benefit of it and only saw the pain. To put it shortly I learned through getting past my own barriers and reaching out to people was a bonus not a burden. My powers may not be flashy or be able to save a whole city from an active nuclear bomb, but I can help take a panic attack away.” I shrug nonchalantly as he dismissively plays with one of the hand puzzles laying at my desk.

“Are you done yet?”

“Well, no, I am also a licensed therapist hired to help you guys. I know this is some kind of test and I'm willing to show you that I’m here to help?”

“You were hired here to dismantle my authority over The Seven and control us if we ever get “out of character.” He dismisses glaring daggers at me, a dark cloud almost thundered over him, to cloud his thoughts with anger. He shoves himself farther into the back of the sofa chair, a grimace stretching across his face.

“My notes are coded in a way that only I could decipher them, something I’ve developed when studying for my doctorate. Stan Edgar doesn’t know I code all my notes–and he will never have the cipher because it is not written down. It was written in my contract that I as a Doctor who promised to withhold my client’s best interest cannot converse about my clients outside of our sessions.So, with all of that in mind can we start now?” He gulps not blinking as he directly stares back at me, I do not look away.

“What would I even talk about?”

“Anything you want to talk about.”

“With you? No, not really.”

“What about the transition of a new member on your team, how is that going?” His body goes very still, as if paused in real time. His cold stare gives me chills.

“That media whore can go to fucking hell. She is not one of the seven.” Homelander’s chilling emotions rattle my bones and his emotional tidal wave tastes cold and bitter.

“Is it because she was hired on without your permission?”

“Partly.”

“Did you feel embarrassed for the way she told the world, including you and your team?” I asked another question, more pointed, his eyebrow twitched. He snorts and then huffs anger tensing his shoulders.

“Yes.” He bites out staring me down, not willing to look away. I do instead by taking one of my own cookies on a platter, enjoying the familiar taste.

“I’m sorry she did that to you and the team. Did it feel horrible to not have control over something so important to you?” I ask another question, maybe not delicately enough with the way he squeezed the wooden puzzle in his hands. It looked like it was ready to explode in a million wooden slivers ready to slice our skin to ribbons.

“She did it to provoke me and boost her numbers. And my number took a hit because of it!” His need to be in control of his image and not being seemed to set him off just from talking about it, and that is concerning on a lot of levels. Specifically to the people around him. He lets go of the puzzle and to my surprise takes a cookie and eats it in one bite. Delight clear on my face he pointed glare. Heat vision is almost a threat if I look too closely into his thoughts.

“Well I know what it's like when mucking up introductions–meaning our situation,” I point between us smiling shyly at his still present icy glare. “And wanting to move forward in helping each other. She might want to help you in her own way. She just may not have started that best way. You might just make an ally, or two.” I say with an eyebrow raised as he continues to scarf the cookies, not willing to be shamed it seemed.

“Interesting thought, but to ally with her would require her to not ruin my reputation.”

“Like I said, first introduction flops happen. Her being on The Seven because of Stan Edgar could also mean she could be a strong superhero. And a strong superhero is always a good ally to have.” I shrug at that, not willing to divulge my opinion–or my own agenda–any more.

“You know what?” He stands up abruptly walking towards the door as if to leave on that question, but he stops.

“What?”

“You're not as dumb as you seem.” He turned back towards me with a wide smile that seemed to just break from his stony exsterior.

“I’m a doctor, Homelander.” I say not able to hide my exasperation in my voice. He smirks, getting a kick out of my obvious annoyance.

“Oh, and by the way doctor, your cookies were quite stale.” I sigh even louder and more pointed at that, actually getting a chuckle out of him.

“So, are you going to give me a–ah I mean Stormfront a chance?” I ask as he turns the knob of the office door to leave.

“I’ll give her a trial run.” He does not turn to see my relief evident on my face. “Oh, and good luck with the social media frenzy that will be your day tomorrow. Have a great night.” He yells out as he leaves the office and the halls my door swinging back and forth from his dramatic exit. The tension in my muscles finally released and my heart even out, finally. Being in the same room as him has begun to feel like walking on tightrope, and no net underneath to catch me if I fall.

The reminder about tomorrow has my blood go cold and my body starts to sweat profusely. I never signed up for this. I don’t want to be on TV and I don’t want to be known around the world as some superhero psychologist. I don’t want people to know about my powers. I haven’t even told Olivia yet. I slump in my too large office not feeling up to walking to my trashed apartment. Looking longingly at the large white sofa in the corner of my office and a chair blanket I combine the two to make my makeshift bed. It may look desperate and sad but I don’t care.

I also might just be a bit desperate and sad.

______________________________________________________________

Check out my fic on AO3 if you guys are interested in being updated on my most recent posts!

[bots-and-cons]

Stressed, tired and dealing with grief

I know the title probably makes it sound worse than it actually is, but I just need to vent, because I've had a bit of a rough week. I'll try to post something tomorrow, because I don't like leaving the blog alone for this long. Also I can deal with crap by writing so it's a win-win I guess. The stuff below might be a bit of a ramble, but eeeh

Venting starts here btw

There has been a lot going on during the past week and being at my mom's and looking after my little sister really drained me, because I didn't get a single minute alone for six days, aside from sleeping and I didn't do much of that either. My social battery is already nonexistent to begin with and then you add to that no sleep, it's not a good combination. I'm probably not going to my mom's for a couple of weeks, since I can't really deal with my two youngest siblings until I recharge.

On other news, my grandma on my dad's side died a couple of years back in June, and her husband, my grandpa is in a nursing home. I don't visit him much, because I can't really handle it well. He doesn't remember any of us anymore, not even my dad, and it's just way too much for me to handle most of the time.

Anyway, today we went to clean out their old house and it was pretty hard. I didn't really realize it right then, but now that I'm getting tired and have stopped for the day, it's kind of hitting me. We found so many old things that I played with when I was a kid, clothes that I remember my grandma wearing, actual physical photographs were stuffed into every cabinet and corner, and I found all kinds of stuff. I didn't really stop to look at them though, I couldn't really handle it. I looked at one photo for a while, my grandma smiling, wearing that blue flower dress that she liked. That's how I'd like to remember her though, smiling. I know she loved me, even though I didn't hear it for a long time before she died, because she stopped talking. I'll always love her and even though the grief raises its head occasionally, I'll get through it somehow.

Another thing that's been getting to me is the anniversary of Technoblade's death. He died last year at the very end of June. I don't normally get attached to youtubers or streamers, or people on the internet I don't personally interact with, but I guess in his case it was different. I started watching Technoblade when I was still pretty badly depressed, and he was a big source of fun and joy for me. He was one of my comfort youtubers and I still watch his old videos occasionally. I just watched a few old animations about him and hearing his voice literally made me cry.

There's a lot that's stressing me out right now and my grandma's death anniversary among other things just happened to trigger a bit of an emotional avalanche. I've been keeping all this crap in since the beginning of June and it's now all rising to the surface, because I'm tired and don't have the strength to keep it at bay anymore. Also me overburdening myself doesn't help this situation at all, so I'll probably sort of refrain from most social contacts next week and try to take it easy. I'll make some good food, bake something for my birthday (12th of July) and maybe go get ice cream with my bff. I also have an appointment with my mental health counselor/nurse on Monday, so that's gonna help the situation a lot too.

Stay hydrated y'all and thanks if you read all this :D

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

TW / child abuse, involuntary stay, misgendering

When I was 17 I was put in a mental hospital for stockpiling medication. While I was there the girls were treated unfairly compared to the boys. Even though I am a transman, and I was actively taking testosterone during that time, I was put on the girls side. I was put in a room by myself, because if you presented LGBT+, they’d put you alone.

The first thing that they made me do when I got there was go into a room with 2 grown women that I did not know. I didn’t know what was happening until they told me to undress. This was my first skin check ever. One of the nurses called my chest “tits”. They were expressionless, mean, and I was scared. Afterwards I asked to use the bathroom and I cried.

Nurses and staff would make jokes and comments about how many scars I had, and not in a professional way. I understand wanting to lighten the mood, but they always said it with shock or amazement, like I was an animal in a zoo.

Another thing that happened there, the staff randomly stated that someone had a shank and we needed to be searched. But only the girls needed to be searched, because this was a “girls only” issue. They randomly chose a few girls to get completely naked, squat, and cough. Ages 8-17, maybe younger. I was told that I didn’t have to do this, because I was “trusted”. I think it’s because I was more grown than the others. There were no nurses present during this check.

I remember waking up to a girl screaming and crying for help

The entire time I was there I repressed my emotions and faked everything so I could get out of there. I don’t think I have been able to stop doing that. I am 19 now and I cannot properly express emotions. I had trauma before this but this added onto it. I am told by my psychiatrist that I have a flat affect.

It was always so hot and noisy at night

There are other things that happened but those stuck out to me the most.

Is this a normal experience? I know that mental hospitals are not the best places, but are they all like this? It was so bad, that I tell myself if I ever get admitted again, I will go through with my plan. I have nightmares about that place often. Am I overreacting? Is it possible to have PTSD from this experience?

I’m so sorry for the long post. I got carried away.

Hi anon,

What you went through is horrific and I'm so sorry you had to experience all these things. Please know that what you experienced isn't "normal" in the sense that it isn't okay, but while experiences at mental hospitals aren't 100% bad, what you went through can be described as "normal" because mistreatment at psychiatric facilities happen unfortunately often. Know that there is no need to apologize for the length of your ask.

I'm not a professional so it's not up to me to tell you whether or not you have a particular disorder, but it is possible that you could not only have trauma from your experience there, but it may fit the criteria for PTSD. As someone with PTSD, they (as in people who diagnose) usually say that these trauma symptoms must persist for at least 6 months, which can include things like trauma-related nightmares, rumination (thinking excessively about what happened), noticing certain triggers developing, etc.

I can understand how an experience like this may cause you to develop a negative relationship with therapy or the idea of it. However, I do think it could be incredibly useful to your healing journey to be able to work with a mental health professional such as a therapist, if you can access or afford it. They could help you process your experiences, explore the possibility of a PTSD diagnosis, and help you feel more comfortable expressing your emotions. Please know that you deserve the best care available, especially after everything you've been through.

I have not been admitted to a psych ward, mental hospital, or whatever other term may be used to describe it, so I apologize if I couldn't offer any direct comments regarding that experience. My sister was admitted at one point, but she told me that she had a positive experience there and made some friends (it's possible that her experience is simply lucky). If anyone would like to share their experiences, please feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[compassionatereminders]

Hi Kat!

I'm sorry for deviating from the usual flavour of content you post and asks you receive, but I trust you are no-nonsense enough to give me a truthful answer, yet compassionate enough to not barrel me with hate if you do happen to think my opinion on the situation to be wrong.

Cw for medical incompetence, hospitalisation

So recently I was needlessly hospitalised for five weeks- which was both senseless and useless, since the entire time I basically had to keep to my room or the activity room- which was mind-numbingly boring and a waste of time. I didn't see a doctor or have any conversation with a nurse. It was five weeks of essentially watching the minutes tick by on the clock, hoping I'd be released soon.

This context is important because when I finally managed to force their hand and let me go (and even then they wanted to keep me there longer), they forced me into this legal thing that forces me to get a certain type of therapy and if I don't go, it's considered grounds to take my freedom away again. It's a nasty situation.

Anyway, I personally don't want to go to therapy. It's costly in both time and money (both of which I do not have), and I don't see the merit in it. I've had a rough childhood, to put it mildly, and I while I did use to struggle with it a lot, I finally managed to give it a place and live my life. Is it the Most Ideal and Normal life? No. But I'm neurodivergent, so the chances of the Medical Professionals seeing my life as a functional one is next to zero during the best of times. And, I'm happy with how things are right now. I might not be normal, but I can live life and that is something that seemed impossible for over twenty years of my life. I'm honestly really glad I got to this place, and that's exactly why I don't want therapy. I've had over 30 mental health "professionals" and they only ever made things worse- in very tangible ways. So now I'm finally in a place where I do have the ability to feel something other than despair, I'm protective of it. They force me into therapy because they don't agree with a diagnosis I got last year on basis of a technicality, and that to them gives them the right to force me and destabilise my entire existence by making me bring up and relive my past. And I don't want that. Fuck, even talking about it with the team overseeing my return to Normal Life has absolutely wrecked my week emotionally. And I don't want that anymore. I want to look forward, not endlessly beat the dead horse that is my past "to make me healthier", because it won't. Therapists in my experience only dredge up shit they cannot deal with and once the 50 minutes are up it's my sole responsibility to deal with the fall-out of the bullshit they caused. The fact I just got out of a very traumatising hospital stay doesn't help my faith in therapists either.

So the question I want to ask is: is it okay not to want to become healthier? To be aware of the fact there is room for betterment, but to value one's stability more and focusing on other areas of growth? Or does that desire make me weak, somehow, sub-human? Do I owe it to anyone to go to therapy to "get better" and get destroyed in the process? Or do I get to be happy with what I have, knowing that five years ago it seemed to be utterly impossible to get to this point at all? What is your take on this? I'm in too deep and might not be seeing things clearly, which is why I ask.

Thanks in advance!

-scared of destabilisation

I don't think anyone who isn't actively a danger towards themselves or others should ever be forced into treatment they don't want. So I think you should be allowed to say no to this and I don't think it's bad or morally wrong of you to not want therapy

[sanchezpoetry]

      My addictive tendencies and general issues are currently in full swing. But my relationship with alcohol specifically isn’t just the fact that I’m a drunk raised around addicts. It served various purposes before. It served as my anxiety medication, my painkiller, my anti-depressant, my coping mechanism and my celebratory/relaxation method, my sleeping aid, and even a method to make art (through writing. The majority of my Entire first book was written when I had a buzz)

       I refuse to take painkillers. Being so powerlifting and martial arts oriented, I tend to push my body A LOT. (Another symptom of my addictive tendencies) and I would/do often get various aches and pains as a result. But I refuse to take painkillers because there’s no doubt in my mind that I would probably end up as a hardcore junkie the way my ex was. There was a reason I was so hopelessly attracted to her. I’m a very anxious person, and alcohol helps with that A LOT. As it does with my depression. Same goes for anti-depressants and anxiety medication. I have severe sleeping issues, and at one time, alcohol was the way that I would force myself to sleep. As odd as it sounds, I don’t care much for eating, and my predisposition to enjoy drinking makes that even worse.

Sometimes I wonder how much of it is really my addictions manifesting, or if it’s just a really bad habit that gets catastrophic when coupled with my various other issues, that all become ever more exacerbated because I’ve been working nights. Various nurses and doctors have all told me that what I’m feeling is perfectly normal considering that I’m working in a way that contradicts human biology. Many others have stated that it isn’t really anything other than working nights for so long that’s fucking me up so much. And honestly, as much as I say I’m an alcoholic, I’m not nearly at the level my family was/is.

Getting back to the basics and my original plan when I was intended to temporarily switch to nights is essentially where I’m at now. A lot of things and mistakes happened from when I started to now. The biggest one being that this night bullshit is becoming permanent/long term.  I learned a lot about myself, health, and overall human biology. It’s taken almost a whole year of working nights, but I came up with a general rule list to make sure I stay on a healthy path.

-        No drinking/reading/eating before sleep.

-        No carbs (only lean meats, fruits, and vegetables)

-        No type of exercise any less than 8 hours before I intend to sleep (Exercise when you wake up)

-        No coffee any less than 8 hours before I intend to sleep.

-        No napping. (Suck it up, and force yourself to stay awake)

-        Prioritize sleep (7 to 9 hours tops)

-        Make sure to get sunlight as much as possible.

-        Rely on discipline and knowledge to build routines.

-        Medication serves as an AID, not as something to rely on.

   One of the most amusing things about everything I’m talking about is, I’m one of the most well-disciplined and hard working addicts you will ever meet. I’ve built up my levels of discipline, knowledge basis, reading, art making, and mental/physical strength to the highest and most scrutinous levels that they have ever been. And that includes when I was in the USMC, in college, and even a competitive high school athlete. So in the grand scheme of things at this point, I’m actually the best I’ve ever been. This season of my life has both heightened my strengths and exacerbated my flaws simultaneously. And it is extremely difficult to get an accurate reading on my self-analysis.

      The only real option is to increase my discipline, knowledge, and overall mentality. Move forward, improve myself, and let nothing, not even myself get in my way.

[kodoku-roxi]

(1/2)

I said I’d come back with an update, right? Right. This post is about health and i will write another one after this one about the more important things ( i have a new laptop!!! and it’s amazing :DDD )

So my state health is fine, I am fine, I didn’t lose any internal organs, (I just... that was my biggest fear, ok) and my back doesn’t hurt anymore, witch is fantastic!! 

I had to stop drinking coffee, and you know, you can’t stop drinking coffee instantly... in a day.... you can’t do that. It was bad. 

And I had as well to stop my regular meds so I could take the NEW meds for the problem I was having….. fun! my body didn’t like that. And now it's been a week since I returned to the previous meds, and you know, again, my body didn’t like that. If I had a nickel for every time I stopped taking my meds for a period of time and then went back on them and instead of helping me not to pass out on the middle of the street it made me feel worse.. I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but let’s just say that it happened only 2 times.

I had terrible insomnia. It was worst than ever, literally only one or 2 or 4 hours a day of sleep for like 2 weeks. The walls were moving, and I had the feeling that the door was opening from time to time, sometimes even seeing it opening for a second, and the room was spinning, but that’s normal for me, it happens right now when I’m moving my head

So I was in the kitchen, making some tea and the house owner saw my condition, and that I could barely walk.... she. called. my. mom. Let me tell you something, she almost kicked me out when I had the first dose of the vaccine because I was feeling sick as fuck and I couldn’t take her grandson to the school bla bla, this woman doesn’t give a fuck about my well being. Anyway, her act made me realize how dead I was looking and how serious the problem was.. However, mom didn't help me at all. But I had already talked to the mother of a friend who works as a nurse (as far as I remember…) and she helped me a lot, i mean i knew what i had to do but talking with her (through my friend, i couldn’t talk directly with her...) made me less scared and she told me to take some extra stuff. Even Mariana helped me with the correct painkillers... my mother came to me with some things that didn’t helped me with the condition I had, I told her “ok but at least.. can you bring me some painkillers (i told her the pills i take for pain, she knows well what pills i take for this but noooo she brings me paracetamol sinus instead of nurofen express forte because why the fuck not) and bonus she told me that she will talk to the doctor in more details but she didn’t, and this is the second time when she does this. I don’t have my doc’s phone number, she does, and one day I will ask her to give me doc’s number, one day. Idk what’s with my mom... she’s a smart woman... why is she doin this, she drives me crazy sometimes.

Now I’m doin well, I am ignoring her most of the time since then because it seems to me, more and more, that we are a family only on paper, I will not stop talking with her because she has cancer and i need to know that she’s fine and i have to help her when she needs help

Anyway I’m no longer in pain, i repaired my sleep, kind of, but my mental state is more unstable. Fortunately, i can deal with this, i know what to do, so this is not a problem. I can say that i am ready to come back to share my drawings and maybe i will write some stuff to end a certain story and honestly i will start talking more, most because i will stop stressing about my english, i’m just tired... this was supposed to be my happy place, yeah i will try to control my anxiety, surprisingly im tired of being stressed about anything and everything all of the time

a little bit of everything all of the time, apathy's a tragedy and boredom is a crime, anything and everything all of the time -