#we're full of medical doctors

[raccoonskoodilypoopdungeon]

Your mom started that fire.

i know for a fact my friend's dad did. his family owns a local grocery and he wanted the insurance money. miraculously only the store caught on fire and the rest of the mall didn't.

tho it wouldn't be past my mom i think. if there was like a benefit somehow. you can get disowned by your family and kicked out of the gang but you can't take the gang out of the person.

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

I wanna laugh and say the Ghost/ExAid movie was the most un-serious thing i've ever seen but it was actually so stressful. Nice job writers!!

Putting this one under the cut cause I gave up on it lol:

[tanadrin]

on reflection, i think there's a symmetry to, say, doctors who are willing to refer patients to osteopaths or other ""holistic"" healthcare providers and the susceptibility of engineers to certain kinds of crankdom (of the "i-disproved-relativity-in-my-garage" type). both are forms of scientific training of a sort, but they're heavily outcome-focused and not theoretically focused. in large part, this is good! you do not as a doctor need to have a robust theoretical defense of every treatment you provide to patients, and it would be impossible to do so, because medicine is a huge and complicated subject. you do not, as an engineer, need to have a subtle grasp of theoretical physics to build a bridge; you just need to know what the latest developments in bridge-building are.

but it means in both cases you can have people who are skilled in their field, or who even excel, but who don't understand very well why certain techniques work. and in the case of alt medicine, where there has been considerable work to try to obfuscate or deceive people on how shaky the theoretical basis for their techniques are (stuff that literally if you remember your high-school physics and biology at all will make you go, "wait, there is no plausible mechanism for this, that's not how any of this works"), doctors who do not have time to read studies on RCT trials of every type of medicine they have ever heard of will blithely recommend stuff to patients that's actually complete horseshit, especially if the culture around them has been normalizing that woo as part of "holistic" therapy for the last hundred years, spurred on by alternative medicine practitioners and a public with a fear of needles and ~chemicals~ that medical practitioners have not done enough to allay.

it does not help that medicine only emerged very recently from being about 99% bullshit. like maybe at the end of the 19th century at best medicine was starting to be put on a broad-based empirical and theoretical footing--before that it's truly insane the stuff that wasn't just considered perfectly normal medical practice, but was considered serious Science. i mean, this is why we developed double-blind studies in the first place--because theoretical explanations of medical treatments are still necessarily often secondary to the process of finding ones that actually work, so we need really robust mechanisms to avoid confirmation bias or outright charlatanry. and while mainstream medicine is far from perfect in this respect, "alternative medicine" is all far, far worse.

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[ipoddymouth]

You had 8 tumors??? Bestie omg why and are you okay 😭

blragjeig i am fine truly there was just like a wild period between my teens-early twenties where i was just extremely good at growing tumors???? my lil brother had a similar issue around the same age (he's also fine) i just remember my mom being STRESSED

[cocklessboy]

The biggest male privilege I have so far encountered is going to the doctor.

I lived as a woman for 35 years. I have a lifetime of chronic health issues including chronic pain, chronic fatigue, respiratory issues, and neurodivergence (autistic + ADHD). There's so much wrong with my body and brain that I have never dared to make a single list of it to show a doctor because I was so sure I would be sent directly to a psychologist specializing in hypochondria (sorry, "anxiety") without getting a single test done.

And I was right. Anytime I ever tried to bring up even one of my health issues, every doctor's initial reaction was, at best, to look at me with doubt. A raised eyebrow. A seemingly casual, offhand question about whether I'd ever been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. Even female doctors!

We're not talking about super rare symptoms here either. Joint pain. Chronic joint pain since I was about 19 years old. Back pain. Trouble breathing. Allergy-like reactions to things that aren't typically allergens. Headaches. Brain fog. Severe insomnia. Sensitivity to cold and heat.

There's a lot more going on than that, but those were the things I thought I might be able to at least get some acknowledgement of. Some tests, at least. But 90% of the time I was told to go home, rest, take a few days off work, take some benzos (which they'd throw at me without hesitation), just chill out a bit, you'll be fine. Anxiety can cause all kinds of odd symptoms.

Anyone female-presenting reading this is surely nodding along. Yup, that's just how doctors are.

Except...

I started transitioning about 2.5 years ago. At this point I have a beard, male pattern baldness, a deep voice, and a flat chest. All of my doctors know that I'm trans because I still haven't managed to get all the paperwork legally changed, but when they look at me, even if they knew me as female at first, they see a man.

I knew men didn't face the same hurdles when it came to health care, but I had no idea it was this different.

The last time I saw my GP (a man, fairly young, 30s or so), I mentioned chronic pain, and he was concerned to see that it wasn't represented in my file. Previous doctors hadn't even bothered to write it down. He pushed his next appointment back to spend nearly an hour with me going through my entire body while I described every type of chronic pain I had, how long I'd had it, what causes I was aware of. He asked me if I had any theories as to why I had so much pain and looked at me with concerned expectation, hoping I might have a starting point for him. He immediately drew up referrals for pain specialists (a profession I didn't even know existed till that moment) and physical therapy. He said depending on how it goes, he may need to help me get on some degree of disability assistance from the government, since I obviously shouldn't be trying to work full-time under these circumstances.

Never a glimmer of doubt in his eye. Never did he so much as mention the word "anxiety".

There's also my psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with ADHD last year (meeting me as a man from the start, though he knew I was trans). He never doubted my symptoms or medical history. He also took my pain and sleep issues seriously from the start and has been trying to help me find medications to help both those things while I go through the long process of seeing other specialists. I've had bad reactions to almost everything I've tried, because that's what always happens. Sometimes it seems like I'm allergic to the whole world.

And then, just a few days ago, the most shocking thing happened. I'd been wondering for a while if I might have a mast cell condition like MCAS, having read a lot of informative posts by @thebibliosphere which sounded a little too relatable. Another friend suggested it might explain some of my problems, so I decided to mention it to the psychiatrist, fully prepared to laugh it off. Yeah, a friend thinks I might have it, I'm not convinced though.

His response? That's an interesting theory. It would be difficult to test for especially in this country, but that's no reason not to try treatments and see if they are helpful. He adjusted his medication recommendations immediately based on this suggestion. He's researching an elimination diet to diagnose my food sensitivities.

I casually mentioned MCAS, something routinely dismissed by doctors with female patients, and he instantly took the possibility seriously.

That's it. I've reached peak male privilege. There is nothing else that could happen that could be more insane than that.

I literally keep having to hold myself back from apologizing or hedging or trying to frame my theories as someone else's idea lest I be dismissed as a hypochondriac. I told the doctor I'd like to make a big list of every health issue I have, diagnosed and undiagnosed, every theory I've been given or come up with myself, and every medication I've tried and my reactions to it - something I've never done because I knew for a fact no doctor would take me seriously if they saw such a list all at once. He said it was a good idea and could be very helpful.

Female-presenting people are of course not going to be surprised by any of this, but in my experience, male-presenting people often are. When you've never had a doctor scoff at you, laugh at you, literally say "I won't consider that possibility until you've been cleared by a psychologist" for the most mundane of health problems, it might be hard to imagine just how demoralizing it is. How scary it becomes going to the doctor. How you can internalize the idea that you're just imagining things, making a big deal out of nothing.

Now that I'm visibly a man, all of my doctors are suddenly very concerned about the fact that I've been simply living like this for nearly four decades with no help. And I know how many women will have to go their whole lives never getting that help simply because of sexism in the medical field.

If you know a doctor, show them this story. Even if they are female. Even if they consider themselves leftists and feminists and allies. Ask them to really, truly, deep down, consider whether they really treat their male and female patients the same. Suggest that the next time they hear a valid complaint from a male patient, imagine they were a woman and consider whether you'd take it seriously. The next time they hear a frivolous-sounding complaint from a female patient, imagine they were a man and consider whether it would sound more credible.

It's hard to unlearn these biases. But it simply has to be done. I've lived both sides of this issue. And every doctor insists they treat their male and female patients the same. But some of the doctors astonished that I didn't get better care in the past are the same doctors who dismissed me before.

I'm glad I'm getting the care I need, even if it is several decades late. And I'm angry that it took so long. And I'm furious that most female-presenting people will never have this chance.

[white--moon]

He can tell his reassurance hasn't totally cleared up whatever ingrained dislike Ichigo's feeling. Shiro's been called every version of crazy so many times in so many different situations that it doesn't come anywhere near bothering him. Most of the time he finds it amusing. He kind of thinks Ichigo's heard in a few times too, but has the oposite response to it. He nods a small motion, "Yeah, or that." Still a little crazy. Maybe more so, since there apparently wasn't much thought put into it. Not for the first time, he's struck by how loyal and protective Ichigo has become towards him. He probably shouldn't be surprised, he knows how Ichigo is towards friends and family, but even still, Shiro has a hard time fitting himself into that category even though, objectively, he sees that it has happened. He scoffs lightly though, "If you tried to change it, you'd be takin' away things I like about you."

He is actually really offended by that. Not by the suggestion that they wouldn't be able to abstain for that long because that's totally true, but the part about Ichigo planning to avoid him that long. "Tch. You can't avoid me, I would'a hunted you down so fucking fast. We would'a fucked so hard you wouldn't'a been able to walk into the ring let along fight. Avoid me- Ugh. Fuckin' rude. When have I ever been avoidable?"

His brows arch and he looks over at Ichigo again. He would have thought Ichigo would have been turned over if he told his dad the truth. "You ever think about just tellin' him what's goin' on? If he wouldn't turn you in and you're already not livin' at home, where your business could endanger your family-" He kind of trails off with a shrug. "I dunno. You shouldn't take advice from me, I don't know how that shit works."

The click of the seatbelt seems so loud right before there's a hand in his hair and he's being tugged across the middle council. He grunts a surprised sound. It's a miracle he hasn't wrecked his car yet, with the way Ichigo's making a habit of kissing him close to senseless while he's driving. He can't curse because of tongue and teeth and the way every time they touch in literally any way it seems like the air around them might combust, but he groans the sentiment instead.

Seems Ichigo didn’t like that. “I don’t think any of that is false, but you still gotta be a little crazy to go for it. I’d say just a moment of crazy, but you planned it out, so.” He shrugs. Built in crazy. The good kind, though. “I’m not complaining and I don’t mean it in a bad way, just so y’ know. I like how gutsy you are.”

Three quarters of his attention is on the road but the remaining is enough to realize Ichigo’s getting all huffy about his answer. He can’t not smirk about how easy it was to get under Ichigo’s skin. “Ok, woah, you told me a week or more for a fight, but still you’re absolutely right.” He’s not even going to bother pretending he’d hold to that. They couldn’t make it two days when they got their piercings. The only reason it’s been more than 72 hours now is because Ichigo was literally unconscious and in a different city. And practically the first thing Shiro did was send him nudes. There is no hope of pretending to withhold sex.

He sees Ichigo’s point about his dad. “You do live in a trash neighborhood and so does your boyfriend. Sometimes trouble just finds certain people. Probably best not too offer up too much information without prompt though.”

His eyes corner on Ichigo momentarily. “You know I don’t ask nice for anything, but I’m full of plenty'a looks.” Ichigo’s right; they’re going to end up stopping because Ichigo’s too fucked up for car sex right now.

[hayatoseyepatch]

𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓:Zayne could not contain the possessive need to keep you all to himself, to not let anyone see the most private parts of your being. So if he had to convince you to let him perform your routine gynecological exam, then so be it. 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗:Zayne (Love & Deepspace) 𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙:1.2k 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘:Fem!ReaderxZayne. ⚠️NSFW Dark Content⚠️.

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘:Pussy inspection, yandere themes, fingering, depraved thoughts, possessive behavior, praise, degradation, dubcon, medical malpractice, sexual coercion, power dynamics (kinda?), doctor/patient play.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: It's time to get this shit started!! (•̀ᴗ•́)و Welcome to the first official post of my kinktober. We're starting off strong of course with a character I've never written before, oops. So I do apologize if Zayne is a wee bit ooc. That being said, I hope you enjoy and I'll see you in the next one! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ᵕ`∩꒱ྀིა See full kinktober master list here.

 Zayne typically didn’t perform this kind of examination, he was a surgeon not a gynecologist. However, the mere idea of anyone, even another medical professional, having access to your most intimate places was enough to make his skin crawl. This profound possessive energy he felt when it came to you was not something he was familiar with but he couldn’t contain himself. So here you sat, legs in stirrups, knees locked together as much as possible, shy for Zayne to see your most intimate areas. He had to swallow a chuckle, the stirrups making it impossible for you to try and hide yourself from him. He eyed you as he slid the latex onto his digits, sitting on the chair in front of you and rolling until he was positioned between your legs. He hummed lightly, a cold hand sliding up the warmth of your thighs, parting what you could close of your legs to expose yourself to him.

“Relax, it’s just a routine exam, it’ll be over before you know it.” His voice was calming the low baritone soothing but holding a sternness that had you complying under his touch. Zayne was grateful he was sat at a lower level, your eyes also being transfixed on the ceiling, because if you spared a glance you might have caught the way he needed to adjust himself in his slacks. The sight of your glistening pussy was enough to have his cock stirring. He cleared his throat, focusing at the task at hand. “I’ll be inserting my fingers, they may be a bit cold due to the lubricant.” He tried to keep his tone professional and tried to keep the desperation from his tone.

He felt like an animal being held back on a tight leash. The urge to thrust his fingers in your tight heat, to lean forward just a bit and finally get a taste of you. The number of times he craved to be in a similar position, the countless nights he had fisted his cock as the thought of feeling you around him was mortifying. As his first digit slipped past your entrance he swallowed a groan. Your walls welcomed him fully, practically sucking in his digit with your tightness. He wasn’t sure if it was his own desire speaking or if you were wet enough without the lubricant for his fingers to ease inside of you. He catches it, the sharp inhale. he deludes himself into thinking that it's in response to the stretch that his fingers provide and not the temperature of his digits. He slides in a second digit, your walls hugging his fingers tightly. “I need you to relax, you think you could do that for me?” His voice is gentle, your tightness indicative of being tense.

“But I am relaxed, Dr. Zayne.” The words fall from your lips without hesitation, being sincere in their delivery. Zayne blinked to himself, you couldn’t possibly be his tight. He chanced his words hopeful tone forced to be swallowed. “So are you always this tight? Would you say you are active in your sex life?” He watches between your knees as your face flushes, sparing a glance between you legs had been a mistake. Seeing him looking up at you between your thighs, while his fingers were knuckle deep inside you, caused an involuntary clench of your cunt. Sucking his fingers in deeper as if begging for more. “Well, I..” Your voice trails off, embarrassed to say your last partner had been quite some time ago, since you had rekindled with Zayne, if you were honest.

Zayne it seems senses your words you were grateful you didn’t have to continue. However, that gratefulness is replaced with mortification at his following words. “With how, well, responsive you’re being I’d say it was quite some time since you have taken a partner. That kind of sexual deprivation could cause a build-up of frustration and tension, its not good for your evol.” Zayne offered a pensive sigh, trying to make it as believable as possible that this was in your best interest for your health. “The best course of action would be a stimulated orgasm, to release some of that tension.”

The way Zayne spoke, so certain and absolute, had you believing that this was the only course of action to assist with your issue. And you’d be lying if you hadn’t imagined this exact scenario while at home with your own fingers buried in your depths. “Whatever you think is best, you are the doctor afterall.” Your voice quivered albeit nervous as his fingers began to move, hoping this meant more than just a routine exam to him. Though you must admit, you’ve never heard of this type of treatment ever taking place. Even Zayne himself was doubtful you would fall for his ruse, but he also was hopeful you’re agreeance was because it was him. He knew he was right to think no one else should this exam, not when you were so easily goaded into following his instructions. “Yes, just like that, you're doing so well for me.”

His fingers set a steady pace from the beginning, pumping in and out of your walls easily and without resistance. He took the thumb on his free hand, his tongue swiping across the latex covered digit to act as lubricant, not that it was truly needed, before using it to rub tight circles on your clit. He relished in the sounds that slipped from your lips, the cry of “Dr. Zayne” reaching his ears and making his cock throb against the confines of his scrubs. Unable to qualm his desire any longer he groaned. “My apologies, snowflake, this is going to be very unprofessional of me.” His voice came out husky, dripping with need as he leaned forward, replacing his thumb with his tongue.

He tries and fails to swallow the groan as he finally takes you against his tastebuds after yearning for longer than he is proud to admit. His wet muscle moves in time with his fingertips as they work in tandem to bring you to release. He takes his now free hand, applying pressure to the patch of skin below your belly button. The added weight of his hand makes it feel as if his fingers are pressing impossibly deep, your head being thrown back, making the parchment covering the seat crinkle, alerting yourself just as to where you both were. Even if you wanted to protest or express concern that anyone could walk in, your voice dies in your throat cut off by a moan as the pads of his fingers find that oh so delicate spongey patch within your depths.

Your receptiveness to his touch has him abusing that spot, picking up the speed at with he lapped at your clit until your hips bucked against his face riding out the waves of your orgasm as much as the stirrups would allow. He allows you a moment of reprieve, watching as you res against the seat, chest rising and falling to catch your breath after the intense orgasm. “Now, we’ll continue with the examination whenever you’re ready.” He speaks, wiping your juices from his chin, as if he hadn’t just eaten your cunt. “Though I will recommend you come visit me again to release some of that built up tension, cant have one of our best hunters out of commission now could we?” if you hadn’t know any better you would have sworn there was a curl to his lips and a wink thrown in your direction. But, hey, who were you to disobey the doctor's orders?

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖇𝖞 @/𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊𝖐𝖎𝖙𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖊 & @/𝖘𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖐𝖆-𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖘. 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖐𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝖜𝖎𝖋𝖊 @eevees-hobbies 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖆 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖔𝖓𝖊, 𝕴 𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖇𝖇! ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @littleplantfreak @maruflix @umemiaa @143-ilyuu @uzxotic @serendipitous-fernweh @princesstiti14 (𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙/𝖉𝖒/𝖆𝖘𝖐 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖘) (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

[theseandi]

honestly so thankful that in the past couple years not only is it a nice day when i go to my checkups but the doctors who have treated me for my anxiety have been so soft spoken, kind, and listened. they actually attempted to understand what triggers me and offered suggestions including, but not only, counseling if i was open to it. when i was a teen all they did was tell me it was my fault or that i was spoiled. i wish i knew where i go wrong because i give far too many people that idea of me. it felt as if they were just cycling me through, not caring if i got better or not and giving up or not trying much at all. i suppose it is my fault though since it is all in my head. the fear, that is. i used to enter a room head down, barely saying a word and feeling just as empty when i left. i used to be a doe, hopping through the forest and suddenly shot in the shoulder, all while being told it was my own fault for being in the way. nowadays i enter a wounded fawn, knees trembling and barely able to stand on two legs but leave with a bandage on my scrapped knee and a sigh of relief.. perhaps it's not so bad, and perhaps i could be okay someday...

[inkskinned]

you have to go to work so you can pay for your doctor, who is not taking your insurance right now, and if you say i can't afford the doctor's you are told - get a better job. it is very sad that you are unwell, yes, but maybe you should have thought about that before not having a better job.

(where is the better job? who is giving out these better jobs? you are sick, you are hurting - how the hell are you supposed to be well enough for this better job?)

but you go to the doctor because you had the nerve to be hurt or sick or whatever else. and they tell you that it is because you have anxiety. you try your best. you are a self-advocate. you've done the reading (which sometimes pisses them off worse, honestly). you say it is actually adding to my anxiety, it is effecting my quality of life. so they say that you are fat. they say that all young people have this happen to them, isn't it a medical marvel! they say that you should eat more vegetables. they say that you probably just need to lose a little more weight, and that you are faking it for attention.

(what attention could this doctor possibly give? what validation? that's their fucking job, isn't it?)

there is always a hypochondriac, right. someone always tells you about a hypochondriac. or someone who is unnecessarily aggressive during the worst days of their life. or someone looking "for a quick fix". or some idiot who wasn't educated about how to properly care for themselves who just abandons their treatment. and again, the hypochondriac, the overly-cautious hysteric. these people don't deserve to be treated like humans (right), and since you might be one of these people, you also don't get treated like a human. because those people can really fuck with the system, you now have to pay for it. and besides. you're actually probably faking it.

(more often than not, you find a 2:1 ratio of these stories. for every "hypochondriac", there are 2 people who knew something was wrong, and yet nobody could fucking find it. the story often ends with pointless suffering. the story often ends with and now it's too late, and it's going to kill me.)

you are actually just making excuses. someone else got that procedure or that diagnosis and he's fine, you should be fine too. someone else said they watched a documentary about other inspirational people with your exact same condition, maybe you should be inspirational, too. you're just too morbid. your pain and your experience is probably just not statistically concerning. it is all self-reported anyway, and you're just being a baby.

(once, while sitting down in the middle of making coffee, you had the sudden, horrible thought - i could kill myself to make the pain stop. you had to call your best friend after that. had to pet your dog. had to cry about it in the shower. you won't, but that moment - god, fuck. the pain just goes on and on.)

you know someone who went in for routine surgery and said i still feel everything. they told her to just relax. it took her kicking and screaming before they figured out she wasn't lying - the anesthetic drip hadn't been working. you know someone who went in for severe migraines who was told drink water and lose weight. you know someone who was actively bleeding out and throwing up in the ER and was told you're just having a bad period.

in the ER there are always these little posters saying things like "don't wait! get checked today!" and you think about how often you do wait. how often the days spool out. you once waited a full week before seeing the doctor for what you thought was a sprained wrist. it had actually been broken - they had to rebreak it to set it.

but you go into the doctor. the problem you're having is immediate. the person behind the counter frowns and says we're not taking your insurance. you will be paying for this out-of-pocket.

they send you home with tylenol and a little health packet about weight loss or anxiety or attention deficit. on the front it has your birthday and diagnosis. you think about crying, and the words swim. it might as well say go fuck yourself. it might as well say you're a fucking idiot. it might as well say light your money on fire and lie down in it. and the entire fucking time - the problem persists.

it's okay. it's okay, it's just another thing, you think. it's just another thing i have to learn to live with.

[lordgrimoire]

So, an Idea, or AU I had regarding the good ol DPxDC.

I’m not sure what sort of disaster Amity’s ghost problem would be classified as, but think of what would happen if the local EMS (Emergency Services like Fire Departments, Law Enforcement, Emergency Medical, etc.) pretty much started jumping over the Mayor from the get-go? What if hard proof of these hijinx, for a brief time, were able to get out of Amity?

Well the Governor would probably have someone take a look, and once nonsense is confirmed (especially of its weird nonsense that looks a little to close to supers) they send in the National Guard, at first to keep an eye on the situation.

Then comes the Ghost Investigation Ward, and things go from moderately worrying to “WTF” real quick. And things start looking less Small Town USA and more Stalins Town USSR, at the height of Stalins Purges.

Admittedly it’s not immediate, and during the time between being put on “Indefinite Alert” and actually being relived this unit (I’m thinking a Battalion Sized force so about 1,200 soldiers/guardsmen total) ends up befriending the locals, and much to the Mayor, and GIWs, frustration, Phantom, as well as Red Huntress.

This leads to a standoff, the GIW can really only do what they want because of the Governments permission for them to do so, but engaging National Guard, who had not been federalized, may cause an issue or two. So they bring up the issue with someone who they think will back them up, their new boss Lex Luthor.

Now Lex isn’t a fool, but he figures out how the Justice League isn’t being called is due to a jammer the GIW set up and figures he can take a look around incognito like, or more accurately get trusted members of The Goonion, who he had Federally given approval to, to go take a look around.

When Alex gets the full story, and not just the GIWs original story but also updated info from the Doctors Fenton, who are now VERY worried, because they were wrong about Ghosts in more ways than they originally thought they may have been. Suffice to say, when Lex manages to get a copy of "The History of The Infinite Realms" and finds that Krypton's Afterlife is GONE, as in they did something similar to what the GIW is planning, he starts hitting the "Abort" Button with fury. Only to be told "Too late we're underway, we're going through a tunnel, what? What?" And now Lex decides Enough is Enough. Lex does two things, first he sends the GO order for the National Guard Battalion in Amity Park, then he starts trying to get a hold of the Justice League because "Listen I know you dislike me but I am willing to drop it all if you HELP WITH THIS BS THAT I JUST INHERITED!" Meanwhile back in Amity Things go from 0 to 100 faster than an Flash, that being the National Guard heard "GO" and immediatly started blasting. The Townfolks: Confused The Ghosts: Confused Team Phantom: Confused and Afraid The Ghost Hunters who are now studying Ghost Culture and the like: Very Confused and sorta getting Arrested. The GIW: Full of Bullet Holes, Screaming, and On Fire Meanwhile, The National Guard are waiting around two hours later with Phantom for any "Federal" News to come through: So the New President decided the Anti-Ecto Acts are BS, unfortunately they haven't been overturned yet so we're all most likely going to be marked as traitors. Mind if we hide out somewhere our bosses can't find us? Also the Justice League never actually knew any of the BS we've been going through, GIW Had some Jammer set up.

Phantom, Tired of all the damage and killing the GIW has caused in Amity Park: I'll try, but I'm not sure how much good it will do if the League shows up.

TLDR: Amity Park during it's entire run has a Battalion of US National Guard camped out in the outskirts/abandoned parts of town and they figure out most of the situation regarding Phantom not being the Villain Mayor Masters and the GIW Claim him to be. Following this logic they turned around and at the first opportunity attacked the GIW and pushed them out of Amity Park.

[dreamerinthemoonlight]

LaDS Boys when their S/O' sees a Bad Doctor's Doctor won't Listen (Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne, Sylus)

I hate dealing with shitty doctors. I really do.

Rafayel x fe!reader, Xavier x fem!reader, Zayne x fem!reader, Sylus x fem!reader

Rafayel

Raf isn't usually my favorite--in large part because we'd be the biggest disaster couple on the planet--but I feel like in this case, he'd be great

seriously, the moment the doctor stops listening, thr doctor gets the full force of Rafayel's aloof, arrogant demeanor

Raf is not the kind of person who hesitates to be a Karen if he thinks it's appropriate. And messing with his person definitely counts

Doctor: blah, blah, blah

Raf: Excuse me. I'm taking my person and we're leaving

Then you go get something to eat while he makes sure that you're ok because it's pretty disheartening to be not listened to by medical "professionals"

Xavier

he isn't with you at the doctor (probably at home sleeping or fighting wanderers) but he sees you crying when you get home

obviously he's not particularly happy to see you crying

his first priority is comforting you, maybe cuddling or inviting you to nap

then he insists you change doctors and the two of you do research to find a doctor who will listen

Zayne

As if this would ever happen

I can't see Zayne letting this ever be a problem to start with

He knows all of the best doctors in different fields

And even if the person you saw wasn't the best, just knowing that you're THE Doctor Zayne's S/o, I don't think they would dare try to give sub par care

I mean if they did, it might end their careers. Zayne would not hesitate to warn others away from that provider and Zayne's words hold a lot of weight

Sylus

Uh, you didn't tell Sylus what happened when it first happened

I mean, Sylus doesn't really hesitate to kill people and fucking with his kitten would piss him off.

Nobody messes with his kitten. They just don't

Of course, he found out about it. Mephisto was probably skulking somewhere in your vicinity while you were upset about it. And even if he hadn't seen through Mephisto's eyes, he'd have figured out when he asked you about the appointment

Sylus: How was it?

You: fine

Sylus: you sure about that, sweetie?

To his credit, he doesn't do anything to extreme. Much. He wants you to see that doctor one more time with him in tow, just so that he can tell the doctor they're fired in person

I don't think he'd kill the doctor, but he's certainly not above threatening them to make sure you get the care you deserve

The next doctor you see his one that he has personally vetted

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Sung Jinwoo x Terminally ill Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 022 ✦ ┆・

‼️[ TW: Hurt, No comfort, Character Death, Terminal Illness]‼️

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ Part 1 || Part Two ♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

╰┈➤ ❝ [ I Have To Breath, But Every Inhale Feels More Like a Punishment From The Gods ] ¡! ❞

White walls were all you have ever known for all your life.

Christmas? Inside White Walls.

Your Birthdays? Inside White Walls.

Your first kiss? Inside White Walls.

You hated the sight of it all, you hated it so much that the smell of this room was starting to have an aroma of death.

And yet, Jinwoo never complained.

He visits everyday without a fail, always on time, maybe a little late here and there because he was a hunter– But he is always there, sliding open the hospital door with a beaming smile and lips ready to give you a caress.

Jinwoo always had food with him, even when he comes into the hospital room with a battered look.

Clothes stained with grime and dirt, a shoe with a hole, a face disheveled with some dried blood he failed to wash up earlier from rushing— And hair so messy you swear there must be a nest inside those soft and delicate jet black strands of his.

You would scold him with anger and yet he just laughs it off, muttering "I'm sorry" over and over while he gently takes your hand, rubbing his thumb over the soft and thin hand of yours.

But you knew he wasn't listening to you, and for that, you could only sigh.

Jinwoo always appeared calm and happy.

...Because if he shows you the turmoils and anxiety he has hidden in him, what would happen to you?

You're already dying.

Your skin is paler than last week, your body is growing thinner everyday, your voice is growing quieter and more ragged, your breathing is slower and heavy, the tubes strewn around you were increasing in number as if it's turning into a complete amalgamation of horror—

Jinwoo is losing you.

He knew that so well, the doctor had already told him weeks ago that you don't have much time.

So he desperately tries his outmost best to spend as much time with you, even if he comes in bloody from his raids— He needs to see you everyday.

Even when he went through the double dungeon, he went straight to your side the moment he came in, and to ligthen your mood he would joke around and say you two can now be bed buddies since you're both sick.

Jinwoo will strive to make you smile, even if it hurts him inside he supresses that anguish deep down inside because he knows you must be in much more pain.

He will never know what it's like to always receive these different medications that are so disgustingly unpleasant to the mouth, he will never know how much the constant injections would hurt, he will never know how tiresome it is to constantly be monitored, he will never know how much sadness you go through when he isnt there.

Jinwoo needs to be happy in front of you.

He just got back from the system's first dungeon, he was going to tell you all about how he did because he knew you love listening about his raids even though they are scary.

But as he approaches the familiar number of you hospital room— Nurses and doctors were running in and out in rapid succession.

He could hear the doctor barking out orders, counting down and screaming Clear.

1....

2....

3....

"We're sorry Mr Sung." The same doctor comes out, the heartbreak in his eye evident as the hunter flung himself inside the room.

There was a ringing inside Jinwoo's ear, it was so high pitched and painful.

But really, it wasn't a ring.

It was Jinwoo screaming at the top of his lungs.

A scream so full of pain and anguish that everyone who hears his scream felt shudders— But even that, even that could never compare to what Jinwoo feels right now.

His heart felt like it was about to explode, his organs felt like they were twisting and contorting inside his body, his muscles felt so stiff that he swears he must have been made out of stone, the lock in his throat wouldn't go away no matter how much he cried out.

Tears would stream down his face.

And the medical staff could do nothing more than to close the door to let Jinwoo have his last moments.

Jinwoo would kiss his beloved's hand that was so cold, he would beg and beg for them to wake up— To call out his name, to scold him, to smack his head because he is such a reckless idiot.

He implores, "Open your eyes... Open them, I'm right here. Woowoo is here... Please, please come back."

But no answer would reach his ears, not even the faintest of breaths would reach his ears.

He tried to listen to your heartbeat, but there was nothing there for him to listen to.

Hours, he spent hours inside that room until he finally came out to call a medical staff.

Jinwoo's voice was horse, almost like he even lost it.

His eyes were puffy and his expression drained of color

Everyone though his expression couldn't worsen any further.

But in your funeral, he was empty, complete empty.

Mindless as he watches your coffin lower, numb as the dirt piling up on the elegant Mahogany wood.

He stood there, unmoving as the last dirt was thrown and fixed.

Jinwoo stayed there even in the rain.

Just staring.

It was as if he's waiting for a hand to emerge from the dirt like those stupid movies he used to watch with you.

But no.

No hand would ever emerge.

The sweet sound of your voice calling out his name, he could never hear it again directly.

Since them, Jinwoo would abuse his body through the system.

Ceaselessly leveling up in godspeed, pushing himself past his limits as a form of punishment.

It was his way of showing how much he hated himself.

He always though of that day, had he come in a little earlier, had he beaten that godforsaken snake a little more earlier— Then perhaps he could have heard your voice one last time, perhaps he could have said goodbye more properly.

Over and over and over and over and over.

He would rise, he would level up, the sound of the system dings becoming sickeningly disgusting the more time passed by.

And soon, he was titled as the world's strongest hunter.

... He was also the most lifeless of them all.

Grey eyes always empty, it was as if he was merely a shell of a person.

Jinwoo never really reacts to anything other than his familr, the few times he has shown emotion— Was when he was furious.

And everytime that happens, the world would tremble in absolute horror.

Other than that? He just did his job.

People would call him all sorts of things, insult him but not once has he ever batted an eye at them.

When he isn't in the gates, taking care of Ahjin guild, or leveling up— He would often go by your grave.

He'd buy all sorts of flowers, from your favourites to whatever he thinks looks absolutely pretty and you would certainly have loved.

Jinwoo would lean behind the stone wall, his head tilted back as he tells you about his day. How it's been, how silly Jin-ah has been, how ridiculous Jinho was last night whole drunk, and what he's been up to.

He'd talk on and on, even if he knew there wouldn't be a reply.

But somehow, the breeze blowing felt like it was the stand-in for your voice, the scent of leaves seemed to carry your scent— Everything around him was reminding him of you.

Or maybe it was just his senses is making him delusional because desperately needed you by him.

After all, he was slowly going more and more mad.

It's been so hard, yesterday, he was a struggling hunter who has lost the love of his life.

Today, he is the world's champion.

He was to be the war hero thrown to save the world.

"I don't know if I can do it" Jinwoo weakly mumbles as he continues to lean on your grave as if it were your arms comforting him. "I've killed a few monarchs, Antares only remains yet somehow... I still feel anxious. I could really... Really use some of your words, love. But I know that's impossible."

It wasn't really.

He could technically reanimate your being, but he never did. as much as it kills him, he wanted you to rest, he never wanted to use his wicked power just to see you.

Not having you by his side is his punishment for not coming any sooner to stay by your side that dreadful day.

"Well... If I don't make it, it's fine." Jinwoo mumbles, looking up at the starless night sky. "I'll see you again soon, wherever it may be, no matter how many lifetimes it take, no matter how far I go, I'll come back and see you again. So wait just a little longer, my love. Woowoo is coming home"

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[pampushky]

i hate the air he breathes his foolish decrees

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader - chapter 2 - 5k

woooo welcome to part 2 my loves! sorry for the slight wait. I've been doing hot bitch shit (my actual job). but now we're back. enjoy the fuck out of it. TW: no mention of abuser other than as him. mentions of abandonment and severe physical trauma in the form of a house fire. lore drop on the main character too!!

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Mid-March 2005. Los Angeles.

Niki gets a call from an unknown number that wakes him up from a deep slumber, and he hardly has any time to think as he’s pulling a sweater over his head and forgoing a hat entirely. It’s his third day in as your legal guardian, and you’re already transferred to a state-of-the-art hospital in Los Angeles, across the country from where you’d lived previously. A newer set of mountains. A city to the hamlet you’d once known, hidden away in the foggy mountains of North Carolina.  

As he blearily walks into the hospital lobby, there’s already a small team of doctors waiting for him, explaining rapidly what's happening to you as they walk him up to your room in the burn ward. You’re in the best hospital for burns on the continent— Niki had made sure of it. Had paid for the flight over here two days ago, with a medical staff on board to keep you stable during the five-hour flight. 

The doctors swarming around your unconscious form resemble vultures. The burn center director explains everything to him when they finally get to your room. The rapid medical treatment nearly made you present early. Freakishly early, by all standards. It’s understood to have been a panic response by your body— because you're on the brink of death in the burn ward, your hormones so out of whack that for whatever reason, your brain had gone, ‘Oh, yes, it’s time to do that now.’

Studies had shown that those in areas where the risk of death was high often presented much earlier, with other cases that also supported something known as “panic presentation”. You’re an extreme example of the latter. But it had never been seen to this degree. You need to be knocked out for several days, going comatose while a team of doctors works around the clock to save your life while it seems likely you will melt away like the first snowfall on a sun-warmed road as it seems new complications get piled onto your case file every day. The way the doctor talks about you makes Niki feel like you’re more of a specimen meant for study, and not a pup who’d just lost her Dam. 

Marlene has already decorated the sterile room to reflect more on a child’s room. And wherever there’s an empty space on a table, she’s placed down vases full of fresh flowers. Flowering dogwood. That’s what the state flower was of North Carolina, and however early in the season for blooming it was, she managed to find fresh ones every day. Now, Marlene was back at the hotel, settling a new wave of interest about your identity while Niki tried to figure out what he was going to do with you when he's lead into the room.

You’re already on several new medications to prevent you from presenting early, having them inserted in through an IV and eventually, to be taken as a pill when you could swallow. You'll be on these same medications until you’re seven or eight, when they can start to consider weaning you off of them to let you present then because it’ll be safer. Niki hates the idea of you presenting even then. You should be almost fully grown when you present. Not— not still a pup. With baby teeth still in your mouth. You should be wrestling. Learning to access your canine form, and causing mayhem like his sons had. 

So he does what he’s been doing for the past five days. Niki sits quietly by your side in your private room. Holding your tiny hand while a machine breathes for you, not even five years old, and fighting for your life. Completely unaware of the complications your existence has thrown straight into Niki’s lap, dredging up old, old wounds that his sons have yet to recover from.

Because the great complication is that you’re his biological grandchild. 

Through a son, a beta, that neither Lukas nor Mathias had gotten to know. Or Niki, for that matter. But here you are. The only link to that son. To the ultimate undoing of his marriage and mating, his infidelity thrown back in his face in the form of a sedated, traumatized pup that can’t understand him through his accent.

Left without a dam, your mother. Lost to the roaring flames of a housefire that you’d somehow survived. Part of Niki wants to know how his son had ended up in the area, and if there are any other new descendants he should know about. So he petitions the court to gain access to your files before he legally adopts you, and he stares down at them before finally lifting the cover of the manila folder and starts to read.

All the files seem to stare right on back at Niki as he continues to pour through them, officially five minutes and nine seconds into being your legal guardian. They’re meticulous, just as expected— it had become standard for anyone who’d had so much as a visit to a hospital to create a DNA profile, especially after they presented. His affair child’s profile stares back at him, with what he can only assume is an up-to-date photo. Male. Beta. Signed away parental rights before birth. Austrian nationality. That’s all you have to go on for your biological father’s identity. 

That’s all that linked Niki to you, and how the social worker had managed to contact him. All other positive matches from your father’s side are his former mistress as your biological grandmother and his two sons with Marlene as your uncles. There are no other pups listed for his affair child. No other grandchildren that he has to worry about. Your dam’s profile is more complete. A smiling picture of her holding you as an infant, left by her family.

Female. Omega. Deceased. American nationality, born in Banner Elk, North Carolina. 

And under that:

Dam’s pack signed away pack and next of kin rights to the pup. Relevant health history is accessible through the International UN DNA database. Pack requested no contact order until the pup has reached legal age, or unless the pup does not survive her time in hospital, so they may bury her in the family plot with her Dam.

This makes a chill run down Niki’s spine. Your pack had… signed you away? The only people who had been familiar to you— and they had signed away their rights as though you were more of a burden than anything, only asking for you back if you were dead. It makes him shudder, as he looks down at your tiny body again, for what must have been the thousandth time since he’s been introduced to you. Since he’d so quickly agreed to become your legal guardian, your legal sire. Covered in bandages and hooked up to dozens of wires. 

The social worker explained that signing you away was them not wanting to pay for the massive medical bill, along with the scandal your birth had caused in the small community. Your Dam was unmated, and even worse, unmarried, raising you on her own in a less-than-up-to-code cabin her late father had left her, further out in the mountains, a thirty-minute drive into town. 

The matriarch of her pack had been well-regarded in the area— it was an open secret that she was looking for any excuse to remove you from the picture. This just happened to be the perfect excuse. How was she going to be able to pay for your medical costs on her own when it was just her? All the advanced treatments you’d need— it would be too much in her old age.

When told about the Children’s Health Insurance Programs that could easily provide care for you, your grand-dam had just made a sour face and told the Social Worker she was still signing away her rights. Her surviving children were quick to follow her lead.

What a backward system. Niki had growled to himself, pacing in the room. Reading the reports from the insurance company he’d managed to legally bully his way into receiving from your biological family. 

The cabin had burnt down in nearly an hour. You’d been trapped under a metal bed frame when the roof collapsed in on itself. When they’d found you, it had been a recovery effort for bodies. And despite it all, you’d survived, your whimpering and crying alerting the firefighters that you were alive. Severely burnt, with the old mattress and polyester blankets having melted and dripped across your little body as the embers settled. Half of your body severely burnt from where the flames could still reach you. Crying out for your Dam even as you were airlifted to the nearest hospital with a functioning burn ward.

Going over your files has become a habit for first past three days. Ever since Marlene had gone silent when Niki told her that he was going to adopt you, before brusquely starting to order furniture and calling countless contractors that a new pup-friendly room be added to his house in Hof. He’s lucky to at least be considered a friend of his former mate, otherwise, he would be stumbling through his second round of parenting. He looks down at the newest addition to his pack. You. Four and a half. With burns covering an incredible amount of your body. Nearly 45% percent of your torso, completely mangling one of your legs, crawling up your neck and dancing across your jaw. Now lying in a medically-induced coma to conserve your energy. 

You wake up nearly two days later. Five days into Niki’s tenure as your legal sire. Unable to scream. Eyes fixed on Niki as your little chest heaves with the effort it takes to breathe. You pull at your IV and try to snap at a nurse who tries to stop you. But your eyes are still fixed on Niki, likely horrified by his burns. You were glancing at your own bandaged arms and body as if to gauge how you would one day look. 

There is a wild look in your eyes as you look at him. The way you tremble as the doctors try to explain everything. It hurts Niki’s heart, especially with the gasping noise you let out before they sedate you again when you’re still not responding well to anything. Niki wants to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go. You mumble something out as you drift away again, tears in the corners of your eyes. Foggy eyes on the extravagant bouquets of flowers on the tables beside your bed and across the room.

Where is my Dam? 

Early February 2024. Woking.

Your left leg was acting up again. It always did when you were stressed. The fire had mangled it— and that was putting it lightly. Not bad enough to amputate, because that would be too easy, and they didn’t want to send your body into even more shock. So you had your crispy, chicken-fried, useless leg. You could put some weight on it now, after nearly twenty years of intense therapy and correcting surgeries. But it was still incredibly weak. All twisted, mottled skin and a full knee replacement.

That’s what had made it so easy for him. That’s what had made it easy for him to chase you down as you tried to leave every situation that saw him near you. Easily able to keep pace with your shambling, stress-induced walk as you choked on his scent. 

Your upper thigh twinges. The needle pierces your skin all over again. That was the only reason you’d been able to walk away without experiencing a true heat from whatever drug he’d hit you with. The bad, mangled leg of yours. Your downfall and savior. 

The halls are winding, but you can vaguely follow the way to your office from previous talks. You call Lewis the moment you get to the room. There’s already a brand-new mini fridge sitting on your desk, likely from the accommodations you’d listed in the countless documents you’d had to sign when you got hired. 

There’s a few people unboxing your items and they look a bit shocked to see you back from what was supposed to be a much longer meeting.

“Ms Lauda—”

“Leave, please,” you whisper while pacing across the room, trying to calm yourself down. You can feel your scent-blocking, adhesive strips tingling. Your scent glands, especially the damaged ones, threatening to blister from the stress of what just happened. You were going to be sacked for certain. Not only had you yelled at the driver you were meant to work with, you’d also thrown an empty can at him. “I’d like some space.”

The workers, your new assistants, you realize, hurry out, not even catching your mumbled thanks as you tuck yourself into a corner where you can’t be seen from the door. So much different than Williams. So much more support. Lewis doesn’t pick up immediately, but just as you’re about to call again, his contact photo appears on your screen. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay—” Is the first thing you hear, like the protective older brother he’s always situated himself as in your life. “What room are you in? I still haves ways to get into the classified parts of the MTC—” 

“I’m going to fucking kill Lando Norris,” You growl into the phone, and Lewis lets out a relieved noise, before breaking off into a fit of laughter, his voice more distant as if he’s trying to muffle himself. “Don’t laugh! That fucking brat, I should box his goddamn ears, showing up nearly an hour late to what was supposed to be our initial meeting—” 

“Ah, yeah, sounds like Lando!” 

“Fuck off, Lewis,” You whine, and he has the audacity to laugh even harder, because your accent slips, as it always seems to do when you’re with your immediate pack. You can hear him shuffle a bit. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” You concede to him with a soft sigh. You hear the chortling barks of Roscoe in the background of Lewis’s call. “I’m gonna do my job. But I’m gonna hate it. Unless I get switched to Oscar.”

“Don’t sound too hopeful.” Lewis chides on the other side of the phone, and you hear the doorknob jiggle, followed by a soft knock. “Sounds like you have some work to do.” 

He hangs up before you can say something in response to him, leaving the gentle knocking on the door to slowly drive you insane. Likely Andrea or Zak, telling you that you were going to be let go for committing a minor assault against their star driver. 

And you're right, it is Zak. But he looks more concerned than angry with you, immediately putting his hands up in a placating manner when you open the door as if you’re the one with all the power and he’s not the CEO of McLaren Racing, your ultimate boss. Your boss’s boss. The one who bulldozed his way into getting you on the team because he’d seen your work to get at least a modicum of respect back to Williams, and, in his own words, got a good vibe from you.

(And maybe Niki had been in his ear a little bit about it, but when Niki Lauda spoke, people had a habit of listening rather closely to whatever he said.)

“Mr. Brown,” You start formally, leaning down in a way that is traditionally seen as submitting and a very, very formal way to apologize before he starts to squawk in surprise at it all. 

“Don’t– What are you submitting for— are you alright?!”

The last thing you expect is Zak fretting over you like you’re a pup. He’s gently squishing your cheeks with his hands, checking you over, and you can see his nose twitching, as if he’s checking your scent for any signs of distress. Only to look confused by how… clean, you smell.

“Are you— are you still hurt from everything?”

“No, I just,” You take a step backward, and hold up your hands just like he had just been doing for you a few seconds ago. “It’s easier to hide my designation when I smell like this.”

He just looks confused at your explanation but doesn’t seem to question it.

“And you… want to continue hiding it?”

“Preferably.”

Even as you say it, you can see a bit of pity in his eyes. You know his mate is an omega. He has a pup who’s an omega. Both of which he supports wholeheartedly. You’d seen all the articles. Part of you is jealous. Another part just wants everyone to stop caring about what your designation may be. Why should anyone care what you are? 

You’re proud of yourself, regardless of your designation. You’re not some prize to be won! You can stand on your own two feet, you can take care of yourself. You had more than shown that—

Zak is hugging you. Rumbling softly like any parent would do for a distressed pup.

“You don’t have to justify it. I just need to know so I can make sure that no one else is told, aside from our medical people.” He whispers, and you sag against him. Relief fills your mind. “What— what do people think you’ve presented as?”

“Alpha. Like Vati. They think I’m an Alpha.” 

“We can work with that,” Zak pulls away, looking at you. There’s only worry in his eyes. “Can I ask one more thing?”

“Yeah,” You sniffle, not realizing you’d starting to tear up as you look at him. “What is it?”

“Why…. did you throw an empty can of Red Bull at Lando? You’re not in trouble, I just want to know why.”

You flush, and Zak just starts to laugh. 

McLaren is much, much different than Williams.

Lando has been sitting in a chair while Oscar screams at him. Andrea has disappeared. It’s been ten minutes and all he wants to do is curl up and die and apologize for commenting on your voice and being late and not charging his phone and really, every other thing that he’d done wrong, ever.

Yes. He is technically the older one. No, he shouldn’t be acting like such a pup over this.  

Yes. He should know better than to comment on things that people can’t change or help about themselves.

Yes, Oscar, Lando was aware that you had survived a very traumatic house fire that nearly killed you. No, it’s not okay that he called you a robotic bitch. No, he didn’t read the email about the apparent triggers that you had from this event. Frankly, he wasn’t even aware that they had emailed those to him. That seemed like a bit much.

“I mean seriously, Lando! This is ridiculous! Fucking calling her that!” 

It feels like he’s being lectured by his Dam again, her words blending English into Flemish until he can’t tell what she’s saying, just that she’s pissed at him. Instead, it’s just Oscar’s accent getting thicker and thicker until Lando’s certain he’s never heard anyone sound so furious with him, and that’s really saying something. 

“I get it,” Lando whines, letting his head slip so that he can press his forehead against the table. And he does feel bad! Really! “I didn’t know she’d respond like that!”

“Wonderful excuse to be a fuckhead, champ,” Oscar drawls, eyes narrowed. His arms are folded. He looks unimpressed. He smells more, now than ever, of rotting oranges. Lando can imagine the maggots. “I’m shocked you didn’t comment on her designation as well.”

“She’s an alpha! And she smells so medicine-y,” Lando wrinkles his nose, lifting up his head enough to glare at the omega in front of him. Oscar’s face is a blank mask of annoyance, with a flicker of some other mystery emotion. But he can at least tell what he’s thinking because he can smell his displeasure from across the room. It’s all rotten oranges, burning rubber, and singed hair. “C’mon! I didn’t know it’d set her off that much, man!”

“Commenting on traumatic events tends to do that to people.”

“How was I supposed to know it was traumatic?!”

“Wow, you really didn’t read any of the emails,” Oscar lets out a low huff, sitting across from Lando in one of the plush office chairs. “We’ve been in talks with her for weeks!”

“You were in talks with her, maybe,” Lando says snidely, narrowing his gaze at the omega across from him, “I didn’t think I needed a new race engineer, yet here we are. But you seemed awfully interested when you heard she was looking for a new team.”

Oscar scoffs. His cheeks turn slightly pink. “No, I wasn’t. She’s a good friend. I thought she’d be a good fit for the team.”

“Oh, so this has nothing to do with the fact that you have such an obvious crush on her? I bet Logan even helped set you up,” Lando knows he’s been a dick again. But he’s frustrated. He’ll get lectured by his therapist for this later, and he’s okay with that. He just needs to make Oscar squirm a little for his high-and-mighty attitude. “You want her pups, I bet. Already have the first three named.”

“Fuck off,” Oscar snarls, and Lando decides to keep digging a bit more. “It’s not like that! Besides— I’m courting someone!”

An awkward silence settles between the two. Oscar’s flushed pink. And Lando starts to grin. All evil like, in Oscar’s opinion. Gleefully, in his own. 

"Oh, but it is!” Lando chimes, his voice all sing-songy. He’s in full older brother mode. He knows exactly what to do to push Oscar’s buttons now that his teammate has shown his weakness. He’s done this with his sisters. And Oscar’s probably used to being the one doing the tormenting, as his family’s oldest pup. “You like her!” And then, with a very dramatic gasp, “Oh, you’re probably courting her! No wonder you wanted her here!”

Without so much as a warning, the Australian driver leaps at him with a snarl the moment the words are out of his mouth. They’re both tussling on the ground, before it turns into the two of them in their canine forms, snapping and snarling at each other. This is when Andrea decides to make a reappearance, looking a bit startled to see a mousy-brown wolf and a dark-brown wolf rolling around on the floor of the conference room. Oscar is large for an omega in his canine form, but still smaller than Lando. Lando is wirey, not as bulky as many would expect an Alpha to be. It’s rather evenly matched, considering how often the two of them are training. 

One moment, Lando has Oscar pinned. Another, Oscar has him pinned. Snarling and biting and kicking until the door opens again, and now it’s Andrea, Zak, and yourself watching the two of them wrestle until you fearlessly walk into the fray and grab Oscar by one of his hind legs.

Oscar turns human again immediately, hitting the ground with a loud ‘oof’ while Lando scurries away, watching as you start to lecture the other driver as he stands up. Your tone is hushed, but it’s clear that this seems to be a common occurrence between the two of you. You’re leaning over him, and the rumblings of annoyance and displeasure are clear as day.

Lando can’t help but smirk as the other man makes fleeting eye contact with him as you sit on his side of the table, taking your place as his engineer, despite your obvious contempt for him. 

“Now, let's get to business…” Andrea sighs. You keep your eyes ahead. Hands folded neatly in front of you. Letting his words blur until you feel Oscar gently tugging on your arm. He looks concerned, and you smile tiredly at him. Only just remembering the promise of cuddling in his nest with him when this was all done. 

You don’t even care if you look or act nothing like the Alpha that Lando thinks you are. You just slump against Oscar with a grumpy half-whine as he hoists you over his shoulder. The other driver lets out a loud snort at that, and your friend only glares at him, about to say something else before you bring one of your hands to tap his cheek lightly.

“Just get to th’nest,” You mumble, leaning against him. Your leg aches. You don’t want to walk. “Wanna get th’blockers off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oscar sighs, glaring at Lando over his shoulder before walking past with you in his arms. You don’t care about how it looks. You’ll deal with it later. And before you know it, you’re curled in the world’s comfiest nest, all in shades of orange and black. With the comforting scent of sweet tangerines and charcoal. Oscar hands you a nice little bottle of micellar water to help get the sticky adhesive of the blockers off, much more gentle with your skin than you ever are with yourself. He’s even soaked cotton rounds to make it a bit easier to apply, gently rubbing them across your scarred glands to clear any remnants of the adhesive off of your skin.

The smells of mountain rain and fresh baked peach cobbler mix with Oscar’s scent as you stretch, rubbing your cheeks tiredly.

You let yourself relax then. Sinking deep into the soft pillows as Oscar comes to spoon you from behind. A commonplace action, and had been since he started to get more and more bold with you in his attempts to court you. 

You can hear Oscar start to Facetime someone, probably Logan. But you honestly don’t care all that much— he’s there, and you’ll give your friend a full debrief, of course, after you’ve fully rested. 

“Your leg acting up?”

Oscar nudges you, and you grumble, trying to press your face further into the plushness of the nest, voice muffled by pillows. “Who cares if it is?”

“I do.”

“So do I!” Logan chimes in from the phone, and you roll over enough to glare at him. “Did you take all your meds, mouse?”

“Unfortunately, yes. So I’m afraid you’ll just have to put me down at this point—”

You don’t even have time to respond as Oscar cuffs your ear. You let out a dramatic whine, actually letting yourself act on your instinctual noises. Nothing hurts, of course. Oscar’s always been gentle, making sure nothing actually hurts when he wrestles with you or cuffs your ears. 

“Did you have to get my bad ear?” You whine, looking accusingly at the Aussie who just grins down at you, cuffing the same ear once again. “I’m gonna tell Lewis.”

“He doesn’t scare me, and besides, he’d probably agree with me! All, ‘C’mon, Mousey, that’s not how your therapist said to cope with your trauma—”

“That’s a bit scary, how accurate that was,” You prop yourself up to glare at your dear friend, only to smile broadly at him. You can’t help it, really. He manages to make you smile, even when you feel like shit. And even when he cuffs your bad ear by mistake, after swearing he won’t do it again.

In truth, the ear looks almost melted. It’s usually carefully hidden by your personal stylist, with hair masterfully combed over it. The skin around it— luckily missing your scalp— was mottled and pink. What was left of your ear was little more than a small ridge of skin and cartilage at this point, and was much the same in your canine appearance, just more dramatic without all the fur. The upper half of your ear was utterly gone, along with most of the lobe. It was the ear you were deaf in. 

“Can it even hurt if you’re deaf?”

“Yeah! Doesn’t mean it’s gone numb to the feeling,” you pout, looking at him as he sets his chin on your shoulder. Logan giggles from FaceTime. He’s set up somewhere, Williams blue all around him that makes you avert your gaze but continue talking to him nonetheless. “Ugh. Logan, I almost killed Lando.”

“She threw a can of Red Bull at him,” Oscar clarifies, to his rather shocked-looking boyfriend and courting partner. To his credit, it takes a few seconds before Logan starts to cackle.  

“It was empty!” You protest back, but there’s a wide smile on your face as you hazard a glance at your former partner. “He was being a little bitch!”

“Should I be offended I didn’t get the same treatment my first day?” Logan’s voice crackles and his face is frozen on the screen with a mix of a confused look and smirk, before serenading both of you with a jumbled, robotic mess before the call abruptly ends. 

“Stupid wifi,” Oscar mumbles, pulling the phone away to text his boyfriend to see what happened. You just settle back into your side of the nest, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift off while Oscar’s comforting scent wafts over in you waves. You could just about fall asleep when there’s a gentle knock at the door, followed by Andrea poking his head in. 

He blinks at the two of you. You blink back at him, already knowing you won't be able to take a much-needed like you had originally planned.

“Ah! Ms Lauda— can I speak with you for a second?”

“Can I do it from here?” you try to press yourself deeper into Oscar’s nest. You’d need to find a place to make one here— a nice, private room. Somewhere you can easily reapply your scent blockers and can fully surrender to your instincts until you were comfortable with more people knowing about your designation. “Took off my blockers.”

“Of course. I just wanted to check in, make sure everything was alright after… how the meeting went.”

There’s a hearty pause. As if he can tell you’re thinking over your words carefully.

“It certainly… went.”

“Ah. And… no other comments?”

“I meant what I said. You baby Lando.” You shift slightly. Tiredly. Giving the team principal the trademark Lauda stare from where you’re comfortably curled into the nest. So soft, yet so harsh at the same time.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re here to fix that,” Andrea smiles politely at you, and ducks out of the room without another word. You just settle deeper into Oscar’s nest, wondering what in the hell you’d gotten yourself into. The only thing on your mind when you finally manage to fall asleep is how much you miss your mother's fresh peach cobbler.

tags: @the-holy-trinity-l @laura-naruto-fan1998 @amalialeclerc @st0rmzi3 @poppyflower-22 @hiireadstuff @seonghwaexile @mrsmelinda

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

”Dear Assistant”

synopsis: you take up a job with the fatui, and you didn’t think being a doctors assistant meant being the doctors assistant.

tags: medical malpractice, dub-con, insertion, vulgar, explicit, sadist!Dottore

wrd cnt: 1.4k

a/n: lowkey not feeling like my best writing but i hope yall enjoy

You stood outside the unmarked door, clutching the letter that had brought you to this mysterious location. The Fatui's emblem adorned the top of the page, and the words "Confidential Assistant Position" were typed in bold font. You had applied for the job, hoping to use your skills to make a difference in the world of Teyvat. The pay was generous, and the benefits were unparalleled. But as you raised your hand to knock, a shiver ran down your spine. Something didn't feel right.

The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit corridor that seemed to stretch on forever. A figure in a white coat beckoned you forward, their face obscured by the shadows.

"Welcome. I am Doctor- ah, my apologies. You may call me Dottore. I've been expecting you."

You followed Dottore through the winding corridors, taking in the sights and sounds of the laboratory. Beakers bubbled, and strange machinery hummed in the background. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals and something else... something sweet and metallic.

As you entered the main laboratory, your eyes widened in awe. Rows of workstations stretched out before you, each one cluttered with equipment and strange devices. In the center of the room, a large, metal table dominated the space. Dottore gestured for you to approach.

"This is where the real work happens, my dear assistant. I've been working on a project of great importance, and I require someone with your...unique voluntary willingness."

You felt a flutter in your chest as Dottore's eyes locked onto yours. His gaze was piercing, and you couldn't help but feel like he was seeing right through you.

"What kind of project?" you asked "Ah, well…" Dottore said, his voice low and husky. "I'm working on a project that will change the course of human history. A project that will unlock the secrets of the human mind and grant us unimaginable power."

He gestured to a nearby workstation, where a strange device hummed and whirred. It looked like a cross between a medical scanner and a medieval torture rack.

"This is the Neuro-Resonance Amplifier," Dottore explained. "With this device, we can tap into the deepest desires and fears of the human mind. We can manipulate thoughts, emotions, and actions. We can create an army of mindless drones, loyal only to us."

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Dottore's eyes gleamed with excitement. This was getting out of hand, and you weren't sure if you wanted to be a part of it.

"But what about ethics?" you asked, trying to sound calm. "Isn't this a bit... extreme?"

Dottore chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound. "Ethics are for the weak. In this world, it's every man for himself."

He stepped closer, his eyes burning with intensity. "And I think you are too, y/n. I think you have a certain... spark within you. A spark that I can fan into a flame."

You felt a flutter in your chest as Dottore's words sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure what he meant, but you had a feeling that you were in over your head.

Suddenly, Dottore's expression changed, and he became all business. "Now, let's get down to work. We have a lot to cover, and I need your full attention."

He gestured to the metal table in the center of the room, and you felt a sense of trepidation. What did he have planned for you?

"Please" Dottore said, his voice dripping with darkness. "Take off your shirt and lay down on the table. We're going to begin your...consultation."

You felt a wave of fear wash over you as you realized that you were trapped with some crazy scientist. But you had to keep this job, somehow.

Hesitantly, you removed your top, and layed your head down slowly on the cushioned end of the table. Dottore had soon started taping small pieces of wire and metal to your arms and torso, two on each side of your temples as well.

“Now, you’re going to help me with the first stages of this, excited?” He joked, taking this whole human experiment thing way too casually.

You lay there, breathing heavily as you don’t know what to expect.

He finished setting a few things up on the computer, and you observed a chart on the projector infront of you; screencasting the computer with a plethora of scattered pieces of what seemed to be data alongside a key.

Without much warning, Dottore pulled you up by your waist, hoisting your body up and standing next to you and holding your face up to look at him.

You haven’t gotten a chance to clearly take a look at him before, but you observed each fragment of his face; his eyes pierced yours in a way that turns them into ice, frozen in place.

“I need you to remain calm, try to keep your limbs the same.” He said, before snapping on a pair of blue gloves and pressing pressure points along your back.

Every harsh breath you’d take at the pressure caused the chart to create a spike in data.

The lower he went, the more data appeared on the chart.

“Hmm… I see.” He mumbled.

He set his clipboard down, and pushed your body down. “Don’t yell too loud now, I’ve been getting far too many noise complaints from the others.”

You felt as if someone struck a strong left hook into your stomach, the worst possibilities reaching your brain.

The room’s lights dimmed, even brooding noises of flickering lights distract you from your thoughts.

You were on your back, chilly scales under your hips and barely clad skin. With a sudden pull, Dottore pulled your trousers off, throwing them away and spreading your legs apart as if you’d signed away your body to him.

“Ack—Fuck-What are you doing!?” You hissed, as you felt his hand grab hold of your face roughly

“This is for the research, sweetheart,” He mumbled, his deep voice coated in mania.

“Doctor- please...” You gasped, feeling him dig for something deep within you, your hand under his grip struggling to free itself.

“I need to be sure, until the data calms down I can’t trust it.” He said, the annoyance laced with concern felt like an aftertought, not fully registered until he panted, “You signed up for this. Now do the part.” He said moreso like a warning.

Apart of you wanted to scream, but another was screaming to find out more. You felt shameful of the heat growing within you, and even more ashamed that he could definitely tell.

“Let’s see what the data shows, shall we?” He said sternly, picking up a rod-like device that seemed to be a good forearms length.

“I-“ You began, finding a it in you to at least say something.

“Shh…” He interrupted, shutting you up.

He dragged your body back up so he could sit behind you, pulling your hair to one side so he could observe what his hands were doing inbetween your legs.

“Doctor please I don’t think this is-Shit, Oh fucking God-!” You moaned, feeling his gloved fingers rip off your panties and insert the device inside you.

“Oh my…you’re so wet it just slid right in. You like this don’t you? Fucking slut.” He’d say, before pushing it in and out of you at a faster pace each swipe, laughing against your ear as the chart turned into a mess; points of data appearing every second.

“Ahh- Doctor-! It hurts….” You yelled, feeling the cold metal fill you up, over and over again as he rammed it inside you from behind, holding your thigh apart with his large hand as he observed the chart furiously.

“Shut up.” He exclaimed, moving his hand to cover your mouth as he kept going.

“Shhh….It’ll feel good soon. Just keep quiet. Such a messy little thing.” He said, letting you lay your head on his shoulder as you melted into him, feeling your pussy tingle with warmth as you felt the knot in your stomach threaten to burst.

And him pinching your hard nipples was just what you needed, feeling small bursts of liquid shoot out of you, splattering over the metal table

Your legs began to shake as everything escaped you, practically soaking the table along with the sleeve of his lab coat.

He felt tears from your eyes soak his hand as it ran down your face, muffled moans and pleas escaping your mouth and into the cavern of his palm.

“Tch- fine”. He said, removing the object out of you and leaving it on the table as he went back to his chair, “Clean this up.”

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[finsubbybedwetter]

Good afternoon, please have a seat. I am an administration officer acting under the authority of the Male Reproductive Rights Reform Act. You are here today to receive official notice that your MRRRA standing has been lowered to Restricted/Developmentally-impaired in response to the recent update in your medical history.

Please confirm for the record that you recently reported a bedwetting episode to you doctor. Thank you. I presume that you were not aware that male adult bedwetting has recently been reclassified as a prohibitive developmental impairment. Yes, we are aware that you only reported a single incident. However, as your medical records indicate that you experienced frequent bedwetting throughout your teens, we consider this episode to be indicative of relapse into chronic, habitual bedwetting, which is grounds for immediate corrective action.

You have been enrolled into the Adult General Urinary Incontinence Correction Program at a male remedial facility. More commonly referred to informally as the toilet training program. Yes, we understand that you have no history of full incontinence, but as bedwetting was only recently recognized as a prohibitive condition, we do not currently have a remedial program more specific to your needs. Also, studies have shown that daytime wetting is disproportionately common and often under-reported in bedwetters. We believe this program will be a good fit for you.

You will undergo corrective therapy and continuous assessment over a six week period. The corrective component of the program consists of hypnotherapy and severe negative reinforcement. You will be diapered at all times during your stay at the facility, and fitted with a moisture-sensing alarm to ensure accurate record keeping of wetting incidents for assessment and disciplinary purposes. I believe you had some experience with this kind of alarm in your teens so this should be quite familiar to you. Yes, you will be diapered at all times, not only for bed. Please understand that program rules do not permit us to make any exceptions for your case.

Bathroom visits will be restricted to a fixed schedule and fluid intake will be managed to ensure that you receive an accurate assessment. In order to keep our assessment false positive rate within MRRRA guidelines, the bathroom schedule and fluid intake minimums have been tuned to be challenging for an adult male with average bladder control and extremely challenging for impaired individuals such as yourself. We have also found that stressing program participants in this way boosts the efficacy of the negative reinforcement component of the program.

At the conclusion of the program, your assessment results will be reviewed by committee and you will be prescribed assessment outcomes. Outcomes vary widely. The more severe outcomes include permanent revocation of reproductive rights, castration, gender reassignment, and in instances involving developmental impairment such as yours, revocation of legal adulthood.

Should you receive a favorable assessment, your standing will be lifted to Qualified-unrestricted/Developmentally-impaired. Yes that's correct - your diagnosis as an adult bedwetter is permanent and thus will be reflected in your public record regardless of assessment result. A favorable assessment only indicates that you are not currently experiencing symptoms. Also, please be aware that current and future employers and sexual partners, if any, will be notified of your condition. Though, having seen your file it looks like you won't need worry about that second part..

That concludes this proceeding. When you leave this office you will be escorted to the facility for induction. Your assessment period has already begun. I hope I don't have to tell you that any non-compliance will reflect extremely poorly.

Alright, now that that's done and we're off the record, I can finally be honest with you. You're fucked. I've sent dozens of pissy-pants virgins just like you through this program, and you know what? You losers always come out more pathetic than you went in. Right now you're just a bedwetter, but in six weeks time you're going to be a stuttering, subservient, diaper-dependent sissy. You want my advice? Don't fight it. Forget about "favorable assessment". Forget about ever losing your virginity. Think of this as six weeks to adjust to your new life.