#During the time when he would have been in psych facilities
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thinking about. saffron henry. does he realize how badly he fucked up? what would the boys' reactions be if he reappeared? does jem know about him? also, is he like. healing his own trauma from charlie n everything or is he just. melting
also. unrelated. does mike ever feel like he should be less fucked up because evan's trauma is just so extreme that he compares it? does evan ever feel like others shouldn't be so traumatized bc of his frame of reference?
(Answered the first half of this ask here)
These are awesome awesome questions about the extent of and response to the trauma Ev and Mike went thru, thank you for asking!
does mike ever feel like he should be less fucked up because evan's trauma is just so extreme that he compares it?
Yes. Mike has a lot of guilt over the fact that HE was able to escape and form a life of his own when Evan so clearly wasn't.
This is probably a problem Mike had even before finding out what happened to Evan, actually. Mike has spent some time listening to other runaways stories, hearing how bad other people had it, and he would have compared himself to their stories and found the abuse he faced 'lacking' because Mike is just. Deep down, he's just a kid who wants to be loved, and he wants to be loved by his father, so even though he knows he's been abused by William, a part of him still can't help but think "maybe it wasn't actually that bad" "maybe i just did stupid stuff to make him angry and if i just stopped, things would get better" "maybe I'm just weak and shouldn't be hurt by the stuff he did".
And this tendency to like. Downplay everything he went through affects his reaction to what Evan went through. Not in that he downplays what Ev went through (he doesn't), but it makes Mike downplay his own trauma.
There's a lot of nights when Mike roams listlessly through the house, hating himself for not being able to sleep. Because what problems does he REALLY have?? Yeah William hurt him sometimes and shitty things happened to him after he ran away, but some voice in his head snaps that at least he got out! Usually when Mike can't sleep, he goes on drives in his VW bus to calm his nerves, but in this case, he refuses to let himself do that as punishment for "being so freaked out over nothing". He probably does this refusing-to-let-himself-be-comforted and pushing-himself-past-his-limits thing because he thinks what he went through "wasn't that bad" a lot. It's something he has to work on in therapy.
It also doesn't help that Mike feels obligated to be Put Together for Evan’s sake; it def makes Mike's downplaying/hiding/refusing to acknowledge what he went through thing worse. But that's the good thing about Evan's arc where he realizes Mike is his own person who went through a lot of trauma of his own; it makes Mike acknowledge some of the shit he went through and actually WORK through it, too. It is it's own kind of validation and relief for someone close to you to look at what you went through and admit "it's shitty that that happened to you, and I wish it hadn't."
does evan ever feel like others shouldn't be so traumatized bc of his frame of reference?
mmmm, kinda?
Evan's sense of empathy is complicated, especially when he's put in Mike’s custody; he's still mad at Mike for everything that happened between them. He still thinks of Mike as this big, scary, untouchable monster. Of course an invincible monster like that couldn't ever be hurt by anything.
Then, Mike keeps trying to treat Ev with kindness and sympathy instead of being cruel and monstrous. At this point, the times when Ev sees Mike flinch away from touch or flinching from Ev yelling at him or from the smell of cigarette smoke on Ev's clothes, or the times when Mike gets sent into a panic attack, are all met with confusion and a level of self-satisfaction. He doesn't know why these things are having such an impact on Michael, but it's satisfying to see that the monster that hurt him so bad can be made hurt and vulnerable after all-- especially since Evan takes this as proof that William chose Evan over Mike as his successor because he believed Evan was Stronger. Evan starts to understand that Mike can be hurt, but does not empathize with Mike over this understanding just yet.
But I don't think Evan would have the thought "why should Mike be traumatized over xyz thing when I had to deal with abc" because Evan hasn't been thinking about what William did to him as something traumatic. That doesn't come until later. He thought what William was doing was normal & good. The time Evan has spent in psychiatric facilities has taught him that the murder/using violence to make yourself feel better thing isn't normal, but Evan hasn't gotten over the barrier of thinking that it made him Stronger-- that it was a good thing even if it wasn't Normal.
It's not until Ev realizes that William was using him, didn't care, and wasn't trying to help Ev that that particular barrier finally comes crashing down for Evan.
It's not long after that that Evan has his "oh, Mike is a real person with his own trauma" revelation.
During the time between Ev realizing that William was so horrifically abusive and having his realization about Mike’s trauma, I think it's possible that Ev would lash out in ways that come across as "why should you be traumatized by xyz thing", because Ev has so much pain and confusion around the idea that Mike just left him there with William. YOU got out and I didn't, I was the one stuck there because YOU left me there, so what exactly do you have to freak out over? You chose the new life you ran away for.
But I think this fades once Ev has his Realization about Mike’s past. Because the Realization makes him understand that Mike didn't choose any of this, either.
so, this brings me to how your question applies to Evan when he's actually had a chance to start healing.
Evan’s definitely had his sense of empathy stunted and repressed as a result of his trauma, so it's hard for him to understand what other people are thinking or feeling. But I don't think this translates to him thinking other people SHOULDN'T be traumatized (as much sense as that as a trauma response would make for someone who has been thru what Evan has) so much as Evan not understanding that someone IS traumatized by something, and later, WHY they would be traumatized by it.
But Evan is a naturally empathetic person, and a naturally curious kid. So i think his response to finally understanding that the reason someone is acting weird is because they're upset by something, it would manifest as curiosity since his empathy has been so fried. He doesn't understand other people's trauma, but I think he'd be curious to understand the why's and how's of other people’s trauma. Why are you upset. What about this specific scenario is sparking this reaction. What specifically does it make you feel. Why aren't you acting like you normally do. How do i stop this from happening again.
His attempts to Understand come across as... maybe not clinical, exactly, but definitely as insensitive.
Like, when Evan learns that Jeremy is still fucked up about their (singular) little sister dying when they were younger, Evan’s brain is like. MY sister went missing (he knows how Liz died but repressed it) and my brother used her disappearance as an excuse to torture me. In Evan’s mind, what he went through is Worse than what Jeremy went through, but he's not being judgemental as is implied in the question "why should you be traumatized", he's just genuinely Trying To Understand "why was that so upsetting for you when it could have been worse?" Once he finally realizes that someone is upset about something, he struggles to understand WHY, and he accidentally comes across as insensitive.
I don't think it's emotional so much as physical pain that would elicit that kind of "why should you be upset when xyz traumatic thing could have happened instead?" response. Evan has been trained to be less responsive to physical pain by this point, as in is less responsive to being in pain himself and seeing others in pain. If he were to see someone get visibly upset from stubbing a toe or scraping a knee or getting cut/scratched, he'd just look on in utter confusion. Evan has seen people--kids-- be physically ripped apart. William and younger Mike both did things to him that could low key be classified as torture. I think the part of his brain repsonsible for registering physical pain is always gonna be a little fucked up.
#I wish i could talk more about Evan's empathy in the time after the arrest but before being put in Mike's custody#During the time when he would have been in psych facilities#But i don't really know what that would be like.#If he was allowed to be around other (non psychologist) people and he heard about other people's trauma during that time?#He'd probably just be desensitized to it?#He'd listen to it w the same emotional reaction you'd have to listening to someone make boring small talk about the weather#If he cares at all it's only to throw other people's trauma in the psychologists' faces#''You can't tell me xyz thing isnt normal when this other patient went through it too. You don't know what ur talking about.''#saffron pawn au#evan afton#evan afton support center#michael afton#tw child abuse#tw body horror
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As Requested: The Birth of Jesse and Ella
From the Sarge and lil Mama Universe
Warnings: pretty darn fluffy and sweet with the exception of descriptions of birth and labor, along with what might be considered disturbing inclusions of period typical insensitivity towards women’s wishes during labor and mention of a husband stitch
Word Count: 5k…a blurb was requested, well, uh, sorry about that
With excerpts from:
October, 1958 Memphis
Birth was awful, Elaine had always heard it, been cautioned of it, had the warning dumped like ice water on her motherly ambitions. You want a lotta kids? -just wait till you have to push a single one out. Elaine had expected it to hurt worse than anything she ever imagined but somehow, she thought it would feel more natural than this.
The pain was terrifyingly foreign and without a single cessation to get on top of it, the contractions put broken bones and smashed flesh to shame, and the helpless urge to do something was a floundering and aimless desperation that filled her with anxiety so strong she could barely breathe from it. The nurse cupping the gas mask to her face smiled down assuringly and Elaine hated her for it, the gal was so sure all would be well when everything in Elaine’s body rebelled against the drugged misery, the flat back, stirrup strapped contortion the doctor had locked her body in and left her at.
She thought it would at least feel natural. Like pulling a tooth. Like taking a man. Like all the other painful rites of passage that women surmounted generation after generation.
But now, near puking from pain and cuffed like a psych prisoner to the bed, no distraction save the flicker off the fluorescent bulbs above her, Elaine felt a wrongness and a betrayal she never expected.
She’d been so agreeable to going to the hospital, never thought otherwise. The army had been accommodating enough to let them return to Memphis and everything, and here she lay giving birth in the same ward she was born in. It should have been sweet. She had assumed it would be and it had been non negotiable with Elvis, things were to be done properly for his babies, and she had no comparison to cause her to object.
Elvis lost his brother in a twin birth, a home birth, and nearly his mama too. Things had to be done properly. What else was his money for?
Elaine hadn’t thought to object. What else was there? Primitive squatting in the woods somewhere? She was a decent, suburban girl, she had passed through a successive graduation of establishments throughout her life, preschools and proms and community services and now she was at St. Joseph’s pushing out her first child in a condoned, sterile, proper facility. Elvis, cheated of such all American properness by his upbringing, often praised her teasingly for being “such an upstandin’ lil citizen”.
Somehow the pride didn’t manage to fill her this time. Just the wrongness of it all. She tried to think of Elvis in those first hours, how anxious he must be having been kept out of the room, how happy she’d make him by presenting two healthy children at the end of her feminine ordeal. She refused to accept the thought for anything going wrong. Women were made for this, and she had assumed a miraculous sort of sustenance and wisdom were given them during.
Laying rigid and wracked with pain on scratchy white sheets -Elaine had never felt so alone, not a shred of Divine motivation or husbandly encouragement left in her exhausted heart. Becoming frantic as the ordeal wore on, she found herself begging for some assurance, more than those spinster nurses and bored physicians could provide her. She begged for her mama, she begged for Dodger who had told her they’d do nothing more than torture her “in that big ole place.”
No visitors are allowed, Mrs. Presley -she was denied each time.
Dodger, as usual, had been right. And Elaine demanded she be let in. She was sure that her husband and his grandma had stayed in the waiting room, they weren’t far.
Bring Minnie Mae in -she was Elaine Presley, wife of Memphis’ own Elvis Presley, and if they denied her she’d ruin their hospital's name.
Bring her Dodger, she needed Dodger.
Dodger came in, in low, slung-back heels and a dress that was fashionable three decades ago, wrinkled bony hands and thin, hard set mouth. Elaine thought she’d seen an Angel.
“What do you want?” Dodger grunted down at her.
Elaine whimpered and shook her head, entirely unsure, she’d just wanted comfort or direction. “I thought you’d know what to do.” she explained in a wheeze.
“You push ‘em out.”
“I can’t.” Elaine sobbed, she physically didn’t feel capable of doing anything but enduring. She really had thought she’d be able to participate in her own delivery.
“What’s gonna make ya?” Dodger asked.
“I can’t do anything like this.” Elaine cried, yanking at her restraints.
“Wanna stand up?”
Elaine was startled at the suggestion and through the fog of pain and gas it sounded like a rebellion of sorts. She hesitated. “Maybe.”
“You ever shit layin’ down?” Dodger put it ever so delicately in clearer, enlightening terms. “No one can ‘nless they got the runs. Baby’s head ain’t no runs, get up.”
Dodger had yanked the straps off and threatened to use the forceps on the objecting nurse. She stood Elaine up with a yank to the girl's arms and spun her round till she was facing the bed, feet spread apart and hands on the bed, head hanging low and her back heaving in breaths now the position allowed her to breath. She’d taken Elvis this way a hundred times, nothing to it -you just hang your head and tilt your hips and breathe through it till the cock didn’t feel so big.
This she knew. “Ok, ok, it is better.” she agreed even as a scream tore out of her at the burning stretch down below.
That stretch had been Jesse’s head, although in the midst of agony and Bureaucratic chaos, Elaine didn’t know anything beyond fiery stretching and a gush down her legs. His little noggin almost hit the floor he slid out so lanky and tiny, no sooner had she register a modicum of relief from passing her first child than the doctor berated her.
“Almost hit his head, this is why we labor in beds.” he had said and she could have gnawed his balding head off his scrawny neck for using the word “we” when he’d never felt or ever would feel what she had just endured. “She’s torn, a lot actually, going to be a mess to clean up later but I guess it will help the next one.”
They took Jesse and they wiped him clean as his first cries sounded somewhere behind his mama, Dodger’s hand still pressed firmly to her lower back as Ella used his newfound vacancy to make an effort herself. Elaine struggled and twisted, trying to catch sight of her son.
“I want my baby.” she gasped, “Y’all give me my baby.” she stood straight with an effort that even Dodger tried to prevent. “I want my baby!”
“You can’t hold him now-“
“Give him to me-“
“Elaine honey,” Dodger shushed as gently as the old bird knew how, “you’re too weak, can’t push and hold. Let ‘em put him on the bed. Put him there, right in front of ya, yeah, that’s it, so you can see him. Just do it, ya pinstriped idiot, it’s her kid, ain’t it?”
When the nurse laid Jesse down on the sheets, he was a dark haired, swaddled little thing in a bloody towel. Tiny but not so shrimpy for a twin, he was red and purple all over with the puffiest little face and the juiciest little lips and a tiny nose and eyes that squinted shut in tears. His cord was still attached to her, hanging off the bed between her legs, the tether not yet cut. Elaine felt it to be the specialist moment in the world, that one right then.
Oh it’s an unaccountable thing, that rush of gratitude and relief when your first born is laid on you. Violent love surges after it, quick as a tidal wave, as a tiny hand still covered in your blood pats your skin to learn you from the outside this time, the only person who’s ever done it opposite from all others. It's immeasurable the strength that frail little being gives you, to push once more, to bring out another life after it, a twin to reunite the Trinity.
“My son” Elaine acknowledged the gift through the agony, her sweaty forehead against his fuzzy one, watching his brave little face take in the lights and sounds and pain of this life she’d given him with a wonder that steeled her as she braced and pushed again.
Ella was easier, in the way someone at the brink of their worst feels no exacerbation of their agony. It was every bit as bad and every bit as tiring, doubly so with one already done, but this time Jesse lay there with an oxygen cannula taped to his fuzzy cheek and watched his mama huff and grimace above him, her hips cradled by Dodger’s boney hands, and in between the increasing spams, Elaine gasped adorations and babbled welcomes to him. After a short time Jesse snoozed in his little cacoon, and his peacefulness was more calming than any breath coaching the staff could give her. She matched her breaths to the rise and fall of his tiny chest and soon enough when she felt between her legs, there was the furry little head of his sister.
This time the doctor was prepared and had a nurse knelt to catch Elvis’ Presley second child. Little Ella came out the opposite of Jesse, no trouble at all with her petite head but a decent belly and buttox in the little girl gave Elaine a brief bit of grief before she popped out entirely.
Ella may have been caught in the safe hands of a registered nurse but Elaine had no such luck. No sooner was the rush over and her impediments pushed out of her body than she staggered backwards and landed flat on the floor, her legs giving out. Dodger’s shins caught the back of her head and saved her from splitting her skull on the tile but it was a brutal jarring nonetheless and it cemented a terrified horror where Elaine felt that she was entirely neglected in a room full of people sworn to help her.
Dodger, bless her, cursed up a storm at the accident and knelt beside the poor girl, doing her best to gather Elaine up as blood and fluids gushed freely between her legs.
Elaine felt like sobbing. Soon she fully was and remained so as the Doctor and two nurses hefted her onto the bed as gingerly as they could, profusely apologizing to Mr. Presley’s new wife. Jesse was placed on her chest and Ella, after having the cord snipped and washed, bundled and had her foot stamped, was brought over, too. Elaine laid there on her back again, eighteen hours after she had first begun and did her best to hold them as the sugar crash and blood loss made her teeth chatter and limbs tremble.
“A healthy five pounds both of them,” the doctor beamed with the satisfaction of a man who had accomplished a hard day’s work, “although the boy has a couple points on the girl.”
They were perfect, they were positively perfect, that’s what Elaine tried her best to focus on as her bearings came back to her and tiredness drug her limbs down. They were perfect and they were here. “Dodger,” she addressed Grandma in a thin voice, not even bothering to send her request to the staff, “would you go tell Elvis they’re here? Tell him they’re perfect.”
“He can’t come in yet, dear!” The head nurse protested, knowing the mulish young man would be forcing entry as soon as he heard.
“Why not? It’s over.” Elaine sighed.
“We’ve got to clean you up!” The nurse was scandalized, “He mustn’t see you all disheveled like this, it can very negatively effect a man, seeing his wife rumpled and brutalized by the birthing process. It's ended some marriages.” She warned and then added, “And you must be stitched first.”
“Then could we please -do it?” Elaine asked, “I’d like to see my husband and I’d like him not to worry any longer.”
“Y’all clean her up,” Dodger motioned, “and I’ll go fetch him.”
They were applying ice towels to her swollen eyes to reduce the evidence of weeping when she left. They sat Elaine up and they checked her pulse and blood pressure and her temperature. All was well, or as well as could be hoped. All except down south with her house, Elaine chewed her lip anxiously and clutched little Jesse harder for comfort as the doctor inspected her, rather like Elvis had done when proposing. Except Elvis was always so tender and he worked his touches up from gentle to firm, never went right in and spread torn petals apart without a care. Elaine bit her lip and figured she’d been awful enough to the staff, harsh and stubborn, a rebel in so many ways and now her ordeal was over, it would be best to resume the proper attitude she’d been taught.
So she was meek, and she was obliging and grateful, and she tiredly agreed when the doctor said she’d need stitches, the same as any other tear to the flesh. And when, lamp beaming at her nether regions and needle in hand, the doctor told her he was going to add one extra little stitch for her husband's enjoyment, Elaine assumed it was a medical formality. After all, he didn’t ask if he could, he said he was going to, and doctors only do what doctors must. She had her babies now, and anything required to have more must be done.
Sat up on stitched and taut flesh, pillows stuffed behind her back and her face scrubbed into immaculate freshness, Elaine put on her widest smile for Elvis, not a hard thing to do with the gifts in her arms. It turned fully genuine as her man burst through the door only to stall and moderate his intensity the minute he realized he had arrived. Elvis looked bewildered, eyes wide as saucers and his long legs stumbling to a halt as the door thudded behind him in Vernon’s face, assessing every bit of equipment inside and potential threat before his eyes landed on the bed that held his new family.
Elaine could hear his intake of breath from across the room and her grin now threatened to split her face.
“Those our babies?” he asked hoarsely with a shaking finger, not making a single move to come closer. Like this whole ordeal had him so shaken he didn’t know which way was up or down.
“Yeah baby, they’re ours.” Elaine had to force her smile closed to talk, marveling at his timidity, the awed look on his face and the reverent little shakes coursing up his body like he was about to go up Mount Sinai and meet God. “Come meet your children, Elvis.” she whispered, framing it in a way she hoped would remind him he too belonged in this room, he was head of them all, their protector, their provider and perhaps most importantly, the architect of the dream that brought them into being. “They wanna meet their daddy, keep lookin’ around and fussing like they know someone’s missing.”
He gave her a look of reproof for fibbing to spare his feelings before one of the babies came to their mother’s rescue and let out a pitiful, newborn wail. Elvis flinched at the sound, drawing back into himself for a brief moment before the cry was repeated and his instinct to soothe dominated his tentative fear.
“See, I told you!” Elaine grinned as she pulled down the blanket little Jesse was swaddled in and showed his puckered face.
Slowly, with light footfalls and a hand running along the bed for support, Elvis drew closer until he was beside them and Elaine saw his face light up with more overwhelmed joy than she’d ever seen on him before, just as his eyes filled with tears in an instant.
“Oh Laney,” he put his hand to his mouth unsteadily, “you done good mamas.”
She did her best to scoot her legs over without wincing and nodded to the vacated little space on the bed. “C’mon Elvis, they don’t bite. Not yet.” she whispered, casting a glance at the nurse who was peddling soundlessly in the far corner, back turned and utterly discreet, waiting if she were needed at any moment.
“I’m jus’ worried ‘bout breakin’ ‘em.” he confessed, gingerly sitting down beside her, his eyes never wavering in their metronome bounce from one child to the next and back. “They’re so little, so fragile lookin’ and -a-and they’re so pink, baby, look how pinks and fluffy they is.” Elaine thought his wide-eyed, rosebud mouthed awe was rather identical to the faces he was admiring and understood his shock, pretty things take the wind out of you. “I-I-I was so damn scared of touchin’ you, you’re so lil and gentle a-a-and they’re even littler!”
“I’ve never seen a more tender man, you’ve got fingers so delicate they could undo a knot in silk thread.” Elaine disagreed, “You should feel their cheeks, even softer than they look.”
Elvis swallowed hard, screwing up his courage before he raised his hand from where it had been wiping sweat off on his pants and brought it dried and shaking to gently run along the curve of Ella’s tiny face.
He little out a little gasping laugh. “Angels, they’re gen-u-ine angels.” He pronounced softly after rubbing his forefinger along Jesse’s tiny nose. “Ain’t nothin’ made me happier than I am right this minute.” he realized and Elaine’s heart clenched in gratification for the success of all her labor. “God took away one, gave me three back.” he huffed in a breath and realizing he needed a handkerchief, pulled his hand back, looking around in the white sheets like one would appear. The kindly nurse took pity and brought one over wordlessly, Elvis was a little shocked to find her present, not registering her existence in the room before, (as was she to meet Elvis Presley wordlessly with a proffered tissue) but he took it gratefully.
“Would you like to hold one of them, Mr. Presley?” she asked after having given Elaine some water as Elvis still sat where he’d perched himself and stared like he was looking into a portal.
“C’mon daddy.” Elaine whispered, nudging his stiff leg with her foot, “they wanna meet their daddy.”
Elaine suggested Jesse be the one as he’d eaten most recently while Ella was having some trouble latching. The nurse took Jesse from his warm little cocoon at Elaine’s side, and brought him around the bed to his daddy, who carefully formed a cradle with his arms and the nurse deposited his son there.
“Yeah, give me my boy.” Elvis nodded through parched lips and shuddered as he felt the tiny weight of his child settle in his arms, tiny head cradled to his chest. “Hey buddy,” he whispered, head reared back and expression a little frozen, like he was either holding something very dangerous or something very good that could be taken back at anytime, “sorry bout all the racket in there.” he referred to his pounding heart right beneath Jesse’s pink ear, “S’just that I’m so glad to meet you. Been waitin’ so long.”
Elaine watched them happily, exhaustion and satisfaction turning her complex feelings into the most rudimentary emotions and thoughts. “We made these.” she marveled and thought she heard the nurse titter for a moment, “Does everyone say that?” She asked her with a laugh.
“Not uncommon.” The woman agreed bashfully, “Me and my man did. Couldn’t stop saying it.”
“Absolute miracle.” Elvis protested, growing bold enough the thumb as Jesse’s cheek as he held him, “We made ‘em alright, strangest thing, the way I’m holdin’ something that’s half me and half you!”
“Made duplicates just in case.” Elaine added her joke and they both laughed.
“Sweet Jesus I think he just cracked a smile.” Elvis’ laugh was suddenly cut short as he wheezed in fascination.
“Babies usually don’t smile until much later.“ the nurse soothed gently but Elvis interrupted with an adamant-
“-well it appears that my son is extra smart, ma’am.” He grinned down at his boy with an immense amount of pride at his good humor which reminded him of his pride in Elaine and his eyes flitted up to hers and locked there. “You know I love you, Tink, but I-I-I- d-don’t think you’ve got the vaguest notion h-h-how grateful I am to you right this minute. You’re makin’ dreams come true like a goddamn fairy. I-I-I can’t say enough I-I don’t got words for it I just -I’d die for you, girl, and you and our babies ain’t ever gonna want for nothin’, I swear it.”
Elaine had never trusted another human being more in her life than she trusted this young man sat on her bed, about as young and lost as herself but so determined that she hadn’t a single choice or doubt except to believe him.
Ella began to fuss and the nurse asked if she wanted to try feeding again, no doubt the baby girl was hungry and Elaine agreed. “Here, Mr. Presley, I’ll take the little boy so you can go.” she helpfully held out her arms but Elvis clutched his precious bundle like she was gonna take him permanently. Elaine was reminded of a story Miss Gladys used to tell her about baby Elvis and a prized sack of bananas.
“I-I-I don’t wanna give him.” Elvis settled for this moderate expression of his sentiments on the subject.
“But sir -your wife needs to nurse. I'm sure they’ll extend the visiting hours for you, no need to worry on that account.”
“Oh I’m not leavin’ for that ma’am.” he clarified breezily, “I hold eatin’ in mighty high regard and I’d like to see to it my daughter finds her footin’ in it, ya see.”
“But-“ the nurse was rather astounded at this simple logic and in torn loyalties she turned back to Mrs. Presley in concern “-wouldn’t you like some privacy, ma’am? We’ll have to…uncover you.”
Elaine looked at her a little puzzled before assuring softly, “I don’t mind, he’s seen me before.”
The nurse colored at this modest statement that spoke so much and Elvis wasn’t sure if she was taken aback at their comfortableness around each other or at the suggestion of The Elvis Presley and his little wife making babies. Half the nation were obsessed with what they did behind closed doors and Elvis eyed her suspiciously lest she turn into some sorta fascinated personage. She didn’t though, she allowed Jesse to remain with his father and, rather more delicately than necessary, helped Elaine with Ella’s latching.
There had been dribbles of milk that Elvis had seen before Elaine gave birth, but it was nothing like the profusion that poured out now, so much sustenance that Ella’s tiny throat made great gulping sounds as she drank. Elvis, much to the nurse’s horror, was fascinated by it and soon found his old boldness, scooting himself up till he was sat beside Elaine in the narrow bed and could support her elbow while watching. The nurse was made more uncomfortable when the new father took to whispering a thousand different thanks and endearments into his young wife’s ear, and sweet as it was, the aggressive smooches she answered him with were of the sort the nurse was usually of the assumption led to more. But not with this couple, they swapped affection easily, too easily, and shared sentiments and compared their two children for the next hour, pointing out features and guessing at characteristics until the nurse quietly took her leave, stumbling into a barricade of men outside waiting on their boss.
“You should sing to them.” Elaine suggested to him once she’d gone, when Jesse wouldn’t stop fussing when it was his time to burp. “They’ve heard it for nine months, worked with the kicks every time.” she recalled and Elvis smiled sheepishly in reminiscence that those little kicks he’d once poured his heart out to were now little souls laying in his arms with his features printed on them.
At the first swooping and softly sung words of ‘My Father’s House’ by their daddy both babies stilled and their little slits of eyes searched restlessly until they found his face and they stayed staring at him until their violet, paper thin eyelids fluttered closed in sleep.
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|| Excerpt from Mrs. Presley and Other Living Martyrs:||
“There was a narrow window in the door he’d rather uh, rudely let slam behind him,” Billy Smith would later recall with a smile, “and you best believe the whole lot of us were pressed up to it trying to get a glimpse of them inside. We were all real excited about the babies and we knew Elaine was a champ but it’s one thing to think about it and it’s another for her to do it and be alright after. We were all worried for her, last time we’d been in this hospital it had been with Gladys. So we were all crowding the window and Vernon and Mr. Phipps were actin’ like teenagers with their elbows jabbin’ at each other for space but this one time the grandpas seemed to be actually jokin’ about it. Granny tried gettin’ us to leave ‘em be but it wasn’t like we were disturbin’ them none, they didn’t mind us one bit and it was the sweetest thing watchin’ them pass a baby back and forth and they were gigglin’ so much one minute then cryin’ the next. EP was an absolute mess, he was so happy. They looked like a couple of kids clutchin’ a candy haul they stole and figured someone was gonna come along and say they were too young for ‘em and had to give ‘em up. Just two kids really, two kids with a couple of babies they’d made. Not sure they’d ever had such a normal moment in their lives, not since he got famous, at least. They stayed like that for a couple of hours ‘till Elvis realized he could have some fun introducin’ his new kids and so he came out the door holding little Jesse above his head like he was the damn Prince of Memphis. The whole hallway was jam packed with folks who were visiting their hospitalized relatives, loitering staff, all sorts, everybody havin’ heard she was here delivering, and the whole place erupted when he brought the baby out, said that him and his sister were well and Miss Elaine was in fine shape. That applause must’ve been real gratifying for Mrs. Presley.”
Ten days were encouraged for the new mother to stay in the hospital but after five Elaine found herself anxious and uncomfortable away from her home and she begged Elvis to make the staff let her come home.
“Elvis was never more besotted with Elaine than when she was pregnant, and it only got worse when she’d just popped out a kid and was holding it and asking for something.” Joe Esposita wrote, “She talked him into making them send some staff to Graceland and letting her out early, and she swore she’d let him carry her up and down any stairs for the next week. So, after he made her sign a drink coaster that said as much, he went and charmed the administrator into sparing a doctor and four nurses to come live at Graceland for 10 days. We later learned the staff had flipped coins to see who got to go, everyone was so eager to see the famous couple up close. ”
Five days after delivering, Elaine got her wish and was wheeled out of the maternity ward in a wheel chair and down the hall to the elevator, a pristine and glamorous figure with a baby swaddled in her arms as her handsome husband strode by her side, wearing his uniform on leave as suggested by the Colonel, and carrying a precious bundle himself.
In “TLC: The Presley Way” -Marie Presley’s documentary of her family’s life- Ella recounted having often heard from her mother the story of Elvis preparing her to leave for home.
Ella recounted: “She would often tell me about how daddy had come up to the room with all these bags. He’d already brought so much stuff over during her stay, they had to haul literal baskets full of possessions and gifts and stuffed animals out of her ward back to Graceland when they moved out, it had been like a hotel stay, collecting so much. But he did come up that day with these pretty pink bags and he was so excited, he tore the tissue paper out himself and showed her this absurdly fluffy white coat he’d bought. It was way too heavy for October but it was a little chilly out and it gave her the perfect excuse to wear it. It was made out of arctic foxes and was the fluffiest, most expensive, whitest thing you’ve ever seen and it hid her swollen figure perfectly, made her look like an angel in the press pictures. Mama said he also brought a little makeup kit, and there was hairspray and curlers and combs in the other bag, and daddy sat on her hospital bed while she was in a chair and he carefully painted her face. She always loved telling about how sweet and careful he was about her image, she said she had felt very humiliated and out of control during the labor, and it was like he was putting her back together, making her familiar to herself again, crafting some dignity back. And -you’ve seen the pictures, she’s perfection, her makeup is flawless and he had swooped her hair back from her face so she’s glowing. Even tied it back with that little ribbon, it’s just so much, I mean -she looks like a doll carrying out smaller dollies from the hospital. And of course later the female press would slam her for making something as hard as birth and children look like dollhouse props but like a lot of things, they didn’t realize it came from love. It came from daddy caring about how she felt, how she wanted to be presented, they both had a lot of pride and were complementary in that way. She had just delivered twins and was about to meet half of Memphis on the curb before going home. Can you really blame her for letting her husband make her up? Can you blame him for pouring out his pride in what she’d done through his art?”
Along with tender care and as much provision for her comfort as possible, it would be Elvis Presley’s last gift to his wife before he left for Germany less than two weeks later.
Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.
If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo 💋
@paradsol000
@eliseinmemphis
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#prompts: filled#elvis fanfiction#elvis presley#sarge and lil mama universe#elvis fanfic#elvis imagine#elvis x reader#Elvis#baby elvis#army elvis#elvis and me#welcome home elvis#elvis on tour#elvispresley#elvis presley x reader smut#elvis presley x reader#elvis presley fic#elvis presley smut#elvis presley fan fic#elvis presley fanfiction
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Writing request where Lisa does get sent to a psych ward.
Thinking a little angsty there, huh? I hope you don't mind the direction I took it, I just couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy!
Tw: allusions to suicide
🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦
Lisa hadn’t spoken in a week and a half, and it was doubtful that she ever would again.
The last words she had said had been desperate pleas for help, screamed at the top of her lungs in the hopes that someone, living or dead, would come to her rescue as she was dragged towards the transport van for Serenity Manor. But no such help came; her father had only watched her be dragged away with sad eyes, and her wicked stepmother was smirking, eyes flashing and victorious. Taffy was at cheer practice, and her absence meant the loss of Lisa’s last line of defense.
It had all been Janet’s doing; after Lisa smashed the bathroom mirror, she had decided that enough was enough and pulled her influences in the hospital to get her admitted to the psych ward, citing incidents of Lisa being a dangerous, reclusive vandal and needing residential treatment. Lisa didn’t even have time to protest her case before the guards had pulled up to the front door immediately after she returned from her shift at Wayne’s, and she suddenly found herself being wrestled into the white vehicle for the whole nosy neighborhood to watch.
And watch they did; the last thing she saw before the car doors closed on her was the sea of Brookview citizens, all staring with wide eyes and harsh whispers as the Swallows girl got taken away “like she should have from the beginning”.
And then her world was dark, and it didn’t get much brighter when they arrived at the facility.
She was silent through the entire registration and rooming process. Janet had clearly been chomping at the bit to get her out of the house so most of it had been done for her ahead of time, but she refused to speak as they handed her a new, dull grey set of linen clothes to change into, cut her nails so she couldn’t scratch herself, and fitted her with special socks, ones meant to keep her from falling or running away too fast.
She knew, in some deep, long locked away corner of her mind that she should be fighting, be protesting, standing up against this, but the voice of outrage was drowned out by the tidal wave of hopelessness that swelled inside her and refused to subside, nearly drowning her as they led her down the hall by her arm. .
Her room was a bland thing with whitewashed walls, bars on the windows and a bed too low to the ground to hurt herself on or with, and as the attendants closed the door for “lights out” oh her first night she hadn’t even bothered to make it to the stained mattress; she just sank down onto the floor where she was standing and cried soundlessly.
The routine hadn’t deviated much from that in the coming days, nor would it for the foreseeable future.
Though she got out of bed when they told her, she hardly woke up; she ate her tasteless food without blinking, she sat in the recreation areas during the several hours of unstructured time they were given and stared ahead, waiting for the attendants to usher her to the next bought of mindlessness. She didn’t chat with the other patients, she didn’t answer the nurse’s questions with anything more than a miniscule nod or head shake when asked about her basic needs.
She had overheard Taffy call her a zombie once, on the phone with her friends a few months after she moved into Janet’s house.
She was most of the way there. Only one thing left to do, but the facility had made it impossible to complete the last step. Damn them.
Speaking of Taffy, she visited as often as she could. Janet wouldn’t set foot in the place, and her father had stopped by once before making a hasty exit once he realized his daughter was back to being mute, but Taffy cut school and snuck over every other day. She was a welcome pop of color against the drab landscape of Lisa’s mind, though she did notice the dark circles under her eyes and the occasional flinch when far-off doors slammed.
Her voice was more subdued as she whispered to Lisa about how many arguments she was having with her mother for Lisa’s sake, trying to bring her home and apologizing for not being able to say goodbye. She brought Lisa things, when she could; the photo of her mother, a tape player that got confiscated immediately, and posters from her bedroom with the corners ripped, which told her what she already knew.
She was being erased. Janet was tearing up her room and throwing out everything she still clung to from the Before times, and even if she made it out of this goddamned cell then she would have nowhere to go, no one to miss her since to them, she was already gone.
She might as well have been, for all the good living was doing her.
She only felt remotely like herself at night, when she was able to lay on her back with her arms crossed like she was laying in her coffin, and dream. She lost herself in the labyrinth of her mind, thinking of her mother and how sheltered she had felt in her arms, writing new poetry that now went a few shades darker than ‘pitch black, and of Bachelor’s and her favorite grave.
She hoped he missed her. At least then someone would.
It was on one of these nights when the storm started, flashes of green lighting up her peripheries as she counted the spaces in between thunderclaps like her mom had taught her to when she was five. She was imagining winged figures getting strikes and spares when her imaginings were interrupted by another peal of thunder, this one sounding dangerously close by.
She pulled herself out of her imagings so she could watch the following bolt of lightning, and in doing so she ended up locking eyes with the figure looming above her, their face completely obscured by a massive pile of mud and roots.
Thunder boomed, and the being leaned closer, reaching out a hand to her and groaning.
The next flash of unnatural green lightning perfectly illuminated her horrified face, and the thunder drowned out the sound of her scream.
🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦
Lisa’s eyes shot open and she lay in bed panting as sweat pooled under her bangs, seemingly unable to move. She was breathing so hard that she was afraid her lungs were going to expand out her chest, and it took her several minutes both to calm down and realize where she was.
She was in her bedroom, her wax carvings still on the walls around her in poetic fragments, her dark comforter was tangled around her legs and the bright red numbers on her digital bedside clock read 2:47.
Her breathing started to come easier as her eyes fluttered closed in relief; she was okay. Janet was dead, she hadn’t been admitted, she was still in her room, still with-
A gentle touch on her arm made her startle, and she opened her eyes to see the figure of a man looming over her, the same one from her nightmare and yet distinctly different. Despite herself, she tensed, her sleep and adrenaline-addled brain warning her of danger and telling her to run before the figure was retreating slightly, leaning over to the other end of the bed. Her lamp flickered on and in the soft yellow light she could see her corpse companion, his eyes wide and brow furrowed in concern.
She looked at him in the light, saw Janet’s earring shining in his left ear and the green stitches on the wrist of the hand that was hovering between them, saw his dark eye circles, the pink floral nightgown she had given him and the worried dip of his mouth, and she sighed shakily, the pressure in her chest alleviating.
He groaned at her, clearly trying to ask what was wrong and if she was okay, but his ability to speak still hadn’t returned to him. She understood him perfectly though, and she grabbed his hand and squeezed it while she ran her fingers through her hair.
“It’s alright, I’m okay. Just a nightmare, that’s all. They haven’t been that realistic since my mom died. It just rattled me a bit, I guess.”
He hummed in sympathetic understanding, and his eyes flickered with uncertainty. She tilted her head at him as he took a breath, making a decision before reaching out with his other hand, eyebrows lifted in a way that clearly said, ‘May I?’
She nodded, her heart skipping a beat as he pulled her to him, running his hands up and down her back and arms as he rested his chin on her hair, her head tucked neatly into his chest. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the air hitching in her lungs as it escaped. Her undead partner began to hum quietly above her, the sound echoing around his empty chest, and she cuddled closer.
She felt him squeeze her tighter in a comforting and protective way, and the last remnants of her fear melted away.
How could she have ever been afraid of him?
#lisa frankenstein#lisa frankenstein fanfiction#lisa swallows x the creature#lisa swallows#the creature#lisa frankenstein 2024#my writing#one shot request#lisa frankenstein au
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I've been digging into the life of Jeremy Wade Delle, beyond just the day of his death that is immortalized in the Pearl Jam song we all know so well.
One thing Jeremy Delle and I have in common is that we both spent time in a psych hospital in our teenage years. We both ended up in adolescent wards of large chain hospitals. My experience wasn't completely negative, but I don't think it helped anyone but my mother.
Jeremy Delle was hospitalized in April of 1990 after what is believed to have been his first suicide attempt.
His parents put him in Timberlawn Psychiatric Hospital where he started seeing a doctor that continued to treat him until his death by suicide on January 8, 1991. He actually had completed a session with his doctor the afternoon before he died.
The redacted police report gives only a small amount of information about the doctor that Jeremy Delle was seeing. His name is given as Dr. Bob H####, and as Dr. Robert H#### on a card that the police found in Mr. Delle's wallet. This card lists two phone numbers for the doctor. The first if the general number for the Timberlawn facility, but the other number is likely a direct line to the doctor's office.
The information given in the July 1990 list of hospitals printed in D Magazine, a local Dallas publication, about Timberlawn is "4600 Samuell Blvd, Dallas. 381-7181. Psychiatric hospital; 232 beds; offers chemical dependency treatment, occupational therapy, and psychiatric unit". That's the same as the first phone number listed on the card on Jeremy Delle's wallet card. The second is 381-6327.
Without a last name, I couldn't search for any other mentions of the doctor in public records (and I didn't find anything relevant using the phone number), but there were certainly a few articles about Timberlawn. More than a few, I had to winnow them down to the ones that seemed most relevant to what Jeremy Delle might have experienced during his stay there.
This article from June 1990 explains the sudden growth in the industry in Texas. The financial motivations behind it have very distinct consequences that the article outlines: patients rarely stay longer than their insurance foots the bill.
When the money runs out everyone- adult, teenager, addict, seems to be miraculously cured.
There are several claims of misconduct by care providers throughout the time surrounding Jeremy Delle's stay at Timberlawn.
May 1988: A Dallas woman is admitted to the substance abuse program at Timberlawn. In February 1996, when she is in her early 30s, she alleges misconduct by her doctor during her stay at Timberlawn.
May 1991: In March 1993, a patient alleges he was pursued by his doctor after seeking treatment at Timberlawn for depression after the end of his marriage. He also alleges that she initiated an inappropriate romantic and sexual relationship which lasted from November 1991 to February 1992.
Obviously, Mr. Delle would have been, or at least should have been, housed in separate adolescent areas from any adult patients, but he might have seen the same doctors. Particularly because he was treated for substance abuse. I have some doubts about whether he was actually using any drugs or not, but I'll put that together in another post with some supporting documents.
I also found these court documents from 2009 relating to a patient that was hospitalized in the Timberlawn facility as a minor. She claims to have been raped by an older male patient due to inadequate supervision of the patients by staff and a lack of private space available to patients. No dates or ages are given, however, so it's impossible to know if this happened within the early 90s. However, if Jeremy Delle had survived until 2009 he would have been in his mid-20s, which is when childhood traumas begin to be understood by a maturing mind.
I'm not a lawyer and couldn't even pretend to be one on the internet, so I won't claim to understand anything about what is happening, but I can read through it and capture other facts about who, where, when, etc. If anybody with a better understanding of USA or Texas state law wants to shed some light on this that would be helpful.
I wasn't able to find any further information about the progress or outcomes of these cases, so I've chosen not to include the names of the staff accused, but they are included in the media coverage if anyone would like to search through news databases that aren't freely available online. I can only research the documents I can find, and unfortunately I don't have access to any academic databases at the moment, either.
My personal opinion is that whatever started Jeremy Delle down a troubled path started before he got to Timberlawn and the care of Dr. H.
I do think this line of research is important for understanding whether or not Mr. Delle received effective or adequate care as his mental illness spiraled out of control.
It strikes me that these stories about Timberlawn confirm and debunk some of the conceptions we have about this particular young man's life from the song written about him in 1991 by Eddie Vedder and Jason Ament. Jeremy Wade Delle was failed by everyone in his life with the power to help him as he started to sink under the waves of his illness. But his parents didn't ignore it completely, they tried to get him help. Maybe not when his illness first manifested, but as soon as his first 'cry for help' came in the form of a suicide attempt, they put him in a hospital that was known to be the best in their area. One with a developing, supposedly cutting edge, program for adolescents and those suffering from substance abuse. They most likely brought him home when the hospital said he was better. Sadly that might have had more to do with how long the hospital knew that insurance would foot the bill and not Mr. Delle's actual mental health.
The story is no less tragic than the story Pearl Jam spins in their song, but it's far more nuanced.
And it's still a great song.
youtube
#motivation & inspiration#jeremy delle#gun violence#murder ballads#suicide#depression#medical abuse#psychiatric exploitation#texas#jeremy wade delle#timberlawn#timberlawn psychiatric hospital#original post
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look at my land developer dawg i’m going to jail 😫
lmao hiiii everyone! i’m anwar (not hadid) + always writing for underused model fcs but anywhooo — thank god for reopening bc i was supposed to app during the first launch but i was on vacation so my activity would’ve flopped real bad BUT… I’M HERE NOW… a lil jet lagged still but fuck it we ball :’) i present to you: iida!
navigate: general info / about / pinterest
sparknotes!
tw / suicide
okawara yosuke, 33 (proud twink death survivor btw he left that long haired era behind in his mid 20s), born and raised in fukuoka prefecture so you know he’s a bearer of the masculinized stereotype that kyushu men have but surprisingly his ego isn’t as fragile as i would expect it to be — i wonder why?
lower middle class to middle class financial status for the entirety of his childhood / it’s one of those things where as a kid you’re like “well, this is it” because you’re not fully aware that your family doesn’t have money on top of being surrounded by other kids who, in return, also come from families without bands so it is what it is / it can’t be that bad when your necessities have always been met
tbh there’s not much to write home about in terms of his childhood as in it was fortunately(?) uneventful for the most part despite starting off rocky: his mom was barely twenty when she birthed him, two freshly married young adults rushed into the hard-bitten chaos of childrearing, do they resent bro in absence of trying to enjoy the beginnings of their married life? probably, but it doesn’t matter by the time his younger brother is born, soo la voo or whatever the french be saying (tiktok reference btw if ur uncool)
yosuke is your average kyushu boy growing up: he spends his time outside rather than inside with his head in the books (it’s the same shit his teachers would always say about his lack of potential, ie: he’s lazy), has boyish fights with his younger and complete opposite of a younger brother, tries his best not to piss off his stay-at-home mom and stay away from his chronically emotionally constipated aviation mechanic drunk for a dad, you get the idea
…UNTIL the voices started to become apparent more than ever and he tells his mother who dismisses it but is reminded of her grandfather who unalived himself from alleged schizophrenia but nobody in her family knows if he ever got tested for it (y’know, if it was a genetic hereditary thing) or if it was just the aftermath of unresolved trauma/ptsd because grandpa fought in the war (you know which war) NOBODY KNOWS A GODDAMN THING. except yosuke as a child hated going to see his relatives in the far village/countryside on his mom’s hick side
lmao but when yosuke told his mom “yeah girly pop dad’s gonna have a shitty liver if he doesn’t stop drinking so much in the next couple years or so” is when she drops his ass off at a mental health facility so she definitely prioritizes her man over a kid that she wasted her 20s raising! (she’s definitely an unevolved libra no shade to yall sorry) but anywho! he’s diagnosed at 17, life is looking brighter(?), but his “schizophrenia” isn’t something talked about much at home because let’s be serious. it’s fucking abe shinzo’s japan at the time, we do not talk about shit like this
yosuke goes on to carry two jobs after high school because his parents didn’t save a college tuition fund for his lazy, non-academically inclined ass so it’s up to him to be the architect of his future / he’s psyched about entering the aviation department of kyoto university after working his ass off by trying to build a humble living but somebody’s bored and filthy rich daughter from a zainichi korean family comes into his life and what does he do? say goodbye to the ol’ pilot dream and traps this woman so he won’t ever have to worry about money like his family did
mind you he actually had love for the old girl! but he’s a gemini and gemini men get bored when you’re not their outstanding type or half as witty or clever as he may be. he knows that he’s settling for what poor lee jiyoung can do for him so after dating in college, yosuke goes on to marry the woman but never goes on to tell her about his “schizophrenia” because he’s scared that it’ll ruin his marriage (spoiler alert: it did)
so uh *scratches head and turns the page* they end up divorcing because his condition worsened as a result of his body becoming “immune” to the medications because he never had schizophrenia in the first place (ie: iida canon) — and he tried saving the relationship for the sake of his position at tk group, he really did, but at the end of the day he’s just some penniless, opportunistic man who failed to completely use up his wife’s beneficiaries. but again, he’s a gemini man who’s good at playing the part of using his “mental health” as a crutch of their failed marriage instead of being exposed for taking advantage of his ex-wife financially
(trust me he’d rather be that Type of Shitty instead of portrayed as the Exploitative Type of Shitty because it gets some pity points on his end. believe the scheme!)
so now? okawara yosuke takes up the tk group’s little passion project proposal with goero because it’s a chance at redemption. he needs to prove one way or another that he’s worthy of his job, that he’s the right man for it, his undying loyalty to the corp (questionable :3), and he’s taken the more political and diplomatic approach of gravitating/winning the trust or appeal to goero’s inhabitants instead of the founding families ‘cause his coworker’s already doing that anyways — he understands his shortcomings as a foreigner (more so as a japanese guy telling yall what to do with the land so goero can prosper financially and commodity-speaking for trade.. and commerce..) so if he can strengthen his morale to the people even if it doesn’t mean the quota won’t be met — yosuke would prefer that for the sake of ethics. he will promise the residents of goero that much: business or not.
that is all. i think. :-) i’ll be yapping for specifics on discord if needed be
personality!
likes to think of himself as an ambivert over being written off as an extrovert which is kinda true? despite being a professional yapper with those he’s suuuuper comfortable with, he finds that people who don’t match or vibe with him tire him out very quickly / genuinely a very friendly person and is emotionally inhibited probably as a result of his career where logic/numbers/analytics are concerned so yosuke prefers to focus on reason over the “possibilities” … even tho he would like to be that optimistic / isn’t one to have an extreme temper, but can be prone to outbursts if incompetence is in question / really. really. hates the notion of being black-or-white on many matters as life usually puts him in the grey area so. u know. atm doesn’t have any ulterior motives because he doesn’t have it in him anymore to be evil or whatever. he ran out of plans. just trying do the right thing from here on out, so, let him help you! bro’s probably a lawful neutral man i know i’m sorry for being boring :/ c’est la vie
connections!
i prefer brainstorming over anything and i’m down for just about everything so hit me
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Oz Rewatch 3: S3E02: Napoleon’s Boney Parts
Plotlines
With Metzger dead, Murphy arrives as the replacement; McManus proposes Murphy help organize an inmate boxing match
(mini) Cyril is vulnerable to the Aryan’s provocations
Kenny’s new name is Brick; Snake confesses his crime to Augustus; Augustus gathers more info to help turn Snake in
Riot lawsuit; McManus tries to get Said to drop it; After meeting with Patricia Ross, Said wants to fast. When he’s denied, he threatens a hunger strike
Diane and Claire beef; Howell v McManus smackdown
Carlo Ricardo’s family slowly stops visiting; Hughes, just transferred to Em City, fails to control Carlo during a fight
(mini) Shirley loses her lawyer
(mini) Schillinger phone visit with his dad
Keller leaves PC; Toby doesn’t forgive him; someone stabs Keller in the closet
Adebisi transfers to the AIDs ward and infects Nappa with infected blood
Rebadow has diabetes; Gloria is fired by Dr Garvey after their interview; Mukada brings a sandwich to a starving Miguel; Sister Pete starts her inmate-victim counseling program; Mukada wants Miguel to be the first candidate; Miguel attempts suicide
The “Napoleon’s Boney Parts” mystery has been solved: The narrator quotes Napoleon throughout the monologues and Miguel gets guillotined in a monologue at the end (although I don't think Napoleon's time was particularly known for guillotining, it was still being used).
I feel like this season, I've had less of a big takeaway after watching each episode. I don't thin it's so much that I have less thoughts about the episodes compared to before, but after season 1 and to an extent, season 2, I think the themes of each episode aren’t as strong. The plot of things continues to interweave, but I feel like it’s a little more like “things happen”. I can see it more with the way I write out the list of plots, too—they’re harder to summarise.
This episode seemed like another early-season filler episode. Sister noted that it seemed like the boxing thing didn’t go anywhere this episode, which is a funny observation from a first time viewer, considering how much this season revolves around the boxing match. Kind of eeeh this episode. Nothing super terrible happens but I can’t think of anything that stands out. Miguel’s storyline, I guess? I kind of also like Adebisi's revenge storyline. I find it interesting, anyway, but probably more so because I find fresh-out-of-the-psych-ward!Adebisi interesting. In this episode, of course, we see that Adebisi's change isn't as complete as it seemed.
Sister: He looks so evil, like a serial killer… He looks like a doctor who misdiagnoses people… I think he might’ve been in an episode of Law and Order as a misdiagnosing doctor…
Sister: Why don’t you do rodeo then?!
Me: I’d watch that.
Hubris
Me: That would noooot motivate me.
Sister: Yeah, well, we’re also not in a gang, Wawa. We’d be the little weasels eating popcorn on the sidelines.
Me & Sister: [cackling wildly]
Arif and Khan’s after school special
Sister: Is McManus the Napoleon because he’s short and has two ladies? I don’t get why she’s so desperate for a prison hubby. I mean, they don’t get paid that much and they’re also both high risk so their health insurance premiums are probably really high, and then if they get married, they’re not going to be able to get very good life insurance probably… (silence) Are there any good women in this show?
Me: Uuuh Sister Pete?
Sister: Yeah, but she’s stupid. When the plot needs her to be, she’s like “Huuuuuuur oK i’M SisTer PetE, i DoN’T tHink AboUt ThiNgs…”
Me: Does Gloria not count as a good lady?
Sister: No. She’s like “I hate this job but it’s important” and meanwhile she’s completely incompetent. Doesn’t even know about blood types. That guy (Rivera) will do that inmate-victim thing and he’ll tell Miguel, “you know, what you did to me was awful, but what was even worse was that during my time of need, they didn’t send me to a more equipped facility and were only looking for blood types that did not matter”. And then they’ll bond over their shared experience with the failed healthcare system.
Me: I guess there's not really anyone, then. There's a secretary character later that I like, but she's just there to support one plot point and then she disappears.
Sister: Shannon...
Sister: I have never seen this guy before
Me: He was in the show last episode
Sister: Oh right, he’s the one who kept asking about his mom. He looks different. He wasn’t wearing a hat last time?
Me: He literally never takes off his hat…
Sister: Doesn’t he have a life sentence? Wouldn’t it be interesting if they had like a serial killer guy who worked in that ward and decided to steal stuff to infect other people?
(later)
Sister: I’m so good at this. They should hire me.
Sister: Why would he bring a big ass peanut butter sandwich? A) DRY, B) you can smell peanut butter from a mile away
Sister: That’s a terrible idea.
Sister: (sneezes three times in a row) My bullshit detector…
Stray Thoughts:
Our dad kept calling us while we were watching this episode to talk about taxes 😭
The narrator stood up in the opening monologue….
Sister suspects that Murphy is evil; she has a conspiracy that Murphy (because he’s evil) will end up with Howell and Tim will end up with Diane again… and Murphy and Howell will be serial killers.
Why do they have so much printer paper in the supply closet at Oz?
Beecher’s facial hair was weird this episode. No mustache??
Sister: We didn’t see the biker dude (Jaz) this episode...
Sister also observed that El Cid was missing this episode. I don't think she gives a shit about Carlo Ricardo which ok yeah, he's sort of a character that blips on and then off my radar. I don't think I have much of an opinion about his arc for some reason. It just happens and then it's like... OK... I guess I'm getting ahead of myself here, but I think the main thing is that Carlo doesn't have a discernible personality so when things happen to him, as a viewer, I feel like "oh that's too bad" but it's not like I feel bad for the character.
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If it’s not to much trouble, could I ask for some scenarios about how the dork squad (general or Arkham) would react to not seeing a particular Arkham employee (who they may have grown fond of / caught feelings for) suddenly not showing up to work for a good week or so? No explanation given and either the rest of the staff won’t answer about their whereabouts or they refuse to ask in the first place since such personal information could be used against them in therapy sessions. Maybe they would start to worry about the reader getting hurt during a security breach, fired, or even killed (there’s really no telling in Gotham)? Eventually the reader returns and explains that they were just sick.
I’ve been feeling a little under the weather (prob another sinus infection tbh) so this idea just stood out to me. Take your time since it’s three characters and if you want to tweak this to be less characters than I’m cool with that. I just had to share this idea and fell in love with your writing recently
"Sick Day" Riddler, Scarecrow and Mad Hatter
You're so sweet of course this isn't too much trouble! I hope by the time you read this, you're feeling a lot better, okay? I'm actually going to go with general for this one since I haven't really gotten to yet for these characters.
Tw: surveillance, fear toxin, isolation, sedation
Riddler
- Meets his favorite employee when he's in an isolation room for causing problems with the other patients (again). Between having his locks switched constantly because he figures them out and the amount of chaos he can cause in the general population, higher ups love putting him to far corners away from others when he's bad.
- His cell is bare. They won't even give him crayons after his newest little stunt. Not only is he isolated, he's BORED. A horrible combination of things.
- So when the nurse assigned to his check-ins and medicine actually chats with him, he's taking it for all it's worth.
- "Hello, Nurse! A riddle for you. What is it that given one, you’ll have either two or none?"
- The nurse pauses. Thinks on it. "A choice?"
- "Correct! That was an easy one-" "Uh-uh, medicine first. That's not a choice." He does the most pathetic sigh, "Fine! You drive a hard bargain."
- This continues even when he's (reluctantly) let back into general population and... shockingly, he's behaving. Lots of flirting, smug grins with thinly veiled threats of all the horrible things he could do to the city.
- When the nurse disappears and no one will tell him anything... he decides it's time for blackmail. It's amazing the things you learn when you hear bits and pieces of things and have the brain to put it all together. Not to mention the camera access he has when he's not in Arkham.
- A guard here, a guard there... he has markers, blueprints and a burner laptop stashed away in a cove on the island. He manages to hack a couple cameras on the mainland... that and he stole employee files and knows their address. The creep.
- He actually figures out they're sick as he watches. If he's feeling particularly cheeky or wanting them to be convinced of how clever he is, he'll have cold medicine sent to their door with a vague riddle.
- When they come back he'll play aloof. Oh? You were sick? Well. He wasn't worried, of course. It's not like he went through a bunch of information he was saving just to ensure you were okay.
- "Cold medicine with a riddle? You must have caught the eye of some other dashing Riddler in Gotham. Not as intelligent as I am, of course."
- The next time he escapes from Arkham, he'll make sure they get locked in a cell safely away from others/the distraction he's going to cause. Then the games can begin :)
Scarecrow
- He'd come to enjoy the almost daily tit-for-tat conversations with his favorite Arkham employee. A rather lowly psych orderly, they were stuck with the most demeaning or mundane of jobs in the facility.
- This also meant a lot of interaction with the patients. Feeding them, check ins, and the occasional distraction when nurses or guards needed to catch a patient.
- He met the orderly when they were put on observation duty as he was carted to his appointment in restraints and bite/spit protection mask. They looked so fresh.
- "They're sending the new technicians to look after me now?" Then, he notices their keys sticking out of their pocket, "I'd get a locking carabiner for those, if you must have them on you. So easy to steal."
- They thank him for the advice. While waiting for the doctor, he gives them more advice. He figures they're young, not a threat to him at all. Perhaps put in their head the many ways they could get hurt or die working here.
- Yet they just smile at him, "Thank you, Dr. Crane. I'll keep that in mind." Turns out, they know exactly who he is. A psychology student that has read his papers and seen recorded lectures. Morbid and macabre interests, themselves.
- He casually takes them under their wing, as long as they continue to be courteous and show interest. He finds he has less than mentor like feelings after a time, but he tries to ignore them.
- When they disappear and no one will tell him what's happened... he doesn't get scared, but he certainly gets cantankerous. What if something happened to his young protégé? Do none of you truly care about someone who works with you daily?
- Then he gets quiet. Too quiet. Too well behaved. He's not even as combative in therapy as he normally would be, trying to turn the tables on anyone picking at his brain.
- Staff suspects something is up, but not what. They do sweeps of his cell and areas of the island to see if there's any fear toxin to be found. Nothing.
- In truth, he's been creating it in small doses and hiding it in recreational areas in plain sight. He's planning on putting it into the air systems of the asylum when-
- Oh. You're back. He was worried something happened. Sick? Well. You better take care of yourself, how can he teach you anything or have decent conversation if you're not here? Do keep up.
- He still ends up using the fear toxin to escape the asylum weeks later, but not before creating an antidote. He'll watch his orderly panic for a time, observe their fears- by the time they wake up, they're outside the facility buildings of Arkham. Mysteriously cured of fear toxin effects.
- They are completely safe and covered in a blanket. Need to make sure they don't get sick again, after all.
Mad Hatter
- Surprisingly, his favorite employee is a psychologist at Arkham. Only so many psychiatrists to go around prescribing medication, leading to a team up between the two. For more frequent weekly meetings, it's a psychologist who may refer if more psychiatric meetings are needed more often than twice a week to once a month. Only few patients such as the Joker get psychiatrists for every session.
- This particular psychologist got him in for their first session... with Jervis sedated past any point of being able to answer questions. Got "well he wasn't cooperating, he wouldn't leave his tea set!" In response. Frustrating, to say the least.
- This resulted in psychologist strutting right up to the "hidden" somewhat private alcove where Jervis set himself up, shoo anyone else away and literally... sit down on the ground with Jervis and introduce themselves.
- This, along with being polite, immediately endeared them to Jervis. Asking what his current drawing is. Him saying "the path to Wonderland, my dear." Recognizing that it is in fact a complex diagram of brain synapses and the shortfall effects of certain chemicals and hypnosis.
- The thing about Jervis Tetch is he's unfortunately a brilliant neuroscientist. Knowledgeable in not only chemical effects, but how to use hypnotic suggestion to manipulate the consciousness. There's times it's difficult to tell where the clarity of Jervis Tetch ends and the delusions of the Mad Hatter begins.
- While there might be tense moments, Jervis ends up developing a rapport of mutual respect and fondness for his doctor. So much so he gets snippy when others try to approach hum.
- This results in a complete breakdown of communication when "his" doctor is out and no one will tell him where they are. He will insist, no, DEMAND where they are.
- this is just further indication to staff that he should not be told anything due to potentially establishing an unhealthy attachment which could result in disastrous consequences if fed into.
- Shoutings about the Red Queen and compulsive rhyming begin on day three or four. A combination of poor handling of the situation and him working himself up.
- "The Red Queen traps me in hell, awaits in the shadows of this padded cell! Haroo! You made them say farewell as I dwell upon how you made them unwell! Murder! Murder, says I! Murmurs within the walls the Jabberwocky has-" (This goes on for quite some time)
- Ultimately when the employee returns, they find Jervis has been isolated to his cell on high levels of sedation to control him. Out of his mind with glassy eyes murmuring to himself when he's awake.
- There will be outright sobbing when he realizes they're back. He wants to touch them so badly. To hold them, to be comforted! He's asking how they are and what they've been doing to get better.
- Once the sedation really wears off he's going to start planning...
- He needs to get his dearest companion out of here before the darkness swallows them both.
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Sleeping Dead thoughts (lots of spoilers)
I’m expecting the books to arrive on Monday but I decided to buy the digital copy of volume 2, which came out yesterday on Renta!. I have to say I prefer Honto’s reading app to Renta!’s web reader but Honto probably isn’t getting it until the end of October.
⚠️
The extra at the end of volume 2 is really cute. Mamiya wakes up in Hell, but he’s not sure if he actually died or is just having a dream. Sada appears dressed up as an angel, but he’s a Buddhist so the outfit doesn’t make sense. Mamiya says that if it’s a dream he imagined Sada to look like that, so I guess he thinks of Sada like a guardian angel. It definitely helped take off the edge from how ridiculously bleak the last chapter is.
When I read the final chapter for the first time I assumed that Mamiya killed himself. It was intentionally left kind of vague, but with the experiment failing and Sada re-dying it seemed like he completely lost the will to live, especially after cremating Sada’s corpse. I think by doing the latter he initially planned to follow Sada’s advice to destroy everything and leave, but living without Sada was impossible for him.
Since it was also never revealed who it was that rang the doorbell, I guess we’ll never know if Mamiya committed suicide or was put back in a psych facility by his family. Even he wasn’t sure what happened before the extra, except for the fact that Sada was gone for real, and that being alive would be worse than being dead. The last ten pages of the manga and the callback to volume 1 (when Mamiya was watching Sada play with Monkichi in the garden) was amazing. Mamiya missed Sada so much.
I liked that Mamiya’s final actions were hypocritical to his and Sada’s discussion about loneliness, when he said that he could live “alone” because living in a society and immersing yourself in work doesn’t completely isolate a person. In the end he couldn’t keep to his own word or Sada’s hopes for him to move on.
Speaking of vagueness, there was never a full reveal of what Mamiya looked like without his clothes on. Sada was so great with understanding Mamiya had dealt with a lot of trauma and just goes along with what he requests when it comes to their physical relationship. I loved when Sada did a total 180 about refusing to killing Buta-san after he saw the burn mark and scars on Mamiya. It must have been aggravating for Mamiya to have to hear Sada’s talk about helping him after the incident in highschool, since Sada never knew the extent of what happened, but he still wanted to be a nice guy and look out for Mamiya. And as it turns out, Sada is really trying to be a nice person. During the first half of the series Mamiya took care of Sada’s needs, but as the story progresses their relationship reverses and Sada has to look out for Mamiya’s well-being, even forcing him to eat, bathe and sleep once things really go downhill.
In the end Sada never reciprocated Mamiya’s feelings, so their relationship felt one-sided with a lot of codependency. But I think Sada was genuinely happy when he reacted to Mamiya’s confession of his feelings. Sada said that he preferred being a friend with benefits because it was easier to be a friend than a lover. When Mamiya said he wished Sada liked him the same way, and that Sada could always be with him, that was Sada’s first time being with someone that was a lover. Mamiya also benefitted from this because he got to experience having non-predatory intimacy. So even though there was a lot of incompatibility each one got something out of being together.
My only complaints are saved for a couple redraws for the new release. There’s one page depicting Mamiya at his worst, and in the new version sensei completely omitted one of the arms/temples of his glasses. At first I was thinking “ah cool they’re broken, she made him even more of a mess for the book”….and on the next page the glasses are fine. It really distracts from how emotional the scene is supposed to be. This had to have been one of, if not the worst page in the manga to have an error on. There’s also a chapter cover that looked like a scrapbook polaroid with handwriting on it (something like 2 days 1 night vacation with Mamiya) but the text was removed in the book, so it’s kind of plain in comparison.
Overall I loved reading this manga and it’s definitely become my fave of Asada Nemui’s works. Her character writing is so good that she can use some cliches but make them perfectly fit into the story, like Sada and Mamiya being highschool classmates. My favorite scene in the entire manga was when Mamiya’s sitting in his van and trying to recite what he would say if he ever met Sada again. Even though Sada wasn’t Mamiya’s friend in school that one page reveals so much about how Mamiya felt about him, and in the following scene Sada’s story and everything that happens in the first chapter begins. Everything tied together so well! 💝
I rarely ever write this much about manga, so I hope whoever finds this series enjoys the ride as much as I did 🥹.
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I feel that if the world's crossed over hannibal would be terrys therapist 🤔
Oh, interesting.
No, but I frequently think about Terry Silver's therapist.
And I figure they must've been just as clever as he was.
Just as interesting, polarizing of an individual.
Yes, someone like Hannibal Lecter. A Hannibal Lecter type.
Someone, optionally, who might've either seen combat themselves, was a military attache, an allotted camp psychiatrist now in retirement or genuinely served at one point in time if Terry was ever to talk about the events in Vietnam and just the general nuances of what martial arts --- fighting itself as an ideal --- means to him, seeing as how there's the simple notion that nobody but someone who was an actual soldier themselves would acutely understand or relate what he's been through unless they've been through it themselves and felt it on their own skin --- pride demands it --- and I figure Terry would find it beneath him to speak of his war trauma to an individual who has never seen blood.
Never got some blood on themselves.
How can they talk the talk if they didn't walk the walk?
So, some ex-UN official with the licence to practice and someone who's witnessed warfare on several fronts could easily trump out a glitzy LA doctor visited by washed-up Beverly Hills Rockstars and the rich and famous of Hollywood in and out of rehab in Terry's book, because he's more then just some bigshot getting clean from coke.
He's one of those patients one can write a medical dissertation about.
And still be no closer to the conclusion.
Undoubtedly, there have been many vetted, carefully handpicked professionals Terry visited and called upon. More than can be precisely accounted for. Doubt there was just one over the decades, because a therapist that works for some patients might not work for others and Terry would've been a peculiar specimen compatible with extremely few, with peculiar needs, a peculiar psyche, a peculiar past and peculiar way he was damaged in that couldn't be treated by someone lacking significant experience, so he even he must've realized that he couldn't and shouldn't hand himself over to just about anyone, regardless of credentials, diplomas, the price-range and the therapist's own achievements. It was simply a manner of good taste for a man who's otherwise a perfectionist in every regard to be a perfectionist in this field too, especially where the curious case of getting himself in gear was concerned. This doctor of the mind, well, they were for sure made entirely exclusive during their tenure of having sessions with Mr. Silver, meaning that I don't see them treating anyone else in whatever high-end, elite facility these meetings took place in (or more likely, within the confines of Terry's own mansions, because people come to him --- he doesn't come to people. Heaven and Earth all revolve around him. He'll send his own chauffeur to pick up the person meeting for him too, because that's just how he conducts things. Do they want to be flown in on a private jet?), seeing as how Terry made himself that special and wouldn't bear sharing his therapist with anyone at any point in time, territorial and possessive even now. He's top dog. Top priority, even when being rehabilitated and re-oiled to continue running smoothly --- more than ever then. He had the money to back up such eccentric demands, surely. Back them up he did.
This would've been...the umpteenth therapist in Terry's huge line-up.
Was a long and meticolous search for the perfect person.
Why?
Because, I'm convinced Terry would've tested each and every one of his shrinks, as he no doubt called them, because they didn't earn the respect to be called anything else. You earn your belts and they didn't do so with theirs, so tested they must be. Would be an insult to his intelligence and status if he didn't. He'd be an unreliable narrator. Tell them lies intentionally to see if they'd catch him doing it, putting up facades and inventing personas. He'd manipulate them. Tell them what they want to hear and great many things they don't want to hear. Tug at their heartstrings tactically and play devil's advocate. Flatter them by wining and dining them at his own expense to see if they're susceptible to bribery and easily distracted by the material. He'd play at verbal evasion. Tell them made up events and then change said events at will. Terry would act the saint and flawless gentleman-entrepreneur to check if they'd fall for it. At times, he'd deliberately go for the shock factor and share obscenities from his life to see their reactions and take pleasure in their professional facade dropping. He'd serve fabrications, half truths and truths tucked somewhere in the middle of all of that as an elaborate puzzle for his therapists to solve just to check if they can. If they have what it takes to even begin contemplating dealing with him. That's not to say people in therapy are duplicitous --- but Terry Silver certainly was and I think he'd be a notoriously clever, tricky, unpredictable, volatile, dangerous and difficult patient who, for the longest time wouldn't let his therapists get even close to the root of his problems, because that would mean giving someone a vestige of control, and exposing an inherently vulnerable and complex part of himself and that is a privilege to be explicitly wrestled out from his grasp, because he doesn't give it willingly and for free. Nothing's for free.
Do they want to see what's inside of him?
Then they should fight for it in elaborate mental combat.
And once they do, once Terry is sufficiently impressed with their wit, their worthiness, their innate understanding of the human inner workings --- they belong to him because he slowly sucks them in, never allowing himself to be controlled too much, doing instead, the bulk of all the control --- their time is his for as long as he requests it and feels he needs it, calling and dismissing at will. Their life is on stand-by. Their schedule cleared, attached to Terry's barrage of staff and the immaculate balance of his life's own order. Everything on halt, for years, if need be. No quarter. The money he pays is unimaginable, but my goodness, at what cost?
#tw; mental illness#tw; split personalities#tw; therapy#terry silver#kk3#cobra kai#terry silver headcanon#terry silver headcanons#hannibal lecter#the therapist#character analysis
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Chapter 16 - fue mejor
Marc Spector/Steven Grant(Jake Lockley?) x Female!OC
Summary: Marc never expected to see his childhood friend Simone ever again. To Simone, Marc may as well have been dead. However, when Simone met Steven 15 years after Marc disappeared, she couldn’t help but notice how familiar he was.
⚠️ 18+!! | 6k Words | Third-person omniscient | Dark?fic/Angst/Smut | AU/AT |
Warnings: Heavy language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma, prison/kidnapping/murder mention, heavy Jake flirtation, alcohol, smoking,
**I won’t be exhaustive with the smut warnings. All you need to know is Steven gets laid, unprotected p in v, jealous!Marc** mention of previous sexual encounter (hate!sex, respectfully) Safe travels!***
A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings. I wrote this entirely as a trauma dump.
Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.
Chapter list
"Desde la primera vez que me probaste
Duro dejarte ir cuando lo haces así
Te hace sentir bueno cuando me
Tratas tan mal, tú
Me diste más de lo que te pedí
Told you "I'm ready," so why won't you let me?"
-"fue mejor" by Kali Uchis
The circle made with red marker on the calendar magnetized to the fridge beamed in Simone's eyes as she sipped her coffee. Every tool used to track days were marked the same, so she would remember as if one wasn't enough.
The day had come much faster than she anticipated, and she was anxious as hell about it. Red circles on calendars signified important dates for Simone, and this was a date she had been dreading for the last three months.
It was time for her quarterly visit to inmate JW-0290, John Walton.
She only took Walton as her patient three years ago, once the psych who worked there realized the inmate needed one-on-one visits. That was when his lawyer called Simone, and she took the job, thinking a visit every three months wouldn't be so bad.
Every time she saw Walton, she left with a feeling of unease. The man gave her the jeebies, and she soon realized that though he had committed a horrible crime, he didn't need to be in prison.
He needed to be evaluated by a team of doctors in a mental facility with around-the-clock treatment. Not just her on a quarterly visit.
Simone took the final sip of coffee from her floral mug and sat it in the sink, heading out for the day. On red circle days, she never deviated from her routine, keeping everything in order from when she woke up to when she left the prison like it was the Ides of March.
This included taking a cab to her destination instead of her car in case she needed a drink to calm her nerves afterward. There was never a time when she didn't need something stiff after meeting with Walton, so this also became part of the routine.
She lit a cigarette the moment she stepped out of the heavy metal doors of her stonewalled building, but the cab she called soon came into view. She felt ready to tackle this and unprepared all at once, running through everything in her head nervously.
Pen. Pad. Phone. Apartment key. Smokes. Wallet.
Everything she needed was on her person, so she was ready to head out. Upon opening the door to the cab, she slipped into the backseat and smoothed out her gray dress pants upon placing herself into the leather cushion.
Before Simone could speak, she looked up and saw a familiar face in a newsboy cap turn to greet her. The last time she saw the men who shared this face was during a moment of weakness a week before after receiving a come hither text and feeling a need for an orgasm that wasn't caused by her own hand. She had not seen or spoken to them before that, not since their fight, and hadn't seen or spoken to them since the random booty call.
She missed them but couldn't express it, even if it seemed immature and petty.
Seeing Jake was not on the agenda today, just like seeing Marc or Steven wasn't. It nearly spooked her out of the seat her amble ass sat in.
"Oh, what the hell." She said under her breath as soon as the face registered in her brain. A wide smile spread across the lower half of Jake's face, seeming genuinely happy to see her, having not seen her since the night they supposedly slept together. The night everything seemed to cave in around her.
"What's up, doll? Where ya headed?" He asked, seeming entirely unphased by her presence, unlike her. She provided the address, and the gears turned in Jake's brain as the location came to him. "The prison?" He ticked an eyebrow upward.
"Work," Simone answered shortly. She wanted to keep things as professional as possible and make as little conversation with Jake as possible for fear of saying too much. She already couldn't bare to see his hopelessly handsome face.
Jake nodded once and turned back around, putting the car in drive. "Ah, whatcha do?" He asked, peering at her from the rearview. He secretly hoped she hadn't told him before, and it slipped his mind.
"I'm a psychiatrist." She answered, staring down at her rosy red fingertips.
Ah, so she's a doctor. Jake thought before he took note of her unamused tone and inability to look at him. "Shit, did you tell me that already? I'm sorry." He apologized before she could give an answer to his question. She had to have told him that already, and that's why she wasn't too keen on looking at him. Simone expelled a nervous laugh,
"No, I haven't told you." She informed.
An uncomfortable silence blanketed them as Jake tried to put together why her usual energy was suddenly low like it was. It had to be because they fucked, right? "Don't have to be so awkward, Chi-town. We only woke up next to each other one time." He finally spoke up, trying to bring the mood up a little.
From the rearview mirror, Jake saw a hint of a grin in the corners of her mouth. He was chipping away at whatever was bugging her; he just had to keep at it. She exhaled sharply and snickered,
"It's not that. I'm just a little peeved that you know my name but keep calling me Chi-town." She said, finally bringing her eyes up to look at his in the mirror through her thick eyelashes.
There she is. Jake thought. He took a second to admire the look before responding. "Sorry, Simone. See? I remembered!"
"But you can't remember that beautiful night we shared?" Simone teased, followed by an eye-roll, genuinely amused by him.
So much for professionalism. She thought to herself.
Though it was clear she didn't remember either, Jake was surprised at her ability to crack a joke about the situation. It made him wonder what had her down in the dumps, to begin with. His mind wandered back to that night in the quiet, wishing he could conjure the memory and cursed himself for being unable to. What he could remember, however, was Simone calling him that name again, and a pinch of jealousy struck him.
That's right. Marc. The boyfriend.
"So, I'm guessin' I don't have to worry about that boyfriend of yours, eh?" He asked, wanting to confirm if he needed to quit while he was ahead to avoid any more complicated entanglements with a spoken-for woman. Exquisite or not, Jake had morals.
"Nope. Not with him anymore." Simone answered, crossing one clothed leg over the other and directing her gaze out the window. She wasn't lying but needed to remind herself who she was speaking to. Even if the voice and eyes weren't identical to Spector's, the man still walked around in his skinsuit and had ties to the Egyptian god that terrorized her once-best boys.
"Bad news bears for him, lucky me though. Maybe you could refresh my memory of that beautiful night we had." Jake said, tuning his voice to make the line seem like a joke, knowing good and well he would have no issue if the opportunity arose now that he knew she was single.
Simone could feel his eyes burning her from the mirror, prodding her to look at him. It was a good joke, a great one, even. It even garnered a laugh and a blush from her, which would have stopped his heart if he wasn't driving.
"Pick your battles, Bronx." She replied, turning his hometown into a nickname as he did to her, meeting him in the mirror again without a second thought. His eyes were quick to dart to hers and go from warm-natured to dark, serious, and nearly lustful as they locked on to herself and refused to let go.
"Sabes que mi nombre, muñeca." He growled, telling her: you know my name, doll and asserting that he caught her nickname. Jake wouldn't have minded if it wasn't for her affinity to call him everything but his actual name. He wanted to hear her say it, not Bronx, Marc, or anything else.
The way Jake looked at her and the tone of his voice made Simone quake internally, and her throat dried up, every bit of liquid in her body falling lower. She uncrossed her legs and pressed her knees together as close as possible. She wouldn't show weakness, not today.
"Sí, Jake." She said before snapping her eyes away from the mirror and back to the window. She gave him what he wanted without the expense of falling apart, and it was all she could spare today.
It was music to his ears, though.
The short ride that remained was silent and consisted of limited eye contact until they got to the guard gate of the prison." Welp, here we are." Jake announced, putting the car in park out of the way of entry so Simone could get checked in on foot. She felt her nerves return as she pulled money from her wallet and handed it shakily to him.
"Keep the change." She insisted, once again giving him way more than she owed. Jake held the money in his hand momentarily and turned halfway around in his seat,
"Can I get a kiss as a tip instead?" He asked, wagging his eyebrow to playfully entice her. She let out a similar snicker to before and shook her head,
"Not happening today."
It was the answer he expected, even if it wasn't what he wanted to hear. Regardless, he wanted to see her again.
"Alright, well, we gotta stop meetin' like this, Chi-town. Gimme your number."
Simone looked at the time on her phone and realized she needed to go, but figured she would entertain the man one last time. She pulled her notepad out of her bag with her pen, scribbled her personal number on the corner of a blank page, and tore the piece off, tucking it into his hand. "Gotta jet." She said quickly, opening the door to the cab.
Jake skimmed the phone number just as well as he did the money she paid him, marveling at how neat it looked. "Adiós, hermosa." He called out. He got one more good smile from her before she shut the door and took off toward the guard gate.
In the most ungentlemanly fashion, his eyes drifted straight to her shapely ass in the gray dress pants she wore. Professional, tasteful, sophisticated, but thick as oatmeal.
Hate to see her go, but I love to watch her walk away. Jake thought to himself before finally pulling away from the prison.
Simone went through all the usual steps when getting past prison security: identification, shoes off, bag in the box, metal detector, then clear to pass. As always, she was accompanied by officer Bradley through the prison as they trekked to the block they held Walton on. He had highly thick eyebrows that clashed with his shiny, bald head and had a large build, but his voice didn't match his hardened look at all.
"Your man's been in solitary. You caught him on a good day, luckily." The officer told her. She heard this nearly every time she came around, so she didn't know the difference between Walton's good days and bad. She supposed his bad days were what landed him in solitary. "I've got money bet he'll be back in there before the week's end."
"He's a sociopath, Bradley. He doesn't mind solitude, so it doesn't feel like punishment."
"Gotta follow protocol still, Doc. That's why you come around, though, I reckon. You'll get him out of our hair."
"My reports are only half the job. His attorney has to be the convincing one."
They came upon a large metal door to a room with thick glass windows lined with wire. Simone's patient was inside, cuffed, and sitting at a table bolted to the floor. "As always, give us a shout if you need anything, doc." Officer Bradley said as he opened the visiting area for her to enter.
Clutching her pad and bag close, she walked in with steady breathing and her chin up as if the inmate could smell fear. He always looked exactly the same: receding hairline with gray patches, a lazy eye, scrawny but tall, and the worst teeth she'd ever seen. Still, he greeted her politely.
"Morning, Doctor," Walton said with his heavily posh accent. Simone gave him a smile and good morning in return before placing her notepad in front of her and turning on the voice recorder app on her phone. She uncapped the plastic pen she kept specifically for these visits due to Walton being triggered by pen clicking, and thus began their session.
As if they had never left, Steven woke up in bed just mere hours after Jake drove Simone to the appointment. He scanned the room, stretched his limbs, then called out to Marc to see if he would answer.
He didn't. It had been the same since he came out the week before to bring in Simone, and though her meeting them was nice, it was laced with her true intentions the second she walked through the door: she wasn't ready to fix things. She didn't know if it could be fixed.
Simone slept with them, separately as always, but she and Marc exchanged words before he had her. Marc shut down again after that, thinking it would improve things, but it only caused him to miss her more.
Of course, Steven also missed her and tried to introduce the conversation after they made love, but she had nothing to say. Marc didn't take kindly to this, unsure why she wouldn't help them figure out how to make it work.
They tried on their own for two weeks and couldn't figure out anything to get a conversation going with Jake. He was completely closed off and unaware of them, just as they were of him. Everyone was in limbo, just like their relationship with Simone.
It was a pretty heated argument, the kind you only get when two people love each other but can't stand to be around one another due to some sort of quarrel or irreconcilable differences. Simone said Marc and Steven lied, but Marc disagreed even though Steven apologized. The disagreement quickly became a power struggle that became what would only be described as hatesex. They were frustrated and took it out intimately.
Then, Simone was gone again just as quickly as she came back. She was tired of fighting, and so was Marc, so he also left. This left Steven to try and figure things out on his own.
Marc was in shambles, just as he used to be when they fought as kids. Only during those times was everything temporary. They would give each other the silent treatment for a few days and then return to it like nothing happened. They're adults now, so now it seems permanent.
It felt like she was slipping through his fingers, and he thought she was in his grasp when he texted her, but he was wrong. Infatuation was a hateful thing, sometimes, and though he was happy to have her body, mind, soul, and everything in between under him that night, it felt dirty to let her leave after. Like they could do nothing but fight and use each other.
They refused to wash the sheets because they smelled like her still. Kept her toothbrush in the bathroom. Dreamt of her. Day dreamt of her. Fucked their own hand at the thought.
It did make them feel good that she stopped by, at least. She could get another conquest if she wanted. She still chose to come over. This meant there was a chance. Steven wasn't going to let that pass him by.
The decision to go to her apartment was his alone. Marc wanted to stay back, had it in his mind that she would come when she was ready, and feared bugging her would only further her disdain for him. He wanted Moni to miss him.
Last I checked, she was the one who left. Why are we even here? He thought as Steven knocked on the door. In a twist, they got Joyce, who looked like she had just arrived home.
"Oh, Simone's not here-" Joyce cut herself off, squinting and studying his face to find something that told her the name of the person she was speaking to.
"Steven. And I just wanted to see how she was doing." He told her, smiling nervously. Joyce snapped like she came to that conclusion herself,
"Yep, Steven, the gentle one." She said. Steven found it touching that she referred to him that way. Marc, on the other hand, wondered what he would be. "Simone's on her 'field trip' day." She added air quotes, "I'll let her know you came by, though."
After her session, Simone realized she was correct in getting a cab again: she needed a drink but decided to head home for it this time and shower. She pulled her phone out and called the company, then remembered the last couple of taxis she'd called.
"Can I request to not get Jake Lockley this time?" She asked the man on the other end. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the banter, but she wasn't sure if she had the willpower to hold herself back upon seeing his face again.
"Lucky for you, Lockley's off the clock right now. Why? Need to file a complaint?"
"Oh, no, just keep running into the guy. Wanted to see if that was something I could do. Send whoever."
They did send someone she'd never met or seen, which was refreshing. She enjoyed a decently quiet ride home, thinking of how the session went before her mind returned to the fact that Jake was off the clock.
Does that automatically mean Marc and Steven are on the clock, so to speak? Probably not. Jake doesn't just pop out to drive his taxi and leave when he's done. He's gotta be up to more than that.
When Simone got home, she dropped her bag and let out an audible sigh to mirror how she felt: exhausted.
"I take it, it went normal." She heard Joyce call out from the living room. Simone sauntered over to get her roommate in view,
"The man's not fit for a prison, but they won't listen to me. He has a laundry list of issues, but his clear-cut sociopathy should have been enough to send him to a facility instead of supermax. Maybe even The Raft... his lawyer failed him."
"Are you excusing his behavior?" Joyce asked, playing devil's advocate. Simone snickered, thinking that would be an impossible task. The man was dreadful.
"Absolutely not. It's not like Walton snapped one day and decided to kidnap those girls. He had it in him the whole time, but his brain needs to be looked at by a team, not just me. He has someone new on his prison hit list whenever I see him. Doesn't write it down. It's all memorized." She explained, sounding amazed. The man was polite, mild-mannered, and probably wouldn't draw much attention to himself in public on the outside.
"Are you on that list?" Joyce asked with a laugh. Simone spotted the bottle of tequila in the china cabinet on the far side of the room,
"You know I am. Every time I visit, he says I need to see him more." She shuddered, grabbing a crystal glass from the cupboard before walking to the cabinet. The thought crossed her mind as she realized she would have little time for her usual patients if she spent more time seeing the inmate. That would spell bad news. That would put more high-risks like Laura in jeopardy. "I need a drink."
She didn't like tequila much at room temperature, but she felt there wasn't any time to chill it. Joyce scooted to the edge of her chair and leaned forward, studying Simone as she poured the clear liquid into the glass. "You've been drinking a lot more lately. You alright?"
"I'm fine. Just keep thinking about a lot of things. Laura, mostly."
"Go see her."
"I can't. I can't shake the feeling her family doesn't want me there." She admitted, taking a good swig of the liquor and impressing Joyce by expertly keeping a straight face. There was a brief silence between them that was only interrupted by a sipping and gulping sound as Simone finished off the two fingers of alcohol before pouring another finger. Finally, Joyce spoke up,
"Steven came by after you."
Simone put the cap back on the bottle slowly after hearing this, realizing it was the answer to her question to herself from earlier.
"You sure it was Steven?" She asked.
"The English one." She confirmed. Simone nodded quietly and took her glass to the loveseat next to Joyce's chair. "It was awfully sweet, actually. He just wanted to see how you were doing."
"Yeah." Simone sat, placing the glass against her temple and silently staring into space.
What a fuckin' sweetheart.
"You've got that look again. The 'I should call him' look." Joyce called her out. Simone removed the glass from her head, wishing the liquid was cold again so it would actually feel good on her face.
"Shit, look who's playing psych now?" She said with a laugh. "What a fuckin' nightmare."
As for the man himself, Steven sat in his flat, cross-legged on the floor, with a handheld mirror propped in front of him by a bunch of books he'd already read. He stared into it with intention, trying to summon this Jake fellow like he was Bloody Mary.
Marc was the only one around, and he knew it. There would be no luck this time, not without Moni. He felt it in his bones.
"He's not gonna come out. We've tried this." Marc said, speaking to Steven through his reflection. Steven's neck went lax, and his head fell forward with a groan,
"Don't be a pessimist. It worked for us!"
"Because you started digging, I could snake my way into your consciousness. We can't do that with Jake if he believes he's the only one and isn't trying to fight for the body."
"So we would need Simone."
"Exactly."
They sat quietly for a moment before there was a slight knocking at the door. It was nearly too gentle for them to hear, and if they were still talking, they probably wouldn't have.
Steven stood up and walked to the door, thinking having a visitor at this time of day was strange. He opened the door and, like he summoned her instead of Jake or Bloody Mary, Simone stood waiting. His heart nearly leaped from his chest.
"Hey, Stevie." She greeted him with a nervous grin. She was twiddling her thumbs, clearly regretting coming by now that she was actually here. Regardless, she was happy to see him, and the feeling was mutual. He stepped aside to let her come in, and she proceeded, looking around aimlessly at the clutter, trying to find something to focus on. "Joyce said you came by..." She started but trailed off when she turned to face him.
Steven perked up, thinking his efforts wouldn't amount to her coming over.
Maybe change is in the air. He thought to himself.
Marc, on the other hand, remained unconvinced. After their last interaction, he doubted they would reconcile so soon, though he wished they would.
"I just wanted to check on you. A lot's been happening, and I'll do my best to help." Steven responded. Simone found him sweet, and Marc found him to be a suckup.
She wasn't drunk, out of her mind, or anything that would impair her judgment. She just needed to feel his lips after the day she had. After all, he said he would do his best to help. She approached him steadily, not rushing or in desperation, but she got to him and interlocked her hands over his neck as she gently brought her lips to his.
Simone's mind raced, still enjoying kissing and being around him, remembering why she refused to go to anyone else no matter how mad she was, regardless of whether she didn't plan on getting back on track with their relationship. They were adults, and her intentions, though devious, were clear.
"Delightful. Undress and get on the bed, sweetheart." She said with a tender voice as she pulled from the kiss. Steven does precisely what he's told to do. First, the shirt, pants, and boxers, and then on the bed. He was sitting up with his legs straight out in front of him, waiting as she removed her own clothes. He watched, interested in her every move until he started to stroke himself.
"Don't touch, Stevie." She demanded. Steven quickly moved his hand back to his side, realizing the error.
"Sorry." He said with a slight blush. She placed her hand on his chest and guided him to lie back.
"Just don't let it happen again, or I'll have to tie you up. Understood?" She told him, still holding her tender tone. Steven nodded,
"Yes, darling." He answered attentively. Simone found that Steven responds best to gentle authority. She takes extra care to do everything she does and says as delicately as possible to match his soft nature.
As she watched his kind eyes, her clit ached like it was being teased, and yet she hadn't been touched yet. It was no wonder she took to the handsome man what felt like forever ago, just as well as he took to her.
She straddled overtop of his painfully hard cock, allowing him only to feel the wetness between her folds as they blanketed him. This part always drove him nuts, her taking her time, but he knew he needed to resist her teasing.
Simone began slowly grinding against him, only moving slightly, but the friction, paired with how soaked she was, did enough for her. Steven, though enjoying himself, couldn't help but want to pick up the pace. He was impatient, needy even. He wanted to be inside her but knew that Simone would give him what he wanted when she was ready and if he was good.
Steven knew how to be good for her, yet his impatience got the best of him, and he gripped her hips and began pressing his pelvis into her harder, trying to get more of her to wrap around him.
For Simone, though this felt fantastic, it simply wouldn't do. "Tsk, tsk, Stevie baby. You know better." She said, still gentle with her tone but harshly pushing on his chest to keep him steady. Steven immediately felt guilty for getting greedy and knew what came next. He lost his self-control, and he had to be restrained.
She delicately took his wrists and lifted them above his head. She wasn't using force, but he knew he needed to be punished, so he allowed it to happen. She found the leather binds they kept attached to the headboard and put them around his wrists, making it nearly impossible for him to touch her now.
"I guess I deserve this, yeah?" He asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear her talk to him more. He loved her voice. Simone smiled down at him, making his heart flutter with her beauty.
"Yes, you do. I was going to let your slip up before slide so you could touch me, too. I guess not now, hmm?" She said, finishing the sentence with a hum of pleasure as she continued rolling her hips. "I was going to let you put your hands all over me. You would have gotten to feel my tits," She continued, speaking more breathy now. Steven's eyes drifted closed, imagining it as she told and massaged her clit against him. "I would have let you hold my thighs, run your hands over my ass..." She trailed off as she watched him lose focus under her.
Simone's wetness coated the underside of his cock, and the feelings and thoughts running through his head put him a few steps ahead of her. She knew he was having difficulty holding back even though he was trying his best to be her object of pleasure. She tested him a bit more.
"You like it when I rub my pussy on you like this?" She asked him. Steven groaned at her words, thinking about how pretty she made those dirty words sound.
"Yes, love." He answered, gritting his teeth. Simone picked up the pace a bit as she felt the fire build inside her, inching closer to orgasm as she watched Steven's face. He was apparently hanging on by a thread from the twitching of his thighs under her. He was ready to cum, and that simply wouldn't do.
Simone lifted herself off him and sat at his side, examining the dribbles of precum leaking onto his belly. "You're too close, sweetheart. We can't have that."
"I'm sorry, I can't help it." He apologized, subconsciously pulling at the restraints, aching to have something on him again. She loved when he got like this.
"It's okay. I know you can't. We'll just have to work on that, won't we?" She asked, implying what her next event was. Steven hated edging, but he hated coming too soon even more. He wanted Simone to use him as long as she needed to. Typically, when he can last until she comes one time, he gets rewarded with his own.
Simone walked on her knees to the top of his body, gingerly running her fingers through his tousled hair. Steven stared lovingly at her, wishing he had her to do this all the time, hoping she would come home. To be closer to her again was something Steven pined for. He knew Marc also did, but god damn, was that man dead-set on making sure she crawled back first.
"Ready?" She whispered politely. Steven nodded frantically, excited for what would come next. Simone gave him a long kiss on his forehead before she turned around and placed her left knee on his other side, backing herself against his stubble. She leaned forward in doing so and wrapped her hand around his cock, feeling it twitch in response to being touched again.
Steven started rolling his tongue over her sensitive nub with delight, happy to make her feel good as she stroked him slowly with her hand. She sped up as he sped up, hoping that the other would get them across the finish line.
Each time Simone sensed that Steven was getting too close, she would stop and drop his cock, causing him to hum with frustration as he sucked and nibbled her. She was about to cum, but she couldn't let him have relief first.
"Keep going, sweetheart. You're doing so good." She moaned as his tongue circled faster. She had left his hard-on alone, focusing on her orgasm as he coaxed it out of her. "Yes, Stevie, yes!" She exclaimed as she was on the cusp of completion.
Steven was confident now that he was doing a good job, lips and chin covered in her sweet juices as she clenched her thighs tighter over his ears and climaxed with a fury of bad words that only she could make angelic. The sweet sounds made him smile under her proudly.
Simone got off his face, trying to hide her wobbling to keep the guise of strength she had. Sitting back at his side, she could see the gorgeous, bound Englishman's smile, slick with her wetness, and felt she owed him a compliment.
"Fantastic job, sweetheart. Are you ready to feel the mess you just made of me?" She asked. Steven nodded with delight, excited to see what she had in store. Simone reached for his binds and undid them before guiding him to sit up. She pressed her breasts against his chest and sat slowly down his length with a hiss, adjusting to him on entry.
A heavy exhale escaped Steven, finally feeling her warmth around him. Simone wrapped her arms over his shoulders and kissed him as she slowly rocked her hips. Kissing Steven was always gentle; he wanted to ensure he did it right each time. Kissing was like a talent of his, consistently in sync as his tongue explored Simone's.
Steven's hands caressed the soft skin of her back, moving with each move she made. Up, down, swivel, rolling her pelvis to feel him push against every spot that made her unbutton little by little. She pulled away from the kiss when she felt his heart beat faster as he drew himself to climax.
"Not yet, sweetheart." She demanded, still moving her hips up and down, in and out. She was close, but not nearly as close as he was.
"I don't think I can hold it much longer, love," Steven admitted. He did everything he could to keep the pleasure down as she denied him release. Simone grabbed the sides of his face and pressed her forehead to his, prompting him to look into her eyes,
"Wait for me. I'm almost there." She choked out, moving faster now. His tip rutted against her g-spot repeatedly when she pushed herself into this position. She started to feel the build spill over, coming unglued again.
"Cum now, Stevie. Now!" She cried out, feeling the climax rush out of her.
Steven felt her grip pulsate around his cock. That, along with her command, caused him to pull her closer to him as he erupted into her. Simone's movements grew shakey as her knees grew weak and weary of riding, so Steven did his best to pick up where she couldn't to finish riding out their orgasms, thrusting himself into her a couple of times before they came to completion.
Steven fell backward onto the bed, taking Simone with him and pulling her in tighter. "You're proper gorgeous, darling." He complimented, burying his face in her neck. She smiled and kissed his forehead,
"Thank you, sweetheart. You're handsome as the devil and far more polite." She said.
Steven trailed tiny kisses along her neck, enjoying the snuggle while he got the chance to. It made him wish he could stay this way a bit longer, drift off in her arms, and wake up with her again. It had been so long since they did that. Simone wanted the same thing.
There was only one way to really get to the bottom of her feelings, and she knew it.
"I might be able to help with the Jake issue." She said, breaking the peaceful silence. As if Marc had been in control the whole time, he was the one who responded.
"Why the sudden change?"
"Because it's bonkers, and I'm worried. No matter how I feel about you, I want you to be okay." She said, pulling out of the embrace now that Steven wasn't in front. She didn't want to fight anymore. "But I'm going to need your full cooperation, Marc. No matter how crazy my methods may seem." She told him sternly. Marc nodded,
"Of course. Anything."
#moon knight fanfic#moon knight fan fic#moon knight#marvel smut#marvel mcu#marvel fanfic#marvel#mcu fanfiction#fan fic#fan fiction#fanfic#mcu fic#mcu#smut#darkfic#angst#marc spector#steven grant#jake lockley#x oc#tw: murder mention#tw: kidnap mention#minors dni
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You are such a fantastic writer and blue lock fan!! ty so much for sharing your headcanons and thoughts about the boys!!! I highspeed ran through the anime and manga in a week lmao and have been obsessing over the fan content and you have been one of my favorite blogs <333 I don't have anyone to talk blue lock so I wanted to drop in and mention a dream I had if that's okay??
It was so stupid but it was inspired by that reader insert basis of being a manager in training for the boys but instead in my dream I was training to be a sport announcer for some reason?? So I was watching in real time the matches of team Z vs others and later Isagi's teams and plays against Rin and such and making commentary like 'ANOTHER FLAWLESS NUTMEG PASS DEFENSE AND OH! OHHH!!! EVERYONE STAND BACK BACHIRA IS ONCE AGAIN TURNING THIS COURT INTO A DANCE FLOOR. THE BEAT IS DROPPING AS HIS ENEMIES DO, TOO!!" or "YES A DIRECT SHOT BY THE MAN THE MYTH THE LEGENDDDDDD ISAGI YOICHIIIIIII!!!" it was wild but not too biased bc I was properly losing my mind over both sides of the match when something impressive happened. But I remember it being such whiplash to a lot of bllk boys bc I have a petite, curvy, and cute appearance but had the heart and roar of a crazy American announcer during games lmao
but honestly?? Aside from Ego needing more creativity for training sims (soccer boys vs holographic zombies WHEN) bc if he's gonna have that much money and tech and ruin these guys' lives let them have some fun in a interactive/simulation, their soccer feats absolutely deserve hype men. Is there anything you wish the manga added, out of curiosity?? I saw a post point this out, but I also wish the (vastly superior!!) female Japanese soccer team is mentioned at some point. Ty for letting me share/reading this btw!! Have a great new year!!
AAAAH nonnie this is so late but PLEASE you're so sweet !! <///3 i am sOOO happi u enjoy my content &&all the silly brainrot asjflksa cmere and let me give u a kiss ! >_<
this dream sounds so fun ajhsklh and you are SO right for that !!!!!!1 you slayed that job getting all hyped.. as you should :3 ! these boys def need a hype man AND an announcer too......... it would be so funny to hear what they'd have to say about some of these games 😭
i'd LOVE to see some more casual scenes like the one they had in shibuya :( like ??!#! that was giving me LIFE i hope we get another chapter or two like that soon ! something else i'd love if they added would be some psychological help 4 these boys LOL but that's just ur psych zari speaking :3 on a serious note it'd REALLY be interesting 2 see how these boys handle being isolated and tired out at the facility for so long tho,, taking breaks w school too ?????? idk if it makes sense but i'd just rly like to see what are the possible consequences to them always being on their 100% and having their usual teenage lives ripped away from them :o do they ever get back in school? do they have any issues w that? is there any mental health professional in the bllk facility in case someone needs help????? i hope there is lol
i agree on the female team sm too !!!!! that'd be absolutely amazing :3 in fact i'm very surprised it wasn't mentioned at all but welp that's football for u i guess we girls never get recognition yet alone in a male dominated space q_q
#✧.* ✉ zari’s mail#🌸 mail: nonnie#thank YOU for sending this in &reading my works bbie !!! <3#i hope this year is being kind to you so far >_< MWAH#blue lock
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Virgin Mary, Mother of Snakes
My most recent resident was one that drove me nuts. Absolutely, up the walls, nuts. She made me want to pull my hair out on a good day, imagine on a bad day? We’ll call her Darla. Darla was an odd duck, convinced she had snakes in her nether regions, she was the Virgin Mary, that there were kids in the corner in the dining room. Yeah, that kind of odd.
I wasn’t always the nicest to her, especially on nights I was sleep deprived from clinicals and class. I’ll be the first to admit that. She deserved an aide who was kinder than I sometimes. But I was rarely off the hall at that point in my employment. She was stuck with me, and I her. I’m sure had she been in her right mind, she’d have hated me. I wouldn’t have blamed her.
Virgin Mary, Mother of Snakes
Darla lived on a lockdown unit, with anywhere between fifteen to twenty other females at once. Ten rooms, shared most of the time, with no contact to the other halls except during phone times and activities. The longer you were there, the better your behavior, the faster you phased up, and were moved out to open hall.
My first interaction with her came in the form of her creepily appearing when I was in the office, to tell me the names of the baby dolls she lovingly carried around. “Johnathan, for her boyfriend who trusted someone he shouldn’t have, and got murdered.” She still saw him though, he still worked at the facility and talked to her. The other doll was “Sarah, for her best friend who got her boyfriend murdered.” She could see Hispanic children in the corners, talked to herself nightly, and claimed to have snakes inside her. She was the Virgin Mary and was Jesus’s future wife come Judgement Day.
Lord help us.
My second interaction came from a behavioral issue between her and another resident. She had been carrying her dolls and backpack down the hallway, pacing, for an hour, when the other resident, Alexis, asked her to take them to her room. Darla insisted she didn’t have to, she was leaving, and would need the backpack to take care of her kids. Alexis snapped, screaming at her, telling her she was a terrible mother and had “messed with the wrong bitch.”
A fun night, in short. Darla retreated to her room and began cursing at Alexis, Alexis was yelling at Darla through the walls, Darla threw Johnathan (I think) into the door frame. Alexis yelled through the walls that Darla was horrible for killing her baby just then. Between reassuring Darla and calming Alexis, it was a struggle to get Darla stable. She didn’t feel welcome because no one wanted her children there, and Alexis had royally upset her. Meanwhile, Alexis was still yelling, saying Darla was going to get her neck snapped. Darla finally calmed down, after yelling at the top of her lungs at staff, saying Alexis was just jealous that Darla had her kids, and Alexis had lost hers. She claimed that Alexis lost her babies because of her toxic private parts from the Devil, and it wasn’t fair because she’d lost babies too, from the snakes that the Devil had put in hers.
That was my first REAL interaction with Darla. It only got better from there.
I’m going to pause and take a second to explain that I understand, it’s a psych facility. They’re here for treatment, for care, and they can’t help the way that they are. Weird things are bound to happen. But there was something about Darla... in the way she could sit in the dining room area holding a doll, hair over her face Grudge-style, and smile at you with crazy eyes that showed she was dead inside, that made you question your life choices. I’ll admit it, there was one night she was in there with the lights off. I popped open the side door to hit my vape, and she started screeching that I was letting the demons in, that same creepy smile and crazy, dead look in her eyes. I cannot accurately describe how high I jumped. I got a little snappy, it had been a long night and I just wanted that small hit of nicotine for the stress and she’d denied me it.
The first words out of my mouth, before my filter could stop them, were, “Ho-ly fuck, you are creepy as SHIT!” Didn’t faze her any. She gave me the creepiest, “I’m-going-to-kill-you-and-your-family" smile and said I let the demons in, and now I was going to have to fuck them to get them to leave. I refused, saying I was a virgin. Her response? “You’re not a virgin, only I am. You’re a whore.” I agreed, “Yeah, probably.”
She propped herself up against the wall in the hallway, pants off, one leg up in the air, and ‘fucked’ the demons for over two hours. Traumatizing.
Yup, you read that right. That night was ROUGH. I think I relied on the friend mentioned more later on that night than I had before. I was mentally drained. I was ready to throw in the towel and quit. Yet I still showed back up that night, ready for another twelve hours of terror and torment.
Interactions with Darla weren’t entirely pleasant. You couldn’t hold a conversation with her without her claiming the snakes inside her were keeping her alive, or that she was the Virgin Mary.
One night, her son was a cardiac surgeon who gave her an entirely new body, and she got to help with the operation. That was her reasoning for dropping her drawers and peeing in the hallway. I told her if she was going to pee in the floor to please let me know so I could lay a pad down like I would for a puppy. She rewarded me for my snark by going into “labor”, birthing a ‘snake’ and shitting in the floor. She said I had to clean her accident, because it was my job. I threatened to rub her nose in it, (Not seriously, before you come for my throat. I get snarky, but I would never and will never put hands on my residents.) and she gave me what I started to understand was her signature, “Darla” look. Head bowed, Grudge hair, dead crazy eyes, and terrifying smile.
I’ll never forget that night, or the night she came out and said she needed the door to be opened, because she needed to leave before he found her. No explanation on who he was, she just needed out. Wouldn't tell a soul who he was. Argued, said she was leaving one way or another, her bus was outside, her dad had bought the ticket. It took over an hour to convince her that it was Wednesday, and the bus only ran on Tuesdays. She still wasn’t completely buying it, but it was enough to get her to go talk to her children in the corner for the rest of the night.
She was lucid one day, and confided with staff that she was normal one day, then she felt like she had snakes crawling inside her, she didn’t understand what was wrong with her, it felt real to her, even if she knew in her mind it wasn’t... It was heartbreaking.
Darla was not one that was near and dear to my heart. Sure, she’ll always have a special place because I think she’ll become my sleep paralysis demon and send my normal demon, Ronald, on vacation, but she’s not one of my babies. Those slots are reserved for my geriatrics, my oldies. One of my absolute favorite oldies is up next. But Darla was an odd duck, one who deserved to be there, yes, but perhaps an actual psych hospital would have been better for her.
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Resolutions for today July 13, 2023
Eat more fresh fruits and vegetables. Eat salads and more fruits during meals.
Focus on getting enough protein and figure out how to maintain my weight. I currently weigh 178 lbs and have been losing weight due to having sigmoid colon cancer.
Make sure every glass of water I drink is charged with source energy also known asor quantum source energy.
When my mind brings up situations in the past where I wronged someone or someone wronged me for give them and pray through God's grace you be forgiven of any sin and forgive the other person and ask that your mind no longer bring up the issue. The past is over. Musing on past injuries to my psyche wastes time when I could be doing something more pleasing like staring at images of Henry Cavill or Tom Hiddleston. Hehe.
5. Be grateful for any kindness shown by others to me. Appreciate the help and thank the person or institution helping you further your goals to be a better human on this planet of ours. I am deeply grateful for my Father and Step-Mother for taking me into their home and for my Father coming to get ,me after NE Georgia Medical Center deemed me having no medical issues requiring hospitalization to be discharged. The case manager who was to help me with discharge planning was not helpful and avoided my calls and calls from a friend of mine who tried to get me into assisted living or a care home in GA. I was told I could go to a motel or homeless shelter. Keep in mind that at the time of discharge I was using a rolling walker and had an open wound near my groin that required packing every day to assist in healing the wound. I had a urinary catheter and nephrostomy tubes which were connected to my left and right kidneys. I had to pin the nephrostomy tubes to an undershirt with safety pins and either had to clip the foley (urinary) catheter to the inside of my pants or go for the embarrassing option of clipping the catheter to my rolling walker.
6. I am grateful I am not wandering the streets and living in homeless shelter. I think I would have died in a few months if I had to live in he street as I required a caregiver's assistance for wound care, preparing meals, and transportation.
7. I am grateful NE Georgia Medical Center offered me charity for oncology but I was unable to take advantage of the offer as I was hospitalized from 2/07/23 until the second week of May except for two days in March. I spent 2 days in a motel and had to be admitted to the local hospital in Blairsville, GA. At that time I was unable to keep food down. NE GA Medical Center discharged me with NO MEDS. I had an episode of GERD and was unable to walk using my walker.
8. I am grateful for the care I received from the EMT's and Paramedics who responded to my needing help. While in the motel I called for help because I was unable to get off the floor. The hotel had a low toilet and I was unable to use my walker to stand. After that failed I got on my knees and crawled to my phone asking for help from EMS. They helped me into bed and I believed at that time I could eat something and be able to strengthen my legs. I was unable to walk using my walker and my condition did not improve so I called EMS who took me to the Hospital.
9. I am grateful for the Ambulance crew who transported me from Blairsville, GA to Columbus, GA . Columbus was the only facility who would take me. I was too well to stay in a regular hospital but too sick to stay in a motel. I stayed there until l I had a nephrostomy tube stop up. As this hospital was sub-acute and not equipped to deal with my issue I returned to NE GA Medical Center which was a 4 hour drive I think to Gainesville. I was admitted to the ER and later admitted to the hospital for treatment and had the nephrostomy tube replaced the next day. I do not recommend prolonged trips in an ambulance. The ride is bumpy and you are on your back and feel every bump on the road.
10. Again I am grateful my 82 year old father came and got me. He drove all the way from a small town near Commerce, TX to Gainesville GA. He picked up my car at the house I was renting It was full of items from my cubicle at my call center and belongings of value my friend could find.
11. Be satisfied with less belongings At the time of discharge my clothing consisted of 2 pairs of pants and 2 shirts . My chromebook, Samsung tablet, and phone. I was hopeful at that time that after the house I was rented was cleaned by professional cleaners that I could use the clothing recovered from my house.
12. Be satisfied with what you have. Stuff weighs you down. You can't take anything with you when you leave this life but your immortal soul. BTW the professional cleaners my landlord hired to clean the house stole everything but my Bible. So I am left in Texas with clothes that don't fit me. I had gone from a 4x to a 2x with my weight loss from the cancer. I have since have an adequate wardrobe acquired from Walmart and the Salvation Army Thrift Store in Dallas, Texas.
13. Break my habit of being a hoarder. I have always clung to my possessions, my books, video tapes, DVD's, Clothing ( had a lot of it at one time) . I am prone to hoarding food, a habit of my childhood. I used to use part of my lunch money to buy books.
14. I am grateful for the healh care I received in Georgia but I am elated to be a patient of the University of Texas Southwestern health system in Dallas. I receive much better care there. I have a team of doctors supervising my care who are interested in my well-being and curing my cancer. I had a nephrostomy tube be misplaced and had a urinary tract infection so I was instructed by the Nurse Practitioner overseeing my care to go to the ER at the William P. Clements Jr. University Hospital. They did not have an opening in Interventional Radiology, so I had to stay in hospital until the 6th when I was discharged after the tube was re-positioned and replaced.
15. I am grateful the the ER physicians, IR Physician and the resident doctor who followed my care in hospital. I have never had an ER physician ask for my medical history since my cancer diagnosis and surgery on 2/07/93. Explaining all that happened to me Surgery, bladder rupture, being placed on a wound vac to clear fluid from my abdomen. Having 2 Nephrostomy tubes placed (one for each kidney) and maintaining the Foley catheter and my need to hawound care dressing changes daily. After I came under the care of my Urologist Dr. Lotan I was after studies to see how big my bladder was, if it was leaking and how much fluid my bladder can hold he determined that I could do without the urinary (Foley) catheter and after that we experimented with capping my left kidney to determine how my bladder would react to extra fluid from the left kidney. I had the left nephrostomy tube removed and was only left with the right nephrostomy tube which has to stay in because my right ureter is disconnected from the bladder.
16. I am grateful that I am able to now walk without a walker and only use the fancy walker my Dad provided which has a seat and has brakes on it and a basket for storing items when I walk for clinic visits. Today I was able to use a shopping cart at Walmart and was able to roam the store standing the whole time to purchased what I needed before exiting the store.
17. I am excited to be cooking again. I haven't cooked for about 20 years. Before the cancer I was subsisting on the poor diet of frozen dinners, canned soups, and sandwiches. Now I can use my creativity in the kitchen to follow new recipes. I purchased a wok and spices, and was tempted by Prime Day to order an air fryer.
18. Eat more food that is fresh, that has life energy. Most of the food we Americans eat is processed and has no life energy and enzymes that the human body needs for good health. I plan on eating less meat as it is not necessary to always eat meat with every meal.
19. To exercise more and build up strength in my right leg. My left leg is longer than my right leg and I will try walking putting more weight on the right leg and build up strength in that leg.
20. Keep my pain managed currently by a narcotic and manage the antidepressant given for my sleeplessness . Try to limit their use until needed and do not become addicted to the numbness of narcotics.
21. Keep a log of what foods I cannot tolerate. Currently, I cannot eat garlic, hot peppers such as jalepenos, and possibly kiwi fruit.
22. Learn how to stay present and to quiet my busy mind. I am wanting to learn meditation, but haven't had the energy to pursue it. I listen to Spotify playlists for sleep mediation and that has helped me wake more rested the next day.
That's enough for now. My goal is to improve my health through eating wholesome food and continue with my oncology as directed. I go to the infusion center every other week and receive chemo for several hours and return home with an infusion pump. The pump delivers the chemo meds over 40 hours, after which I return to the infusion center to remove the pump.
So far the chemo has caused sensitivity to co to cold water or food, and handling cold items in the refrigerator caused shocking feelings in my hands and tongue. I also have had symptoms of a sore throat (it feels like a band around my neck) when receiving chemo.
I am deeply grateful for the care I have received at UT Southwestern and recommend it for anyone needing cancer treatments. The doctors listen to what you have to say and make sure you understand all aspects of your care. They do not rush your interview with them to get on to the next patient.
The entire staff at UT Southwestern are professional, courteous, and dedicated to providing the best of care to their patients. From the valets who pick up and deliver your car, the techs, housekeepers, nurses and doctors employed there. They all have good attitudes and they are dedicated to providing the best of care to their patients.
I plan on posting all that happened to me in another journal post. If this post encourages or helps only 1 person it was worth it to share my experience with cancer Infinite blessings to whoever reads this.
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Descartes Soltaire Delegardes (Project Nova)
Second in Command to Anarak at Infinatum Labs
Background
The only member at Infinatum to have at some point been considered nobility. A child belonging to a wealthy, renowned family in the United Kingdom in his youth. His parents cared more about their money and prestige than they did his own well-being, even going so far as to punish him whenever he gave away his allowance as charity.
In spite of their wishes, and repeated attempts to get him to follow in their footsteps through various private teachings, Descartes always has a golden heart and a strong desire to help others. He never once considered someone beneath him, regardless of societal status. This lead to him leaving his family as soon as the chance came up, which happened when he first met Anarak.
Anarak effectively adopted him during his search for brilliant minds that sought to help humanity as a whole. Descartes at least had to thank his parents for one thing, their rigorous tutoring and teachings. Though not quite a genius, he was quick to learn and pick up on new things, and had a penchant for Engineering. He ended up being the first one invited to what would eventually become Infinatum Labs, and subsequently Infinatum Island.
Over time, as the second to Anarak himself, and one of the leading scientists at the labs. He helped in the development of their unique power source, the Nova Core, and Nova Energy itself. A unique form of quantum fusion that could provide enough energy for a single major city indefinitely. The only full size core in existence resides in the depths of Infinatum Island, powering the entire facility.
He also helped design the layout of the labs, and many of the machines and devices they continue to use to this day. All specifically made to utilize Nova Energy to its fullest. This included the Deep Space Telescope that first discovered the Rift in reality that turned out to be the Entity’s breaching point.
When the Entity came, and they had to rely on the Gene Awakening process to survive the initial assault, he ended up as a Wolf-like being with soft yellow fur. It wasn’t until Project Nova, that his fur turned gold, and the wings came into play. A representation of his heart that desires to save everyone.
Statistics
Age: 36, aging halted by Project Nova
Gender: Male
Species: Nova-Infused Angelic Wolf
Height: 7′11″
P.O.B: United Kingdom
D.O.B: Classified
D.O.D: N/A
Sexuality: Pansexual
Occupation: Scientist specializing in Engineering, Purifier and Primary Combatant
Colors: All gold, all the time
Mentality: Gentle, calm, usually relaxed. Quick learner, but not as intelligent as a number of the others. Incredibly chivalrous, loyal, and protective.
Abilities and Capabilities
Project Nova, almost the antithesis of Project Dusk. Whereas the latter was about infusing the subject with the essence of living darkness...this Project’s purpose was the suffuse their being with Pure Nova Energy. Descartes willingly volunteered for this project, as the one who understood his own creation the best.
The primary purpose of it was to create a dominant force to fight against the Entity’s corrupted minions. They had learned it was weak to Solar Energy, as well as Nova Energy. This was the first fully offensive Project to occur.
Due to various other projects happening before this one, including Project Slipstream, later Project Paradox, this one went fairly smoothly. Pain was great, but limited to tolerable levels. Descartes recalls the most prominent sensation as ‘overwhelming buzzing, and not as much heat as he expected’.
The initial effects were quite obvious, with a physical change in appearance. From the golden coloration, to the two wings that formed out of the raw Nova Energy almost reflexively. Descartes believes it to be the energy tapping into his psyche, and reflecting the concept of an Angel, guiding others to safety.
Project Nova granted him the ability to absorb and convert any form of natural energy, and create Nova Energy. Acting almost like a living Nova Core. He can then form the energy in various ways, either creating an almost solid construct of it like a weapon. Or firing bursts of it to either blind or burn a target, based on how concentrated it is. His body constantly radiates heat, and naturally over time absorbs sunlight to convert into a general pool of Nova Energy.
It was through regular fights against the Corrupted that his body developed into the muscular physique it has now. He resisted its influence better than anyone else, and was resilient towards their attacks. Descartes was a great weapon, but in the end, he still wasn’t enough.
What it’s like now
Even though back home, he does little more than stagnate the war, he soldiers on. Whenever things are calm enough, he travels the multiverse like most of the others. He often follows their paths, knowing that they are usually the safest places to be. Especially Zenni, keeping an eye on him in case the darkness ends up breaking free.
Descartes does his best to help wherever he’s needed. Whether it’s something as simple as being a source of light and warmth, or fighting a great threat. He’s always happy to make new friends, rarely seeking more, but accepting it if it comes his way.
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TW/self harm
My brother’s wife delivered a newborn yesterday and today I got to see a wonderful photo of their family of 4 (one previous child) meeting together for the first time in a home they own and live together in.
It took me back to the time after my own daughters birth, and bringing her home for the first time, and learning to live while caring for a newborn. I got to experience about 1 month of that before my parents and my ex began making demands and pressuring me to submit to a sober work-camp called Dawn Farm for 3 months at great expense to my family.
I would call it a recovery center or rehab, except there were no healthcare workers on staff. During the day, you did farm work and group sessions with counselors of questionable credentials. No free unscheduled time, plenty of manual labor, and daily shuttles to AA meetings.
I was allowed to see my daughter once during my stay, on thanksgiving eve, for 30 minutes, thanks to the benevolence of her mother.
I was parasuicidal and was sent to a psych unit for a few days and returned to the work camp to continue my….. healing?
When I finally relapsed instead of staying at a meeting, I was humiliated and shamed in a group setting in a way that no reasonable person could call therapeutic. My family wouldn’t pick me up to return home, so I left the camp and spent 3 days homeless without a phone, before being scooped up by police and sent again to a different inpatient psych facility.
During my stay, my ex confirmed that I would be removed from the home and we would be separating. It was just two months after the birth of our child.
She eventually remarried, and tonight I went to my daughter’s dance performance and had a nice convo with her step dad. But later after considering he would be taking her home afterwards instead of myself, and how horribly my life went during her newborn period, I can’t help but cry watching my brother actually have a life and a family.
I was denied this by my own loved ones. I was treated like a problem while it should have been the happiest time of my life. Even when I told my folks we were expecting, it was treated like a problem. I remember the disappointed sighs, and being asked “what are you going to do now?”
I am happy for my brother. I’m grateful for my family. I am especially grateful to share custody of my 10yo, and that I can speak civilly with her mother and stepfather. She has a life with them, and two younger sisters. They live together in a home that they own.
So go easy on me if I’m sitting alone crying in my parents basement. No one in my family can understand what this feels like.
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survey #095
(taken december 29th last year; uploading surveys taken while gone)
Have you ever given someone flowers?
Yes; I remember one specific Mother's Day I took a jar and went walking down our path collecting wild flowers to give my mom. I'm also pretty sure I've given Jason roses before, but I'm not entirely positive. I want to give Girt some someday, even though he's said he thinks flowers are kinda a dumb gift, since they're just dying plants and all but honestly, I feel like if someone he loves like me actually gifted him flowers that he'd probably be really touched and cherish them.
Are there any lamps on in the room that you’re currently in?
Yes, I have a guitar lamp in this room that's always on because I like its warm, orange glow.
Is there a place that you will never return back to?
I've made it a point that I simply will fucking not EVER go back to the local mental hospital here if god absolutely forbid I need one again. I'll die before I do. It's literal hell and pure, rancid garbage of a facility.
Does your grass need to be cut currently?
Nah, it naturally stays dead/real short this time of year.
What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?
A very abrupt and just overall traumatic breakup with a long-time partner I'd completely, utterly, entirely lost myself in. I had no self-autonomy; I lived for him, and suddenly he was gone, so I lived for nobody until I finally started to build myself and decide who I was in 2017. It's a journey still in progress today, because I still don't feel like I've entirely found myself and I definitely don't love myself like I should at all. I would wish the experience on absolutely, positively nobody. It changed me forever.
Would you ever want to get married? If so, why?
Yes; the primary reason is I just really like the symbolism and general drive to always be and work together, but I also find it appealing for legal and financial ease when it comes to various processes.
Have you ever abused an animal?
Hell fucking no.
Do you think animals are less important than humans? If so, why?
Nope. They have just as much right to life and kindness as humans do, and you cannot change my mind. We came about existence and (varying degrees of) sentience the same way they did, so what the hell makes us better? And hey, at least animals don't consciously make evil decisions like we do...
Have you ever been sectioned?
I am honestly STUNNED I haven't even HEARD this phrase before I just googled it, because I've been admitted to psych hospitals many times. The term "involuntary commitment" was used instead.
Are you on any medication?
I'm on so many meds, and I hate it. I very much hold just how many meds I have been and also am still on as being responsible for my extreme memory problems. They're also why I have tremors in my hands. And why I have a chronically Sahara-dry mouth, like I'm supposed to carry a moistening spray for my mouth with me as instructed by my dentist because just how horribly dry my mouth is actually contributed to cavities in very difficult locations, like around the gum line and in difficult cracks.
Have you ever been homeless?
Technically, yes, but I have Colleen to thank for ensuring I had some place to stay during this time. She, in her core, was not a very good person, but bad people are still capable of doing nice things. People are absolutely not merely black and white.
Have you ever had a steady job?
Nope. Just three humiliating, very short-lived attempts.
Have you ever wanted to go to space?
I absolutely would if it wasn't such a long, daunting journey. I feel like I would ultimately and very easily just cry if I went to and truly experienced outer space. That's the home of our very genesis, like I don't think anybody WOULDN'T cry.
Do you identify as a geek? If so, explain.
Eh I guess so, I've definitely got my geeky interests and aesthetics and stuff, but I ultimately just don't care about labels and whether I fit them or not at this age.
What has been the most exciting moment of your life thus far?
Markiplier acknowledging my existence lmfao
Do you have a dog that is destructive?
Nah, Cookie's totally harmless.
Does your mom like to burn candles?
Oh yes, she's big on Yankee candles.
Where’s the weirdest place you’ve ever slept?
Zero clue. Nowhere very odd, I'm sure.
Quick! Chinese or Mexican?
Mexican, I guess, but I'm not big on either.
How many significant others have you had in your WHOLE life?
I only consider three TRULY significant. I uh, think. What I had with Sara was nowhere near what I felt/feel for Jason and Girt, but it was still significant to me.
When was the last time you applied chapstick?
Not long ago, actually. It's been every day for like a week or two now... They're just constantly burning and the top lip has a notably red shade above it.
All the people you’ve kissed, what did their names start with?
J, T, D (or "G" if you go by what I call him), and S.
What did you and your ex fight about most?
Jason and I I'm pretty sure fought most about instances where games came before me. I think. This was just so long ago that our old fights barely exist in my head now. Sara and I mostly argued about RP stuff, which is so fucking stupid and is just a reminder to me of how not worth it that friendship was, we could never agree on shit, shit that wasn't even real.
Have you ever purchased condoms?
I personally haven't, no.
What brand is your camera?
It's a Canon EOS Rebel T6.
Do you like raisins?
I absolutely hate raisins.
When did you first kiss the last person you kissed?
It was the first time he visited my house after we started dating the first time. As we were hugging before he left, he like shyly mentioned he wanted to but clearly wanted my permission, which I gave him even though at this time, I was not ready. No fault of his own, he was mannerly and considerate in seeing if I was okay with it and I SAID yes, so it's my own fault. Obviously doesn't bother me nowadays though.
Have you ever gone on vacation with your boyfriend/girlfriend?
No, but that'd be super nice one day.
Would you rather be able to talk to animals or be fluent in every language?
Talk to animals. I feel like it would ultimately be more beneficial, like others could translate my English, speaking to animals would be a major new thing.
What was the last thing someone asked you for advice on?
Uhhhh... I can't remember.
What are some things that make others cry, that don’t make you cry at all?
There is honestly probably nothing. I cry very easily.
Have you ever swam in a saltwater pool?
No, and I'm cool with never doing that.
List three people you’ve had crushes on.
I'm only gonna list people I never dated: Sebastian, Kyle, and Alon.
How old were you when you were first head over heels in love?
16, 17.
List three people you had a hard time forgiving.
Jason, Dad, Colleen.
Is there someone you are currently struggling to forgive?
I don't think "struggling" is the right word, I straight-up refuse to forgive Sara for invalidating my trauma. I could possibly forgive everything else, but not that. Never that.
[TW: EATING DISORDER, SIMILAR BEHAVIORS]
Have you ever tried to starve yourself in order to lose weight?
Yes, but it's never gone far. I handle the feeling of hunger quite badly, especially if I am super in need of food, so I've never been able to resist all that long.
If applicable, what form of birth control do you use?
I use the Tri-Sprintec birth control pills, and condoms are mandatory for me. Maybe TMI but pulling out is also not merely an option, my partner is absolutely gonna fucking do it. I'm unwilling to do anything less than those three together.
What gender do you identify as? What gender were you born as?
Female for both questions.
Have you ever gotten high off a prescription medication?
No.
Do you prefer tampons or pads?
Honestly, I hate both. Tampons are just uncomfortable and tend to just not stay perfectly in place for me, and pads are like bloody diapers, but ultimately I use pads these days anyway. I sometimes wanna try to use the cup, but I know I wouldn't handle it well for a few reasons.
Have you ever used a tampon?
Yes, I think I've used tampons for most of my menstruating life. I only recently switched back to pads.
Did your parents give you “the talk”?
No, I learned about periods and sex solely from family life/sex ed classes in school during 4th and 5th grade.
Do you think you are attractive?
Absolutely not.
Have you ever accidentally overdosed on a drug?
Yes actually, but it just made me very tired. Mom called poison control or whatever and they let us know I'd be fine, I probably just would be sleepy.
Would you ever name a child after yourself?
No, I honestly REALLY dislike parents naming their children after themselves. It comes across as so self-important and like the child's identity isn't their own. I worry if I do have kids/a son, Girt's mom is absolutely going to want a Donald III which she will absolutely, positively NOT get. I don't even like the name Donald.
Is there a guy or girl you wish things had worked out with?
Not anymore!
Would you rather have a daughter or a son?
I would very strongly prefer a daughter if I have children.
Have you ever written to an advice columnist?
No.
If you’re female, would you feel uncomfortable having a male gynecologist?
Yes, I would literally refuse a male gynecologist, like I'm sorry, but a man picking a career of examining vaginas and pretending it's not something he gets some sort of sexual satisfaction out of seems REMARKABLY unlikely to me.
Do you like Lisa Frank?
Yeah, I really enjoy her aesthetic. Kinda want a Lisa Frank-ish tattoo at some point.
Were you ever hospitalized as a child?
No.
Do you believe that drug addicts and alcoholics should count as people?
Are you fucking kidding me with this????
Will you vote in the next presidential election?
Yes.
What’s your favorite zoo animal?
Meerkats! Even though my zoo no longer has them. :(
Are you allergic to your favorite animal?
I wouldn't know, I've never been in contact with one.
Did you ever have to take home a fake baby in health class?
No, thank fucking GOD.
Would you rather wear ivory or white on your wedding day? What color will your bridesmaids wear?
Well, I most want to wear black, but if that wasn't an option, uh... idk, it would really depend on the dress. I think my bridesmaids are gonna wear orange; I want a black-and-gold themed wedding and I think orange would work okay. I think gold dresses would either be very expensive or just distracting, or both.
Have you ever taken a poetry course?
No, but I absolutely would've if it was an option in school.
What would you name twin girls?
I can basically promise you I would selectively abort if I got pregnant with twins even if I wanted children, BUT if I did keep both for whatever reason, I'm rather confident in Alessandra and Anneliese.
Are you named after anyone?
No. Well, my middle name is frequently used as a middle name in my family, if you'd consider that as counting.
Do you want to have a bachelorette party?
Idk, probably.
Would you be scared to meet God?
My totally honest, rather confident opinion? Even if he existed, no. Because if he IS real, I have a negative amount of respect for him so therefore don't respect anything he'd think or feel. The idea of going to Hell is terrifying, yeah, but even that fear won't keep me from what I so firmly believe in these days.
Have you ever questioned God’s existence?
Story of basically my entire life.
Is there a Kmart in your town?
There once was quite close to here actually, but it's been closed for a veeeery long time now.
Do you enjoy seeing wedding and baby announcements on Facebook?
Of course! Those are exciting times for people and I'm happy for them.
What would you say if you found out your last ex was in a relationship?
I wouldn't say anything, idc.
Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?
When it boils down to it, no. I want to keep moving forward.
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