#its definitely made my POTS worse

[bulldagger-bait]

LONG ramble ahead. Feel free to skip. (Also this stuff is probably a bit too personal but i dont really care tumblr is my diary and i just have to get these thoughts out)

I had my first almost completely pain free day today and... It was fucking magical. Like, I still had pain in all of the niggling areas i always do: muscle tension, joint pain.

But my nerve pain. My nerve pain! For a good while it just wasnt there. And because the pain wasnt there, the FND couldnt kick up a fuss. I felt strong. I could stand. I wasnt hurting.

When i woke up after my surgery nearly a decade ago, i was in the worst pain of my life. I was writhing and screaming and begging to die. 10 out of 10 out of 10. And over the course of my hospital stay it diminished. Went from 10 to 9 to 8. And then 8 is where it stayed. It became my new normal.

I forced my way through the first year of recovery waiting for it to get better... But it never did.

I tried to push through and not let anything hold me back. I dont know how many times i sobbed to myself quietly about how unbearable it was. I tried to take my life twice, and the pain was a significant reason why.

Eventually i got on meds that knocked it down to a 7, and a 7 is where ive been for the last 5 years. Every day.

Eventually i just kinda resigned myself to it. I couldnt think about the future because whenever i did, all i could feel was: "every moment of the rest of my life is going to feel like this". I accepted it, and i tried to move on. I found someone that i loved enough to stick around for. Someone who made living with the pain worth it.

And now, with this new cocktail of drugs... That burning pain is gone. Or at least, its no longer an electric, burning, blistering, grinding pain. Its tempered to what feels like a candle flame. And for a few rare moments here or there it goes away.

I dont know what to do with that. All of my other pain pales in comparison. They're their own little burning pains, but it doesn't feel like it matters. i can live with them.

And im finally hopeful about my future. Because for a few minutes last week i felt nothing. Blissful nothing. I was so shocked i couldnt even believe it.

When the pain came back i didnt even care or feel cheated, because all ive wanted for so long was just a few seconds pain free, and i got it. I didnt have to be drugged out of my mind (well ... Excluding the cocktail of drugs i was on). I just was. And when it was gone i wasnt upset because i knew if it could happen once, it could happen again. and i had a reason to be excited for my future; my long term future.

Im not just sticking around for other people anymore. Im sticking around for myself too. Because i deserve another five minutes without pain.

(sidenote: do i feel insanely guilty about having a break from my pain; and that its not fair; and that other people deserve it more than me; and that i shouldnt talk about it because its just rubbing it in everyones faces; and that i must have just been exaggerating the pain; and i dont deserve to even call myself disabled anymore; and that im scum; and that i should instead continue to suffer in pain because its all i know, and i dont know how to be myself without pain because its become such an integral part of who i am; and because its who ive been for near as makes no difference a decade; and that im just waiting for the other shoe to drop and somehow prove that im a fraud; and that the pain i had was never real, nor is the pain i have that the meds havent affected; and that im lying about everything; and that I dont deserve help; and that everyone in my life who has pain and hears me talk about this hates me, resents me; and that im terrified of losing the pain because it knows me intimately, and i know it, and that this severing is making me question who i am; and that the answer im getting in my head is: no one; you are no one without this.... Yeah, maybe. Maybe i am thinking that)

[rosazoldyckk]

-Yandere Killua Zoldyck X Reader-

⚠️warning⚠️ mentions of obsessive thinking, stalking, and clinginess (none of this is intense though, but it’s still worth putting a TW just in case)

Fandom: Hunter X Hunter. Characters: Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs

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Ever since you had become friends with Killua and Gon during the hunter exam, you had found yourself constantly being touched by Killua in some way, shape, or form. Whether he was playing with your hair, taking your hand in his, or hugging you tightly, Killua seemed to always need your touch. So then, it was no surprise to you that the very moment you exited the heavens arena match, Killua rushed over to you and gently grabbed your hand to get your attention, pulling you to his side.

As soon as he felt you pressed up against his, he felt your steady breaths and your soft skin against his, Killua breathed a silent sigh of relief. Not being the most 'enthusiastic' fighter, being a Zoldyck was already torture enough for him, but it was made even worse by the fact he was forced to be separated so far away from you. He couldn't talk to you, couldn't touch you, couldn't even daydream about you without Gon snapping him out of his thoughts. Somehow though, he had gotten through his thoughts of worry, and now he was more than ready to make up for lost time.

"Man I'm really hungry," he told you, his voice

barely above a whisper, but just loud enough for you to hear, giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

"I'm definitely ready to eat something right about now".

"Me too, that fight sure did take my energy out" you laughed. "I'm just gonna head to the bathroom with Gon first, so I'll meet you down there."

"Okay, " Killua pouted, not wanting to let you go. He had only just gotten you back into his arms, why should he have to give you up to Gon? His eyes watching you closely, Killua hid as he waited for you and Gon to leave the bathrooms to get a little way ahead of him before making his move and following you. What kind of boyfriend would he be, after all, if he just left you all alone?

That reasoning, so wrapped up in his love for you, guided Killua all the way to the men and women’s bathroom, where he hid behind a large plant pot. Fingers twitching slightly from withdrawal of you, Killua instinctively stalked you and Gon as you both exited the bathrooms in sync. If he couldn't have you in his touch at the moment, he could at least still have the sound of your angelic voice in his ear.

"So, "Gon said as you two began walking to the food court, "you and Killua, huh?"

"What do you mean?" you asked back.

"You guys are so really cute together! Are you two dating or something?"

At his question, Killua beamed, his smile positively electric. As much as he loved touching you for its own sake, for the sheer joy and comfort it brought him, he was just as pleased with the other benefits. Namely, that of having people realize that you were taken, that you were off-limits.

"Oh," you answered with a slight chuckle. "We're not dating, Killua and I are just friends." Freezing at your response, the first thing that Killua felt was sheer confusion. He simply had no idea why you would lie about the love you and he shared. Did he do something wrong? Did he upset you somehow? Did he misunderstand something?

No, Killua told himself, that couldn't be it. You loved him, he just knew it. You must.. you must just be shy! Too worried to express your true feelings!! Yes, that was it, Killua realized in relief.

You were just so timid, you didn't know how to tell people about something so close to your heart. Well, that was okay, Killua thought. He would just have to make up for it then, would have to keep you in his arms at every opportunity, showing everyone that he was the only one who had your love.

[sethdomain]

C!tommy headcanon bc why not

-Shit eye sight, from years of living in a condition that forced him to be around ash, explosion and fire, I think it would definitely damaged his vision greatly. Its not to say he went full-time blind, he can still see but its blurry as shit. Maybe, it can also affect from his genetics too.

It starts out tiny, I think in pogtopia arc he has neargsight but its still not that bad, if he were to get glasses he would need 0.5 minus glass. He would occasionally be seen squinting sometimes as if he has trouble seeing something in the distance.

It became worse after exile, because of c!dream constantly bombing his item in front of him some of the ash constantly attacked his eye. So after he ran away from exile he now obtain the worse fucked up eye ever, he’s now farsighted, nearsighted and need plus, minus and cilindered glass. At this point c!tommy supposed to have glass but he’s like traumatized n shit and most people doesnt really payed that much attention. So most of the time he just glares n shit.

I think he would receive glasses when he’s either hanging out with sam or tubbo, both of them are like builder n close to him i think they can give tommy glasses. But i suppose Tubbo would be more keen on making him one since Sam is busy with prison stuff and need to pay 90% of his attention towards it.

I think his ass would genuinely be fucking happy when he finally get glasses, like thank fucking god i dont have to have a huge motherfucking headache anymore from squinting my eye too hard.

-twitchy hand, i think its some sort of trauma scarring from all the battle he fought. I think the tremors would be an occasional twitch here and there, but after c!tommy got his head bashed by c!dream his hand tremors got worse where simply doing stuff like picking a spoon up became very hard for him.

I think, c!tommy would kind of need to do physical theraphy after prison arc on helping rewiring back his motor skills with his hand nerves.

-I think post-dsmp(this is in my head where they managed to kill c!drm) c!tommy would get slapped hard by his mentall illness, especially deppression. Like he just shut down and dont do anything and hid away from everyone. You know that feeling of just hollowness, yeah i think after all of that he would just feel very estranged and felt nothing.

He should be happy! He finally have peace but why doesn’t he wanna do anything? Why does his bone felt like its made of metals and he’s nothing but a sagging slump of meat. He can finally do anything without dream breathing down his necks why? Why cant i do anything?

-I think he copes by doing drugs, i mean the invis pot is deffo a not subtle way that c!tommy struggles with addiction now. I like to think he started with just drinking invis pot to inevitably trying out drinking, substances and stuff. I think c!Tubbo would try to stop him though because he can’t bear thinking his best friend would go off the same path as c!schlatt

[astralprisms]

A comic page based on a fic I was writing, with art by @/LaFrenchbroiche in twitter, text is my own.

The Emperor gave us that recipe and it seemed a shame not to be able to do anything with it in game, so Xa'rok makes some adjustments (and some familiar mistakes)

The Emperor's voice rang suddenly in their mind, urgent. Take care not to--

It didn't get to complete the sentence before Xa'rok saw the smoke curl up from the fire in a great black plume. Xa'rok cursed and shifted the pot from the flames.

..burn it. Despite the momentary panic, the Emperor seemed almost amused. A beat passed before its voice slid back into Xa'rok's head again. Why do you think I included that note in the recipe?

Xa'rok licked an errant splash of cream from their thumb and shifted the pan back to the fire again.

"You wrote that?"

Xa'rok didn't rise to the bait. "You must have been close."

Copied, from a book of my mother's. That note was a late addition. Its attention grew pointed. She often complained that without it, I would become distracted, and forget.

Of what I recall of my human memories, very. Its voice grew distant, as if lost in another place. She was, without a doubt, the greatest woman that ever lived.

Xa'rok hummed thoughtfully. "There aren't any relationships like that, among my kin. I don't really have anything to compare it to. Rearing was the job of the Varsh, and guidance the purview of our instructors -- but I wouldn't call their instruction 'care', exactly." They gave the soup another stir.

"They readied us for life beyond the creche, yes; trained our senses, and strengthened our bodies, but it was nothing like this."

They removed the pan from the fire. The soup had grown thick and boiling, its creamy broth churning with butter and spices, studded with the thick-cut vegetable from which it got its name. It smelled strongly of the soil.

"We ate what we could find and fought one another for what we couldn't. Taste was hardly a factor in those calculations. I can't say I've eaten ferns before, though."

Had you been paying closer attention, you could have sampled them for the first time unburnt.

Xa'rok snorted. "And whose fault is that!? Your stories are a lot more interesting than watching some pot boil over."

As I've said, I've made the same mistake. Consider it...a rite of passage.

Xa'rok ladled themself a helping and posted up with the bowl balanced on their knees. "Maybe I'll like it better this way." They said, just to be contrary.

The Emperor laughed. I said that, too.

A moment passed in silence while Xa'rok lifted the first spoonful to their lips. They swallowed, and the Emperor's presence seemed to solidify, almost as if it sat beside them in the flesh, instead of trapped within the prism at their side.

What do you think?

"I've definitely had worse," Xa'rok started. They swallowed another spoonful, savoring the flavors as they mixed on their tongue. Despite the char, the fiddleheads were surprisingly tender as they tore beneath their teeth. Earthy and hale, they were strongly reminiscent of the ground they had been plucked from.

"Gale says that it's human custom that a meal is only as good as the company that shares it. In that case," Xa'rok glanced beside them at the artefact, the empty space. "I suppose I haven't had better."

[dragon-communion]

While on the one hand, Fia’s sessions of “taking lifely vigor” from the Tarnished are definitely implied to be sex, and I find it hilarious that this is a situation where the devs probably bapped GRRM on the nose and told him to calm down, what if I roll with the implication?

It’s implied in a previous version of the Turtle Neck Meat item that people in the Lands Between just don’t have sex anymore. It’s too feral. Bestial. Might even have something to do with the birth of Omen children, actually, considering how such an animal act might bring one closer to the Crucible.

So what if extended hugging sessions are that scandalous and vulgar? Spending a minute in the arms of another person being worse than a glimpse of Victorian ankle has some fascinating implications for society in the Lands Between. If physical contact itself is base and hedonistic, can you imagine how touch starved everyone is?

One of the major problems in modern day America is how distant everyone is. While the Lands Between might not have the same issues with a lack of third places or the consequences of car-focused city planning, our level of general societal paranoia compounded with the advent of COVID means we just don’t touch eachother at all ever. This is grossly simplified because I’m too lazy to go get sources, so feel free to fact check me, but part of the focus on getting yourself a romantic partner is so folks can finally have someone it’s acceptable to get positive physical touch from. Failing that, getting into a sport at least earns you a more violent facsimile of that.

In the Lands Between, where society is focused on being a civilized as possible, it would make sense (a la Brave New World by Huxley) for society to try to eliminate sex and its trappings. Given Elden Ring’s heavy Catholic themes, celibacy also takes on a religious twist- Augustine of Hippo “taught that original sin was transmitted by concupiscence”, or physical desire and longing. To quote briefly from Wikipedia, “The view of the Church is that celibacy is a reflection of life in Heaven, a source of detachment from the material world which aids in one's relationship with God.”

Looking at Queen Marika the Eternal makes it painfully obvious to the player that she’s not even a creature of flesh anymore, twisted into something like a glorified clay pot or even a reliquary for the Elden Ring. We don’t know much about what she was like beyond a few queenly speeches, but whether she was always literally a vessel like that or not, the no doubt popular image of her as a vessel of life could have easily changed over the years from something very physical to the more chaste implications of the female water-bearer statues or iconography of her pouring out a chalice. People do still swear by Marika’s tits, so obviously physical desire might still exist, but my recent theorizing on crystal tears and amber babies really puts me in mind of the sterilized process in Brave New World where disembodied ovaries are fertilized in a lab via cloning. There’s something there in the imagery of the baptismal fonts around the Erdtree collecting tears that become new births.

The whole arrangement might also put a new spin on the gladiatoral games in the Coliseums, and to some extent Marika’s warlike drive. People crave contact, and the high of violence can be close enough to sex to mimic it, though poorly. I think everyone has probably made jokes about how American football has some undertones, and pro wrestling is the same. The most obvious example is dog collar matches, which look so close to BDSM as to be nearly indistinguishable to me.

With all of that in mind, the unmistakable intimacy of Fia’s actions might actually be as degenerate and twisted to modern Lands Between sensibilities as pup masks and handcuffs to the modern day American. What she offers is a gentle hug, perhaps even extended cuddling, and pillow talk. It’s stated that Rogier says “all sorts of things” abed, and while it’s easy to take that to a more physical interpretation, it could actually literally be Fia playing with the man’s hair for an hour until every single thought falls out of his head. When she makes the offer to you, she has to couch it carefully, framed in the ideas of a foreign interpretation of the sacred as if the only way it can be legitimate is if it is a sacred act, as if that’s the only way you’ll be able to understand it. Like when we argue for gay marriage and couch it in the language of romantic equality, because surely everyone can empathize with romantic equality, when the real physical benefits involve insurance and hospital visitation rights.

Anyway, it’s just something I’ve been thinking about.

[battorlstuff]

Story: Fall of the Jock P.4

Filling his Ego

Suddenly it's as if Jace had regained his strength, fighting and throwing insults, but instead his body seemed more weakened than ever.

Those muscles that he boasted so much had deteriorated, those abs that he kept flexing in front of the mirror were no longer even visible, instead a tender roll of fat ruined the complexion of his abdomen that now protruded a little outwards. His arms looked big, but they didn't have anywhere near the same definition and his legs and butt were quite flabby now, his pecs were turning into mobs and jiggling as Jace struggled.

"This is the last video of Jace in that chair, I think I'll move him to a couch, you know he's getting quite fat, our pig will need more space"

Despite his declining physique, Jace continued to disparagingly insult the man, calling him a fat pig, but that only made things funnier for his captor who was standing in front of Jace watching him fight. He laughed as the new flab that covered his entire body wobbled at his outburst.

The man left for a moment, leaving Jace struggling in the chair, then with a squeak the man entered dragging a large standing mirror.

"Time for Jace to see what I've done to his tight body."

"What the hell have you done to me?! No, I can't be fat! My abs, I've had abs since high school...I couldn't let you do this to me...I'm disgusting"

Jace screamed and cried as he watched his once beefy pecs jiggle like tits, while he felt the heaviness in his numb legs and watched his belly grow and bury his abs.

"Well, he didn't take it so well..." a close-up of the boy's new flaccidity from every angle, the man brought the camera closer and shook his new layer of fat, twisted and played with his nipples, gave a few spanks on his butt that It looked like jelly now. On his legs his thighs were beginning to come together and finally he gave a few good pats against his new belly, that flaccid navel, far from what used to be his hard abs, looked swollen creating a small belly, and the rolls of fat were beginning to appear hiding his old six pack, needless to say, his v-line also disappeared under the layer of fat.

There was a cut and the title appeared on the screen: "His real punishment begins, week 5 238lbs"

"An old friend has a good restaurant, and Jace will try the specialty"

A huge pot was on one side of the couch, Jace had a marker lying there at the bottom, it seemed like it was hot in the room because the boy was sweating profusely and even his captor had sweaty shirt. It only gets worse when I drag Jace near the steaming pot.

"Chili with meat and beans...I ordered the leftovers, anyway, that's what pigs eat, right?" The man takes a huge ladle, dips it, and then brings it to Jace's mouth. "Come on, try it." He doesn't wait for Jace to react, instead he shoves the wooden ladle between the boy's lips and makes him swallow a handful of beans and meat.

Impatiently, the man took a funnel and began pouring the chili through it.

"oh no buddy...I won't let you stop, you don't deserve a break"

"mmmmfd..please...too much...vomit...mmmm" Jace grunted, as his stomach swelled beyond its limits, meat falling down his torso, broth accumulating between his rolls of fat, but the man continued pouring the chili for almost ten minutes.

Then, seeing that Jace might vomit, he decided to make it slow again. Even though he still didn't want to give Jace a break, he dipped the ladle into the pot and fed Jace.

He had barely finished the first bite when the spoon was in front of his mouth again. He chewed and swallowed nonstop, but the pot was still far from finished. It seemed just as full as when he started,

Jace stopped for a moment again, trying to recover a little and fighting not to vomit. There was less than half of the chili left and his captor was waiting for that pot to finish.

"Oghghh" Jace grunted as he was forced to continue eating, his captor wouldn't give him a break, the taste of the chili was disgusting, it was clear it was leftovers from days ago, Jace's stomach growled as he continued eating, he felt cramps but the man didn't stop, delighted to see Jace's stomach grow.

"FUCK! You're too slow!" shouted at him after almost half an hour Jace was halfway through the pot and it was evident that he could no longer continue, Jace was panting and with his mouth open, saliva was dripping out along with the chili.

"Maybe you need motivation huh?" the man wasted no time in starting to masturbate Jace hard, the now ex jock had gotten used to this, he didn't need more stimulation, if his stomach was full and swollen, his dick would be hard.

Jace did not react, he was barely able to moan as he released his load, that was new, Jace took several minutes to finish shooting and his captor would make sure that all of his semen fell into the pot.

The following days the routine was repeated, the pot was emptied and the man refilled it, little by little Jace lost all trace of muscles, he went from 238 lbs to 298 and now on his "last day of chili" the man helped him walking to the scale.

Jace is weak, his legs and arms atrophied from the lack of movement, stretch marks were visible on his butt and belly, and a laugh was heard when Jace reached the scale, the video ends with Jace being masturbated once again, the man pokes his belly, spanks his deformed butt, and squeezes his new mobs, Jace had reached 316 lbs, and when he sat down again, the chair broke under the weight of the now fat boy.

[pollenallergie]

18+ only!!

do not interact if you’re under 18 years old!

I personally disagree with the headcanon that Eddie can’t cook. In fact, I think that man passed Home Ec. with flying colors in high school. Most of the Hellfire guys took shop class because they thought it was more manly or badass or whatever the fuck, but not Eddie. Eddie needed to learn to sew because Wayne sucked at it and the old lady two lots over was getting real sick of him asking her to use her frail, arthritic fingers to sew yet another goddamn patch on his vest or his backpack or whatever else he wanted to decorate with the logos of his favorite metal bands. Glenda was a sweet lady, of course, and she loved Eddie like he was her own grandson, but even her kindness had its limits. So, he took Home Ec. Plus, he kind of underestimated it and thought it would be like way easier than shop class.

Turns out it was actually insanely more difficult because while Jeff and Gareth got to spend forty-five minutes a day working on bird houses and toolboxes, Eddie had to learn how to operate a sewing machine, create a household budget, change a dirty diaper, and, oh yeah, make like three different kinds of sauce from fucking scratch. Labor intensity aside, Eddie oddly thrived in that class. I mean, he took to the sewing machine like a champ and he made a mean roux for mac and cheese. Not to mention, Miss Bowman absolutely adored him.

That was her first year teaching at Hawkins High, having just graduated college, so she was already plenty nervous. However, it got much, much worse when the, at the time, 16-year-old metalhead, who smelled like a well-used ashtray, sauntered into her class fifteen minutes late and very clearly stoned out of his mind. Imagine her surprise when that same kid expressed a genuine interest in learning how to keep track of household purchases and sharpen a kitchen knife. Unbeknownst to her, his fascination stemmed from the fact that 1) being able to keep track of financial transactions would be super beneficial for him as a rookie pot dealer and 2) the kid liked sharp, shiny things. So, in her blissful ignorance, Miss Bowman actually kind of developed a soft spot for the misfit, much like a little kid might for a scrappy alleycat.

Not to mention, due to him genuinely wanting to learn how to do some of this shit, Eddie rarely showed up to class late or less-than-sober after that first day. He even began to enjoy that class a little bit; the teacher was nice, she didn’t hate him (which was rare), and most of the kids in the class were pretty accepting of him once they realized that he was pulling a stable A-. In fact, the future head-cheerleader, Chrissy Cunningham, even directly asked him for help with her sourdough starter once; which he thought was pretty cool (and also terrifying).

A couple years down the line, his impeccable home-making skills would come in handy when he finally managed to snag the person of his dreams, you. In fact, your first date with Eddie involved him making an elaborate feast of spaghetti in doused in a delightful, homemade bolognese sauce with a side of homemade garlic bread (Eddie made the bread from scratch and everything) and some wine (that he definitely did not steal from a liquor store two towns over because Eddie would never do that), lighting some candles, turning on some soft music (one of Wayne’s old country records; the only one that Eddie figured wasn’t too twangy), and setting tiny kitchen table like it was a fancy table-for-two at some pricey restaurant in the city. It was perfect and, honestly more than you’d ever expected. When he asked you out, you expected a simple movie date or maybe going to watch some band who was not nearly as good as Corroded Coffin play at local bar together, not an amazing home-cooked meal and a night alone with a shaggy-haired, doe eyed aidoneus. It’s safe to say that the pasta wasn’t the only thing that got saucy that night, if you catch my drift. Eddie gave you a taste of his other homemade sauce, if you know what I mean.

So yeah, Eddie Munson can cook. The man is a fucking wiz in the kitchen.

[mandana-the-service-pup]

Health Update

RHEUMATOLOGY // Methotrexate injections once a week has been life changing. The vast majority of my symptoms (not the least of which are joint pain, chest pain, stomach pain & POTS) greatly improved within the first two doses. Unfortunately it started to lose its effectiveness after taking it for two months so my Rheumatologist added Enbrel. I do both injections at the same time. Methotrexate on my belly & Enbrel on my thigh. I’m on my second month of Enbrel and it’s definitely been effective. Besides the pain reduction and increased mobility I’m able to do more. I’m still exhausted but I’m doing like 5x as much as I was before methotrexate & Enbrel so it makes sense I would be tired. Methotrexate made me extra tired and a little icky the first couple days after taking it but Enbrel hasn’t had any side effects and has actually helped with the initial malaise from the methotrexate injections. The only side effect I really have from Enbrel is that it gives me so much more range of motion that the first two days after taking it I have to tape my hands or else I’ll hurt myself. I have EDS and don’t usually fully dislocate but since taking it I’ve dislocated my left elbow and my right wrist and all my fingers will hurt if I try to do any activity without taping the first two days. I put kinesiology tape on my knuckles and even just sleeping without it those first two days I will have hand pain from subluxing my fingers in my sleep.

SPEECH THERAPIST // I’m currently going to two speech therapists on a regular basis. My main concern is that I’ve slowly been losing the ability to speak over this last year. One of the speech therapist is helping me with my breathing & voice and the other is helping me with tongue & jaw issues. They both concluded that it’s EDS related which would make sense it got worse when I started methotrexate & Enbrel bc as mentioned above all my joints are looser since starting those medications. The main issue is the muscle tension caused by overcompensating for loose connective tissues. We are working overtime to loosen up the tension and strengthen the appropriate muscles. I should have less than 10 appointments with the voice specialist but I have to me once a week with the other speech therapist and that may take many months to rehab everything.

OTHER HEALTH // I’m really trying to take advantage of my new abilities. I’m pushing myself to eat and drink more. I’m trying to increase my walking with Mandana and after I finish up with the speech therapists I would like to get back into physical therapy / strength training. I’m grateful to finally be making progress after so many years of feeling stuck in my chronic illness with no way out.

[booboodaddysblog]

Disappointment

Part four

Warnings: arguing, crying, drama, breaking up

Words: 5394

—————

As soon as he got to work... it started again... his intrusive thoughts. Mean, debilitating thoughts. No matter what he did, he couldn't get rid of them. Why his brain wasn't cooperating with him?

He entered the police station in an angry mood. He noticed that Mare was standing at the front desk talking to someone. He didn't give a damn. He didn't even say hello to anyone. All he dreamed of now was coffee and his office. He headed to the kitchen and smiled at the sight of a full pot, freshly brewed coffee. He reached into the cabinet for a mug and poured a hot drink, inhaling its wonderful smell. He was already about to go to his office when....

- Has culture left you, Zabel? - Mare blocked his passage.

- I don't feel like talking. Let me through - he said with irritation.

- And do you know what I don't feel like talking about?

- I'm rather not interested in that - he rolled his eyes.

- What is the matter with you? Do you miss sex? - Mare laughed.

- I'm not complaining about the lack of it - he tried again to walk through the door.

- You are behaving really strangely. I think I will inform the chief to talk to you and set you straight. Zabel, we here do not tolerate such behavior. You might be in a bad mood. Okay. I understand, but you are supposed to behave culturally when you see me talking to the wife of the chief of our police station.

- What? I didn't know it was his wife - he made big eyes.

- She is a terrible gossip. In addition, she is in charge of inspecting all government employees in the county. There is no problem for her to transfer someone to another county. You wouldn't want that, would you?

Colin swallowed his saliva loudly.

- Fuck... no... of course not. Sorry, really. We've worse days with Marg...

- With Marg... well, exactly. Why is she away from work for so long? - Mare raised her eyebrows in thought.

- I... she gets sick... you see for yourself what the weather is like - he shrugged his shoulders.

- Interesting... just explain to me why the attendance list says Marg is on indefinite sick leave. And best of all, your signature is there. Don't make a fool of me, Zabel - she looked at him menacingly and closed the kitchen door. Now no one could hear their conversation.

- Mare...

- Talk! What did you do Marg? Is she dead or what? Well, because... I guess she's not pregnant?

- Mare... I...

- Oh my gosh! Are you kidding me? You're kidding me! Holly shit! I don't believe it! - Mare started laughing even louder.

- Mare, please be quiet - Colin tried to silence her.

- You came here a few months ago to help us with our investigation, and now you're going to become a daddy.

- I really didn't plan it - he sat down resignedly at the table and grabbed his head.

- Do you know what contraception is? - Mare also sat down at the table.

- Very funny - he looked at her and shook his head with dissatisfaction.

- How long has it been going on?

- But what?

- God, does it occur to you that you are going to be a father? - she sighed - what week is it? Or more simply. How long has Marg been pregnant?

- Hmm... it will soon be a month.

- A month? Wow. Okay... when did you find out?

- About two weeks ago.

- And you cheated on her with Roby when she wasn't in town... congratulations.

- How do you know? - he whispered.

- I know everything. Now I also know that Marg is pregnant.

- I beg... Mare... don't tell anyone. It's a fresh case, I don't want it to....

- Relax, I won't tell anyone. But the chief has already asked about Marg.

- Fuck... - he covered his face with his hands again.

- Okay, drink your coffee. In 30 minutes we leave. We need to talk to the owner of this factory again. Something seems to me that he transported the equipment somewhere himself to get the insurance money. It was definitely not a theft - Mare got up from the table - I'll see you in 30 minutes at the entrance - she left the kitchen.

Colin grabbed his coffee mug and quickly drank its entire contents. He shook his head to clear his mind and got up from the table. He put the mug in the dishwasher. He opened the kitchen door and looked out into the hallway. He looked around to see if anyone was around and left, quickly heading for his office. He didn't feel like talking to anyone anymore today.

——-

Colin returned home later than planned. It's always like this with Mare. She says they will finish at, let’s say, 6 p.m., but nevertheless they finish at 8 p.m. Then the report still has to be written. And so Colin enters the house at 9 p.m. Exhausted and dreaming of showering and sleeping.

He took off his coat and sat down on a chair by the door to take off his shoes. He was so tired that he didn't even have the strength to bend down. He straightened up and sighed loudly. He looked around the living room. Marg was not there. He began to listen. He heard the sound of water. She was taking a shower.

He got up with a groan and went to the kitchen to pour himself some water. He looked in the refrigerator and pulled out a slice of ham and a few pieces of cucumber. While eating it, he walked over to the calendar hanging on the wall. Marg scheduled pregnancy-related medical appointments. He liked the idea. He didn't have a head for dates, he always had to have everything written out in several places, otherwise he wouldn't be able to remember it.

He heard Marg leave the bathroom and go to the bedroom. He went upstairs and leaned against the doorframe. He watched Marg put on her pajamas. She sits down on the bed and starts brushing her hair. She was humming some kind of tune. She didn't realize Colin was watching her.

He walked over to her and sat down on the bed. She looked at him surprised.

- When did you come back? - she asked, putting the hairbrush down on the bed.

- About 20 minutes ago - he stood up and started taking off his clothes - I'm going to take a shower. Don't fall asleep without me.

He left the bedroom and went to the bathroom. Marg shrugged her shoulders at his behavior and went to bed.

Colin returned after 30 minutes and lay down next to Marg, but his back was turned to her. He was convinced she was asleep.

- How was your day? - she hugged his back and kissed him gently on the neck.

Colin was surprised by her sudden kiss, he was convinced she was already asleep.

- My day was... fine, nothing special - he sighed.

- Are you still mad at me? - she sighed too.

- No…

He didn't even hesitate to answer. It was obvious that he was not angry with her and had no reason to be.

- So one day I will be able to make a show for you again, and you will watch in awe? - she kissed his neck again.

He felt a bit surprised by her sudden mention, but he wasn't going to complain about it. It made him feel a little excited, but he decided to just keep his mouth shut and not say anything until she was done talking.

- Don't you want such a show again? - she sighed loudly and turned her back to him.

- What? No… I didn't say that…

He was confused as to why her behavior had suddenly changed so much. He wasn't sure why that was, or why she thought he didn't want that, when he absolutely did.

She turned to him again.

- So tell me, did you like what you saw? Me on the couch, touching myself, you in the chair across from me and watching?

- Y…yes… I…I enjoyed it... very much...

- If so, tell me more about it - she began to stare at him.

- Well… ummm…

He didn't expect her to ask him directly just like that. It made him feel a little uncomfortable. He didn't want to say anything stupid, so he pondered his answer for a few seconds before speaking up.

- I… I… just liked the way... you made...you made yourself happy... and... and that made me want to join you so badly....

- So why didn't you join me? I asked for it so badly - she raised an eyebrow.

- I just ... I didn't know if you were serious!

He tried to defend himself, but he really regretted it. Now he really regretted not joining in. "Fuck" he said to himself in his mind.

- I invited you several times, and you sat like you were glued to the chair - she rolled her eyes.

- I knew that, but I thought you were joking! Why would you want me to join you when you wanted to do it with yourself. It was supposed to be a show! - he found it increasingly difficult to remain calm - Why are we arguing about such silly things?!

This was already too much for her. She slapped him in the face. She was furious.

- I asked you several times to help me, but you just sat there and drooled at the sight of me! Why are you playing dumb now?! And you think all this was stupid for me?! Stupid?!

Colin was frozen. He was really shocked by the sudden slap in the face and didn't know what to say. He must have really screwed up. He deserved it.

He just realized that she was completely serious at that moment. He looked at her and saw the rage in her eyes. He felt ashamed that he had messed things up like that.

- I was so fucking serious! And you fucked up, Colin!

- I know… I understand that now…

He was angry with himself, not only for being such an idiot, but also for missing such an opportunity. He dreamed of it, but screwed up, as usual.

- I really don't understand it - she said in a calm voice. She looked like she was about to cry - I hate being pregnant - she whispered as if only to herself.

- I was scared, okay... that I would do something wrong - he said in a sad voice - I thought... I thought... that... I wouldn't be too gentle....

- I just wanted to end it with you, that's all.

- Sorry, when I'm tired I don't quite get everything…

- I was so fucking serious and desperate! - she slapped him again - you really deserved that slapped!

He closed his eyes and was silent for a moment.

- Okay, I get it… - he finally replied - I screwed up, I really get it...

She stroked his sore cheek.

- You'll be fine. I just didn't know what punishment I should have come up with for you.

- P…punishment? - he asked about it, although he definitely knew what she meant, he wanted to hear her say it clearly.

- Yes punishment, you disobeyed me when I needed you so much, you just screwed up.

- But what kind of punishment?

He still pretended not to understand what she wanted to say. Even though he was fully aware of what she was most likely planning to do.

- Fine, I have an idea for punishment. From today, no sex for two weeks. I will give myself pleasure when the urge strikes me. Without your participation, of course. I won't even inform you that I did it - she covers herself tightly with the quilt.

He felt a little uneasy about the idea. He wasn't sure if he would be able to survive two weeks like this. His head was full of thoughts, but he kept them to himself. He didn't want to act like he was begging her to change her mind.

- Well… fine… let it be…

- Just “fine”? Really? - she looked at him with suspicious eyes.

- What else should I say? I said “fine”, which means I accept your punishment.

- So the conclusion is that you don't care about sex with me at all?

- That's not what I said... - he said quickly, not wanting to start another argument with her - I only said that I accept your punishment, I didn't say that I don't care about sex with you, Marg....

- Explain, because I don't understand you. Be more specific, Colin… - she rolled her eyes.

- I just mean that… that I will survive these two weeks without sex. I just wanted to say that your punishment will not be.... will not be so bad for me.

- Won't it be that bad?!

He quickly realized that he had said something pretty dumb.

- I just meant that... I... I think I can manage without sex for two weeks... - he moved away from Marg fearing another slap.

- So what do you do when the urge for sex strikes you? - she asked curiously.

- Well, I just... I don't know... - he had to think for a moment before answering - I'll just masturbate and that's it - he shrugged his shoulders.

- Just masturbate… okay… - she nodded.

- What else should I do? I know you'd probably prefer it if I asked you to join me, but I don't know if I'm ready for that...

He felt really bad about it all. He didn't want a repeat of the "show”. He felt like he was always letting her down, like he wasn't proving himself as her fiancé. Maybe he shouldn't have asked her to marry him so soon...

- Okay, you are right. I didn't expect anything else. Sorry - she hugged his arm - you were thinking. What's the matter?

He didn't like to talk about his feelings and thoughts. Although, maybe this was a good opportunity for him to be completely honest about how he felt. Besides, he was stewing so much inside, and he was beginning to feel that he probably shouldn't keep so many thoughts to himself anymore. Maybe that's why he was always so stressed, he just kept too many thoughts locked up inside, and that wasn't good for him.

- Won't you be angry if I tell you?

- Go on, no worries.

- Well... it's just... I feel that... that, I'm not ready for this whole relationship... something is missing... and I feel that I made a mistake by proposing to you so soon... - at this moment, he preferred to stare at the ceiling rather than at her.

- Excuse me?! - she opened her mouth in surprise.

- I’m sorry, Marg! It's not that… that… I don't love you, I really love you... but I feel like...

He tried to say something sensible, but honestly had no idea why he felt that way. It was just something he felt deep inside. He couldn't explain it. He wasn't ready for such a serious step in his life. All these things made him feel confused and he started thinking about his previous relationship. About the failure and the breaking of the engagement.

- You don't want to be with me?! I don’t understand! - she was so furious that she was close to slapping him again.

- I just...

He was so worried now, he knew it would only get worse. He mentally prepared himself for another corporal punishment, if he failed to calm her down.

- Marg! I love you, I swear!

- You idiot! Did you forget, that I am pregnant?! You assured me that you would never leave me! Did you forget what you said?! Oh my god! - she started crying and screaming.

- Yes! I know… but…

He knew he was already making the situation worse, but he just couldn't back down now.

- I will still be there for the baby... just... just not as your fiancé, or husband... I'm not fucking ready!

- So as who! - she cried loudly, no longer knowing what to do. She felt like running away, now.

That's exactly right. He really meant it. He knew she wouldn't like it at all. He knew it wouldn't be easy. He couldn't stifle it in himself any longer. He really felt bad. So he just had to accept the consequences of his words.

- I’m sorry, Marg…

- What the fuck! Colin! I trusted you! I was so stupid!

- Just hear me out!

- Oh, what’s wrong with you?!

- You just have to understand me! It's not what it seems! I am not leaving you for another woman or anything like that! I just feel that I am not ready for such a commitment! Maybe it has to do with my previous relationship or childhood! I don't know!

- You are already an adult! Don't go back to your childhood! Grow up finally! In eight months you'll be a father, damn it! Zabel! - she shouted at him - If you're going to act like this all the time, I'd really rather become a single mother!

Her words hurt him, even though she was probably right. He shouldn't have behaved that way toward his pregnant fiancée. He had to accept responsibility and grow up, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything was happening too fast. It was as if he had just been thrown into the highest level of adulthood without having experienced it before. And now he had to deal with it all. But she was right, it wasn't his ex's fault or his childhood. It was his fault. He longed to change, but didn't know how.

- Are you going to stare at me now and not say anything? Believe me, you are making your situation worse.

- No, you are right... I make myself look like a pathetic person.... I feel sorry for myself... I’m sorry, okay? I'm sorry...

His voice was breaking a little. He couldn't believe he had gotten himself into this situation, but now he was in too deep to back out.

- I really don't know what to think about all this. You really disappointed me, Colin - she said in a sad voice.

- I understand, I really understand...

He felt all the consequences of his honesty. He did not like such situations. He didn't like feeling this way. It was bad with him mentally and physically. He tried to say something.

- But please, you have to understand... I really care about both of you, I just....

He didn't know how to finish this sentence. He just didn't want her to be angry with him. But he knew it was too late for that.

- Just what?

- Please, you must try to understand my point of view... It's as if I skipped a whole phase of my life and now I have to deal with its consequences... and I'm not even sure I want to do that…

- So what do you want?

- I don't know... I care about you.... I just... I'm not sure I feel ready for this whole marriage thing. I know I'm not a child anymore, but looking at my life, I feel I still haven't grown up. But I still want to be around you. I want to help you raise our child.

- In that case, do you want to break up with me? - she felt anger sweep over her again.

- Yes…

He finally said the word he had been afraid to say for so long. It had happened, and it was too late to take it back.

- Fuck you, Colin! - she got out of bed, picked up some clothes and left the bedroom. She went downstairs.

He heard her start to get dressed and look for her car keys. She cursed him loudly.

- Wait! Marg! - he yelled after her when he heard her trying to open the door and leave.

He ran down the stairs, stumbling.

He couldn't believe he had fucked up everything like that. He now had terrible remorse. It was almost midnight. What an idiot he was! He hoped there was still a chance to fix it, but he knew that was highly unlikely.

- What?! Let me go! You've messed everything up enough!

- Don't leave yet, we still need to talk...

- About what?! You said you, were breaking up with me! - she tried again to open the door.

- Yes, but let me explain it a little more...

- Very funny! What do you want to explain? You have said enough!

- Well... as I said, I will be there for you and the baby, but as a friend, not as your husband...

- I don’t need a fucking friend! I need a boyfriend and then a husband!

- I'm sorry... but I don't want to be your husband... at least not yet...

- I'm leaving, really, enough… - she grabbed the handle and opened the door.

- Wait! Please! Please don't get in the car and drive away! Don't leave me! - he felt desperate, he didn't want her to leave him like this.

- I really don't have anything more to say…

- Are you going to just leave me like that?

He felt hurt that she decided to leave him so suddenly. He felt he was about to cry. It didn't occur to him what had just happened. He didn't want to believe that the conversation would end like this. He tried to grab the door handle and stop her from leaving.

- What do you want from me! I'm really tired, you know? Your behavior, Colin... I just can't take it anymore! I've been patient... but now... I'm leaving...

- Please! Please… just don’t go! I don’t want to lose you! Marg!

His fingers kept touching the door handle, trying not to let her just walk away. He didn't want to give up just yet.

- But you did…

- Yes, but... but I would still like to stay in your life! I screwed up! I know, I made a mistake! I don't know what got into me! I’m fucked up!

- I’m really confused, Colin. I need to think about it... but not here - she sighed - I don't want to be here anymore.

- Wait! Where are you going to sleep?

- My home.

- Are you staying there until you make a decision?

- I don’t know, I really don’t know.

- Well... I hope you won't stay like this for too long... I will miss you...

- I don't know if I will miss you. You disappoint me, Colin. It really hurts. I don't want to stress anymore. I'm pregnant, I can't stress.

- But… I… just…

He felt desperate again, and the thought of her being alone in her house, without him, made him feel even worse. He felt tears coming to his eyes.

- You just fucked up, Colin - she whispered and started crying.

- Fuck! Hey! Hey… don’t cry… please! - he was crying too.

- How? How do you want me to don’t cry? It’s impossible!

He was beginning to feel even more distraught, not only at the thought of losing her forever, but also at the sight of her upset in such a state, he was a terrible person for exposing her to all this.

He pulled her close and hugged her tightly.

- I know... I'm sorry really...

- I'm tired of all this...

He held her in a hug, not letting her go yet.

- I know... but please stay. I can't just let you go...

- You don't want me, I get it. You don't have to repeat or explain it to me.

- No, no… no I'm the one who messed up here... it's me, it's my fault... but we can fix it. I beg you to stay - he tried to fix it, he couldn't just end it.

- I want to go to sleep, I’m tired. But I don’t want to sleep with you. You’re sleeping on the couch - she released herself from his grasp.

- Please don't make me sleep on the couch...

- You did it to yourself, it wasn't me.

- I know, but... can't we spend one more night together? - he looked at her with pleading eyes.

- No.

- Please…

- I said no!

- So please, just one last hug!

- Don’t be ridiculous! You’re pathetic! - she moved upstairs to his bedroom - don't you dare come to me at night. You sleep on the couch, remember!

- I know…

He felt absolutely terrible about the idea of sleeping on the couch, it was as if she had completely pushed him away. He felt like he no longer had her trust, if not her love at the moment.

- Good night, Colin - she locked the bedroom door behind her.

- Good night, Marg… - he said with a slight defeat in his voice, watching Marg close the door. He then walked over to the couch to lie down on it, alone, feeling like the worst person ever - I love you, Marg - he whispered and closed his eyes.

———

Marg woke up at 5 a.m., sighed and got out of bed. She did not feel nauseous today. She felt pretty good, but she didn't get enough sleep. She went quietly to the bathroom. She saw that Colin was still sleeping downstairs. Being in the bathroom she cried, she couldn't stop it. She went back to his bedroom and started packing her things. She didn't want to leave anything behind. She quietly went downstairs and looked towards the couch where Colin was sleeping. He was breathing quietly. She was sorry that it didn't work out for them after all. She hoped they would get along somehow. Colin was apparently not ready for such a big step in his life.

She walked to the door and began to put on her shoes and coat. She heard Colin move.

He was still trying to fall asleep when he heard her moving. He opened his eyes and saw her getting dressed to go out.

- Are you going somewhere? - he asked, his voice sounding a bit tired. He was still half asleep, but he was beginning to feel that something was happening.

She did not answer right away. She merely looked at him with sad eyes.

- I'm going back to my house. I won't bother you with my person.

- But... - he got up quickly from the couch and walked over to her. He wanted to stop her - wait, we're not done talking...

- I don't want to talk to you right now. I want to be alone now, in my house. Please let me go.

- Can't you at least listen to me?

If only she had listened to him, they probably could have fixed it. That scenario in his mind couldn't look that bad, could it? He didn't want to accept that everything was over between them, at least not yet.

- Colin, please… - she felt she was about to cry again.

- Marg, please…

- I don’t know what to do… I don’t want to cry anymore - she began to cry while covering her face with her hands.

- Marg, oh no, please don't cry…

He felt terrible that he had put her in such a state. If only he had been more careful and not said such things, it probably could have been fixed. But no, he just had to screw it all up! He was willing to do anything to make her stop crying like that, she couldn't suffer because of him.

- I can't figure it out, I just can’t… I don’t understand you anymore!

A few tears also flowed into his eyes as he saw her break down. He really regretted not keeping his mouth shut. And the worst part was that he took the subject of their breakup as a priority, thinking only of himself. He just wanted to prepare her for the idea, not immediately pursue it. But, of course, it was clear that this did not go his way at all…

- I'm sorry, I'm really sorry.... - he said, desperately trying to comfort her.

- Please, let me go - she walked to the door.

- Marg, please don't go... - he begged. He walked to the door to block it from her and not let her leave.

- Please… - she was still crying, but forced herself to look at him.

He tried to hug her. He really hoped she would let him. There was nothing left for him to do but try to comfort her with his arms. He knew that this always worked on her. But he didn't know if it would be effective this time, too.

Marg stepped back, seeing Colin's intentions. She shook her head negatively.

- Please, don't touch me - she whispered.

Colin noticed what she was doing as she tried to push him away. She didn't even want him to comfort her... He really messed it up...

This sight was breaking his heart. Her tears and her closed off attitude... she was done with him... He felt his heart shatter into pieces. He felt weak, tottering on his feet. He was speechless.

- I have to go. I want to be alone in my house. I want to think it all over. I want to rest.

- Marg… please… I…

- No, Colin. Please understand. I want to be alone now - she pressed the handle and opened the door - I'm not leaving forever. As I said, I have to think it all over - she stepped outside. She looked at him with weepy and sad eyes - goodbye, Colin…

She left, closing the door in front of him.

He stared blankly at the door. He stood there, not believing what had just happened. Marg was gone, she had really left him. She pushed him away.

He started breathing deeply, not really able to catch air. It was as if he started to panic. He needed to calm down. He went to the window, tilted the curtain slightly and watched Marg put her things in the car.

It still didn't occur to him what had just happened. He found himself in the worst possible scenario.

She got into the car and started it. He watched as she slowly backed out of the driveway. He felt like running after her, but his legs were heavy. His body refused to obey him. He sat resignedly on the floor and covered his face with his hands. He cried, unable to stop it. His world had collapsed. It was happening to him again. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't really happening. This was some kind of nightmare. She had really left him and was about to start living her own life without him. He knew that he had absolutely no one to blame for his failure and stupidity except himself.

He got up from the floor and walked quickly to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and took out a beer from it. He opened it and drank the entire contents of the bottle. He moved the bottle away from his mouth and looked at it. He shouted and threw it with all his strength on the floor. Glass splashed all over the kitchen and cabinets.

- Fuck! Fuck!

————-

@robnovetre

Part one

Part two

Part three

[tarnishedinquirer]

Into the Old Keep

Returning to the Liftside Chamber, there was this one stubborn door that refused to open. Which was frustrating because it led right down into that mystery abyss.

I tried dropping down from the ledge right outside the chamber, but only got a sprained ankle for my troubles and the realization that, while I could keep going down, I could not get back up to unlock that door.

So, time to go up. I took the lift to the top of the tower, and found a very peculiar sight. Miniature jars, like Alexander but much smaller. Seemed almost cute.

....until the mother jar showed up. It tried to smash me with its bulk while the little ones pounded me with their tiny fists. Once I shattered them, the big one dropped a Living Jar Shard and a.... a.... a meat dumpling.

Oh gods those are teeth.

A pungent raw meatball, made succulent by virtue of being on the verge of turning. Heals, but also poisons the user. Not recommended for those who prefer to know the origin of their meats.

Thanks, voice. If I run out of Crimson Tears, I'll just die instead.

This confirms what I suspected about Alexander. He is definitely filled with actual people, mashed into a pulp. The though turned my stomach even more than the "dumpling" did.

The jars actually were alive. Not just animated. The meat had turned into some sort of...tissue.

A fragment of a living jar, hardened after its death. Such fragments command a high price due to the magical power locked within. This leaves the living jars unfortunate targets for poachers.

So why were there so many of these broken around the Weeping Peninsula Minor Erdtree?

Another thing I found in the jar nest was a Cracked Pot, like the kind I use for holy water or fire. Are these jar eggs or something? If I put human meat in it, would it grow into one of those smaller jars and attack me? Curiosity and disgust warred in me, but disgust won. I would not be investigating that.

Past that was a very strange collapsed part of the floor. It looked less like a collapse and more like an impact. Like something landed here and dug a furrow, collapsing several floors before coming to a stop. It was hard to even envision what this place was before the collapse, and the only way I could make sense of it was that this is a place where construction stopped. Whatever renovations Godrick was making had completely petered out at this spot. Even if the rest of it was sometimes a confusing patchwork, the construction here did not match up at all.

I climbed up some scaffolding to a ledge, then across to a window. When I stepped out, I saw another one of those red Banished Knights. She was kneeling over the corpse of one of those fire-breathing Warhawks, with a regular Stormhawk joining her.

Had she killed it? If so, she still clearly held great respect for the beast. The feeling was mutual, as the other hawk was docile and joining her mourning. This all but confirmed for me that the hawks were intelligent. Perhaps the Banished Knights were once kin to the hawks of Stormveil, but the Warhawk hadn't recognized her due to its far more invasive prosthetics.

I continued on my path through a storage room, across more scaffolding, up to an even worse collapsed floor, and into what seemed like an even older part of the castle.

Here, the construction was completely different. It felt even more familiar. The only inhabitants were long-neck commoners, who didn't appreciate my intrusion. Under the stairs, someone had stashed a Manor Towershield

An iron greatshield large enough to cover the entire body. Depicts the Roundtable Hold, gathering place of champions.

God. It just hit me. I finally figured it out. Why the older parts of the castle seemed so familiar. The arms, the armor, the whole thing. I'd been looking at it for so long without seeing the significance, I didn't even notice it anymore.

The Roundtable Hold. This castle was exactly like the Roundtable Hold. At least, originally. The same arms and armor that decorate Stormveil could be found there.

Before the gaudy facades. Before the curse of pox and thorns.

At one time, Stormveil and the Roundtable Hold had been twin castles.

I stepped out on the battlement, and a rune message greeted me. Far more articulate than your typical runes, and with Rogier's visage. I knew that if I followed his instructions, I'd finally reach the secret of Stormveil Castle.

Were the knights banished from the Roundtable Hold?

What kinship do they have with the hawks?

What impacted this area of the castle?

Do Living Jars grow from the Cracked Pots?

What awaits me down below?

[randomnameless]

what do you of people who think that pointing out how problematic claude and almyra are in the fodlan games is racist?

?

You mean people who think you are racist for noticing that Claude and Almyra in general were written with the worst orientalist clichés from the early 1810s?

As a rule of thumb, I don't believe you can determine if someone is racist or not based on their opinion of fictional characters -

That being said, there's a difference between saying "I think Devdan sucks" and whatever goes down in the chamber pot, using real world rhetoric about "invasive species" and whatnot to throw shade at fictional characters you don't like.

@gascon-en-exil made a Tellius video about Devdan's uh... well, Devdan in general in Tellius and the wtf that was Devdan in a game released in the 2000s, internationally released at that - and fwiw, some youtube comments talked about minstrel shows and how Devdan reminded them of those shows so, I definitely think pointing Devdan's entire existence - down to his concept - isn't racist in itself, you're not committing robbery when you're trying to prevent one.

About Claude and Almyra in general as depicted in Fodlan...

Well, in FE16 the game basically told us that Almyrans - in the Cyril/Hilda paralogue - are people who enjoy senseless bloodbathes (they raid the border for funsies and feast and party if they're able to return home ffs!) and while they might have different values (which is not a bad thing in itself!), they are the kind of people to turn tail and flee even if it means leaving their allies die (what Claude expected Hilda to do in CF!) or their civilian randoms (Cyril was caught by Goneril forces when they raided their camp).

You can't fight anymore when you're dead, so running away isn't always the worst solution, and yet, the way it's depicted (in CF for tears, in VW to shit on Nader) in the game, it's not supposed to be something we see as good/nice/has relevance.

In Nopes Shahid mounts the greastest invasion the Locket has ever known... to show his dad that he has muhrit too and can attack the "cowards" so plz stop mopping about the son who left without writing a letter.

Aka, Almyra sends its troops to invade Fodlan... in a penis measuring contest for the throne.

Yeah.

However, everything falls apart when we play GW's second part.

Now Nader wants to bring "souvenirs" from the war, by - and it's Lorenz who tells us ffs, not Claude, but Lorenz which has all sorts of implications - pillaging the cities they will be conquering.

Claude asks his dad to give him the Almyran Navy - and by ask I mean Nader has him sign the paper while he's half asleep, a bit like what your random kid does when school asks for a parent's written authorisation, you hang the damn paper to your parent while they're doing something else so they sign without really thinking - for his personal fight in Fodlan that consists in...

Killing the CoS? Yes, but also, and more importantly, to get rid of Fodlan's "outdated" values basically by tearing apart the country/its borders.

In a nutshell, in Nopes, FE16!Hilda's racist stereotypes about Almyrans and Almyra are... confirmed.

To sum up, canonwise, Fodlan depicts Almyrans as people who love needless bloodbathes, who prey on the country they're agressing "for fun!" when it's at its lowest point to mount a serious and real invasion to 1/score points in the royal inheritence record, or 2/to effectively bring disorder/kill/remove important pillars of that country because they want to change its "values and traditions" while pillaging and massacring the land as they cross it.

My bad, it's not the 1800s rhetoric about "the orient" it's both this, and a side dose of throwing the worst tropes ever like "invading people to bring them civilisa- i mean, a new set of values".

In a way, Fodlan is worse than Tellius in that regard, because while Devdan is, hopefully, a side character you can forget to recruit, Almyra - through Claude - is a compulsory point to play through when you play the Fodlan games.

Like, the devs - graphic devs at least - really researched and designed outfits, not only based on RL cultures, but to give a distinct flair to Almyra (when they couldn't be assed to do the same for the "mainland fodlan" characters), like Claude's outfits always have a detail (at least one when it's not the barbarossa class!) to tell you that this class/character has ties to this other place, Almyra!

Surely you'd want to know what Almyra is about, right?

:')

And then you learn and wonder, Echoes didn't bother to draw specific outfits reminding the player of RL cultures gor Grieth or the Brigand Boss, so what was Fodlan thinking when they gave those outfits to Claude and Nader? What kind of associations are you supposed to make?

Are we back in the "Kaga said the land of bandits who kidnap to most likely seduce without consent ladies was inspired by Persia? What the actual fuck?" era?

In a way, depicting Almyrans as the "bloodthirsty people who pillage as they go" is, imo, as offensive as Martin's Dothrakis, I don't think you are, or anyone is, racist for pointing it out.

[c0zmo-writes]

Hello! I was inspired by the always amazing @possum-quesadilla to write some details, background stuff, and other little notes for my harpy Beetlejuice fanfiction, Birds of a Feather. This is just chapter one for now.

Chapter 1- Feathered Finds

“It had what was either a scraggly beard or lichen on its face. Maybe both?”

Beej has plant life growing on his body! He could be his own little forest if he wanted to.

“My name is Shilo. I study cryptids and monsters. Ever since I found out that a harpy lived in the deepest part of these woods eight years ago, I dedicated my life to finding it! Yes, I moved to the woods and built my own house here, and yes, all my friends and family think I’m crazy, and yes, they tried to get me diagnosed with something, but it’s all been worth it! I knew you were real! Oh, what’s your name by the way?”

Fun fact: Shilo is autistic and has ADHD! She is also a big infodumper. She either talks to herself a bit, doesn’t talk for three days straight, or never stops talking. She’s just like me fr.

“And to answer your other questions, first, because when I get focused on a project, I get focused, and I’ve been interested in cryptids and monsters my whole life.”

Special interest moment !!

“Shilo wanted to fight back, wanted to argue that she didn’t wait this long searching for him just to not be able to publish her findings,”

By “publishing her findings”, Shilo was really planning on screaming about Beej on Reddit. I love this nerdy mad scientist loser girl <3333

“Before she could change her mind, Shilo wrapped her arms as far as she could around the harpy. He smelled of roadkill and pine sap. His soft chest feathers tickled her nose and she held her breath as his body stiffened.”

Is it a good idea to hug a large forest bird monster that you’ve just met? Probably not. Not that Shilo cares. 

“You, my feathered friend, are a whopping seven feet and two inches tall!”

He’s a tall boy!! Even larger than the average male harpy (based on my slightly modified version of the species at least)! I wonder if there’s a reason behind that…

“Yeah? What, is parrot Shilo comin’ back again? If she is, you should dress the part. You’d look good in a bit of color.” He gestured to her current attire, a long sleeved black undershirt, ratty lab coat that looked older than time itself, and some black pants, stained with grass and grime”

All of her clothes are either stained or dirty. This girl is Not Good at keeping up with laundry.

“I dunno about immortal, ‘cause my mom definitely wasn’t. I guess I just have a long life span? I never really questioned it.”

…

“Wow!” Shilo stretched the word out, speaking a few octaves higher than normal. “That’s… such an interesting answer!” Beetlejuice didn’t seem to see her discomfort.”

Shilo isn’t amazing at picking up social skills, but Beetlejuice is worse.

“It was populated with tables, corkboards, and journals. So. Many. Journals.”

She has around 50-ish journals. She’s written in about 34. She’s actually completed about 10.

“He kept roaming the lab, sniffing at books, tables, and walls. From upstairs, he could hear the quiet clattering of what he assumed were pots and pans. He crawled onto the mattress and inhaled deeply. It smelled like her. Sweat, earth, and something vaguely floral. He liked that. He nuzzled against her pillow a bit,”

Sensory input is incredibly important to him, especially scents and sounds! He’s got a very sensitive nose and ears.

“SALMON!!!” Beetlejuice leapt up from his spot on the floor and lunged for Shilo. In his rush, he bit down on both the salmon and the plate, narrowly avoiding Shilo’s finger.”

Poor guy was starving :(

“He tried to sit down the way Shilo did, but his wings got in the way. After a bit of struggling, he stood up, made a low growling sound in the back of his throat, then kicked the chair over in a rage, sending it flying.”

When you try to fit in with your new friend but you’ve got two heavy duty feather dusters permanently strapped to your back.

“He jerked his head up, face smeared red with raspberry carnage.”

I picture him looking like a baby eating cake for the first time. 

“A soft purring sound emitted from him as he dozed off again. Shilo made a mental note to write about that as she ran her fingers through his crest of hair, eventually joining him in slumberland.”

Despite being half bird, Beetlejuice purrs like a cat!! His feathers and hair are also very soft and fluffy! 

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

Steddie Flower Shop / Tattoo Parlor AU

Alright, buckle up! The angst is over. I hope y’all like the getting together part. Two more parts and then the main plot of this AU is done.

Part One I Part Two I Part Three I Part Four I Part Five I Part Six I Part Seven I Also on AO3!

***

Eddie woke up early and made coffee that could probably raise the dead. His sleep was fitful and he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he’d fucked up. Of course it was also the day before Valentine’s Day so Eddie truly had an order list a mile long. He pulled his hair up into a bun and got to work on the bouquets that he could bust out without thinking. His mind wandered the whole time trying to figure out what to do about Steve. When Eddie had put together the last dozen red rose-baby’s breath-greenery combination and drained the remaining dregs of the coffee pot, he had at least decided on a course of action. Steve hadn’t picked up his bouquet the day before and it was still sitting on the edge of the workbench in one of the buckets of water.  If Eddie was honest with himself; he had kind of phoned it. He really hadn’t been sure if Steve was going to show up and he didn’t have time to waste the week of Valentine’s. He picked up the bouquet and started working to add dimension and interest. He pulled in purple hyacinth, helenium, and broom. He wove in ivy to fill out the sides of the bouquet and fiddled with the flowers until he was happy with the final product. Eddie wrapped the arrangement in butcher paper, checked the time, and decided it was as good a time as ever to head over to Steve’s.

“Steve?” Eddie asked nervously once he made it across the street. No one answered him for a minute but he heard some hushed whispering in the back. He shifted his weight between his feet and rocked from his heels to his toes until Robin slammed open the back door.

“You better be here to apologize and you better do it quick because Steve is in no mood.” Robin said as she walked past Eddie. 

Eddie had never thought Robin was particularly intimidating until this exact moment. He had the urge to turn tail and run but Chrissy would be back at the shop by now and would never let him live it down if he came back holding this frankly ridiculous amount of flowers. Eddie walked to the back room where Robin had left Steve. Eddie had never been in there before. It was mostly a storage room with a small table and chairs that Eddie imagined Robin and Steve used for breaks and when they didn’t want to be out in the front of the tattoo studio. It’s just as homey as the rest of the shop with its mismatched furniture and plants. Steve had hung several bunches of flowers upside down from the ceiling to add to the garden witch vibes the whole shop had.

“Hi,” Eddie said, self-consciously pushing the flowers out for Steve to take. Steve looked at him for a minute. His eyes were red-rimmed and he had dark circles Eddie had never seen before. “Uhm, these are for you. I, er, missed you coming by yesterday.” Eddie finished weakly.

“I didn’t, figured you were probably busy, or whatever,” Steve answered.

“Oh, yeah it’s been a lot this week. But I always want to see you,” Eddie admitted.

“What?”

“I, uhm, maybe I should back up. I’m sorry I ran out the other day. I didn’t have the most stable upbringing and some of what you were saying made me nervous that you looked down on me for not having money, I guess. Which I totally should have explained and not just like shut down and run away. But like, I never had enough to afford a, err, ‘actual’ tattoo. And I know that I totally fucked up and you can tell me to turn around and never come back but I think you’re really special, and that drawing you did kind of took my breath away, dude.”

“Dude,” Steve smirked.

“Sorry, I don’t do this often or like ever, I kind of don’t know what to do with you honestly. I’ve never– that is to say, I’m definitely not good enough for you, man.”

“Man? I think that might be worse.” Steve laughed a little.

“I’m ruining this. I’ll just, uh, go. Sorry, again.” Eddie left the bouquet he was still holding on the table and starts to head out, rubbing the back of his neck a little nervously.

“No, Eds, come back,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What’d you mean it like, Steve?”

“Oh, well, I don’t think you can call your Valentine ‘man,’ Eddie.”

“My what?”

“Oh, sorry you haven’t asked yet. I’ll wait.” Steve grinned.

Eddie could have passed out. He was pretty sure that Steve was going to tell him to leave, not patiently wait for Eddie to get his shit together and ask him out.

“Right, yes, I’m getting to that.” Eddie smiled back. He looked back up at the ceiling and realized all the bunches of flowers were the arrangements he’d given Steve. “Wait, you kept these?” Eddie gestured at the bouquets.

“Of course, I did, Eddie.” Steve answered. “I mean, I had sort of meant to only keep the first one. To celebrate opening. But then Robin noticed the green carnations in the next bouquet and said that was like a sign you might, uhm, like guys, or whatever, so I kept that one, and I dunno, it just kind of became a thing.” Steve was blushing and looked down at his hands.

“Oh, baby, that’s so cute, fuck.” Eddie went to sit next to Steve and placed his hand face up on the table for Steve to take. Steve reached out and linked his fingers with Eddie’s. If Eddie had thought he was going to pass out earlier, he was certain he was experiencing cardiac arrest now. His heart was pounding in his throat and he was sure his hands were clammy and gross. “You won’t be able to keep this up, you know?”

“Why’s that,” Steve asked.

“There’s nowhere near enough room to save all the bouquets I plan on giving you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh big time. Now that I have this? I’m not letting go,” Eddie gestured to their linked hands. “Not until you want me too.”

“Oh,” Steve gasped. “For the record, I do think maybe I was a little too harsh on you. I’m pretty used to guys like you giving guys like me shit for tattooing flowers.”

“That’d be pretty hypocritical of me, Stevie, as I also work in flowers.” 

“Well you still have this whole, like, look. I probably bring your street cred down at least several notches.”

“I don’t care about that, hun. I live above a flower shop for god’s sake, there’s not a lot of street cred left in these old bones.” Eddie croaked out the last part doing his best imitation of Mr. De Lucas.

“You’re such a shit.” Steve elbowed Eddie in the side.

“You like me though,” Eddie said. “Even worse, you like like me.”

“Questioning that the longer this conversation goes on.” 

“Rude. You wanna know a secret, Steve-o?” Eddie jumped onto the table to get closer to the flowers hanging from the ceiling.

“Hey! Get down. This is dangerous.” Steve couldn’t hide his laugh but he grabbed at Eddie’s belt.

“Hold on! I gotta show you something,” Eddie said. He moved closer to the first set of flowers he ever gave Steve. “Robin was on to something you know. I am not only a florist but I am a huge flower nerd and read all sorts of books about the languages of flowers. So this one was for luck opening your store. Daffodils are for new beginnings, Allium for prosperity, Laurel for success, and Hollyhock for ambition,” Eddie recited as he pointed out each of the flowers.

“But you didn’t even like me back then,” Steve said, a little awe struck.

“I might not have liked you but I did want to fuck you, big boy,” Eddie said with a wink.

“You’re actually the worst. I take everything nice I’ve ever said back.” 

“Never,” Eddie said as he moved on to the second set of flowers he gave to Steve. “So, Robin was basically right about this one. Chrissy gave me so much shit for thinking you were straight but that seemed easier than being rejected. So lavender, green carnations, pansies, buttercups, all historical references to being gay. I figured if you understood what they meant you’d tell me early on if you didn’t like me that way.”

Steve walked around the table to meet Eddie by the third bouquet. He reached back up to hold onto his waist. Eddie was already getting way too used to having Steve’s hands on him.

“Next was my friendship offering and like maybe a little bit of a hint that I was kind of into you. The oak leaf geranium is for true friendship and feverfew is for warmth of affection. But you hadn’t given me shit about the gay flowers so I was also a little hopeful, hence the cyclamen. And the lilacs.”

“What do lilacs mean?” Steve asked.

Eddie flushed bright red. “Uhm, this was way too early and like still is but, uhm, they represent the first feeling of love.”

“So what was the next one for?” 

“Well the victorians believed that the brighter the bouquet the more passionate the underlying relationship so I wanted to give you something bright and happy but it’s also like a ‘I’m very into you please like me back’ vibe?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me, Eddie?”

“Oh, telling, absolutely,” Eddie answered. “Also, Chrissy gave me so much shit about this one because it is probably worth like three times what you paid for.”

“Eddie!” Steve yelled and slapped his thigh.

“Listen. I was going big or going home, Steve. Now will you let me tell you about it?” 

Steve nodded and gestured for Eddie to continue.

“Good boy,” Eddie noticed Steve tense a little at the diminutive. He set that aside to explore later. “Okay so this is a ranunculus and its symbolizes radiant charm. The roses all mean different things based on the color. Orange is for fascination, purple for enchantment, and red, as cheesy as it is, is for love. I also couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make fun of myself so this one,” Eddie points at a gorgeous orange flower, “is for impetuous love, I mean, I was moving way too fast and I didn’t even know if you liked me back, Steve.”

“I don’t offer to tattoo just anybody, Eds.” Steve was blushing again. “So are you gonna ask me, then?” Steve asked as Eddie hopped down from the table.

“Steve Reginald Harrington, will you do me the honor of being my Valentine?” Eddie asked and dipped into a deep bow holding his hand out.

“You’re ridiculous and that is absolutely not my middle name,” Steve answered.

“Not an answer, babe.”

“Of course, you absolute buffoon,” Steve agreed. Eddie took Steve’s hand and kissed the back of it, bringing Steve into a hug.

“Mean. And, uhm, would you mind being my day-after-Valentine’s-Day Valentine? It’s just like super busy at the shop tomorrow and I don’t want us to be interrupted.” Eddie added.

“Oh, you have plans for me?”

“Obviously, big boy,” Eddie answered.

“I accept,” Steve said. “Also, I may or may not have scheduled my week so I can be out tomorrow if you want a delivery van buddy.”

“Do I? Of course, Stevie!” Eddie was very excited about having someone to keep him company driving through all of Chicago tomorrow. Eddie looked at the clock in the back of the room and noticed the time. “Oh fuck it’s so late. Shit. Steve. I actually have to go. I’m so sorry.” Eddie gave Steve a quick peck on the cheek and rushed out of the shop.

“You are actually ridiculous, why do I like you?” Steve called back as Eddie ran across the street.

Eddie flipped Steve off in response. Eddie got back into the flower shop and both Robin and Chrissy were sitting at the workbench.

“Did you fix it?” Robin asked.

“Yes, but no time for details, I have to pack the van and I’m so fucking behind,” Eddie rushed to grab the order slips for the morning deliveries.

“Dude, we packed the van for you,” Chrissy said as she grabbed Eddie by the shoulders. “Calm the fuck down or I’m going to have to drive your god forsaken van.”

“Hey! Not nice! But also, you’re the best, I love you, BYE!!” Eddie yelled as he hightailed it into the van. He caught Steve looking out the window of his studio and flashed him a big grin and blew Steve a kiss. Steve made a big gesture of catching the kiss and sent Eddie back heart hands. Jesus. Eddie was in love with a fucking dork and he had never been happier.

***

Part Nine available here!

I’m still literally overwhelmed with y’all’s support. Thanks for reading!

Also if y’all know shit about flowers I know these are unrealistic to find all at the same time but Eddie has mad hothouse connections and he’s also a little bit magic.

Taglist: @a-little-unsteddie @maya-custodios-dionach @eboyawstenn @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sadcanadianwinter @thehumblefigtree @throwbackthrowaway @micheledawn1975 @blisschaoss @vecnuthy @grimmfitzz @spectrum-spectre @croatoan-like-its-hot @momotonescreaming @beckkthewreck @korixae @citrus-owl @baron-zemo-trash @sleepdeprivedflower @nuagedemots @lololol-1234 @books-and-current-obsessions @acrolius @mightbeasleep @vi-an-te @gregre369 @i-must-potato @vampireinthesun  @steveisabicon @child-of-cthulhu @whimsicalwitchm @aceflavouredyougurt @that-bi-gremlin99 @oxidantdreamboat @goodolefashionedloverboi @notaqueenakhaleesi @briceslayed @raisedbylibrarians @bejeweledbaby @avacrebs @magpiemuseum @majesticenbypancake  @r0semaryyy @nerdsconquerall @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @shiyshy2004 @zerokrox-blog @straight4joekeery

[glitterp0prhaps0dy]

King Thrash's Greatest Fear

Floyd and Barb lounged in the living room, engrossed in playing with a small, black, fuzzy bat, a pet-sitting favor for one of Riff’s friends, Sid Frett. Barb, in particular, was thrilled with the task, her desire for a bat of her own making her especially eager.

“Come on, Roxanne, you can do it! Catch the string!” Barb encouraged, animatedly wiggling a stick adorned with a string and ball in front of the bat. Roxanne, the bat in question, though advanced in years, made a valiant effort to engage with the toy, her movements slow but determined.

Floyd, too, lent his voice to the chorus of encouragement and buoyed by the support of both, Roxanne managed to latch onto the ball at the end of the stick. At this small victory, Barb let out a delighted squeal.

“You did it, Roxanne! Oh, who’s the best little bat? You are!” Barb crooned affectionately to the furry creature, gently petting her as she basked in the attention. Floyd, mindful of the bat's sensitive hearing, offered his applause in the form of soft, fingertip claps. Amidst this tender scene, the front door swung open to reveal the bat enthusiast’s father, KING THRASH, stepping in.

“Greetings, kids, how have you been—AAAAH!” His words cut short at the sight of Roxanne, the king let out a scream, promptly turning on his heel to race upstairs, where he secured himself in his room. This left Floyd, Barb, and even Roxanne, bewildered by the sudden exit.

"Sooo, your dad just... screamed and bolted like my little brother does when he sees a tarantapuff plushie," Floyd remarked, an eyebrow arched in amusement. Barb simply blinked in response, a bit puzzled herself, and shrugged. "I've never seen my old man freak out like that. Makes you wonder... what spooked him?" she mused.

"Well, let's piece this together; it must be something he saw that sent him sprinting. So, perhaps there's something unusual in the living room that scared him?" Floyd posited, touching a finger to his chin, lost in thought.

"Alright, detective mode on! I definitely don't want an encore of Dad hitting those high notes like a classical troll with a fractured wing," Barb declared.

As Floyd and Barb embarked on their quest to uncover the source of King Thrash's terror, they approached their investigation with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for finding lost remote controls.

Starting in the corners, Floyd peered behind curtains with the intensity of a cat stalking a laser pointer. "Maybe he saw his own reflection and got scared?" Floyd suggested, only half-joking, as he checked behind a particularly shiny vase.

Barb, meanwhile, dived into the piles of old records like a rock troll in a mosh pit, sending albums sliding across the floor. "Found anything?" Floyd called out. "Just Dad's old 'Hair Bands of the 80s' collection. Oh, the horror," she replied, holding up a particularly vibrant album cover featuring an excess of hairspray and leather.

Moving to the houseplants, they half-expected to find a creature from the depths of Troll Forest. Barb lifted a pot, only to find... "Aha! The lost city of...dust bunnies," she declared, uncovering a thriving civilization of lint and fluff. Floyd shone the flashlight like he was about to tell a ghost story, only to illuminate a very confused spider contemplating its life choices.

Inspecting the shelves, they handled each trinket as if it might explode. "This one looks suspicious," Floyd said, examining a snow globe. "Because it's from the 'world's most boring landmarks' series?" Barb asked, peering over his shoulder at a globe filled with the thrilling scene of a very flat and uneventful field.

As they checked the ceiling for airborne intruders, Floyd mused, "Maybe he saw a ghost? Or worse, realized he's been wearing his shirt inside out all day." Barb, wielding the broom like a sword, cleared away cobwebs, only to disturb a congregation of dust particles that glittered in the light like a disco ball gone wrong.

Finally, behind the TV, they hoped to unveil the ultimate horror. Instead, they found a lost pizza slice that had somehow mummified rather than molded. "Eureka! We've discovered the ancient relic of last week's movie night," Floyd announced, holding it up with a grimace.

Despite their exhaustive search, turning the living room into a scene of comedic chaos, they found nothing amiss. No beast, no ghoul, not even a mildly upsetting painting. They stood amid the disarray, a pair of intrepid explorers who had braved the wilds of the living room and emerged not with answers, but with an even greater mystery: What on earth had made King Thrash scream like he'd just seen the ghost of bad fashion past?

In a scene that would have stirred envy in the most dramatic of opera houses, Barb had collapsed onto the floor with the grace of a tragedy-struck heroine, her limbs sprawled in the timeless pose of despair. She lay there, a portrait of exhaustion, as if the very weight of their fruitless quest had crushed her spirit and pressed her into the floor's embrace. Nearby, Floyd, whose legs had long since surrendered to a more stationary life due to a calamity of their own, felt a weariness in his upper body that might rival the fatigue of marathon runners after their 26th mile. 

Yet, in this tableau of defeat, a small, fuzzy beacon of comfort made its presence known. Roxanne, the venerable and fuzzy bat, sensing perhaps that Barb needed a companion in her moment of dramatic desolation, cuddled up to her, a tiny creature finding solace in the company of a fallen rock princess.

It was then, amidst the silent camaraderie of defeat, that Floyd had his epiphany—a moment of such startling clarity that it might have illuminated the room better than any lamp. His voice, charged with the force of this revelation, broke the solemn silence. "Oh my SHUUUUGAR!" he exclaimed, a mixture of astonishment and humor lacing his words. "The only thing different here IS THE BAT! HE'S SCARED OF THE BAT!" With a dramatic flourish, he pointed at Roxanne, the unwitting harbinger of terror for King Thrash.

The absurdity of it all—of their exhaustive search, of the dramatic collapse, and of the tiny, cuddly creature being the source of such unfathomable dread—struck them. The scene transformed, from one of tragic exhaustion to a comedy skit that might have the audience rolling in the aisles. Roxanne, oblivious to her role in this revelation, simply snuggled closer to Barb, while Floyd and Barb were left to ponder the hilarity of their situation, the laughter bubbling up from within them like a wellspring of joyous relief. The living room, scene of their dramatic quest, now echoed not with the sounds of despair, but with the hearty, healing laughter of two friends united in the most unexpected of discoveries.

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

Upstairs, in the fortress of solitude known as his bedroom, King Thrash was engaged in a heroic battle of his own. With the fortress gates (read: door) firmly locked against the onslaught of the world, our valiant king found refuge under his most trusted shield—a blanket of unparalleled fluffiness. In his arms, he clutched his loyal squire, a pillow of great comfort, as he braced for the siege of fears that lurked beyond the fabric walls of his castle.

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

Meanwhile, back in the living room, a revelation struck Barb like a rogue note in a power ballad. "Wait... THAT'S WHY HE WON'T LET ME HAVE A PET BAT!" she yelled, the pieces of the puzzle crashing together with the subtlety of a cymbal smash in a quiet library. The realization dawned on her not like the gentle rays of the morning sun, but like a spotlight at a rock concert, blinding and undeniable.

The absurdity of the moment wasn't lost on them. Here they were, in a tale that no ballad or epic saga could hope to encapsulate—the story of a rock legend, his bat-phobia, and a pet that never was. Barb's proclamation echoed through the house, a mix of incredulity and revelation, as if she had just uncovered the secret to the ultimate riff.

Somewhere, in the depths of his fluffy fortress, King Thrash might have felt a disturbance in the air—a shift in the very essence of rock 'n' roll itself. And downstairs, amidst the remnants of their laughter and the shock of discovery, Barb and Floyd shared a look that said, "This is going to make one heck of a story at the next gig."

The saga of the bat-fearing king, the thwarted pet aspirations, and a living room investigation that would go down in the annals of rock history was born, not with a whimper, but with the uproarious laughter and the kind of absurdity that only true legends could inspire.

--------------------------------------------------------------Okay THIS is the shortest chapter iv ever done, but im treating you guys to a little fun in the story before..........well,😈

[the-white-soul]

*Flowey freezes for a moment just staring at Frisk’s hand with wide eyes as the last of his popsicle begins to melt. He seems to have forgotten about it as he was watching the performance, but just hands it off to Noelle when he realizes it instead of finishing.*

*He slowly slides a vine over and around Frisk’s palm and studies its form. He never thought their hand could be so gentle. So soft. He at first resists the urge to give a kiss on the back of their hand, but he decides it’d be okay. After all, it is meant to be a formality, so he turns over their hand and brings it briefly to his lips. He then pretends to scoff at them.*

Don’t get cocky or anything. It’s just a formality.

*A few more vines sprout up and place themselves along Frisk’s body, guiding their feet and arms in gentle movements. He mutters instructions to himself*

The leader’s left “hand” connects to follower’s right hand, and held at follower’s eye level. The leader’s right “hand” is placed just underneath the follower’s left shoulder blade area.

*He then guides their feet just as much as Frisk needs, if at all. It’s just as much of an odd thought that Flowey can be so soft, and it’s easy to let their guard down. At least until Flowey drops them backwards and “forgets” to catch them on purpose. He giggles mischievously.*

Whoops~ I guess I’m rusty! The golden flowers can’t always catch your fall.

*he teases and lends a vine to lift them back to their feet to continue the calm rhythm.*

You know, sometimes I wish I had a real body. It’s great and all that I have vines, but… *He spins Frisk around smoothly.* some things just aren’t the same. I can’t hold someone’s hand properly, I can’t hug someone right, I can’t walk or dance like you… *He laughs a bit.* The first step to dance is having legs and feet. All I can do is watch as these things do the “hand” work.

*He boops Frisk’s nose with a vine.* You’re luckier than me, so take advantage of having a real body and dance, okay?

*He grins and makes a slightly spooky voice.* You never know when you’ll be turned into a frog by an evil witch! Or worse, a flower.

(Frisk) "Heh, guess that would suck, wouldn't it. Continues dancing Though I kind of deserve it. Definitely more than you. Although, what if I could, picks Flowey up and puts him in a pot"

(Noelle) "What are you planning on doing?"

(Frisk) "I shouldn't be the only one who dances. Spun around the pot I hope you know what this means to me. flipped Flowey in the air and caught him You know, I can't love anyone. But why do I feel a connection? I guess for me, platonic is the closest anyone can get. Jumped and spun I hope you're also enjoying this."

(Noelle) "Where'd you find the pot?"

(Frisk) "Chara needs to be put down a peg every once in a while. Look *Shows diamonds* I even made it fancy!"

(Noelle) "We should get going soon. I don't know what's going through the other's head. I'll text them though. *Texts, 'sorry I couldn't get to you for so long. I'm here with Flowey and Frisk. They're getting along surprisingly well right now. See you soon.'* That should be fine for them."

Meanwhile

(Kara) "So that's what's going on. Phew, for a second I thought she was in danger."

(Chara) "You know, I don't know when I'll get to say this again, how were your parents?"

(Kara) "That came out of nowhere."

(Chara) "Well, I'd like to hear about good parents. I'm guessing they were divorced though."

(Kara) "Yes."

(Chara) "Those two are so wrong for each other. I don't know why they got married. Asgore barely likes puns!"

(Kara) "I was told that custody for me was given to Toriel. I pleaded with the judge to let me spend time with both of them equally. Asgore said, 'son, I can't support you. Let Toriel. She knows what she is doing.' He never had any self-confidence."

(Chara) "I hated my first parents of course but Asgore and Toriel were so accepting. They didn't even care I was a human. It couldn't get worse than Jack."

(Kara) "They died in front of me though. My player made it cinematic. I was just as bad as you starting out. I guess we both improved."

(Chara) "Yeah, let's go to Noelle, now."

(Kara) "I hope she had a good time."

[iihauntedmuffinii]

A Breath of Fresh Air (The Boys Fanfic)

SUMMARY

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

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

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER FIVE: A Worthwhile Endeavor

Leaving the premises that was now the makeshift hospital and refuge was harder than I thought it’d be. The damage leftover across the streets and roads made getting a cab or an uber extremely difficult. The rubble being cleared out by an influx of construction workers made the usual city noise much worse. I drop myself like a dead heap inside a cab three blocks away from the refuge. I let out a sigh of relief. The aching in my head and my left leg was my souvenir of all chaos that took place today.

The disgusting itch in the back of my mind did not let Stan Edgar escape my thoughts. I can’t believe Stan Edgar maneuvered out of the bad press with a little hero worship! It’s beyond disgusting. Thought I would never say that saving lives was disgusting–but using it to dig yourself out of this press nightmare screams villainous. The only good thing I can even think to come out of this was the possibility of my plan coming to fruition.

The city continued its usual song no matter how horrifically recent these events occurred on the streets. No, the city continues to dance to its own tune unwilling to bend to anyone. That’s one thing I like about living here, the scars are covered up by its gaudy beauty—even the fresh ones.

The night sky is overcast and the bright city lights are too much for my eyes as I’m stumbling into my dingy apartment building. The mix of medical concoctions were definitely causing me to trip over the squeaky steps up my floor; making it difficult to move in a straight line. The constant noise from the outside world fades as I finally enter my apartment. The warm twinkling lights--my new and improved set up is only dampened slightly by the reminder of my parents.

I can’t touch that thought with a ten foot pole.

Instead of focusing on my own issues I push myself towards the kitchen and get out my large pots and pasta maker. I grab flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt to start on the dough. Setting everything to make the dough on the side I turn on the oven top. I place my well loved and beaten gigantic pot onto the oven, and start throwing in my homegrown rooftop canned tomatoes. The garden I created on the rooftop was steady and strong every summer, something I started in secret the first year I moved in. It was also rarely visited by any of my neighbors, so it is safe in comparison to most places.

I grab a small pan and begin to sauté my fresh minced garlic while I’m mashing my tomatoes in the large pot. I grab my remote quickly into the process and turn on one of my favorite childhood films for background noise, The Wizard of Oz . It was something I would watch with my family every time I had to stay home from school when I was sick. Either a cold or my powers, it didn't matter; they were always there for me. My headache from my powers and wound throbs as a painful reminder of what happened earlier today.

I wish I could call Marie but she didn’t have a phone and they were so strict about curfews at Red River Institute. The kids that lived there could not take calls after the curfew, and that meant I couldn’t ask Marie how she was. I have to make sure to call her in the morning. She may have been my hero but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t affected by what happened in front of us. She is no hardened superhero; she’s just a kid. 

I add the dried oregano and sauteed garlic into the simmering pot of smooth tomato sauce that will match perfectly with the tortellini. The smell was amazing at this stage and the first batch of many to come was almost ready to be put in the large Tupperware. As it simmers I limp slowly to my small terrace to open the small glass door. The heat from the cooking was only going to get worse from here, so fresh air was mandatory. The soft melody of Over The Rainbow from Judy Garland’s sweet somber voice hummed across my apartment and out the door like the heat itself. Hopefully none of my neighbors mind the volume level. 

Hobbling back I crush fresh basil–that is also from my rooftop garden–and mix the herbs into the sauce as its final touch. I heave with all my might with the pot fills to the brim with tomato sauce and try to pour with as little mess as possible. I’m successful this round, but I have a feeling this kitchen will be quite messy by the end of this endeavor. I put that Tupperware into the fridge ready to be transported for later. I get the next Tupperware in line and repeat the process, starting to sauté more garlic and make another batch of tomato sauce. As the second batch starts to simmer and cook I begin my favorite part. Making pasta from scratch.

I grab the bag of flour in my wobbling arms and am pouring just enough to start the process. What I didn’t expect was an American flag shaped person to drift into my apartment like a cold breeze. I drop the bag of flour jumping in the air with fright and the poof sound that came with the explosion of white powder would be comical, if it wasn’t me in the center of this mess. Flour covered all of my clothes but nothing got in my face and hair, luckily.

“Didn’t mean to barge in, but the door was open so…” He couldn’t hold in his laughter as he burst into full blown hysterics. The crease in at his eyes showing genuine reaction and the laugh lines that came with a brilliant smile almost froze me to my spot. A real smile.

“You know, you cause a lot of trouble for just one person, Homelander.” I sigh, blowing a stray curl out of my face. I start to sweep the flour into the dustpan and into my garbage bin. I’m pointedly cleaning and not keeping watch of the obvious predator in my apartment. I invited him this time so, it’s on me. 

“Well, I thought you knew that with the whole mind reading thing.” Homelander snarks, but the meanness that was usually there was now vacant. He almost sounds relaxed, even his tornado of an aura felt calm, for him.

“You seem more relaxed after our last conversation.” I gently edge closer in on his personal space, trying to peer into his now cold flat expression. 

“You're doing that thing again.”

“No, I’m not, Homelander. I can read body language just like anyone else and I can see with my own two eyes that you’re more relaxed. Are you feeling better after getting some distance from the news press?” I ask as I turn to the pot and start mashing tomato chunks. 

“Oh, I just flew around and visited an old friend of mine. That’s it, really.” He shrugs nonchalantly avoiding my questioning stare. Unusual for him. He wouldn’t give more details no matter how much I pressed. I should be grateful he came here in the first place, if anything. I let him win this and change the subject for his benefit.

“Well, if you are here to make pasta with me you’re going to have to change out of your fancy suit.” I turn to him, giving him my full attention, expecting a battle of wills to commence.

“Whose clothes? Yours?” He couldn’t help but mock striding around the kitchen as if he owned everything in his vicinity. The sweep of his cape follows behind him like a star-spangled shadow.

“No, my Dad left a few spare outfits for whenever he decides to visit, usually, my mom in tow.” I shrug trying to push thoughts of my parents out of my head.

“How sweet.” He bites out, grinding his teeth, not able to contain the bitterness dripping from his voice. I ignore the disdain and instead run to grab said clothes from my closet. A black tee shirt and black jogger sweatpants. Simple and black. The things my dad wore in a nutshell. 

“Here you go!” I spring up from the closet and unabashedly smile, handing him the clothes with too much pep from the way he's looking at me. Like a two headed snake ready to bit him. “They're a good brand too so the material shouldn’t irritate your skin.” Oddly, that is what makes him grab the pajamas from my outstretched and waiting hands. His face contorts and flickers into an array of ever changing emotions like a flickering old film screen.

He leaves, closing the bathroom door behind him to change. I continue to multitask by setting up my next batch of tomato sauce and kneading the dough on my counter. Dorothy’s now stumbled into the Land of Oz and the song Follow The Yellow Brick Road chanted around my apartment walls. The familiarity of actions and the movie playing in the background lulls me into a calm state. The jitters and nerves melting away to the sound of me repeatedly kneading the dough, the nostalgia of the action melted into my bones and left me feeling bittersweet.

The creaking of my bathroom door opening as Homelander shyly walks out, his confident air now gone in wake of the de-costuming. He was less intimidating–and well big–without his suit padding accentuating his muscles. He looked more normal, even approachable. His aura was twisting and turning chaotically and the continued silence between us only exacerbated it. He finally meets my eyes with a furious glare, baiting me to say something cruel, I expect.

“Well, what are you doing standing there? Come over here and help me make the tortellini.” I wave him over turning my gaze away from him, his held breath releases and his aura stills from its inner destruction. His stiff gate showcases his unease as he crosses the apartment floor. 

“I don’t know how to make tortellini.” He grumbles annoyance obvious in his posture. Stiff and unyielding he juts his chin out and crosses his arms like he was protesting the dough itself.

“That’s why I’m here, so don’t fret.” I grab his arm pushing him to the center of the kitchen island, he scuffs at my bravado. The fabric of my dad's shirt hung loosely against his waist. The urge to feed him began to itch at the back of my brain at the sight.

The dough is laid out and flat after running it through the pasta maker a few times. I create perfect squares across the flat sheet of dough feeling a calm settling over me once again. Getting into the zone from one of my favorite pastimes. Sharing this part of me with Homelander feels like lying down and baring my neck to a predator hot on my trail. Blood rushes to my head and I feel goosebumps trail down my arms and neck. I ignore the chills wracking through me and begin my cooking lesson instead.

“First we fill each of the squares in the center with the filling.” Said squares took over the whole countertop, except for the bowl with the filling laid. It contains ricotta, mozzarella, and parmesan to name just a few ingredients for my Nona’s secret recipe. The recipe has been passed down multiple generations on my father’s side. His family tree was so far back rooted in Italy we call it an ancient Italian olive tree. A family joke that was only funny to the family.

“Nona?”

“It means grandma in Italian.” I grab two tea spoons, putting one in his stiff hands, not taking no for an answer. I start filling the center of the forty squares of dough I have cut. “Now we just fill each square, see.” I plop a small dollop of the filling with my teaspoon in the center of a square. He tries to seen uninterested, crossing his arms and letting out a huff, but he doesn’t look away from my hands. “Here, I have one for you so we can do it at the same time. We will get a lot more done doing it together.” I push a teaspoon into his hand not wasting time or pussyfooting around it. 

“Now, why in the hell would I do that?” His anger that was simmering inside his cold blue eyes became a furious forest fire spreading across his emotional wavelength. “I’m here because you said you had a plan to make my numbers go up. Were you lying?” His eyebrows scrunched forward shadowing his eyes from my view, only making his figure more intimidating. Even without his suit he can still be just as much a threat. He’s not like everyone else. I need to handle this situation with soft hands.

“Homelander, I didn’t lie. What we're doing is a part of the plan.” To make a point I take his hand–too cold for anyone in good health–and scoop the filling with his teaspoon. “That’s a good amount. You can place it in whichever one you wish.” He springs away from me cradling his hand as if burned. I try to mask my reaction afraid I might provoke him into a full on attack, with words or powers I don’t know. 

His once relaxed aura–well, relaxed for him–turns and twists picking up speed. His eyes become clouded and dark, like a stormy sky on the horizon, his mind toils over things I cannot begin to guess at. His tight white knuckle grip on the teaspoon left it with a dented imprint of his hand.

“You still haven’t told me shit Daphne. How is this supposed Martha Stewart nonsense going to help me ?” I’m frozen still at him saying my name; I don’t think he’s addressed me by my name before, only ever called me doctor sarcastically. I don't notice the shift in the air as I’m too far gone inside my head. 

In a step and a blink he is looming over me like the skyscrapers just outside of my apartment. His closeness brought his aura with him. The red desert sand of his twisting aura scrapes against my psyche. I flinch back in pain hitting my hip against the island counter. I ignore my hip pain in favor of the throbbing painful reverb residing in my skull, which pounds to a beat I can’t stop.

“Are you trying to get in my head?” He’s one notch away from yelling, gripping my right wrist as quickly as a rattlesnake’ strike. 

“N-No, Homelander I’m not! I wouldn’t do that–”

“Unless you had a reason to!”

“How can I make you see that I’m here to help The Seven . I’m not some mole to unravel Vought from inside out and I’m not Stan Edgar’s whipping boy hired to tattle. I’m a therapist. I’m your therapist. Did you sense me lying just now?” I hold my head up high, meeting him directly in the eyes, not looking away even as my nose starts to bleed.

“No, none of what you said was a lie. Or you're an amazing liar, which you're not.” As fast as his anger comes it swoops right out of him. His shoulders once tense like granite now settles and his eyes lose their stormy disposition. His combustible aura shrinks within itself, calming to a normal degree. “You're bleeding.” He points to my nose still close enough for me to feel his breath on my face. A dose of adrenaline pulses through my bloodstream keeping me on high alert. I’m the prey stuck frozen at the attention of its predator.

“O-oh sorry!” I quickly grab a towel to hold to my nose. “Just all the stress and bodily injuries I’ve gotten today.” I huff out a sad laugh. I go to my cabinet and get a bright orange teaspoon. “Here you can use this one instead.” I put another into his open hands, his eyes widening at the gesture.

“You're just going to give me another after I destroyed the last one?”

“Well, are you going to destroy this one too?” I ask as if talking to a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

“...Maybe?”

“Lucky for you I have a few sets of measuring spoons, so it's no worries.” He guffaws, sounding like he’s choking mid swallow. I continue to put the filling on the pasta squares as if nothing has happened at all. From the corner of my eyes I watch patiently; a flicker of conflicting emotions crosses his face like an old film screen. He robotically, as if waiting to be struck by lightning if caught, starts to put the filling on the pasta squares one by one. “So, my plan revolves around what happened today. As you know, Stormfront and Stan Edgar made this terrorist attack into an opportunity. To not only standstill the journalists but win Stormfront and Vought—”

“Yes, I know this already! Cunt Stormfront takes my win right from under my nose and now your idea of helping me is just rubbing it in. Just wow, good for you.” He grumbles out a snort of derision blowing straight out through his nose. He continues filling the squares at a calm and steady pace, for now.

“R-Right, so this whole thing can easily flip against them. If you were not aware they held that little press shoot in the middle of the refuge! Not only that almost no hero but Starlight was handing out supplies for the newly Homeless. If analyzed for even a moment the facade cracks beneath the weight eventually shattering their illusion.” 

“The illusion being?”

“That they care! That’s where you come in, of course. You will be there tomorrow morning with enough to feed all of the newly homeless from the terrorist attack with our homemade food.” I stop to grab my phone taking pictures with both of our hands in the shot putting the filling on the pasta squares. It looks very The Kitchen - esque. “With a few shots like these,” I show off the photos to Homelander who looks nonplussed by everything. “And a coworker of mine will help shoot everything so we can pull the rug right out from underneath Mr. Edgar and Stormfront. Boosting your numbers in the process—you being in the limelight in their steed. They will see you as the one superhero people can actually look up to, to be good. ” 

“Like good, good? Starlight’s sparkly reputation level good?”

“Well, Homelander, all you can do is try.” I shrug at his disbelieving stare.

“I have been trying at this for years.” He grits out, sounding in pain, struggling to push those words out of his tight lips.

“Maybe allowing people to see more of you is a good thing.”

“More of me! Hah! They see me everywhere. I’m on every billboard and have a blockbuster hit coming out every year. How can I not be the most popular member? It's insane! It’s insane…” His frustration is leaking out of him in waves as he angrily throws the filling into each pasta square to each angry word he speaks.

“I mean you . Not the version of Homelander Vought writes in their scripts. I want you to be able to bring the version of you, you want to be and no one else's.” 

“No script?”

“No, of course not.”

“How are we going to pull this off, exactly? Give me the step by step as if you're talking to The Deep.” 

“Okay, you and I will bring in the food and things should be set up at the refugee by the time we get there. I’ve been texting Priscilla since I got home and she’s on board with setting up the camera crew and volunteers.”

“Real volunteers or actors?”

“Homelander! God, no, real volunteers.” I can’t help but burst out into giggles at his audacious response. I try to cover my face with my hands but I inadvertently smear flour across my nose. “Oh, dangit!” Homelander cracks a smile before a quick chuckle escapes his lips. 

Unaware of my own body, my hands drop limply to my sides, ignoring the bubbling pot behind me I’m gaping at his aura like a fool. It's just a hint of the forest from a memory, a smell of pine, and the flavor of lavender invading my senses. The sincerity of his emotions makes me feel warm and tingly all over, like I’m dancing on a cloud.

He’s up close taking over my personal space, but not as a threat, like earlier. This time it's different. His bright smile is gone and his usual flat expression is back in place. His eyes look over my face, as if he was examining me for a lie within my soul. Too close for me I start to feel a red blush spreading across my body. The unnecessary embarrassment only heightened by his now encroaching wolfish grin that took over his face. 

“You're bleeding again, here.” He grabs my discarded cloth and grips my jaw in his other hand. I freeze as if caught in a trap, ready to spring. He’s so hyper focused on roughly wiping the blood off my face he doesn’t notice me tensing up still like a statue. 

A memory of mine flashes behind my mind's eye; me, as a small child being helped up by my father. He was cleaning up my scraped knees and scratched up face because I fell down on favorite a hill to rollerblade on. The feeling of him urgently and roughly wiping the blood off with his handkerchief has a nostalgic warmth buried inside my heart. He would be so rough and silent but he was always so worried. He banned me from playing on that hill ever again. As if that would stop me from getting injured. 

I can’t stop smiling at Homelander’s exact replication of the behavior. The warmth that I feel comes from my own aura. The glowing orbs that resemble a family of fireflies gently touch Homelander’s red storm clouds, instantaneously they converge into one aura, in just a blink. Like two colors put together to make something new my powers begin to untwine and welcome the invasion like a new skin. As if waiting for this very moment my heart settles into a calm rhythm for once in what feels like a long time. 

He steps back not noticing a thing. The towel now covered in blood he throws it in the sink without faltering to ask why. I appreciate it even if that isn’t really a good sign considering his lack of empathy. Or maybe just not expressing it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it. I can’t pinpoint which one with him.

“Thanks, now that we have the first batch filled, let's start the best part!” I grab his arm, steering him back to the island counter. I gently handle the pasta square with the dollop of my grandmother’s recipe filling in the center. "So, first we have to wet the edges of the dough squares with a brush of water, and then fold the dough over to make a triangle. Second step is to pinch the sides together to seal the ricotta stuffing inside of the dough. Now, we have to take the two bottom points of the triangle and fold them underneath into each other and pinch together to seal and form your tortellini.” I do this with meticulous ease. My ability to make perfect tortellini coming from time and annual family dinners. His eyes are shining with awe and his mouth is left slightly agape.

“I’m not some cook, Daphne. How'd you expect me to do that?” He  spits out, taking a few steps towards the projector in a huff, seeming to give up on cooking all-together.

“You just have to try. I don’t expect anything other than that you try, okay. Or are you afraid?”

“Afraid of pasta? Hah, I’m the motherfucking Homelander. I’m afraid of nothing.” Acting comedically confident he strides back towards the counter ready to impress. His hands frozen midair not remembering the steps, I presume. Without any prompt-to I start to make another tortellini with slow precision. He watches closely, but when I catch his eyes he looks away immediately, as if his hand was caught in the cookie jar. A little involuntary smile quirks up at the corner of my lips.

He hesitates before finally grabbing a pasta square himself, trying to mimic my instructions. His hands are large unlike mine, making it a little more difficult to achieve pretty results. His eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration and one of his sharper than normal canines bites at his lip in anticipation. I make twelve tortellini at my usual pace while he concentrates on his one. 

“Ah!” He murmurs out, surprising himself with a completed tortellini gently lying in his palms. His smile is small, he can't wipe it off his face fast enough before I have a glimpse of it. The tortellini is too big on one side and the folds aren’t correctly made into a triangle, but it's an amazing start.

“Wow! That’s really good, definitely put that one to the side so we can eat it tonight.”

“You're making them for us too?”

“ We're making enough food for a whole refuge. We might as well make ourselves dinner while we're at it.” I shrug, not minding the extra work. Cooking is one of the few things that help me not spiral over my own problems. It's like a form of meditation for me. I give him a thousand watt smile, trying with all my might to be encouraging. “I’m going to make my special butter sauce for only us, though.” I whisper trying to act conspiratorially with a finger to my lips. That reminder has me putting in the next pot of tomato sauce. Turning away Homelander continues to make more pasta, more assured than the last time, but he kept his expressions minimal. 

“But I could change my habits

Never more be scared of rabbits

If I only had the nerve.

I'm afraid there's no denying

I'm just an awful dandy-lion

A fate I don't deserve.”

“Wizard of Oz, now? I thought people your age liked John Wick and Barbie .” The sardonic tone coming off his timber voice surprises me from my cooking stupor.

“I like those too. Hey, you know, I never mention your age when we talk!” I turn back to make more tortellini, and to admonish him, of course. 

“You're just surprisingly old fashioned for someone so young, it's actually refreshing.” His praise almost sounds like an insult, but I choose to ignore that, in favor of being the bigger person. His shiny white smile and blue eyes sparkling with amusement doesn't faze me. Ignoring the bubbling frustration and embarrassment is probably the best choice of action anyways.

I grab more pasta squares and start folding it into tortellini as if it's my second language. He watches me close like a hawk viewing a mouse struggling beneath its sharp claws. Fascination sparkling in his stormy eyes makes me audibly gulp, nerves sparking across my body. 

“They’re so perfect.” He’s hypnotized as he watches me make five tortellini in quick succession and to absolute perfection.

“Well, they’re only perfect because I’ve been making them since I was a kid. My grandmother who we visited in Venice taught me how to make them. My mother tried to keep up the tradition for my father’s sake but she’s a better baker than a cook. You should have seen my first tortellini, it looked like a monstrosity and my grandmother told me just that,” I burst into giggles at the memory. “Your tortellini are a great start! You’ll be a professional chef in no time.” I motion to the five other tortellini he’s finished laying on a platter. They were lumpy and misshapen but they were perfect. 

“Is this your grandmother’s recipe?” Homelander asks, ignoring my pointed staring. I’m completely baffled at him continuing the nice conversation.

“Yes, actually. Most of the recipes I make are my family's. I have a whole recipe book passed down to me on my father’s side. The instructions on how to bake tiramisu cakes all the way to Lamb Ragu are inside that family treasure. It's pretty much an heirloom at this point.”

“All for a bunch of useless recipes. I don’t understand what the big deal is.” He scuffs pointedly glaring at his misshapen tortellini.  

“You haven’t tried them yet. Maybe you’ll change your mind once you have.”

“Food has never changed my mind about anything.” He states with a dull condescending tone I can’t help but roll my eyes at.

“Look, wait and till you try it. Okay?”

“Fine.” He scuffs with a huff only a celebrity or a toddler could replicate. I sigh back at him, it is almost endearing if his attitude wasn’t so exasperating.

Somehow, we stumble into a comfortable silence as the Wizard of Oz plays in the background. As I get into a rhythm of making dozens at a time I start to boil a batch for just us. Including Homelander’s few lumpy tortellini into the boiling pot. I continue to simmer the butter sauce in a small pan to the side. Finally, after finishing the last batch of tomato sauce I put the last tub into the fridge. I throw the dirty pot into the sink to deal with at a later point in time.

I work around Homelander’s unsettlingly invasive presence by dancing around him in my small kitchen space to set up my coffee table. I quickly grab two of my favorite plates–roses with vines decorated on the trim–and place them at the table with my silverware. I can feel Homelander’s eyes following my trail the whole time. 

I gently fish out the pasta with my slotted spoon placing the finished tortellini in a large ceramic bowl. I put the next batch of raw tortellini into the boiling pot without missing a beat. I place the bowl in the center of the coffee table grabbing the sauce and fresh parmesan to sprinkle on top. Homelander walks cautiously over to the coffee table as in the kitchen rushing to grab the basil. He sits on the couch looking vacantly at the bowls and plates in complete silence. 

I stumble and almost fall flat on my face as I hurry to serve Homelander. He sits silently at my couch of all places. No where else to really eat in my small apartment so he’ll have to make do, sadly. Like a normal commoner such as myself. I shave the fresh parmesan over the hot pasta adding the sauce lightly on top. I gently place a few basil leaves over each of our plates as the final step to a perfect dish.

His clumsily made but full of potential tortellini shimmered on top of the bowl proudly. I make sure to put his few tortellini on my plate. 

“Enjoy!” I sit beside him with a chirp of excitement I can’t extinguish. He doesn’t dig in first so I take the first huge bite, stuffing my mouth full. He watches with a small twist of his lips he can’t cover up with his hands fast enough. “Delicious.” I say with a mouth full; my Nona would have thrown a shoe at me for that misbehavior. He takes a few bites at a calm and polite pace versus my obnoxious gusto.

“It’s really good.” He whispers, so quiet I barely catch before the draft steals it away. He continues to eat as if he said nothing in the first place, now putting all his attention towards the movie. I can’t help it when my smile spreads into a wide goofy grin. He glances back up at me and the smile he gives back looks painful, but it's a positive, nonetheless. 

“Worthy of family heirloom status, huh?”

“Yeah, I think it qualifies.” He settles into the couch, relaxing around my presence since the first time I met him. He continues to eat with grace I can’t replicate. The theme of Over the Rainbow starts to gently play, the beat of the symphony swelling with Dorothy’s final words in the film.

“Then Toto’s safe. You hear that,

Toto? We’re both safe. And we’re

home. Home! And you’re all here.

And I’m never going to leave here

ever, ever again, because I love you

all. And… oh, Auntie Em, there

really is no place like home!!”

The film goes to credits as the theme continues to play it out, a classic film with a message that has always been dear to my heart. But the idea of home now left me feeling confused and the deep pit in my stomach I’ve been ignoring swells. No, don’t think about it.

“I keep making you watch all my favorite films. It feels unfair. Next time you come over, it's your pick. What’d you say?” I push the bad thoughts away to focus on something brighter, oddly enough that happy thought is attached to Homelander.

“You’d want to watch Taxi Driver with me?”

“ Taxi Driver ? Ah, well if you want to. I always saw it as kind of a sad story, but if you want I’m game.” 

“You think Taxi Driver is sad? It's revolutionary for men all over the world. That we take control of the world with our own two hands, and not be pushed by everyone that can diminish you. It's inspiring.”

“Wow, I guess I’ll have to watch it again. Maybe I’ll see it with a second viewing.” I finish my plate quickly. John is barely on his third bite as I run to the kitchen to finish the rest of the tortellini. The next movie is already in queue, not surprisingly one of my favorite Disney films, Robin Hood starts. 

The strumming of Oo-De-Lally fills the silence. I put the second batch of tortellini in tupperware ready for travel. I begin the next batch of dough to repeat the process all over again. In my steady rhythm of cooking I forget about Homlander’s existence, going into a trance as I roll the dough.

“I will see you tomorrow at the refuge with the camera crew. It’ll have to be at nine-thirty because I have a commercial to shoot at seven, but I assume you already know that?” He quirks his eyebrow up, testing me.

“Yes, Homelander, I told Perscilla to be there at nine to set up. I’ll be there to help and get the food prepared before the camera crew arrives.” I pipe up loud and clear like a sweating cadet under the scrutiny of their commanding officer.  

“Hmm,” He stares down at me with an eerily steely stare that gives nothing away. The tension was so thick in the air that I was choking on the smog that was his aura.

He pats me on the head gently and steady, my blond curls bounce with each pat. His presence brings the images of a flowing current in the middle on the mountain side, not too far from here. I meet his ironclad stare and it feels like lightning struck my body.  His too wide smile only makes his sharp fangs look more deadly. I gulp down my nerves with a wobbly smile he won’t find fault with.

“Good. Don’t disappoint me, now. I’ll see you in the morning.” He makes for his suit, turning himself away from prying eyes. His aura that was calm now begins to reawaken, the sharp cutting sands whispering in my mind. 

“You can keep those, if you want.” I stop him before he can make for the bathroom. “I don’t think my dad will mind. I’ll see you tomorrow, Homelander. Have a good night.” I approached him slowly, as if he was a rabid animal that could attack at any moment. No matter how good tonight is for him, the aura tells me a disaster is always waiting in the rafters, ready to strike at any time. His response to that is to fly out of the terrace with his suit in hand and my Dad’s pajamas as his attire.

He’s gone and it feels like the electricity in the air has finally dissipated back to its usual setting. The disturbance in the environment rectified with his tense passing. That feeling that settles over me is not numbness, no, it's a feeling of cold sharpness sleeking through my veins. Like breathing in air so cold it hurts going down your lungs. The foreboding feeling of being exactly what I didn’t want to be, a Superhero's lapdog. I gulp down the guilt and return to the cooking, willing those thoughts out of my head. 

It’s 3am by the time I’m done with the last batch of tortellini and I’m thoroughly exhausted. My wounds and meds are now taking its full blow on my mental state, but I still force myself to clean everything up, and I do so in a zombie-like state. Done with that by 4am I settle into my bed to get three blissful hours of rest. 

My alarms blares at me in my ear as if I just closed my eyes for sleep a minute ago. Oh, today is going to be a long day, isn’t it? My head throbs with a dull ache, a flash of pain reminding me to call for a Doctor’s appointment. Also, I need to call Perscilla to see how everything is going on her end. So many things to do with so little time. And on very little sleep. 

I run to the bathroom rushing to take my gross bandages off my head. The thin scar encroaching my hairline was pink but thin, not too noticeable thankfully. I get into the shower making it cold to get my blood pumping and my mind alert. I throw on a cute summer dress that’s eggshell white and slam my feet into my favorite white kitten heels. I grab for my white scrunchie throwing my wild curls into a high ponytail, annoyingly, my hair still reaches down to my waist even put up. I need to get a haircut before I’m called Cousin It at work. I sigh as a few baby curls escape to frame my face. I quickly put on a pink lip-gloss, lightly dust blush across my cheeks, and dab mascara over my eyelashes to complete the look. Getting ready in under thirty minutes is my new record! 

I stumble around my apartment as I’m scrambling to get everything I need to bring to the refuge. Six tubs of tomato sauce and tortellini may be heavier than planned for my noodle arms, but with my determination and grit I open my apartment door with all in tow. My heart is running a mile a minute as I’m balancing everything as gracefully as possible down the creaky stairs. 

“Do you need help with that, dear?” My father’s booming voice intimidates most, but to me his gruffness always felt like coming home. Until now.  His sudden appearance and tall shadow was completely blocked by my comically tall stack of Tupperware blocking my line of sight. It's a miracle I didn’t drop the food with his surprise appearance.  

“I-If you don’t mind.” I mumble out, breathless. He grabs for all but one Tupperware handling it with ease. We walk out of my apartment building in unison, I stay silent not knowing what to say.

“You haven’t answered any of our calls since…” His warm deep timber was gruffer than usual; his aura practically oozing sadness I couldn't ignore. The saltiness of tears swarm my taste buds like a bad thought that wouldn’t go away. 

“Since the news broke out that superpowered people were not born, but made. Yeah, I haven’t felt charitable enough to give you guys my time right now. If you haven’t noticed, I'm kind of busy.” I bite out, closest to yelling at my father I’ve ever been in my life. My bitterness leaking from my aura like a bad infection, and though I want to lash out, I know that won’t get me anywhere. I’m in this situation because of my own dumb actions, and they are under constant threat of it because of me. 

So, I just need space. To think over my feelings, and it's for the best I try to keep them at an arm's length. It would keep them safer if I do so. I take in one deep breath, and then let it go.

“I need to be somewhere dad. So, why’d you come?” I decide being direct is the best course of action when it comes to my father. 

“I want you to have this.” His hands are trembling as he passes me a manilla folder with the words Sage Grove Center stamped in bold black ink across it. “We wanted you to know everything before you started looking into it yourself. When you’ve read it, come see us and we will tell you more. Please, honey, promise me you will come home after reading the file!” He stares me down with a dark blackness that pins me in place.  I’ve never heard him sound so distressed before. I can’t stop myself from saying it.

“I promise, dad.” I gulp down the cold warning feeling dinging inside my brain. He sighs out of relief, looking less haggard with my verbal confirmation. He gently steers me to a taxi helping me put the Tupperware in the trunk, safely securing it so it doesn’t splatter everywhere. I instinctively hug him goodbye, but I don’t smile.

“I love you, Daph.” His hug tightens to almost a painful degree, as if I was going to melt away like sugar being pelted with rain.

“I’ll see you soon dad.” I mutter out before running into the cab, not able to say I love you back. My dad’s eyebrows twist up and tears were being held back as he weakly wave me goodbye as the cab drives off. This fills my heart with deep pain that continues to needle at me as the drive progresses. As the taxi gets stuck in traffic I make a doctor’s appointment for the next morning. I don’t need an unknown head injury plaguing me when I’m already stressed enough as it is. 

Checking my email I can see Starlight’s schedule being changed early this morning. Apparently, she had to visit her cousin in North Carolina and wouldn’t be at any functions for a couple of days. I need to call in and check on her then, or would that be too invasive? She is on vacation, so does that mean no work calls? I’m not a work call, I'm her therapist. I quickly press her name in my contacts before I can doubt myself for a second longer.

“Hey, it’s Annie, if you want to reach me leave a voicemail and I’ll get back to you when I can.” Her sweet voice comes through the phone in a dull monotone that’s grating to the ear. I left a quick voicemail asking her how she’s doing and how I just wanted to check in. Before I’m done with the voicemail my cab driver is helping me out of the car with my Tupperware in tow. 

I walk through the construction site and into the refuge building as quickly and gracefully as I muster. Dodging moving bodies from every corner, barely keeping the Tupperware in my arms by the time I reach the kitchens. 

Volunteers with Vought branding on their shirts were scrambling about preparing for food to be served out. People in not so obvious Vought branding were prepping some camera men that were standing at the fringes of the entrance. Perscilla Jones stood center of the chaos with her immaculate hair shining bright like a beacon of hope. Her aura flares with life and vigor like a fresh and steady campfire. She was in her element and the perfect person for this job.

I drop my containers onto the kitchen counters and find myself being swarmed. The volunteers take action immediately grabbing Tupperware after Tupperware prepping it to be served to the refugees. Like a unit of soldier ants they all work in unison, it's inspiring if a little scary. Not needing anymore help with that, I walk towards Perscilla to see if there’s anything else that needs to be done.

“Hey Perscilla! Do you need—” A forceful breeze passes the room and that is the only warning the normal person has before Homelander’s dramatic entrance. 

“Hello, everyone! So, how can I help?” His voice is booming for everyone to hear. His perfect posture and calm smile that looks practiced. His exact verbiage feels like it was ripped right from Dawn of the Seven . I told him he didn’t have to act like there was a script…but maybe that’s his autopilot. Interesting.

The camera crew that hovered at the entrance of the makeshift cafeteria enters the scene the moment they realize their star has arrived. The volunteer workers are grabbing bins of the food and setting up buffet- lines for people to serve themselves. Volunteers would be posted at that station so they can help out if needed. The volunteers all gapped at Homelander’s sudden arrival, all stopping together like the ripple of a stilling wave.

Perscilla Jones' quick steps towards me are annoyingly loud with each point heel tap and her humongous bright white smile is nearly blinding. She grabs me by my shoulders, wrinkling the large puffs of my sundress. I can’t help but see the predator on the horizon blazing a trail towards us, my heartbeat grew erratic at the sight . I’m frozen to my spot, instinct of a prey animal, the prey animal being me.

“You have to introduce me to Homelander, Daphne. I’m so excited for how good this is going to do on Instagram and Twitter.”

“And how good it’ll be for the people who recently lost their homes.” I add in quickly–Perscilla giggles at that, like I was joking, giving me a shrug as a response. 

Her glowing bright sherbet aura bursts into a bright orange sweet flavor of excitement that took over all of my senses. She was too happy right now to even think about the reason why she’s here. Only that the opportunity has landed on her lap and she’s going to take full advantage of it. Happiness stemming from something like this is not surprising, but I can still feel the bitter disappointment lingering in the back of my thoughts. 

“Do you need anything else from me, Perscilla. I could help the volunteers if not–”

“No, you’ll be helping me, remember?” Homelander’s sardonically cold voice would be chilling if I wasn’t preparing myself for it beforehand. He maneuvers around Perscilla, completely ignoring her, like walking by a bug on the subway. Perscilla perceptively decides to step out of Homelander’s way, letting me go from her too tight grasp. I absently rub at them, feeling the eventual bruises growing on my already wounded body. “I thought we talked about this last night.” His sharp blues eyes not only glare daggers down at me as he steps a little too close, but his scowl is pointed directly at Perscilla. 

“R-right! Um, Perscilla I have these photos I sent to your email of Homelander cooking the food being served. I think it’d be a great addition to this event for the social media campaign.” Perscialla nods to every word I say as she starts going through emails on her pristine phone. 

“That’s perfect! It’ll round out the whole photoshoot, great idea, Daphne.” Perscilla’s sweet excitement now felt more brown-nosey since Homelander came into the picture. It made me feel extremely uncomfortable and the slow crawl of goosebumps traveling down my arms didn’t help. 

“T-thanks–”

“Now that’s settled, let's get to it.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, showing us as a united front that Perscilla ate up, but it felt more threatening than friendly to me. She steers us to the serving tables where the volunteers prep the food. Every utensil and decoration had Vought’s logo covered all over them, it made my skin crawl.

“Okay, Homelander just pose behind the serving table and we will composit the photos with the ones of the volunteers.” Perscilla says this as if listing off her grocery list, not even glancing up at us as she continues to tap at her phone. The ringing in my ear speared itself through my brain and I couldn’t get it out. 

 “W-what? No, n-no Homelander is serving them with the volunteers.” I step forward out of Homelander’s grasp trying to gain Perscilla’s full attention. “We’re both here to participate in helping the refugees; no pretending, no lying.” 

“Of course, Dr. Bennett, I understand. This is just usually how things are shot for social media, but if that’s what you want. Thank you again for this opportunity Daphne.” Perscilla calls for the camera crew to set up, walking off and grabbing a volunteer by the shoulder to boot. 

“I like how you tell people what to do.” Homelander’s voice is closer than expected, I jump up high in the air in response. I blow a curl out of my face deciding facing Homelander head on is always the safest bet, meeting his stare directly.

“That just wasn’t the plan. You’ll see. It’ll be better if it's organic. Like food.”

“How do you know more about marketing than a marketing manager?” Sarcasm is evident in the quirks of his lips and the swathy tone in his voice.

“I know people better. I don’t understand social media but I know for a fact people will see your interactions with them. That will be what has the biggest impact on your ratings. More than you could imagine.” I put all my soul into what I’m saying, seizing his hands to hold in mine. 

“Alright, alright.” He nods with a sigh. He lets go of my hands walking to the serving area as if the various utensils would obey him with a single look. “This plan of yours better go as planned or we know your job here isn’t going to quite work out. Come on then, Daphne. Help me with this since this was your brilliant idea.” He gripes bitterly, scowling into all the hot pots with tortellini and sauce filled to the brim. He flinches away from the simmering pot of sauce, double checking his cape to see if any got on it. I can’t stop from smiling at his antics and he looks up to see I’ve caught him in the act. He glares at me as his only form of comment.

“Don’t give me all the credit Homelander. You did inspire me to do this after all.” I say loudly and clearly, the on coming flux of people entering the cafeteria can hear my words clearly. As well as the now recording cameras. His singular left eyebrows quirks up as if accusing and questioning at the same time. “You are the one after all who wanted to do more for the refugees when we were last here. You wanted to change things, and now we're trying to change things.” I steer him now to face the growing line of people waiting to be served. 

The volunteers all hover around us, smiling wide and bright for the cameras, but all the nerves frazzle at the edge of my brain like static shock. I inadvertently move to the sauce station, right next to Homelander, and serve the first person in line. A small boy with wild curly brown hair and a wide toothy smile that brought the taste of fruit loop cereal on my lips and the memories of blowing bubbles out the windowsill. The ache in my heart soothes over the gaping bloody wound ever so slightly when I fill his bowl to the top. 

“Thank you, miss!” His smile widens across his cherub face and his dimples appear. So cute.

“You're welcome little mister.” He runs off ahead, settling at a cafeteria table where a woman waited with a patient smile and a warm embrace. I check to my side to see Homelander hasn’t self combusted by being left to his own devices. No but the volunteers seem to be fumbling around him like slobbering idiots, not focused at all on actually helping. 

“Thank you so much Homelander for all that you’ve done for us!” A young woman with her hair wrapped in a beautiful Hijab states before taking the bowl of tortellini. 

“I appreciate what you guys are doing here. It really is helping my family and everyone else here.” A large gruff man who had rad patches all over his skin–probably burns from the look of them, voices to each volunteer he sees.

As each person passes us people are in better spirits than they were when they entered the cafeteria. The atmosphere has shifted to a hopeful tune inspired by the smiling faces all around us. Surprisingly, Homelander’s stiff posturing eases with each smile and adoring comment that comes his way. The line slows to nothing and the whole cafeteria is filled with people eating their home cooked tortellini. The smell was almost as good as it was in my kitchen, making my stomach growl at the thought. 

A boy who could be either ten or twelve who was shyly hiding behind his mother bravely steps forward as the camera men start taking their equipment out of the building. Looking closer the child wore a well worn shirt that had Homelander’s insignia plastered across it. 

“Could I have an a-autograph, p-please? You're my favorite hero in the world!” The smile is so bright and so full of awe it could make anyone drop to their knees and go aww. Homelander gets down to his level and signs his photo and the shirt he is wearing, making the boy squeal with delight. “Thanks so much Homelander!” He runs back to his mom sitting at the cafeteria table in the back corner. 

“You really made that kid’s day, Homelander. He’ll probably remember that for his whole life.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, of course. Those interactions are what make people love you. I thought you knew that?” I ask dumbfounded. No wonder he’s been trying at this for years and not getting any results. He’s like a calf without his mother to guide him from bad decisions, it would be endearing if it wasn’t so sad. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” He grimaces glaring at me, as if knowing what I’m thinking. Shouldn’t it be the reverse? “He looks kind of like my son, Ryan.” He murmurs under his breath barely able to admit it.

“Well, I’m really good with kids, if you ever want to introduce me. I was actually a child’s therapist before I was hired on for The Seven, so I have some understanding of kids . ” I shrug trying to show any emotions in the admission. Bringing up my old job only made me feel painfully nostalgic, and some bitter madness needled at me, reminding me I failed my attempts to understand my powers at every turn. This job being the final stage in my failure. I push that thought away focusing back on Homelander.

“Let’s see how this goes. You’ll be lucky this doesn’t become a failure and I don’t fire you.” He threatens under his breath, so only the two of us could hear. The volunteers all sat at a table eating their own share of tortellini ignoring us for now. The idea of being fired seems enticing, but impractical at best. A danger to my family at its worst.

“I think this could be really good for you.” I say bringing my hand up to touch his arm, but stop before I make contact. The need to be close to people was something I didn’t feel often, but Homelander felt like a flame and I was the moth that just needed to be a little closer. Before I burn up in flames, of course. He takes my hand in his own, making me flinch from my stupor. 

“I have a meeting with Ashley soon. I’ll need to get over there before ten thirty.” We both glance at the clock on the wall to see it flash ten fifteen at us like a warning. The tick of the small ticking clock grates my migraine. “Do you want me to fly you there?” 

“No, no that’s okay. I’ll help clean up here and I’ll be at Vought in a half an hour. My schedule isn’t filled to the brim like yours is.”

“Didn’t you know?” He couldn’t help the wide smirk growing across his face.

“Know what?”

“You have to be at all of the press junkets with us, not just movie sets and premiers. Looks like your schedule is busier than mine, I’m afraid.” Like the cat getting its cream, Homelander looks too satisfied informing me of this. My little migraine turns into a full blown migraine now. I could feel the mind splitting pressure terrorize itself behind my eyes. 

“Oh, well I’ll be at Vought soon. I promise.” I give his shoulder a squeeze with assurance. The word promise striking into Homelander his aura’s once calm now springs to life once again. Ever turning and hurting those in his vicinity.

“Right, you better Daphne.” He grits out before leaving the cafeteria with a flashy smile towards the refugees. A few people stop him on his way out asking for autographs, he obliges not batting an eyelash at the continuous requests. Finally leaving the scene it feels like I’m not walking on a tightrope anymore, and my heart could rest for a moment.

“You guys look cute together.” Perscilla crones in a too sweet voice for me to stomach. I jump again, surprised for what feels like the millionth time today.

“What! You can’t say that Perscilla. Just implying it would cost me my reputation and license as a therapist. Probably my job too, honestly.”

“Well it's only trending on this one measly subreddit. Nothing to fret over Daphne.”

“O-okay, good. N-nothing to worry about then.” I grit out trying to believe it myself. Nothing to worry about clangors in my head like a bell toll, ringing over and over to a deadly hymn. The cold sweat running down my body and the throbbing headache wouldn’t stop reminding me about the traumatizing events that only happened yesterday. Being in the center of it all didn’t bode well to me in the least. The feelings of foreboding chilled my neck, as if Death himself trails his bony fingers down my back. 

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