#when you're not Dead Fucking Exhausted all the time it's way easier to COPE with pain. is i think what's happening with the former.

[ilikeyoshi]

i think. i think my new medication is improving my fatigue, like. dramatically. that's not even what it was prescribed for, it was prescribed so my heart or brain doesn't explode (medically correct terminology obv obv) but now that i'm thinking about it i've felt WAY better energy-wise for. several weeks. i started it a month ago. and like. i mean. it's RELATED to heart health, so??? of course a heart issue could cause fatigue??? i'm still kinda emotionally processing that this might not just be A Few Good Weeks and i might actually have solved a significant amount of my fatigue by pure accident.

[morte-par-le-chocolat]

Worth

"So, tell me how you're feeling. Better?" "Oui, merci. Much. I think I can get back to work now. I actually felt I should be back to work some time ago." "Ah-ah, not so fast. Just slow down, okay? Let's start easy. Why are you here, Chef Jean?"

Jean-Pierre looked across the room. The other man looked back at him- a neat chestnut haircut, winged eyeliner, a pleasant but neutral smile. Pink sweater vest, a clipboard and pencil held in his robotic arms. Dr. Twinkletits was the very air of professionalism- something he'd learned to adapt well to in his time as Dethklok's therapist. The false smarminess that had lead Jean to dislike the man on sight was more or less gone. Lesson learned. "Lord Commander Offdensen said I should speak with you before returning to work. I am not sure why, but I am not one to dismiss his wishes." "Well, according to what I have here, you collapsed on the job a couple weeks ago and were in the hospital wing a while. Exhaustion? I can see why, cooking for all these people? Must be hard work. But Jean, you have kitchen staff, right? There to help you, make your job a little easier?" "Oui. I do. But I don't need them, not for the bulk of my work." Twinkletits made a 'tch' sound and scribbled something down on his clipboard. Jean frowned. "It kinda seems like you do, though, if you're pushing yourself so hard you're passing out. Come on. Let's..." Don't say it... "...rock talk." Fuck. Jean swore inwardly, but he supposed this was an inevitability. Twinkletits was rarely if ever a surface-level therapist- he'd get to the root of the problem one way or another. "Tell me, why do you feel like you have to do everything yourself? It' can't be easy on you. I have here in your file that you're on medication for pain and that's, you know, that's really understandable. Why,Jean, you were stitched together from a million little pieces! I'm not saying that doesn't make you capable, but you're obviously pushing yourself past your limits when you really don't have to. Why is that?" Jean sighed, bent fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. "It is as you say. I was sewn together after being diced with a helicopter propeller. Dethklok sewed me up with their own hands, because they wanted me to cook for them. I am but fulfilling their wishes, my purpose that I was mended for. You know how the oath goes, oui? 'I am a gear in the klok. I fear not my mortality. I will serve to the best of my ability.' If I perish in the line of service, that is fine, though I do hope I will leave behind a magnum opus when I do." "Oh, but... I mean, of course I know the oath, but the line says it right there. 'To the best of my ability'. You're pushing beyond that and it's just not good for you. ... Jean... does this have to do with your injury at all?" "No! ... Well, sort of. Look at me, doctor. I am a monster. The sight of me would repulse most people. I should be dead, but I am alive- mended, as I said, for the purpose of cooking. This castle is my world. My condition may be unsightly and painful, but my lords saw fit to sew every stitch themselves. This is an honor, no? I am valued for my skills in the culinary arts. This is what I was mended to do, no other reason. To put a smile on my Lords' faces with my cooking is my greatest joy. I need nothing else, but to be allowed to work for this purpose." "I see." Twinkletits' voice was low, soft, almost. "And... these few weeks, how has that made you feel?" "Worthless. I have had nothing to do but convalesce, and worry about the state of the kitchen. Young #713... is a decent hand, but untested. I wonder how he is coping. I do not want the quality of the kitchen's output to suffer, and yet... I fear if he does too well, that... that..."

"Go on, Chef." "...that they will replace me. That my Lords may decide that someone younger and healthier would be a better choice moving forward. I couldn't bear that, doctor." "Mmm. You know, Chef, I think I may have a bead on your problem. If I may? It's an issue with your self worth. You called yourself a monster, only sewn up to keep cooking, so that's all you think you're worth. You do all that cooking yourself because if you can't cook you feel worthless and replaceable. But you know what? I don't think that's true, and I can prove it, you know?" Jean gripped his upper arms, shaking a bit. Hearing out loud, it was an on the nose assessment. Hearing it condensed that way was uncomfortably accurate. "You...can prove it, you say?" "Sure! Look." Humming, Twinkletits set his clipboard and pen aside and held out his arms. Skeletal, spindly things, but very functional, dexterous enough for him to do most anything his flesh and blood arms had. "You see these? I fell out a window and the yardwolves ate my arms off. Plus I'd been... y'know, a real jerk before that. Dethklok didn't have any real reason to keep me around, but they did! And it's been the most fulfilling work of my life, but you know what? I don't let it fully define me. Because that's not healthy at all, Chef. I'm not just worth my work any more than you are." The therapist leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I know losing my arms probably wasn't quite as traumatic as what happened to you. But you're a worthwhile person, Jean. You're a brilliant chef but that's not all you are, and it's definitely not all you're worth. I know it's gonna take time, but I want you to tell yourself that. Once or twice a day, or whenever you need. And I want you to start letting your staff in. You're supposed to be a team, they're not your competition. Can you do that for me?" "I... suppose I can try. I don't think I have much to lose at this point. ... Merci, Doctor." "Anytime! That's what I'm here for. Anyway, I think if you take those affirmations to heart, I don't see a reason that you can't go back to work. I'll let Mr. Offdensen know!" Rising, Jean shook the doctor's hand. Twinkletits replied with a hearty smile and a pat on the chest. It wasn't until Jean looked down at his chef's blacks after he left that he noticed a bright yellow crescent stuck to his coat.

[fanficwritinggirl]

I’m Here till the end of time

Warning- Talks of PTSD

Everyone was affected by the battle. I mean how could you not. You saw people that you grew up with killed. The people you loved killed. It was fucked up. Everyone was fucked up after it. But we all dealt with it in different ways. Some were able to act like they were fine and move on and others held onto the pain more than others. Sometimes you could do nothing about it. The trauma was there. Most of the time you couldn't get the pain to go away. Sometimes it was there for days or weeks on end and there was nothing that you could do to distract yourself from it. I mean not even sleep was peaceful. They were still filled with nightmares of the dead bodies. Scattered around everywhere. Lavender. Fred. Remus. Tonks. It seemed that most people that you loved were killed. You were never going to get them back. You just had to get on with the pain. Find ways to forget about it. But that was easier said than done.

It was another miserable day. It was pouring it down. The streets had rain running along them in small rivers. But that wasn't unusual for London. Or England for that matter. Rain is something that is cold and horrible when you get covered and you're drenched from head to toe. But from the warmth of your apartment it was soothing. The sound of it as it hit everything just made you relax. It was little things like that. That you held onto. That you enjoyed. Not that there was much for you to enjoy at the moment. With the stress of everything.

It had only been a few months since you had finished Hogwarts and you were still trying to figure out what you were doing with your life. At the moment you were working as a writer for the daily prophet which you would have enjoyed if what you were being asked to write about was something of more important topics. You wanted to write about politics. Culture. How were people coping after the war. But no. You were given boring gossip like relationship scandals. Or famous, self- absorbed wizards. It was not something important. There was more important topics to talk about at the moment rather than some stupid idiot who would do anything to get some attention. It was exhausting.

Your boyfriend Harry knew that you hated your job. He knew what you wanted to do and he knew that you were the perfect person to talk about those topics but he also knew that not everyone was going to be okay with you opening up old wounds. But that is a bigger reason for you wanting to talk about them. People needed to understand that it was okay for them to talk about their traumas. That it's okay to have them. That it was normal. There was no shame in being affected by them. I mean you loved the boy who lived. The boy who defeated voldemort. The one who ended it all. He was the person that had some of the worst trauma. I mean how couldn't he. Voldemort ripped his world apart when was a baby. And then he reopened the wound that had temporarily healed to destroy everything again. It wasn't an easy life but you two had to find the good in life. Like each other. Your love for one another got you through everything. You were each other's rocks. Through everything.

Sitting at your desk which sat in your study which was across from yours and Harry bedroom. You and Harry decided to buy the apartment after graduation because you both wanted space. No matter how much you loved the Weasleys. You were 18 years old. It was time for some space. You were writing another boring article about one of the minister's marriage and apparent affair which was something that you hated writing about. You hated cheating especially when there were kids involved and you found that writing an article added more fuel to the fire than needed. But at the end of the day you needed to suck it up to your boss in order to show them that you were capable of writing about something more serious.

Hearing the front door open you instantly freeze. Harry wouldn't be home at this time. It was too early. So grabbing your wand you slowly walk over to the door leaning out to look down the hallway and see into the sitting room. "Y/N" Harry calls to you. Relief fills your body and you let out a sigh of relief and you put your wand down walking to the sitting room. You see Harry putting his bag down onto the table and a tired expression on his face. You walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He sighs, placing his head in the crook of your neck.

"What's up?" he asks you. Seeing as this is not usually how you greet him. "You scared me," you whisper, holding him tighter. He groans and kisses your neck. "Sorry about that. There isn't much work to do today so they let us come home early" he informs you. Nodding your head you move your head to look him in the eye. "You deserve it. You have been working your ass off the past few weeks" you tell him. He sighs. "I know but it's a part of the job," he says. You nod, giving him a peck on the lips. "You look tired. Why don't you go lie down for a while. Just have this article to finish" you tell him. He gives you a sad smile. "Hating it," he asks, knowing the answer.

With a slight nod you pull back from him. "It's just so boring. I mean come on there are more important things to talk about. Other than this affair that may or may not be happening. I want to write about facts not a rumor" you rant. He sighs, pulling you in for a hug again. "Soon you will be able to do that. Because you are an amazing writer. You can put yourself into other peoples boots and sympathize with them. You have a gift of understanding people and their situations. Which makes you stand out from the rest of the journalists. You will get there. Just need some time" he tells you. You smile, kissing him again. "This is why I love you. You always know how to keep me going" you whisper. He smiles leaning his head on yours. "And you do the same for me" he tells you before kissing you again. Wrapping your arms around him tighter you moan as the kiss gets deeper. Harry brings his hands down to your ass grabbing it and lifting you up. Your legs now wrapped perfectly around his waist. Walking to your bedroom he kicks the door close, chucking you down on the bed.

It was much later in the evening when you felt yourself waking. You were groggy at first before you heard the whimpering. You turn around and see Harry thrashing in his sleep. He was having another nightmare. It was normal for him. He was one a few times a month which is in a way a lot better than what it used to be. It used to be almost every night right after the war but over time they have happened less and less but still a normal occurrence.

Sitting up quickly you grab ahold of his shoulders shaking him. "Harry... Harry... come on wake up Harry '' you plead as he phrases. "Harry. I'm here. Listen to my voice. Im here" you repeat over and over again. Soon he stops and his breathing becomes normal again. You kiss his forehead and his eyes open looking up at you. It only takes a few seconds for him to wrap you in his body and hold you tightly. With his face in the crook of your neck you kiss his head again. "It's okay love. Im here" you whisper as he cries. The nightmares took a huge toll on him mentally. But it was normal for people in his situation to go through this. Some worse than him. But at the end of the day he was recovering. Slowly but he was progressing.

After a few minutes he calmed down and looked up at you. "You want to talk about it?" you ask him as you stroke his hair. He sighs. "I was battling Voldermort and he is about to kill me. But before I know it I'm down on the ground with weight on top of me. I look up... and it's you. You blocked the spell. You saved me. You died for me. And I held you. I cried for you. You died in my arms. And I could save you" he cries. You cry heartbreakingly. "I would do anything to save your love. But I would make sure that neither of us ever had to live without the other. It's me and you till the end. Till the end love" you tell him. Holding him close.

It was time like these. When you two needed each other. If you didn't have each other you don't know what you would do. But you do know that you will get through this together. That you will die with him next to you. That it was you and him. Till the end of time.