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xoxiu · 8 months

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twinkle - ot7 x reader

epilogue table of contents masterlist join the taglist discord

summary: she had just wanted attention, that’s why she kept texting the strange number, updating him on everything in her life. little did she know how dangerous this relationship actually was. it had been jimin’s idea to kidnap the girl, but the ability to travel across the world to actually do it had been all hoseok’s doing. convenient how some things work, right? they knew that they were destined to have their baby with them, whether she wanted it or not.

tags/warnings: kidnapping, forced age regression, spanking, noncon, mafia au, drug use, stockholm syndrome, caregiver!bts, little!reader, nonsexual, diapers, panic attacks, fluff and angst, sickfic, referenced child abuse, unrequited love

taglist: @0funsite0, @frieschan

a/n: this chapter is more of a one-shot update i wrote 4-5 years after posting the first chapter

Ophelia was happy. All she knew was that she had her Daddies, and that she was finally safe. Those years of fending for herself were over, as she had seven caretaker tending to her every want and need.

She recently developed a very nasty and long cold. Daddies moved a mattress down into the living room so they could keep an eye on her. At least two of them, usually Seokjin and Jimin, would sleep on the couches, and sometimes Namjoon or Hoseok would sleep on the mattress with her.

Currently, Ophelia was laying down on the mattress, drinking a bottle full of juice and watching whatever anime Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung were watching. It was very rare that Ophelia ever got juice, and was savoring every second of the fruit punch taste. She played with the nipple of the bottle as she watched what appeared to be vampires on the TV fight with swords and magic.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" Jin walked over to Ophelia, already hearing the wheezing sounds from her nose before he even got next to her. Ophelia didn't reply, only staring back at Jin with watery eyes. "Oh, honey."

"You might have to take her to Jackson-hyung," Jimin spoke up, "poor thing's been wiping her nose all day and coughing more than usual."

"That's what I had planned," Jin replied, taking the bottle away from Ophelia and replacing it with a pacifier. "He arranged to meet us at his office at noon today to see Ophelia."

It was already 10:30, and the drive into Seoul would be just over an hour, so Seokjin had to get Ophelia ready quick. It would be him and Namjoon taking her to the hospital to see Doctor Jackson and get her sinus issues checked out.

Seokjin placed Ophelia on his hip, and she immediately buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"Bunny..." she mumbled, reaching a hand out towards Jungkook. Seokjin chuckled at how she was mimicking their nickname for Jungkook. She was just too adorable.

"No, no, baby. No bunny right now," Seokjin told the little, "We have to make sure you're healthy before you can have your bunny."

Ophelia pouted behind the pink pacifier in her mouth, and reached a hand out to Jungkook as Seokjin took her away. Jungkook playfully reached a hand out towards Ophelia in return, mimicking her sad pout as well.

Throughout the years, Jungkook and Ophelia grew a special bond. Jungkook was the youngest Daddy, who did more play than discipline. Ophelia liked the he treated her as an equal almost, and loved that he always took her side whenever she was in trouble. 'She's just a baby,' he would say, 'She doesn't know any better.'

Seokjin took Ophelia out to the car, where Namjoon was already waiting in the passenger seat. Seokjin placed the little in her carseat and strapped her in snug. In the front seat, Namjoon reached into the center console for her iPad, unlocking it and turning on the YouTube Kids app.

"Here you go, Lia," Namjoon said. After a minuscule moment of silence, Seokjin looked at Ophelia in the rearview window.

"Ophelia," the girl in question shot her head up with wide eyes. She wasn't used to being called her legal name, unless she was in trouble. "Daddy just gave you that to play with. What do you say?"

"Thank you, Daddy." Ophelia said, but from behind the pacifier it sounded more like 'Tank chu 'addy'.

The car ride was mild at best. The only noise was from the cutesy songs coming from Ophelia's iPad (as well as the voices of Russian children, a weird and new part of YouTube that Ophelia has explored). Namjoon and Seokjin caught each other up on Ophelia's symptoms so they were on the same page at her appointment. The car came to a stop outside of Seoul National University Hospital, and Ophelia began to fuss and become distressed at the sight of the building.

"Li li, it's okay," Namjoon said, turning around in his seat. "It's only for a few minutes, trust me."

Namjoon got out first and took Ophelia into his arms. He pulled her hood up as the breeze picked up, making the air slightly chilly. The three walked in through doors, and Lia was surprised to see very few people throughout the halls. She assumed the hospital would be filled with people and noise, but it was rather calming.

They eventually entered a room where a man in a white coat was standing near a door on the opposite side of the room.

"Jackson!" Seokjin smiled at the man, "It's so nice of you to do this for us."

"No problem at all," Jackson said, eventually locking eyes with Ophelia. She immediately turned to hide in Namjoon's shoulder, who only ran a hand through her hair in return.

"Oh my god, you guys. She is just the cutest thing," Jackson said in awe. He walked over to get a better look at Ophelia. "Hi, there. What's your name, sweetheart."

Ophelia attempted to nearly merge into Namjoon, wanting to get away from the stranger named Jackson. She didn't want to talk to him, see him, or let him touch her. He was scary.

"Someone's just a little shy," Namjoon said, patting Ophelia's diapered bum. "This is Ophelia."

Ophelia was sat on a cold hospital bed as Namjoon and Seokjin sat in the chairs next to her. She immediately reached out to be held by them, but Namjoon wasn't sure if she would be allowed on his lap during her examination. He reached a hand out to hold Ophelia's, and that seemed to calm her nerves enough.

"Okay, so I heard the little one has a bit of a sinus issue," Jackson said with a smile, "What exactly is she experiencing? A runny nose? Congestion?"

"She's had a constant runny nose, and every time she blows it there's blood and a lot of mucus. She also has been wheezing a lot, like she almost can't breathe through her nose with how congested she is." Seokjin looked over at the little, who was pulling her hoodie strings to hide her face in her hood.

"Oh, and she's had a major headache and cough, too." Namjoon added on.

Jackson hummed as he typed on his computer. "And how long has this been going on?"

"The runny nose? At least two months. The cough and headache just started recently." Namjoon replied as he reached out to pull the hood off from around Ophelia's face. She whined and kicked her feet in protest. Jackson seemed to pick up on her discomfort.

"How about you put her on your lap while I check her nose and such?"

Ophelia immediately reached out to be picked up by Namjoon. He held her on his lap while putting his hands over her's, forcing them to remain in her lap. Jackson approached them with a little black magnifying glass type device, and instructed Ophelia to stay 'extra super still' while he looked in her nose.

"Yup, it's definitely dry and inflamed. Nothing some nasal spray can't fix, thought." Jackson said, throwing away the tip of the tool.

Ophelia sat in her car seat sucking on the green apple lollipop Jackson had given her. She had a wide smile and giggled as they drove away.

"Well, baby, how about we get you some McDonald's for being so good?" Seokjin asked, already knowing the answer.

"MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS!" Namjoon chanted from the passenger side, causing Ophelia to giggle harder.

"Can we get Bunny McDonald's, too?"

"Of course we can, honey."

Ophelia had the best Daddies.

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indecisive-dizzy · 4 months

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Any Howdy ideas to share? /nf

Oh I have So Many ideas. Pulled out my notes for this! Gonna start with family bc I've been wanting to share.

Howdy is The middle child. This man suffers from middle child syndrome big time, his parents hardly acknowledge him unless they're complaining about his career choice/comparing him to his siblings.

Speaking of! He has 15 siblings! They have names and traits and I wasted So Much Time on them! So here a list from oldest to youngest! as well their jobs

Heather- house wife w no kids. married big rich

Huntley- restaurant owner w multiple locations

Hailey- successful crafts/furniture business

Hayden- same business with Hailey

Heath- plane engineer

Hector- commercial pilot

Henry- big industry CEO

Hannah- chain store assistant manager

Howard "Howdy"- You know this one!

Holland- part-time job hoping

Harrison- college student

Harvey- college student

Harwin- college student

Harmony- student

Hope- student

Holly- student

3-4, 5-6, and 15-16 are twins. 11-13 are triplets. I don't have ages bc they need to be reworked. Yes all their names start with H. I thought it would be funny but it was Not Worth It. /hj

Back to Howdy! He loves all of his younger siblings. He's not as close to his older siblings with the exception of Huntley bc I love him. He actively dislikes Henry and Heather bc they belittle him a Lot.

Howdy, Hannah, and Holland were The trio of the family. Howdy is closest to these two.

He was also hugely involved in raising/taking care of the little ones. He was the only one that could get the triplets to take a bath in a reasonable amount of time with little mess/fuss. No one knows how he did it.

Stepping away from family!

It's so easy to make Howdy laugh. He makes a big deal out of jokes and having a good sense of humor, but he'll laugh at anything! He just hides this fact to save himself the supposed embarrassment. He almost Laughed Out Loud at one of Frank's jokes! Frank Frankly! The Unfunniest Neighbor! The memory haunts him. /j

Cuddle bug. Someone please hug the caterpillar. He just wants to give his loved ones a big squeeze and in some cases never let them go (cough Barnaby cough). If you fall asleep against him he will cherish the moment but will playfully complain later.

Cries if/when anything happens to the shop. Water leak? Sobs. Stain? Inconsolable. He loves his little shop so much.

He may scam people but he's really not in it for huge profits. He's just like that. Refuses to Ever open another store. There's only one Howdy so there will only be one Howdy's Place!

Oblivious but falls in love easy. He won't realize he's in love but he always falls first. Just give him time to realize it.

Will flirt with his partner but flusters when it's returned.

Despite being a workaholic, he gets plenty of rest and is pretty good with self care! He finds it very important to be well rested and healthy if he's gonna work so much. He also sleeps like a rock.

I have this idea to specifically contrast with Eddie! Who does Not know when to stop working. Howdy complains often of Eddie's sleep schedule (or lack thereof). This had led to Eddie being forced to nap in a big armchair behind the store counter on multiple occasions.

Howdy has essentially adopted the neighbors as family. Except for Barnaby I guess bc he's in love with the big blue dog.

One the youngest neighbors. He refuses to acknowledge this as he's had enough of being the baby brother thank you very much.

oh golly this got long very quick.. so that's all for now! 😅

#i could literally keep going #i have so many thoughts about his family and their dynamics #as well his interactions woth neighbors outside the shop #thsi caterpillar is just alfnsckajkdfjja <3 <3 #Fun fact! He's what got me into Welcome Home!#I was watching the first GTLive about wh (don't come for me plz)#and when he pulled up Howdy's character in the neighborhood page i Lost It #I literally heart eyed and screamed #I thought he was the neatest fella! The Character Design Ever #I proceeded to consume as Much Information as possible about Welcome Home #Then Eddie stole my heart-#srry Howdy but have you looked at the mailman?#anywho! Thank You for letting me go off about the big bug man.#im gonna go eat leftovers and think about him <3 #dizztalkstoomuch #neon child #welcome home #howdy pillar #Pillar Family #<- bc i may talk more about them #omg i forgot to mention everyone's a butterfly but Howdy.#theres lore to that but i don't want to make this post longer.#if u want the details and lore just send another ask! I can give angsty lore!#please ignore every typo. I'm on mobile and fixing tags is horrendous

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merginyourface · 1 year

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Prompt: Ghoul A notices Ghoul B having a rough day and Ghoul A decides to try and cheer Ghoul B up by doing the things Ghoul B loves to do while with Ghoul A (P.S.- I'm really sorry about the quiz, I know you tried your hardest and I'm proud of you for taking it regardless of if you passed or not <3)

wc:~600

“My love, please.” Aether tries to touch her arm, but she pulls away slightly. “I cannot stand it when you cry.”

Cumulus couldn’t even remember what upset her now, yet the tears kept flowing.

“You are the cloud in my sky who should not cry.” He tries her arm again and this time she lets him pull her in.

“I gaze upon your beautiful shape, and I cannot help but gape.” She giggles at the cheesiness of the poem he was coming up with on the spot, if you could even call it a poem. He smiles broadly, joyed to see her smile again.

But a few seconds after their eye contact starts, her bottom lip is quivering again as more tears well up in her eyes.

“My cloud, what can I do?” He coos, crouching down. But once again, she’s not really paying attention to him but wallowing in whatever feelings have her so down.

An idea sprouts, one that makes him cringe, but it is one he knows will work. “How about this,” He puts two fingers under her chin to lock her eyes with his. “Remember that thing you asked me a couple of days ago? When you were getting ready for the dinner party?” Her eyes light up, shining through the tears. He takes that as a yes.

“Really?” She nearly squeals.

“If it will make you happy, then it will make me happy.” He smiles, though in the back of his head he’s sure that he’s going to regret it.

“It would make me really happy.” She nods furiously and darts off to collect items around her room. Eventually, she piles all the things up onto her vanity and points at the chair, “Sit.” She commands.

He sits in the vanity chair, looking into the mirror. He hopes that he’ll remember what his face looked like before. And he looks down at the piles of makeup and other products on the wood surface. He lets out a somewhat dramatic sigh.

“Oh hush up! I’m going to make you look so good.” She grins devilishly. Aether can’t help but wonder if her tears had been real, or just a ploy to allow her to do his makeup after he said no a couple of days ago.

Around 10 minutes of pampering go by. Some stuff went on his cheeks, he felt like a lot of stuff went on his eyes, and now the ghoulette was applying something red to his lips. When the door bursts open and Aether rockets his head over to the intruder.

“Hey Lus, I think I might have left my—” Swiss looks up from the floor for whatever he was searching for and locks eyes with Aether. He lets out a single chuckle, just barely swallowed down. The look Aether gives him could kill, in fact, it does seem to try and force the air out of his lungs.

“Swiss! Come look! Doesn’t he look so pretty!” Cumulus bounces on her feet.

“Yes. He does. So pretty.” Swiss coughs from the strain of holding back laughter. All Aether can do is sit there and take it, not daring to look at himself in the mirror. Not at least, until she was done perfecting him.

I have gifted and youngest child syndrome so your P.S. literally made me cry :') thank you for the kind words ily

#the band ghost #request #btw new pfp dropping soon #im almost done with it #its about time

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colourmeastonished · 3 years

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dani clayton is rep for all my bitches who channel their traumatic experiences into loving fiercely and refusing to let it harden our hearts to other people even though that leaves us open to feeling all of our messy emotions to the max, and we deserve to have that energy reflected back at us and to be understood as the package deal that we are 🙏

#a lot #the irony of my ex telling me that I'd be emotionally destroyed by the bly manor finale #when it's a story about supporting someone you care about through difficult times #and she couldn't even figure out how to react to me crying over the stress of reconnecting with my father ✌️#and I quote 'that was just like... a lot'#grl u haven't SEEN if u think that was a lot #like... one minute ur telling me the origin of ur night terrors and the next me having Father Issues™ is ???#how do u get through life dating queer women and never encounter generic run of the mill Father Issues™??#then having the audacity to be like 'oof yeah bly manor will emotionally wreck u'#why?? bc it reminded me that sometimes people don't pull away when their s/o expresses a messy emotion?#girl had the audacity to recommend this to me AFTER calling it quits #(not 2 be reductive tho bc I know the breakup was more complex than that and she def wasn't ready for a relationship but STILL the IRONY)#grl you've lived nearly 30 yrs of life and you've never learned how to process ur own emotions let alone someone else's smh #how does that even happen???#*cough* youngest child syndrome *cough*#dani clayton my beloved thank u for giving messy emotional b!tches our rights #gonna skip the get 2 know u phase in future and just point to dani like 'I'm gonna act like that - take it or leave it'#like u don't get to be that kind and empathetic and uniquely resilient without Going Through It™#and u don't get to have my compassion and patience and support and strength without accepting the reasons why i'm Like That™#it's us... it's you and me dani... channeling our fear and loneliness and rejection into tryna make sure no-one else ever feels that way #my thoughts #jesus mo shut up it was like a 3 month relationship if we're being generous #and it ended on good terms... get over it babe✌️#also just realised when u use double quotation marks it pops that phrase to the top of the tags... so it should read:#'grl you haven't SEEN 'a lot''#and: 'having Father Issues™ is' a lot'???'#lol ✌️

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morosoro · 3 years

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H, I, and N!

H: How would you describe your style?

Uhhhh.... a mess? Lmao 😂

Tbh I don’t even really think about my style all that much. I recognize that there are different styles when it comes to writing, I can see differences from person to person, I just can’t articulate it and I don’t notice it for myself.

When I’m writing I’m not thinking of structure or wording. I’m just in the zone. I’m in the world I’m creating, reacting to things as they happen just as much as the characters are. It’s like I’m roleplaying with myself in a sense... haha

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

Oh fuck yeah, and this actually ties in with the first question pretty well!

Intense emotions, mental health, deep personal struggle. I love to get wrapped up in somebody else’s head. I like knowing how a character thinks and feels about things, how deeply they hurt or how high they sore. I love reading about their struggles and how they cope with or conquer them. I love being able to understand and relate to a character. I love to feel as if I know them deeply, as if they were an old friend, or a branch off of myself.

But also on the topic of guilty pleasures... I just really like odd AUs that have basically nothing to do with the original content... *ahem*Aliens cocks and space travel *ahem* Because Canon-divergences and coffeeshop meet-cutes just get kinda blah and mix together after you’ve read a few of them, Y’know?

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Well uhhh... none of my own. I’m kinda really possessive about my things. I’m also strong-headed so if things don’t go the way I wanted them to... I get a little upset. (Youngest child syndrome)

But on the same hand I am always extremely greatful for gifts of any kind! If anybody ever wrote something for me I would feel so aaaaaahhh idk how to explain but like just... SERATONIN!

As for finishing something of their own... *cough cough* Heavenly Bodies! *cough cough*

Thank you so much for the questions! I love doing this!

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axelroy · 4 years

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ʻ / let me introduce you to a prized member of our honors society , axel roy-dreyfus . this cismale cancer has been a student at our institution for seven years and is currently a 21 year old junior. through the halls , he has always reminded me of aron piper , but there is always more than meets the eye , like the fact that he regularly takes acid to inspire his artwork . coral cape has made their future just as bright as their smile , i assure you .ʼ ( muse 17 , riley , 20 , cst , she/her )

pheeeeew as if i couldn’t love aron piper more, s3 of elite rlly did me like that jesus fjdkslgjdsf anyway PLS like this or dm me or discord me idc, i would love to plot with all of u <3333

TWS: drugs, depression, death, car accidents, a really fcking long intro post aha !

if u wanna be extra in the mood when u read this …………… pls feel free to have this audio post playing in the bg while u peruse. i have been crying listening to this all week. thanks for coming 2 my ted talk here is axel now !

NAME — axel roy-dreyfus.

NICKNAMES — axel, ace, a.

PRONOUNS — he/him.

AGE & DOB — 21 & august 10, 1998.

PLACE OF BIRTH — new york city, new york.

NATIONALITY — french-american.

MAJOR — visual studies & psychology.

EDUCATION — cape coral international school.

CLUBS — honors society.

* BACKGROUND OVERVIEW !

axel was born the only child to two loving parents, an american father whose family has run a large media conglomerate for decades ( i got insp from hbo succession ok ), and a french mother whose family has a large hand in the development of nuclear energy in france ! so like ........ $$$$$$

there were probably a hundred timelines in which axel became a spoiled brat, but the universe was fortunate and brought two of the most kind-hearted souls that were ( relatively ) uncorrupted by the power and wealth that their families brought ( they were the youngest in their families, probs. youngest child syndrome *coughs* me ). he grew up in a loving household, one that was open and generous—their four empty bedrooms were always available for axel’s friends to stay over if they needed,

axel learned from their optimism, from their generosity—why be manipulative, when his family had the means to procure anything with ease ? it was a dangerous bubble to grow up in, but his parents, being forward thinkers too, saw him as an equal growing up. they’d tell him all the family drama as they rolled their eyes. needless to say, they didn’t have to work too hard to get by in life, to live in luxury.

TW DEATH. on the eve of his parents’ anniversary when axel was sixteen, a sophomore in high school, his parents died in a tragic car accident in paris on the way back to the airport. he was left devastated, alone in a home with no one to return to. END TW.

while he wasn’t around at cape coral, he was sent to live with his uncle ( his father’s brother ) and aunt, where he finally got immersed into the cutthroat life of the roy family, no longer skirting the edges of the family business. he would constantly get compared to his cousins all the time, which he hated. his aunt and uncle also expected him to follow in his family’s footsteps and continue working at the family company—which he also despised, but didn’t voice openly. he’d known about the shady deals, thought the monopolization of media was an evil he’d want to avoid.

finding it hard to express his pain and loneliness after his parents’ death, axel started taking up art and painting more seriously than just a hobby. he painted and painted and painted, staying after school in the art studios just to let his emotions out somehow. and he became talented—garnering interest from his teachers, his peers, the portland community, and eventually worldwide with his social media following.

TW DRUGS. but the art didn’t spark out of nowhere—he certainly needed help, both to inspire his works, but also to relieve the pain of loneliness, to help him transition from his old life to a new. it was weed at first, but he slowly started dabbling in acid, cocaine, and molly, amongst other things. END TW.

now at cape coral, he’s continuing pursuing his career as an artist, with a humble following, slew of awards under his belt, a few international articles published about his unique genre ( see @ canvas section on my pinterest board here ), and has been invited to have his work exhibitioned in a galleries across the nation.

* PERSONALITY !

axel certainly hasn’t lost the positive charm that he had grown up around, with parents like his. he’s pretty go-with-the-flow ( in a sense, far less uptight than his cousins, and probably many other cape coral students ), preferring to stay on the sidelines than get into the spotlight ( unless it’s the art scene ! ).

he’s generous, and sometimes doesn’t realize when he’s being taken advantage of—another trait he’s probably received from his parents, who were far too giving for their own good.

he’s kind, but not a pushover—he’s becoming more confident in who he is, and won’t back down from pushing back in conversations, nor let his friends make terrible decision for themselves. sometimes he’s a bit stubborn in that capacity.

he’s a pretty good listener, and with his share of heartbreaks and pains, he’s been known to give pretty good advice while he’s sitting at his easel, painting away. whether or not he chooses to follow that same advice himself—a little less certain.

he certainly still focuses on his studies—being part of the honors society—as he continues to pursue a double major in visual studies and psychology. perhaps the interest in drugs came first from his interest in the mind itself. so, he’s definitely an academic, but he likes to have fun, too.

ambitious, yes—in the artistic development sense. otherwise, spontaneous, for sure. he’s chasing highs and new experiences that will inspire his artwork in the future.

he’s fiercely loyal to those who he trusts, but wouldn’t necessarily go too far out of line to protect them. he’ll certainly go out of his way to pick someone up in one of the several cars he has ( he’d never had the heart to sell his parents’ cars ), to chat about problems, to work things out—but he probably doesn’t have the chops in him to break laws for people. but he’d never sell them out—he’d just stay silent.

sometimes he tends to zone out, sketching doodles on his notebooks and napkins, reveling in unique natural color combinations, being fascinated by shapes and lines. but he’ll also be the first to apologize for zoning out.

* CHARACTER TROPES !

TW: DEATH, DRUGS — growing up, axel roy-dreyfus was your classic BOY NEXT DOOR. shining smile, perfect manners, star on the cross-country team who had a charming smile and a brain, too. he was raised that way on purpose: picture perfect, for the only child of a roy and a dreyfus, two completely powerful families in the media world. but their expectations were not met because of strict curfews, or perfectly tied ties, no—axel wanted to be perfect to make them proud, because he loved them. because they were strong but caring, who saw axel as an equal. he never called them ‘mom’ or ‘dad’, but ‘william’ and ‘diana’ instead—they were his best friends, they never hid anything from him—not the family drama, not company secrets. they were the perfect little family, one that his friends often envied, but sometimes good things fall apart.

their little picturesque bubble burst quickly when his parents passed away in a car accident when axel was sixteen, and he was thrust into the bustling life of the roy family. though he was privy to the family drama through the lens of his parents before, he never realized how deeply cutthroat and horrible business could be. he would be constantly compared to his older cousins, would be on the receiving end of inquiries about where he would be attending college (cape coral, of course—their entire family’s alma mater). he found himself playing the role of the CONTENDER, often, battling unrealistic expectations to keep his family happy, yes, but more importantly, himself sane. but with axel’s loneliness, with his sadness came an awakening. unable to properly express himself with words anymore, he turned to art. and people realized that he had a gift like no other.

art became a refuge for him—he’d spend hours upon hours in the studios at school, and when he outgrew them (or rather, found other means of inspiration through pills and other substances), he moved his creative space to his dorm, his apartment—wherever he had space to just be. people started catching onto his talent: teachers and professors first, then peers, classmates, friends who supported his endeavors. purchases made their way across the world and his name became more and more familiar. his art is raw, vulnerable, not for the aesthetic but for the emotion elicited from symbols, colors, shapes. it’s his own genre, one that people have been more and more intrigued by these days. it’s gotten to his head, a little, surely—that he’s made a name for himself outside of the roys and the dreyfuses. he now has a bit of confidence behind him, being able to list his earnings and the recognition he has received at local galas—and people are starting to accept him for his future, too. it fuels him, makes him a HOTSHOT, but of course, not everyone knows about the measures he takes to ensure his creative juices keep flowing.

outside of his own personal journey, axel is known to be a loyal friend. the relationship he had with his parents certainly prepared him to be the shoulder to cry on, to give sage advice to people in need. he jokes that his apartment is now half an art studio, half a therapist’s office, by the nature that many people swing by to chat while he paints (sober, or not). he relied on his friends when his parents passed away, not exactly receiving the emotional support from his family that he needed. in that way, he’ll never sell someone out, never tell someone’s secret without their permission. in the perspective of those he cares about, he could be labeled a FERRYMAN, one who helps guide those who are in need of advice or just someone to talk something through with.

* PLAYLIST !

erase — omar apollo:

i don’t mind, my head’s in the sky thinkin’ of you, oh, feelin’ for you, oh oh it’s cold right now, i miss you for life it’s not going away, i thought i’d be okay, yeah

TW: DEATH, CAR ACCIDENTS — this song might more relate to axel’s relationship with his parents more than an ex-lover, though it could pertain to the latter, too. his parents, who died in a car accident on their way back from a trip to paris four years ago, where axel’s mother is from, were his inspiration, his support, his best friends. axel had an incredible bond with his parents—especially, given he is an only child. his parents nurtured a gentle but passionate soul in a family that was full of cutthroat, cold businesspeople. their death sparked his interest in expressing himself through art, as he couldn’t find the words to fully describe his pain and emotion. he misses them dearly, still sometimes finding it hard to navigate life without them, and dedicates his life and art to them everyday.

easy love — lauv:

keep comin’ back, guess you could say i’m attached last time we called it a wrap, i came beggin’ and all that you’re like a habit, it’s bad i got a habit, it’s bad oh no, i’m not even mad

TW: DRUGS — this song describes his personality and love life—unfortunately, he can be a bit reckless when it comes to his own well-being. he certainly dabbles in more than a few drugs, acid and marijuana mostly, to enhance his creative abilities, as it was a piece that he had painted during an acid trip that garnered him the fame and respect he has now. he tries to rationalize it as a creative process, as something necessary to push his artistry to the next level. similarly, in his love life, i imagine that he gets himself into rather toxic relationships. although he, himself, is a selfless person, especially to those he is loyal to, he sometimes doesn’t exactly realize when things are unhealthy to him—bad habits, you could say. he’ll keep crawling back to people as long as they make him feel good, even just for a night.

vincent — don mclean:

now I understand what you tried to say to me and how you suffered for your sanity and how you tried to set them free they would not listen, they did not know how perhaps they’ll listen now

TW: DEATH — this song describes axel’s life as an artist, in the eyes of someone who appreciates his craft. his extended family, including his uncle and aunt whom he now stays with during holidays and family gatherings, don’t quite appreciate nor understand his interest in art. he has struggled, since the day his parents passed away, to get them to understand how much art means to him, and how it’s not just a phase. now at cape coral, where he is being nurtured to reach his fullest potential, he wants the chance to join a residency program after college in paris to reconnect with his mother’s family’s roots—he’s already garnering attention from a worldwide audience. he still faces a lot of backlash from his family, and it affects him more than he would like it to.

* AESTHETICS !

thrift shopping, talking on the rooftops until three am, poems scribbled on masking tape, dried flowers, french music on a record player in the background, paint-stained hands, hoodies on a sunny day, waves crashing on the sand, unfinished sketches on napkins, vintage film cameras, whiskey breath, exposed brick, clean unmade sheets, spontaneously bought train tickets, rose petals, writing letters to his parents, subway chatter, graffiti-ing positive messages on highway tunnels, cigarette smoke, art galleries circled on city maps, coffee under a paris awning.

* HEADCANONS !

he has an instagram page, showcasing his artwork, that has 82.7k followers at the moment. he doesn’t post his face or anything about him personally, just cryptic descriptions of vulnerable art.

he keeps his two last names out of respect and love for his parents—not, like many people believe, to be able to milk the advantages to being born to two families that control great media conglomerates in the world.

one of his most damning vices is cigarettes. he smokes them to feel calm, and often needs someone to swat them away from him.

his apartment is full to the brim of canvases and paintings—it’s honestly a zoo. layers of works line the walls of the hallways, whatever’s newest being the furthest out. there are some hidden gems laying around, if anyone were interested in checking.

he has ear piercings—much to his extended family’s dismay. he never used to wear it around when his aunt and uncle were present, but ever since his newfound confidence has bubbled up in his chest, he doesn’t care anymore.

he’s bisexual.

there’s an enormous chalkboard in his apartment too, and visitors are encouraged to draw and write messages on it—as long as they don’t erase his grocery list. he finds inspiration for his work on there a lot.

he’s a 3x state chess champion—it’s a skill he was taught as a kid, and likes how he had practice reading people from the game.

there’s an apartment in his name in the 7th arrondissement of paris, where he escapes to from time to time, the musée d’orsay is his favorite place on earth.

axel absolutely adores train rides. the ride from new york city (where his aunt and uncle live, and where his parents used to live) up to cape coral is some undisturbed peace where he likes to just sit and think, enjoying the changing colors of the autumn leaves.

* WANTED PLOTS !

these are just like stubs and rando ideas i had ……… pls feel free to pick and choose and mix and match idk i’m also ok at brainstorming ig PLEASE MESSAGE ME I WANT ALL THE PLOTS AND ALL THE ANGST OK THANKS !! i also have a WANTED TAG here

TW DRUGS

a best friend ( preferably since childhood ! ): give me guzman n ander vibes, where the two have known each other since they were little, have been through thick and thin, is axel’s biggest supporter in his art. ( insp: x ) OKF DSJO BUT PLS GIVE ME THIS ……………… 3x07 guys, come on. we all know.

childhood friends / best friends / ride or dies: likely other cape coral students who have been around a long time, they’ve seen axel through his ups n downs, were there for him when his parents passed, and get up to shenanigans at galas and charity events. the elite kids basically. they’re the siblings he’s never had, he’d protect them with his life and offer advice and paint things for them !

someone who goes with him to art museums pls he’d be super excited and cute and tell them everything about high renaissance art and theories of design patterns

good influence, someone who will swat cigarettes out of his hands and keeps him working on his assignments when all he’d rather do is paint. they keep him in line, and although axel might whine a little at first, he really values their friendship and them always looking after him. i’m thinking rebe/ander vibes from this season.

on the other hand, a bad influence, who might introduce him to different drugs, trip on acid with him as he paints, maybe causes him to spend his enormous trust fund on random shit.

tour guide, axel is good-natured and caring, and that doesn’t stop with the current cape coral students. even if some of his peers and his family might scorn him for being more open to them, he wouldn’t hesitate to show some of the new students around and show them the ropes. besides, he knows what it feels like to want to make a name for yourself.

former roommates (probably a cape coral student), who may or may not have been close.

current roommates (probably also a cape coral student), who may or may not mind the fact that he’s been filling their apartment with enormous canvases, probably super super close friend to his, probably someone whose family probably is close to his, too.

neighbors, there’s a lot of possibility here !! maybe they hated the way axel seemed to blare his speakers when he’s painting and tripping, they could be friends who storm each others’ rooms when they’re having bad days. his couch is practically a therapists’ couch at this point.

a critic, who pushes him to be a better artist. to dig deeper, to think further, to challenge himself and his abilities — which might be his downfall, considering he’s already diving into drug use.

his uh ……… first male hookup ??? this probably would have happened maybe like a year ago after him n giuliana broke up !!! he came out as bisexual in high school but had a long-term gf for a while so it would have been his first time rlly experimenting ya feel

on that note other hookups that he might have slept with during this ??? trying time

* MORE !

i’ve got a pinterest board here fjdklsf if u got this far and wanted to check it out ! pls pls plot w me i want all the plots *grabby hands* feel free to msg me on discord or here on ims !!!

#capecoral:intro #intro post.#// pls plot w me …………………… thnx !!!! i am here to create maximum ANGST

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sir-severance · 4 years

Text

connective tissue - mlandersen0

this is my piece for the fantastic Slenderverse Zine (2019). this was a pleasure to write, and i am honoured to have been a part of such a wonderful project. you can check out the zine here, and read this fic on AO3 here.

a quick disclaimer - i hope it's quite clear that i do not support the views which the character Shaun Andersen expresses in this fic. this is an exploration into mental health stigma, the entitlement of neurotypicality and the damage which can come about from both sides of any relationship within which someone is suffering because of mental illness. i am not interested in any discourse. please take this fic for what it is, and if you disagree, feel free to write your own. likewise, please heed the content warnings.

thanks, and i hope you enjoy <3

cws: mental health, mental illness, ableism, sickness, anxiety, depression, blood, twins, abuse, therapy, gore, terror, horror

Shaun’s parents often address him in the same breath as talking about Michael, as if the two are immutably connected, their meaning solely defined by virtue of each not being the other. But the parental Andersens could not always retain this facade of equality in front of their youngest child. No, Shaun found the documents when he was ten, long after Michael’s departure.

At the time, the words he found staggered him with polysyllabic ambiguity:

Monochorionic.

Parasitic.

Anemic.

But one phrase unfurled its roots and lodged itself into the squishy whorls of his brain.

The night of the discovery, little Shaun Andersen ran screaming into his parents’ bedroom, tears and terror marring his face the way fresh understanding of horror always does. When his mother hushed Shaun, held him close and begged him to explain what was wrong, the boy’s answer made the colour flood from her face.

All too soon, Shaun found himself confronted with yet more walls: walls so staggeringly bleached that, to Shaun, the paint served not as a reminder of cleanliness, but of spores and fungi and bacteria, swelling into turgid contaminants ready to burrow through his skin and pick his bones clean.

“Twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome,” the therapist reads from her notes. She smiles at Shaun, with too many teeth. “Where did we hear such big words, hm?”

Shaun keeps quiet. In the time since Michael left, the value of silence impressed its qualities upon him. The art of disquiet is something everyone knows about, but few possess the gall to produce. Shaun maintains fixed eye contact with the therapist, while revelling in the security offered by his glasses. There’s a plastic quality to her dimples: an artificial construction of pleasantry that only a child could see through.

She doesn’t care about you.

Shaun believes there’s relief for both of them when the light goes out of her eyes.

“It’s okay, Shaun,” the therapist says. Her voice quavers noticeably. “I think you’re a very smart boy. You’d like me to tell you the truth, wouldn’t you?”

I think you want to tell me the truth and not have to deal with me, Shaun thinks. The therapist continues on regardless:

“Sometimes, when people have babies, things can go wrong. The baby might come out sick, or a bit different.”

The therapist watches him for a response. Shaun tries his best not to blink. Her mouth twitches.

“When a mom has a baby inside, the baby gets their food from an organ called the placenta. It’s kind of like a phone charger — it gets plugged in to the wall of the mommy’s tummy, and when she eats, nutrients from the food are transferred to the baby. These nutrients are transferred by blood. Do you understand?”

You’re talking to me like I’m an idiot. This doesn’t feel professional at all, is what Shaun Andersen understands. How old does she think I am?

“With twins, sometimes they share one placenta, instead of having one each. And sometimes, blood gets passed between the twins.” Her face creases, like she’s recalling something unpleasant. “This can mean that one twin doesn’t get enough blood — they’re called the ‘donor’ twin — and the other gets too much blood, making them the ‘recipient’ twin.”

The therapist actually looks away before going on, and Shaun is sure it has more to do with practiced decency than genuine upset.

“Michael received the blood your other brother didn’t get.”

It sounds like she’s reading from a script. Maybe she prepared this. Wanted to scare me and take me off guard so she can get into my head. I’m not going to say a damn thing. Fuck her.

“I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did, Shaun.” The therapist’s mouth twists in a grim approximation of sympathy. “But it’s just a fact of life.”

A fact of life that Michael devoured his twin in the womb.

It’s only now that he’s in some lightless attic, face-down on the floor with his skin prickled against the cold, that this wash of memories coats Shaun with their accusatory foam. There’s a peculiar, pickling scent prodding at his gag reflex; this room reeks of mold and misery. It’s as if the air itself is frothing from an unseen mouth. For Shaun, this triggers a memory encased in nausea. A taste identical to the sour pills the therapist gave him that day spills onto his palate: anti-anxiety medication.

Shaun vomited the first batch he took, so he ceased taking them all together. Instead, he replaced each pill in his medication box with chalky, pastel candy, and made a big show of swallowing one in the morning and one in the evening.

He’s just like Michael, really. As long as there are witnesses, he’ll put on a show.

Splinters impale the meat of Shaun’s mouth, and sawdust cakes his tongue. He hacks and coughs, and writhes on the floor. His knees manage to find purchase in the gloom, but his muscles tremble and quiver with the effort of kneeling. He’s been bashed and bruised, dragged carelessly and tossed aside like a used rag. Tenderised meat before the slaughter.

And Michael’s going to be the same.

Shaun’s breath pulses out in panicked bursts. He can just about see his exhalations curling away in the freezing cold. No, he can’t be this weak — he must shove it back, quash the feeling. He’s worth more than this. If he goes back on the things he said to Michael now — horrible, hateful things — then he’ll never be able to live with himself.

So Shaun breathes steadily, working his way around the anxiety attack the way his therapist never showed him. As his heart rate steadies and adrenaline drops, all that energy and fear circumvents his guts, and heads a frontal assault on his brain. This leads to a conclusion burning through his mind with perfect clarity

This is all Michael’s fault.

Shaun never knew the name for whatever disease ravaged his brother’s mind. Not that he ever asked. The less he knew about Michael’s... abnormalities, the better. He remembers phrasing it that way to his parents, when he finally said no to another trip to see the remains of their estranged son.

Each week flowed the same way: stilted conversation between siblings, and pained platitudes from their parents. All meaningless little words of encouragement deliberately skipping over the elephant in the room — or, rather, the room containing the elephant, with its queasy walls and claustrophobic bars on the windows. No one in there ever used words like crazy or sick — in fact, they gave you a sheet of words to refrain from using when in the presence of the patients. All the relatives and guests of the inmates were expected to behave in this fashion.

This nauseated Shaun. He knew his brother was still in there. And he knew better than anyone how Michael liked to play his little games.

Regardless, Shaun tried his best to make Michael talk, and find something recognisable in the muddy depths of his eyes. But every visit, the dark deepened. No matter how many toys he tried to share, no matter how many stories he’d try to tell, and no matter how many times he affirmed to Michael that they were best friends and one day he’d get out of the hospital so they could play again... he stayed the same.

The final straw comes one dismal, rainy Friday afternoon. Shaun and his dad sit next to each other, opposite Michael with a table acting as barrier between them, saying nothing.

An aide took them both aside before they entered the main facility, and explained that Michael is being trialed on another type of medication. The visit is going as miserably as the weather foretold.

Michael looks barely human. Something is altered in the familiar shape of his body, like a bent coat hanger hastily reformed into an approximation of its original structure. The older Andersen brother slumps back in his chair, his skin several shades whiter than the wall behind him. His mouth is cracked with dehydration, and his hair is tangled with sleeplessness and grease. But worst of all are his eyes. They sit listless and devoid of comprehension, with blank pupils gazing aimlessly at his family, through them, and beyond them. A candle snuffed out before shrinkage of the wick.

Shaun remembers the emptiness of his therapist’s eyes. The glee in outwitting her. The pleasure of looking into those sad, brown depths.

There is no joy in peering into Michael’s skull.

Without warning, Shaun’s temper seizes him with all the ferocity a young boy’s hormones could. He slams his clenched fist down on the table, rattling metal. All conversation in the room ceases, a veil of corpselike silence.

Michael, however, doesn’t react. He doesn’t even acknowledge the sound.

The words jump from Shaun’s mouth like oil from a sizzling pan, murderous in their venom.

“You’re such a freak.”

Before the aides can reach him, Shaun’s dad grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him out of the room, into the hallway. Shaun can tell he’s furious, but there’s so much anger pumping through his blood that he just doesn’t care. He needs to do something, anything, to puncture the film over Michael’s eyes. Anything to make him so much as flinch.

But Michael remains unaffected.

As expected, the facility removes them both immediately, and Shaun is given a one-month visitation ban. This doesn’t bother Shaun in the slightest — in fact, he feels victorious, and righteous in his fury. There’s no way he’s coming back. Not this time. Michael squandered his last chance.

Even so, he’ll never forget his last view of that room, before his father pulls him away.

Tears spilling freely down Michael’s stony face.

From then on, the pre-trip talk with his parents is a minefield to navigate. They try so hard to make everything light and cheery, to speak about Michael like he’s still a part of their family, but Shaun overhears them speaking about their visits when they think he’s not listening. Now, more often than not, Michael’s arms are bound throughout their visits. Other times, they’re only able to converse with their son from behind a pane of tough glass.

Sometimes, they came home early.

‘Oh, Mikey’s feeling a touch under the weather today,’ their mother chirps. ‘But he says he misses you lots and lots!’

Her happy tone belies the true quality of their visit. It doesn’t matter. Shaun never asks for further details. Eventually, Shaun is old enough that his moods are ascribed to the terrors of puberty, and he is left to his own devices.

In retrospect, the seven years between Shaun’s Michael-detox and their first meeting as adults seems superfluous. The difference the years wrought upon Michael shocked Shaun.

Where once there existed a timid, chubby little kid with the brightest of smiles, now stood a gangly, hollow-looking man, with eyes like pits of coal. Though the corners of Michael’s mouth upturn upon seeing him, Shaun doesn’t register any warmth.

Somehow, this infuriates Shaun more than his brother’s tears ever could. He’d always assumed that even though his brother is older, Michael would remain the same size — adulthood somehow being barred for the mentally ill. Resentment boils away in Shaun’s stomach seeing how much taller his brother is, how clean-cut his features are. But this isn’t the thing which incenses Shaun the most.

It’s that, in those eyes, those chasmic clefts gouged out in his pale flesh, Shaun saw quiet patience.

Intelligence.

Forgiveness.

Just the mere hint of any kind of pity from his brother makes Shaun’s thoughts curdle with rage. How dare he be okay? He’s supposed to be sick! Isn’t that the whole reason why he got locked up in the first place?

Shaun knows these are irrational and angry thoughts, but would rather cut out his own tongue than internalise them as ‘unfair’. He slaved away the better part of his life playing second fiddle to his parents’ worry and concern, always visiting Michael, paying more attention to Michael... all while their favourite son plays the part of a theatre dummy.

So Shaun makes the decision there and then. He is under no obligation to take care of this man forced upon him by blood — but he will. He will be the most selfless, compassionate human being his brother has ever seen.

Then they’ll see who has the right to forgive.

The walls of the attic Shaun can’t see feel like they’re closing in on his aching body, dragging themselves closer with hidden, noiseless claws. If you hadn’t lied about seeing the Tall Man, he wouldn’t be as sick as he is, his thoughts hiss, and he thinks that the walls are growing mouths and speaking to him, indicting him, readying to pluck his head from his shoulders and smack it on a pike.

Yet, as his fear increases, tiny increments of light make themselves known in Shaun’s vision. Eventually, he’s able to zero in on a shape just out of each — something large and mostly crimson, with a long curved blade extending from its middle. Sickly, distended panic courses through Shaun like a white-hot fever when he recognises the shape.

It’s a fucking chainsaw.

The enormity of the situation crashes into his nervous system. He’s being laid out, prepped and ready for consumption. Oh God, he drugged me to tie me down and cut me open, and then he’s gonna go find Michael and do the same thing-

Keep it together! Express some reticence, for fuck’s sake. You’re not going to break down. You’re not going to give in. Michael’s the one who hurt you, kept hurting you, all this time. Without him, you would have a real family. A home. A future. Not biting the dust spilled on some dank basement.

The attic betrays nothing but the acrid stench of death. People have died here. People have been tied up and carved open like autopsy specimens, all for the gain of their sadistic owner. Shaun, despite his terror, continues to squint at the weapon.

You’re about to bite the dust anyway...

When Shaun sees the blood staining the steel, he screams.

Another flashbulb memory comes searing into his head: his brother’s wafer-thin form keeling over in the snow. That chokehold of panic throws Shaun into immediate action, forcing him to run and cradle the body of his brother. He’s so desperate and terrified, not knowing if this is really Michael, what this body could be capable of...

And yet Shaun grabs hold anyway, all grudges suddenly forgotten, and oh fuck it must be Patrick, because his nose is bleeding and his limbs are as heavy and wet as the white beneath their boots. Shaun hauls him the best he can, inwardly cursing his lack of strength, and as he drags Patrick over to the frozen table he can only pray his mental fortitude is made of stronger stuff.

“I came here to apologise.”

“Really.”

The sarcasm pours out of Shaun without a second thought, so heated it almost scorches the icy air. But there’s no way he could ever dam this wave of fury.

‘There’s still a lot you don’t know...’

It takes everything Shaun has to not to let his poker face flicker, but the rage beneath makes him want to seize Patrick by his lapels and bash him against a wall. How dare he. This freakshow of a bodysnatcher can’t even keep his brother’s body alive and well long enough to stand up while having a conversation, and yet has the nerve to patronise him?

Shaun hears, ‘I’m sorry for Stormy,’ as if from the other end of a tunnel. All that’s brewing in his head is the conundrum sitting in front of him. Two personalities, one body. They’re interchangeable now, one and the same. Twice the twin, half the skeleton. Michael, playing patient zero to a contagion which wrecks and wrings until bloodied flesh is all that’s left behind. Patrick, a disease forged in the womb and soaked into the being of a boy who could have been something different.

Should have been.

Never will be.

No one could reconcile the two but Shaun.

So it must be a sickness, an illness, a disease. And everything bad that ever comes from sweet Michael’s mouth is a result of his condition.

If that’s the case, is it so awful to want to be as far away from them — from him — as possible, whoever — and whatever — he is?

Patrick is only sharing the broken-down condo which remains of his brother’s body.

Taking back his stolen property.

And where does that leave Shaun?

As the unspoken martyr, of course.

There’s only so much room in my head for bullshit, Shaun seethes. I’m not going to live my life cleaning up after him — not for Michael or Patrick.

And that’s it - that’s the one thing that people never let him have. The realisation which hits upon their return to the motel, where Michael cowers beneath the words spat from Shaun’s molten mouth. He always possessed a thought process blessed by rapidity, but a tongue cursed to be silver. Shaun is nothing but a host to a panoply of pain as essential to him as his own veins.

As essential as the blood flowing between Michael, and the brother he never met.

When Shaun storms out into the cold, determined to be somewhere, anywhere that puts great distance between him and the entity Michael/Patrick Andersen, he feels the full force of the Virus, nesting, breeding, multiplying beneath his skin. There’s no room for guilt and worry and pain — just the cure.

To never be near his brother again.

When Shaun saw Patrick’s nose bleeding, he had to swallow back bile. He knew in an instant that their brother never left, not really. Once, connective tissue held the bonds of their brotherhood fast. The transfusion continues. The real question is — who is the donor, and who is the recipient?

Even his own family emphasised the importance of their blood-bond, unable to comprehend Shaun’s behaviour.

“He’s your brother, Shaun, and he needs your help,” his mom tells him one night, barely holding back the tears. “I know he can be difficult to deal with, but this isn’t his fault. He didn’t ask to be sick.”

And Patrick didn’t ask to die, Shaun wants to scream. No one blames Michael for cannibalism, do they?

Now he’s facedown in the wood, sawdust clinging to the hot streaks his tears leave behind, and that mortifying image which plagues his nightmares comes looming large from the recesses of his mind; two twin boys, floating without care in a shared amniotic sac, their umbilical cords respectively attached to the same fleshy hunk in lieu of a beating heart.

Shaun feels like his foetal never-brother. Severed. Shrink-wrapped in his own sac, the very thing keeping him alive. And then eventually swallowed whole.

It’s time for Shaun to cut the cord for good.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? The tears start for real now, fat and salty and rolling down Shaun’s face in a tempest. His internal monologue is louder now, drowning out the background noise of his softer (yet much more insidious) conscience.

Stormy would still be here if you weren’t so fucked up... I could have had a normal life if it weren’t for you...

There’s no time left for forgiveness. Because of Michael... Patrick... because Shaun willingly exposed himself to this pathogen again and again, he is going to die here, in this glacial attic, with no one around to know or care.

But, as the lights are turned off, and a dark, unfamiliar laughter fills his every sense, a set of horrid thoughts riot in the screeching crowd of his brain; the thoughts that could never quite be buried.

Michael didn’t know what he was doing... Michael didn’t know what he consumed…

Shaun once made the mistake of asking his mom what his other brother was going to be called.

No-one ever asks to be infected.

Shaun’s eyes shut against the darkness for the last time.

“I always liked the name Patrick.”

#mlandersen0 #the andersen journals #slenderverse #michael andersen #shaun andersen #patrick andersen #slenderversezine #quinnwrites

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hurriicanes-arc · 5 years

Note

‘ why don’t we take a nap together? we can be nap buddies. ’

she was tough , she wasn’t sick. at least that was what she was telling herself as she practically shivered but felt hot at the same time. maybe there was a draft in the on call room, she wouldn’t be surprised. but the reasoning only lasted a moment before a coughing fit took her by surprise. THIS was going well. “ i don’t need a nap buddy. ” she tried softly, throat raw from all the coughing she’d been doing, when she heard his voice from the doorway. MARK SLOAN, practically a saviour when she needed it. thank god she was facing away from him or her eyes would’ve betrayed her. sure, she didn’t need a nap buddy but she’d kill for one at the same time. especially if it was him, he was always warm.

still feeling his presence a moment later she sighed before turning to face him. “fine, but just for a while..” sliding over just a little closer the wall, she took in a tired breath. “i’ll warn you though. i’m pretty sure i’m DYING.. so just keep that in mind if you really wanna chance this thing.” what a drama queen. that clearly came with youngest child syndrome. “lock the door behind you. i’m not in the mood to get murdered by my brother today.”

@mcxsteamy !

#mcxsteamy #( ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ. | answers. )

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chiropractorcenter · 3 years

Text

The Advantages of Chiropractic Care for Kids

There are a growing number who have realized that are offered for both adults through chiropractic care. The good news: you are nevermore too old or too young to benefit from the treatment offered by chiropractors, which will have the expertise and training to provide superior care for patients. Modern chiropractors understand how to work with even the most modern patients to ensure individual health and well-being.

Chiropractic Care Advantages for Children

When children reach school life and start to communicate with other children in a different setting, they will also become susceptible to their nervous system and spine being compromised. These compromises can be brought about by large backpacks, roughhousing, and their sitting posture.

For example, there is some evidence that advises that chiropractic care may work to relieve and check allergies including watery and itching eyes, coughing and sneezing as well as the general cold. This is not suggesting that chiropractic treatment will reduce these problems; however, it may help to increase a child's immune system over a period of visits.

Treatment for Infants

The chiropractic treatment that your child takes custom-tailored kid, circumstances, weight and height of. The fact is that no minimum age for chiropractic care even newborns may the treatment method. There are some cases where chiropractic care may be able to be used to detect many spinal problems that may lead to asthma, ear infections, and colic. With early detection, you may be able to help to prevent the actual development of these various conditions as well as the complications that are associated with them to improve the quality of life, for even the youngest cases.

Treating Older Kids

As kids age, they may find pain connected with growth and changes in their bodies. A chiropractor can help to improve the movement of blood and fluids to support optimum health. Chiropractor care can be used for kids from infancy through the college years and beyond.. Not only will it help to increase the immune system, but this type of therapy can also be useful for preventing future problems and pain in adulthood.

Regrettably, there is not a lot of medical evidence to support just how powerful chiropractic care is for children and babies. However, research and medical specialists all believe that no harm can be done. There are ten major causes why parents should schedule an appointment with a chiropractor for their baby.

1. To promote a positive mind and nerve growth.

2. To support the overall health and well-being of the child.

3. To promote and increase the child's immune system (potentially decreasing the number of colds, earache, and other general illnesses).

4. Provide relief for children with irritable baby syndrome and colic.

5. Provide support for asthma, allergies, and different breathing difficulties.

6. Improve a child's ability to focus.

7. Develop a child's spinal posture.

8. Reduce digestive issues and different disorders.

9. Help with bed-wetting and other sleep-related issues.

10. To support kids with behavioral problems.

While there are many people against the use of chiropractic care for kids, it has many advantages that can last far into adulthood. If your child optimum health and well-being, scheduling regular chiropractic care visits extremely beneficial.

#chiropractic care #chiropractic treatment #massage therapy #physical therapy #lower back pain #back pain #neck pain #sports injury treatment #sport-related injuries

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myspookyoldhouse · 5 years

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Strange Things are Happening Here (Part 3)

I can't remember the exact timeline of the things that happened. There were so many instances that they were a daily occurance and became simply a part of life.

Things like flickering lights. Clocks not staying running. The tv was constantly glitching. Doors would be open when we swore we closed them. The banging in the basement. The sound of a woman coughing from the back end of the house. The constant feeling of not being alone. Of being watched.

We had started a family. Our first daughter set up in our first completed renovation job. The nursery. It was beautiful. We were so proud of it, and it was my favourite room in the house. Once our daughter was old enough to move to her new room, I spent my nights in there, feeding her, cleaning her, changing, dressing, and singing her to sleep. Until I left. Then she would wake up, sounding on the monitor as though she had been pinched. I had always sworn I heard other noises, but brushed it off as first time mom syndrome.

I constantly felt watched throughout my day with the baby. But not by someone my height. I swore I saw a child size figure in my peripheral vision constantly. Like they were ducking my sight each time. Especially when I was in the kitchen, the stairway hidden by a wall, a game of peek-a-boo around the corner was a constant.

Then I had a heart stopping experience on those very stairs. I had slipped, bringing down laundry. I will never break my word that I felt something stop me. My clothes flew down the stairs, and I seemed to be back on my solid footing. Scared, shaking, grateful. I said "Thank-you" out loud.

Maybe that's where I went wrong, but to he honest it was bound to happen. I saw it. I walked past the stairway, seeing something in my peripheral, but this time I was ready to catch it. I backed up, and there he was. A young boy. About 8 or so. Blond hair, blue pants, white shirt, sitting on the stairs. He wasn't a person. I could see the stairs behind him. Just sitting. Staring ahead.

I quickly went back to where I was going. Blood cold. Heart beating so hard I could't hear a thing. I did not just see that. I swallowed hard. And went back. He was gone.

I sat down in the kitchen. That did not just happen. I'm going crazy. I kept it to myself. I did not need to make my husband think I was going bananas from being housebound. I was just tired.

Except I kept seeing him. Standing next to the stairs watching me in the kitchen.

Eventually during a conversation about the happenings in the house I had mentioned I was convinced Carl was gone, but that there's someone still there. I joked and said maybe it was the little boy from my dreams. My husband said "You mean the one that sits on the stairs?"

Again. It's this cold rush that hits you and washes over you like a wave. He didn't just say that. I almost yelled. "I've seen him too!! I can't believe this...you mean he's real."

He nodded. "White shirt. Looks to be blond. But he's kinda see through. Sits about the third step up. Seen him a few times. I just didn't want to freak you out." Too late. I was about as freaked out as they come. I had actually witnessed a...ghost. They were actually a thing. A figure. I had always dismissed Carl as merely an energy bouncing around like an echo. I didn't see him as a figure. I had no idea what he looked like. But I saw this boy.

As the time went on I had our second daughter. I would accidently fill a third juice cup. Get out a third snack plate. I would laugh at myself. It was just a part of life seeing him randomly around. However I did eventually ask him out loud to stop bothering my babies while they slept. I saw less of him. Maybe I hurt his feelings. I'm loosing it. I was wrong. I am nuts.

That was life for a bit. Raising babies into toddlers, toddlers into talkers. My oldest talking nice full sentences. Talking to herself constantly.

Eventually she told me about her friend.

I said "What friend?"

"George!" She smiled.

"Who's George? What does he look like?" I held my breath.

"He's blond, like me! He's older though. He has blue pants and a white shirt. And blue eyes." She widened her eyes as she said the word with emphasis.

"Is he your age?" I asked trying to keep my cool as my heart did acrobatics in my rib cage.

"No, he's bigger than me." She said pointing upward.

"Is he nice?" I asked.

"Yes. But he bugs me at night. I don't like that."

For the last 3 years, I had spent getting up at 3pm or around then, to a crying child. Every. Night.

I was furious. I was scared out of my head. I was not able to show any emotion because I didn't need to scare her. My main concern.

I told my husband that night.

He asked her about it. She was consistent.

Crap.

So life went on. She and her baby sister seemed content. I would occasionally ask about how George was doing. Hear about his Mom, and his older brother.

I would keep telling myself, she's overheard something. This is just a coincidence. Anything so I could get as much little sleep as possible.

I stopped seeing him. She didn't. She said he just wanted to play, and was not scary or mean.

She'll outgrow this.

She did. She stopped mentioning George. For a while.

She was older than 10. "Remember my imaginary friend George? "

"Yes." Not this again. I was convinced he was like Puff The Magic Dragon, and lost his playmates to video games.

"I still swear he was real"

I just stared.

"I'm sure he felt real. Our imaginations are awesome at that age." I needed to pretend I could do this. Again.

That was it until the day my youngest and I were going down the stairs. Her maybe 4 stairs below me, not fast, not carrying anything. When I watched her foot slip on the edge of the stair, she started to fall. I almost fell reaching for her, and almost like in slow motion, I watched her lift upwards and back onto the step.

It was like nothing I'd seen. We stopped. She turned to me, "Did you just grab me?"

I was still to many stairs behind her. She looked confused. There was no way I touched her.

"No, you were too far. It looked like you hopped back onto the step."

"No, I was grabbed."

We stood there for a bit. That cold wash.

Silently. Carefully. Went down the rest of the stairs.

They now no longer have the luscious indoor/outdoor carpeting that made them so nice and slippy.

They eventually outright asked. "Do we have ghosts? Was George a ghost?"

Of course we don't know. I did my best. I explained my theory on the energy echo. Maybe that's what he is, and she just picked a common name and kept them from being scared, but not keeping myself from being worried.

We tried to brush it off. It turned into a family joke. The boy one the stairs. Owning the town 'Haunted House'. Nobody else wanting it because it had ghosts, and nobody in town would tell us about it, but would give is that funny look when you told them what house we live in.

It was life. Life with spirits. Energy. Something. Someone. Some more than one.

We didn't talk about it beyond the family. People think you're crazy. But at least living as a family we have each other to understand what it's like to live with history hovering around you. History you have no clue who they are or what happened to them. Until you start to research your houses history. Who owned it. Who built on it.

We needed to do this to unlock the mysteries. Well that is just what we did. And almost wished we hadn't.

#ghoststories #hauntedhouse #truestories

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reomanet · 6 years

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6 children hospitalized in Minnesota after coming down with rare, polio-like disease

An outbreak of a mysterious disease in Minnesota that doctors say resembles polio has left children partially paralyzed and health experts baffled. Quinton Hill, 7, spent two weeks in a hospital undergoing a range of tests, according to his parents, before he was finally diagnosed with acute flaccid myelitis, also known as AFM, a rare and serious condition that typically strikes children and affects the nervous system resulting in muscle and nerve weakness. (MORE: Child Dies as Health Authorities Confirm 2 Cases of Rare Neurological Illness) James Hill Quinton Hill, 7, spent two weeks in a Minnesota hospital undergoing a range of tests before he was finally diagnosed with acute flaccid myelitis or AFM. “He started just complaining of just really bad neck stiffness. He couldn’t move his neck and then his left arm,” Quinton’s father, James Hill, told ABC News affiliate KSTP-TV . “We thought it was a ‘dead arm,’ like he was laying on it funny so we didn’t think much of it at first…Couple hours into not being able to move his arm, we started getting more concerned.” The Minnesota Department of Health said that six pediatric cases of AFM have been reported since mid-September. “It can be a complication following a viral infection, but environmental and genetic factors may also contribute to its development,” the health department said Friday in a press release. James Hill James Hill and his son Quinton Hill. Hill said Quinton complained of a stiff neck at first and then couldn’t move his neck or his left arm. (MORE: CDC Investigating Rise of Paralysis-Causing Syndrome) Patients experienced weakness in one or more of their limbs, and all cases of AFM have been hospitalized, according to the Minnesota Health Department. Two cases required treatment in the intensive care unit for respiratory support, and all cases involved children younger than 10 years old from the Twin Cities area or central and northeastern Minnesota. The Minnesota health department issued an alert last Thursday, urging hospitals and clinics to be on the lookout for any symptoms associated with the rare disease. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which said AFM presents like polio or West Nile virus, estimates that fewer than one in a million people in the U.S. will get AFM each year. Symptoms include weakness, loss of muscle tone, facial droop, difficulty swallowing, slurred speech and in severe cases, paralysis. However, there has been a national uptick in cases of AFM since 2014, with 362 cases recorded between 2014 and 2018, according to the CDC and the Minnesota Department of Health. The Minnesota Department of Health said that the state had three cases of AFM in 2014. Since then, however, the Minnesota Department of Health said it has seen an AFM case about once a year. While there are a variety of possible causes for the disease, there is no known cure. James Hill Quinton Hill is one of six cases of AFM in Minnesota reported since Sept. 20. The department has issued a health alert. (MORE: 8 Children Hospitalized for Possible Rare Nervous System Disorder) “It starts off with a cold, cough, runny nose, congestion and then before you know it, you have weakness and paralysis of your arms and your legs,” Dr. Janette Nesheiwat, a family physician, told ABC News. After a frightening few weeks, Quinton is starting to get his strength back, his father said. In the meantime Quinton is adapting to live without the use of his left arm. 0 Shares Email Star Comments Add Interests Customize your news feed by choosing the topics that interest you. To save your interests across all devices Log In or Sign Up &raquo 6 children hospitalized in Minnesota after coming down with rare, polio-like disease Florida braces for monster hurricane: ‘We haven’t seen anything like this’ in decades Nikki Haley resigns as UN ambassador, will leave at end of the year, Trump says State Department quietly shutters questionable $70 million Cyprus base Couple who lost home in wildfire settles dispute with AT&T over burned equipment UN calls for investigation into jailed Venezuelan leader’s death Researchers identify second suspect in nerve agent poisoning as Russian intel officer Trump to announce plans to expand ethanol use at Iowa campaign rally Rescue crews searching for Utah man who vanished while hiking 3 weeks ago Boy, 2, shot dead in Chicago becomes city’s youngest gun violence victim this year Ivanka Trump would be ‘dynamite’ as UN ambassador, according to her dad Warren cites Kavanaugh battle in campaign for Georgia governor nominee Abrams Kavanaugh to hear his 1st oral arguments as Supreme Court justice In midterm elections, parties seize on Kavanaugh fight Bernie Sanders ramps up campaigning for Democrats Trump apologizes ‘on behalf of the nation’ to Kavanaugh during swearing-in Trump advocates for ‘stop and frisk’ to ‘straighten out’ Chicago Trump says he won’t fire Rosenstein ANALYSIS: Kavanaugh confirmation marks triumph of tribalism Susan Rice will give ‘consideration’ to running against Sen. Susan Collins Supreme Court ‘will nullify’ Roe v. Wade even if it doesn’t ‘overturn’ it: Senate Dem North Korea’s Kim Jong Un would ‘ardently welcome’ visit by Pope Francis Kanye West to meet with Trump, Kushner at White House US student detained in Israel for alleged boycott support Poisoning suspect honored by Putin in 2014, UK group says Israeli military in pursuit of deadly Palestinian attacker Florida Democrats sue to extend voter registration deadline Is Brazil democracy at risk with far-right extremist in presidential runoff? 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