#after a few weeks spent suffering postpartum depression

[yuesya]

I’m glad there’s SOMEONE in the Gojo Clan in the Cursed Twin au that is horrified by what they did to Shiki, AKA Shiki and Satoru’s mom.

What happened to her in this AU, if I may ask?

Muneyoshi tries to delude himself he did the right thing and before finding about the situation in one of your shorts, he is proud because Satoru is an outstanding genius and thinks they all did the right thing, but how did his wife - who actually loved Shiki and was horrified by this filicide - act towards Satoru throughout the years? Does she learn of Shiki before Muneyoshi does? Does she help Satoru hide Shiki from her husband in the early years? Did she eventually give up and also quietly followed the Gojo’s actions in raising Satoru as the genius Six Eyes? She dead?

I know this AU isn’t exactly the AU for fluff and unicorns, but is there absolutely no ray of sunlight in the shithole that was the Gojo Clan?

Gojo Hina knew her role:

To be the model wife of Gojo Muneyoshi, and the perfect mother to their future children. As far as marriages went, Muneyoshi wasn't the worst man she could've married. Sachie's husband was a high-ranked clan member with a penchant for drinking, and she's seen the bruises that Midori's husband left on the unfortunate girl's body. Even helped Midori apply herbal ointments, and bandage the worst of the injuries.

In comparison, even though Muneyoshi came off as cold and was a quietly reserved man, he was always unfailingly polite and treated her respectfully. He made an effort to portion out time for them to share their meals together, no matter how busy his schedule became.

Hina didn't love him, but she thinks that she could learn to, someday.

Would they finally become a true, loving family? ... It was something that Hina had never dared to hope for, even as a young girl. Her father's position in the main family ensured that Hina and her sisters would be bargained away in arranged marriages that would be advantageous for him. Hina's own mother walked the halls with empty steps and soulless eyes, and the girl dearly feared that would turn out to be her own future, one day.

Otherwise she would... she would...!

...

Fortunately, fate smiled upon her; Muneyoshi was a good man, and Hina was... content.

The first year of their marriage was a series of careful overtures, discrete glances, and all the things that one might expect to see in romantic stories of courtship, except their rushed political marriage had skipped over entirely.

The second year, Hina became pregnant.

Who would the little one look like? she marveled, one hand coming to a gentle rest atop her stomach. Would their child have Muneyoshi's dark ebon hair, glossy like the wings of ravens? Or would they have the lighter shade of Hina's own?

Would they be a boy, or a girl? The Gojo Clan insisted on being traditional, so instead of getting proper checkups and scans at a hospital, women were forced to rely on the clan's healers and midwives instead. Who were skilled in their own rights, to be fair, except it also meant that there was no way of knowing an unborn child's gender for sure.

In a soft voice, Muneyoshi asks her if she would like to name their child. For a moment, Hina's voice catches in her throat.

"'Satoru,' for a boy," she says. The character for enlightenment, and understanding, because Hina dearly hopes for her child to be able to look past the outdated ways of the clan and become someone capable and intelligent in their own right. Able to think for themselves, instead of mindlessly swallowing the views and beliefs of others. "And... 'Shiki,' for a girl."

Yes. The character for awareness and realization, to be discerning.

"Those are lovely names," Muneyoshi's voice is gentle. The way he looks at her is feather-soft, and it makes her cheeks warm with a faint blush.

Then, he tells her about his own childhood. How his father had always, always passed over him in favor of his more talented brothers, how the only time the man had even looked at him was on their wedding day, when their marriage finally brought the man the advantage that he needed to curtail his rival, Takatomi.

"When our child is born," he says, quiet and determined, "It doesn't matter if they're a boy or a girl. It doesn't matter how many more children we have in the future. I... want to nurture them. I won't be like my father. I'll give them all the attention they deserve. The proper resources that they need to grow into strong, capable individuals. I won't let anything obstruct them, or pull them down."

Hina falls in love just a bit more with her husband, at that declaration.

Yes, she's sure of it. Their child will be loved.

"Hear that, little one?" Hina says to her bloated stomach with a smile. "Your father and I are looking forward to meeting you."

There's a responding light kick beneath the palm of her hand. Hina's heart melts with the surge of warmth that rises in her chest, accompanying her child's movement.

Part of her is scared and nervous, because what if she's not a good mother? She doesn't know how to be a mother! And Hina is sure that her own mother is not a role model to emulate for motherhood. Should she just try to do the opposite?

But Muneyoshi will be with her, and his heart is in the right place. Both of them are determined to do right by their child, and Hina will-

Hina will-

"Twins! The girl's having twins, someone call-"

"That's a bad omen, isn't it? The main family isn't going to be very happy that-"

"Blood, she's losing blood, hand me the-"

"Oh my god. The boy. Look at the boy's eyes!"

"That's-?! Report this to the elders! It's the Six Eyes! Finally, another child has been born with the Six Eyes, how many generations has it been since-"

"Don't start celebrating too early, we still don't know if-"

"Wait, what about the girl? The... twin..."

...

Twins are cursed. Better to give birth to a stillborn than a pair of twins, or so the saying went. Because twins come from one entity in the mother's womb, and so they steal from each other. Fight with each other. Twins are cursed, because neither will ever realize their full potential, because they're incomplete on their own.

Hina. Doesn't. Care!

Her children are promptly taken away from her, as soon as they are born. Hina is left struggling weakly on the bloodied bed, to no avail, and the following days are nerve-wracking.

Your son is born with the Six Eyes.

It is confirmed. Your son possesses Limitless! Six Eyes, and Limitless! At long last, the Honored One is returned-

Part of Hina lights up with fierce joy and pride, upon hearing the news. Her son has inherited the prized cursed technique and ocular curse of the Gojo Clan! The first in hundreds of years!

Another part of her remains trembling with fearful trepidation. What about my daughter? What about Shiki?

...

Shiki is dead.

Muneyoshi killed her.

“... Muneyoshi, what did you do?! You monster, you wretched excuse of a husband, give me back my dAuGHTER-!”

How could he?! Hadn't he been the one who'd said that he would protect and cherish his children? To nurture them? To ensure that nothing would... obstruct or... drag... them... down...

Ah.

Is this how it's going to be, then? Satoru was his son, but Shiki wasn't his daughter?

...

Hina walks through the halls of her own home, feeling like a stranger. Rooms that are full of sunlight are now cold and dim. Walking into the nursery room that she and Muneyoshi had prepared for their child feels like stepping into a grave.

Shiki doesn't have a grave. They didn't even have the decency to write her name down in the clan registry! Instead, they just swept her infant daughter's corpse under the rug because they wanted to deny that she ever even existed-

Hina can't-

Hina can't-

She can't live like this.

One night, with shaking hands, Hina forms a noose out of her bedsheets, and throws it over the rafters. Steps on the edge of her bed. Closes her eyes, raises her neck and-

-falls.

Hina tumbles roughly to the ground with a startled gasp, because the bed had moved. Why? How?! She's not drunk, and there's no way that inanimate furniture just moves-

-on its own-

... oh.

Hina stares. A formless cloud of darkness dives under her skewed bedframe before she's able to get a clear view of it, but Hina can... Hina can feel it. There's a connection, from her to this odd cursed spirit -and there's no doubt that it is a cursed spirit; Hina might not be a sorcerer, but she grew up in a sorcery clan. Speaking of, how in the world was there a cursed spirit in the Gojo Clan? To be fair, it had a weak presence and Hina barely sensed any resentment from it, but that still didn't explain...

Hina slowly lowers herself in a crouch, cautiously peering towards the cursed spirit from where it's hiding under the bed. It shrinks in on itself, hiding from her with a wail-

An infant's cry-

Intuition clicks, and the pieces fall together in her mind. Hina trembles. "... Shiki?"

Her daughter. That's her daughter, turned into a cursed spirit by unjust murder at the hands of her father, that's her daughter-

Tears stream down Hina's cheeks as she finally reaches for her child. There's a faint air of confusion that Hina can sense emanating from her, which makes her cry even harder.

But, there's no time to lose.

She doesn't know how Shiki has been able to go unnoticed all this time, but this definitely won't last. The Gojo Clan is a clan of sorcerers, and it won't be long before her lingering presence is discovered, and the last traces of Shiki are erased. And even if a miracle happened and no one found her -how long would it last, once Satoru started training to become a sorcerer? If one day Satoru came back and found a cursed spirit in his home, wouldn't he exorcise it without a second thought? He wouldn't even know that he'd be killing-

Wait.

Satoru.

Satoru.

... Hina knows what to do.

For the first time, Hina holds her child in her arms. Shiki is oddly docile -can she sense the same connection that Hina feels? The bond between a mother and her newborn child that somehow transcends even death? Hina croons softly to the formless mass of darkness, where the silhouette of something that vaguely resembles a fetus can be glimpsed in its center.

She picks up a knife, and brings Shiki to Satoru's nursery room.

... Satoru is asleep. Of course he is, it's the middle of the night. Shiki stirs curiously, hesitantly lifting a messy tendril to reach for her brother, and Hina feels her heart break all over again.

In another world, if we didn't belong to the Gojo Clan. Would the four of us have been... happy?

Hina shakes her head roughly. Now is not the time for any doubts -and so she steels her will.

... Hina is not a sorcerer. However, her family comes from a long line of powerful sorcerers -one of her ancestors had, in fact, been an honored sorcerer who'd possessed both Six Eyes and Limitless. The very same one who'd died fighting the Zenin clan head at the time, one who'd inherited his clan's Ten Shadows... which then led to the family's difficulties within the Gojo Clan for several generations afterwards.

Her family had nursed a grudge against the Zenins. Decided to investigate the Ten Shadows, not only in terms of the shikigami that could be summoned... but also the particulars of shikigami binding. Which, coincidentally, was also related to the binding of cursed spirits.

"Shhh, be good, Shiki," she whispers to her daughter. "Satoru's cursed energy will be enough to mask your presence. Shadows are fragile, and this won't hold forever, but for now... Protect each other. Go, and stay safe in your brother's shadow."

Ten Shadows allowed a sorcerer to call upon their shikigami with no need for any preparations. Other shikigami users needed to pay a price, in order to bind their familiars. As for what Hina was attempting...

Ritualistic sacrifice. It was only fitting. Now, in order to complete this binding, there was only one thing left to do.

Hina tips her head back and slashes her knife across her throat.

#QA #the sad thing is #satoru and shiki have no memory of their mother #it's just them and muneyoshi for as long as they've ever known #D: #to the rest of the gojo clan poor hina just lost it after childbirth #after a few weeks spent suffering postpartum depression #the suffering woman killed herself over her son's cradle #'we're lucky that the crazy woman didn't try to kill the honored one while she was at it' #'keep better control of your household #muneyoshi does not respond #he keeps a shrine in his house for her #and every year he visits his wife's grave #muneyoshi never remarries despite numerous suggestions and offers #Writing #twins au

[adaptacy]

Survivor!Leland Dad Headcanons

i am so so so so head over heels for this gorgeous ball of fluff i cannot even explain. literally spent the past like 4 hours rambling about him i cant get over him hes so MMM

Cw: mild angst, i'll make the angsty paragraphs purple so you can avoid them if you just want fluff :)

!!WARNING!!: you will get baby fever.

Leland is a country boy at heart, and he definitely chooses to settle down with you on a small ranch complete with a few acres of property, just in case you ever want to have livestock or expand, but also because he wants room to build playsets and make sure his kids are getting out and have space to play outside.

He'd buy the wood to make a playset, and he'd get all of his dad's tools together and stand out back, staring at the pile of scrap, trying to figure out what to do with it. He wasn't all that familiar with it, but he wanted something handmade- he wanted to be able to build a play set so he could tell his kids about it. You'd go out back and chat with him about it, and every time he explained his vision to you, it was something different.

After about a month, you ended up just purchasing one of those store-made play sets and gave him some of the supplies as well as the instructions. However, he used the wood parts he'd gotten for the bulk of it. The playset ended up looking a little strange- most of it was natural wood, but then the roof and stairs were plastic, and the slide, and the railings, but it had a bit of charm to it. And Leland loved bragging about how he built it himself. You still remember the large grin he wore when he presented it to you, and then leaned down, speaking to your stomach and telling your baby how about all the fun they were going to have on it.

He spent the next two-weeks baby proofing it. Padding everywhere, he managed to static-proof the slide, he added extra stability to the fences, and it ended up looking even more... unique. You teased him about it, telling him that kids were going to find a way to get hurt no matter how much he baby proofed it, but he was stubborn that some was better than none. You let him get away with it, until...

He started baby proofing the house. Some, you understood. Outlet covers. Cabinet locks. Baby gates by the stairs- that was all fine. But then he started putting rubber softeners against every sharp surface, he moved around all of the silverware so that it was out of reach- out of your reach, too, and hardly organized. You put an end to this really quickly, and although he was clearly anxious about your kids finding a way to hurt themselves, you'd tell him that- yeah, they were kids. That's what they were great at. He was just making your lives harder without really doing anything. So, he took it back a notch, though you did notice him sprinkle in random rubber rounders on sharp corners. You didn't call him out on it, and he eventually was satisfied, and stopped, leaving it to rest.

He dresses his babies in overalls and cow-print onesies, the fabric always has some sort of pattern on it, whether its small horses or sunflowers- whatever it was, it had a pattern on it. He wasn't very good at picking out outfits for them, as they very often clashed and he didn't understand that you can't just mix patterns, but with a bit of guidance from you (and you supervising him when you shop for clothes), he slowly got better at picking out outfits for them, and also started getting a bit better at picking out his own outfits as a bonus.

While it wasn't a terrible case, you did suffer from a bit of postpartum depression, especially with your first, and Leland felt awful about it, like genuinely gut-wrenchingly bad, so he did everything possible to make things easier on you. He always offered to be the one on wake-up duty, refusing to let you get up out of bed when the baby started crying. If you wanted, he'd go and get them and hand them off to you, letting you hold them for a little while and let them fall back asleep before he returned them to the nursery.

One night, you'd waken up to the baby crying, but Leland reassured you that he'd take care of them, so you went back to sleep. When you woke up about an hour later, Leland still wasn't there, and you grew a little worried. You got up out of bed and checked the nursery, and both of them were gone. You immediately went into a panic, and you headed down the stairs, only to find Leland on the living room carpet with your baby, leaning against the couch as he dangled a foil toy above them. He yawned; he looked absolutely exhausted, and he was dozing off as he bobbed the toy up and down.

"Lee?" "Huh-? I'm awake, I'm awake, where is she?" He jolted awake, looking around until he spotted your daughter reaching up for the toy above her head, and he let out a breath of relief. "Sorry, she just would not go back to sleep. I came down to start the coffee, and set her down here, and.... Guess I just dozed off." You laughed, walking over to him and sitting next to him, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Do you wanna go get some sleep? I don't mind starting some coffee and watching her." "Are you sure?" "Positive. Go get some sleep, babe, you're all good," you reassured. He kissed your cheek, and then kissed his daughter's forehead before heading back upstairs.

Especially for your first kid, he got really anxious when they'd cry. He'd try all sorts of things- tried burping them, tried feeding them, tried playing with them, anything he could think of. And it took a lot of persuasion for him to realize that, no, your kid was not dying, they were a baby, and babies cry. He got a lot more accustomed to this idea by the second, and then the third, and was pretty much a pro by the fourth kid.

Oh yeah, four kids. Three girls and one boy. He is SUCH a girl dad and I will not be accepting criticism on this.

Every single time you gave birth, you'd hold the baby for about fifteen minutes before passing it off to Leland, who refused to give it back for at least an hour. He'd tell you to just get some rest, you deserved it, and he just wanted to take the trouble off your hands. "Our baby is not trouble," you'd remind, but he'd shush you, and as time went on, your kids started chiming in, telling you "Just get some sleep, mom!", and you'd pretend to go to sleep, and Leland would sit on the floor with them, letting them see their new sibling.

He wouldn't let them be held by any of your kids, he didn't want to risk the worst, but he'd talk it through with the kids, explaining the story that Mom worked really really hard for their new sibling, so they needed to be gentle with them, and be patient. The older ones understood it, but the younger ones had a little trouble grasping the fact that babies could be loud, and annoying, and frustrating, but he'd explain to them that babies can't do anything else because they don't know much. Exactly the way that you'd first reassured him about his anxieties with the baby crying.

Another thing that never changed were his occasional anxiety attacks, usually after a bad nightmare back to the event, or when he couldn't sleep despite his meds, and he paced in the bathroom, running his fingers through his hair over, and over, and over again. Thinking about the what if's. Thinking about all of it. And he'd get on the edge of tears, the edge of really breaking down, before he'd go into the nursery and sit next to the crib. He'd set his hand inside, and the moment that his baby's tiny fingers wrapped around one of his, he'd let out a tense exhale, managing a smile. Even when they were grown, he'd stand in the frame of their door in the middle of the night, reassuring himself that he'd done fine. That he'd made a life for himself. Made a family for himself. That they'd be proud of him. And while it never got easier, he got better at understanding it, at calming himself down, at reassuring himself.

As his kids get older, they start asking about his scars. You overhear it from where you're cleaning in the kitchen, and you step closer, listening in. At first, you worry that he'll shut down- you know how sensitive subject it is for him, and there's silence.

"Daddy?" Your daughter asked, and you could hear a sniffle. He let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah, see, you aren't s'posed to know about 'em. Stuff you don't wanna know about your daddy, kiddo," he'd respond, and you could practically see the pout on her face. It was his fault he spoiled them so much. "C'mon, daddy, tell me! Please? I promise I won't tell anyone else," she hummed. "Nobody? Not even your brother?" "Nobody," she assured, and he sighed. "Well, before you were born... I went on a lot of adventures. Me and my friends. See, we had to fight these real bad guys. During the battle, they got a good couple of hits on me, and that's what the scars are from." "Did you win?" There was another pause. "Yeah, sugar, I won." "Where are your friends now?" Another pause. "They're out there protectin' others. They don't have kids like me and your mom. I had to retire from kickin' butt," he teased. "You're still my hero, daddy." You smiled, and you could hear his voice break as he replied with, "I love you, baby. Don't ever forget that, alright? No matter what happens." "I know, I love you too, dad."

It wasn't long before your kids started to touch his scars in passing, when they were playing with him, or when he was sitting on the couch next to him. They'd lean against his shoulder and touch the ones on his forceps, ones that you knew were far too small to be sensitive. But then they'd touch the ones on his back, and you'd hear him let out a quiet grunt, trying to shift- not shift away, but shift so that his back faced them, and they'd ease up their pressure. He'd remind them to be gentle, and they'd oblige, gently tracing the scars on his back.

He understood that they were curious; they were young, and touch was how they explored. He would've been curious too, at their age. So he was patient with them, and understanding. Even when they'd accidentally poke at a sensitive spot, and his jaw would tighten, but he never got angry at them. Sometimes, he'd give you a look, and you'd understand immediately, and distract the kids with something else so he could have his personal space.

It wasn't long before a lot of his scars were named. The ones on his back were Billy and Jessie, and the one on his chest was Hugh. The others had names too, but they changed pretty often. Those three remained the same, though. Sometimes the kids would line them with colorful markers, drawing wings around them or drawing faces on the scar tissue, and he got used to them messing with the scars, and it started to affect him less.

From the minute they grasp the concept of walking, those kids are dancing. Or, at the very least, bouncing as Leland danced around them, singing to whatever was on the radio at that moment. He loved having dance parties with his kids, and you'd join in, and he'd twirl you, your kids acting as a hype squad as the two of you danced. He liked letting his kids pick out something from his vinyl collection and putting it on, dancing along to his favorites and teaching them how to dosey-doe and square dance.

The first time his daughter fell off of her bike, he cried way more than she did. She was already back on the bike, asking for Leland to help her, and he was practically bawling, talking about how he was so proud of her for being so strong. You'd laugh, and step in, helping her out while he collected himself.

The moment that his daughters have enough hair to clip a bow on, he's doing it for them. He does it for every outing, all the way until they graduate. Every prom, he set up one of the bedrooms as a sort of salon, and he did all of their hair for them, even the ones who weren't going to prom that year. And every year, he was teary-eyed as he did it, rambling about how much they've grown up.

With his son, most people expected him to go hog wild with the sports dad thing, but he was entirely the opposite. he didn't want his son to get hurt, so he never even encouraged the idea of sports.

"Lee, you were in football in high school. Don't you want that opportunity for him?" "I knew a guy who was paralyzed from football." "You knew a guy, or you heard it on the radio?" "..................I'm not takin' any risks."

He swears your hormones are contagious. If he walks in on you crying, he starts crying, and he never cried before you had kids. And then both of you would be crying, and neither of you would know why, so you'd start laughing, and then you'd go back to crying again. He didn't understand it in the slightest, but he was fine as long as you and his kids were.

Speaking of hormones, you had to sit him down when your oldest daughter got about 12, and you gave him a very in depth discussion about how periods work, what he should expect, and what he can do to help.

The next time he came back from the store, he had a box of every single brand of pad and tampon. And he assured you that it was important because you never know what might work. Well, what worked was the first box that they tried, and now Leland was left with a lot of boxes and a lot of period products. So, what did he do?

He broke down the boxes and took out all of the period products. And he made a fort with the boxes, using the pads as adhesive and using the tampons as decoration. You and your two daughters stumbled across him working in the living room, laying on his back as he used a pad to tape two boxes together.

"Dad...? What are you doing?" Your eldest asked, the three of you exchanging a glance. "Are you okay, daddy?" The younger one added, and he sat up, turning towards the three of you with the happiest, most proud-dad grin on his face. "It's a period palace!" He laughed, showing off his work.

The kids didn't play in it much, but he and Jacs had their fun with it, and before long it was thrown out, probably for the best.

When referring to him in conversation with your kids, you'd refer to him as Dad, or Daddy, and he'd refer to you as Mom. However, when he was being more affectionate, he'd refer to you as Mama instead.

#tcm #adapting to leland mckinney #leland mckinney #leland tcm #leland mckinney x reader #leland mckinney x reader fluff #leland mckinney angst #leland mckinney headcanons #leland mckinney fluff

[mrs-hollandstan]

More Than Perfect || Sam Holland

Warnings: mentions of nudity, mentions of childbirth and the complications afterwards, self-doubt, language?, babiessss, Sam just being a supportive cutie

Word Count: 1,720

Author’s Note: Hopefully you guys enjoy a little bit of dad!Sam. Lemme know :) Also, huge credit to @/marsbudge on Instagram for the picture on the right. She’s amazing in expressing her beauty and is the whole reason I created this piece. Moms/ women in general are fucking superheroes. 

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There was nothing like having a baby. You were told that once you had a little one, your life would change and you would never understand the absolute love you have for this tiny human you'd made. When you and Sam got pregnant with your daughter, he was infatuated with your naked body. The tummy and the thick thighs and the ever growing breasts. Not that you yourself particularly minded being nude around your fiancè or just in general, especially when it just so happened that in the worst weeks of your pregnancy you'd be in the middle of summer. 

When your belly popped towards the bottom, blossoming up the further you got in your pregnancy, Sam lost his mind. He loved the bump and when his hands wandered, it's often where they ended up. More than anything, Sam appreciated the changes your body went through, especially the stretch marks around your thighs, hips, and belly. The boy was obsessed. That's why his Instagram blew up with pictures of your belly, pictures from the baby shower, of the nursery, of her closet, her name board above the crib, and eventually her when she arrived in the beginning of August. 

Virginia Elizabeth was what you named her and Sam, just as much as when she was in your belly, was obsessed with her. She was constantly in his arms and he admired each one of her little features on the daily, dressing her, feeding her (if you couldn't of course), changing her, rocking her to sleep. He was an all around great father. 

Especially because of the pain and exhaustion he inevitably and guiltily felt he inflicted on you. Your bump remained for a few weeks, but what it left, Sam saw, made you slightly depressed. Your feet were still swollen, your breasts were huge but your belly was starting to sag, and the bleeding was ridiculous. You slept most of the time because of the constant milk production and late nights, but Sam didn't mind taking Virginia out into the living room and kitchen, especially if his brothers were over to see their baby girl. 

However, after about a month you'd gotten somewhat used to being a mom and feeding her late at night with Sam right there at your side, giddy smile on his face the entire time at the look of his girls. He loved introducing you as his girls and going to see family and friends with your bubbly little girl in his arms. But something that seemed to remain after all of it was the nudity in your house. 

Sam found that most times he came to find you napping, you were nude beneath the blanket. Not that he minded. Easy access to the skin of your back and belly and thighs. He actually loved the sight and hoped that when he went back to culinary school and eventually went to work as a chef in one of your local restaurants, you'd still be like that, something to look forward to when he climbed into bed with you. 

With a day off from work but not from school, Sam was off in the afternoon and back before the sun started to set, walking up the stoop with a smile on his face. Even a few hours spent away from his girls was torturous. Shouldering the door open, he drops his bag just inside, kicking his shoes off just beside it, 

"Babe?" He calls. There's no reply, a frown covering Sam's face as he walks towards the nursery. He pauses in the doorway of your bedroom when he sees you, smiling to himself. You stand just before your bed, nude with your little girl, only clad in a diaper, in your arms. Your eyes are closed as you sway from side to side, the little one whimpering softly. Walking into the room, Sam stands with his hands on his hips, 

"Look at you two." He says softly. You open your eyes slowly, glancing at him. His smile is so wide you don't know how it fits on his face. He takes a deep, breathless like breath, looking you over, "You two are so perfect." He mumbles before he walks forward again, coming to stand behind you. His hands rest over your hips, lips pressed to your temple, 

"You smell like biscuits." You murmur softly, not faltering in the swaying, even as you lean back against his chest. He chuckles softly, 

"Orange cardamom biscuits. They'd go good with your tea, I'll have to make them sometime for you." He explains softly. You nod, lips pressing against Virginia's cheek. Her little face is turned up towards the ceiling, mouth hanging open as she fights sleep. You sigh, 

"I uhh, I took a shower, put her in that little bouncy thing just outside the shower and she got fussy cause it was hot in the bathroom. So I took her out of her onesie and was holding her and I just... her skin on mine felt amazing. Like yours does. And I miss her. I miss..." Sam can see the tears in your eyes now, "I miss my baby bump and being in the hospital smelling that newborn smell and all that." You tell him. He nods, 

"Its the postpartum peach. You know it'll pass and you'll have so much fun with her when she's older. Plus... the older she gets, the closer we are to havin another one. More of that newborn smell." He reasons. The look you throw him over your shoulder makes him swallow, 

"Alright... yeah, still traumatized from her birth, got it but... you don't have to be so upset. She's still little and perfect... both my girls are, and for the next... what, year, that won't change. She'll get nice and chunky and when she changes, we'll so be ready for it. She'll get giggly and fun and you'll love it. I know you will babe." He reassures. You nod, 

"I know I just can't help it. It feels like someone else is controlling my life, my emotions. I'm sorry." 

"You don't have to apologize Y/N. Your body, your mind are going through a lot of changes. You're maturing and all that. I'm not upset about it. The crying, from you or her doesn't bother me. At least there's some need for me." He half jokes. You smile, looking down at your baby girl. He sighs, 

"I'm really likin this naked thing with you though." He mutters, kissing your shoulder as he molds your hips in his hands. You hum, 

"Sometimes I'm just too lazy to get dressed, other times it's just too hot." You reason. Sam nods, 

"I like it." 

"Oh yeah?" He nods when you glance up at him, "Maybe you should join the party then. I wanna stare at her and she likes daddy's chest." He doesn't even need you to finish the before he's stripping from the grease and oil stained shirt and pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor as you sit at the edge of the bed. You scoot to your side, letting Sam lay down before you before you lay Virginia over his chest. He mumbles incoherently down at her, kissing the top of her head as he strokes down her back. He purrs which makes her whimper, the motion further lulling her to sleep. He glances over at you when you prop your head up on your hand, 

"You're a great father Sam. You've always been an awkward little bean but... when it comes to V, you do amazing." He chuckles softly, 

"Thanks Y/N/N. You two... mean the world." He admits, rubbing up and down your baby's back softly. You sigh, brushing his unruly curls aside, 

"I'm just glad that I don't have to cook. The food you make is excellent and you like doing it and baby loves it too." He laughs again, 

"And that's all that matters is making you both happy." He murmurs. There's a silence that permeates between you for a moment before you stand, finding the thin robe you wear all the time if it genuinely is too hot to wear anything else, 

"What was this... thing you were saying about orange cardamom biscuits?" You ask with a cock of your eyebrow. He smiles wide, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, 

"I'm starting to think ALL you use me for is food." 

"I feed your little girl from my own body like eight times a day. The LEAST you could do is make bomb fucking food Holland." He hums after a moment, eyes averted from yours and to the little girl laid across his chest. He glances back up, 

"Can we just... have a little longer of this moment? Just a pretty little family before I'm whisked away to slave over a stove." He jokes. After a moment of staring at each other, you sigh, trying to fight your smile before you near the bed again, sitting at his side, 

"Fine Samuel. But only because you're pretty." You lean in to kiss his nose, kissing your baby girl's head just below his chin, "And you too little miss. I just hope you at least get something from me for all the pain and suffering I went through getting you here." Sam reaches up to tuck hair behind your ear, 

"You're a great mumma already. I have no doubt that she'll be witty and perfectly perfect. With a mum like you she'll always know she can never disappoint us with whatever decision or life choice she makes. You'll make sure of it and that's what matters. Raising a decent fucking human being." He says with such passion in his eyes you think you'll faint. You stare at him for another moment before sighing, 

"I love you more than anything on this earth Samuel Holland. Our little family is just perfect right now." You tell him. Leaning up to kiss you, he sighs, 

"Love my girls in all of their beautiful nudity. Love skin to skin." He murmurs. You lay your head against his shoulder, watching your girl sleep. Of course pregnancy and motherhood was difficult, but your fiancè made it so much better and your baby girl was everything and more for the both of you.

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#sam holland #sam holland smut #sam holland imagine #sam holland x y/n #sam holland x you #sam holland x reader #sam holland and you #sam holland and yn #sam holland and y/n #sam holland and reader #dad!sam #dad!sam holland #dad!sam holland x reader #dad!sam holland x you #dad!sam holland x yn #dad!sam holland x y/n #dad!sam holland and you #dad!sam holland and yn #dad!sam holland and y/n #dad!sam holland and reader #my writing

[ladyhindsight]

I didn’t realize how exhausting the incest plot line with Clary and Jace was until it was finally over. Or over in the sense that at least Clary knows now. Just have to wait and read the exact same revelation in a later chapter so Jace will be on track as well.

In the chapter 15 “Things Fall Apart”:

Luke had spent most of the night watching the moon’s progress across the translucent roof of the Hall of Accords like a silver coin rolling across the clear surface of a glass table.

It seems redundant to tell how the moon had come up earlier when we already know and have been told this.

→ “The moon was just visible over the roofs of the houses.”

→ “The demon towers reflected back its silver-white light.”

Or combine these with “and”. 

I’d like to note that there is no rule about using semicolons and em dashes in the same sentence. Both create a different kind of pause. Semicolon combines two ideas and em dash separates the following idea. 

The entirety works better without this sentence. Whether Clary knows or not is irrelevant. It doesn’t change the meaning of the following paragraph rather than makes unnecessary pause in the narrative. ↓

“I was hoping I could see the North Gate from here, but I’m not high enough.”

Messengers had been dispatched there to ask the Downworlders to wait while the Clave deliberated, and Clary could only hope they were willing to do it.

Nay. Take it away.

This was incredibly sweet on Jocelyn’s part. Not so much on Alec’s because he sees Magnus, which isn’t even barely plausible. They’ve known for few weeks and already Magnus has superseded everyone else in Alec’s life, and just after Alec has been extremely conflicted with his feelings about Jace as well.

Sound manipulative more like. There’s nothing vulnerable about that when you know the kind of man Valentine is and was. Even if his love for Jocelyn was deep and real, it doesn’t take away the fact that Valentine also could’ve manipulated her.

And I’ve yet to be presented these brilliant ideas. Let’s reform the Clave, it sucks. How revolutionary.

Compared to “The Werewolf’s Tale” in City of Bones, I have to commend that the writing in this chapter isn’t nearly as ridiculous. Most of the time you can imagine someone telling a story, but then these touches of more “elaborate” prose sneak in.

“She thought” is the same kind of pause Clare writes in normal dialogue. For example: “You,” Alec said, “googled it.”

It’s just unnecessary here. We know it’s Clary’s thoughts. It delivers no effect other than add to my annoyance.

Serious postpartum depression going on but leeet’s brush past it. Maybe pause there and let character react? Maybe? Also, pick one:

→ “then I got a message from Ragnor Fell.” (getting the message is important) → “then I got a fire-letter from Ragnor Fell.” (it being a fire-letter is important)

Both say essentially the same thing, the other just adds a detail that says the same thing but in the in-world lingo.

“I clawed at the pages, my fingers trembling, my mind racing, seeing the mixtures Valentine had given...” Also doesn’t sound like someone talking or telling a story. Participle phrases sort of have that effect, whereas people usually tell things past tense.

→ “I clawed at the pages. My fingers trembled, my mind raced back..” etc.

What is the thing about demon blood that it doesn’t effect the adults at all? In the sense that Jocelyn saw nightmares but didn’t suffer physically. Jocelyn doesn’t have demon blood but Jonathan does. I get how anything dangerous to a fetus/baby a mother takes affects the baby, but it also affects the mother too. Alcohol, drugs, different kinds of medications, different food substances, excessive amounts of some vitamins and so on. So how does the demon blood just affect Jonathan and not Jocelyn? Is it because the baby doesn’t have the same protection wards as the adult Shadowhunters do?

Again, warlocks are born with demon blood and they aren’t evil. What would happen if a pregnant Shadowhunter was infused with warlock blood? So many questions because the bOOK DOESN’T TELL ME.

Emphasizing the horribleness of the story sounds almost inauthentic.

Yeah, I don’t know. In the previous chapter Clary says that Jocelyn did a terrible job. Though morally and ethically wrong, it did work for almost 16 years.

Jocelyn knows about Ithuriel:

Jocelyn looked straight into her daughter’s eyes. “The night Céline Herondale died, she was eight months pregnant. Valentine had been giving her potions, powders—he was trying on her what he’d tried on himself, with Ithuriel’s blood, hoping that Stephen’s child would be as strong and powerful as he suspected Jonathan would be, but without Jonathan’s worse qualities. He couldn’t bear that his experiment would go to waste, so with Hodge’s help he cut the baby out of Céline’s stomach. She’d only been dead a short time—”

Then why does she say here “He’d somehow gotten hold of angel blood” when Valentine clearly summoned Ithuriel and used Ithuriel’s blood on everyone?

Again, Hodge knew about the Herondale baby, had seen the baby, CARVED THE BABY OUT OF ITS DEAD MOTHER, knew what the baby’s parents looked like, and still you dare to tell me that Hodge didn’t now which boy he was raising? Jonathan with his black demon eyes or Jace with his golden ones? Jace with no resemblance to either Jocelyn or Valentine??

The only thing making Clary and Jace more powerful than any other Nephilim is because Valentine cheated biology. It’s not for their own accord or acquired skills.

Are you also explicitly telling the juxtaposition here so no one would miss it?

Again, Clary’s leaps in intuition are used as rather forward clues in the story. She’s always so on point just so readers know what is going on but not enough for herself to realize anything.

... No one saw Sebastian without the dyed hair. How do they know he is fair-haired?

And again, great, but what stops warlocks who’ve gained entrance from doing exactly that? Again, LOOP HOLE.

Show, don’t tell. Also, no comma, same subject.

#Clary Fray #Jocelyn Fray #Valentine Morgenstern #Jace Herondale #Hodge Starkweather #Luke Garroway #City of Glass #CoG Chapter 17

[changedlives]

A New Season

I have been married for 2 and half years with 2 beautiful step children. We have one son together. I struggled with postpartum depression and adjusting to the new life as a mom of 3. 

In Feb. of this year I had given up all hope that I could be happy in my marriage. We tried counseling for a few sessions but we didn't make any progress. In March, he suffered a major injury at work and things seemed like they were going from bad to worse since my business came to a full stop due to corona. 

In May, after my sons 2nd birthday I told him I was done, again. I moved my son to my fathers (in Columbus, GA) and within 48 hours I was back home. I wanted my son to be raised with his father. Little did I know this is when God started working on him. I knew he was becoming more patient, understanding, and spiritual.

Meanwhile, I spent around $1000 on therapy, psychiatry, and medication and still couldn't find any peace. I was over it. Then I was laid off Monday before thanksgiving, I snapped. I told him I was really done this time. He put in his 2 week notice at his job, and started making the arrangements. I put in job applications and quickly heard back from Harvest Church. The had me listen too a message that left me in tears. The message from Nov. 29th 2020. I had him listen to it and I had to apologize for all the doubt that I planted in our relationship. The many mistakes I made along the way because of that. 

We are now closer than we ever have been and are planning how to start over. He is my best friend and I wouldn't have him today if it wasn't for Bishop letting God lead him. When I started having doubts he said the name of the city I was born in, and just in case I had extra doubt he confirmed the county. Muscogee.

Thank you God for your faithfulness.

#Testify #Testimony #submission

[stanathanxoox]

Choices November Challenge - Day 12

gif is mine

Thanks to the amazing @choicesnovemberchallenge  for the prompt

Day 12: Anxiety – King Liam x MC

A/N: This fic mentions postpartum depression, I know a few people who have suffered through this so hopefully I have done it justice whilst still keeping it respectable.

It started with an article about how much weight you had gained during your pregnancy and how you hadn't been able to lose the weight after the birth, how you gained more than 10 pounds and it truly showed. It then turned to slamming you and your relationship with your husband, about how he was seen at so many social events without you by his side, and how he was taking your best friend Hanna with him to attend, rumours sparked that there was a secret relationship going on between the two of them and it was what was causing the rift between you and your husband. Whilst you had been through so much throughout your time here in Cordonia, from an assassination attempt to almost losing your baby and finding out that one of your husbands' father's most trusted friends and companions had been the one to kill his mother and confronting said man who had managed to escape at the moment when you had needed that justice the most, this truly was the lowest point in your life. You felt helpless, barely even managing to leave the bed most days due to the anxiety and mental strain you had been under since the birth of your treasured son. You loved your son so very much, but you struggled to bond with him. Liam was amazing with your son, the bond between them was incredibly strong and you envied that about him, you had begun pushing him away, pushing everyone away.

It had been two months since the birth of your son and Liam was incredibly worried about you, you had gone from being so incredibly besotted with your baby to not wanting a thing to do with him, you had pushed him away and refused to leave the bed most days. He knew you were not well but it took him those two months to truly figure out what was wrong with you because he was constantly under a lot of pressure with the different responsibilities of the crown and being a new dad and trying his hardest to comfort you, even when you did your best to push him away. It was after a conversation with the midwife about his concerns that she had arranged to come around and have a check-up with you. She spent ten minutes with you before she left you alone in the room and went to tell Liam your diagnosis, she'd already told you. Postnatal depression. You were suffering from depression and though she reassured you it was quite common you felt incredibly stupid for going through this, you took the medication that she had prescribed and within a couple of hours, you were beginning to feel a shift in your thoughts. You had a support network, you had an amazingly loving and kind husband who would literally give you the world and you had pushed him away. You had cried yourself to sleep that night, before waking up a couple of hours later to the sound of your babies cries.

As you enter the nursery for the first time in days, you find your son crying, and you cry too as you pick him up and hold him close to you.

“I'm so sorry Harrison” you whisper over and over again, as you make your way over to the rocking chair in the corner of the room and sit with him, grabbing one of the nursing blankets and laying it on your lap as you begin nursing him, it's the first time in weeks that you've been able to nurse him and even though you hadn't been nursing him you had still been pumping milk for him every couple of hours knowing deep down that having your breast milk was going to be better for your little boy in the long run than for him to go on formula. As Harrison nurses, you look down into those deep blue eyes, at the small blonde tufts of hair on the top of his head and you whisper

“I'm so sorry Harri, mummy's going to try and do better by you from now on. I promise” running a finger along his forehead. When he finishes feeding and you begin burping him, you begin to hum a soft lullaby to him. As you hear the soft voice of your husband singing along with you, you look up and see him pushing off the door frame and making his way towards you. He places a kiss on your forehead, before he crouches down next to you and wraps his arms around you.

“Its good to see you up and about my dearest Y/N” he whispers and you look into his warm blue eyes and you give him a sad smile, reaching out to cup his cheek

“I'm sorry to you Liam, I am so sorry my love” you whisper and he nods holding you close in his arms

“It's alright my dearest when I promised in sickness and health I should've counted mental and emotional health. I feel like I've neglected you, I've been worried about you but I haven't done anything until now and that makes me a horrible person” he says and you shake your head

“That doesn't make you a horrible person Liam, and this depression, this feeling doesn't make me a horrible person either. I want to get better, for you and our little Harri but its going to take some time” you say and he nods, leaning forward and resting his forehead against yours

“I know my dearest and I will be by your side through it all” he says before he places a kiss on the tip of your nose

“I love you Y/N” he whispers before his lips are on yours

“I love you too Liam” you whisper, before looking down at your son who has fallen asleep in your arms.

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[lady-divine-writes]

Coldflash one-shot - “Fatherhood” (Rated PG13)

Summary:

It's been six weeks since the arrival of baby Lisa, and Len isn't exactly handling things well. He seems to be pulling away from his husband and daughter, acting less like himself, and Barry is beginning to wonder - did they make a mistake bringing a baby into their lives? (2313 words)

Notes: So, I would put this at the super beginning of the series. Just a peek into where they began, and some of the issues Len had with the idea of being a father.

Part 7 of Father-hood

Read on AO3.

“Waaaahhhhh!”

…

“Waaaahhhhh!”

…

“WAAAAHHHHH!”

“AAAAHHH! Barry!”

“What?” Barry grumbles, barely opening his eyes even though he’s wide awake.

“Your daughter’s up, and she’s calling you.”

“She’s our daughter. But if you want to get technical, biologically, she’s your daughter. Probably why she complains so damned much ...”

“Waaaahhhhh!”

“Ugh!” Len rolls onto his stomach, dragging his pillow over his head. “Why were we so flippin’ eager to bring her home anyway? The hospital staff had this baby care thing on lock. We could have gone back and picked her up when she was what? Three? Four?”

“Len!”

“Waaaahhhhh!”

“Or you know what?” Len continues. “Felicity’s her mom. Why can’t she take her for the night shift and we pick her up in the morning?”

“We have full custody! That’s how surrogates work! Besides, Felicity lives all the way in Star City!”

“You say there like you can’t zip over there in three seconds and back.”

“Not with Lisa. It’s not safe for the baby.”

“How do you know if you don’t even try?”

“Waaaahhhhh!”

“I mean, Cisco can just whip up a pod or something you can carry her in and …”

“Come on, big guy.” Barry gives Len a shove that about shoots him out of bed. “Time’s a-wasting.”

“What? Me?”

“A-ha.”

“I’m not even awake yet!”

“You’re talking to me.”

“It only takes half a brain cell to hold a conversation with you.”

“Waaaahhhhh!”

“You know the drill.” Barry climbs out of bed, dragging Len by the arm. “She either needs a change or a bottle.”

“See? You’ve got it all figured out.” Len struggles against Barry’s iron grip in an attempt to scurry back under the covers, but he’s not going to win. Regardless of his deceptively slender frame, Barry has that pesky Speed Force on his side. It may not be the same as super strength, but the way Barry manipulates it, it does tip the balance in his favor. “So why don’t you just have at it.”

“Because, Len. It’s your turn!”

“Oh, come on, Bare!” Len wrenches his arm free, but only because his husband lets him go. “You can run in there, change her, rock her back to sleep, and be back here in ten seconds flat. I don’t get what the problem is!”

“Because that’s not the way we should do it! It’s been six weeks already, and I can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve gotten up to take care of her. Waking up in the middle of the night is a pain in the ass, but it’s also important. It’s a chance to bond with our baby!”

“I’ll bond with her during daylight hours,” Len grumbles, staring wistfully at their mussed bed with its comfy sheets and blankets.

“Waaaahhhhh!”

“It’s daylight somewhere.” Barry puts his husband in a halfhearted half-nelson and leads him to the nursery. Len stops resisting. Better to get this over with so he can get his ass back to sleep. He needs about eighteen hours of it to keep up with their baby. That’s part of why he’s making such a big fuss about getting out of bed.

Having baby Lisa in the house, Len feels himself slowing up.

Len’s not an idiot. He knows he’s getting on in years, but he doesn’t want to admit it. Who does? Hooking up with Barry on the sly, and then marrying him, had been such an ego boost in that department. To have a man half his age want him made Len feel like a teenager again. And a superhero to boot? If Len’s head gets any bigger, he won’t be able to fit into his t-shirts. But whereas Barry doesn’t seem to ever run down, Len finds himself getting winded more and more every day. Len has spent the past few decades planning heists, running from the cops, fighting Team Flash, even rescuing the crew of the Waverider and multiple Earths from destruction.

It took becoming a father to make him feel his age.

“Waaaahhhhh!”

Three steps into Lisa’s room and the two men know exactly what’s bothering their baby.

“Phew!” Len groans, head jerking involuntarily to the side. “Good night! What have you been feeding her, Bare? Gravy?”

“Baby formula.”

“Is it expired?”

“No,” Barry says, offended, though he never thought to check. That can’t be the issue. He bought it yesterday. Baby poop just smells … a lot.

“Waaaahhhhh! Waa-AAHHHHH!”

Lisa’s wails seem to rise in pitch when her fathers enter the room. Len expects Barry to blow past him and rescue their screaming infant, but he doesn’t. Len looks over his shoulder at Barry, of absolutely no help whatsoever, then back to his daughter, miserable and probably as exhausted as he is, with a load of wet yuck stuck to her butt.

“She needs you, Len,” Barry whispers.

“I don’t see why when she’s got you.”

“She needs the both of us. And right now, you’re up. Do your thing.”

“You want me to steal her a diamond?”

“Change. your. daughter. I’m not letting you put a foot back into bed until you do.”

Len sighs. All he wants at the moment is to climb into bed and slip back into the open arms of unconsciousness, but his obnoxious husband won’t let him. Tomorrow. He’d be awake and raring to go tomorrow. He glances at the Strawberry Shortcake clock hanging on the wall. 2 a.m. He sighs deeper. It is tomorrow. “Fine,” he says, trudging toward the crib. “I’m on it.”

Barry leans against the door frame and watches as his adorably grumpy husband plods across their daughter’s pastel pink throw rug, gathering things he’ll need as he goes. Normally Barry would toss himself on the grenade and do it, but Len hasn’t been himself lately. He’s not quite as witty, definitely not as devious. He sleeps more than usual, he has no appetite, and he stresses over the tiniest things. Plus, his sex drive has gone straight into the toilet.

The first two weeks after Lisa came home, things went fine. They had a rhythm going. They traded off duties - Barry went to work at STAR Labs during the day and Len stayed home with the baby. When Barry came home, he took over with Lisa so Len could have some time to himself. Len has other pursuits. Team Flash and Green Arrow both pick his brain as their ‘resident criminal consultant’, but he said he was perfectly happy as a stay-at-home dad. They began to feel like real parents. But bit by bit, something in Len started to drift away. He didn’t always answer his phone, and Barry found himself racing home to check on him. Things would be fine when he got there – Lisa fed and content, the house generally clean, but Len …

Some days he’d be working himself to the point of exhaustion. Other days, he’d be staring at Lisa with an unreadable expression on his face.

He just wasn’t Len anymore.

Looking at the situation through the lens of a scientist, Len seems to be suffering from postpartum depression. It wouldn’t be too unusual. Paternal postpartum depression is rare, but it does happen. And Len has the classic signs. He’s irritable. He seems at a loss in his role as a parent, determined every time the baby cries that something’s wrong with her.

Or that she hates him.

He doesn’t show up uninvited to STAR Labs anymore, nor has he tried to break into The Foundry in weeks.

He’s been pulling farther and farther away from life as a whole.

Barry would welcome finding out that Len had PPPD. At least, if Barry knew the cause of his behavior, they could decide on a course of action – medication, meditation, therapy.

Whatever’s going on with him, Barry has been praying Len isn’t regretting their decision to bring Lisa into their lives.

“Okay, little bug,” Len mumbles, negotiating their daughter’s kicky feet and unbuttoning her onesie, holding his breath when he breaches the seal of cotton holding back the bulk of the stench. “Let’s see what’s going on … good Lord!” Len pulls a face, blowing a raspberry through tight lips. Lisa stops crying. She stops kicking. She stares up at her father with wide, wet eyes and an o-shaped mouth.

“You need to stop eating cement, girl,” Len continues in a softer, teasing voice. “We can pave the streets with this BM.”

Lisa waves closed fists. Her lips tremble. Barry takes a step forward, afraid she might burst into tears again, but she doesn’t. The corners of her mouth lift slightly. It’s not the biggest or the brightest smile. It could also be gas. But when Len sees it, his whole face lights up in a way that Barry has been missing for weeks.

“Yeah. You might have your Papa beat in the full of poop department.”

Barry’s smile drops when he remembers that Len refers to him as Papa in front of Lisa. “Hey!”

“There you go,” Len coos as he cleans Lisa up and puts a new diaper on, wrapping the old one and tossing it in the trash without looking. “That’s it. Nice and clean. Feels a lot better, don’t it?”

Lisa kicks her legs in response and Len chuckles, carefully sliding one leg at a time back inside her onesie. He buttons her up, then wraps her in her blanket, swaddling her meticulously the way the nurses at the hospital taught them. He considers her a minute, rocking her with his palm pressed lightly against her tummy, but then he picks her up and walks the room with her, swaying in a lazy two-step towards the rocking chair in the corner.

“You know, if you leave her, she’ll probably go back to sleep.”

“Meh, I’m already awake, and I don’t think I’m going back anytime soon thank you very much.” Len slides into the wooden chair, setting it rocking back and forth with his heels buried into the rug. Barry smiles, watching the loves of his life sit together in silence – Lisa blinking up at her dad with drooping eyelids, Len gazing at his daughter as if she’s the biggest payoff he’s ever scored.

“Feeling any better?” Barry asks, padding across the room to be closer to the two of them.

“A little bit … maybe. The jury’s still out.”

“You know, you’re really good at this.”

“You think so?” Len swallows hard. “Because sometimes I wonder if …” He stops himself short of spilling his guts and giving voice to every doubt he’s had since little Lisa came home. She’s nothing like his sister was when her parents brought her home, that’s for sure. Regardless of Lisa Snart now, Lisa as a baby rarely made a peep. Or maybe he’s just not remembering things clearly. A dark cloud seemed to descend on their house shortly after, one that moved into his brain, obscuring certain details he’d rather not relive. No, his boisterous daughter is nothing like his sister, name notwithstanding.

He just prays that, in the long run, he’s nothing like his father.

“Well, this daddy thing has its moments, I guess.”

“Yes, sir.” Barry bites his tongue. Close. He was so close. But whatever’s bothering Len is in there somewhere. And if Len wants to talk about it, he will. Barry just has to give him time.

“Hey, I know she just dropped a huge deuce, but do you think … she might be hungry?”

“I don’t think so.” Barry puts a gentle finger to her lower lip to see if she’ll suck, but she doesn’t. Her eyelids flutter shut. She takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and just like that, she’s asleep.

In under a minute, and with no Speed Force powers necessary.

“I’m hungry,” Len says.

And even though Barry is thrilled that Len’s hungry after days of living on pretzel rods and Near Beer, he recoils. “How the hell can you be hungry with that smell still hanging in the air?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. My hunger knows no bounds.”

“Neither does this stench.” Barry yanks the waste basket liner out of the trash, eyes flashing with a thin thread of red electricity.

Len’s brows pull together. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want this in the house.” Barry’s voice cracks, static echoing as he phases with energy.

“Shhh! You’re gonna wake the baby!”

Barry steps out into the hallway and closes the door. Even through three inches of wood, the room crackles with the familiar heat of Barry tapping into the Speed Force. The seam around the door glows with a bright orange aura. It blinks out, but a second later, it comes back, and Barry re-enters the room. He puts a white paper bag down at Len’s feet, taking a seat beside it on the floor. He opens it and reaches in, the rank odor in the room overwhelmed by the delicious scent of meat and onions.

“What’s that?” Len asks, staring at the bulging bag dubiously.

“A double double animal style,” Barry says after a bite. “You said you were hungry.”

“There aren’t any In ‘N Outs in Central City.”

“No, but there’s one in San Diego.”

“And that’s where you threw out her dirty diaper?”

“Yup. In the dumpster outside the 7-11 next door.”

“Don’t you think that’s overkill?”

“I don’t really feel like waking up in the morning to the smell of stale diaper, do you?”

“Fair enough.”

“Besides, you can consider it an apology for losing sleep,” Barry says, throwing his husband a wink. Len smirks.

“Well then.” He reaches down for his share of the meal, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his baby girl. Not for a second. “If this is the way night time changing duty is going to go, I’m definitely on board.”

#coldflash #Barry Allen #leonard snart #The Flash #Captain Cold #Frankie writes

[bvrnedtm]

( danielle campbell, she/her ) — here ye, here ye, behold the lady of winterfell, ryella stark née frey. the twenty-four year old is known for being gentle but has the tendency to be timid too, which should be expected of the grey lady. ( you disappear in a room full of people, just as you’ve learned to do to survive. scars litter your skin to tell a tale of a more than troubled childhood. you have suffered and feared for the worst in an initially loveless marriage. yet time has passed and you have finally found comfort in one you never expected to love you or love in return. )

TRIGGERS: miscarriage, depression, postpartum

about me:

I’m not the best with talking about myself, so bear with me. I go by Liv, I’m 24 years old, and I live in the EST timezone. Pronouns are she/her. Um…I like to think I’m a fairly chill person, generally speaking. I’m not in school right now, but I do work the morning shift five days a week at a bagel shop. That means I’m usually up early, so I tend to head to bed early-ish as well. Exceptions being Friday and Saturday, as I don’t work weekends.

Oh! I also have a dog named Lucy, though we also call her Lucille cuz she’s an old lady. Yes, it’s a reverse nickname. Anyways, she’s a yellow lab, nine years old, and fully blind. But before you let that last bit get ya down, rest assured that she is still one of the happiest puppers you will ever know. A legit sweet baby angel.

discord is thrift store hobbit#5805

basics:

Name: Lady Ryella Alys Stark, née Frey, of Winterfell House: Frey (by blood) & Stark (by marriage) Age: 24

personality:

Ryella has never been someone that one would describe as brave. Fact of the matter is, not many people would know just how to describe her. Not because she is any sort of enigma, but merely due to the fact that she’s never been able to stand out in a crowd. But then, perhaps that’s been by choice. She’s always been fairly shy, after all. It takes time to get to know her, to learn how to move aside the curtain to find the truly kind and gentle girl hiding just behind it. Effort most don’t seem to deem worthy of their time.

quick facts:

This bit is gonna be a mess cuz it’s just a quick jumble of facts

married to Henrik Stark

they have a beautiful 3 month old daughter named Arya

he truly is the love of her life, despite how rocky they may have started off

dubbed the Grey Lady due to her ability to disappear like a ghost

honestly one of the gentlest people out there

like, she is hella soft once you get past her initial shyness

a few weeks before her wedding to Henrik, he was meant to visit House Frey in order to finalize everything

he sent his twin in his place as a sort of test

 only after the short visit had concluded did Ryella send a letter to to the real Henrik asking if he was alright 

as she assumed his brother had been in his place due to illness

she simply hadn’t said anything at the time, as she didn’t wish to embarrass him or his family so close to the wedding

suffice to say she passed their little test

background:

Eldest of two, Ryella is the only daughter born to the ruling lord of House Frey. Even from a young age, she knew her main purpose in this life was to be married off in order to buy some sort of alliance with another house. This knowledge, however early it came, never made the socialization aspect of her life any easier. Ever the timid spirit, she was far more content to keep herself hidden in the shadows of a room. Happier to hold her tongue than risk speaking up only to say the wrong thing, or worse, to make no sound at all. It seemed that for all she made up in looks, her skittish nature made her undesirable as a wife. Were it not for a needed bond between the house of Frey and Stark, who knows if she ever would have wed. 

Ryella was fourteen when a betrothal between herself and Lord Henrik of House Stark was put into motion. However, it wouldn’t be until four years later that the wedding would actually occur, due to complications caused by the death of Henrik’s father. After nearly three years of discussions and hammering out the details of the agreement, the betrothal was finally set back into motion. In order to help the future couple get to know one another a bit better, Ryella was sent to stay in Winterfell for about a month. The first few days together were spent in near complete silence, neither one speaking in an otherwise empty room. Then the weather took a turn for the worst, the cold seeping into the young lady’s bones even with a roaring fire. 

The chill was a blessing in disguise. One moment Ryella was trembling in her chair, and in the next she was covered in more blankets than she could count. It seemed that Henrik had noticed the girl’s trembling even as she’d kept herself quiet. Finally their silence was broken as she uttered a soft ‘thank you.’ The first of many words that would follow, as the two seemed to grow close after that initial ice breaker. It was an unlikely match, but one that the Frey was more than grateful to have been blessed with, as she knew she was amongst the lucky.

Luck, however, has a strange way of shifting when needed most. After her wedding to Henrik at eighteen (he was twenty-two), the couple had difficulty in conceiving a child. A misfortune that followed them for the first three years of their marriage. Sadly, even when they did manage a pregnancy, fate was still against them. Ryella suffered an early miscarriage, and with that came a depression that sometimes haunts her even now. Henrik was supportive, of course, mourning the loss with her while doing everything he could to assure her that there was no blame to be had in what happened. 

The years that followed were difficult. Yes, Ryella wanted to give her beloved husband a child, but fear of another loss seemed to stand in her way. It took months before she could get into the mood to make love. Even then, she couldn’t stop the sense of guilt that followed. Guilt worsened by the return of their inability to conceive. The fact was, even if Henrik refused to lay blame for all that had happened, Ryella believed it was somehow her fault. That there must have been something wrong with her.

It was a belief proven wrong when she grew pregnant for the second at age twenty-three. The first few months were filled with a terror she’d never known. Ryella prayed daily for the baby, and rarely ever left Henrik’s side for fear she’d simply crumble without his presence. The relief she felt the day Arya was born couldn’t be expressed in mere words. She would deem it a miracle, her sweet baby girl a gift she never thought she’d receive. Until then Ryella had listed her wedding as her happiest moment. She’d never been so glad to be proven wrong. Even now, three months later, one could easily catch her staring at the infant in disbelief. 

tags:

☙🕯❧ better keep my eyes wide open // visage ☙🕯❧  they keep screaming louder and louder // musings ☙🕯❧  your heart beats like a marching drum // playlist ☙🕯❧  we all got nightmares in our dreams // aesthetic ☙🕯❧  i have cold blood even in a sweater // wardrobe ☙🕯❧  i can hear your heart beating on the bars // physique ☙🕯❧  started saying if you can’t hide run // moodboard ☙🕯❧  i tell them my story it’s never enough // about ☙��❧  everybody’s been talking believe it or not // mention ☙🕯❧  and words got shorter quiet got longer // conversations ☙🕯❧  i don’t wanna fight // meme ☙🕯❧  gonna leave it behind // answered ☙🕯❧  wild heart // ooc

if you have any questions or would like to plot, feel free to hmu to chat !!

#swords.intro #miscarriage tw #depression tw #postpartum tw #☙🕯❧ better keep my eyes wide open // visage #☙🕯❧ they keep screaming louder and louder // musings #☙🕯❧ your heart beats like a marching drum // playlist #☙🕯❧ we all got nightmares in our dreams // aesthetic #☙🕯❧ i have cold blood even in a sweater // wardrobe #☙🕯❧ i can hear your heart beating on the bars // physique #☙🕯❧ started saying if you can’t hide run // moodboard #☙🕯❧ i tell them my story it’s never enough // about #☙🕯❧ everybody’s been talking believe it or not // mention #☙🕯❧ and words got shorter quiet got longer // conversations #☙🕯❧ i don’t wanna fight // meme #☙🕯❧ gonna leave it behind // answered #☙🕯❧ wild heart // ooc

[spiritualgravity]

My Keto Case Study

I can’t remember exactly when I first began to diet. The earliest recollection I have was my freshman year in college, obviously I gained the obligatory “Freshman 15.” A girlfriend of mine was a distributor for Herbal Life — the program included shakes as well as about one million herbal pills.

At some point, I hopped on the Weight Watcher train. My Mother is a “lifer” — meaning she met her goal weight, and for the rest of eternity, will be known as a Life Long member...even if she doesn’t maintain the goal weight. My entire childhood, even until today — on the cusp of turning 40 years old — she still toggles on and off diets regularly...gaining and losing the same 20-30 pounds. We are kindred spirits with a fondness for carbs, but she prefers salty and I prefer sweets.

Over the past five years, I tried WW again, another company with shakes and pills, Whole 30, and I even made up my own program which basically included not eating any processed foods.

Before I got pregnant, I was about 20 pounds overweight. Technically, I actually “should” have weighed 40 pounds less, according to BMI algorithms, but my body has always enjoyed extra padding. I don’t think my infastructure is meant to be stick thin. Going into a process where your body willingly puts on weight in order to grow a human, and you’re already carrying extra poundage, certainly isn’t ideal.

I dropped some weight after giving birth, because said human left my midsection. Then, I’d like to think, that breastfeeding knocked off a few more pounds. Many months later, I eventually got down to the weight I started with when I was pregnant — which was — 20 pounds overweight. Sigh.

{Postpartum Photos}

In June, eight and a half months after giving birth, I stopped breastfeeding, and hadn’t worked out...not even broken a sweat...since right before giving birth. My entire pregnancy, all 41 weeks, I worked out religiously at CrossFit, and then never looked back once becoming a Mommy. This isn’t because I didn’t want to do overhead squats and crazy WODs, but because my baby didn’t sleep. I was essentially a zombie for her first year of life, while juggling and navigating postpartum depression.

Over the summer, while visiting my parents’ home, a friend from childhood came over to see my daughter and catch up. To my surprise, she dropped dozens and dozens of pounds. Our figures are very similar, we could even pass for sisters from below the neck. I was impressed by her success, and curious how she did it. Meanwhile, my Mother sat in the background at the kitchen table, overhearing our entire conversation, and decided she wanted in on the “Ketogenic” program, known as Keto.

Just like my Mom, I have historically lost weight for an event. Weddings were my go-to weight loss event, particularly when I was a bridesmaid (12 times no less). This particular time around, my Mom wanted to lose weight for a cruise she was going on in September; she went on the ship 15 pounds lighter but then subsequently didn’t stick to Keto.

For the next few weeks, after my initial talk with the successful Keto friend, I cannonballed headfirst into Google research. I consumed videos, read articles, watched more videos, and then read some more articles. After my sister’s wedding in early August, during the 13 hour drive back from New York, I spent some more time reading, and reading, and reading. It probably didn’t hurt that I also became privy to photos of me from the wedding — not only did I immediately realize I sadly no longer needed to wear nursing bras with zero support (Dear God, why didn’t anyone tell me?!?), but I did in fact need to get healthier. My body and face looked inflamed, and I was tired of not being able to wear my pre-pregnancy jeans.

I asked countless follow-up questions to my successful Keto friend, and also to another gal who lost a massive amount of weight following the Keto program (under a doctor’s supervision). I decided I was in.

My personality, at a microscopic level, is all in or nothing at all; I do not know what half-assing means. Some people call this discipline, I call it not wasting my time.

So on August 13th, I officially weighed in and measured my Mommy curves to begin the journey on a ketogenic diet. I’ve had curves since I hit puberty. I embrace them, and love that my strong legs resemble tree trunks. An hour glass figure isn’t the worst card to be dealt. So when I say curves, I just mean the extra thickkkkk curves that came with pregnancy. 

I wasn’t strict as far as counting macros, I simply counted (in my head) the number of net carbs I was consuming. That’s how my friend did it, so I figured I’d follow her lead. As it turned out, I personally needed to count my macros (ratio of protein / fat / carbs) in order to follow Keto correctly. I began using a free and easy app called Carb Manager for about two months until I got the hang of things and haven’t used it since because now I know what’s what.

Some people call Keto a diet, I’d like to think it’s my new lifestyle. I have absolutely no idea how long I’ll follow this lifestyle. I’m not naive enough to say for my lifetime, but it definitely isn’t going to be a shortlived stint. 

This process has been incredibly humbling at a visceral level. For starters, I am embarrassed to admit how incredibly ignorant I used to be when it came to judging things I knew nothing about. One of my best friends, who is fighting a chronic heart condition, first brought up the word “Keto” over the phone last year. I immediately snubbed the idea, exacerbated, I said, “it’s just like Atkins” (which was meant to be a negative connotation), and shut down the thought of her doing this diet. For the record, it’s not like Atkins (that program touts high protein, whereas Keto is moderate protein — this is signficant because too much protein can be turned into glucose/sugar). 

“The biggest form of ignorance is rejecting something you know nothing about.” - Wayne Dyer

The Ketogenic gurus are also hyper focused on not eating fake sugar, particularly lots of phony faux sweetners that are labeled “Keto” on the package, but are absolutely not Keto-approved because they will still spike your blood sugar levels as if you’re actually eating sugar. 

{Source: Epilepsy Foundation}

The name ketogenic means that it produces ketones in the body. (keto = ketone; genic = producing) Ketones are formed when the body uses fat for its source of energy.

Usually the body uses carbohydrates (such as sugar, bread, pasta) for its fuel. Because the ketogenic diet is very low in carbohydrates, fats become the primary fuel instead. The body can work very well on ketones (and fats).

Ketones are not dangerous. They can be detected in the urine, blood, and breath. Ketones are one of the more likely mechanisms of action of the diet, with higher ketone levels often leading to improved seizure control. However, there are many other theories for why the diet will work.

Secondly, for as long as my temporal lobes can recall, I have been adamantly against fasting…and, I’m not exactly sure why. Again, just another position I claimed with literally zero education or facts. My husband, for years and years, suggested I workout while fasting. I swore to him that I would fall flat on my face if I ever tried such an absurd strategy. 

Since I have been a devout low calorie follower, I’ve been chronically hungry. I was brainwashed to believe, with most of America, to have Fatphobia. I drank skim milk, which has a lot of sugar. I ate low fat packaged snacks, which were packed full of sugar. I ate mini meals all day long, 6 times a day. In other words, I was spiking my insulin all day long. My purse was always, without fail, full of munchies. Protein bars, crackers, apples, and a myriad of other nibbles. I would not, could not, leave my house without emergency food within arm’s reach. God forbid I got hungry and immediately turned hangry. Come to think of it, I was basically a 5′4″ child who was, at any given time, on the verge of a meltdown from being ravenousness. I didn’t quite realize it, but I was starving myself, and yet ironically, still overweight.

When I started Keto, my motivation was weight loss. But, what’s fascinating, is learning that weight loss is actually a side effect. The Ketogenic diet was originally designed for people who suffered from epilepsy and helped control their seizures. Ketogenic eating has been known to decrease inflammation in the body, eliminate diseases such as diabetes or heart conditions, sleep issues, GI troubles, and the resolution list goes on and on. 

What I’ve learned is that our bodies have 2 primary sources of fuel — glucose  (sugar / carbs), and fat. When you eliminate or greatly reduce glucose / sugar / carbs, your body will eventually start to burn fat for fuel. Luckily, I have a tremendous amount of excess fat that’s been waiting for an intevention. 

There is an enormous amount of misinformation ‘out there’ about eating Keto, and I am the first to admit I was super skeptical before I did my homework. 

Keto can get a bad rap for eating unlimited bacon, cheese, and bacon cheeseburgers. The other night, while out to eat with a group of ladies, for an appetizer I had a wedge salad (which includes veggiesc and crumbled blue cheese), and for dinner I had broccoli, asparagus, and a delicious steak. I put a little bit of real butter on my veggies. Also, the table enjoyed an array of desserts and not only did I not partake in the sugar fix, I didn’t even want any / I didn’t feel like I was missing out. In my past carb-laden life, I plunged my spoon into the dish first, and shoveled the brownie and ice cream into my pie hole as fast as I possibly could. There are varying versions of keto, that range from “dirty” to “clean.” When you eat dirty Keto, that’s what has given the program an unhealthy shadiness reputation on the streets. I fall in line closer to the cleaner side of keto, but have my dirty moments, and always eat organic, nitrate-free, etc. whenever possible. Oh and for the record, I usually drink one glass of red wine with my dinners. I may have lost weight, but I haven’t lost my damn mind. I draw the line at giving up my vino, that’s non-negotiable, and more importantly — I’ve been able to stay in ketosis. And yes I eat a small serving of fruit from time to time, berries are the best option and happen to be my favorite. 

Because every one is different, literally and metaphorically, results vary. My personal journey was that I shrunk in size, but the scale didn’t have impressive numbers to show for my effort. 

Come October, on the same day that my daughter turned one year old, I joined a gym. By that time, I had two months of Keto under my belt. Since I was a CrossFit junkie for 3 years pre-baby, I had to check my ego at the fitness facility’s door and slowly take it one day at a time. Besides picking up a baby thousands of times, I really hadn’t moved a muscle in 365 days. My body went through an enormous metamorphosis after making a little person, and I knew in my bones that I truly had to ease my way back into a safe grove. I sat down with a registered nurse at the gym and she did a body mass analysis using a machine that can calculate your composition make-up. 

This is where my self-fulfilling prophecy manifested, in the form of a personal case study. During college, I sucked at all things math, but ironically I was a wanna-be wizard at statistics. I got a B+ and until this day, I live for stats. With this documented analysis, I was stoked to have a baseline for my Keto journey that was more than just a generic number on a scale. Sure, I have baggage with the God foresaken scale, but now I truly know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the scale does not tell the whole story. 

Next up, I went to my Primary Care Physician’s office and had blood work drawn, along with a physical exam. I would also use these clinical insights as a foundation for improving my health, as well as proving that this way of eating is in fact healthy and not destroying my heart or other organs, or jacking up my cholesterol. 

Come January, I started to dabble in “I.T.” — intermittent fasting.

Now, when I say I’ve done my research, I mean an absurd amount of research. For almost a decade, my profession has been based in the medical field, so I’ve become a wee bit snobby when it comes to peer reviewed, scientific-based information. Blogs and anecdotal banter do not hold a candle in my book; I want facts, documentation, and proof. I want real stories from real people. I want lab work and the truth.

From mid-October through today, I’ve worked out on average about 4 times a week for one hour at a time. I joined a gym that has a daycare and now the sun shines a little brighter. My mini me gets to socialize with little people, and I get to lift weights (which doesn’t entail lifting a little person). I no longer listen to music while working out and I’ve become unapologetically obsessed with Podcasts. I realize I’m way, way behind the digital audio fad, but nonetheless I can’t get enough of them. Despite my husband’s dismay at potentially drowning my iPhone, I even listen to Youtube videos and Podcasts in the shower for goodness sake. Oprah, Tony Robbins and their leadership development peers make regular appearances, but for the most part, I’m quite literally up to my ears in Keto-related content. 

Maybe this is because I’m a real life sponge and adore the process of learning. Maybe it’s because I’ve been trained through my professional line of work that it takes listening/reading/hearing the SAME information at least 5x before you even retain a fraction of it. Who knows.

With that said, I’ve been convinced through dozens and dozens and dozens of 'classroom’ hours that intermittent fasting is a phenomenal practice for our bodies. And, if my own mad scientist research wasn’t enough, then when my friend who is currently battling breast cancer was told by her global team of physicians to do I.T. because it helps shrink those asshole cancer cells, certainly proved the point that removing sugar from our systems is a miracle worker.

I.T. comes in different forms because there are a variety of disciplines, but the most popular one is 16:8 / you don’t eat for a 16 hour window and you do eat for an 8 hour window. Within that 16 hour window, you’re sleeping for hopefully 7-8 hours of them, which basically means you don’t eat breakfast and you start your first meal with lunch. And, here’s the fun part — when you get the majority of your fuel from healthy fats, you aren’t even hungry, so fasting is actually not a big deal. Just like the rest of my journey, I worked up to this goal. I started with 12 hours, then 13, and so on.

I tried a longer fast, about 60 hours, in January. This was supposed to be some type of reset for my body. I felt like my weight loss was stalling, despite no cheats and working out. The first day was extremely difficult for me, I wanted to quit throughout the afternoon. The second day was a complete 180 degree turn — I wasn’t hungry and felt totally fine. But, I wanted to eat anyway. This experience really helped me stare my relationship with food face-to-face. I quieted my mind and asked why did I want to eat, I wasn’t even hungry. I realized that it’s the habit of eating I was used to, even if I wasn’t hungry.

Several people I know have loved ones who had gastric bypass surgery. It broke my heart to hear that there is no counseling after the fact — sure it’s available, but they weren’t utilizing it, nor was it required. And, they were back to their original style of eating and unhealthy types of food that qualified them for this surgery to begin with. 

Food can be used as a drug, just like other stereotypical vices including gambling and shopping. I know that no matter what “diet” or lifestyle change I become a VIP member to, it’s just a Band-Aid until I fix the root of the issue — using food to fill me up. I also realize that history has a way of repeating itself and I’ve walked in my Mother’s shoes, witnessing her on some type of diet my entire life.

I am approaching the 8 month mark as a Ketogenic crony, and here is where things currently stand:

I’ve lost 21 pounds. 

I’ve lost 14 inches between my hips, waist, thighs and chest.

I’ve lost 2-3 pant sizes — even fitting in to my “goal pants” (which I have never been able to zip up, including when I bought them years ago).

I weigh less than I did at my wedding four years ago.

I mentally and physically feel amazing and am rarely hungry. I repeat, I am not hungry. Eating fat is satiating...what a freaking concept (girl hits empty carb head against brick wall).

In all of my days walking this earth, no one has ever once told me that I was tiny. Last week, two people on the same evening said, “You’re tiny.” Granted, I am not tiny. In fact, I’m technically still overweight on the BMI algorithm, and according to...what I like to refer to as my Momma Kangaroo belly pouch... but that leads me to my next point.

One week ago I had my follow-up appointment with both the gym’s registered nurse as well as my PCP. I had both original tests re-run in order to determine, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was 100% healthy. Obviously being able to stowaway my maternity jeans, and have my leggings become baggy speaks for itself, but I wanted to know what was really going on behind the zippers and elastic bands.

At the PCP appointment, my provider couldn’t stop gloating about how much weight I had dropped since our last visit. The next day, an email came through with results from the blood work as a 3-page report. At the very end it says, and I quote, “Your lipid panel results are acceptable. Continue your Keto diet, it is not detrimental to your cholesterol.” 

My body composition test results were also impressive. 

BMI —from 30.2 (obese) to 27.9 (overweight)

Body Fat %: 37.2 to 35.2

Blood pressure — from 130/80 to 110/78

And what really made me jump for joy, was finding out the breakdown of my “dry lean mass” and “body fast mass.” The nutritionist, who was a skinny mini, said to me, “Your skeletal muscle mass is nearly above average. I’ve spent my whole life doing massive amounts of cardio, which is why I’m so skinny, but I should have been doing much more weightlifting and less cardio. Keep doing what you’re doing.” In other words, the stupid scale not moving exponentially and “only” losing about 20 pounds is a bunch of bologne. I legitimately have put on muscle, praise the Lord almighty. 

So there you have it folks. This is one way of getting healthy. I’m sure it’s not for everyone, but it’s definitely for me. I do not feel deprived, whatsoever. The food I eat is absolutely delicious, I’m satisifed after eating, and there are thousands of Keto-friendly recipes to make the process a breeze — including yummy alternative carb staples such as breads. 

I’ll sign off with a few insider tips and resources.

Drink a lot of water. People — listen to me — do this anyway. But especially if you’re doing Keto. I drink 3 liters of water a day. My goal is to drink 1 by noon, 1 by 5pm, and the rest before bed.

You’ll lose water weight and with that, electrolytes will flush out, which is why you want to replace them. Otherwise, you’ll get what’s called the “Keto Flu.” Don’t do that. Up your electrolytes (potassium, magnesium and sodium), ideally through whole foods but also in supplements (vitamins and/or electrolyte drinks). By eating Ketogenic-friendly foods, your body won’t get as much of this as it normally would and balanced electrolytes make you feel awesome. 

Don’t be scared of veggies just because they have carbs. Veggies are good for you, really really good for you and have tons of fiber. They’re not all created equal of course, but enjoy your greens every single day.

I don’t recommend starting out with Keto-style desserts / sweets or Keto breads. You can work those into your meals later on, once you’ve gotten fat adapted (Google what that means), but they should be considered a treat and not a staple in your everyday regimen. 

Check out these links for Dr. Fung —all things Intermittent Fasting — and Dr. Berg for all things Keto and nutrition. 

You don’t have to do this in order to follow Keto, but I have enjoyed drinking exogenous ketones for the last few months. I drink it as my “pre workout” drink or while I’m working out. It gives me lots of energy and all the benefits of ketones. I have a customer referral code if anyone would like it.

This may be the first time, in all of my diet dabbling years, that I’ve ever truly faced why I treated food like medication. It’s also the first time I’ve ever tried to lose weight and it wasn’t for an event. 

I’m turning 40 years old this summer and we may consider giving my daughter a sibling, if that’s what the good Lord wills. My ‘event’ milestones with a dress size to fit into has been replaced with the lifelong milestone of being a Mother. I want to be a confident woman who my daughter looks up to and admires my health from the inside — out. I want her to know that food is for nutrition, not for stuffing feelings down. I want her to know that the scale doesn’t define her worth. I want her to know that muscles and strength is sexy. I want her to know that she’s perfect exactly the way she is. 

#keto #weight loss #before and after #healthy #fitness #low carb #BMI #case study #live happy #mental health #physical health #crossfit #crossfit pregnancy

[jos-corner-of-the-world]

Big World - {18}

{17} | Master List

After Seungcheol came in to meet Dae, the rest of the day was spent just the three of you.  A lot of the other guys had wanted to come up, but it just wasn’t the right time.  You were feeling under the weather from labor and delivery.

But more than that, you just wanted time.

Time with Wonwoo and Dae. Time to come to terms with everything that has happened in the last 72 hours. Time to process what your life was going to look like now.

“What’s wrong?” Wonwoo asked as he came up being you.  You were currently sitting in a chair next to Dae’s incubator.

“Nothing.” you mumbled.

“Please don’t do that.  Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I did this.” you said quietly.  “I did this to our baby. I didn’t take care of myself well enough. She shouldn’t be here yet.  There was still three months left...three months of growing.  Three months of being pregnant and getting to experience all that comes with pregnancy.  Three months of preparing and giving her the best home we could. She’s perfect.  The only flaw is she was born to an inadequate mother.”

‘Y/n, stop.  You heard the same thing I did from the doctor.  These things just happen sometimes. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Wonwoo assured you.

“Okay.” you said, not wanting to argue with him.

“I’m tired. Is it okay if I sleep?” you asked him.

“Of course. I’ll wake you up if anything changes.”

But nothing changed.  Not with Dae, and not with you.

For almost a week, you either sat in the chair beside Dae’s incubator, or you slept.

You barely even got out of bed to greet your parents when they were finally able to come.

You’d been released from the doctor’s care four days after Dae’s birth and it took you another six days after that to muster up enough courage to leave the hospital.

Ji had offered to take you to your studio to get a few things and talk to your boss.  You knew Wonwoo would be here with the Dae so you agreed, quite reluctantly.

“How’s Peanut doing?” Ji asked in the car on the way to your studio.

“Fine.  She’s not gaining weight but she’s not losing either.” you said.

“That’s good then.  She’s a strong little one.”

You didn’t say anything, just nodded your head.  If you said anything, you’d give it away that you were crying, and you didn’t want Ji to know.

You stepped into your studio and grabbed some thumb drives, your laptop, empty composition paper, and some stuff you’d been working on before you’d gone into labor.

You were getting ready to leave when the door to your studio opened and your boss walked in.

“I’d heard you were here.  Not staying long I imagine?” he asked.

“No sir.  Came to get a few things is all.” you replied.

“I see.  Don’t rush into things too much.”

“I won’t. I’m just grabbing stuff in case inspiration strikes.” you assured him.

“That’s good, that’s good. Also. I don’t know if you’ve read any online articles, but I’d like if you just ignored them.  They don’t know the situation and are speculating as much as they want.”

You turned to him with sad eyes.

“Let them say what they want.  It’s probably nothing I haven’t thought myself anyway.”

By the time you got back to the hospital, you were tired.  Mentally, physically, emotionally.  You were just...tired.

You sat next to Dae’s incubator for a while before you started nodding off in your chair.

“You should lay down.” Ji said to you as you jerked awake.

“I’m fine.” you said, sitting back up fully.

“You’re dead on your feet noona.” Ji tried.

“Jesus Christ I said I was fine! And stop calling me noona, it’s not fucking cute anymore and it doesn’t cheer me up.”

Ji was taken aback.

You’d never yelled at him out of anger before.  Sure, you’d been frustrated and annoyed, but this...this anger, was something he’d never seen before.

Ji shot a helpless look at Wonwoo who just shrugged his shoulders.  He’d been used to your mood swings by now.

“I think there’s something seriously wrong.” Jihoon said to Joshua the next day.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...she’s not Y/n. She is...but she’s acting different.” Ji said.

“Of course she’s acting different.  She’s gone through an experience no one wants to in their life.” Joshua reasoned.

“I brought it up to Wonwoo after Y/n went to bed yesterday, and he thinks it’s just grief over the whole situation.  I just...I feel like it’s more, but it’s not my place to say.”

“What do you mean more?” Joshua asked, concern now tinting his tone.

“I mean..she sleeps all the time, and when she’s not sleeping she is sitting next to Dae, not speaking to anyone.  She only showers when Wonwoo or one of the nurses reminds her.  She’s only left the hospital once and when I asked about Dae in the car, she started crying.  She even yelled at me yesterday. She’s literally never done that out of anger...ever. I can't help but be worried.” Ji said.

“Have you brought it up to Y/n? I'm not expert by any means, but I my mom suffered from postpartum depression after my little brother was born. It looked a lot like that.”

“How can I ask her about it or bring it up? It seems like she's barely holding on as it is. I don't want to set her off or make it worse.” Ji said.

“You're also not going to help her by talking to me. If you really think there's something wrong with her, your best bet is to talk to her. She might not even realize anything is different with her because she seems locked in her own head right now with good reason. She might not right now, but later she will appreciate you coming to her and being honest. I know you're scared, but imagine how she is feeling. If you can help her Jihoon, you should.”

{19}

#wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonu #svt #seventeen #au #series #scenario #imagine #jihoon #Seungcheol #Joshua #big world #jos corner of the world

[babycmakes3-blog]

The Yellow Brick Road

I was going to write about my baby shower since it’s been almost a year since that perfect day, but I decided instead to write about the big, fat elephant in the room...PPD/PPA, also known as Postpartum Depression and Postpartum Anxiety. It affects 1 in 5 mothers and can develop up to 12 months after giving birth. This is a hard one for me. Not just because of its stigma, but also because I’m still going through it.

Anyone who knows me well knows how much I wanted my son. As you can tell from previous posts, we went through a lot to have him. My pregnancy was pretty much text book perfect and so was his delivery. What else could I have asked for?

I should of noticed the red flags early on in my pregnancy. My OCD was in overdrive. If he didn’t move I would freak. If he moved too much I would freak. If I felt even a little bit “off,” I would freak. Given my history of Anxiety and Panic Disorder paired with being a first time mom, those close to me thought I was just anxious about how my life was changing, and honestly so did I. My doctor,(mainly my OB),didn’t seem too concerned when I mentioned what I had been feeling. He suggested seeing my therapist and trying not to focus on the negative. That sounded easy enough. I just tried to keep myself busy with my job and enjoy my pregnancy as best I could.

I often compare Postpartum mental illness to the yellow brick road that Dorothy travels on in the Wizard of Oz. There are parts that are beautifully bright and clear, but there are also dark and scary parts. Everyone’s experience is different and everyone’s experience is relevant. There is no right or wrong, there is no black or white. But there is a whole lot of gray.

The day I gave birth was both the best and worst day of my life. I actually said the words “this is the worst day of my life!” Based on the pain I was experiencing at that moment of course, not on the big picture. Labor is no walk in the park! It was traumatic and scary and not something I ever see myself doing again, to be honest...and my story is boring...nothing went wrong! But I’ll save that for another day.

Seeing Cairo for the first time was magical. He was absolutely perfect, and he was mine...100% MINE. I remember the first few moments after he was born I was so in shock about what had just taken place. Pregnancy and childbirth really are a miracle! I was actually holding my tiny miracle, what I had waited my entire life for. Yet right in that moment, I felt a slight disconnect. I didn’t cry, I wasn’t overjoyed. I just felt numb. Honestly, I was absolutely terrified.

The next few weeks are a blur. I remember crying...A LOT...most of the time for no reason at all. At first I shrugged it off as just the baby blues, every woman gets them. My hormones were going crazy and I was exhausted...all normal. Most didn’t understand my tears, and I was even told that “I was a mom now so I just had to get over whatever my issue was because I was being selfish.” I now had everything I ever wanted, what could I possibly be so sad about? But then as time went on and the days passed, things just got worse.

I was afraid to be alone with my son. The one thing I had wanted more than anything in this world. I would cry every night and every morning before my husband left for work, afraid to be alone with him. Not because I feared I would harm him, or myself, but because I feared I couldn’t care for him properly. I was breastfeeding and was never sure if he was getting enough. He was colicky so he cried a lot, which also contributed to my inadequacies as a mom. I didn’t like going anywhere alone, and didn’t, because he cried all the time. This all meant more time spent inside where I slipped more and more into a depression. I felt very isolated and alone. I loved my son, but I started to regret having him. I started to miss our life before him. I started to realize that I wasn’t okay.

I needed help. I had to increase my medicine. The truth is, I was on the lowest dose of Zoloft throughout my entire pregnancy. Some will judge me for this and I’m okay with that. I’m at peace with my decision because I know what my individual illness is capable of, and I was NOT going to go back there while I was pregnant. Maybe that was a selfish decision, but that was something I do not regret. Obviously at this point what I was taking just wasn’t good enough. It was here at the six week mark that I had to stop breastfeeding. A heart wrenching decision for me and a topic I will also save for another day.

One thing I will mention here, and will no doubt mention again, is the little support I received from the female doctors in the OB/GYN practice. There was no empathy whatsoever. This was shocking to me! How could another woman/mother, who has experienced the same process, have so little empathy for another mother? As you could imagine, I’m in the process of doing a huge overhaul of all involved...doctors, therapists, etc.

Fast forward to now, at 10 months postpartum, it’s still a daily struggle. I still have to force myself to get out and do, even though each day is a little easier. I have moments where I just want to sit and cry. I panic when Cairo falls or is sick. But it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. I’m not as hard on myself, and I allow myself to actually feel what I’m feeling instead of keeping it all in. Going through this process, I wouldn’t have said I was Postpartum. However, now that I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, I KNOW I was. It took nine months to enjoy my son. To really see him and even love him in a way. It’s been a long and winding “yellow brick road” to where I am today. Cairo is thriving! He’s an amazing child full of personality, spirit and energy. He’s the best thing about me, and now I feel like I can say that I fully enjoy all of the moments.

Postpartum mental illness is so real! There are so many resources out there for us, but most don’t know where to start. Please don’t be ashamed and suffer silently. Start a conversation, ask for help! If my words can help even just one mother get help, so can yours. Being proactive and having that knowledge can make all the difference.

If there’s one thing you take from this, just know Mamas that you are amazing. You are beautiful. You are worth it. You are enough.

#infertility #pregnancyjourney #firsttimemama #maleinfertility #pcos #pcosbaby #boymom #stayathomemom #sahm #ppd #ppa #postpartum

[skyfallensoldier]

Mobile Navigation || About ↓

Name: John Laurens

Aliases/Nicknames: Jack, Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, “The Young Bayard of the Revolution”

Gender: Male

D.O.B.: October 28th, 1754

Age: 22-27 (Rev-War), 28+ (Default Post-Combahee AU)

Hometown: Charles Town, Province of South Carolina, British America

Nationality: British American

Appearance/Style: John Laurens is a tall, handsome young man in his early to mid twenties, standing somewhere around 6'2" or 6'3", with a sinewy build; he is muscular, athletic and somewhat broad-chested, although not overly bulky, and lean in terms of physique with long legs that made him quick on his feet. Paintings consistently depict him as being taller than average for men of the time, and having an aquiline/Roman nose. He's considered to be quite attractive and according to The Conquerer by Gertrude Atherton; "a man so handsome that, we are told, people experienced a certain shock when he entered the room." He has slightly curly, dark brown hair that reaches a few inches above the tops of his shoulders, most often pulled back in a queue and secured with a ribbon or simply worn loose when he is dressed casually at home, and piercing almond-shaped bluish-green eyes that look nearly turquoise in the right light, sometimes appearing more blue or more green, and occasionally taking on a gray hue. Born and raised in South Carolina for most of his life, he had a naturally clear, tanned complexion, though it faded in time during the war as they spent days trekking through mud, rain and snow. He has a scar on his shoulder and right side of his throat from a falling accident as a child, and later gained several more scars from being shot with musketballs during the war, in addition to a handful of layered scars on the back of his left shoulder blade that extend slightly across his spine. He was said to be courtly and refined in appearance, likely a result of his privileged upper class upbringing and European education.

Face Claim: Richard Madden (Game of Thrones, Medici: Masters of Florence, Cinderella (2015), Bodyguard, 1917, etc.)

Personality: John Laurens was described as being the 'young Bayard of the Revolution' and, fresh from the colleges and courts of Europe, accomplished to the highest degree and of flawless character. He was called noble, and an intellectual "burning with the most elevated patriotism." Indeed, Laurens is an extremely passionate individual with an almost startling amount of determination. Loyal to a fault, when he supports something/someone, he supports it wholeheartedly and fervently. He's also quite stubborn; while he isn't necessarily unwilling to listen to the ideas of other people he can become quickly frustrated if they don't appear willing to consider the merits of what he has to say, as shown with his falling out with former lover and friend Francis Kinloch over political differences, with him supporting the Patriot cause and the other sympathizing with the British. Though a typically very honest and independent person, John has difficulty standing up to his father and often bends to his will even if it goes against what he personally wants, such as leaving his younger siblings behind or attending law school over medical school. He is considered by his friends to be incredibly brave, sometimes to the point of reckless stupidity, and they frequently marveled at how he was not more often injured with the way he charged into battle fearlessly.

Despite his seemingly open book life, John is very much reserved when it comes to his affections and his secrets, which he only shares with the closest of individuals. He holds a lot in, preferring to put on a façade of what he believes people expect of him - the perfect son, doting older brother, charming and dedicated soldier, etc. In reality he believes he will never live up to his father's expectations and suffers from bouts of melancholy and depression, during which times he tends to court death even more regularly than he normally would; his perceived failures and imperfections as the eldest son are a major source of anxiety and self deprecating thoughts and actions. There's a part of him that is terrified to the core of people discovering who he really is and hating him for it, especially with regards to his sexual interests, which he consider to be deviant, but is unable to help his desire for companionship enough to 'resist' as he believes he should if he were stronger or more virtuous. He knows if people were to find out it would ruin not only him but his family also. John has a bit of a temper and little patience for putting up with things like cowardice, such as the time he threatened to use his sword on the first man, on his own side, to suggest surrendering to the British. He can also be quite cocky and arrogant when he wants to be, but also holds people he isn't extremely close to at a distance in order to keep his private life just that. 

In spite of all of this, Laurens is an extremely kind and caring man with a soft spot for children, as he raised his own younger siblings for a considerable time after their mother's death. He is well spoken, articulate, and something of a free spirit with creativity, considering his love of art, literature, and nature. He has a tendency towards getting (selectively) jealous and overprotective when it comes to the people he cares about, but especially towards his lovers. John doesn't do anything half way, whether it's fighting for a cause or falling in love. When his sights are set on something/someone, they become everything to him. If you insult someone he cares about and respects, he will not hesitate to draw blood for such an offense.

Biography: Henry Laurens and Eleanor Ball Laurens had a total of twelve children during their marriage, but only five lived through infancy, and only four lived to see adulthood. John, the eldest of the surviving children and the fourth born, was born in 1754 on October 28th in Charles Town, South Carolina. Both of his parents came from families that were prosperous as rice planters/cultivators, and by the 1750s, Henry and his partner George Austin had become wealthy as owners of one of the largest slave trading houses (Austin & Laurens) in North America, something that would deeply affect his relationship with his son and impacted John's political views significantly as he grew older. When he was ten years old his younger sister Cassie and he both contracted smallpox and she died two days after he recovered, breaking the young boy's heart considering they were extremely close. John also lost an eleven week old brother, Leon, when he was four years old, and when he was thirteen his five-year-old sister Rachel passed away in his arms due to a serious bout of pneumonia. These incidents left him extremely protective of his remaining four siblings; Patsy, Harry, Jemmy and Polly.For most of their childhood, John and his two surviving younger brothers, Henry "Harry" Jr. and James "Jemmy", were tutored at home. 

He was extremely close to his mother and she imprinted a lot of her world views on him simply due to the amount of time they spent together, her being extra protective because he was her first child to survive infancy. She would read to him frequently, anything from satirist Alexander Pope, to the Greek mythological Iliad by Homer, to Sir Isaac Newton and romantic poetry by Geoffrey Chaucer. He often spent hours with her in the gardens or watched her paint and did his own doodles; he later had several pieces of his art published in a journal, most notably live sketches of turtles. Unfortunately, the happy and loving relationship would not last. After a difficult pregnancy with her final child and second (surviving) daughter with Henry, named Mary "Polly" Laurens, Eleanor passed away roughly a month later due to a complication now known as postpartum eclampsia, leaving her five children motherless; John was fifteen at the time and described by Henry to be inconsolable. After grieving for a week in near silence, he willingly stepped into the role of a sort of maternal figure/replacement parent while their father was busy, so his siblings did not grow up entirely raised by nannies during the times he wasn't there. He was especially protective of the two youngest, Jemmy and Polly.

In October of 1771, Laurens' father moved with his three sons to London for further education, leaving Patsy and Polly behind with an uncle, much to John's chagrin. As he grew older, Henry began to discuss with John the need for him to study law and start a family of his own after gaining his education, pressuring him to consider what he wanted in a wife, a topic that made Laurens almost as uncomfortable as when Henry talked about him 'inheritance’, of which he had no interest. After scouting out potential schools in Europe to leave his sons at, family friends recommended Geneva, Switzerland, and so that was where John and Harry (the second oldest son) were sent for two years beginning in the summer of 1772, forcing John to part with young James. Geneva, which was a surprisingly forward thinking place for the time, was where John became more exposed to the idea of women's rights, abolition, and free government among other things. At the age of eighteen he had his first sexual experience with a man, which only confirmed what he had known for a long time but dreaded admitting to himself - he was not attracted to women in the least. Sometime in 1774 he was formally introduced to Francis Kinloch, a boy who had grown up in Southern Carolina as well. Not long after that, they became physically involved, and John fell hard and fast for a man that, due to their extremely different political views was doomed to fail (Kinloch was, at least in the beginning, a diehard Loyalist while Laurens firmly believed in the Patriot cause). Though he wished to remain in Geneva for another year to spend more time with Francis, Henry forced him to return to London and, despite John's strong desire to attend medical school, his father pushed him towards law until John finally relented. 

He did his best to keep his relationship with Francis going but between the career path he was pressured into, being left by his father to look after his younger brothers, the rising tensions between Britain and the Colonies, the strain of their political differences was too much and the two of them fell out, something which only served as another heavy weight on John's already burdened shoulders. To make matters worse, one September 5th in 1775 when John was away with college peers, his younger brother Jemmy - always adventurous and brimming with energy - climbed a wall on their London property and tried to jump to the roof outside of John’s bedroom window, but slipped and fell, hitting his head and sustaining a severe head wound that proved fatal when he passed away early the next morning. This loss devastated John beyond belief, as he had essentially raised little James from the age of four and a half when their mother died in 1770 to 1772 when they were separated and again from 1774 upon his return to London until his death. It felt like losing a limb to John, and from September to October he took quite ill from the stress and the grief of it all. At one point after Jemmy's death, perhaps out of loneliness, John finally picked up his pen and wrote Francis after more than seven months of silence, telling him about his brother's death and attempting to start up a new correspondence with him. When the attempt to reconcile their friendship - among other things - fell through, John sought comfort in the arms of a woman he had become close friends with, Martha Manning, whom he had known as a boy due to her father's connections with his own. 

Angry and sad over the way his life was shaping up to be, and lonelier than he could ever recall, he had a midnight tryst with Ms. Manning, half remembered and laced with the taste of alcohol, pain and regret. John continued to blame himself for his baby brother's' death, something his father's stern letters to him did nothing to assuage, and he began spending more time with Martha, as he genuinely enjoyed her company in a less romantic sense, beginning to see her as a friend and confidant. However, rumors began to circulate soon that John was courting Martha, and when he learned of this he made his desire to travel to America and fight in the war (against his father's wishes) clear. He didn't want to become a lawyer, or get married, or settle down in London of all places. His desires were briefly put on hold when Martha came to him one evening, in tears, and told him she had not bled in over a month, and that she believed herself to be pregnant. Deeply conflicted, John eventually, reluctantly, asked Martha's father for her hand in marriage, without revealing the true reasons why except to a select few friends and his uncle. He had too much honour to disgrace an innocent girl and force her to bring up his bastard child with her reputation ruined. Still, as much as he cared for her, he did not see her in a romantic light, and his love was of a platonic nature. After they were married, John was visited by Kinloch on several occasions and, after learning of their situation, Francis offered to keep an eye on Martha as he knew John's heart was settled into the Colonies and he did not intend to remain in London much longer. On a handful of occasions, Francis spent the night at their home under Martha's suggestion, and though they never explicitly spoke of it, Francis would keep her company in other ways John could not... and took care of him the same way as well. As a result of this strange, yet oddly peaceful time, Martha Manning-Laurens would go on to name her and John's daughter after the two people John had loved the most, Francis himself, and his mother.

In January of 1777, his daughter Frances Eleanor Laurens was born, baptized on February 18th, 1777. Laurens' father-in-law wrote to him that the infant had "undergone much pain, & misery by a swelling in her hip, & thigh, I believe from a hurt by the carelessness of the nurse". Ella was not expected to live, but by July 1777, she had recovered from a successful surgery to her hip. Laurens would not get to meet his daughter for many years. Instead of remaining in England to complete law school and raise a family, John Laurens embarked for Charleston in December of 1776. He arrived in April of 1777. That summer, he accompanied his father from Charleston to Philadelphia, where Henry Laurens was to serve in the Continental Congress. Unable to prevent him from joining the Continental Army, his father reluctantly used his influence to obtain a position of his honor for his then 22-year-old son in attempt to give him some semblance of safety, much to his annoyance. When General George Washington invited Laurens to join his staff in early August of that year as a volunteer aide-de-camp, John agreed, though desiring to take a field position he knew being on Washington's personal staff would at least get him closer to realizing his goals. Laurens soon became close friends with two of his fellow aides-de-camp, Alexander Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette; even converting the latter to become an Abolitionist as he himself had become when he was in Geneva, which the Marquis would faithfully show open support for, for the rest of his life. 

John took it a step further however, in that he actually debated the virtues and even the necessity of Abolition with Washington himself, leaving a profound impact on the older man (though not as great as John would have liked). He quickly became known for his reckless courage upon first seeing combat on September 11, 1777, at the Battle of Brandywine during the Philadelphia campaign, something even Lafayette took notice of, claiming it was a miracle he had not been wounded or killed with how hard he seemed to be trying. A few days later on September 16th, John was present at the Battle of the Clouds, when the British and American forces were squaring it off against one another when a torrential downpour intervened. On October 4th, he was involved in the Battle of Germantown, as General Washington's forces surprise-attacked the British north of Philadelphia. At one point, the Americans were stymied by a large stone mansion occupied by the enemy. After several attempts to take the building failed, Laurens and a French volunteer, the chevalier Duplessis-Mauduit, came up with their own daring plan. They gathered some straw to set on fire and place at the front door of the house. According to another officer’s account of Laurens' actions that day, “He rushed up to the door of Chew’s House, which he forced partly open, and fighting with his sword with one hand, with the other he applied the wood work a flaming brand, and what is very remarkable, retired from under the tremendous fire of the house, with but a very slight wound.” Laurens was struck by a musket ball that went through part of his right shoulder, and he made a sling for his arm from his uniform sash. As John Laurens effectively established himself a courageous reputation at the Battle of Germantown, he also left an impression on the leaders of the Army, particularly Washington himself, who appreciated Laurens’s bravery in addition to his intelligence and writing skills. 

Two days after Germantown, on October 6, 1777, John Laurens was officially appointed an aide-de-camp to Washington with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. It was honestly a miracle that Washington was able to keep him in an office for much of the war when his heart seemed to be set on decimating the British forces himself if permitted, using his effective but unconventional military tactics (such as arson). Upon his arrival at Valley Forge, Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, along with the rest of Washington’s aides-de-camp, went about the myriad duties of a staff officer. This mostly entailed writing and transcribing letters, but also included tracking expenses, acting as couriers or messengers, coordinating travel and lodging, gathering supplies, preparing meetings, spying and infiltration regarding the enemy, and special assignments. John also served as an unofficial liaison of sorts between his father and General Washington. During this time, Henry Laurens was the President of the Continental Congress currently meeting at York, Pennsylvania. John was constantly keeping his father informed of the challenges, occurrences, and rumors of the Continental Army. John's thoughts on the entire experience could basically be summed up with the quote, "Fuck Congress." But he duitfully became the buffer between his father and Washington regardless. As the “Conway Cabal” unfolded, John Laurens unwaveringly supported his commander-in-chief by penning letter after letter to his father, giving his critical opinions on Washington’s detractors, Generals Gates, Conway, and Mifflin. Henry Laurens had always admired Washington, and his son’s letters reinforced this confidence. 

Despite all of these tasks, John was still able to pursue a personal undertaking to which he devoted much time and thought. Laurens envisioned enlisting slaves into the Continental Army. They would form their own “black battalions,” and in return, be offered their personal freedom. It was quite a radical idea, considering it came from the son of one of the largest plantation owners in the south. But it was something that Laurens believed in very strongly. He was extremely persistent in this endeavor, despite encountering many setbacks. Not only did he discuss these ideas with his father, but also Washington, Hamilton, Lafayette, and virtually anyone else who was willing to listen, whether they agreed or not. The responses he received were usually praise for his enthusiasm, but offered cautionary advice about the opposition he would encounter, none of which Laurens took to heart. After Valley Forge Laurens marched with the rest of the Continental Army to face the British at the Battle of Monmouth Courthouse in New Jersey at the end of June 1778. He was on the field during this engagement, but somehow managed to avoid any intrepid acts of daring, likely due to Charles Lee's abysmal 'leadership' which left the entirety of the Army in a state of confusion and frustration. Following Monmouth, Laurens was detached from Washington’s staff and sent on a special assignment. Since he spoke French, John acted as a liaison with the newly arrived French forces under the command of Count d’Estaing. He remained in this capacity during the campaign to recapture Newport, Rhode Island in August 1778. December 1778 found Laurens involved in yet another escapade. The audacious young Lieutenant Colonel had challenged General Charles Lee to a duel. Lee had recently undergone a court martial in which he had not only verbally insulted Laurens, but also “spoken of General Washington in the grossest and most opprobrious terms of personal abuse.” The weapons of choice were pistols, and unlike most duels, Laurens and Lee started by facing each other, and then advanced until only about six paces separated them. Both men fired simultaneously; Laurens was not hit, but Lee was wounded in the side. However, Lee had only been grazed by the ball, and he insisted on reloading the weapons for another shot. Laurens voiced his acceptance. Their seconds protested, saying that it should end. Eventually cooler heads prevailed, and it was declared that honor had been satisfied and the duel was over. It is strongly believed that Hamilton was the major reason the duel did not persist that day, and that no one lost their lives. Lee later declared that Laurens’s conduct on this occasion was gentlemanly, and he had gained an “odd sort of respect for him.” 

In the spring of 1779, the British embarked upon a campaign in the south, captured Savannah and moved next to Charleston. Laurens wanted to take part in the defense of his home state, and received permission from Washington to do so in March, 1779. The Commander-in-Chief wrote: "Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, who will have the honor of delivering you this, has served two Campaigns in my Family in quality of aide De camp... Though unwilling to part with him, I could not oppose his going to a place where he is called by such powerful motives, and where I am persuaded he will be extremely useful. I have therefore given him leave of absence ‘till a change of affairs will permit his return, when I shall be happy to see him resume his place in my family." On his way to South Carolina, Laurens stopped by Philadelphia to petition Congress for support of his plan to enlist slaves into Continental service. With dire circumstances in the south, Congress resolved, “That it be recommended to the states of South Carolina and Georgia, if they shall think the same expedient, to take measures immediately for raising three thousand able bodied [black men].” Congress suggested that the blacks be formed into separate battalions “according to the arrangements adopted for the main army, to be commanded by white commissioned and non-commissioned officers.” Despite all this, when Laurens brought the proposal before the South Carolina state legislature, he was met with hostility and protest. He had come closer, but still remained far from his idealistic goal. Congress had also given Laurens a regular commission in the army as a lieutenant colonel, which would give him the authority to command troops in the field. 

Upon reaching Charleston, Laurens was put in charge of some rear guard troops who were in danger of being overrun by the enemy. Instead of withdrawing and fighting a defensive action, Laurens ordered the inexperienced troops on an unnecessary charge. The Americans suffered casualties, Laurens’s horse was shot and he was wounded in the right arm. Afterwards, the American commander, General William Moultrie, was infuriated when he found out what Laurens had done. Several other American officers felt similarly, however the citizens of Charleston regarded Laurens as a fearless hero. Lieutenant Colonel Laurens later took part in the failed attempt to retake Savannah in October, 1779. By 1780, John was back in Charleston during the siege, and he eventually surrendered with almost 5,500 other American troops in May of that year. Taken as a prisoner by the British, he was shipped to Philadelphia, where he was paroled with the condition that he would not leave Pennsylvania. While in Philadelphia, Laurens was able to visit his father, who would soon take ship for the Netherlands as American ambassador, in search of loans. During the voyage to his post, Henry Laurens’ ship was seized by the British, resulting in the elder Laurens' imprisonment in the Tower of London. Determined to return to South Carolina, and in the expectation of being freed by a prisoner exchange in November 1780, Laurens wrote to George Washington and requested a leave of absence from his service as aide-de-camp, which was granted. Laurens also received news of Hamilton's engagement to Miss Elizabeth Schuyler, which he replied to in less than enthusiastic manner, despite another of Hamilton's letters declaring that Laurens 'eagerness to see me married is misplaced', indicating John wanted to see Alexander married, possibly so he could move on from him or have someone to care for Alexander (which indicated he did not believe their relationship would last (or that he would live very much longer). This was a strained time between the two men with such a distance between them. It was during this time that Laurens stopped corresponding regularly with Alexander, causing a fray in their relationship, and Hamilton sent him another letter concerned of the state of his mental health, indicating that he seemed to believe Laurens was somehow suicidal, as he would check in on him and encourage him not to do anything foolish. During the time of his parole in Philadelphia, Laurens took up lodgings with Francis Kinloch who had been released earlier than he was and was serving as a South Carolina representative of the Continental Congress. Their physical relationship was rekindled during this time, but emotionally, John was still carrying a torch for Alexander. 

After his exchange, John Laurens was appointed by Congress as an envoy to procure supplies and money from France. He sailed from Boston in February, 1781, and arrived at France in March. Laurens then headed for Paris, to carry out his task of assisting Benjamin Franklin in obtaining loans from France. After six weeks elapsed with no results, the restless Laurens called on the French minister of foreign affairs, the comte de Vergennes. He made demands for money, weapons, uniforms, and ammunition for the American cause. Vergennes replied, “Colonel Laurens, you are so recently from the Head Quarters of the American Army, that you forget that you are no longer delivering the order of the Commander-in-Chief, but that you are addressing the minister of a monarch.” Not to be denied, Laurens ignored this dismissal by Vergennes, and went directly to King Louis XVI himself. At a reception where individuals were briefly brought before the king to merely bow and pay their respects, the bold Laurens apparently directly approached the king. Despite ruffling some feathers in the French court, Laurens was eventually able to secure a ten million livre loan from the Dutch, underwritten by the French. He sailed back to America in August 1781, with money and two ships loaded with military supplies. Laurens rejoined Washington’s staff in September, just in time for the Yorktown campaign. During the siege, Laurens was given temporary command of a light infantry battalion while he continued to serve as one of Washington’s aides. He participated in the dramatic night assault on British Redoubt #10 on October 14 along with his friend, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton, who commanded another light infantry battalion. A few days later, the British requested a ceasefire to discuss surrender. Two commissioners were appointed by the allies to meet with the British representatives to work out terms: Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens and the viscount de Noailles (Lafayette’s brother-in-law). Laurens and Noailles stipulated that the British and German forces must surrender as unconditional prisoners of war, and that the Crown troops must march out of Yorktown with their flags cased and only certain music could be played by their bands. The British felt these were harsh terms, but Laurens pointed out that these were the same terms demanded by the British during the siege of Charleston. Laurens insisted on these conditions, and they were finally met when the British and Germans surrendered on October 19, 1781. 

John Laurens, however, did not consider the war over after Yorktown. He continued pursuing his idea of raising battalions of black soldiers, but with no success. He joined General Nathanael Greene’s army in South Carolina and played a part in driving the British from the backcountry of his home state. As the war came to a close, it seemed Laurens was certain to be one of the predominant leaders of the new nation. His good friend, Alexander Hamilton, who had resigned from the army after Yorktown and was appointed to the Continental Congress in 1782, wrote to Laurens: "Peace made, My Dear friend, a new scene opens. The object then will be to make our independence a blessing. To do this we must secure our union on solid foundations; a Herculean task and to effect which mountains of prejudice must be leveled! Quit your sword my friend, put on the toga, come to Congress. We know each others sentiments, our views are the same; we have fought side by side to make America free, let us hand in hand struggle to make her happy." Laurens, however, could not give up on his belief that slaves could and should be allowed to earn their freedom, nor the recklessness . It was in August 1782, when Lieutenant Colonel Laurens was put in command of a detachment of troops organized to stop a British foraging party along the Combahee River, south of Charleston. Laurens ignored his orders to maintain a defensive position, and instead sought out the British. Loyalists had notified the British of Laurens’s plans, and they prepared an ambush. 

On the morning of August 27, 1782, Laurens was riding at the front of his troops when 140 British soldiers hiding in the grass rose and fired a murderous volley into the Americans. Laurens was not hit, but he refused to listen to common sense and retreat or surrender, so he instead decided to charge the enemy despite being warned that such a tactic was a guaranteed suicide. On the next British volley, Laurens was struck by several musket balls and fell from his horse, wounded. The Americans fled, but several of his companions stopped to retrieve Laurens' body, only to be startled on the escape by his moans of pain and realizing he had survived. He had been pierced by four musket balls; one tore through his left shoulder cleanly, one lodged in his right hip, another in his lower abdomen which pierced an organ, and another finally hit him in the chest, just a few inches beneath his left pectoral, barely missing his heart. The surgeons had to to get to work immediately to even have a hope of saving his life, although the chances were admittedly pretty grim. John unfortunately woke up as they were bandaging his shoulder and felt the burning pain all through his body. He was held down by several of his comrades as they tried to force him to drink enough whiskey to knock him unconscious, but it didn't take immediately. He nearly tore his throat screaming when they had to cut him open to retrieve the three musketballs, and despite managing to nearly kick the doctor's teeth in after breaking free once, he was held down by his friends as they sewed up the laceration on his liver, and then had to use a hot iron to cauterize the surgical wound on his stomach; only then did Laurens thankfully finally pass out from the severity of the pain, sparing him from suffering further trauma during the remainder of the procedure. 

As soon as it was safe to travel, Laurens was taken to the Pennsylvania Hospital where he remained for the first week of his recovery. The moment Hamilton heard what had happened at Combahee River he travelled to Pennsylvania to see him for the first time since Yorktown the previous year. He insisted that Laurens return with him to New York and stay with himself, Eliza and his infant son Philip, which after some persuasion John agreed to. He couldn't help his envy over Alexander and Eliza and their beautiful, normal family, but was touched by the kindness they offered him during his recovery, and he just fell in love with the baby, who reminded him of the time he had spent raising his siblings. Once fully recovered, John moved out of their home and into a residence of his own in New York, and considered his options. For the next year he mostly focused on his physical rehabilitation and relearning how to function as something other than a soldier, turning his attention to his love of artwork and nature for solace before being called to do something more with his life than be idle. It seemed that, at that moment, someone was looking out for him. 

John received word during this recovery period that his long estranged wife, Martha, had died a little less than a year ago near the end of 1781, which shocked and saddened him greatly, and also left him to decide what would become of his daughter Ella, at that point not even seven years of age yet. Although he considered letting his sister Patsy raise her, which he wholeheartedly believed she would be more fit to, John wrote back and forth between her, and her caregivers, for a while before making the decision to have her brought to him, largely prompted by remembering his interactions with his young siblings, and baby Philip. He felt incredibly awkward and out of his depths at first, attempting to raise the daughter he had never even seen born, but he soon came to adore her with everything in him, and became a doting father, his biggest regret being that he hadn't had Martha and Frances brought to America with him when he left, because although he did not love Martha romantically, he still cared for her. 

The year it reopened in 1784, John chose to attend King's College despite being more than a decade older than a majority of the students there, and enrolled as a medical student, eventually graduating and entering the King's College of Medicine (now referred to as the Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons, the medical post-graduate school for King's College/Columbia University students). As he had already previously received a college education in Europe he had no issue flying through his courses in a couple of short years. After graduating in 1789 at the age of 34, Laurens opened his own medical practice/apothecary in New York City, much to his father's displeasure. At this point, John had little contact with Henry and made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the 'family business', nor with being a lawyer, and his father could either accept him this way or cease contact; he chose the former, although the relationship remained somewhat terse for years afterwards. 

He still advocated passionately for Abolition in his writings as a war veteran, and supported Alexander Hamilton's decisions in the court and, upon becoming Washington's closest assistant once more in 1789, as the Treasury Secretary. When the Hamiltons moved to Philadelphia, Laurens and his daughter followed shortly after them, as little Eleanor had become quite close to the children and he had no desire to part ways with his two dearest friends. During the 1794 Yellow Fever outbreak in Philadelphia, he found himself torn during the controversy. On one hand he firmly believed bloodletting was a nearly useless treatment despite it being the most popular one and widely recommended upon by Dr. Benjamin Rush, and although he did not entirely agree with Dr. Edward Stevens' (Alexander's former foster brother)'s approach either - he preferred the use of medicines derived from plants such as quinine powder to manage the fever - he still found it a less volatile way to treat patients overall and ultimately sided with Stevens, particularly after his treatments seemed to ease Hamilton's and Eliza's symptoms more than the bloodletting, and recalling his own unpleasant history with Rush's treatments when he was a child and his siblings contracted malaria or smallpox. He continued to correspond regularly with Edward after that day and they remained good friends for the rest of their lives. Following the Hamiltons' return to New York, John and Ella remained long enough for him to treat the remaining patients he had with him before returning to their home upstate in New York.

Family: Henry Laurens (Father), Eleanor "Helena" Ball Laurens (Mother-Deceased), James Laurens {Paternal Uncle}, Martha "Patsy" Laurens (Younger Sister), Henry "Harry" Laurens, Jr. (Younger Brother), James "Jemmy" Laurens (Younger Brother-Deceased), Mary "Polly" Eleanor Laurens (Younger Sister), Martha Manning Laurens (Estranged Wife-Deceased), Frances "Ella" Eleanor Laurens (Daughter).

Relationships/Romantic Interests: Alexander Hamilton (Lover; Verse Dependent), Martha Manning Laurens (Estranged Wife/Former One Night Stand), Francis Kinloch (Former Lover), Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton (Polyamorous Partner w/ Alexander; Verse Dependent, Platonic/Non Sexual).

Sexual Orientation: Homosexual (Closeted)

Strengths/Talents: John Laurens was noted to be an exceptionally talented young man even from the time he was a boy, being a skilled artist, linguist, and fighter. He is multilingual, having been encouraged by his parents to learn a second language when he was a child, and then to later study French in preparation for his moving to Geneva for school; he soon realized he had a knack for picking up on foreign tongues quickly and began to expand his knowledge based on that. Because of this he is fluent or at least semi-fluent in seven languages: English, Latin, French, Greek, Italian, Spanish and German (X). Prior to the war he began studying Swedish, Dutch, Hebrew, and Irish-Gaelic and is now conversational in all three, he also taught himself how to read Chinese due to his fascination with their medicine and philosophies. Laurens is known to be a dedicated soldier and brave towards the point of recklessness; he's fast, strong, and tough as nails when it comes to fighting, and is ambidextrous (with a right hand preference), as he was able to switch to his non-dominant hand after getting shot in the right arm, and proceeded to kill ten British men while aiding his side in a retreat in South Carolina (X).Thanks to his (reluctant) attendance of law school, John is well versed in knowledge of the law and government. As mentioned above, the soldier was also an excellent sword-fighter and fencer, and a fair shot with his pistol as well, confident enough to challenge Charles Lee to a duel and succeed in wounding him.

John is an extremely dangerous opponent, physically, and should not be underestimated under any circumstance. In his own time and upon joining the war, he made it a practice to engage in regular, vigorous exercise even while only working as a volunteer Aide, because he was determined to enter the field and was preparing for that eventuality. He has practiced the art of γυμνάζω (gymnazo), the Ancient Greek origin of what will eventually become gymnastics, which was used by the warriors of Sparta and Athens as documented in Philostratus' work Gymnasticus. Philostratus' claim was that gymnastics was a form of wisdom on par with that of philosophy, poetry, music, geometry, and astronomy, and Athens combined this physical training with the discipline of the mind. John also trained himself in the Traditional Chinese Medicine art of Dim Mak ('death point striking') and Varma Kalai, which is the Tamil traditional art of vital points, which is used in alternative medicine like TCM, traditional yoga and martial arts, in which the manipulation of pressure points is used to either heal or cause harm. He knows several different fighting techniques including Jujitsu, Greco-Roman fencing, and the Five Animals styles of Chinese martial arts. Because of his interests in other cultures and their healing arts (particularly those from China, Ancient Greece, and India), John possesses an extensive knowledge of first aid, medicinal herbs and remedies, massage, Kalisthenics (used as far back as by Alexander the Great), botany, yoga, meditation, exercise, and more. 

He read the works of Hippocrates while in Switzerland, and ancient Western and Eastern philosophers such as Plato, Socrates, Aristotle, Sun Tzu, Lao Tzu, etc. John is a talented artist with a particular interest in sketching animal and nature scenes. Following his near death experience at Combahee and deciding to finally attend medical school as he’d always wanted, John studies extensively, and to the point of near collapse, the subjects of human anatomy, cardiovascular physiology, nutrition, surgery, physical therapy, toxicology, physiology, and more. He has also dedicated a significant amount of time to the works of physicians and scientists of his time and prior, such as Theophrastus, Carl Linnaeus, Marcello Malpighi, Ibn al-Nafis, Vesalius, John Hunter, Ambroise Paré, Paracelsus, Sir Isaac Newton, and Galileo, in order to become the best physician he possibly could be for his patients, and make up for lost time.

Weaknesses: As previously mentioned, while his intentions are noble, Laurens is extremely brave, to the point of foolishness. This led to him being wounded a handful of times during various campaigns, though this never slowed him down for long. He quickly became known for his reckless courage upon first seeing combat on September 11, 1777, at the Battle of Brandywine during the Philadelphia campaign. Of this, the Marquis de Lafayette observed, "It was not his fault that he was not killed or wounded, he did everything that was necessary to procure one or t'other." One of John's bigger weaknesses are his fears; of disappointing his father, of not living up to the high expectations that have been set upon him as the first and oldest surviving child of his parents, of people finding out things about himself he's tried to keep hidden (his sexuality, the wife and daughter he left behind in shame, the guilt he feels over his younger brother's death, etc). After his severe injuries sustained at Combahee, John occasionally suffers from painful flare ups (swelling, aches and pains, joint stiffness) in the four spots where he was shot, but especially in his arm and hip. After this he can not sit for long periods of time nor can he tolerate over-exerting himself physically or it will become physically painful to move his affected joints the next day. 

John has an almost absurd sense of loyalty and would probably give up the whole world if it meant keeping his loved one (whether a lover, one of his siblings, etc.) safe. He can often sometimes allow his emotions to get the better of him, this leads to him lashing out in anger at his enemies, and sometimes his own allies even, when angered, and he is slow to forgive when he feels wronged, such as his fury at Charles Lee’s perceived disrespect towards General Washington that landed the two in a duel that could very easily have cost one of them their lives, were it not for the others’ intervention (Lee and Laurens were prepared to go a second round, and Hamilton and Edwards’ managed to defuse the situation), or, as mentioned above, when he threatened to turn his own sword upon the first American soldier that suggested they surrender to the British, despite how bleak their situation looked. 

Hobbies/Interests: Thanks to his mother and her love of gardening and literature, John grew up with a proclivity towards art, the natural sciences (botany, physics, astronomy, etc), as well as all things related to the fine arts such as classic literature, mythology (particularly Greco-Roman and Egyptian), theatre, painting/sketching, philosophy, cooking/baking and more. He has a strong interest in learning new languages and has a love of poetry, dancing and music, enjoys collecting and learning about different types of weaponry and combat techniques. One of John's stronger interests is medicine and the career he most wished to follow was becoming a physician, for that reason he almost always has a medical journal of some sort close by, as well as a bag of herbal remedies and homemade cures he will gladly offer to which comrade he believes to be in need of some form of relief. He can often be found in his free time simply sketching pictures of wildlife, plants, or taking a peaceful walk through the woods when the weather allows it.

Quirks/Habits: John tends to play with his hair/run his fingers through it when he's nervous or agitated, which is why he has trouble wearing it tied back for long periods of time unless he absolutely must, it makes him feel more aggravated if he can't tug on or twist the strands to relieve tension. He crosses his arms and won't make eye contact when irritated. John also has the habit of biting the inside of his cheek and digging his nails into the palms of his hands when experiencing anxious, for this reason he keeps his nails trimmed quite short. 

Dislikes: The British Army and Loyalist sympathizers, the entire institution of slavery and the fact that his own family has benefitted from it while turning a blind eye to the pain it causes, betrayal of any kind, excessive violence during battle and fighting in general, being forced into living his life the way others want him to. Despite his desire to institute change in politics and the law, John actually severely dislikes law itself, it simply doesn't capture his attention the way the arts do, and he finds many of those who follow the path, while well meaning, often end up either corrupted or roped into a system they can't change, for that reason he loathes the idea of being a lawyer, which was one of his motivating factors in dropping out of college in order to return to the Colonies and enlist.

Friends/Affiliation: The Continental Army

Alignment: Neutral Good; John will follow orders when he agrees with them, but he has a rebellious streak and is not afraid to do what he wants, whether he has authorization to or not; this ties in with his reckless attitude on the battlefield which leads to him getting injured semi-frequently.

Education: John was homeschooled from a young age up until his move to Europe where his father had him sent to Geneva for his later education. After that he was made to attend law school at Middle Temple in Britain. Though he did not finish law school, in my (AU) verse he later attends and completes medical school in the recently-formed United States, with a degree in medicine and the legal right to practice in services such as general medicine, surgery, and run an apothecary (pharmacy) out of his own medical practice .

Residence: London, England (former), Charleston, South Carolina (former); New York City & Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 

Occupation: Aide de Camp/Lieutenant Colonel of the Continental Army (Former), Physician & Surgeon (Post-Combahee)

Possessions: During the war he carries a single edged sabre with a slightly curved blade and a spiral ivory hilt in a leather scabbard, as well as dual leather holster pistols carrying a pair of smoothbore flintlock pistols with sun emblems engraved on the brass sides, walnut stocks, with fishtail-shaped handles, and silver embellishments. Once Lafayette returned from France with additional supplies he also brandished a Charleville musket as many Americans did. He carries a British made locket of "Red gold" (now known as rose gold) in the shape of a heart inlaid with small seed shaped pearls forming the shape of a flower, containing a miniature portrait of his daughter, Ella, which Martha sent him after her first birthday.

Status: Alive (No, I do not accept constructive criticism, lol)

Others: John has 2-3 times been in a polyamorous relationship, the first was with Kinloch and another male friend of theirs in Geneva, the second time was with Kinloch who was also sexually involved with his wife Martha, with the consent of both of them, and the third time is/was (verse dependent) when he was involved with Alexander while he was courting/married to Eliza Schuyler. Although not physically interested in women he does develop close personal relationships with them and is comfortable if his partner is seeing/sleeping with a woman at the same time, and will often form a close friendship with them on his end and treat them like a non-sexual domestic partner.

#Long Post // #Character Study {Meta} #Spilled Ink {Headcanon} #Out Of The Field {OOC} #Suicide Mention // #Homophobia // #Internalized Homophobia // #Slavery Mention // #Suicidal Ideation // #Death // #Child Death //

[amazinghcwkeye]

                        META TALKS;;  CLAIRE && PREGNANCY && SEX

(  OVERALL TRIGGERS FOR childhood sexual abuse, domestic violence, mention of a miscarriage, mention of wanting an abortion, sexual harassment and rape. Bad and sexist language is also used. Please tread carefully if any of these things trigger you.  )

First thing first, this is going to get down and dirty and I am not going to mince words. Claire was sexually abused at the orphanage and the circus. Because of this, she developed C-PTSD/PTSD and has complex emotions towards sex and pregnancy. 

** IMPORTANT: Everything has been researched very carefully and some of it is based on my own experiences. Please do not come into my inbox or ims screaming about how I don’t know anything. And yes, well everything in here is a bit dark, it’s something that has been in development for over a few years. This was not spur of the moment, this has been thoughts and headcanons I’ve collected and worked on since starting Claire’s blog originally. If you don’t want to read anything in here, that’s fine. While this headcanon is apart of this blog, not all of this is going to show up in most of the threads, so don’t worry. Also this is part 1/? who knows how many meta talks i’ll be having about Claire.  

I'm really nervous about sharing this but I really want to, so that said, let’s get into this. 

Her first introduction into sex was after their parents died, because despite how horrible Harold Barton was, he sheltered his children (imho) from things like sex and relationship and their mother figured they were too young to even really talk about anything like sex and finding love. So, her first introduction was with the man who did the orphanage’s laundry. He thought she was pretty and she was just terrified and unable to really find a niche in the home and so she looked for places to hide which is where he found her, hiding and he took advantage of her. When her and Barney managed to run, she tried to leave behind the icky feelings that came from what happened to her, but she was never able to really get rid of them. 

Which leads to..

Claire’s first time was with Viktor, the son of the fortune teller at the circus. She was 15 years old and he was 17 and she didn’t love him. But after breaking up with a townie shortly before going on the road again, Viktor offered to take her to a party where they got drunk and slept together in the bedroom of some townie who they didn’t know and honestly, she loved it. Afterwards though, she quietly sobbed in the bathroom, mentally eviscerating herself for sleeping with someone she didn’t love because that meant that the laundry guy was right; she was a whore. 

(of course we know that is a big ass lie) 

After that, Claire got herself another boyfriend, this time a little older (which is very illegal) and focused on trying to ignore the overwhelming feelings of complete dirtiness that came from all her drinking and fucking. He was a townie and believed her when she said she was old enough. After a few weeks, she got sick of him and broke up. But then she realised that she was getting sick in the mornings shortly after and that was the first time Claire got pregnant. At 16, she couldn’t be a parent, she was hardly a functioning adult. But she didn’t want to have an abortion, she was raised in a religious orphanage and thought that it was wrong. 

It didn’t matter though, the strain of training and the violence that she lived with in the circus caused her to miscarry and while she cried daily about it, there was a little part of her that was relieved that she didn’t have to figure out what to do anymore. Her relief lasted shortly though as she realized that with losing the baby, she gained a crippling sleeping problem that made her drink more and act out. She waited a bit to start dating again, she had heard that if you had sex after being pregnant (even if you had a miscarriage) you could risk getting pregnant again and she was too terrified of that. 

Though after a few months of not sleeping unless she was piss drink, Claire went back to dating and sleeping around because the nightmares from when she was younger was scarier than the nightmares of getting pregnant. Her first “boyfriend” after her miscarriage was the Strongman of the circus. He was violent and reminded her of her father and she made sure that no matter how drunk she was, she took the birth control that she had stolen. She refused to end up like her mother: shackled to a man who abused her and her kids. After a few months, she broke it off with him. Sorta. He was not one to take no for an answer so Claire just ignored most of his advances and slept with a knife under the bed. 

(Even if that didn’t protect her all the time) 

After the circus and the relationships that destroyed her understanding of basic relationships, Claire would get drunk and sleep with whoever was nearby. Sometimes, she would sleep with her marks or people who employed her and she occasionally dealt with people who refused her saying no unless she held a gun to their heads. ( unfortunately, more than once she had incidents where she didn’t have a weapon to protect herself and despite her training there are people stronger than her       it’s why she has so many scars on her body ) 

That was until she came across a situation where she felt she had fallen in love with a mark; sure he was wanted for a lot of things ( murder, thievery, being a turncoat, things that claire normally abhorred ) but he valued her opinions and made her feel wanted. Deciding to stay with him for a bit, she lived on the run with him and they decided they were going to start a family. But things weren’t as they seemed and shortly after she got pregnant - whoo boy did that do a huge damage on her mentality - he went missing. Too far along for an abortion, Claire was forced to carry the baby to term. 

Throughout it all, she suffered mentally. Her body changed in a way she didn’t like, she was forced to go into hiding until after she went into labor, she was forced to deal with nightmares every night she was actually able to go to sleep. She wanted to drink, all the time, but she didn’t because she didn’t want to hurt the baby even if she didn’t want it. Claire tried to find him all the time but she couldn’t and by time she actually gave birth, she was severely depressed and ready to end her life. 

Giving birth was the worst part of her life, she hated every second of the event and when she had given birth to the baby, she refused to hold the child. Everyone chalked it up to postpartum depression but Claire knew it was because this child wasn’t going to stay with her. She wasn’t going to risk giving the child up for adoption in a foster system - she had been a victim of it and she refused to do that to a child she didn’t want - but she knew she had to get rid of the kid. 

She spent a year looking and after finding a family that wanted a child (after secretly watching them for that length of time) she left the baby with them, swearing to watch over the child to make sure it was loved and cared for and promising to leave money in their bank account every month to help them. 

Not long after that, Claire was picked up by SHIELD and became an agent. During the beginning she was sent on honeypot missions (not that often but enough that Claire has developed a healthy hatred of trying to seduce someone and now just flirts really bad) and Claire hated every bit of it, and she eventually told her handlers that she refused to do those types of missions anymore because she felt uncomfortable using her body in such a way. Her first handler (before Coulson) didn’t care and told her that she was a weapon to be used how SHIELD wanted because she was a criminal who belonged in prison not working for the government.

Claire bucked it up and continued to do whatever mission that was sent her way. If a few of her missions lead to sexual harassment then she didn't complain. She knew her place - even if she argued with it. By time she finally decided that she had had enough, she was having hard time sleeping, nightmares and just hated working there, and so she decided to approach Fury and tell him to toss her in prison, at least there she had a chance to escape. When asked where all the negative emotions were coming from, Claire explained what was going on and Fury was not happy. 

She got a brand new handler and life at SHIELD got a bit easier to deal with. But there was still some trauma that was not dealt with because even though she was forced to go to aSHIELD therapist, she refused to truly talk about why honeypot missions bugged her and so she didn’t really deal with it. 

Which leads to..

Future relationships with Claire is so low maintenance (even if she does occasionally have problems where she cheats without meaning to) that she honestly just wants to cuddle and not discuss her past relations with her partner. When it comes to kids, oh god does she have problems. She wants them, she really does, but at the same time, she’s still haunted by the child she left behind. Any relationship she would have is a relationship built on trust and love and she’s terrified that finding out that she has a child, that finding out that her entire sexually history is tainted by dark heavy stuff that she’d rather just never explain will destroy any relationship. 

If it ever came to discussing having kids, Claire would probably have an internal freak-out and then, after trying to ignore it for so long, Claire would explain her history of pregnancy and talk about it with them. If she ever got pregnant, she’d deal with it badly by talking with her partner and a lot of communication by hiding it in the beginning, she would be terrified that they’d leave if they found out (because last time she thought she had a forever relationship, it went badly). When it came out, she would be over consumed by feelings and in some situations (if she felt too confined) she might even leave. Eventually she’d just come out and explain that when she was younger she had a child, gave it up and has felt horrible about it for years. She knows that she can’t take it back and she really doesn’t want to, but she would still regret it.

Eventually after much therapy, she would learn that what happen wasn’t her fault and that she is better than what her past was. She would also learn (after taking parenting classes) how to be a better parent. Because while much of her trauma towards children settle deeply from what was done to her and how she reacted towards it, a lot of it still stems from the abuse that was done to her by her father. Honestly, relationships would be hard even if she wasn’t abused, because she would be terrified of ending up like her mother or ending up like her father and not trusting herself not to end up like either of them. 

OTHER THINGS: 

Claire struggles with insecurity due to the abuse she suffered. In a relationship, she struggles with feeling good enough for the other person and she also struggles with drinking during a relationship. She feels like she doesn’t deserve her partner and will show it by either attaching herself to the other person or distancing herself.

#rape tw #child abuse tw #abortion mention tw #miscarriage mention tw #domestic violence tw #unhealthy coping mechanisms mentioned #//Honestly I have to write a entire thing on how claire copes with relationships bc it’s not going to fit here. this has gotten to long. #♛;; lets just dive into the hell that belongs to her backstory and character ❜ misc;; headcanons ❜ #♛;; talking on and on; her mouth moves quickly and her hands even quicker; there's a story to be told and she's telling it ❜ misc;; meta ❜

[secondgame00-blog]

How I felt after having James

I knew full well that my life would change dramatically when James came into it, and this year, at 33, I was up for it. I wanted nothing more than to care for and give all my love to our baby boy. I prepared in every way I could. I read books on sleep and childhood development. I watched YouTube videos to get a sense of what to expect during and after labor, read parenting blogs, listened to parenting podcasts, and spent hours at night reading forums for new moms. They said it was hard, of course. They said it would change my life, in good and challenging ways. They mentioned the little to no sleep I’d get—many times in fact. And still nothing, and I mean nothing—not a single thing in the whole wide world—could have prepared me for the reality of having a newborn baby.

I braced myself for one hell of a challenge. I could live without being able to get up and go on a whim—to restaurants, the movies, to grab a coffee. In time, I could learn to adapt to the change in how much and when and where and IF I slept. As hard as it would be to essentially upend our life, I wanted it.

And as someone who has struggled with depression off and on for many years, I was aware that I might be inclined to struggle with postpartum depression. The possibility of it didn’t scare me or fill me with dread. I talked openly about it with my doctor before giving birth. Daniel and I talked about it many times, kind of marveling at how good my pregnancy had gone, how good I’d felt mentally the whole time, even after tapering off of my antidepressant in the second trimester. But who knew what would happen when my hormones changed again after I gave birth?

The moment James was born, I felt this intense rush of love and excitement wash over me. Here he was finally. I kissed him and snuggled him and wept through a thousand I love yous. I was so relieved he was out after the grueling labor we’d had.

But in the days that followed, that warm, cozy love feeling stayed and the excitement began to wear off. As happy as I was to have my baby boy, I was realizing that life with a newborn was so hard—harder than anything I had ever done.

The first night home from the hospital, James was utterly inconsolable, unable to be put down anywhere for longer than a minute. The second night was the same, only he wanted to nurse constantly, which I understood. He’d just spent nine months in my womb; it made sense that he’d want closeness and comfort. I did the very best I could, which meant staying up all night every night and sleeping for an hour or two in the day while Daniel held him. Those nights were so lonely. Daniel would attempt to stay up with me, but it just seemed crazy to me to keep him up, when I was the only one who could feed James.

The trouble was, I wasn’t so sure I even was feeding James. He struggled with latching then unlatching and seemingly forgetting how to feed at all. For hours and hours, he’d find his latch, push away, then struggle to remember how he latched in the first place. He’d scream the whole time, too, which left me confused and feeling desperate. I was so scared that something was wrong, that maybe he’d never settle down at all, or that he wasn’t getting enough to eat—a feeling that had plagued me since the night we began nursing. It was impossible to know how much colostrum he was getting since it’s such a small amount that your body makes overall (the nurses at the hospital told me time and again when I looked to them, worried that he wasn’t getting anything, that his stomach was only the size of a cherry. He didn’t need much, they said). I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

And yet, I didn’t want to give up on breastfeeding. My nipples were raw, cracked, and crusted with blood but that was fine, as long as he was fine. I told myself that I’d eventually get used to the pain and that my nipples would desensitize and adjust. This is what all breastfeeding mothers go through, I reminded myself over and over. But there was something about the way he cried, the way he thrashed, the sort of desperation in his latch. My gut said he wasn’t getting what he needed. We went to the pediatrician three days in a row that first week, hoping that he’d begin pooping and regaining the weight he’d lost after birth. We were told to keep coming back until he’d made some progress. I met with a second lactation consultant, who encouraged me to keep on keeping on. And I did. I tried pumping, as she’d suggested, and didn’t produce more than a few drops.

I felt isolated, all on my own with this perfect, precious newborn I loved so much, who didn’t sleep at night and only cat-napped during the day, who I could barely breastfeed, who couldn’t tell me what he needed when he wailed. Of course I had Daniel, who’d do anything for me, and that relieved me some. But I was James’ mother. I was the one he knew. I was the source of his comfort, the one who could feed him. And maybe that role wouldn’t have felt quite as daunting IF I felt confident that I was indeed feeding him, but breastfeeding was a war, and I was losing.

Friends and family came and went, visiting us and meeting James, and I remember how incredibly alone I felt. I remember looking at them, feeling desperate, wanting so badly to cry out, help me please!, and then shooting myself down. But what could they really do? Could they feed him? Get him to sleep?

I cried. Every day, at least once, for a week and a half. I lived with a constant feeling that at any moment all the tears in my eyes would come spilling out. One half of me was filled with this potent, profound love for my baby boy, and the other was filled with something I couldn’t even define—some murky mix of fear, isolation, and at its worst, a hopelessness that it would always be this way.

What plagued me was the endlessness of it all. It was so hard to believe that it would get better, so hard to take comfort in reading about how much easier newborn life would be by the time James was six weeks old because we were living minute to minute, crawling our way through one day at a time. Six weeks might as well have been a hundred years away.

But look at how lucky you are! I told myself over and over. I couldn’t help but acknowledge that the circumstances of my life were overwhelmingly positive. I had a husband I adored, who was eager and available to help me in any way. We lived in a safe home, in a place we loved, with family 8 minutes away. My baby was healthy, for God’s sake! I had it good, I repeated, like a mantra. It only deepened my shame.

Ten days in, I looked at Daniel with tears pooling, lip quivering, and revealed my worst, most shameful fear: What if—what if maybe we…what if we made a mistake having a baby? It was a gutting thought to have, even worse to say aloud. I didn’t want to wonder it much less say it. All I wanted in the whole world was to be a good mother, a whole-hearted mother, and here I was on day 10, failing.

Daniel reached over, took my hand in both of his. Of course he understood. He was having just as hard a time adjusting, he said. He told me he’d had the same awful, frightening thought, and it was the first time I felt anything but alone since James was born. I didn’t want either of us to feel like we were drowning in parenthood, but sharing our struggle divided the pain by half.

I started taking my antidepressant that day.

Daniel and I worked out a schedule of sorts (more of a shift system) and divided up our tasks. I felt supported and bolstered and he felt good being able to help. He grew even closer to James. We both got more sleep.

Daniel called his sister, and asked for help. She began coming over once a week to spend the night. She got up with James overnight while we got a full night’s sleep. It saved us both.

I came to terms, finally, with the reality that I just wasn’t able to breastfeed. I couldn’t will my milk to come in, no matter how I tried. James was still rooting constantly. I was terrified he was hungry when I heard his stomach growling, despite having nursed pretty much all night long, so we decided to give him 10ml of formula (the amount we tried in the hospital when I insisted he was hungry). After he ate, it was as if we had witnessed a switch flip inside him. He stopped crying, allowed himself to look around and “play” without constantly searching for my nipple, and even slept in his bassinet for two whole, uninterrupted hours.

Once we began giving him formula, his behavior, his temperament, everything—changed overnight. He went from not sleeping at all to sleeping peacefully. And when he was awake, he was calm. I no longer had to hold him around the clock. At long last, I slept.

I surrendered. I asked for help. I couldn’t be the hero mom I wished I was in my mind, who didn’t need rest and didn’t complain. I was just a mom.

I look back and realize that so much of the suffering we all endured in that first part of James’ life was due to him being hungry, desperately trying to feed at all hours with nothing to eat. It breaks my heart to think about that now.

___________________

When mothers describe new motherhood as hard, they never leave it there. They’re quick to add a “but it’s the best, most rewarding thing in the world.” “Savor every second,” they tell you. “I miss it,” they say to you, as you’re dying. How can I savor this time, you wonder, when I’m barely surviving? You question whether or not they ever had a newborn.

For the first two weeks of James’ life, I thought other moms had kept the truth from me, about how devastatingly trying it is. “Hard” doesn’t even do it justice. “Do they just not remember?” I asked Daniel. “Is it like how women can completely forget the pain of labor in order to do it again?”

Today, James is 10 weeks old and I understand. I understand because with every single day that goes by, I love him exponentially more. Just being with him brings me enough joy for three lifetimes. Those mothers had perspective, something you can’t always know without time and distance. Their memories of sleepless nights and wailing babies had softened and faded into nostalgia. They could reminisce because they know their children were worth every single struggle that raising them entailed. I understand that now.

With my brain no longer functioning on fumes and hormone surges, I feel really good. Sometimes I wonder if it really was postpartum depression that I experienced in those first two and a half weeks, or if I was just grieving. Grieving breastfeeding, grieving my own expectations of the way I’d feel and the mother I thought I should be. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I’m already beginning to feel a little wistful for those early days. I can even imagine doing it all again, something I truly never thought I’d say two months ago when Daniel and I were in the thick fog of having a newborn.

This is motherhood.

Source: http://www.andiemitchell.com/how-i-felt-after-having-james/

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

[nicknchris09]

Once In A Lifetime Chapter 41 Off The Deep End

Melissa's POV

I was in the hospital room now.   I was still in shock about what all had happened.  Everything happened so quickly and I delivered my baby boy in our bathroom.  But now we were enjoying our little one.  After they looked over our son, they told me he was perfectly healthy.  Seth was now holding our son as he sat next to me.  He was so happy.  He was now changed as his dad brought him a change of clothes.  His other clothes were soak from him getting in the tub to help deliver our boy.  But now I watched him as he was in awe of our newborn son.  He then looked at me and asked, "What are we going to name him?"

We never discussed names as it seemed to slip our mind.  One important thing we never discussed.  "I have no clue."

He looked down at our boy and smiled, "I got it.  What about James Francis?"

I smiled and nodded.  "I love it."

"That didn't take long."  He slightly laughed.  

I just chuckled.  Then I laid back in the bed and watched him.  Then I asked, "How do you feel now, daddy?"

"Incredible.  Everything about tonight has been incredible.  I still can't believe how it all went down."  He seemed to be in awe of it all.

Then I smiled. "Well, his birthday is the day after yours."

"Yeah, if he would have only decided to come a few hours earlier, we would share the same birthday."  He smiled.

"Thank god, he didn't!"  I almost exclaimed.  "I would have delivered him alone."

Seth laughed. "Yeah, maybe it was a good thing he waited."

"You think!"  I said to him.

He looked at me and smiled.  "I couldn't be happier right now."

I smiled back at him.  "Me neither."

He moved over to the small bed and placed our son in there.  He walked over to me and climbed in bed with me.  He held me as I cuddled into him.  He asked, "So, how are you doing?"

"Good."  I smiled against him chest.  "Great actually.  Still a little shocked about all that happened but I am good."

He kissed the top of my head.  "Get some sleep, baby.  I know tonight has been one hell of a night."

I nodded and settled into him.  I fell asleep quickly.  I woke up to our newborn son crying.  Seth was already out of bed and getting him changed.  I just smiled as he took on the role so easily.  I watched as he finished, he picked up our son and gave him a bottle.  He noticed I was awake and said, softly, "Go back to sleep, love.  I got him."

I smiled and nodded.   I quickly dozed off again.  When I woke up, I found a nurse checking on us.  Seth was back in the bed with me, sleeping.  I slowly sat up and she smiled at me.  "I didn't mean to wake you."  She said, sweetly.  "How was your first night?"

"Here, fine.  But overall, crazy." I told her.

She laughed and said, "Yeah, I heard you delivered your baby at home in your bathtub.  That must have been something else."

"Does that happen often, that women deliver their babies at home?"  I asked.

She shook her head.  "I have worked here for over ten years now and you are like the third woman I have heard about delivering her child at home."

"Oh, wow.  I had no clue it was happening so fast.  I was one minute taking a bath as I thought I was just having braxton hicks contractions and the next I was in full on labor.  An hour later, he came out."  I told her.

"It happens that the more children you have, the faster they come.  Isn't this your fourth?"  She asked.  I nodded and she said, "Well, that is why.  Don't feel so bad, after you have your third, they almost just shoot out."

I slightly chuckled.  "I see that is true."

"Okay, I will leave you all be.  You guys have had a very long night.  Get some sleep."  She said, sweetly.

I nodded and laid back with Seth as she left.  I laid there and smiled as I was happy.  I quickly dozed off again.  

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Seth's POV

We have been home for two weeks now.  The first few days was great, then things changed.  Out of no where, Lissa started to push away from everyone.  She rarely touched the baby and didn't want to be bothered a lot of the times.  She flipped on me over every little thing.  We argued more.  I didn't know what was going on with her.  I walked into the living room where Lissa curled up on the couch.  The boys were in school, so it was just us and James.  James was upstairs sleeping.  I looked at Lissa and asked, annoyed, "Are you going to stay on the couch all day again?"

She has spent so much time on it, she even barely came to bed anymore.  James had his own room and I got up with him during the night.  Lissa barely cared for our child or even the other boys.  She did interact with our boys but not the baby.  I was getting a little pissed about it.  She looked at me almost in disdain and said, "I will if that is what I want to do."

"Lissa, get your ass off the couch and do something.  This isn't healthy."  I told her.  

"Go fuck yourself."  She almost hissed.  

I bit my lip and went to walk away.  But I stopped.  I got tired of her attitude lately.  I looked back at her and almost screamed, "What the fuck is your problem lately?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "You are."

"What the fuck did I do?"  I asked her, almost pissed.

"You're here.  Always hovering.  Back the fuck off!"  She yelled back.  

I threw my hands up.  "Fine, if that is what you want.  I am gone."

I quickly walked up the stairs and got James dressed and his diaper bag together.  I put him in his car seat and walked back downstairs.  I started to head out the door and Lissa almost came charging at me.  "What the fuck do you think you are doing with James?"  

"Taking him with me."  I told her, angrily.

"The fuck you are!"  She yelled at me.  She tried to grab the car seat and I moved away.  "You will not take my son!"  She yelled.

"Why?  You don't care for him.  I do!  You lay around all day while I take care of the kids and the baby.  I get up in the middle of the night with him!  Not you!  So, if I want to take him with me, I damn well please!"  I screamed at her.

I saw tears build up in my eyes.  "No!  Don't!"  She yelled.

I didn't react to her.  I just moved to the front door and walked without looking back.  I placed James in the backseat securely.  She ran out the door and screamed, "Give me my son!"

"Calm down, Lissa!"  I screamed at her.  

"No, if you are going to leave me, don't take everything that matters to me as well!"  She was crying now.

I looked at her as I noticed the pain in her eyes.  "Is that what you think I am doing?"  I asked.

She nodded as tears rolled down her cheeks.  I moved closer to her and kissed the top of her head.  I looked at her and said, "I'm not.  I just need to get away for a couple hours.  Before this gets way out of hand, it already is.  We need a breather.  I am taking James just for a couple hours.  Okay?"  I said to calm her fears.

She looked at me and asked, softly, "You'll come back?"

"Of course."  I quickly said as I didn't hesitate.  "I'll pick the boys up from school when they get out, okay?"

She then nodded and I kissed the top of her head.  I got in the SUV and left.  I pulled up to Rachael's house.  My wife was having horrible mood swings and I did not understand why.  I knew she might be able to give me some advice.  I had called her on the way there, that when I walked up to the door, she was there, waiting.  She got giddy when she saw James in the car seat.  "Oh, I get time with the baby."  

I smiled as my sister was so happy.  We walked into her house and moved to her living room.  She took the car seat from me and placed it in front of her.  She quickly took James out and held him.  I sat down as I was tired and frustrated.  Rachael sat next to me on the couch and noticed my demeanor.  "Are you okay?"  I exhaled and shook my head.  Then she asked, "What's wrong?"

I looked at her and said, "It's Lissa.  She is so moody.  She is always yelling at me and doesn't want me to touch her one minute, then the next in my arms, crying.  Like she is giving me whip lash with her mood swings.  She doesn't want anything to do with the baby, she sleeps mostly on the couch, and doesn't even take care of herself anymore."

"Sounds like postpartum depression."  She told me.

"What?"  I asked.  

"Postpartum depression.  It happens to some women after they give birth.  Most women just suffer from baby blues, but some are worse off.  They suffer from postpartum depression.  Sounds like what is going on with Lissa."  She told me.

"What do I do?"  I asked her.

She licked her lips then said, "All you can do is talk to her and tried to convince her to see a doctor and get medicated.  It's all you can do."

"This is so bad.  I left and she freaked out on me, thinking I was taking James and leaving her.  I couldn't, no matter how bad she gets.  But she really freaked, screaming at me not to take the baby.  I never seen her like that.  I had to calm her down to ensure her I was not leaving her and I was coming back.  This is actually scaring me how she is becoming."  I told her.

Rachael seemed worried.  "You don't think she would hurt the baby?"

"God, no!"  I quickly said.  "She isn't that bad.  She is just a little loopy.  I just need this to get better."

"Seth, you have to get her help.  This could get worse if she doesn't."  Now Rachael seemed concerned as it began to worry me.  Rachael never was the worrying type.

After a couple hours, I left and picked up the boys from school.  We got to the house and they raced in.  They hugged their mother and I told them as I walked in with James, "Okay, homework."

"Awww."  They all said in unison.  

I slightly laughed.  "Now, boys.  Go to your rooms and do as I told."

"Yes, sir."  They all said.

They walked upstairs as I smiled.  Then I looked over to Lissa in the living room and she looked almost frightened.  I walked in and placed the car seat in front of me as I sat on the couch.  She then said, softly, "I'm sorry."

I gave her a small smile.  "It's okay, baby."  Then I looked down and back at her as I said, "Baby, I think you need to see a doctor."

"Why?"  She asked.

I said, worried, "I think there is something wrong with you.  You are not acting like yourself.  I am actually really worried about you.  I need my wife back.  This isn't her.  I talked to Rachael about it...."

"You did what!"  She yelled at me.  "Why the fuck would you run to your sister and tell her our business?!"

She was going off again.  I quickly said, "See, there.  That isn't normal.  You never had an issue with me talking to my sister about our problems.  Now you are going off the deep end when I do."  She looked away from me and didn't say anything for a few moments.  I noticed tears rolling down her cheeks.  "Baby, please don’t do that."

I grabbed her and pulled her into me.  She cried in my arms then she sobbed, "I don't know what is wrong with me.  It's scaring me even, Seth.  I can't control my anger."  Then she looked at me and said as she sobbed harder.  "And..."

She trailed off.  She only cried harder.  "And what?"  I asked.

"No, I can't say.  It makes me feel like a shitty mother.  No mother should think the way I have been."  She said as she cried.

I became a little worried.  "Baby, tell me."

She looked up at me and looked fearful.  She finally said as she looked down again, "I resent him.  I resent our son.  And when I think that way, I feel so consumed with guilt and feel like he doesn't deserve a mother like me.  I haven't felt this way until he was born and I blame him.  Then I feel guilty.  The guilt has been eating away at me.  I have been so angry cause I felt like I couldn't talk about it with you.  Cause I was afraid..."  She looked at me and saw my face.  I was almost horrified.  "I was afraid you look at me like that."

She looked away from me and pulled away from me as she cried harder.  I was shocked by what she said but I did understand she couldn't control it.  I pulled her close to me again and she only try to get away from me.  "Baby, stop.  Please.  It's okay."

She finally stopped fighting me and let me hold her.  She cried in my arms.  She sobbed out, "I am a horrible mother."

"No, baby, you are going through something and you cannot control it."  I pulled away and looked at her.  "But now you know what is going on, you need to see a doctor.  So you can fix this.  Please.  For all of us.  For you.  James needs his mother and I need my wife.  And the boys need you as well.  Please do this."  I begged.

She nodded.  "Okay, Seth.  I will."

"Good."  I held her close to me again.  "I need my wife back.  I missed her."

She wrapped her arms around me and cried.  I just held her as I was ready for her to get the help she needed.  I didn't know how to help her and what she told me did bother me.  But I knew she couldn't control it.  But didn't make me feel any better.  I knew I wouldn't be till she got the help she needed.

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#seth macfarlane fanfiction #seth macfarlane #seth fanfic #macfarlane #fanfic

[gayswampqueen]

And on top of all the countrywide bullshit, on the home front I'm literally done with everything too!!!! FUCK I HATE MY ROOMMATES. Putting under a readmore because this will be painfully long

Our roommate spent the first three months that I knew her talking about how much a literal piece of shit actual abuser her husband was, how he has no respect for any of her boundaries and seems totally intent of keeping them in a bad situation so she can never leave him. 3 months of that shit while we worked on getting a new place.

OBVIOUSLY Tony and I don't want to become close to this guy because he treats his wife like shit (and we've witnessed it at least a couple times) and she claims she wants to become independent of him and get a job and learn to drive and whatever. She also says he controls all the money and she has no access to it, and he's not been saving anything the last few months. She's worried about getting stuck at this shitty apartment for another year (its not serviceable for literally any internet or tv services, it's p dumpy but Tony and I needed a place fast so it worked for what we needed) and the conversation comes up that instead of Tony and me paying rent, we can just save the money up for a new place for all 3 of us.

I’m not stupid. I know she's deliberately setting things up in a way where all the responsibility to save and earn the money falls on me and Tony, but if things work out she can take credit and hold it over us. But I agree because I don't want to get stuck at his place paying $500 a month and living off cell phone data for an indeterminate amount of time. I also notice that she talks shit on her husband all day to us, and when we say "wow that's pretty awful" she reports back to him that we can't stand him. Then proudly tells us about it. She's literally manufacturing fucking tension in the household, although due to her proud openness about it I can't be certain she's doing it on purpose or if she thinks she's facilitating some kind of communication?

When we move she doesn't want to leave her husband homeless, but both of them are saying he has plans to move out ASAP because "their relationship is better when they live apart." The second we put his name on the lease (bc Im not risking eviction by having him live here illegally) she becomes a lot less intent on the idea, and while she still talks about it its turning more into a hypothetical than a real plan or goal. Just like her learning to drive. Or getting a job. Or cutting toxic people out of her life. And of course she starts getting pissy and taking credit for being able to afford the place when Tony and I talk about it.

So it becomes really apparent she doesn't really follow through on anything she says AND she has a tendency to set up manipulative, no-lose situations for herself. She also can't work because she cant sit for long periods (except for when playing video games, binge watching tv shows, and her previous jobs where she sat for long periods) and she has a totally real disorder where she could pass out at any time which makes any job where she has to stand or walk around a safety hazard (no name for it that she can give, and no examples of it happening since I've known her even when she walks around a fair for 12 hours in high heels, but totally a disorder.) She blames it on spoon theory and postpartum depression, which we accept for about the first four months that she talks about it. She can't go to the doctor because money is tight but every time her husband has a toothache they go and get him medicine.

She spends four months talking about how she's suicidally depressed and doesn't have the energy to do ANYTHING (except for go to ren fairs, visit her family, go shopping, visit friends, host a thanksgiving party, and go out for drinks or hookah literally any time someone offers to pay for her) and has yet to see any kind of doctor, despite qualifying for emergency medicaid due to her and her Husband's lack of income. Oh, have I mentioned that her Husband can't hold down a job on top of everything else? But even though she hasn't worked for almost a year she still expects him to cook for her, clean for her, support the two of them and drive her around everywhere because she never learned because SPOON THEORY even though, AGAIN, SHE QUALIFIES FOR EMERGENCY MEDICAID.

So they start to notice that we're not exactly thrilled with the fact that even though 50% of the time neither of them are working, they cant do basic shit like clean up their dishes. They keep scrabbling to hide behind spoon theory (even though he doesn’t suffer from depression??) and we then offer a workaround in the from of a 2 day rule for messes which they then immediately start abusing. Then they just start leaving all the time - they're visiting x family member or y family member or x friends. They talk nonchalantly about claiming her sister's 4 kids on their taxes and splitting it with her. Why can't the sister claim them herself? Why because she does't work, of course, so she can't claim them! And "if her boyfriend (who financially supports both her and the children, mind you) claims them, he keeps all the money to himself!"

I think this is outrageous because I'm 99.99% sure that's literally illegal, but I'm hoping if I allow them to get their 7k without reporting them maybe they'll actually be able to pay their fucking rent.

Once it is confirmed that the sister is A-OK with the tax fraud, suddenly they start talking about how, because finding jobs has been soooooo hard (they have not been trying and have not been home) that they just want to wait until they get the tax return back and get their own place. They need to be around "people who make them feel like famiy" ie "enablers who want a free babysitter." And they also want to go on a tour of America vacation. Because obviously.

As they talk about this plan, I patiently wait for the part where they offer to pay us x amount of money to break the lease. They never bring it up.  As the plans are still in a very fetal stage, and she's shown no initiative to follow through on 90% of her plans since I've known her, I don't press it

They're never available and keep leaving messes before leaving for weeks at a time. Then when visiting family in Oklahoma we find out a) the never paid the electrical bill they said they did and b) suddenly by the grace of god, a job opportunity opened up somewhere else! several states away! Before their tax return shows up! When they claimed to not be looking anymore!

Obviously this look pretty bad on their part, and I finally call her out on the fact that they have been loudly making plans to try and move out early without even trying to address the elephant in the room of breaking the lease with us. She says that OF COURSE they never intended to leave us in a bad situation. And also OF COURSE they want to move out, seeing as how all Tony and I talked about the first few months was how much we wanted her husband to move out.

At this point I back the hell out of this conversation because I'm about to throw my fucking phone at the wall and throw all their shit out the window of the apartment complex. She sat there and tried to gaslight my ass??? Like no, actually YOU wouldn't shut up about what an actual piece of shit dirtbag he was, and all we did was say "we will help you leave his ass because he sounds awful." And then, when we were almost a full month into our new lease after you swore up and down he would move out ASAP, we started asking what the timeline was. 

HOW FUCKING DARE she act like him moving out was our idea that we were pressuring onto her, his poor faithful wife!!!! Just like when she spent 3 months talking about "thank you guys so much for saving up the money for the move, he would have spent it all on bullshit!" to suddenly switch to "um, that's not YOUR money you dropped on this move, it's EVERYONE'S money because we really could have used it but we LET you save it up instead" the second the lease was fucking signed!!!

JFC At this point i'm like fuck it take your damn tax return and move out we don't need your money for rent bc OBVIOUSLY you aren't paying it for February since Husband JUST got a job offer yesterday (interesting how every time he's actually TRIED to get one he's found one within a few days) and doesn't start till next week.

#today i will be kinkshaming my roommates for: #being the worst #trying to screw us #using mental illness as an excuse #gaslighting #gaslighting tw #domestic abuse tw #god damn it #roommate drama #roommate whining