#Gallbladder had to act up this week

[a-very-tired-jew]

Fiance and bf went out tonight. They had mead, cigars, and wonderful food. Meanwhile I'm at home like "ah yes, bland tofu won't hurt me right now."

I hate this post surgery recovery process.

[yikesitskennawrites]

The highlights of my year edition: 2023 to July 17th 2024

January 8th, 2023: I met my first boyfriend at my workplace. He was a customer and I was making his sandwich. We went out on a date two days later.

March 2023: I switched from night shift to opening and became assistant manager. I personally don't act like one because I never got a pay raise 🙃

June 5th, 2023: I moved out of my parents house and into a studio apartment with my boyfriend.

June 16th to the 24th 2023: I went to my friends university graduation before flying over to Las Vegas, Nevada to celebrate. It was my first time in a airplane and I loved it. I kept telling my friends that the airplane was gonna crash and the kid in front of me had a wide eyed look. I knew it wasn't but I loved joking about it.

We went to Tacobell Las Vegas. We saw this cute bird swoop in and land on the table.

Cereal Killerz, I had the oreo milkshake and it wasn't that great. By the way, my whole focus on this trip was to try out all oreo milkshakes I could because I love that specific flavor of shake.

We went to the Muesum of Death. I would add pictures but all the photos have flesh of donated bodies for science.

Omega Mart. It's like a interactive art museum.

The Rainforest Cafe, which was oof expensive. I got a $15.00 quesadilla because it was the cheapest on the menu.

Guy Feris Restaurant. I got trashcan nachos because it was cheap but I couldn't finish all of it due to how salty it tasted.

The Marvel Muesum. It was really just some marvel posters and statutes of the original six.

Dennys along the Strip. Second best oreo milkshake there tbh.

We went to this candy store that I don't remember the name of but it has a gummy bear chandler. I got this cotton-candy alcohol drink and it was amazing.

We also went to an ice bar, which sounds exactly like it is. I would add pictures but all of them contain my friends and I don't want to post them online.

We went to a Blair Witch escape room, no pictures of that; but, my friends did it as a little surprise because they knew I loved the Blair Witch movie. It's not the plot, but the acting that makes it great 😌

I spent my 23rd birthday in a airport to return home and the best milkshake I had was from Rubys in the airport. I have no intentions of returning to Las Vegas. It wasn't for me, I didn't like the heat or how expensive everything was. I didn't like the crowds, but what else would you expect for a popular tourists city?

July 16th, 2023:

I adopted a kitten. Her name is Pretzel and she has a bit of a bent tail and one of her pupils are bigger than the other. She loves to play with tootsies and she will yell at anyone she can.

July 22nd, 2023: I drove the seven hour drive from my small town up to Seattle, Washington for the first night of the Taylor Swift Eras Tour. It was hot and crowded and anxiety inducing because holy crap I've never been in a place with 65,000 people. I remember feeling the ground shake and it was because everyone was jumping and dancing along to her songs and it stimulated a earthquake.

September 18th, 2024: After being in pain and sick for a week, I ended up in the hospital because my gallbladder decided to expand to the size of a fist and it had to be removed. The doctors said if I came in a day later it would have imploded and I would be very sick or dead. They also said it was the biggest one they have ever seen and removed. I didn't want to go to the doctor because the American Healthcare system sucks. My hospital bill before insurance was just a little past $40,000. I only had to pay $3,000. Unfortunately, bad gallbladders run in the family it was just my time for mine. I wanted to keep it in a jar but they wouldn't let me 🙃

June 23rd, 2024: I celebrated my 24th birthday. All I wanted was Ruby's cake from the Nickelodeon show Max and Ruby.

July 17th, 2024

I'm doing alot better mentally. I'm thriving so much more than I was earlier this year. I feel like a Sunflower with the warmth of the sun beaming down on me

[sweaterkittensahoy]

prompt: jackharding post-war, settling in and figuring things out

To love during wartime and to love during peace are so utterly different. Jack is surprised by this. Chick was already career military, and Jack's figured out it's what he wants for himself. But somehow, being at home together isn't the same as being overseas.

There's a yelling, screaming argument about whose job it is to make dinner on any given night. Chick turns his face away when Jack tells him it's only fair to split the job, and Jack replies by flinging a stick of butter at Chick's face.

It hits dead on. Jack always got great scores in markmanship.

"Did you--" Chick asks. He stares at Jack, then down at the butter, which is sitting on the table because Chick came in and sat at the table and acted shocked and annoyed that Jack didn't have dinner on the table. Jack had gotten home ten minutes earlier and had had the fridge open to decide what the fuck one makes for dinner when one is in a relationship but also doesn't want to fucking cook.

Before Jack can find an answer, Chick picks up the butter and unwraps it, then takes a huge bite.

"Needs salt," he says.

And Jack's anger is gone. There's butter in Chick's moustache, and he's trying to pretend like he is truly trying to like the butter. He laughs, and Chick grins, and there's butter in his teeth as well, and then they're howling with laughter as Chick gets up to spit the butter in the sink and run water to wash it down the drain.

"I'm sorry," Chick says when they've calmed down. "It's not fair to expect you'll take care of everything just because you're here when I walk in."

"I didn't expect to come back to the war and have to figure out how to keep house," Jack says. "I figured I'd get married after. Not during."

Chick turns and pulls Jack in close. They're both still in their uniforms. He takes Jack's left hand in both of his own and kisses Jack's ring. A quickie ceremony with the Chaplin before Chick had been driven by ambulance to London to take care of his gallbladder. Once he'd recovered from ignoring a gallstone until it had gotten even worse, he'd shown back up at Thorpe's Abbot with rings. A combination of brass and gold that makes Jack's finger slightly green from wearing it for all of twelve hours.

He won't ever accept a different ring.

"Let's go out tonight," Chick says. "And tomorrow's Saturday. I can make a decent omelet, and we can go to the bookstore and find a cookbook that looks useful. We'll take turns. I'll start with cooking on Sunday."

"I'll take the first one," Jack replies, tipping his head to kiss Chick's own wedding band. "I know my mom's Sunday roast recipe by heart. We should definitely start the week on something that doesn't taste like shit."

Chick chuckles and looks at Jack for a long moment. His face shifts and relaxes. He smiles. "We made it through a war," he says. "We can figure out all this."

Jack smiles in response and squeezes Chick's hands. "My dad has a rule. He won't make any decision with my mom until they've both dressed for and had dinner."

Chick glances at his uniform, then Jack's. "Let's try that out, too," he says. "Make our home our home."

"Our home," Jack replies because it sounds so nice.

They change and go to dinner and have such a good time they catch a movie and end up having a drink at the end of the night.

The bartender grins as he watches them make each other laugh. "You newlyweds?" he asks.

It's been two years, actually, but Jack figures they can set the clock from the moment they got home from the war. "Yes," he says. "As a matter of fact."

The bartender pours a round for free, and they toast and grin and drink.

[infinityactual]

non-graphic descriptions of surgery under rh cut!

so i cant remember if i sai here or not, but i jad to have my first ever surgery with general anesthesia! my gallbladder decided to start acting the fool 20 years after everyone else in my family, so the docs jad to steal it.

anesthesia was. interesting. the anesthesia 'primer' i was given was the TITS and i made the anesthesiologist cackle. i clearly remember saying 'wow this shit hits ten time better than that delta 8 shit i do now and then' and then made sure to mention it jad been over a week since i'd imbibed any 'recrearional substances' bc Id never had to go under to have an organ stolen before. Also i did not have the 'tv switched off' instantaneous knockout, it felt like i just fell asleep super fast.

Waking up thi ghiddamn. i didnt sleep the night before bc of some anxiety w purity police drama in the GB fandom, so appare tly it took me for-damn-ever to start coming to post-op. Like, they took me to the OR at like 9am for a one hour procedure and i didnt leave recovery till 1:20 ish.

And MAN i felt like id been hit by a freight train full of butcher k ives. i wanted to sleep so fuckin bad yall i keps nodding off and going limp in the wheelchair and scaring the nurse 🤣 but im home, no major side effects other tha i am MASSIVELY sleepy and jave bee just dozing on and off since we got home and its been BLISS. Ive had some mild annoyances like a wicked case of cottonmouth, but I escaped the major, commmon discomforts like nausea and gas pain* so i'll TAKE IT

also im glad i had the procedure when i did bc i had a gallstone right in the mouth of my piloary duct which could have done a lott damage [insert flex tape guy here]. Also the surgeon said I had great internal anatomy LMAO.

and now, i pass out again. sorry i javent been active in halo fandom for awhile

*for laproscopy (got to have my guts rearranged by robot arms, how do yall robot fuckers like them apples haha) they inflate your abdomen loke a balloon so rhey can see whst theyre doing, and usually there's pain after bc of the residual CO2 and u gotta burp and fart it out, i didn't have that AT ALL which was amazeballs

[lysitheatheglasscannon]

Getting REAL TIRED of going to the ER/dr for pain, then being told nothing’s really wrong. Only to find out later on that yes, indeedy, something WAS very wrong.

The first time I go in for collapsing and not being able to breathe from intense pain. Scans showed nothing was wrong. I was sweating hard and my husband couldnt touch me because even a slight touch was too much from pain and sensory overload. Nurses ignored me. Turned out I had a perforated stomach ulcer and had infection and stomach acid leaking into my abdomen. This was not found out until my temperature abruptly spiked over 24 hours later, and emergency surgery had to be performed.

The second time was for severe kidney pain and UTI. Nurses were rude, dismissive, and then it came out that I had a kidney infection going septic. That was two years ago.

This last time was two weeks ago wherein the bloodwork said I was fine, but my body say, no NOT fine. CT scan showed signs of ovarian cysts and peritonal cavity showed fluid buildup on small intestine and gallbladder. I was told this was not concerning. “Maybe its muscular-skeletal”. I had symptoms of sepsis but was sent home without any medication. I then had an appointment two weeks later with my PCP and was told uh, miss gurl, you had a ruptured ovarian cyst that probably caused an infection, plus signs of another infection in your abdomen cavity. You need to see a gyno and your stomach dr pronto. No bueno.

So then tell me, why am I treated like I am over-reacting? Why are ER doctors not taking me seriously? This last ER guy typed up “patient not showing signs of distress” I SAID I WAS AUTISTIC, HAD A HIGH PAIN TOLERANCE. I HAD ALREADY CRIED ON THE WAY TO THE HOSPITAL AND WAS TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER. What, do I need to scream and act out to be taken seriously? What the actual heck is WRONG with doctors??? Autistic as in- not showing a lot of facial emotions when in pain. High pain tolerance- as in thinking a stomach ulcer was hunger until it perforated. What do these people not get? I had already TOLD them how high my pain tolerance was and that I had Autism. The fact I was there, KNOWING I would have to use my husband’s money and that it would be expensive, should be ENOUGH to show I’m not trying to overreact. I’m trying not to push myself and end up dead like what almost happened with the stomach ulcer.

Now my PCP and I think I have more ovarian cysts so I get to talk to the gynco and maybe, just maybe, she will listen to me and we can figure out why things are all messed up. And on top of this, I broke out in two different rashes, urgent care had no idea and stopped listening at the end because it was closing time. I think one rash is from a sunscreen allergy, but idk about the second rash. I also got a spider bite I reacted to that maybe has to do with it, idk.

I’m so mentally tired.

[jpbradley]

JP aten't ded [pancreatitis update]

So for those who don't know me; in 2022 I almost died of pancreatitis, it was a bad time. I was put in a coma and was saved by the hard work of the doctors, nurses and support staff of the NHS. I spent 4 1/2 months in hospital relearning how to walk and eat and over the past year have had a bunch of cool complications from that event.

We never really found out the cause and since then pancreatitis has continued to loom over me. Every time I eat and feel anything unexpected in my abdomen I am hypervigilant that my pancreatitis is returning and that I'll be hospitalised again.

Last week that fear became a reality. That also might end up being a good thing.

My experience of pancreatitis begins with back pain. I'm pushing 40 by this point and back pain is hardly uncommon for people my age, but this is constant, cannot be relieved by changing position and ultimately feels like a knife being driven into a tight knot in the back. This persists until it becomes impossible to sleep through the discomfort.

This is the symptom that woke me up last week. In the middle of the night I felt it combined with a stabbing pain in my abdomen, followed by vomiting; and remembered with terrible clarity the weeks of that pain I endured before my first admission. I woke my wife and, terrified, resolved to go to A&E.

At the hospital we went through the standard gamut of blood tests which confirmed that something was going on, and I sat in urgent treatment waiting for a bed to free up. The NHS is an institution under resourced by a government that seeks to destroy it and replace it with medical insurance that would force most working class people into debt so crushing they could never escape it.

As such the wait is long, and I spend a good chunk of it on the floor in a side room because every other position is worse. They don't have an answer for what I have yet (spoilers; it's pancreatitis) and so they can't prescribe pain relief. So I wait. My wife waits with me and I have to look up at her stricken face as she looks down at me powerless to do anything to help.

Being ill sucks and the toll it takes on the people who love you is terrible.

Eventually I have a CT scan (abdominal pelvis with contrast for you radiology fans out there) and a while later am moved into a cubicle where a doctor finally administers IV morphine. The feeling is fuzzy, the relief immediate. My abdomen still hurts a lot, the muscles strained from the vomiting, but the tension I had been unable to release from my body flows out of me and I fall asleep.

At one point I wake up and my wife is asleep in the chair beside me with her head laid by my side on the gurney. I feel grateful and guilty for putting her through this.

From there I eventually get moved to a surgical unit. It's here that we learn that after over a year of speculation we finally have a root cause for my pancreatitis; gall stones. Getting in early and not waiting until my condition for worse means we caught the gallbladder in the act. Motherf-

Sometimes the gallbladder produces stones and sometimes those stones interact with the pancreatic duct, causing the pancreas to decide the world is ending and move all of it's stocks into burning the gaff down. Their own gaff, where they fucking live. It is a dumb and anxious organ. I can relate.

The result was that a few days ago I had a very sexy cholecystectomy. As you can guess that's them taking the gallbladder out, in this case via keyhole surgery which has left me very tender but massively reduced my time to discharge from hospital. The doctor on ward rounds gave me the option of discharge the following day before he went away and spoke with his consultant who said; "Have you seen his history? Not a fucking chance, tell him he's staying" (I assume).

So is that it? Gallbladder gone and pancreatitis no more? Well- Maybe.

Pancreatitis isn't well understood. Gallstones are indicated and the most likely cause of pancreatitis in me. Other causes could be alcohol; which some doctors love to bring up as their pet theory, or cholesterol. Studies are ongoing into pancreatitis (my medical records are part of one of them) to understand the causes and also the varied survival rates among severe pancreatitis sufferers. So with that said there is a possibility it could return and despite everything I have to be constantly vigilant to make sure I am ready if it does.

Which brings us to the last thing I want to talk about, which is living with pancreatitis.

On the grand scale of things my living adjustment for pancreatitis is quite tolerable; I have to take synthetic pancreatin with every meal which allows my body to process things like fat and complex carbohydrates. I also no longer have a gall bladder, this means my body doesn't have a reserve of bile which is used to break down fat as it passes into the large intestine. As such for the next few weeks I need to be on a low fat diet and slowly introduce fats to build up a tolerance.

More difficult for me is the uncertainty around my body. I've never lived a particularly healthy life but before my illness I at least felt like I understood it. Where it hurt, what was wrong, how to know how to communicate that. These days my stomach gurgles and I find myself performing an itinerary of everything I've eaten to see if there's something in there that might cause me to suddenly collapse.

The uncertainty is draining but the vigilance I feel is worth it, and if there's one thing to take away from all of this it's; if you can please don't wait until it's unbearable to get help, please go early if you can and if it's nothing at least rule it out.

If you read all of this; thank you! I really appreciate it.

I just needed to get it out somewhere and because resources can be a little difficult to find/confusing about pancreatitis please feel free to ask if you have any questions and I will answer as best I can about my experience with the illness.

[mizufae]

This is Korben from this morning at the internist specialist. It was just a consultation today. Tomorrow, however, they are doing all SORTS of invasive things. He is gonna get a full endoscopy and colonoscopy, a liver biopsy, samples taken from his gallbladder and bile duct, and he’s gonna have a feeding tube put in!!! Our beautiful handsome boy is going to get all kinds of terrible bandages.

What’s wrong with him, you may ask? Well, after throwing up every day for over a week a couple weeks back, we did urgent care vet and then multiple ultrasounds and rounds of blood work, all showing an increase in his billirubin and inflammation of his pancreas, gallbladder, and liver. He stopped throwing up but then got a respiratory infection and was sneezing boogers for a week. Coupled with all of this he had lost over a pound in the past three months and had already been underweight. And then he stopped eating. He has only eaten tiny amounts in the past two weeks and is continuing to lose even more weight.

So, what could be going on? That’s what all the procedures are for tomorrow! They are going to take all the samples from his various bits and culture them so we know the exact kind of medicine to give him. And meanwhile, we will do steroids to help the inflammation, and be able to get food into his stomach and put all his medications in him through his feeding tube, instead of forcing pills and goop down his throat and traumatizing him multiple times a day. It could just be a worsening of his preexisting IBD. It could be an obstruction in his common bile duct or small intestine or gallbladder. It could be small cell lymphoma! All of these are treatable, though IBD is progressive and lymphoma would mean different kinds of cancer treatment and palliative care.

This is all costing an arm and a leg, but Korben has a very rich grandmother who would be downright offended if she didn’t pay for it, thank goodness. The less expensive diagnostic option was just more fuck around wait and see ultrasound bloodwork bullshit which would lead to months and months of trial and error. There are of course risks to all of this, but Korben has been under anesthesia before and done just fine, and other than his complete unwillingness to eat and his elevated liver values, his blood work looks good, his energy and personality is still there, he completely got over his runny nose, and he hasn’t thrown up except for once a week ago which was before we stopped the antibiotics that obviously upset him so much he stopped eating or drinking and all he would do is drool and try to spit them out. Sigh. Poor guy. Fingers crossed though, because although we have now interacted with four separate very competent vets and numerous techs, nobody has ever given us an indication that Korben is unlikely to recover.

Other good things: I’ve now learned how to give IV fluids and injections! It really is super simple, as long as your cat is mellow like Korben and you have a second person to be another pair of hands. The needles are like the least troubling part. I love the immediate relief and comfort Korben exhibits when he gets fluids. I know myself how it feels to be terribly dehydrated and in pain and then get an IV, so it’s a great feeling being able to do that for my cat. Yesterday I gave him his third vitamin b12 injection (he is getting them weekly for now), and he didn’t care for it one bit but it was fine. So now, I’m confident that if anyone else I care for needs injection meds, I can give it to them! I am honestly shocked I’ve never helped a trans friend with their hrt or anything before this, but now if it ever comes up can be like “let me help! Just act like a cat!”

So. I am currently in the “ignore it until shit happens” phase where I’m trying to just project calming normal energy at Korben, who is currently sleeping in a sunbeam by an open window. Tomorrow morning he is going to be going through it, so keep him in your hearts and all that. And then afterwards will be the notable experience of gooshing puréed food in through a tube in his neck! Eeeek! Then it will be some time to get the cultures done, and then it will probably be over a month of antibiotics and other supportive meds. Egad! Fingers and toes and eyes all crossed.

Thanks @penaltykeks and a few other people who have checked in and asked how me and Korben are doing. I’ve just been sort of trying my best to engage with pleasant things online and not write out my worries because I’ve learned it doubles down on my rumination. BIG UPS to Zoloft, which REALLY FUCKING WORKS for me, I would basically be a pile of quivering useless bones and fat without it. As it is I am a quivering pile of bones and fat that can give IV fluids to my cat and call my mom and do the dishes. 😽🤞

[i-am-still-bb]

In the interest of “breaking the stigma” I think I’m just going to name what I’m dealing with outright, because if my husband had had complications from his gallbladder removal in January I would not have hesitated to share that. And I really believe that mental illness should be treated no differently.

(check tags before you click “keep reading”)

On the Monday after Easter (April 10, 2023) my husband told me that his aunt and uncle (S & D) were coming over to take him to the hospital. I asked why and I assumed it had soemthing to do with the emergency gallbladder removal surgery that he had at the very end of January. He told me that he had been thinking about killing himself. And that he has thought about it off and on for years. I learned no more in that moment because S and D arrived to take him to the E.R. He was admitted to a Crisis Stabilization Unit (CSU) that night. It was voluntary, but underthreat of the pink slip (sectioned / involuntarily committed). 

I felt like someone hit me over the head with a 2x4. I knew that something was wrong, because he’d been acting really weird since I arrived home from Sacramento (April 2) and he had been acting weird for a while. I had expressed my desire for him to stop taking the Adderall that he had started taking in early February because that was really the only thing I could see that had changed in recent months. (Doctors have since told him to stop taking it.)

On Tuesday I found his journal and found out that he had intended to attempt suicide on Easter if he could get out of coming to a family event with my son and I. Why Easter Sunday? Because of that family thing. Some of my family lives 2.5hrs away, so my husband would have a guaranteed 8hr window at least. And if that failed (which it did) he intended to try on Wednesday April 12th in the 1hr window from when I leave for work at 10:30 and when he has to pick up our son from school at 11:30.

The rest of that journal was basically a log starting on the previous Wednesday (April 5) (actually the same day that he had a therapy appointment) of all the things that were wrong in our relationship. How he views it as a failure. That he thinks there is nothing left to salvage. And more. That document is thousands of words long. I skimmed because I could not stand to read it. 

He did reveal these thoughts and plans (only the Wednesday one) to S and D on Saturday April 8th. On Monday the 10th he messaged S something that alarmed her and prompted the immediate trip to the E.R.

While he was in the CSU he was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), and Bipolar 2. That last one is pending because if Bipolar is diagnosed in an inpatient, emergency setting it should be confirmed in an outpatient setting once the patient is more stable. That appointment is early next week. I guess fingers crossed, but not crossed?

MDD - duh, given the suicidality

CPTSD - I had suspected this for a while

Bipolar 2 - I was not expecting that, I know too much about bipolar to be really optimistic. 50% of bipolar individuals attempt suicide at least once. 40% have a mixed episode meaning that they can have the suicidality of the depression and the focus and drive of the mania making them more likely to plan and attempt to carry out their plan. Their risk of suicide is 30x higher than those with no mental illness. Their life expectancy is 10yrs shorter than the rest of the population. 83% of diagnosed cases are classified as severe. And its unpredictable. You can be stable on meds for years, decades, and then suddnetly you’re not. 

He was released late Monday on April 17th. And he returned to work. Before he was admitted to the hospital he did inform his manager that he was being admitted to the hospital and I communicated with HR while he was in the CSU giving them updates that consisted of that he was feeling better, antsy to get back to work, but still in the hospital. He returned to work on Tuesday the 18th. At end of business on Friday (April 21) they fired him. And given his glowing performance reviews, the amount of money that he had been making the company, the only real reason has to be the hospital stay. (On that note it looks like they’re contesting the unemployment claim.) 

This set him spiralling. He was planning suicide again. And didn’t tell me. Again. I was told that he was an 8/10 (0 being no suicidality or feelings and 10 being that an attempt was imminent) and I tried to help get that number down, but it went up to a 10. On Saturday he was still at a 10. D and I wanted my husband to call a crisis line. D reached out the the CSU and they contacted us. CSU asked my husband if he could come in for an evaluation. My husband agreed (he later told me that if he had been at a 10 in that moment he would not have agreed). D and I thought they would just talk to him, remind him of coping skills, etc. They decided to keep him for 23hrs. D and I were shocked. When they went to admit him the oncall doctor decided that my husband needed a higher level facility (severe suicidal thoughts is what they put down, and my husband disagrees with that, but can’t tell me what he wanted them to put). So the CSU sent my husband to the ER to be evaluated and later transported to a local hospital that has a lockdown wing. Once again it was “voluntary” under threat of the pink slip. He arrived at the lockdown unit Sunday morning. Everyone being admitted is subject to a 72hr hold and at many places weekends and holidays don’t count toward that. They did release him Tuesday morning (so only 36hrs into the 72hr hold). So he’s home again.

And he has barely spoken to me. 

I visited him in the lockdown unit on Monday. And it did not go well. He tried to tell me what to tell the nurse practitioner so they would let him out. I don’t toe anyone’s party line. And I did not respond well, but I tried to. I really tried to remain calm, and explain myself. But he decided that because I wasn’t just rolling over and saying “yes, master, whatever you want” that I didn’t believe him and that I was against him even though I repeated stated that I heard and understood him, and repeated his words back to him. No one is against him. They’re against the illness. I now know that some of this could be part of psychosis, a common symptom of Bipolar and would explain some of the other things like him believing that everything he is doing is wrong and bad. But that could also be the Depression. There is so much overlap between these things, which obviously makes it hard to diagnosis. ADHD, bipolar, CPTSD, and schizophrenia all overlap. But they each have a few things that makes them stand out from the other. but they may overlap as much as 75+%

So that visit did not go well. We pretty much sat in silence for the last 20m of the 45m I was there. And that silence has effectively continued ever since.

He went to group therapy yesterday and then went to S and D’s house without telling me, which, given the present circumstances raised my anxiety levels. Which I already have plenty of. If there’s a negative feeling or emotion I’ve probably experienced it in these past 2.5 weeks (except shame). 2.5 weeks that have aged me years. 2.5 weeks that feel like a lifetime. I’ve screamed, I’ve wailed, I’ve been numb, I’ve cried more tears than I can count, I’ve nearly puked from the emotions. 

And we still haven’t really talked.

And I can’t share anything I’m thinking or feeling with him because as of now the only triggers that he has identified for his suicidality are spilling food/drink, breaking dishes, upsetting me, me crying, or him feeling rejected (by me or by anyone else). Let it be known that I’ve made it very clear over the past decade that I don’t care if something gets broken or spilled. I want to know about it so I can replace the item, and I want the ensuing mess to be cleaned up. 

And as for me rejecting him. I didn’t get him lunch on Saturday because I assumed that he was still asleep. He was still in bed. He looked asleep. And I only got lunch for my toddler, not even myself. But in his mind he twisted that into proof that I don’t care about him or love him. He wrote that in the journal. He wouldn’t tell me that directly because I would get upset. He wrote more in the journal. And it’s pretty much all about me.

I trigger his suicidality. 

I KNOW that it’s the disease talking. But it really binds my hands. I can’t do shit without him taking it the wrong way. If I’m not making eye contact, because I’m trying to create a more comfortable space for him to be in while he talks, it means that I can’t bear to look at him, etc. 

And I know that I have my own things. I grew up with a highly neglectful and emotionally/financially abusive father, took up a lot of responsibility at a young age, had two relationships that had mild to significant levels of coercion when it came to sexual contact. Since our son was born in summer ‘21 I’ve had a lot more problems with anger and resentment. To be honest I probably fall somewhere on the mild end of the spectrum. And I’ve been so burnt out. And each time I expressed a need for my husband to even do basic tasks like putting his socks in the laundry, not letting food spoil on his desk, cleaning his bathroom (there are 3 bathrooms, I hate cleaning bathrooms, I am only cleaning 2), he feels like an absolute failure and wants to die. Forget about asking for help with our child when I’m massively overwhelmed and need a break. 

I am looking for a therapist of my own. 

And we were supposed to start couples counseling this week, but it was Tuesday morning and he wasn’t released in time to make it to the appointment, so it starts late next week. But I feel like most of our problems stem from the Depression. Him taking my face/words/actions the wrong way, his inability to do basic tasks (this is not new, he has been like this at least since August 2014), are all probably linked to the diagnoses. And I’m sure there are things about me that he wishes I wouldn’t do or would do. And I have asked that question explicitly several times. And I don’t get an answer. Because he doesn’t want to upset me. 

Leading up to this event I was asking him what was wrong. But the same thing happened that always happens. He just shut down and stared at me. And I would keep asking and trying to engage in different ways. And then I would lose my shit and yell. And then he would tell me something. And then we’d talk about it; and it was usually something ridiculously minor that he had blown out of proportion. And now I think he was in a suicidal place each of those times and he just threw me a bone to make me shut up. And now I don’t feel like I can trust him. But that’s something to be addressed in couple’s counseling that isn’t linked to mental illness. But he will probably see my mistrust as just another way that he has failed me, another reason why I would better if he weren’t here, so I don’t even think I can share most of this stuff in couple’s therapy because it’s all just going to trigger him. Maybe if we reach a point of stasis? But then I won’t want to talk about it for fear of triggering another depressive episode to begin. 

But to him (I think) I’m somehow I’m just supposed to be who I was on Monday the 10th while I was at work teaching my students about the Impressionists, who I was when I went to the gym after work, who I was blasting music in the car on my way home with the windows down and the sunroof open, who I was in the shower and getting dressed and thinking about what I was going to do with the rest of my Monday, who I was before an atom bomb was dropped in the middle of my life. 

And I’m not.

And I will never be again. 

I’ll be similar, but I’ll never be the same. 

And that upsets me. I have negative feelings about that too. Grief for who I was, grief for what I thought my future was going to be like.

And a grief for what the past was. Because I want to go back to before, but there really isn’t a before. He’s been dealing with this for most if not all of our relationship (we tarted dating in early 2012). And now when memory photos pop up on my phone I can’t help but wonder what he was really feeling, where his mind was. We went on a camping trip late last summer and those photos have been popping up. In each one where my husband isn’t standing or walking somewhere he’s slumped with his head down. And I feel like I can’t have good memories of that trip, because it really looks like he was in the middle of a Depressive phase. Or I can have the memories, but they are now tainted with knowledge that I did not have at the time. 

--

I am trying to take proactive steps. I’m looking for my own therapist to help me deal with this trauma that is likely to be ongoing, but also the anger and stuff. I also have a small worry that what is going to probably going to prove to be a repeated trauma is going to trigger something in me because my dad and his biological mother probably have/had undiagnosed mental illnesses.

I’m reading books about suicidality so I learn about it, but also so I can learn what I can do to help and support.

I have books about bipolar and CPTSD that are on my list. 

I agreed with no hesitation to the couples counseling. (I actually thought my husband would be the most resistent to this given his opinions on mental illnesses or having problems that require therapy/counseling meaning that you are broken, but I guess that may have changed and that is a good change.)

I’m taking a seminar with NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness).

My husband and I have a meeting with a NAMI coordinator on Friday (he hasn’t yet told me if he’s going or responded to my calendar invite). 

I’m considering going to some of their support groups for friends and family if I can make it work with childcare.

I’ve gone to church more in the past 2.5 weeks than I have in the last decade. I’ve been thinking more about mindfulness and trying to let go of desire because the desire is causing suffering. Religon has returned for me, I guess. 

But I’m pretty helpless in this situation. And I’m trying to accept that if he wants to he will find a way to end his life no matter what I say or do. And if he does attempt and complete, its not my fault even if it feels that way. 

--

EDITTED TO ADD: And now that I have legitimate reasons to be worried about his safety he keeps turning his location sharing off. We share our locations with each other. And it really only gets used to see “are you still at X? if so I have a question / request, but if you’re not there anymore, its no big deal” or “are you on your way home with dinner?” It was on earlier today when I used it for the first reason. He’s in the neighboring city visiting his grandma. Our rat needs something from the vet, but I don’t want my husband to be agitated if I ask for him to stop by the vet and he was already on his way home. I can probably call them tomorrow and pick it up on Saturday morning, but if he’s 5m away now it would make sense to do it now rather than me driving 30m there and back on Saturday morning.

(Location sharing is also what kept me from calling the police and ERs on April 8th when he was at D and S’s house. He left for a martial art around 11, told me he was eating with a friend around 1:30-2. And then wasn’t home until after midnight. I started to get worried when it was after 4 and he wasn’t home. But I saw that he was at D and S’s house so I wasn’t particularly worried.)

So I check his location. He’s still at his grandmother’s. I send the text. It’s short enough that the preview would probably show him the whole thing, so no big deal if it’s not “read.” I check a bit later to see if he’s “read” the message or responded. Nope. He’s been gone for 3hrs now and I check to see if he’s on his way home. So I know whether or not to add the perscription only rat food stuff to my to do list. And his location is turned off. WTF.

So he saw my message. Didn’t respond. And turned location sharing off. Thanks. That makes me feel great. Does he want me to be upset? Does he want me to bring this up? I’m not going to because I don’t want agitate him or myself. I’m getting so tired of the passive aggression. Just tell me your pissed. 

[nerdby]

Not gonna be able to watch the Loki premiere until after it airs. It doesn't come on until nine pm where I am in the US. It's just after eight and I'm experiencing really bad anxiety that's triggering pancreatitis (gall stones) and my back muscles are starting to seize up. It hurts a lot.

This is a symptom of anxiety caused by PTSD because of cyber bullying I experienced on this platform when the first season of Loki aired back in 2021. Oh, and you wanna know what makes this extra special?

I had my gallbladder removed last year after spending a week on the fucking couch unable to move🙃

So maybe think about that before getting your panties in a fucking twist and telling to go kill themselves because TVA!Loki is vulnerable and doesn't act like a backstabbing PoS who makes you horny 100% of the time👌🏻

[mando-abs]

I don’t know why I’ve been having heart palpitations all day and it’s really starting to bum me out. Because I’m treating this as if it were a panic attack because anxiety is a lifelong issue here for me, but like, I’m not currently in a situation that would cause that. Sure, I’ve got things that I don’t know how they’re going to pan out, and of course I’ll be anxious when I confront them at their own respective time. But right now, I should be chillin’.

SO WHY AM I NOT

I recently stopped taking a medicine per doctor’s orders and stopping the medication should have the opposite effect: heart rate calms or slows. I found out recently that I took vitamin D pills everyday when I was supposed to only take one a week after that first week, but that’s been a few weeks ago. And apparently I was supposed to be taking calcium with them. Anyways, my symptoms don’t align with Vitamin D toxicity. I had a bit of caffeinated tea yesterday when I’ve been restricting my caffeine intake so it could’ve been that to start with, but a day later??? I don’t think so. Is it sugar? Maybe but I haven’t had THAT much sugar. Could it be sugar withdrawal? Very likely. Even though I haven’t eaten sugar like a madman, I’m still eating more than I’ve been and more than I should. Diary upsets me a bit since gallbladder issues but it shouldn’t cause heart palpitations. My period should be starting soon. Is it my anemia acting up again?

I DONT KNOW BUT NOT KNOW IS GONNA MAKE ME REALLY ANXIOUS AND I UUUURRRRRGGGHHHH

After that rambling, I think it’s either sugar, anemia, or both.

[fearecia]

@featherymainffins

I read through the comments, and folks have a good point. Gallbladder is a very good thing to check. The other one would be your pancreas. The pancreas is involved in digesting fats AND proteins. A pancreas failing to produce the necessary enzymes for digestion could definitely be pointing to your issues with fat and protein.

The itopride works by messing with the nerve transmitters in your gut. One of the things the body is really good at is adjusting to a consistent dose of a medication such that it's like you're not even taking that med anymore. We see this a lot with hormonal medications and things like ADHD meds. Sometimes it's referred to as building up a tolerance. Ask the doctor if this is something that can happen with itopride, and if it's safe to up your dose to try and offset it. One of the other things to do is to quit taking it for a week or two and then try again, because that should allow your body to reset back to "normal." Not entirely sure that's wise in your case, though. A bowel movement once a week is not a good thing.

Nutrient deficiencies are another option to consider. Given that you're having issues with digesting food, it's entirely possible that your entire system is off balance. First thing I'd do is grab a sports drink and see if that helps jump start things (we're looking for sodium, potassium, and calcium, all of which are essential for nerve and muscle function). The other thing would just be to grab a multivitamin and take it for like a week and see if it helps. If you're having a nutrient problem that is impeding muscle function, it'd be more likely that you'd also be experiencing muscle cramps in various places to go along with it. So, if no cramps, eh, maybe ignore this paragraph. Definitely try Joy's advice about the B2 though.

The mast cell route is another thing worth considering, especially since a lot of this seems to have gotten worse since a surgery. Surgery is hugely disruptive for the immune system, and it can totally go haywire as a result. I'm currently having to do the daily benedryl dance because my top surgery sent my mast cell issues into overdrive. I stopped being able to take several of the meds I was using to control the mast cell problems because my body decided they looked like a good thing to attack.

The one other thing to really look sideways at is scar tissue. You had a hysterectomy, which of course, messes with the gut because of the location. It's possible that your body went overkill on the scar tissue formation and ended up putting adhesions on your gut that is restricting the ability of things to pass through. I'd be especially concerned about this if endometriosis was involved at all. Scar tissue is an unlikely candidate, but it's worth analysing when all other options have been exhausted.

There are also other considerations like Crohn's disease, but I'm not as familiar with those.

On the laxative front, there are teas you can brew that are umm, highly effective. Seriously just walk down the tea aisle at the grocery store and pick one that looks like it will help. Just be prepared for it to take 12 to 24 hours to work, and you might be in the bathroom for a good hour or so once it does work. There's also always the enema route if things are backed up in your large intestine. Definitely buy commercial enemas; do not attempt to make your own. You can seriously, seriously poison/injure yourself if the mix is off. Given your history with laxatives, pursue these options only as you are comfortable doing so. The levels of constipation you are describing are very concerning (like, more than three days usually ends up with folks getting suppositories and doctor's visits and such), but you have a very fine balancing act to do here with your mental health. Only do what you are comfortable/safe to do.

You need a gut doctor (gastroenterologist for the pancreas, gallbladder, and general gut check), an immune doctor (rheumatologist for the Crohn's or other autoimmune issues check), and an allergist (for the mast cells) to help rule all these things out.

I'm not a doctor caveat; I'm just another chronically ill person with a background in the medical field.

Good luck.

Hey! I know that this isn't something you struggle with but since a lot of your other followers are disabled as well, it would mean a lot to me if you could publish this ask since I'd like to see if anyone else experiences anything similar to what I'm going through. I'm not asking for anyone to armchair diagnose me, I'd just appreciate not feeling so alone and scared and confused. My general physician is claiming that my anxiety is causing the issues I'll describe but I call bullshit on that:

About two years ago, cca 4 months after my top surgery, my body stopped being able to process oil. Whenever I'd eat anything that was made with oil of any kind, I'd get cramps in the abdomen after a while and I'd get diarrhea. Caffeine started to do this also but in a smaller intensity. I had a hysterectomy a bit after that and they checked my kidneys and liver so I know that those are both ok and not the cause. I also got checked for Celiac since it runs in the family. Because the issue wasn't getting worse and my then general physician was always dismissive, I let it be. When I wasn't having diarrhea, I was constipated, though I did have a bowel movement like once or twice a week. Fast forward to now. In August, it suddenly got a lot worse. At first, even a single drop of oil would make me feel ill. Then, the time period got longer - currently the cramps and the pain last for 48 hours afterwards. I also became unable to digest animal fats, the only meat I can eat is lean chicken and fish. Afterwards, gluten became an issue (Celiac is still negative), and then nuts as well.

My new GP, even though she believes it to be anxiety, gave me Itopride, and it worked for about 3 weeks - I had no cramps, pain, exhaustion, gas or bloating after eating, and I had a bowel movement once a day. But it stopped working two days ago, again without a reason, and the effects started being less effective about a week ago. Even when taking the meds, I have a movement only once in about 8 days, and laxatives make me gassy but nothing happens. I'm also not sure about this, but it seems that chicken is no longer safe either.

I think it's important that if I don't take Itopride, I never even feel the urge to go, so when I say that I've always been constipated, I mean that I don't even feel the need to have a movement. Lately, when I take Itopride, I do get the urge that I do always get when taking it, but it's like I can't go, so I always feel full.

I just feel super scared and I have no idea what's going on. I admit that I have a history of eating disorders (in recovery since May) and I did abuse laxatives about a year ago, but I don't think it was enough to cause such serious issues? I used to take them like once a week and for about 3-4 months.

I'd really appreciate knowing if anyone has ever experienced anything similar or knows about anything like this because I feel like my life is in shambles - can't go outside for long because I might need the toilet suddenly, or I'm in too much pain to walk, I'm afraid to eat, I often feel repulsive, I don't know what might happen in a month, I am becoming incapable of taking care of myself and my flat because I'm just so goddamn tired.

Ooft, I’m sorry. It sounds like you’ll need a colonoscopy to figure this one out, so if you haven’t had one yet, really push for a referral.

Fwiw, I do experience something like this, but it’s from mast cell inflammation in my GI tract. The doc prescribed me bentyl for when things flare up but I’m also on a fiber supplement (citrucel. It’s a lot gentler than other types) to try and keep that from happening. Also if you’re low on b vitamins, your stomach sometimes stops digesting food, so maybe also ask about getting your levels checked. Taking an additional b2 supplement means I can process fats and oils again which I couldn’t before.

I’m not saying this to be like “this is what you have” just throwing them out there as suggestions that might help you piece together what might be wrong.

I hope you get more helpful comments in the notes 💖

[requiemforarainbow]

Trying to write with chronic pain flares is...interesting. Under a cut for talk of unknown illness/pain and personal shit.

Follow my NaNo 2023 journey: https://nanowrimo.org/participants/jordan-a-wruck

So the last week of September, I started to have a small pain in my lower right abdomen. It started at about a 2/10 - just a tiny little "oh, that feels weird. Huh." I originally chalked it up to muscle pain because I'm a side sleeper, and my right side is the normal side I get comfy on.

October 2nd. Pain was still there and increased to about a 6-7/10. Immediately got me in to my doctor's Internal Medicine side to see a doc. She ordered bloodwork and an ultrasound. Promised me results in 24 hours.

October 3rd. Doc hadn't called with results by close of business. Meanwhile, the pain spiked to a 9/10. ER TIME! (I HATE the hospital, so for me to say "let's go to the hospital" it has to HURT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER. Last time that happened it turned out to be my gallbladder.)

ER visit took.... 7 hours. 7 FUCKING HOURS. 2 of those hours were in the WAITING ROOM. 5 was spent in a bed in the HALLWAY in between 2 CLEARLY MARKED ISOLATION ROOMS WITH THE DOORS OPEN AND NO MASKS IN SIGHT. (In retrospect, I forgot my mask too with the pain, and 5 days later ended up with a minor viral infection myself.)

ER doc ordered more bloodwork, urinalysis, an ultrasound, and a CT scan. By the time I got back from the CT scan I was starting to get a migraine, and the pain in my abdomen hadn't subsided either. (Also I learned I'm not actually allergic to CT contrast, but that's another story.) At this point I was betting either my appendix was acting up, my pancreas was being more of a bitch than usual (diabetes is fun!), or something with my liver.

So, total time spent in the ER: 7 hours.

Results from the tests: "Nothing actionable."

Total pain medication given: Z E R O mg.

That's right. NO PAIN MEDICATION. They gave me anti-nausea meds and PEPCID FOR FUCKING HEARTBURN.

Because as we all know, heartburn starts over near the FUCKING APPENDIX.

...Yes, I was and am P I S S E D.

They literally treated me like a drug addict looking for a fix. Even after I mentioned I had a migraine. All because my 9/10 pain wasn't making me scream constantly. My normal pain level is about a 6/10, which is a level that would have most people without chronic pain bedridden and screaming. For me, anything LESS than that is literally background noise.

Oh, did I mention I had my PARENTS WITH ME?! My parents - who are also chronic pain sufferers. My parents who have NARCOTIC PAIN MEDICATION.

Naturally I brought them to the ER to help me "get a fix", right?!

What does my doc give me for this chronic pain, you ask? 800 mg ibuprofen. Which - surprise - doesn't usually do jack shit.

I mean, I get it. The narcotic stuff can be addictive. And with the opioid crisis, they're careful who they give it to. In my state, you have to be under the care of a long-term pain management doc.

Who won't see me because - surprise - I'm a "kid."

I'm 36 and use a cane because of the pain. My primary doc helped me get a disabled parking placard. She knows how bad my pain gets. She knows - but she legally can't give me anything stronger than the ibuprofen. (Which sucks. But I like her.)

But you'd think the ER could have at least given me an ibuprofen!!

Anyway. Went back to the Internal Med doc a week later. The Internal Med doc set me up with a GI consult. (Gastric doc. I'm starting to think it might be warranted because it's starting to hurt every time I eat.) The date of my initial consult?

November 30th.

Yep. That would make the appointment TWO BLOODY MONTHS after the initial pain started.

Luckily they have a priority cancellation list. And I guess someone cancelled because my appointment is now this Friday (November 10).

I already know how it's going to go. They're going to prod my abdomen a little, not find shit, and say "Okay, so we're going to have to scope you."

I've had an endoscopy before, both upper and lower. The prep is a NIGHTMARE. (Note: do not drink the ginger flavor prep with Pepsi. You will want to barf for weeks.)

Fingers crossed the endoscopy will find what the fuck is causing my entire abdomen to feel like someone is jabbing me with a cattle prod every time I eat now.

And that I can get to 50,000 words this NaNo.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

JackHarding big time love feelings and idiots and their gallbladders

My dear, darling, perfect Jack:

Before you think I'm writing this after being given however much pain medicine military doctors think is needed for an impacted gallbladder (that's the problem, by the way), know that I am writing this between being told my diagnosis and that I'll be taking pain medication whether I want it or not and actually receiving that medication. 

I tried to argue that I'm fine, thank you, but apparently my fucking uppity Air Exec sent a telegram ahead of me to London and informed the doctors here how long I've been in pain and how much weight I've lost. 

Fuck you. I was fine. 

My begrudging love,

Chick

*

My favorite idiot Colonel: 

If you truly want this relationship to last beyond the war, you have to survive it, you jackass. 

I do not regret sending word ahead of you to London. It was a very easy decision after three (THREE) weeks of watching you pretend you weren't in severe pain to the point that you–in case you don't recall this–fainted in your goddamn office.

You're lucky your Air Exec likes you well enough to keep you breathing. I know a few Air Execs who would relish the chance at the sort of accident that literally fell at my feet. 

Fuck you and the angry affection you wrote on, 

Jack

P.S. Games have been in our favor, though we've had a few close ones. Rosie's team continues to lead in the series.

*

To the most obnoxious Air Exec in the entire 8th Army: 

I didn't faint. What a thing to say. Send me the names of the Air Execs who want to see the ghosts of their COs. That feels like treason. 

Pain medication isn't doing anything worth note except making me sleep. Useless. 

Keep me updated on Rosie's team. I have money on the outcome, even if I'm not there to see it. 

Doctors threatened to send me to the US. I told them there was no need. I won. Been informed I'll have a role in London once I'm recovered from surgery. It's scheduled for a week from now. They want to make sure I'm rested enough for it, apparently. It's a stupid requirement for any Colonel. 

Send word on any new pranks from the boys. I need something to keep me entertained. There aren't any leggy blonds of note here. 

Go fuck yourself,

Chick

*

Dear Chick, you exhausting bastard: 

You fainted. Deal with it. I don't like it any more than you do, and as the one who caught you before you smashed your head on your coffee table, you owe me. 

Honestly. 

Of all the cocky pilot assholes to fall for in this war, I had to meet you. Christ. My mother always warned me my prickly nature would attract the same, and I hate how right she was. 

Take your fucking pain medication and sleep. A week-and-a-half to sit and do nothing before a gallbladder surgery is excessive. You want a leggy blond of note to note you, then take care of yourself. 

A scattering of replacements thought it would be funny to set up scarecrows without telling anyone. Two scarecrows have been punched to the ground. One of the replacements got punched setting one up. I'd like to say it stopped the others from keeping the gag going, but it only encouraged them. 

The new CO is sympathetic to my terrible taste in men but can't spare me to visit London for at least three more weeks. I'm tempted to argue him down to two, but it won't be worth the mess when I come back. Not that you're bad company, but we've got more replacements coming in tomorrow, and it's better I know what stupidity they'll get put together sooner rather than later. 

Fuck, I miss you. You know these boys and their antics as well as I do. It'd be easier to enjoy the scarecrow stupidity if you were here. 

For fuck's sake, Chick, take care of yourself. You're the constant I have in this fucking war, and I want to keep you. 

I love you. Now act like you know it. 

No new games to report. Rosie's pre-season efforts were as effective as we hoped. A real big week over here.

My sincere and exasperated devotion, Jack

*

My favorite uppity Air Exec, leggy blond, and scarecrow fighter: 

Jack, if I loved you any more, I wouldn't be able to goad you, and if I couldn't goad you, I'd have to look myself in the mirror and think about how close I came to dropping dead at your feet. 

I fucked up. I'm sorry. There came a point where the physical pain of the stress of the job clearly took over any common sense, but to request leave or a transfer wasn't an option. Not just because I didn't want to leave the men but because I wanted to stay with you. I know you understand, but I also want to say it so you know that I know how I fucked up: I wouldn't be stuck in London for the foreseeable future if I'd just gone to the doctor when the pain didn't pause. Or if I'd told you about it before I fainted. 

I'm sorry. I'm not used to someone else worrying about me. But I think about what I'd do if our spots were switched, and you've honestly been kinder than I would have been. I hope you can make it to London as promised by your new CO. I promise I'll listen to every instruction from the doctor until you get here and even after as long as you smile at me a few times. 

I love you. I've got surgery tomorrow, and the doctor says there's no concerns since I've been taking the pain medication and resting up. As there is a war on, I can't help but think about what if something goes wrong. With that on my mind, let me say this: 

If the only good thing I take away from this war is your hand in mine, I can find peace with that. I'll miss all the men we've lost and be grateful you'll be by my side to mourn along with me. I hope I can wake up every day after the war and kiss you good morning for years and years and years. I want to sit in the audience when you finish your degree and brag to everyone who can hear me that I'm there to celebrate you. I want to tell everyone of your courage in this war: to give up the surety of flying and fighting in order to take on the complicated and deeply unsure business of asking other men to go into the sky without you.

Jack, I've loved before, but not like I love you. Not anywhere close to how I love you. If my stupidity in ignoring my gallbladder has made you unsure of me, I don't blame you a bit. I won't ever begrudge you to seek out the very best of what you deserve. I just hope that you're willing to let me deserve you a little longer so I can win in the long run. 

I'll love you forever if you'll give me the chance and even if you don't,

Chick

*

Chick's been at his new post in London for two days when his secretary comes into his office and hands him a note, looking confused. 

"What is this?" Chick asks.

"You know I didn't ask," his secretary responds.

Chick huffs a laugh and opens the note.

Of course I'll give you a chance, you fucking fainting idiot. 

"He didn't give his name," Chick's secretary says. "He says you'll know from the note."

"Jack Kidd," Chick says. "Major Jack Kidd." He rubs his thumb over the word idiot. "Send him in." 

His secretary leaves, and Jack walks in. He's as straight-backed and placid as the first time Chick saw him. But Chick remembers a few seconds after that first impression, when Jack had dropped the facade of placidity and informed Chick he had two minutes to explain why he should stay on the ground rather than go in the air like the fucking pilot he was trained to be. 

"Major Kidd," Chick greets as he stands. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"You're one to talk," Jack replies. "Last time I saw you, you were on the floor."

Chick rounds his desk and takes Jack in his arms. Jack cups the back of Chick's head in both hands and presses their foreheads together. "Standing right here in front of you now, Jack. What are you gonna do about it?" He chuckles when Jack touches their mouths together then pulls back. "Come here," he says. 

"You come here," Jack challenges, and it's nothing for Chick to meet him more than halfway, grant Jack the affection he so deeply deserves.Especially after the last few weeks. Chick's been shipped to London, and Jack's broken in a new CO, and the air war has finally–finally–shifted in their favor.

"I've missed you," Chick says against Jack's mouth. "You have no idea how much I've missed you."

"I bet I can guess," Jack replies, and he kisses the smile off Chick's face. Because, well, he's right, and Chick won't argue. Not now that they're together again. Not now that he can believe that they'll get through this war together and build something honest and true between the two of them after. 

Of all the ways to fall in love, Chick thinks, during this fucking war is the worst and best option he's ever had. As Jack kisses him again, warm and promising and deep, he changes his mind. It's only the best option. Only.

[invsiblestringswrites]

James knew how to take a hit. She could handle being underestimated, invalidated, or disrespected. She took those blows on the chin, absorbing them and turning them into fuel and mantras she repeated to herself when she needed motivation to prove everyone wrong. What she was not prepared for was love. Not Adeline's. It rocked her - physically - and though the physician in her knew that the name for the symptoms she was presently experiencing was panic attack, it did nothing to help. She knew how to lose someone who hated her. She did not know how to lose someone who loved her. But the thing about panic attacks, which she'd learned in textbooks and overpriced psychiatrists and parasocial Twitter mutuals, was that they always passed.

She wanted to think she was the person who knew when to act. That was probably true in an operating room, but not in her private life, and when her own panic prevented her from immediately going after Adeline, James convinced herself that she'd lost the opportunity for good. She did not call or text or seek her out in the cafeteria or on rounds. She put more effort into ignoring her at work now than she ever did when they were together.

Usually, she made a mental note of where Adeline was on the call sheet and the OR schedules, but she forced her eyes to glaze past that name wherever it was written. Today, she only knew she had her own procedure at 2:30 - an early-stage endarterectomy, but it was her first, and she'd been practicing in the skills lab all morning to make sure she was ready to extricate the plaque from the patient's arterial wall, only pausing to briefly take report on a gallbladder removal she'd done a few days ago that still hadn't been discharged. And the endarterectomy went perfectly. Like, they could write the textbooks on it and use her as the example. Start to finish, she'd done everything exactly as she'd planned it. And the only person she wanted to tell was the one person she couldn't. Still. James wasn't going to let that get her down. Surely, killing it on this surgery was going to do big things for her. The attendings would be talking about it. It would come up in her appraisals. She'd have to practice appearing as humble as possible when they brought it up. She would -

"Dr. Kaiser?" the charge nurse, a know-it-all little man who liked to wear scrubs that looked like he belonged in the PEDS unit, blocked her path.

"What is it?"

"It's your patient, Mr. Blight, he-"

She sighed, cocking her head to the side. "I told the charge nurse who was on duty before I went into the OR. Discharge him. Discomfort at the surgical site is a normal-"

"He's dead, Dr. Kaiser. He coded while you were in surgery."

She scoffed, so over the incompetence here, the way people could get such important things so wrong. "No, I checked on him during rounds this morning. He had localized site pain and a low-grade fever, but he was fine. He was fine."

Something like pity flashed in the nurse's face. She didn't even recall his name. He felt pity for her, and she didn't even remember his name.

"He coded. The attending on call attempted to revive him but was unsuccessful. They took him to OR three. His lower intestine was torn."

His intestine - that had been her fault. There was no other way around it. She'd nicked something she shouldn't have. She hadn't even noticed before closing. She'd dismissed his fever. She'd -

The call room that had once been used for heated hook ups now played witness to her second panic attack this week. She'd killed that patient. They could cite postoperative complications and the statistics all they wanted. James's arrogance had killed that man. And the knowledge of it threatened to suffocate her, too.

She could have argued, and argued, and argued until she was blue in the face. Until she had no more words left to argue with. But there was no use. No middle ground to be found. Any more bending and she would be broken in half. But that was no way to love, or to be loved. "Then I guess it can't." With the last of the strength she could muster, Adeline's quivering lips turned upwards. Sad. Regretful. She willed her tears away, holding onto what little dignity she had left — if any at all. "I love you, James." The first and only time she would be able to utter those words. "I love you exactly as you are — the good, the bad, the worst of you. But I can't keep loving you at the expense of myself." She took unsteady steps towards the exit, pausing only with one last remark. "I really, really hope you get all that you want from this world. No one is more deserving of it than you." Without so much of a backward glance, she was off, leaving behind only the shattered pieces of her heart at the others' feet.

[edda-grenade]

Fire.

Adaar figures out how to literally throw fire, and Solas has some concerns.

[also somewhat of a follow-up to Wounded, and Tehenan shows up for the first time in Teachers.]

#feral verse, 1300 words. on AO3.

Adaar had done good work with the stitches. How she had managed it, Tehenan wasn’t quite sure, considering the elf damn near flinched under every touch. It had only gotten worse when Adaar left to get more salve.

“So,” Tehenan said, in a probably fruitless attempt to distract him until her daughter returned, “how is the teaching going? Is she driving you up the wall already?”

He let out a strangled noise, like a half-swallowed chuckle.

“She is… a river bursting its banks.”

Tehenan eyed him sidelong. “And what does that mean?”

The elf’s cheeks darkened. “She is reckless,” he said, “and she learns quickly.”

She considered that for a moment. “I take it you’re not the one who taught her how to breathe fire, then?”

Solas stared at her.

“…I’m sorry, she did what?”

“Hold still, I’m not done removing the thread.” Tehenan clamped one hand around his thigh to stop him from moving. “Breathed fire. Or at least that’s what it looked like. Maybe she just set the air in front of her on fire? You’d probably be able to tell.”

“It is dangerous either way,” he said sharply, his entire body tense like a coiled spring. “To compromise her lungs with such… showmanship.”

“You’ve met my daughter, right?” Tehenan gently tugged the last piece of thread from his flesh. “You really expect a woman called fire-thrower not to act like a dragon when she has the opportunity to do so?”

“I… was under the impression Adaar refers to a cannon.”

“It does. But translated literally, it means fire-thrower.” She smiled, remembering the tiny sparks Adaar had spat when her magic had first manifested. “Almost prophetic, huh.”

Solas drew his legs up tight against his torso as soon as she let him go, watching her over his bony knees with the flinty stare of a cautious animal.

“Why did you call her that?” he asked, voice low. It didn’t sound accusatory, exactly, but she couldn't quite tell with him. Tehenan shrugged. “When she was little, she had this habit of launching herself at us—I’d be carrying her, like this, and she’d brace her feet on my hip and just throw herself at Ari, like a flailing chubby cannonball.”

“Lies and slander!” Adaar dropped into a crouch next to them. Like Ari, she could move so much more quietly than one expected, and Tehenan grasped at her chest in only half-theatrical shock.

“Kid! Don’t startle your dear old mother like this.”

Adaar laughed and knocked her forehead against Tehenan’s shoulder, then turned to Solas, who was watching them with wide eyes. She presented the tin of salve. 

“Here you go. And don’t listen to her, I was a highly precise cannonball. I have never flailed in my entire life.”

“Should I tell him the story about the pear tree? Because I remember a distinct amount of flailing in that one—”

“Mama! I don’t go around telling everyone about the time you splattered that deer’s gallbladder everywhere, do I?”

“How do you even remember that, you were four—”

“Did you breathe fire?” Solas’s voice was sharp, edged with something more than anger.

Adaar pouted at her. “That was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Tehenan said and gave her an apologetic pat on the shoulder. “But it was surprising; you should have seen his face.”

“Well, now I missed it—”

“Adaar.”

Solas’s attention had shifted entirely, Tehenan noted. Her daughter’s did, too. The two of them rose, their focus locked on each other.

Tehenan sat back and began to collect her medical supplies, keeping an eye on them, absorbed in their discussion. People always revealed so much more when their attention was focused on anything other than hiding. Not that Adaar had ever learned, or needed to learn, how to conceal her thoughts—sometimes Tehenan wondered if they’d chosen the right path there, in raising her—but Solas was a tightly-locked box at the best of times. Except, it seemed, when faced with Adaar’s magic.

“It carries risk,” he said. “The air you breathe connects to your mouth and nose, your throat and lungs. If you lose control, or miscalculate, you put all of that in danger—”

“So fire is where you draw the line? I can throw lightning and displace my body with the Fade but spewing fire is too dangerous?”

“That is not my point, you know that. It never was.”

“Then what is? Are you seriously mad I figured something out without your help?”

“Of course not! I am simply—”

It was new to him. He wasn’t sure how she did it. And that seemed to frighten him…

“Why don’t you demonstrate?” Tehenan suggested. Adaar brightened instantly, while Solas looked even more conflicted. Adaar grabbed him by the wrist, Tehenan picked up her supplies, making sure the salve tin stayed with Solas's things, and together they trudged down to the river.

“She really hasn’t set anything on fire so far,” Tehenan said. “Just a bit of singed hair.”

“Amazing vote of confidence,” Adaar muttered, but she met Tehenan’s smile with one of her own, sparks already drifting from her mouth. Solas remained silent, all the way through Adaar rolling up her trousers and wading into the river, rubbing her hands together until even Tehenan could feel the way her magic changed the air.

“Be careful,” Solas called out finally, voice tight.

“Always am,” Adaar replied.

“Liar,” Tehenan said, and laughed when her daughter stuck out her tongue in response.

Adaar cupped her hands together in front of her face, as though she were about to drink, inhaled through her nose, chest and belly expanding with it, and exhaled.

It was even more impressive than the first time. A great plume of fire streamed from her mouth and cupped hands, flames dancing through the air. The river’s surface shone red and gold in reflection; a gentle wave of heat passed over them. As the fire faded, Adaar looked to them, eyes bright and her mouth split in a wide grin, a small tongue of flame licking out from between her lips. She was practically glowing.

Tehenan shivered, but her chest filled with warmth at the sight. Stars, whatever mistakes she and Reth and Ari had made along the way, they’d gotten this much right, at least.

She glanced down to catch Solas’s expression.

It wasn’t fear. But it was… familiar. She wracked her brain, trying to remember why—until it clicked. Ari. In Rivain. The market, the seer woman, practicing magic in plain sight and honored for it.

It was longing, for something you hadn’t even realized could exist until you laid eyes on it.

“Come on, don’t leave me in suspense,” Adaar called. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, Sunspot,” Tehenan yelled. “Are you sure you don’t want Ataashi as your chosen name?”

“I’m thinking about it!”

Solas waded into the river, his steps hurried.

“Show me again,” he told Adaar, that same strange edge to his voice. Not anger, nor fear—but some desperate longing. “Explain it to me. Break it down into the smallest parts possible, that you may make use of them in other ways.”

“Uh, that’s gonna take a while, probably?”

“I don’t mind.”

Adaar glanced at Tehenan, a question in her eyes. Tehenan gave a dismissive wave.

“We’ll be fine, just come back before dark. And take care that his wounds don’t get wet, alright?”

“I will! If all else fails, I’ll just carry him.”

“You will do no such thing,” Solas said stiffly, but he did wrap the dry edges of his cloak around his thigh.

Tehenan chuckled and left them to it, relief softly settling into her bones. Her daughter’s excitement over the past weeks that only seemed to grow with each passing day—it would keep growing. She had someone to teach her, someone who could understand the intricacies of magic in ways none of her parents could. Koslun only knew what hole Solas had crawled out of or what strange cause drove him—but judging by what Tehenan had seen today, for now at least, he would stay.

[p-artsypants]

I’ll Handle This (9)

In Which Plagg cuts the Umbilical Cord

Howdy folks! Thanks for the patience! I like to pretend I’m regular with uploads, but we all know that’s not true. And for a little while, it’s going to be worse. I had a gallbladder attack this week, and I have to wait about a month to get it out. In the meantime, I get sick pretty easily from most foods. So I’ve kind of put writing on the backburner. 

Oh, I’m also planning a wedding!

Thanks for understanding and not sending demands for updates!

FF.net | Ao3 

—

Adrien was feeling pretty darn good, all things considered. 

Ladybug, or Marinette rather, had been so adamant for so long that no one could know their identities. It was a mantra he stuck to, though he desperately wished to know her outside the mask. 

With Nino in on the secret, it felt more liberating than he expected. All night, he told Nino stories of his terrible excuses and narrow misses of getting caught. 

“I don’t know how I didn’t catch it sooner.” Nino had said, hindsight being 20/20 and all that. 

And Adrien admitted that he felt dumb for not realizing Nino was Carapace sooner. So Nino’s guilt was lessened a bit by that. 

While the boys talked, Plagg stayed rather neutral. He didn’t divulge any more of his plans or prepare them for what was to come. 

Because he couldn’t. Plagg was preparing for several different outcomes, all hindered on many overlapping factors. He just had to hope for the best for now and not stress Adrien out. 

The kid deserved to enjoy his first sleepover.

—

Being an ancient being, Plagg’s passive perception was relatively high. He noticed things and had an awareness that surpassed most other entities on the planet. 

Though, he rarely acted on anything he noticed, since he could phase out of most danger.  It mostly kept him from being seen by people who weren’t supposed to see him. 

However, alarm bells were currently going off like crazy inside his—or Adrien’s—head. 

Lila was hovering just a bit too closely for comfort. 

Though she was usually the main attraction in a conversation, she wasn’t very good at spying. She hovered, just at the edge of the circle, throwing out plenty of ‘oh, don’t mind me’s, but keeping her eye trained on him. She even followed them when they went out for lunch. Far enough away that no one would notice, mind you, but there none the less. 

Lila was not Gabriel’s muse. She was his stooge. His little puppet. His meat camera. 

As long as Lila was around, Gabriel was aware of every action he took. Who knew what kind of bull shittery she’d pull if he did something remotely different. 

But what exactly was she watching for? Just reporting his change in behavior? 

Had Gabriel suspected too much? 

It was high time Plagg put the next phase of his plan into action. 

But first, he needed to throw Lila off the trail. 

It was after class, and everyone was packing their stuff up and discussing how the weekend had gone. 

This seemed like the perfect opportunity. 

“Hey guys! I taught Lila how to play Magic at the last photoshoot! Anyone want to play with her?” 

The words were like fresh blood in a tank of sharks. Lila was grabbed and sat down at a desk, as she tried to come up with an excuse to leave. 

“Oh, I’d uhh...I’d love to play. But my mom has a doctor appointment after school and she wanted me home...” 

“Oh Lila, it’s okay,” said Plagg. “Don’t feel bad about skipping our study session. This is your chance to really bond with the boys in our class!” 

Lila just sent him a tight lipped smile. 

“Okay, Kim, let Lila use your deck.” 

“What? No! ‘Soul Sisters’ is perfectly crafted and only an expert can really unlock its true potential.” 

Alix swiped the deck from his hand. “Yeah, you build a deck with all the tig-bitty angel wifus. It’s great. Take a break, horn dog.” She slammed the deck down in front of a traumatized Lila. 

Max was her partner. “Don’t worry, we’ll go slow and I’ll explain everything as we go along.” 

Plagg smiled to himself, watching as the boys, and even some girls, crowded around to watch. 

He then caught Marinette’s eye and gestured out to the hall. There was no way Lila could stealthily maneuver her way over to him without drawing the attention of all their classmates. 

In the hall, Plagg took Marinette’s hand and led her away, into a secluded corner of the upper floor. Hopefully, Lila wouldn’t spot them if she tried to do something rash. 

“Is everything okay, Adrien?” Marinette asked, her face tinged pink. 

“Not...not completely. Lila was following and eavesdropping on me all day.” 

Marinette gasped, covering her mouth. “That’s sick!” 

“Yes, I agree. I’m not quite sure what she was looking for, but I’m fairly certain she’s spying for my father.” 

Marinette squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry, Adrien. If I knew how to help...” 

“I should be the one apologizing.” He said, genuine sadness in his voice. He had hoped solving Adrien’s problems would have helped Marinette out, but he worried it would be the opposite. 

“What do you have to apologize for?”

He took her hands, holding them delicately in his own. “I told you that I made a deal with her to get you back into school. But…”

She whispered. “Adrien...” 

He touched her face, ever so gently, laying the charm on thick. “Marinette, I care about you so much, and if I could avoid this I would, but...” 

“But what?” 

“Lila’s made it clear that she’s taking this feud I’m having with my father personally. She’s going to take whatever chance she can get to go back on our agreement. She’s going to go after you again.” He shook his head, conjuring tears into his eyes. “I can’t bear to see you hurt by her!” 

“Oh Adrien!” She gasped, before throwing her arms around him. “Please don’t cry. I can handle her, honest.” 

“I have a plan in motion,” he clarified, squeezing her. “She won’t get away with her lies and harassment for much longer. I just need you to be strong.” 

“Whatever you need, just let me know. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

“I know. Thank you, Marinette. Now, I have to go before Lila escapes my trap.” 

Her smile was genuine and full of gratitude. “I’ll see you tomorrow then! Bye!” 

Eager to take what head way he could get, Plagg pressed a kiss to Marinette’s cheek before hurrying away. 

He missed her squealing and dancing after he turned his back. 

—

“I really dislike that sausage-haired cretin.” Plagg muttered as he walked home. “It’s one thing to lie to get attention, but for her to spy on us all day? Talk about creepy!”

“Thank you for warning Marinette,” Adrien said as he floated by his shoulder. “I agree that Lila is looking for any opportunity to go back to bullying her. I think with the warning, she’ll be able to come up with some way to protect herself.” 

“Nothing against your lady’s ability to find solutions, since that is her job as Ladybug, but I don’t know what kind of back up plan she can have against a compulsive liar. Why is every adult in Paris so gullible?” 

“I have a theory,” Adrien suggested. “They aren’t gullible. They just see a pretty young girl crying and they just go along with whatever she says to make it stop. They just assume she’s exaggerating or something.” 

“Good observation,” Plagg commended. “I agree.”  

“But I think we should put off worrying about Lila for a bit and focus on my father. He hasn’t seen you since Friday morning when you serenaded him. I can’t imagine he’s going to be happy to see you.” 

“Adrien, we’ve been over this. I can handle a grown ass adult throwing a temper tantrum. There’s only two things he hasn’t tried yet, and they’re both pretty extreme. I don’t know if he has it in him. I called his bluff before, anyways.” 

“What two things?” 

“Having me arrested...or getting violent. I dared him to hit me and he swore he never would. I just can’t imagine he was telling the truth.” 

“Are you trying to drive him to it?”

“I’m trying to drive him to a place of ‘I give up, what do you want’? Hopefully we can talk, and he’ll come to see you aren’t a child anymore. As much as I think your dear old dad is capable of being a butt head, I think he’s also capable of understanding. He is a successful businessman after all. Business doesn’t come without a little mercy.” 

“That’s a...way to look at it...” 

At that point, they reached the mansion, and Adrien returned to the pocket. 

Plagg decided not to ring the doorbell, and instead climbed the wall. 

He strolled very nonchalantly up to the front door, and entered, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Then he waited three seconds. 

“1...2...”

“Adrien!” Gabriel rushed out of his office. “I didn’t expect you home already.” 

“Because Lila didn’t text you with my location?” 

Gabriel just stared, slightly wide-eyed and pale. 

Caught red handed. 

“She is spying on me for you, right? This isn’t just her stalking me on her own. She’s not smart enough for that.” 

“I—“ 

“So what? You don’t know how to communicate with me so you go to the only person in my class that I not only dislike, but has a record of compulsive lying? Seriously? You thought that was your best option?” 

“You do not get to lecture me about my choices!” Gabriel barked. 

But Plagg just shook his head. “You make no sense to me.”

“My decisions and actions don’t have to make sense to you. You are my child, and you will obey me! Do you understand?” 

Plagg just gave him a patient smile. Arguing with him never went anywhere, because Gabriel always turned his ears off the second Adrien said something he didn’t want to hear. 

Which was anything that wasn’t “yes sir.”

“I understand what you want. But I can’t give it to you. You haven’t listened to what I’ve said. You’re so caught up in injustice, that you haven’t seen how your yelling has affected me. I’m just pulling farther and farther away. Do you want to lose me for good? Is that what you want? Because that’s the road you’re heading down. I’m 15 now. Three years of this, and I could easily move away and never speak to you again after how badly you’ve treated me.” 

“I do not treat you badly! Have you ever gone without food? Without a soft bed? Without clothes or showers? No! You have it better than most people in this city.” 

“You’re right, I should be without want or need. But you’ve severely neglected my heart. Gabriel, I’m lonely, and sad. I’m disappointed every time you break a promise. I can go anywhere and have food and shelter and whatever, but only you can give me the love of my father.” 

Gabriel was silent at this, staring at his son, his lips in a firm line. 

“So I’m going to go. I’m staying with some friends for a while. Just to give you a taste of what it’s like without me. If you like it, then, when I’m 18, I’ll leave, and never come back.” 

Gabriel looked to the ground, but found himself unable to say anything. Plagg ascended the stairs, and went into Adrien’s room. 

“I don’t want to leave…” Adrien said, quietly. “I’d rather stay and…” 

“And do nothing?”

Adrien looked away. 

“Look,” said Plagg, directing his chin up. “Your father is a hard nut to crack. We just have to push harder and harder. Do you still trust me?”

“What choice do I have?”

“It’s going to be okay, kid.” He rubbed his thumb over his whiskers. “I promise.” 

He packed up his duffel that he had taken for his sleepover, and came back down the stairs. 

Gabriel was right where he left him. “So, you’re going? Just like that?” 

“At this point, I think it’s for the best. Just for a little while. Give us both some perspective.” 

“You’ll regret it,” he warned. 

“Maybe. But what’s there to learn from if I don’t make mistakes?” 

Gabriel didn’t stop him as he walked out the door. 

After he left, Nathalie emerged from the office. “Your son is surprisingly mature for his age.” 

“No, he’s stubborn. Just like his mother. I give him three days before he comes crawling back.” 

“And if he doesn’t?” 

“Then I’ll make him come back.” 

—

Chat Noir bounded over rooftops at sunset. He had a destination in mind, and getting spotted by Lila or one of Gabriel’s other goons would ruin it all. 

After traveling in circles, he finally reached the Lahiffe house and stopped on the fire escape outside Nino’s room. 

Nino looked up at the sound. “Oh dude!” 

“Nino Lahiffe, the time has come.” Said Plagg in his ancient voice. “This is the Miraculous of the Dude.” He opened his hand to show a single Hersey’s kiss. “You will use it for the greater bro-kind, and let me crash here for the foreseeable future, as I have run away from home.” 

“Dude...” Nino took it reverently. “I will fulfill my sacred oath...but you should probably come in through the front door, and we should kind of explain this to my mom, or she’s going to wonder how you got in the house.” 

“True. Meet you downstairs in five!” 

—

Marinette laid in her bed, eyes trained to the sky through the sky-light, hands clutching a pillow tightly to her chest. 

She sighed.

The sound made Tikki roll her eyes. She knew Plagg was hamming it up, but did he have to be so…charming?! 

“Tikki…” Marinette announced, after mooning for over an hour. “I think…I think I can tell him tomorrow.” 

The words were music to her ears! Finally! “You can do it Marinette!” 

Then a shadow passed Marinette’s face as the worst past through her mind. “But what if he hasn’t been earnest? What if the way he’s been acting has just been to get back at his father or Lila?” 

Tikki almost groaned. “Marinette, Adrien loves you. He really really loves you! The way he pulled you aside today and warned you about what was going to happen with Lila? He didn’t do that for anyone but you. That was real care! The longer you beat around the bush, the more you’re putting off your own happiness. And you don’t want that, do you?”

Marinette sat up, resolve hardening. “Tomorrow then. I’ll tell him tomorrow, and get my happily ever after.”