#I took my anxiety meds but the Fear never stops grinding

[liminalhymnal]

I did the interview & I'm still so so so very nervous guys what if they call me a liar & crucify me on the spot

I got a job interview in a couple hours and I'm so so so very nervous

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

Two Bisexuals Are Your Co-Captains

ao3

“I solved racism,” Mariner says, kicking open the ready room door. This should not be physically possible, as doors have progressed past the need to be opened, and are, in fact, automatic.

Boimler, whose face is currently one with the synthetic wooden desk, gives her a thumbs up but doesn’t move beyond that.

“Okay, I lied, I didn’t solve racism,” Mariner admits. “It’s still a problem in our galaxy. But, I did solve our captain problem!” she tries. This does get Boimler to remove his face from it’s fixture on the desk.

“You did?” he blinks up at her, creases in his face from where it had been smooshed against the hard surface.

Mariner dumps an honest-to-god paper file on his desk. “Check it out, twink.”

Boimler swipes the file, frowning as nothing happens when he taps it. Mariner helps him out, flipping the cover over. “So there’s this really nifty rule back from like 2039 that allows for two acting captains to co-pilot the ship simultaneously.”

“Are you serious?” Boimler groans.

“As Legato Infection,” Mariner confirms. “It was apparently instated for missions where the crew is like. Separated or some shit and need more than one captain coordinating. Because Starfleet was also part of the air force for a while, co-captains were basically just co-pilots. Like this was a whole thing. But it got overwritten with the First Officer Act of 2048 that instated First Officers as a fill in instead of a co-captain, able to make decisions and delegate, but it was never technically outlawed. Meaning…”

“We could technically take advantage of the loophole and-”

“Co-Captains!” Mariner punches the air. “You know what this means?”

Boimler blinks at her blankly. Beckett applauds herself over the alliteration, as she throws an arm over his shoulder. “It’s our ship,” she whispers dramatically, already envisioning the communist flags with selfies of her and Boimler printed on them.

“Or it could just be your ship,” Boimler says, fear in his eyes.

Beckett grabs his collar, dragging him up to eye level. “Our ship.”

________

“Beckett no,” Freeman says flatly. Ever since The Incident--the one where the ship was overrun with the Pakleds that took out the entirety of senior command--she’s been in medbay, wrapped up in so many bandages she looks like a mummy from one of those really old movies Boimler is obsessed with.

“Beckett yes ,” Mariner says, taking a slurp of her cherry limeade slurpee. “You named me First Officer!”

“Then why does Boimler-”

“Ransom also named him First Officer!”

“So your brain jumped to Co-Captains ?” Mariner can’t see her mom’s expression, but from her squinty eyes she’s pretty sure it’s disapproving. “That is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“You can’t call your daughter dumb!” Mariner throws her hands up in the air.

“Mariner, you’re dumb.”

“That’s against parent rules! Everything I do is supposed to be a fucking delight!”

Freeman turns her judgy eyes to Boimler, who had been staring off into the middle distance, probably traumatized by all of the shrieking the mother and daughter duo had been doing since they entered medbay. Whatever, it’s not Mariner’s fault that her mom’s kneejerk reaction to her daughter charging into medbay with a bat'leth and no shirt on was to shriek like a goddamn banshee.

“You know what,” Freeman says, eyes locked on Boimler. “I’m already having a bad fucking week. Go ahead, make it worse I dare you .”

“Uhm-”

“We absolutely will do that,” Beckett promises, crossing her heart.

_____

“ ATTENTION ALL PERSONAL ,” Mariner says, over the ship’s speakers. D’Vana, from her position at the First Officer’s station, gives her a Disappointed Look. Mariner gives her a thumbs up back.

“ DUE TO OUR EXCRUCIATING CIRCUMSTANCES AND THE LACK OF COMMUNICATION BETWEEN YOUR FORMER CAPTAIN AND HER FIRST OFFICER, ENSIGN BOIMLER AND I WILL BE YOUR CO-CAPTAINS TONIGHT. OR FOREVER, WE HAVEN’T DECIDED YET.”

“Mariner, what are you doing?” Boimler says, storming onto the Bridge. Mariner, who had hacked the Bridge speakers to play Demi Lovato’s Confident every time Boimler entered, is pleased to note that nobody had figured out how to turn that off yet. Unfortunately for her, however, Boimler didn’t recognize his girlboss powers, and had been yelling at her every time it happened.

“I’m letting the ship know about our change in command, oh Co-Captain of mine,” Mariner says over the booming bass and Demi Lovato’s dulcet tones. In the corner of her eye, the vulcan side character that everyone thought was a Cool Guy, bopped his head to the music.

Boimler sighs, pressing his palms into his eyes. “So we’re actually doing this?”

“Dude, I already made us friendship jackets. That shit had a no refunds policy.” She pulls a leather jacket that had been draped over their helmsman's head--bad for ship navigation, but good for dramatic effect--and throws it at Boimler. Boimler unfolds the pink monstrosity, sighing deeply at the neon-yellow glitter words Gatekeep Girlboss Gaslight emblazoned on the back.

“Is this really necessary?”

“It’s ABSOLUTELY necessary,” Mariner says, standing up. She turns around, showing Boimler her purple jacket which says Malewife Mansplain Manipulate in snot-green glitter.

“HOW DOES THAT MATCH.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DOES THAT MATCH.” Her voice echoes strangely, alerting her to the fact that the shipwide comms are still in use. She reaches over, flicking the switch off and turns back to Boimler, hands on her hips. “Is this an anxiety thing again? Do you need to go back on medication?”

“I don’t need to be on meds!”

“Then why won’t you wear our super secret special jackets!”

“Because mine is hot pink and says girlboss on the back!”

Mariner lets out a gasp. “Are you saying... Boimler are you adhering to GENDER ROLES?”

“No-no stop it -”

“You! You of ALL PEOPLE-”

“Mariner, cut it out!”

“LET IT BE KNOWN THAT BRAD BOIMLER IS A-”

Boimler pulls the jacket on so violently that he somehow elbows himself in the eye. The pink really does go with his hair-which Mariner knows for a fact he dyes himself every three weeks. “There! Happy?”

“So so happy.” Mariner hands him a martini from the tray she had brought in and nailed to the arm of the captain’s chair. The one she hands to Boimler has a rainbow umbrella in it. “So, first order of business. I think we need car seats for short people.”

“Excuse me.”

Mariner picks up her own martini glass and takes a chug, choking on the strawberry chunks she had grinded into it a few minutes before Boimler got here. “You know, car seats? That shit you put babies in because cars are a danger to humanity but we keep buying them? I think the shorties on this ship deserve some protection.”

Boimler drains his glass. “Fine, whatever, I don’t even care anymore.”

______

Mariner is commissioning the previously mentioned communist flags with hers and Boimler’s faces printed on them, when Tendi comes into the ready room. She is wearing the face of complete and utter defeat that everyone else had been wearing since the Co-Captains had been instated. Mariner insists it’s because they’re sad that she and Boimler wouldn’t get to be captains forever. Boimler says it’s because everyone’s writing their suicide notes to their familes.

“Mariner, we need to talk,” Tendi says, using the opening line to every break up Mariner’s been a part of and seen on tv. Which is really weird because she didn’t think she and Tendi were in a relationship.

“I’m all ears,” Mariner says, which is a dumb fucking line because clearly she isn’t , but people say that all the time.

“I don’t want to be your First Officer,” Tendi says, crossing her arms. “It was fun for the first week, but after you made it mandatory to do the Macarena during the first ten minutes of each hour, morale has been down.”

“Hmm,” Mariner pets Boimler’s therapy cat, Dishwasher, thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll make that one optional. Any other requests?”

Tendi sighs. “No,” she admits. “To be honest, the ship is running at 98%, which is the highest any ship in Starfleet has ever run. I think Brad orgasmed when he heard about that.”

“You call him Brad ?” Mariner stares up at her friend, aghast.

“That’s his name?”

“Yeah, and his cat’s name is Dishwasher , but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to call her that!” Dishwasher growls at her name. Mariner shushes her, hands clamped over her ears. “She turns into a murder-rage machine when you call her by her given name! How do we know Boimler isn’t the same?”

“Because I call him Brad all the time!” Tendi hisses back, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Oh my god, he’s probably serial killing as we speak. I hope you’re ready to talk to the victim’s families and let them know that their loved one’s died because you couldn’t help yourself.”

Tendi stares at Mariner for a full minute. “Resignation,” she reiterates, pointing at Mariner. “I want to be a gross ensign scrubbing the deck again. Nepotism sucks .”

“Fine, you’re demoted. Go enjoy mediocrity.”

“I will.” Tendi storms out, kicking the door shut. Which again, is completely, 100% impossible because it’s the 23rd century or whatever-Mariner’s not keeping count-and automatic doors are now a Thing.

Mariner hacks their speaker systems to play the Wii Shop Channel Music-a reliac of the past only alluded to on private groupchats and servers- to play whenever Tendi entered a room. It’s the least she could do.

______

“As your First Officer,” a reluctant Rutherford says reluctantly, “I am here to remind you that that would be a very bad idea .”

“Rutherford, who’s the boss around here?” Mariner asks, hands on her hips.

Rutherford sighs. “You.”

“And as the boss, who makes all the decisions around here?”

Another sigh. “ You .”

“Then why are you being a killjoy over my decision to get down and dirty with my Co-Captain?”

Rutherford makes a shriek-y noise, like those boys who got their testicles cut off in the old days so they could sing opera. “Mariner, I’m serious, don’t do it .”

“Is it against regulation?”

“No,” Rutherford groans. “You’re both the same rank-”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You can’t sleep with Boimler just because you can!”

“That’s not why I’m going to sleep with Boimler,” Mariner waves him off. “I was sitting on his lap the other day-”

“Oh my god -”

“-in the Captain's chair--ooh we should look into getting another one of those, TWO chairs are better than one--”

“Mariner, to the point please.”

“Oh, yeah, so I’m in his lap and I maay have backed up a little too far and bumped up against-”

“Stop literally stop .”

“Yeah, so turns out Boimler is PACKING and I gotta hop on that train, so to speak.”

“Okay, you know what?” Rutherford shoves his padd at Mariner. “I quit, I can’t do this. I want to be a lower decks ensign again.”

“Wow, you’re like, the seventeenth person this week to quit. Which, coincidentally, is exactly how long I’ve been captain.”

“Yeah, weird coincidence,” Rutherford deadpans.

_____

“I may have fucked up, Mom,” Mariner shrieks, waltzing into medbay with all the grace of a duck pulling off a white bread heist. “I think you should take captaincy back.”

Freeman, who had fully recovered two days ago, but refused to engage in the chaos Mariner was purposely causing on her ship, looks up from where she’s reclining with her long island ice tea and swimwear magazines. “Really now?”

“ Yes . All of my friends hate me and I found out Boimler has purple pubs.”

Freeman almost drops her drink. “ What .”

“Tell me about it. Don’t get me wrong, we’re still fucking, but like. Wow, I thought he dyed everything. Turns out that shit is natural.”

Freeman covers her face with one hand. “No.”

“What?”

“No, you’re keeping the ship.”

“WHAT.”

“I already spoke to your father,” Freeman gives her daughter a shark-like smile. “We agreed that this position of authority has been good for you. And, considering, the ship is running better than any ship in Starfleet since the inception of the Federation, the Admiralty wants you and Boimler to stay on.”

“ WHAT .”

“They think it’s an interesting social experiment that merits more research. Congratulations, you and your fuck-buddy are now ginnypigs.”

___

“I think, as a sign of protest, we should rename the ship,” Mariner says, draped across the desk in the ready room. Boimler, sprawled out all over the desk chair, snorts. The room has been completely revamped in pride flags and the previously mentioned communist flags. Mariner thinks it’s her best interior design work, but Boimler claims it’s an eyesore.

“What would we name it?” he asks, humoring her.

Mariner considers it, taking a swig of vodka. “Okay, hear me out. Q and Picard’s Loveboat.”

Boimler grabs the bottle out of her hand, taking a chug. “You know what? This might as well happen.”

They submit the formal request on Boimler’s padd a few minutes later and are both pleasantly-at least in Mariner’s case-surprised that it goes through. It’s likely that the guy in charge of filtering these requests is either very very bored or very very underpaid and either way Mariner likes his energy.

A few days later, they have Q AND PICARD’S LOVEBOAT stamped across the side of the ship in comic sans-a truly underappreciated font from ye olden days that Mariner dug up one night on the wayback machine.

It takes exactly four weeks for the Admiralty to catch wind of it-by then she and Boimler had been Co-Captains for almost two months-and, well, there isn’t much they can do about it.

She does receive a rather long voicemail from her dad that she promptly deletes. She’s not about that energy.

_____

“Boims, Boims, Boims,” Mariner chants, crawling into his bed. Boimler lets out a shriek as her ice cold toes slide up against his bare thigh.

“So you know how our ship got renamed so easily?” she says, once Boimler had stopped screaming. “Well, I found the dude who approved it. Nice kid, I want his gender. Anyway, looks like my dad is getting a new ship and they're getting someone to christen it.”

“Oh my god,” Boimler says faintly, turning his face into his pillow.

“I may have gotten us on the list of possible people to christen it. As in, the kid hacked the server for me and we're the only people on that list.”

Boimler looks like he's regretting everything ever. He also looks like he's kind of in love with her. Mariner inspires that kind of duality in people. “What are we going to name it?” his voice has a tinge of fear in it that both of them get off on. The kink is strong with this couple.

Mariner grins.

_______

THE DADMIRAL: ACT OF REBELLION OR GENIUS?

Ash H. Beiggs

Many of you may remember the highly criticized decision Starfleet made when instating “Co-Captains” on the starship Q and Picard’s Loveboat ( formally known as the USS CERRITOS). Well, Captains Bradward P. Boimler and Beckett E. Mariner are back with bigger and bolder headlines to make.

The chaotic young duo are renowned Federation-wide not only for running the tightest ship in Starfleet, but for their unorthodox methods. Captain Mariner in particular has been praised for her innovating thinking and usual personality. When asked about her decision to name Admiral Mariner’s ship The Dadmiral she simply claimed that “Mohammad had his mountain, Jesus had his followers and [she] had a molotov cocktail and nothing to lose.” Captain Boimler declined to comment.

The actual christening of The Dadmiral was reported as a “spectacle to behold” by many onlookers. Captain Mariner was seen streaking through the aforementioned ship, with a bottle of vodka in one hand. Her Co-Captain was not far behind her, but was reportably more restrained. The actual christening was completed by Captain Mariner who “yeeted the vodka” into the ships warp core, shouting “ One of us. One of us,” in rapid succession until she was removed by security.

Neither Admiral Mariner or Captain Freeman are available to comment at this time.

[shesgayfor]

Mouthguard

Summary: Bucky is having jaw issues and needs a mouth guard to sleep with but he’s afraid it’ll trigger him. Reader (she) and Bruce Banner help him out with his issue.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Reader (She), Bruce Banner, Mentions of Tony Stark

TW: Dentist, Dental fear, Anxiety, PTSD

“Ah, what the hell.” Bucky wakes up, rubbing his lower jaw trying to release pain that is happening.

“What is it?” She asks from the bathroom.

“My jaw. It’s so sore.” She peaks her head out from the bathroom to look at Bucky.

“I mean are you surprised?” She questioned.

“What? Surprised about what?”

“Wait Buck you aren’t aware?”

His eyebrows perked up. “Aren’t aware of what?” His voice exuded confusion.

“That you grind your teeth in your sleep. Badly.” She softly replied, walking closer to him.

“I what? Since when?” His voice went up an octave.

“Uh, since we’ve been together. So about 5 months. Wait you really didn’t know?” She ran her hand through her long, thick, brown hair. He shook his head no at her question. She sat herself on the bed, directly next to Bucky’s long figure laying in the bed.

“Do you want me to speak to Tony and Bruce? They can help.” She asked quietly and softly.

“No no, please Y/N just, no.” He grew upset at her words.

“Why not Buck,” she placed a hand on his metal one. “I don’t want to see you chip a tooth or wreck your teeth completely in your sleep. Just let them have a look, I’m sure they can help you.” She continued to offer. He let out a deep sigh, as his face fell to one of defeat.

“Fine. But you’re coming with.”

She smiled widely at him. “Of course my love.” She grabbed his face and pressed their lips together. She pulled away as she continued to get ready for the day.

Bucky was just getting out of the shower when he heard Y/N on the phone with someone. He opened the bathroom door to see her chatting away.

“Yeah yeah, no just a look. He’s grinding his teeth like bad in his sleep. Can you fit a night guard or something?” She stopped talking when she heard the door open, to reveal a half naked Bucky. The towel around his waist was just below his V line. His long hair was tied up in a bun, she was distracted by him. “Tony can we come in later for a check up? I don’t know an hour. Okay. Yeah yeah. Okay I gotta go. Yup. Thanks Tony, see you later. Uh huh bye.” She ended the call and turned to Bucky.

“That Tony?” Bucky asked, worry filling his voice.

“Yeah, he and Bruce can see us in an hour if that’s okay?” She walked towards him, placing her hands in his.

“It’s fine yeah.” His face looked worried.

“He’s not going to hurt you, love. I promise. I won’t let him. He said he can get you a mouthguard for when you sleep. He’s not going to do anything else.”

“Okay, yeah. Mouthguard. That’s not triggering at all.”

“Oh Buck shit, I’m so sorry I forgot about that.” She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. Maybe there’s another way.” She whispered into his ear.

“I just don’t know if I can handle wearing a mouthguard, when HYDRA used to use one on me to torture me. I’m afraid I’ll be triggered every single night.” Tears filled Bucky’s eyes as he talked. She pulled him even closer.

“I know I know. It’s going to be okay, though. You are safe. No one wants to hurt you. It’s just a device used to help you not wreck your teeth. But like I said, maybe there’s something else they can do.” She continued quietly speaking to him. He nodded at her response.

The two of them headed to see Tony and Bruce, who could help with this situation.

“Bucky! Y/N! How are you guys?” Bruce greeted the two of them. Tony was nowhere to be seen.

“Hi Bruce,” Y/N walked to Bruce as the two of them hugged. She smiled at Bruce, before looking back at Bucky.

“Bucky, hey.” Bruce sounded sympathetic and sweet.

“Hi,” he shyly smiled, reaching to shake Bruce’s hand. He didn’t know Bruce all that well, but Y/N did.

“So what’s the issue going on? I didn’t have time to speak to Tony, he just said you guys were coming in.” Bruce asked.

“Oh right. Well, Buck woke up in the morning with pain in his lower jaw. I hear him in his sleep grind his teeth, like,” Y/N did a visual example of how Bucky grinds his teeth in his sleep. “I think it’s hurting him more than he realizes and I’m really worried.” She told Bruce. Bucky’s face fell to one of upset and embarrassment.

“Awe, I’m sorry to hear that Bucky. Would you be alright if I have a look at your teeth? Just to make sure everything’s okay?” Bruce was a gentle, calm presence. Besides his alter hulk ego, he was very caring and gentle, and it translated very well in his professional life.

“Uh, sure.” Bucky looked very nervous. Y/N grabbed his hands to calm him. The 3 of them walked into Bruce’s med bay, and had Bucky sit down in a reclined chair in the middle of the room. It didn’t really look like a dental chair, more like a fancy reclining chair. Y/N took a seat directly next to Bucky, holding his hand.

“I’m just going to have a look, okay Buck? I’m not poking or anything. I’m not going to hurt you, but if you’re uncomfortable or anything please tell Y/N or myself so we can make you more comfortable.” Bruce explained to Bucky.

“Thank you Bruce.” Bucky rested his head on the back of the chair. Bruce slipped on a pair of gloves and grabbed a small mirror from a drawer.

“Overhead light, yes or no?” He asked Bucky.

“Please no.” His response was immediate.

“Not a problem.” Bruce reached behind him to grab a penlight, and handed it to Y/N. “Y/N can you just shine this in his mouth, while I have a look?”

“Of course.” She smiled at him.

“Alright Buck, I’m just gonna have a quick look.” Bruce motioned towards Bucky’s mouth with the mirror. Bucky hesitantly opened his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut out of fear. Bruce carefully looked in Bucky’s mouth, using his fingers to move his lips down or up. Y/N watched as the small mirror made its way all the way around Bucky’s mouth. He actually had really nice teeth for a hundred year old.

“Go ahead and close Buck, you’re all good.” Bruce finished and said.

“So?” Y/N asked.

“His teeth are fine. But the back molars look like they’ve been grinded on. They aren’t chipped or cracked or anything, but if you wait any longer, they might be.”

“Meaning?” Bucky asked nervously.

“Meaning you need to wear a mouthguard to bed. I’m sorry, I know that’s not ideal but it’s the only thing that’s going to help you.”

Y/N looked over to Bucky, who looked like he was going to throw up.

“HYDRA used a mouthguard on him when they tortured him, is there anything else you can offer?” Y/N asked.

“I’m sorry I wish there was. If it helps, it’s just a plastic piece that molds into your teeth, making it personalized.” Bruce offered.

Bucky’s breathing became trembled, as Y/N tried her best to calm him. “Breathe babe, breathe.” Her voice was soothing to Bucky’s ears. She rested a hand on his shoulder, trying to bring him down.

“Okay okay, fine. Let’s get it over with.” Bucky gave in.

“Of course, let me just go get the materials.” Bruce hurried out of the room to get what he needed.

“Buck?” Bucky averted his gaze to Y/N.

“I don’t want my teeth falling out. I’m pretty sure HYDRA fucked with my teeth, so I’m done with that. I’ll suck it up, I’ll wear it at night. And like Bruce said, it’ll be my own, HYDRA never gave me a personalized mouthguard. I’ll push through, but I’ll need your help okay Y/N?” Bucky was panting.

“Of course Buck oh my god, whatever you need.” She smiled up at him. He let up a smile, he just loved her so much.

Bruce came running back in the room with some tools, as he carefully set up what he needed. Y/N and Bucky watched as he melted down a piece of plastic into a tray. He turned back around to Bucky, with the plastic in his hand.

“Okay, so what I am going to do is let this rest on your upper teeth for 2 minutes, okay? It needs to form your teeth perfectly, and it’ll harden and then it’ll be good to go and a mouthguard tailored to you.” Bruce stated.

“Okay.” Bucky replied.

“Alright, open please!” Bucky did as he was told, as Bruce carefully positioned the piece on Bucky’s entire top teeth. Bruce used his fingers to lift up Bucky’s lips to place above the mouthguard piece. “2 minutes, okay? Are you doing alright?” It was 30 seconds in at this point. Bucky nodded yes, while Y/N slowly ran her hand through Bucky’s hair. Bruce kept looking at his watch, updating Bucky on how much longer.

“30 seconds left, you’re doing so good Bucky.” Bucky’s eyes were closed, he was on the brink of tears. He hated every second of this, but didn’t want to lose all his teeth so he’s sacrificing.

“Time!” Bruce said as he reached back into Bucky’s mouth, carefully removing the new formed mouthguard. “Okay look, it’s all done.” Bruce picked the mouthguard off the plastic tray it was stuck to. It revealed a clear tray that had teeth impressions in it. He placed it in his hand, bringing it to Bucky. “It’s yours now. All you have to do is just put it in every night before bed. It will stop you from grinding your teeth together.”

Bucky looked at Bruce then at the tray, before picking it up from his gloved hand.

“Go ahead, try it on.” Bruce said. Bucky nodded then placed the tray back in his mouth, of his own will. He played around with it in his mouth, trying to get it to be comfortable. He bared his teeth at Y/N, showing her what it looked like. All that you could see was his teeth, along with a clear tray placed in between them.

“Looks good babe. How’s it feel?” Y/N asked.

“Good.” He tried to muster out, but it caused a major lisp as he spoke. This made Y/N laugh a little, but made Bucky embarrassed.

“Oh no love I’m sorry, it’s okay.” She gently stroked his cheek.

“Anything else I can help with?” Bruce asked them both.

“No Bruce, thank you so much.” Y/N hugged Bruce again.

“It’s no problem, I’m glad I can help. If there’s any issues feel free to call me.” Bruce offered. He walked by the side of the room to pick up something, handing it to Bucky. “It’s a case for it. Clean it often, warm water and what not.”

Bucky tipped the case to Bruce. “Thank you. So much. This means a lot.” Bucky smiled at him.

“Anytime man.” He reached to shake his hand, Bucky shaking back.

“Let’s go love.” Y/N took Bucky’s hand, leading them out of the room.

“Thanks again Bruce, see you later!” Y/N called out, as the two of them were out the door.

Later that night, Bucky and Y/N were getting ready for bed. They laid together in bed, him spooning her. He was running his metal arm through her hair, while she rubbed her hands on his leg.

“Doing okay, love?” She asked him. He’d been silent the past hour.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” His tone was unconvincing. She turned over to face him, his eyes cold and sad. “Buck? What’s going on love.” She placed a hand on his warm cheek.

“Sorry. I just hate that I have to wear the mouth guard.” He quietly replied.

“I know. It’s for the best, right?” She tried.

“Yeah.” His tone was flat.

“How about this. Instead of going to sleep with it in for the first few times, I put in it for you after you fall asleep. That way you wake up to it only, and you can get used to it slowly?” She offered. His face went to one of thinking, before replying, “Would you mind?”

“Not at all. If you bite me or punch me in your sleep I’ll be upset though.” She joked. He laughed at this. “I’ll try not to.” They both laughed even more. He sprung a kiss on her, kissing her passionately and tenderly.

“Oh. Thank you for that.” She appreciated this romantic gesture.

“No, thank you for you. For everything. You are the love of my life.” His eyes were hardcore locked on hers. Her hands made their way back to his long hair, playing with it gently.

“I love you.” She whispered.

He smiled widely at her. “ I love you.”

[melloveslove]

Preach Practicin'

I've suffered from PTSD, from my childhood. My parents divorced when I was at a very young age and neither one of them had any sort of concept on how to raise a healthy human being. Because their parents didn't know how and those parents of those parents didn't know how and on and on it went. I had a fucked up childhood and I went to therapy to deal with it. Part of that therapy was attempting to start this blog. And I don't even know what this Tumblr blog even is anymore because all I started doing was sharing, how I wanted to feel and how I wanted to look at the world and how I wanted the world to look at itself. And for the most part I live the things that I post. For over a decade I've considered myself a spiritual intentionalist. No such thing as accidents or coincidences. You make your future you decide how you're going to feel and all of that other happy horseshit. But for the past six months I have been living in a world that I don't feel that I created. I am experiencing things that I don't think I invited and I don't know what the hell to do with any of it. It started with the divorce. The father of my three kids and the man that I've been with since the year 2000 just…ugh. I shouldn't have been with him for 17 years. I shouldn't have created three human beings with him. I shouldn't of kept trying and trying and trying to change someone. It all came to a head when I started respecting myself. The divorce was/is amicable enough but the day after I decided that I didn't want a husband anymore, was the day that my first true love, or the person that I thought was my first true love, reached out to me through Facebook. It was a shock to say the least. This supposed first true love turned out to be a recovering meth addict. When I attempted to help him in his recovery I learned that I'm not the person I was when I was 17 and that I am not anyone's fucking mother. Twofold, I am not my ex-husband's mother and I am not going to mother old boyfriends who are batshit crazy. The day that my now ex-husband moved out was the same day that my old ex-boyfriend went psycho and I dropped him like a hot rock, and the same day that I got one of the worst flu's I've had in my entire life. Which was when I discovered how awful some of my coworkers are. That segues into my psycho coworkers and the people that I have to deal with every single day, the people I've had to deal with every single day for the past six months. People that are trying to get me fired. People that ride my ass for the stupidest things you could possibly be ridden for. I work in animal shelter, and today for example I got into trouble for not walking a dog properly. I got in trouble for not knowing that I wasn't supposed to park my car in a certain spot. I got into trouble for taking too long cleaning outdoor dog kennels. I got into trouble for turning a the knob on the dryer the wrong direction. Six months people. I've been dealing with this sort of insanity for six months and I don't know how much longer I can deal with it. The last week of May and into the first week of June I missed nine days of work because all of a sudden my right foot stopped working. I saw three specialists and the only thing I got out of it was that I definitely had plantar fasciitis, and heel spurs, they're not quite sure what else is wrong. Here came more medical bills. And a bunch of coworkers who thought I was faking it. Things really took a turn for the worse. Speaking of things that I don't know how much longer I can deal with, my divorce is still ongoing. The day after my ex-husband moved out of the house, the house that he said I could keep in the divorce so that our kids could stay in their school district, I found out from the mortgage company that he hadn't been paying the mortgage. I was supposed to come up with a $17,000 reinstatement fee. On 1 July it had come up to $25,000. A single mom that works for a nonprofit, who has no rich friends, who has family that sucks and isn't helpful and never has been, and who doesn't have very great credit can't get a loan for more than $6000. i've spent the last six months trying to sell off everything I own. On top of getting multiple phone calls per day from debt collectors. And every time they call I say I'm trying to save my house I'm trying to save my kids from moving I'm trying to save all of my pets from going off to new homes. That's failing. We all have to go. And by all of us that includes my new life partner and companion. The one thing I always intended to have was a person who was intelligent and responsible, a good parent, just someone that I could fall in love with who would fall in love with me back. It sounds crazy because I was married but marriage to me was a lot of things but I was never in love. So I met this guy back in April. And it was love at first sight or something like that for both of us. And we went real quick. Because it felt like it was meant to be, all of the things that the other person was needing and searching for and wanting to share we found within each each other. It was magic. The magic turned into some sort of an awful cauldron spell that had gone horribly wrong on June 17. He was riding his motorcycle just down the road from my house, the first time in all of his years of riding that he wasn't wearing any of his gear. He avoided an oncoming car and got into a terrible motorcycle accident. He almost died and spent five days in the ICU hooked up to all the machines you see on TV. He was in the hospital a total of 18 days. And now he has to get antibiotics by IV every day and he has a gastric tube that will stay in for who knows how much longer. And his stomach is still an open hole that has a wound VAC attached to it. He couldn't go back to where he was living because he would be by himself and he couldn't take care of himself by himself, so because I love him not only as a partner but as a person I moved him into my house so that I could help take care of him. A house that I'm getting evicted from because it's being foreclosed on in three weeks. Oh and the ex-husband, he was also knee-deep in debt. And the child support that he is supposed to be providing because he's gone all of the time, I mean all of the time his jobs out of state he's never here, he can't pay because the credit card companies wiped out all of his bank accounts. I can't even get into all of the problems that my 15-year-old son has decided to start doing but let's just say that I had to have three sheriffs Deputy's assist me in getting him out of his girlfriends car because he refused to come home. And he got into deep shit by the cops because he was lying about why he wouldn't come home and they knew it and I knew it oh and I think he's stealing cash. Did I mention that my youngest child is on the autism spectrum with an anxiety disorder and ADHD? A week before the motorcycle accident I dropped and broke my phone, ran over something and popped a tire, I am lost my retainers which I have to come up with $310 to replace because if I don't over $5000 worth of medically necessary orthodontics will be for nothing. I guess I'm just putting it all out there that people who profess to look on the bright side and who believe in intentionality and who believe that there is a lesson in every life's obstacles and all of the other things that I profess to believe and have it hard too. And I know that I'm not in a war torn country and I know that I'm not living under a perpetual fear of murder by cops or being beaten by a partner or some life-threatening disease... but this shit is hard too. I can't sleep without the help of meds. I grind my teeth and I get migraines and I hyperventilate and I get sick and I cry and I can feel depression rolling through my body into my hands. All of my so-called friends have said over and over that they would help me, but did they help me when I needed to sell all my shit off and held a huge garage sale? Did they help me when I said I needed to have a packing party? Did my family step up and help me with my children when I needed to keep working full-time? No. None of these things happened. I am completely and utterly alone. The divorce will keep proceeding and I will still have to keep taking care of my kids without any sort of financial support from their dad. I will have to keep working in one of the most stressful jobs in the nation with people who are hell-bent on making me quit. I have to keep taking care of MyPerson whom I love, and the gratitude that I have for his recovery is awesome. I have to keep trying to be there for my 15-year-old son and I have to find a way to get him the mental health support that he so desperately deserves that I can't provide. I have to keep trying to maintain schedules and structure and stability in a world of chaos for my 11-year-old. I have to force myself to keep eating and drinking water and repeating mantras and getting enough sleep. But there are not enough beautiful Memes or photos with idyllic quotes to get me through this crap. And I keep wondering if I did something wrong. How did I invite this reality? And how do I make it better when I don't feel like I invited it to begin with?… End rant.

[stimtoybox]

Do you have any advice for a way to stop chewing/picking in my sleep??? I have fidget and chewies for day time but. I bit a huge hole into the side of my cheek in my sleep and started scratching my nose in my sleep. I need to find a way to not, the hole in my mouth is so sore and infected I haven't even been able to eat. Any tips or ideas???

Anon, I’ll say in absolute honesty that this is a tough one for me. If anyone thinks they can help our anon out, please suggest away and I’ll add your thoughts to this response. I’m sure there’ll be followers who have more experience with replacing BFRBs like picking, since I am the first to admit I am not terribly successful in this so far.

My feeling is that this is a conversation to have with your GP, family doctor, psychologist or psychiatrist, because it reads to me that your problem is activity in sleep, which might be related to depth of sleep or sleep state.

By which I mean: I have chronic, lifelong insomnia and disordered sleep in general, and I can turn on my bedside lamp in my sleep. (This is more remarkable when I mention that my lamp is positioned such, and I am clumsy enough, that when I turn it on or off while lying in my bed, it falls on my face. I’ve never once woken up from a falling lamp, but I wake up to my lamp on, with no memory of turning it on, at least three times a week.) In sleep, I have no control over my actions or awareness of what I’m doing, yet consciousness enough to do things, and that’s the problem here. Fortunately, turning on a lamp and occasional bouts of sleepwalking aren’t too much a problem for me (as opposed to the more serious problem of Actually Sleeping, something my doctor and I are reassessing because we want to stop my taking mirtazapine) so this is very low on the list of Things I’m Trying To Pursue With A Doctor.

Biting yourself in your sleep (especially if you can’t eat as a result!), on the other hand, really is a problem. If you’re like me and have no sense of the activity you do in sleep, it’s incredibly difficult to stop. This requires a discussion with a professional. It might require a sleep study and discussions of medication that help with sleep, but I really encourage, anon, that you talk with someone who can offer solutions or refer you to the appropriate professional.

What you might like to do, in the lead up to the appointment, is jot down any observations you have about your sleep. What time do you go to bed? When do you awake? How long do you sleep? How tired do you feel when you waken? How long does it take you to fall asleep? Do you wake up during the night? If so, how often? How long does it take you to fall back to sleep when you do? Do you dream? Do you have any awareness of when you dream? Do you move a lot in sleep? What other behaviours have you carried out in sleep that you notice on awakening? Writing this down makes it so much easier for most of us to convey the relevant information during the anxiety and awful of an appointment, and it’ll better help your doctor help you.

(I don’t know what you’re doing to treat your wound, but if it’s bad enough that you cannot eat, I think that you’ve moved past the gargle-with-salt-water-and-take-OTC-pain-meds stage and should discuss this with a doctor, too.)

There’s a possibility that as you grow more accustomed to using replacement stims for any need to chew or pick, you’ll lose the habit of doing so and this will be reflected in your behaviour during sleep. However, my belief is that you can’t and shouldn’t wait to see if this happens, because the chewing is causing you problems now.

I don’t recommend, at all, that you take a chewable to bed with you in the hope you use this while sleeping, for fear of choking. Getting tangled in the cord of a necklace, for example, or biting off part of a chewable, or getting a smaller bead or pendant caught in your mouth. There’s many ways in which this is dangerous, so please don’t do it, anon. Please.

(I have no knowledge if mouthguards or dental approaches to not chewing in sleep are a safe possibility, but that might be a conversation to have as well.)

You can try going to bed in a pair of gloves - think something woollen or cotton. Try to find the most comfortable gloves you can, as this improves the likelihood of their staying on! This can be hard to get used to (it took me a while to get used to sleeping in splints for my wrists and thumb) and it may not work if you have the ability to remove gloves in your sleep. I’d also keep your fingernails short and rounded, just to make them as least effective as possible when it comes to scratching and picking.

You might also consider if there’s a reason why you’re scratching - is your nose dry or peeling? Is your pillow rubbing your face? Try some moisturiser, check your bed linen, try to give yourself as few reasons to scratch or pick as possible. This might not help at all, mind you, and it probably won’t, but environmental solutions are going to be the easiest ones to implement and it’s always worth a try.

(If you’re like me and can’t bear lotion on your nose, just use a drop or two on a finger and try thin lotions designed for the face. I don’t mind Olay’s Moisturising Lotion for Sensitive Skin, but I only use a tiny, tiny amount. Anything else feels really gross.)

Bed-safe toys - akin to sleeping with a plushie - for picking/scratching with your hands include furry or chenille plush toys and duster mitts (think @caseydickdanger‘s Hedgehugs). Or fur pillows and blankets! However, there’s no guarantee that you’ll use them in your sleep. Lying there with the toy and picking at its fur in the process of falling asleep might help develop the use of the toy as a habit when you are asleep (and I find it a good stim for that annoying space between “going to bed” and “actually falling asleep”) and I think this is another one in the “worth a try” category.

The main thing, though, I think, is to bring this up with a professional.

I’m crossing my fingers for you, anon, because this is an incredibly tough problem you’re facing. Please be patient with yourself, because it might take time and effort to figure this one out. Look after yourself as best you can. And let us know how you go, if you’re comfortable with that.

Anything to add, my followers of awesome?

ETA: @2hon5 says,

My cousin used to grind her teeth in her sleep (so bad that her molars were noticeably smoother than most people) and she used a mouthguard so I think that is in fact a viable answer, as long as it isn’t sensory hell for you.

Thank you. I am so glad someone else can confirm that as an approach to pursue!

[iamkindling]

I picked the worst year to stop taking my meds (part two): a family matter

I was a a pretty angsty kid, and an even angstier teen. I’d feel bad for my parents for having to deal with my me, but I don’t, because boy howdy, I could have been a lot worse. All things considered, I was a damn good kid to raise.

I participated in extracurricular activities, sang in the church choir, preferred books to TV, all those good things. I was reasonably obedient, tried to do my chores when I was told, and usually felt genuine guilt when I did something wrong.

My first distinct memories of depression are from when I was about ten years old. That’s when I-

- Started seeking solitude because I couldn’t understand or identify with the unrelenting optimism of some of my peers

- First realized the gravity of death

- Began to doubt that God had anyone’s best interest at heart

Depression began with those things, and anxiety followed quickly on its footsteps. I developed a phobia of the sound of the phone ringing. That was how news was delivered. And most news was bad news those days.

My family is deeply religious. I don’t blame them. Christianity has been good to them, for the most part. There is value in shared community and common beliefs and goals. I don’t think anyone doubts that. But I began to find religion deeply troubling at a young age. I couldn’t understand a god who could speak of vengeance and forgiveness, who could promise peace and rain down destruction, who could tout acceptance but encourage judgement and death at every turn.

I couldn’t understand how God could answer my fervent prayers for a little brother, only to snatch him away, and almost take my mom, too.

Less than a year after a turbulent miscarriage, my mother became pregnant again. Due to tense family situations I still don’t fully understand (and probably never will), my parents decided it would be best if we kept my mom’s pregnancy a secret. We didn’t tell anyone. Not relatives, not friends, nobody. It was a strange thing to ask of a ten year old still grappling with grief. Not only did I feel silenced by my parents’ request, I felt silenced by my lack of friends (I couldn’t have anyone come over to visit, and I felt intensely socially awkward), and by my family’s situation (complaints felt unwarranted and trivial; my brother was dead, what did I have to complain about?). I began to feel reluctant to form attachments, even to the thing growing in my mother’s belly. Impermanence was a brand new concept. I could think of little else.

Through it all my family relied on faith. Even after my youngest sister was born (healthy baby and mom, no further complications) and we’d told all the relevant parties (I remember my mom’s first conversation with her mother about the new grandchild quite clearly), the memories of that bizarre year followed me. It still does, well over a decade later. Lots of my family’s “church friends” discussed the miscarriage in terms of a “trial” to “prepare the way” for my family and my youngest sister.

I’ve never thought of my brother in that way. I refuse to. If causing suffering and confusion was part of god’s “plan,” I wanted no part in it.

I began to doubt early, and doubted for a good ten years before I realized I wasn’t religious any longer. If anything has given me lasting peace about my brother’s death and the turmoil my family went through in those days, it’s been my realization that it wasn’t part of a plan. I think my family fiends peace in their belief that it was.

I did my best to stick to the program in my teen years. I attended church, participated in clubs, plays, Bible studies, retreats, and church camps. I served in the youth ministry at church as a leader, wrote plays based on Bible stories, and invited my “unsaved” friends at school to go to wednesday night youth group activities. But I did plenty of things in the “secular” world, too.

Marching band, show choir, and school plays teach more than just performance and artistry. Most of what I learned about sex, dating, swearing, and popular culture came from those activities. They were the few places I could be my “non-church” self at without fear of repercussions. I made friends my parents wouldn’t approve of, which was a fantastic thing. I learned the value of earned camaraderie, sarcasm, and confidence from my secular peers. I began to value my time away from home more than I valued time at home. I began to fear going home because I didn’t feel myself there. I began to dislike home because it meant I had to stay quiet while I listened to my father rail against things I began to identify with.

Once while driving me to school, my dad passed one of my friends who was walking on the sidewalk. She was listening to music and singing aloud. My dad scowled, then laughed and shook his head. It was clear he thought she was stupid or crazy. “Don’t wind up like that,” he told me. My junior year of high school I got permission to host the school play cast party at my house. My parents mentioned they wouldn’t be pleased if a certain cast member showed up because he was homosexual, and didn’t want that kind of “influence” around their home. I didn’t tell that particular friend (because he was, truly, a good friend of mine) what they’d said, but I think he knew.

My family was in a constant state of stress. Something was always happening. Usually “bad” things. Small things to stress over, argue over, pick fights over. And if something wasn’t happening, they’d find something to pick on until something happened. I think we all thrived on conflict. There were four kids in all, so my mom was constantly busy either shuttling my older sister and I to jobs or activities, or mothering my two much younger siblings. My father traveled frequently for work. There wasn’t much time for peace, so peace didn’t exist. Everyone was busy. Everyone was afraid to slow down.

At the close of my freshman year of high school, I realized I wouldn’t have school as a buffer for a few months over summer break. I’d be losing not only my friends who were seniors, but also my oldest sister to college, and soon. When I tried to express my grief to my parents about it, my mother insisted on taking me to a nutritionist, certain that if I changed the way I ate, I’d be more level, rational, less emotionally “volatile.”

So for a year I ate nothing but beans, vegetables, and meat. My moods still swung. Diets can only do so much, but I went along with it at the time, desperately hopeful that something could help me. I felt that something was wrong with me, that I was somehow going crazy, that I was “different” from my peers and had to find the switch to flip that would make everything better. I started to have frequent panic attacks. I started to have thoughts that transfigured into vivid daydreams and then brief hallucinations that scared the shit out of me. I saw tragedies strike too close to home far too frequently, to the point where I believed that if I wasn’t next, I was at least in line. That attitude continued until I finished college. It probably still continues a bit, but I’ve found myself being able to imagine my future self in more realistic terms. Does that sound normal? I hope so.

In an effort to cope with my teen “angst,” “moodiness,” “dramatics,” and other such terms I’ve now been able to classify as simply depression, my parents found ways to control and punish. I loved to read so they took away my books. I loved music so they took away my CDs. They’d often forbid me to see friends, participate in activities (even at church), and a few times, they confiscated my journals, diaries, notebooks I’d write stories in, having “family meetings” to discuss what they found. They sent me to church camps over the summer because they “couldn’t handle me and needed a week off.” They had friends at the high school I attended (support staff) and threatened to have them watch me and report back to them. While I’m not against certain parenting strategies and monitoring a child’s behavior, what my parents did made me feel beyond paranoid.

So I found things I could control.

I developed an eating disorder (my views on food and what it could or couldn’t do were already skewed).

I learned how to hurt myself in ways that wouldn’t leave scars (it didn’t work every time. I still have some). One day at school my best friend revealed to me that she’d started self-harming recently, trying to escape the stress of her home life. I stared at her in shock, grabbed her hand, and said “me, too.” Our bond strengthened.

I learned how to lie.

I developed friendships with a lot of people my parents would never “approve” of in a million years. They assumed it was to grind their gears. It was more because I desperately needed a change, any change, anything that would remind me that what I had wasn’t all there was.

My parents didn’t know about the cutting, or that I was starving myself, that my friends knew more about me than they did, that I was hiding things from them that were pivotal, that I didn’t believe they could or would ever help me with.

One afternoon in late 2013, a week after my second conversation with the campus counselor, I called my mother to tell her I wanted to go on medication. My parents frequently said that I was always in the midst of a “spiritual battle.” I was terrified they’d use my new desire to medicate as more ammunition against me. I don’t remember the specifics of the conversation. I do remember that I shook almost uncontrollably through the whole thing. I could barely hold the phone against my ear; my hand went numb from fear. But by the end of the conversation, my mother had promised a visit to the family physician when I went home for Christmas break, on the condition that I visit a nutritionist of her choice, too.

I told my mom I loved her and ended the call. My boyfriend squeezed my hand, and I cried.

It was still tentative. But it was the biggest concrete step towards healing I’d ever made.

Next:

I picked the worst year to stop taking my meds (part three): the first day