#but when my symptoms are the exact same as the last 2-3 times i had asthma attacks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

clanoffelidae · 10 months ago

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I’m always scared of jinxing myself by opening my mouth and saying I’m ‘not physically disabled anymore’ or that ‘my cyclic vomiting is gone’; because there’s no cure and we don’t know why it sometimes just… stops. There’s not even really any medication to manage it you just kind of… try to work through it and manage symptoms and side effects as best you can. Namely, the dehydration due to excessive vomiting being the main concern. (Have had abdominal spasms due to becoming dehydrated from it before. Took me 5-6 minutes to army crawl six feet to the shower, wiggle out of my clothes, and stretch up to turn on the hot water to try and soothe the muscles I was in so much pain. It was also like 4am and I was at a homestay in another country so fuck me I guess lol. Fortunately my homestay actually spoke English; which worked out because I speak Spanish decently well so I was making an active effort to converse with her and practice before I got sick, she was extremely helpful because I mainly needed help with specific vocabulary/phrases and she could help me translate them, and then when I got sick and was so exhausted I could barely communicate in English anymore I was able to drop the Spanish and still be understood and given help. That’s a tangent tho lol sorry)

And that’s true of a lot of physical disabilities, sadly, so I’m sure many of you can understand why I’m scared of it. Because I’m one of the lucky ones, even when my condition was at it’s worst I had more good days than bad. One of the defining characteristics of CVS is that in between episodes you would never know something is wrong with us.

And sometimes people just… ‘grow out of it’, so to speak. It most commonly affects children, even being thought of as a pediatric disease, and then just goes away when they get older. I was a weird case, I had two sporadic episodes in high school and then it hit me hard basically as soon as I got to college; it only ever happened when I was an adolescent/adult.

During the worst of it I would have episodes as little as 3 weeks apart; I’d be in severe agony and vomiting profusely for around 24 hours, take several days for the pain to go away (the episode was over but I was sore after the vomiting), and about a week for the brain fog and lethargy to clear up. I knew my stomach was empty, I knew I had nothing in it, but it felt so swollen and I was convinced it was about to tear open like an overfilled balloon. The condition is believed to be related to migraine headaches and I believe it - my severe migraines are the throbbing kind where it feels like my head is about to explode, and that is the exact same kind of pain I was feeling in my stomach. Those same, unique qualities that differentiate the pain of a migraine from another headache were exactly what I felt in my abdomen. I was also light and sound sensitive, seeking darkness and solitude; although it didn’t cause literal pain to be exposed to light and sound like with a migraine headache, it stressed me out for ‘seemingly no reason’, overwhelming me and increasing my pain as a result of the stress and desire for the stimulus to go away.

My last episode was in 2019. I only even had frequent episodes for a little over 2 years.

And I’m still deathly afraid of every new medication I try because I don’t know why it stopped. Nothing about my lifestyle changed, nothing about my habits. I was never able to identify any triggers like with my headaches, it just sort of ‘happened’ as far as I could tell.

I have no idea why it started and no idea why it stopped.

And I’m constantly fucking terrified that I’ll fuck something up and it’ll come back, that this time of peace and ‘health’ is temporary. I’m so fucking scared because it hurts so fucking much and I don’t want to be in pain again.

I don’t want to be in pain again.

And I don’t know why I’m bringing this up or what I’m trying to say really. I guess I just want to get my fears written down because they’re circling in my head again.

And I guess I also want to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry to everyone who suffers with a ‘hidden’ condition that no one believes you about, I’m sorry for everyone who is barely dragging themselves through it day by day; in pain, exhausted, and with the people around them burnt out on offering help because ‘why can’t you just get better already’.

I’m lucky, I’m so very, very lucky that for whatever reason my episodes just… stopped. They just stopped. And even still I live aware of the sword dangling over my head, never believing that the dragon is actually dead and is only just sleeping, still there to be reawakened if I mess up (when I don’t have the slightest idea what or where that invisible line I must never cross is), and I never dare to say that I’m ‘cured’ because I don’t believe in miracles like that. It’s a miracle that they stopped, and I’m grateful for it, but I will never dare to believe that they couldn’t come roaring right back any day.

Disability can happen to anyone, and I’m vividly aware that my old pain could be stumbled into at any minute, along with any number of other things, and I’m so sorry to everyone who still lives with their pain that is a constant companion. Mine is sleeping, but I remember it well for how it burned like the sun, to the point that I was able to identify sporadic episodes years after the fact that I had thought only stomach bugs because they were so horrible.

Pain is good, but not like this.

Pain is meant to be a teacher, a protector. A warning system of ‘hey! Don’t do that! We could get hurt!’ Your body’s way of keeping you safe and alive; don’t touch the fire because it hurts, don’t touch the fire because it could kill you. Pain is life’s way of steering you away from death, of keeping you safe and alive; letting you know there’s damage so you know to keep that part safe while it heals and use it less. Because when you’re about to walk into the flames your body doesn’t have the time to sit down and explain it to you gently, it has to alert you ‘NOW. PULL BACK NOW!’

Pain is meant to be a good thing; it’s meant to keep you alive and to protect you, to teach you about danger so you know how to be safe, and go let you know when you’ve been damaged so that you can make sure to give the damage time to heal.

But it’s not meant to be there all the time; it’s not meant to be constantly flashing the alarms when there’s nothing to be done, your body trying to help and let you know that something’s wrong when there’s nothing you can do. It’s not meant to linger until it breaks you, to weigh on your shoulders until you struggle to see the good past it. But just like with any good thing, so often does it become ill.

Pain is a constant companion for too many of us, and I’m so, so sorry for that.

You shouldn’t have to be strong.

I’m sorry.

I just wanted to let you all know that.

#vomiting #cyclic vomiting syndrome #actually disabled #disability #chronic pain #recurrent pain #i hate how pain is such a beautiful thing #your body’s alert system and life’s way of making sure you stay alive #protecting you - teaching you - keeping you safe and helping you to heal #letting you know what you need to #and it just gets twisted into something horrible #becoming chronic and never leaving and breaking you down #being used intentionally by others for cruel devices #and i just. i don’t know.#it upsets me is all #i’m sorry to everyone who has to be strong #you shouldn’t have to be #i’m sorry #life’s hard and survival’s not easy #that’s not the way the world works #i get that and i accept that #but this is more than that #and it’s not fair #and i’m sorry for that #i get that life is a constant battle for survival #but you shouldn’t be having to fight with yourself

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fbfh · 2 years ago

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rocks at your window pt. 12 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year. additionally, ricky begins to desplay more symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy and has a good support system. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 5k

genre: mild hurt/lotta comfort, smut, feels

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: post show depression, more backstory for reader, brief mentions of gifted kid burnout and rediscovering your love for theatre, more fake texts, ricky is down ba-a-a-a-ad, classic Hot Boy Climbing Through Your Window moment, heart to heart convos, smut, body worship, clit sucking n fingering, penetrative sex, emotional 'i love you' sex, ricky begging <3, possible cliff hanger?? (BUT NOT BAD I PROMISE)

summary: it's late at night and you're reflecting on your experience performing high school musical the musical with all your fellow wildcats when someone shows up, throwing rocks at your window, and thinking the exact same thing.

song recs: rocks - imagine dragons, end of all things - panic at the disco, I hear a symphony - cody fry, fuck it I love you - lana del rey, tell me that you love me - victorious cast, where do we go from here - amelie obc, I can't handle change - roar

a/n: this is the last chapter of rocks. I got so emotional writing this and I sincerely hope yall enjoy. also before anyone asks YES I'm planning a sequel about season 2 but it's curretnly tba. I hope you cry when you hear rocks by imagine dragons and get flustered as FUCK when you hear tell me that you love me by the victorious cast because Ricky Bowen needs to be told I love you to cum it's canon Tim Federle told me so. Fangz again to Cici for proof reading and fangz to you guys for reading <3 send in Ricky asks lol

tags @yesv01 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

The show is over, midterms are over, now it’s Friday night and you can’t sleep. It’s one of a handful of Fridays over the past few months that you haven’t spent at rehearsal, and no matter how many times they roll around, it still feels weird. You chalk it up to routine, muscle memory, but part of you still worries you’ll be late when you see it’s past 6pm. You miss the El Rey, you miss the auditorium and rehearsal room at school, you miss circle time with Miss Jenn and all your friends. Post show depression always sucks, but after everything that happened during High School Musical, how intense things got, the letdown is worse than usual.

Even all the fun things Miss Jenn had planned to keep everyone’s spirits up until the next show gets announced are all over. You’d spent a week with your friends learning a song about winter Ashlyn wrote and Gina and Carlos choreographed so everyone could do a flashmob for the new East High theatre department’s instagram page. Miss Jenn got everyone together to make some content in advance to post before the break, but you finished your last take of the flashmob after school today. New Year’s isn’t until later this week, so you’ve finally reached the wasteland between closing one show and starting another.

“Hey,” your mom says softly from your doorway, and you look up from where you’re sitting on your bed. You greet her quietly, flipping through your playbill from the show, still wearing your cast shirt. You have a few open hat boxes in front of you, adorned in light florals and other delicate patterns and designs. Each one of them is full to the brim with playbills, confetti, and other mementos from past shows, except the one in front of you, which still has some room left in it.

Your mom walks over to you, watching your expression closely as you flip through your playbill, not wanting to put it away just yet. She rests her hand on your back, rubbing her thumb affectionately before tucking the tag of your shirt back into the neck. You both know what’s coming. You think back to the deal you made with her after your dad left. You didn’t realize until months after how much you’d been struggling with everything. Your mom discussed dropping out of the show you were in, even though you were so close to opening night, and you’d refused. You’re not the type to drop out of a show you’ve spent months rehearsing for just because of some struggles in your personal life.

Your mom could see clear as day how you weren’t having fun like you used to, how burnt out you were going to get if you kept up like that. What kind of mother would she be if she just let you do that to yourself? Once you’d found a new house and a new job out in Utah, you came to the agreement that you’d take a break for the summer. After that, if you wanted to do theatre again, you could do a show at your new school - nothing high pressure, or competitive and catty, or overly professional. After that, if you still want to, you can return back to professional theatre after you graduate.

“So?” she says softly. Your chest squeezes, and you’re so grateful that you’ve been able to feel and see and do and experience every single thing you love about theatre so much. There had been no high stakes, nothing riding on you and your ability to perform. It was just fun. Passion. A passion you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to let go of.

“I want to do the next show.” You say, without a trace of reservation. She smiles softly, looking down at you. She hasn’t seen you like this, so much like yourself, in years. You’re glowing and at peace, and she has never, ever been happier to see it. After everything the two of you have been through, the divorce - and the events leading up to it - she remembers this is what she’s been fighting for, the goal she’s been working toward; seeing you happy and thriving. She had a hunch that high school theatre was exactly what you needed, and now she thanks her lucky stars she was right.

You don’t talk about what you’re going to do after the next show, it’s not quite time to worry about that yet. There’s no need to rush anything, especially when it comes to stuff like this. You’re sure that when it comes time to make a decision, you’ll know in your heart what the right one will be. But even just from looking at you, even if you don’t know yet, your mom has another hunch that you’ll be back in New York, lighting up every stage on Broadway at some point. She presses a kiss to your forehead, rubbing your back again as you finally, reluctantly place your playbill in the open hat box in front of you.

“Try to get some rest, sweetie.”

She goes off to bed, and now you really have nothing to do. You sigh as you organize your hat boxes back on the top shelf of your closet, in the order you usually keep them in. You look around, deciding to clean your room. You run down to the kitchen to get a trash bag, then return to your room. You dig through all the scented candles you’ve been hoarding and pick out a nice smelling one to light, then put something on Netflix for some background noise. You start by folding your laundry, then pick up any stray trash. Usually cleaning your room gives you time to think, but you’re not really thinking much of anything now. You’re grateful for the break.

You move from task to task, losing track of time as Netflix continues to autoplay. You pause what you’re doing for a second, trying to figure out why two characters are arguing. You’ve barely been paying attention, but are still managing to follow the plot for the most part. During that moment of stillness, you hear your phone buzz with a text. You pick it up, shocked at how late it is, how quickly the time got away from you. It also makes you wonder who could be texting you so late. It’s Ricky. That makes sense, you think. You wonder what he’s doing up so late as you open the message.

You set your phone on the windowsill, then head towards your closet to try and make some sense of it. You’re not sure how it got to be such a hot mess - in all fairness, it’s not really that messy. You just need a project to work on. You straighten up your hanging clothes, refold all your jeans and folded sweaters, then reorganize it by color. Or maybe cut. You’re not sure yet. You make a mental note to rewatch Tidying Up with Marie Kondo later for more ideas.

You decide to revisit that in a few minutes, instead turning to all the pillows and blankets hidden on the floor of your closet. You adjust them, remembering the first time you’d shown your nap hole to Ricky. Your mind wanders idly, recounting all the things that have happened since then. You really hope that in spite of everything, Ricky had a good time performing. A part of you really hopes he’s going to do more shows. He’s so talented, and he has so much natural potential. After what he’s been through, it would make total sense if he never wanted to do theatre again, but a part of you silently hopes that he’s grown to love it the way you do.

Thunk.

You turn your head suddenly, wondering if you’d imagined the small noise. You glance back at the window, and see you left your phone there. You figure it was a notification or something. When you press the power button to check, you’re met with the words no new notifications on your lock screen.

Thunk.

Something moves in the corner of your vision, followed by another noise, then another.

Thunk- crack!

Your brow furrows as you stare at the hairline fracture left in the glass of your window. You try to peer down, but it’s so dark you can’t really see anything. You open your window up wide, lifting the latch and popping out the screen. You lean your head out just enough to look down, but it’s still too dark. You turn on your phone flashlight and hold tight to your popsocket, angling the beam down, only to be met with Ricky.

He’s holding a small plastic bag and a handful of rocks to throw until he gets your attention. He waves up at you awkwardly, and you laugh, covering your mouth to not make too much noise. It sounds beautiful. Everything you do is always so beautiful, he’s not sure why he’s still surprised when you take his breath away effortlessly. His stomach twists for a moment, and he hopes he gives you butterflies like you give him all the time. He looks up at you, and leaning down from your window like this, he thinks you’d make a really good Juliet. He’s not sure if you’ve done any Shakespeare before, but he makes a mental note to ask.

You watch from above as he holds the plastic bag in his mouth and starts climbing up the tree next to your house. You lose sight of him for a moment, until he reappears on the lattice on the side of your house. He’s careful not to disturb the ivy slowly growing its way up in spite of the cold weather. You laugh in disbelief, watching him climb through your window until he’s standing in front of you. It feels like something out of a movie, and your heart is pounding in your chest.

“You could have used the door…” you laugh.

“Well,” he shrugs, “I wanted to shake it up a little.” He smiles at you, pulling something out of the bag.

“I brought you coffee.” He pulls a to go cup out of the bag, handing it to you. He’s hopeful it will make you happy, and the way your eyes light up when you accept the drink is worth the stranger looks he got from the barista for ordering espresso at 11 at night. He takes out his drink, throwing the empty plastic bag in your garbage. You look up at him with those pretty eyes and his stomach flips. You move closer, pressing a kiss to his lips, one he leans into.

“Thanks,” you say after pulling away, sending him the most blinding, dazzling smile. He’s been inside you more times than he can count, and your kisses still make his head all fuzzy. He lets out a soft laugh, feeling a little high from your attention. He sits on your bed, watching you as you sit backwards on your desk chair. You both sip your drinks, and it’s quiet for a moment.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask. He lets out a breathy laugh, surprised at how well you can read him.

“It… still feels weird not being at rehearsal.” he says, thinking out loud. You nod in silent understanding of everything left unsaid. You chuckle lightly.

“Yeah, post show depression will really kick your ass.” He laughs, feeling called out at your words.

“Yeah…” he agrees. When Nini dumped him, he felt like there was a sinkhole in his chest. Then after that, when she left, when she just walked out on him and his dad, he felt like he was going to cave in. Then he met you. You didn’t make him stop missing her or Nini, but you gave him something to lean on. You helped him realize he had something else to think about - the show. Now he doesn’t think about Nini nearly as much as he used to; that wound is starting to heal. As for the other thing, long as he doesn’t let himself think about her or Todd, as long as he keeps moving, he’s sort of okay.

But now he’s feeling a new kind of emptiness. He doesn’t like goodbyes, he never has, so even though he knew closing night would be hard, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much. He didn’t expect himself to grow so familiar with the soundtrack and the script, running lines and remembering blocking. He didn’t expect to miss being called Troy so much.

“I didn’t ever expect to love theatre, or love you, as much as I do,” he muses. You glance down, face flushed from his words. He gives you butterflies so effortlessly, it’s really amazing.

“I love you too,” you smile, taking another sip of your drink. He giggles - actually giggles - at your words.

“So,” you continue, “you liked it? Doing the show, I mean. I know there were some ups and downs but-”

“I loved it.”

He smiles, and you both laugh, light and bubbling over your shared adoration of each other and the experiences you just shared.

"I really, really loved it." He breathes, distracted for a moment as he remembers it all. "I just… I didn't expect to be so sad after?"

You spin a little in your seat, taking another sip as you listen.

"Like, I spent so much time learning how to become Troy, learning all the lines and blocking and choreo and now I'm never going to get to do that again."

"Yeah," you agree, looking down. "I mean, that's the beauty of theatre; it's always fleeting, but there's always going to be another show."

You can see him soaking in your words, really letting them in. It doesn't mitigate his sadness, but you don't expect it to. You get up from where you’re spinning side to side on your desk chair and sit next to him on your bed, placing your coffee on the night table. You wrap your arm around him, resting your head on his shoulder. You don’t say anything, and you don’t need to. Your presence is more comforting than words could be. Maybe it’s the sweet smell of your peachy perfume, maybe it’s the way you’re so consistent in his life, but he’s reminded in a rush of the first night you spent together. Memories replay like flashbacks in his mind, and after a moment, he turns his head toward you.

His face is so close to yours, and it’s obvious what he’s thinking from the bedroom eyes he’s giving you, flicking between yours and your lips. It happens so suddenly, your heart barely has time to pound before he’s pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss. Ricky needs a distraction from the ache in his chest. He needs something else to do, something else to think about, something else that makes him happy. He can’t think of something better to focus on than you. He deepens the kiss as you hold on to him tight, loving the way you always melt under his touch. You sigh against him, giggling as he works your lips open, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

He climbs on top of you as his hands move down. He takes his time, feeling you up, obsessing over every part of you until he gets to your thighs. He gropes your pretty thighs that he wants so badly to put his face between, not missing the way you were squirming a moment ago, already needy for some friction. He slots himself between your legs as he presses kisses into your neck, adoring the pretty sighs and noises you let out. He squeezes your thighs in his hands, before pulling you flat on your back with him hovering on top of you. The sudden change in position makes your heart race, and you can feel your cunt getting hot and puffy with arousal. The expression on your face makes it so worth it, he thinks, watching it grow even more flustered as he moves down. He pulls off your shirt and presses kisses between your tits. He plays with them, squeezing and running his thumbs over your hardened nipples in little circles. No matter how many times he sees them, it always feels like the first time, when all he could say was Wow. Oh my god. Wow. You let out a choked noise at the feeling, one he reciprocates, moaning into the soft flesh he has in his mouth.

“Fuck, Ricky…” you breathe, watching him closely as he moves down, trailing kisses along your stomach, squeezing your waist and hips, finally tugging off your bottoms. He trails his fingers over your panties for a moment, taking in how pretty they look on you, how much he loves to see that little wet spot growing bigger and bigger. He throbs as he takes them off, and you watch with wide eyes as he opens your legs a bit more.

“There we go,” he says softly, and your pussy pulses in anticipation of his touch. He spreads you open, taking a moment to take in how pretty your pussy is, how nice you look all spread open for him like this. It’s a shorter moment than he would have liked, he just can’t resist you, he can’t wait to press soft kisses to your heat, to flick his tongue over your clit, to make you feel good. He won’t wait any longer, doing just that, listening to every noise that escapes your pretty lips like a breathtaking song. He traces a finger around your dripping hole, fluttering and desperate for contact.

As he works his first finger in, he can't help but feel like he's home. You're so tight around just one finger, he wonders how you're always able to take all of him. The thought makes his stomach flutter with anticipation. He pumps his finger in and out gently, feeling you get wetter around him as you get used to the sensation. He continues licking and sucking on your clit, pulsing in his mouth, as he does. You taste amazing, and he wants more and more.

"Fuck, Ricky…" you sigh, and it's like music to his ears. He pushes his second finger in, and moans against your clit as he feels your tight walls stretch and relax to accommodate him. You let out a sharp gasp, throbbing erratically against his tongue. He scissors his fingers, breath hitching as you stretch around him.

“Oh my god,” you choke out in a breathy sigh, “Ricky…”

He loses all his progress as you clamp around him, bucking into his mouth as you cum around his fingers. He pauses for a moment, dizzy from the sensation, that he did that to you, made you feel that good. You tug on his hair, and before you can even ask, he knows. You want more of him, want him inside you. He climbs up on top of you. You tear his clothes off, throwing them on the floor, not wanting to waste a moment. His cock throbs, almost painfully hard, and he can’t wait any longer. He needs to be inside you more than anything. He lets out a jagged sigh, pumping his cock in anticipation. He’s so ready, more ready than he’s ever been to be welcomed back into your wet, hot, tight embrace.

He finally begins to nudge his cock inside you. He chokes at how easily it goes in, how you seem to pull him deeper and deeper inside you. You’re ready for him, even more so than usual from how hard he made you cum a few minutes before. He can feel you suck him up inside you, gripping and squeezing him just right. Each time you let him inside, each time you let him stretch out your perfect, dripping cunt, it always feels unimaginably better than the last. Every single time, he thinks that this, you, have to be the best he’ll ever have. And every single time, he’s right. You feel so good, so indescribably good, a part of him wants to cum right on the spot.

“Fuck, I love you…” He chokes out, voice breathy. And he means it. God, does he mean it. He says it right as he pushes his cock inside you, filling you up in the most delicious way, knocking the breath out of your lungs in tandem. You try to say it back, you want to say it back, but his tongue is already shoved down your throat as he covers your mouth with deeper and deeper kisses. He’s insatiable, not ever getting as much of you as he needs to satisfy what he’s craving.

He starts moving, unable to wait, unable to stop himself from pistoning his cock as deep inside you as he can get it. He drags his cock against your gummy walls, the friction already making you both dizzy. He keeps going, rutting his hips into yours, moaning into your mouth. He cages you in with his arms, resting his hands on your cheeks as he gazes into your eyes. He’s so in love with you, so fucking in love with you. You’re… his world. You’re his everything. Everything he does revolves around you; he’s not the main character in his story, you are.

He would move mountains for you, overcome anything, travel any distance just for you, to be in your arms. He loves you so much it almost hurts, and he knows he’s never felt more relief than he did on opening night, when he finally, finally told you everything he feels for you. He was so sick of biting it back, of worrying about timing, if you would say it back, if he could even say it at all. He can’t remember ever being happier than he was when he finally said fuck it, and spilled his guts to you. Right here, right now, he can feel the little bulge he’s making in your tummy. He can feel where your bodies are touching and squishing together, and he can feel you wrap your legs around him to pull him even closer. He didn’t think he could be any more crazy over you than he already is, but all of this, all of you is driving him to even higher heights than he could imagine.

It’s overwhelming, and he moans, long and low into your mouth. There’s no other way to express what you make him feel than through his beautiful moans, like music to your ears, or telling you that he loves you every chance he gets, with his last breath he’ll be telling you again and again. He presses kisses to your cheek, moving down to your neck, taking in your sweet scent. God, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone this badly. He doesn’t think he’s wanted anyone or anything as much as he wants you. He’s so attracted to you, drawn to you in an almost primal way that leaves him rutting his hips into yours, grinding into your clit to get as close as possible, moaning shamelessly into your neck. It sends jolts of electricity through you, lighting you up like a powergrid.

His breath hits your skin in steady, warm puffs. He lets out another moan as you scratch your nails down his back. Your hand tangles in his hair and tugs it just right, making him throb inside you. He knows in this moment that no one can ever make him feel this good, no one else can do what you do to him. He can feel himself getting closer and closer as he sucks bruises into your neck, leaving constellations of love bites across your perfect skin. Even though he’s holding you as tight as he can, drawing noises out of you that no one else has had the privilege of hearing, and it makes his head spin, he needs more.

He finally pulls away from your neck, resting his forehead against yours. You lean up to kiss him, and even though he’s aching for you, he doesn't kiss you. Not quite yet. Instead, he looks into your eyes so deeply, so intensely, with such a burning hunger that you feel like you’re being fused together. He’s still panting, this time your warm breaths fan over each other’s faces as he really soaks in everything about you, how pretty you look in his arms like this - and fuck, you’re pretty.

“I’m close, peach,” he pants, sending even more heat to your core, making you squeeze around him as he presses a burning kiss to your lips; one you accept eagerly.

“‘M so close,” he says again between kisses, “Can- fuck- can you say it for me? Can you tell me? Please, peach, I need to hear it, need to hear you say it…” he rambles, drunk on you and p=-

You’re trying your best, but it would be a lot easier if everything he was saying and doing didn’t render you breathless and unable to do anything but moan and writhe beneath him.

“I love you, Ricky,” you choke out, desperate and sincere. You finally connect your lips, only for him to moan into your mouth. It’s loud and shameless and has you teetering on the precipice. “Love you so much, so fucking much,” you continue to babble as he buries his face in your neck, moaning so much he almost can’t register what you’re saying. He’s glad you’re saying it anyway.

He can barely register how close he is before he cums. It’s hard and sudden, and he’s barely able to hear your sweet words over the blood pounding in his ears. You let out a noise he thought only existed in porn, following closely behind him. Your legs shake around him as you grab him as tight as you can, desperate for something to hold onto. You squeeze him in a vice grip as you let out the most beautiful whines and moans, and it’s enough to make him dizzy. Just your noises alone are almost enough to make him hard again - which he probably would be, if you hadn’t just milked his cock completely dry. You stay like that for a moment, letting yourself be filled up with him, letting himself be squeezed tight by your throbbing walls. He can feel your heartbeat in your soft cunt, and he lets out a shuddering sigh at the feeling. He mutters sweet nothings into your ear, rambling about every good thing he feels for you. He doesn’t think he could shut up if he tried - he usually can’t when it comes to you. He presses more and more kisses to your skin as you mutter sweet nothings back, rubbing your hand over the red marks you’d left on his back, playing with his hair. You take your time coming down from this, letting yourselves be right here and now, in each other’s arms.

Eventually, he pulls out more reluctantly than he’s done anything. You manage to clean up enough to fall back into bed, into each other’s arms. In those few moments, you glance around at the several unfinished cleaning tasks you’d started earlier. You shrug them off, telling yourself you’ll finish them later. As you’re welcomed into Ricky’s warm embrace, you think this is way more fun than cleaning anyway.

You settle into each other, getting comfortable as he holds you tight against his chest. You can feel the steady rise and fall of each other’s breathing, your heartbeats gradually slowing back down, the warmth pooling between you. In the quiet air surrounding you, you can feel the calm turn into a sort of melancholy. You trace your fingers over his skin as he takes solace in you. Everything about you is so comforting, he can’t deny that you’re what’s kept him as centered as he’s been able to be.

“Where do we go from here?” he asks.

His voice is quiet, breaking ripples into the glassy silence surrounding you, but you can hear the emotion wavering through it. You’re quiet for a moment, considering. You’re not quite sure if he means him and you, him and his dad, or the next audition. It doesn’t matter, you realize, because you’ll have his back through all of it. And he’ll have yours.

“I dunno,” you start gently, and he holds onto your words, cherishing them like heirlooms, “but I do know one thing. Miss Jenn is announcing the next show in a few days, on New Year’s Eve. So, we should probably start thinking about audition music.”

Just the briefest mention of auditions has him smiling at the memories from a few months ago, bursting in late with his guitar. At the time, he had only ever expected to remember that audition as the day he won Nini back. He never could have predicted what a different, more significant weight that would hold for him now. The mention of New Year’s Eve brings something else to mind as well.

“Ashlyn’s having a New Year’s party, right?”

“Yes!” you exclaim softly, “I totally forgot about that…”

Ricky traces his thumb over your cheek as you discuss carpools and if you should bring drinks or cupcakes. He never knew he could feel this way, this warm, just from listening to someone talk. He doesn’t know what happens next. He doesn’t know what’s going to change, but he thinks he can handle it if he has you. He’s so wrapped up in you, so invested in the quiet little conversation you’re now having about sheet music and party outfits that he doesn’t notice his phone buzzing in the pocket of his jeans, strewn across your floor. After a moment it lights up with a new notification.

1 missed call from Dr. Robert (therapist)

1 new voicemail from Dr. Robert (therapist)

#rocks at your window #ricky bowen x reader #hsmtmts ricky #ricky bowen #hsmtmts #hsmtmts x reader #is now a good time to remind yall that I love you guys??#cause I do lol #<333 #also is anyone interested in a full rocks at your window playlist??#I'm probs gonna make a masterpost with all the parts and add links to the chapters once they're all up #or like... any shoplook outfits I made for writing inspo #i am a polyvore bitch at heart #anyway let me know any bonus content you guys wanna see lol

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kingxfmischief · 2 years ago

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[Lmao so it's 430 in the morning let's go over how the last day pr so has been.

1. Friday morning I forget my psychiatric meds, don't realize til I go to bed Friday night. Start having brain zaps around 7 pm Friday night. Said brain zaps are SEVERE all Saturday. They're still happening but minor now.

2. Go to bed at around 200 am Friday, except oops random severe pain in my legs and my brain also REFUSES to sleep. I got MAYBE two hours total through the nine hours I had to sleep.

3. Couldn't sleep longer cause I had a work rehire event that I was barely able to stay awake for while also suffering severe mental symptoms.

4. Go home, try to nap. Got less than an hour, still couldn't sleep right.

5. Go to get dinner. Same exact dinner I had Friday night, eat it around 5 or 530. Oops it causes SEVERE nausea that leaves me feeling like I'm gonna vomit until I go to bed around 9.

6. Guess what? STILL CANT FUCKING SLEEP RIGHT. Got a couple hours at first, woke up at 1230 needing the bathroom. Still vivid dreams and not proper sleep but it was something. Nausea wasn't there at first but anytime I'm awake more than 5 minutes it returns. Not as severe as when I went to bed but still not great. But oh guess what? Couldn't fall asleep at all between 1230 and 230. And then after that I can sleep for about 45 minutes to an hour at a time and the two times I've done that it's still been extremely vivid dreams, nightmares in both fucking cases, that are super realistic.

So now I'm nauseous, dealing with minor brain zaps still, and can't fuxking sleep for more than an hour at a time and only allowed extremely vivid nightmares.

I'm not sure if I wanna scream, die, or start crying.]

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n0wh3re-g1rl · 4 months ago

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ok so, to help clarify and explain everything thats happened to me last month,

on june 26th i started to feel this very weird buzzing feeling in the back of my head and it was so weird that i just knew it wasnt going to go away on its own. it kept getting worse and became a headache and five days later i went to go see my doctor. the first time i went i told him how i felt honestly and he brushed me off, and requested a follow up appointment.

the follow up appointment was on wednesday, but wednesday was a holiday (july 4th) so nothing was open and i had to call again to reschedule. and at this point my headache was nonstop pounding so i was understandably very worried. i called for friday and i showed up on time on friday and there wasnt a single doctor at the clinic because of an emergency of some kind. on the follow up appointment that he requested, on the hottest day of the week when i was the most anxious there wasnt a SINGLE doctor at the clinic to help me. the staff told me if im that worried i could go to the er so thats what i did.

the next day on that saturday i went to the er and no one there really took me seriously when i explained my symptoms. i told the doctor honestly how i felt and no one took me that seriously. she diagnosed me with a tension headache and prescribed ibuprofen and something else and i went home not feeling any better.

the following monday i did go to the follow up he requested and he was actually there, i honestly told him about my symptoms and concerns and he said the same exact thing. “you have a headache and it will go away” prescribed me ibuprofen and i left not feeling any better again

the er doctor gave me a number to call the department of neurology if i was that worried about it, and i told me my mom to call it a week ago. she called everyday for like 5 days and never got through to anyone they kept telling her to wait and never pick back up. she said they called her back once and told her to wait, put her on hold and never call back again so

i took the medicine as instructed for like 2 weeks maybe and it didnt do anything, literally nothing. there was still this throbbing pressure at the back of my head when i took the medicine. as i write this now there is still the throbbing pressure in the back of my head. ever since june 26th my head hasnt felt normal.

now today i was feeling the back of my head and now theres a lump at the back of my head. this weird, hard lump on the left bottom side of my head where the throbbing pressure is. a big fucking lump !!!

this week on tuesday i had an appointment with my pcp and requested to see a neurologist and he told me that my clinic will call me when the appointment is made. 3 days later today i called again asking for it and they told me to wait another week for it.

? what else am i supposed to do here? no one took me seriously when i told them my symptoms. my mother, the hospital, the clinic all just brushed me off entirely and now its gotten worse. its not going to go away by itself, and im trying my damn hardest to just be taken seriously by anyone and its not working. the only option i have left is to distract myself from worrying about it until i can see a neurologist and hopefully get a mri scan but im seriously not expecting anyone to help me. this is only going to continue to become more painful and more of an awful situation for me and it doesnt matter if i try to help myself or not because people just dont fucking care about how i feel

#may whines #both sides of my family have extensive history of death by cancer #literally what else could it be lmao #it doesnt matter if i try to help myself the result is literally the same if i just kept ignoring it #the only option i have here is to let it fester and then distract myself from it #like everything else #like literally everything else #i will never be able to truly relax ever again #this is how i have to live my life from now on

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ancient-reverie · 9 months ago

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s/o to my fellow systems whose brains are just wild and will see a nice rock and make an alter. like okay brain, that's nice thank you. no idea what started us as a system, but over the years we've had many new people form and the causes are varied. this is not a full list, just a couple of experiences

i want to preface that there is nearly no way to "prove" if these are true reasons or not as is the nature of dissociation. but they FEEL right and it's our brain so we would have some idea. and it Doesn't Really Matter in the end being as what matters is that we Are Here Now.

really we made this as a list so maybe someone who needed to could relate to or laugh at one or more of the things

a lot of feelings about not being able to sing gave us a vocaloid with a broken voice

almost drowning landed us a transmasc siren

started writing a new character and oops hi pretty okay and strong girl

"i need a big brother"

some really bad shit went down in mindspace (this happened often when we were younger) and an alter or two were traumatized so write a note to wait two months and start looking for a new one but still be surprised and confused when the new one comes up anyway

some symptom got too much to handle so now it's this guys turn wait who is this guy

discovered a new song and listened to it on repeat and maladaptive daydreamed someone a new friend or child

bestie said we weren't friends no more so i'm gonna become someone who has never met bestie

We Aren't Talking About The YouTuber That We Watched Too Much Of And Used For Emotional Support Until They Showed Up And We Pulled Off A Perfect [redacted] Accent And Refuse To Speak Of Since (sorry)

uncomfortable moment you will only ever be Confused about despite being able to remember it and what was happening

every alter rotating out during the Suicidal TimesTM until there's no one else who can handle it so yOu MakE ONe and they're actually really happy for a minute and can appear to break the depressive session but very quickly realizes what they're in for and joins the rest of the Sad Club, thanks for the help buddy, sorry and welcome to the club we have weed

Bird Hyperfixation

"i need a new mom"

Vampire hyperfixation

literally just a different version of an existing alter. alternate-timeline 'if this had happened or hadn't happened' or future/older selves

you really liked this character in that show but your brain for some reason won't take the actual character. oh no it has to make its own person that is an exact mirror of that character! but it wont tell you! you have to forget all about that character until 10 years later when the alter realizes it but they're so different now you don't actually know but it probably shaped you in some way

had a slut phase on discord and the fake personality 2 of the alters used online turned into her own person

You haven't met the alter that you know exists because you asked for them to exist at the same time you heard your father cry for the first time at 27 when you all Lost a creature who the whole system considered their daughter.

people just form when the brain decides it's a good idea for us. it's been awhile since we've had a new fully fleshed out alter who has the energy and desire to be out/slots into the main group that takes care of most things. when new ones form these days (like 2.3 every 4 years) it's "quieter" people that pop up, introduce themselves, and then chill in mindspace with the rest and we don't really hear from them much.

Last we counted we have about 50 people (we counted a long time ago i'll be honest), but on a daily basis only about 3-5 people are active and it's not always through the whole day. at least 2-3 are always active. Siruss is the only one who can solo we dunno why.

our usual routine someone will be out and they'll have a co-fronter and or a couple background buddy(ies), and then the co-fronter and background people change after a week to a month, it depends on who it is. sometimes one of the background or co-fronters will swap out and be the main one for however long they can manage (depends on who it is)

but if we're leaving the house and around other people the routine is totally subject to change.

#hell o void #hell o hadal #system shit #plural shit #about #i really need to go to bed and stop using tumblr as a journal #if someone reads this and it enlightens something for them then im glad i could help at least but if you read this at all thank you #plurality #multiple people in one body #also i know you guys have your whole vocabulary for specific things but we didnt have that when growing up so we use whatever words #feel the most appropriate for us and how we feel. we're also mostly around singlets and have to use vocabulary they understand so we keep i #practice of using terms and descriptors that make sense to most people. bc we will tell strangers we're plural if it comes up we dont care #plural #multiple #no syscourse on my post

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tallmantall · 1 year ago

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James Donaldson On Mental Health – 16 Wrong Ideas About Mental Illness

Mental ailment might sometimes be difficult to talk about, in part since friends and family might mobilize the most awful images from the television as well as films. However those depictions often aren't exact or perhaps most likely. So this post might be valuable if you're hearing (or sensing) any one of these common, but wrong, suggestions. And also if you're presuming the worst concerning a loved one, the good news is that you might be incorrect. 1. Myth: Mental disease is rare. Reality: About one in 5 experience some kind of mental disorder in any kind of year. Concerning one in 20 have a major condition, including schizophrenia, bipolar illness or significant anxiety. 2. Myth: People with mental illness are constantly ill. Reality: Even people with severe diseases such as psychosis might be in touch with reality more frequently than they are not. Many individuals silently browse their signs and symptoms without revealing indications of it to others. 3. Myth: Most people with mental illness survive the streets or are in mental healthcare facilities. Fact: Most Americans who have a mental disorder stay in the area as well as lead efficient lives. Those who need a hospital stay generally stay just for treatment as well as return home. Some, nevertheless, do come to be homeless. 4. Myth: Mentally unwell people are likely to become violent. Truth: People that are out of touch with reality throughout a mental health situation are more frequently scared, confused, as well as despairing than violent. Only about 3 percent of people with major mental disease had dedicated a violent act within a four-year period, according to one research. If they additionally had a compound use condition, the figure climbed to 10 percent. Does that sound high? Numerous psychologically unwell individuals originate from neighborhoods where violence is extra typical. When emotionally unwell individuals are compared to people from their very own area, study suggests the rates of violence are the same. Most violent crimes-- as much as 95 percent-- are devoted by individuals without mental disease. On the various other hand, individuals with severe mental illness are more than 10 times most likely to be a sufferer of a fierce criminal activity than the general populace. 5. Myth: Mental disease is solely caused by genes. Fact: Mental diseases typically arise out of a mix of causes, consisting of genetics, background, as well as existing atmosphere. 6. Myth: Only children have attention deficit disorder (ADHD). Fact: Symptoms first turn up in youngsters but may not have been detected then. They can last into adulthood, and also adults might require therapy. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, about 8 percent of U.S. grownups as much as age 44 have or will have ADHD at some point. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space. #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleFind out more about the work I do on my 501c3 non-profit foundationwebsite www.yourgiftoflife.org Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com 7. Myth: Schizophrenia refers to a "split character, " and there is no chance to manage it. Reality: Schizophrenia is typically perplexed with dissociative identity condition. Individuals with schizophrenia have signs ranging from social withdrawal to hallucinations and also delusions, which can be handled with therapy and drug. They do not have 2 identities. 8. Myth: Depression supports aging. Fact: People often tend to obtain happiness from middle age on. Although some may lead a quieter life with time, when an older individual ends up being inactive or withdrawn, it is appropriate to reveal worry. 9. Myth: Suicides are extra common on dark days and in chilly months. Fact: It's real that an absence of sunlight can trigger low state of mind and a problem called seasonal affective disorder. However suicides optimal in the springtime and summertime, possibly in part due to the inflammation related to seasonal allergies. Self-destructions also can enhance on sunny days or weeks after a dark spell. 10. Myth: Suicides enhance throughout the wintertime holidays. Reality: The self-destruction rate are more frequent in November, December as well as January. 11. Myth: Scandinavians are always dismal because of their lengthy, dark winters months. Truth: Sweden had a high suicide rate in the 1960s but a surge in social welfare as well as mental health and wellness solutions brought the numbers down considerably. Finland has additionally had high rates. Today, Scandinavian nations rack up high up on measures of joy and have below-average self-destruction rates. They do, nevertheless, have high rates of suicide among young people. 12. Myth: Women and also young people are more likely to die by suicide. Truth: Women are more probable to experience anxiety, however the male suicide rate has to do with 4 times higher. Older Americans have the greatest prices. In the current government numbers, Americans aged 15 to 24 did have a high self-destruction price, compared to various other age-- greater than 19 percent. But it was somewhat lower than the rate for 75 to 84-year-olds. Individuals age 85 and up have a suicide rate of 22 percent. 13. Myth: Electroconvulsive therapy (ECT), formerly known as "shock therapy," hurts and barbaric. Truth: Patients who obtain ECT are sleeping as well as under anesthetic, so they do not really feel anything. It has actually provided brand-new lives to individuals that experience serious anxiety that has not reacted to other therapies. 14. Myth: Depression is triggered by an absence of serotonin in the mind. Fact: The popularity of medications that boost serotonin availability has made this concept significant for decades. However when the medications work, many state, it's more than likely for other reasons. "The main locations of serotonin research study give no regular evidence of there being an association in between serotonin as well as anxiety, and no support for the hypothesis that clinical depression is brought on by lowered serotonin activity or focus," a team of British scientists wrote in a July 2022 review. (This doesn't mean anyone need to ditch their medicine. If it 's helping you, you absolutely shouldn't.) 15. Myth: You can't save individuals that wish to die by suicide because they'll try once more. Truth: Nine out of 10 people who attempt self-destruction and also make it through do not die by suicide later. Around 70 percent don't try again. There is always wish for greater health-- as long as they're still to living. 16. Myth: Family as well as friends can't assist someone that is emotionally ill. Truth: Many U.S. grownups with diagnosable issues don't receive therapy. That implies social assistance is even more key. You can guide them to psychological wellness services. However also if someone has professional aid, you can help by treating them with regard and care. You can aid conquer embarassment and also version or suggest dealing methods. Act swiftly if you see disturbing check in a young person. Half of all psychological health and wellness conditions start producing symptoms before a person transforms 14 years of ages-- as well as very early therapy makes a massive distinction. If you or somebody you like is contemplating suicide, look for help right away. For help 24/7 dial 988 for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, or connect to the Crisis Text Line by texting TALK to 741741. Read the full article

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eldritch-bf · 4 years ago

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Writing A Character With Borderline Personality Disorder

First of, thank you for wanting to include a Borderline character into your work. We have very little representation in media and when it is there, it’s negative. The antagonist in Single White Female and it’s remake is said to either be Borderline or Bipolar, for example. A few Borderline-coded characters also exist but their symptoms are probably closer to bipolar depression.

Trigger Warning for discussions of suicide, abuse, and hospitalization

What is Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)?

It is called “Borderline” because it is “on the border of psychosis and neurosis. It used to be believed that Borderlines had a tendency to regress into “borderline schizophrenia,” but this really isn’t the case anymore. The term was coined in 1938 and there have been attempts to rename it but this is what it’s called for now.

Here is the raw list from the DSMV. My notes are below and italicized. Important take-always are in orange text.

Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment; this does not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in criterion 5.

A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation

Markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self

Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (eg, spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating) [5] ; this does not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in criterion 5

Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior

Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (eg, intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)

Chronic feelings of emptiness

Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (eg, frequent displays of temper, constant anger, or recurrent physical fights)

Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

Generally, a diagnosis is only given if a person has at least 5 of these symptoms.

My comments:

Re: #1 There doesn’t have to be a literal abandonment in childhood. For me, I was emotionally abandoned by both my mother and father during my formative years. My mother also hated physical contact so now I have an impulse to seek it constantly. Touch-starvation is an easy trait to add to your Borderline character.

The stipulation in #1 that the frantic efforts cannot be the behaviors listed in #5 means that a Borderline person might: drive 3 hours in the middle of the night to the person who they feel might abandon them; do some extreme begging or bartering to keep the relationship. Also important: these do not have to be romantic relationships.

Re: #3 If Dissociative Identity Disorder means a person has multiple distinct personalities, for BPD we generally feel like an incomplete person, like we only have fragments of a whole personality.

A common joke in the BPD community is “Oh, you have a great personality.” And the Borderline person’s response is, “thanks, I made it specially for you!” You may also hear Borderlines called “chameleons” because we take pieces of other people’s personalities and incorporate it into ourselves. It can be a fictional character, too. I incorporated a lot of NBC Hannibal’s Will Graham into my personality at a point. Another aspect of this is that Borderlines are very good at code-switching. For me, when I’m in a new group of people, I have to “feel out” the vibe and everything and then alter my behavior to fit this social circle. Most people do this to some extent but Borderlines do it constantly and unconsciously and often extremely well. It’s not meant to be manipulative. It’s unconscious, we can’t control it.

Re: #8 The anger is a big one for me and it often leads to homicidal ideation. But Borderlines are incredibly unlikely to act on it.

Other Borderline Behaviors

Favorite Person/FP: Probably the most important aspect of BPD. An FP is specific to BPD. It can be a romantic partner, a crush, a parent, an authority figure, a sibling, or a child (specifically the child of the person with BPD of they have kids). This is the single most important thing in a Borderline’s life. An FP is an idealized person who can never do any wrong in our minds. Even abusive behaviors will be overlooked or reframed.

We don’t always have an FP and I’ve also never heard of someone having 2 FPs simultaneously. I had 2 at the same time once but I would split on one and then idealize them other one. I would never idealize both at the exact same moment. A real or imagined negative interaction with an FP can make or break a Borderline’s day and if it is negative, they can “split” on them.

Splitting/Black-And-White Thinking/All-Or-Nothing Thinking: Borderlines “split” on people, usually an FP. This is how an interaction with an FP can “make or break” your day. If an FP doesn’t text us back right away we might think they don’t like us anymore or are mad or will leave us. So we, unconsciously without our control, “split” on them. When “splitting negative” on a person it is impossible to recall good memories of the person, or they are framed negatively. A once loved birthday gift from an FP might now be seen as insincere or irrelevant. This is the “devaluation” mention in criteria #2.

However, once the person texts back, say 2 hours later, we usually split back, and now the person’s real or imagined negative behaviors are gone and they are once again idealized, as mentioned in criteria #2. You can see how taxing such a sudden shift in emotions can be for a person.

It is also taxing on the FP if they are present during the split or received panicked or angry messages with the above scenario. It causes fights and the FP might view the Borderline person as “Bipolar” “irrational” or “unstable”.

We can split on people that are not FPs.

Tips For Your Character

Your Borderline character could easily be in out-patient therapy. I won’t go into the details but they could be in DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy). The structure is 2 sessions a week, one with a small group, and then another one-on-one with their psychiatrist who is probably also running the group. Psychiatrists need special training to treat people with BPD.

Your character would also do “diary cards” each day and record their mood and any notes about their day. These are easy to add in as throw-away comments like “I’m going to therapy, I’ll be back in an hour or so” or “damn it, I forgot to do my diary card”.

Fun fact: Therapists have been known to drop clients upon finding out they have BPD or giving them the diagnosis because apparently some therapists can’t handle us.

Your character might also be on some medication and an easy scene for angst could be them refusing to take their medication, forgetting to take it, or the meds being of of balance and them needing to go to an ER to be stabilized (usually they become suicidal or paranoid) and have their meds adjusted. This happened to me once. Lithium can be used in extreme cases as a medication but usually a combination of anti-depressants and mood-stabilizers is used.

BPD is often comorbid with depression so your character will probably exhibit depression symptoms as well.

Final Thoughts:

As long as you don’t make your Borderline character the antagonist or a manipulative partner who kills pets like in Single White Female, you should be fine.

Edit: tumblr glitched and I didn’t mean to post this now. I’ll try to get on my laptop when I get home and add a read more.

If you need clarification on anything or additional resources feel free to DM me or come into my inbox!

#writeblr #writing borderline characters #writing mentally ill characters #writing resources

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ahappybeginning · 2 years ago

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Hi 😊👋

I promise I haven’t forgotten about this blog. In fact, it’s been on my mind constantly for the past few weeks. But due to a very intense streak of bad luck, and being thrown into constant chaos and uncertainty, I didn’t have the mental capacity to post here. Or even WHAT to post here, because it became a game of “I know nothing except exhaustion and frustration and no other concrete answers.”

But I’m going to go out on a limb here and post an update, hoping against all hope that I don’t accidentally jinx myself and screw everything up AGAIN.

So…the last month and a half in a nutshell:

My mom and sister both got COVID just under two weeks before my surgery date of Sept. 12. I locked myself in my room for 10 days and only came out when absolutely necessary, and wore my gloves, mask, and shoes at all times.

Miraculously, I did NOT get COVID. HOWEVER, I made it all the way to going to the hospital (an hour away) 3 days before surgery to do the COVID test and registration, did all the paperwork, etc. They had to draw blood because my last results were too old. So later that day I get a call from my surgeon’s office that the blood results showed that my white blood cells were way too high, and they couldn’t safely perform the surgery as scheduled.

I spent a TERRIFYING 3 days trying to figure out what could possibly be causing the issue, because I had no pain, no fever, no other symptoms that I was aware of. So my brain of course went to worst case scenarios like leukemia or something equally scary. In the end (and multiple rounds of being poked for more blood work later), it was a gum infection.

Got to a dentist ASAP and got on an antibiotic and was given a special mouthwash to help. The infection cleared up by the following week.

Went to have my blood checked AGAIN, and the WBC level was still a bit elevated, but it was actually lower than a previous result back in June, which my surgeon hadn’t been concerned about.

Called the surgeon’s office to relay the information, the nurse (who is the primary person I’ve been dealing with) said she’d leave the results on the surgeon’s desk, but I might not hear anything official until the following week.

WELL, the exact day I was supposed to hear something was the same day everything in my area closed because there was a hurricane heading right for us. So…I panicked because I didn’t want to have to wait to hear what was going on. Tried to get some kind of information through the Facebook support group specifically for my surgeon’s patients (and run by members of his staff), but I got nowhere.

Hurricane Ian made landfall just about 20 miles south of me. Our area didn’t get the absolute worst of it but there was still significant damage in the area and most everyone lost power. Thankfully we made it through without any major issues and got our power back after 3 days.

So after finally getting ahold of the office the following week, and a bit of back and forth with getting all the blood work results sent over and being sure the main reason for the WBC being so high was the infection, I FINALLY got a new surgery date of October 20th. It’s a month and a half later than originally scheduled, and it being that late makes things much more complicated work-wise, but I’m just PRAYING that this one holds, and there aren’t any other crazy unexpected bumps in the road to getting this surgery finally.

So…there’s so much more I could say about everything, and I’m gonna try to make another post before Thursday to break down some of what I’m feeling at this point, because I feel like it’s important to document each phase, and I’ll want to be able to look back at it in the future. But for now, after over a month of being stuck in the worst and most frustrating limbo of my life while dodging multiple life threatening issues all at once, I’m VERY happy to be in the “moving forward” part of this again.

Oh, and current weight loss total is 93 lbs, in about 5 1/2 months. Every one of my doctors has told me I’m a superstar, and I’m not even ashamed to admit that yes, I damn well AM a superstar, and I’ve never been more proud of myself. ✨

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the-bau-quinjet · 4 years ago

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Nice to meet you, where you been?

Chapter 2 of In Breakable Heaven!

Summary: Reader becomes acquainted with some members of the BAU.

Warnings: none that I can think of!

Word Count: ~1900

Penny came back out to the foyer, handing you the oversized t-shirt and shorts you left here last time you slept over. You pulled them on quickly, following Penny to the living room where you instantly realized, it was more than just you, Penny, and the tall man in the apartment. You stopped moving as you took in the additional new faces. You had never met Penny’s team before, but she had talked about them a ton. You blushed again thinking of how you must look a mess right now.

“Everyone, this is Y/N! She is my very best friend and she is very sad so we are going to cheer her up.” Penny started the introductions. “Y/N, this is Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau aka JJ, and Emily Prentiss.” You took in the names as Penny went around the room. Eyes bouncing between a very muscular bald man and two of the most attractive women you’ve ever seen. “Oh, and for a more formal introduction, this is Dr. Spencer Reid, although you two met at the door.” Your eyes attempted to meet his again, but he was staring at the ground. You couldn’t help the whisper that escaped your lips “Doctor.”

Either the profilers didn’t hear it, or chose to ignore it, along with the blush forming on your cheeks yet again. You looked around the room again and couldn’t stop yourself from speaking your thoughts. “God, is it a requirement to be hot as hell to work for the FBI?” Everyone laughed as you threw your hand over your mouth, eyes widening. “Oh God. That’s embarrassing. It’s true though, what a good looking team.” That earned more laughter form the group.

It was clear they were all wondering why you had just sobbed into their coworkers adorable sweater vest. You waited a beat hoping someone would say something. But since they were all staring at you, and you hate awkward silences, you couldn’t help but blurt out “today was my 3 year anniversary with my boyfriend,” Not noticing the slight frown appear on Spencer’s face, you continued “but I went over to his place and found him in bed with another woman. So now I am very drunk.” Their faces all softened, offering slight words of encouragement as you sunk into the sofa and picked up the bottle of white wine from the table. Not even bothering with a glass, you started drinking again. You drank nearly half the bottle before taking a breath.

“Woah” you heard someone say, but honestly you didn’t know who. “Why don’t we play a game or something? Maybe switch to water so you don’t completely hate yourself tomorrow?” You realized it was JJ talking. “I am always down – hiccup – for a game. I must warn you, I am extremely competitive though. Plus, I don’t get hungover so I’ll be fine.” You looked at their disbelieving faces. “Fine” you muttered, annoyed at having to explain this again, “I’ll switch to water for a bit. But only because I want to win.”

Penny went to get the cards, confirming your statement “Y/N is right ya know. She has never been hungover. I’ve seen her drink countless tequila shots, chase them each with a wine cooler and clean her entire apartment before 8 AM the next day.”

“Impressive.” Derek smirked as he looked at you.

“What can I say? It really boosts my productivity.” The room chuckled as the hot doctor chimed in.

“Your liver is responsible for breaking down all the alcohol you consume into an enzyme called acetaldehyde, the toxin responsible for hangovers. Recent studies have shown about 23% of people are able to break down the acetaldehyde much faster resulting in little to no hangover symptoms. Whether or not you experience hangovers is based 45% on genetics.” You looked over to him, wildly impressed with the first words you’ve heard him say.

“What’s the other 55% based on?” You asked, intrigued to finally know why you don’t actually experience hangovers. He looked surprised as he met your eyes for the first time since you entered the room.

“It’s actually a mixture of volume of alcohol, water, and food consumption.” You chuckled as he said this.

“Well, it must be genetics for me because there are a few times I remember making very bad choices…” You felt the thought slip away as Dr. Spencer Reid smiled at you.

“How can she even do simple math right now? Based on the story she’s had 10 drinks in the last 3 hours?” Emily whispered to JJ and Derek. They exchanged glances as Penny finally sat back down with the cards.

“What should we play?” She asked the room, but mostly you. You could already feel your competitive edge creeping in as you tore your eyes from Spencer’s to suggest one of your favorite group games. “Egyptian Rat Screw!” It should be especially fun since you were all drinking. Nobody seemed to know the game though, so you quickly explained the rules as you took the cards to shuffle and deal.

“Remember, whoever gets all the cards wins. Slap sandwiches and doubles. Royals have the special rules we just talked about. If you slap and there’s nothing there, you have to put a card in the bottom of the pile.” You said as everyone got situated around the table unsure what to expect. “Ready?” you asked, a mischievous grin on your face.

After winning the first two games you couldn’t help but tease everyone “I am definitely the drunkest one here. I thought a group of FBI agents would have better reaction times!” You giggled as everyone laughed along with you. You dealt the cards into five piles, one for each agent. “No cards for you?” Derek asked. “Nope.” You popped the “p” as you took in their confused faces. “I’m going to start with no cards and see if I still win.” There was a clear competitive glint in your eyes, with a matching smirk. They seemed disbelieving that you would pull out another win, but continued along with the game.

You hadn’t even tried slapping the table until there was only Spencer and Derek left with cards. Emily, JJ, and Penelope were chatting aimlessly, having lost interest a few minutes ago. You sat up and stared at the ever growing pile of cards. The whole game was basically memorizing the order of cards, or at least the general timeline. You knew as soon as Derek played his jack, Spencer would follow with an identical card. As you spotted the first jack hit the pile, Derek taunted Spencer “Haha pretty boy, one chance to get a royal or I’m pulling in the big pile.” The two of them seemed to have forgotten that you could get back in the game. Spencer smiled as he flipped over what you knew to be a jack. It was clear from the smirk on his face he knew it was a jack as well. What he didn’t count on was your cat-like reflexes slapping the pile before he could finish laughing at Derek’s sad face.

The two of them looked shocked as you picked up the cards, readying them for the next set of flipping. “Damn girl, I thought you forgot how to play.” Derek laughed at the smug grin you were wearing. He only had two cards left. Easily knocking Derek from the game, he joined the side conversation being had in the kitchen as he resigned to another round lost. You turned to Spencer, almost whispering “Looks like it’s just you and me, Doctor.” Spencer looked up from his cards stating, “you sound pretty confident considering your opponent has an eidetic memory and knows the exact order of both our hands.” You stuck your tongue out as you placed your first card. “Not fair.”

Minutes passed as the game drew on, neither player really making an advance. You yawned as you flipped another card onto the table, losing focus for just a second. Reid recognized the pattern emerging, getting ready to slap after your next card. You forgot to look at the potential for a sandwich, playing your next card. You noticed it a second to late as you slapped your hand down. Spencer beat you too it though, and when your hand landed it was on top of his. You didn’t move at first, shocked to have lost so many cards at once. Spencer was gloating as you picked up his hand and put it on top of yours.

He finally looked down to see you pulling the cards toward you before jumping up to get them back. You held the cards close to your heart, faking the offense you felt at his suggestion that you would cheat, despite your very obvious cheating. When he reached for the cards, you backed up into the couch, holding them above your head. He knelt over you, leaning forward to reach your outstretched hand, forgetting for just a second that he really didn’t know you at all and being this close should make him uncomfortable.

You shrieked as he tickled your sides to pull the cards in. He was gloating yet again as he pulled them from your grasp, not realizing how close the two of you had become. The two of you froze yet again as you felt that same magnetic force as earlier pulling you closer as you looked into his eyes. He cleared his through as he sat up, returning to his seat to finish the game.

The two of you continued the game until you only had a few cards left. “It appears as though your winning streak is quickly coming to an end.” Spencer joked with you, playing a queen. He was clearly trying to ease whatever tension was lingering from your couch experience. You glanced at the cards in the middle of the table. It must have been 45 cards in the pile. You switched tactics to playing the cards as quick as possible to prevent another mistake.

A queen meant playing two cards in a row. You knew you had two sevens in a row in your hand, so you were ready to take him down. You glanced up stating “Rule 1: The Doctor lies.” You stated matter-of-factly as you flipped over your first seven. “Oh, and don’t blink.” You said, playing the second and slapping it before he finished comprehending your two Doctor Who references. You just had an instinctual feeling that Doctor Who would distract him.

You finished the game with relative ease as the others made their way back into the room. You celebrated as you took the rest of his cards, completing the game and adding another tally to the mental scoreboard you had in your head. As everyone sat back down, you put the cards away. It was now 12:30 in the morning and suddenly you were exhausted. You rose from your seat, putting your coat back on your shoulders. “I should go home” you said, earning stares from everyone.

“You are completely welcome to stay the night here!” Penelope said as you continued preparing to leave.

“Thank you, Penelope, but I already feel so much better.” You chanced a glance at Spencer to see him staring right back. “I want to go home and lay in my bed and throw all his stuff out the window. Plus I could really use some fresh air right now.” Everyone started to verbally object now. Sometimes you forgot what Penelope does for a living and how much she’s seen. “No really, I’ll be fine.” You continued, “I live in The City Block, it’s only half a mile from here!” This did nothing to satisfy the worried looks on the five faces staring back at you.

“That’s on the way to my building.” Spencer stated. “I’ll walk with you, okay?” You looked up, surprised. Slowly a small smile appeared on your face. “Okay.” Somehow that was all you could manage. Everyone said their goodbyes as you and Spencer made your way out of the apartment and started walking down the street.

tag list:

@mac99martin @eevee0722 @l0ve-0f-my-life @haylaansmi @dinonuggets15

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader

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fleckcmscott · 3 years ago

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Stepping Stones - Chapter 1

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Referenced self-harm, Severe struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,589

A/N: This novella has been bouncing around in my head since last September. At first, I was hesitant to write it, unsure of how the subject matter would be received. But inspiration sparked last month, so I decided to take the leap. 🙂 Special thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-ing and helping me get the summary right! Also thanks to my colleague Jane the Dame, who spent many years working at a state institution in the 1980s, for answering my questions. 💜

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I'm still working on requests and Way Back Home!

The halcyon summer of 1988 was one of Y/N's favorites, filled with good news and great fun. Her oldest nephew, Jason, had been awarded a baseball scholarship to the University of Missouri, where he hoped to study business administration, following in his father's footsteps. In congratulations, she and Arthur had sent enough money to cover textbooks and one of those new graphing calculators. WXYZ ran a contest for The Main Ingredient tickets, and by being the ninth caller on a Wednesday afternoon, Arthur won two nosebleed seats. They'd taken a weekend trip to a bed & breakfast in the Catskills, and spent far more hours in bed than having breakfast.

There were professional achievements, too. Dube & Ellis merged with Flat & Flat Lawyers to become Dube, Ellis, & Flat. (It was fortunate they'd dropped the second "Flat;" her business cards wouldn't've fit in her billfold, otherwise.) The firm now specialized in labor and family cases, and luckily, she had extensive experience with each. After a quick interview process, her title was bumped to senior paralegal, an advancement that added the duties of interviewing witnesses and assisting less experienced staff.

Arthur's work seemed to be going well, too. The season was his favorite, what with the easy availability of gigs and breaks from rain and cold, and his mood since May had been boundless. Most mornings he'd head out to dance and do magic on a corner near Amusement Mile, even if he had an event to work later on. He'd filled notebook after notebook, periodically calling her up at the office to share a joke that couldn't wait. Walks overflowed with animated assertions that he'd get his name on Gotham's biggest marquees, that he'd fill the largest clubs, that it was only a matter of time before everyone recognized his talent.

While his self-confidence had increased, evidenced by knowing grins and occasional swagger, glimmers of arrogance were rare. It struck her as uncharacteristic, but she enjoyed the way it fit him, like the tailored seams of a brand-new suit. Though his ideas were a little grandiose, not quite realistic, the determination behind his assertions made her smile. Success in all aspects of his life, whether it be performing, happiness in his own skin, or managing his symptoms, were goals they shared. Vital elements she cherished, that made their partnership thrive.

As the last tendrils of August heat gave way to the cool breezes of late September, a shift pricked her perception. He'd had rough patches since they'd gotten together - a month when he hadn't felt up to intimacy, a week when he'd stayed in, a day when he'd lain morose in bed - and they'd always gotten through. The third night she went to bed alone, however, she began to sense this was different.

He still practiced his material, went through the motions of bathing his face in white, blue, and red to go spread joy to a kid. He functioned. But she'd find him on the sofa in the same position she'd left him the night before. The lights in the apartment blazed, whether it was 2:00 AM or 2:00 PM, like he was trying to chase back shadows visible only to him. Retreats to his writing nook increased, stretching on and on. She brought him coffee when she thought he was running low, gave his neck a quick massage, ensured he knew she was there for him. Moments of loneliness seeped into her soul, but she did her best to ignore them. Journaling had helped Arthur cope for as long as she'd known him. Though she ached for him to confide in her, she believed respecting his space was the right thing to do.

But she reported the changes to Dr. Ludlow, stated she suspected he was slipping.

"Continue to monitor him," Dr. Ludlow said, "and update me with any symptoms that are clearly excessive."

Frustration caused Y/N to stare at the receiver before hanging up. How was she supposed to judge what was "clearly excessive" versus what was "mildly excessive" when all of it troubled her? She tried to think back to the books she'd read after Arthur's appearance on Live! With Murray Franklin, and quickly concluded she was due for a re-read.

When the date night she'd crafted went awry, she finally resolved to investigate. Candles burned and his favorite LP played, yet his beloved dish of beef stroganoff and egg noodles lay untouched. He'd barely spoken, tossing her a spare nod every so often. Failing to fill the void of conversation by herself unnerved her. His thumb traced the edge of the table. She rested her chin on her knuckles. "You haven't been eating much," she said. "Do you want to try something new?"

"No."

"All right. But we could look through some of your cookbooks. Maybe we'll find an old favorite." She paused to ponder her words, not wanting to let on that it was getting more difficult to leave him alone for eight hours a day. "You're not yourself. Not lately."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I see you and talk to you, but it's like you're not there half the time. You're not sleeping, you're tenser than when we met." She covered his hand with hers and forced a slight grin. "I don't know where that gorgeous head of yours is. I'd like to."

On a curt huff, he shook his head. "No, you wouldn't." He picked up his fork to poke at a puddle of sauce and proceeded to lie to her for the first time she could remember. "I don't want you worrying about me. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

The obvious untruth in his answer and his stubborn refusal to admit he was struggling evoked an earlier period of her life. The one in which her father had forgotten his patients' appointments and begun to lose vocabulary, resorting to describing diagnoses instead of naming them. Even with her mother, sister, and herself pushing him to get checked out, the normally open man brushed off their concerns like they were a brood of anxious hens. Y/N's worry morphed into anger, a burning coal in her chest. She flinched and tossed her napkin on the table, buttoned her lip before she confronted him further and said something she'd regret. Grabbing her glass of wine, she excused herself and went out onto the fire escape. Breathed deeply and leaned on the railing until he followed to ask what she wanted to watch.

But less than four days later, she arrived home from work and her fears were validated.

She hung her purse at the door and scurried through the living room, having had to use the restroom since boarding the subway, thanks to an ill-timed cup of coffee. The wet footprints on the cream color carpet went unnoticed, superseded by a dull thumping emanating from behind the bathroom door. Bafflement halted her momentarily; misgivings compelled her to fling it open.

Clad in his briefs, soaked from head to toe, brown locks dripping, Arthur stood at the side of the tub, ramming his forehead against the shower door. Splinters shot through the reeded glass, a cracking sound Y/N would never be able to erase from her ears. Herky-jerky motions possessed his arms, disconnected, agitated. He kept at it. Hard. Harder.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Fear sparked her nerves. Of him, which made her feel awful, and for him, which induced an urge to fight off whatever his conditions were putting him through. The later won out. "Arthur, what the fuck?" she said. Then louder, taking a step towards him. "Arthur!"

Disregarding the possibility of unhinging him further, she grabbed him. Repeated his name until the slamming diminished to a resting of his temple on the door. His shoulders sagged, he panted. Blood formed on his forehead, a drop that expanded to a thin rivulet down his cheek, dribbling off his chin.

She sat him on the toilet, yanked the hand towel from the hanger beside the sink. "Arthur, what's wrong?" Hot water flowed from the faucet after thirteen agonizing seconds. She knelt before him, seized his chin as she wiped coppery flecks away, pressed the terrycloth to the fine cut below his hairline. "I don't know what to do." Shrugged, mumbling incoherently, he dropped his gaze to the floor and gave a smothered laugh. Her voice rose, louder than she intended, and she shook him by the shoulder. "Tell me what to do!"

As if seeing her for the first time, he blinked. The pain of realization crossed his face, tightened the lines at the corner of his eyes, the fine wrinkles around his mouth. With a shiver, he folded in on himself, pushing Y/N back and dropping his head between his knees. "Nothing seems to make a difference," he said.

Freaking out was in order. An honest-to-god, old fashioned case of hysteria. Instead, she willed herself to ignore the growing flames of panic, but she was powerless to stop her eyes from watering. She stood to retrieve his bath towel. Got him to stand, pulled off his underwear, draped it over the radiator. She patted his back, covered with goosebumps and cold, and wrapped the cloth about his waist. A million phrases went through her mind. Sentences full of comfort and solutions, sentences that felt ghastly in their emptiness. She chose the truth. "I'm going to call Dr. Ludlow and see what we can do. I'm not asking permission."

At first, he didn't react. No gestures of compliance, no scowl of defiance. But gradually he dared to meet her gaze, as if begging her not to give up on him, and began to dry himself with the clumsy coordination of a child. She managed a comforting smile, even as her heart split, and gave his bicep a tender squeeze.

~~~~~

Y/N waited in a small, corner room of Arkham State Hospital, which sat smack in the middle of McKean Island, set off from the rest of Gotham like a scapegoat expelled to the wilderness to pay for the city's sins.

Despite the asylum's measly fifteen floors, it dominated its space. Four separate beige buildings, each connected with a skybridge, loomed over the surrounding streets and train tracks. A watchtower sprung from the top of one wing, the one she assumed was for the criminally insane. Bars stretched across every window, even the one she currently peered out, and she lamented that most of what she'd seen so far of this medical facility felt equal parts institution and prison.

More study than workspace, Dr. Kellerman's office was far warmer than the facility's stately façade inferred. Between narrow bookshelves, poplar framed two bachelor's degrees from Gotham University, one in biology, one in psychiatry, alongside an MD degree from Hale, arranged in a circle on almond wallpaper. His license was up to date, renewed four months prior. A certificate for the Elizabeth Arkham Spirit of Medicine award hung in the middle, awarded for "thirty years of outstanding service to the citizens of Gotham." His apparent expertise quelled an ounce of Y/N's anxiousness; ruminating on Arthur preserved the rest.

The desk was wooden, like an old teacher's desk with drawers that no longer rolled smoothly, and pictures of what she assumed were a wife, children, and grandchildren cluttered one end. An Orator intercom speaker took up the other. A calendar pad covered the center, full of scribbles and appointments. And on the right, beside Dr. Kellerman's forearm, sat a doorstop he claimed was Arthur Fleck's file.

"Mrs. Fleck," Dr. Kellerman began. "Dr. Ludlow and I spoke briefly. She sent your husband's records over about an hour ago. Now, they haven't arrived yet, so I'm hoping you can give me a run down. He's been in therapy with her for...six years?" He flipped the folder open, pen poised between the first knuckles of his fingers.

"Seven next January." Y/N leaned forward, craned her neck to look at the top page. Reading upside down, she couldn't make out much more than the Department of Hospitals' twin-snake seal. "Before that, he was in treatment with the Department of Health."

"What was the reason for the change?"

"Budget cuts. The round before last," she said. Dr. Kellerman let out the sigh of one who'd heard that story too often. He indicated she should continue with a quick, but not unkind, wave. "He keeps a journal and takes three medications. Temazepam, fluoxetine, and an anti-psychotic." Frowning, she tried to picture the bottle of white tablets on the bureau in their bedroom, the blue typewriter ink on the label. "I'm sorry, I can't recall which one. It's been a long night."

That was an understatement. As soon as she'd gotten off the phone with Dr. Ludlow, Y/N dialed 911. Arthur and she had spent five hours waiting in Gotham General's emergency department, with him getting more agitated by the minute, only for the attending physician to state they weren't equipped to handle his case. A shot of sedative stuck Arthur's arm as they'd wheeled him into an ambulance for transport. Y/N caressed his cheek before they parted, pecked his slackened lips with the promise to see him soon.

"I'm sure it's all right here," said Dr. Kellerman. He tapped the stack of paperwork before him. "Any changes over the last few weeks? New or odd behaviors that set off your radar?"

She went through what she'd already reported to Dr. Ludlow, the ER staff, and the intake nurse she'd bribed to ensure Arthur got a private room. "Nothing I thought would end in this."

"How about stressors?"

"He had a bad night at the Smile Factory awhile back, a drunk heckler. Occupational hazard - Arthur's a stand-up, mostly works open-mic nights." She counted on her fingers, tried to catalogue everything in her mind. "An old client of mine passed away recently, but they'd only met once or twice."

"Have you been fighting?"

"Only about how worried I've been." Heat flushed up her shoulders and her neck, the scene of shattered glass and blood replaying over and over in her mind, an unwelcome horror film she should have foreseen. If she'd been more attentive, could she have stopped this? The suggestion tore her insides. She crossed her arms over her chest, a fractured shield against her burgeoning guilt. "Dr. Kellerman, he's goes through periods of depression and mania. But he's been doing so well. We had a wonderful summer together. I don't understand what's different now."

"Where the mind and spirit intersect is still a mystery. Medication can stop working. Incidents that would be minor to you or me can build and build until a relapse occurs. Even the changing of seasons, as you just described. Sometimes we can't pinpoint a cause." Dr. Kellerman's eyes narrowed, salt and pepper brows pulling together in concentration. "I'll be calling Dr. Ludlow tomorrow morning to discuss Mr. Fleck's case. Once we've determined an appropriate treatment plan and he signs a release form, I'll contact you. Let me share how a typical stay here wor-"

"Dr. Kellerman?" The intercom crackled to life. "You're needed in ward C."

He reached for the volume knob. "I'm in a meeting, Janet."

"I'm sorry, doctor, but it's a code grey."

"Be right down." He stood and straightened his corduroy suitcoat, then turned his attention back to Y/N. "The ward's charge nurse just had a baby and we were already short staffed." He stopped in the doorway and pointed to his right. "There's a coffee dispenser and vending machine down the hall. Avoid the tuna salad. I'll be back as soon as I can." Y/N listened to his footsteps hastening, fading, the squeak of far-off hinges echoing through the corridor, the slam of a metal door. Hunger and thirst eluded her. Swirling questions - how Arthur was doing, what clothing to bring him, how long he would have to stay - crowded out her needs.

Except for one: to know.

She'd sought to respect his privacy, be satisfied with what he was comfortable confiding. And he'd confided a lot: his history of being deemed a danger to himself, disassociation and hallucinations, his laminated card. But the file on Dr. Kellerman's desk taunted her, a temptation in coffee-stained manila. Maybe a glance would be all right. Just enough to get an idea of what had remedied him in the past so she could replicate it in the future. Just enough to understand him a little better. Just enough to soothe the all-too-familiar ache of helplessness. Scraping her chair forward, she reached to grab the expandable folder with both hands and situated it on her lap.

Its documents were sorted in order from newest to oldest, opposite from how she sorted files in her office. The Department of Hospitals form she'd spied earlier was a psychiatric report, blank besides Arthur's name and today's admission date: 9/27/1988. Experience with court ordered evaluations told her it would take at least two days for it to be completed. She'd have to keep digging.

After a quick peek over her shoulder, she flipped through a bundle of pages, bound by a large, black clamp. They appeared to be weekly reports from a Dr. Kane, notes stating Arthur had trouble spelling, maintaining eye contact, and didn't elaborate on his feelings other than to say he didn't want to feel bad. But he never missed his appointments, even if he didn't do much participating. "Major depressive disorder, suicidal ideation, uncontrollable laughing fits. Inconsistent with bringing journal." Those descriptions pained Y/N, but the rest constricted her throat with pride. "Consistently well-dressed, neat. Polite. Heavy smoker. Prefers butterscotch candies." She snorted lightly. Whoever this Dr. Kane was, she already liked her.

Beneath those notes, about a third of the way through the file, she came across Form-39274, which looked to be an application. The version name in the corner, "Rev. 01/1981," caught her attention; it must have been from his last hospitalization, a scant nine months before they'd become involved. Judging from the two empty hole punches at the top and lack of signature, pages were missing. She read on regardless, desperate to glean as much as she could. There were the usual demographic questions. Whether or not Arthur had ever been married (he hadn't), how many bedrooms were in the apartment (one), if he had a criminal record or unresolved federal or state tax liens - as if that would preclude his need for medical care. (He had neither.) He'd apparently worked up to sixty hours a week, a number of hours that rivalled hers, even when she'd worked for Shaw & Associates.

When she got to the section about his education, a weight dropped into her stomach, as heavy as the concrete bricks of this building. According to this, Arthur had quit school in the tenth grade. The same year his mother had been lobotomized. Y/N held her breath. This was why he'd never gotten invitations to class reunions, why he'd claimed to have forgotten his diploma at 8J and hadn't asked about a replacement, why he thought her "very smart" when, really, she considered herself happily average. The unfairness of the situation he'd been thrown into, the adult choices he'd had to make as an adolescent, tugged the thread tangling her ribs.

The man who'd completed the form had terrible handwriting, some of the worst she'd ever seen. All her practice deciphering affidavits and orders should've come in handy, but she could scarcely make out a sentence: "Laughing all the time." "I don't know - happy or what?" "I really don't understand it." Given this record, a record that denoted a mystery instead of a person, Arthur was lucky he'd escaped Penny's fate. She turned to the folder's final section, where pages yellowed and specks of mold bloomed.

An admissions photo stared back at her, perhaps twenty-years-old, black and white, the size of a recipe card. Happy to finally glimpse Arthur's earlier self, she brought it closer. His gaze was blank, averted from the camera, his full lips agape. Wisps of dark hair stuck out from behind his ears, his curls as unruly as when he'd try to slick them into submission for a special occasion. Her fingernail traced the round apple of his cheek, not yet sharpened by the chisel of age and hammer of life. He'd held such beauty in his youth, a beauty that had matured into the handsome man who held the power to steal her breath whenever he walked into the room.

Suddenly, a sob shuddered through her, down to her bones. This photograph wasn't a joyful memory. It existed because he'd struggled, isolated and weary, for nearly three decades. Longer than he, longer than anyone deserved. If her circumstances back in Boonville hadn't turned into a leaky hull, if she'd gotten to Gotham sooner, she would have made a difference. Sure, she might not have had much money, a newly divorced transplant finding her feet. But she could have done something.

She rolled her eyes at herself and put the photo back in its place. Closed the folder and dropped it on the desk. Shoulda, woulda, couldas wouldn't do either of them any good. She wasn't a savior and he didn't need saving. What he needed was for her to be here with her feet planted firmly in the present. In reality. She grabbed a tissue from her purse, determined to pull herself together before Dr. Kellerman returned.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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captainscanadian · 4 years ago

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Long Way Home | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 2)

MY MASTERLIST

Series Masterlist

Summary: They meet again.

Word Count: 2200+

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky Barnes x Doctor!Reader, Doctor!Steve Rogers, Nurse!Wanda Maximoff, Doctor!Pietro Maximoff

Warnings: Heart Disease, Hospital, Surgery.

A/N: Give it up for another clusterfuck from yours truly. Thanks again to my dearest @dramadreamer14 for the beta, as always. I haven’t written two parts in a day since a year ago so I got really excited to post this one. I DON’T DO TAGLISTS! Divider by @firefly-graphics <3

The moment he landed in Boston, Bucky Barnes decided to scratch his initial plan of heading to his new apartment, and instead took a cab from the airport to Massachusetts General Hospital. Despite the fact that he was not supposed to be starting his new job until the following week, receiving that email from Dr. Y/L/N about the Stark method patient had made him rather eager to get to work. Perhaps he was getting a little ahead of himself, but then again, he knew himself better than anyone else. There was no way he could have sat alone in his apartment for an entire week with his inherent need to operate.

Not that he was expecting to operate immediately after he arrived at the hospital, given that the patient he had been wanting to work with was refusing surgery after all. If this patient had refused to let Tony Stark operate on her again, he knew that he would have a much more difficult time trying to convince her to let him operate on her. But Bucky was not someone who would walk away from a challenge, and this case was as challenging as it got.

When he arrived at the hospital, he rushed inside and headed straight up to the Heart Center. He knew that he should probably check in with the new Chief of Surgery, maybe even inform him that his best friend had landed safely in Boston. But he had just been too eager to make it to his consultation, and he could see Steve when he was done.

“Hi, I’m looking for Dr. Y/L/N’s office.” Bucky greeted the red haired woman at the Nurses’ Desk with a rather polite smile.

Wanda Maximoff raised her eyebrow at the man who had just approached her, rolling her eyes as she was pulled away from her emails to give him directions. “I’m sorry, who?” She asked, as the only Dr. Y/L/N she knew did not work here at the Heart Center.

“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N? She requested a consult with me this afternoon. She should be expecting me.” He replied. “I’m Dr. James Barnes. I’m the new Chief of Cardio.”

The moment those words slipped through his mouth, Wanda found herself rising from her seat. “O-Oh… you’re… you’re the man of the house. I’m so sorry!” She was certain that he wasn’t supposed to be starting until next week. Had he come here incognito to spy on the department before he was going to take charge? No, that couldn’t be possible. He had just told her his name. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s… it’s just been a long day. My apologies, Dr. Barnes.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle at her words and shook his head. “Hey, it’s no problem. I know I shouldn’t be here for a few days, but Dr. Y/L/N requested an emergency consult. Do you know where I can find her?”

“Um…” The nurse bit down on her bottom lip for a moment, not knowing how to break this to him. “Dr. Y/L/N doesn’t work here.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, she doesn’t work here at the Heart Center.” She clarified. “Dr. Y/L/N is the Director of Neonatal Surgery. She runs the Newborn Developmental Follow-Up Clinic next door.”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide at the response. “What?”

First things first, it came as a surprise to him that a neonatal surgeon had requested a consult with him. After all, he specialized in Adult Congenital Heart Diseases, so naturally he was equipped to run Tony’s department following his retirement. Second of all, why was a neonatal surgeon requesting a consult for an adult patient?

“You’ll be able to find her in the Blake Building next door. Would you like me to direct you there?” Wanda asked. “It’s not a long walk from here…”

“Uh… no, I think I got it.” Bucky smiled politely at the woman. “But I would appreciate it if you could direct me to my office.” He was here, after all. He might as well get started with work.

“Oh yes, of course.” She nodded, sitting back down in her seat. “Just give me one moment. I’ll just need to activate your key card and get you to sign a bunch of paperwork. Dr. Rogers gave me special instructions on which photo of yours to use for your profile.”

Bucky let out a rather exhausted sigh. “Oh did he really?” He asked before shaking his head.

“He said you insisted.”

He leaned against the counter before shaking his head once again. “That punk.”

“Is it true that you both attended Columbia together?” Wanda asked, rather curiously. “Word travels fast around this hospital.”

“Yeah, we did. We grew up together, actually. I’ve known him since I was twelve years old.” He replied.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? Knowing someone when you’re a kid, and then having to work with them when you’re adults?” She remarked, closing her emails for a moment so that she could activate Dr. Barnes’ key card.

“What makes you say that?” He asked, curiously. “Because you do sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“My fraternal twin, he works as a pediatric cardiologist. You'd think I'd gotten rid of him once I graduated from nursing school. But he went off to med school, and came back to work right here in this department. It’s quite the humbling experience." She explained, chuckling softly. “I know a thing or two about working with your best friend, but working for your best friend? I don’t know if I can help you with that, doc.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He nodded, laughing softly. “You know, I never got your name.”

“Wanda Maximoff.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Wanda.”

Following the formalities that needed to be completed before he could be let into his office, Dr. James Barnes eventually found himself logging onto his office computer and searching up a certain ‘Dr. Y/N Y/L/N’.

Her employee profile on the hospital’s website stated that she was a triple board certified Neonatal Surgeon, and the Director of Neonatal Surgery. He had come across a series of articles on congenital heart diseases she had published in the medical journal within the last few years. Her LinkedIn profile mentioned that she had attended Harvard Medical School, and graduated Summa Cum Laude.

As impressive as her credentials were, what caught his attention was not any of her accomplishments. It was the photo of her on her profile, and the familiarity that he felt upon seeing her eyes. For a moment, Bucky wondered if there was a time when their paths would have crossed. Perhaps, they had met at a conference of some sort, given that they both specialized in congenital heart diseases. But then again, if they had met recently, he would remember her, wouldn’t he?

But as he pondered about where he would have met Dr. Y/L/N, he was pulled out of his thoughts by a knock on his door.

“Come in.” Bucky called out, quickly closing all of his tabs.

Steve Rogers stepped into his best friend’s office with a rather disappointed look on his face. “What in the goddamn world are you doing here, ya jerk?”

“Nice to see you too, punk.” He chuckled, rising from his seat to pull him into an embrace. “I was going to come by your office, but I’ve got to head out for a consult in a bit.”

“A consult? Already?” Steve raised his brow. “Buck, you don’t start until next week.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” He rolled his eyes, even though he knew that Steve was indeed his boss.

“Actually… I am.” He pointed out, a rather wide grin on his face. “All those years of being neck and neck with you and missing out on the ranks really paid off. I made Chief before you did, pal.”

“Oh don’t be so full of yourself, buddy. I only took this job because you begged me to.” He reminded him.

“Begging Is a stretch. I simply made a request.” Steve protested. “And I wanted my best friend to be closer to me.”

“Aw you missed me, pal?”

“Yeah, I did.” He admitted, a smile on his lips as he looked over at Bucky. “Best friends like you are rare to find, and easy to lose. Call me a sap all you want, Buck. But the last eight years haven’t been the same without you.”

Needless to say, Steve wasn’t the only one who could say that. Someone could say that the last thirty years hadn’t been the same without him, if she even remembered him.

Y/N’s morning had been spent doing rounds around the NICU, having barely walked around the entire floor before her feet began to ache. Two days it had been since they had started to ache, but she paid no heed to them, shrugging them off as the consequence for having stood in the OR for fifteen hours earlier that week. Unfortunately though, she knew the exact reason why her feet were aching. She was just too stubborn to accept that.

“Pietro, I’m fine!” She exclaimed as her friend sat her down on the couch in her office and removed her shoes, noticing the swelling on her ankles before he gave her a look of utter disbelief.

“You need to stop being so stubborn, Y/N.” He said, rather sternly. He wouldn’t yell at her, but he knew that she was being extremely negligent about her health ever since Dr. Stark had announced his retirement. “This isn’t normal, especially not for someone with a history of heart disease.”

She knew that he was right. She knew that she was being stubborn, and that her symptoms were not normal. But with Tony retiring, she hadn’t managed to find that kind of trust in any other doctor.

It had taken a lot of convincing on Tony’s part for her to even consider setting up a meeting with the new Chief of Cardio. But even then, she doubted if she could trust that man with her life. Perhaps her hesitance to go for surgery was not necessarily based on trust, but her own refusal to go back to the way things used to be when she had first left her hometown in Indiana and arrived in Boston at the age of five.

Y/N Y/L/N had been a patient at Massachusetts General Hospital long before she had become the Director of Neonatal Surgery. She had spent months on end being admitted in the same Pediatrics Ward where she currently worked, missing out on her life as a normal kid even though she had been surrounded by children her own age. Her normal had been different than most people, and she refused to return to that state yet again. She had come so far, and worked so hard, to go back to that dark place.

“I have a consultation with the Chief of Cardio later today, okay?” She assured him, as though it was progress in her eventually agreeing for surgery. “I’ll have a chat with him and see what we can do about this.”

Surgery was out of the question for Y/N. She was not going to have anyone cut into her chest again, not with the way her last surgery had caused her a massive lifestyle change. She had given up her entire life to ensure that she was staying healthy. But if that hadn’t been enough, then what even was the point?

“And if he suggests surgery?” Pietro questioned. “What would you do if he tells you that he needs to operate, just like Stark did?” Given her condition, even he knew that surgery was the best option.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, Pietro.” She admitted, letting out a sigh of exhaustion as she leaned back against the couch. “You should get back to work. I’m just going to put my feet up for a bit.”

God, could anyone be as stubborn as Y/N Y/L/N? Pietro Maximoff had no idea. “Okay, but don’t walk around too much. I’ll ask Romanoff if she could handle your patients for the day. Just stay in your office, okay? This isn’t a good sign.”

“I know, I know… just go.”

Pietro could only hope that she listened to him and stayed put in her office for the rest of the day, but it seemed that she had dozed off as he was leaving her office.

“If the doctors don’t fix you, then I’ll become a doctor and I’ll fix you, Bambi.”

“You would be the best doctor in the whole wide world!”

Suddenly, there was a knock on her door as Y/N found herself waking up from her nap. She checked the time on her watch to see that she hadn’t been asleep for too long. That had to be Dr. Barnes, right?

“Come on in!” She called out, quickly removing her feet from the coffee table and slipping them into her shoes.

As Bucky walked into Dr. Y/L/N’s office, there were a thousand questions that he wanted to ask her. But not even one of them was, ‘Hey Bambi, would you let me keep my promise now?’

#aj writes #long way home #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #doctor!Bucky #bucky barnes series #doctor au #doctor!steve

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hay-389 · 4 years ago

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Oooh Maddie/Madney + passing out from pain 😈

It started 20 minutes before her shift was due to end, her stomach feeling uneasy, but quickly growing into what Maddie could only guess, and dreaded, had to be the stomach bug going around. She should have known it would eventually reach her. The bug had been spread throughout the entire firehouse, all starting with Buck who claimed he was perfectly fine to work one shift when Bobby so clearly saw straight through that lie. He could barely stand without swaying let alone running into burning buildings, so not even an hour in Bobby sent Buck home to rest up and get well.

And then Bobby came down with the bug only a few days later, and he ended up giving it to Eddie, who gave it to Hen, and of course with her being partners with Chimney he was bound to get it. Maddie spent the better part of two days nursing her boyfriend back to health. Everyone bounced back rather quickly she had to admit, but Maddie really isn’t looking forward to spending her foreseeable future hunched over the toilet just as Chimney had not even a week ago.

20 minutes is usually nothing for Maddie. She can help between 2-4 people in that time frame depending on the situation on the other end of the phone, or if it’s a slow day she’ll lean back in her chair and usually chat with Josh. Now though, each minute feels like an hour as the discomfort she feels in her stomach builds to a small pain. It’s with a sigh of relief her shift finally ends and she practically runs out of the building and gets in her car, she just needs sleep. Maybe a good night's rest would halt whatever she felt coming on.

But the minute she walks into the apartment Maddie feels just a little guilty for wanting to head straight for the bedroom when she spots two takeaway containers from her favorite Chinese restaurant. The idea of eating is almost enough to make her throw up on the spot, but she knows Chimney has barely eaten anything that wasn’t soup for the last 3 days and probably decided to order in now that he’s finally feeling great and can keep it down. Maddie doesn’t want to admit she isn’t feeling well either when Chimney comes walking down the hallway from their bedroom with a grin on his face, happy to see her. She can suck it up and spend an hour with him, she decides.

Not even 15 minutes in though Maddie finds herself not only with an upset stomach, but a headache too. It’s already been a long day for her with calls that just kept coming and coming and not allowing Maddie to take a much needed break to compose herself before moving onto another one. Listening to Chimney explain a weird call the team had today, of course through Buck’s perspective because Chimney’s first day back is tomorrow, is becoming harder and harder, until eventually the only thing Maddie can actually hear is the pounding in her head.

“Maddie, are you okay?”

“Huh?” She looked up from her still full container and knew she was caught. Chimney is looking at her with concern in his eyes. He seems to hesitate at first, but moves his hand to her forehead and Maddie leans in to the cool touch. “Oh my god Maddie you’re burning up. Are you not feeling well?”

“No.” She caves, finally dropping the plastic fork in her hand, and rubbing her temples instead to try and give her head some relief. “I think I’m getting what you had, I’ve felt it coming on about halfway through the day.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? You should be in bed right now.”

“Well I was going to, but you looked so happy when I came in I didn’t have the heart to tell you I wasn’t feeling up to dinner.”

“Maddie, you feeling better is more important than anything else. Now you go lie down and I’ll clean up out here and meet you in the bedroom.” She nodded, giving him a soft smile. By the time Chimney actually did come back she was out cold.

And Before going to bed, Maddie hoped that’s how it would stay all night. Sleep was the only thing anyone really wanted when sick. So shooting out of bed at 3 am isn't exactly ideal, especially when Maddie knew what was coming next. She threw back the covers, not bothering to reach for any lights, and headed straight for the bathroom. She reached the toilet just in time for her to expel the remaining little food she managed to keep down the day before. And if that weren’t bad enough, that small pain she experienced earlier is now way bigger, and if she weren’t already curled up on the floor vomiting into the toilet bowl she most definitely would be from the pain in her side.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see the hallway light flick on and Chimney appear in the doorway, not moving straight away just a bit dazed from sleep. But when it finally hits him he’s bending down right next to her. “Maddie?” He’s rubbing a gentle hand up and down her back, using his other one to hold her hair out of her face, and only let’s go when she’s more dry heaving then vomiting. Chimney knew this was coming because he had just gone through it, but the way Maddie is holding her right side and doubles over in pain is enough to make him worry more than he feels like he should be. “Maddie is it your stomach or your side that hurts?”

“My side, it hurts really bad.” This suddenly feels like more than a stomach bug, and that makes things feel so much worse because if it isn’t something as simple as a stomach bug than what is it? Chimney has a few guesses actually, but his brain can't really focus on anything but his girlfriend on the floor in pain, and it’s enough to make him announce he’s calling 911.

He shoots through the bedroom door and fumbles through his nightstand looking for his phone, his panicked state only rising when he doesn’t find it. He takes a moment to let out a breath of air and run his hands through his hair, the memory of leaving it on the coffee table hitting him full force. He left it there after ordering the Chinese food but forgot to bring it back to the room after Maddie announced she wasn’t feeling well.

Sure enough it’s still sitting there in the exact position he placed it in, and he picks it up and dials 911. As he’s telling his address to the dispatcher he sees Maddie exit the bathroom and slowly walk down the hallway towards him. She’s still clutching her side and is wobbling a bit, as if standing is an effort. The look on her face is enough for Chimney to let the phone crash to the floor and dash towards her.

He manages to reach Maddie a second before she faints.

————O~O~O————

Heavy.

That is the best way to describe how Maddie feels at this moment. She couldn’t move her legs or arms; any part of her body for that matter, it felt more like she is struggling against a restraint that she’s pretty sure isn’t even there. Even opening her eyes feels like too much and while the darkness is calling out to her once again, she forces herself to feel past the heavy eyelids and actually manages to open them just a little because a voice is telling her to; and she can’t quite make out who it is yet, but she knows that voice and can practically feel the urgency, worry, and relief coming off of them in one big wave.

For just a moment she sees the color white, before the blinding bright lights that hang above are forcing them back closed. A few more blinks and Maddie is finally able to keep her eyes open, and she can see Chimney standing by the right side of her bed holding her hand, which she hadn’t even felt until then.

“God, Maddie. You scared the hell out of me.” And she’s sure she did, because he looks like hell at the moment. His hair is pointed in every which direction and...is he still wearing the same pjs he had on when...well actually she realizes she doesn’t know how long it’s been or what happened to her. The last thing she can remember is being in a lot of pain on their bathroom floor and then...nothing. “What happened?”

“Well, you passed out on me that’s what happened. The ambulance came and rushed you to the hospital. It turns out that the stomach bug was actually appendicitis.” Oh, well that suddenly makes sense in the span of things. For a few weeks, every so often, her back would have these sudden sharp pains for half of a second and then disappear, and she hadn’t been eating as much as she usually does this past week. Then there was the pain in her side, a clear sign. She kind of just deduced it down to stress, but the nurse side of her should have caught on quicker.

“Just great,” she mumbles. “I think I would have preferred that stomach bug.” Chimney let’s out a small laugh, finally relaxing after almost a whole day of worrying.

“I would prefer neither happen to you. I’m just glad they caught it and you’re safe. I love you so much.” Chimney leans down and gives her a small kiss which she reciprocates, only pulling back when his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. “Who’s that?”

“Your brother, who says he’s on his way up from the gift shop right now.”

“Oh boy, I don’t want to imagine what Buck is going to bring through that door.”

“Me either. Having to walk out of the hospital with that many balloons after my rebar accident was a nightmare.” Maddie smiles, trying her hardest not to laugh as it hurt when she did.

“Okay, he says he needs me to open the door. You ready?”

“Nope, but let him in.”

Fun Fact: I actually had Appendicitis the summer going into 9th grade. It was not fun. The symptoms I wrote for Maddie was pretty much what I experienced. A whole summer on bed rest was AGONIZING. My siblings and cousins were all going outside, swimming, playing sports...I’m not still bitter. I swear. 🙃

Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this, my first @badthingshappenbingo prompt. Thank you @maddieandchimney for suggesting it, and I hope it somewhat meets your expectations! I’ll update my bingo card with my next post, feel free to leave prompts!

#911 #911 on fox #911 fox #madney #chimney han #maddie buckley #911 fanfiction #911 fanfic #hurt #stomach pain #bad things happen bingo

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