#different pills different doses different times of the day to take them

[pyrrhiccomedy]

hey pyrrhic, I'm the anon who asked about adhd and executive function, whom you recommended meds to. I fully agree, problem is, I AM medicated (my bad did not include that relevant info). and I'm doing way better than before but nonetheless, this still happens. maybe I just gotta find a way to shoulder through the stuck door that makes it an Engaging Enough Challenge, so to speak (and make sleep/routine/self care improvements no doubt). thanks for reading and answering, I appreciate it!

maybe you should be medicated more

[citrus-writing]

What do you think the phantom troupe would be like with a darling who needs medicine for their mental state? If this request doesn’t suit your tastes don’t pressure yourself to write it please

Thank you for the request! If you have anything else you’d like to see, feel free to request again! 

Yanderes with a darling who needs mental health meds--- 

Warnings: discussions of mental health and mental health meds, discussions of beign denied your meds  

Yanderes who are adamant about you taking your meds, who never let you miss a dose and who watch you take your meds obsessively. Because you're their darling, their love, and they can't let anything bad happen to you. 

Chrollo, nobunaga, uvogin 

Chrollo- he’s obsessive when it comes to you, never careless with the thing that is most precious to him; you. And your meds are no different. He’s certain to make sure you take your meds at the times you're supposed to, at the same time everyday. And if you take some meds as needed, he doesn't mind when you need to take them. He’s diligent with your wellbeing, wanting to prove to you that he can take care of you. 

Nobunaga- he worries so much about you, about your health and your wellbeing, so of course he makes sure you take your meds. He’s not quite as intense about it as chrollo is, but one glaring difference is that he is always the one to give you your pills. He likes knowing you rely on him, and while he’d never deprive you of the meds you need, he’s not above making it seem like he might. So everyday he makes you ask oh so nicely if you can have your pills. 

Uvogin- the least obsessive about your health of these three, uvogin feels confident that if you could take your pills before you can still be trusted now that you’re living with him. Of course, if you prove him wrong about that he’ll have to adjust his strategy, but he wants you to maintain some level of independence, even if you never get to leave your shared home. He will remind you if there’s a chance you forgot them, but other than that, he leaves it to you. He also never threatens to take them from you, because he knows he’d never be able to hurt you like that. 

Yanderes who will take your meds from you as a punishment, who don't mind being the bad guy and taking something you desperately need if it makes you behave. And you’re always so grateful when you get them back, so just be good and don't make them mad, and you’ll get to keep your meds. 

Phinks, shalnark 

Phinks- he doesn't want to take your meds from you, afterall, you’re so much happier when you're on them, and he loves when you're happy. But after seeing how desperately you need those pills, and how you’d do almost anything to get to keep them, he realizes that taking them is the perfect threat. He won't hesitate to take them from you if you refuse to follow his rules, but he’s always willing to give them back once you settle down and start behaving. 

Shalnark- he doesn't mind taking your meds from you if he has to. While he fell in love with your smile and your laugh, your tears are equally beautiful. And if you can't leave to behave, you’ll have to be punished, and really, this is quite tame compared to what he could do. He’ll mock you all while youre without your pills as well, teasing that if you were good this wouldn't have to happen. So really, it’s your fault. But once you learn to behave, he gives them back gladly, ecstatic to see your smile return in the following days. 

Yanderes with a more complicated relationship with your meds, who can't seem to settle into any certain schedule with them. Why should you need these pills when you have them to care for you? Why should you need these pills when you have them to make you happy? Would it really be so bad if they took them from you? But they soon realize that you do need the pills, and they relent. These yanderes are hard to predict in this regard.  

Feitan, illumi 

Feitan- he doesn't mind you taking these meds in theory, but he hates knowing you're so reliant on something like medicine for your happiness. He wishes you didn't need the meds, both because he wants to be all you need and also because he has to supply you with your meds, and getting them is a hassle. For a long while he tries to take you off them completely, but eventually he learns life is easier if he lets you take your pills. 

Illumi- he is on some level offended that you have to take these meds. Shouldn't you be happy just to be with him? Shouldn't you be more grateful? At first, he thinks you're just throwing a fit when you become so distant after he takes them away. But as the punishments stack up and you dont relent, he realizes you do actually need them. He gives them back to you when you’re behaving well, but as soon as you start to act up he takes them away again. 

--------------------

[lexirosewrites]

hello again, it's the eddie's leather jacket candle anon! i wanted to submit something for slick sunday last week but couldn't think of anything, and then at 1am monday this popped into my head while i was trying to sleep lol. based on the idea that you smell like the people you're around a lot or were recently near

thinking about b!steve, overcompensating for being a beta by trying to be perfect instead. he tries to get good grades, does his best at sports, gets in with the popular crowd, dutifully obeys his father's stubborn insistence on taking the stupid vitamins for his stupid deficiency everyday... only for canon events to happen, and effort is worthless without promising results in the eyes of his alpha parents.

the summer of ’86, steve gets in a fight to end all fights with his parents when they find out about his “dalliances with” (crush on) a!eddie, and b!robin and her parents offer their basement for as long as steve needs it. robin shares a bathroom with steve and notices the pill bottle she keeps in there is emptying faster than normal. when she asks if he’s been taking some of her pills, he shrugs and apologizes for using her vitamins without asking, but they were the same kind he’s been taking since puberty hit and he’ll buy more if she’ll tell him which drugstore carries it since he can’t seem to find it on his own.

except they’re puberty blockers. omega puberty blockers. robin takes them on purpose because having a period is enough trouble without the heats, but steve has everything he’s ever known about himself and his life as a harrington turned on its head. a lot of the things he’d been scolded for (things that in hindsight are omega traits, like the “stomachaches” he gets every 3 months because of his “vitamin deficiency”) suddenly make a lot of sense. they call joyce, who lives in hawkins again and has dealt with a son going through omega puberty, and ask for her advice. through their combined research, steve concludes the best course of action is to taper his dose until he’s completely weaned off the blocker, that way the change doesn’t happen all at once.

cut to a month later. at hellfire, which now takes place in the basement of wayne’s new government hush-money house, eddie notes that dustin smells weird different, to which dustin replies he’s using a new deodorant and he even showered right before he got here today and why the fuck are alpha noses so frickin’ sensitive. eddie says whatever, as long as it keeps the BO out of his nostrils.

eddie smells dustin’s oddly pleasant strong new deodorant when he goes to make a return at family video. he asks robin if she started using the same deodorant as dustin and she whacks him in the head with the tape because no, dingus, dustin was here earlier borrowing neverending story again, dingus. when eddie asks why steve isn’t there for him to flirt with, robin says he had to go home sick. eddie eagerly offers to bring steve cold medicine or food or go to keep him company, but robin shuts that down harsher than necessary. eddie can take a hint, steve just needs the day off. as he leaves, the familiar beamer in the parking lot doesn’t strike him as odd.

jonathan doesn’t usually ask eddie for weed, especially since argyle has way better shit, but eddie stops by the byers-hopper residence anyway for a covert drop. he runs into joyce, who apparently shares the same taste in deodorant as dustin, and asks why everyone’s getting the same new deodorant, only for her to tell him that the only thing that’s changed with her is nursing steve back to health from his terrible cold. they seem to reach a realization at the same time, and eddie decides he needs to ask steve where the hell he’s getting this deodorant and why it smells better from him than when dustin wears it. (joyce, infinitely wiser in her years, reaches the correct conclusion.)

eddie manages to sneak via window into the basement where steve is staying, bringing a care package: cold medicine, a hot thermos of wayne’s soup, and a few cassettes of Actually Good music. the plan is to hang out for a few hours, maybe set the mood a little, and if eddie can’t actually get the words out he can play the cassette that contains a recited confession on how much eddie likes steve and his stupid, sexy everything and could steve please, please, please think about giving eddie a chance. he only gets halfway through the window, then falls in the rest of the way at the sight and smell and sound of steve in a full-blown heat, wearing eddie’s battle vest and fingering his dripping cunt while mewling eddie’s name. eddie can only appreciate the situation for 2 seconds tops before the panic and instincts kick in. he bursts into the house’s ground floor, tosses the care package to a bewildered robin, and halfway out the door yells that his rut just triggered and he needs to leave.

after a few very turbulent days, eddie’s planning a new strategy for How to Woo Steve Harrington when steve himself barges into eddie’s room and kisses him senseless. they talk about steve being an omega, their mutual attraction, and what that all means in the long run, which leads to flirting and ends with steve deepthroating eddie and eddie eating out steve’s pussy.

a year later, eddie tenderly kisses the mating bite on steve’s neck as they cradle their newborn child.

Steve’s omega status being hidden/suppressed by his parents for years is so genuinely awful… and such great angst. he believed them so completely that his entire identity is altered and he has to learn how to function as an omega, but Eddie will take care of him and treat him right!!! this is adorable😭💕

[fandomxo00]

Ok but imagine:

You find X-24 and the children, bringing them to safety.

You had joined in on the mission later on, helping control x-24, you had been transferred after the incident with Laura. Who since your accident had been able to escape along with several other children. But tonight, you had done it, you had found the kids, stopped the Alkali minions. You didn't know much about X-24 when you were put on him, but you knew that he was completely brainwashed. You didn't have much time to get to know him, try to get to trust you. You knew that under Alkali's control that there was no way you could stop him. But if you could escape, ween him off of green serum that enhanced his abilities but made him easily manipulated. He trusted the people in the lab and with his inhibitions numbed. X-24 or you've deemed James didn't have control over himself, he had no confidence in making any decisions on his own. They whipped him into the perfect solider.

You started visited him when he was in his room, he was locked away when he wasn't on the serum. Usually verily locked down so no one but Dr. Rice and Pierce had access to him. You were well regarded here, from the beginning, you'd been going underground. All the side-tracks, all the little things that would go wrong were from you. It came from an overall plan to free the young mutant children and others who were controlled by Transigen. They would give him a simple command and he knew how to follow through. He had trigger words that while he was on the serum, had him easily bending to their will and become a killing machine.

It tore at you the way they treated him like a dog. James is severely abused and when you'd visit him. All you would do is offer him a Snickers bar and ask him if he wanted you to read. He always silently took the chocolate bar and whispered, "Yes". It was routine that you established with him. Then one day you slid a note in with the snickers bar, it was a simple joke. 'Why was the broom late for school? It over-swept.' You heard him huff out his nose, as you watched a small smile quirk as his mouth before falling. He could read. Then the next time you swept in a different one, "I'm working on getting you and others out of here." You heard a scoff before he crushed the paper in his hand before throwing it back through the bars.

"Don't care." His dark voice grumbled. You stared over at X-24, trying to fill in the gaps that they wouldn't tell you. You weren't exactly sure how he came to be but only he would know. But you were learning that he wasn't a robot or emotionless. He could react, feel and think for himself. The number of different medications and drugs they had him on numbed him to a point where he truly became brainwashed. Then you got in control of his medications, coming into his cell every morning. He noticed something changed, no one else could, it wasn't their business to know what he took. You knew that you'd gotten him on lower doses, planning to ween him off the substance. You knew the green serum would be nearly impossible to wean him off of while they still wanted to use him.

One day, he'd already been sat up in bed when you rolled around, a tired dazed look on his face as his eyes focused on you. You tried not to look into his eyes, they were very dark in nature but shown a mossy green. James' hand placed over wrist as you went to hand him his medication. His eyes gazed into yours as he dipped his chin in acknowledged, your smiled over at him before dropping the pills in his hand. Your other hand slipping a note into his hand resting as his side. He clasped his hand shoving the note into his pocket before swallowing back the pills as you moved to hand him the water.

He was very drugged up when Dr. Rice got ahold of him, pushing you to the side to take full control. Making him murder The Wolverine and though he was feral enough to kill all on his own accord, he wouldn't have done that. You watched as he hesitated, or slowly moved, he didn't want to do it. James had no autonomy over himself, and you planned on giving that back to him. So when he woke up in a farmhouse, with you trying to poke a needle into his arms, let's just say he was surprised. Throwing himself off the table and sweeping behind you, wrapping his arm around your neck. Your hand coming to his forearm, "James-it's me." You squeaked. "Please."

When he looked down at you, he instantly relaxed, "I'm sorry." He croaked, his hands coming to your shoulders as he groaned. Pain was written all over his face.

"You need to lay down, your coming off alot of drugs all at once."

"You saved me." James replied, as you stared over at him, heaving out a breath.

"That was the plan."

"But you got the kids out, I could've just died." You've never heard him speak this much, the rawness in his voice told you that he didn't talk much. Something you picked up from the beginning, you almost wondered if they controlled by a computer. But he some autonomy in his body and it had been easier because you started sooner. "You came back for me."

"You didn't deserve to be treated that way." You breathed, shrugging. Your hand coming to his shoulder to push him back on to the table. "They are getting a bed ready for you, but for now rest." James' hand came up to yours, holding on tightly as breathed heavily. There was a heavy weight in his hand settling on him as his temples began to pound.

"You're an angel." You blushed at his raw voice muttering the compliment, looking away feel slightly uncomfortable but he squeezed your hand before letting go. Your hand came to his chest, rubbing the firm muscle as his eyes fluttered shut. His eyes resting as his hand relaxed, you moved the blanket back over him, leaving him be for the time remaining.

tags: @ohtobemare @jessjessmarvelandhp @chronicallybubbly @delicateholland @bubblegumholland @mega-kittyglitter-1

[strangebiology]

How wrong words become wrong numbers

There's a viral video of nurses saying "this is me 12 hours before my shift" looking nice, then "this is me 12 hours after my shift," looking haggard and tired.

The implication is nonsense--12 hours before and after your shift is when you're in bed, at the grocery store, or on another shift. Why are you looking so tired if your shift ended 12 hours ago?

OK, I understand, I know what they meant, I get it! They meant to say "before and after my 12-hour shift." That is the only logical explanation. It's fine! I get the joke! No hate!

I know some people do not care how numbers work and want to tell me "you must be fun at parties! You and your technicalities! Those two sentences mean the same thing! You can't expect regular people to know the difference between two sentences that have most of the same words in them!"

But like...I...think you generally should try to understand numbers...

Imagine if you're on a dose of a medication that is 100 milligrams/day. Through reasonable testing and logic and...however medical professionals decide these things...it is decided your dose should be increased by 25%. Great.

Imagine one of these nurses wrote down that your dose should be 25 times what it was. Now you're taking 2500 milligrams or 2.5 grams per day.

And now you're dead.

Or it could be something even simpler.

"OK Mrs. Fancy Pants!" says the hypothetical innumerate nurse. "It's not my fault the pharmacist is too dumb to know what I mean when I say 25 times! Fine, I'll write the new dose should be 25 percent of what it was! Happy?"

Now your dose is 25 milligrams per day. It was supposed to be 25% more than 100 milligrams/day, which is 125 milligrams/day. You're dead again!

"But I'm not a doctor so it doesn't matter!"

It might matter to you one day. What if you're the one taking the pills? The doc says one pill every two days, and that sounds like the same thing as two pills every one day, right? Nope! DEAD AGAIN!

There are also many examples of scamming people because they don't understand numbers. It would be pretty unwise to sign a lease agreement that simply said "rent is 900." If my friend told me that, I would assume they mean "rent costs USD$900.00 per month." I understand the implication between trusted friends and casual conversation!

But in a contract with someone sketch? Maybe they mean 900 Bitcoins per minute. Some things have to be specific.

There is actually a whole scammy-ass company, ClickaSnap, that banks on the idea that their audience doesn't understand the difference between a dollar and a penny. It sounds like a mistake that no one would make, but they are fairly sneaky about it. In this video, the videographer says, "They're going to pay you 90 cents per view per photo." Wow, that's a lot!

The image on the screen says, "up to 0.90 cents per view." The "up to" has a lot of qualifications, including paying them a monthly subscription, and they don't say why anyone would go to that website to look at pics anyway. And what's that decimal doing there? Does a decimal...change a number?

It's not 90 cents per view. It's .9 cents per qualified view. That is 9/10ths of a penny. (The same mistake is here and there were a bunch more but I think TT took some down.) I understand it's probably because 90 cents is sometimes written as $0.90--yes, those are the same--but that dollar sign is important! 0.90 DOLLARS is different than 0.90 PENNIES.

Anyway! Just wanted to warn you to be careful of the interactions between numbers and words, especially when it's important!

[chosetherose]

The Fortnight video foreshadows the convergence of Taylor Swift and her brand

In her videos, Taylor has continually played with the idea of herself as a person versus as a brand. These portrayals have almost been adversarial in nature. Think about the relationship between the two life sized Anti-Hero Taylors. The hooded robot Taylor who got to exist in the world while her bare counterpart was trapped in glass. Etc.

The Fortnight video introduces similar characters but flips the script because there isn’t a me versus her dynamic anymore. Instead, there is a story about coming together.

A scene by scene breakdown:

Taylor Swift™️ is chained to a bed in a white gown with a spicy slit and garter. A faceless nurse enters walking upside down on the ceiling (a continued theme suggestive of PR games). The nurse presents “Forget Him” pills, arguably reminiscent of a dark time where the world thought they could “cure” homosexuality. After Taylor Swift™️ begrudgingly takes her dose, the nurse unchains her.

We then see Taylor Swift™️ approach a two way mirror and wipe the mask off her face, revealing face tattoos we know to be Post Malone’s in real life. This reveal is setting the scene that within this video Post Malone represents Taylor’s inner self, her true soul behind the veil of celebrity. I’ll call him True Taylor.

Next, the mask is back and we see Taylor Swift™️ walk out of the observation room and into the workspace. She goes from wearing a leggy white gown with garter to a fully covered black poet-esque dress. She isn’t dressed for voyeuristic eyes anymore, she’s dressed to work on her art. I love this light to dark transition because black can be seen as the absence of light. Fitting for a tortured poet who can’t live her truth in public with her sunny muse by her side.

Note that we don’t get to see black dress Taylor Swift™️ through the two way mirror. She exists behind the bright lights of fame, making art in a room hidden from our view. Maybe the pills numb her enough to twist the art for an audience who likes to her to be chained to a bed while they watch her suffer.

But wait Taylor Swift™️ and True Taylor are collaborating. They start work separately but their art eventually drifts out of their typewriters, combining into a white light that bursts into a rainbow. Remember how I said black light is the absence of light? Well white light is comprised of all hues on the visible light spectrum.

We know there are layers to Taylor’s music: the surface layers chock full with to red herrings for the grocery line Swifties and the deeper layers of Taylor’s truth. They both exist in the art, swirled together.

But here is where things start to feel different. We cut to True Taylor and Taylor Swift™️ away from all those faceless people - they are alone in the middle of a road. That in itself is ridiculously symbolic of being on the way to somewhere (maybe brighter days). But there’s more because they are dressed identically, laying inside Taylor’s head that is made up of their art. This scene is like bonking us on the head that these two people are one and the same.

Note: The silhouette here is from the Style video which also portrays Taylor’s inner self as a man.

Taylor Swift™️ runs to True Taylor and they embrace in the middle of the road as pages of their art float around them. In the chaos, Taylor Swift™️ reaches out to True Taylor.

Maybe this scene is suggesting the public version of Taylor is ready to embrace her real self.

Then we see Taylor Swift™️ strapped to a table, wild hair from dropping the hairpins we saw in the opening scene. The drugs aren’t working, it must be time to escalate to shock therapy. The men around her gather and there is literally a sign in the background that says “Master Control”.

But one of the men in the room making decisions for the brand is actually True Taylor, who has been there all this time.

Enough is enough when True Taylor can’t take the pain and pulls the plug on the procedure, freeing public persona Taylor from torture.

Next we see True Taylor, familiarly encased behind glass, on a phone call. Perhaps making plans while safe from the rain. Taylor Swift™️ is elevated on a pedestal, out in the storm, in her best dress FEARLESS! Credit to @rep-princess-witch who put the fearless connection together in another post.

I’ll say it again, that is the huge difference in this video compared to others. Here, Taylor Swift™️ is not an antagonist, she is ready to brave the storm.

So what does she do? She’s back in the workspace burning all the files. It’s not without emotion but it’s necessary. We then see a stoic Taylor Swift™️ with no regrets.

After burning the files she’s back in the observation room. It’s time to fight back against the voyeurs and she does so by smashing the glass between her and them. She regains her agency by squashing their ability to hide. Shes deserting her past life.

Note: We don’t see True Taylor back inside. This fight is specifically for Taylor’s public persona.

In the closing seen, we see True Taylor leave shelter, step outside into the storm, and reach for Taylor Swift™️. The person and the public persona are weathering the storm hand in hand.

*Please check out @heyitsmoog on TikTok - he shared thoughts there that inspired me to make this post.*

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 16

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You sit in another hard plastic chair, this time in an office. You can still hear the chaos of the hospital wing out the walls, a constant reminder of why you’re there. You sit with your elbow on the armrest, your chin in your hand as you bite your fingertips.

The nurse, or nurse practitioner, you don’t know the difference, sits across from you, making notes about your last response. Her questions are pointless. She’s asking about your day, well, it’s obvious that’s not going well. And your hobbies. What do those matter? You don’t do anything so you don’t have an answer for that.

She smiles across at you as she clears her throat. The sort of smile dripping in pity. You get it a lot from the old ladies at the grocery store when they see you helping your mother.

“Have you ever had a period where you felt down? Not just for a week or two but, in fact, for many weeks and, perhaps, months?” She asks.

You don’t answer right away. You push your shoulder up and sit back, dropping your hand to your lap. You frown and look at the ceiling.

“Hm, I guess. Sometimes... yeah.”

All the time.

“Along with that, did you find you had no energy, had no interest in things, and overall had great difficulty functioning?”

Functioning? In what way? Going outside? Smiling? Feeling anything but heavy dread? Not crying until your eyes are raw? Having friends?

“Sure, but uh, I take care of my mom. I don’t have time... sometimes...I get tired.”

"Right,” she scribbles noisily with her pen, “Has this ever happened to you before?”

“Has what happened?” You make yourself look at her.

“These bouts of sadness?”

“My mom is sick. It makes me sad.”

“What about today? You said that you... lost track of time.”

“I’m... my mom... I didn’t sleep well... I don’t know.”

She hums and nods. She pauses as she reads over her folder and puts the pen down. She crosses her arms over the desk.

“It’s normal for caretakers to suffer from depression. You’re taking on a lot so there’s no need to be ashamed. You did so well being so honest today. Really. It makes it easier for us to help you,” she smiles again. What about any of this is happy? “I’m going to write you a prescription. Just a few doses for now, okay? To help you through. And we’ll schedule a follow-up with a psychiatrist.”

“A psychiatrist?” You utter, your eyes hot with tear. “I’m not crazy.”

“That’s not... crazy, we don’t speak like that. And you’re not. You’re hurting and you need relief. That’s all,” she explains, “so, the pills I’m going to send you off with. I want you to be very careful, okay? No alcohol. They’re going to make you drowsy so no driving either.”

“But... my mom doesn’t drive. She can’t.”

“It’s just for a few days. You might want to consider looking into some of the local services. You can find a home nurse to come help out if you qualify,” she gets up and goes to a cabinet against the wall, “I have some pamphlets. You can take them with you and I’ll have someone find you with some samples of the pills. That way, you don’t need to pay, alright?”

Your lips trembles and you bite it to keep it still. You nod and stand as you flick the wetness from your eyes, “can I go?”

“Sure, I’m sure your mom will be ready to see you soon,” she approaches you with a handful of glossy leaflets. “I’ll walk you out.”

You take the pamphlets and she follows you to the door. You step into the hall as she stays close, “Mr. Rogers,” she calls over your shoulder as Steve sits in the hall waiting, “she’s all good. Got her sorted.”

“Great, uh, well, good news,” he stands, rubbing his lowers back, “your mom’s awake.” He announces, “can finally get off this stiff chair.”

“See, that’s wonderful,” the nurse nudges your arm, “I’ll have the medications brought to her room. Have a good day, hon.”

You clutch the pamphlets and stare at Steve’s chest. He points you down the hall and walks beside you.

“Everything go okay? What was that she said about medication?”

“Pills.”

“Pills? For what?” He prompts as he leads you along the hallway.

“Depression.”

“Oh.”

You look down, “guess I might be. I don’t know.”

“You work really hard, sweetie. You’re not invincible,” he comforts and rubs your back. You wince at his unexpected touch, “all this stress...” he trails off and reaches for the pamphlets in your hands. You let him take one, “what’s this?”

He reads as he walks, unbothered by the nurses rushing by and the cleaners in their grey scrubs.

“Home nurse? Hm, that might be a good option,” he clucks, “or maybe... I wouldn’t mind helping out, you know? I know it’s early days but I think we’ve gotten really close.” He folds up the paper and hands it back, “me and your mom... us too, I think.”

You shrug and drag your soles on the floor. He reads the door number as you reach your mom’s room and he waves you in ahead of him. You keep your head down as you go past the curtain as he directs you from behind. You stand at the foot of the bed, too afraid to look up.

“I’m starving,” your mother snarls. She sounds like herself, just tired.

You peek up and your eyes round. She scowls at you as she lays tangled in tubes. You quiver in relief. She’s alive and she seems mostly okay.

“What’re you staring at?” She sneers, “I know I look like death. I feel like it too.”

“Holly,” Steve steps forward, “thank god.” He comes to her side, “we were so worried.”

“Heh,” she snorts.

“Really, when I found you...” he tries to block you out as he lowers his voice, “you never told me you weren’t supposed to drink.”

“Never bothered me much before,” she dismisses, “figured it was just a precaution.”

“Excuse me,” a voice comes from the doorway and you look over at a young man in blue scrubs. He says your name, “I have some samples for you.”

You turn and wave meekly, confirming your identity. He enters and hands you several boxes secured together with a thick elastic.

“Directives on the side,” he points to the folded paper also looped under the rubber band.

“Thanks,” you say and he leaves you just as quickly.

Your turn back to your mom as her eyes center on you. She looks horrible. Sickly. Worse than you’ve ever seen her.

“What’s all that then?” She scoffs.

You try to hide the boxes under your arm and shake your head.

“Typical. She’s gotta get her share of attention.”

“Holly,” Steve girds, disappointment harshening his tone, “she was sick with worry over you. The nurse gave her those to calm down.” He grips the bedrail until his knuckles pale, “she has depression, you know? All the stress--”

“Stress?” Your mom rolls her eyes, “I didn’t realise she was the sick one. She’s not depressed, she’s lazy.”

Silence. Stifling, suffocating silence. You lower your chin, “it’s... I probably won’t take any of it. I was just... in shock. I’m sure I’m fine.”

“But the nurse said--” Steve begins, “you’re going to at least try it. You never know, it could help. And if it doesn’t, it doesn’t.”

“Oh, don’t baby her. She’s grown,” your mom’s too out of it to filter her spite. You see the disgust in Steve’s expression as he looks at her.

“Holly, please, she’s your daughter.”

“I know who she is,” she snarls, “why are you taking her side anyway? She doesn’t need pills. It’s just another excuse.”

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, “I’m gonna chalk this up to whatever they’re pumping you full of. Holly, you’re not thinking straight. I know you would say all that to her.”

“Stop defending her. She’s not as innocent as she pretends.”

He shakes his head and glances over at you, “look, you just woke up, you’re out of it. I get it. Let’s just all calm down.”

“She’s a sniveling little brat,” she barks as she leans back. “This is all her fault. She knew I wasn’t supposed to drink. She didn’t stop me.”

Steve blanches and his eyes cling to you. You see the chagrin lined in his forehead. You look away in shame. You never wanted a witness to your mother’s wrath. That’s worse than facing her alone. It’s humiliating.

[bogleech]

I know this is going to be a silly question but I’m being put on adderall potentially soon and I have an anxiety about taking it because I watched that Netflix documentary about individuals who were put on it but had super adverse side effects or are unable to come off their high doses except by tapering off insanely slowly. It got me wondering about how likely it is for someone to become physically dependent on it or have such strong side effects that their physical health becomes a danger. The documentary was called “take your pills” or something along that line and since you take them I was wondering if the documentary was largely sensationalist or if these larger issues of taking adderall are due? Maybe some of your followers are familiar with what I’m talking about if you’re not?

Yeah that entire doc sounds like fearmongering lies. ANY medication can disagree with some people, there are allergies and sensitivities, but if you for-sure have ADHD then adderall will typically do nothing but calm down the topic-jumping of your brain, or just not really do anything at all. A tiny portion of people report that it made them feel shitty or "zombie-like." This is the first I've ever heard that anyone had to "taper off it." My ADHD symptoms themselves cause me to constantly forget doses. Sometimes I remember to take it every day for a month, then something throws me off and I forget for the whole next month. More often I'm just remembering to take it a few times a week, scattered randomly between days of forgetting. One reason it's so easy for me to forget is that I don't physically feel any different either way. There are no repercussions or "withdrawals" or anything at all noticeable if I miss any number of doses at any moment, and sometimes I only realize I missed a bunch because I'll evaluate how much I've gotten done, and when I've missed the adderall I find out I've wasted a whole lot more time lost in random thoughts or doomscrolling instead of finishing work. When I do take it I am someone it definitely works for because suddenly I achieve a reasonable if still imperfect level of productivity and focus. If those people interviewed were even real, they were one-in-a-million extremes, probably just outright allergic to something or other in the pill, or their entire diagnosis was wrong. Otherwise it's more likely the whole thing was scripted misinformation.

[call-sign-shark]

✨Angel in Distress✨

Summary: Hangman always takes care of you, but what happens when he discovers that you’re pregnant? Bonus: Bob AGAIIIIIN.

(Part 1: Angel in Disguise || Part 3: Angel in Panic)

Words: 1,5k

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, mention of unprotected sex, funny, extreme fluff

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A second red line appeared on the pregnancy test you held between your hands.

Your heart skipped a beat at such a sight. It all started with Phoenix and you sitting on the warm sand of the beach, discussing boys. While not mentioning Hangman, you told her you had a friend with benefits and that, caught in the middle of the heat,  both of you often forgot about condoms but you were taking the pill, so you never worried about getting pregnant. Even though Phoenix laughed and teased you, she still warned you: birth controls, especially low-dose ones, are not 100% effective. All it took was forgetting it a few times. Her words felt like a punch in the guts. Admittedly you had not been consistent with your birth control lately, for the Uranium mission and Mav’s difficult trainings occupied all your thoughts. By the end of the day, you frequently released the stress with Hangman through steamy intercourses, then you took your shower and fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. Natasha had barely left when you rushed to the local drugstore to buy two pregnancy tests coming from two different brands, which both turned out positive.

“I’m fucked.”  

These were the only words that came from your lips, carried by your shaky breathing.  You, a skilled and dauntless naval aviator who never thought about building a family, were pregnant. Even worse, the one whose seed belonged to was a cocky pilot who did not seem to want a serious and stable relationship. You pressed one of your cold palms against your forehead, eyes wide open in awe as you realized the whole situation. Your child’s father was Jake Hangman Seresin. Your heart pounded so hard in your chest that, at this point, you were pretty sure it was about to burst your ribcage open. Crippling anxiety crept through your body, weighting in your chest, and forming a ball of sobs in your throat. 

“Are you okay?” You heard Jake’s voice through the bathroom’s door.

Silence. 

The tall pilot frowned, a hint of worry glimmering in his beautiful green eyes. He waited one full minute before grabbing the handle and opening the door. His gaze caught sight of your trembling frame, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Back bent, teary eyes set on a pregnancy test you were holding between your hands, you remained petrified.

“Hey babe, what happens?” He asked, quietly. Jake did not see the pregnancy test yet, so for a moment he thought he did something bad. 

“This,” you answered in a calm yet cold voice, “This,” you repeated, showing him the positive pregnancy test. It did not take more than a few seconds for Jake to understand the whole situation. Millions of thoughts rushed to his brain, fogging his mind with fear, anxiety, surprise, and confusion. Paralyzed by the crushing news, all he could do was stand there, mouth open like an idiot. The confident and arrogant Hangman had been replaced by a stupid-looking scarecrow. To be true, you would have laughed your arse off if you were not the one pregnant. 

“You don’t want this, do you?” You said softly, your sweet voice candy-coated with undeniable sadness.  The pregnancy test fell from your hands, for you released it gently on the ground. Jake did not answer, he was unable to do so. The cocky pilot is still staring at you, his green emerald eyes observing each delicate feature of your face as if he expected to find a solution hidden in them. His silence broke your heart - what were you expecting? You were not officially together. Gosh, he did not even love you.

“Yeah, you’re totally ecstatic” You spat sarcasm as a snake spitting poison, “Nevermind, do what you do the best and leave me hanging.”  This time you had to turn your head to the side, unable to keep yourself from crying anymore. Crystal tears started to overflow from your eyes, forming wild rivers on your cheeks.

How could you be so beautiful, even when you were crying? Hangman shook his head, coming back to his senses.

“Listen-”

“Serves me right to love the adrenaline of fucking you! Now I’m fucking pregnant, you’re going to leave and I’ll have to stop flying in my jet  for at least 9 freaking months!” You started sobbing, hugging yourself in your cold arms. Usually, you made a point of honor not to show any weakness to Hangman, but it was all too much to handle. “I’m so scared…” You whispered to yourself, almost forgetting Jake’s presence. Somehow, your unconscious already did not rely on him to help you.

Jake gathered all his remaining strength, overcoming his own anxiety, and walked towards you. He placed himself between your legs and fell on his knees. His two large and warm hands gently laid on your thighs, massaging their inner parts with his thumbs. 

“Then we can be scared together.” 

You stopped crying, awestruck by what he just said. Yet, you probably misheard him. Confused, your glimmering eyes looked at him. Jake’s heart melt when your mesmerizing gaze met his: a faint but oh-so-sincere smile stretched his thin lips as he enjoyed the magnificent sight of your face.  Your eyes tearing, your sad pout, you looked like an angel someone just hurt. The pilot took a deep breath. From the moment he carried you to bed, kissing your lips in that dark corridor, Jake knew he was fucked. He, who had never fallen in love, was smitten. Smitten with the fearless yet vulnerable pilot you were. And this time, he did not want to fuck it all up.

“I know what you think about me, and I can’t blame you. Hell, I would have probably run away if it had not been you - and I’m not proud of that. But - “ He paused, taking another deep breath in an attempt to organize his thoughts and feelings “ I’ll hold your hand. No matter what happens to us in this life, I’ll be always there to hold your hand.” 

“But you don’t love me. You keep telling me we’re just having fun, no strings attached.” You shook your head. “Why would-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Jake cut you in the middle of your sentence, only to gently cup your adorable face with his hands. His emerald eyes dove into yours, probing your very soul, “Did you ever wonder how you would wake up cozy in your bed after falling asleep in the meeting room?  Did you wonder why your fridge never runs out of your favorite drink?” His voice is a bit strict, even though his tone is still coated with tenderness, “Never wondered how there’s always a bucket, a bottle of water, and ibuprofen on your nightstand after you wasted yourself at the Hard Deck?” 

“Jake.” You blinked several times.

“I am anxious each time I lost sight of your plane during training and missions. I get fucking jealous every time a dude tries to hit on you” He laughed nervously, shaking his head. Jake’s thumbs gently rubbed your cheeks, “So don’t ever tell me I don’t love you,” 

Your heart sunk at his words and your mind gave up all anger at the mere sight of Hangman’s perfect smile. You sniffed, nose a bit runny because of your sobs, and Jake found you even more charming. Unable to proceed properly with what he just said, your tongue reacted quicker than your brain.

“All I want to do is punch you in the face but I love you so much so I don’t mean it.” You pouted, freeing your face from his hands like a sulking kid. Jake could not help but laugh. A hearty laugh, “Fuck, we’re going to have a baby… Got a baby Seresin in my belly…” You whispered, still not believing it, “ What are we going to do now, Jake?” 

“I’m going to tell you what we’re going to do.” Jake stood up, his soothing smile turning into his casual cocky, and flat-lipped grin, the kind of grin that made you want to slap his face but also made you want to spread your legs, “Come here!” Without the slightest warning, the blonde pilot carried you bride-style.

“Uh? What the hell Jake?!” You shout, surprised by being suddenly lifted from the edge of the bathtub you were sitting on.

“Well, I’m going to put you in your bed and cover you with warm, cozy blankets. Then, I’m going to buy a huge cup of ice cream we’re going to eat in front of your favorite movie. Disney included. The only exceptions are musicals.” He said, kicking the bathroom door open and laying your body on the comfortable mattress with indescribable tenderness, “Got it?”

“Got it.” You answered with a slight small, your heart beating hard.

Jake winked at you and left the bedroom. Admittedly, he was terrified. He had never thought about having a baby, and here he was, ready to buy ice cream for his pregnant girlfriend. Hell, he was afraid, but he could not deny the sparkle of joy he felt within. He had always been a family man.

As long as you were beside him, he knew everything would be fine. 

He closed the bedroom door, turned around, and jumped at the sudden apparition of Bob behind him.

“WHAT THE FUCK MAN! I’m really going to put a damn bell around your neck!” He grumbled, pressing one hand against his pounding heart. “How come you always appear in that damn dark hallway, out of no-fucking-where?” 

“Told ya, I snack at night.”  The tall WSO said, readjusting his glasses on his nose awkwardly. He stared at Jake for a while, silently.

“What’s your problem, Floyd?” Jake asked, slightly embarrassed. 

“You should buy strawberries alongside ice cream. And chocolate. A lot of chocolate. My Aunt would not stop eating chocolate when she was pregnant.” 

Jake opened his mouth, struck with surprise. He looked at Bob as if he was some kind of wizard. How the hell did he know that? Bob was starting to scare the hell out of him.

Witnessing the stupefied look on Hangman’s face, the WSO shrugged and opened his own bedroom door. Yet, he took a quick last glance at Jake.

“By the way… Don’t fuck it up, Bagman. She needs you.” He said, before disappearing into his room. 

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2 prompts used from @marvelhead17's pregnancy prompts

[drdemonprince]

CW: suicide, commitment, psychosis

My sibling is someone who unequivocally says being committed saved their life and was not inherently traumatic outside of the extremely traumatic mental health crisis that led to it. (However, our local psych ER/psych inpatient is probably one of the better ones and does not use any kind of restraints or force medication. They seem to have an okay track record explaining what the pills are and asking if the person can try them, which I get can still be coercive in some cases, but worked well with my sibling. Also, I was visiting them as much as I could every day, which they found really helpful, and I could keep my eye out for any issues.)

My sibling (~30) had a severe psychotic episode that doesn't quite fit any current DSM diagnosis. They went 0 to 100 from no suicidal ideation to actively attempting suicide in front of me due to delusions about being hunted by supernatural entities who would torture them. They finally could not sleep for days, and therefore I could not go to sleep because they'd try to kill themself. They were not dangerous to me intentionally, but one or both of us could have been hurt by me trying to take a weapon from them. They could not think at all outside of panic and delusions and had no short term memory, so they describe themself as having been incapable of understanding their condition. They weren't able to engage with any social interventions, because how would you have the time or bandwidth if you were living in terror of demons about to torture you and couldn't remember conversations from an hour ago?

They went to the hospital voluntarily after being stopped from attempting, but then they were committed because of aforementioned memory issues when they shortly informed the doctors they had to leave and kill themself. In a moment of lucidity, they were glad to be there, but they just couldn't stay lucid from moment to moment. Trying to get outpatient help in the weeks all this was escalating had been fruitless, with a lot of dismissive assholes, but these particular inpatient docs actually cared and asked how they were doing and figured out a dose of antipsychotics that made it all just... stop like a switch had been flipped.

Once they weren't operating under the terrifying delusions, they 100% did not want to die and were so relieved I stopped them and got help from others when it was becoming too dangerous to us both for me to intervene alone. I get that this kind of crisis is really different from living with chronic suicidal ideation or depression, which is something I personally deal with on a low level, but it was a genuine, terrifying situation where someone's expressed wishes were the opposite of what they wanted when they could understand their situation more fully.

I am allowed to share this, but if this is somehow not on anon, please delete it. Stigma about psychosis is REAL.

Yo this is super helpful, thank you for sharing. One of the trickier aspects of upholding disabled people's autonomy and taking a harm reductionist approach to suicide and self-harm is the fact that people in a state of psychosis may temporarily want something they would otherwise never want.

Though with some experience working through it with a caring and informed support network, it is possible to stand in for the person's stated desires and help them get through the period of lacking lucidity -- and of course psychosis can become a lot less destabilizing with time. i know someone who relies on a close friend to help ground them when they're having delusions and hallucinations -- a quick phone call is now enough to convince them they don't need to kill themselves, but that's after years of getting used to having psychotic states.

glad you and your sibling found solutions and made it through this okay.

[firstkanaphans]

i have this habit of reading ao3 before i sleep or i just won't get sleep (yeah i am a teenager with effed up sleep habits)

and i realised that there are not enough sickfics in the firstkhao fandom 😭😭 like there are a few under akkaye but nothing under sandray (i don't remember if there is anything under alangaipa cause there is probably nothing)

so obviously i have a request to my fav writer which is PLEASE GIVE ME SICKFICS DJDNDNNSJDND

the absolute tenderness of looking after your lover, trying to shield them from it all and them just clinging on to you... I WILL CRY

i would love to read any sickfic from you, be it any fk couple. hope you dont mind this request <3

Anon, I really hope you're still around to read this because I know it's been ages since you requested it, but look! I wrote you a SandRay sick!fic. I hope you enjoy 💕 Word Count: 2227

Ray was sick. Or, well, he had been. 

For days he had been fighting off a bad case of the flu and although he had a tendency to become extra stubborn when he was ill, Sand took care of him without argument. He cooked Ray delicious homemade soup, washed the sweat from his body so that he wouldn’t get a chill, and made sure he never missed a dose of his medicine.

At the height of his illness, Ray had found Sand’s unwavering attention annoying since all he wanted to do was sleep, but now, as the fever started to abate, he realized just how lucky he had been. It didn’t seem fair that all of that attention had been wasted when Ray wasn’t alert enough to appreciate it. So even though he was feeling better, he pretended that he wasn’t.

He was sitting in bed propped up on a mountain of pillows when Sand walked into the room that night with his evening meds. Ray gave him a wobbly smile and then immediately dissolved into a coughing fit that was only half for show.

Sand frowned, setting the glass of water and pills he was carrying down onto Ray’s bedside table before climbing onto the mattress with him, his hand raised to feel Ray’s forehead. Ray just watched him, wide-eyed and innocent. He knew his cheeks were flushed, but it wasn’t from fever. He had spent the past couple minutes pinching them hard enough to color his skin. He wanted it to look convincing.

“You’re not feeling any better?” Sand asked, dropping his hand back to his side. “You look better. Whenever I touched you before, you would just yell and swat me away.”

“I feel a little better,” Ray allowed, blinking at his boyfriend owlishly.

“Well, if you’re not feeling a lot better by tomorrow, we may need to go back to the doctor. I’m worried about you.”

“There’s no need to worry,” Ray said, pulling on Sand’s arm so that he was forced to sit down on the bed next to him. “I’m fine!”

If this had been a normal day, Sand probably would have rolled his eyes, but because Ray was sick, he didn’t. He just wrapped his arm around Ray’s shoulders and held him tight. Although Ray liked their usual teasing banter, he liked this too. He liked being spoiled. He liked that Sand had been staying home to take care of him instead of running off to a bunch of different jobs he didn’t need. He liked how his illness sanded down Sand’s rough edges. He liked that at their essence, this was what they were: soft and in love. “Do we have any more ice cream?”

Sand dutifully brought Ray a bowl of ice cream and they spent the night cuddling in bed watching movies. Ray knew it was destined to be his last night of sick leave; in the morning, he would be forced to make a miraculous recovery. But, he had to admit, it was time.

Ray woke up with the sun only to find that Sand was still asleep next to him, which was odd. Sand was an early riser. Figuring he was simply exhausted from the days spent taking care of Ray, Ray leaned in to kiss him on the forehead only to find that he was burning up. 

Ray pulled back in alarm, quickly replacing his lips with his hand, but the result was no better. Sand was sweltering hot to the touch. Too hot. Right? Ray wasn’t sure. He had never had to diagnose anyone before.

“Sand?” he said, shaking his boyfriend frantically. Sand would know what to do. Sand always did. “Sand, wake up. I think you’re sick!”

Sand very clearly did not want to wake up. He rolled away from Ray, buried his head underneath the covers, and started coughing. “Just bring me some medicine,” he said, his voice muffled. “I’ll be fine.”

Ray hopped out of bed immediately, determined to get the medicine for him as fast as possible, but it was only as he was standing alone in the middle of the room that he realized he had no idea where the medicine was kept. They had moved into this apartment together only a few weeks before. It would have been sooner, but Sand took some convincing because the apartment was technically way out of his budget.

In the end, Ray had worn him down, but Sand had adamantly refused to spend the extra money on movers, so they had done everything themselves. Or, well, Sand had. Ray had thanked him with copious amounts of blowjobs. It had seemed like a good system at the time, but now he had no idea where anything was.

He wandered into the bathroom and began looking through cabinets, figuring that was the most likely place for medicine to be, and eventually he found a couple bottles that looked familiar. They were empty.

Ray ran back into the bedroom, waving the bottles around frantically. “Sand, I think we’re out. What do I do now? Sand?” Sand was apparently too delirious to answer him. He wasn’t yet asleep, but his only response to Ray’s voice was a pained groan. Ray stared down at the bottles in his hand hoping that if he wished hard enough, they would simply refill themselves. But of course they didn’t.

It was then that Ray remembered Sand offering him a handful of pills the night before that Ray had only pretended to take since he was only pretending to be sick. He rushed over to his bedside table and pulled the pills out of his drawer.

“Sand, here,” he said excitedly, coming around to his side of the bed with a glass of water. “You need to take these.”

With some gentle coaxing, he was eventually able to get Sand to sit up and take the pills, but he looked horrible and collapsed back down onto the mattress immediately. Ray just stared at him helplessly, trying to figure out what in the world he was supposed to do next.

He thought about calling Sand’s mom or his own dad or, hell, Mew—literally anyone who might be able to help—but his pride stopped him from actually picking up the phone. Sand had taken care of him for nearly a week without any help at all. Surely, Ray could do the same. 

He took a deep breath and forced himself to think. The first thing he needed to do was buy more medicine.

“Sand? Sand?” he asked, shaking his boyfriend’s limp body. He had planned to ask whether Sand would be okay alone for a few minutes while he ran to the store, but Sand didn’t respond. He was fast asleep. In the end, Ray decided to go. He changed clothes, made sure Sand’s phone and a glass of water were easily within his reach, and then promised he would be back in fifteen minutes. As he stepped out their front door, he couldn’t help but think Sand would probably be better off alone than in his inept care.

Ray realized his first mistake within minutes: he had not taken a picture of the meds he needed to replace. When he reached the pharmacy right around the corner from their apartment, he was immediately overwhelmed by the options and he had no clue what Sand needed. He tried googling it only to become overwhelmed again, but in the end, a nice older lady helped him pick out a couple things she thought would be useful and Ray threw a few extras into his basket as well. Just in case.

When he returned home, Sand hadn’t moved, but he was shivering and covered in sweat, so Ray grabbed a washcloth and a basin of water and did his best to clean him. It wasn’t as easy as Sand made it look. His motions were clumsy and he felt sure that if Sand were conscious enough to know what was happening, he would have laughed at his efforts.

After that, Ray bundled Sand back into bed and headed into the kitchen to make soup for the first time in his life. On the night Ray had first fallen ill, Sand had made him a pot of soup that tasted so good he had devoured it within a day. It was Sand’s mom’s recipe and she claimed it had healing powers. Ray didn’t doubt it. Sand told him his mom’s soup was the one bright spot of getting sick. That it almost made the whole thing worth it. So Ray knew he needed to make it for Sand, too.

He had texted Sand’s mom and picked up the ingredients while he was out, but now that he was staring at them spread out over the counter, he felt less confident about his ability to recreate the recipe. There was nothing he could do about that now. He sighed and got started chopping the vegetables. Badly. Sand did most of the cooking in their house. Ray was starting to realize that Sand did most of everything.

Hours later, the finished soup was simmering on the stove and Ray smelled like a Thai restaurant. He quickly hopped in the shower, washing off the last vestiges of his own illness and the evidence of his poor cooking, and then headed back to the bedroom where Sand was still asleep. He held his hand out to feel Sand's forehead and although his body temperature felt more normal than before, he was still shivering. 

Ray didn’t know what else to do so, feeling helpless, he simply laid by his boyfriend’s side and wrapped his arms around him, praying that the worst of it would soon go away. Was this what it had felt like for Sand to watch him be sick over the past week? Had Ray only prolonged that pain by pretending he wasn’t well? 

The shivering stopped. They both fell asleep.

Ray was awoken some time later by Sand moving in his arms. He sat up immediately, ready to run and fetch whatever Sand needed to feel better, but when Sand finally opened his eyes, he no longer looked pained. Just tired. 

“Are you okay?” Ray asked, reaching for Sand’s face as if searching for an injury he already knew didn’t exist. “What do you need? Medicine? Water? Food? I made soup!”

Ray was cursing himself for not setting alarms for Sand’s medicine the way Sand had done for him when Sand gave him a weak smile. “You made soup?” he teased and that, at least, told Ray the medicine was working.

“I did!” Ray insisted.

“Well then some soup might be nice.”

So Ray hopped out of bed and prepared a bowl of soup for Sand. When he returned to the bedroom, he found Sand already sitting propped up on a couple pillows, taking better care of himself than Ray had taken of him.

“You look better,” he said.

“I feel better,” Sand agreed.

“I’m sorry I got you sick.”

Sand shrugged. “It was bound to happen. Now about this soup…”

Ray refused to pass Sand the bowl, scared he might drop it, but he dutifully scooped a spoonful of Tom Yum out and offered it to him. Sand sniffed it hesitantly before taking a bite.

The soup had barely touched his tongue before his whole face scrunched up in distaste. He quickly tried to school his features, but it was too late. Such an extreme reaction was hard to miss.

“What’s wrong?” Ray asked, trying a bite himself. All he could taste was salt. He made the same face Sand had and suddenly, he felt like he was going to cry.

“Oh, don't cry,” Sand said, taking the bowl from him, setting it down on the bedside table, and then pulling him into a hug. Even though Ray was no longer sick and certainly didn’t deserve the comfort, he let himself be held anyway.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I’m such a crappy boyfriend. You took such good care of me for a whole week and I can’t even make you a pot of soup without fucking it up. I haven’t even been sick these past couple days. I’ve just been pretending so you would pay more attention to me!”

“Oh, baby. I know.”

That was enough to stop Ray’s tears. “You do?”

“Of course I do. You’re not a very good liar. But look, it’s fine. It’s the thought that counts,” he said, running his fingers through Ray’s hair. Surprisingly, that was all it took to calm him down.

“I’ll get better,” Ray promised, leaning his head on Sand’s shoulder. “And I’ll order you more soup from that place you like.”

“You’re doing fine,” Sand soothed. “Just stay here with me. That’s all I need. You’re all I need.”

Ray laid with his head on Sand’s chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. “I love you,” he said because that was the one thing he knew he could provide. He had more than enough love to give.

Sand smiled and kissed the top of his head. “I love you too.”

[actuallyadhd]

hi…i recently discovered that there is a very high chance i have ADHD. after doing lots of research, i brought this up to my therapist, who also has ADHD. she had me do a screening, told me she’d noticed the signs awhile back & believes i have it; however, she is not authorized to give an actual diagnosis. later, i talked to my doctor about it to see if it would be worth seeking one & what my options were. she told me that to get a diagnosis i’d have to see a psychiatrist, which would take at least a year because of wait times. but she asked if, for the time being, i’d like to be prescribed a 7-day supply of 15 mg adderall to see if it helped. ive done an okay job managing symptoms throughout my life, but some of them have really taken a toll on me, especially emotional dysregulation, so i thought it was worth a shot.

but im on day 3 of the pills and i don’t feel any different. ive looked all over reddit & see people saying that it kicks in instantly, but i haven’t felt that at all.

is this normal? should i be concerned that’s something’s not working right? could this be a sign that i dont have ADHD? and in that case am i harming myself by taking this medication?

sorry to dump this here. im just extremely new to this & i dont know what i should be expecting.

Sent August 5, 2024

Okay, first of all, a medication trial is not a reliable diagnostic strategy. Different meds work for different people, and it can take time to find the right dose. So don't worry about that.

Not feeling any different isn't a sign that the medication isn't working. It's possible that things are different but you aren't noticing because the changes are subtle. It's also possible that the dose is wrong and you need a higher one or even a lower one. Or you need a different medication. In particular, if your biggest issue is emotional dysregulation, guanfacine (brand name Intuniv) can be very helpful for that.

I think it's worth getting on the wait list for the full assessment, but also talk to your doctor about trying something else in the meantime.

Followers, what are your experiences with medication just after diagnosis? Can you offer any advice here?

-J

[hellfire--cult]

Baring Teeth {Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader} - Ch. 4

Picture for Banner: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Masterlist (Go here to see list of chapters.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU

Warnings: Ab*se, Violence, Mental Health, Cursing, Smut (mild), treat it as a normal Enemies 2 Lovers book, but the A/B/O dynamic will appear at some point.

Crossposted on: Wattpad & AO3

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Chapter 4

The sound of the alarm was blasting nonstop next to his head, and he groaned loudly as he opened his eyes.

He looked over to see it was 6:00 AM. 

Eddie ran his hands over his face, and he rubbed his hair which was still wet from the prior night, having to take a shower as soon as he got home. He groaned as he slowly sat up, his hair falling over his shoulders, feeling the cold of it against his bare skin. He swung his legs over the bed, finally getting up to get a big stretch.

He walked outside of his room, heading towards his kitchen to get a glass of water, before going to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, and saw the tiredness in his eyes. He shouldn’t have stayed longer than he should. He’ll just message Gareth to open up the shop himself so he could sleep in a little bit. He opened the cabinet behind the mirror, and retrieved an orange pill bottle.

He opened it to take one of the large pills out, immediately chugging it down with a gulp of water. He closed the pill bottle and put it back into the cabinet, only to retrieve one of the small glass vials with a purple liquid in them. He only had to do this once a week, and it was due for him to inject a new dose. 

He got a one-use sterile syringe from one of the drawers below and some cotton and rubbing alcohol. He put everything down on the sink and grabbed some of the cotton, drenching it in alcohol, to clean the area between his neck and shoulder. He then opened the pack of the syringe and took it out, to then fill it with the purple liquid that was in the vial. He tapped a few times to make the bubbles come out and then stretched his neck, injecting the medicine there.

He huffed a bit. He was used to this by now, because his health and his condition had been like this since he was 16. He felt how his whole body cooled down just a bit and he groaned in relief as it did. He was glad he had some tattoos running towards his neck, hiding the needle marks he has there from over the years. 

He pulled the needle out and pressed some cotton on his neck to seal the small puncture. He noticed the anger last night, worse than a normal day, and he knew it was because he was due to this injection. He started tidying his bathroom up and then closed the cabinet to look at his reflection again.

He remembered his interaction with you. He was angry, beyond words after you threw the liquid into his face, and he got even angrier after you threw yourself onto him, ready to punch him square in the cheek. He was stronger than you, he knows it, and he kept his hands to himself as best as he could, but he was starting to see red last night, and he was glad that Steve knows about his condition and immediately took him away from you.

But if he couldn’t hurt you physically, then he would hurt you with words, and that’s what he did. What he didn’t know is that his words hurt you on a different level than he thought they would. Eddie winced at the memory of your distant eyes, when all he wanted was for you to go at him again, yell, throw a slap or something.

But you just stood still, looking at him, and then calmly left without speaking to anybody. He knows there’s so much more to your life than what you give Robin, and that’s the main reason he doesn’t like you. Robin is there to give you her full trust, and her friendship, just like she did for him, yet you didn’t want to open up to her, to anybody for that fact. 

He was seeing his own friends, fighting for someone’s trust who didn’t even acknowledge it, or cared that they did. You weren’t even thankful enough to give them your real story, or your real motives. You often lied about your dates going well, and he won’t ever forget how you lied about wanting to go on a date with Jonathan.

It was a week after meeting you, Eddie really thought of apologizing and starting over, thinking that if you didn’t talk about your past it must be because of some personal reason he doesn’t have the right to meddle in. But then, Jonathan asked you out, and his friend had liked you since the first moment he saw you, but you; you accepted the invitation, already knowing you saw him as a friend.

And that irritated him even more.

He protected his friends like family, and something about you was completely off with him. He didn’t trust you, he didn’t like you, but his friends did for some unknown reason, and that might be because he didn’t get to know you personally and they did, but his first impression of you was enough for him to not be interested in doing so.

Whatever it is that you went through was obvious that you didn’t want anything to do with it anymore, but still, Eddie believes his friends deserve an explanation, and even more so if you were going to snap at him like you did last night. He doesn’t even want the explanation himself, he just wants his friends, who actually like you and trust you completely, to receive the same kind of trust from you.

He groaned as he clenched his fists against the sink, taking a deep breath in and cracking his neck, side to side. Should he apologize to you? Should he even try? But why would he? What good would it do? You won’t believe his apology, so maybe the best option here is to simply shut up about it, and let it go behind you both, put it in the past.

“Fuck.” He sighed heavily as the flash of your eyes came back to his mind. He really did fucking hurt you with that one. He blamed himself for it, for not being careful about his medication. He should have taken everything the day before, because if he did, maybe your lies wouldn’t have gotten to him the way they did. It’s not like you’re a special case, it happened to everyone at least once.

Steve never took it personally when Eddie would snap at him when his meds were running low in his system, but he did get into a fight with Robin once. That lasted for a whole week, and he took the matter in his own hands, showing at her home with flowers, and a pair of tickets to go see the nutcracker, even if Eddie fucking hated ballet.

He winced at the memory of forgetting his meds back here when he visited Wayne in Hawkins. He had to drive his uncle away because he was afraid of hurting the poor old man. He took a deep breath to look at himself in the mirror again. He hated this of himself, he hated it, with every fiber in his body, but there’s nothing he can do but keep taking his meds to balance his emotions out. 

He turned the light of the bathroom off to head back towards his bedroom, immediately flopping onto the bed, head first. He grabbed his cellphone and messaged Gareth to open the shop for him, that he feels sick and will come in some time later. He blocked his phone and put it on the night table again, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes before closing his eyes.

He should have taken the meds one day prior.

—————————————————

He cursed in excitement as he turned the ignition key of an old Ford and the engine came to life. He had to put a lot of money in spare parts but the owner of the car had agreed either way in the repair. 

“Food delivery!” Steve yelled loudly into the garage with four bags of Five Guys. Gareth and Jeff rushed towards him, starving and finally able to have a lunch break.

“God, Harrington, you are godsend.” Gareth exclaimed with a relieved sigh as he took his own bag of food while Steve chuckled, handing Jeff his own, who was rolling his eyes at his friend’s exaggeration. Eddie closed his car’s door, confused as to why Steve came by to his shop, but he won’t deny the bag of fast food in front of him. He walked towards him, ready to take the bag but Steve pulled it away from him, earning a glare from Eddie’s part.

“Oh no… You and I have some talking to do.” And shit. Eddie groaned loudly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Seriously Harrington?” Eddie stood his ground against Steve but the younger male didn’t budge, he simply shrugged and smirked at his friend.

“If we don’t talk, you get no food. Easy as that, and it’s your fucking favorite Munson.” At that Eddie’s ears perked up and he looked back at Gareth and Jeff who were already devouring their burgers and Eddie’s stomach grumbled in protest. He turned to Steve again, snatching the bag of food from his hands before walking outside of the garage.

Steve smiled at his friend’s antics and walked behind him, following him to the back of the garage where Eddie took his smoke breaks and he had a nice picnic table set so that he and the boys could have breaks with some fresh air. They both sat down, across from each other, and they started taking the food out of their bags. Steve munched on a fry as Eddie started preparing his burger with some of his fries inside.

“So… Care to tell me what the fuck happened yesterday?” Eddie winced at that and shook his head, closing his burger.

“She started it, Steve. She threw the beer on my face.” Eddie says, taking a bite out of his burger and Steve squinted at his friend.

“Yeah, of course, but I bet that she didn’t do it for the hell of it Munson… So what did you say to her?” Eddie looked at his friend with an offended look in his eyes and shook his head as he swallowed the bite.

“I am your best friend, and you don’t believe me?” 

“Fuck no.” Eddie’s eyes widened slightly at Steve and then nodded as if deep in thought.

“I see how it is, Harrington.” At that Steve scoffed, already tired of Eddie’s dramatism.

“I believe you in everything else, but I don’t trust that you didn’t say anything to her for her to become like that.” Eddie looked down at his food as he ate quietly, deliberating if to simply talk it out, or keep it inside, but he knew that the pounding on his heart and the guilt he felt in his belly wasn’t just going to disappear. He sighed and put his burger down on the wrapped as he ran his hands through his face.

“I could tell she was lying about her date… Once again.” Steve shook his head as he took a bite out of his burger. “I mean, Steve, I’m sorry I just fucking hate liars. I hate people that try to fit in, and I hate even more the fact that you all trust her but she doesn’t trust you back.” At that, Steve rolled his eyes as he swallowed.

“You think I tell her my biggest secrets Eddie? Seriously, just because she doesn’t want to tell us about whatever she went through in Atlanta, doesn’t make her a bad person.” Steve explained and now it was Eddie’s turn to roll his eyes.

“What if she did something back there? What if she did something bad? Something she is ashamed of saying?” Eddie exclaims as he takes a big bite out of his burger again and then a sip of his drink.

“Then if she is ashamed it means she regrets it. Eddie, we trust the girl we met now, not the girl she wants to forget.” At that, Eddie stared down at his food, his mind going back to your absent eyes as you looked at noone in particular. It didn’t look like someone who did something bad, but rather, it looked like they did wrong to you at some point. His stomach twisted and he cursed loudly because it was messing with his hunger.

“I went overboard last night…” Steve nodded as he took a fry in his mouth and his eyebrows raised up feigning surprise.

“No fucking shit.” 

“My meds were due… I should of taken them yesterday morning.” Eddie looked up at the sky as he took a deep breath in, and his eyes immediately went to Steve, who was looking at him with worry.

“You okay with that? The meds are okay?” Steve asked and Eddie nodded, finally feeling the knot go away in his stomach and start eating again. Steve knew Eddie didn’t like talking about his condition, so he changed subjects again. “Are you going to say sorry to her?” Eddie almost chokes on a fry at that.

“No way. It would only make matters worse really. Just let some time go by and we’ll see from there, until then it might be better to not cross paths with her.” Eddie explains and Steve huffs at him, putting his drink down.

“Are you seriously going to run away from that? I mean, maybe if you apologize, you can get a new friend.” Eddie looked at him with a skeptical look in his eyes.

“I won’t tolerate her lying to me in my face, Harrington, I’m not like you, or anyone else for that matter.” Steve caught on his words and bit the inside of his cheek, and simply gave up on the subject. The worst part is that you both might even be good friends, and Steve knows it, everyone knows it, except for you and Eddie. Your tastes are alike, your sense of humor is the same, your exaggerated banterings are the same. 

But Steve understood, or at least he tried to. He understands that Eddie’s condition is not one that would let him trust people that easily, but he can’t help but think that the older male is a little bit hypocritical. 

Steve and Dustin are the only ones that know about his condition, about his sickness. Eddie never opened up about it to Robin, Nancy, Argyle or Jonathan. It was just a coincidence and simply bad timing, but if you think about it, it was excellent timing, because if Steve didn’t rush Eddie to his doctor in time, he didn’t know what Eddie would have done in that state.

“Fine… Just, don’t get on her nerves anymore Ed… Not like that. She looked deeply hurt with your last words.” And Eddie winced again, not wanting to remember your face any longer, because he remembered your despair, your nervousness, your fear. He could see it all. He knew Steve wanted to help, but what was done was done, and there really wasn’t a way to go back on his words now. 

“Just let it go, Steve. She and I are never going to be friends.” And Steve gave a scoff at that, already putting away the trash in the fast food bag.

“You’re impossible. I hope you know that.” Eddie nodded in understanding but a small tug of the lips happened at the corner of his lips. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened his messages, searching for Wayne’s last conversation. He opened it and took a deep breath before sending a greeting to him. Steve noticed the slight switch of emotions in his friend’s eyes and body movement and cracked his knuckles as he looked at him. “Is he better?”

Eddie gulped and put his phone away as he put the trash away from his food, taking final sips of his drink. He rarely talked about himself, or his feelings, or about his family in general, and Steve was glad he could make his friend at least give him the short version of things.

“Lucia is taking care of him… She says he does look more energized after the last chemo session.” He replies, still not looking at Steve, but his friend noticed the lack of response of ‘yes’ or ‘no’. So he wasn’t going to nudge any further into that topic. He knew Wayne is the last family member Eddie’s got, and since he was diagnosed with cancer last year, Eddie’s been reluctant to actually let other people inside his life. 

The older male didn’t do things because of malice. He just believed that keeping people away is better than driving them in, knowing that one day they will probably leave, by their own accord, or life would simply run out on them. He is bracing himself for Wayne’s departure, because he knows there’s no way of stopping lung cancer, it’s just buying time for the inevitable. 

His mood darkened at the thoughts and he groaned, standing up and Steve followed, looking at Eddie with a pained look in his face.

“You know that we’re here… right?” Steve reminded his friend, and Eddie felt his chest warm at his words. He gave a small nod as he patted Steve’s shoulder.

“Thank you for the food. Go help Jonathan, I’m sure you left him completely alone at the bar.” Steve waved at him with a ‘pff’ noise in his lips. 

“He can handle an hour without me.” He said with a smile and Eddie shook his head with a chuckle, looking towards his shop. 

“Okay, let me know if there are any plans for the week… And, well…” Eddie didn’t go on with his words, rubbing the back of his neck. Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“We are not going to invite one and not the other. We’ll invite you both, and it will be up to you to see if you can stand one another.” Steve said with a frown to his face, and Eddie understood, nodding at him. He didn’t want to face you, he really didn’t. Not because he is scared, or because he is afraid of what could happen, but because he would want to apologize to you, and that will only make matters worse. He knows you don’t want him talking to you.

So distance it is.

—————————————————

End of chapter 4

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[aconflagrationofmyown]

D- Rations

A Sarge and lil Mama fic -Elvis Fanfiction

Co-Author credit to @prompted-wordsmith this was a delight to work on with you darling, thank you for the prompt that began a most glorious alliance and for all the delicious sentences you added here-in 🤍

Summary: Germany, early spring 1959, Elvis and Elaine begin to find a routine, the first true domestic routine of their married lives, and as is common with young lovers who are just now fully getting to know each other, they are both besotted and a little foolish

Warnings: 18+ || illusions made to free use sex, illusions made to drug dependency and withdrawals, harlots being harlots about Elvis to Elaine who is fabulous as ever, a very descriptive scene of masturbation and marital misunderstandings that will be resolved (don’t shoot me)

AU Family Plan Reminder: the firstborn twins, Jesse and Ella are already born, and in this fic the second set are cookin’ ☺️

Elvis isn’t sure he’ll ever forget the shocked squeak Elaine let out that first time he flipped up her skirt at the sink and thrust in, no warning he was even home.

“Sorry baby, withdrawls an’ all.” he had gritted out hoarsely before jabbing up into his saint of a wife, soapy suds drifting upwards in front of the window, rainbow bubbles floating around them as her grip on the soap bottle collapsed it in her fist.

“Use me, Elvis.” she’d told him after the first few weeks in Germany had alerted her to a new addition in his bedtime regimen.

A boatload of pills.

“I can’t sleep baby, I can’t sleep any nights at all without ‘em, wasn't functioning.” he told her and she was sympathetic, always so sympathetic to him. Closest thing on earth to his mama.

But, logistics coordinator that she was, she saw the need for an alternative remedy to replace the offending one and reached it with no fanfare. “I’m here now. Use me,” She had said, already pulling him out of his jocks when he went to reach for his water glass to swallow his dose.

Not even on the wedding night had she ridden him that dry. He felt like he’d woken up in a different year the next morning, so deep and dead was his sleep. He’d staggered onto base and sweated it out there during the day. Sweat like a whore in church and came back to the house they rented where she fed him, laid him on the couch and put the babies atop him, supplied with books, a glitching television and love.

Visitors were banned, besides family, and those she policed into uncharacteristic considerateness. And at night, when she was tired from nursing children and running a house and answering fan mail and cooking his meals, she spread herself open for him to take out every ounce of his misery on her poor little cunt. There were times when it wasn’t enough, he would lay there spilling water on himself as she tried to rehydrate him, and those were the nights he spent in the bath, with her nestled behind him, singing to him and swathing his burning head with washcloths and kisses.

“Remember this feeling next time someone dishes you out one of those fancy pharmaceuticals.” she whispered once as he moaned and shivered in the bathwater. There was no true chiding there, just a pity for him that he knew was genuine enough to not find offense with.

But eventually his vigor came back, slowly, but it came back. And he took it out on her in the early mornings when she wasn’t awake until he’d been at it for a bit, the afternoons on the kitchen table during his furloughs, back behind the barracks one time while paying a private to fill in for him at sentry duty, and night after night in their marriage bed till suddenly the breasts he sucked and bit were swollen and sore and he knew something good had come of this.

It was swapping one addiction for another, he suspected, somehow losing interest in the pills but finding himself more and more obsessed with the squelching grip of his wife’s lil house. But the joy on her face when he began to hint to her the subtle changes he noticed–the child they’d made yet again, it mattered little to either that she was worn puffy and pink from so much usage. There was nothing so dear and darling to him as this little family they’d built, if he needed his wife to perform her duties every day, sometimes many times a day, surely that went with the territory.

Thusly they have fallen into a routine these past few months, the new little Presley family, and Elaine finds that she is happier and more content in it than she ever imagined. After every harrowing trial thrown at them in the first year of marriage, the shock of intimacy, the glare of the press, the wrath of the Colonel, the morning sickness, the separations, the birth, the stitch and her spunky Atlantic crossing, Elaine sits now with shoulders a little straighter, smile a little more sure, children hale and happy, her belly swollen with another promise kept.

She is satisfied, she is happy, and something about the normality of this current life with Elvis gives her a pressing sense of urgency to savor it while it lasts. It’s not every day he’ll be home before 7:00 in the evening, napping upstairs before dinner while she winds down the little soirée she was hosting for some of the wives of the fellow soldiers. She has to remind herself there will be a time in the future when she’ll be dreaming of hosting these two harpies in the form of Susan and Doris when she’s trapped at a table with a starlet or a socialite. But jealousy has no class, no boundaries, and what was once a rather pleasant if inane brunch has devolved into a verbal fencing match, disguised with sickening sweet concern -as is the age old custom of what the preacher back in Memphis would charitably call ungodly women, and if her manners were less engrained in her she would much more uncharitably call harlots.

It feels rather like she joined a competition without realizing it, and right about now she wishes she could bail if she only knew what it’s all about. Except, she does know. She knows that no matter how often she hosts folks into their home, no matter how many hands she shakes at the Graceland gates or how many hours of her husband’s prized time she sacrifices to the public, there’s always going to be a few who seethe at the mere existence of a Mrs. Elvis Presley.

That gleaming wedding band on his finger was quite easy to ignore while the wife was an ocean away and the lonely, sultry, uniformed heartthrob was throwing his parties and acclimating to life in Germany. But it’s a very different thing for Doris and Susan to sit across from the woman herself, polished, beautiful and adorned with both finery and visible proof of her husband's interest. A woman whose children look so startling like their father it’s uncanny, and whose placid indifference to their barbs has driven them to bare faced insulting her in her own home while the man they crave is upstairs sleeping off a night he spent balls deep inside her.

Elaine knows this. And so she can lounge back, legs crossed gracefully and bracelets jangling subtly as she swirls her glass and she listens with bemused ire to Doris’ newest concern over whether or not she’s been overextending herself.

“Oh, there's some dust on this sill!” Doris’ tone suggests that this is cause for grave alarm, “It must be difficult,” she goes on, tone solicitous as Elaine rattles the last of her ice cubes with her finishing chug, “keeping up with the housework when you've got children underfoot, and so many guests all the time. Elvis does love his parties, doesn't he? But that must wear you down, poor thing.”

There haven’t been many parties since Elaine arrived and Doris knows it. No doubt the majority of Frankfurt thinks Elaine is a joy-killing puritan, but if that’s the cost of keeping her husband’s dignity intact while he overcame his addiction, so be it.

Elvis himself overhears this last bit of conversation while rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking over the upstairs bannister at the unsuspecting little group down below. His sleep muddled brain second guesses the sirens he hears going off when registering the saccharine toned patronage of her guests. He stays quiet and watches from above as his wife just shrugs, forever unbothered.

“I’ve missed the parties!” Susan opts for a more truthful barb, and Elaine quirks a perfectly manicured brow at what she suspects is coming next. “There used to be such wild good times back when he was staying with the Major, always had the old vitriola going and was spinning gals around till all hours of the night. He once commented I was light as a feather, ya know that? Said I had a lovely figure -it’s a real shame that you're losing yours to that new babe. Heavens, I bet you barely feel like waddling most days, much less dancing."

Elvis may have been raised right but he feels ready to brawl with these ladies on hearing those words. Elaine spent about 36 minutes straight riding him this morning like it was the Kentucky derby, then made omelets for him and the boys, proceeding then to host this charming little party -there was nothing waddling or decrepit about his pretty young wife and he’s ready to descend the stairs and show some erstwhile dancing companions the door when he hears Elaine, gentle and sweet as a honey-soaked knife:

"Oh, my husband, he missed me so much, Doris. Sometimes he distracts me, you know, and I take my wifely duties very seriously, tend to prioritize his satisfaction above all else. My Elvis has promised me a whole baseball team, ya see, and he's taken that very seriously, too. Graceland, our home back in Memphis–so beautiful, really Susan, you should see it–it’s so big we certainly have enough rooms for them all. I always wanted a large family, and so has my husband. Do you think we should hire staff here, like we do at Graceland? This house isn't nearly as sprawling, but if I'm in the family way as often as he predicts then I expect I’ll tire sometimes. Like today, getting ready to have you over and then the mayor and his wife tomorrow, I must have missed that sill. Public relations, you know, shockingly taxing things. There’s been a great deal of fuss and emphasis put on the importance of our presence here and mixing with the locals and such, they say a good integration of stationed troops with the citizenry could go a long way in reconciling the old rifts. It’s a lot to be riding on my potato salad.” she laughs merrily, “But forgive me, I’ve been rambling, you were saying something about me being worn down? That’s too kind, Doris, really, you mustn’t worry yourself about me,” Elaine coos, and Elvis finds this deliciously venomous side to his sweet wife so arousingly foreign he slumps to a seat on the stairs, most of his blood flow rushing south.

“I tend to feel invigorated with a child in me. I told the doctors it must be all that vitamin E,” she titters at their shocked faces over the rim of her empty glass, using his own joke against them. That shuts both the harpies right up, she thinks in satisfaction, tapping her wedding band ever so subtly against her glass, just a shift of her grip–and wouldn’t you know, both Doris and Susan’s eyes hone in on the massive diamond on her well-manicured hand. Sometimes Elvis’s love for the dramatic can be very useful indeed.

Elvis is met with a dilemma, then, as he listens to his wife verbally lay down the law on these women: does he go downstairs with his cock practically a service weapon down his pantleg, or does he go back upstairs and wring himself dry? He looks skyward as if the ceiling will answer him, but he finds himself snapped out of his thoughts, levering himself up and shuffling down into the living room when he hears the next thing those damned floozies say to his lil wife.

“Graceland sounds very grand, Elaine,” he thinks that’s Susan at it again, “you must feel so out of place there, so out of your depth with all his star friends and that celebrity lifestyle. I mean, you were practically a nobody before all this! It must be so overwhelming,” she insists.

If Elaine were capable of making so inelegant a sound as a snort, he’d assume that’s the noise he just heard coming from her, “Susan darling, a house is like any other house, it’s not a maze. Graceland’s got toilets and sinks and beds like any other, sure it’s got a microwave and fridge, too, all the latest gadgets–Elvis insisted. Didn’t take long to learn my way around my own house.”

“I’m sure Elvis hoped for only the finest for his house.” Susan’s tone suggests Elaine might not be counted amongst the finest, and Elvis is reminded why he’s headed downstairs in the first place, painful cockstand jostling with every step.

“It’s my house, actually.”

Only Elaine could make such blatant marking of territory sound so utterly charming. Or maybe it’s only charming to his blood deprived brain as he alights from the last step and spins towards the couch his wife is currently lounging on, finding her red painted lips stretched in a serenely smug smile.

“Why hello there, sleepy head,” she greets him, sweet and gentle as ever as Doris and Susan’s heads swivel in a near 180 to confirm his presence.

“Hey you.” Elaine has grown familiar but never used to that adoring tone of his when he addresses her, the way his tongue lingers lovingly and his voice dips, the way his eyes droop, too, even after the shortest of separations, even after a nap. “Good evenin, ladies,” he acknowledges her guests on his way to sit by her, only greeting the harpies because they are her guests, even if he’s down here to see that they skedaddle–ASAP.

“Good evening, Elvis!”

“Hi, Elvis!”

He notices that, unabashed, they smile and flutter their lashes at him as he passes, thinking he either did not hear, or did not care, that they were undermining his woman. The woman he married afore God, in the presence of his family, in his own living room.

“They were askin’ about how huge Graceland is, baby,” Elaine fills him in genially as he plops down beside her, allowing him to scoop up her little footsies and put them in his lap, a throw pillow snagged for good measure to hide the titanium grade hard-on he’s sporting in his slacks.

She wiggles her heel against him–he’s been found out. Her smirk grows.

“Elaine was saying that Graceland is legally hers…” Doris’ cadence suggests she expects him to come to her aid and laugh at that, to agree that such a thing is absurd. But Elaine never brags over something that isn’t true, it’s one of the things he loves about her, her faultless honesty.

“It is hers,” he makes sure to shrug, to keep his body language infuriatingly nonchalant as he lets her ankle rest right where he’s aching, “Belongs to her, signed in ink. Weddin’ present of sorts.”

He smiles dreamily at the memory of those rushed, hazy, tender weeks that preceded their sneaky union. One of the most rebellious things he ever did was marry this intelligent little woman, and the populace at large doesn’t even know it. He’ll never quite forget the Colonel's face when he returned to Memphis to find Elvis sitting at breakfast beside his newly deflowered bride and Vernon reading the paper that had somehow leaked the damn event.

Funny enough, Doris and Susan seem to lose their appetite for chit chat real fast after that. Maybe it’s the intimate way he strokes Elaine’s feet or lays his head on her shoulder, the cacophony of their twins playing in the next room or the way Elaine won’t rise to the damn bait no matter what. Either way, it’s not more than ten minutes before Elaine’s slightly suggestive:

“Lord, look at the time, I oughta feed this man of mine before he starves.”

is seized as a happy excuse to flee from the Presley home and back to wherever it is that women like them, who have no man to feed, go to pine over another woman’s husband.

Elaine walks those two backstabbers politely to the door, waving before shutting it after them. Then it is that his wife, the little darling of his heart, turns to him, hand on the knob and a cheeky smile on her face,

“Is there somethin I can assist you with, sir?” she teases gleefully, eyeing the cushion he clutches to his lap, “Or do you just find cotton batting ever so snuggly?”

He could eat her alive, damn the dinner. This little glimpse into her world, not the one he’s watched her navigate at RCA or on the Committee, no, this world of women with women, and to see her capable, cultivated viciousness?

Oh, oh he wants and yet, yet somehow he finds himself thinking of dusty window sills.

Dusty window sills and pretty pink petals fucked raw and puffy from overuse. She doesn’t know any better, she doesn’t know any different. That a husband taking her every hour of the day at whim like poets take pills is something that most would find an abuse of power. Not good. Not proper. Not even decent husbandry. But he knows better, he’s the one who knows and he’s the protector in this relationship, and he thinks about just how much he’s taken and taken these past few weeks with her shrieks stifled in the palm of his hand, and so he just grins back and shakes his head,

“Dinner would be lovely, darlin,” he assures, despite watching confusion crumple her pretty face, “Whatcha plannin for tonight?”

“That roast lamb Mrs. Niehouse-the deputies’ wife- sent us,” she replies absently, her eyes ever so puzzled.

Dusty window sills. Raw, pink petals.

He gets up and shakes out his leg, meets her halfway as she is walking towards the kitchen, grabbing hold of her shoulders and kissing her temple,

“I think you’re magnificent, ya know that?” he whispers and feels her shiver under his arm, “M’gonna go answer some mail,” he informs her, before going back upstairs. He flees from her perfection because if he doesn’t he’ll feel guilty as all hell when he inevitably finds his way into her wet heat on that chaise couch they were just sitting on, and so he bounds up the stairs like he’s got hounds on his heels.

She doesn’t holler out after him a time to come down by, nor does she pinch his butt through the railing as he passes. She knows something is off, she’s puzzled, maybe even hurt by it. But no, he tells himself, enough, she’s done enough.

The scent of garlic roasted lamb floats upwards with the heat, mouthwatering smells of buttery mashed potatoes swirling to the top floor, and Elvis lays up there, stifling that delicious smell with his wife’s used, silk intimates, committedly wringing out his cock with his hand. The fantasies change over the years, over the days, with newly acquired tastes and knowledge, but the punchline is always the same. It’s always Elaine, his cock and Elaine taking it, any which way. It’s always her fluttering pink hole and the white drip of him trickling out, just to get shoved back in. That’s the fantasy, has been since before he dared tell her, and it is now, even as he abstains from what is technically his right.

Dinner is nearly ready, but for some reason, Elaine doesn't feel like hollering that up to him, either. While chopping, stirring, and sizzling she wonders if he doesn’t work too much. She answered his fan mail herself, his European secretary, Barbara, discreetly removed from the premises for the time being when he was ill, and so she knows just how much there is. Sometimes she worries over him working himself when he already has the Army to tucker him out. And then she comes back round to the words he flung in her direction before he galloped off.

Magnificent, he had called her. Then fled upstairs as if her very existence was unsupportable.

She checks the stove, checks the table, checks the twins to make certain they’re not setting death traps for each other then mounts the stairs herself, some heavy hearted presentment prompting her to be stealthy.

She avoids that one creaky step in her kitten heels, atiptoe as she first checks his office and finds it empty, to her growing unease. Instead, she hears the rustle of sheets, the familiar sound of Elvis’s panting breaths, and it draws her to their bedroom like a siren’s song. And, oh. Oh.

Because through the crack in the door she has a nearly perfect view of her husband, laid out on the sheets like dinner on a tablecloth, thrusting his hips up so the leaking red head of his cock peeks out from his fist. The vein that runs along the bottom of little Elvis visibly throbs, the shiny length of him so hard he’s what she knows feels like velvet over steel. He’s quieter than he’s ever been with her, no rambling talk of filling and gushing because Elvis has the panties she wore yesterday clamped over his mouth and nose. His strong hand flexes with every pant, his chest heaving through his unbuttoned shirt, and she feels that ache of emptiness in her lil house as she stares. It’s mesmerizing, seeing him, seeing Elvis twitch outside of her. Normally she’s a little preoccupied.

Elvis’s spine bows as his flank and thighs flex within the confines of his slacks, powerful muscles rippling, feet planted firmly on the floor. It’s primal, masculine, indecent. She uses one hand to cover her own trembling lips and uses the other to touch the door ever so gently, widening the gap so she can see how tears clump up his lashes at the same time she sees his heavy balls slap into the grip of his hand at another pump of his hips. Elvis is whimpering, and he’s fumbling with her underthings–what is he doing? And then he sucks on the crotch of them, tasting her, a deeper moan comes rumbling out. It makes his cock twitch, leaking over his knuckles, she feels herself gush in sympathy, her body entirely unfamiliar with watching without being used. Still, he’s so pretty like this, is all that seems to tumble around in her head.

Elvis knows he’s close, the taste of Elaine on silk so heady he closes his eyes to savor it. He’s treading along an age-old fantasy, of fucking a baby into her, of feeling her hole’s wringing grip on his cock as he gushes and fills her with enough of his cum she complains about him pulling out and making a mess of their bed. But that fantasy changes with what he saw downstairs, how she had so casually claimed him as hers, her husband, secure in her place as his wife. How she handled the women that hang around him no matter what he does, gagging them as sure as anything. It’s that thought that makes his throbbing balls draw up and his seed spurt in his hand, wasteful, dripping down his wrist and onto the undershirt still covering his chest. He shudders, still sucking at the gusset of Elaine’s panties like it’s her titties in his mouth.

She watches from the hall as Elvis catches his breath, a whimper stuck in her own throat and a throbbing between her legs she doesn’t quite know what to do with, now that little Elvis has been wrung so cruelly dry. She finds herself backing away from the door, mind awhirl, dinner an afterthought she goes through the motions of with the ample distractions of her emptiness and confusion combined. She nearly drops the roast when she hears him coming back down the stairs.

He pads down the stairs, and halts at the mirror at the bottom to quickly run his still-damp hands through his hair in an effort to make his glassy eyes look a little more like he splashed water on his face and not like he fucked his fist in their marriage bed until he was weepy. He makes a face in the mirror, cause he’s not so sure it works. His cock is still damn sensitive, and so he’s moseying into the kitchen like he’s just got done with PT in the yard, every brush of his pants making him want to sit himself down and relieve his jelly-legs. Ella gives him the perfect excuse, she’s underfoot near the foot of the stairs and he scoops her up gladly, flopping into a chair at the table with an exaggerated huff that makes his baby girl giggle.

Elaine is there, every curl in place, cheeks flushed a little from the piping hot lamb she’s currently setting on the table. “Howdy darlin’, figured it was ‘bout time for supper,” and he still feels the urge to bend his pretty wife over the counter and take and take and take, but it’s less strong. Dusty sills and bruised pink petals.

She gives him a little affirming hum, but finds she can’t for the life of her reason his actions out. First he calls her magnificent, then he gives an excuse, flees at her offer of intimacy, only to go and–and help himself? Seems an awful lot like she did something to estrange her husband, but the only thing she could think of is her mentioning her ownership of Graceland to Doris and Susan. But surely he knew that was so she could get the two of them under control, not out of… not some sort of brag? It made her a little anxious to think about, even as she goes to find Doger, and the three of them sat down at the table to eat. They prayed, they ate, they read, they bathed the babies, they put them down. They went to sleep.

Sleep. Untouched, besides his heavy arm thrown over her waist, but still, after a few months of vigorous nocturnal activity, Elaine laid there listening to the fan whir as the clock struck later and later with each fresh batch of confusions burdening her as her husband, independent, free and freshly drained, slept soundly beside her. What’s one night’s avoidance? She tried to reason with herself, find some joy in the victory of having him free from the pills and herself full with children again.

Sleeping untouched? Oh that wasn’t the half of it. Elvis was avoiding her. At first she didn’t quite notice during the day, much to her own shame. He always had a very good excuse: he needed to be on base early to go over some papers, or he wanted to get more exercise and back into fighting fit to keep up with the rest of the boys in his unit. He left early and came home late. No longer doped, it made sense his ambition would roar back to life, she just didn’t expect so little of it to be directed towards his own family. He went out with the boys and came home late enough some nights he didn't eat dinner. It all made his days longer, made him come back droopy-eyed and a little sullen, so much so she couldn’t bring herself to do much aside from feed him if he wanted food and draw him a bath, watch him lay tiredly on the floor and let his babies crawl over him before she shooed him upstairs, putting the twins down to bed.

It was the window sill that made her realize, the same sill that she found herself dusting in the sudden free time she had to do so, the one Doris and Susan had remarked upon. It made her freeze in place as if a lightning bolt came down on her head, and she dropped the duster in horror. Was this shift the result of her little reparte with Doris and Susan? Or something else, something more? She was met with a feeling of nausea that had nothing to do with the babe growing in her belly as her thoughts spun. That was how Doger found her, staring at the dusty sill like it contained the word of the Lord.

“Now wha’s got ya in a tizzy, girl?” Dodger grumbled, bending down slowly to pick up her abandoned duster. Dodger’s quiet strength and rough concern made all of the swirling thoughts come spilling out like pulling a drain plug. “Elvis’s been avoidin’ me, and he hasn’t touched me in nigh on a week now, Dodger. What have I done, I can’t think -what have I done?” came the breathless last gasp of her tirade, her feet pacing a rut into the nice living room carpet.

“Well,” Dodger started, wizened hands capturing Elaine’s and bringing her to a halt, “If there’s one thing that boy is, it’s in love with ya, girl,” and there’s a significant look thrown at the gentle swell of her belly, “so I reckon he’s just got some idea stuck in that fool head of his.”

“Ah, one of those.” she grinned knowingly, the two of them having navigated many of his fool ideas and superstitions over the course of her pregnancy and their separation, “But what idea, Dodger? Why is he bein’–bein’ so cold to me? Oh, what if he thinks I’m one of them icy, mean bimbos he was spittin’ on? I can’t take it, can’t take him promisin’ to give me a family and then goin’ off to some other woman.” she rushed out, all her fears crowding her head.

“Elvis ain’t gonna do that to ya, Elaine,” and it’s the use of her name that makes her focus on Dodger’s kind eyes and wrinkled smile, “Jus’ needs remindin’ he’s got a pretty wife that makes a mean Southern supper right here.”

Dodger watches a shrewd look come across Elaine’s face, one that means business as an idea pops into her head. She has some recipes she packed into the bottom of her luggage from Miss Gladys, carefully taken out of her cookbook because she couldn’t pack the whole thing. She smiles at Dodger, gives her hands a squeeze and announces, “I’m goin’ to pick up some groceries. You have fun with your quitin’ circle, Dodger, I got a meal to prepare.”

She asks the neighbors to watch the twins while she’s out–she had planned to stay in before the realization had struck her, and now she’s on the warpath while filling bottles and putting nappies in a bag, wrangling a squirmy boy and girl into her arms and across the hedgerow. When that’s all taken care of, kisses bestowed to each of her babies’ heads, she quickly powders her nose, slips on some sensible satin heels, grabs one of her little grocery sacks and clutch, and out she goes to the farmer’s market just down the way.

It’s as she runs through the list of things she’ll need to buy in her head that she spots the diner that marks the fact the bakery where she wants to buy some bread is just around the corner. She quickens her pace, only to nearly stumble as she finds, just in the window, Elvis and his Army friends. She recognizes some of them, but not all, and along with the boys are girls. At least two of those loose waitress types cling to her husband, who is in full uniform, dressed to impress, as her mama used to say. Clinging fans, autograph hunters, and smooching devotees are not new to her, nor does she begrudge them, she knew who she married. But that’s the fact of it, she knew she married a man besotted with her, a man who wouldn’t entertain or let women hang on him and pet what’s hers while barely having enough energy to kiss his own wife goodnight. She doesn’t think herself a jealous woman, but it’s the lack that’s getting to her.

It makes tears burn her eyes and an anger well up from some place she didn’t know she had in her chest, thoughts going round her head about what them harlots by the name of Doris and Susan said, how Elvis had danced with them. How her husband had thrown parties while she was at Graceland, an ocean away, nursing his babes. She thinks of dusting window sills and selfish bastards, men who want wives and then leave them when they’ve got kids. Oh, Elvis will not do this to her. She won’t stand for it, not after he plied her with promises of babies and security and money and a happy home. She’s got the first one, but she will damn well have the others, too. This may have begun as something Elvis wanted, but she’s here now, and she reckons she’s here to stay.

She’s spotted by one of the men through the window before she can sort out her thoughts any further. She watches, dull and heartsore as the man taps her husband on his shoulder and points at her. Before she can see that pretty face turn to her she rushes around the corner and into the bakery in a blast of warm, sweet smelling air. With a deep breath she puts on the polite smile her mama taught her, and goes about buying all her groceries with a single-minded determination, even as her mind whirls with the question of how she’s fixin’ to mend this before it becomes ugly. Before it becomes far more than it is. Before it becomes full abandonment.

“Lamb,” she reprimands herself on the walk home, reflecting on the pickings of last week’s menu, “what self respecting Southern woman feeds her man a leg of lamb and expects him to stick around? Pshh, foreign relations, my eye. Shoulda known, amateur mistake.”

Part 2 and resolution coming soon ☺️

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[bitchfitch]

anyways tip for my fellow POTS havers and anyone else who has trouble getting their bodies to absorb enough water:

Salt pills. They're the same basic stuff as electrolyte powder but dont require you to chug an entire bottle of water before they start working (like obviously you still need water with them, you just get the volume of electrolyte Before the waters gone instead of over the course of drinking it.) and I've had a much easier time with taking them before bed/not waking up turbo dehydrated, because they seem to have a longer effective period.

like super turbo not recommended for anyone with high sodium but I've been using them for a few weeks and it's been a night and day difference in the severity of my symptoms, mostly bc they've been a Fraction of the price. a 10ct box of liquid IV is 16$, a 1.60$ per dose, while the salt pills are 22$ for a 100 pill bottle, 44¢ a dose.

[psychoticallytrans]

So, I just saw a post that explicitly stated that Tylenol,also known as acetaminophen, can't harm you. Tylenol is actually a drug that can easily harm you if you don't monitor your dosage carefully. Specifically, it can fuck up your liver really badly, and potentially fatally, if you consume too much too quickly.

It's also very easy to do. The maximum safe dose of Tylenol for an adult or teenager over 110 pounds is 4000 mg per day, or 1000 mg in one dose. The amount of Tylenol in some Tylenol pills is 500 mg. It's very, very easy to consume ten pills instead of eight when your head is messed up from being in pain, or to decide that three pills at once can't be that much of a risk. Dosing guidelines for children based on age and weight can be found here.

People that should be especially careful with how they use Tylenol include people with damaged livers and people who breastfeed. Since Tylenol overdose affects the liver, people who already have a damaged liver are at risk. In addition, it passes into breast milk, so if you're breastfeeding, the child will consume some. Please consult your doctor before using Tylenol while breastfeeding.

Regardless of if you're at risk or not, I strongly recommend keeping a record of how much Tylenol you consume, especially if you're in enough pain to be disoriented and/or have memory issues. Post it somewhere you go to take the Tylenol, like on your medicine cabinet's mirror. Include the time you took it, the dose you took, and the max safe dose for yourself. You may also find it useful to add your cumulative dose for the day each time you take some.

If you're close to the dosage maximum, please take a very close look at any other medications you are taking to make sure none of them contain Tylenol or acetaminophen. It's often included in cold medicines in particular, and anything intended to reduce fever.

If you are in significant pain and close to the dosage maximum, add a different kind of pain medication to the mix. This applies to ibuprofen, of course, but it is also significantly safer for most people to add opioids to their pain management than it is to go over the dosage limits for Tylenol. This is because, I cannot overstress this enough, overdosing on Tylenol can lead to death. This is a significantly worse outcome than most people have from taking opioid painkillers.

This is not an anti Tylenol post. Tylenol, when used in proper doses, can be hugely helpful for pain management, and is accessible and affordable. This is an anti accidentally giving yourself liver disease post.

Be careful. Read warnings. Monitor your dosage.