#i had a team of people assessing me when i got diagnosed

[simptasia]

christian knows jack is autistic but never let him get diagnosed because 1. he's ableist and 2. autistic people aren't allowed to to enter any medical field. yes, you read that right. yes, still to this day

[thebibliosphere]

I probably have hEDS, have had tense muscles since I was 8 and more and more of my joints started to be in constant pain, 10 years spine, 14 years hips, then hands at 19 and now all of them. And though I'm over 40 and don't practice any stretching, I still can contort myself in any direction.

But I don't know if it's worth the energy to fight for a diagnosis? Because it doesn't seem like there is any help, other than mild painkillers and physiotherapy, and I already get that. It is so much work to convince doctors to look into the source of joint pain, as soon as they can rule out rheumatoid arthritis they stop caring. And I don't belive I will get stronger painkillers even with a diagnosis anyway.

Do you think a diagnosis is woth the hassel?

For me, diagnosis was worth it because it meant getting the correct kind of physical therapy, which is often very different from the regular kind you usually get if the physical therapist is good at their job.

Regular PT used to damage my joints more. PT designed to target hypermobility has actually helped build joint stability, retrain my muscles, and reduce some of my pain by lessening the frequency of injuries.

It’s also good to know because hEDS affects more than just your joints.

I have a lot of problems with my internal organs due to how my connective tissue is affected, and my brother, who is undiagnosed but likely affected, suffered from spontaneous retina detachment twice. When I mentioned it to my eye doctor he said, “yeah, that happens to you zebras” and now I get my retinal health assessed every six months because fuck that.

It can also be good to know because of how it affects your care during things like surgery, ranging from which anesthesia they use to the type of sutures required.

When my mother had a mastectomy, she experienced several surgical complications, including not being able to get the wound site to close, so they kept dragging her back into surgery.

When I found out, I told my dad the surgical team needed to know my mother likely had hEDS because I did, and my mother and I are carbon copies of each other. When my dad told the surgeon, he apparently said, “Well, if I’d known that, I’d have done the whole thing differently!” and finally got my mother stitched up properly and into recovery.

In that regard, my diagnosis helped not just me but a family member, but also indicated the type of care I’ll likely need if I’m ever in the same situation.

So, yes, it's a hassle to get diagnosed and some (bad) doctors will frame it in terms of “there’s no cure so there’s no point.”

But for me, it’s not only been worth it but also vital to the management of the rest of my care. And let me be clear, there are some people for whom this is just a crappy joint disorder, and they are otherwise fine. But for many of us, we’re more than just our fucky joints. We’re an entire plethora of health problems that all cascade from our weak connective tissue, and it's important more people recognize that.

So is it worth it for you? That's a you decision. But it was very much worth it for me.

I wish you luck and fewer days of pain. This shit sucks.

[tabithatwo]

Do you think Jackie is autistic? She has alot of autistic traits and some are even accepted by the fandom. There's a tag for her on Ao3

this is a really interesting question for me. i'm sort of going to give my opinion in a round about way because its very bound up in who i am, so bare with me. i wouldn't feel equipped to answer this question if i didn't relate very heavily to jackie. part of my yj love started just from how seen i felt by jackie's character.

i was captain of a girls sports team, i was so stupidly lesbian, i had the on a boys sports team boyfriend who i didn't like at all, my home life wasn't like hers in many ways but my mother was also an addict and generally not nice lady lol, i tried my best to be as nice as i could to everyone, and surface level i was liked in a homecoming princess type way, but i had very few super close friends. i often got the "wow you're actually nice" or "i assumed you were a bitch" comments from people i'd never spoken to before and i had no idea why or how to prove that i was genuine. jackie gets accused of being "fake nice" to "manipulate people" a lot, but we really don't see her doing any manipulating or get any evidence that she doesn't mean the nice things she says and does.

i heavily relate to that and as i've gotten older i've realized that people often mistake the sense that something is off with fake kindness. i think there are a few reasons that jackie is treated the way she is, both by the other girls at the end of her life and by viewers, but it would take like...an extensive essay to get into the nuance of them lol, so i'll just stick with this:

i think being neurodivergent gets you the treatment that jackie gets a lot of the time. i'm EXTREMELY adhd, like really blow the assessment scores all the way up adhd lmao it impacts my life heavily, and i wasn't diagnosed until my twenties. i also score high on the autism screener and fit the criteria, but i have never/will never seek any formal diagnosis there just out of personal preference. all that to say, i relate heavily to jackie taylor, i think the girl is some kinda neurodivergent, and i think headcanoning characters as autistic makes total sense when the evidence tallies up lol.

the thing is, so many characters are lesbian-coded or adhd-coded or autisim-coded, because so many people don't know that they are those things. i knew i liked women from an early age, but i had the comphet of thinking i liked men also. so i didn't know i was a lesbian until i was 24. i didn't know i had adhd until i was 25. i didn't know i was (probably) autistic until 26. we don't have to know the words for the things we feel and do to embody them or to see them in others or to write them into characters. does that make sense?

anyway, if you think jackie taylor is autisic i love that and i can't say i disagree. that's my long-winded answer!

[fanelesibongeneneot3]

Collaborative practice -multidisciplinary team and teamwork

According to Brown (2020), a multidisciplinary team includes groups of health and care professionals who work together and cooperate by bringing different skills and expertise that allow them to work on a common goal, which is to provide healthcare to individuals. The blog will reflect on positive and negative experiences I had during the week in fieldwork concerning collaborative practice – multidisciplinary team and teamwork.  

Planning and implementing interventions is quite difficult and stressful. The aims of my treatment sessions were not achieved; I had planned an activity with my client to promote his client factors. I think I was afraid to let him stand using his walking stick during the toothbrushing activity because I was scared that the client might fall, so I decided to use the wheelchair. The supervisor gave me feedback. I had so many questions in my head, and I was stressed. I gave myself time to think critically about my whole session. I think my sessions needed to be upgraded more. I had to challenge the client in order to improve his muscle strength and range of motion. From the feedback, I learned the techniques for improving the muscle strength of the client. I was confused about how repetitive tasks improve muscle strength, but now I know that you need to apply resistance by adding something but not something very heavy; it will depend on the diagnosis the client had. I think I need to ask If I am not sure about some of the things in the client. I also need to work on my self-esteem, I need to be confident and know what I am doing in the facility. I think I am not confident enough, I was running a group session this week, and I was unable to find people, and that affected me emotionally, but I will try to be more confident when speaking with patients about the therapeutics groups because people think we just wasting their time. I need to communicate with the medical team to improve my skills in planning interventions.

It is important to ask for help from the medical team because they can give clarification and some sort of understanding of the areas that you need to focus on when treating the client. In my midterms, I thought working with other disciplines such as physiotherapists, occupational therapists, and nurses was challenging. I was afraid to speak with them about my assessments and treatment planning. I was also afraid to speak with them because I had to know everything concerning the client, but that was not an issue. The problem was talking about my client to another medical team, and I thought this was against the confidentiality of the client. "Teamwork divides the task and multiplies the success" (Harris, 2022). Some of my assessment findings were wrong due to my inability to communicate with other health care practitioners. The feedback I get from my supervisor made me realise that if there is something I do not understand, I have to ask for clarifications from a health care worker that is qualified for that type of problem. For example, my client had a stroke and his gait was affected. I did my own research and decided to conclude by saying his gait is ataxic. I think if I had asked a physiotherapist or my supervisor about his gait, I would have found the information I needed and improved my knowledge. The lesson I learned is to work with other disciplines, not with my colleagues only.

I am happy about the learning experience I got from fieldwork, and I think it will help me improve on my finals. This week I had a new client diagnosed with epilepsy. I communicated with his nurse and physiotherapist to learn more about his function in different occupations. According to Martin (2022), the benefits of a multidisciplinary team are that they can get multiple viewpoints on a situation or problem and collaborate to achieve the best outcome. I think working with other disciplines is an important part of being a health worker since we strive to make other people’s lives better. I will get more relevant information when planning interventions for the client to further ensure that my client receives all the interventions, meaning I am going to refer and liaise with other medical teams.

According to Robertson (2022), collaborating in hospitals can increase appropriate referrals, timely discharge preparation, discharge planning, and environmental adaptations. Additionally, this can enhance a sense of value and respect among team members and increase support among the healthcare team. I think I should continue to ask the medical team because I will get experience working with different medical teams. I learned that as a multidisciplinary team, we all have a common goal: we all want the patients to return to their healthy lives. A physiotherapist helps people walk on their own, and occupational therapists are responsible for educating patients and caregivers about safety precautions and discussing any complications or physical limitations associated with their condition. As a multidisciplinary team, we want our patients to return to their normal lives.

In conclusion, the most important aspect of being a health care worker is to be able to work in a team, this will make the interventions be meaningful and allow the therapist to achieve therapeutic aims. A lot went wrong in my midterms, but this is a learning curve. I'm glad I made mistakes since they will serve as continual reminders of what to do and what not to do.

References

Robertson, R. (2022). An interprofessional discharge planning curriculum in the clinical learning environment. Journal of Interprofessional Education & Practice, 28, 100525.

Brown, B. (2022). Quality and efficacy of Multidisciplinary Team (MDT) quality assessment tools and discussion checklists: a systematic review.

Harris, J. (2022). Improving teamwork in maternity services: A rapid review of interventions. Midwifery, 108, 103285.

Martin, D. (2022). Teamwork in health care and medical malpractice liability: an experimental investigation. European Journal of Law and Economics, 54(2), 251-282.

Multidisciplinary and Interdisciplinary Management of the Amputee ...

[miadwyer]

1. I want to be an elementary school teacher.

2.I want to make a difference in children's lives everyday. I want my students to feel welcomed in the classroom and be excited to learn new ideas and concepts.

3. I want to be in a cubicle that confins me in a space where I am not in contact with the outside world. I chase the opportunity to compete with my peers instead of collaborating with others.

4. I will be in a classroom of students who have little to no interest in working with others to achieve big goals. I will guide them into feeling driven by the success of what ideas can be accomplished when working as a team.

5.I would achieve this aspiration by presenting the class with difficult tasks that they would need to work on together as a group to solve. I would ensure that even the minor victories would be greatly celebrated. It would be through the tough challenges that people would put their heads together the most.

6.A person that I care about but is very unlike me would achieve this aspiration by observing how others approach this task by visiting a variety of teachers' classrooms that have different styles. Then they would pick out their favorite aspect from each teacher and mold them together to make their own style. Lastly, they would assess how the approach works out.

7.A third person such as someone who is a school counselor would achieve this aspiration differently. Counselors have the opportunity to work with other support staff such as a sociologist and other specialists to create a program that could fit individual students' needs. These programs could involve socialization, weekly check-ins and working on executive functioning skills. Even though these programs may not be more academic based like the ones mentioned in step five and six, they still provide children with strategies on how to work with others successfully.

8. When I was three years old I was diagnosed with type one diabetes. Ever since that day I got to learn the true importance of working as a team. In the beginning of my diabetic journey there were many tough times that I would have not been able to get through without the support of my parents and doctors. My parents and I would sit down together for hours practicing how to change my insulin site and we would learn together what is okay for me to eat and what is not. I would rely on them for the answers to my questions when I was little and they would put their trust in me to communicate how I was feeling at all times. My doctors taught my parents and I all there is to know about my condition and how to handle it. Without the support of my team, in this case my parents and doctors, I would not be the person I am today nor would I truly understand the importance of working together. I am so grateful that throughout one of the toughest obstacles of my life I had such amazing people to push through it with me and lead me to be confident in handling my diabetes myself everyday.

9.When I think of my story and step 1 together, it made me realize the impact that adults have on children when helping them to become responsible, independent and productive people. My parents and doctors have shaped me into being very individualistic and confident in the decisions I make to this day. As a teacher I want to be able to do this for my students and guide them to become their best selves.

[rothjuje]

2-23-2022, the first time I let the littles stay in jammies all day. In my defense, there was another “winter storm” (freezing) and the twins are sick. Again.

It’s been a crazy past couple of weeks (my mom came, Justin went to MA, then Justin’s parents came). Justin is gearing up to leave on another trip tomorrow but everything closes here when it’s below freezing because we don’t have road salt or snow plows and his flight has already been canceled once. Sigh.

I probably won’t discuss much about autism on here because the plethora of opinions. Whoa. Not on Tumblr necessarily (all messages and anons were polite and nice, thank you) but irl I regret saying anything to anyone. I feel like it’s all been either awkward pity or why isn’t he officially diagnosed and in intensive services already????

I research EVERYTHING. I knew from 3 months adjusted that autism was likely in our future. George has been in OT since he came home from the hospital (he had his eval the day after he came home). The OT didn’t become concerned about autism until he hit 2 and still wasn’t really talking. The agreement was always if he wasn’t saying 20 words by 2.5 we would get him assessed. He’s not 2.5 yet but there are enough indicators outside of speech to start the assessment process. He’s in OT, PT, and ST and will likely go into Head Start when he turns 3. He’s got a team of people watching him and making decisions in his best interest. There are so many different ways to support children with autism, we love him the way he is, and are not considering ABA.

Okay. Last autism related thing. We need to go to MA on a house hunting trip in May. It will be a serious one where we’ll see 10 plus houses and put in several offers. We can’t take all the kids, it will be too crazy. And I don’t even know if we could take George (he won’t wear a mask and last I heard he’d have to to be allowed on the plane). But. I don’t think I can leave him. He is seriously attached to me. He screams when I leave the room, even if other trusted adults are present. And I’m the only person who is capable of deescalating him. He’s usually super chill, and doesn’t throw it down unless triggered (a combination of overtired/hangry OR an uncomfortable and unfamiliar situation). The problem is if I’m gone and he doesn’t cooperate for anyone else, it could easily get to the point of him being overtired/hangry and throwing it down.

OT thinks we need to leave him here since he obviously doesn’t travel well. Or she thinks we could take him and I could chill with him at the park or hotel until Justin finds something he wants to put an offer on.

I guess we could also do a trial overnight and we could be local to see how it goes but one day is not 3-4 days.

Or I could just stay home.

OR. I could fly up Saturday night and leave Sunday night and just be gone one day to see all the places Justin wants to put offers in.

I don’t know. But it’s really stressing us out and we don’t know what to do. Justin wants me to see all the houses with him but I just don’t know if it’s feasible. Advice?

[perplexingluciddreams]

April 16:

Talk about discovering yourself as an autistic person. When did you first find out you were autistic? If you were diagnosed, what was that process like? If you are self diagnosed, when did you first start to suspect that you could be autistic? How did you feel about it when you first found out compared to how you feel about it now? Have you gotten to a place of acceptance? What does being autistic mean to you?

I was diagnosed at 15, (I previously thought that my mum suspected autism at a young age but dismissed the possibility, however I asked and she said she never suspected it, just thought I was an “introverted, empathetic and sensitive child”). We went to the mental health team I was seeing at the time, actually the first appointment we had was when we mentioned that we were looking for a possible autism diagnosis. They said that they saw strong traits in me just from the single short video appointment and I got to skip the waiting list because they saw it as an urgent thing.

The assessor said that she had “no doubt whatsoever that you have autism”, and I was actually diagnosed before my massive regression in speech and various other areas. I was not diagnosed with a “level” though, because I’m in the UK, so I don’t know what level or severity I am. I also suspect that it would be very different now to how it was when I was diagnosed because of the major regression I had.

I had first found other autistic people online at around age 13, and I thought that i related strongly to them but it never really occurred to me that I could be autistic growing up, even though I knew I was different and weird and not like everyone else.

It took me a while to process the diagnosis, even though by the time I was having the assessment I basically already knew I was going to be diagnosed with autism. My main feelings are “🤷🏻‍♂️”. It’s validating and nice to know that I’m not broken though. Growing up I knew I was different but because I didn’t have the word “autism” to use, i spouts assumed that something in my brain was broken. Now I just see it as being wired differently, I guess.

Autism is a big part of my life (especially because now I’m completely nonspeaking) but I also have physical disabilities that heavily affect my life too, so it’s hard to know exactly how affected I am by the autism alone. I have definitely accepted it, but I do still struggle with hating it sometimes because it makes my life so difficult. (I think this is natural though and doesn’t mean I don’t accept it).

I don’t have a good answer for what autism means to me. It changes a lot depending on the circumstances. Sometimes I see it as a part of me, and sometimes I see it as something that affects me. I’m not just my autism though, there is a lot more to me than just that.

[k-k-keroppi]

How I got diagnosed

When I was in the various waiting periods for my diagnosis procedure, I tried to hard to find an account of what was actually going to happen, what stages there were, anything to make the situation clearer, and I couldn’t find anything. I am since diagnosed, and so am writing down everything that happened to help other people who are frustrated by the lack of information. This is for england, and this link is also very helpful for more professional information, it’s an interactive flowchart for the NICE guidelines. Anyway, on with it. 

First, I want to say don’t be discouraged about the time periods. It took me two years to be diagnosed, but I had a series of circumstances that led to it being that long, covid being one. So, I first had my appointment with my GP on the 5th march 2019, when I was 15. I went with my mum, and the doctor asked some questions about how I was generally, I don’t completely remember. I blocked a lot of it out, because it was really stressful, and my doctor wasn’t really making sense, but that was just a him thing. He agreed that I needed a referal at the end of the session, which was really lucky, and so that was where it started. On the 21st of august 2019, I recieved a letter from the NHS telling us that we had to do an evidence based program through my school. #

Since my referal was through my school, my pastoral team were technically involved. What actually happened was that in (possibly) december/january, my mother had a meeting with one member of the pastoral team, and that was it. My mother was instructed to complete an online parenting course to make sure she understood how to properly look after me, and the referal process couldn’t properly start until she had done that. It was emailed to her, and she completed it on the 22nd of february 2020. In march 2020, england obviously went into lockdown and both my school and the referal offices weren’t active, so the process halted again. We got a letter all referal services had been paused, and we could email them again once three-four months had passed. 

In August 2020, we emailed them again, and the referal started again. I’m sorry I can’t remember exactly what happened then, but this was the worst period of waiting. Me and my mother think that, because of the backlog they presumable had, they forgot about me. On the eighteenth of february 2021, six months after my referal resumed, I recieved a letter with a series of surveys in it. There was an extensive one for my parents to fill in, and there was one for me to fill in. It asked questions like how I felt I interacted with people, had I ever done xyz before, and I ticked a box out of strongly agree to strongly disagree. My parents survey asked similar questions, but also included questions about my habits as a baby or a young child, whether I had ever slf hrmed, how they percieved my behaviours, and things like that. I wasn’t in the room when they filled it out. 

We sent it back to them filled out the next day, and on the 14th of april 2021 i got an appointment for an observational assessment. The observation was on the 5th of may 2021, and included me and my mother. I was taken into the walk in center and my and my mum sat in a room with a one way mirror, where the nurse who led us in was sitting. There was a table with some activities on it, and I was told to sit on a specific side of the table. First we had to play snap. There was only one snap in the pack, which my mum won. The nurse would knock on the glass when she wanted us to move on, and we would have to stop what we were doing even if we weren’t done and move on to the next one. 

The next activity was a plastic jenga tower. When each person took a jenga piece the person had to ask a question from a set list of questions they had on cards, and both people had to answer. Some of the questions were things like ‘have you ever saved money for something you wanted’ ‘what makes you angry’ ‘what makes you sad’ ‘what do you enjoy doing with friends’ and other things like that. 

The next activity was conversation again, but only my mum had instructions. She was told to engage me in conversation about anything, and it specified that she could ask me about something I liked. I talked about the magnus archives, and the woman knocked on the glass before I could finish talking and I had to stop, which I did. I don’t know what would happen if you chose not to. 

The final activity was similar to the jenga game, where we both had conversation cards. There was a metal pole hanging from a a frame, a bot like a bigger desk toy, and we had to balance other metal poles on t without it tipping, so we had to work together. My mum had more conversation cards to ask me, similar to the jenga ones. At the end, she had to engage me in two way conversation, rather than asking me about my special interest, and then the nurse came in and led us out. The nurse was really lovely, very smiley even though I kept saying how condescending I found everything during the observation.

On the tenth of may 2021, my mum and dad had a virtual meeting to talk to a different nurses about me. The meeting was meant to last two hours, and ended up lasting four and a half. They were asked about the family’s history of autism, my traits as a child, my traits now, going very in depth about my behaviours. I obviously wasn’t there, so I cant say with clarity what happened then. 

It was mentioned that there would be a virtual feedback meeting to talk about the results of the assessment, but that never happened. What did happen was a phone call on the 24th of may 2021, confirming that I had been diagnosed. A report explaining my traits, and the results of the assessment was said to have been posted to me, but I haven’t received it yet, The report will allow me to send to information to my teachers and receive help from my school.

So there you go, i don’t know how helpful that was but I remember the lack of information and I wanted to add mine to the fix, so heres a full post about the two years it took me. :)

[usertoxicyaoi]

Hey faiza I hope you dont mind sharing, but if you do you can ignore this ask, I wouldnt mind.

I have a younger sister who's recently diagnosed with autistism and I've tried to do research regarding it but I still feel helpless and that somehow I'll mess up. She's still growing and I want her to call home a safe place cause she has trouble with the outside world since there isnt a lot of awareness about autism here. Can you please guide me a bit? How you guys handle stuff at home? Any reading material that helped you. Thank you

hiiii anon!!! that's fine! honestly it was hard. bc my brother is the only boy from us all, and we're 4 siblings. there's me as the eldest, then my sister, then my brother and then my youngest sister. so at first, my parents just thought that bc was my brother was the only boy, that he might be developing a lot slower than me and my sister did as girls, but that eventually at the age of 2 or 3, he'd catch up. he didnt.

and my mum was the first one to sorta catch on that something didnt feel right. so after the health visitor inspected my brother and he got assessed, my brother got diagnosed with autism at the age of 3. my dad was a little reluctant at first to accept it, bc no one in my family history (either from my mum or dad's side) have autism or any type of special educational needs or disabilities, so my parents didnt really Know how to handle this all. but then my dad, after some time, came round.

and its not easy at all. it still isnt even though he's 23 now. but we've had a lot of support from different professionals, who are a whole team that have stuck with my brother at various points in his life, like his speech and language therapist or his educational psychologist or his medical staff or his teachers or his social worker etc. so they've always supported us and given us guidance and sent my parents to various courses - like triple p, something i hiiiiiiighly recommend. as a teacher, i also look into team teach, but i'd recommend even that too tbh, as a way to help and learn about de-escalation, and how you can positively help your sister in her education and broader sense of learning. another thing we also use is PECS - its honestly v v v useful for most children with autism as it helps them visualise their routine/timetable for the day/planned activities, but it also helps in allowing them to express what or how they feel, like hunger or fatigue, and helps them communicate their needs to you, if you help them understand what the visual cards represent.

for my brother, we've always had him have his own bedroom, and thats his private space to cool off and calm down that we rarely go in. my brother's non verbal, so he really has struggled with communication. we know a bit of BSL (sign language) and that helped when he was a kid, but as he grew, his school and his teachers slowly got him to begin speaking. he now only speaks in 3 or 4 word strings, not full sentences, but its a huge development!

my brother's really into disney, so he has a collection of disney books and films in his bedroom. what i'm saying is that get the time to explore what your sister's interests and hobbies are, and make her safe space one that holds her interests to help her feel secure. my brother isnt very into sensory textured things, so food isn't a huge issue with him, but for your sister, explore what textures she likes and what she doesnt. we dont ever force my brother into something he doesnt want to do, and sometimes that can mean cancelling plans last minute as a whole family too, which can be quite upsetting. so sometimes what helps is telling my brother well in advance that we're planning to do xyz on such a day, so that on that day, he isnt overcome with anxiety, bc most children with autism need a set routine, and if that gets disrupted, then they will behave anxiously. so now, when we have to go to a wedding or go out to eat, we tell my brother a week or so in advance, and he's okay with that.

but also, build some independence and decision making in them! let them choose what clothes they want to wear, what food they want to eat, whether they want to do english or maths today etc. sometimes things can become overwhelming and they do hit or bite or pinch or throw things. thats the moment where you just say a firm No and step away. let them cool off, and that will give you a chance to cool off too.

and always make sure YOU are okay too. if it gets too much, speak to your family. make sure different people are with your sister, because it can be physically difficult and mentally emotional. if you want to rest one day and have that day for yourself, tell someone in your family in advance and have some me time, and that will give a different family member a chance to spend time with your sister. that will help your sister build more relationships too! some days, my brother doesnt even wanna see my face, and thats ok! he spends that day with my other sisters or my parents or he'll go out with my cousin or sometimes, just by himself, bc they need that too.

and if you just tell someone, if you are going out somewhere, that you have a family member that has autism, you'll be surprised with how accommodating people are, and that helps so so much as opposed to not telling and then you'll get stressed and anxious too. like, sometimes, crowds and big spaces stress my brother out, even now, for example at a wedding we recently went to. but we told the person who invited us about my brother, and they said its absolutely no problem whatsoever if my brother needs to step out for a bit to get some fresh air or if he needs to be fed first etc. and in the same vein, i'd say to keep your conversations with you and your sister's "team" (her school teachers etc) ongoing, so that everyone is on the same page. for example, if you were to go on holiday or implement a new habit or try something new with your sister, if your sister's whole "team" knows about this, then you are all on the same page, and will help build that new change for your sister.

its honestly a learning experience that will never end, if i were to be honest. and some days its so .... hard. and other days its the most heartwarming thing you'll ever experience. make sure you take care of yourself, including speaking to someone if gets too much, so you can take care of your sister. and soon enough you yourself with just ... develop a sixth sense for who and what your sister wants or doesnt want and who or what she does or doesnt need.

🧡

[adhdstudybitch]

Hello Lex! My name is Anna and I have the strong believe that I have ADHD. Since you were diagnosed relatively late in your life I wondered if you could share some of your experiences with me. Why and how did you get your diagnosis? I have symptoms like bad memory, hyperactivity, no object permanence, bad at friendships, but I'm pretty organized. This is why I'm scared to talk to people, they would just deny that I have a problem cause I can work lol. Hope this question is fine! Greetings :)

Hi Anna! I’ve been a bit awol this semester and have no idea when this was sent (I’m stuck in the app ugh) so I’m very sorry if this is late. You’re always welcome to send any questions you have, even if I’m a butt about answering in a timely fashion 😂

First I want to say that I feel for you. One of the reasons they didn’t catch my adhd in primary was because I was “very smart” (my grades some years didn’t reflect that but they chalked it up to bad home life, which was a factor). But you don’t have to be disorganized to have adhd. A lot of people with adhd are actually ridiculously organized, sometimes out of perfectionism (which a lot of if adhders deal with) and some people even become very organized as a way to balance out other symptoms. Some people are just organized by nature; whatever the reason, disorganization is not necessary and I hope if you seek professional assistance whoever you go to knows this.

I’d known I had adhd for a few years before getting diagnosed but I was afraid to bring it to my doctor. I didn’t want her thinking I was exaggerating symptoms or whatnot. So I did what any reasonable person would do...I lied 😂 I told her that I’d been going to a focus group on campus and that the psychologist running it recommended I get assessed for adhd. My doctor got me in pretty fast, asked me a bunch of preliminary questions, and due to her education background she was able to diagnose me herself (this isn’t common for PCPs tho, I just got very lucky to have her with her specific credentials). From there I was sent to a psychiatrist, who verified the diagnosis and got me on meds.

My advice would be to really think about your situation, the kind of people on your medical team, and if you’re determined to get a diagnosis use what you’ve got. The fact is I shouldn’t have had to lie, but our system works against afab people who seek a late diagnosis and sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do in order to be listened to. You may end up having to talk to multiple people before getting assessed; don’t give up! I believe in you!

And finally, if you’re not able to get a diagnosis: self-diagnosis is nothing to be ashamed of and you have a place in this community. I strongly recommend the YouTube channel How to ADHD for lots of tips on how to manage adhd symptoms better (she also has a few vids on getting diagnosed I believe).

Best of luck to you! And if you have any further questions don’t be afraid to ask. I’ll try my best to be on more often so I don’t miss anything ♥️

(I apologize if there are typos, I don’t have the energy to edit at the moment)

[fromthecouch]

I have always watched too much tv - an introduction.

A personal history of my relationship with the small screen.

My grandparents, who were my main parental figures growing up, didn’t work 9 to 5s. My grandfather worked as a bus driver for the Chicago Transit Authority, for over 20 years. His schedule often fluctuated. My grandmother worked as an expeditor for architectural firms. She made her hours and often came home later in the evening. For a significant part of childhood and all of my adolescence, I spent a lot of time alone. Sometimes I would go to my friends’ homes after school or my younger cousin would stay for the evening; however, from 3:00 PM-8:00 PM on weeknights, my main source of connection to other humans was through our living room television, the screen of my family’s desktop, and the pages of fiction.

It was not until recently that I learned of the term ‘latchkey kid.’ I had been watching the A&E Freaks and Geeks documentary on Amazon Prime when I noted the phrase. It had been used during an interview portion of the documentary when one of the production team members used it to describe Bill Haverchuck. The documentary cut to a scene of Bill, one of the show’s “geeks”, sitting in front of a television, laughing hysterically, with grilled cheese and Entenmann’s chocolate cake on a TV tray. The interviewee recalled their childhood similarities to Bill —the experience of a latchkey life. I was immediately intrigued and paused the documentary to turn to Google.

Freaks and Geeks, Episode 14: Dead Dogs and Gym Teachers

The search brought me to the Wikipedia definition, listed as “a child who returns to an empty home after school or a child who is often left at home with no supervision because their parents are away at work.” I reflected more in-depth on this and found myself assessing my relationship to fiction and how it raised me.

I have always watched too much tv. I used to read voraciously. I would buy random ‘pre-viewed’ DVDs from Blockbuster and played them in rotation until I got my hands on a new batch and a new rotation started. My grandparents often enabled my habit as a reader, yet I would go through books too quickly for my family trips to the library or Borders to keep up. Most of my planned reading for the week would be completely consumed by the end of the night on Tuesday or Wednesday, so the rest of my weekly time alone, I would turn to watch things.

At a young age, I viewed watching television as infinite. Since it was before the era of eBooks, there was a limited number of hours that my books could sustain me for each week, but television would always be there for me. I watched everything — movies, children’s shows, reality television, teen dramas, daytime television, sitcoms, documentaries, sometimes even infomercial channels. Fifth grade is when I truly became in awe of all that the small screen had to offer. My grandparents had upgraded to the premium package on Comcast. We went from a few dozen channels to having HBO, The N, Discovery Kids, multiple channels of MTV, channels that played history docuseries around the clock, the Filipino variety show channel, and so much more.

As a kid, film, literature and television was how I got to know the world. When I was a teenager, I more actively started to engage with what I was watching and reading. Fiction helped me dream of what I wanted for my life. How I consumed television and film during those years laid the groundwork for who I am as a person now. That was also when I had begun to use fiction to feel less lonely, to escape from the pressures of turbulent home life, to relate to my peers. I had curated a group of friends that also had independence thrust upon them at a young age. Watching tv with each other over the phone and renting films to watch together on the weekends was a big part of how we related to one another — the common interests that bound our friendships, as mutual indoor kids. My high school years also coincided with Netflix’s shift from delivery rentals to mainly streaming, which allowed us to consume a new set of content, in an entirely new way. With adulthood approaching, we segued into the era of series binge-watching.

I was diagnosed with panic disorder and major depression when I was in my sophomore year of university. It was around that time that I became more cognizant of the way that I used television and film as coping mechanisms. Sometimes they served healthy coping mechanisms, sometimes they became more like distractions, and numbing agents. Whatever the case, I sometimes doubt that I would’ve gotten through some of my lowest times without the fictional characters, places and storylines of my favorite shows.

In 2017, I struggled with some chronic health issues, nothing serious, but very debilitating. It took me a year to stabilize. At that time, I hardly saw my friends. I had to quit my job and was unemployed for a full year, living with my boyfriend’s family in an unfamiliar suburb. I was too ill to hold down a full-time position. I was always in pain. I entered the longest depressive episode of my life, which made reading, my first love, feel daunting. I also struggled with a lot of vestibular migraines. The aftermath of those lingered for days and sometimes left me in a fog that made the words on a page feel painful.

I still had television though. On my worst days, I often only had the bandwidth to make doctors’ appointments, eat oatmeal, and rewatch television series I had already seen. The Chinese Restaurant episode of Seinfeld made me smile when I otherwise felt numb. Buffy the Vampire Slayer made me feel resilient when I felt incapable of basic human functions. Daria made me feel understood when I felt completely isolated from my peers. 

Seinfeld, Season 2 Episode 11 The Chinese Restaurant

On my better days, I could venture into a new series, which involved more attention. I mainly consumed television rather than movies for the most part, as I didn’t like having my time spent with characters and plots to feel limited. (The major exception to this was the MCU, due to the span of central, interconnected plots.) With access to Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime and HBO plus, I found television to again feel like my main connection to other people. When I felt like I didn’t have anyone else, I had Mr Robot, Atlanta, Glow, Mozart in the Jungle, Westworld, Stranger Things, Game of Thrones, Black Mirror, Big Little Lies, Insecure. When the pain from my migraines, GI issues, ovarian cysts, and mundanity of my newly “sick” life made me feel terrible, watching the fictional lives of others helped me escape. Watching these fictional lives, helped me feel like I was surrounded by others and living their lives with them when my own life felt on pause and isolated.

In 2018, I was fortunate enough to get on a successful diet and medication combination that allowed me to stabilize my health, move back to the city, reestablish my friendships, and resume my career. Even so, I still have more mild depressive episodes. I still get medical flareups. I am still a normal person who occasionally faces conflict, as that is just life. When I’m in those darker places, television is often both a distraction and connection that helps me recalibrate. Now here I am, at my current age of 27, and I still depend on fiction to be there for me.

Once the COVID-19 lockdowns and restrictions started in March of 2020, I, like everyone else around the country, found myself limited in social interaction. I maintained some level of relatedness to others through my cat, my boyfriend, group texts with friends, and my Zoom work meetings. Yet, television was again a big part of how I related to the human experience. Television persisted in reminding me of what life was like pre-pandemic and what it could be in the future. It has helped me keep boredom and restlessness at bay. Through this time, I’ve found myself watching many series that I would have never watched otherwise. I have also found myself analyzing the series that I watch more thoroughly and with more curiosity than I had the capacity to in my youth and during my time of medical distress.

This year was also the first year that I have started writing for leisure, since high school. Being so online over the past year, I’ve often found myself with many thoughts to collect, package cohesively, and express, yet I’ve felt very limited by the current platforms I often interact with. I often feel like I cannot articulate meaningful thought on platforms like Instagram and Twitter, which are limiting by word limit and social media norms. My newfound revived interest in writing has often collided with my enthusiasm for television, film, and pop culture, more broadly.

It may be true that I watch too much television. It may also be true that television was one of my first true friends and in many ways an extra parental figure. I want to move beyond watching too much television. I want to openly explore television, what it means to me, what it means to the collective, and examine the things that we love to watch or have loved to watch with a critical lens. That is what I hope to express on here.

[itstheelvenjedi]

TW: ableism, bullying, violence, very ranty, some ableist slurs (they’re not written out but they’re mentioned in-context/as I talk about what I’ve experienced over the years, fuck off, don’t be a clown)

I’ve been thinking about this a lot this weekend specifically, had a convo with dad in the car that ended up being sorta a little bit triggering ig that set it off.

No one ever talks about how alienating it is to grow up disabled. I’ve always been disabled, from the moment I was old enough to have memories of anything, my legs have been messed up. And it’s never gotten better, it’s only gotten worse. And even tho I wasn’t officially diagnosed till I was 21, I’ve always been neurodivergent growing up. But I didn’t have that diagnosis, so I grew up thinking that there was something horribly wrong with me. That it was my fault that I was hyper-interested in things that were “unimportant” to other prepubescent children my age and absolutely not interested in the other things (that was also the closet queer showing but that’s not as relevant to this particular talk post so I’m not gonna dwell on it) And no one likes to talk about what it’s like to deal with that. Because the truth is it’s a lot of SHIT.

How everyone’s default, whether abled people or even other disabled people is always “someone has it worse, stop making excuses so you don’t have to do stuff”

As if we enjoy not being able to do these things and it’s not, you know....incredibly dehumanising, upsetting and FRUSTRATING to not be able to do the simplest fucking thing for yourself without help. Cause unless you have money coming out your ass and can pay for any and all adaptations you need then you’re in trouble (I’ve been having these issues with the local ppl for years and I’m sick to death of it)

I KNOW the situation for SSI/SSDI or whatever it’s called in the states is worse and at least we have the NHS here, but that should not invalidate bad experiences that disabled people here have to go through too.

Like the people doing the “disability assessments” being a bunch of able-bodied pencil pushers who will sit there and tell you that “you’re not trying hard enough” to do something that they take for granted which is literally impossible for you and that’s the fucking point of it. Or that they do not seem to understand what the phrase “from birth” fucking means. It means I was born like this and I will DIE like this, jackass. So it’s not going to “need different care in 3 years time so you’ll have to do another assessment”

You know what’s more harmful for us? Having to re-apply with the same motherfucking information every 3 years, when nothing has changed. It’s stressful as fuck, and it’s humiliating as fuck too! I’m sick and tired of being told it’s “necessary” for me to have to basically take an exam every 3 years to “prove I struggle enough with my disability” just so I can get aid to pay for the help that I need to survive.

Trust me, I’d rather be fucking working a “proper” job too, but nobody wants to make allowances for my shortcomings and I’m done with making my pain and injuries worse than they already are just to please fucking ableds. I’m done with being a “volunteer” who’s expected to do part-time hours for no pay while I get verbally abused for “not doing a good enough job” because what I did was the best I’m physically able to fucking give you, Susan, I’m fucking crippled.

And for the most part I think I’m over the early trauma from my school years, but nobody ever talked about, or prepared me for, the physical and verbal abuse I’d endure from my classmates for shit I literally couldn’t control.

I still feel weird calling anybody a “friend” tbh, and it takes me a long time trusting people, because my “friends” during my formative years were just nice to my face so they could then get “more material” to take to the rest of the school so they could mock me and call me slurs (like the r word, the s word, and “weirdo” and “fucking freak”, and “the one who runs like an s-word horse”)

Or how I had to literally be taken out of PE/Gym lessons for my own fucking protection because the team that “lost” because they got “stuck with the fucking s word/r word freak” (me) lost, and I’d get the shit beaten out of me for....not being able bodied ig?? I’m sorry it’s so problematic for you, ableds. I hate it too.

I hate that I spent so much of my childhood with internalised ableism where I’d either feel like I shouldn’t exist at all, or I’d wish “my disability was worse and I’d be in a wheelchair, because then at least people would take me seriously and not hurt me as much”.

And I hate how nobody, but ESPECIALLY abled people, wants to acknowledge this shit. How the first response to disabled and disabled + ND people talking about the impact their symptoms have on their life is

“well someone else has it worse” or “well it’s not ACTUALLY that bad”

tw: capslock and cussing

_________________________________________________________

BITCH. HOW THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW, YOU’RE ABLE-BODIED, YOU’VE NEVER HAD TO WORRY ABOUT THIS SHIT A DAY IN YOUR FUCKING LIFE!!! YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT HOW MUCH PAIN I’M IN 24/7 AND HOW IT ENTIRELY AFFECTS MY DAY-TO-DAY LIFE AND ABILITY TO DO SIMPLE THINGS LIKE FUCKING EAT, BATHE, EXERCISE, DRIVE  AND EVEN SOCIALISE ETC. YOU DON’T. KNOW. SHIT.

_________________________________________________________

end of capslock

And the fact that my own dad is doing that shit, and gets arsey about it when I call him out on it, was very upsetting.

“It’s not your disability actually it’s the neurodivergence and if you just learnt to mask better you’d cope more”

as if my ND status has anything to do with my physical disability which causes me constant pain, even ON pain meds.

The pain meds don’t take the pain away,  motherfucker, they just tamp it down to a level where it’s (most of the time) “managable” and I can still attempt to do things in spite of the pain. But it still takes effort, a lot of effort, way more effort than you, an able-bodied person, have to put into doing the same thing.

The best that I can give as a disabled person is never “good enough”, because abled people will always assume that because they can do something easily/without thinking about it, that anyone else can and anyone who says they can’t is just LAZY, or STUPID or BOTH

I could probably honestly go on and on about this a lot more but I’d be talking mostly in circles at this point so I’m gonna stop myself here.

OK to RB, other disabled people feel free to add to this. Ableds CAN (and are encouraged) to reblog too but KEEP YOUR FUCKING PIEHOLES CLOSED. Thank u

[doing-all-write]

don’t be a baby

Pairing: Billy x Reader

Summary: Reader is a nurse who’s brother falls into the Sky Walker crowd. After he gets injured, Billy takes it upon himself to look after Reader’s brother and calm Reader’s nerves as they get ready for their next job. But when the job goes awry and Reader can’t keep Billy safe, how does she cope? 

Word Count: 11K

Warnings: Smut (only 18+ interact please!), swearing, blood and softness bc we love two idiots pining over each other but refusing to acknowledge their feelings for each other!!

A/N: I wrote this in a caffeine fueled burst of inspiration after talking to @mrhoemazzello​ about how much of a baby Billy would be when he gets injured and you have to patch him up and it made me so soft and shoutout to @itsabenthing​ for helping me flesh out this idea and for always being such a great cheerleader 💖but this bad boy is DEFINITELY going to be a two parter so keep an eye out part two coming soon!

Also the first part of this story takes place before the events of 6Underground and the job they’re planning and go on is the one in the movie just to give everyone some context. 

💖💖As always likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💖💖

There was a thump at the window. 

She ignored it. It was close to midnight and the idea that someone could be knocking on her (three stories high) window at this time seemed ludicrous. She groaned, shifting in the chair she had curled up in hours ago, reaching out for the sweet release of unconsciousness to claim her before her anxiety kept her up.

She knew Billy was most likely gone. She didn't want to admit it to herself but the relentless loop in her head was a broken record of he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone.

There was still a part of her that hoped Billy had gotten away unscathed. She had seen him in action, she knew what he was capable of and she sent out a wish that Billy would come running into her apartment like the day he came running into the hospital. 

~~~

She had been working in the Emergency Room, taking over a fellow nurses night rotations in exchange for a few extra days off, when a man had limped in, blue eyes frantic, blonde hair damp and smashed to his forehead, carrying what looked like a dummy in a hoodie, both of them covered in dried blood.

She raced around the desk to them, looping the arm of the prone man around her shoulders as she helped steer them to the nearest room. The blonde kept babbling on about how the man between them had hurt himself while they wrestled the man into a bed. Once the unconscious man was laying down, she pulled back the hood obscuring his face and felt her soul leave her body.

Her brother's face was the one staring back at her.

Now is not the time. Pull it together. You know what to do. Her Nurse Brain kicked in and she shoved the blonde to the side as she hastily started taking care of her brother. Once he had been stabilized and diagnosed with nothing more than a nasty bump on the head, a broken ankle and a badly bloodied nose, she had shoved the shadow who had been following her around into the hallway, crowding him into the supply closet and demanding answers. 

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Oh, careful there, love. You keep talking dirty to me like that and I'll fall in love with you."

"Why the fuck were you with my brother?" 

"Taking him out on a date because he spoke to me with the same dirty mouth you both share apparently." 

He was obstinate, shifting between smart ass answers and flirting as she tried to get any scrap of information from him. She finally hit her limit and spat out, "He's my fucking brother and if you don't tell me what happened, I'll assume it was you and have you thrown in jail. I don't give a fuck about you," She had jabbed a finger into his chest and he winced, "but I do give a fuck about my family." 

Her Nurse Brain activated again when she saw him wince. Eyes zipping over him, assessing, she took in his bloodied face and hands. "Unzip your hoodie."

"Interesting. I'd always heard that angry sex was the best. Can't believe I'm gonna find out if that's true in this supply closet."

Rolling her eyes, she'd batted his hands away as he tried to prevent her from unzipping his hoodie. Fixing him with her if you don't let me do my fucking job I'll kill you and make it look like an accident stare, he had held his hands up in surrender. 

Metallic ticks were the only noise as she pulled the zipper down, revealing the red tank top underneath. 

"Wait, was this originally white?" 

A huff of breath was the only answer she received before she pulled him back into the room with her brother, patching him up while she kept up a running commentary of grumbling about how he had endangered not only her own brother but also himself.

"I mean, what kind of stupid, reckless, idiot would do something like that! Jesus, you see one too many Marvel movies and think, 'hmm, that looks easy. I can do that too!' I mean honestly."

Her monologue was interrupted by the feel of a rough palm grasping her forearm. It seemed like trying to get the next words out were more painful than sustaining the injuries he had already taken that night, "I was protecting him. He works with our crew well and I told him not to come with us but he insisted. Said he needed these jobs so he could help his little sister pay off her student loans." 

That had shut her up. 

~~~

He didn't remember falling asleep but he stirred as he felt his arm being moved.

"It's okay, it's just me." 

"I'm sorry, I don't know a 'me'. I only know the hard ass nurse who I had incredible sexual chemistry with." He heard her huff out a breath, could almost hear her eyes rolling as well. Her fingers were gentle as she made sure the IV drip in his arm was still firmly in place. She saw his lips quirk and rolled her eyes, again, "Go back to sleep. I like you more when you're unconscious."

"Great bedside manner you have there, sweetheart. You got a name?" 

There was silence, then, "It's (Y/N)."

He sighed, "Well, (Y/N), it's nice to meet you. I'm Billy, and that guy in the opposite bed? That's Mark. Though I'm assuming you two already know each other since you're related and all."

"If you weren't in a hospital bed, I'd smack you."

"There's that bedside manner that keeps the patients coming back."

~~~

Billy didn't remember when he drifted off again but when he came to, the light on the other side of his eyelids was the dull yellow of the beginning rays of sunlight welcoming another morning. Eyelids fluttering open, Billy had seen her, curled up in a hospital chair right by Mark's bed, hand cupping her brother's as their chests rose and fell in tandem. Feeling like he was encroaching on a private moment, he closed his eyes again, praying that the tear he felt running down his cheek would dry before either of them would wake up. 

~~~

"Hey. (Y/N). Wake up. C'mon. I've got him from here, go home and shower. Grab some food." 

Her eyelids flickered open and a groan came flying out of her mouth as she slowly started rolling her neck around. As she did so, she couldn't help her eyes from straying to the bed across the room. But it was empty. 

~~~

Her brother had been discharged the next day and she'd been keeping a close eye on him since. A few days later, she kicked open the door of his apartment, yelling out a greeting as she tried to balance the two large tote bags of food, games and movies she had brought over to help keep him entertained and fed as he healed up.

"I know you're a purist when it comes to Star Trek but I brought over the reboots because one, Chris Pine is very easy on the eyes and two, Star Trek is Star Trek I mean, as long as someone says 'live long and prosper' you're good, right?"

Her voice trailed off as she padded into his living room only to be met with four pairs of eyes staring back at her. Everyone, including her brother, was wearing black athletic clothes making them look a bit like a goth gymnastics team, she felt like a toddler amongst them in her over-sized sweater and leggings.

Her eyes sought out her brother's in hopes he would explain. Mark's eyes pleaded with her to be understanding and it wasn't until she heard someone clear their throat that she realized she recognized the blue eyes staring back at her,

"I'll, uh, I'll just come help you unpack those bags. Okay, love?" The steel cutting along the edge of his words gave her no time to argue as she felt Billy's large hand pressing into her lower back as he shoved her into the kitchen. 

Tripping over her feet, she flung the Star Trek DVD back onto the counter as she rounded on Billy.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" the words were pulverized through her clenched teeth. Her hands curled into fists to prevent them from shaking. She was terrified that these people were back in her brother's life, and only a few days after he had left the hospital because of their recklessness.  

"It's so lovely to see you too! I missed you and your warm bedside manner so much darling." He snarled back as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Now is not the time. Last time you showed up in my life you almost got my brother killed. You better explain yourself now or I'm grabbing the broom and beating everyone in that room out the door and then breaking the broom over your head personally."

Blue eyes widened till she could see the whites all the way around them, "How are you allowed to take care of people? You should be locked up by the pigs not me." He swiveled around, grabbing a beer from the fridge and popping the top off by putting the lid of the bottle against the rim of the counter and hitting it with the heel of his hand. 

Peering out of the corner of his eye he saw her eyes widen, a flush building in her cheeks. She hated how that simple action had sent a flash of warmth through her. 

Smirking, he turned back to her, bringing the bottle to his lips, taking a long sip as she shook herself from thinking about what other things Billy could do with his hands. 

So maybe she had noticed how handsome he was after he had fallen asleep in the hospital. She was only human. 

"While I'm so glad you're enjoying my brothers hospitality, maybe you could dignify me with an answer?" She knew the sarcasm dripping from every word was poisonous but she couldn't help herself. Just because she had seen dried tear tracks on Billy's face when she had woken up to check on him in the cool dawn morning and, alright, maybe she had checked the medical records in the hospital for information on him ("It's like Facebook stalking!" her voice rising as she quickly tried to close his records after her co-worker called her out on it.) and maybe her heart had twisted in on itself when she woke up the next morning and he was gone and maybe she had spent a few thousand hours thinking about him and wondering if she would ever see him again didn't mean she wanted him in her life. 

Right? 

Sighing, Billy leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms as the bottle dangled between two long fingers, "We're planning another job and we asked your brother to do surveillance. All he'll be doing is sitting on that couch," he closed one eye, pointing towards the sofa Mark was currently residing at, "watching security cameras and making sure none of us get caught and warning us of any potential baddies around the corner. It's easy, it's harmless and you could even be sitting next to him babysitting if you're really that concerned about my safety."

Rolling her eyes, she stepped forward to start unpacking the bags, needing something to do with her hands and eyes. Looking right at Billy was like staring at the sun. She feared looking at him for too long would result in permanent damage from his eyes boring into hers, or that the fluttering in her stomach would get stronger the more she talked to him.  

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't seen the group Billy ran with around the city. Walking along, earbuds in, minding her own business, she'd hear a thud, look up and instead of squirrels scampering along the telephone wires, it would be people. Executing flips, yelling, jeering, she'd watch in awe while Nurse Brain would be calculating what kind of injuries they'd sustain and how bad said injuries would be if they fell, but they never did. 

They looked more comfortable walking in the sky than on the ground. They were flying. Confident. So sure that there would be something there to catch them. She had started calling them "Sky Walkers."

Every time she saw them from then on, she always had an ache in her heart for the rest of the day. She craved the security and confidence they had. She'd looked down at her feet encased in Nike's, cursing them for staying ground to the tiled floor of the hospital. 

"All I know is, last time my brother got mixed up with you guys, he showed up at my hospital, bloody and unconscious." Her shoulders hunched forward as anger drained from her body thinking about how frightened she had been. "Can you blame me for being scared?" 

This last sentence was almost missed by Billy. But seeing her look so defeated, Billy's heartstrings tugged. Mark talked about his sister a lot. It was clear they took care of each other. He had always wondered what it would have been like to have that consistency.

Placing Tupperware on the kitchen table, the silence stretched out as Billy sized her up. Finally, her eyes rose, meeting his underneath the harsh fluorescent light. The eyes staring into hers were calculating but not cold. They weren't the eyes of a doctor, sizing up a patient and only seeing a maze of veins, arteries and organs that with the right snip or stitch could be fixed. His was a gaze that peeled back the layers of skin and bone, seeing right into the most vulnerable parts of yourself. 

"You've noticed that your loans are almost entirely paid off. Haven't you." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Billy had been the one to walk Mark through the steps to help pay off her loans without it being suspicious. He had heard her on the other end of the line when she called to tell Mark how much her loans had gone down. The voice on the other end high-pitched, tinny, but the love between them so palpable he had to leave the room. 

Her eyes darted down as she busied herself carrying Tupperware over to the fridge, her hair a curtain over her profile as she leaned down to place it in the fridge. "He loves you, you know. A lot. That's the only reason he took the gig." He took a sip of beer, watching her frame, way too still to not be listening, peering into the fridge but not seeing anything. "He's friends with Jean, the mastermind, out there and when he complained about how unfair it was of you to have so many loans, Jean offered him a cut of the benefits if he helped us with the job." 

She didn't feel the coolness of the fridge air wafting over her, she felt nothing but enormous guilt. She was the reason he had been injured. That he was mixed up in this crowd. She was the reason he was putting himself in harms way and if he died? It would be all her fault. 

Billy, chuckled to himself as she was gripped in the throes of an existential crisis, "Jean's a good guy but I think he mainly knew having a nurse in our good graces would be immeasurably helpful."

His eyes widened as she turned to face him, flecks of mascara caught in the tears moving down her face but she didn't seem to notice them streaking down. It seemed like she barely noticed him, "You have to keep an eye on him. Please. If anything happens to him-because of me-I-I don't..." her voice trailed off.

Billy crouched down, cupping her shoulders as he pressed his forehead into hers, "Hey. Hey, love. Love? Look at me, focus on my voice, okay?" He pulled back so he could look into both of her eyes. With enormous effort she pulled herself back to this moment, in her brothers kitchen, crouched on the floor with a Sky Walker. "I'll keep an eye on him. He's one of us now. We look after our own, got it? We always do." She nodded, searching his eyes for any sign of lying but there was none. Just warm, blue skies, promising her that from then on out, everything would be fine. 

~

After their rendezvous in the kitchen, Billy had gone back to the living room to plan while she had splashed cold water on her face and pulled herself together. By the time she slunk out of the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself, everyone was leaving and Billy had his arm around a brunette girl who reeked of sexual experience and danger. 

She was pretty sure she reeked of "Christmas Cookie" hand sanitizer and sexual frustration. 

Billy caught her eye as he strolled out of the room, winking at her as he walked past. 

Her heart caught in her throat at the action but remembered how his girlfriend was someone who flew through the air with enormous ease and she was someone who was locked on the ground. 

~

Patching her brother up came easy to her. She wished it had been the first time she had fixed him up but that would be a lie. She went over to his apartment a few times a week. Sometimes the other Sky Walker's would be there, sometimes not. Most of the time if they were over, they spent their time planning the next big heist. Maps and blueprints covered every available surface and surveillance footage became a comforting background noise as she would prep dinner or check Mark's ankle and help him do physical therapy.

Sometimes it would just be Jean hanging out, playing video games with Mark. The first dinner he joined them for, she found she could barely look at him. The resentment towards him still a solid rock in her stomach. 

A few meals later, Jean gently tugged her into the living room after she had gotten Mark set up in bed, "Alright. I know why you won't look at me. Let me have it."

He had sat on the couch for over an hour, hands folded in his lap, nodding as she ripped him a new one, getting out all of her fear and anger. Once she had run out of steam and was standing in front of him, he had taken her hands in his, making the same promise Billy had. That Mark was one of their own now. He would do everything he could to take care of him. The eyes peering back up at her were full of nothing but sincerity.

Glancing down, she sniffled, peering at their hands intertwined, "You have questionable tattoos." Jean barked out a laugh, "You think mine are bad? You should see some of Billy's."  

From then on, she looked forward to having the Sky Walker's around. Whenever she entered Mark's apartment in the weeks leading up to the mission, her heart would speed up in anticipation.

Sometimes it would come crashing to the ground when she saw no sign of Billy. Other times, she was positive individuals could see her heart beating through her shirt when her eyes caught his from across the room. 

The only downer was, if Billy was there, that usually meant his girlfriend, Cassandra, was there as well. 

She had tried, a valiant effort in her opinion, to make nice with her. Most of the time, they were the only girls around. Working to find common ground with Cassandra was proving to be a difficult task, mainly because Cassandra would fix her with a blank stare until she slunk back into the kitchen to restock Mark's fridge.  

The last straw for her had been when she had walked into Mark's apartment, yelling hello only to look up and see Cassandra fixing her with a blank stare and sharpening a knife

She quickly found that anyone who carried their own knife sharpening kit was someone she didn't particularly trust. It made her nervous then, that Billy did so much. 

But she didn't want to interfere. She didn't want to think about all the lethal ways Cassandra could injure her with that blade if she found out she had meddled in her relationship.

When Billy was there, she could hardly stop the grin that threatened to split her face as she busied herself in the kitchen making food for everyone, jumping every time someone came into the kitchen, waiting for Billy to come in under the guise of getting a beverage but always stopping to chat with her. 

Those stolen minutes in the kitchen with Billy were quickly becoming her favorite times. 

She hadn't meant to develop a crush on Billy, but, how could she not? Other than the physical reasons, (she had once seen him take his shirt off to try on a new one and she almost dropped a whole bowl of soup into Mark's lap) he was genuine. Ever since he had looked into her eyes and promised to take care of her brother, he had kept that promise. 

When plans would change, he'd come into the kitchen and update her. He'd tell her all the different contingency plans they had. And while she knew her brother wasn't going on this mission, she still felt a sense of peace wash over her as he walked her through the plan. 

There was one night she asked him, "How did you even get into the Sky Walker stuff?" Coughing on the sip of beer he'd just downed, he made a choking noise, "The what stuff?"

Blushing, she realized she had let slip the private name she had called them ever since she first saw them leaping through the sky, "Umm, Sky Walkers? It's dumb, I know, but I saw you guys months ago leaping over buildings and wires and to me, from the ground, it was like you were walking on the sky, like you had mastered the force and the elements and I've called you that ever since..." her voice trailed off as Billy sat down next to her.   

Laying his arms on the table, a smirk played across his lips, "Well, now that I know you're a huge Star Wars nerd, you're even cuter." his eyes dancing with mirth.

Her heart sank at that. She knew Billy didn't feel the same way about her (why would he when he had Cassandra slinking around out there waiting out for him to join her in the sky) but her heart still leaped at the knowledge that he thought she was cute.

His eyes fixed on an unseen spot as he mulled the name over, "I gotta say, I like the name Sky Walkers. Might bring that up to the whole team. Give you full credit and trademark rights of course." He winked and she giggled as she pulled her mug of tea closer. 

"Why don't you join us in the living room? You're always welcome. And I have insider intel that when Jean's over, you two hang out like you're best friends. So why don't you want to hang out with me?" He made an exaggerated pouty face at her as she struggled to not lean over and bite his exposed bottom lip.

"Because you annoy me" she said primly as she lifted her mug to her mouth, then before she could stop herself, "and I don't think your girlfriend likes me very much." 

The tea was scalding but she forced herself to take a long sip so she wouldn't have to look at Billy's face. 

Billy sat there, studying her, she seemed so out of place with the dark clothes that were rotating in and out of Mark's place. They'd all be caught up in planning, then she'd come bursting into the apartment and it was like she was bringing sunshine in with her. 

She painted her nails with pink sparkles, she watched romantic comedies, she told him about the little kids she played with in the hospital on her rounds, she laughed easily, she engaged with the other members of the crew, pulling them into her warmth, her goodness. She had patched all of them up at one time or another. The more she got to know the whole crew, the more she relaxed and the more she relaxed, the more Billy found sunshine spilling through her cracks and coaxing him towards her warmth. 

But then, Cassandra would lazily lift an eyebrow at him, nod her head and he'd leave with her. He'd known Cassandra since he joined the Sky Walkers. They'd just recently started...well...he wouldn't call it "dating" so much as he and Cassandra would do a job together and then have mind blowing sex after when adrenaline made them both want to explode out of their skins. 

He was starting to realize though that he and Cassandra didn't...talk. Not like how Billy talked to (Y/N).

He laid out his hands on the table, looking at his fingers. They were calloused, rough, covered in tattoos. Her hands were soft despite having to wash them a million times a day. ("I use lotion every day, multiple times a day, how do you not own lotion Billy?" He had walked into Mark's apartment the next day only to be met with a bottle of Bath and Body Works hand lotion being thrown at him by Mark. His heart had squeezed in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.) and her nails were adorned with pink sparkles. His own nails were busted and, he was pretty sure, had dried blood under them.

He had no business thinking the butterflies that erupted in his stomach every time she smiled at him meant anything more than she was cute and he liked cute women. Never mind that if she said Cassandra didn't like her he was on the verge of saying he'd dump her. 

"Yeah, well. Cassandra doesn't like too many people. I wouldn't worry about it too much." He slapped his hands on the table pushing himself up. Lifting her eyes from her mug she watched him retreat back into the living room, the muscles of his back moving and shifting as he made his way back to the Sky Walkers, slipping easily onto the arm of the chair Cassandra was lazing in.

She really hated how good they looked next to each other. 

She finished her tea, listening to them finalizing plans and making arrangements for the job, which would happen the day after next.  

She had been hoping she'd have a shift scheduled at the hospital but no such luck. 

Sighing, she stood up to rinse her mug out. In less than 48 hours she would be back here, sitting with Mark, trying to keep herself occupied and to not care too much that Billy was out there and she couldn't do anything to keep him safe. 

~~~

The job went awry so quickly. 

She didn't know what to make of it. One minute she had been sitting on Mark's sofa, curled up with a book as Mark sat at his desk, surrounded by monitors. Listening to him call out commands, chuckle softly at jokes, the sharp tap of keys as he disconnected security cameras or diverted them away from where the Sky Walkers were prowling.

For a while, she had been standing behind him, watching all of this happen as the group slipped through the halls of a lavish hotel. Tapping Mark's shoulder, in an over exaggerated whisper, she told him to tell the team that she said good luck and that if any of them got injured she "wouldn't patch them up because then they wouldn't learn anything." 

Mark rolled his eyes and obliged, reaching a hand down to squeeze (Y/N)'s in a reassuring gesture.

Through Mark's headset, she heard the team giving their thanks, promising her that this job would do away with the rest of her loans and they'd be back to her before she knew it. Billy had looked dead set into the nearest security camera and winked as he promised he'd come back in one piece.

A gasp flew form her parted lips as her brother cleared his throat, reminding Billy to get his ass moving and to stop flirting with his sister. 

Then, shit hit the fan.

It started with her hearing Billy's roughly accented voice piercing through Mark's headphones, yelling about the jewels being fakes.

Mark talked him through it, as Jean yelled back at Billy which is when Mark started yelling. 

That's when she had heard gunshots. 

Everything was a blur after that. She ran to the monitors and thought she was looking at a video game. There were so many men with guns running towards where the Sky Walkers were she assumed it was an army of some sort. She saw the flash of guns discharging and people she knew, people she had come to love, fall to the ground where she hoped like hell they would get back up again. 

Part of her wanted to call her hospital, pull some strings and help as many of them as she could but Mark had pulled her into his chest, telling her it was no use. 

In the confusion and mayhem she thought she had seen Billy, necklace clamped firmly between his teeth, jumping through a window but she couldn't be sure. 

So, she and Mark had to sit and wait. Till Jean came back. 

Just Jean.

He explained what had happened as he and Mark sat at the kitchen table, nursing a bottle of whiskey. She had stayed for one drink but the grief didn't feel like one she could share in. 

She finally left, as she walked away, each step thudded to the ground while the only refrain that carried her home was billybillybillybillybillybillybilly. It wasn't until she found herself standing outside of her front door that she realized her body had carried her home while her thoughts had been in the sky.

Her body felt heavier, though she knew that a part of her heart had died in Mark's apartment that night and she wasn't sure if it would ever be whole again.

Her body was on autopilot as she stepped into the shower but each drop of water hitting her back felt like a knife.

She knew Cassandra and the rest of the team were there to help him. No matter how she felt about Cassandra personally, she knew she was part of the team. They were there for back up but so many people were in the fray.

So many people gone.

The water had gone cold by the time she stepped out of the shower. Not that she could feel it anyway.

Braiding her hair, she settled down on the chair by her window. It overlooked the fire escape she would lounge on with a glass of wine on nice summer nights.

Tonight it was empty, utilitarian. Only reminding her of how many Billy had fallen through as he tried to get away.

She leaned her head against the window, feeling the glass pushing back against her skull. Easing the dull ache that throbbed within as she closed her eyes. 

~~~

That's where she had been when she heard the first thump.

Sleep had been within her grasp when she heard the second thump. 

Groggily reaching into her sweatpants pocket, she pulled her phone out and saw it was 3:14 am. 

There were no texts or calls from Mark.

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, wondering if it was her neighbors making that noise. 

The third thump rattled her window causing her to jolt out of her chair.

Slowly, she reached her hand forward, nudging the blinds back, letting her eyes adjust to the nighttime as the lights from street lamps below worked to permeate the darkness that covered the world. That's when she saw the dark lump of something on her fire escape.

Squinting her eyes, her first thought was, why would someone throw their garbage bag onto my fire escape?

Flicking on the lamp she had by the window, it cast an uneven glow over the lump revealing dark clothes and athletics shoes spattered with blood.

The figure raised its head and time slowed down in those moments. The wan light drifting up from below barely illuminated the eyes staring back at her but she'd know the color anywhere. Those blue eyes, the color of her sky, was the only way she knew it was Billy.

The rest of him resembled a man who had scrabbled his way back from hell. His face was covered in scraps and tears. His visage and hands covered with dried blood. There was a wound on his neck that was slowly leaking blood but had started to congeal into a nasty mess.

His hair was matted to his head. His right eye was ringed in the blues and blacks of the beginnings of a nasty black eye. Sweat shined on his face as he blearily took in her face. He did his best to fight the smile breaking over his lips but he was so grateful to see her he barely noticed when his lips cracked even more.  

As she opened the window she heard someone panting "thank god thank god thank god" and it took her a minute to realize that the prayer was falling from her lips. She bundled Billy into her apartment, setting him down on the chair by the window, still warm from her body. 

She locked the window, drawing her curtains closed and rushed over to the front door, double checking it had been locked as well. For extra security she pushed one of her kitchen chairs underneath the door knob. 

Hearing a snort she turned, "You watch too many bad gangster movies as a kid?" 

Fighting against the lump in her throat, her voice came out thick as she tried to match his snark, "Yeah, well. You'll thank me later when the bad guys are stopped by my Ikea chair."

He heaved out a sigh that she supposed was as close as he could get to a laugh in his state. Sinking deeper into the chair, hissing as he finally allowed his body to relax. Nurse Brain kicked in as she took stock of his body, where he was holding tension, where he was avoiding putting pressure, assessing how old the cuts were. After a quick run down, she raced to her freezer.

Filling her arms with every bag of frozen veggies she had, she quickly wrapped them in paper towels, briskly walking back over to Billy's form. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, listened to the rattle of every intake, so grateful for each shuttery breath. 

The grateful feeling was quickly overcome by anger. This asshole. 

This was the second time he had shown up to throw himself at her mercy in a horrific state. She almost wished he were dead. She felt her knees shake, betraying how grateful she was that he was alive and in her apartment. 

Instead of telling him all that though, she slapped a bag of frozen peas on his eye.

Yelping, his body curled inward as his hand reached up to catch the bag, pressing the peas back into place, "What the fuck? These are bloody freezing. I barely make it out alive and you're trying to kill me with frost bite from," he pulled the bag back squinting at it, "frozen peas?"  

"Oh I'm so sorry that the frozen veggies I slapped on your busted face so you don't swell up like a fucking balloon aren't to your liking. My sincerest apologizes your majesty." She hissed out as she slapped another bag on his side as he let out a grunt.

He pressed a hand to the bag against his side as she mumbled, her fingers dancing over his form as she poked and prodded, trying to feel what the damage was, what she could do for him here and if he needed to get to a hospital. 

"Couldn't make this experience a little more pleasant could ya?" He didn't mean to be a dick but in his defense, he had had a hell of a day. The job didn't go at all like they planned, he'd lost friends, Cassandra turned out to be a backstabbing thief, he didn't get the necklace, he'd fallen from the top of a building and then, to really just make the day fucking wild, when he'd come too, some weirdo had offered him the strangest proposition he'd ever heard after pretending he was going to kill Billy.

So, yeah. He was a little grumpy. 

"You're lucky I even let your sorry ass into my apartment. How do you even know where I live anyway?"

"I've been having you followed by my top men."

"You asked Mark didn't you."

"Fuck."

Her lips quirked up for a second as she finished rotating his foot around checking for any swelling or broken bones. Standing up she declared, "You don't have anything seriously wrong or broken on you which is a fucking miracle. Just some bad scraps that I can take care of here." She made her way to the hall closet where she kept a first aid kit and other medical accessories. Ever since Mark sliced his hand open one Thanksgiving which had been dubbed the "Bloodiest Thanksgiving Since The Pilgrims Landed" she figured she'd better be stocked. 

Billy sank lower into the chair. Leaning his head back he let out a sigh, hearing (Y/N) mumbling to herself, rattling around, he could almost pretend that he had come over under normal circumstances.

Hearing the soft thud of her footfalls, he cracked an eye open as she pulled a stool closer to his face. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she started pouring something on a cotton ball, "If you thought the frozen peas were bad you're really gonna hate this." 

"What could be worse than-" his sentence was cut off by a strangled cry as she pressed the cotton ball onto the scrap by his eye. Slamming his fists on the arms of the chair, he felt his body seize up as he fought to keep control, "Fucking hell (Y/N). Seriously, they should revoke your nurses license."

"You keep disrespecting me like that and I'm just going to dump this whole bottle on you." She snapped at him. Billy pried his eyes open as he took deep breaths. He turned his head to face her, opening his mouth to fire off another comment when he glanced down at her hands and stopped. 

She was getting more of the disinfectant on the floor and her legs than she was getting on the cotton ball held in her hand. Her voice managed to be strong and sure but her hands told a different story. One of anxiety, one of worry, one of relief.

"Were you worried about me baby?" His voice was so soft that for a second she wondered if someone else had entered her apartment. Locking eyes with him, she thought about how just hours before, she had been certain she would never see his face again.

Never joke with him again, talk to him, share a quiet moment with him, never learn everything about him, never sit with him at their own kitchen table one day.

She wanted that. She wanted hours and days and months and years of kitchen table talks with Billy. Feeling the relief at having him back with her, she didn't even think about her next actions. 

She leaned forward and kissed him...only to pull back immediately, "Oh my god I'm such an idiot. Your lip is so busted, I'm so sorry I shouldn't have done that, that was so dumb and what if I had hurt you even more? That would have been terrible-" 

Billy's hand reached up, cupping the back of her head and pulling her into him. Her lips were soft and he bet a hundred bucks that she used chapstick every day. He knew his lips were chapped, cracked and probably coated in dried blood but he didn't care. Feeling her pressed against him helped take away the fear he had been trying to tamp down ever since the maniac in the garage had pretended to kill him. 

Finally pulling back he let out a shaky laugh, "Were you really that worried I wouldn't come back to you, love?" 

"No, I was worried that you wouldn't help me pay off my loans. Fuck your safety, I needed money." She was trying to get them back to their usual banter but the big gulps of air she was taking betrayed how she was really feeling. 

"You were worried about me. You wanted me to be safe and come back to you in one piece. Don't deny it." The smugness of his voice made her smile as she pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered in his ear, "You ever tell anyone I said this and I'll deny it but, yes."

She pulled away, placing the cotton balls and bottle on the floor, giving herself some time to collect herself as Billy reached his hands toward her, grabbing her own and rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her hands, sending sparks up her arms right into her heart. 

Her heart ached for both of them. They both had lost so much today but they were lucky enough to be able to come back to each other. Billy heaved a sigh and looked up at her, "You were right." 

"I usually am but what specifically was I right about in this instance?" 

"You're a giant pain in my ass. About Cassandra. She wasn't trustworthy. Left me hanging off the edge of a building, stole the necklace and left the rest of the team behind," he brushed a piece of her hair out of the way, letting his fingers linger on her cheek, "should have listened to you." 

Blushing, she leaned her cheek into Billy's palm, "Hmm, I could get used to hearing you tell me that." Billy chuckled as she straightened up and fixed him with a glare, "You just have to keep promising me you're going to come back to me in one piece." 

Billy's eyes darkened, shifting in the chair as he remembered the deal the man in the room had proposed to him. Being able to go completely off the grid. Everything wiped clean. He would be a ghost. 

But being in (Y/N)'s apartment, holding her hands in his, having her smile, kiss and hold him...he wondered if he had made the right decision. 

"I'll do my best, darling." He muttered, purposefully not saying promise because he knew, some day soon, he would break that promise and he didn't know if he'd be able to live with himself knowing he had broken her trust. 

Placing a soft kiss on his lips, she stroked the side of his face with her thumb. Sniffing she shook her head slightly, "Alright. Quit distracting me, I need to finish patching you up." 

He chuckled, "Would it kill you to be nice to me? I mean, we just had an incredibly tender moment and I did have a pretty rough day..." his voice trailed off as he widened his eyes in an attempt to gain sympathy. She scoffed as she grabbed the cotton balls and disinfectant again.

"I suppose falling from the top of a building would kind of ruin your day. Now hold still. And don't be a baby." She dabbed the soaked cotton ball on the scrap on his neck, intertwining her fingers with his as he hissed out a breath. Squeezing his fingers, she murmured apologizes and encouragement, "I'm sorry my love, it's okay. Breathe. You're doing great."  

After slapping some band-aids on the worst of the cuts ("What, no Spiderman Band-Aids?") she helped him to the shower, leaving him to wash off the day as she went to her room to find some sweats for him. Luckily, she had nicked plenty of Mark's sweatpants over the years so she laid those and a shirt out for Billy to find when he came into the room from his shower. 

Hearing the door open, she looked up only to be met by a shirtless Billy, hair slicked back, chest damp, towel riding low on his hips. She didn't mean for the sharp intake of breath to be so audible but it was worth it when it earned her a smirk from Billy as he crossed over to her. 

"Even beat up all to hell, still not a terrible sight, huh?" 

Swallowing thickly she just nodded her head in agreement. Not trusting herself to speak she quickly turned and grabbed the clothes she laid out, shoved them into his arms and left, the sound of Billy chuckling following her out into the living room. 

Settling onto her couch she fiddled with the end of her braid, contemplating why she had seen anguish flash through Billy's eyes when she made him promise to come back to her in one piece. She had definitely noticed the lack of the word "promise" when Billy answered her request. 

The timeline of what happened since he fell didn't make much sense either. If Billy had fallen from the building, then where had he been for so long? There was no way somebody would have ignored a body laying unconscious in the street, especially with cops swarming the building. 

"Baby? Hey. I can sleep on the couch. I don't mind."

Jolting out of her thoughts, she blinked as she came back to the present moment, Billy standing over her, "No! You shouldn't be sleeping on a couch. You can sleep in my bed."

"I've been waiting for an invitation to your bed for a long time baby." She flushed as she pushed herself off the couch. Grabbing Billy's hand, they walked back to her bedroom. Settling themselves under the covers she was gripped by a sudden wave of anxiety, should she try to cuddle with him? Would he want space now? Did she want to give him space? He was the one sharing her bed.

The anxiety melted away when she heard a voice in her ear, "Come here, love. I won't bite. Unless you're into that." She giggled she turned her body to face his, nuzzling her face into his chest, breathing in the smell of him as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head.

Stroking her back, they drifted off to sleep. Their breathe synching up as they finally felt safe from the world as they created their own little one in each others arms. 

~

The light streaming into her apartment caused her to stir. Stretching her body out she almost forgot that she had shared a bed with Billy last night. When she remembered, she was gripped with panic when she realized he was no longer there. Leaping from the bed, she raced into her living room, making sure that the door hadn't been busted down and Billy had been taken while she'd been sleeping. She knew it was illogical or she'd have to be the most sound sleeper on the planet but she still exhaled a breath when she saw her door was still locked and the chair underneath it still in place. 

"Gotta say, I did sleep better knowing that we were protected by your highly sophisticated security system." She turned at the sound of his deep voice, he was standing at her stove, cooking eggs as he smiled at her, "Did you really think I'd leave you like I did the first time we met?"

Shaking her head she went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, exhaling as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, using his other arm to keep stirring the eggs. "Don't scare me like that. I thought you got taken and I'm not Liam Neeson. I have no skills to use to find you." His chest rumbled with laughter, "Well, Liam Neeson isn't as pretty as you but you're crafty. I'd trust you to find me."

Placing a kiss onto his chest, she giggled, "Do you want coffee?" he nodded, "Also, how are you feeling today?"

"Sore. Like I fell from the top of a building and landed on concrete." 

"Huh. Interesting. Did you do anything out of the ordinary yesterday?" Faux innocence lacing her voice as she measured out coffee grounds.

"Yeah. I fell from the top of a building and landed on concrete." Was Billy's deadpan response which had her cracking up which made Billy laugh at how hard she was laughing. 

They finally pulled themselves together and stared at each other, him smiling, her hiccuping as she wiped at her eyes, "We're some pretty sick fucks for laughing at something like that, huh?"

He shrugged, "Probably. But it feels good to laugh. Especially with you." 

~~

After breakfast had been cleared away, Billy had stretched out on the couch, more bags of frozen peas on his various injuries. She came out of the kitchen, taking a moment to enjoy the peace before she broached the inevitable, "So, we should probably see Mark and Jean at some point. They're going to want to know you're okay." 

Billy grunted in agreement, tipping his head back to look at her, "Yeah. That's not a bad idea. They're going to be pissed I came to you first before them though." 

"I don't think so. I think they're just going to be relieved that you're alive. Plus, I am a nurse. It'd make sense to come to me and not those two chuckle fucks." She padded over to the couch, standing over him. "If you had gone to them first they would have just brought you to me anyway."

"That's true." He gazed up at her before grabbing her hands and tugging her down. Resisting, she giggled, "I don't want to fall on top of you and hurt you more, but I'll lie down next to you if you want."

He nodded eagerly, shifting his body over on the couch to make room for her, she curled up against him. Their legs intertwining as she splayed a hand over his chest, the rise and fall of his chest a balm to her anxiety and helping root her to him. 

Inhaling deeply, then instantly regretting it at how it caused his ribcage to feel like it might crack, Billy felt more content here than he ever had in his entire life. He wanted to capture this feeling, bottle it, find a way to make it permanent. Make it stick so he wouldn't have to do what he knew was coming. 

Sighing, (Y/N) snuggled closer, and his heart broke at how cruel he was being, how selfish. But he couldn't help it. He had asked for 24 hours and by god if he wouldn't make the most of them. 

"Hey." he murmured into her hair, she made a noise in the back of her throat that made his heart skip a beat. He brought two fingers to her chin, tilting her head back so she'd be forced to look at him. A slow grin traveled across her lips as he drank in her face, memorizing every part of it so he'd never forget. He had done it so many times in Mark's apartment in shitty lighting that in good lighting, it was like seeing your favorite painting in person instead of through a computer screen.  

Leaning down, he brought his lips to hers. Cupping his cheek with her hand, she kissed him back, relishing in how good it felt to be able to do this instead of just imagining it. Pulling back she smiled, resting her forehead against his. 

"What is it, baby?"

"It just...you have no idea how long I've wanted this. And to finally be able to do it...I don't know. It feels really good to have you here, with me. Like this." Widening her eyes she pulled back, "Not like, you being injured but like being with you in this, way." Her voice trailing off when she became bashful at how vulnerable she had just been. 

The wave of love, adoration and warmth he felt for her crested over him, causing his eyes to fall closed to keep the tears at bay. He didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve her. But, fuck, he would make the most of this time with her and make sure she knew how much he loved her. 

Tilting his head back down, he locked their lips together. She moved her lips against his, memorizing their curves, their slopes, how they fit together. Her hand cupped his cheek, being mindful of his black eye and the various scraps covering the planes of it. 

Feeling her hands caress his face with care, Billy became overcome. He was upset, guilt-ridden and worried he had made the wrong decision. Fighting to keep himself in the moment, he deepened the kiss, gripping her waist with an intensity that startled her. She jolted forward, causing Billy to groan when her heat made contact with the bulge that was growing larger by the second. 

"Damn baby, we've only been kissing for a minute, quit trying to get into my pants already." 

"You wish I was trying to get into your pants." her lips brushed against his with every other word and she could feel him smiling. He nipped at her bottom lip, causing her to gasp which allowed him ample time to connect their lips, exploring her mouth with his tongue. Their hands drifting up and down their sides, exploring as they got more comfortable with each others forms.

Dancing her fingers down his arms, she felt the muscles clenching and unclenching as his hand found her hip and squeezed causing her to moan involuntarily. Smirking, he ran his hand up and over the rise of her hip, trailing his fingers down into the dip of her waist. She snuggled closer to Billy, breathing in coffee, disinfectant and the unmistakable scent that was Billy. 

Draping his arm over her waist, he pulled her even closer to him. Feeling his hardening length in his sweatpants she tested the waters by circling her hips against him. Causing a moan to erupt from his mouth and throw his head back in ecstasy. 

"Baby, what's the professional nurses opinion of having sex when someone's injured? Asking for myself because if I don't have sex with you tonight I just may toss myself off another building."

Giggling, she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead so she could look in his eyes, "In a nurses opinion? Probably not. But in (Y/N)'s personal opinion? Who gives a shit I've wanted to fuck you since the first day I saw you." 

Locking his eyes onto hers, her breath hitched in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. His normally sky blue eyes were the color before a storm and his hand was locked onto her hip with a strength that she couldn't wait to explore later. 

"Then get up here, baby, and fuck me how you've always wanted to." 

Swinging her leg over, she found herself straddling Billy, placing her hands on his chest, she felt the large planes of his chest expanding as he took a shaky breath in, his eyes glassy. Flicking her hair back she leaned forward to kiss him deeply, "What baby?"

Shaking his head he cleared his throat, "Nothing. Just, dammit baby. You look like a goddess." 

Blushing she bent down to nip at his throat, causing him to buck his hips up, causing his hard length to rub against her clothed cunt causing them both to dissolve into moans. Pushing herself up, she started rocking her hips teasingly along his cock. 

Whining in the back of his throat he begged, "Please, love, I don't care, just fuck me. Please." 

Shocked at the control she had over this man, she ripped the t shirt she had been wearing over her head, exposing her tits and black underwear she had been wearing. Billy keened and grasped her tits, causing her to push her chest forward, the feel of his calloused palms teasing her nipples caused her eyes to roll into the back of her head. 

Billy reached his hands down, shimmying his sweatpants and underwear down far enough so his cock sprang up between them, her mouth watering at how thick it was. Stroking her center through her panties with two fingers he cocked an eyebrow at her, "I can't exactly fuck you through these so they'll have to go. I don't care how sexy they are."

Laughing, she stood up on the couch, resting one hand on the wall as she shimmied the panties down her legs, kneeling back over Billy's exposed length when Billy stopped her, "Wait, hold on a second baby." He teased one finger, then another into her dripping core, pumping in and out slowly as she rocked her hips forward trying to get more of him into her. 

Billy slowly dragged them out, popping his fingers into his mouth and holding eye contact with (Y/N) as he sucked his fingers clean, relishing the sweet taste of her, "Okay, baby. I think you're wet enough." 

"Damn right I am." She murmured as she sank down onto his hard cock, taking his full length, resting her hands on Billy's strong chest pushing her tits together in the most delicious way Billy had ever seen. His hands found purchase on her hips as she started rocking back and forth, working his length. Feeling his cock stretching her walls in the most amazing way, she tilted her pelvis in that way she knew would have his cock nudging her g-spot, getting her closer to where she wanted to be, which was total ecstasy with Billy. 

Billy's eyes screwed closed as she found her rhythm and worked his cock, trying to reach her orgasm. His whole body felt like an exposed fuse, bursting with energy and if she touched him in the right way he would combust. 

"Billy, please, rub my clit..." she panted as she rocked her hips faster, Billy could feel her walls clenching as she went faster and he reached down, rubbing the sensitive nub with his calloused fingers, causing her eyes to roll into the back of her head as she chased her high, "Is that what you want baby? Yeah? You wanna come all over this cock?" Billy mumbled as she stared up at the angel fucking herself over on his cock. He almost came seeing how blissed out she was but then he rubbed a little harder on her clit and it pushed her right over the edge. She came with a strangled cry of "Billy!" and her walls clamped down as she fell forward into his chest.

"There's a girl, such a good girl. My best girl. My only girl. Oh my love, taking me so well..." Billy mumbled as he stroked her hair, "Now, let me take over." She nodded as Billy grasped her hips and started slamming his hips against hers, causing her to moan out, feeling her pussy tighten again as he brought a hand down to her ass, the sound of the sharp slap reverberating through her apartment.

Distantly, in the back of her mind, she wondered if this was good for him in his current injured state but being so close to a second orgasm left her with one thought but to cum around his cock again. 

Finding a rhythm, their hips met as she pressed her lips to his, catching his moans and hoping to mute her own as they fucked each other into oblivion. All too soon, she felt the familiar catch in her stomach as her second orgasm came around, "Billy..I..I'm so close."

"I know darling, me too. Can you wait? Can you cum with me? Please baby." She nodded as Billy fucked her harder, she rocked her hips faster and then suddenly, Billy let loose a string of expletives and she chanted billy billy billy oh god over and over again like a prayer as she felt him fill her pussy with his warm cum. 

After a few minutes, she pulled away from his sweaty chest, pushing her hair behind her ears as she grinned down at him. Grinning back up at her, he tickled her waist, "Normally I can last longer but that sex has been building up for several months."

Throwing her head back she let out a laugh, "Don't worry. I don't plan on stopping having sex with you anytime soon. We have all the time in the world to build up a tolerance to each other." 

A dark look washed over Billy's face as he contemplated how little time they had but instead of answering, he pulled her down into another kiss, "Let's just focus on today, love."

~~~

They spent the rest of the day entwined on the couch, mixing it up between lazy make out sessions, sex and her standing up to get the door when the delivery person rang the door to drop off food and beer. 

She had asked if Billy wanted her to text Mark and Jean but he just told her he would deal with it soon. So she didn't push it. She knew she was being selfish but she wanted to keep living in this world that consisted of her, Billy and the pizza they ordered alive for as long as she could.

Unfortunately, it ended all too soon as all good things are wont to do. Soon enough, Billy was pulling on his shoes, as it grew dark out, she had been getting comfortable when he knelt down next to the bed. "Listen, love. I need to drop off something to Mark and Jean. Don't wait up for me." He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead as she lifted her head up to meet him halfway. 

"It's late babe, are you sure they'll still be up?" He fixed her with an incredulous look, "It's Mark and Jean. Of course they're still awake." She shrugged as she considered who they were talking about and conceded defeat. "Just come back to me in one piece okay? If you want," she hastily added as she realized he may want to go back to his own home "It's an open invitation. I'm sure you want to go home." 

He smiled at her with melancholy in his eyes as he pressed a kiss to one cheek, "With you?" then a second kiss to her other cheek "I'm always home" Biting her lip to contain the smile threatening to break her face in two, Billy decided he had never seen a more beautiful woman and wanted to alway think of her like this. 

~~~

She woke the next morning to 25 missed calls from Mark and 33 from Jean. Blearily, she called Mark. Once he picked up and started rambling, she hung up and stared straight up at the ceiling. 

It wasn't until Mark came to get her after not hearing from her for hours did she register how damp her cheeks had become. She was numb. Time didn't mean anything, nothing meant anything anymore. 

Billy was dead. 

He had broken his promise. 

~~~

Standing at the edge of a gaping hole in the world, she contemplated throwing herself into it along with the empty casket they'd be burying. She barely registered the low rumbles of a priest talking but not really hearing anything. Billy had gone to Mark and Jean, told them he needed to run a quick errand and gone back to the hotel they had just robbed from. He had been running along the roof, where it overlooked the rocky ledge of the ocean. He had jumped, thinking there was a platform there but there hadn't been. There was Billy, the air and the jagged rocks along the coast the only thing to greet him.  

The coast guard searched for hours but had found no body. Just the black rubber bracelet he always wore around his wrist. 

Twirling the bracelet between her fingers now, she decided that since the casket was empty, there was no point.

She had been numb since she got the news. Not moving from her couch unless Mark or Jean came to propel her into the shower, make her eat some food. but she really didn't see a point in doing anything anymore.

He had promised. 

And now he was gone. So what did it matter what she did? People left, they broke promises, and words and promises didn't mean anything to anyone she guessed. She may as well do anything she wanted.

Lifting her head she saw Mark, Jean and two women who had introduced themselves as Billy's mother and sister. Mark had introduced her as Billy's girlfriend and they murmured how much Billy talked about her but it was all too little too late. 

She didn't want to know anyone else other than Billy but that had been ripped from her. Standing at the edge of his grave she felt Mark and Jean grasping her shoulders, telling her they were going to give her some space. So it was just the three of them and as his sister looked at her, she smiled a thin smile, "You're just as pretty as he said you were." 

She fell to her knees. It was all too much, She couldn't support herself without Billy. What did it matter? All her skills, all her knowledge about keeping people safe when she couldn't even save the person that mattered most.

~~~

"Oof, there are three certified hotties just weeping over your grave dude. How doe that feel?"

Billy's stomach clenched as he saw (Y/N) fall to her knees at his grave, watching his mother and sister race around to help her. It wasn't until One clapped a hand on his shoulder did he register that he had involuntarily moved forward to help her. 

"Nuh-uh bro. Not anymore. Don't even think about doing a Christmas Carol Ghosts of Christmas Past bullshit. I spent way too much money for you to blow this whole operation."

Billy nodded mutely. Keeping an eye on the women around his grave he swallowed around the lump that had been stuck in his throat since he had left (Y/N)'s apartment.

What One had suggested to him had been too good to pass up. And when One had promised, in writing, that (Y/N) would always be kept safe and comfortable, it was a no brainer. And he knew, in his heart of hearts, that she deserved someone better, more stable than him. Not some Sky Walker who always had his head in the clouds. 

Who one day may not come back to her.

Taking a deep breath he turned his back on the trio that were surrounding his grave. Sending up a prayer, he hoped she would be safe and would get over him soon. Because he knew he would never get over her for the rest of his short, harrowing life. 

[keiscait]

Hi! Hope you're doing okay. I saw your matchups were pretty intriguing so I decided to request a bedroom matchup if that's okay. (I would also like to request a living room matchup so should I resend my application?)

I'm a 5'3" bisexual (male lean) female. Golden brown wavy hair till my mid back. Reddish brown eyes. Caramel complexion. Full lips. I also love a little mole on my lower lip on the left side. Lean hourglass.

The only sport I do is swimming (not competitive all the time. Sometimes I do it for the heck of it or for exercise) and I love it. But that's about it.

I'm a Pisces and a Slytherin. INFP-T (Turbulent Mediator). I'm an introvert so I tend to be a little shy at first and opening up to others takes me a while. But once I actually like a person I would literally kill for them. I also don't trust easily. I have been diagnosed with depression so I don't even trust myself when the going gets rough. Although I have been trying my best to get out of it. I'm also claustrophobic so I tend to avoid crowds and cramped places. Also spiders and I just don't get along. I woke up to the feeling of something crawling up my arm once and I opened my eyes to see it was a spider and since then I can't stand to be in same room as those bugs. Seriously I'll cry otherwise.

I'm a huge astronomy nerd. Stargazing is the second love of my life. I love reading and listening to music. Music is the first love of my life. I listen to almost every except for heavy metal. Don't really have anything against it just that I end up with a headache after listening to it. My favourite type would either be alternative or pop, depends on my mood.

I'm not into gossiping. More of the deep-conversations-at-3am type of person. Offer me dark chocolate and I'll be your loyal servant of the rest of my life (just kidding... mostly). I love learning new things especially about art and culture. I grew up on the coast so I love nature.

I guess I'm drawn to people who have a good sense of humour and are respectfully of other people's boundaries and opinions. Seriously to me the manners that "maketh" the man appeal more than the genes.

I'm not the confrontational type so I seriously can't stand to argue with the people I love. Also I am a tab bit on the sensitive side (perks of being a Pisces *yay*). Like I don't mean to get overwhelmed by the slightest of things but after a hard day if I come back home to see my favourite snack (ramen) and movie (Tangled) ready, I'm probably gonna spend the time meant for "relaxation" on crying because I just get overwhelmed over unexpected things, I'm sorry. That's about it I guess. Thanks!

((I GOT CARRIED AWAY AND WROTE A MINI FIC HELLO))

Hello and welcome, darling! Thanks for paying me a visit. I hope you’re well, I want you to know that this is a safe space for you. Please make yourself at home (⌒‿⌒) I understand you’d like a bedroom matchup, but unfortunately, there isn’t enough info on here for me to deduce a good one (and I don’t want to half-ass your matchup) 😔 But I’m glad you mentioned your interest in a Living Room matchup, so let’s make our way over there! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

For you, I’ve invited...

Akaashi Keiji! (Runner up: Kozume Kenma)

Akaashi has proven time and time again that he knows how to handle people. His understanding of the different ways people think is possibly his biggest strength, and he knows exactly how to adapt to various personalities. The exact reason why I matched you with him. He’s laid back and incredibly pulled together, so there is no way for him to overwhelm you and will never cross any boundaries you’ve set. He seems like a no nonsense type of person, but is used to chaos, and knows how to resolve it because of Bokuto.

- Your relationship with Akaashi would start out with him observing you first. He’ll notice your little quirks, and will be able to detect any non-verbal cues and signs about your mood

- Even when you guys aren’t together yet, he can tell if you find yourself starting to spiral

- The first time he catches it, he won’t push you to talk about it if you don’t want to (and he can 100% tell if you don’t want to), but will still do what he can to make things less overwhelming for you, even in the smallest ways he can

- In return, he will appreciate the fact that you like deeper topics and interests, as he constantly surrounded by chaos and shallow conversations. Totally seems like the type to prefer having a glass of wine in a quiet place over a bar/club

- Another thing he’d love about you is your bluntness and honesty, as he shares the same qualities. You two would be a team!

- Your relationship would be built on the foundation of trust, as you both let your walls down around each other 

- Once you two are together, he just has to be taught once, then he will have mastered navigating you down to an art form

- He can tell when you need space, or gifts, or words, or a day out, or an evening walk, or silence, or warmth - as long as it’s within his capabilities, he will give it to you

- In return, just love and respect him, and make sure he knows how grateful you are for everything he does!

~

This turned into a mini fic askjdhf I hope you like it! (warning: angst, but with a happy ending)

It was dark.

Somehow, you have made friends with the dark - you’re well-acquainted with the way it envelopes you in its quiet. It is an old friend you’ve had a of topsy-turvy relationship with. It shows up in so many different forms - a cup of your favorite hot chocolate; the coast in the nighttime; a confidant when your music blasts from your bedroom speakers. Sometimes, it’s dusted with stars; this is when it loves you most. 

But tonight, it was not kind to you. You lay there and feel yourself sinking, cries clawing up your throat with no signs of making it out, so they come out in the form of silent sobs. You wonder why the dark allows you no comfort tonight.

Your phone lights up, a message - but you’re submerged in the company of your old friend, too focused on its bellowing silence.

After a few more moments of trying to swim up, something cuts through the vastness of the night, and you’re back on your bed, in your room, now illuminated with light pouring from the hall. You look back and see a figure standing in the doorway - your boyfriend, Akaashi, brings you back to reality.

He observes you for a few more moments, assessing the situation. Nothing he’s unfamiliar with, but he still has a concerned look on his face. He reached for the lightswitch but stops in his tracks. His voice, sweet like caramel, breaks the silence.

“Should I keep the lights off? I don’t want the light to shock you.” You nod, then he makes his way to you.

He sits on the edge of the bed and places a hand on your figure, his movements all taken with immense care and gentleness.

“I brought you ramen. I figured you haven’t eaten yet.” 

You were about to ask how he knew, but he interrupted, “Last thing you texted me was that you were on your way home. That was hours ago.”

“I’m sorry,” was all you could manage. Akaashi just shook his head with a reassuring smile. His hand stayed on you the whole time.

“Please let me help you, my love.” 

He held out his hand for you to take it. Suddenly, you no longer felt like you were swimming up - you were back ashore, and right there stood Akaashi Keiji, like a lighthouse in the night. 

~

I CLEARLY GOT A BIT CARRIED AWAY BUT I HOPE YOU LIKED THAT, DARLING! Remember, you have a home here, please feel free to pay me a visit anytime.

Thanks for dropping by! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

[bunnyhanasong]

Lost and Found

Main ship: pharmercy

Side ships: n/a

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, reunion

Synopsis: Dr. Angela Ziegler has spent years focusing solely on her work and saving lives. When a familiar face comes to her in the worst way imagined, the level-headed doctor is left battling logic and emotion in a way she never wished to experience.

Note: This is a short story that I wrote for my creative writing course last semester that I have edited to contain Pharah and Mercy as opposed to my original characters I submitted it with. As I was writing it, I noticed how much inspiration I had taken from Pharmercy with the doctorxsoldier trope, so I thought I would edit it and post as a fan fic since I'm rather fond of it and got a very good mark on it. So, Mr. O if you're reading this; yes this short story was basically gay Overwatch fan fiction lmao. For now this is just a oneshot, though I have thought about expanding the story in the future. Feedback, comments, and suggestions for future pieces in this universe are very much appreciated and will motivate me to write again for this!

Content warnings: canon typical violence, medical talk, military talk, PTSD, traumatic injuries, takes place in a hospital

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Incoming trauma, IED blast with three major casualties; one DOA, two in critical condition.

Angela groaned as her pager beeped angrily at her, the words highlighting the screen causing her to shoot up from her bunk. The on-call room was dark and there were at least two other pagers beeping away, trying to get their owners up to meet the trauma. The bottom bunk she had been occupying for less than 45 minutes, though not exactly the pinnacle of comfort, was warm and inviting in that moment. Still, she pushed herself up and made to leave, trying to pull her blonde hair into a haphazard bun as she followed the other doctors out into the hallway.

The doctor and nurse in front of Angela were chattering in what she knew was Arabic, though her minimal knowledge in the language rendered eavesdropping nearly impossible. Angela was from Switzerland originally, so she only spoke German and English, the latter being thanks to school. She had chosen to learn English throughout high school and university, which came in handy since that was the tongue she spoke predominantly here. She was the head doctor of a Swiss medical aid team, sent to a military base outside of Cairo, Egypt to help their short-staffed trauma centre. None of her team knew Arabic, save for a few phrases, so they were relying on each other and their English knowledge to get them through the mission. As the head doctor and the most fluent English speaker, Angela was the one who received the most information from the Military doctors.

“Dr. Ziegler,” an accented voice brought Angela’s attention to the nurses’ station across the trauma bay. She made her way to the nurse who had said her name, a kind, stout Egyptian woman by the name of Salma. She had been the friendliest nurse by far and welcomed the Swiss doctors warmly. Coming to stand by the triage desk, Angela asked the nurse for more information on what had occurred.

“Our military had sent a team to patrol a territory not far from the base where reports had been made of criminal activity. I guess they stepped too close to unmapped land, an IED mine went off before anyone could react. We lost one immediately, the other two are on the bus in critical condition; ETA 10 minutes.”

Angela nodded along with her words, feeling her stomach sink at the fact that they lost a patient already. She shook off the thought though, no sense in getting emotional now; she would just need to focus on keeping the remaining two alive. She had already seen her fair share of explosion aftermath in her two weeks on base already, which was a terrifying wake up call for the woman. Still, as a doctor she had learned quickly that one must separate feelings from work, otherwise the emotional impact of the job would have put her out of commission years ago. She kept this in mind as she left the nurses’ station, passing a group of Egyptian staff barking orders in Arabic and making her way to a familiar redheaded woman.

“Ange!” the younger doctor greeted Angela in German with a sign of relief, “We have no idea where to even start with this. Do you have any more information on the trauma?”

Amelia Schmidt, 35-year-old and a cardio surgeon by trade, though here she had switched from daily open heart surgeries to more frequent traumas and millions of sutures. She had been Angela’s closest friend since they started working at the same hospital almost about eight years prior. She was certainly a spunky person, always ready to jump into action and meet the problem head on. Being in Egypt was changing that for Amelia though, she felt very out of her element and was finding herself relying on Angela a lot more than usual. The language barrier was certainly difficult, not to mention the culture shock, and Amelia finally felt the overwhelming weight of her profession full force. Still, she never lost her spirit and still kept Angela and the others optimistic, her jovial attitude making nightshifts and long days a bit more bearable.

“Two casualties incoming, both soldiers. Landmine went off and they must have got the front of the blast. Jump in where you can and keep an eye on the younger doctors with us in case translation becomes a problem. If you need help with Arabic, let Salma know like always.”

Amelia nodded at her friend’s words, “Okay.”

Angela didn’t have time to ask her friend how things had been while she had taken a short nap, because the doors to the trauma bay crashed open. There was a lot of shouting in multiple languages as Dr. Ziegler tried to direct her staff in German while the local doctors did the same in their language. She ran up to the medic pushing a gurney, asking in her heavily accented English what they were looking at.

The paramedic looked slightly confused but thankfully answered the blonde woman in English after a moment’s pause, “Private Ahmed Abassi, age 23. GCS 8, responds to pressure but currently nonverbal and only semi-conscious. He was thrown by the explosion and has a suspected rib fracture and shoulder dislocation. Abdomen seems stiff, we assume some internal bleeding but could not get a portable ultrasound in the field.”

Angela nodded as they wheeled into a trauma room, stopping so she could pull on a pair of gloves. She worked with the nurses who had come to help, doing a secondary scan of the patient’s body. She identified some shrapnel that caused superficial wounds but her main concern was the distention of his abdomen and the apparent pain response the young soldier had to it. He was barely conscious but groaned in pain as she palpated the area, apologizing to him gently in Arabic as she continued to check his chest and torso for injuries. Though her words were jumbled and she stuttered more than she liked, Angela still made sure to speak to her patient calmly through her exam, just in case he was more aware than they thought. She asked a nurse to get the portable ultrasound and x-ray so they could check for internal injuries, which was her greatest concern in that moment. As she was monitoring his vitals and reassessing his condition on the coma scale chart, one of her younger doctors ran into the room.

“Dr. Ziegler,” the young man asked in a slightly overwhelmed tone, “Dr. Khan is asking for your help in trauma one.”

Angela nodded and turned to a nurse she knew spoke English, “I will be back to check on Private Abassi in a bit, please get those blood tests and the type-and-cross orders ASAP.”

She followed the resident out into the hall and found Dr. Khan standing outside the trauma room in question. The Egyptian doctor was the head trauma surgeon there and was very no-nonsense. She was tall and slightly intimidating, years of military training apparent in her posture and demeanour. Still, she had been friendly and helpful to the visiting doctors, which Angela was thankful for. She didn’t even have a chance to ask what was wrong before the other woman spoke in a terse voice.

“Female in her early thirties. She is awake and noncompliant. Traumatic trans-radial amputation and other assumed injuries we cannot diagnose due to her adamance to leave. She needs to be examined and we need to operate but we first need to assess her mental state.”

Angela was a bit taken aback by the sudden information dump, “And you need me because...?”

“Your friend said you worked in psychology before switching to surgery, yes?”

Ah, so she wanted a psych consult. Angela had done a minor is psychology and worked as a psychiatrist for a couple years before deciding she much rather preferred the surgical side of her profession. It had been years since she had done a proper psych consult, but her knowledge of the workup and proper patient care had not escaped her.

“I did. Do you need me to do a workup now? Shouldn’t her physical injuries take priority?”

Dr. Khan shook her head, “We have reasons to believe this is a Post-Traumatic Stress attack. She took the biggest force of the explosion; witnesses say she threw herself towards it to protect her younger soldiers. She is a security chief, so we know she has seen a lot of battle already, and was held captive by enemy forces for a fortnight last year.”

“And unknown people touching her while she is in shock may cause her to become violent or prone to self-injury,” Angela concluded, nodding. She gestured for the trauma surgeon to take her to see the patient, following behind her into the room. It had been a while since she had done a proper psych evaluation, but she was hopeful that this would be simple and not include any communication barriers.

There was a large amount of hospital personnel in the room, surrounding a figure clad in a tattered military uniform. There was a group of nurses trying to dress the soldier’s arm, which had been amputated, probably by shrapnel, just below the elbow. That needed to be assessed and closed properly, but surgery was not an option until a proper workup was done. To do a workup though, they first needed to calm the patient so she would be compliant; which was already proving to be an issue. The soldier was thrashing in the nurses’ hold, trying to escape their grasp and the IV in her remaining arm.

Jumping into action, Angela waved away two security personnel who were trying to restraint the soldier’s wrist and ankles, “You are only making this worse by restraining her. Please refrain from touching the patient.”

Making her way towards the bed, she glanced back at Doctor Khan, “Patient name?”

She looked down at the patient and didn’t even hear Khan’s response. It wasn’t necessary; she new exactly who this was. If her name badge on her uniform, somehow still intact, wasn’t identifiable enough, the eye of Horus tattoo under her right eye gave away her identity. The patient’s terrified dark eyes met hers and Angela knew that there was recognition under the layers of shock and drug-induced haze.

“F-fareeha?” Angela murmured, shocked, and took a seat in the chair pulled up beside the hospital bed. She had already tuned out all the background noise of the room, focusing completely on the woman in front of her. She was trying very hard to separate emotions from the situation, but now that she knew who the patient was it was becoming increasingly difficult. Still, she had a job to do and that was the priority in this moment.

Returning her focus to the task at hand, Angela spoke softly to the injured soldier in front of her. She had obviously recognized the blonde doctor by now and was staring at her in confusion, as if she could not understand why Angela was in front of her. The way she looked at her was reassuring though, since she seemed responsive despite her injuries and apparent blood loss. Angela took a glance at the monitor for a moment to check her vitals, saw her heart rate and blood pressure were concerningly high, and took a moment to attempt to soothe the patient’s nerves.

“Fareeha, I need you to stay still, okay?” Angela tried again to reassume her doctor tone as she spoke to the soldier, “You need to let us take care of you. Take a deep breath for me, alright?”

The Egyptian woman tried to speak but she was having trouble, whether that be due to focusing issues or her pain. The other hospital staff were speaking loudly and it was clearly distracting the patient. She was trying to even her breathing like Angela asked, but too deep of an inhale caused her breathing to hitch and her whole body to flinch, which made her assume she had sustained some broken ribs. Fareeha fumbled around on the bed until she caught Angela’s hand with her remaining one, looking up at the doctor with tear-filled eyes. The blonde didn’t pull her hand away, sensing that she needed comfort in this moment, and just hushed her gently.

“Focus on me, alright? Can you understand me?” she had been speaking English the whole time, since she knew Fareeha knew it as well. It was easier than attempting to speak her rusty Arabic, which probably wouldn’t be understandable anyway considering how much her voice wavered. After a pause, Fareeha nodded shakily, wincing as her body disagreed with the movement.

“Good, stay still,” Angela was still holding her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “You’re safe, Fareeha. You had an accident out in the field but we’re going to get you through this.”

Angela was trying her best to stay calm herself, speaking softly and keeping the patient’s focus on her. She knew she was letting her emotions get the better of her but she couldn’t help it. Not when Fareeha had such a tight grip on her hand and her eyes held so many questions and so much pain. Still, she knew the most important thing was to keep Fareeha distracted so her heart rate stayed down, wanting to avoid any more panic. She could see the nurses still trying to staunch the flow of blood from Fareeha’s amputation, silently praying that the patient stayed unaware of that aspect of her injury for the time being.

“M-my… my t-team?” the soldier’s voice was raspy and she spoke through gritted teeth but to Angela it was a relief to hear, “Are… t-they o…okay?”

That question made Angela hesitate, glancing back anxiously at Dr. Khan. She didn’t know how to respond to that, since she was not aware of how Ahmed’s condition was faring and did not even know the name of the soldier who had been killed by the blast. Fareeha squeezed her hand, trying to catch her attention again, and Angela sighed. Of course it was just like Fareeha to only care about her team when faced with life threatening injuries herself, ever the selfless hero she was.

“Private Abassi is in surgery right now, Chief Amari,” Khan supplied quickly, “Your other members are either back at base or in the waiting room.”

Angela did not want to lie to Fareeha but knew they could not tell her the truth about the deceased. It would not be fair to distress her like that, not now, and it would certainly ruin things after they had finally gotten her calm. The doctor just nodded along with the attending surgeon’s words, making eye contact with Fareeha.

“Fareeha, you need surgery,” though the extent of her injuries was not yet known, it was obvious she would need to be anesthetized to have her traumatic amputation corrected and cleaned up. She was unsure if the patient had even registered that she was missing her hand and forearm, most likely due to shock or the concern for her team she seemed to hold over her own health.

“Surgery?”

Angela hummed in affirmation, frowning at the way the younger woman sounded so confused, “Can you let the other doctors look you over? I promise you are safe; we just need to make sure you’re not bleeding internally or have any fractures we missed.”

It took a little more coaxing and Angela promising to stay right beside her before the younger woman agreed. The Swiss doctor held her hand the whole time, spoke to her gently in English and broken Arabic, hoping to calm her nerves. The doctor’s shaky attempt at speaking her mother tongue made Fareeha smile despite her pain, a familiar and warm sight that soothed Angela’s own anxieties. When Doctor Khan confirmed that Fareeha had suffered major bruising and a few rib fractures, as well as a concussion, she ordered some scans to make sure there was no bleeding or injury they had missed.

The other staff members were still bustling around, ordering scans and cleaning up the space. Angela had stepped away to speak to the attending doctor, explaining how she knew Fareeha and what steps they had to take now. The soldier in question was slumped back into the uncomfortable neck brace she was stuck in, still trying to crane her neck to see the only familiar face she knew in the room.

“Angie?”

The nickname Angela had not been called in years made her jump, sure Amelia called her “Ange” sometimes but that was different. There was a mixture of fondness and fear in Fareeha’s voice as she called out to the blonde doctor, who had been speaking to Khan in a hushed tone across the room. Turning her attention back to the patient who called for her, Fareeha’s dark eyes searching for reassurance before the unfamiliar nurses wheeled her to the operating theatre.

Angela walked back to her side, not even thinking as she reached out to brush matted dark hair off Fareeha’s face, “You’ll be alright, Fareehali.”

The affectionate nickname surprised the younger woman, “W-will you be here… when it’s d-done?”

Angela nodded, “Of course. I promise.” The fear and uncertainty was clear on her face and it broke Angela’s heart, seeing this strong soldier so scared. She held onto Fareeha’s hand for a little longer, promising her that the surgery would be over before she knew it and Fareeha was in good hands.

When she was reassured that there would be a familiar face there when she woke up, the solider let the staff members wheel her down the hallway. Angela was left in the hall by herself, dumbfounded by the situation she had just been thrown into. She went back to the trauma bay in a daze, worry eating away at her stomach as she slouched heavily against a wall.

“Ange?” Amelia’s cheerful voice drew her out of her thoughts, “You okay?”

Angela shrugged, already feeling the dull ache of a migraine throbbing in her skull, “Patient’s gone to surgery.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow, “You’re not operating? You have privileges here and usually you never pass up the chance to operate.”

The older woman had taken a seat in a chair, her head falling into her hands as she felt her body weighed down with the emotions she had tried to fight off. She stayed quiet for a moment as she tried to collect herself, feeling her friend’s concerned stare drilling into her. Angela didn’t raise her head to look at Amelia and her reply was muffled.

“Can’t operate. Not on her.”

“Who?”

Angela sighed, “The security chief with the traumatic amputation. She’s… uh… she’s my ex-girlfriend.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first thing Fareeha was aware of when she woke up was the scent of disinfectant, which was so strong it felt like a hit to the face. The second thing she noticed was that her left arm was numb, and a quick glance down explained why. Her elbow was wrapped in a tight layer of bandages, but the rest of her lower arm was gone, an empty space on the bed where it should be. She recalled one of the nurses mentioning something about a traumatic amputation, but it had disappeared from her mind in a haze of adrenaline and pain medication. She was not too sure about much that had happened in the trauma room, to be honest; everything fuzzy with the weight of anesthetic. Now, though, the reality was hitting her; she was missing her left arm and might never fight again.

She felt a weight on her other arm and turned her head, much too fast which made her wince, and saw a familiar figure beside her. Angela Ziegler was there in all her glory, slumped over in a visitor’s chair that had been pulled as close to the bed as possible. She was fast asleep, her hand clutching tightly to Fareeha’s remaining one as if she would disappear if Angela let go. She was still clad in her beige scrubs, her rumpled white coat having been discarded over the back of the chair, and her hair was a mess, tumbling over her shoulders as if it had fallen from its haphazard knot. Despite her clear exhaustion and disheveled state, Fareeha would never be over how beautiful the Swiss woman was, and she felt her heart clench painfully as she remembered how bittersweet this reunion was.

Their breakup was not exactly a bad one; there had not been any ill feelings or fights. It was mostly a mutual decision out of necessity rather than falling out of love. Fareeha had been an exchange student in Switzerland back in her second year of University. She soon met Angela, a quiet and calculated med student well on her way to her degree. They quickly became friends and improved their English together as a means of communication. Like so many cliché love stories, their friendship grew closer until it was more than that. They dated for a while, Fareeha staying in Switzerland longer than her exchange had been for, and they were happy. Thing were good and Angela even made solid plans to visit her girlfriend the next summer in Egypt when she undoubtably would have to go home.

When Fareeha went back to Egypt, they made long distance work for a while and it was still okay. It was when the Egyptian woman told her girlfriend she would be joining the army that Angela knew things wouldn’t work out, not then anyway. They were too far apart and she needed to focus on her career, Fareeha’s military service would leave her plagued by fear for her partner’s safety and distract her from the hospital. Fareeha proposed a break, understanding Angela’s point of view but knew the older woman would never stop her from doing what she wanted. Angela had let her go without a fight and they parted ways, though there had been many tears on both sides and a long skype call of apologies and regrets.

They had stayed in touch at first, friendly and civil, but soon grew apart. Mostly due to Fareeha’s training and deployments, which prohibited her from using her phone often. Eventually their correspondence lulled until it stopped all together. It had been maybe three years since they last spoke by then and Fareeha was completely overwhelmed by the doctor’s presence. The fact that she was here though, since she must she have had work to be doing, was reassuring. It made her feel safe to have Angela here, especially since her mind threatened to swallow her in a whirlwind of memories and trauma. Though it didn’t stop the panic completely, Angela being there was enough to keep her from falling deep into her head in that moment.

The effects of the anesthetic were wearing off, though she still felt groggy from the IV of what she assumed was morphine. She certainly wasn’t complaining about the drugs though, since she knew her pain would have been almost blinding without the steady flow of pain relief into her bloodstream. Now that her head was clearer, Fareeha tried her hardest to distract herself from the overwhelming numbness she felt on her left side. She felt as though maybe the fact that she had had a traumatic amputation hadn’t sunk in completely beforehand, but now that the pain was breaking through her hazy mind, she felt the panic over the topic rising.

Thinking about it only made it worse, Fareeha noted, but she couldn’t stop herself. Left in the silent and bland hospital room to her own devices, her head was filled with memories from the accident as they all flooded back. The yell of shock that left her friend Noor as she realized too late that she stepped on an unmarked mine. The way she had thrown herself to grab her friend but had been too late to stop the damage. The force of the explosion that sent them all flying backwards. It all came back in a rush, overwhelming her beyond belief.

Her head was aching, she had a concussion if she remembered correctly, and she just wanted to go back to sleep. Sleep would surely bring nightmares now, though, and the solider was not sure how much more panic she could handle at that point. Fareeha tried to focus her mind on Angela instead, observing her sleeping form languidly in an attempt to keep herself calm. She gave the doctor’s hand a gentle squeeze, more as reassurance for herself than anything, and it caused the other woman to stir.

“Fareehali?” the nickname was mumbled and tired, followed by a string of words in German that Fareeha was unable to place properly. It had been too long since she head or spoke in Swiss-German, her third language, and she was too out of it to recognize what the doctor said. Hearing her voice was reassuring though, even though the sleepily mumbled words pricked at her heart more than she would like to admit; mind flooded with memories of their past. This time she wasn’t waking up in their shared bed next to the beautiful doctor, who was too tired to speak in anything but her mother tongue but still greeted Fareeha good morning with gentle kisses and a strong hug. This time she was injured and in the hospital, Angela was her doctor and they had been broken up for over half a decade. Thing were bittersweet, she sighed to herself, and this was certainly not how she imagined their reunion.

“Hi, Angie,” Fareeha replied as the blonde lifted her head, her grip on the other woman’s hand not faltering for a moment. It took a little while for Angela to wake up properly, her unruly hair sticking to sleep-flushed cheeks as she lifted her free hand to rub at her eye. After a moment though, she seemed to jump back into doctor mode.

“How’s your pain?” she questioned, glancing over at the machine beside the bed to check Fareeha’s vital signs. Fareeha couldn’t help but smile weakly at the focused look on her face, thinking she looked downright adorable when she was fussing over her like this. Perhaps an inappropriate thought for a soldier being treated for traumatic injuries, Fareeha would just blame her gay brain winning over logic for that though.

Fareeha shrugged weakly, “Can’t feel my arm,” she nodded pointedly to the bandaged stump that was propped up on a pillow as if it wasn’t obvious. She tilted her head back into the pillows and winced a little, “Head hurts.”

Angela frowned at that, reaching up to absentmindedly smooth her messy dark hair down, “I’m sorry, Fareeha.”

“Nothing anyone could do.”

“you… threw yourself in front of the explosion?”

Fareeha flinched but nodded all the same, “Not my finest idea. It seemed like the right thing to do though; I had to protect those kids. Dumbasses, the lot of them, but at the end of the day they’re good soldiers.”

Angela shook her head, “You could have died, Fareeha.”

“I could die any day, Angie. That’s how this line of work goes.”

“But…” Angela’s eyes were full of pain as she stared at her, “I can’t lose you… not again, Fareehali.”

That confession had Fareeha pausing, taken aback by the statement. It had been three years since they last spoke, six since they broke up, yet by that admission it sounded like Angela hadn’t let her go completely. Maybe she had not let Angela go either, still, that was a loaded statement and the solider was unsure of how to reply.

“Angela…” Fareeha spoke gently, though her tone was guarded, “It’s been so long.”

The blonde scoffed, blue eyes holding a challenging edge to their stare, “And? That doesn’t mean anything… I miss you, Fareeha. When I saw you in the trauma bay earlier, it was like my worst fear being realized before my eyes. If you had died down there or in surgery, I don’t know if I could have handled it.”

The Egyptian woman felt her heart sink as tears welled in Angela’s eyes. She hated seeing her in pain, hated that she couldn’t fix it immediately. The older woman had always been so strong, so calculated and sure of herself, so to see her now close to tears and almost shaking; it made Fareeha want to cry as well.

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha’s voice was barely above a whisper, “I didn’t want to leave you… I didn’t want to scare you like this.”

“I know…” Angela mumbled, hiding behind her curtain of blonde hair. She laughed at her own emotional behaviour and swiped at the tears on her cheeks, “This is so unprofessional of me.”

“Angie… how long have you been in Egypt?”

Angela looked at her with a sheepish smile, “Two weeks. We’re here for a couple months, unless something severe happens.”

Fareeha nodded, “Did you… think about contacting me?”

“I did, actually,” Angela laughed a little, “I contacted your mother. I wasn’t sure if you still had the same phone number so I found Ana though the trauma centre’s records, she works here sometimes, yeah?”

“Not as often as she used to but yeah. I haven’t talked to her in a while to be honest.”

“Fareeha!” Angela shook her head, “Call your mother for once, dumbass. She misses you.”

“I know”

The doctor sighed and observed her for a moment, “I… miss you.”

“Angie,” Fareeha sighed, watching her with pain in her eyes.

“I do.”

“I know” Fareeha said again, “I miss you too.”

Angela was holding onto her hand again, silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Fareeha tugged on her hand until she took the hint, slouching down so the soldier could wrap her arm around her. Angela melted against her strong body, trying to be careful and avoid straining her injuries. It felt safe like this, something neither woman had felt properly in years; the familiarity and warmth that came with the desperate embrace. This was the comfort both had missed so dearly, something the doctor had let go of out of fear of the unknown. Yet here they were six years later, the only reassurance they found from the unknown being in each other’s arms.

“Promise me,” Angela mumbled into her shoulder, “That you won’t scare me like this again. I can’t lose you, not after all this.”

“Angela, you couldn’t handle the distance last time…”

“I don’t care,” the Swiss woman wore her stress and exhaustion on her face as she lifted her head, “I’ll do whatever it takes this time. I’ll stay here if I have to, transfer all my work here. I can’t leave you, Fareeha, certainly not like this.”

“I-” Fareeha took a shaky breath, “You mean that?”

“Whatever it takes,” Angela’s tone was serious and firm, a sure nod punctuating her tearful words. Fareeha knew she wasn’t lying and she knew from experience that Angela never broke her promises. She also knew that the blonde was the most stubborn, head-strong woman she had the pleasure of meeting.

“Okay.”

“O-okay?”

“I promise,” Fareeha concluded as she held tightly onto the woman who had truthfully never stopped being the object of her affection, “I won’t leave you again.”

That admission made Angela burst into tears again, holding tightly to the younger woman as her whole body shook with a mixture of relief and emotion. Fareeha just held her as best she could, pressing a cautious kiss to the Swiss woman’s forehead, apologizing so quietly it was almost inaudible. It was an apology for a lot of things, leaving her; scaring her; not being there to protect and love Angela for all those years. Angela just scoffed and told her to shut up, returning her affection with a gentle kiss on the lips that held six years of pain, regret, and love.

Even though the future was terrifying and their reunion was as bittersweet as reunions go, none of that seemed to matter in that moment. All that mattered was the promise of safety and comfort they had found in each other all those years ago, a promise that felt stronger than any war, IED, or distance that threatened to separate them again.

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

As a person who has psychotic disorders, seeing that it may cause complications with Top surgery makes me want to straight up lie lie lie about it all the way until after the surgery is already done and over. There’s no way in hell im going on medications for it either. So if they don’t know I have it, there won’t be a problem right?

Lee says:

Being diagnosed with a psychotic disorder doesn’t mean that you can’t get top surgery, but it does mean it can be a bit harder to get. I’m saying this from personal experience as someone who had top surgery with psychosis.

However, I still don’t think you should lie about experiencing psychosis because that means you’re blocking yourself from getting treatment that could help you.

—–

[The WPATH guidelines say:

“When patients with gender dysphoria are also diagnosed with severe psychiatric disorders and impaired reality testing (e.g., psychotic episodes, bipolar disorder, dissociative identity disorder, borderline personality disorder), an effort must be made to improve these conditions with psychotropic medications and/or psychotherapy before surgery is contemplated. 

Reevaluation by a mental health professional qualified to assess and manage psychotic conditions should be conducted prior to surgery, describing the patient’s mental status and readiness for surgery. It is preferable that this mental health professional be familiar with the patient. No surgery should be performed while a patient is actively psychotic.”

/End quote from WPATH guidelines]

—–

If you think that there’s no way that you will have a period where you aren’t actively psychotic, thus blocking your access to surgery, and you don’t think that your life/health will be in danger by not disclosing the psychosis to your treatment provider then it’s your decision if you think you should minimize it during your therapy sessions when you’re trying to get your WPATH letter. 

I really disagree with that part of the WPATH standards and I think they’re an unnecessary barrier towards accessing the treatment that you need, both medical transitioning and mental health care. 

But you don’t know that it’s impossible to control your psychosis because you haven’t tried medication yet. I wouldn’t lie about not having psychosis until you’ve tried all avenues of treatment because there’s a possibility that you will be able to manage your symptoms and then you can get top surgery with the added bonus of being a bit more stable.

I had the same struggle when I was trying to get my top surgery letter. I didn’t want to tell my treatment team about my symptoms because it meant getting the letter would be harder, but I also couldn’t move forward in my mental health recovery if I lied and pretended that I wasn’t struggling with the things that I was. 

The WPATH guidelines don’t say that you can’t get top surgery unless you no longer have a psychotic disorder- they say an effort has to be made to control the symptoms with therapy and/or meds first, and once your symptoms are managed then you can move forward. 

Treatment doesn’t necessarily mean that you don’t have the disorder anymore, it means you’ve tried to minimize the symptoms and then learn how to cope with what’s left. When I had top surgery, I was still diagnosed with a psychotic disorder, and I still am of course.

It’s one thing if you’ve been on different combinations of meds for a while and that hasn’t helped and therapy hasn’t helped, but this isn’t the case for you. I honestly wouldn’t feel comfortable telling you that you should lie to your therapist and not tell them you have psychosis when it’s possible that telling them might help you be able to cope with it. 

I was in an ugly loop even if you ignore the way my psychotic disorder diagnosis played into it because I felt like I wouldn’t be able to reduce my dysphoria-induced depression unless I could get surgery, but I couldn’t get surgery until I could reduce my depression (my treatment team need me to be able to do certain things like eat every day, shower weekly, etc). I had a rough recovery (intensive outpatient for 6 months, 2 weeks hospitalized in the psych ward, and increasing doses of antipsychotics) but eventually I was able to get top surgery. 

That doesn’t mean that suddenly I was “Cured” of my disorder- I’ll probably have to cope with some symptoms all my life. But I am doing much better now, and if I hadn’t been in intensive outpatient or on medication, I probably wouldn’t have gotten better. It can be scary to move from individual therapy to any higher level of treatment, but sometimes it is necessary. 

Again, the WPATH guidelines really suck. And you shouldn’t have to choose between disclosing your mental health issues so you can get treatment and top surgery. But it’s also important to give treatment a chance so you can have both!

You should talk to your mental health providers, but if they recommend starting medication then I personally think you should do it. There’s a lot of stigma around taking antipsychotics, but they do help a lot of people and I really think you need to give them a chance first. 

-

Helpful links:

Getting a therapist and being in therapy as a trans teen

How can I help myself?

Coping with paranoid thoughts

How to deal with paranoia when you’re home alone

Court case thought challenge (worksheet)

5 aspects model (prompts)

ABC for paranoia

Paranoia self-help

Personal recovery plan

How to deal with paranoia

How to handle hallucinations

Coping with hallucinations and delusions

Self-care

Help with paranoia

An affirming help guide for living with schizophrenia

Living through the fog of a psychotic break

What to do about paranoia

How I’ve learned to cope with the voices in my head

Resources for psychotic people

Disorganized thinking

Coping with schizophrenia

Hallucination and Delusion Resources

Reality journal

Ideas for coping with psychosis

What is schizophrenia?

Mental health medications overview (more)

Starting psychiatric medication

A comic on starting psych meds

Things that you want to know about psychiatric medication

Taking pills when you struggle to do so

Remembering to take your medication

Medicated and mighty (more)

-

And again, it’s possible to have a psychotic disorder diagnosis and still get surgery! I got top surgery, a hysterectomy, and I’m getting phalloplasty next year. And I’m officially diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, and take antipsychotics.

You can see my top surgery letter here. I redacted all the bits about my psychotic disorder when I uploaded it, but now I’m going to disclose because I feel like someone has to. It isn’t anything that we should be ashamed of. I still take antipsychotics twice a day. Here I am standing in front of ya with my morning dose of antipsychotics and my evening dose of antipsychotics! #MedicatedAndMighty

[Image one: Mod Lee is standing without a shirt holding two different bottles of antipsychotics in front of their chest which has faded top surgery scars.]

[Image two: There are three pill bottles on a dresser. All three are Quetiapine, the generic of the antipsychotic Seroquel, and are prescribed to Lee. Each is a different dose- one bottle has 200 mg extended release, one has 300 mg extended release, and one has 100 mg immediate/normal release.]