#it’s not like I have life saving medication for my seizures or anything that I need to pay for

[primordial0riginator]

HONESTLY getting a job is going to fix me

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Muggle Pills

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: The boys learn what your pills do. Warnings: Mentions of seizures, depression and suicidal thoughts Series Masterlist

You sit cross-legged on the plush carpet of your bedroom floor, a small pile of pill boxes scattered around you. Your fingers move with practiced ease as you sort the pills into their respective compartments in a weekly divider—Monday through Sunday, morning, noon, and night.

It's a routine task, one that offers a strange sense of solace amidst the chaos of everything else. Plus, it saves you from the struggle of prying open blister packs every day.

Around you, the Marauders lounge about as if this were any other lazy afternoon. Sirius flips idly through a Quidditch magazine, his brows furrowing at an article about the latest racing broom. James lies sprawled out across your bed, tossing a Quaffle up and down while he debates strategy. Remus sits quietly in a corner, engrossed in a book, a sliver of sunlight illuminating the dust motes dancing around him. Your room has become their second home, just as comfortable and familiar as their dormitory.

They've grown accustomed to these quiet moments together, each occupied with their own thoughts or interests. And yet today, something shifts. A question hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

James is the first to break the silence, his voice cutting through the soft hum of activity. "Y/N?" He pauses, catching himself before the words tumble out unchecked. His gaze flickers over to where you sit, still dividing your medication for the week ahead. "Why... why do you take all those? Like, on top of the potions?"

For a moment, time seems to stretch thin, the seconds elongating as you weigh your answer. They've seen you like this before—pills in hand, water glass nearby—but never asked. Not until now. Something about the directness of the question gives you pause, but then you realize: they deserve to know. Especially now, when lines have blurred and friendships have blossomed into something more intimate, more profound.

"Right," you begin, letting out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. Your fingers trace the edge of the first pill box—a small, round tablet that's more crucial to your daily life than any potion or spell could ever be. "This one is for my blood pressure."

James, Sirius and Remus lean in closer, their attention rapt despite the seemingly mundane topic. The significance isn't lost on them; every detail about you feels important now, woven into the fabric of their care.

"It's always been too low," you explain, eyes downcast as if you're sharing some great secret. Perhaps it is, in its own way. An admission of frailty, of the battle you wage within your body each day. "If I don't take this, I get dizzy... faint sometimes."

A flicker of understanding passes across James's face, then Sirius's. They've seen you like that before, pale and unsteady in the corridors during your early years at Hogwarts. At the time, they'd chalked it up to nerves or fatigue—anything but a chronic condition. But now...

"Wait," Sirius says, his voice rough with concern. "Are those fainting spells why you had to go back to the hospital wing so often?"

You nod, a hint of relief washing over you. It's easier than you thought it would be, opening up about this part of your life. Maybe because they listen without judgement, accepting each revelation as another piece of the puzzle that is you.

"Yes. That was before I started taking this," you say, tapping the pill box lightly.

Sirius leans back slightly, processing this new information with a furrowed brow. He opens his mouth to speak again, but Remus beats him to it.

"Do you still feel like you might pass out even with the medication?" His tone is gentle yet probing, respectful of your boundaries but curious all the same.

"Sometimes." You shrug, trying to downplay the gravity of what living with such unpredictability means. "But it's better than before."

Remus nods, storing away this tidbit of knowledge like he does with everything else. He understands, perhaps better than anyone, what it means to navigate the world with a body that doesn't quite cooperate. And while your experiences are vastly different, there's a silent kinship in shared struggle—a bond forged through resilience and endurance.

"Next is this one." Your fingers move to a different compartment, closing around another pill. "It's for my heart rate."

Their brows furrow almost in unison, confusion etching lines across their young faces. You suppose it must be strange for them, hearing about the inner workings of your body when all they've ever known are charms and potions, Quidditch injuries and common colds.

"But isn't that connected to your blood pressure?" James asks, his forehead creased as he tries to make sense of it all.

"In a way, yes," you explain, appreciating his attempt to understand. "But while the first medication helps raise my blood pressure, this one keeps my resting heart rate from getting too high."

"That doesn't sound pleasant," Sirius chimes in, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. Although he's always been more comfortable with banter than serious conversations, there's an earnestness in his expression that speaks volumes about how much he cares.

"It's not something I feel most of the time," you admit, setting the second pill aside. "I don't really notice unless I forget to take it or if I'm especially stressed out. But without it, my heart behaves like I'm running even when I'm sitting still."

You let the implication hang in the air, a testament to the silent battles waged beneath your skin. A hush falls over the room, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the fire. The boys exchange glances, each processing your revelation in their own way. From the corner of your eye, you see James run a hand through his already messy hair, a gesture betraying his unease.

"I remember once," you begin again, your voice barely above a whisper, "I got a concussion in school, no big deal but headed the A&E to be checked out, and I ended up being admitted because my heart rate was over 180 beats per minute and wouldn't come down. They were so alarmed, kept asking me if I felt okay..."

The memory is vivid, etched into your mind with sharp clarity. The steady beep of monitors, the worried faces of doctors—reminders of just how fragile human bodies can be.

"And did you?" Sirius interrupts, his grey eyes reflecting the flickering flames.

"Did I what?"

"Feel okay? Or were you..." He trails off, unable to finish the sentence. It's clear to see why; the notion of such turmoil within you, unbeknownst to them until now, is unsettling to say the least.

"I mean, my head was killing me but otherwise, I felt fine," you state, "but that doesn't mean it's safe to ignore."

There's a pause as they digest your words, the gravity of what you're sharing settling heavy in the silence. Remus shifts slightly beside you, his gaze thoughtful. As ever, he seems to carry an understanding beyond his years—a quiet wisdom born from living in the shadows.

"When we were in the hospital wing together in first and second year—you know, after the full moon and your... episodes," he begins cautiously, mindful of the delicate territory he's treading on. "Was this part of it? Your heart thing?"

You shake your head, offering him a small smile. "While I did have the heart rate as a problem, that's not why I was there."

Remus nods slowly, absorbing this new information. His brow furrows, not in judgement but in concern—a silent question lingering behind his amber eyes. How much more is there to learn?

"Right," you say, moving on to the next pill. It's a small orange capsule and looks innocuous enough, but its role is no less vital than the others. "This one's for my epilepsy."

"Epilepsy?" James blurts out, his eyes widening at the revelation.

The room goes quiet, save for the crackling of the fire in the background. Sirius and James exchange glances, their expressions mirroring the unease that hangs in the air.

You nod, acknowledging his surprise with a wry smile. "It helps prevent seizures. But it's not foolproof. I regularly have atonic seizures still, they only last a few seconds and nothing needs to be done with those. I don't really have big ones anymore, but when I get sick or stressed—or before I got my implant, when I had my period—I can still have them."

"How long have you..." James starts, then clears his throat, struggling to find the right words. "How long have you had epilepsy?"

"Basically my whole life," you answer simply. "But it's mostly managed now. The stress of exams and assignments can trigger the big seizures sometimes, but most people don't notice."

Sirius frowns, running a hand through his hair. "Have you had any since getting with us?"

"I mean, I've had little ones but not any big ones." You reach over to squeeze his hand reassuringly before letting go. "But during last year, I did have several because of the stress of OWLs."

His grip tightens around yours, concern etched into every line of his face. It's strange, seeing Sirius so unguarded, his usual bravado replaced by raw vulnerability. But then again, nothing about this situation is ordinary.

"You never told us," James says quietly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. He's not accusing, merely stating a fact—one that seems unthinkable given how close you all are.

"I didn't want to worry you, you were just my friends then," you admit, looking down at your hands. "Besides, you three were so focused on your own exams. You wouldn't have noticed even if you tried."

There's truth to your words, but they do little to ease the guilt that flashes across James's features, and Sirius remains silent, his grey eyes clouded with thought. Both boys are processing this new information, trying to reconcile the image of you—a force of nature, unbowed despite everything—with the reality of your condition.

Remus, who has been listening silently, finally speaks up. "I remember... those nights in the hospital wing when we were younger. I'd be in there because of the full moon, you'd be there because of a seizure…"

"Or worse," you say, almost to yourself. "To be honest, I was also there because no one trusted that I wouldn't try to kill myself, and no healer or doctor would give an 11-year-old birth control for their PMDD. I got the implant at 14, and the seizures went away with my period, as did the temptation to kill myself."

James blinks, stunned into silence. "I never knew any of this," he says at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

"By the time we became proper friends, I already had the implant. There was no reason to tell you about something that was no longer a problem." You give him a reassuring smile.

James nods slowly, although the concern has not entirely left his eyes. Sirius, too, seems pensive as he stares into the fireplace, blowing out a slow breath. Only Remus appears unchanged, his expression calm and thoughtful, as if the revelations were expected.

"Right," you say, taking a deep breath as you reach for the final pill box, a small white container that holds a different kind of lifeline. "This one's my antidepressant."

The change in atmosphere is almost palpable as James and Sirius stiffen beside you. Remus, ever the stoic observer, merely watches.

"Is that... because of everything else?" asks Sirius tentatively, his grey eyes searching yours for answers. You can tell he's treading carefully now, aware that this conversation has ventured into territory far more delicate than any duel or prank gone wrong.

"Yeah," you reply, letting out a long exhale. "It helps manage the lows, but it's not foolproof. Nothing really is."

James's thumb brushes over the back of your hand, tracing patterns there as if trying to will away the pain etched between your words. He doesn't speak, but his silence carries its own weight, heavy with understanding.

"You're not always..." James starts, then stops, uncertain how to phrase his question without sounding insensitive.

"Depressed?" you finish for him, offering a wry smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Not always, no. But when I am... well, let's just say it's better for everyone involved that I have these."

Your fingers tap against the pill bottle, the sound echoing lightly through the room.

A moment passes before Sirius breaks the silence. "And do they work? The pills, I mean." There's a hopeful note to his voice, laced with a quiet desperation that mirrors the way his eyes never leave your face.

"For the most part," you admit. "But like I said, they're not perfect. They help keep things under control, but they don't make my symptoms go away entirely. And some days are harder than others."

You pause, considering how best to explain what living with depression feels like—the relentless heaviness that often threatens to pull you under despite the medication designed to keep you afloat.

"It's like walking through a storm," you say finally. "Most days, the meds are like a good coat—they keep the worst of the rain off. But sometimes the storm gets too strong, and all the coat can do is stop you from getting completely soaked."

"Merlin," James breathes, running a hand through his hair as he processes your words. "Have you been dealing with all this since..."

"Birth?" you supply, nodding once. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Since you were a baby?" Sirius asks, his voice rough with disbelief. "How long have you been taking all these pills?"

"I was little when I was put on the epilepsy meds," you admit, "but the others were added as new conditions developed."

"And what happens if you forget to take one?" James's tone is gentle, but there's an underlying urgency that betrays his worry. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, missing a dose here and there isn't the end of the world, usually." You shrug, trying to make light of it, though the truth is more complex. "But if I go too long without them... Let's just say it can lead to some serious complications."

Remus watches you, his gaze steady and thoughtful. "It must be exhausting," he says quietly, "keeping track of all this, making sure you're always taking the right thing at the right time. Especially with the potions you use for your pain."

"It's a lot," you agree, not seeing any point in denying it. "But the alternative..." Your voice trails off as you picture yourself without the medication: the pain, the fatigue, the despair. "Let's just say I'm grateful for muggle and wizarding medicine, even if it doesn't fix everything."

The words hang heavy in the air, a quiet echo of your confession ringing in the stillness of the room. The boys sit with straight spines and furrowed brows, each processing what you've just shared in their own way. For a moment, no one speaks, the silence filled only by the crackling fire and the soft patter of rain against the window.

The world of pills and doctors is foreign to them, so far removed from the magical healing they know. They are warriors in their own right, but this is a battle they do not understand, cannot see. It's in the lines that etch deeper into Sirius' forehead, the way his fists clench at his sides—not with anger towards you, but with a burning frustration for an enemy he cannot confront.

"I can't believe we didn't know," James finally breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. It's not an accusation, merely a statement laced with self-reproach. But there's no need for you to respond; the truth of it hangs in the air around you. How could they have known? You've become a master at concealing the extent of your pain, hiding behind masks of normalcy even when your body screamed otherwise.

Sirius shifts slightly, and his voice is quiet when he finally breaks the silence, a note of confusion threading through the words.

"Why didn't you say something before?" It's not an accusation, just a question born from concern and a hint of hurt. Sirius has never liked being left in the dark, especially when it comes to those he cares about.

"I didn't want to worry you," your voice barely rises above a whisper, carrying with it a weight that sinks into the silence of the room. "And knowing doesn't change anything." You glance at them, each face mirroring the gravity of your confession. "It's not like any of you can fix it."

James looks as if he wants to argue, to insist that there must be something they can do. But he remains silent, understanding—for now—the boundaries you've put in place. Relief briefly washes over you, even as you see the frustration flicker in his hazel eyes. James has always been a man of action, someone who leaps forward to shield those he loves from harm. To know there's a wound he can't mend must feel like salt on an open cut.

"I don't need you to fix it," you say gently, guessing his thoughts. "I just need you to understand."

Remus nods, his face softening as he speaks for the first time in a while. "And we do," he says quietly, his voice calm and reassuring. "Or at least, we're starting to."

There's a pause as the four of you absorb this shared understanding, a quiet acknowledgement that hangs in the air like a promise. You can almost feel the shift in the room, tangible and real, a subtle strengthening of the bonds between you. They may not fully comprehend your reality, but they're reaching out, trying to bridge the gap. And for now, at least, it's enough.

The fire dances in the hearth, painting the room with flickering shadows and bathing you all in its comforting glow. For a moment, everything else falls away, leaving only the crackling flames, the soft murmur of conversation, and the sense of peace that seems to settle over the world outside.

You finish sorting your pills into their designated compartments, the rhythm of the task grounding you. The lid of the weekly pill organizer closes with a satisfying click, a small victory against the chaos that often threatens to consume you. It’s a simple act, but in these uncertain times, even the smallest semblance of control is a lifeline.

James, ever the man of action even in stillness, shifts on the bed, leaning closer. His voice is a low rumble, steady and sure. "You know we're here, right?" It's not just a question—it's a tether, a lifeline thrown out to you in the darkness. And it's a promise, one that James Potter has every intention of keeping.

Sirius doesn't let himself be left behind, his own hand reaching out to touch yours lightly. There's something almost reverent in the gesture, as if he's afraid you'll shatter at a heavier touch. "We're not going anywhere." The words hang in the air, solidifying into a pact made of iron will and unyielding loyalty. His grey eyes are hard with resolve, the decision made long before the words had even left his lips: He will stay by your side, through this and whatever comes next.

Remus doesn't say anything more, but the silence that stretches between you is far from empty. His gaze never wavers, each exhale a testament to the quiet vigil he keeps. He understands, perhaps better than anyone, the battles waged in silence, the wars fought within oneself. And though he doesn't speak, his presence is a constant reassurance—there, always there, offering strength when yours threatens to wane.

[merlinssassybeard]

'Ex' husband Gojo - The Aftermath- 02

Tags- smut, angst, cheating, TW seizures, bad mental health of reader

Synopsis- The events of the fateful night of Christmas...

The Aftermath- 01 // series masterlist

24th December, 2016

"Hey y/n! Wanna get some drinks on Christmas? If you don't have any plans! Or are you too busy for us 'poor people'! Haha!". Your friends have called and they joked.

You come from a very lower middle class family. Raised by your grandmother and elder sister(by six years) due to your parents being absent.

It was difficult, you grew up watching your grandmother working at an age where she should be enjoying life and your sister when she should be studying. You grew up knowing what's it like to have nothing.

With a decent education, you and your sister started supporting your grandmother with a decent corporate job until your sister got married to her co-worker.

It was just you, helping financially your grandmother with her medical bills while saving up enough for a decent enough wedding dress to follow your sister's path, where you marry an average man like she did, have kids, take care of your children and man and thats it.

An average life.

But you wanted more.

You prayed. Day and night for an extraordinary life, a life memorable and not like your sister's.

You wanted more from life.

And the Gods heard your prayer.

Your whole life changed when you became an essential part of Japan's prolific Aristocratic family.

The news was everywhere. Its a rags to riches, The modern Cinderella story in everyone's eyes.

It was beautiful.

It was memorable, everything you wanted..

Until it wasn't...

"Uh.. yes i am free.", it felt so different, talking to people you worked with after so long. "What's the timing?", you asked.

"25th, 7pm! At the usual place. Also y/n! Could you maybe bring your husband! I mean we would all love to meet Mr Gojo! He's so funny! Only if Mr Gojo is free that is!"

Ah yes. Mr Gojo, the funny, entertaining Mr Gojo. He has met your friends from work enough times to make an image of the grounded but arrogant, funny rich guy.

"Oh! He-he isn't home. He's quite busy. Maybe next time, i will bring him!", you managed as if there will be a next time!

"Oh(disappointed) , nevermind then. Send my regards to Mr Gojo. And you do not forget to come y/n!"

"Yeah".

You wanted to go out, outside and away from this house of memories, with Satoru, that trapped you. You wanted to breath fresh air and move on.

Move on?

How could you move on?

The fact that you were 3 months in your pregnancy after 4 years of marriage. But you failed to carry the child. You failed to maintain the marriage with the person you love. And you're talking about moving on when its just 2 months?

How cruel y/n, how cruel...

25th December, 2016 || 6.45pm

You got dressed up in a simple black turtleneck, jeans, an overcoat and knee high boots with a woolen cap on.

A thick layer of concealer was enough to hide the under eye dark circles. You put on a red lipstick and went out.

The staff stared at you, secretly though, but nonetheless they stared and judged you.

'Is Lady y/n really pregnant?' One said. "She doesn't have a bump though", other quoted. "Come to think of it, her monthly(period) hasn't arrived either. She is pregnant!".

"When's she going to announce?" One servant asked. "Maybe after Lord Satoru arrives?". "Oh! Maybe on the New Year's eve! Seems perfect timing as well.", one replied.

The servants maybe nosy but they know their places. They know, something so sensitive as the pregnancy of the great six eyes sorcerer's wife, its not their place to give the news to the family.

Generally, almost every household's staffs know about anything and everything that goes on in Gojo household. But the word, luckily, doesn't reaches to their employers most of the time.

But this time, it wasn't just some other light news from the Gojo House and the servants of other households started talking to their employers in no time...

It was already past 11.30pm.

Reunion with your office friends and straight up five bottles of your favorite vodka felt so nice that you almost forgot about all and everything that had gone wrong in your life.

You meet up with your co-workers every Christmas for the last 4 years. Sometimes Satoru would company, sometimes he wouldn't.

Talking about politics, sports and who's dating who, both in the office and among celebrities. These were mostly the topics you spent discussing while drinking.

"Hey, its almost going to be 12. I think that's it for the night guys!", one of your girlfriends announced after a slight glance at her silver wrist watch.

"Whaaat?", your speech was slurred and vision blurry after five drinks. "Isss overrr already? Whyyyy? Less get the party started.."

Everyone chuckled. "Ah y/n san had too much to drink! Now we'd have to drop her at her royal palace!", the other girlfriend smiled, a little jealous of your luxurious life.

"Whaaaaat? Less playyy! C'mon ya lot!", you continued babbling frustrated.

"I'll drop y/n. If its okay with everyone."

Out of all the twelve co-workers, one of them stood up and offered to help you reach home.

He knew none are interested in insuring you reach home safely. Everybody was just ignorant and busy to get back home to be on time for work.

He, Kenzo, always have had feelings for you. From the moment you entered the Office to present, when you're married and babbling gibberish while totally drunk.

Everyone agreed to leave you to Kenzo since it was no secret, the feelings he has and someone like him would definitely make sure you reach home safe and secure.

26th December, 2016 || 12.26 am

The group gave their farewells to each other and went on their way.

You, on the other hand, are so drunk that its impossible for you stand up without your legs wobbling and bringing you down.

Kenzo helped you and got you on the passenger seat of his car and started driving towards your 'palace'.

Your head felt heavy with all the drinks you had. You could hear voices in your head, all distorted, words lapsing onto each other.

"You did this y/n!"

"Because of you y/n your baby is dead"

"Satoru will never love you"

"All you've done since marriage is sitting on top of your husband's fortune... living the life you never had"

"Satoru's family....They were right...Everyone was right.."

"You are just a whore"

"Whore for money"

"WHORE"

You let out a scream and started twisting and turning your head and hands to stop all this annoying gibberish in your head. Your eyes closed tight shut.

Kenzo, while driving through almost an empty road, saw this and was absolutely horrified. He thought you're having seizures so he stopped his car in an empty underground parking lot that was luckily near when he saw you.

"Y/n! Y/n! Are you okay?". He grabbed your cheeks to hold you still while his other hand held forcefully onto your shaking arms. "Talk to me y/n. Talk to me!"

"Talk to me y/n"

You heard.

"Talk"

You opened your eyes, slowly letting in the artificial bright lights hit your eyes. Lips trembling. Cheeks red, tears rolling.

You felt a grasp on your cheeks and lowered your gaze to see Kenzo, worried and sweating.

You let out a sigh and without any thoughts hugged Kenzo.

He didn't know what just happened but if hugging him makes you feel better, he's okay with it. He hugged you back. Caressing your back.

All the thoughts had stopped now in your head.

You calmly pulled away from the hug and locked your eyes with Kenzo's.

He is so handsome, same age as you, has beautiful hooded eyes, his nose, his lips.

You gently brought your lips closer to his and he to yours. You both so close but so far. You wanted to kiss him, he wanted to kiss you.

Your lips brushed upon his and he kissed you. You put your tongue in his mouth and fought for dominance. After a few pants for air, you won, a battle you never won with your husband.

Kenzo pulled back though halfway through. You were puzzled. Didn't he want you? But then you saw him looking at your big blue and white diamond wedding ring.

Oh so thats what it is.

You quickly removed the two rings from your left hand and put the expensive rings onto dashboard. One ring being your wedding band and the other ring was an official platinum-diamond band symbolizing that you are the Gojo Clan head's wife.

In a rush you jumped sat on his lap. Fixating yourself just above his crotch, continuously rubbing your clothed groin over his. You both panted.

You unbuckled your jeans and threw them in the backseat and unzipped Kenzo's pants, about to slide in his member in you. You were so in heat he could see right through you if he'd have to be honest.

He held your wrists and stopped you from doing it...

"Y/n, we shouldn't... its not right... you're married-", he protested with his voice low.

"I decide whats right or not... so shut up and do it already", you growled at him in frustration and just put his cock in your unprepared cunt.

You were finally tainted wholly...

It hurt a lot in the beginning, doing the deed all dry, without any foreplay after so long and after your miscarriage but slowly your body adjusted.

'God! he's so small', you thought to yourself while pushing in Kenzo's 5 inches hard cock in you since for the last over 7 years you've gotten used to Gojo's 8 inches.

This lowly act of yours went on for around 2 hours. Doing it anywhere and everywhere inside the car, in all and every position.

26th December, 2016 || 4.50am

The radio was playing 'Lovely Day' by Bill Withers.

Kenzo was driving you to your house.

You were quiet. He was quiet.

The drive to your uphill estate was easy since it was early morning so the streets were traffic free. He drove his car through the beautiful posh Uphills neighborhood of Tokyo. Your house was almost there.

Each house in this posh area are mindfully distanced to provide full privacy and personal space to the owners. That is why Satoru bought his married house here.

You were looking outside the window with a cigarette between your lips and suddenly your heart skipped a beat, eyes widened, forehead sweating when you saw your husband's black Audi sedan parked in the driveway...

You gulped when the car stopped outside the Gojo Estate's premises.

Door opened, left foot out and you got out. Before entering the gates of your premises, you leaned down a little to look at an equally annoyed Kenzo.

You both didn't share any words or any final looks and he just drove his car as soon as you got off.

He knew what he had done was crossing the line and beyond. It was so unethical to sleep with a married woman, doesn't matter if you were his crush once or not.

You closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh.

"Well technically y/n you are separated and will be divorced soon. So its not cheating. Technically?" Your head convinced you in case when you'd be caught you'll have an argument ready.

You started walking through the cobblestone walkway, a little nervous... Actually, truth be told, you are scared of seeing Satoru. Finding you in your current state at this late hour.

You took one last big puff and then crushed the cigarette with your boots.

You rang the bell once, twice. You started thinking maybe its not Satoru but its Mr Ijichi. Yeah! He's busy anyway.

The door opened just as you were about to ring the third time and all your fears came true...

Satoru Gojo opened the door.

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Aplogies, tags are CLOSED

[the-hopeless-haze]

Let’s Spend the Night Together

Chapter 3 of If You Want It, You Can Bleed on Me

Greg House x Reader

Word count: 6.5k ??? what did I do

NSFW - smut

“Where does she live?” Greg asks James.

“If I tell you, am I assisting you in a crime?” James asks in response, barely looking up from his desk.

“I’m sure she told you about our date later.”

James huffs in frustration, finally looking up at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Did you like her? Is that it?” Greg questions, trying to get to the bottom of his friend’s snarky behavior. Not that this wasn’t the usual from him. It was one of the things Greg loved about him, that he was always a little fed up with him, always preemptively aggravated, always in a state of annoyance. It was harder to piss someone off that was always a little pissed with him at baseline.

“Is that what you think? Because if that’s the reason you’re taking her out… you’re more fucked than I thought.”

“The correct answer would have been, ‘no, Greg, I do not want to sleep with her because I am married’ but we’ll go with that.”

James sighs, looking up at him. “Yes. She’s very attractive. But no, I had no intention of entertaining her.”

“Then what’s your issue?”

“Because I don’t know why you’re doing this. You sick of your prostitutes?”

Greg scoffs. “This isn’t about sex.”

“It’s not? I’m mistaken then, because you were flirting with her, made comments about her body, called her to your office…”

“Okay,” he corrects. “It’s not just about sex.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want to date her without saying the words? Because if so… congratulations.”

“No. I want to figure her out.”

“Just look in her chart. Save both of you the trouble.”

“It’s no fun if I learn all the answers at once.”

“Do you ever wonder why you’re single?” James asks.

“Do you ever wonder why you’re unhappily married?” Greg counters. “And. About that. Either her psychiatry training gave her some leg-up here or you tipped her off. She went through her files already. All that she left was a med list.”

“You already looked?” James asks, incredulous.

“Yeah. No birth control. Wonder what that’s about? Propranolol. Maybe some blood pressure issue… she’s young for that and that’s not first line. Idiopathic tachycardia? Maybe. Anxiety?”

“She can’t have an interesting med list. Stop looking for zebras. She’s barely thirty.”

“No birth control and barely thirty? Either she’s not getting any or she’s tied her tubes already.”

“Or… if she does have a blood pressure issue she can’t be on it. Or she has an IUD. Actually… don’t drag me into this.”

“Lamotrigine. Seizures. Bipolar disorder. What’s more likely?”

“lamotrigine isn’t the first-line med for either. Maybe you’ll have to talk to her.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “No fun. Hey… she’s on Vicodin.”

“A match made in hell,” Wilson grumbles, running his hands over his face.

“Well. She was. Eight years ago.”

“Most people don’t stay on it indefinitely.”

“Why would she leave that on there? It’s just these three meds.”

“Don’t you have an actual patient?”

He shrugs. “I need her address. I’m picking her up in three hours.”

“At least buy her dinner. Do not just bring her to your apartment.”

“I can’t learn anything if I just have sex with her. I mean, I’ll definitely learn some things, but…”

“Well, I don’t have her address.”

“You’ve got to have her address. You hired her.”

“Nope. I’m not her direct supervisor since she’s a consult. You’d have to talk to the head of psychiatry or Cuddy. And no. I’m not losing my job searching for it.”

“She took it out of her medical records,” he says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling. “I guess she likes to play.”

——————

“So let me get this straight. You want me to risk the safety of one of my employees so you can drive by her apartment?”

Greg looks at Cuddy for a moment, as if he’s  actually thinking about her summary of his request and he nods. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Sighing, she says, “I shouldn’t be shocked you live the rest of your life like you practice medicine, but I don’t care about the results here. The answer is no, House.”

“It’ll be worth your while.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because… if I get laid I’m in a better mood which means I’m less likely to cause you issues.”

“Right. Hm. Surprising, but that didn’t persuade me.”

“Have you met her?”

“Is that supposed to convince me?” she asks, looking up at him for a second.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. She does work in psychiatry. For someone who constantly loves to tell me I have a drug problem and there’s something wrong with me I’d think you’d want to make sure this relationship runs smoothly.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I feel like you and I both know you’re not doing this for the emotional healing.”

“I won’t be doing anything if no one gives me her address,” he grumbles. He doesn’t tell her but for once he can’t believe how stupid he was that he fell for that, that he thought you might be interested.

“Hm. Well. I’m busy, House.”

He walks out without a word, heading back to his office. It’s 7:00.

Well. Alone again. Not much different than the last night or the night before that.

And he knows he could have Cameron. She’s been not so subtle in trying to get his attention, and yes, he certainly didn’t help matters by telling her she’s beautiful. Sure. But she isn’t… she’s not what he wants. He doesn’t need someone to take him on like a charity case.

You… you were fucking with him. And it’s fair, maybe he even deserves it. Maybe you got off on this, being a Walmart version of a femme-fatale, wounding men’s egos, seeing which ones would chase you and which ones would give up after a little pain.

Doesn’t really ease the sting of the ache of rejection, though. That you’d brush him off that easy, leave him without an avenue to reach you.

Sighing, he turns on the TV, trying and failing to focus on the screen, but you’d taken over his mind like a case he was on the brink of solving and just couldn’t get there.

8:15. He gets a page from your number. “YOURE LATE”. It reads.

Well. Screw that. He still had a way to reach you after all.

Possibly.

Smiling to himself, he calls down to the psych ward, asking for you. You’re not there, they say, but they’ll be happy to transfer him to your extension if you’re still in the building.

“I thought hookers took pride in their punctuality,” you say when you answer the phone.

“You’re kind of a bitch, huh?” He asks, trying not to let his chuckle be so audible in the receiver.

“You keep Wilson around. You love bitches.”

“Funny. Would’ve thought you’d been swooning, begging him to leave his wife by now.”

“I’m not so easily charmed.”

“Those big brown eyes don’t do it for you?”

“Sounds like they do it for you. Something you want to tell me, Gregory?”

“Don’t ever call me that,” he sighs.

“Not going to deny the gay allegations but you’ll draw the line at me calling you by your first name? What gives, House?”

“You can call me Greg.”

“Wow, could I? What an honor that we’re on first name basis.”

“Not many get the privilege.”

“Still haven’t denied the gay allegation.”

“Don’t really see the point. You’ll believe what you believe regardless.”

“Wow. Truly. A disaster of a man in all other regards but you’re comfortable in your sexuality? Greg is 1 for 0.”

“I have one male best friend and I’ve been single for five years. I embrace the gay jokes at this point.”

“Five years?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while for you too, huh?”

“What makes you so sure?”

“No reason,” he lies.

“Right.”

“You’re single now.”

“Moved here less than a year ago. Haven’t really had the chance to meet people.”

“Okay. What hellhole did you crawl out of to willingly move to Jersey?”

“Maybe I just like Frank Sinatra.”

“He’s dead. You didn’t come here for something. You left something and you came here to make sure whatever it was didn’t follow you.”

“Is this really the date you had in mind?” you ask.

“Nice deflection.”

“I just moved. No story there.”

“Also. Almost a year? And no one’s asked you out?”

“I can say no, you know.”

“You didn’t say no to me.”

“Maybe I should’ve.”

“Cold. Come down here. I’ll walk you out to my car.”

————-

“Ah. The bitch arrives,” he says, looking you up and down again, not hiding his checking you out. You’d changed, red blouse with a leather jacket and most likely the same black slacks you were wearing earlier. “Not quite slutty enough.”

“Could say the same for you. Where’s the assless chaps?”

“I could never pull that off,” he says. “You could, though.”

He’d changed, too, a button down with slacks for once instead of jeans... at Wilson’s nagging of course.

“Here,” he says, handing you a bouquet of flowers he thought for a second were going to wilt away at his desk.

“Flowers? don’t tell me you went all out. Maybe you’re not as much of a disaster as I thought.”

“I shouldn’t give them to you since you stood me, a cripple, up.”

“Stood you up? You didn’t come get me.”

“You never told me where to get you. Ergo… you stood me up.”

“You were supposed to figure it out.”

“Yeah. Right. Wilson didn’t know and Cuddy wouldn’t put out. And you knew I wouldn’t figure it out. That’s why you stayed here.”

“You actually asked Cuddy?”

“What? I’ve asked her for much worse.”

You shake your head, smiling. “Falling head over heels for me already, Greg?”

“Puzzles are no fun if you can’t figure out the answer.” He doesn’t say that the unsolved cases haunt him, nag him and he sees them where they’re not.

One day he knows you’ll haunt him, too. One day, when you leave, when he pushes this until it breaks.

“Mm. Try harder then,” you say.

“You gave me an unsolvable puzzle.”

“Mm. Not really. You gave it to yourself. You said you were picking me up at my place. I stayed here and gave you the easy way out.”

“You could’ve left it—“ he cuts himself off, lest he incriminate himself.

“Left it where, Greg?” you ask, bemused.

“Nowhere.”

“Right,” you laugh. “So what opiate do you pop constantly?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Funny.”

“Why would that be funny, Greg?”

“Let me sleep with you first.”

“Absolutely not,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, I shouldn’t have thought you’d be easy if you’ve put me through hell just to take you out,” he sighs.

“Don’t think I’ll leave you completely wanting, though,” you say, reaching out to touch his face, his stubble scratching your hand pleasantly, a shiver running down your spine. You run your thumb over his bottom lip gently.

Tentatively, he reaches out for you, too, copying your movements, hand on your cheek, thumb over your lips, but then your tongue darts out to run over the pad of his thumb and he thinks he might die right there. “Dirty girl,” he chuckles, smirking.

“Mm. You’re pretty, Greg,” you say, with enough sincerity he almost believes you’re not bullshitting him.

“Pretty? That’s a first.”

“Like no one’s ever told you.”

“Maybe ten years ago.”

“Mm. It’s those eyes,” you say, stepping a little closer to him, letting your breath mingle with his, snaking your hand around the back of his neck. Your lips almost touch, once, twice, wordlessly. “You gonna kiss me or not, Greg?”

You expect him to be rougher but he’s soft, testing the waters, lips still barely touching yours until he gives in, gives you what you want, kisses you like he means it. God, it’s been too long, and you missed it, the thrill of kissing somebody new, and you can feel his anticipation, electricity from your skin to his.

“Come on,” he says, breaking away from you after a few minutes. “I said I’d take you to dinner.”

———

“So what is it? Percs?” you ask once you’ve been seated and get waters. It’s a nice place he chose, somewhere a little out of the way, mostly serving Italian fare and seafood. It’s where men who haven’t been on a date in a while would choose to bring a woman, you figure.

“Percs? You do some time on the street?” he asks.

“So what if I did?” you counter.

He shakes his head. “Not your story. I’m not buying that.”

“Fine. Used to work at an addiction treatment facility when I was a nurse. Everyone calls them percs, though. Not exactly some down low street name.”

“It’s Vicodin.”

“Nasty drug,” you say.

“Really? I think they’re yummy.”

“You would.”

“What’s your personal aversion to them? They take you on a bad date?”

“Got them prescribed after a motorcycle accident. Didn’t agree with me.”

“Hm. You driving?”

“No.”

“What’d you break?”

“My leg.”

“Which one?”

“Right femur.”

Wilson was going to have a field day. Match made in hell, alright. Wilson’s personal hell, that is.

“Femurs are hard to break.”

“When your partner is drunk and doesn’t care about anything it’s not that hard,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “Lucky I didn’t die. I mean, not that I cared so much then.”

“Partner? What were you, 19?”

“22,” you say, silently cursing yourself for not just saying boyfriend.

“Did they not make it?”

You look at him questioningly but don’t say anything about his use of the gender neutral. You don’t want to have that conversation tonight. “No. Life support for a couple weeks until they pulled it.”

“Hm. So that wasn’t the reason you left.”

“No. There was no reason. I just needed a change of scenery.”

“Right,” he says. “Jersey isn’t usually the place people pick for a change of scenery.”

“How’d you end up here, then?”

“There was a job opening,” he answers.

“You were running away from something, too.”

“No, I was running to something. I needed a place to hire me and Cuddy was the only one insane enough to take me on at that point.”

“You’ve always been discourteous and unprofessional?”

“Those are my middle names,” he snarks.

There’s a natural break in the conversation as the waiter comes back to take orders. Greg takes notice of what you order, a baked scrod, certainly not the least expensive thing you could have ordered but not the most, either. It’s an assessment of how you value yourself, he thinks. Average. Average is boring.

Or you could just like scrod, he supposes.

“Why are you single?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Life was busy. Didn’t have time for relationships,” you say, shrugging. “Why are you?”

“Myriad of reasons.”

“Give me one.”

“My leg,” he responds indignantly.

“What happened to it?” you ask.”

“That’s a second date conversation.”

"You're in pain."

"How'd you know?" He asks sarcastically.

"Was it the cane? The Vicodin?"

'I think it was your charming personality.

Anyway. If you're going to cite your leg as a reason you're single, I'd love to know why."

"I was with someone when it happened. It's a long story."

"We've got nothing but time,” you say.

"You really won't sleep with me if I don't tell you?" House asks.

"Nope. Keep pushing me and I never will.

Tell me."

House sighs dramatically. "I had an infarction in my thigh muscle. No one knew what it was, I diagnosed it, but... so much of the muscle was dead already. I didn't want an amputation, I wanted a bypass. I didn't care about the pain. I just wanted to be able to use my leg. I asked them to put me under sedation to cope with the pain at the time... and the woman I was with decided it would be a good idea to remove the dead muscle completely."

"You made her your medical proxy?”

"Mm. Stupid decision on my part,” he says.

"Any medical background?"

"Nope."

"Then yes. Stupid decision,” you agree.

"I'm sure you've made plenty of stupid decisions. Getting on that motorcycle, for one,” he says, adding a jab at the end so to help heal his wounded ego a little.

"We all make mistakes. It's human. So... what's the reason now? You resent people who can walk without pain so you don't get close to anybody? It interferes with sex? You feel like no woman would want to deal with it long term?"

House sighs and rolls his eyes. "Do you really think it interferes with sex? Is that what you're worried about?"

"No. I'm asking if that's what you-"

"No. You see me as a potential sexual partner, correct?"

"I never said that."

"We're going with it. You ask me as if you're posing the question to me... but you're projecting."

"And you're deflecting. I asked you three questions and you didn't answer one" you point out.

"No. It doesn't interfere with sex, at least not to the point where you have to worry if I

can get you off or not. Whenever you decide to spread your legs for me... you'll see."

You feel your cheeks redden a little and cough. "I asked you two other questions."

"They weren't what you were getting at."

"Entertain me."

"No. It's not that I resent people. Am I jealous? Sometimes. I'd love to know what it's like to wake up in the morning without pain. But I'm not going to wake up every morning wanting to kill my partner because she jogs every morning and I can't."

"Is it because you've been able to accept it?

Was it an issue with your girlfriend at the time, coming to terms with it?"

"What do you think?"

"Yes."

Greg shrugs. “Not hard to put that together. I bet I could get a psychiatric nursing degree too.”

"Third question? You feel like no woman would want to deal with it?"

"Mm. Or she'd want to deal with it for the wrong reasons, take me on like I'm a charity case. That's unattractive for an abundance of reasons. You could go that way, I think, or you used to."

"You think I'm taking you on as a charity case? You pursued me.”

"You agreed. You didn't think for a second,

'well, he's a cripple, I'd better at least give him a shot'?"

"Your leg is not the reason I am here," you say firmly.

"What is it then, my deep blue eyes? This big, thick cane? My ray of sunshine personality?"

You chuckle. "It's your drive. You barely knew me, decided I was interesting and pursued me without abandon. That is attractive."

"You're not curious as to why you?"

"Little tits and ass, as Keith Richards would say?" You ask. "I'm used to being objectified. Pretty privilege is a thing. I'm sure you have noticed that yourself. If there's something deeper, enlighten me."

"Well, you are attractive, there's no doubting that. But I intend to find out why you're in the medical field, and psychiatry at that. It's like Cameron, on my team. You're gorgeous enough to have become an actress, marry a millionaire. Something happened to you to make you choose this."

"Did you take Cameron out until you figured what her deal was?"

"No. Cameron pities me. I have no interest in her that way."

"Well. Why do you assume brilliant minds reside only in unattractive faces? Why do you assume I worked my ass off to get here because of some past trauma when this could have just been a goal of mine like it could've been if I wasn't as hot as you think l am?”

"Okay. Then why did you choose psychiatry?"

"That's a second date conversation." You quip.

He smiles wryly at you. "You coaxed my issue out of me. Come on."

“I hold fast to my principles. You're weak,” you say, grinning back. “Why are you a doctor, then, hm?”

“I’m not a beautiful woman.”

“Right…” you say. “Chase is pretty. Foreman is too, you know. Either of them could’ve done something easier.”

“Chase is trying desperately to fill his father’s shoes. His father was a doctor, and well, you know how that story goes. And Foreman is an overcoming adversity case. He could’ve been a hood rat. He was on that path.”

“You know… women just started to be able to open credit cards in 1971. Maybe I don’t want to have to rely on a man to make a living.”

“No. Believe me, I get that. My point was there’s easier ways to make money. You chose the hard way,” he says. “And unpopular way. People become doctors and they fantasize about cutting people open and diagnosing infections, not getting hit and restraining children.”

“Your hypothesis is stupid. Maybe I don’t want to be an actor or model… or an infectious disease specialist,” you say. “And I think we’re all damaged. All of us. No one gets out unscathed.”

“No one just chooses psychiatry because it’s such a good time.”

“They do when it can make them ridiculous money without as many hardships as medical school. I could be using my degree to write suboxone scripts and make more than I’m making right now. I know a lot of people who went back for that.”

“Proving my point. Why are you doing things the hard way?”

“You take on the most difficult cases across the country, cases no one else can solve. You’re doing things the hard way, too. Why? Because the easy way is boring.”

Greg smiles at that. “Fair enough.”

“Yeah. Fair enough.”

—————

You don’t quite know how you got here. Or well, you do. Greg asked you to come back to his place for drinks, and you agreed, and you should’ve known better but it’s been years and you can’t really care too much when his warm body is underneath you, his tongue down your throat, his hands everywhere he can reach.

“How bad are you hurting?” you ask him, breathlessly.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” he whispers back, reaching a hand back to touch your chin. “What do you want to come of tonight?”

“Let’s just see where this leads us,” you say, leaning back to kiss him again.

But he stops you, gentle pressure on your jaw to prevent you from closing the space between your lips. “I need to know what you want.”

You sigh, pressing your elbow in his chest as leverage to lift yourself off him, and you sit next to his feet on the other side of the couch. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I don’t want this to head somewhere we can’t get back from. Move over,” he says, and winces, moving his legs back over to sit beside you again.

“It wasn’t sexual trauma,” you huff, aggravated. “You can say I’m damaged all you want but that doesn’t mean you have to treat me like glass.”

“I tried to take your shirt off and you pushed me away but you kept kissing me. What do you want?”

“What do you want?” You ask, glaring at him.

Truth was, you were using him, maybe just like he was using you. You hadn’t had the opportunity to make quite as bad of a decision as sleeping with the man in front of you in a long time. And as bad decisions go, he wasn’t so terrible anyway. You like him so far, you think he’s attractive. But you know Wilson is right, that he might drag you down to places you haven’t been in a long time.

Still.

It’s been a while since you’ve felt something. You want the hating yourself in the morning for giving yourself away so soon, you want the walk of shame as he drives you back to the hospital where you left your car, you want to revel in the fact that Greg will be telling people how you were in bed, bragging that he got you in between his sheets. You want the dopamine hit and the subsequent crash.

You spent so long getting healthy but you had to keep everyone at arm’s length to do it. It was probably the worst idea to try to get close to someone else who also isolated people and couldn’t even be healthy then.

Why didn’t he just want it to be easy? Just fuck you and be done with it, continue if it’s convenient and worth the effort. Easy is boring, sure, but sex isn’t boring even if it’s easy (if so, he wouldn’t be seeing hookers, would he?). And you know he wants to fuck you, but why he wants to make it difficult… it’s beyond your reach at this moment.

“I want… I don’t know,” he admits, because he doesn’t.

Prostitutes were one thing. Vulnerability there didn’t really matter. They were doing a job and they didn’t even take a second glance at his leg. As long as they were getting paid. If he wanted attention drawn to it, they’d kiss it red with their lipstick but because he tells them to leave it alone… they do.

Sleeping with somebody new… it’s so much harder. It’s so much easier with someone you know. Or someone you don’t have an obligation to know.

With an aim to please rather than take, he doesn’t know how he’d perform.

Looking at his face, reading the ambivalence there, it suddenly clicks. If Wilson knew the truth, if you really are the first woman since his injury, there’s a lot of insecurity in being seen.

And you know all about being seen.

It’s easy to come off with bravado and arrogance but when you’re actually in the situation, when you’re called to be vulnerable… it’s something else entirely.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” you ask quietly.

“Yes. God yes,” he affirms, nodding his head. “Don’t take tonight as an indication.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” you say, nodding.

“That doesn’t mean… that doesn’t mean I can’t help you get off.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s still sex.”

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “If you’re in high school.”

“What do you think lesbians do?”

He raises his eyebrows, chucking a little. “Are you a lesbian?”

“You wish,” you laugh. “Say you could be the one that changed me.”

“I would. Except people don’t change.”

“Yeah. They do. They change all the time,” you counter, shrugging your shoulders. “Every day, every hour, every moment… it changes you. They’re minuscule changes, changes you don’t see immediately, but you look back a decade and then it clicks.”

“Right. Maybe. But fundamentally people don’t change. The parts change, but the whole never does.”

You want to say that he has been changed, that his leg injury changed him, that he holds so steadfast to that belief that people never change so he can convince himself he was always this miserable. Sure, you get the feeling he was fucked before, but this did change him. Made him worse. Made him push people away.

You don’t say that, though. You know deep down he knows it and doesn’t want to face it.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” he asks, insecurity creeping in, and he doesn’t know why this is so difficult or why he cares at all. He could pay for what he wanted, live his hedonistic lifestyle and not have to worry if the woman in front of him wanted to fuck him or not.

You aren’t boring.

But that’s not true, anyway, that’s not why he keeps people at arms length. Routine medical cases are boring, but people aren’t. It’s why he went through all the files he could of the applicants for his team, trying to pick the combination that would interest him the most, play off each other in ways he could live vicariously through. They weren’t the most deserving, or the most academically gifted, they were the most interesting. It’s why he loves gossip, loves knowing about things that don’t concern him, always living life like it’s a spectator sport and he’s got front row seats.

It’s always the people that love to watch that hate to be seen.

“I could be convinced,” you say, in that bitchy tone he knows hes going to love to hate. You soften; though, turn to him, your hair falling a little in your face, kiss him gently on the mouth.

Greg responds in kind, deepening the kiss, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling lightly before traveling to your breasts, kneading your flesh through your shirt.

“Could you be convinced to have lesbian sex with me right now?” he asks.

You’d burst out laughing if you also weren’t so admittedly and ashamedly turned on right now. “Yeah. Sure. Think you’d have an easier time in bed though.”

“You treat me like all your girls?” he asks, a glint in his eye, and oh, there’s the being seen. You’re not a fan, either. You’re surprised he’s not being forthright about what he no doubt is putting together, but ultimately you’re thankful.

“A slut’s a slut,” you quip as he leans back in, his mouth barely touching yours and he chuckles against your skin.

“You really are a bitch.”

“Mm,” you agree, closing the distance between you again, pulling him to stand up with you, letting him lean on you as he puts weight on it again.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, without thinking, never one to apologize for his actions but never one to let his disability affect others, either.

“It’s okay, Greg,” you whisper. “I got you.”

“No, I’ll go get—“

You stop him, holding his jaw gently in your hand. “It’s okay.”

Empathy. Not sympathy.

You had been here, in a way. Femur fractures take a good six months to heal. You walked half a year in his shoes on the same medication he was on.

Now it all clicks, what James had done, keeping you two apart to bring you together, doing something by not doing anything, letting it all happen by chance. He had been patient enough to let time do most of the work, something Greg could never do, but something that ultimately worked in his favor.

It’s okay. We all need someone we can lean on. If you want it, you can lean on me.

You still lived a life without pain.

Greg hates it, hates it all, and if you had had just the slightest twinge of force, the slightest indication that you were saying it was okay just to say something he would’ve told you to get out. He hates the way it kills intimacy, makes him older, more decrepit, makes him dependent, in a way. There’s certain things he can never do, or that he’d need help to do, and it’s something a woman would leave him for.

It’s something a woman did leave him for.

He wants to hug you, but that would feel too much, too intimate, too soon, so he kisses you again instead, and then the two of you hobble on to his bedroom. It hurts. God, it hurts, aches like it always does, maybe more so—the last pill he took was at dinner, but you make it, helping him ease onto the bed and wasting no time, knowing he was insecure, wasting no time to prove you still wanted him, mouth on his, your legs straddling his good thigh, moving on to his neck, laving your tongue over his skin, biting gently, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt.

“Hey,” Greg says, stopping your hand’s ministrations.

“I’m only taking your shirt off,” you assure him. “I won’t go further than that.”

“Fine. Not much to see there, either,” he mutters.

“I like tits,” you blurt without thinking. Jesus Christ. You have to stop doing that.

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling. “Sure you do. Good thing mine are bigger than Cuddy’s.”

“They absolutely are not.”

“You familiar with their size?”

You stop yourself just in time before you say “I wish.”

He lets you finish, helping you take his shirt off, take his undershirt off, shivering as you kiss down the length of his torso to the top of his pants. “I’ll show you mine,” you say, unbuttoning your pants and slipping them off, throwing them on the floor haphazardly. You move over so he can see the scar down the side of your leg, deep gash where they cut you open, you were a month away from a nursing license and you were in the OR, someone’s patient before you could ever be on the side you studied for.

You were lucky, they kept saying. You didn’t feel lucky at all.

Tentatively, his hand comes to touch your skin and you nod, silent agreement that he could touch. He’s gentle even though he doesn’t need to be, touching carefully, tracing the line of the scar up and down, hard keloid under his skin.

“This isn’t what you don’t want me to see,” Greg says.

“Hm?”

“Your upper body. That’s why you didn’t want me to take your shirt off.”

Oh. Yeah. That.

“I don’t care,” you lie.

“Yes, you do,” he counters immediately, looking at you knowingly. “Why are you lying?”

You sigh, pulling him back to you, kissing him hard, hoping he’ll shut up if you don’t give him the chance to speak. “Just touch me already.”

It would be so much easier if he just fucked you, fucked you over, fucked you up all within the course of a month. You get the feeling right now, as your tongue is down his throat and you’re letting out moans against his lips you try to suppress as his fingers enter you, stretch you out, reach angles you couldn’t reach by yourself, you get the feeling this is going to be for the long haul. Not that he’s necessarily going to be down on one knee, but that he’s going to drag out hurting you like he’s dragging his fingers against your walls, drawing you closer and closer to the edge but never quite bringing you there.

“You okay?” you ask him, breathless, head hazy, you just want him, want him closer than this, want him deep in you.

“Shh,” Greg whispers, almost a little irritated. “I’m busy right now.”

You can’t really focus on coming up with a retort because he starts rubbing your clit and as you tilt your head back into the pillows, he starts biting at the flesh he can now easily access, starting gentle but then applying more pressure with his teeth, smirking as you whimper.

Sweat trickles down your back and you wish this was different, but he’s naked from the waist up and you’re unclothed from the waist down, and it’s stupid, you know it’s dumb, that you’re letting this man fuck you with his fingers before you let him see you fully naked. It’s not like no one has before. It’s just a conversation you don’t want to have again.

Still. All this is making you a little too hot to be half-clothed.

Greg wonders why he let you in at all. Why he went through the trouble, bought you dinner, why he’s trying to get you off right now. Maybe it’s to fuck with James. Sure, it was originally, but now he feels like it was James who fucked with him, set him up, used predictable behaviors to create a predictable outcome. Still. If you’d been professional with him instead of giving him crassness right back, he would’ve decided to make your life a living hell instead of getting you in between his sheets. Either way, he was going to make someone miserable.

Himself, first and foremost.

Not that he can really be miserable right now. It’s not terrible being needed in this sense, he’s remembering.

You weren’t like Stacy, though, not here. You’re louder, not in a patronizing way where you exaggerate your moans to try and stroke a man’s ego, but it’s like you genuinely can’t hold yourself back. It’s hot. It’s unreserved. It’s… passionate in a way Stacy just wasn’t. She loved him, he knows that, but when things got hard and he got mean instead of fighting back she got cold and walked away.

Not that he can glean exactly how you’d be in an argument from how you act in bed, but he has a feeling you don’t let go of things easily.

And… well. Takes one to know one.

Who would give in, though?

His relationship with Stacy worked before his leg because Stacy would accommodate, she would compromise herself for him. It’s why his friendship with James works now. Sure. Both of them gave him some pushback — it’s not like they in good conscience could let him get away with all the things he wanted to do. And eventually he pushed Stacy until she broke.

You, though? You don’t seem like you shatter easily. If anything you seem like you’d harden like a scar, healing over stronger, uglier, thicker, nothing really hurting you because you’d just put more walls up. You’d fight him to the bitter end.

And you know, maybe he wants that. Someone he’s not afraid to push too far because he knows you’ll push right back the second he gets even an inch.

All he really knows is your vague med list, that you got into a motorcycle accident almost a decade ago, and that you chose to be a psychiatric provider among all other things you could have been. And yet… he feels like he can glean much more.

All he really knows in this moment is that you’re coming apart under his fingers, gripping his forearm with your hands as he drags out your orgasm, trying to get him away from your now overstimulated cunt.

“She comes in colors everywhere,” he mutters, smirking lazily at you, dragging his fingers out of you, finally, then brings them to his mouth, sucking slowly on each one.

You scoff at his comment, but just as quickly he sees the light turn green again and you straddle his left thigh, coming to kiss his mouth, hard, bare cunt against his slacks and he can’t help it, he’s thinking about you wrecking them, thinking about your wet pussy on what could’ve been his bare thigh… and he groans despite himself, in pain, yes, but also pleasure - and he’s pulling you closer by the collar of your shirt, and he begins to remember why men put themselves through what could very well be the potential torture of dating a woman.

It’s just so much better when it’s with someone you know. Or… someone you need to know everything about, need to memorize like they’re an extension of yourself.

You’re not soulmates. It’s not love. It’s not romance, like James would decree.

You won’t fix him. He sure as hell won’t fix you.

But you’ll do something to each other, alright.

[morganbritton132]

One of those whack job body language ‘experts’ make a Tiktok talking about the live-stream that Steve had a seizure on. They say that the look on Eddie’s face when he realized what was happening is "very clearly" disgust and then goes into this spiel about Eddie being disgusted by Steve's weakness.

Eddie not even fucking around when he responds, tells the guy, “Fuck you and fuck your pseudoscience bullshit. I’m not now nor have I ever fucking been disgusted by someone’s medical condition. I was afraid because it’s a seizure and those are scary. Steve has seizures because he got hurt protecting people. He saved my life. You think there’s anything about that man that I think is disgusting?”

An hour later Eddie posts another Tiktok where he’s like, “Nevermind, this is pretty gross” and it’s just Steve eating pickles and peanut butter together.

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers pt. 7

Gif not mine

A/N: A first date. Ish. Also, I do not understand fashion, can't put together an outfit irl to save my life. I had to do much googling and running the descriptions by several people before I deemed it "acceptable". Again, edited while stoned. Lissen. Lissen. It helps with my seizures more than any medications ever have and now that I'm allowed to smoke again, I will be. I wrote this while in the hospital if I recall so hopefully the time I was able to dedicate to it shines through?? Eh.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings (let me know if I forgot to tag anything): Mentions of past child abuse, stalking, horror, dubcon, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, angst, smut. There will be bits of fluff tho.

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Masterlist with parts 1-6 here

When Wanda told you that morning she had a surprise planned, you weren't quite sure what to expect. As a woman with the ability to bend reality, the possibilities were endless. You inquired about the dress code, hoping for some insight into where she might be taking you. However, she left you puzzled when she said you could wear whatever you were comfortable in. When you sought clarification, expressing concerns about being under or overdressed, she delighted in flustering you. “Detka, you could wear a paper bag, and you would still be the most beautiful person in the room.”

You resisted the urge to flee the room when you saw the hungry look she gave you. Stumbling over your words, unsure of what you had said, you simply nodded and went back to your room to get ready. Soft chuckles echoed down the hall as you left, and you were thankful she couldn't see the pink dusting your cheeks. It was clear that she knew the effect she had on you, and her laughter confirmed it. It seemed like flustering you was her favorite pastime, and she had stopped pretending otherwise. Unsure of what to do with this information, you searched your closets for something suitable for the day.

Uncertain about the plan, but wanting to strike a balance between casual and dressed up, you decided to wear a dove grey short-sleeved button-up shirt. This choice exuded a casual yet polished vibe. The short sleeves provided a relaxed and laid-back appearance, while the button-up style added a touch of sophistication. Rolling up the sleeves suggested a practical and comfortable approach, perfect for a less formal setting. If Wanda were to take you somewhere slightly fancier, you could always unroll the sleeves.

For the pants, you decided to go with black slim-fit chinos. They offer adaptability, comfort, and the ability to seamlessly transition between different dress codes and occasions. You paired them with a simple black leather belt with silver accents. As for the shoes, you selected black and white Bruno Marc Rivera Oxfords. These shoes strike a balance between the formality of dress shoes and the relaxed comfort fit of sneakers.

Once you had picked out your outfit, you headed to the bathroom to get ready. Unlike witchy, you didn't have magic to speed up the process. Wanda hadn't given you a specific time limit, but it was probably better to get ready sooner rather than later. After a quick shower, you applied a simple layer of tinted moisturizer to your face. Feeling more prepared, you got dressed and made your way to the main hall to meet Wanda.

You were wholly unprepared for the sight that greeted you.

Before you stood Wanda, dressed in a red and black half turtleneck striped knitted peek-a-boo sweatshirt. The collar doesn't reach Wanda's chin, giving a tantalizing view of her neck, and the shoulder cutouts accentuate her defined muscles. She has paired the sweatshirt with faux leather dress leggings and black high-heeled booties. Her fingers are adorned with several silver rings, and you try not to imagine how they would feel if she were to touch you. As you take in her entire appearance, you gulp. Finally, your eyes meet, and Wanda grins knowingly, making you blush bright pink, and you know she has likely heard your thoughts.

“You look great, Wands.” you complimented, shyly.

The witch preens at your praise and returns it in kind. “You look pretty handsome yourself, detka. Are you ready to go?”

“Well since you won’t tell me where we’re going, I suppose so.” you tease, hoping she will relent and tell you the surprise.

Wanda simply smirks at your attempt and opens a portal behind her. Gesturing "after you," she invites you to confidently step through ahead of her. There was a time when you would have been terrified to go through any magical portal without Wanda physically by your side. However, you had seen enough of her skill to know that nothing bad would happen to you. As soon as you step through the portal, you find yourself facing a fish tank that spans an entire wall. Your heart soars with joy as you realize that Wanda has brought you to an aquarium, one of your favorite animal exhibits.

A soft hand slipped into yours and you heard the warm timbre of Wanda’s voice next to your ear. You could tell she was smiling. "Surprise."

You turned to look at the witch, your gaze filled with awe and gratitude. The only time you had ever been to the aquarium was during a school field trip, which you had managed to afford with some money you had scrounged up over the course of a few weeks. No one had ever taken the initiative to treat you to the aquarium before.

Wanda smiled warmly at you. "I know you feel anxious in large groups of people, so I rented the place just for us. You can take your time exploring any of the displays without worrying about anyone getting in your way. We have the entire day, dorogoya, and I have another surprise planned for dinner." She gently squeezed your hand and gave you a quick wink.

A gentle warmth fluttered in your chest, as if a burden had been lifted. No one had ever shown such thoughtfulness and kindness towards you. The fact that Wanda had listened attentively when you shared your fondest childhood memory of visiting the aquarium, and went out of her way to recreate that experience for you just to see you happy, made your heart feel alive like never before.

Overflowing with appreciation and joy, you couldn't help but throw yourself into the witch's arms. With her reflexes honed during her time with the Avengers, she caught you in a gentle embrace. As she felt her sweatshirt becoming damp with your tears, Wanda was about to ask what was wrong, but before she could utter a word, you whispered a quivering "thank you" while holding onto her tightly.

For Wanda, this didn't feel like the anticipated victory. Instead, her focus was solely on how perfect it felt to have you in her arms, as if that was how it should always be. She had missed you so much. While being the big spoon every night technically meant she was still holding you, it was a completely different experience for you to actively seek out her touch. Now that you were, Wanda never wanted to let you go.

She whispered comforting words to you while holding you, with one hand gently playing with your hair as you calmed down. After what felt like both an eternity and not enough time, you released yourself from her embrace and wiped away some of your tears. You apologized, feeling embarrassed. In a gesture of comfort and intimacy, Wanda's thumb wiped away the remaining tears from your face.

“You never have to apologize for your feelings, Y/N. Not to me. I am glad you trust me enough to be so vulnerable.”

You watched, dazed, as Wanda brought her thumb, the same one that had just wiped away your tears, to her mouth. While maintaining direct eye contact with you, she slowly inserted her thumb into her mouth and used her tongue to clean your tears from it.

“Uh.. Yeah. S-sure.” Ever the quick wit from you…

Pillow-like lips curved playfully. "Come on, detka, let's see what this place has to offer?" The witch extended her hand to you, and in your daze, you accepted it. She simply had to guide you to the first exhibit before your initial shock gave way to excitement for the day. Soon, you were practically bouncing from one plexiglass panel to another, enthusiastically discussing the beautiful fish you encountered. Throughout the entire experience, you never released Wanda's hand, and she was thrilled to let you hold on.

Wanda was captivated by your innocent excitement. Her laughter tinkled melodically as you narrated the fish's experiences to her, even going so far as giving them names. Your enthusiasm for your special interest, your extensive knowledge about fish surpassing her own, and your ability to provide additional details not found on the descriptive plaques, left Wanda gazing at you with love and amusement in her eyes. Of course, you were too engrossed in the beautiful fish to notice, and she happily listened to your enthusiastic info dumping.

As you explored the aquarium, you couldn't help but wonder if this feeling of joy was what children often experienced. Being able to take in the exhibits at your own pace, with Wanda attentively listening to your ramblings, made you feel carefree and happier than ever before. Never diminishing your enthusiasm; Wanda remained engaged throughout, even asking follow-up questions to your explanations. It didn't occur to you, but you hadn't let go of each other's hands almost the entire time, and it seemed that neither of you had any intention of doing so anytime soon.

The highlight of the experience was when you and Wanda turned the corner and you found yourselves in an outdoor viewing area that led to an enclosure. As you approached, your excitement grew - it was an interactive penguin encounter! A person dressed in a wetsuit entered through a door at the back of the enclosure and made their way towards you, indicating that they were ready to let you in. After opening the gate, they introduced themselves and warmly welcomed both of you. You turned to Wanda in disbelief, unable to contain your excitement about the opportunity to play with real, live penguins!

Wanda smiled tenderly at your surprise and gently nudged you to follow the trainer into the enclosure. Your hands only now separated, and you almost, almost wanted to skip the adorable birds just so you could continue holding the witch's hand. Excitement prevailed in the end though because how often does one get the chance to pet penguins?

The trainer went to get a bucket of fish and brought it over to you, demonstrating how to entice the penguins to your side. Although the semi-frozen fish felt disgusting when touched, you were willing to endure any uncomfortable texture rather than miss out on this opportunity. With bait in hand, you beckoned to a nearby penguin, waving the fish to gain its attention. Success! The penguin waddled over to you, and you tried to not to lose your shit at how adorable the bird was.

The penguins were clearly accustomed to human interaction. They showed no hesitation in getting close to you to retrieve their dinner. You had anticipated having to throw a fish or two before the penguins would come close enough to touch, but to your surprise, one of the penguins allowed you to pet it while it enjoyed it's meal.

All the while, Wanda stayed in the background, capturing countless pictures, and several videos of you cooing and awing over the birds. By now you had a waddle of penguins surrounding you, and you were thrilled to interact with each and every one of them, not wanting any to feel left out. Eventually it was time to go, but you insisted the trainer take a picture of you and Wanda crouching with the penguins, Wanda feeling overjoyed that you wanted her to be included in this memento.

At first, she stood slightly to the side, positioned to be in the photo but not to draw the focus from you. However, you weren't having any of that, wrapping your arm around her waist and pulling her gently into your side. She laughed at your enthusiasm, grateful for the gesture. While the trainer took the photo, your smile shifted from the camera to Wanda, filled with adoration for arranging such an amazing day for you. Unaware of your change in focus, the witch was too absorbed in the pleasant feeling of being pulled close to your side while the picture was taken.

At last, it was time to go, and the aquarium employee led you guys to where you could wash your hands. Throughout you were waxing poetic about how this was the best experience of your life, and you were pretty sure you were going to go to sleep that night dreaming about penguins. You couldn’t wait to print out the last picture of the two of you and frame it. You thanked the witch profusely.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, detka. I only wanted to provide you with a memorable experience.” Wanda smiled at you fondly.

“It certainly was that! I don’t think anything could ever top today!”

The witch grinned. “The day isn’t over just yet, dorogaya, we still have a little bit more.”

Your eyes widened. “More? What more could there possibly be?”

“Not much, but it is time for dinner, and why go elsewhere when the aquarium has it’s own restaurant?”

You weren’t going to lie, you had expected the restaurant to be cafeteria style, but you weren't disappointed by the idea. So, when you and Wanda walked in and saw the cozy, dimly lit restaurant, you were pleasantly surprised. In the center, there was a tube-shaped tank stretching from the floor to the ceiling, filled with some of the most vibrantly colored fish you had ever seen. The restaurant itself seemed to curve around this centerpiece as if it was made to showcase the tank. It probably had been.

There was limited seating available, with only one table already set up to host, situated right next to the tank. The table was adorned with a crisp navy linen tablecloth, plush chairs, and a small candle, creating an atmosphere of intimate seclusion. As the maître d’ guided both of you to the seating area, you couldn't help but marvel at the beautiful setting. Despite being a local attraction, this restaurant exuded a sense of luxury. Before the host could pull out your chair for you, Wanda intervened, gesturing for you to sit. Blushing, you followed her instructions, feeling pleasantly taken care of, as she carefully pushed your chair closer to the table and then took a seat herself.

The maître d’ introduced themselves and informed you that your waiter would be with you both shortly. Taking the time to get situated, Wanda asked you how you were enjoying your day so far. Naturally you launched into excited chatter about how wonderful it was, how happy you were to be here, and how thankful you were that Wanda had arranged this for you. You were practically gushing in your gratitude.

“Speaking of, witchy, how did you manage to pull this off anyway? Just out of curiosity. It can’t have been easy to get this done in such a short time frame.”

A wry grin spread across Wanda's face. "You'd be surprised what a little bit of magic and a black card can achieve." She winked, causing your stomach to flutter, and you gulped.

“Well consider me impressed. I think if I were to ever try the same thing, there would probably have a waitlist for a couple years.” You chuckled.

The pair of you settled into easy conversation, covering yours and Wanda’s favorite sights that day.

Of course, your favorite part was the penguins. How could it not be? Not only did you get to see them up close and personal, but you were also able to feed and pet them. You couldn't contain your excitement about printing out the picture, though intentionally not asking to see it on her phone because you didn't want to know what date would show, or if Wanda would even allow you to look. You didn't want to risk spoiling a perfectly good day by asking too many questions and potentially putting the witch in a bad mood.

Wanda's favorite was also the penguins, mainly because she found you incredibly adorable when you interacted with them. Witnessing your happiness, carefree nature and knowing that she had played a part in bringing that joy to you, made her immensely happy.

"I'm glad you're having a good time, detka. You know I would do anything for you," she said, her tone soft and inviting, as she took your hand in hers. Hearing the sincerity in her words, once again you felt upset with yourself for ever doubting her intentions. How could you even think she would betray you in any way? The touch of her hand on yours brought you back to the present moment, and a comforting feeling of warmth spread within you.

Just then, the waiter approached and introduced themselves, asking if you needed a moment or if you were ready to order. Anxiety immediately clouded your mind as you realized you hadn't even opened the menu yet. Before your panic could set in though, Wanda spoke up and ordered for both of you. It was interesting to you, because in past experiences you aggressively disliked when someone ordered for you without consulting you first. This time however you felt surprisingly comforted by it.

Perhaps it was because Wanda was a mind reader, or maybe she just knew you well enough to choose the perfect meal for you. Either way, you were more than content with the meal she had picked. Not to mention the warm feeling blooming in your chest at Wanda, having no doubt noticed your anxiety, had simply taken charge of the moment, so you didn't even have to think.

Once the food arrived, you realized that you were in fact ravenous. The embarrassingly loud growl from your stomach served as a reminder that neither you nor Wanda had eaten anything since breakfast. Sharing a knowing glance, you both burst into giggles. The food turned out to be even more delicious than anything you had ever expected, and you attributed it all to the witch standing before you. An immense sense of gratitude towards Wanda washed over you and you weren't sure if you could ever properly express it.

You glanced at the witch after taking your first bite and were surprised to see her thin hazel irises almost entirely eclipsed by blown pupils. Blinking, you replayed the last thirty seconds in your head to understand what had happened and realized that you might have accidentally moaned at the taste of the incredible food. Oops.

Meanwhile, Wanda's food remained on her fork, halfway to her mouth. The intensity of her gaze made you squirm, feeling as if she would prefer to devour you instead of the food currently on her fork. Your cheeks turned pink, and you coughed, feeling embarrassed.

You mumbled quietly, "The food is amazing."

Voice husky, thick with an emotion you weren’t sure you were ready to name, Wanda replied, “I’m glad you are enjoying it, lyubov moya. Eat as much as you want, if you want more, we can always order extra.” She finally took the bite which had been suspended, all the while never breaking eye contact with you. You subtly rubbed your thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure caused by the increased blood flow to your core.

You quickly redirected your attention to your dinner, trying not to wolf it down in an attempt to distract yourself from the tension. Although you weren't completely certain about the situation, it seemed a possibility that the witch was flirting with you. The atmosphere had suddenly become so tense, and you struggled to understand it. Lack of experience with romantic partners, coupled with your tendency to feel awkward when someone you liked showed even the slightest interest, made it difficult for you. It's no surprise that your social ineptitude often prevented many romantic connections from flourishing in the first place.

Sensing your unease, Wanda swiftly breezed onto another topic. There would be an opportunity to press later on, but it was important to find the right balance between pursuing you and scaring you off. Luckily, she had plenty of time to make it work. And being able to read minds certainly helped.

Grateful for the reprieve, you effortlessly transitioned to the new topic, and suddenly everything felt right again. The rest of dinner went by without any further incidents, and you could honestly say that this day was possibly the best moment of your life.

Wanda appeared to understand your desires, needs, and worries with practiced ease. You had very few friends before meeting her, but after today, you would consider her to be your favorite person. Sure, there had been a few hiccups along the way, and perhaps some concerning signs that you should probably investigate further, but overall, Wanda made you feel secure and content. That was more than enough for you to view things through some rose-tinted glasses as you found yourself yearning for more of her time and attention.

All good things must come to an end, and eventually, the waiter arrived with the check. True to her word, Wanda discreetly presented her black card for payment, aiming to do so in a subtle manner that was not ostentatious. As you both stood to leave, you subtly glanced at the bill, eyes widening at the price as well as the generous tip she left. She had not been kidding about her funds, and briefly, you wondered where the money came from. You hadn't known Wanda to have a job the entire time you had known her. Then again, perhaps the superhero gigs had paid well? You had half a mind to ask her about it later, but knowing you, it would probably be forgotten.

Once out of sight of the aquarium staff, the witch opened a portal back to your cottage. With her arm still around you, you both headed home.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop

[vlerian-root]

PMDD + transitioning

I don't know how to write this in a more poetic manner, but I would like to put some words out of my head and into (virtual) paper. Being trans has saved my life

Quite literally! I have a medical condition called PMDD, that has been undiagnosed for 17 years. It is a neurological sensitivity to changes in levels of estrogen in the blood. There is documentation out there, don't believe anything that says "it's like bad pms". It has nothing to do with pms. This is your brain being "allergic" to you getting your period, and causing havoc on any and all brain functions - like a russian roulette! It can affect your mood (in a good and bad way, usually very extreme), leaving you suicidal, violent, nonverbal, manic... It can be very painful - and not just in your head, with the typical migraines that last for days, but also on the rest of your body, or localized areas. I used to not be able to move my legs for days at a time. "Just pms" my ass. It can affect your memory. Long and short term memory, some parts of mine are just gone. Erased. Not coming back. They are big chunks too. It can affect you psychologically, in all the fun flavors that can have, like paranoia, obsession, depression, hypomania, dissociation... This usually lasts up to 10 days and ends when you get your period. Which is a hell of its own, so I have lost half of my time for the last few years, when it started getting really bad. It only got diagnosed for me when my psychologist noticed a pattern of me getting really bad every month around the same time. He assumed I knew this. I did not. Nobody had every mentioned PMDD, I didn't know it existed.

But here is where we get to the good part. I was in medical psychological therapy for something unrelated (OCPD, a personality disorder, although most of the symptoms got really bad with PMDD), and the psychiatrist assigned to me is an expert in this matter. He talked to me about the research he had done, and the research I had done while obsessively browsing the internet for any morsel of info I could get. So far any medical treatments had been from ineffective to making things a lot worse, so I needed to talk to someone who knew their stuff. And he did! But we found that since this is your body being "allergic" to a thing it naturally produces, and will continue to produce for at least another 20ish years, the best treatment was to stop that cycle. I had tried this before with my gyno. This went terribly bad. Twice. Or rather, it went great for 3 months, then worse than ever after that, and it became the new normal. It was hell. I was at a point where I couldn't have any sort of normal life. Half the time I would make projects and live happily by myself, and the other half I needed help to even walk to the bathroom because my head was about to explode, my legs didn't work, I wanted to jump out of a window, and I forgot about all my deadlines. Oh, and the muscle spasms that looked almost like seizures. This shit had cost me 90% of my social life, all of my professional life, and was now simply trying to take my life.

BUT!!! Did you know that if you remove the ovaries, the estrogen blood levels stop rising and falling? Did you know that triggers premature menopause? Did you know that testosterone is a very effective treatment of the side effects of menopause?

That was my whole approach, and my brilliant psychiatrist agreed it was a good one. To this day, he has been the only person to not question this decision even if it's pretty radical. He's the only one that has understood there is no sense in asking someone whose brain is killing them from the inside "are you sure you want to do that? you won't be able to turn back!". I'm aware you can't put the ovaries back in. But they are. Killing me. Driving me insane. Please.

It took me ages to find a doctor that would even contemplate doing this (quite simple) surgery. Every single one of them used the "but you are a woman of childbearing age, I can't do this in good faith" argument. Or the "I don't know about PMDD so I think you are lying" covered in sugary lies approach. It was hell.

In the end, I have gotten the surgery. I no longer have overies. I'm writing this weeks after it, and I can assure whoever is reading this that I no longer suffer - or will suffer - from PMDD ever again. Writing that feels so liberating... The kicker is that I wouldn't have been able to access any of this if I wasn't trans. Because PMDD is so badly researched and documented that even the doctors that specialize in the organs it affects think it's "bad pms". I had to say "but I am a trans man, this is very dysphoric". Then, and only then, would they give me T. I am not a trans man, just transmasc. I wanted to get healthy before transitioning, because it's not very great to be in an unstable mental state to handle the tsunami of changes and their (sometimes social) repercussions that come with it. But irony of ironies, the cure for 90% of my health issues has been transitioning.

OCPD has gotten easier to manage thanks to the emotional resilience I got on T (and what my therapist taught me) No ovaries mean no periods, which means no spending up to 2 weeks each month with my brain self destructing. No more memory loss, no more pain, no more spasms, no more migraines!!! No more dreading the days before the next T dose in case the previous one is a little too short (this has sent me to the ER before). No more pregnancy risk. No more depression, no more low energy, no more low libido, no more bullshit!!!! I am ME, inside and out, forever!!!!! I haven't felt like this since I was 14, and I'm 32 now! This is insane to think about @_@ It sucks that I had to lie to some doctors to get where I am today. But if I hadn't, I don't even know if I'd be here. It wasn't that big of a lie anyways (I hope). Feels bad to me, because I hate lying, but... no, I think this one was ok.

TL;DR: I have PMDD, meaning my brain is allergic to estrogen, so you can kind of say I was allergic to being a woman, and transitioning has saved my life ♥

If you are still reading this, thank you. I'm very sleepy and this probably makes very little sense, but my dms are open to any questions.

[wytchsbrew]

To keep everyone updated about why I've been gone.

One month ago today, I found a sweet little 4 week old kitten alone in my backyard. He was sick, starving, had a wound on his neck, and was covered in fleas.

When we rescued this tiny, sweet little dirty kitten (who we named Balkie), we knew he was sick, but we had no idea just HOW sick.

By week two of having him, we rushed him as an emergency patient to the vet because he was limp and unresponsive. He had a fever of 106 and he was having seizures. The vet said she'd speak with an internal specialist. Then, a few minutes later, we were told by this vet he had a bacterial infection, he was put on antibiotics, and sent home. He got a little better, but then, he tanked again. He still had a fever when he returned to his follow up appointment.

We said the antibiotics were not working, they just weren't the right kind for whatever he had, he was still hot as ever and sick and couldn't do anything. He needed a different medication. The same vet said no.

We had him back to the vet a week later, and he was seen by a different vet. She tried to help by giving him new antibiotics and medications, but she wasn't sure what it was, either, but she did try.

He only got worse on that medication. Scared of everything, anxious, couldn't remember things, couldn't remember faces, couldn't remember the cats he'd been living with. We were at a loss, we had no idea what to do.

Then, this past Saturday came.

Balkie was suddenly completely paralyzed. He could no longer move. He could no longer swallow on his own. He couldn't hold his head upright on his own anymore. He had a fever for the third time, and he was dying. Legitimately dying.

Mom took him to the vet that morning at 11 AM, fully believing they were going to put him down.

But, we got a new vet on Saturday. She went through his records from the previous visits, and realized, an internal specialist had written in his file that they believed he had Toxoplasmosis. And the first vet, WHO HAD SPOKEN TO THE SPECIALIST, simply would not tell us that and refused to treat him for that.

So this sweet little baby had a parasite from raccoons and rats that was attacking his brain and paralyzing him, and had been suffering with it for a month.

The new vet put him on Clindamycin, the only thing that treats Toxoplasmosis. Gave him a fever reducer and a steroid.

By the next morning, he could swallow on his own again and wanted to try walking. In 48 hours, he was no longer paralyzed, and could stand up in the litter box on his own without our help.

This morning, he is running around, he hasn't fallen over, he tried climbing the cat tree all by himself. He's happy, he's playing, he's the kitten I thought we lost when his fever came back the second time.

I can't believe how much he's improved. He's recognizing our faces, he's happy to be here, he wants to be held and is no longer terrified of everything coming and going. He's just my little man again.

I have spent $1,000 saving this sweet baby boy, and he will be special needs for the rest of his life because the Toxo damaged his brain. His head wobbles when he gets excited, he gets weak after a while of running, and his balance is not the best anymore, so he needs around the clock care for right now.

I had other people asking for my Ko-Fi account and to make a wishlist for things he might want/need while he heals and recovers, so I am including the links below. <3

[keo-k]

sometimes i think i wasnt an injury-prone child and then i realise im gaslighting myself

tw: fair descriptions of injury?? if you dont like blood uhh dont read <3 this is just me reminiscing on being a child who thinks they cannot feel. pain. sorry if its incoherent im very sick and life feels like a fever dream and i did not sleep last night! this is so diary-entry-core TLDR i had a lot of random injuries and a few medical mysteries.

i keep looking at the middle of my chest like "man where the fuck did i get this scar from" and then i remember this one childhood day where i was filled with hubris and slid down a chain in a playground and my skin tore from under my shirt and i started bleeding terribly ill also occasionally look at the permanent callouses on my hands and remember running down a hill at full speed, followed by rolling down a hill at full speed, crashing into rocky concrete, looking down at my hands and being utterly terrified because they're entirely covered in blood???? its all red??????? also spinning on the biggest rock in the rock garden in front of my house after a friend's birthday party blowing bubbles when i lose my footing and land chin-first into the sharpest rock there, getting blood all over my favourite party dress and having to go to the ER for 6 hours and getting, not stitches, but glue. yeowie. i scratched most of the scar off somehow, just tearing the skin off my face because i didnt like the texture. its still kind of there if you look at the right angle. being in gymnastics class, doing beat swings on the high bars, thinking "whey my hands hurt im gonna drop and get some chalk (for some reason. its not like i was slipping i was just yeowch)", dropping down, looking at my hands and LO AND BEHOLD three inches of the skin beneath my ring finger on both hands is sticking up stupid vertical ! i couldnt use my hands too good for the next two weeks, also the skin sticking up WAS NOT DEAD so i couldnt trim it without feeling excruciating pain. like cutting your ear off :( not really a "when i was younger" thing, still valid now, but i have hyper mobility so im stupid flexible. especially in my ankles! like i cant do sports without wearing ankle braces on both legs. even that cannot save me sometimes, i still die. anyway my mum thought i was a piece of shit and was faking my ankle injuries bc the limping would last like. a whole month wowie! then we realised i just have bad joint. also i can hit the splits anywhere without stretching, i can walk on the literal sides of my ankles (not like. the sides of my feet no no no. go even further beyond.), i can fold my fingers backwards into silly lookin curls without any pain and keep them there no issue, and i have gotten many MANY greenstick fractures even after my bones developed a lot because my bones soft and refuse to break like a normal persons. like my basketball coach will bend my leg back to test how far it goes and i wont feel any pain and he'll say like. "oh thats waaaay too far back to be safe." and ill laugh because it can go WAY further back! and i hate it !

BONUS: ME BEING A MEDICAL MYSTERY WOOOOO up to age 8 i would have these ... seizures? all throughout the night. i would shake super aggressively and it wouldnt wake me up. my mum filmed it one night when she finally caught it on video (she would stay up HOURS ON END trying to catch it. wild). the shaking would start like a twitching at my fingers and would travel to my hand, to my arm, to the rest of my body and youd think i got fucking electrocuted. anyway she showed it to doctors and they brought me in immediately to scan my brain for fuck knows what and they didnt. find anything? like my brain activity was completely normal. they didnt let me out of hopital for a week cus theyre like "THIS ISNT NORMAL SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THIS KID" but. womp womp. we never found out. i dont shake anymore but i do shmove a lot. like, a lot a lot. and im always tired and im capable of falling asleep standing up. and have minor chronic fatigue. also i had a bullseye-type thingy on my thigh that really, REALLY looked like a tick bite! i was in immense amounts of pain and couldnt properly walk. there was a dot in the middle, and this surrounding ring of red would expand and shrink overtime. very reasonable to think of it as a tick bite. anyway my parents carried me out to the car in the middle of the night so we could go to sick kids. they measured how much the ring would expand by (i dont remeber number. it was beeg.) and then they sent me to the ER out of the concern that i would get lyme disease. they tested me or something idk i was unconcious and. IT WASNT A TICK BITE! you may be asking "so what was it, mr gorgeous fish?" um. well heres why this is in the 'medical mystery' section. they never found out. it went away a day later and we were just like "ah. okay." so. whoops. when i was a toddler they put me in an mri thing where they uh. strapped me down because toddlers usually freak out and damage the mri thingy? anyway. was in there for two hours. and i did not freak out. at all. i was asleep for one of the hours, but the second one i just laid there very awake and very still and the doctors thought i had brain. damage. i didnt! yay ! i also have many chronic illness now. weeeee i probably missed a lot of my stories here but anyway. heres me being silly

[aromanticgarbage]

I think whats good about the story is not that i enjoy the idea of his suffering but it answers the morbid curiosity that I have about what it's like to have a seizure. I don't know if it's accurate but It let's me feel like I know more about his condition, you know what I mean

I don't enjoy the idea of his suffering either. What i do enjoy is reading it -> suffering -> i enjoy the idea of my suffering. Admittedly if u hadn't come into my ask box asking about my opinion on this fic i wouldn't have mentioned it publicly ever because it is a bit of a grey area morally so to speak. Like this is a real life person's medical condition. It's a delicate subject. Nonetheless, the fic itself has plenty of comments by several epileptics who found comfort in seeing an artist they love get support for a condition they themselves suffer from in an imaginary setting and they say that it's an accurate description of what its like. Personally i have never had to deal with anything of the sort but I don't have to see myself in someone to sympathize with their struggles. I love joj a little too much. I love his ff era and the friendships he maintained during this time. Its morbid curiosity yeah but i can't help but wonder how the cc would react to a medical emergency like this. Its a realistic scenario, epileptics have seizures all of the time in front of family and friends and its traumatizing for everyone involved. I found the story comforting. Joji has always had friends who care about him greatly. I love angst, i love whump, i love hurt-comfort. Always have. The fact that we are talking about rpf makes the situation a bit more complicated sure, but at the end of the day its just a fanfic someone wrote on their bedroom seven years ago. I love it. I am not going to apologize for it. Amen.

On another note.

There is a scene in the francis of the filth book where joji himself describes negi generation 4 having a seizure. The character in this scene is having some sort of vision brought on by chin chin himself (this is literally the ff book its all absurdity) but there is truth to it. I just thought it was interesting.

Ive personally done a lot of research on epilepsy and seizures in the past few months. Why? Half morbid / half genuine curiosity. Maybe i just have too much free time. There are a lot of resources out there that are easily available if you are truly curious about how this works (i recommend the epilepsy foundation as a starting point). Also its important to remember that this doesn't just affect that one guy whose music you and i like. It affects a lot of people every day and a lot of this information could save someone's life in a moment of need. First aid is important to know. Even if u learnt it from joji rpf.

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

As many of my followers may be aware of at this point, I have ADHD. It's severe, and I began meds in December at the age of 40. Fucking life changing.

The medication, however, doesn't treat my "impressive" insomnia. Mine is bad enough that I stayed awake for seven days when I was a uni student. I don't remember anything after day three. My flatmates drugged me on day seven, then hauled my ass with benadryl (itthe active ingredient in OTC sleep meds btw) to the ER because sleep deprivation results in my seizures getting really fucking bad.

I have tried different prescription sleep aids. Thry each resulted in hallucinations, sleep paralysis, and exhaustion, and no actual sleep. One med caused me to basically roofie myself; the last thing I remember from that night was my husband glowing in the dark. He's rather saddened by this because apparently we had some seriously outstanding sex. Next night, seventh night on the med, I had what I thought was a dream. A fairy queen invited me to her kingdom if I could find a way through the bathroom mirror. I tried climbing through, but she kept blocking the way. When I woke and went into the bathroom, there were footprints all the way to the ceiling, and everything on the sink counter space was all over the floor. I could've fallen and broken my neck! Decided then and there I'm never using prescription sleep aids again.

Melatonin? I spoke to my neurologist and regular doctor about it. They both highly recommend never using that stuff. Your brain will stop making it naturally and demand higher and higher doses. It will get to the point of being completely ineffective, and you will have to stop using it in order to force your brain to make it naturally. Seeing as my brain is already plenty fucked up (epilepsy, brain damage from seizures and now black listed seizure meds, 10 years of klonipin because my previous doctors decided that was fine), I'm not touching the stuff.

For the last four or so years, I've been using a hemp-based edible made by Moonwlkr. It's 25mg CBD and 5mg THC in each dosage. No high for me because I'm asleep within about 10 minutes of it kicking in, followed by six wonderful hours of sleep. This stuff has been life changing! I wake up with less pain, not even remotely sleepy, and it's amazing!

Unfortunately, I have three doses left. It costs $40 for a month's worth of this. Not bad, really, unless you're broke. This stuff is vastly different from weed-based edibles. I don't quite know how to explain it other than weed-based makes me silly, my heart rate goes up, occasional paranoia, munchies, hard time physically relaxing enough to sleep, hard time waking up because I don't feel like I slept, dry af mouth and eyes. With my hemp-based sleep edible, I basically melt into slumber, no hunger or munchies, and wake up with mild dry mouth and dry eyes.

I'll have to use weed-based until I can afford my regular stuff, which has me very unhappy. Do not suggest using the OTC meds found at any pharmacy. The active ingredient is the same as benadryl, and it doesn't play well with two of my meds.

If you would like to help me get my medicine, I have my shop here. Prices start at $0 for digital downloads, and everything comes with the option to pay more. There are a few quilts there as well, and the lowest cost is just $85 for a miniquilt/mug rug. There are also several original paintings I'm selling.

Any funding beyond my medicine will be applied to bills and my ko-fi goal.

Before anyone suggests I try this or that to help me sleep, save your energy. I cannot do yoga due to being entirely unable to put weight on my hands, my knees dislocate, thighs dislocate, and I have a back injury that makes most poses extremely painful. Meditation has triggered some of my worst seizures, and three neurologists I've had all said thr same thing: my epilepsy doesn't play well with meditation. There's a reason people who provide guided meditation warn people who have epilepsy that meditation can result in seizures. Many herbal teas made for sleeping fuck with my meds, my brain, and my allergies. Chamomile is in the same family as ragweed, and if you're allergic to ragweed you should avoid chamomile due to a very real possibility of a bad and even deadly allergic reaction. Valerian root can be dangerous for those on seizure, mental illness, and antipsychotic meds as well. I've had insomnia for 41 years and have tried everything. This medication works for me, but I cannot afford right now.

I'm not making this rebloggable simply because last time this happened, I received a deluge of bullshit asks. It's exhausting, and I have better things I can be doing with my time.

[bouncyalex]

How much of the outfits you show us is just you dressing up for the camera, and how much is real life? Do you regularly wear a diaper to the grocery store or a helmet while at home?

Wearing diapers is real life. I always been wearing 24/7.

The helmets at home are also reality on almost a daily basis, few min to full nights wearing one.

Life jackets in the swimming pool is reality. I never go in the swimming pool or a lake/ocean without wearing one. I had seizures before, in the swimming pool too. I like floating in a life jacket, and the fact is that they saved my life at least 3 times.

Bondage gears is fun play at home once in a while, although they have been using medical restraints at hospitals. I have been for medical reasons.

What I post is what I do, what I need, who I am and what I like. In public, I do stimming, fidget and unconsciously have my diapers often exposed. I do camouflage in general in public to look and act “normal” for whatever normal seems to be.

What I don’t do is long session bondage cuz I get easily bored and want to do something else, or have to do other things like everyone does.

Also, suspension bondage in vertical is extremely dangerous. The hanging syndrome is real and should be taken seriously cuz it could be fatal. The suspension bondage scenes are always short play.

Sleeping in a complete Segufix and unsupervised is also very dangerous. Even hospitals will never leave a restrained patient unattended or closely monitored. Although these restraints are safe and comfortable, they are not indicated for long term use, surely nit in the 21st century. Here are the reasons why:

If u choke, panic, have a seizure, have a malaise, house fire, gas leak, a partner leaving u alone and having anything happen to him while locked in unbreakable restraints like Segufix… earthquake, anything can happen! Also, bed sores are possible. Your fun game can turn into a real nightmare and be life threatening. When it comes to bondage, I never play long sessions. I don’t sleep in the Segufix.

We made videos where I am locked in a straitjacket, or bed restraints. I never been left alone and on my own. Ironically, it’s irresponsible and way too dangerous. If the partner leaves the room, either he is not leaving the house, or we use baby talkie walkies if he is too far in the house. However, we can say whatever we want in our videos because their main purposes are having fun, and adding a touch of fantasy makes them memorable too.

I don’t play self bondage when home alone. I almost got stuck for real once, and I was living alone when that happened. It might sound like a fantasy for some, but when this happened to me, I panicked and managed to get out of my self bondage after 30 min. This was stupid, dangerous, and I will never do it again. What if I couldn’t get out? Who would have found me and when? Than this is reality.

Please play safe!

Don’t be ashamed of wearing diapers in public, or whatever u like the most. I do have autism, and lots of special needs that criss cross with abdl stuff and my medical condition too.

I am not perfect. Not everyone will like my pics and videos. Not everyone will believe me, it’s normal because I am different. By sharing my lifestyle and kinks, I am taking a risk of being judged negatively by a vast majority and I am aware of it. When I get positive comments and when ppls are sharing with me similar interests, it makes me feel more understood and happier.

I prefer to go old school with my videos instead of adding any music or visual effects. I want to keep things simple.

Hiding is a waste of life. Let’s embrace differences and include some diversity! Normal ppls are boring to my eyes. 😉

[multiplicity-positivity]

hello! im questioning if i may have some form of plurality because of a lot of stuff (dissociation, memory loss, and shaky/uncertain identity, etc) but i had a specific question .. do you know if there are like other common causes for memory loss where the memories become faded and just out of reach after a certain amount of time(~1 year at a time) has passed that i need to rule out? almost my entire childhood is missing save several standout positive memories and the time after that is hazy and dark. i’ve talked a little about the memory stuff with my therapist but haven’t gotten any like.. insight on whats happening. its LIKE distressing but she doesnt seem to think its really an issue and idk how i can work on recovering the memory or if i even should. wanted to ask as i figure stuff out :] thanks for ur time ^^

Hi! So there are plenty of things besides dissociative disorders which can cause memory loss, such as:

- developmental disorders like ADD and ADHD

- many medications may cause memory loss

- chronic use of alcohol or drugs (whether legal or illegal, prescribed or not prescribed)

- long term stress, anxiety, fatigue, and depression

- insomnia, sleep apnea, and other sleep disorders

- a history of stroke, seizures, diabetes, or dementia

- hypothyroidism

- a previous concussion or head injury

- burnout, brain fog, and overexertion

- dehydration, poor nutrition, and/or a lack of daily essential vitamins

- and much more!

If your memory loss is causing you difficulties, anxiety, or distress, it may be best to bring this up to your primary care doctor (if you have one!). There may be something more physical going on that should be ruled out before considering a dissociative disorder (just in case it’s something serious that requires treatment!).

Fortunately, there’s an abundance of tests an examinations a doctor may complete to rule out other potential causes for your memory loss. This is necessary because your memory loss may be a symptom of something potentially devastating or life threatening! And a physician will be able to understand this better than a therapist, most likely.

Of course, dissociation and identity confusion are indeed symptoms of dissociative disorders. When you see a doctor, be sure to bring up all symptoms you’re experiencing and anything else you feel may be relevant. Best of luck to you with everything! We wish you hope and recovery in your future!

🌸 Margo and 🖋 Cecil

[gender-collecting-forest-goblins]

I never realised how hard it is to exist with plurality when our trauma isn't really defined as trauma.

TW:Death, mental health issues, physical issues, self harm, body dysphoria, suicide/suicidality, medical trauma.

So like, nan died when we were five, I don't have many childhood memories, but seb was the first to "exist" other than me. Then there's the bullying and masking of autism, ADHD, and the trauma of having a post alcoholic parent trying to be a parent again. All with the struggle of things a kid shouldn't have to deal with that mom didn't know how to keep away from us, such as money stuff and food issues. We lose marmalade, a beloved family cat. Then we lose Monty her daughter not long after. The memory of her being cradled in my brothers arms as she has a seizure from the stroke and falling down the stairs, forever imprinted on my mind. Skip to a few years later, it's gotten to the point where we don't know how many we are, because our mental health has already reached the point of passive suicidality and everything that goes with it. Age eleven, deciding whether or not to jump into traffic before school. We form a protector with no name, a shadow figure. He later becomes void. The trauma of not knowing if I'm autistic was way more present around that time. It got way worse and then of course, we didn't know that autism was something to consider, we just thought we were broken. Never mind the trans trauma of being plural and a traumatized child with trust issues, seeing people that aren't there and being terrified of losing my "friends in my head". The bullying gets really bad. We realise we're trans. We're in denial. We think "Oh what if we just come out as non-binary?" It doesn't go well. We are severely suicidal at age 13, finally diagnosed with autism and ADHD. Hospitalised multiple times from then on. Everything is blurry. There are times where I can recall the trauma timeline perfectly, but today is not one of them. This is all quite vague but I think the protectors are ok with that. I needed to get this off my chest. Many have come and gone. I still don't know everyone and everything about the system. I don't know if we'll ever be diagnosed as a system. For now, I just want my life to get easier. We are in constant physical pain. We have hypermobile joint spectrum disorder, recently confirmed. Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome is also suspected. We use a walking stick just to get around the house. We can't stand for more than five minutes. We're still masking our system from our family and friends. Mom thinks we have a dissociative disorder of some sort. The trauma is too complicated even for us, to explain to her how "broken" we feel. Being plural with trauma that is probably nowhere near what people would consider enough to form a system is exhausting. It feels invalidating. Like we shouldn't be this way because we weren't sexually abused or groomed or beaten or tortured or something. We have trauma, it should be enough. So this is me, getting this off my chest. I needed to vent. It hurts so goddamn much. I'm always fronting. I never switch out unless something major happens, like if seb triggers a switch for our safety or if Kai is triggered in due to talking about a memory I'm not supposed to know about to keep me safe. I'm always co-fronting with somebody. I barely know who I am, let alone the fact of being plural making it even harder. What I do know is that, my plurality has saved me. Even if I wish sometimes I wasn't plural. Even if sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I could remember all of the school trauma and the hospital trips and the self harming and the surgery from when I was a kid to fix my eye that I only sort of know about from void. I'm just tired. The body is always hurt or ill or in pain. We never get a break. We mask constantly. We can't even call ourselves we. It's I or me or single anything. We aren't diagnosed with anything system based or plural based. The only reason I have some knowledge of how our system might work is because of the helpful information from other sysblogs on here. Like the info about p-did and median systems and autism based system stuff. Hopefully, we'll get to a good place mentally. For now, we'll just have to take each day as it comes.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I know it probably doesn't read very well or make much sense. I might redo our system intro at some point. Its kind of outdated now. I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

[sydmarch]

As a chronically ill adhd haver, it's always cool to lie to doctors👍 if u don't feel comfortable taking the meds u were prescribed for whatever reason, u can tell them u had side effects even if u never took them (i look up reviews on drugs.com as research both on the med and on what a convincing lie might be). An old shitty Dr of mine forced me to try a med that came with significant risk of heart attacks and seizures based on my other conditions (not smth I want to fuck around with obviously) before allowing me to access lower-risk care, so I just didn't take them and told them the meds weren't effective. It's part of ur right to medical self determination!

first off that's so shitty & i'm sorry your shitty doctor did that! i'd have no problem lying if i felt it's necessary but for me the issue isn't really that i'm 100% opposed to trying this medication out but more the way that it was just sprung on me - like i had researched adderall/vyvanse etc, i felt fully prepared to try out a stimulant, but instead some new shit is getting thrown at me? none of the side effects seem more serious than shit like fatigue, dry mouth, & low blood pressure so i don't have any like, solid logical reasons to be wary of this medication specifically, it's really more to do with my specific mental health. my therapist knows all about this but my np doesn't (again i don't like her & have only opened up to the degree i needed to get a formal diagnosis lmao, the real mental health shit i save for my therapist whom i absolutely love) but pretty much the primary facet of my anxiety is health related. both the "baselessly have convinced myself at various points in my life i had tetanus, appendicitis, a brain tumor, etc etc" and "will i die of liver failure or a stomach ulcer if i take 3 ibuprofen now and then have a single beer later" types so i'm more cautious than most people with adding new meds & stuff. like, to a fault because i've given myself physical symptoms from worrying about these things lmao like getting my mpox vaccine & being so worried about having an allergic reaction i started sweating & having blurred vision until i talked myself down from it & reminded myself a dozen medical assistants were watching us all for that exact reason, also you're literally just causing these problems for yourself right now you're not having a reaction LOL. anyway! i'm not opposed to trying it the experiences i've seen people share range from meh to positive i haven't seen anything that sounds like a horror story i just wish i had an np i liked & trusted more & would've liked if maybe during our first session or something she had gone over the different types of meds & how they work so that while we were working on the assessment for 3 weeks i could've been doing my research & felt prepared for when she eventually gave me something rather than it being like "here's a prescription for something you've never heard of & also i'm not going to do a great job of answering your questions. should you stop taking your cbd when you take your first pill? idk ask the pharmacist" liiiiiiike!!!

[sincelastsession]

It hurt to hear from my mom today that my dad only wants to know if there's something wrong with my heart and told my mom to tell me that he doesn't want to talk to me or know anything about me other than that.

You know I was polite and tried. He got terribly abusive, I had a pretty nasty reaction to what he said over the call. I showed you because I wanted to be honest.

I don't like that he makes himself look innocent of literal crimes and abuse towards me and flips out so hard-core at me to the point I have these reactions and compulsory issues.

I spoke to my mom about a few things. She wants me to work on being more positive and various things like coping mechanisms.

I did explain to her right now it's extremely hard to be what she wishes to see because my brain feels broken.

Everyone seems to think since I was in Regions is when my overtalking started. Mom as a psych nurse thinks it's the trauma I went through and possibly a medication they put me on and how they ripped me off a benzo cold turkey. It was super traumatic and I was flinging my arms and legs and couldn't control anything and felt like I was having waking seizures and I had to go to a neuromuscular doctor about it but they couldn't figure it out. Then my dad attacked me and threatened me a ton then there was covid and a car wreck that gave me a concussion and I still have one pupil that gets bigger than the other because oschner's er failed to check me and she had to bring me back. I've had some memory issues worse since that all right before covid dunno if my brain is actually damaged but I'm guessing to some degree it is. Sometimes I think it might be a petuitary issue or adrenal or cortisol and dopamine imbalance. I've really never had a Doctor that wanted to look very far into it or explain it in a manner in which I could understand because believe it or not even though I have a special interest in medical I actually look at medical things less than I used to because going to the Doctor is very exhausting and I've had to go so much in the past 5 years that other than making sure that my Doctor is not misdiagnosing me I don't want to look at anything. I mean unless of course it's a new thing that's fascinating like that crazy new sexually transmitted fungal infection that's like ringworm from hell or something. That was a wild read.

Anyway I saw Robin and she's the one that mentioned Regions to my dad and she threatened to put me somewhere because she didn't like that I was on anxiety meds and used to work for the olol cope team.

Just because I can sometimes speak well doesn't mean that I'm not having a tremendous amount of anxiety.

My grandmother was on Valium her entire life and would leave the house to go shopping and drive around and she had very bad anxiety and apparently my grandfather abused her and she ended up saving her meds and drinking a bunch of wine.

My mother had caught her once before trying to kill herself.

Everyone says I'm like her but the only things I see that are the same is our body build, some of her taste, her anxiety issues, and that's about it.

My other grandmother on the maternal side had a head injury when she was young but she was still incredibly smart. She was an art teacher. I have her sense of humor which was kinda mean and dark. I know she took meds for anxiety but no one else remembers it. She likely had EDS like I have hypermobility eds. You can tell by the way skin ages and collegen.

Both my grandmothers were art teachers. Different ability though. One made it her life the other didn't.

I don't know very much about my father's family because they were very secretive. They still are.

Both of my grandfather's worked with cattle one had a dairy farm for a short period of time then he went into a state job selling insurance I believe and my other grandfather I believe did door-to-door sales then he did time clocks and then he also did black Angus cattle for meat.

My mom's father is the one who drunkenly molested and did things to me.

That was excused by everybody and I was made to feel like I was making it up when I tried to bring it up to begin with and my mom does not remember me bringing it up to begin with and my grandmother was angry but did not do anything. And it was forgotten about until I remembered in my 20s. And then both of my grandparents died on my mom's side my grandmother first followed by my grandfather.

And my dad's mom died first and they claimed it was a heart attack even though it was very obvious she killed herself and nobody wants to talk about that because everybody wanted to claim insurance money. And then his father actually died in a nursing home completely neglected and I didn't know that nobody was helping him and he was doing bad or I would've been there myself if I had been asked. He got dementia pretty damn bad before he passed away and he had a pretty bad temper and he had hearing issues and my dad is very similar but my grandfather on my dad's side was never awful to me he was a good grandfather he was an alcoholic but he did not leave his office or yell or act out when I was there. He would just put alcohol in his coffee or take nips from a flask and I was little and didn't know what he was doing.

He had an odd fascination with lighting candles and then carving them down while they were lit and I have the table that he used to use and do that on and it was just a weird thing he did

He owned a hunting camp in saint francisville and some other property and when he passed away everybody wanted to sell it and it broke my heart because I could have had some land to put a house on and live in peace. But it wasn't my choice because I was not his child.

I have to say that my grandparents raised me about 2/3 of the way in my life. My parents would be working and so they would watch me when I was sick and not doing well. So at a young age I was mostly around adults constantly doctors and my grandparents and I didn't really have too many childhood friends because everybody thought I was weird and the only childhood friend that I had was Kelley.

And Kelly developed drug addiction over time and it consumed her and she got better and then she and I were going to meet up I had planned to go over there because I was ready to be her friend again because I was tired of the lying before and she happened to overdose the day I decided I was going to go see her and my mom had to Let me know that she was dead.

And I did not realize that I was in love with her until after she was dead. I wasn't in love with her since I was a little kid. And I have never told my parents that. And I never told her that. I just remember thinking that she was the most beautiful girl on earth and I knew that I wasn't supposed to think that and I was maybe a first grader when I first got a crush on her and I just I think I talked about it to somebody at some point and they said well you just happened to really love your friend and then after that I was like oh that's just you just love your friends and It's not I'm in love with her and I thought I misunderstood for years and it was only after she passed away that I realized that it wasNot just because she was my friend.

I can't go visit her kids because they look like copies of her and they don't even know who I am.

And then the other love of my life died. He had both parents pass away and he moved to Hawaii to be with a childhood sweetheart who inevitably dumped him and he was found floating out in the ocean about a mile out 1 day and that's how he died he died of drowning.

And they weren't people that understood me and people that understood me and people that understood how bad my home life was

Cole used to tell me that I needed to run away from my parents before they ended up hurting me and I couland they did hurt me a lot

Kelly used to come and pick me up and smoke me out and drive around for a few hours and drop me back at home when my parents had gone to sleep just so I could escape the house because she knew how bad it was.

I don't hate you Joshua. I've been very mean and even if you don't care I'm still sorry if I've hurt your feelings.

I don't expect you to understand me fully.

I did realize I was triggered today because of how my dad has done this before and I was scared you wouldn't see through the Oscar winning performance he put on. He manipulated Robin into believing many things about me were and weren't true. He is a big part of the reason I lost my shit and then was pressured into going into Regions where Dr. Khan and his staff broke HIPPA and ruined me.

I was not doing well but I was not doing this bad before I went and Covid started. I was going to sue them all. I needed assistance and I was blown off. They wouldn't release my files to me or Dr. Todd. He told me he had many patients he had to fix due to Dr. Khan's negligence and urged me to sue. I should have never been given Geodon. They never got in touch with Dr. Todd or the pharmacy. I was traumatized by other patients there. I watched the staff abuse and ignore patients. I was forced to watch a Ted talk with a detailed story of child abuse along with other patients especially one with DID who was at the time her child alter. I got told I was going to be raped by a criminally insane man. They did NOTHING about it. Patients that had been there a while very obviously sedated told me about how one guy would expose himself and start to assault patients. I was followed around by a schizophrenic patient that was paranoid I was an agent and since I have a mustache and beard that grows and couldn't shave that I was called really inappropriate things until I finally had enough and blasted him and asked the fishbowl why the fuck he wasn't on an antipsychotic. They brought me where I could see patient files and information into the fishbowl. I read those things out loud that were visible to me and asked them if they knew what HIPPA was.

I showed you my reaction to Dad's abuse because I couldn't record the call and the things he's said to me and I am trying to be transparent and trust you to understand that I don't just sit there and think out things to hurt him. It happens fast. I'm in a compulsive flashed out type state.

I should not have said anything.

I just wanted to talk to my dad. He was so awful to me. He can't speak to me and doesn't want to because he got his feelings hurt after attacking me.

I was just tryna tell him about the farmer's market, the neighbors, and fill him in on things he missed. I didn't do anything right. I didn't speak right. I was full of shit. I couldn't get to the point fast enough. He told me he didn't care. He told me to shut up. He flipped out when I asked him a question that he misread as smartass. He hung up then called back telling me I had to follow his rules but then tried to tell me I should know his rules. Nothing he said made sense. He said my repeating triggered him. I repeated because he kept knocking my thought process off track telling me to shut up or get to the point or "when is this going to be over" Then when I asked him to stop and told him he was being inappropriate and rude to me and told him it was not ok to treat me like this and threaten me he threatened me again and I asked him what his diagnosis was because hed said he had the same diagnosis as me and I have several so i wanted to know if it was all of them or one and then told him he should seek help for it if it was causing him to act out and treat me like shit he thought i was being a smartass and screamed fuck you over and over till I hung up.

He will hang up on me for much less. If I say hello and don't remember to say "how are you" or if I am holding my breath as I do because of anxiety and make a huff noise breathing he has hung up...he gets me worked up then hangs up then calls back or waits till I do because it hits the abandonment rejection wound among other things and I just don't lie down anymore and let him treat me like shit dude. Even when I "complied" he was still trying to groom me into his ideal of a perfect daughter and poison me against my mother.

They've both tried to get me to take sides and at times said if I didn't I could rot with mh dumb bitch mother. I have it told her that he plans to put a lean on her house so she can't force sell the house he's trying to fix up and sell now because I didn't want him to sell it and neither did my sister awhile back and I still don't want either of them to sell it but he swore me to secrecy about him putting a lean on her house to just fuck her over

I was treated like I had to pick aside since I was a tiny child. They used me as a weapon against one another. They still try to do it.

I never wanted to pick a side I just wanted to be a kid

I don't feel like I ever got to be a kid.