#knew it was getting around time for one of my chronic illnesses to ping

[variablejabberwocky]

you know that one post that was floating around a while back all "do the fiddly annoying never-actually-done chore(s), not for current you right now, but for future you as a gift"

yeah....

i hate when that shit is right

[awkward-tension-art]

Test Results

This is more or less self-indulgent to the time I had to fight tooth and nail to get a proper diagnosis for my fatigue issues. My heart goes out to everyone battling the healthcare system to get proper care for chronic diseases. My heart is with you, and I hope you find a doctor who can help get answers.

Pronouns: Gender-neutral, but I wrote this with AFAB!reader in mind.

Tw: Medical procedures, chronic illness, medical gaslighting, swearing, this has a lot of feelings put into it

Minors, get out of here. My writing isn’t for you.

“Your blood test results came back clear”

Those words would have most people feeling relief. Nothing was wrong. They were healthy.

But those words to you brought you to tears.

You sobbed in the driver seat of your car. What doctor was this? The 5th? 6th? How long did you wait to see this latest doctor? How many copays have you been charged? How much blood has been taken?

All of that, you still didn’t have answers!

You were sick. And no one seemed to care enough to find out why.

It’s all in your head.

It’s your period.

You need to lose weight.

You’re stressed.

You sobbed again. And again. Hot tears streamed down your face as you drove home. You had to pull over into a grocery store parking lot just to weep again. Getting home took twice as long.

You didn’t feel much better once you were sitting on your bed. Your tear-filled eyes kept looking at the paper in your hands.

Within range.

Negative.

All clear.

Nothings wrong.

Why were you sick?! You knew your body shouldn’t feel this way. This wasn’t normal.

Your breath hitched and you crumbled up the blood test results. They’ll be added to the ever growing file of other useless results that told you nothing.

Your face was in your hands as you broke down in frustration.

You were so tired.

Your thoughts were so overwhelming, you didn’t hear the door to your bedroom open.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Leon, your ever sweet boyfriend, knelt in front of you, “take a breath. What’s wrong? What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing!” You wept, “still nothing! They didn’t even bother to talk to me about other referrals!” Your finger pointed to the crumbled up papers with your results.

Leon straightened out the paper to look at it, “another CBC?”

Complete blood count. The most standard of blood tests. The one that all doctors seemed to default to. The test that wasn’t helping you at all.

“They didn’t want to test for anything else.” You whimpered, shoulders shaking, “Why won’t anyone listen to me?”

His strong arms wrapped around you. Leon knew was it was like to scream for answers and only be left with silence in return. He rubbed your back, just letting you cry out your feelings.

By the end of it you were exhausted.

“I’m so tired…” you sniffled. There really wasn’t any other word for it. You were just so damn tired.

“I know.” He murmured, planting a kiss on your head. He held you so tightly. So protectively, “Want me to come with you to the next appointment?”

You debated. Your words and concerns weren’t being taken seriously. Would they listen to Leon? Would they finally do more tests than the standard ones? Would they dig deeper, and try and find the source of your misery?

“Please?” You asked softly, “I don’t…maybe they’ll listen to you.”

He scoffed, “they should be listening to you.”

“They aren’t.”

“I know.” Leon whispered, “I know. And it’s not fair.”

You largely calm down now. Still, you dreaded the idea of making another appointment just to get referred to someone else. You’ve been ping-ponged around the medical specialists in your community so many times you could probably get an Olympic medal for it.

“Next time a doctor tries to brush you off, I can go all asshole and demand for more tests.” Your boyfriend said suddenly.

You couldn’t help but snort. Maybe that could work. At least he’d be able to hold your hand while you got your blood taken again.

“I think I’d like that.” You rested your head on his shoulder.

“We’ll figure this out.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “I’ll help fight for you.”

“Thanks Leon.” You mumbled, giving him a small smile.

At least he believed you. Even if no one else did.

[somemidwesterngirl]

My PCOS Journey

My journey with PCOS began when I was around 15 years old. I knew something was wrong, I would go months without a period yet I was in terrible pain almost constantly. No one really believed me, they just said I was young, I must just be irregular. After months of convincing everyone that something was  wrong, I had an ultrasound appointment, and my heart sank when I saw a weird a mysterious blob on the screen. A few weeks later and we got the call, I had a cyst the size of a ping pong ball on my right ovary. Now, I had to search for a “cure”. Living in a conservative little town, it was hard to find a doctor who would take me. I was so young, “too young” to be on birth control. Eventually, I found someone who would take me, but her actions caused years of delay in my eventual PCOS diagnosis. This doctor never said the words “polycystic ovarian syndrome” to me. I suppose she thought I was too young to have it. Instead, she put me on birth control in an attempt to “freeze” my ovaries into making any more cysts. These pills made my periods regular again for a time, but soon they stopped working and I decided to forgo them in the hopes my body could regulate itself. My periods were irregular again, my daily cramping returned, and I was beginning to feel like I was broken. I reached out to my local Planned Parenthood for answers, my new doctor was so kind, and she was determined to help me figure out what was wrong. After explaining my past medical history and getting what seemed like a million blood tests done, I had an answer, it is PCOS. Having my worst fear confirmed to me seemed like both a blessing and a curse. Now I knew what was wrong with me, but I also had to cope with the fact that this is a chronic illness, something I’ll have forever. I’m still trying to find the right birth control for me, the first I was put on was not a right fit, and I suppose I’ll write about that another time. I’m also still learning to love my body again. It’s hard to love something that feels broken. If you have a gut feeling that something is wrong, follow that feeling, pursue an answer, and remember, you aren’t alone.

[honey-dewey]

Finding the Right Voice

Frankie Morales/Mute and chronically ill Reader

Word Count: 1,804

Warnings: Reader is both mute and has gastroparesis. Reader throws up once. 

After much pestering from the boys, Frankie reluctantly signs up for a dating app, intending for it to be a joke. Until he falls in love. You and him text daily, getting to know each other so intimately despite never meeting. At least, never meeting until Frankie wants to take you on a date. So how the hell are you going to explain to him that you are constantly ill and will never speak again?

Frankie had always thought dating apps were a waste of time. Who the hell actually met the love of their life through the Internet? 

Frankie Morales, that’s who. 

Of course, he’d been hesitant to tell the boys he’d found someone, mostly because he knew they’d give him shit about it. And they did, of course. But now, months after meeting someone, they realized Frankie was genuinely happy and toned the teasing down. 

“I’m just worried!” Frankie said, staring at his phone. “They haven’t responded in days.” 

“Dude,” Benny said, gesturing with his beer bottle. “They’re probably just busy. Or out somewhere with shit cell service. I dated a girl like that. She went on vacation with her parents and didn’t call for like. Two weeks. Thought she’d died. But when she got back.” He leaned back, smiling drunkenly. “The apology sex was mind blowing.” 

“Okay!” Santiago interjected, throwing an arm around Frankie’s shoulders. “You think they’re on vacay, Fish?” 

Frankie shrugged, grabbing his own beer. “I dunno. They aren’t the vacationing type.” 

William snorted from across the table. “Just like they aren’t the phone call or meet in person type?” 

Immediately, Frankie knew where this was going. “Ironhead.” 

“I’m just saying!” William pointed out. “How do we know that Catfish isn’t being, well, catfished.” 

Frankie sighed into his bottle. “I don’t wanna talk about it Will.” 

Santiago, who was somehow the voice of reason here, nudged Frankie. “You texted yet today?” 

“No.” 

“Why don’t you?” Santiago suggested. “Then leave it alone for a while. I doubt they’re meaning to leave you, they seem too nice.” 

Frankie picked up his phone and opened his texts. Aside from the group chat he had with the boys, the aforementioned number was the last one he’d texted. 

Frankie: Hey, haven’t heard from you in a bit. You doing okay? 

Twenty miles away from the bar Frankie was in, you were leaned over the toilet in the hospital, hurling away what little applesauce you’d eaten for dinner. 

Sitting back against the cold tile of the hospital bathroom wall, you sighed deeply upon hearing your phone ping. Who the hell wanted to talk to you right now? 

Of course, it was Frankie. 

Settling down in the bathroom, you unlocked your phone and texted him back. 

You: I’m so sorry Fish. I’ve been a bit sick. 

Fish: You don’t have to apologize for that. Are you feeling any better? 

You snorted softly. As if. 

You: Not really. It’s just gotten worse. Spent most of today throwing up.

Fish: You’re drinking water, right? Gotta stay hydrated. 

You snapped a photo of your half full water bottle a nurse had brought you and sent it to Frankie. 

You: Yep! Gotta finish this before I go to bed. 

Fish: That’s good

Fish: Wait a second. Are you in the hospital? 

You swore silently. How the fuck? Unless he frequented the same hospital as you, how the hell did he even know where you were from that blurry water bottle photo? 

You: Yeah, I got here today. Nothing too serious, I was just too dehydrated

You felt bad lying to Frankie, but you really didn’t want to tell him the truth. The truth was too long, too complicated. Frankie would probably leave if he learned the truth. 

Fish: I’m not too far away, if you’re at the hospital I think you’re at. Want me to drive you home when you leave? 

You: Nah. I’m staying with family rn and it’s a haul to get out there

Another lie, another stab of pain through your heart. 

Fish: Okay. I still wanna take you out though. We could get dinner and walk around the park. 

You almost started sobbing. 

You: Oh Frankie. I wish I could. 

As soon as you typed the message, you deleted it. Best not to let him think anything was wrong. Instead, you took a minute and finally replied with, 

You: That sounds lovely Fish. 

Fish: But?

You: But I don’t think I can.

Back at the bar, Frankie was slumped over the table, staring at your tiny message of rejection. 

“Dude, that’s hard,” Benny commented. “I’m starting to think Will might be right.” 

“I’m sorry?” William said, coughing as he swallowed wrong. “Say that again?” 

“No.” Benny leaned over the table and patted Frankie’s wrist. “I got nothing dude. Nothing.” 

Santiago sighed. “Why don’t we stop giving Fish a hard time?” He said, seeing the hard lines in Frankie’s face appear. “They said they were in the hospital, so maybe it’s really bad.” 

“You think?” Frankie asked, looking up with wide eyes. 

“Maybe,” Santiago said. “They might not want you to worry about them.” 

Frankie looked back at his phone, at the waiting message. He picked his phone up and typed one more message before shutting it off and pocketing it. 

Frankie: I just wish I could get to know you. For real. 

You stared at your phone, tears sliding down your face. Frankie would never know, if you could help it. He’d never know that you were so sick all the time. That you couldn’t eat anything without hurling it up hours later. That you hadn’t uttered a single word since you’d turned sixteen. That you’d never speak another word again. 

Putting your phone away, you abandoned the water bottle and shakily crawled back into bed, sobbing silently into your pillow until you fell asleep. 

The next morning, a team of nurses checked you over and deemed you okay to leave the next day. You nodded numbly, absently fiddling with a small stuffed toy as they started your laborious morning routine. 

“This came for you last night,” a nurse said as everyone left your room. She placed a worn out baseball cap and a folded note on your bed. “From a very nice gentleman who seemed rather heartbroken.” 

The nurse left, leaving you to grab the cap and the note. 

The cap was worn out, the edges all frayed and the logo on the front nearly illegible. The note was in much better condition. 

Hey. 

So, I’m sorry about what I said last night, and I feel like a text wouldn’t have made it better. This is my favorite hat. It’s seen some shit, just like me. And just like you, I think. 

Look, last night, I sounded like a dick. I want to make it up to you, I really do. But I don’t know how to take you on a date or anything. I sure hope it isn’t because of me that you don’t want to meet. I know my nickname is Catfish but I promise I’m who I say I am. 

Tomorrow, I get off work early. If you’d let me, can I pick you up and take you out? Or at least take you back to my place for a movie or something? Please. 

Love, your Frankie. 

You ran your fingers over the lettering, memorizing how Frankie wrote every single word. Maybe, maybe it was time to open up. The worst that could happen was rejection. 

Scooping your phone up, you texted Frankie back. 

You: Tomorrow at 4, that’s when they discharge me. Get here early tho, I have some stuff to explain.

The next twenty four hours were hell for the both of you. You were both plagued by so much anxiety it was hard to do even the most basic of tasks, but you managed. Eventually, you received the text you’d been dreading all day. 

Fish: I’m here. Visiting room B. 

You took a deep breath. All your personal belongings were in a drawstring bag you put over your shoulder. You headed out of your room and slowly down the hall, towards the visiting room. 

Opening the door was the hardest thing you’d ever done. 

Once you’d opened the door, you stopped in the doorway, taking Frankie in. 

He looked exactly the same as he did in his photos. Tall, handsome, kind. He smiled upon seeing you, and you swore your heart stopped. 

“Hello,” Frankie said, moving towards you and holding out his hand.

Hello you signed, waiting for Frankie’s reaction. 

He paused, his hand falling to his side. “Mute?” 

You nodded. 

Frankie simply smiled again. “So that’s why you don’t like phone calls,” he said. “It’s okay. I know some ASL.” He paused, taking you in. “Can I hug you?” 

Yes please.

He wrapped you in a warm hug, allowing you to collapse into him. Months of text messages and listening to his voice mails were nothing compared to this. 

Eventually, he pulled away, and you two sat on the uncomfortable couch. 

“So what’s with the tube?” Frankie asked, gesturing to your face. 

You pulled a whiteboard out of your bag and began to write, going slowly so you spelled everything right. 

I have a condition called gastroparesis. My stomach is paralyzed and won’t move food to my intestines. I “eat” through a port in my side and this tube in my nose leads to my stomach, so whatever I drink can be drained out. I went mute before I got diagnosed with this.

“Oh.” Frankie blinked a few times. “So I guess dinner is off the table too.” 

You snorted, laughing as best you could with no voice. No dinner. you signed happily. But a movie would be nice.

“A movie it is,” Frankie said, standing. “C’mon. I’ve got a bunch of movies at my place. And I think the boys are coming over tonight.” 

You stood, following Frankie to his beat up old truck. He talked your ear off about all sorts of things while he drove home, and it wasn’t until he’d pulled into the driveway that you’d remembered his hat. 

Close your eyes. You signed, digging around in your bag. 

Frankie did, laughing when you snuggly placed his hat on his head. 

“Thank you,” he said, taking your hands. “I was really worried you’d catfished me at first. I didn’t know what to think when you didn’t want to call or meet. I dunno, I just thought you weren’t, y’know, you.” 

You shook your head, pulling your hands out of his. I wouldn’t dream of it.

Frankie smiled. “I love you.” 

I love you too Fish.

That night was the happiest you’d been in years. Frankie’s friends were all amazing people, and all three of them immediately overlooked your muteness and illness. You were happy and Frankie was happy. To them, that was all that mattered. 

“So Fish,” Santiago said, leaning across the couch to nudge Frankie’s bicep. “Aren’t you glad we forced you to download that dating app?” 

Frankie looked at you, curled up under his other arm, sipping water and waiting for the feed bag with your dinner in it to finish draining into your port. You looked up at him, smiling and nestling closer. 

“Yeah. I am.”

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

“What Would an Angel Say? The Devil Wants to Know” - Billie Dean Howard x Audrey Tindall

Prompt: 11 - Smut Prompt List - “I heard shower sex is dangerous, but right now, I’m willing to take the risk”

Words: ~7,500 (it got out of hand but I’m not sorry)

Warnings: it’s SMUTTY, friends. But I think we all got that from the prompt. Other than that, nothing? (Except a little light choking but who doesn’t love— I digress.)

Requested by: @shineestark​

Edit: I would just like to give credit to Vivi for being the ULTIMATE Audrey x Billie genius. Some of the ideas in this fic were hers and I completely forgot to give her credit so please please PLEASE go check out her headcanons and fics for these two because her mind is a gift that we do not deserve.

Billie hadn’t been there. She had been filming a segment that was time sensitive, and after calming Audrey down and wishing her luck at five in the morning, kissing her and stroking her back and tucking her out the door and into her crew’s hands, Billie had made a coffee, waited for her assistant to show up, and driven the long way over to a house that she never wanted to return to. 

Not because the spirits were particularly dark. Not because it had gone poorly. But because it had been going well, and she had requested her assistant kept the live stream of the baseball game going, sound off when they were filming, Billie glued to the screen during breaks. And Billie made sure they were on a break when Audrey’s segment came up. 

In hindsight, she shouldn’t have watched. In hindsight, she should have filmed quickly and quietly and gotten home so that she could have made Audrey dinner before she got back. 

But she had watched. Watched Audrey get up in the middle of the field with her costars. Watched her play out the stupid skit she had grumbled over for days. Watched the rain start falling. Watched the clay start to slip. Watched Audrey stutter over a line as her heels sunk into the ground (Billie had told her not to wear heels but it was five in the morning and Audrey was particularly stubborn when she was that exhausted). And Billie had watched her fall, her costars too engrossed in the sketch to notice until she squeaked, dress ruined and clay coating her arms. 

And that was the end of Billie Dean’s focus. After that, every take was rushed, every conversation was half-formed. And she felt bad, because the spirits there seemed like they had a beautiful story to tell, and this woman, this chronically ill woman who was so weak and so broken, she deserved better than Billie rushing through the mediation and skipping over words that were being frantically pushed into her ears. 

And that’s why she could never go back. Because she wasn’t respectful of those spirits. She shoved them aside to deal with her own concerns and anxieties. Because she knew, she just knew, that Audrey was having a meltdown. And she couldn’t do anything about it. 

The guilt that ate at Billie the entire drive home was biting, but the guttural need to help Audrey, to get back to her and calm her down and hold her close and reassure her that yes pumpkin, everything would be okay? That was suffocating. Billie Dean knew the panic that was coursing through her girlfriend, and no one deserved that. But least of all her precious Audrey. 

She rewatched the video countless times, and by the time her assistant had driven them back to Billie’s house, the video had over five million views and at least seven mocking videos had been made, not to mention reaction videos. 

All Billie could do was hope and pray and will Audrey not to check the internet. At least not until she was home and Billie could hold her close and kiss her hair as she cried. 

~~~ 

Somehow, Billie Dean beat Audrey home. 

She had practically bolted from the car, her assistant following her down the driveway and reciting tomorrow’s schedule from behind Billie’s shoulder. Billie hadn’t listened, nodding blindly and eyes trained on the front door. But when she opened it and called for Audrey and checked over the empty house, she allowed herself to relax. Or somewhat relax. Audrey should have been home by now.

But Billie Dean was nothing if she wasn’t composed. Completely. All the time. So she bit down on the panic and the worry and resolved herself to setting some pasta on the stove as her assistant sat down at the bar counter, phone, tablet, and full binder of a schedule laid out before her. 

“And then next Friday you’re supposed to be in Austin, doing the two-hour special on that hotel.”

Billie furrowed her brow as she looked over the ingredients she had set out. She had planned on scrounging together Audrey’s favorite meal, but she was missing at least basil and garlic. If not more. She would have to improvise. 

“Which hotel?” Billie asked absently.

“You know, the one with the thing that that girl described as half human, half bear?”

Billie groaned, rolling her eyes. “Oh lord, I forgot about that. Okay. Yeah.”

There was a long silence as Billie shuffled through her herbs and dumped them into a pot with some tomato paste and cream. 

“Billie?”

She didn’t look up as she stirred. “Hm?”

Her assistant swallowed. Billie could hear it across the kitchen. Her fingers gripped into the pot handle. 

“Constance called.”

Billie froze, fingers twitching.

“When?”

“About two hours ago. She—“

Her assistant cut off as Billie held up a finger. Turned slowly. Leaned on the counter. Her brows raised incredulously. 

“No.” 

Her assistant scoffed. “Billie, please, just hear me out—“

“No,” Billie said again, voice pitched higher in exasperation. “Not today, Lacey. I can’t just drop everything for this woman whenever she needs me. I have a life, a girlfriend who should be home by now and will need some serious talking off a ledge. No. Tell her no.”

“Should I tell her that—“

“Lacey,” Billie snapped, fingers pressing into her brow. “Just tell her no. I don’t have time to deal with this right now, okay?”

And suddenly everything pressed in around Billie Dean, the pressure of the day wearing her down and setting her on edge as she realized that Audrey could be home any moment, and she did not want any distractions once her baby walked through the door. Undivided attention was what Audrey deserved, and it was sure as hell what Billie was going to give her. 

She knew what storm was coming, and she was trying to brace herself for it, but Lacey was on the phone and her devices were pinging and the stove was sizzling and it was all just a little bit too loud, especially after hundreds of voices had been fighting for Billie’s attention just hours before. 

All Billie had to do was place her hand on the small of Lacey’s back and push her gently toward the door, and then she was gone, her mess of schedules picked up and put away as she walked back to her car. Billie watched her set off down the road, huffing and sliding her fingers through her hair, over her scalp. She shook out her perfect curls, just a bit too tight in the hairspray for her to think clearly, and forced herself away from the window.

Audrey would be home soon. And there was nothing Billie could do to rush that. 

She sat at the bar, pouring herself a glass of wine and lighting a cigarette to ease her nerves. But no sooner had she taken that first drag, closing her eyes to relish the warmth of it filling her lungs, then the front door burst open and Audrey stomped into the house. 

Billie was about to get up to greet her, to take her coat and hug her and give her a million soft, delicate kisses. But Audrey was in the kitchen before she could move, snatching the cigarette out of Billie’s hands and dragging on it angrily as she paced.

Billie blinked, her fingers twitching over the ghost of her cigarette. She was back. She was soaked to the bone. And she was somehow still covered in clay. 

Everything inside of Billie itched to reach out and touch Audrey, to comfort her, to wrap her in a tight hug and tell her that everything was going to be okay. But she had taken the cigarette straight from Billie’s fingers. And no matter how her day had gone, no matter how upset she was, Audrey knew that that was against the rules. So Billie sat perfectly still and waited for Audrey to apologize. 

Audrey steamed for what felt like days, pulling almost everything out of the cigarette before flicking it and smashing it out on the tray by the couch. She huffed, crossing her arms and settling into a far too aggressive posture as she faced Billie. 

“Are you finished?” Billie Dean asked smoothly, perfect brow raising. 

Audrey chewed on her lip, nostrils flaring. And when she spoke she was practically spitting. “You didn’t text me. Didn’t ring. I fell in front of thousands of people and my partner didn’t have the decency to see if I was okay.”

The floor fell out from under Billie, and she fought to keep her expression frozen. Because Audrey was right. She hadn’t checked in. She had been so preoccupied with getting home that she had forgotten her phone existed. She was using it the entire ride, looking up videos and checking people’s reactions. But in her frantic, guilt-ridden, sleep-deprived state, she had completely forgotten to call.

“I told them I wasn’t going to come back here. I had half a mind to stay with Monet. She would have let me. Yet here I am, broken and dirty and with a girlfriend who couldn’t care less.”

Audrey’s head tilted challengingly to the side, daring Billie Dean to say something. So she didn’t. 

She had messed up, but it was an honest mistake. And Audrey knew better than to throw a fit like this. 

Instead, Billie got up calmly from her seat, taking a long sip of her wine as she held Audrey’s fiery gaze. And then she walked around the bar, pulling the pot off of the stove and pouring the sauce slowly into the sink. 

“Wait, what—“ Audrey started, rushing over to Billie Dean’s side. “What are you doing?! I’m starving!”

“Oh, are you?” Billie drawled, brow pushed up as she spooned the contents down the drain. “Funny. I just figured, since I ‘couldn’t care less’, you wouldn’t want the dinner I had prepared.”

The end of Billie’s sentence was practically a growl, and she paused, pot half-emptied in the sink, turning so her face was inches from Audrey’s. “Or would you like to apologize for what you said, little girl?”

Her eyes narrowed, chin tilted up as she watched Audrey. Watched her swallow, watched her mouth twitch, watched her brow push up as her puppy-dog eyes formed. And then Audrey’s hands were on Billie’s face, pulling her lips down in a bruising kiss. Audrey pushed her tongue out, trying to force Billie’s lips opened, but Billie pulled away calmly, tilting her head so Audrey’s hands fell from her face. She licked over her bottom lip and poured more sauce down the drain. 

“Billie, stop, seriously,” Audrey whined, trying to tug the pot out of Billie’s hand. “Of course I want the dinner you made. Of course I do, darling.” 

Billie smirked. “That doesn’t sound like an apology to me. And to think, all that punishment last night wasted if you can’t even remember what you were taught.” 

She dropped the pot mercilessly in the sink and Audrey flinched, hands springing clean off of her. Billie took the opportunity to shift over, trapping Audrey between her and the counter. And she nudged her thigh between Audrey’s legs. “Do you need to be reminded how a good girl apologizes, pumpkin?”

Audrey’s breath hitched on the last word and Billie smirked, nudging their noses together. She only called Audrey pumpkin when she was feeling soft or very, very hard. And it didn’t take much to know exactly where she stood right now. 

A soft whimper and Audrey squirmed, hips wriggling any direction but down. 

There was Billie’s good girl.

Billie Dean chuckled, hands finding Audrey’s waist and forcing her down onto her thigh. “Is this what you want?”

Audrey groaned, dropping her head onto Billie’s shoulder as she nodded. Her hips twitched under Billie’s grip. 

“Use your words, pumpkin,” Billie said softly, gently. She couldn’t help but soften, not with Audrey so needy and pliable under her. 

Audrey sniffed against Billie’s shoulder, fingers tightening around Billie’s arms. “Please.”

But the word broke and Billie pulled back, tilting Audrey’s chin up and forcing her to meet her eyes. Audrey’s eyes were glassy, nose just starting to brim red, and Billie’s heart sank. 

“Oh, my darling,” Billie cooed, leg falling away as she scooped Audrey into a tight hug. “Oh, my beautiful girl. It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I’m here.” 

She stroked Audrey’s hair as Audrey sobbed into her shoulder, and every tear that dropped onto Billie’s collarbone made her heart fracture, just so.

“I-I’m a professional actress,” Audrey choked out, hands locked tight around Billie’s neck. “I’m a p-professional actress and they laughed at me like… like I was some acting student in university who couldn’t remember her lines.” 

“Oh, honey,” Billie cooed, fighting the small smile that was creeping onto her face because goodness her Audrey was adorable, even when she was upset. “I thought you did great.”

Audrey pulled back then, wiping at her nose. “You watched it?” 

Billie nodded, swiping Audrey’s hair off of her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. “Of course I did, baby.”

Audrey nodded slowly, and Billie offered her the gentlest smile she could muster, but despite everything, Audrey’s face crumpled. “I fell,” she choked, her hands coming up to cover her face. “I fell in the dirt and the mud and it won’t come off and they tried to scrub it but the soap burned and everything was so wet a-and I’m so cold and—“

“Shh,” Billie Dean cooed, pressing a kiss to Audrey’s forehead. She tilted her chin up again, nuzzling their noses together before pressing a soft kiss to Audrey’s lips. Audrey melted into her, fingers twitching up into the hair at the base of Billie’s neck, and this time, Billie didn’t dare break away. 

She let Audrey kiss her, long and slow and tender. Let the tears fall on their lips. Was gentle with Audrey’s tongue as it snaked against hers. It was Audrey who broke the kiss, sniffing against a runny nose. Billie kissed the tears off of her cheeks, swiping at the ones that were brimming with her thumbs. 

“How about a nice shower, pumpkin?” Billie asked softly, pressing soft kisses to her hairline. And when Audrey nodded and twisted her fingers into Billie’s shirt, Billie couldn’t help but wonder how she ever had the willpower to keep herself from giving Audrey every inch of the earth. 

Probably because Audrey already knew it was all hers. 

~~~

“Alright, baby,” Billie Dean cooed, unbuttoning the back of Audrey’s clay-smudged dress. She slid the fabric down Audrey’s arms, biting into her lip to keep from making a face at the way it stuck to her dirt-smeared skin. Billie pulled the fabric all the way down, letting it pool on the floor around Audrey’s feet. As she removed the dress and glanced down over Audrey’s body — she hadn’t been wearing any underwear — she saw goosebumps rip out over her skin and realized that she had probably never warmed up from being soaked by the rain earlier.

Billie pulled Audrey’s hands into her own, helping her step out of the dress. “Alright, good job. Come on.”

The tears were still falling as Billie turned the shower on, testing the water before helping Audrey step in. She pressed one more kiss to the inside of Audrey’s wrist, and then moved to pull away. But Audrey caught her arm, fingers digging into Billie’s skin. Her brow was practically hitting her hairline. 

“Please, Billie?” she sniffed, puppy-dog eyes back in full force. “Please… I’m so cold.” 

Billie chuckled, prying Audrey’s fingers off of her arm. “How about you shower, get the water nice and hot, and I’ll go make us dinner, okay?” 

Audrey shook her head, panic flooding her features. “I’m not hungry.”

Billie raised her eyebrows. “You said you were starving a minute ago.”

And then the big tears started to fall, the desperate tears, and Audrey still hadn’t stepped into the spray of the water. “I’m not hungry anymore, Billie… Please. I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

A vision of Audrey standing in the shower, unmoving as the water hit her back, flashed through Billie’s mind. She had found her like that once, after listening to the water run for over an hour and going in to check on her. She had had a particularly rough day. The press had been on her about Agnes and Lee, and she had said those same words. ‘I don’t want to be alone’. But Billie had left her alone, insisting a shower would do her good. And after she had found Audrey soaked and shivering and frozen in place… Billie had sworn she would never leave her alone again. Not when Audrey needed her. 

They were the magic words. Whether Audrey knew it or not, Billie couldn’t say no to them. Once she had flown halfway across the country because Audrey had mumbled something close to them through tears after phone sex. 

And so Billie sighed, pressing a kiss to Audrey’s forehead and unbuttoning her blouse. “Alright, pumpkin. Just give me a minute, okay? Go stand in the water. Warm up.” 

Audrey nodded slowly, stepping into the spray as Billie shut the shower curtain. It had barely closed when Audrey called out to her, voice wavering. 

“Billie…?”

“I’m right here, pumpkin. Don’t worry.” Billie yanked at the buttons on her shirt, rucking it up from where it was tucked into her pants. She shimmied out of the silk, shoving her pants down. A soft sob from the shower and Billie’s bra was on the floor. She had the curtain pulled open again before she had finished stepping out of her underwear. 

Audrey turned as Billie stepped into the shower, face wet from where she had been standing in the spray of the water. 

“How’s it going in here, baby?” Billie’s arms snaked around Audrey’s waist, pulling her flush against her chest. Audrey almost giggled, and Billie took that as a victory. She noted how warm Audrey was and pulled fingers through her hair, slicking her bangs back. 

Audrey hummed at the contact, smiling for the first time since she had gotten home. And it was a real smile, the kind where her tongue pushed against her teeth and she made that tiny noise in the back of her throat. 

“Ah, there’s my girl,” Billie murmured, dropping a kiss to the top of Audrey’s head. “How about we get you all cleaned off, yeah?”

A nod from Audrey, and Billie stepped forward so that they were both standing under the shower head. She rubbed Audrey’s arms, slick as the dirt and grime slid off of her, and then Billie reached for the shampoo. 

If there was one thing she loved the most about showering with Audrey Tindall, it was the noises she made when Billie massaged the shampoo into her hair. They were so sultry, so dirty, and yet so, so sweet. And the hums that left her as Billie washed it out in the warm water and slid the conditioner over her wet strands had a low heat burning between Billie’s thighs in minutes. 

Billie let the conditioner sit, reaching for Audrey’s soap and a loofa. 

“No,” Audrey whined, grabbing for Billie’s wrist. “I want your soap.”

Billie quirked a brow. “Oh yeah?” 

And Audrey turned, eyes wide and too big as she nodded, her lip between her teeth. Billie smiled. 

She reached around Audrey’s pink soap for her green bar, sliding it between her fingers and relishing the way it smelled as it bubbled. It was sage and white tea, and Billie absolutely adored it. She had used it since she had turned thirty or so, finding it by accident on a shelf at a niche little store. The sage had intrigued her, and when she brought it home and tried it out — just because — the smell of the sage in her shower brought her a kind of comfort that she couldn’t describe. She had always surrounded herself with the white light of spirit, but a little extra sage couldn’t hurt. It radiated clear thoughts and blasted any possibility of negative energies out of her day. And Billie knew that’s why Audrey liked it so much, especially during difficult times. 

Billie Dean scrubbed the bar into the loofa, letting it bubble and letting the sharp scent of sage fill the shower. Audrey hummed, turning from the shower spray and kissing Billie sweetly on the lips. 

The first time they had slept together, Audrey had nudged her nose up under Billie’s chin and murmured “god darling, you smell so bloody good”. And in that moment, Billie resolved herself to go back to that small store and buy their entire supply of sage soap.  

Billie scrubbed the loofa gently over Audrey’s arms, over her shoulders, her back, and Audrey reached her hand out blindly as she dropped her head back onto Billie’s shoulder, twining their fingers together. She turned her head, pressing a soft kiss to Billie’s neck.

“That feels amazing, darling,” Audrey murmured as Billie pushed her fingers between her shoulders, massaging the muscles there as she tracked the loofa down Audrey’s spine.

Audrey moaned, and it was so soft Billie almost missed it under the sound of running water. But no, it was there, so Billie slid the loofa around Audrey’s side and pressed it into her hands as she ran her fingers over Audrey’s back, massaging and rubbing and kneading and pulling. 

“Oh, god…” Audrey breathed out, humming. “That’s wonderful…”

Billie smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Audrey’s head. Another kiss to her temple and Billie stopped, leaning around to check on her. 

“How are you feeling, pumpkin? Did we get all the dirt off?”

Audrey grinned, that same, teeth-popping grin. Nodded. “I believe we did. But I think some got on you.”

Her brow furrowed as she scrubbed the loofa over Bille’s shoulder and down her arm.

“I think I’m okay, baby,” Billie tried weakly, slipping her hands up Audrey’s slick waist. But Audrey frowned, sliding the loofa over Billie’s shoulder again. The spray of the water made it run right off, and Audrey tugged Billie around her to the open side of the shower. 

It was freezing, and goosebumps immediately erupted over Billie’s skin. The water had been so warm. She almost made to move back into the water, but then Audrey’s hands were there, running the loofa down her chest, down her stomach. 

“Audrey, baby,” Billie tried, swallowing a gasp as Audrey’s pinky accidentally flicked over her nipple. “I’m clean, I’m fine. Let’s get your hair washed out, okay?”

Audrey had the audacity to shake her head, tongue caught between her teeth as she concentrated on sliding the loofa over Billie’s hips, down her thighs. And this time, when she pinched at that soft spot just behind Billie’s knee, Billie knew it wasn’t an accident. 

But Audrey was nothing if not a good actress, and she was acting her ass off right now, pretending like everything was perfectly fine. 

Billie reached down, prying the loofa from Audrey’s hands. “Honey. Come on, let’s get you washed off and dry.”

And there they were again, those damn puppy-dog eyes, matched with hands that were too needy, running down Billie’s sides, thumbs sliding over the swell of her breasts as they passed. 

“But I’m hungry, Billie,” Audrey whined, blinking up at her. She had on her best pout, and Billie had to dig her thumbnail into her finger to keep from shoving her down on her knees, right then and there. 

“Baby,” Billie breathed as Audrey’s hands slid down her waist and over her ass, squeezing just so. “You said you weren’t hungry when I offered to make you dinner a few minutes ago. Make up your mind.”

Audrey dug her fingers into Billie’s ass and Billie hissed, brow furrowing. But then she caught the look on Audrey’s face, the need and the want and the submission, and her eyes went wide as Audrey pressed her mouth to her jaw. 

“I don’t want dinner, my love.” She pushed the words into Billie’s skin, hot against the cold air of the shower. A shove, and Billie was slammed back against the tile wall. She gasped, hands flying out to Audrey’s shoulders. And she couldn’t help the groan that left her as Audrey leaned up and licked the shell of her ear. 

“I want dessert.” 

Audrey’s hand slid down, fingers tracing the tiniest of circles against Billie’s inner thigh, and Billie’s eyes rolled back at the heat of her touch. But they were in the shower, and Billie had too large of an irrational fear that one of them would slip and fall and seriously injure themselves. Too many spirits she met died of things more ridiculously mundane than this. 

“Audrey, baby, no. Not here. Haven’t we had this discussio—“

“Please, Bill?” Audrey breathed against her ear, and Billie’s eyes flew opened, the planets aligning. The way Audrey had seductively stripped before her shower two weeks ago. The way she had called Billie in there to kill a spider that had ‘mysteriously’ gotten away, only to try to drag Billie in with her. The way she had brought up filming those shower scenes in her first film, the use of the words ‘slippery’ and ‘slick’ flying through the room as Billie shook her head and blew her off. Audrey had wanted this for weeks. Weeks. And this had all been—

Billie gripped her hands around Audrey’s waist, pushing her back. 

“Audrey Tindall,” Billie started, voice dangerously low. “You had better tell me right now that this entire production you put on was not just to get me to have shower sex with you.”

Audrey bit her finger, a little too innocently. “I did fall. That was real.”

“Uh huh,” Billie deadpanned, eyes narrowing. Audrey gulped. 

“A-And… I was very dirty.”

Billie nodded sarcastically. “Oh is that so? Did the soap really burn? Or did you refuse to be cleaned off so you could come back here and throw a huge fit just to get your way?” 

“I have… What? No, of course it burned, I—“

Billie lost her last shred of patience, angry with Audrey for working her up this way. Angry at herself for not realizing what was happening. Her hand slid down, lighting fast, slipping straight between Audrey’s legs. 

“Don’t lie to me, pumpkin.” 

Audrey gasped, eyes gone wide as her hands flew to Billie’s shoulders to keep herself steady. And goodness, did Billie love when Audrey made that face. She squeezed her hand, just so.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Audrey gulped and Billie watched her throat bob. Watched her wrestle with the words. Watched her try to fight them. But Audrey was nothing if she wasn’t a good girl, as bratty as she could be, and she let go as Billie quirked her brow a little too casually. 

A nod. 

“Use your words,” Billie ground out, hand unreasonably still. She could feel Audrey twitching with the need to grind down into her palm. Fire threaded through her veins. 

“I told them not to wash me off,” Audrey whimpered, eyes closing as she braced herself for Billie’s reaction. But all Billie did was remove her hand. 

She waited, brow raised and arms crossed, for Audrey to open her eyes. When she did, Billie smirked. She let it fill her face, dark and full and almost wicked. 

“Go get me a cigarette.”

Audrey gaped at her, brow furrowing. “What?”

“You heard me,” Billie drawled, hand flicking out toward the rest of the house. She scrunched her nose, dragging her words out sarcastically. “I could really use a fix.” 

“But I—“ 

“Oh no no,” Billie cut in, hand flying to Audrey’s throat and squeezing. “You don’t get to ask questions. You had me wrapped right around your pretty little finger, doting on you and doing whatever your little heart desired. That’s what you wanted, right?” Her fingers stretched up Audrey’s jaw, tightening. “You spoiled little brat. You threw a fit at work for this? Ruined a dress for this? Do you ever think about the consequences of your actions?”

Audrey nodded frantically. Billie ignored her, continuing. 

“No. No, I don’t think you do. Now I’m asking you very simply and very plainly for a cigarette. Can you manage to do that one, small thing? Or are you incapable of listening at all?”

Audrey shook her head and Billie could have sworn she saw her lip twitch around a smile. 

“Good.” She released her. “Go.” 

Audrey was out of the shower like a shot, throwing back the curtain. But just as she grabbed for a towel, Billie snatched at her wrist. 

“No,” she said firmly, pulling her back from the towel bar. “Towels are for good girls.” 

Audrey nodded, slicking her hair back off of her face as she swallowed. She was covered in goosebumps, head to toe, and Billie’s heart broke at the sight of her, but she wouldn’t go back on her word. Not after everything Audrey had put her through. So she settled on pressing a light kiss to the inside of Audrey’s wrist.

Audrey fought a grin and warmth bloomed in Billie’s chest, and then she was out the door, swaying her ass a little bit too wide as Billie watched her walk away.

~~~

She was back with the cigarette too fast. Billie still hadn’t decided if she was going to let her come or not. But something about the way Audrey walked back into the bathroom made Billie hesitate. 

She stepped slowly into the shower, holding the cigarette to Billie’s lips and letting her grip her teeth around it before letting go. Billie reached up, shaking her fingers out to dry them off as she dragged on it. And damn, there was nothing quite like a fresh cigarette. Well, almost nothing. 

“Is everything okay, honey?” Billie asked as Audrey stepped into the shower spray, rinsing her hair out and scrubbing her hands over her arms. Audrey nodded, but something in her face had changed, and Billie crooked her finger at her, leaning against the tile on the far side of the shower. 

Audrey was in front of her in a second, and Billie took the cigarette from her lips, holding it in front of Audrey. Audrey smiled, a big, warm smile, and leaned forward, taking a long drag. 

“There’s my good girl,” Billie cooed, cupping her cheek. Audrey’s brows pushed up as she exhaled, tears welling in her eyes. 

She sniffed, and Billie hooked a finger under her chin, smoothing her thumb over Audrey’s jaw. “What’s the matter, baby?”

Audrey’s eyes skipped off of Billie’s, and her bottom lip trembled. “I-I…” she tried, and then the big tears were falling, the ones that had such a unique way of pulling at Billie’s heartstrings. “I’m not going to get to come today, am I…?” 

Billie sighed, brushing a wet strand of hair from Audrey’s face with her pinky, careful not to let the cigarette shed on her. And damn it, because Audrey shouldn’t have been able to work her up this fast. That whiney tone shouldn’t have gone straight to her core. But after the stress of the day, the worrying and the anger and the confusion, Billie needed a release. And with the way Audrey was blinking those big doe eyes at her, she would be hard pressed to get a towel around her before she caved. 

She needed Audrey. And she needed her now. She shoved any hesitation out of her mind, that logical voice that told her to lay Audrey out on the bed and have her way with her. Because Billie was throbbing, and she had Audrey in the perfect position to quench that thirst. Tenfold. 

“Are you still hungry, pumpkin?” Billie started, letting her voice drop as she moved her hand to Audrey’s shoulder. Audrey nodded eagerly, and Billie pushed her down lightly. “Good. Then you be a good girl and finish all of your dessert, and we’ll see if I’m feeling generous.”

Audrey’s eyes lit up as she slid down to her knees, and Billie’s free hand was in Audrey’s hair before Audrey had even pressed a kiss to her hipbone. Another drag on her cigarette, and Billie let herself relax, dropping her head back onto the tile as Audrey’s tongue met her core. 

It really wasn’t fair, Audrey playing her like this. And it shouldn’t have turned Billie on as much as it did. The fact that Audrey knew her so well, knew what buttons to push. Knew just what to say and do and how to whine to have Billie melting under her in seconds. But Billie was weak for Audrey. She always had been. And here, now, with Audrey between her legs, staring up at her as she gripped her hand into Billie’s thigh and hooked it over her shoulder, hair wet and water dripping off her nose, hitting Billie’s clit ice cold in contrast to Audrey’s hot tongue… Billie was panting and writhing in minutes, cigarette forgotten in her hand. 

Her fingers twisted in Audrey’s hair, and she could smell how wet she was, the steam of the shower amplifying it, mixed with sage and sweat and cigarette smoke. Audrey’s tongue slid over her entrance, too casually, and Billie groaned, pushing Audrey’s face further against her.

“More, baby…” Billie murmured, sliding her hips down to angle Audrey’s nose against her clit. “More…”

And Audrey blinked up at her, her tongue glazing over her entrance once more before she pulled away just enough to make Billie growl in frustration. 

“Audrey, you need to be a good girl and listen or else—“

Audrey let out a long breath against Billie’s core, hands wrapping around her thighs. And then she started talking.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are,” she murmured, pressing kisses into Billie’s thighs. “How stunning. Your hair half wet, sticking to the tile. The way your skin glows. That bloody cigarette in your hand. Your body…” She pressed a soft kiss to the crease of Billie’s thigh, and when she met Billie’s eyes, her pupils were blown. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this?”

And then she dove back between Billie’s legs, tongue working double-time, fingers pulling Billie’s hips into her face. All Billie could manage was half of a reply, something incoherent that melted into a deep, guttural moan. Because her Audrey, her beautiful, perfect, whiney, needy Audrey, had the most amazing mouth. Billie had never met someone who could eat her out quite like Audrey did. She braced herself on the wall, moving the hand with her burnt-out cigarette to Audrey’s hair. 

She had expected to come. She hadn’t expected to come twice. And the aftershock that coursed through her as Audrey sighed contently against her made her entire body jolt, cigarette falling from her fingers as her hands flew to Audrey’s shoulders. 

“Enough,” Billie mumbled breathlessly, tugging Audrey up. “That’s enough, pumpkin.”

Audrey stood, bracing herself on the wall and grinning like an idiot. And as she leaned in to kiss Billie, Billie saw an opportunity. And took it. 

She pushed Audrey against the wall, turning and pinning her with her body. Her mouth was on Audrey’s neck in seconds, fingers dragging roughly down her stomach and between her legs. She felt Audrey’s neck tighten, felt her lean back into the cold tile and stretch her skin taught in a moan. But she didn’t move. Billie’s fingers slid against her and through her and over the insides of her thighs, teasing just the way she knew Audrey couldn’t stand. And Audrey didn’t move. 

Billie pulled back from her neck, nipping at the bruise she had left. She glanced up at Audrey, placing soft kisses to her collarbone. Audrey’s eyes were screwed shut, lip caught firmly under her teeth. And as Billie moved her gaze down, she realized Audrey’s hands were splayed out on the shower wall, fingers flexing and fidgeting and tapping too quickly.

Billie arched a perfect brow. Smirked. “Is there something you want, baby?”

Audrey shook her head against the tile. “No. No, I’m alright.”  

Billie slid her fingers over Audrey’s clit, just light enough to make a moan stutter out through her locked jaw. “Are you sure?”

A forceful nod.

So Billie slipped her fingers further down, circling her entrance. Dipping one inside of her, just enough to make Audrey’s hands ball into fists. And then she removed it. “Positive?”

Audrey cracked her eyes open and Billie was waiting for her, pressing her body flush into Audrey’s and pushing her impossibly further into the wall. She knew Audrey was about to cave. And the heat on her front mixed with the cold tiles on her back should do the trick.

Audrey’s brow pulled up as she opened her eyes all the way, pleading. “Billie Dean,” she breathed, and Billie swallowed down a groan at the use of her full name. At the way it pushed out of her so desperately. 

“Use your words,” Billie murmured, punctuating each word with a kiss to Audrey’s jaw. 

“Please, I need you…” Audrey whined, squirming just so. 

Billie grinned against her skin, knowing Audrey was right there. So close to breaking. And she had the power to drag this out just a little bit longer. Just until Audrey said those two words that made Billie’s head swim.

“What do you need,” Billie husked, the anticipation making her skin vibrate and heat drip between her legs. Again. 

Audrey moaned, her hips grinding down slowly against Billie’s hand. Hesitantly. Like she was afraid Billie would pull away. Like she didn’t realize Billie couldn’t have if she tried. Another whimper, and Billie pressed her fingers firmly against Audrey’s clit. 

“Audrey,” she mumbled against her skin, licking a line up her neck and to her ear. Pressed her mouth against the shell of it. “What. Do. You. Need.”

Audrey whined, and it melted into a moan, and then a groan as she pressed her hips into Billie’s fingers, hands burying themselves into Billie’s hair as she pulled their mouths together. 

“Fuck me,” she panted into Billie’s mouth, teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance. “Fuck me, Billie Dean. Please.” 

Billie’s fingers were inside of her in a second, and Audrey was right there, grinding down on them, snapping her hips and hooking her leg over Billie’s waist and gasping against Billie’s mouth as her pleasure built. 

“Oh god, oh lord,” she whimpered, fingers gripping into Billie’s shoulders to keep her steady. Billie’s neck. Billie’s waist. Any piece of skin Audrey could get her hands on was bruised, and the water from the shower spray made Audrey’s fingers slip, desperation leaving claw marks down Billie’s side. Over her back. 

Billie was too turned on, it was getting hard to focus. She just wanted to hear Audrey scream. She needed to hear her name echoing off of these walls. But she wouldn’t ask Audrey to put the fire out between her legs. Not for a third time. Audrey had been such a good girl, and she deserved this. She deserved the attention that Billie pooled around her. She deserved the world. 

Except this was Audrey. Billie’s Audrey, ever the good girl. And she always had this funny way of reading Billie’s mind. She slotted her thigh between Billie’s legs as Billie’s fingers curled inside of her, hitting that spot. And the way her head fell back, neck completely exposed and ruby red with the marks Billie had left, the way Billie’s name was racking up in Audrey’s throat on repeat, each one coming out more guttural than the last, the way Audrey’s accent was thickening, one hand in Billie’s hair, the other gripped into her waist and forcing her down on Audrey’s thigh, Billie could only hear and feel and taste Audrey and it was too much. It was all too much. 

She twisted her fingers, digging them deeper as Audrey begged — “please please please, Billie please, god please” — and she nodded, panting around the permission Audrey was waiting so patiently for. 

“Come for me, baby. That’s it. Come for me.”

Audrey keened, head falling onto Billie’s shoulder as she screamed her name, over and over and over until her voice was hoarse. And that last one, the one that broke over a stuttered breath, that one sent Billie over the edge with a growl and a half-panted ‘good girl’.

They stood like that for ages, neither of them moving from the other’s warm embrace. Billie pressed soft kisses to Audrey’s hair, Audrey hummed and sighed “I love you”s into Billie’s neck. And it wasn’t until Billie’s skin started to prick with cold that she stepped Audrey over into the spray of the shower, letting her wash the sweat off her skin. Wash Billie’s arousal off her thigh. And as Audrey hummed at the feel of warm water in her hair, Billie pulled a towel into the shower. She reached around Audrey, twisting the shower off and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. And then Billie was bundling her up, plush white towel wrapped snugly around her. 

Audrey grinned, that perfect, cute, tongue-popping grin, and with a quick peck to Billie’s lips, she was out of the shower. 

“Where are you going?” Billie asked, reaching for her own towel and patting herself dry as Audrey skipped out of the bathroom. 

“Just need to check my phone,” Audrey replied breezily, and Billie’s brow furrowed as she wrapped her towel around herself, stepping out of the shower on shaky legs. 

“Audrey,” Billie warned, following her out of the bathroom and into the living area. But Audrey was already in the kitchen, pouring a fresh can of tomato paste into the abandoned pot and sliding it onto the stove. 

Audrey hummed questioningly, and Billie’s eyes narrowed. But just as she was about to stalk into the kitchen, pin Audrey against the counter and pull whatever secret she was hiding out of her, Audrey’s phone buzzed. 

It was sitting on the table by the couch, and she had left it unlocked. Billie glanced at Audrey as Audrey turned at the sound. Watched Audrey’s eyes go wide as Billie picked up the phone. Watched her scramble as she realize she had left it unlocked. 

But Billie was faster. 

Her eyes skimmed over the text conversation that was opened, Monet’s name sitting at the top with a crab emoji and a scotch glass. And the last few messages on the screen. 

Getting her a ciggy, forming an alternate plan x

Hon, she’s not going to have shower sex with you. Take your losses

No, I have a plan

And then Audrey, again, almost thirty minutes later.

She fucked me AND I got to come.

Girl, how

I told you. Crocodile tears work every time x

Billie froze, heat pouring into stomach. Her nostrils flared. When she turned, Audrey was right here, reading over her shoulder. Perfect. 

Billie’s hand was on her throat in a second, fingers twitching in anger. 

Audrey squeaked.

“Ohhh, baby,” Billie drawled, letting her words hang in the air. She tutted. “Here I was, thinking you were such a good girl.”

Audrey gulped, and Billie’s fingers tapped over the movement.

“You think you’re so smart?” Billie scoffed, and Audrey tried to shake her head. Billie pulled her chin between her fingers, holding her still. “Tell me. How many times do you think you’re going to get to come in the next week?”

Another gulp. Her wide eyes searched Billie’s, but when she opened her mouth nothing came out. 

Billie pushed her tongue into her cheek, flicking her eyebrows up. 

“Let’s find out then, shall we?” She leaned back, settling on the arm of the couch. “Over my lap. Now.”

[alicezan-ncgred]

Bleeding Red

Preface: I’ve been bitching around the bush of this long enough. So, I’ve been really silent on a bunch of stuff that’s been eating me alive which has made me both inactive and unproductive. I’m going to get straight to the point, starting off with the TL:DR from my post on my main blog. Context: An anon asked me if I was alright because I hadn’t updated in a while.

TL:DR You probably didn’t ask this to hear about all the bad shit of my life so here’s the short of it. No, I’m not doing fine. I will try get next weeks post out on time and I’ll work on making up on the lost posts. Updates will return regularly, ‘ite.

Time for the thick and thin of it.

Insecurity and being shafted: I’m stoic, even at my worst I won’t say anything. I’ll push through regardless of my current condition and since I’ve gone years like this, it’s not hard for me to do. In my real life situation, I’m currently in a place of social isolation. This has lead to a somewhat near reliance on Tumblr to be my social outlet. This present many issues.

The main one is that I’m quite the isolationist. This has only been reinforced by many interactions throughout the entirely of my life. Because of this, I can’t say I’ve ever had anything really more than two friends at a time. While in a way this has helped me express myself so well through writing, it’s come at the cost of social skill. I don’t talk to anyone.

With this kind of issue you could easily imagine that the THREE PEOPLE (four now, but very limited) to ever directly talk ended up in a way shafting me. The first blocked and disconnected with me without warning or reason. At this point we’ve been talking to each for about a month and we hit it off very well and then one day, silence. Never heard from them again. That fucked me up hard when I finally realized what happened.

The second person left during the Tumblr P**n Purge. We were talking about how to contact each other on other platforms and then they stopped responding. I had already given contact to other platforms of which they pinged me in any way. Another person that I trusted massively on here just abandoned me and I’m still hurting from that. Wasn’t fair at all.

Then the third person was someone that I been following for a while. This person is actually the reason that I’ve been putting this off for so long. I don’t want them to see this post but they will. I got an ask from them that ultimately turned out to be misinformation. I said I wasn’t mad but I was. I was so fucking angry about it and I’m still kinda mad, but I didn’t want problems. I still don’t. I just didn’t want them to worry about it. This will come back later.

I try my best to be as inoffensive as possible. The problem with that is that much of the things I believe or enjoy are highly divisive. Hell, even my own identity can be seen as offence. I’m bisexual, non-binary (I’m currently still questioning this. I might actually be gender fluid but in the overall scheme, that’s worse than being non-binary), and nonreligious. I’m in a very religious area so you I’m still “in the closet” about much of this IRL. I though it would better online but with how much people are saying bisexuality doesn’t exist, or that non-binary isn’t a valid gender (or that being gender fluid make you insane and you should be locked up) and all the hate people who say they are this are getting, the very community that’s supposed to accept me, HATES me. I had a bi pride flag icon last year during Pride Month. I never doing that ever again. It was terrible.

I’m trying my best to come out of my shell like I said I would when I made this blog but it seems I’m just crawling further into it. People I think I can trust keep setting me up to fall, people I know in real life won’t ever accept my existence if they knew who I really was, and my own mental health problem and self loathing are eating me alive. But that isn’t the total of it.

Crumbling Pillar: I’ve always ended up in the position where things were thrown onto me. In which no one wanted to do, I was stuck with. Because of this not only do I have a severe distaste being around my family (beyond everything mentioned before hand) but I grew to have a negative out look on everything. This effect is still quite obvious in my writings, especially my poems. Out of the 14 poems on my poem blog @washed-soul​, only one has a happy meaning.

The one happy poem was called dreams. Under a metaphor it talks about how a demon kept me trapped in a dark space. I start to get better and nearly break free before I have a negative relapse back to my old ways. The poems ends with the demon putting a end to itself leaving the nightmare in which it was keeping me in to slowly fade away, letting one crack of light peeking through to become a window to a door until one day I walk free. When writing this poem, I never thought I would find myself rebuilding the nightmare but that’s where I am.

I’m done with holding things together that other people have placed onto me. Because of this, issues have began showing in my private life. Issues that should’ve been solved decades ago are only now being addressed. This change in the status quo of my life has caused many issues in my productive and mood. Between everything else I’m too tired to do anything.

Is that a reason, is that an excuse. No it isn’t but it’s the best thing I got as a reason. I’m doing my damnedest to do the best I can but of course, when it comes to the thing that matter I just fall short. Big fucking whopha my intelligence and capability does me if I can’t use it for anything that means a damn.

Meaningless Triviality: I’m a very emotional person. I’m very strongly bound to my emotions and if everything above hasn’t given it away, my emotions are very negative prone. But it just doesn’t stop there, it goes back into my memories. I can only honestly place 3 happy memories for certain that aren’t either A) a dream or B) me escaping reality through my mind. Besides that, almost all my memories are negative. 

People like to throw around the word Nihilist to describe themselves because today's culture is very, god while I hate to use this word, edgy. For those who don’t know a Nihilist is someone who views the world as being completely  meaningless and reject all religious and moral principles. I very truly struggle with this outlook of life. It’s a daily for me to berate myself saying “just kill yourself” or “I want to die” or just shutting down and crumpling up while say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over again. Hell, I did that while writing this. 

I take things very hard, even the slightest transgression. I’m so used to trying to make things perfect and because people have the image that I’m the smart one, the mature one, the capable one, I’m left with the over hanging expectation of excellence. Almost no room for margin of error or being human. Since I’m the silent type, I put up no challenge and work to meet it. Only time I get any praise for anything too. 

I guess as a little self promotion to my main blog, for those that have read the very first few updates of my main blog @the-truth-behind-redacted, or read Defiance’s character sheet, while The Machine and Defiance are separate character, they both share the name Machine. That in part is a reflect of said above expectation. How ravenous and inhuman it can be all under the guise of something human. Those characters are the two sides to the same coin. 

Remember how I said I try to be un-problematical and how I try to avoid any potential conflict. In the first segment I told on how I lied about my feelings just so another person didn’t have to worry over something that honestly, in hindsight, wasn’t even really a big deal. But I also said how it consumed me in anger. I just don’t want to bother anyone over anything. It’s part of the reason why I am writing this post, as some way of a self enforced rehab program to get better. 

This absolute consumption of negative emotion has pushed me into a non human state before. I hit a point of absolute mental exhaustion and in such a self enforced bubble of actual hatred I became completely apathetic. I felt numb to everything. I watched and heard of terrible things happening to people, and felt nothing. I watched people lives crumble before them leaving them nowhere to go and LAUGHED. “Just another worthless pathetic worm on this rotting carcass of a planet being hit with the hard reality that life doesn’t care for them. What whimsical pathetic bullshit they deluded themselves with to think otherwise.” This isn’t an exaggeration on how I thought, this is what I actually thought. Which brings me too.

The Mandatory Sob Story: Roll your eyes everyone and get the tiny violin. I guess in order for everyone to exactly understand the place I’m coming from when it comes to mental health I’ll have to detail my experiences. I have a long standing history with mental illness. I have professionally diagnosed OCD, Bipolarism, Anxiety, Chronic Depression, and visual and auditory hallucinations. I take 600 mg of Seroquel a day as well as Amitriptyline when needed. I’m also still currently in therapy to deal with said OCD, Bipolarism, Anxiety, Chronic Depression, the visual and auditory hallucinations, as well as Suicidal thoughts, and my Nihilism. There’s a reason to why I’m so god damn familiar with mental illness and treatment plans.  

OCD and Bipolarism run in my family on my fathers side. My Father’s Father had them, my Sister has them, my brother most likely has them (however he refuses to see a doctor because he uses said possible mental illnesses as a get out of jail free card. He doesn’t want to be treated and he has FUCKING ADMITTED IT), my father has them, and I have them. I, however, have the misfortune of having it real bad. I said yes to well over half of all the total symptoms when I was being tested (I don’t remember exact numbers but I remember there being three pages worth of common symptoms) which was very worrying to the doctor. I was currently in an inpatient hospitalization program at the time for both suicidal thoughts and actions, and severe depression. 

On that, my graze in with suicide. Before I went into my first inpatient program I was contemplating suicide. I was sat in front of a mirror with a bottle of over the counter medication. It was an unopened bottle of ibuprofen, 1000 200mg tables. What I planed to do was down the whole bottle with benadryl and die in my sleep. I had the small box of benadryl got from the Kroger pharmacy and a hand full of ibuprofen poured out looking directly into the mirror. My suicide note was sitting on the desk on my room with an online copy on my laptop open.

I sat there for an hour in the dead of midnight complicating my life. I had lost all hope in the world, filled with hatred, anger, pain, and despair. I had no god or after life to look forward too, part way hoping that a Hell existed for me to burn in. I hated myself that much. I was close to taking the first handful before before I caught a glimpse of my own eyes in the mirror. In what was in a weird sudden epiphany I realized that I truly did become what I hated but not for any reason I told myself. I became the very bastion of negativity I sought to fight and rid of in what little friends I did have. That was what set off my path to recovery in spite of the medical system. I guess if people care I’ll make a separate post on that. 

Before I move on, I feel I should explain my history with the visual and auditory hallucinations. It should be no surprise that with everything else above, I also had extreme paranoia that led to me having very bad insomnia. Insomnia is, just like most other medical disorders like Depression, Self-harm, Anxiety, OCD,  Bipolarism, is romanticized to hell. Insomnia isn’t having one nights bad sleep where you got 5 hours of sleep instead of 8.

You know what Insomnia is? insomnia is being physical incapable of sleeping despite not sleeping in 2 to 3 day while your body suffers massive agony brought on by this. Muscle spasms and seizing, difficulty breathing, your eyes feeling like fire ants are eating them, and of course visual and auditory hallucinations. Now I already had issues with visual and auditory hallucinations even when I could get sleep regularly but the combined effects of my OCD and Bipolarism made this perfect condition of Insomnia, Anxiety, Paranoia, with the already added in disposition to hallucinations and I felt like I was actually losing my mind. 

My hallucinations presented themselves in three forms. Disassociation of reality, night terrors, or alterations of reality. Disassociation of reality often were complete black out moments. I would lose any perceived connect to reality and enter an episode of my mind. I can’t remember what they actually were but I do remember what it felt like. Cold sweats, anxiety to point where if I didn’t lock up I would vomit, actual physical pain, mind numbing fear, and intense fatigue. 

The second were night terrors often in the form of horrific “things.” I do remember these and most of them were as best as I could describe, forms of things that were vaguely human and formations of industrial machinery. The most vivid one I remember was of a long lengthy apparition that was for the most part human but many locations of it’s impossible physiology were rebar beams and mechanical sockets. It began when I was about to fall asleep and it was next to my window. The thing was making week groaning and gasping sounds before it violently slammed against my window breaking it then letting out a horrific howl that I can’t describe as it tossed itself out followed shorty after with the sound of bones breaking against the dirt. 

Now that might not seem so bad, exspecally with everything that is in horror movies or games now, but keep in mind that was fucking real to me. It was as real as the clicking of the keys of my keyboard as I’m writing this. As real as the chair I’m sitting in and as real as the wall in front of me. As far as my mind was concerned that thing, what ever it was, actually existed. It took me physical touching my window to make sure it wasn’t actually broken and checking outside to see if there wasn’t a body there. This isn’t the type of thing I talk about lightly. 

Finally there is the alteration of reality. This is very simply but it’s something that fucked with me hard. For very little meaning or warning, I would have trouble interpreting the world around me. My hearing and sight would be warped and there wasn’t any real way to tell what I was hearing or seeing was real or not until the episode was over. The way I got through these was the ultimate fake it till you make it. Obviously, very often I failed and this created issue in my schooling. 

Ending Message: I’ve been in a very bad state for a while now and as it is now, no signs of getting better. I also strongly believe my medications are being to fail me which I’ve been telling my doctor and therapist for over a year now but nothing’s been done. Mainly it’s my Depression but insomnia episodes are beginning and my own paranoia been on the rise. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t even look at a creepy image or thumbnail without having a very bad episode. 

I’ve managed to eat something today which was nice but my body is cramping hard. And to possible stave of a possible comment, I’m biologically male. Like I said I’m not in the best head space, or living for that matter. If this gets better, only time will tell. 

[nny11writes]

Pink Lizard Thunderbolt Incident

Ahsoka was twenty, bored, and taking a bet from Hardcase when it happened.

Her first mistake was being in the same bar as Hardcase. Quickly followed in order by entertaining the bet, her own youthful naivete, and her desire to push limits. Well, actually, her first mistake had been bragging to him about her ability to knock back starshine’s because human alcohol was “weak ass shit”. Hardcase commiserate and had promised to find her something better, after all, clones had a higher tolerance for alcohol as well. When they’d sat at the bar Hardcase had pointed at her and said, “This one can drink irongut, blood mashes, and thinks starshine is weak. What do you have to knock her flat on her ass?”

Ahsoka had laughed, punching him good naturedly until he’d smiled evilly at her and said, “S’amatter? You scared?”

She’d told him to pay for the drink and she’d drink anything.

When it arrived, the first thing she’d noticed was the small cloud hovering above it, little electrical bolts flying between the hovering vapor and the liquid.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, “is that a pica?”

The bartender, an older purple woman with stubby tentacles swept elegantly behind her head, had grinned and winked. “Nope. That is a pink lizard thunderbolt babe. Almost twice the alcohol content. It can literally eat through a human’s stomach, but you togs are built like gastric tanks. If you can drink this shit and remember anything afterwards, I’ll pay for the damn thing myself.”

Ahsoka stared at it in wonder, a stray bolt shocking her finger as she grinned. She probably sounded more excited than she should have as she asked, “Should we have an ambulance on speed dial or anything?”

The woman shrugged, “How should I know? I’m not your mom!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve just sent Kix a message and he is your mom.” Hardcase made a motion towards it. “You gonna chicken out or what?”

The last thing Ahsoka remembers is grabbing the drink. It’s surprisingly disappointing to say she doesn’t remember what it looked like as the cloud dissipated, she had no clue how it even tasted which just seemed like a fucking shame. Then next thing she remembers is waking up violently ill in an alleyway, and bitching on about buzz droids. Later she’ll be delighted to discover that she is still alive and hadn’t had a single thing stolen from her. Much later she’ll be grateful that Hardcase didn’t record a damned thing. Much, much later she’ll have bragging rights beyond bragging rights and a pin up of herself in a thundercloud painted on a LAAT/i.

But that is later.

Hardcase, for his suspiciously reliable sounding testimony, explains that Ahsoka drank it over a twenty minute period and that after thirty minutes she only seemed regular drunk. The bartender was impressed enough to give them some complimentary nuts. About five minutes after that Ahsoka had started rambling about starships, then blasters, then bitching about how cold Ilum was and how she wished her lightsabers were a “cool” color. She had apparently never explained what that was supposed to mean.

Ahsoka had devolved quickly into tattoo designs for herself, and asked several times in a row if Rex would want one too. Despite Hardcase repeatedly saying she would need to ask the Captain. Then got a little teary eyed that Rex didn’t love her, which the bartender took the wrong way but got a kick out of Ahsoka’s hiccuping, “But he’s my best- brother- frien’- dad and I need him!”

Hardcase had assured her that Rex loved her, and that every trooper in the 501st knew she was their collective best-sister-brother-friend-Commander.

She had sniffled and asked if they’d get tattoos with her which Hardcase assured her they would.

They had both been given orders to drink two glasses of water before leaving. Apparently the bartender wanted to keep visuals on Ahsoka for another hour before they left for liability reasons and also because this was the most fun she’d had all week. Which was fair. After the first glass was chugged Ahsoka almost threw up, managed not to, and had loudly declared that was why togrutas were the best.

Hardcase had gotten up at some point to keep Kix appraised of the situation (“I told him you were fine and you were, ‘s not my fault!), it took less than a minute and he had eyes on her for all except the last fifteen seconds.

No one is really sure where she was for the next hour or so.

Ahsoka finds a receipt in her pocket for a kebab, the used end of a death stick with heavy lipstick stains in a shade she doesn’t own, and a crumpled ticket to a concert that had happened a week before. All in all it’s not useful for much except she glad she didn’t root through the trash more thoroughly. Who knows what would have been in her pockets then. She guesses that she stumbled out the back door to wander a bit, but was probably too uncoordinated to get far. Regardless, drunk Ahsoka had still turned around and homed in on Hardcase at the bar.

The first place Hardcase checked was the dancefloor, then the bathroom, then the back alley. He explained in detail how his short life flashed before his eyes and the way he’d debated if he should call in backup to find her. He’d figured she couldn’t get far and did a sweep, he never saw her. Right when he decided to, and stepped into the back alley he found her sitting half hidden by the dumpster and nearly burst into tears. Hardcase then promised to get a tattoo with her and get her food and do anything as long as she didn’t leave his side again for the night.

Ahsoka had apparently said, “Nice.” while patting his cheeks.

Mama Bartender had come out a long while later with waters for them and asked if Ahsoka was still breathing. Ahsoka had tilted her head and shrugged, which was acceptable. A while after that Hardcase had helped her up and they had tried to go back to the barracks. She had been distracted by every pet they came across and asked to touch them. Hardcase had smiled widely as he explained he was not responsible for whatever photos those civvies had taken of a drunk Jedi playing with their pets.

“That’s on the holonet and I can’t stop it.”

Fair enough, although Ahsoka did feel he shouldn’t act so smug about it.

There had apparently been a memorable stop at a bathroom as Hardcase had gone in the single stall with her to make sure she actually peed in the damned toilet and not on her leggings. Apparently someone had thought they were engaged in more sexual games and had been horrified thinking a trooper took advantage of a drunk woman. Ahsoka had laughed herself nearly sick, again allegedly on civvie camera, explaining that Hardcase was her best friend and she loved him but not like that but if he was a girl she would totally have done it. Hardcase stuttered his way again through the explanation that she was drunk and needed to pee. Ahsoka had been offended at the accusation that she was drunk, right up until she tilted and almost brained herself on the sink while bitching about the gravity repulsors acting up again. Then she’d paused before petting the mirror image of her own face and saying, “Ok ’m drunk.”

The karking Coroc’s had been called in the meantime though, and Hardcase had been laughing too much to explain what happened when the two shock troopers arrived. He must have said something though because they were not, in fact, arrested for any of the things the probably should have been arrested for.

The fact that Ahsoka had received two pings with unknown com numbers to have a drinking contest with the Guard was a good indicator that she’d impressed them for all the wrong reasons. Boot and Chide had both assured her they’d welcome her presence as a judge if nothing else because she was funny.

Hardcase just snickered, “F-funny!” in a high pitched wheeze when she asked about it.

Ahsoka had tried to sleep on a bench and Hardcase had at least redirected her back towards the barracks. They made it halfway there before Ahsoka walked unassisted into another alley, leaned over, and threw up. Feeling better she’d again insisted on sleeping, and Hardcase got her to compromise and just sit next to him. There was no way she was being allowed to sleep yet. He kept an eye on her breathing and made sure she wasn’t getting cold.

“I know my ABC’s Commander!” Hardcase said with pride.

She opted to not make the obvious joke considering he’d shepherded her drunken ass around for at least six. Which was generous considering he was the one who had gotten her plastered in the first place.

That’s where she remembers waking up feeling like shit and grateful that she had the day off.

Kix had nearly blown a fuse when they’d returned as he’d assumed Hardcase was being an idiot and had been joking about the punch packed in her drink. Ahsoka had hissed through his rant, hands covering montrals best she could and accepting the pain killers and the electrolyte mix. She got a few hours sleep in the medical bay under his watchful eye before her woke her to eat a nutrient cube and discharge her with a lifelong case of Being a Karking Dumbass. Kix was adamant that it was chronic and would only become more acute with time. Ahsoka had rolled her eyes but didn’t try to argue because...well, she had drunk the damned thing hadn’t she?

She caught another hour of sleep before Anakin had arrived, stomping and shouting and forcing her up to train in the salle with him. As it was his right as her Master to determine how Ahsoka would spend the day off from the GAR. It wasn’t productive considering she spent the whole time cursing at him and he spent the whole time laughing.

“Best core workout I’ve ever had,” Anakin would say fondly, much later down the line when telling the story to embarrass her.

Obi-Wan had arrived afterwards with an evil smile to drill her on her studies, which Ahsoka managed to only avoid by saying, “You drink one Pink Lizard and everyone becomes an asshole!”

Anakin had panicked for a hot minute while Obi-Wan had immediately sat her down. She’d been quickly forced to explain that Kix had seen her and discharged her already, no she wasn’t dying, and no they only ate through the stomach lining of humans according to the bartender.

Anakin had eventually smiled widely, far too manic for anyone’s tastes, looking between her and Obi-Wan, “We’re high tolerance drinkers! That’s our lineage tick!”

“No,” Obi-Wan tried his best to discourage the notion. “I know what you’re thinking and we should definitely not-”

“Yes!” Anakin insisted, only getting more excited, “We need to get drinks together! Now!”

“No,” Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had both insisted, but for wildly different reasons.

“But yes!” Anakin chripped far to happy and loud for anyone to enjoy as he dragged them off towards their quarters. “So what are we having, I know how to get the good stuff in here.”

“Either get me herbal tea or get me another Pink Lizard so I can die in kriffing peace!” Ahsoka snarled and tried to get her arm out from the mechno grip he’d locked her into.

Obi-Wan said, “I second the motion! Let me go Anakin!”

“Cool, I’m thinking jet juice to start then some skee’s and we’ll see how we’re feeling.” Anakin said the same way some people might imply that eating a small desert after a meal might be one step too far.

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan looked at one another in horror, mute from fear.

“How are you still alive?” She whispered staring up at her Master with new respect.

To be fair, she doesn’t actually remember anything after that either, so maybe the respect had been given a bit to quickly. Suffice it to say they, luckily, survived the night. Although perhaps “luckily” is not the right word for the day that followed.

Regardless, Ahsoka looked up at her nose art with a smile and decided that she would never, ever touch a damned pica drink again in her life. She would have also sworn off drinking with Anakin, but that was a foregone conclusion.

Now if she could just get Yoda to come to one of their “our lineage makes poor decisions” nights, she’d swear off drinking forever.

[bipolarinboston]

That’s so Bipolar

TW: hospitalization, medication, psychosis

The fourth time I was admitted to the hospital I was very lucky for two reasons. I could watch the Red Line from my window, and if I stretched I could see the Citgo sign in Kenmore Square in the distance.

And I was diagnosed with Bipolar.

For over a decade I had Depression after being diagnosed at 17. For the last half of my Junior year I suppressed my feelings and thought often about jumping out of a window or into the path of a train. I spiraled so quickly I spent school vacation in the hospital. We got my meds in line and I graduated on time.

I thought I knew my depression. It felt like the take my meds, go to therapy and be alright kind of Depression. It was just a nuisance but it behaved, because I stayed in line. Then 2016 came. My Crohn’s flared that summer and they put me on prednisone.

My flare was stubborn and came back as soon as I weaned off the prednisone. I haven’t flared often so I hadn’t taken a lot of steroids. And it wasn’t a very high dose. But those side effects — especially the mental ones like mood swings and insomnia — that everyone dreads caught up with me as 2016 turned into 2017. In January I ended up in the hospital because insomnia had triggered a psychotic break.

The first time it happened was the scariest. We didn’t know what was going on and could only grasp at straws for a reason. As it happened again and again it was frustrating, unpredictable and unnerving. When I was discharged my diagnosis read Major Depressive Disorder with Psychotic Features. Even the doctors didn’t know what was going on.

Every time it happens insomnia leads it. Then the disordered thinking and word salad set in. I can feel my mind race, ping-ponging from topic to topic before I can finish saying whatever mush came out of my mind. My heart races, pushing triple digits yet I’m standing still. My body drags, wading through molasses with effort. The more I retreat into my head the more out of it I am. I can’t break free, and I know enough to panic, even as I get tunnel vision.

I still remember most of my delusions. January 2017 I saw Trump on the newspaper and knew it was fake, because it was four years later and Clinton was starting her second term. I was born four years earlier, yet my ID had an error. The second time was in September 2017 when I was convinced my apartment was bugged and an online company was coming to take me out. By my third time in June 2018 I had found a job but was convinced I would be fired for some minor mistake. And finally in November 2018 I thought North Korea had bombed us and everyone was dead.

Four times in two years, with little progress. Until I woke up on the unit and asked during rounds for a sleep study. But instead the attending, surrounded by all the residents and students on my team, said I was Bipolar.

I was not expecting that.

At rounds you don’t have a lot of time with your team. There’s too many patients and not enough time. As I sat trying to absorb this out of left field diagnosis I was asked if I wanted to start lithium. Despite having Depression and being on various meds for that, no one had ever suggested Bipolar. At that moment I couldn’t think of an alternative so I said yes.

I am not a typical Bipolar 1 person. I’ve never been manic in the traditional euphoric sense that’s depicted in media. I’m not a fun crazy person. When insomnia settles in, and I can do nothing to reverse it, I’m dysphoric instead. The doctors use my triple digit heart rate in the ER as evidence of my manic state.

When they introduced lithium they would split the dose. I’d get one capsule at morning meds and then I’d get another capsule with an increased dose at night. There were lots of blood draws. Lithium is one of the oldest drugs used in psychiatry. But it’s a high maintenance treatment. There’s a risk of kidney damage and hypothyroidism. Every time I have a psychiatrist appointment I stop by the vampires. I’m lucky that I’m used to blood draws after dealing with Crohn’s for 20 years.

The doctor who finally diagnosed me was not my psychiatrist. Certain doctors work inpatient and others work outpatient. My therapist who has known me through all these hospitalizations doesn’t fully believe I’m bipolar. It could be that I have an indeterminate mental illness that just happens to respond to the mood stabilizers most commonly used for bipolar. I had already been on lamictal since the first admission in 2017. We also added some nighttime seroquel that helps me stay asleep.

If there was anything worse than spending time on the psychiatric unit, it’s spending your birthday in the hospital. I was admitted right before my 30th birthday, and because we were adding a brand new medication I stayed long enough for food services to send up a 6 inch sugar frosted cake. I had been on this floor before, just over a year ago for my second admission. That helped in learning the rhythm and routine of the floor. It wasn’t entirely bad as we were allowed cellphones, as long as we left the charger with the nurse. And we had daily menus to order meals so I felt more in control of what I ate.

Getting diagnosed with Crohn’s at 11 altered my view on life. It was a lot to have to handle a chronic illness before I hit puberty. By the time I was in high school I’d gotten over the self-stigma and thought myself as resilient. I had a great college essay topic. Fast forward to 2017 when having such a sustained and uncontrolled mental health flare was frightening and isolating. The rediagnosis at 30 stopped the recurrent hospitalizations but it came with more stigma. If I struggled to talk with my friends about my relatively mild Depression, how could I even mention my Bipolar?

I feel boxed in at times. During the decade plus that I lived with Depression I’d felt the stigma diminish. Now I’m back at square one. That’s why I’m writing here; I’m too scared to write anywhere else.

When November 2019 rolled around I wanted to celebrate a year being out of the hospital. It was the longest I’d gone so far between admissions. I’d been following Ace on twitter and commissioned them to paint my brain as I described how Bipolar nearly overwhelmed me. I wanted to show the “normal” brain side by side because even when I’m flaring the two states exist together.

In a sense I’m lucky that I was diagnosed with Crohn’s 20 years ago. Bipolar and Crohn’s are equally chronic and can flare at unpredictable times. But for both there are coping skills like keeping a regular bedtime or lifestyle adjustments like avoiding nuts, seeds and corn. My lithium is as vital as my Humira, just a lot cheaper. Without navigating Crohn’s since I was 11, I’d be more adrift with the Bipolar diagnosis. This is the third time I’ve been dealt something that has a lot of stigma attached to it. But now at least I feel like it’s not insurmountable.