#sometimes I want to stop taking all of my meds forever but I know that has a reasonable chance of actually killing me

[librarychair]

It's Crawl Out Of Your Skin Week

[phagodyke]

venting sorry... don't want to just delete it bc it helps to get it out just ignore this post pls 👍

haven't slept much at all and feeling so sick andstressed and in pain bc my period is due and so tired its making me dizzy but i cant sleep more or ill just feel more sick and I want a hug and to cry so hard into someones shoulder but no one cares or will even come near me it makes me feel diseased they think things about me that aren't true bc I struggle so much to communicate and thry all make assumptions insteqd and no one wants to give me space to talk to them about it so I cant undo that now and its all my fault and I'm so. exhausted :-(

[gothicflowers]

Listen, Alex has been consuming my brain for weeks. It’s a whole issue (it’s not an issue, I love it really). So can I get something that’s maybe a little darker with him? Doesn’t have to be too dark, just maybe showing that side that isn’t the golden retriever we all love. Maybe a little more of that something that makes him such a good CIA operative.

Something protective/possessive perhaps? Can be NSFW or not, totally up to you.

Also, I hope you’re doing well! I know what it’s like to just need a distraction and get out of your head for a bit 💙

(MDNI +18)

Sorry this took me forever but I’ve been fighting waves of ADHD paralysis that even my meds cant fight. And I’m doing a little better, not fully healthy but I’m getting there❤️

ALEX KELLER IS A GOLDEN RETRIEVER.

At least that’s what he lets you see.

Because he doesn’t want you to know how dark and dirty he can be. Your family is fully convinced that he is the perfect man, which he truly is. Always getting you flowers and planning dates or small getaways. You clearly won the lottery with Alex. You see Alex as a night in shining armor, a kiss from the stars.

But Alex sees you as the dusk sky, beautiful colors that light up the sky before the light disappears. Soft delicate hands to hold, no blood or dirt under your nails. Your voice is the crackling of a fireplace in deep December snow that warms his soul. You’re the flower that blooms from the spring frost after he tills the ground with his bare hands.

Alex has fought for too long and shed too much blood in the name of justice and peace for anything to take away the one pure thing the universe owes him. You.

But sometimes dispute all his training and good intentions you see small glimmers of what Alex could be if he didn’t keep himself in check. Sometimes it’s in the way you end up bent over the counter with his fingers laced tightly in your hair as he rants on about this little bitchy attitude you’ve had since you woke up. He knows you love it and it feeds a dark pit of control that burns for you. Every thrust making you gasp. All Alex can grunt out of his gritting teeth is MINE. MINE. MINE. And is he gonna let you come? No. Not unless your pretty little eyes are welling with lust and love filled tears begging to cum. He’ll eventually let go of your hair and hold you by the jaw and let you confess that you just needed some dick, and he’s the only one that can satisfy your craving. Such a sweet thing, such perfection, so delicate.

Alex doesn’t mind letting other guys how possessive he can get. He didn’t like that guy that keep trying to dance with you at the bar. It’s surely a coincidence that guy slipped and hit his head on the sink. Other times it’s simply staring them down with a look that even Simon wouldn’t mess with.

When your ex tried to weasel their way back into your heart they abruptly stopped. They sent flowers, chocolates, jewelry, everything they could think of to win you back. You figured they finally got the message that you didn’t want them. But in reality your ex came home to a large envelope packed full of evidence of everything they’ve ever done, things you never knew about. Paired with a simple note “leave what is mine alone or else”.

Alex never wants you to know about what he truly does. Would you ever hold his hand again knowing how blood stained they are? Would those soft lips still say I love you? Despite his pure intentions he knows not all of his orders he’s been given were good. So he just tells you he works in surveillance. It eases your mind thinking he’s hiding on a roof somewhere, not down in a gunfight.

When he comes home after an extended time away you’re distraught with worry that he lost his leg. You will die never knowing the truth about what went down that day.

It’s not always that he wants to keep you in the dark, but sometimes it’s just truly classified information that you can’t know. And shouldn’t, it would give you nightmares. This man could rewrite history books if he shared what he knows.

Alex keeps hidden security cameras around the house. You don’t even realize they’re installed. He’s got extensive knowledge of technology and he used it to his advantage. He’s very good about keeping you a secret from his job but sometimes on those late nights he just needs to see you sleeping peacefully at home. And yes there is a tracker on your phone. Can’t lose track of his sweet little angel.

Everyone highly underestimates him. Too soft hearted, too eager, too naïve. The way his eyes darken and chest heaves as he stands covered in someone else’s blood shocks a room of experienced soldiers. A version of a man they rarely see, a version of a man you don’t know. Yet that version of him is who checks the house when he hear something at night. The version who corrects people who speak to you rudely. The version that growls in your ear from behind as your bodies tangle. The version who got rid of all of your problems. The Alex that will pull the earth apart and unleash hell to create a heaven on earth for you alone.

Alex is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

[scarabsinthestardust]

Better in the Morning // Ch. 15.1

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of hospitalizations; injuries including but not limited to a broken leg, head trauma; medications; headaches; nosebleeds; nightmares; slight mentions of suicide/overdose; arguments; angst (but I promise there's some fluff, just bear with me!) Again, I am not a medical professional and have no formal medical training.

word count: 2600+

DANIEL'S POV

Sam stayed in the hospital for another week and a half after he woke up. He was out of the woods, but they wanted to monitor him in case there were any lasting effects of his head trauma. No matter how many times we were reassured that he would be okay, I couldn’t rid myself of the fear that I had when I thought I might lose him.

Our fight was still fresh in my mind, and I’d beat myself up over it and all the things I said to him for a long time. I don’t know if he remembered any of it, though. Granted, we didn’t have any time alone while surrounded by the Kiszka family at the hospital. But he didn’t seem angry at me. Not once did he show any signs of resentment towards me. That almost made me feel worse. He should’ve been angry. He should’ve been blaming me. But he held my hand and shared soft smiles with me, and it gave me some hope that everything would be alright.

He was finally discharged from the hospital and was more than ready to be out of there. His parents and sister had gotten a hotel to be close by, but made a point to not crowd him. I assumed Josh or Jake would want to stay with him, but when he asked me to, my heart swelled. He still wanted me there.

Sam was trying so hard to feel normal again, but it seemed like an uphill battle. He was frustrated about the difficulty he had moving around, wanting so badly to do things on his own and hating to ask for the help he desperately needed. I didn’t mind, of course. I wanted to take care of him, for as long as he’d let me.

He was struggling with brain fog and drowsiness, but he’d been assured that was normal during his recovery. He slept a lot and wasn’t eating as much as I would’ve liked; he was constantly nauseous as a result of the cocktail of meds he was on. He was resistant to the pills, refusing to take them until he couldn’t bear the physical pain anymore. I always offered them on the allowed schedule, though, just in case. The headaches were the worst. They were often accompanied by nosebleeds, and the pain he felt was so excruciating he could do nothing but lay down and cry. And I could do nothing but lay there and hold him.

He'd have nightmares about the accident sometimes. He’d wake up drenched in sweat and out of breath. At first, he never wanted to talk about them, but he eventually caved. He dreamt about what he remembered, which wasn’t much – the oncoming headlights, the smell of gasoline, and the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach when he thought he might not make it out alive. I didn’t tell him I was having nightmares, too.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask, but I didn’t think he remembered calling me. On some nights after Sam was asleep, I’d listen to the voicemail again. I don’t know why I insisted on doing it to myself, but I couldn’t stop, much less make myself delete it. The message is fuzzy, broken apart by static and peppered with the pinging of whichever of the car’s warning notifications were going off. Some kind of hissing can be heard, like the sound of a busted hose, intermingled with Sam’s heavy breaths. His voice follows, cracked and fearful. He coughs in between words, and it’s clear that it’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

Hey, Danny boy. I think… I messed up a little… I don’t know what’s… gonna happen. So just know… I’m not mad anymore. I’m scared, Daniel, I’m really scared. I wish I was home with you, sn- snuggled up watching some dumb movie. I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, since forever, for always. I love you. Don’t forget about me. Take care of Rose, take care of everyone. Promise…

I think he lost consciousness then. His voice trailed off and all I could hear was static and the incessant dinging. Hearing his voice like that, imagining how terrified he must have been, made my heart feel like it was being ripped into a thousand little pieces. It made me want to vomit. But still, I couldn’t stop listening to it.

He sat on the floor of the living room, leaned against the front of the couch. It was a mystery to me why he kept doing it, as getting back up with a broken leg and a sprained hand was difficult to say the least. But no matter how comfortable I tried to make the couch for him, he always ended up moving himself down to the floor. “Don’t like the altitude,” he joked.

I tried to remind him when he asked me to hand him a guitar that his hand needed time to heal. He would have none of it. But when he tried to play, everything started barreling downhill again. First, he couldn’t get comfortable, and the joints in his hand complained with every movement. Next came the fumbling when switching strings or frets, and the frequent dead notes that reached my ears. He cursed and muttered under his breath but refused to stop trying. He swapped the acoustic for his seafoam bass; maybe he thought it’d be more reliable. He started strumming the first few notes of ‘Caravel,’ then abruptly stopped. He furrowed his brows and tried again with the same result. After a few more attempts, he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned loudly, bowing his head over the instrument, his messy hair hiding his face. “Fuck!”

“Sam? Is it your head? Maybe you should take a break-“

“I can’t remember,” he said, his voice cracking. He looked up at me, his eyes filling with tears. “I can’t remember how to play.”

Fuck. A million and one thoughts raced through my head. What would that mean for Sam? Would he have to relearn everything? Would he even try? And what would that mean for the band? I couldn’t imagine continuing it without him, and I knew his brothers wouldn’t just replace him. But even though it crossed my mind, Greta wasn’t my first priority. Greta Van Fleet didn’t matter without Sam in it. I worried that he wouldn’t be able to cope if he couldn’t play; he worked so hard to get as far as he did. He gave up college and astronomy to play music. If he couldn’t play… what happens next?

I tried to comfort him as he cried and as he hyperventilated through a panic attack. Rose nudged him, laying her head in his lap. I held him as close to me as I physically could and smoothed down his hair. “Sammy, baby, it’ll be okay. You’re still healing from a traumatic brain injury, and I’m sure all the meds are making you feel a little off. There’s probably a lot you won’t be able to do right away, but you’ll get there. You need time to heal, so focus on that for now, and let the music come after.”

“What if it doesn’t come?”

“Then we’ll figure it out. But it will, and you’ll be back to feeling like yourself again before you know it.”

He cried so much that night, which triggered another headache. After some convincing, he took a dose of pain pills. Right before he fell asleep, he mumbled something, so low that it was almost inaudible. But I heard him. “Will you still love me if I’m broken forever?”

My breath caught in my throat and my eyes filled to the brim with tears. I tightened my arms around him as much as I could without hurting him. “I’ll always love you, Sammy. No matter what. I promise.” He didn’t say anything else, and when I heard a light snore, I knew he was asleep.

~

Sam’s slow, clumsy movements as he tried to get up out of bed woke me up. “You okay?”

“Gotta pee.”

I started to sit up and rubbed my eyes. “Here, let me help-“

“No,” he cut me off. “I can do it on my own, I need to.” I could hear the plea in his voice to let him try. He needed to feel some semblance of independence where he could get it.

I nodded and laid back down, watching him closely for any sign he might fall as he grabbed the crutches and hoisted himself up. I relaxed when he made it to the bathroom okay, although I listened out in case he needed any help. I heard the toilet flush, but while waiting for him to finish up, I must have fallen back asleep. I don’t know how long I was out before I woke back up. The room was still dark, but Sam wasn’t in bed, and everything was quiet. I could see light seeping from under the bathroom door, and Rose lying in front of it. “Sammy, you okay?” My heart started pounding with anxiety when he didn’t answer. I slowly pushed the door open and called his name again. It felt like a punch in the gut when I saw him on the floor, eyes closed, leaned up against the bathtub.

I rushed to him, probably bruising my own knees as I hit the cold tile and placed my hands on his cheeks. “Sam? What happened? Are you hurt?”

His eyes fluttered open and he smiled. “I’m okay, Danny boy. Just tired.”

A sense of relief washed over me, and I adjusted myself to sit with him, just until he was ready to go back to bed. But the relief was quickly replaced with dread when my knee touched something on the ground. An empty pill bottle. I snatched it up, now noticing a second one. “Sam, what the fuck… please tell me you didn’t.” He was slow to respond; my blood ran cold, and my breathing quickened. “Sam?! Fuck!” Call 911. I scrambled off the floor and rushed back to the bedroom to find my phone. I grabbed it off the charger but fumbled and dropped it. Sam called my name as I finally had it back in my hand and was running back to him. My hands shook as I started to dial the numbers, and he called my name again.

“Daniel, it’s okay! I flushed ‘em.”

My movements halted and I stared at him for a moment, trying to register his words. “You… you didn’t take them?”

He shook his head. “I don’t wanna take ‘em anymore. They make my brain fuzzy and I don’t feel like me. So I flushed them.”

“Jesus, Sammy.” I scrubbed my hand over my face and lowered myself back to the floor. I willed my heart rate to even out. This was fixable; we could get refills for the pain meds. If he would even take them. I’m sure it seemed like a good idea to him in the moment, but he might regret it next time he got a severe migraine. I didn’t see the point in giving him shit about it at this point. It was already done and there wasn’t anything that could be done about it right now. “Do you want to go back to bed?”

“Not yet.” He leaned his head back carefully on the edge of the tub. “S’ cold. Feels nice.” We sat in silence for a while until he said, “I’m sorry.”

I thought he was apologizing for tonight, for making me think he overdosed. “It’s okay, you just scared me is all.”

“No. Well… that, too. But I meant for what happened before… before I left.”

It took me a second to realize what he was talking about, and I couldn’t hide my surprise when I did. “Oh. I didn’t know if you remembered that.” I kept my eyes trained on the ground as I thought about what I said to him that night, afraid of what I might find in his. If he remembered the fight, he might resent me for it.

“Are you still mad about it?”

“No,” I answered immediately.

“Would you be if all this shit didn’t happen?” He gestured to the cast on his leg. “It’s okay if you’re still mad at me. I deserve it.”

“No, you don’t, Sam. It was stupid and I acted like an asshole. I’m the one that overreacted-“

“Uh uh.” He lifted and shook his head. “I just wanted attention. And I was mad ‘cause I wanted it from you. I wasn’t flirting with that guy because I actually liked him or anything. I didn’t wanna hurt you, I just wanted to make you jealous.”

I stared at him in disbelief. I probably should have been pissed at his confession. Seeing him fawn over some tool at the bar and follow him around like a lovesick puppy had me livid. If all he wanted to do was make me jealous, it certainly worked. When I confronted him after the fact, it escalated into a full-blown screaming match. We both said so many awful things to each other that I know neither of us meant. But his honesty tonight was refreshing. So instead of being angry, I just laughed, earning a confused look from him.

“You know,” I started, “I love you, but you are such a fucking brat.”

It wasn’t long before he joined in, falling into a fit of giggles. “At least I’m your brat.”

Later on, once we were back in bed, snuggled up under the covers, he grabbed my hand that was wrapped around him and held it tightly to his chest. “Daniel?”

“Hm?” I fought to stay awake, tiredness threatening to take me under.

“I wanna tell them about us.”

I opened my eyes and stared towards him in the dark. We’d kept our relationship a secret for so long, and I couldn’t even remember why. I’m sure we had our reasons, but it all seemed so stupid now. A part of me sort of liked having it to myself, like what we had was just for us and wasn’t anyone else’s business. But the other part of me wanted to take this super important piece of my life and share it with the people closest to us. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised, as if he expected me to say no.

“I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

“Okay, good.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Do you think they’re really gonna be surprised?”

“Nah. If I had to guess, they probably already know and made bets against each other.”

“Hmph. Fuckers,” he snorted.

I chuckled, and I was so happy that he seemed to be getting back to his old self already.

~

It took three more days before he was willing to pick up an instrument again. He was anxious to even try, but with the right amount of encouragement from me and his brothers, he was back in the saddle. It wasn’t perfect, as he was still working on getting full range of motion in his hand back, but it was promising. After successfully hitting most of the notes in ‘Caravel’ and a few others, he was beaming.

“I told you it would come back to you.”

I was wrong to assume that the twins would have any inkling of my relationship with their younger brother. With eyes wide and jaws dropped, they bombarded us with questions. They were mostly baffled how we had managed to keep it a secret for so long, and right under their noses. I did notice that Kya didn’t seem shocked in the slightest; Sam would tell me later that Kya probably knew before we did. When the initial shock wore off, we received nothing but happy sentiments.

“If there’s anyone I trust to take care of my baby brother, it’s you,” Josh said as he hugged me tightly, and I was so grateful to be lucky enough to be a part of this family.

TAGLIST Let me know if you want to be added!

@hollyco @fleetingjake @musicislove3389

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩࿐࿔ schedule your fuckin' appointments. [new 2/26]

fluff (smut-free) | gn reader | no use of y/n | drabble | word count: 1,222.

look i know it sucks but right now i need you to call your doctor or open your patient portal and schedule the damn appointment you've been putting off forever. otherwise you're gonna be in trouble with the captain.

“Hey! Cupcake!” You swear Rocket starts every conversation with a demanding yell from across the street, like he has to let everyone know he’s seen you and is claiming your time. You roll your eyes and don’t move from your seat on the laundromat steps, but you can feel a smile playing at the corner of your mouth — he wouldn’t be Rocket if he wasn’t trying to assert his bossiness everywhere he went. “Yes, sir?” you snark back, waiting till he’s within a reasonable distance and you don’t have to shout. He nudges you with the toe of one boot, and you sigh good-naturedly and scoot over on the step, giving him room to sit beside you. He pulls out his zune and fiddles with it, till something low and quiet swells in the speakers. The citizens of Knowhere shift into something more relaxed: paces slowing, conversation quieting, heads tilting toward one another as they let the music unconsciously shift their moods. Rocket eyes them all with a smirk of satisfaction. He’s so damn proud of himself that you have to try not to chuckle and ruin it. But then he’s leaning toward you, bumping your knee with his, head tilted conspiratorially. “Did you schedule that doctors’ appointment yet?” You blink, then wince. “Uhm. No?”

read more on ao3 ✩࿐࿔ for LunaAfton on ao3

need more reminders from rocket?

the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself (aka rocket bullies you for your own damn good).

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based, meant to take place post-volume-3, but headcanon however you want ♡

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist

࿔ eat somethin. (wc: 576) ࿔ go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737) ࿔ get outta bed & get your shit done. (wc: 925) ࿔ take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375) ࿔ leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579) ࿔ take a fuckin study break.(wc: 1,020) ࿔ drink some goddamn water. (wc: 1,209) ࿔ stop destroying your frickin clothes.(wc: 1,609) ࿔ just buy the damn thing already. (wc: 1,271) ࿔ it's frickin laundry day. (wc: 1,923) ࿔ get some sunshine, sunshine. (wc: 1,614) ࿔ did you take your damn meds today? (wc: 1,288) ࿔ schedule your fuckin' appointments. (wc: 1,222) for LunaAfton ♡ ࿔ do your goddamn dishes. [est mid-march] for nonnie ♡

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best. if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

@suicidalshitstick ✩ @glow-autumz ✩ @evolvingchaoswitch ✩ @wren-phoenix ✩ @pretty-chips

total word-count: 16,388

[hughiecampbelle]

72 Hours (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,409

Warning/s: hospital, hospital tw, mental health, mental health tw

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: This is something different lol. December of 2020 I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital :) It was scary and new, but it was definitely necessary. I don't think it should be a taboo subject. It's definitely not something my immediate family will or likes to bring up, but it's also not something to be ashamed of, y'know? Idk. I've been feeling bad again. Not like in 2020, that was- it was very bad, but still not great. It happens. Meds stop working. The heaviness sets in. I use writing to get through it, those bad feelings, so that's what I'm doing. Just know you're not alone when you're feeling bad. My inbox is always open, I am always willing to talk 💜💜💜💜💜💜

They are terrible thoughts. Horrible, repulsive, aching thoughts that feed off everything you are. They see the worst in you. When you’re done, that’s all there is left. The most repulsive parts of you. The bare, naked, scarred bones. You used to fear you were a bad person. A truly sinister, evil person. Now you don’t have to worry. Now you know. You are. Selfish, and evil, and a burden. Unlovable, unkind, undesirable. He doesn’t love you, not really, and he wouldn’t miss you. No one would. You’re sure of it. You’re so sure of it your bones ache. They long for the soil, muddy and rich. Your whole body wishes to be put to rest. To finally find peace. Being alive hurts. It hurts so bad sometimes. It takes everything out of you to roll from one side to the other. Things have taken up space in your bed. Books sleep soundly next to you, begging to be read. Notes, loose paper, begging to be written. You hope, in nestling with them, loving them even in rest, that they will save you from yourself. They will drag you out of this abyss you’ve found yourself falling in for a long time now. If there is a bottom, you haven’t found it yet. Every second of every minute you flinch, expecting your head to crack open, expecting your neck to snap on that solid ground. It never comes though. How much darker can things get? How much longer do you have before the light, the shrinking light, clouds over? You fear, when this is over, that everything will be gone. You will be gone. Forever. Your own mortality hangs in the balance. You claw at the rocky walls, your fingernails bloody, ripping apart. You scream so loud, for hours, but no one is near enough to hear you.

Is it my fault? Those are the first words from his mouth, the first thought behind those puppy dog eyes. You hold his face, his stubble scratchy in your palms. Did I do something wrong? You make sure your words are stern, but not scary, not angry. He bruises too easily, your peach. No. None of this is your fault. I just, I have to go away for a few days and figure things out. That’s all. 72 hours. Then I’ll be home. You muster a smile, the edges of your mouth heavy in their upturned state. He looks so small, so worried, shaking hands at his side. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Neither do you. It’s always been something in your life. An endgame. An option when you run out of options. You talked it over with your therapist, loved and trusted, and they too believe this could be beneficial. Your bag is packed for three days. Three days apart. Basically a weekend. You can do that, right? You can manage, he can, too. You don’t think you have any other choice. Standing there, your bag at your feet, you feel the heaviness. The weight. You want to finally collapse inward like a star, bright and burning and suicidal. He looks you over, your expression, your body, everything you are. You will understand him to understand, to get it, but you don’t need to. He already does. It wasn’t an easy decision to come to. None of this has been. But if you want the hurt to stop, if you want to stop falling, then you need to leave and get help. 

He picks your shirt from the laundry, holding it against his chest. He wanders around the apartment, massive, lonely without you by his side. It smells like you, the fabric. You hadn’t changed out of it in a week, week and a half. Sweaty, you’d argue, but he likes it. It’s familiar. Roaming like a ghost, restless, trapped. Mostly you sunk into the mattress, the sheets melding into your skin until you were one singular being. The tears, silent, hidden, but not quite. Coming home from work, finding your cheeks freshly wet, your eyes red and glazed over. The thoughts unsaid, but screaming. Screaming and wailing and willing you to step over that edge. Nothing about it is easy. Nothing about it is gentle. Nothing about this you could stand for much longer. Dinner, so sweetly prepared, goes uneaten. Everything sits like rocks in the pit of your stomach. Threatening to come back up again. Mostly, you push the food around your plate, managing a smile, managing interest in the conversation. You spend all day in bed, but you are unable to sleep. The bags under your eyes look like they hurt, aching, pulsing. The hollows of your eyes seem deeper, darker, haunted. Your body is so heavy. You never knew flesh and bone could feel like concrete. Every step, every movement, it is unthinkable. You curl into yourself, hoping tomorrow will be better, hoping this will go away. It won’t. It never does. 

Roman didn’t know things were this bad. Even as he watched you wave from the check-in desk, even as he watched the doors close behind you and an escorting nurse, even as he waited for you to come back, a voice in his head told him things weren’t this bad. They were. You’ve been sick for a long time. He thought if he was home more, if he cooked dinner, real dinner, and cracked jokes and held you so tight at night, then it wouldn’t get this bad. Cyclical. Things got like this. But it always went away. It got bad, yes, but then it got better. Why wasn’t it going away? You didn’t have the words to describe it. He’d find you laying in the tub, the water cold, shivering, crying, unable to get out. It took too much energy, too much determination, none of which you had. Unchanged from the pajamas you wore for days at a time. He blamed himself. He wasn’t doing enough. He wasn’t there for you enough. If, if, if. You told him it was just your brain, your mind, getting a little lost. When it got lost, it was hard to find its way back. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t you, it wasn’t anyone or anything, just your brain. It would be like this for the rest of your life. You couldn’t bargain or bribe your way out of this. It had to be done. He saw the scars along your skin from the times before, when things were bad, very bad. He didn’t want anything like that from happening again. 

He called you as soon as he could. Roman’s voice was shaky, unsure. You were the one easing his fears, his worries. If you didn't, no one would. He didn’t ask how it was going, he wasn't sure if he should. You sensed the curiosity, telling him your new routine. You’ve been sleeping better, easier. The food is terrible. There are doctors and therapists who are going to help you, make your brain better. He breathes a sigh of relief. Not because of what you say, but how you sound. Your tone was so scary. Scared of your thoughts, scared of what you might do. You sounded lighter. You talked as long as you could. When you hung up he went to bed with your shirt, one arm reaching out to your side of the bed. Wanting you. Needing you. Knowing this is what had to happen. Everything his father had taught him, you had he retaught. This wasn’t taboo. It wasn’t evil or wrong or anything to be embarrassed of. It’s just something that is. He counts down the hours. 48. 47. 46. . .

Soon you will be home. You will have medications, different pills, pills that will work. You will be in your own bed again right next to him. You will get better. You will feel happiness again. You will laugh and smile and it will be so genuine it hurts. And when this comes back, when everything gets dark again, because it always does, he will be there like he is now, like he has been. He will be there. Because when he made a promise to you, he made it to all of you. The good parts, but the bad parts too. The scary, mean, lying parts. The parts that tell you you aren’t worth it, that you won’t be missed. He’ll spend every day proving them wrong.

[futurewife]

Ven please, I'm begging you to go to therapy. Your posts hurt me so much cause I recognize myself and people I've loved in them and I always wanna say smth to make you feel better but I know from experience that that only helps for a little while or doesn't help at all or can even make things worse. But you don't have to suffer like this forever!! You can get better and there is help!! And as a fellow pmdd sufferer you can get help with that too. Idk how you feel about medication but going on birth control continuously so you never have periods or using antidepressants or mood stabilizers just for the two nightmare weeks after ovulation can help so much. Please please please I worry about you and I know you can have a good life if you get help! you're beautiful and creative and you have everything you need you just have to figure out how to access it and use it and I know you can do it. I know your F/Os would want you to and I know your future real life S/Os who are waiting for you would want you to too. You deserve to be happy instead of feeling like a ghost all the time.

Thank you anon I appreciate the concern, feel a little bit embarrassed about oversharing now but you know what...sometimes you just have to say it out loud somewhere. As you would know the nature of the disorder means there's often not much that can be done in terms of talking myself out of the way it feels cause biology is so (detrimentally) overpowering and intensifies other mental health issues and generally all pre-existing negative feelings about ones' existence. The ghost analogy is apt and I've often used this to describe how I relate to life and connecting with others. now idk if I can overcome myself and thrive but maybe I could switch some things up and see if it makes it suck a little less

I was on ssris constantly for years previously (edit: and therapy on and off) before I stopped taking them but your ask has me considering intermittent dosing even if I dislike the side effects just to see what happens. I thought I could just grit my teeth and bare it (put myself to sleep between being wracked by ugly crying as I cannot stand being conscious in my own mind) every month in lieu of meds but maybe I can't rawdog slog through dark funhouse mirror evil pmdd reality on my own/shouldn't feel that I have to in order to not "lose"

I was very touched by your reaching out and compassionately disagreeing with me (lol) and it means a lot from another person with pmdd. It helps to think someone out there sees the value in me as I am right now, and that someone else is also fighting their own good fight. When you said I have everything I need I just have to figure out how to access it and use it and you know I can do it you sound just like my grandma. (<3)

[bamgyw]

i’m so sorry for this rant in advance😭. for a little backstory i’m 20 and i’ve been with my boyfriend since i was 15. he is pretty much perfect. he is supportive of my passions, he is understanding, he is sweet, and we have sooo much in common. lately ive been feeling extra lost and down due to (most likely) going off of anti depressants that i have also been on for 5 years. i feel very confused about who i am and also have been disassociating which is something ive never experienced before. ugh im so sorry this is getting so deep😭. i really do love him but im just so confused on if i’m IN love with him anymore. i mean we try to be intimate but the past few years due to body changes and stuff it’s really hard for me to find pleasure in it. when i read fictional things i definitely enjoy that (thanks father rey🫡) but it’s so hard when it’s actually real life. in the past i’ve also become like infatuated or had “crushes” on other people during our relationship but obviously of course never acted EVER on these feelings. when i would look things up people would say these things are normal so i would try not to dwell on it. but right now there is nobody that i have feelings for (at least that’s real or someone i know) yet i still feel distant from my boyfriend. our lives are so intertwined in literally every aspect and we have so many memories together. i can’t possibly imagine my life without him and it scares me thinking of a future where he isn’t the one that i’m with. life would be so different than what it has been and he is my best friend as well. the thought of us not being together devastates me. even with all of these things i can’t help but imagine my life sometimes if i were to be with other people or just be single and move some where across the world and live all of these unrealistic dreams that i have. sometimes i feel like i’m settling. not because he isn’t good enough but because it’s the exact opposite. he is too good and deserves all the love in the world. i want to be in love with him so badly. i just don’t know if i am anymore. like are these fleeting feelings that will go away or is this just my mental illness speaking?? i don’t know anything anymore. all that i know if that I actually just don’t know anything at all anymore. everything hurts so much. being an infp on top of this makes it so much worse😩. i’m not even expecting you to know an answer to this of course but i haven’t even told anyone in my life the way i’ve been feeling. i’m scared that if i say it out loud things will change. i just hurt so much every single day and this has been going on for over a month now. somehow it feels like an eternity though. thank you for taking the time to even read or respond to this😭❤️

well first off, breathe and take this virtual kiss on your forehead. mwah. this is painfully complex, which makes it very human, too. and that is good. it means we're alive and functioning. i promise that all this hurt won't last forever. it never does. we got this !!

i'm sorry for taking so long to reply to you :(, i wanted my thoughts to be somewhat meditated so i could make sense and be as helpful as humanly possible.

also, please don't apologise. you all keep apologising when you think you're bothering me or annoying me or sending asks too long WHICH IS NEVER TRUE so yeah, there's none of that in reyville. we're all really cool no matter what.

and if only the act of sharing this has been useful in the slightest, even just for the relief value of venting, then it was more than worth it and i'm really glad you did !!

first thing is the going off meds. antidepressants are bitch. i don't know which ones you were taking specifically, but usually what they do is numb you out instead of taking away your pain, right? they don't make you feel less shitty, just limit your ability to feel at all. which is fucked up, because the day you stop taking them all the pain comes to you at once. and you don't know what to do with yourself and you feel miserable and you don't even know why.

so. i'm no one and i know nothing. still. i am your friend from the internet, which is a sacred bestie bond, so i'm gonna try to be as honest as i possibly can.

but ultimately you're the person who knows yourself the best (you're literally you), so the wisest and most valuable opinion is always your own, which is fucking scary because freedom is a prison. but you're cool and i trust you, so.

so (and again, i'm not a psychiatrist i'm a rando on the internet), i think you're right when you say that going off the meds might be a reason why you're in so much pain. you need to be patient and allow your brain some time to balance the chemicals and get used to working on its own.

but beyond that, you're feeling shitty and lost, which absolutely fucking sucks. your pain is here and widespread and tangible and so we need to cope with that now !!

when you talk about that inability to feel pleasure, again, mental illness is literally crippling. so you shouldn't press yourself about not being able to enjoy getting intimate with your boyfriend. just take your time and get comfortable with yourself first.

and don't get the concepts of love and attraction confused !! you struggling a little to get turned on does absolutely not mean that you love him any less. asexual people exist, and they date and get married !!

love comes in so many different ways, even within one person. so don't be scared because things aren't as they used to. even if you were feeling great emotionally, things like this happen all the time and it's alright !! your libido might not always be on the high, and so what? and with all that's going on inside your head, it's understandable that you can't enjoy getting intimate.

i feel like i can't advise you to tell your boyfriend about this because i don't really know him and i don't know how he would react. but you do know him !! so if you trust him and you think it's safe, in time and whenever you're comfortable, talk to him. your mental health is your right and duty, but this involves him as well, so maybe he deserves to know. (and he definitely will be able to help you. more than me, at least).

the precise point of it being not real is that there is no risk, nothing to lose. you're allowed to be at your most open and comfortable. that's why fic writing is often brought up in conversations about feminist sexual liberation, because in real life there are little to none safe spaces for girls. so they, we (assuming that you share this experience) wouldn't get a chance to explore our sexuality were it not for fiction. (i rambled i'm sorry).

still, i don't think your libido is entirely broken? you mentioned only getting turned on by fiction, but that's literally so common. if it weren't, the idol industry would totally crumble.

it's pretty simple, in fiction there's no danger to the relationship, no actual commitment and no threat of failure. it's not real, it has no effect in your life. so all those worries that clog up your brain in real life and that paralyse you—do i still love him, do i love him like he deserves, what would i do without him— those ugly but very necessary parts of a relationship are just gone.

that's the beauty of literature of any genre, it's a chance to try and fail without real consequences. an exploration.

but it can also be a great source of dissatisfaction, when real life feels dull and not enough. there's a beauty to that dullness too, though sometimes it is a little harder to see. that's where the deep bond with your boyfriend comes to play.

there's the line (this is stupid, sorry, it just reminded me of it) in the intro to the new ariana grande album. "how can i tell if i'm in the right relationship? aren't you really supposed to know that shit? feel it in your bones and own that shit?"

you mentioned he's your best friend, and i think that's so cherishable. personally, i value having someone to share life with so much, (i'm terrified of being alone, and now i'm supposed to insert some lame joke to make it goofy) but i also understand that great fear of not being satisfied in that kind of traditional, unbreakable concept of relationship.

i think fear of commitment is so much deeper than people usually make it out to be. he's perfect, but is he perfect for me? no one is ever gonna make me feel this safe and loved, but also, why does it feel like it's not enough? it fucking sucks.

but there's so many external things that can be triggering all those thoughts. things neither you nor your boyfriend can control.

there's the antidepressants. there's the fact that you've been with your boyfriend since you were fifteen?? that's so fucking young, you were babies !! you don't know how to live a life without your boyfriend because you practically never have. there's the combination of everything that just results in that anxiety storm which might also be causing you to wanna run away and live a completely different life !!

whatever you do, just remember that there's no such thing as a bad choice. you have a right to be curious and want to explore other ways of life, and you also have a right to look for stability with your boyfriend. they're both scary, and there's a lot of pondering to do. but i believe in you !!

your boyfriend is so important, and he deserves all the best. but the best is almost never pretending that everything's going fine so that he doesn't get upset. loving him like he deserves might mean talking to him earnestly about everything you're feeling, or even a sincere break up.

and please don't take this as me encouraging you to break up with him. only you know if that's the right choice. i just want you to walk without guilt into whatever path you think it's the right one.

as you think about all this, love yourself a lot. that'll make everything easier. (cliché but true) you need integrity and a lot of self-respect to make the best possible decisions, for you and for everyone you love.

please try to not get anxious. to keep your head a little cold and your heart calm. if not, your fears will turn into these irrational bloodthirsty monsters and every decision will feel like it's life or death. it's not, it's gonna be okay.

talk to yourself as you would talk to dear friend, be supportive of yourself. sometimes it even helps to put yourself in a third person pov and think about your problems as if they were happening to a character !! (again, the holy power of story).

and don't hesitate to send in as many asks as you need and talk to me about anything !!

i hope i didn't make too many stupid points during this long ass speech, and i hope i didn't tell you too many things you already knew. i really want you to feel better, and i trust that you will.

be strong !! a hundred thousand kisses.

[skyfallscotland]

I’m going to put this on anon because I like to keep some privacy sometimes but I just wanted you to know how much your writing has touched me

I have chronic back pain. Yesterday was one of the worst days I’ve had in a long time. Like, couldn’t move when I woke up, took way too many meds just to stand, one wrong move from falling apart kind of pain. When it gets that bad, it even hurts my chest, my ribs, and then I can’t breathe and it fucks with my asthma and just— it was a really really bad day. The sort when I seriously question what the fucking point in all of this is. I know I have people that care and that would miss me but sometimes I can’t stand trying to be strong just for others.

So I reread Dangerous Devotion and a little bit of Fear and Flame. I cannot express how much it means to see someone struggling the way I do, and how even if I don’t want others seeing me weak it can be a kindness to stop hiding the pain. And then I saw the snippet you posted today and I just lost it. It’s fucking hard but sometimes it just takes an asshole telling you to get it together to remember to keep fighting.

You don’t have to respond to this if you don’t want to. I guess I just wanted you to know you aren’t alone in this messed up world. It’s hard and it hurts but it means so so much what you’re doing with your writing and you’re making a difference, for me at least. So thank you.

You know, when I posted that snippet just now, I wrote hold on because there are probably a lot of people who need to hear it, and it’s true, you don’t know what you might miss and who will miss you. But staring at the words, I also thought privately about how it’s a kindness to myself accepting that it’s ok to go if I have to.

I always feel torn between needing to be here for everyone else’s sake, because of how they would feel, and the struggle of knowing you’re staring down decades of agony. I’ve always thought acute diseases sounded easier, you know? Chronic pain is just one hit after the other, knowing it won’t kill you, but it will hurt and hurt and hurt forever.

This is why I wrote Fear & Flame, because I can’t conceive of a world where people manage to live in pain like this and just…carry on, perfect mental health. I don’t blame RY necessarily for not including it, she doesn’t have an infinite word count to work with, but it sucked a little; not seeing what I feel is the most pervasive aspect of living in chronic pain.

I’m so grateful I can give that experience to other people, to the ones who didn’t see themselves in Violet.

Remi is mine, but she’s yours too. I write her for us. Thank you 🖤

[noxiatoxia]

i need you guys to know that i am really sick right now and have been bed ridden for days. and my evil evil evil friend the other day, WHILE i am sick and overwhelmed already from being so sick, drops the bombshell of "have you realized if you flip episode 21 backwards it's 12..... like midnight.....like cinderella" i actually got so fucking upseti was sick and tired and stressed and then i read that i had to take a fucking xanax to calm the fuck down i couldn't handle it. i hate it here. 12. eyah, sure, episode 21, backwards is 12. sure! ok! was this intentional ? does not even matter. it is like when somebody does the thing that is racist or perhaps sexcist and it is like, well i understand you meant nothing no harm by it beut it was still bad regardless of intentions that is what this is like, even if they did not intend for the 21 to dlip to 12 and be midnight the damnage is done. honestly good allegory for the allegory itself this awhole thing was unintnetional damafe done to ME specifically. like. guys put yourself in my shoes rigth now. i am up at 4:00am i want to sleep but i have to wait 30 more minutes so i can take my meds i am on a schedule so i wont be sick anymore and instead of speanding this time watching youtube or playing video games or doing smth productive you know what, i am thinking about the carriage allegoryand about how 21 backwards is 12. 12. like midnight.....like was that intentional dude.....like the writers, they are generally clever sometimes so like i could vision it being intentional at least a little bit like SOMEbody on the staff knew what was up. i mean it will never be confirmed though it is all speculation whcih is the worst part about all of this, like the lallegory itself i get no fucking closure it is all just guesswork and shambles. and now i am #jonker mode over hwat? pumpkin anime? the only pumpkin kaoru should be doin is pumpin ' his kin ok ok........ stop with the gay cinderella shit nobody cares. see this is why i cant handle the idea of ouran season 2 or a reboot bc, it is bad either way. 1) they bring back the carriage i m done for 2) if they do nt i will be pissed off because i want it resolved so then they are just ignoring it 3) even if they bring it back and do it well i will still be traumatized like this wont ifix anything the damahes had been dealt and i ahve to live with it forever. so for my sake i hope they never remake ouran i deserve some peace and fucking rest ok at least hold out like......3 more years or something like maybe the grief will have dulled by that time. so a remake/reboot/season 2 wont be so traumatizing to me it will be like "oh, ok" you know. i feel like i had a comparison but i lost it. i dont wantch much anime tob e quite honest. can you tell im trying to kill time waiting for 30 minutes to pass it has only been 7. fuck episode 21. fuck the fact it is a 12 when flipped. fuck mifnight, the time. fuuuuuck episode 21. why coulnt it be 22 to avoid this. episod e 21 should be the name of an std

[fleshengine]

You click the button and hang up. Dead air fills the car, silent as we rumble down the freeway. A minute later you remember and go to plug your phone back in to get the music going to push back those thoughts another half hour until we get home and you can decompose in your room. Before you can hit spotify I poke the button to turn off my little Fiat's stereo. As you start to react,

"You know it's not your fault right?" I say, more as a statement than a question.

"What?"

"It's not your fault, what was done to you, what IS done to you every time you answer your mom." There's an edge to my voice that you haven't really ever heard before in our year of living together and years of being friends. Something almost mean stirs in me.

"Yeah I know, can we turn the mu-"

"I don't think you do dude." I interupt you, I feel terrible about it later. "I think you've convinced yourself that you do these things of your own free will."

"Look, let's talk about this later I'm tired."

"No, if I wait any longer I'll lose my nerve." It's true, I've thought about having this conversation a half dozen times this week alone. "I can't put up with it anymore."

"You don't have to put up with anything, I'm not asking you to."

"I care about you." My voice breaks, I pause, you see something there, a glint behind my eye, I'm holding so much back. "I care about you okay, and I can't take seeing the way that you look after she calls you, or when you ask me to come pick you up from her house."

"You don't have to pick me up..."

"Someone does! Someone has to help get you out of there when you finally can't take it. I don't care about how long the drive is, I care that I can't get there immediately. I know you don't like people feeling responsible for you and that you're your own person and all that but I do. I do feel responsible for you. I feel responsible because as far as I know there isn't anyone else who will wake you up on time for classes in the morning, who will cook you breakfast, who will hold you when you finally convince your mom to let you hang up the phone, when you ask for a ride home after things go south up at her house."

My fingers grip the wheel, only breaking to wipe tears from my eyes. The freeway extends before us, thousands of cars between us and home. The car trundles over a rougher section of pavement as we sit in silence. You don't know what to say, scared from me raising my voice. I'm afraid to keep talking, having run out of the scripts I wrote to myself in the shower.

"Look dude, I feel responsible for you because you have like the same problems I did years ago. I want to help you, in every single way I can because I'm probably not going to be there for you much longer. We've got a year left before I have to try and get my life together and you follow A to their medschool."

"I've gotta step up now because I don't know who will have the time or energy in your future. You'll have them, but med students are notoriously busy. I need you to know that there's love in the world outside romantic partners. Because I love you. I love you and I want to help you fix your problems before you move away and stop talking to me forever. I won't be able to manage if all I get is an update about how terrible your life is every six months."

I've run out of steam. The car's gas gauge ticks down another pip. A chevy merges ahead of us without signalling. I tap the brakes and sigh heavily. It's my normal heavy sigh, you used to ask me if something was wrong every time I did that sigh and every time I told you everything was fine and I just make that noise sometimes. I've since learned it's a self soothing method.

"We can turn on the music, we don't have to keep talking but like... I love you dude, you're one of my best friends and I couldn't ask for a better roommate. Please let me help you in a way that matters one of these days."

I click the button on the stereo, and your phone starts in the middle of a Chappel Roan song. I watch the road, you watch your phone. I get us home, we cry in our rooms.

[shiroi---kumo]

Hey guys, I wanted to say thank you for being so patient with me and to let you know how things are going in general.

I knocked my head against some chairs last Saturday but overall I seem okay. I think I need a fucking helmet at this point though. Lol Theo and Salem are checking on me often. Thus far, we're in the green.

Writing overall comes and goes because my night meds make it hard to focus once I take them and I generally take them around 4pm on work days. By this I mean, I normally can no longer make pretty sentences and my focus is non-existent. I just wanted you to know.

Since smacking my head in August (the concussion), writing has been difficult in general. It's hard to remember things and to keep track of threads. I struggle to write to my usual standard and my ability to stay on task and focus is nearly shot. I have good days and that's when I get lot of stuff done but lately it's been spotty at best.

I wanted to apologize for that.

I have been drawing so much because it's easier and by that I mean less straining on my brain. I don't have to look down to draw like I would traditionally and I don't have to think very hard to keep a scene going - I can just color and think about art things like lighting and toning and stuff. We've cut it back again to try to get some palette memes done because that is stopping my brain from having to think about what colors to use by limiting the palette I have access to.

All in all, I'm generally okay but there are still a few lingering things that focus, memory, composition, etc that are straining. I get neck flares every now and then and my migraines are worse than they were before but my preventive med is still generally doing it's job.

But basically, I'm saying I know I'm taking forever to write back to things and I'm not engaging as much as I used to and I am not pumping out posts like I used to but just please know it's not that I don't have interest.

On top of all this, it is an extremely hard time of year for me so depression has been HIGH. I'm working through it. It's no one's fault. It's coping with Dad's death around the holidays. (he died in '18) It's just this was Dad's time of year so everything reminds me of him. I swear it's not you guys.

I am still interested. I still love you guys. I still want to write with you. Please feel always welcome to send asks or memes or starters or what not for any of my puffs. (Cid is an honorary puff)

Guys the concussion is gone but the effects are lingering. Writing is hard now and I hate it. Sometimes it still takes me days to finish a post and other times I can just blast through it in a short time. I just didn't think it was fair to not tell you all what was going on. I'm drawing so much because it's less straining. I promise I'm still interested and I still love you guys.

Thanks for being here, I care about you all so much.

Kira

[phagodyke]

still just so so disappointed though :-(

[thatfreshi]

angst you say? how about hiding something in fear of abandonment or rejection despite the fact that people insist they like you and want to help? take that from any angle and as painful you like and resolve it any way you see fit

Went ahead and used this as an excuse to make a fic about my experiences with my autoimmune disorder. I know it's kind of specific, but I hope you guys enjoy :) Also TW for vomit

You and Mark are a little complicated. After being together for about a year, you feel like there’s still so much to uncover about each other, all the time. To most people that’s fun, exciting, even a little dramatic. You find out things about extended family members, random childhood moments that forged your lover into the person they are today. Mark digs, he looks for any piece of treasure he can find in your mind. Mainly he just lets you talk for as long as you want, and he’s found over the years that if you stay silent, people will spill all their secrets in time. It’s been a long time, almost 365 days, and you have one major piece of the puzzle left unsaid. 

Since the two of you have known each other, he’s known about the random pain, the trouble walking sometimes, the times that you’re sick for seemingly no reason. You chalk it up to bad genetics, which isn’t necessarily a lie. When you’re frozen to the touch in the evening and fine the next morning, Mark just rolls along with what you need. After all, if you don’t know what’s wrong, why should he? That is, until things began to get concerning.

One morning, you awoke to the sounds of traffic and squirrels equally skittering about. You sat up to look out the window, but you couldn’t see the squirrels, so you attempted to stand, and that’s when you fell, hitting your head on the nightstand. Mark was already awake and ran in as soon as the startling noise reached his ears.

“Y/n, are you alright?”

He goes to kneel beside you and you feel your head. No blood, but you’re dizzy, and your legs feel like bricks. 

“I- I don’t know.”

You’re honest about your illness for the first time ever, even if it’s not an explanation. You really don’t know if you’re okay. This is the worst it’s ever been.

“What happened?”

You explain how you just wanted to look out the window, you see a tear form in the corner of his right eye, followed soon by the left.

“I’m really worried about you. It seems like every month things just get worse and worse. I think you should go see someone, at least to see if you have a concussion.”

At this point you’re too sick with worry to object, especially considering you can barely walk. You nod ever so slightly.

“Okay. I’ll go.”

Mark helps you back onto the bed and he calls your doctor, who luckily has an opening in about thirty minutes. Thank god for cancellations. He gets ready enough to look presentable to the world, and helps you get some sweatpants on.

The car ride feels like it takes forever. You know he’s going to have to help you into the exam room. Your knees and hips hurt so bad. Would’ve been nice to take some meds before you left, but he doesn’t even know about everything you take. You suddenly feel violently ill, and beg him to pull the car over. You vomit in the median, knees hitting the short city-mandated grass. Something must be incredibly wrong for you to be this sick.

Fifteen minutes later, after helping you back into the car and stopping at some random fast food place to grab napkins, you make it to the doctor’s office. You don’t tell him how bad it hurts, or how you probably should’ve taken your meds that he doesn’t know exist. You just let him take you into the office and wait for your doctor.

“It’s gonna be okay, okay?”

He squeezes your hand, and you try not to throw up again. You can’t tell if the puking is from the pain or the anxiety. Before you make an assumption, your doctor calls your name, and Mark is helping you walk again. The next couple of minutes are a blur. You can’t hear anything, and Mark tries desperately to explain to her what’s going on with you. You know she’s writing stuff down, but you don’t know what either of them are saying. It’s over. She’s going to say it. He needs to know. But what then?

“Well, based on the symptoms you’re describing, it seems like she’s just having a really intense flareup.”

You perk up, finally snapping back into reality when you hear that word. Flareup. You’ve never said it to him, not even when it was about something entirely unrelated.

“What… what does that mean?”

“Well, with the disorder, it’s common after a lot of physical or emotional stress for a patient to get sick for a short period of time, anywhere from a couple of hours to a month.”

“What disorder? What do you mean? Y/n, what disorder?”

Your doctor suddenly realizes what’s going on and grabs your files.

“I’ll let you two have some privacy.”

You stare at your dangling feet.

“What does she mean?”

The fear in his voice, it’s exactly what you wanted to avoid. You wanted to be normal, not a medical case, not a dead man walking.

“I uh… I’m sick.”

“Yeah, obviously, we both know that.”

“No Mark, like, like I’m permanently sick. I have an autoimmune disorder, and I’m in pain every single day, and I take tons of meds because of it. My body doesn’t work.”

After that, your own tears finally rise up.

“What? I’ve never even… what does that mean?”

You try to start the sentence between all of the shakes and sobs.

“My immune system doesn’t work, and my joints don’t work right, and when I get sick it’s a lot worse than when other people get sick.”

He sits down next to you on the horrible crinkle paper they lay down.

“So, you’ve been like this the whole time and you just, never told me?”

“I didn’t want you to give up on me in case something might happen. I mean… this… this could kill me. And I just thought you might not wanna waste your time with someone who could just disappear.”

You fall into his side, sobbing into an unclean shirt he threw on after you fell. He wraps himself around you. For a little bit, it’s silent. Your breath evens out eventually, and you sit up, looking into his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you, I was just so scared. I didn’t want you to leave, or even worse, feel obligated to take care of me.”

He wipes away a tear and moves your hair out of your face, like they do in the movies, except he accidentally gets an eyelash stuck in your eye. You can’t help but laugh, and it gets him to smile a little.

“I don’t think anything could make me leave you. Sure, I wish you told me, and I have a fuck ton of more questions, but all I care about right now is making sure you’re okay. And if that means I’m making sure you’re okay all the way to your deathbed, then that’s just how it has to be.”

You sigh in relief, and the two of you hug a little while longer. When your doctor comes back in, she gives you some blood work to go get done and hands Mark some information to get him caught up. You thank her for being understanding, and she recommends upping your pain meds and getting some kind of mobility aid. When you and Mark get home you lay by him on the couch, letting the new pain meds kick in. Despite being exhausted, you notice his laptop screen. He’s looking up canes. You smile, kiss his hand, and drift off to sleep.

[bisexualbard-writes]

A few weeks ago in the comments section of The Miserable Art @nyxelestia brought up how much of a mess it would be if Chay and Kim’s relationship got out, what with Chay doing porn and all. So then I panicked for six hours about how I’ve doomed them, then realized that as the author I could just come up with why they’re not doomed. I thought I’d share my response here now, as kinda an epilogue epilogue to the open and honest communication series:  So first of all, I think Chay never really grows a large following. He never really spends a lot of time promoting himself to try and get new viewers, and he doesn't spend a lot of time responding to comments, or doing personal request videos, or doing much in the way of trying to retain viewers. He mostly just does whatever he wants without worrying about how much he's making off of his platform. So because of this, I think he flies under the radar a lot of the time.I think a few of the other college students/med students at various points learn about his videos, but a surprising number of them are like "oh, you're funding your way through med school? Respect, man." Gen Z's superpower of disregard for outdated notions of sexual shame or whatever. 

Chay's agoraphobia was never really about being socially awkward - his brand is being shameless after all - but more about fearing for his own safety or the safety of the people he loves. When he is worried about the social aspect it's mostly in relation to Kim and that's because things did spectacularly fall apart with Kim once before.

I also think that anyone who DOES present an actual threat to Chay's happiness and career... tends to stop being employed at that particular facility shortly after. There's almost certainly a professor somewhere along the way who tries to extort Chay for sexual favors in return for not telling the rest of the faculty about his side gig and that professor disappears before Chay’s next class with him. Chay feels a little bad about it, but also knows he's not the only one on campus with an onlyfans and those people could have also been targeted if said professor stuck around. I think after that though he does talk to Kim/Kinn/Porsche/Tankhun about how Chay needs to be able to fight his own battles, and they compromise that no one will interfere unless Chay's problem could potentially be harmful to others too, and no one is super happy about the compromise but sometimes that's just how compromises work.

So that's how Chay makes it through his years of schooling and training. And by residency he's probably too busy to update his channel regularly and it just falls to the wayside as other interests take priority.

As for Kim, that one is definitely harder if word of their relationship gets out. I do think that both of them are fairly happy to stay closeted from the public. It may be annoying that Kim can't take Chay to red carpet events, but they're both aware that there are security risks associated with being a public couple, and they're very interested in staying out of the public eye. That gets them through a number of years. And from there... I don't think Kim wants to be an idol forever. He likes the freedom and the music more than he likes having a huge fanbase and filming corny commercials. I think eventually he gives up idol!wik to become producer!wik - he settles down out of the spotlight to write music and help other young artists break into the scene. He has a soft spot for youtube kids with parents who don't support their music careers but are ballsy enough to try for it anyway. I think he still drops albums occasionally, because writing and singing is still his preferred method of communication when he's overwhelmed with emotions he doesn't know how to process. So by the time his and Chay's public relationship drops he's a little less famous, and his target audience is people who enjoy his music as opposed to people who want to try and date him. And then it's just a news cycle of "can you believe this celebrity who used to be huge is dating an ex porn star, how juicy" and then maybe some of his fans leave in a huff but the rest are like "hey are you ever gonna drop a studio version of why don't you stay, we've literally been asking for it for years"

SO that's how they get through living life on their own terms and relatively unscathed by scandal.

[scarefox]

Had to force feed Maya again and just wanted to show how I do it (she's fine now).

what happened?

I noticed the last time she ate was in the morning, she's just laying or sitting around and she refused treats -> my test to see if something is wrong, since they always take treats even if they are lazy

her body felt a bit shaky

she held her head up as if she was focusing on something. For better / controlled breathing? to act as if she's fine? (buns hide illnesses) she behaved unusual

feeling her belly it was soft, no cramping but her stomach felt empty

(hard belly and cramping are signs of constipation somewhere in their digestive system -> don't force feed !!!)

why is not eating bad for buns?

their digestive system stops moving if they stop eating for too long

the stuff in their stomach starts building gases which makes them bloating up (rabbits can't fart or burp so that's gonna be painful at minimum or turn critical)

they start feeling sick (which makes them even less motivated to eat), their body temperature goes lower, their immune system shuts down at some point

they die from it if it's not getting fixed (don't know why nature invented such a dumb system)

common causes I had with all my buns over the years

too much fur ingested due to fur changing season (clogged system -> don't force feed!!!)

did eat too much too fast (clogged system -> don't force feed!!!)

didn't eat enough (stomach starts bloating, bun feels sick and too uncomfy to eat)

tooth spikes when their teeth grow (as they constantly do) in wrong directions (force feeding is good here but teeth have to get fixed by a vet)

didn't drink enough on a hot day -> dehydration (bun feels sick and too uncomfy to eat, stomach starts bloating)

some illness or meds side effect that causes dizziness or nausea (bun feels sick and too uncomfy to eat, stomach starts bloating)

-> but I think Maya was dehydrated cause today was very hot and she's currently taking heart meds that can cause nausea and loss of appetite.

Tho she was obviously hungry / thirsty as you can see in the video. She's more or less taking the food willingly. If she hates it (like meds...) she fights back more and takes forever to swallow too. Sometimes she or Caramel lets it drip out of their mouth. But she still refused to eat the mash on her own. It's special hay & herbs powder mix + water for force feeding sick animals (sometimes I mix it with lukewarm herbal tea). The stuff in the syringe is the same just with more water to get it in.

+ I gave her some meds that eliminates the bloating and bubbling in the stomach. I had some from the vet still. But there are meds for human babies that I get usually: Sab Simplex. It works the same and you can't overdose that one. It will not cause any side effects and just leaves the body on the natural way if it's too much (tho 1ml per 1kg bun is enough).

Usually the whole treatment has to be repeated every 2h till the bun is fine again.

The way I am holding her:

it's working damn good with all my buns. I found that technique in a yt video years ago. Basically holding the upper body up, shielding their bum with your elbow and body so they can't escape backwards. And if the bun turns their head away you can stop them with your shoulder or the fingers of the holding hand. The syringe / whatever feeding tool you have needs to go inside their mouth behind their front teeth if they are unwilling to take it. If they are willing they might drink it normally from the front. You gotta give them small doses with breaks, time to swallow and to calm down too.

Oh and it's very helpful to put them on places (table, chair) that is unfamiliar to them, so they are more cautious to move fast. And they need something under their feet that makes them not slip away.

At the end I was checking her belly again to make sure it's still soft and not hard. Soft is good~ And massaging their belly helps with restarting the movement in there.

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

In this case today she basically just needed a jump start to eat & drink again. I gave her like 3 syringes full till she voiced discomfort (chattering of teeth). Right after the treatment she started eating on her own. She's fine now, is more agile again and even takes treats again.

[This is all based on my own experiences and what I learned from vets over the years. Don't do any of this if you are not sure and are inexperienced -> go to a vet then]