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turtle-steverogers · 3 years

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i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

#i did not proofread this at all so i just kNOW im going to read this back later and find a whole bunch of typos oops #stucky #stucky fic #steve rogers #bucky barnes #idiots in love #sad stevie aw

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greenbpdad · 4 years

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What are any of those disorders you said? I only know PTSD.

oh well, thats a long answer, let me see if i can be any clear

I’m sure you know anxiety and depression, so let’s start with those. GAD is generalized anxiety, its a severe case in which the person have panic attacks constantly, can cause excessive fear and unrealistic view of problems, within other common anxiety symptoms, may also cause some physical reactions, as headaches, nausea, tremors and spasms.

And there is Chronic Depression (or dysthymia) it can varies from a heavy depression to a mild depression from time to time, but it is persistent for years without any apparent cause. It’s actually pretty common.

The next one would be Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD for short), its a severe cluster b disorder. It impacts the way the person thinks and feels about themselves and others, includes self-image issues, difficulty managing emotions and behavior, and a pattern of unstable relationships. Borders have an intense fear of abandonment or instability, and may have difficulty tolerating being alone. Yet inappropriate anger, impulsiveness and frequent mood swings may push others away, even though they want to have loving and lasting relationships. It is viewed as the most painful mental illness by professionals and honestly i could never sumarize with just one paragraph, i recomend a small research if you wanna know more (or just talk to me directly, i would love to answer all i can).

I realized know i made a mistake answering you, TDAH is the brazillan acronym for ADHD (oops), im guessing you know adhd? if you dont, just ask me again and i’ll answer properly!

and lastly Madd, or Maladptive Daydreaming Disorder. Thats a controversial one, madd is not reconized by the DSM-5 (which is the main system of diagnostic classification) so it’s hard to talk about. But basically it consists of excessive daydreaming, it impacts the person’s life, they become bored with real life because it will never be like theit daydreams, and people will never be like their created characters. A madder can often forget to eat or shower and do their tasks because they are too busy in their daydream. Its really difficult to deal with, especially when the daydreams get agressive and intrusive, the madder often cant control what they gonna daydream about and it can cause aggressive reactions to unwanted daydreams. I also recommend a research if you wanna know more, its very complicated for one paragraph.

Those are the ones i mentioned, i hope i cleared some stuff! The comic is exactly to talk more about those disorders and illness to bring a little bit of awareness about it.

#long post #bpd #borderline #adhd #madd #maladaptive daydreaming #anxiety #deppression

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emeto-omo · 5 years

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I saw your post about McHanzo prompts, so I was wondering if you might be willing to write something where Hanzo takes Mcree out to eat. Mcree’s stomach feels a little funny, but he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to ruin anything, and food actually seems to help, so he winds up eating a lot, but then his stomach actually winds up extremely sick, and Hanzo has to rub it to help him burp and throw up and he’s just miserable the rest of the night because his stomach is so upset.

((Sorry it took so long, anon! I’ll also be adding this to my Ao3 too! https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmetoOmo/works ))Title: Dinner and a Tummy RubCharacters: Hanzo Shimada, Jesse McCreeSummary: It’s their anniversary, and Hanzo has made a reservation at a local hibachi restaurant. McCree, not feeling well, buries it all to enjoy a wonderful anniversary dinner with his boyfriend.

----Hanzo Shimada was not one for anniversaries. Outside of his annual visit to his brother’s shrine, he really didn’t care much to observe any. Jesse McCree, however, lived for them and it was on that premise that Hanzo found himself downstairs watching the clock, waiting on McCree to get ready and praying they didn’t miss their reservation.

“Now I’m ready,” McCree said, coming down the stairs with a shit eating grin on his face. The cowboy looked…well…pretty much like he always looked. Maybe a bit cleaner, and not wearing his usual shoulder draping. Definitely a bit rough, however, for their formal dinner plans.

Hanzo stood in stark contrast to him in black slacks, a white pinstripe button up shirt, and a blue and dark grey vest. “You are wearing that?” Hanzo asked.

“What?” McCree asked, looking down at his clothes. “These are my lucky pants!”

“There are no less than three bullet holes in them. I would hardly call them lucky.” Hanzo sighed.

“I ain’t dead, am I?” McCree retorted, a winning grin on his lips.

Despite his usually stoic demeaner, Hanzo couldn’t help but to crack a half smirk. “Come then, before we are too late and they send us back home.”

“There’s always McDonalds…” McCree reminded him, following him out the door.

----

The car ride over had unsettled McCree’s stomach, turning what had been a mild gnawing in the pit of his tummy all day had become more of a slow churn. Truth be told, he’d been so excited that Hanzo had made reservations, he’d avoided food just to be sure he would have room for dinner. Certainly some food would settle it some, right?

Hanzo wasn’t entirely into the Hibachi scene, a little too much show for his taste, but he knew that McCree got a big kick out of the theatrics. Though he had called it formal, it was truly Hanzo that was overdressed for the venue. A quiet table in the corner had been reserved for them…even after the manager had explain painstakingly that they didn’t do reservations for parties of two. It was nothing a little money couldn’t fix.

“Ya really went all out, Han,” McCree smirked, taking a seat and sitting his cowboy hat in the empty seat to the other side of him.

Hanzo sat and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. “That is what you keep telling me anniversaries are for.” He said, a bit of mirth in his tone.

McCree took in his lover’s appearance, the way a few women across the room kept shooting flirty glances in his direction, giggling to each other. McCree chuckled, making Hanzo look up at him, clueless he was being eyeballed. “What?”

“Rollin up yer sleeves like that, yer givin’ off serious Daddy vibes.” McCree joked, barely able to say it with a straight face. He knew exactly how ridiculous he sounded, and it was all worth it to see the look on Hanzo’s face.

“Daddy…vibes?” He asked confused, a slight cant to his head.

“Yeah, ya know? Daddy vibes. Them…uh…Kristen Grey feels from that Grey movie.” McCree said, watching Hanzo die inside as he butchered that.

“…Christian Grey?”

“Ah! So ya do watch those movies!” McCree said victorious. He had come down stairs one night a few months back and caught Hanzo on the couch watching 50 Shades of Grey, the archer insisting that he had simple had indigestion and was merely dozing where he sat up…McCree was fairly sure he’d been pretty intent in watching it.

“You can spend this anniversary alone, I can go back home,” Hanzo said, crossing his arms, pink creeping across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

McCree only smiled all the more. “Na, it’s alright, I won’t dog on yer terrible movie taste. Ya watch my spaghetti westerns without complainin’,” he chuckled, the fun mood making him forget about the turmoil in his tummy.

Hanzo settled into a comfortable, faux broody silence, thankful when the chef came to their table to start the show. There had been no expense spared, and before they knew it, they were given a veritable smorgasbord of food before them. Not just the fried seafood, veggies, and steak from the hibachi, but an array of sushi, some Udon, and some of the most potent sake bombs.

It was truly enough for six people, but once they got started, they would slowly work through it. McCree found himself feeling better yet the more he ate, glad it was likely just the hunger that had upset his stomach before. Three sake bombs later, he couldn’t remember that it had bothered him at all. Hanzo had only taken one, knowing he needed to drive, but was happy to get more for his lover while they enjoyed their anniversary.

“Wanna feed me?” McCree asked, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, a flirty smirk on his lips as he pushed the last plate toward Hanzo.

“I think you are likely full enough,” Hanzo found himself smiling, amused.

“I am,” McCree said, rubbing his tummy, feeling it gurgle lightly beneath his fingers. “Ain’t that what you like?”

That blush returned on the archer’s cheeks, and he looked around to see if anyone had overheard. “Here? In the restaurant?”

“Where else?”

Hanzo sucked in a breath between his teeth, readjusting how he sat as he felt himself flush with heat. He grabbed his chopsticks and began to feed the rest of it to McCree, being generous enough to let him stop to get some water to help wash it all down. McCree met Hanzo’s dark eyes as he took the shrimp, steak, veggies, whatever Hanzo would bring to his lips. “I’m so full.”

“Just a little more,” Hanzo whispered, a tenderness to his tone. “You know you have to make it home. There isn’t enough room in their restrooms here for—”

“I know, I can do it,” McCree smirked at him.

Hanzo smiled, handing him the remainder of his own Udon bowl, and instructed him to finish it off while he headed to pay the check. McCree took it in hand and began to finish it, chewing meticulously slow to make sure he could get it down.

While he waited for change, Hanzo glanced back at the table just in time to see McCree’s shoulders lurch some, a gag coming up unexpectedly as he quickly recovered. Hanzo’s heart fluttered in his chest, warm and tingling all over. He needed to get him home.

---

“Han…” McCree whined as they pulled into the driveway, the car jerking some as it pulled in.

“You made it this far,” Hanzo said tenderly, already unbuckling both of their seatbelts once he put the car in park. McCree hiccupped softly, sucking in a quick breath of air as the pressure of the belt was released from his stomach, a weak belch coming up without warning.

The archer came around to his side to help him get his door open. McCree’s mouth was watering some, and for several moments, he sat with his head between his knees hanging just over the payment while he still remained in the seat, waiting and willing the vomit to come up. “Not yet.” Hanzo whispered in his ear.

McCree whined softly but took his lover’s hand letting him help him to his feet, and ultimately back within the house. He breathed swallowed thickly as they got across the threshold, his stomach audibly gurgling, painful in its bloating. “I feel so sick.”

“I am surprised. It was a lot, but not the most we’ve done,” Hanzo said softly, crouching to help McCree out of his boots.

“I was…feelin’ sick before we left,” McCree admitted, trying to force a burp, but aborting it once it put up too much of a resistance.

Hanzo looked up. “We could have stayed home.”

McCree gave him a true, albeit miserable smiled, reaching down to release Hanzo’s hair from the bun it was in. “And miss seein’ ya flush knowin’ how sick I feel now? Nah.”

Hanzo could only smile, and reached up to unbuckle McCree’s belt, helping him out of his pants there in the entryway still. As the cowboy stepped out of his pants, Hanzo reached up to run his hand over the swell of McCree’s stomach. Rrrrruuuuuuuuurrrrrhrrrggggllllll.. his stomach audibly whined, the bubbles streaming beneath the flesh under his touch.

“God…” McCree moaned miserably, putting his hat on the hook and moving to unbutton his shirt. He just wanted free of it all, the nausea causing anxiety to climb.

“Shhh, I am here,” Hanzo whispered, kissing his tummy lightly, and standing once more, moved to help McCree over onto the couch.

“Shouldn’t…we go to the bathroom?” McCree worried, not arguing however as Hanzo helped him setting down into the soft cushions.

“I will get the trash can. No reason for you to be more uncomfortable than need be.”

McCree settled back, closing his eyes with a groan. His poor tummy felt like it was a ship adrift on the open seas, roiling to the whims of a summer storm. Just the idea of rough waters made McCree’s mouth water again, and he pressed the back of his hand against his lips, trying to hold back the flood til Hanzo returned.

It was barely a minute when he returned with a small, plastic trash can lined with a plastic shopping sack from the last time they grabbed groceries. Immediately McCree pitched forward to spit the bitterness from his lips, shuddering and giving a weak gag at the stringiness of it.

Hanzo sat and rubbed his back. “Relax. You can let it up.” He said gently, grabbing the remote to turn on one of McCree’s westerns for background noise.

Several minutes passed, filled with groaning and whining from his stomach, the bloating so painful it was almost unbearable. He squirmed uncomfortably, liquid sloshing audibly with every move, but no matter how much he willed and spit, and tried to strain a belch…nothing came up. He had broken out in a cold sweat now, and Hanzo could only watch on with a frown.

“Do you want me to rub it?” He asked softly, still in that scion-esque formal outfit. His only concern was for McCree, not worried about putting wrinkles into his expensive clothes.

McCree nodded pitifully. “Please…” he begged.

Hanzo’s hand rested firm on his stomach, just adding to McCree’s discomfort, even as he began to rub in slow circles. Once he found the bubbles, he chased them, trying to rub them away only to force a loud, wet and gurgling belch from McCree’s lips. “Mm, god..” he groaned miserably.

“Better?” Hanzo asked.

“K-keep going.”

Hanzo pressed a little harder, eliciting another longer belch from McCree, ending with a definite wetness as he spat brown bile into the trash can. He could feel it in his throat, growing like a pressure geyser, and opened his mouth. He let the drool pool and spill from his lips in a long string, his eyes watering some as he felt it burn on the back of his tongue. God, why wouldn’t it just come out?

He let his hand fall wet upon Hanzo’s and pressed in and up hard, instantly making a choking sound as he pitched forward and expelling a small gush of vomit into the trash. “There you go, let it happen.” Hanzo said comfortingly, taking upon himself to press again, forcing up a large air pocket as a burp, only for it to end in a more forceful wave of puke.

McCree was shaking now as his body took the hint, barely giving him a moment for breath before he gagged hard enough it sprayed out of mouth and nose both, and forcing viscous chunks of udon noodles and veggies to spray over the lip of the trash can and onto his lap and the floor. His veins in his neck strained as he gurgled another bunch of tangled noodles up, causing him to choke mid gag, and expel them further onto the coffee table.

Hanzo didn’t make any comment on it, just rubbing McCree’s back with one hand while the other rubbed his stomach. “I’m so sick…” McCree whispered, getting a break finally to catch his breath.

“Not feeling any relief?” Hanzo asked him, kissing his temple. “You feel warm.”

“I feel worse…if…urk….hurrrrrrrrrkkkkk.” He dry heaved loudly, gripping the trash can again. Another painful dry heave tore through on the tail of that one, and he spat a little blood in the trash from the strain.

“Bathroom. Perhaps a better angle will help,” Hanzo whispered, getting up and helping him carry the trash can. They were in for a long night.

-Fin

#mchanzo #sickfic #emeto #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #overwatch #my writing #fanfic #vomiting

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not-sure-about-this · 5 years

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Speaking of Having a Baby

I want to preface this post (just in case anyone comes across it) with I know that there are many people who struggle to conceive, who want children and cant have them, and who have dealt with a lot worse than I did in my pregnancy. This post is not meant to offend, it is my personal experience. Also, language advisory.

With that said, we begin.

Whoever said that pregnancy is magical is a fucking liar.

I found out I was pregnant in July of 2018. Right after my 23rd birthday actually. My husband and I had actually been discussing not having children at all, and had finally come to the decision that we wouldn’t have any. That was a Saturday, and on Tuesday, I sat on the toilet, peed on that stick, and looked at m husband who was on the bed waiting. “I’m fucking pregnant!”. He literally didn’t believe me. He tried to convince us both that it was a false positive. My first reaction was to look up a planned parenthood in my area. You can’t make an appointment online and it was too late at night to call. My husband was making me mad, he wasn’t saying anything that was helping, so I called my best friend at the time. “I’m fucking pregnant.” She was a lot different. She said it was going to be okay and that we could do it. I went inside from my patio and told me husband we need to have a real, serious discussion about what we should do. Ultimately we obviously decided to continue with the pregnancy.

Anywho, I find a doctor, make an appointment, yadda yadda. I was nauseas all the time, which was almost worse than throwing up all the time because at least you feel better for a little while after you throw up. I was SO HOT constantly! I mean, this is July in TN, it’s hot as satan’s asshole and then the tiny human I was growing made me even hotter. The exhaustion was a nightmare. I couldn’t get through a work day without having to lay down just to not be having to sit up in my chair anymore (thank god for FMLA).

We go on vacation in September to visit some friends. The whole week was a shit show for me. No one told me that the worst time in pregnancy hormone wise was the first trimester, and boy howdy was it rough. Up very early in the morning, every morning. Actvities all day. Cooking and cleaning up after everybody. No opportunity for naps. My feet and ankles were swollen every night. When we got home, my best friend of 12 years ended up blocking me in every way, including my phone number, because of my inability to handle my hormones and exhaustion that week. (That’s a whole other story.) ((That I will make a post about because I’ve not talked about it in detail before.)) I have struggled with depression and anxiety my entire life, but especially so during my pregnancy, and especially during the period that my friend blocked me. I remember laying in bed wanting to kill myself. Staring at my bottle of anti-depressants thinking about how I could just take them all. But I felt my daughter kicking, and my husband came home from work, so I’m still here (hooray.) After that, the gallbladder pain started, but I didn’t know that it was gallbladder pain until I ended up in the emergency room in January. They told me that not only had my daughter made me lactose intolerant (I had eaten dairy that night as well as the food that triggered my gallbladder attack) that my gallbladder was full of several stones and sludge, so I would have to reevaluate my diet to make sure I wasn’t eating any foods that triggered the attacks. So that was fun. At the end of February they told us she was very small and we would need to monitor her weekly to verify if anything was wrong.

March 28th I went for my weekly check in at 37 weeks, and I was diagnosed with hypertension and my doctor told me I would be induced the next morning. That’s a whole experience I will put in another post as well. Spent Friday-Sunday at the hospital, and had a gall bladder attack that lasted three days when I got home, so I had my gallbladder removed 12 days after giving birth (so I got a pretty sweet anesthesia nap out of it, win.)

Many people ask me when we’re having another baby, and are confused when I tell them that she is our one and done. I had a very shitty pregnancy, both mentally and physically. The physical stuff I could deal with again, but I will never be able to put myself through what I went through mentally with my depression ever again. I’ve thought about suicide in the past, but that was the darkest place my mind has ever been in.

So the lesson here is condoms break and you will not glow if you get pregnant.

#personal #pregnancy #marriage #family #baby #trigger #suicide #depression #pregnant

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buckys-little-belle · 3 years

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I’m not sure if you have emoji anons but if you do I’d love to be one. 🐣 is my fave. I’ve never really talked to you before but I really enjoy your work. If let’s me escape into the fantasy of having carers and not being sick. I’m lucky in that my family loves me and is supportive but I feel trapped. I’m grown and will have to live at home for the foreseeable future. I can’t even go to school right now because of my medical situation. I love my family and while they’re supportive of my regression, I just struggle with feeling guilty. I always envisioned the perfect normal life. It was that way until I got sick. I was top of my class, sporty, and happier. Now I eat through a surgically implanted tube in my belly. We even tried me on taking special formula orally but it didn’t work because of my throat paralysis. But it was so nice and relaxing. I want to just be tiny and cared for without pain, nausea, tubes, machines, pumps.

I’m sorry for the rant. You’re welcome to delete it but I just had to get it out. I didn’t know who to tell and you just seem really nice. I know it’s a lot though so you can ignore it.

Hi lil chickadee! Thats your nonnie name <3 I’m glad my work can help you escape reality! I cant imagine what you’re going through health wise love and I’m very sorry that you’re sick. I can sort of understand your frustrations feeling like a normal life was taken away from you, i was diagnosed with a severe case of Tourette’s disorder when i turned 16, my whole life, and everything i had ever wanted to have/be was taken away from me super quickly. Its hard and its not fair but you’re so strong and i applaud you for that. I’m glad that your family is supportive of your regression, i think that thats a really good thing to have in life, the support of those around you. But at the same time i hope you’ll be able to find someone to build a caregiver relationship with. Let’s hope they look like Bucky and have nice big arms like he does!

#chickadee #🐣 nonnie

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batplague · 7 years

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not to mention that ive also been feeling garbo bc ive been trying to write and ive been completely unable to, like i just have no energy and it's so frustrating bc i used to really, really enjoy writing and would spend hours and hours daily writing up plot stuff or drabbles or w/e and now i can hardly finish a single page. it really fckin sucks and it makes me feel absolutely worthless bc i cant do anything

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herhiddencries · 6 years

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h(ell)ospitals.

So I've been going to the hospital off and on for roughly two or a little over two years. Experiencing what they think is gastroenteritis or gastritis (but they dont even know for sure).

Recently went to the hospital again due to not being able to keep food down nor able to stop puking. Knowing it was probably a flare up. I went to three places. One kept me 14hrs without seeing a damn person, the next was one of the best drs I've ever been to at Urgent Care. Then from there -- since he was super worried it was my appendix (I also had severe pain) he had the EMS take me to another hospital an hour ish away. Where I was supposed to finally get an IV and see someone.

Big shock that it took four hours and my current boyfriend yelling for them to even give me a port for an IV. Long story short, they gave me anti-nausea and told me to go home. Lo and behold, I get sick just the same not a week or two later. Same but worse. I couldn't stop screaming in pain, vomit was dry heaving, and couldn't walk by myself. So you'd think to yourself, "maybe they'll get their heads out of their ass this time and figure it out instead of turning me away.".

Nope -- good wish though. They do an ultrasound, gave me several bags of fluids and meds though (thank fucking god). They also keep me on a heart monitor, as well as keep me over night because they scheduled an endoscopy. Getting into the room for the endoscopy the GI just wanted to inform me in front of everyone that there is weed in my system. I said, "It's been the only thing keeping me from puking and allowing me to eat. Something that a few of my other friends have been experiencing as well". He promptly doesnt give a fuck and starts acting like I'm a drug addict.

I get out of the procedure room. He continues his assholery. "You have to see me in a week. I found some nodules in your stomach and took samples. But it's probably from your drug use. You should really stop smoking pot." Sure, could he be right??? Maybe. So I stopped and almost landed my ass back in the hospital from the same thing. So instead I've been smoking until he wants to actually tell me what's going on with my body.

TL;DR

I cant eat, I want to die. GI thinks weed makes you a druggie. No one cares since I smoke weed. Probs gonna just off myself to fix the problem. Oh and FUCK THE AMERICAN HEALTH SYSTEM. THEY DONT GIVE A FUCK. And fuck America too. 🤷🏻‍♀️

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theycallmetubeless · 7 years

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001. (b)

Since its been so long since my original endo post, I decided to start over. And to start from the beginning. So here it goes..

Age 11 : Seventh grade.

Starting middle school was exciting for me. I was homeschooled through sixth grade, so it was nice to go back to school with my friends. Despite my excitement, my body was slowly figuring out other plans. I would go home early weekly for nausea, stomach pain, headaches – all generally unexplained. Me and the school nurse got pretty close. I’d go to her office and she would pretty much ask me, “Advil? Or do you just want to go home?” You could tell she was skeptical but, I looked miserable, kinda hard to argue with it. Teachers would get frustrating with my sleeping in class, but it wasn’t out of disobedience, it was merely out of necessity. And they could only argue with my grades so much because I was doing so well. None of this drew many red flags, just assumed to be a preteen on her way into puberty.

Age 13 : Summer pre high school

Good old mother nature decided to bless me on the wonderful summer when I was on my way to high school. From my first cycle, the pain was terrible. But that’s what you’d expect right? Bleeding from the inside out, all you ever heard was about how cramps sucked and methods to manage them. So I managed. I started high school at a vocational high school where you graduate certified in a trade. I was going for Cosmetology, and we had to go through an interview process before being accepted into a trade. During my interview I was questioned on my attendance record.. At a vocational school attendance is less lenient than public school due to the fact that each certification program requires a specific amount of hours. I had missed almost double the amount of days allowed. Despite my 4.0 GPA, my health had started to take a toll on my life path. I knew I couldn’t promise to miss less days, because with my body was starting to show me it wasn’t set up that way. So by the end of Freshman year, my health had pushed me to transfer to a public school despite my goals.

Age 14 : Summer pre sophomore year.

I managed to convince my mom to make me an appointment with her GYN because this pain was not going away, and the irregularity had moved towards being regulated 0% … The GYN summed it up to dysmenorrhea (bad cramps) and sent me away with birth control and advice on how Advil and heating pads can be helpful.

Age 14 – 16 : Sophomore & junior year.

Throughout this time I went through multiple birth controls, none helping the pain. I had moved from Advil to prescription strength Naproxen three times daily. And I had to pay attention to when my cycle would come because I would have to start my pain medicine 3 days prior, because if I waited until it actually started, the pain would already be too far gone and I would get no relief. I got switched to Seasonique birth control because my GYN decided since we couldn’t stop the pain, we’d just have me get the worst of it as little as possible. In addition to the ever so painful lady blessings, I began to be greeted with daily nausea, irritable bowel, daily pain, weight gain, severe fatigue. I could not understand why this was so awful, but it got swept under the lovely diagnosis of Dysmenorrhea. Since its impossible to know what other women’s cramps feels like, its hard to tell what’s normal and what isn’t. Both years I always used the maximum amount of sick days allowed by the state, my junior year I actually had to appeal my classes because I had missed more than the maximum amount..

Age 17 : Senior year.

Less than a month into my senior year I ended up in the ER because I was unable to eat without excruciating pain for two days. Even drinking was borderline unbearable. I spent the day getting scans, and tests. The ER docs summed it up to acid reflux, and sent me home with some type of gerd medication. When I continued to follow up with a GI doc – all his testing concluded “chronic constipation” I was just full of shit. That was my problem. So I started getting treated for that and again, brushed under the rug. I managed to graduate, again, missing the maximum amount of sick days. I had lost most of my friends because I was miserable from feeling so awful all the time, many didn’t believe me. I was 45 pounds heavier than when I started freshman year. But as usual, nothing medically was wrong with me.

Age 18 – 19 : Post graduation.

I started beauty school just as I turned 18, and was beyond excited. The program was based on hours, and quickly I realized how my health was going to play a part in this new journey. I was still battling this horrible pain, and many other symptoms, and trying to live a normal “full time” life. What 18 year old wouldn’t expect to be able to do such? It took me an extra month to graduate because of how much time I had missed. And with another year going by and my pain not changing I finally made a new appointment with my GYN. I was a week past 19, and I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I went into this appointment with a mission and that was for someone to finally listen to me. I explained my continued symptoms of pain, fatigue, nausea, constant weight fluctuation. But this time, I had a new symptom to lay out to her, one that I knew for a fact was abnormal.. I had met a boy after graduation and while getting into a serious (teenage) relationship with him I became sexually active for the first time in my life. They tell you it’ll hurt the first few times, ya know, getting used to it or whatever they want to call it. But this pain was not a soreness, it was stabbing. In my low pelvic region and lower abdomen. I was unable to have sex without severe pain during, and then hours of stabbing pain afterwards. Curled up in a ball, unable to move pain.. My GYN finally decided to look at everything again. By the end of that visit, I was told to take my birth control continuously (no placebo pills) and I was given a 3 month follow up, and I was given a word that could potentially explain all my suffering : ENDOMETRIOSIS.

December, I went back for my follow up. The pain had not changed, or subsided. Next step was to officially get my diagnosis, in order to do that, I got scheduled for surgery in February. That surgery gave me an answer to why I felt so terrible, and it hushed part of my mind that was starting to believe I really was imagining it all to be worse. So endometriosis treatment began. Now, this treatment isn’t curing, its not guaranteed to help, and it can come along with its own lovely rap sheet of side effects – but its goal was to manage the endometriosis hoping it wouldn’t get worse. Though relieved I got a diagnosis, treatment began and I started to wonder if it was any better. I was put through a medically induced menopause. Then put on hormone medication to ensure I wouldn’t get osteoporosis at the age of 19.. At that time you could only be on the medication for 6 months at a time. So I was in menopause for six months, and then put on a high dose of birth control, no placebos, so ensure my time of the month, wouldn’t show up.

Age 20: June.

I had been through my endo treatment for just over a year now. While on my family vacation in North Carolina, I ended up at the medical aid unit because I thought I was having bad UTI symptoms. The MAU found blood in my urine, but no trace of infection. At this point, they started to worry and question me about pregnancy. I said “if its not a UTI, its just my Endometriosis” – they looked at me like that was such foreign word. And insisted I couldn’t leave until they had a negative pregnancy test, because they thought I was having an atopic pregnancy due to the blood and the severity of my pain. Once the test was negative, they reluctantly let me leave, and advised if anything got any worse I was to go to the hospital on the island. Instead I just slept for almost 24 hours. I spent an entire day of my vacation sleeping because it was the only way the pain wasn’t bothering me. Once back home I had a new appointment with my GYN, she suggested we redo the treatment we did before, but I refused. It obviously hadn’t worked the first go around, so why try again? She had nothing else for me and finally referred me to an endometriosis specialist.

Age 20 : late summer.

After seeing the specialist, I was put back into menopause and on hormones, and I was on track for my first excision surgery. In November I had my first surgery. Waking up I felt relieved, despite being in pain from surgery some of it had subsided. I thought finally, some light at the end of this long ass tunnel. My Dr explained that my endometriosis was type 1. Type doesn’t determine severity, just how it acts. Mine acts like saran wrap and sticks all my organs together, and then to the sides of my abdominal cavity. It can be one of the most painful types. I really thought after this surgery I would be free. But… then insurance decided I could only be in menopause for 6 months on this medicine, then I had to come off.. I eventually had to go through the actual company that made my injections to get assistance. That lasted for 1 year. By this point, my endo had caused me to step out of being a hairdresser because physically I was unable. I couldn’t stand that long with my abdominal pain, and just the chronic fatigue was enough. My body was unreliable, and you cant have a career as a hairdresser under those circumstances. So I stumbled through retail, constantly being late because I overslept for shifts, being exhausted, and just plain old being in pain..

Age 22: Spring.

My financial support for my injections had ran out, my dad had passed away, my insurance had changed, and I ended up off all of my medication, no hormones, no birth control. My last dose was at the end of April. By the beginning of July I knew everything was coming back with a vengeance. All of my symptoms returned and continued to worsen as time went on.

Age 23 : Fall.

I got a job working in a doctors office as medical assistant, it just so happened to be my primary care office. When I got hired, I didn’t realize how lucky this opportunity was for me, and for my health. Severe unexplained abdominal pain landed me a nice overnight trip to the ER. I was given pain meds, scanned, and left with a diagnosis of “an unexplained muscle issue.” Luckily that didn’t come back. But it came with more scans showing cysts on my liver and kidney which could have potentially caused the problem, or not.. and whatever caused them? Who knows. By December I was back in my specialist’s office, starting back on new hormones, and on my way to surgery #2. This menopause inducing hormone was different, a nasal spray. It caused severe headaches, metal taste in my mouth and throat all day. It was awful. Eventually we got my old menopause hormone injections approved. 1 month after restarting that, I got scheduled for surgery. March 3rd, 2017. My second endometriosis surgery, this one also included removing both of my fallopian tubes (this can reduce risk of cancer in women with endometriosis). Again I left feeling the same as I did the first time. And at my post-op it was explained that it had come back almost just as bad. I needed to stay in medical menopause until I wanted to try and become pregnant using IVF therapy..

Age 23 : Post surgery to current.

My pain and symptoms never fully stopped no matter what treatment I was in. I had developed constant body aches, muscle fatigue. My abdomen is still filled with scar tissue and organs that will never sit right where they’re supposed to be ever again.. My boss (also my primary care doctor) decided to start taking my pain treatment into her own hands since my Endometriosis specialist had pretty much thrown her hands up in surrender when I insisted I was still in so much pain. I had loads of blood work done to check every level in my body – all functions fine. I was a Urologist-Gynecologist, he insisted my endo caused no lasting damage to my urinary system. I got put on medication for nerve pain, was given a 10 pill supply of Percocets for the days when my normal meds weren’t enough. Medication for bowel spasms from all my intestines still being mildly stuck together. Finally – my boss and I realized there was no way Endo was the only thing I was dealing with. My chronic fatigue was very abnormal, and I have had episodes of nodding off while driving since I was 17 (but my fatigue used to be summed up just to my Endo). I was referred to a sleep specialist. One sleep study later, and I’m on my way to number two. My sleep specialist diagnosed me with narcolepsy. Unfortunately due to certain meds I was on, the test could only conclusively prove severe Hypersomnia, within dangerous range. I fall asleep in under 40 seconds.. it takes the average human between 3 and 7 minutes to fall asleep…

So now, I’m in a struggle. I’m titrating off of my antidepressants, and my nerve pain medication so that I can retake the sleep study and get my actual diagnosis. I’ve started meds, and yet I’m still managing to fall asleep all the time: nod while driving, sleep through everything, fall asleep at work. I’m lucky that I have an understanding boss or else I would be jobless.

I’m 3 days away from being 24 and I have a disability, a chronic illness, pain PTSD, and chronic depression from constantly having to battle my own body. When I got my diagnosis at 17, I thought I was on my way to normalcy. I had no idea…

I’m currently at the point where my health has taken away dreams from me, my time, my energy, my money, my friends – and so much more. And the reality of it is, I’m still just getting started in the diagnosis process. Once the sleep specialist has me stabilized, I can finally move to a Rheumatologist to figure out my muscle issues. That could land in a muscle biopsy, more scans, more bloodwork, more waiting. I was in nursing school, and I’ve now had to take off two semesters because I physically cannot go to school and work. I cant even manage to stay at work all 40 hours a week. I get sent home weekly due to my symptoms being too much for me to handle. I’ve gotten harassed by coworkers because when your illness/disability are invisible, if someone doesn’t understand from a personal level, then it all looks fake, exaggerated, whatever.

That’s a rough background on the last 12 years of my diagnosis journey, that is still no where near over. I want to be able to use this as a log, an outlet, and possibly inspiration for other to listen to their body and fight for it. You know how you feel, you know when something is wrong and when no one else will stand up for you, you MUST be your own advocate. It took me yelling at my doctor at 19 for her to finally take my pain seriously. She knew my symptoms for years, and brushed it under the rug, didn’t think to look for other reasons.

To my fellow spoonies, always remember, we’re not alone. You’ve gotten this far, you know you have the strength to move forward despite feeling every possible negative emotion.

#spoonie #endometriosis #narcolepsy #chronic illness #living with mental illness #living with disability #pain ptsd #fuck big pharma #healthcare is not a business #only human

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