#the nerve problems have gotten much much worse in the last year or so

[nightingale-prompts]

Finding Batboy

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Phantom

King

Fenton

Apprentice

Batboy

He just wanted to be Danny. Just Danny, nothing else.

But who was Danny anymore?

Danny was a 14-year-old boy who died in a tragic accident. Danny had a decent life with friends and a sister who he loved. Danny wanted to be an astronaut and loved the stars. Danny had an astrology phase that made him so annoying to everyone but Sam. Danny liked dogs and cats hated him for no reason no matter how much he loved them. Danny wanted to join the robotics club with Tucker. Danny still snuck into his sister's room when he was scared to sleep in her bed.

But Danny is dead. Danny has been dead for years now.

He missed being Danny.

Now he was Phantom.

No past.

No home.

No family.

But if that was true, what did that make Dick?

Just another person that he would have to leave behind. It wouldn't be long. History doesn't repeat but it rhymes. It can't last. It won't.

Danny flew to some abandoned factory located somewhere in Gotham. He hadn't really paid much attention. He just needed a desolate place to land. Somewhere even the ghosts have long abandoned.

Truthfully Danny didn't want to be alone. A part of him felt the urge to find that revenant that he had met. Something that felt familiar to him, someone that could understand.

But right now Danny wanted to rest and he wasn't picky about where. He wrapped his wings in a tight cocoon and plopped on the ground. His sleep was deep, more than he ever remembered having before, except once.

Danny walked through the halls of a spiraling tower that overlooked the Ghost Zone. The tower was decorated with stars and moons. Mist hovered just above the floor creating a icy blue carpet. Ghost sheep napped in corners. The scent of poppy and pine filled the air.

As Danny ascended to the top he met with a familiar face. Nocturne the ghost of dreams. The ghost's thick bridged nose reminded Danny of that of a sheep that matched his curled ramhorns. His red eyes with horizontal pupils reminded him of a demonic ram he had seen in a horror movie once. Danny could practically hear that line again: "Would thou like to live deliciously?"

It still gave Danny chills.

"Please refrain from making such comparisons." Nocturne said, his voice deep but soft at the same time.

Danny had gotten to know Nocturne some time ago. Apparently, he and Clockwork were close. They shared a high rank among ghosts as they were abstract manifestations rather then being that were once living like some. The hierarchy of ghosts was complex, and Nocturne was not someone to look down on.

"Nox, why am I here?" Danny said standing before the seven-foot frame of the amorphous ghost.

"You are spending too much time in the material realm. If you don't get time back in the realm to which you belong you'll go mad. It's already starting to happen. I stole your mind away for a bit to give you a mental break but your body is already starting to break down." Nocturne said waving a finger at him.

"My body and brain are fine Nox." Danny said crossing his arms.

Nocturne picked the boy up with one hand and held him at eye level.

"You are having trouble shifting are you not? Its not coming as easily as it should. The more attached you get to a form without the energy from our world to break it up the worse it will be. The Ghost of Time has already told me of the problem. You must stay here for the time being and recover. It is what's best. Mental weakness is the worst one can suffer and the remedy is sleep." Nocturne's breath smelled like warm milk and cinnamon. It calmed Danny's nerves and made his eyes heavy.

Clockwork had put him up to this. That old man...really was....annoying....Zzzz.

Back in the world of the living and awake mass panic has broken out.

Batboy is currently missing and Nightwing is not handling it well. The entirety of the Gotham Vigilantes team has been notified and is searching the cities of Gotham and Bludhaven.

"Have you searched the docks?" Nightwing asked frantically as he searched every rooftop in the city.

"I'm working on it. Do you really think he's here?" Red Robin said scanning every unit on the lot.

Red Hood didn't know what the BatBoy kid looked like other than the whole wings thing. If his little buddy Phantom could help it would help.

Although they had a slight resemblance Jason could see too many differences when looking at the pictures. Phantom had round ears, and silver hair that moved like fire and looked like a human. Batboy had long sharp ears, claws, pointy teeth, blueish-green skin, wings, and a white fluff around his neck. Clearly, they were different.

Batman searched the dark allies of Gotham as Signal and Orphan split up to cover as much ground as possible. Oracle searched every camera from the past few hours for the boy.

The good news was that Batboy was found. The bad news was who found him.

"Poor little Bluebird lost his fledgling and Batsy is looking for the lost pup. I should let them know that the little guy has been found! Ahahahaha!"

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

A/N: Small piece of filth, hope you enjoy ❤️

“Driving me crazy. Don’t know why you do that.” Another bit of babbling you-speak, poured out in waves, interwoven through your whines and moans, Steve notes. Or rather, tries to, given the predicament of being on his back as you use him to your satisfaction.

You’d stared him down like he was prey for the last several months, always shaking your head, clicking your pen until it broke. Then there were the signs that made Steve realize, with a lopsided smirk (that only made it worse), that you weren’t in fact mad at him, not in a serious way anyways. Your hitch in breath every inch closer that he came to you, the way you melted into him if he just brushed by you, or how your legs would tighten, feet would bounce, to the way that you’d chew on your fingertip when he was bent over putting stock out and he knew exactly what you were looking at. When he talked about dates or flirted with girls that came in, you’d roll your eyes and be obnoxious in the background to sabotage unknowingly, but he found it endearing. And when he bought himself his new diamond chain to go with his mustard colored shirt for the fancy dinner in Indianapolis the older kids had all gone to, your public exasperation is partially what led to the moment.

It wasn’t until the following Monday that it exploded in full. Steve was at work on your shift, you were dealing with a sore wrist after his ensemble at Saturday’s excursion. And the stupid bastard had the nerve to wear that blinged out piece of jewelry beneath his button up, all black polo. You slammed a stack of video tapes down and had blew out a rough breath, working your way around the counter to ask Steve ‘what the fuck his problem was?’ And in truth, he’d worn the chain again just to gauge your reaction, before making his move. Sure, you’d been close friends all up in emotional arms for years, but the sexual tension was more alive than ever and could no longer be ignored.

With one hand on his waist, the other propped on the counter, he grinned lazily at you, fresh highlights looking perfect with his grown out tresses under the cheap lighting, jeans tight on his toned legs and perfect ass.

“Oh my god, Steve! You’re just… You’re —“

“I’m what?” He’d said, folding his arms to accentuate his biceps.

Your jaw had dropped rather comically and Steve is pretty sure you whimpered in defeat. You were caught.

“You know what you are, shithead. And I can’t take this shit anymore, it’s too much!” You’d gotten closer, talking with your hands. How Steve loves your hands. And you gave pause, brows pinched. “Wait, is that new cologne?”

Steve had pulled his shirt out to bare thicker chest hair, shrugging. “No, same ol’ stuff.”

“Can you stop, please?” You had sounded completely out of it, your pupils blown, leaving your beautiful eye color a thin ring, nearly transparent to the aroused abyss he’d created.

“Tell me what I’m doing, honey. Can’t stop if I don’t know…” Steve reached out with a finger, his confidence having greatly improved the last year within your friendship, and he traced down your cheek.

“Oh, shit.” Was all you could come up with.

With his thumb pressing at the corner of your mouth, massive hand cradling your jaw, he’d unraveled the knot with, “It’s okay if you say you want me, baby. Because I want you, too.”

~*~

Your hand looks small in comparison to his large girth, shining with what you’d slicked him up in, your babbling from before, slowly fading. His mossy orbs have shattered, their shards prickling you in an electrical stimulation, on you everywhere. His massive hands pinch your plush waist, every tendon visible on his jugular, his throat contracting around a harsh swallow as your fist around his base meets your body - seating him fully inside you. It hurts so bad that you welcome him to see the tears, see the glistening mess of your cunt spread open around his cock, cream bubbling in his base and smeared across his happy trail. You’ve never felt this before, this power, this safety, this want, this love.

Steve tosses his head back as your hips give an experimental rise and fall, sweat soaked backs of your knees feeling the pressure. He’s inside of you so deeply that you can barely move, his length dragging, pushing against every inch of your walls. You’re overcome in the moment and grab his big paws, curling his thick digits around your breasts and holding them together as you begin to roll your hips, never taking your eyes off him. He let out a moan that vibrates through you, his bed beginning to squeak beneath your rocking. His neck is visible again at this, scars beneath the chain, sweat glittering around and beneath the links, every freckle, every mole there, making him Steve.

Your movements have briefly slowed and he realizes, eyes open as you’re staring with this smirk. He gives your nipples a flick and releases, linking hands, to bring yours to his and kiss each knuckle he can get his mouth on. That’s when he’s flipping you with ease, knees sliding underneath your thighs, hands pinning yours to the bed as his nose finds your lashes, mouth planting his words across your lips; cinnamon breath spray, coffee, and cigarettes ghosting with each hot breath, “Don’t get too cocky, honey.”

On the break away, his chain sways forward, links getting caught on your lips. You take the jewelry into your mouth, sucking on the taste of the material, Steve’s chest tufts drag along your breasts as he fucks you on him with an ease so slow, that you can’t find cohesive speech for the rest of the night.

// Eat me paragraph //

[missmaywemeetagain]

A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving 💗🧣🦃

A very happy Thanksgiving weekend to those who celebrate! ❤️

This blurb came out of nowhere, in a fit of Thanksgiving inspiration (and a special thanks to Norah for inadvertently nudging me towards a Thanksgiving prompt)! Because of this, it is not overly edited or revised. I will say, I'm not sure yet just how canon I want this to be in terms of the PS Universe, but I figure it came out of me for a reason, so I decided to go with it for now. 

I think my current moody headspace influenced the vibe for this--for us fans, it's a slightly indulgent "what could have been" scenario. But that's PS in a nutshell, isn't it?  🥹

Anyhoo, I hope this hits you in the feels! And I hope you know just how much you matter to me, even though I've been a bit MIA recently. 

Much love xoxoxox, Madi 💗

TW: It's 1977, so...medical issues/trauma/strife. Panic attack. Thanksgiving stress. A little hint of sexy at the end bc I couldn't leave you on a melancholy note! 💋

A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 1977

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. P, but the oven is out. Lamar took a peek, but the thing is as cold as ice and don’t look like it’s gonna be warm any time soon,” Mary says, looking as distraught as you feel. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner.”

The naked, trussed, and cold turkey on the counter mocks you.

“No, no, it’s not your fault, Mary. We’ll…figure something out,” you try and reassure her, but it feels like a weight has just been placed on your chest. You pinch the bridge of your nose to stave off the massive headache that began early this morning when Nicky barged into your room at the crack of dawn sobbing because he’d had a nightmare that Mr. Gobble Gobble, a monster turkey, had eaten Daddy instead of the other way around.

This was one of many nightmares that your poor little boy had suffered since August, but certainly the first starring a murderous Thanksgiving turkey. He’d barely been consolable and neither of you had gotten back to sleep.

You take a deep breath, holding back the tears that threaten your vision.

Today needs to be perfect. It was supposed to be perfect.

But you should have known. After all, this year has been far from perfect.

You force yourself away from the wave of despair trying to overcome you. No, we’ve been lucky, you think. It could be so much worse.

Unfortunately, your nerves are shot, which makes sense considering the last few months you’ve had. You’ve kept it together so well. You’ve had to. For Nicky. For Elvis. But that tried resolve begins to crumble with the pressure of it all, as though everything that has happened is hitting you all at once.

Now you have a house full of hungry people, Elvis will be home any minute, and your usual quick-footed problem-solving skills have flown out the window. Your hands begin to tremble.

The panic swells as the kitchen swarms with people looking to you for direction, and in that moment, Nicky runs through the adults, chased by one of the other kids. It happens so fast—you barely have time to register the commotion before disaster strikes.

You watch in horror as the kids fly into the sideboard, knocking the precious side dishes and desserts onto the floor with a resounding crash.

The collective gasp of the adults in the room sends your panic into overdrive.

Thanksgiving is officially ruined.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you shout. The entire room goes silent. It’s not everyday Elvis Presley’s calm and collected wife loses her shit. No, that is something usually reserved for the man himself.

“Well, that’s not quite the welcome home I was expecting,” a familiar baritone chuckles from behind you.

You whip around, your bottom lip quivering. “Elvis?” you whisper.

He’s standing right here—standing! On his own!—leaning on his cane for support, a twinkle in his eye that you haven’t seen in ages. One you weren’t sure you’d ever see again. And the sight of him finally being home again after so many months in the hospital is more than you can bear. After standing tall and strong for him for so long, you crumble into a thousand pieces. An uncontrollable sob chokes out of you, your tears overflowing.

“Aw, honey,” he says quietly, slowly making his way to you, waving everyone else out of the room with the commanding flick of his hand. They exit in a flash with their concerned and pitied looks. Not that you care, because the second you can, you are falling into your husband’s open arms.

“I’m so sorry…your homecoming…it’s all ruined,” you sob into his chest, being mindful of the long scar down the center. Feeling the warmth of him engulfing you is overwhelming. His scent, untainted by antiseptic and hospital smells for the first time in a long time, swirls around you, caressing your senses.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. Let it all out, Satnin,” he coos, stroking your hair with his free hand. “Hers has been so strong for hims, but hims is home now.”

The tenderness of his baby talk in your ear sends a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, staining the silk of his blue dress shirt. He’s dressed up, you think absently, knowing this is a huge thing. Even before that fateful August morning, he’d been mostly wearing his tracksuits when he wasn’t performing. He’d been so uncomfortable and in pain, you’d understood why.

You bury your head into his neck, pent up emotions violently shuddering through your body as you let your tears fall freely for the first time in months. You can barely breathe with how you wedge yourself into him, with how he holds you tight. He’s so much slimmer now that the edema is gone and his colon has been tended to, you realize, but he’s still soft in all the right places. You still fit against him perfectly, and his grip on you makes you realize he understands just how raw you are.

You cry more, thinking about how the last time he was here was when you’d found him unresponsive on the bathroom floor. How you’d never been so scared in your entire life, not even when you yourself had brushes with death.

It's a miracle he’s here at all. None of you, doctors included, were sure if he’d ever step through the doors of Graceland again. Not after the heart attack, or the coma, or the complications from his various surgeries. It had been one blow after another, for weeks, months. But somehow, in true stubborn Elvis fashion, he’d pulled through.

He’d gritted his way through healing, through physical therapy, through weaning off so many of the meds he’d been on before and during his hospital stay, and he hated every second of it. He’d been livid about the colostomy, but you’d had no care for his vanity when you’d had to make the decision to save his life. You didn’t care if he hated you because at least he’d be alive to tell you so. He’d gotten past it, mostly, especially once he was feeling better.

The entire ordeal had terrified him. Something had changed in him in those weeks he’d lingered between life and death, something he wasn’t ready to talk about just yet, but even with all the setbacks, his determination to come home was intensely motivating.

Which is why you’d wanted it to be special, and why it being Thanksgiving had so much meaning. Elvis was finally coming home. Then everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.

“I wanted everything to be perfect for you. You deserve it,” you say quietly, sniffling, holding him as tight as you dare without wanting to hurt him.

“Darlin’, just bein’ back home with you and Nicky is more than I ever dreamed of. I don’t need no big fancy dinner or welcome home committee. I jus’ need you.”

You pull back then, your heart about ready to burst, and look at him. He looks downright debonair with his silvery hair (which you’d convinced him not to dye back after it had grown out during his illness), freshly cut and shorter than it had been in years, fluffy but brushed back off his face in a style reminiscent to when he was younger. His apple cheeks are full and have more color than they’ve had in months.

“What?” he asks looking down at you, almost bashful under your gaze.

You reach up and cup his freshly shaven cheek, smooth and soft under your palm. Those deep ocean blue eyes of his threaten to swallow you whole. Staring into their depths, you don’t want to imagine a world without him in it anymore.

“I just love you,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out without choking up again. “So much.”

Eyes shining, Elvis pulls you up and into him. His lips are as sweet and as soft as you remember when they press into yours. The kiss is full of yearning, of love, and of everything you two have been through the past twenty years. It’s truly like coming home.

The kiss turns hungry then, more so than you expect. It’s been so very long since you’ve had each other in this way and it surprises you how readily your body remembers, despite all the pain and trauma you both have experienced. You open for him, and he moans when his tongue brushes against yours. A fiery wave of heat blisters through you then, hastily banishing away your tears.

Despite all the challenges you’ve faced over the years, you’ve always felt the pull of him in your soul. You’ve always wanted him, neededhim, even when you convinced yourself to forget because you thought you couldn’t have him. And now, after almost losing him for good, you can think of nothing else but him. The warmth of his body pressed against yours causes you to melt. The way his lips and hands roam over the curves of your body sends you soaring.

You thought you’d never have this again. It had almost broken you.

“I’m here, baby. I’m home, I promise,” he mutters into your skin, as if reading your mind.

You kiss him deeply, yanking him into you by his pretty shirt, taking his breath away.

He pulls away and presses his forehead to yours, and you can feel him sway on his feet, a little unbalanced.

���Good news—looks like Little Elvis is back in working order,” he says breathlessly, pressing his thickening erection into your belly. He seems pleasantly surprised.

Honestly, with everything dire that happened, it hadn’t even crossed your mind as a concern, but it makes sense that it could be an issue. You grin up at him with the knowledge that it isn’t, then roll your hips against him.

He groans. “Bad news—not sure I have the energy to do all the things I wanna to ya, and we got a house full of people.” Doesn’t stop him from grabbing a handful of your bottom, however.

“Oh, that’s never stopped us before, now has it?” you muse, walking your fingers gently down his chest and over his belly to palm his length.

“Lord have mercy, woman,” he moans, his eyes fluttering closed. You notice him lean more heavily on his cane and instantly ease up. One blue eye opens with a quirked brow. “Hey now, I din’t say stop.”

You laugh. “Well, it seems dinner is ruined anyhow,” you say, surveying the disaster of broken dishes and scattered food all over the floor, and the cold, raw turkey on the counter. “Maybe we better get you upstairs to rest.”

Rest is, of course, the furthest thing from your mind now, which you let him know with a little squeeze to his butt.

“Mmhmm, yes, I definitely need to lie down,” he mumbles as he peppers you with kisses. Suddenly, he freezes against you. “But, honey, I-I-I’m not sure how much I can do,” he whispers, a wave of uncertainty washing over him.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll take it slow. Real slow. One step at a time, like fumbling teenagers,” you say lightly, cupping his face and looking up into his eyes. “Or we can just kiss and hold each other. I’m just happy you’re here, baby.”

He nods, seemingly reassured by this. “I know I don’t say it as much as I should, but I thank God every day for you and for what we have together, Satnin,” he says quietly, brushing your hair behind your ear, kissing you gently. “I love you.”

Your heart and body ache for him. “We better get you upstairs to “rest”before I start crying again,” you snuffle, laughing, slowly walking with him toward the stairs.

“Well, tears aren’t entirely off the table…I can think of a couple good ways I can make you cry,” he teases, nibbling at your ear.

“Elvis Aaron, you did not just…” you gasp.

“What??” he says innocently. “Am I wrong?”

A shiver runs down your spine and settles in the heat of your belly.

You’ve missed him. Terribly.

But you do have so much to be thankful for this year, namely for the infuriatingly talented, generous, and stubborn man you married and are gingerly leading up the stairs for the first time in months.

In fact, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

*

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[bbcphile]

Today is my one-year anniversary of my neurosurgery!!

I had tethered cord syndrome--basically, where your spinal cord is stuck to the spine, so things like breathing, moving, and general existence tug on your brain, spine, and entire nervous system and can cause pretty bad nerve damage.

By this time last year, it was bad enough that sitting up for longer than 10 minutes made my spine burn like it was on fire, I couldn't do "basic" things like emptying the dishwasher without having to sleep for the rest of the day, I was losing my ability to walk, and my brain fog was too all-encompassing for me to do much but sleep--the idea of writing ANYTHING more than emails to my medical team, especially fiction or meta, was laughable.

I was miserable and also terrified that this surgery--which had the potential to cause other threatening problems--was the only thing that might give me hope for a future that contained more than watching my body and mind break down and die.

My amazing neurosurgeon had warned me that the goal of the surgery was to prevent things from getting worse, but that if I was lucky, I might regain some function, and that many people see dramatic improvements by the one year post-surgery mark, and that these improvements can continue up through the end of the second year post-surgery.

The recovery from the surgery in the hospital was absolute hell, but even then, despite the 10/10 pain, I could tell that my brain wasn't being yanked by the tether like an obnoxious elementary school boy pulling on pigtails anymore.

And things have only gotten better since then.

I can do chores around the apartment again, I can sit and walk more easily, much of the nerve damage in my lower half has healed, and I'm now even able to write for up to 8-10 hours a day again, which was something I didn't think I'd ever get to have back in my life.

And I'm still having improvements, and my neurosurgeon is optimistic they will continue.

I know there will be flares of my other chronic medical things, because that's part of these conditions and of being disabled. So things will always be up and down. But maybe the ups and downs will stay at this newer baseline. Maybe the baseline might even rise some more.

I've traditionally . . . not been great at believing I can have good things. I've had enough catastrophes and devastating realizations come after the best moments of my life that I am very very wary of letting myself truly believe something has worked out.

But, looking at this huge milestone, at the progress I've made, at the 27000 words of my MLC fic I've written with lots more planned, at the life I'm letting myself start to envision again--

--maybe it really will be ok.

And even if it's not, even if I lose all of this tomorrow, maybe it wouldn't be forever.

Maybe, if I came back from hell once, I could do it again.

Let's hope I don't have to find out.

[lastoneout]

Neurology appointment was once again a mixed bag. Long story short I actually have occipital neuralgia, not regular migraines, but she didn't actually give me any treatment options and just told me to lose more weight. Full rant under the cut.

But yeah she looked at my CT scan and said she doesn't see any signs that my intracranial hypertension is being caused by my cervical spine alignment compressing anything, which is kinda a bummer bcs thats what I hoped was going on, but alas I guess I will have to continue to pray something gives and we can figure out what's causing it bcs despite being on a very high dose of the medication used to treat the condition for like 4 years and losing 20lbs nothing has gotten better or worse.

Aside from that it does seem like I probably don't actually have generic migraines, I have occipital neuralgia. Which would explain why all of the different migraine medications I'm on have done fuck all to actually help and why my migraine-like symptoms don't 100% line up with typical migraines(no auras, very little sound sensitivity/moderate light sensitivity, they last for days if not weeks, are extremely resistaint to treatment, even when they do respond half the time they just come back within a few days or so, I don't have any noticeable triggers aside from lack of sleep, ect.).

The only problem with that is I can't get another nerve block bcs of the steroid issue, and when I asked her what my other treatment options were she just said "well do it without the steroids then" and didn't let me get a word in edgewise about how my pain doctor said he wouldn't do it without steroids and I know just the lidocaine will wear off within 3-4 hours anyway so how would that help outside of diagnostics(which I no longer need) BUT she did refer me back to my previous pain clinic so I am simply going to ask them to help with this bcs they have a great track record of actually finding alternative treatments for my pain when the usual stuff isn't an option. But still, it's so fucking annoying bcs I did a LOT of research about this once the nerve block worked and there are TONS of other fucking treatments. Just...such bullshit.

Sadly she also told me to lose more weight, bcs she's super convinced me being under 130lbs will magically fix my hypertension despite the fact that I've done my research and about 10-15% of your body mass is the recommended ammount to lose that apparently sends it into remission in almost every case, but I've lost about that much and it didn't do anything at all. So like, idk ma'am I don't think knocking another 3lbs off is going to do jack shit, but whatever I guess.

I'm seeing my primary in a few weeks and at this point I'm demanding a new neurologist. But in the meantime I at least never have to see that fucking pain specialist again and instead can go back to my old one that didn't suck and I'll count that as a win.

[crashingwavesinmyworld]

I can’t believe how much my life completely fell apart in one year and that everyone says time makes things better but it hasn’t it’s just gotten worse and I’ve literally had to see the people who did this walk around and go on with their lives like it never happened and one of them literally had the nerve to play the victim when I called them out. I’m so tired please just let my next suicide attempt work. I have nothing to be happy about or nothing to look forward to. There was a concert I almost got to go to tomorrow but of course my mom decided not to cause she didn’t want to go and didn’t want to spend her money on tickets even though all she says us that all she wants is for me to be happy. Yes I get it tickets were really expensive and I get they weren’t her favorite band in the world and before anyone says it yes I know other people have worse problems but I’ve not had one thing to look forward to all year. I’ve had to miss every show I wanted to go to cause we didn’t have money. The only reason we did now is cause my mom got a check for her birthday from my grandma and I get most of that needs to go to things like food and bills and I get it was her money but its not like she hates the bands music she likes their songs and I’ve got let down by every single person I tried to make plans with cause they either ignore me or cancel on me last minute and I just wanted one thing to be happy about or look forward to. Again yes I know other people are suffering worse so I probably look like a whiny baby complaining but when your entire life has been depression, anxiety, abandonment and trauma or just plain not being able to do things that could make you happy cause of fucking money the little stuff adds up and this year has been nothing but that. Every fucking day. I just need it to stop. I need something good to happen.

[tortoisesshells]

Perspective Flip for the last fic you were really excited about and didn't get to talk about enough!

This is a little bit of a cheat - it's a Perspective Flip of something that hasn't happened yet in Customs (and, frankly, I'm not sure I'm ever getting there at the rate I've been writing) and it's ... not that upbeat, for a wedding. I suppose that has something to do with the whole "there's a war on" "there's that whole murder thing" and "no magic bullet for personal problems"?

Decades ago, when Boston was a different place, no man would sell or give a parcel so that the Church of England might set foot on good Puritan land – this, Nellie told herself, such flowers as could be found in October in hand, hesitating on Tremont Street the morning of her second marriage. This was why the King’s Chapel had had to be built on what public land could be peaceably given – and, however querulous the dead of this plot had been in life, they were in no position to contest old Governor Andros’s decree of a half-century past. If there was a world beyond this one, Nellie had sometimes thought old Winthrop must have been enraged to share his eternal rest with what he'd crossed an ocean to escape, but nothing had ever stayed the same in Boston –

An object lesson. Nellie Treat could not remain as she was, either.

She did not think about walking through the dead towards her new life – just as she could not think that she had walked past the new Granary and the burying ground and fixed her gaze on the dirty street rather than look for Samuel’s headstone – that she would have to halt and apologize for what she was about to do, that she had gone on as his widow as long as she could. She had gritted her teeth and walked along with her family attending, and tell herself that these were no particularly bad omens. Aunt and Uncle Bendish had been married here, at King's Chapel, and gone on to live happily and prosperously.

She breathed deeply, bracing herself. Aunt B put her hand under her elbow, and quietly called her name, and when Nellie swore it was only the expected kind of nerves, kissed her cheek and wished her happiness. Polly and Sam, ambivalent about the idea of a step-father at the best of times, followed behind the Bendishes like ducklings in a stream – it was not painless, but as she had reasoned over the past three weeks, all other options were worse.

Inside – but Nellie hesitated here a moment, too –

Inside, King’s Chapel was better attended than she would have expected – whether it was Commodore Norrington’s prominence, or the curiosity of her neighbors that had filled the pews, she couldn’t say. Certainly at least one gossip had accidentally let slip within her family’s hearing that some suspected Nellie had gotten herself in the family way – that stung, but as Newport has said much the same thing about her marriage to Samuel Treat, she at least had old habits of equanimity to fall back on. She tried to imagine that her doubts underfoot as she walked to her place before the altar, as easily crushed as maggots and other insects – smiled up at James, splendidly dressed and fitting in this place, as much as she feared she was not – and breathed a calm, deliberate sigh. He is my partner – she told herself – this is safety.

He took her hand. The rector read the ceremony. Her mind wandered. It was not as it had been, thirteen or fourteen years before. There was more pomp to the Church of England’s service, she noted idly – some shade of her life to come; she had little idea what James Norrington was thinking, as he had done what he always did when under scrutiny – gone still and impassive as a statue. Samuel, she remembered, had winked at her when the minister had not been looking at them – a badly need buoy to a girl of nineteen who had been shaking in her mended petticoats. Her new dress, the finest thing she had ever owned, felt more like armor than anything else – she wondered, vaguely, if James felt the same way about his ridiculously ornamented coat. She had been assuming so – but, Lord, wearing his pride as armor seemed a dangerous business.

When it was over, Nellie wrung the nerves from her hands before she trusted herself to sign the license – and then, legally and in the eyes of God, Elinor Coggeshall Treat ceased to exist.

[unicornachos]

personal post!

hey hi I’m alive sorry for abandoning my blog for like 1.5 yrs??? I had a bunch of health issues and mental health stuff too :’) 

Like very full on... god what HASN’T happened. 

My body had a weird reaction to the covid vaccines in 2021? I ended up in hospital etc and was sick with mystery fatigue and shit for months and months.... I think I went to hospital like 4-5 throughout 2021? My body seems fine with the MRNA boosters I’ve gotten so maybe something in my body just hated the astrazeneca vaccine?? I’m kinda bitter about it bc of the ambulance bills I had to pay, but still, thank god for vaccines amirite

then, the apartment I was living in and loved got bought by someone who then wanted to move in, so I had to leave the place I loved living to somewhere still nice but way more expenno, and my health issues kinda continued?

then I started a new job

then my mental health got REALLY bad over the 2021/2022 christmas period to the point where I had to call an ambulance for myself bc my mind was in such a bad place. 

Then I started taking SSRI’s for depression/anxiety, but I had this weird reaction to the drugs and we think I had serotonin syndrome because of its interaction with the asthma meds I’ve been taking all my life? But at the time no doctors would listen to me and basically gaslit me into thinking all the pain was just a physical manifestation of my anxiety. Anyway, it caused some of the most horrific pain i’ve ever experienced in my life, in particular nerve and muscle pain in my legs, and I had to shower sitting down for weeks, couldn’t walk much around the house, and needed super strong meds to knock me out so I could sleep. 

I slowly healed and could walk again and do normal stuff for me around... late April?

While I was recovering I stayed with my mum but still paying rent in Sydney bc all my shit was there, so in June I killed my lease, put most of my shit into storage with a friend’s parent’s mini warehouse they use for their business (absolute legends and wholesome humans and I sent them money every month lol) and moved back home.

I started studying a certificate level course I’d been wanting to get over and done with for ages, so at the end of June I started studying.

Then once again mental health got bad, I tried SSRIs again, thinking it was me who was the problem last time I took them. BUT ACTUALLY, NO. Same physical reaction to the meds as last time, if not worse. It wasn’t my brain making shit up, it was an actual fucking drug interaction issue that ppl had tried to tell me was my anxiety and/or imagination!!! Queue horrific pain, weird symptoms, and once again the inability to walk or clean or work from anywhere but the couch.

Dr and I decided any meds that effect my serotonin levels are a no-go probably forever, and so I’ve been looking into CBD oil over the past few months to see if that will work for things instead.

Now I’m about... 2 months from that reaction, and started CBD oil 2 weeks ago (no reaction, side effects, or really anything yet) and can work at my desk as long as I have a big ass XL foot rest under my legs to keep them propped up, because I get nerve pain if I sit normally :’) I still can’t really go anywhere or walk anywhere other than around the house and for super short periods of time.

Also I powered through and finished my course just last week, so that’s out of the way at least! 

Other than that, I’ve just been like. Sleeping, reading, watching shows, napping, sleeping more, trying to eat well.... my job is a bitch but I’m trying rly hard to skill up so I can do more of what I’m interested in! I kind of don’t have energy for much else at the moment??

I have no idea if I’ll post again as regularly as I did a few years back, but I love Tumblr and I always feel glad coming back here and spending time in this place for a bit. These days I mainly only post stuff on my locked private twitter lol. But I have always preferred Tumblr’s longer format and vibes hehe.

ANyway that’s all for now! I hope anyone reading this has been doing ok. These past few years have been fucking tough and if all you have energy for is working and sleeping... you’re valid, dude. 

And if you plan to take SSRIs for your mental health, just be wary of serotonin syndrome!!!! Not enough ppl talk about it and a lot of doctors seem to have no idea it exists or also know little about it, but there are lots of cases of it in settings where ppl have been taking other meds and been given SSRIs! I’m not saying don’t take meds if you need them, but just reaaaallllyyy do your research first if you can about adverse reactions and interactions :’)

[puppytoast]

has @diurnalcritters helped alleviate the feeling of dissatisfaction you've had with art?

Sorry this is going to get long winded as you’ve struck a thing I’ve had to think a lot about the last year and a half so I have a lot to say LOL. DiurnalCritters is one thing in a long line of things to help me get back to normal, and even better as a person as a whole, after nerve damage I suffered last year.

The TL;DR answer is It’s definitely been one thing has helped yeah. It’s been fun, people enjoy them and send me very kind messages on and off Tumblr about them, and they help me overcome a bit of perfectionism I started developing recently since I have been able to draw more again, and thank you you and everyone that has been supporting me with it! I know it’s different from my usual content.

This is where I start rambling about where the feeling started and how I am still overcoming things in full, but it’s all pretty personal gushy stuff so no hard feelings if it’s not read but It’s been cathartic to write out:

 In early 2021 I suffered some minor nerve damage that caused me to not be able to draw for about 6 months and still to this day I occasionally get pain from it. According to clinical tests it healed well over a year ago, so i’ve attributed it to phantom pain and the majority of it just being in my head. It really only crops up when I think about it too much and when I am trying to force myself to work on things when i’m feeling particularly rusty that day, and it never gets worse even when I push through it. (I can feel it very minorly as I type this lol) I’m at the point where I have just considered it a traumatic experience that left me struggling to pick up drawing completely again despite desperately wanting to, because deep down I am afraid of not being able to do this anymore. It’s the thing I am most passionate about and enjoy doing, and makes up a huge portion of who I am and what I care about. So being faced with the very real “if you don’t let this heal, you could damage it further and never be able to work again” broke something in my brain and caused a lot of other unrelated problems as well.

Not being able to draw for a significant amount of time left me incredibly depressed and when I still couldn’t even come up with ideas and was still dealing with pain, despite being okayed that the nerve had been healed, that depression got even worse. I chalked a lot up to dissatisfaction and brainrot and not really knowing what was wrong and being very distressed about it all. I ended up having to seek therapy and that has been very helpful and has gotten me to get better at managing some personal issues and be able to handle this entire situation better. I’ve started expanding my horizons and going outside of my comfort zone on things like volunteering at the local zoo and finally being convinced to join a TTRPG game (maybe even a second one soon), which gave me Tetra, who I had and have clung to as an anchor and who has become immensely important to me as something I was able to be creative with even in a time where creativity simply refused to come to me. She is an extension of myself and has also helped me with other long standing social and anxiety issues I’ve had that it would be an entire other long post to ramble about so I’ll stop myself there lmao.

Managing a lot of other problems and experiencing new things has helped me get the creative streak back, and while I am still slower than I would like to be, it is definitely getting better, and the recognition of what is wrong and taking steps to work towards overcoming it does very much help. I started getting into a bit of a perfectionist streak with commissionwork causing it to take twice as long as I really like it to, and DiurnalCritters has also been a very good overcoming of that problem in the shape of making me have to just get something simple down without thinking about it too hard, and even with DiurnalCritters I do still have that problem on occasion, but it is also getting better as I remind myself to recognize when it’s happening and just get whatever down and move onto my day.

I’ve been drawing WAY more recently again, and I’m feeling the best I have in a long time about creating, and i’m just very glad because I was terrified I would never get back to this point again.

Thanks if you read this long self-reflection.

[chisotahn]

personal update on Stuff

Before I fled Twitter entirely, I briefly mentioned that I've been having some serious issues with chronic pain, and unfortunately that's still happening.

I suffered an injury about five years ago that, in the end, required me to get surgery to fix it, and even after the surgery I had residual chronic pain from nerve damage. I was used to that, it wasn't great but it didn't really impact my life that much. And then last year the pain started getting worse again, until I had to admit it wasn't just a temporary flare.

Anyway. I've gotten imaging etc. done and it's thankfully not the original injury recurring, but the problem is the non-specialists couldn't tell me what exactly is causing this awful, increasing pain. It feels like a hard knot in my lower back, that sends nerve pain shooting down my leg - classic sciatica, but without the obvious causes. They think it might be caused by scar tissue from my earlier surgery?

I have a consult next week with a spine specialist (the same dr that performed my surgery actually) and I'm hoping we can figure things out, because the only way I can reliably not be in constant, often debilitating pain is to be horizontal, and even that's not guaranteed. I've been playing lots of Switch games since I can be Flat, and really only logging in to FFXIV for raid. I can manage for some good Friend Time, but otherwise? the pain just builds up until the only thing I can think about is making it go away.

I'm really, really hoping I get a solid diagnosis next week with clear-cut steps I can take to mitigate the pain on a more permanent basis.

Sorry, I think this got a little ranty. I'm just sick of hurting all the time and not being able to Do Things. I also miss people. and I miss my characters and taking gay little pictures of them!

Take care of your backs, okay? When they get fucked up, it sucks so, so bad.

[kyzveryown]

Thoughts — BLEACH I've been re-watching all of BLEACH to catch up to the Thousand Year Blood War arc and so far it's been rough. The first two arcs are fine albeit with pacing issues and mismatched battles in the Soul Society (ex: Ichigo vs. Kenpachi) but the Hueco Mundo arc is a huge disappointment. The battles drag on much longer than necessary. The constant one upsmanship got on my damn nerves. And to make things worse there's no breathing room between any of the battles. The pacing is horrible — a huge problem I have with the series. And to top it all off, the forced comedy bits annoyed the fuck out of me.

Overall, the Hueco Mundo is a boring mess. It's a rehash of the Soul Society arc with only change being the damsel in distress. The only saving grace was the Grimmjow and Ulquiorra battles which, in comparison to the long ass side battles, were a decent length. The Fake Karakura Town arc isn't that much better either. So far, the only battles that were mildly interesting to me were Izuru and Shuhei's. It's gotten to a point that I'm skipping to the Aizen battle which, from what I remember, was somewhat underwhelming. I hope the TYBW arc is a little better but given some of the opinions I've read from other people, I doubt it.

This is further proof that shonen anime and manga are not for me. There are so many issues I have with shonens that I've reached a point where they aren't worth my time anymore. My Hero Academia will be the last one I follow.

[chargetheintruder]

Fair warning: I'm ill, tired and things look bleak.

Okay, so here's the short version of it: I'm sick, been sick for months and nobody at the local Emergency Ward wants to look where the pain actually is (colon, bladder and kidneys), they just want to rant at me when I have a panic over this mess (and never knowing what's really wrong with me) as the pain spreads and gets nasty, repeatedly.

Yeah, it gets more detailed below the break, but in general the idea is that the bastards are like "Life-Threatening shit ONLY damn it, go home and suffer there!" so I really can't use 9-1-1 on my own until I am literally near death.

No really, the closest rational explanation I've gotten from them is that I've had near-perpetual Urinary retention and urinary tract infections since I first got the first catheter in February this year, and that this comes with me passing more kidney stones now since I don't retain anything anymore. That's it . . . but their recent blood work can't find any of their typical infections. I do have a month's worth of antibiotics anyway and I've been working through them, but not much has budged.

For the past 2, going on 3 weeks, it's been intense bladder pain in the mornings (from the thing being over-active whenever I sleep, and only when I sleep), followed by constant pain in my colon and left kidney area all day into the night. Half the time I can't walk on my own until I get some pain relief in me--I use a cheap walker to get around my own apartment. I really don't have any strength or endurance left in me. Nausea and weakness are regular issues.

Using the telephone to try to get help is a problem because when I call people they're constantly demanding I SPEAK UP AND YELL AT THEM which is draining. And screw my own privacy in my apartment I guess. I don't know why my phone line is like this, particularly when I am attempting an important phone call involving sensitive info I DON'T want my evil neighbors or the evil landlords (the local Public Housing Authority) to know.

But yeah, the pain keeps getting worse, and I'm trapped in this building. I don't have a car, can't drive one anyway (no license), don't sprout the wings needed to fly across town to make it to doctor's appointments, and in general I am trapped in this building thanks to what should have been temporary nerve pain and weakness in my left leg from February. The pain in my left leg and torso gets worse, I'm more and more drained each morning . . . and I don't know how much longer I have left of life, before the infection takes me, or before I lose it from the bullshit I have to deal with from this building.

What little I do know is this: if a urinary tract infection goes on too damned long it becomes kidney disease. I could die of kidney failure and the local ER would swear up and down and sideways that "we didn't see it coming" (they didn't look for it?) and that I "never have anything life-threatening going on". Then again I could get shot by someone else's gun too, and those people would tell me "well, it's only a .22 caliber, it's small, it didn't blow your brains out, and well, it's not life-threatening, so well, we're injecting you with IV antibiotics and Voltaren, putting a bandage on it and well, sending you home in an hour, good luck!" (/Reagan, irony much) And seriously, they would.

And yes, I have tried to talk with a social worker about my issues with this building. She lasted all of 2 weeks (and one of them was the week of my birthday, and didn't count). She went on healthcare leave and won't be back until December of this year. Forcing me to start over a second time with a third new person. (the first one was a Quality Surveyor, a.k.a. an admin person who wanted to know what the hell was going on . . . at least until I told her, of course) And then there's the healthcare "provider" working alongside Medicaid in my state . . . and making damned sure I can't ever get a ride to any of my appointments. No really, do I call it in 2 days in advance, or is it 3, or is it a whole WEEK because you're that incompetent and can't even handle pronouncing "Carle" (hint: the E is SILENT, a common feature in Standard American English, whatever that is) never mind working with it in terms of scheduling rides to the place. Damned thing is a fraud, I swear. I can't be the only one who can NEVER get their transportation assistance system to work, ever.

Point is: I am severely tired. I can't even use the toilet in my own apartment because if I actually DO poop? The vile, smoking neighbor next door will go off any time, day or night, light up a cigar and smoke up all of his apartment and half of mine too. And the same guy? Dragged in a leather sofa from off the street at the beginning of this summer, and yeah, he infested all of his apartment and half of mine too with bedbugs. I told the damned landlord about this BACK IN JUNE and nobody did a damned thing. Pest Control could have been here three times already to take care of this?

They had to wait until tomorrow. Of course. They'll be here at the crack of dawn tomorrow pounding on doors and demanding access, of course. I have to deal with my bed being torn up and everything sprayed and my not having use of my apartment for half a day over this . . . probably repeatedly for the next four to five weeks, every Friday now? Yeah.

And this is with all of the health issues. My life is ruined and falling apart already. But nah, I have to fuck around with this too while I might fall over and die any time. Lovely, right? (/s) (sarcasm, not sepsis)

I am tired, I am physically ill and about to lose my mind. I'm alone in this world, surrounded by enemies (I've slowly lost my friends, half due to this building, half from the pandemic years). This is where I would tell you that I'm sorry I failed you, but in truth.

My body's failing me, and I've failed myself I guess. From not seeing into the future and somehow knowing that these neighbors would be the worst and that this building would be the worst.

[pixiestickers]

i had to get an mri done this morning, which i've done before w/o any problems so i didn't think i needed any anxiety meds. when I had it done before, they gave me headphones to drown out the loud noises with music, but this time their music wasn't working, so it was just headphones to cancel out the noise (which it didn't do a good job of) and i nearly had a panic attack. they took me out of the machine and talked me thru what would help, so they added a mirror that let me see outside of the machine, which took away the panic, but still, the noises were nerve-wracking and spiked my anxiety every time they had to run another cycle.

i really hate having anxiety, like it's just gotten so much worse these last few years and i wish i had an off button for it, bc it's just so inconvenient and embarrassing.

[find-the-path]

Oc-tober Day 16 - Thread - Saedhruin

Thírharn had not known exactly what to do with him, a fact he can't entirely protest. He isn't certain what to do with himself either.

But needle and thread are tools he knows, and he wields them no worse than another might have. The fire is warm, his mind untaxed, and so the simple task of fixing something has soothed him nearly into reverie. Nonetheless, when the door opens with a soft brush of leather hinges, he looks up.

An unfamiliar Elf hovers there upon the doorstep, clad in traveling clothes and rain-stained cloak. He drips steadily upon the carpet for a moment, and Saedhruin turns back to his work. The door is closed again, the distant voices shut out. The fire's crackle once more dominates the room.

"I-- I was sent to aid you." The newcomer at last stammers out, and Saedhruin nearly grins at him. He smiles instead, and looks up once more from the faded green of the shirt in his lap.

"There is nothing urgent to be done for now," he says, "but if you can sew, there is much to be mended."

"Aye," the voice is relieved, and Saedhruin nearly laughs, once again holding it back. He has never mastered laughing at the correct times, or sobering at others, and like as not the young Elf would take it for insult. Many ages has Saedhruin lived, and yet people will never not be strange.

The room is not large, and the creaking armchair it once bore has been long burned for fuel, so the young one sits as Saedhruin does, cross-legged on the floor before the fire. He sets to with a steady hand, and no protest at the unglorious work.

Saedhruin's hands turn and weave with precision, the slender needle nearly a chisel in his grasp. The thread is well crafted and slides easily through the broadcloth with each rise and fall of the needle. The embers settle with a soft rustle and above the old building creaks. A song starts up, turning and weaving about the room, like the needle, like the thread, like his hands, and Saedhruin nearly opens his mouth to sing it. He does not wish to unnerve the young Elf though, and instead asks a question.

"Where did you learn to sew?" Not many in this place can, turned more to war than craft.

The young Elf glances up warily, but Saedhruin's smile must not be too strange, for he answers after only a small pause. "My brother taught me,"

One-phrase answers it is. The fire burns steadily, and another log shifts and collapses with a sigh. They have and have had many problems here, but fuel--- thank goodness--- is no longer one of them. Autumn deepens around them, and it has been a grief-wracked one by all account. One less burden on their minds has been a relief.

"Who is your brother?"

Once, long ago, his sister would mock him for such an effort, and say laughing that an interrogation did not small talk make. Perhaps Saedhruin has learned some things in the intervening years, but that skill is not one of them. He doubts this young one would appreciate a comment on the weather.

“Edlothon dwells in the city,” The Elf says. Almost defensively, he continues, “he is a gardener there.”

“Ah, I’ve seen his work then. Very fine, indeed. You know me, or seem to, and since I have the brother’s name may I also have yours?”

He laughs a little, relaxes more, and Saedhruin’s hands continue their work without the aid of his eyes.

“I am called Haerandel, herdir,” he says, and though his gaze turn once more to his work he seems to at last have gotten over his nerves. The fire leaps, and flashes off his silver hair and young face. He is of age, Saedhruin can be certain, for no child would have been allowed here, but so young yet.

In his hands, the last pull and knot are finished, and he folds the garment neatly. It goes to the stack, and he pulls another from the basket. Swift hands find the tear and thread the needle, and his task begins anew. The fire is warm, and crackles peacefully.

[kriscynical]

I have finally thrown in the towel and gone back on Welbutrin.

If you're considering the need to go back on your meds, take this as a sign from the universe that yes, you do indeed need to and you have nothing to prove to anybody.

This turned into mental health word vomit nobody is going to care about so I'm putting it under a cut to save your dashes.

After having the health crisis in 2009 that left me with the permanent nerve damage I'm still dealing with followed by one of my best friends throwing me under a bus and gaslighting me about it, I started struggling with my mental health. When my middle sister passed away from breast cancer in January 2010 I destroyed myself trying to be The Strong One for my parents, letting my cup run so dry it cracked and broke.

I spent the next 7 years at the bottom of a hole, the last four or so on Welbutrin that helped quite a bit but not completely. My personal art output was absolute zero. I lost my 20's to it, basically.

I finally pulled myself out of it when I renovated the room across from my bedroom into my studio and got into Yuri on Ice in late 2016 because I had something to focus on, get excited about, and be inspired by. I pumped out 40 new pieces of art in 2017 because of it, I was getting regular interaction with people, my blog was growing again, and it was fantastic. I was an art machine. I came off of the Welbutrin in Spring 2016. I was happy for the first time in years.

Anybody still in the YoI fandom knows that well has been bone dry for a few years now; most of our crops withered if not died completely, and fandom policing bullshit made creating fanart for it far less desirable for me. I started slipping.

Then 2018 happened. My oldest sister passed away in February from liver failure. The day after we buried her ashes next to my middle sister in the family plot, we found out our dog, Sushi, had late stage lymphoma at only 9 years old. Her face had barely even begun to get a dusting of white. We lost her that July. I slipped some more. I came out of that year holding on to the edge of that hole by the tips of my fingers, but I was proud that I hadn't fallen back in completely.

Then 2020 happened. On March 13 my life upended and my sole focus became keeping my high risk parents safe from Covid, becoming their caregiver and doing absolutely everything for them that involved interacting with people or going out in public. In the last 14 months I've only gone to the pharmacy and chiropractor. That's it. We've been having our groceries delivered via a wonderful woman named Katelyn through Dumpling. Quarantine has aged me by at least five years at this point if the lines on my face are any indication.

Then my uncle was diagnosed with stage IV esophageal cancer over the summer and the traumatizing hell of trying to care for him here at our house -- on top of the added stress of having a CONSTANT parade of nurses, hospice people, and chaplains coming through the house because of it in the middle of a pandemic I was working so hard to protect my parents from -- was a body blow that included a dissociative episode. He passed away in October 2020.

I was finally able to get myself and my parents vaccinated through the county health department at the end of March 2021, which was a Thing all unto itself because of their system fucking things up.We got our second dose toward the end of April and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, but the damage was already done.

My personal art output has been zero for almost two years at this point. The last piece of fan work I actually finished that wasn't for a client, zine, or gift was in October 2019, it didn't even get 200 notes, nobody seemed to care or even notice that I had been basically MIA online in the last two years (save for maybe three people), so I lost the sliver of motivation I still had left. Let me repeat that:

I haven't finished any personal artwork that wasn't for a client, zine, or gift since October 2019. It's now May 2021.

At the beginning of April I finally said fuck it, I give up, and emailed my doctor asking for a new script for Welbutrin. While I'm not as godawful miserable emotionally as I was back when I started taking it originally (although it's on its way down that road), I am back to being completely unmotivated to do much of anything let alone produce new art. I have ideas. I just don't have the motivation to sit down and execute them.

As I've said several times before, I have to create in order to feel worthwhile. Interaction with people online when I post my work helps me stay in a good place mentally because I'm human and humans need positive interaction and just a sense that we're seen and matter. It's a nasty spiral because once it started seeming that hardly anybody cared about my work anymore or even noticed when I disappeared, that finished the job of killing my motivation. I know art should be made for yourself but like I said, I'm human and I'm just being honest here instead of trying to bullshit anybody. What's the point of posting if it's seemingly just going into the void?

I'm tired of being in that rut of a mindset and languishing in that bad headspace, so I'm trying to help myself out of it before I hit the bottom of that hole again. I never want to go back there, but I'm damn close at this point.

At least the Welbutrin is making me lose weight because it's killed my appetite.

[winchesterandpie]

Try Again

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x reader

Word Count: 2534

Warnings: sooo self indulgent, for which I will not apologize. A little bit of angst, but a happy ending. Bradley is perhaps overly forgiving, but we'll allow it.

A/N: I'm not entirely sure where this came from. As a quick summary, you were in your grad school program and the danger of Bradley's job was just too much on top of everything else. Then you see him again a few years after finishing your program when he gets called back to Top Gun. Actually, it's probably my own nerves about my grad school that drove this, but it's fine.

Anyways, my first week of being a PhD student has gone well!! I've been super busy, so I'm trying to write around everything going on. I'm definitely slowing down from this summer (not from a lack of ideas) and I feel a little bad. I'll do what I can to write some more this weekend. Hope you guys are doing well!! Thank you for all the love on my fics--you guys are what keep me posting! You all allow my self-indulgence in fics, and I really appreciate it!

You were sitting at the bar when you heard the piano start. Even before you looked at the pianist, you had a guess who it would be so you took a sip of your drink. Looking just confirmed your suspicions. 

Seeing Bradley Bradshaw again knocked the breath out of you. It reminded you of the last time you had seen him.

“Bradley, I… I can’t do this right now.” You hated having to say this to him, especially when he’d just gotten home from an assignment.

“Can’t do what?” Despite his confusion, he was still grinning at you as you walked down the beach. When he saw how serious you looked, however, the smile faded. “Honey, what’s wrong? Did something happen with your experiment?”

You were a little taken aback that he was so on top of your dissertation work even though he had so much going on in his own assignment. “Not exactly… Which is part of the problem.”

“What can I do?” He turned to you immediately, his hands squeezing your upper arms reassuringly.

“That’s the other part of the problem.” You dropped his gaze, unable to handle the concern in his eyes. “I messed up. There was a part of the procedure last week and I was distracted. I didn’t do it right, so now we have to start over.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I was distracted because of you. You know my anxiety has been really bad lately and…” you hesitated, fiddling with your fingers, “and it’s not your fault at all, and you’ve been amazing, I just… I can’t. It’s not fair to you if I keep holding on.”

He said your name and the hurt in his voice broke your heart. “We can get through this. Please just let me try.”

“I want to, baby, I just keep getting too worried when you’re gone and I can’t be distracted with my comps exams coming up and then the pressure only goes up from there with my research.” You looked up at him then, hating how his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Worse still was the understanding that was there too. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Bradley tugged you into a hug then. You couldn’t stop apologizing, even as his arms wrapped around you. His cheek rested on the top of your head, and you tried not to cry. “I know, honey, I know. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, Bradley.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he assured you, giving you a tight squeeze. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And then he had let you go. Bradley kissed your forehead one last time and he let you go. You had never done anything so hard as walking away from him when every fiber of your being begged you to turn back. But you couldn’t.

The pain of walking away from the only person you had ever loved hadn’t really gone away, even now. Seeing him just brought it all back.

You may have broken things off to avoid distraction, but still it lingered the whole time. Quietly, you regretted not sticking it out with him. Now, though, you had no right to Bradley or his feelings, so you finished your drink and asked Penny to settle your tab.

Maybe a small, rebellious part of you that wanted to see him again made you walk slowly, kicking at the sand. If that was the case, it won. You were maybe halfway to your car when you heard familiar footsteps.

“Hey.” The call was quiet, but you could have picked that voice out of the noisiest crowd.

“Hi,” you replied as you stopped and turned to him.

“It’s good to see you again,” he offered.

“You too.” You meant it, however painful. “You look good, Bradley.” He did. If anything, he’d only grown more handsome since you had seen him last, but something in his gaze was wrong.

“Thanks.” He smiled softly at you. Unlike the last time you were on the receiving end of one of his smiles, it cracked your heart further. “You finished your program?”

“Yeah, a couple of years ago.”

“That’s awesome, congratulations!” You saw the way he had to stop himself from reaching for you as his grin flashed brighter but dismissed it as wishful thinking. 

“Thanks.” You grinned in return before silence lapsed between the two of you. You weren’t used to silence with Bradley being so awkward, so you tried to keep the conversation alive. “So what brings you to North Island?”

“They’ve called me and a handful of others back to Top Gun. They haven’t told us much of anything.”

That didn’t sound good. You reminded yourself that you had no right to worry about him anymore and said instead, “Well, at least they’re smart enough to see you’re the best of the best.”

He chuckled as you huffed a laugh. “I don’t know if I’d go so far as claiming to be the best.”

“Come on, you’ve always been good at what you do. They’d better recognize how lucky they are to have you,” you told him. There was too much truth in the words, not just about his newest assignment, and you knew it. You bit down on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from saying more, biting back the urge to apologize. Instead, you forced yourself to breathe. “So how long are you in town for?”

“One of the details they haven’t told us,” he said, watching you in a way that suggested he knew what was behind your words.

“Price of the Navy, huh?”

“Something like that.” He turned to walk further down the beach and you followed. “So how have you been?” 

You could tell he was probing gently, but you allowed it. “I’ve been okay.” I’ve missed you. “I took a job over here not long ago and it’s been busy.” I’ve been trying to keep my mind off you. “I think I’m getting my feet under me, though.” Means more time I can’t help but think of you.

“That’s good, I’m glad to hear it.” You wondered if he heard what you couldn’t say. You wondered how he might reply.

“How about you?”

Bradley didn’t answer right away, letting the sound of the waves fill the space between you. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

“About what?” you prompted when he didn’t continue.

“About us.”

You turned to look at him only to find him already looking at you. You tried desperately to quell the flutter of hope in your heart. It was, after all, entirely possible that he was thinking about it because he was angry. The insistent voice in your head whispered that Bradley being angry at you was inconsistent with everything you knew about him and how you split. It whispered that maybe, just maybe, he still loved you like you still loved him.

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound escaped you. The part of you that didn’t want to allow the hope quieted the sound. You bit the inside of your cheek again.

“Is this okay?” he asked, reaching toward your face. 

When you nodded, he cupped your cheek carefully. Without even realizing it, your jaw unclenched, relaxing into the touch that had always meant safety.

“How are you really?” he repeated his question from earlier.

You answered honestly this time, still afraid that you were reading everything wrong, but you trusted him to catch you. “I’ve missed you. Never quite stopped thinking about you.”

“Me neither.” He did catch you. As he always had. “Can we do this? Try again?”

“You mean can I do this?” you asked wryly, shaking your head at yourself.

“Well, sort of,” he huffed a laugh that you joined good-naturedly. “I didn’t want to put it quite like that.”

“It’s a fair question.” You were the one to start walking this time. “I’ve got the anxiety under a lot better control now, so I think so. I mean, I know I’d still worry when you have to leave, but more at a normal level.” Then you hesitated, wondering if you were assuming too much, moving too fast. “Sorry, I… Do you want to try this again?”

“I--”

“Because I would totally understand if you didn’t,” you interrupted without meaning to, nervous about how he might respond. “It wasn’t cool of me to end things the way I did or when I did and--”

“Honey, slow down.” Bradley reached for your hand, pulling you to a stop.

“Right, sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“Right, s--” You stopped yourself this time, grinning ruefully at the sand. “Right. Please continue. If you want to.”

“Thank you,” he said, nudging your chin up with his free hand before he continued. “I do want to try again.”

“Even though I gave up on us?” 

“You did what you needed to do. I’ve always understood that.” Bradley’s eyes were so soft it was painful. You didn’t feel you deserved his understanding, let alone his forgiveness.

“That doesn’t make what I did right. I wish…” you paused, yet again wondering if you were unloading too much onto him. Something in his eyes told you to trust him again, so you forced the words past the lump in your throat. “I wish I had stayed. I should have turned back.”

His thumb brushed across the back of your hand. “I’m going to repeat myself for a second here. You did what you needed to do. You did right by what you needed to get through grad school. It’s okay.” 

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder and his free arm curled around you. With his lips pressed into your hair, he murmured the next words as a secret just for you. “You did turn back, you know. Maybe in a little roundabout way, but you came back all the same.”

That was what made you cry at last. At the first shake of your breath, Bradley pulled you fully into his arms. You grieved then. Grieved the life you might have had if you’d stayed. Grieved everything that might have been, everything you might have built with Bradley Bradshaw. And at the same time, you were so grateful that somehow the two of you had found your way back together. Relieved he didn’t hate you. Hopeful for everything you might still build together.

He was crying too--you saw the tears running down his face when you pulled back to look at him. Softly, hesitantly, you reached a hand up to his cheek. You brushed away the tears delicately, offering a small smile. Bradley smiled back, covering your hand with his own.

“I am so sorry for everything I put you through, Bradley. And if you let me, I want to make it up to you.”

“I don’t need you to make anything up to me.” He shook his head, just a little.

“I really, really love you.” You couldn’t help but tilt your forehead to his.

Bradley beamed, the sight warming you from the inside out. “I really love you too.”

“So are we going to try this? Us?” Hope seeped into your tone and you knew he heard it by the light in his eyes.

“We’re gonna give us another chance,” he affirmed.

“I’m not going to let go again, I promise.”

He kissed you fiercely, barely a moment after you finished your thought. Just as well. The moment his lips touched yours, you couldn’t think of anything but him. His hands weren’t even on your skin and they still ignited a fire along the path they traced. You reveled in the feel of his hair between your fingers, pulling a deep groan from his throat that you swallowed gladly. 

You had missed this, missed him. Now, faced with the opportunity to learn him all over again, you took to the task like a duck to water. His lips moved to your jaw, your neck, then your collarbone, where he sucked a mark. He was re-memorizing you too, though he clearly hadn’t forgotten how to make you melt.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him back to look at you. He grinned lazily at you, then kissed you again. His mustache tickled your upper lip and made you giggle. This kiss was far too short for your liking, but the way he looked at you made up for it a hundredfold. Besides, you had all the time in the world now.

So for now, you let him pull back and take your hand as the two of you started walking down the beach again. You reached your car too soon, but Bradley only let go of your hand to pin you gently to the side of your car. He smiled softly when you tilted your chin to offer your lips to him, leaning in to kiss you one more time.

“Do you still have my number?” you asked when you broke apart.

“Of course I do,” he assured, reaching for his phone to show you how you were still saved in his contacts. “I do, however, need a new lock screen photo.”

You laughed and the last knot in your chest came undone. “I might have some time tomorrow. I could do with a new picture too.”

His eyes crinkled up at the corners and you wanted to run your fingers over them. You resisted, only for today. There was plenty of time to relearn the feel of his expressions.

“We’ll put it on the books, honey.”

You knew you needed to go, but you didn’t want to leave--not now. He seemed equally hesitant, but he was stronger than you. Reluctantly, he opened your car door, helping you into the seat. You blindly fumbled to turn your car on, unwilling to turn your gaze away from him. He closed the door and leaned against it as you rolled the window down. 

“Text me when you’re home safe?” 

“Always, baby. As long as you do too.”

Bradley tilted your face toward him so he could press a lingering kiss to your forehead. You let your eyes drift closed as you basked in the comfort of his presence.

“Ok, if I don’t let you go now, I won’t be able to.” He murmured the words into your skin.

You hummed in acknowledgment, then in complaint as he retreated. “I don’t want to go either.” You felt the huff of his breath fan across your skin as he laughed lightly.

“I need to get to bed. Training starts early tomorrow.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Both.”

With a sigh, you leaned back into your seat. “Alright, you’re right. I’ll see you soon.”

“You can count on it, sweetheart. We’re going to do something tomorrow night,” he promised as he stepped back from your car.

You backed out of the parking spot, then hesitated, looking at him. Before you could think better of it, you gave him a thumbs up and a salute. He laughed at the imitation, offering a small wave as you finally started driving.

That night was the first time in a long time that you had fallen asleep with a real smile on your lips.