#this is me without my bipolar medication

[unstablemotions]

people: you need to get an official diagnosis from a psychiatrist!!!

psychiatrists: *misdiagnosed me with different things like +4 times and filled me with unnecessary medicine*

[loumauve]

the goddamn toast water post just made me utter "history is fucking real" in the most solemn and serious tone of voice, out loud, to myself, in the goddamn bathtub

[ohmerricat]

session with the psychiatrist today and he finalised getting me a s*roquel prescription… upon a google i discovered that one of the most common side effects is supposedly weight gain so now i am actually considering the preferred alternative option of recovery which is k*lling m*self

[haunted-house-heart]

being medicated my beloved

[myrtaceaae]

Really frustrating to feel my declining mental health, desperately trying to stop it, getting no results

[hazemsuhail]

Emergency: Help my family survive and start a new life

Hello everyone, I hope you take a minute to read our story.

I’m Hazem Shawish, trying to save my family from the war

We’re a family of 8 members, me, my mother, and I have 4 brothers and two sisters. And their kids

Islam (30) years old ( @eslamsuhail )

Samer (29)

Hashem (31)

Mohammad (35)

Nisreen (37) ( @nisreensuhail )

Noor (36).

Kids:

Amal (12)

Kenzy (17) ( @kenzish )

Zoheer (19)

TikTok video link

In the shadow of conflict, our family has faced unimaginable hardships. The passing of my father, a victim to the cruel grasp of hunger and inadequate healthcare, left a void in our lives, underscoring the fragility of our existence here. My brother, Samer, battles bipolar disorder, a condition exacerbated by the ongoing war and the severe shortage of essential medications. Without access to the necessary treatment, his life is at risk, and we live in constant fear for his well-being amidst the chaos that surrounds us. These personal tragedies have deepened the urgency of our situation.

My brother Samer

Every day is a struggle for survival, and each night is filled with prayers for a brighter tomorrow. Yet, amidst the darkness, we hold onto hope, seeking solace in the belief that one day, the clouds of war will dissipate, and we will find the peace and stability we so desperately crave. Until then, we endure, clinging to the threads of our resilience, and nurturing dreams of a safer, healthier future for us all.

Our home, once a sanctuary of love and warmth, was destroyed, displacing us into a life of uncertainty and fear. The laughter of my children and my sister's daughters, once the music of our home, is now silenced by the echoes of conflict. They deserve a future where education and happiness are not just dreams but realities.

Our entire neighborhood In Gaza Before and after

we had a supermarket that helped as to live and earn money, but it was bombed and we have nothing now, pic of our supermarket

But our challenges are not just physical; they are emotional and psychological. The loss of my father and the imminent threat to my brother's life weigh heavily on us. My mother, who has endured so much, faces the unimaginable fear of losing another child. For her, for my brother, for my children, and for the future of our family, we seek a new beginning.

We dream of a place far from the sounds of war we want to be safe with my family we dream to move to Egypt to save ourselves

This journey is more than a physical relocation; it is a quest for dignity, for normalcy, for the very essence of what makes life worth living. We seek to restore what conflict has stripped from us: our home, our health, and our hope.

We turn to you, not just as donors, but as fellow humans who understand the power of compassion and community. Your support, in any form, is a beacon of hope in our darkest times. It represents solidarity and a shared belief in the sanctity of life and the right to a safe and peaceful existence.

Our dream is simple yet seems a world away:

to escape to Egypt .

for children to pursue education and a life unshaded by conflict, and for us to honor my father's memory in a land of peace.

However, this dream bears a significant cost, one that is beyond our reach. For each of us to make this journey, to cross borders towards a life of safety and dignity, we estimate the need for at least $5,000 per person. This sum covers the complex tapestry of legal, travel, and initial resettlement expenses.

All of our important links are here

Thank you for hearing our story, for your empathy, and for considering standing with us as we embark on this journey to a new life.🇵🇸🍉❤️‍🩹🙏

With heartfelt gratitude,

Hazem Shawish

vetted by :

@dlxxv-vetted-donations (vetted)

@a-shade-of-blue

@gazavetters , my number verified on the list is (#75)

[flatoatchi]

oooooougg here comes the fuckin depressive part of the mood cycle

[batqueers]

i dont care if hes ooc hes my oc now anyways

[my-ugly-organs]

Erotic fantasy: My meds work for once in my fucking life. I am able to perform basic tasks and not being disabled by my illness.

[trans-axolotl]

saw a post the other day that said that psych survivors were overexaggerating and fearmongering for saying that people should be aware that having diagnoses on your record can be a danger + impede your life. and the more i think about it the more annoyed i am. because i think people need to know that there are exceptions to health privacy laws that can make having psych diagnoses and psych hospitalization history on your record risky depending on your circumstances. diagnoses follow you through your health interactions-you do not have to consent to have your information shared between providers. judicial proceedings are also an exception to the HIPAA privacy rule, so for things like custody battles, guardianship, getting orders of protection--the court can petition for medical records. there's so many other situations where even if they can't legally access your information without your authorization, people will require you to disclose diagnoses, records, previous hospitalizations and refuse to give you services/hire you/whatever unless you share that information with them. for example in many states anyone (a provider, a cop, friends and family) can disclose that you have certain psych diagnoses like bipolar to the DMV which then might require that you undergo drivers license review as frequently as every 3 months. my university is actively trying to kick me out right now because i had to disclose my medical record, psych diagnoses, and hospitalization history to them as a requirement to stay enrolled.

and i don't want to scare people or make people think that having a diagnosis on their records is automatically going to mean that it is weaponized against us. because i do know plenty of people who have never faced issues with their records. but i do expect that the community supports the people speaking out about the ways that we have been harmed by diagnoses creating barriers to accessing necessary parts of our life. instead of attacking us or saying that we're lying about things we are currently experiencing.

[brad-bakshi-loves-bugs]

so exited for the new wafwaf chapter i love it sm!!!

aaaa thank you!!!!!!!! im very excited to finish it i just keep getting distracted and starting new fics D: it WILL be out at some point this week i PROMISE things are just Funky rn

[chasing-rabbits]

After meeting with my psychiatrist my new one I’ve managed to take my meds every single day for I think I’m at like over a week now that’s for sure I’d have to go get my med packet to check and I’m being lazy but the point is I’ve not missed a single dose for over a week I haven’t been able to go a single week without missing a dose since well since the pandemic really probably before that tbh. I’m not 100% sure because the year before the pandemic started I was discharged from my MH unit and had to start a PAL’s complaint and it was all a bit ajslkajdl and they left me on medication that caused a major manic relapse so my recall of that time isn’t exactly brilliant and the medication they left me on was only making me worse.

Giving a Bipolar patient anti depressants and nothing else is going to guarantee they have a manic relapse so yeah and then mid summer they eventually took me back and got me on the medication I’m on now but it took awhile to kick in because it doesn’t actually stop manic episodes so I had just wait til I’d transitioned out of my mania before they actually did anything it’s a preventative as I understand it but from what I was told at the time at least because I was mid mania that it’s not gonna like stop that particular manic cycle now idk if that’s because the meds don’t work like that or maybe it’s because a lot of these meds often take at least a month or more to even kick in and well I’d already been manic for many months at that point and as someone who doesn’t usually have mania for more than 3months I’d already gone past the point so idk if they were assuming I’d be coming out of it soon anyways before the meds could be in my system enough to actually work idk I’m pretty sure its the former and not the latter but hey ho. So yeah that was a long winded way of saying holy shit it’s been 2 years since I’ve managed to consistently take my meds and I’m pretty proud of myself right now this is a big achievement for me I also realised I think I struggled so much because of my old psychiatrist. I always put it down to depression because over the pandemic I lost two grandparents and had a lot of other family health issues going on amongst some other rather horrific events so it was a LOT of stress on me at the time but the thing is it’s still been pretty stressful lately and whilst I’m in a better home environment as I am now no longer living with my abusive dad I’ve had other worries because I’m now no longer living with my abusive dad in the middle of a cost of living crisis trying to figure out how to afford everything on benefits. Plus I spent an entire week in Spain last month dealing with all the responsibility of trying to find my granddad a care home so the hospital would release him as his condition has deteriorated quite a bit - he’s been on dialysis a while he’s had ongoing health issues so it’s not anything new but he is getting a lot worse but he lost his wife/my grandma last year very suddenly to cancer so it’s understandable he’s not coping so great rn.

So it’s not like the stress of family illness has gone either which made me realise I think some of my issues taking my medications stemmed from a severe lack of trust in my psychiatrist and I say this because I am someone who has had really severe side effects on EVERY mental health medication I’ve EVER been on and had side effects that you shouldn’t even get on such low doses and when I’d brought some concerns up with him about my current meds he went off at me rather aggressively about how I dared to ask him questions or question the meds he was giving me because he’s the professional and im here to see him - irony is I was asking the question because my first psychiatrist was very adamant he’d never put me on an anti seizure medication EVER due to some family history medical stuff so I was asking/concerned about why he was putting me on these meds and clarifying something with regards to risks these meds have based on my family history. I think after that and his lack of ever listening to me like I would report about how I was getting xyz side effects so I didn’t wanna up the meds and his immediate response was ‘How about we up ‘x’ medication’ he obviously was zoned out the entire time i was talking to him this was during the pandemic so it was all phone call appointments at first bcos they’d not set up video calling yet. This created a distrust especially because this came after the events in 2019 where I was discharged whilst manic and honestly that was such a traumatic time for me. So I was already wary of any new psychiatrist I was gonna have after that even and he didn’t help matters at all he was cold showed no empathy and really most of the time didn’t listen to what I had to say. This new psychiatrist took me off a bunch of medications that were not helping my anxiety or bpd which my old psych new because he then prescribed me something else but never removed the old meds which idk why tbh from my prescription so I just got more and more meds piled onto me with more and more side effects that were often already more prominent/severe because I’m so damn sensitive to medications.

Being taken off the anti depressants has made a BIG difference not so much in that they were making my mental health worse (they caused major heartburn issues to the point I was having to take more than the recommended dose of my meds for it and so far I’m not sure that’s changed yet so who knows if that’s permanent because long term use of these heart burn meds can do damage to your stomach anyways so its just circular). But it more so made a big difference to my mindset I guess I was feeling shitty I had so many meds and I had all that shit with the old psych as well I’d lost hope I guess in the system & I was taking meds that did nothing for me so it was hard to be motivated to take any of them at all tbh. But now I got to see that new psych he went over the things I’d been wanting to ask the old one about risks of ‘xyz’ stuff and I felt confident in him and his answers and my ability to trust him. So that made me feel a bit more relaxed and less worried about taking them and because in the end he decided to remove more medications from me than even I’d been asking for and instead decided to just leave me on the one med that has been working for my Bipolar. And I know I talked about that before about how happy I was with him and the way he works but yeah I’m just happy I’ve been able to take my meds for an entire week and more now. Although I’ll be honest I originally opened this post up to vent about how despite being on these meds again I’m still having a super depressed day today which okay these meds aren’t for the bpd although they can help some people with bpd too. Also I’m only just back on them but like as much as I’m happy I’m back on my medication again for my bipolar I’m still suffering with the bpd and I’ve still got some concerns about private therapy more so issues with my dad and stuff as opposed to the therapy itself. Although I heard back from the therapist yesterday and she’s gonna let me know when a spot opens up which will hopefully be soon I imagine not til the new year sometime though but hoping it’s not longer than like Easter time because I’ve been wanting/needing this for awhile now and I’ll obviously wait as long as I need to but yeah I just hope it’s not too long a wait. And hopefully by then my dad will be on board with everything and not create any issues or drama about it all.

[the-hopeless-haze]

Let’s Spend the Night Together

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

Greg House x Reader

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

NSFW - smut

“Where does she live?” Greg asks James.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what’s your issue?”

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

Greg scoffs. “This isn’t about sex.”

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

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

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

“No. I want to figure her out.”

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

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

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

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

“You already looked?” James asks, incredulous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well. She was. Eight years ago.”

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

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

“Don’t you have an actual patient?”

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

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

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

“Well, I don’t have her address.”

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

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

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

——————

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

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

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

“It’ll be worth your while.”

“Yeah? Why?”

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

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

“Have you met her?”

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

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

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

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

“Hm. Well. I’m busy, House.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Possibly.

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

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

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

“You keep Wilson around. You love bitches.”

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

“I’m not so easily charmed.”

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

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

“Don’t ever call me that,” he sighs.

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

“You can call me Greg.”

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

“Not many get the privilege.”

“Still haven’t denied the gay allegation.”

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

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

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

“Five years?”

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

“What makes you so sure?”

“No reason,” he lies.

“Right.”

“You’re single now.”

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

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

“Maybe I just like Frank Sinatra.”

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

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

“Nice deflection.”

“I just moved. No story there.”

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

“I can say no, you know.”

“You didn’t say no to me.”

“Maybe I should’ve.”

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

————-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were supposed to figure it out.”

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

“You actually asked Cuddy?”

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

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

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

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

“Mm. Try harder then,” you say.

“You gave me an unsolvable puzzle.”

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

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

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

“Nowhere.”

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

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Funny.”

“Why would that be funny, Greg?”

“Let me sleep with you first.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty? That’s a first.”

“Like no one’s ever told you.”

“Maybe ten years ago.”

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

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

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

———

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

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

“So what if I did?” you counter.

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

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

“It’s Vicodin.”

“Nasty drug,” you say.

“Really? I think they’re yummy.”

“You would.”

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

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

“Hm. You driving?”

“No.”

“What’d you break?”

“My leg.”

“Which one?”

“Right femur.”

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

“Femurs are hard to break.”

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

“Partner? What were you, 19?”

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

“Did they not make it?”

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

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

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

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

“How’d you end up here, then?”

“There was a job opening,” he answers.

“You were running away from something, too.”

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

“You’ve always been discourteous and unprofessional?”

“Those are my middle names,” he snarks.

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

Or you could just like scrod, he supposes.

“Why are you single?” he asks.

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

“Myriad of reasons.”

“Give me one.”

“My leg,” he responds indignantly.

“What happened to it?” you ask.”

“That’s a second date conversation.”

"You're in pain."

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

"Was it the cane? The Vicodin?"

'I think it was your charming personality.

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

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

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

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

"Nope. Keep pushing me and I never will.

Tell me."

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

"You made her your medical proxy?”

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

"Any medical background?"

"Nope."

"Then yes. Stupid decision,” you agree.

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

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

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

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

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

"I never said that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Entertain me."

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

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

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

"What do you think?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay. Then why did you choose psychiatry?"

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

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

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

“I’m not a beautiful woman.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Greg smiles at that. “Fair enough.”

“Yeah. Fair enough.”

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you know all about being seen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think lesbians do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You aren’t boring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really are a bitch.”

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

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

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

“No, I’ll go get—“

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

Empathy. Not sympathy.

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

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

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

You still lived a life without pain.

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

It’s something a woman did leave him for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They absolutely are not.”

“You familiar with their size?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

Oh. Yeah. That.

“I don’t care,” you lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Himself, first and foremost.

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

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

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

And… well. Takes one to know one.

Who would give in, though?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I broke up with my girlfriend for not taking her meds?

My (24M) girlfriend (28F) has bipolar and BPD. We've been together coming up on 3 years now. For the last half a year we were together it was pretty rough and turbulent, she was unmedicated and was having suicidal breakdowns almost every day, ended up in hospital several times, threatened and got into physical altercations with other girls who spoke to me or she thought were flirting with me, and I was spending almost every single day of my life having to take hours to talk her down from suicide or self-harm. It was emotionally exhausting and as someone who's also had suicide attempts in the past it was also incredibly triggering and damaging to my own mental health.

For additional context as to why I feel the way I do, my last girlfriend also had diagnosed BPD and NPD and when she stopped taking her medication she became fully abusive both physically and verbally and it took me a year of being absolutely beaten down to finally snap and leave her.

(Obvious note: I'm not saying everyone with bipolar, BPD, or NPD is abusive or that these illnesses inherently make you abusive. They were an abuser who just happened to have those things, and that played into how they acted and thought/felt.)

Current girlfriend eventually got medication and has been doing much better for most of the time since then. When she's on her meds she's a wonderful and generally pretty healthy partner - she's supportive, understanding of my boundaries, checks in with me, she's a year clean from self-harm, hasn't displayed any kind of self-destructive behaviour. She's gotten a job and managed to hold it down (got fired from several jobs in the past because of her daily meltdowns meaning she wasn't attending work), she's started exercising and going to the gym, she's picked up new hobbies, made new friends, she's just been doing great in general.

For about the past month though, she started going days without taking her medication and when I reminded her she would say she didn't want to, that she hated taking it, that she doesn't like the way it makes her feel etc. This is something my last girlfriend said too, and I know it's really common for people with BPD (and maybe bipolar too?) to stop taking their medication because they feel emotionally flat in comparison to how they feel off of the meds. I pretty much said that I couldn't handle going back to how she acts when she's off of the medication again and that if she was going to stop taking them then I didn't think our relationship would last through that kind of period again because last time it completely destroyed my mental health, my sleep, my life and several of my relationships due to how much energy and time I was having to put into her vs. myself and everything else. I suggested asking her doctor/psychiatrist/etc. for another dosage change or meds switch again to see if that would work better (though up until recently they have seemed to be working great so I'm not sure how good of an idea switching it up again would be).

She agreed at the time but I was kind of concerned about whether she'd been keeping up with it or not because over the last few weeks I've already noticed things devolving again - her screaming at me out of nowhere and having mood swings, intense jealousy and possessiveness, impulsive behaviour, even a couple of breakdowns again and having to talk her out of self-harm for the first time in over a year. True enough, today I found out she's been pretending to take her medication and throwing them out. When I confronted her about it she admitted she hasn't taken her medication for weeks.

I pretty much withdrew after that and didn't say anything at that moment but after a while she asked me why I was being so quiet and I basically repeated what I'd said to her in the last conversation, that I was honestly rethinking whether or not the relationship would work because I can't handle that kind of emotional exhaustion and constant sacrifice all over again. I don't mind some emotional support and some labour of love in a relationship because of course I'm going to need to look out for her mental health and reassure and comfort sometimes, that's the reality of loving someone who struggles, but I can't do it 24/7 again. I can't once again put talking her down for hours every day and weathering screaming and violent lashing out all the time at the expense of even my own basic needs and my own mental health struggles (for example my c-PTSD from my last relationship).

When I said that she got very very upset and basically said I was forcing her to choose between me and freedom or being able to live a normal/unmedicated life (which I mean, I guess I can't argue with because in a way I am making her choose between me and stopping her meds), and that I couldn't control her like that. I told her I wasn't doing it to control her and that if she's really determined to go off of them she could, but that I would have to make my own personal choice to walk away as a result of it for my own sake.

She said she'd think about it but ever since that conversation I've been going back and forth in my head on how much of a dick move it would be to flat out just do a black-and-white "Either you stay on your meds and regulate your behaviour or I leave"

TL;DR Girlfriend wants to go off of her medication, but when she's off her meds she has almost daily suicidal breakdowns and lashes out at me physically and verbally. WIBTA if I broke up with her if she goes ahead with stopping?

What are these acronyms?

[risustravelogue]

In the psychiatrist's waiting room and thinking about Wriothesley finally finding out what your regular visits to the surface is all about.

cw. mental health issues, specifically bipolar II disorder. contains heavy lore of my s/i (f!reader, she/her pronouns used).

You've told Wriothesley during your job interview that you'd require once-a-month visits to the surface if he were to employ you. He agreed without prying further, much to your relief.

Sigewinne had known from the start, of course—it's her duty to know everything about the people in her care, after all. Yet, she passed your files over to the Duke anyway, because she knew he'd grant you, the most excellent apprentice of Estelle's, this small relief. The only thing she told him was "she needs to maintain her health, but it's out of the scope of my knowledge of human well-being."

He'd lie if he said he wasn't curious about Sigewinne's words, but his need of a mechanic to maintain and improve his gauntlets was greater. And so he stayed out of the issue... until he decides to confess his attraction for you.

He doesn't even try persuading Sigewinne to tell him about your issues, knowing how strict she is with doctor-patient confidentiality. So after a few private investigations, he decides to go straight to the source.

That afternoon, he welcomes you to his office. He sits on his desk with the sound of soft piano—your favorite piece—flowing from his gramophone.

"I need to talk about your monthly visits to the surface," he says, and your gaze goes downward to your shifting feet, your fingers fidgeting behind your back.

Sensing your nervous energy, he smiles and says, "Relax. I'm not going to fire you or anything like that. A small issue like this won't affect what I think about you."

You chuckle derisively. "That's what they all say before rejecting my job application," you say. "And it's not exactly a 'small' issue. It affects everything you know about me."

"Try me," he says, sipping his tea. "Please."

"... I guess you're going to find out sooner or later..." you mumble. You inhale and exhale, your breath trembling in fear of being rejected by him.

"I have... depression. Specifically, bipolar two disorder. That's why I seem more irritable some days and like I've lost interest in everything on others," you blurt out. "I've been on both medication and counseling, so it doesn't stand out too much anymore, but it still gets in the way of my work sometimes. That's why I need to visit my doctor on the surface once a month. Believe me when I said this is not the worst I've been—"

You stop speaking when you realize that your boss is staring at you in sympathy.

"I—I'm sorry. For rambling," you mutter.

"No, no," he says with a sigh. "If anything, I'm sorry for not asking sooner."

"Sure... well. Are you still not going to fire me?" you ask bluntly.

Wriothesley's eyes soften.

"No. Why would I? I love you."

"... What?"

"I love you," he repeats as he steps closer to you. Your heart beats loud and fast from the adrenaline, thoughts racing through your head: screw this, screw everything, if I'm going to lose him, might as well be now—

"I... I don't... My ex dumped me when I told him this," you ramble, tears welling up in your eyes. "You– you're sure? You don't... see me as someone problematic? You don't... hate me?"

His fingers rest on your chin as he lifts your face. You instinctively gasp and close your eyes at his touch, only to feel his soft, warm lips meeting yours in a chaste kiss.

"I'm glad you're able to be honest with me," he says against your lips. His breath smells like the tea he just sipped, and somehow it's so intoxicating this way—

"I love you," he says again, his icy blue eyes now gazing softly into yours. "And I don't mind being a place for you to rest, your home in this foreign country. Will you allow me to be such?"

"Y– you would?" you stutter, the good kind of disbelief flooding your chest with warmth. "I... would love for you to be my home," you say with a grin. "I love you, too."

"Good," he breathes, his arms pulling your body flush against his. You feel your worries melt away as he kisses you in his embrace.

"Very good... my love."

© @risustravelogue 2023 • no to reposting, yes to reblogging. feel free to send an ask to suggest, chat, etc. :)

[cannellee]

hey, pls cant you do Mikey, Izana, hanma, kakucho and koko (manila arc) with a s/n temperamental, impulsive, umpredictable Dear who as bipolarity and 0 empathy, insensitive with mbti intj? Bean years younger than them, like a teenager. Thanks!

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ★

୨୧ alpha! Tokyo revengers x omega! Reader (pairing: mikey, izana, hanma, kakucho, kokonoi)

— their reactions to an unstable s/o

(that's a lot! I'm not very familiar with any of these - forgive me if it's not really representative - and I'm not sure if I quite wrote the reader you had in mind. I hope you still like it!!🫶🏼 I just realized i forgot kokonoi, I'll probably do it later if I'mmotivated sorry)

my masterlist : ☆

KAKUCHO

he is very attentive of every single details about you and completely supports you no matter what.

he always has the right words when you're feeling down and respects your boundaries.

he often hesitates to leave you some alone time or to actually listen to his instincts and stay by your side.

he's aware you value moments of calm and peace and doesn't want to interfere and stress you out.

he's so delicate with you and always there during your episodes. he started to take note of your triggers and symptoms early in the relationship to make sure he could offer you the best support.

if you have to take treatments or medications, he has it all planned, he knows exactly when you need to take them and make sure you do. he doesn't want to risk your health!

he's so patient with you:( when you get irritable easily he gives you time and space and silently envelopes you with his calming pheromones. and when your thoughts are racing and you're not able to talk clearly, he's making you slow down, he doesn't mind if you repeat yourself and stutter over your words : he's actively listening and nodding along to whatever you say.

MIKEY

mikey tries his best to be understanding but honestly he sometimes crosses the line.

he knows you have a short temper and gets angry easily, especially when you're tired. most of the time, he'll try to appear calmer to make up for your restlessness, but there are times where he'll purposely get on your nerves.

angry, you end up saying something hurtful to him to make him shut up and go inside your nest to get some rest. he's kinda used to you cursing at him so he doesn't really take it to heart. it kinda amuses him if you ask, he just thinks you're really cute. his adorable omega getting all worked up everytime he messes up with her is truly a sight to see for him.

he's very careful with you though, and that's something people don't usually notice. you tend to do things out of the blue without a second thought and that scares mikey. it's most of the time harmless stuff, but he can't help but worry and think of the worst.

he tries his best to make sure you feel at home and comfortable with him. he doesn't judge you or anything. if you don't want to do anything at all and rest all day, that's fine with him, he'll even help you build your nest!

the only thing he wants from you is to stay loyal to him and never leave him or for you to hurt yourself. he values your health, probably more than you and accepts any of your mood swings with teasing remarks and comforting hugs.

IZANA

he's so whipped he absolutely doesn't care about anything you can do or say to him.

you can suck the money out of his wallet and not even thank him and he'll accept it. you often demand things from him, order him around when you need to do your nest but you're too tired to do so, make him buy you the finest jewelry and lash out at him if you don't get what you want. izana does it all and feels proud to be able to fulfill all of his precious omega's needs.

you often surprise him with your antics. it's not rare for you during one of your manic episodes to engage in risky behaviours and being overconfident. lucky for you izana is always keeping you under his watch and is quick to bring you somewhere safer and eliminate any danger.

he's always impressed at how long you're able to sleep. he'll leave for work early and come back at night and find you at the exact same place. it warms his heart to see his sweet omega looking so peaceful he wants to join you right here right now!

he does his best to keep up with your change in appetite. he constantly buys you a lot of food, the most diverse he can find and lets you do your little selection each day. he does worry when you eat very little though. that's why he tries to buy sweets and snacks he knows you love best. he's able to adapt himself very quickly, that's why he identifies which food you like to have during each episode or depending of your symptoms.

When you reject what he offers you with a scowl on your face, he takes it to heart and actually feel like he somehow failed as your alpha. he listens to any of your requests in hopes to make up for his mistakes.

HANMA

good luck with him tbh.

he met you when you were studying at the library of your university, although you surely were the prettiest omega he had ever seen, you seemed to drive people away from you. you didn't engage in social interactions and answered him with short and cold responses when he tried to make a conversation with you.

he actually is very fond of your extreme mood and snarky remarks : you never hold back your words and he loves it.

he doesn't reciprocate because deep down he cares a lot about you, but he does tease you when you don't seem really sensitive.

hanma absolutely lives for your choices and decisions in life, it doesn't matter how crazy and dangerous they are. he'll follow you and discreetly make sure you don't jeopardize yourself.

he has a lot of money and he'll happily let you spend it. he only asks for a few kisses and affection from you because he knows you hate that. push him away and he'll come back even more in love.

although he supports everything about you, there are things he doesn't tolerate. when you once felt like trying drugs and alcohol together, he took them away from you and looked the most angry he ever had. you would have shaken in fear if you were just any omega : his pheromones were filled with worry and anger, it was a new scent for him who was always so confident.

actually convinces you to quit school to live with him. your episodes make it hard for you to be around others for long periods of times, especially since you're an omega and you're drained easier of your energy. he doesn't understand why you just don't accept being with him 24/7.

you sometimes question why you actually listened to him because he seems to love provoking you. you do threaten him but he doesn't care.