chronicallyanxiousbat

[chronicallyanxiousbat]

So good to know the PWHL fandom is fine with fatphobia, we will actively call out a woman for transphobia and call the PWHL ableist, but draw that line at fatphobia. And actually actively engage in fatphobia, something that is extremely harmful to a large group of PWHL fans. Maybe stop throwing rocks in a glass house and face the fact that you are in fact also apparently a shit person.

[chronicallyanxiousbat]

A Smosh X Reader Fanfic

WC: 1,094

Warnings: Discussion of Chronic pain,

This is representative of my experience and thus could be different from someone else's.

You knew you needed to get up, get off the couch, turn the lights on, and get ready for the upcoming day. Everything in your body screamed at you, telling you not to move. Your arms felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, and the ache deep in your joints made you feel like an animatronic that had gone rusty.

You had been told relocating to Los Angeles would be the best thing for your chronic pain, that the harsh, cold winters of New York City were simply too taxing on your body. While yes, some days were better than others, you continue to trudge through life as if it were molasses. Your dreams of Broadway had slowly dwindled as your ability to sing and dance for hours on end disappeared, turning to improv to try to continue the love you’d had since childhood. But you were barely getting enough energy together to perform for the camera, with sketch videos for Smosh being all you could bring yourself to do most days. The near-constant feeling that you brought down the energy of the group, eating away at the back of your mind.

Your call time for today had been eight in the morning, and with each passing minute as the sun rose through your studio apartment windows, the closer you knew you got to being late. Again. You knew deep in your gut that your time at Smosh was bound to come to an end if you couldn’t get your pain managed. You had been keeping it hidden now for months, the fear of being treated like you are fragile keeping you from sharing your struggles with your bosses and coworkers. Going as far as to hide away from your fellow cast when you sense a group gathering forming, not wanting to risk being included, only to bow out of plans due to pain.

With one last look at the clock, the time reading seven twenty in the morning, and a deep breath, you force yourself to stand from the couch you had found yourself lying on after having moved from your bed to your living area. Your pajama-clad legs were fighting every step you made towards the small bathroom at the end of the long, narrow hallway.

You avoid looking in the mirror when you enter the dark bathroom, the light staying off in hopes of not triggering a migraine that was sure to make an appearance at some point in the day. Your effort to quickly make it through your morning routine turns out to be not as fast as you had hoped, as you watch the clock flick over to seven forty. The dread of going out into the bright LA sun makes your skin crawl with anxiety, but you bite back the nerve and push ahead.

Making the brutal twenty-five-minute drive to the studio, quietly patting yourself on the back for only being five minutes late, a new record, some might say.

“They’ve arrived,” the loud booming voice of Shayne bounces off the open studio space as you enter the building, the noise reverberating off the concrete walls before settling in the back of your mind. Seemingly planting a seed for your nightly headache. The tone in his voice was nothing but positive, but the feeling of dread filled your gut at the fact that your arrival warranted cheers.

“Well, now that everyone has arrived, we can break into groups and get started,” Spencer shouted, the crowd that had formed turning silent as they looked over at him.

“For today's game video, we are going to have Shayne, Amanda, Angela, Y/N, and Tommy.” Spencer quickly hands off announcements, beckoning us to follow him as we make our way to the games stage.

“Hey buddy,” Shayne's presence behind you, cutting through the brain fog that had started to settle, his hand coming up to pat you on the back, unknowingly hitting one of your key trigger points.

The pain radiating down your back was something you didn’t even know how to explain, your breath catching in your throat as you tried your best to seem as normal as possible. Knowing that today was now destined to be a losing battle as an ache already began to set in.

“Are you feeling okay? You seem different today?”

You knew his questions came from a place of concern, but you also knew you couldn’t answer honestly.

“I’m okay, just a little under the weather is all.”

Your response is generic. But it's also your normal response at this point.

“If you need anything, let us know,” Shayne responds. A look of real care in his eyes, “We care about you, Y/N.”

You don’t say much after that, settling into your seat at the games table, the game of Hue sat before you. You can feel the bright lights on you, the loud sounds of production around you, and Angela's gentle hand resting on your leg, being the thing to bring you back to the present. Her soft smile makes your heart race a little faster, with both nerves and something you can’t explain.

Filming passes in a blur, you can’t recall if you even did well. You just know that the pain has gone from a five to a seven, and the nausea had started creeping in.

“Hey Y/N,” you hear Spencer say quietly as he approaches you. “Shayne mentioned you weren’t feeling well, it might be best if you go home and rest for the day. Okay?”

Spencer's words, while masked with kindness, sent your brain into overtime. You knew you hadn’t performed to the company's standards; you could see the pity looks sent your way from around the room. In your gut, you feared this was the start of the end. The beginning of losing everything you’d dreamed of — and everyone you loved, even if you feared they only tolerated you.

“Uh yeah,” you stutter, “That's probably for the best.”

Your voice wavered as tears began to form in the back of your eyes. Without so much as a look at your fellow castmates, a fear that you would begin to break down if you locked eyes.

You fled, not even two hours into your work day, you found yourself back in your car, tears flowing, the desperate wish to be pain-free for just one day tearing at your heart. You turn your phone to do not disturb, even though you are sure that no one will check on you, why would they when this is your normal?