#headache/migraine

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 31 (Headache/Migraine) - @badthingshappenbingo

Red X for posted, white X for requested! Send in your requests! If you don’t see a prompt here that you already requested, please send it again!

~

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: sick fic, past captivity, unsure of reality, past forced confession, past offscreen murder of a child, self-hatred, past hallucinations, past murder, fear of taking pills, so much angst

~

The cloying sensation of pain reached Gavin through heavy waves of nausea and exhaustion. He squeezed his eyes shut and winced as the pain sharpened to a hot, pulsing point behind his left eye. A chill shuddered over his shoulders, down his spine, back up into the tight muscles of his neck. His own clammy fingers pressed against his forehead in a feeble attempt to relieve the pain.

There was no relief, down here in the basement.

He was a little warm, at least, under the three blankets he had earned with his confessions. They hadn’t been wild and desperate, like the confessions pried out of him by the drugs or the razor-sharp edge of Schiester’s knife. Each one had been deliberate. He had known the bargain he was making with each one.

“My coming back was my fault. Not theirs. I… I sh-should have died. It wasn’t their fault.”

“I… I shot Gray. In the chest. Back when I was… when I was still fighting them. I shot them in the chest and left them to die.”

“Wh-when I was sixteen, my mother offered me a child… I see it was a test, I see that now, but at the time I just saw a plaything that I knew I should – that I knew how to hurt. I… I killed her. Quickly. I—”

Schiester had backhanded him across the mouth before he could finish the sentence.

Each confession had been worth it. Each one had come with a beating that had left Gavin screaming in pain, but each was worth it. He had confessed his crimes to someone who would punish him for them, and properly, not with easy forgiveness. And what was more – each confession earned him a blanket that held off the cold. Still, despite the blankets over him, he shivered with cold sweat.

He didn’t try to raise his head or look around. He simply lay still, frozen in place with the pain, trying and failing to cease to exist. Terror was a steady thrum alongside his heartbeat, as he knew at any moment his tormentor would return and use this agony against him. There was nothing he could do to stop that now. He could no sooner stop the pain than he could stop the sluggish beat of his own heart, matching the dull thud within his own head. Each breath whooshed softly into his nose, huffed softly out of his mouth. His body was a heap of mechanical processes that carried on, even as his every reason for living had abandoned him here. His life was simply a serious of moments extended by the sadistic whims of the man still keeping him alive. Schiester made his commands, and his body obeyed. Nothing would stop the pain. There was no such thing as relief in this basement. There was no ice, no rizatriptan, no mercy.

Isaac had stopped looking—

“Gavin.”

Gavin cried out and flung himself upright. Isaac stood at the side of the bed, one hand outstretched and almost touching him. Gavin quaked with each panting breath as his arms shook under him and finally collapsed. Pain seared behind his eyes as he stared up at Isaac, who was starting to blur with tears.

“Are you alright?” Isaac murmured.

“You… g-got me out,” Gavin croaked. His mouth was so dry. His left eye felt like it was starting to melt out of his head.

Isaac sat carefully on the side of the bed, hand still outstretched. His fingers gently brushed through Gavin’s hair – Gavin realized then that it was soaked with sweat. “Yes,” Isaac said heavily. “I… I got you out, Gavin. Bad dream? Or…?”

“Migraine,” Gavin said, and pressed his face against the pillow. “Isaac, I—” He shoved a hand against his own mouth and dry heaved.

“Gray brought your rizatriptan,” Isaac said, rising again. Gavin groaned as the bed jostled. “Let me go get you some.”

“A-and water,” Gavin said weakly. “Please.”

“Sure,” Isaac said as he left the room.

Gavin trembled and clutched at the pillow beneath his head. As much as it pained him, he forced himself to look around, to take in the sight of the room – the peeling paint on the walls, the curtains lit by the sun slanting into the windows, the warmth of the light, the size of the room. It looked nothing like the cold, dark basement that had been his prison for what had felt like months. It felt nothing like the cramped, cruel cell where he had been kept. When Isaac entered the room again with a glass of water and a pill pinched between his fingers, the tears in Gavin’s eyes spilled over.

“N-not fucking going back,” he rasped. He dropped his head and muffled a sob against his pillow as Isaac sat beside him once more.

“No way,” Isaac said, every word sounding strained. He held the pill to Gavin’s lips, and Gavin took it, willingly.

Schiester could have drugged me this way.

The thought was a brick in Gavin’s stomach. He could have put it in my food. He didn’t have to fucking… inject it. But… An entirely different thought crossed his mind that brought a chill to his heart. This could all still be a hallucination. This could just be how he’s keeping me drugged.

As Isaac tipped the glass of water to Gavin’s lips, Gavin hesitated. Isaac froze with the glass still held out. “You alright?” Isaac rasped.

Gavin trembled as he raised his gaze to Isaac. Isaac’s eyes were brown, not blue. And he hadn’t hurt Gavin at all. Not yet. But Schiester could be playing the long game. After all, he’d been playing the long game by letting Gavin think he had escaped to the north safely back in May. This could all just be another fucking joke to him, like faking the hanging after he murdered Lucy and Topher.

Isaac swallowed hard. “Gavin?” he said softly. “Is… What—”

Gavin raised a shaking hand and dug the pill out of his mouth. It was already beginning to disintegrate and leave a gritty residue on his tongue. He stared at it between his fingers, then looked back to Isaac again.

Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together. “Gavin, what are you—”

“What happens to me if I don’t take this?” Gavin breathed. Light pulsed on the left side of his vision.

Isaac’s eyes widened. “What happens…? Nothing, Gavin, nothing happens to you. Except maybe your migraine doesn’t get much better. I don’t…” He reached out to gently stroke Gavin’s cheek.

Gavin flinched at the contact. Isaac jerked his hand back like Gavin had bitten him.

“Gavin,” Isaac said, realization crossing his face. “No. This isn’t… come on, Gavin, this is—”

“Prove it, then.” The words barely made a sound as they passed Gavin’s lips. He reached over to the nightstand and rolled his fingers together until the sticky pill dropped onto the wood. He nearly threw up then, just from the effort of holding himself up with his head pounding so ferociously. Shaking, he returned his gaze to Isaac – or the specter that could be wearing Isaac’s form. He braced for the collapse of the illusion: the sneer of contempt, the flash of violence in Isaac’s eyes, the snap of his fingers as he ordered the guards who must be currently outside of Gavin’s vision to step into the cell with him and hold him down and hurt him—

Instead, a horrible, guilty brokenness crawled across Isaac’s face. The lines around his eyes deepened, and a terrible sadness tugged at his mouth. He held his hands out, at his sides, empty and harmless. His eyes swam with helpless tears.

“I… w-won’t make you take anything you don’t want to, Gavin,” he said weakly. “I was just trying to help.”

Gavin’s throat tightened, and he could feel nothing but heat and pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and grasped at the relief of the momentary darkness. Then, he blinked his eyes open and reached for Isaac. Isaac’s shoulders fell, and he let Gavin take his hand.

“P-please,” Gavin whispered. “Please, I just…” He sobbed weakly and whimpered when that only ratcheted up the pain in his head.

“Here,” Isaac said, tears falling down his own cheeks. He guided Gavin to lay down again and stretched out beside him. “No… no pills. Just… I can just be with you. And hold you. Would that be… would that… help?”

“Yeah,” Gavin croaked, his throat still tight. He could barely see out of his left eye, and every heartbeat was agony. Still, Isaac was here. Isaac had his hands on him, and was pulling him close, and was holding him. He buried his face in Isaac’s chest and let out another broken sob.

Even as he shivered and twisted in Isaac’s arms from the pain, his heartrate slowed. The Isaac holding him was solid and real, even nothing else in the world was.

Something prickled in the back of Gavin’s mind. He swallowed hard, swallowed back the terror and pain that quivered beneath his skin; the Isaac holding him was real, because Daniel Schiester would never, ever have allowed Gavin Uriah to say no to him. The pill lay on the nightstand beside the bed still, beside the untouched water glass.

Continued here

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[goldenavenger02]

all lights turned off can be turned on

for @badthingshappenbingo. Prompt: headache/migraine

But when Aang stepped outside and Iroh started to remove the dusty, sweat-stained armor, he couldn’t stop himself from pleading with Zuko’s unconscious body.

“What have you gotten yourself into this time, my dear boy?”

Takes place during The Promise.

“Zuko?” Aang asked, watching as he pulled himself to his feet with his hands on his knees.

“So…I was right then…? All along…my decision was right?...”

The panting breaths were cut off as he fell forward with a sickening ‘thud’ that had Aang racing forward with a shout of Zuko’s name before he collapsed to his knees and turned him on his back.

‘You can’t die now,’ Aang couldn’t stop himself from thinking as he pushed past layers of armor and clothes to press his fingers against his neck, holding his own breath to feel for any sign of life, ‘not now.’

“Is he hurt?” Katara’s voice cut in as she fell to her knees beside him, but Aang pressed his teeth against the edge of his bottom lip until he finally felt the sluggish pulse under his index and middle fingers. 

“He-he’s alive,” Aang stuttered as he pulled away before looking over to see the faces of Fire Nation soldiers, protestors, and the Earth King himself with a mixture of concern and confusion, “Katara, we have to get him out of here.”

“Give me a few seconds to see if it’s safe to move him.” Katara insisted as she bent the water out of her water-skin, forcing Aang to bring himself to his feet before digging into his pocket and blowing air into the small bison whistle.

He turned to hear Sokka, who had finally managed to push past the crowd only to skid to a stop when he saw what was unfolding.

“Is he-?”

“He’s alive, but we need to get him out of here,” Aang cut him off as Appa flew overhead to find a place to land, “can you, Suki and Toph get things settled down here? Katara and I will be back as soon as we can but we need to-”

“Yeah, we’ve got it covered,” Sokka insisted as Katara gave the two of them a sharp nod, “you two get him to safety.”

“Thanks,” Aang breathed before turning to lift Zuko under the arms while Katara grabbed his legs; once the two of them were on the saddle, Aang shimmied over to the reins and flicked them with a “yip-yip”.

“Where are we taking him?” Katara asked, presumably still examining Zuko’s unconscious body, but Aang kept his vision fixated on the horizon as he spoke, trying to calm his racing heart.

“The Jasmine Dragon.”

…

Iroh had planned to make himself some dinner and a pot of tea after closing the shop before locking the doors for the night; his newest venture in owning a tea shop had rejuvenated something in him that he thought he had lost many years ago.

 Even if there was that tiny tug in his heart that constantly insisted on checking in on Zuko.

He hadn’t seen him much since he took the throne in stride a year prior, but he still received and sent two letters a month.

Zuko would update about policies in a way that felt too formal to convey any of his personal feelings and Iroh would update him on the Jasmine Dragon, but found himself adding a sentence or two at the end about letting him know that his doors were always open regardless of what his nephew asked of him.

And as the Fire Nation hawk flew away with his latest letter, Iroh pleaded with the spirits to work their way past Zuko’s stubborn and self-sacrificial tendencies.

That night, after eating yet another dinner in the solace of his own company, he got up to lock the doors, only to be broken out of the quiet by the all too familiar roar of the Avatar’s sky bison.

He hadn’t heard that sound since their entire group had arrived after the war ended a year ago; before Iroh could think it through fully, he found himself making his way outside and hoping that it was good news that couldn’t wait until the morning.

The small hope was crushed by the sight of Aang and Katara hefting a limp Zuko out of the saddle; he couldn’t stop himself from approaching and resting his fingers on his nephew’s wrist for one, two, until he could breathe at the feeling of a weak but steady pulse under his fingertips.

Now that he could breathe clearly, he met the eyes of the two teenagers and said, “let’s get him inside” before holding the door open for them; he had so many questions in his mind, for all three of them, but his nephew’s current state was the most pressing situation at hand.

Iroh pushed back his curiosity and let the Avatar lay his nephew down on the bed in the guest room, but when he stepped outside and he started to remove the dusty, sweat-stained armor, he couldn’t stop himself from pleading with Zuko’s unconscious body.

“What have you gotten yourself into this time, my dear boy?”

He wasn’t surprised by the sight of hollow cheeks and dark circles, signs of stress that had prevented basic self care for what was looking like months; he wasn’t as gaunt as he had been in Ba Sing Se, but that was only a minor relief.

Iroh knew that his nephew would sleep for a long while still, so he pulled the green blanket over his boney shoulders and extinguished the candle before walking out and starting a pot of ginseng; as it steeped, he could hear the quiet whispers between Katara and Aang, but his ears were too old to decipher the words.

When he brought over the three cups and the pot to the table they were sitting at, however, he couldn’t stop himself from speaking as he poured the tea.

“I think it would be best if you two explain what happened today.”

The tea shop went silent for a few minutes as he watched blue and dark gray eyes connect, quietly trying to work out where to start.

He had witnessed that same look years ago between Lu Ten and Zuko, and again with Zuko and Azula, but unlike disagreements between family and trying to decide who would take the fall, this was tinged with a great deal of sadness and guilt.

“I owe you and Zuko an apology, Iroh,” Katara finally spoke while turning her eyes towards his, her finger tracing the rim of her cup, “he…he asked Aang to make him a promise last year and I knew that Zuko had changed, but I still pressured Aang into agreeing to it. I viewed it as a safety net, a worst case scenario that would never come true,” she paused and looked back at the gray eyes for a split second, resting her hand over one of Aang’s before she added, “I should have never done that, and I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Aang added, squeezing Katara’s hand gently as he spoke, “Zuko and I were so busy disagreeing that I didn’t even stop to think how everything was affecting him. I should have told him no but I…” he sighed, resting his head in his hands, “I didn’t want to fail everyone again.”

“I only have one question for you two, then. What did my nephew ask of you?”

“I think it would be best if he told you,” Katara responded with her hand drifting to the Avatar’s back, “he wasn’t in a great headspace, and I think it’s only gotten worse.”

Iroh nodded and took another sip of his tea; in front of him weren’t world leaders or fearless warriors, they were teenagers with the responsibility that had fallen on them from the war still weighing heavy on their shoulders, just like his nephew.

“Zuko will be alright once he gets some rest; while I am sure he will not blame the two of you, you can ask for his forgiveness when he wakes,” Iroh assured them, successfully coaxing the Avatar’s face out of his hands, “as for now, I forgive you and I offer you two a place to sleep if you would like.”

“We would love to, but we have to decline,” Katara insisted as she stood, “Yu Dao is still in really bad shape.”

“Yeah, she’s right,” Aang agreed and stood as well, “but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Thank you, for the tea.”

“Of course. Would you like some to-go?”

A pause as they made the silent but conversational eye contact again before Katara looked back at him with a nod, "That'd be great, thank you.”

Iroh silently prepared a bag of leaves with a small note attached on how it was best prepared before handing it to the waterbender, but as Aang reached into his pocket to pull out money, he held out his hand in refusal.

“No need for that. A friend of my nephew’s is a friend of mine.”

Aang’s face going from a soft smile to a guilty frown as he removed his hand from his pocket made Iroh wince; it wasn’t helped by the whisper of “I hope he still is my friend when he wakes up” before Katara ushered him outside, once again leaving Iroh in silence.

But unlike the comforting quiet of a few hours ago, it was now filled with an agonizing dread as he simultaneously hoped for Zuko to stay asleep and awake at the same time.

…

As the days passed with The Jasmine Dragon staying closed so he could be at his nephew’s bedside, Iroh’s concern about just what Zuko asked from the Avatar only grew as he made good on his word to be back as soon as he could.

It was only at nights, for two to three hour intervals with one of those hours being spent at Zuko’s bedside, but he still stayed true to his word.

He had a feeling of what Zuko had asked of Aang, but even if he was wrong, which he could only hope for despite how much his hopes had been crushed in the last few days, he knew that it had to be too much for the Avatar to go through with it.

And he had a strong feeling that it didn’t involve Aang going against his vegetarian diet.

He had learned about that during a game of Pai Sho on the third night; despite only being fourteen, Iroh could admit when he was finally playing against someone with a similar skill set and it was actually a challenge.

So before Appa landed in the grassy area behind The Jasmine Dragon, Iroh made sure to make extra food and set up the pieces for another game of Pai Sho; it hadn’t been lost on him that the focus on the pieces had allowed the Avatar to relax for the first time since he showed up with his nephew limp in his arms.

By the time Aang had landed, Iroh was waiting by the door; in the time off from working, after he had gotten Zuko to awaken enough that he could get him to drink something, whether it was water or possum chicken broth, he had been busying himself by coming up with new ideas for the menu.

One of those ideas, involving tapioca balls steeped in tea and milk, was finally ready to be tested and he was hopeful that Aang would be willing since there was no meat involved and he had seen the young Avatar practically inhale food once assured that it would not result in him breaking his diet.

“I have the Pai Sho board ready.”

“Thanks, Iroh, but…” his voice trailed off as his fingers wrapped around the medallion that he usually wore around his neck, “I need to talk to Roku first. He and I have unfinished business now that things are settled in Yu Dao for now.”

“For now?”

“King Kuei has agreed to negotiate, and Sokka and Suki calmed down the protesters, but we’re waiting on the Fire Lord before we move forward.”

“I see,” Iroh nodded, unable to stop himself from glancing at the closed door that his nephew laid behind before returning his gaze back to Aang, “well, I wish you luck with Roku. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Thanks, Iroh.” Aang nodded before pulling out his glider and going upwards toward the roof, giving him the go ahead to return inside and start preparing his latest beverage.

The last thing he expected as he worked was the soft ‘creak’ of the guest room door followed by Zuko stumbling out with one hand on the door frame and the other against his forehead while he squinted in the light.

“Uncle?”

Iroh moved around the counter and gently wrapped a hand around Zuko’s arm, feeling just how shaky he was under his soft grip, “let’s get you something to eat.”

“But Yu Dao, my people, they all-”

“Your friends got the situation calmed down for now,” Iroh cut him off, knowing that the hand still pressed against his nephew’s face was indicative of a headache, “you need to sit. You need to eat.”

He knew that the exhaustion that he had been subjected to was still weighing on him when he stilled again with a whisper, “okay”, but it gave him the opportunity to lead him over to one of the booths.

Iroh returned to the kitchen to quickly warm up some of the steamed buns that had been brought earlier in the day by a frequent customer, an elderly man named Jianhong, who had informed Iroh that his granddaughter had been one of the protesters in the city and had been witness to the events unfolding.

“I am a believer in letting the younger generations handle these things,” he explained as he handed him the full wooden steamer, “but with your shop’s temporary closure, my daughter suggested I bring you and your nephew some of her steamed buns.”

He returned with a plate, a pair of chopsticks and the steamer, going back for the teapot, teacup and one of the green blankets which he draped around Zuko’s shoulders silently.

Iroh expected the blanket to be shrugged off in some form of defiance, but his heart only sank when Zuko pulled it tighter around his shoulders before opening the steamer, making him look younger than he had in years.

“Did you eat already?”

“Eat as much as you need to, nephew.”

Zuko nodded and pulled two buns onto his plate with the chopsticks before starting to take small, calculated bites out of one; Iroh busied himself with filling Zuko’s cup, the smell of peppermint and ginger starting to fill the air around the booth until his nephew found his voice.

“How did I get here?”

“Aang and Katara brought you to me after you collapsed,” Iroh supplied, filling his own cup, “you have very good friends. Friends who care about you very much.”

Zuko nodded silently and took another bite; it was all too reminiscent of their time on The Wanyi, where they spent their dinners in near if not total silence which left Iroh patiently waiting for another outburst of teenage emotion to break up the quiet.

“I know,” he finally spoke after taking a few sips of his tea, “I…I wish I had been a better friend.”

“That is very similar to what Katara said when she told me what happened.” He watched his nephew’s back stiffen in response and he knew then that he was uncovering the roots of what had propelled him down the path of isolation.

“How much did she and Aang tell you?”

“They told me what they knew and they asked for my forgiveness. But they also told me that the rest of it would be better if it came from you.”

When the look in Zuko’s eyes shifted to a face pleading for forgiveness, it brought Iroh back to the White Lotus camp, to seeing him for the first time in months with tears on his face as he apologized, insisting that he would do whatever he had to in order to make it up to him.

Iroh reached forward and rested a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, hoping that the gesture was enough assurance to tell Zuko that in his eyes, he was already forgiven.

“I just wanted to find out what happened to my mother. My father…he brought it up during the eclipse, to bait me into staying until after the sun came out. It worked, the sun came out and…” his hand went up toward his chest, towards where his sister had tried to end his life with lightning.

‘Ozai shot lightning at him. Ozai tried to kill him.’ Iroh dropped his hand.

“After my coronation, I confronted him in prison. I demanded to know where she was,” Zuko stopped to move onto the second steamed bun, his bites growing smaller as his emotions grew larger, “he dangled it in front of me like a treat for a deer dog, occasionally giving me slivers of information.”

Zuko set his chopsticks down on the table and rested his head against his hands once again, the squint in his eyes making it obvious that the headache he had woken up with was still lingering.

“After that first conversation, I…I decided to use Aang as a safety net, I made him promise that if he ever saw me start to turn into my father, to…” he cut himself off with a wet sniffle, the sound of him processing everything that had happened, “to stop me, permanently.”

Despite having his suspicions, the words still made Iroh’s heart skip a beat with shock.

“That’s when I stopped sleeping, I guess. If it wasn’t nightmares, it was assassination attempts. Ozai, he told me that being Fire Lord changes you, that he was the only one that could help me navigate it and I was foolish enough to believe him, to do what he said, that being the Fire Lord meant that what I chose was right.”

Zuko pulled his head out of his hands, his golden eyes filled with tears as they met Iroh’s.

“But in Yu Dao, when Aang went into the Avatar State to fulfill his promise, I realized that I was still doing exactly what Ozai would have done; attacking the innocent and breaking foreign ties instead of going back to planning things out, revising things.”

“These things are never a straight line,” Iroh finally said when Zuko all but slumped onto the table, any sign of the royal presence he had adopted in the last year siphoning away with the reserves of his energy, “but if you have patience, you’ll find the right path. Of course, it helps that the Earth King has agreed to negotiations.”

“How do you know that?”

“Like I said, Zuko, you have very good friends,” Iroh couldn’t help but smile as he stood to wash his teacup, “Aang has been here every day since he brought you to me. Of course, my ears aren’t what they used to be, but I believe he is on the roof right now.”

“The ro-,” he found his back finally untensing when he heard a chuckle escape Zuko’s lips with his nose pinched in between his thumb and middle finger with a mutter of “typical airbender” interspersed in the small laugh.

“If you are feeling up to it, I should let him know that you’re awake.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Zuko muttered, using his hand to massage against his surely aching temples.

Iroh started to make his way to the door, but found himself stopping with his hand wrapped around the knob, “nephew?”

He turned to see his nephew peering up at him with one golden eye and a raised eyebrow, the other one staying closed under the lights; unsurprising, his left side had been sensitive to light for years now.

“Drink some more of that tea. It’ll ease that headache,” he watched as his nephew sputtered on nothing, trying to get his confusion out, but Iroh shrugged before he had the chance, “there is no need to continue to suffer when the pain is manageable.”

And with that, he made his way outside to be greeted with the sight of smoke coming from the roof and what looked like tears running down the Avatar’s face in the moonlight.

“Aang! Guess who just woke up?”

“About time!” Despite what had looked like tears, his enthusiasm was real enough that Iroh chose not to press further, “how’s he doing, Iroh?”

“Why don’t you come and see for yourself?” He offered, making his way back around the counter to prepare the new menu item he was testing, watching as Aang’s face lit up when he looked over and saw Zuko sitting at the table with the green blanket around his shoulders and the teacup pressed against his lips, “thank you for bringing him to me, Avatar. He really should have come earlier, on his own. Sometimes he forgets he has a place here.”

Iroh knew he wouldn’t get any form of protest or embarrassment from his nephew who was consumed in both guilt as well as a raging headache, but he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “He may be the Fire Lord now, but he is still a stubborn boy.”

[teaboot]

Okay so I may have been struggling under a miscommunication issue

[chronicsymptomsyndrome]

I know its kind of silly to say “don’t feel bad for canceling because of pain, fatigue, etc” because I know guilt is a reflex you can’t easily refrain from. But you can reason with yourself so instead I’ll say this:

Nobody can feel what you’re feeling but you. Nobody knows the severity of what you would be putting yourself through if you were to “tough it out.”

If you do “tough it out,” the purpose for you doing the thing will most likely not be fulfilled anyway. You probably will not be mentally present or engaged. You probably will not have a good time or get much out of it. Etc.

If people really have such a problem with it, thats a huge red flag. Being transparent about your needs and boundaries is a great way to weed people like that out of your life.

If you have any kind of chronic illness or disability, remember that you probably have a very warped judgement of what is “reasonable” to endure in terms of pain, fatigue, burnout, etc.

You didn’t ask for this, you don’t deserve this, there is no reason you should have to bear the weight of it alone. I bet if someone else was in your position, you wouldn’t mind helping accommodate for them?

Low energy days are truly sacred, take them seriously. Please respect your body’s signals. “If you do not choose times to rest, your body will choose for you” or however the saying goes

It is so much pressure to have to deliberate what sacrifices are necessary for proper self care. Give yourself extra credit for having to deal with that stress on top of whatever is putting you in that position in the first place. Thats a lot at once

You are leading by example and showing others that you would never expect them to hurt or overextend themselves for your benefit. Putting yourself first always inspires other to do the same.

Please be proud of yourself for even considering canceling and putting your needs first. That is so strong of you <3

[tofu-bento-box]

i’ve started saying “i’ve been having health issues” like some sort of suburban mother and gotta say. would highly recommend. lets people know you’re not doin’ too hot without leaving room for questions. gets them off your ass. makes you mysterious. am i shitting myself blind or wasting away like a delicate victorian maiden? who knows! not you!

[mmelete]

Four: *exists*

LU Fandom: my gift to you

[ontheoutside-lookingin]

Some chronic pain memes for extra hurty times

[invisibleoctopus]

chronic pain culture is not being able to relate to the "lets take ibuprofen together" meme because ibuprofen hasnt worked for your pain since you were like 10

[eyeofthenewt1]

chronic pain

[modmad]

TPoH: Update!

Update here on the TPoH website!

Read TPoH from the start here.

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[thebibliosphere]

Postrdrome is such a mother fucker. It's like, congratulations, you were in agony for the last 33 hours. Time for Additional Crushing Depression.

Like c'mon man. I'm already holding it together by the skin of my teeth. I don't need my brain dropping a Molotov cocktail into what is already a dumpster fire.

[chamelien]

take a look, it's in a book

[aviewtoakillmp3]

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 117

Jaskier's head often hurts. He doesn't always tell Geralt, but Geralt catches him putting a hand to his forehead and wincing in pain. Jaskier will sometimes lose days of songwriting inspiration, or time for hobbies, because when he and Geralt aren't moving down the path, Jaskier will lay in his bedroll writhing in pain and groaning at how unfair life is. Geralt at first thought Jaskier was exaggerating his pain, as Jaskier tended to be dramatic. When Geralt hinted at this though, Jaskier looked at him with such a hurt expression that Geralt panicked his way into somehow saving the conversation. The very next winter, Geralt asks Lambert, who is much better with potions and the like, to help him make some sort of pain remedy. They test and experiment all winter, before they finally make on they're both happy enough with to send off that spring. Geralt and Jaskier have been reunited for two weeks when Jaskier reaches a hand up and rubs one side of his face, with particular amounts of pressure and care given to his eye and brow. Geralt fishes around in his bags before holding it out to Jaskier. "...What is this?" "The only potion I have safe for humans. Ask me for it, never dig it out yourself, it looks similar to some of the others." "What does it do, Geralt?" "It should help. With... With the pain." Jaskier shoots out sad scents. That wasn't what Geralt expected from his gift. "I'm sorry, Geralt! I didn't mean to slow us down so much! I can work through it! i can keep walking!" Geralt explains he doesn't want Jaskier to "work through it", he wants Jaskier to not be in pain and to be happy. Jaskier, growing up as a busy young viscount, apparently was told to push through and continue with his schoolwork and duties, no matter how bad the migraine. Geralt assures his bard that all Geralt wants is Jaskier's happiness, and Jaskier drinks the potion. Merely twenty minutes later and Jaskier was bouncing around and singing again. He liked seeing his bard not be in pain.

[tofu-bento-box]

perhaps i am simply a delicate spoiled houseplant but i don’t think having a fun productive day should give you multi-day hangovers

[dragonpyre]

More fic snippits I'll never finish

“How you feeling?” The man asked. Jason opened his mouth to respond in the negative, but stopped at the last second. He actually felt… fine? What the fuck? His brain had literally just been getting stabbed by a rail spike not even thirty minutes ago. And how the fuck had he fallen asleep when in that much pain? He’d NEVER managed that before! “What the fuck did you give me?” He asked, bewildered. The concern smoothed away from Dick’s face. “So I take it you’re feeling better?” Jason pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Yeah, what the fuck?” Six months of this bullshit with no cure and one visit from his brother fixes it? Was Dick dabbling in witchcraft now? “What was that stuff?” A faint smile flitted across Dick’s lips. “Excedrin.” “The fuck is Excedrin?” “Acetaminophen and caffeine,” his brother answered easily. “Migraine meds.”