#i got a steroid inhaler and my health is looking up!!

[dailydemonspotlight]

Day 11 - Pyro Jack / Jack-o'-lantern

Race: Fairy

Alignment: Neutral

April 3rd, 2024

On the streets at night in the cold, deep darkness, a candle flickers. You know this means only one thing. Hallow's eve is right around the corner. Introducing the second of the Jack Bros, Pyro Jack!

In Ireland since the 1700's, it's been a tradition to put up Jack-o'-lanterns as the month errs towards Halloween, inspired by the legend of a man known as 'Stingy Jack.' According to the story, there was a tricky drunk in an Irish town with the name Jack, a man who would sell a soul for six silver coins or break into a bank in order to fuel his ever-growing reliance on booze. He was hated, by even the heavens itself, yet soon he found himself at death's door. That is when the Devil came to him, to see if he was truly as terrible as the stories painted him out to be.

One night, Jack wandered the cobblestone roads before coming to a dreadful sight- a body, laying smack-dab in the center of the road. However, it had a face not of death, but rather, devilish envy, as the Devil himself made his presence known. Jack had one last request, one typical of a drunkard- to get one last drink in before the end. The Devil obliged, likely finding it foolish, and took him to a pub, where they both drank the night away. Jack, then, asked the Devil to cover his tab. His idea? To turn the beast into a silver coin. Impressed by his trickiness, the Devil did as asked... only to be slipped into a pocket with a crucifix, held captive by slippery Jack, who had now fucked with the devil himself. Baffled and trapped, the two made a deal- Jack would be given 10 more years on the earth.

Unsurprisingly, when the time came, Jack yet again tricked the Devil, and was granted eternal recompense, as the Devil was forced to make him never go to hell. Ever. When Jack's time came, however, his life of deceit and fraud only gave him a ticket out of Heaven's pearly gates, and the Devil wasn't one to give up on a deal either, so he was eventually forced back to earth, forever to roam as a lost spirit held alive by the flickering light of a lantern within a turnip. Ever since, Jack-o'-lanterns have been a popular tradition of Halloween, originally starting as incredibly freaky looking rutabagas before eventually changing to the far more iconic autumn fruit of a pumpkin.

The idea behind the lighting of the Jack-o'-lanterns is scarcely known, but it's mostly thought to be a tradition to help guide Stringy Jack along the roads and to help his soul find peace in his eternal roaming of the plains of earth.

Pyro Jack, unsurprisingly, is based on Jack-o'-lanterns, though mostly in his pumpkin head. The lantern he carries is likely an allusion to Stringy Jack, lighting the way for his soul to wander aimlessly in the megaten world. Being the second Jack Brother, Pyro Jack is also his counterpart, representing the flame to Jack Frost's ice. Pyro Jack is also based on the phenomenon of Will-o'-wisps, flickering lights that appear in the dead of night with no real explanation, typically around swampland and forests.

He typically appears in every SMT game, mostly as an early game demon, as well as a component to his big brother, Black Frost. Overall, Pyro Jack has a fun and festive Halloween design, some really fun folklore, and, while simple, works as a perfectly effective little spooky spirit in the smt series.

[batboybisexualism]

absolutely love that my pharmacy, instead of giving me the daily inhaler I need to not have constant asthma attacks, gave me another round of the emergency steroids I took last week to help me heal from the week and a half I went without my daily inhaler and that are really dangerous to take more than once, all while giving me no update on whether or not I'll be able to get said daily inhaler that my doctor is fighting my insurance about

[russeliarat]

I hate how everyone expects me to get top or full marks on my exams and calls me talented and says that i have potential while pointing at the fact that I'm getting a low passing mark. Like you're literally contradicting yourself, you say I'm talented enough to achieve these high grades while pointing out the fact that I'm literally barely passing. And everyone's blowing it out of proportion too. They're saying that I'm never gonna get into college if I get a 4(passing grade) because colleges would rather have someone who got a 7 or 8 (very high grades), but I don't care. I seriously couldn't give the slightest fuck about education anymore. It's driven me to near insanity and I genuinely don't even want to stay in school until 18. I don't give a shit about jobs or money or opportunities or to be something big and make use of my potential, I just want to fucking live. No one's letting me be me, I always have to be better than me, and paired with the fact that everyone's simultaneously denying I have some kind of neurodivergenct and saying they're supposedly giving me all the additional support they can (they're not), it's completely wrecking me inside and out.

Mentally, this year has been the worst year for my mental health because of anger issues and anxiety and social issues and a general want to isolate. Physically, my unknown joint issues that are apparently just growing pains have gotten worse and its a chore to go up and down small flights of stairs and get from one building to another. I've had to start taking steroid medication inhalers because my asthma gotten worse from the stress. My eczema has come back on my face and its one of the most humiliating things because I look diseased. My hair is shedding far more than usual and my hair is usually thick but fragile. My chest and back and legs have been in more pain combined this year than when I had appendicitis.

I seriously just want to give up and become a hermit. I'm sick of life and I'd rather be contained in a little bubble as the family's next disappointment. I sobbed my eyes out over a badly formatted revision book tonight, I'm not emotionally stable enough to take on exams, let alone life, and all anyone has to say is to just be more resilient, as if I want to have the emotional maturity of a 10 year old. I'm tired and I don't care about my future anymore.

[bunnyseahorse-blog]

personal rant/also why I haven’t updated yet..

I went to a bar like two Saturdays ago. People were smoking, so when my throat hurt the next day I was like, I’m sure that’s why. Then I got a sinus headache, which I’m like cool, I have a sinus infection, I get those fairly often and they usually sort themselves out, if not I’ll go to the doc and get antibiotics.

Then I get like a really gross cough. and I’m like.... do people cough this badly with a sinus infection? So I call my Doc last Friday and am like “I’ve been sick almost a week or about that, can I come in?

“No appointments, but if you can do an online appointment Monday we have that.” So I’m like, how are you going to look inside my nose and hear my breathing if I’m online, but I take it because I sort of have to.

My mom is like “you can’t wait, you need to get some relief” and she gave me money to go to Urgent Care, cause my mommy is the greatest. And my sister took me there, because she too is the best.

Urgent Care swabs me for the flu, and tests me for Covid, and goes, here let’s get you an inhaler, try some over the counter decongestant stuff. And I’m like cool. I don’t have Covid or the flu, so it’s probably a cold. (They didn’t check for a sinus infection, or bronchitis, which my mom had at the time. And like, we are together a lot so... it could have been either, and I did mention that both could be possible so idk..”

Cough continues, so when i get to the Monday online appointment, they are like, honestly we had appointments on Friday when you asked for one, it’s so weird we couldn’t get you in. You are for sure sick! If you aren’t better by the next three days, CALL again. And like they gave me a RX for a steroid pack for the cough and inflammation and I’m like YAY! I’m already in an episode, and steroids in the past make me really manic. But thanks to my countries health care system, I have been sick for almost a week and a half, been to two different doctors, paid (or someone else has paid) $70 in copays, and finally have received the right treatment.

I’m kinda laying low. I wanna update soon, I’m just so blah... I’m sorry

Sorry for the wait. I hope i feel up to it soon, in the meant time, thanks for your support, and wish me luck

[hotwings0203]

I JUST SAW FIGHT CLUB AND HOOOLLYYY-

Bro could you IMAGINE FightClub!Bakugo?

Tw:noncon, language, harassment

Okay okay get this: you’re down in the basement listening to the usual men holler and punch each other around while you do your job as their cute little “accountant”. While many of them have good jobs and a real life, the actual members don’t have time or the intellect to juggle the numbers and money around as fast as you can. You’ve been coming here for a while now, and you’re used to the jeers and wolf-whistles coming your way since you’re basically one of the few or only women who dare to come down here.

But there’s one fighter who just can’t seem to take no for an answer.

Bakugo fucking Katsuki.

The man is ruthless, he’s relentless, he’s a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. You swear he’s had to have taken a shitload of steroids in his youth, otherwise how else could he have built up that much muscle? There’s no way an average gym-goer has that kinda build.

He’s always the first and the last one out in the rink, swaying back and forth with his fists up, a twisted grin on his face that was so reminiscent of a wolf before it lunges for its prey.

It usually took more than two men to pull him off the unconscious bodies that he had just beaten to a pulp, effectively breaking one of Fight Clubs Rules: get up when someone is down.

But he’s too good to let go, no one has the balls to tell him to take his money somewhere else since they’re all scared shitless of him.

Which leads him to believing that he’s practically a god down here, that he can conquer anything: including you.

No one really calls it harassment because no one really cares. What’s so wrong in a guy having a little crush? What, you came down here seeing all this testosterone but you can’t deal with it yourself? Don’t be a prudish bitch.

“Bakugo, I’m at work right now, I don’t want to.”

“C’mon toots, this ain’t even real work, you’re just fumblin’ my hard earned cash.” He grins slyly and crosses his bulging muscular arms, leaning against the doorway of the little office you’re given to work your magic.

You turn in your rickety seat and glare at him, ignoring the way he licks his lips and lets his eyes roam all over your body. “If I’m so shit at my work then go somewhere else and stop bothering me.”

He chuckles in his baritone voice and shakes his head at you. “Naw, can’t do that sweets. If I did then I’d never be able to see your pretty face again now, could I?” Bakugo leers at you and you turn your face in disgust.

“I don’t wanna go out for lunch, or ever with you. Now get out before I have to call someone in here.”

“Oh, is that so?” He uncrosses his arms and steps through the threshold, his body growing larger and more menacing as he slowly draws closer to you. Luckily a fight had broken out near the office months ago so there was no more door from the aftereffects, but that didn’t mean you felt safe even with open space.

“G-get out. I’m serious, Bakugo-“

“-Call me Katsuki, angel. And you don’t really mean that, do you? Look at you, you can barely look me in the eye when you say such mean things.” His voice drops an octave as he comes to stand in front of your seated form, towering above your wide eyes, clenched fists and trembling figure.

He leans down and you flinch and gasp as his breath ghosts over your face. He places both arms on either side of your chair so you have nowhere to look but him.

“You’re such a nice breath of fresh hair down here, through all the blood and violence. You’re like a flower...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear and breaths out a laugh when you turn your head and squeeze your eyes shut.

“A flower, so fragile...a flower that smells so fucking good...” you feel like you can’t properly breathe as he leans in next to your ear and inhales deeply.

“A flower waiting to be deflowered herself.”

“What’s going on here?” A lanky body in the doorway appears.

Bakugo pulls back and turns his head ever so slightly towards the dude, growling under his breath at the interruption.

“We’re in the middle of something here, so you can just get the fuck ou-“

“-Well, it doesn’t really look like she’s into whatever you’re doing,” the man scoffs and takes in your pale face and shaking hands.

Bakugo stands to his fullest height, almost neck and neck with the man at the door.

“Yeah? I didn’t hear a complaint from her.” He cocks his head and stretches, allowing his muscles to ripple with each movement, something that didn’t go unseen by your much skinnier savior.

But he doesn’t back down. He only swallows and rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, we’re all being called out to put our bets in for the next match anyways, so you better come out before we get our asses kicked.”

The blond grumbles about weak men and no balls, then casts a dark look at your frozen figure before shouldering past the man at the door, almost knocking him down.

As soon as he’s out of your line of vision, you exhale and relax into your seat.

“You okay?” The fallen soldier scrambles back up and cautiously approaches you, looking over your body in a way that didn’t remind you of Bakugo undressing you with his eyes...rather, it was a protective, and worried once-over.

“Yeah, he’s just...a lot to handle sometimes. Doesn’t know when to quit.” You laugh shakily and run a hand through your hair.

“No wonder the dude’s a menace. He’s used to getting what he wants, I guess.” The man acknowledges this grimly, and for the first time you’re relieved that finally someone hasn’t turned a blind eye to your harassment.

“Are they really calling us down for bets?”

“No, I just said that to get him off your ass. Didn’t seem like you liked whatever he was doing.”

You give him a wobbly smile and he returns it.

“Sooo we should probably run before he comes back up here, right?”

“Oh most definitely,” you actually giggle before leaping out of your seat and joining the man to bound up the steps two at a time to freedom.

You both end up bonding pretty well over the weeks, even going out for coffee and lunch dates here and there. You’ve come to really like him, his shyer demeanor more than a majority of the ragtag men down in the basements, his chivalry refreshing to you amongst the blood and foul language thrown around the ring.

You feel like a woman with him, not some piece of ass like you were used to.

Bakugo noticed all this, of course. You started avidly avoiding him, ducking your head down and hiding behind your new ally before he could open his coarse mouth and stalk towards you. He couldn’t find you in your dingy office anymore either, because your savior was up in a cafe doing the calculations with you, laughing away about the latest matches.

That has to change. Effective immediately.

“Yo, newbie. How you been? Haven’t seen you fightin’ here for a while,” Bakugo claps his meaty hand on the scrawny guy’s back, nearing sending him toppling over.

“Yeah, y’know, just haven’t been feeling it lately.” He rubs the stinging feeling away from his sore shoulders and side eyes the blond suspiciously. He had seen firsthand just how bad-news of a guy he was, and he didn’t wanna get caught up in all that.

But Katsuki wasn’t just all brawn. He had some brains, too.

“Look, I know I prolly gave off a weird first impression with Y/N back then. But it’s all in good health, ‘was just messin’ around like I always do.”

“Yeah, sure...”

“How ‘bout we get some coffee or somethin’? You seem like a solid dude, plus we got shit in common to talk about.”

Like fucking around with my bitch.

“Uh, you sure? I kinda’ wanted to see the last fight,” he trails off unsuredly, scratching his jaw as Katsuki steers him away from the growing crowd.

“There’ll always be fights, man. I wanna show you that I’m a nice guy.”

Bakugo Katsuki was not a nice guy.

And everyone knew that too, which is why when some shifted to give the duo a curious glance he met them with a death glare. Any gazes locked on Katsuki’s hand wrapped around the lanky guy’s shoulders were immediately casted down.

You didn’t see your savior for a while.

It had been two weeks since he mysteriously disappeared from his usual place in the outskirts of the crowd, because unbeknownst to you, a certain fighter was keeping him away from you and convincing him to have a friendly brawl over lunch.

You only found out about it on a Friday night, when a crowd much bigger than before was gathered in the dim basement, voices hushed and whispering.

“What’s going on? Why’s everyone so quiet?” You whisper to one of the usuals.

“‘Heard Bakugo’s fighting some dude that was handpicked by himself. He somehow managed to convince the poor bastard to have some kinda’ match with him.”

You felt your heart sinking.

“Who did he pick?”

“‘Dunno, some skinny guy, a newbie I think. Hasn’t been around for too long so I guess he doesn’t know how big of a monster he’s gonna be beaten by.” The groupie shrugged, and you felt the blood drain from your face.

Without saying another word, you spun around and started running around all over the place looking for either of the two.

You end up stumbling into the men’s bathroom, desperate beyond salvation to stop this bloodbath.

He’s there, he’s at the urinal and he yelps when he hears you barge in. You avert your eyes and let his adjust himself as he sputters indignantly.

“Y/N? What’re you doing in here? This is a men’s-“

“Don’t fight him.”

“What?”

“Don’t fight Bakugo, please, he’s gonna kill you, I know he is-“

“-Calm down, what’re you so worked up about? C’mon, I would’ve thought you’d had a little bit more faith in me to be able to stand my ground.” He teases you but you don’t find it funny, on the contrary you’re terrified out of your mind for his life.

“Did he put you up to this? How could you fight him, you’ve seen what he does to the other guys in the ring!”

“Well yeah, but he knows not to go that hard on me. Actually, he’s not that bad of a guy, we’ve gotten some drinks for the past two weeks and I was wrong about him.”

You gape at him. “Wrong? You saw how he cornered me that one day!”

He shrugs, not put off by the distant memory. “The guy just came back from a fight, he still had testosterone going through him. You can’t blame him for wanting to let a bit of it out, right? You should really give him a chance y’know, he talks about you all the t-“

But you can’t hear anymore, this is madness, there’s barely 10 minutes left until they’re going to call the two down for their death match. You need to find the source of this problem firsthand.

And somehow, a little voice inside your head tells you exactly where you know he is.

You round the corner to your office and there he is in all his glory, seated like a king on your chair, leaned back with his knees spread, carelessly looking through your bank statements and bet papers.

He barely looks at you as he says, “Oh there you are, I was starting to think you’d miss the show.”

You sink to your knees.

He looks up at that.

With a tight chest and burning eyes, your dry throat barely permits you to choke out, “Bak-Katsuki, please, please don’t do this. Please don’t fight him.”

He cracks his neck and leans forward, regarding you with dark vermilion eyes. He looks your position over appreciatively before speaking.

“Why not? He’s so good and great isn’t he? I’m just trying to show you how right you were, after all. I’m sure he’s got a fair chance of beating me.”

You shake your head vigorously, knowing what he’s playing at.

“No, no, you’re better, please. I was wrong about him, I shouldn’t have been friends with him, please don’t fight him Katsuki I’ll do anything-“

“-Oh you’ll do anything I say regardless of if I beat him to a bloody pulp or not. You wanna know why?”

You can barely contain a whimper as he stands and walks over right in front of you, his bulging crotch mere inches away from your face.

He suddenly grabs your hair and you cry out before he yanks your head up to meet his cold eyes.

“Because no one in here is gonna say shit to me. I run things here, toots. And if you want your little boy toy to live through today, you’re gonna watch every blow I give to him, and you’re gonna kiss the fucking knuckles I beat his face with. Got that?”

You sob as he grinds his clothed erection against your tear-streaked face, sniffling when he moans loudly and bucks into your open mouth.

A loud knock on the bare hinges stops Bakugo from pulling the front of his shorts down.

You both turn your heads and see a red-faced side-liner looking down and mumbling something about the match starting.

“‘Be there in a minute. Tell the guys to give my girl here a special front-row seat to this match, she’s gonna wanna see her man win, after all.”

The runner scampers off, leaving you both alone.

He bares his teeth down at you and you cower under his painful hold, the roots of your hair ripping from their strands.

He eventually tosses your head to the side after a few seconds of staring you down, and the second he does you clutch your sore cranium.

“I better see you down there in a minute sweet thing. You gotta get used to it anyways, since you’re gonna be getting accustomed to my rituals before and after matches.”

[awheckery]

so. uh.

cut for frank discussion of chronic illness and the serious failures of the american healthcare system. tw for fatphobia and gaslighting.

Last July, I got sick. It wasn’t too bad at first: some fatigue, body aches and a slightly elevated temp, until suddenly it was bad and I wound up in the ER. It took three rounds of steroids, a round of antibiotics and a more powerful inhaler to get my feet back under me, but I never fully recovered.

I didn’t talk about it here, except for answering an ask in October and blaming my lack of creative output on depression. It really, really wasn’t depression; it was my health progressively collapsing, one system after another until the avalanche of symptoms that flattened me just after New Year’s.

For the last four months, I’ve spiked a fever over 100°F nearly every single day. My joints hurt. My knuckles are knobbly and swollen, and occasionally my fingers are so painful and weak I’ve had to literally tape my pen to my hand at work. I get rashes at random that itch so badly I claw myself bloody. I overheat and have hot flashes in temperate rooms. The skin on my face and neck and shoulders turns red and hot to the touch, like I’m burning for hours with no immediately discernible provocation.

Some days, I wake up and I don’t have the strength to get out of bed. Some days I can’t wake up at all. I’ve slept through deafening alarms for hours, long enough for my phone battery to run out and die. I can only stand up for ten minutes a day without being hobbled by the effort, and every extra minute beyond that I pay for in hours spent bedbound by exhaustion and pain.

I keep losing words. I’ll arrive at the middle of a sentence and stumble to a halt, because the word I need isn’t there. It’s not true aphasia, and it’s not all the time. I comprehend written and verbal communication perfectly well, but I can’t get my own thoughts out without tripping over them.

I am, to quote a friend attending school to be a nurse practitioner, “a textbook case for SLE,” and I agree, but somehow I can’t pay a doctor to treat me seriously.

In January, I was referred to a rheumatologist after the bloodwork my PCP ordered indicated I had autoimmune activity of some kind.

To date, that’s my only test for anything that’s come out definitively positive for any kind of disease state at all. Ever. I tested negative for celiac disease on a technicality nine years ago, despite how specifically and intensely sick gluten makes me, so I was dismayed but not too surprised when follow-up bloodwork for lupus came back just barely inside the range of “normal.” Despite that, I wasn’t prepared to be jerked around as much as I have been.

The first rheumatologist I saw, back at the end of January, had barely been in the exam room for thirty seconds when I could see he’d already made up his mind about me. He was dismissive and perfunctory and condescending when he told me that “plenty of perfectly healthy people have positive ANA results,” and he referred me back to my PCP for an exercise program and antidepressants to treat my “fibromyalgia.”

Putting aside that I’m not a “perfectly healthy person,” I’m a Fat Lady living in America, and I’ve experienced medical fatphobia for decades at this point. You learn the key words and phrases pretty quickly, and “exercise program” has never not been a euphemism for “weight loss.” (Which is heavily ironic in this particular situation, because before I was Fat, I walked 2-3 miles a day for funsies and spent 15-20 hours in the gym every week. I only stopped because I somehow shredded both my ACLs in one summer. I’d love to get back to that if a rheumatologist could help me figure out how to be active and uninjured at the same time.)

I was frustrated after that first appointment, enough to request a referral to one of the best teaching hospitals in the country. Why not go to the best, right? There was a five month wait for an appointment, but I am stubborn, and I made use of the time by documenting every bullshit symptom my body threw at me. I have a daily symptom journal, full of subjective entries like my pain and fatigue levels, as well as objective entries like daily temperature changes and photos of my rashes and my burning face and my goddamn mouth ulcers.

I thought I had enough logged to be impossible to ignore, and then I saw the second rheumatologist three weeks ago, and the first sentence out of her mouth was the beginning of an interrogation on my blood pressure, and whether I was taking medication or if I was on a fucking exercise program for it. I tried to get the appointment back on track by sharing my symptom diary, and she turned back to my just-under-the-wire test results, and told me, “many healthy people have positive ANA results, it doesn’t mean anything without other positive test results for specific conditions.”

I said, “Healthy people don’t run a fever for months.”

And then she told me that a "fever is not associated with any of the conditions a rheumatologist treats." I was so startled by the confidence and authority with which she stated the lie that I was unable to speak to rouse a defense or contribute anything else for the rest of the appointment. After an insultingly brief examination, in which I never took my face mask off and she declined to look at any of my photos, she said that she “didn’t see anything that could be rheumatologically wrong with me.”

I asked her what she thought could be wrong with me, and she grudgingly admitted it’s possible, though rare to have an autoimmune disease and test negative for everything, so she would order more tests and refer me to appropriate specialists for my various symptoms. She ordered a referral to an infectious disease specialist for my fevers, and a referral to a dermatologist for my “rosacea” (that she’s assuming I have, because I would like to again note she did not see it, at no point did she actually look at my face or a photo of it), and a referral to an ENT for a salivary gland biopsy for my dry mouth, and a referral to a neurologist for my “stroke-like” memory and speech problems.

It was, all told, an unbearably shitty appointment. I cried in my car for an hour in the hospital parking garage so I wouldn’t do anything impulsive like lying down in traffic, and then I went home, cried some more, and went to bed for three days.

On the fourth day, I woke up enraged. It’s one thing to be blown off by a doctor when you’re just reporting symptoms without proof, it’s a wholly different thing for a doctor to ignore your proof and lie about diagnostic criteria to your face.

It’s hard enough not to think you’re crazy when your test results come back negative over and over; it’s that much harder after being told that your major concrete measurable symptom is diagnostically irrelevant, when it really, really isn’t.

(for the record, just going off the symptoms I can concretely prove I’ve experienced in the last week alone, I land a 16 on this chart, which is the most up-to-date, widely agreed-upon diagnostic criteria)

I have decided, for the moment, to play ball. I don’t have the energy to jump through all the hoops this rheumatologist wants, but I'm angry enough to drag myself through them. Tomorrow I’m supposed to see the infectious diseases specialist. On Wednesday I see the dermatologist. In two weeks I see the ENT, and I’ve got a neurology appointment tentatively scheduled for December.

I’m going to be blisteringly forthright with all of these doctors about why I’m there, and that I’m looking to exclude diagnoses other than the lupus I pretty obviously have. (Except with the ENT. Apparently they treat allergies, and I’d like to be able to go outside long enough to walk a dog, someday.)

I’m supposed to see this rheumatologist again at the end of November. Depending on how this week’s appointments go, I’m aiming to either move up my appointment with her when one becomes available, or just send a firm yet diplomatic email asking why the diagnostic criteria apply to everyone but me.

If anybody else has gotten through this fucking nightmare successfully, I’m open to suggestions, it’s not like it can get worse at this point.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Sweet Honey and Iced Tea (Part 1): Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

synopsis: prequel to Lemonade. Your first brushes with the Fushiguro clan head aren't so beautiful or elegant. But they do leave some sort of impression.

wc: 2.1k (this got so long, I'll have to make part 2 tomorrow)

tw: drinking, drug use, violence

masterlist

"Get up," you mumble, looking at the little boy whining and clutching his scraped knee. "I said: Get. Up."

"Why did you push me?" he cries out, tears in his emerald eyes. "I didn't even do nothin'!"

"You're a baby, Fushiguro," you answer, placing your chin in the palm of your hand. "You need to grow up."

"You need to stop being a bully," he gripes, and you stand from the sidewalk, rolling your eyes.

"We don't get brownie points for being nice to each other," you retort, kicking your leg out at him but missing. "One day, you'll be the Fushiguro clan head, and I'll be the L/N clan head. We won't be friends." With this, you walk away, stuffing your hands into your overall pockets and mumbling something about eight-year-olds who don't know what's good for them.

_____________________________________________________________

Age 17 (9 Years Later)

"Y/n, a letter from your secret admirer." Your best friend, Gojo Satoru, hands you a folded-up piece of notebook paper, wiggling his white brows. You swiftly toss it at the bottom of your locker, sighing.

"If my boyfriend sees another letter, he's going to break up with me," you mutter. For three weeks, you'd been receiving letters from this "secret admirer" who - at first - claimed to be the better choice of partner, instead of the son of Principal Yaga. But as you slam the black locker closed, you know that these letters won't stop. So, you had to find the source and beat the shit out of them after school. It's the only way you're going to be able to salvage what meager romance you have with one of the five clan's sons.

You and Gojo walk down the hallways in silence, your hands full of your books, and you think of the prime suspects on the list: Nanami Kento, Yu Haibara, and Geto Suguru. But all three men are a class ahead of you, and you don't think any of them would dare to romance the eldest child of a prominent clan leader and not think they would be rebuffed. Especially since you're already preoccupied with--

A shove on your shoulder brings you back to the present, and you look up to see Toji Fushiguro and his friends passing by, some of them eyeing you with disdain. Your rival barely glances at you, but the person who bumped your shoulder - a girl - sneers at you.

"Watch where the fuck you're going, y/n." You stare at Fushiguro's flavor of the month, mouth curling up into a scowl.

"Yo, what the hell," Fushiguro snaps at the girl, pulling her around to face him. "Fuck you think you're doin', talking to L/n like that? Apologize." You look at the future head, and he nods at you, emerald eyes stern.

"Sorry," the girl mutters.

"No worries. I don't expect any less from one of Fushiguro's playthings," you retort, turning on your heel and walking off to class.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and you tap your pencil on the backside of your hand, watching the clock tick tick tick until the second-hand reaches the hour and the bells chime. You gather your things quickly, rushing over to your locker and shoving them in before grabbing your purse and beating it to the back of the school. Satoru stands off to the side of the brick building, glasses placed over his sensitive eyes, and Suguru hangs out next to him, smoking a joint.

"We can't smoke on school property," you remind him, but the senior waves you off, rolling his eyes. "Well, at least offer me a hit," you finish, and Suguru hands it to you before offering you a light.

"Satisfied, princess?" he jokes, and you inhale deeply, eyes scanning the blacktop before landing on a group of boys standing around in a huddle.

"What the hell are they doing?" you choke out, coughing as walking closer.

"Uh-uh," Geto stretches out his hand, stopping you. "It's the final step to initiation."

"For who?" No one answers you. As your vision gets a little clearer, you can see the boys fighting - no, jumping - a lone figure in the middle. A bloody face with emerald eyes looks in your direction, and you inhale sharply.

Fucking Fushiguro.

"Why are they beating the shit out of him like that?" Concern laces your tone involuntarily, but you already know the answer. If Fushiguro can stand the beating from his own associates, then he'll be able to withstand anything.

"Ah!" The sound of Toji's cry echoes around the blacktop and you flinch, the joint dropping from your hand. As Suguru leans down to pick it up, you cross your arms defensively, muttering,

"Get up. Get. Up."

But it's not like Toji can hear you now.

Or could he?

The moment he headbutts his nearest opponent, you clench your jaw, bracing yourself for his next move. And within a few minutes, he's beaten them all back, face bloody with a nasty cut decorating the right edge of his lips. Toji pushes past his associates and approaches the three of you slowly. You stiffen as he holds a blood-covered hand out to Geto, observing the minor interaction: the joint is passed to him, and Toji closes his eyes, taking a long drag before handing it back. As he walks past you, he exhales, holding your gaze until he passes directly by you and leaves the three of you behind.

"I wouldn't want to fuck with that kid in a one-on-one fight," Gojo mumbles, and Geto shakes his head, taking a drag of the joint.

"I don't think you'll ever have to."

_____________________________________________________________

The next year, Toji returns from summer break with a new body, a new wardrobe, and a new coldness about him that stuns absolutely no one. Your first encounter with him is towards the end of the year, at lunch in the courtyard. His emerald eyes roll up to your face as you sit next to him.

"You've buffed out," you mention, handing him a rice cake from your bento box. "Steroids?"

"Reality," he grumbles, shoving half of the rice cake in his mouth. You lean back onto the bricks behind you, pursing your lips as he continues to consume the offering. You look at the scar that's formed on his lips, the mark paler than the rest of his skin. But it's healed well.

"It's hard to enjoy life, isn't it?" you whisper, and Toji shrugs, glancing up at the sky.

"I heard you broke up with little Yaga."

"I heard he got his ass beat when everyone found out why," you reply, chuckling.

"Yeah," Toji pipes up, his tongue fishing around his mouth. "Heard about that, too." You sigh, leaning your head back to look at the sky as well. "Why aren't you eating?" he asks, and you look over to see him frowning. "Not hungry?"

"No," you answer, sliding him the box. "Go ahead." Toji takes pieces of your shrimp tempura and eats them greedily, providing you with much-needed peace and quiet.

"You ever find out who your secret admirer was?" The notes come back to your memory, all of them dumped into the trashcan at the end of the year.

"No," you answer again, crossing your arms over your legs. "Thought it was..." you drift off, not sure what to say next.

"Shame," Toji laughs. "Would've loved to make fun of his ass for not just saying it outright."

"I don't blame him." You shrug, looking down at the blades of grass blowing in the wind. "Kind of hard to fess up to a girl who's virtually unapproachable."

"You really think that?"

"I know that." Silence.

"You're wrong," Toji states, just as the bells chime for the end of lunch. He stands, dusting his pants off and walking away from you without another word.

Your second encounter with him is at a house party celebrating the end of the school year.

The music is loud, and you're clad in skimpy clothing and attracting way too much attention. But with your girlfriends by your side and Gojo and Geto back from their first year of college, you feel safe nonetheless. You're standing in the kitchen when you see Toji walking through the house, eyes roaming over the crowd with displeasure.

When they land on you, though, his brows lift a little, then his lips part slightly as he raises a broad hand up to wave at you. You wave back, earning you a coo from a few of your friends, and then turn to see if Gojo and Geto see him. But they seem too wrapped up in getting a couple of senior girls to make out with them, so you turn back around, walking toward the lone Fushiguro and smiling widely.

"No crew?" you wonder, handing him your cup full of vodka. Toji takes it, sniffs it, then chugs it.

"I don't go out with them like that," he answers. "Just want to be alone tonight. What about you, unapproachable girl?" You roll your eyes at the nickname, and he taps the skin on your waist, walking into the kitchen. "What did you have?" You point at the Beluga Noble Gold, and he opens it, flicking off the cap and pouring some in your cup before chugging the rest of it.

"Toji--"

"All I want tonight is just to forget for a minute," he groans, hands running through his hair after he puts the bottle down. You sit your cup on the counter, seeing the stress on Toji's face and cupping it between your hands. You run a thumb over his scar and he flinches, but you don't let go.

"I can help with that," you offer, walking back into the living room where the lights are off and people are dancing to the rhythm of the song. Toji pulls you close in the darkness, his hands resting on your hips as you sway back and forth, still holding his face between your hands.

"Y/n, this year has been fucking hell," he breathes, and you nod, knowing both of you had gone through extensive training on picking up the clan's responsibilities in the light of his father dying and your father's health failing. "I can't sleep."

"I know," you reply, tucking your head into the space between his chest and neck. He brings one of your hands down from his face and onto his chest, where his heart beats rapidly. You both listen to the song in silence, letting the vodka work its magic and strip your senses of the fine-tuning they've been under for over sixteen years.

"I needed this," Toji finally exhales, and you look up at him curiously. "Vodka is really clearing up my head." You're about to reply when he moves your hand off of his chest and kisses your knuckles slowly, one by one.

"You're drunk," you whisper, chuckling and trying to pull your hand away. Toji grips it tighter, looking down at you and biting his bottom lip.

"Nope. Never been clearer-headed." He angles his head down and captures your lips with his, hands moving off your waist to hold your face. You lean into the kiss and finally feel something that you've only heard about but never actually felt: a spark.

"Fushiguro..." you moan into his mouth, and he pulls away, looking around for something. When he spots it, he grabs your hand and takes you up the stairs, throwing open a bedroom door. You see two people already making out on the bed, but Toji flicks on the light and grunts, "Out."

When the two girls see him, they scamper out of the room, and Toji turns to you, eyes roaming your face. "If you say no, I stop. We forget this ever happened."

"I'm not saying no," you retort, hands on your hips.

"Then fucking come here," he murmurs, pulling you into him again and flicking the light off. You close the door with your foot, leaning back onto it and letting Toji press both hands on either side of you while he kisses you deeply, hungrily.

"But it will be my... first time..." you whisper between kisses. Toji stops, pulling back.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh," you reply, staring into his bottomless eyes.

"I need to be super sober for this," he admits, wiping his face. "No, I can't do it. Not right now." You swallow hard, the aftertaste of the vodka now bitter. "We can cuddle if you want, but--" Toji breaks off, running a hand over your cheek. "Your first time is special. I want you to look back on it with no regrets." You nod, understanding his reasoning, then allowing him to lead you to the bed, where he spoons you from behind.

"We'll just sleep it off," you mumble, and Toji buries his face in your neck, encasing you in his strong arms.

"Yeah. We can decide what to do tomorrow. If that is, you still want to do anything."

"I think... I will..."

"We'll see."

[jenroses]

So 30 years ago today I almost died of a massive saddle pulmonary embolism caused by birth control pills and medical ignorance.

I went undiagnosed for 3 weeks despite telling every medical provider I saw from the moment I asked if it would be safe for me to take the pill, "my mother had a pulmonary embolism while pregnant, and then 2 more after she lost the baby."

I was told "It's not genetic" even though they just didn't know yet... Most coagulopathy that is genetic had not been figured out yet.

When I first told a care provider I got short of breath walking to the store, and that my mother had had an embolism while pregnant, and that I was on birth control pills, she said, "you're obviously depressed."

When I told the student health clinic that I was horribly short of breath just sitting up in bed and that I was concerned because my mother had nearly died of an embolism while pregnant and I was on birth control pills, they diagnosed me with asthma and bronchitis, gave me antibiotics and an inhaler, and said, "sleep here so we can keep an eye on you overnight."

I took the meds as directed and lay there desperate for oxygen and waited for the nurse to come back so I could tell her that the meds were not helping. She never came back.

The next morning I dragged myself to the nurse's office and she wasn't there, so I used her phone to call my mother who said, basically, "why are you messing around with the student health clinic, go to the ER and tell them they need to rule out a blood clot."

The ER did not, in fact, rule it out.

A vq scan and angiogram later, they have me a then-experimental clot buster and told me not to move for 12 hours. I recovered most of my lung oxygenating capacity, eventually. I did not recover my ability to manage college effectively long term.

17 years later I had another embolism, and asked about the drug I've been given, and they said, "we don't use that for this. People are never quite the same, after."

If my first instinct had been to go to the ER and ask them to rule out a clot, i probably would not have needed that drug at all. Because the clot would have been so much smaller.

The entire time it was happening, I tried to minimize it, because I'd always been told that I made too much of things, that I just wanted attention.

What has been demonstrated time and time again in my life is that if anything, I routinely downplay how bad things are.

So a moment to be frank about my current health: it's not good. The ra is bad enough that we're far down the list of treatment options. The current drug is requiring me to take other meds to quell my reaction to it and this week it started wearing off on day 5, I did everything I do to prevent migraines, and I still developed an immediate headache.

RA is not usually considered "terminal" but it does shorten lives and my case... The numbers are very bad and my response to treatment has been mediocre to terrible. I have not been fully off steroids for more than a few months in 4 years.

This is not a request for money or fundraising. I'm blessed to have a secure home and double insurance. I'm not alone. I have a supportive spouse, caregivers who knows how to quarantine properly who take my health seriously, and most of the adaptive equipment that could possibly do any good and a source for the stuff I don't have yet.

What this is a request for is to take yourself and your health seriously.

If a doctor doesn't know why you are having symptoms or the treatment doesn't help, it's okay to say, "if you don't have an answer, please send me to a specialist."

If you think you know what might be the problem, challenge them to rule it out.

If they ask why you want the diagnosis, say, "obviously I don't want to be right, but I'd rather know what I'm dealing with so we don't try to treat the wrong problem." (The albuterol was probably dangerous given what it does to heart rate and blood pressure, with the massive clots.)

It may help to act a little bored by it. "I know this might be nothing but given my risk factors we don't get to guess."

They only get to decide it's anxiety or depression when they rule out more life threatening causes. I have both, partly because of, you know, The Medical Trauma. But sometimes something being seriously wrong will have anxiety or depression as a side effect. Most of the people I know with RA had new anxiety months before diagnosis.

The thing I heard the most?

"Oh, you're too young for an embolism!"

What they didn't know is that at the time I had two genetic risk factors on top of the pills. I now have several additional acquired risk factors. But the science wasn't there yet, and I had not been diagnosed yet.

I'd had four embolisms before we learned about the second genetic issue that makes me particularly likely to have multiple embolisms.

There's no tidy ending. One of my many health issues will probably get me sooner or later. I had to break it to my kid the other day that yes, I've been such his whole life and it's not looking like it's getting better but it's only getting worse slowly. He has no memory of me well. Sometimes I think I have no memory of that, either.

[butchyena]

ik i talked a lot abt this last year so its going under a readmore i just need to vent because im frustrated and scared

so i got a double lung infection + pneumonia in one lung last september and after getting out of the hospital my lungs just arent the same.

i had bad lungs my whole life and asthma in my childhood but never ever anywhere near the extent i wheeze and NEED inhalers now. and theyre just telling me its asthma and i literally cannot wrap my mind around suddenly developing one of the worst cases of asthma i have personally seen anyone have

no matter how much inhaler i do or how long i wait or if im caught up on my steroid inhaler or not im still constantly coughing and wheezing

part of me is so paranoid the mystery illness i got march of 2020 after a convention was covid but theres no way to know now and why didnt it then start fucking me up until july/august. of i had scar tissue on my lungs they WOULD have seen it in the extensive testing i got

i just. it feels really hopeless lol. i cant exercise i can barely go up a single flight of stairs to get to my apartment, im waking up in the middle of the night choking because i cant breathe

and in january im going to lose my insurance because im turning 26. my steroid inhaler only lasts 2 months and its $600 a refill

i like genuinely dont know what to do and i havent felt this hopeless about my physical health since i lost 70 pounds in 5 months in 2017 and at least then i looked hot

[mandelene]

If you feel like filling this: for the first time, Matthew and Alfred are left alone overnight and Alfred feels all grown-up and excited. Pity that Matthew had hidden he wasn't feeling well and he isn't getting any better... Thank you! ❤️

Torture Matthew? Sure thing! Haha. 😁 As usual, I got carried away. You can’t ask me to write a sickfic and not expect the word count to be high lol. I made it a throwback to my “Matthew has asthma” headcanon. Also, did you know many U.S. states don’t have a law for how old a child must be to be left home alone overnight? Same for the UK. Apparently, it’s generally recommended that the child is at least 14 or 16, so I went with Al and Matt being 15 in this one.  

The House Party That Never Was

Word Count: 1924 (I know. I’m sorry!)

10 AM, Friday

“We’ll only be two hours away, so if anything happens or there’s a problem, call and let us know, and we’ll drive back right away.”  

“Okay, Dad. We know,” Alfred groans. They’re not babies anymore—Mattie and he can handle being left alone overnight while their parents go to see the philharmonic orchestra in Philadelphia for their anniversary.

“There are leftovers in the fridge that you can have for dinner tonight. You can order pizza tomorrow if we’re not back by six o’clock,” Papa reminds, just as worried and over-protective as Dad is being. “Make yourselves breakfast and lunch. We have plenty of fruit, cereal, bread, cold cuts, yogurt—” 

“Yes, Papa. We’ll make sure to eat,” Matthew interjects with a soft sniffle. “It’ll be fine.” 

Dad immediately notices said sniffle and flips out. He puts his duffle bag down and presses a hand against Matthew’s forehead, feeling for a fever and not finding one. “Are you all right? You aren’t coming down with something, are you? We can cancel the trip and—”

“No, no. It’s just allergies.” 

“…Okay, take an anti-histamine from the medicine cabinet.”  

“I will.” 

“In case of emergency—"

“Call 911. We know, Dad. We’re fifteen, not five!” Alfred sighs, tempted to physically push his parents out the front door at long last. 

Dad struggles to find something else to lecture them about and pushes his sunglasses farther up his nose before deciding, “All right…Behave and don’t get into any trouble. We love you.”

Dad and Papa exchange hugs with them before they finally cross the driveway, get into the car, and drive off, disappearing down the road. 

“Woo! Freedom! God that took forever!” Alfred exclaims as he locks the door and turns around to look at Matthew, who is standing by the stairs with his hands stuffed in the pocket of his navy-blue hoodie. “Our first time home alone for a whole night! We’ve been living sheltered lives, Mattie, but not anymore. Today, we’re men. So, who’re we inviting over?” 

Matthew clears his scratchy throat and gently rubs at his nose with his sleeve. “Umm…I’m pretty sure Papa and Dad said we’re not supposed to have any friends over…” 

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” 

“Al, they’ll find out.” 

“No, they won’t. Come on, Matt. Don’t be lame.”

“Yeah, they will. If not tomorrow, then eventually, and I don’t wanna break their trust. If we worry them or make them angry, they’ll never leave us home alone for more than a couple of hours again,” Matthew argues, and if this stupid cold would just leave him alone, everything would be peachy. He rubs at his chest, which feels a little tighter than usual, and takes two puffs of his inhaler. 

Alfred glowers and slumps his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We have to prove we can handle it at least once…You okay, bro? Your asthma’s acting up?” 

“It’s just from my allergies,” Matthew repeats because he has to keep up the lie. It’s spring, so it’s believable enough. To be entirely honest, he’s been feeling terrible since last night, but he didn’t want to give their parents a reason to cancel their trip. He doesn’t have a fever, so it can’t be that serious...It’s just a cold, and he doesn’t want to be an inconvenience. Their parents deserve to enjoy their anniversary without interruption. “Wanna play Smash?” he asks, changing the subject. Alfred doesn’t have the greatest attention-span, and he’ll hopefully forget all about this.

“Okay, sure. I’ll set up the Switch and the controllers. You should go and take your allergy medicine.” 

“Cool. Yeah,” Matthew replies. It’s the perfect opportunity to go upstairs, blow his nose without witnesses, and take some cough medicine…And another two puffs of his inhaler.  

He refuses to be a bother. He knows how to take care of himself. 

--------------------------------------

7 PM, Friday

Alfred has eaten enough mesquite barbecue chips to feed their entire block, and Matthew is genuinely astonished that he hasn’t been sick yet. How can so much junk food fit into one stomach? Now that no one is around to stop him, Alfred has devoured half of the fridge, and he still doesn’t seem to be totally full, even after dinner. 

Papa left them blanquette de veau, a French veal stew. It soothes Matthew’s throat and warms his chest, which feels lovely initially, but then the steam breaks up some of the mucus in his lungs and leaves him suffering through several coughing fits. Fortunately, Alfred is in the bathroom for the worst of it, and doesn't hear him hacking. 

They’ve been playing video games for hours now, and Matthew can feel a low-grade fever settle into his body. Every time he inhales, he can hear his lungs give off a tiny wheeze. 

When Alfred goes off to get some juice to drink, Matthew discreetly takes yet another two puffs of his inhaler. 

“This is getting kinda boring. Wanna put on Netflix? We can binge-watch Avatar: The Last Airbender.” 

Matthew would rather lie down in bed with his tablet or phone, but if he doesn’t join Alfred, he might grow suspicious, and then he’ll worry, or he’ll call their parents.

“Sure. Let’s do it…” 

--------------------------------------

1 AM, Saturday

 “Matt...? Matt? You’re falling asleep on me, bro.” 

Matthew is startled awake and fixes his glasses, which must have tilted awkwardly to the left while he was sleeping. He doesn’t know when he dozed off on the couch, but it was sometime during Book Two of Avatar. Dad and Papa called around 9 PM to check on them, and Alfred did all of the talking. He reassured them that they’re both alive and haven’t broken any part of themselves or anything in the house.  

Matthew squints at the clock on the wall. “It’s late…”

“Yeah. We should go to bed,” Alfred agrees, and he must be tired as well if he’s not insisting they pull an all-nighter. 

“I’m gonna brush my teeth.” 

“Okay. Have fun. I’m gonna live on the wild side and not brush ‘em,” Alfred says with a grin and a wink. 

“Wow, so edgy,” Matthew says, poking some fun at him before heading upstairs with a giant yawn. He’s exhausted, and the wheezing is back. He takes the nightly dose of his steroid inhaler and stares longingly at his nebulizer. He could do with a treatment, but it’s so loud, and then, Alfred would know something’s not right.  

So instead, he brushes his teeth, quietly takes some additional puffs of his rescue inhaler, and burrows under the covers of his bed, hoping this will all have blown over by the morning.

--------------------------------------

3 AM, Saturday

He can’t sleep. He can’t breathe. He needs a nebulizer treatment. Now. But it might wake Alfred. 

He risks it. There’s no other choice. 

And sure enough, five minutes into the treatment, Alfred plods into his room with drowsy eyes, and asks, “Mattie, what’s going on? You’re sick, aren’t you? Hang on. I’ll…I’ll call Dad and Papa, don’t worry.”  

“No!” Matthew shouts, surprised by the strength of his voice given the state of his lungs. “You can’t…It’s their anniversary…I’m fine.” 

“Matt, I’m pretty sure this counts as an emergency, bro.” 

“It’s not!”

“It’s the middle of the night and you can’t breathe—that’s an emergency, dude!”

“I’ll be fine after the nebulizer treatment is done,” he assures in a breathless rush around the nebulizer’s mouthpiece, but he’s not so sure he will be. 

“Well, we’ve gotta tell somebody!” Alfred shouts back at him before coming closer and touching his clammy forehead. “Dude, you’re burning up. What the hell? Why didn’t you say anything all night?”

Ignoring Matthew’s protests, Alfred makes the call. 

This isn’t going to be good…

--------------------------------------

5 AM, Saturday

“Matthew!”  

Dad and Papa burst through his bedroom door, and they’re by his side in a flash, fussing over him and acting as though he’s on the verge of death. They’re still dressed in the clothes they probably went to sleep in, and before Matthew can say a single word, Dad has his stethoscope on his chest and is listening to his lungs. He then clamps a pulse oximeter on his right index finger, waits for a reading, and frowns severely. 

While Papa strokes his head and asks him why he didn’t let them know sooner that he wasn’t feeling well, Dad disappears and then returns with three small pills and a glass of orange juice.

“Take these,” Dad instructs. 

Matthew wrinkles his nose as he puts the pills in his mouth and swallows them. The bitter aftertaste makes him shudder—prednisone. 

“Is he going to be all right?” Papa asks, squeezing Matthew’s hand.

“I’ll keep an eye on him. He should feel better once the steroid starts to work. We leave you boys home alone for one day, and you try to hide a medical emergency from us! What were you thinking?”

“It was very irresponsible,” Papa adds. 

And here he thought that Alfred would be the one to ultimately break their parents’ trust. 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t want you to have to cancel your trip. You’ve both been looking forward to it for a month,” Matthew timidly explains, breaths still shallow. 

“A trip can always be rescheduled. Your health can’t be,” Dad says sternly. “You had us worried sick. I was debating whether or not to tell Alfred to call for an ambulance. You should know better than to ever allow yourself to silently deteriorate like this!” 

“I’m sorry…” 

Dad sighs and rests a cold compress on his forehead. “We can decide on a punishment when you’re feeling well again.” 

A punishment? Really? Not fair.

Now is not a good time to argue though, so he lets Papa and Dad fret over him some more—they fluff his pillows, and force juice, water, and medicine for his fever down his throat. He feels awful knowing they lost sleep over him and had to hurry home, but at the same time, he’s grateful that they’re here, tending to him and monitoring him in case he gets worse. As much as he’d like to be regarded as an adult, he still wants his parents around when he’s unwell.  

“I’m really, really sorry…I feel terrible for ruining everything.” 

“Stop that,” Dad insists, shaking his head admonishingly at him. “We’re not upset with you for being ill—anyone can fall ill at any time and it’s out of one’s control. We’re upset that you tried to hide it from us, even if you thought you had the right intentions.” 

At that moment, Alfred peeks his head into the room, revealing that he’s been eavesdropping, and says, “I’d just like to point out that I did the responsible, mature thing, and called for help for my dearest, darling brother in his time of need. Very grown-up behavior—totally wise beyond my years. And because of that, I think, I deserve to be able to go to Six Flags next week with my friends.” 

Papa laughs heartily while Dad rolls his eyes. 

“Oui, you did the right thing, Alfred. But the greatest reward for helping your brother should be a sense of pride,” Papa notes.  

“I mean, yeah, but a physical reward would be kinda nice, too.” 

“Alfred,” Dad says with a warning tone. “Not now.” 

“All right, all right. I know. Just food for thought, you know? Glad Mattie’s okay, of course.” 

How in the world did Alfred come out on top? He’s a better adult? There’s no way! 

Okay, next time they’re home alone, they’re definitely throwing a party. 

That’ll show him. 

[valentinepills]

The Timeline

A year ago in March 2020, I was newly returning back to work after recovering from a severe skin infection. I was on painkillers and several rounds of antibiotics throughout January and February 2020. It was a hard time recovering and for a second there, I thought I was going to die. My blood sugar was through the roof, inflammation and infection were forming a lethal combination. Emergency doctor was grateful I came in when I did because if I had waited any longer I would  have lost the battle. My vitals and condition were so unstable that the surgeon did not feel safe operating on me. I had to heal with medicine, quarantine and bed rest.

That took a hard hit to my finances. Behind in rent and bills. In late November in to December 2019 I was just out of work for 2 weeks with an unexplained condition with my lungs. My lungs were inflamed, I had a dry cough but no fluid being brought up. I had terrible night sweats and difficulty breathing. I was given antibiotics, anti-inflammatory medicine and steroids in addition to my daily inhaler and Ventolin inhaler for emergencies. So that's a timeline for ya.

NOV - DEC 2019 Lung Problems

JAN - FEB 2020 Skin Infection

FEB - MAR 2020 Return to Work

MAR 16, 2020 The World Shuts Down.

April comes and I'm hopeful. I begin cutting back on smoking cigarettes. I wasn't a heavy smoker to begin with, but I was definitely smoking 10-15 cigarettes on a bad day; 8-10 on a regular day. I remember saying to Martina and DJ,

"When I take my last puff, that's all it will be. I won't remember the day. I won't say to anyone that I've quit because they will remember. It'll be all they talk about but I don't want to hear any of it. Talking about smoking all the time doesn't help me."

Sometime in late May I took my last puff of a cigarette. I no longer desired to smoke and no longer craved the taste. I told no one and I have successfully overcome my addiction to cigarettes. I enjoyed a quiet birthday on May 29th and was hopeful that Summer would bring some more joy!

Start of Summer in to July 2020... Becoming pregnant should have been a happy occasion for an engaged couple. It wasn't for us. When I learned I was pregnant, my body was in distress. I didn't know what was happening, but my body was in pain. Everyday it got a little bit worse. At this point I had been cigarette free for about 2 months and I had no cycle for 2 months. Extreme Sciatica and Arthritis pain crippled me and suddenly I began seeing spots of blood. I was rushed to the emergency room and learned that I was 14 weeks pregnant. I was ordered to bed rest and limit my movement. We were thrilled but terrified. DJ's hours were cut, but I was working from home. We exhausted our funds to make bed rest as comfortable as possible. Mid July comes and at 16.5 weeks of pregnancy, I miscarried. My sac ripped. I was in so much pain. DJ's heart broke and my heart crumbled. I was looking at a 4 to 6 week recovery but in fact, it took 8 weeks for my body to return to normal. That's a timeline for ya.

APR - MAY 2020 Transition from Moderate to Non Smoker.

JUN - JUL 2020 Becomes Ill, Learns Shes Pregnant!

MID JULY 2020 Suffers Miscarriage

JULY - AUG 2020 Recovery from Miscarriage

SEP 2020 - DEC 2020 I'm recovered and preparing for the next obstacle in my way. My father became ill and was hospitalized. No one could visit him, but suddenly one day, they allowed my mother to go to his room. Nearly two weeks later, my mother tested positive for COVID-19. She battled that for weeks and while all of that was going on Martina had a health scare too in September. Things were going crazy everywhere. As we battled through Autumn, I dealt with my hearing becoming significantly worse. Wisdom Tooth, Jaw Joint and Ear Pain-Infection-Inflammation. Trying to visit a doctor in person was a struggle. I kept being denied an in-person appointment because of my symptoms. I call with symptoms, they make me do a test, I test negative but they would make me quarantine for 14 days and then I call again to make an in-person appointment because my symptoms have worsened... the cycle repeats. I ended up being rushed to the emergency room because I had chills, shakes, sweats and I couldn't hold my head up anymore. 14 days of antibiotics and drops. Finally got some relief.

JANUARY 2021 - CURRENT I was done with 2020. I didn't think things could get any worse until January 30th. My best friend unexpectedly died. Martina and I talked so much about our lives, our goals and our hardships. I always thought that because of my many illnesses that I would leave here first. She hated when we got on that subject but we talked about it in depth many times throughout our friendship. After the miscarriage, I told her I wasn't sure if I would ever become a mother. When Martina passed away after talking with our mutual mentor, confidant and former co-worker Mrs. McCreary, it occurred to me that my life may have an entirely different purpose than how I may have envisioned it to be.

I've spend these days and nights in mourning. The day Martina died, I wasn't aware that she had passed on that day but when I woke in the morning, I felt heavy and full of sorrow. I said to DJ, "Something is wrong but I don't know what it is. I feel it all in my body." At that time, I had no idea my friend had departed but my spirit knew. I spent that entire day focusing on improving what I thought was a mood. I woke up earlier than usual on Monday, preparing to log in for work. I wanted to talk to Martina but I learned she had died. Suddenly everything I felt that Saturday and Sunday made sense.

I talk to Martina out loud every morning, every day now. I know she can't respond but I believe that she can hear me. She always believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself. The future brings more sorrow for me but also more clarity. Everyday I'm attuning to my goals. I know that I want to live for as long as possible. I want to be available and able; for me, for DJ and for all of our loved ones including Martina. Her children meant the world to her and if any one of them ever needed me for anything... I want to be available and able to be there for them.

I have a timeline for my future but I'm going to take my time, not waste time.

[diner-drama]

Cuddle Buddies (1/?)

"Cuddle Buddies: professional platonic cuddling therapy services for the busy modern professional" are an entirely legitimate organization serving the touch-starved. Look, it's just been a long time since Steve's been in a relationship, and a guy has needs, you know? Sometimes after a long day of being a strong, hard-nosed solicitor, weathering insults and attacks from the opposing counsel and your own coworkers, you just want to have someone stroke your hair and tell you you're good. Bucky loves his job as a professional cuddler, providing non-romantic physical touch to people that need it, and when his new client turns out to be a pint-sized spitfire with a smile to die for, that's just a bonus.

Also on ao3.

"Rumlow, if I wake up tomorrow to find out that you've thrown my client on an airplane and deported her in the middle of the night I will have your ass in front of the bar association before you can blink," barked Steve into the phone held between his ear and shoulder, trying to get his keys out of his pocket one-handed. "You really think they're going to let this slide after last time?"

He paused for a second as the person on the other end of the line made a few abortive attempts at a response, then cut him off. "I'm turning off my phone now. If you still want to talk in the morning after considering my offer you can call me then, but if you pull any of your bullshit in the meantime, I will fucking ruin you."

Steve hung up the call with a flourish and shouldered his front door open, throwing his phone into a basket on an occasional table before closing the door behind him and leaning against it, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly. Being a hard-ass human rights lawyer was all very well and good during the work day, but by the time he got home Steve was more than ready to shed his tough persona and let himself be soft.

The suit jacket was the first to go, shrugged off his slim shoulders and slipped onto a hanger. Then, his smart, shiny shoes were slipped off and replaced with warm, thick socks. He swapped his starched shirt for an old, lived-in hoodie, and his neatly pressed slacks for sweatpants. His black briefcase found a home in the spare room he used as an office, and he shut the door after it, mentally shutting away his work life. He ran his hand through his smartly-combed hair to muss it up and rolled his shoulders back, taking a few deep breaths and letting the stress of his day roll off him.

He wandered around the living room, picking up a blanket from the steamer trunk by the window, drawing the curtains, and switching on the electric fireplace which filled the space with warmth and low, flickering light. He picked up his personal phone from the coffee table and sent a quick text to Sam to let him know he made it home safely, sent a thumbs up to Darcy in response to a terrible meme she'd sent him, and briefly considered video calling Peggy before remembering that she was in a conference in Singapore.

He flopped down onto the couch and wrapped himself up tight in the blanket, enjoying its weight on his shoulders. Opening his laptop, he coughed in embarrassment when the tab that he'd opened in a fit of loneliness last night popped up. "Cuddle Buddies: professional platonic cuddling therapy services for the busy modern professional" seemed to be an entirely legitimate organization serving the touch-starved, and they had excellent reviews.

Look, it's just been a long time since Steve's been in a relationship, and a guy has needs, you know? Sometimes after a long day of being a strong, hard-nosed solicitor, weathering insults and attacks from the opposing counsel and your own coworkers, you just want to have someone stroke your hair and tell you you're good. Steve did his best to keep his work and home lives separate, but lately it was getting difficult to switch off from his worries when he was lying in bed at night, going over details from his cases while he tossed and turned on his pillows.

He scrolled through the information on the website one more time, thinking about how it might feel to invite a stranger into his home to cuddle him. Would it be uncomfortable? Would they think he was pathetic?

Putting aside the laptop for a minute, he ambled back into the kitchen to re-heat some shepherd's pie and put on the kettle for a cup of tea, climbing on a step stool to reach the mugs. His fingers and toes still a little chilly from the crisp autumn evening outside, he decided to fill up a hot water bottle, tucking it carefully into its fluffy case and holding it under his arm as he brought his dinner and drink back to the table. After a couple of bites of the pie, he pulled out a neat little wicker basket from under the table and took out his evening medications. Tapping the pills into his hand, he swallowed them with a gulp of tea and took a couple of huffs of his steroid inhaler for good measure, before getting back to his meal.

Steve may have lost the genetic lottery when it came to his height and his abysmal health, but the gods had seen fit to bless him with more than his share of sheer, bloody-minded scrappiness, which he felt more than made up for it.

Once he'd cleared the plate away and made himself a second cuppa, he opened up a book on his e-reader and held the comforting, warm weight of the hot water bottle to his chest, wondering idly, not for the first time, whether he should get a cat. He was a couple of chapters into a mediocre romance novel when he started tapping his fingers, thinking.

After a brief moment of indecision, he grabbed the laptop with renewed certainty and began to type a request into the website.

Bucky was just waving goodbye to Nat as he walked away from their session when his phone chimed, alerting him that there was a new customer inquiry that the agency wanted him to look at.

Maria: 28 yo man in Red Hook interested in trying cuddle therapy to help with work stress. Would prefer male therapist. Due to asthma, no cologne or scented products, and non-smokers only.

He smiled, and shot off a quick affirmative response. Maria often sent him their new clients - there was something about him that reassured people if they felt a little unsure about the services. Bucky was perfectly happy with his chosen profession - non-romantic physical touch was, in his opinion, essential for a happy life, and he got to provide it to people that needed it. Bucky liked to observe people and through his job he'd met a wide array of curious characters, so the work was never boring.

Also, the pay was amazing and Alpine would only eat the expensive cat food, so there was that.

He continued on his journey, enjoying the changing leaves on the trees around him and the chill in the air. Just as he was about to step onto the subway, his phone buzzed again, and after he found a seat he saw that Maria had sent him the phone number for his new client. He sent off his standard greeting straight away, eager to get his schedule firmed up.

Bucky: Hi Steve, this is Bucky from the Cuddle Buddies agency. When works for you for our first meeting? Looking forward to working with you!

Steve: Thanks for getting back to me. Saturday evening would be best for my schedule. Can I pay the $80 fee via bank transfer? -Steven Grant Rogers, Shield Solicitors

The response came immediately, and was far more businesslike than his usual interactions with clients. Still, Bucky could be businesslike. He even owned a tie.

Bucky: You sure can - the agency should send you out a contract tonight with the bank details. I can do Saturday at 7 if that suits.

Steve: Saturday at 7 sounds fine. What are the terms of the contract?

Of course, Mr. Lawyer Man wanted to know about the contract.

Bucky: It lays out what to expect in our interactions - we provide purely non-sexual services - as well as how to deal with cancellations, how we protect your privacy, and the billing structure.

Steve: Thank you. I look forward to meeting you on Saturday.

Bucky shook his head, wondering how this stuffy, formal guy was going to act during their cuddle session.

Steve didn't have the opportunity to start feeling anxious about his cuddle appointment because the negotiations with the lawyers at the ICE detention center took up every moment of his time. He was wrapping up his conversation with a client via email in his home office when his alarm chimed to let him know that he had half an hour until Bucky arrived.

After stretching his arms over his head, wincing at the tightness of his shoulders after slouching all day, he stripped out of the pajamas he was still wearing and indulged in a long, hot shower, scrubbing away his stress and emerging pink-cheeked and fluffy-haired. In his bedroom, he changed into a soft blue flannel shirt and a pair of pants that looked like slacks but felt like sweatpants, and another pair of his warm, fuzzy socks.

Pacing around his living room, his nerves ramping up, he selected a different blanket to leave ready on the couch and checked twice on his selection of teas. He had just put the kettle on to boil when the buzzer sounded.

On opening the door, he was immediately reassured to see that Bucky had a friendly, engaging grin, and was wearing a soft, knitted sweater. He held out a hand to shake and then immediately felt like an idiot, but Bucky just grasped Steve's cold hand with his warm one and squeezed it.

"Hi, you must be Steve," said Bucky with a pleasant Brooklyn drawl. Without being asked, he pulled a Cuddle Buddies ID card out of his pocket and handed it over to Steve, who checked the details on it and handed it back.

"Nice to meet you," said Steve stiffly. "Please, come on in. I'm just making a cup of mint tea, do you want one?"

"That'd be perfect, Steve. Mind if I take my shoes off?"

"Go ahead," replied Steve with a thin smile, attending to the whistling kettle.

"Thanks," said Bucky when he accepted his cup of tea. Steve couldn't help but notice that Bucky was wearing mis-matched but co-ordinating socks, one with red stars on a white background, and the other with white stars on a red background. He ushered Bucky to take a seat on the couch and sat in the armchair opposite. Bucky's posture was loose and open, but Steve was sitting bolt upright and jiggling his leg nervously. Fortunately, Bucky chose to take the lead in the conversation.

"So, I usually start first sessions with clients by talking about what your goals are for therapy," he began with a reassuring smile. "For example, some clients are looking to feel more comfortable with physical touch, some want to get over a breakup, or reduce stress, and some are just looking for companionship."

"I guess the companionship and stress things," said Steve after thinking for a moment. "My job takes a lot out of me, so I don't really have the time to pursue a relationship, but I do miss that human touch."

Bucky smiled gently, as though what Steve had said wasn't anything out of the ordinary. "What do you do?"

"I'm a lawyer, I mostly represent people who are in danger of deportation," said Steve automatically.

"That sounds rewarding," replied Bucky encouragingly.

"It is," agreed Steve, "but it's incredibly draining. I have to be so hard and tough all the time. Sometimes I think it would be nice to just be..." He tailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

"Soft?" supplied Bucky.

Steve smiled, feeling more comfortable despite his misgivings. "Yeah."

"Thank you for being so open with me, Steve," said Bucky, reaching over to squeeze Steve's knee. "If you don't have a particular preference for how we start, how about you join me on the couch and I put my arms around you. Does that sound good?"

Suddenly shy, Steve nodded and moved to sit next to Bucky, who immediately wrapped his big arms around Steve's shoulders and pulled Steve into his broad chest. As requested, Bucky wasn't wearing any fragrance, but he still smelled good, like fresh laundry and crisp autumn air, with an undercurrent of clean skin.

As he relaxed into Bucky's embrace, Steve tried to remember the last time he'd been held so gently. He was a regular recipient of Sam's big bear hugs and Darcy's chest-crushing squeezes, but he hadn't had a long-term romantic partner since law school, and his career didn't leave him a lot of free time to look for one.

"How does that feel?" asked Bucky in a low, soothing voice, gently rubbing at Steve's shoulder.

"Really good," breathed Steve.

"I'm glad," said Bucky gently. "How about I lie down on my back here and you snuggle up to my chest?"

Steve nodded his assent and Bucky released him slowly, and then rolled over to lie along the couch, opening up his arms so that Steve could slot himself in to rest his head on Bucky's warm chest. The knit of his sweater was soft against Steve's face, and one of Bucky's big hands came up to cup the back of Steve's head, rubbing small circles at the base of his skull with his fingertips.

"Thanks for not wearing cologne," said Steve, sounding muffled.

"Pal, I think you sneezing in my face would be worse for me than for you," laughed Bucky, the sound rumbling through his chest.

"It's not my sexiest move," agreed Steve, burrowing deeper into the soft warmth of Bucky's body.

Steve hadn't expected that conversation would carry on easily while they were cuddling - he predicted awkward silences and a feeling of general embarrassment - but they continued chatting while Bucky carded his fingers through Steve's hair, and he felt himself dropping deeper and deeper into a calm state of relaxation.

"So why'd you become a lawyer?" asked Bucky in a low voice, barely breaking into the spell he was casting over Steve.

"Ma came over here from Ireland to work as a nurse," replied Steve drowsily, "and when my pa died, she ran into some trouble with some of her immigration paperwork. There was a lawyer who worked pro bono to stop her from getting deported... the guy really changed our lives."

"So now you help other people the same way."

"I try to. How'd you get into professional cuddling?"

"After I got out of the army, I used to go for counseling sessions at the VA. Took a couple of years, but eventually I started on a course to be a counselor myself. A lot of those guys are so touch-starved, you know? My friend got the idea to start up a cuddling service and I jumped at the chance. It's been my full-time job for three years now."

Digesting this information, Steve was silent for a moment. He wouldn't have pegged Bucky as a soldier given how open and relaxed he was, but Sam didn't seem like an air force pilot, so you never knew. He cast around for a follow-up question. "Are there a lot of cuddling agencies in the world?" he settled on eventually.

"Oh yeah, it's a real growth industry. There's even a book called the Cuddle Sutra."

Steve scoffed. "You're kidding me, people write books about this stuff?"

Bucky cuffed him gently on the back of the head. "Shut up, punk. That's my profession you're besmirching."

"Are you allowed to tell your clients to shut up?" smirked Steve, never happier than when he was being a little shit.

"Only if they're being a punk," grumbled Bucky, wrapping an arm around the back of Steve's shoulders to pull him closer.

Over the course of the next forty five minutes, Steve learned more about Bucky's family, his asshole cat, his collection of semi-dead succulent plants, and his opinions on the present administration of the country. Bucky managed to wheedle Steve into talking about the bullying he faced at work, the stress of not having as many resources as he needed to help everyone he worked with - and he very nearly managed to get him to disclose his mother's recipe for shepherd's pie, and was only stopped by the threat that the ghost of Sarah Rogers would haunt him until he died.

Between the cozy warmth of Bucky's body, the soothing cadence of his voice, and the way his minty breath ghosted over Steve's forehead when he chuckled, Steve was pretty much in heaven, wrapped up in comfort. When Bucky's phone started to vibrate in his pocket, they both let out a little noise of annoyance.

"'Fraid that's my alarm. How'd you enjoy your first session?" asked Bucky, still stroking lines down Steve's back.

Steve hummed contentedly. "Worth every penny," he replied, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head.

"I'm really glad," said Bucky sincerely, squeezing his shoulder before standing up and heading towards his shoes. "Same time next week?"

"That'd be perfect. Thanks, Bucky. For everything."

"No problem," he replied with a genuine grin, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "Now I'd better call Maria before she gets the cops after me to make sure I haven't been murdered in a back alley somewhere."

"I'm glad they care so much about your safety."

"I love my job," laughed Bucky as he let himself out the front door, waving goodbye to Steve as he put the phone to his ear.

Steve spent some time smiling and waving like a goof until Bucky rounded the corner, at which point he finally shook himself awake and shut and locked his door. It was only eight PM but after a few nights of fractured sleep he was ready to follow his relaxed, sleepy feeling straight to bed.

After he pottered around the room, straightening up and putting things away, he brushed his teeth and jumped onto his big, comfortable bed, where he rolled himself up in his comforter like a burrito. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

[exeggcute]

glad to know you are mostly recovered from covid! if i may ask, could you describe how where your symptoms or at what pace you got them? the information i've got from both medical / govermental sources in my country is contradictory at times. also, what would you recommend drinking if i found myself to be with covid?

first off: WATER!!! drink water!!! I mean you can probably drink whatever as long as it’s moderately healthy and you’re staying hydrated (my drink of choice while sick is red gatorade. it has to be red or it doesn’t work though) but water is always a safe bet

also I’m happy to share my experience, just know that (1) I am not a doctor, just a professional Sick Person and (2) I never officially got tested thanks to a shortage of coronavirus tests in my area, but I’m pretty damn sure my symptoms were aligned with covid-19, so take that as you will

the first thing I noticed was a sore throat... but I have sore throats allll the time because of my other health issues, so I didn’t think much of it. I did start to notice my sore throat was getting better (from a previous mystery illness that knocked me out for a few days, and which I initially thought was strep but was probably just a bad cold) before suddenly getting bad again. I also had a day where my sore throat was especially pronounced and I had that Really Tired Feeling you get when you’re sick. I guess we can call that day one, but at this point I definitely didn’t think I had corona

that night I noticed some chest tightness, which I initially wrote off as an anxiety attack (and considering my extremely anxious personality and the fact that we were battening down the hatches for a pandemic, that seemed like a fair assumption) but using my inhaler didn’t help--in fact, it made the pain worse! but it did pass eventually, more or less, and I forgot about it

(side note here that if you think you have corona, do NOT use your albuterol inhaler or any kind of steroid inhaler unless you’re having a legit asthma attack with wheezing and all the works. using your inhaler can make the corona symptoms worse, but obviously if you need to use it then it’s important to keep using it. consult your doctor. also another similar note: if you think you have it, stay away from most NSAIDs if you can, as those can also make things worse. tylenol is okay though as long as you’re careful about the dosage--not as a corona thing, you just always need to be careful with tylenol dosage. and it’ll help keep your fever down, which is important!)

then over the next day or two I noticed the chest pain flare-ups but wrote those off as well. they were short-lived and mainly seemed to happen at night, but the inhaler always made them worse. around this time I also started experiencing some general GI upset for a few days (not to get too into that...), but I have a very touchy digestive track and was taking antibiotics at the same for other unrelated reasons, so I was like “well it’s probably nothing” but was starting to get worried.

then about five days later, the chest tightness really made itself present. like, it lasted all day and was constant. I was concerned but not immediately freaking out, and it was really windy that day so I kind of chalked it up to allergies, but as a very allergic person I’ve never had chest tightness like that from allergies (and my other allergic symptoms have improved considerably since I started allergy shots, so it would be weird to have a new symptom crop up out of nowhere like that).

then the next day, and the next day, the tightness wasn’t going away. this was clearly not allergies. I started to seriously think about corona tests, and I even called my primary care doctor, but she was extremely dismissive (all she did was call in a prescription for an old allergy drug that never even worked for me in the first place) and it was downright impossible to get tested. I was freaked out, but not entirely sure.

it’s about day seven at this point, and the chest tightness is in full swing. when I first wake up, the pain isn’t really present, but after about an hour of wakefulness my chest starts to get tight, congested, and kind of has that rattle-y feeling when it’s full of mucus and crap from the postnasal drip. not much congestion otherwise, but I’m so hopped up on antihistamines at all times that I don’t really get congested in general. the best way I can describe the chest tightness is that it feels like when I exert myself and my asthma makes my chest seize up and it’s hard to catch my breath (aka every single PE class I was ever forced to take as a kid), but my inhaler doesn’t do shit. my throat is still hurting pretty bad too and I feel vaguely fevery, but I don’t have a working thermometer at home. overall I just feel shitty, like that feeling you have when you know you’re sick (and I get sick a lot so I’m pretty well-versed in that lol). for quarantine purposes, this is the day I’ve been counting as the “first day” of having obvious corona symptoms, but it was really predated by the things I described above.

several days pass like this, I keep trying to get tested and call all sorts of places but it’s all dead ends. I also develop a slight cough, which mostly comes in bursts or when I speak/eat. by day twelve I manage to get a primary care appointment, and they do an EKG to make sure it’s not cardiac pain (the EKG came back fine) and a throat swab to see if it’s something bacterial (it’s not). they do confirm I’m running a slight fever, although my body temperature is usually so low that even a fever of 99 is high for me. my primary care doc basically tells me to fuck off and stay home, which I was already planning on doing. she also didn’t even wear a mask or gloves to look into my throat, despite the fact that all the other nurses in the practice were wearing masks and gloves when they interacted with patients... so I’m not exactly full of confidence in her judgement here.

the night of day thirteen, the day after seeing my doctor, I have a night where I can’t sleep because my airway feels restricted (both in my chest and my actual throat being swollen from pain). I used my inhaler, like a fool, and when the inhaler didn’t help the first time I tried using it two more times. big mistake! I ended up lying awake gasping for air, taking huge gulps just to feel like I was getting the teeniest bit of oxygen, and feeling stabbing pain when I took these deep breaths. I was too afraid to sleep and almost made my girlfriend drive me to the ER but I hate going to the ER so instead I just tried to calm down until I got exhausted enough to fall asleep around dawn. I also kept alternating between sweating buckets and shivering to death, no matter how I kept adjusting the temperature and my blankets, so I assume I was having a crazy fever that night.

the next day, roughly day fourteen, I decided to suck it up and go to the ER to get a chest x-ray. they said my x-ray looked fine, which was encouraging (hopefully no permanent lung damage there), and they took a flu swab and a strep swab just to rule those out (both negative, of course). at least two other people were there with me in the ER complaining of similar symptoms, but they didn’t have any tests for us so the doctor just told me to go home, act as if I had it, and keep taking tylenol and drinking water. this doctor is also the one who told me to stop using my inhaler--and the fact that my inhaler kept making the pain worse is one of the things that really tips me off here that I probably had it.

things are pretty much uneventful for the next week: still having a tight chest, a fever that seems to come and go, sore throat, cough. no more crazy attacks like that one night.

by day nineteen (yesterday) I start to notice a bit of improvement in my chest pain. it’s not gone, but it’s not as bad and I’ll have slight reprieves from the tightness. today is day twenty (more or less, my numbers are a little rough here) and I actually felt okay most of the day. by the evening the tightness returned and I’m still coughing every now and then, but far less often. I think the fever is gone and my throat doesn’t hurt too bad, either! I’m well past the point of being contagious, so I actually went to the grocery store today and got a few things. I’m not totally out of the woods yet, but I think (knock on fucking wood) the worst has passed.

anyway, I hope my anecdote is helpful for you, and I hope you stay safe and healthy!

[smallhorizons]

kvetching about asthma & health stuff below the cut

man sure would be nice to remember what it’s like to be able to breathe properly

my last really severe episode lasted a week, and then I was mostly okay for ... two weeks

and then this episode has been ongoing since June 3, i’ve had multiple acute asthma attacks since friday alone that barely respond to my emergency inhaler (including one attack that incapacitated me for more than an hour at work), and my sleeping has been absolutely terrible the last few nights because i Can’t Fucking Breathe (sleeping propped up or on my stomach, for some reason, helps a bit, but not nearly as much as I’d like it to) despite using the emergency inhaler

and because my pharmacy & my pcp & my insurance went back and forth for like ... a week before finally settling on an approved corticosteroid inhaler for daily use, i only just got it yesterday, and it’s going to take at least a week for it to have a noticeable effect (which, in turn, means at least another week of the emergency inhaler being less effective), and that’s if the prescription works for me. if at my check-in next week i haven’t improved enough, i have to start the song-and-dance re the corticosteroid prescription again to get a more powerful prescription

and! something that’s even more annoying! at my appointment last week, when my doctor asked me if i’d been coughing or wheezing, i said no (some clearing of my throat, but no coughing), and she basically said, oh, yeah, that’s pretty common with severe asthma, because you’re literally not breathing well enough to cough or wheeze. so it’s likely that, as the steroid treatment starts working, i’ll actually start coughing & wheezing. which sucks, on one hand, but on the other hand made me feel ... better? i guess? that i wasn’t just Making Shit Up?

this is getting really long but also i was super paranoid & preemptively embarrassed about making this post bc i was like “it’s not actually that bad, you’re just making shit up for attention” so i specifically went looking for defining characteristics of severe asthma and i just read an article that said basically “very severe asthma attacks may affect your airways so much that you don’t get enough air in and out of your lungs to make a wheezing sound or cough” so maybe i’ve just had a 3-week-long severe asthma attack with periods of like. extra severe asthma attacks doted throughout.

i’ve also talked about this a lot with my parents, and we’ve all kind of settled less on the “i’ve developed asthma suddenly because this allergy season was absolutely horrific” and more of “i had pre-existing minor asthma, due to a series of symptoms present since childhood that make sense as asthma in retrospect although i was never tested, and then it very suddenly intensely exacerbated by this allergy season”

which is. kind of funny? a little bit? i guess? i never had allergies as a kid, and have only had minor allergies as an adult, but my doctor said that this allergy season has been so horrific that she’s seen a big influx of people developing asthma, or people who’ve had asthma that was under control for years suddenly get much worse symptoms, etc etc

really crossing my fingers that this steroid treatment works and that i’ll be able to get this under control because basically this sucks so fucking much

also, lol @ me reading “what to do when you’re having an asthma attack” articles that all say “if you experience [XYZ symptoms which I have been persistently experiencing] and your symptoms persist after using your emergency inhaler, call 911 and get emergency help” like icannotread.meme.jpg. My ER copay is $350, last time I went to the ER for this they didn’t even bother offering me any form of relief other than anxiety medication (admittedly this was before i got the asthma diagnosis, but I told them that’s one of the things i thought it might be), and ambulances are five bazillion dollars.

ugh. anyway asthma sucks and i constantly physically feel like shit, F

[technicolordeams]

June 7, 2020

“I'm the girl nobody knows until she commits suicide. Then suddenly everyone had a class with her.” -  Tom Leveen, Party

This has been my status on discord for about a month now. It just feels too relevant to me at these times.

I know I said I was going to update my blog back in May, but it’s taken me until now to get to doing it. Things have been hectic both with me and in the world. I am dealing with emotional trauma still (But I’m not going to talk about it on here. I do not feel safe enough to do so and I’m going to keep it to myself, my therapists, parents, and pastors at my church. Maybe two other people that I know too. Some people know that something went down with me recently but I won’t spread it around anymore. I’d rather not deal with anything... But it has caused me to have renewed trauma from when I was growing up. Surprisingly I don’t have an association with a girl I considered my best friend for seven years who turned out to be a pathological liar and manipulator. I guess I was able to get closure with that one and just be done with it. But the ones from before that... It just brings those back up. Anyways, I won’t go into any further detail about that in this blog.)

So I’ll try to summarize things a bit... But I’ve never been good at keeping things short. xD 

First off, in November of 2019 I started having really bad pains in my stomach. Just... horrific pain. (Before this started, I was working getting a job with the aid of a job coach.) I landed in the ER a total of 4 times, could have been 5 but that fit wasn’t as bad and went away after a couple hours. But in December after my 3rd ER visit to get pain relief and more testing... and some morphine (sorry but this stuff was good. But I know limitations and wasn’t going to the ER for it. It was strictly to ease the pain so I could rest) I had a couple tests done... I FINALLY got an x-ray of my stomach and it showed I had a slightly inflamed gallbladder. Before this, the nurse that was working with me and my parents just believed I was having constipation and I was being too sedentary. That miffed me big time. I remember coming home one day from shopping for groceries and such that my mom was just telling me off about how I need to exercise more... (I have a fear that is ingrained in my head over exercising. Thanks Children’s ED center.) I just went to my room, no lights, didn’t take my jacket off at all, just curled up on my bed and cried as quietly as I could even though I wanted to wail. I was sick of people not believing me when things aren’t going right with my body and I have been mistreated for many things. I didn’t want to hear this from my parents. There was something wrong and I needed help. I did end up getting a HIDA scan after meeting with a surgeon who said the x-ray wasn’t enough proof that there was something wrong and didn’t want to do anything drastic that possibly won’t help me. But I got the HIDA scan which confirmed that there was something wrong with my gallbladder and on my birthday (Horray horray. Legit though I was so happy) I was approved for surgery to get it removed. The surgeon cut my gallbladder open and found A LOT of small gallstones. He was kind of shocked. Over all of this... I lost probably 10lbs? max? Either way, enough to be concerning to me. Now I’m using this experience to get my parents to actually freaking listen to me when I say I’m having problems and that it needs addressed as quickly as possible and quit dragging your damn feet and believe ME.

Also from the surgery, they had to put a breathing tube down my throat. But something happened and has caused me to have chronic coughing fits where I couldn’t even breathe without coughing. And because of my phobia of throwing up, I didn’t want to eat so I started to restrict for a while. Lots of testing was done to figure out what was wrong there... I got an asthma test and it showed that I had a breathing abnormality but the ENT doctor the day before gave me steroids to help. Said it wouldn’t affect my asthma test the next day. It did. :) Had to wait until May to get retested and another test done. The steroids did help for a while... But getting to that point I had been seeing my regular doctor and he gave me a stronger cough medicine that gave me auditory hallucinations... That was terrifying. So I quit that. Was put on another cough medicine that had a controlled substance in it to suppress my cough. It helped... but not enough. In the end since I didn’t want to wait until May to get tested, my doctor got me an inhaler. It actually has helped a lot. I still cough, but it’s not to the gagging/can’t breathe point anymore. I was very scared and stressed and made my dad take me to get lots of tests. Even speech therapist. Due to the covid-19 threat though, I have been heavily isolating myself at home and my asthma test that I was supposed to get last month got canceled/put off to a later date. So I’m stuck paying for an inhaler at full price because insurance is a dick. Anyways that’s that...

In April, I got a puppy. I finally got a dog that I had been thinking about for months and praying for... His name is Echo and he is a yellow lab. The first couple weeks were absolute hell. He would get up at random hours of the night and needs constant supervision. He’s almost 4 months now, but he’s still very much a puppy. He knows sit, stand, down, looks at me if I call his name with a treat in my hand so he’s recognizing his name... And sometimes off when he will listen. I have plenty of bite marks on my hands and stuff xD I had to have an extreme learning curve on how to take care of him. He doesn’t have accidents in the house as much as before, he will usually indicate he needs to go potty by sniffing around and pacing or going to the door and looking at me like, ‘human. I must defecate.’ xD And he’s got quite the attitude. Which I don’t mind as long as he’s not ripping my clothes or biting me or jumping at me. Dad has stepped in to help me during the mornings take care of him since I’m not sleeping well. Which has helped me out a lot. He’s doubled in size already and I’m so happy with how he’s acting for the most part. The past couple days this past week we’ve learned how the hose works and how to have fun in it since it’s so hot outside. (Also learned I’m allergic to grass. Yay.) But there were several days where I was so stressed and scared that I couldn’t keep up with him and take care of him and I’d have to give him away... But I already invested so much money in him and time and have already fallen in love with him, I won’t give him up. Right now he’s sleeping under my desk as I write this post. Lots of the time though I have to force myself to pretend to be happy and praise him and play with him and teach him what to do and what not to... And it’s emotionally exhausting. Especially this past week.

I had a couple triggers the past two weeks. One was a possible fractured toe from jamming it super hard into the corner of my desk... Another I was woken to Echo making a horrific gagging noise that scared the shit out of me. Then I’ve been working with a grief counselor this past month in addition to regular therapy (obviously over video chat because of infection chances...) for extra support. Thankfully it’s pro bono so I don’t have to pay anything and neither does any of my insurances. But while working on a section in my WRAP plan (Wellness Recovery Action Plan) there was a part where I just started shutting down and falling apart. The Crisis Plan. “This is what I look like when I’m well:” That is where everything started falling apart. It has been like 7 months since I have felt well at all. I can identify what it looks like when things get too bad to handle on my own for the most part... but when I was asked about if my behavior endangers or has negative effects on me or others I want my supporters to... I locked up. I realized I do not really have anyone who I can go to for any sort of help. My therapist is the only one I can go to really about anything, but I can’t get the amount of help that I need from just her. She has told me that if there was no virus threat and that I was in a different city, she would recommend me to go to a mental health program there... That’s how bad I’ve gotten. 

In December my suicidal thoughts have sprung back up and I have withdrawn slowly and then faster from everyone. My parents don’t know how to handle me when I’m dealing with emotional distress... They are not very knowledgeable about mental illnesses and are pretty cold to emotional reactions. Sometimes mean. I love them very much yes and I know they would do whatever they could to help me... but when I need support from them specifically, things just go downhill. And I no longer have people I consider friends online anymore. I don’t feel safe to call anyone that right now. A girl from my church who was also in the Bible study I was attending before covid hit has been trying to reach out to me. Her and another lady at church are the only ones really actually reaching out to me. My pastor only stepped back into the picture after I posted asking for prayer for me since I called the suicide hotline the night before. And the things he has said to me already have been rather infuriating. Which makes me feel resentful towards the church I’m attending. That and the fact that nobody else actually reaches out to me at all. I know life has been thrown upside down and many have their own families with small children and such... It just feels very two-faced sometimes. I know that’s my distorted thinking kicking in as well... But it’s there and nobody’s around to disprove it. I am very grateful for the one girl who has been trying hard to reach out to me and encourage and just be there, but I know she knows little about the world and the crap in it and has experienced much if it first hand so far. But God bless her she really does try and care. My therapist has talked with my pastor after I signed a release form for her to do so and my parents have also talked to him about me last week. I have yet to hear from him since then though. They are busy though I know trying to figure out how to deal with this covid crap and how to manage the church so people who can’t go physically can still be sort of included...But I just don’t know if I want to go for a while. 

But yeah. While I have been dealing with the loss of my entire online friend group and then being harassed on facebook and only seeing horrible news about covid and people insulting different people and politicians and crap on there... I disabled it for a while. I posted that I was going to do that several hours before I did and told people to message me if they wanted to keep contact with me somehow... Maybe two people did. Granted I had only 69 people on my friends list and a good chunk were family members from the Philippines and don’t usually speak english... I do feel better about not being on it though. The first couple days when I woke up I’d automatically go to fb to look at my notifications and silly stories that I’d get recommended, but after that I felt complete relief. I did get into a bit of an argument about two weeks or so before I decided to do this with a childhood friend I had... She just irritated me... Making it sound like she shouldn’t be forced to stay in like people higher in risk of infection/death because she was healthy and yada yada... Not going to argue on here. I just realized fb is just a toxic social media outlet and I didn’t want to be a part of it. I’m especially glad I got off of it while I did before the rioting happened. I would rather not have my timeline flooded with it. 

Oh yeah, we did get rioting here where I live. Actually 10min away from where I live. That was scary the first couple nights. First night I was home alone with Echo when it started going down while my parents were at work. Thankfully though, our mayor put in a curfew and my parents’ work was closed down at exactly 5pm for EVERYONE. Including employees. Dad had to work on barricading one entrance way in case of looting. Sent me pictures of what he had to do... it was surreal. Not only do we need to be afraid of covid but now hostile people. (Note: I do NOT condone what those police officers did. They are getting punished heavily I assume. If anything, we shouldn’t have been rioting but instead having a vigil in honor for the man killed. Protesting is fine too. But when it becomes violent... I don’t agree with it. That’s just me though. Anyways enough political crap. I don’t want to discuss it on here.) The past two nights the mayor put up a curfew again for two days but two hours later than before (8pm) just to be on the safe side. My parents’ work has gone back to normal hours today. I did go out yesterday to get some groceries and medicine I needed. My car’s A/C has died. That was two hours of hell. 

But yeah...uhm... The depression has increased this past week. Actually... a couple weeks before that. I had a meltdown over Echo chewing through the wire of my drawing tablet... I had it still hooked up even though I can’t draw anymore (Long story... recent bunch of trauma related reasons) because of trauma and also lazy to get in the back of my computer to unplug it. And sort of hope that I might pick it back up again... But that destroyed me that night. I wasn’t mad at him for doing it. He’s a baby he doesn’t know anything. It was my fault for not paying attention and taking a bit more care with those wires. Dad was able to fix it though. But I can’t look at it. That same night I received a text from a friend I made in treatment that I love to death... Telling me that she had just got home from being hospitalized and then placed in a psych ward after trying to commit suicide. I think I broke then. Ever since then, I haven’t been able to process very much emotion... Sleep has become very bad... I fell asleep in my chair a few nights ago. Last week was the first time I’ve been able to have any sort of reaction to emotion aside from a heavy depression... I need a big trigger to happen so that I can finally release these emotions inside because it just won’t come, but I feel it waiting behind a thick glass wall in my head. I’ve even started watching movies and shows that would scare me normally and would avoid just from reading the premise or a trailer. I don’t really get much feeling from it (aside from the one night I watched the new Carrie movie and I had to take Echo out at night and it was foggy and very spooky). 

I think I’ll leave this here now and be done for a bit... I’ve written quite a lot and I’m sure very few people know of it’s existence and will look. But at least I’ve finally gotten some of it out... somewhere... Hopefully Echo will let me take a nap in a little bit. I would like to talk about my eating disorder at some point and how I’ve been since I got out of the treatment facilities in 2018 and maybe some other things. Been watching a bunch of videos of different mental illnesses because I’ve been running into a lot of people with them and I want to be able to at least know what’s it about and how to be a better person towards them and also not offend anyone so nobody goes off on me again.

[unified-multiversal-theory]

by Lauren Rowello

A methylprednisolone medrol pack is just a flimsy foil case of 21 little, sour, white pills. If someone would have asked me a few weeks ago which prescription would be the key factor to beating pneumonia, I wouldn’t have pointed to that dinky pack of steroids. The loud roar of my nebulizer with its heavy, stable base, sterile tubes, and burdensome mask seemed more official. The indestructible metal canisters of my brand new inhalers looked more impressive.

I felt sick on March 10, a Tuesday. It wasn’t the kind of sick that anyone takes seriously. It was a shruggable dry cough in late winter. Yes, there were some articles floating around about some distant virus, but it was on the West Coast. It was overseas.

By Wednesday, I was pretty sure I had a fever, and my coughs became more painful, noisy and dramatic as the day continued. I lost my sense of taste almost completely and was short of breath. My spouse ran out and got the only flu medicine still available at our local CVS where no thermometers remained on the shelves. While I rested at home, I navigated emails and decisions about canceling meetings, classes and other plans.

By Thursday, I couldn’t take more than a shallow breath and I was spitting up globs of mucus into washcloths multiple times per hour. By Friday morning, it was challenging to eat without becoming fatigued ― without losing too much air to manage chewing. I finally queued up in a three-hour virtual waiting room to speak with a doctor via a telemedicine app. She diagnosed me with viral bronchitis in less than five minutes. I was quickly prescribed multiple medications to combat my worsening respiratory symptoms with instructions to check back if I did not improve.

I’m newly 29 without any high-risk diagnoses, but even with a pharmacy at my bedside, pneumonia developed in less than two days. With scarves wrapped around my face, I ventured out for an X-ray of my crackling chest and additional testing that was uploaded to the remote doctor. She decided I should be monitored more regularly while self-isolating and continued my treatment as a presumed positive for COVID-19, the disease caused by the coronavirus.

By the last day of my steroids, improvements were obvious, but the progress would be short-lived. My steroid pack finished its course on the morning of the 18th, and within 24 hours, I began to regress. The mucus in my chest grew darker and thicker again, and inflammation made me gag and choke as I tried to expel it. My chest rumbled on every exhale, and breaths became almost as shallow as they were before I sought treatment.

Because it wasn’t time for my scheduled check-in with the same doctor, I had to wait in another virtual line to speak with whoever became available if I wanted to avoid the emergency room.

After a few hours, I was finally connected to a provider who checked in with me about my medical history. She told me that she’d reviewed the notes and watched the recordings from my previous visits, then asked about my vitals ― which can be monitored through the app ― before getting to my reason for the visit. I explained between achy pauses that I was going backward ― and quickly ― but she shooed away my complaints.

I was more direct. “Can you extend my steroid prescription for another week? I think that was key to helping push through this.” She immediately shook her head and interjected:

“I don’t recommend that. That medication could lead to weight gain.”

I asked again. She declined, shifting the conversation toward the steps I could take to limit the spread: hand-washing rituals, daily disinfecting routines, social distancing.  

When the session ended, I felt abandoned, furious and confused. While my mom and spouse networked so that I could find a new provider, I started researching the intersections of viral pneumonia, steroids and weight. I couldn’t even find concerns about weight gain for short-term users ― but I wouldn’t have cared if I did. I knew this drug was treating the inflammation associated with my most severe respiratory symptoms and shifting my immune response, that this steroid was helping some patients with COVID-19-induced pneumonia recover more quickly. I posted to Facebook about my frustration.

Comments were mostly supportive ― with face-palming gifs, shocked and angry emojis, words of solidarity. One mentioned malpractice; a few noted that they now opt out of weigh-ins for check-ups; some people told their own stories of medical and mental health providers bringing up weight when it was irrelevant and inappropriate. Another shared their fear that heavier people might not receive access to ventilators during shortages because they’d be misperceived as having poorer prognoses.

A few more friends chimed in to play devil’s advocate ― trusting that there must be a reason for the doctor’s comment. A relative explained that although it may have been poor bedside manner, the doctor could be worried about weight gain leading to future health issues, such as Type 2 Diabetes. A nurse mentioned that people with a body mass index (BMI) over 25 have worse outcomes and higher mortality rates ― but a recent study asserts that those categorized as “overweight” (with a BMI of 27) are at the lowest risk for all-cause mortality. Additionally, obese patients have better outcomes when being treated for a variety of ailments ― including significantly lower mortality rates when treated for pneumonia ― the illness this doctor should have been focused on. People with higher weights receive a lower quality of care from their providers ― including delays in access to treatments ― due to cognitive bias. This could be the cause of those worse outcomes and comorbidities my friends are worried about. During this pandemic, when health care providers are deciding whose symptoms are most urgent and severe, lack of access and decreased quality of care will cost lives.The comments in the doctor’s defense point to the internalized belief that being fat is bad, that being fat leads to other bad things. They point to subconscious patterns of thinking that guide flawed decisions, such as placing too much concern on some future weight rather than recovering from a tangible virus. We must stop justifying the health care industry’s obsession with weight ― and that starts with combating our own tendencies toward the same beliefs.I didn’t include my weight in the vitals connected to the app, so this doctor didn’t actually know that number or my BMI. She could only see my face on the screen. I suppose it’s possible that she made an inference about my weight based on a bad camera angle ― but her statement was more like a reflex, absent of considerations about my own body or experience. Since she couldn’t actually size me up with her eyes or a number, she made the assumption that any gained pounds wouldn’t be OK for anyone ― no matter their shape or weight. In that moment, she projected a cultural ideal onto my treatment ― encouraging the belief that it would be better to maintain my size than conquer life-threatening pneumonia.If you are a patient whose treatment is being stifled by a biased provider, you should seek care elsewhere ― but that’s easier said than done. My call wasted $50, and a second opinion would cost another ― or a much more expensive trip to the ER. What will happen to those who don’t have that kind of cash? Or time?Fatphobia will continue to negatively impact the quality of care all people receive if providers are distracted by weight standards or cultural ideals. During a global pandemic when actual or virtual lines for health care consume hours and providers are even more overworked than we’re used to, we cannot delay treatment due to cognitive bias.This doctor did not allow me to advocate for my needs, even though I was an informed patient. Her unwillingness to extend the use of a crucial medication during a pandemic demonstrates just how pervasive our cultural obsession with thinness has become. It took a few more hours for me to find a new provider, who proved glad I reached out and helped me find the right dosing to extend the steroids a few more days. My most severe symptoms have dissipated, and I know that I’ll be OK in time. I trust that these providers will help me make decisions about my health based on preserving my life rather than my waistline. But this experience serves as a reminder that if we hope to survive this pandemic, we must become fierce advocates who hold the health care industry to our own standards, unafraid to challenge the status quo.