#what was i talking about again OH YEAH chronic pain

[yonpote]

ok i literally only did two prompts but thats it for now i will get to the ones in my inbox tomorrow ✌️✌️

[dira333]

Hurting together - Aizawa x Reader

mentions of Chronic pain, requested by @alienaiver I hope this is in any way what you've imagined.

“Nervous?” Shouta asks after a full 120 seconds of your leg bouncing without stopping.

“Huh?! Oh, oh, I’m sorry!” You scramble to a halt, arm resting on your leg to keep it in place. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to stop now. But if you wanna talk about it, I heard that helps.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t wanna … I don’t wanna annoy anyone,” you mutter, eyes flickering from left to right.

“Do you wanna hear my story then?” He asks, not because it’s something he likes sharing, but you’re cute and what’s the alternative? Staring at the wall until he gets called in.

“Oh, if you… if you don’t mind?”

He huffs out a breath. “Well, apparently it’s not healthy to break a bone every single week.”

“Oh!” Your eyes grow huge. “Every single week? Wait, is it the same bone.”

“No,” he snorts softly, “At least then I’d have a better story. I’m a pro Hero, I just happen to get into fights.”

“And what’s your Hero Name? Fragile Bone?”

It takes him a second to recognize the joke, snorting loudly when he does. You’re snappy, now that the anxiety fades.

“No, it’s uh… Eraser Head.” He waits a second for you to recognize him, the star-struckness to hit. But it doesn’t. Instead, you cock your head to the side and eye him thoroughly. 

“Interesting,” you say, “I remember an Interview you were forced to give a few years back. Uh, I think there was a streaker at the Sports Festival?”

He laughs. “Good Memory. Yeah, that was one of our students. He didn’t have his Quirk under Control back then.”

“And you’ve got a broken bone now? Or is this just a check-up?”

“Bloodwork.”

“Yikes,” you pull a face, “me too. It’s the worst.”

“It is,” he agrees, dares to ask before he can lose his courage again. “Want me to hold your hand through the process?”

And it’s smooth, smoother than he’s ever been able to - maybe the absence of his friends does benefit his ability to flirt - and he might even get his hopes up for a second there - until your face falls.

“That’s really tempting, you know, but I… uh… my hands are hurting. That’s why I’m here, you know, to figure out why they’re hurting like this. So hand-holding is kinda a no-go.”

“Oh, I understand,” the dejection must be audible in his voice because you reach out for him, though you don’t take hold.

“But if you want,” you offer, voice a little breathless, “you could… uh… put your hand on my shoulder? It might look weird, but-”

“I’ve seen weirder things,” he offers and your smile lights up the room.

-

“Oh, I didn’t know you were coming in together,” Doc Oc greets him and for a moment he is paralyzed, frozen between two different emotions. Surprise, because Doc OC’s obviously familiar with you and he’s got the worst memory when it comes to names. Embarrassment, because it’s usually not the best thing if a Doctor remembers you by name, let alone this one.

“Ah,” you smile, “We met in the waiting room. Bloodwork, you now. It’s easier if it’s done together.”

“That I can agree with. Now, who wants to go first?”

-x-

“Now, I believe you owe me something,” Recovery Girl announces one afternoon, a big smile cutting into her wrinkly face. “What’s her name?”

“Huh?” Shouta had been busy reading through this week's assignment, deciphering the texts. Denki’s Handwriting almost requires a PHD in decoding.

“Doc Oc and I have been friends for quite some time. One would call us even… very close… if you know what I mean. He said you brought in lovely company.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess…” He can’t help but blush at her tone. Too much information.

“Well, are you going to ask her out? You cannot count this as your first date, surely? A fancy Dinner is a must.”

“A fancy Dinner is a must for whom?” Hizashi’s leaning around the door and Shouta groans. Of all people to overhear this.

“Shouta’s girlfriend.”

“Shouta has a girlfriend? Shouta, my man, why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you love me anymore? Your best friend?”

He crawls further into his sleeping bag, closing his eyes. Those assignments can wait, if he can fall in to a coma first, he-

-x-

“So?” Rumi leans against your Desk. “Did he call you?”

“Not yet,” you’re chewing on your lower lip, “But he’s probably busy.”

“Busy my ass,” she snorts angrily. “You’re a catch. If he doesn’t get a groove on you’re gone. He should know that.”

You level your friend - and boss - with a glare. “I’ve been single for a year.”

“Which he doesn’t know,” she sings. “But on another note, have you’ve gotten the results from your bloodwork? You know we only need that so we can get started on your hands-free Desktop.”

“Why do you sound more excited about this than I am?”

“Because you’re afraid of change and I am not. Just think, your hands will finally get to rest!”

“Yay,” you wave them around half-heartedly when your phone pings.

Rumi’s already grabbing it from your desk, always faster than you. “Oh, it’s your guy.” She hands it back. “Not looking.”

“Thank you for respecting my privacy,” you joke and open the short text only to gasp.

“He’s asking me out.”

“Great, so he’s not an idiot. Confirm.”

“No, no, he’s asking me out for a date tonight. You know how bad my legs have been today, I can’t show up with a cane.

“Why not?”

“Because,” you drag out, “the last time I did that there was no second date.”

“And you think he’s that shallow?”

“I just don’t want to jinx it.”

“Fine,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “Tell him you can’t tonight because you’re working late. Ask him if he’s able to reschedule for tomorrow or Friday.”

You hesitate, but do as you’re told.

“And now,” she grabs your bag as soon as you put your phone down, “you get your cute ass home and rest. I want you as fit as you can be tomorrow so you can enjoy that date.”

“But work-”

“Work is like my ex - it will always wait for you.”

-x-

“Fuck,” Shouta groans, head on his arms. The pain is strong today.

“You… uh… you good?” He hears a familiar voice from the door. Shit, he forgot about training with Hitoshi.

“Fantastic,” he grinds through his teeth though he does not dare to lift his head. Lunch was decent, but he doesn’t want to taste it again.

“Do you need Recovery Girl?”

“No, I’m going to be fine. Can you get me my painkillers from my bag? I would, but moving-”

“Sure, sure.” He can hear rustling and then a pill is dropped into his outstretched palm.

Slowly, carefully, he drags his arm back to pop it into his mouth, swallows it dry. He’s got loads of practice.

“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Uh, if you say so.”

-

He’s got a black eye.

He’s got a black eye and a date in about thirty minutes and the painkillers are making him particularly loopy today.

Hitoshi wouldn’t have been able to hit him in the face if his reaction time hadn’t been so slow. He’s lucky no bone is broken.

Something tells him that it we better to reschedule, but wouldn’t that make him look disinterested when he’s not?

-

“Mew.” 

Shouta turns to the sound, surprised to see a black cat looking up at him. There’s a hedge there, and he bends down to pet the animal. 

“You’re loud, huh?” He comments on the purring, taking a seat on the ground when his knees turn a little wobbly. He really is getting older. 

The cat disappears into the hedge and he holds out a hand, making little sounds to lure her back out.

Just as he can spot the green eyes blinking back at him, a banknote is dropped into his hand.

“Here,” a voice says, “It’s cold out.”

Shouta freezes, only to look up into your face.

“Uh,” he makes, suddenly envious of Kaminari when he cooks his brain. 

“I didn’t mean-” you say just as he exclaims loudly: “There’s a cat.”

“Where?” You ask, peering into the hedge. “I love cats.”

-x-

“This was nice,” you tell him after Dinner, the episode with the Cat now something you can laugh about. “Would you like to do it again sometimes?”

“Yes,” he nods slowly, “I’m sorry if I was a little loopy today. I took… uh, I forgot to take a nap.”

“Ah,” you smile, “You’re getting old too? If I don’t get my usual lunch nap I’m not so nice to be around.”

Shouta laughs. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. You’re very nice to be around.”

“You think so?” You ask, heart skipping a beat when he nods.

“How are your hands?” He looks down at them, “Can I hold them? Or do they still hurt?”

“If you don’t squeeze them I should be fine,” you say, praying that it’s the truth.

It is a little uncomfortable, if you were to tell the truth, but he’s gentle and your heart blooms at the implications.

If only you could put this moment in a jar, keep it for all the days where it’s hard to get up.

 -

“So?” Rumi leans over your desk, grinning wide. “Gimme the scoop.”

“We went out, it was amazing, I don’t know when I’m going to see him again.”

“That’s not the scoop, that’s a short summary. I want every detail. Also, what does it mean you don’t know when you-”

The ringtone of your phone cuts her off. You take a peak only to gasp.

“It’s him. He’s calling.”

“Well, pick up. I’ll come back as soon as you’re finished. And I want all the details.”

-

It’s hard to find time for another date.

Shouta works two fulltime jobs and you’re overwhelmed with just one.

But he calls or texts every day, sending you pics of cats whenever he’s out on patrol.

It’s nice, but it could be nicer.

When he asks what you’re doing and you’re in bed, pain holding you down, you cannot tell him the truth. Because he doesn’t know the truth. And telling him over the phone seems insensitive.

Sometimes he sounds pretty loopy when he calls and you wonder if he’s getting enough sleep. But when you ask him about it he evades the question so masterfully, that you only remember it hours after the call.

“I think I have to come clean,” you tell Rumi one day during lunch, your hands in thick compression gloves to combat the pain. “This season is hitting me hard and I cannot postpone our next date again just because I cannot go anywhere without a cane.”

“I’m sure it’s going to go well. From what you’ve told me about him he seems very nice.”

“Yeah,” you sigh,”so nice I don’t want to lose him.”

-x-

Of all the moments for a migraine to hit, this has to be the worst. 

Okay, maybe the second worst, because he’s not currently fighting someone.

But he’s been pressing his temple against the fridge doors of this Konbini for half an hour now, clearly unsettling the other shoppers, and his painkillers are far, far away in his car’s glove compartment.

Every time he thinks he’s got it now, turning away from the coldness has his lunch rise up in his throat.

“Shouta?” A familiar voice asks and the ice seeps into his veins. It’s you.

“No, I’m not Shouta. You must mistake me for someone else.”

“You’re wearing a nametag. Backward, but you’re wearing it.”

He sighs. “Can you just pretend you’re not seeing me?”

“I could, but why?”

“This is embarrassing.”

“I mistook you for a homeless man, I think we’ve already reached top embarrassment.”

“I’m having a Migraine.”

“See,” he can hear the encouragement in your voice, knows exactly how your mouth curls at the words even if he cannot see it. “That’s very low on the embarrassment list. Do you need a painkiller?”

“Yeah, but they’re in my car.”

“What are you using.”

“I doubt you have that. You can only get it via prescription.”

Shouta names it, hears you chuckle.

“Oh, you bet I got that. One pill is enough, right?”

“Right.” He can hear rustling before a pill is pressed into his hands. He swallows it dry. 

“It will take me a minute to come to my senses.”

“No worry at all. I can stay here with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Oh, but I want to. By the way… the Bloodwork… was that about your Migraine?”

“Yeah,” he swallows around the lump in his throat. “And other stuff.”

“Mhm.” Some more rustling.

“How did you get those pills by the way? You don’t work in a pharmacy, right?”

“Oh, no, I don’t deal drugs if that’s what you’re asking.” You laugh, but it tapes off awkwardly. “I… I suffer from chronic pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

You laugh again, but you don’t sound amused. “Yeah, me too.”

Silence settles between them. Slowly, the pain in his head eases into something manageable and he peels himself away from the cool glass to look at you.

You’re staring at the ground, a cane in your hands. 

“I’m going to be pretty loopy for the rest of the day,” he tells you, lump in his throat, “But do you wanna grab a coffee after this?”

The surprise in your eyes tells you what he’d already assumed. You’re not used to people accepting your condition as something that just is. 

“Might ask you some questions as soon as my head works properly again,” he adds like a threat, “but for now I’d just like to look at you. You’re really pretty.”

“You’re really loopy,” you giggle.

“Mhm, it’s going to get even worse, sugardrop.” His hand finds your elbow, careful to avoid your hands and you knock your head lightly against his shoulder.

You’re probably a weird-looking couple to the outside world, but he’s never cared much about that anyway.

[kookygranger]

what is my boyfriend towtruck!Eddie doing on this fine 4/20 weekend?

Haha, I’m the worst person to ask this, @storiesbyrhi can vouch, but I’m so glad you did. If we don’t include our own experiences in our stories then who are we? 

For you and our tow truckin' boy @bettyfrommars ✨

Warnings: 18+ thank you, swearing, mentions of masturbation, drug use

On this rare Saturday with nothing on your to-do list that couldn’t be put off, you’d decided to take advantage of the miserable weather and curl up with a book. 

That’s where you were when your phone rang. Tangled in blankets, a warm mug of tea on your bedside table, your apartment lit in warm lighting from the strategically placed lamps around the place.

Your head was still in the story that had captured you for hours when you answered.

“Heello?”

“Hey, baby.”

“Eddie.” Your voice lifts in soft recognition, but the boy is hardly anymore grounded than you in this moment. “Did you just get off?” You place your book pages down in your little nest and glance at the rain still pelting your windows, hoping Hawkins was a little more dry today.

“Well, uh…that’s kinda what I’m calling about.” 

His tone helps you drift back to reality, back straightening at the hazy slur of his words. 

“…are you high?”

You can practically hear the goofy grin over the line, “Wellll, it is four twenty.”

You glance at the red numbers on your alarm clock, “It’s 6:48.” Shit, you should really get something together for dinner. The breathy laugh that escapes him makes you smile.

“No, baby. I mean like, it’s the 20th of April. Four twenty, get it? I guess I forgot how much you hate holidays.”

“That’s not a thing,” you laugh. 

“It is! Very important holiday to us wasters I’ll have you know.”

There’s a pause as you search through your memories of the boy you’d only known briefly albeit intensely. “Eddie, I don’t know…I’ve never seen you smoke, I had no idea.”

You hear a shuffle on the other end of the line, and you imagine him straightening up in his bed as his voice becomes serious. 

“Oh, well yeah–it’s kinda like what I’m known for. I used to…” he clears his throat, “Well actually I dealt in high school. I guess Robin never told you that. I mean I don’t now! And I barely smoke anymore–well compared to what I used to–I’d never while I was working obviously–“

Your giggles cut off his rambling, “Eddie relax, I don’t care.” His exhale of relief shoots through your ear.

“Shit, sorry I panicked for a second there.” You laugh again. “Guess I’ll just have to bring some stuff up next time I see you sweetheart.”

“Oh, well…”

“Robin I don’t feel good.” Oh god there it is. How is this supposed to be a good feeling? “Oh my god you’re so pale.” “This feels really weird.” Are you sitting up or lying down? Why can’t you feel your shoulders? Have you ever been able to feel your shoulders? Are you sitting up or laying down? “Oh shit, I think you’re greening out.” “I’m gonna throw up.” “I don’t know what to do!”

“I tried it once and I don’t think it’s for me.”

“Bummer,” Eddie mumbles, “I thought it’d be good for your…”

“High functioning anxiety and chronic pain? Yeah me too.”

“Shit, sweetheart.”

You shrug, “It’s okay. I’m content with a cocktail at the end of the day.” 

The playfulness in Eddie’s voice returns and you can just picture the dimples that punctuate his next words, “Well you can have one now and we could uh, talk.” You’re about to ask him what he thinks you’re doing now. “You know I’ve been thinking about two things all day.” His voice drops an octave, sending a tingle down your spine.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Ever since I got in that truck this morning all I could think about was clocking off when I could roll one and talk to you.”

It’s almost cute. Your initial reaction is lovesick, but there’s something in his tone that’s throwing you off. 

“Wait…Eddie are you trying to have phone sex?”

“…no?”

You cackle, “You are! That’s why you called me high off your ass.”

“It’s one joint baby, calm down.” He’s defensive. Bummed that his plan didn’t work.

“All of this ‘cause of a made up stoners holiday?”

“No! I just miss you alright?! Is that such a crime? Wanted to hear your voice instead of just imagining it like always.” You almost don’t catch the last sentence over your laughing.

“Aw, you think about me when you jerk off?”

He scoffs, “Of course I do. Don’t–don’t you?”

You hum, “Yeah like 95 percent of the time.”

“What?!”

“You know how I feel about Christian Slater.”

“Whatever, I’m just gonna hang up and enjoy my time in peace alright.”

“Aw no! Wait, I love you, jerk off to me talking about my day.”

“Fuck you.” 

Your laughter turns into hysterics when the phone rings eight seconds after he hung up. 

“I didn’t mean that.” 

“I know you didn’t. Shall we start again?”

“Yes, please.” 

“Hey Eds. Did you just get off?”

More towtruck!Eddie and city girl here ✨

[morganski-19]

The One with Taking Risks

Ten Years Ago

Jonathan turns the key to his freshman dorm room, a burst of hot air hitting him in the face as he does. The shitty, non airconditioned dorm already making him miserable. He struggles through the doorway, a box pressed against his side. Finding his roommate unpacking on the other side of the room.

“Dude,” his voice echoes against the walls. Hair in a messy braid down his back. “Welcome home.”

Argyle, his randomly assigned roommate, pulls him into a bear hug. Jonathan stiffening, not returning the gesture. They’ve only talked a few times, he wasn’t expecting a hug so early.

Argyle realizes this, pulling back. “Sorry, my sisters say that I come on pretty strong when I shouldn’t. Something I’m working on.”

Jonathan places the box on the vinyl covered mattress. “It’s fine.”

“Do you need any help?” Argyle asks awkwardly behind him. “My folks already helped me get all my stuff in the room, so I don’t mind lending a hand.”

“Thanks, but I’m good. My mom and stepdad are coming up soon with more of my things. They’re just finding parking.”

Argyle nods. “Cool. I’ll, uh, just be over on my side of the room then. Let me know if you want to rearrange the layout or anything. I’m not particular about anything.”

From their first interaction, Jonathan wouldn’t have guessed that his roommate would soon become the best friend he’s ever had.

It wasn’t until months later that he really started to open up to Argyle. Until the homesickness really hit him hard and Will had to spend a few nights in the hospital again. Being so far from home, he couldn’t be there for him. Felt like he failed.

Argyle had come back into the room after his class. Jonathan rubbing his eyes, trying to hide the fact he was crying. Pulling the blanket up under his chin, faking sleep.

For a while, Argyle doesn’t say anything. He just goes to his side of the room and puts in his earbuds in. Doing some homework and giving Jonathan space.

When Will calls him later, Jonathan can’t hide how he’s feeling anymore. As soon as the phone call hangs up, he starts to break down again.

His phone pings.

Argyle: I’m here if you want to talk about it, or I can leave the room to give you some space

There’s something about kindness from a sort of stranger that makes tears flow harder. He types out a reply.

Argyle gets up from his bed and walks over to the door. Shutting it gently behind him, giving Jonathan the space he asked for. When the tears dry up, Jonathan lets Argyle know he can come back. Wiping his cheeks, calmed down.

“Thank you,” he says softly when the door shuts behind him. “I appreciate you doing that.”

Argyle shrugs, like this was nothing. “Life is tough when you move away from home. I should know, my home is halfway across the country. Do you want a hug or are we not at that level yet?”

“A hug would be kind of nice.”

Argyle silently asks to sit on Jonathan’s bed. He nods in conformation, accepting Argyle’s open arms. Pulling back after a few seconds.

“I’m not going to force you to talk about it or anything, but I’m here if you want to.”

“My, uh.” Jonathan struggles to find the words. Argyle waits for him, making Jonathan feel like he can tell him anything. “That call was from my brother, he’s in the hospital right now.”

“Shit,” Argyle says bluntly. “Is he ok?”

Jonathan nods. “Yeah. It’s just a bad flare up. He went through a really bad accident when he was in middle school, has chronic pain because of it. Other lingering health issues. But he’s fine. Just wish I was there, you know.”

“Yeah. It sucks being away from family. Especially when something’s going on.”

“It does. You said you were from California, right?” Jonathan changes the subject. “What’s it like out there, I’ve never been.”

Argyle lights up as soon as Jonathan asks. “Oh, it’s great dude.” He goes on a long tangent about his hometown, his family. Being close enough to the ocean for day trips but not directly close to it at all. Anything and everything.

They talk for hours after that. The conversation finding itself during the slower breaks. Just sharing their lives. Complaining about classes. Learning about each other in ways not many people ever tried.

That day, they both made a friend.

Present Day

Argyle checks his phone for the millionth time. Pressing it down in frustration against the couch when the notification screen continues to be blank. Jonathan hasn’t messaged him back yet. Hasn’t texted him since he left to visit home a week ago.

It’s fine, he tells himself. He’s just busy at home. Spending time with family.

Except it isn’t. They haven’t not talked this long since the awkward first weeks of college. When they hadn’t found the right rhythm yet. This was unlike them. Unlike Jonathan.

Argyle busies himself, trying to keep his mind off it. Stop him from sending another text asking if Jonathan’s ok. He cleans, unmakes and remakes his bed. Cooks and does the dishes. Until the door opens and Jonathan’s standing in front of him, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hi,” he pants. Like he just ran here from the train.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until Wednesday.” Argyle sets down the dish he was drying. Wiping the excess water from his hands.

Jonathan tries to catch his breath. “I wasn’t. Came back early.” He set the duffel bag on the ground, stepping closer to Argyle.

“Something happen?” Argyle’s trying to read Jonathan’s actions, but he’s never seen him act quite like this before.

“I love you,” he blurts out.

Argyle doesn’t believe him. “Yeah, dude. Love you too.”

Jonathan shakes his head, stepping closer to Argyle again. “No, not like that. Well, yes like that but not all like that. I’m in love with you.”

“What,” Argyle exhales in disbelief.

Jonathan brushes the hair out of his face. Hand resting on the back of his neck. “I know it’s random and probably doesn’t make a lot of sense. But when I was home, seeing Will with Mike together and hearing these constant comments from my mom. How great it is that two best friends fell in love. And then asking me about you. How you were doing and how we were doing. Like we were some unit. Together. It just hit me.”

He continues, starting to pace. “I knew I liked you, for a long time now, but I didn’t realize how much. Always told myself that I wasn’t going to say anything because this friendship meant the world to me, and I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. Then Will said something to me, and it made me want to just say fuck it. So, I took the next train and now I’m here.”

Argyle is speechless. Trying to keep up with Jonathan’s rambling while also trying to calm the beating of his own heart.

He never thought that this would happen.

Jonathan stops pacing, fear hitting his face. Everything that he just said coming back to him in slow motion. The frantic energy fades, the tension setting in.

“Are you going to say anything?” Jonathan stares at Argyle.

Argyle barrels towards Jonathan, pulling him into the tightest hug of his life. A happy smile forming as Jonathan hugs him back. Both of them too afraid to let go.

“I love you, too,” Argyle whispers after a long silence. “I have for so long.” He pulls back from the hug, grazing his thumb against Jonathan’s cheek. Reveling in the fact that he can. “I was just so scared. I couldn’t lose you, not because of this.”

Jonathan presses their foreheads together. “You didn’t.” He uses both his hands to brace Argyle’s face, bringing their lips together.

Argyle did the exact opposite of losing him.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts

[campgender]

Hi, my friend has a chronic illness that flares up sometimes and we've been wanting to hang out but it has gotten cancelled a couple times lately bc of her not feeling well enough on the day. I want to ask her how she feels cuz I care abt her a lot and want an update but 1, I don't want her to feel pressured or like I'm asking just to ask can we hang out now, and not bc I care abt how she's feeling (does that make sense? I may be overthinking this) and 2, I genuinely wanna know how she's doing but idk what to say if she responds with her not being better, sometimes u don't feel better and that's ok but I always want to offer comfort somehow or just convey my friendship? but I feel the same everytime and don't want to sound repetitive ?

Any thoughts?

this is really kind of you & it means so much to me that you want to support your friend & are putting so much thought into it! my response is inherently based in my own experience to an extent & everybody’s different, but a lot if not all of this is stuff i’ve heard regularly from other chronically ill people. of course, don’t say anything you don’t mean – if some of this isn’t the case for you, just adapt accordingly :)

i understand worrying about being repetitive but i think that’s totally okay to do! for one thing, it can be difficult to remember things period when you’re ill, especially during a flare, & for another, internalized + societal ableism is a hell of a force. it never hurts to have a reminder that not everyone is trying to force ableist expectations onto you + your friendship & that someone cares about you!

i think you can definitely tell your friend pretty much what you told me! like, “hey, it’s okay if you aren’t feeling up for responding but i just wanted to check on you! not trying to pressure you to hang out or anything, i just care about you & how you’re doing”

honestly the most important + supportive thing people have ever told me is that it’s okay if the answer is “bad.” i’m literally like surprised pikachu meme every time somebody offers to let me vent about having a rough time & then it helps me just to talk about it. it’s really socially unacceptable to talk about chronic pain & a lot of people get frustrated when you’re complaining about the same thing & there’s not really anything they can do, so just the opportunity to be like “yeah shit fucking sucks right now” means a lot.

obv the appropriateness of this depends on the person & their relationship to disability but most of the time i’m very like, radical acceptance / embracing / etc about the fact that i’m probably just gonna get sicker, so sometimes when i’m having a rough time emotionally & am like “what if i’m this bad for the rest of my life” my gf (who doesn’t have chronic pain / chronic illness) will say something like “then i can’t wait to be there with you ❤️” & it’s more meaningful to me than i can begin to put into words.

again everybody’s different but for me one of the biggest things is when disability stuff just… isn’t a big deal to the other person. which, it’s totally okay for you to need support from others when someone you care about is going through a hard time & when things change! but abled people are constantly horrified about like, every aspect of my life, so being able to talk casually about symptoms & somebody mirror the mood / tone i set – laugh if i’m joking, be upset about the ableism i experience & not my body itself if i’m complaining about people being weird about it, taking things as they come – is so affirming.

other things that have been helpful + meaningful for me are friends sending me notes, stickers, & art in the mail – having something tangible can make me feel more “real” & part of the world, something i struggle with due to being homebound – & peer support around medical neglect, which often just looks like talking to someone after a doctor’s appointment & them reaffirming my reality / experiences & saying i didn’t deserve to be treated that way.

oh one other change in language i’ve made over time & probably picked up from a few other ill people in my life is a sort of realistic encouragement – there’s not necessarily anything wrong with “i hope you feel better soon!” because like, i get that the message is well-intentioned, but it can be awkward & difficult to receive when you don’t know if that’s gonna happen. instead, i try to tell people something like “i hope you get a bit of relief soon” or “i hope things are a little easier tomorrow.” a 7/10 pain day may be horrifying for most people, but when you’ve had a streak of 9s, it can be a much-needed taking the edge off, & i try to make space for that breadth of experience in my language.

i’ve answered a few similar questions before so i’ll add my “asks” & “faq” tags on my chronic illness blog in the reblogs if you want to browse! much love to you & your friend and feel free to lmk if you have any other questions 💓💓

[alpaca-clouds]

The Pain Scale is kinda useless

Yes, this has to do with neurodiversity. But also about general disabilities, about sexism and racism and other things.

I spend a lot of time last week in hospital, because I had a biking accident last week and was in the ER, as well as going to two check ups, the last one earlier today. And there I once again realized how useless the painscale is.

See, the entire idea of the pain scale is that you should tell doctors the pain you are in on the scale of "no pain" to "worst pain imaginable". But... the thing is that this runs into several problems:

How bad the worst pain imaginable is varies a lot depending on what the worst pain someone has ever experienced is.

People, who have to fight chronic pain, generally have a very shifted pain scale.

A lot of neurodiverse, especially a lot of autistic people, have problem with interoception - so actually telling what they and their body feel. And this can at times include pain.

And then of course there is the issue that because of a lot of people who genuinely just at the moment are experiencing their worst pain imaginable, even though for someone else it might just be a 5 or 6, makes doctors always like "Yeah, sure" when someone arrives and tells them "yeah, I am at a 9". While also saying: "So, its not that bad," when someone arrives saying "Yeah, I am at a 4 or 5?"

Just two examples for me. Earlier last year I had done something to my back and I was in so severe pain that I barely could move. But of course I did not call the ambulance, but had my roomie bring me to the hospital. So, I hobbled into the ER there, and when they asked me about my pain, I was like "8 to 9?" And they were like: "Oh, you came here on your own, it could not have been that bad."

Another one was last week. You should know, that as a teen, I had a really, really bad internal infection, with really the most horrible pain imaginable. Like, "I was screaming until they gave me morphium" bad. So, trying to focus on how my body was feeling, I came to the conclusion: "4 or 5?" And the doctor was like: "Well, than it cannot be so bad." Welp, psych. I ended up having a fracture. And the doctor just looked at me like: "... How can you still move?" And I was just: "Well, I know much worse pain."

And it should be noted. I have had several fractures during my life and... I never considered the pain of a fracture as that extreme. I do not know whether it is because of messed up interoception or something. But yeah. I move around quite fine with a fracture.

Really, I kinda feel like even for doctors it is not really the most useful evaluation tool. Because I see a lot of doctors go "Well, it is not that bad that you need treatment" if you are telling them a number smaller than 5, but as soon as you go above 7, they basically go: "Press X to doubt".

And that is without going into the problems of sexism, racism and the like. Because when a woman talks about her pain, doctors will go like: "She is just very sensitive." Meanwhile if the person is not white they will also assume other things. And of course men in general often are made to underplay their pain, to be ruff and manly.

Don't get me wrong. I know why the pain scale exists. But... I do not think it is very useful as it is right now for the reasons named above.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn’t die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 17/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake, Donna Troy

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tag: Jason Todd Lives, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, POV First Person, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth Knows, Stalker Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unlikely Friends, Injury Recovery, Emotional Baggage, Rage, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating

Chapter Seventeen: The Campaign: Malatra Pt. 1

Tim slept in his bed one last time while I packed our things. My phone rang, and I answered to keep from waking Tim up. “Hello?” I whispered. 

“Jason, I heard about your friend’s mother—.”

“You don’t have to say anything… Um, Barbara, can I ask you for a favor?” I interrupted. 

“I don’t know. It depends… Is it illegal?” Barbara asked. 

“No. It’s—. I need you to help me get back in fighting shape. I know Bruce won’t change his mind because I can throw a couple of solid punches, but I’ve gotta do this for myself. I need to know I didn’t let the accident beat me,” I explained. I told her as much of the truth as I could. 

“Jason… Wednesday through Friday after school. No excuses,” Barbara replied. I grinned. 

“I’ll be there. I promise,” I whispered, “Thank you. Thank you, Barbara. You’re the best.” Barbara was a tough person to move. She wasn’t emotionally driven or faint of heart. Barbara was sharp and efficient. Practical and poised. She was everything I needed in a teacher. 

“ Yeah, yeah, yeah. See how you feel about me after our first training session. Bye, Jason… And good on you for getting back up. I thought about what I said to you the last time we talked. I was wrong to tell you that you were being childish. If taking this time away from home was good for your mental health, who am I to tell you—?”

“Barbara, I am a kid. I never said I wasn’t. I was pissed off and closed in, and I reacted. I was in a dark place, and I’d be lying if I said I wanted to go home now… I know it’s what I have to do. I’m gonna be mature about it, for Tim’s sake,” I replied, “I’ve gotta finish packing… But, um—. Thank you, Barbara.” 

“Don’t thank me yet, Boy Wonder. See you Wednesday,” Barbara teased. She hung up, and I shook Tim awake. 

He pushed my face away and laughed. “ Uggghhh. Jason, what are you doing?” Tim asked. 

“She’s gonna train me. Wednesday through Friday, so we’ll condition Saturday through Monday,” I replied. Tim grinned. 

“And on Tuesday ?” Tim half-joked. 

“Warlocks and Warriors,” I replied, “And—. Oh, Ives wants to come over tonight. I gave him Bruce’s address and said he could stay the night.” 

“Ives wanted to hang out? Does he—?” 

I nodded. “Ives knows, but I asked him not to mention it… Unless…” I trailed off. Tim shook his head. “Then, he won’t…” I tied labels to Tim’s chargers and tucked them into his suitcase. 

*

We went to the manor at sunset because I knew Bruce wouldn’t be there. Alfred seemed happy to see us again. Ives showed up an hour after we got there, and Alfred served dinner. “Hey, guys… Do you wanna do another campaign here this weekend?” I asked. 

Tim’s eyes widened. “You want to?” Tim questioned. I nodded. 

“That’d be sick,” Ives replied.  

“Cool. Tell the guys Tuesday we’ll hang out here,” I replied. Ives glanced at Tim and looked at his plate when he saw me looking. Tim was oblivious to everything going on in his life because of everything. 

“Jason should DM this one,” Tim suggested. I choked. “Come on. You can do it. I see how deep you get into character. And you’re the only person willing to indulge Hudson. Besides, I think the guys are still mad at me for what happened in Ravenloft.” 

“That was messed up. I can’t believe you killed Ives first and swapped him out with a Doppelganger. That was sick. And Ives… I’m shocked you let him go through with that,” I replied. 

Tim smiled. I reached for my bed to pull myself up, but I felt a shockwave shoot down my back into my legs, and I let go of the mattress. “Jason?” Tim asked. 

“I’m okay… But like—. Are you guys sure you want me to DM?” I questioned. 

“Yeah, definitely,” Ives replied, “You’ve gotta try it at least once. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it again, but you should give it a chance. You might be good.” 

*

"In the living forest lands of Malatra, all seems quiet. Suspiciously so. A warm breeze blows, rustling through the canopies overhead. Topiaries of smiling children surround a small fire. It is the only possible sign of life for several miles.  A song breaks through the near-silent forest. It starts low and guttural, like a collective groan, and then the ethereal choral collections of synchronized sobs. It is a song of mourning. A once-distant sound, now building as if it is approaching. The forest's dirt walkways slowly disappear under shrubs and bushes, and it seems like a trick to the eye at first, but no. You see it now. The bushes have feet where roots should be, and finally, a male voice breaks through the grieving chorus," I cleared my throat. "State your business," I bellowed. "He steps forward. A bamboo elf. His hair is a warm brown with the same red undertones of autumn leaves. He keeps his hair in wide and intricate waves and curls. His skin is an olivine green, and his eyes dark brown and ancient, study you. You all recognize this bamboo elf immediately, but before we get into that… you should introduce yourselves." A big, goofy grin spread across Tim's face. Silence fell over my room as I waited for someone to speak.

"You fucking killed it," Hudson mumbled in shock. I covered my smile. "Clay Everlake, earth genasi monk here. I'm stone grey, with bright green hair made of leaves, with the front pulled into a warrior's bun—."

"Man bun penalty!" everyone shouted.

"Is not! Anyway ... It's a warrior's bun, and the rest of my hair hangs leafy down my shoulders. I'm fairly young, rough and tumble, and trouble seems to follow me wherever I go," Hudson answered.

I gestured to Ives. "Eldrid Deepwood, here. I'm a firbolg druid... I uh—. I have bluish-green skin and dark eyes. My hair is whiteish-grey, luscious, and thick, almost mane-like. My ears are floppy... And uh—. And despite my advanced age, I'm a timid sort of fella," Ives stammered in an Irish accent.

I nodded and pointed to Hudman. "Fettar Keephorn. Dwarven rogue, dark beard, dark brown eyes.  My loyalties lie with Clay Everlake... Unfortunately," Hudman muttered in a dry voice. We all laughed. "I'm not much for words."

And Tim. I looked forward to Tim's character because we'd been pretty hush-hush about our plans all week, which meant we had nothing to discuss outside of training. "Posy Moonfall, gnome cleric here. I've got blond shoulder-length hair and grey eyes hidden behind foggy glasses. Well, they're usually quite—. I'm not used to being in the presence of a man of Mr. Deepwood's stature. I'm clumsy, but my intuitive nature makes up for my shortcomings... At least, I think—. Oh gosh. Am I rambling?" Tim replied in a woman's voice. He was surprisingly good at it. I almost forgot my place.

I cleared my throat before continuing. "Clay Everlake, your connection to this bamboo elf is deeply personal. Isn't it?" I asked, nodding at him. I liked Hudson. He always made me laugh and was my favorite of Tim's friends. He also tried to make me feel better about my scars by showing me the dent in his forehead. It wasn't the same, but he genuinely thought it was.

"He raised me. When my family was slaughtered on the outskirts of Malatra, he took me in and raised me. He's a father to me," Hudson answered. Hudson and I locked eyes, and I smiled down at my notes. "I didn't expect to see him under such grim circumstances."

"And Fettar?" I questioned.

"The elf and I… used to date,” Hudman replied. We all laughed.

“Fettar and Theren Everlake dated? You guys were—.” 

“A couple. Yep,” Hudman doubled down.

[cookinguptales]

frank discussion of gynecological issues and frustrations with OBGYNs (especially re: chronic illness) under the cut, but I guess also potentially useful information for people who want to hear about it

so... some of you might remember when I was going to OGBYNs a little while ago. I have endometriosis and PMDD diagnoses, so going to OBGYNs isn't exactly unusual for me, but I ended up going to see more than I usually do.

this was largely because the hormonal therapy that I was taking for those disorders was starting to fail and I was bleeding a lot. like... for weeks at a time over a period of months. I had to deal with some... frustrating OBGYN advice in this time (such as the rage-inducing "well, women have to bleed") but I also discovered that like... I mean, I think I always knew that I had more vaginal pain than other people I know, but a lot of things hurt me so I just kind of... ignored it?

but they tried to put me on the nuva ring for a little while during this period and my body just... straight-up rejected it. it hurt like a bitch to put in, it kept coming out, I could feel it in there and it hurt, etc.

I ended up comparing notes with some other people I know and realized that my problems with insertion were probably more severe than I'd thought. like, it is not unusual for me to cry during pap smears and have cramping for days afterward. I cannot use tampons without massive pain. your body is not really supposed to physically expel something like a nuva ring several times a day. tmi I guess but I have not found penetration of any kind pleasant.

so I talked to... I want to say four or five different OBGYNs in this period, and none of them gave me a real reason for this. the prevailing attitude was mostly "oh yeah, that happens sometimes. lmao."

the best I could get was a diagnosis of "vaginismus" on my chart, and when I pressed for more information, they basically told me it was a psychological thing where your body is afraid of penetration so it clenches up and won't unclench. they literally grilled me on my history of sexual abuse to see if they could find the source of my dick phobia.

now... not to get too into it, but I do have a history of CSA -- but my pain problems predate it. I got my period relatively early and I've never been able to use tampons or anything like them. every time I've tried has ended in literal tears. again, cramping pain for days, even after the period itself has stopped.

so I get the dick phobia diagnosis from two different doctors, but one of them says she can do a transvaginal ultrasound if I'm really worried. we do this and it is uh. excruciating, honestly. thank god it was in California and they let me get high as a kite.

in the end, they can't find anything "physically" wrong with why I'm in pain and they send me on my way, dick phobia dx in hand.

today. today. YEARS later. I am googling tips on how to try a menstrual cup if you have vaginismus (prep for the trip abroad; I don't like Japanese pads) and I see someone saying "oh, I'm glad that treatment worked for you, my problems are because of ehlers-danlos syndrome."

you know, one of the chronic illnesses I have and one that I divulged to every OBGYN I saw.

what.

paging Dr. Google!!!

I come to find out that folks that have EDS, because of their connective tissue issues and extremely brittle skin, sometimes deal with extreme gynecological pain. it's partially pelvic floor issues, partially the fact that the skin in your vagina is breaking.

so all those times that I said "it feels like it's cutting me" or "it feels like knives" were probably because it was fucking cutting me. all those times I said I felt scraped raw for days was probably because abrasions take a long time to heal when you have EDS.

I cannot believe. I cannot believe. that I went into so many different OBGYNs who told me that my pain issues were because I had a psychological fear of dicks and when I told them I was a lesbian were like "oh well then problem solved" when actually my body was physically tearing. I had even seen blood sometimes and it had always been dismissed as spotting.

the anger I feel rn is indescribable, tbh. I never bought that my problems were all in my head (probably because doctors used that line on me so often when I was a kid and getting other chronic illnesses diagnosed) but the fact that gynecological health science is still so fucking awful that we shrug off pain that is the symptom of dangerous chronic illnesses as "well that happens sometimes" or "have you considered that maybe you're afraid of sex?"

I JUST

this reminds me of when I had to find out from a fucking tumblr post that vaginal secretions are made from blood rather than glands, so if you have bad blood pressure/flow it'll often cause itchiness/dryness/pain. bad blood flow like... idk... maybe POTS.

so again, it was actually one of my known chronic illnesses causing gynecological issues, not any of the other bullshit reasons doctors were giving me, like age or stress.

I hate that I'm fucking 33 years old and I still have to learn stuff like this from google searches. I still don't know how my shitty body works, and it's largely because of stuff like this. what the fuck. I'm so mad. why do doctors still treat vaginas like a fucking scary mystery?

I'm well aware that Dr. Google doesn't always know what the fuck it's talking about, but apparently neither do my doctors! which is why, yet again, I'm up all night reading medical journals in the vain attempt to figure out how to actually live my life!

ugh!!!

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 17, 2021 1:30 a.m. paradise hotel

[grant] it drove päivi insane and i just try to be considerate. like i've been dealing with this for years, but i'm very well aware it's not pleasant that i wake up sometimes because i'm pain and that when i do, i get up out of bed for a bit so i don't end up so stiff that i can't stand up at all in the morning.

[henry] shit, i didn't think about that. i'm sorry.

[grant] why are you apologizing? you didn't do anything wrong.

[henry] i don't know. because i feel great 24/7 and i'm privileged enough to forget that others don't?

[grant] well, that's not really your fault. it's not like i'm good at acknowledging being chronically ill in any overly serious way. honestly, it's just easier when people forget anyway!

[grant] talking about it is never not a little bit awkward.

[henry] yeah, i wasn't aware it was bad enough to interrupt your sleep.

[henry] i knew it was bad, you know? bad enough some doctor finally cared to figure out the mystery suffering and that it need surgical intervention, and i remember the exact day something first changed in you when we were kids, but that's about the end of my awareness.

[henry] man, you are also a chronic hider of information.

[grant] that's me! your hopefully favorite secret-keeper.

[grant] i don't mean to, like, keep you in the dark about this. it's not personal. especially not these days. i'm trying my best to be open. it's just...it's just awkward.

[grant] i've had enough bad responses to being sick in my lifetime that i just feel inclined to never mention it, you know?

[grant] have you tried yoga? have you tried CBD and essential oils? but you're young and look fine, you can't be sick, you're making this up! have you tried religion and cutting out all the ingredients like gluten and sugar that make food actually fun to consume? no, no, those things are poisoning you - haven't you read that gut health is the #1 cause of autoimmune disease? it's definitely not chronic stress plus your long family history of busted immune systems! check out this carnivore diet website, you totally won't get fatal heart disease from all that red meat and butter instead, bud!

[grant] or i get pity. or assumptions of what i can or cannot do.

[grant] you want to bash your head against the wall after a while. no one really gets it but they think they do.

[grant] not that you've ever done those things! or that i think you would! or that i think you don't get it! sorry, that was a lot. it just came out all at once. i think i have some insane pent up rage about this whole thing. but no, really, you're the same as my family; they don't respond badly either. i just, well, you know. again, forgetting unless it's relevant is probably preferable. i like it that way.

[grant] i don't want the awkwardness. or anyone to worry about me.

[henry] i wish you weren't afraid of telling me about all this.

[henry] you know everything about me. even the not very good parts. you're one of the only people i talk about having depression with and that's excruciating to bring up. people don't respond well to that either. maybe not with pity or assumptions but definitely obnoxious suggestions. sunshine and exercise do not fix me. lexapro and therapy sessions kind of.

[grant] and i'm glad you do! i do personally understand mental health issues, but even if i didn't, still, i'm glad you feel safe opening up to me about it. and i always want you to. and i'm always thinking about you and hoping you're doing well enough and if i can do anything–

[henry] oh, grant. you scramble my brains sometimes. that self-hating demon is still trapped inside you.

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

one shocking thing that people with ADHD do that makes us the most annoying bitches in disability awareness and acceptance circles

I encourage both ADHD and non-ADHD people to read this, I'm hoping awareness on both sides can lead to reducing some of the hostility I've seen towards people with ADHD in disability circles. And yes, my fellow ADHDers, part of fixing this problem is us doing the work to avoid using communication techniques that can be triggering to people who have experienced ableism.

I want to talk about something I call reciprocal storytelling. Basically, telling a story that is in some way connected to a story someone else just told. Non-ADHD people do it too, but I've noticed people with ADHD do it a lot more than other people. If you ever listen to two people with ADHD have a conversation, it's pretty much a nonstop string of loosely related stories.

So why is this problematic when communicating with other disabled people? Unfortunately, ableist people often weaponize reciprocal storytelling to belittle the experiences of disabled people. I think the easiest way to have people understand this is with an example.

We're going to create a character called Laurie. Laurie has chronic, debilitating knee pain. Laurie just met a woman, Sandra, who injured her knee while running a few years ago. Sandra's injury was painful and interfered with her life quite a bit, but it's healed now. Their conversation goes something like this. Laurie: I can't walk with you up those stairs. Do you want to take the elevator with me so we can keep talking? Sandra: Sure. You know, I had my knee injured once while running. Took me a few months to get back into the swing of things. Something that really helped me was exercising it. Laurie: I'm sorry that happened, knee injuries are the worst, especially if you enjoy being active. Unfortunately working out hasn't helped. The thing that's worked the best has been not pushing myself too hard. Sandra: I thought that too, but I worked through the pain and it eventually went away. You just have to not give up. Laurie: haha, yeah I guess. Well, this is my floor, got to go.

Sandra was ableist in this conversation. She asserted that she could treat Laurie's pain despite knowing nothing about it and having no medical experience. When Laurie said that she had either already tried Sandra's method or thought it would be dangerous, Sandra less-than-subtly hinted that Laurie wasn't trying hard enough to get better. In this conversation, reciprocal storytelling became a tool to make Laurie feel guilty for being disabled. Now, let's look at a scenario of a person with ADHD talking to another disabled person:

Paul has ADHD. He's in a meeting for the disability club at his college. Right now, Ron, a manual wheelchair user, is talking about an experience he had on campus. Ron: I went to Professor Smith's class today and when I got there, there was a chair halfway blocking the door. I asked him to move it so I could get into the classroom and he told me to move it myself. Obviously, that's going to be really difficult for me to do since I have to use my hands to propel. I asked again for it to be moved and he called me lazy. Paul: Oh, Professor Smith was ableist to me last semester! I have an accommodation to sit in the front of the class. When I got there one day there were no front-row seats available. When I went to him he told me seats were first come first serve and that I should have the self control to pay attention to him and not the people in front of me.

To a person with ADHD, this conversation may seem harmless and non-ableist. It's just one person sharing a story related to another person's story. In fact, Paul might have even been trying to add credibility to Ron's story and encourage him to report it. However, this is not how Ron, a person who has likely experienced ableism, would probably interpret this conversation. To him, this might come across as Paul trying to make this experience about him and take attention away from what he had experienced. Or, it might come across as saying that having trouble paying attention in class because of a professor's actions is the same as being physically barred from entering a class because of a professor's actions. Either way, Ron is likely to leave the conversation feeling that Paul values talking about his own disability over listening to the experiences of others. Eventually, if this happens too often, Ron and other members of the group may begin to resent Paul for his perceived self-centeredness.

So how do we fix this? One, on the part of people with ADHD, practice active listening, try to make sure others are done speaking before you begin, and avoid jumping into talking about yourself without giving any feedback to what you just heard. For people without ADHD, communicating how you feel and why is key. The ADHD people in your life might not know they're hurting you if you don't tell them. Even if the ADHD person initially responds with hurt or offense, this doesn't mean the conversation failed. A lot of people with ADHD also have rejection-sensitive dysphoria and may need time to calm down and think about what you said before they can apply it.

[evilwriter37]

I swear I don't mean for this to come off as rude! If it ends up being something rude, I apologize so so so so so much!

You post about your chronic illness, and I want to ask about how I would represent chronic illness in a character? (Without most of the lore, Vanitas from Kingdom Hearts only had half of a [metaphysical, kinda like a soul but souls are separate] heart and is said in the novel [I wanna say, I know it's said somewhere] to constantly be in pain or near-constantly be in pain because of it)

I don't know how to go about it, I don't trust Google to give me a good answer, and you're the only person on Tumblr I've really interacted with who could help me.

Again, I'm so sorry if this ends up being something rude. I'm not trying to be rude if I am.

Oh, don’t worry, my friend!! This isn’t rude at all! I’m really appreciative when people come to me asking about specific illnesses/experiences. It’s one reason I talk about mine a lot.

As for writing chronic pain? I’ve definitely got some tips for that.

Let it drain your character. They won’t have the same energy levels as characters without chronic pain. It’s just not possible.

On occasion, let it stop your character. A lot of abled people say “don’t let your disability stop you” and I’m convinced they don’t know what disabled means. It 100%, absolutely does stop us from doing things. So yeah, let it stop your character from achieving certain goals, even if they’re just little ones.

Your character will have good days and bad days, good moments or bad moments. As a chronic pain patient, I can wake up one day and have my baseline pain level and feel kind of “okay”, but then there are other days where I wake up in agony. However, this kind of thing can change on a dime. A bad pain day can start in the middle of a good pain day, or vice versa. Chronic pain can be unpredictable sometimes.

However, there are situations where chronic pain is predictable. For example, I know that walking around a mall would make me unable to move hours later. So, naturally, that’s not something I do. There are situations that will exacerbate pain. Have your character, (if they’re well versed in their own chronic pain) know what these situations are.

Finally? It’s okay for the chronic pain to take up a lot of the character. People tell me I’m not my disability, but it’s something I have to deal with on the daily, minute by minute. It’s part of my identity whether I want it to be or not. So, let it be part of the character’s identity. They don’t have to be accepting or at peace with this, but it’s something that happens.

I really hope this helps! Thank you for coming to me and feel free to ask anymore questions! I don’t mind at all!

[katyawriteswhump]

Home to you (Platonic Stobin Day fic)

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles, Day 17, Platonic Stobin. A year or so after the events of S4, Steve and Robin both struggle to get on with life. They had NOT planned in any way to spend Christmas together…

WC: 984. Rating: T.

CW: None (except only a small Steddie subtext in this one!) Tags: Chronic pain, OCD, platonic soul mates.

***

Steve had just gotten through the kitchen door—Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ blasting in his ears—when his boss got right in his face.

“You’re fired, Harrington.”

“Come on, man, no way.”

“You’re late. Again. You sleep through your alarm. When the order bell goes off, you sit and chill, like you don't freakin' hear.”

Oh, I hear, dipshit.

Your crappy bell sets off a stabbing pain between my eyes, and I’m blacking out, or shitting myself I’m having a stroke. So, yeah, I take a moment. I’m still your best waiter, plus it’s Christmas Eve!

He didn’t say it. Wished he had.

Ten minutes later, he was out on the snowy street, half-a-week’s pay in his pocket. Not enough to settle his rent. He was jobless, verging on homeless, out of meds. Yeah, he knew where he wanted to go. Christ, he missed her, but…

He sucked it up, called his mom: “Not working after all. I’ll be home tonight.”

“That’s… lovely. I’m afraid Aunt Lobelia has your room, and the couch is taken—”

“Wow. Can I go in the stable with the donkey?”

“Very droll, darling. For Christmas Eve nibbles, it’s the carparking we’re really concerned about.”

Carparking? Hilarious! He'd sold his car to pay medical bills. That was gonna be a fun conversation with his Dad.

In the queue at the bus depot, the fumes worsened his headache. He sat cross-legged on the ground, his face in his hands, spiralling deeper toward despair.

He heard mutters: “Is that guy drunk?”

Hilarious! Again! Like I could touch alcohol these days.

He wanted to punch somebody. That ache of loneliness settled in his guts, panged tightly in his chest.

Screw them.

He got on a Greyhound in the wrong direction. It sure felt like the right one to him.

***

She found him sitting on the steps of her dark university halls, curled forward with his arms around his knees. He was actually wearing that ghastly overlong scarf she knitted.

“Steve?” She wanted to blub, her rush of emotion kinda overwhelming. “Thought you were working Christmas, too?”

He looked up, groggily, started to rise. Two seconds later, they were in each other's arms.

“You're freezing,” she murmured, her cheek tucking against his scarf.

“Back at ya. There’s, like, frost on your stupid, crocheted bobble.” She hugged him a little tighter and took him inside. Beneath his jacket, he wore the ‘lame-ass’ sweater she knitted for him too.

They sat on her bed, sharing a tube of prawn cocktail Doritos. Everything pent up inside her burst free:

“My waitressing gig is the worst. Next a-hole who grabs my butt is gonna get slapped silly. Talk about objectification—it’s a billion times worse than Scoops.”

She noisily crunched a Dorito; he crunched one, too: God, I miss working together. I miss you so much.

“I’m totally behind on my college work. Nobody else gets it, because they, like, have money, and go home for Christmas, but my mom’s not talking to me, and—”

She paused for another crunch. They shared the last Dorito. He sank heavily against her shoulder, and before she knew it, she’d gotten his head in her lap.

I hate touching people, having them touch me. Then there’s you. Something else she didn’t need to say.

“It’s spookily quiet here, Steve, with the other students gone. I end up, like, checking every window and door a thousand times, because if it's spooky, there’s gonna be spooks, right? Or other supernatural shit, because after what we’ve seen, nothing can be ruled out, and don’t get me started on what I do when the lightbulbs flicker… uh, Steve? You okay? Too much prattling?”

“I’m with the spooks,” he mumbled. “Hot for the quiet. Though you’re not making my head any worse, so shoot.”

Nope. She’s done. With Steve, she can have this thing called comfortable silence.

She stroked his hair; it’s still damp, but they’re warming up, snuggled together. She skittered fingers across his brow, down his cheek. His face is toasty hot.

“Your fingers stink of prawns.” His snicker tugged her lips into a smile.

“You can talk, Mr Dorito-breath. I’ll wash.”

“Come straight back—you’re helping. Best treatment I got, till I can bag more opioids.”

She turned on the faucet, wanted to scream: I hate how nobody cares about your pain. I hate the price you paid for helping others, saving lives. You never ask for help. Why can’t anybody see? And then there’s Eddie. Healing all alone, while living on the run...

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, when they’re settled back as they were.

“What the hell for?” He slid his hand under his cheek, taking some weight off her knee.

“Oh… nothing. I guess, it was… nothing.”

“You think about Eddie much?” He tugged that smile from her again, this time blurred with tears. Brain-share, huh?

“Only every single day.”

“Yeeeah. Me too.” He unleashed a long, shuddering sigh. “He called last month. I'd drop everything and run to him, if he just... said the word."

"Did YOU say the word yet?"

A faint harrumph.

"If you never tell Eddie how you feel, Dingus—"

"Hey, is it midnight yet?”

“Yeah." She shook her head, lovingly. "Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“Merry… Christmmm…”

He sighed again, long and slow. She sensed immediately that he’d fallen asleep. 

That night, she only checked the windows and doors twice.

***

It was great to wake without an alarm piercing his skull. Without that grind of loneliness in his gut.

They’d squished into the single bed. He’d gotten most of the pillow, and she’d hogged most of the blanket. His head hurt less, and Robin’s soft snores had to be one of the few sounds in the world that didn’t bug him.

Okay, they grated a bit. He was still stupidly relieved to be here.

He curled up behind her, spooning like a pair of furry sloths, and went back to sleep.

[utilitycaster]

not to be all “only i like my blorbo correctly”, but i’m fully convinced that certain people would hate Imogen as a character if they actually engaged with her outside of “conventionally attractive sadgirl that’s one half of an aesthetically pleasing queer ship”. fully believe that if she looked like Chetney or Ashton or even Fearne, and didn’t come with a prepackaged ship, people would be forced to look at her as the complex, unique loose cannon that she is

Hey anon, I agree with much of this and I hope you don't mind if I go on what might be one of my weirder tangents/theories but this has been percolating for a few weeks and I think I've cracked the secret to one of the more toxic segments of the fandom.

I definitely think that if Imogen were not a woman, a lot of people would hate her (granted, a different group of people who hate her now would probably like her more if she were a man, because misogyny is extremely extant outside of the bubble, and even a little bit within the bubble, that is Tumblr). However, they'd be fine if she looked like Fearne...but many wouldn't be fine if she were also played by Ashley. Or yeah, if she weren't easily shipped with Marisha's character.

Here's the deal. When I and a number of other people were like "oh hey! Imogen is not really taking other people's feelings into consideration and is being rather insensitive about the Ruby Vanguard, given that they've killed half the party, particularly since she's literally known Laudna like 10 times longer than she's know her mother was alive" the attitude was "wow, you hate Imogen, you hate women, you're so unfair" and yet now, at a table that is half women (and a group of characters that literally has only one man) everyone who thought I hate Imogen and how if she were a man everyone would care is now literally just mostly ignoring her (and honestly like, everything) and instead constantly whining about how they miss Laudna. Which is frankly weak as hell, like, anyone who's loved Pike or Yasha is like "oh you must be new here", and at least people talking about Travis being missing during the gap between Bertrand's death and Chetney's arrival were making good memes. But I digress.

My theory, which I do admit is the most tin-foil hat I think I've gone, comes from some polls I've seen circulating complaining about queerbaiting in past shows, and also my recent interest in Glee as ground zero of really horrible fandom behaviors (thanks to people who have provided insight into that!) Anyway. I recently learned that apparently Quinn and Rachel was a really popular ship, for reasons I cannot, for the sake of what little decorum and kindness I am maintaining here, speculate on. Setting aside that this is not queerbaiting and it's wildly inappropriate and damaging to say it was, given that this show was full of queer characters and Quinn was shown hooking up with a woman, this has in fact clicked into place for me why people constantly ship Marisha and Laura's characters despite chemistry that is inconsistent at best and tepid on average. It's not terribly hard to draw lines from Quinn to Vex and Rachel to Keyleth, especially if you consider how fanon tends to handle these archetypes. Then they transferred this to just Laura and Marisha's characters in general, and here we are, and man if it hasn't gotten even more flavorless with every transfer.

So anyway yeah a lot of people really don't like Imogen much as a character unless they can project onto her, but because she's half of The Ship, they also will not tolerate any exploration of her flaws that could threaten The Ship and so they need to remove her agency and blame it on various rocks instead of Imogen being cranky and impatient as a person (like, again, if you want to interpret her powers as chronic pain, why are you not allowed to grant her the same complexity as Ashton, who is also cranky and impulsive?) But really the kicker is that if Marisha isn't physically onscreen, they start acting like a cat you locked out of the bathroom and simultaneously forget they're supposed to care about or enjoy Imogen as an individual.

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day Eight: Sickfic

Mushy May prompts organized by @forlorn-crows

Pairing: Swiss/Dew

Rating: Gen

Words: 863

Contains: Dew has chronic pain, quintosis as pain relief

The first thing Swiss noticed was that the ghoul wing was quiet. It wasn’t dead, per say. He had seen most of his fellow ghouls out and going about their days. He saw Cumulus, Rain and Cirrus reading curled up together on the common room couch, and he ran into Mountain and Sunshine on their way to the greenhouse. 

But it was too quiet. Swiss was about to make it everyone’s problem, and the easiest way to do that was to bother their resident fire ghoul. 

He knocked rapidly on Dew’s door. “Dew! Open up!”

There’s no answer. Dew was either not home, or not answering, both of which were in character. “Dew!” Swiss tried again, banging on his door. “Don’t make me come in there!”

Swiss waited a moment, beginning to feel kind of silly standing out in the hallway, before he heard muffled mumbling behind Dew’s door. He grabbed the knob and forced the door open, butting his way into Dew’s room.

The curtains were drawn tightly shut, and the room was cast in darkness except where the light of the hallway spilled in. A golden band cut across Dew’s bed, where every blanket and pillow in his room had been arranged into a nest. Swiss could just make out a strip of pale skin, a few long locks of gold hair. 

“Dewdrop?” He asked, stepping further into Dew’s room. 

“Don’t you fucking say anything, asshole,” Dew tried to growl, but his voice sounded strained and hoarse.

Swiss’s posture shifted, latching Dew’s door shut behind him. “Spitfire, sweetheart. You not feeling well?”

Dew burrowed further into his nest, tossing one of the blankets over his head. “What the fuck do you think?”

Swiss sat down at the end of Dew’s bed, resting a hand tentatively on the Dewdrop sized lump in the blankets as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “What’s not feelin’ good, spitfire?”

“Why do you care?” Dew grumbled. “You just want to start shit. I’m not fucking having it. Not today. Go away.”

“Dew,” Swiss sighed, running his hand back and forth over Dew’s leg. “I can’t leave you like this, spitfire. Sure, I did want to start shit. You’re fun to be around. But I can’t leave you when you clearly aren’t feeling good. I want to help you, Dew. You’re my pack. What can I do?”

There was silence for several moments, before the blankets started to shift. Dew stuck his head out from his nest, peering up at Swiss with reddened, puffy eyes. “Everything fucking hurts, Swiss. My throat hurts, my head hurts, my fucking bones hurt. It never goes away. It comes and goes like the tides because they burnt the water out of me. I don’t know what you can do.”

“Oh, honeydew,” Swiss whispered. “I can try. Aether showed me something, I’m not as good at it as he is, but I can try if you’ll allow it.”

Dew shrugged with a wince, sinking back into his nest. “Sure. Have at it.”

“I’ll have to touch you, okay?”

“Just do it. I don’t think it can get much worse than this.”

Swiss scooted up the bed, carefully adjusting Dew in his nest so his head laid in his lap. He rested his fingers gently on Dew’s scalp, scratching lightly with his claws. “I’ll talk you through it. Deep breath for me, okay, honeydew?”

Dew obeyed, his tiny chest hitching as he inhaled, eyes flicking shut. Swiss focused, trying to remember every instruction Aether had given him in regards to the quintessence inside of him. Purple energy ran down his fingertips, jumping to Dew’s head.

“I’m just gonna take away the pain best I can, okay, Dewey?”

Dew hums, his eyes cracking open. There were flecks of purple within the normally burnt orange of his irises. “Feel kinda floaty,” he said, eyes unfocused and drifting. 

“Yeah, quintessence will do that to you,” Swiss said, focusing on removing Dew’s pain and vanishing it to the ether. A bead of sweat formed on his brow. “Your head feeling better?”

“Mmhmm,” Dew hummed, melting into Swiss’s lap. 

“Anywhere else you want me to focus on?” Swiss asked. “Anything else hurt?”

“No, wanna sleep,” he mumbled, and Swiss nodded, relaxing his fingers and easing off the flow of quintessence. 

“Alright, Dewey. Do you want anything else? I could go get you a drink, something to eat?”

Dew yawned with a stretch. “Stay?” His voice was small and Swiss couldn’t bring himself to say no even if he wanted to. 

“Of course, honeydew. Let me lay down and we can go to sleep, okay?” Swiss yawned. Tapping into his quintessence took more out of him than any other element did. 

Dew let Swiss into his nest, wedging his back against Swiss’s chest. The bigger ghoul wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face into Dew’s golden hair and starting to purr. Not long after, Dew began to purr, with several false starts not unlike a lawnmower starting up. They drifted off to sleep, and when Aether came to find them for dinner a few hours later, he would take a picture, smiling fondly, and shut the door behind him. 

[augustjustice]

i HAVE to go with steddie bodyswap 👀

I'm so glad you asked about this one! Bodyswap is one of my favorite tropes, so this fic is a bit of a pet project for me. It's set post-S4, around April. Eddie is still trying to finish up his final senior year, and the boys each get a taste of each other's respective struggles with school/parents/chronic pain, etc while their friendship is still somewhat new but they're already steadily growing closer. There's also a lot of silly shenanigans with the rest of the ensemble figuring out what's going on with them along the way, and a little bit of plot explanation for why exactly this happened.

A decent-sized chunk of shenanigans below the cut:

It's not his finest moment. 

Because Eddie is only half paying attention when Robin turns pointedly to Steve, frowning as she gives him a curious, probing look. 

"Hey, Steve," she starts slowly, a questioning lilt to her voice, "did you hear about Tammy Thompson?"

Steve snorts, shooting Robin a coy, teasing look. 

"What, is Muppets Live back in town?" he asks expectantly, like he's waiting for her accompanying cackle of laughter. 

It never comes. 

Instead, Robin's eyes widen as she breathes out, "Holy shit."

Fuck. 

"Holy shit, I'm not crazy."

Then she wallops Steve hard on the arm. 

"Ow!" Steve shouts, clutching Eddie's shoulder a tad dramatically as he pouts at her. "What the hell was that for?!" 

"That was for lying to me, Steve Harrington," Robin snaps pointedly, and Steve's eyes widen as the penny drops. 

"Oh, shit."

"Oh shit is right," Eddie agrees from Robin's other side. 

Robin turns and smacks him too. 

"Damn, Buckley, put those guns away," Eddie complains. 

"I'm mad at you, too, Dingus #2."

"I think, technically, I'm Dingus #1 right now."

"Hey," Steve protests with a laugh, "You can't steal the top spot from me, Munson. I'll always be Dingus #1."

"You're damn right you are," Robin interjects. "And also, can I just say…what the fuck, you guys?!" 

"Steve?" she confirms again. 

Steve looks sheepish, giving her that awkward little wave he sometimes does, wiggling all of Eddie’s ringed fingers in a way Eddie really doesn’t think he should still find endearing when Steve is wearing his body.

“Hey, Rob.” 

She whips back around to Eddie, looking almost bug-eyed.

“Eddie?”

He gestures to his own borrowed body with a dramatic flourish.

“In Harrington’s handsome flesh.”

“Oh my god, that really is you inside of there.”

“‘Fraid so,” Eddie tilts his head in acknowledgment. “We’ve gone full Invasion of the Body Snatchers on you, Buck.”

Steve’s brow creases, face screwing up in genuine confusion.

Eddie definitely shouldn’t find the way his nose crinkles and mouth goes all crooked, the way they always do, cute. At this rate he’s gonna develop some kind of a complex. 

“I thought it was Freaky Friday?” Steve says quietly, like he’s talking more to himself than he is to them. 

The back of Robin’s head hits the wall with a thud, like she’s been physically hit full force with the reality of the situation. 

“And here I thought alternate dimensions beneath our feet waiting to swallow us whole was as weird as it was gonna get around here, but, no. We’ve officially found a weirder place. Somebody alert The Weekly Watcher.”

A moment passes, and then her eyes widen in what looks to be slow dawning horror. 

"Wait!” Robin jabs a finger in Eddie’s direction. “I told you about–but…oh, god, it wasn't you."

While Eddie blinks owlishly at her, she jerks her head around to look at Steve, doing that thing they do where they have a whole silent conversation with just their eyes and eyebrows. 

"God, this is weird," Robin confesses when they seem to have settled whatever just happened. 

"Yeah," Steve agrees with a sigh, "tell me about it."

[bihansthot]

Wtf is happening in my life lol I went on two dates last week one good-ish one painful and I have two possibly three dates this week. Someone send help, being this social for a gremlin is very difficult. I suppose I should spill the tea, I went out with a nice metal head last Wednesday and while he’s not exactly my type physically he was nice to be around, pleasant to talk to and a gentleman so I agreed to see him again but we haven’t made plans yet and I’m still holding try outs for be Sol’s boyfriend right? The second date was Friday with a super nerd now don’t get me wrong I’m also a total nerd I mean my dog is named Denethor FFS but we’re the wrong type of nerd. He’s sci-fi and I’m fantasy and while this is poly dating and I knew going into the date he was married I did not know about his three kids under 8 or the couple he and his wife were seeing together nor did I know he was a stay at home dad. All of these are kind of big red flags for me, not being upfront about additional partners HUGE red flag, not knowing about children also huge deal for me. He also took me to a cat cafe without asking prior if I was allergic, thankfully I’m not but these are all pretty big signs he’s concerned for himself and not others. He was also rather large, which don’t get me wrong I have no issues with I’m not a body shamer and my partner is rather heavy too but this guy had a chronic injury so he couldn’t really interact with the kittens so the whole thing was weird from the get go and I know y’all know me, this pillow princess does NOT ride (unless it’s for Bi-Han) so wtf would I gain from this relationship? A guy who already divides his attention between 6 people has no income and I can only see him when the kids are asleep?! Big fucking no. I was pleasant and cordial through out the date and thanked him for taking me but I put on my big girl panties and told him he just had too much going on for me. I’m clingy, I’m needy, I’m also materialistic there’s a reason I met my ex on a sugar daddy website, I can’t be dating a broke ass man who’s seeing three partners and has three kids. I’m sorry if that sounds spoiled but it’s the truth, I NEED to be a priority and I didn’t feel like he could make me one.

I’m tentatively going out with another man this Friday at a barcade which is much more my scene, drinks and video games sound wonderful. Appearance wise he’s still not quite what I go for but better looking than the other two, then Sunday I potentially have a date with a dude who looks like he used to play college football and is physically much more my type he’s also in his mid 40s thank fuck as the others have all been in their 30s. There’s also another one who seems a very good fit who’s asked me out but we haven’t set a date or time yet.

So, yeah that’s what’s going on in my life lately the app is FeeId if anyone else wants to try poly or couples dating and was unaware of the app. I don’t remember the name of the sugar daddy website or I’d hook y’all up too but that ended badly so maybe it’s for the best I don’t remember.

My partner is going out of town for three days so wish me luck that Denny behaves for me and doesn’t drag me around in the snow. Oh yeah! It’s snowed the last two days! My real husband is saying hi 🥰 Maybe it’s a sign of good luck? Maybe one of these upcoming dates will go well then?