#He got them for c-ptsd and chronic pain

[pincushionx]

Hunter with a service dog!

[sevenrenny]

Recently a relative asked me why I'm 'suddenly' always sick and that I was so healthy as a kid.

I was never a healthy kid. I was always in pain, but nobody believed me. I complained I had moments of dizziness, momentary visual blurriness and blindness, moments where I couldn't balance myself, and intense migraines so bad I fantasized popping a hole in my skull hoping that would get whatever was hurting me out of my head. I had days where it was just brain fog, but I was too young to know the word 'brain fog'. I'd have days where I was in so much pain I'd vomit.

But I got scolded for 'faking it' for attention or to get out of school. I got punished for 'being lazy'. So little by little, I learned complaining about constant pain that made me suicidal would make things worse for me. People punished me for telling them I was hurting, so I shut up.

Even when I became quiet about it, there were things I couldn't hide and my family rug-swept them: I passed out at school a few times from intense pain. I had multiple intestinal issues my family told me were normal, that 'it happens to everyone', telling me that 'Your dad had that happen so many times' while chuckling like it was funny. Every time, they waited for me to 'stop being dramatic' until I started screaming and writhing on the floor and they finally got me to the ER, scolding me the whole time for 'not saying anything sooner'.

During one of those visits, a doctor found a large tumor I was choking on. He found it by accident when he was putting a tube down my throat. I'd been having trouble breathing, but my family accused me of lying, and I'd started to think I was imagining it. Upon discovering the tumor, my mom's reaction was to scold me for giving myself a tumor.

After the tumor removal, the doctor had told her something seemed odd, and he talked with my mom for a bit but I can't remember what they said. We never went back to this doctor. When I asked my mom about it later, she told me the doctor was stupid and he had no idea what he was doing. (It was in my 20s when I went to check on my intestinal issue that the doctor told me he suspected I had gastroparesis, which he later confirmed it was.)

I struggled with classes because of the combination of undiagnosed medical issues, undiagnosed ADHD, undiagnosed dyscalculia, and having panic attacks (later got diagnosed with c-PTSD). My mom threatened to marry me off or kick me out of the house for almost failing math. I was sworn at, told horrific things that still stick with me (and the rest of the family blamed me for 'being lazy' and making her angry with me). I was a kid and couldn't understand why existing hurt, why, if it was so 'normal' to be in consent agony, everyone else seemed to not be struggling like me. I couldn't wrap my head around why everything that seemed so easy for everyone else was almost impossible for me.

It wasn't until an online friend asked me if I had some sort of disease because I was constantly in the hospital. I told her, "No, not really. What's the average number of times someone's in the hospital?" She said, "Renny, I've never once been to the ER." She was older than me. It was then that it clicked for me. I'd been so convinced that all of this was normal, that I was behind everyone else in life because I must be just a weak person because I was so behind even when I gave it my hardest.

I wasn't behind because I was weak. I was behind because I was never given the assistance I needed.

As soon as I became an adult and financially independent, I started seeking medical help. Got diagnosed with severe chronic migraines and other illnesses typically comorbid with chronic migraines and gastroparesis. (There are some issues I can't get medical help for in my country, so those will have to wait). I'm on medications now. Because of gastroparesis, pills didn't work for me too well, so a friend taught me how to use autoinjectors. I have friends who actually help me, give me advice, drive me to my appointments, and just be there for me emotionally.

Being medicated has made being alive so much more bearable. I can actually live my life now. Yes, I still have days where I'm in pain (not just migraines, but my other conditions, most of which don't have any treatments to manage them) but it's such a massive improvement from where I was before. I'm happier. I go to therapy. I found people I can talk about my pains and conditions freely to without being told I'm faking it or lazy. I don't work myself to the bone anymore; I shouldn't be giving my 100% to a job that refuses me accommodations when I'd need most of that to manage my health.

I'm back to complaining about pain because, before my family trained me to shut up about it, I was doing it right from the beginning. I'm supposed to complain about pain. Just because I can talk about it freely now, doesn't mean I was never sick before. Just because I'm on medications now, doesn't mean I didn't need them years ago.

I'm happier now as an adult. You just don't like that I'm visible about my illnesses now. It makes you uncomfortable that I self-administer injections, that I talk about my health the way that I want to. The thought of chronic illness makes you uncomfortable; you liked it better when I was quiet. You'd rather I don't find diagnoses for my illnesses, because, in your logic, if I don't go get the diagnosis then I'm not sick.

I was never a healthy kid. You just don't want to admit you went along with the rest of the family to abuse a disabled kid for being disabled.

[sillydeimos]

your post about grunts and disabilities aids got me thinking, so here's a dump of some disability related stuff I hc because you're cool and there NEEDS to be more disability rep in this fandom

Hank: selectively mute, uses sign language to communicate. HOH and missing an eye. autism and ASPD.

Sanford: also HOH due to his job and visually impaired after 12. gets a white cane after he gets his eyes fucked up. OCD.

Deimos: uses crutches on occasion because something fucking up during his cloning process caused him to be pretty frail and weak, at least at first. also keeps stim toys on him. auDHD.

Doc: definitely a cane user. has a severe mouth injury from his time at the AAHW, so he can really only drink liquids. his mask has a thing that automatically amplifies his voice since the injury makes it hard to talk. I also like to imagine either he or Hank have a prosthetic leg. SZPD.

Victor: I can't think of any disability aids he'd have, but he definitely has PPD (as in paranoid personality disorder, not postpartum depression,) and DID.

all of them would realistically have some kind of C-PTSD and chronic pain / chronic fatigue due to the lives they live

anon i literately owe you my life omg....these are all so good! thank you personally for saying deimos would use crutches (<- professional projector onto deimos-er) also him having audhd makes so much sense to me personally, ive always thought he has adhd (like me omg)

on the subject of doc using a cane, may i offer one of krinkels' stream sketches: hank with a cane?

[sleepershell]

Some General Marauders Era Headcanons

NOT canon compliant (I don’t care about jk shitface’s canon lol)

Regulus Black (the main character as far as I’m concerned)

~ French, I mean cmon the Black family motto is toujours pur for gods sake. He absolutely speaks French. Other than that, they can be traced to German (Walburga’s side) and English heritage.

~cis bi boy (sapiosexual?)

~ c-ptsd, depression

~ messy curly medium-length hair, long nimble fingers, one of those people with a few lovely moles in choice locations, slutty waist, angular jaw, kind of set in eyes, not tall but a bit taller than Sirius

~ most dogs freak him out (lol oof)

Sirius Black

~ french (& English, German) ofc.

~ amab queer, omnisexual mlm

~c-ptsd, adhd

~ wavy long black hair, also a slutty waist, not very tall, squinty eyes, latently a little muscular

~ big believer in a leather jacket

James Potter

~ I stan desi Potter. But also love the idea of Euphemia being Greek per her name so Jamie boy is part Greek and part Pakistani on Fleamont’s side. He only speaks English but has some terms and things from both Greek and Hindi.

~ cis bi guy

~adhd

~ needs glasses ofc, I imagine he’s super nearsighted.

~ super messy hair, lean and muscular, medium tall

~ red converse wearer

Remus Lupin

~ Welsh, English, and Portuguese. He speaks only English.

~ amab, queer, demisexual?

~ anxiety

~ chronic pain from wolf injuries

~ scarred all over, light brown hair, tan, he’s the tallest, skinny but not lacking muscle, limps sometimes and often needs to stretch his sore muscles, hairy!!

~ always wearing a sweater

Peter Pettigrew

~ English & German. Speaks English.

~ cis, bi

~ anxiety, definitely does self-soothing movements

~ fat !! no skinny wormtail in this house, wavy blonde hair, the cutest cheeks known to man, callouses on his hands and no one can figure out why

~ asthma

~ loves naps

Pandora Rosier

~ Another family who absolutely must be fluent French speakers. So I think they have some Afro-Caribbean on one side and the other is very much originally French. Speaks English and French.

~ cis fem, pansexual, demiromantic

~ autistic

~ hair is super light blonde and looooong in dreads, light blue eyes, brown skin, quite tall and thin, all her features are super delicate and lithe, she’s kind of otherworldly tbh but she certainly doesn’t act so she’s got quite the mad scientist competitive streak

~ amazing at charms

Evan Rosier

~ Afro-Caribbean, French, English. Speaks English and French.

~ he/they, omnisexual (and by that I mean he fucks everyone ha-hey)

~ super light blonde hair either cropped or in a protective style, brown skin, light brown eyes, braces, dead average build, but still suave af don’t be mistaken everyone wants this kid, not hairy

Lily Evans

~ English and Scottish, speaks English.

~ cis gal, questioning but likely demisexual

~ fat!!, straight-ish red hair ofc, freckles, green eyes, cute small chubby hands, radiant smile

Barty Crouch Jr.

~ English, speaks English and all curse words in every language he could get people to teach them in.

~ queer amab bisexual

~ I won’t begin to try to dissect the workings of Barry’s brain but depression could be a start

~ eidetic memory

~ needs reading glasses? but like most of the time they’re not on him or they’re broken. so he just like uses his crazy big brain to just remember stuff or else he mostly never reads outside of studying times

~ brown hair but whenever he gets the chance he buzzes or dyes it green for fun, stick and pokes and self done piercings, tall but not Remus tall, lean muscular, hairy ass legs

Dorcas Meadowes

~ Ethiopian and English. Speaks English.

~ cis girl, sapphic

~ dark skin, black hair often in long braids, dark eyes, athletic curvy build, long fingers

~ literally prodigy herbologist, also amazing at potions and divination

Marlene McKinnon

~ Filipino!!!!!!!!!!!! speaks English and Filipino (maybe some of another regional language of the Philippines).

~ cis girl, sapphic

~ adhd, depression

~ lactose intolerant

~ short queen, freckles, dyed blonde but def experiments with color and cut, usually straight or a little wavy, muscular but it doesn’t really show she just seems kinda thin, some stick and pokes, several ear piercings

~ wears red cowboy boots, studded belts, low rise, cut up t shirts, hats

Mary Macdonald

~ Brazilian on one side and South African & English on the other. Speaks English and Portuguese.

~ cis girl, bisexual

~ ehler’s danlos syndrome

~ wears her dark hair natural curly, curvy, average height, belly button pierced, huge gorgeous smile, adorable button nose

lol

Severus Snape

~English and Polish. Speaks English.

~ cis, hetero

~ depression, anxiety

~ straight long black hair, pale, Remus tall, fairly average weight, dark eyes, strong nose

~wears mostly black

~ amazing at potions

[everythingwasnormalhere]

🧸🏳️‍🌈♿📈 and uhh "how do their family/friends react to it" once I forgot the emoji for- for kenny and uhh maybe Craig and also maybe twerk? (That is if u hc either of them as disabled In any way)

I hc literally everyone as disabled, so you're getting answers for all 3 >:3

Kenny:

♿️ - What is their disability/disabilities? What are the symptoms that they show?

Besides his chronic pain i wont stop talking about, he has AuDHD, depression, MaDD and C-PTSD ✨

His C-PTSD symtoms didn't show much until adulthood (late 20s-early 30s), because that was when his brain processed the environment as safe and stopped being in permanent survival mode. However, the symptoms of everything else have showed since he was Really young, his MaDD was at its worst when he was around 12 (iykyk) and got better since he left south park, mainly after he started therapy (took him long enough smh)

📈 - What age was their disability formed, or became apparent, at?

The first time one of his deaths still hurt after the fact was on s3 e1, after Kelly revived him. However, he didn't give it much thought, thinking it was just what getting killed by lightning was like. Then it was kind of like a roulette whether it'd hurt or not, but even when it did it was incredibly easy to ignore - until his teens, when he died so often (more on purpose than not) it quickened the effects a lot

🦮 - Do they have supportive friends and/or family? How do they help on bad days? (i think you meant this one)

Yeah, he does! His friends are generally supportive, even cartman after he gets over his assholery. His siblings too :) stuart however is an asshole, and even though kenny went NC with carol i feel like she'd be quite supportive idk. And about how they help on bad days, cuddles from butters mostly do the trick XD if butters isn't there though, more often than not will someone at the very least pay attention to him, either helping out by getting him stuff (food etc) or doing something to keep him entertained (talking, board games, depends on how hes feeling tbh)

🧸- Do they have a comfort item?

He used to have his orange parka, but since karen inherited he doesn't have it anymore, so i would say he doesn't really have any comfort items? Unless we count the mimikyu plush, but idk if that would really qualify as a comfort item much, other than making him think of butters whenever he sees it :)

🏳️‍🌈 - A random headcanon about them and their disability

-He diagnosed craig's autism way before any professional did, but he thought craig was aware of it so he didn't say anything 💀 (he has the strongest autismdar ever) -Most of his daydreams are similar to the stuff he thought in the cheesing episode in some way or another -He used to deal with flashbacks by going on normally with his life, to the point nobody but his friends could ever tell he was going through The Horrors - however as his PTSD worsened he couldn't do that anymore

Craig:

♿️ - What is their disability/disabilities? What are the symptoms that they show?

Autism, it's painfully obvious yet he wasn't diagnosed till he was 15 😭

📈 - What age was their disability formed, or became apparent, at?

From kenny's pov, ever since craig was born 💀 but most people in his life didn't see it as disabling until it began messing with his studies in his teens

🦮 - Do they have supportive friends and/or family? How do they help on bad days?

YUP!!! His parents didn't think it was autism at first, "no everyone does that", surprise all the Tucker's are autistic XD They were a bit confused at first, not knowing what to do, but they were still super supportive about it :) Tricia was as much of a dick to him as usual so nothing new on her side lmao, and his friends were cool about it as soon as they learnt about his diagnosis (cue teasing from kenny and jimmy for thinking he was neurotipical smh, nah craig sry but you stuck with the nds 💀). Also, TWEEK, boy is so loud and that makes him feel so guilty because of how it overwhelms craig ;w; he was the first person who knew craig got diagnosed besides his family, and he did his best to accomodate him as much as he needed :3

🧸- Do they have a comfort item?

Not comforting autism-wise but comforting regardless, the shit ton of (accurate to constellations) glow in the dark stars in his bedroom, he cannot sleep without them. He also has a tiny alien plush keychain he found at Tweek's house and Tweek insisted he should keep it (neither of them know where it came from 💀), so that's another thing :)

🏳️‍🌈 - A random headcanon about them and their disability

-After the diagnosis he refused to leave his room for weeks because he didn't know how to cope with it, and nobody besides his family and tweek were allowed to come in during that period - in the end though, with their help he accepted it -Something I've mentioned a couple times already but is hilarious to me: he didn't talk until he was four (how did it take him so long to get diagnosed), and his first words were a "cállate hijoputa" directed at cartman 😭

Tweek:

♿️ - What is their disability/disabilities? What are the symptoms that they show?

Tourettes, anxiety, schizophrenia and PPD - most of these were at the very least influenced by the whole meth in coffee thing

📈 - What age was their disability formed, or became apparent, at?

He gave symptoms of all these since he was really young, besides PPD, which only became obvious almost as soon as he left his house

🦮 - Do they have supportive friends and/or family? How do they help on bad days?

Family? Haha ok next question--- About his friends though, they do their best to help him with it. Most times during the worst days he can only stand Craig's company, who will listen to him and try to help him feel safe, however normally he's ok enough to be with others just fine. He gets accomodations at college and later at work too, like being allowed to stay home some days or to leave early

🧸- Do they have a comfort item?

YES YES YES !!! Storytime, after craig and tweek dated for three years, craig's anniversary gift was a green stuffed stegosaurus (since tweek was fixated on dinosaurs back then), which tweek named peanuts :) Peanuts became the way tweek would deal with any anxiety attacks, but he tugged at him so hard he broke - however, laura patched peanuts up for tweek (after craig quite literally begged her to, she would've done it anyway but he did anyway) Then, when they moved out, peanuts disappeared :( until the tuckers found him under craig's bed, who knows how he ended up there XD SO tweek's comfort item is the oldest most used up cutest little stego ever :3 (also does having a room full of spiders count as a comfort item? idk but he does cuz he loves spiders, craig despises that room with his whole soul poor boy hates spiders so much 😭)

🏳️‍🌈 - A random headcanon about them and their disability

Went NC with his parents as soon as he could!!! He also stopped drinking their coffee in his early teens, but because he (and everyone tbh) thought what messed up his health was the caffeine not the meth - he didn't find out about the fact he was being drugged until he was told the "secret family recipe" when he turned 18 (and, understandably, he was PISSED)

[silliest-fckindumbboy]

🪦Consider this blog a TW in & of itself🪦

🩸My coining blog is @fckindumbboy-coins Requests are always open!!!🩸

🫀This will be a mix of RQ & para stuff! Its my safe space! I will like & reblog what I choose!🫀

🪦Block/ ignore dont report, I'm just trying to find safe community & without that, so many of us are in danger!🪦

🩸If you arent harming anyone unwilling to be harmed, do it up, bby; pro-consent🩸

🦷 Im Jynx

🔪 The body is adult; Agefluid, multiage- mainly nepedage and traumatot, but I also sometimes linger around the body's age

🦷 Agender, transmasc, boycunt, periboy, offboy, bordergender

🔪 Polyromantic, hyperromantic

🦷 Polysensual, polarsensual, hypersensual [unless touch-repulsed due to fatigue, low energy, sensory overload, etc.]

🔪 Greyace, hypersexual

🦷 Ductuaffectis, Alteraffectis

🔪 It/he/pup/puppy/clown/honk/rot/ick/demon/rat; I may also use plural pronouns on occasion

🦷 Married, poly

🔪 Ask me anything about anything!

🪦My tags:

fckindumbboy - anything thats mine

boybarx - anytime I comment/post/talk about anything/share my opinions

shøwøff - my pictures

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boyIDs- my hoard/IDs or terms I like (reblogs only- not my OGs)🪦

🫀On sys: I'm [Jynx] the current host of a DID system~ Pls keep in mind that, due to the nature of plurality, I may post things or reblog things that I dont typically post, agree with, or that I forget later on. Some alters MAY make themselves known, they may not, thats up to them to decide not me.🫀

🪦Paras & Kinks: LOTS! Obsessed with everything abuse, gore, pain, blood, cannibalism, & death! 3/3, get over it, youre not the thought police. I sexualize & extort my own trauma & mental illness~ Theres wwwwaaaaayyyyyyy more! Consang🪦

🫀SickSickSick (cisIDs): DID, BPD, DPDR, schizoaffective bipolar type, OCD, agoraphobia, C-PTSD, substance use disorder [recovering & hating every second], OSFED-AN/BP, GAD/ panic disorder, PNES, mild TBI, CI

We got the 'tism

ICT survivor

I have so much trauma, & always happy to share & talk about it [for anyone!] (I'm cisharmed, cisgroomed, cisabused, cisICTsurvivor, cistortured, cisSA/CSA, cisraped.. etc.)

Chronically ill & physically disabled!🫀

🪦I AM a radqueer! Get outta here if you cant deal with that! Im super duper inclusive & believe everyone has a right to be themselves (even if I may not agree with them!) I have absolutely no room in my life, my heart, or my safe space for hate, drama, or discourse!!! Im also a [REDACTED]queer! I value privacy & non-disclosure of stances or other information, I think everyone has a right to discretion & safety within the community & elsewhere. My business is no one's business unless I say so- no one's business is my business unless they say so. All information, conversation, etc. with me is strictly confidential. I dont believe in call outs or other forms of non-consenual information disclosure. 🪦

🫀Identities: Transclownspecies, puppykin, trauma-born demon, irl yandere, transHoH/transDeaf, real vampire [hybrid- sang & psi], DemiDead, DemiRot, Traumatot, permapuppy, permadissociated, permalockdown, permasick, devotabled, translabrat, ratkin 🫀

🪦MUDs: Unhealthy Relation-Victim Disorder, Glitching Mind Disorder, Plural Dysphoric Disorder, Imminent Death Disorder, Temporal Perception Distortion Syndrome🪦

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[void7536]

oh shit if im gonna be talking to people I should have an intro

HEY WELCOME TO MY CUCKHOUSE it was meant to say fuckhouse but cuckhouse is funnier so I'm leaving that in

im just a silly guy im just a little birthday boy and I'LL BE YOUR NEW BEST FRIEND! If you put up with my bullshit its fuckin ride or die babey. she/he/it/they, technically any pronouns but I'm cognitively disabled and gotta look up the fancier ones every time I try to conjugate them. Like I'll absolutely use them for other people but if you say "faer's got the stuff" I'm gonna be like "who is this Faer person". Fae pronouns are super fucking cool though. I wanna use fae pronouns. What was I doing again

NPD/ADHD/DID/C-PTSD/chronic pain/cane user/paranoid schizophrenic. Sup. I bite sometimes but I prommy I microwave myself for 2 minutes on high every time 💜 Don't. idk what I was gonna say here but don't do the thing I hate. Okay? Okie dokie!

I'm not the host but I've been here for 15 years. I'm not a fictive, I'm just a kinnie. I'm taken but poly, but if you wanna be my lover you gotta be a level 5 or higher friend and have experienced at least 2 breakdowns and our gatekeeper. Wow this is long! And sucks. I should make a different one. eventually

I promise I'm just super lame, really

[highabovethecloudssomewhere]

my father asked me, mockingly, if I genuinely believed there is good in this world. 

I thought of the world he put me through. I thought of my childhood. I thought of the first time I’d experienced fear at his hand and every time after that. I thought of my janky heart and my surgery. I thought of the words “chronic illness.” I thought of “severe depression” and “C-PTSD”. I thought of the dreams I had to give up. I thought of the friends I’d grown apart from. I thought of the loved ones I mourn, how it comes in waves.

But then I thought of a nine year old me in the souvenir shop who smashed two snowglobes together and panicked at how my dad would react. I thought of the woman who told me that it was okay, that I didn’t have to cry. She gave me a sparkly pin that said “Dreams Come True”.

I thought of my friends coming together to make me a quilt with my name embroidered onto it, that they gave to me the night before my heart surgery when I was 17.

I thought of the nurse in the ER who stayed an extra two hours to make sure I got into a room because she knew I was in a lot of pain and that my condition was low-priority.

I thought of my Chinese friends who are teaching me Mandarin in exchange for me teaching them more English. I thought of the deaf strangers I chatted with in what little conversational ASL I knew, who invited me to sit with them and introduce me to their friends. I thought of these “barriers” like language that aren’t really barriers at all, because we’re all people who carry the capacity to learn about each other’s lives and worlds and cultures and possess the ability to grow and to change.

I thought about my house leader who sat with me on the floor after I’d passed out during a flare-up, how I’d frustratedly gone off because I was upset, and I thought I was done letting my health upset me. She listened, and then she told me that I don’t have to be okay with it, that it’s okay to be angry and frustrated and sad.

I thought of the mentor who sat with me while I cried, who asked, very gently, “What was your friend’s name?”

I thought of small-talk with strangers. I thought of the doctor who liked my anime keychain. I thought of a girl I used to nanny saying that she wished I were her sister so I never had to leave. I thought of my brothers building a blanket fort over me after I fell asleep on the couch during a migraine. I thought of my house leader leaving everything but junkmail in our mailbox because she knew I liked to get it. I remembered the first time someone took my depression seriously.

I thought of new dreams--smaller, but no less valuable than the ones that came before.

my father couldn’t believe it when I told him I did believe there is good in this world, that I believe people are fundamentally good. he called it “selective memory” and he called it naïve. in the same breath he told me that I needed him, that we would “always be family” and that I couldn’t stop him from being my father. in a physical blood-related sense that is true. 

but me? if there’s one thing my health issues have taught me, it’s that blood can be transfused. the kindness I’ve experienced, the people I’ve loved, these moments that bled into me and shaped me in ways I couldn’t live without.

I am the byproduct of everyone I’ve ever loved, everyone who’s ever loved me and the ways that they changed me.

Samwise Gamgee was right. there is good in this world, and it is worth fighting for.

[mothwithapencil]

Hi can I just ask for some Ghetsis positivity because I’m sick of everyone around me slandering him

Sorry this is a little late but YES. YES YOU CAN. Big post incoming.

Listen. People hate Ghetsis for completely valid reasons. But people like him, even relate to him, for completely valid reasons too. And I'm sick of people shitting all over Ghetsis and people who like him all the time, even when it's completely uncalled for. I'm sick of having to be "humble" and apologize for liking Ghetsis when introducing myself to people, lest they think I kick puppies and throw babies off cliffs for fun or something. Sick of scrolling his tag and seeing people calling him horrible things or, even worse, targeting his disabilities (physical and mental). Sick of people legitimately claiming he's homophobic, transphobic, even racist just because they don't like him. You do see how that's harmful to people in those groups who like him right. Furthermore, I have the type of RSD where if someone doesn't like a character I like I feel hurt myself. So you can imagine how hellish it is out there. I can't imagine how bad it is for systems with Ghetsis introjects. So for all the completely normal people bearing the curse of simply enjoying a character:

Ghetsis likers! You're valid!

Ghetsis is a very complex, layered character! There's lots to like about him! He's pretty, he's funny, he's tragic, he's a depressed middle aged man.... The list goes on! There's also many valid reasons to relate to him! Ghetsis is implied to have several mental illnesses/disorders/etc that aren't often seen, especially not in a Pokemon game. He's paranoid, he has PTSD, NPD, body dysmorphia, he even shows autistic+adhd traits. He's also a cane user and is popularly interpreted as being an amputee/prosthetic user and having chronic pain from the injuries on his eye/arm/leg/etc. Although him being a villain doesn't do much for "good representation," it's okay for you to see yourself in him! I relate to him for his paranoia, PTSD, and autistic/adhd traits, and that's okay! And some may ask "But N is autistic and likely has PTSD too, why not relate to him instead?" Some may relate to him too! You're allowed to like both of them! Ghetsis and N likers aren't mortal enemies, we're not that different! But not everyone can just choose which characters they attach to. And some may relate to Ghetsis more for a variety of reasons. Ghetsis has a slower, more rough process of healing that may appeal more to some people. You're not obligated to relate to one character over another because the first one isn't a "good guy."

Even if you don't particularly relate to him, you can enjoy him just for the sake of liking him! Some reasons I just think he's a fun character:

His silly "mya-ha-ha-ha!" laugh!!!

The fact that he tries to look intimidating and scary only to call the player in USUM "tiny intruder"

Gee N, your dad is gnc AF!

This picture.

"That blasted Colress! How dare he put his personal intellectual curiosity before our ultimate mission of conquering Unova!" *proceeds to continue spoiling Colress rotten and not doing a single thing to stop him from putting off his work*

The fact that he does so much to make himself seem emotionless but is still clearly very emotional. There's lots of things that confuse and scare him!

His passion! His love for Unovan history and public speaking! (even if he's not the best at delivering them without pacing around and stuttering and trailing off...) (#autism)

His terrible fashion sense. He looks like he fell through a window and got caught on the tapestry. His unexplained love for eye motifs. Me too.

The sheer fact he's such a layered character. There's a lot about Ghetsis that's never directly stated in the games, and much to be picked up from subtle implications. His history as a descendant of fhe Ancient King, his several traumatic life experiences (two separate pokemon attacks, and of course the "memory that has continued to haunt [him]," etc.

His incredibly silly dynamic with Colress. According to pokespe and the RR episode, they've known each other for years, much longer than one would think initially. Trying not to steer too much into antigrav territory, their friendship is unique and funny. They're best friends. They threaten to feed each other to Kyurem daily. As long as they don't get caught, they plan on conquering Unova together. Colress annoys Ghetsis on purpose and Ghetsis responds with ranting about him in private but still raising his paycheck. Chaos duo.

This post is already so long, and I could say more, but to top it off I want to say:

Ghetsis likers who hate N and N likers who hate Ghetsis are the weakest link. As I said earlier, we can enjoy both! Ghetsis enjoyers and N-joyers, we have a lot in common! We both love a very clearly autistic guy with lots of trauma and pretty long hair! It's not a stretch to assume most of us have some parental issues we're coping with by attaching to them! Furthermore, you don't have to "avenge" N by violently hatimg Ghetsis. N still loves his dad, and even if he doesn't have to, he still wants Ghetsis to heal and get better (Cue to... Everything he says to Ghetsis, and even his line when teamed up with him in Pokemas: "I still have hope for you, Ghetsis..."). If he saw the things some of you say about his dad, he'd be horrified. I promise you, saying you want to kick out Ghetsis' cane and take out his other eye just makes you ableist, not a soldier fighting for N's honor. People who like either character aren't at war with each other! I love my N-joyer friends! We can coexist.... Harmonia enjoyers holding hands and singing in a circle...

That's about it! Sorry I'm so passionate about this, I've just seen a ton of hate on Ghetsis lately and I want to combat it. By the way, feel free to send me an ask about any of the stuff I mentioned here!

Please don't interact with this post if you're going to say some mean shit about Ghetsis/his fans or say "he's not actually autistic/disabled etc" "I hate him but..." "You still shouldn't like him because xyz". Please just let this be a happy space for us!!!!

[lurkingismypastime]

My Mike Afton Headcanons :)

Aromantic asexual, interested in a qpr

Autistic (I’m probably going to make a separate post just for this)

Genderfluid, he/they/she/xe

Deaf or close to it. I’ve yet to figure out if it should be just the natural progression of his hearing or something that happened

His mom was Mexican

Warm brown skin tone (yknow, like how colors can warm or cool)

They have their mom’s wild dark brown hair, and it shows once he takes care of it (and isn’t that a thematic statement and a half)

Curly dark brown hair, grows it to just above shoulder length

Having it pulled back all the time gives them a headache, but they won’t leave it loose if they feel they’re in danger

Complete heterochromia, their right eye is blue and their left is brown

(This was mostly because I couldn’t decide between giving them brown eyes or blue, and now I’m attached)

5′5″ (let Mike be short, it’s what they deserve)

Other Headcanons

Since they have trouble hearing and work in a place where they have to rely on hearing to warn them of danger, they have issues going without aids

Gruffly gentle with people younger than them, but prone to hostility with people older

Will fight as soon as he thinks he’s being threatened

On bad days he panics at everything he thinks could be perceived as a mistake

Loves to people watch (unless they’re having a bad day where they compare themself to their dad) enjoys watching life just bustling around them, it makes them feel more human

Hates being treated like she’s stupid or worthless 

AUTHORITY ISSUES BABY

In an ideal world, xe would be a paramedic or artist :)

Touch starved and touch repulsed

Loves rain, it’s xeir favorite smell too

The ocean is also something she loves

Sunset colors are her favorite

Loves painting especially mural-like pieces

Has trouble making friends and connecting with people, but sometimes finds people that just click

Has been a disappointment all his life, and when he grew up he learned to wear it like a badge of pride. There’s still a wound beneath that though, and it likes to show up on bad days and around parental figures.

Chronic pain, body issues

Once he learns to stand up for himself, he also figures out how to stand up for others

Dry sense of humor

Their wrist getting grabbed is a trigger. If it happens unexpectedly they will fight them off, or panic if that doesn’t work.

Introverted

Gardening is something they enjoy a lot. They have a lot of plants (some of which are wild/weeds) knows a lot about their properties

Self-esteem issues (but we knew that)

Spoke Spanish with their mom until (something happened, I’m still figuring out what) 

Later picked it up again, or spoke and learned it all through childhood to stay connected to her (dad told him he couldn’t take Spanish because he would ‘cheat’)

His mom used to make heated milk with brown sugar and nutmeg for him. He makes it for his siblings on bad nights, and later for himself when he needs comfort

C-ptsd in general but also about ennard specifically (which makes eating even more of a challenge, and gives him autonomy issues)

They were conscious while Ennard was in them (I’m so sorry) 

She’s got her mom’s eyes and smile. She nearly cries the first time someone points out the resemblance because she’s been compared to her father her whole life

Has xeir mom’s freckles and temperament, but xeir dad’s face and mannerisms (unfortunately)

TOUCH STARVED AS HELL

Fuck William’s accent, Michael has his mom’s accent

Nearly debilitating fear of losing autonomy

Can face the worst life has to offer without batting an eye, but crumbles like a wet paper bag in the face of any positive interaction

Loves space and thinking about it and talking about it

Was an annoying and kind of rough older sibling, but also took on the responsibility of his siblings. William was especially bad the week of cc’s birthday, and that translated into being rougher and more calloused with his siblings. If the joke had gone as intended, he probably would have made it up to him in his own rough way once he realized how much it affected cc.

Don’t tell me you haven’t done something in the heat of the moment that you regret later. I know I have

Being gentle comes easily to him after he gets away from his father and learns to leave the ‘be tough or get hurt’ mindset

This makes him even more like his mother, with his temper turning into spitfire protectiveness combined with a gentle empathy, especially for kids

His mother begins to shine through more and more. Where he once had his father’s expressions and habits, he now exhibits his mom’s

Sorting through my Mike refs, I’m realizing how many of my headcanons were just putting a neon sign above his head blaring ‘AUTISTIC. THIS PERSON IS AUTISTIC’

[neurodiversebones]

what are your disability + mental health hc's for each of the main crew? like what conditions

!!!! i have so much to say but this post is already gonna be soo long- if you want elaboration or just more headcanons on any of them send me an ask !!!

brennan :

brennan has arthritis and chronic pain , and uses a cane !! she also has mild-moderate bilateral hearing loss from the absurd amount of times she's been Blown Up

neurodivergence/mental health wise it's a Long list : she's autistic and has chronic motor tic disorder, persistent depressive disorder (dysthymia), c-ptsd, depersonalization/derealization disorder, arfid, and ednos

booth :

booth has just so much fucking Damage to his body . he has arthritis and general chronic pain from being blown up/shot at/breaking his goddamn bones/etc. he also has fibromyalgia and moderate hearing loss !

he has adhd, dyscalculia, major depressive disorder, c-ptsd, and has struggles with food, though not a full blown eating disorder

angela :

angela has arthritis in her hands , as well as a hypermobility spectrum disorder or hEDS ! she uses ring splints almost always, and uses other joint braces as well (especially for her knees/wrists)

she is autistic and adhd (audhd queen) and also has dyslexia, bipolar ii, ptsd, maladaptive daydreaming disorder, and bulimia nervosa

hodgins :

he is canonically paraplegic , but i also hc that he has hearing loss from the blast (these people get exploded too often to not be hoh) !!

he is also autistic and adhd, and has persistent depressive disorder, tic-related ocd, and c-ptsd

cam :

cam has a seizure disorder and asthma, as well as kidney damage . this all comes from when she got poisoned in season two (seriously, we brushed past that way too fast- from comatose, intubated, and literally "call her family because she's gonna die" to a-okay in a matter of hours ?? what ??)

she is also autistic and has major depressive disorder, panic disorder, ocd, body dysmorphia, ptsd, and anorexia nervosa

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: What Spring Does To The Cherry Trees, Chapter 7

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Narcos

Ship: Javier Peña/OFC (Eva)

Tags/warnings (whole thing): slow burn, h/c, a bit of violence (nothing as bad as canon), guns, knife injury, pain and suffering, the loss of a parent (both actually), angst, ptsd, javi being a lil prick but also soft!, (safe) piv sex, masturbation (female AND male), fingering, unprotected piv sex (in the words of the Spice Girls: be a little bit wiser baby, put it on, put it on), pregnancy risk, death of an animal, talk of cancer, so much internal conflict, insomnia, killing coyotes, snake bite, oh my god just get over yourselves already, some eye fucking if you squint.

Summary for the whole thing: Javier Peña has resigned from the DEA and is back at his dad’s ranch in Texas. Life is slow and uneventful, until an unfamiliar face shows up at the local watering hole one night. Eva is retired from the army and lives in her old pickup truck with more than one ghost. She’s looking for ranch work and when her path crosses Javier’s, maybe they can help each other along in their lives?

Chapter summary: In the heat of high summer, life at Big River Ranch is pretty slow and uneventful. Plenty of time for yearning.

A/N: There are baby cows.

Tagged: @amneris21 @chronic-nosebleed

It was not until after Eva got her period that Javier realized just how on edge he had been since That Day. The news of her bleeding melted away some of the stress and shame. He noted with some amount of relief that Eva seemed less tense around him after that night when he offered her what meagre home remedies he had available. He didn’t do it for redemption, but he’s happy the gesture seemed to have bought him some. Her demeanor was still wary, but she would look at him and speak to him. The way she had carefully avoided his gaze was a strange move for someone who had studied him so fearlessly during their first encounter. Javi was glad they were back to some kind of normal.

The cigarettes that he chain smoked while waiting for a verdict for the copulation are forgotten on the dresser in his room when the days turn warm and humid. Sweat glistens on Eva’s muscled arms when she rides Zorro through the herd, eyes out for renegades. Javier forgets himself every now and again, and catches himself staring at her. She always stares back, honey-chocolate eyes narrowing in a silent, provocative Just what the hell are you looking at? He likes that, likes the challenge, but would never let her know that. He can’t break this ceasefire.

She drives into town a lot to visit the library, returning with novels that he sees her reading on the cabin’s small porch in the evenings, when the lingering heat still makes Javi’s shirt stick to his back despite the sun having disappeared below the horizon. He comes over with two cold beers but catches the tightness in her jaw at being disturbed in the middle of reading, so he doesn’t do it again. He misses the evenings on the porch they enjoyed together at the beginning of summer.

He sees Johnny throw glances at her when leaving the homestead after his workday has ended. He’s painfully curious about what has transpired between Eva and the younger man, but would never ask. It’s none of his business – although he’s secretly very happy about Eva and Johnny now seemingly enjoying a strictly professional relationship.

Eva’s energy levels seem to multiply with the rising temperatures. When everyone else grows slow and lazy, she seems to flourish. She clears out the weeds in the back garden, finding herbs that have fought through the invasion of unwanted plants and self-sowing flowers. Despite the late season, she buys chilis and tomatoes, planting them with great care and lots of water. She also cleans out the barbecue pit and treats Javier and Chucho to vegetarian burgers one night, when a welcome breeze cools the air slightly.

“More?” she asks when the men’s plates are empty. Javier has already eaten two. His belly is straining against his jeans, the belt buckle an uncomfortable pressure, but the burgers are lighter than the ones he’s used to and so good that he finds himself asking for a third one.

Chucho declines the offer, leaning back in his seat with a deep, satisfied sigh.

“You spoil us with these meals, Eva,” he tells her, clearly happy with being spoiled. Eva throws him a rare smile from the barbecue pit. Her face is flushed and hairline shining with sweat from the excess heat. It’s a good look on her.

“You’re welcome. Happy you liked it.”

“It’s delicious,” Javi acknowledges. “Almost makes me want to become a vegetarian.”

“Almost,” Eva repeats meaningfully before returning her attention to the grill. Javi leans back in his seat and burps discreetly before taking a swig of his beer. He watches Eva, the back of her olive tank top dark with sweat, and imagines what it would taste like to trace his tongue along her spine. Savory and sweet, with a hint of smoke, he reckons, just like barbecue sauce. A little spicy, just enough to make him thirsty, but not so much so that he’d abandon it altogether for something more refreshing.

He catches a look from his father, and realizes he’s all but whipping his dick out and beating off while drooling over her. Frowning, he looks down at the weather-beaten table, traces an old crack in the wood with his finger.

When Eva returns to the table, a third burger for Javi and some grilled vegetables for herself, Chucho clears his throat.

“I’m looking to buy a stud from a farm near San Antonio,” he tells her. “I’m driving up there tomorrow. You handle the cattle.”

“Sure,” she nods. “Western pastures?”

“Yes.” Not much changes in his weathered face, but Javi can read the look in his father’s eyes: Chucho is very pleased with Eva. And why wouldn’t he? In the field, Eva is everything Javi is not. He knows Chucho enjoys her few-worded company, her initiative, her work ethics. She’s a perfect fit for the ranch.

“What’s the horse?” she asks before bringing the fork to her mouth. A little bbq sauce stains the corner of her mouth, and Javi has to fix his eyes on Chucho. As his father and Eva talk horses, Javi focuses on the third burger, learning quickly that he shouldn’t have insisted on having it. It’s left half eaten on his plate.

“Wasting food is a sin,” Eva points out to him when they clear the table together. He hates that he can’t tell if she’s joking or not.

“Wouldn’t be my worst one.”

“I can imagine.”

Javi detects no hint of judgment in her voice. She doesn’t even look at him, busy as she is stacking plates and collecting cutlery. He desperately, pathetically wants her to look at him, to be engaged in a conversation with him. To acknowledge that he’s not a bad person despite his sins. Some ends do justify the means, don’t they?

Maybe she caught him ogling her earlier. Maybe she knows that he was thinking about catching the drops of sweat on her neck with his tongue. She knows he’s a creep. She knows about the women he fucked on the job, the ones he was supposed to protect but couldn’t –

“Are you taking these?” Eva interrupts his descent into self pity with her demand masked as a question. Javi follows her nod to the tray of condiments and empty beer bottles.

“Sure.”

She disappears into the air-conditioned house before him, and with a deep sigh as his full stomach makes itself known with a digestive rumbling, Javi follows. He shouldn’t have tried to have that third burger. He’s getting pot-bellied. He was always slender, flat everywhere, hips ridiculously narrow against the broad expanse of his shoulders. Now there’s a roundness above his jeans that didn’t use to be there five years ago. He should cut back on fried food, and beer.

Eva is rinsing plates in the sink and glances up at him when his stomach complains again.

“Need something to settle your stomach?”

He doesn’t know what to say.

“There’s plenty of mint out back.”

“Mint?”

“Mint tea. For indigestion. You didn’t know that?” Now she has a tone. Javi’s jaw tightens when his heart clenches.

“It’s too hot for tea,” he tells her abruptly as he shoves the condiments into the fridge and leaves the bottles on the kitchen table before stomping off. The lingering heat of the day is like a punch in the face when he steps out of the house.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Erratic thoughts swarm his brain and make it impossible to hold down any reason. She’s going to think he’s an absolute asshole now, for sure. And she would be right.

He hears the door open and close behind him, and draws a deep breath. He turns around, ready to apologize, but Eva just pushes past him towards the table to collect what’s left after dinner.

“Eva.”

She slams down the bowl she was holding, and lifts her chin. Dark chocolate eyes pierce into his. There’s a trio of vertical lines between her eyebrows.

She waits, and Javier holds up his hands in a gesture of reconciliation.

“I’m sorry.” In his mind, he doesn’t only apologize for being brusque, but also for his lewd thoughts earlier. Not that she’ll ever know, but he feels better about it.

Uncompromising and still silent, Eva stares at him, making him even more uncomfortable. Fuck. She’s just so utterly fucking relentless –

He scratches his head and moves his gaze to the resplendent greenery of the backyard. It looks almost as good as when his mother was alive.

“My… mom used to make me mint tea when I was a kid and had a stomach ache. She’d sit with me and gently blow into the cup to cool it down for me.”

The smell and taste of mint is so intimately woven together with this image of his late mother that Javi hadn’t been able to even chew spearmint gum since she died, but he doesn’t tell her that. In the periphery of his field of vision, he sees Eva turn her face away and bite her lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Javi.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s on me. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Should I maybe not have touched the garden?”

“It’s good that it’s looked after,” he confesses. “Mom would have liked that.”

He’s still looking at the garden, realizing that he’s now unsure about its layout. Did the tomatoes grow against the trellis over there, or did his mother plant them against the fence? The mint surely didn’t take up this much space twenty years ago? The cornflowers had not spread across the path, which is now invisible to the eye?

He has been away for so long, and looked without seeing when he returned. Slowly, he walks through the dense brush of mint, stirring the leaves into surrounding him with their strong, fresh aroma that hits him right where it hurts the most. He walks over to the tomato plants and crouches next to them. The smell of mint is still strong, but the rich scent of tomatoes does its best to fight against the coolness. There are several ripe tomatoes waiting to be picked, and Javi wants a taste of them all.

He always wanted that. He wanted it all.

Eva appears right next to him, arms crossed over her chest. As Javi picks a tomato, firm yet yielding under his fingers, she holds out her hand. He gives her the red fruit and watches her lift it to her nose. She draws a long, deep breath, smelling it.

“It hands us the gift of its fiery color, and the totality of its coolness,” she murmurs, as if to herself.

“What?”

“Neruda. He wrote an ode to the tomato.”

He peers up at her, not seeing her face against the setting sun.

“He liked tomatoes that much?”

“He saw beauty in everything around him.” She bites into the tomato. “But they are good.”

Unable to hold back a labored groan, Javi straightens his legs, pulling himself back to standing. He looks down, weighs his words, silently cursing his inability to find the right ones in her company.

“You… see it yourself?” he asks eventually, staring stubbornly at a blazing red tomato on the stalk in front of him. “Beauty around you. After what you must have seen… is there any beauty left?”

Maybe he’s asking because he wants to know if he himself could find it again. Sometimes it seems impossible.

“Sure there is.” The answer is instant and filled with certainty. “Even if I don’t see it all the time, there’s lots of things that make it all worthwhile.”

“Like tomatoes?”

“Like tomatoes,” she confirms. Javi thinks he hears a hint of amusement in her voice, but can’t be sure. He rubs at his mustache. The tomato smell invades his nostrils. Hesitantly, he meets her gaze.

“I… wouldn’t mind that cup of tea.”

Eva raises her chin a little and regards him for a second, forehead slightly furrowed, as if in thought. She then nods.

“Go get the kettle on, I’ll pick the mint.”

///

His pain hits so close to home.

Dawdling, Eva picks the fragrant mint, selecting the largest and finest-looking leaves with exaggerated care in order to prolong her stay outside. Inside her head, there's a whirlwind of over-activity. She and Javi have been good with each other – or at least she thinks so, it’s hard to say what with him sometimes just staring at her like that – since she was certain she wasn’t pregnant. She got herself checked, as well, driving into Laredo to go to a clinic as soon as she could.

It was okay for as long as he didn’t show any feelings. But the second he started talking about his dead mother in that quiet voice which reminds her of her own loss, it got complicated. It makes her feel for him, and that, in turn, brings back memories of that day. The day they shared some of their old wounds, and she actually felt for him when he bared another side of himself to her. The day they kissed. The sex. She wishes she could say the sex wasn’t good, but damn it, it was good. Unplanned and not ideal, but good. He knows how to use his hands. He knows how to kiss. He has a really nice dick, she can’t argue with that. It all reminds her of what she’s missing out on.

It was the day she almost broke down. The sex, Javi, Chucky. It was almost too much for her. The nights sleeping out with the cattle helped her, and once she returned to the homestead, making herself busy in the garden kept her from thinking too much.

Figures that mint would be to Javi what café de olla is to her. That thing which pulls at her heartstrings and makes her want to be a little girl in an intact world again, comfortable and taken care of. Not having to worry about anything but bedtime and even that was nothing but a pleasure because her mother would join her in bed and read her poems.

Sighing deeply, Eva stands up and braces herself to go back in. There’s no use thinking of the past, of things that happened thirty years ago. She has to deal with the situation at hand.

Coming back into the kitchen, she finds Javi pouring hot water into a pot. Two mugs are already waiting on the kitchen table.

“You want one, too, right?” The question is hopeful, and Eva doesn’t have it in her to deny him the company, so she nods. Disposing of the leaves into the pot, she puts the lid on and takes it to the table, sliding down onto one of the chairs. Javi follows, taking a seat on the other side of the table.

“Did you grow up with a garden?” he asks. Eva’s not sure if she likes the subject matter. It feels too risky. But Chucho is within hearing distance, comfortable in his recliner in the living-room, listening to the radio on low volume. If there’s a chance of him overhearing, Javi would surely not step into too hostile a territory, would he?

“Small one,” she shrugs. “I was so young when the farm was sold. Don’t remember much.”

It’s a lie. She remembers a lot, but is still not willing to talk about it.

“For me, it’s the smells,” Javi admits. He suddenly looks tired. His eyelids droop heavily, the lines in his face appear deeper than just moments before. He rubs his forehead and passes his hand over his head, drawing back the thick, full locks before they fall down over his forehead again. “I don’t necessarily remember specific things, but smells trigger the… grief, I guess.”

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Eva finds herself filling it. “When you’re so unprepared for it.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at her candor, but he finds himself quickly.

“Yeah.” A slow nod, and brown eyes that tear into her own freckled ones. There it is again, that stare that she can’t figure out. It’s not the one a guy uses to undress her with his eyes, it’s not the hostile looks of enemies, whether they be in Kuwait or in old pickup trucks outside roadside diners stateside. No, it’s nothing like that. It’s curious but hesitant, definitely a little flirty but… no, she can’t read it. And it drives her nuts.

“Why are you always gawking at me like that?” she snaps, but without vehemence. Javi winces visibly and lowers his gaze.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Javi clenches his teeth, clearly uncomfortable with the development.

“I guess I don’t know I’m doing it.”

She knows it’s not true but that momentary recklessness she felt when asking him has disappeared as quickly as it showed up, and she’s not ready to pursue the matter. Instead, she has a peek inside the teapot and decides that the brew is ready. Stretching across the table, she fills Javi’s mug before pouring some for herself. Sipping the hot drink carefully, she looks at him over the brim of the mug.

“I remember the mistflower covered in butterflies in July. It was… like they grew on the plants. Like they were the flowers. And when you came up to the flowers and disturbed them, it was like petals flying away.”

She looks down at the mug, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth at the memory.

“I think I remember that the butterflies disappeared when she died. Just like that. Gone, each one of them. I’m sure I’m wrong, but that’s the image I have. Mistflowers without butterflies.”

Javi’s head is slightly cocked, his eyes soft and condoling. Eva meets his gaze across the table, and shrugs. Sips the tea.

“We had to sell quite soon after.”

“I sometimes wish pops would’ve done the same.”

He presses his lips together after that confession, glancing towards the living-room, evidently alarmed that Chucho may have heard him. The radio program is playing Johnny Cash, and a loud snore is heard. Eva wonders if it’s fake; is Chucho listening in? Or is he really deep in a post-dinner nap?

“Less hassle?” she asks quietly.

“Less memories.”

“You have the chance of taking the good with the bad. I had to pick which belongings I loved the most, and leave the rest. I was a kid, and all I wanted was my mom back. I had no idea what to pick.”

She doesn’t want to compare miseries, but for a moment, she’s jealous. Javi still had a functioning father, the ranch. But he chose to run away from it all. She was never given the choice.

He looks pensive, takes a sip of the tea. Nods at the mug when he puts it down.

“Good tea.”

“Just water and leaves,” Eva shrugs. “It’s not that hard.”

“You offered.”

His voice is so quiet she can barely hear him.

“That’s what counts.”

She shrugs again, unable to look at him. Quickly, she drains her mug, burning her mouth on the hot drink but doing her best to not show it.

“I’ll check on the horses. Good night.”

Heart pounding against her ribs, hands sweaty like she was sixteen and being asked to prom, Eva hurries out of the house and takes her refuge in the stable.

///

Chucho took the Ford truck, leaving Javier with the old Toyota with no working AC. The sun’s beating down from a clear blue sky and Javier’s lavender shirt is dark with sweat in no time when he takes lunch out to the crew. He opens the windows, hoping for at least the slightest breeze when driving.

They have herded the cows to the man-made lake surrounded by trees on the west side of the property. The animals drink, rest underneath the trees, and the cowhands are lazily trotting by the water’s edge, keeping the horses on long leashes to allow them to drink. Javi parks the truck underneath a live oak, startling a few calves that get up and leave. Their antipathy towards him disturbing them is expressed in upset mooing, and Javi throws a muttered curse their way. He wipes his sweaty brow and draws a deep breath, only to have his lungs fill with heat. He gets out of the car and hopes for a breeze, but finds none. With heavy steps, he walks to the back of the car, and grabs the cooler.

Eva, riding Zorro, comes trotting towards him. She looks flushed and tired when she dismounts and ties the horse to a low-hanging branch.

“Water,” she says curtly, and Javi hands her a bottle. She drinks greedily before breathing deeply and removing her hat so she can hold the cold bottle to her glistening forehead.

“The cattle okay?” Javi asks, knowing by now that she’s unlikely to answer any questions about her own well-being, but will talk about the cows until the second coming. And the cows don’t handle heat very well.

“Yeah, at least so far. They’re taking it easy.”

Miguel, Pete, and Johnny come over as well, and Javier catches a glare from the youngest man. Or does he? Maybe he’s imagining it. Whether or not there is a rivalry, he’s tired of thinking about it.

They eat in silence underneath the oak, insects buzzing around them, the high whine of crickets punctured every now and then by bovine sounds. The heat is pressing Javi’s eyes shut, making him sleepy and sluggish. It’s hard to focus on anything.

The two seniors are slumbering, backs propped against the tree trunk, and Johnny is chewing on a long grass straw. Eva is keeping an eye on the cattle, fingers drumming quietly against her thighs. The back of her t-shirt is dark with sweat, and when she bows her head to wipe her forehead, Javi catches droplets running down the back of her neck.

He looks away, ashamed by the thoughts that form in his slack brain.

A loud bellow disperses his thoughts. Frowning, Eva comes to her feet and starts to walk in the direction of the sound. The cattle move nervously, letting her through. When Johnny gets up as well, and the two older men start to shift, Javi feels compelled to not be worse than any of them. They all follow Eva until she stops and holds out her arm to the side, elbow bent in a ninety degree angle, fist closed. The order to stop is so clear that even if Javi hadn’t seen it in the field in Colombia, he would have still understood it.

“I think we have a snake here somewhere,” she calls out. “Watch where you put your feet.”

Eyes trained on the grass in front of her, she resumes her walk, now at a faster pace. As the cattle disperse, Javi sees a calf on the ground, its muzzle already swelling up.

“Shit.”

Eva is kneeling by the animal, looking it over.

“It needs antibiotics,” she tells the men. “You have any at the ranch? Tetracyclines?”

Johnny nods quickly. “Medicine cabinet in the stable.”

“Javi?” Eva looks up at him. “Can you go get it?”

“It’ll take me forty minutes there and back again,” he tells her, hesitant about the calf’s chances. Its breathing is already sounding strained. “Can we get it onto the truck?”

“That animal weighs close to 300 pounds!” Johnny protests, but Miguel and Pete are already working something out.

“Tarp at the back of the truck. Get it under her, and we’ll all try to shift her.”

Javi dashes off to the truck to get the tarp.

“Ropes, we need to bind her legs so she stays still – “

“Get the tarp!”

“How’s her breathing?”

“Truck, Javi, get the truck here!”

Barely fifteen minutes later, Javi’s speeding through the grounds as fast as he dares to, Eva and the calf on the truck bed. It took every ounce of strength the five of them had to lift it, and his arms and back are aching. But now at least the poor critter stands a chance.

He keeps throwing backwards glances in the rearview mirror, never seeing anything but the back of Eva’s neck, and her shoulders. When he’s back at the homestead and pulls up next to the stable, she’s swinging over the side of the bed before he’s even come to a full stop, and is inside the stable before he’s even out of the car.

She’s back in a heartbeat, a first aid kit in hand. Pulling out a syringe and a little vial of liquid, she checks the instructions in the kit before filling the syringe, and shooting it into the calf’s neck. The animal’s labored breathing and swollen muzzle stay the same, and Javi doesn’t really know what to expect. Eva pets the calf’s head, murmuring soft words in Spanish, and when he shifts unsurely, she looks up at him.

“Call the vet and let them know what’s going on.”

He nods, grateful for something to do, a chance to be useful. Walking up to the house, he once again tells himself that he needs to get a cell phone.

The vet gives him instructions and promises to come out a little later to check on the calf, and Javi brings back the news to Eva, who’s now sitting on the edge of the bed, the calf’s head in her lap. The animal is still breathing with difficulty, but it doesn’t sound as bad as it did earlier, and the dark, moist eyes seem a little more curious.

“Is she better?” Javi asks, a little surprised at the development. Eva smiles down at the animal and scratches it behind the little horns.

“It looks like it.” She sounds relieved, almost happy. Javi smiles as some of the tension starts to leave his shoulders. He starts to feel his body in a different, yet more unwelcome way: his soaked shirt, the tremble in his arm muscles, his hurting back, his hair plastered on his skull. He’s thirsty and warm.

“The vet’s on his way. Said we did everything right.”

He passes his hand through his sweaty hair and down his slick neck.

“How did you know what to do?”

Eva scoffs. “You think this is my first rodeo? I’ve been here before. Adult cows are so large that they usually don’t react at all to the poison, but little ones like this…”

“300 pounds is not that little,” Javi grunts, leaning against the truck. “My back’s going to kill me tomorrow.”

“It’s hardly her fault if you don’t know how to lift with your legs.”

He likes the bickering. It makes him think that she trusts him. He hopes that she does.

By the time the vet arrives, the calf is already on its feet and has been coaxed down a ramp. After a check-up, the vet gives it a clean bill of health, and by the time he leaves the homestead, the sun is getting low. Chucho returns, having struck a deal about the horse which is to be transported to Big River in the following week, and the ranch hands come back, Zorro in tow after Johnny. The calf, now increasingly unhappy, is placed in Chucky’s box for overnight observation, before being returned to the field the following morning.

///

Javi recounts the day’s events for Chucho over dinner, and the old man seems pleased.

“Quick thinking,” he praises Eva, who just shrugs.

“Not the first time I’ve been in that situation,” she brushes it off. She’s seen many a snake-bitten animal in her life, and while the amount of venom won’t affect a fully grown cow or horse, the young ones don’t have enough body mass to fight it off. And as the bites usually occur on the face, it often leads to breathing difficulties.

“And it was a team effort. Wouldn’t have been able to shift her on my own, or just with a couple of us there. It was dumb luck that Javi happened to be there with the truck.”

“Miguel said he spotted the snake, and killed it,” Javi fills in. “Copperhead, apparently.”

“Many more where that one came from,” Chucho adds. “They usually stay clear of the cattle, but the heat makes all animals act strange.”

Eva hums, finishing up her dinner.

“I gotta go check on the calf. She wasn’t happy about being in the stable. Thanks for dinner.”

The miserable cries of the calf travel out of the open stable doors, and only when Eva gets into the box with it, does it grow more placid.

“You miss your mama, don’t you?” Eva speaks softly to it, scratches it between the budding horns, passes her hands over its soft ears, accepts its tongue in the palm of her hand. “Have you eaten at all? No? You are weaned, you poor little thing. You can have whatever the horses are having.”

The calf whines as Eva leaves the box to feed the horses, and it doesn’t eat until she comes back to it to pet it over the back.

“I’m going to be stuck with you all night, aren’t I?” she sighs. “Okay, then. Bring it. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

She doesn’t mind. The stable with its ventilation and concrete floor is cooler than the cabin, and she enjoys the company of the animals. Returning to the cabin only to pick up a book, she makes a quick detour to the main house to get a treat for the animals. Finding Javier doing the dishes, she stops momentarily at the sight of his broad shoulders, slightly hunched over the sink. The house is pleasantly cool, and he changed his shirt before dinner, but she can still smell his sweat, sweet and musky. The t-shirt is olive green, and tucked into his jeans, bound by a belt around his narrow waist. There is something so contradictory about his masculine body, the way he moves it, and the traditionally feminine chore he’s currently engaged in. It makes her curious, gives her the impulse to slowly peel him open, like an onion. Expose every layer. Smell whatever it is that makes him him.

“You okay?”

She never saw him turn around and catch her staring at him. A small smile in the corner of his mouth tells her that he knows.

“I’m fine,” she replies immediately. “Came to get some apples and carrots.”

“You going to spoil those animals again?”

“You bet.”

“The calf will be fine, you don’t need to sit with it all night.” Javi puts the last items to dry in the rack next to the sink, and reaches for a towel.

“I won’t,” she guarantees, before slipping out of the kitchen with several apples and a couple of carrots.

///

It’s midnight, and the lights are still on in the stable when Javier makes his way across the yard to it. Cricket song and the occasional snort from a sleeping horse is all he can hear. Softly, he makes his way to Chucky’s old box, and looks into it.

Eva and the calf are asleep, curled up in the hay, her spooning the animal with an arm thrown over the round belly, her other arm serving as a pillow to both herself and the animal. He almost bursts out laughing, but manages to pipe it down, instead grinning widely when remembering her promise about not staying there all night.

Silently making his way out of the stable, he turns off the lights, closes the doors, and returns to the main house, where he showers before falling into bed and a deep, dreamless sleep.

[probably-enjolras]

r.e. disabled les amis headcanons: omg please add yours

yay someone wants to hear mine! some of this will be projection on my part. i’m disabled myself, i need a cane to walk because of a condition called Amplified Musculoskeletal Pain Syndrome (AMPS) which is very similar to fibromyalgia. i’m also going to include some neurodivergent and mental illness headcanons, but i know some people don’t consider those disabilities, but from my own experience with them, i do, so that’s why i’m adding them!

jean valjean has chronic back pain, specifically a problem with the discs in the upper spine, from his time in prison. gradually gets worse as he gets older because of lack of treatment and him triggering the pain himself by lifting the crashes cart and then marius in the sewers. in my modern aus i like to think he gets an upper back/neck and shoulder brace that he wears, and he’s a bit insecure about it so that’s why he’s always wearing big coats even in aus where he’s not being pursued by javert

javert, marius, and enjolras are autistic. javert has known most of his life but marius wasn’t diagnosed until his late teens due to lack of familial support. enjolras would have been diagnosed as a kid but he’s afab and there’s lack of diagnosis for afab children and he doesn’t get diagnosed until he’s in his 20s after doing his own research.

enjolras, grantaire, courfeyrac, and bossuet have adhd. enjolras and bossuet have more hyperactive traits, enjolras’ manifesting in his need to constantly be doing something and chronic boredom, while bossuet doesn’t display his as physical hyperactivity but more racing thoughts and an inability to slow his mind down. courfeyrac and grantaire have more attention deficit issues. they can’t focus on one topic for a while unless they go into hyperfocus or it’s a hyperfixation. grantaire has a lot of self worth issues because of his adhd because growing up he was seen as a bad student and a bad child because of his attention issues and executive dysfunction. courfeyrac got medicated really early on in childhood. enjolras did too and it becomes a bit of an issue between him and grantaire because grantaire doesn’t start medication until he’s about 24 and enjolras has been on medication for a long time and he’s kinda forgotten about how difficult it can be being unmedicated so he thinks grantaire isn’t trying enough. that changes when the pharmacy won’t refill enjolras’ medicine and he has to go a week without it. it’s a really humbling experience he apologizes to grantaire once he’s back on meds (this is based on personal experience actually… i didn’t start meds until a few months ago and i had a friend who started meds in middle school do what enjolras did and ur sucked)

joly had to get his knee joint replaced through surgery and still can’t walk properly without pain in the area so he walks with a cane. he also has an autoimmune disorder that makes him get sick really easily, as well as chronic fatigue and brain fog that makes it hard to complete daily tasks even when he has a low pain day. he also has very bad anxiety that sometimes manifests in worrying about his health excessively and vigilance about staying healthy because he knows that if he even gets a cold, it will be worse for his body than someone without a chronic illness

cosette and eponine both have c-ptsd from living with the thenardiers, and i have so much to say about this that i’m thinking about making an entirely separate post about it. just know that both of them have trauma responses, with cosette becoming very docile and a chronic people pleaser because she doesn’t want to get in trouble even though she won’t be punished like that anymore, while eponine has become hardened by her trauma and puts up walls so she doesn’t get hurt. she also gets frequent nightmares about her siblings being hurt and wakes up sweaty and almost screaming. gavroche came home late one day and eponine was on the verge of a panic attack even though it had only been half an hour

combeferre is blind in one eye and his other eye is partially damaged so he doesn’t have very good depth perception in what he can see, and he also has very limited color vision

feuilly is deaf and grantaire is HoH. feuilly’s primary form of communication is sign language, though he can lip read but not very well. all the amis know basic signs like how to ask if he wants some water/food, hellos and goodbyes, and how to sign their names. once feuilly becomes close with them, he creates signs specifically for their names, which at least in the american d/Deaf/HoH community is very special. a very close family friend of mine is HoH and he gave me a name sign when i came out as trans (it’s a quick movement of the letters R and Y up in the position where male signs are signed like “father”) grantaire is hard of hearing and has hearing aids. sometimes when he fights with enjolras he just takes out his hearing aids and just lets enjolras keep going until he realizes what’s going on.

this next one is very personal to me and is something i don’t think i’ve ever seen before, but i hc jehan with having schizoaffective disorder (bipolar type). i personally have this disorder and i have found some comfort thinking jehan has it too. they started having mood symptoms first, which started as a depressive episode and then suddenly they felt like they had been shocked into a manic episode. once the mania started they began having delusions of grandeur and the belief that they were a prophet sent to help the world. they began thinking people were after them and they heard voices from “angels” telling them what to do. they started writing poetry as a way to get the voices out of their head and onto paper. it took two years to get a diagnosis and a some very rough nights where they weren’t sleeping and would show up to meetings with delusional ideas, and they were scared. they refused to go to the hospital but needed help, so grantaire took them to the community out reach center that he goes to for alcohol addiction treatment and jehan got a psychiatrist who started them on antipsychotics and a mood stabilizer. i like to think that jehan got better quickly, just because i’ve had this disorder for a very long time and i’ve tried almost every antipsychotic out there and im not really better, so i want them to not have my experience. they were accepting of treatment pretty easily, but they did worry that their poetry wouldn’t be the same afterwards. fortunately, they channeled their frustration into poetry as opposed to writing what they were hearing and even though their poetry changed once they got on medicine, they didn’t lose their ability to write it. they’ve also learned how to have confidence in themself and the revolution without becoming delusional, which did take time because hearing enjolras’ strong ideas, it just felt like too much for a while. but the longer they’ve been stable and connected to reality, the easier it becomes to believe that yes, some things may seem improbable, but they can still happen AND some ideas are delusions and can be differentiated between the improbably ideas

bahorel has hypermobile joints and has to be careful when boxing with grantaire because he has subluxed or even fully dislocated his shoulders, elbows, and finger joints while boxing. jehan bought him some colorful finger braces and has stitched patterns into his knee and elbow braces

that’s enough for now because this is getting really long but yeah. lots of projection on my part (whoops) but what is this blog without me projecting my issues onto les mis characters? is this not what this blog is based on 😂

[sandersgrey]

Alexxxxx

What are your headcanons for Kit's medical problems?

I found them on some of your posts but then I realized I don't know what half of those are-

Bestie which ones. Im putting this boy through the ringer-

Mostly I have three hcs/AUs:

1. Chronic Hanahaki AU: Kit obvs has hanahaki, which causes coughing fits where Kit throws up flowers, chronic fatigue, chronic pain, etc. It wont kill him, but it fucks with his immune system and would likely shorten his life expectancy. This is not relevant to my general headcanons.

2. ADHD and C-PTSD Kit, which i STAND FOR this is CANON CC just doesnt know it yet. Kit urgently needs therapy and a psychiatrist. The ADHD is genetic and self explanatory, the Complex PTSD is due to Johnny's A+ parenting and part of the reason why the events in tda fucked Kit over so much.

3. Astigmatism and myopia. No FUCKING way Johnny took Kit to regular eye doctor appointments, and the bitch barely got to see the sun, he was stuck home most of the time and the Shadow Market was nocturnal, you cant tell those are great conditions. Kit cant see shit after a certain distance and his eyes are sensitive to light.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

[cherry-glade]

only ever pain (until you)

pairing: jason todd x reader

summary: it’s been a while since this has happened—jason’s been having a good run—but life is always out to get him, and soon enough, he's curled up into a ball of nothing but pain, aching muscle and brittle bone. luckily, like the last few times, he has you now to help him get through it.

warnings: some angst, jason being mostly touch-averse in this, jason also being quite self-deprecating, sensory overload, hurt/comfort, ptsd and hallucinations, chronic illness (fibromyalgia).

w/c: 4786 words

Jason doesn't know why it happens—maybe it's a side effect of either the Lazarus Pit, or of living in a world that he doesn’t belong in, where he should technically be dead, or perhaps it's just the trauma from the Joker's beating coming back to haunt him—but some days, it's as though all Jason is capable of feeling is pure, unadulterated pain.

He knows that it’s going to be one of those days from the minute he wakes up, wincing and turning away as the sun peeks through the window and makes his eyes sting, even though they’re still closed. He tries to roll over onto his stomach, not realising that the sheets are tangled up around his legs, and ends up falling off the bed with a dull thud, knee bashing into the floor.

Shoving the sheets away, Jason pushes himself up into a sitting position, stretching his leg out and noticing the faint redness to his skin, but he doesn’t take much note of it as he rubs at his surprisingly sore knee, preoccupied by the sudden throbbing pain in his head and behind his right eye, a sure sign of an incoming migraine.

Groaning, he stands up, damn near clinging onto the bedside table for support as he picks up his phone up and taps on the screen to check the time. It’s nearly noon, so you must already be at work. Jason usually wakes up on time though for you to kiss him goodbye, and the fact that he didn’t today is just another sign that things are probably going to end up going to shit.

Jason’s legs feel weak as he walks to the bathroom. He swears he can feel each individual fibre in the carpeting, rough against his feet. Jason pushes on and relieves himself before washing his hands and splashing cold water onto his face, nearly collapsing into a heap on the floor, but he manages to catch himself before he cracks his head open on the sink.

”You look like a piece of shit that got turned into roadkill, and are very lucky that Y/N isn’t here right now to witness this,” Jason says to his reflection in the mirror above the sink as he leans forward, noting his bloodshot eyes and the bags underneath them, skin paler than usual.

He blinks hard at the mirror and then stumbles out towards your kitchen, regretting not putting any socks on first as his bare feet come into the contact with the tiled floor, cold and leeching any remaining heat from his body. Jason fills the kettle up with water and switches it on, studying the darkening bruise on his knee as he waits for it to come to a boil.

Surprisingly enough, the bruise is already reddish in colour, almost verging on purple and tender to the touch as Jason prods at it with his fingers like a curious child, hissing at the pain radiating from it. He tries his best to ignore the dull ache as he makes himself a quick cup of jasmine tea, specially bought for him by Alfred, fingers trembling all the while.

Jason has to pick up his mug with both hands, taking a moment to let the warmth of the tea seep through his body, and then makes the mistake of taking a step back towards the bedroom. He vaguely recalls having a conversation with Tim and Damian, a while ago now, about if he would rather walk on heated coals or a trail of Legos. Remembers Damian absentmindedly mentioning that he’d already done the former as part of his training in the League of Assassins.

Remembers chiming in himself and saying that he’d done the same, then having to squirm away from Dick when he’d gotten that oddly sad look on his face as soon as Damian mentioned it—that look that said Jason was going to get a hug whether he liked it or not. Jason had barely escaped by pushing Damian into Dick’s arms instead, and Dick had apparently been appeased by that as he curled around Damian like an octopus, still giving Jason puppy eyes.

This, right now? Taking this single step? It feels infinitely worse than both options combined.

Jason grits his teeth and forces himself through walking the few paces to your shared bedroom, feeling like he’s about to collapse onto the floor the whole way. He has to take a break when he reaches the doorway, clinging to the doorframe with one hand, and tries to keep his other hand to stay as still as physically possible so it doesn’t spill, even as the handle of the mug feels bruising against his palm.

Jason takes a moment to breathe in deep, resisting the urge to claw at his own neck and chest as his pulse quickens and his heart beats harder against his ribs, as the insistent buzz under his skin grows even more insistent, like it’s trying to seek his attention over the throb of his migraine, over the ever-growing pain in his knee and his trembling hands and his dry throat and chapped lips and the keen desire to have you by his side.

Jason isn’t even exaggerating when he says it feels like it’s been years when he finally reaches the bed, practically falling down onto it. With shaky hands, he brings the mug to his mouth, breathing in the subtle sweetness through his nose before taking a sip of the tea, regretting it immediately when it feels as though molten lava is being poured down his throat, clogging it up to the point that Jason’s nose burns when he tries to force down the urge to choke.

Instead of being stupid and trying to drink any more of it, Jason decides to set the mug down on the bedside table so he can wait for it to cool down, his hand jerking when he sees something other than tea in it. Jason stares helplessly, frozen in place as liquid spills over the rim of the mug and trickles down its side, leaving a faint stain on it, the colour reminiscent of dried blood. He blinks when his eyes start to water, and the tea is its usual colour again, a rich, golden caramel.

Jason stares for a little while longer and then decides to get back into bed so he can wait, for both his tea and you. Curling up into a ball is easier said than done, especially when he can feel every single hair on his body rubbing against the sheets when he pulls them close to his chest, then yanks the covers over his head like he’s trying to smother the pain as he squeezes his eyes shut.

His last thought before unknowingly succumbing to the darkness of sleep, selfish as it might be, is that though he hates being so reliant upon you, though it makes him feel weak and not so different from a leech, asking for everything from you and giving nothing in return, he wants to hear your voice telling him that he will get through this, and that you’ll be with him every step of the way.

***

Jason awakes from his restless slumber to the sound of someone knocking on the bedroom door, even though he remembers leaving it open. He knows it’s you though, because you’re the only one who ever bothers knocking anymore, even if the door is open, in an attempt to give him the space he sometimes needs. He tries his best to focus through the pain and realises that you’re knocking in a pattern, the same pattern you established with each other a while ago to ask if he was okay.

Jason nearly bites through his lip to stop himself from crying out as he reaches an arm out from under the covers to knock on the wood of the bedside table thrice, the nauseatingly coppery taste of blood lingering on his tongue. He wants you to tell him everything is going to be okay, even though he knows it isn’t going to be that way for a while, if only to delude himself into thinking so.

“Jay? Are you having a day?” You call out softly, and the ringing in his ears doesn’t stop him from hearing you shuffle your feet. Jason ignores the sound of his teeth grinding together as he summons the energy to peek out at you, squinting at how you’re stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob with both feet firmly outside of the room. Somewhere deep inside him, past all the parts that scream with pain and hurt and anger, it warms him to see that you’ll still respect his boundaries.

He nods at you, regretting it when his migraine comes back with a vengeance. It feels like someone’s hammering at the inside of his head, trying to break out of it. “You okay with touching?” You whisper, finally stepping into the room.

He isn’t sure. Touching his thumb to his chin makes his skin burst into a flurry of sensation, and Jason only refrains from scratching at his face because he knows that you know he wants to do it, going by the stern look on your face. “Can try, but… not skin,” he rasps out, wincing at the way his voice sounds. It’s hoarse and raspy, like he’s been screaming for hours. He could’ve been, in his sleep.

You come closer, casually tugging a pair of gloves out of your pocket and sliding them on. Other than the fact that they’re very soft, the gloves aren’t anything special. When you first found out about the pain, it had been Jason wearing them so he wouldn’t scratch himself, but both of you quickly found out that the material was far too itchy against his sensitive skin, and now it’s you who wears them so that you can help him without accidentally touching his skin and sending him into a frenzy.

Jason watches you as you step in front of the bedside table and curl your hand around a mug that he hadn’t noticed until then. “Jasmine tea?” You ask him, and Jason holds his shaking hands out to take it, but you move it away and put the mug back down, shaking your head. “It’s gone cold. You must have made it before you went to sleep.”

“I—don’t remember,” Jason murmurs, suddenly feeling very lost. He thought you had made it for him. Your mouth twitches into a small frown as you study his face, and your hand rises like you’re about to touch him, faltering midway before falling back down to your side.

“I’m going to get you some water,” you say, waiting for Jason’s nod before leaving to do just that, and Jason knows you’re coming right back, but he somehow misses you even more now than he did when you were at work. His shoulders are tense until you return to his side with a small glass, half-full of water.

“Do you want me to hold it for you—”

“Can do it myself,” Jason interrupts you, insistent on doing at least this without having to be so dependent on you. But once the glass is in his hands, water keeps sloshing over the sides, his teeth clacking into it because of how much his hands are shaking. Your gloved hands come up to support his, holding the glass steady, and he does his best to shoot you a thankful look as he takes a careful sip. He’s sure it’s lukewarm, but it feels like shards of ice scraping against his throat, almost making Jason choke.

Once the glass is empty, you set it down with a clink and crouch down next to the bed, facing him. “Have you eaten?” You ask, and Jason just about manages to shake his head, feeling sick. Your frown deepens momentarily before smoothing out entirely as you stand up again, taking a few steps back so that you’re not looming over him.

His skin is itchy. He feels dirty. Jason doesn’t realise that he’s scratching until you say his name sternly, startling him when you place a gentle hand on top of his. Your eyes scan over his face, and you must see something on it because you straighten up, a somewhat determined look in your eyes as you slowly peel the covers off him, baring Jason’s body to the cold darkness of the bedroom.

“Bath time,” you tell him, a small smile on your face. Jason shivers violently.

“Dirty? Am I dirty?” He asks, vaguely aware of the fact that he’s slurring his words, focussing more on how hot his face feels. Your smile wavers and it feels like his blood is boiling inside him as you shake your head, muttering something to yourself about him getting worse.

“But—”

Jason looks down at his hands, which only shake even more when he sees crimson pooling in the crooks between his fingers, staining his cuticles red and drying into the lines of his cracked palms. Red drips from his fingertips, staining the sheets beneath him. He doesn’t want to touch you, to dirty you with his red hands.

“They’re dirty,” Jason says, showing you his hands, and you shake your head again.

“You’re not dirty,” you say out loud this time, looking Jason in the eye. “You’re having a bath because it’ll help with the pain,” you explain to him like he’s a child, but Jason can’t find it in himself to get annoyed. He shivers again, but this time it’s because of the sudden cold he feels, because of the goosebumps rising along the surface of his bare arms as the buzz under his skin roars for his attention.

“I’m not?” Jason asks, still hesitant, and you repeat yourself as your eyes flicker over his face, telling him that he isn’t dirty.

“Come on,” you gently coax him until Jason eventually pulls himself out of the safety of the bed, a whimper escaping from between his clenched teeth when his feet touch the floor and pain shoots through his body. Your eyes are glued to him, concern clearly written all over your face as Jason battles his way to the bathroom and then starts to undress as you fill the bathtub, resisting the urge to scratch as the fabric of his clothes drags uncomfortably over his skin.

He studies his trembling hands as you pour some odd-looking powder into the water, dipping your hand in and swirling it all together until you’re left with a slimy mixture. You turn to him with an expectant look on your face like you’re waiting for him to do something, and then it clicks, and Jason’s nose wrinkles as he presses his lips together in a thin line.

“Sweetheart, you need to actually get in for it to have any effect,” you remind him, a teasing undertone to your voice. Jason pulls a face and steps up to the tub, wincing as the muscles in his legs sprain when he tries to swing his leg over the edge to do as he’s been told. But you come up next to him, holding one of his hands as lightly as you can to support him as he manages to climb into the tub, slowly sinking down until he’s sat down and almost fully submerged.

For a moment, it’s almost too overwhelming for him, and then the continuous sensations of hot and cold and pain and numbness, of all too much and nowhere near enough, they all slowly ease. Jason sinks a little lower into the water, hands shooting out of the water to grip onto the sides of the bathtub so he can ground himself as he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, slowly breathing out through his nose.

Jason isn’t sure if he’s relieved or terrified by how easy it was to get his body to just shut up, but doesn’t ponder on it, revelling instead at how he can now simply feel without hurting so much.

He must zone out for quite some time though because he ends up tuning back in to the sound of your voice, smooth and familiar as you tell him about your day at work. You aren’t holding his hand anymore, but are still sat on the rug next to the bathtub, watching him with sharp eyes.

Once again, Jason is reminded of the fact that you’re too good for him, too good for someone with blood on his hands and vengeance on his mind, for someone who is capable of feeling nothing but anger in his heart. Once again, he wonders why you choose to stay, why you keep choosing him even though everyone else in his life does the opposite.

There’s an odd look on your face when Jason turns to look at you. You don’t say anything, not pushing him, but wait for him to speak in his own time. He’s fiercely reminded of how much he loves you and swallows down the lump in his throat which threatens to choke him.

“They’re red,” he finally croaks out, and his tongue feels too big for his mouth. “My hands are red, and they’re always gonna be red with people’s fucking blood, because that’s all I’m good at. That’s all I can do.”

“Jay—” you start, frowning, but he cuts you off with a shake of his head which makes him feel like he’s about to throw up.

His bloody hands shake. “I’m never going to be clean,” Jason whispers, but even that is too loud for his overly sensitive ears. “When people look at Red Hood, at me, that’s all they are ever going to see. Blood on my hands.”

“Jason, baby,” you murmur, and Jason doesn’t think he’s ever heard your voice so soft before. He turns his head to look down when your gloved fingers graze the tips of his, even though it makes him feel like his brain is pounding violently against the inside of his skull.

You’re asking if you can hold his hand, and Jason takes in a deep breath as he slowly uncurls his fingers from the death grip they previously had around the edge of the bathtub, then flips his hand over so his palm is facing upwards.

You don’t cover it with your own like he’s expecting, but manage to slide yours underneath Jason’s so that you’re cradling his hand. He has to fight hard against the instinct to snatch it back.

“You wanna know what I see?” You ask as your eyes fall to his hand, but it isn’t really a question, and if it is, it’s clearly rhetorical. Your gloved fingertip traces over the lines in his palm, and it doesn’t hurt as much as Jason had thought it would. Instead of thousands of tiny needles piercing through the surface of his skin, it just feels like sharp little pinpricks of sensation.

He looks up at you, and you look right back at him with soft eyes and a softer smile. Jason’s pretty sure his heart skips a beat in the same way it always does when you smile at him. “I see strength, and I see kindness, and I see good.”

Your eyes lower to look at his hand again. “I see scars and callouses and bruised knuckles, and fingers that haven’t healed right after being broken. I see the hands of a man who has worked hard every single day of his life, who doesn’t stop working even though it hurts sometimes, because he’s just like that.”

Your eyes meet, and Jason has to take in deep breaths after seeing the fierce look in your eyes, even though his chest is painfully tight. “I see hands that disarm bombs and shoot guns and break assholes’ noses. Hands that help and protect and love, so, so much.”

Jason exhales shakily through his nose, eyes stinging. He doesn’t deserve this, he knows that. He’s known that he doesn’t deserve you since the moment he met you, since the first time he dared to utter your name with his unworthy tongue, to touch you with his undeserving hands.

But you make him sound like this wonderful person, somebody who actually deserves to have you and love you, and Jason doesn’t know how you can see him like that. He’s killed and tortured and hurt people, both physically and emotionally, he’s not good at all, but he couldn’t bear to lose you if you ever came to the realisation that you’ve been wrong about him all along.

Loving you is the best thing he’s ever done, the greatest choice he’s ever made, and the closest he can get to being good is being good to you. If that’s taken away from him, he’s doomed to an eternity of making the wrong choices.

“When I look at you, I see someone who is brave and gentle and strong. So strong,” you emphasise with the gentlest squeeze to his hand, almost like you think if you put too much pressure on it, his bones will cave in and shatter beneath your touch into dozens of tiny pieces, just like Jason’s heart does whenever you say things like this to him, like you actually mean it.

“I see a man who has been hurt by the world around him so many times, but he’s come out fighting every time.” Jason flinches at that, turning away so he can watch the condensation slowly forming on the tap, a single water droplet threatening to spill from it.

“Jay,” you whisper shakily, and he can hear the swell of emotion in your voice. But Jason knows that you’re not asking him to turn back and face you again, though he feels like he should so he can lean in and kiss any revealing traces of wetness off your face, even if it makes his lips feel like they’re being seared right off his face as he touches them to your soft skin.

“I wish you could see what I do when I look at you,” you admit, eyes no longer burning into the side of his face as you steady your voice again, sounding like you’re determined to prove it to him, that he’s worthy of your love and time.

“You deserve every good thing in this cursed world that we live in, and I wish I could give you that, but I can’t,” you say, voice cracking halfway through your sentence, and you sound truly heartbroken about it, about the fact that—that Jason deserves more, and he’s not getting it.

The water droplet leaks from the tap and lands on the bottom of the tub with a faint splat. Jason doesn’t hear it because he’s too busy staring at your glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill over the delicate tips of your eyelashes and down your face.

You blink and a tear runs down your cheek, just one, leaving a faint streak on your face as you breathe in deeply through your nose, trying to pull yourself together before you speak again. “All I can give you is my love and my time, and hope that that’s enough for you.”

You look back down at his hand cradled in yours again and there’s a faint smile on your face, like you know something he doesn’t. “These hands which you think are red? The same hands which you think will only ever ruin everything they touch? They’ve never hurt me.”

“These hands right here?” You say, shaking his ever so slightly, but not so much that it hurts. “They hold me when I’m happy and when I’m sad, when I’m angry and when I need to feel safe.” Your eyes meet his again, bright with warmth and determination. “My heart is in these hands, Jason, and you’ve never done it wrong. Ever.” Jason briefly considers arguing with you but he really doesn’t have the energy to—this bath is making him strangely sleepy.

But you must see the intent in his eyes because you shake your head and continue, just as stubborn as he is. That isn’t a bad thing, not at all. It’s why you work so well together.

“When I got into a relationship with you, I trusted you to take care of my heart, and that’s exactly what you’ve done,” you explain. “So all I’m asking is that you trust me to take care of you, because I know you deserve it, whether you agree with me or not.”

Jason stares at you and you stare right back, your smile growing ever wider as Jason’s eyes dart away and his cheeks warm slightly. He loves you so much.

“I think you ought to know,” Jason starts, meeting your eyes as water trails slowly down the back of his neck, making him want to claw at his skin, to press his nails into it and drag them along the surface until it’s raw and itchy and as red as his bleeding heart. “If it weren’t for the fact that the thought of touching someone’s skin makes me want to peel the fucking flesh right off my bones, I’d be kissing the shit out of you right now.”

Your wet eyes go soft again, as does your trembling smile. “I appreciate the sentiment,” you laugh, undeniably fond, and even after all this time, it makes Jason want to squirm a little. He refrains, but just barely.

You stare at each other for a little while longer until you speak up again, asking if you can wash his hair. It’s not that he needs to have his hair washed, but he enjoys the feeling of your fingers in his hair, adores the sound of your voice as you tell him a story or sing to him to replace the silence or distract him from the thoughts racing around his mind.

So naturally, he agrees, and soon enough, he’s facing the wall with you balanced on the edge of the bathtub, warning him before you scoop up a handful of clean water and pour it over his hair. You start to hum a simple song, briefly pausing to tell that you’re going to shampoo his hair before continuing.

He tenses up, trying to prepare himself for the feeling of being overstimulated when your hands land in his hair, but warmth tingles through him instead in the same way that it does whenever you touch him with no plans other than to love him, and really, Jason was a fool to expect anything else, seeing as you’ve only ever touched him with the best intentions in mind.

“I love you,” Jason murmurs quietly, and you don’t tease him by telling him you know that like you sometimes do. Like Jason himself did when he finally became comfortable with the fact that he loves you and you love him too.

In fact, you don’t say anything at all, still humming that same song as you gently massage your fingers through his thick hair, paying particular attention to his white streak. It occurs to Jason that maybe you didn’t hear him.

Or maybe you just somehow know like you always do that this was something he needed to say, that it was something he needed to learn for himself without finding out that you knew how he felt before he did, something that he needed to come to terms with so he could finally put a name to the way you make his heart try to punch out of his rib cage and right into your hands whenever you smile at him or say his name or praise him, or kiss his tears away and take him into your arms after he’s had a nightmare without a word of complaint.

“I love you,” he repeats anyway, hoping for you to understand, and you try your best, leaning in to press your mouth to the wet skin on the back of his neck, mouthing words against it that Jason can’t quite make out, but he’s pretty sure he can have a good guess. It makes him shiver again, but in a good way this time.

“I love you,” he says a third time, and now you get it. Now you hear what he’s really saying.

I love you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for always choosing me. Thank you for helping me through this.

Your mouth curls into a smile against his skin. “I love you too, Jason,” you whisper, voice tender. And Jason hears what you’re saying too.

I love you. Thank you for letting me.

[gerrydelano]

what are your disability (or mental illness) headcanons? id love to hear em if you got any!

boy do i! i’ll list the ones we use in the gtcu under the cut ^_^

DISCLAIMER: assume everyone on this list has PTSD, that’s why georgie’s not listed because that’s mostly what we give her/it’s deliberately canon. sticking to major characters/the ones we write that have a strong bearing on the stories we personally tell! 

jon (comorbidity legend! and by that i mean - ouch!) 

neuro: autistic, ADHD, osdd-1a, OCD, schizoaffective

physical: hypermobile ehlers-danlos, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS), also i write him as a cane user following an injury to his left knee when he was 22! and of course any applicable neuropathy following worming, etc. 

notes: he’s had chronic pain all his life, it’s just There for him. also, he did speech therapy as a kid for his stutter and sometimes it comes back out when he’s stressed!

also, comorbidity really is a major thing. it does not get taken seriously enough. the fact of the matter is, if you have one thing, you are very likely to develop more things! especially with something like EDS, too, where you’re more likely to get hurt and get into shit that will worsen your health as time persists. 

and mental health wise, just try and tell me personally that it’s Not Realistic to have 5 diagnoses when that’s literally half the amount of my prof. diagnoses myself. it honestly just makes sense for him and he shows major symptoms of literally all of those things Right In Canon it’s not even a reach JVHBKFDN.

martin

neuro: autistic, ADHD, c-PTSD [meta], BPD [meta], OCD (with a heavy leaning on moral scrupulosity)

physical: nothing major! arthritis maybe

notes: i also have strong feelings about him with disordered eating due to his lifetime of poverty and abuse/neglect, it would do a Number on him. let him HEAL.

tim

neuro: ADHD, BPD [meta]

physical: deaf! and also in terms of canon any applicable worm neuropathy, etc.

notes: he didn’t really believe he was ADHD for a while because he was used to danny’s particular presentation of it and was like “pfff i don’t have that” except that he so does. borderline wise, he got some help for that in uni and has been managing himself as best he can for a long time, before y’know, shit breaks bad in canon. 

in terms of his hearing, he had otitis media very young and as a result had some repeated ear infections, it wasn’t As Bad at first as it could have been but worsened with time due to some genetic predisposition. if he had been born completely deaf his parents would have gone for a cochlear implant which SUCKS and boy does he hate that. he decorates his hearing aids with nail decals, it’s great. 

also, his canon way of speaking supports this! he enunciates very clearly and speaks with a sort of loud deliberation that we personally HC as being partly due to wanting to be able to hear himself speak/know he’s being clear. when he mumbles, he mumbles. either he’s audible in the next country or he is speaking to ants.

sasha

neuro: autistic, ADHD, PTSD (specifically from her parents’ deaths)

notes: huh. wow. elias really did just hire a shitload of people with ADHD because it’d be so fun to watch them run around like headless chickens didn’t he

gerry (another comorbidity legend everything is a nightmare)

neuro: dissociative identity disorder (surprise! you don’t get raised by mary keay without developing that, sorry! check this tag for more on that.)

physical: hEDS, POTS, limps with his right leg due to a childhood injury, other various effects of scars and such

notes: i also HC him as a recovering addict, and in PBR i’m going to be writing him as eventually becoming a partial wheelchair user because of his POTS - it makes it hard to stand/walk for long periods of time, and even if he can get through something intense in the moment, it’s gonna have consequences and he needs to be able to recover from stressing his body out. i think we need more protags in wheelchairs, and i also like tackling it being partial because of the stigma surrounding people who use chairs being able to walk sometimes? like. it doesn’t mean they don’t need the chair and that the chair doesn’t benefit their life shut up

melanie

neuro: autistic, bipolar 1

physical: obviously her canon blindness when applicable, chronic pain from Slaughter Leg when applicable (sometimes things go differently for her in the plot depending what we write)

notes: we also give her a history with disordered eating but we’re a recovery household okay! she did spend some time institutionalized as a teenager, following the death of her mother which caused her burgeoning mood disorder to snowball in a Bad Way.

danny (because we might as well put him in here due to how we write him!)

neuro: ADHD, a major helping of PTSD 

physical: the after-effects of scars received during his time at the circus

notes: in HLM, his PTSD manifests most loudly with the trauma bond to the circus/the contortionist and he age regresses/dissociates when he’s triggered! age regression is not at all some inherently creepy thing and has nothing to do with Stuff you might see online, it’s very common and he just needs a safe place to be able to come back to himself.

adelard (the ones i use for him in PBR, since his being alive AND disabled are both important to his role there!)

neuro: generally you don’t get to the point in life he has without some PTSD, but he’s honestly managed to process it better than uhhhh. most of the rest of these guys!

physical: lower leg amputation and deformity of three fingers following his encounter with amherst

notes: i write him as using a prosthetic and a cane, but the two times that’s happened have been outright emergencies that he pushed himself to be present for in ways that have consequences (both physically, and from his very concerned wife.) overall, he’s stepped away from the field to recuperate at home with his family and so tends to leave it off and spends more time sitting, and in a wheelchair that any number of his family members are insistent upon pushing him around in. let the man rest.

i also imagine d*isy would have some fibromyalgia at the very least following the buried considering the atrophy and stress but eh. also, basira’s autistic, as well. i don’t plan on doing anything with that going forward personally.

i keep feeling like i’ve forgotten people but overall these are the major ones i am Constantly thinking about and actively portray! 

the best part of all of this is how extremely likely and common All of these things are and how much sense they make with the characters’ canon experiences!!!! comorbidity is not rare at all! people have more than one thing going on! and there’s WAY more than one or two disabled people in a group i can Tell You That Right Now. i love realism and organic representation it’s just very easy to spot these things when you’re also mentally ill/neurodivergent and disabled yourself pbthth. i love to have fun