#fictional chronic pain

[newbornwhumperfly]

what water says as it plummets...

i'll be honest, fellas? 🥺💖🥺 this one is a plot point i'd built up for a long time and it sort of poured out of me all at once in this chapter 💖 it's a little rougher than i'd like due to sleepiness but i'm so happy to bring this character to my audience in this @whumpmasinjuly prompt - day 15: a soft reprieve - cause i'm sure you'll love her. 🥰

title insp. by the poem "interview" by jordan kapono nakamura - "i have extensive experience in studying what water says as it plummets..."

~

“Okay, honey, you can hop up on the table whenever you’re ready.”

Sarai has found that Morja, as a patient, generally prefers orders. That’s to be expected, for sure. It’s usually safer to be told what to do when you’re told what to do every day of your life and Morja has often frozen, still and quiet, when offered an option right away. So, the best way to start these appointments is to sort of sound like she’s telling him what to do. 

Every patient is different and has different needs from their doctor. In this way, every patient is the same.

Sure enough, Morja’s shoulders go down a notch from their raised tension as he hoists himself to sit on the bench. He’s been…less tense with each visit, especially recently. He even took one of the candies Sarai offered without protesting. 

But today, something is…different about Morja. Or, moreso, something is the same, some pattern that has been shifting is fixed, cold and solid, in place in Morja’s countenance.. There is a way that Morja holds himself, tight, rigid, that comes and goes, but there is something even worse that she’s observed - it was the dead, resigned bracing in his face when he first got an exam. It was as if he was locked in around the certainty of a terrible thing, his body merely a vessel which would carry whatever was to come. 

He looks like that now, his hands and the mass of scar tissue they hold not clenched loosely or folded politely, but laid palm-up in his lap, still but for the twitch of a finger, and it sends the familiar pulse of knowing down Sarai’s spine. 

Knowing isn’t the only thing that is pulsing in her body - the tidal wave is cresting earlier than usual. 

The familiar ocean of pain, her vision of it, has crept up on her, busy with setting up shop, with answering messages, with putting in another order that wasn’t refilled because prescriptions are delayed and not being a civilian is not much of a fucking advantage with medication the past two months. The whirlpool centers at her spine, radiating down the leg in a strong current, and she winces as she rubs her thigh. Okay, we’re doing things a little differently today. 

“Hey, Morja? Would it be okay if we did some of our appointment stuff on the couch today?” She thinks about leaving it at that. Remembers, with a slow, purposeful inhale, how vulnerability is a gift to others, as well as yourself. You’re not exempt from being nice to yourself, girl. “I’m having some, uh, bad pain today and I think the exam would be easier in my office, if that’s alright with you?”

At that, change ripples through Morja’s body. Under the industrially bright bulbs, his strained face falters, briefly, but what comes in place of listlessness is…a sort of determined expression. Not bracing, only…something, Sarai’s thinking wavers under the fog rolling off the water. It’s something. 

“Of- Yes, Doctor.”

The crinkle of the gown, the rustle of climbing off the table, the shuffle of feet in socks across the floor as Sarai turns herself towards her office. Luckily, her warm corner is only a few feet away and the couch beckons like a haven. It’s a shitty couch, sure, but military bases can’t be choosers and it’s new, which means its firmness holds up the parts of her body that need it. She actually sighs as she sinks down into the cushions, pats the neighboring cushion in a sit gesture. 

The careful exhale of breath beside her as Morja sits, careful and precise as he always is, tells her that the softness of cushion is a relief from the hard plastic of the table as much as the relief for her being off her feet is. She smiles at him to let him know his moves were right and lays her cane to rest against the companion side-table, stretching out her limbs to make room for the little streams of voltage pinpricking her skin from the inside. She can tell, now, just by the way he didn’t try to stand at attention, hands clasped behind his back, that she did the right thing. 

In the softening shadow of her purple-shaded lamp, Morja looks so small on the couch. For all his bulk, the muscle that has been so pounded into those broad shoulders, the wide torso hard and sturdy as a sack of potatoes, he doesn’t fill up the space much at all. Tucked into the corner, folded neatly, compact, trying not to draw attention. 

Sarai lifts the stethoscope, the warmed metal a comfort in hands that move with shaky slowness, deliberate and obvious when pressing it against Morja’s back, her murmured breathe in for me, please, now out, now in, very good a rhythm she could say in her sleep, her focus on the measure of his pulse. Listening to this man’s lungs make it impossible to not listen to other parts of his body. How the texture of scar rises to meet the shirt that covers it. How even those ridges are and how they rise with his breathing into her hand. There are so many. 

“Doctor?”

Sarai is almost startled by the sound of Morja’s voice. He is so quiet, often, in the examination room. She wonders if it is the softly-lit enclave of her office nook which prompts him to speak first or the intensity of whatever state he’s in. Sarai smoothly folds her hands in her lap, visible and also at a safe distance. 

“Yeah, Morja?” Her voice is slower, the tide catching up to her a little, dragging the lilt away a bit, and she doesn’t quite swallow back a wince at the depth her pain is dragging her voice down to. Morja doesn’t seem to get snagged on the roughness though, his body leaning forward, brow wrinkling up in an intense concentration expression and Sarai tries hard to be alert. She’s so glad there is no sterile smell or bright light to distract her. “What’s up?”

“...Your cane is…pretty. Why, Doctor?”

Damn. So it’s that kind of mood. Huh. 

Fuck, she’s watery, the pulsing little hammers at her temples, her knees, her back, are trying to pull her away from the conversation. But she breathes in, out, in a hum that lets him know she heard, she’s thinking. 

“Great question, Morja.” Sarai says softly, at last, making a rainwater of her voice, flowing with the pain and the rolling mists. Working with her body, not against it. The bright hues of the cane pull her focus and she lets that be her guide. She was feeling…blueish, today, and her blueberry earrings, her sea-deep dress, mirror the cobalt-on-white, delicate patterns on mimicking porcelain teacups, spiral up to the sturdy handle, its blue velvet cushion, anything but fragile as a dish. “Pretty things make me feel better. And…since my cane is me, ya know, it makes sense that it makes me feel better. I hurt a lot some days and, uh, I figure I deserve all the help I can get, so, gotta give it to myself.” 

Her gaze drifts back to Morja’s face and his eyes are deep wells that meet her own. A groove of emotion carved deep into the valleys and ridges, scar after scar, rough terrain hiding buried treasure. So dark in their brown they approach black and the color is what guides her brain again, guides her to recognize the furrow between those eyes, the shadows beneath. The spasm of pain in her chest is not from any illness, only an emotion. The weight of pretty as it fell out of his mouth is the weight of his body on this couch. A luxury Morja  (believes, so strongly believes he) can’t have. 

It only lasts a moment, less than a heartbeat, before Morja looks away and Sarai is unable to swim after it. She’s quite sure he never meant to look her in the eye. She’s quite sure that he wanted to. Morja’s mouth is no longer slack and a frown is an expression, better than nothing. 

The fog thickens around the corners of her eyes, head going all syrup again, thick sugar, bitter as burning caramel, and she breathes out, out, out through a cluster of needles up and down her neck. Fuuuuuuuck. The back of her head thumps against the wall, the darkness of her lids pressing back the dizziness. 

“Hey, Morja? I’m a little out of it- I’m okay, it’ll pass, but do you want to sit in here with me or sit in the exam room? No wrong answers, honey.” 

Her voice is a rumble in her chest and she breathes out the wince, the tremors rocking the tilt behind her lids precariously. 

“Can I…change back into my clothes?”

Oh, honey. 

Her lid cracks, as does the corner of her mouth, and though he’s blurry, she wants the sunlight of how pleased she is of him asking for a thing to break through her cloud of exhaustion. 

Fuck, her head hurts so much, but she’s proud and glad, ouch ouch ouch. 

“‘Course, Morja, gra’ me a can’y when y’get yourself on, pl���se...” 

The rustle of Morja leaving and returning is close together, time doing its foamy thing while she counts her breaths, but the press of a wrapped peppermint, round and crinkly, in her palm is so gentle. 

The couch sinks and settles into the shape of another body, doing the thing she is doing, leaning back into the firm crevices that hold you up. The soft-crunch sounds of the wrapper as she squeezes her fist around it, as Morja unwraps his own candy, as she tries to just kind of be as Morja is on the spot beside her. 

The office is dark and cool and quiet and they’re both in good company right now. 

“...It’s nice. The candy.” 

A flat whisper, halting and small and brave, fumbling across the inches in the dark. 

A flat answer fumbles back, warm and limping and still good enough to greet him.

“I'm glad, Morja. It's really nice.”

~

sincerely hoped you all enjoyed this venture into my story 🥺💖🥺 sarai baptiste is the team's medic who is stationed at base forthill and she's disabled and kind and badass as hell and deserves the world 😢💖✨😍

taglist: @much-ado-about-whumping @haro-whumps @whump-tr0pes @i-eat-worlds @wolfeyedwitch

@straight-to-the-pain @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whatgoeswhumpinthenight

@tears-and-lilies @whumping-every-day @whumpthisway @stoic-whumpee @liliability

@whumpster-draganies @whumpzone @suspicious-whumping-egg @lave-whump @kixngiggles

have a very merry @whumpmasinjuly everyone! 💖💖💖

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[myuminji]

college au

Meryl is NOT the first person Vash visited and Wolfwood has had enough embarrassment for the day

and unofficially wife-d up with paper rings (congratulations!)

Vash holding Wolfwood's hands, realising that it's not as calloused, no, in fact, it's soft. Unharmed. Safe. And he's holding it. Both of his hands are holding it. And those hands are exchanging something as fragile as a paper ring, far off from what they're usually accustomed of holding in the past...

(He's holding Wolfwood's hand, he thinks again. It's soft. He wonders if he deserves to hold them.)

Except it's no longer the past, Vash knows that, and now they're here, the flimsy rings weighing heavy with the promise of tomorrows he could never hope or dream of having before. It's so comical to the point of bringing tears to his eyes.

If anyone had seen him crying that day he's blaming it on the damned ring.

(a.k.a. the college/reincarnation au, "we deserve a soft epilogue" ending I desperately need)

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

tired and i'm awake

fandom: Chicago Med

pairing: Connor Rhodes x Reader

summary: You've kept your chronic pain a secret from Connor since you started dating. But fate has other plans for you, and an untimely accident leads to him finding out about your condition.

tags/warnings: angst, injury, burns, hurt/comfort, chronic pain/illness

word count: 3024

a/n: this one's for all my EDS/POTS combo girlies

When you were young, the doctors said it was “growing pains.” That eventually it would go away, that it was only temporary, take an Advil.

Then you got older, and it was your period. Even though the pain was constant and all over, somehow every doctor put it down to your cycle. Sure, it was worse when you were menstruating, but it didn’t disappear when you weren’t.

Sometimes, you were “making it up” or “drug seeking.” ER visits, annual physicals, all proved fruitless. Eventually, it was all just too much to handle. The constant doctors’ visits, the unending questions with no answers. You’re tired.

Even when you lay on the bathroom floor, curled around yourself and sobbing, you refuse to go to the doctor. You know it won’t amount to anything, just another bill and insurance paperwork. You manage on your own with 3 extra strength Tylenol or a heating pad or just laying in bed until it mostly subsides. Then you can get up and pretend to be okay again.

So, it was a bit of a surprise to everyone who knows of your issues when you started dating a surgeon. Hell, you even surprised yourself. But Connor is… different. He’s kind and understanding and patient. Still, your previous negative experiences prevent you from telling him about the chronic pain you experience, or any of the other problems that come along with it.

You’ve been dating now for about six months and you couldn’t be happier. Connor’s hours are busy and long, but you look forward to the end of every day when you can see him. Even if it means putting on a brave face when your joints ache. You moved in together about a month ago, and it’s a little harder to hide the pain now, but you manage. You don’t want to be just another patient for him to deal with.

Today, you have a feeling it’s going to be a little more difficult to put on your façade. Your knees and hips have been acting up lately. Everything feels… a bit looser than usual, like the tissues between your joints are made of thin string, ready to break at any movement. Each movement feels as though you’re going to rip yourself apart, limb from limb. It’s all you can do not to cry out when you finally pry yourself out of bed in the morning. Connor is already gone, having left sometime in the middle of the night, off to work his shift at the ED. You hope beyond hope that the pain will have subsided by the time he gets home tonight.

You hope that maybe a warm bath with some Epsom salts will help, and take short, shuffling steps to the bathroom, walking near the wall just in case. Each footfall sends shooting pain up your legs. You grit your teeth and manage to make it to the toilet, sitting down and reaching to turn the tap on the bath. Breathing in and out slowly, you remind yourself that you have this under control. You will survive this, it’s just pain. It’s just pain.

You stare as the tub fills with water, trying your best to compartmentalize and clear the pain away. Mind over matter, that’s what your mother always says. Easy for her, when she’s not the one in pain.

Feeling as though you might break with any sudden moves, you lower yourself into the warm bath, closing your eyes as the water surrounds you. It’s calming and smells like eucalyptus.

You linger until the water is cooled and your joints begin to protest from staying in one position too long. You wrap a fluffy robe around yourself, a gift from Connor after he saw the old ratty one you’d been using for years. It’s luxurious and soft, and probably cost him the equivalent of an entire week’s salary for you. Perks of dating a surgeon, you suppose.

Just standing has you feeling lightheaded, and you can feel your heart beating in your ears. For a moment the room darkens as spots fill your vision, but you just breathe in deeply until it subsides. Then you continue to take small steps back out to the bedroom, before placing yourself gingerly on the comforter.

Once you’re still and laying down, the pain begins to creep back in with force. It just reminds you that as much as you want to, you can’t ignore it. You can compartmentalize and convince yourself all you want, but you’re stuck with this.

Now, along with your hips and knees, your back and neck have begun to ache from sitting upright in the tub. You sigh and curl onto your side, your wet hair clinging to your neck. Five minutes, you tell yourself. Then I’ll get up and get dressed and dry my hair and… God, it’s all so much. How are you ever supposed to get all of that done when you feel like this? Still, you reprimand yourself and promise only five minutes of rest. Just until the aching diminishes somewhat.

You wake to the sound of the door unlocking. Night has fallen outside the window, leaving the apartment bathed in darkness.

So much for five minutes.

Connor walks in, looking tired and worn out, but still wearing a smile when he spots you curled up on the bed. You smile back, still groggy from your extended nap.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmurs, setting his bag down before taking a seat next to you. “How was your day?”

“Good,” you lie easily. “How was work?”

Connor smooths some errant hairs away from your forehead before placing a soft kiss there. “Busy. But good. Did you shower? Your hair’s still wet.”

A fierce blush makes its way up your cheeks as you avoid his eyes. “Took a bath. I guess I just passed out after. Baths always take it out of me,” you half-joke.

Connor’s brow furrows and you can immediately sense the switch into “doctor mode.” He places the back of his hand on your forehead again. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure, pulling his hand down to your lips to plant a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “Do you want dinner? I can make something.” The ache in your joints begins to make itself known again, but you want to do something nice for Connor. You know how tired he is after his shifts.

“Sure,” Connor replies, but he’s still looking at you with concern.

You slowly sit up, trying to school your expression as something pinches in your hip. “Spaghetti? I think we have some noodles leftover from the other night; I can just make a quick sauce.”

Connor nods and stands with you. “I’m gonna go shower,” he states while pulling you into a loose hug. “Do you need anything before I go?”

You shake your head and breathe him in. He smells like the hospital, but underneath that is the gentle scent of his cologne that always relaxes you. “No, you go. I can handle it.”

Connor releases you and makes his way to the bathroom while you head to the kitchen. You feel incrementally better than this morning, the pain in your back and neck thankfully lessened. Your hips are the worst now, and the right one especially feels tenuous. Each step is shaky, but you push through it.

You’re grateful for the distraction of cooking as you work on dinner, but it’s not enough to totally take away the pain. As you stand over the stove you can still feel the pulsing in your knees, the unsteadiness in your hips, and the ache in your back is returning. You barely suppress a groan as your right hip nearly gives out.

Seconds later, the door to the bathroom opens, and Connor exits with just a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. For a moment you’re tempted to stop cooking altogether and take him right back to bed. But then your right hip protests yet again, and the thought quickly flees. You shoot Connor a smile as he comes up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder and you tense imperceptibly. Illogical as it may seem, you’re worried maybe he’ll… feel your pain or something, if he gets too close.

“Smells good,” Connor murmurs, kissing the side of your neck.

“Grab some plates,” you reply, stirring the spaghetti sauce one more time before turning off the heat.

Connor’s arms leave you and you let out a breath. You grab some potholders from a nearby cabinet and pull the sauce off the stove.

As you make your way over to the table, your hip begins to feel even more unsteady than before. Each step is agony as you grip the saucepot, praying that your leg doesn’t give out now. Connor’s back is to you when suddenly you step wrong. Instantly, you feel a popping sensation in your hip and you stumble.

The pot goes flying, splattering sauce all over you and the kitchen. You crumble to the floor, a short cry leaving your lips. The sauce burns your thighs, uncovered thanks to the robe you still wear, but all you can feel is the burning pain in your hip. It feels… wrong.

It’s not exactly a new experience. A few years ago – with no help from your doctors – you finally realized that this type of pain means something is dislocated. In this case, your hip. It’s one of the worst to dislocate, since you have trouble getting it back in place on your own.

Connor immediately rushes toward you, calling your name in panic. “Are you okay? Oh god, what happened?”

You grit your teeth to stop from crying out again as you right yourself with your leg out in front of you. Your hand grips your right thigh, the pain from your dislocated hip shooting down your leg and making your toes numb.

Connor’s already pulling out his phone to call 911, obviously only seeing the burns on your legs from the hot sauce.

You reach out to grab his wrist to stop him from dialing. “I’m fine,” you insist, tears brimming in your eyes.

Connor levels you with a glare that would make anyone give in. “You just spilled scalding sauce all over yourself. You’re at least getting checked out at the ED.”

“Okay, okay, but… Can’t you just drive me?”

He must hear the pleading tone in your voice because he sets his phone down with a sigh. “Fine,” he surrenders. “Let’s get you cleaned up first so I can take a look.”

You nod as he stands to retrieve towels. Once his back is turned, you take mental stock of your hip. It doesn’t feel too badly dislocated, but it certainly needs to be put back sooner rather than later. Before you get a chance to do it yourself, Connor returns with wet towels. He immediately gets to work gingerly cleaning your skin. You can tell that you’ve at least got first-degree burns, maybe even second in some places. But you can’t get past the pain in your hip. If you could just get a moment alone so you could reset it…

You notice that Connor’s movements have stopped and you look to see what he’s doing. His brows are furrowed as he looks at your right leg, now clean of the sauce. “Doesn’t look too bad, but I still want to go to Med just to be sure. And…” Suddenly his eyes widen and his hands rest delicately on either side of your leg. You can’t help but flinch at the touch. “It looks like your hip is dislocated… God, that must hurt. Did you hit it on the ground when you fell?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “It’s nothing,” you insist.

“Y/N,” Connor’s voice is firm. “We need to get this reduced. I’m calling an ambulance,” he says, pulling out his phone once more.

“No!” you cry. “I can take care of it!” Before he can stop you, you bend your knee outward, making a half-butterfly shape with your legs, then push down on it with your hands. Your hip pops back into place with an audible click and the relief is instant.

Connor is silent for a long moment as he stares at you, mouth agape.

You speak before he can, blabbering without much sense. “It’s fine, it happens a lot. I’m okay, I promise.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes are wide with concern and empathy. “What do you mean?” he whispers.

You shrug and take the wet towel from his hand, continuing to wipe off the sauce from your other thigh. This one’s not as bad as your right, but it’s still painful. “Nothing, Connor. I just… It happens sometimes, okay? Dislocating things, it’s not new to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Connor’s voice is so full of hurt that you immediately regret keeping this from him.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, meeting his eyes. The tears in your own begin to fall down your cheeks. “I just… I’ve always dealt with it on my own. I didn’t want you to have to deal with it too. And I didn’t know if you’d believe me, no one ever believes me, and I didn’t want to lose you because of my broken body…” You’re rambling now, the adrenaline and pain making your words come out jumbled.

Connor scoots over to sit next to you, uncaring of the sauce that’s getting on his jeans. His arm wraps around you gently, and already you can feel that he’s treating you differently. Touching you like you’re… fragile. “Y/N… I would never not believe you about something like this. Have you gone to the doctor about it?”

A sob leaves your lips and you smile sarcastically. “Of course, I have, Connor. I’ve been to so many doctors and none of them have any answers. It’s always growing pains, or my period, or I’m faking it. Eventually I just gave up because, like I said, I can deal with it on my own.”

Connor is silent for a long while. Finally, he lifts your chin with his finger so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to deal with it on your own now. We’re together, and that means we tell each other these things. I won’t leave you because of something you can’t control, sweetheart. And I want you to find answers. We can find them together. Okay?”

You nod and Connor goes to dial 911 again. As he’s on the phone with the operator, you let the tears fall. The pain of the burns is finally hitting you, only adding to the existing pain you already feel. Connor’s words mean everything to you, but right now that’s all they are – words. How can you know he’ll stay with you after he finds out what this really is like? The constant pain, the days spent in bed, the agony of it all? How could anyone – how could Connor – ever want someone like you?

You don’t realize that Connor is done on the phone until his hand lands on your shoulder. “Babe?” his voice is a little louder than necessary, which tells you that he’s been trying to get your attention for a while.

“Sorry,” you mutter, using the back of your hand to wipe away errant tears.

Connor takes a deep breath, and you worry about what he’s going to say. “You can talk to me, you know?”

You nod, avoiding his eyes. “I know. But this… I don’t want to be just another person you have to take care of.” The sound of sirens grows loud outside the apartment building.

“Honey. Look at me,” Connor urges, lifting your chin again. “You are not just another patient to me. You never will be. Okay?”

“You don’t know,” you whisper, your voice suddenly hoarse. “Once you know what it’s like, how much help I’ll need… I don’t know what my life will be like in 10 years, hell, even in a year. I’m in pain all the time, and I don’t know if it will get worse, and I don’t want you to be burdened with that.”

Before Connor can answer, the intercom buzzes as the paramedics request entrance. Connor stands to let them in, and you bring your sore legs up so you can bury your head in your knees. The embarrassment of it all is starting to hit you as you realize that soon you’ll be at Med, surrounded by Connor’s colleagues. No doubt he’ll want to run a myriad of tests to figure out your underlying condition, and you’re not sure you have the energy for that right now.

You hear the door opening, followed by a couple pairs of footsteps and Connor’s voice getting closer. “Female, 27, post-fall and contact with hot liquid. Superficial partial thickness burns on the thighs. Right hip dislocated but already reduced.” You hold in a snort at his medical jargon describing your silly accident.

The paramedics aren’t anyone you know, but they’re nice enough as they examine the burns and apply saline-soaked gauze. You’re embarrassed by your lack of proper clothing, but they don’t seem to mind. You’re sure they’ve seen worse than a nearly-naked woman anyway.

They ask various questions while Connor watches nearby, eyes slightly narrowed as if to make sure they don’t hurt you further. Once you’re finally loaded up onto a stretcher, he returns to your side and holds your hand in a crushing grip.

“This is really unnecessary,” you mutter at him, squeezing his hand.

Connor looks down at you with a soft smile. “Doctor knows best, sweetheart.” He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay if you don’t want. As long as you get that hip x-rayed and those burns checked, I’ll be satisfied. We can figure out the rest later.”

You smile back, tears pricking your eyes again. “Thank you, Connor. For being here.”

He snorts out a laugh. “You really have to raise your standards, baby.”

[scarlett-ink]

Eclipse of the Valley Chapter 1:

The Eclipse

You are in desperate need of a change of pace, an out of the mentally draining life you found yourself in. With the combined inspiration of a total solar eclipse and letter you probably waited too long to have opened, you find yourself moving to the tiny community of Pelican Town nestled in Stardew Valley.

But what happens when there's more magic to this town than you thought, and you realize that you weren't the only one to move into the farm? With nowhere else for your surprise, animatronic roommate to go, it seems like he'll be staying with you for the foreseeable future and he isn't as alone as he first appears. Hopefully, you'll be able to come to terms with your new roommates and maybe if you play your cards right you might just get them to open up to you.

———

(Please ignore how bad the pixel art is it was my first time ever trying it)

[tumble-tv]

Writing fanfic about a very mentally unstable character because fistfighting my doctors isn't right

[tavyliasin]

A gift, from Tavylia and the Dear Abdirak fans who made this happen, and of course the star of the show himself~

Hello darlings, dear ones, and sinners all~ This cameo is our gift, for all of us who know pain a little too intimately. Written and joint funded by Abdirak fans and Lia, to provide some measure of comfort. Please, enjoy, know you are heard, you are loved, and you are never alone when enduring the most intense of Loviatar's affections. (And all my gratitude to Declan for making this so very swiftly right before going offline for his holiday)

--- The script, including content there was no space for, and some more notes from Lia, will follow after the cut~ This one is clean, no NSFW content, so feel free to proceed at your leisure. For those new here, please be aware that the majority of my content is around NSFW writing with a few art shares and essays on fandom things. Welcome, and I hope you enjoy your stay even if you're only here for this one video.

About The Script

Even with the additional payment, the maximum character limit in a request is 650. My original draft? 1117. We got out the knives, we cut it up, we boiled it down to the most pertinent line, and still had to defenestrate some of the punctuation. Far be it from me to ever know the meaning of brevity, loves, simply not in my extensive vocabulary. I also cannot thank Declan enough for the stunning performance, both in the game and in the cameo, and for giving us a character who we can relate to and adore in so many unexpected ways.

The Script We Sent

[greeting] Loviatar Maiden of Pain felt the echo of your pain singing through infinite realities. In her mercy, she has allowed us to speak. Agony is a cloak that you wear, armour you cannot remove, it is as bound to you as the guilt you feel for its very presence. I might envy you, but you did not choose this path. Your penitence is unnecessary. Let go, dear one, do not punish yourself further. The ebb and flow of exquisite torment, the rise & fall of the tides, you need not try so hard to swim. Breathe. Whether it is of the flesh or mind, your devotions have been heard. [reminder to share burdens/rely on each other/not alone/anything else]

The Original Draft Script

Greetings, Dear Ones, beloved of Loviatar - perhaps too beloved, in your case… Your pain sang through the fabric of the planes of infinite realities, catching and pulling at the Weave like a loose thread. My Goddess, the Maiden of Pain, she felt your echo through her web. Through her mercy, she has allowed me to speak with you. Agony is a cloak that you wear, an armour you cannot remove, it is as bound to you as the guilt you feel for its very presence. I might envy you…but you did not choose this path. Your penitence is not necessary. Let it go, dear one, do not punish yourself further. The ebb and flow of exquisite torment, the rise and fall of the tides, you need not try so hard to swim through them all. Breathe, keep your head above the water. Whether it is of the flesh or of the mind, your devotions have been heard by our most beloved Maiden of Pain. You endure it well, and you are not alone. There are other voices that sing her melody, listen for them, share your burdens and know you are all very dearly loved by the most gracious Loviatar. Even if her affections are a little excessive…

Lia's Notes And Thanks

First of all, a HUGE thank you to the dear ones who helped this happen, with encouragement, editing advice, and throwing some pennies in the pot to cover the cost I couldn't do alone. I shan't name names but you are already well aware of the endless affection I hold for you all. For everyone else, I really do hope this brings you some measure of comfort. It's important to recognise how much we tend to give of ourselves even when we suffer most, and how harsh we can be towards ourselves too.

You are not a burden, having needs is normal and natural, the people who matter most should be there to support you just as you would wish to be there to support them were your roles reversed.

We can rely on each other to a degree, even if it is just to listen, to say "I understand, it's alright to feel all of the things you are feeling. You do not have to be strong, you do not have to wear that mask of endurance with me." So do let go of that guilt, dear one, it does not serve you. If you would like to read more of a discussion on chronic pain, Abdirak, fandom, please see the main essay on the topic (click here) though be aware there is discussion of the more spicy topic of how pleasure and pain can be entwined, even for those of us who feel too much pain in our every day.

Tavylia's Offer

I'm going to round this one off with a simple offer to you all. Should you wish for words of comfort from a beloved character (probably BG3 but if I know the character well enough I can try others), send them to my ask box, or on Discord/Twitter/Anything on my Carrd. This is what I have worked on before, mostly SFW (only some light suggestive moments) as the focus is on comfort to the reader.

Abdirak - Migraine Comfort Yurgir - Migraine Comfort Tav - General Comfort, with Audio Multi-Character Comfort Drabbles (Including Abdirak)

If my little words can bring you any measure of comfort or relief, you need only ask.

Farewell for now, Dear Ones, darlings, loves, Pain Pals, - all of you. Please take care of yourselves - hydrate, nourish, and for the sake of the gods please allow yourself some rest and be kind to yourself for a change. And I do mean all of you. No exceptions, now. Love yourself with grace and forgiveness, care for yourself as if you were the most precious friend you have ever made. I hope to see you all very soon~

May Loviatar's blessings be more merciful. ~ Lia

[the-bar-sinister]

There was a certain level of pain that Karl Heisenberg was in every day of his life. It was his constant companion. As far as he knew, it was a simple fact of his being alive. It was a simple fact of what had been done to his body.

The pain waxed and waned but it never fully departed. There were herbs from Donna that helped but they dulled his mind and sent him to the land of the half dead.

Despite everything, Karl wanted to live. He wanted to live even though it hurt, even though it was hard.

He wanted to live, and he wanted to be in charge of his own life. And so he fought through the pain. He lived with the pain. He savored it. He trusted it.

Being in pain meant that he was still fighting. 

Karl Heisenberg dreamed of a body that didn't ache, and dreamed of a life where he wasn't a slave and a prisoner. But he would endure both. 

He would endure them as long as he had to. He would drink the joy in there was to be had from them, and he would come out the other side.

-

AO3 link

[huntinglove]

For my fellow proselfshippers with chronic pain:

💜 Your F/O will always do their best to make your life as comfortable as possible! From small things like fetching you medicine and giving you massages, to handling any and all of the work you can't go through by yourself!

📱 Your F/O understands and respects your limitations! They'll never be upset or disappointed if you're not able to follow through on plans you've made or if you can't tackle certain chores, in fact they're more than happy to help you out!

💜 Your F/O would help you with anything that would soothe your aches! Physical therapy, medicine, massages, meditation, relaxation, comfort and care! They're ready to provide you with all of it whenever you need them to and they'll always make sure you know how proud they are whenever you take care of yourself and seek them out for help as well!

📱Your F/O will make sure to remind you to take care of yourself and take care of things at your own pace! They would never have you wear yourself out when they're right there, ready to help you out. Your safety and well being will always come first to them!

💜 Your F/O will always remind you of how important and loved you are! Pain is something hard to deal with and they're proud of you for being able to pull through it all every day, even if you're not feeling your best about yourself as you do. You've survived all of your worst days and they'll always cheer you on for it!

[jemineye]

a petition for a subgenre of spicy, disabled romance!! literally any type of genre and add a disability to a main character for a subgenre of disabled fiction. written by disabled individuals, of course.

[newbornwhumperfly]

more bullets left to bite on…

so thrilled to be writing some sweet interludes before whumptober begins! 😈😍😈 so…as a special treat, here’s friends-with-benefits (and definitely-not-girlfriends) sarai and claudia…💖💖💖

title insp. by the song “leave the light on” by chris smither

~

“Pretty late to be doctoring, huh?”

Sarai scoffs, rubbing the bridge of her nose as if the glasses-dent would just disappear. Glances up through the glare of the lamp to see Claudia, doing her sideways lean into the doorframe, hands shoved in her pockets. 

She wasn’t wearing her usual tanks but the bright yellow tee that didn’t leave any arm muscle to the imagination was dotted with water and a bulky gym bag was slung over her shoulder. 

Jesus, what time is it? A glance at the clock makes Sarai wince. 0316. Ugh, fuck her life. Okay, not fair, labs aren’t gonna file themselves. She meant to close shop earlier today but, well, hindsight is always perfect. As is the foresight you had before the bad decision but oh well.

“Pretty late for boxing practice.” 

Claud shrugs, sling the bag off her broad shoulder to the floor, stepping all the way in. 

“Had too much caffeine, had to hit the gym to get sleepy. Side bins, sit ups…”

“Oh, I hope you didn’t lose that butt?” 

“You know, I hate that Cobi’s infected my wordbank? Stupid.”

“Yeah, I can tell you hate it and think it’s stupid.”

Claudia cracks a grin at that and she pokes her tongue against the gap between her teeth. That’s impossibly cute. Claud’s not cute, she’d insist, but Sarai can think that to herself. She wonders if Claud knows she does that? Wonders if anyone’s told her?

“Yeah, well…” Claud shrugs again and glances up somewhere at the ceiling. “Not gonna be up much later. You?” 

Sarai thinks about lying. About saying yeah, totally, just finishing up here and then going back to work when Claudia leaves. Leans back in her chair and winces at the stretch to her neck when she cranes it back, drawing the flicker of Claudia’s eyes to her. It’s a long, hard stare and suddenly, Sarai is very still. Not…bad, not at all, just, a little pinned in place. How does she do that?

She catches her breath. 

“Shit. I think we’ve both run out of, uh, midnight oil to burn.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Sarai swallows hard and definitely doesn’t bite her lip. Nope. The lamplight makes a halo of the beads of condensation on Claud’s fro and the shimmer entrances her as Claud strolls to the little rolly-chair and leans her hip against the edge of the cabinet. 

She looks down, making Sarai glance up, and the gesture makes her wince again from the strain on her muscles. Claudia frowns softly but the little stab of scolding that spikes through Sarai’s head, the why did you make her worry?, melts when Claud says - “These chairs aren’t good for your back.” In a quiet, soft way that makes Sarai’s prickly instincts calm. 

“Ugh, yeah, they really suck.” Sarai wiggles her butt to no effect, for emphasis, the chair barely creaking side-to-side for the effort. It won’t move at all unless she drags herself by her heels over the floor and yeah, the sound is as pleasant as you’d imagine. She really tries not to bitch her workplace out, well, at work, but the gentle quiet, and the single added straw on her aching back, prompts her to grumble, filling the silence. “Orthopedic rolly chairs aren’t in the budget, I suppose. Obviously the Legion is too strapped for cash to afford them.”

It’s worth it to look up at Claud though. She’s so short but she should be looked up at, all five-foot-two. Not for the first time, Sarai really fucking wishes she could get on her knees more often. But there’s lots of ways to look up at a person. It’s been a bit and she’s so tired but, fuck, maybe- 

“Can I?”

Claud holds up a hand, flexes her fingers, and a soft heat ripples through Sarai’s chest, down to her stomach, and something in her sinks further into the chair as she nods. 

Claudia bridges the space between them, easily and calmly, reaching for her glasses. At Sarai’s second, small nod, Claudia deftly pulls them away from her face, looping the beaded string of the cord over her head and folding them, efficient and careful as ever, putting the string around her neck with a little smirk. God. 

She is so careful as she guides Sarai to rest her forehead against Claudia’s belly. It’s soft under the shirt, warm from the gym-shower, solid muscle under a pouch of flesh, and it’s divine actually. Sarai breathes in hard and fast when those firm calluses find the nape of her neck and she gets a noseful of Claud’s smell. The simple, minty deodorant, a trace of talcum power, a touch of sweat lingering. 

Shamefully, but too far gone for shame, she shakily breathes oh when Claud’s fingers rub, seek, find, and the throb starts to unspool with hard, perfect pressure. 

“There it is.” Claud says and it’s so assured and confident and pleased and Sarai really wants to kiss her hipbone, but, frankly, she’s too busy becoming a melted ice cube in this chair. Claudia, of course, holds her up, keeps her braced as the knots get all untied, one by one. Patient and slow and warm. “Better?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“Do you promise to work in your couch and not this stupid-ass chair?”

“…Uh-huh.”

“Liar.”

“Dad.”

“That’s Daddy to you, thank you.”

Sarai giggles and the gruffness of it is a burst of freedom in the quiet sanctum of Claud’s pelvis. God, she needs to shave and she needs to get into pajamas and she needs to take off all her makeup and she doesn’t really feel like being bare right now but there’s just a lot to do. Even just inside the incredibly small sphere of having a fucking body there’s a lot to do. There’s always a lot to do and with resource requests and clinic appointments and talking to smug fucking refugee approval trustees at the shelter and doesn’t one person’s body go at the bottom of the list? 

Sarai gasps when fingertips press hard into the crook of her jaw where she didn’t know she was clenching. 

“Ugh.” Sarai huffs. “Thanks.”

Claud hums and shifts a little, parting Sarai’s curls to get to her shoulder blades, drawing out another groan when her palm digs into another sore spot. 

“Still don’t have the chair?”

“No. Approval’s still pending. I got pushed down the list again cause I wasn’t- doesn’t matter.”

Claudia’s body goes still for a moment. Presses the heel of her palm against Sarai’s neck in a way that’s more…rubbing than massaging. Stroking. It pushes words out of the angry well in Sarai’s throat. 

“Guess when you, uh, don’t work consecutively in the industry for a blip, it breaks your streak and, whoops, now you’re a short-term healthcare worker now. Again.”

Claudia’s quiet again but this time both hands cup Sarai’s head, one hand still stroking her neck, the other sort of soft atop her scalp. Tiny circling rubs. Claudia’s voice is tense and hushed. 

“Want me to fight ‘em?”

“Just keep doing your magic-hands thing.”

Sarai lifts a hand to pat Claud’s thigh. Thinks better of it. Claudia and touch…she might find it weird. Privacy and autonomy and all that good stuff. Better to be safe and save the really spontaneous touch for bed-times, casual-times, chill-benefits-banging-times. 

As she lowers her hand back to her lap, Claud speaks as if fucking psychic. 

“If you wanna…you can sleep with me? My room’s closer than yours.”

God, if only. Sarai’s too sore to so much as jack off, let alone hook up. Regretfully. Claudia smells so good and her stomach is so soft and her hands are so strong. 

“Wish, Claud, but there’s pillow princess and then there’s corpse.” She doesn’t mean to sound whiny, really, but it’s- it’s fine, it is, just a shame is all. It’s just…it all sucks. “I can’t really offer you shit right now.”

“Oh. Nah, I meant…” Claud’s fingers cup over the fine wispy hair on the back of her neck and tingles rush up and down Sarai’s spine. “I meant…sleep. Like���stay over to rest?”

Now it’s Sarai’s turn to be dumbstruck. 

Stay over. Sleep over. Just to sleep. 

What about…rules? Bang it out when stress is high, be chill the rest of the time. What if- she’s definitely gonna be too exhausted to shower, she’s not ready? Not that Claud is- Sarai doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of but what if Claud looks at her differently? She’s sweat-soaked, stubbly and prickly, what if she can’t stand up? What if she overstays her welcome? And why did she offer, just because her room is closer? She doesn’t need a caretaker, she shouldn’t ask for one, she doesn’t want to put that on her, Claud didn’t sign up for this? 

The petting has stopped. 

The warm cup of Claud’s hand pulls away and the cold air on her bare skin makes Sarai shiver, stomach sinking with a cold drop. 

“Nevermind. Sorry. Dunno why I asked.” 

“Claud-”

“Overstepped.”

Claud steps back and away and the absence sends Sarai’s insides plummeting even deeper into the fucking basement, churning, cold, even as she straightens her back, jaw throbbing as she squeezes her teeth together. Her cheeks feel hot and her eyes burn as she glances away pretending to fuss with her hair, pretends to fumble for a tie to bind some of it back. 

Glances up and Claud is scooping her gym back over her shoulder, slung at her front instead of her back, covering that soft belly from sight, and her hands are tight on the straps. 

If Sarai weren’t so prickly, she’d be more worried about the way Claudia’s scowl was so downturned, the way her eyes were so narrowed and fixed on adjusting the straps of her bag. 

But as it is, Sarai’s chest is full of nettles, breathing out porcupine quills, her exhaustion rearing up again to cross her arms over her chest, to press herself back into the chair, to pretend to be calm. 

She breathes out deliberately and manages - “Sorry, just, I’m tired, Claud.” 

The long beat of silence stretches between them and the clock thumps out the seconds and the vent hums so fucking loud and Claud huffs through her nose in a whoosh that’s the kind she does before she steps up to the mat and when she lifts her eyes, they’re dark and pointy and beautiful and Sarai is struck by a shininess there. 

“Was just offering. Like a-…a friend, you know.”

The words don’t hurt anywhere near as much as how softly she says them, jaw all screwed up, mouth softer than it has any right to be, and then she’s turned on her heel and gone. 

Like a friend. 

It’s only when Sarai buries her face in her hands to press against the blur in her own eyes that she realizes Claud took the glasses with her. 

Shit.

~

i hope you enjoyed this little sliver of my girls!!! 🙈💖🥰 they’re both so silly, i knowwww. (don’t worry, they’re just having a panic-feelings-blurb.) 🥺🥺🥺

taglist: @much-ado-about-whumping @whump-tr0pes @haro-whumps @i-eat-worlds @wolfeyedwitch

@straight-to-the-pain @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whatgoeswhumpinthenight

@tears-and-lilies @whumping-every-day @liliability @stoic-whumpee @whumpthisway

@whumpster-draganies @whumpzone @suspicious-whumping-egg @kixngiggles @lave-whump

[siren-of-the-ocean-tumbls]

Reasons why Tim Drake should be Chronically ill/ have chronic pain (In DC canon):

1) The spleen problem

Tim...literally doesn't have a spleen. What does the spleen do? Well, according to NHS inform:

It fights any invading germs in the blood (the spleen contains infection-fighting white blood cells). It controls the level of white and redblood cells as well as platelets (small cells that form blood clots). It screens the blood and removes any old or damaged red blood cells.

This means that aside from the usually-accepted side effect of infection risk, Tim may also be anemic due to not having enough red Blood cells. Alternatively, he may experience intense bleeding or bruising due to the lack of platelets.

2) The Clench

The clench was a version of the Ebola plague that spread across Gotham during Contagion. They call it Ebola Gulf A. Of course, Tim is one of the people infected. Now, the Clench is obviously a fictional disease. But! People who have survived Ebola experience the following long-term side effects: Tiredness, Headaches, Muscle and joint pain, Eye and vision problems, Weight gain, Stomach pain and loss of appetite.

Tim could be experiencing any of these side effects. Or multiple of them.

3) All the injuries

Tim gets injured a lot. Like. A lot. I went back to a few comics and like:

Car crash. Hits head on steering wheel hard enough that he's obviously dazed and loses consciousness. Almost gets strangled. Gets locked in a freezer with dwindling air supply and passes out from lack of oxygen. That's all just from one comic.

Then the stabbing that loses him his spleen. The batarang to the chest. The slit throat. The whole getting kicked out of a skyscraper window thing. Being shoved off a mechanical dinosaur. Getting stabbed with a katana. Kon breaking his arm while mind-controlled. And those are all just off the top of my head.

Point of the matter being:

Every time it rains, Tim should be feeling each bone break and scarred injury. Rain can also trigger headaches and migraines.

He should have anemia and he should be bleeding a whole lot / bruising a whole lot more than the average person.

LET THE CHARACTERS FEEL CONSEQUENCES AND PAIN DC!!!!!

[thefancyspin]

since a string of health problems I have not been able to write like I once did. I probably never will again. my brain is too tired and my body gets too sore. but this afternoon I wrote 5,000 words and it just sort of flowed out of me and it feels so good. like part of a healing process of sorts. it's just amazing. we're always fighting a battle, but sometimes we win. it feels good 🩷

[idontplaytrack]

Diamonds falling down

Amber Appleton x fem! reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, sickfic, age regression, a bit of baby talk(?)

"And I don't know what I'm supposed to do But if she feels bad, then I do, too So I let her be"

One day at a time. You’ve always heard this saying from people around you. If it wasn’t this, it was ‘you’re so strong’, ‘oh, my god. I could never do what you’re doing’ And frankly, you were a little sick of it. You’ve been sick your entire life, always in and out of the hospital— and in your teens, that’s when things lost control. You had a new diagnosis, and new chronic pain among other symptoms. It became draining because you were at an age where you were so aware of what was going on in your body. You were tired of fighting. Everyday felt like an uphill battle. It took you a long time to feel like yourself again following the diagnoses, and when Amber came into your life, you couldn’t help but fall in love with her. Even though it was so scary for you and you didn’t have the guts to even ask her out. She took notice of you, however, and was chatting with you almost all the time. Talking to her was when you’d felt seen and heard, a vast difference from how things have been like in your life since getting sick. When you told Amber about your demon of a chronic illness, you were confused because she didn’t run away. Instead, she asked you more— she wanted to know more. You couldn’t believe it, you couldn’t fathom that someone was actually that interested in you. Someone like you, who was so broken by life’s…challenges.

Amber in a way, gave you a sense of purpose. You looked forward to each new day because you knew she’d be there. You knew that she’d be there for you. Just like she’s been for the past year and a half. Yep, a year and a half— you couldn’t even believe it yourself.

Anyway today was one of those days were the demons have caused you to barely be able to move— let alone get out of bed. After breakfast, you were hit with a wave of searing pain in your lower left side that nearly had you falling to your knees. Clutching on the counter for support, you were crouched over, breathing through it until you didn’t feel the pain anymore. Well, it lingered but mostly died down. So you dragged yourself upstairs, hoping it doesn’t hit you again until you were at least in bed.

Yeah, fuck it. You weren’t going anywhere today. Your parents have already left for work long before you woke up, so…no one was going to stop you.

Cyst rupture - 1, you- 0.

Also…you were going to be running a little late already even if you went. So you weren’t gonna be having a good day anyway, considering how you had also had something else you didn’t tell Amber about.

Your phone started to buzz after awhile, it must be Amber texting you. You didn’t even have the capability to reach over and grab the device since every bit of movement right now worsens the pain. What you did was just to curl up in a fetal position and fall back asleep so you didn’t have to feel it.

Expectedly, you only drifted in and out of sleep which was quite restless. But when you woke up eventually, the pain was gone so you took the chance to go downstairs and grab your bottle of pain meds, water and some snacks. Just getting the essentials you needed to make it through the day. You ate a snack, drank a bit of water then quickly swallowed the pill, wanting it to take effect ASAP. You didn’t even know what time it was until you heard noise coming from the foyer, followed by rushed steps up the stairs. Amber literally burst into your room as you locked eyes with her. Her gaze softened immediately as she sat down next to you and leaned down to kiss you on the side of your head.

————

Living in Portland, the weather obviously got cold this time of year. So you were already feeling a flare up creeping up on you for the last few days, this pain from ovarian cyst rupture only sent you over the edge. “Sorry.” You muttered, “I couldn’t.”

“That’s okay. I get it. We’ve talked about this.” Amber assured, stroking your cheek before she pulled your blanket up higher. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

“No. Just — the snacks.” You revealed.

“Where hurts, baby?” She asks quietly.

You couldn’t even answer her, which she found very strange. You would always tell her, that was the agreement. “Baby, talk to me.”

That started a complete meltdown, you were just sobbing your eyes out, shocking her to the core. It was so abrupt. She thought it must be bad, really bad. Amber’s never seen you like that before. But it seems to her that the nickname set you off.

“y/n,” Amber says, her palm resting on your abdomen to rub it in an attempt to calm you down. You flinched and cried out in pain. Squinting her eyes, she noticed something— underneath the thin fabric of your t-shirt, she felt a different…texture. Like a bandaid? She carefully lifted the fabric of your shirt to check, and her eyes nearly fell out of her head. It was surgical dressing. Which looked like it was supposed to be changed already. Amber was fuming. Why were you left home alone in this state? She gets up to step out into the hallway to make a call but you pulled her hand, refusing to let her leave. “Okay. Okay, baby. I’m right here.” She soothed.

Amber held her phone to her ear with one hand, the other was pulling your shirt back down while her eyes watched you closely.

“Iris.”

“Yes? Amber?”

“When did y/n go for the surgery?”

“Surgery? It’s just a procedure.”

“Iris, when?” Amber chewed on her lower lip, exhaling harshly.

“Two days ago.” Your mother answered, irritated.

“Why is she home alone so soon post-op?”

“She’s fine, she’s a big girl.” Iris scoffed, “She can take care of herself.”

Amber hung up when she heard that, putting her phone aside. “I need to get you a new dressing, babe.”

You looked clueless.

She couldn’t carry you, but she knew you needed that dressing changed— stat. So she got up to look for a new one and found a bag of them, along with medications and discharge instructions sitting on the kitchen counter. What did you do in the minute that she was away? Cry. You were still crying, terribly upset and uncomfortable, without better ways to express yourself now that you’ve…slipped. Grabbing the box of tissues from your vanity and pack of anti-bacterial wipes sitting on your desk along the way, she sat down next to you. You looked at her with teary eyes, breathing quicker than she liked you to be right now. Setting the items down, she held onto your hand. “You’re okay, I got you, baby.”

“Hurts.” You mumbled.

“I know, munchkin, I’m sorry.”

You clearly had no clue that you were one day post-op right now given your current state. Amber figured it out while walking downstairs to gather the supplies— she’s just never dealt with you when you were having a meltdown like this one. But thankfully, you seemed to have calmed yourself down significantly. “Stay still for me, hm?” She lets go of your hand and handed you a stuffed animal to hold onto in the meantime. “I need to change this bandaid for you, okay?”

You sniffled, nodding your head as you swallowed thickly as you hugged the stuffed rabbit. Amber leaned closer to get a better look of the dressing and determine the best way to remove it. She manages to get a corner of it off, but not without you yelping and flinching. She seethed, deciding to make use of a wet wipe to loosen up the adhesive and make sure there was lesser irritation. Of course, she was careful not to get the incision itself wet. It wasn’t her first time caring for you post-op, or well, post-procedure in your mother’s words. Either way, she successfully removes the used dressing and promptly cleaned around the area before sticking on a new one.

“All done.” Amber smiled at you before getting up again to get rid of the dressing’s wrapper.

Amber manages to get you to lie down more comfortably, then snuggles with you. You didn’t say anything, but she knew it always helps you feel better. “I feel funny.” You looked up at her. She feels your forehead with the back of her hand— you weren’t having a fever anymore. Which you did have before they decided to release you from the hospital. “Your tummy?”

You nodded, clinging onto her. “Do you want to go to the bathroom? I’ll help you.” You don’t resist, so she got you out of bed and helped you to the bathroom before you threw up. She wasn’t going to let you kneel knowing how difficult it would be, so she actually sat down on the edge of the tub so you could sit on her lap while you were bent over the toilet, fighting a gag. The procedure caused you a great deal of bloating, and the anesthesia causes you to be nauseous, so putting both together, this was expected. It sucked, but it was expected. Even after a bit of time’s passed already. Eventually, what little you managed to eat was regurgitated, sending you to tears. Broke Amber’s heart that you needed to feel like that, but it was a whole process. Inevitable process. She rubs your back, whispering words of assurances to you, “You’re alright, angel. I promise. Okay? Feel better?”

“Yes.” You murmured, and very slowly, she guided you back into your room, and had you sit down. But before she could say anything else, you were already crawling under the covers. With the bag of medications now being moved to your nightstand, she picks up the sheet containing discharge instructions and gave it a read.

“Mommy, hugs.” You sulked, Amber looks up from the paper and at you.

“Alright, I’m here, angel.” You moved up so she was right next to you, “C’mere.” She wrapped her arm around you for a bit but ultimately shifted you so that you were snuggled up against her. Your pain meds have started to kick in, but you were still regressed though you were no longer in a bad mood. Amber continually rubbed your lower back while she kept her focus on the paper she was trying to finish reading. By the time Amber was done, you’d dozed off, snuggled against her side and cuddling the same stuffed rabbit. She watches you sleep for awhile, then tucked you in properly. Following that, Amber goes around your room to tidy it up. It wasn’t too bad, but Amber believes that a cluttered space makes one feel worse. She also made sure she cleared out your trashcan and lined it with a new plastic bag just in case you needed it later and couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time. Very quietly, Amber descended the stairs and checked the pantry.

There was bread, so she could make you some toast. But then she saw applesauce, another good option since your stomach was likely still going to be upset for awhile. Now that you were asleep, she didn’t have anything to do. So she walked around your house for a bit before sitting with you again in your bed. But she lays down this time, instinctively stroking your arm or patting your back while you slept— arguably the most peaceful you’ve been all day. She’d brought your homework with her but now obviously wasn’t the time to have you work on that. Well, she also succumbed to sleep after some time and only woke up when she felt you stirring in your sleep. A quiet whine falls from your mouth. Were you in pain again? She hoped not.

“Hey.” She hums, “Baby, you’re okay. I’m right here. I’m right here, baby.”

“I’m hungy.” You mumbled.

“I’ll go make you some food? You want something?”

“I don’t know what I want.” You pouted, shifting uneasily. Every movement caused you an ache.

“How about applesauce?” She suggests.

“Okay.” You gulped, “Yeah.”

You got out of bed, and she got flustered. Immediately, she held onto you. “Baby, be careful.”

“I need to go potty.” You took a deep breath and immediately winced from the uncomfortable feeling.

“Sure, come on, I got you.” Amber held onto your arm as you walked. The bathroom door was left open, somehow Amber was too worried to leave. And she was right not to.

“Ah!” You seethed, hands balled into fists which caused her head to snap towards your direction.

She squints, “What’s wrong, baby?”

It probably hurt when you went, this was stated in the sheet as one of the possible ‘after effects’ of the catheter they had to have you use during the procedure and some hours after.

“Breathe, y/n. It’s alright, it’ll go away. Just breathe.” She cajoled.

Food aside, she also ensured you drank enough fluids to prevent other issues from surfacing. The sun was beginning to set at this point, casting a goldenish hue across the interior of the house. That brightened your mood a little to see. You were now in the living area, just sitting on the couch and watching the view. You loved the atmosphere now— it felt really calming. Amber was just walking back to you from the kitchen after grabbing two cups of applesauce and a coconut yogurt pouch. “You okay, honey?”

You nod, holding out your arms and wanting to cling onto her again. She lets you— obviously.

“You wanna do it yourself?” She opened up the cup for you and held out a spoon for you.

You shook your head without a word, then just leaned onto her, your face smushed against her arm. She laughed, smooching the top of your head. “Okay, here we are. Ah, open up.” She nudged, the spoon right by your lips. You listened and just ate like she told you to, the hunger was getting to you so you fought through the stomach discomfort. “Good girl.” She smiled, “Here comes another.”

“Will you stay with me? Sleepover?” You asked, swallowing the mouthful of applesauce while looking at her with big doe eyes. It wasn’t intentional, by any means. You were just like that when you were regressed.

“Of course I will, munchkin. I will sleep over.” Amber looked at you in pure adoration. Her heart melts every time you looked at her like that. The food she got for you? You ate it all and asked for more after. So, Amber was relieved that your appetite was coming back. “What do you want, baby?”

“A sandwich.” You decided.

“You wanna make one with me?” She suggested.

You nodded eagerly. “Alrighty, up we go. C’mon, let’s go to the kitchen.” She says with a bit of a laugh.

“What kind of sandwich do you want, angel?”

“Uh…” You pursed your lips together in thought. What was that called again?

You turned around and opened the fridge, pulling out turkey ham slices and cheese. “That’s what you want?” She asked softly.

“Mhm.” You confirmed.

“Good choice.” Amber grins, getting right to work making a sandwich for you, and then another for herself since it was time for dinner anyway.

You sat next to her at the counter to eat, on her lap, actually. “Is that good?” She asks, biting into the sandwich.

“Yeah.” You nod, mouth full and grinning. She brushed the hair out of your face.

She couldn’t help it but chuckle, “I’m glad. Wanna take a quick shower after then I can do your hair the way you like it?”

“Yes, please.” You leaned your head on her briefly.

“Anything for you, munchkin.”

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[kimiko24-art]

"I'm sorry for being so tired, it'll pass..."

"Don't apologize for something that's out of your control, like you said it'll pass. Just take care of yourself in the meantime."

My health hasn't been the best as of late and it's been a struggle to do anything other than sleep honestly.(I'm lucky I even finished this) We're still working to figure out what's going on, and are currently playing the waiting game. I really really hate not being able to do anything at all. I'm the sort of person who gets pretty restless if I'm not doing anything useful/productive. But I'm trying to cope as best I can, and have been reminding myself that I need this rest. I just have to get through it until I get answers. Bruno has also been helping by keeping my morale up and reassuring me about the situation when he can. Which I appreciate from both him and my family.

(rather be taking care of him)

[tumble-tv]

Writing Toby (the creepypasta) is so fucking hard because while he can't feel pain, I AM CONSTANTLY IN PAIN AND HAVE BEEN FOR MY ENTIRE LIFE. I DONT KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO NOT BE IN PAIN. But he's my favorite so I shall endure.