#its sounds more like a disease than medication to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marlynnofmany · 1 month ago

Text

One More Earth Animal

Since the only reason our spaceship had a cat was because I’d rescued a family of them from people who had no business keeping any animal, and since a couple of crewmates had helped in that rescue, and everyone was agreed that it was a deed well done, I was very interested when I heard that our newest courier job was transporting another rescued cat.

I was loading supplies on the far end of the ship when I got a message from the captain about this last-minute addition. I was the animal expert — from the same planet as our new cargo, no less — and she requested my presence. The extra info that the cat had been dumped on a colony world by illegal traders who hadn’t been able to sell it just made me hurry through the hallways faster.

As I entered the cargo bay, my thoughts were on whether I should have detoured to grab a medical scanner, and wondering if Telly would want to be friends with the furball in the cage. Where was that cage? Ah, over by the door next to the captain and the customer. Other crewmates were loading boxes while they talked.

“I’m glad you’re going in the right direction,” the customer said while she signed the payment tablet with several red tentacles, while waving two more for emphasis. “This isn’t the first time somebody’s dumped live cargo, and at least this time I know a guy from the right planet who’s eager for a new pet. Sounds like he misses Earth, and would be happy to have anything that reminds him of home. Oh hey, speaking of which!” She waved a tentacle at me as I walked up. “Another Earthling. Good luck all around.”

Captain Sunlight nodded and took the payment tablet back, every inch the dignified lizard alien. “Yes, Robin here has been a big help with animal cargos, cats in particular.”

“My pleasure,” I said with a wave. “Can I get a look?” The cage was the kind with bars on the front and only ventilation holes on the sides; good for animals that needed to feel safely hidden, but not great for trained veterinarians wanting to inspect them without opening the door.

“By all means,” the customer said, scooting the cage forward. “It’s been very calm. It shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

I crouched down from my tall human height and peered into the shadows, hoping the cat was healthy, not calm because of illness. Had they scanned it already? They must have.

A skunk peered back at me.

“Oh jeez!” I fell back and scrambled away, startling everyone in the room. “That’s not a cat! Keep your distance!”

Captain Sunlight immediately stepped away, alarm on her scaly face. “What is it? What’s the danger?” The customer was babbling in surprise, but I ignored her.

“That’s a skunk,” I said, fully aware that the name probably meant nothing here. “They’re a breathing hazard when provoked. They spray a toxic liquid that will ruin the air on our whole ship until it’s properly cleaned. You’re lucky it didn’t do it already.” I aimed that last at the customer.

She flailed her tentacles in distress. “It’s been very calm! Not afraid of anyone! Are you sure it’s not a cat?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. Then something else occurred to me. “Have you scanned it for disease?”

The tentacle movements turned guilty. “My assistant said he did…”

I leapt to my feet and raced down the hall. “Be right back! Don’t touch it!”

They replied, but I was already out of earshot, dodging past crewmates without stopping to explain. Rabies was largely eradicated on Earth, but this wasn’t Earth. And a potentially rabid skunk was infinitely worse than a tame one.

Eggskin was in the medbay; I didn’t pause to see what they were doing. I just grabbed the hand scanner from its spot on the wall and raced back the way I’d come. “Need this, thanks!”

Questions followed me, but I ran faster. Almost plowed into Blip going around a corner, but I ducked under her muscular elbow with an apology and kept going. Blop was right behind her, stepping to the side. The pair also had questions that I ignored.

Back in the cargo bay, Captain Sunlight was questioning the customer on the far side of the room, with Zhee and Paint also standing back. The cage was right where I’d left it.

I activated the scanner, getting as close as I dared. “Please don’t have rabies. Please please please.”

After a moment, the scanner pinged: Free Of Disease. Relief hit me like a wave. “It’s not contagious,” I announced.

The scanner was still processing, and it came up with extra information that made me laugh in deeper relief.

“Its stink gland was removed!” I collapsed onto the floor in front of the cage. “Doubly safe. Everything’s okay.”

Captain Sunlight said, “That is good news.”

The customer pressed several tentacles over where her heart probably was. “I didn’t need that kind of scare today! Clearly I should have words with the assistant who identified the species.”

“They got the planet right, at least,” I said, shutting off the scanner. “But yeah, if there’s a chance there are more skunks wandering around out there, you do NOT want to assume they’ll act like cats.”

Captain Sunlight was thinking ahead. “Will this be a problem for the recipient? Since it’s not the animal he’s expecting?”

The customer spread her tentacles. “He did say that he’d welcome any creature from home that could handle living indoors!”

I waggled my fingers experimentally, and the skunk waddled forward to sniff them. “I think it’ll be okay.”

Captain Sunlight asked, “This is an acceptable companion animal, once the gland is removed?”

I laughed. “No, they make terrible pets. But people have kept worse. I’ll have a talk with the guy on delivery, and I think it’ll be fine. This little fluffer has probably been raised by hand. And skunks really are adorable, once you get past that whole spraying issue.”

“Good to know,” said Captain Sunlight. She finished the transaction with the customer, who was more than happy to leave the skunk in our possession. Zhee and Paint expressed their own relief and finished moving boxes around. The captain volunteered to put the scanner back while I brought the animal cargo to our quietest storage hold.

I carried the cage very carefully, the polar opposite of my wild dash through the corridors earlier.

It took a while for Eggskin to find me, since apparently Blop had gotten a papercut or something that needed tending to, but after a few minutes the medic entered the storage bay with all the caution of someone approaching a dangerous creature.

Eggskin probably wasn’t expecting to find me holding it and cooing sweet nonsense while it chittered happily in my lap. But it really was friendly, and like I said, skunks are adorable.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #skunks #in spaaace #always an exciting concept

166 notes · View notes

ladamedusoif · 9 months ago

Text

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story.

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders.

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being.

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness.

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now.

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes.

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did.

Jackson stands before you.

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey.

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can.

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes.

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street.

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.”

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before.

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation.

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground.

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him.

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones.

Raiders.

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name.

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off.

Joel takes aim.

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening.

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not.

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle.

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground.

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick.

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg.

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle.

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being.

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you.

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol.

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking.

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe.

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours.

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance.

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?”

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood.

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch.

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…”

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you.

Fuck it.

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now.

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x disabled f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #soft joel miller #disabled f!reader #disabled reader fic #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedrostories

288 notes · View notes

andhumanslovedstories · 2 months ago

Note

hi! i'm gonna overshare a little bit but i'm doing my nursing prereqs right now and i'm really worried. i'm kind of really mentally ill and i've been worrying recently if nursing is worth it. i want to help people and it sounds so interesting and i love medical stuff but i don't want to get burnt out with the stress and long hours. someone told me that nursing is a lot like being a restaurant server, and i don't want to go to school and get a degree and a career that's literally just serving again. is it satisfying? is it rewarding? is it soul-killing? i'm scared

hi there! I'll overshare in return! I'm just coming off three months of disability for burnout (which for me is just depression but with a name you can use in the workplace). My job didn't cause my depression, but it certainly exacerbated it. The hours, the stress, the constant exposure to people suffering and the limits on your ability to do something about it, all those suck and they can break your brain. (On the other hand, I've been majorly depressed while working at an ice cream parlor where the walk-in freezer was for smoking weed. You can be depressed anywhere.)

And it is a hard job! Harder in some parts of the field than others. Different places have different nursing cultures, different laws, different staffing, etc. Where I work, there's good protection and advocacy for nursing. That's not true everywhere.

With all that said--I really like nursing. I get to do work that I know contributes good to the world. I get to solve very practical problems. I meet people I would never otherwise meet. I have the opportunity every shift to do something that I am proud of. And a lot of times, I find it fun! It's fun to brainstorm how to make someone who's been puking all night feel better. It's fun to see your efforts rewarded, even in small ways. It's fun to stop something before it becomes an emergency. It's fun bustling around, juggling a dozen different things. It's not ALWAYS fun. But for me, the work is not just meaningful but also enjoyable.

That's how I knew I had bad burnout btw. Even when things went well and I did work I was proud of, every shift was such a fucking slog.

If you are interested in the basic work of nursing (managing the human response to illness and promoting health), then there's a million and one jobs you can do with a nursing degree. They cater to different traits. I've discovered I really like precepting new nurses, I like working on the floor with its routine and concrete goals, and I like symptom management. I don't like critical care or the emergency department or working on stuff that isn't patient care, like paperwork and charge nursing. I like novelty but not chaos. I like independence but not being left entirely to my own devices. I like that I physically cannot take any of my work home. I do not like being on committees. So for me, right now at this point in my life, I like being a basic med-surg night shift float pool nurse. I would be absolutely miserable as a neuro ICU critical care day shift nurse. I would be bored to death being an inpatient rehab night nurse. Being a nurse manager would probably make me suicidal again.

If you find the basic work interesting and rewarding, you can tailor it to your taste. (I can't recommend floor nursing enough for the adhd havers amongst us.)

and last thing, regarding mental illness: I think a lot of nurses (and ppl in healthcare in general) struggle with mental illness way more than they think they do. Someone who knows they have depression and works to manage it will likely be more resilient than someone endlessly pushing through their fatigue and misery. Probably a better nurse, too. I take meds, go to therapy, get sleep, push myself to eat, take sick days, protect my limited energy, do physical activity--I'm a gym girlie now!!--because I'm treating a disease I know that I have. Just knowing that there's something up with your brain and doing something about it puts you way ahead like half of the people who work the emergency department.

#b.#nursing tag

111 notes · View notes

mieanme · 4 months ago

Text

Merman x Siren au

Hualian - (part IV)

Previous part: PART III

First part: PART I

We finally reached the part I've been thinking about for ages 😭 I hope you like the siren, guys ^•^

ALSO, if you wanna know how Hua Cheng looks like, I drew him: here

***

"Well, well, well..." the deep, unfamiliar clicks echo down the trench, causing unpleasant chills to run up Xie Lian's spine. "What do we have here?"

With a racing heart, Xie Lian slowly turns his head upwards, finally facing the creature blocking the daylight.

The first thing that pulls Xie Lian's gaze is the longest tail he has ever seen in his life. If not for the sharp, bloody red scales, he would say it resembles an eel more than any other creature he's ever come across. Other merpeople said that sirens take after reptiles such as crocodiles the most, but those don't usually live in salt waters, so Xie Lian never had a chance to check if their words were true. Not like it matters now anyway - following up the tail, Xie Lian sees the huge back fin, a few smaller ones on the sides, pale yet tough looking body and, the most terrifying for him, arms geared with shining claws.

"I,I... I—," Xie Lian clicks a few times, trying to maybe bargain with the siren, but all that comes out is rather incoherent.

"Hmm?" the creature respondes, arcing its left eyebrow.

When Xie Lian steals a short glance at its face, not daring to stare, he only catches eye contact with the creature's left eye, the right one being covered with long, black hair. From that one look, Xie Lian figures out the siren is probably a male, with a sharp jawline and more or less masculine features.

"Are you inaudible, little merman?" the siren mocks, swimming closer to Xie Lian, as if he wanted to catch his prey this instant.

In seconds Xie Lian in his mind sees the image of the siren getting closer and holding him by his throat to cover his gills. The vision of himself dying slowly and painfully in the creature's hold finally untangles his own tongue.

"N-no, that's not the case!" he exclaims, trying to back out of this situation, but soon enough his shoulders bump into the wall of the trench behind him. Ruoye managed to move onto the merman's stomach, so luckily it didn't suffer the collision. "I-I can explain! I just need one thing, I promise!"

"Interesting," the siren speaks up again, still approaching Xie Lian in a painfully slow and very mocking manner.

The siren knows the merman cannot escape and so does Xie Lian. He's just toying with his meal at this point and Xie Lian doesn't like that thought one bit.

"So you not only ventured into my territory uninvited, but you were also planning to take something without my permission nor knowledge. It's called stealing, little merman. But please, explain away."

Xie Lian grins to himself, noticing that the siren does have every single right to execute the merman here and now. However, he doesn't want to give up just yet. He hopes that the siren will understand him and cooperate.

"I know how it sounds, but I have a good reason, I promise I had no malicious intent coming here," Xie Lian starts, not daring to look up at the siren. "Some of the members of our pod have suddenly fallen ill to a highly dangerous and infectious disease. They are innocent merpeople, gatherers and nursery guardians. They were unable to swim since then and whatever they eat, they vomit out a few minutes later. If they're not granted the medicine for this illness, they are going to die suffering. But there's only one cure to this illness, at least that's what our oldest medic said - it's an algae that grows in almost full darkness, practically only in the ocean trenches. And the only trench we know of is this one! I-it's also not that we all agreed to come here, our leader even forbade us from coming into your territory, so, please, don't hold it against our pod, I came on my own! But I really want to help them, so please, let me take the algae!"

Xie Lian rapidly spits out the last sentence, begging the siren to have some mercy. However, after he finishes his speech, only silence follows. If not for the shadow still remaining casted at him, Xie Lian would think the siren left, since he no longer could sense his presence nor water movement around. Just then, siren finally reacts to his words, but it's not a reaction Xie Lian was waiting for.

The siren bursts laughing, making Xie Lian lift his gaze at him. The creature is way closer to him than Xie Lian thought - now he's able to see every single scale on his body and even some strange marks resembling veins on his torso and neck, travelling down his left arm and even up his face. Only then Xie Lian realises the siren doesn't have the second eye; where it should be, there's an ugly scar covered in the same strange marks that the merman noticed on his body.

Xie Lian doesn't have any more time to think about it though, because when the laughter dies down, the siren keeps staring at him with a mocking smile, as if he never saw anything as stupid and amusing as this very merman in front of him.

"Why... why are you laughing?" Xie Lian finally says, almost clinging to the wall when the siren comes even closer to him. The siren's black hair brush over Xie Lian's shoulders and tangle with his own, painting a beautiful yet terrifying picture.

"Foolish, little merman," the siren sums up, reaching out one of his hands to Xie Lian's face. Ruoye jumps up to attack him, but Xie Lian manages to catch the octopus with both hands and hug it to his chest, not wanting to anger the siren even more. "You won't pick that algae, no matter how much you want to."

"Please, let me go there! I really need it, we will repay you for your kindness if you let me go look for it! I promise! Please!"

However Xie Lian shuts up the second the siren's cold, clawed fingers touch his face. The siren catches his chin in two fingers, the rest slowly brushing over the merman's skin. It's terrifying, but also... it feels quite pleasant. Xie Lian doesn't understand it, but his heart starts beating even faster, but not only out of fear. What's the other emotion - he cannot tell.

"I am not stopping you from diving down the trench. I'm simply stating the fact, little merman. You are unable to pick that algae."

Xie Lian is dumbfounded. He blinks a few times, this time looking straight into the siren's eye.

"What... What do you mean? You're not stopping me? So... Why wouldn't I be able to pick the algae?"

"It's very simple," the siren states. "It grows too deep for any mer to pick it. That's why that disease that has fallen over your pod is called the 'black desolation'. It brings only two things over merpeople - annihilation from the illness and darkness from the places they try to find the medicine and fail. Your elder didn't mention it, did they?"

Xie Lian is speechless once again. What the siren says is even more terrifying than his presence itself.

'It... It can't be,' he thinks to himself. 'So there's no cure at all?'

"I see, you actually didn't know," the siren continues. "That's a pity—"

"But!" Xie Lian cuts him short, suddenly feeling a rush of courage wash over him. "I won't give up until I try! I want to see for myself if I can pick it or not! Please, let me go, I can endure whatever the depth has there for me!"

The siren's eyebrow flies up yet again, visibly not believing in Xie Lian's success.

"So you still really want to start bleeding from all your flesh, lose all your senses and die a painful death, crushed by the conditions down there?"

Xie Lian hesitates, but then he nods. He knows he probably looks like the most pitiful creature in the siren's eye right now, but it doesn't matter.

"I will pick the algae, or I will die tryin—"

"No need," the siren chimes in, letting go of Xie Lian's face. "I will pick the algae for you."

The siren backs away, leaving Xie Lian so surprised that he even lets go of Ruoye. The octopus, still angry with the siren's attitude, charges right at him, but even when it wraps itself around it's arm and bites down, the siren doesn't look amused at all.

"Ruoye, no!" Xie Lian exclaims, but he knows it's already too late.

"Don't worry, it's venom can do nothing to me. It's not the first blue-ring octopus I pissed off," is the only thing the siren says before Xie Lian manages to reach him and gently takes Ruoye in his hands, trying his best in convincing the animal to let go. When the octopus finally admits defeat, it wraps itself around Xie Lian's back again, obviously glaring at the siren.

Only now Xie Lian realises that as soon as Ruoye disappeared from his hold, his hands chose to rest on something else - that happened to be the siren's forearm, right in the place a small bite mark is now visible. Xie Lian blinks, unsure of what to do. Then he feels his cheek being touched by the siren's cold fingers yet again, making him look up at his handsome face.

"I will be back shortly. Stay here," the siren assures, but is taken aback when Xie Lian grips his arm even tighter instead of letting go.

"But... aren't you going to get hurt? I don't want you to risk your own life just because I probably cannot reach the algae. I... I want to do it on my own without putting any more lives on the line."

Xie Lian doesn't expect the siren to chuckle, but it actually happens. The siren only shakes its head, smiling leniently at the merman.

"My body is very different from the one of a mer. I can dive way deeper and endure extreme conditions. I am what your kin calls a 'monster', after all. Only a pitiful monster wouldn't be able to do such things. I'd rather live up to my titles."

With those words, siren suddenly dives down, not letting Xie Lian even think of a response. Within seconds he's totally gone in the pitch darkness, leaving the merman and the octopus alone.

***

Hello~! I feel like this part is a little longer than the previous ones, I hope you enjoyed it!! Lemme know what do you think in the comments ^•^ See you soon!!

PART V

#tgcf hualian #tgcf #tgcf fanfic #tgcf hua cheng #tgcf xie lian #xie lian #hua cheng #hualian #tian guan ci fu #hualian au #mxtx tgcf #mxtx #merman #siren #merman au

51 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

Note

I went diabetic earlier this year, since then I've had far more serious health concerns to really focus on it. I've listened to my primary care and reduced my average a1c from 13 to 7. I've recently been looking into diets and what not that are the best. Currently, I'm trying to cut out all carbs, on my doctor's orders. What I'm seeing though is that a plant based diet is best. It looks like a ketogenic diet is what my doctor wants me to follow? I've watched videos on both diets and I don't know, I agree with you that keto is evil. What are your thoughts about this?

I am not a medical professional so i can't give you medical advice, but I'd say that you should ask your doctor for a referral to a dietician (an RD or an RDN, NOT a "nutritionist" - RD/RDN are protected terms that mean they have completed specific training and have specific board certification) and ask the dietician for advice on your specific dietary needs for your specific medical conditions.

What I can say is that trying to cut all carbs is pretty dangerous - not only is it a macronutrient that our body uses as the most available fuel for your body processes (we *can* get fuel from protein and fat, and ketones can *theoretically* replace sugars for energy but nobody is actually sure how long our bodies can do that and we know it's a LOT less efficient, it's supposed to be less efficient, and what that means is it makes a lot of people feel exhausted when they try it because they literally have less available energy) but also there are certain nutrients that are fortified in the US that are going to be hard to get if you're cutting carbs completely. The example that I always use is folate, because when I had to cut wheat out of my diet (i have grain allergies and celiac disease) I didn't know to supplement it and ended up with a form of anemia and stuff like "fainting" and "dizziness" and "low oxygen saturation."

Which is part of why massive diet changes should be undertaken with the assistance of a dietician! That's why I started studying nutrition! Because nobody supervised my medically necessary diet changes and it went very poorly!

Your GP very likely doesn't have a ton of training on nutrition, and is even less likely to have training on nutrition specific to your condition. If your GP is telling you to cut all carbs, they are telling you to do something dangerous and not nutritionally sound (even really restrictive keto diets call for 20g of carbs a day). Ask either them or your endocrinologist for a referral to a dietician (again, you are looking for a Registered Dietician or a Registered Dietician Nutritionist, RD or RDN, NOT just 'nutritionist') who is familiar with helping diabetics manage their nutrition.

Now, all of that said, in the choice between two fairly restrictive diets I will always say to try the one that requires less effort. It is much easier to eat a plant-based diet long term than a keto diet, and it is vanishingly unlikely that you are going to end up protein deficient (the primary concern for most people who are starting plant based diets, and it's just not all that likely - we need a lot less protein than a lot of people seem to think; though if you're going completely vegan you do need to be careful to supplement your B vitamins and to ensure that you're getting plenty of omega fats)

Because the thing is, for a diet to "work" you have to be on that diet forever. If you stop being on that diet, and stop adhering to its restrictions, whatever benefits exist for that diet go away. So the best diet for *anybody* is one that will provide them with the nutrients they need in a way that they can access regularly and affordably, that they enjoy eating and can comfortably maintain for long periods of time, and that includes a variety of fruits and vegetables because the only diet advice that is nearly universally applicable is that people should be eating more fruits and vegetables and they should be eating a wider variety of them.

I am not a fan of "diets" as a concept and I think that people should think of nutrition in terms of "my diet" not "the diet that is meant to be one-size-fits-all for millions of people that I am attempting." Your diet is what you eat and drink, and that is what you should be looking at adjusting. If you want to reduce carbs in your diet it's better to tweak your consumption than it is totally replace your diet with a one size fits all keto diet. If you want to increase fat in your diet it is better to tweak your consumption than it is to replace your diet with a one size fits all atkins diet. If you want to go plant based I think it is better to start by adjusting your diet to include more plants and to slowly replace animal based products than by trying a one size fits all vegan diet right out of the gate. You can always (and should!) make adjustments to what you eat as circumstances change and you may end up at a vegan diet or a low carb high fat diet and find that that works for you, but part of the reason that I think nutrition studies on diets are so screwy and hard to pin down is because your body is going to *flip the fuck out* when you change from, say, an average american diet to a study-provided Mediterranean diet for a 12 week experiment. If you drastically change your diet all at once and get good results immediately it's very hard to say if those results will be lasting because your body may just adjust to the "new normal" of your diet six months down the line.

But like seriously if your GP is telling you to cut all carbs you need to see a person who specializes in nutrition, and to prepare for your appointment with that person you should make a list of your goals (for you it sounds like you want to manage your blood sugar levels, reduce a1c, and *ask about* low carbs if that is something that interests you), a list of things you think that you'll have trouble with or that you want to include in your diet because they're important to you (if you really like nuts but have to be on a low fat diet, ask if there's a way to work around that with your needs, for example; if there is a cultural staple that you will find difficult to cut from family meals, TELL THEM THAT), a list of questions that you have about different types of diets, and *VERY IMPORTANTLY* information about your food budget and cooking skills. Be clear about it if you can't cook. Be clear about it if you can't afford certain ingredients.

Anyway. Once again, not medical advice, please speak to a medical professional, good luck.

#tw diet talk #food tw

193 notes · View notes

luxury-nightmare · 4 months ago

Text

mom says it’s my turn on the writing

Alex couldn’t move. They sat in the corner of the barn with the worst pains of their life. They couldn’t open their eyes, it hurt too much, and even if they could, even the blurry shapes and lights they could see would only worsen their growing migraine. It felt like someone was taking two knives and dragging their eyes in different directions.

The coughing had stopped at least, they didn’t know if they could deal with the burning sensation in their throat along with this. Their teeth cut into their gums, the taste of blood flooding their mouth.

They dug their nails into their arms to try and distract from the aches. A shock of pain emerged from the spot. Their nails were sharper than they remembered. They gritted their teeth. They needed it to stop.

“Alex!” The sound shot through their brain like a gunshot. They slowly opened their eyes. A bird-like blob of purple and black nuzzled into their side, dulling the pain. They closed their eyes again. The Flock was trying its best, and they didn’t mind the company.

They leaned closer to the bird-like Velidgun. “Good bird!” It parroted. Alex flinched at the noise. They curled into their corner, the flock laying over them like a blanket.

It could be worse.

————————————————

His sickness was getting worse. He could feel it. He could only do so much with the medications. Keeping the lights off helped a little, but not nearly enough to stop the pain in his head.

He needed to retrieve Specimen 03. They were immune. They could be the key to curing the disease that plagued him. Unfortunately, Specimen 01 was fiercely protective of 03. The doctor had no clue why. That thing was incapable of caring, he knew that better than anyone.

He shakily stood from his desk, trying to balance himself. He coughed, and saw a splatter of deep black on his hands. He rolled what was left of his eyes. He needed to replace that, like he had replaced his eyes and hands after they had failed him.

He remembered the one caretaker who came back with a deep bruise where the doctor had put his hand on his shoulder.

It was just Velidgun sickness from Specimen 02. Nothing more.

For someone who has this whole town fooled, you are a terrible liar, dear doctor.

————————————————

Alex could open their eyes now, the pain fading substantially from seemingly out of nowhere. They turned to the side, only to see Clyde curled up next to them.

“Clyde?” The veldigun turned to face them.

“Simons out looking for food. They took the Flock with them” it explained. Alex nodded.

Silence filled the barn like heavy smoke. They fidgeted a bit with their hands.

”why are you doing that?” Clyde asked. Alex opened their hand “well when I get nervous or uncomfortable-“

“Not that” Clyde cut them off, “your illusions. Why are you making yourself look human. We all know what’s happening” Alex paused. They didn’t quite know how to explain.

“Imagine you woke up and you weren’t a Veldigun anymore,” Alex started, waving their hand slowly, back and forth. The illusion wasn’t quite in sync, so for brief moment they would catch glimpses of dripping black claws, “and whatever you were had to hurt other velidgun to survive. Your existence depended on hurting other people, but you know what it would’ve felt like.” They paused, “does this metaphor work? Do you guys have any natural predators?”

“Not unless you count Lankmann” Clyde replied. Alex let out a light chuckle “but you get it. It’s easier to keep pretending until I physically can’t anymore”

The silence returned. Clyde grimaced. It didn’t want to ask this question, but it felt it had to.

“Do you regret it?”

Alex looked confused, “what?”

“Giving me that sandwich, letting me in. This wouldn’t have happened if I had just left. You’d still be human and I’d be figuring out how to break out Winfrey on my own.”

It waited for Alex’s answer. They took a breath. “Honestly, I don’t think I’d still be alive if I hadn’t found you.” It didn’t know what it wanted them to say, but it hadn’t expected that. “What do you mean?” It asked.

“I was suspicious of the Asylum long before you showed up,” they continued, “I probably would’ve found something I wasn’t supposed to and they would’ve just” they moved their thumb across their neck to mimic a decapitation. “Honestly, I’d rather be a veldigun than dead.”

Clyde paused for a moment “and if they find us?”

“Then we’ll figure it out from there” they responded “the asylum wants me dead and you locked up, and I won’t let that happen” they spat, and inhuman growl emerging from their throat.

Clyde nodded “me neither”

————————————————

A caretaker entered the room, standing at attention like a soldier. The doctor stood up straight and looked over at them.

“What is it” he snarled. His migraine was getting worse.

The low light casted shadows on what was left of his arms in striped patterns.

“Doctor,” the caretaker responded. It was clear he rehearsed his response, which meant this news was important. “We have located specimens 01 and 03.”

The Doctor paused, then cleared his throat “where are they?”

“They seem to be located in an old barn on the side of town, but there seem to be two other velidgun with them”

“Descriptions” the Doctor snapped. He needed all the information they had.

“One seems like a scarecrow, and the other seems to not be fully developed yet.”

The Third and Fourth. Those two need to be replaced.

The Doctor shook his head slightly to drown out the noise. 02’s hallucinations were mostly auditory, this was normal. “I need all four of them captured, but 01 and 03 are the priorities. Arrange a team” he demanded. The caretaker nodded, then left.

The Doctor collapsed back into his seat. This nightmare would be over soon.

An ominous giggle floated through the room. The Doctor put a hand to his face. 02’s hallucinations were getting more frequent and more annoying.

Not the second. Just me

The doctor looked around in shock. 02 couldn’t read thoughts, he would’ve found out if it could. Out of the corner of eye, he caught an image on the CCRT monitor.

He turned to look at it, only to see a triangle with six dots lighting up the screen. The laughing got louder.

Looks like I’ll have the whole family soon.

#dreams of an insomniac #doai #doai sitcom au #veldigun alex #veldigun!alex #alex williams doai #doai alex williams #doai lankmann #lankmann doai #doai flock #doai the flock #Hehe get souped idiot

41 notes · View notes

the-bad-batch-baroness · 8 months ago

Text

Health Update

First, I want to say thank you to everyone who reached out or commented on the latest installment of Where's Mommy? to wish me good health. I am so grateful for all of you 💚

However, the health issue I'm currently dealing with isn't due to a virus or bacteria, and there's a possibility it won't get better.

A little history.

Back in 2022, there was a two week period where I felt like my blood sugar was dropping, and I was very symptomatic. There was a moment where I slumped down a wall at work because of it, and they had to dump sugar packets from the break room into my mouth to rouse me. It was a very scary time.

After those two weeks, I went to my Primary Care Physician who ordered blood tests and had me purchase a glucometer to test my blood sugar several times a day. However, during the two weeks she had me do this, I never got a reading below 70, and the same symptoms did not develop as they did prior. My blood work came back clean, and without a reading lower than 70, my PCP dismissed it and told me I was having anxiety attacks, lol. She told me to come back if the symptoms came back, and they never did.

Backing up a couple more years.

Without revealing too much of my medical history, I have a chronic illness called POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome). It's a dysautonomia or a dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system, the system that controls all of the automatic functions of the body. It was caused by my battle with Lyme Disease in 2010 and is currently incurable. I was diagnosed with POTS in 2018, after being told for 6 years that I had anxiety, lol.

POTS is not a very well-known illness, but it's getting more attention these days. It garners a host of different symptoms, including tachycardia, chronic fatigue, brain fog, orthostatic intolerance, migraines, gut issues, syncope, dehydration, blood pooling, etc. Everyone's POTS presents differently, and most people with a POTS diagnosis live on disability. I made the choice not to.

Fast forward to 2024.

Fast forward again to this past Wednesday.

Well, I finally was able to get a POTS specialist in my state this year. A huge win! When I had my initial consultation, I had mentioned the low blood sugar episodes in 2022 and asked if it could be related to POTS. The doctor told me that they don't see POTS patients having low blood sugar issues, but we're concerned enough to refer me to an endocrinologist. Another big win!

I had my consultation with the endocrinologist, and he ordered more blood tests, some of the same tests as before, and some different (y'all, they took like 20 vials from me). He also gave me a CGM (continuous glucose monitor) to wear for 14 days so they can track my highs and lows to see if they can catch anything.

Well, the next night, my blood sugar dropped below 70, 20 times, and 55, 9 times. Which means I was woken up 9 times throughout the night. I got only about 2 hours of sleep, and still had to go to work the next morning. But, once again, it went back up by itself without any intervention from me.

Y'all, it caught A LOT in just the first day, actually night. My blood sugar dropped below 70, 11 times, and below 55, 4 times while I was sleeping. Now, because anything below 55 is considered critical and could be fatal, there is an alarm that cannot be overridden and will sound. It sounds like a smoke alarm. So, I was awoken 4 times.

The odd thing is that my blood sugar dropped, then went back up on its own. I didn't eat or drink anything. Blood sugar doesn't really do that, so I thought it was odd. This also begs the question: If I'm asymptomatic at 53, then what level was I at in 2022 when I had symptoms? Honestly, I don't want to know.

Here is a nifty graph!

All of the red is considered low blood sugar, below 70, and anything close to that 50 line is considered critical low blood sugar. And again, I did not eat anything during the night.

There are four major anomalies with my low blood sugar occurences:

Most cases of hypoglycemia are seen in diabetics, I am not diabetic

Most cases of hypoglycemia seen in non-diabetics are sporadic, mine are consistent

Hypoglycemia is normally corrected by consuming sugar, mine auto-corrects

When blood sugar drops, it creates symptoms, I do not get symptoms

There are only a handful of things that can cause hypoglycemia in a non-diabetic and even less consistently at night time. The doctor has already ruled out insulinoma (insulin producing tumors in the pancreas), so that leaves even less, and also the good old "we don't know what's wrong with you".

I'm not going to lie. This whole thing terrifies me. There's no telling how long my blood sugar has been doing this, and it only takes one dip below 50 for me to slip into a coma and die in my sleep. Luckily, my blood sugar does this crazy autocorrect thing, and I haven't died yet! Humor makes this easier.

Right now, I'm emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. Adding this on top of my already difficult life with POTS has been hard to cope with, and I'm crying a lot.

Hopefully, I'll get results soon, and my endocrinologist can figure out why this is happening and how to manage/fix it if it can be managed/fixed. Maybe I've got a completely new illness, and you'll find me in a medical journal! Wouldn't that be something.

Anyway, thanks for the continued support. I have a lot of IRL support from friends and family, but while I go through this process, I may seem distant, my posting might be sporadic, I may not keep my fic posting schedule, etc. And when I have an update, I promise to let y'all know!

Much love 💚💚💚

Steph

#tbbb speaks #health update

54 notes · View notes

j0kers-light · 3 months ago

Note

Hi chaos! I hope you’re having a good day!

I saw your headcanons post for joker x reader who struggles with anemia & loved it so, so much! It’s always lovely when we get to see our favorite characters caring for us in little ways like that, especially when it comes to our daily struggles that often go largely ignored by society. I was wondering if you’d be willing to do a joker x f!reader with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome sometime? And as always, no pressure at all <3

— 🌹

Welcome my sweet 🌹anon!!

You ask, and I deliver! I had to do some extensive research with my mom to make sure I was accurate with this request! I learned so much via articles and short documentaries! Shoutout to my chronic pain sufferers! Chaos acknowledges you and I loves you!!

If anything doesn't sound right let me know 🌹 anon so I can correct it! I hope you enjoy! There are several sub-types of the disease but we'll focus on hEDS for this head canon 🖤✨

Since your disorder is rare and hereditary, there isn't any known treatment or any medical studies/research done to cure the illness. There isn't even a test done to diagnose its so vastly ignored! 😡😡

Society turns a blind eye to _EDS, simply chalking it up to hypermobility and being non-life threatening. WRONG.

hEDS is life threatening and sources fail to address the lifelong chronic pain and other debilitating issues that the rare disease causes. There are 13 sub types with their own crippling ailments.

Joker would hardly notice anything wrong until you go and hurt yourself, which is rather easy due to your fragile skin and joints.

Your body doesn't heal well after injury so bruises linger, scars are permanent, and dislocations are a common occurrence. Yay to pain. 🙃✨

Growing up, it was cool to show off your double joints and overly flexible body but as your age hit the double digits, you noticed the complications of your parlor tricks pretty quickly.

Muscle weakness was the first indicator followed by scarier issues like weak blood vessels and potential organ ruptures. Chronic pain is a reality that you have to endure since your body fails to function properly.

Life grinds to a halt when you have a flare up and Joker arches an eyebrow when you stay in bed for days at a time and work remotely.

Just moving is an impossible feat and your body punishes you for defying its demands for rest. You still have to live your life! Somehow.

Joker tries to crack jokes but you roll your eyes and ignore him. You’re just not in the mood.

He doesn't understand how you can go from practicing yoga in the sunroom to being bedridden in the same hour so he assumes you're faking being sick and that thought makes you cry.

Knowing that your lover believes that you are acting, hurts more than your aching joints and Joker immediately notices when your mental health begins to decline.

Now he's worried. When you can, you do as much as you're able, never knowing when your body will betray you and confine you to bed. Every moment is precious and Joker will never understand that.

Life returns back to "normal" but Joker demands answers. He's still in shock.

Weren't you on death's door just yesterday? Now you're returning to work, laughing and smiling, as if nothing is wrong. He doesn’t know what to think.

So he disappears to search the internet and after hours of clicking away, he's just as confused as when he started. (I feel you J..)

Joker refuses to believe there is nothing he can do to help his Bunny. This hEDS can't keep you down forever. Right? 👀

Why aren't there any studies, or any institutions pledging to find a cure for this?! Does he have to kidnap a doctor or two to get the ball rolling?

Joker remembers he does have a doctor on his payroll. He calls up Sarai and bombards her with the same questions he typed into Google.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BUNNY?🧑‍💻

Sarai doesn't give him much else to go on except keeping you comfortable, well medicated if you take any, and to continue your physical therapy but not too much exercise as to aggravate your joints.

Great... so he's back to square one!

Joker hears you groan from the next room and goes to check on his poor Bunny. He would find a way to make you feel better himself.

You had dozed off for a long quick nap and woke up to the sound of something falling over in the bathroom.

It still hurt to move but at least it wasn’t agonizing anymore. This current pain level you could tolerate.

You were willing yourself to toss the covers back when Joker appeared in the doorway looking rather sheepish.

“Hey doll. Uhh are ya feeling up to move?” He scanned you over as if he could gauge your pain tolerance by sight. Your small smile gave him some hope.

“Mmm. I gotta get up and fix something to eat.” You were weak and probably dehydrated from lying in bed all day, but that was to be expected.

Joker watched you swing a leg over and rushed to your side. “I uh.. ran a bath. If ya want. A Reddit post mentioned ah.. hoT water being helpful.”

It didn’t dawn on you just what Joker was saying. All you heard was the latter part of his sentence. “You have a Reddit account?”

He smacked his lips while helping you slowly walk towards the en-suite bath. To your surprise, the bath was waiting for you with a rolling cart next to it, hopefully with something to snack on.

You were speechless. “J… you did all this for me?”

He looked away and you got the impression that he was blushing. He still had his clown makeup on so you couldn’t tell for sure.

“Thank you J. I mean it.” He helped you sit on the nearby wooden bench after you kissed his cheek. “Um. I can undress myself.. if you need to—ah! Okay! You’re seriously doing this.”

Joker started with your socks and worked his way up until not a single thread of fabric was left on your body. You felt so exposed sitting there nude while Joker dipped his hand into the bath water.

It was hot enough to be medicinal but not scalding. He snapped his fingers and dashed over to the storage area to grab your bag of epsom salt before dumping a few cups in.

You got to see a rare softer side of Joker hard at work. No one would believe you if you reported this. The Joker, Gotham City’s worst nightmare, was preparing you a bath with the greatest care.

“All-right-yyy ya ready pretty girl?” Joker’s voice snapped you out of your daydream. He playfully flicked some water at you to get your attention.

You couldn’t flinch away and huffed your displeasure.

“I couldn’t resist, Bunny. Now in ya go! Hold onto my shoulders, yeah?” He picked you up as if you were made of glass and gently lowered you into the bath. “Easy doll, I know it’s hot. Just relax.”

Joker shushed any whimpers you made and held you steady underneath the water. For the next few unbearable moments, Joker was right there whispering sweet nothings to calm you down.

Finally you relaxed with a deep sigh, “This is perfect.”

“Good. If ya want, you can rest a bit. I’ll keep you.. well you know.. from drowning. But ya do need to eat something first. Here.” He dried his hand off and fed you a [insert favorite snack].

You felt like royalty and Joker had no issue helping you adjust to the role. He fed you piece by piece, offering you sips of water in between while holding your hand and rubbing soothing circles on your skin with his thumb.

The contact warmed your heart. Joker may not know much about your medical condition, but he would always be there to support you.

You couldn’t ask for a better partner.

20 notes · View notes

humbledragon669 · 5 months ago

Text

S1E4 – Saturday Morning Funtime Write Up P1 - Saturday (The last day of the World) up to The Fields of Megiddo

Please forgive the slight skipping ahead to get the banner for the time period, I’m a sucker for consistency and I like to start this write ups with a pretty picture so all the text doesn’t look so daunting. There’s a lot of narrative to get through in this episode, which is borne out in quick scene changes, so apologies if this write up comes across as a bit scattered. Housekeeping aside, I have something intriguing to point out in the opening scene. Captain Vincent (who in the script is described as William Shatner but seems to me more like a Liam Neesom type) records in the ship’s log that the ship is on course to Havana. Looking at the location of Atlantis on Crowley’s globe from later in the episode, I think they may have been blown somewhat off course:

But then, what would you expect from a cruise ship whose name is the medical term for an infectious disease (measles)? I do rather like the insinuation that cruise guests are so stupid as to believe the ship’s crew capable of raising an entire continent from the deep, complete with its citizens, purely for their entertainment though. Light-hearted as this scene is, it serves as a neat little bridge from the previous episode, where the last thing we saw was the consequences of Adam coming into his power, albeit in unexpected ways. It sounds like the voices are getting stronger and clearer for him now too, seeing as we’re able to make out words and full sentences this time around. And if we were at all unclear as to what exactly Adam’s powers consist of, he spells it out for us, his earnest words underpinned by come creepy child choir soundtrack to really hammer home their meaning:

What I say I true.

Just in case there was any doubt about the intelligence levels of the cruise guests, we have another little dig here in the form of a Facebook post by one of them.

The long-lost continent of Atlantis has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, which means the ship can’t go anywhere, but don’t worry – the Captain has sent a bottle of Champagne to make up for it. Cretin.

For those amongst you who aren’t native to the UK (or don’t watch the news, and honestly who would blame you), the newsreader in this scene is an actual newsreader (rather than an actress playing one) called Kirsty Wark. I think little things like this are really important to contributing to the charm and appeal of the series – it blurs the lines between the story and reality, but also really assists with the show’s relatability.

So, elephant in room question. Questions actually I think.

Why is Gabriel on Earth?

Why is Gabriel jogging on Earth?

Why is Gabriel jogging on Earth where Aziraphale is?

Why is Gabriel jogging on Earth where Aziraphale is, which also happens to be the place where Aziraphale and Crowley had their break-up the night before?

These are all questions I had from the very first watch of the show, and it’s never addressed. I just can’t get my head around any of it, perhaps because I get hung up on wondering if Aziraphale came back to the park or whether he’s still there from the night before. Maybe waiting to see if Crowley will come back. After that I’m not capable of thinking of much else in a logical way because that is just too angsty. What we do know is that Aziraphale is still nervous – he’s wringing his hands. Not nervous enough to not look intrigued by the human interpretation of an angel’s appearance though. Almost so intrigued he misses Gabriel. I can’t quite work out whether his expression says he’s surprised to see the archangel or whether he’s just spurred into action. If it’s the former, then I think we really are in the “Aziraphale has been hanging around the park all night pining” territory. If it’s the latter (which, I’m inclined to think it is, the directions in the script state that he’s looking for someone at this point), I’d really like to know how he knew Gabriel was going to be there in the first place. Either way, I really love the way that Aziraphale starts this conversation in the exact same way that his phone conversations with Crowley usually start (“It’s me.”) – it’s such a casual way to start a conversation, mostly reserved for situations where there is a level of familiarity between the participants that betrays how comfortable they are with one another. It’s also a very human interaction, one which Gabriel does not appear able to understand the nuances of – after all, it is a pretty obvious thing to say isn’t it?

I have to call attention to the level of detail that has gone into the production of this series here, and this time the credit goes to the costume department. They could have had Gabriel running in a very plain set of running clothes, but no – they had to go and add a little hint to his true nature, embroidered right there on his sweater:

So subtle, but it just goes to show how much thought went into every single aspect of this show. It might not be an intricately detailed suit, or a deliberately distressed demon outfit, but this tiny detail is still capable of reminding us of the true nature of the characters we’re watching.

I’m fairly sure that Gabriel’s assertion that the purpose of war is so that they can win it is probably the main reason why most wars are fought. Which is, quite honestly, batshit crazy. Gabriel doesn’t think so though – he can’t understand what Aziraphale’s problem is with this ridiculous catch-22 situation, oblivious to our angel’s very obvious distress:

I find the use of the word “soft” here interesting. I think the meaning of the word in Aziraphale’s mind is very complicated – he’s not really talking about his lack of physical prowess (not my opinion, just reiterating what Gabriel so hurtfully said previously) but his attachment to Earth as a whole, which would no doubt be perceived by Heaven as having gone “soft”. The irony is that his “softness”, perceived at this point by him and others as weak, is exactly what draws us to him as a character, forming an essential part of his make-up as a hero character.

Moving on, it looks like Lesley (the International Express delivery man) is quite the foreshadower of his own fate.

Ours is not to reason why. Ours is to deliver packages.

I’m sure most people will know that the way the second part of this line should end is nothing to do with delivering packages, but should instead be “to do and die”. It’s a very well-known quote, even if it is slightly altered from the original, from Tennyson’s Charge of the Light Brigade, underlining the fact that soldiers should not question the purpose of their service, only to perform their duties and give their life when necessary. Which is exactly what Lesley is about to do with his deliveries, even if he is ignorant of the fact that he’s been drafted as the harbinger of Armageddon.

Quick note: I love that view from Heaven! It’s another one of those little things that you only see for a moment, and if you’re not concentrating, you might think it’s just any old cityscape but let’s take a quick inventory, shall we?

From left to right:

The Eiffel Tower.

Big Ben.

Mountains.

Empire State Building.

The London Eye.

The Shard.

Pyramids.

There are maybe some others (in a later shot you can also see what looks like St Paul’s cathedral), but you get the idea – there’s no way that all of those things could be in one view - some of them are in different continents to each other. It’s a pretty cool view though, I wonder if you can Airbnb up there?

We now have the first firm indication that things are getting tricky for our hero pair. “Earth observation files” you say? That sounds decidedly problematic. I do love how Gabriel genuinely seems to think there would be an innocent explanation for an angel and demon to have met multiple times, though in his defence none of the photos he is presented with show the pair with anything other than neutral expressions. What this exchange does inform us of is that the suspicions surrounding Aziraphale have only been incited owing to his recent comments – he really has been fooling them completely for the last 6000 years, and even when they do catch on Michael’s first thought is that he’s a double agent. Not a bad record if you ask me. I think it’s pretty spiteful of Michael to turn Crowley in to Hell at this point – they must know that he’s not working for Heaven, and would be aware that Hell are probably going to take an even harsher stance towards any descent in the ranks they suspect.

Here we go, another (side) note of appreciation (it’s easy to rack these up when the emotional angst isn’t so high). I don’t know whether the chameleon on Ligur’s head is an animatronic prop or CGI, but the fact that it moves, seemingly independently, is yet another beautiful detail that is easy to miss.

Back with Crowley, we find out that he’s still intending on running. It’s here that we find out that he had a hand in creating some of the component parts of the universe, and we have the first mention of Alpha Centauri as being a favoured destination. It feels like an obvious statement to make that the choice of this particular constellation was owing to it being made of two words starting with “A” and “C” but Neil has been asked this question before and stated that its use was purely circumstantial. I’m not sure I fully believe that but maybe that’s just me. My heart goes out to Crowley in this scene – he looks truly defeated. So defeated that he actually tries to reason with God in a tone that could be described as pleading. And in contrast to Gabriel’s description of the reason for Crowley’s fall (that he was one of the rebelling forces against Heaven), we see here that Crowley’s take on the situation is quite different.

Four episodes in and we’re still being introduced to new characters – hello, Pollution. We are given some backstory about why this Horseman isn’t the traditionally-known Pestilence, and I think I read somewhere that this was a conscious substitution made by Neil and Terry to make it feel more relevant/current but I can’t find that source now. Interestingly, the name for the recipient of the crown is given on the delivery form as “Mr. White”, but Lesley refers to them as “Chalky”, a continuation of the theme that there are many names for each of the Horsemen, all of which allude to the same thing.

I find white to be an interesting colour association to make with Pollution – many of us would associate it with cleanliness and purity, the complete opposite of what this Horseman stands for.

Lesley’s final delivery instructions are communicated in a handwritten note:

He is clearly aware of the connotations of this delivery, leaving a note for his beloved Maud. Quite why he doesn’t just “fuck this shit” at this point is a mystery to me – I certainly would have done. Perhaps it’s a callback to his Tennyson quote from earlier. I do find myself wondering if he might have avoided Armageddon himself if he had just done the sensible thing though – after all, he has been (unknowingly) tasked with summoning the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, without which there can be no Armageddon. What if he had just refused to make the last of his deliveries? Regardless, the sequence representing his death shows firstly the colour starting to bleed out of the footage before he dissolves into starlight – a recurring theme in Neil’s work.

On to lighter things now – here’s Anathema doing that creepy thing of offering virtually unknown children food again. I love how Bryan’s initial concern about the chocolate is that he thinks it’s coming from a witch. Never mind “stranger danger”, what you really have to watch out for is those witches. Sounds like he’s well suited for a position in the Witchfinder Army.

It’s not unexpected that Shadwell has Jerusalem playing in his (gross) apartment, I think he probably plays that recording on a loop so as to continue feeding his delusions that his insanity is driven by a deep love for his country. The particular line of the song playing here (“in England’s dark Satanic mills”) is pretty well-timed though, seeing as it won’t be long until everything in England has a distinctly devilish tone to it. There’s also an irony to Shadwell’s farewell:

May the armies of glory march beside ye.

I don’t really think that’s a good idea, seeing as how they’re perfectly comfortable with wiping out the entire human race for the sole purpose of winning an argument…

There’s another throwback to Adam’s imagination becoming real in the next scene, with the UFO that Newton witnesses having the same design as the one we saw hanging from Adam’s bookcase earlier in the episode:

And I love the use of the theremin in the soundtrack – nothing screams an old school UFO and aliens more than the sound of a theremin!

Side note: the mention of a “neuter” gender by the alien is in the original book, written in 1996. I hope I’m not being offensive by crediting Neil and Terry with being massively ahead of their time in their support of the LGBTQ+ community there, and applaud them for being beacons of what we should all aspire to be.

Secondary side note: anybody else get Douglas Adams vibes from this alien conversation? For me it really conjures memories of a different universe where an alien race showed up to destroy Earth to make way for a new hyperspace bypass…

We’re back with The Them, with Wensleydale kindly reminding us that whales have big brains, for the third time in this series. I think it’s fair to say that we should be aware each of the children have their own distinct personalities, given the scripting and acting that we have seen up to this point. If we were in any doubt though, it’s really underlined by the fact that they each have a different type of ice lolly.

Again I say the level of attention to detail in this show is truly astounding. We’ll see more of it in the next scene where we see Ligur’s chameleon not only moving independently but that its skin actually cycles though a range a colours. That said, I do have a question about the information available to Anathema in the next scene:

The full prophecy on the card shows us a lot more information than is narrated in the show (like how she knew he was a Witchfinder, and that his descendant was responsible for the death of her own). What it doesn’t say is how she knows exactly the date and time of his arrival. That information isn’t even in any of the scribbled notes on the card. I guess we’ll never know how she comes to find this out.

And on that quandry, I’m going to wrap it up for this part of the episode write up. I realise it’s a slightly odd place in the episode to call it a day, but if I finish here I can use the Fields of Megiddo signpost to head the next part (told you I was a sucker for consistency). So as always, questions, comments, discussion – always welcome.

#good omens #episode analysis #good omens season 1 #aziraphale #crowley #adam young #the them #good omens gabriel #good omens michael #good omens ligur #good omens pollution #good omens death #good omens soundtrack #good omens costume #anathema device #newton pulsifer #good omens wensleydale #good omens pepper #good omens brian

22 notes · View notes

whumprecs · 10 months ago

Note

you’ve prob done this but umbrella academy whump/angst recs?? all ur others are so good!

Sorry about the delay! So I am a huge Five fan, so most of them are slanted that way, though I think Diego sneaks in there a few times -but also they're almost all Family Fics.

I'm going to leave off the NSFW/non-con ones I know of, just in case. If you are interested, feel free to send another anon ask (or message if you would prefer) and I'll send links.

i'm walking backward into my own myth by eluvion Five is in 1963. He’s in 2019. He’s in 2002. Time is falling apart, and Five is in every piece. Five is a disease, and time is coughing up a lung.

Or; Five Hargreeves breaks time.

I kept running (for a soft place to fall) by chromaticality He'd hoped they had given up. Really, he should have known better. The Handler thinks he's the solution to all her problems. Five thinks he'd like to turn the whole place into a slaughterhouse. But with Allison and Luther caught in the crossfire, Five has to cooperate with the Commission's plans until he can figure out a way to get everyone home.

No Time, No Time, Dear Brother O’ Mine by I_Logophile

At Gimbel Brothers department store, Five’s injury is a bit more serious than a simple bullet graze. Not that it matters to him.

That is, until the police show up while he’s trying to leave, and Five finds himself remembering things he’d rather forget. -- There’s something going on with his brother. That much is very clear to Diego.

Why else is Five at a crime scene? Why else is he attacking the people trying to help him? Why else is he going around ranting about time?

There’s something going on with his brother. And Diego is going to find out what.

He just has to get Five some medical attention first.

the walls kept tumbling down by Ingu It started small.

There was a nagging ache in his chest, phantom pain from where the bullets had pierced his flesh, in the overwritten timeline that never will be.

(the one where rewinding time doesn't miraculously resolve mortal gunshot wounds)

Here, Beneath My Lungs by beastboy12

After they get back from the 60's, Five starts investigating a string of suspicious murders while distancing himself from a family he's convinced he's already lost. So, naturally, Klaus and Diego join him. "Holy shit, Five," Diego says, rushing forward. "What the hell happened to you?" Five is off-balanced by the sight of Diego. Shouldn’t he be at the other address? What is he doing here? Klaus appears on the other side of Diego and lets out a laugh that sounds almost frantic. "Oh, thank God you can see him, too.” “Why are you here?” Five says. Diego scoffs. “Yeah, no, the one covered in blood doesn’t get to ask questions.”

Series

Part 1 of Five is an emotionally stunted yogurt lid

The Longest Roads Lead to Home by assaily (twistedskys) Five raised his glass to the rafters. “I’m home,” he said simply. “I’d like to take the time to enjoy that, y’know.”

Diego watched him pour another drink, suddenly understanding him. He’d been gone a long time, lost in a really terrible place that probably never felt like home unless he could somehow forget he was the last soul on Earth. ‘Home’ meant a lot to him.

When Five’s glass was ready again, Diego raised his own, still half-full. “To being home,” he said.

That earned him a smile, a real one that managed to soothe the crease in Five’s brow and make him look so incredibly young in its sincerity, and so incredibly old in its deep gratitude. He raised his glass and clinked it against Diego’s. “To finally being home.”

~-~

Or; Five gets kidnapped and it goes wrong (for the kidnapper).

heart heart head by morimaru

a series of hurt/comfort snippets featuring Five.

Blink by Lady_Origami When Five blinks, sometimes he's back in the world of ash and embers. It's hard to remember how to breathe when that happens. In which Klaus tries to play the role of supportive brother with Ben's help, and Five struggles more than he lets on.

Can you hug me as I go? by maddienole What if the FBI captured Five instead of Vanya?

2x7 canon divergence.

Simple by sharkneto Diego runs into Five at the park. He’s just here to catch a mugger. Why does Five always complicate things?

Lend a Hand by sharkneto If Luther’s being honest, he’s not sure how they’re going to get out of this one. Effectively trapped and powers negated, the Umbrella Academy is in a dire position.

Luther really needs to stop underestimating the lengths Five is willing to go to save his family.

Howling at the Moon by assaily (twistedskys) Five is now a permanent resident of the Hotel Oblivion. The rooms are crap, service is even worse, and he's pretty sure his family left him here. But at least they're safe, right?

A pre-season 3 AU of season 3, Hotel-as-a-prison concept from the comics.

lie awake, sleep awake by morimaru Number Five does not get sick. He refuses to be sick. His body obeys. Right up until it doesn't. (- this one is literally my favorite of all of these rec's, I have lost count how many times I've read it)

and all the kids cried out by morimaru The one where Five is sick, the Handler is clingy and hard to get rid of even after death, and Klaus has a ghost-busting side-gig that is a lot less exciting than it sounds.

Guilt Trip by I_Logophile In typical Five Hargreeves fashion, a drug ring bust with his family turns into a rescue mission, which turns into a complete and utter shitshow. Because, of course, things had to go sideways— No, scratch that. Things didn't just go sideways, things went upside down, backward, and inside out. And then got blown up. Literally.

In the aftermath of the whole fiasco, Five is left reeling, floundering, drowning in guilt.

Because how could he have done that?

How could he have attacked his family?

spoiled by morimaru Number Five is a survivor. He fought his whole life: he fought their father, the apocalypse, the commission, then – the apocalypse, again. Having made that fateful jump back to 2019, he unwillingly left his old body with all of its scars behind. Physical ones, at least. It’s funny, in a way, that the hardest thing for him to fight ends up being food.

The Dangers of Vigilanteing by aceofwhump Diego gets injured during one of his vigilante acts and is forced to go back to the one place he swore he'd never return: The Umbrella Academy

Also, the best way I've found to get to the fics I want in this fandom is to troll through favorites of the authors of my favorite fics. Most fandoms that doesn't seem to work, but this one it does. Happy reading, and again - sorry about the delay!

#the umbrella academy #five the boy #five hargreeves #diego hargreeves #TUA #tua five #whump rec #asks answered very very late

46 notes · View notes

lethalhades · 21 days ago

Text

the love of an tyrant and a warrior

(hey guys! sorry it took so long to write but here's a new chapter, I didn't proof read anything but this election had me exhausted lmfao)

chapter 3: disease

How long has it been? Yamcha asked himself, barely able to keep his eyes open as pain pulsed through every part of his body. He lay half-buried in the ground, the rough crater his only cradle after being slammed there by Frieza. The emperor showed no mercy, delivering blows calculated to hurt but not kill, taking pleasure in Yamcha’s suffering. Yamcha’s mind reeled as he wondered how he’d even ended up here. Why had he agreed to this?

“Why… why do you do what you do, Lord Frieza?” he managed to ask, voice faint.

The question seemed to catch Frieza off guard. He tilted his head, curious, moving closer to look down at Yamcha. “You can still speak? Impressive,” he said, ignoring the question entirely. Frieza seemed more intrigued by how much punishment Yamcha could endure than by his words, pushing to see how far he could go before Goku intervened.

“Why do I do it?” Frieza finally said, a cruel smile curling his lips as he charged a glowing ki blast at his fingertip. “Because humans are the strangest creatures. Here you are, defying me, knowing full well what I’m capable of. and instead of accepting your fate, you flap your pathetic lips to ask me such an idiotic question with what should be your dying breath.”

Yamcha’s instincts flared. Though he could barely move, he wasn’t ready to give up. Summoning the last of his strength, he focused his ki into a Spirit Ball, rolling onto his stomach and lifting himself to one knee. With a burst of effort, he launched the Spirit Ball, intercepting Frieza’s blast mid-air.

Smoke filled the air, and as it cleared, Yamcha heard a sound that sent a chill down his spine. Frieza was laughing, a low, sinister chuckle. Yamcha could see his expression, the way Frieza’s face twisted with delight at the human’s defiance.

“You’ve earned my respect, human,” Frieza sneered. “Someone like you deserves to be spared…this time. Don’t expect such mercy again, and be grateful for the life I’ve let you keep.”

"W-what..." Yamcha’s voice barely escaped his lips before his strength faded, and darkness closed in around him.

As he slipped into unconsciousness, a bitter truth gnawed at him. He wasn't a warrior anymore—not truly. He’d given up that life after facing death too many times, each close call leaving behind scars he couldn’t ignore. Those marks served as silent reminders, a constant warning of how fragile life really was, with death always lurking, indifferent and unyielding.

Why am I here again? he thought, his mind clouded with regret. Fighting had only ever brought him pain, yet somehow, he was back in its grip, forced to confront the one thing he could never escape or control.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

A hazy awareness crept back into Yamcha’s mind, the world coming into focus as he blinked his eyes open. Every inch of his body throbbed with a dull, relentless pain, but he could tell he was somewhere different now. The sterile white walls and familiar hum of machines told him he was in the medical ward of Capsule Corp. He knew this place well—too well.

“Oh, thank god you’re awake!” Bulma’s voice broke through the quiet, filled with a mixture of relief and exasperation. “I was worried sick when we found you.”

“We...?” Yamcha’s voice was weak, his throat dry, but he managed to ask.

Bulma nodded, flipping through her clipboard of Yamcha’s medical reports, her gaze serious but softened with concern. “Yeah, Frieza actually called it in. He knew I’d been monitoring his confinement with cameras, so he contacted me directly, saying you needed medical attention. I had to get Goku to help retrieve you before Vegeta found an excuse to go after Frieza himself.”

Yamcha’s brow furrowed slightly. Frieza called for help? The thought was bizarre, but Bulma continued without pausing, her focus now back on the clipboard. Though it didn’t look like he’d suffered anything life-threatening, Yamcha knew his body well enough to guess that a few things were definitely broken and out of place.

Bulma sighed, glancing back at him. “You really put yourself through the wringer this time, Yamcha.” Bulma continued, her expression a mix of worry and exasperation. “You’re lucky, you know. Frieza doesn’t exactly spare people often, and he wasn’t gentle, either. You’re going to need some time before you’re back on your feet.” She paused, looking at him more closely.

“Why did we even agree to do this.”

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. A mixture of pride and doubt churned within him. “I could’ve handled it,” he murmured.

Yamcha would rather die than let anyone think he was weak. For years, he’d been on the sidelines, watching from the shadows, a scavenger among giants. But over time, he’d fought his way to the front, no longer a meek bystander but a warrior who wasn’t afraid to strike first. There was no way he’d give that up now.

“I think I should go,” he said, his tone firm as he slowly swung his legs over the side of the medical bed, wincing slightly. “I can handle the injuries.” Bulma raised an eyebrow as she watched him pull out his IV, determination flashing in his eyes despite the pain. "And besides," he added with a forced smile, reaching for his shirt folded nearby, “who’s gonna keep an eye on that purple little grape.”

Bulma sighed, shaking her head as he struggled to stand. “Yamcha, you just got out of a fight with Frieza. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

But Bulma knew his stubbornness too well. There was a fire in Yamcha that wouldn’t let him stay down for long.

“If something like this happens again, Goku and I are cutting this whole idea,” she warned, pointing a finger at him. Her tone was firm, but the worry in her eyes was unmistakable.

Yamcha just flashed a friendly grin and gave her a quick wave before taking off, heading back toward Frieza’s containment. He knew he was crazy for going back, but something about Frieza kept pulling him in—a strange feeling that there might be answers to his questions, as if, in some way, they were similar souls on very different paths.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The air was thick with tension as Yamcha stood in the clearing outside the capsule house, his arms crossed over his chest as he scanned the horizon. The bruises and aches from his recent encounter with Frieza hadn’t fully healed, but here he was, back for more. Every sane part of him urged him to turn around, to leave this madness behind, but something rooted him here, something beyond pride or stubbornness. It was the unexplainable pull of Frieza himself—a figure who, for all his cruelty, fascinated Yamcha. There was a darkness in Frieza, something infectious, that kept Yamcha coming back. And it gnawed at him like a disease he couldn’t shake.

From the shadows of the capsule house, he felt Frieza’s presence long before he saw him. The tyrant emerged slowly, his crimson eyes catching the light as they fixed on Yamcha with a look somewhere between boredom and intrigue.

“Back again, I see. Are you so desperate to be reminded of your insignificance, human?” Frieza’s voice was smooth and mocking, his tone laced with an edge that sent a chill through Yamcha’s spine..

Yamcha forced himself to stand his ground. “Call it… curiosity,” he replied, struggling to keep his voice steady. “You’re the one who called Bulma to save me, Lord Frieza.”

Frieza’s expression didn’t change, but a glint sparked in his eye, a flicker of something unreadable. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his movements eerily calm, like a predator toying with its prey. “Curiosity? How quaint,” he drawled, voice dripping with disdain. “Humans are weak because of it, you know. You chase after things that are beyond you, clawing at whatever scraps of power you can find. And yet, here you stand, insisting on wasting my time.”

Yamcha’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t let Frieza’s words pierce him. Instead, he asked, “Why did you spare me, then? If I’m as insignificant as you say, why bother?”

For a long moment, Frieza didn’t answer, his gaze piercing, as though he was weighing Yamcha’s worth with every second. “Amusement,” he finally said, though his tone lacked conviction. “A brief distraction from these Saiyans. Do you understand what it is to live as I do, human?”

Yamcha swallowed, watching as Frieza’s tail swayed slowly behind him, an ominous reminder of his deadly strength. He hadn’t expected Frieza to reveal anything remotely personal, yet here he was, as if compelled to let Yamcha glimpse something buried deep within. Yamcha felt a strange pang of empathy—one he couldn’t fully understand. Was that even possible? To see Frieza, of all beings, as something more than a villain?

Yamcha asked carefully. “If you stop finding us… entertaining?”

Frieza’s smirk widened, and he leaned closer, his voice a whisper that made Yamcha’s skin crawl. “Then I crush you like the insects you are.”

Yamcha’s heart pounded as he stumbled over his words, desperate to find an excuse for returning to Frieza’s presence. “wait! I’m really here because, um…” His mind raced, his tongue stumbling, until an idea blurted out before he could even process it. “I… I came back to make tea for you, Lord Frieza.”

He barely believed the words himself, but anything to keep Frieza from turning hostile right now seemed worth a shot. The tyrant raised a brow, his arms folding behind his back as he examined Yamcha with a suspicious, calculating gaze.

“Oh?” Frieza’s voice dripped with cold amusement, but there was the faintest glimmer of interest in his eyes. “Tea, you say? Fascinating… Very well. Hurry up and make me this tea before I consider killing you instead.” His glare, as cold and sharp as a blade, made Yamcha’s blood run cold.

“Y-Yes, Lord Frieza!” Yamcha stammered, the adrenaline jolting his legs into motion. Without another word, he darted into the capsule house, heart pounding as he made a beeline for the small kitchen area. He’d been in plenty of tense situations before, but there was something uniquely nerve-wracking about Frieza’s presence, about being within arm’s reach of someone who could end his life with a flick of his finger.

Rummaging through the cupboards, Yamcha scrambled for whatever he could find that might pass as tea ingredients. He wasn’t even sure what Frieza expected from a “human tea.” Capsules clinked in his hands as he tried to calm himself, reminding himself that he had to keep his composure, or at least the appearance of it. He grabbed a few tea bags, a kettle, and an old metal teapot he figured would look fancy enough to keep Frieza from getting too suspicious. The water took longer than he liked to boil, every second feeling stretched thin as he anticipated Frieza’s impatience.

He prepared the tea as best as he could, pouring it into a set of cups he hoped looked elegant enough. His hands trembled as he carried the tray toward the living room, swallowing back the panic rising in his throat.

Yamcha took a steadying breath before presenting the tray to Frieza, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch. The tyrant’s red eyes narrowed as he glanced at the teapot, the cups, then back to Yamcha.

“Here you are, Lord Frieza,” Yamcha said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I… hope it’s to your liking.”

Frieza took the cup, bringing it to his lips, and sipped in silence. Yamcha held his breath, waiting for any sign of approval or disgust, feeling as though the weight of his life hung on this one sip. After what felt like an eternity, Frieza lowered the cup, regarding him with a bemused expression.

“So,” Frieza drawled, his voice deceptively soft. “Is this why you came back, Yamcha? To serve me tea? Or is there something else you aren’t telling me?”

Yamcha’s pulse quickened. He knew he was treading on thin ice. “I, uh… I just thought it’d be a nice gesture. You did, after all, spare me.” He forced a smile, hoping it would deflect Frieza’s suspicions.

Frieza’s eyes remained locked on him, unreadable, with a smirk creeping onto his lips. “How quaint.” He tilted his head, seeming to study Yamcha as if he were some curious experiment. “Tell me, Yamcha… do you often serve tea to your enemies?”

Yamcha swallowed, trying to keep his nerves from betraying him. “Not usually, no. But… maybe we’re not enemies, after all.” His words were cautious, each one chosen carefully, though he wasn’t entirely sure he believed them himself.

Frieza’s smirk widened, a dark amusement glinting in his eyes. “Is that so?” He set the cup down, the sound echoing ominously. “You are a curious creature, Yamcha. Coming back here, risking your life… Are you foolish, or simply infected by some inexplicable need to understand me?”

Yamcha hesitated, unsure how to respond. The truth, if he dared to admit it, was that there was a twisted allure in facing Frieza, in seeking answers from this dark, unfathomable entity. But he couldn’t let himself be too transparent, not when Frieza was watching him so closely.

“Maybe it’s a little of both,” he finally replied, a hint of defiance slipping into his tone. “Or maybe… I just don’t want to live in fear.”

For a moment, Frieza seemed genuinely surprised, his crimson eyes narrowing with what looked almost like curiosity. “You are either braver than I thought, or stupider,” he mused, a cold laugh slipping from his lips. “Perhaps this ridiculous gesture has earned you a few more moments.”

Yamcha allowed himself a tiny exhale of relief, though he didn’t dare let his guard down entirely.

Frieza could feel Yamcha's gaze searing into him, as if the warrior were silently demanding him to unveil the hidden thoughts and emotions he so carefully concealed. It made Frieza's stomach turn; why would Yamcha, of all people, be interested in *him*?

“You’re a strange human,” Frieza sneered, his voice laced with mild disgust. “Most people would be frightened—or at the very least repulsed—by my presence.” His crimson eyes flickered with disdain, yet Yamcha’s gaze remained steady, unwavering, holding Frieza’s sharp features within his own dark irises, intently listening to every word.

"Sometimes we all have our reasons for being the way we are, and sometimes we don’t… but I think you do have a reason."

Frieza motion stopped as he was about to sip from his tea glass hearing yamcha’s words. His tail flicked behind him, the tension between them growing thick as smoke. For a brief, fleeting moment, Yamcha thought he saw something flicker in Frieza’s expression—a shadow of something unspoken, buried so deeply that not even Frieza seemed aware of it. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the familiar mask of cruelty.

Frieza’s voice was low, dangerous, yet something in it seemed to waver. “Remember, I allowed you to live once. That was a mercy I do not grant lightly.”The two sat facing each other, the small, sterile room filled with an unsettling quiet. Yamcha was seated stiffly, barely sinking into his chair, his fingers tracing patterns along his pant leg as he considered his words. Frieza sat across from him, arms crossed, his crimson gaze fixed sharply on the warrior as though assessing every twitch, every blink. It was unnerving—the sheer intensity in the emperor’s stare, as though he was silently dismantling Yamcha, layer by layer.

Yamcha swallowed, forcing himself to stay steady. He’d come this far; he couldn’t back out now. “I came here because… I needed to understand,” he began slowly, barely managing to keep his voice from shaking.

Frieza’s lips curled into an amused smirk. “Understand what? That you’re nothing more than a feeble creature, scrabbling to live?” he sneered, though there was something else in his gaze—interest, perhaps, or some faint curiosity.

Yamcha shook his head, breathing deep. “It’s more than that, Lord Frieza.” He met Frieza’s stare, feeling a shiver crawl up his spine as the tyrant’s eyes bore into him. “I feel like… we’re similar, in a way.”

At that, Frieza chuckled, a soft, sinister laugh that reverberated through the quiet space. “Similar? You and I? Foolish.” He leaned forward, his tail flicking lazily over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed with that same mocking amusement. “You really think you can understand me?”

Yamcha swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words as he spoke. “Maybe… not fully. But I think I know what it’s like to want something more.” He paused, catching Frieza’s sharp gaze. “To feel that hunger. It’s not always about power, is it?”

For a moment, Frieza’s mocking smirk faltered, and Yamcha could swear he saw a flicker of something deeper beneath the emperor’s cold exterior—something guarded, a shadow of something unsaid. Frieza tilted his head, the slight shift of his body language betraying his intrigue, though his expression remained as icy as ever.

“You’re treading on thin ice, boy,” Frieza murmured, his voice low, deadly. “If you think there’s any depth to what drives me, you’re more foolish than I thought.” Yet there was no denying that Frieza hadn’t dismissed him outright. If anything, his attention was sharper, his gaze assessing.

The silence grew heavier, and Frieza leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “Go on, then,” he drawled, his tone as mocking as it was curious. “Enlighten me. How do you think we are alike?”

Yamcha felt his heart race, the tension palpable. “It’s… the way we want more than what we’re given,” he said, his words coming slowly. “We envy those who have things we’re still reaching for.” He hesitated, searching for the right way to convey the strange, inexplicable feeling in his chest. “It’s not that we’re satisfied with what we have. We keep… striving for something.”

Frieza’s gaze darkened, his smirk turning colder. “You think you know anything of my ambition, boy?” He scoffed, his tail flicking as though punctuating his disdain. But there was something almost thoughtful in his gaze, a trace of acknowledgment—subtle, yet unmistakable.

Yamcha nodded, holding Frieza’s stare. “Maybe not,” he admitted, his voice steady. “But I know what it feels like to keep pushing forward, even when everyone expects you to give up.” He took a breath, feeling the weight of his words as he continued. “It’s a disease, isn’t it? This feeling that there’s always something just out of reach. Something that would make us… whole.”

The words hung in the air, the silence thick as Frieza’s gaze bore into him, calculating, assessing. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet stretched, pressing down on Yamcha, making the room feel colder, darker.

Then, Frieza leaned in, his eyes gleaming with a chilling intensity. “A disease, you say?” His voice was soft, almost contemplative, but there was a menace beneath it, a warning. “Perhaps you’re onto something… but be careful what you search for. Not everyone is strong enough to survive the truth.”

Yamcha shivered, caught in the gravity of Frieza’s words. He didn’t dare to break the silence, didn’t dare to look away, as though doing so would unravel the tenuous, dangerous thread that connected them. Frieza’s gaze seemed to pierce through him, an invitation and a threat all at once.

And then, as Frieza’s smirk grew ever so slightly, he added in a low, menacing whisper, “If you really want to understand… you’ll have to be willing to lose everything.”

Yamcha’s pulse quickened, a flicker of dread mingling with a strange, reckless curiosity. As he stared into Frieza’s cold, knowing eyes, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being pulled deeper, past a point of no return.

(thank you for reading, I love YOU ALL MWAH MWAH)

#dragon ball #frieza #yamcha x frieza #dragon ball z #yamcha #gay love #we love to see it #dbz #enemies to lovers #dragon ball super #bulma briefs #Spotify

15 notes · View notes

cheriecelestial · 10 months ago

Text

Ephemeral Infinity Of Spring

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ patient!satoru gojo x med school student!geto suguru

genre *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ drama,comedy,angst. romance, fluff.

cw *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ angst, strong language, typos, grammatical errors, cliché moments , violence, potential medical malpractice

a/n : *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ so it’s inspired by ' In another life' - a bokuaka fanfiction by LittleLuxray on ao3 .

╰ ┈➤ Chapter List

╰ ┈➤ Master list

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝕴t hadn't been long since Geto Suguru had been to a concert hospital . Not because he was suffering from any ailments rather he had the misfortune of being a medical student . Visiting a hospital regularly for assignments to help with his GPA and other related future prospects was one of his responsibilities as a med school student . The cold February wind ruffled Suguru's dark hair. The radiant hues of horizon reflected in his dead eyes. Standing at the edge of the high rise building with his portfolio and other necessities. He was stuck with the honor he never asked for. Being the envious golden student born into a family of doctors , he should be happy and grateful, but he's not. Only he knew the pain when his heart wanted to live but he wanted to die. All these years living life for someone, he'd lost himself in this world. His life felt somewhat was colorless.

The hospital was a place of both life and death . Within these brightly lit hallways laced with doors on both side spreading like labyrinth expanding into the fabric of universe itself. It was pretty ironic. People take their first open their eyes here, not even being able to recognise faces of their own family, within these sterile white walls and die here, leaving their loved ones behind. A heartless farewell . Suguru disliked both . To him , little children were considered an unnecessary economic liability . It was sickening to be surrounded by all of this and often more sickening than the disease you are expected to cure as a doctor . These white walls of hospital were grey. Doctors and Nurses bustled through the hallway like train in its track, unstopping and moving, not even budging to look at the state of people hurled up in the waiting room . The receptionist's hands moved like tongs on the desk , mechanically creating a bundle of thousands of signed receipts like a printer. Someone coughed. Someone cried, but overall it was just the silence and the plight of patients in the waiting room, devoid of laughter and happiness. Everything there was mechanical. Like clockwork.

The pungent stench of antiseptic lingered in the air. If that wasn't enough to make him want to gag, well, there was a floor cleaner pricking his nose. Suguru composed himself and told himself 'I'm used to it', yet he couldn't hold himself from frowning.

" Um Geto Suguru-san ?" He heard a voice , causing him to whip his head towards the source . It was woman with long dark hair which glowed with a hint of purple under the blue tinted hospital lights . Some strands tied behind her head and was sporting a scar on the right side of her face that crossed the bridge of her nose. She was a little older than him considering she was wearing a receptionist's outfit . " Uh yes that's me" The woman nodded at his words and asked him to follow her . While walking to her work station , she gave him a rundown of the hospital and how great it was - something Suguru paid no attention to . In about fifteen minutes or so , all paperwork was sorted out and he was officially signed up . No going back I guess , he thought to himself .

The woman had been babbling for long enough for his ears to become numb to it. What was it? 30 minutes? 20 minutes? The sound of her voice was nothing more than background noise to Suguru's ears at this point and he'd totally lost comprehension of her words . This was precisely being lost in an abyss of nothingness, treading aimless. "Found you" A smug voice shone in stark contrast through the darkness like guiding sunshine. He turned and saw the profile of an unfamiliar young man of his age . Conventionally, this new guy would be considered a very tall man but Suguru being 6'1" himself was only a couple inches shorter in comparison.

His striking delicate but sharp features were mesmerizing with almost feminine perfection . Perhaps it was his snowy white hair that fell on his forehead, or the way his circular shades rested on his nose or perhaps his smug grin, or who knows, lollipop propped between his teeth ? No, it was his lips dyed fainted blue that Suguru couldn't help detach his eyes away from . This guy had a total air of a snob about him, he was the cool type of popular kid at highschool who'd die without attention. Suguru steered away from such people. They were walking natural disasters. Despite that, Suguru couldn't help being mildly curious about him at the same time. 'What am I even thinking? Focus.' he told himself but then his gaze fell on the guy's clothes. A white and blue patterned clothing. 'He's a patient' Suguru noticed.

" I'm sorry but do i know you ?" Suguru tilted his head and asked . " Nope but -" The man grinned taking his lollipop from between his lips and cocking it in Suguru's direction causing the ebony haired man to reflexively cringe away . " my hottie radar said there was a hot single in this area and my senses - " he haughtily pointed his index finger at the tip of his nose and continued " are never wrong and I think of it as my duty to check them out " Suguru felt his eye twitch as he stared back at the man . There is no way he just said that . Suguru considered himself quite a patient man; he had to skipped a year through college and coming home to a mountain of homework and having to deal with his parent's and his own expectations – he was not easily flustered or overwhelmed when faced with a unusual personalities . However nothing in life could prepare him for the current situation he was in . " So you mean to say you're a public nuisance who's liable to getting booked for harassment ?" The white haired man pulled the shades resting on the bridge of his nose down and stared at him in bewilderment . Suguru bit his tongue instantly regretting his words . There goes my good impression , he lamented internally . He didn't dare look to his side to see the nurse's reaction . He expected the man to get offended and yell at him , but instead he burst out laughing . So hard he almost doubled over .

" Yo Utahime I'm keeping this one , he's just too fun", He grabbed Suguru's shoulders , still laughing and the nurse just sighed at this incorrigible Jack Frost imposter, that was what Suguru labeled him in his mind, she shook her head . " Do as you see fit ." His wide grin became even wider . Think of the devil reincarnate . Before the poor medical student could even comprehend half the things happening around him, it was too late for him to plead his case. He started in vain, " But miss I am an intern , I'm not supposed to -"

" One of the duties of interns is to look after patients babygirl" Jack Frost imposter said as he dragged him away . The dark haired man looked to the nurse for help who just passed him a mournful unempathetic glance that said, 'You're on your own, kid' and turned away to continue working .

He felt hurt at being ditched. But then again, he was used to it. All of it. He irritatedly walked behind the chirpy extravert, who waved and smiled at everyone that passed by. This guy seemed to literally be familiar with everyone in this place. Finally, the two men with contrasting personality stopped in front of the more colorful part of the hospital, the pediatrics ward, and the man smiled proudly ," This is where you will be working"

" But I'm a neurology major ! This isn't my field of interest or expertise"

" Seriously, who cares ?"

" B-but I have no experience- " he panicked.

"Then let's get it"

taglist: @sleepykittycx / @kentply

#gojo satoru x geto suguru #gojo x geto #gojo satoru #jjk geto #geto suguru #jjk gojo #jjk #satosugu

23 notes · View notes

non-un-topo · 1 year ago

Text

I think we need to talk more about the nuance of transition.

Specifically, the diversity of transition and the ways in which a person's gender and presentation can fluctuate and never reach an "end."

The first time I tried to get on T, I second-guessed and disappeared. Didn't answer calls from doctors, didn't reach out. I had seen an openly trans psychotherapist a few times as he was guiding me through the steps to accessing hormones. When he asked me when I started to feel "this way" about my gender, I answered that it had been fairly recent, maybe a few years. His response was that that was strange, because "most people figure it out when they hit puberty." Well, that shut me up and I haven't spoken to a therapist about transition since. It's clear to me now that he was approaching transness from a medical background. The medical model of course has not been a favourite of the trans community, myself included. It conceptualizes transness in terms of deficit, self-hatred, misery, and it envisions transition as an end.

This idea of end, of the reached destination, terrified me at twenty-three and it terrifies me now. How are twenty-three year olds, middle-schoolers, or kids approaching puberty, supposed to be able to envision their end, and to argue their case with such certainty if they want access to methods of transition? Where is the elbow room for change, evolution, and discovery, and even "mistakes"?

Many trans individuals, some colleagues of my own included, say they have always known who they are and what their gender is. This is the dominant trans narrative for a reason. I don't mean to discredit their words and their stories. It is not anyone's business to tell another person who they are or are not, and above all we should all continue to advocate for the voices of trans kids to be heard and honoured.

The philosophy of discovering who you "truly" are, of "finding" yourself, even of "cracking your egg" is starting to sound heavily Western and neoliberal. There is rarely a conversation about how our identities are changed by others, our environments, or by ourselves. Instead the dominant conversation around transition is centred in finding the true self. I criticize this philosophy because of its limitation. It is an end.

I recently joined a support group, and in the first meeting I attended my colleagues talked about finding their names, and about bridges. They shared stories of their own name decision-making processes, and how they used "temporary" new names as placeholders for their true names. A "bridge," they called it. I loved this sentiment. It spoke to the idea that gender and identity are more fluid than we are taught to believe, and I of course did this temporary name thing, too. But still with all of my colleagues there was this idea of truth, of finality.

I criticize it because it is another barrier of access to transition. People seeking means for medical transition are expected to be one-hundred percent, without-a-doubt-sure of their gender identity and of their future decisions regarding transition. It's starting to sound like a way to gatekeep transition, to bar access from those who are not "trans enough" because they do not fit the medical model's description. We know this. We've had these conversations before.

If we keep thinking about transness only in terms of the true self, the cracked egg, then we leave little room for those who are curious, for those who simply want to be creative with their identities, cisgender people included.

In writing this, I had to really fight the urge to go back and outline all the "clues" in my childhood that point towards my transness. I fought this because that is exactly what we as trans (genderqueer, genderfluid, trans* etc) people are supposed to do if we want to be believed. As if the only way to legitimize transness is to have "all the signs" in early childhood, as if transness is some chronic disease. Don't get me wrong --- this remembering and legitimizing works for some people, myself included. It is the way we know how to learn about ourselves. And at the same time, it is a key part of the transmedicalist approach.

We should not have to explain our histories and be certain of our futures to be believed and to have access to care.

It's an abusive relationship dynamic between the trans individual and institutions --- the desperation to explain ourselves in detail, explain our histories and our possible futures, so the institutions might allow us access to methods of transition.

The sooner we explore more possibilities beyond the idea that transness and transition are the final self, that transness is some chronic and fatal condition diagnosable from self-hatred cues in childhood, the sooner we can remove barriers of access to trans kids, and invite more people into the excitement, creativity, and nuance of trans experiences.

#transgender #terfs dni #this is going to get no notes but that's ok because i don't like interacting with people sdfgfds #i've been so revved up lately i'm genuinely considering making a blog where i talk about gender and stuff. any interest?#tumblr might be dying so let's air out our philosophies and feelings while we can #abuse mention #abuse tw

33 notes · View notes