#they make me so frustrated because not only do i have to deal with chronic illness but also unhelpful people who create a negative

[a-walking-fandom-reference]

why do so many non-chronically ill people not comprehend that chronically ill means exactly what it says!! an illness that is constant, continuing for a long time, always present.

so yes that does mean it is always affecting me, yes i am still sick/feel bad, yes i am sick/feel bad all the time

[supercantaloupe]

getting real tired of every visit with this doctor just being "exercise more, diet more, and lose weight. Now go get this bloodwork done"

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA If I told my girlfriend to "get over it" ?

This requires some preface, my girlfriend (25) is chronically ill, and doesnt have a job currently and doctors arent really sure what she has but its being managed, for the most part, she still deals / copes with a lot of pain.

I (25) work a full time job. To support us, and for the past few months she's been begging me to get a new job (ive been applying like crazy to many places but USA job market is fucking awful awful place) and to 'learn to drive' or something to ease her struggles / pain of driving me to work everyday.

The reason why she drives me to work is because, I cant drive but also my vision is extremely bad and i wouldnt be allowed to drive anyways. (Im nightblind and i am legally blind, my vision is BAD)

But for the past 2~ months she has, consistently complained about driving me to work , and nearly making me late every time. Like , its frustrating and I have told her this that her doing this is frustrating me and making me upset she does this because I'm so tired of it. Its all she does most days is drive me to and from work. But theres no alternative for us to get me to work, an uber or lyft would cost 70 dollars both ways and just not reliable. Public transit doesnt exist where we live fully, so i thats not an option either. Truly its just driving there, which takes about 45min - 1 hour depending on traffic.

I wouldnt use the exact words of "get over it" but something much more nicely and better thought out. ?

The only reason I think i would be an asshole is that she is chronically ill, but our circumstances require her to do the driving. Which sucks, for us.

but yeah WIBTA?

[heliza24]

Being a physically disabled Dimension 20 fan breaks my heart sometimes

I’ve been thinking about this since last Wednesday’s episode when we finally got a real scene with Lydia, one of the few physically disabled characters in the entire canon of the show. It was nice, but it was really just a lore dump. An excuse for exposition. A moment for Kristen to look good by expending sympathy/pity. (I’m a little frustrated about how that interaction went down. Extending the help action was nice but patronizingly touching the neck of a full-ass adult without consent was not. It was weird and not something she would have done to a nondisabled character).

I have watched almost all of D20 (still missing a couple of seasons) and as far as I know here’s where our list of canon physically disabled characters stand: Lydia Barkrock, Jan de la Vega (who feels pretty problematic to me, maybe more on that in a later post), one of the Dwarven statues in the temple in The Seven (who is not given the dignity of being brought to life like Asha), and Pete’s coworker in TUC2 who is in exactly one episode and is so unimportant I have forgotten his name. I guess you could make an argument that Gunny is disabled, but I don't feel that Lou or Brennan really talk about him or play him through that lens. So in terms of canon physically disabled PCs-- that leaves us with 0.

We do a bit better with neurodivergent characters and characters with mental health problems; Ayda (my beloved) is very well developed and Adaine is a PC. There have been some openly neurodivergent players, like Omar and Surena, whose characters also read ND to me. But that isn’t labeled or discussed in canon, so it's hard for me to know where to class that. I am going to focus the rest of this post on physical disabilities, since that is my area of lived experience. If another fan wants to write about their perspective of neurodivergence rep in the show, I would love to hear that, and will happily amplify.

There has never been a character with a sensory disability or a limb difference or a chronic illness (not a fantasy one, a real one) on Dimension 20. The only NPCs we have are nondescript, similar wheelchair users. And there has never been a physically disabled player at the table. On the flagship show of Dropout, a company founded on diversity and inclusion. It feels extremely pointed to me.

In fact as far as I can tell there has only been one (1) physically disabled performer on any of Dropout’s shows. (Shout out to Brett, you were great on Dirty Laundry.) Obviously I haven’t seen every episode of everything they have produced. If I have missed someone, please do let me know in the comments/reblogs. But it’s a problem. And Sam Reich even agreed with this criticism when I asked him directly about.

I do really hope they’re working on it, as Sam says. But why has it taken so long?

Dimension 20 has had trans and nonbinary and queer players. It has had players of many different races. I’m not saying that the diversity here is perfect; there should always be more POC in the dome, more queer people. We should keep pushing for that. (And we should also push for performers at the intersections of these identities!) But we’ve seen the ways this diversity has expanded and improved the different seasons, because diverse players create sensitively drawn, diverse player characters. They add details to their PC’s experiences that make them feel rich and alive. I’m thinking about each of Ally’s PC’s incredible capital G gender and Aabria “all my characters (even the stoats) are Black” and how excellent they all are. D20 would not be the show it is without this input.

And yet. And yet.

There are 1,000 interesting and complicated themes to explore around disability. Dealing with access. Dealing with ableism. Dealing with compassion and community care. Dealing with none of it and just being a cool fantasy or sci fi character that happens to be disabled. We don’t get any of it.

I watch my favorite show and I see myself in the ace rep and the female characters. But I don’t see all of me. I see a silent but ever present message: you aren’t quite welcome here.

I have this fantasy that I play in my brain sometimes that someday I’ll get to talk to Brennan in person, like maybe if I buy a VIP ticket and risk Covid to go to a live show or we run into each other on the street or something. I am able to look him in the eye and articulate why he NEEDS to include a physically disabled player in an upcoming season. I reference the ways he’s talked about inclusion and writing diversely on Adventuring Party. Maybe I hand him a handwritten letter, or hell, a printout of this post. And because he really cares about diversity and his shows and his fans he would listen to me, and cast a physically disabled performer in the next season.

But I think that might be giving that nondisabled man (whose work I adore, who I respect so much) too much credit. Because he’s had Jennifer Kretchmer, a physically disabled actual play performer, on adventuring academy to talk about access in gaming. He’s hired disability consultants. He knows about physically disabled people, enough to give us shoutouts as inconsequential npcs. And he still hasn’t thought to include us at the table. In over 20 seasons. None of that other stuff matters if we aren't given a seat at the story telling table, and the agency to craft our own narratives equal to other participants in the game.

When Lydia was telling her story in the last episode, I kept wishing for a prequel, where she is more than a plot delivery device and a kind but unimportant parent. I want to know about her adventures with her adventuring party. I want to see a talented, wheelchair-using actor play out the scene when she decides to put the gem in her chest. I want to hear about what happened after. I want to know how she survived. I want it so badly it hurts.

I am in the process of trying to find new indie actual plays that feature more disabled talent. I am learning how to GM myself so I can tell these kinds of stories. But it’s not the same as being a fan of something. Sometimes I don’t want to have to make my own representation. Sometimes I just want to turn on my favorite tv show, the one that I have cosplayed from and written metas about and loved whole heartedly, and see myself included.

If you’re another disabled or neurodivergent fan I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. If you’re not, I’d love for you to reblog this. I would love for the absence of physical disability in this show to be a topic of fandom conversation, at the very least.

[andhumanslovedstories]

hello this is kind of heavy and no pressure at all to answer. and apologies because im sure you must have answered this before. but do you go through like a pain management flow chart for your patients and if so what are some of the steps? my dad is having some medical issues and i want to be able to help him manage his pain as much as i can. thank you and enjoy wasteland!

I work in a hospital setting so my pain management care plan is part of an interdisciplinary team in that setting. It's relatively easy for me to get, say, IV pain meds for a patient with extreme breakthrough pain. I don't know how well my approach would translate outside of that setting, I'm not palliative care trained, and I don't personally deal with chronic or acute pain (which is why I'm answering this publicly so other people can chime in), but in broad strokes:

First: Define pain. What type of pain is it? Muscle pain? Indigestion? Neuropathy? Surgical site? Stiffness from lack of movement? Is part of the pain also the fear of the pain? Sometimes when pain has been bad for a long time, or even has been bad in a short-term but very notable way, the idea of hurting that bad again is traumatizing. That fear of pain can, unfortunately, make you focus more on the pain you're feeling because now it's not just the physical sensation of pain, it's also the psychological impact of it.

Then, how does the pain affect you? Is it stopping you from sleeping? Is it stopping you from eating? Is it making you short-tempered or depressed? Does it make it difficult to focus on things? Does it make you nauseated? Anxious? Isolated? Do you feel like you need to hide it from those who care about you?

Everything pain is and affects is a place where you can intervene. Some of these interventions will be very small and would, if they were the only intervention, feel completely inadequate. Pain relief is rarely "you do one thing and you're done." You're addressing pain on multiple fronts, and sometimes that doesn't mean your focus isn't just the reduction of pain but the restoration of what pain has taken away. It's possible the worst part of pain for you isn't the pain itself but, for example, the immobility it causes. Are there different ways you can learn to move? Can you get a grabber? Can you get a shower chair? Can you find physical therapy exercises that help you regain strength or stop you from deconditioning to the degree you're able? What mobility aids might restore movement to you?

And if returning mobility is not possible at this time or ever, how can you modify your environment to support you? Can you figure out what bothers you the most about that immobility and mitigate that? If it's annoying that not being able to leave bed makes you bored, what can be within arm's reach? If it's frustrating that being too painful to move means you feel isolated from other people, can you make wherever you are more central? If pain makes having your bed on the second floor unfeasible, can you move your bed to the first floor? How can you adapt the environment around you?

I'd encourage movement too, to the degree it is possible. Being in the same position HURTS. If it feels good to stretch but you can't do it by yourself, can someone help you with range of motion? (You can look up "passive range of motion" to get an idea of how to do that.) This doesn't need to be exercising, just exploring the joy of moving your body. Related to movement is physical touch. I love lotions and medicated creams for pain patients because you can turn them into massages. Just be careful with pressure and be open about what hurts and what feels good. At the most gentle end of the spectrum is something called the M Technique which isn't even massage, it's like guided gentle touch. Give the body something else to feel.

Different medications work better with different types of pain. This part is hard to talk about in general because of the specificity of some pain med regiments. Tylenol is great, but be cautious with how much you are taking (acetaminophen overdoses are no joke) and remember that there's a point where more tylenol doesn't mean more pain relief. Opioids are great, but they can be very dangerous and aren't well-indicated for a lot of types of chronic pain. Even if opioids work best, I'd encourage you to be working on pain reduction on multiple fronts, as opioids are so controlled, it is easy to lose access to them. If opioids give you enough pain relief to do physical therapy, then make sure to do that physical therapy. Medications are amazing and I love them and I give out PRNs like crazy, but similarly to how I can't just take my depression meds and stop being depressed, pain medication works best in conjunction with other strategies. Those other strategies though can literally be something like "tramadol takes away the pain enough I can focus on something, and what I want to do with that focus is to watch a movie I've been meaning to rewatch for a while now but haven't had the spoons for." Sometimes all you will want to do when you get pain meds is sleep because you can't when you're hurting. Sleep is wonderful; how can you arrange your sleeping place and habits to make sleeping even more of a delight?

And if you find a medication that works, use it consistently. It is always easy to keep pain level than it is to address a pain spike. Don't wait until symptoms are at their worst to address them. Figure out what it feels like when your symptoms are ramping up, and intervene early.

Sometimes medications that aren't explicitly for pain can still help. If anxiety makes pain worse, consider an anxiety medication. If coughing hurts, can you get a numbing spray from your throat to make it less sensitive so you cough less?

I don't know how useful this is to you and your family. Hopefully it's at least something to think about. Think about palliative care (which is about the management of symptoms of illnesses rather than the treatment of illnesses) as not just taking away bad sensations but restoring good ones. You can't always get someone to a place with no pain. But what can you do to enhance life in the presence of that pain? There is a psychological aspect to pain, it's a parasite that drains you and makes you feel like you are nothing but a body that hurts and won't stop hurting. I want to make clear, I'm not saying pain is only in your mind. Bone mets and nerve pain exist whether you're cheerful about it or not. But pain doesn't have to mean suffering, it doesn't have to take away the things that make you you. Address pain through medication and therapies, but also remember that protecting, promoting, and prioritizing the parts of yourself that you most value and give you the most joy will help give your life so much substance that pain can't rob it all. You aren't doing one big thing. You are doing a thousand small things that make life easier, better, more suited to yourself and your abilities, and more aligned with the parts of life that you that give your life meaning.

(And a note in particular for being the family member of someone in pain--ultimately, they are going through this alone. It is their body. What can you make smoother for them? How can you protect their dignity and their privacy without making them feel abandoned or alone? How can you make it so your reaction to their pain is not part of their burden? Like for the six hundred other hypothetical questions in this endless post, the answers will be highly personal and will take time to figure out. Be patient and calm.)

[dragonagecompanions]

It's been a while since I've submitted anything, but no pressure ^.^

Romances react to Fem!Inquisitor dealing w/ debilitating chronic pain. They hid it for so long because they were worried they wouldn't be an effective leader if it was known they were always in pain. (I am dealing with it myself so if you want specifics, hip and shoulder pain. Frequent migraines.)

Cassandra: She sees it right away.

Seekers of Truth have a calling to watch for magic, and that is their primary duty. But in that pursuit the martial and combat arts have always featured heavily, and in her tenure with the order Cassandra has trained more than one apprentice to the sword and shield and fighting arts. Young people are so impatient to learn and eager to show their prowess, even in the face of injury; women tolerate pain better and hide even more, already feeling the difference on the field.

All of that experience means that Skyhold's seeker sees the short swings and tighter movements, the subtle winces and how their lady inquisitor always sits just close enough to the fire on even the warmest nights. There are no injuries to cause this, and after a life of combat Cassandra is well versed with the sapping radiating ache of chronic and untreated pain.

"You are a herald, not Andraste herself. You must tell me or one of the others if you are in pain. We will support you. Come with me-- I will show you how to wrap your shoulders and we will find a new stance to help your hips. I have a tea that will help your head."

Varric: Ten years of fighting the good fight in Kirkwall can leave anyone with a few aches that just don't go away, and his keen eye for detail does not miss the signs. Blondie hasn't been around to tend those joints and muscles for a long time (not that Varric would trust him anymore regardless), and so a shopping list goes out to those merchants who specialize in a few key purchases.

Its after a late round of wicked grace, when there is no one else to save face for, that Varric briefly blocks her path and heaves a crate into his arms.

"This might be a poor story for heroes, Herald, but that doesn't mean you get to martyr yourself before the final act. Don't ask what is in the muscle balm, you don't want to know. Burns like bad whiskey but it works. Got some servants putting cushions on that throne for you, and Dennet has a good padded saddle like the jousters use. Few other things too."

He doesn't let them demur, and instead takes the crate to their quarters for them to avoid an argument. "You give enough, sunshine. Let us give back."

Solas: Chronic ailments are the most frustrating to manage, for there is no simple cure. When her pain follows her even into the Fade Solas can feel it, and when there is time he sits with the Herald and is gentle but firm.

"There is no reason to suffer-- your silence does not make the pain noble, no more than asking for help is callow. We will find a way to make this better for you, if you will only let us."

They establish a routine of slow healing spells to reduce the worst of the pain, and Solas coordinates with spirits of healing and valor to ease her sleeping mind and guard her dreams. Better rest and continual treatment are the best he can offer-- his guilt at aggravating her suffering he will carry in silence.

Sera: Hurting is stupid. Hurting when there is no injury is stupid. Stupid bodies are stupid!

Without any solid healing training there isn't much Sera can do to cure the symptoms. But the softest cushions and pillows find their way into the inquisitor's quarters, and the not insignificant portion of Skyhold's staff that coordinate through the Red Jenny keep her abreast (ha) of how their herald is doing. Sera ends up coordinating with those who can help, and heading off the most boring and unnecessary work so that their inquisitor can rest.

Blackwell: A hard life on the road adds up on any warrior, and the Herald is putting so much into a short amount of time. He knows the aching of his own joints enough to recognize it in her, but understands the need to hide any sign of weakness enough to not wish her embarrassment.

And so on the road he is less careful at measuring out the herbs to ease pain, and uses waste as an excuse to keep her cup full of the draught. He works with the others to make sure she has the best ground for her tent, and watches are coordinated so that she has ample time to rest.

When it finally does come to a head, his answer is simple and gruff-- but honest. "You alleviate enough suffering, my lady. Let me help when I can."

Vivienne: She is not fooled. Caretakers, when it comes to knowing the ins and outs of pain and the necessity of treating it, rarely are. The inquisitor is of course due her pride, and Madame de Fer can find no fault with keeping even the rumor of weakness at bay. The game is ruthless when it smells blood in the water, after all.

But that does not mean she lets the situation go unaddressed, and who but one of the most talented alchemists in Orlais to treat the Herald herself? The regiment starts off trial and error, as most treatments must, but in time the first enchanter isolates and perfects the tonics needed to lessen the worst of the aches and negate the migraines. Magic and herb work hand in hand, and few truly appreciate how much good can be done with just a shaving of root and leaf and the proper spells. She can even make them pleasant to the tongue.

"Think nothing of it, my dear. Though I do hope you will accompany me to my tailor's salon, next time we both grace Val Royeaux. There are better options for your comfort than...whatever they are having you wear now."

Dorian: Few physicians and even fewer magic users will ever gain the minute and detailed understanding of the human body quite like the necromancer. It is a study down to the cellular level, and understanding is key when knowing how much mana is required to reanimate bone and muscle. Many famous Mortalitasi were also famed healers, and for those who straddle the line between life and death it is the body that builds the bridge.

Dorian is no slouch in his own field, of course, but in truth it was the long months he spent with Felix that sharpened his novice healer's gaze. His late friend was never good at letting anyone know the extent of his suffering, and so the scion of House Pavus became a seer of suffering. The smallest shift or wince, or even the dillation of the pupil were enough to prompt rest or food or a restoration potion.

The Blight made all of his stud complex and hard to chart-- at the risk of down playing their leader's condition, chronic pain is childs play in comparison. She has only to lean back in her saddle at a certain angle (indicative of pain in the hips) before Dorian is bemoaning the Southern terrain and demanding a rest. The stoop of her shoulders after a long march will cut even the most important missions short, and Dorian is both vain and selfish enough on occasion to make all the delays entirely his fault.

The Inquisitor has chosen intelligent persons for her cirlce, thankfully, and after awhile the others catch onto his game. They still let his play the shirking violet, mostly for their Herald's sake, but as a rule the entire squad defers to the Tevinter's judgement on their inquisitor's condition. And that self same anatomical knowledge means that on the worst days Dorian calls heat into his hands and works the muscles and joints in theraputic massage until at least the edge of the pain is gone.

(The lack of rumors following the sounds of those massages might annoy the inquisition's resident necromancer, but the simple fact is everyone has heard him and the iron bull by that point and no one is fooled.

Shame.)

The Iron Bull: Having only one eye does not lessen his attention to detail, and like Dorian the Ben- Hassrath agent learns to read their leader's tells quickly. Stitches will be glad to have someone who actually wears the poultices for once, and when they are in the kind of terrain where horses cannot go (and he sees the pain wearing lines in far too young a face), he is the easiest solution.

"Now boss, come on! Think of the mayhem you can unleash from ten feet in the air! You'll be at rift height, really get them sputtering. Say, think if you get at the right angle you can get a rock into the Fade?"

Cole: "Like glass in the joints, can't get comfortable, no good angle. How can I lead if I can't even make my body listen? Too much pain, on and off but always on, no one will listen to a weak Inquisitor. But you aren't weak! You keep going even when it hurts, so that others don't hurt more. It helps! You help. And I can help you too.

Sleep."

Josephine: Once she is made aware of it, there is no stopping the Inquisition's ambassador. Doctors and healers and any number of resources are brought in. Work is reassigned and assistants are hired, soldiers are assigned so that there is enough gear for comfortable accommodations on the road. It takes hardly any time at all to arrange, but Josephine does make sure the pull their herald aside first. Her tone is as compassionate and unyielding as when her brothers were sick but still wanted to be outdoors and active.

"Your are important to Thedas, yes. Maybe even vital. But your health is even more so. You must let us be there for you, Your Worship, as you have been there for us. It is easy enough to manage, and no one shall begrudge you. Now, would you prefer down or wool for your cot padding?"

Cullen: He understands. Maker does the Commander understand. Withdraw leaves him with pain in every muscle and headaches that can last for days. Much of what he suffers is the consequences of his own choices and actions though, and Cullen cannot imagine how much worse it must be to have no understanding of why-- and no idea how to cure it.

His support is quiet, a bulwark against her duties. The medicines and treatments that help him are shared, but sometimes simply knowing that another deeply understands your plight is enough. He hopes, for her, that is helps.

Leliana: Divine Justiania hurt, sometimes. From her understanding, it was a combination of arthritis and age, but the pain was frequent enough that intervention was sometimes necessary. Justinia believed firmly that what was eaten affected who ate it, and the personal chef of her office had made careful notations and created a diet designed to ease the worst of her suffering.

When she asks, blunt in the way she can only be with those who understood the Divine, his answer is full of common sense and compassionate suggestions. These are sent to the people who can best use it, kitchens and servants and those members of the inner circle who can help.

The Herald will never need to know who it is that realized how much fish helped instead of red meat, or who ordered the green tea of Rivian that reduces inflammation in the joints. She need never be told of the letters, full of blackmail and threats, that silence those nobles who claim the herald unfit to lead, or keep the deliveries and ingredients to help off of manifests and inventories.

Her work is in the shadows, and she does not need to show it. But it feels right, somehow, that even gone the Divine might help the Herald. And her Left Hand shall make it so.

Mod Fereldone

[marchtothefuckingsea]

Nerve Pains - Lucifer

My Masterlist.

Word count: 2.2k Warnings:  Fibromyalgia flare-up. Symptoms can vary from person to person, this was just a little comfort fic for myself since i’ve been feeling really shitty lately lol

Summary:  Reader suffers from a bad Fibromyalgia flare-up. Usually, Castiel is there to help relieve their pain, but this time there's only one other angel in the bunker.

I sat at the library table in the bunker, letting out a strained sigh while flexing my hands and straightening my back. It did little, if anything, to ease the constant pain I had. My back and shoulders ached horribly, no matter what I did or what I took. Especially on days when it decided to flare up.

I shifted in my seat as a particularly sharp pain ran into my shoulder, holding back a groan.

I hated being forced to stay back on hunts like this. Sam and Dean knew that, but they also knew me well enough by now that I wouldn't admit it. They could tell when I was experiencing a flare up, and they usually told me that they needed someone to do research and report back to them while they went on the scene. I knew they were just making excuses, but it made me feel a little less guilty about it and I appreciated them for it.

Oftentimes though, it was frustrating more than anything else. Especially simple cases like the salt and burn they were on right now. They didn't need someone to 'stay back and do research' on something as common as a ghost, and I just had to admit defeat. Even they couldn't come up with an excuse this time.

With Sam and Dean gone, and Chuck off doing only Chuck knows what, Lucifer was the only other one in the bunker, but he was off sulking in another part of the bunker. No one had heard from Cas for over a week now, so we figured he was wrapped up in something heaven related; which was unfortunate for me because he was usually around to help relieve the pain on especially bad days like this.

Nobody knew why, not even Cas, but my chronic pain was something he couldn't heal. He could relieve the pain almost completely for an hour, sometimes several if it wasn't really bad, but never get rid of it completely. It even seemed sometimes that it was working less and less every time.

Even with a literal angel helping me, it was still just something I had to deal with.

All I wanted to do was curl up in my bed under a heated blanket and not come out until it was all over. This was one of my worst flare ups in months. Since Sam and Dean had left a day ago, I had already tried praying to Castiel several times. I usually didn't want to bother him, but I was desperate.

I slumped over the table with my head on my tingling arms. My entire body tensed up as another pain ran through me. I eyed the bottle of painkillers next to the lamp, but I knew I had probably already taken way more than I should have. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my breathing.

I managed to relax until I heard undisguised footsteps enter the library. I raised my head to glare at the archangel in the doorway. "What do you want?"

"Just passing through, no need to be so hostile." He made a face and held his hands up in defense. He beelined for a certain shelf, and so I allowed myself to let my guard down partially. I returned my eyes back to the pages of the book I was reading, but had a hard time focusing on anything other than the pain.

The thought of asking Lucifer to heal me flitted into my mind but I immediately dismissed it. Maybe he would or maybe he wouldn't, but my pride wouldn't allow me that, even on my worst day.

I glanced up at him when he sat across from me, arching a brow. "What?"

"What?" Lucifer responded defensively. He flipped the book open and crossed his legs. I pinched the bridge of my nose briefly before returning back to my book. My leg bounced to distract me from the numb yet burning sensation that intensified in my feet and calves. I had found that keeping my limbs moving helped either distract me from the pain, or maybe it kept the blood flowing through them. I didn't know.

I sighed after I finished a chapter, releasing some tension from my muscles I didn't even know I had. I flexed my hand again before turning the page, watching Lucifer do the same out of the corner of my eye. Glancing at him curiously, I wondered why he seemed to want to just be in the room with someone else. Usually, it was him that left whenever one of the Winchesters or Chuck came into the room. On the other hand, now that I thought about it, that never seemed to apply to me. But he had never actively seeked my presence before. I averted my gaze back to the book.

Now that I knew he wasn't here just to cause trouble, I finally let myself relax. Unclenching my jaw, I took a deep breath that turned into a hiss when a feeling akin to being stabbed burned through my arm. I jerked, instinctively pulling my arm to my chest and cradling it. I tried to focus on my breathing as the after effects still burned through my nerves.

"What's wrong?" Lucifer asked, looking up from his book. I had completely forgotten about the angel's presence.

"Nothing." I replied through gritted teeth. I let go of my arm and tried my best to shake it off, but my hand still gripped the edge of my sleeve so hard that I could feel my fingernails through the fabric.

He straightened up in his chair, suddenly not so interested in his book anymore; which I realized was written in Enochian. Where did he even find that?

"You've been clenching and unclenching your hands for the past half hour." He began to count on his fingers.

"Bouncing your legs, flinching randomly, now this." He swept his hand towards me, making me self-consciously loosen my grip on my sleeve. "I could sense your misery as soon as I entered the room."

"I'm sure you've noticed me doing that before." I shrugged it off but frowned. I felt exposed. I didn't like feeling like that ever, let alone to the devil.

"Not constantly." He argued. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing." I growled. "Why do you care so much anyway?"

"I don't. I'm just tired of this whole," He made a disgusted face. "Aura around you. It's a real downer, y'know?"

"Then leave." I muttered. He pursed his lips, staring at me silently before he picked his book back up. I let out a sigh of relief and reached for mine. I stopped dead in my tracks when another sharp pain was triggered by the movement, this one even worse than the last. I uttered a low groan, practically panting as it traveled all the way from my fingertips to my shoulder. Everything seemed to ramp it up a notch at that moment.

"Tell me what's wrong." Lucifer demanded.

"It's nothing you can fix." I grunted, beginning to squeeze and massage my forearm with my other hand. It only helped a little.

"Let me." He reached for my arm and before I could pull away, his cool hands began to massage my arm. Against my will, my whole body almost instantly relaxed. Cold usually made the pain worse, but I had a feeling he was using his grace as well. For the first time ever, my pain was entirely gone .

When he released my arm, I was greeted back with open arms by the deep ache in my back and shoulders, a migraine, and the painfully familiar tingling sensation in my limbs. My body immediately tensed up again. I saw something flicker across his face when I cringed.

"Just a taste of what I can do. Though…" He trailed off, frowning. "You're right. I can't heal it."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Cas already tried that."

"What is wrong with you?" His question wasn't meant to sound accusing; it was genuine.

"Fibromyalgia." I answered, massaging my own arm. He leaned across the table now, crossing his arms. He hummed in acknowledgement, looking down at the table and drumming his fingers.

His eyes darted back up to me when I unconsciously clenched my fist at another jab.

"May I?" He asked. I nodded wordlessly, holding my hand out to him. Instead, he stood from his chair and rounded the table to sit in a chair beside me. I unconsciously leaned away from him and his closeness. He placed his palm on my forehead and immediately the pain lessened.

"Thank you."

He hummed before asking, "How long does this usually last?"

I frowned and looked away. "A while." I didn't want to tell him that it only lasted a few hours at most, and that was on much better days. On days as painful as today it might last a couple of hours, if I was lucky.

"You've got to tell me so I know how long before we have to do this again."

"Don't worry about it." I mumbled. "The pills will kick in by the time this wears off."

He snatched the bottle before I could get to it. "I think you've had enough of those."

"Give it back."

"They're obviously not working. You're going to overdose."

"What do you care?"

"I helped you, didn't I?"

"So?"

"So? I care ." He pursed his lips after that, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively and looking away.

"...A couple hours." I said in defeat. He glanced back at me. "On a good day it would probably last four, maybe five. On a bad day it would last a couple, if I'm lucky."

"And today's a bad day." It wasn't a question.

I shook my head. "Yes- No..I don't know. It's the worst I've had in a long time, if ever." I admitted.

"You're still bouncing your leg." He pointed out.

"It still kind of hurts."

Before I could react, he pressed his palm to my forehead again. This time, he kept it there until I began to pull away in confusion. "Wait."

Suddenly, the pain was completely gone again. When he pulled his hand away after several moments, his piercing eyes studied my face. I immediately felt it return, but it wasn't nearly as bad as before he had helped at all.

"As long as I'm touching you…" He muttered.

"Yeah, it was gone completely." I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding in. "I think I'm going to try and get some sleep before this wears off."

Lucifer nodded, standing up and mirroring my actions. I stumbled a little bit, the room spinning. Probably from all the painkillers I had taken. "I'll check back in a couple hours."

"I'll come find you if I need to."

He frowned. "I promise?" I offered.

"Don't wait too long." He turned away. He sat back at the table in the same position as before, with his legs crossed and his thumb and index finger holding the book open. I gave him a final glance before I left the room and ventured down the hallway to my bedroom.

I was lucky I had another bottle of painkillers in my bedside drawer, and I downed a couple of them before collapsing onto the bed. I didn't plan on asking him for help again, no matter how bad it got. I had toughed it out before, and I could do it again.

Curling up under my heated blanket, I let out a small sigh of relief. What little bit of discomfort that remained was just about bearable.

-

I was woken up by a sharp pain between my shoulder blades and the middle of my back. I curled up on my side with a low whine. Even the light pressure of my sheets began to feel painful against my skin, and I started to kick them off. Every nerve ending in my body was nearly on fire.

"Lucifer." I groaned in a daze. I hoped it resembled a prayer enough for him to hear. My breath hitched in my throat at another agonizing jab. "Luci-"

I felt a cool hand on my forehead and the pain immediately stopped. I forced my eyes open and the archangel was sitting on the edge of my bed with unmasked concern on his face. "It hasn't even been two hours."

"Sorry." I mumbled.

"That's not what I meant." He said. "You shouldn't be alone."

"'m fine." Lucifer pulled his hand away. Even though he had used his grace to relieve my pain, without his constant touch it immediately came back, though it wasn't nearly as bad. He quickly made contact again, this time holding my hand gently in both of his, as if I would break.

"I think this is the worst it's ever been."

I felt the bed dip next to me, and then I felt him up against my side. I opened my eyes. "What are you-"

"You know what happens if I let go." He muttered. I did.

I leaned against him with a sigh. When I began to drift off, I felt Lucifer drape his arm across my middle.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to." I told him tiredly.

"I want to."

[wolveria]

On Frozen Wings - Ch 5

Pairing: Crosshair x Hunter

Rating: 18+ only, Explicit

Hunter and Crosshair deal with the aftermath of Ventress' beatdown the best way they know how.

AO3

Hunter hit the pillow face-first, a loud, shameless groan leaving him.

Crosshair landed on the pillow next to him, his wince visible as he laid on his back and stared at the ceiling.

“Ow,” Hunter supplied helpfully. Crosshair snorted.

“We’ve both taken worse. And don’t tell me you didn’t have fun.”

Hunter declined to comment. Crosshair sent him a sideways glance.

“How’s your stomach?” he asked in a way that made it seem like he didn’t care. Hunter smiled a little.

“No broken ribs, so, not bad. How’s your head?”

“Still attached to my neck.”

With how hard Ventress had slammed her boot into the side of Crosshair’s head, that was a small miracle.

And yeah, it had been enjoyable to fight an opponent hand-to-hand who was so skilled, better than any of them. But when she’d put Crosshair in a hold that might prove dangerous, Hunter’s instincts had taken over, and he’d unsheathed his vibroblade without conscious thought.

A lot of good that had done. Crosshair had ended up semi-unconscious, Wrecker choked in midair, and Hunter with a laser sword pointed at his face.

“You know the only reason the Jedi lost is because the regs got the jump on them,” Hunter commented quietly. That, and the generals had genuinely seemed to care about the troopers under their charge. Hunter wouldn’t be surprised if a reluctance to murder their own men had stayed the Jedi from responding with immediate lethal force.

Crosshair grunted but didn’t say anything further. They hadn’t spoken about what happened on Kaller, but Hunter could sense his discomfort. Shooting at the Padawan was probably on his list of mistakes. Hunter had his own regrets with being unable to protect the kid. Jedi or not, he’d been a child.

A child on a battlefield. In hindsight, there were many things about the war that filled Hunter with a soft kind of horror.

He didn’t realize Crosshair was staring at him until the silence went on for too long. Hunter sent him a questioning look, replaying the conversation to see if there had been a comment he’d missed.

Instead of explaining anything, the sniper rolled over onto him, sprawled across Hunter’s back like a warm blanket, or an especially large feline.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Crosshair said in a lazy drawl, his lips equally unhurried as they traced over Hunter’s neck.

He shivered and pressed his face into the pillow to prevent any sounds from escaping. He should be too tired for this, but his full cock pressed into the mattress begged to differ. They hadn’t done any… touching… since the night Crosshair put his mouth on him. They’d been too exhausted each night after a day of hard labor. Shep hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d put them to work if they really wanted, and they’d been helping build new houses along the top of the island.

Each house had to be crafted by hand machine, made of a hard mixture with the white sands found around the island. It was a painstaking process, but Shep said the houses would last several lifetimes and weather anything but tsunamis.

He was happy to help, but most days, Hunter barely made it to the bed before falling asleep.

Which had been great for him, as chronically sleep deprived as he was. But it seemed to be a point of frustration for Crosshair, and Hunter sometimes caught him staring as he hoisted up buckets of sand mixture. Especially on hot days when Hunter was stripped down to the waist.

His lips twitched. Maybe if Crosshair got frustrated enough, he’d stop trying to make Hunter the focus of attention and actually let himself feel good. First time for everything.

“And what should I be doing?” Hunter asked, raising his hips to rub against Crosshair’s erection, and—all right, so maybe Hunter was a bit keyed up from the fight too. These things happened, it was natural, and reminded him too much of their cadet sparring days.

“Depends,” Crosshair purred.

“On?”

“How do you want it?”

Not the first time he’d been asked, and even though Crosshair slowly grinding against his ass felt nice—really nice—he still hesitated. Hunter wasn’t used to new territory, at least when it came to himself.

With Crosshair, he wanted to dive right in, explore his brother and find the secret, hidden things that would make him lose his composure. Hunter knew they existed, he’d caught a glimpse on the Remora, which was why it was so frustrating that Crosshair was making him the focus of these explorations.

Hunter wondered if it was because he was inexperienced. It was surprisingly sweet that Crosshair was trying to take it slow for him, and it was also steadily driving him insane.

Crosshair must have come to his own conclusions from the silence. The wrong ones. He started to pull away, but Hunter grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him.

“I… know what I want,” Hunter said, his voice raspier than he meant it to be. Crosshair looked at him carefully, and this time, the right conclusions were drawn.

“You just don’t know how you want it.”

Hunter nodded, face pressed again into the pillow because it was easier than meeting his eye.

“It’s almost cute,” Crosshair purred, and Hunter growled into the fabric. The sniper lifted off him and smacked him on the ass. “I said ‘almost.’”

Now Hunter really did snarl at him, but Crosshair’s attention was elsewhere, looking for something. When he found it, Hunter’s expression went from bared teeth to wide-eyed surprise.

Crosshair smirked and the small bottle of lube danced between his fingers the way Hunter had watched him deftly handle a toothpick.

“Don’t look so worried. No one’s holes are going to be breached.”

“Oh… kay.”

Hunter didn’t know what to say to that, or the lingering glimmer in Crosshair’s eyes. But when the sniper leaned over his back and pressed his lips to his neck, Hunter cared less what mischief he had in mind.

“Relax,” Crosshair murmured, as if that silky voice would do anything but the exact opposite, setting Hunter’s blood on fire. It certainly didn’t help when he tugged off Hunter’s undershorts and straddled the back of his bare thighs.

Hunter looked over his shoulder to confirm Crosshair was also without pants, only to learn he wasn’t wearing anything. Not a stitch on him, and Hunter groaned and tried to turn over, but the sniper wouldn’t let him.

It was unfair. Finally, Crosshair completely naked, and he couldn’t even get a good look at him.

“Quit squirming,” Crosshair complained. Easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one waiting for… whatever was going to happen next.

And then Hunter nearly jumped out his skin as he felt the cold viscous liquid drip onto the backs of his thighs. Crosshair had said he wasn’t going into any holes, but it sure seemed like he was, and Hunter wasn’t sure he would mind if he did.

But still, nerves trembled through him, like a wet animal that had been left out in the cold too long.

Crosshair soothed his hand along the curve of his hip, unusually gentle given his annoyed tone. Hunter tried to relax, he really did, but he still flinched when the lube was spread between his thighs.

Crosshair didn’t touch anywhere else, even though he was so close that it was growing tortuous, and Hunter kept raising his hips, seeking any kind of stimulation he could get.

He was rewarded with another slap on his ass, and he snarled again despite the fact it didn’t really hurt. It wasn’t embarrassment either that made his cheeks hot and his hips press desperately into the mattress, either to get away from another possible slap or for more stimulation.

Hunter froze when Crosshair once again laid on his back, his bare skin scorching—and he needed the rest of his clothes off now. Hunter tugged off the top of his body suit, all that was left after they’d stumbled into the house and taken off their gear, revealing bruised flesh.

Crosshair gave his own irritated growl, though his hands told a different tale as they explored his bare sides and rib cage, as if to leave his own imprints along Hunter’s marred skin.

“Trying to make this easier on you, and you’re not helping.”

“I’m helping plenty,” Hunter bit back. “You gonna hurry up?”

Crosshair let out another animalistic sound, and damn, Hunter needed to get him this riled up again. Despite his sharp tongue and prickly attitude, he rarely let himself lose control. And now that he heard the edge in that voice, Hunter couldn’t stop poking at it, like a tongue to a sore tooth.

“Or do you need a hand back there?”

“Don’t make me put you over my knee,” Crosshair growled, further proving his point. Hunter snorted.

“My ass already took a beating today.”

“It can take more.”

Hunter opened his mouth, but his words died as Crosshair shifted his hips, and with a few adjustments, squeezed his cock between Hunter’s thighs.

He shivered—everything was sensitive against his skin right now—but Hunter was more confused than anything.

“And… this is going to feel good?”

“For me, it is,” Crosshair grunted. And then he pulled Hunter’s hips, tilting them up, while his other hand slid around and grabbed his cock. “Now, relax. Or don’t. It’ll be good either way.”

Hunter let out a noise that was humiliatingly close to a whine, but Crosshair had heard worse than that from him. Undeterred, he tested this new angle, carefully thrusting between his thighs, matching his rhythm with his hand.

Yeah, it was good, but it was also a cruel kind of teasing. Crosshair’s hand was a light touch, and the thrusts felt nice but not like anything in particular. It was as if Crosshair was fucking him, but not fucking him. The signals to his brain were confused, unsure if he should push back or rut forward.

Another whine left his throat as Hunter half-buried his face into the pillow. It was torture, it was pleasure, and Hunter wanted—

An image burned through his thoughts, of flipping them both over, forcing Crosshair onto his back as he nipped at his neck, and then prying his knees apart and lining himself up before plunging in deep.

The scene was so visceral that he groaned in his throat, his cock weeping as he tried, and failed, to make Crosshair move his hand faster.

“Crosshair,” he growled, but the sniper didn’t seem to sense the danger he was in. The answering hum sounded unaffected on the surface, but Hunter could smell the sharpness of arousal, the cock between his thighs hard and slick against his skin.

“Move.”

The sniper let out a low, breathy chuckle at the threat.

“Someone’s… impatient.”

Hunter bit into the pillow so he wouldn’t be tempted to sink teeth into skin—and now that image wouldn’t leave him either. Crosshair’s bare throat on display, unmarked and untouched, just waiting for his teeth to find that perfect place between neck and shoulder—

Hunter let out another growl, this one deep and wild, unnerving even for him. And for some forsaken reason, that seemed to push Crosshair’s buttons; he cursed under his breath and rutted his hips faster, his fingers finally gripping Hunter like he meant it.

His own fingers dug at the sheets as if to tear them to ribbons. His balls ached, his cock so hard it almost hurt, and Crosshair panted in between soft noises that were almost whines. They tugged at something deep, and Hunter knew on an instinctual level he could rip those sounds out of Crosshair into full-blown whimpering cries.

Just a hint of what that would require—holding Crosshair down and biting on the vulnerable flesh of his throat—jettisoned Hunter over the edge.

He clamped his teeth on the pillow, a poor substitute, and came hard. Sparks danced behind his shut eyes and tingled up his spine as he spilled over Crosshair’s hand, neither of them caring about the mess on the sheets.

Something warm splashed between his legs, signaling Crosshair’s own relief, accompanied by the sniper lying boneless against his back. They didn’t say anything for a moment, too busy trying to find their air, and Hunter was too relaxed to move anyway.

An amused huff next to his ear as Crosshair remarked, “Did you rip my pillow?”

Sure enough, the pillow that had met Hunter’s teeth had come out the loser, a tear rent through the fabric. Hunter winced. If he really did plan on biting Crosshair at some point, he would have to be gentler than that.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“Mmm.”

Crosshair rolled off him in a lazy movement, and Hunter did the same, resting on his back as he winced at the stickiness between his thighs. He almost considered a shower, but he’d probably fall asleep under the spray if he tried.

A small smile crossed his face.

“Figured out what I want now.”

“Goody,” Crosshair mumbled, the sarcasm lost with the words into the pillow. “So glad I could assist.”

Hunter’s smile widened a little more. Crosshair could grumble now because his sarcasm wouldn’t save him later. Not with half the things Hunter had in mind.

Once he felt his legs could support him, Hunter started to get up, and… didn’t think about it. He leaned over, glanced down Crosshair’s naked body with a hunger that was only temporarily sated, and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

Crosshair stiffened, his eyes wide. Hunter himself struggled for something to say, and when nothing came out, he simply moved on and pretended he’d meant to do that. That it was totally normal and not at all like it felt they were toeing a new line.

After he wiped down himself and Crosshair—all while ignoring the sniper’s grumbled protests— he went to cupboard where the clean sheets were kept. Every step sent a wince up his back, and Hunter recalled exactly why it felt like a gunship had been dropped on him. Omega wanted to get to the bottom of her M-count levels, and Ventress supposedly offered her help.

Hunter had eventually given in, to Crosshair’s eternal side eye, and Omega could have one more day for these “tests.” After that, Ventress was gone for good.

Hunter only hoped she would leave without a fight this time. The way his body ached, he didn’t look forward to round two.

Though with the way Crosshair immediately descended on him once they got back into the clean bed, lips and teeth at his neck, Hunter might have to reconsider that statement. He wasn’t the only one that got riled up after a good fight. Thankfully, even Crosshair’s stamina couldn’t recover that quickly, and he didn’t do much more than nip, but it was enough for Hunter to growl and flip him around. He couldn’t sleep with Crosshair’s damn teeth on him, and his cock was making a valiant effort to rally.

Crosshair didn’t seem to mind Hunter’s less than gentle grip, wiggling for a moment before settling back against him, the length of his body perfectly flush against his.

Maybe they have should put some clothing on, but Hunter was loath to move, his nose at Crosshair’s nape, the lingering scent of the shampoo on his skin.

“Weeping maya,” Hunter suddenly said.

“…What.”

“The white blossom. That’s what I smelled.”

“How hard did she crack your head against the ground?”

Hunter hummed a chuckle and closed his eyes.

Next Chapter

[ssruis]

Idk the treatment of saki’s disability by the writers just irritates me bc like (& full disclosure this is written by someone who’s chronically ill but able to live w/o major symptoms) there’s so little thought put into how her disability specifically intersects with her mental health & overall life beyond a general Inspirational Look At Her Go She Can Overcome Anything type of take.

I dislike fully articulating my thoughts but to sum it up my experience with my own chronic illness was manifestation at 18 -> horrifically managed for 2 years bc doctors/parents did not take it seriously -> in so much pain that I couldn’t really move until i was put on immunosuppressants during peak covid and I watched close friends treat me like a burden for wanting the group to take covid precautions/abandon me because I couldn’t Party Hard anymore (to the point where one friend brought me somewhere where her friend fucking had Covid and sat next to me & then she texted me the next day like whoops heehee) -> severe depression & life ruining ensued. My family had to deny a good insurance opportunity bc my RA was an existing condition & they wouldn’t pay for my meds for two years and I had the fun side effect of my mom implying it was my fault/it was a burden over it. Etc etc. I don’t want to get into the full story because it’s unfun and also lengthy but I want to provide context for why saki’s treatment bugs me.

Her not really caring about honami/shiho not visiting bugs me. I get that life gets in the way but them going (semi?) no contact is a little shitty. Being disabled & not being allowed to be upset about the treatment you receive from your loved ones because you know they don’t see it as a big deal is. So frustrating. She deserves to be upset with them for that and have a conversation about it. There’s so much pressure on people w disabilities to essentially go “yeah I am a burden it’s my fault so I’m grateful you’re even spending time with me” that’s reflected in saki’s story and never challenged.

I’m too tired to articulate the complexity of her dynamic w tsukasa but it also frustrates me that it’s only touched upon that saki feels like she inconveniences him by being sick/she thinks him going out of his way for her is a burden. I love tsukasa and I’m obsessed w how much he cares about his sister but I also think saki deserves to be frustrated with how neurotic he is about an illness that isn’t his own.

So much abt being disabled (especially for those who are more affected than I am - I want to make that clear) is being told by society that you are a burden for needing accommodations/costing your family money/struggling with things able bodied people can do/etc. & saki very clearly feels a lot of that but it never gets challenged. Something that’s always stuck with me was seeing a tiktok where someone was like “actually I AM a burden bc I cost my parents money for antidepressants/adhd meds” which was so…. Buddy as someone on those meds and also 4/5 other drugs to manage the chronic illness I don’t want to hear shit from you abt being a burden. Imagine having panic attacks over career choices & fucking up your schooling permanently because you’re petrified of not having stable insurance to pay for the overpriced meds that keep you from being in agony and your friends/family don’t take it seriously because you look fine even though you can barely move without extreme pain and nobody in your life understands it or attempts to do so and you feel like the doctors don’t care because they give you meds & no diagnosis and you’re still in a pain that defies description. And your disability gets in the way of your passions and you can’t just muscle through it because doing so would fuck your body up even more. & then get back to me. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Moving on.

I don’t know if the colopale writing team has anyone w a disability but I feel like saki’s chronic illness essentially being a thing of the past & she’s just like “I’m fine now” is shitty. Ig it fits with her character but also she’s a fictional character and the writers are capable of addressing this. and they’re not. I want to see saki being told that she’s allowed to be mad and she’s allowed to feel unwell and she’s allowed to not be inspiration porn and she’s allowed to have ugly feelings and address those & that she’s not a burden and it’s ok to rely on others when you’re struggling.

[jojo-schmo]

My old Good Omens art from 2019-2020!! :O (In somewhat chronological order)

In the interest of sharing my art in one place, I thought I'd revisit this era of my art! I made much more traditional art at the time. But I like thinking about the evolution of my skills over the past few years.

Director's commentary below:

I believe the first four images are from 2019, when the first season of GO came out. Boy, did that show come out at a good time for me! I was in a deep art slump that had lasted for a few years at that point. Long story short, because of untreated depression and a chronic illness that brought me physical pain, I didn't get everything I wanted to get out of college classes and I was deeply self-conscious of my skill level. I knew I wanted to tell stories but I was frustrated that I seemingly couldn’t make my ideas come to life at all.

Being alive was very difficult for me at the time and I was fighting my own dark and negative thoughts that I directed towards myself constantly. I didn't see a psychiatrist until the Spring of 2020, and only then did things start getting better. If I had to describe it, it's like a storm in my head finally cleared. The weight on my shoulders lightened up a lot. I had enough mental clarity to gain more self-awareness and really work on myself. And that included my art. And it shows a little in the last few drawings.

(Side note, I am much, much better now. Medication and ongoing therapy has completely changed the quality of my life. I am very happy to be here!)

Anyway, I was making efforts to get better at drawing after college by taking Aaron Blaise's online art classes. (Side note, his class on drawing human anatomy helped me immensely!!) But it was just the beginning of a long art improvement journey!

But I see the stiffness and insecurity that was still present in my art from that time. Whenever I shared it on Twitter (which was my main social media at the time) I'd be lucky to hit ten notes. It didn't bother me all the time, but it did get discouraging as time went on. Until one day I decided to just deal with it. Whatever the reason was that nobody was seeing my art- whether it was due to the Twitter algorithm or if my art was just not appealing enough. I was going to keep drawing. If nobody clicked the like heart on my art, fine! I was going to keep throwing it into the void anyway and see what sticks. If it got ten likes or one I tried not to care as much.

My transition from drawing what I thought other people wanted to see, to drawing what made me happy, made a huge difference. Likes and reblogs do feel really good, but I'm happy to hear even what one person likes about my work. I try to keep that mindset with me as much as I can. And I'm not perfect at it. But it helps me a lot.

Of course that transition in my mindset was gradual. Took place over a few years. But I realized lately that I have a confidence in my art that I've never had before. And I'm really happy about that!!

All this to say, whether you've been drawing/writing for ten years, one year, or a few months, it's always nice to remember where you came from and far you've come.

Looking back, I wish I could tell my past self that her best was yet to come. And I still have a long way to go but I'm excited to see what I can make in the coming years!

If I had one preachy piece of advice to offer as a final note, remember that the ability to draw and write is an awesome skill to have. A skill that not every human being has. But a skill that can be developed and cultivated over time if nurtured. It's a beautiful thing to me, to be able to create something that didn't exist before. Something that only you can bring to life. And while it might not resonate with everyone who sees it, it might resonate with one person. And I love that. So when you can, create things that make you happy, the happiness might just be contagious to its viewers. <3

...I think I should draw some more Good Omens sometime soon. I miss those guys and they are dear to me :)

[stitchthesewords]

hello

Or grian coming back from dl and he needs not only a cane but hes suffering from a bad-but-temporary case of tinnitus and cant get out of bed and no one sees him for a few days until scar comes over to talk bc holy shit dl and finds Grian in need of help

EXPAND UPON THIS. I AM INTRIGUED. if u want no pressure <3

-catmaidetho

WHEEZING WHATS SO FUNNY IS THAT I HAVE BEEN. STARING AT A WORD DOC ALL DAY TRYING TO <- Girl who is so dead from her job

To start w what the delightful @hitheeprithee said to me earlier that made me. Absolutely fucking insane. But Scar gifting one of his canes to Grian in the post-DL return to HC because he's having trouble with both just walking bc of the aches in his body and the dizzyness caused by the disorientation of being shouted apart. And grian tries, really, to be appreciative, but scar's cane doesnt sit at the right height and he's awkward with it so he just stays in bed and then a few days later Scar sheepishly shows up with a custom made cane for Grian that's the right height and has feathers carved into it and just. hhhh.

But its like. Grian having to learn to rely on others. And I mean this in like the. I am physically disabled and im still learinng. You are always learning how to do this. Every day is a new day for failures and learning in this task. And its grian who doesnt want to get out of bed, who's never felt his body be in such constant misery, not even after third life or last life. He went out - bad. I don't have the brain power to elaborate rn maybe I'll reblog this tomorrow but tldr: I headcanon that the deaths in the life series and way different to deaths on hermitcraft. They're permanently debilitating in some way, but the players keep coming back because they learn to cope, they hold tight to the love for each other that radiates through every time they go through it - anyway. This warden death hurts - and Scar is feeling it too, but not as bad, not as Severely, and furthermore he has coping skills in place already for chronic pains and aches and fatigue. Grian doesn't.

It's Scar showing up and adjusting Grian's pillows to help him sit up, nursing him to health with some food and water, an ice pack, a heating pad, some potions from Cub to help with the pains, to help manage. Its Scar teaching Grian to use a cane, to trust his weight to this inanimate object, to learn to use it as an extension of himself. Helping him learn the walking pattern. It's Scar opening up the bedroom window or whatever the fuck the equivalent is in Grian's base to help get some white noise and teaching Grian to focus on it to make the worst of the ringing go away, to massage the muscles in his head to help with the headaches and migraines.

Scar teaching Grian how to pull his weight up with other people, how to get up from the floor with his back hurts so much he can barely move, to shuffle around the room a little bit just to get the blood flowing in his legs.

And then its like. It's Grian leaning his head against Scar's chest and crying from frustration because his body wont cooperate and he's never had to deal with it before and he doesn't know how. And grian apologizing because he's just complaining about things scar lives with always. And Scar soothing Grian's worries and anxieties becaue he knows why grian's frustrated and its not guaranteed to help but by god he'll try, he'll try so hard to give grian the world back if he can.

god I wish i could elaborate more but. I am sleepy.

[femsolid]

Remember that, even though sometimes it may feel like your body is working against you, in reality it's working incredibly hard to keep you alive and well, every second of every day, even while you sleep.

Accept your feelings. It's normal to feel frustrated, angry or sad when confronted with your limitations. It's normal to feel tired. And our societies are not well adapted to disabilities and chronic pain, some people are clueless, this can increase the feelings of alienation, unfairness and loneliness. This isn't your body's fault. Know that you are far from the only person experiencing disability. Most people have issues of some sort, even though they seem perfectly fine. Many feel the same way you do. You're not alone. I know it's hard, but we're in this together.

While your range of action may be limited, there are things you can do and therefore should focus on. Riding a bike gave me back a lot of mobility and sensations I had lost. How about drawing? Hiking? Dancing? Dancing on a chair? Singing? Soft yoga? Swimming? Look into what old people do as well. It's not embarrassing. Are you going to reject pleasure, fun and relief because of your fear of embarrassment?

Accommodate your life and your home to your body, to what kind of human being you are, as much as you can. Make your life easier and more comfortable. Adapt to who you are. Your own home shouldn't be a struggle to live in.

Take good care of your health. Be careful with your body. See as many specialists as needed. Don't give up. Don't wait years before taking care of something. There are ways to alleviate the pain and disability. Keep yourself updated on the subject. Don't be scared to suggest things to your medical professionals. If one of them seems uncooperative, see someone else. Don't let anyone tell you that there's nothing that can be done to make you feel better.

Understand why your body is doing what it's doing. For example, chronic intestinal pain is not arbitrary. Nor is back pain. Your body is signaling something. Your body is trying to protect you. Understanding how and why your body works this way makes dealing with the pain much easier in my experience. You find better ways to prevent or alleviate the pain if possible, you leave behind the anxiety of not knowing what the hell is going on, the fear of death even sometimes, and you look at your body with more gentleness.

You body makes you feel pain but it also makes you feel pleasure. Sometimes we focus on the pain because it's so devastating, but don't forget about the daily pleasures. Thanks to your body you can taste delicious food or feel the fresh wind on your skin and cold water on a hot day. Don't forget about it. Enjoy it.

Try not to dissociate too much from your body. I know it's hard, but ultimately your body is not a separate entity that failed you. Everything you think is coordinated to the signals, sensations, informations that the rest of your body gives you. It's you, all of it. You weren't born in the wrong body because you weren't born in a body. You were born as a body. You were born, that's all. And for decades you've been living and breathing despite the difficulties presented. You can be proud of yourself.

[detransdamnation]

This month of October is my detransiversary… or at least, I think it is. I’m always all brain-fogged around this time of year. Still weird to think I’ve actually forgotten when, exactly, I threw in the towel. It’s always the things you say you’ll never forget that slip through your fingers so seamlessly, you don’t even notice. How fallible even the landmarks are.

Either way, it’s officially been three years since I last took my hormones. And just typing that out was enough to reduce me to tears.

Thoughts of what I could say on this have been swimming in my head for a while. I know how influencer-y that sounds. But writing into the void helps me cope—in case the chronic word vomit splattered all over my archive weren’t enough of a hint—and I feel frustrated because lately, every time I try to find a way to describe what it has been like to be me, even within the context of Word documents no one else will ever see, that normally-innate ability of mine to get it all out on a page just… eviscerates.

Up until now, at least. Kind of, sort of. I’m jumping at the opportunity because it took over a year to finally show itself.

Despite what my absence here—and this post—probably insinuates, I’ve been doing better than bad overall. But I’ve also been carrying this crushing weight that no matter how good I feel, it will never be good enough for me to not feel dysphoric, or sad, or filled with regrets—and somehow, this has only gotten harder, as opposed to easier, for me to reconcile as time goes on. I don’t think I was wrong to have been at least a little optimistic that maybe things would get better overtime. Guess I’ve learned yet another lesson.

Things haven’t gotten better. All the pain still remains. I do deal with that pain better—but I’m also not one to believe that being able to say “I’m used to it” is a sign of true genuine progress. If I think too hard about the state of things, I can feel the reopening of that wound in the pit of my stomach. It makes me nauseous and afraid. I will shake until I can barely feel my body and yet no other time will I be so painfully conscious of it. My dysphoria has evolved to mean more than merely just “wanting to be the opposite sex,” an evolution so major I almost question if “dysphoria” would be the correct term to describe what I feel sometimes. Regardless, it somehow feels even more sinister when I think too hard about it. There are the rare times I’m actually kind of okay sitting with the idea of just existing as I am… and then I re-remember how most of the physical effects of my hormones never really did subside, not to the extent most people would notice, and I start to long for what I had before the fix that fucked me up.

Except I didn’t “have” anything. I was a child when I started my transition. That childhood self is the only semblance of a “before” I will ever have. I will never know who or what I could have grown into without all this. Though a large part of me thinks it wouldn’t have mattered because detrans or not, I’m certainly something… and I’m not proud of it. No one would be. No one is. And I hate that I still crave that approval from others because it was part of what drove me to transition as that godforsaken teenager. In that respect, I don’t think I’ve grown at all. It makes me wonder how much I would put up with just to feel loved. I’ve already seen how far I will go. I didn’t re-make the mistake of viewing detransition as the antidote to all my troubles, but it’s times like these I wonder… maybe detransition itself is just another ugly representation of a cycle I have found sick comfort in, no hope of getting out. Maybe I will forever be chasing unattainable wishes all to spend years thereafter missing what never was, when I once spent years dedicated to ensuring what could have been would never ever become.

And I will feel disgusted with it. I might even look down upon others who go down the same path, when I’m in my worst of states. But the most I will ever do to “help” myself is pour my heart out onto a page—and I put “help” in quotations because sure, I’m getting all off my chest, but at the end of the day, I’m still sitting on my ass straining my neck to soak up the blue light. I’ve come to pride myself on my introspection, but rarely do I ever feel motivated enough to use that introspection as motivation to actually do something good. It seems all my major life changes present themselves in the form of “snaps,” some sort of external trigger leading to action that’s almost impulsive… and then I just get used to whatever sort of muck I land myself in until the next snap comes along and inspires me to pull myself out. And I will feel disgusted with how long it took me to finally value myself. I’ll pour my heart out and then shrug my shoulders. It’ll happen again. I know it.

But this won’t be news to anyone who’s been here for a while and that’s one of the main reasons why my page has been marred by distance. I feel like I’ve already, by and large, said everything I could say re: detransition, how it concerns me and my experience, specifically. It feels pointless to keep beating a dead horse, especially online. I used to humour how I’d keep on doing it, anyway… I don’t regret it—I needed that release—but the thought of continuing just feels different now. I guess if I had to analogize it, I’d use the acceptance phase of grief. It’s my reality, but I can’t change it any more than I already have—and there comes a point where talking is only dwelling…

…or inciting controversy, which I feel like I do just by existing. That’s a self-centered way to phrase it, and fairly, it stems from a perspective just as much—but it is what I feel and it is the prevailing reason why I have fallen into such a funk. I’ve almost come to consider the very word “detrans” to be an oxymoron I use only since there’s not really any other term that accurately encapsulates this experience. But that’s a long story. I share its conclusion only so that maybe someone else who feels the same way may come across this and know they aren’t alone in feeling it. That’s ultimately why I made this blog and keep on coming back: connection. And in the case there is nothing to connect over, understanding.

It felt so good to get into this flow state again. I hope they will soon be as fruitful as they used to be.

[clarabosswald]

I wonder how can you still live in Israel as an antiZionist. Doesn't it make you feel angry towrds yourself?

How do you feel about October 7th? The war? The hostages? The Isreali goverment?

Another question is do you think any if your local and global political opinions changed because of October 7th?

Stay safe.

I know that it musn't easy.

hi anon -

thanks for the respectful ask, i'm glad i didn't have to immediately regret opening my box to anons again.

a little clarification - i'm not anti zionist, i'm non zionist. there are things in both zionism and anti-zionism that i strongly disagree with, then there are things in both that i agree with, and overall and i don't associate myself with either of them.

living in israel as a non zionist is... complicated. and in recent years, increasingly frustrating. in some way i'm lucky that my dad shares about the same opinions on zionism as i do, so we kind of share that pain together. (we've both been actively joining public protests for a long time) how can i still live here? well, i'm poor, currently unemployed, and with multiple chronic mental and medical conditions (=relying on the israeli social welfare policy to be able to afford my medical needs). so it's quite impossible for me to leave. not to mention that, after everything's said and done, it's still my home, where i was born and raised, and with everything that i hate about it, it's still the only home i've ever known.

angry towards myself? no, not really. mainly i just hate the feeling of helplessness, my complete lack of ability to truly impact what's happening. but that's anger towards outside forces, not towards myself.

i could write a LOT about the next list of topics so i'm gonna make it short, and if you'd like me to expand on any of them you can ask again:

-october 7th was one of the single most horrible days in my life -the war in the strip is completely directionless and conducted horribly by the government, and it really just became a twisted combo of dick size measuring competition and a cat-and-mouse game between idf and hamas/pij at the expanse of the civilian population of gaza first and foremost, and of the hostages (and israeli civilians again, since in the last couple of days we started seeing rocket launches from the strip again after a long period of silence on that front) -the hostages should've always been the first priority. there were multiple chances to bring the hostages back in multiple chances at swap deals months and months ago and the israeli government (or rather bibi since the final words is his) threw them away. it's unforgivable -fuck this government

my local political opinion stayed the same, or rather i grew even more convicted of it. the israeli-palestinian conflict needs to end and the two state solution is the only feasible way to move forward

my opinion of global politics changed drastically in that i've grown completely disconnected from the global left. again, it's not my political opinions or stances that have changed; rather, the global left started embracing ideals that go completely against my moral compass. the global left used to feel like home for me. the change over the last year felt like a deep betrayal that i don't think i'll ever be able to get over.

that's about it in a nutshell. without touching the thousand other topics such as all the non-gaza war fronts and stuff.

[valtsv]

Hey there Mr. Loveless! As a fellow chronic pain person, how do you deal with the fear that things might only get worse? I want to believe in the whole "it gets better" thing, but it's hard when I can't do things I used to be able to. Sending you all the best <3

i'm sorry i didn't answer this sooner; i needed time to think about my answer because i really wanted to say something meaningful and constructive. but i think i have it now.

i've been reading a lot about death and grief recently (there's a point to this, i promise) and coming to terms with accepting the inevitability that i will experience grief and loss, especially as i age (which is also inevitable). i feel that's something that can be applied to the experience of having a chronic pain condition as well. grief and frustration are inevitable, and it doesn't make you weak, nor is it the 'wrong way to handle' those feelings by being afraid that they'll get worse. it's okay to feel those things. it's important to let yourself acknowledge them, even though they hurt. there might be nothing you can do, and that's an upsetting thought no matter how optimistic you try to be, and no matter how much you love life and living despite everything. it's the kind of thing that can drive you to despair if you're not careful.

but i find that a good way to balance that out and acknowledge my disability whilst preventing a full-blow anxiety spiral is to ask myself what i can do for myself right now, in the present. the future is uncertain, and that's frightening, but right now is within my control and reach, and it's up to me to decide how to use it. to me, that makes the future feel less daunting, less of a looming spectre that prevents me from enjoying anything or being too afraid to participate. there's no point, to me, in "saving" my opportunities to experience life and avoid pursuing things i think will bring me satisfaction and fulfilment for a later date. it's not something i'll get any bonus points for at the end of the game if there's more unspent happiness in my inventory when it's over.

obviously i try to be sensible and know my limits so i don't complertely wreck myself and destroy any chance i have of experiencing a future at all, but sometimes you just have to say "fuck it, we ball" and do what you want regardless. it gets easier with practice. the fear is still there, and it always will be, but so is the knowledge that no matter what happens, i'll try to make the most of what i have for as long as i can. and i can live with that.

[skyfallscotland]

Firstly, I fell in love with Remi back when she still had a home on Wattpad and have only grown to love her more.

A little background, I'm an underclassman in high school and a super competitive athlete. I've had random long-lasting "injuries" for six-ish years, which got way worse, like "why can't I get out of bed" worse this year. First it was my ankle, then both shoulders, now all of my joints at all times (except my shoulders , those pains are gone (ish)). And these pains were making it really hard to train and compete, which is pretty much my identity.

I read Fourth Wing over the summer (then immediately found Fear and Flame) and was like "huh, is this pain not normal???" So, after seeing 900000000000 doctors and getting my blood drawn way to much, I went to see another doctor, a specialist, Thursday morning.

Thus, the doctor diagnosed me with Amplified Pain Syndrome (AMPS) which is a chronic pain "disorder" that I'm going to have for the rest of my life and athletic career. The doctor gave me an entire packet to read on it and even a school note with like excuses on it. I know it's not any major chronic pain syndrome or chronic illness and I know I should feel lucky for not having something supposedly worse, but it still sucks and it's frustrating.

Anyways, I've been rereading Basgiath (Remi's Version) and kind of look up to Remi in a way now. If that makes any sense???? I feel like she's subconsciously helped me a lot and will continue to help me a lot.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is Thank You. Like a lot. I hope you always continue to write and you're awesome. ♥️❤️‍🩹

You guys just like to make me cry, I think.

I hope you don't mind me replying to this publicly, if you do, I can delete it, but I feel like maybe there's other people who might benefit from hearing it.

I was also a really active, competitive athlete growing up. I think people like us have a certain type of mindset and we tend to push our bodies past their limits so often that we don't realise where the limits of our pain are, or should be. Mentally, we're built differently and I think that's why we fall into competitive sports.

For me at least, there's this small, gritty thing inside that doesn't allow me to stop, or give up. It's what's kept me alive, but it's also perhaps what made my illness worse, at first, and I still struggle with it now because I can't stop pushing boundaries that should not be pushed. I know what it's like to have your entire identity taken away from you and have to build yourself up anew.

I don't think you can say AMPS isn't a major chronic pain syndrome or illness. Your pain is valid and if you're having it every day, then I'd call that major. It interferes with your life and that's major. It's enough that you're allowed to be upset about it and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

There will always be someone else who "has it worse" and for the rest of your life you'll deal with people saying "oh well my knee hurts too sometimes," or "oh my joints ache all the time" with literally zero understanding of what it's like for you (and sometimes, little compassion). People (including family and friends) are probably going to minimise what you're going through.

It's going to be upsetting and frustrating, but you do get used to it. Just don't let anyone convince you that it's not a big deal just because they can't see it, or because it's not going to kill you.

You don't have to feel lucky for not having something worse.

The most frustrating part about living with lifelong chronic illness for me, is staring down the barrel of a future where it doesn't go away, with no answers and no set treatment.

You're not "supposed" to say it, but on my worst days, I've felt frustrated I don't have something worse, or something acute, because at least then doctors would know what to do with that.

There's more I could say on this, but it's dark and it's heavy and I don't want to put that on you.

If you ever need to talk, I'm around. Fourth Wing has brought so many of us together and I love that. I have central sensitisation myself and I wouldn't be surprised if there were a bunch of us here with overlapping symptoms. You're not alone.

And it's not all bad! I'm not saying your life is going to suck and I don't want it to come across that way at all. I still do so much and see so many beautiful things and life can be wondrous and amazing, but if you take one thing from Remi, let it be her refusal to allow people to reduce her pain, and that even while in it, she can still kick ass and take names.

I hope you have more easy days than hard ones 💗