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chronicallyuniconic · 11 months

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Chronic Pain/Fatigue & Cleaning

I generally clean in small, bite-sized amounts, spread across several days which makes it more manageable and allows me to stay on top of mess

Today however, I accidentally dropped some stuff, requiring me to use Henry Hoover, as it wasn't something a brush would clear up

The hoover/vacuum is like a final level boss fight when you have chronic pain and fatigue (for me)

It is SO HEAVY, even just pulling it around, not lifting with my arms. The back and forth across carpet feels like I'm scything grass, I'm using all of my weight to push forward and pull back the hoover head. Tilting my head down makes me feel dizzy, that feeling you might get on a rough boat trip.

Pain creeps in, crawling up my shins and wrapping around my shoulders

After I finished hoovering that small patch, I am sweating through my back, I can feel the beads slowly rolling down my neck & I can barely catch my breath. I feel irritated by the sweat, uncomfortable, unsteady on my feet, so I go back to my safe spot

I sit down, immediately my left arm and hand is tingling and burning, like when you've been lifting weights in repetition and the jelly-feeling comes on. Then it begins in my right arm & hand. There was still tingling in both hands 20-30 minutes later

I remember the before-times when I would dedicate my Sundays to cleaning, I could do it all in one day, preparing myself and home for the week ahead. That would mean dusting, polishing, hoovering, mopping, clearing dishes and so on

I can't do it like before. It makes me feel so useless & weak, another reminder that my body doesn't work like that anymore, that I'm not the same. It's frustrating to see the accumulation of "what I'd like to clean" and then realise the little amount I am actually able to and it makes me feel dirty. I can't remember when I was last able to clean my dishes

Oh to go back to before so I can just "be" without consequence

#chronic life #chronic pain #chronically ill #chronic fatigue #as if finding energy to shower isn't already hard enough on its own #chronic pain syndrome #joint pain #i'm in pain #chronic illness #fibromyalgia #myalgic encephalomyelitis #fibro #spoonie life #spoonie problems #no spoons #idk what this is

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spoonyglitteraunt · 1 year

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Real question, do any of you get tired from going in the shower? Not like oh I had a long day this is just one thing too many today, tired. But I am moderately ok going in, but the second I get out, bam gone are all the spoons.

See I live with people who think taking a shower is refreshing. May in fact boost their energy levels. For me however it’s instant loss of all energy for the day. No matter if I just got out of bed or not.

I don’t know what exactly does it either. Is it the movement, the stretching? It could be I suppose, although you’d expect a more gradual decline. Or if it is my body’s usual way of just going all soufflé as soon as we are done, you’d expect it to hit when you go sit down. But nope. The second I step out of the shower it’s like, I need to sit down or I’m going to be lying down in 0.2 seconds flat.

I’ve considered it might have something to down with the temperature shift, but idk. What I do know is that it’s exhausting and annoying. And I’d like to know if it’s just me.

#chronic health tag #chronic fatigue #spoonie #as if finding energy to shower isn't already hard enough on its own #I too would like to experience the zen state some people describe showering as #but the only zen I'm experiencing is being zend to the floor if I'm not careful

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poppiesforthirteen · 2 years

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no green that you can use

despite everything, yaz isn't alone.

tags: depression/mental illness relapses, surrounding revolution of the daleks, hurt/comfort, tardis telepathy

—

Yaz hasn't left the TARDIS in days.

It feels weird to think of it as the TARDIS. The TARDIS is the Doctor's, all dark and cozy and crystals and hexagons—this one is stark white, always lit so brightly it hurts Yaz's eyes to stare at its console for too long. But it's the only TARDIS she's seen for months, so this might as well be the TARDIS now.

She's been sleeping here, hiding it from Graham and Ryan at first, but she hasn't seen them in a while and she doesn't have the energy to drag her stuff to the side in case they come by during the day. Papers are scattered around her, most of them trails leading to nowhere, places the Doctor could be. Wasn't. Was with them, maybe. Maybe by herself. Yaz sighs. Hopeless.

She thinks she remembers the last time she ate; the box on the floor is from yesterday afternoon's chippie run. Yaz is sick of chips. She's sick of most things.

Her family probably thinks she's been abducted by now. She hasn't been home; when she is she doesn't try and see anyone. Her plait is the last thing keeping her hair from becoming truly disgusting; her clothes already are. She ought to go home, if only to change and shower.

Yaz can't. She just can't. Too tired. Her panic, anger, sadness when landing here seem lifetimes ago. Now all that's left is exhaustion, like lead bones dragging her down, making her muscles a chore to use. Even breathing seems like a task. She rolls over in her sleeping bag to stare at the other wall. Maybe if she sleeps a little longer, the Doctor will come back.

She closes her eyes, shifts uncomfortably on the floor (she should get a nicer mattress in here, since she's spending so much time lying down). This is familiar. This feeling. It's that moment after school when she comes home, having pretended not to exist for a day (not that it ever helped), then going to hide in bed and wish not to exist twice as hard (not that it ever worked). 'What if you never see the Doctor again?' used to spark enough of that same panic in her to keep working, these days it feels more like a torture method. Not enough fear to inspire action, just enough to make her feel sick.

Or maybe that's just her empty stomach. She eyes the box, then closes her eyes again. Hungry, but not hungry enough to move.

Get up, something soft and kind whispers in her ear.

"Who's there?" Yaz sits up with a start, grabbing at something useful to defend herself with and only finding balled-up paper. She grabs it anyway, raising her hand threateningly.

The TARDIS is empty. Yaz stands, reaching for her flashlight (she's never needed it in here, but it makes for a good blunt weapon)—she checks the console room in slow paces, but it's just as barren as always. Her steps trace past the entrance: This is where the Doctor tore herself away; this is where she said my name for the last time; this is where she left. Yaz slumps back down onto her duvet and leans her head back and lets the pain fade into emptiness again.

The pain returns, a sadness that doesn't quite feel like her own. Yaz frowns. "What are you?" she mumbles. The sadness lies around her like a blanket, covering her but not a part of her. Comforting. Heavy.

It doesn't answer. It waits.

"Doctor, if that's you come back to haunt me, you're doing a miserable job of it." The presence laughs, a little tremble through the TARDIS, a wave through the weight on her shoulders.

You miss her.

"What's it to you?" Yaz shuts her eyes against the light and, to her surprise, it dims.

I see you. As Yaz tries to decipher what that may mean, the weight around her grows, all Yaz's fear and frustration and regret and grief—hers, now, but not in her, on her. Then it lifts. I am alone. You and I are alone.

"Yeah?" Yaz says, because she doesn't know what else, and her stomach growls loudly. "I should go eat," she tells the nothing whispering to her.

I will wait for you, Yasmin Khan. The TARDIS' door opens. She steps outside and feels... braver. Like she can do this, like something's got her back. The feeling follows her all the way to the chippie and back—as sick as she is of chips, it can't hurt. It's easy.

Yaz eats on her makeshift bed in the TARDIS and feels a little less alone.

—

In nine months, forty-one weeks, Yaz has spent as much time in the TARDIS as outside of it. Feels like it, at least. It's lit up now, letting her stick newspaper clippings to the walls with fridge magnets, and dims down in sympathy as she sighs.

"What if I never find her?" she asks the TARDIS. It flickers a little, hums. "I've tried everything. I just don't know how to make you work—if only I could..."

Yaz reaches for the console and the comfortable presence of the TARDIS shifts away again. Distances itself.

"Why won't you let me? She can't be the only one who can fly you, not just her and—" Yaz grimaces and occupies herself with rifling through scraps of paper instead. She's talking to a spaceship. Weirder yet, the spaceship is answering.

Sometimes Yaz thinks she can feel the Doctor in here. When she stands where the Doctor did, moves in certain ways, or sits and thinks about her too long. Most of the time, though, Yaz feels her echo—her own thoughts of the Doctor mirrored back to her. Then others, anger, grief, bone-deep hurt that isn't her own but sickens her with the familiarity of it.

Whoever felt it must have loved the Doctor deeply.

—

The TARDIS full of Daleks folds in on itself until it disappears into thin air. From the safety of the Doctor's TARDIS, Yaz flinches.

—

Being on the same spaceship, one wouldn't think it possible to avoid seeing each other, but it's been some time since Yaz's crossed the Doctor's path. She isn't trying to avoid her, she's just been so tired. It's hard to say how much time has actually passed; Yaz doesn't have the Doctor's time sense; but it feels like ages since she's left her room. Been a while, either way.

Traveling with only the Doctor is exciting, or it should be, but it's just exhausting right now. She has to live up to all that attention given to her, has to be twice as active—the Doctor isn't meant for being alone. Yaz would say she's clingy, but there's so much distance between them that it's not even that. She's just hovering.

And Yaz is avoiding her.

She turns around in bed. There's no light in her room, obviously no clock, and no footsteps in the corridor outside where Ryan and Graham used to come by. Who's to say how much time has passed? They're in the time vortex—Yaz would have felt the TARDIS moving if they'd left—so for everyone but her and the Doctor, no real time has passed at all. Is the Doctor looking for her? Probably not. Does Yaz want her to?

Yaz hasn't been sleeping well. Can't say how much, but no matter the time she spends in bed, she's never refreshed. Hiding in here hasn't let her get away from that uncomfortable hollow in her chest yet.

Is this how the Doctor feels? Yaz hides; she runs. Yaz would try it, try to keep herself busy to train her thoughts elsewhere, but she can't find the energy. She shuts her eyes tightly and opens them again. Swallows the doubt tying knots in her throat.

Her mouth is dry. She has a headache. When was the last time she had water? The bathroom is attached to her room; she wouldn't even have to get dressed.

Get up, she thinks and doesn't move.

Strong attempt. Try again later.

Maybe Yaz should have gone to see someone about these phases years ago, before the whole time travel thing got wrapped into it. Maybe she should have gone to therapy instead of joining the police. But her family doesn't do therapy; they repress things like any respectable person, and now Yaz is seated with this mess.

Get up, something in her mind whispers, and Yaz freezes at the familiarity of it. An image of the Doctor in the console room, waiting, a thought in her voice: Should I? No. Give her space. A feeling, not Yaz's, not the presence. Guilt.

And a comforting weight over her, like Yaz's TARDIS before it disappeared. She misses you, the Doctor's TARDIS hums, and Yaz can't tell who 'she' is. It's the Doctor, but not just her, and Yaz misses her too, misses the Doctor and the TARDIS and the life around her. Her stomach twists with it, a knife to the gut.

No, not gone, don't worry.

Grief, insurmountable grief, the loss of anyone like her, the last of the TARDISes, and it lifts. Hangs in the air like a cloud before rain; Yaz can almost smell the petrichor.

You have chances, young one. Not alone.

The Doctor imagines herself getting up and knocking on Yaz's door and asking her to go somewhere; she flips through the eras and planets like looking for a comfort film on DVD; she stays where she is. The sonic protests in her hands as she turns it. Yaz's throat closes.

"Why are you showing me this?" she croaks. Her mouth is dry; she still hasn't had any water.

I love you.

Tears, like a dam breaking, like fat droplets at the start of a storm. Yaz doesn't wipe them away; she wasn't expecting herself to cry and her body hasn't realised it yet.

"Okay," she means to respond, but her voice dies in her chest. The words remain, not a weight, not an echo or an expectation, no more than the simplicity with which the TARDIS said them. Yaz inhales deeply. "Okay."

She gets up and nearly blacks out as her head spins. Sits back down. The TARDIS' presence is still there; it ripples with a laugh, and Yaz can't help smiling.

When Yaz finally steps into the console room, clean and hydrated and a little more alive, the Doctor is sitting on the stairs—she gets up with a start, beaming, running towards Yaz as if to hug her before moving away self-consciously, her hands folded behind her back. "Good to see you."

"You too." Yaz smiles back and the Doctor relaxes a little. "How long was I asleep?"

"Eh." She waves it off. Busies herself with the console. The petrichor has followed Yaz from her room; the first drops of a summer shower hitting the dry earth as the TARDIS sings, not alone. "Are you hungry? Because I know just the place."

"Starving." The last discomfort lifts out of Yaz's chest as the Doctor pulls the lever. Later, when they're eating sandwiches the size of their heads in front of a valley of waterfalls, the Doctor chattering about the planet's history, Yaz will have forgotten it was there at all.

—

title is from to the young who want to die by gwendolyn brooks, that and the ao3 link will be in the notes

reblogs are appreciated!

#doctor who #yasmin khan #doctor who fanfic #tardis #thirteenth doctor #yaz #thirteen #poppy scribbles #🥀#been rewatching s12 as i cling to dopamine and i love projecting on comfort characters <3 #also we're pretending that the doctor selected a tardis the master had traveled in for the purpose of my fic yeah #no green that you can use

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twodaysintojune · 5 years

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For Science!

Supernatural, Debriel, Warnings-Lemon

Long Story Masterlist, One Shot Masterlist

Find me at AO3

Placed during the time Rowena tested the drug for Lucifer's alcohol with Gabriel between Unfinished Business and Beat the Devil.

---

Rowena stepped out of the room in a rush, all her outfit in complete disarray, fabric looking like it had never met an iron and her hair in even worse condition, face blushing and breath barely calming down. She sprinted towards the room she had chosen as her own on the other wing of the bunker.

“The hell Rowena? Where's Gabriel?”

She jumped when Dean's voice caught her unguarded. She was about to dismiss him with a glare when she stopped for a second. She turned back and pulled the man in front of the door of the room she had just left.

“Dean, sweetheart, won't you please be a dear and keep an eye on this door for me? I'll be right back. Do not let anyone inside!”

“Okay?”

Dean was eyeing the witch suspiciously while she moved away from his sight when he heard Gabriel groaning with what sounded like pain. Worried he opened the door. He was welcomed by a strong scent that made him scrunch his nose and frown when the low light of the table lamps showed him the archangel covered by thin sheets, falling over his frame in a way that hinted he was most likely naked in a fetal position in the middle of the bed, whimpering with apparent pain.

“Gabriel? You alright man?”

Dean came in closer when the archangel kept weeping in response. Feeling more alarmed he placed a hand over his shoulder.

“Gabriel?”

Gabriel turned towards him scared but when he realized who was in front of him his pupils dilated and Dean dangerously felt the raw lust building up inside the archangel like the hunger of a feral animal who just found its prey. He tried to move away from him a second too late, before he could hold his hand back, the archangel had already grabbed his wrist and pulled him over the sheets drenched in the odor of sex, making Dean feel disoriented, unable to process whether the concept of a witch and an archangel going at it like rabbits was more or less gross than the physical proof of their actions.

Gabriel turned him over, back against the sheets and began to unbuckle his belt.

“Fuck Dean, what are you doing here!?”

This complaint helped the hunter get a hold of himself, getting angry at the archangel manhandling him.

“Why am I here? What about what the fuck are you doing!? I thought you were in pain!”

“I am in pain!” Screamed Gabriel desperately. Dean froze at Gabriel's trembling voice. “We fucked up! We were testing the drug for Lucifer and now I'm in overdrive! I want so bad I am in pain!”

“W… what do you mean with want?”

Dean was lamely fighting Gabriel's inhumanly strong hands while the archangel undressed him. Gabriel fulminated him with a glance.

“What do you think, dumbass?”

“Okay this is SO not what I expected when... Gabriel? Why are you bending over!? S—stop! Fuck!”

Dean threw his head backwards when a pair of soft thin lips and a deliciously warm mouth surrounded his dick, sucking at it intently. Dean's hands rushed to tangle themselves on Gabriel's hair, trying to push his head away in a vain attempt to make him step back. But Gabriel had other plans, he swiftly used his tongue to add more sensations to the ones the hunter was already fighting and moved a hand to play with his balls. Dean let out a hitched sob. He felt a clear jolt of panic and guilt when he realized that Gabriel's long ministrations reverencing his cock were getting his body into the program despite his efforts of staying calm.

“Fuck fuck fuck Gabriel, Gabe, stop, please, fuck—Gabe!”

Gabriel sucked away from Dean's cock with an obscene pop.

“I'm sorry Dean” and at least his face did show regret, Dean thought sourly. Gabriel moved on top of him and aligned his entrance with Dean's now leaking dick. “I’ve wanted you for so long, I can’t stop right now!”

“Gabe this isn't—”

Whatever Dean was about to say got drown in a moan echoed by the archangel, who had impaled himself painfully fast over Dean. The poor man throwing a hand over his eyes, unable to face the fact that his dick was actually inside a guy and not just any guy but a stupid dipshit asshole who also happened to be an archangel. After just one moment that Gabriel took to breathe, he began to move up and down and properly ride the man. And he was so good at that. The way he moved his hips in shallow circles made Dean's breath go faster while the hunter threw his hands over Gabriel's hips, trying desperately to push him away.

“Fuck Gabe slow down, I won't last!”

“It's okay…” hitched a panting Gabriel on top of him.

“No it's not, it's… dammit!”

Imitating the move Gabriel had used to pull him over the bed, Dean tackled Gabriel onto the mattress, losing the point where their bodies had been linked with regret. Swiftly, Dean opened Gabriel's legs and lifted him up.

“Hold your legs.”

Gabriel obeyed, eyes darkened by the show the naked hunter was giving him of his delicious body while he positioned himself. Soon enough, Gabriel sighed in relief when Dean popped in once more. Dean stopped for a second. This was it, this wasn't him being forced anymore, this was him willingly diving inside Gabriel, inside a fucking guy. After one moment where Dean swallowed thick, he gave a hard thrust into Gabriel so deep that the archangel let out a wild moan.

“Oh Fuck Dean, YES!”

Enticed by how vocal Gabriel was going, Dean began to move with purpose inside him, forcing out a stream of moans while he was caught on a wave of pleasure. Remembering something, he began to prod shallowly upwards until he hit a spot that made Gabriel let out the loudest moan so far while his body arched. Content with having found his prostate, Dean started to pound the archangel mercilessly. Archangel that now was moaning and blabbering gibberish while his body tried desperately to move away from the barrage of sensations and Dean pulling him back with enough force that if he had been any other human being he would have definitely ended up with bruises for a month.

Realising he was going to cum at any second, Dean shifted his weight and used one of his hands to jack Gabriel off.

“Goddammit Gabe come already!”

It was a chained reaction. Dean's hot as fuck dirty rough voice commanding Gabriel while his hand rubbed his dick sent the archangel over the edge making him cum and tighten up his hole, forcing Dean to lose his thrust and stammer inside him, pouring all his thick sperm inside with a groan.

After the release, Dean fell entirely limbless over Gabriel panting like he had run a marathon, which might have been a very good analogy given the task he had fulfilled, satisfying an archangel. It wasn’t until now that he was able to feel the stream of sweat coming down his neck, cooling him on it’s path downwards his skin. Gabriel was also panting contentedly, basking in the afterglow.

Doing his best to gather up some energy, he pushed himself away from Gabriel and rolled over the empty side of the bed, running away from the heated stickiness of naked hot bodies that had rubbed together. That was the moment when he met Rowena’s gaze on him. She was leaning against the door, mouth wide open in a smile full of incredulity. Dean only closed his rolling eyes softly cursing on the low. She snorted softly.

“Well! That was quite the spectacle~” Rowena singsonged while approaching them, making sure of giving a good pass to Dean’s naked body in front of her.

Gabriel laughed leisurely. “I always knew it would be awesome but damn, you really blew past all my expectations Dean-o.”

Dean pinched his eyebrows in frustration while sighing. “Okay, whatever. You’re both forbidden to talk about what happened here tonight.”

Gabriel laughed wholeheartedly now.

Rowena sighed holding up a small vial “What a shame, I guess this remedy I concocted is useless now.”

“Yeah, maybe not, we still have three more drinks to test out...” Gabriel signaled some bottles resting on the shelf at the wall.

Oh, so that’s what all those other bottles in the ground had contained inside thought Dean a bit wary of the glowing contents of the leftover brews. Dean sat up and looked for his clothes, previously discarded on the floor.

“Where are you going?” Asked Rowena a little puzzled.

“Out.”

“What do you mean? You’re not gonna stay?”

Dean glared at her after his shirt had gone past his head, making him a lot less intimidating than what he normally was with all the ruffled hair.

“No.”

“B...But why?”

“Why? WHY?”

“Yes! Why? Since I’m finally here, we could have a nice threeway play!”

Dean let out an exasperated sigh while fixing his boxer briefs.

“You guys keep up with the fun. Sam will come looking for me anytime if I’m gone too long.”

“Spoilsport” Spat Gabriel from the bed, turning over his belly and gliding his hand along the sheets, lifting up his rear seductively towards Dean.

Dean unconsciously dragged his sight along the line of Gabriel’s ass. He wavered a moment but turned to pull up his pants. He had already lost enough face today banging an archangel, he was definitely not ready to lose all of his morals throwing a witch in the batch.

“You’re mulling over things way too much.” Gabriel warned him softly.

Dean fulminated him with a glance. “I’m not.”

Gabriel sighed defeated and admired Dean’s back while he laced up his boots sitting at the edge of the bed. He stood up and moved towards the door.

“Better take a shower Dean-o, you smell like sex.”

Dean turned towards the both of them before he stepped out from the room with the characteristic Winchester menacing glare.

“Good luck with that drug research.”

Rowena and Gabriel stood speechless at the closing door. Despite the murderous look he had given them, Dean was earnestly rooting for them to find the thing that would bind The Devil.

“Great, now I feel guilty for all the sex I’ve had today.”

“The more reason to spur our efforts tonight dear.” smiled Rowena warmly, taking one of the leftover bottles and passing it to the archangel who was sitting up. “Chop chop, bottoms up!”

Gabriel took the bottle and shrugged while lifting it for a toast. “For science!” he claimed and dived into the contents of the brew.

#Debriel #ALL THE DEBRIEL #dean winchester #gabriel #fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic

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