feeling sick constantly in the background all the time is like.. usually negligible-ish.. until multiple various chronic background issues all happen to overlap at once and then it’s like 

prompt "It’s like they said in Star War The Last Jedi: the past fucking sucks, dude…ignore that shit and get a lightsaber." :)

Oh, I can so hear Ophelia saying this...

____ Call it Even

Word Count: 1.6k Content Warnings: depictions of chronic pain/injury ____

It was a rough few days.

Her bad knee had flared up again, thanks to a risky maneuver out on the battlefield. As far as Ophelia could tell, there wouldn't be any lasting damage - not anything past what she was already used to dealing with, at least - but it left her in a lot of pain.

That meant a few things.

One, she couldn't move much. Her ventures peaked at hobbling from her lab to the bathroom and back a few times a day, and nothing more. Hell, Peter had even brought dinner into her lab so she wouldn't have to limp the thirty feet down the hall.

Two, she couldn't sleep. Ophelia had enough insomnia as it was, but the constant pain shredded what little desire to sleep still survived through that. She'd tried, once or twice, alongside a healthy dose of Nyquil, and even that only granted her a few restless hours and a pounding headache once she awoke.

And three, she was more than barred from hero work until the pain subsided. Motion wasn't as much an issue - her actuators would carry her wherever she needed or wanted to go - but the pain made it hard to focus. That would only end in her getting injured. Well, injured more.

So she sat at her desk and tinkered. It was infuriating. She had her machines, she had her music, her actuators brought her whatever parts she needed, but sometimes she did her best thinking by wandering the city.

Here, she couldn't so much as pace her lab for ideas. Ophelia was confined to her lab chair, her bad leg braced and propped on a stack of old machinery in front of her. Amadeus had come and gone throughout the day, and was currently curled up on a lab table while one of her actuators delicately stroked his back. Sometimes their gentleness surprised even her.

"Are you sure it's okay that I head out?" Peter asked, drawing her eyes up to the doorway. He was clad in his Spidey-suit, red Spandex hugging every slope of his body. His mask dangled loosely from one hand, giving her a full view of his mussed hair and concerned brown eyes.

"I'll be fine. Not like I'm doing anything different from what I've done all day," Ophelia responded with a shrug, "Besides, at least one of us should be out there. It's not like the villains are out taking a sick day."

"Yeah, but we could let the cops have this one."

She scoffed.

"Please. They're cops." she huffed, "At best the bad guys'll slip away. At worst, they'll do more harm than good. They always seem to. Never seem to realize there's a whole lot of problems that can't be resolved by the barrel of a gun."

"Yeah, but Ol's-"

"I'm fine, Pete. I promise. Go... do your thing. Protect the city and all that." Ophelia insisted, "And anyway, I'm safer in here than out there. I expect a very dull night."

"Hm. Alright, I guess." he agreed, albeit begrudgingly, and crossed the room to meet her at her desk. He reached to cup the back of her head, guiding her into a brief kiss. He pulled back a moment later, and nearly made it to the door before he turned again. "Hey, ah- set yourself a timer? So you don't stay up too late?"

"When did you become the responsible one?"

"Right about when I learned you'd blown yourself up by being sleep-deprived."

His delivery, delightfully dry, was enough to startle a sharp laugh out of her. Ophelia gave him a crooked grin.

"Fair enough," she said, already reaching for her phone, "There. Every half-hour until midnight."

"Thanks," Peter agreed, "Oh, and I already took care of Amadeus, so he should be fine for the night."

"Great. Oh- hey, I think we're almost out of litter, do you think you could swing by and pick some up if there's a place still open tonight?"

"What, and let the world know Spider-Man has a cat?" he fired back, grinning at her, "Sure. Are we still on Tidy Cats for him?"

"I dunno, I think he's been getting a reaction to it." Ophelia said with a frown, "I think the dust has been irritating his skin. Maybe try to find something all-natural?"

"On it." he said, giving her a brief nod as he pulled his mask on over his head, "Love you, Ol's. Don't stay up too late."

"Love you too. I'll do my best."

____

She stayed up too late.

It wasn't really her fault. Her alarm had gone off at midnight, and as promised she'd worked her way up to her feet and made her way back to the more domestic side of her apartment. She made a very pointed effort not to get lost in her projects as she so often did. She'd go to bed (and probably still be awake, but at least she'd be in bed and awake instead of surrounded by dangerous machinery), and eventually Peter would come back from his swing through the city and lay down beside her, and maybe she'd manage a few hours of sleep.

And then she tripped over Amadeus on the way to the bathroom.

It wasn't awful. The cat was startled but not hurt, and Ophelia managed to twist in a way that took the brunt of the fall on her hip rather than her knees or wrists or any other riskier areas. There were definitely worse ways to fall.

But it sent the pain sparking back to life, lightning bolts all up and down her leg. There was no way she'd find sleep with that agony in the way.

So, three ibuprofen and an ice pack later, she found herself back in her lab.

Just an hour, she told herself. One more hour for the ibuprofen to kick in and the pain to die down, and then she'd get back to bed. And she'd be more careful this time.

But she'd forgotten to set a timer, and then she'd just... gotten lost.

She didn't realize Peter had come home until there was a gentle hand sliding over her shoulders. Ophelia jolted once, started from her focused near-trance, but relaxed as she realized who it was.

"I thought you set a timer."

"I did. Then I fell in the hallway, and..." she trailed off with a shrug, "Anyway, I wasn't getting back to sleep. Sorry."

As she tuned back into the world around her, she realized a few things. One, that the pain in her knee had indeed lessened, down to the same low ache she'd grown used to over the past few days. Two, she had to pee so badly it almost hurt, and she wished she'd remembered to set a timer to take care of that sooner. And three, it was rapidly nearing four in the morning. Much, much later than she meant to be up.

"You fell?"

"Tripped over the cat. I'm alright. So's Amadeus. It's fine."

"Hm." Peter replied, clearly not quite satisfied by her answer, but apparently decided to move on, "What's that you're working on?"

"Oh, uh-" she started, holding up the slim object in her hand, "It's a little like a lightsaber. Still in its early stages, though."

She pressed a button on the side of it, and colorless light arced down the metal rod. Ophelia stretched to grab a piece of scrap metal from the far corner of her desk, and pressed the rod against it. In moments, it had bored a hole straight through.

"Not bad, right?" she said with a grin, shutting the device off and setting it on her desk, "Figured it was about time I started playing with fire again. It's like they said in Star Wars: The Last Jedi: the past fucking sucks, dude… ignore that shit and get a lightsaber."

"And that's Ophelia's four-AM voice, which means it's time to go to bed," Peter decided, though she could hear him stifling laughter as he offered her a hand, "C'mon, Ol's, you can finish in the morning. I'll help you up."

She obliged and took his hand, and he very carefully helped her up to her feet. Once she was up, he shifted his grip to weave his arm around her waist, taking some of her weight off her bad leg.

"Are you hurt at all?" Ophelia found herself asking, even as they hobbled their way out of her lab. Amadeus followed, attempting to weave between their legs like he usually did, but Peter gently rerouted him with one foot. He seemed to process her question a moment later, and shook his head.

"I was careful."

"You say that like I'm not careful."

"No, no- I just- I was more careful tonight since you weren't there, alright?" he stammered, "That's what I mean."

"Good save, Parker."

"I'm serious!"

He started guiding her towards the bedroom, but Ophelia shook her head.

"Bathroom first. I have to pee."

"Alright. I need the first-aid kit anyway."

"I thought you said you weren't injured!" she blurted, suddenly twisting to look him over. Peter lifted his free hand, trying to wave her away.

"No, I- I'm fine, it's just a scratch, I'm just gonna wrap it up so I don't get blood on the sheets before it heals over."

"A scratch is an injury. Did you sleep through health class in elementary school or something?"

"C'mon, Ol's, with my healing-"

"I asked if you were hurt and you said no!"

"Yeah, well, you told me you set a timer for when you'd go to bed!" he shot back, though there was no venom in his voice. He nudged her shoulder, only hard enough to make his point without knocking her off-balance. He was awfully good at that. "Call it even?"

"Fine." she agreed, "Call it even."

hi yes hello!!

~~

i think my love languages are physical touch and quality time/parallel play! i’m very touchy-feely with those i love, so i’m always hugging and kissing and wanting cuddles. (i’m also very touch-starved oops) and i love just being with my partner—whether we’re doing the same activity together or doing two different things and just vibing. 💕

i love making or buying my partner gifts as well!! whether it’s a lil something i saw in the store that made me think of them, or it’s something i created for them, i love seeing my partner light up when i surprise them with gifts 💕💕

~~

my meds/chronic illnesses make me rlly sleepy, so i nap all the time, but when i’m not conked out i like to cosplay, read fanfic, work on my current hyperfixation craft, play Animal Crossing or Final Fantasy 14, create/work on OCs, and coloring on my phone while watching horror/true crime shows!! (i like my silly little phone games too uwu)

my current hyperfixation craft is drawing!! but in the past it’s been loom knitting, cross stitching, or soap making!! i tend to cycle though these every 6 months 😅 at least i have all the supplies already!!

before i got sick i loved to dance, too—i took ballet, aerial silks, and musical theatre. oh!! i love to sing, too!! i was trained in classical italian opera for a few years, along with musical theatre. on good pain days i’ll twirl around my kitchen dancing to songs on my OCs playlists, or sing along with them. …i’ll freeze like a deer in the headlights if someone walks in on me doing that tho. “>.>

~~

my partner needs to be… understanding, to say the least. my memory is poor and i’m always sick, so they need to not mind taking care of me every once in awhile during my flare-ups. i like having a partner with a sense of humor, who’s very soft with me. if you’re mean to me i WILL cry (/hj???)

they also gotta tolerate my vocal stims—my latest one has been “koebi-chan~!” and i’m sO EMBARRASSED ABOUT IT??? 💀💀 BUT ITS SO FUN TO SAY??? HELP???

~~

sorry for the long info dump 😅 and tysm for doing this!!! 💖💕💖💕 pls take your time!!

time to work 💪💪💪💪

JADE my hc is that jade actually really enjoys physical affection, at least if it's from someone he's close with, he doesn't seem to mind floyd's affection and while that could be because they're brothers i hc that he will enjoy any affection that someone close to him will give him, be prefers to do it in private but he'll have to problems holding your hand hugging you in public kissing your hand or cheek, he finds it adorable that you're brave enough to ask for affection for someone most people consider dangerous (but u know in reality he's just a little guy) in private he'll really enjoy cuddling with you, kissing your face holding you close and he even bites you affectionately.

whenever you buy jade a little mushroom themed thing you love to see the mask he puts up completely shattering as he smiles brightly before kissing you softly, he then starts to info dump about the mushroom and the type of mushroom, while he absolutely loves the things you buy, the most important to him are the ones you make, he puts those in a special place in display and sometimes u caught him just staring at the things you made him with a very soft smile, he loves teasing you but if he notices it's getting too much he'll immediately stop and kiss your head making you a bit of tea and holding your hand softly as a way to apologize, he truly does care and love you he'll have absolutely no problems helping you and taking care of you when your pain gets too much, he'll always remind you to take your medicine, he'll always make sure you're comfortable when you go take a nap and he'll stay by your side either reading a book or watching something in his phone (probably abt mushrooms) jade makes sure to research about your illnesses so that he'll be able to help you as much as he can, sometimes it's tiring but seeing you smile and thank him for being such a good lover immediately makes him happy and your kisses make any exhaustion go away , a lot of times you'll awake from your naps and feel a very sleepy jade hugging you tight he is wrapped around you while hiding his face, it's adorable to see him in such a vulnerable way and knowing you're one of the only people he trusts to be his true self

a lot of times jade will quietly sneak up on you while you sing your heart out and watch you with a smirk waiting till you notice him, if you haven't noticed him when you finish the song he'll warn you by clapping and then proceeding to kiss your cheek while he starts to praise your amazing performance he loves seeing your reaction and although he's teasing you, you can see that he truly does enjoy listening to your voice

jade would be very entertained by your vocal stims, if you don't like he won't point them out to tease you but he will always let out a small genuine smile or a soft laugh

another person i think would fit is...

LILIA he LOVES hugging you kissing you cuddling you surprising you by suddenly appearing in the ceiling and kissing your forehead he loves your reactions and will always giggle while he does so please make sure to always return his affections he feels so at peace when you're holding him, kissing him and showering him with affection, his favorite thing to do is sit on ur lap while u kiss his face he'll be giggling the entire time and those little wing-like things on his hair flutter (yes they flutter when he's happy i actually work on twst so i can confirm) btw u should def play with them lilia will start purring and melting on your embrace while you do so

lilia loves trying out as much hobbies as possible so anytime u decide to try something new he'll always get very excited and ask to join you, you two will have a lot of fun and spend the whole day laughing when doing so, lilia will come up with the silliest things to make you happy, even if they're clearly supposed to be funny they're also extremely well made and he loves it when you point that out and praise him. you and lilia have a little especial day every month where you both take everything you bought/made for eachother that month and talk about the items, lilia loves everything you give him but when you make them from scratch lilia can't help but blush, his big eyes shining and he can't stop smiling, his heart feels like it's about to explode with affection and love you just make him so so happy he feels so lucky to have you

as expected lilia will have absolutely no problems with taking care of you, in the times where you pain gets really really bad you'll see lilia get serious because he cannot stand to see you in pain, he'll immediately do anything he can to stop the pain, he'll always remind you to drink your medicine and he'll be making sure you're completely comfortable, once you tell him that you are he'll smile and kiss your forehead as he watches you slowly fall asleep, he stays there by your side as he starts to play games, even tho he is very focused in his game whenever you start showing signs of waking up or any sounds of pain in your sleep lilia will immediately drop it and start paying attention to you

lilia loves hearing you sing, you two often do duets, he also loves gaming with you and hearing about your ocs, absolutely adores your drawings and you two have drawing competitions often, the prize??? a bunch of kisses.

lilia finds your vocal stims super cute but if you don't like him pointing it out then he will respect your boundaries and keep his thoughts to himself, if u end up with a vocal stim of a phrase he says a lot tho he'll always giggle and kiss your lips sitting on your lap and batting his eyelashes at you what a bastard

other possibilities: trey, malleus, azul & vil

Ten Things I’ve Learned While Battling a Chronic Illness

1) Getting a diagnosis is fucking infuriating. The amount of doctors who have now seen my cervix makes me physically uncomfortable. I was very fortunate to figure out that I have severe endometriosis after fighting for six months - the average is 7-10 years. But Jesus Christ, getting to a point where you know what you need to fight feels like dragging your naked body through shards of glass. 

2) Getting on a medication that works is even more infuriating. I have other chronic conditions and mental health issues that I take medication for, but I’ve never struggled more with finding one that won’t cancel out my other meds or turn me into a husk than in recent weeks. If the hunt for a medication makes you want to beat your head into a wall, you’re not alone. 

3) Be prepared for a lot of crying. Like a lot, and not just from the chronic pain, but from the sheer psychic damage you take from this experience. Learning your version of normal is going to be changed again is exhausting. Having doctors look at you like you’re crazy or just want pain medication is exhausting. Having to reevaluate the way you live your life as a perfectionist with a dire need to control everything is EXHAUSTING. I am so tired all the time. 

4) You will most likely have at least one breakdown in public. Yelling at medical professionals for treating you like a liar or gaslighting your symptoms, telling off colleagues who think it just ‘can’t be that bad’, crying into a sandwich on a park bench because your symptoms are making you have food aversion and you just wanted to get out of the house. It will eventually happen, so be prepared, and try not to be embarrassed. 

5) Being in recovery for an eating disorder while fighting a chronic illness that makes you throw up is so fucking triggering sometimes I cannot even begin to explain. I get sick from drinking water and the little fuckin goblin ED voice is like ‘I wonder how much weight we’ve lost from the vomiting’ like bro read the room. If you start to panic and think you’re relapsing, you’re most likely not, the food aversion and nausea are very similar to ED experiences. 

6) Marijuana is surprisingly helpful. Not even smoking - stuff like edibles or vape pens. It helps my pain, makes it so I can eat without throwing up, it lets me sleep without waking up from pain flare ups. Obviously I don’t condone anyone just running out and buying drugs from the local dude on the corner, but if you’re an adult and you’re terrified of opioids like me, it’s worth looking into. 

7) If you have fears of addiction because of family history, fighting to get treatment and proper medication is going to be hell for you. I’ve been on or given like every well known pain pill or IV injection at one point or another in the last six months and I frequently was terrified that I was becoming - or was going to become - an addict. Try to keep in mind that using medications as prescribed by a doctor is not a bad thing, but also keep in mind that long term use of opioids can cause withdrawal symptoms for anyone. 

8) Once you have a diagnosis, if you frequented your hospital during the time of not knowing what the issue was, be prepared for your visits to now fucking suck. I went yesterday because of a very severe pain flare and constant puking, and I told them repeatedly that I had an appointment today with my doctor but was told if I got bad before then to go to the hospital. I was talked poorly to by both a doctor and a nurse (both male, go figure) who told me that it was pointless to go to the hospital since I have a diagnosis and the pain meds wouldn’t last until the next day, etc to the point that I cried, yelled at the nurse for his lack of sensitivity to the situation, and left. There’s a chance you’ll have a better experience, but from others I’ve spoken to with chronic conditions, it seems that this is more or less the outcome. ESPECIALLY if your condition is a uterine or ovarian issue. 

9) A LOT of people are going to tell you that they know exactly what you’re going through, and then they’re going to compare your condition to something that’s totally normal in life for 99% of people. Like, “I totally get how chronic pain can be, sometimes I have cramps when I’m on my period. Have you tried Tylenol Extra Strength?” You’re going to be expected to not be pissed about this because if you voice it then you look like you’re trying to do the Oppression Olympics shit. You’re probably going to be mad anyways. It’s okay, I am too. 

10) You may start to feel like your chronic illness isn’t actually that bad because it’s not as bad as someone else’s. Try not to feed into that thought - You’re gaslighting yourself because our society has one very miniscule view of what it looks like to be chronically ill or disabled. You are valid, your symptoms are valid, your experiences are valid, and you are the LAST PERSON that should be gaslighting you about this because you’re the only proof that it’s happening. 

Sweet Summer

No warnings, just pure fluff.

WC: 3.6k

Long time no see! I hope you like this! I'll try and link the songs on this page, but no promises. Leave any suggestions for stories you'd like to see! Also, do comment, and tell me what you like about these two! As always, feedback is always welcome.

Check out my masterlist

You could listen to the songs here. I listened to this while writing this.

'I know how the summer goes' softly played in the background; she was sticky with sweat. She was sprawled on the floor of their bedroom. He sat on the bed above her. She was working on an essay on summer love for her column, the deadline was fast approaching. She looked to her left, and their room overlooked the ocean. The window opened to the bedroom patio, where they would often sit and work during the summer. Today he was oiling her hair while she worked hard on her piece. He'd just wrapped up, so he offered to help ease out some stress. She laid her head on the side on his knee and looked out to the sun shining down on the beach.

Ellie could almost touch the memory of when she first realised she was in love with Harry.

4 years earlier...

They'd been dating for a few weeks now. Harry planned the first date, so she arranged the second one. She'd quickly realised that Harry loved his walks. Working as a software developer left him with little to no time to move around. So he takes any opportunity to exercise or move his body. Ellie was a freelance journalist who's spent the better part of the last two years working from home. The idea of walking around or being on her feet was too taxing because of her chronic pain. But she liked harry, didn't she. So that's what she kept telling herself. When her hips hurt a little too much, or when she pulled her back from walking around too long. It'd all be worth it in the end. It had to be.

On this particular evening, they'd decided to meet up for a gig. Harry had found this artist that was playing in a bar downtown, so they'd meet there. She walked up to him and kissed him on the lips. "Hello to you too" He smiled.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I just missed you." She smiled wide. "I missed you too." He linked their arms and walked into the bar. He asked her to go ahead, and he'd join her with drinks. She walked on and waited for the band to start playing. He found his way back to her soon enough, with their favourite beverages.

Once the gig was over, they walked out of the bar and discussed where they should go to get dinner. "So, there's this brilliant taco place just down the road. We can walk there. What'd you say?" He smiled at her.

"Oh sure, let's." Ellie knew this wasn't the best decision. She'd be in a whole lot of pain by the end of the evening. She had work tomorrow, a deadline she couldn't miss. But It had to be worth it, right?

"What'd do you want to listen to today?" She suggested. She dug into her bag to find the earphone connector and offered it to him. They'd do this a lot, listen to music together, a new genre every date, sometimes their favourite albums. The last time they were listening to Harry's 70's indie playlist. You can tell a lot about a person by the music they heard. This was quite the ice breaker during their first few dates, so they decided to make it a thing. Now they would sometimes pick certain words or phrases and listen to what came up.

"Guilty pleasures?" He asked. "I can tell you, but I'm afraid it won't make for a great romantic walk down a dark road" She smiled. "I can take it." He laughed.

So she did. They blasted an old rock playlist, with mostly Cream. "You really love Cream, huh?" He said after a bit. "More than Neutral Milk Hotel," She told straightfaced. He blinked at her for a sec and burst out laughing. "That was a terrible one. Worse than my puns, God!" He laughed.

"These tacos better be mind fucking blowing, Styles," She says. Her hips were starting to ache a little. "Yes, Ma'am. I wouldn't dare disappoint you." He smiled. Their conversation went on about things here and there. Soon they reached the taco truck, right by the side of the road. The place was packed with people. Patrons had resorted to sitting on the pavement because of the wait.

"Okay, their birria tacos are the best, but we can get something else if you'd like?" Harry asked her. "Oh, that actually sounds absolutely perfect. Do you mind if I go get us a spot while you go get the food?" Ellie asked. "Sure, you do that." He said and leaned to kiss her cheek and made his way to the truck.

Ellie walked towards the pavement and slowly sat down. The moment her bum hit the pavement softly, she knew she was in a world of pain. Only more was waiting for her the longer this night went. She quickly dug into her purse to get out her cigarettes and lit one. It set in some ease, but it wasn't enough. She needed to get home, but what'd she tell Harry? Her experience telling people about her chronic pain has always ended up in them pitying her or not entirely believing her. Now, don't be fooled. She's in pain, but she didn't want no one's pity. She just wanted someone to recognise the pain and help her find a goddamn solution to it. In contemplating her exit strategy, she didn't realise she started tearing up. She quickly stubbed her cigarette and switched on some music to distract her. She waited patiently till Harry arrived with the food.

Harry walked over to Ellie with their food in his hand. Only to find her doubled over with her head on her knees. He rushed to her, placed their food on the pavement, and nudged her shoulder. "Ellie, are you okay?" He asked her gently. Ellie looked up, and she looked like she was in a lot of pain. "Hey! What's wrong? Why are you crying?" He seemed very concerned now. "I'm in a lot of pain right now, and it flares up when I'm on my feet for too long. I'd been out all day before we met, and I wasn't expecting us to walk around so much." She all but cried. "Oh, you poor thing. I'll call a cab right now, and I'll take you home, okay?" Harry said, his hand gently rubbed her arm. She sniffled in response.

The cab arrived soon enough. Harry helped her into the car and got in after her. "Would you like to try and sleep till we get there? I can keep an eye on the map." He offered. "Thank you." She said before leaning her head against the window and closed her eyes.

"Ellie, darling. We're here." His voice broke her out of the soft slumber she'd fallen into. She opened her eyes and looked out, and sure enough, they were outside her apartment building. She got out of the cab and started walking towards her door, expecting him to follow her. Still, she turns around to check, and he's about to call out to her. "Are you not going to come upstairs?" She questioned. "I need to make one more stop. I'll be up in 10." He shrugged. "Okay, don't be too long." She says and continues walking.

Harry takes the cab to the nearest store and buys a pack of Epsom salt. His sister would always soak her feet in Epsom salt and hot water after ballet lessons. So he knew this would bring Ellie some relief.

Whenever they'd had a sleepover, they always end up at Harry's place, so he'd never really been here to her home. Her door was a dark pink, kind of Fuschia. He turned the knob, and it was open, so he walked in. The place was filled with little trinkets and plants and other knick-knacks all over the place. The centre of attention had to be her bright yellow couch. All her furniture was pointed at this showcase filled with other ceramic figurines. It was very colourful. If you look at Ellie, you wouldn't expect her to live here. Her style is muted and minimalistic, apart from her hair. That was always a bright colour. This time it was bright pink, very close to the colour of her door. He wondered if she changed the colour of her door as often as she changed her hair. But otherwise, she wore blacks mainly with an occasional cream and some other muted colours. So why the eccentricity in her décor, he wondered. He didn't ask her, though.

"So I think a hot bath would really help you, I got some Epsom salt, and you know, we could try it?" He asked her hesitantly. "A long bath can help ease your pain," he said. "Yeah, I'd like that," she said. "You wait here; I'll set it up." He ventured into her flat. She took off her jacket, walked into her kitchen and took out a joint. Holding the joint in between her fingers, she looked for the lighter and slowly lit it. Walked back to the couch, took off her pants and sweater she was wearing and laid back on the sofa and took a long drag. She knew now she could relax, and the pain would slowly ease up.

Meanwhile, in her bathroom, Harry was running a bath for her. He sat on the edge of the tub with his hand underwater to check the water temperature. Once it was hot enough, Harry walked back to the living room. He walked in on her, smoking the joint, for the first time that evening, he saw her so relaxed and quiet. He didn't want to disturb her. But she opened her eyes, "Hey you" she smiled. He reached for her. "The bath is ready. Come on," He said. She took his hand and got up. She stood on her tippy toes and kissed him, and he kissed her back, slowly supporting his palm on her lower back. He deepened the kiss, she put her arms around his neck. He smiled into the kiss and pulled away.

"I really like you, you know?" He held her in place with his arm around him and looked at her. His gaze bore into her. "I'm here for you, so you have to tell me how I can help you," He said. That's when Ellie looked away. She started walking towards the bathroom and looked over her shoulder. "Come sit with me?" She asked. "Of course." He said. "Can you bring me the ice pack from the freezer, please?" She called out. He turned around and walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to get the ice pack. He checked the time on his phone and walked back into her bathroom.

Ellie was already in the bathtub, and there was music playing softly while she smoked. He sat on the toilet and passed her the ice pack. "Here you go," He said. In return, she handed him the joint. He gave her a small smile and took it from her. He took a long drag and leaned back on the seat to stretch his legs a bit. She had these tiny pots of creepers wound up on different pipes all over her bathroom. She held the icepack to her face and felt so much relief.

"Elle, are you feeling any better?" He asked her. She nodded. Did the day go just like you wanted? played softly as she hummed along to it. "I know you want me to tell you what's going on, but I'm afraid you'll think I'm crazy," She said, not looking at him. "Darling, try me. I'm here to listen," He offered. He was still nursing the joint, looking like some kind of greek god. Just casually sitting on her toilet and observing her so carefully, she felt safe. Ellie's pain had calmed down a bit. The hot bath was helping quite a bit.

"Okay, so here goes, I took a fall about three years ago, and it kind of fucked my knee up. So I couldn't exercise much, and I wasn't moving around much. After a few months, I tried to do a simple workout, just to get back into the routine, but I was in an excruciating amount of pain." She looked up at him and saw that he'd moved to sit on the floor closer to her. When she looked up, he reached for her hand with a smile and held it. His rings felt cold on her hands as he slowly pressed the points on her fingers. It felt perfect. So she focused on that and continued. "After that, I went to a doctor to figure why it happened, but they couldn't understand because there weren't markers on the tests they did. Over the years, I went to all kinds of practitioners to help me find a solution to this pain, if not an answer to what it is. But they just kept saying it's in my head and not really give me an answer. I went to a psychiatrist, and they tried medication for depression. It only made me very drowsy and inefficient at work. But other than that, I don't really know what it is. I'm just hurting all the time." She sighed.

"Ellie, that is not okay. You shouldn't be in this amount of pain. I'm so glad you told me about it." He said. Harry reached for a stray strand on her face and pushed it back, and ran his thumb along her cheek. "Over time, I have stopped talking to people about this, 'cause it's not going change anything, and they just end up pitying me. So I did the next best thing, I bought this flat and made my home chronic pain friendly. I work from home, so I don't exert myself and have done that for over 2 years now. It's awfully lonely, though."

"I can't imagine how that must feel. For the record, I don't pity you. I just wish you'd told me before, then I wouldn't make our dates so hard on you. But wait. Did I cause you a lot of pain when we had sex?" He worried his lip and looked at her. "Oh no! You didn't at all. I just didn't want you to think I'm somehow weak and can't take care of myself. Today was a lot, and I'd been out for a couple of meetings for some upcoming projects, and it just all ended up weighing me down." She was tearing up now. "Darling, please don't cry. I don't think you can't take care of yourself. I think it was incredibly responsible of you to tell me when you reached your limit. I'm happy to accommodate whatever you need." He said to her. She could tell he was earnest. "Thank you, Harry. It feels good to be able to tell someone and have them believe me." She said to him.

They had been listening to Sea Change by Beck while they smoked together. He sat on the floor of her bathroom, with his legs stretched out and his hand in the water, holding one of her ankles. Just as a reassurance that he wasn't leaving. They talked mindlessly. He asked her about her ceramic figurines, and she told him that her grandma used to collect them, then her mom, and now she does. She brought them with her when she moved to this city. Her favourite one was the teal coloured soapstone hippo. She used to have heart-shaped soapstone, but she gave it to an ex who threw it away after they broke up. Just like that, he told her about the first time he fell in love. How he likes to keep in touch with his exes because they all ended mutually and were lovely people. She told him about her first break-up. They exchanged sibling horror stories. He told her about his niece Willow, whom he lovingly calls Willy. She hadn't realised until then, as they listened to the saddest break-up albums of all time, that Harry was in it for the long haul. "Think you're ready to move to the bed?" He asked as he rubbed his eyes. She slowly got up, and he stood up to help her out of the bath. Pulled up a towel for her and handed it to her. She walked over to her drawer and pulled out a pair of pyjamas for herself. He undressed into his boxers and placed his clothes on the wing chair next to her windowsill. She got into bed and opened the covers up for him. Her room was decorated the same, but fewer breakable items were in there. She had a few pictures of her family upon her wall, and a dog that he assumed was her childhood pet. He climbed in. "Small spoon?" He asked her; she answered by wrapping his around her and laid her head on his chest. He slowly ran his fingers through her hair, and she sighed in contentment. "You know, when I first realised that they weren't gonna be able to find what's wrong with me, I'd listen to 'If you're feeling sinister a lot. It was kind of a constant at the time." she said.

"When Stuart Murdoch wrote the album, he was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, so he was on bed rest for a long time. He used to look out of his window and see all these people living their lives, and he'd feel so left out? So he poured all that yearning into it. One of the songs even has an overlay of children playing in the background. That album got me through some dark times." Harry was running a finger along her arm, raising goosebumps on her warm skin. Harry places a kiss on her hair, "You know when, Willow, was a little girl. I'd play this game with her during bedtime. It would really tire her out and change her mind from being upset for having to go to bed. Do you want to try it?" He says. "Sure, why not?" She smiles and places a kiss on his tattooed chest.

"Close your eyes. No peeking, okay?" He looks over to check a pokes a finger in her side to make sure, and she bursts out in giggles. "Okay! I promise." She laughs out. He holds her closer and takes a deep breath, her hair smells of berries and residual smoke, and he decides then that's his favourite smell. "We're on a hill. It's cold out. Both of us huddled under a blanket, looking at the sky. It's just us there, so it's very quiet. You can hear the birds around and the slight wind. When it touches you, you dig yourself closer to me, and I hold you a little tighter, just like I am right now." She listens carefully, picturing precisely what it would look like. She wonders if they have any pets with them, "Can we have a dog?" She asks, "Of course, whatever you'd like, pet." He says. "Okay, so we have a dog, a dalmatian puppy. What do you think her name should be?" She asks him. "You want a girl, huh?" He smirked at her. "Uh yeah, they're best, of course." She said as a matter of factly. "Um, what do you think of birdie?" "I love it." she smiles. "Birdie is running circles around our blanket. She's completely enchanted by butterflies and jumping up and down to get to them. She smells like lavender shampoo and puppy smell. She has a small spot on her nose that's shaped like a heart. That's what made you pick her at the pound. She's wearing a baby pink collar with a gold medallion which has her name engraved on it. She just saw us watching her, so now rushing to cuddle. She comes running to us and lands herself right in between, and we take her inside the blanket and settle in for a good ol' nap." Listening to him describe in such detail a life that he envisions for the two of them makes her feel so full of love.

"I feel so full and happy. A little hazy with that feeling, so much so that I can't remember what I was upset about." She smiles into his chest. "I told you, it'll help. It's tried and tested, ma'am." He says, ruffling her hair a bit. "Thank you so much, Harry. Thank you for staying and taking care of me and making sure I was okay. Thank you for listening to me and not judging me and just being here." She tears up a little.

"Hey, no tears." He says, wiping a stray tear that escaped. "And, you don't have to thank me at all. I just want you to be honest with me, so I can be there for you. You don't need to carry this all on your own. If you allow me, I'd like to ease the burden a little bit." He says as he runs his thumb along her cheek.

Now...

The loud barking from the other room jolts her out of her daydream. She looks up to see the reason behind the sound. Birdie comes running towards their bed with her toy, all prepared to jump up, but Harry stops her. "Birdie, no! Don't jump on Mummy!" "It's okay, Harry." Ellie reaches for Birdie. "You spoil her so much, she'd never going to learn." "Oh come on, sweets, it's our vacation. You have to let her get away with some things."

He sits up, and Birdie immediately places herself on his lap and whines for him to scratch her. He happily obliges. "Now, my darling wife, come here and give me a kiss before I take our baby out for a wee." You smile and lean up for a kiss. He kisses your nose once before getting out of bed and walking over to wear a pair of shorts. He turns around to Ellie, and says "Are you feeling up to a picnic?"

She smiles and hits save on the document she was typing. "Yes, I'll get the snacks ready. Give me five minutes." She places the laptop on the bed and walks over to him. She reaches on her tippy toes and grabs him by the neck, and gives him one big kiss.

Title: Guilt

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders (set after Golden Wind, given Jolyne's age.)

Pairing(s): JotaKak, JoKa, (Platonic) Jotaro & Jolyne, (Platonic) Kakyoin & Jolyne

Summary: Kakyoin is in the middle of answering one of Jolyne's many questions when he feels something twist violently inside his abdomen. He tastes what he thinks might be bile at rist, but the metallic tinge registers, and,

Oh god, no. Not here. Please not here.

Notes: Involves emergency surgery, chronic pain, preteen!Jolyne, PTSD, disabled Kakyoin, and near death experiences.

-

Here's the thing: Jolyne hates him. It's not a secret, and it's definitely not something that she bothers to hide from him. Jotaro keeps swearing that she'll come around. Says she's just stubborn (like her father is, Kakyoin sometimes thinks with far too much affection for a man that regularly drives him up the wall). There's also the fact that she's a preteen, and kids are apparently just like that at her age.

Here's the thing: Kakyoin would hate him, too. If he were in her situation. He's petty on a good day, and a right bastard on any other. He can't imagine being in her situation. With divorced parents who, while amicable, are both ridiculously successful and constantly busy. And then waltzed in Kakyoin, right in the middle of it. Though 'waltz' is a bit of a stretch. He doesn't do anything like that with his plated spine and braced legs, but none of that matters. The real point is that he gets it.

He does his best to never push more than he has to. For the most part, he lets Jolyne do her own thing, because she's a Kujo and a Joestar. She's going to do what she wants anyways. His opinion be damned, though he does try to reason with her. Hell, he's given into bribing every once in a while. (Sometimes the means don't matter when father and daughter are both happy at the end of the day.)

In short: Jolyne hates him, and Kakyoin understands.

______

Here's the thing: Jolyne finds Kakyoin to be a nuisance. An interference. One more complication to an already complicated life, and she's only eleven. She wants her parents to get over their bullshit (language!) and figure out how to make things work. She wants Kakyoin to go away, but that doesn't mean she wants him dead. Or injured. Even if she did wish him off the end of a pier that one time. Still.

They've admittedly grown to be more friendly over time. She talks to him now, which is an improvement to the chronic cold shoulder she gave him before. Sometimes she even asks him for help, because her dad can be surprisingly useless when it comes to school work (weren't you in school when I was little?) He always seems happy to help, and he never gets as frustrated as her dad.

So maybe she doesn't hate him, but she definitely wants him to go away.

______

Kakyoin is in the middle of answering one of Jolyne's many questions when he feels something twist violently inside his abdomen. He tastes what he thinks might be bile at rist, but the metallic tinge registers, and,

Oh god, no. Not here. Please not here.

He doesn't need to know-- specifically-- what went wrong to know that he's dying. The moment the pain goes from barely tolerable to utterly agonizing is about when his brain lets him know that he's operating on borrowed time.

Kakyoin could have used that warning approximately five minutes ago. Before the pain. Before he found himself in front of Jolyne.

"I'm sorry," he tries to say, hopes the words come out audible enough for her to understand.

There are tears welling up in her eyes, and they fall soon enough. God, he's made Jolyne cry. She's so young. So unprepared. And she looks so much like Jotaro. With panic stricken eyes and fingers that grasp for something to do. Some way to fix this. It makes his chest ache beyond the twisting and shearing that his insides are already doing.

(She looks exactly like Jotaro, in the hospital after the Foundation managed to retrieve them. The way her hands fumble in the air is so much like how Jotaro had reached out desperately, trying to hold onto Kakyoin, in case those had been his last moments. Like father, like daughter, Kakyoin thinks without humor.)

His knees hit the ground first, and that shoots pain up his legs and along his hips. The rest of it ricochets and dies somewhere midway up his spine. It's a momentary distraction away from the agony that is his middle. He reaches with his fingers to press against his stomach, half expecting them to sink inward (into nothingness. There's nothing. Dio punched a hole right through him, and he's going to die.)

Jolyne is yelling. His name at first, then for her father. Again, he's reminded of the day he died. Maybe it's all been a dream. He's waking up now and the end is pressing down on him. The light will follow soon. He knows; he's seen it before.

"Please!" Jolyne begs him, "I'm sorry!"

He is, too. It's the last thing he thinks before his eyes slide shut and the darkness grabs at him greedily.

______

There's shouting and bright lights and something covering his face. He can't make out anything with his vision so blurry, but he thinks he hears Jotaro's angry voice booming what could be an entire room away.

"If you fucking put a finger on him that isn't necessary to keep him alive. I'll fuck-"

"Dad!"

Jotaro inhales sharply but nods to the surgeon one, final time, "His team is on their way. Not a goddamn finger."

______

The Speedwagon Foundation has several doctors that Kakyoin sees on a semi-regular basis. Each is a specialist in their own right, and they're the only reason Kakyoin ever made it home from Egypt. They're also the only ones that regularly work on updating all the augmented parts and maintaining the damaged remains of Kakyoin's organs. They know him inside and out. Quite literally.

The team makes it to the hospital long before Kakyoin comes out of emergency surgery, which means the whole process is extended significantly. The upside (if it could be called that) is that Kakyoin doesn't have to be put under again. The downside is that it means they'll be waiting awhile.

Jotaro does his best to be strong for Jolyne. It's his job as a parent to keep a calm façade and push his emotions to the side. She needs someone to be her reassurance.

He fails miserably.

______

The head of the Foundation team emerges some hours later, looking a little worse for wear. The stoicism past that does little for Jotaro's nerves. It tells him nothing of what to expect.

"Well?"

"He's stable," the doctor answers. "We had to take out several inches of colon this time. If I had to guess, he probably believed himself to be having a flare. He adjusted to the pain until he became necrotic." His expression shifts into an unpleased frown, "He also has two ulcers. Has he changed his diet? Or experienced any new stressors?"

Jolyne's lip quivered as she processed the doctor's words. She thought over every time she and Kakyoin had fought in recent history. Most of it being her yelling at him.

Jotaro's focus remains fixated on the doctor, "What the hell kind of pain is he still having?"

The doctor-- one Jotaro recognizes from previous visits but can't recall the name of-- sighs, "Kakyoin will only allow us to do so much to help manage his pain. I'm not his specialist in that regard, but it's at his request that he's kept on very little in terms of medication."

Jotaro knows that. He knows that Kakyoin doesn't like what stronger pain meds do to his head, but how out of control is his pain that he didn't notice that he was dying? That his body has been rotting from the inside out for an unknown amount of time?

Jolyne shifts further behind him, drawing his attention to her. It's the only thing that spares the doctor whatever response Jotaro might have otherwise formed. He turns to look at Jolyne and is startled by the tears already trailing down her round cheeks. Realization hits him then.

She's eleven, and he's an idiot.

"Hey, hey. Enough with that. He's going to be okay," Jotaro says quickly. He should have- called her mother or his mother or literally anyone. This isn't a conversation she needed to be privy to.

"It's me," Jolyne chokes the words out. Her thin arms wrap tight around her middle, and she looks close to collapsing on the ground.

Jotaro, admittedly, has no idea what she's talking about, "What's you?"

"The stress!" She practically wails.

Jotaro sighs and moves to wrap his arms around Jolyne. He tugs her in against his chest. "That- that's not the kind of stress the doctor is talking about," he glances over his shoulder to see that the man had already dismissed himself. Smart guy.

"I'm always mean to him!"

Jotaro wants to laugh. Not at all because he thinks her words-- or her suffering-- are funny, but because the whole situation feels unreal. He cards his fingers through her hair instead. It's all the comfort he feels like he can offer in a situation like this. With his own resolve teetering on the edge.

"Takes a lot more than that to take out Noriaki," he's lying through his teeth. The whole new family thing might damn well be enough stress, but he's never going to let Jolyne think this is her fault. It's not. Kakyoin is capable of making his own decisions, and being part of their family is one of them.

Jolyne crumbles against him despite the gentle words, so he scoops her up and holds her against his chest. Even at eleven, she's nothing compared to his size. He finds a nearby seat to settle into and lets her cry while he whispers promises he can't be sure he'll be able to keep. Eventually he tries distracting her with facts about dolphins, and that either has some effect, or she passes out from exhaustion. Either way, he's relieved when she snores against his neck.

______

Kakyoin comes to the waking world in a haze. His head aches and his middle feels a lot like it might have been ripped open again. He hopes that whatever happened had been a little more civil than that.

It doesn't take him long to place himself in the hospital. That's good. He isn't dead, and he's not immediately at risk of falling into enemy hands. The beeping to his left is annoying, and he can't see well enough to make anything out on the monitors around him. His vision tends to be the last thing to recover when he's been knocked out for a while. Still, he turns his head to continue to take in what he can make out.

He stops short when he sees two people in chairs on his right side, closer to the door. The familiar hat catches his attention immediately, not that he needs to be able to see at one hundred percent (or his version of it) to know that the man is none other than Jotaro. His size will always give him away before anything else.

Jotaro's head is bowed in a way that indicates he's likely asleep. He's undoubtedly been here awhile. Jolyne sits beside him with her head pressed against her father's bicep. Star Platinum is out and wrapped around both of them. He lifts his hand from Jotaro a moment to wave at him brightly, which is enough to disturb his user's sleep.

"Mm?" Jotaro grunts. He opens his eyes and sucks in a breath. He takes a moment to compose himself, which is fine. Kakyoin thinks he probably looks worse than he feels, thanks to the drugs. He would make a joke about it, but moving still hurts.

"Good to see you awake. How're you feeling?" Jotaro asks. He doesn't move from his spot, if only to avoid waking up Jolyne, but that intense gaze is evaluating all the same.

Kakyoin gives a noncommittal answer, and Jotaro snorts, "That's what I thought you'd say. Good thing we have this." He reaches for the little controller on the side of Kakyoin's bed. He presses the red button before Kakyoin can protest.

The glare he shoots Jotaro is relatively short-lived, and it's hard to be mad when Jotaro looks so damn triumphant, even if it's about something that Kakyoin has complicated feelings about. He decides to let him have this one, considering the fact that he's pretty sure he gave them all one nightmarish scare.

"I'm sorry," he says after a while, head lulling back against the pillows. His red hair spreads out all around. It's longer now than it ever has been, but he hasn't felt the need to cut it beyond a simple trim in years. It doesn't matter, but it gives himself something to focus on rather than the gnawing guilt.

"Don't be."

"I- god, I never meant-"

"Kakyoin."

"If I had known, I would have left the room or-"

"Kak-"

"She was so afraid. And she-"

"Noriaki," Jotaro snaps more than says the name, but his eyes are soft. "You aren't the only one that made her cry in the last few hours, so you're not special." That's not true. Kakyoin is incredibly special, but he needs to make some kind of light-hearted comment before he starts crying. Nobody needs to see that.

"Still," Kakyoin mumbles, but he doesn't continue.

Jotaro reaches out with Star, who clasps his large hand over one of Kakyoin's. He wants to lean forward himself, but he doesn't want to wake Jolyne up. Not yet.

Kakyoin turns his palm up to tangle his fingers together with Star's. He brushes his thumb over the stand's, knowing Jotaro can feel it reflected on his skin.

"I really thought it was a flare," he says after a while, because he feels like he owes some sort of explanation after everything.

"Nori, I really can't tell you how much I don't give a damn about that," Jotaro frowns at his own words, "No, I mean- I care, but- fuck." He scrubs his hand over his face a few times before trying again, "You don't have to feel guilty for this shit, okay? I should have noticed you were in pain."

Kakyoin shakes his head. He squeezes Star's hand to make sure Jotaro's listening when he speaks, "It's not your fault. I deal with this pain all the time. It just- at first it felt like a flare, but I guess I got used to it." And every time the pain worsened, he acclimated until it had nearly killed him.

Jotaro doesn’t get a chance to respond before Jolyne is rustling against him. She opens her eyes a crack and reaches up to wipe at them with her fists. “Dad?”

“Right here,” Jotaro grunts in response. He squeezes her shoulder gently, then retracts his arm to give her space to stretch out. “Kakyoin is awake.”

He watches the fog clear from her eyes. They widen as she processes his words, and her attention immediately turns to the redhead, who waves meekly at her.

“Jolyne, I’m- oof!”

Star quickly gets his hands around Jolyne’s waist, suspending her in the air enough to keep her weight from falling too heavily onto Kakyoin. He lets her down carefully, and the youngest Kujo looks sheepish for her overreaction.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Kakyoin says, curling an arm around her loosely in return. He hadn’t expected to be nearly tackled upon awakening. That went doubly so when considering Jolyne as a factor. She’s never hugged him before. Trauma is funny in that way; something he knows from first hand experience.

Jotaro steps up behind her and offers a small smile to Kakyoin, “We’re glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah!” Jolyne echoes, “You scared the shit out of us!”

“Jolyne,” Jotaro’s voice is gruff. An attempt at a warning that falls short. The way his lips pull further upward is a dead giveaway that he isn’t particularly upset by her language usage.

“It’s true!”

“Good grief.”

Kakyoin snorts at the father-daughter duo, relieved to see the two smiling again. Already bickering as per usual. There’s too much snark trapped in the Joestar bloodline, and it always amplifies whenever there’s more than one of them in a room. He’d know, having been on the road with Joseph and Jotaro in the past.

Somehow the back and forth settles into Jolyne rambling about dolphins. She regurgitates facts that-- for the most part-- Kakyoin already knows, but he feigns shock and awe at all the right places to keep her spirit up. It’s more healing to watch her babble emphatically than it is lying around in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. It eases some of the guilt, makes him feel lighter.

Eventually, Jotaro whiskers her out the door. Kakyoin catches sight of Holly, which must mean that Marina is tied up. Holly doesn’t come in, likely at her son’s behest. The woman is a mother through and through, and she can be a bit overwhelming at times. Better to focus all that maternal energy on Jolyne for now.

“You look tired,” Jotaro says when the door clicks shut behind the two. He takes his spot back next to Kakyoin’s bed, pulling his chair as close as he can. His knees grind against the railing of the bed a bit, but the distance allows him to lean forward and get a good look at his partner.

“I could say the same about you,” Kakyoin points out with a raised brow. He still can’t pick up his head for more than a few seconds at a time, and his vision remains fuzzy around the edges; a likely side effect of being drugged to the gills, but he isn’t blind. He can see the bags collecting under Jotaro’s eyes. Exhaustion-- emotional as much as it is physical-- already weighing his shoulders down.

Jotaro snorts an unamused sound, “I’m not the one that just had emergency surgery.”

Kakyoin winces at the reminder. “I’m-”

“If you finish that statement, I’m going to give you a reason to be sorry,” he isn’t. Jotaro won’t hurt him, but the words make Kakyoin close his mouth anyways. For a second.

“Oh, and how are you going to do that?”

Jotaro stares him down for a solid thirty seconds, expecting him to back down. When he doesn’t, the man pushes himself to his feet with an exasperated sigh. “Good grief, c’mere,” his fingers hook under Kakyoin’s chin, and he leans down to press their lips together.

As far as life affirming kisses go, it’s one of Jotaro’s more gentle ones, but Kakyoin feels the thrill of it chasing down his spine anyways.

“I love you,” Kakyoin murmurs as they break apart. He wants to add an apology to the end, but he bites his lip and keeps it to himself for now. He’ll find a way to make it up to Jotaro and Jolyne later.

“Love you, too, Tenmei.”

So You've Just Been Diagnosed With a Chronic Illness - an Orientation

So you've just been diagnosed with a chronic illness, huh? Welcome to the club; there are a lot of us here! I wouldn't presume to guess what your exact illness is, but most of us have some kind of fatigue and physical and/or mental pain going on, so that seems like a safe bet. Since you're new here, I thought I'd give you some idea of what to expect and what to do as you battle your illness.

First and foremost, accept it. Life is not going to be the way it was before. You will always either have some kind of symptom or be on the lookout for signs of a flare/episode. I'm not going to tell you to "suck it up, buttercup" because that would be neither useful nor fair, but you do need to grieve your past life in your own way and then look toward your future life with this condition. It really is a process of grief - the whole idea of the 5 stages of grief is nonsense, but whatever grief looks like to you, this will be a form of it. You had this whole, lovely, capable life before, and now…what? You have no idea, and it's scary, and most likely right now life is pain. It's a tangible loss, and that fact shouldn't be denied. You need to mourn for the life you had, but you also need to accept that this is your new reality and not keep trying to do things you can't or shouldn't. It's frustrating as hell, but sometimes you'll find yourself simply unable to do something that you used to do without thinking twice about it. Feel that frustration, then accept it and learn to work with it. Your job depends on computers but your wrists are killing you? This is why wrist braces and ergonomic mouse pads exist. Can't see the screen in its default state, or its default state is so bright that it gives you a headache? This is why it's possible to mess with the brightness and contrast settings on your computer. Whatever your problem is, there's probably a workaround or something that will at least temporarily relieve the symptoms. You've got this.

Ok, so whatever you have isn't curable, it can't be treated well enough that you'll have an overall good quality of life, and/or it's degenerative? When you've reached a point where it becomes clear that basic workarounds aren't going to cut it, it's time for some planning. Do you need someone to help you with your job? Transportation? Basic tasks? Who do you think should help you, and how? Obviously you don't want to think about being debilitated, but I'm afraid you're going to have to swallow your pride here lest you find yourself stuck without a way to get to a doctor appointment, or worse, stuck in bed with no one to feed you and help you get to the bathroom without falling over. Again, the goal is to accept your illness and work with it. I'd give you more concrete suggestions, but I don't know your precise condition nor would I presume to ask.

Ok, now let's discuss how to live within your new, more limited reality until you adjust to whatever its default state ends up being. The first thing you need to do is find a doctor who specializes in whatever system of your body is a problem, preferably one with specific expertise on your condition. There may be paperwork to fill out before your initial visit - pages and pages of it - but hopefully the results will be worth it. You need to develop a working rapport with your doctor; don't forget that unless you live in an area with really crappy healthcare or you have really crappy insurance, you can always "fire" your current doc and find someone you like better. There is no good reason to put up with a doctor who doesn't listen to you and/or has a God complex if you don't absolutely have to.

Once you've found a specialist whom you feel listens to you and whom you can work with, it's time to discuss what you want to tackle first. Which symptom(s) you find most bothersome may determine which medication or therapy the doctor tries with you first. Then it's time for an unpleasantly prolonged game of "Symptom or Side Effect?" as your body keeps doing weird new things and you keep talking to your doctor. That patient information they give out with every drug they dispense at the pharmacy is your friend; at the bare minimum look at the parts about side effects so that you can at least make an educated guess in the game, and if it seems like the med is doing something nasty to you then your doctor can change it. Unfortunately there is no magic pill that will fix all of your issues with no side effects; the question is more the pro/con ratio. The med's doing wonders for one symptom but now you can't pee? Nope, sorry, that's not acceptable. (Yes, side effects can be that weird; let's just say that that example was not pulled from thin air.) The med doesn't seem to be doing anything particularly bad, but doesn't seem to be doing anything particularly good either? Also not acceptable. The med's making your illness better but now you're always tired? Up to you whether that's acceptable; if it is, great, and if not, hopefully your doctor will have something else up their sleeve.

Depending on your illness, until you and your doctor get your symptoms under control and figure out what normal looks like for you, you may unfortunately find yourself spending a lot of time in the ER as well as the doctor's office. There may be no help for it; some diseases cause emergencies when they're out of control, plus it can take time to learn to differentiate between "normal" pain and "something's really wrong" pain. If either of those is the case for you, life is going to be really hard for a while. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but there's simply no sense in sugarcoating it. You may become a bit of a hypochondriac, but your body and/or brain doing all sorts of weird new things is bound to have that effect on you. Eventually you'll learn what "normal" looks and feels like, and until then all of your "but this shouldn't be…what if…?"s are understandable.

Now let's talk about something really evil that happens to the members of this club: the societal expectation that you will either die or permanently get better, and if you claim to be able to do x one day but not another day then you're malingering. This is total malarkey and we both know it, but it apparently seems to be a common attitude toward the disabled and chronically ill. You may have gotten it so much that you've internalized it; if that's the case, mentally take a step back and remind yourself that you are not faking, you are not just looking for attention, and that your energy and ability levels vary day by day and you simply have to work with that or suffer even worse consequences later. Read about spoon theory for more on the whole energy thing, and I've posted a few other compositions (which I will soon be editing and reposting) for you to read and share with your loved ones if you so choose.

Speaking of loved ones, now is the time to refine communication with them regarding your needs. If they're micromanaging you with "Should you really be eating that? Have you taken your meds today? No, you know you can't do that. You know you need to do this symptom-relief thing" type things, that's probably getting really annoying. Remember, their hearts are in the right place, and they may even be right about whatever they're saying. However, tone and expression matter; there's a world of difference between "I seem to recall the doctor saying that you shouldn't eat that" and "Don't eat that;" between "Have you taken your meds?" and "Consider this a reminder to take your meds if you haven't yet;" between "Do this to relieve your symptoms" and an implicit "we know x works for you" along with an explicit "Have you tried x to relieve your symptoms today?" Basically, the difference is command vs. suggestion. Most people respond much better to suggestions and relatively hands-off reminders than they do to commands and reminders that seem to come with the assumption that you're a forgetful idiot. It's a thin line and a hard one to walk, but if you give them some feedback eventually your loved ones should get the hang of it. (Also, if you really are going against doctors' orders, then perhaps you actually do need to listen to the annoying things your loved ones are saying!) As for all the "Hey, I read this article about something resembling your condition; could you have the rare thing I just read about/could this new treatment I just read about help you" nuisances directed at you, they are actually expressions of love and concern. If they're really annoying then tell everyone to just buzz off, but your better bet is to smile, glance at the article or whatever to see if there really is something of value there, and if there isn't then just quietly get rid of the article and dismiss the advice.

Anyway, that pretty much concludes your orientation; if you have any more questions feel free to ask someone in the chronic illness club or consider joining a support group for your specific condition, and good luck!

So, I have fibromyalgia.

And I'm tired, yes. But I'm also tired of people with fibromyalgia. Because it sucks, yes. But it seems to me that they have been convinced that it doesn't get better. That is going to be like this the rest of their life.

I'm working on a real thin line here. No, it's not your fault, and no, I know that most of the time you're so flare up that you can't do anything. I understand. I'm like that too.

BUT, it DOES GET BETTER IF YOU PUT THE EFFORT. I swear, don't let anyone convince you otherwise. Don't let yourself convince you otherwise.

My story is like everyone else's : issues with competitive behavior from age 7, psychologist for a year. Tape A personality. Stomach problems anxiety related age 13. Bit of a breakdown age 15. But not Generalize Anxiety Disorder, not yet. Pain at 16, but still a happy go lucky girl. Tried college, first failed exam. First metal breakdown. Go back to my parents house. Diagnosed (correctly) age 18. Medicated correctly age 19. Psychologist and psychiatrist. Anxiety, depression, chronic fatigue. And this is what I learnt, age 21:

*It IS better to get medicated by a psychiatrist than a rheumatologist. There was not an ounce of inflammation in my body in my case.

*Codeine, Tylenol, Weed. Not really helpful, do more damage than good for me.

*What's helpful immediately? HOT. A hot bag, a hot bath. Maybe it doesn't get the pain away but (and I'm going to give quite a bad advice here) the "pain" of the hotness is brand new and kind of makes you forget the other ones.

*Mental Health Support. I'm lucky that nothing triggered my fibro. My family and people that I surround myself with were selected very carefully to be understanding and empathetic, I did this without realizing from a young age, because I was (am) demanding. Now it's a conscious effort.

-What happened was: Tape A personality. Difficulty to accept failure. Anxiety. Fibro. Depression. In that order. SO, I had to figuring it out backwards. Treat the immediate pain first. Depression next. Then look at yourself and realize when the flare ups really happen, then anxiety. I'm there now. I'm figuring that last one out. I still feel an incredibly amount of pain and exhaustion, and have fits of extreme anxiety like twice a week. But you have to be resilience and fight the core of all of it.

*Doctors don't know that much. Your gut feeling in this specific case can be more helpful, but do not go overboard. Don't go Worst Case Scenario. Find a good doctor for God's sake. There's always one. And work WITH him, don't let him do everything for you, and don't try to dictaminate everything yourself. Both of those are dangerous.

*Understanding yourself doesn't mean you're cured. There IS an unbalance in your brain chemistry, and that's why the meds are important. But it's a teamwork of meds + therapy + daily behavior. One falls off, and everything crumbles.

*GOOD NIGHT SLEEP. Blackout curtains, white noise, chilly atmosphere, big duvet and a bag of hot water. The goal is to go to bed early, the MEANS are to wake up early. That way, you won't feel guilty and anxious if you don't go to sleep early that day, because you WILL make it up and wake up at the exact same time as always. It's difficult if not impossible for some to do it yourself, so ask ANYBODY to help you. Maybe from months on end. But eventually your body will get used to it.

*HAPPINESS. And you are rolling your eyes right now. But listen. I know how depression for months feel like. I know how hard it is to crawl out of bed to take a piss, let alone stand for 15 minute to have a whole shower. But listen to me. YOU. ARE. ALIVE. You are NOT going to DIE FROM THIS. Nothing is happening to your physical body that can't be fixed. It's your brain. It is harder? Yes, so much more. But take my word please. If you are stubborn, if you fight everytime you can, you will eventually win.

*What you mean fight? Well, this is a long one. Bare with me: Fight does not means control. Does not means going against your body. It's understanding. It's balance, push a little bit but not too much. It's being happy for a little tiny bit. In so much pain, and darkness and sorrow. You HAVE to find this little bubbles of happiness. And it's fucking hard, because what can you do? You can't play an instrument, you can't go out with friends, you can't play videogames, or cook. You don't enjoy reading enymore, you don't enjoy movies anymore. So what? Well, let me give you this stupid premise:

AND THIS. TOO. SHALL PASS AWAY.

Pain will be a little bit tolerable, and the next day absolutely devastating. But it will pass, both those occasions. Find the good feeling of feeling better. Rejoice in it. Embrace it. And then let it go. Because it will be temporarily. Then recibe the pain, embrace it, and bare with it. Listen to what it has to say. And when you're body is ready, and you are ready, it will go too.

This is not a simple process. It could take minutes, days, moths, years. But it will eventually change. Even if it comebacks, make sure that you have change a little bit in the process, so you are not the same person anymore. Suddenly you will notice that this things will pass more quickly. That letting it go will be easier.

Let go of expectations, but not hope. Let go of drinking alcohol, let go of eating everything you want. Let go of that dream job, that meeting with your friends, your independence, your mental health. Let it go somewhere. And maybe, sometime, when you are ready, they'll come back to you. But only if you expect them standing up, strong and with open arms.

*So stop THINKING ABOUT IT ALL THE TIME, acknowledge that is there, but also think of something else. If you are smart enough, you will eventually find your bubble. Sing. Pet a puppy. Swim. Have a good laugh with someone. There are still bubbles to find. This is a part of you, a big one, but it not all there is.

*Play it an octave lower. Don't let it escalate. It hurts, yes. But at least it was better than last time. Don't lie to yourself, you won't belive it. But try to make an effort and not think the worst of it all the time, it will make you angry. And Sad. Write about it, talk about it, but tone it down. Explode every once in a while, absolutely. But let the blow fade away.

-I got it bad. I got it early. I got every symptom. I got into every diet. Every therapy. Withdraw. Headache. Feeling like I wanted to chop my legs off. But I'm alright. Because I learnt to almost, almost, enjoy the pain. The bad times. I learn to respect them. I learnt not to be so hard on myself. I found my bubbles of pure joy and happiness amidst all of this.

I don't know if it is because is my willing to live that got me here, but I don't care. I am here. I matter. And let me tell you something. One day, I realized It went away. All of it. Very low pain, very low tiredness. I was almost a normal human being for MONTHS. And then it passed. I got it all again.

But I am not the same person. I'm not a scared 16 years old. I learnt to enjoy things while being anxious. I swear is possible. I am happy, I am a happy go lucky girl again, just with more nuance underneath. Please, the only thing that this god damn desease can't take from you, it's hope. That's the only thing that you can cling to. Carry it with you. And be happy, because you are alive.

Trigger warning ⚠️ domestic violence.

I've typed this story a million times so I'm just going to summarize as much as I can.

A few days ago I was assaulted by my partner's family members. And as I've mentioned, I've typed this a million times and I'm honestly just exhausted thinking about it, but we could use some help.

My partner has always had a transphobic family. (I don't have anyone but my dad, who's in no position to help anyone.)

Her mom used her disability against her and manipulated her into giving her MOST of her checks. She's abused the system and my girlfriend.

When I met Jackie, she was with a terrible biggot. Jackie had came out, and her mother conspired with an abusive long distance ex, to fly her here, to stage an "intervention" and stop my partner from transitioning.

It worked. For years.

I met Jackie here on tumblr, we became good, SECRET friends because she wasn't allowed to talk to anyone.

I told Jackie openly about my views regarding gender and how I myself, was not cis.

Eventually she told her partner about us playing games together, which she responded to by harassing me.

Jackie ended up spilling the beans to me, about her mom, about the ex, everything. I realized that she had been extremely isolated and controlled her whole life.

So I intervened.

I got the two of them to separate, which wasn't smooth because Jackie was scared. She had been with her abuser for 9 years at this point. She's never known anything else.

The ex moved back to her state, and I started seeing Jackie, although she was stuck at her mom's... who was trying to play innocent at this time.

Eventually, I kinda just came and picked her up, she stayed the night, she didn't want to go back home. And I can't blame her. The house wasn't only disgusting, her family microagressed her all the time and they would tell her to pretty much stay in a dark room all day.

Ofc I didn't bring her back.

During early quarantine, we had a lot of self reflection and she started distancing herself from her mother, coming around to holding her accountable for her horrible actions.

Her mom messaged her things like "Why won't you talk to me? It's like you're trying to punish us!" Ect, just every fucking manipulative thing she could say, without ever apologizing.

Unfortunately the place we were staying fell through when my best friend's ex husband decided he wants a divorce and decided to throw in some transphobic hatespeach towards me.

We were all looking for somewhere to go.

I'm sure you know where this is going but listen, she told us EVERYTHING we wanted to hear. She told us she's not hateful now, told us she would go to trans support groups, pride, said she's realized how much she loves Jackie and it's time to accept her- and look- we had NO WHERE TO GO. We have 2 cats and at the time, a car that has no a/c or functional locks. AND I have a chronic autoimmune condition that I recently started taking chemo meds for. (Methotrexate.)

I'm too sick to be on the street, and survive. I had to think about me, Jackie, Zoe, and Boops.

And Jackie wanted to go..

I told her we'd be cautious and try to get out asap.

Well, looking for places right when the housing market crashed really fucked us up. That- and because I had only just finally got approved for disability, means I was set back in life- and had no credit to my name. No credit= no place to live.

I had almost built enough, but things went down hill very quickly with her family. Which leads us to right now:

After weeks of microagressions, giving us breakthrough covid cases, yelling at us to clean other's messes, and forcing us and our cats to isolate in our room, many broken promises, and straight up transphobic hatespeach (because she promised to get vaccinated but then said nvm as soon as we moved in and she went on vacation and got covid and gave it to us, which nearly killed me--) she said not getting the vaccine "IS A CHOICE, JUST LIKE YOU BEING TRANS AND TAKING *gestures to my testosterone* THOSE DRUGS."

We just were avoiding each other while I desperately try to gather resources for us to get out, NOW.

Of course, that wasn't good enough, so when her step father messaged her in all caps about our cats having to stay in our room and "I WON'T FUCKING TELL YOU AGAIN" my partner had a breakdown..

Her mom had let her step dad talk to her like this her whole life, basically.

Out of desperation, we went to her sister for help, maybe hoping she'd give us a place to stay for two weeks while we sign off on the lease for our new apartment.

She pretended to want to help and even said... something fucking weird? She made the comment that I'm a good person and I'm so much like her own boyfriend, that it's "scary"...

A few hours later she came to the house. She talked nicely to us, to gain access to our bedroom.

Then she attacked me.

I called the police right before, and was on the phone with dispatch when she lunged at me because she was aggressively trying to MAKE Jackie go into a separate room WITHOUT ME and Jackie was saying no, BEGGING her to STOP.

I wasn't going to let her take Jackie into that room. She looked fucking crazy.

All of the family came into our room, her two sisters, her mom, and her cousin- When they heard yelling.

It was actually me telling her mom that she's a terrible mother, that triggered her sister to try and attack me- although I knew she was planning on trying to from the moment she came into our room.

And that was after her mom was screaming in my face that if I have something to say, say it now.

Dispatch heard everything and sent emt as well...

But the police stayed outside, talking to them for a WHILE before even asking for us.

Her cousin is the only one that would have stood up for me, saying her sister never should have tried to hit me. But he was in the room with Jackie, giving her support...

I faced the cops alone.

He already had "that look."

He shined a light into my eye, letting the family stay on the porch, throwing insults and just letting it happen. He asked me where I'm hurt, and before I could even show him the scratches on my arm, he said "how do I know YOU didn't put those there?"

I wanted to fucking die in that moment.

This is a conservative city.

No one has equality stickers here. No one flies gay flags. People here that are lgbt- they LEAVE.

This is EXACTLY WHY.

I said "well is there any reason I should tell you anything when, clearly, you're already bias?"

I looked at the emts. I looked at his partner. I looked at all the lights and people coming out of their houses-

And behind me was her family.

Her sister that assaulted me, was laughing about having work in the morning.

All of them were looking at me, with hate in their eyes.

He tried to feed me bullshit about "well if I'm taking someone to jail, there has to be proof."

He dismissed everything I attempted to say, until I just stared at the ground and he decided he did his job here.

I told him my whole fucking body hurts because I had 4 people fucking toss my 100lbs ass all over the fucking room, which was a mess that he refused to look at.

He said "I don't see bruises."

I SPAT "BRUISES TAKE TIME?"

He retorted IMMEDIATELY- "YOU'RE NOT EVEN RED."

I asked what about the dispatcher- she seemed concerned- to which he said "you see, sometimes when people call us- they scream and be dramatic- for a quicker response."

I asked what we could do while the two weeks go by for our new place, and he fucking said "I DONT KNOW. BARRICADE YOURSELF IN YOUR ROOM OR SOMETHING."

Needless to say, we are now safe, in a hotel and I've gotten in touch with a few lgbt organizations that are attempting to help us get justice.

Unfortunately because it's a holiday weekend, all we can do is wait right now.

Our first order of business is getting a protection order, so that we can retrieve the rest of our things without her sister trying to attack us again. (I say us because she kept jumping towards Jackie, like she was threatening to hit her.)

I've been so gaslit and victim blamed that I was too scared to go to the er, even though this all happened in the midst of a flare, possibly including my liver health.

There's so much more to this story, as I'm sure other trans people can relate.. unfortunately.

The emts reluctantly offered to take me to the er, but I was like "and leave my partner here with them?" And he just fucking shrugged dude.

I hate this city.

I want out so bad but unfortunately I've committed to a year, but at least it'll be *our* apartment.

We could NOT stay there for two more weeks. Her step dad is a violent offender that has attempted to murder a homeless prostitute over some fucking pocket change- and he has a GUN in the house.

This hotel might run us into a hole, despite it being the cheapest, shittiest hotel in town, it's still going to be about 700$ for ONE week.

To ADD INSULT TO INJURY, SOMEONE ATTEMPTED TO STEAL MY VEHICLE WHILE WE'VE BEEN STAYING HERE.

I'm feeling incredibly paranoid and unsafe, but I'm on anxiety meds now at least and its SORTA helping us cope (My partner and I have the same Dr and she gave her permission to have some.)

The organization BRAVO is trying to help us with a hotel voucher, but because of all the natural disasters, it's hard to find room in charity for people like us, which is fair enough. We aren't immediately on the street, and for that I'm incredibly thankful.

However, if you or anyone you know wish to help you can donate to venmo: kittyzibby. Or you could just signal boost this.

If you can't help, I understand. And IF YOU'RE STRUGGLING FINANCIALLY, don't worry about it, for real.

Right now I'm just scared we'll go into debt before getting the apartment settled in.

I will update on things once our case moves along more, and we were already considering turning to OF sexwork before all of this, so if there could be support that way, maybe we'll get that going once we get moved in. That way, I feel good about providing a service in return.

Thank you so much for sticking with us during all of this. And really- we're doing much better today. We've given each other pep talks, but we are still determined to start our lives together.

Her family was merely trying to scare me away from her, but I got my girl's name tatted on me for a reason.

I know I'm not the bad person here.

Every time Jackie is feeling more gender euphoric, and showing me her changes, and seeing her get more confident, the more I know that what I'm doing with and for her, is right.

I love her so much. And I will never abandon her, like they tried to get me to do.

Jackie is taking a break from some socials, but she's given me permission to talk about what's been happening.

She needs justice too.

I will update as much as I can, but seriously, I think we both just have a fire under our asses now.

Mentally, we're stronger than ever.

Thank you for reading. My heart really goes out to the rest of the queer community that have experienced or are going through similar things.

It's really made me realize why we need to stick together and fight this bigotry bullshit! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

Dragon Diary 1/7/21

So...this is my resolution for the year.

I wanted to start a kin-related diary. I found myself missing how often I used to muse about myself and my experiences here, and have long since felt...detached from myself. Stuck in the loop of going through the motions of “human.”

A week late on my first entry, but so it goes.

These entries will just be flow-of-consciousness blabbles for the most part. I’ll talk about any kin-related thoughts I’ve had that day, how I’ve been feeling, how my otherkinity has affected my day, etc.

I have a lot of catching-up to do with you all, so the first few entries may seem disjointed and a little long. Lets get started. This is long. And a bit negative. But hopefully they won’t all be.

cw for death and drug mention and health talk like needles and stuff

I don’t quite remember why I dropped Tumblr like I did. I think I was getting annoyed at all the UI changes, and just overall very busy with “real life.” These things happen. I slowly drift away from a platform. Sometimes for weeks, months, or years in this case. Then I’ll drift back. Kind of like a scrap of wood on the waves.

In the time I’ve been gone life has been...interesting. The source of the stress that caused me to awaken in the first place is gone. He OD’d in...2014? 2015? Some time around there. My grasp of time is worse than ever.

We hadn’t even known he’d be using anything. Turned out he was stealing my late father’s remaining fentanyl supply. One of those guys who preys on widows like my mother. He lied about everything. His entire past as we knew it was a lie. And he was just leeching off of us.

It was...hard. I was the one who found his body upon getting home from work. My mother is still traumatized, even now. Even after all he did. She did love him.

I think all that hardened me quite a bit. And I’m sad for it. I’m still trying to soften myself again, but my trust has never been shattered like that before or since.

My now health is...poor. I had a great job working at an independent pack-and-mail sort of place for a few years. Very laid back, when the customers were nice. Helped me build a lot of strength and muscle. Quite enjoyed showing off by hefting 50lb boxes onto my shoulders. Helped me feel less weak in this squishy human body of mine.

But about...2 or 3 years ago [again, time is a myth to my brain] I woke up and my shoulders were just.

Locked.

It felt like someone had stuck paint spanners under my shoulder blades or something. Not only that, but I was weak. I barely had the strength in my arms to lift a half gallon of milk in the morning.

We thought I’d just hurt myself showing off, somehow. So we gave it some time. Took ibuprofen, used pain creams. Took a few days off work.

But it didn’t get better. It got painful. And the moreso. And moreso. And then my back began to have trouble as well. It was spreading. I felt...ill.

So. Doctors. Tests. More bloodwork than I’ve ever had in my entire life. [10 vials at once for one appt!]

My primary, who is a garbage person I never wish to see again, insisted it was just a sprain. Or something. Whatever. But I knew it wasn’t. My mother knew it wasn’t. Everyone I knew knew it wasn’t.

Specialist time! At the behest of my cousin, who has a litany of autoimmune disorders, we hooked up with a rheumatologist. Who I will call Dr.M. 

Dr.M is an angel on Earth. I am convinced of it. A full year he spent with me, ordering tests, trying treatments, working with me to figure out what the hell was going on. And we did. And what a mouthful it is.

Ankylosing spondylitis. No, it’s not a dinosaur. [Though I do think I’m ‘hearted for ankylosaurines...I don’t think it’s related lol!]

You can look it up if you like. But basically: My immune system is fucking crazy and attacks all the things. Most places describe it as being a lower spine disorder, and while that is certainly where its centralized in most folks, that’s not all it is.

For example mine is, obviously, centralized in my shoulders and upper back. But it does aaaaaaaaaaall sorts of crazy shit. Every day is different. Joint pain, exhaustion, GI trouble, stomach upset, lack of appetite, murderous migraines. The usual for an autoimmune illness. But also wacky shit like costochondritis [painful inflammation of the cartilage of the ribs], random organ inflammation like in my kidneys [not fun], lungs [I had a 3-month stint of chronic bronchitis last winter], and even my heart [very not fun.] Sometimes it likes to attack my “integumentary system” aka shit like my skin and hair meaning I’ll have weeks where my hair just. Sheds. Like a damn cat. It gets everywhere and w/ my long-ass quarantine hair it’s so annoying.

This attack dog immune system does mean it’s unlikely for me to catch little bugs like your common colds and stuff, which is appreciated. But it also likes to maul anything else it deems foreign. Like medication! I took Humira shots for a few months and had a “paradoxical reaction” aka it did the literal opposite of what it was meant to, because the injections pissed off my immune system so much it went scorched-earth on whatever it could. Mostly my thighs, since that’s where the injections were. I still get stabbing pain in them and it’s been over a year. [No, I don’t think I can sue Humira over this. Though I have discussed it w/ my Dr.]

This also means that if I do get sick, it’s bad news. Something strong and unique like COVID? Death. Deaaaaaaaaath. Would likely trigger something called a “cytokine storm” aka my immune system nukes everything and my organs die and so do I.

So guess whoooooooo’s been locked up at home for almost a full year now? :’)

I luckily am able to work from home, though it barely pays the bills, and my health has suffered from a lack of being able to Do Stuff I normally would.

As a result I decided to get back in touch with myself.

It started with Second Life, because of course it did. A new dragon avatar came out. Shiny and mesh and easy [by SL standards] to modify. So me and a few friends [some kin, some not] made a group for sharing stuff for the av and just hanging out. It’s fallen by the wayside unfortunately but those nights spent chilling in SL with a bunch of other dragons roaring and goofing off felt really really good.

And then I made a kin Twitter. [And found some exceptionally cool kinfolk in the process.] 

Then came Othercon the virtual otherkin convention and OtherConnect, the Discord spawned from the community that rapidly formed within the con. Othercon felt incredible. Panels and lectures about the history of otherkinity and alterhumanity and how we are today and rep in the media and just so! Much! Cool! Stuff! And tons of great kinfolk too! 

To not only be within a community but seeing others like me and speaking with them, not just typing back at words on a screen. It was...so very, very reaffirming. It felt like a second awakening almost. I wanted to cry for finally, truly not feeling alone.

And now I’m here. Because I need to be. Because something, deep down, is telling me I’m going to be needing myself sometime soon. So I’d better get started.

I hope I don’t drift away on the tide again. I’ve missed this site, worse for wear as it is.

But I’m a bit tired today. A nasty headache lingering from yesterday’s nastier flare up. Accursed cold fronts. I used to enjoy them but not so much these days. Ah well.

I know there wasn’t much kin talk in this first entry, but as I said, we had a lot of catching-up to do!

Thoughts on Writing Trauma in [Fan]Fiction

For some reason, I’ve been thinking a lot about the inclusion of trauma in fiction, namely fanfiction. It’s one of those things that so often pops up in fic but just because it’s done often doesn’t necessarily mean it’s done well. I feel like this is especially true for writing original characters.

Precursory trigger warning for speaking about, you know, trauma (suicide, self harm, eating disorders, death, etc.) in depth. As you can probably already predict from the title. Full text under the cut for brevity’s sake. 

Traumatic experiences and backstories are like this rite of passage in fanfiction. Most everyone’s earliest original characters are always given the most heartbreaking, terrible backstories possible because we, as authors, think that that will make our readers more sympathetic to them. I say this as someone who is definitely guilty of this myself. And this is all well and good--some of the most popular mainstream characters come from terrible backstories. It can help explain why characters do what they do and act the way that they act when they are first introduced in a story, and provide space to allow them to grow and evolve throughout the plot (for better or for worse). 

I think the issue in giving a character a traumatic backstory, however, lies in the way that this is presented. So often I feel like tragic backstories are used to try and force readers to empathize with and love a character. It’s the almost overbearing sense of “please love me” that I think can cheapen the effect of this developmental tactic. You can’t force an audience to love a character and laying it on thick with why the audience should love your character often seems to do the exact opposite. Readers don’t like to be told what to do or what to think or who to root for. Your character has to prove that they are worth rooting for, or not, based on the way that their past influences their present and the fate of their future. A character who was neglected by their parents as a child is obviously going to be desperate for affection, but think about how it makes them desperate. Do they find themselves constantly in abusive relationships because they are willing to take whatever they can get from whoever will dish out “love” to them, regardless of whether it’s healthy or not? Or because they find comfort in a sense of abuse based on past experiences? Or in contrast, do they push everyone away because they are terrified of letting themselves be loved and opening themselves up to getting hurt again? I know every writing class ever always harps on the “show, don’t tell” but this is one case where I feel like it’s really important. Readers are not stupid. We don’t need to be told straightforward why a character is doing what they’re doing, and sometimes laying everything about a characters past out from the get-go can even dampen the allure of your character. Let the readers learn about the character at the same pace that they would let someone else learn about them. Human beings don’t give away their entire life story in one sitting, and your character shouldn’t, either. 

Not only are traumatic backstories so common in fiction, but so are traumatic plotlines. It’s fun to put your characters through hell! It’s fun to break them down and see them at their lowest, when they are left with nothing. After all, conflict is the gasoline which fuels the car of your story and sometimes you never really know what a character is capable of until you break them. I feel like the most symbolic and succinct way to describe this is through that quote “Your characters are like geodes. If you want to see what they're really made of, you have to break them.” However, trauma is a tricky subject. There is a fine line between being authentic and meaningful in dissecting traumatic experiences and laying it on too heavy for the sake of being edgy. I feel like that’s another mistake so many early writers make: feeling as if you have to put your character through ten layers of hell in order for the audience to care about them, too. But this is a dangerous game and trauma is a very personal thing. You don’t want to write insensitively about something very significant at the risk of alienating or even maddening the communities that have personal experience with whatever trauma you’re exploring--if you haven’t experienced it yourself, too, that is. I am a huge supporter of using fiction as catharsis for coping with and processing trauma and anything else troubling that you as a writer may be dealing with, and every situation is different so of course your specific experience will not fit everyone’s narrative of how that trauma may transpire. And if you have been through this sort of thing personally, of course you can be trusted with writing candidly and authentically about it because those are your experiences and no one can steal those from you! You deserve to approach the subject in whatever manner you feel is best for both the story and your own mental wellbeing. For those aiming to write about trauma that they don’t have personal experience with, however, it is so important to write these scenarios with respect. Please do your research, read personal accounts and familiarize yourself with all the ins and outs of what you’re aiming to write. Read up on what it’s like to attempt suicide, what happens after a failed suicide attempt or self harm gone wrong, what to do when you suffer a miscarriage, what grief feels like, what a panic attack feels like, the challenges that chronically ill people face every day and the things that can go wrong when we have flare-ups or are not given the accessibility we need. Don’t trigger yourself, of course, but make sure you are well informed so that you can write trauma in a way that is respectful and authentic. 

I am also not going to sit here and tell you not to stack trauma onto a character in a story. I know that life happens and sometimes multiple bad things pile up all at once. Fiction is no different and it’s certainly not uncommon to see a string of bad things befall a character in a story, either. The thing that is important to consider with this, however, is not only respect and authenticity but the way in which these sorts of things would realistically affect someone. The domino effect should feel believable.

For example: character A gets a phone call that character B, their best friend and love of their life, has unexpectedly been killed. This is a traumatic experience enough on it’s own, and the story deserves to explore this character’s consequent grief as they try to navigate their life with this massive hole in their heart now. Perhaps the last thing that character B told character A was something about unwavering support for A in the pursuit of their lifelong dream, something that holds weight and that the grief of losing B can serve as both an obstacle and a motivator for achieving. Familiarize yourself with the after effects and symptoms of mourning in order to write character A’s grief as authentic. Say, for example, they are having trouble sleeping. They are constantly tired but can never fall asleep when they want. They are driving somewhere a few days later and begin dozing off at the wheel. They subsequently get into a nasty car accident. Character A ends up in the hospital with severe but not life-threatening injuries--injuries that completely erase any and all hope of character A ever achieving their dream. What does this loss feel like? How heavy is the betrayal in their chest after having felt so determined to fight against the grief weighing them down in order to accomplish their goals for the sake of character B’s memory? Consider the emotions. Consider the anger and the hopelessness and the depression. Consider what your character decides to do about this. Consider how your character attempts to cope. Perhaps they turn to self harm. Perhaps they feel that the only way that they can manage the pain that they feel is by cutting. Maybe they even think that if they make themselves bleed, it will give an outlet for all of the pain that’s stirred up inside of them. Maybe they even feel as if that pain is deserved, as if everything is their fault (whether it realistically is or not). Maybe they revel in the pain, maybe it becomes the only thing that keeps them sane even if they logically understand that this is unhealthy and dangerous. And maybe their emotions get the better of them and they accidentally take things too far. They accidentally attempt suicide and wake up in the very same hospital they were in when they got into the car accident. The very same hospital where character B was also pronounced dead. Focus on what this means for the character and the story. We as the audience should be able to understand why this character felt like it was necessary to do what they did and what they were feeling in the moment of having made that decision, as well as how having failed will influence and effect them moving forward. That progression should be clear and visible, it should be easy for the audience to track and follow the plot of. 

And while writing trauma can be fun and interesting, on the same note of authenticity it is also important to ensure that we are not glorifying trauma, either. We should not be presenting these situations as fabulous deaths and drama. Trauma is a very real and very heavy thing that should be handled with care for the sake of respecting both the characters and the readers. Readers who have gone through similar trauma should not feel as if their struggles are being written as a joke or not taken seriously. They should be able to empathize with the character even if the struggles presented in the story do not exactly mirror their own. Like I said before, the trauma should be believable. And readers who do not have experience with these subjects should not feel inspired by the trauma itself. It is one thing to present a character who is perseverant despite their setbacks, who pushes forward even when it would be easier to quit, and even when they want to quit, but it is another thing entirely to present a character who glamourizes these struggles. A character with an eating disorder should not be seen as an aspiration for thinness and a character who self harms should not be seen as “edgy” and “cool” for hurting themselves. If we are going to write about trauma, we should accept the responsibility that comes with writing subjects in a way that is respectful and authentic rather than glamourizing trauma.

We as writers, however, should not accept the responsibility of censoring ourselves for the sake of a reader’s preference, by the way. We can include trigger warnings and tags all we want, and I think we ought to for the sake of being responsible and letting our readers know exactly what kind of story they are getting into, but that’s just the thing. The reader should know what kind of story they are getting into, but if they click on something with explicit warnings/tags that they know are going to trigger them and continue reading anyway then that is on them and not us. We should not have to completely omit trauma and other taboo/sensitive subjects from our writing for the sake of purity culture. 

And on one more note in terms of the inclusion of trauma in fiction itself, also consider how a character’s trauma affects the people around them. How does a character’s suicide attempt affect their best friend? Does their mother recognize their disordered eating behavior? Is their mother the reason behind their disordered eating behavior? Does the character’s love interest cock a brow at them wearing a hoodie in summer and grow curious as to what they’re hiding? And even more: how do the people around your character influence or inspire or motivate them to get better? Or not? Are they steadfastly loyal and determined to help your character through their pain? Or do they feel as if it is not their responsibility to shoulder your character’s burdens and they would rather exit from their life completely? Your character does not exist in a vacuum, so it is important to consider not just the way in which they respond to the world around them because of their trauma, but also the way in which the world responds to them because of their trauma. Let your character exist in conversation with their universe and their social circle. Let your character’s trauma barge in and create a big, looming, unwelcome presence. Let your character work through their trauma in a way that feels believable, and let the people in your character’s life respond to that in a way that feels believable, too. 

Overall, just approach trauma with respect and authenticity. Create characters that feel real and believable. Don’t try to force your audience to love your character but rather work to create a character that is dimensional and messy like real people. Let your audience learn your character in the same way that we learn about other people in real life. Let their past trauma influence the way they act in the present and the way they exist within their world and among the people in their life. Do your research, be candid and honest, and above all handle with care. 

*Note that I am of course not the end all be all and I do not consider myself some sort of wealth of writing knowledge. I am only writing based on my own personal experiences and things I’ve gleaned from both college-level creative writing courses as well as both reading and writing fiction, specifically fanfiction, for years. 

Wintering by Katherine May

“Wintering is a season in the cold. It is a fallow period in life when you’re cut off from the world, feeling rejected, sidelined, blocked from progress, or cast into the role of an outsider. Perhaps it results from an illness; perhaps from a life event such as a bereavement or the birth of a child; perhaps it comes from a humiliation or failure. Perhaps you’re in a period of transition, and have temporarily fallen between two worlds. Some winterings creep upon us more slowly, accompanying the protracted death of a relationship, the gradual ratcheting up of caring responsibilities as our parents age, the drip-drip-drip of lost confidence. Some are appallingly sudden, like discovering one day that your skills are considered obsolete, the company you worked for has gone bankrupt, or your partner is in love with someone new. However it arrives, wintering is usually involuntary, lonely, and deeply painful. Yet it is also inevitable. We like to imagine that it’s possible for life to be one eternal summer, and that we have uniquely failed to achieve that for ourselves.” “Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through. Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximizing scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight; but that’s where the transformation occurs. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible. Once we stop wishing it were summer, winter can be a glorious season when the world takes on a sparse beauty, and even the pavements sparkle. It’s a time for reflection and recuperation, for slow replenishment, for putting your house in order.” “That’s what humans do: we make and remake our stories, abandoning the ones that no longer fit and trying on new ones for size.” “In the changing room later, I experience a different kind of warmth: the nakedness of a dozen women, all unashamed. These aren’t the posing bodies you find on the beach, dieted beyond al joy to be bikini-ready, and tanned as an act of disguise. These are northern bodies, slack-bottomed and dimpling, with unruly pubic hair and the scars of hysterectomies, chattering companionably in a language I don’t understand. They are a glimpse of life yet to come: a message of survival, passed on through the generations. It’s a message I rarely find in my buttoned-up home country, and I think about the times I’ve suffered silent furies at the treacheries of my own body, imagining them to be unique.” “Ghost stories may be a part of the terror of Halloween, but our love of ghost stories betrays a far more fragile desire: that we do not fade so easily from this life.” “Winter has decorated ordinary life. Some days, everything sparkles.” “You realize that no one is what they look like, on the surface. Everybody has their dose of suffering; it’s just more hidden in some than in others.” “I think about this a lot, she says, the needle breaks the fabric in order to repair it. You can’t have one without the other.” “In the absence of sunlight, it would be too costly to maintain the machinery of growth.” “I’m fairly certain that my decision not to have a second child rests squarely on my worship of sleep.” “I have nothing to show for my forty-odd years on this earth, except for a pile of dusty books.” “4am. The ego flares like a struck match: bright, blue, fleeting. I am thankful to be alone when this happens, to let it burn out in private. We should sometimes be grateful for the solitudes of night, of a winter. They save us from displaying our worse selves to the waking world.” “Certainty is a dead space in which there’s no more room to grow. Wavering is painful. I’m glad to be travelling between the two.” “Sometimes writing is a race against your own mind, as your hand labours to keep up with the flood tide of your thoughts, and I feel that most acutely at night, when there are no competing demands on my attention. That slightly sleepy, dazed state erods the barriers of my waking brain.” “I can confess all my sins to a piece of paper, with no one to censor it.” “Our personal winters are so often accompanies by insomnia, but perhaps we are still drawn towards that unique space of intimacy and contemplation, darkness, and silence, without really knowing what we’re seeking. Perhaps, after all, we are being urged towards our own comfort.” “Lucy is a symbol of absolute faith and utter purity, but the sins for which she suffers are not her own. Instead, she shoulders the weight of the male gaze, and is destroyed by it.” “Some winters creep up on us so slowly that they have infiltrated every part of our lives before we truly feel them.” “We felt broken into pieces, but at the same time, never so loved.” “We changed our focus away from pushing through with normal life, and towards making a new one. When everything is broken, everything is also up for grabs. That’s the gift of winter: it’s irresistible. Change will happen in its wake, whether we like it or not. We can come out of it wearing a different coat.” “I could have stood there and cried on the spot, just knowing that I wasn’t alone.” “I felt accepted in a way that I hand’t for months.” “This isn’t just an unkind attitude, it does us harm, because it stops us from learning that disaster happens, and how to adapt when it does. It stops us from reaching out to people who are suffering. And, when our own disaster comes, it forces us into a humiliated retreat, as we try to hunt down mistakes that we never made in the first place.” “I simply had no defence against the changes that were happening in my life.” “Life never does quite offer us those simply happy endings. I often that that it’s all part of my own craving: the moral clarity of cause and effect, reward and punishment for my actions. A map for living that renders everything explicable.” “All her desires were for elemental things: love, a little comfort, the society of interesting people. Everyday life is so often isolated, dreary, and lonely. A little craving is understandable. A little craving might actually be the rallying cry for survival.” “I love the inconvenience [of snow] the same way that I can sneakingly love a bad cold: the irresistible disruption to mundane life, forcing you to stop for a while and step outside of your normal habits.” “In autumn, the male drones are sacrificed because they’re no longer of any use, and would otherwise just be hungry mounts to feed.”  “Our lives take different shapes: we do not work in a linear progression through fixed roles like the honeybee. We are not consistently useful to the world at large. We talk about the complexity of the hive, but human societies are infinitely more complex, full of choices and mistakes, periods of glory and seasons of utter despair. Some of us make highly visible, elaborate contributions to the whole; some of us are just part of the ticking mechanics of the world, the incremental wealth of small gestures. All of it matters. All of it weaves the wider fabric that binds us.” “We may sometimes drift through years in which we feel like a negative presence in the world, but we come back again, not only restored, but bringing more than we brought before: more wisdom, more compassion, a greater capacity to reach deep into our roots and know that we will find water.” “Usefulness, in itself, is a useless concept when it comes to humans. I don’t think we were ever meant to think about others in terms of their use to us.” “We flourish on caring, on doling out love.” “Winter is a time for the quiet arts of making: for knitting and sewing, baking and simmering, repairing and restoring our homes.” “We sing because it fills our lungs with nourishing air, and lets our heart soar with the notes we let out. We sing because it allows us to speak of love and loss, delight and desire, all encoded in lyrics that let us pretend that those feelings are not quite ours.” “As I walk, I remind myself ot the words of Alan Watts: ‘To hold your breath is to lose your breath.’ In The Wisdom of Insecurity, Watts makes a case that always convinces me, but which I always seem to forget: that life is, by nature, uncontrollable. That we should stop trying to finalize our comfort and security somehow, and instead find a radical acceptance of the endless, unpredictable change that is the very essence of this life. Our suffering, he says, comes from the fight we put up against this fundamental truth: ‘Running away from fear is fear, fighting pain is pain, trying to be brave is being scared. If the mind is in pain, the mind is in pain. The thinker has no other form than his thought. There is no escape.” “The future, to which we devote so much of our brainpower, is an unstable element, entirely unknowable.” “When we endlessly ruminate in these distant times, we miss extraordinary things in the present moment. They are, in actual fact, all we have: the here and now; the direct perception of our senses.” “I’m beginning to think that unhappiness is one of the simple things in life: a pure, basic emotion to be respected, if not savoured. I would never dream of suggesting that we should wallow in misery, or shrink from doing everything we can to alleviate it; but I do think it’s instructive. After all, unhappiness has a function: it tells us that something is going wrong. If we don’t allow ourselves the fundamental honesty of our own sadness, then we miss an important cue to adapt. We seem to be living in an age when we’re bombarded with entreaties to be happy, but we’re suffering from an avalanche of depression; we’re urged to stop sweating the small stuff, and yet we’re chronically anxious. I often wonder if these are just normal feelings that become monstrous when they’re denied. A great deal of life will always suck. There will be moments when we’re riding high, and moments when we can’t bear to get out of bed. Both are normal. Both, in fact, require a little perspective.” “We need friends who wince along with our pain, who tolerate our gloom, and who allow us to be weak for a while when we’re finding our feet again. We need people who acknowledge that we can’t always hang on in there; that sometimes, everything breaks.” “I recognized winter. I saw it coming (a mile off, since you ask), and I looked it in the eye,. I greeted it, and let it in. I had some tricks up my sleeve, you see. I’ve learned them the hard way. When I started feeling the drag of winter, I began to treat myself like a favoured child: with kindness and love. I assumed my needs were reasonable, and that my feelings were signals of something important.” “We tend to imagine that our lives are linear, but they are in fact cyclical. I would not, or course, seek to deny that we grow gradually older, but while doing so, we pass through phases of good health and ill, of optimism and deep doubt, of freedom and constraint.”

Hi! Rogerxreaderxrouge anon here and id love to see one where Reader is with Roger first :D

ngl i may have made myself tear up a little when i started editing it

your meeting roger was luck entirely, but you knew almost immediately that you would follow him anywhere. he was so charismatic that you were falling for him before you even knew it. ou weren’t really afraid of rejection since roger slept with you first then asked if you wanted to join the crew. it was a sweet, open relationship when the crew was docked, but it was just the two of you at sea.

at least until you met rouge. she was so beautiful that neither you nor roger hesitated, like it was a reaction rather than a thought. she was a little hesitant at first because of how strong you came on, but she quickly warmed up when you relaxed a little, explaining you both were just overwhelmed by her beauty. you hadn’t expected to fall for her so easily, but it was almost like it had been with roger. one look at him and you could see he felt the same.

leaving an island had never been so hard before, and you knew without even talking about it that you would be returning to it as quickly as you could. rouge stood on the pier, waving at the pair of you with a strong smile and the glitter of unshed tears. she knew you couldn’t stay, just as you knew she wouldn’t come with you. it was too dangerous with the two of you being a part of the most wanted pirate crew in the world. hell, it was dangerous to be with you even once, let alone twice.

but twice happened, and third, and fourth, until roger finally decided that you were going to the end of the grand line. you were dreading that conversation with rouge, and you and he laid awake at night in each other’s arms talking about it. you were excited to be going, but you knew it would be a long time before you saw rouge again. If you saw her again at all.

she took it better than you expected, nodding as if she had known it was going to happen eventually. only when you promised to return did she break, the tears falling freely. you scooped her up into your arms, petting her hair and holding her tight as she cried. roger was on her other side, hiding his face in her hair as he rocked the both of you back and forth. she wouldn’t hear of you leaving her bed that night, and in the morning saw you off with a forced smile and unshed tears.

sometime during the trip to raftel, roger fell ill. it wasn’t an instant deathly illness, but it was chronic and he wasn’t as strong as he was before. you were worried, but there was nothing the doctor could do. you held him through coughing fits, even when it started to turn red, and held the cold compresses to his head when his fever raged. between those bouts of illness, though, he was you roger as much as ever, laughing and loving and, at times, angry. 

reaching raftel seemed to instill a new wind in him, and on the return trip to paradise he hardly displayed any signs that he was sick. he partied and fought as hard as he ever had, and for a little while you could pretend the doctor had been wrong.

 upon docking at sabaody, roger made an announcement.

“i’m disbanding the crew.”

there were cries of outrage, but roger silenced them all with a look. you and roger had went over this conversation again and again until he was satisfied. it left a rock in your stomach, but you knew as well as he did that he was dying. it was the best option, even if you were angry at it.

after a few weeks of partying and celebrating, the others went their own way. there were rumors that the marines had caught wind of their location and had mobilized. you and roger struck out together, setting course for rouge’s island. you found yourself exhausted during the whole voyage, torn between excitement and despair. roger’s illness flared up again on the way there, and you spent many nights awake taking care of him.

he was better by the time you reached her, but she could see right away something was wrong. but no matter how many times she asked, you and roger would smile and deflect, distracting her for as long as you could. you didn’t spend nearly as much time as you would have liked with her before it was decided that it was too dangerous to stay any longer.

on the last day, roger grew ill again, and you couldn’t keep it from rouge any longer. between bouts of coughing and fever, roger explained his plan. your heart twisted in your chest as you listened to it again, and you thought it would burst when rouge turned to you, begging you to stop him. you shook your head, gathering her to your chest gently as she sobbed. you didn’t tell her you had tried already, but roger was stubborn, determined to protect the two of you as best he could. he was dying anyway, so he may as well use his death for something good.

this time when you said goodbye to rouge, it was with a finality that broke your heart. you and roger stood, hands entwined tightly together, watching until rouge disappeared on the horizon. only when you were well and truly gone did she leave, returning to her home to mourn alone.

you weren’t there for roger’s execution. you wanted to be, so badly, but he had begged you to stay away. he knew sacrificing himself was the best option for keeping you and rouge and the rest of the crew safe. he didn’t want you there beside him just because you wanted to see him off. you begrudgingly agreed and made your way to sabaody, drinking to roger’s death with rayleigh before striking off on your own.

you were far too antsy to just sit still. you knew you couldn’t return to rouge either, because the navy would be looking for anyone connected to roger, and they already knew about the baby. you still weren’t sure how, but you knew going to her would be a death sentence for you, her, and your– or roger’s– unborn child. it didn’t matter to you if biologically it was yours or his. no matter what, it was your child.

but you had signed your rights away when you decided to join roger on his journey, before you ever even knew of rouge’s existence. it was a painful reminder of how every choice you make effected other people. rouge’s life was in danger because you and roger couldn’t leave her be, and that thought was like twisting the knife further.

you knew roger had done something to help protect the child, but you had kept yourself purposely out of the loop. there was a fear that if you even thought about showing up in their life, the marines would sniff them out and all the hard work that roger, you, and rouge had put into protecting them would be wasted. that was why, one morning 2 years after they should have been born, you were surprised to receive two things by news coo.

the first was an obituary, dated a few days prior. you almost broke when you saw the picture of rouge, smiling and vibrant and beautiful and no longer here.

the second, which you held in trembling hands, was a picture of a baby. even in the black and white photo, you could make out the smattering of freckles across his scrunched nose, his little fist clenched around someone’s finger as he stared up at the camera and smiled. his hair was dark, darker than rouge’s, and you could see in that wide smile the ghost of roger.

clutching the picture to your chest, you collapsed to the deck and cried.

two months on testosterone

another late post… i started typing this one yesterday, i swear, i was just too busy to finish it. anyway—two months already—can’t believe it! here’s a recap of what’s changed since last month (mildly nsfw text and mention of menstruation under the cut)

skin:

skin is not much oilier than it was last month—i alternately have episodes where i’m breaking out and periods where i don’t have much acne—it’s still mostly just small, painless whiteheads, which go away pretty quickly if i wash my face and otherwise leave them alone

skin is slightly thicker—i’ve noticed i have to use a little more pressure when i do my shots now

nails are thicker and grow faster

hair:

twice as much fully grown terminal hair in the middle of my chest and belly as i had last month, with baby hairs coming in ALL over those areas

hair on my limbs is darker and denser

gaps in my goatee and sideburns filling in and those parts of my facial hair beginning to connect to each other/my mustache, with baby hairs all over my cheeks and chin

mustache is thicker (loving it)

almost positive my eyebrows are thicker (loving that too)

voice:

huge drop—my partner pointed out to me recently that it is now deeper than the voices of some cis men we know (talk about an ego boost!)

more fry to it—it’s kind of buzzy, not as smooth as it used to be

it’s leveled out a little and isn’t cracking as much as it was a couple of weeks ago

in the past day or two i’ve also begun feeling the slight tickling/irritation in my throat that i felt before it started dropping the first time, so i’m wondering if i should expect another big drop soon—we’ll see

body:

definite fat redistribution/loss and muscle definition/growth all around

chest has become very flat

shoulders and pecs have gotten wider, hips narrower—my frame is more “masculine”

thighs are a little slimmer—they used to be thicker at the top and taper towards the knee, but they’ve become a little more cylindrical/even in width across the length of the thigh

butt, god bless, does not seem to have gotten any smaller

still hungry all the time though my appetite has waxed and waned throughout the chronic illness flare i’ve been dealing with

pretty persistent cravings for certain foods—eggs, nuts, tofu, nooch, hearty green veggies, very spicy foods, sometimes chocolate

reproductive:

continuing to see bottom growth—not as explosive as it was my first month on T (really the amount i saw in the first few weeks was… astounding) but still continuing steadily (very happy with it)

not sure if my menstrual cycle has ceased—it’s now been over six weeks since i started my last period, so i’m certainly overdue by most standards, but my cycle’s always been irregular, so i’m not counting it out as a possibility (will update this post in the future to reflect whether or not i get my period in the next few weeks)

mental/emotional:

continuing to experience periodic irritability, still totally manageable

baseline mood/general anxiety level are BETTER than they were pre-T, easily, which i’ll talk a little more about below

minor uptick in episodic anxiety, some of my obsessive/compulsive behaviors, and some of my psychotic symptoms, but i’m certain these are all stress responses re: current life events, not effects of the T (and all things i am managing safely with the help of a therapist)

i am having a lot of trouble sleeping, but, again, i think this is stress- and also chronic pain-related

misc:

i am almost exclusively gendered as male in public now, even when i’m wearing my mask, which is wild. while i don’t identify strictly as a man, i will say that it’s still comforting/affirming somehow to see the way my gender is being read change as i continue to take T

lastly (verbose! schmaltzy! you’ve been warned):

the confidence/comfort T has afforded me has made... everything... easier. i was aware of my dysphoria pre-T, obviously, but i feel like i’ve become so much more aware of the extent to which it was affecting me now in contrast as T brings about the changes i’ve always wanted

the insecurity i used to have about the sound of my voice, which was always at the back of my mind when i talked to others—it’s just not there anymore, and in its absence holding conversation has become so much more natural and pleasant. it feels easier to laugh, share my thoughts, assert myself; i don’t hesitate to say things as much as i used to. i feel at ease interacting with people in a way i haven’t before—like something has just clicked

the insecurity i used to have about my appearance—i really feel it fade a little more every time i catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. sometimes it’s a burst of euphoria upon noticing something new; sometimes it’s a tickle of anticipation as i consider how many more changes i will see in the coming months; sometimes it’s just a calm sense of, “alright, that’s right.” so so corny but i walk a little taller, little lighter

i think about myself less! dysphoric self-scrutiny used to take up so much of my energy. now a lot of that has just evaporated, and i feel like i have so much more of myself to pour into... everything else. it feels really good and really right. i leave this month once again with a deep sense of joy and gratitude that i made the decision to do this

I’m pretty sure you’ve heard about my comfort food meal already somehow … just in case, here it is again ;) . After chemo, I am managing digestive side effects and don’t often have a huge appetite (also things kind of taste like crap). I’ve started to use non-metal utensils to eat with as a tip from my nutritionist, which I think helps some. The only two definitive things I can say still taste delicious are stiff ginger beer and bacon! With the help of my wonderful health team, I’ve been stressing less about eating perfectly during chemo. I am doing my best with the energy and resources I have, and that is absolutely good enough. I had a great follow up call with my naturopath Keoni this week who reminded me that stress is just as harmful for cancer! So I am happily focused on getting calories in as I can to minimize losing weight and muscle mass, which is an essential part of my immune system.  This pleasing one bowl meal is vegan mac and cheeze, and I add in chicken sausage, garlic, green onion, spinach, Siete habanero hot sauce, my newest spice in the cupboard, curry powder, and crushed red pepper. Sometimes I throw an egg on top for more protein like tonight, overhard as I have to be careful on chemo about eating anything undercooked. The curry powder is a great way to get more turmeric, cardamom, and cinnamon in my diet, all cancer fighters. Keoni encourages us to cook with spices as much as possible to make our food healthier. He also reminds us that each of our cancers are unique to us as individuals, and thus our approach to treatment would need to be tailored specifically to us as well. My diet is quite the balancing act, as I am managing years of autoimmune conditions: Crohn’s disease, hypothyroidism, and chronic migraine. With my Crohn’s, veggies are best digested cooked, and so eating them on top of pizza or pasta has been a way for me to include them and not flare my gut, hence why they are in this dish. I was vegan when I met Keoni fifteen years ago seeking help for my severe Crohn’s, and my best friend Cori was also vegetarian, who came to my first appointment with me with Keoni and his brother Jade, both practicing naturopathic doctors in NC. Cori was pregnant with her first daughter Eliana at the time, and the first thing they said was for her to start eating animal protein to have a healthy pregnancy and avoid postpartum issues. Highly educated and both ex-vegetarians themselves, they presented compelling arguments to us both for adding in animal protein back into our diets in a healthy, humane, Earth-conscious way in the vein of our Paleolithic ancestors. 

I did so much better eating a higher protein diet. I don’t overeat protein ever. I don’t like to cook it or touch it, and yet, I know I have to have it for optimal health. I couldn’t tolerate beans or soy, sources of plant-based protein, and frankly being vegan was not serving my health well at all. The top two tips my integrative oncology doctor shared regarding breast cancer when we connected were to stop eating processed meats and to not drink alcohol. While my processed meat is the organic, nitrate-free, Whole Foods variety, way better than a conventional hot dog, I am still working to cut down on it drastically and cook more from scratch. It’s convenient when I am eating for one person. And back to imperfection, it’s OK for me to eat some of this now as I am going though chemo. I’m not a big drinker at all, and don’t drink on a regular basis, i.e. a glass of wine every night. My occasional gin, ginger and lime cocktail is even OK in moderation says my health team, particularly if it is paired with health-promoting fun, levity, and relaxation time. My focus on the anti-cancer diet to minimize recurrence will begin more in earnest once I am done with treatment and I have more bandwidth to do so; for now it’s good to ease in.

I’m working on finding the balance between eating Keto/Paleo which makes my gut happy with ramping up more anti-cancer interventions, which includes eating more antioxidant-rich foods and compounds, more fresh fruits and veggies, less sugar. Eating an adequate amount of protein, trying to eat more Mediterranean-style with less red meat and more poultry and fish, and include things like nutraceutical-grade whey protein to support my immune system. Trying to be conscious about considering a diet lower in methionine (mostly animal proteins), which is showing promise in research, but which seems to counteract keto/paleo (keto also shows anti-cancer promise). Argh! Eh? I’m eating berries and bananas which help my digestive system, and some gluten free whole grains to help sustain me during chemo, but I don’t miss added sugars otherwise thankfully. I’ve made the switch in the morning to an unsweetened bulletproof coffee concoction with turmeric, mushroom powder, coconut oil, and coconut creamer. 

Tonight after this meal as I write this I’m sipping on herbal rooibos chai tea with cloves, ginger, cardamom, nutmeg, allspice, and cloves, a perfect nightcap. I guess the bottom line is, we must do what’s right for our bodies. I’m actively engaged in trying to figure that out in light of my newest diagnosis, and make enhancements where I can, without adding additional stress- a balancing act, indeed!

So, as promised, some thoughts on Vetinari, disability, and chronic pain. This got long, I’m afraid.

(A quick disclaimer: I’m an overworked, underweight goth with a collection of chronic illnesses, so I may be projecting a lot a bit. I’d apologise for that, but it’d be a lie.)

In Men at Arms, Vetinari is shot in the leg, and in subsequent books he walks with a cane. Due to some instances where he doesn't- such as parts of Jingo and Raising Steam- there's a tendency in fandom to say that well, maybe he made a full recovery, and the cane is just there so that people underestimate him.

But... that's not really how this kind of thing works.

Vetinari was shot with a weapon few people were familiar with, in a city with nothing even remotely approaching modern medicine (which was confirmed in Feet of Clay when he got poisoned and Vimes got the horse vet to treat him instead of a doctor). The likelihood of making a complete recovery from that kind of traumatic injury in those circumstances is, let's be honest, probably not that high. So it seems logical that he would have ongoing issues with mobility and/or pain- hence the cane.

Now, the fact that he does sometimes run for brief periods of time, or fight someone with a fucking shovel, might seem to contradict the idea that he has those long-term effects. But here's the thing: when you have a disability, or chronic illness or pain, not every day is the same. Sometimes you might feel fine. Sometimes you'll manage reasonably well with medication or other aids. Sometimes you might wish you were dead. And that's not always based on what you've been doing or how well you're managing your health- there are issues that get worse with age, or vary with the weather or all sorts of things not really under your control.

As someone who was experiencing serious pain every day at one point in my life, with (thankfully much less frequent) ongoing flare-ups to this day, I'm perhaps a bit more inclined than others are to believe that Vetinari does need his cane. Perhaps he doesn't need it every day. Perhaps he does, but he can occasionally go without it, if he's willing and able to rest afterwards. Perhaps- and this seems entirely in-character to me- he's just a stubborn bastard who pushes himself too hard sometimes because he can't afford to show any limitations that might be perceived as weakness by those who aren’t very understanding or are looking for an excuse to have him deposed.

Either way, it's possible for him to do what real people do every damn day and just deal with it in whatever way he can. I used to push myself far too hard and pretend to be fine, to the point where I would eventually just not be able to get out of bed, because I didn't want people to think I was weak or lazy- things I'd never believe about anyone else who was unwell or in pain, but that I definitely thought about myself. Given what we know about Vetinari- i.e. that he likes to be in control and seem indispensable- he also seems like the kind of person who would try to carry on as though everything was completely fine, right up until the point where he physically cannot do that any more. In fact, we know that he’s that kind of person- if we go back to Feet of Clay again, he insists that he’s fine when he’s already collapsed once and immediately does so again on trying to stand up. Given that the times where he overexerts himself without his cane in Jingo and Raising Steam are times when he is trying to prevent wars breaking out, I would tend to assume that Vetinari is temporarily setting his own comfort aside at those times in order to keep his city- and its citizens- safe. Perhaps not the wisest thing he's ever done, but he has also stolen a dog from a bank and juggled knives so he's got surprisingly consistent form on doing stupid shit for someone who has a reputation for being sensible. He also just doesn’t seem to value his own well-being that much in general really, since he doesn’t seem to eat or sleep enough even when he’s otherwise okay, so I’d argue that the idea that he would power through any pain he’s feeling because He’s Got Shit To Do is a believable one.

Also- and I’ll admit that this bit feels particularly personal- people with disabilities are often not treated well in fiction, especially in fantasy. If they're not pitied, expected to be angelic martyrs, or miraculously cured, they're often villains. Vetinari is none of those things. He has limitations where others might not, sure, but he is also funny, competent, clever, and salty as hell. The fact that he has limited mobility and/or pain in his leg is incidental, and while it sometimes becomes plot-relevant- e.g. as a clue to him being framed in The Truth- it's never central or used as an excuse not to bother with any other characterisation. He’s just a relatively major character who happens to need to use a cane, because sometimes that’s a thing that happens. And sure, it's not perfect, because not everyone who has similar problems (or any kind of ongoing health issue!) is able to do the things he does, but it's nice to see a character as loved and interesting as Vetinari who is also, potentially, representation that isn't completely shit. I think it’s only fair that we try to acknowledge that.