#cw chronic pain
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Bend Until You Break ~ Part 1
Thank you for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup for a Yandere!Law that the Reader goes to for help with a serious health condition, only for Law to take a liking to her... I swear I will write sweet Law one of these days, but for now please enjoy Yandere!Law. This contains !!DARK CONTENT!! so please check the warnings, and skip this one if it may be triggering or uncomfortable for you. This one's for us hypermobile baddies out there. 🥄
Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader
Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist
Word Count: 2679
Ao3 Link
Summary: You have struggled with mystery pains and injuries for most of your life, and had resigned yourself to suffer after every doctor told you there was nothing wrong. But when a world renowned doctor/pirate comes to town to offer aid in exchange for supplies, you decide to give hope one more chance. Maybe you'll finally find a doctor you can trust.
Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush)
A/N: This chapter is SFW, but I'm adding in many tags to start out with since this mini series will contain heavy/dark content. PLEASE heed the tags, and do not read this fic if you aren't comfortable with these topics. Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃
Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional. Hopefully you'll have better luck than Reader 🙄
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I should just leave. He’ll just tell me the same things. It’s a waste of time.
You were close to convincing yourself to walk away, especially as the discomfort and pain of standing in one place for so long started radiating up your body.
The line got shorter, and you stretched and bounced, trying to hang onto a sliver of hope.
“Hello, how’s your day going?”
A talking polar bear in an orange jumpsuit waved at you from behind a small table, handing you a clipboard.
“I-I’m well thanks. How…”
“Good! It’s always nice when the captain can help people. He’s the best! Just fill that out, and he’ll be with you soon.”
Looking at the form brought you out of the shock of speaking to a bear. Instead, it filled you with intense frustration, until you were practically boiling in your skin.
‘Rate your pain from 1-10.’
How the fuck am I supposed to rate all the different types of pain I’m in on any given day?
‘Circle the parts of the body where you are experiencing pain.’
I could put circles over so many things. Might as well circle the whole fucking chart, and have them call me a liar.
‘List your diagnoses, and family medical history.’
I don’t have one, doctors never find anything. Mom has some similar symptoms, but they're so mild that she's never tried to get a diagnosis. You’re the one who’s supposed to figure this out!
You resisted the urge to vent your anger onto the page, bullshitting your way through instead. You tried to write in the most convincing way to get this new doctor to take you seriously.
This new doctor. “The Surgeon of Death.” A fucking pirate.
But he was supposed to be the best, and he was here on your shitty little island for a couple of weeks, trading medical treatment for the town's supplies. You had already heard reports of “miracles,” that he could perform surgeries in an instant, that he could fix anyone.
Please fix me.
This was it. You couldn’t take anymore trying after this. Just trying to get a doctor to listen to or believe you was almost worse than the daily pain. Almost.
“Miss Y/N? The captain is ready for you now. My name is Bepo, by the way,” the bear grinned as he took the clipboard from your clammy hands. At least you hoped it was a grin.
He handed the form back to you as he led you through the dimly lit hallways of this strange submarine. It felt like you’d entered some other realm, an underworld, on your way to strike a deal with a demon.
As long as he can fix me…
“Here you are,” Bepo motioned as he opened a large metal door. “You’re in great hands.”
Hands.
Hands were the first things you noticed as you entered the examination room.
Those hands were tensed over the back of a rolling chair, gripping the thin padding as if waiting for you so he could sit down.
Long fingers mesmerized you, tattoos etched along the back of each hand. And as you stepped into the well lit room, you saw the word “death,” spelled out across both sets of those fingers.
The sound of his throat clearing snapped your eyes to his, your skin flushing as you realized he’d been speaking to you.
As you realized how fucking gorgeous he was. His black hair looked a bit mussed, but it only added to the effect, along with his goatee, and his dark, pretty eyes.
Already more useful than my other doctors. Easy on the eyes.
“May I look at your form, miss?”
‘Oh, of course,'' you stuttered, thrusting the paper toward him. “I’m Y/N.”
“Dr. Trafalgar. You can take a seat.”
Well, his bedside manner seems pretty standard, you thought with a small sigh, sitting down on the familiar crinkly paper covering the exam table.
He circled behind you to close the door, and what sounded like a lock clicking into place had your heart rate spiking.
“Stand up, please,” he said firmly, your form still unseen in his hand.
“Oh, sorry. I thought you said–”
“Walk to the corner, and sit back down, please.”
His voice was unreal. You would have jumped through hoops for him anyway, praying that any doctor would listen.
But his command seemed to curl into your brain, and you followed it immediately.
“Why are you favoring that hip?”
“Oh, it…”
Here’s where your credibility would fall apart. Your nails dug into your palms as you willed him to believe you.
“Sometimes if I stand too quickly, it feels loose. Sometimes it pops, and is so painful that I can’t put any weight on it.”
He stared at you for a moment, and you fought not to recite a list of excuses, to try to explain why it hurts when you’d never been injured before.
“And your right knee?”
“Oh, it’s not bad right now. It used to swell sometimes, and was really painful. But it’s not as bad as it used to be.”
“Did you sustain any injuries?”
“N-No. None that I can recall.”
His lips quirked a bit before he reviewed your chart.
Believe me. Believe me. Believe me.
“You’ve reported your shoulders as being your most pressing concern. Why is that?”
His eyes were almost painfully sharp as he scanned you, focusing on your face as you answered him. He’d sat backwards on the rolling chair, his arms folded across the back with his legs spread wide to either side.
“They’ve been acting up recently. They often feel… loose. That’s how it feels to me. Sometimes if I move a certain way it almost feels like they pop out of place. But I can still move them after, it’s just incredibly painful. And then it’s weak, and I can barely hold anything.”
“What are some of the activities that have caused this to happen?”
He was impossible to read. But you couldn’t lie. He wouldn’t be able to help you if you lied.
“Um, brushing my hair. Taking off a jacket. P-Putting a sports bra on.”
“Did you used to have longer hair?”
“What?”
“Do you keep your hair above your shoulders to prevent shoulder pain? Or does brushing it still cause issues at this length?”
“Oh. Yes, actually. I used to have much longer hair.”
“I imagine you’ve adjusted many aspects of your life to cope with this pain.”
Warmth flowed into that deep voice, and you shivered as you watched him steeple his fingers against his lips for a moment.
“If you are comfortable, I would like to run through a few simple movements to check your flexibility. Many of which you can do on your own, but I will check in again if you are comfortable with me touching you for the others. You can always let me know if you would like to stop.”
“Okay.”
The doctor dug through a drawer to pull out a clear measuring device, almost like two rulers connected at one end. He adjusted it, creating an angle before setting it aside.
He never picked up the device again, and you fought not to shake. He looked at your elbows, your knees, your thumbs, your pinkies, frowning slightly as you followed his instructions.
“Now, please bend over, and try to touch your toes. Just go as far as you– hm.”
Your palms were flat on the ground, just as they’d always been able to go. You could even put the back of your hands down, and stretch them along the ground behind you if you wanted to.
“Doctor?”
“You can take a seat.”
Wincing as you sat, you shook out your legs, feeling his eyes as he watched your every movement.
He stood, towering over you as he came close.
“For this next part of the examination, I will be touching you with my hands, and in some cases leaning or holding parts of your body against mine so that I can check the range of motion in your joints. I may also massage certain tight muscles to help you relax as we move through the problem areas. You have quite the list for us to get through, but if at any time you wish for us to stop, just let me know. Do you understand?”
“I do,” you breathed, your face angled up to meet his.
“Do you consent to me touching you?”
His voice came out softer once again, and you couldn’t hold in a shiver as you consented.
Those fingers…
His long fingers were so gentle as they crept across your body, testing, pushing, pulling. You fought to listen to his commands, pushing against or holding your body how he told you.
“I imagine that seeking treatment has been challenging for you,” he rasped as he leaned over your face, his fingers gently massaging your shoulders.
The pain and pleasure of his hands testing you had brought up a strangely emotional pressure, almost like tears in your throat.
“It has.”
“I’m sorry, Y/N. It must be incredibly difficult to suffer so much pain, and not be believed.”
You started to nod to keep your voice from cracking, but he pressed his fingers into your skin just a bit.
“Can you keep still for me,” he whispered, and it sounded so close that you opened your eyes.
“Just relax,” the doctor soothed as he stepped away, pulling a few tissues out to press against your cheeks and temples, catching the tears that had spilled when you’d opened your burning eyes.
“I’m sorry, doc–”
“No need to be sorry, Y/N. You have been suffering, been living with pain for years. It’s all those doctors that left you like this that should feel ashamed.”
His fingers had returned to your body, still relaxing, and testing.
“Thank you, doctor.”
“Please, call me Law.”
He was pressing gently along your collarbones as his name rolled over you, a small sound escaping your throat as you melted beneath him.
“Do you have a good support system? People in your life that can help you with this?”
“I mean, my mom and my boyfriend help me. They’re supportive.”
He took those fingers away, and you mourned them, wishing you could feel that soothing touch forever.
“I’m going to test your hips now, Y/N. Please tell me if you experience any pain.”
“Okay,” you agreed, feeling self conscious of your breathy voice. His words just kept pouring over you, his voice so relaxing, so good.
“How does that feel, Y/N?”
“Fine.”
He had your leg stretched along his torso, your foot dangling over his shoulder. You clamped your eyes shut. The sight of him between your spread legs, pushing your leg toward you, had you biting your lip, trying not to make any more embarrassing noises.
“How’s this?”
“Fine.”
He hadn’t gotten close to your limit, but he went agonizingly slow. You could feel his firm abs warming your thigh through your clothes, his thin shirt not doing much to keep the press of him at bay.
“You said that your mom and your boyfriend support you. How do they do that?”
“Oh, uh,” you shook your head, trying to focus on the question, and not the gentle rocking motion he’d started as he pushed you even further.
“They help me when… They help me when I’m having bad days. They listen. They both do little different things when things are bad.”
“How’s this?”
“Still fine.”
“You can go further?”
“Yeah, I can–,” you had reached for your thigh, planning to pull it toward your chest to show him, but his eyes above you stopped you before his voice did.
“I’ll get you there, Y/N. You can hurt yourself if you rush. Can you take it slow for me?”
“Perfect,” he praised when you nodded, still gently rocking your body forward and back as he pushed, finally reaching the limit.
“That is quite the range of motion,” he noted, carefully laying that leg down to move to the other side. “May I?”
He set himself up again, moving slow as he used his body to stretch you.
“You said that they help you on bad days, is that right?”
Meeting his sharp eyes, you took a minute to understand.
“Yes, they do.”
His face tilted a bit as he pressed closer. He started that gentle rocking motion, almost thrusting against you to help your body relax.
“But Y/N, from what I’ve seen today, it seems like all of your days are bad. Aren’t they?”
“I…”
“All these years with no one to believe you. It must be hard to believe yourself sometimes. Do you think they really believe you, Y/N? Do they believe how much pain you’re in as you struggle through each day? As you stand up too fast, or brush your hair? Do you think they understand?”
He’d pushed closer, looming over you as he held your thigh against him.
“Why are you–”
“I need to make sure that my patients have the support systems they need.”
His voice had smoothed back now, from almost heated to cool and detached.
He’s the only person that’s ever seemed like they understand. He must believe me. Of course he would be passionate about it, he’s a doctor. A doctor that believes me.
Closer and closer, his eyes watching yours.
“Do they believe you?”
“I think,” you started, eyes wide as you fought more tears, “I think they try to believe me. They just… They don’t know what it’s like. They don’t understand.”
“How’s this?”
“It’s fine.”
“Alright, last push.”
Your thigh was pressed between your bodies, and he stayed there.
“Does this hurt, Y/N,” he rasped, his breath warming your face.
“No.”
He helped you stretch your leg out on the table, sitting backwards in the rolling chair before he told you to sit up.
“I believe I understand the cause of your pain, and why you’ve had a difficult time obtaining a diagnosis.”
“Can you fix it?”
Your thrill of excitement got caught in your throat at the look in his eyes, his palm up to halt your questions.
“I believe it may be a connective tissue disorder, which would explain your hypermobility, as well as the complications you’ve had with many parts of your body. You've already met the criteria for one type based on our examination today. I would like you to come back tomorrow so that we can review more of your symptoms to be sure, and to discuss treatments.”
“You can do surgery, right? Can you fix it?”
You had gestured to him, your body panicking with failing hope. A gasp left your throat as those tattooed fingers caught your hand, his thumb rubbing over your skin as his voice went low.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. This is not a condition that can be cured,” he confessed, squeezing your hand as your body slumped. “Connective tissues run throughout our entire body, and if I am correct, yours may be weaker than most. 'Loose,' as you said. Unfortunately, there is no known way to repair or replace those tissues.”
A weight fell over you, and you found yourself not quite in your body. Your body that you’d fought so hard to fix.
That can never be fixed.
The doctor pressed your hand between his, smoothing over and warming your fingers until you were present enough to meet his eyes.
“It may not be curable, Y/N, but it can be managed. You don’t need to suffer alone in such pain like you have been. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that things are better for you. Do you trust me?”
There was something so intense about his face. The way he looked at you felt heavy, like he really did see the weight you’d carried all these years. You sank into those gray eyes, and realized you did.
“I trust you, Doctor.”
“Please. Y/N,” he hummed, releasing your hand, “call me, Law.”
Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!
a/n: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Welcome to my frustration with the health care system 😅
Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel
Part 2
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#cw dark content#cw yandere#cw doctors#trafalgar law smut#eventual smut#trafalgar law x reader#one piece smut#reader insert#fem!reader#x reader#turtletaub fics#one piece x reader#trafalgar law fanfiction#fic requests#use of y/n#cw chronic pain#cw medical#smut
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My illness has no cure. It probably won’t have for the duration of my life. It won’t “get better” because the scientific community is still trying to understand it and there is not enough academic research on it, unfortunately. Many doctors haven’t heard of it, and they don’t always know how to help, how to treat it. Everything is always very experimental and there isn’t a single solution for the symptoms of my illness since every person suffering from it has very different experiences.
Yes, there is no cure, and they won’t probably find one soon. But there is something else that can be solved, there is a resolution to be found: it’s acceptance by society. Accommodation. That often involves people having to be educated, because often the worst judgments come from a place of ignorance. But I believe society can know better. I believe in advocating for the rights of disabled people. The quality of life of a disabled person like me can greatly improve when others understand that my body might work differently than theirs, that my limitations don’t always allow me to be the most productive all the time, that I am dealing with chronic pain, and chronic health problems, but I am still a person, just as anyone else.
As social creatures, we need each other. And it’s okay that different people have different needs. And needing more or less support should not define your worth or how integrated you should be into society.
#cw chronic illness#cw chronic pain#on being human#on support#on suffering with a chronic illness#living with eds#living with chronic pain#on acceptance#original writing
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HCs: Perrito learning therapeutic / service techniques
Perrito lives up to his self-proclaimed title as “Therapy Dog” with flying colors, and not just due to his unrelenting optimism. He’s smart as a whip, and learns insanely quickly.
He goes beyond basic therapeutic needs, picking up on certain service techniques faster than it would take for a typical dog to be trained in one.
If Puss is feeling anxious at all, Perrito will catch on immediately and make sure to stay extra close to him for the time being. If he starts showing any cues for his anxiety (which, in Puss’ case, can consist of stuttered breathing, hypervigilance, and his fur standing on end), Perrito will gently paw at him or nudge his head underneath his paw, silently telling him to pet him.
He doesn’t just help Puss; Kitty suffers from chronic pain due to her declawing, so Perrito will often fetch things for her before she can even stand up to get it. He’ll also take note of whenever she’s massaging her paws, and will lie down on his back next to her so she can “make biscuits” on his belly, as it works as a form of self-soothing for her.
Both cats had trouble getting used to the sudden increase in care upon traveling with the dog. Puss would sometimes push Perrito away, not wanting to feel coddled like some scared kitten, and Kitty would tend to scold the dog for retrieving things for her, claiming that she could take care of herself and wasn’t some fragile old lady.
However, as time goes on, the two of them do eventually learn to accept his help, and soon to appreciate it. They’re both rather surprised at how much…lighter they feel knowing they all have each other to lean on when they need it.
#cw anxiety#cw chronic pain#cw internalized ableism#puss in boots#puss in boots: the last wish#puss in boots the last wish#perrito#puss in boots perrito#kitty softpaws#therapy dog#service dog#headcanons
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STWG daily drabble - 28/09/23
Prompt: horse
Warnings: mentions of chronic pain
This is the longest thing I have ever shared, and the weirdest thing I have ever written. I have literally zero idea where this came from. It's not beta'd, apologies for typos etc. This is just shy of 2.5k words, so yeah... not so Drabble actually.
****
“So, what’s on your mind today, Eddie?”
He sees Doctor Pearcey every Wednesday at 2pm. Has done now for two months. And it’s the first thing she says to him every time he sits down. What’s on your mind today, Eddie? He’s responded in various ways. With anger. With humour. With distrust. On one particularly memorable day, with silence, which Doctor Pearcey matched in spades. The two of them sat there for an hour and didn’t say a single word. Eddie wanted to peel his skin off about ten minutes into it.
He’s in more pain than usual today, has a lower tolerance for her psychobabble mumbo jumbo, so he’s already looking to derail the session before he gets in the room.
“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?” Eddie asks her.
“No, I haven’t. Have you?”
“Hmm, couple of times.”
There’s silence for a minute or so. It’s like they’re playing therapy chicken, who gives in and speaks first? It’s usually him.
“I like them. Like how fast they are, you know? How free you feel on them.” He digs his thumb into the leather of the armchair, leaving little crescent nail marks.
“And what’s got you thinking about that today?”
The beautiful purple Kawasaki he passed on his way here today would be the easy answer. But when did he ever do anything easy?
“Wayne hates them. I’ve been wanting one for years, but he begged me not to. Asked me to wait till I was twenty one. I think he thought I would just grow out of it.”
“And have you?”
“Fuck no. I want one more than ever.”
She waits.
“I’m twenty one next week, and I won’t be getting a motorcycle because my leg is fucked, and I can’t twist or move properly.” He doesn’t bother hiding the bitterness. “It doesn’t matter, I mean, it’s whatever at this point, just another thing I can’t do, add it to the fucking pile, right?”
He changes the subject and she follows along behind waiting for breadcrumbs. Eventually their time comes to an end and he’s desperate to get out.
“Do you trust me, Eddie?”
He lets out an incredulous laugh. “You work for the spook agency that started this fucking nightmare. So, no, not really.”
She smiles back. “That’s fair.” She walks to her desk and scribbles a note before handing it to him. Eddie takes it from her like it’s poisonous.
“Meet me at that address on Sunday. Two PM. I’ll be waiting.”
And that is definitely not how the sessions usually end.
——
Wayne is working so Steve offers to take him. And Eddie isn’t going to say no to spending some time with him, especially when he’s walking into the unknown. Although the unknown appears to be…
“A horse sanctuary? Why the fuck does she want to meet you at a horse sanctuary?”
“Maybe she’s going to shoot me and put me out of my misery.”
Steve slaps him against the chest with the back of his hand. “Dude.”
“Sorry.”
He sees her standing at a fence watching a couple of horses wander around the paddock. The ground is a little rough below his feet and his leg has been a complete nightmare all week, so Steve walks with him, hand gently resting at Eddie’s elbow as he traverses the uneven ground with his cane. It makes him grateful and fucking furious all at the same time. Such is his life these days.
“You came. I’m glad,” she says, smiling brightly.
“Well, my curiosity door was opened,” replies Eddie and Steve stifles a laugh beside him.
Steve heads back to the car, squeezes Eddie’s elbow gently, before saying goodbye to the Doc. She watches the exchange intently, and Eddie feels entirely scrutinised. He hasn’t spoken about Steve in the sessions, has no intention of doing so and the last person he would want to know about it is someone that works for the fucking feds.
“So, why am I here, exactly?”
“I thought you might like to get out of that stuffy office for a change. You never seem very comfortable.”
Eddie laughs. “Uh huh, and what is it that gave you the impression I’d be comfortable in a field full of horses?”
She shrugs. “Humour me.”
See, it was shit like that that drove Eddie crazy. Humour me. It’s Sunday. Right now he could be lying on his bed playing guitar, reading, hanging out with Steve. He could be jerking off. All of which was preferable to standing in a field full of horseshit.
“Okay, well I’m not in a humorous mood, so I’m going to leave you to your equine endeavours.” He turns to leave.
“There’s someone I want you to meet. Before you go. Will only take a minute.” The Doc waves at a stable hand and a few minutes later Eddie is face to face with a beautiful white horse.
“I swear to god, if you tell me his name is Shadowfax…”
She laughs. “No, this is Tony. Tony, meet Eddie.” Tony whinnies, nodding his head up and down, his mane blowing gently in the wind. Eddie smiles. God damn her.
Eddie reaches over the fence to stroke Tony. This gorgeous, graceful animal, and it’s called fucking Tony.
“He’s beautiful. How come he’s here?”
“He was a race horse, I believe. But he was slow, didn’t make his owners any money. So now he gets to live here and lead a good life.”
“Doesn’t he miss racing? Like, aren’t they bred for that? What does he do all day if he can’t race anymore?”
“It wasn’t meant to be. But he’s patient, and kind and now he helps people learn to ride. And he’s very, very good at that.” She turns to face him, one arm hooked over the fence. “You said you were disappointed at not being able to ride a motorcycle? Correct?”
Where the fuck was this going?
“Yeah… ?”
“Why ride a steel horse when you can ride the real thing?”
Eddie splutters. “You have to be kidding me?” She just keeps smiling. He stares at her, open mouthed and wide eyed. “You’re fucking serious?”
“I’m fucking serious,” she says, with a glint of mischief. “You wanted the freedom and the excitement of riding. Well, I’m offering it to you. Or, Tony’s offering it to you, really.”
He looks between her and Tony. “Did you miss the part about my leg being fucked? How the hell am I even supposed to get up there? And what if I fall? No, absolutely not.”
The Doc gives him a long hard stare. “Do you trust me?” she ask him.
“No.”
“The sanctuary has a programme for disabled riders. Tony is the best of the best. You’d be perfectly safe. Come on, Eddie. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“This was… very nice, I guess, of you to think about this, but no. Sorry. It’s not the same as a bike, like at all. I have control of the bike, my bike can’t just run off and start jumping over fences and shit.”
“No, but your bike’s not smart. Tony is smart. He’s kind. He feels his rider, he knows what they need, knows when they’re scared. He fills in the gaps, takes the lead when a rider needs it, hands them back control when they don’t. He can guide you. Look after you. Your bike can’t do that.”
He feels his resolve wane. He sighs. Animals, they get him every time.
“People get hurt riding horses.”
“Sure, but they don’t call motorbikes donorcycles for nothing, Eddie.” Touché.
He shakes his head, this is such a stupid idea, but eventually that little pixie voice in his head just says fuck it, and within fifteen minutes he’s wearing a very unflattering helmet, climbing a mounting block and being helped into the saddle on Tony’s back.
He feels like he’s going to slip off the other side, and every time Tony moves his head forward toward the ground Eddie panics because it feels like he’ll just lean forward and drop like a rock to the ground. It's incredibly disorienting.
Eddie grips the reins so hard he sees his knuckles go white until the instructor shows him how to hold them properly. They show him how to guide Tony but ultimately Tony is doing all the work here, Eddie is just along for the ride.
He’s led around the paddock, and yeah, he feels stupid at first, self conscious sitting up in the air for everyone to see. But eventually he gets into the swing of it, and it’s… nice. Nerve wracking, but nice.
They’re going at walking speed, he can feel the rhythmic sway of Tony’s body, and it’s comforting. Why is it comforting? It’s not exactly the Kentucky Derby, but he can’t stop himself from grinning.
Eddie knows fuck all about horses, less than fuck all actually, but if he didn’t know better he’d say that Tony was enjoying himself. And as much as he hates that she’s right, he feels at peace. Feels like he trusts this animal, who he literally just met, but who seems to be having a ball wandering around with this asshole on his back.
“Wanna pick it up a bit?” asks the instructor and Eddie’s about to say ‘fuck no’ when Tony comes to a stop. Like he knows Eddie’s not sure. Eddie strokes along Tony’s thick, white mane, and pats his shoulder.
“Eurgh, yeah, shit, okay,” he says before leaning forward and whispering in Tony’s ear, “look after me, okay? Cause I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing up here.” Tony answers with a swooping nod of the head and then they’re off.
They’re barely going any faster as Tony trots around the paddock, but Eddie can definitely feel the difference. The soft, comforting sway has been replaced by a harder jolt. He’s going to pay for it tomorrow, can already feel it in his hips and back, and he hasn’t got the strength in his leg to properly push up from the stirrups, but it doesn’t matter.
The last time he was on a motorcycle he was seventeen, and it belonged to a friend of Reefer Rick’s. He was riding pillion and they were going way over the speed limit, and he’d never felt more alive, more free. He was young enough and dumb enough to think he’d never get hurt. He was invincible at seventeen. He wasn’t even a little bit scared of falling off. The folly of youth.
In three short years the folly of youth has been replaced with constant dread and a little bit of paranoia.
This isn’t the same as that careless charge up the highway, not by a long shot, but it’s exciting in it’s own way, like going on a roller coaster instead of walking through an alternate universe.
He feels at peace. A moment in time when he’s not having to think about doctors appointments, worrying about Wayne, worrying about his future. His life has got so small since March. The kids are at school and he’s not, but he can’t work so he spends endless unfilled hours at home, waiting for other people to have space for him.
The constant churn in his mind slows, his thoughts empty, his worries silence.
They go back to a steady walk, Tony’s body lilting from side to side, a gentle rock. Eddie already loves him. He’s a fucking sap. Horses? Rich people pets? No way man, not for him. But this guy, this is Eddie’s guy now.
As they turn in the paddock he sees Steve leaning over the fence, grinning.
“Nice hat!” Asshole.
Eddie flips him off but Steve just laughs, sunglasses pushed back up on his head. Steve can read him like a book, and Eddie knows he can see it. The complicated emotions today is bringing out in him. The joy and the excitement and the little bit of sadness. Steve raises his eyebrows, that little silent okay? Eddie smiles shyly and nods in response. They’ll talk properly later, when Eddie is trying to unpack everything.
It’s over too soon. Eddie’s helped down and fuck, yeah he’s in a little pain now, but Jesus it was so worth it. He pats Tony, strokes his neck, tells him what a beautiful boy he is, and Tony leans over nudges his nose against the side of Eddie’s face. There is a conversation happening between them, just this little quiet acknowledgement of something. Eddie doesn’t want to leave him. He feels… changed, weirdly. Like it was spiritual. Like something inside him got cracked open just a little.
“So?”
Doctor Pearcey stands behind him, looking pretty pleased with herself.
He tilts his head to the side, makes a big show of it. “Yeah, it was okay.” Eddie knows she sees through his bullshit. They’ll be talking about this next week. No need to go through it all now.
They head back to the car, Steve at his elbow again, and Doctor Pearcey hands him a card with the sanctuary number on. “Just in case you’d like to come back.”
He does. Wayne is going to enjoy giving him shit, and he doesn’t even want to think of the number of jockey jokes in his future, but he really does want to do this again.
The car ride is quiet on the way home, just the sound of some top forty shit in the background, but Eddie’s mind is elsewhere. He feels still, his head is clear and quiet. Ridiculously relaxed.
“How’s your ass?” asks Steve.
Eddie grins. “Haven’t had any complaints.”
“Jesus Christ.” But he’s laughing. They’re both laughing.
“So, you want to do it again? We can make it regular, I’ll just make sure Keith doesn’t schedule me for Sundays.”
Eddie stares at the side of Steve’s face. This guy. This fucking guy.
“You’d do that?”
“Of course I would.” Steve looks studiously out at the road, hands firmly at ten and two. “I’d do anything for you.”
Eddie feels like he’s skipped a breath, but tentatively reaches his hand across the console and pokes at Steve’s thigh. Steve takes a hand off the wheel, reaches blindly to find Eddie’s, gives it a little squeeze before letting go. They don’t look at each other.
He leans back in his seat, imagines Tony, galloping, mane trailing behind him in the wind. Just beautiful.
Why the fuck did they call him Tony?
#stwgdailyprompt#steddie#steddie fanfiction#eddie munson#steve harrington#cw chronic pain#stranger things#not really that angsty#little bit fluffy in places#who am I?#my writing#dreamy writes
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Y’all I don’t know how much longer I can do this
I have had MANY people tell me that I’m in excruciating pain because it’s ‘winter.’ While cold weather may flare up symptoms for some people, my family knows that I see very little correlation between cold weather and my pain.
In fact, hot weather tends to be worse for me. My pain doesn’t ‘ease up’ in the warmer months, my muscles ache and I feel drained. On top of that there’s the emotional aspect of feeling isolated because I’m in too much pain to enjoy the BBQs or large family gatherings that others participate in.
I know some people won’t see this text as that big of a deal, but for some reason I have been dismissed so much this week by different people (including having a professor tell me that I just need to get a different doctor if my current one can’t cure me. I wish it were that simple.)
I’m sure a part of these responses come from how we interact with people with acute illnesses. If someone has a cold you say “I hope you feel better soon.” That doesn’t translate well for people with chronic illnesses though. Maybe my flare up will end soon, but another one is right around the corner. It honestly feels so dismissive, even if it’s well intended.
#cw vent#vent#vent post#disabled vent#chronic pain#chronic illness#cw chronic pain#cw chronic illness#young disabled#disabled
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god one of the worst things I think with chronic headaches is the different range of abilities you have depending on how painful the hurt is and/or what TYPE of hurt it is. I particularly hate the ones that effect my vision, because with sunglasses and a podcast distraction I can drive anywhere I want for errands (even if it will be in pain, I am still physically able to do so with limitations), however what I can not do is look at a TV or laptop screen for the life of me. so any online coursework that I am obliged to do and that has a deadline, I can barely accomplish :))
#like i dunno i feel like chronic headaches are some of the more common chronic pain conditions i see other people have#so maybe this complaint falls on deaf ears#but i have headaches almost daily and so many of my mundane tasks i have just. gotten used to doing while having a painful headache#its this line between physically semi-able and in a lot of pain#but that line dictates what you can do#and it just sucks when i should. for all intensive purposes be able to complete this homework on time#it will take me twice as long just because i happen to have a headache that wont ago away :v#cw chronic pain#cw health#westy's shit
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Entry date: 24th of September
Well , ain't this funny . The last entry I wrote was on 6th (or maybe 7th ?) of this month , and Uh . I'm not good at telling time apart , how could I when the dates just feel so . Blurry ? But well , I digress — I hadn't taken my anti psychotics for so long , and I hadn't realized until the nausea had me passed out at work . . Thankfully , no co - worker of mine saw me . They all walked by , thinking that I was just asleep on my desk , and although the thought that people can just pass by when I'm like That . . Kinda stings . It's Whatever , it's fine . I should have learned my lesson a long time ago that people are not keen as they seem ; because if they had , I think they would have noticed a long time ago my cries for Help . My desperation . My
Ah , No . No . no . Now , that's selfish . I am not entitled to that kind of attention and I don't deserve that kind of attention , I feel . And I shouldn't try to rely on people for that either , I shouldn't rely on people too hard because they're not as trustworthy as they say they are , and Well , I don't want to hurt more than I have alreadybhurt . Anyways , anti - psychotics Right . God bless my therapist for beingbso patient with me ; I have no idea as to why she hasn't given up on me yet , especially since I missed so many sessions and I haven't taken much of my medication lately either so I have so much to make up for . Hm
On my first night after a long time of taking anti - pscyhotics . The side effects feel just as heavier than it did before though , now I feel like there's a literal something weighing down my eye lids , because with each second I breath in , I find myself dozing off . The nausea hasn't gotten away completely either – so I'm not sure why I'm feeling that way either . Actually thinking about it , I always feel that a Lot ever since I came back into existence . Comes in waves but it's usually bearable So i dont know Why Everythtigg's aching , I don't know why it hurts to moce a lot i mena it usually is but It feels more Painful it hurts the throbbing I can feel it Down mg Legs
the air fele sHumid i think i think I thrink I think I deserve abit of rest maybe Lay down for a Little while on my bed perjaps . . Something scarss me though , my therpaist wants to administ e r anti depressants as soon A sI get used to anti pscyhotics but Honestly ?? Id dont know if I want to take more medicine if this is how I feel rigtht now i hope aftee a bit of rest I will be ready for the job interview in Thee days god i need that job now that theres one person a d a pet sheep in my house Now
ghostbur . Ghostbru right . I havent nmmentioned Ghostbur , haven't I ? he's moved in with me now afte rmy invitation , and thinkjng anout it , I should definitely work on that extra room too so we won't have to share the Same bed and he can have his Own little space . Its the lwadt I can do since he nrought me the closure I needed – I i nee d I N eed to be better , i have to because everyone's pain would be for nothing if I didn't I i yeah . just a Few moments of rest first .. before I think about that ......
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do you have any headcanons about lestappen and one of them has chronic pain or an illness?
Hi anon, thanks for the ask ❤️
I have some ideas how I would approach a Lestappen fanfic about chronic pain. I have put it below the cut.
Just as a content warning - this is about chronic pain for one of the drivers so avoid if you think it may be triggering for you. As always with all these things this is fiction. If I were to write something like this I would probably do quite a bit of research but this is just off the top of my head....
Charles is in a heated championship battle with his teammate Lewis. It's super stressful and there is a lot of noise in the media about how Lewis has the psychological advantage given he already has championship titles.
Charles starts to experience aches and pains that don't go away after normal treatments such as ice baths and physiotherapy. As the season progresses things start getting worse and the pain goes from uncomfortable to almost unbearable and driving is getting harder and harder. After each race he is in agony. Unfortunately everyone keeps assuming his pain is psychological and a result of the pressure of fighting Lewis and they keep telling him to relax. It's not helping and Charles is getting desperate because nobody will believe him but he knows his body better than anyone else and something is wrong.
Cue Max who has known Charles since they were young. He has also been infatuated with Charles for years and is the first person to start noticing changes in the Monegasque - the way he holds himself, the way he moves, how he looks after a race, the way he winces when Max wraps an arm around his waist.
Max confronts Charles and Charles breaks down and tells him what is going on and Max becomes the first person who truly honestly believes that Charles is suffering. Max doesn't just pass off Charles' issues as 'not being able to cope with pressure'.
Max is forceful when it comes to people that he cares about and he has always cared so much for Charles. He becomes an advocate for Charles in terms of medical assistance and isn't afraid to come across as a dick in order to make people listen. He also becomes an outlet for Charles to vent to and tries to provide emotional support and physical help where he can.
Their relationship becomes more intense but Charles is also terrified of getting into a sexual relationship. He tries to be spontaneous with Max but often ends up curled up in pain and getting frustrated and upset with himself. Max is surprisingly patient and they work through the issues, making sure Charles stretches, applies heat pads, does all the things he needs to do in order to get his body to move in the way it should.
Their only point of contention is that Charles is still putting himself in the car and Max doesn't think its worth it given what it is doing to his body. Charles doesn't want to be held back, he is so close to the championship he has worked his whole life for. If he can just hang in there a few months he will have achieved his life dream.
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Rambling sulking below the cut. Feel free to ignore- just exhausted 1am thoughts.
I'm honestly feeling a tiny bit stressed about my writing atm. I know it is one of those "this too shall pass" moments. I know it's mostly brought on by chronic pain and life stress. It's firmly becoming spring here and every inch of me hurts and I'm having to sleep 12-14 hours a day just to have the smallest energy. And I have quite a few things to try and get done for work and home in the next few weeks.
But my am I feeling a tiny bit stressed about my writing.
I definitely need to not have 3 fics all in the 'ao3 stage' again. Like, 'the fic that I'm not writing' is not causing stress- but LBFD and 'Shadow of a Bat' and 'Bleeding Out, Bleeding In' all are. I know people are waiting for the next chapter of Shadow. But I'm really proud of that fic so far and don't want to rush it. Worse, I've eroded my buffer chapters for LBFD waiting to be rewritten/edited by 1 and at this rate I'll lose another this next week and I STILL need to rewrite the chapter for next week. And that buffer is so damn hard to get back once it's gone. I don't want to be in writing and posting the same chapter in a week again- I want to let them have time to sit so I can make them the quality I want with the rewrite. And I said I'd have Bleeding up this week which it is written but needs to be rewritten and my brain's focus is all going to grading and lecturing and rewriting is hard.
So seriously, no new fic actually in the pipeline until both Bleeding and Shadow are done.
As said, feel free to ignore this all. This is just all me whining so I can compartmentalize it and put it in it's little card catalog in my brain it belongs in and close the damn drawer. I know it's just the current bad brain vibes. It will all be fine, but yeah. I try not to sulk here too much but sometimes things just need to be processed.
Anyways, be patient with me please if things take a little longer than expected~ I am just a mild disaster.
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I'm partially blaming whoever took *and* posted that behind the scenes pic, but also @/the_jellyfox_ on twitter for making the link to this meme and encouraging me to post the Kaz manip for it too
Credit for the original racoon version of the meme goes to @/nocturnaltrashposts on instagram
#grishaverse#kaz brekker#shadow and bone#sabedit#sabedits#shadowandboneedit#shadowandboneedits#purpleyin#purpleyin: graphics#grishaverse graphics#cw chronic pain#shadow and bone meme#shadow and bone memes#sab memes#grishaverse gen graphics
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Bend Until You Break ~ Part 3
Thank you so much for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup !!🖤
Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader
Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist
Word Count: 3208
Ao3 Link
Summary: Law gives you the choice to go against your doctor's recommendations as you begin your recovery. Are you clear headed enough to make the right choice?
Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush), Needles, Drugs, Arguing, Massage, Praise Kink, Pain, Dissociation, Humiliation, Gaslighting, Non-Consensual Drug Use, (Implied)
A/N: I hate hospitals 😩 But for Law I might make an exception... Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃
Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional.
| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |
Beeping.
What is that sound? There’s another sound.
That soun–
Fuck!
A strangled cry left your throat, pain tearing through you.
Tight, fuck it’s so tight, can’t–
Your eyes were still too droopy to open as your hands scrambled at your neck. A sharp pinch twisted against your right wrist, and you felt the pull of wires restricting its movement.
That beeping noise was louder now.
“Y/N, you’re okay, it’s okay. I’m right here.”
Law’s deep voice pulled you out, giving you a reason to open your eyes. He pulled your hands away from scratching at the neck brace, and you slumped with relief at his touch.
Only to let out a choked scream at the pain.
“Shh, I’ve got you. Can you stay still for me? I know you can, you’re so strong.”
“I don’t want to be strong anymore.”
Your confession slipped quietly from your trembling lips as you tried to acclimate to the pain, tried to be still for him.
His brow creased as he looked down at you, and you felt pathetic. You wanted to take it back.
Law brought those cool, tattooed fingers to your face, leaving featherlight touches along your temple and cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed, burning tears starting again.
“You’re right,” he rasped, brushing your tears away with his fingers, leaving the tissues in their box this time.
“You’ve been strong for so long, haven’t you? You shouldn’t have to fight so hard every day.”
Gentle sobs left your throat, interrupted by a small gasp.
His hand still traced your face in soothing lines, until he brushed his tear soaked thumb across your lips.
Your eyelids were still heavy, but you held them open to melt into the storm gray eyes above you.
“You don’t need to be strong with me, Y/N,” he breathed, close enough to leave the warmth of his words on your face. “I’ll save you.”
~
Beeping.
I’m with Law. I’m okay.
Foggy dreams of Law’s hands on your face made your skin flush before you opened your eyes.
That beeping got louder as you fought off the embarrassing thoughts you were having about your doctor’s hands, but the slight shift you made in the bed had you forgetting it all, groaning in pain.
“Nice and slow, Y/N. You’re safe, just take some deep breaths.”
Your doctor stepped into view, his eyes scanning your body before gifting you with a gentle smile.
Attempting a small stretch of your arms was a bad choice, but it brought your attention to the rest of your body.
The bed was still angled so that your upper body was lifted. Lying flat had been excruciating. But even with your raised position, it was difficult to look down at yourself over the neck brace.
“Where are my clothes,” you muttered, looming horror growing at the feeling of a hospital gown against your skin.
“I apologize, Y/N,” Law admitted gently, tilting his head toward the beeping machine. “I needed to monitor your vitals to ensure your safety since we used that medication to help you sleep. I’m afraid I had to cut through your top to avoid injuring your neck further. I was able to save your bra, and I have scrubs you can wear once your neck is healed enough for you to pull the clothes on by yourself.”
He just said a whole bunch of words.
Your brain decided the best way to handle all of the emotions flying through your head was to ignore them.
“Why do I have an IV?” You changed the subject, lifting your wrist, and tugging all the tubes with it.
“Again, since you hadn't had that drug before, I took this as a safety precaution. I assumed you would prefer a single needle versus the potential of many if I needed to administer more medication,” he explained as he disconnected you from the tubes, but left the placement on your wrist. “You’ve also been receiving fluids, which is essential after the traumatic night you had.”
A nod made you wince, so you thanked him softly, feeling warmth move through your chest as another hint of a smile touched his lips.
“Do you have the energy to move, Y/N? I’d like to show you the room, and do another physical exam to see if you’ve improved since last night.”
The thought of moving hit you with the sudden realization that you needed to fucking pee.
“Is there a bathroom,” you asked, holding your breath from embarrassment.
“Of course, it’s right here. Let me help you.”
After many whimpers, and groans, and heavy breaths, you were on your feet. Shaking with pain as he led you to the door, you knew that nothing else could have motivated you to walk right now.
“Do you need help sit–”
“I’ll be fine,” you blurted out, closing the door.
He’s my doctor. This is fine. He’s helping me because I’m injured, and he’s my doctor.
Those thoughts did not diminish your embarrassment, especially when you did struggle to fucking sit down.
Gritting your teeth, and clinging to the safety bar, you managed to keep at least some sliver of your dignity by not yelling for him to help you.
Shame rocked through you as you washed your hands, avoiding looking in the mirror. You didn’t want to know how wrecked you looked.
But you looked anyway.
You wanted to splash some water on your face, but couldn’t bend down to do it.
“Y/N, are you doing alright in there?”
“I’m fine,” you called out as you fought with the ties of the gown.
Oh my gods, he took all of my fucking clothes off.
That knowledge kicked in again as you tried to make sure every inch of your ass was covered.
“Can you put me to sleep again,” you half joked, taking his hand as he helped you through the door.
“We don’t want to overdo it,” he said in that serious tone he’s so good at, leading you slowly toward the center of the room.
He sat backwards in that rolling chair.
But his chair isn’t that color…
“Is this the same room,” you interrupted him, looking around by turning your body instead of your head. You couldn’t tell if the weird sounds you were hearing were real, or if you were just getting a headache from moving around.
“No,” he hummed, nodding slowly at you. “I’m impressed you were able to notice that in this state.”
You followed the line of his arm as his tattooed finger pointed to a large door.
“Those are my quarters. I had you moved to an adjacent room so that I can be close if you are in pain, or become injured again. That vent is open so I’ll be able to hear if you need me.”
“O-Oh…”
He shifted his hand again, and you turned to follow it, your eyes a bit wide.
“You already know where your bathroom is. The third door leads out into the corridors of the Polar Tang, but Y/N,” he said, his voice taking on more force, “I request that you refrain from leaving these quarters until you are steadier on your feet. I would hate for you to become injured under my care.”
“But how–”
“Y/N,” he rasped, that low voice pulling you in, “let’s complete the exam before you tire yourself out, alright?”
“Okay.”
“There you go,” he purred, “I love seeing you take care of yourself. Do you consent to me touching you?”
Your ‘yes’ was barely audible as you tried not to let his words, and the way his words sounded with that dangerous voice, make you fall over.
Feeling his fingers on you might be your favorite thing in the world. Even as you whimpered in pain while he checked along your shoulders and spine.
“This seems to be the problem area,” he noted, tracing lightly over your left shoulder down between your shoulder blade and spine, rubbing along a few of the vertebrae.
“But my neck?”
“Everything’s connected, Y/N,” he breathed over your ear, making you shiver and wince. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you learn how your body works.”
Fuck, his voice.
There was no way, no fucking way that you could be dripping wet in a hospital gown while your body was stiff with pain. No way that tight coil of pressure could be building in your core over the only doctor that had ever helped you, ever believed you.
I can’t fuck this up.
“Are you feeling alright?”
“Mhm,” you lied, catching yourself before you nodded this time.
“Let’s have you sit down. We need to take the brace off, so I can examine your neck again. It is going to be painful. Are you ready, or would you like to take a break first?”
~
“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck.”
“You are doing so well for me,” Law praised, gently removing the brace to press against your neck, asking you questions while you tried not to move.
How can I like his fingers touching me like this? What is wrong with me?
“Look at you. I’m so proud of how you’re handling this,” he rasped, soothing your whimpers as he secured the brace again.
“When will I be able to go home?”
Law’s jaw shifted a bit as he sat back, and it felt like the air in the room got heavy.
“As your doctor, I had to make the call to protect your health. We left your island, and my recommendation is that you remain with me for the time being. I think we both realized that one more week of treatment would not be enough support for your chronic condition. This incident with your neck further proves your need to receive continued treatment.”
“Left the– We’re underwater,” you said in a small voice, realizing what the strange clanking sounds in the background must be.
“You took me away,” you asked softly as your boyfriend’s warnings about Law started playing in your mind.
Fear ran through you then, and the metal room grew smaller, your oxygen growing harder to find. Panic hit your lungs, fast, shallow, useless breaths spiking your neck with pain.
“Y/N,” he drawled, that voice almost frightening now.
“But you were going to be there another week. Why did you take me? Why–”
“Y/N, I will take you back right now if that's what you want,” he soothed, voice warm and inviting. “Please let me explain why I had to make that choice. You weren’t able to make decisions for your own health and safety at the time. As your doctor, I had to do what I believed was best for your wellbeing.”
You stilled, your breath slowing, but staying shallow. That fuzzy distance started to take over, but you dug your nails into your palms to try to focus on what your doctor was saying.
“Your boyfriend came to the ship in the morning, demanding to take you home.”
The image in your mind built up. That fight. The keys you left in the open door.
You jolted a bit as Law laid his hand on your clenched fist.
“He refused to listen when I explained your condition, and that it would be dangerous to move you so soon. He…” Law took in a heavy breath, looking to the ground as he shook his head. When he met your eyes again, his were deep and sad, but etched with kindness.
“Y/N, your boyfriend accused me of taking advantage of your ‘obsession with being sick.”
Those words were thick like the nausea rising in your throat.
He did say little things sometimes. Things that made it seem like he didn’t believe me.
Law’s thumb stroked the back of your fist until you relaxed your hand. He took it in his before continuing with a gentle voice.
“He threatened to return with a group to take you by force. You are my patient, Y/N. I could not in good conscience release you in this current state. I had to make the call since couldn’t.”
That inner distance was coming again, all the sounds feeling washed out. Until he squeezed your hand, leaning in close.
He smells good.
“As your doctor, I must always do what is in your best interests. I believe that you should remain here under my care, at least until we have time to make progress with physical therapy. Until you feel safer in your own body.”
Your eyes had to close. It was all too much.
“However, it will always be your decision, Y/N,” he comforted. His voice was smooth, and thick, like some rich dessert. “If you choose to go against my recommendations, I will turn around right now. If you want to go back home, I will take you. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”
A trembling mouth opened, but you had no words to speak.
“Y/N, I need you to really think about this. Think about what’s best for you.”
Law massaged your hand as he spoke in that liquid voice, a shiver breaking you out of the fog.
“Where was he, Y/N,” he asked, not pausing for an answer. “You walked all the way here on your own, didn’t you? The amount of pain you were in was frightening, yet you chose to suffer alone. Why didn’t you ask for his help?”
He caught your rush of tears with a tissue, his voice raspy as he came closer to dry your face.
“Do you want to go back to a place where all the doctors treat you like you’re crazy?”
Years of frustration, anger, and pain fell on you, but you tried to stay present, tried to think straight.
“Do you want to go back to a family that doesn’t believe you? To a partner that believes you’re pretending, that thinks you want to be sick?”
No. You didn’t.
But you tried to let it go, tried to think without emotions. You wanted to shake your head, to move, to fling some of these sickening feelings off of you.
But you couldn’t move. You were in too much pain.
And Law is the only person who cares.
“You know, Y/N, I understand exactly how lonely and angry you must feel.”
He trapped you in the stone wall of his eyes again, and you’d never seen this look on his face before.
“When I was a child, myself and everyone I knew got sick. They all died.”
“I—“
“Even though I wasn’t contagious, even though I was just a child, every single doctor treated me like I was trash.”
The hand that was holding yours was squeezing tighter while you were frozen by his barely contained rage.
“There was only one person in the world who cared about me,” he muttered, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit.
“He did everything he could to save me. Even when I fought him. Even when I hurt him... He never stopped.”
The overwhelming closeness you’d felt in that metal room was easing, and the heat of tears building in your throat wasn’t for yourself this time.
Law rested his palm against your cheek, and that foggy dream floated through your mind.
“I’m not like all those doctors that abandoned us, that left us to suffer all alone,” he rasped, the twitching of his creasing brows giving you more emotion than you’d seen from him before.
“I will never abandon you, Y/N.”
His promise filled the air, as if this metal room were a ringing bell, the vibrations wracking through your body.
I feel like I should be scared. But why? He’s helping me. No one has ever helped me before. He’s just intense because he knows.
He knows this pain even more than I do.
Of course he’d do all of this to help me. He’s just helping me.
Law kept his hand on your cheek while he waited for you to think. He didn’t push, just gave you time. You heard the heart rate monitor starting to slow as you breathed with him.
He had taught you to follow his breathing during exercises, and now it felt natural, soothing.
“I want to stay with you. If you want to help me.”
“Of course I want to help you,” he purred, brushing a few strands from your forehead before stroking his fingers through your mussed up hair.
“I’m your doctor. You can trust me.”
~
“Law?”
“Are you alright,” he answered as he charged through the connecting door.
“I’m fine. Well, the same,” you reported, trying to shift your body up the bed.
It was getting difficult for you to tell the passage of time underwater, but you knew it had been at least a week.
Your pain was reducing, and your range of motion was improving, but you were still on bed rest unless Law was with you to guide your movements.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” you said, a sheepish grin pulling at your lips. “I’m just… I’m so bored, Law. And if I listen to Bepo’s Uta tone dial one more time, I’m going to go insane.”
That crooked smile made your skin flush as he walked toward you. He started piling pillows onto your lap, gently moving your arms out of the way before propping them up.
“I believe you’ve healed enough to read a book with some support,” he rasped as he brought his fingers to your skin. He pressed lightly against your shoulders, your jaw, and around the edges of the brace. You only winced a little when he stuck his fingers in to check the tightness.
“Although, you’ll need to make sure you’re not straining yourself, so we’ll have to start with short periods of time. Can you do that for me, Y/N?”
“Yes,” you agreed with a smile. It felt like your birthday, finally getting to open and enjoy your presents.
“You like mysteries, right,” he asked as he walked toward the door.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” Your smile wilted just a bit as you tried to recall telling him that.
You hated being so loopy all the time. It felt like you were missing out on parts of your life.
“This is one of my favorites,” you almost squealed, catching yourself before you wiggled in your hospital gown.
“Really,” he teased as he took it back, flipping through the pages. “I’ll go find you something you haven’t read then.”
“No, please. I love it, thank you.”
“Show me how you’ll be holding it, Y/N.”
Law’s hands on your arms made you crave his massages more than seemed healthy. With your neck as it had been, he wouldn’t risk hurting you.
You still couldn’t lie flat anyway.
But I’m getting better. Then we can start. He can teach me how to take care of my body. He can touch me again.
Your own thoughts sent blood rushing to your face as you dove in, getting lost in one of your favorite mysteries.
Even though you knew who the villain was, you always loved the thrill of the chase.
And you still weren’t sure who you were rooting for.
Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!
a/n: I'm having so much fun 😈
Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel | @metonimia-de-bellota | @3v37773 | @dewdropsandfrogs | @nubigenouss
Part 4
| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |
#cw dark content#cw yandere#cw doctors#trafalgar law smut#eventual smut#trafalgar law x reader#one piece smut#reader insert#fem!reader#x reader#turtletaub fics#one piece x reader#trafalgar law fanfiction#fic requests#use of y/n#cw chronic pain#cw medical#smut#cw needles#cw drugs#cw hospital
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Living with a chronic illness has made me develop a mix of a wistful way of looking at life itself at the same time I have a whimsy feeling about surviving despite of my condition which is something that still makes me look at the world with wonder.
Yes, I do struggle with a lot problems that a lot of people my age don’t, and yes, I have suffered way too much from my illness. But I still have hope. And I still keep going, even when things are hard, despite how difficult it can be to accept the fact that I will have to be dealing with this for the rest of my life. I am well aware of all the challenges of living with a chronic illness when the world is not always welcoming to people who have disabilities. But I’m going to keep going. Despite the pain, despite cruelty, despite the differences that sometimes made me feel isolated.
I’m still fighting. I’m still here. I’m still alive in the face of everything, and it’s very exhausting to keep trying, but I am here. And life itself can be so beautiful even when I’m in pain. Those two things can and do coexist. And surviving so much it’s a statement that my body might be different, but I can be strong in other ways.
So if you’re dealing with a chronic illness, I’m telling you I am so glad you’re in this world and that being different does not make you any less worthy of being here, of taking space, and that you deserve happiness. And that happiness is not something you have to earn by enduring pain and pushing yourself past your breaking point, but because you’re just as human as everyone else, and as equally valuable.
#cw chronic illness#cw chronic pain#self-acceptance#self-worth#on being human#original writing#had to edit my this a few times because I’m tired#very very tired but very very alive#sorry for the all the editing but yeah I’m very sleepy while writing this#it’s been hard lately
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I've been in bed! For hours! Chest hurts too much!!! It's burning and bad and I wanna get Red, but I don't want to worry him or be a burden! But it hurts! Alot! But I've hurt worse, so I'm fine, but I'm also not fine, and it's confusing, and I don't like this and- and I want Red! I want him so much, but I'm just gonna annoy him so its not worth it, s-since im not really worth h-his time since he's the champion, and the dexholder! I- I d-don't wanna bother him- h-he's just m-my senior, right? B-But I don't wanna kesp hurting a-and burning either-
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For the Spotify fic challenge: Steddie, and lucky #13! ❤️
I got this ask on December the 3rd!! It took me forever to come up with something for this, but I got there! I don't think this is as heavy as the tags make it seem, but please heed them @thisapplepielife thank you so much for the ask, it really got the old brain box working!
Spotify Prompt: Free Fallin' by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (yes, Tom Petty again!)
Word Count: 3623 | Rating: T | CW: Period typical homophobia, homophobic language, chronic pain, internalised ableism, brief mention of AIDS crisis | Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington and His Parents | Tags: Protective Eddie Munson, Disabled Eddie Munson, Established Relationship, Meeting The Parents, Steve's Parents Are Trying, Not Beta Read
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Eddie works fucking hard all week and he just wants to kick back on a Saturday, and do nothing. Feet up on the table, beer in one hand, pizza in the other. Maybe catch a film. Maybe watch a game with Steve. Whatever. It’s his time, he gets to choose how he spends it.
Instead, they’re sitting in the car outside the Harrington’s house, and Steve looks like he’s about to be fed to the wolves. Eddie’s never been brought home to meet the parents before. Usually, he’s never brought home at all. This is as hard for Eddie as it is for Steve. He’s deeply suspicious of Steve’s parents, of their suddenly wanting to meet the guy he’s shacked up with. To get a closer look at the guy who stole Steve’s chance for a good ol’ fashioned midwestern life, white picket fence, sweet wife, a couple of kids, briefcase and tie, trade in the bimmer for a Volvo. All that shit. All that shit that Eddie has no experience with, no desire for.
Two years together, and this is the first time he’s been summoned. Steve says it’s because they finally believe him. They thought it was a joke at first. They stopped laughing, eventually.
Eddie doesn’t really know what to expect. Robin says his mom is sweet, his dad is nice enough but tough on Steve and there’s still tension there even though Steve’s in his twenties now. Dustin thinks his dad is a hoot, and somehow the idea of Dustin bonding with Mr Harrington feels like a betrayal. But Dustin doesn’t have the full picture, so. There’s that.
“We better go in,” Steve says, not looking at Eddie. Not really looking at anything. And that doesn’t really instil confidence in Eddie, about how all this shit is going to go down, because Steve has been telling him all week not to worry about it, it will be fine. But he’s sitting here looking like the world is about to end. And maybe it is. Maybe that’s exactly what’s about to happen, Steve’s world, that complex relationship with his parents that they cultivated with such tender hands, will just shatter once the reality of everything Steve has been telling them for the last couple of years manifests in their dining room.
Eddie might not have done this before, but he knows his part. Turn up, be polite, play nice. And above all things don’t bite if the other kids don’t play nice. Because Eddie will always be the one that gets the blame.
He checks his hair in the rearview mirror one last time. It’s tied back, the tiniest bit of hairspray to tame it and stop any unruly hairs from escaping mid canapés. How uncouth. Picking clothes was a whole thing. ‘It’s not a formal dinner’, Steve said, no need to get gussied up, ‘I want you to look like yourself, to be comfortable.’ And Steve probably did mean that, truly, but it didn’t matter how many teeshirts and jeans combos Eddie tried on, none of them seemed to be the ‘Eddie’ that Steve was hoping to bring home to his parents. What followed was an argument, ‘You fucking choose then’, slammed doors, eased over with a kiss and ‘What about these?’ So now he’s in the Harrington’s driveway wearing a pair of clean black jeans, knees neatly hidden behind denim, and a long sleeve (always long sleeves) plaid shirt, which could almost pass for one of Wayne’s if it weren’t for the tiny little polo player embroidered on the pocket. He’s been permitted to wear a pair of Doc Martens he found in a thrift store in Indy, they’re clean and smart enough and they’re fucking comfortable and he needs that. Just one bit of comfort, one bit of him.
They stand on the doorstep and Steve knocks and it strikes Eddie as weird. He moved out of Wayne’s a while ago, but he still has his key, and if he knocked on the front door Wayne would ask Eddie what his last doorman died of. But he forgets sometimes that his upbringing is not the norm, that not every kid got saved from foster care by their uncle because their dad is in jail.
Mrs Harrington answers the door, and Eddie’s seen pictures of her, he’s been in this house before (he’s done things to her son in this house that would definitely lower its market value) but she’s shorter than he imagined, and Steve bends over to hug her. It’s cute.
Mr Harrington looms behind her and makes eye contact with Eddie briefly before moving to his son. Another hug, stiffer, with a manly clap on the back. But it’s not nothing, and some of that tension from before has already dispersed from Steve, he has some of his lightness back. A smile back on his beautiful face. Eddie’s not ready to let his guard down yet, he is after all the main course at this particular feast, and he’s just waiting for the cleaver to fall, the teeth to take hold (not teeth, not teeth, not teeth).
“Mom, Dad, this is…” Steve looks at him. Pleading. Loving. Accepting. Scared. “Eddie.”
“Eddie!” says Mrs Harrington, like she actually wants him standing in her hallway, god love her for trying. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
Oh God, he’s on now, isn’t he? Steve’s thrown him the ball and he needs to not fumble the catch, or something, he’s watched enough games now that some of it should be sinking in.
“Mr and Mrs Harrington, it’s lovely to meet you both. Uh, thank you. For inviting me.”
“Amanda, please,” says Mrs Harrington, “and this is David,” and it’s pointed, a little spiky. Eddie likes that. David’s giving Amanda the evil eye and Eddie is trying not to smile about it.
“Eddie. Good to meet you,” the poor guy manages to spit out. And Jesus fuck, he holds his hand out to shake it, and Eddie has to resist the temptation to wipe his hands down the front of his jeans. He’s clean, every inch of him scrubbed and moisturised and cologned. Eddie doesn’t know why he’s sweating on this particular social norm, both Al and Wayne taught him the art of the handshake as a young boy. ‘Shake from the elbow, firm hand, and match their grip’ said Wayne. ‘Ain’t nothin’ worse than a weak handshake’ said Al.
Amanda offers him the grand tour before Steve reminds her that Eddie’s been here before, only not when they were around. David bristles and walks away and that’s probably for the best all things considered.
They all walk through to the massive kitchen, and Amanda offers him a beer and he nearly breaks his fucking neck with the speed he takes it.
“Dad thought because it’s such a lovely day we’d grill outdoors. How does that sound for a change?” Steve’s mom rests her hand on Steve’s back, and Eddie sees the movement, the slow comforting strokes.
There’s a cough from the patio, and David Harrington looms in the doorway. “Why don’t you give me a hand, son.” Huh. Divide and conquer, and so early into the afternoon. Steve looks at Eddie and what is Eddie going to say? How dare you leave me to your mother so that you can bond with Daddy? I haven’t seen mine in years, hasn’t done me any harm. He’s a good boyfriend, so he nods and smiles, hoping that it conveys what he really means. We can leave whenever you need to. Just say the word. I love you.
Amanda bustles around in their kitchen, dicing cucumbers and tomatoes, making herself busy, keeping herself away from him. He’s propped on a stool at their breakfast bar because he needs to get the weight off his leg and he didn’t bring his cane because ‘I’m fine Steve, I don’t need it’, not because he didn’t want the Harrington’s to think he was weak or incapable of working, mooching off their son. Definitely not that.
“So, um, what do you like in your salad? Anything I should leave out? Steve didn’t really give me much to go on. I promise I asked.” She sounds like she cares whether he eats zucchini or not (not, decidedly fucking not).
“Ah, I’m not fussy, honestly. Just, you know whatever you guys usually have is fine.”
She looks over her shoulder, a little conspiratorially. “Not a big salad guy, huh? Don’t worry, neither is David. I know when I’m fighting a losing battle.”
Eddie returns the smile. He keeps throwing furtive glances outside, hoping he can just summon Steve to save him. He should be glad, to be honest, that Steve is still out there with his dad. If it was going badly he’d likely have returned by now.
Amanda keeps up the inane chatter, the small talk grating on him. This is so alien to him, so bizarre. He’s doing his best to keep up with her, though, because this isn’t about him. If they never accept him, never want to see him again, he’s fucking fine with it. But Steve loves them, and despite things being tense over the last couple of years Eddie’s pretty certain they love him.
Eddie’s sipping at his beer when he hears the knife slam against the marble countertop.
Amanda spins to face him.“Look. I’m as uncomfortable as you, okay? So why don’t we just cut the shit.”
He puts his beer down, sits up and draws his shoulders back, ready for battle. He’s been waiting for this. Unfortunately, his leg decides to spasm painfully at the same time, kind of killing the image. He hisses, clutching his thigh and doing his best to massage the pain away as if that’s all it would take. He hates this, fucking hates that it happens in front of this woman of all people.
“Are you… are you okay?” Amanda makes her way closer, and she looks like she wants to reach out to him but can’t quite bring herself to do it.
Eddie takes a deep, calming breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It just… it happens. Sometimes. It’s fine.” It’s not even close to fine but he’ll be fucked if he’s telling her that. About his constant pain, about losing one job because he couldn’t keep up with the rest of the crew, about being shit scared he’s going to lose his current job for the same reason. About how he’s pushing himself so that Steve doesn’t have to carry the load. The Harrington’s don’t get to know any of that.
Amanda nods and creeps closer to him, finally pulling out a stool and sitting at the breakfast bar with him.
“This is difficult for us. Steve and...” She gestures loosely at him, and he does his best not to tense up at that. “God I need a drink. Do you want another beer?”
He’s maxed out on his pain meds today, for all the good it did, so he really shouldn’t. Steve is particularly strict about that kind of thing. But Steve’s not here. So he nods and watches Steve’s mom pour herself a large glass of wine before returning with another beer for him. She knocks the whole thing back in under a minute.
“Steven’s my pride and joy. He was just such a gorgeous child. Kind, would scream with laughter, just so much happiness in him.” She plays with the rim of her wine glass, and swipes at the lipstick she’s left behind. “From the moment you find out you’re pregnant you think about the person they’ll grow up to be. You hope you’ll be a good parent, that you’ll do right by them. I had a life planned for Steve, in my head. He would come home with a beautiful girl one day and tell me she was the one. They’d get married, and have babies of their own. We’d have grandchildren to spoil.” Amanda smiles wistfully, watching Steve and his Dad through the kitchen window. Eddie hopes he’s okay, hopes Steve’s doing better than he is, anyway. It feels like there’s cement lining his stomach.
“Mrs Harrington—”
“No,” she says, harshly. “I’m talking now, and you’re going to listen to everything I have to say.
“I thought, Nancy Wheeler, you know her?” He nods, silently. “Nice girl. He brought her home and I could see it in his eyes, you know? Just this… light. He was happy. I thought she was the one.”
“So did Steve,” he says before he can stop himself.
“When it didn’t work out, I felt sad for him, but my boys a catch. It’s not like he was going to be alone for long. But that spark, it just fizzled out of him. He carried this… I don’t know, sadness. He’d smile, and he’d laugh, but it was always there under the surface. And then he started getting into fights, vicious ones. The Hargrove boy put him in the hospital, did you know that?”
He did know that. Eddie had spent many a night lamenting the fact he’d never get the chance to punch Billy’s smug fucking face. He doesn’t tell Amanda Harrington that, though, just scowls and nods.
She tops her wine up again. Eddie just wishes she’d get to the part where she calls him a dirty queer and cuts him a cheque if he’ll leave Steve. He wonders how many pieces he could tear it into before throwing it all over her stone floor.
“When Steve didn’t get into college, David told him to get a job. We didn’t make him pay rent, but if he wanted money he was going to have to earn it. And he did. He got that stupid job at Starcourt, got up early every day, worked the weekends. We were both so proud of him.
“And then there was the fire…” Her voice shakes, and she looks genuinely upset, and, maybe for the first time today, he feels sorry for Amanda Harrington. “We were in Indy that day, having dinner with friends. We didn’t know what had happened. We got home late and he wasn’t here, but he was eighteen years old, you know? We thought he was out with friends. We weren’t worried.”
She takes a large breath, and let’s it out slowly. “We got a call at three in the morning to tell us our son was in the hospital. And when we saw him…” Her voice catches before she looks up at Eddie. “You’re not a parent, Eddie. So you can’t know what it feels like. You don’t know fear until you nearly lose your child. And we kind of did, a little. He was never the same after that,” she says softly. She gives a sour laugh. “And then it happened again.”
“Spring break,” Eddie says. She nods sadly.
Amanda pauses and swirls what’s left of her wine in its glass. “A few months after the earthquake, or whatever it was, he walked in the door one night and he just… He had that light back in his eyes and suddenly my Steve was home. And I knew he was in love.” She smiles, and Eddie sees Steve in his mother, just how alike they are. “It was like Nancy times a hundred. He was glowing. I was so happy to see him like that. And I asked him ‘When are you bringing this mystery girl home to meet us?’ and he’d be coy, get all shy. I asked him outright if he was in love and he didn’t hesitate, just said yes with a huge smile plastered across his face, and yet he wouldn’t bring her home to us.
“And then one day he sits us down and tells us that this girl who he has fallen so deeply in love with is… is a boy.” She looks accusingly at him, and he refuses to shrink under her glare. “And suddenly everything you thought about your child, everything you had planned for them, it’s gone,” she snaps her fingers, “overnight. Now I’m not worrying about teenage pregnancy, I’m worrying about AIDS—”
“That’s not—”
“No, let me finish! Let me get this out, for Christ’s sake.” She knocks back the last of her wine. “He’s explained, all of that to us. And how you’re being… responsible. But we’re old-fashioned. Traditional. Our son coming home and declaring he’s bi — whatever it is —”
“ — sexual.”
“Whatever it is,” she glares at him, “it’s hard for us. But here’s the thing. I haven’t seen him that happy in so long. Maybe ever. You gave him his light back. You. You with your long hair and your tattoos, and your bad reputation… ” She runs out of steam, and blows out a huge puff of air. “He says you talked him into going to college.”
Eddie nods. “He’s smart,” he says, fiercely proud. “Smarter than people give him credit for.”
“He is. I’m glad someone else sees it.” She gives him a ghost of a smile and he feels wrongfooted all of a sudden, no longer sure what they’re doing. The fight he thought he was gearing up for seemingly off the cards.
“We’re getting there, Eddie. And we’ll keep trying. He loves you. And we love him. You do love him, don’t you?”
Eddie’s throat tightens and he swallows hard. “So much it hurts,” he croaks.
She smiles, a tentative thing. Fragile. “Good. We’re on a journey, David and I. I’m a little further along… but he’s getting there. We’re both getting there. I hope you’ll allow us the time to catch up.”
And what can he say to that? His own father told him he was a dirty little freak and tried to beat the gay out of him. Steve’s parents just want more time. They can give them that. Eddie can give them that.
“If it’s okay with Steve, then it’s okay with me.”
Eddie watches the tension in Amanda’s shoulders melt away, the worried frown smooths. “Good. And… thank you. For your patience. And for looking after him. All I ever wanted was for someone to love him and look after him.”
“I will always love him.” And he means it, knows in his heart that whatever might happen in the future, whatever gets thrown their way, he will always love Steve Harrington “How could I not?”
Amanda offers a shy smile and Eddie thinks maybe he’s done his job. Maybe, at the very least, she will accept them now, and try not to fight it.
She’s still smiling when she looks at the kitchen counter, at the mess of vegetables in various states of being chopped and washed. “You know what?” She gets up and grabs the vegetables, throwing them in the refrigerator with a slam of the door. She turns back to look at him, hands on hips, and Eddie bites back a smile. “Fuck the salad.” He’s open mouthed as she gestures out to the garden. “Dave doesn’t like it, Steve doesn’t like it and I’m not going to make you choke it down out of politeness.”
Amanda crosses the kitchen to him and offers her arm. “We have steps out there. If you fall Steve will kill me.”
Eddie wonders just what exactly Steve has been telling them, how infirm Steve seems to think he is and he’d be lying if it didn’t rankle him, but at the same time his mom is trying to do something nice. She thinks she’s helping. So he’s going to let her.
They walk out into the sunlight, arm in arm, and he sees Steve laughing with his Dad, they both look relaxed and happy and that’s all Eddie wanted from today. They look up as Amanda and Eddie approach, Steve locking eyes with Eddie, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Eddie smiles and nods and Steve visibly relaxes as he goes back to arguing about the best way to grill a steak.
The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly, and while it’s Steve’s Mom who does all the heavy lifting, his Dad isn’t exactly a silent partner. It feels so normal, family in-jokes and laughter and he can see how much Steve has missed this.
When they leave Amanda hugs him, giving him a warm smile, and David shakes his hand, a little longer and a little softer than the first one.
Steve starts the engine, the radio springs to life, and they head out of the driveway, back to their own home. Steve reaches across and takes Eddie’s hand in his. “Thank you,” he says, glancing away from the road for a second.
Eddie squeezes his hand. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“No, I do. I was a dick. The clothes, your hair… I’m sorry, okay? I was just…”
“Scared,” Eddie finishes for him.
Steve nods. “Scared.”
“They love you, Steve. Whatever happens. They love you, okay?”
Steve sighs, finally unburdened. "I know."
They pull up to a stop light, Tom Petty playing on the radio. Steve runs his hand through his hair, finally relaxed enough to muss it up. “Uh, Dad asked if you’d like to bring Wayne.” Steve glances across at him quickly, and then back at the stop light. “Next time?”
He’s not exactly sure what Wayne would say to an invitation to the Harringtons. But he does know that Wayne thinks the sun shines out of Steve’s ass, and there’s not much that he’d say no to if Steve was the one doing the asking.
“Sure,” Eddie says, and he reaches across to this boy, this man, that he loves so fiercely, and pulls him in for a kiss. “Next time.”
#steddie fanfic#Spotify unwrapped writing prompt#eddie munson#steve harrington#disabled eddie munson#cw period typical homophobia#cw chronic pain#cw internalised ableism#cw homophobic language#cw mention of AIDS crisis
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cw endo/chronic pain
all of my writing, fanfiction, original fiction, is just me trying to reckon with the profound injustice and horror of endometriosis and reproductive illness. woke up today and the first thing i felt was my uterus and ovaries contracting in a half-awake, half-dream state. i am not a woman and have never enjoyed fully identifying as one, yet my body sees fit to consistently remind me of the fact that i was born in a woman's body in some of the most painful ways imaginable. completely over terfs/tradwives/reactionaries insisting that being a woman is just this beautiful, magical, girly thing because it isn't. its eldritch horror and blood and pain and disassociation and transformation. it's red riding hood clawing her way from the wolf's body.
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Apparently I did NOT have enough spoons to go shopping today, just walking through the store was such a challenge.
#i am in so much pain#walked around the mall yesterday and definitely over did it#I hate not being able to just do basic things like grocery shopping without feeling like my legs are going to collapse under me#chronic pain#degenerative disc disease#sciatica#spinal stenosis#severe stenosis#spinal epidural lipomatosis#joint problems#joint pain#cane user#young disabled#disabled#spoon theory#cw chronic pain
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