#mention of chronic illness

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 63: April 1996

Gerard would almost rather be working a Latin exercise. He hates Latin—hates most of the dead languages his mother is trying to teach him, especially since being able to read them fluently will mean he has to read some of the books she’s always poring over, and he knows he doesn’t really want to do that. At least Latin uses a familiar alphabet. Ancient Greek and Sanskrit both use alphabets he has to struggle to remember. Eventually he’ll get better at them, but for now, reading them is torture.

Not nearly as much torture as being forced into helping his mother in the shop, though.

Pinhole Books, Mary Keay, Proprietor—as she always answers the phone when it rings—is small and crowded, but not cluttered. Every book on the shelves is older than Gerard himself, probably older than his mother. He’s not a child anymore—or at least he doesn’t consider himself one—and he doesn’t think his mother is as ancient as he did when he was little, but he overheard her talking to a client once and he knows she was born in 1924, so that’s still pretty old. (He’s looked it up, because he wondered, or maybe hoped, she wasn’t really his mother; having a baby at age fifty-two is rare, but hardly unheard-of.) The really old books, or at least the really rare ones, are kept in a glass cupboard behind the desk she uses as a check-out counter, and Gerard isn’t allowed to touch those. He’s not only allowed but encouraged to touch the others, though.

Right now she’s got him helping her sort through a box of books she just got in. He watches her closely, trying to take his cues from her. He needs to know if he’s supposed to be excited or disappointed or angry or confused. His mother’s expression is set into one of careful neutrality, though, and Gerard can’t penetrate it, so he silently pulls books out and looks at the covers and tries to figure out her system for stacking them. The trouble is, he doesn’t recognize the alphabet it’s written in.

“What language is this?” he finally dares to ask. It’s a gamble how she’ll react; either she’ll be pleased to impart information to him or annoyed with him for not just knowing, and he can’t begin to guess which way it’s going to go.

“Russian,” his mother replies, and that’s definitely her annoyed voice. Any second she’s going to backhand him for being stupid, and he cringes backwards instinctively. “Or so I assume. This is certainly the Cyrillic alphabet.”

“Oh.” Gerard stares at the books. Cyrillic. That’s probably another language he’s going to have to learn to read, which means another alphabet to get mixed up with. A couple of the letters look familiar, at least, which is better than usual.

The bell on the front door peals loudly, and Gerard drops the book he’s holding. His mother gives him a reproving look as she gets up. “Keep unpacking the box, Gerard,” she orders him. “I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gerard says meekly. His mother doesn’t say anything in reply, just heads for the steps to the front door.

He’s messed up. He knows he has. He’s already in hot water for having stolen the bottle of dye from under the sink and used it on his own hair; the sink, his hands, and his forehead were all stained black, and it didn’t set properly because he didn’t know what he was doing, so it’s blotchy and uneven. After yelling for almost an hour (or maybe it just felt like it), his mother gave him a choice: Shave his head completely bald and never be allowed to dye it again, or do whatever she instructs him to do exactly as instructed for the next week, in which case she won’t take his dye away if he buys his own.

Not that she gives him any pocket money, but still, he doesn’t doubt for a minute she can carry that threat out.

He concentrates on unpacking the books, as carefully as he can, setting the books on their sides so that his mother can more easily read the titles and go through them if she wants to. Murmured voices float up the stairs, and a few moments later, his mother returns, accompanied by her latest client.

Gerard peers over the box at the client. It’s a woman, which is unusual but not unheard of. He’s not sure how old she is exactly; her expression looks tired and bitter the way his mother’s does, but she seems relatively young. Her hair, ash blonde and fine, is piled in an elaborate hairdo on top of her head in a rather sad attempt to make it look thick and full, and her skin is sallow and sagging, like she was once quite fat but has lost a lot of weight in a very short amount of time. The woman is holding onto Gerard’s mother’s arm, which is also surprising—she’s not the touchy-feely sort, his mother—and looks like she’s about to collapse. The real surprise, though, is that holding her other hand is a child.

Gerard stares at the kid in unabashed, undisguised surprise and interest. It’s a boy, probably a few years younger than Gerard himself—maybe five or six? Gerard doesn’t spend a lot of time around other kids, so it’s not like he’s that good at telling. He’s short and stocky—he probably weighs more than Gerard does despite being at least a head shorter—and wears a Norfolk jacket several sizes too big for him and a matching cap that’s only saved from falling fully into his eyes by a pair of large round steel-rimmed glasses. The curls protruding from the sides of the cap are a lightly copper-kissed caramel, and the eyes behind the lenses of the glasses are a soft sour apple green. Truthfully, his coloring—apart from the freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks—is exactly what Gerard’s always wished he had instead of the nearly carrot orange hair and muddy hazel eyes he’s been cursed with, and he wants to hate this kid on sight.

The expression stops him, though. The boy looks downcast, bewildered, lost, and afraid all at once—emotions too big for such a (comparatively) small body. Looking at him, Gerard finds himself wondering if the boy’s mother is planning to sell him to Gerard’s mother, or abandon him, or trade him for a book. Or if he’s going to be used in one of the dark, terrifying rituals found in the pages of those books, or fed to one of those terrifying things his mother’s always consorting with.

He feels bad if that’s the case, but it’s not his problem, he tells himself. He can’t save the whole world. He can barely save himself. And honestly, if the kid dies before he finds out how scary and…and fucked up (Gerard’s not really supposed to curse, because gentlemen don’t use that kind of language, but he does it as often as he can in the privacy of his own head anyway) the world is, it’s probably for the best. The Fourteen don’t generally pay much attention to children—that person with the long fingers and the white smile and not much else said it was because incomplete fears are unsatisfying, whatever that means—but this kid looks like he’s going to be claimed by one or another if he lives long enough, so it’s probably a kindness if he dies now.

“Here, you sit down right here,” his mother says, her voice honey-sweet and soothing. It makes Gerard almost want to look around for where his real mother is hiding, because he’s never heard her speak like that to anyone, let alone a client. “That’s it. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please,” the woman says, her voice a mere thread. She’s got a distinctly Northern accent, and Gerard, who has hastily resumed unpacking now that his mother is back in the room, wonders if she’s a recent transplant to London or just here on a day trip.

“I’ll get that right out for you, and then we can talk.” Gerard’s mother studies the little boy, who’s no longer holding the woman’s hand but standing next to her. Gerard can’t tell if it’s protective or nerves or what that keeps him so close to his mother. “Gerard.”

“Yes, Mum?” Gerard gets to his feet hastily, expecting that she’s going to send him to make the tea. Anything to get away from the books.

He’s not remotely prepared for her next instructions. “Take this young man up to your room while Mrs. Blackwood and I have our consultation. Is that all right with you?” she adds, looking not at the boy but at his mother.

The woman nods, then suddenly pulls out a handkerchief and coughs into it for several moments. Once it subsides, she turns and fixes a steely look on the boy, who shrinks back slightly into himself. “You behave yourself, do you hear me?”

“Y-yes, Mum,” the boy stutters out.

“Don’t make me regret bringing you along.”

“Yes, Mum. I, I mean, no, Mum.” The boy looks even more terrified at that.

Gerard takes pity on him. He knows what it’s like to have a mother like that. “Come on, then. Follow me.”

Obediently, the boy falls into step behind Gerard. Gerard leads him up the stairs, down the hallway, and to almost the last door along the way. Before opening it, he hesitates, then turns to look at the boy. “You’re not…claustrophobic or anything like that, right?”

The boy frowns and silently forms a few syllables. “I don’t…know what that means.”

“Are you afraid of the B—of closed in spaces?” Gerard clarifies. “With no windows or anything?”

“N-no?” The sudden panic on the boy’s face, there and gone in a second, makes a lie out of that, though.

Gerard mentally shrugs. If it’s that big a deal, he’ll leave the door open. “Okay. Just thought I’d ask.” With that, he opens the door. “Come on in.”

He switches on the light as he steps into his room. It almost definitely used to be a storage closet of some kind; it’s relatively small, maybe three meters on each side, and it has no windows. There’s a twin bed, a dresser, a night stand, and a desk, or at least a table that Gerard uses as a desk, which is covered in art supplies. He contemplates the chair in front of it, then waves at the bed. “You can sit over there.”

The boy lets out a sigh bigger than his entire body as he steps into the room after Gerard. He sets his shoes down next to the door—Gerard hadn’t noticed him taking them off or carrying them, but then he has been behind him this whole time—and obediently comes over to hitch himself up onto the bed. After a moment, he unbuttons his jacket and takes it off, then lays it carefully in his lap, his cap on top of it. His hair is curly all over, Gerard notes, and it looks incredibly soft and fine. He feels a bit self-conscious about his own coarse, straight hair.

“I thought it would be smaller,” the boy says, looking up at Gerard with an expression of total innocence and openness that he’s not sure what to do with. “When you said…I thought, I thought it’d be like the hall closet at home. Small and dark and without a knob on the inside.”

The way he says it, so simply and matter-of-fact, makes Gerard feel sick to his stomach. His mother isn’t the greatest mother in the world, or the greatest person in the world, but…she’s never locked him in a closet with no light and no way out. As bad as she is, she’s not likely to put him in a position to draw the Buried or the Dark. Gerard puts that together with the way the boy reacted to his mother’s instructions and suddenly hopes that she is planning to leave him at Pinhole Books. Or even feed him to a Fear. Anything to get him away from her.

“No, this is my bedroom,” he says instead, trying not to sound like he’s angry. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Martin.”

“Martin,” Gerard repeats.

Martin nods. “Martin Blackwood. What’s your name?”

“Gerard. Gerard Keay.” Gerard is still turning the name Martin over and over in his head. It fits the boy like a glove—certainly better than his jacket or hat, or the shirt underneath that hangs loosely on his frame and covers half his hands.

Martin brightens and says something in a language Gerard doesn’t recognize, but it’s obviously a question. Gerard shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t speak…whatever that was.”

“Oh.” Instantly, Martin deflates and shrinks back slightly, like he’s afraid Gerard is going to hit him. “Sorry, sorry, I just—you said your name was Gerard and that’s a Polish name too, so I though, I thought maybe you spoke Polish, and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Gerard interrupts, holding up his hands. “I’m not mad at you or anything. I just didn’t understand, that’s all.” He blinks. “Are you Polish, then? No offense, but Martin Blackwood isn’t a very Polish name.”

“In Polish it’s Marcin.” Martin pronounces this MAR-cheen. “I’m British, same as you, but Granddad speaks Polish and he taught me. Russian, too. Martin is pronounced the same in Russian, but the alphabet looks different.” He suddenly snaps his mouth shut and shrinks into himself again. “Um, sorry.”

“For what?” Gerard frowns at him.

“For talking too much about boring things nobody wants to hear about?”

“You’re not talking too much. You barely talked at all,” Gerard points out. “And I want to hear about that. I don’t speak Russian either, but my mother just got a whole bunch of books in that she says are probably written in Russian, so I think it’s interesting that you know Russian. Can you read it, too, or just speak it?”

“I can read it, too. O-or I can read it as g—as well as I can read English, and Polish too.” Martin makes a face. “I’m only seven. Miss Taylor—she was my teacher last term—she says I read ahead of my age, but still.” He looks up at Gerard again. “Do you like to read? What languages do you read?”

“English, mostly, but I’m learning a few other languages.” Gerard shrugs. “I don’t read for fun all that much. Mostly it’s just for my studies.”

“Where do you go to school?”

“My mother teaches me at home.”

“Oh.” Martin picks at his coat for a moment. Before Gerard can ask him anything, he looks up again and adds, “How old are you?”

“N—” Gerard stops. “Wait, what time is it?”

Martin twists his arm and pushes his sleeve back, revealing a wristwatch on a brown leather strap. He moves his lips silently for a few moments, then looks up at Gerard with a triumphant expression. “Eleven thirty-seven.”

Well, Gerard’s mother always said he was born in the morning, so it’s close enough to not being morning anymore that he’s officially passed the right time. Probably. Most likely. “In that case, I’m ten now.”

“Today’s your birthday?” Martin looks surprised and delighted.

“Yeah.” Not that Gerard’s mother ever really acknowledges it, other than to add a year to the you’re too old for this behavior lecture.

Before Gerard can ask when Martin’s birthday is—not necessarily because he cares, more because he’s still trying to figure out this whole polite conversation thing—Martin sits up straighter, takes a deep breath, and launches into a song. It sounds enough like the language he talked in earlier that Gerard guesses it’s a Polish song, and it sounds happy enough, but he can’t translate it.

That actually matters less than Gerard would have thought, because he’s absolutely captivated by Martin’s voice. Gerard can sing along to recordings just fine, when he wants to, but when he’s singing by himself it never sounds quite right. Martin’s singing, though, is sweet and true.

“That was really good,” he says when Martin finishes. “What was that song?”

“Um, I think it’s called ‘Sto Lat’? Granddad sings it on my birthday every year. Here, I—” Martin looks embarrassed, and instead he sings the English “Happy Birthday” song. It’s a lot easier for Gerard to tell that this one is sung absolutely correctly. For a seven-year-old, Martin’s got a really good talent.

Also, and Gerard would rather be subjected to the direst torture than admit this out loud, it’s the first time anyone has ever sung the song to him.

“Thanks, Martin,” he says, and Martin’s face lights up. “You’ve got a really nice voice.”

Martin’s cheeks turn pink, and he ducks his head bashfully. “Thank you. I, um, I was in the chorus at my old school.”

“Not at your new one? Why’d you switch schools?”

“Oh—um—well, M-Mum and I just moved to London.” That fast, Martin’s gaze drops, and his shoulders slump. “I, we used to live in Devon, and that’s a long way to go to school, so…”

Gerard mentally congratulates himself on having figured out they weren’t originally Londoners. “How come? I mean, how come you moved here?”

“Mum’s sick. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. But she says there are—there are specialists in London that can help her get better. So we moved here.” Martin frowns. “I thought we were going to see one today, but—your mum’s not a doctor, is she?”

“No, she’s a bookseller.” Gerard really, really hopes his mother isn’t the “specialist” Mrs. Blackwood wants to consult, because that means that whatever is wrong with her is something supernatural, and that won’t be good for Martin either. He changes the subject. “So what do you like to do for fun?”

By the time Gerard’s mother comes into his room to tell them it’s time for lunch, which the Blackwoods are apparently staying for, Gerard has taught Martin how to play Gin and Martin is ahead by about thirty points. Gerard isn’t even letting him win.

He looks down at Martin’s bright smile and shining eyes turned up to him as they head out of his room, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it won’t be such a bad thing if this kid hangs around a little bit longer. Maybe Gerard can keep him from getting hurt, or falling too deep into the Fourteen, or finding out about them at all.

It’s something he can think about, anyway.

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) #tma fanfic #gerard keay #martin blackwood #emotional abuse #verbal abuse #implied/referenced child abuse #claustrophobia #mention of chronic illness

[anxious-and-in-pain]

it’s okay to do things that make your symptoms worse (as long as you’ll stay safe)

every once in a while you need to eat something yummy. or go on a walk. or a trip to the zoo. take a hot shower. cry your eyes out. dance. listen to music. draw for way to long. write. laugh. sit in a cafe with a friend. paint your nails. dye your hair. go on a run. pet a cat

sometimes you need to do things that are cathartic or make yourself feel alive. sometimes you need the reminder of why you’re fighting so hard to stay alive

this is your reminder that just because it makes your symptoms worse, it isn’t always the wrong thing to do. there can be value in these actions

#chronically ill #chronic illness #chronic pain #fibromyalgia #spoonie #fibro #ibd #central sensitization #disabled #myposts #chronic fatigue #cat #disability #chronic fatigue syndrome #actually chronically ill #cfs #cfs/me #food mention

[ink-asunder]

We NEED to reevaluate how we view people with "red flags" that don't actually indicate harm to anyone. Things like "doesn't like animals," "doesn't have pets," "my pets immediately distrust them, so that means they're Secretly Evil."

I have a psychotic disorder. I suffer from flat affect. I have zero control over how I am emoting, and very often my emotional readout is completely blank. A LOT of animals (dogs especially) have exhibited aggression and fear around me ever since this started. (There are only TWO dogs I've met in the last five years that didn't BITE ME.) Dogs are unsettled by me because of a symptom of my psychosis--a condition that is out of my control that IS NOT DANGEROUS and doesn't harm anyone.

I also have a severe autoimmune disease and severe allergies to basically all animals. Whenever I tell people I can't come over because they have pets, or I don't have/want pets of my own, the IMMEDIATE response I always get is "why don't you like animals?" So I'm always pretty pissed off when I have to say, "I'm severely allergic. Don't fucking assume I have an undesireable quality just because I'm not a pet owner."

Another ableist red flag we need to talk about is "has no other friends/all their friends break up with them." Hi. I'm physically disabled with a digestive disease and a degenerative disease in my spine. That means my dietary restrictions are stupid and I can't sit/stand/walk for more than 15 minutes without being in pain. Most of the friends I break up with, I do so BECAUSE THEY ARE INCREDIBLY ABLEIST TO ME with no visible potential of changing. From people relentlessly harrassing me about lifestyle changes to not accepting correction or feedback when I tell them "hey, you CAN'T do x because it triggers y condition." If they argue or blow me off, I'm not their fucking friend!

Tl;dr: Disabled, chronically ill, and people with "scary" mental illnesses are often lumped in with "bad people" for characteristics that hurt no one and aren't in their control. Stop using "my dog is uncomfortable around them" as a litmus test for everyone you hang out with.

#chronic illness #disabled #disability #chronic pain #ableism #saneism #not to mention that its literally dangerous for disabled and psychotic people to be isolated and demonized. #its not just that no one want to be my friend. its that people are that much closer to putting me in danger because i dont fit- #-their standard of a 'good person.'

[justflesh54]

its my body surely i have the right to harm it if i wish ???

#actually bpd #cvtaddict #self h@rm #self mutalition #slef harm #tw self destructive behavior #sh mention #styroblr #hitting styro #cutt1ng #chronically ill #i want to cvt

[labmousegirl]

are you disabled or suffer from other chronic conditions that often leave you bed bound? do you often feel like you’re in the “damn bitch you live like this?” meme because cleaning is too exhausting?

my protip is get yourself one of THESE bad boys and hang it by your bed

it’s an over the door shoe rack and the pockets are perfect for holding a lot of household objects.

you can use the pockets to store trash, snacks, meds, and water bottles. if you worry about hygiene, you can also keep some for dry shampoo, deodorant, body wipes, clean undergarments, or toothbrush materials. on good days, you can clean it out and restock it, or have someone else help you. on bad days, you won’t have to worry about getting food and you’ll be able to feel a little better about hygiene.

it’s also really great if you want to keep your hobbies close by!! i can often only work on my bed, and then i have to worry about putting everything away if i have to lay down. if it’s a hobby that has materials that can be stored in the pockets, it can feel more accessible to jump in and out of and take less spoons to set/clean up.

#spoonie #chronic illness #chronic pain #chronic fatigue #disability #tagging for exposure bc i want this tip to get out it helped me a lot #feel like shit today might as well share this tip so i feel sort of productive #worth mentioning i suffer from chronic illness and fatigue that they’re still testing (altho medicating under the assumption of narcolepsy) #but i have trouble sitting and standing for long periods so i spend a lot of time in bed and so whenever my bed gets gross i feel gross #so this is based on chronic fatigue mostly

[cistematicchaos]

I don’t want to sound mean or some shit when talking about how exercise shouldn’t be randomly suggested to disabled people period but I also want it to be clear I’m not just saying that shit in a fit of anger. 

Both my sister and brother were almost killed because doctors would rather push them to keep exercising on the regular than figure out what the hell was going on with their health. I have numerous family members who’ve died because no one gave a shit about their health as long as they keep up “regular” things like exercise. I was guilted into exercising to “manage” my “issues” until I couldn’t even walk and then I was guilted some more. I didn’t even know I had asthma until I was seventeen and someone told me that light running wasn’t supposed to be horribly painful and restrict your breathing. And that’s only a nice chunk of my reasons! 

Like, it’s dangerous, period. I don’t care if we’re talking about mental health or physical health, telling people to exercise when you don’t even know what they’re dealing with, telling people that exercising is The Way to manage their disabilities, telling people they need to exercise or else “of course you feel bad!” is dangerous. I’m not trying to be dramatic but I’m not lying when I say it kills us. It hurts us. Exercise isn’t inherently healthy and even if it was, some of us CANNOT meet your standards of health! Just. Listen to us. Please.

#disability #actually disabled #cripple life #actually mentally ill too #actually neurodivergent as well #i will never meet the standard of health an #i just #mmhhh #someone say this makes sense please #chronic illness #chronic disabilities #asthma #chaos is speaking #ableism #death mention

[gabbagepatch]

Having subjective symptoms is very isolating because there is no way for others to witness what you're going through. They just have to trust you and you have to trust them to believe you. I know everyone in my life believes it, but they don't get it. I expressed to my therapist that I feel that all of these symptoms begin rattling around in my head and it creates a barrier between me and others.

My world: hurting, trying not to show it, coping with pain, fearful, etc

Their world: normal, uneventful, happy evening

It's very difficult to have something happening to you that nobody else can see.

#disability #disabled #hearing impaired #chronic illness #meniere's disease #hard of hearing #chronically ill #invisible illness #chronic migraine #chronic disability #chronic pain #illness tw #illness mention #spoonie

[akindplace]

This is a reminder for you to take the medication prescribed to you if you’re feeling sick, instead of trying to push through without it. Don’t wait until your pain gets too high and intolerable. You don’t need to prove to anyone you’re sick enough to get help, to go to the doctor, to get proper medication. Most people don’t live in pain daily, and it’s okay to need something to soothe that. You’re not weaker for needing it. You’re not a burden or an annoyance when you ask for help. You don’t need to break down before you get help, to wait until it gets “bad enough” to have any relief.

You deserve take care of your body, and it’s not morally wrong to need assistance, you don’t need to do it all on your own and it doesn’t mean you failed. I’m sorry someone made you feel like it was a bad thing to take medication, as if you had no control over yourself, as if you were being dramatic. You don’t have to prove your pain to them, but you need to validate what you feel and seek proper care. Please take care. You’re not meant to live in constant pain.

#disability #chronic illness #ableism mention #self-care #self-worth #on being human #perfectionism #validation #reminder #original writing

[liberaljane]

There’s no shame in living with HIV.

Digital illustration of a queer man of color. He’s wearing a Keith Haring inspired shirt with figures, khaki pants, and a beige sweater. Text reads, ‘There’s no shame in living with HIV.’

#art #feminism #feminist #illustration #feminist art #hiv #health justice #healthcare #lgbtqia #lgbt #hiv/aids #aids #aids mention #reproductive justice #reproductive rights #chronic illness #living with hiv

[chronicallydragons]

Not enough heating pad for the ouchie so I’m just rolling around like a rotisserie chicken

#*microwave noises* #PEM’s got HANDS today #chronic illness #fibromyalgia #me/cfs #disability #gastroparesis #migraine #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #chronic fatigue #chronic pain #pots #PEM #ouchie #rotisserie chicken #food mention #cw food #hEDS #ehlers danlos syndrome #MCAS #interstitial cystitis #am i dying?

[bebsi-cola]

i have some discontent about the narrative "we will all end up disabled" "it is likely that you will be disabled before you die" and "you are only one accident away from disability" to convince people to care about us disabled people.

human health is fragile and it is very possible to become disabled, even severely disabled, when previously abled. but the sort of care and activism that will arise from "it could happen to you too" won't be helpful to disabled people. it isn't, for example, helpful to disabled people who were born disabled, and have been told many times by eugenicists that they should not have been allowed to exist. it also undermines the experience of disabled people who in their childhood, teens, twenties, thirties, are living a completely different lifestyle compared to their abled peers. people who only care about eventual poor health will not care about these young disabled people. will not care about the rights and autonomy of disabled children, will not care about accessibility in schools or playgrounds etc.

abled people also have the illusion that even if it could happen to them, it won't. most people do not think they will become permanently disabled. telling them they might will not change this assumption, because there are many many misconceptions and untruths about disability. on some level many people may still believe that disability will be a consequence of doing something wrongly.

finally people should care about us even if they will never ever experience ableism, disability, or poor health in their lifetime. this is true for many groups. my white friends care if i experience racism even if they don't. abled who never will experience ableism shouldn't need to be reminded, persuaded, coerced into caring about disabled people

#bebsi posting #disability #physically disabled #cripple punk #chronic illness #eugenics mention

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

The Grand A-Z List of Whump 1/3

This list contains ~290 items listed A to H

As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing. Whump is generally a 'dead dove' sort of topic, however it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This lists intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.

This part one-of-three comprehensive lists of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!

All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.

[I-Q] [R-Z] [NSFW List]

List below the cut:

#

"I don't need your help."

"I'm doing this to make you better"

"I'm fine, take care of them!"

“I’m Fine”

"Kill me instead"

"Let me in."

"Look at me."

"Should I know you?"

"Take me instead."

(No) Anaesthetic

A

A Good Ol' Sickfic

Abandoned

Abdominal Pain

Aching Wounds

Acne

Adrenaline Crash

Adrift (in space/at sea)

Agoraphobia

Airsickness

Alien abduction

Allergies

Alopecia

Ambulance Ride

Ambush

Amnesia/memory loss

Amputations

Anaemia

Anesthesia

Angina (Heart condition that causes pain)

Animal Attack/Bite

Ankle Sprain

Anthrax

Anxiety/Anxiety attack(s)

Aphasia

Appendicitis

Arrested

Arthritis

Asking for help

Asphyxiation

Assumed Dead

Asthma/Asthma Attack

Auctions

Autoimmune disease

Avalanches

B

Backache

Bad Caretakers

Bandaged Head

Banished

Barbed Wire

Bear trap

Beaten up by ex-friends

Beaten with blunt object (i.e, bat or pipe)

Beatings

Bedrest

Bedside Vigil/Hospital Vigil

Begging

Betrayed by close friend/team/family

Bites (Animal, Bug, Human….)

Biting

Black Eye

Blackmail

Bleeding Out

Bleeding Through

Bandages

Blindfolded

Blindness (this could be temporary or permanent)

Blisters

Blood Loss

Blood Poisoning

Bloodied Knuckles

Bloodstains/blood trail

Bloody handprints

Bloody nose

Blunt force trauma

Blurred vision

Body modification

Body Sharing

Body Switching

Bounty on their head

Brain Damage

Brainwashing

Breakdowns

Breathless

Bridal Carry

Broken Bones (Ribs, Arm, Leg)

Broken Nose

Broken Promises

Bronchitis

Bruises

Building Collapse

Bullet Removal

Bumpy roads jarring injuries

Buried Alive

Burning Building

Burns/Scalding

Busted kneecap

C

Cancer

Caning

Capgras syndrome/delusion (belief that someone close to/important to the person has been replaced by an imposter)

Capsulitis

Captivity

Captured

Car chases (and maybe a car crash)

Carbon monoxide poisoning

Cardiac Arrest

Caretaker has to “play nice” with whumper.

Caretaker has to hurt whumpee while undercover.

Caretaker sacrificing something dear to them to get something the whumpee needs.

Caretaker turned Whumpee

Caretaker-whumper who's a parental whumper. But their "love" is not real love. Or even right treatment.

Carsickness

Cataracts

Catatonia

Caught in a fire

Caught in an explosion

Cauterization

Cave In

Cavity

Celebrity whump (exploitation in the music/movie industries…)

Chaffing from ropes/handcuffs/shackles

Chained/Shackled

Checking for injuries

CHF - congestive heart failure

Chicken Pox

Chills

Chloroform

Choking

Chronic pain

Claustrophobia

Cleaning wounds alone

Cold/Flu,

Collapsed Lung

Collapsing (into someone’s arms is usually nice, bonus points for cradling their head as they lower the whumpee to the floor)

Collapsing after they win

Collapsing/Fainting/Passing Out

Collars

Coma

Comfort after a nightmare

Common cold

Completely betrayed by their own team

Complications

Concussion

Confusion

Constipation

Constricted Airways

COPD - Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease makes breathing increasingly more difficult.

Corporal Punishment

Corset too tight and won’t unbutton

Coughing

Coughing Up Blood

CPR

Cramps

Crikes (intubation through neck)

Crush injury

Crying

Cuddle pile

Curses

Cuts/Grazes

Cutting off hair (more of an emotional hurt)

Cyanide poisoning

D

Damaged Larynx/Vocal Cords

De-aging

Deathbed Confessions (don’t have to actually die and stay dead, just the threat of dying)

Defeat

Defenestration (throwing out a window)

Dehydration

Deja Vu

Delirium (bonus points for this being drug/ fever induced)

Deluded whumper/thinking they’re helping the whumpee

Dengue Fever

Denial

Depression

Dermatitis

Diabetes (type 1 and 2)

Diarrhea

Diseases ('mystery' diseases are the best kind)

Dislocations

Disorientation

Disowned by Family

Displaced hip

Dissociation

Distress call

Dizziness

Dragged Away

Dream sequence

Driving to the hospital with a whumpee slumped barely-conscious in the seat of the car

Drowning

Drunkenness

E

Ear Infection

Edema (swelling from build up of fluid)

EKG

Electrical Burns

Electrical shock

Electrocution

Emergency field surgery

Emergency Surgery

Emotional angst

Emotional manipulation

Endometriosis

Enemy to Caretaker

Energy Drain

Environmental whump

ER

Execution

Exes reunited with one wanting a relationship and the other just wanting friendship.

Exhaustion

Experimentation

Exposure

Extreme Weather

Eye injury

F

Facing Phobias

Failed Escape

Failure to thrive

Fainting

Fainting (but also fainting aftermath) / Fainting due to lack of sleep, food, or overworking fainting from exhaustion

Falling

Falling for Caretaker/Whumpee/Whumper

Falling Through Ice

Fatigue/Exhaustion

Fever

Fibromyalgia (Chronic Pain)

Field medicine

Fighting (while injured)

Financial difficulty faced + how whumper might take advantage of that + how caretaker handles everything (well/badly)

Finding your loved one dead without explanation but thinking they’re still alive.

Fireman's carry

Flare ups

Flashbacks

Flinching away

Flu

Food Poisoning

Forced to... (Break out, Choose, Hurt, Kneel, Scream, Watch)

Forehead kisses

Forgotten by team

Foul-tasting medicine

Found family

Found unconscious

Fracture (Arm, Hyoid bone etc)

Freezing / cold whump

Friendly Fire

Frostbite

G

Gagged/Muzzled

Gangrene infection

Gaslighting

Gas (noxious, poisonous etc)

Gastritis

Glass (shards, debris etc)

Grief

Gunshot Wound

H

Hair Pulling/Cutting/Matting/Stroking

Hallucinations

Hanahaki

Handcuffs

Handgag

Hard ground

Haunted

Hay Fever

Head injuries/concussion

Head trauma

Headache/Migraine

Heart Palpitations

Heartburn

Heat Exhaustion

Heatstroke

Heavy metal poisoning

Held at gunpoint/knifepoint/weapon point

Hematohidrosis (Sweating blood)

Hemophilia/Hematophilia (Blood unable to clot)

Haemothorax

Hernia

Hidden Illness/Injury/Scar/Medical Issues

Hiding

High Blood Pressure

High Fever (like dangerously high)

High Pain Tolerence

Hit by a car

Home Sickness

Hospital Codes

Hostage Situation

House burnt down

Huddling for Warmth

Human Shield

Human Weapon

Hunger

Hungover

Hunted for Sport

Hurt no comfort

Hyperalgesia,

Hypermobility

Hyperventilating

Hypo/Hyperthermia

Hypo/Hyperthyroidism

Hypoglycemia

Hypotension/ Hypertension

Hypoxia

TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)

@I-eat-worlds | @greygullhaven | @letsgowhump | @cyberwhumper @firapolemos05 | @originaldeerhottub | @whumpilicious | @drawing-dinos82 | @carenrose | @stellarinuscronicles | @gottheseasonalblues | @marvelflame2010 | @sowhumpful | @avamcu | @courtneygacha | @lordofthewhumps | @autismmydearwatson | @kuddelmuddell | @the-most-handsome-ginger | @whirls-and-swirls | @painsandconfusion

#whump #a-z trope list #prompts #a to h #long post #extra long post #depression tw #anxiety tw #chronic illness mention #gun tw #angst #hurt #injury #illness #cancer tw #illness tw #alcohol tw #violence tw #medical tw

[disabledopossum]

Image description:

Text reads:

"Ableism looks like calling people ‘inspiring’ for navigating asystem that is designed for exclusion, while doing nothing to hold the system accountable."

- Carson Tueller

#Ableism #disability rights #disabilities #abelism #disability #ableism tw #ableism cw #ableism in media #ableism discussion #ableism mention #disability justice #chronically ill

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

I've been talking a lot about chronic health conditions and how they affect peoples' experiences of food, and I think that there's an important discussion that needs to be had about how two things can be possible at once. Somebody's specific health needs re: food can cause them to have serious, unpleasant symptoms if they do not carefully monitor their diet. This sucks, it affects their lives significantly, and their experiences are very real. It also doesn't make that food universally evil. When these experiences make their way into mainstream conversations around the "right" way to eat, it comes to blow up into this major diet-culture house of mirrors where every food is potentially the next inflammatory carcinogen out to kill you. So here's the thing: multiple truths can exist at the same time.

Diabetics need to carefully monitor their sugar consumption and blood sugar levels AND that does not make sugars evil or bad.

Celiacs need to avoid even trace amounts of gluten touching their food or else they will experience dire, lasting health consequences AND the use of gluten as a buzzword has contributed to a great deal of disordered eating AND gluten is not an inherently evil component of food.

Lactose intolerant people may have some pretty unpleasant experiences with dairy AND dairy-containing products are a perfectly adequate way to get calories and nutrients into your body.

Some people experience allergic reactions to food dyes AND food dye is not inherently the root of all health disorders.

It's really important to practice eating intuitively with the foods that work for YOU - and, if need be, with the help of qualified medical professionals who are familiar with your health history and your needs.

#chronic illness #diet culture #orthorexia #food mention #food purism #diet industry

[murielsbottombitch]

"you're faking your disability for attention"

why would I spend a bunch of money on mobility aids just for attention?

I could spend that money on an onlyfans model and get much more attention.

#tw ableism #ableism #tw fakeclaiming #anti fakeclaiming #fakeclaiming mention #fakeclaiming cw #fuck fakeclaimers #fakeclaiming #chronic disability #chronic fatigue #chronic illness #chronically ill #chronic pain #cripplepunk #spoonie #text post

[phleb0tomist]

the recent surge of articles on severe ME is shattering my heart. we’re looking at a live, ongoing portfolio of the NHS’s failure to protect young ME patients, the same failures that cast a shadow over both my childhood and my current life, and it’s so wild that things aren’t changing. there’s no repair, no apology for the highly preventable suffering or the deaths, which are mostly young women.

the improper care of ME patients isn’t because of a lack of funding, it’s because of ignorance & stubbornness. the bare minimum of appropriate care to prevent a severe ME patient from getting worse is to allow them to be somewhere dark, quiet, lying down, hydrated & fed, and somehow the NHS can’t even provide that. my main shred of hope is that this is finally being reported and i wonder if that will be the catalyst for a little bit of repair. i’m desperate to believe it will be

#feel free to reblog. it means a lot that ppl are becoming aware #txt #negative #medical trauma #medical. #severe myalgic encephalomyelitis #myalgic encephalomyelitis #chronic illness #starvation tw #death mention #let me know if more trigger tags are required