Mafia BTS reacting to you turning them into the police because their rival gang is holding your family hostage
Anonymous said: BTS reaction to you, their s/o, having to turn them in because their rival gang is holding their s/o’s family member?? xx
this is my first time writing so i hope you guys like it!
Jin wouldn’t be mad that you turned him in, he would just be so terribly sad. How could you, his jagi not only put him out of work, but got him stuck in prison. But, when you called and told him about your family being held hostage, he wasn’t as sad. He called his men and told them to get him the best lawyer they could find and get him out of there.
Yoongi, unlike Jin was pissed off. If you had just told him about your family the two of you could be laying in your bed together, but he was now laying in a cell. You had told him how sorry you were and that was your family but all he could say to you was:
“But aren’t I family too?”
Hoseok sat in the psych ward, what you told him made him go crazy, he threw and broke things, and he even tried to kill himself, what was the point of living knowing that his true love had even turned on him. He was so discouraged about what happened that he even stopped eating, so he was fed through tubes. You tried to make things right by getting a lawyer and you even got him out, but his trust for you had diminished into thin air when he got pull out of his home.
Namjoon wouldn’t believe you turned him in, he would try to find out who put him in their, but every trace came back to you. When realization finally hit him, every emotion hit him at once; sadness, anger guilt, envy, and many more. And when he finally talked to you and he found out why you put him in their, he got very soft but mad.
“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have done it together, now I’m here…”
Jimin looked at you in disbelieve that you had done this to him. It had been a normal night when he got dragged out of his home, you had repeatedly said ‘I’m so sorry Jimin.’ while he got dragged away.
Saying Jimin was mad was an under statement, the first day he was in prison he went down solitary confinement for beating a man up. But once he left confinement, he wouldn’t act up till his boys got him out of there, til that time, your betrayal would be the only thing on his mind.
He would keep his calm until he found out it was you who put him away. Getting put in by some rival didn’t compare to his jagi putting him away. Anytime you would come to visit he wouldn’t come and see you, to disappointed to see your face.
Despite Jungkook’s powerful persona, he would be devastated that you did this to him. He didn’t even care about being in jail, no one messed with him anyways, but that fact that you did this to him made it hurt 500% more than if it were any rival. And if you visited him and tried to talk, he would break down into tears before you could go deep enough into the conversation
Hi! I hope you guys all liked this, I loved writing this to be honest (especially hobi’s part!) ~ Admin Pipes
also uh Heres The Thing im really tryna ship hannibal and will but its difficult when they don’t really have chemistry… im on 2x03 is their supposed subtext going to come later or am i just not seeing it?
last time i made a random hannibal text post with no substance or meaning it got 40+ notes so i know u fannibals see this please answer
some sort of Winter Soldier Obi Wan? where Anakin almost falls but doesn't and Obi Wan's disappeared
*finger guns* IT’S THE FIRST TIME I’M SHARING ANY OF MY WRITING VAGUELY RESEMBLING THE WINTER SOLDIER, Y'ALL. SOMEONE BRING OUT THE CHAMPAGNE.
Also, Palps is speaking High Sith fyi. Russian doesn’t exist in Star Wars, so…next best thing? Yeah.
Being awoken from cryogenic hibernation was a always gradual process.
It was always his hearing that came back first. The echo of voices outside his capsule, the creaking hydraulics of it being opened, the click-hiss of the respirator locked around his nose and mouth, pumping oxygen down his throat with a long tube.
Next came physical feeling. A prickling sensation that graduated to fire eating away at him just beneath his skin. Tubes fed into his skin, injecting him wit what he assumed, when he was finally awake enough *to* assume anything, whatever chemical agents were used to wake him up. It was always in these first few moments after being awoken that he was also most acutely aware of his arm, or, really, what remained of it.
He arms and legs were always bound down beneath thick metal bars, and always, inevitably, he broke through them. He’d bring his hands to his face, and the right would be cold, sensationless.
His eyes always seemed to finally decide to work right around this point. They would blink open like a baby’s, and what came into focus would be a durasteel hand with servos instead of joints.
His mind would rebel at the sight, and whenever his mind rebelled, it would always reach out to the one thing he knew should always be with him: the Force.
But it wasn’t.
It never was anymore.
Understanding comes when the man in the black hood comes. The man’s eyes are golden, his face a mass of ungainly scars, and he always speaks the same words, in an ancient tongue that he (who am I? he always wonders at this point, with the name, a definition of himself, seeming just out of reach) doesn’t understand, but the words still strike a cord within him.
With each word, drawled out by a voice that seems just short of laughing, the inumerable shields around his mind, around his memories, around his every sense of self, tighten. It’s suffocating.
Yet when the last word comes, it goes blank. All of it, and he knows who he is.
He is the Soldier.
The man in the hood grins, and asks in a language the Soldier can understand.
The Soldier raises his head, and his eyes are a dead, cold blue. “Ready to comply,” he replies, in a voice gruff from disuse, and the man in the hood’s smile grows.
The Soldier’s mission is simple: he’s to hunt down a radical former Jedi attempting to bring together a Rebellion. It’s a simple job.
He doesn’t remember it, but he’s done it a hundred times before.
The Soldier makes his way easily through the Rebel compound, using every weapon available, from blasters to his metal arm to the lightsaber gifted to him by his handler, the man in the hood, his Emperor, to cut his way straight to the Jedi in charge of it all.
The man that stands in the final room has a metal arm as well, long dark hair, a scar bisecting one eye, and a look of shock that’s different from the usual ones the Soldier is used to.
Something about this Anakin Skywalker is off, but the Soldier has a mission, and he will see it through.
He stalks forward with lightsaber in hand, and Skywalker ignites his own. That strange look is still trained on the Soldier.
“So it was true,” Skywalker says, blinking once as he takes a step forward. His throat visibly bobs as he swallows. “He did this to you. I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan.”
The Soldier shifts his lightsaber higher, preparing to strike, and says, “Who the hells is Obi-Wan?”
On Thursday morning I had my first DEXA scan and BMR/RMR analysis. I decided to do this as I’m a guy who likes to track progress with numbers, and the scale isn’t doing that for me any more.
It cost $100, which includes the dietician consult afterwards which is pretty good - cheapest I found in my area, in fact. They were also very trans-inclusive, and printed my results out in both male and female sexes.
To complete my RMR analysis, I was fitted with a mask and instructed to lay down. The mask was quite tight and covered my nose and mouth. Attached to the mask was a tube that fed into a small machine.
The test was about 11 minutes long and included a 1 minute sample period where the physician ensures you are breathing normally so that your results come out accurately. In my case I was breathing too deeply, and once I corrected this the proper test started.
The result was surprising - my RMR/BMR is 2103 cals a day! Which, for a man is at the high end of normal. For a woman, it is actually considered a fast metabolism.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with DEXA scans, it’s basically a large xray of your entire body at different exposures. You lay on a bed, the camera is above you and the bed and camera move around to get your whole body in the image. The outcome is some pretty pictures of your body and a whole lot of stats like body fat and lean mass to go with it. I’ve included some screenshots taken from my report to give you an example of what to expect, but there’s much more information than I’ve provided here.
Body fat and visceral adipose tissue
My body fat is at 25.9% which is better than I was expecting. So, to reach a target of 20% body fat which would put me in the healthy range of body fat, I need to lose 4.8kg of body fat. The dietician did say they prefer not to use that measure, and instead calculated that using the Fat Mass Index, I’d actually only need to lose about 3.5kg of body fat to fall into the target index range. I’m currently at 7.1, and the range is 3-6.
My estimated visceral adipose tissue (VAT) score was 75.7, which is well within the normal range (under 100). From my understanding, VAT is the tissue that our surgeons are concerned about before they operate as it can make the surgery difficult, hence why most of us have to go on a pre-op shake diet.
Surprisingly, my score on the Lean Mass Index is 19.4, and the target range is 18-21. So, I’m pretty much in the middle of that one - I was expecting to be on the low side given my biology, poor nutrition and lack of meaningful exercise.
One of the interesting things to note was that despite being left handed, my right arm has more muscle. The dietitian was surprised and confused by this.
Bone mineral density
We didn’t really go through this in detail, however I am within the normal range - in fact, on the higher end. As most WLS patients know, bone mineral density and osteoporosis are concerns due to our nutritional requirements so it’s good to know where I stand at this point in my journey.
Right now I’m a pretty average dude. I hope to see this change over time as I get more focused on fitness. I’ve passed these reports onto my personal trainer and the nutritionist who works for the PT studio I go to, and they are going to work on some eating goals with me as it’s apparent I’m not eating enough. Depending on how that goes, I may also touch base with my bariatric dietitian but I feel her goals are a little out of touch with what I’m trying to achieve.
I would 100% recommend that any of you on a weight loss or strength building journey have one of these scans and/or the BMR/RMR analysis. For me it’s been a good motivator, especially in modifying my diet. As some of you know, I have struggled with the number of calories I eat (somewhat disordered eating), so seeing a number of 2,103 for my BMR/RMR has highlighted the fact that I need to eat more and that it’s okay to fuel my body.
I wish I had of done this earlier in my journey. I’ll be having another scan in about 8 weeks, maybe 12.
@fatmaninalittlesuit I’ve tagged you in this because I know you’re a numbers guy and I feel like you would enjoy doing something like this for yourself at some point if you haven’t already.
Summary: In 2000, John Winchester opened the door to his current motel room and found a little girl at his feet, sleeping peacefully with a fuzzy white blanket tucking her in a wicker basket. Now, nearly 16 years later, (Y/N) has still yet to find herself in the world of the Winchesters.
Warnings: Angst, character loss (Scrubs references in case you don’t know the show)
A/N: Sorry, I meant to publish this last night but things have been busy with social life, job hunting and not freezing. Enjoy!
(Y/H/T) - your home town
Sacred Heart hospital’s ER is filled with nurses and doctors rushing around in the hallways, and Dean can’t help but feel they’re doing nothing to save his sister while he paces back and forth in front of the bed. Sam sits in the chair near the top of the bed with his head down and his hands in his lap. Mary watches from the threshold as her boys fall apart while they struggle to believe the girl in the bed is fighting with everything she has.
The slow beeping of the heart monitor pulls the on the brothers’ nerves.
“Why-why would she do this?” Dean asks again, stopping in his tracks to watch his pale sister breathing out of a tube and being fed through an IV.
“Dean…” Sam sighs, looking up and resting his back against the chair. He runs a hand through his hair. “We should’ve seen this.”
“How? She was gone for seven months,” Mary points out, making her way into the room to take a seat near her youngest. “Boys, this isn’t your fault.”
“We shut her out, mom,” Dean says, running a hand over his face. “We were trying to protect her.”
“How is she?” Castiel questions, entering the hospital room and glancing in the young girl’s direction.
“She’s in a coma.”
“Sam, Dean, I found this in the bathroom,” Cas says, removing a small piece of paper from his trench coat pocket and handing it over to Dean. Sam stands and peers over his brother’s shoulder to read the note.
God, I have no idea how to start this. There’s so much you need to know, so much I want to tell you. Well, first off, I found what I was looking for while I was gone, and might I say it wasn’t what I expected. Dean, do you remember that summer dad left me with you and I asked about our mom? You told me we didn’t have the same one, and then I asked about him… asked you if he was my dad too. At the time, you were just protecting me, but you were right. I’m your half sister. My mother, Hazel, made a deal with a demon to prove she was the strongest sorceress and could take down anyone. Her task was to kill our father, but instead she fell in love him and became pregnant with me. She passed the gene on to me… and things have been weird for me. You might’ve seen articles about them, but there have been two incidents I caused. First happened before I left, in the cafeteria of school. The windows were blown out, but what the articles didn’t say was that mirrors fell from the ceiling and the children wearing glasses had to take them off because the glass was cutting their eyes. Then there was the incident just outside of Oklahoma at a diner, the women’s bathroom was flooded because the sinks were blown off the pipes and the mirrors were broken. I caused these. The one at school was just because I was angry at a girl and I restrained myself from punching her. The second one happened because I was in pain and it would stop, so I screamed. My grandmother says I’m a ticking time bomb since I never learned to control it. If that wasn’t reason enough to get rid of me, then you should know I learned something dark about myself. I was offered a deal, I kill you two and I get my mother in return. I was going to do it. I was planning it. And I’m sorry. I’m a trader. I don’t belong. I only stopped when your mom came into the room and you two had those stupid smiles on your faces, I realized just how much of an idiot I am. I was going to sacrifice two of the only people I care about just to try to have something I can never actually have. If you bring me back, I’ll try a more messy, but certain, approach to this end. This is for the best. I’m going to die, whether it’s this time or the next. I will not allow myself to live. I’m dangerous, I’m useless. But, you two have saved the world so many times, and now you have your mother. Good luck. And thank you for my memories. Tell Castiel I’ll miss him and that I love him. ♡(y/n)
Dean hands the note to his brother before exiting the hospital room, trying to cover his rage. Sam shakes his head, taking his seat back in the chair as he looks over the note again.
“What does it say?” Mary questions, moving across the room to place a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
“She wants us to let her go,” Sam glances up, handing the note to his mother. She looks it over, slightly surprised that she’s their real sister.
“We should grant her wishes,” Dean says, re-entering the room, bringing Dr. Cox with him.
“It’s what she wants, Cas.” Dean sighs, trying desperately to hide the pain in his eyes. “She’ll just try again. This way she goes peacefully.”
The room empties out and the boys watch their little sister let go from the window. Dr Cox calls the time of death and then addresses to the boys that they’ll hand over her body for burial after they finish the autopsy.
The pale corpse of the Winchester’s sister lays on the cold metal table, her (y/e/c) closed and her nose pointing towards the ceiling, her (y/h/c) tucked neatly between her neck and the pillow keeping her head level with her chest. Her lips are slightly parted, exposing her front teeth. She looks so peaceful to the corner, so beautiful and peaceful. The corner is called out of the morgue, needing to sign some documents, so he sets down his scalpel and exists.
Her finger twitches against the blue cloth covering her naked body. Her eyes shift underneath her eyelids; searching.
Darkness… Everything is so dark… But something’s here… no… someone’s here.
“Do you remember your name?”
Where am I?
“Answer my questions and then I’ll tell you.”
My name is Aadya Evergreen.
“Good. Now, tell me where you’re from and about your family.”
I’m from (Y/H/T). My parents work at Sacred Heart Hospital.
No. I have none.
“Perfect. Now, Aadya…
just act like we’re friends talking and this interview will go smoothly. Will you say your name for me and what you do?”
“I’m Aadya Evergreen and I play (Y/N) Winchester on the show Supernatural.” You smile at the camera.
Hiroko Hagakure made such a good job at finding the Captives that she is given a Future Foundation suit and a hacking gun. Komaru teaches her how to use it.
Yasuhiro is an intermediate for Towa and the rest of the world; he brings medicine, weapons, clothes, cosmetics, manga, anything. he’s goofy and likes to hang around Toko, Takaaki and Kanon. His mom smother him with hugs each time he comes back and he earns the title “Ultimate Mama’s Boy”.
the Captives are not imprisoned anymore and free to go anywhere Towa City. They still call themselves ‘Captives’ since they can’t leave it, their electronic bracelets still working. thanks to Komaru, they decide to help future foundation but refuse to be part of it yet. most of them don’t trust the organisation completely, Kanon Nakajima for example.
Haiji Towa is escorted outside Towa City and is completely under the care of Future Foundation. he is completely traumatized and unresponsive. as much as Komaru hates to think that, it might be better if he’s not in Towa anymore. maybe he did more bad than good.
she inherits his red motorcycle though (who was mysteriously unharmed) and rides it everywhere. it’s faster and she has a blast. Touko rides at the back reluctantly. soon it becomes a symbol for adults and kids alike, but then she decides to give it to Takemichi Yukimaru. he is very loyal to her afterwards and goes off to any errands and patrollings she gives him. the Captives like to hear about his time in the Crazy Diamonds.
one day Fujiko Yamada encounters Genocider Syo and they both become buddies. when Komaru comes to pick Syo up, they’re drooling and keep slapping each other’s back while saying “fujoshi sisterhood”. she gains paper, ink and pens and continue tara
☆ spa, the quality not slighted in one bit, “as expected of a master of manga!” Komaru says in awe.
after going through Towa City’s archives, they write a list of kids born into the town. a good hundred are missing. they manage to keep the monokuma children in a big school that the Captives have transformed into a big and comfy sorta-hospital, kept secret from the adults and guarded by Kenshiro. their only concern is that kids don’t eat. they’re slowly thinning out and it stresses everyone. Komaru sends a request for medical equipment and the kids are fed through tubes. it’s not the best solution but it’s the only one they have as of right now. the medical equipment is also a benefit to Kenshiro whose health slowly deteriorates.
one day Hiroko brings out grand bois chéri ludenberg and the kids croon after the cat who hiss and tries to escape these creepy masked children but it’s no use, ultimately, his tummy is gonna get rubbed.
when Komaru meets Ayaka Haneyama, she is completely starstruck. she shakes her hand with both hands and stutters throughout her whole introduction. Ayaka decides to help at towa hills, where she puts a news radio show up diffused throughout the whole town. she is a very good talker and she is the main host of a talk show whose catchphrase is “it’s not kasu, it’s ayakasu!” who becomes super popular amongst adults. they request song covers and small idle chat with guests, like Toko Fukawa the popular author.
Takaaki Ishimaru created a small police force with adults, including Hiroko and Yasuhiro Hagakure, Komaru, Toko and Kanon. he has a few contacts outside, like Yui samidare, who soon enters Towa City as a resource help. they target the Remnants of Despair. they find a lot of clues and even manage to take down the mysterious masked bodyguard swordswoman and the son of the Kuzuryuu family.
Fuhito Kirigiri’s status is unknown. Hiroko swears she found him, but they have yet to find a sign of life from him. Yui Samidare makes a detective vow to find him.
at the request of his master, the butler Pennyworth helps out too. he is mostly wandering in the town, helping whoever needs help. most often he crosses Komaru and Toko’s path. his gaze is stern but he chats a lot and offers them tea. surprisingly enough, he befriends Toko quite easily since both have something in common: they adore master Byakuya.
the cleaning of the town is not easy. rubble and debris everywhere, corpses every two meters, monokumas hiding in every corner… but they manage. in all the confusion, Komaru decides to properly bury Taichi Fujisaki and to raise a shrine for Yuta, at the end of the broken bridge. she stares a long time at the water. she wishes he was still there. she thinks he’d been friends with everyone.
at some point, Toko decides to write. it’s not easy finding paper, and a great rivalry between her and Fujiko arises, both accusing the other of wasting it. she writes and writes, from day to night on off days, she doesn’t come in broad daylight for at least five days. when she does, though, pale and sweaty, she gives Komaru a huge manuscript and mumbles that it’s “the first draft, but it’s ok enough for someone so low like Komaru”. it’s tedious for her to read and full of kanji Komaru has to check in a dictionary but she finds herself enraptured in her writing. she finds herself with no words left of praise to offer toko, mesmerized by how well she wrote the story. their story. the story of Towa City, and most importantly, of two girls who had nothing in common at first, but became best friends by pushing each other up. komaru smiles. it’s everything toko never thought she’d need but it’s enough. more than enough.
the tension between them is so palpable that adults groan whenever they enter a room together. Hiroko smirks and ask casually, “so you two share a bed, huh?” Komaru is so oblivious it hurts. “well of course, she’s scared in the dark and all, that’s what friends do for each other, no?”
(they start dating each other a year after that “in secret”, Toko insists, but it’s no use since everyone knew already. “you sure took your sweet time,” Hiroko teases.)
If you are still doing requests, could you draw g///o//r//o being tube fed but being really bottom heavy and pear shaped.Since it has been proven recently that he has wide hips. ;^) Or just having a really big squishy hips but and thighs with a tiny pouch of tum from all of those pancakes?
Hi, Noah! I have some questions for you: 1. Is the white part of you fur, or is it feathers? Either way you're very cute! 2. How do you eat if your helmet is in the way? 3. Does that helmet hurt? That thing weighs 40 pounds! Do you need a shoulder massage?
Hi! Um well…
Oh! Its fur. I’ve never really looked at it til now. Though i saw Silvally with feathers!
I “eat” though a straw, theres a small opening you cant really see easily but its how they.. tube fed me at one stage before it became an intravenous drip. I like Pecha Berry and Qualot Berry blends!
Someone posted recently about the crap people get for being fat AND disabled, especially fat chair users.
And I want to point out, as always, an observation I’ve noticed, like… I’ve discussed this with other chair users, when I was a chair user, and we’d all noticed it.
Which was that chair users tend more than you’d expect, towards both extremes of the human weight range. Like either fat or skinny. Especially powerchair users.
After talking with each other, we figured it was probably because of a couple of things:
1. Medical conditions that cause you to need a chair, can also cause you to be fat, or skinny.
2. Being immobilized a lot of the time (true of some manual chair users and most powerchair users) can cause you to gain weight. And if you don’t gain weight from being immobilized, it may be because you have a condition that’s going to limit your weight gain anyway, making you unusually thin.
In other words, if you ACTUALLY see a lot of fat people out there in chairs, it’s not because they’re using the chairs because they’re fat and/or lazy (which most people see as equivalent), it’s most likely because whatever caused them to need the chairs also caused them to gain weight, or the immobility involved in being a full-time powerchair user caused them to gain weight.
If someone’s genuinely fat enough to need a wheelchair, then that is a disability. Because the definition of needing a wheelchair, is being unable to sufficiently get around without one. It’s not limited to certain conditions but not others. So when being fat is the main condition causing the situation, it still fucking counts as a legitimate disability.
(And don’t tell me that it’s different because “they brought it on themselves”. Even if that were true – and it usually isn’t – then you might as well tell people with emphysema due to smoking to stop using oxygen or wheelchairs if they can’t walk far. And you might as well tell all those young male paraplegics who seem to be everyone’s go-to example of a legitimate wheelchair user, that those of them – a lot of them – who got that way due to youthful daredevil bullshit, should give up their chairs. Just… No. And don’t even pretend you treat all these situations equally, because you clearly don’t.)
But also, something I’ve noticed? People who have never been fat, have an incredibly screwed-up notion of how fat you have to be before you have enough trouble walking places that you would even be tempted to try a wheelchair.
First off, manual wheelchairs are incredibly difficult to push, whether you use your arms, your legs, or both. And walking is almost always easier unless you have a condition that seriously limits your ability to walk without encountering problems. Powerchairs are not physically difficult but they are cognitively demanding on the order of driving a car over ice, especially if you have crappy sidewalks to deal with, which nearly everyone does. I actually found using a powerchair too exhausting sometimes, when I used one – and I had a deluxe model that would tilt me back into an almost lying-down position so that my body didn’t even have to strain to pump blood. (I had undiagnosed and untreated adrenal insufficiency and myasthenia gravis combining to wreak havoc with my body’s ability to move or be upright at all.)
Like… The moment that I could walk again, I did walk again, because it was just plain easier than using a wheelchair. I never hesitated. It wasn’t because of stigma. It was because it’s just so much easier to walk if you’re at all able to walk. Using a wheelchair is in no way the lazy option – even though it kind of should be, if they were designing them better. (Because it should take as little effort as possible. But it ’s very hard to design something artificially that’s as effortless to do as walking is for the average nondisabled person. Especially when they’re not trying hard enough to design that way anyway – most assistive tech is designed more for the benefit of professionals than of disabled people.)
…even a relative of mine, someone who had never been fat, suggested at one point that maybe my weight was a factor in what was keeping me bedridden and in a powerchair. This was before the severe adrenal insufficiency and myasthenia gravis were diagnosed, obviously. But they actually thought this.
Understand: I was about 220 pounds when they said this to me.
220 pounds is nowhere near the weight range where being fat affects your ability to do ordinary things like walk around the house without collapsing into a limp puddle and being literally unable to push yourself up again, and then going hot and cold and throwing up and geting all kinds of weird medical symptoms, and potentially risking your life.
Like, it’s nowhere near the range where you’d even get winded doing ordinary things, let alone the life-threatening symptoms I was experiencing.
Yet being fat was the first thing this person thought of when they thought of my having severe exercise intolerance. (Which, yes, is an actual medical symptom, not a synonym for being out of shape or lazy.)
I have a friend who is much fatter than I’ve ever been, and also disabled. But before they were severely physically disabled (they have always been physically disabled to some extent, but only now is it severe) they were a hard-core cyclist with incredible stamina. Not someone who needed a wheelchair to get around because they were fat. And this was in the 300-400 pound range. Which is getting to where some people might have physical problems because of their weight, but it’s by no means universal even at that weight.
I’ve never even approached that – the most I’ve weighed in my entire life was 245 pounds, and most of the time I’ve been in a chair I’ve been in the 170-220 pound range, with my weight fluctuating wildly at times because of medical issues. And yet I’ve had people assume that my being fat was why iw as in a wheelchair.
And I think that people who have never been fat, greatly overestimate the amount that someone’s weight has an effect on their stamina overall. Like, it can have an effect on your stamina, but not to the degree these people are assuming. I’ve never had my weight significantly affect my stamina. Never. I’ve had disabilities severely affect my stamina, but the moment those disabilities are mitigated in some way, the stamina problems go away and my weight has never been a barrier to my ability to walk around.
(Also I think thin people don’t estimate people’s weight very accurately to begin with. People online who have seen me in photos routinely describe me as at least 100 pounds heavier than I am. Like when I was 190 pounds, people said I was 300 pounds, and when I was 245, people said I was 400 pounds. This is like, not a little overestimation, but a huge overestimation. And I always wondered why that was, because it seemed pretty consistent. Like the majority of the time people were giving me massive amounts of crap for weighing “300 pounds”, I hadn’t even reached 200 yet. At this point BTW I’m about 195, despite a tube-fed diet of less than 1500 calories most days. Go figure.)
As I said though – if someone’s fat enough that being fat is the main reason they use a wheelchair, that’s absolutely a legit reason to use a wheelchair, and a legit disability.
Also, honestly? There shouldn’t be illegitimate reasons to use a wheelchair. Because there’s nothing about a wheelchair that truly differentiates it from a bicycle. Nobody measures your ability to walk a particular distance before they’ll let you use a bicycle to go an even further distance faster. But they do it all the time with wheelchairs.
There was ANOTHER post recently, all about that – about why it’s damn near impossible to apply the concept of “appropriation” to assistive technology, and why people shouldn’t even try, because all they end up doing is unmasking their own ableism in the process.
It’d be really cool to see the post about fatphobia in the disability community combined with the “why you can’t actually appropriate a wheelchair” post, because the two realy go together. (I really hate the way the word “appropriation” has come to be used in ways it was never intended. It’s supposed to be about stealing elements of someone’s culture that are not supposed to be used by people outside of that culture. It really doesn’t apply to assistive technology unless you have some very fucked-up ideas about disability and assistive technology. Which lots of people unfortunately do, including lots of disabled people who get weirdly possessive about technology that in no way is or should be exclusive to our use. A lot of advances in technology in general for all people have been propelled by advances in assistive technology – this was even highlighted at an MIT conference I went to that invited companies from all over the place to base innovations for all people on innovations developed for disabled people. Don’t get me started on the fatphobia THERE, though – I remember being the only fat person sitting in on a conversation where people were discussing ways to build uncomfortable chairs so call center workers would be “forced to stand up and take breaks so they’d lose weight”, which managed to be ableist, classist, and fatphobic all at the same time, as well as showing that none of them had ever worked in a call center, because you’d get fired if you actually took those breaks.)
One thing I’d say though is that the idea that everyone everywhere regardless of disability has judged fat wheelchair users… That was in that original post. I’d say that idea is almost true but not entirely true. Because I can’t recall ever in my life, even for a second, looking at a fat person in a wheelchair and thinking “That person is just lazy because they’re fat and shouldn’t be in a wheelchair.” And I’m not saying that to sound better than people – nobody can entirely help the thoughts that flit through their head for a second, and we all have internalized prejudice of one kind or another. But I’ve just never had that particular manifestation of that particular prejudice. And I’m pretty sure I’m not alone there.
OTOH I have a crapload of internalized fatphobia that I point at myself, not about wheelchair use but about other things, and I have never figured out how to get rid of it.
TL;DR: Don’t judge fat wheelchair users. They’re likely either fat because of the same things that put them in the chair, or fat because they’re immobilized so much. But even if they’re in the chair for being fat, that’s a legit disability. And people should be able to use a chair for any reason they want. Including that they just like wheelchairs. There’s nothing inherent to a wheelchair that says that only certain kinds of people should use it. Also chairs are much harder to use that you’d think, so most people who use them actually need them, because it’s way easier just to walk even if you don’t walk very well. It takes a pretty severe disability to make using a chair the more attractive option, and some people resist using one even then.
Let me first say that your stories are absolutely amazing! Does Tae's medicine and his not wanting to eat (because it makes him feel sick) ever cause more issues? I babysit for a little boy who refuses to eat from medicine and his behavior to the point where he has to be tube fed. I was just wondering if Tae ever had gone through something like that when he was younger :)
Ah, so actually it’s good you asked because this oneshot falls right at the beginning of them trying to help Taehyung, so it doesn’t get this far. However, there was definitely a time before Welcome Home and after this oneshot where they were considering alternative methods to feeding Tae, but like…
Kids can and do throw up still with a feeding tube. So it wouldn’t be a cure for his nausea and while this oneshot will seem really hopeless, Taehyung’s doctors are on top of things, and when Seokjin stresses how tired Taehyung is and how nauseous he’s been, they’ll know that’s not normal for kids in Taehyung’s position, and they’ll know to switch medications for him.
So he will get better independently!
I think with Tae’s seizures they’d like to avoid surgery. Also they know that some of his weight issue is from neglect, like some of his small appetite comes from not often being fed or cared for.
Also, the first prescription is a really bad fit. Like… my sister has a functioning disorder that has led to her trying several different medications, and the first she had made her lose, like, 10 pounds when she was already nearly underweight. So Tae’s experience is based on her’s, but he’s two and really non-verbal when he comes to the house, so he’s unable to express that this nausea is a change for him.
It’s 02:10 and I am currently laying in a hospital bed with Freddie. For now he’s sleeping peacefully and I’m admiring his beauty. Every now and then he wakes panicked, trying to rip and scratch at his face so I have to be alert enough to stop him. He’s so exhausted that it’s not long before he passes out again and I try to reposition myself in the hope to get some sleep.
Today was one of my hardest days since this cruel disease appeared in our lives. Earlier on this evening I held Freddie down whilst he fought, screamed and cried with all his might as a nurse fitted an nasalgastric tube (NG tube). He screamed and cried so much that his eyes became blood shot. I cried all the while telling him how strong he’s being and that it’s for the best.
From now on my little boy will be tube fed. It’s all happened so quickly, I think I’m in shock. I keep telling myself it’s for the best. Rationally, I KNOW it’s for the best. Emotionally, however, I’m struggling to come to terms with this new change to our lives and there’s many reasons why. Firstly, I’m scared of how medicalised it all currently seems and how rapidly his condition has changed in the last few weeks which terrifies me about where this journey could take us next. Secondly, I have never seen my boy so distressed and it’s broken my heart. A year ago Freddie Cheese was emotionally muted and didn’t really respond to the tests he was put through. In a way he still is a little emotionally slower, as he rarely cries, he’s just so chilled and happy. So seeing him today was gut wrenching for me.
We will be in hospital a few days, maybe a week, whilst the nurses teach us how to care for his new feeding system and how to feed him. After watching his first feed this evening it all seems a little overwhelming to me. On Monday the dieticians will discuss Freddie and decide what diet to put him on. By diet, I mean, essentially which carton to pick for him to have as his feeds. For the rest of the weekend he’s been put on a high calorie diet.
The NG tube doesn’t mean he can’t feed orally at all (some comfort) it just means it won’t be essential for his nutrition, fluids and weight gain. We’ve been told we can still have mealtimes (of safe and manageable food) if he enjoys it. The main reason for taking this step is because they believe he is suffering reflux and he’s at risk of aspirating on that. With the NG tube they can slowly drip feed him meals meaning his stomach gets full gradually which should, hopefully, help the reflux.
When we decided to bring Freddie to hospital yesterday I hoped they would give him a nebuliser to clear out any mucus. I hoped that mucus was causing him problems and we could get it sorted. I was not expecting this. I feel somewhat naive that when these alternative feeding methods have been mentioned recently I presumed by the end of the year (then obviously hoped he would improve before we reached that point) not in the space of days. Yet again this disease has upped it’s game and taken something else from baby.
As I listen to his breathing and watch him sleep I’m grateful for the fact he doesn’t know how different he is, how different his journey is. He has nothing to grieve, whereas I feel do. I hate letting him see me cry and I have cried in front of him a lot today. Each time those beautiful big blues eye just watched me, totally confused and oblivious as to why I was crying or what was coming next for him. There’s no feeling more painful than being powerless to stop your child’s suffering.
For the last 13 months we’ve been living one day at a time, and that’s what we will continue to do. We will adjust, together, to our new normal and plough forward because that’s what we always do. I just wish we didn’t have to.
Imagine person A of your otp hooking person B up to a tube that keeps them fed and full. Their belly is constantly swollen from being force fed, but in turn, they’re also incredibly aroused from all the constant pressure. It doesn’t help that person A keeps Person B restrained the whole time, leaving them to beg for release, even though their constant feeding makes it hard to.
Title: Sacrifice (Part 4) Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam x reader friendship Summary: The reader wakes up in a hospital room, only to find Dean in a coma and barely clinging on to life. Word Count: 4,447 Warnings: character death(ish) POV: Readers, 2nd person a/n: This definitely isn’t my best writing, but I promised I’d have it out by the weekend, so here it is! Hope you enjoy the final part to this series :)
Six days since you had woken up, frantic and blindly afraid, only to find yourself in a hospital room, an IV drip injected into your forearm. Bright pink scars with little black stitches covered your body, leaving little room for the fading bruising painted around them.
Five days since you grown tired of the unrest, of not knowing where you were or where the hell Dean was, or why Sam had all but disappeared on you.
Four days since you had pried the wires and tubes from your body and haphazardly lugged yourself around the hospital, desperately searching for a room you could only pray that Dean was still alive to occupy. You had passed out nearly a few feet before you could see “Winchester” labeled across Room 375, exhaustion quickly overcoming you.
I won’t have wifi on the17th for #NoShameDay so I’m going ahead and posting now.
I’ve had Crohn’s since I was 8, I was diagnosed after about 7-8 months in various hospitals, after doctors kept mid diagnosing and almost killed me they finally gave up locally and had me sent by ambulance to Columbus Children’s. There after scopes I was diagnosed with severe Crohn’s. That was my 4th grade year. I’m now 17 (I turn 18 on June 6) and it’s my Senior Year of Highschool (12th grade). I’ve had numerous fistulas, abscesses, umbilical hernia, arthritis, endometriosis (I stared my period the same day as my first remicade infusion! Funny story!)
I’m now tube fed because of the severity of inflammation, which here in the near future will hopefully be taken care of with my upcoming surgery. I’m looking at a bowel resection and ileostomy. I’ve been homeschooled since my junior year due to my illness. On good days I can get up and walk around a bit, I crochet and take care of my gecko. On bad days I won’t leave the bed or couch because of the pain, except I leave long enough to use the bathroom. If I go outside the house it’s not without a cane or wheel chair because of the joint pain and pain in my gut which increases as I move. I try to stay positive about everything. And I’m super excited for my surgeries oddly enough because I know it will give me back some of my life. :) I’m not ashamed of my illnesses and disability.
Again sorry for posting this early, but I won’t be in town this weekend :) I get to go places!