#just made their symptoms less severe

[ms-demeanor]

Friends, I think we need to talk about Covid.

I want to get a few caveats out there before I start:

I am aware that there are people who need to exercise extreme caution about Covid; I live with someone who has two solid organ transplants and who is at the most immune compromised level of immune compromised. *I* have to be extremely cautious about covid.

Masking does prevent a certain level of transmission, and people who think they may have covid should mask and people who are concerned that they may be at high risk for covid should mask.

You should be vaccinated and boosted with the most recent vaccines that are available to you; covid is highly transmissible and very serious, you do not want to get covid and if you do get covid you don't want it to be severe and if you do get covid you don't want to give someone else covid and up-to-date vaccinations are the best way to reduce transmission and help to prevent severe cases of Covid.

We should be testing before going to any gatherings, and informing people if we test positive after gatherings, and testing if we suspect we have been exposed.

It is bullshit that there aren't good protections for workers who have covid; you should not be expected to go to work when you are testing positive

It is bullshit that people who are testing positive are not isolating for other reasons; if you have Covid you should not be going out and exposing other people to it even if you are experiencing mild symptoms or no symptoms.

We do need better ventilation systems for many kinds of spaces. Schools need better ventilation, restaurants need better ventilation, doctor's offices and hospitals and office buildings need better ventilation and better ventilation can reduce covid transmission.

I want to make it clear that Covid is real and there are real steps that individuals and systems can take to prevent transmission, and that there are systems that are exerting pressures that needlessly expose people to covid (the fact that you can lose your job if you don't come in when you're testing positive, mainly; also the fact that covid rapid tests should be ubiquitous and cheap/free and are not).

All of that being said: I'm seeing some posts circulating about how we're at an extremely high level of transmission and the REAL pandemic is being hidden from us and, friends, I'm pretty sure that is just incorrect and we're spreading misinformation.

I'm thinking of this video in particular, in which the claim is made that "your mystery illness is covid" in spite of negative tests. The guy in the video says that there's nothing else that millions of people could be getting a day, and that he predicted this because a wastewater spike in December meant that there was a huge spike in cases.

I've also seen people saying that deaths are where they were in 2021-2022, and that we're still at "a 9/11 a week" of excess deaths and friends, I'm not seeing great evidence for any of these claims.

I know that we (in the US, which is where the numbers I'm going to be citing are from) feel abandoned by the CDC and the fact that tracking cut off in May of 2023. But that only cut off for the federal tracking.

I live in LA county and LA county sure as shit is still tracking Covid.

If you want a clearer picture, you can see the daily case count over time compared to the daily death count:

Okay, you might say, but that's just LA.

Alright, so here's Detroit:

Right, but maybe that's CDC data and you don't trust the CDC at this point.

Okay, here's fatalities in New York tracked through New York's state data collection:

It's harder to toggle around the site for South Dakota, but you can compare their cases and hospitalizations and deaths for early 2022

To cases and hospitalizations and deaths from early 2024

And see that there's really no comparison.

Okay, you might say, but people are testing less. If they're testing less of course we're not seeing spikes, and they're testing less because fewer tests are available.

Alright, people are definitely testing less than they were in 2021 and 2022. Hospitalization for Covid is probably the most clear metric because you know those people have covid for sure, the couldn't not test for it.

Here are hospitalizations over time for LA:

Here are hospitalizations over time for New York:

As vaccination rates have gone up, cases, deaths, and hospitalizations have gone down. It IS clear that there are case spikes in the winter, when it is cold and people are indoors in poorly ventilated spaces and people are more susceptible to respiratory infections as a result of cold air weakening the protection offered by our mucous membranes, and that is something that we will have to take precautions about for the forseeable future, just as we should have always been taking similar precautions during flu season.

So I want to go point-by-point through some of the arguments made in that video because I'm seeing a bunch of people talking about how "THEY" don't want you to know about the virus surge and buds that is just straight up conspiracism.

So okay, first off, most of what that video is based on is spikes in wastewater data, not spikes in cases. This is because people don't trust CDC data on cases, but I'd say to maybe check out your regional data on cases. I don't actually trust the CDC that much, but I know people who do tracking of hospitalizations in LA county, I trust them a lot more. Wastewater data does correlate with increases in cases, but this "second largest spike of the entire pandemic" thing is misleading; wastewater reporting is pretty highly variable and you can't just accept that a large spike in covid in wastewater means that we're in just as bad a place in the pandemic as we were in 2022. We simply have not seen the surge of hospitalizations and deaths that we would expect to see in the weeks following that spike in wastewater data if wastewater data was reflective of community transmission.

The next claim is that "there is nothing else that is infecting millions of people a day" and covid isn't doing that either. The highest daily case rates were in January of 2021 and they were in the 865k a day range, which is ridiculously high but isn't millions of cases a day.

But what we can see is that when people are tested by their doctors for Covid, RSV, and the Flu, more tests are coming back positive for the Flu. Covid causes more hospitalizations than the other two illnesses, but to be honest what the people in the video are describing - lightheadedness, dizziness, exhaustion - just sound like pretty standard symptoms of everything from covid to the cold to allergies. There are lots of things your mystery illness could be.

The video goes on to talk about the fact that people aren't testing, and why their tests may be coming back negative and I'd like to point out that the same things are all true of Flu or RSV tests. People might be getting tested too early or too late; getting a negative test for the flu isn't a good reason to assume you've got covid, getting a negative test for covid isn't a good reason to assume you've got the flu, and testing for viruses as a whole is imperfect. There are hundreds of viruses that could be the common cold; there are multiple viruses that can cause bronchitis; there are multiple viruses that can cause pneumonia, and you're not going to test for all of these things the moment you start feeling sick.

He then recommends testing for multiple days if you have symptoms and haven't had a positive test (fine) and talks about the location of the tests (less fine). Don't use your rapid tests to swab your throat or cheek unless it specifically says that they are designed to do so. Test based on the instructions in the packet.

He points out that the tests probably still pick up on the virus because they're not testing for the spike protein, they're testing for the RNA (good info!)

The video then discusses something that I think is really key to this paranoia about the "mystery illnesses" - he talks about how covid changes and weakens your immune system (a statement that should come with many caveats about severity and vulnerability and that we are still researching that) and then says that it makes you more susceptible to strep or mono and that "things that used to clear in a day or two now hit you really hard."

And that's where I think this anxiety is coming from.

Strep throat lasts anywhere from three days to a week. A cold takes about a week to clear. The flu lasts about a week and can knock you on your ass with exhaustion for weeks depending on how bad you get it. Did you get a cough with your cold? Expect that to take anywhere from three to eight weeks to clear up.

I think that people are thinking "i got a bad virus and felt really sick for a week and haven't gotten my energy back" but that just sounds like a bad cold. That sounds like a potent allergy attack. That doesn't even sound like a bad flu (I got a bad flu in 2009 and thought i was going to straight-up die I had a fever of 103+ for three days and felt like shit for three days on either side of that and took six weeks to feel more like myself again).

Getting sick sucks. It really, really sucks. But if you're getting sick and you're testing for covid and it's coming back negative after you tested a few times, it's almost certainly not covid.

The video then says "until someone provides evidence that it's not covid, it should be assumed to be covid because we have record levels of covid it's that simple" but that's not simple. We don't have record levels of covid and he hasn't proved it. We have record high levels of wastewater reports of covid, which correlates with covid cases but the spike in wastewater noted in december didn't see a spike with a corresponding magnitude of cases in terms of either hospitalizations or deaths, which is what we'd have seen if we had actual record numbers of covid.

He says that if you want to ignore this, you'll get sick with covid, and that about 30-40% of the US just got sick with covid in the last four months (which is a RIDICULOUSLY unevidenced claim).

He says that we need to create a new normal that takes covid into account, which means masking more often and testing more often and making choices about risk-avoidant behaviors.

Now, I don't disagree with that last statement, but he prefaces the statement with "it doesn't necessarily mean lockdown" and that's where I think the alarmism and paranoia is really visible here. We are so, so far away from "lockdown" type levels that it's absurd to discuss lockdown here.

What I'm seeing right now is people who are chronically ill, people who are immune compromised, and people who are experiencing long covid (which may not be distinct from other post-viral syndromes from severe cases of flu, etc, but which may be more severe or more notable because of the prevalence of covid) are talking about feeling abandoned and attacked and left behind by society because covid is still out there, and still at extremely high levels.

I am seeing people who feel abandoned and attacked because the lgbtq+ events they are attending don't require masking. I am seeing people who are claiming that it is eugenicist that their schools don't have a negative test policy anymore.

And this comes together into two really disconcerting trends that I've been observing online for a while.

The claim that the pandemic is still as bad as it's ever been and in fact may be worse but we can't know that because "they" (the CDC, the government, capitalist institutions that want you back in the office, the university industrial complex that wants your dorm room dollars) are covering up the numbers and

Significant grievance at the fact that people are acting like number one is not true and are putting you at risk either out of thoughtlessness (because they don't realize they're putting you at risk) or malice (because they don't care if the sick die).

And those things are a recipe for disaster.

I think I've pretty robustly addressed point one; I don't think that there's good evidence that there's a secretly awful surge of covid that nobody is talking about. I think that there are some people who are being alarmist about covid who are basing all of their concern on wastewater numbers that have not held up as the harbinger of a massive wave of infections.

So let's talk about point number two and JK Rowling.

Barnes and Noble is not attacking you when it puts up a Hogwarts Castle display in the lobby. Your favorite youtuber isn't trying to hurt you when they offhandedly mention Harry Potter.

If you let every mention of Harry Potter or every person who enjoys that media franchise wound you, you are going to spend a lot of your time wounded.

People are not liking Harry Potter at you.

Okay.

People are also not not wearing masks at you.

You may be part of a minority group that experiences the potential for outsized harm as a result of majority groups engaging in perfectly reasonable behaviors.

There are kind, well-meaning, sensible people who go out every day and do something that may cause you harm and it's not because they want to hurt you or they don't care about whether you live or die, it is because they are making their own risk assessments based on their own lives and making the very reasonable assumption that people who are more concerned about covid than they are will take precautions to keep themselves safe.

We are not at a place in the pandemic where it is sensible to expect people with no symptoms of illness to mask in public as a matter of course or to present evidence of a recent negative test when entering a public building in their day-to-day life.

I think now is a really good time to sit down and ask yourself how you expect things to be with covid as an endemic part of our viral ecosystem. I think now is a good time to ask yourself what risk realistically looks like for you and for people who are unlike you. I think now is a good time to consider what would feel "safe" for you and how you could accomplish feeling safe as you navigate the world.

I'm probably going to continue masking in most indoor spaces for years. Maybe forever. There are accommodations that SHOULD be afforded to people who have to take more precautions than others (remote learning, remote visits, remote work, etc.), and we should demand those kinds of accommodations.

But it is going to poison you from the inside out if you are perpetually angry that people who don't have the same medical limitations as you are happy that they get to go shopping with their faces uncovered.

So now I want to talk to you about my father in law.

My father in law had a bone marrow transplant in 2015. That's the most immune compromised you can get without having your organs swapped out.

The care sheet for him after the transplant was a little overwhelming. The list of foods he couldn't eat was intimidating and the limitations on where he could go was depressing. It cautioned against going to large events, it recommended outdoor gatherings where possible but only if he could avoid sunlight and was somewhere with no history of valley fever. It said that he should wear masks indoors any time he was someplace with poor ventilation and that he should avoid contact with anyone who had an illness of any kind, taking special note to avoid children and anyone recently vaccinated for measles.

It was, in short, pretty much what someone immune compromised would need to do to try to avoid a viral infection. Sensible. Reasonable. Wash your hands and social distance; wear masks in sensitive contexts and don't spend time in enclosed places with people who have a communicable illness.

This is what life was always going to be like for people who are severely immune compromised, and it was always going to be incumbent upon the person with the illness to figure out how to operate in a society that is not built with them in mind.

It is not the job of every parent I encounter to tell me whether their child has been vaccinated against measles or chicken pox in the last three months. That isn't something that people need to do as part of their everyday life. However it IS my responsibility to check with the parents I'm hanging out with whether their children have been vaccinated against measles or chicken pox in the last three months so I know if it's safe for my immune compromised spouse to be around them.

If you want an environment in which you feel safe from covid, at this point in the pandemic (when the virus is endemic and not spreading rapidly as far as we can see from case counts) it is your responsibility to take the steps necessary to make you feel safe. Some of those steps will involve advocating for safety improvements in public spaces (again, indoor ventilation needs to be better and I'm personally pretty extreme about vaccination requirements; these are things we should be discussing in our school board meetings and at our workplaces), some of those steps will involve advocating for worker protections, guaranteed sick time, and the right to healthcare. But some of the things you're going to need to do to feel safe are going to come down to you.

If you are concerned about communicable diseases you have to be realistic about the fact that our society doesn't go out of its way to prevent communicable diseases - norovirus among food service workers pre-pandemic is pretty clear evidence of that. You are going to have to be proactive about your safety rather than expecting the world to act like Covid is at 2021-2022 levels when it is measurably not.

[alotofpockets]

Highs and lows | Lia Wälti x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Reader is a type 1 diabetic and experiences both hypo- and hyperglycemic events. I hope all the medical talk is right!

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.3k

-----

One of the things you loved to do outside of football, was going on walks with some of the girls on your team. When you and your sister Lia made the move to London, you had found a second family in your Arsenal teammates. The friendships you made here went beyond the pitch, and you were forever grateful to have gotten a place amongst them.

Today you were joined by Lia, Steph, Viv, Beth, and Leah. As well as Myle and Calvin, the dogs were both running around the park as the rest of you were talking. 

“Oh hi Myle girl, do you want me to throw the ball?” The dog had dropped the tennis ball into your lap, so you got up to play with her. You made a quick stop to grab your water bottle before you ran back to the dogs. Myle had so much energy, so she kept running up and down the field, while Calvin stayed closer to your side. You throw the ball for Myle again, but your vision goes blurry right after. You knew the feeling all too well, and sat down slowly. Calvin moved closer to you and started barking. Steph looked up at the sudden loudness from her dog, who usually is rather quiet, and notices you on the grass. 

“Hey Lia”, Steph didn’t even have to finish her sentence, the tone of her voice told Lia enough, she looked over to you and rushed to your side when she saw you were on the ground.

“I'm here.” She reaches for your hand, while reaching for her phone with the other. She taps the device to the patch on your arm, letting it read your glucose levels. You had been diagnosed with diabetes type 1 when you were a kid, so the symptoms were very familiar to your sister, and to the team now as well. “It’s low.” By now she didn't even have to tell you what she was going to do, as she was with you for a lot of your highs and lows. She grabs a juice box out of her bag, and tells you to drink up.

“Here, lean into me.” You heard Leah's voice behind you. Her hands on your shoulders guided you into her. The girls knew that there was nothing they could do for you, and that they would just have to wait for your glucose levels to get back up, but that didn't mean that they wouldn't try to make it as comfortable for you as possible. 

Slowly but surely you started feeling better, the blurred vision faded, and you felt a little stronger again. While you had gotten used to the hypo- and hyperglycemic events, they were still a little scary to experience, because you'd never know when one would be more severe.

“Come on, let's get you home.” Lia extends her hands to you, after you let her know you were ready to get up. Once you were up, she hugged you tight, always a little scared of the events herself. 

“Why don't you come to our place?” Beth offers, “We live closer, you can rest there.” You agreed instantly, the less you had to walk right now the better. Back at Beth and Viv’s place you find yourself slowly drifting to sleep cuddled into Viv’s side, with Myle on your chest. 

You’re woken up by the smell of one of your favourite dishes lingering in the air. “Hey, how are you feeling?” Viv asks when she notices that you were awake again. “Good enough for that delicious meal Lia is cooking up.” The girl you’re still laying against chuckles, “Ah good, you’re back.”

You looked around the room to find Leah, Steph, and Calvin had left the home, while Lia was in the kitchen with Beth. Though, you knew your sister did all the cooking, because Viv always loved to tell you how bad of a chef Beth really was. You got up and joined the rest for dinner.

The next few days your blood sugar levels didn’t have any major spikes, there was the occasional high and low, but nothing that wasn’t quickly fixed. 

On game day you were rushing out of the house, cause you forgot to put your alarm. You rolled out of bed, hopped in the shower, and quickly changed into your match day outfit, before you headed to your car. 

You knew it was stupid to skip meals, because it would most likely influence your blood sugar levels later on, but right now the only thought on your mind was getting to the stadium on time. Which luckily you managed to do, you headed into the locker room where everyone was about ready to start warming up. After quickly putting on your cleats, and your training kit, you followed the team out.

“Everything alright?” Your sister asked as she put her arm on your shoulder to warm up her legs. You nod, “I overslept. Forgot to set my alarm, but I’m all good.” You continue warming up together, before running some drills with the rest of the girls. 

On the pitch everything was going great until it wasn’t. You felt very shaky, and were sweating more than during a regular game. Trying to push the feelings aside only worked for a few minutes, with one tackle you were on the ground, and your body fully gave into the low blood sugar. Both Lia and the medics came rushing your way.

“You need to check her glucose levels.” Your sister instructed. The medic already had a phone in their hand to tap it to your patch. “We’ve got her Lia, don’t worry.” The phone quickly gave the glucose levels, and showed they were very high. 

“I’m going to give you an insuline shot, to get your levels down quickly.” You simply nodded, not caring how they would lower your blood sugar, as long as you would stop feeling this way. After the shot, your body started slowly feeling stronger again. The medics walked you off the field, and sat you down on the bench. Steph sat down next to you, and you leaned into her side. She took the bag of nuts the medical assistant handed over, and opened the bag for you. 

When the halftime whistle blew you headed into the locker room, while Steph went to warm up with the rest of the bench. 

“What happened?” Your sister’s worried voice rang out the moment you sat down. She didn’t even let you answer the first question, before she continued. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? You know how bad it can get if you don’t treat your highs and lows on time.” 

“Since I was in a hurry this morning I kind of forgot to have breakfast. I swear I was going to eat something when I got here, but you were all ready to warm up, so I forgot in the rush again.” You knew that skipping meals wasn’t good for your glucose levels, and you really didn’t do it on purpose, and you needed Lia to know that. “I should’ve said it sooner, but it was almost half time. I thought I would be alright until then.”

Lia uncrossed her arms, and the angry facade fell. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again!” She sat down and put her arm around you, happy to know that you were alright again. You listened to Kim and Leah discuss the tactics for the second half of the game, and made your way back to the bench when it was time to head back again. 

The team ended up winning the match. After the second half you felt a lot better again, so you walked the victory round next to your sister, who was happy to have you properly on your feet again.

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

#lia walti #lia wälti #lia walti x reader #lia walti imagine #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso imagines #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #arsenal x reader #arsenal wfc imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #awfc #awfc imagine #awfc x reader #swiss wnt #switzerland wnt #beth mead #beth mead x reader #vivianne miedema #vivianne miedema x reader #steph catley #steph catley x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader

[goldenwilliamson]

strangers | leah williamson

pairing: leah williamson x reader

a/n: longest fic yet. enjoy pls, i kind of love this. slight warning it does touch on the grief that one feels after a big breakup including (briefly) the awful physical symptoms of breakups. if that's sensitive for you i wish the best and advise that this might not be the fic for you x

summary: reader and leah are together for years before breaking up due to long distance. after a couple of years reader moves back to england and sees leah, and all the love comes flooding back. angsty, but fluffy.

word count: 3.3k

Your life changed when you were eighteen, not only because you signed for Arsenal, but you were in love for the first time in your life. From your early encounters with Leah, you could already feel yourself falling for her. You found her endlessly endearing, drawn in by her quiet confidence and warmth off the pitch, and her fiery commitment to every game she played.

Even though you were too scared to confess your feelings to anyone, you somehow found yourself one evening telling Leah how much you adored her. You told her about how you had felt a connection with her since the first time you met, and how it had only proved itself since then. And she reciprocated every single word of your rambling romantic confession.

From that night, you two were together for almost six years. For the most part, it was the best time of your life. You were playing at your dream club, with the perfect girlfriend, and you were happier than ever. Things always ran smoothly for you and Leah, it was just the way your personalities complimented each other. Conflict resolution came easy to you both, and you were able to talk to each other through anything that was troubling you.

For years it felt like you two were growing at the same pace, and that was why you were able to be together for so long. You both had the same visions for your future, and you had really planned on staying in London with Leah by your side for the rest of your life.

But that was all before you got the offer from Bayern Munich. You never imagined being away from Leah, and maybe you were naive in thinking long-distance would be easy for you guys. So you made the difficult decision to leave Arsenal, to leave London and Leah, and move to Germany.

After your move it became clear very quickly that proximity was important for you both. When your were living several countries away from each other, your connection which you thought was strong enough to withstand the world ending had started to be put to the test. You were talking and understanding each other less, and fighting more about stupid, trivial things. You saw a new, jealous side of Leah who would accuse you of spending too much time with new teammates, and not making time for her anymore. And you yourself were questioning Leah's attraction for you, as you couldn't feel that daily love and affection you'd been so accustomed to through the phone.

It all got to the point where you were struggling to even get yourself to training because you felt so drained by your inability to make things work with Leah. Your teammates at Bayern had noticed and had created a space where you felt safe enough to confide in them. After talking it through with some of your teammates who provided you with their objective opinions on the situation, you made the hardest choice of your life.

Leah's voiced was raised to the point where her it was almost breaking, "Six years Y/N, does all that mean nothing to you?"

"Leah, I will always love you. I just don't think as long as I'm in Germany we can be together. It's not good for us darling, we've been fighting more than ever, and I don't want to feel this resentment towards you... I don't want you to feel badly about me either," you had tried to explain, but it had come out much less clearly through your own tearful voice, punctuated with short breaths as you gasped for air.

"You can't do this Y/N. You can't give up on us," Leah had begged you, but you had remained firm in your decision and it was the last proper conversation the two of you had. Other than a couple of Champions League games where you avoided each other, and one brief trip back to London where you collected all your things from the apartment you shared, you hadn't seen Leah since.

The breakup was something you'd tried to forget, and even though it's been two years since then, you still often question whether or not you made the right decision that day. What stuck with you was the empty aching you felt every time a thought of her passed through your head. In spite of your best attempts to put it behind you and to move on, you will never forget how much love you felt for Leah, and how much grief and sadness you felt the instant you ended things.

Every week that has passed since then you have wondered what your life would be like if you and Leah had made the long-distance thing work. But now you were thinking about it even more because after a few seasons at Bayern, you were going back to play in the WSL.

When Man City approached you, your first instinct was that you absolutely could not go back to England. Because to you, England was Leah. Every memory of your time in England from when you moved at 18, to when you left at 23, is connected to Leah. As much as you loved your time in the country, you never thought you could go and live there again without her by your side. It just wouldn't feel right. However, after several meetings with your manager and calls with City, it became an offer you couldn't turn down.

At least you weren't going back to London, you thought. The distance between the capital and Manchester was just enough to feel like Leah wasn't completely within reach. Of course, it had been different once you were actually living back in England, playing with City, and having to face the reality that you and Leah would be on the same pitch again, but this time as virtual strangers.

You'd heard through the grapevine that over the last couple of years Leah had done her fair share of dating around, but you also were aware that she hadn't been in any serious relationship since you two broke up, and it was the same on your end. How were you supposed to move on when you still thought about your ex every day?

One night you were cooking dinner at your flat for yourself and Georgia Stanway, who had become a close friend of yours since her arrival at Bayern. You two had hung out a bit when you and Leah were still together, but even though Leah was one of Georgia's closest friends, she had never uttered her name around you or asked you anything about your relationship since she transfered to the German club. Not until you two were talking about how you felt about moving back to England and what it would be like playing for City, and you mentioned it first.

"It feels kind of wrong," you said honestly, "I still can't imagine not being an Arsenal player. And you know, being there without Leah."

Georgia looked at you sympathetically, "Do you miss her? I can't imagine how hard all that was for you both."

"I miss her every day, Georgia," you sighed, smiling just to ease the pain, "But I just have to keep telling myself it was the right decision, otherwise I think I'd just live in misery."

She gave you a hopeful smile, "I hope you two can work it out one day, even just as friends. I've never seen two people make each other so happy."

"Yeah I hope so too," you agreed, though the voice in your head told you that you could never make up with Leah after the way you ended things.

You had finally moved back to England after a tearful goodbye to your teammates at Bayern, but you knew it was for the best. Your first week in Manchester you were reminded of how much you loved living in England, mostly because of how different it was from where you grew up. Stepping outside always felt like stepping onto a film set. It was nice too, to catch up with old friends. It was already so much easier to organise trips into London to visit old teammates.

It was on a weekend that you were down in London, when you saw Leah for the first time. You should have known better, walking around St Albans, expecting that you wouldn't see anyone you knew. It wasn't a big enough city to get away with that.

It was still August and the League hadn't started yet, so you were free to make a trip down to London for the weekend to visit Caitlin and Katie, friends you had missed so much while you were living in Germany. You missed everything about Arsenal, but you knew there was no way you could go back there after the way things ended with Leah. It would be much too painful to even try to be friends after everything. There was too much history there that would have been impossible to set aside.

In the morning you had told Katie and Caitlin you would walk into town and buy some bread since they were out, and it was on your way home that you found yourself looking into the face of the person who you once loved more than anyone. It took a moment to register that she was actually there, getting closer as you kept walking.

"Oh my god," you said out loud, finding it extremely jarring to see her after all this time.

You both slowed to a stop in front of each other and Leah, who had always been the more talkative one, was left speechless. Looking at you her heart was both beating for you and breaking all over again.

After a few beats of silence you shook yourself out of your state of shock, "Hi, how are you?", you said.

"I feel like I'm dreaming," Leah said, finally smiling a little as she also moved away from the initial shock of seeing you again. The sound of her voice and the smile on her face brought you instant comfort. She looked different, in the best way. She looked older, which surprised you since she always had such a baby face. But now she looked mature, she looked her age, somehow so different from the 24 year old version of her you last knew.

"Me too," you agreed, laughing slightly at how awkward you were finding this to be. You'd imagined this moment endlessly over the last couple of years, but now that it was really happening you were at a loss.

"What are you doing here?" Leah shook her head, trying to make sense of seeing you.

"I'm staying with Katie and Caitlin for a couple of days," you explained.

"Oh, they didn't mention anything," Leah said, though she knows that people avoid talking about you around her. They know it's still painful for her to hear your name. Just like how Georgia never mentioned her around you.

You realised then that your transfer hadn't been announced yet by the City, and that Leah must know nothing of the news.

"You probably haven't heard, but I've actually moved back here," you say tentatively, knowing that the only reason you two weren't together was because you were living apart. But now you were closer than you had been in two years, and you had no clue what that meant, or if it had the power to change anything.

"What, to London?" Leah said quickly, her voice raising an octave in shock.

"No, I'm up North now. I've actually signed for City," you explain.

"Wow," she says, nodding her head and processing the news. The way she is looking at you doesn't give much away. Her face actually looks quite blank, as if she doesn't know at all how to feel about this.

"Yeah," you say quietly.

"Sky blue will suit you," she says simply and you smile, grateful for the playful comment.

"I don't know, I'm still struggling with the fact I'm not going to be back in red," you say, more meaning held in those words than you intended. Because not being back in red also for you meant not being back with Leah.

"I expected you to stay in Germany for a lot longer," Leah says and the feelings of guilt rush in. You'd thought about this a lot when you decided to come back to England.

The main reason you had called it quits with Leah was because you thought Germany was going to be your home for at least another five years. You couldn't do that many more years of distance, of short phone calls, of fighting and miscommunication. But of course you never thought after just a couple of years you would be coming back to England. And if you had, you might have been able to stick things out with Leah.

"I really did too," you say sincerely, hoping that she knows you wouldn't have done what you did if you knew you'd be back so soon.

Leah runs her hand roughly through her hair, and you can almost see the cogs turning in her head through the look in her eyes.

"This changes things then, doesn't it?" She asks, voicing the thoughts floating around both your minds.

"I suppose it does," you nod imperceptibly, afraid to admit it.

You stand in silence now, looking at each other trying to work out exactly what this changes.

"I miss you so much," Leah says, her voice thin and wavering.

"I know. I've felt sick without you," you say, voicing things you'd never voiced to anyone. You have genuinely experienced the most physical forms of grief for Leah. The first few months after the breakup you were nauseous everyday, throwing up even when your stomach was completely empty. It just felt impossible to go on without her.

Leah just nods, having been through the exact same things.

"I'm so sorry," you say finally taking the opportunity to apologise for the thing that you've felt so much guilt and remorse about.

"It's okay," Leah assures you, but you shake your head instantly.

"It's not, I don't know what I was thinking Leah," you say honestly, feeling the emotions all over again. Your eyes well up and Leah is quick to embrace you, allowing you to let it out in her arms.

"You were right about everything but," she says, "Things weren't working."

"Yeah, but I should've tried to work through it," you voice the things you'd been thinking over for the last two years, trying to compose yourself with deep breaths.

"I wasn't making it easy for you, I was so hard on you. I feel really bad about the way I treated you when you left," Leah reflects on her own behaviour.

"It's okay," you tell her now.

You stand in the middle of the footpath in St Albans, holding each other, both unable to believe that this was real.

"You don't absolutely hate me do you? Because I'd understand if you did," you say, stepping back to look at Leah, trying to ease some of the tension.

She laughs, "I tried hating you," she says, "But that lasted about a minute and then I just went on trying to love you less."

"And how did that go?" You ask hopefully.

"Yeah not very good," she says.

"I couldn't really get the hang of not loving you either," you say.

Leah is smiling, but you can see the reservation in her eyes. She knows that everything has suddenly changed, but still, nothing is the same as it once was. You feel it too.

"What do we do now?" She asks.

You shrug your shoulders, "I've got to deliver this bread back to Katie and Caitlin, do you want to come?"

"I'll come," she nods, "But what happens after that?" Leah says.

"After that," you sigh, "We are about two years overdue in catching up on each others lives, so I'd say we'll have a nice long chat."

You are stepping forward now, beginning the journey back to Katie and Caitlin's, and Leah is by your side.

"Best start now then," Leah says, and the two of you fall deep into conversation immediately. It warms you heart how at home you feel, even after all this time.

When you knock on the door back at the girls flat, Katie answers with a look of absolute shock on her face.

"What are you doin here!?" She looks right at Leah, as if she was an intruder.

"Well I bumped into this one in town and she invited me over, is that alright?" Leah explains.

Katie takes a moment to process the words before nodding and stepping back to let you both inside.

"Oh my god, what are you doing here?" Caitlin echoes when you all walk into the living room together.

"We've just bumped into each other," you say, "I thought I'd drop off the bread before Leah and I go and catch up."

"Cool, cool," Caitlin says, trying to mask her shock while Katie looks on, stunned into a very uncharacteristic silence.

"God, you two look like you've seen a ghost," Leah says.

"I feel like I have!" Katie stresses, and you feel the exact same way.

"Alright, let's go down the park," you suggest to Leah, a place where you two used to walk around in circles, chatting for hours. It seems like the perfect place to go.

"Perfect," she nods, "Bye you two," she looks between her teammates.

"See ya, have fun," Caitlin says.

"Don't kill each other," Katie says and you scoff.

"We won't," you roll your eyes.

You and Leah step out the front door you share a moment of laughter about the interaction.

"Did I hide my shock better than those two when I saw you?" You ask.

"Absolutely not, I believe your words were oh my god," Leah laughs.

You two end up at the park, walking around at first, talking about how you are going to be playing for City now and your time at Bayern. Leah gives you the big run down on what's been happening at Arsenal since you've left, telling you about all the new players. It's like seeing an old friend, and you're just so glad that she hasn't spent two years hating you.

After what must be over an hour, you two sit at a bench. Same one you would always find together on your morning walks.

It's weird being so physically close to her again. You want to reach out and hold her forever, but you think it might be too soon. Leah feels the same though and she shows it in the way her hand reaches out to find yours.

"Can I be honest with you?" She asks.

"Of course you can," you say with a squeeze of her hand.

"I haven't felt this..." she pauses trying to find the word, "Happy? Peaceful? I don't think there is a right word to tell you how right this feels to be with you again," she says, healing all the cracks in your broken heart.

"It feels the same as I remember it feeling," you say in agreement, "Like this is just how it's supposed to be."

"Would it be absolutely crazy of us to try to pick up where we left off?" Leah suggests.

"People will definitely think we're crazy, but I don't have a problem with that," you say.

"Is this really what you want?" Leah asks, using her free hand to gesture between you both.

"Yes," you say without missing a single beat, "I don't want to ever go without this again."

"Good. We're on the same page then," she nods finally.

Not wanting to wait any longer you ask her a question you've been dying to ask, "Can I kiss you, please?"

Without even a word Leah just smiles, leaning in to kiss you. Somehow it's a goodbye kiss, and a hello kiss, an I missed you kiss, and an I'm sorry kiss. It's everything you wish you could've said to each other in once simple gesture.

"I haven't stopped loving you for a minute, I hope you know that," you say quietly, as you pull apart.

Leah smiles, looking at you with all the love in the world, "I've spent years dreaming that one day we'd see each other again and you'd say that."

"In my dreams, you say it back," you joke.

"Sorry," Leah shakes her head, "I love you."

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #woso x reader #lionesses x reader #arsenal women #woso #woso community #lionesses

[lucyandalexiafan]

I'm scared | Alexia Putellas x Reader | part 2

summary: first time that Alexia and reader talk about sex (specifically: masturbation) after the walk.

warnings: angst, allusion to past sexual abuses. really light smut moment (r comes home early and sees Alexia have orgasm using a vibrator).

words: 3k

Part 1

When you had spoken to Alexia about your past, about those experiences, you hadn't expected her to be so understanding and engaged in helping you.

Even though you knew she was a sweet person, kind, and in some way you knew she loved you, or was starting to develop strong feelings for you, up until that day you had believed she wouldn't stay with you once she found out what had happened to you.

Alexia is beautiful, charming, loved by hundreds of thousands of people; she's the captain of Spain and Barcelona, which means she's surrounded by beautiful women, a lot of them probably much more predisposed to have sex with her and much less anxious about it. She's famous, so not only fans and other footballers would want something with her, but also other celebrities, like models or actresses or singers.

Alexia doesn't just play football, she's also a football activist, a model and she works with some brands, which means she works in contexts that allow her to meet many (beautiful) women.

All these things had made it difficult for you to think that she would stay after that walk.

She took you home once you had returned to the car because the next day she had to go to Madrid for work with Nike. Before getting out of the car, you had kissed her and, thinking it was the last time, you had tried to imprint the image of Alexia so close to your face in your memory. You thought you wouldn't see her again and that she wouldn't contact you anymore, that she would ghost you or break up with you by message.

You had spent that night sleepless, tears flowing heavily from your eyes and nausea that had forced you to sit on the bathroom floor for a few hours, the retching had painfully contracted your body several times during those hours. Even though you hated yourself every time you did it, you kept checking your phone hoping to see a notification from her, a message, a post sent on Instagram or TikTok, and the more time passed, the more you received no news from her, the more nausea and the tears increased, the more you believed you had lost her forever.

Yet, the next day, the sound of the doorbell had woken you up. You had struggled to get out of bed, the headache was killing you and your back seemed to be broken in two by the pain, the sweat covering your forehead was a symptom of yet another nightmare that had invaded your sleep. 

You looked at the video intercom and saw a delivery man. "Yes, who's there?" you had asked, your voice hoarse, ruined by crying.

"Hello, I'm from Bakery Adele, I was told I have to deliver this order to this address" the delivery guy had replied, his voice annoyingly shrill, before asking for confirmation of identity.

You had told him he could leave it at the concierge and that you would come down later, but he had persuaded you by saying there was a piping hot double espresso cappuccino and a freshly baked cream-filled brioche waiting for you.

You had put on a jacket that was hanging on the coat rack, a jacket of Alexia, and had gone down. The delivery guy handed you the breakfast, a little note attached to the package, and then said goodbye.

Bakery Adele doesn't do deliveries, never.

Once you had entered the house, you had opened the note, and tears had returned when you had read it.

"I thought of ordering your favorite breakfast from your bakery. Whenever you feel like it, if you want, write to me or call me, I'm always here. I miss you, but I'll wait for you to feel ready to talk to me. Alexia <3"

Tears, tears, and more tears.

You had bitten your lip as you grabbed your phone to video call her. You didn't care about the condition of your face or your hair at that moment, you only cared about seeing if it was true, if she was sincere. You had spent the whole night thinking she hadn't written to you because she didn't want to talk to you anymore, only to find out she was waiting for you?

"Amor," her voice, her sweet voice, invaded the deafening silence of your home.

"Ale-" you had replied trying to articulate a sentence, but inevitably ending up crying.

"What's wrong, amor? Are you okay?" she was worried, her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes squinted.

"I thought you didn't want me anymore and now the breakfast has arrived and I don't understand and-" You start speaking quickly, thoughts overlapping in your mind one after another, as you try to express yourself, to tell her how confused you feel right now.

"Take a breath, amor breath with me. Did you think I wouldn't call you? - you shook your head - Amor, I told you I'm in love with you, why would I leave you?"

You hadn't talked much, actually, because she was about to enter the store and there was a lot of confusion, but she had called you back that evening.

And the day after, and the day after that, until she had shown up at your house with takeout Chinese food.

A couple of days after she returned, you had asked if you could talk, if you could talk about what had happened. You knew that the best idea would have been to go to her place, a place from which it would have been easy to run away from her if things didn't go as you hoped, and not to your place, where Alexia could have stayed even against your will; but the emotional comfort you felt being in your own home was crucial to be able to talk to her, to face the situation.

You were at your home, on the couch: you were sitting cross-legged, your hands holding hers, and you had told her that you understood if this thing was bigger than her, if she didn't want to wait for some time to do something sexual, but you had also told her that a part of you would have wanted her to stay because you wanted to face this thing with her, that you truly wanted to face it.

Alexia, hesitant, had told you, after a while of talking, that she thought it was appropriate for you to start a therapy process, maybe also to go to therapy together, because only then could you fully face the trauma. She also made sure to tell you that if you couldn't afford it continuously over time or with the right frequency, she would help you financially because, yes, facing it, but with the right psychologist. Shyly, she had told you that she had done a couple of searches on the best psychologists in Barcelona for this type of trauma and had found one really good, and that she would also be available to do couple therapy.

You had told her you would think about it and a few days later you had contacted one of the psychologists on her list.

The initial doubts about her seriousness in being faithful to you and not seeking anyone else for sexual satisfaction surfaced when she left for a National Team camp, and they exploded when you thought she was cheating on you with Jenni. The endless social media edits you continued to see fueled the doubt that perhaps, while genuinely attempting to complete the therapeutic journey, she was seeking to fulfill her sexual desire with someone else in secret.

At the third couple's therapy session after that camp, you addressed the issue. You had resignedly told her that you wanted to know if she was with other women, that you would understand but needed to know. She was shocked. She had told you multiple times that she only wanted you, that she would wait for you, that she didn't want anyone else, that she didn't want Jenni.

You had discussed it several times in therapy over the next two weeks, and even outside of therapy, but Alexia always said the same thing: I will wait for you, I want you.

The doubts had more or less disappeared when few weeks later you caught her having an orgasm with a vibrator while she thought you were still out. You were on holiday in the Canary Islands, you had gone out to do some shopping and go to an open-air market while she was sleeping, and you had left her a message saying you wouldn't be back in two hours; too bad the open-air market was on Thursday, not Tuesday, so you had returned after a little over half an hour. 

As soon as you entered the house, you heard moans and silently approached the bedroom, only to see her in the middle of the bed, her hand between her legs and a buzzing sound in the background accompanying her moans. 

You froze in place, not knowing what to do, or what to say. 

You didn't even know she had a vibrator. You hadn't really thought about it, actually.

You hadn't even had time to think about how to react because shortly after she reached the peak of pleasure, so you quickly moved towards the door, opened and closed it more loudly, pretending you had just entered. You didn't know why you did it, maybe you thought it would be easy to pretend you hadn't seen her, but you were wrong, especially for two reasons: seeing her climax had made you incredibly horny and you couldn't remove the image of her having an orgasm from your mind, so you couldn't even look her in the eyes.

Alexia had sensed something was wrong and asked you if everything was okay at dinner, when she asked if she had done something wrong. You almost choked on the water you were drinking, your cheeks suddenly burning, as you tried to come up with some excuses, only to give in.

"Amor, I don't know how to say it - you lowered your gaze, embarrassed to admit it, afraid she would get angry - I... today I came home earlier than you think and I-I saw you-"

"Fuck - Alexia exclaimed bluntly - Amor, I'm sorry, I... it shouldn't have happened, I thought you'd be back later," her tone suddenly guilty, as if masturbating were a fault.

"Are you sorry? - you asked, looking her in the eyes, and she nodded, her face red with embarrassment - But... why?"

Her expression became confused. "I-you weren't supposed to see me, I don't want you to think-"

"Since when you do it?" you asked, then realized the stupidity of the question when the older woman tilted her head to the side; you tried to change the subject, but she asked you to talk about it, to ask her, because it was important for her that you talked about it.

"Do you want to know if I've been doing it since we started dating or when I started doing it in general?" her tone was so calm, so relaxed, that you trusted her, trusted that she really just wanted to talk about it.

That was the first time you had talked so specifically about your sexual life, at least hers. 

She had told you she lost her virginity to a girl when she was fifteen, started using sex toys at sixteen, that throughout her relationship with Jenni they had been an integral part of the relationship, but she started using them less when she broke up with her because at that point she was having a lot of casual sex.

"I had sex with other women before I met you, both occasional and steady partners, so I didn't really need to use them to have an orgasm. Then we met, the relationship became serious and we started dating, so I stopped seeing other people, and when I realized we wouldn't have sex, I started using them more often. Since you told me about your past, I've started using them frequently again."

You bit your lip as you listened to her, it was evident that she was hesitant, choosing her words carefully, but at the same time she was so sure, so calm. The calmness with which she spoke about it almost gave you comfort, almost reassured you that she wasn't lying, that what she was saying was true.

"You can ask me anything, amor, none question is stupid."

"Do you do it because we don't have sex?"

She nodded hesitantly. "How does this make you feel? - you raised your eyebrows, confused - I don't want this thing to make you feel bad."

"It makes sense that you do it - you replied, your tone devoid of negative emotions - We don't have sex and you need to... have an orgasm. Why didn't you tell me?"

She took a sip of water in an attempt to stall. "I... I thought you would take it badly, that you would feel guilty or something, and I didn't want that. I told you I want to wait for you, but I was afraid that if I told you you would think that I necessarily need someone to have sex with or for me to tell you to speed things up - she sighed - But as you saw, my sex toys give me great orgasms and I could go on just with them for years" she continued, trying to relax the tension that had been created with her answer.

You chuckled with her, even though you were sorry she did it in secret, that she did it only when you weren't there, that she was afraid you would take it badly.

It was her first orgasm you had seen, and you had never really thought about the fact that she could be satisfied in other ways than having sex with other people.

"I had never thought that you would seek orgasms in other ways than sex - you simply stated - It's a stupid thing, sorry."

"It's not, actually. We've never talked about this, about maybe masturbating or actually wanting to have sex, regardless of whether we do it or not - the reflective tone, the calm voice - For example, when I feel the need to have an orgasm, use a vibrator because the orgasms I have using it are generally more satisfying than when I just use my fingers; but when I want to have sex, as well as an orgasm, I use my fingers because they feel closer to what I could have having sex with you."

You widened your eyes at the revelation, at how calmly she said it. You knew it was normal for her to be calm, you were glad she talked about it freely, but you didn't expect her to be so sincere.

"I've said too much, sorry. Please forget it," she continued, her voice concerned, her gaze now on the plate, her hands quickly grabbing the fork and knife to put them on the plate.

"No! - you replied, scaring her - Sorry, I don't know how to talk about it, but I'd like to, I like that we talk about it."

There was a pause, Alexia was simply smiling at you, perhaps surprised that you were actually having this conversation, perhaps because she didn't know what to say.

"I masturbate thinking about you," you said, a statement.

The woman in front of you widened her eyes, a choked moan escaped her mouth, the dismay obvious.

"When I do it I-I think about the two of us having sex or-or... doing sexual things - you lowered your gaze, a sense of humiliation invading your body when she said nothing - Please don't be mad at me"

You close your eyes, scared at the idea that she might start yelling that it's disrespectful, that it's wrong for you to do it, or, worse, that she might get up to hurt you, or physically punish you for it.

"Get mad? Why should I get mad? - her voice confused - It's normal for you to masturbate, to seek orgasm."

"Even if it's not with you?" she nodded "It's just that we don't have sex but I masturbate and... doesn't it make you mad?"

Your voice sounded more frightened than you wanted, but it was true that you feared she would get angry. You didn't want to have sex with her, you were afraid to have sex with her, but you touched yourself thinking of her; how could she take it?

"I'm glad you can touch yourself, that at least that part of your sexuality hasn't been broken," she moved her hands towards yours, squeezing them between hers "There's nothing wrong, amor, I'd be a selfish insecure person to think otherwise."

You bit your lip as you looked at her, admiring her. How could she always know what to say, always say the right thing?

"So, did you like to watch me while I touch myself?" you coughed embarrassed, not knowing what to say, or how to explain it.

You had enjoyed watching her come, even though it was by chance and for a short time, even though it was an unexpected thing that shouldn't have happened. The image of her coming, of her orgasm, was imprinted in your mind.

"I- you were just so beautiful when you came. I don't know how to say it, I feel stupid, and- it was like, I don't know - you sighed frustrated - it's just that I wish it were me making you come like that, not a vibrator."

"There's time, amor," she told you.

She was right, there was time, but you wanted to be the one instead of that vibrator.

I'm sorry it took me so long to post this, a few bad things happened and I didn't have the mind to write. this is a text that I wrote about two weeks ago but I only translated it last night; I'm not 100/100 satisfied, but I wanted to introduce a moment of discussion about sex before anything sexual could happen. I dealt with the topic of insecurity and jealousy in a very light way (perhaps superficially) but it seemed like the only way to introduce the moment on holiday. the hardest part for me, and what makes me a little dissatisfied, was trying to figure out whether what I wrote about accidentally seeing Alexia have an orgasm was itself a violation of consent, or could be construed as an accident (which it actually is); I chose to interpret it as an accident that Alexia knew could happen and to avoid the parties considering it a violation of consent. If this seems wrong to you, or will trigger a lot of people, I think I'll revisit this chapter. as usual, thanks for reading what I wrote :)

#woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas fanfics #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

[maaarine]

Scientists Pinpoint Cause of Severe Morning Sickness (Azeen Ghorayshi, The New York Times, Dec 13 2023)

"More than two-thirds of pregnant women experience nausea and vomiting during the first trimester.

And roughly 2 percent of women are hospitalized for a condition called hyperemesis gravidarum, which causes relentless vomiting and nausea throughout the entire pregnancy.

The condition can lead to malnutrition, weight loss and dehydration.

It also increases the risk of preterm birth, pre-eclampsia and blood clots, threatening the life of the mother and the fetus.

Perhaps because nausea and vomiting are so common in pregnancy, doctors often overlook hyperemesis, dismissing its severe symptoms as psychological, even though it is the leading cause of hospitalization during early pregnancy, experts said.

Although celebrities like Kate Middleton and Amy Schumer have raised the condition’s profile in recent years by sharing their experiences, it remains understudied.

“I’ve been working on this for 20 years and yet there are still reports of women dying from this and women being mistreated,” said Dr. Marlena Fejzo, a geneticist at the University of Southern California Keck School of Medicine and a co-author of the new study.

She knows the pain of the condition firsthand.

During her second pregnancy, in 1999, Dr. Fejzo was unable to eat or drink without vomiting.

She rapidly lost weight, becoming too weak to stand or walk.

Her doctor was dismissive, suggesting she was exaggerating her symptoms to get attention.

She was eventually hospitalized, and miscarried at 15 weeks. (…)

The researchers found that women experiencing hyperemesis had significantly higher GDF15 levels during pregnancy than did those who had no symptoms.

But the hormone’s effect seems to depend on the woman’s sensitivity and exposure to the hormone before pregnancy.

The researchers found, for example, that women in Sri Lanka with a rare blood disorder causing chronically high levels of GDF15 rarely experienced nausea or vomiting in pregnancy.

“It completely obliterated all the nausea. They pretty much have next to zero symptoms in their pregnancies,” said Dr. Stephen O’Rahilly, an endocrinologist at Cambridge who led the research.

Dr. O’Rahilly hypothesized that prolonged exposure to GDF15 before pregnancy could have a protective effect, making women less sensitive to the sharp surge in the hormone caused by the developing fetus. (…)

The new study is powerful because it offers genetic proof of a causal relationship between GDF15 and the disease, said Dr. Rachel Freathy, who is a geneticist at the University of Exeter and was not involved in the study.

That will help the condition gain greater recognition, she said.

“There is kind of an assumption made by many people that women should just be able to cope with this,” Dr. Freathy said.

With this biological explanation, she said, “there will be more belief that this is a real thing rather than something in somebody’s head.”"

#article #weaker sex #health

[geopsych]

re: the tumblr ai stuff, please don’t wipe your blog!! your blog has been so important to me and many others as a place of authentic light and beauty and i would hate to lose it forever 💕

there is a way to download the contents of a tumblr blog (it’s in settings, i don’t remember rn, but i’ll find it if you need it) maybe you could upload to another site or a personal site?

i know this is very serious, and i hate how we are unwillingly contributing to synthetic art, but the world would be poorer for me without your pictures <3

Thank you. Your words mean a lot to me.

This is a dilemma for me. I have loved doing this blog and going out to look for pictures and interesting things to bring here has given me motivation and meaning through years of struggle with depression and several kinds of grief. Going out to look for pictures has put me in situations where I have seen incredible beauty, much of which I never really managed to capture. Also, the many warm and kind messages I've received from people all over the world have given me heart and made me feel less meaningless as a person and more connected. Sometimes I've been criticized for buying the checkmarks and giving money to Tumblr but I wanted to do what I could because Tumblr has been my one happy and safe place online. But now this. To me AI in relation to creativity is just a way for well-to-do but untalented people, the proverbial tech bros, to profit from other people's hard work and creativity. It has no redeeming value in relation to creativity and is actively harmful to artists of all kinds. <trying to figure out how to put a read more link here> I don't even count myself among the real creatives, artists and writers and others who have worked hard and put years into honing their crafts, into learning to translate their hearts and unique spirits into their creative expression. I just see beautiful things and take pictures of them. But it would still make me sick to see AI works based on my pictures, on these times and places that have meant so much to me. Recently I saw a set of cat 'photos' on here that everyone was reblogging and exclaiming over but that to me seemed to just be AI art that was more convincing than most. As time goes on more and more output of AI is going to be almost indistinguishable from real works and unscrupulous people will pass them off as real, getting credit for what was actually created by others. Whether they profit from them becomes almost irrelevant at that point because what's worse is that we will have less and less sense of what is real. And as some have pointed out AI will now also be scraping from AI, muddying the waters further from here on in. This is an apocalypse of sorts, an apocalypse of creativity, ultimately likely to kill the joy of artistic endeavor for many who would otherwise produced brilliant, beautiful, funny, and/or shockingly original things. I'm still parsing and dissecting my thoughts and feelings about what Tumblr has done and how to react. Staying and leaving my blog up feels like consent. I am not confident in the integrity of anyone connected with scraping sites for AI. I'm not convinced that a little toggle in settings is going to make much of a difference in the long run. On the other hand I like posting here and I have received enough messages over the years to know that my blog is a positive influence on some lives. I was looking forward to May and June and posting pictures of the incredible beauty of eastern Pennsylvania in those months. And I was planning on making a side blog for posting some poetry I've been working on. It will break my heart to leave.

I haven't decided yet. Believe it or not this whole thing has given me awful physical symptoms. I'll let you know when I decide. Thank you again for your kind and lovely note!

#ask #ai #tumblr #thank you #sigh #the whole you’ve already been assaulted so you may as well stay and be assaulted more isn’t the great argument you think it is

[a-nemoiia]

「 In sickness and health 」

Summary: A small incident leads Thomas Shelby into a new battle with an invisible enemy

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: POTS symptoms (dizziness, struggle to breath, almost fainting, etc) + written through fever so there might be a few mistakes.

Note: A big thank you to @saltburnwhore for educating me on this topic, and I apologise in advance if it doesn't meet your expectations

It's been nearly 2 months now since the Garrison closed it's doors for renovation at Polly's request, and the loyal patrons were eager to return to their favourite pub.

That's why crowds now were packed infront of the entrance on the opening day, and once Thomas opened the newly polished doors, everyone poured inside barely leaving space for another person to set a foot. But that didn't stop them from enjoying themselves as the band John brought played loud music in celebration.

Harry struggled to keep up with the packed pub on his on, so without hesitation, Polly and y/n joined him behind the bar, pouring drinks and opening taps. And after a couple of hours, Harry shouted over the loud music "We ran out of whiskey"

Turning to y/n who was helping serve pints, Polly said "There's a new whisky delivery in the storage from last night, take the keys from Tommy and bring a couple of bottles, hurry!", as she took the glasses from her hands to continue serving the waiting customers.

Y/n didn't waste anytime, looking around the pub she spotted her boyfriend stepping out for a smoke away from the noise, "Tommy!" she called over, getting his attention as she made her way to his side. "I need the keys. Polly needs a couple of bottles, we're running low already" she explained as she held out her palm waiting for him to give her the keys.

Taking a look inside the crowded pub, Thomas turned to face her "A few bottles won't cut it..." he noted, as he took her hand in his, and led her to the back storage. With a twist of his keys he unlocked the door to where boxes of alcohol were stacked high amidst the leftover mess from the recent renovation.

"Polly said the delivery is from last night" y/n said as she eyed the room, "God! This place could use a through cleaning" she remarked, carefully picking her way around the bucket of paint, making sure not to knock it over.

Nodding in agreement, Tommy used his pocket knife and sliced through the top of several boxes, searching their content, "Aye, Arthur said he'll take care of it" he told her, as he cut through more boxes. A couple of minutes later Thomas announced "Found it!" as he held the bottles in his hand.

"Shall we take it all?" Y/n asked and Thomas shrugged, already carrying the heavy box in his arms "Better to have more than less, the night is still young" he said.

Giving him space to walk a head, y/n stepped back, unaware, her foot caught on a lengthy piece of wood making her stumble. Quickly, Thomas reached out to steady her "Careful!" he said, just as they both heard shattering.

The door knob...

Thomas sat the box down and walked over to the door, once he inspected the broken piece he realised that they were trapped,"Damn it" He cursed under his breath.

"I'm sorry Tommy..." y/n quickly apologised but Thomas shook his head "Not your fault sweetheart, fucking Arthur should've taken care of this mess ages ago" he sighed in frustration.

But y/n had other reasons that made her worry, placing a hand on her chest she felt her heart rate pick up, as she struggled to breath in the dusty and poorly ventilated place.

Before her legs give out, y/n reached for an old chair, and Thomas quickly noticed that something wasn't right, "Are you alright?" he asked, concern etched all over his face as he studied her distressed form.

"Just lightheaded" she tried to ressure him but thomas knew it was more than that. He wasn't blind after all...

Thomas had noticed the signs for a while: how she'd struggled to make it out of bed sometime, how shaky she'd be after having a drink of two, the continues dizziness and how her legs failed to carry her at times.

Y/n often blamed it on her cycle, other times she laughed it off, saying she couldn't drink like a Shelby, but Thomas wasn't fooled.

In an instance Thomas was before her, holding her hand in his, "Don't lie to me y/n, no more downplaying this" he said, worry evident in his deep blue eyes "Once we're out of here you're seeing a doctor" he continued but she cut him off, "It's nothing really" y/n insisted, with a weak smile but she knew he saw through her dismissal.

Closing her eyes in an attempt to think through the fog "POTS, It's... It's a disorder... I've had it since I could remember" she explained her condition, but the confusion written on his face told her that she needs to do better than that.

So for the next 10 minutes, she laid it all bare, she told him about the symptoms, the treatments that brought nothing but little relief to her daily pain. The man before her took it all in, his worry increasing with every new piece of information, it all made him feel like his hands were tied.

Running a hand down his face, Thomas couldn't help but feel fear grip him, because for the first time he felt powerless...

It wasn't a simple threat that he could shield her from with his fist or gun, the danger was invisible this time, beyond his ability to see or fight...it came from within her own body.

Noticing the sweat beads on her brows, as the heat rose in the cramped place, Thomas gently wiped it away with his palm. Cupping her face gently he said "Just breath for me, love, I'll get us out of here", Thomas felt like the words were for his own reassurance as much as for her.

On hurried steps, he started tearing through the mess, tossing and throwing anything that isn't useful out of his way, he rammed through the storage until he spotted an old axe, and without thinking twice Thomas graped it and marched towards the door.

Fueled by his fear for y/n, Thomas tore the strong door down to shreds, the wood didn't stand a chance against the relentless blows, until nothing was left of it but the lock dangling from the splinted frame.

"C'mon sweetheart" Thomas said dropping the axe, swiping her into his arms he rushed them towards the pub's back door, where Arthur met them halfway.

"Lovebirds, what took ya so lon-" Arthur started to say cheerfully but the words died on his lips once thomas suddenly snapped at him. "I'll fucking kill ya Arthur!" he shouted through gritted teeth making Arthur recoil in shook.

Seeing Y/n laying almost unconscious in his arms seemed to pour gasoline on Thomas's temper, as worry and fear ate him from the inside, his thoughts raced with different scenarios, each worse than the other.

Taking in the scene Ada quickly followed them with a cup of salted water in her hand, as Thomas swiftly carried the woman in his arms to the private booth. And once Thomas saw Ada hand y/n the cup he gave her a questioning look.

Meeting his gaze Ada saw the rare open concern in her brother's eyes,"She told me not too long ago... She didn't want to burden you", she admitted, answering his unasked question.

With a sigh, Thomas knelt down infront of y/n, noticing how the color started to return to her rosie cheeks brought relief to his worrying heart. Gently, he brushed the strands of hair clinging to her damp forehead and placed a tender kiss there.

"Never think like that again, we're in this together alright?" Thomas said, softly yet firmly "We will face it, just like we do all things" Thomas reassured her, his blue eyes peering into her weary ones before his lips met hers.

Earning a weak nod from her, y/n leaned into his embrace, taking comfort into his arms, she felt safe knowing that facing the challenges of this illness will be much easier with him by her side.

#cillian murphy #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine

[moonshinemagpie]

autoimmune diseases faq

an autoimmune disease occurs when your immune system mistakenly attacks your own body

whether or not this counts as a "disability" depends on both how you're defining "disability" and the severity of the disease. This is a huge, multifaceted topic.

Example: I am considered disabled in my doctor's office. I was considered disabled at university, where I received accommodations. I am not considered disabled by American social services, because I can work. I WAS considered disabled by Japanese social services when I lived there. I do personally identify as disabled. All of these contexts and definitions differ.

generally, autoimmune diseases are not curable. some are very treatable and some are not

people can have more than one autoimmune disease and they can manifest differently. e.g., I have one that's always remained moderate and two that are severe.

autoimmune diseases are very under-researched, underfunded, and often poorly understood; that they've been so neglected by researchers and also primarily affect women is not coincidental (if you want to read more about this, I recommend the book Doing Harm by Maya Dusenbery)

many autoimmune diseases can lead to life-threatening complications.

many autoimmune diseases can result in what able-bodied people typically associate with disability, including blindness, paralysis, and immobility.

what can be very confusing for many is that autoimmune diseases can result in "dynamic disability," which means that one's ability to perform tasks varies day-by-day or even hour-by-hour. e.g., I can never run but I can usually walk; a few times a month, I can't walk at all; I can usually see but sometimes I become blind in my left eye. These are dynamic disabilities.

many autoimmune diseases manifest as "invisible illnesses." an invisible illness does NOT mean: 1. the illness is not severe or 2. the illness is not a disability. It ONLY means that people cannot see the symptoms. examples of invisible illnesses include dementia, heart disease, and multiple sclerosis

EDIT: yes, I made this in response to a poll that made me uncomfortable, but I wish I'd sounded less incendiary. The poll maker definitely had no ill intent and sounded young and/or like they just hadn't spent a lot of time on the wording of their Tumblr poll which, you know, fair. Please don't gang up on this person in the tags!

#disability #chronic illness #autoimmune disease

[pandorxxx]

Lurkin’

Lo’ak (19) x human fem reader (18)

Warnings: SMUT THE HOUSE, BLOOD (from biting), p in v, oral, biting, choking, squirting, cursing,rough sex, size kink, praise kink, CNC.

🔞Minors do not interact🔞

With a loud gasp, you finally awoke. Sitting up quickly to scan your surroundings. You look around frantically to find yourself in the forest. You remember walking through the forest of pandora with a couple of scientists. You were new, so they had to show you around. And now, you’re here.

“Ughhhh” you winced, sitting up slowly. You scanned your body for injuries finding several, but nothing too serious. You looked down at your clothes as they were almost completely ripped off.

“What the hell happened?” You mumbled under your breath, wobbling to your feet.

“Hello!!!” You yelled, cupping your hands to your mouth. You looked around for a moment, and nothing. You sighed loudly, trying desperately to remember your way back to the lab. What you didn’t know was that there were a pair of eyes, watching your every move.

Lo’ak was lurking in the shadows, following you. He noticed that you were in distress; clothes torn, hair a mess, blood visible on parts of your body. He assumed you were a scientist, lost in the forest.

Jake took lo’ak to the forest, as his rut was approaching. Lo’ak was completely untamable in his state, but maybe coming to the forest was a bad idea this time. He was intrigued by little you; The way you stumbled on the huge rocks, your frustration from actually being lost. You were hypnotizing to him.

His rut was almost at the peek, and he couldn’t take the lurking anymore. He walked closer behind you, making sure to keep quiet. He made his was behind you, towering over your little frame.

You felt a presence behind you. Your heart beating fast, not knowing if you should turn around or run. Before you knew it, you felt a strong hand wrap around your neck gently, from behind. Then a strong hand cupping your mouth.

“Don’t scream ok?” He commands calmy. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest, but you quickly nod in hopes that he would let you go. To your surprise, he did. He turned you towards him by your shoulder. You look up at the na’vi, basking in all of his glory; he was glowing in the moan light, his skin was a calming blue, and his strip pattern was intricate. He was towering over you, panting loudly as he glared into your terrified eyes.

“Please, don’t hurt me. I’m lost, I need to get back to the lab.” You plead taking his hand in yours, almost in tears. He looked down at your hands, locked together, and then back to you.

“I will not hurt you, I just need some help.” He stated, getting down on his knees to seem less intimidating. You stopped weeping to shoot him a confused look.

“Help? From me?” You asked, tracing his glowing freckles down to his chest. He pulled your chin up, connecting his eyes with yours.

“Yes, from you.” He replied, squeezing your hand firmly, pushing a strand of hair out of you face as he wiped your tears. You noticed his breathing becoming rapid the more he touched you. His eyes were not the color you studied about, but more of a deep red. He was sweating profusely, and it was no where near hot at this time of night. These were only symptoms of a Navi in rut.

Your eyes widened from realization, as you let his hand go, stepping back slowly.

“No no no, please. I can’t help you with that.” You whimper, shaking your head desperately trying to wake up from what had to be a dream.

“You can’t help me with what?” He asked, tilting his head as he glared at your small frame. You knew he was playing games. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he just wanted to hear you say it, hear you beg for mercy. You glance down at his loincloth, noticing the huge bulge growing by the second. A single tear falls from your eye as you realized there was no way out of this.

“I have to go back…” you whisper, but it comes out as a soft cry. He shook his head, leaning back on his knees.

“I’ll take you back, later. I need you right now.” He growled, glaring at you through his eyebrows. There was awkward silence for a moment as you planned your escape. He caught on quickly, and smirked at you.

“Come here.” He commanded coldly. He started undoing his loincloth, letting it drop to the ground. Your mouth flew opened at the size of him. You were almost sure that it was the size of your forearm. The veins that lined his cock were pulsating, needy for attention. Drops of precum dripped to the moss underneath him.

“Shit” you screeched, not being able to keep your eyes off of it. He licked his lips at your discomfort, almost as if he was turned on by it.

“Don’t make me come over there.” He sung, stroking his length as he eye fucked you. You shook your head side to side frantically before backing up more. Lo’ak was growing frustrated, low growls rumbling in his chest. He lashed out, grabbing you by your arm, and bring you nose to nose with him.

“I was trying to be nice, my love. That shits over now.” He growled, snaking his hand around to the back of your head. He stood up tall, looking down at your helpless face. The tip of his cock was inches away from your mouth. You tried to back up, but his grip on your head didn’t allow that.

“Open.” He commanded, now holding your head with both hands. You opened your mouth slowly, and before you knew it, he plunged half of his cock into your mouth. Your screams were muffled from being stuffed. You pushed on his lowered abdomen, but he wouldn’t let up.

“Don’t fight me, babygirl. I need your help.” He moaned, thrusting into your mouth. Him being at the back of your throat was an understatement, you felt like he was tickling your rib cage. You were choking constantly, trying your best to breath through your nose.

“Fuck! Babygirl don’t do that. You’re gonna make me cum in this pretty little mouth of yours.” He groaned, stuffing alittle more of himself down your throat with every thrust. Tears were running out of your now red eyes. You felt your consciousness leaving you slowly. You tapped his leg exhaustedly, and that caught his attention. He pulled out of your mouth, and you gasped for air, eyes wide as the spit ran down your chin.

“You look so fucking pretty like this.” He muttered, tapping the tip on your swollen lips. In an instant, he lifted you up, pinning you to a nearby tree. He tore your already ripped shorts off of you with one swift pull. That’s when you started fighting him, trying with all your might to get him off of you. He grabbed your cheeks, squeezing them together.

“You wanna be a good girl and give it to me? Or do you want me to take it? Either way, you’re getting this dick.” He growled, Turning your face to the side to attack your neck. Even after his statement, you tried to push him back, punching his chest, and the arms that help you up.

“STOP!” He shouted, pinning your neck to the bark behind you. You finally stopped all sudden movements, realizing that there was no way to fight him off.

“That’s a good girl.” He smiled, grabbing his cock and lining it up to your entrance. He could feel you shaking in fear underneath his touch, and a piece of humanity slipped through the cracks of his rut.

“I will try to go slow. Yeah? Does that make you feel better?” He searched your teary eyes for consent. You nodded slowly, pouting at him. With that, he slide the tip in slowly. You gasped, gripping his shoulders tightly. He bit his lip, trying to refrain from plunging deep into you. He lingered for a while, letting you get used to just the tip.

“You’re doing good, babygirl. I’m gonna go alittle deeper now, ok?” He asked, and you nodded. Even though he was in rut, he was doing well at restraining himself, but all restraint was slipping away slowly.

You nodded, bitting your bottom lip tightly with your eyes shut. He slowly slide half way into you, and the way you sucked him in was sending him over the edge. He started thrusting into you slowly, growling loudly as he hung his head onto your shoulder. You tapped his shoulder, letting him know that it was too much, but he was already slipping away.

“OKAY, slow down please. I-I need a minute.” You whimpered, trying to pull his face off of your shoulder.

“I-im so sorry!” He moaned, shaking his head before slamming the rest of his cock Into you.

“OHHH SHITTTT!” You whine, trying to climb out of his arms. He squeezed your waist tighter as he rutted into you at a steady pace, yet and still very deep.

“Mhmmm FUCK! You’re so fucking tight!” He growled, biting down on your shoulder. Your eyes widened when you felt small lines of blood trickle down your shoulder.

“P-please!” You whimper, shutting your eyes tightly as his thrusts became slower to accommodate your pain.

“I-I’m t-trying baby, just take it for me.” He moaned breathlessly, holding on to you for dear life. He licked the womb clean, massaging it with his tongue. The pain from him stretching you out slowly subsided. You tried to focus on the feeling of him hitting your spot with every thrust as he slid in and out of you slowly. How warm he was, and how his strong arms wrapped around you. The way he kissed your neck, leaving hickeys everywhere. The way he moaned in your ear at how good you felt sucking him in just right.

“Mmmmm shittt” your voice jumped from each deep thrust, as you threw your head back.

“Does it feel better?” He asked, still sucking the blood from your opened womb. Something about his gentle licks along your sore skin sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t believe that you were enjoying this, and that he got you to open up. You didn’t want him to stop.

“b-bite me!” You moaned, putting your arms up to the heavens to give him easy access. He bent down to your ripped shirt, completely tearing it off to reveal your plump breasts, bouncing up and down from each stroke. He sucked your nipple before moving up, biting your breast hard enough to draw blood.

“Is that what you wanted, babygirl?” He titled his head, bouncing you up and down on him by your waist. Your moans got stuck in your throat from the mix of pain and pleasure. All you could do was nod. He smirked, bending down again to lick the womb clean, massaging around it with his tongue. You watched as the blood dripped down your abdomen, all the way to where you two were connected. You glanced back up at him to see your blood dripping from his lips as he looked at you with heavy, lustful eyes. The image alone sent you over the edge.

“I-I- FUCK!!” Was all you could mutter out before gripping his arms, bowing your head back on the bark behind you. He licked from your breast to your neck, catching all the blood that flowed down.

“You wanna taste it, babygirl?” He growled, making you look him in the eyes. Blood still dripping from him mouth. He looked so seductive in that moment that you just couldn’t help yourself. You wrapped your arms around his head, crashing your lips into his. The kiss was slow and sloppy, and the copper taste consumed you. You bit down on his lip hard, drawing blood as you sucked it up.

“Mhmm yes baby girl! now you’re getting it.” He smiled into the kiss, rutting into you faster. You could feel your orgasm approaching as you dug your nails into his arms, eyes locked with his.

“You gonna cum for me? Hmm?” He asked nodding his head. You nodded yours too, jaw dropped as he smashed into your sweetspot with every thrust.

“I-I’m!!!” you muttered, leaning your head on his shoulder as you clung to him tightly.

“I know, babygirl. I’m gonna give you what you want. He sent you one hard thrust, massaging your sweetspot with his swollen tip. Just like that, you squirted all over his cock as your juices flowed down his legs.

“Oh my fucking god, yesssss!!!” You screamed, convulsing in his arms as tears flowed down your face.

“It’s my turn baby, I’m almost done with you. You’re doing so fucking good for me.” He kissed your blood stained lips before pinning you back to the wall. He shift the bend of your knees to hang over his forearms as he placed his hands on the tree bark behind you. He started thrusting into you hard and fast, watching your face contort in absolute pleasure. The pleasure was beginning to be too much for you to the point where you had double vision , feeling completely lightheaded.

“Im almost there baby, wake up for me!” He shouted, smacking your face lightly to keep you conscious. You were moaning, and mumbling, trying your best to keep your eyes opened.

“I -I can’t…” you mutter breathlessly, head falling to the bark behind you. He bit down on your chest, waking you up alittle bit.

“Yes you can, baby. Just alittle longer. You’re doing so good.” He moaned, licking the blood from the new wound. Your body twitched under his touch, as a single tear ran down your face. Lo’ak felt his stomach twist in pleasure, and he just couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Ohhh fuck, you ready for me to cum in this tight little pussy, babygirl? Huh?” He growled slapping your face once more. You nodded wearily, desperately waiting for him to be done with you. Lo’ak threw his head back in pure bliss, shooting his load deep inside of you.

“Fuck yesss!!!” He whined, thrusting into you slowly to ride out his high. You finally fell limp in his arms, snuggling into his chest. The fog of his rut slowly went away, clearing his mind. He looked down at your bruised and bloody body, gasping loudly. He gently laid you on the moss, before hovering over your limp body, slipping in and out of consciousness. He was hesitant to touch you, as he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already did.

“Umm…hello?” He said in shaky breaths, poking at you. Your eyes opened half way, staring at the figure hovering over you.

“Hmm?” You hummed deliriously, trying to get up, but the spikes of pain shot threw your entire body, causing you to wince loudly.

“Woah, woah, lay back.” Lo’ak commanded, pushing you back by your chest lightly. He scanned your body thoroughly, looking at all of the bites and bruises, before looking at your face.

“Hey, I’m gonna get you cleaned up before I take you to the lab. Is it ok if I pick you up?” He asked caressing your hair with a lighthearted smile. You nodded, holding your arms out for him to help you up. He chuckled softly before picking you up by your hips, wrapping them around his waist. You looked into his now, bright yellow eyes, caressing his cheek.

“W-what’s your name?” You asked, playing with his braids, almost fascinated by how beautiful his hair was. He smiled at your wonder-like demeanor.

“Lo’ak. My name is lo’ak. What’s is yours?” He asked, walking in the directing of the River.

“Y/n…” you said,wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. He hugged you back tightly, rubbing your back.

“Will I see you again?” You asked, almost devastated that this could be your last encounter with him. He smiled at you, and leaned down to your ear.

“Don’t worry, I’ll always be watching you.”

Not my girl falling in love with that Na’vi 🍆. She is in a full trance now🤦🏾‍♀️, and i low key love that for her🫶🏽. Anywaysss, as always, love y’all to death and I’ll see you soon❤️!!!

Outtie❤️🖖🏾,

Pandorxx

#avatar #avatar loak #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #loak headcanons #loak x reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam headcanons #avatar headcanons #jake smut #jake sully #loak smut #loak sully #neteyam smut #loak x y/n #jake x y/n #jake headcanons #jake x reader #avatar jake #avatar neteyam #loak fanfiction #loak fic #loak

[wheelie-sick]

this is going to be a long post, it's kinda just me writing all my raw unfiltered thoughts on ABA therapy as someone who actually went through it

-> TW for ABA therapy, child abuse, suicide <-

I was functionally diagnosed with autism at the age of 3 but it wasn't until I was 13 that I was actually formally evaluated for it and given an official diagnosis. I was behind in social skills and developmental skills

[ID: "was also described as a sensory seeker. She does not currently have any friends and has struggled to make and maintain peer relationships throughout her childhood. Difficulties with social skills were initially noted when she was in preschool (years before the onset of clinically significant symptoms of anxiety and"]

[ID: "Social functions: [blank]'s mother also completed a questionnaire rating her social responsiveness. Her responses on the SRS-2 indicated that [blank] is demonstrating severe deficits in the areas of Social Communication (reciprocal social interaction and nonverbal and verbal communication), Social Motivation (motivation to engage in social-interpersonal behavior) and Social Awareness (perceiving social cues) and moderate deficits in the areas of Social Cognition (understanding social cues). Severe Repetitive and Restrictive Behaviors (stereotypical behaviors or highly restricted interests) were also reported. The total T-score on the SRS-2 indicates severe deficiencies in reciprocal behavior that are likely to result in interference in everyday social interaction"]

[ID: "%ile) are mildly impaired, while her social skills are moderately impaired (2nd %ile). By domain, demonstrates mildly to moderately impaired abilities in six adaptive skills areas, including self care (9th %ile), communication (5th %ile), home living (5th %ile), self-direction (2nd %ile), social (2nd %ile), and leisure (1st %ile)"]

and ultimately all this ended up with the number one recommendation after my autism evaluation being for ABA therapy.

[ID: "Recommendations: Based on the above results, the following recommendations are made for [blank] and her family.

1. ABA therapy: [blank] May benefit from an intensive treatment program to foster cognitive and communication skills, improve independence and adaptive functioning, and help manage interfering behaviors (i.e home-based, 1:1 instruction, task analysis, etc.) Most private and community programs are based on principals of operant conditioning and taught in home with 1:1 instruction"]

*I'm getting misgendered here. my pronouns are he/him

"operant conditioning"-- like a dog 🐕🐕. woof woof.

my mom didn't know any better so she put me in ABA therapy with the Center for Autism and Related Disorders. she regrets this. I regret this more.

my autism evaluation was cruel, it dissected all my flaws as if I was a bug under a microscope in a highschool laboratory. my evaluation was passed around to ABA therapists, a line of high schoolers peering through the microscope examining the most vulnerable parts of me.

and I choose the highschool analogy quite deliberately. most of the ABA therapists at my center were recent highschool graduates with no degree and little training. they knew nothing about autism and had no qualifications. you need more certificates to become a professional dog trainer than to become a professional human trainer.

"operant conditioning"

and I wish I could say it was just a poor choice of words but ABA therapy was dog training for children. my dad used to call me an "it" and somehow I felt less dehumanized by that than the entire experience I had in ABA therapy.

I was the oldest person at my center (I did not receive in home therapy) with the next oldest being approximately 3 years younger than me. at the time I felt babied. I was surrounded by 5 year olds and I was treated as if I was not just a 5 year old but an autistic 5 year old and anyone who has been a visibly autistic 5 year old knows what that feels like. I had escaped being an autistic child and now I was being treated like one again. The head of the program tried to console me by telling me adults received their services too.

[ID: "Following the principles of applied behavior analysis, CARD has developed a treatment approach for children and adolescents with"]

this was the first lie they told me. CARD does not work with adults.

I was not allowed the privileges of being a 13 year old. because I was an autistic 13 year old and therefore I was the equivalent of a 5 year old. I was in psychotherapy at the same time and I had grown very accustomed to some level of freedom in therapy. I was allowed to use the bathroom independently. in ABA therapy I was not allowed to use the bathroom independently. I tried once, me and my therapist were on an "outing" to the grocery store and I told my therapist I was going to the bathroom and walked off and I got a very stern talking to about how I needed to "stop eloping" and if I didn't stop it would "become a behavior"

eloping became a common theme used to control me and squeeze money out of my parents.

out of everything I hated in my life, including severe physical abuse at home (which they did not report), I hated ABA therapy the most. I would repeatedly make serious threats of suicide to try to get out of ABA. no one cared. everyone thought I was being dramatic but there were times I wrote out suicide notes and ABA was among the reasons I listed. ABA made me feel hopeless, depressed, revolting, disgusting, inferior, and less than human. between ABA, my home life, and my social life I had never felt so hated and it was boiling through my skin. I acted out, I was bullying people, I was behaving recklessly, I was starting fights, and all this only made the oppressive force of ABA crack down on me harder. I was a cat hissing in the corner begging to be left alone and ABA brought a net to try to tame me further. every time I scratched back it was listed as a reason I needed to be there.

I was "disruptive" and "rebellious" and "uncooperative" and "resistant to treatment" and no one could figure out why I was "regressing" despite me shouting the answer. I was screaming and no one was willing to hear me

I hated myself and my autism. my autism diagnosis made me want to die. I didn't feel freed by it or understood I felt ashamed and disgusted. I felt incompetent and like I had failed. I was ashamed to be at ABA, it was my biggest secret. I'd lie to my friends about why I couldn't hang out and I'd lie to people in public about who the woman I was with was and I'd lie about all of it to try to cover up my most shameful secret.

ABA therapy did nothing but foster this. In ABA therapy I was mocked for being autistic and what was happening only clicked when a young kid, maybe only 4 or 5, was flapping his hands and a therapist took out her phone and recorded him. we were circus animals. it was all an entertaining show to them while they poked and prodded at us with metaphorical hot irons to make us dance. the first time a therapist laughed at me for rocking back and forth I wanted to throw up. I almost did. it was systematic bullying of children I was forced to watch and experience.

my point is: the last place on earth I wanted to be was the ABA center.

so of course I tried to leave. my mom would bring me McDonald's and I'd beg, sobbing real tears, to leave early because only she could sign me out. every time I'd go to meet her I'd be marked as "eloping" and my hotel stay in hell would get extended.

my natural response to a stressful environment (leaving) was pathologized. I was eloping this way and that way and never once did I actually, truly elope. that word was a weapon used against me. they used my "elopement" to justify extending my stay to my parents. they ate it right up.

they argued I needed to stay there because I was making friends. this was true, I'm great at getting along with children it's part of why I want to go into pediatrics, but I had also made real friends with people my age at my highschool. ABA was getting in the way. I wanted to spend time with my friends outside of school but ABA took up all my time from the minute I left school to 6pm and all day on weekends. I was doing a full time job's worth of hours. I complained about how I was missing out on spending time with my real friends (as in, over the age of 7) and I was met with almost no wiggle room in my schedule. I was allowed to pre-plan time to spend with friends but every time my friend group wanted to do something spontaneously? I had to say no, and I had to lie about why. my friends would share stories about driving around town with 2 people in the group stuffed in the trunk, of hanging out in the woods together, of taking part in ordinary highschool activities as ordinary high schoolers and it made me cry because I was not an ordinary highschooler and I was not allowed to participate in ordinary highschool activities. I was one of those weird, unpleasant, socially awkward autistic people instead. eventually, they just stopped inviting me. I was forced into the out group by ABA.

I'll never get that back. I'll never get a chance to be a normal highschooler ever again.

when I did have time available to hang out with people I never had the energy to. at the time I was living with an undiagnosed physical disability and I was begging to see a doctor but no one would believe that it wasn't just anxiety. the people who believed me least of all were the people at the center.

I was constantly told I was trying to get out of therapy by "feigning" very real pain and fatigue. I tried to explain spoon theory, and that I had limited spoons, and in response they made a task for me to name things to "regenerate spoons" that's not how it works. I wasn't the only physically disabled person there. there was a wheelchair user who was constantly forced to stand for periods of time despite being in agony doing it. he wasn't allowed rewards until he did it.

rewards were used to train us like dog treats are used with dogs. sometimes the treats were fun! I'd get to cook, play Mario kart, and go on outings. other times the treats were "using the correct name and pronouns for me." I'd constantly be threatened with deadnaming and misgendering if I was being "noncompliant."

misgendering because of my autism was a theme in my life. my neuropsych evaluation report misgendered me. my parents misgendered me. the staff at ABA misgendered me. at one point the head of the program suggested that my "gender confusion" was because of my autism. my abusive father latched onto this and still claims that the reason I'm "confused" about my gender is because the evil transgenders tricked me into thinking I'm one of them because I'm autistic and therefore easily impressionable.

the two therapists I had were nice because I refused to work with the others. they weren't on a power trip and both eventually left because they realized the harm the organization was doing. other therapists were not so kind. other therapists were on a power trip, because in their mind lording over autistic 5 year olds (and autistic 14 year olds) makes them powerful and strong. occasionally I'd get stuck with one of the other therapists when my usual therapists were out. they would talk to me in a baby voice. they would make fun of me for rocking back and forth, for not making eye contact, for talking about Skyrim "too much" and generally just for being autistic.

I never really knew what I was supposed to be doing, just that I was doing it wrong. the therapists there rarely actually told me what my tasks were they'd just mark yes or no on them, judging me for something I wasn't aware of. I was never actually supposed to graduate, I was never supposed to get out, if they wanted me to succeed they would have taught and explained what was happening but I was intentionally left in the dark.

I continued threatening suicide to get out. no one took me seriously. I was seriously considering it. there's no happy conclusion where someone finally realized it was all wrong, or I figured out how to be allistic and graduated, or I felt more comfortable there. I only got out when covid struck and shut the center down. it's gone now, replaced by a family advice center. I hope their advice for autistic children is to never put them in ABA.

there is no grander message here just suffering. I'm sorry if you were expecting some sort of great point at the end of this. there's not one. it happened, I wish it didn't, and I hope no one else experiences what I did ever again.

okay to reblog

#actually autistic #actuallyautistic #neurodivergent #aba therapy #aba survivor #tw aba therapy #tw child abuse #tw suicide #ok to rb

[instarsandcrime]

Someone Worth Falling For

Hi hello! Long time lurker in the community, first time poster. I'm not sure how good this is because it's my first snz fic. But practice makes perfect-- even if my writing tends to lean on corny fluff! So I might as well log what I write and hope things get better from here. Enjoy! <3

--

“Htchh'chieww!”

“Bless you.”

“Htch'shhhiew!”

“Ble–”

“Hihh’chiew! Htch'CHIEW! HET’CHHHIEW! Ohhh…”

Lucifer groaned, forcing gurgling blow after blow into his handkerchief. Face glowing gold in embarrassment when he peered up from the fabric to see another pair stare back.

“...Excuse mbe.” He finally rasped out.

“Absolutely not.” Lilith pursed her lips, “Ten times in a row! I've seen less out of fits than sinners allergic to their own feathers and fur. Are you sure you’re alright, my love?”

She'd offered a way out. She'd offered a way out several times. But the response was always so scripted that it bordered on comical. An orderly list that only the Sin of Pride could obsessively memorize by heart.

“Why, there's dothi’g– snff– nothing to tell!” Lucifer beamed between congested sniffles, one armed wrapped tightly around her waist. “I just want to help my wife get ready for her first night off. And a party? My goodness, now why would I pass up such a rare and wonderful opportunity?”

Deflect

“And that’s very sweet of you, darling.” His other half hummed when a string of pearls draped around her neck, “But I’m just as happy to stay home if you’re feeling unwell.”

The demon king’s hand jerked as he weaved a comb from a puff of golden smoke. “Me? Catch a cold? Pfft, what? Like a sinner? Even if I’m fallen, archangels don’t get sick. It’s in our biology.”

2. Pull the archangel card.

“Yes. I’ve been told that holy beings tend to avoid illness– or rather, those who reside in Heaven. Where everything from the sky to the ground is designed to be absolutely perfect. But here, you are victim to the worst torture imaginable. And I believe there’s been a newer Overlord that’s taken a seat at the table– that one you had a meeting with the other day? The one that embodies pestilence.” As her hair was lovingly tended to, Lilith raised her head ever-so-slightly to kiss her doting husband’s jaw. She nearly cooed at the way he melted on the spot.

“As hypocritical as it sounds, I wouldn’t be so quick to ju- …j-juhhdge…” Lucifer froze, quickly rubbing his nose to satiate a tickle. Lilith’s face dropped to something so freely unimpressed because his last tactic was always to

3. Hide his symptoms. Poorly.

“Darling?”

“H-huhhhh…ho-hold on…” Lucifer raised a claw, handkerchief in the other. “I-I’m fine, it must…m-must be…s-suhh-something in…in the air— h-heh! Oh my, ex-excuse– Et’chiew! HET’chiew! HETCHHIEWW!”

“Bless you again.” His wife winced as the comb was unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a sharp clatter. 

“Th-thahhnk– hhhHITSH!” Caught in a hitching jag, Lucifer quickly pinched his nose– and to his dismay, the slight buzz became an angry swarm.

“Beloved.”

“Het’Chht!”

“Let me just–”

“HIH’CHH! H-hihhh! HIH’TCH! ‘TCH! ‘TSHHH! I can’t s-st-stohhHT’CHNX’iew! Hih! Hhhih…hghh…nnh…” Lucifer’s ragged breathing slowed, peeping open a watery eye. Kneeled close, Lilith’s finger pressed under his nose, draped against her own handkerchief.

“See? Was asking for help so hard?” She smiled. Lucifer only swallowed, wordlessly taking the cloth in his palm. Silently he made his way to the side of her vanity, hopping on its desk. Eyes downcast, frown tucked behind cotton and smudged lipstick. “Be honest with me. There’s something more to your stubbornness this time, isn’t there?”

“N-no, of course not! I’m. I’m just– it’s…” Empty words trailed off into a muffled whisper.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“It’s– well–” Lucifer cleared his aching throat, biting back a cough before he lowered his makeshift mask. “It’s…it’s humiliating, that’s all. I trapped you down here with me. You had the opportunity to live in an eternal paradise. And now you have this one night to go out and party and enjoy yourself and I just– I know it’s not even close to that kind of perfection-- but I’d be ruining another chance at freedom all over again! And all because you think that I might have caught a cold? I’m fine! This is fine! I’ve been through worse! I’m just a little…a-a…a little snehh…” He quickly pressed the well-soaked cloth to his nose, trying in vain to hold some control over his next fit.

“Hit’shew! ‘Chiew! Hep’shiew! H’tsh! Heh’TSHIEWW! HA’SHHHIEW! HA’PSHHHIEWW!” He cradled his forehead with a palm, blinking stars from his eyes. “A…a little sneezy. Ugh, ‘scuse mbe.”

All too suddenly his chin was lifted, and his vision cleared to meet a piercing gaze. “Lucifer. Darling. Love of my life. Do you know where I’d be if I wasn’t down here with you?”

“N…ndo?” He muttered nervously.

“With Adam.” Her voice curdled like spoiled milk, “I would trade a thousand rings of Hell just to never see his face again. Taking care of you tonight wouldn’t be a curse. It would be a blessing. In fact, it would be a new opportunity at freedom for me. Now, I can finally repay the favor you gave to me so long ago.” 

“Snf! I’m sorry, I– I don’t understand.”

Two strong arms lifted the demon king. “Then let me remind you of the day that we fell together.”

It took seconds too late for the fallen angel to realize what was happening, and Lucifer’s lovesick blush blended with his illness. Before he could even open his mouth to protest he was set gently on the bed, and his wife immediately went to work.

“First,” Well-manicured claws slowly unbuttoned his vest, “Since I was unable to move, you helped me get into something more comfortable until I could dress myself again.”

“I-I did, didn’t I?” A tense smile began to unfurl, and Lucifer allowed his other half to prop him against the headboard, slipping off his boots like he were made of gold and porcelain.

“After that, when I was feeling less restricted, you checked me for any injuries or illness.” A cool forehead bumped softly against something damp and burning, not bothering to worry about smudging freshly applied foundation. “And while I didn’t have a fever, you certainly do now.”

“I–” Lucifer paused, feeling delicate hands intertwine with his own. Slowly he retracted his forked tongue, tasting the bitter words in his mouth. “--I, um. I have to admit, I feel just a smidge under the weather.”

“Well would you look at that! No longer a saint, but you still cast miracles.”

“I do my best.” The fallen angel croaked out a weak chuckle, tired eyes lighting up when Lilith stopped to kiss his knuckles, lips briefly brushing over a golden wedding ring.

“Oh, what was next? Let’s see.” She got up, pacing around the room, “You bandaged my open wounds and wouldn’t let me begin my work as queen until I was off my feet.”

“I still have some mighty big scars from all the kicks you bucked me with.” Lucifer huffed.

His better half looked unashamedly proud, crossing her arms until they locked tight around her chest. “And as I said before, I will do what you have done to me. I’m sure it’ll do you well to give your more inventive powers a rest–” the fallen creator groaned miserably, “--while a servant fetches us some medicine and tea to wash it down with. As well as–”

“Hhhih!” Lucifer’s nose twitched, and he couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that mingled with unsteady breaths. Both handkerchiefs soiled, the demon flicked his wrist and summoned a third, “Oh for the love of– this i-ihhh…is getting rihh-ridiculuh…huhhh..hhh’tsh! Hut’Sshhhieww! Ha’TSHIEW! HET’CH’HHHIEW!”

“--a few tissue boxes. Bless you.”

“...I’b sorry for all the trouble. Snff!” A hacking cough broke through the apology.

“Trouble? Lucifer dear, it’s no trouble at all.” She consoled, sitting by his bedside. “You said it yourself. It’s just a cold. And you seem to forget that, when your caretaking was near its end, you refused to leave me until I truly needed space. You said that if I would permit you to stay, all I needed to do is ask. Well? Would you like me to stay?”

Painted nails fidgeted with the hem of a long cocktail dress and, despite everything that’s happened, Lilith offered a silent prayer to whatever higher power would listen.

Lucifer took a deep breath, “Th-then– um. If you wouldn’t mind lending a hand?”

“I’d be delighted to.” His other half hummed, kissing the red dimples on his cheeks, “You really do have no idea how much you were worth falling for.”

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel// #lu/ci/fer #li/li/th

[schizopositivity]

could you share any more under-talked about symptoms of schizophrenia, like executive dysfunction?

I've actually been meaning to make a post like this but keep forgetting (lol that's a symptom). As a disclaimer, not everyone with schizophrenia has every one of these symptoms, and people can have a lot of these symptoms and not have schizophrenia (if they don't have the psychotic symptoms). Not all of these symptoms are seen as diagnostic criteria, some have just been observed to be very common in people with schizophrenia. (I'm excluding hallucinations and delusions because they are more well known)

• Paranoia: a pattern of behavior where a person feels distrustful and suspicious of other people and acts accordingly. This can go hand in hand with hallucinations and delusions.

• Disorganized thoughts: this can mean a lot of things. It can be not having a linear train of thought, having incoherent thoughts, thought blocking, general disorganized thoughts. (It can be hard to define because it is often hard to describe for the person experiencing it).

• Disorganized speech: this is often a result of the disorganized thoughts. This can include loose associations like rapidly shifting between topics with no connections between the topics. Perseveration, which is repeating the same things over and over again. Made up words that only have meaning to the speaker. Use of rhyming words without meaning. Word salad, which is when cognitive disorganization is severe, it can be nearly impossible to understand what the person is saying, but the person speaking doesn't know they aren't making sense.

• Trouble concentrating: lack of concentration, switching from topic to topic, not being able to focus on one thing. (This is pretty self explanatory).

• Movement disorders: catatonia can be repetitive non goal directed movements. It can also be complete or partial immobility, mutism, vacant staring, and rigidity. Although not a symptom, tardive dyskinesia can occur in schizophrenia as a result of antipsychotics medication.

• Anhedonia: a loss of pleasure in activities that the person once enjoyed. Or the inability to feel pleasure at all.

• Atypical or non-existent emotional expression: Flat or blunted affect is an inability to show emotions characterized by a lack of facial expression, a monotone voice, and no hand gestures. On the other hand people can also have inappropriate affect, where the emotional expression doesn't align with typical reactions or even the person's own feelings.

• Alogia: when someone speaks less, says fewer words or only speaks in response to others. This can be a result of disorganized thoughts.

• Social withdrawal: avoiding people and activities that someone once enjoyed. Not actively being present during social situations. Can progress to total isolation.

• Avolition: a severe lack of initiative to accomplish purposeful tasks. This is a big reason some people with schizophrenia can't work/go to school, can't do chores, and can't keep up with their basic hygiene. Even if the person wants to do these tasks, it may be extremely difficult or impossible for them to get themselves to start or complete the task due to the lack of motivation.

• Executive dysfunction: a behavioral symptom that disrupts a person's ability to manage their own thoughts, emotions and actions. This can include focussing too much on one thing, being easily distracted, spacing out, struggling to switch between tasks, problems with impulse control and trouble starting difficult or boring tasks. Several schizophrenia symptoms fit into the umbrella of executive dysfunction, so when researching you will either see the specific ones listed out, or just simply described as executive dysfunction.

• Alexithymia: significant challenges in recognizing, expressing, and describing one's own emotions.

• Poor memory: this can include working memory deficits like trouble planning, organizing, and carrying out daily chores such as running errands, because it requires mentally formulating a “to do” list organized by time and location. Many people with schizophrenia also report trouble with their episodic memory, which means they have trouble recollecting things in the context of their place and time. (A lot of sources say "trouble with memory" is a symptom but they don't specify).

• Trouble with decision making: people with schizophrenia have been shown to have trouble with decision making due to a decline in the understanding and reasoning aspects of it.

• Sensory processing deficits: this has been widely reported in schizophrenia, and include impairments in visual processing, auditory processing, olfactory and sensorimotor systems. This can lead to having strong positive or negative reactions to sensory information.

• Sleep troubles: though disturbed sleep isn't included in the diagnostic criteria for schizophrenia, it is still a significant problem that up to 80% of people with the condition experience. People with schizophrenia may have various sleep problems, including insomnia, excessive daytime sleepiness, and trouble with consistent sleep routines.

• Anosognosia: also called "lack of insight," is a symptom that impairs a person's ability to understand and perceive their illness. This is a big reason people with schizophrenia may refuse to get, or stay with treatment.

#answered #mental illness #nd #schizophrenia #neurodivergent #schizophrenic #psychosis #actuallyschizophrenic #mental health awareness #pseriouslypsychotic #executive dysfunction #paranoia #word salad #avolition #disorganized thoughts #catatonia #concentration issues #anhedonia #flat affect #blunted affect #inappropriate affect #alogia #social withdrawal #isolation #alexithymia #memory issues #sensory issues #insomnia #excessive daytime sleepiness #anosognosia

[thealienmoth]

The annoying thing about Tourette waxing and waning (besides the fact that it does that) is people that don't have a fluctuating disability not getting it.

"But you weren't like this yesterday??"

"Last week you had tics, now you don't. So you just made it up for attention."

"Why do you always need to be the center of attention at events? Just keep them in like this morning."

And endless variations of this.

Education time:

Tourette has waxing and waning of symptoms. Meaning sometimes there is more tics, sometimes less, sometimes more severe sometimes less. This is without triggers, sometimes phases of waning last days, weeks or months. Same goes for waxing.

In addition to this comes change of severity and frequency of tics because of triggers.

These range from seasons (a bunch of touretters seem to tic more during the cold months, personally I more so during summer), change in routine (for example Christmas), emotions (anxiety, joy, sadness,...), sensory input (not even necessarily overload), certain music, other touretters, thinking or talking about tics, certain foods, caffeine, alcohol, specific situations or settings (library,...) and so on and so on.

And this is so highly individual that a big part of tic reduction treatment is identifying triggers.

Also don't say something like "Oh you are barely ticcing today." Even if you mean well, you are fucking us over. As mentioned in triggers, thinking or talking about our tics, will most likely trigger them. If you want someone to keep having a low tic period of time, just quietly be happy for them when it's the case.

#tourettes

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): foul language, death of a spouse, brief descriptions of death & injury, symptoms of grief, brief suggestive themes

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Part Three of Ink & Needle

A tragedy pulls you back to England. A certain masked man follows your arrival.

Chapter Two // Chapter Four

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Three Years Later

Outside the café window, the sky is a dark gray, threatening rain. Across the street is the Cambridge train station. Commuters move to and away from the station, many of them jumping into cabs, waiting at the nearby bus terminal, or entering the pedestrian areas. Several even enter the café you’re currently waiting in.

Your fingers tap on the plastic lid of your coffee cup in a steady, nervous thrum. Your sandwich is off to the side, hardly touched. You’ve only managed a few bites. It’s not that the sandwich is bad but that you’re so exhausted that even food turns your stomach.

At the moment, sleep is an elusive creature, and you certainly cannot curl up in your chair and fall asleep in the café.

You haven’t slept in hours. Anxiousness simmers in every part of your body. On the flight into O’Hare International, you almost puked up your breakfast. Then, on the connecting flight into London, your stomach was a roiling mess. You spent the whole flight staring at the ceiling of the plane praying that you didn’t need to quickly run to the bathroom. The train from London to Cambridge was no better. Your stomach still isn’t cooperating.

You sigh and try again anyway. Tearing into the sandwich, you chew slowly, thinking that maybe if you only focus on the flavors, you’ll sense something.

The bite is dead in your mouth. Bland.

Perhaps you’re getting sick.

You glance out the café window, your gaze scanning the sidewalk and street. Evie is late, which is so unlike her, but entirely understandable. She just buried Archie less than a week ago, and the whole reason you’re back in London is because of the fucking shitty situation Evie is in now that Archie is dead.

It isn’t fair. Evie doesn’t deserve any of this. The two of them should be celebrating their three-year wedding anniversary next month.

You don’t have the ability to track Evie on your phone—the cellular fees alone would be astronomical. All you have is Evie’s “on my way” text and a hope that she’ll turn up soon. You miss her. You want to hold her in your arms and remind her that there are still people in her life that love her.

Evie still hasn’t made an appearance after another ten minutes, and you turn back to the offending sandwich, taking another bite as if this one might be the one that does it.

Nothing. You almost spit it back onto the plate.

You run your hand over your face. Now that you’re sitting, and at your destination, your body is screaming out for rest. Every muscle and limb aches, and you know your eyes are likely bloodshot from the lack of sleep.

“There you are.”

The soft, melodic voice draws your gaze away from the café window. There’s Evie, beautiful even though she looks a mess. There are deep bags under her eyes and her chestnut-colored hair is bunched up on the back of her head in a bun. Worse, Evie’s eyes are watery, like at any moment she’s about to burst into tears.

Evie stands right in front of you, and as your gaze roams down her body, taking note of how disheveled she looks, you land on the one thing that makes this situation so much worse.

With one hand, Evie cradles her pregnant belly. The other rests against the bulging curve. Eight months. Her due date is coming up quick. On her and Archie’s three-year anniversary of all things.

You stand quickly and throw your arms around your best friend, squeezing her tightly but minding the belly, oozing every ounce of love you have for her into the embrace.

“I’m sorry, Evie. I’m so sorry.” Your voice nearly breaks but you manage to reel it in before it shatters.

No number of apologies could ever replace what happened. Wrong place, wrong time is what Evie was told. The bullet wasn’t even for Archie. The person aiming the gun shot wide of their mark, striking Archie in the back of the head.

He died while on a business trip for his family’s consulting firm in the United States. Archie was on his way to meet up with a few friends when his skull was blown off. Evie was told that he died quickly. That he probably didn’t feel a thing.

You draw back a bit and smile softly. “Please sit.” You pull away but keep one hand on Evie’s back, gesturing at the chair across the table from yours.

Evie winces into the seat. “How was your flight?” she asks, rubbing the top of her belly. “And the train?”

“Fine. All fine,” you reply quickly. A lie. You’re bone-tired. Aching in all sorts of places. “How are you? Are you doing okay?” You desperately need to know.

Evie has no family. None. She’s an only child. Her mother died when she was young, and her father died of Coal Worker’s Pneumoconiosis after his retirement. The only family she has in the world is Archie’s, and most of them despise her working-class roots. You distinctly remember Archie’s mother calling Evie a “leech” to her face minutes before the ceremony took place.

That hag of a woman sat in the front row of the church like she hadn’t just spit venom.

Reaching out, you rest your arm across the table, presenting your open palm. Evie stares down at it for a brief moment before sliding her hand into yours, squeezing. Her eyes are wet, close to spilling over, and you decide that this topic of conversation is not appropriate for such a public spot.

“We can talk about it later. If you want,” you murmur, not wanting to draw unneeded attention to her.

Eve sniffles and nods, releasing your hand to dig around in her purse for a tissue.

You slowly draw your hand back into your lap. “I can tell you about work,” you suggest. Evie daps at her eyes and then blows her nose. “Want a bite of my sandwich?”

The offer falls flat. Evie shakes her head. “You should eat it.”

And you need to eat something Evelyn Green.

“You need it more than me,” you insist. “Honestly, I’m not feeling it. Don’t want to let it go to waste.” You push the plate across the table to her.

You don’t need to ask to know Evie isn’t eating. Her cheeks are sunken and her skin is on the paler side like she’s fallen ill. Evie holds the sandwich in both hands and takes a pensive bite. She chews slowly, and then digs in as if starved.

Without Archie here, has no one checked on her? Has Archie’s family completely cut her off? It makes your blood boil.

In the States, you can’t really do anything, but now that you’re here—now that you’re actually witnessing the state she’s in—you’re fucking furious.

The best thing for you to do is to not linger on it or bring it to Evie’s attention. This is something you can tackle later when you’ve had time to calm down.

You adjust in your chair and clasp your coffee cup with both hands. “The technical writing work pays but isn’t that exciting, unless you’d like to hear about the furniture instructional manuals I’ve been editing.”

Evie grins around a bite of food and that small, amused smile is enough to ease some of that internal anxiousness.

“I do have come fiction clients. Pay isn’t nearly as good, but very enjoyable.”

Evie chews and swallows. “I’m glad you’re staying busy.” Her smile softens a bit. “And that you’re here.”

“I’ve missed you, Evelyn Green.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

You take a small sip of your coffee. It’s gone cold.

“I’ll grab another for the road.” You lift the coffee cup. “Once you’re finished, we’ll leave.”

You take Evie’s car to her house near the outskirts of Cambridge proper. Even though Archie helped his father run the family business, he had his own ambitions when it came to his career. He took a part-time teaching job at the university. He and Evie moved out to Cambridge quickly, mostly to escape his family.

While Archie loved them, he did not love how they treated Evie. He spent a great deal of time away from them, but coming from privilege has its own issues. Archie was always called to attend this or that event, and Evie always came along.

From the street, all you see are tall hedges. When Evie pulls into the drive and stops at the gates, you glimpse a small sliver of brick. Evie presses a button on a small remote and the gate opens inward. The hedges are only a natural fence, and once you’re past them, you finally see the house Evie has called home for the past two years.

It’s all brick with wide windows and a flowerbed that follows the outline of the house. The tall hedges mark the property boundaries, and you cannot see into any of the neighbors’ yards. The property itself is deep, stretching vertically back from the road.

Evie pulls up to the garage but doesn’t pull inside. Instead, she parks the car and starts to get out. You follow suit, moving to the trunk to withdraw your suitcase.

“This is gorgeous, Evie.”

“Thank you,” she replies softly. “Archie picked it out.”

The mention of Evie’s dead husband immediately puts you on edge. You glance at your friend and frown. She’s staring off into the distance.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you go over to her and slide your arm around hers. “Show me around.”

Evie seems to melt a bit, whatever it is that held her slipping away for a moment. She tilts her head toward you and smiles. Over the next few minutes, Evie shows you the private backyard complete with garden and pool. From there, the two of you enter through the mudroom door, kicking off your shoes and heading into the living room.

The space is rustic with deep browns, greens, and golds. There is no minimalism or modernness to this home other than the appliances. You do a small turn, admiring the organized yet maximalist-leaning décor.

“Evie, I—” Your voice cuts when your gaze falls on her.

She is focused on the fireplace mantel. As your attention shifts from her to the mantel, you realize what Evie is staring at. The entire mantel is lined with framed phots of their wedding. There are pictures of just Evie and Archie, some of his family, and ones of the bridal party.

Sighing softly, you move toward her, taking her upper arm to snag her attention.

Reluctantly, Evie’s gaze pulls away from the photographs.

“Can you show me to my room? We can go from there.” You make sure to not sound condescending or worried for her. Evie needs a bit of normalcy.

“Of course,” she nods, showing you to the spare bedroom on the second floor.

You promptly set your stuff down and unpack after Evie slinks away. You’re worried about her and the baby. It’s why you came out here after all. Evie has no one, and with your work, you can easily pack up and travel, taking it with you.

When you return to the first floor, you head into the kitchen. Evie stands in front of the open fridge staring at nothing.

“Evie,” you call out. She doesn’t reply. “Evie.”

She glances over at you and promptly shuts the fridge. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I spaced out.”

“You wanna order takeout?” You slide your phone out of your pocket and wave it in the air. Evie nods and the two of you go to the couch, settling in.

“What are you in the mood for?” You open a food delivery app and begin browsing.

“Whatever you want,” replies Evie.

You tap away at your screen. “What if I’m craving sushi? That would be a problem.”

“True,” she smirks, rubbing the curve of her belly

“What about a super greasy pizza with lots of cheese?”

“We’re in England,” laughs Evie. “Not America.”

“So? There has to be a good pizza place around here.”

Evie leans in a bit and watches your phone over your shoulder. The two of you bicker back and forth but finally decide on the pizza idea.

“How’s baby?” you ask, locking your phone and setting it to the side.

Evie lightly taps her belly. “Good. Healthy.” She winces. “Pushing on my bladder,” she mutters.

“As they do.”

“Archie and I made a list of names. Narrowed it down a bit but never got to finish before…well…now I’m not sure what I like.”

“Do you know what you’re having?”

Evie nods. “You know we wanted to keep it a surprise, but with Archie gone and everything that’s happened, I decided I want to know now. To prepare.”

“Of course. That’s understandable.”

There is so much that still needs to be done, and your arrival only scratches the surface.

Evie gently elbows you in the arm. “Do you want to know?”

You gently elbow her back. “Only if you want to tell me.”

Evie pauses briefly before speaking. “It’s a girl.”

“I’m so proud of you,” you murmur. “You’re going to be an amazing mom, Evelyn Green.”

Evie starts laughing, which quickly turns into crying. You sit up, ready to comfort her, but she’s already starting to laugh again.

“Fuck. I think I peed,” she hiccups as she tries to get off the couch. It’s more of a roll and you hop up to assist her. She totters off to change.

The pizza arrives during that time, and the two of you snuggle into the couch, creating a bed of pillows and blankets as you eat pizza and watch a reality show on Netflix. Evie starts to soften, becomes happier, and you love to see it. The pizza is loaded with extra cheese, lots of garlic, roasted tomato, spinach, and a white sauce.

“You know,” you say around a bite of crust. “The fact that ranch is not a staple with pizza here is an atrocity.”

Evie arches an eyebrow and wipes away a wayward strand of cheese from her chin. “You want to eat ranch with this?”

“Not this specifically,” you mutter.

Evie snorts and takes a large bite of her slice. “What I really miss most about the States is the food.”

“Like what?” you press.

“Tacos. And not that hardshell bullshit you get at the grocery store. I want the cilantro, sliced radish, and lime with a salsa so hot it melts your face.”

“Don’t forget the onion.”

“And extra onion,” adds Evie.

You wipe off some grease from the corner of your mouth.

Evie sighs, her shoulders heaving before she turns to look at you. “Thank you. By the way. You didn’t have to come.”

You roll your eyes and give her your best smile. “I’d do anything for you. Plus, I work remote. I can literally go anywhere in the world at any time and still be able to do my job. Honestly, it’s fine. Plus, I’m not paying rent or anything. It’s amazing.”

Evie shakes her head in amusement. Her plate is carefully balanced on her belly. “Are you seeing anyone?”

The abrupt change startles you.

“Nope,” you reply quickly, nibbling on the reminder of your crust.

“Remember that man with the balaclava at Riot Room?” Evie gestures toward her face as if she’s wearing one. “The one Jade, Sam, and I all convinced you to have sex with?”

You drop the pizza crust onto your plate. “Yes.” Why is Evie asking about him?

“Do you ever think about what happened to him? Like, what he might be doing now?”

All the time.

You lick your lips and rub your fingers together over the plate. Crumbs fall from your hands. “Sometimes.”

It’s a total lie. You think about your wraith all the time, especially in the dark when your hand is between your legs. The memory of him is like a deep, poorly healed scar. It is a slash across your heart.

Ghost.

His touch will never fade. He marked you, made you his, and you won’t forget a single moment you spent with him.

“I can’t believe you missed Sam making a move on his friends. What was his name?”

“Gaz?” you offer, vaguely recalling the man that spoke to you when Ghost wouldn’t let go of your arm.

“Was it? I thought Sam said his name was ‘Kyle.’”

You shrug. “The man I ran away with called himself ‘Ghost.’”

Evie nods, yawning. “That’s true.” She shifts slightly in your direction. The plate on her belly stays put. “We have an early morning.”

“Do we?” you ask nonchalantly, thankful for the pivot in conversation.

“Did you ever meet Archie’s grandmother? Amelia?”

There are only a handful of times you’ve met anyone from Archie’s family and most of them were during those last few weeks leading up to the wedding.

“I don’t believe so,” you reply slowly.

Evie rubs at the side of her belly in agitation. “You can’t stay with me forever. And while I appreciate you, I’ll need support when you’re gone.”

Sighing, Evie removes the plate from belly and tries to sit up. Knowing her efforts will be in vain, you take the plate from her and set it on the coffee table.

Evie murmurs a quiet ‘thank you’ and falls back against the couch. “We’re going to stay with her. She lives in the Clapton area of London.”

You’re surprised. Evie loves this home. When her and Archie first moved in, it’s all she could talk about. “You don’t want us to stay here?”

Evie’s mouth turns downward and tears start to form in the corner of her eyes again. You understand the moment the words leave your mouth. This place holds too many memories.

“It’s not like anyone else will have me,” she sniffles even as she tries to laugh it off like it doesn’t bother her.

“They’re a bunch of idiots. And don’t deserve your tears. Fuck. Them.” You stuff the rest of your half-eaten crust into your mouth.

It might not be the nicest thing to say, but the majority of Archie’s family are assholes who deserve to be called by an insult rather than their names,

Evie turns back toward the television. You snuggle in next to her and Evie’s head falls against your shoulder. A single tear rolls down her cheek and you absently wipe it away.

The next day is all business.

It keeps Evie busy enough that she can’t stop to cry, but you still make her take frequent breaks. It’s clear that Evie hasn’t been taking care of herself since Archie’s funeral. She may be eight-months pregnant, but she’s abnormally sluggish and forgetful. Evie keeps losing her train of thought, or she starts to mumble to herself instead of speaking directly to you when you ask her a question.

It’s upsetting, but it mostly makes you angry. It means that Archie’s family has completely abandoned her now that he’s dead. They have no reason to interact with her.

On top of that, there is too much to do, and Evie needs all the support she can get. You don’t want to make England your permanent place of residence, but Evie is like a sister to you. She is family. You won’t toss her to the side.

The biggest hurdle is making sure Evie has adequate help. You’re not the only person Evie should need to rely on. After Evie went to bed last night, you promptly messaged Jade and Sam, detailing the situation. Both of them want to come out, but their jobs are not nearly as flexible as yours.

With the essentials packed, and the car loaded, you and Evie clean out the kitchen, tossing out all the open perishables while boxing up everything that is still good and unopened. The two of you will stop at a local food bank and drop it off.

At midday, the two of you are in the car, driving to London. By American standards, the drive isn’t that far, but the traffic is horrendous. Evie drives, and you take notes of everything that needs to be done while being the perfect passenger princess.

Everything in the house will need to be organized and gone through. Evie plans on staying with Archie’s grandmother which means she needs to downsize. You’ll need to contact an estate agent to appraise and ready the house for the market. All the furniture will either need to be sold, donated, or brought to Ameila’s home. With Archie’s death also comes an enormous amount of wealth all tied up in various assets. None of it makes any sense, and Archie’s personal solicitor will need to be contacted.

None of that includes setting up a nursery or supporting Evie through the rest of her pregnancy. Plus, there is your job to think about. Yes, you do mostly freelance work, but you’re usually sent work by the company that contracts you. There are deadlines that you need to hit.

The GPS beeps and Evie turns onto a massive thoroughfare, crossing a large bridge before coming to a massive roundabout. From there, Evie follows the road a few minutes. She turns onto a side street lined with various business and homes. You recognize nothing. This city is completely foreign to you.

“We’re here,” says Evie, nodding to a two-story brick house. She pulls into a tiny driveway and turns off the car.

Amelia’s home is what you picture when you think of houses in England. Maybe you’ve watched one too many movies, or maybe the stereotype holds true, but it fits the bill. On the outside, it’s clean and taken care of. The short driveway and path to the store is perfectly lain without a single weed. Even the stunted hedges under the front windows are perfectly trimmed.

You’re out of your seat and to the driver side of the car before Evie has the chance to open her door. When she tries to head to the back of the car to empty the trunk, you politely chase her away. You’ll make multiple trips if you need to, but you’re not allowing Evie to lift a single thing.

The front door opens and a short, stout older woman steps out onto the stoop. Her graying hair is clipped to her shoulders. She wears tan pants, the knees of which are patched over with sunflowers on white fabric. The rainboots on her feet are splattered with mud, and the yellow coat and white linen shirt she wears are speckled with a bit of dirt.

Amelia grins as she removes the gloves she’s wearing. “Evelyn!” she calls out.

“Amelia,” greets Evie, her arms outstretched.

Evie waddles over to Amelia and the two of them embrace. Amelia pulls back at the same moment you approach the two women.

Amelia smiles. “Can’t forget you.”

“You—” The words leave your mouth in a huff when Ameila wraps her around your waist and squeezes like she’s trying to snap your spine.

“Evie’s friend,” breathes Amelia, stilling holding tight.

“That’s me, ma’am,” you manage, the sound of your voice mostly strangled breathing.

Amelia abruptly stops hugging you and the sudden release of tension is a perfect inhalation. “Blimey! Hear that, Evie? She called me ‘ma’am.’” Amelia tuts. “None of that ‘ma’am’ nonsense around here. Call me Amelia.”

She glances to the left of you and then the right. You only managed to snag a few bags from the car before walking over to them.

“Well,” begins Amelia. “Hand me a bag and let’s get inside. I have the kettle on. Along with some biscuits and jam.”

“Good,” you sigh. “I’m starving. Ran out of car snacks halfway to London.”

Evie glances over her shoulder and grins at you. “That’s because you ate them all.”

You make a face and Evie laughs, entering through the front door.

The first thing you notice about the place is how many goddamn doors there are. Just inside the front door is another door that enters the living room, then another that leads to the stairs. None of it is open. It’s bizarre. Tight and cramped.

You have to wiggle your way sideways into the living room.

“Drop the bag there dear.” Amelia points to a spot near her sofa. “We can grab them later. Take a seat at the table. Enjoy a cuppa before I start dinner.”

The kettle whistles loudly as you enter the kitchen. Evie stretches a bit before she slides into a chair. You select the chair next to her. Amelia grabs three mugs from a cabinet and sets them on the counter. From a different cabinet, Amelia grabs a tea tin and drops a bag into each mug. She removes the kettle from the stove and starts filling the mugs with hot water.

Steam rises into the air. “Now I know all about Evie, but I know nothing about you other than what she’s told me.”

“Whatever she’s told you. It’s isn’t true.”

“It’s all good stuff.”

“Like I said. None of it is true.”

Evie tries and fails to stifle a snort.

Amelia’s mouth forms an amused smile. “She told me you were a writer.”

“Not exactly,” you say slowly. “I’m an editor. I usually do technical work, but I occasionally branch off into the publishing world of fiction. Especially if I’m looking for a little extra cash flow.”

Amelia ambles over to the table, expertly carrying all three mugs. She sets one down in front of Evie first and then you before herself.

Amelia settles into the unoccupied chair.

“She said your job allowed you to move around. That’s good. Glad you’re here. Evie needs more than me looking after her.”

You swallow, the mug hot against your fingers. “I’m glad I came.”

When you wake in the morning, it’s early. The sun is just starting to ascend.

Evie is still asleep, her breathing even and calm. You slowly unfurl yourself, walking on quiet feet to the bathroom with a change of clothes in tow. You brush your teeth and wash your face. It’s a bit cold but not overly so. You open the small window in the bathroom to check.

You head downstairs, a knee-length cardigan wrapped around your body. The kitchen light is on. There is a hot kettle, two mugs, and tea bags set out. The gesture is lovely but you cannot live on tea. You’ll need coffee eventually or you’ll go insane.

The back door is propped open and you walk up to it, poking your head out into the early morning chill. Amelia is out in the backyard tending to her garden. You step out onto the top stair and call out to her.

Amelia glances up and waves you over.

As you approach, she starts talking, her warm breath creating steam before her face. “Checking on the tomatoes. Bit chilly this morning. Plants don’t like it much.”

You wrap your cardigan a little tighter around yourself. “Can I do anything to help you?”

“That’s sweet of you. But no. At least not out here.” Amelia gestures to the raised garden beds with an outstretched hand. “Could you go to the bakery just across the way? Grab some pastries for today and tomorrow?”

You nod. “Of course. Where is it?”

Amelia removes her gloves and tosses them down onto the edge of the wood garden bed. “When you go out the front door makes a left until you come to the first cross-street. Turn left again and then an immediate left at the small corner store. Just walk that and you’ll see it.” Amelia shrugs. “Usually a line by this time.”

“Is there coffee?”

“They do indeed,” replies Amelia with a knowing grin.

“I’ll just grab my coat.”

“Take your time.”

You head back upstairs to the bedroom to grab your coat. Evie is still asleep. Silently, you snag your coat off the back of a chair and slip it on, leaving through the front door.

There is surprisingly little traffic as you follow Ameila’s detailed instructions. You take a left and follow the row of houses all tightly packed together. When you make it to the cross-street, you turn left again. The corner store comes up quickly. Turning left again, you keep your gaze on the storefronts that line the street. After the corner store is a pub, another pub, a salon, a few restaurants, another pub.

Then, a tattoo parlor.

141 Ink the sign reads. It’s dark inside but it’s fairly early. The sun is much higher now but it’s still not late enough for a tattoo shop to be open.

You shrug and walk on, noticing the line Amelia mentioned almost immediately. It’s not nearly as long as you expected it to be, and you’re through faster than you anticipate.

When you step inside, the smell of roasted coffee beans, baked bread, and cinnamon greet your nostrils. There are so many options and for a moment, you’re a little overwhelmed. But with more people lining up behind you, you make a few selections and collect a coffee for yourself.

With bag and coffee in hand, you start to walk back the way you came. The pastries smell delicious and it takes you a second to realize that the door to the tattoo parlor stands open.

You frown and stop right outside the door. Checking your watch, your eyebrows rise at the time. It’s still incredibly early. Who opens a tattoo parlor at this hour?

Curiosity gets the better of you. You walk up to the entrance and glance inside.

The first thing you notice is a dog. It’s an all-black German Shepard that lays in the early morning sun from the window. His eyes are open and he’s looking at you with interest but not enough to lift his head.

There is the sound of metal clanking against metal. It draws your gaze upward and away from the dog. Your eyes catch a bit of movement. You narrow your focus as your sight adjusts to the shadowy interior.

A man is there with his back to you. He shifts. Turns. And then your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s him. And that is impossible. Of everyone it could be, how could it possibly be him.

Your wraith.

You are frozen. Utterly shocked. He turns a bit more and notices you standing there in the open doorway.

There is zero doubt. None. This is him.

This is Ghost.

Fuck you think. Shit shit shit shit.

You step back and Ghost takes a step forward, his hand falling to his sides, his back straightening like he’s about to move toward you.

Everything about him is the same. All broad shoulders, towering height, and imposing darkness. You know it’s him because of the balaclava. That’s the same, too.

You shake your head and take another step backward.

Ghost takes two.

You turn on your heel, and bolt.

Chapter Two // Chapter Four

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @lialacleaf @sharkbitesblog @coffeecaketornado @wren5650

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfic #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley fic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x you #cod fanfiction #call of duty fanfic #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #ghost smut #call of duty smut #simon riley x f!reader

[blasphemecel]

Michael Kaiser — Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 1.3k TYPE: Angst, Post-break up WARNING(S): Don't read if you're sensitive to medical stuff, also tw for KAISER-TYPICAL MELODRAMA

“Are you fucking kidding me? That just sounds made up.”

“Sir,” the doctor, who’s been having to deal with Kaiser acting like the hospital is a debate club for the past fifteen minutes, says. Then he lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. In all honesty, he does not want to deal with this. “While there’s an existing argument about the classification of broken heart syndrome, it is a real thing that happens. And you have it as we’ve deduced.”

“I don’t have health problems,” Kaiser says. Of course, those words fly out of his mouth without trouble even when Ness had to call an ambulance on him and everything, since he looked like he was on the brink of death today at practice. “Much less from bullshit reasons like a broken heart.”

“You don’t need to take it literally. That’s just the name. The trigger for the stress varies from case to case.”

Kaiser hopes his defensive statement didn’t reveal anything too personal, and decides to throw off any suspicion by staring down at his lap while frowning like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. At least the doctor doesn’t seem to care because he’s not prying for unnecessary details. Not yet, anyway.

“For how long have you been ignoring the symptoms?”

“I haven’t been ignoring anything,” Kaiser says.

Sure, he was dizzy a few (many) times and short of breath, and disregarded it. And while he can sense the tightness and pain in his chest each time, a recurring physical and tangible ache, Kaiser interprets the experience as some kind of metaphor for the figurative stabbing he was a victim of. The arrhythmia is a natural indignant response to whenever your irritating face pops up in his imagination, since you’re the perpetrator.

All this over some shitty break up. While it’s stupid for someone whose career is in sports to shrug off such obvious signs, until today Kaiser never truly thought it was serious enough to warrant such an overreaction from his body. You shouldn’t have this much power over him. He’s going to kill you next time he sees you for doing this to him.

He’s deep in denial and the grave he’s been digging with his stupid lies is shallow in contrast, inefficient. Can’t even deceive himself.

“It’s most common in people over fifty.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes. “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

“What I’m saying is, I assume you’ve been ignoring this for some time and it escalated to a bad attack. So, do you recall if you’ve gone through severe stress recently? Anything traumatizing even, either physically or mentally? When was it? If you could be exact, that’d be helpful.”

Traumatizing? Traumatizing? Is this man fucking kidding him right now?

Kaiser stares at the doctor as if he’s the stupidest person alive. Forget a person, he is a bug for such a suggestion. Through grit teeth, he relents, “There was something two weeks ago. By the way, it wasn’t traumatizing! That’s ridiculous.”

What’s even more absurd is the notion Kaiser wouldn’t know how much time has passed with perfect accuracy. Fourteen days he hasn’t been sleeping well, hugging his pillow and crying like a loser, cursing you, wanting you back, both a worshipper and a heretic.

What was he feeling at that moment, when you broke things off? Was it overwhelming anger which got him to this point? Though he’s been reliving the moment over and over, Kaiser still can’t identify it. Just something intense zapping him through his veins, a devastating shock, a surge of adrenaline. But surely it was resentment at your audacity to throw him away like disposable trash? He doesn’t like the thought that he’s been so pathetically sad, he got sick because of it, so this is what he’ll go with.

Thinking about it is enough to make him start picking at the skin on his neck like he’s trying to peel the ink off. It’s almost vile. At least he retains the common sense not to squeeze it in front of a medical professional who can send him away to a psych ward with ease.

The doctor, too, looks at Kaiser like he is an insane person. Good thing they pay him enough for this — otherwise, he doesn’t know how he’d deal with having a strange man with a bizarre haircut give him attitude over his diagnosis when it should be reserved for his barber or whoever is responsible.

“Two weeks ago, okay,” he says, writing it down. “Lucky for you, this is temporary and reversible unlike most other things we checked you for. You’ll be fine in about two months with the treatment.”

“So, like I thought, it’s not a big deal. I can still play football, right? Don’t need to lay off or anything?” Kaiser asks.

The doctor sighs. Again. He wants to measure the circumference, thickness and density of Kaiser’s skull. “You’re not listening,” he says, clearly exasperated, but still trying to exert patience. “Your heart is weak and not functioning properly at the moment. You can’t immediately jump back into living the way you usually do. It’s still serious no matter what you say and it can cause complications.”

Kaiser makes an annoyed expression like this is all one big inconvenience rather than a threat to his quality of life. “Are you serious? You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I’m honored you seem to think I’m a hilarious comedian, sir, since this is your nth time asking, but it’s not the case,” he says levelly.

“Don’t get clever with me.”

A sharp inhale through the nose and the doctor’s back on track, maintaining a feeble grasp on his inner peace, at least enough not to snap. Then, after this brief recollection, he reaches out to grab something, then holds it up. It’s a picture that looks either like an abortion-to-be or a black and white photo of lasagna… maybe. “This is your heart.”

Kaiser almost forgot about the ultrasound or whatever since he was strung out and sedated- relaxed throughout that whole ordeal. At the sight of it now, always theatrical, he decides the best course of action is to wrinkle his nose and say ‘eww,’ even though he’s not squeamish. But treating the matter seriously means admitting he has a problem, and he can’t have that.

The doctor pretends he can’t hear anything and points at the relevant area with his finger to illustrate the crux of the matter better. “You have apical ballooning. Do you get it? Even if it’s temporary, you can’t treat it lightly. So-”

Kaiser tunes out the rest of the explanation. Blah, blah, he could harm himself, very original. His gaze is stuck on the echocardiogram, though, and this time he’s nauseous for real, the tiniest bit. It strikes him as particularly ugly and deformed. Organs are repulsive to begin with, anyway, but this… thing is his, and he’s seeing it now. In any case, nothing so disgusting is worth loving or treating with care.

Is this how you’ve come to see him? What does Kaiser look like in your eyes? Ugly and maladjusted on the inside? Someone who likes laughing at other people’s misery, but can’t take even the slightest puncture? So out of touch with his emotions — and of his own volition —, he’s started experiencing them in the most visceral way possible. His desire for you: torment, a disease.

Would you find him dramatic? Maybe, but at least you’d make him laugh and smile and anything else his troubled mind has decided he needs at the moment, from you alone. Doesn’t matter, though. He’s not privy to that kind of thing, not anymore.

There’s a sting in his eyes and Kaiser wipes away his tears with a hasty swipe, though a few more stream down his cheeks. He doesn’t even know what he’s crying about again.

The doctor observes the display with the distanced apathy of someone who’s watched people die and shit themselves.

He gets discharged with a prescription and elaborate instructions on how to go about his physical activities until it’s deemed he’s fully healed at the later check-ups.

Great. Pitiful.

___

What's funny is that Y/n's probably having a good day while all this is going on

#michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader

[coffeeadict61]

Humans Are Weird: Auditory Processing Disorder

Report # 306

Topic: Auditory Processing Disorder

APD: disorder of the auditory (hearing) system that causes a disruption in the way that an individual's brain understands what they are hearing.

Four days ago I was doing my monthly meeting with the electrical department, receiving updates on our monthly usage, needed parts, and checking up on general morale. (The transcript of that meeting is already turned in.) After the meeting we had refreshments and I discovered Lucy (previously mentioned in report #286) pouting in a corner. I inquired what was bothering her. She said, "The ship's head medic just diagnosed me with APD but he wasn't trained to treat it." I asked for further information on the condition. She listed several of her personal symptoms. "It means I don't always catch what people say. It feels like my brain doesn't want to listen. In one ear and out the other making me look stupid to however I talk to. It's connected to my misophonia, and the fact I was born really premature."

I was unsure how to comfort her so I made no effort. This seemed to work for Lucy kept speaking.

"And what's worse is there's nothing I can do! We don't have a speech therapist aboard or even any research materials! Its starting to affect my work performance. On top of decoding, hypersensitivity, and prosodic problems, I have integration issues which mean its really hard for me to focus on what people are saying when I'm doing something. Which freaking sucks when you're part of a team!" I had no clue what she was really talking about but gave her a hug (human gesture of enveloping one in your arms as a sign of comfort or safety), and she apologized for "venting" to me.

She then spoke on how her crew mates just thought she was "slow" or wasn't good at her job. They questioned if she was capable because she would follow directions incorrectly and she was worried she'd be replaced with someone "less problematic". I tried to assure her that I would help anyway I could on her behalf. Never again will I doubt a human's sincerity.

After some of my own personal research I have made a list of the different types and their definitions for your education on the subject:

Hypersensitivity – Hypersensitivity to sound is often diagnosed as misophonia or hyperacusis. Misophonia is when people have adverse physical reactions to sounds, such as becoming nauseated by the sound of chewing or slurping. Hyperacusis, on the other hand, is characterized by a sensitivity to sounds. For some, this means that white noise can be deafening, even causing physical pain.

Decoding – Decoding difficulties involve a lack of figuring out words that are spoken. They hear the sounds, but their brains do not process them as words.

Integration – Integration applies to those who struggle to do multiple things while listening. Such multi-tasking may be writing notes and listening, or having conversations while typing an email.

Prosodic – Prosodic refers to people who have trouble with tone, inflection, and implied meaning. A question and exclamation are processed identically in their brains. Their speech is also often monotone.

Organizational – Finally, organizational, or output, is often characterized by not recalling information in a specific order or having difficulty with noisy situations.

Honestly, Humans are so diverse and unpredictable. To think that different "problems" or " abnormalities " within their mind or body can lead to even more similar issues astounds me. They are so intricate in a way my species has never been. Despite the struggles that their disorders, and conditions being, I think it's strangely beautiful. Maybe that's just me, but I have a new appreciation for them.

I am requesting the presence of a speech therapist, whether physically or digitally, to be readily available to our crew. We must also add APD onto our medics research requirements. It is not an overly complicated subject to be fluent in. I also request that Lucy's diagnoses be added to her list of wrongful termination along with her gender, age, and race. No one should feel their position is at risk because of a disorder or disability. I also request that a written copy of daily instruction be printed for her if necessary. She is one of our best electricians and I mean to keep her employed here as long as she wants.

Human Observer #5743

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #APD #auditory processing disorder #its an educational one folks #Lucy #Human Observer #Human observer5743 #Lucy is back #space #science fiction #sci fi #aliens #hope you like this one guys