#Why do Cluster Headaches Happen?

[asianneurocentre]

क्लस्टर सिरदर्द क्या है और क्यों होता है? - डॉ. नवीन तिवारी - एशियन न्यूरो सेंटर

क्लस्टर सिरदर्द क्या है | What is Cluster Headache

क्लस्टर सिरदर्द एक बहुत ही गंभीर और दर्दनाक प्रकार का सिरदर्द है। यह महिलाओं की तुलना में पुरुषों में अधिक आम है और अक्सर चक्र या क्लस्टर में हो सकता है। दर्द आमतौर पर सिर के एक तरफ स्थित होता है और इसे तेज, जलन या चुभने वाले दर्द के की तरह मन जाता है।

यह आमतौर पर आंख और माथे के पीछे होता है। इसके साथ अन्य लक्षण भी हो सकते हैं जैसे आंख का लाल होना और आंसू आना। क्लस्टर सिरदर्द आमतौर पर चक्रों या समूहों में होता है। क्लस्टर के दौरान, सिरदर्द कई हफ्तों या महीनों तक दिन में कई बार हो सकता है।

इन क्लस्टर्स के बीच बिना किसी सिरदर्द के सप्ताह, महीने या साल भी हो सकते हैं। क्लस्टर सिरदर्द का कारण अज्ञात है, लेकिन ऐसा माना जाता है कि इसमें जेनेटिक, पर्यावरण और जीवनशैली के कारण हो सकता है।

उपचार में दवाएं, जीवनशैली में बदलाव और अन्य उपचार शामिल हो सकते हैं। क्लस्टर सिरदर्द बहुत अक्षम कर सकता है और किसी व्यक्ति के जीवन को प्रभावित कर सकता है।

यदि आप क्लस्टर सिरदर्द से जुड़े किसी भी लक्षण का अनुभव करते हैं तो अपने डॉक्टर से तुरंत संपर्क करें। आपका डॉक्टर इस बीमारी का इलाज करेगा।

अधिक जानकारी प्राप्त करें "क्लस्टर सिरदर्द" से संबंधित:

और संपर्क करें 9111234529

#क्लस्टर सिरदर्द क्या है #What is Cluster Headache #क्लस्टर सिरदर्द #Cluster Headache #Why do Cluster Headaches Happen? #Cluster Headache Description in Hindi #Cluster sir dard ke gharelu upay #cluster headache serious? #How do you stop cluster headaches?

[whoopssteddiefeels]

Birds of a Feather

In which Robin tries to buy weed for Steve, and finds more than she bargained for in one Eddie Munson.

Robin was hovering by the tree line outside the school, trying to work up the courage to buy some weed. Her internal monologue was amped up with anxiety, spinning around in a way that had her muttering out loud to herself.  "Come on Buckley, you fought Russian soldiers, a high school drug dealer should not be a problem."

Starcourt had happened fast though, and never felt like a choice. This was deliberate and felt much more real somehow. Fighting a Russian conspiracy under the mall that involved people with superpowers? Insane. Buying weed off Eddie "The Freak" Munson? Plausible. Illegal. Suspension or expulsion potential.

But then she thought of Steve. Mostly healed, but still sensitive to light with occasional crippling headaches. His refusal to see a doctor (How am I going to answer when they ask exactly how I was injured, Rob?). The way the dark circles under his eyes never really left, the permanent exhaustion that let her know he definitely wasn't sleeping. Weed was supposed to be good for sleep, right? And maybe Eddie had something for pain too. She wouldn't be able to afford that, but Steve might, so long as it didn't have any dissociative components. No need to trigger truth serum flashbacks. Ugh, she was going to have to ask questions, and give reasons, because she didn't know exactly what she was doing, or what she wanted. This was going to be unbelievably uncomfortable.

She clutched the strap of her backpack and began stomping through the woods towards the infamous picnic table, fall leaves crunching underfoot. It came into view through the trees quickly, the "woods" by the school being more of a small cluster of trees no one had bothered to cut down than anything approaching an intentional wooded area. The sky overhead was a slate grey, but it was still very light out, leaving the whole scene appearing two-dimensional for lack of shadows.

A metal lunchbox sat ominously on what appeared to be an abandoned, slowly rotting picnic bench. Telltale signs of teenage delinquency were littered around, beer cans, cigarette butts, broken glass and bits of paper. The picnic table wasn't abandoned though, as she stomped closer, she noticed the long legs sprawled parallel to the far bench, straddling it. One ringed hand was dangling in a similar position, just off the ground, and a small tell-tale plume of smoke was rising from where she assumed his head was laid on the bench. "You sound like a damn elephant, you know that?" a voice drawled, but Eddie lost none of his relaxed posture. At least, not until she spoke.

"You're not exactly Mr. Twinkle-toes yourself, I'm shocked the lunch tables don't break under your feet."

The boy slowly sat up with the faint jingle of chains, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, leaves clinging to the bottom of his curls where they had brushed the ground. She was clearly not who he had expected. He pulled the cigarette that had been dangling from his lips away with two fingers and simultaneously flicked the ashes off the end and exhaled another cloud of smoke.

Why wasn't he saying anything?

"I uh... I mean... when you do your whole, rant thing, y'know? With the..." Robin gesticulated wildly, trying to encompass Eddie's usual theatricality. Smooth, Buckley. She dropped her hands back to her bag’s shoulder strap, wringing it nervously. "I uh... heard you sell. Drugs, I mean. Is that weird to say?"

The confused brow wrinkle was quickly replaced with a soft smile and a chuckle, a very different look from the manic grin she had seen in the cafeteria. To be fair, she was usually trying to not make eye contact with anyone drawing attention to themselves like that. "Not weird to say, since it's true. What can I do for you...?" he paused and gestured at her with the hand still holding the cigarette, clearly inviting an introduction.

"Robin... Buckley. I, uh, play trumpet?" she mimed her instrument of choice, then winced and tried not to kick herself for that idiotic move.

Eddie just continued to smile softly at her, large eyes a little too wide, shoulders a little hunched in on himself. "Eddie Munson." he offered "I play guitar," and he mimed a tiny air guitar solo.

"Right. So...." she clambered onto the bench opposite Eddie, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of smoke that wafted up from the still lit cigarette in his hand and off his hair and clothes. She wasn't successful, obviously, if him putting it out a second later was any indication. Then again, it could just be a coincidence since his next move was to the drag the lunchbox between them.

"So." he agreed, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on top. So far this was not what she had expected. Munson always seemed... loud, off kilter. Manic to the point of being a little scary. She supposed those descriptions might also apply to her, but where she tried to control it, he always seemed to lean in. Embraced being weird in a way she might envy if it didn't give her severe secondhand embarrassment to witness. Here, he seemed quiet and relaxed. Soft, with big eyes and a small smile contrasting with the angry zombie on his t-shirt under the denim and leather. There was something familiar in his mannerisms. Something she couldn't quite place.

"Here's the thing, and I'm sure you hear this all the time, but I’m not lying, it's not actually for me. Like really, it's not. I feel like I might be unbearable high, actually, like- anyway. Yeah, so this friend of mine has had... well, multiple knocks to the head.  And the trauma is... not... all physical? Like we worked together at Starcourt, and the fire was... something. So, I guess what I'm asking is what would you take for light sensitivity, and also intense headaches, but also inability to sleep because of nightmares and ALSO isn't dissociative because... yeah. Just nothing dissociative."

Eddie blinked at her, face unchanged other than slightly wider eyes and slight furrow between his eyebrows. He seemed to be waiting for her to take a breath before responding, so she did. "That's a lot of “alsos.”"

"Yeah."

He sighed, but then leaned back and popped open the lip of the lunchbox in an obviously practiced motion. Eyes darting back and forth, biting his lower lip lightly in what she hoped was thought.

"Not to talk myself out of a sale here, but it honestly sounds like he needs a doctor. Possibly several."

"Yeah, I've told him that, but he refuses to go and I'm tired of watching him be in pain and tell me it's fine," she threw air quotes up around the last word. Steve's martyr complex was something else, honestly.

"Well as long as you give your boyfriend that disclaimer..." Eddie was rooting around in the lunchbox, but his eyes flicked up to her face and his slight frown morphed into a wide grin that lit up his whole face at her expression. "Okay, not boyfriend?"

She probably should be more subtle, but Robin couldn't help the disgusted face she was making. Why did everyone assume she and Steve were dating? It was gross. "Emphatically not."

Eddie's eyes darted up and down a few times, running over her face and outfit, rapidly. He seemed suddenly nervous, and she had a terrible sinking feeling in her gut that he was about to ask her out. She was trying to work out the nicest complete refusal that would still let her purchase some weed when he went back to staring into the lunchbox, one hand tapping a rhythm on the table while the other extracted a plastic bag with plant matter in it. He seemed to come to a decision, and she braced, when he said "Hey, I wouldn't be able to resist Harrington in that sailor outfit."

She was gaping. She should definitely close her mouth. It did not need to be open for her to do the rapid mental math. There were rumors that Munson was gay, but there were also rumors he kept repeating his senior year on purpose to find vulnerable freshmen to sacrifice to Satan. She had barely been sure that he actually dealt, people said so many wild things.

Also how did he know she was talking about Steve? Though… in retrospect the two of them were pretty inseparable these days. He drove her to school daily, and she had mentioned she worked with the person in question. Ok maybe it was obvious she had been talking about Steve.

Eddie was looking up at her through his bangs, clearly nervous, and she suddenly thought of the bathroom floor and a prolonged silence on the other side of the wall. "Hang on, I'm just judging your taste in outfits, not men. We both looked ridiculous. Absolutely embarrassing."

"You say that like it wasn't part of the attraction." The wide grin had returned, though he quickly hid it behind a lock of hair pulled across his face. Cute. Why had she thought he was scary?

She scrunched her nose up at him anyway. "Gross. That's gross. Men are gross."

"Yeah, I got that opinion from your boots." He waved the small plastic bag at her. "Anyway, sounds like his majesty has a lot going on, but he can certainly start with weed. His old friend Tommy used to buy off me, so I know he's smoked before. Should at least help with sleep and doesn't really have any side effects so it shouldn't fuck up his head any more than it already is."

"How much?" she asked, down to business, rummaging in her backpack for cash.

"For you? $10, but that's the Friends of Dorothy discount. If Harrington asks, it's $20."            

"That's an insane upsell."

"Beggars can't be choosers, and I’m really the only game in town. Plus, that's not including the jock hazard rate, since if he's friends with you and those freshmen in my club, he can't be that bad."

"He's a dingus, but he's kind of my dingus at this point."

Eddie blinked once, exchanging the bag for her cash. "He definitely knows you're not dating, right?"

"Steve? Oh, he knows about me. There was a whole-" she paused, trying to figure out what part of that story was actually relatable according to the novel-length NDA, and came up blank, "...thing. Platonic with a capital P."

He gave her a little half smile. "Maybe Dustin is less naive than I thought then. He practically waxes poetic about the dude. He’s his hero." Eddie clasped his hands together, her cash between them, fluttering his eyelids dramatically at the sky. There was the Eddie she was more familiar with.

Shoving the baggie into her backpack, she moved to get up. "That kid is too smart for his own good most of the time. And... also a little naive. Just not about Steve."

He nodded, agreeing easily, and then looked like he’d suddenly remembered something important. "Remind me to introduce you to Tiffany sometime, by the way."

She immediately tripped over the bench, catching herself before she went sprawling, but had to scoop her backpack and its new illegal contents off the ground. Had he waited for her to be off balance on purpose? She slowly backed away, doing a fair impression of a goldfish. That was... out of left field. Tiffany? Did she know a Tiffany? Did he? "That's.... yeah. Definitely. Sure. Yes. How do you know... I mean I've never seen any girls in your club."

"She's not in Hellfire, but she's around. Birds of a feather, Buckley." He winked cheekily, performative grin back in place.

"Sure, sure. Makes sense." It did not make sense. If Eddie was implying what she thought he was, there were in fact other lesbians at Hawkins High, and he knew them just because he was also gay. Of course there were other lesbians, statistically there would be, but how did he know? How. Why. Was there some sort of memo, and why hadn't she gotten one?

"If you need anything else, or I guess if King Steve wants to call on the local jester, you know where to find me." He saluted and flopped back onto the bench, like she had never been there.

Eddie Munson. She wasn't sure how she felt about that interaction, retreating through the woods, but it wasn’t bad. It was nice, actually. Something in her chest glowed warmly with the knowledge that she wasn't the only queer person she knew anymore. She'd have to take better notice of him this year, it was his third senior year, he could probably use all the friends he could get. Plus, she might be able to spot this “Tiffany.”

She jogged down the hill to the waiting BMW, trying to decide what exactly, if anything, to tell Steve.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #robin buckley pov #robin buckley #eddie munson #gay eddie munson #steddie but only if you squint #their potential friendship is important to me #eddie munson has good gaydar #I made tiffany up but i think i heard that name in a fic somewhere and internalized it so now she exists

[signiorbenedickofpadua]

Talk about your sense 8au

(For the WIP title tag game, list of titles here.)

More than gladly, my anonymous friend!

So I was rewatching Netflix's Sense8 dubbed in German as part of my effort to get better at it and not forget everything I learned at the course I took, and I was reminded of how compelling the premise of that series is, and then the brainrot, predictably enough, grabbed a hold of me and basically forced me to apply the premise to the characters from the Sandman.

(For anyone who isn't familiar with Sense8, the basic premise is that there people - sensates - who are born with a genetic mutation which allows them to psychically connect to each other and visit each other through (more or less) astral projection. Each of these people go through a "rebirth" at some point in their lives when these abilities are awakened within them and they are immediately connected to a handful of individuals scattered across the globe who happen to have been born (their first, physical birth) at the exact same moment. These people form a "cluster", and within a cluster it's possible to not only visit one another but share emotions and sensations and knowledge such as how to speak French or fight or cook or ski or most anything really. Through eye contact, it's possible to connect with other sensates outside of one's cluster. The ability to utilise connections can be inhibited with medications called "blockers".)

So, naturally, I thought that the Endless siblings should be a cluster of seven. It's a well-established cluster, it's been years since they were reborn and their abilities were "activated" so to speak, and they are famous within the sensate community for...reasons which I will refrain from spoiling here. Suffice it to say that everyone knows there should be seven of them, and seven only.

Except...one day a certain Hob Gadling runs out of the somewhat mysterious medication the doctor at work prescribed him, and he starts getting headaches and then he runs in to a feisty, trench-coat-clad brunette at the pharmacy who accidentally makes eye contact with him and suddenly she's standing right in front of him, telling him to forget they ever connected, while she's also simultaneously hurrying out of the store several yards away? And oh god, if he's hallucinating already he really needs a refill of his meds, except the ghost/hallucination is telling him she's real and that he shouldn't trust doctors???

Thankfully, he runs into her again at the pub and manages to bribe her with whisky to explain what's happening and prove that this not-quite-psychic-power she has is actually real and that he has it too. She seems surprised that he hasn't seen any of his clustermates even after a couple of days of being "reborn", so when Hob accidentally visits a pale, black-haired stranger later that day he's excited to get to know this handsome man who must be in his cluster. Except the man accuses Hob of being a spy for an evil organisation that once held him prisoner and claims that it's impossible for them to be clustermates, but then why do they keep visiting each other and why can Hob hear and smell the ocean the man lives by and how come he can suddenly speak Greek?!

Ah, it's so much fun to play around with weird psychic powers and deep intuitive connections between people who maybe shouldn't allow themselves to act on their attraction to each other and Endless family drama ❤️ It's at 38k words so far and boy oh boy is there more to come. (One-shot fics? I don't know her. Never heard of it. Sounds made up.) You can blame this fic for making sure the other ones on the WIP list will remain there a good while longer, but you can also thank this fic for making me write at all after a bit of a creative slump, so silver lining! I'm really excited about this one. I have no idea if people who aren't already into Sense8 will even choose to read this (though they should, as I've tried to write it soa as to be comprehensible even without prior knowledge), but I do not choose where the inspiration takes me! I guess Calliope just really digs Sense8 at the moment ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Snippet under the read more!

“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”

The woman grunted and turned her head to look around the store, as if searching for inspiration. “Suppose I might as well stock up on nicotine pl—” She immediately interrupted herself the moment her gaze fell on Hob, and her eyes widened as they met his.

Realising that it might have been a little rude to listen in on a stranger’s pharmaceutical order just to procrastinate deciding which of the plethora of almost identical painkillers to buy, Hob politely averted his eyes, only to utter a decidedly impolitely loud yelp as he turned his head to find that very same woman suddenly standing right beside him in the pain relief aisle.

Their eyes met again, and she said, “Oh, shite!” and promptly disappeared into thin air.

Head spinning, Hob turned around again in time to see the woman—yes, definitely the same woman with the same brown hair and the same light trench coat that had seen better days—tell the pharmacist, “Never mind,” and turn on her heel to walk towards the exit, looking very much like she was intentionally avoiding looking Hob’s way again.

“The fuck?”, he breathed, then started following her before he could think better of it, raising his voice to call, “Hey, wait!”

She did not slow down or turn her head, and Hob suspected he would have to break into a jog if he was to catch up to her before she left the store. However, he was saved from making a decision on that point by the fact that he suddenly found himself walking right by her side when they should, by all rights, still be in entirely different aisles.

“Wha—” he began, but she interrupted him by abruptly stopping and reaching up to seize him by the front of his shirt.

“Don’t even think about following me!” she hissed with all the intimidation someone at least a head shorter than her opponent could muster—a not inconsiderable amount, considering how the perspective shifted again so that he was once again back in his own aisle, watching one version of the woman reach the door and slipping out of the store while an identical version pressed him up against a shelf of cough syrup.

“I’m…sorry?” was all Hob managed to squeeze out, too baffled to even consider putting his professional experience to use to extricate himself from the woman’s grip. Were hallucinations supposed to be able to touch you?

“You look familiar. Have you been shadowing me while on blockers?”

Now that she said it, Hob realised she looked vaguely familiar too, but the question as to where he might have seen her before felt much less important in that moment than the one at the top of his mind, namely, “What the bloody hell is happening? Blockers— Who are you? How did you do that? Are you…real?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not— You actually don’t know, do you? Aren’t you a bit old to be a newborn?”

“What?”

From the direction of the counter, Hob heard the pharmacist ask, “Sir, are you feeling all right?”

He looked over at her, then down at his assailant, then back again. The pharmacist showed no signs whatsoever of either seeing or hearing anyone other than Hob himself. “I…think I really need to talk to my GP.”

“Do you need me to call someone?” she asked, at the same time as the other woman—hallucination?—said, “Don’t. No doctors. The regular ones will have you institutionalised, and the ones in the know can’t be trusted yet.”

“Trusted—?”

“Look, mate, I’m gonna leave you with this advice: the headaches will pass soon; you’re not crazy; don’t talk to outsiders or doctors; and find someone discreet to get you blockers. They’re good to have at hand, though they’ll be expensive if people will have to resort to synthesising the main component themselves for the foreseeable future. Oh, and never visit me ever again!” This last piece of advice was delivered with a pointed shove that rattled the contents of the shelves at Hob’s back, then the woman disappeared again, as if she’d never been there at all.

“Sir? Do you need someone to escort you home, or to a hospital?”

Hob blinked and closed his gaping mouth. With some effort, he composed himself enough to say, “No, I…I can manage.” He passed a subtly trembling hand over his eyes and cleared his throat. “Just tell me one thing?”

“Of course,” replied the pharmacist, still sporting a concerned frown.

“Is it safe to combine ibuprofen with Anadin Extra, or will that fuck up my stomach?”

#personal #ask games #tag games #wip game #snippets #my writing

[ilguna]

☼ hear my song (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you want the first man that falls victim to your song, not knowing that he would end up being thrown overboard by his own crew.

warnings; swearing, death mention, the urge to eat humans.

wc; 2k

–

“We’re going to have to move.” Atlas tells you. You’ve known her since you were a baby, the two of you were raised together. She’s less of a best friend, and more of a sister. She’s laying on her stomach on the smooth rock beside you, the end of her tail barely reaching the water, “They don’t come by anymore.”

There’s clear, blue skies as far as your eyes can see. There’s not a single hint of a storm coming your way, the waves are calm, trying to reach you from below. The sun is hot, but you don’t burn.

“I wonder who’s fault that is.” You say, looking past her, to the other cluster of rocks twenty feet away. It holds the other group of girls you grew up with, except you never attached to them the same way you did with Atlas. “If they knew self control, the ships wouldn’t be wary about coming this way.”

The last time you saw a ship was a couple months ago, which is a long time to go without seeing anyone, especially since there used to be so many that would pass in the span of two weeks. You thought you wouldn’t have to move again for a few years, you were so excited to stop searching for good places to stay.

And you tried to be careful and vigilant when it came to them attacking the ships. They couldn’t do it too often, otherwise they’d catch on and stop coming this way. They promised they were picking and choosing because they hated the idea of moving just as much as you did.

It’s clear they couldn’t control themselves. How could they? They’ve never seen so much fresh meat in their entire lives, and it was right at their fingertips. It turned from indulging every now and then, to gorging themselves each time a ship passed just because they could. And now you’re fucked.

You’d give them a piece of your mind, except it’s all wasted words. They don’t care to listen to you, and you’ve already decided that when you do relocate, they’re not coming with.

“It was bound to happen.” She twists her red hair around her finger, creating a knot because it’s wet.

You cross your arms, “Yes, but we’d have a few more months, at least.” You sigh, “I’ve been trying to scout new places, and it’s going to be impossible to find as nice of a spot as right here, unless we get closer to land.”

“Too risky.” She murmurs, “We’ll be spotted.”

“I know, that’s why I”ve been putting it off. We’re going to have to, eventually.” You look down at her, “I’m not going with them again.”

“Safety in numbers, (Y/n). If we split, we have a bigger chance of getting caught by the spits. It’s easier to grin and bear.” She picks at her teeth, “And we promised to stay together.”

“I don’t think we’ll get caught easier. We’re faster than they are.”

“Unless they use their nets.” She meets your eyes. “We could always go back home.”

“That’s not happening.” You close your eyes, shaking your head. 

Just picturing home gives you a headache. If your mom even knew how bad your perfect opportunities were going, she’d never leave you alone about it. Everyone would hear that you couldn’t pull together a group of girls to survive. And then she’d go on to tell you how she did it when she was your age, so you should be able to, too.

And the land that they stay on is crowded. You’re always worried that five is too many to have here, but there’s over twenty where they’re staying. They have a list of which family gets the next boat to make sure that everyone gets a turn. Here, you’re struggling to impose the same concept. Solely because they think that it should be fair game. 

You’re not home anymore, so the rules shouldn’t apply. 

Well, that’s what you thought too at first, but it’s gotten old since.

“It’s an option.”

“For you, it may be. For me, it’s a last resort.” You open your eyes, staring out at the ocean. You sit upright, leaning forward, squinting to get a better look. You can see something bobbing from left to right, riding the ocean. Your face smooths, “That ship is mine!”

The girls on the neighboring rock hush, their attention turning to the water to find what you saw so easily. It’s quite a large ship, which is unusual. The big ones don’t come by anymore, because the sailors are experienced, they know better than to come this way.

It’s the new sailors that you’ve been feasting on, entire ships of men blindly throw themselves over the side. The five of you will pick the ones you want, drowning them, and then eating their bodies over a period of time. It’s become a routine now.

“There’s got to be twenty on there.” One of the girls says.

“We’re not taking all of them!” You snap at her, “Just enough. The bodies will rot and go to waste.”

“That doesn’t bother us.” Another one says, raising her eyebrows.

“I said no.” You hiss, “It’s not happening.”

She rolls her eyes, turning her body away from you and Atlas. They might be disobedient, but they know not to challenge you when you’re sitting right here. You could kill all three of them, and send their bodies floating back to their parents. The only reason why you haven’t yet, is because you’re not ready to give home up just yet.

None of you move from the rocks, watching for hours as the ship slowly comes closer. It’s not windy as it normally is, so they’re relying on the waves to bring them in this direction. They’ve started to come in at an angle, now, the ship almost parallel to the island where you live.

“What are they doing?” Atlas asks, moving to sit, “They don’t get this close. Do you think they’ll attack?”

“They’ll lose, no matter how many are on that ship. Five voices is enough to kill them at once.” Your face is twisted.

You won’t even have to project your voice over the water. At this distance, you’ll just have to be loud. You can see why she’s getting antsy, though. You would be too, if you thought you were in danger.

You suck in a breath, starting the fire note, “Upon one summer’s morning, I carefully did stray. Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay.”

You can see a few of the sailors come to the side of the boat. Quickly, it jerks so it’s turned so that you can see the full side. They look over the railing, staring between you and Atlas, and the other cluster of rocks. There’s six of them.

They back off, disappearing.

“What if they shoot us?” Atlas whispers, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

You ignore her, “Conversing with a bouncing lass, who seemed to be in pain. Saying WIlliam, when you go, I fear you will never return again.”

“(Y/n), please, I have a bad feeling.” She grabs your arm.

“My heart is pieced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold.” You sing.

They appear again, weaponless at the railing.

“His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal. My happiness attend him wherever he may go, from Tower Hill to Blackwall, I’ll wander, weep and moan.”

They must bend over, disappearing underneath.

“The cannons.” Atlas is scooting backward.

“All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home.” You grab onto her wrist to keep her from fleeing.

“Why aren’t they coming over the side?” She asks, pulling at her wrist, “Please.”

“My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold.”

They shoot upright, hauling something over the side. A writhing figure, trying desperately to stay with them. They give him one last shove, before letting him go completely. You watch the man’s shirt whip at his skin, and for a moment, he looks perfect, until he hits the water.

It consumes him, he disappears completely.

“(Y/n)!” One of the girls shouts, “Don’t—!”

“Get them.” You order, letting go of Atlas, “It’s a mutiny.”

In the matter of seconds, your ears are filled with the same song you were singing, picking off where you left. You dive into the water, weaving through the water, feeling it caress your skin, letting you push deeper. You head straight for the man that’s been thrown in. 

It doesn’t take long for you to find him, stirring up bubbles around him, wiggling to get out of the ropes that bind his hands and legs together. And in his mouth, there’s a blue cloth tied between his teeth, further hindering his focus to get out. He’s sinking at a steady rate, it seems they put a cannon ball in a net, and then attached it to his feet.

You catch up with him, ripping through the rope that connects to the net with your nail. The man begins to fight, now, trying to kick you with his bound feet, face turning a bright shade of red. It’d be easy to let him go and drown, especially when he’s being so uncooperative and not appreciative of you beginning to save him in the slightest. If it weren’t for the fact that you like to catch your food. 

This is plain pitiful.

“Let’s go.” You say, grabbing the rope that binds his hands, starting to swim to the surface. 

You can hear their song from below the surface, reaching its end. When you look behind you, curious to see if it’s working, you can see several bodies plunge into the water, hands over their ears, squirming to get their ears to stop bleeding.

You pull the sailor above the water, ripping the cloth that’s clamped between his teeth. He doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes. His hair is stuck to his forehead, and his clothes are dragging him down.

“Is he alive?” Atlas asks, “Are you going to keep him alive?”

“I don’t see why not.” You reach over, squeezing his cheeks together, no response.

You begin to hum a melody, holding his head above water so that he has to listen to it. It doesn’t work for the first few notes, but his face suddenly twists, scrunching in pain. His eyes fly open, and he jerks to twist himself away from you.

You don’t let him, holding onto him tightly while you continue to pull him to shore. His eyes are sea-green, like the color of the moss that grows on rock back home. He swings his head to one side to get his blonde hair out of his face. When he scrunches his face, blinking the saltwater out of his eyes, dimples appear.

“Well, aren’t you a handsome sailor.” You muse, “Caught myself a good one.”

“Captain.” He snaps to correct you, “And you didn’t catch anything.”

“Well, Captain.” You purr the word, “You owe me your life now, don’t you?”

“No.” He throws his body back, trying to kick you. You grab his feet instead, dragging him through the water that way for a minute to teach him a lesson. His head is mostly underwater, not allowing him to breathe.

When you decide it’s enough, he comes back up sputtering, flinging water everywhere to get it off of his face. “You want to know why you owe me your life?” You ask, wiping the water from his eyes, turning him to face the boat, where the bodies of his crew have begun to resurface “I just did you a favor.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x y/n #finnick imagine #finnick onesot #finnick fanfic #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x yn #finnick x y/n #thg #the hunger games #fluff #requested

[pastelwitchling]

Your short stories are lovely and I can’t wait for your new au! If you’re taking prompts, could write something where Alex asks Michael to move in.

***

                Alex didn’t know what made him ask.

                No, that was a lie. It was more like he didn’t know what in particular made him ask. Whether it was the cluster of instant ramen packets in Michael’s pantry for the late nights he didn’t feel like cooking for himself, or the fact that his heater was giving off cold air that made Michael pile on the blankets in his trailer, or the fact that he insisted on having Alex’s scent on his sheets so that he could breathe him in when they were apart—maybe it was that one—but before Alex could think about the words, if they were a good idea, if they were ready,they were already leaving his lips.

                “Do you want to move in together?”

                Michael looked down at Alex who was sitting on the edge of his bed, and pulled up his jeans. He looked at him like he was sure he’d heard wrong.

                “What?”

                Alex swallowed, wondering for a split second if he should take it back, pretend he hadn’t said what he’d just said. But as he looked up at Michael, his beautiful Michael, with his jeans hanging off his waist, his sun-kissed muscles and strong arms all for Alex, his gentle eyes on Alex like he was his entire world laid out right in front of him, Alex found himself repeating himself, his voice louder and steadier—

                “Do you want to move in together?” he pushed himself up, and reached for his crutch, but Michael’s arm wrapped instinctively around his waist. Like it was just second nature to protect him. He smiled, and softly kissed the startled look off Michael’s face.

                Michael’s eyes fluttered, his fingers stretching along the base of Alex’s spine. “What?”

                Alex brushed Michael’s stubbled jaw with his thumb. “Do you want to—”

                “No.”

                Alex’s smile turned small and he nodded. It’s okay, he thought, trying to ignore the disappointment that bloomed in his chest. Until Michael had turned him down, he had no idea how much he’d actually wanted to live with the cowboy.

                “Okay,” he said softly, and pecked Michael’s lips. “Just thought I’d ask.”

                And with a final smile, Alex reached for his crutch and turned away to find a sweater. I could’ve sworn I tossed my navy Air Force hoodie somewhere around here—

                “You’ll hate me,” Michael said.

                Alex froze. He turned slowly, shoulders falling. Michael’s smirk was small, weak, his eyes on Alex’s chest instead of his face.

                “You’ll hate me,” he repeated, quieter. “I’ll break your stuff, and stink up your clothes, and—and make your headaches worse, and you’ll realize you were better off without me.”

                Alex pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. Michael’s smile fell apart and he shut his eyes, like he was expecting Alex to agree with him and didn’t want to see it happen.

                Then Alex said, “Is that all?” Michael looked up, confused, and Alex tilted his head. “This self-deprecating crap, is that the only reason you don’t want to move in with me?”

                “Alex,” he tried, frustration seeping into his expression now, “it’s not just—”

                “Because I think I just figured out why I want us to live together.”

                Michael swallowed. “Why?”

                Alex brushed a curl from his brow and his lips quirked when Michael turned into his touch. “Because I love this. I love being able to touch you whenever I want. I love taking care of you. I think my whole life has been for this. To protect you from anything and everything.”

“I thought you couldn’t be my medicine.”

“And I’m not,” Alex chuckled. Didn’t Michael see how obvious it was? “I’m just yours, and you’re mine, and this is what we do. I’m not trying to save you, because you don’t need saving. I’m trying to protect you, because I can. I can do it, Guerin. Let me do it.”

                Michael gripped his waist. “I don’t want to be something else you have to handle, Alex.”

                “Do you want to live with me?” Alex finally asked, and Michael clenched his jaw. Alex took his face in his hands. “Do you want to live with me?”

                He searched Alex’s face. Then, as if he was ashamed of it, he whispered, “More than anything.”

                Alex’s smile widened, and he pulled Michael in, hugging his shoulders. “Then we’ll figure everything else out.”

                Michael exhaled shakily, hugging his waist tightly. “I can’t screw this up,” he murmured into the crook of Alex’s neck.

                Alex hugged him tighter, kissing the side of his neck and whispering, “My beautiful, silly cowboy.” Michael shuddered and melted into his touch like he wanted to cling to him for the rest of his life. Alex put a hand in his hair and gripped his curls, knowing it would calm him like nothing else could.

                It would be tough for Michael at first, he knew, but Alex would do whatever it took to show him how loved he was. He would hold on to him, no matter what.

***

Happy Malex Monday ❤

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

[writingfortheheart]

Oxygen Ache

Melanie had been prescribed oxygen as treatment for cluster headaches. It didn't take much, whenever she felt a headache coming on, she'd slip on the mask for about half an hour and her headache would be gone. Maybe not completely gone, but it would be a dull throbbing that she could live with. Much better than taking pills that may or may not work. She couldn't take that chance.

Not long after, Melanie stopped getting the headaches, but she still liked the oxygen. She liked making sure the non-rebreather bag was filled, pulling the mask down over her face, and just relaxing. Sometimes she'd just lay in bed reading, sometimes she'd watch a movie or TV show, sometimes she'd just stare at the celling. She'd try to keep her sessions to half hour increments.

The interesting thing about oxygen therapy is that oxygen toxicity exists. It's possible to overdose on pure oxygen. Maybe overdose is a strong word, but you'd have adverse affects. This is why Melanie didn't go beyond 30 minute sessions. It worked, at least for now.

Melanie lived with her girlfriend, Alyssa. They were platonic friends since kindergarten, they knew each other very well. They watched each other grow up, their failures with men, their failures with women, and they realized that perhaps best as partners. It was Alyssa who suggested the first kiss. It was a joke at first, Alyssa had kissed Melanie on the cheek while posing for a photo at a party. Later, while talking, Melanie asked if Alyssa's kiss meant anything. "Not at first," said Alyssa, looking into Melanie's eyes, "but now...".

Melanie smiled, "Just do it...". Alyssa leaned in and kissed Melanie on the lips. A passionate and prolonged kiss, it felt like it had been coming for a long time.

Alyssa had accepted Melanie's many illnesses and quirks. Even before they got together, before the first kiss, Alyssa promised to be there for Melanie, regardless of what happened. Even when Melanie ended up in hospital for anything, Alyssa was there at her bedside, stroking her hair, caressing her hand.

Melanie hadn't been watching her most recent oxygen tank. It was coming close to running out, and when Melanie had come home she was stressed. Work was getting on her last nerve. She needed her oxygen. A literal breath of fresh air.

Melanie grabbed for her mask, filled the bag, and pulled the mask over her face. She pulled the green elastics tightly, and she took a deep breath in.

It didn't take long for the oxygen to run out. It took a couple of deep breaths before Melanie had realized. When she did realize, she could feel herself choking. Not really choking, but a panic had washed over her. "It's okay, you can still breathe fine..." she said to herself, taking a few breathes through the mask. But she couldn't breathe fine. Or, she thought she couldn't breathe fine. Her lungs were fully expanding, she was getting air, but her brain, her silly, stupid brain, was telling her that no oxygen was getting in.

Melanie pulled the mask off and tried to take a few deep breaths, but it still didn't help. Melanie's heart started to race now. "I'm going to die...", she thought, "Alyssa's going to find me here...I'm going to be dead..."

That's when the thought hit her. Alyssa. "Alyssa will be home soon", Melanie thought to herself, "Please, come home soon".

Melanie laid on the couch, trying to catch her breath, trying to stop her mind from racing. She was starting to cry now, hot tears streaming down her face. "I'm dying...", she kept saying to herself.

It seemed like eternity before Alyssa came through the door. "Babe, I'm home!". It was a favorite thing for Alyssa to do. She liked the smile it brought to Melanie's face, knowing that her sweetheart was home. But nobody greeted Alyssa this time. No smiling face from Melanie. Nothing but a sound of crying coming from the couch, punctuated by raspy breaths, and the occasional plea to live. "Melanie? Love? Are you okay?"

Melanie managed to gasp out Alyssa's name as Alyssa rounded the couch to find Melanie grasping at her chest, crying. Alyssa knew this too well. She was having a panic attack.

Alyssa knelt down and pulled Melanie toward her. "It's okay, love...it's okay...". Alyssa spotted the oxygen mask on the floor and put together an idea of what caused this panic attack. They would talk about that after.

Alyssa kissed Melanie's cheek, and whispered in her ear, "Breathe, babe. Breathe, deep breaths, okay? You can do it...". Melanie's breaths came in shaky spurts, but Alyssa wouldn't let go.

Eventually, Melanie calmed down, her breathing becoming even again. Alyssa ran her fingers through Melanie's hair. They slowly parted, then Alyssa kissed Melanie's lips tenderly. "We're going to have to talk about the oxygen...", she said. Melanie nodded, and they lay down on the couch, Alyssa resting her head on Melanie's chest and listening to her heart beat.

#resus #resus roleplay #resus writing #care #kindness #love

[raggellion]

Morals: Chapter 2

Riff Lorton

Notes: Here’s chapter 2. I hope you guys enjoy.

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

———

My mind wandered as my eyes struggled to stay closed. The easy glow of the moon seeped through my window, illuminating the tiny room. The silhouettes of boxes danced along the walls as each car passed by.

Of course my mind was on one thing in particular; my little conversation with Riff earlier. Sure it was short lived, but damn I really felt like I could talk to him forever. The heat of my pillow aggravated me as I flipped it over. Plopping my face down on the pillow again, I was not met with a cool side, as a result of doing this all night long.

I huffed and dragged myself out of bed. Cool air was just what I needed.

My arms tugged at the window, forcing it open. Allowing myself to crawl through, I propped myself up on the roof of the shed that was located just outside my window.

The cool air filled my lungs blissfully, instantly relieving the cluster headache starting to form.

Tonight was such a blur. I mostly stayed by Anybodys that whole night. The most I heard was that Tony met a girl; una puertorriqueña. Things didn’t go down too well. We left shortly after that. I tried probing Tony about it on the way home but he didn’t say too much. Riff was nowhere to be seen either.

A familiar hushed voice shook me out of my thoughts.

“Come on baby please! You can stay at mine! My pop don’t even come home half the time.” The voice whined. I recognized the voice to be Graziella. What the hell was Grazi doing out at this hour?

Shifting from my position, I quietly hid in the shadows of the rooftop, nestling myself in a snug corner.

“Y’know I can’t, girly girl.” Oh no. The voice. The nickname. Wow, Riff and Grazi, huh? Who would’ve thought. “The Jets gotta prepare for tomorrow night. Without Tony, we gotta step up our game.” He continued.

A soft movement danced across my left knuckle, making my eyes widen in horror. My eyes slowly moved down. Crawling around on my hand, was a spider. All 8 legs expertly moved around my skin, tickling the area.

A loud gasp emerged from my mouth as I violently shook my wrist to get the unwanted critter off. . My palm flew to my mouth. Both heads snapped to my direction.

“Did you hear that?” Riff questioned, inching toward the shed. To my relief, Grazi ignored the question. “C’mon Riffy. Please let’s go home.” She whined. “I guess I can stay for a little.” He gave in, earning a giggle from Grazi. He pulled her in for a long kiss. There, right in front of me, Riff and Graziella passionately made out. I struggled to keep my gag in. However gross it was, I couldn’t ignore the deep burning feeling in my gut. Almost…. Jealousy?

———

My eyelids drooped, threatening to close as I loosely held the broom in my hand. The wood stick almost left my hand completely, but was saved by Valentina. “Ay Lily, why do you keep yourself up at night?” She asked sympathetically. I dramatically yawned as a response. Val smirked and playfully slapped my arm.

“Don’t know… couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

“Is it what happened with Tony?” She asked in a hushed voice.

I peered up with curiosity. “What even happened with that anyway?”

“Tony, he uh, had an exchange with a Puerto Rican girl.”

I gasped. “He slept with her?”

Valentina put her hands up in Tony’s defense. “No, no! Nothing like that, mija. He danced with her.”

I scrunch my nose up in confusion. “Oh. So what? It’s just a dance.”

Valentina widens her eyes solemnly. “Yes, but this wasn’t any normal girl. Of all the girls in the West Side… Tony chose María Vasquez.” She said ominously.

I blinked, hoping for an explanation, but Val continued to stare at me blankly. “I’m still lost.”

“María Vasquez is Bernardo’s little sister. The leader of the Sharks!”

My eyes widened. “And that’s what the whole thing was about? Leave it to Tony to dance with the one girl he can’t have.” I chuckle. Valentina sighed and shook her head.

“He’s so adamant about this one girl. He even came in here trying to learn some Spanish. He’s got it good, I’m afraid. I wonder what his criminal associate, Riff, thinks of this.”

I scoff. “Hey Val, Riff’s not that bad.” She turns to face me and tilts her glasses down. “Oh really? Where is that coming from?”

“Nowhere, I mean I get that I barely know the guy but so far he’s been nice to me and I’m una puertorriqueña-” I rambled before she cut me off. “Sí, Lilianna, pero you are also half white. He thinks that makes you a gringa, the same way he thinks I’m a gringa because I married a white man!”

“Whatever,” I divert. “I think you should have some faith in Tony with his little romance. I mean after all you did marry a white man and things worked out well. Maybe it will for them too.”

“I think Tony has enough trouble already.” She waved her hand around, as to brush off the topic. I didn't push. “Come on, mi amor, come eat.

I rest the broom against the wall and take a seat. Val places a plate of fries in front of me and I give her a thankful smile. “This is great Val, thank you.”

Valentina watched me carefully as I pushed a french fry into my mouth. The savory flavor caressed my taste buds and made my mouth slightly drier than it had been before. “I knew you needed a little fuel after I heard about your catastrophe yesterday.” She smirked and I blushed bright red, desperately trying to conceal my embarrassment with my hands. Valentina laughed heartily. “What happened?”

“Oh gosh, tia, I should have listened to you y Tony. I wasn't ready… like at all! I pushed myself and- oh god I was about puke on the dance floor!” Once again, my hands flew up to my face and dragged the skin down as if I pulled the shame from my body. Val came around the counter and began to rub my back soothingly. “I was jus-“

The door slammed open. “Howdy amigas!” A sarcastic voice said. I peek one eye out from my rather sweaty palms. Riff’s face grinned back at me, but his features quickly fill with concern upon seeing my tomato faced state. “What’s uh… What’s going on here?” he asked nervously. Valentina rolled her eyes and made her way back around the counter, but not before opening the basement door and yelling down.

“Tony! Your delinquent friend is here to see you!”

“Actually, I was here to see Lily.”

Valentina and I both turn to look at him in shock as Tony rushes up the stairs. “Sorry buddy boy, I’m afraid my sweet presence ain’t here for you this time.” Riff continues.

“What do you want, Riff?” I questioned. Then, it hit me.

What if he saw me looking at him and Graziella last night?

Embarrassment coursed through my veins and I could feel myself turning an even darker shade of red, if that was even possible.

The corners of his lips twisted up into a devious smirk as he stared into my soul. “One of my jets has taken a liking to you.”

Valentina scoffed, as if to say something, yet Riff kept talking. “I was wondering if ya would come out to dinner with us tonight. You too, Tony.”

“No! Absolutely not,” Valentina burst out. “Esos gringos odian tú cultura! ¡Odiaban a tu madre, Lily!” (Those gringos hate your culture! They hated your mother, Lily!)

“Yeah I’m gonna take your side on this one Val, sorry.” I say quietly. I knew the type of people the jets were from the beginning. A jet only hangout? No way.

“C’mon girly girl, Diesel came home smitten with ya yesterday. Couldn’t keep his eyes off ya while you were with that other girl.”

I narrow my eyes. “Anybodys is not a girl.” Riff widens his.

“But she wants to be a jet so bad and ya seem fine with her. C’mon Lils! Honestly, I can't convince Tony, but if you go then he will. Please.” He begged, a foreign expression on his face.

“First of all, never call me that again.”

“You’ll have so much fun!” He interrupted.

“Fine. But if, and only if, you buy me ice cream for the rest of the month.” I replied.

A bright smile appears on Riff’s face. “Deal. Come to Cubby’s, 8:00. What about you, buddy boy? Whaddya say?” He says turning to Tony, who sighs.

“I guess I have no choice now?” He says regretfully. My eyes catch Valentina, who has her face buried in her palms.

Riff laughs in excitement and wraps his arm around Tony, leading him out the door. “We’re gonna show them guys that you ain’t done with the Jets….” The voice faded as they got further away.

“Hey tía, you don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll be responsible about this.”

“Ay Lily, nothing about this is responsible. You two are messing with trouble. Pure trouble. I don’t get what you see in that criminal.”

See in him? What does that mean?

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#riff x reader #riff raff #riff wss #wss riff #valentina west side story #riff west side story #west side story #west side story riff #tony wyzek #tony wss #tony west side story #riff imagine #riff lorton #mike faist riff #riff x oc #riff fanfic

[airlockfailure]

Cluster Headaches: What are they and how do I cope with them?

Cluster headaches are called such because they occur in cycles. This means I can go weeks, or months even without pain, but then experience near constant agony when I'm in a cycle. They're believed to be caused by a problem with the hypothalamus, which is responsible for things like your "body clock" or circadian rhythm, hence the cyclical nature of these headaches.

My clusters usually occur in late spring, through summer, and end with the arrival of frost. A beautiful summer day for you is a terrible day for my brain. The higher the humidity, the worse I usually feel, but active storms usually bring relief.

I know a cycle is going to begin because I become incredibly agitated. Emotionally, I may cry the entire time I'm awake, and may wake myself up crying. Physically, I may pace, and thrash, and shudder my muscles to try and relieve the pain I know is coming. (The closer I get to experiencing the actual pain of a cluster headache, I usually become so irritable, I start cursing and throwing things in response to problems I wouldn't bat an eye at outside of a cycle.)

When the pain arrives, it comes with one side of my body (most often the right, but it switches back and forth) becoming red and overheated. My nose clogs up on that side, and my eye weeps. Usually, one side of my mouth produces more saliva than the other, and I may have to urinate more often (I don't always notice this problem). Usually, my lymph nodes react on whichever side of my body is affected, and my joints become very sore and tender.

The pain itself is like a screwdriver, or an iron poker is being driven through my eye/eye socket. This pain is not possible to relieve with NSAIDs or ice packs or heating pads. Although I have found ice is distracting. Distracting from pain is not relieving it.

In the pre-pain irritation stage sound, light, and smell bother me much in the way they might bother someone who experiences migraines. Cluster headaches are not migraines, though. Post irritation full pain stage, sound, light, and smell don't affect the severity of the headache. I WILL be in pain regardless of what external stimuli are around me. I cannot go lay down in a dark room. That makes it WORSE. I need to move. I need to be busy. I need to claw my face off. I will pace. I will deep clean my apartment. I will cook a thousand cookies. I just need some form of physical distraction from OW. Sometimes tapping my knuckles against my skull is enough for a little while (TAPPING, not hitting).

Cluster headaches are sometimes referred to as suicide headaches, because they make you want to take your head off and punt it across the street. They are also called alarm-clock headaches, because the pain is sudden, and wakes you up at night. I have not experienced this. But that may be because people report these headaches waking them between 1 and 3 am and I am usually already awake then.

Cluster cycles, because they are linked to your body clock, do not have triggers. However, alcohol can fuck up your body clock and make you enter a cycle. I do not consume alcohol at all because of this risk. Messing up my sleep schedule does cause me to have cycles more frequently.

The number one affective treatment for an "attack" is to inhale pure oxygen for 15 minutes. Why does this work? Fuck if I know. I don't do this. I'm not lugging portable oxygen with me at work and getting caught on all the machines and mechanisms. You can take anti-seizure meds to try and prevent cycles from happening. Why does this work? Fuck if scientists know! They are injected or inhaled through the nose, and don't work very well anecdotally. You can try nerve blockers for your TMJ nerve (because that mother fucker is somehow involved??!) or try deep brain stimulation. FKSFHFKHSF

So, I do not treat my cluster headaches. I live in agony and wait for autumn and winter to come back and debate moving to the arctic. When I was first diagnosed with cluster headaches, I was on experimental natural medicine. It was based on the ergot fungus, which is now showing even more promise at being affective treatment for cluster headaches.

I'm hoping once I have a new doctor, more will be able to be done to help me. I'm exhausted. But one of my bosses actually did research cluster headaches after I had to leave work and educated himself about them, so that's a win in my book.

#swearing #cluster headaches #chronic headaches #airlock talks personal shit #chronic pain #health #medicine #hello yes #i have problems i don't like the treatment options for #which is dumb #i know

[rabbitindisguise]

it's late but I'm getting all worked up before bed because I had weird test results and they just didn't do anything!!!!!!!!!! not even a "everything looks normal" just "weird weird okay I'm leaving" sometimes even leaving the room before I could be like "Wait hold up"

frankly I think it's probably wise to ask for someone to go to an appointment with me to quickly get all the referrals I need and tests done that make sense given my symptoms but it's a bit short notice for an agency for patient representatives (who mostly get second opinions, and I'd need to figure out insurance for that) and everyone else has like School or Work and stuff

and like I'm mad enough about this stuff that I can do some self advocacy running off of pure anger but 1) I don't want to sabotage the somewhat decent relationships I have with my doctors and 2) as much as I joke that this is my full time job I'm seriously underqualified and it's stressful as hell when I'm alone in a room with a person who basically has my life in their hands. I was mostly adjusting to the idea that if there was a problem someone would do something, but ever since the seriously concerning bloodwork has come back I haven't heard a peep. It's like they think because I'm up and talking I'm somehow healthy as if I haven't personally done a hip reduction multiple times by myself- because they don't believe it ever happened, though even when presented with test results they don't seem to wake up until you repeatedly shake them into sense

Therapists have a lot of problems and the patient/therapist relationship has the thorny bit where they can have you institutionalized against your will, but doctors can both do that AND cause problems through negligence. I have more self respect from therapists than I ever will from how I get treated by doctors because they are capable of treating people like equals.

And like I can't do my best work when I'm like physically a mess because I acted on the advice they gave me and I can't hold anyone responsible for it without going through the effort I should be saving for repairing my health. People ignore me when I basically present my symptoms on a silver platter and don't do anything when I tell them to do stuff that they assume I don't want. It's infuriating.

It's also really frustrating watching people go through their own health struggles and feeling like I'm helpless and giving the wrong advice. I feel like my answer should always be to fight it every step until you're sure it's fine but money is Such an issue and also going to so many appointments can cause problems that are nebulous and unclear, hospital to hospital, system to system. I have no idea how to correctly go to the doctor or if there even is such a thing! People have been giving me advice but there is no fix, I'm never seeing the same person, I'm shuffled off from one person to the next and they won't even agree that I'm disabled to sign my forms one entire year later and I did all the things I'm supposed to the letter

I'm doing my stool sample tomorrow and calling to schedule more appointments. I'm messaging my neurologist to follow up on cluster headaches and an MRI, talking about my problems with emgality, and asking about why my prescription is currently in limbo. I'm going to call the nurse line to see what I should do about the test results, schedule an appointment with my actual specific PCP, and start typing up the ungodly level of paperwork I need to create for the next appointment and a treatment plan based on my symptoms. And then as a treat next friday I'm going to tell my story to my therapist to explain why I haven't been doing the therapy stuff I want to be doing this week instead of trying to do it and failing -_-

The main things I need to figure out is if 1) one of my prescriptions is causing this 2) if there's any possibility there is actually a bacteria infection 3) what other things I could have symptoms of 4) what intermediate treatment options I have between now and the endoscopy for the Problems

eventually I'm going to have to type up a bunch of treatment guidelines for MCAS and surgery so I'll need to get a consult through my doctor and a bunch of papers through the EDS support groups if I can. Plus all the documentation for my RFC form, citations from my doctors notes, records requests from tufts, my previous hospitals, and get my password recovered for an online portal/records request if I can't.

and in the meantime I'm going to have to sleep. Ugh. I know I procrastinated on laundry but it's like. How am I supposed to do all the things? how is anyone supposed to do all the things??? I see all the work people have to put into being people and it's a wonder any of us are moderately functional. I want to be physically stable enough that I can have good, positive, and stable relationships with the people I care about. And we have plans this weekend ;-; and I still haven't edited the wedding photos OTL

Edit: this is the part where my therapist/housemates tell me I'm not responsible for literally all the things and I should rest and where i remind myself that thinking I have to fix everything is also in and of itself a type of grandiosity *sigh* baby steps

#personal #I'm getting all sweaty and shakey #me and my bowels need to have a discussion man to man about a ceasefire until this crap gets resolved #disability #ableism

[razieltwelve]

Explanation (Final Rose)

“You look like my mother.” Averia stared at Saviour.

“No.” Her Semblance smiled back. “I look like you... or at least, how you’ll look if you eat all of your vegetables and exercise.”

“...” Averia’s eye twitched as the Mini-Diana on Saviour’s lap chortled. Another Mini-Diana tugged on Averia’s trousers, and she found herself picking her up, much to the envy of the other Mini-Dianas that had clustered around her. Sighing, she beckoned them forward. Some clung onto her back, a pair climbed onto her shoulders, and the rest were content with simply clinging onto her like little monkeys. “And how do you know that?”

“Saviour does not perceive time in a linear manner. In fact, you could say that time means nothing to Saviour, given how easily it can be manipulated.” Saviour shrugged. “Although that’s something you’ll discover for yourself as you unlock more of our powers. At the moment, you’re still on level one.”

“How many levels are there?” Averia asked.

“You’ll want to unlock at least the first three. That should be more than enough to deal with anything you’re likely to encounter. After that, well, it depends on just how far you’re willing to go and how much you’re willing to risk.” Saviour rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Ask your mother about it. She can tell you more.”

“Why can’t you tell me?” Averia asked. “If you can see the future, you should be able to tell me.”

“There are some things you’re better off learning from someone else. Not to mention, this is the first time in history that two bearers of Saviour have been alive at the same time. Learning how your version compares to your mother’s is critically important. If Saviour has stabilised, then one of your children will get it. If that happens, would you rather be over-prepared or under-prepared?”

“Point taken.” Averia massaged her temples. “Wait... if I’m talking to you, aren’t I basically talking to myself?”

“Yep.”

“How can I possibly know more than myself?”

“Allow me to paraphrase here.” Saviour cleared her throat. “Saviour is bullshit, so learn to live with it.”

“...” Averia made a choking sound. “That’s from Aunt Vanille, right?”

“Aunt Serah, actually,” Saviour replied. “And the main problem is one of cognitive capacity. Think of Diana. Why does she eat so much?”

“Because Ragnarok has to make a lot of changes to her body. She’s hungry all the time because her Semblance needs the fuel to do everything. It’s why she’s so small too. Apparently, she’ll probably be normal-sized once she’s older.”

“Exactly. In your case, however, a lot of the groundwork involves altering your cognitive capacity. In particular, how you process and understand information.” Saviour gestured vaguely at the realm around them. “This is a mental representation of your Semblance, but it might as well be an entire universe. And we’ve somehow managed to cram it into your soul. Think about that for a second. And think about what would happen to your brain if you tried to process it all at once.”

“Something bad?”

“As it stands, you are physically incapable of processing all of the information that Saviour could provide. It would either kill you instantly or drive you insane. What we’re doing in here is tidying things up, streamlining things, and steadily increasing what you’re capable of until you can access Saviour’s abilities without suffering so many bad consequences. Just think of the headache you had after you used our powers for the first time. Not fun, was it?”

Averia shook her head. It had honestly felt like her head was going to explode once Saviour’s powers and the boost they provided had faded away.

“Is there anything I have to do then?” Averia asked. “Because Diana has to eat all the time.”

“Saviour uses your soul for fuel. As scary as that sounds, it’s not all that bad. The process becomes increasingly efficient over time and with increased mastery, and the soul does regenerate, albeit more slowly than Aura. What you need to do is turn Saviour on regularly. Stretch your metaphorical legs. Your mother will know what I mean.”

“Is that all?”

“You will probably need to increase your food consumption, but nothing like what your sister does. Think maybe 20% more than before, and even that won’t be an issue for long.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad...”

“And since you’re here,” Saviour said. “How about a tour?”

“A tour?” Averia’s brows furrowed. “How are we going to get around?”

As if in answer to her question, there was a cheerful tooting sound before a miniature train straight from the Gary theme park the family had visited the previous year appeared. A Mini-Diana dressed as a train engineer waved, and another Mini-Diana dressed as a train conductor beckoned.

“...”

Saviour appeared next to Averia and ruffled her hair. “Don’t blame me. This is your soul. You’re the one who ultimately decides how everything looks. If anyone is to blame for a random Gary train appearing, it’s you.”

#final rose #fanfiction #averia yun farron #saviour #mini diana

[thessalian]

Thess vs Hell-Week

I want to say that I feel like I’ll be lucky if I survive to the end of the week ... but given how much worse the next couple of days are looking? Just ... eeeeeeh.

So, okay. Here is the situation:

Working From Home: I still have not heard a damn fucking thing from IT about getting the right server address so I can work from home. I probably will not hear tomorrow either, for reasons that will become clear in later bullet points. This is stressful in the extreme, and no good for me.

Commute: Still a nightmare, but a different flavour of nightmare. See, I finally worked out a) why the 168 is so fucking unreliable, and b) how long it’s going to keep being reliable. For a), see “Roadworks narrowing a two-way street in the heart of central London to one fucking lane for both directions, requiring both directions to share one lane and backing up traffic from here to next Tuesday”. For b), see “late December minimum". So I, being sensible, decided to try to find a new route. Which I did. It’s just ... longer, and a bit fiddlier, and requires more walking at least at the start unless I want to leave even earlier and catch a third bus for a few stops. I’m ... still debating that.

Commute Redux: Tomorrow, there is a Tube strike. Now, Scruffman’s email today said that the Overground was running normally, but a quick search of Google stated that while the Overground wasn’t on strike, per se, service was very likely to be disrupted due to, as a for-instance, not stopping at Overground stations that happen to share space with a Tube station. That is not normal, Scruffman! This he said as he was more or less trying to guilt people into pushing themselves to stupid limits to come in. Worst part is, it fucking works. Not on his account, mind. See, Milady and Goblin literally cannot get in without the Tube, and we’re understaffed anyway, no matter what Scruffman seems to think. (We were over 200 reports backlogged when I left, and the lab techs were still doing more.) I don’t really give a shit about Scruffman, but I don’t want to leave Temp on her own with no backup, and I definitely don’t want to see how much worse the backlog will get with one more person down tomorrow. But of course, I know damn well that there’s going to be traffic nightmares and overcrowded buses as people use cars and buses to replace their normal Tube journey, so it’s going to be hell. Absolute, unmitigated hell.

Health Status: Already bad. Already so, so bad. Yesterday was having to wait for 20 minutes for a bus - standing, because the bus stop had no seats - while having pain spasms. Today, the spasms started on the commute to work, and persisted all day. I think I freaked people out with the twitching on at least one bus, never mind the being near tears. Plus on top of that, a combination migraine / cluster headache started up early this afternoon, so now it feels like someone’s trying to open my head with an icepick. I am going to try desperately to improve my condition so that I can make it through tomorrow without actively dying, but right now I’m afraid to get up to make dinner because the last time I tried standing up, I ended up spending a full minute clutching the chair and trying not to scream. Thing is, I know food will help, so ... ugh. (I’d just order curry but I tried that yesterday and the stupid website wouldn’t accept my order so fuck it; I’m not trying again.)

The instinct is to fall over and quietly die, but instead I am going to get up and put some gluten-free chicken kiev in the oven. At least that requires minimum effort. I don’t know what I’m going to treat myself with if I survive hell-week. ...Actually, the Solasta DLC comes out on Monday so that will probably be the thing. Just at this point I’m not sure I will even have the energy, spoons, or pain tolerance levels to actually play it.

#Thess has fibromyalgia #Thess has a day job #Thess has a commute

[agent-bash]

Tales of the Cr**y Cousin

So I’m not actually going to be calling my Cousin ‘crazy’ anymore, for reasons that’ll be apparent in a sec. But I will say a large part of the delay in getting the latests chapter of Tick, Tick Boom out and why I’ve been so quiet on here lately can be squarely placed on the cluster fuck of a situation she’s put me in for the last little bit. Everything is under the cut because a) long and b) really I’m just venting here.

In a continuation of the last story where I refused to make a few dozen cupcakes for her wedding, from start to finish, including shopping for ingredients, when I was on vacation, several thousand kilometres away from where we live, and with only one hour to get it done. Then she proceeded to slam me for being basically anti-everything. Things have progressed…badly.

In a strange twist of fate(/s mostly) our family has sided with me on this one. This includes her usual constant defenders: her parents, brother and our grandmother. Everyone has been trying to explain to her (her new wife included!!) that it wasn’t that I was unwilling to make the cupcakes (which is true. Had I been home and had more notice, I would have happily done it) but that I was unable. That what she was asking was just not possible.

Well, Cousin did not like that. At all. She has always been the golden child for some reason. And even when she has literally (or legally) been in the wrong before (e.g. dropping my name to get out of illegal burn citations until that didn’t work and was lucky to only be stuck with a 10,000$ fine when found out/called on it) it was always I or Others that were actually wrong or misunderstanding of the situation (🙄).

At the end of June, she threatened to sue me for discrimination…it went no where. Another thing she did not like. So what was Cousin’s solution after it was made very clear to her, several times, from several lawyers, that she had no case? To break into my house last week and go on a rampage.

We’re talking spray paint on the furniture and slashing all the cushions open. Putting holes in the walls and more spray pain. Clogging the pipes. Burning my clothes and some other valuables/precious items on my back patio. Included in that pile of burnt out shit was the majority of my archery equipment. I was supposed to compete in a big competition this weekend, that’s not happening anymore. 

At least she left most of Roomie’s stuff alone (I say most because Roomie bought our dishes, the coffee maker, etc. which were all busted on the kitchen floor). Small graces there, I guess. But we’re still talking about thousands of dollars in damages. 

My place is a disaster zone.

There are contractors in my house, which I’m not thrilled about but I need this shit fixed quickly. 

I’ve had to go clothes shopping more in the last week than I’ve had to do in the like five years.

I picked up my new archery stuff today, but it doesn’t really do me any good for the weekend.

My Aunt and Uncle are paying for all of the repairs right now (not sure how I feel about that tbh, I flick between thinking ‘what good will it do?’, and just not caring as long as it’s not coming out of my pocket). They’re a mess right now. 

My Cousin’s wife, (who had NOTHING to do with any of this, just to be perfectly clear. As I said, she was one of the ones on my side of the whole cupcake thing and wasn’t even in the province when Cousin broke in) is beside herself. 

And my Cousin is currently undergoing psychiatric assessment.

Oh and let’s not forget! She’s also about six or seven months pregnant at this point. I’m waiting to this whole thing to be blamed on ‘baby brain,’ and for me to told to just let it go, like has happened in the past.

TL;DR: I have a headache. I’ve had a headache for weeks at this point. And now I’m gonna go and eat my weight in pizza. 

#Bash IRL

[ferdydurke]

Why do cluster headaches happen. Lets feel like theres a rotting hole in my brain for shits and giggles

#barking

[hippiemikelove-blog]

#AddictionRecovery #AllCannabinoids #Cannabis #CannabisBlogs #CannabisHeals #CannabisIsMedicine #CannabisMyMedicine #CannabisRecovery #CBD #PAWS #RecoveryIsPossible #THC #WholePlant

[shacchou]

There’s something special about the quiet intimacy found in a leisurely night spent in bed with your partner. . . . That is until a certain someone’s fiancé — who is on the cusp of entering into her thirty-sixth week of pregnancy and has been experiencing headaches, backaches, generally just everywhere aches, swelling, nosebleeds, nausea, exhaustion, mood swings, and the reality that doing something as simple as rolling over to get out of bed or bending over to put on her shoes has become a monumental struggle that leaves her out of breath. — makes the deeply regrettable decision to read an article about a women who was pregnant for twelve consecutive years.

❛ Seto. ❜ Her voice has that tone when she calls to him. The one meant to lure him in with the promise of something sweet to follow and to distract from the fact that someone is about to discover he’s in trouble. ❛ If you get me pregnant again right after I give birth to this baby, I swear on every iteration of Blue-Eyes that you own, I will spike your coffee and enlist Isono-san’s help to take your unconscious body to the nearest hospital to perform a vasectomy. ❜

Her lips curve into a smile.

❛ Am I understood ? ❜

It was their mutual understanding of each other's jobs and the endless duties that they entailed that made moments like the present one more common than some would imagine. Though still prone to shutting himself in his home office ( some things never changed, after all ), he had also come to accept and even welcome her presence in this manner: each of them sitting close to each other, aware of the other's presence while engrossed in their respective work-related matters in their laptops or cellphones.

Or at least, he had assumed Kisara had been working. But she was soon to prove him wrong.

The way she called him succeeded at forcing his gaze away from the screen of the laptop that rested on his lap. He knew that tone of voice—- knew it extraordinarily well. And yet, before he could so much as attempt to surmise just what she had in mind, she spoke; her words instantly eliciting something that looked like a mix of perplexity and disbelief. What was she talking about ? Why would he—- ? ... Again ? That simply was not going to happen. Even if he were to ignore how absolutely atrocious those first months were for them both, and his reservations about upcoming fatherhood that —even though he now handled in a more levelheaded way— were still very much present in his mind, there was an entire cluster of reasons why this wasn't something he wanted to repeat. Seeing her experience constant headaches, tossing and turning on the bed almost every night, running to the bathroom when the nausea became too much... Why would he even consider putting her through this again ?

Blue eyes lowered to her lap, easily finding the cellphone she held in her hands. The screen displayed what looked like an article; the words 'pregnant' and 'twelve years' making him exhale somewhat harshly.

❛ Just what exactly are you reading ? ❜

#aoiinome #❛ ♔// ic; [ 社長 ] #no need to spike his coffee #he'll do it by his own volition and has probably already scheduled the whole thing hahaha #<333

[rahxe-things]

Parents, Imma tell you something;

If your kid has crooked/misaligned teeth, and you take them to the dentist/orthodontist, and they tell you that your kid doesn't NEED braces;

Get your kid the damn braces.

I say this for many reasons;

1. You'll be saving them a lot of headaches. Literately.

Before I started Invisalign, I occationally had headache that I always associated (though I admit never verified) with my misaligned/clustered teeth and sinuses. But as soon as my teeth began to straigten, I haven't had a single headache.

Not only that, but let's talk about the financial headache. Teeth straightening technology has become so much more affordable now (easily by a couple thousand dollars), and there are so many options other than metal braces, so why would you burden your kid with that in the future? They're already going to have struggles financially in their adult lives, why not take one future problem away? (I don't have kids, but I'm a firm believer that if you're going to, you best be prepared to set them up to have an easier life than yours.)

I was told as a child that I would need to have braces to get straight teeth, and my parents had promised me to get them on and off before I ever finished high school. That never happened. And to be clear, even as a kid, I WANTED braces. I asked my dad later, sometime after I had started Invisalign why that was, and he said "they said it wasn't necessary, so we decided we didn't need to make the expence." Not once did they ever discuss this with me. Which I urge parents to do. For the love of god, communicate with your kids. I waited pretty much my entire childhood and early adult life, until my husband got a good job, in order for me to get braces myself. And I should have never had to do that.

2. SELF CONFIDENCE

Crooked and/or misaligned teeth is up there with body weight in physical traits that people stuggle with in having self confidence. I know I personally found my smile so ugly, I hated having my picture taken, or even just laughing because my teeth would be exposed. And by default I felt ugly, especially next to people who have staighter teeth or have better body proportions. While I am by no means "fat", I am overweight enough for me to be selfcontious about it, but having a beautiful, straight smile is one less thing I have to worry about. And why wouldn't you want that for your kids? Self confidence is a top contender to leading a happier, successful life, and all it takes is for you to be able to flash a smile you're proud of.

3. Straight teeth are easier to keep clean.

I feel like this should be a no brainer, but here we are. Personal experience; I had a tooth that was so crooked, it was unbearable to floss it. Which resulted in me pretty much never flossing, and as an adult I'm still trying to redevelop this habbit. I've also had my fair share of fillings, one of which will have to be root canaled. So you would think that healthy teeth would also (most likely) ultimately be cheaper on your wallet! Healthy teeth means little to no additonal treatments such as those fillings or root canals. (Although I am aware this isn't always the case and some people are more prone to cavities than others, but I personally would like to think that straight teeth would help mitigate.)

This ended up longer than expect, but I hope I got my point across, which really just circles back to my first statement; if your kids teeth are crooked, but you're told braces aren't necessary, just fucking get them.

I am going to end this thread with a disclaimer: all the above is based off of personal experience and opinion. I am by no means a professional in the dentisty field.

#braces #invisalign #parents #support your kids #teeth straightening #self confidence #beautiful smile #healthy teeth #straight teeth #crooked teeth #misaligned teeth #orthodontic retainers #orthodontics #orthodontist treatment #orthodontist #orthodontic aligners #dentist #dentistry