#because i do not believe these antibiotics are working

[jacensolodjo]

My Nausea came back with a vengeance. And with it my stubbornness. Lmao

But I know what the right course of action is I just don't wanna.

#old wolf grumps #im gonna have to go to the ER and see if they got my sensitivity analysis back lmao #because i do not believe these antibiotics are working #jacen's medical stuff #i need to get this shit under control sigh

[headspace-hotel]

Many people, especially USAmericans, are very resistant to knowing the plants and living according to the ways of the plants. They lash out with a mix of arrogance and fear: "Don't you know what bad things would happen if we lived a different way? There is a REASON for living this way. Would you have us go Back—backward to the time without vaccines or antibiotics????"

Ah, yes, the two immutable categories that all proposals for change fit into: Backward Change and Forward Change! Either we must invent a a futuristic, entirely new solution with SCIENCE and TECHNOLOGY that further industrializes and increases the productivity of our world, or we must give up vaccines and antibiotics and become starving illiterate medieval peasants.

Every human practice anywhere on Earth that has declined, stopped, or become displaced by another practice, was clearly objectively worse than whatever replaced it. You see, the only possible reason a way of life could decline or disappear is that it sucked and had it coming anyway!!! Pre-industrial human history is worthless except as a cautionary tale about how miserable we would all be without *checks notes* factories, fossil fuels and colonialism. Obviously!

Anyway, who do you think benefits from the idea that pesticide-dependent, corporate-controlled industrialized monoculture farming liberates us all from spending our short, painful lives as filthy, miserable peasants toiling in the fields?

First of all, I think it's silly to act like farming is a uniquely awful way to live. I can't believe I have to say this, but the awful part of being a medieval peasant was the oppression and poverty, not the fact that harvesting wheat is a lot of work and cows are stinky. Same goes for farm labor in the modern USA: the bad part is that most people working farms are undocumented migrant workers that are getting treated like garbage and who can't complain about it because their boss will rat them out to ICE.

Work is just work. Any work has dignity when the people doing it are paid properly and not being abused. Abuse and human trafficking is rampant in agriculture, but industrialization and consolidation of small farms into gigantic corporate owned farms sure as hell isn't making it better.

Is working on a farm somehow more miserable than working in a factory, a fast food restaurant, or a retail store? Give me a break. "At least I'm not doing physical labor in the sun," you say, at your job where you're forced to stand on concrete for 8 hours and develop chronic pain by age 24.

When you read about small farmers going out of business because of huge corporations, none of them are going "Yay! Now that Giant Corporation has swallowed up all the farms in the area, we can all enjoy the luxurious privileges of the industrial era, like working RETAIL!" What you do see a lot of is farmers bitterly grieving the loss of their way of life.

And also, the fact is, sustainable forms of polyculture farming that create a functional ecosystem made up of many different useful and edible plants are actually way MORE efficient at producing food than a monoculture. The reason we don't do it as much, is that it can't be industrialized where everything is harvested with machines.

Some places folks are starting to get the idea and planting two crops together in alternating rows, letting the mutualistic relationship between plants boost the yields of both, but indigenous people in many parts of the world have been doing this stuff basically forever. I read about a style of agroforestry from Central America that has TWENTY crops all together on the same field.

Our modern system of farming is necessary for feeding the world? Bullshit! Our technology is very powerful and useful, but our harmful monocultures, dangerous pesticides, and wasteful usage of land and resources are making the system very inefficient and severely degrading nature's ability to provide for us.

What is needed, is a SYNTHESIS of the power and insights of technology and science, with the ancient wisdom and knowledge gained by closely and carefully observing Nature. We do not need to reject one, to embrace the other! They should be friends!

Our system thinks land is only used for one thing at a time. Even our science often thinks this way. A corn field has the purpose of producing corn, and no other purpose, so all other plants in the corn must be killed, and it must be a monoculture of only corn.

But this means that the symbiosis between different plants that help each other is destroyed, so we must pollute the earth with fertilizers that wash into bodies of water and cause eutrophication, where algae explode in number and turn the water to green goo. Nature always has variety and diversity with many plants sharing the same space. It supports much more animal life (we are animals!) this way. The Three Sisters" are the perfect example of mutualism between plants being used in an agricultural environment. The planting of corn, beans, and squash together has been traditionally used clear across the North American continent.

And in North America, the weeds we have here are mostly edible plants too. Some of them were even domesticated themselves! Imagine a garden where every weed that pops up is also an edible or otherwise useful crop, and therefore a welcomed friend! So when weeds like Amaranth and Sunflower pop up in your field, that should not be a cause for alarm, but rather the system of symbiosis working as it should.

A field of one single crop is limited in how much it can produce, because one crop fits into a single niche in what should be a whole ecosystem, and worse, it requires artificial inputs to make up for what the rest of the plant community would normally provide. The field with twenty crops does not produce the same amount as the monoculture field divided in twenty ways, but instead produces much more while being a habitat for wild animals, because each plant has its own niche.

#plants #plantarchy #the ways of the plants

[writerbri-archive]

parting writing advice before this blog becomes inactive from someone who takes pictures of broken bones for a living and who has worked in an ER

a fracture of the bone is the exact same thing as a break, it’s just a more medical term the same way that sutures are the exact same thing as stitches and edema is the same thing as swelling, so an open fracture that breaks through the skin is the same thing as a closed hairline fracture you can barely see on an X-ray is the same thing as a stress fracture that is only really detectable with a physical exam, they’re only classified in more specific ways and they are treated based on severity

most superficial wounds aren’t going to be stitched up after 12-24 hours because they’ve been open long enough that closing them at that point would be asking for infection

an X-ray is a little bit of radiation, a CT is quite a bit more radiation, and an MRI is a magnet with no radiation whatsoever

no matter what grey’s anatomy or any other medical show might make you believe, doctors rarely do any actual imaging (taking X-rays, CTs, etc) and most of them would have no idea how

Concussions are not diagnosed with imaging. There is not a single X-ray or CT or anything else that can tell a doctor that their patient has a concussion. A concussion is diagnosed with an exam. Patients will usually have a headache and they will be dizzy, nauseous, light/sound sensitive, and sometimes they will have memory or vision problems. They will occasionally have something called nystagmus in their eyes. CTs are taken to rule out more serious conditions such as a fractured skull or bleeding/clotting in the brain.

O2 saturation is a vital that tells you how much oxygen is in your blood. Anything above 95% is okay. Anything from 90-94% is going to make a medical professional take a second look. Anything from 80-90% is low grade hypoxia and you’re getting a chest X-ray and possibly put on oxygen. You might be going to the hospital. Anything below 80% is most likely a hospital admission whether you like it or not because you’re about to get a whole shit ton of labs and a CT of your lungs at the very least if the X-ray hasn’t show a punctured lung or pneumonia to explain what’s up. I hope you find nasal cannulas comfortable. Doctors would be concerned about a blood clot, lung cancer, and other super concerning pathologies.

Kidney stones hurt like a bitch and can cripple most people to the point where they cannot walk. Imagine a foot long straw trying to pass a rock that is 2-3x it’s diameter.

Children regrow bones like lizards grow their tails. Kids can be healed from a fracture in 2-4 weeks that would take an adult 6-8 weeks to heal.

The femur is an incredible difficult bone to break. It’s usually a very high impact injury (car wreck, long distance fall, skiing accident, etc).

This is just advice but do not do not DO NOT ride in the passenger seat of a car with your legs propped up on the dash if you value keeping your leg bones intact where they are supposed to be. Just don’t do it, please. But if you want to write a particularly gruesome car wreck, that’s a good way to do it!

Animal bites are almost always preemptively treated with antibiotics.

I might add more if I can think of it but I’ll answer any questions if people have them

#writing #medical accuracies #writing advice #writing help #medical field #writing reference

[glassbirdfeather]

Mohg's Brain

(This is an essay on Mohg, Lord of Blood, from hit video game Elden Ring. It just takes a bit to get there.)

There is a story often repeated in Psychology classes, Physiology classes, pop psych media like YouTube, podcasts, and garbage daytime television on channels that used to be scientifically rigorous: about a man with an incredible brain injury. For those of you who haven't heard the story or are not yet sick of hearing it, I've included it from memory below, because I have heard it just that many times.

If you've heard this story already, you can skip to the subtitle: "Can We Even Learn Anything From Gage?"

If you already know the controversies about Phineas Gage or just want to jump to the part about the video game character, you can skip to the subtitle: "Let's FINALLY talk about Video Game"

----

"The Curious Case of Phineas Gage"

Phineas Gage was a railroad worker who would help clear land with explosives. The dubious and definitely wouldn't-have-been-OSHA-approved method of laying these explosives was to chip a hole into the mountainside, place the explosives, and then tamp it down using some sort of implement like a railroad spike. What happened next was predictable and it's surprising this didn't happen much more often--when packing the explosives, they detonated in Gage's face. Specifically, this launched the spike underneath his left eye and out of the top of his head. Less predictably, Phineas stood up afterwards. When a doctor arrived, said doctor did not believe what had occurred until Gage vomited approximately a "teacupful of brain matter" onto the street.

Due to lack of effective sterilization and antibiotics at the time, poor Phineas Gage was bedridden for several months, where he continued to lose further brain matter to infection. Eventually, he did recover, although he would continue to experience migraines and seizures for the rest of his life. While he lost his job for the railroad service, he went on to work in a sideshow attraction, carrying around the very railroad spike that went through his head. Eventually, he got a job and worked as a taxi driver and lived for several more years before dying of a seizure.

Phineas Gage was never the same after this life-altering injury: he was belligerent, drunk, lied frequently, and lost his job for the railroad company because of his new personality. And I do say NEW personality--Phineas had become like a completely different person and was, in essence, "no longer Gage" (they love quoting that). The damage to regions of the prefrontal cortex made him unable to make moral judgements, and impaired his impulse control.

OR MAYBE THAT LAST PART ISN'T TRUE.

Phineas Gage was NOT much changed by this life-altering injury. Though he lost his job at the railway company, the cause of this job loss is unknown. He MAY have had severe alterations to his personality due to this injury, but whether these changes were due to physical damage or emotional trauma--or whether personality changes ACTUALLY occurred at all--are disputed.

----

Can We Even Learn Anything From Gage?

Though I am uncertain if we have exact data on which parts of his brain he was left with when accounting for what was later lost to infection, the trajectory and angle of the injury suggests he initially lost much of his prefrontal cortex. Which of the previous versions of the story are told or over/under-emphasized is dependent on the point the teller is trying to make in the age-old debate of nature vs. nurture.

Some psychologists argue that Gage's personality change demonstrates the Global Workspace Model, where different parts of the brain are responsible for different parts of consciousness, and that by changing or removing parts of the brain, you change consciousness.

Other psychologists will argue that the LACK of change is evidence of the brain's incredible plasticity--its ability to adapt and compensate for missing parts by shifting the functions of those parts to be performed by different regions.

Most reasonably, he probably experienced some cognitive differences while still being effectively the same person and is an example of both points of view. But we don't have concrete enough evidence to say.

Any class in which a teacher or textbook needs evidence to support whatever point they're trying to make about how changes to the brain affects personality, addiction, emotional regulation, decision making, etc., they'll use Gage to make that point, no matter what stance they take. So really, Gage isn't a useful case study beyond what we could actually observe: he lost some of his brain and lived, while also experiencing migraines and seizures for the rest of his life.

With all of that said, if we assume that Gage experienced no changes to cognitive function or personality, I just typed out a story I am very sick of hearing for no reason. So let's assume that at least some of those observations were true.

----

Let's FINALLY Talk About Video Game

Her are some potentially useful images to reference if you want. Left: general brain regions and their functions. Right: paranasal sinus cavities.

Unlike a nice, straight tamping iron, Mohg's horns curl in unpredictable directions. Some assumptions must be made about length, depth, and diameter to determine what region and volume of his skull is occupied by his horn. The minimum I expect is that the horn occupies the region of his frontal lobe in any scenario. Let's also set a maximum limit: I believe it is reasonable to assume it has not reached the primary motor cortex, where it would disrupt body control and physical movement... unless one wants to suggest he is puppetting himself in his boss fight like a bloodbender. Which, let's be real, IS a really badass concept, someone should write that fanfiction.

Though I argue that Gage is a bad example to use given our lack of reliable data on his personality and lived experiences, we DO know that disrupting the function of the prefrontal cortex can affect judgment, planning, concentration, and any type of higher processing you might call a uniquely 'human' mental ability (I acknowledge the mental abilities of birds and primates but they are beyond the scope of this essay). It may be safe to assume that, in Mohg's case, these mental processes are harmed regardless of any further extrapolation I make. One other brain region of note is the motor speech (Broca) area, located on the left side directly behind the prefrontal cortex and controls muscle movements for speech.

On the topic of pain, migraines, and seizures: He has a horn in his head, it probably hurts. Obstructions (like cysts) can cause buildup of cerebrospinal fluid, which can cause pain and is a common cause of seizures. It is difficult to say how many people have benign brain tumors, but there is speculation that benign tumors in the brain are unexpectedly common. People only typically get brain scans when they've already noticed a problem, but there have been cases of perfectly healthy people having (non-cancerous) brain tumors, so a mass being present in the brain does NOT guarantee seizures will occur. This being said, that horn is significantly larger than a typical benign brain tumor. Migraines and seizures are very reasonable to assume.

I don't know what to say about illness and disease. In theory, if the horn grew at any point after birth, I would say he should have died from any pathogens that were introduced during its corkscrewing into his skull. Phineas Gage was bedridden for months due to infection, was under the care of a doctor, and he wasn't living in a sewer. Do the Lands Between understand the germ theory of disease? It may at least know that poop in the brain is bad, but I listen to Sawbones, so I know that isn't something we can just assume. It's possible he's lost some impossible-to-estimate amount of brain matter to infection. Feel free to speculate about Omen resistance to pathogens, but I don't feel that is the point of this essay. I'll say it's safe to assume his body has healed closed around it, but anything else I won't try to extrapolate.

----

Specificity from Horn Trajectory

Possibility 1:

If we estimate the continued trajectory from the visible part of the horn, it actually continues medially, towards the center of the body, and curls downward. This might even miss most of the brain and instead disrupt the frontal, ethmoidal, and maxillary sinus cavities of the skull.

It may possibly even pierce the roof of the mouth, if we roughly estimate the rate at which the horn tapers and where it likely ends. I argue that this is the most optimistic scenario in terms of his health, because although the horn almost certainly penetrates the prefrontal cortex, it may not be as deep as other possibilities.

In this horn trajectory case, he probably experiences constant sinus pressure similar to a permanent head cold, obstruction to his sense of smell, and by extension his sense of taste. Even if the horn does not completely block his nasal cavity, it may have damaged his olfactory nerve and thus disabled his sense of smell anyway. Should the horn obstruct his mouth he may experience physical difficulties eating and speaking.

Possibility 2:

A worse scenario may be to assume this horn instead extends directly backwards. This would likely pass through the motor speech area, and may have caused him to lose the ability to talk, forcing him to relearn how to speak by having another part of the brain learn to do this function (similar to how anyone learns a second language after very early childhood). It may also reach the LEFT temporal lobe, which processes hearing and smell for the RIGHT side of the body, and therefore he could be deaf in his right ear. Again, the olfactory nerve is potentially in the path of the horn, and loss of sense of smell is frequently considered a symptom of brain damage, so regardless of the angle of the horn this is a high possibility.

----

What Time of Horn Growth Could Tell Us

Children are more likely to recover well from brain damage. The older he was when the horn entered his brain, the more likely he would be to experience cognitive impairment.

Should Mohg's horn have developed that way before birth, his brain may have formed around it without issue, or obstructed regions may have simply remained underdeveloped. His skull would also have developed to more 'comfortably' accommodate this horn, rather than having to break and re-heal around a later intrusion. If the horn is shallow enough and its growth occurred during fetal development or very early childhood before the fusing of the bones in the skull, it is possible that left eye blindness and mild discomfort are the only effects. The timing of the horn's growth being before birth or in early infancy is supported by the Regal Omen Bairn, which shows Morgott with seemingly all of his horns, suggesting that omens horns are largely present upon birth and that those horns grow in proportion with them.

However, given the themes associated with the Formless Mother, here is another--vastly more speculative--hypothesis: Mohg's horn was grown deliberately into his skull by the influence of the Formless Mother, perhaps with or without his consent. I find it hard to believe that a force claimed to be the "mother of truth" which "desires a wound" would be unaware of the possible effects of this type of wound.

I posit that the Formless Mother intended to compromise Mohg's consciousness and sense of reason to make him easier to manipulate. If we assume that they were not working together (debatable), the abduction of Miquella and potential interruption and sabotage of his ascension puts an empyrean under the Formless Mother's control, and works counter to the dynasty Mohg desires. Damage to his ability to plan, make rational decisions, and his sense of morality could explain how Mohg seems to want a place for outcast and hated people, likely seeing a kinship with Miquella, but has created something that is the antithesis to the Haligtree.

Furthermore, should we assume that Mohg and Miquella met previously and Miquella had the opportunity to do so, the power Miquella purportedly has to compel adoration in others may have interacted poorly with Mohg's potentially impaired emotional processing, and could have caused an obsessive outcome that the Formless Mother did not predict.

Of course, I don't believe every awful and cruel decision someone makes is the result of brain damage, but this may explain the incongruity between what Mohg seems to want and what he has made. Whether Mohg is "the reigning lord and hierarch of the coming dynasty of Mohgwyn" or "a raving lunatic" may not be an incompatible dichotomy. It may be sequential.

----

Glassbirdfeather you're so wrong, why did you say ___?

I am not a doctor. I am a chemistry student with a biology lean (clinical laboratory science) and am drawing my conclusions from what I've learned in Anatomy, Physiology, and Psychology classes at an introductory level, and I glanced back at my anatomy and psychology textbooks as my sole academic sources. Please don't take this as a well-researched essay, none of the claims I make about mental or physical health are properly cited. This is just fandom theorizing; it's as academically rigorous as fanfiction. Any doctor/member of the medical profession who would like to correct me is invited to do so, I would love to hear more accurate and informed observations.

----

Bibliography

(literally just 2 references, man)

Grison, Sarah and Michael S. Gazzaniga. Psychology in Your Life. Third Edition, W. W. Norton & Company, 2019.

McKinley, Michael P. and Valerie Dean O'Loughlin. Human Anatomy. Fifth Edition, McGraw-Hill, 2017.

#mohg #elden ring #dont @ me about typos istg i spent so long on this

[charliemwrites]

I’ve been thinking about “mean” (okay no they’re mean) characters.

Specifically, I’m thinking about Rook “Duke” Alistair being best friends with Actual Assassin and meanest bastard around, Velikan.

They’ve known each other since her early days back in the Air Force. Maybe Duke, freshly nicknamed and bright-eyed, got caught up in some sort of ambush with a shiny new unit.

And maybe Velikan was going to kill her as collateral, but for reasons not even he knows, he didn’t.

And now he’s got this duckling (she’s even blond and fluffy like one) that’s practically imprinted on him. Every time they cross paths (and they keep crossing paths for some fucking reason) she lights up and waves, babbling updates about her life. She doesn’t mind his gruff tone or his short temper, or the absolute mauling she receives when he finally acquiesces to spar her.

It’s not that she doesn’t know he’s an assassin. Oblivious as she can be, she’s not stupid. Just the opposite, in fact. She recognizes that approaching him at any point is like sticking a hand in a tiger cage. And yet she still does it, even when they’re out in the field.

How she’s not dead yet, for pure annoyance alone, he’s not sure. But he figures that she’s spent so much time being an inconvenience to him specifically that he’s earned the right to put an end to her.

And then he’s not sure how she isn’t dead from natural selection.

“I thought you were military,” he hisses, brushing dirt off her shirt and pants. Why is he doing so? Because he’s annoyed that she slipped on pile of wet leaves.

“I am!”

“You have no discipline, no coordination, and no sense of self preservation.”

She beams. “I think that last thing is something they encourage, actually.”

He stuffs her into a good hideout and tells her to stay while he takes care of their his tail.

It’s not just the slipping, tripping, and falling. If anything would make him believe in luck, it’s Duke having the worst of it. Falling objects and loose floorboards, changes in a guard rotation or a light coming on at the worst moment. She’s smart and quick enough to watch out for herself, but only just.

Maybe he lets her live out of pure bafflement. Morbid fascination with someone so smart and yet so—

“Stupid,” he growls, dunking her head in the rain barrel.

She comes up sputtering, but giggling. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to treat acid exposure.”

He dunks her under again for good measure. She shakes off on him like a dog afterwards and he genuinely tries to strangle her. But then she gets her sharp little teeth in his arm and bites, proceeds to inform him that he’s going to need antibiotics with a bloody smile.

Is he going to personally bring about her violent, gory end? Yes.

Is she also his best friend? Somehow.

“Do you think cinnamon floss or mint floss is better for improvised stitches?”

“I think you should just bleed out.”

“It’s not for me, dummy…. Yet.”

He’s not relieved when she gets the position with the CIA, but something close to it.

They hire him for their dirty work often enough that he sees her regularly. Her ridiculous, cluttered desk and her grotesque stash of snacks and her constant rotation of injuries because they still let her near machinery.

“You stink,” he scoffs, lifting her right out of her chair as she squeals. “You are taking a shower.”

And because she has the attention span of a fly, he goes in with her. She fusses when he gets soap in her mouth or eyes, but he just tuts that it wouldn’t happen if she were capable of doing it herself. And dignity? Long forgotten as he scrubs her down from head to toe, pinching when she complains about being babied.

“Do not act like a child, then,” he gruffs, throwing a towel in her face.

Honestly, Laswell should be ashamed.

“When was the last time you ate?” He demands, squishing her cheeks with a little shake. “Eh? When was the last time you had something other than blue candy?”

“‘S raspberry.”

“Are raspberries blue? No. They teach this in school. All that sugar has rotted out your little brain.”

It turns out the answer to his food question was “too long.” He trades her potatoes for carrots, but only after holding her nose closed until he could force peas in her stubborn mouth.

Ridiculous, really.

#I don’t… know #I just needed to write something and post it to get out of this block I’ve been having #it’s not necessarily good but… #ta-da #velikan #cod Velikan #rook ‘Duke’ Alistair #cod oc #my oc #cod #thoughts™️ #my writing #weird friends #dom friends

[wangxianficrecs]

To Speak Up by Vrishchika

🔒 To Speak Up

by Vrishchika (@vrishchikawrites)

M, 6k, Wangxian

Summary: To be silent is to be complicit. Kay's comments: I've re-read this story numerous times and it always goes so hard. Vrishchika decided to apply what we know of the novel canon Jiang family dynamics in a modern AU and suddenly, it feels much more icky than it already did in canon. Luckily, Wangxian are already established in this story and Wei Wuxian has the Lans and Wens looking out for him as well. Still, it's heart-breaking how willing he is to bear it. Excerpt: Wen Qing is tempted to push but she doesn't, she can't. She can't bear the thought of this kind boy, her little brother's best friend, dealing with his wounds alone. Because that’s what he’ll do if she shows too much worry. Wei Wuxian is ruthlessly practical and doesn’t like to be vulnerable. If he thinks he’s troubling her, he’ll find someone else to care for his wounds. Someone less competent. His back is littered with scars and Wen Qing wonders at the extent of his nerve damage. She prays there's nerve damage because the alternative is chronic pain from the extensive scarring. She aches to drag him to her hospital and get him examined thoroughly. Wei Wuxian is a strong, athletic man and if she hadn’t seen his scarring up-close, she would’ve never believed he had any. "You will eventually need to address these, Wuxian." She tosses the soiled cloth away and carefully applies an antibiotic ointment on the wounds, "I'm prescribing you painkillers and some antibiotics to help avoid infection. You will take them religiously." Wuxian huffs, "I always take medicine, Qing-jie."

pov alternating, pov outsider, modern setting, modern no powers, dysfunctional jiang family, jiang family dynamics, bad parents jiang fengmian and yu ziyuan, not jiang cheng friendly, hurt/comfort, established relationship, families of choice, child abuse, blood and injury, hurt wei wuxian, caring lan wangji, good uncle lan qiren, good sibling lan xichen, child neglect, no jiang cheng & wei wuxian reconciliation

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #Wangxian #MDZS #Kay's Rec #March 2024 #Mature #short fic <15k #To Speak Up #Vrishchika #pov alternating #pov outsider #modern setting #modern no powers #dysfunctional jiang family #jiang family dynamics #bad parents jiang fengmian and yu ziyuan #not jiang cheng friendly #hurt/comfort #established relationship #families of choice #hurt wei wuxian #caring lan wangji #good uncle lan qiren #good sibling lan xichen #no jiang cheng & wei wuxian reconciliation

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt IX good omens on livestream, i'm not ok: S1E4

You did it, Good Omens fandom, my dear maggots. You broke me in every way. Now I'm here, and where I once spent my day peacefully being sad about normal things, I'm now sad about a random fact about nightingales I learned on a British ornithology site and this is just... the brainrot. It's real. Raise brainrot awareness. Prevention is better than the nonexistent cure.

Well, I've procrastinated this post by like 48 hours by drawing fanart and being mopey over Crowley and generally being asleep because I'm still on antibiotics and ill. So let us not procrastinate further. First, episode 4. Tally, hoes!

In preparation for the stream, I gathered two emotional support oranges, only one of which was gaseous, and an apple. This was so that rather than waste an orange on being gay for Crowley I'd use the apple for that, symbolic of his temptation in the Garden of Eden etc. I didn't know how badly this plan would go.

On Discord, our collective loins girded, I noticed with no small suspicion that everyone was muttering about the bookshop and whether I'd be okay. When I demanded frantically what happened to the bookshop (I THOUGHT EVERYTHING WAS IN S2) everyone shut up and told me the bookshop was in tiptop shape and it was all tickety-boo and nothing would happen at all in episode 5.

Spoiler alert it is not all tickety-boo.

We start with Aziraphale going for a jog to keep uh fit for exercising with Crowley, and he is interrupted by Gabriel, who is not Jimbriel, and is not naked, that is, we cannot see his arse yet, but we can see that he is an arse.

We then see not-Newt the deliveryman with his wife Maude and they are the only straight couple that the people on the chat care about. Calling him not-Newt is going to pose problems for me.

Crowley is being a smart baby, and researching astronomy. Poor Crowley. I love Crowley. Do you understand? I LOVE CROWLEY.

There is a lot of talk of spoons and forks and such innuendos. I make a joke about scissors being missing. The chat does not notice. I am disappointed in the gays.

I am so engrossed in the way Death says "deeAaaAAthHHhh" that I fail to notice Not-Newt get killed delivering a message to Death. This is going to pose problems for me.

I forgot about the apocalypse plotline till the horsepeople arrive. This is understandable. I care not for this 'world' ending, my new world is Crowley. I love Crowley.

Duck aliens fucking descend. This is not a joke. There are duck aliens, and they are supportive of trans people. Newt does not count their nipples.

The Shad guy doesn't care Newt found aliens. He is upset that Newt didn't find witches. If Shad was mowing his lawn and found gold, he would toss it aside because he is focused on mowing. I can respect that. People make jokes about Newt eventually finding a witch.

It is suddenly a Christopher Nolan movie. Someone corrects me and says it's more like Jerry Bruckheimer. I do not know what that is.

Someone says Crowley destroys the Bentley but for whatever reason, like a lot of people before, makes it a black box that you have to click to read. I don't mind that, I like clicking.

Aziraphale bought out a theatre for Crowley, like a Kdrama where the rich CEO buys out an entire theatre for his working class girl.

Adam goes through what I went through with OCD. It is not fun.

It is now a horror movie. Adam floats in the air. That was not a symptom I had with OCD.

Crowley asks Aziraphale to run away with him to the stars. Aziraphale says no. Crowley is upset and my baby Azi looks so sad and confused about everything he believes in. Great. I'm totally fine, I think as I start stuffing my emotional support orange into my mouth.

It is now a Home Alone movie. Crowley in gloves is sexy. Mmmmmmm yes. Crowley does great advertising for plant spray bottles as he murders and threatens demons.

I point out that the GO book says Crowley can do "weird things with his tongue" as I learned from the GO scent guide company page. It was after all the most relevant take-away from that page.

Disco Tony arrives. This is not a safe space.

AZIRAPHALE KEEPS TRYING TO DO THE RIGHT THING AND IS FAILED BY HEAVEN LEAVE MY BABY AZI ALONE WTF GO AWAY. THE ANGELS WALL SLAM HIM TOO. THAT'S CROWLEY'S THING YOU BASTARDS.

Newt and Anathema are cute. I DON'T NOTICE BECAUSE IM SO UPSET HE'S CHEATING ON MAUDE AND WONDERING WHY THE CHAT IS OKAY WITH IT BECAUSE I AM A FOOL WHO CONTINUES TO MIX UP NEWT WITH NOT-NEWT AND THEN THE CHAT TELLS ME NOT-NEWT DIED AND I'M CONFUSED.

Newt and Anathema are having sex. As an aspec person, I am very alarmed at the visuals.

Azi is failed by heaven and the metatron. Shocker. Fucking get away from Azi. Azi is miserable and looks like he wants to cry.

AZI IS EXORCISED AND THE FUCKING FLAME CATCHES IN THE BOOKSHOP AND THE EPISODE ENDS.

TAKE MY PAIN MOTHERFUCKERS. I WILL POST THIS AND THEN WRITE THE EP5 PART.

#good omens #good omens mascot #good omens fandom #crowley #weirdly specific but ok #lgbtqia #aziraphale #asmi #neil gaiman #aziracrow #good omens spoilers #ineffable fandom #ineffable husbands #good omens summary #ineffably queer #go s1 #good omens 1 #go s1 ep4

[balkanradfem]

So I am gonna write about a tmi, icky gross problem regarding armpit hair, so if you don't feel like reading about that, it's time to scoot, skip this post, scroll on, skedaddle.

I know you're all still reading because you want to know about gross icky disgusting problems, and this is your own fault. So let me tell you a story!

I've had a life where paying attention to my physical health was the least of my issues, and if a problem was ignorable, you can be sure I ignored it. This proved to be a poor method of staying healthy, and now I am in fact, not doing so well. But that's not the point, the point is, I'm now paying much more attention to my body, and able to notice if something is up!

So one of the things I've ignored, was the condition of my armpit hair, which I shaved for only a very brief period of my life, and was happy to continue growing it out. I've noticed after a while, that there is some white coating on some of my armpit hair, and I thought, you know, I need to wash that stuff out! I need to scrub that area more, obviously it's still dirty somehow. However I would discover that no matter with what I scrub or wash, the white dots and coating on the hair would remain there. So it was not dirt, I was forced to conclude.

I looked it up, and the internet informed me, it is in fact, a bacterial infection. Shocked and baffled, I read some articles that recommended going to the doctor, getting antibiotics, shaving it off, using products to stop sweating, washing constantly not to get it again. It was utter defeat, after being so happy about my armpit hair being normal and all grown, to have to shave it again because of a stupid goddamn infection. They said the infection hits women and m*n the same, but women experience it less because they most commonly shave it off. Like firstly I don't believe you that most women do that, secondly you didn't mention the skin infections women can get from shaving.

But anyway, I had to shave it off in humiliation, and then I grew it back again, and I was more careful this time! To wash more carefully, to not allow myself to be sweaty, to dry off my armpits before putting clothes on, but after a while, it slipped my mind. I get anxiety sweating, I work a physical job, and I am a gardener. I get sweaty! And I like being sweaty and it doesn't feel bad and I would like, to not get an infection. But six months later the infection came back and now I'm brooding about it. I don't wanna shave it off again! I miss not knowing it was a legitimate problem, and I mean it's not like it's actively causing problems, just makes the smell of my armpit slightly stronger but I am okay with my own smell so the only thing that does bother me is knowing there is some bacteria in there having a field day while I'm enjoying my gross sticky life of being a physical worker.

So I am writing this to find out: is this a problem other women growing armpit hair have faced? Have you all known what it is? Did anyone find a solution that isn't a topical antibiotic and living a life where you don't ever get sweaty? If it turns out I'm the number one icky woman out there, so be it, I can be the leader. But I've never heard anyone talk about this, and I don't want to go to a doctor and hear 'why don't you just shave it off like all normal women' because I have the right to my armpit hair dammit, and I want it to be for my own enjoyment and comfort and the bacteria need to find some other job.

If this is a common problem then people have found a way to deal with it centuries ago, and I bet any witch back in time would know exactly what to do, but sadly I can't go and ask one, or read about their findings, because we know why. Please help me crowdsurf this information.

#female body hair #armpit hair #armpit hair infection #tmi post #womens health #womens body hair

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Drabble request (feel free to say no :) )

(Comic) due to the after events of the book, Ambrosius is in the hospital and feels horrible, physically and mentally, and the treatments they are giving him are making him sick and very anxious, so he asks ballister to visit him in hospital, and plays the whole “hopeless romantic” so that he stays and Ambrosius feels better, but ballister can see right through it, and doesn’t want to admit it, but he visits him anyways.

Yippieee!!! Loved this request as I'm working on a longer Ambrosius Hospital Fic rn \(^^)/

I currently still have one req still in the works because I'm struggling to get it started, but it is on it's way! Anyway I hope you enjoy this drabble :,)

-

Ambrosius groaned softly. He had no idea how long he'd been here. The doctors said it had been four days, but he didn't really believe that. The painkillers and heavy antibiotics– and maybe also the brain injury– made time melt together. All he ever really looked forward to were visits from Ballister. Ballister had visited him often when he was still hospitalized, but he was discharged at some point. 

Not like he had any reason to visit Ambrosius. Fuck. Everything was such dogshit. The Institution, the thing he dedicated his whole life to, was gone. The King to whom he swore allegiance was dead. Not that any of that mattered, he'd already been demoted to a grunt rank in the Institution because he fucked up at doing the only thing he was supposed to be good at. 

Nobody respected him. Nobody liked him. Certainly nobody loved him. And on top of that, he felt nothing but pain and nausea and confusion all the time. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to vomit, but he did it often. The antibiotics were tearing his guts apart. The beta blockers made him even more weak and exhausted than he was already. The painkillers disoriented him and didn't even seem to do much, and also worked together with the anticonvulsants to make him sick as a dog. He couldn't help but wish that Ballister had just left him in that facility to be disintegrated instantly.

Why did Ballister save him if he wasn't even gonna be here? Was it just to punish him? What was going to happen to him after all this? With no job, unable to walk, unable to see out of one eye, no home, he'd end up back on the streets. He was terrified and woke up crying constantly. He wanted his Ballister here. He wanted Ballister to hold his hand and kiss his forehead and tell him everything would be okay. As if he had any claim to Ballister at all. 

Eventually he couldn't take it anymore, and he weakly dialed the number in his phone.

–

Ballister had been a wreck ever since he was discharged. He felt guilty about Nimona and Ambrosius and the town and everything. He wanted to be there for Ambrosius, who at this point was all he had left, but in addition to the pain and mixed feelings he suffered whenever he was around, he feared his presence didn't even help. Whenever he sat with Ambrosius, the man looked so guilty and miserable he couldn't meet his eyes. Making Ambrosius feel like shit about himself certainly wouldn't aid in his recovery. Plus, being in hospitals was more than a little triggering for him. He didn't like to see the pain from the worst day of his life reflecting off Ambrosius's face.

But standing around this empty warehouse, without Nimona's snark or laughter, barely felt like anything either.

He jumped when his phone rang with Ambrosius's number. “Hello?” 

“Hiii…” the voice on the other end was weak. “I've missed you, darling.” 

Ballister cleared his throat. “Ambrosius, you should be resting.” 

“How can I possibly rest without you here? I'm sick and in dreadful shape, and the object of my affection isn't even here to distract me with his handsome face.” 

Blushing, Ballister looked down. More guilt, fun. Obviously he was high as a kite while also being at rock bottom. It was obvious what he was doing. He was playing it like he was being cute and flirty, but he was groveling. He was prone on the floor groveling for Ballister’s attention. For him to be there, to hold his hand.

“My darling, if only I could hear your voice and see your face, I certainly would feel better. If you're not busy, that is.” 

Ballister snorted. He never could resist Ambrosius's begging. 

He arrived at the hospital an hour later, and he swore a blue light flickered behind Ambrosius's eye when he saw him. “You came!” He smiled as broadly as he could without ripping the stitches in his cheek. 

“Of course, I couldn't leave my… my beloved gentleman caller all by himself, could I?” He smiled and took his hand. Ambrosius squeezed it.

“I'm happy you're here.” His voice was exhausted. His face said so many things his mouth couldn't.

Ballister stroked his hair. “I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to be afraid.”

“If I go to sleep, will you stay? Will you hold my hand until I wake up?” 

A lump caught in Ballister's throat. “Of course I will.”

#nimona #ambrosius goldenloin #goldenheart #nimona graphic novel #ballister blackheart #ballister x ambrosius #nimona fanfic #blackloin #fic request

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

The Containment Diaries: Entry 12 - Final

Pairing: Virologist!Bob Floyd x Reader AND Aviator!Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

ApocalypseAU

Warnings: Pregnancy, Smut, Angst, Fluff, Gore, Medical and Military Inaccuracies, Death, Warfare, Guns, Alcohol, Swearing. I think that’s it?

- Entry 11 Here -

———————————

18+ Only Beyond This Point

———————————

For the next few weeks you got used to life with Anna around. She gained your trust and was eventually untied once she began to look healthier, all she’d needed was some food and water in the end. You gave her antibiotics to clear her infection and then she agreed to help you with the cure, as you believed she may be immune, and her antibodies would be what everyone needed.

You worked with the equipment you had for weeks on end, trialing certain things that either gave Anna a headache or just didn’t do anything at all.

You felt guilty for putting her through this as you had started to become close, her being the only other woman in the house, but she insisted she didn’t mind as it was for the good of humanity. The woman deserved a medal, or a Nobel prize once this was all over with.

That particular morning you had felt under the weather, rolling bouts of nausea had you constantly running to the toilet or nearest sink, and Bob had worried you’d contracted something.

“Maybe we didn’t filter the rainwater properly and some parasites got through. You mind if I do some tests?” He asked, rubbing your back as he held your hair out of your face.

Anna walked into the bathroom with a glass of water for you.

You shook your head at Bob, happy for him to do what he needed if it would stop you being sick.

Anna escorted you to bed as Bob went to get his needles, and gave you your water, which you kindly refused.

“Oh god I hope I’m not contagious.” You groaned weakly, laying back against the pillows.

“Does anything hurt?” She asked, sitting next to you.

“Yeah, everything’s a bit sensitive.” You closed your eyes and tried to breathe through the next bout of nausea.

Bradley and Jake had been gone a few days, they had gone on a slightly longer raid than usual, needing to expand their search vicinity in the hopes of finding more food and water. Rain hadn’t exactly been free falling as summer approached, only providing you with a couple of litres.

Things had been tense in the household, you still hadn’t been able to decide between the two men, and Bradley was beginning to grow understandably frustrated. You had argued a few times and each time it sent you into sweet Bobs arms.

Bradley had decided a raid would be good because it would give you the time you needed apart, and hopefully by the time he returned you would have made your decision. You knew you had to, it wasn’t fair, but you were heartbroken about it. Bob had admitted to being jealous when you were with Bradley, and how it ate him up some nights, but at the end of the day he’d just wanted you to be happy.

“You think it was the fish?” Anna chuckled, pulling you from your thoughts.

“God I hope not.” You breathed, resting the bottom of the cold glass against your forehead.

Bob walked into the bedroom and Anna moved so he could sit next to you.

“Sharp scratch.” He warned, and you nodded, looking away.

Bob took a couple vials of blood and kissed your forehead before he ran off to test them. Over the weeks you had collected almost every machine from the medical centre, a lot of them blood work machines to help with testing.

You didn’t understand the first thing about haematology but Bob had to study it extensively in school, and having done 4 years in medical school, could for all intents and purposes be considered your in house general practitioner.

Anna left you to sleep, and as soon as the nausea passed, you drifted into a deep slumber.

You dreamt about Bradley on a porch swing smoking a cigar, and Bob dancing with you in the living room. Your fever dream twisted into a multitude of shapes and colours before you were being shaken gently awake.

“Hey.” Bob smiled down at you.

“How long was I out?” You murmured, rubbing your eyes. You felt much better, but you were groggy.

“4 hours.” He chuckled.

“Sorry. I know we have work to do.” You sat up slowly, but Bob stopped you by gently pressing his hand against your shoulder, pushing you back down.

“Just take it easy Rue.” He said softly.

“I’m fine, I feel better.” You pushed back.

“Yeah you feel better now, but…” he sighed, biting his cheek. Bob chuckled and let out a wide grin. “You’re pregnant, Rue.”

You looked at him as if he’d just told you a bad joke, and laughed, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I tested your blood for parasites. I couldn’t find anything, so I decided to test it on the other equipment, and one of them picked up really high levels of hCG. You’re gonna have a baby Rue.” He chuckled gently.

You shot up in bed, your eyes as wide as saucers. You ran the numbers in your head, and choked out a gasp. You had overshot your period by 3 weeks.

“Oh my god.” You clasped a hand over your mouth as you looked at Bob with watery eyes.

Bob looked at you lovingly, and it suddenly had you wonderingly desperately whether the baby was Bobs or Brads. You had been intimate with both several times in the last few weeks. You had found it impossible to choose between the two, so had kept thinking maybe one more night with each would help you make up your mind.

Now you were really in an impossible situation. How were you meant to raise a child in a world like this?

“I have to go and work on the cure.” You mumbled, throwing the duvet off of you and barging passed Bob.

“Woah woah, slow down.” He followed after you. “The cure can wait a day or two!”

“No it can’t.” You spun around to face him, and for the first time Bob saw the panic in your eyes.

He nodded slowly, and the two of you went together.

A few days passed and you had begun to come to terms with the pregnancy. Bob couldn’t keep his hands off of you, and it made it hard to concentrate inbetween the urgent sexual desire you felt for him and the almost constant morning sickness. You did manage to work for a solid 5 hours a day on the cure, but any more than this and Bob was banning you to go and rest.

You and Anna bonded even more, she was excited to have a baby in the house, and promised to help you with the night shift. Between her, Bob, Brad and Jake, you reckoned you could get a decent amount of sleep once the baby arrived.

The day Brad and Jake got home, you were all consumed by excited anxiety. You ran to the gate and jumped into Brads arms, and he chuckled.

“Hey princess. I missed you.” He sighed into your hair as he held you.

“I missed you so much.” You cried. He pulled you away and looked at you, surprised.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You laughed a wet laugh, and wiped your eyes. “I have some news.”

“Oh my god, is it the cure?” He breathed. You shook your head.

“Not yet but we’re so close.”

“Then what is it, Rue?”

“I’m… pregnant.” You said cautiously, waiting for him to digest the words. At first his face didn’t change, but as he processed the information his eyebrows pulled together, and a surprised chuckle escaped his lips.

“You’re gonna have a baby?” He reiterated. You nodded with a grin.

Bradley let out a loud whoop, and picked you up like it was the easiest thing in the world. He spun you around and peppered sweet kisses all over your face.

You celebrated that night with a slightly larger dinner than usual, with the foods and water the boys had found. Over the weeks Jake had collected a decent alcohol stash, and poured Bob and Brad a tumbler of whiskey.

“Cheers to the two daddies.” Jake toasted, “And to the momma of course, but you can’t drink.” He winked at you.

Bob and Brad looked at one another for a moment, but then a grin broke out on their faces and they clinked their glasses against one anothers.

You likely would have no idea who’s baby it was until it got much older, but you were okay with that. You loved them both and you would love this baby no matter who’s it was.

The months passed and you grew bigger and bigger. Bob wouldn’t let you work for long, and took on most of the work himself.

One night he seemed particularly stressed so you pulled him away from his work and sat him down.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick.” You mumbled, rubbing his shoulders. Bob moaned as he relaxed into you.

“We need to find the cure before the baby comes Rue.”

“I know, and we will, there’s still a lot of time.”

“I don’t know how to deliver a baby, so what if we don’t?” He mumbled.

“We’ll figure it out.” You kissed his neck and squeezed his shoulders.

But Bob wasn’t satisfied with that answer, he was starting to grow worried. He wanted the baby to have as normal an upbringing as possible, including its entry into the world.

“What are you gonna name it?” He asked suddenly.

You chuckled, “I don’t know yet, depends. Plus that’s up to the three of us.”

“I like Sage for a girl.” He said.

You chuckled, “Sage Floyd-Bradshaw… Bradshaw-Floyd? It’s pretty. What about for a boy?”

“It’s not gonna be a boy.” Bob grinned, looking up at you.

You round the chair so you were stood in front of him, and slotted yourself between his legs. You brushed your fingers lovingly through his now long locks, your belly resting comfortably against him.

“How do you know that?”

Bobs hands came to rest on your belly, and he pressed his lips against yours.

“I just do.”

And you believed him.

—————————————

“I’m so uncomfortable.” You complained, shifting under your weight against the deck chair, the sun basking against your already too hot skin. “I think I need to go inside.”

You had finally managed to get the cure to work. Or Bob had rather, you had taken a step back a month or so ago when it became too uncomfortable to sit or stand or lay down in any one position for too long.

The virus you’d extracted from a fresh corpse immediately became inactive when the concoction of drugs, plant extracts and Anna’s antibodies interacted with it, now you just had to test it on one of the infected somehow, and see if it reversed the symptoms or just killed off the host entirely.

You’d all decided to relax in the back yard that day, the weather had been perfect but not even half an hour into your sunbathing, you were becoming uncomfortable. Almost 8 months pregnant was proving difficult for you.

Bob helped pull you up and you kissed him.

“I’m gonna go take a nap.” You blew everyone else a big collective kiss and disappeared inside.

You sighed in relief as the cold shade of the house washed over your skin.

The sheets were crisp and cool as you slid into them, and it wasn’t long before you drifted off into a deep slumber.

You dreamt about the baby coming, and about a big house with a wrap around porch, surrounded by big green trees and a huge lawn. You dreamt of Bob rocking the baby to sleep, a loving look in his eyes. You dreamt about Bradley chasing the toddler around that lawn when they were older. You dreamt of the four of you watching fireworks go off over a big lake as you sat and ate marshmallows, the bangs slightly muffled in your dream state but equally realistic. Then you heard a scream.

You woke suddenly in a cold sweat, the sky outside dark, and you could hear panicked, hushed voices outside your door. You sat up as Bradley walked into your dark room.

“Brad?” You mumbled sleepily.

“Rue, there’s been an accident baby.” His voice was shaky.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s… it’s Bob.” He sniffed.

You ran into the living room and Anna sat crying at the table, blood on her arms and hands, Jake was pacing up and down.

Bob was nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?” You sobbed, your whole body shaking violently.

“Outside.” Jake mumbled, rubbing his stubbled chin, unable to look at you.

You ran out and as soon as you saw him, you dropped to your knees and a strangled scream left your body, before your ears rang and everything went quiet. You couldn’t hear Bradley as he dropped down next to you and tried to console you. You couldn’t hear Jake as he tried to explain what had happened. You couldn’t hear Anna as she sobbed behind you. All you could hear was the ringing in your ears as you watched Bobs lifeless form on the drive in front of you, a pool of blood surrounding him.

Once you had eventually come to, you learned that as the group enjoyed the sun in the back yard, a sound drew their attention at the gate. A rumbling noise, followed by voices.

They had rounded the corner to find a group of men climbing out of a truck, and toting a chainsaw.

You had since added a padlock and chain to your gate to make it more difficult to get in, and the men were now hacking through the chain link.

“Hey!” Bradley yelled. “Stop right there, or I swear to god we will blow your brains out.”

The group laughed at him, and Jake ran inside to grab his shot gun.

They continued to saw.

“Stop!” Bob yelled, he panicked, thinking only if you sleeping peacefully with that baby in your belly, and what they would do if they got in.

Bob ran to the gate with no plan in mind other than to distract them while Jake got the gun, but he didn’t see that one of the others had a pistol, and before Bob could even get close enough to the gate, the pistol went off three times, and Bob dropped to the ground. Anna screamed.

Jake came out of the house and immediately shot at the gate. He’d managed to hit one of the intruders square in the chest, the rest backing off quickly. Before the pistol could be fired at Jake he shot the holder, and the rest fled quickly in their truck.

Anna ran up to Bob and pressed her hands against one of his wounds, but it was no use, the others were bleeding profusely and he choked on his quickening breath.

“Bob.” She sobbed, “Hold on.”

“I… I… tell Rue…”

“I will I will, she knows. She loves you too.” She cried.

Bob died quickly in Anna’s arms as Jake and Bradley sat around him and cried their own tears, they held his hands as he passed. Bradley told Bob he was sorry again and again, until the sky grew dark and his body began to grow cold.

Anna sniffled, “Someone needs to tell Rue.”

———————————

You buried Bob under the oak tree in the front yard, and you sat with him for a long time alone.

You then went inside and read through his notes, and cried some more. Bob had worked so hard to see the world go back to some sort of normality, only to never be able to see it. His act of bravery saving you but at what cost?

A week later you finally got a signal on the radio, and it was a military broadcast, they had given coordinates for a secure base and urged anyone not infected to find them.

You were too pregnant to travel and it would take weeks on foot, so it was decided in the coming days that Jake would take the notes and research to the base, and hopefully they could mass produce the cure and things would be better.

Anna didn’t want Jake to go alone, so you reluctantly waved both out the door and hoped with everything in you that you’d see them both again.

You gradually overcame your grief with Bradley’s help, he took care of you even on the days where you didn’t want to go on. The days you couldn’t get out of bed, the days you wouldn’t eat, Bradley was there. He was your rock and slowly grief turned into fond memories that you and Bradley would share about Bob.

The morning Sage was born, it was still just you and Bradley. He had read the Midwifery and medical books he’d found from cover to cover, and even still he was a shaking mess when he delivered her in your bedroom. He cried more than you did as he held her against his bare chest. And you marvelled at how Bob somehow Bob had known. It was only when you noticed the little button nose on your newborn daughter that you began to sob uncontrollably, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was Bobs.

Bradley was a great dad and having a daughter softened him greatly. She looked so dwarfed against him, as he rocked her to sleep. He would shoot out of bed as soon as she began to cry, leaving you to rest, and life began to feel good again. The months passed and you and Bradley fell into a routine, and your love for each other only grew stronger.

Sage had just learned to sit up on her own and was quickly approaching her first birthday, when you heard a vehicle approaching the gates.

You went outside with Sage on your hip, cautiously lingering at the front door. Bradley rounded the side, dirty and sweaty after having worked the veggie garden all morning.

A green truck stopped outside the gate and two military men stepped out, followed by Jake and Anna.

You laughed out a sob of relief, and Bradley ran to the gate to unlock it and let them inside.

He hugged Jake and then Anna, and the pair walked up the drive to see you.

“My my my, isn’t this the prettiest little lady in all the lands.” Jake cooed, and you handed Sage to him for a fuss. You hugged Anna for a long time, relieved they were okay.

The military had tested and mass produced the cure, and they were overjoyed to find that it did reverse most of the symptoms over time, rather than killing the host. Most of the population had already died at this point due to their self sustained injuries and infection of their wounds, but those who hadn’t, eventually returned somewhat to normal, but the swelling of their brains had caused long term motor damage, with most requiring care for the rest of their lives. But at least now there was a cure, which if caught early would reverse any damage before it became permanent.

You knew life would never go back to normal, but this was all that you could hope for, a semi normal life for Sage, and for Bobs legacy to live on.

The end.

———————————————

Notes: I’m sorry that this Entry was so late, and also may feel rushed! I’ve been a bit busy the last few days and couldn’t squeeze out another 🤣

#lewis pullman fanfic #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd #miles teller x reader #miles teller #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun rooster #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #top gun jake #top gun #top gun bob #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction

[alpaca-clouds]

The Moral Complexity of a Meat Consumption

I said it before and I will say it again: There definitely is a subsection of the Solarpunk movement, who keeps going on about the future having to be "all vegan". In any Solarpunk space you will find some of this sort. Heck. You will also find folks in anarchist spaces, who will go: "Oh, you are an anarchist and still eat meat? So you do believe in hierarchies! Because you see yourself as higher as an animal!"

These days I am mostly ignoring those people, because I know that you really just cannot win those arguments with them.

Outside of chicken I do not really like meat. I do not like the taste or texture. But if I completely cut it out of my diet, I will get sick. Tried it several times. It did not work out. So, I cut it down to two days a week, which keeps my body in a somewhat sustainable equilibrium.

For me the issue is in how my body metabolizes certain aspects of food. But a lot of chronically ill and disabled people will have to eat meat and cannot cut it out of their diet. Maybe they cannot eat a lot of other proteins due to their allergies. Maybe there is stuff in plants that they cannot metabolize. And maybe they are autistic and literally can only eat like five different things. There are plenty of reasons people might just not get around it.

However... I also look at a lot of folks in the modern world eating cheap meat every single day, and I am shaking my head. Sure, some of them might need to eat meat daily, but let's be honest: Most people actually do not. Most people would be perfectly fine to cut down on the meat and only eat meat once or twice a week.

I personally absolutely do not see anything wrong with killing and eating animals per se. Because that is just how the world works. Some animals kill, other animals are eaten. Humans are just another animal.

What I do find issue with, however, is the industrial meat industry. The thing that makes it possible in the first place for folks to eat meat every day. Big plants where hundreds, if not thousands of animals are being kept, with only ridiculous amounts of antibiotics keeping the animals from getting too sick. With slaughtering plants that process hundreds or thousands of animals each day. That is just... Not how it should go.

I personally... since I cut down the meat in my diet, I can afford to actually just eat the free range animals that got to frolick out on the pasture for their entire life. Because frankly, yeah, it is double the price of the alternative, but... So what? For two times a week it works fine. (Also, frankly, there is less water in the meat and the meat actually has better taste and texture.)

So, you know, for me it would be totally fine if there just was no cheap meat at all and all meat was pasture frolicking animals. But even here it gets complicated of course.

Because... Well, there are poor people, who also need to eat meat for health reasons. And what are they gonna do? After all being poor makes you more likely to be disabled - and hence require stuff like that.

And it is exactly the big issue. And frankly... I honestly do not think there is any proper solution to this under capitalism. Because more than anything... capitalism sucks.

#meat consumption #eating meat #animal farming #animal husbandry #vegetarianism #veganism #solarpunk #lunarpunk #anti capitalism

[toomuchracket]

telling matty (amd his family maybe) that your pregnant on christmas day 😇😇

gonna birthday party this because we've never spoken about this for that au!! ok, so, you fall pregnant with amy at some point on your honeymoon, at the beginning of september, which means 12 weeks is like the second week of december - matty, quite sensibly, is like "what's another two weeks, darling? let's just wait until everyone comes over for christmas, and we can tell them together. nobody's left out, it stops you stressing about making sure nobody's out of the loop, it's perfect", and you agree. and it actually works out better to tell everyone on christmas eve, at a little informal party you and matty hold - some of your friend group are there, the boys and their partners (shy gf hello!) pop in, too, their last day together until new year, and your families are already there and staying that night. you field questions from people as to why you aren't drinking the whole night, telling them you're on antibiotics for a mild chest infection but you're fine and matty's been taking care of you; you're mildly offended when people actually believe you like "oh, yeah, you've been looking a bit ill lately!", and matty thinks it's so fucking funny but he hugs you and says you look perfect. anyway, you do a little speech and thank everyone for coming, and matty does a bit like "we've actually got an early christmas present for all of you. well, i say early - the due date is actually in june, so... yeah". there's a stunned silence for a second as everyone processes, broken by george (slightly high) giggling "due date... like it's a baby lol", and matty's like "george, you fucking idiot, that's exactly what i was alluding to", and the room just goes into meltdown. your parents cry. matty's parents cry. your friends cry. you cry. matty fucking WEEPS. mayhem is baffled (but you're sure he'd cry happy tears if he could lol). christmas day is so sweet with your families, too, despite their panic at not having anything for their developing newest addition - denise just keeps hugging you and matty and bursting into tears, and when she's not doing that she's hugging your mum like "our babies are having a baby!" lmao. matty spends the whole day - well, when he's not shovelling roast potatoes into his mouth - with his arms around you and his hands on the bump, enveloping you and amy in the love obvious in the air, murmuring "love you" in your ear every 3 seconds and generally just being extremely cute. yeah, it's lovely <3

#mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #into the birthday partyverse #birthday baby #mayhem #christmas

[wizardsaur]

I asked my yoga teacher if she knew anyone who would do the reiki attunements and lessons for trades. I told her I'm a cult survivor, and I have a very specific reason for approaching it this way.

Because I don't intend on investing potentially a few thousand dollars for classes and permission to energy heal. I feel like the sunk-cost fallacy makes the practitioner more susceptible to tell themselves something is working - when it really isn't, and they can't accept such a massive loss.

Which isn't to say I don't think energy healing has it's benefits. I do. I also believe it has limits, and I believe in vaccines/antibiotics/therapy. The worst trying reiki or energy healing on someone who's suffering can do, is nothing. And the best it can do is be a part of their healing/coping toolbox.

I'm just not interested in putting myself in debt for something like this. And thankfully, my yoga teacher understands my POV. Where she is a bit more "crunchy granola white hippie" than I'd usually ask for support from, she's very sweet and willing to work with me. Plus, my BS detector is bulletproof nowadays.

#witchcraft #witch #pagan #witchy #magick #magic #spell #baby witch #witchblr #paganism #sunk cost fallacy #reiki #reiki healing #energy work #energy healing

[dwellordream]

On the Black Death in Africa and Asia, and the interconnected Middle Ages, by Eleanor Janega

“…See, the thing is that one of the weird myths I have to deal with all the time is that the Black Death was somehow a European experience, as opposed to an Afro-Eurasian one, and that Europeans were uniquely attacked by it because of something stupid/gross/superstitious that they did that everyone else avoided. Sometimes that’s people saying Europeans killed all their cats and so rats proliferated. Sometimes its people saying that Europeans didn’t bathe and therefore germs spread. (Of course, that’s beside the point anyway, because last time I checked fleas, which are what spreads plague, DGAF about how clean you are, but OK! Europeans still bathed! I am so tired!)

Sometimes, it’s people saying that Europeans’ backwards medical ideas involving the humoral system is to blame. (The entire Arabic world also believed in the humoral system! The only thing that works to treat the plague is antibiotics! No one in the entire world had medicine that could fight this until the nineteenth century!) Sometimes its people saying that Europeans threw sewage in the streets. (They didn’t, but I’ll have to talk about that another time. And also! Plague comes from fleas! Which do not live in human excrement anyway! So that’s really beside the point! And even when it’s pneumonic not bubonic it spreads via droplets! Which are in your breath! Not excrement! Oh my god!)

But here’s the thing, if any of that were true, (and it isn’t) that would mean that the theoretically smarter rest-of-the-world wouldn’t be affected by the Black Death at all because they were having a bath with their cat next to a fully piped sewage system while not believing in humoral theory or something.

Fun fact! No.

Now we might not have a lot of sources from the totally collapsed Silk Road cities, etc., but we do have a lot from our friends in the Middle East. And they are here to tell you that everyone was having a hard time, and they had a pretty clear idea of how the plague spread.

The historian Ibn al-Wardī (c.1291 – 1349), writing in Aleppo described the onslaught of the plague thusly:

“The plague frightened and killed. It began in the land of darkness [Northern Asia]. Oh what a visitor! It has been current for fifteen years. China was not preserved from it, nor could the strongest fortress hinder it. The plague afflicted the Indians in India. It weighed upon the Sind. It seized with it’s hand and ensnared even the lands of the Uzbeks. How many backs did it break in what is Transoxiana! The plague increased and spread further. It attacked the Persians, extended its steps toward the land of the Khitai, and gnawed away at the Crimea. It pelted Rum with live coals and led the outrage to Cyprus and the islands. The plague destroyed mankind in Cairo. Its eye was cast upon Egypt, and behold, the people were wide-awake.”

“… Oh Alexandria, this plague is like a lion which extends its arm to you. Have patience with the fate of the plague, which leaves of seventy men only seven. … The plague attacked Gaza, and it shook ‘Asqalan severyly. The plague oppressed Acre. The scourge came to Jerusalem … It overtook those people who fled to the al-‘Aqsa Mosque, which stands beside the Dome of the Rock. If the door of mercy had not been opened, the end of the world would have occurred in a moment. It, then, hastened its pace and attacked the entire maritime plain. The plague trapped Sidon and descended unexpectedly upon Beirut, cunningly. Next, it directed the shooting of its arrows to Damascus. There the plague sat like a king on a throne and swayed with power, killing daily one thousand or more and decimating the population.”[6]

He died of the plague.

Later, writing in Algeria, the historian Ibn Khaldûn (1332-1406) said of the pestilence that “It swallowed up many of the good things of civilization and wiped them out. It overtook dynasties at the time of their senility, when they had reached the limit of their duration. It lessened their power and curtailed their influence. It weakened their authority. Their situation approached the point of annihilation and dissolution. Civilization decreased with the decrease of mankind. Cities and buildings were laid waste, roads and way signs were obliterated, settlements and mansions became empty, dynasties and tribes grew weak. The entire inhabited world changed. The East, it seems, was similarly visited, though in accordance with and in proportion to (its more affluent) civilization. It was as if the voice of existence in the world had called out for oblivion and restriction, and the world had responded to its call. God inherits the earth and all who dwell upon it. … it is as if the entire creation had changed and the whole world been altered”.[7]

So, this is all very depressing, but I think it’s important that I lay this all out here for everyone’s perusal. Because the thing is until we begin to approach the medieval world as an interconnected place, weird myths are going to persist. As a Europeanist I am as guilty as anyone of aiding those who want to create a world where the Black Death is a phenomenon that happened on one continent to a group of uniquely stupid people. If no one sees the sources where our friends in Asia and Africa discuss the horrors around them, then of course they are going to continue to believe that the Black Death is something that happens when the Pope takes a disliking to cats. Or something.

I’m not writing this, however, just to defend Europe. I checked, these people are all dead and probably fine. I’m writing it because persisting with the myth that everywhere other than Europe was actually an enlightened paradise does a major disservice to those histories as well. Whole communities collapsed. Death was everywhere. The historians who wanted you to understand the chaos and pain happening all around them died of that plague and if we don’t witness that, then it’s for nothing.

Further, to pretend that only idiots couldn’t figure out that this pestilence was spread by germs in fleas is actually calling all our friends in Africa and Asia stupid as well. Because they also didn’t have germ theory, and they also died in huge numbers. This does not make them foolish.

We can’t go back in time and save the hundreds of millions of people who died of the Black Death in Afro-Eurasia. What we can do from our safe distance of almost seven hundred years, behind a wall of antibiotics, is to at least do them the service of acknowledging their experience and not calling them stupid. These were real people who lived in a complex world and were doing their best in it. Frankly, if you chose to ignore their suffering and their own testaments to it, then you are the one who is ignorant.

Societies are not a hierarchy, and we don’t need to impose one. We certainly don’t need to go back in time to do that either. Ideas of a divided medieval world where people from different continents were all separate and doing totally different things do nothing but serve to uphold outdated and racist ideas of the pre-modern world. Don’t do that in a rush to condemn Europe for its modern problems.”

#eleanor janega #medieval #history #medicine

[lemonhemlock]

I saw a comment that really hit the nail on the head regarding a lot of the fandom in both ASOIAF/HOTD spaces. Basically, this comment said that a lot of Dany/Rhaenyra/Targ stans don't understand that targ women can both be oppressed and also oppressors. They literally view Westeros in this lens that the Worst Thing That Can Ever Happen to someone is misogyny, and yes GRRM's ahistorical levels of misogyny imbued in his work don't help here, and that nothing else can come close lol. They don't really get class dynamics, lesser nobles, etc. When you're the crown princess of the realm you have immense power, but also responsibility which, yes, includes not openly cuckolding your spouse and having obvious bastards you try to put into the succession lol. They very much think that every targ women could do whatever she wanted with her immensely privileged and pampered position as a royal and if anyone says anything, well, it's misogyny. It's a deeply unannounced, ahistorical way to look at this series.

Your comment in one of your other anons where you said 'are you really sexually liberated if you are causing pain to others in your vicinity' was funny to me because targ stans unironically would say 'yes.' They are stuck in this modern sensibility that romantic/sexual freedom is the number one civil liberty and anything a character does in pursuit of it is fine, even at the expense of others, and if anything bad happens as a result, well that's just the Patriarchy's fault. It's a fundamental difference in thinking that I don't think can ever be bridged because they are incapable of not projecting modern values. They truly believe that targ women can be privileged, pampered, politically and socially powerful, yet not be beholden to any of the traditions, duties, or responsibilities even with the most, like, basic decorum expected of royal and any calling out of this behavior is just misogyny lmao.

It's just so stupid lmao. Imagine if people had said that Queen Elizabeth II, one of the most rich, powerful, and privileged women in the world for literal decades was 'oppressed' because she couldn't have obvious affairs or take official mistresses or boytoys and have bastard children like her male forefathers did and blame that on misogyny lmao. It's literally the same thought process but these people cannot put two and two together if their lives depended on it.

^^^^ you did it, anon. you condensed targ stans to their essence 😅

some of them act as if being monarch should mean doing exactly what you want at all times and any kind of suggestion that immense privilege comes at the price of great responsibility automatically translates to misogyny. god forbid we put some restriction on "absolute power" and make it less absolute.

also in regards to sexual freedom and their inability to imagine a life without it. you live in the 21st century!! not only that you have recognised rights enshrined by law, but you also have modern medicine!! you have antibiotics, contraceptives, safe abortion, emergency services, surgeons, you can book an appointment with a doctor if you're feeling unwell etc. look me in the eye and tell me that if all of those were taken away overnight you'd continue to be your sexually liberated self and risk dying painfully of an STD in the name of love.

of course there are religious and sexist dimensions to restricting women's sexuality, there is no point in pretending otherwise, but who would really want their spouse to risk infecting them with whatnot in the name of sexual freedom? it's equally unhelpful in pretending there's not an aspect of public health in encouraging behaviours like chastity, monogamy and being faithful to your spouse.

again, this is not to say that it was all good and proper to be like that and what a time of pure morals we left behind in the olden days. it's to say that those times truly sucked for a lot of people, sometimes because of reasons they had no control over, and that they often had to choose between options that all sucked in some way

#ask #anon #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti targ stans

[disabledunitypunk]

So, I know this blog has been a lot less active as of late, at least from my part (mod Stars).

I'm gonna be honest; I've been incredibly sick. A combination of some kind of issue with gluten/wheat (may be celiac, or nonceliac gluten intolerance, or wheat allergy) with IBD, MCAS, lactose intolerance and sensory issues, had caught me in such a cycle of degranulation, anaphylaxis, intestinal issues, brain fog, chronic fatigue, and POTS and chronic pain flareups, that I was nonfunctional.

On top of that, anxiety over my partners SSI application (recently medically approved by the administrative law judge, that's a win! still waiting on nonmedical approval but it should hopefully just be a rubber stamp process at this point - knock on wood) has really screwed with my levels of executive dysfunction.

And trauma around medical neglect and abuse, plus being so sick, plus executive dysfunction, had led me to temporarily avoid seeking treatment at all. When I say that the very idea of trying to trick yet another doctor's ego into believing they came up with the idea to test me for the conditions I'm already reasonably certain I have, all while making sure I don't seem too smart, too unintelligent, too articulate, too reliant on google, too self-aware, use too many medical terms, and so on... I've not had the ability to advocate for myself anymore.

Luckily, a friend of mine that's all hellfire agreed to help advocate for me at some of my appointments going forward, so I'm going to be finding a new primary care doc and going forward (possibly seeing my old one a few more times if necessary, just to get re-referrals and maybe get a referral to a non-Medicaid allergist that actually knows what MCAS is) with pursuing diagnoses and treatment again.

Until then, however, I'm pretty much limited to about three foods - plain white or wild rice, "zoup" (a zucchini broth with chunks of carrots, daikon, celery, and wild rice), and raisins. I can drink water and cranberry juice. Between my sensory issues and that tiny list, I've been consistently significantly hungry for a week. I'm struggling to sleep and can't get more than four hours of restless sleep in a night the past few nights. I'm menstruating for the first time in five years for G-d knows why. I feel better and less reactive, especially after an ER visit for some IM decadron, but I am constantly exhausted.

Why do I bring all this up?

This is my daily life. I have near zero quality of life because of the ableism of doctors and failures of the medical system. I'm barely keeping myself alive every day, really only with the help of a lot of caretaking from my partner. I haven't been able to get to my doctor to get approved for that friend willing to advocate for me to be paid for basic caretaking duties by Medicaid. I went out on Saturday for the first time in over a month, and I'll be recovering from that for the next week and a half.

There is not a single minute of my life that isn't profoundly affected by my disabilities. Stress causes a cascading reaction through my MCAS, POTS, ME/CFS. Understimulation causes intense stress and even pain. Listening to music while doing nothing, watching videos, and similar "low energy" activities drain so much energy that they trigger my chronic fatigue, and sometimes cause a lesser reverse cascading reaction.

I can't take an ADHD med to help with the symptoms more disabling than the ones threatening literal anaphylaxis and organ failure because I can't get them compounded without an official MCAS diagnosis, and I'd also need a beta blocker compounded as well (which are are often mast cell triggers) for my POTS because the only ADHD meds that work on me are amphetamines.

I can't take vitamin D or B12 despite being incredibly critically low for the same reasons. I've barely found some OTC benadryl and aleve that I halfway tolerate. I might have a UTI and if I do I'm gonna have to convince doctors 20 years behind the medical literature that IM antibiotics are considered safe and effective and are a safer alternative to oral meds for me, if still risking a minor reaction.

On good days, I can make it between the bed and couch a couple times a day, and between the couch and the toilet. On bad days, I have a chamber pot setup in the bedroom because I can't afford diapers. I'm sure my vitamin D deficiency is not helped by never leaving an apartment that barely gets some sunlight two hours a day because it's in the shadow of the other side of the building.

I used to, on bad days, spend most of the day doing mindless tasks or on slightly less bad days, puzzle games, on my phone. Now, I'm lucky if I can do even that much most days. I AM too sick to play video games. 🥲 I can nap, I can sit with my eyes open, I can listen to music until it's too exhausting anymore.

I'm tired, and every day surviving is just a monumental effort. Again, the ableism of doctors and... actually, they're not failures if they're intentional; the abusive medical system, have not left a single minute of my life untouched.

Multiple times, when talking about online discourse, I've been accused of "wanting to be more disabled than I am", "being physically abled", being "crazy", "delusional", "on something", etc, etc, etc. All for daring to say that ideas like body-mind duality, exclusionism within disabled communities, and similar, are deeply harmful and affect far more than insular online discourse.

Doctors love to shove off chronically ill people into "psych cases". Have anxiety, autism, PTSD, schizophrenia, DID, depression, etc, etc on your chart? Yeah, you're never getting that physical diagnosis. This is what perpetuating and encouraging ideas like "all disabilities are physical OR mental", "people with abc type of disability have privilege over people with xyz type of disability", and so on, DOES.

Sanism is used to perpetuate ableism. Ableism is used to perpetuate sanism. Quite frankly, I'm not sure that neurotypical physically disabled people, non-mad neurodivergent physically disabled people, and physically abled neurodivergent/mad (all as self-identified categories) get just how deeply compounded ableism is when you exist at the intersection of physically disabled and neurodivergent (especially if mentally ill or mad). Or perhaps, the disconnect exists along a line of "profoundly disabled" vs "can access abled hegemony to a significant extent". Perhaps it's both. There is likely elements of how visible a disability is, how much its able to be masked, the type/level/spread of support needs, and so on. There's definitely elements of other marginalization; race, ethnicity, fatness, queerness, and so on.

And then there's the subcategories. Cognitively disabled. Traumatized. Chronically ill. Visually impaired/blind. Deaf/hard of hearing. Intellectual disability. Mobility disabilities. Fluctuating vs static disabilities, support needs, masking, and so on.

Sometimes I wonder, would the people who think I'm just an abled faker who doesn't belong for not being able to seperate my neurodivergence from my physical disabilities, my neurological organs from my body, my inabilities from my inabilities, would they find I'm the same as them when they spend a day in my life? Would they find it worse? Would they find it unbearable in a completely different way from their own struggles? Would they maybe even find that while it's not quite as hard as their own struggles in some cases, that it's still wildly hard and the two are far closer to each other on the scale than they think? Would they understand that we are both in the midst of an active, eugenicist genocide, and that we're 50-49 bullet holes staring down the barrel of a loaded gun that is held by our oppressors?

Even now, I'm thinking about how this post might be inaccessible. Is it readable for screen readers? Will the length be too much for way too many people? Is it understandable for people with intelligence and cognitive disabilities? How do I fix those things if it's not. What am I missing? What am I missing? What am I missing?

I'm exhausted, I'm scared, and I'm barely holding on. I'm safe, mental health wise, to be clear, I'm just convinced that the only reason that I'm not in significant danger from my physical chronic illnesses right now is because I've always had a body that was stubborn as all hell and twice as resilient. I'm not dying, not because the illnesses aren't trying, but because my body will endure far beyond normal limits.

I've experienced slow acting anaphylactic reactions without anaphylactic shock about once a month for 1-2 years now, usually only going in after several days and nights of severe symptoms. Like I've mentioned, several of my vitamin levels are so low as to make organ failure a constant threat. None of my illnesses are "terminal" per se, but that doesn't mean they can't be deadly. And more to the point, it doesn't mean they can't destroy me, that they haven't utterly destroyed my quality of life, without killing me.

I mean, I started this blog as an attempt at fostering solidarity. We CANNOT be quibbling over who really "belongs" in various disability spaces, who gets to reclaim what words or whatever, when so many of us are dealing with this shit.

For the area with the lowest cost of living in the country, SSI should be 5 times what it is now. For the highest, up to 20 times. People on disability benefits lose some or all of their payments, insurance, and so on, if they get married, even to another person on benefits. I've never met a disabled person without more doctor horror stories than diagnoses, and we all know diagnoses like to come in clusters. We are being abused, neglected, and killed.

I cannot stress how much, not that this intracommunity discourse "doesn't matter", but that it does at a deeply harmful level. It's just perpetuation of the abuse we face at a lateral level. We're mimicking the government and doctors and general abled society and getting into petty but deeply dangerous inane arguments that are just us carrying out the only way we've been taught to treat disabled people.

Being a disabled activist and advocate means questioning everything you know about ableism. It means prioritizing first and foremost disabled people. And honestly, speaking as someone whose platform here is dedicated to that, that's really fucking hard. It means believing people about their experiences with disability and oppression in a world that teaches us that the vast majority of disabled people are lying privileged fakers.

It means not believing that people know more about what people with a disability they DON'T have face because of their own disabilities. A little confusing, but essentially someone with disability A without disability B who faces oppression X, can't say that someone with disability B DOESN'T face oppression X, just because they face it. It means not calling the very real harm someone has experienced "misdirected", or making their suffering about you or your subcommunity, just because you've experienced the same or similar harm.

It means unlearning reactivity as a group of extremely traumatized people. It means learning to meet people where they're at, and assume "can't" rather than "won't". It means accepting that sometimes not only will someone's disabilities cause conflicting access needs with your own, but that sometimes people's disabilities can actively cause them to do harm, and that they still deserve rights, community, and support if they do. It also means recognizing that the harm that a disability may cause someone to do is going to look VASTLY different than abled expectations of "harmful" disabilities. It means, even and especially when this happens, recentering the perspective not around how the disability affects other people, but around how it affects the person with the disability.

It's all of this and so much more. It's a lot of effort from people with not a lot to give. It's fighting an upstairs battle with no ramp, so to speak.

And I guess I just... I'm at a loss on how to keep that up. Is just focusing on getting myself well enough to participate again, putting my own mask on first, enough? When there is not a single moment of my life untouched by the extremely deep and extremely systemic harm of ableism, is it enough to try and access the care continually gatekept from me at an individual level? Can I even do so, against such intensive pressure?

How do I live this life, and also go on untangles the narratives of "disabling neurodivergence isn't really a real disability and neurodivergent people face almost no real ableism" and "physical conditions are obvious and so get all the care and face no real ableism". How do I fight the concurrent violences of hypervisibility and erasure within the community that only serve to strengthen abled people bludgeoning us with them?

How do I focus on things like organizing, community building, activism, advocacy, dismantling the system, dismantling our reliance on it, and so much more, when I can't even get out of bed?

All I can do is write about it, right now. Sometimes I feel like that's all I've ever been able to do. Everyone I've ever known has acted like some day my "pen" will be a tool of liberation, but I'm at a loss for how. I'm just some horribly sick mad cripple on a dying microblogging platform on the internet. I don't know - not if I'm enough, but if anything ever can be.

And I don't mean to sound hopeless. I know that change can happen. I know that it is, in tiny and sometimes larger ways, every day.

This is kind of a self-centered post, in the most neutral way. This is just my perspective. This is about me, and how I'm so very disabled, and how people assume I'm not (and how wild that is, considering), and how ableism affects me so deeply, and how I don't know how to face it or fight it...

I can only hope that maybe my word resonating with people means something. That maybe, as much as we never want each other to experience what we have to, that it's also a comfort to know we don't experience it alone. That maybe this will serve as a reminder that it's okay to be scared, to feel lost, even hopeless, to struggle; to not know how to fight or where to turn. That maybe this will reach someone who CAN do something, and maybe it'll reach the people who need to NOT do anything other than take care of themselves, and that maybe it will help both of them.

Maybe that's too grandiose, I don't know. I hardly know what my point is here, other than: this is me, crippled and crazy as all hell. This is the violence I face. This is why I started this blog, because we need to stop hearing "you're a lying abled privileged faker trying to take advantage of and take resources from real disabled people who really need it" from abled people, and saying it word for word to each other. Because what abled people mean by "real disabled people" is just a theoretical disabled person. A perfect victim. They don't mean any real disabled person, especially not those who can advocate for themselves. They mean they think every single one of us doesn't need or deserve accommodations, treatment, respect, humanity, or even life.

That's the point, really. We're all we've got. We've gotta fight for each other, not fight each other. And G-d, I know how hypocritical that sounds coming from my ragey, rabid ass. I just... that's all I know to focus on right now. Not necessarily all coming together and holding hands and singing a song about unity, but just... not being ableist to each other. Tolerating each other even if we can't stand each other. Presenting a united, unbroken front to ableist society, and pushing until they don't have any power over us anymore. Doing the work of activism, which is often neither easy nor feel-good.

That's what I'm trying to do here, at least. I try to get a little better at it every day. I try to listen a little more. I try to keep up hope when my body and mind are crashing down around me.

I don't have a mic-drop conclusion to add to this, so just: I'm opening the floor. Anyone who has anything to add, feel free to do so. What you have to say is valuable.

#ableism #sanism #unitypunk #cripplepunk #madpunk #neuropunk