#i asked her to do a covid test an hour ago so i could be on time for work but its the last thing on her list

[bratthewurst]

Hnnnnng

#my mom is sick and shes walking around the house coughing uncovered and not washing her hands before being in common spaces #and she keeps coming into my room #these are all things she obsessively asks me if im doing when im sick #i asked her to do a covid test an hour ago so i could be on time for work but its the last thing on her list #sometimes i wonder why i bother #between this and my dads positive #aaaaaaaaaa #im not gonna stop bothering but im annoyed and want to vent #like i have shit to do #i need to go get the spare i have on my car replaced and i was gonna be an hour late to work and now its looking like 2 🙃🙃🙃🙃

[redhairedwolfwitch]

In Sickness - Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

A/n: this fic is covid heavy and based on my personal experiences, so there is content involving covid, hospitals, detiled medical stuff, anxiety (because i felt a lot of it on that lovely day where i was in a&e for nearly two days...) so read at your own risk because i probably overshared. take care of yourselves. @grapefruit-personified enjoy:) especially because i wrote this months ago and part 2 is mainly written, i just lost motivation to finish anything.

do not repost this anywhere, i only post on this tumblr so unless it's a reblog, it was stolen.

///

You could remember the day you met her. You had just moved to Spain, knowing zero Spanish made you shy and you were struggling with school, not understanding much. She spotted you sitting on the grass, tying together daisies into chains one lunch time, eventually she went over to join you instead of playing her usual lunchtime football.

The on hold music finally stopped as the clinician returned to the phone, advising you to get to the closest A&E department within the hour, after asking you if you had some way to get there.

Checking the time on your phone, you grimaced at the 12% and decreasing battery before admitting you had no way to get to A&E, resulting in advice for an ambulance, but a taxi would be quicker.

Your teammates were already at training, so none of them would be answering their phones, and your partner, she was where you left her. Barcelona.

Her last message to you was a good morning one, a message you had mirrored before the stabbing pain in your ribs had gotten worse.

You’d been able to withstand the pain yesterday, but it was stabbing more and more, getting more intense and making it hard for you to do anything. Now you were masked up in the back of a taxi, your breathing laboured as you waited for the Manchester hospital you’d been given the address to to come into view.

Leila frowned as she looked around the Manchester City training ground, wondering where you were and if you were stuck in traffic or something.

It was ‘or something’. Sitting in the emergency department, it took over an hour for you to be moved from A&E to the major emergency department, but your blood pressure and heart rate were high enough that they did an ECG. The nausea from before had stopped, but the hot and cold flashes hadn’t.

Your phone was on 8% as you checked the notifications, having no internet connection meant you didn’t have many, but Leila had texted along with the staff asking where you were.

You were barely able to send a pin of your location to Leila before the 5% battery warning lit up your phone, but you were cut off as a healthcare worker approached, wheeling over the machine to check your vitals.

Vitals that were circling the toilet, especially after a sweet old woman had spotted you swaying in your half asleep state in the waiting room chair, helping you move to a recliner that enabled you to lean back safely.

The back and forth to and from the waiting room was draining, after emerging again to return to the waiting room with a cannula in your arm.

They’d taken blood to grow some blood cultures, apparently to see if it was bacterial or viral, before leaving you in the waiting room again, attaching a small bag of fluids to the cannula to hydrate you after taking more blood to check on your general functioning. It was the nasal swab that gave them all the information they needed though.

Your COVID test was positive, but that wasn’t the only concerning factor to your vitals. They were too high, even for an individual fighting a virus. They offered you paracetamol to try to bring your temperature down, but your blood pressure had dropped slightly, your heart was still racing and your d-dimer was slightly higher than normal. 

You couldn’t fight back the tears after that, the waterfalls hidden behind your mask as they discussed keeping you in observation even longer, asking about if you had a family history of blood clots in lungs or legs.

At this point you’d only had a couple of small packets of random biscuits to eat, eventually heading into the waiting room that you had been isolated from to protect other patients, to quickly grab a packet of crisps and some more water, but it was all too much.

You didn’t know Leila had gotten your location update once in the changing room after training, and when she got no response, she began to ask questions.

The club staff had no answers after discovering your emergency contact you had written down for the club knew nothing, and the hospital told Leila nothing after being given a name she hadn’t heard of for your emergency contact.

So Leila contacted someone who would know. Your partner. Even in Barcelona, Aitana would know who your hospital emergency contact was, Aitana knew everything about you, except that you were in hospital.

It was getting closer to dinner time, you had nothing with you but your wallet, nearly dead phone and your zip up hoodie that was one of Aitana’s old Barcelona ones. Your legs and bum were going numb under the crappy waiting room chair you’d been moved to, your vitals still far too high for anyone to be comfortable sending you home.

They’d talked about giving you a blood thinning medication but a change in doctor later had you recalling all of your family health history instead. This doctor said it was sounding unlikely that you had a blood clot in your lungs, but they still sent you for a chest x-ray.

Aitana hadn’t heard from you all day. The panic inside her kept restrained by the knowledge you were probably training and having fun with your team.

Until Leila called, asking about a family member who had been out of your life for years now. A family member who was apparently still your emergency contact in NHS systems. It didn’t take long for Aitana to read through what Leila had sent, realising immediately you were in hospital and nobody had heard from you since.

It was closer to 8pm when they gave you the blood thinning injection in your stomach, keeping you hydrated with more water and trying to control your fever with more paracetamol.

You had all of the notices on the walls of the hospital waiting rooms memorised at this point, but the ‘one visitor per patient’ in the hospital policy was useless when you had come to the hospital alone.

Your arms were freezing cold, but you couldn’t get your sleeve on over the cannula without almost crying in pain, so you wrapped the shoulders of the hoodie around your shoulders and hoped your hands wouldn’t feel so cold so much longer.

The next flight to Manchester from Barcelona would arrive at Manchester airport past 11pm, but Aitana had made it to the airport in time for it, especially after asking her teammates for help.

They didn’t move you far, but once you had curled up across the two waiting room chairs, you were moved into an isolated room with a small view through the door of the nurse’s station outside.

The walls were bare minus plug sockets for machinery, a table near the recliner you were able to set up for the night, a sink in the corner and a bin for clinical waste in the other. It was past 10pm when a healthcare worker came in, attaching a bag of fluids to the cannula in your arm and leaving you alone in the dark.

Exhaustion washed over you but the cold feeling of the fluids being administered into your arm kept you half awake. Your phone is barely holding on with its 5% battery but the message Aitana sent when it was closer to midnight gave you hope.

She had rented a car from Manchester airport, getting her spare key from Leila to sort of your home for the night. A home that she had helped you pick out when it was clear Barcelona’s A team had no room for you, and you had outgrown Barcelona Team B.

One glance around your Manchester home was all it took for her to calm her anxieties. You weren’t there. Your bed was a mess, bedding all but tossed on the floor as she moved to pick up the bedding, finding some pyjamas for your return.

You were going to be okay.

She convinced herself of such as she checked your fridge, rolling her eyes at the nearing emptiness of your fridge and cupboards. She’d have to figure out how to do an online food shop.

It was closer to midnight when the first big bag of fluids was finished, sticking your head out of the door to have the tubing removed from the cannula, you headed towards the toilet for what was one of many trips there during the night.

You’d stopped looking at your phone hours ago, but getting a glance at the time after each toilet trip, it was nearly 2am when the next bag of fluids was administered, once again leaving you laying on the recliner in the dark, listening to every beeping alarm and footsteps passing by.

You probably should have called Aitana and told her what was going on, but every time you got an update, it was from a different healthcare professional and they kept changing their minds. For example, the blood thinning injection had been talked about hours before it was eventually given. You had managed to send out a short text though. 

You were COVID positive.

It was after 4am that you finished the next round of fluids, two bags that looked like they were cloudier, perhaps full of nutrients but the writing on the bags were small and you were more interested in going to the toilet again after flagging down someone to detach the tubing from the cannula again.

Your temperature and heart rate were fluctuating throughout the night, going from 39 point something degrees celsius to an apparent normal of 37 degrees, before rising again to 38.1 degrees celsius.

Waiting until 8am, another doctor came in, explaining the goal to get you a CT scan of your chest early this morning to check for blood clots, and if there were none, they planned to discharge you to ride out the COVID at home. It was only then that you were able to request something to eat, since your last meal yesterday was a three pack of digestive biscuits.

One bowl of cornflakes and milk later, you were offered more paracetamol and left to wait until it was time for your CT scan.

Your arms were freezing despite attempts to keep warm under the one blanket you were given, plus a smaller blanket to act as a pillow for your head.

They didn’t want to increase your temperature by giving you another, so you worked with your hoodie, the softness of the fabric working to keep you calm as you waited, and waited.

Aitana hadn’t been able to sleep much. The worry of you still being in hospital consuming her, so she stayed up, using a multi-surface cleaner to wipe down the surfaces in your place, gather your medical supplies in case you needed them to fight off the COVID virus.

You didn’t hear from anyone until noon, but the CT scanner was ready for you, and after a quick check that you were okay to walk, you followed the healthcare worker to the CT scanner room, a different location entirely to where the emergency x-ray rooms were located.

They checked you weren’t allergic to the contrast dye they would administer via the cannula, before warning you of the warm feeling that often overtakes your body once administered, and how it would feel like you had wet yourself, even though you would not have actually wet yourself.

Your arms ached as you held them above your head for the chest CT, slamming your eyes shut at the horrid feeling of the scanner moving, you remained still as you were informed what was happening, and when they were administering the CT contrast dye.

The warm feeling was too hot to feel like you had actually wet yourself, but it was a horrid feeling that didn’t help the nausea at the CT scanner moving to get the required imagery of your chest. You just wanted to go home, but it would be a lot worse if you did in fact have blood clots on your lungs.

Walking back to your isolation room, you were playing a waiting game as you managed to send another text to Aitana, updating her that you had had the CT scan. 

It was getting towards 1pm when the vitals machine was wheeled into your room, checking your temperature (38.1 degrees celsius), your heart rate which had decreased from 140 beats per minute to 128 beats per minute.

Your oxygen levels had maintained high throughout but when it came to the healthcare worker checking your pulse, your wrists were still freezing to the touch.

There were no signs of your CT scan results, but the healthcare worker had been kind enough to ask if anyone had spoken to you about food, something you had not had since being brought the cornflakes hours ago.

The result of the conversation turned into a sandwich, some more water, and a yoghurt as you continued to play the waiting game for your scan results and whether you did or did not have blood clots in or on your lungs.

It was nearing 2pm when the doctor from this morning entered your room again, but the key piece of information you needed was given. Your CT scan was clear, you could be discharged and have your cannula removed. You could go home and ride out the COVID in your own bed.

Your phone was somehow holding on as you texted Aitana that your scan was clear so you could go home if she or someone else could pick you up from the main reception carpark, your phone sending the message and getting a thumbs up response before finally the battery dropped to 0%.

Sticking your head out of the door, the mask you had been wearing since yesterday felt damp and close to your face, but you did not remove it yet. Waiting for a nurse to come remove the cannula in your arm, you went for your final toilet break before the final hospital waiting game.

It was warm outside, and despite the clouds in the sky making it seem greyer than that one moment where you saw out a window when waiting for the CT scan, it was sunny too. Your phone was long dead, but you were alive.

Holding your hoodie in your arms, your phone and wallet in your pockets as you made the trek across the main reception disabled car park, lingering near the out of use bus stop that gave you a perfect vantage point of the entrance into the hospital from the main road.

You weren’t entirely sure who you were looking for, who would be your saviour and get you home until a car you didn’t recognise pulled up in front of you. The window going down to reveal a pair of eyes you had not seen in person since the two of you were in Italy together during the winter break.

“Mi dulce flor!” you exclaimed, shock in your tone but your throat felt like you were swallowing knives, barely getting into the passenger seat before you were almost hacking up your lungs into your mask.

“Cálmate, estoy aquí mi amor.” Aitana cooed, her hand lingering on your back as you coughed, eventually settling enough to put your seatbelt on so Aitana could drive you home.

“Are you hungry?” Aitana paused, going over the English in her head as she watched you walk over to your couch, appearing with several blankets before digging through your living room cabinets for something.

“Bebé?” Aitana broke the silence as you froze before letting out a hoarse cheer of victory.

“Found it!” Revealing the old box set that left Aitana smiling softly, watching as you went to play the series from the beginning, then disappearing to your room.

It was getting dark when Aitana realised your phone was charged, allowing you to finally message your teammates and staff at Manchester City with an update of what had happened. But it also gave Aitana a chance to message her teammates and the staff at Barcelona, sending a photo of you wrapped in blankets, half asleep as you watched the TV.

It was Alexia, Patri and Laia that messaged back first, Alexia having helped Aitana get to the airport the night before whilst Patri and Laia had held down the fort when Aitana had to leave.

“What happens when you miss training? You have the game against Atleti… and the game against Chelsea-”

“Shush, mi amor. You were alone in the hospital for more than a day, I am not leaving you again.” Aitana replied, passing you your drink as you began to cough.

“They worried you had, what did you call it? Blood clots on your lungs! Era serio!” Aitana exclaimed before quietening her voice as you grimaced at the loudness.

“Lo siento.”

“It is not your fault. The virus…” Aitana fell quiet, brushing away a tear as you reached for her hand, holding it gently, “I thought I would lose you, mi dulce flor. I cannot lose you.” Aitana admitted, feeling your fingers draw patterns in the back of her hand. Your eyes were glassy with exhaustion but the love for Aitana in them was undeniable. 

She wouldn’t admit it, but Aitana listened to your breathing for most of that night. It was heavier, but you kept breathing which was a relief to her. The windows were opened enough to air out the room from germs, your fear of giving Aitana the dreaded virus which was wreaking havoc on your body and mind overwhelming you.

You didn’t want to get out of bed, the way your body ached was not helping you but Aitana needed your help for an online order of food. You were running a fever that was kept at bay by paracetamol, tapping away on the touch screen to add things to the order, much to Aitana’s amusement at how quickly you were doing it.

She found you on the couch later, curled up under your blankets and clad in your dressing gown over your pyjamas. You were breathing heavily but you remained in deep slumber, the tv stuck replaying the menu music over and over as you’d gotten to the end of the disc. 

Feeling your forehead to check your temperature, Aitana froze as it sounded like you whimpered in your sleep, eyes cracking open as you smacked together your dried lips. “Your hands are cold.”

Aitana rolled her eyes playfully before disappearing for a moment, dropping something in your lap as she returned.

“Lip balm? Gracias mi dulce flor.” Your voice was laced with sarcasm but Aitana ignored it in favour of heading to your kitchen to make something that didn’t irritate your mouth.

You hadn’t admitted it at first, but you had been trying to hide the grimace at the toast you had this morning, the rough texture hurting the hard palate of your mouth.

Staring up at the ceiling of your living room, your eyes fluttered shut as memories flickered in your mind. The first time you met Aitana, the flower crowns the two of you would make together, and the dynamic duo the two of you became on the football pitch, despite the boys picking on Aitana for her height, and you for existing.

Aitana was 13 when she joined Barcelona’s youth team, whilst you took longer to join, the two hour rides by public transport to get to practice were not in your favour until you were travelling with Aitana and her father.

The two of you were moved up to Barcelona B close together, but when Aitana was 17, she was promoted by the manager to the first team, whilst you remained with Barcelona B. It didn’t take long for you to figure out why.

You had the talent, but Barcelona were full of talented players, they had no room for you. No matter how well you and Aitana played together, you would not get to play with Barcelona’s first team.

It broke your and Aitana’s heart to leave, but Manchester City gave you an offer that was better than any other club in Spain. Manchester City were not Barcelona, but you flourished there. You flourished into a player that Barcelona kept an eye on, until your contract with City began to run out in the summer and the talks to renew were at a stalemate.

And now you have covid. A virus that you’d seen and heard of other players getting back during the height of the pandemic, but none were so affected as you were now. None had to be hospitalised despite being clinically healthy. They bounced back, but despite Aitana’s remarks that you would be back stronger, you doubted it.

The exhaustion hadn’t left you alone, even days later. Your temperature was kept at bay by paracetamol, your coughing grew worse before it was better, your gums so sore that eating crunchy foods still hurt, and you felt like you had cotton wool in your ears and wrapped around your brain.

Even after you were testing negative, your energy levels remained low but Aitana had to leave for London for the match against Chelsea before returning with the team to Barcelona.

She had tested negative throughout somehow, and it broke her heart to leave you, but it wasn’t long until the end of the season and the two of you would be reunited again.

The match against Chelsea ended on good terms for Barcelona, with a 1-0 advantage in the first leg thanks to Caro, and whilst you watched Aitana struggle to get on the ball in the first half, the second half enabled your partner to have more of the ball, despite the lack of goals.

You weren’t the only player who wasn’t on the Manchester City squad list for the match against West Ham the day after though.

Sandy and Laia were both out with injuries, and you were still weak and recovering from the virus that rampaged your body and mind. You sat with the two of them as you observed the game against West Ham, City winning 6-2 against the Hammers.

Your cough didn’t fully leave you alone, but that wasn’t the only issue. Your joints hated you enough that your knee joints felt like cement, your ears felt like they had cotton wool stuffed in them, and because of this, you were more wobbly on your feet than you had ever been before.

Manchester City had ruled you out for the rest of the season too quickly for you to feel comfortable, but it wasn’t what was bothering you. The talks that were previously at a stalemate had fallen through. Manchester City had decided not to renew your contract, and you couldn’t help but blame yourself.

“City don’t want me anymore. They took me in when Barcelona had no place for me, but now… I feel like a broken toy cast away when I’m no use anymore.” You left a voicemail for Aitana, she was busy training for the next leg of the semifinals against Chelsea.

Your hands tingle as you begin to type up what you had to, what you needed to say, to get control over something in your life.

Although some people may be excited by the prospect of a player who originated from Barcelona’s youth teams being a free agent who could come home, you knew the reality was much worse.

City were still at least trying to help you with your recovery but your hopes of returning to your pre-covid state were fading, especially after they ruled you out for the remainder of the season.

‘It’s a bitter feeling. Realising that the last game I played would be my final game at Manchester City. A club that took me in when I was lost, you have taught me so much and I will always be grateful. Thank you for changing my life, but my part at Manchester City is over. I won’t forget any of it.’

It was an early goodbye, City still had four matches left, two at home and two away. You would get to attend the home matches in the crowds, but you wouldn’t get to step on the pitch in City colours again.

Your lungs were fine according to the staff at City, your cough coming and going but it was your joint and fatigue issues that were the problem.

Your energy levels came and went, and even though they had had you training alongside your teammates some days, you would be wiped out after.

You had even fallen asleep in the dressing room at one point, using a hoodie that Aitana had worn whilst she stayed with you as a makeshift pillow. Leila was the one who found you,  but it was Steph that convinced you to let her drive you home, your body too sore to walk this time.

Steph remained silent as you sat in her passenger seat, tears falling down your face as you sobbed, venting your feelings of everything.

How your illness had wrecked your body and mind, how much you missed the old you, how much you missed playing and how much it hurt to leave Manchester City at the end of the season.

How afraid you were for what was to come, and how far away you felt from your partner, the love of your life you’d known since you were both children.

Steph, who knew what it was like to be away from a team due to injury, then dropped from the squad, but instead of her club, it was her national team.

You hadn’t even thought about the World Cup, but you knew deep down you would not be called up. You could barely stay standing after training, you would not be able to play a full ninety minutes in your current state at all.

“Do you know where you’ll go in the transfer window? Will you go back to Spain?”

“My love is in Spain, and I have nothing here outside of Manchester City. I’m lucky that City helped me with my coaching qualification before I got sick. I hoped that I wouldn’t need it immediately, but I’ll be a free agent in the transfer window, and I don’t know if anyone wants a player recovering from covid. Everyone else bounced back from it so quickly, but the simplest of things hurt me now. Please, I just want to go home and sleep.” You vented, swiping at your eyes to get rid of the tears, but Steph frowned at the last sentence you said.

“Don’t shut yourself away from us, little one. You may be leaving the club but you’re not leaving our hearts or our thoughts. So please don’t shut yourself away.” Steph begged, hoping you would make some sort of promise, but you didn’t.

It was a promise you could not keep.

/// translations hopefully ///

mi dulce flor - my sweet flower

Cálmate, estoy aquí mi amor - calm down, i'm here my love

Bebé - baby

lo siento - i'm sorry

gracias - thank you

#aitana bonmati x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #aitana bonmati imagine #woso imagines #aitana bonmati imagines #manchester city wfc x reader #manchester city wfc imagine

[bcofl0ve]

Invisible String (Part 1)

(part 1/9)

ship: austin butler x fem!reader

summary: a summer fling when you were working on the set of the shannara chronicles turned your life upside down with a positive pregnancy test after austin returned to the united states. a pregnancy test, and a daughter that you never told him about. until the elvis biopic found him back in your orbit and forced you to face the music.

word count: 2,600

authors note: yes i know the shannara chronicles was filmed in new zealand but this is my au and i can do what i want so we’re pretending it was filmed in queensland. covid also doesn’t exist in this story, because i said so, hence the filming schedule being one of my own making.

i live for comments and love talking about my writing, pls feel free to pop me an anon anytime!

xxx

April 23rd, 2020

"You interested in working in film again?"

You raised an eyebrow at your best friend sitting opposite you on the couch, pausing short of tossing more popcorn into your mouth from the bowl between you.

"Is there a reason you're asking?"

She chuckled, lowering her voice and leaning over to you, a playful smile on her face.

"A little birdie told me that one of the lighting assistants at Elvis had to resign because of a family emergency and they’re desperate for a replacement.”

Leah was clearly getting a kick out of this, and you wanted to kick her for it. Knowing Elvis was filming in your area and that there was a non zero chance you'd run into Austin on the street was enough of a headache, let alone having to skirt around him on a daily basis.

"I can't work there, you know that." You said flatly, and Leah only shrugged, cocking her head.

"Do I? It's just tech work, not like you'll have to interact with Austin that much anyways."

"That," You started, nudging your head towards a framed photo of you and Cora on the coffee table. It was taken on her fourth birthday, the blue eyed little girl sitting on your knees, head of blonde hair tucked into your shoulder. "happened when I was just doing tech work. I can't Leah,"

It wasn’t that you’d take any of what happened that 2015 summer back, you were quick to tell anyone that your daughter was the best thing that ever happened to you. But some things, her father in particular, were better left in the past.

"How much are you making right now?" Leah asked, pulling out her phone as she talked. "Because this is what Elvis is paying."

Your eyes widened when you saw the salary listed on the email she’d pulled up, nearly triple what you were making at your current gig running lighting for a local news station.

"You go, you do your lighting thing, you come home. If you wear a hat and your bluelight glasses Austin doesn't even have to know you're there."

---

April 30th, 2020

Against your better judgment you inquired about the position, and Leah must’ve been right about how depeserate they were for a replacement because you got a call within a few hours asking for the earliest date you could start.

You followed Leah’s advice of trying to alter your appearance just enough to maybe pass as someone else to Austin, your hair tied up and pushed through a baseball cap, tan rimmed bluelight glasses that you typically saved for long hours on your laptop perched on your nose.

And the get up wasn’t even necessary. You’d spent your first day helping with lights for scenes with Tom Hanks in a conference room setup, overhearing that it was a dance rehearsal day for most everyone else. By the time the day was over ditched the glasses and cap, assuming you were safe from running into Austin at least for the time being as you put equipment away.

"Hey there.”

You could've screamed when you heard his voice from right behind you, flinching and dropping the cords you were wrapping.

Austin was apologizing as you turned around, and you swallowed as you got a good look at him. He looked drastically different than he did four summers ago, his hair short and black as opposed to the blonde waves that used to fall at his shoulders. His face hadn't changed much though.

The blue eyes that matched the photo of your daughter on your lockscreen made you want to bolt, but the window of opportunity for that quickly shut as he kept talking.

"I just," He started nervously, pushing a hand through his hair. "Y/N, right?"

"Yeah, that’s me." You said and forced a smile. Austin laughed.

"Okay good, this would be so weird if it wasn't you. It's been, what, four- five years? Wow,"

He gave you a one over and you hoped the flush you felt wasn’t showing up too obviously on your face.

"And look at you, Mr. Presley himself." You tried, leaning back against the table as Austin let out a breath. "I'm still wrapping my head around it all. But how you've been?"

"Not too bad,”

Your phone buzzing saved you from thinking of what else to say, except the voice of Cora's day care coordinator on the other end was the last thing you wanted to hear right now. Austin was still standing there when you hung up, something you hated because now you were close to tears and could think of about twenty ways this whole debacle could go from bad to worse.

"Everything okay?"

Austin’s voice cut through your panic, and exacerbated it.

"That was my daugher's daycare.”

The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them, heart hammering in your chest as you kept talking, snatching the cords you'd dropped off the floor and putting them back on the table in a frenzy. "She said something about stitches, St. Vincent’s Hospital. My car's in the shop, I need to get a Lyft,"

There wasn't one rational reason you were telling Austin any of this, just that you were a panic talker. You recognized somewhere in the haze of worry that you needed to stop talking before it bit you in the ass, though you recognized it a little too late.

"I'll drive you."

Those three words snapped you back to reality like a rubberband, and you shook your head as you brushed past Austin to walk away.

"You can't do that, you'll get recognized,"

You were already past him, but heard him rustling through his bag and before you could protest anymore there was quiet "No, come on," and he was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, a hand on your back as he ushered you in the direction of the parking lot.

---

The car was quiet as he started driving save for the heavy breathing you were barley managing to get under control. Austin pulled to a stop at a redlight, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he spoke lightly.

"So you have a daughter now?"

"Yeah who apparently cracked her chin open on the playground.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out so bluntly, mumbling an apology that he told you not to worry about. The rest of the drive was silent.

When he pulled up to the hospital you jumped out the second the car slowed enough for you to do so, spotting Cora’s daycare director in the lobby and making a beeline for her. Assuring you she'd only left Cora alone long enough to meet you, she took you down the hall to her room.

And you didn’t notice Austin had followed you in until you saw the other woman’s eyes widen when she brushed past you to leave.

"Hiya," He said, southern accent intact and you'd find it funny if you weren't all standing in the hospital for his daughter that he didn't know existed.

Leaving them both in the hallway, you rushed into the hospital room so fast you didn't bother to shut the door behind you. Cora was groggy from sedatives but reached out when she saw you, tear stains still on her cheeks.

“Mommy, ouchie,”

"I'm here baby.” You said as you scooped her up, kissing her head and pulling back to look at the line of stitches in her chin. "I'm sorry you got hurt,”

"Who's that?"

She interrupted you, pointing a finger towards the open doorway. Austin was still in the hallway, except the coolness he'd had with the daycare director was gone and replaced with a look that you’d spent the last four years terrified of. His pupils were enlarged, hand over the bottom of his mouth. He dropped it when he realized you were looking, but his expression didn't change.

"That's just a friend from work who drove me here," You said through the growing lump in your throat, unable to look back at him. "I'll be right back, okay?"

After setting her back on the hospital cot and covering her back up with the provided blanket you walked out of the room, remembering to close the door behind you this time.

“You don’t have to stay, I have to call someone to pick us up anyways because she needs a carseat,”

You tried to steer away from the inevitable, but Austin didn’t waste any time.

"Y/N, how old is she?"

His voice was tight and you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, staring at the floor like you could will it to open up and swallow you.

“Austin,” You managed to croak out, and the indignation you could feel radiating off of him made your eyes sting.

"You know not answering is an answer in itself, right?"

Forcing yourself to look up, you squeezed your eyes shut and back open, hoping it was enough to keep yourself from crying in front of him. "I can't do this here." You started. "I need- I need to get her home. If your number hasn't changed l'll call you when she's in bed,"

He nodded, giving you a terse “Alright then.” before turning to walk away. When he disappeared around the corner you let a few tears fall, wiping them away and feeling nauseous as you pushed open the door to go back to Cora.

---

Your head was still spinning by the time the doorbell rang at eight o’clock that night. And when you opened it to Austin you cleared your throat, bringing a hand to grasp the doorframe.

"If you're going to yell at me we need to take this outside, Cora's asleep." You said and his eyes widened a little.

"I'm not gonna yell at you."

Your back was to Austin after you let him in, but you could sense him looking around. There was evidence of your daughter everywhere, photos on the wall and toys you hadn't had the energy to pick up given recent events scattered around the floor. When you reached the kitchen and did turn to look at him he was popping his knuckles.

Taking the bar stool you pulled out for him, he sat as you walked to the other side of the counter.

"So she's gotta be four, right?" He started before you could say anything, eyes falling away from you and to a photo on the wall. "And she's-"

"She's yours."

You cut him off, biting the inside of your cheek. "If you want a paternity test we can do one, but that summer, there was no one else."

"Workin' on Elvis, were you just hoping we never ran into each other? I don't get it." He stated, gesturing aimlessly.

"The friend who sent me the application practically had to force my hand, I didn't want to. But the money, this is more than I'm making anywhere else, being able to send Cora to a good pre-school in the fall,"

You hated that your voice was shaking, along with your hands, where you’d clenched a fist without realizing it.

“I decided it was worth taking my chances."

"And when you found out you were pregnant- you didn't think to call?"

The truth was that you had thought to call, briefly. But a tabloid hard launch of Austin getting back together with his ex girlfriend came before you bring yourself to dial his number.

"When I found out I was pregnant you were back in the states and back with Vanessa. What was I supposed to do?" You said, and you would’ve been a lot louder if you didn’t have to worry about waking Cora up. "Hey I know you just left, but you need to leave your girlfriend and fly back across the globe because the techie you had a fling with is pregnant."

"I would've."

You shook your head, shooting back bluntly.

"You wouldn't have."

If he truly did feel differently he didn't argue, chewing on his bottom lip for a beat before he spoke, his voice a degree softer. "You said her name is Cora?"

"Cora Jean. Thought she might go by CJ but she corrects anyone that tries, "I'm not Cee-Jay, I'm Cora.””

You couldn’t help a little smile as you imitated her, and felt your shoulders relax when you saw the hint of a smile on his face too.

"Who's there mommy?"

You turned when you heard the familiar pipsqueak voice of your daughter, your eyes finding her standing in the mouth of the hallway rubbing her eyes.

"Remember my friend from the doctor's? It's just him Cor, you can go back to bed."

Cora squinted for a second to verify that herself, walking a little further into the light. Satisfied with the confirmation, she rubbed her eyes with the hand not clinging to her stuffed koala.

“Night night mommy’s friend,” She said sleepily, giving a small wave.

Austin waved back, and you didn’t know if he’d wanted you to hear the quiet “Goodnight baby,” he said in response but it made your chest tighten either way.

"I don't want to keep you from her," You said when she’d disappeared back down the hallway, looking at your hands folded together on the table. "But having her splashed on the cover of People in some scandal story, paparazzi outside our house, that's a part of why I never told you."

A “part” was underselling the amount of nightmares you’d had from the time Cora was still in-utero about waking up to the fallout of one wrong person finding out about her parentage. You were sure there were people who drew their own silent conclusions , but you’d only told your mother and Leah yourself. The two people who you trusted wouldn't tell a soul.

How careful you’d been didn't stop your heart from stuttering when a stranger's eyes in the grocery store lingered a little too long though.

"I don't want that for her either. We're," Austin said gently, reaching a hand across the counter and laying it over yours. "We're gonna figure this out. You and me."

You nodded, wanting more than anything to believe that that was still possible after all this time.

----

Sleep didn't come easy for you that night, your mind racing as you laid awake staring at the ceiling. Just when you started to feel too tired to physically stay awake much longer, your phone buzzed.

Apparently Austin couldn't sleep either.

If it's not too much could you send me some photos?

You sat up a little, eyes heavy as you swiped open your phone, going to your camera roll and thumbing through the album labeled Cora Jean. The photos you chose ranged from across the years. Cora sitting in her high chair at only a few months old, grinning at the camera through the food covering her face, the two of you in your mom's backyard at her second birthday, a little video of her first dance recital, a photo her daycare had sent you her during art time, paint smeared across her nose.

When you texted the final selections, an ache bloomed in your chest as the gravity of it all finally started to sink in. Tugging the covers over your head, you willed yourself to crash and forget about everything for just a few hours.

xxx

#invisible string by bcofl0ve #future chapters will have some flashbacks to 2015 so worry not if you were wanting to see bits of that #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfic #austin butler headcanons #austin butler imagine #austin butler imagines #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for asking my sister to leave our room with someone who may have been in contact with Covid

This was years ago about a few months into quarantine, back when Covid tests took 7 says for results, and also title itself sounds really selfish and cruel which is why I’m asking

Some background: we are a family of 6. We don’t have a lot of space so my sibs and I (21 at the time) have to share rooms. My two younger sibs share and I share w/ my older sib(22). Our rooms are small enough where we have to share a bed, no desks just a few dressers and a nightstand. We’ve been sharing a room for as long as I can remember so we’re used to this

My parents went to a wedding (I know I know we were all livid) and they heard a few people got sick. They said that these people were all eating questionable food and it was only those people who felt sick. But just in case our mom told us to only leave our rooms when necessary until results came in. My mom stayed in one part of the house that is tucked away from the rest of the rooms. Our dad staying in the living room or just occasionally left the house. It was like this for a day.

The next day I had forgotten that I had a therapy appointment through zoom. Because if my mental health I sometimes forget what day these appointments are or I just straight up not go, that’s definitely on me I’m not gonna pretend that it isnt. My therapist told me if I do this one more time or if I push the date again they might have to take me off because investment as a patient or something. I had set a remind when I had 30 min until my appointment so it was too late to push back.

My sib is always pissed when I ask them to leave for my appointments saying things like “it’s my room too” or “does it even help you? Why do I have to leave my room if you aren’t improving” Appointments last an hour and I usually get emotional afterwards so I need an additional 20-30 mins to get back to normal.

When I asked her to go she refused. She said since our parents might have Covid she didn’t want to go out unless necessary. I told her my appointments are necessary and she shot back since I’m doing something I should leave instead. The problem is we have nowhere private to go to. The living room is too open and right next to our other sibs’ room, the only way to the back porch is through the room our mom was in, since our dad irregularly leaves the house and comes back I didn’t know if he would walk into the middle of my appointment. My sib said I could just wear headphones for privacy but they’ll still hear ME which I don’t want either. I begged her if she could just stay in my sibs room until I was done but she wouldn’t budge. Either I go or I have to figure something out

In the end I just told my therapist I didn’t want to talk out loud and i spent that one writing in chat very very aware my sib was right next to me even if she wasn’t paying attention. I couldn’t relax at all.

I was really upset with her the rest of the day but looking back I was asking her to leave with the risk of Covid (which came back negative from our parents btw, later learned it was food poisoning on those guys) so that might completely overshadow everything and plus how I felt doesn’t mean I wasn’t an asshole about it. Also I am not in a bad/strained relationship with my sib. We get along most of the time

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[redbullcateringfiction]

Chapter 7 -

Cantata

Arabella is the executive assistant for Mercedes Team Principal Toto Wolff. 10 years into her career, it looks like the tide is changing, and she's beginning to question her relationship with him. Is it something more, or nothing but an idea lingering in her head?

F/M, Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Romance, Pining, Love, Slow Burn

Seventh chapter below the cut or click here for AO3

Click here for the previous chapter on Tumblr, and click here for a list of all chapters

(Total: 30502 words thus far)

Sorry about how long this chapter took. I am, in fact, getting a literal PhD. So sometimes I have to focus on that and not Toto Wolff, although it is really hard. There's a joke somewhere in there about fanfic authors. Feel free to make it.

~redbullcateringfiction

“So…how was dinner with Toto?” Bono asked. 

“How did you know about that?” I shot him a glance.

“You do know that you’re in a hotel filled with your coworkers, right?” He responded. Fair enough.

“Well…it was nice,” I shrugged. 

“That’s good, that’s good. Hey,” He said softly, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me in. This was never good. Bono only ever pulled me in for a whisper when he was about to tell me something very, very bad. The list of previous times was short.

The engineering supervisor had just fired the craziest person on the team. It’s good to be a little crazy in Formula 1, but Gino had taken it 5 steps too far, and was lucky to have not gotten hit by a car. Anyway, the engineering team desperately needed me to distract the media and coordinate his removal with security in such a way that no one would happen to notice the short Italian man being dragged out by his ear.

My mom collapsed during a race. Turned out to just be heat exhaustion.

In most recent memory, Lewis has COVID. I had just spent a few hours with him and Toto, in close proximity. 

Bono had a talent for lowering his head in such a way that no one could possibly hear what he was about to whisper to you, and this was no different. “Look yourself up,” He whispered, while simultaneously gently letting go of me. This could not be good. At the same time, my phone buzzed with Jeffrey’s contact popping up for a phone call. This has to be bad. There is no alternative. 

I declined his call, and immediately went to Safari as Bono looked over my shoulder. 

“Who was that?” Bono asked.

“My lawyer.”

“Your lawyer? You have a lawyer?” He asked, with such a sudden expression of shock.

“More a friend who’s a contracted lawyer. A lawyer friend. Who I have a contract with. A friend who is a lawyer who I have a contract with,” I explained.

“You said ‘contract’ so much I’m starting to think it’s some sort of freaky 50 Shades thing.”

“Jesus, Bono,” I complained. 

“You have to admit you made it sound like that.”

“Fair,” I groaned, finally typing my name into the search bar.

Trending ~ 1 minute ago - It’s not silly season, right? How is there F1 drama already? with a picture of Cathal and me from years ago.

Trending ~ 1 minute ago - Why is Cathal Lynch obsessed with his ex-girlfriend? Cathal Lynch appears in… 

Trending ~ 1 minute ago - Cathal Lynch shows for Pre-Season Testing wearing Red Bull shirt 

“Jesus, you gave me a scare. That’s not that bad. He’s just being weird again,” I sighed, turning to Bono. My heart rate started to slow down. Bono raised his eyebrow. 

“And yet…you’ve clicked on none of them,” Bono sighed. “Keep scrolling.”

I did as he said. Suddenly more recent articles pop up. 

2 minutes ago - Four Odd Bottles releases new song, “Bitch”, moments after Cathal Lynch spotted in Bahrain  

4 minutes ago - It’s time to cancel Cathal Lynch: “Bitch” is a retelling of Radiohead’s “Creep”…and somehow creepier  

8 minutes ago - Was Arabella a “Bitch?” A lookback at Cathabella 

10 minutes ago - “Bitch,” please. How Arabella Lazaar used Cathal Lynch to make her seem more integral to Mercedes than she really ever was 

23 minutes ago - “Bitch,” is a great song. Sorry, not sorry.  

45 minutes ago - Is “Bitch” that bad? The conversation on new Four Odd Bottles song takes over Twitter. 

48 minutes ago - Expletive-filled song by Four Odd Bottles is the newest crazy ass song from a fucking creep  

“Oh…oh no,” I sighed. 

“Listen, I wasn’t going to not tell you,” Bono explained, grabbing me by the shoulders again. “Here’s the thing. And listen to me carefully. This is about Cathal. Not you. Public Relations is about to call Toto and ask that he puts forward a request to have him banned, even if temporarily. I had them wait until the two of you got back. Are you still listening?”

I was, but I couldn’t blame him for asking. I knew my eyes had glazed over. “Yeah, yeah. PR. Banning. All that.”

“Okay. Arabella, this guy is a fucking creep. But we’re going to fix this,” Bono explained.

“No, no. I will,” I sighed.

“No, no. You will not touch this. Yes, it's almost entirely your job, but this is the time you pass off a responsibility to someone else. And you will absolutely not listen to that song. Do you understand? Do not listen to it. It’s fucking weird,” Bono pushed his hair back.

“I imagine it is. I also get the sneaking suspicion I should listen to it,” I explained. “I can’t understand what’s going on without it.”

“Arabella, all you need to know that’s going on with it is that your ex-boyfriend is still writing songs about you, but this one is just plainly mean and weird. And he used you as a publicity stunt for it. Like, c’mon. That’s what you need to know about it.”

“Arabella, come over here for a second,” Toto called, suddenly appearing in the hallway behind me. Shit. I stepped towards him, and he grabbed my shoulder. That had now happened a bit too frequently in the past few minutes. I know this is a shit show. But this must be a real fucking shit show. “I’m sure you already know about it. After all, no one can really seem to keep their mouths shut. Anyway, I’m about to call the FIA. This is the first time something like this has happened, so don’t hold your breath. Hopefully though, they’ll seek to make an example out of this kind of behavior. Regardless of how messy this is for you , no team should be dealing with shit like this. Bono!” Toto suddenly called out.

“Yeah, yeah?” Bono asked, nearly running over. 

“Who invited the little…Lynch? Who invited Lynch? Do you know?”

“I’ve asked around. Don’t think he was invited by anyone,” Bono shrugged.

“Oh, good. I was worried someone had invited him. Since he just showed up with a paddock pass, this is a different situation. Alright, I’m about to make the call. Arabella, I know it’s difficult, but I need your complete focus, alright? 100%. This is no one’s problem, except his. Thankfully, this has to be a violation of something. Yeah, celebrities are publicity stunts in and of themselves, but usually they’re invited.”

“I’m just going to head off to Lewis’s team meeting while you make the call, okay?” I offered.

“Of course you will. Schatzi, you’re brilliant. This is why you’ve been doing this for so long. Only you could handle this,” Toto smiled. He patted me on my back and walked off, immediately hopping on the phone. 

“Alright then, let’s go,” Bono answered, guiding me to the meeting room. As soon as we walked in, all of Lewis’s team quickly set down their phones and looked at me with horrified looks.

“If I can keep my mouth shut about this, everyone else can, alright?” I nodded. “Toto will be in here in not 5 minutes. If we aren’t talking strategy when he comes in, he’ll keep us here all night.”

~

“Okay everyone. Goodnight. See you all in the morning. Bright and early,” I waved goodbye to Aero. I looked at my watch. 9:35pm. We had really pulled it off with plenty of time for many people to get a full night of sleep. Except the engineers, but that was by choice. Many of them would be practically foaming at the mouth at the gate wanting to run in and get to work on the car. All night they would discuss different strategies to turn everything into a well oiled machine. For many of them, the driver is just driving their good work. Yes, a good driver makes all the difference, but to them it's their car.

“Arabella,” Toto called after me. I had gone into autopilot and started walking towards the elevator without a thought to whether Toto needed anything from me. I turned around with my hands up.

“Sorry, sorry. What’s up?” I asked, approaching him. 

“You’re absolutely brilliant,” He said, opening his arms and giving me a great hug. First kiss, second kiss. Each cheek, just a brief touch. “Just absolutely brilliant. No one but you, yeah? No one but you. Okay, I have good news.”

I looked up at him as he finally let go. “Yeah, and what’s that?”

“He won’t be let in the gates tomorrow. Or all weekend. Or all season. Temporary ban for the season. Turns out it's a violation of some rule to use a paddock appearance for personal gain when it’s not written into your contract. Since he wasn’t invited, the contract was pretty explicit in not allowing that,” Toto explained. “Bad news is when he gets turned away at the gates tomorrow, I expect the press will be all over that. But it’s not too bad. The FIA won’t name you or the team as the cause or anything. Just plain breach of etiquette. I can only imagine what ridiculous thing that psycho will say about it though.”

“Thank you. Really, thank you,” I answered. “Did PR have any notes for me?”

“They’re hands off of you if I’m honest. Main concern is the look for the team. Even had to call Red Bull’s PR since he tried to make it seem like they invited him. I recommend you take a look at the new news if you want a laugh about it. Crazily enough, I was the 2nd call to the FIA. Red Bull had already called them about it to get him banned because of the implications,” Toto laughed. Yeah…I have to admit. It’s kind of funny when you think about it. I laughed with him.

“So…I can do what I want when it comes to it?” I asked. 

“I know you very well, and I imagine the worst thing you could manage to do would be good for the team. So, yes. Whatever you want. I trust you more than them,” Toto smiled. 

“Well, let me think about it, yeah? I’ll let you know before I go through with it,” I explained.

“Don’t bother. Like I said, I trust you.”

I gave him a look with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, well now I’m concerned. What is that supposed to mean?” He asked with a slight giggle.

“Speaking about it at all? Is that fine?” I asked.

“I had no idea what you were about to say. Don’t mess with me like that, Arabella! Yes, of course, speaking about it is fine. Just nothing stupid, obviously.”

I nodded. “Well…I ought to be off to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I shrugged. 

“Oh, of course. Goodnight,” Toto nodded, as I wandered towards the elevator. As I arrived in my room, I stared at my phone. My mind begged me to check to see the updated news. Afterall, who could resist reading the various essays that weren’t really about themselves, but were instead about their ex-boyfriend talking about them. We had dated for some time, but not nearly long enough for Cathal to still be this pissed off about it. In fact, I had started to doubt whether he really still cared, or was just using a shitty microcelebrity like myself to constantly relaunch himself into fame. All the songs he had written about me when we were together were just crappy love songs, but they had so many little suggestions as to who the woman (or women) might be, that the fans and media couldn’t resist speculation. Since we have broken up and he has yet to find another muse as satisfactory, instead he just keeps milking a years-old break up. 

It would be sad if it weren’t so frustrating. I never really quite liked the spotlight. Yes, I had been photographed with several celebrities, especially drivers and Toto, but there was always an understanding among the media that it was nothing more than business. Maybe a few F1 articles might mention me by name, but nothing quite like the sudden spur of attention I got when Cathal “accidentally” went public with our relationship. I tried to make it work after that. I had just spent 2 weeks being the face of a multi-year search for “the girl,” and then spending the next several months being the center of attention because I was a famous singer's partner. Not to mention, I also happened to be brushing shoulders with a world-champion driver and was the certified micromanager of a world-champion team principal. 

But after the breakup, nothing for Cathal changed. I guess things for me didn’t change either. I kept the same exact life going. Maybe he figured since I hadn’t really had some sort of breakdown, quit my job, and moved continents, that I hadn’t moved on, and he gave himself permission to keep going on and on. But I have changed. I have moved on. Cathal only remains relevant in my life because he forces himself to be. I can’t allow myself to give him what he wants by obsessing over the news articles. Nothing will change for now, at least until Cathal is turned around at the gates tomorrow morning.

Instead of torturing myself, I called Jeffrey back.

“What time is it there?” He answered instead of a hello. 

“Not even 10pm, calm down,” I explained.

“Well, have you seen the news?”

“Obviously, I’ve seen the news, Jeffrey.”

“Sorry, sorry then. Have you heard the song? It’s fucking amazing. He manages to sound like a misogynist, a lemon, and a weasel all at once,” Jeffrey laughed.

“No, Bono told me to avoid it.”

“Bono? Like, Peter Bonnington? You’re friends with Bono?” Jeffrey asked, sounding so very impassioned that it began to feel like he didn’t believe me. 

“Yes, Peter Bonnington. And yes we’re friends. He’s practically my work husband.”

“I thought your work husband was Toto,” Jeffrey cackled, evilly.

“Very funny. Listen, I called you back not to be your court jester. I called you back because I need your help.”

“Oh, you finally admit it, yeah?”

“Jeffrey. I will cut you out right now.”

“Alright, alright. You did sign a contract though.”

“Jeffrey!”

“Fine, Arabella. I’m listening.”

I took a deep breath. “I need to do something. This time Cathal took it too far,” I explained.

“You don’t even know how far though, Arabella. Not without listening to the song,” Jeffrey groaned. “Before you do anything, you need to understand the full scope.”

“I’m not listening to it.”

“Fine, don’t. Let me explain it to you at least.”

“No quotes.”

“No quotes, got it. Alright, get in your head for me the song Creep by Radiohead. It’s not quite a cover, probably to avoid any copyright issues with him writing a freakish song, but it’s similar enough for you to imagine. Then, he must say ‘bitch,’ 40 times. Basically, the whole argument in the lyrics is a woman who tries to appear incredibly nice but is trying to keep some sort of hidden motive under wraps. That motive? An obsession over a celebrity that she constantly stalks. But instead of her calling herself a bitch, it’s the celebrity calling her a bitch. The funniest part about all of it though, is that he is obsessing over you.”

“Is that quite as funny as you think it is?”

“Oh…yeah, I guess not. I guess…it’s just creepy.”

“No, it’s hilarious,” I laughed. “He just seems like an idiot, doesn’t he?”

“More like a stalker who completely misunderstood the appeal of Creep. Absolute nonsense.”

“Well, what do you think I should do about it?”

“Honestly, you could just write an extremely short tweet and it would probably destroy the European internet. This man competed in Eurovision with a song about you.”

“Yeah, and didn’t even qualify,” I mumbled. “Anyway, no. I want something serious.”

“Well, then, write a statement. I’ve got a friend at The Guardian. It’ll be published in 20 minutes.”

“You’re bullshitting me,” I replied, starting to mess with the skin on my fingers. An unfortunate hold over from my more anxious days. 

“Not at all. He’s an editor for the essays column. If you write it well, we can get it published. But I’d wait until the morning at least to see what happens when he comes through the paddock.”

“He won’t be coming through the paddock. FIA issued a temporary ban. He’ll be turned around at the gate,” I explained. I could hear Jeffrey tap his fingers, and I waited for his response.

“Write the essay tonight. Get it to me in the morning. Just remember, I’m 3 hours behind. You have to send it before 6am there, so I can make any necessary edits,” Jeffrey ordered me.

“Hold on, hold on! What do I even write about?” I asked. I picked my fingers faster.

“You know what to write about. Send me a cute headshot for the article too, and any pictures you might have of the two of you together,” Jeffrey continued.

“No, no I do not. I am an assistant, not a writer.”

“Oh hush. Give me everything, I’ll take out anything that needs to be gone.”

I took a deep breath. “Alright.”

“Alright, go on and write! Talk to you in the morning.” Jeffrey hung up. I sat staring at my phone for a few seconds before jumping up and grabbing my laptop. There was no time to hesitate. I sat my fingers on the keys and began to write. 

~

“I’ve got a surprise for you!” Cathal smiled, as he threw down an envelope onto the couch. 

“What is it?” I asked, barely looking up from my computer. He picked the envelope back up and placed it in my hands.

“Sundae, don’t touch my laptop,” I sighed, setting my computer off to the side. Sundae immediately began typing on it. I couldn’t shoo her away. It was too cute. I opened up the folder he gave me and there sat a whole bunch of pamphlets. 

“Uhhh,” I began filtering through them, just picking up on little details here and there.

“I booked us a resort in Morocco! We can visit your family!” Cathal cheered. I looked at him. I could feel my eyes nearly bulging out of my skull. I tried to tone down my expression, but my face was fighting my brain.

“So we can do what?” I asked. I couldn’t have possibly heard that right.

“Oh no. Did I mess up? To visit your family,” Cathal remarked, quickly sitting down next to me. This sent Sundae right to his lap. 

“No, no. You didn’t mess up. Not a mess up. Not one at all. I just wasn’t expecting it,” I smiled. 

“Oh, good. It's during the winter break. Ramadan is then, right?” Cathal asked. 

“Ramadan is in May this year,” I explained.

“I thought it was a winter holiday?” Cathal questioned. 

“It’s a Lunar calendar. It was in January in the 90s or something.”

“It can’t be a Lunar calendar. Don’t Jewish people have one too? Chanukkah is always around the same time.”

“They have leap months,” I explained. 

“Oh…sorry. Well, when will it be during the winter break again?” 

“Like…10 years or something?” 

“Well...hold on...actually, I don’t know if I can reschedule it out that far.”

“I actually think visiting during Ramadan would be the worst possible time considering I’m not religious,” I explained.

“Oh, then good!” Cathal smiled. Yeah. Awesome. I can’t wait. 

“This was really nice of you. I’m so excited to visit them.”

“Great! Yeah. Maybe we can make it an annual thing.”

“Let’s not. I mean…I’m just not close to them. I’m happy to visit my parents in the Netherlands, though.”

“I thought you were super close to them. You visited them every year, didn’t you?”

“As a kid I did. It’ll be good to see them though. Don’t worry. I’m really excited,” I beamed. 

“Good. Quit scaring me though. You’re making me worried I did something wrong.”

“Sorry.”

~

I kept writing, and starting over. I’d write the whole thing, and start it over again. There was no way I’d be happy with it though. Every edit and every change only made me more frustrated. I do know that it’s time I finally put this to rest. So as I desperately searched for the words to say that in a way that would make sense, I kept writing. I wasn’t thinking about what I was writing, just the words I wanted to use somewhere, at some point. By the time I looked down, I had it. 3am. A whole 3 hours early. I sent it over to Jeffrey. My phone buzzed just a few seconds later.

Jeffrey: I’m looking it over now. Passes the smell check though. Go to bed. 

No way he read it that fast. I stared at his text and started to think of a snarky reply to his order, but he was right. I didn’t have much time to get a lot of sleep. I would have to smush 8 or so hours into only 3. I shoved my face into the pillow, trying to force the sleep to come. Instead, I think I just suffocated myself until my brain was deprived of enough oxygen for me to be knocked out. 

It worked though. I woke up just 3 hours later, and rediscovered what I already knew. You cannot possibly smush 8 hours of sleep into 3. I decided to spend most of my morning routine trying to get rid of any signs of sleep deprivation on my face, and thought I did a pretty good job. I stepped out of my room and knocked on Toto’s door. 

“Coming,” I heard him call. He swung the door open, and there he stood in the process of buttoning up his shirt. 

“Oh, how did you sleep?” He asked, turning his head as he looked at me. 

“Shit, do I look tired?” I asked, trying to adjust my hair as best possible.

“It’s a common greeting in the morning, is it not? You look fine,” Toto smiled. He took his hand through his hair and stepped to grab his bag. I caught the door with my foot. “But you must be tired if you thought that was the implication, yeah?”

“I think I sort of…forced myself to go to sleep somehow. I don’t feel too tired though.”

“That’s a lie,” Toto smirked.

“Yeah, that was a lie,” I sighed.

“Alright. Let’s go. First day of the season. First day of the season!” Toto cheered.

Tag list: @daddyslittlevillain, @littleheaven

#f1 2023 #f1 fandom #toto wolff #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #fanfic #formula 1 rpf #oc of color #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff x oc #toto wolff fluff

[holidayvisa]

22 January 2024 - TLDR: Arnie and I were extras in a New Zealand tv show

Some background - yesterday and two days ago, Arnie had gotten calls and text messages from the casting manager for a film production with details about him being an extra. He needed to be at the set by 11 am today.

Arnie got a call from the casting manager around 9:15 am today asking if Arnie could bring other people to be extras, since he'd mentioned that he knew people on his phone calls with her yesterday/two days ago. Arnie told me about it, and I obviously accepted! So from 9:15 until 10:30 am, Arnie and I were scrambling to clothe me with a suit, slacks, tie and shoes 🤦. Miraculously, Arnie had a button-down shirt, slacks, suit jacket, tie, and shoes in my size! We left the house at 10:30 and walked the 30-minute trek to Henderson.

When we showed up at 11 am, they had us go to "hair and makeup," which was outside in the parking lot in the oppressive heat. Lucky for us, Arnie and I are both so naturally pretty that we didn't get our hair done or makeup done. It was HOT. It was around 30°C. At noon, the costume person told me I was okay to not wear the suit jacket, which I was very happy about, but Arnie had to wear his suit jacket, which he WAS happy about 😎. We had to take COVID tests (no COVID, all good there). Just before 1 pm, we were served breakfast, a tasty breakfast burrito. Then, we were ushered onto the set, indoors in the air con.

We were on set for about an hour as people in the courtroom waiting for their cases to come up later. They had the person with the clapperboard who claps the thing and says, "scene 2 take 3." There were times where the boom camera was just a couple centimeters over my head. It was cool! Then they were done with us for a couple hours. Then we got called back in around 3 pm for another hour. Then at 4 pm, we had lunch. Then more waiting. Then around 6:30 pm, we got called in for the final scene. It was really funny! It was hard to not laugh. At one point, the director came up to us extras and said, "I need less from you all. You're laughing too hard during these scenes. I need less." I thought that was funny too. Then they were done with us for a bit. Around 8 pm, we got called back in for some extras reactions. The director said, "rolling," then asked us to give him just a regular zero, looking around, kinda bored. Then he asked us for a 3/10 that-was-mildly-funny reaction, then a 7/10 that-was-pretty-funny reaction, then a 10/10 that-was-hilarious reaction, then a what-the-heck kinda-confused reaction, then a disgusted-and-offended reaction. Then the director said, "cut!" And we were done. We got to take photos with some of the actors. They fed us some nachos, then at 8:30 pm, they released us. Holy moley - we were there from 11 am until 8:30 pm - almost 10 hours! Arnie and I walked home and walked into our home right at 9 pm.

The show is called Vince, with a main actor named Jono, and in this episode, one of the other actors was Josh. https://www.nzherald.co.nz/entertainment/spy-jono-and-bens-tv-break-up/UOPUCGEJ4RG4NAD3IOHHWXCWMQ/ https://www.nzonair.govt.nz/news/jonos-back-on-screen-and-so-are-n00bs/

I'm grateful to Arnie for bringing me along to this extra thing. It was a cool thing to do. I've never been an extra before, and it was fun to try. I'm excited to hopefully see this episode someday!

[justzawe]

Zawe Ashton Is Manifesting Her Future

Thrillist has coffee with the 'Mr. Malcolm's List' actress as she heads into Marvel stardom.

When Zawe Ashton walks into La Bergamote, a small French café in Chelsea with fruit pastries gleaming in a glass case, she's bubbly and enthusiastic. "I was here in 2019," she calls to the proprietor. The British actor and writer is feeling a bit overwhelmed by nostalgia. She lived up the street when she was starring in the acclaimed revival of Harold Pinter's Betrayal opposite her now-fiancé, Tom Hiddleston, and Charlie Cox which closed in December 2019, shortly before Broadway shut down due to COVID-19.

"I came here every single day, and this became part of my ritual of doing the show. The chocolate mice they do, I welled up just then when I saw them again because they felt like such an iconic part of my experience here," she says, referencing a truffle-and-cookie delicacy. "And of course, what makes it all the more emotional is the fact that this is also the Before Times for me."

Three years and a pandemic later, Ashton is back in New York, this time promoting Mr. Malcolm's List, a Regency romance where she plays the scheming Julia Thistlewaite, a daft but conniving woman who plots to take down the titular Mr. Malcolm (Sope Dirisu), an eligible bachelor, with help from her goodhearted friend (Freida Pinto). She is delicious in the film, a delightful bit of Regency escapism directed by Emma Holly Jones. Ashton is open about the fact that she was third in line to play Julia: Gemma Chan starred in the short, a test run for the feature which got the go-ahead after the success of another diversely cast Austenian spin, Bridgerton. Constance Wu was initially slated for the role before Ashton was called to step in at the last minute on the suggestion of Pinto. "We'd worked together a couple of years ago, and so she was like, 'Can we finally just try Zawe?'" she says. "The script came across my desk and I had about 24 hours to say yes or no.”

Ashton has been acting since she was a child and has fallen in and out of love with it, but she's on the precipice of even greater fame. Next year she'll appear in the Captain Marvel follow up The Marvel. She can't say who she's playing, but it's been reported she's a villain. For now, she's a different sort of baddie in the charming romantic comedy, out in theaters now. "What is right on brand for me, which I keep realizing, is she is very much the antihero of the piece," she says, digging into a shiny strawberry tart. "People are loving to hate Julia, which makes me feel really happy."

Ashton has thought critically about her work as an actor, even writing a semi-autobiographical novel called Character Breakdown, so she has been long conscious of the tradition of overbearing whiteness in British period adaptations. Even though she could read the novels and see herself as an Emma, for example—"Lizzy Bennet is not me," she says—she was never cast in the endless parade of BBC adaptations.

"There's been a lot of unpacking, having now sat down at the table," she says. I ask her to elaborate: "Well, my first costume fitting, for example. I put on a corset and a bonnet and these little silky slippers, and I felt so soft and tender and aspirational and was transported to this world that peers of mine had been transported to millions of times. And I found myself thinking, 'Why would anyone not think I was capable of this softness and sweetness?' Because this is an aspirational genre. We weren't there. We're making it up."

Coincidentally, Ashton had been seeking a break in reality. "Just before Malcolm's List came in, I'd said to my manager, 'Get me in a corset,' after seeing Bridgerton," she says. "It was a throwaway comment. And just before that, I'd had a frustrated rant about the industry and its expectations, and I was like, 'I just feel like I should only play characters that are seriously fictional. I shouldn't play real people, I think I should find a niche where I play people not from this realm.'" Then The Marvels came along.

After Betrayal, Ashton had her agent set up meetings with underrepresented directors. She was more interested in finding people to work with than projects to work on. One of those filmmakers was Nia DaCosta, whose indie Little Woods had yielded a gig directing the new Candyman. They bonded over their love of Austen's Persuasion. And then DaCosta was tapped to direct the Captain Marvel sequel and called up Ashton.

Ashton, of course, had been adjacent to the MCU in Betrayal, given that Hiddleston is best known as Loki and Cox was Netflix's Daredevil, but she wasn't really versed in the material. "It sounds so disrespectful because you should always watch your costars' work when you go to work with them," she says, but she was a fan of their theatrical performances and Hiddleston's work in The Souvenir auteur Joanna Hogg's early films. For Halloween, Cox and Hiddleston decided to swap roles and dress as their respective characters. Ashton donned a blonde wig and went as Captain Marvel, but she had never seen the movie—or any of the movies outside of Black Panther.

"We all just sat down as a cast and looked at the costumes that were going to be available in time for Halloween," she says. "I was like, 'This outfit is cool, I'm definitely going to wear this.' And obviously was a huge Brie Larson fan in her other work, but that was a random manifestation." When her part in The Marvels was announced, the Halloween photo spread across the internet. She's since gotten caught up with the MCU, but still wasn't fully aware of what she had gotten herself into. "I didn't think it through," she says. "I just knew that I wanted to serve Nia."

The clash of fantasy and reality is a theme in Ashton's life right now. The night before we speak, she attended a special screening of Malcolm's List wearing a stunning jeweled Sabina Bilenko Couture gown that gave her the aura of a goddess. Her getting ready process was featured in a Vogue story that doubled as a pregnancy announcement. Some time into our conversation, I ask her about feeling as if she had to reveal her pregnancy with the media attention around her relationship.

"Maybe me a few years ago would have said something different, but I don't feel like I have to do anything," she tells me. "And we're having really important conversations that will help us out of very, very disturbing times about women and their own power and autonomy over their own bodies. That can also be a mindset. So I feel very autonomous in myself at this point in my life." If she can make some kind of statement by appearing pregnant on a red carpet, she will.

As we wrap up, she gets a container for her fresh berries to-go and sweeps out into the Chelsea streets in the billowing dress with flowers growing out of its seam. It's something out a fairytale, just like Mr. Malcolm's List.

"We've had such a difficult, bleak couple of years, and there is just something extremely pure about [the Regency] era and peoples' intentions, and also the tropes that run through these pieces," she says. "There will be enemies becoming lovers. There will be romance, there will be someone who's desperately trying to marry for love rather than position. It's a bit like going to your favorite café every day rather than switching it up." Perhaps even a place like La Bergamote. (x)

#zawe ashton #thrillist #article #interview #mr. malcolm’s list #the marvels #mml promo

[honeysucklepink]

Covid Day 3 (apparently? What happened to the other days? I’ll tell you under a cut cause damn I’m long-wimdy):

Day 0: Thursday, when I started having symptoms (scratchy throat, sinus congestion, achy joints though to be fair one of those is a jammed up finger from my fall two months ago, and a temp of 99, which for me is actually a bit high). Went to work anyway LIKE A MORON, but stayed closed up in my office. About noon, when no one showed up to my online workshop (one person tried to login on mobile twice then gave up) and I realized I could barely get through it anyway, I took a Covid test I keep in my desk drawer--negative. Okay, so maybe the flu? Even though I had my flu and covid booster a few weeks ago, maybe it’s a strain they didn’t catch? I went to student health. Did I tell you my campus has declared we are “post-covid” and they aren’t even doing masks? And now you need an appointment, my primary doc had the week off, and the lady said “oh it’s probably just this bad cold that’s been going around anyway” *GGGRRR* I say fuck it, call it a day, run to Walmart to grab some meds and soup and decide I’m taking Friday off too.

Day 1: Friday. Still feel like crud, though the cough is starting to be productive at least, the temp is up and down but mainly in the upper 98-99 range. Sit in virtually on a faculty meeting, then a phone meeting with the estate attorney re: Dad’s will. Hubby is in a tree stand all day so I take care of myself. Fix some veggie beef soup and a roll for lunch, PBJ for a snack, and some stir-fry Hubs made the night before for dinner. Plus LOADS of ginger tea with honey and lemon. Hope I’m improving by Saturday because a work friend is having her “Birthday/Halloween/Breast Cancer in Remission” party tomorrow night and my Coach Beard costume is on POINT.

Day 2: Saturday. Fuck me. I wake up SWEATING, burning up. My temperature is now 100.0 (Allie Brosh gif “no, I wanted the opposite of this”) and I decide “fuck it, I’m taking another Covid test.” Well screw me sideways, for the first time since March 2020 when all this shit started it finally got to me. I text Hubs “DON’T COME IN HERE” and he texts back “LET ME GET THE FLAME THROWER” (haha very funny). Instead he brings me coffee, toast, and eggs. Then I ask him three separate texts for 1) apple butter for my toast 2) Crystal hot sauce for my eggs and 3) a glass of orange juice. Hey it’s the least he can do after the flame thrower quip. Fortunately there is an urgent care open until 4 pm down the road, so I go there, follow protocols, they don’t give me another test (apparently the home test positives are pretty accurate, they are more likely to give you false negatives). Interestingly they do not recommend paxlovid at this clinic, especially with my high blood pressure. They give me a shot to start my antibiotic/steroid boost, I run pick up a bunch of meds and some McDonalds, and hunker down in my isolation chamber and proceed to watch my Ole Miss Rebels end their seven-game winning streak. Joy. Hubby brings me soup and a roll and some gatorade.

So that makes today (Sunday) Day 3. According to CDC guidelines, I should isolate 5 days from the start of my symptoms, then so long as I’m feeling better after Day 5 and my temp has been normal for 24 hours, I can go back to work wearing a mask for at least five more days (though I will probably wear a mask for the rest of my life. I’ve realized I don’t like my lower face; my teeth are crooked, my lips are oddly scarred from years of cold sores, I’ve developed a complete lack of a chin which now blends into my neck...yeah I’ll wear a mask forever. Which would be easier if I didn’t also have to wear glasses)

#covid-19 #now back to my regular shitposting

[jay-lea]

actually fuck it i need to list my old coworkers because it’s insane there were so insane ones

coworker who called out almost every monday from hangovers or went home early while still drunk from the night before bc she was going clubbing during the height of the pandemic for her entire weekends. She actually started her first week during the height of infections by taking off her mask so she could use her phone while telling me about the huge halloween parties she’d done the night before even tho a few of her friends had been exposed to covid. Talked a lot about massaging her lymph node so she could be healthy and begged people not to get vaccinated when our work offered us the vax early for frontline work. Repeatedly told people she had gotten heart conditions from the J&J shot but only after she had just chugged large coffees. wouldn’t wear gloves while touching carcinogens and later we found out she had done all her tests wrong for a solid year too

coworker who had failed out of gen chem 2 times and was failing it a third time when she got hired despite the 4 YEAR SCIENCE DEGREE REQUIREMENT. She poured acid down the sinks and had no idea how a ton of lab stuff worked but everyone said she was nice enough that I shouldn’t be so hard on someone who was still learning. I prev got scrutinized for my degree not being a real science before there. She also liked to come up w rumors about coworkers like that they failed their drug test or were alcoholics and would ask people to take Mormon trivia quizzes w her so they could join her faith. The first time we talked I asked her a generic question about whether she lived w family or pets and she immediately told me graphically about how she killed two turtles by starvation and stopped going to work and school a few months ago bc she didn’t feel like it and not to be shocked, I shouldn’t discriminate about her mental health. She called out a lot, took hours for lunch, and regularly came in an hour late and left hours early while whining that I didn’t stop her from going home so now she would be broke. 

Coworker who immediately told me I was doing stuff wrong the first day she started despite me being there 2 yrs and her being there 1 hour. Routinely tried to quiz people on element names, science, and math to prove she was the smartest person in the room. Called me homophobic for going to pride bc despite the rainbow and trans flags on my locker she couldn’t tell I was gay, then made a joke about me being a top. Took three two-week vacations and then a two week sick leave so she barely existed, then did zero work when she was there but every time I did the actual work of emailing people or writing new lab stuff, she would get mad and rewrite it and personally message our manager asking if I was actually right bc she didn’t think i was right. Got to the point where I was getting migraines every monday and panic attacks on sundays bc she was so goddamn mean to me every week while thinking we were friends bc friends can roast each other. She would talk over me at every meeting and my stutter got so bad I would lose the ability to talk or start forgetting basic words (which she loved bc then she sounded smarter than me). 

the manager who made me publically out myself on department wide meeting awkwardly bc I asked for people to stop making homophobic and transphobic jokes about me. He gave almost every person weeks off or let them get away w leaving early and doing no work bc he said I would handle it and ig is doing the same thing to my replacement rn too

Honorable mentions:

the guy who talked about how he always open carries and implied he was at the moment

the manager that would laugh at me when I did intros w new ppl bc he thought my hobbies were weird and ig was not afraid to let me know it each time

the supervisor obsessed w elon musk who tried to work 80 weeks bc he genuinely believed billionares work 100+ hr weeks and was so tired he made zero sense and didn’t remember how to do anything

the coworker i replaced who would tell two areas she was busy with the other area but then go to a meeting room and nap for the day. she now does mlms full time. 

#no idea what to tag this #but got it feels good to finally see that ppl were insane there

[rantsintechnicolor]

The appointment

“You’re getting an IUD today?” W asks me over the first breakfast I have made since I tested positive for covid. It’s pumpkin waffles. Leavened with yeast and proofed overnight. These waffles are a delicacy in our house. Especially so with the delicious backyard blackberries I prick my fingers over and over for, because that pain is so worth the pleasure of eating them. 

She’s not eating them. 

“Yes,” I replied. She just saw it come up on the calendar, but I told her this a month ago. 

“Did your doctor recommend you get one? For your period?”

“She did recommend that one in particular after what I told her. But no, I wanted one.”

“Why?”

“Well, we have an open relationship.” She does have a terrible memory, but surely she hasn’t forgotten this after the difficult conversations we’ve had about it. I guess the question is how she remembers the conversations. “And I’m approaching menopause. This might help with those irregular periods I’ve been having. And my cramps have always been horrible. Lately, I feel like they have been worse.”

She thinks my answer about the open relationship is glib. Yes, it is. I don’t want her to linger over the scary thought that I might find someone better than her, and leave her for them. While I’ve assured her this isn’t the goal, I can’t assure her this wouldn’t happen.

She eats her waffles slowly as she reads extensively about the evils of IntraUterine Devices, starting with the articles written by lawyers trying to collect damages for their clients. “Five percent of people experience hair loss.” She knows I am a little sensitive about this given my genetics. “Intracranial hypertension. Makes you seem like you have a tumor in your brain. Stroke. It can get lost in your uterus. That sounds fun.” Eventually, she does finish her breakfast, but long after I have finished mine.

Finally, I ask her if she wants me to cancel my appointment. 

“No. It’s your choice. You know me. I don’t trust doctors. You have to be your own health advocate.”

She continues to groan and cringe over what she is reading. And my anxiety about getting the procedure is mounting.

“IUDs have a bad rap. I’m surprised they would suggest it because there is one case that is so horribly memorable that people don’t even suggest them. Plus they keep getting yanked from the market. They keep getting canceled.”

It’s true, womens health is not where it could be and with Roe overturned, it isn’t going to get better any time soon. So of course there is shit on the market and things are getting constantly pulled.

I sigh with some frustration. Right before covid we were listening to a program about how state of mind can influence health outcomes, and she told me she was especially interested in using the information to help me fight covid. It seems like she has already forgotten about the program, but I haven’t and a lot of times that’s the rub; I’ll remember something and be frustrated when she doesn’t. I know she isn’t trying to sabotage me. I know she is just worried about my health. But the time for all of this was last month, not the day of my appointment. Not an hour before my appointment. And I told her so.

By the time I got to the appointment, I had almost cried several times but my anger and annoyance seemed to be the override. There are things I wanted to ask and mention to the staff, but I feel my throat tighten and the tears prick behind my eyes. I’ve cried on the phone at them once already, and I don’t want them to have to deal with that again, nor do I want to be that woman that always cries. So instead I take a deep breath. Then I say something else and I move on. Several times I thought of walking out of the office, or calling a halt to it. I almost hoped my cervix would be so tight that the doctor would be unable to complete the procedure. And it was painful. But then it was over.

I got home and I was still mad. I started telling her about the things that made me angry on the visit. They didn’t give me a list of instructions for before the procedure, which included a urine sample to make sure I wasn’t pregnant. I did know I was supposed to take IBuprofen before the insertion, but I forgot. The technician gave me the last three pills in the office.

“Was it painful?” W asked. 

“Yes, more than I thought it would be.”

“Do you want a hug?”

“I always want a hug.” I cried loudly, sobbed uncontrollably, tears all over her soft home-hacked tank top and shoulder. She held me. And I don’t think she’s ever held me like that. I don’t think she’s ever laid her head on me like that. She let me cry it out. 

Later she told me, “I feel like I’m toxic.” 

“It came from a place of concern.” While the way she expressed her concern for my health did affect me negatively, at least she knows it now. Maybe if she hadn't taken such great care of me during my covid infection, I would have reason to doubt her. But no. There is love there, however clumsily it is shown. 

“Turns out your IUD is just as dangerous as birth control pills, which didn’t kill you when you were taking them, so…” I took a deep breath and sighed.

---

That program about mindset for those of you who are interested

#birth control #side effects #health outcomes #creative writing #writing #love #relationships #open relationships #IUD #mindset

[wellhellonurse]

How's your stress level?

After burying Dad, after having 2 kids, after being a nurse through the pandemic. I'm not sure I have that receptor anymore. The needle on the gauge went into the red a decade back and the gauge exploded with a puff of smoke.

I don't monitor my stress anymore. I measure my anger and my apathy. When I'm annoyed and it's coming out in every word I say to my daughter. When I'm picking fights with anyone close to me.

And the apathy, when I just sit and eat and stare and scroll and scroll and scroll... And the hours tick on. Suddenly it's 4am. Should I be awake? What day is it? When do I work next?

That's how I triangulate my stress level. I find the hypotenuse of my rage and apathy. There.

Ever since I became a nurse, it's always been this way. You care too much, you snap. You stop caring, you snap. You gotta walk the line. You have to care until you don't. You gotta not give a fuck until you do.

How are you managing stress?

I drink and smoke and swear and fuck.

What? We're you hoping I'd say yoga? Exercise? That I get 8 hours and put my faith in God? Sorry, no.

But you have a point, I don't do anything about my stress. At one point I used to write. I found a way to purge myself.

Maybe I could try that again.

I want to put it out in the universe though. I need to feel like someone is reading it, even if they're not. It's like you might feed yourself a hunk of cheese and 3 slices of salami and a sleeve of Ritz. But if company's coming, you make a charcuterie. Same thing, just better presentation.

I didn't fill bedside journals with anything but complaints. I never arrive at any point, conclusion, moral. But I used to, when I had my shitty little livejournal a long time ago. I wrote poetry and experiences. I bore my soul on an empty stage, no one clapped, but no one laughed either.

So this is that attempt. I found my old Tumblr. I deleted all the cringy reposted thirst-traps of Daniel Radcliffe. And I'm making an attempt. To mange my stress. To purge myself all the experiences I'm still caring around.

Your reward for making it this far, here's your bedtime story:

Once upon a time, there was a woman who came in for a cough, we tested her for covid. She came up positive. She asked with a condescending arch of her eyebrow how she tested positive for a made up disease. She was discharged. She came back 5 days later. Her oxygen saturation was in the 70s. We put her on a bipap, and then a vent.

Then she died, of a made up disease we couldn't save her from.

Goodnight

[anxiouspregnantlady]

bye bye baby

i think i've been afraid to write here, to make it feel real, but last thursday we had our u/s and discovered a 6+4 sac with a yolk sac (maybe an amniotic sac??? i think?) and - no baby. of course i feel grief & anger & numbness but also - the relief is unreal. it feels good to know.

so many thoughts.

i'll start with technical things... finally got an hcg done on sat and it was 15499 so more consistent with 6w. waiting on monday's value. had another ultrasound this morning and the sac shrank perhaps ever so slightly but otherwise same. they were (in my opinion) unreasonably concerned about ectopic b/c of a cyst on my right ovary but i always have a cyst on my right ovary and i'm not medical but .uh. isn't that the corpus luteum (also i happen to know that i ovulated from the right).

care-wise. i continue to be so grateful for LWC midwives, they have been absolutely lovely. both u/s techs have been ok. there is apparently a NP midwife at LWC who expressly does early pregnancy loss stuff (!) so i have felt medically taken care of.

i had an itch to want to see if i could do tissue testing on the miscarriage but am probably leaning away from it - too much trouble, worried about scarring, worried about billing (esp without good health insurance). i'll just never know.

i have a strong suspicion that an embryo did form this time, we just caught it too late and it had already stopped developing & had been reabsorbed. i was quite nauseous (still a bit nauseous) & we didn't get a yolk sac last time. and there looked to me like there was an amniotic sac, though it was empty. and it's just a hunch.

i've been so tired, both jetlagged but also just grief. at 5-6 pm i lose the ability to stay awake entirely. you couldn't pay me enough money to stay awake. i just lose consciousness wherever i am. and again after p "puts me to bed" at 8pm i cannot get myself out of bed and sleep for 15, 30, 45 minutes. And then when midnight rolls around i absolutely cannot sleep, i take melatonin, baths, etc. and p has been up at weird hours anyway, crying mama, mama, mama.

showing up to work has been ... well, it's been a miracle that i have been. i did cancel a thursday night appointment after the u/s but other than that i've been fudging my way through, trying not to let show how raw and bruised and completely depleted i am.

k has been wonderful. he is keeping me going. p somewhat understands what is happening. yesterday during bath she announced she had a baby in her belly, and then plucked it out and said she was putting it in mama's belly. she knows mama is going to the doctor a lot and always asks if i am still hurting. i told her the baby is gone. i don't know how to walk this line between being honest with her and protecting her. i kind of think that she must understanding the workings of embryonic life/nonlife better than me, being that much more proximate developmentally/spiritually. only a few years ago she was also in the womb! but she is generally still her happy, curious, thriving little self, and we keep thinking how depressed we would be without her.

sigh.

it was too good to be true.

i only asked the universe for one more baby.

i think, maybe even more than wanting to have this baby, i wanted to never ever ever have to fucking go through this again.

(but i did really want to have this baby)

i am back in the world of Not Knowing. i don't know how many more pregnancies i will have or how many tries it will take to have those pregnancies, or how many weeks each of the pregnancies will last. i still don't know! why! my! body! can't! carry most pregnancies to term!

k thinks maybe we were just too sick and stressed from all kinds of bugs (including covid) and from the 40 hours of travel and 13hr timezone changes and his loss of employment and loss of insurance. and that's why we miscarried. i don't think the line is so clear, but i think one big takeaway from this whole thing is: i need mothering. in my desire to mother another child (and in my struggle to mother the one i already have), i sorely need mothering. i need a warm, generous, wise, and proximate figure to be keeping tabs on me - i need to be on their radar - i need their hugs, hot drinks, meals, nurture, comfort, advice, solace, confidence, life experience.

so my body is still clinging to this pregnancy (coming up on 9 weeks), and i suspect it will be awhile before I start bleeding. maybe christmas.

and then?

and then we are definitely going to take a break. there is (just a bit) less hurry this time - we have our hands full - and i do want to develop some better habits re: nourishing myself, caring for myself. i've barely eaten in the past 5 weeks. and anyway we are going to wait for k to get a job and new health insurance, and we are focusing on some other dreams too.

and then i want to do a bit of testing, maybe a hysteroscopy/endometrial biopsy, a few clotting tests that we missed, re-check my thyroid, etc. have a WTF appointment w dr. kelly/make a plan.

and then we'll see. immediately after i got the news i felt strongly that i could never go through this again, or risk going through again. i felt that we would just have to walk the path of accepting that we were done growing our family. it felt good to be like, HELL yah we won't contribute to overpopulation or subject our unborn child to this mess. but that doesn't really resonate... i still really want to try. to have a child and to raise them so that it is worth it.

so many things hurt about this. hella everyone is pregnant or giving birth. i hate the dejavu with our first pregnancy, feels stuck/stagnant & like we are destined to be in and out of sad ultrasound appointments. feel like we wasted our trip.

[airasilver]

‘We were told the vaccine was safe - but what happened has been life-changing’

Robert Mendick

Wed, November 8, 2023 at 12:00 PM EST·10 min read

Kate Scott was called by the hospital three times to say goodbye to her husband. Three times she dashed to his bedside expecting him to die at any moment. Three times she thought she would be widowed, leaving her to bring up their two young children, the youngest just a baby at the time, on her own and without the “love of her life”.

But her husband Jamie was nothing if not a fighter. He pulled through and survived the “catastrophic” bleed on his brain. He is not, however, the same man. He can no longer hold down the job he had; can no longer follow complex conversations; his sight is impaired and the simplest things – such as reading a book – are no longer quite so simple.

“We are the luckiest of unlucky people,” says Kate. “We have both gratitude and sorrow. We are grieving for what we have lost but I am so grateful that each morning I can wake up next to him.”

Jamie can recall nothing of the four weeks and five days he remained in a coma in intensive care. “I don’t remember any of it. I don’t remember any of that time. The only thing I can remember is waking up and seeing Kate,” said Jamie.

He is now a test case; the first person to lodge a claim for damages against AstraZeneca in a landmark legal action that – should he win – could pave the way for hundreds of claims and damages that will run into the tens, if not hundreds, of millions.

Jamie was 44, fit and healthy and a keen 10km runner, when his life (and by extension Kate’s and their boys’) was turned upside down. A little over two years ago – on April 23 2021 – Jamie did what so many other Britons did. He went to his local GP clinic in the West Midlands, where the family live, for a Covid jab. It was in the relatively early days of the vaccine rollout and the UK was pushing hard the AstraZeneca vaccine developed at Oxford University.

There had been warnings starting to emerge of possible blood clots associated with the vaccine – two weeks before Jamie had the jab, the UK had stopped giving the AstraZeneca vaccine to the under-30s. But Jamie had wanted to do his bit and get vaccinated so he and the children could visit his elderly father. He wasn’t having the jab for himself. For a man his age and in excellent health, Covid-19 posed little threat. The AstraZeneca vaccine proved to be near fatal.

“We weren’t worried about ourselves,” says Kate, “We were fit and healthy. We don’t smoke, we don’t really drink.”

Jamie is sanguine. “I was just doing what the Government was telling us,” he says.

When he went for the first jab, Jamie had asked for Pfizer; he had been aware vaguely of the possible risk of the Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine. But there was no Pfizer available. The Government had bought millions of doses from AstraZeneca.

For 10 days after the first dose, Jamie was fine. He went home and went about his normal life. Then, on the morning of May 3, his – and the family’s – life fell apart. Kate recalls what happened next. Jamie complained of tiredness and Kate let him sleep in, taking the boys downstairs for breakfast. “An hour later, he vomited,” recalls Kate. The noise of his retching was unlike anything she had ever heard. “It sounded different. I came upstairs to check on him. At this point his speech was impaired. I thought he was having a stroke. He just wasn’t speaking a language and he didn’t know where he was or who I was.”

His condition continued to deteriorate. Despite the Covid restrictions in place at the time, Jamie’s father was summoned to his bedside along with Kate, who was keeping vigil. “By this time he was non-communicative and didn’t know who I was,” says Kate.

The situation was now desperate. Coventry hospital summoned an air ambulance to get Jamie to Birmingham for an emergency operation at the one hospital in the region with the expertise to carry it out. But a storm prevented the helicopter from flying and Jamie was rushed there by road instead. Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham was the third hospital to treat Jamie in the course of just one day. Doctors there would keep him alive.

Jamie was in surgery for three hours for what was a catastrophic bleed on the brain. An MRI scan showed the damage to an area of the brain 97mm by 47mm, almost four inches by almost two inches. It is equivalent to about the area of a credit card. That now is dead tissue, says Kate.

“The reason this was so complicated to treat and the reason Jamie is lucky to be alive is this had never happened before. It [VITT] didn’t exist.” It is why she knows the vaccine was responsible for Jamie’s near death; why it was the cause of the bleed on the brain. The vaccine had caused both a massive clot at the entrance to the brain and a bleed on the inside. Treating the clot risked worsening the bleed, says Kate.

Jamie underwent a craniotomy, removing part of his skull to reduce the swelling. For the next four weeks and five days he was in a coma on a ventilator and with a tracheotomy put in his throat. Through the whole terrifying time, Kate was largely refused permission to see her husband because of strict Covid regulations inside the intensive care unit. Their children, at the time aged four and eight months, did not see their father for four months. Only the previous month, Downing Street staffers had been enjoying illegal parties inside the seat of power, including one on the eve of the Duke of Edinburgh’s funeral.

Kate saw her husband when the hospital was fairly sure he was dying. “Three times I was called in to say goodbye; three times I was called in because they thought he wasn’t going to make it,” says Kate. “But the boys didn’t see him for 122 days. For them their dad just disappeared. He couldn’t communicate and he couldn’t Facetime. He was just gone. That was so hard.”

Kate was persistent and in the end negotiated with the hospital authorities that she could visit Jamie for an hour each week. “I was luckier than others,” she says with an optimism born out of extreme hardship. “Jamie is a medical miracle. If you see the damage on the MRI scan you can understand that.”

Kate admits it is both “hard” and “sad” to talk about what happened to Jamie. She does a lot of talking for him. “I still get goosebumps. He was my perfect partner, he was the perfect date. The hardest thing for Jamie now is he is not able to be that same dad and husband. We have two boys who are energetic. They love playing football and climbing trees and Jamie can’t do that anymore. He remembers that he could. He has that constant internal battle with himself, knowing what life was like before and knowing his limitations and understanding he can’t do anything about that because of the size of the bleed.”

Jamie had been super-fit, “not an ounce of fat on him”, and to the outside world looks well enough. Kate wonders if it would be better if he needed a stick to walk, something to telegraph to the public at large that her husband is not very well at all. He is on medication, has undergone 240 hours of rehab, and his concentration is shot to pieces. Jamie doesn’t even have the confidence to ride a bike. He has had to stop driving and has given up a lucrative job developing IT software.

He tells his wife he is “inadequate”. He says: “I will never be able to do my old job. I am struggling with the number of people on this call now,” a reference to the Zoom call we are on. “I can hear what people are talking about but it all becomes a blur. I am still not sure I will get better. It’s been two years.”

Kate says: “The high-functioning area of his brain is damaged. He has blindness.”

It has taken two years of therapy for Kate to talk about what has happened to them. But she is angry and has reluctantly stuck her head above the parapet to highlight the terrible toll wreaked on families by the Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine. They – like other families – have also had to battle the Government’s hopelessly antiquated and inadequate compensation scheme, which currently limits them to a £120,000 payout. This doesn’t even come close to compensating them for lost future earnings, let alone the damage and distress that has ripped the Scotts apart.

The award is paid out in fatal cases and where victims suffer a “severe disablement”, which is assessed as at least 60 per cent disabled. On first acquaintance, Jamie seems fine, but the reality is his life has changed irreparably.

“We are private people but we cannot stand the injustice of it,” explains Kate. “We have been lobbying the Government for 18 months for fair compensation for the injury caused by the vaccine. AstraZeneca have never even spoken to us, never apologised. It is unethical. It was wrong. No organisation should be above the law but the cost of putting right the injustice is too much. We were told by the Government the vaccine was safe and effective but what’s happened to Jamie has been life changing and their vaccine caused that.”

The tragedy (or near tragedy) has left Kate and Jamie confused and unsure about vaccines. They are not anti-vaxx but they are, and it’s not difficult to comprehend, sceptical. “I’ve been trying to think of an analogy. If we had a severe nut allergy you wouldn’t call me anti-peanuts. We are definitely vaccine-hesitant now.

“These reactions were much more frequent than they led us to believe,” she said. “It is quite low but it makes me angry. They knew the vaccine didn’t stop transmission. We met the neurosurgeon who saved Jamie’s life. Jamie survived but we learned that others didn’t, in the same week. He was the miracle. We are the luckiest unluckiest people. We are so grateful but it is tinged with so much sorrow. Our lives are so much different.

“I have now met the people in parallel lives widowed by this. That is what the future could have looked like.”

I’m surprised that Yahoo has this on their website….now I wonder when others will be shown?

#world #britian #united kingdom #vaccines

[sir-arlieosaurus-lung-struggler]

I just remembered a cringe moment, heres a copy of a text I sent:

"I was doing those manifestation things a few years ago, like before covid, to test it out for myself I essentially asked:

"dear universe, will I ever get married," I think u can see where this is going- "if so, show me insert a non-daily thing to see within the next 24 hours, thanks bye."

Whatever I asked it to show me showed up, I continued with the questions as I saw fit in my journal. but tha thing is- I only i took the method seriously- not the actual answer to my throw away question which I asked cause i pretty much was the simplest thing I could think of as a first ask 😂

How did I realize this??? I did it for a while, then to introduce the topic to my mom- I FUCKING TOLD HER ABOUT THE THROW AWAY QUESTION THAT I ONLY REALIZED ONCE SHE REPEATED WHAT I HAD SAID I HADNT TAKEN THE ANSWER SERIOUSLY 🤦‍♂️😂"

#How in the flying fuck did I not know I was aro????? #Manifestation #aromantic #apothiromantic #aro #aromaticism #aromantic spectrum #aromantism #aspec #arospec

[justrandommethoughts]

The Start

This post defines the start of my journey. It was way back in 2019 when I first went to therapy (Yeah for me that's way back, the whole covid period just makes everything before feel soo long ago).

I was still together with my first girlfriend back then, almost for 6 years to that day. I never thought I have mental issues, but I was never the 'feeling' kind of person. I did not really feel anything. Of course, I would tell my ex I loved her, I was sad at the funeral of my grandparents, but it felt artificial, not real. I was just acting along how I was supposed to feel, without really feeling it. But for me that was normal, I've been this way for as long as I could remember. But then, I started to develope random symptoms of illnesses that could not be diagnosed by doctors/specialists. I had issues/pain peeing, my head skin was itching, I developed a tinnitus. After going through some painful proedures (I am very much referring to an urologist, who had to take a 'sample' of my urethra and was sticking some thing into my penis. I think that was the most painful thing I ever experienced, I can't even describe the pain I was in. I really never cried, but that, that made me cry) Well, anyways, after all these tests were showing no results of some illness, my doctor referred me to a therapist. I even got a pretty fast appointment, it only took me a few weeks. I was super lucky with that and I am still grateful (I might have to add that I live in Germany, so I did not have to pay for any of these doctors visit, I am super lucky)

So, the first therapy session was ahead. I was super nervous and could not imagine what it would be like to talk to somebody like that. I had no clue what to talk to him about, as there were no emotions or internal thoughts that I could tell him about. It was just empty, nothing, a void. It felt a bit odd, but honestly my memory is rather blurry about these past days. I was with this therapist for almost a year and a half, having sessions about every 2 weeks. And it helped, I noticed my feelings again, I could feel again. It's crazy to think about it, but I actually can't remember what exactly we did. He asked me how I felt about certain things, and I could not answer. Like what do you feel when you think about this teacher. I could not tell, I had numbness. So we went through all feelings there are, and I tried to imagine what it would feel like. And after some time, I noticed them again, at least something. A tickle maybe, but enough to talk about it.

An interesting event we pointed out, which back then seemed to be really important was something a teacher did to me when I was in 6th grade (so about 12/13). It was geography, and the teacher was a real asshole. He was that kind of teacher that takes pleasure in embarrasing kids, making him feel superior. He would always insult classmates and tell them how dumb they are. Well, and then one day it happened to me. I was rather more open back then, more expressive. I wore a shirt saying something like 'Homework are dangerous for my freetime' and he looked at it and shouted across the classroom 'It should rather say Homework are dangerous for your stupidity'. It really hurt thinking about this event, back then during the therapy session it felt like a turning point. It had such a massive impact, I could not really deal with it. After the therapy I went home and I was feeling unwell already. I then basically puked the whole evening and cried until my parents came and picked me up. They live about an hour away by car, so not too close. I thought that was the event troubling me and being a turning point in my development, so processing it really helped (At least back then it was a good start, but not to imagine what would come lol). Anyways, a few weeks after my girlfriend, then ex-girlfriend broke up with me. I was done with everything, the whole world. My world was falling apart. Even though I did not really feel that I loved her, I was still having a connection. A closesness that I can not really describe, she just felt like home. The therapy really helped processing it, having somebody to talk to who does not judge you no matter what you say. Who even understands and helps you order your thoughts and feelings. I wrote letters to her, which I never sent, just for myself. A lot of letters. I also sent her one message, a very long message, talking about what good times we had and that we should try it again, but to no avail. It was over. About three months later she had a new boyfriend, somebody from her work, and I thought it would not really affect me. I was just shrugging it off, saying its her thing, I don't care. Thinking about it from my perspective now, I actually cared and still do. It made everything before feel artificial, questioning if she also wanted him when we were still together, if there was something happening maybe. I don't think so, my rational self tells me no, she is not such a person, but I nevertheless have these thoughts.

Then Covid hit, I still remeber it in March 2020, when everything shut down. I then moved back to my parents. I was living in a shared appartment, but I had no real connection to my roommates and all my other friends also moved back to their parents. I had remote therapy during that period, and it was actually ok. It felt a little hard to open up over a video call at first, but I can recommend it if you can't see a therapist in person. After a few months the therapy was at an end. We had to either file an application for long term treatment or stop, and we both agreed on that I was feeling better and could deal with myself without any help (Oh how wrong we were).

The next part of the story will come whenever I feel like it and have the time, but until my next therapy a couple years went by. It actually only started a few months ago. I will then also go a little more into detail, but that backstory might be intersting to see where I am coming from.

#mental health #personal

[timeoverload]

So far this week has been absolutely miserable and if I don't bitch about it I think I might have an episode. We are still short so many people and I'm going to be mostly by myself every morning until at least the 10th so I have a lot more responsibilities than I normally do and I'm not really equipped to deal with it right now. My immune system has taken a shit the past few months and I'm sick AGAIN. I think it's funny how I have 2 spleens and neither of them are doing a very good job. I've taken several covid tests but they have all been negative. I'm going to test again in the morning because someone I work with has it and I still feel really shitty and it feels like I have fluid in my lungs. I don't have a fever but my bones hurt and I keep getting hot flashes. I suppose the air quality isn't the best in the house so that doesn't really help. I really don't want covid again either because it's horrible and I don't want to let anyone down right now. I also need to get my steroid injection on Friday and I'm super stressed about being too sick to do it so I hope I start feeling better soon. I've been trying to take care of myself the best I can. I'm also really nervous about having a needle in my spine. I guess I've developed a phobia of medical procedures ever since I was in the hospital for sepsis almost 2 years ago and I've had to have a lot of painful tests done since then. I'm hoping I have a better experience this time even though it sounds like it's going to be uncomfortable. Today was such a mess and it felt like everything went wrong and so many things had to be redone because of stupid shit. I also fucked up when I tried to go in the operating room while they were setting up to grab some forceps out of the closet and my jacket touched the tip of the drape so I contaminated the whole table and the tech got mad at me and I don't blame her. Luckily there wasn't a patient in there yet so they had time to deal with it but I felt really bad about it. That's the first time I've ever done that so I'm embarrassed and I should have been more careful. I can be sort of a perfectionist and I really hate making mistakes so that threw off my whole day. Not long after that happened, I got yelled at by the evening lead because he was stressed out by everything going on. I really hate getting yelled at. I don't think he intended to direct his anger at me because he's generally a super nice guy but it felt that way. I didn't do anything to deserve that. I've known him a long time and I never had a problem with him but lately I've become more afraid of him and I feel like I'm walking on eggshells more. I think things are starting to get to him too and I'm afraid he's going to snap so I'm trying to help him as much as I can. I also feel guilty trying to leave when my shift is over now and it feels like everyone just expects me to stay as long as I physically can even though they are aware of the issues I'm having. I don't expect anyone to cater to me and I feel like I'm being annoying if I say anything about it but it would be nice to get a little empathy once in a while. I try not to talk about it unless someone mentions it. I'm also getting tired of people I don't even know asking me what's wrong with me. I stayed an hour late today and everyone was still grumpy when I left. It's really shitty when I have to do pans for 20 or 30+ cases a day by myself and then I'm expected to do more heavy lifting after that. I wish I could just worry about my own stuff and not try to do everything all the time because it's going to kill me. That's what I was trying to get away from when I switched to my current position. I don't mind helping out but sometimes I feel like I'm getting taken advantage of. I feel like I can't make anyone happy lately and I'm doing my best even though I can't meet my own needs. I'm so tired but I'm too stressed to sleep right now and I can't stop coughing. I hope my test is negative in the morning and that tomorrow is a better day. I can't wait to get out of this situation because it really sucks.

#vent