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cocklessboy · 10 months

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The biggest male privilege I have so far encountered is going to the doctor.

I lived as a woman for 35 years. I have a lifetime of chronic health issues including chronic pain, chronic fatigue, respiratory issues, and neurodivergence (autistic + ADHD). There's so much wrong with my body and brain that I have never dared to make a single list of it to show a doctor because I was so sure I would be sent directly to a psychologist specializing in hypochondria (sorry, "anxiety") without getting a single test done.

And I was right. Anytime I ever tried to bring up even one of my health issues, every doctor's initial reaction was, at best, to look at me with doubt. A raised eyebrow. A seemingly casual, offhand question about whether I'd ever been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. Even female doctors!

We're not talking about super rare symptoms here either. Joint pain. Chronic joint pain since I was about 19 years old. Back pain. Trouble breathing. Allergy-like reactions to things that aren't typically allergens. Headaches. Brain fog. Severe insomnia. Sensitivity to cold and heat.

There's a lot more going on than that, but those were the things I thought I might be able to at least get some acknowledgement of. Some tests, at least. But 90% of the time I was told to go home, rest, take a few days off work, take some benzos (which they'd throw at me without hesitation), just chill out a bit, you'll be fine. Anxiety can cause all kinds of odd symptoms.

Anyone female-presenting reading this is surely nodding along. Yup, that's just how doctors are.

Except...

I started transitioning about 2.5 years ago. At this point I have a beard, male pattern baldness, a deep voice, and a flat chest. All of my doctors know that I'm trans because I still haven't managed to get all the paperwork legally changed, but when they look at me, even if they knew me as female at first, they see a man.

I knew men didn't face the same hurdles when it came to health care, but I had no idea it was this different.

The last time I saw my GP (a man, fairly young, 30s or so), I mentioned chronic pain, and he was concerned to see that it wasn't represented in my file. Previous doctors hadn't even bothered to write it down. He pushed his next appointment back to spend nearly an hour with me going through my entire body while I described every type of chronic pain I had, how long I'd had it, what causes I was aware of. He asked me if I had any theories as to why I had so much pain and looked at me with concerned expectation, hoping I might have a starting point for him. He immediately drew up referrals for pain specialists (a profession I didn't even know existed till that moment) and physical therapy. He said depending on how it goes, he may need to help me get on some degree of disability assistance from the government, since I obviously shouldn't be trying to work full-time under these circumstances.

Never a glimmer of doubt in his eye. Never did he so much as mention the word "anxiety".

There's also my psychiatrist. He diagnosed me with ADHD last year (meeting me as a man from the start, though he knew I was trans). He never doubted my symptoms or medical history. He also took my pain and sleep issues seriously from the start and has been trying to help me find medications to help both those things while I go through the long process of seeing other specialists. I've had bad reactions to almost everything I've tried, because that's what always happens. Sometimes it seems like I'm allergic to the whole world.

And then, just a few days ago, the most shocking thing happened. I'd been wondering for a while if I might have a mast cell condition like MCAS, having read a lot of informative posts by @thebibliosphere which sounded a little too relatable. Another friend suggested it might explain some of my problems, so I decided to mention it to the psychiatrist, fully prepared to laugh it off. Yeah, a friend thinks I might have it, I'm not convinced though.

His response? That's an interesting theory. It would be difficult to test for especially in this country, but that's no reason not to try treatments and see if they are helpful. He adjusted his medication recommendations immediately based on this suggestion. He's researching an elimination diet to diagnose my food sensitivities.

I casually mentioned MCAS, something routinely dismissed by doctors with female patients, and he instantly took the possibility seriously.

That's it. I've reached peak male privilege. There is nothing else that could happen that could be more insane than that.

I literally keep having to hold myself back from apologizing or hedging or trying to frame my theories as someone else's idea lest I be dismissed as a hypochondriac. I told the doctor I'd like to make a big list of every health issue I have, diagnosed and undiagnosed, every theory I've been given or come up with myself, and every medication I've tried and my reactions to it - something I've never done because I knew for a fact no doctor would take me seriously if they saw such a list all at once. He said it was a good idea and could be very helpful.

Female-presenting people are of course not going to be surprised by any of this, but in my experience, male-presenting people often are. When you've never had a doctor scoff at you, laugh at you, literally say "I won't consider that possibility until you've been cleared by a psychologist" for the most mundane of health problems, it might be hard to imagine just how demoralizing it is. How scary it becomes going to the doctor. How you can internalize the idea that you're just imagining things, making a big deal out of nothing.

Now that I'm visibly a man, all of my doctors are suddenly very concerned about the fact that I've been simply living like this for nearly four decades with no help. And I know how many women will have to go their whole lives never getting that help simply because of sexism in the medical field.

If you know a doctor, show them this story. Even if they are female. Even if they consider themselves leftists and feminists and allies. Ask them to really, truly, deep down, consider whether they really treat their male and female patients the same. Suggest that the next time they hear a valid complaint from a male patient, imagine they were a woman and consider whether you'd take it seriously. The next time they hear a frivolous-sounding complaint from a female patient, imagine they were a man and consider whether it would sound more credible.

It's hard to unlearn these biases. But it simply has to be done. I've lived both sides of this issue. And every doctor insists they treat their male and female patients the same. But some of the doctors astonished that I didn't get better care in the past are the same doctors who dismissed me before.

I'm glad I'm getting the care I need, even if it is several decades late. And I'm angry that it took so long. And I'm furious that most female-presenting people will never have this chance.

#transgender #queer #transmasc #lgbtqia+#trans man #sexism #medical sexism #feminism #male privilege

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selestial-princess · 1 year

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All my digital art expertise goes out the window when I gotta talk to anyone younger than a sophomore in high school I wanna be the cool art aunt/mom but ADHD makes me look and feel so dumb I struggle translating jargon because my brain has completely lost connection with the basic concept and I cannot explain it to a normal person

#i promise im very intelligent and knowledgeable but my brain mouth connections are fucked up so bad #id love to be able to teach but im shit at communicating and have a sailors mouth when i get nervous #ive been working on it for a while now but its still hard for me to express myself well except in writing and guided conversations 🙃#this is what i get for hyperfixating on digital art instead of being like a normal person about my hobbies #and dont get me wrong my ADHD is a part of me and if i lost it it definitely would affect my creative ability negatively #but it feels like god nerfed me to prove a point or some shit like that

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the-temple-of-light · 1 year

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*clasps hands*

...So do I need to actually introduce this AU or can I just launch right into it-?

#pittooy babbles #tl;dr roleswap-ish AU where the underworld recruits an angel before they can reach skyworld while palutena makes a copy of said angel-#-to help her escape the underworld #I MOSTLY feel the need to explain b/c the underworld angel is. basically pittoo. but named pit.#which I think makes sense when I say it bluntly but IDK how much I'd need to explain it in actual writing #also I know someone else has been working on a roleswap au of sorts but that's more centered on the forces of nature #so I don't THIIINK I'm stepping on any toes?#IDK I've been. honestly hesitant to check out that AU b/c every little bit I see is so interesting and I have a bad feeling that I'll-#-hyperfixate and I have enough projects and IRL things I need to bounce between that I can't really risk getting too wrapped up in a-#-New Cool Thing #I already spent a lotta time I was supposed to spend on. many many things. on an old horror interest I fell back into #which was fun!! but also distracted me from zines I was supposed to work on which was stressful #gaeijfwhnecje sorry for ranting BUT seeing that This is my thought process probably explains why the BTHB series has stalled #this is my brain right now! the antidepressant is working but the ADHD might be slightly more unmanaged #I'm coping as best I can just be patient #I write whatever keeps me from cracking and lately that just hasn't been KI

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tkingfisher · 1 year

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So I write all sorts of things (fiction, fanfic, screenplays) and my mind is cluttered garden of flowers and weeds and shiny ideas, and I'm wondering how to form a writing practice to clear it into tidy rows? Is it possible to shepherd untamed ideas into order?

How do you manage all your wonderful worlds, characters and inspiration and not feel haunted by the story bits and pieces in your head? Any practical tips beyond dark magic?

Thank you, you are such a constant inspiration for me, both prose and just your presence. <3

*laugh* Oh god, Nonny, if I ever find out, I’ll tell you! When you read books, you’re getting the Instagram-filtered view of a writer’s brain, all the flowers that grew out of the compost heap, carefully composed and shot in optimal lighting. The real inside of my skull is a magpie nest of Neat Shit I Read/Saw/Thought Up While Lying Awake At 2 AM. There are characters and ideas in there that I’ve been trying to get into a manuscript since I was twelve and typing on an Amiga 500.

But, that said…really, I think it’s okay. Creativity is inherently untidy. The compost heap can be corralled into a very pretty box made of sustainably harvested materials, hand-stained by traditional artisans being paid a living wage by an employee-owned company, but as soon as you lift the lid, it’s all worms and coffee grounds and old potting soil and cow shit and the vegetables you swore you were gonna eat this time before they went bad. That’s what compost is.

Nevertheless, having been in the business for…uh…fifteen years now? (@dduane is snickering at me, I can feel it) and having written nearly forty books, I can offer three bits of something less than advice. It’s what I do. It may not work for anyone else, but it’s what I do.

Un-Advice The First: If you get a shiny idea and you are super excited by it? Go ahead and chase it. Pull up a new page in Word or whatever and slap down a couple thousand words while it’s exciting. I know that this absolutely flies in the face of common wisdom, but quite frankly, my enthusiasm is a much rarer commodity than my time, so if I’m excited about something, I write it down until I’ve taken the edge off.

Then I usually save it into a big folder called “Fragments” and go back to work on whatever I’ve got a deadline on. (Usually. Sometimes the edge doesn’t wear off, and I wind up with another book. Which, y’know, darn.)

There are vast numbers of people who will tell you that a shiny idea is a sign that something is wrong with your current project and the solution is to knuckle down and work! through! it! And those people are probably right for them, and I trust they know how their own brains work. Me, though, I got ADHD like a bat has wings. My hard drive is a vast swamp of story beginnings, neat ideas, random scenes. And that’s okay because I still get books finished.

In fact, it’s better than okay. Not that long ago, my agent sent a novella to a publisher and they said “We’ll take that novella and three more novels. What’ve you got?” And I ended up plundering my hard drive and sending the editor a good dozen random beginnings until we found one that we both liked, and then I wrote the rest of that book. And then another one. If I hadn’t had all those fragments lying around, though, it would have been a miserable experience of writing book pitches and trying to think of stuff I could get excited about. (This may not be how some editors work, but it’s how my editor and I work, anyhow.)

Un-Advice The Second: Trust that everything will find a home eventually.

This one is easy to say and hard to do because sometimes you get that overload that if you’re writing the book about, say, werebear nuns, you aren’t writing the one about the alien crustaceans. Or worse, you feel guilty. If you don’t use that one cool thing, was all that time you spent on it wasted?

Breathe. Be easy. Every single cool thing does not need to go into a single book. There is no sell-by date on the neat character. You will probably write many books in your life and all those random characters will find a home. (Seriously, the werebear nuns were lurking for like a decade.)

For me, at least, when I find the spot where something fits, it often snaps into place like a Lego. Easton’s backstory as a soldier from a society where soldiers were a third sex had been kicking around in my head for a few years, derived from about three different sources, and then I wrote the opening to What Moves The Dead and all of a sudden Easton was there and alive and they had strong opinions about everything and I had ten thousand words practically before I turned around.

You can also stave off guilt by writing some of your ideas in as highly personal Easter Eggs. A couple of my books have references to a white deer woman, a heroic deed done by a saint and the ghost of a bird, and a woman with dozens of hummingbirds on tiny jeweled leashes. Those are all characters and stories I’ve had vague notions about, but haven’t managed to work in anywhere or learn much more about. Still, the passing reference is enough to make me feel like I haven’t abandoned them.

(The advantage to this is that once you DO write those in, the readers are all “oh my god, she foreshadowed this a decade ago, she must have planned this all out in advance!” Then you look really clever and well-organized and no one has to know that you have no idea what you’re doing.)

Un-Advice The Third: Write the kitchen sink book.

At one point, I had so many stray ideas that hadn’t gotten into a book yet—the tree of frogs, the dog-soldiers, the stained glass saint, the albatross and the shadow of the sun, and also I wanted to write something with Baba Yaga—that I hauled off and wrote a book where I just put in everything and the kitchen sink. It’s called Summer in Orcus. There are bits in there that I had been cooking in the mental compost heap for decades, but that weren’t enough on their own to sustain a whole book. The phrase “antelope women are not to be trusted” showed up in my head some time in college. It’s a fun little book and I’m proud of it, but it’s very much a patchwork quilt of weirdness. But it’s also written so that if later on, an antelope woman shows up in another book in another context, that just adds to their mythology, it doesn’t break canon or whatever.

(Pretty sure I’m not the only one who has done this, either. China Mieville has said that he wrote Perdido Street Station because what he really enjoyed was writing all the weird monsters.)

So yeah, that’s my advice, for what it’s worth. Some days I just tell all the fragments and ideas that I promise that I’ll get them a home eventually but I need to write this thing here now. Sometimes I throw down enough words to get the story stabilized and then I’m okay to move on. Sometimes I write multiple books simultaneously.

Any method you use to write the book, so long as it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else, is a perfectly valid method. If anyone tells you different, you send them to me.

(…god, I hope that was the question you were actually asking, Nonny, and that I didn’t go off on a completely different tangent when you just wanted to know how I keep track of a plot or something.)

#long #rambling #writing

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galactichelium · 2 years

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I just saw someone say "I'm so glad that our community is so articulate, [etc etc]" and like what community it was is irrelevant but like it just made me feel bad reading. Because like. I'm very much not articulate, despite my best efforts. Like I don't even know if I'm explaining my feelings on this well at all. And it almost feels like I'm being left behind? Or that I'm not worthy in their eyes to be apart of the community in question? I'll say for context reasons, it was a subsection of the queer community, and obviously being articulate has literally nothing to do w being queer.

I'm sure they didn't mean it in that way, I'm sure if pointed out to them they would probably apologize and better phrase what they said. I'm not upset at them specifically. I'm just, sad that society as a whole seems to value so many traits and skills that I, as an autistic person (also with other disabilities and mental disorders) either struggle greatly with or just don't have at all. It's something I've struggled with basically all my life, knowing that most of the people around me are way more capable of things than I am. I've never been able to completely get over it. I hopefully will someday, but that would probably take therapy that I currently cannot access. At the very least though it doesn't upset me nearly as much as it used to.

#I'm not saying the specific community because I don't want this post to be about that I don't #It's not anything bad obviously. But yeah #Not entirely related but my ADHD brain while writing this reminded me that like...#Ok so I was diagnosed with ''Asperger's'' when I was 2 right. It was long enough ago that that was still a valid diagnosis #I remember when I was younger my mum would often tell me that she ''thinks it's more autism than it is Asperger's'' which is.#Really funny in hindsight. Like. Now it's all autism 😭😭😭#Iron text

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okwrites · 1 year

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Breaking 3 Writing 'Rules':

If you have ADHD or ASC or are some other flavor of neurodivergent, the 'rules' many big name authors post about how they've reached success can actually make you feel REALLY BAD because you can't always do the same thing.

Building a positive relationship with writing can make all the difference in getting you writing more.

'Write every day.' - Don't write every day, write when the mood strikes. But you can trick your brain into work mode by trying different things. Put on your shoes when it's time to write. Light a candle. Put on the same playlist every time. After a while, it'll be like a light-switch. When you light the candle, your brain will find writing easier. Just don't force it. When you try to force writing, you build up frustration and resentment if you don't get anything out. Some days just won't be writing days. That's FINE, lots of authors don't write every day (even if they say they do).

'I write 1000 words every day!' - Well, if you WANT to write and are struggling, a goal of 1000 words seems really far away. So do incremental goals. One sentence. One paragraph. 100 words. Usually by then you're in the flow of things and you can write 1000 words pretty easy. And again, celebrate every single one of those goals so you want to keep doing it. If you have to? One sentence, walk away, come back later, add another, GOOD JOB, two whole sentences!

'Sit down and block out x hours every day just for writing.' - Actually, the best way I've found to write is to tell my brain the deadline or end time is really, really soon - so I write in 20-30 minute chunks, and then walk away or take breaks and come back if I want to later. By setting that arbitrary shorter deadline, my brain can see an end and will work harder and focus more because it knows it's just for a little bit. If 20-30 minutes is too long, start with 15 minute chunks.

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totaly-obsessed · 4 months

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would you be willing to write either an alessia x reader or a leah x reader who has ADHD? i loved your alexia piece. it made me feel super seen ❤️

Fitting In

Alessia Russo x reader request

-> A struggle day with Alessia - ADHD!Reader

-> @anon Makes me so happy to hear that you felt seen! These are things that actually happen in my day to day life - and adhd presents so different in people, please don't be offended if this doesnt fit you!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“Baby?” Alessia's shout echoed through your shared home – the blonde had just come home from practice and was excited to spend a nice, relaxing evening with her girlfriend. But just a couple of seconds later she could see that the rest of the day would be a bit more chaotic than she had originally thought.

“Where are you?” Win, the Arsenal dog whined quietly booping her nose on Alessia's shin, trying to get her attention. With a sigh the striker took off the collar, letting the chocolate lab loose – just to see her race to the living room carpet where she dramatically flopped down with a loud huff.

“Bedroom!” Carefully Alessia opened the door, she never quite knew what to expect behind closed doors when it came to you. Maybe you would be dying your hair, trying her clothes on, or simply staring into the abyss. While she had been preparing herself for the worst, seeing you re-arrange furniture wasn’t so bad.

“Hi, Lessi!” The footballer did her best to ignore the heavy desk you were pushing around, instead giving you a kiss, melting at your huge grin and sparkling eyes.

“You’ve been quite busy huh?” You have been. The Wardrobe had been replaced by the bed and the bed with the desk – or at least your girlfriend guessed that you wanted it to go there.

“Help me?” She didn’t need much convincing, but the sheepish smile on your face certainly did the job.

With a gentle push, you were removed from the desk, as Alessia couldn’t watch your struggle any longer. With just a few expert nudges and lifts it was where you wanted it to be, with you directing the blonde.

“Done!” She brushed off her hands as if she were brushing off dirt from hard labor. With a smug smile, she saw you stare, particularly at her arms (still wearing her Arsenal training tank top), before she pulled you into a bruising kiss – large hands resting on your hips, fingers digging into your bum.

“Did you get groceries amore?” Oh right. There had been a reason why you had wandered in here, you originally had planned to get dressed and go shopping but all of a sudden you just felt an incredible urge to re-arrange the furniture. “Sorry, Lessi.”

With a soft chuckle, Alessia kissed your forehead, she knew that you didn’t do it on purpose, you never did. You just were forgetful. “How about we go out to eat?” That was the most brilliant idea you have ever had. Usually, you would order in because Alessia was too tired from training to actually go out – so it was a nice change. “That sounds fantastic baby. But it’s gonna be noisy and busy, you okay with that?” Your excited nodding was enough to melt her heart all over again. Bless you, so excited to go out with your girlfriend.

“I’m gonna have a shower, yeah?” You didn’t really realize what Alessia said until you heard the water running. “No Lessi!” As fast as you could you made your way to the bathroom, your girlfriend still in front of the mirror taking off her makeup. “Can I have it first? I’ll literally be ten minutes!” With one or two bats of your lashes, the blonde agreed, leaving you in the bathroom.

“Hey, google – play shower list! No, play Date playlist!” You had to repeat yourself, your Alexa was too confused with your wishes. The water was still running as you took Alessia's place, looking at yourself in the mirror. “Should I wash my hair? But I washed it yesterday – Shit. I didn’t do that washing did I?” There was no one to answer you, you were talking to yourself. On your way to the laundry room you nearly tripped over Win. “Winnie! You’re here! Oh, I love you so much!”

“Amore?”

No answer.

“Amore?”

With Win in tow, you climbed back up the stairs, already seeing Alessia with a big goofy smile in the bathroom. “Shit. I left the shower on.” The dog excitedly yapped once she saw the familiar blonde, her tail hitting your leg. “Yes, you did.” She wasn’t mad – she was laughing, and she had shut the water off. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry Less. Promise I’ll go now.”

“You haven’t had it yet?” Win was once again whining for attention but stopped once you leaned down to pet her head. “No, I want downstairs and I was doing the washing because I forgot to do it earlier.” By now you had eventually taken off your socks and outer layer, just in your underwear now.

“I just need to get my skincare stuff.” Why it was in the kitchen you didn’t really remember, however halfway down the stairs, you remembered the disgustingly cold showers. “Need the shower to warm up first!” Up you went again.

Now with your skincare, water warming up, the right music, and the laundry on – you were ready to actually get in, until you weren’t. Your sister had sent you a TikTok, which left you to doom scroll for a while before Alessia eventually came back up. “Are you done amore?”

She knew that you hadn’t been in yet, the half-Italian always knew when you were having a hard day, and today was one of them.

“I don’t know if I want to shower yet.” Your girlfriend could see the frustration building up in you, so she pulled you in a hug. “That’s okay baby. Can I go?” The defeated look on your face was all she needed, cooing over your sad little face before shoving you out the door after calling Win to keep you company.

Whilst the footballer was in the shower, you had tasked yourself with picking outfits for the both of you. Picking Alessia’s was easy, not only did she look good in everything, but all her clothes matched, so there was no bad choice.

When the blonde entered the bedroom she couldn’t help but laugh at you standing in front of the full-body mirror, wearing a cropped puffer jacket you had bought last week. Your lips in a pout and cheeks red in frustration – something was wrong.

“You okay baby?”

Boom, tears. Knowing that Alessia knew you and all your little signs meant the world to you. “I hate this jacket.”

“But you just bought it last week, what’s wrong with it?” by now she was standing in front of you, opening it up, closing it again, turning you around to get a better look, trying to figure out what is bothering you. “It’s the sleeves, look.” You thrust your hands out, the sleeves rising up so that your wrists were out.

“Maybe it’s the hood?” Your girlfriend pulled the zipper on the detachable hood, taking it off and abruptly throwing the hood itself on Win’s head. “What do you think? I think you look great!” You had to admit, that it was better, but the sleeve situation was still bothering you. “Nuh-uh. Wanna get rid of it.” With a final nod, Alessia helped you take it off, throwing the jacket on a pile of clothes. “Ella was looking for one of those.” That was that. Ella would get the jacket.

In the end, Alessia chose your outfit, as you were much too busy playing with Win, who was pawing at you when you had flopped down next to her on the carpet.

Whilst you were getting ready Alessia grabbed the rest of your stuff – that you would definitely forget and run back in and out again until you have everything, like your wallet or lip balm.

As soon as you entered the restaurant you regretted it. There was so much going on and such a wave of noise that greeted you that you nearly just walked back out again – but your girlfriend had already picked out a table in a corner.

“Less I don’t know what to get – I’m like overwhelmed by the options.” Somewhere a child started screaming and a hoard of adults kept laughing at it very loudly. “It’s like I can’t read the words that are literally right in front of me."

It started to beep everywhere in the big room. You had picked a popular restaurant in the area that had pagers that vibrated, blinked, and beeped when your food was ready so you could go and get it.

“What do you feel like amore?” You were zoned out, eyes empty staring at the menu, dead to the world around you. Alessia sighed, she knew that this would happen. “How about Pasta?” You nodded, she knew which one you would like.

A couple of minutes later your girlfriend came back, with one of these little devices in her hand, placing it under her thigh on the stool, desperately trying to soften the glaring noise.

Suddenly the lights dimmed and a birthday song was played loudly over the speakers. As well as you could you held your ears closed as most guests started to sing and clap along. Just as the song ended your food was ready and Alessia went to go and get it.

“How was training Less?” She could see your head swiveling around, overwhelmed by the lights, the noise, and the people – nonetheless, she took your bait, explaining what had happened at the Arsenal training center, appreciating that you tried to listen, and even asked questions.

Ten minutes into eating a children's birthday party sat down at the table next to yours, and as cute as the kids were – they were even louder than your thoughts. Screaming over the top of each other, begging for Ice cream for dinner and even yelling at the poor elders on their other side, trying to show them something.

“Amore? Are you overstimulated? Would you like to get this to go, and just go home?”

“Yes please.”

Alessia went up to the register with your plates, while you packed up all your stuff, grabbing your jackets and Alessia’s little bag that really only held her car keys.

In the car, you couldn’t hold it anymore, and the tears just burst out of you in streams that seemed never-ending. “I-I’m sorry Lessi, jus wanted to be like everyone else but I can't even sit in a restaurant.”. Your girlfriend cooed at you, gently stroking your thigh trying to calm you down a little. “We don’t need to be like anybody else. We can just be… Us!”

The rest of the evening was spent cuddled up on the couch with Win occupying one of the ends, stealing a blanket off of you, as Alessia covered you in hers as well. The wood was still warm when you ate it, even after changing out of the uncomfortable outfits and into big shirts and joggers.

“I love you amore. For you – you don’t need to be like anybody else.”

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #woso imagines #arsenal wfc x reader #engwnt x reader #lionesses x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader

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