#I was ignored as my condition got worse for five years!!

[nope-body]

.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

The cost is set to go far beyond human suffering, yet almost five years into the pandemic, not only are there still no treatments for long Covid, there aren’t even any diagnostic tools – and we don’t seem overly interested in finding them.

The jig is up. People are catching on that “mild” Covid-19 may not be so mild, and that the mysterious lingering symptoms they’ve experienced after catching the virus, such as fatigue and brain fog, may just be connected. For others, this will be the first time that they put two and two together. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but strap in for what comes next.

Recently, RNZ ran a piece outlining the estimated $2bn per year economic cost of long Covid in New Zealand and signalling that further research would be needed to determine a more precise figure. The average reader would assume that this research is under way or has at least been planned and funded. Human suffering aside, such a hit to productivity would surely raise alarm bells across the political spectrum!

I say this solemnly: yeah… nah.

Almost five years into the pandemic, not only are there still no treatments for long Covid, there also aren’t even any diagnostic tools – and we don’t seem overly interested in finding them.

At present, a long Covid diagnosis relies on a patient finding a doctor with up-to-date knowledge, who will believe their symptoms, and who will spend time investigating further to rule out other possibilities. This mythical trifecta is out of reach for most people, particularly women, who are affected by immune conditions at far higher rates, but have their symptoms written off as hysteria; and Māori and Pasifika, who face barriers to healthcare, and have their symptoms written off as laziness. Obtaining accurate data on prevalence under these circumstances is simply impossible.

In this way, and several others, long Covid mirrors ME/CFS (myalgic encephalomyelitis), a brutally debilitating biophysical condition, though the oft misused term “chronic fatigue” doesn’t quite convey that. Around half of long Covid sufferers meet the criteria for ME/CFS, which by the World Health Organization’s scale has a worse disease burden than HIV/Aids, multiple sclerosis (MS), and many forms of cancer. But again, there are no treatments.

I suffer from ME/CFS myself. My illness predates Covid-19 and came on after an infection with cytomegalovirus (CMV). I went from a fit and active young man to debilitatingly sick and fatigued, with several unexplained symptoms.

Pre-pandemic there was estimated to be more than 25,000 people in New Zealand suffering from ME/CFS, and only one specialist in the country, working one day a week, who has since retired (well earned, bless her). For years I had been praying for any sort of diagnosis, even if it was bad, so that I could get on the path to recovery. I got the diagnosis – but for a disease with no path to recovery.

As the pandemic unfolded, patients and advocates in the ME/CFS community warned that a tsunami of disability was approaching. They were of course ignored, as they have been for decades, and are now joined by masses of long Covid sufferers facing the reality that the medical profession has no answers for them, except perhaps euthanasia.

Frustrated with my lack of options, I connected with cellular immunologist Dr Anna Brooks, who had become a leading expert on long Covid, so I assumed that her biomedical research would be well supported. Alas, she detailed the uphill grind that it’s been to gain traction compared to other countries, and that generous donations, usually from patients themselves, had been the driving force of funding.

Together we founded DysImmune Research Aotearoa, with the goal of developing diagnostic tools leading to treatment for post-viral illnesses like long Covid and ME/CFS. In layman’s terms, we collect blood samples, analyse differences in cells, and put together an immune profile. My priority is ensuring that Māori and Pasifika patients and researchers are at the table and taking action into our own hands.

We’ve made a small start, and we have some incredible collaborations lined up, with far-reaching implications for community health. We’re in the process of seeking partnerships to take things forward. The expertise exists, it’s here in New Zealand. Still, the barrier to progress across the research space is the urgency for resourcing. It is dire to say the least.

Without some long-term project certainty, it’s difficult to pull the necessary teams together. While study after study illuminates more horrifying long-term effects of Covid infections, and prevention has been completely abandoned, research and development for treatments for long Covid is tanking. The private sector is at the whim of the quarterly financial report, and with no guaranteed short-term profit in treating us, it has very little incentive to take the risk.

So, barring some philanthropic miracle, only government can fill this gap. Yet where Australia had set aside A$50m specifically for long Covid research, and the US Senate considers a billion-dollar long Covid “moonshot” bill, New Zealand has allocated nothing. We’re fast asleep at the wheel. No other country can determine how many of our people are impacted by post-viral illnesses. No other country can address our specific needs.

Since this government is focused on ambition, productivity and fast-tracking, I assume they’d want to be world leaders in research, warp-speed some projects, and get long Covid sufferers back into work, no? This is what we are calling for. Not surveys. Not “talk” therapy and positive thinking. Biomedical research.

Put the money down and commit to this. Seize this opportunity to right decades of neglect. There are tens of thousands of us fighting for our lives, and millions more around the world. You think it won’t be you, then after your next inevitable Covid-19 reinfection, it is, and you’re left to wonder why nobody stepped up.

Government, iwi and whānau ora groups, health organisations, philanthropists – reach out. Let’s work.

Rohan Botica (Te Ātihaunui-a-Pāpārangi, Ngāti Tūwharetoa) is a lived-experience researcher and co-founder of DysImmune Research Aotearoa.

[liaromancewriter]

What Could Have Been (5/?)

Series Premise: When Ethan breaks his promise, Cassie is forced to accept they’re not inevitable after all.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angst Words: 1,560

Series Masterlist

Chapter 5: Risky Moves. Romance Rekindled. One is filled with remorse, but jealousy soon rears its ugly head.

A/N: I'm using @choicesflashfics week 44, prompt 3. Also, using prompts "dating" & "break-up" from the @choicesmonthlychallenge January 2023 editing. Set during 2x03.

Ethan Ramsey marched down the street. His long legs eating up the pavement, uncaring of other pedestrians, his scowl a deterrent to anyone bold enough to get in his way.

In his head, he replayed the conversation with his father, the look on Cassie Valentine’s face when he dismissed his mother and the complicated emotions swirling inside him for a woman that had abandoned him twenty-five years ago.

He should hate Louise. God knows he wanted to. But a part of him clung to a memory of a sunflower yellow dress and a tinkling laugh that had once made his world bright.

Who knew better than him that love didn’t last? That the world was too often a dark, lonely place. That people didn’t stay. It was better to leave them before they left you.

Like he’d done to Cassie.

Ethan cursed loudly and detoured into the alley behind Donahue’s. He kicked his foot against the brick wall, angry and frustrated with himself, his life and the world in general.

He thought he’d figured his shit out last spring. And yet, here he was again, spiraling out of control.

He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. He needed to rein in his emotions and focus on the facts to do his job well. And the truth was he had a patient waiting for him, which had to be his priority now.

Feeling calmer, Ethan exited the alley near Edenbrook’s back entrance and parking structure. His mask was firmly in place as he got off the elevator on the second floor, only to bump into Cassie, who rushed in through the stairwell door.

“Oops,” she said with a half-laugh. “Sorry, Dr. Ramsey. I didn’t see you.”

“Maybe if you didn’t run around the hospital like a child, you’d pay better attention,” he muttered, annoyed all over again when her scent hit his nostrils.

He felt Cassie stop and stare at him, but he dismissed her as he stomped down the hallway to Lamar’s room. She followed quietly, practically running to keep pace with his long strides.

The day went from bad to worse when they found an empty room, and their patient was nowhere in sight.

“Where the hell is my patient?” Ethan barked at the nurse on duty at the station across from the hospital room.

“Ethan…” Cassie nudged his arm urgently. “In his condition, Lamar’s a danger to himself. We’ve gotta find him.”

“We didn’t see him back there,” he pointed at the hallway from where they’d come, “so he must have headed toward the atrium stairs.”

Knowing there was no time to waste, he quickly called security and issued a Code Green.

They sprinted through the halls, scanning patient rooms and corridors for signs of Lamar or his wife. They were almost at the balcony overlooking the soaring glass-domed atrium when they heard a scream.

Ethan’s heart dropped to his stomach at the sight of Lamar climbing over the railing on the fourth floor. The fifty-sixty-foot drop to the atrium below would likely maim him for life if not kill him outright.

“That fall will kill him. Dammit, come on!”

Before he could finish issuing the command, he glimpsed a trail of blonde hair flying past him like a sprinter coming off the block. Cassie pounded up the stairs, her white coat flapping behind her.

That shook him out of his inertia, and he raced up behind her, taking the steps two at a time. She was faster, though and reached Lamar first. The other man grinned broadly as if it was all a game, and Ethan knew he would be too late to stop him from jumping.

Just a few more seconds, Ethan prayed, pushing himself faster and ignoring the shocked faces that had stopped to watch the spectacle.

He saw Lamar let go of the railing and lean forward as if in slow motion. Cassie lunged at him, her hand grabbing Lamar’s just in time as he dangled in the air. She almost toppled over the edge of the railing as the other man’s weight pulled her forward.

“Cassie!” Ethan shouted hoarsely, fear for her life made his mouth turn dry.

Her shoes dug into the tight space between the floor and the bottom of the railing. Balancing herself, she leaned forward and locked one hand around Lamar’s wrist. Ethan saw her wince as her shoulders and arms strained from the pressure.

“Ethan…” she pleaded, her terrified green eyes meeting his as he rushed to her aid.

“I’m coming, Cassie,” he called out, letting his mask drop.

Ethan reached them before the security guard. Leaning around her, he hauled Lamar back over to safety and pinned him to the floor.

The weight suddenly gone, Cassie lost her balance and toppled backward, her elbow hitting the concrete floor with a loud crack.

“Goddammit,” Ethan cursed.

He left the security guard to restrain Lamar. His wife, Liz, watched with worry and confusion at the words her husband was saying.

Ethan started to check on Cassie when Naveen called out his name.

Still crouched on the floor, Ethan glanced up to see Naveen, some of the senior staff and the hospital’s board watching from one story above with a mix of horror and morbid curiosity.

He’d forgotten the board was meeting today, and Naveen had promised them a tour.

A man in a dark suit broke off from the group and dashed down the stairs. Ethan’s brows knitted in annoyance. He didn’t recognize the stranger and opened his mouth to tell him to get the hell away from his patient.

But the man rushed past him to where Cassie sat on the floor, protectively hunched over her, clutching her elbow. Her face was scrunched in pain, and tears tracked down her cheeks.

“Cassie, look at me,” the other man said, tenderly placing two fingers under her chin to lift her face. “Dislocation?”

Cassie shook her head and paused, taking stock. “I felt something tear when his weight pulled at me. Could be a sprain or torn ligament. Pain is six. Limited mobility. Nate, please help me up.”

He slid one arm around her back, supporting her weight. Cassie pushed her knees off the floor and started to rise.

“Can I just say?” Nate commented in awe. “You, Cassie Valentine, are more awesome than Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel combined.”

“Oh wow. Must have really impressed you if I get compared to DC and Marvel heavyweights?” Cassie chuckled, sniffing back the tears, and leaned against him briefly before straightening.

“I want to be a gentleman, tell you it’s okay to raincheck on our date tonight,” Nate said pleasantly. “But the woman that just saved a man’s life is much too strong-willed to retire with her smelling salts. And I really want to celebrate her in style.”

He smirked. “Maybe even challenge her to a mini-golf rematch since my chances of winning have suddenly improved.”

Cassie burst into laughter. The sound was like a stiletto piercing Ethan’s heart because the laugh wasn’t for him.

Ethan’s initial concern changed to bewilderment at the friendly ease between Cassie and Nate, and he wondered how they knew each other. The confusion quickly turned to red-hot jealousy when he heard about their date.

Uncertainty about wanting to care for Cassie and the rumors that would fly if he shoved the other man aside to do just that had Ethan rooted to the spot.

He was positive Nate wasn’t on the hospital board. He presented to that group often enough to know all its members. He looked vaguely familiar, but Ethan was hard-pressed to place him.

He shook off this new mystery to focus on the existing one. Lamar’s incomprehensible actions. Cassie was talking to Liz now, and Ethan needed to be part of that conversation.

But first, he had to reassure Naveen and clear the hall of spectators.

“Naveen, it’s okay. The situation is under control,” Ethan said when the older man stood before him, eyes narrowed in consternation.

“How am I supposed to be calm at a time like this?” Naveen said quietly, but Ethan could hear the subtle anger in his mentor’s voice.

“Ethan, a patient almost died in front of a hospital full of board members, staff and visitors. Why wasn’t security protocol followed if the patient was a danger to himself?”

“He wasn’t—” Ethan bit off when Cassie approached them cautiously, Lamar’s wife trailing behind her.

“Ethan. Dr. Ramsey,” Cassie amended. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to question Lamar. We’re running out of time.”

With a quick nod at Naveen, Ethan followed Cassie and Liz to the other side of the hall. Lamar was still pushing against the security guard, talking about people no one knew.

He absently glanced over his shoulder to see Nate and Naveen talking seriously, heads close together.

How long had Nate and Cassie been dating, he speculated as ugly thoughts clouded his brain. The intimacy he had just witnessed between her and Nate didn’t happen overnight.

So, had she really waited for him while he was in the Amazon? Or was that one more lie he wanted to believe, just like the one about his mother returning out of love for her forgotten son?

---------------

All Fics & Edits: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @youlookappropriate

[meatcrimes]

Nineteen years. That’s almost two thirds of my life you’ve been gone. I’ll never forget the hot pavement on that sunny, unusually humid July day. I forgave you for this years ago, but if you had known your death would have been a catalyst for so much trauma and pain for your entire extended family, would you have been more careful?

Look at us, those of us who are left. Look at your brother, your daughter, your surviving son. Look at what they’ve overcome in the past nineteen years. Look at me, your niece, and my brother, your nephew who you never got to meet. Look what we’re still trying to overcome. I no longer blame you for the actions of other people done in the wake of your death, but the timeline shifted that day, and whatever track we were on before veered into the wrong lane at 100mph and ever since we’ve been picking up the pieces. I can’t say we would have been better or worse off if we hadn’t lost you, but I can say we all wish you were able to walk your daughter down the aisle at her wedding. Walk your foster son down the aisle at his wedding, because it became legal in 2015 for him and his husband to marry. You had no idea he was gay, did you? Neither did he for many, many years. And the trauma he experienced from your death influenced his own death in his early thirties. Now, you both left widows behind. You have more in common now than you ever did in life.

Look at your daughter, you probably won’t even recognize her, and not just from the weight loss. She’s now a devout Catholic, in a loving marriage with a man who values and respects her, with five beautiful step daughters that call her “mom”. It wasn’t easy for her to get there. She went through far too long of believing herself unworthy and unloveable, and far too many boyfriends who saw her the same way.

Look at your biological son. He’s in the national guard now, making something of his life and what has been left behind. He simultaneously never grew up and grew up all too fast, a lot like me. He doesn’t remember what your voice sounds like, and I wish I could transfer my memory of your voice into his mind. It isn’t fair that I remember your voice and he doesn’t. Really, none of this is fair, never has been, never to anyone. Your generation may have said “Life isn’t fair” with the connotations of “so there!”. Often a justification of their mistreatment of others. But us, we hear it in a different pitch. We hear “life isn’t fair” with “but with compassion and community we can bridge the gaps, even if we can’t close them”.

I don’t remember where I was going with this. I’m sitting in my old room at my dad’s house that he owns, that he bought with money he earned in a career that didn’t exist nineteen years ago. We live in a small town thousands of miles from our ancestral land, in a climate my body will frankly never get used to. I was built for the desert, biologically designed for the Great Basin region. Last time I went back, my anxiety was nearly gone, my acne cleared, my hair didn’t need any styling or products beyond a brush and shampoo. My thyroid condition was getting better at a faster rate than it was before. I thrived in Nevada. I am a Western Shoshone woman. You were a Western Shoshone man, no matter how much you or anyone else ignored it, or explained our genes with ancestry we didn’t share. Las Vegas is haunted ground now. My father plans on never going back, because it reminds him so much of you. And me? No matter how badly I want to return home, it’s not home anymore. It hasn’t been since we lost you. And I don’t think I can rebuild what was destroyed.

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Suckers, Morons, and Other Types of

Trump Supporters

Stephen Jay Morris

6/2/2024

©Scientific morality.

            America may be the greatest country in the world, but its patriots are the dumbest people in the universe! What did P.T. Barnum say? “No man ever went broke overestimating the ignorance of the American Public.” Trump may be the first canonized patron saint of the Protestant Church. He became the first convicted felon, former president in the history of the USA; and what do his supporters do? Send him money! Lots of money!! One of them posted on X that he’d canceled his vacation and sent the money to Trump to help fight his legal battles. Five thousand dollars!

            Then there is the religious factor—the docile followers of Christianity in small town America. The pastor behind the pulpit, the direct line from God, that his flock believes, unquestionably, everything he says. The pastor who gets visited from God, every night, and receives instructions directly from Him. If you dare to question his word, you are a demon from hell trying to sabotage the word of God! Would that be me? I am from hell, otherwise known as East Hollywood. Nah!

            People who are brainwashed, particularly those in cults, have minds impervious to truth. You can show them factual evidence, photos, recordings, documents, and they still don’t believe that which is real. What can you do about it? Not much. Truth be known, Trump donated millions to the White protestant church with the proviso, “Tell them God sent me.” His suckers believed it, hook, line, and sinker! I’ve said it a million times before: that is why conservatives are anti-public education. They’d rather your children sit in a Christian classroom, watching Prager U videos; that or adhere to home schooling. Yeah, that is a rich concept. Having stupid parents teaching their naive children to be ignorant, like they are! Keep them stupid, Jesus! That’s the stuff! What is so hilarious is that Trump tells them, right to their faces, that they are idiots. And they think he’s correct! This is the relationship between the oppressors and the oppressed. The oppressor metes out punishment while the meek assumes masochistic pleasure from the master’s whip. Deep down, however, they don’t enjoy getting whipped; they are conditioned to be masochistic. When you substitute normal sex with violence, you get one decadent, fucked up society!

            Now, this thing that progressives and liberals are whining about, losing our Democracy to Fascists, I beg the question: Did we ever have democracy? Ask the Native Americans. Ask the former slaves. Ask the women who were told to shut up. Ask the workers who got shot by anti-union thugs while picketing their factory. Ask the victims of Gay bashing. Ask millions of victims. Fuck you! America did have its victims.

            Now, my main message here is: I am from the far, extreme, fringe, hard core left. Some pea brain righties think that equates to communists. That shows what ignoramuses they all are! As an anarchist, I ask: do you really think that we, on the extreme left, would cry ugly on the chance that Trump gets elected? On the contrary, we would celebrate by smoking pounds of weed! You just don’t get it! The sad fact is that Trump had four fucking years to establish a fascist state. Did he? Hell, no! Will he succeed next time around? No. Never. He is too stupid to conceive of the essence of a fascist state, let alone create one. He is a slave to his overblown ego. He would never garner the support of the U.S. military or the American people to actualize it.

            If you don’t vote for Biden, the lesser of the two evils, then fascism will certainly be worse under Trump. Biden fascism will be a moderate fascism. But go ahead, vote for a third-party candidate, or vote for Trump. See what happens.

            Now something unforeseen could occur before election day. One objective factor for your consideration is that average life expectancy for a man is 72 to 74 years. Both candidates are way past that range. There is that. Then, there is the mid-east crisis. That could devolve into the Third World War. And let’s not forget the Climate Crisis, which is rapidly escalating as you read this. Tornadoes could wipe out Texas, a flood could bury Florida beneath the sea. Let’s not ignore the possibility of assassinations, or a viral pandemic, either of which may cancel the election.

Hopefully nothing catastrophic will happen and all will proceed as normal. Biden gets re-elected and then dies of natural causes during his term; Vice President Kamala Harris becomes the first woman to become president.

So, over the next few months, enjoy life. Go on vacation instead of giving your hard-earned vacation money to a candidate.

[gyubby99]

@disneyanddisneyships HAHAHHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHA

Trauma recap ig?

Tw: SA

So- i was born at a very young age

Jkjk ok so..

Once upon a time~

....

I was born with a congenital heart and ig one day my mom thought i was gonna die bc they said i did not cry when I came out of the womb.

Ha. Look who's surviving now.

Anywhoooo my parents separated (i live in the philippines divorce is not an option so they separated instead but still married on paper. Just an important note for an extremely important part.) Before I could comprehend what even a sun is.

So the couple therapist era began.

Peer pressure to get them back together was an understatement. I was FIVE when they told me I was the "key" for them to reconcile. So I tried so hard to make my mother tell me why exactly they separated. Dad said she fell out of love so I tried so hard to make mom love him again. I guess we don't always get what we want.

I was so confused because things wouldn't go my way. I thought happy endings existed. Guess not.

So I start to grow up and go to grade school.

That was the trigger.

I was apparently the ugliest creature they've ever seen. Like, kids my age would run away from me when they see me wanting to play with them on the street. They would call me "ugly duckling" or something whenever I have to go up front.

And then, the real trigger was this.

Apparently my father also works on the school I was in, and these girls pulled up to me thinking I was rich, then started STEALING MY WALLET. How do six year olds know how to blackmail now?

When I don't give them what they want, they "punish" me by making me carry books on both of my hands and get me on my knees. Mind you, I cannot carry heavy things back then because *cough* inborn heart condition *cough*

S O

I cried the first time after it was done to me.

That's what started my people-pleasing personality.

So long story short, I switch schools because it was fucked up.

AND THEEEEEEN 😍😍

The first few years were fine, the only issue that I was smart in the english subject.. and people only used me and pushed me around. They ignore me up until they need answers for english class. Stupid little me gave them what they wanted.

Haha.

Then another year. THE FUCKING BOMB.

I sit next to this girl in class.

We became bestfriends.

And then valentines day happened.

My very first kiss.

Was with her.

On valentines day because she thought it was funny.

But god-fucking-dammit.

It made me realize something about myself.

But I was still attracted to guys, so I thought I was straight. (Idk what bisexual was)

Then when I finally told them..

Remember the list of guys they made to "make me normal"?

..yeah.

They made a list of guys my age and wondered which one would make me stop liking girls.

My brain erased that memory for a while.. probably for a good reason.

OH! YOU THOUGHT IT WAS OVER??

BOOM.

Found out dad had a girlfriend. Didn't accept it at first, but she grew on me.

I WISHED SHE DIDNT!!

Because a month after my father died she called my mom a whore for having male friends. While SHE is the one moving on after five months to another guy with a lotta cash and stuff.

What's more effed up is that dad's siblings sided with her.

Also mind you, my biological parents are stil married on paper. So according to the law, she gets portion of dad's properties. The rest of em is mine and my brother's.

But NOOOOOO SHE STILL CALLED MY MOM A WHORE FOR STATING FACTS AND WANTED 500K FROM MY NOW DECEASED DAD

So long story short my broken family got a lot more broken. Yay!

Oh- this isn't over yet.

It keeps

Getting

Worse

As I grew up.. men started eyeing me which was never a problem to comprehend by younger me.

I turn eleven.

I was actually ELEVEN when my second father-figure by the name of fucking Ian Cruz, SA'D me. I lied about the thirteen.

To make it more mild I told you i was thirteen when it happened.

But no.

Eleven.

Two days after my 11th birthday.. I saw him sa'ing his wife while she was asleep and he started acting weird ever since.. to me.

I slept so late because I thought he might come and get me. Because he almost did. He almost pulled down my pants if I hadn't stopped pretending I was asleep. It could've almost been my first.

Then he starts watching explicit videos whenever he comes into my room. And he forces me to watch them.

Then he starts making eyes at me.. saying I've got a nice tiny little waist and everything..

Whenever I call him out on his shit he gaslights me. Every. Damn. Time.

He apologized to me by hugging me when I confronted him.. and while he was hugging me he.. he kissed my back? Without my consent?

I think.

I hyperventilated when he left after I pushed him off.

I started hinting at his wife about how he has the keys and she had NO idea.

So he finds the keys.

So me locking the doors..

It was all for nothing.

He did some more fucked up things but.. I'll leave it here.

So I told my mom..

And I thought she was gonna comfort me.

But she made it about herself.

She made it about how she was so hurt thet I lied to her. To everyone.

The worst part is that after I spoke up nothing happened.

I was still silent.

No one knew.

Just like how no one also knew back then.

It just repeated itself.

One of these days I just wanna scream..

But no.

Not anymore.

The age of thirteen i mentioned? That was the time I told her.

It's been years but holy shit

I still can't erase it.

He took my fucking girlhood. My innocence.

And the worst part is that he had no remorse and is still living his best life..

But not anymore. I'm not going through bullshit anymore.

Now I just.. I just figured out I had mother issues..

It kept

Getting

Worse

With the peer pressure and everything happening.. It's so hard. I wonder if I'm ever gonna make it past this year.

I wonder how long I can take before I finally shut down.

But.. the bright side of it all? I found people.

Can I also tell you the good side of my life? Not just the recap of bad things?

Well.. there was this jelsa meme account on instagram I found really funny.. so I liked their posts.

Then this said account messaged me.. saying she appreciates it.

Then we just.. talked.

The trigger was that someone had been flirting with her? And I stepped in and just..

It just happened. Few days she started calling me her girl..

And boy, oh boy.. was this a dream?

I was a mad woman. I couldn't sleep at night. I just needed to talk to her.. and everyday it kept getting better.

Even now.

After two years of it.

AND IM CONVINCING HER TO GET A TUMBLR!

God, I fucking love this girl.

Okay.. I'm name-dropping.

Her name is Kiara. Her ig acc is official__jelsa (up until now)

I hope she says yes hehe

Speaking of tumblr tho.

Weeeeell a certain SOMEONEEEE started liking and reblogging my jelsa incorrect quotes!

Hm I wonder who could that beeeeee

Dyk, Liana?

Someone by the tumblr user named disneyanddisneyships...

Hmmmmmmm

I think you know the rest...

Liana.

You know what happened.

I was there when you gave elsa a miscarriage.

I remember it all too well.

[azsazz]

Kind of a personal question so feel free to ignore it but have u ever dated anyone? What was ur first relationship like?

Oooh getting deep I see.

Sooooo, this is actually like not a great story...and i basically just word vomited my life on here 😅

TW: mentions of poor mental/physical health, cancer

Yeah, I've only been in one relationship and it lasted for 3 years (too long) lol.

It was great at the start. I'd met him when I went away for college and we were friends which is what I liked the most. We met at a karaoke bar my school had that my friends and I would go to every Thursday night and so would he and his friends so we all kind of became this large group that did that almost every week.

And it was my first relationship ever you know so I was all dumb and head over heels and the whole thing was just a mess looking at it now. My family and friends didn't like him and I became a terrible friend because I would basically spend all of my time with him and not them, so when we broke up I had like no friends of my own because we would only hang out with his friends and that's a whole other mess I won't get into haha.

But basically we were together and things just got worse and worse. He was very jealous and overbearing, had to know where I was and what I was doing all of the time and when we first got together he would tell me what he was doing all of the time and I'd be like okay? I don't need (or care) to know what you're doing all of the time, that was just a natural thing for him I guess. So then he conditioned me to basically be the same way and it was awful and I hated it.

Eventually, things were so stressful. I'd gained so much weight and I was deeply unhappy. All of my relationships were strained and I had no one to turn to. If we fought I'd basically have nowhere to go if I needed time to get away. He chased me down in his car once when all I wanted was some space to think.

Towards the end of our relationship I was literally the most miserable person ever. I hated everything and I started feeling even worse. I got a cold around my 22nd birthday and then that turned into something much worse. I kept getting sicker and sicker and I had no idea why. The doctors I went to thought I had an ear infection, then bronchitis, then that again. They just kept giving me medication for things that weren't helping.

I'd be freezing cold at night but wake up sweatier than ever.

And one day I literally just blurted out during a fight that we should just break up and then we did.

I lost like 30 pounds in a week but was sicker than a dog and I thought it was just because I was sad or whatever and I went to a therapist who literally said to me "Why are you so negative?" I'll never forget that. like lady i'm here to tell you about my problems what fucking part of that is positive?

Like legit I could barely go to class because I was so sick, I had no motivation to do anything. I'd go to class, come home, and go to bed. I barely even did homework because I had no energy.

I visited my brother at his school which was five hours from mine and my parents were there visiting him for a weekend and by the end when it was time for me to drive myself back I started bawling my eyes out and pleading to my parents that i didn't want to because I felt so awful it was the last thing I wanted to do.

Fast forward to thanksgiving break, i went to see another doctor in my hometown because I was still sick (so it started september and it was now november) and she said lets wait a few more weeks, see if this goes away and we'll check again at winter break (december).

So i go back to school and am miserable and finish my classes and I come home at christmas break and am trying my best to tough it out. I was literally the most miserable person on the planet i can't stress this enough how awful i felt. I had no energy to do anything, I'd be so angry at everyone for no reason, and I'd had a terrible cough, nothing was going alright.

At the time my two other siblings were still at school so it was my parents, my little brother, and i. My mom said "if you want to go to the hospital let me know." and i had a friend over at the time so i tried to tough it out but in the end i wanted to go to the hospital.

Basically they told me that I had stage 4 cancer (Non-Hodgkins lymphoma) and man I was in utter shock.

And then I had to leave school to get treatment so I moved back home for that.

So basically long story short I haven't been in a relationship (or even kissed/slept with anyone) since (4 years now, im 26 😳) because now I have this irrational fear that I'll get sick again or something and I just like don't even know how to talk to people or want to talk to them. And I just don't want any of that shit to happen again so idk what im doing with my life in terms of relationships lol.

But I've been in recovery since the middle of 2019 so I am very grateful for that.

sorry for the longest answer in the world that really took a turn. if you read all the way through thank you 💙

And if you should ever need someone to talk to about anything, I am here for you 100% 💙💙

[graciecatfamilyband]

First Lines

Thanks @diplomaticprincess for the tag! 🥹 It means a lot to be included among writers, after having had to take a multiyear break and hoping to get back into it. And look at YOU go- 10 fics already! I am impressed. :)

First Lines Tag Game: Rules: share the first lines of your ten most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway ❤️

From most to least recent:

Sweet Escape: “Thanks for the rescue,” Han Solo said as he leaned back against the pilot’s seat headrest. He closed his eyes and sighed. After the crowded ballroom, he was in no hurry to head into the Coruscant traffic. Claustrophobic at the best of times, it was even worse during what was known on the interplanetary hub as the “holiday season.”

Alderaanians Don't Kill Spiders: The thumping had persisted for awhile. It didn’t sound like the sustained clacking of metal on metal that Leia might have expected for what was evidently an ongoing task. It much more resembled the one-two pound of a fist (or, more likely on the Millennium Falcon, a five-count pound) beating a part into working submission on the fly. Leia never understood how Han’s hit-it-until-it-works approach could resolve malfunctions so consistently on a machine engineered to maneuver through space.

Just A Little of That Human Touch: Han lay on his back, panting his way back to normal breath, eyes still rolled back in his head. His fingers grasped the sheets now that the feminine thighs they’d held just minutes ago were gone. The flow of air was welcome on his damp skin. In the heat of the moment, he hadn’t realized how blazing it had got in his cabin. That was— holy kriff.  

No, I Won't Be Afraid: “What’s wrong?” Bail asked, almost before he had accepted the call on his private commlink. Only after he heard himself say the words did he become aware he was already sitting upright in bed in his senatorial apartment on Coruscant. His years as a politician and member of the royal family had given him practice with middle of the night urgencies and conditioned him to respond reflexively. Having no memory of sitting up told Bail he had been asleep when the comm had rung after all, although he felt he had lain in the dark for a very long stretch without any success and would have thought sleep had not found him.

Say My Name: “Well,” Han said, as he pressed the open palm of one hand against Leia’s.

“Well,” Leia repeated, keeping her own palm firmly against his, her arm taut in resistance, their hands meeting in the middle, each pushing against the other in a game they had taken to playing in the weeks since they’d become lovers. It was no real contest of physical strength, but an excuse to touch and a way to channel their natural tendency towards opposition and collision, now that they were spending less time opposing each other and were colliding in other, more interesting ways.

The Social Embodiment of Love: “Come on, Han, I’m starving,” Leia grabbed him by the cuff of his sleeve, tugging playfully. “A guy back there was selling Gapanga fruit for-” “After,” Leia commanded. A hungry Leia was not to be ignored. Han intertwined his hand in hers, removing her grip from his sleeve.

Something Nice: “It looks like you just performed a wingover on your plate,” Luke laughed. “What did you put on that?” “Nothing.” Leia glanced around.  “You want some?” Luke laughed. “What is it?” “Chandrilan armoracia-root mustard. You should try it, it goes well with this.” Luke  shook his head, more at her than her offer. “You hate boiled ruica.”

Tagging: @organanation @msaudreyanne (I thought it would be nice to include someone else who maybe hasn’t published in awhile!) and ANY OTHER WRITERS WHO HAVEN’T BEEN TAGGED YET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[knights-of-the-glittery-table]

I'm 3 sessions into only 6 sessions of bereavement counselling and if you could be graded on it I'd be failing.

My grief cannot be separated from my mental health, they were sewn together with ugly red stitches many years ago and to try and cleanly put the two into different piles would be a fool's errand.

I've been a wounded animal limping along with a trail of blood following my every step for nearly half of my years on this Earth and to try and concentrate on the loss of family suffered just opens a hundred other doors on things that need to be said, to be shared.

I lost my granddad at 14, grandma at 15, dad at 16 and mum at 20 and then have had 13 years of trauma on top of the familial losses and I know like in my session today and the two previous that I can't work through what I've been through and go through every day in six sessions.

It is in no way my feeling on the world at large because I can't bear to think that way but genuinely through personal experience I have been taught again and again that kindness is conditional. People will offer me help or say 'get in touch if you need to' or 'if you need anything just call or text' but it's only ever as long as it doesn't interfere with what they are up, if it's on a weekday within business hours or often something they just said to appease their own conscience when being faced with someone severely mentally ill and alone. (i.e. 'well I said they could ask me if they needed something so I am a good person')

I understand it but it doesn't make it any easier. Last week when I wasa very unwell I rang the GP just for some support and reassurance and they said 'If I felt worse to call back' and two days later I did call back only to have unfortunately called at midday on what was a half day for the surgery and the doctor had already left. The receptionist told me on the call if the GP had left I'd get a call the next day instead then five minutes after I rang off I got a text message to say the doctor had in fact left for the day but they'd call me on the already arranged appointment made when I first spoke to them which was unfortunately 5 days away. A long time to wait.

And that's how life is for me.

Every person from all these organisations, charities, volunteers and staff at the GP surgery that I have ever had a good relationship have all left at some point. Either they're changing jobs, their amount of time with me is at an end, funding runs out, I'm too ill for what their resources can do- I can't gain a meaningful attachment to a person because everyone in my life dies or leaves, either in an abrupt fashion or their help fizzles out to nothing.

It's demoralising and does nothing to help me feel as if I matter no matter how many times I hear the words from mental health crisis nurses on the phone or read the phrase on cute posters.

And this is the people who have shown a kindness and just as important, an understanding of what I've been through and mental illness as a whole even if they aren't medically qualified. It's unfortunate but the people who have let me down, been outright cruel, ignorant, unbelievably lacking in empathy or common sense half the time far outweigh the good. The amount of times I've been in tears from words coming from the mouths of supposed medical professionals including mental health fields, volunteers for mental health organisations and a lot of charities outside of that niche, family members, friends of my family, strangers like taxi drivers or workers at the DWP (department of works and pensions), it's baffling.

Five off the top of my head:

Woman whose job was literally to deal with patients with mental illness and be a go between the patient and the doctor (finding support for them also like charities and therapies) who when I had to inform her I didn't have any one local at all said 'Aw, well that's bad isn't it because when you're really suffering you want someone there, don't you?' - 13 years alone has taught me that reassurance and support are the most important thing for me and in those 13 years I've never had anyone there to physically be here so it was pretty much like shoving a knife into my flesh on top of it just being wildly insensitive and obvious. (This was this year, around May. The woman also got very defensive when I told her how her previous remarks including the above hurt me and said 'Well you come in here saying I hurt your feelings well you could be hurting mine by saying that to me')

Volunteer at a charity who was a befriender, I was cutting crosses into the bottom of brussel sprouts in her kitchen and she went to leave to go do something in another room and said to me in a jovial jokey tone 'Don't go using that knife on your wrists now!'

Head of pychiatrics at the hospital who blatantly talked over me as I was explaining what I was going through to say 'You're telling me what you can't do, tell me what you CAN do' then gave the advice of practice waiting at bus stops to help my agoraphobia.

Woman who was supposed to be a wellness coach that got fed up of my being full of grief as our sessions fell in the November/December period and actually ended our time together a good 4 or 5 sessions early and cited how she couldn't set goals for me or get stuck into the plan she'd created because she had had to go easy on me and just let me talk and do some self care things instead. This especially hurt as I thought we'd been getting along well.

My aunt who emails me and is the only one in the entire family who keeps in touch (as sporadically as it is) decided to tell me in a very long email a week before christmas two years ago that my mum had known she was going to die but told everyone not to tell me. All my mum ever did even when she was very poorly was worry about me and want to look after me, I feel no anger, confusion or any negative emotion towards her for that decision. What I do feel anger about is the fact my aunt never had to tell me this, it would not change a single thing or make my life better. What it did was alleviate her of the guilt of having kept that piece of info back for so many years. And of course there is no good time to tell someone that but 7 days before christmas? Bravo. Well done. Full points.

I have 13 years of constant interactions like these. I have no real positive interactions, no trust gained and kept. Nothing. I genuinely have no idea why or how I keep going, I just am.

It's just so wild that I watched the four people I was around the most decline dramatically, suffer indignity and be treated awfully and die in pain then immediately be catapulted into neglect, mistreatment and complete ignorance all while being polite and acting as if I'm doing fine because if you show one sliver of your illness people go silent and don't know what to do or fuck off entirely. You learn to flick a switch, I did it this morning at the end of the session.

Just delving into all this shit and then the guy said time was nearly up and I immediately quell my tears, straighten my tone and fall into a pleasing receptionist voice saying 'That's OK. Yes next week is fine, I hope you have a nice afternoon.' and he laughed clearly surprised and I said 'Sorry, I flipped the switch.' and he said 'I have to admit you're very professional with it.'

I mentioned to him how also most of the time I'd hope people who go through talking therapy of any kind, after tearing open all these wounds they have people there, loved ones be it friends or family to help them through it be it just being there, a hug or maybe taking them out for a walk or making them a meal.

I don't have that, after every session of general talking therapy and this bereavement counselling I am left entirely alone in my home, just me and the wounds I've torn open. Just sitting there with them bleeding freely again, no-one to help bandage me up and too deep to bury again quickly when it took a decade of festering and healing not quite right at all in ugly zig zag lines to at least get by and pretend for the sake of the outside world that I can be talked to and dealt with without suddenly bursting into tears or acting mentally ill and putting them off.

Feeling very jaded and despondent, I don't think anyone could be surprised by it.

It isn't the horrifying anxiety drowning where I NEED someone here, some reassurance (again, never had that in 13 years) but it's just the heavy weight of being through so much and doing 'everything correctly' with nothing to show for it.

November 11th was the day mum passed away, here at home in her bed in utter agony and high off morphine to try and manage the pain so entirely out of it and the day I was left alone in so many ways even though there were other people like nurses and a doctor in the room and my aunt out on the landing so it's the worst day of the year for me. It's even worse than December 25th.

Mum's birthday was a very rough one this year (8th Oct) and all I can do is hope November doesn't tear me to pieces like the 8th did because I promise you I don't know how much more surviving I have left in me before I lose it for good.

[travis-lim]

Solo drabble

The gym smells comforting. Familiar. These days that’s where Travis goes to hide. He doesn’t want to face people, not today. He’s spent the past week ignoring his coach’s phone calls - another responsibility that he’s trying and failing to shoulder. He just wants to go someplace where all his frustrations could be out - so gym it is, but not the usual one he goes to. It’s a lot worse actually. Travis kind of likes that. 

Decade-old posters peeling on walls with questionable color. The equipment is frankly shit, as old as him probably, but it gets the job done. 

Travis spent the past few hours training until his whole body got numb and the breath between his lips got sticky. Now resting on a bench, head back against the wall, he can’t quite catch his breath, but his mind is blissfully numb. 

Coach doesn’t let him train like this. Past his limit. It’s not good for him, they both know it. But Travis doesn’t want someone to look at him like a tool in need of honing to be kept in peak condition.

“Funny I should run into you here.” 

Travis cracks an eye open, too tired to be surprised that someone is talking to him. Mateo Alarcon stands, looming over where Travis is sitting, a grin on the kid’s face as if he’s most amused to see his supposed rival in the gym. 

Travis grunts something in answer, making a move to collect his things and get out of this conversation as soon as possible. 

“You came here to check the competition or what?” Mateo presses. 

“You train here?” Travis doesn’t mean to sound as shocked as he does, but the disbelief is obvious anyway. 

“Mmm,” Mateo nods, smile growing bigger. He doesn’t seem to even consider he should be offended. “We can’t all have fancy gyms.”

“My gym’s not fancy.”

“I’ve seen pictures.” The sub laughs. “Looks better than this one.”

“A rat’s nest would look better than this one. That’s not saying much.”

He wonders why Mateo would train here in all places. He’s got a big match lined up, and some attention on his name, he must have the money to go somewhere else. 

“Not many coaches who would train a sub,” Mateo explains, guessing Travis’ thoughts. 

Ah. 

That. 

Right. He forgot about that one, didn’t he?

“I didn’t know that was your gym.” Travis offered with a curt nod that was supposed to be a goodbye, but Mateo hasn’t gotten the memo because he follows right after him: 

“You wanna spar?” 

Travis scoffs at the offer. “No, thanks.” 

“Come on.”

“No.”

The sub groans, sounds like he’s actively sulking behind him. “What? Are you afraid a sub will kick your ass in front of everyone?” Travis rolls his eyes: “You think the five-year-old logic would work on me?” “It might.” Mateo laughs, and smiles and smiles. There’s something about the way his grin never seems to fall off his lips that Travis finds familiar. 

His stomach twists with a pang of longing because it reminds him of Remy. “Fine.” He relents, dropping his bag on the floor, and nodding towards the excuse of a boxing ring the gym had. “Just one round and I better not see you posting anything on social media about this.”

They got ready, hands wrapped, gloves on, and a quick warm-up, and after that, it was easy to take the floor and get to it. Travis might have been wary. Despite everything he wished to believe or pretend to believe, a part of him still doubted a sub could truly hold their own on the ring. Mateo proved otherwise. He was fast, willing to take risks in a way Travis no longer did. He fought with the passion of someone longing for their first chance, willing to take it by any means necessary. Somewhere along the minutes passing Travis realized - he wasn’t holding back. Neither of them fought to the best of their abilities, it would be stupid to show all of your cards to the guy you are supposed to fight. But just as Mateo could get a read on him, so could Travis. 

And he was good. 

Good enough that Travis couldn’t tell with certainty that he would easily win when the time came. 

When they were done, and he’d spat out the mouth guard, undoing gauze from his hands Travis wondered if he should feel worried, here he was instead - excited like it was his first fight ever and Travis could let himself be naïve and think skill was all that really mattered.

“Why did you accept the match?” Mateo interrupted his thoughts and shook his head, not following: “The match.” The sub continued. “You know you’re not the first person my Coach had approached for it.”

“I feel special.” Travis droned out sarcastically. 

“Everyone else turned me down because they think it’s a joke to fight a submissive. So why did you?” 

Travis shrugged. “I needed the publicity.”

“Bullshit.” Mateo shook his head. “If it was about publicity you would’ve been trash-talking me everywhere you can but you’re not. So what was it?” “I wasn’t going to actually, at first.” 

“Yeah? What changed your mind?” 

Travis thought about it, chewing on his lip. He’d thought of Remy a lot in the sub’s absence, about things he hadn’t while they were together - the limitations Remy had faced, the ones he’s still facing now. Travis spends far too much time scrolling through Remy’s Instagram than he’d like to admit, reading every comment under his photos. The good and the bad. Sometimes there’s a lot of bad, but Remy never faltered, he works and works despite how adamantly everyone’s tried to put a leash on him. Travis included. 

He wanted to do it for him. For Remy. Small as it was, it was his own way of fighting for the sub. For the things that had mattered to Remy. 

“I thought you might be a half-decent fighter.” He answered after a long pause. “Maybe I was looking for an easy match.”

Mateo’s eyes are smiling like he too can see in Travis’ head just like Remy managed to. 

“Am I a decent fighter?” 

“Your feet work is shit,” Travis said. “And you keep your guard like this,” His hands shot up to demonstrate. “You’re leaving your left side wide open every time. Keep ‘em higher, and don’t chase every reckless shot you think you can take.” 

The sub laughed. “Hey, look at that, maybe you can start a coaching career once I kick your ass.”

Travis rolled his eyes, a smile breaking at the corners of his lips: “Fuck off.” “Come on, I’ll buy you a beer, there’s a decent bar nearby and it’s almost ten, so I’m pretty much your responsibility now, you know?” 

He found himself nodding easily, some weight lifted off his shoulders.

[rcpdrookie]

Sure, Darck had the warmer under clothes this time of the year. But it wasn't exactly prepared for prolonged exposure in snowy weather. A simple black sweater under the coat, a matching scarf, no gloves foolishly. Prefered to be able to feel easily without them. That trench coat was the best item she had for this, heavy, holding in the body heat. But it was Leon who needed it more right now, not her. "I've handled worse conditions. Besides, you helped me a while back, yeah? My turn to return the favor. Keep my coat on you for now, I can last a few minutes."

The brunette gave him a confident smirk then, ignoring the chill running it's way up her skin.

None the less he was right however. Gotta get somewhere warm or get some sort of fire. Sure it was by chance that the two came across each other out here, but it was a no brainer to stick together. Then the sun dipped down, and snow fall came, yeah, the cold was far more dangerous than anything else. Eyes darted around, left, right, turning entirely with a careful sharp gaze. Sunglasses keeping the wind from her eyes. "Hmm... I can see a large shape that way- a chimney sticking through tree's. But it's got no smoke, suggesting it's empty. Better than out here, unless you want to become a discount snowman of course."

Leon sure as hell didn't like admitting that not only was he underprepared for things, but things had gone so far south on his current mission that he'd completely lost his way. He should have been more careful. He should have kept more to himself and kept focused. He should have spent five goddamn seconds looking at the weather, but he hadn't. He was caught with his pants around his ankles and he knew it.

He wasn't about to fight her on this. If the coat was the only amount of warmth they had for now then they'd both have to share it. It wasn't at all an ideal circumstance, but it would have to do for now. Besides, she was right. He had helped her before and somehow again here they were and he wasn't about to leave her alone out in this storm like this either.

When she speaks, he lets his gaze roam the area to find what she was talking about. The snow is picking up and the temperature is beginning to drop more. He knew that time was an important factor here for both of them. The odds of the place being completely empty were good, but he hoped it was enough for them to find supplies for a fire and be able to hunker down for the night. "Yeah... Looks maybe about... A mile off." He agrees, having spotted what she's referring to. "Pretty sure we better take our fucking chances on this. Assuming we don't freeze to death on the way there. Just... Stick close, yeah?"

[samiholloway]

I posted 24,468 times in 2022

434 posts created (2%)

24,034 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@onlyoneovaryohgress

@narnianwanderer

@nudityandnerdery

@hasufin

@mayax81

I tagged 914 of my posts in 2022

#diary - 436 posts

#plague diary - 20 posts

#division of muse relations - 20 posts

#our dystopia - 11 posts

#best stories - 11 posts

#rhona chronicles - 11 posts

#people have always been people - 6 posts

#st: pic - 5 posts

#star trek picard - 5 posts

#ugh - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#theres something jn this tangle of thing about us picking up the scottish accent sns then having ro immediately lose it when we 'came home'

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

More observations no one asked for!

I'm on day five of SSRIs, and physically I feel like butt all the time -- but mentally? I feel so much lighter? Like, I'm still all here, but the bottom has been brought up in my moods, and the floor I stand on inside my head is bigger and more stable. I'm chattering more. I'm worrying less. I was almost late for work the other day because for the first time in maybe ever, I wasn't spending half my prep time worrying about being late.

I hope that all lasts. I hope the physical symptoms pass (bc they really suck).

13 notes - Posted May 5, 2022

#4

Heard back from the cardiologist! He said I had a few premature heartbeats but nothing Big Or Scary and he doesn't think I need more tests unless something drastic and news happens! Whew! No arrythmia, no murmur, though maybe I need to exercise more and strengthen up.

You guys, I'm so relieved. It's been more than a month of being afraid I have a secret heart condition like my cousin that dropped dead.

The next appointment with my other doctor is a full physical, so if it's something not cardiac making me feel funky, hopefully there'll be a clue there!

14 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

#3

Kinda want to explore what the world has to offer me in the way of mild chili powder and flakes. What flavors you got? Not blinding Heat, thanks, just those flavors.

17 notes - Posted January 12, 2022

#2

The Rhona got us.

Mom and dad are both sicker than me but so far none of us worse than a typical flu. But we were supposed to go grocery shopping today and now we're officially quarantined, so that's gonna be interesting.

25 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Roman ideas that should've caught on instead of the ones that we still have now:

Rich people are obligated to build public works for the people

Temples to gods we haven't met yet so they aren't ignored or fogotten

Days where the rules are reversed and the normal folk can decompress

What else?

160 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[sunnywalnut]

This^^^

Like if you ASK me to infodump, I likely won't. Or if I try, it won't be very good. But if you ask me follow up questions and engage in genuine conversation, I probably will ramble a bit but I will stop halfway through and apologize. Because that is what has been conditioned of me. I've been told to keep it short. To not waste people's time.

But also sometimes I struggle with listening to OTHER people infodump bc

A: I don't know what the fuck is going on

B: I don't know enough about the source material to actually be engaged.

I'll still listen! I'll just probably be a bit distracted or uncertain of myself when I ask questions. Because I do love my friends. I'm just horrible at sitting still when things don't click "right" in my brain.

And yes. If those things that people infodump about challenges my strict sense of justice(because remember. That is an autistic trait as well) I will feel the intense need to share my feelings on the matter. Like my entire skin is burning and I'm going to combust unless I let it out.

Which more often than not leaves people irritated, frustrated, and disappointed that I don't also like The Thing

Which also ended up with me losing relationships with people that enjoyed things that I found controversial. Like k pop, for example.

The industry is exploitative and thrives off of harboring parasocial relationships with young fans.

I do not like that. I will tell you I don't like that. And I will not listen to k pop songs at all because of it. No matter how good they are or if their songs are in English.

This quite literally ended a friendship of mine bc they were too far into the fan space and had too much of a parasocial relationship that they took my criticism of the industry as me attacking the people they saw as their friends/family. They ghosted me for 2 entire weeks and for months after that, nothing changed. If anything, it got worse. Because both of us were on two opposite sides of the spectrum and I could not handle the sexualization, infantalization, [and sometimes f3tishization] alongside the fact that they would infodump information about these people EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

Meanwhile THEY could not handle the idea of somebody not wanting to listen to these cool people that they loved so much and thought were awesome as hell.

And before you judge either of us too harshly, please know that we were both 15 and this person likely did not know all of the things that I did about the industry. They just saw cute people that would talk to and have a relationship with their fans. Which is very normal for a fifteen year old. I however. Am obsessed with figuring out the dirty details of everything as soon as I can. Which leads to a lot of my black and white thinking. While I now recognize that this is the issue, as well as my age at the time, I've made peace with these events.

While I do think that both of us could've worked through a bunch of communication instead of being butts to one another and ignoring each other's boundaries, it quite literally was the stark differences and firm stand points that we had that ended our friendship. Because I was not able to let go of my morals enough to be supportive of my friend finding a new type of music they liked, and because they could not stop long enough to realize that maybe their (then asexual) friend does not want to watch videos of people biting their lip and the tens of thousands of explicit fanfic that came from that single moment.

We are both autistic. Or at least I believe so. I myself have a diagnosis, while last I heard from them, they were still in the middle of getting one. And five years later, I realize that this was also part of the problem.

Not every single autistic person is going to get along with one another. You can't just clock somebody as autistic and then ASSUME that they're gonna be okay with sitting in silence while you talk about your favorite band for three hours. The same way that you can't just ASSUME that somebody knows that when you are silent and don't look at them, it means that you want them to sit quietly with you.

Everyone has different needs. And sometimes those needs aren't met by someone else, even if you're similar in certain ways.

Developmental disabilities like autism have so many different ways of showing up and sometimes that clashes with other people in ways that you can't control.

The best you can do is to recognize how it affects you and to try and adapt to meet someone in the middle.

Like. Autism doesn't come with an automatic love of hearing anyone infodump about anything they love. In fact sometimes it comes with the opposite. Sometimes restricted interests are in fact restrictive enough to make anything else boring. Sometimes it's just hard to process that much speech. Doesn't mean we get to be unkind about it either but yeah. This fantasy people push of autistics having endless energy and appreciation for each other's special interests is just not realistic.

[butterflyloverforever]

I Survived Life

Prologue - How I Was Born

When I was still growing in my mom's tummy, she had a feeling she would have a child with special needs. Turns out, she was right. I was born with a disability known by few people - SMARD, Spinal muscular atrophy with respiratory distress. We didn't realize I had such a rare disease until I was two years old. The reason for this is that I was stronger than all the other SMARD kids. I'm the only person in the state of Utah diagnosed with it.

Chapter One - What is SMARD?

Early features of this condition are difficult and noisy breathing, especially when inhaling; a weak cry; problems feeding; and recurrent episodes of pneumonia. I have a high pain tolerance and a loss of bladder and bowel control. I have scoliosis also because of this disease. I can't move my hands and feet due to weakness of my distal muscles. SMARD causes paralysis of the diaphragm. This makes it so I need a ventilator to breathe.

Spinal muscular atrophy with respiratory distress is an extremely rare disease. Both parents need to have the gene in order to have a child with the disability.

Chapter Two - Miracle, not coincidence

I was in the hospital. My mom went home to take a shower. When she had gotten home, I couldn't breathe! The doctors were trying many different masks to change that but none of them were small enough. My mom wasn't back yet and my dad called her, saying that he didn't think I would make it. She was getting in the car but had a feeling to run back inside and grab the mask that we always kept just in case. For a second, she ignored her intuition but she felt it again. As if Jesus was telling her to. She listened and hurried to the hospital. When she got there, the feeling came again, this time telling her to not forget her bag. She didn't know why she would need that but, again, she trusted her feeling and grabbed it. When she got inside, the doctors told her what was going on. My mom quickly realized that they said that I needed a mask and pulled out the one she brought. It was a perfect fit and I survived!

Chapter Three - Still Undiscovered

When I was a baby, everyone could tell that I was different from other people but they had no idea why. Attempting to find out, the doctors took a biopsy of my leg. However, the first attempt failed. Still, sadly, nobody knew what I had. No one knew how rare I was.

Chapter Four - I Am Rare

I was two when the doctors discovered I had something so unusual. It was something that would affect my whole life. But was it for the better or for the worse? Could it be for both?

Chapter Five - Near mis

My parents were staying in Park City because they were in the hospital with me for 5 months. I was staying with my grandparents. My grandma was in the kitchen and my grandpa was reading me a book. He would check on me after every page. After 1 page, I didn't say anything. I was turning blue. My grandpa called my grandma in. She ran in, saw that I was in need of immediate help, and started working with the equipment she was unfamiliar with. Grandpa asked her who they should call, my parents or 911. She kept saying no but told him to call both 15 minutes later. 911 was there within 3-4 minutes with sirens blaring. 7 paramedics rushed inside. My grandparents thought they'd know how to handle my equipment but they didn't. Nobody knew how to control it and my grandpa's heart sank. I went to the hospital with all my equipment. No one knew how to use it. My parents were speeding down the canyon. The doctors figured it out with the help of my mom and grandma and then left the room. I was passed out for 45 minutes. My dad and grandpa gave me a priesthood blessing. The moment they lifted their hands off of my head, I opened my eyes and said, "I want to hold my baby." My mom was pregnant and no one had known except my parents. The doctors asked my parents if they wanted to take me home or send me to the children's hospital. They decided to take me home.

Chapter Six - Bionic Back

For almost my whole life, I had a terrible back. On a 1-10 pain scale, I always had a 10 pain. This is because of my scoliosis. I needed to have magic rods to try and straighten my back because my lungs were getting squished. Also, for the same reason, twice a year, I had an appointment with my doctor where I had to lie down on my stomach for about an hour.

Chapter Seven - This Side Up

When I was about 10 years old, I had one of my final surgeries. The magic rod company was in the surgery with the doctor. They were supposed to be supervising and helping the surgeon put the rods in my back correctly. However, although the rod specifically said "This side up", they put them in "this side down". My mom kept telling them that something was wrong because I kept getting weaker on my left side. After they saw my rods practically poking through my back, they believed my mom. It had to be their idea.

Chapter Eight - My Back Is Screwed - Literally

I was at the age of 12 when my parents told me that I could finally end the pain in my back! We chose to take the opportunity and get me a back fusion. This time, the surgery went well. But it turned out that my back had autofused meaning that my body was going to stay crooked.

Chapter Nine - I Believe

My family and I were coming home from somewhere. I was speeding into the house and I fell out of my wheelchair. But I didn't hit the ground! My mom sort of caught me from what she remembers. But I felt like angels caught me!

Chapter Ten - Saved Again

I had a sinus infection. Pretty normal, right? Wrong! This one seeped through my bone and turned into a brain infection. I had the most terrible headaches and had to take Advil and Tylenol which I almost never need. They didn't even help. After 12 days of excruciating pain, my mom read a news article about kids in Nevada who had the same thing. She rushed me into the ER for an MRI the morning after. The doctors were going to operate on me that day but it got delayed until the next morning. When they did, my pockets were filled with infection. If they had waited any longer, I would be gone. I was saved by my savior again!

Chapter Eleven - One or Two?

Is SMARD a good thing or a bad thing? It's both! Although it's an adversity that I'm yearning to live without, it's also helped to teach me many important lessons. It's often a blessing. It's strengthened my faith in Christ and in God. And that has allowed me to survive!

[indigostars]

in which i’m bullied encouraged by my beloved friends to write a dramatic rainy confession for zutara 💓

•

She barely makes it past the courtyard before he catches up to her. They both nearly tumble to the ground, which is slick with mud.

Rain is coming down heavily, reducing visibility to less than five feet, but Katara can see Zuko’s face as clearly as if there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

“I told you not to follow me!” Katara has to shout over the wind and the other hundred noises of nature. Her hair whips around her, untethered. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going!”

Zuko only tightens his grip. His robes are starting to sag to waterlogging and his topknot is in complete disarray, and one had the guts to say it, they’d comment on how Zuko looks like anything but a Fire Lord.

That doesn’t deter the intense gaze he gives her. If anything, Katara thinks Zuko’s never looked more regal or, dare she say — handsome.

“Really?” Zuko challenges, just as thunder rumbles overhead. “In this weather? Your ship will crash before you make it to the temple.”

Katara wrenches herself from his grip. “I’ve traveled in conditions much worse than this and you know it.”

Zuko’s eyes flash. There’s a lot of anger and a lot of hurt. “Why are you so desperate to leave? I thought we had an agreement.”

“That was a year ago, Zuko,” Katara snaps. “Plans change. The letter I got from Aang—”

“That damned letter?” Zuko shouts explosively. “The whole reason you came here was because you felt stifled by these expectations—”

“Don’t you dare!” Katara shrieks, heat rising to her cheeks. Her voice cracks. “You don’t understand and you never have! Aang needs me!”

“You broke up with him, Katara,” Zuko snarls. Something suspiciously close to smoke is starting to come off of his clenched fists.

Katara throws her arms up. “Maybe that was a mistake, Zuko! Maybe all of this was a mistake!”

“You don’t believe that,” Zuko says loudly. Stiffly. “You don’t want to go.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I can or cannot believe in,” Katara bites out. “You don’t know anything about how I feel!”

“I know you better than you think I do,” Zuko growls, and suddenly Katara is very aware that their faces are mere inches from each other.

“And what,” Katara hisses, “makes you think that?”

Zuko grabs her hand again — both of them this time — only this time, it’s with a gentler touch. His voice echoes in her ears as he leans to whisper to her.

“Because I know you, and you know me.”

And Katara shoves him away, tears in her eyes, hoping against hope that Zuko never notices them.

“What do you want me to say?” she demands. She gestures around her. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stop running away!” Zuko shouts, and Katara has to fight the urge to stomp her foot like a child. “I want you to be honest with yourself!”

The rain, if possible, is coming down harder now. Katara can’t tell if she’s crying. It certainly feels like it. Zuko himself doesn’t look much better.

“I’m not running away from anything!” Katara says. She ignores how her voice cracks and the lie that rings clear. Despite all the cages guarding a heart that gave and gave until there was nothing left to give, something within still broke the defenses.

Zuko actually takes a few steps back. Sorrow is etched upon his face for a brief moment before it vanishes completely.

“Fine! Then go. I thought you loved it here, but I was wrong.”

The dismissal is cold fury and seeps into Katara’s bones with frightening clearity, and suddenly she’s moving toward him until her nose brushes his.

She’s always been one for defiance.

There’s a flash of lightning, quickly followed by another roll of thunder.

“Don’t falsify my feelings! I love it here, and I love you—”

Warm hands grip her face then. Zuko’s eyes are shining like molten gold, and at some point in their confrontation, his crown’s fallen off.

“Then stay.” His voice is husky. “Stay, and — and be with me.”

“Zuko—”

He leans forward and kisses her. All thoughts immediately leave Katara’s mind, because the gesture is compassionate and gentle and real.

When they break apart, Katara still keeps her arms wrapped around him.

There’s a small smile forming on Zuko’s lips. “Did you really think I didn’t return your feelings?”

“I—” Katara stutters. Her face feels flushed, and this time, it’s not from anger, but from euphoria. “I wasn’t sure — I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, I—”

“Nothing could ever ruin us,” Zuko declares. Katara rolls her eyes at his dramatics, but now she’s smiling. “I love you, Katara. So stay. Please.”

Katara never once believed that the Fire Nation could ever be considered home — but Gran-Gran had always said home is where the heart is.

And her heart belongs to Zuko. Zuko is her home, as she is his.

Katara pulls him into a hug, the motion fervid. She’s clinging to him, and she can feel his arms holding to her just as enthusiastically.

“I’ll stay,” she whispers. “Always.”

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The More Loving One

Masterlist

Summary: Professor Reid finds himself falling for a student. 

A/N: This fic is based on this request. I changed a few things up, but I hope you like the finished product!

Long time, no see! It seems like forever since I got to sit down and just enjoy writing something. And enjoy this, I did. I approached this one a bit differently than I usually do, but I like how it turned out none the less. I hope you all enjoy my take on the Professor Reid arc. The first poem I use in this fic is titled The More Loving One by W.H. Auden, and the second is from a collection of Perry poetry.

Also, I recently hit 2k followers, which is absolutely unbelievable. I can’t even begin to explain how thankful I am for each and every one of you. This fic is my love letter to you. Thank you all so much. 

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: a few swear words maybe?, teacher x student relationship, age gap, exhibitionism (sorta?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4k

           For as long as Spencer can remember, he’s always had a predilection for the finer things in life.

           Spencer attributes the origin of his preferences to his upbringing. In his childhood, before his mother’s disease got the better of her, she exposed him to all sorts of literature. While he ventured to read all types of writings, he’d always been partial to tales of extravagance. A young Spencer Reid sought refuge in the profligacy of it all, as it was so starkly different from his own reality. Forced to bear the burden of household and a sick mother from an early age, Spencer’s own life left little room for reckless indulgence.

           Now, as a single adult male, Spencer makes it a point to give himself up to the finer things as often as he can. Spencer isn’t a rich man, nor is he careless with what hard-earned money he does have. He simply likes to treat himself to the occasional five-star meal, and even more frequently, posh clothing and rare books. Walls lined with hundreds of antiquarian novels and a closet full of Comme Des Garçon cardigans are where the indulgence ends, however, and until recently Spencer was content with this.

           But when she strolls into his life on the very first day of his teaching career, Spencer knows that his small luxuries will no longer be enough to keep him satisfied. The part of him that longs to have only the very best roars to life as he takes in every perfect inch of her. She stands before him, the embodiment of divinity and grace, looking like every fantasy he only dares to conjure up in the late hours of the night. A litany of cliches from every piece of romantic literature he’s ever read spring to the forefront of his mind in the instant that her eyes met his, but there is nothing stereotypical about the way her gaze banishes the air from his lungs. It is as jarring as it is intoxicating. He never wants to look away.

           Unfortunately, she doesn’t feel the same. With a light flush of her cheeks, she turns away from him, and in an equally unfortunate turn of events, she proceeds to shuffle down the aisle and into the second row of seats to the right of the podium. The realization that washes over him feels like ice water in his veins.

           She’s a student. Worse even – she’s his student.

           Spencer wrenches his gaze from her as if he’s been burned, and the fiery shame of his embarrassment makes him tug at his collar. As he struggles to stave away the lingering heat in his chest and even more embarrassingly, the tightness in his trousers, Spencer chastises himself. His own carnal urges often go ignored, a fact that is glaringly obvious as he cowers behind his podium in an attempt to hide his arousal. He feels more than a little bit pathetic. No self-respecting thirty-five-year-old man gets hard just from gazing upon a beautiful young woman.

           When Spencer pulls himself together enough to start his lecture, he positively forbids himself to look her way. It is hard to fight the urge, but every time he catches his eyes wandering to her, he reminds himself that she is an indulgence he simply cannot partake in. No matter how badly he wants to.

--

           It doesn’t take long for her to notice him noticing her.

           In the early days of the semester, she manages to convince herself that the stolen glances are but a figment of her overactive imagination. That, or an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking. But as the semester stretches on and the professor’s eyes linger more and more, wishful thinking gives way to a startling realization that she isn’t alone in her attraction. Professor Reid is, to her complete and utter astonishment, just as taken with her as she is with him.

           This is all but confirmed when a slight brushing of the hands during an exchange of papers leaves them both with flushed cheeks and pounding hearts. Both of their heads snap up, two sets of eyes meeting in a prolonged stare that results in an understanding of sorts. It’s mutual, this thing blossoming between them. She can see her own hopes reflected in two velvet pools of brown – can see the longing, the desire that burns within them. Her heart soars, as she imagines his does, and she accepts the papers with a smile.

           She also imagines that, if he could, he would tell her to wait for him. He would tell her that, for now, their relationship must stay strictly professional.

           This doesn’t stop them from sating their cravings in other ways.

           She makes it a point to stop by during office hours at least twice a week. Her visits always fall under the guise of her studies, but within minutes their hushed conversations stray from the professional and towards a more personal nature. She learns of Spencer’s mother and her condition, of his unusual job and his coworkers that were more like family. In return, she tells him about her upbringing in southern California, as well as her dreams of becoming a criminal psychologist. They never go as far as to discuss what will happen when the semester comes to a close. It is an unspoken agreement that the end of the semester will find them in each other’s arms. All they have to do is wait.

           Spencer can’t voice his affections with words, but he more than makes up for this with his actions. Without fail, every Monday following the very first clandestine brushing of hands, lavish bouquets of flowers arrive at her workplace. Each bouquet is always paired with a notecard inscribed with a brief explanation of the meaning behind that week’s flower of choice. Cherry blossoms to pay homage to her beauty, plumeria to symbolize their new beginning, agrimony to convey his thankfulness that she is willing to wait for him.

           Her favorite bouquet arrives four weeks before the end of the semester. As she steps through the doors of the bakery, a vase full of nine red roses sits atop the counter. The sight of them nearly takes her breath away. She pauses for a moment and runs her fingertips across the velveteen petals before plucking the notecard from its place.

           This week, Spencer chooses to forgo the explanation in favor of a messily scrawled poem;

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

that, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

we have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn 

with a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

let the more loving one be me. 

           That evening, Spencer receives his first bouquet from her. On his desk sits an arrangement of pale pink ambrosia.

           The meaning isn’t lost on him, but if it were, the note that sits next to the vase makes her intentions clear.

We never had to force love.

We were drowning in it from the moment we met.

--

           Spencer is horribly frustrated.

           A mere twenty feet away from where he stands, the notoriously garish and wholly unprofessional PhD program director is gesticulating wildly to the young woman that stands trapped between him and the hors d’oeuvre table. To find Professor Van Wesep in such a position is not uncommon, due to his penchant for trying to charm (terrorize) the prospective female doctoral candidates. The man is practically a walking harassment complaint waiting to happen. Spencer would abhor Van Wesep even if he weren’t the only thing standing in the way of him and his lover.

           At long last, the semester has drawn to a close. The lonely nights spent longing to hold her in his arms are a thing of the past. By the time the sun rises again, Spencer will no longer have to wonder what her body will feel like pressed against his. He’ll be thoroughly acquainted with every inch of her, and she with him. The thought sends a thrilled chill down his spine.

           The torturous foreplay they’ve been engaging in for the last four months would have surely broken a lesser man. Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted on more than one occasion to have her during one of her frequent visits to his office. Some days, when her visits came later in the evenings, just as the sun began to dip low in the sky, her eyes would glisten in such a way that told Spencer her thoughts were none dissimilar to his own. That glimmer of lust had him holding on to his restraint by the skin of his teeth.

           And here they were, on the last evening of the semester. Final grades had been submitted and were released hours prior. Spencer would have been content to skip this event altogether, in favor of more… recreational activities, but his lover insisted on attending.

           Initially, Spencer assumed her insistence lay in her desire to mingle with her future peers and mentors. Her true intentions come to light when she breezes into the room clad in a pair of sleek, designer pumps. Her lips, painted fire engine red, curl up into a playful smile at the sight of a slack-jawed Spencer Reid. The devious glint in her eye twinkles sinfully in the light.

           Tonight isn’t a social call at all. Tonight, she wants to play with him.

           And play she has.

           From the second she arrives all eyes are fixating on her celestial beauty. Peers and mentors alike trip over themselves in their haste to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment. She works the room flawlessly, leaving a trail of smitten men of all ages in her wake.

           The most smitten is Spencer himself, because he’s the lone recipient of countless heated glances, as well as more than a few knowing smirks. She well aware of what she’s doing to him, and she takes pleasure in watching him squirm.

          Spencer intervenes when Van Wesep makes the ill-advised decision to reach a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. He barely has the time to withdraw his hand before Spencer is upon them.

          “I apologize for the interruption,” Spencer casts a faux apologetic glance at his colleague, before settling his gaze on his target. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I speak to you for a moment?”

           She looks positively gleeful. Perhaps Spencer should have intervened hours ago.

           “Absolutely, Professor Reid.”

           The honorific sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He definitely should have stolen her away earlier.

           The two of them say their goodbyes to a confused Professor Van Wesep, whose imploring eyes follow them as they hurriedly slip from the party and down the hallway.

--

           “Where are we going?”

           Spencer leads her down a long corridor, far beyond earshot of the other guests. Pushing her into a dark corner, he positions her between himself and the cold wooden door of an unoccupied office. The only sounds that can be heard are the distant thrum of the music and the eager pants falling from his lover’s lips.

           Spencer pulls her into a searing kiss, one hand tangling in her hair and the other finding purchase on her waist. He worries for a moment that he’s being too rough with her, that he should have taken a more careful approach to their first kiss, but she assuages those worries when she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm. Her hand reaches between them and clutches his tie, then she’s pulling him closer and whining wantonly against his lips. Spencer takes this as an invitation to slip his tongue inside and he finds himself letting out a low groan when he tastes a hint of strawberry.

           Spencer pulls away to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

           “Oh, I think I do, Professor,” she laughs, breathless. “Probably just as long as I’ve wanted to do this.”

           Spencer jolts forward when her hand slides down to cup him over his trousers.

           “Could’ve done that a lot earlier if you hadn’t insisted on teasing me for the entire night,” Spencer growls through gritted teeth. He’s more than a little proud of his ability to string together a sentence with her hand working him over with slow, steady strokes.

           He trails a line of kisses across the underside of her jaw, before taking her earlobe and nipping it lightly with his canine. Spencer’s actions are rewarded with a full body shudder. He dips his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat and her hands ball into fists against his dress shirt.

           “Spencer, please.”

           Spencer hums and pulls back to look at her. The hand in her hair lowers, and he trails a thumb across where her nipples are hard against the fabric of her dress.

           “Yes, my love?”

           Her eyes flutter against the weight of her arousal, and Spencer twitches in his pants. The sight of her with her hair disheveled and her lipstick smeared on account of him is a heavenly thing. He doesn’t know how he ever deprived himself of such a splendor.

           “I want you. Right now.” She punctuates her words by pulling him down into a frenzied kiss. One of her hands tangles itself in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other busies with tugging his shirt out of his pants.

           “Right now?” Spencer taunts, mouth against mouth. His hand trails down the side of her breast, caressing her rib cage and her hip before stopping at her upper thigh. Spencer’s fingertips toy with the tops of her lace thigh highs. “But anyone could walk by and see us.”

           “I don’t care,” she argues, fumbling clumsily as she struggles to undo his belt buckle.

           Spencer’s wandering hand dips below the hem of her dress to explore the silky-smooth skin of her inner thigh. She’s soft here, too, he thinks to himself as his hand travels up, up, up. He stops just short of where she wants him most and she lets out a despairing cry.

           “You wouldn’t mind someone walking by and seeing you with your pretty legs spread wide for your professor?”

           Spencer brings life to his words by lifting her leg up, hitching her thigh around his hip and pressing into her. The silk fabric of her dress rustles as he pushes it up and out of the way.

           A breathy moan tumbles from her lips as he rocks against her, dragging his arousal up and down the front of her lace panties. The friction is maddening in that it provides only the smallest bit of relief. It’s not enough for Spencer, and judging by the way she desperately pushes down the fabric of his pants, it’s not enough for his partner, either.

           “Need to get these off now,” she murmurs against Spencer’s mouth. An eager hand tugs at the elastic band of his underwear.

           Spencer places his hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Not so fast, baby. Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.”

           Her fingers clamp down on Spencer’s wrist, guiding him to the sodden lace between her thighs.

           “Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” she whimpers as Spencer’s fingers take appraisal of the drenched cloth. “In fact, I think four months of foreplay is sufficient enough. Wouldn’t you say?”

           “Maybe so,” Spencer muses, voice muffled as he sucks at the skin of her neck. “But I’m not willing to chance hurting you our first time together. You’re entirely too precious to me.”

           Spencer captures her lips in a kiss so sweet it has her sighing into his mouth. When he pulls away, he fixes her with a smile.

           “You’re not particularly fond of these panties, are you?”

           Her eyebrows pull together. “No, why?”

           Spencer pulls at the flimsy fabric harshly and it gives way under the force of it. He reaches back to stuff the thong in his back pocket.

           “That’s why.”

           Spencer’s lips come down against hers at the same time his middle and index fingers drag across her slickness. His foresight pays off when his mouth muffles the sound of her cries. As confident he is that they won’t be found, a cry like that would certainly have drawn unwanted attention.

           The swipe of his thumb across her crest paired with the gentle pressure of his fingers dipping into her heat is enough to make her legs buckle. Had it not been for Spencer pressing her against the wall, she surely would have fallen to the ground in a trembling heap.

           “I could get lost in you for hours,” Spencer groans, curling his fingers inside her in such a way that makes her clutch desperately to his shirt.

           “Spencer, oh my God,” she keens. “I need you, please.”

           “You have me, my love,” Spencer whispers the promise against her parted lips. “You’ve had me since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

           Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers until the telltale tightening of her heat warns him of her impending climax. He has to bite down on his lower lip to regain his own composure. The feeling of her tight and wet around his fingers is almost too good.

           “Spencer, I’m getting close,” she whimpers.

           Spencer continues until she’s on the cusp of tumbling over the edge, until one more pass of his fingers against her crest would surely seal the deal, and then he’s removing his hand and taking a step back.

           “Spencer, what the fu-,” she pauses when he promptly shoves his pants and underwear just enough to free himself from their painful confines. “Oh.”

           A dazed smile makes its way to her face as Spencer presses himself against her once more. He sweeps her up into a kiss comprised of pure, unadulterated desire, before pulling away and smirking deviously at her.

           “Jump.”

           It takes a moment for her pleasure fogged brain to make sense of the request, but as soon as it does, she complies without question.

           Spencer’s hands grip her thighs firmly and in one swift thrust he sheaths himself into her fully – an indulgence so grand that all others dull in comparison. Now that he’s had the finest, felt it wrapped around him like warm velvet, he can’t imagine a world in which he must live without it.

           “Spencer!”

           Spencer swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound than her crying out his name as their bodies come together for the first time. It’s synonymous with a siren call, he thinks, because in that moment she could lure him to certain death and he knows he would go with a smile.

           His lips seek purchase on the exposed skin of her chest as he buries himself in her paradise again and again. The sharp sting of her heels digging into his back with every thrust brings out a sort of primal urge in him, spurring him to rut up into her like a man possessed.

           “You feel perfect,” Spencer groans out against the flushed skin of her neck. He presses a soft kiss to where her pulse bounds just beneath the skin before pulling away and locking eyes with her. “When I’m old and gray and can remember nothing else, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember how it felt to kiss you for the first time – how it felt to touch you. How it felt to worship you and make love to your body.”

           Spencer’s voices catches, thick and overwhelmed with emotion.

           “I’ll remember how it feels to love you.”

           Her breath catches in her throat and sharp pang of panic burns hot in his chest. Had he misinterpreted her affections? Did she not burn for him in the same way? Perhaps the ambrosia meant nothing. Spencer’s movements falter, and for several torturous seconds he’s nearly paralyzed with fear.

            She silences those fears with a kiss.

           “Oh, Spencer,” she sighs as she presses her forehead against his. “I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend.”

           Spencer resumes moving in and out of her, but the frenzied feeling from before is replaced with something else now. Something softer, but no less passionate.

           “Yeah?” he inquires, searching her eyes for any trace of insincerity. He finds none, and it’s a relief. Any hint of falseness in her claim would surely lead to a heartbreak he could never recover from.

           “Yes.” The word trails off into a moan. “I love you, Spencer Reid. I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop.”

           Spencer’s heart jolts and he whines pathetically against her mouth. “I’m counting on that.”

           “I’m close, Spencer,” she pants, her breath hitting his face in warm puffs. “Don’t think I can last much longer.”

           “Me, too.” Spencer nudges her nose with his own. “Reach between us and touch yourself, my love. I want us to cum together. Can you do that for me?”

           She nods, and the hand that clung to his right shoulder dips in between them to rub tight circles against her crest. Spencer doubles his efforts when he sees her eyelids flutter closed, and the resulting tightening of her core leaves him panting hard.

           “Spencer, I-” her breath catches in her throat as Spencer delivers a particularly strong thrust. Her head falls against his shoulder, her soft moans of his name like heaven to his ears.

           “Cum with me, baby,” Spencer grunts out desperately. He needs it like he needs air to breath and water to drink. And once he has it, he knows he’ll need it again and again.

           She gives it to him with a muffled cry of his name and he’s instantly swept away, drowning in the blissful way her body sings for him. His body follows her lead, shattering completely under her fingertips.

           While he’s been through similar acts with previous partners, those instances always felt impersonal and clinical. The caresses and whispered words were all a means to an end, an end that usually left him feeling lonelier and emptier than when he started. But right now, as he feels the beat of her heart pressed against his own, he swears he couldn’t feel fuller - full of adoration, full of affection, full of love. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and everything Spencer didn’t know he was looking for.

           A raucous round of applause erupts from the direction of the party, startling the two of them. Spencer feels her laugh against his neck.

           “It’s almost as if they were applauding us for a job well done.”

           Spencer presses a chaste kiss to the crown of her head.

           “As they should. That was sensational.”

           Spencer carefully pulls out and lowers her to the floor. He wastes no time in tilting her chin up and capturing her lips in a reverent kiss. Spencer hopes his lips convey his gratitude.

           The two of them pull apart and set to making themselves presentable. Their efforts prove to be in vain when Spencer points out a dark purple love bite nestled into the crook of her neck. She counters this by taking note of the smudge of red lipstick on his collar.

           “What an adulterous pair we make, Professor.”

           Spencer rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not your professor anymore.” He bends down and places a kiss to her lips before taking her hand in his.

           “I suppose you’re not,” she muses as they meander down the corridor. “Whatever shall we do now?”

           As the two of them step out of the dark hallway and reenter the party, Spencer smiles to himself. Visions of wedding rings flit through his mind. Spencer supposes he’ll have to take a break from the posh clothing and rare books in favor of saving his money. He’ll buy only the finest ring for his future wife, after all.

           “I have a few ideas.”

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