#Understanding Fragile X Syndrome

[todayspecialday]

National Fragile X Awareness Day - July 22, 2023

July 22nd is recognized as National Fragile X Awareness Day, an important occasion that aims to raise awareness about Fragile X syndrome and the impact it has on individuals and families. This day provides an opportunity to educate the public about the syndrome’s characteristics, challenges, and the need for support and research.  In this article, we will explore what Fragile X syndrome is, its…

[deebris]

Heartbeat

Simon "Ghost" Riley x child reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: At just eight years old, you struggle with a heart condition that makes you too fragile for shocks or exertion. To protect you, Simon keeps his military life as far away as possible, and his home, a safe refuge. But everything changes when an intruder, unaware of Simon's true identity, decides to rob them. What should have been a simple burglary turns into a desperate race against time when fear triggers a heart attack. Now, Simon is not only fighting the thief — he's fighting to save your life.

Warnings: Profanity, firearms, panic, mentions of death, the reader is 8 years old, has Long QT Syndrome and is a girl.

Word count: 4.5k

Observation: English is not my first language, and I have very little exposure to British English specifically. I had a really hard time writing Simon and Price's dialogue, but I hope I at least got close to something more realistic.

Simon put you to sleep, just like he had for the past two nights, and now he lay with his head resting against the pillow, the insomnia visiting him once again. He was exhausted from the day, chasing after you and handling your tantrums – but still, sleep wouldn’t come. No one would believe it if they were told that he, a shadowy wall of muscle and silence, spent his afternoons playing dolls and tea parties with an eight-year-old girl.

Your father always watched you sleep for a while, his calloused fingers gently brushing your chubby cheek and smoothing your hair. He admired your serenity, as if the world were perfect and no problems existed. Simon wished you could stay that way forever, carefree and small. The thought of you growing up and facing the world unsettled him, but it was inevitable.

You were a wellspring of joy, something that warmed his heart. Always looking for him, and always worried about how he felt, if he was okay, when he should be the one asking you that. Something inside Simon shifted every time you asked if he was hurting when went too quiet.

He used to think that a child’s mind was too oblivious to understand how adults worked, but you always noticed every time his eyes tightened just a fraction differently, wondering: Why is Daddy sad? And not every time was he exactly sad, but sometimes, his gaze grew distant, thoughts reaching faraway places. Now, he was much more careful not to let it happen around you, not wanting his daughter to think something was wrong with her father.

Everything about you made him immensely happy, a feeling buried deep in his chest that he had to protect you at all costs. But Simon couldn’t protect you from his greatest fear. Your heart worked differently, he had told you that himself, and it had brought him to the edge of panic more times than he could count. When it wasn’t clear what was wrong, he felt useless, powerless, as if he would never be enough.

Once, you couldn’t breathe at daycare, and he was thousands of miles away. Your babysitter called him in tears, it was one of the worst moments of his life. He thought you were going to die, and the very idea haunted him like some loathsome creature. He had faced death many times, in many forms, but with you, it was utterly devastating. You couldn’t disappear. It would destroy him.

When he was near, he handled you like porcelain, always cautious, as if something invisible could suddenly trigger another episode, making you cry from a pain he couldn't take away.

That’s why he refused to take anything that might help him sleep, twisting at the thought of you needing him and him being too dazed to respond. He forced himself to stay awake, alert, every little noise in the house making him tense. A creaking window, the sound of distant footsteps, a whisper in the hallway – he always checked – even knowing it was probably just his mind creating monsters. But he couldn’t help it. The fear of something happening while he was lost in the darkness of his own mind was unbearable.

In the middle of the night, he would get up several times just to check if you were still breathing. The room was silent, except for the rhythmic, comforting sound of your breath. Occasionally, there was a small hesitation, a brief pause that sent his heart into his throat, before the steady rise and fall of your chest resumed. He knew it was paranoia, but he couldn’t stop. To him, you were more important than the very oxygen in his lungs. Every beat of your heart mattered more than his own life.

But he wasn’t unshakable, no matter how much he wished to be for you. Eventually, exhaustion would take hold, his bloodshot eyes pulling him into the dark. When it did, he would wake at the first sign of morning – his sleep never lasting long. But tonight, something was different. He woke up much earlier.

A crash from the hallway, the sound of a lamp shattering against the floor, yanked him into full awareness. Like an instinct buried deep within him had been triggered, Simon’s hearing sharpened instantly. His body tensed, slipping into a readiness only someone like him could know. With a single swift motion, he was out of bed, his bare feet touching the floor with such precision that they barely made a sound.

Then, a sharp, terrified scream shattered the silence, echoing through the house.

It was your voice.

“Daddy!”

Cold fear rushed through his veins. His heart pounded violently, but he didn’t hesitate. Instinct seized him like a crushing weight, and he moved with the speed of a predator. The sound of his own ragged breath and the pounding of his heartbeat were all he heard as he bolted toward your room, his only thought to reach you before anything else could.

He burst through your door, flipping the switch to flood the room with light.

Someone was there.

A boy, probably a teenager. He wore a balaclava and clutched a pistol, the serial number scratched off. Simon noticed it instantly. He always noticed details – nothing escaped him – and guilt tore through his chest.

He should have prevented this. He should have seen the signs before the intruder ever set foot in his house.

“Stay there!” The boy shouted, his voice trembling. His hands shook so much they could barely hold the gun. He seemed on the verge of collapsing, as if he might wet himself at any moment. Maybe he was just a young man making a stupid mistake, a rash decision. That's what Simon's rational side told himself. But his emotional side could only feel anger – a muffled, uncontrollable fury burning inside – because of how that gun had been pointed at you just seconds ago.

Simon's figure must have terrified the invader even more. The boy hadn't expected to find someone like him. Tall. Intimidating. His face covered in scars, his eyes cold and empty. Instinct screamed inside the younger: this is no ordinary man. Even when Simon raised his hands, in a gesture of surrender, he didn't seem to feel safe.

“Calm down.” Simon's deep, imposing voice filled the room. The boy trembled even more. The lieutenant opened his hands, trying to show he wouldn't do anything.

He heard your crying. He could feel your heart racing, almost as fast as his own. And that was not a good sign. Your chest was rising and falling irregularly. He knew you needed help. Now.

“Put the gun down, kid.”

“I'm not putting anything down, Motherfucker!” He shouted, his voice shrill, desperate. You jumped in bed. Simon diverted his eyes for a second, just to see how you clung to the blanket, your fingers gripping so tightly they were turning white. Your father knew the swearing, the yelling, and that gun were terrifying you.

“Look at me! Don't look at her!” The boy yelled again, hysterical. Fear was written all over his face. He thought Simon might attack him at any moment.

“You can take whatever you want, just put the gun down.” Simon's voice came out brutal again, cutting. He needed to appear in control, even though he wasn't. He moved his hands slowly, cautiously, trying to convince the stranger he wasn’t a threat.

Meanwhile, your mind was on high alert, painted red as you saw the barrel of the gun pointed at your father. For a dark moment, you thought that guy was going to hurt him.

“I didn't know she was here, I swear.” The kid whispered. His breathing was erratic. “I don't want to take anything, I just want to leave. I'm very sorry...”

Simon saw the tremor in the boy's shoulders, saw the tears forming behind the fabric of the balaclava. He was crying, probably from the shock of finding a child while doing something so horrific.

“Fine. Then go.” Simon agreed, his mind spinning, his heart hammering in his chest. He just wanted to get to you. Your breathing was becoming difficult. You were so scared you could barely speak.

The thief swallowed hard. His gaze wavered for a second.

“As soon as I get closer, you'll grab me.” He said as if it were a fact, sizing up Simon’s physique – a man who knows how to fight. A cop, maybe? Military? The boy knew he wouldn't stand a chance against him.

“I won’t.” Simon kept his voice firm, but he felt the fear seeping in. His eyes quickly shifted to you, seeing your feet moving under the blanket, you were in agony.

Then he saw it.

Your small chest rising and falling erratically. You brought your hand to your heart, your face contorting. Pain.

Panic exploded inside Simon.

If it weren’t for you, Simon would have already lunged at the invader and ended it. But he couldn’t risk it. A stray bullet. One wrong move.

“What’s your name?” His voice came out softer, controlled.

“J-James...” He stammered.

The oldest in the room nodded, memorizing the name. “James. I’m Simon.”

The boy just nodded.

“You look young. I reckon you made a mistake comin’ ‘ere, and now you’re regrettin’ it.” Simon measured each word with precision. “I don’t care if you walk out that door and vanish, just as long as you’re outta my daughter’s sight.”

He was lying. He was lying with every word. But he needed James to believe it. He needed him to leave. He was definitely going after him later.

James averted his gaze and, for the first time, really looked at you.

Your body was trembling. Tears streamed down your face. Your lips were trembling so much you couldn’t speak.

“W-What’s wrong with her?” The young man asked hesitantly. His voice was different now, but Simon didn’t want to talk. He needed to get to you.

“You're frightenin' her.” He said through clenched teeth, and something seemed to change in the boy. His gaze softened.

But the gun was still raised.

And Simon was running out of time.

He saw you try to call his name once more, but the sound died in your throat.

He knew what it was.

The cold soldier’s face crumbled, giving way to that of a desperate father, and he looked into James's eyes before finally exploding:

“If you don’t let me help her, she’s gonna die!”

The boy blinked at hearing the threat, confused, and Simon took a step forward.

“She’s ill.” He gushed the words harshly, laden with an emotion he couldn’t control. “If you don’t let me go to her, she’ll die. Do you understand, bloody hell?!”

For a second, after the beastly shout he gave, only silence filled the room.

James froze.

And Simon waited.

The boy gave up and nodded, his fingers still trembling as he lowered the gun. Simon didn’t waste any time. In an instant, he crossed the room to you, his steps heavy and determined. You were pale. Small. Your hands still clutching your chest. The fear in your huge eyes was enough to break something inside him.

Simon crouched beside you and held your face between his hands, forcing a softer tone than he had used with the intruder. James, panicked, couldn’t do anything but put his hands over his head, sliding down the wall while apologizing repeatedly. He pulled the balaclava off his face, revealing his features. He was just a teenager, between 16 and 18 years old.

The boy had no idea what he was doing there, nor how he had reached the point of thinking that breaking into a family’s home for some cash was a good idea. The moment he realized what he had done, a chill ran down his spine as he understood that, for an instant, he had pointed a gun at a child.

A child.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart. Look at me.”

You blinked a few times, as if trying to focus, searching for safety in your father’s face. But your body trembled. Then came the first unsteady breath. Then another. Small, desperate gasps. Your chest rose and fell too fast, and Simon felt his blood turn cold.

No. Not now.

A sob escaped you, and you clung to his shirt as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did.

He held you tightly, as if he could shield you from everything, as if just pulling you closer could stop life from slipping through his fingers. Heart pounding, he descended the stairs in long strides, muscles tense with the urgency only a father understands. Nothing else mattered now – not the stranger still in the house, not the shards of glass on the floor, not even his own fear. Only you. Only getting to the hospital in time.

“D-Daddy…” Your voice came out as a weak whisper, so soft he only heard it because your face was pressed against his shoulder.

Simon’s stomach twisted. You were scared. More than that, you were terrified. Your small fingers clung to his shirt so tightly they could have torn it, as if you were drowning.

“You’re gonna be okay, my love.” The words came out fast, hoarse, more for himself than for you. He yanked the car door open and carefully placed you in the back seat, making sure you were positioned safely. His eyes quickly scanned your pale face before he rushed to drive.

Simon didn’t look back. He didn’t think about the stranger, the house, anything else. He just turned the engine on and slammed his foot on the gas, the headlights cutting through the darkness as he sped down the nearly empty streets. His mind was torn between the road and the sound of your unsteady breathing in the back seat.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.” he murmured, glancing at the rearview mirror. You were curled up, your wide eyes locked on him, trying to stay focused as your small hands gripped the seatbelt.

Simon’s chest tightened. He wanted to say something to soothe you, but all that came to mind was the corrosive fear that maybe – just maybe – he was already too late.

✧✧✧

A few hours later, the sun was shining brightly as morning advanced. Simon shifted in the uncomfortable hospital chair, elbows resting on his knees, his hand holding yours. The warmth of your skin against his was the only thing that a little peace, his thumb tracing slow circles in an unconscious gesture of comfort. He had been silent since arriving, but not in his usual way. This silence was heavy, suffocating, filling the room like an unspoken weight.

He didn’t dare take his eyes off you, afraid that even the slightest lapse in attention could make things go wrong again. The constant beeping of the heart monitor was offering him fragile relief, a reminder that you were here, alive. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was just a temporary illusion – that at any moment, the rhythm would spike again, and you’d be in danger.

Two hours ago, you had woken up, still drowsy, sedated by the doctors to prevent stress. Your eyes opened sluggishly, scanning the room until found him. You were scared – for him. The image of the boy pointing a gun was still vivid in your mind, and the fear overflowed. When the panic set in, your heart rate spiked again, and the medical team had to intervene, sedating you once more.

Simon could do nothing. He just sat there, motionless, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose in frustration.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts. Simon turned his head and saw Price standing there. His captain, one of the few people he trusted, and someone who knew you well enough to understand what had happened.

Simon had never minded being alone. Solitude was an old companion, a shadow he had learned to carry without complaint. But this time, for some reason, he had picked up the phone and called John. Something inside him had pushed him to press that button, an insistent, uneasy force hammering inside him.

He wanted to believe it was just for your sake, because you and Price were close, because he had a duty to inform him - because his captain would be furious if Simon didn't tell him about it. But deep down, he knew the truth.

He needed someone else to be there.

Your “Uncle John” never failed to send you gifts when he could, and sometimes even made the hour-long drive from his city just to say “hi” to you. Price cherished you as if you were his own daughter.

“Oi, Lieutenant.” The older man’s voice was steady, comforting.

Simon took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, falling back into the tactical demeanor he always used in the base. But even when he wore his mask, John could read him like an open book.

“Captain.” That was all he managed to say.

Price knew him well enough to understand that Simon needed support. He was used to dealing with Ghost. But this – this was just Simon.

“How’s our Thumbelina?” Price asked softly, as if afraid to wake you. He walked over to Simon, placing a hand on his shoulder in a brief, almost hesitant gesture.

“She'll wake up soon enough.” Simon replied, his eyes fixed on you but not really seeing you. His gaze was distant, unfocused.

“You said she went into shock, didn't you?” Price murmured, trying to follow a line of conversation.

“The doc thinks so.” Simon sighed and leaned back in the chair, exhaling slowly. “They’re going to refer her to a shrink. Don’t want those memories messin’ with her head.”

Price nodded, remaining standing.

“I made a few calls,” he announced, watching his friend's reaction. “I got some info on the brat.”

Simon looked up, attentive.

“He didn’t even try to leg it. Found him in her room, and I called in a contact from the coppers.” He scratched his mustache at the memory of the encounter.

At first, Price got confused. But within seconds, he was already gripping the teenager by the collar, fury burning in his eyes. He only started to rein himself in when James, terrified, began apologizing, without even knowing who the man pinning him against the wall was. His empathy took over. The boy had hurt you, yes, but he didn’t know the severity of your condition. He was wrong, but he wasn’t a demon.

“His mum showed up at the station right after. It was a proper scene. The two of them were at each other’s throats, shouting. The woman was in tears, all disappointed, and the boy looked right sorry for himself.”

Simon clenched his jaw. “I couldn't give a toss about that nonsense.” The irritation was evident, even though he hadn’t intended to be rude.

“He thought the house was empty, Simon. Got it mixed up with the neighbour’s.” Price added carefully. “It was a daft dare from friends who knew he needed the money, so he nicked his father’s gun. He’s off to court. With what he’s done, he might end up in a juvenile centre.”

Simon remained quiet for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth. Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Yeah. Great.” he muttered, irritation dripping from every syllable.

Price watched his reaction, hesitating before continuing.

“I know you're pissed off, mate, but...” He paused, studying Simon's tense face. “Maybe it’s worth figuring out what the hell was goin’ through that boy’s head.”

Simon heard every word but didn’t reply. He absorbed his captain’s advice and kept his gaze on him. The memory of how you screamed, the tears, all the agony... It made Simon clench his free hand into fist.

You thought he was going to get shot. You were desperate.

Price noticed the movement. He saw how Simon’s fingers were practically digging into his own skin with the force of his grip. He decided not to press the issue. Instead, he walked to your bed, observing your face for a moment. A faint smile flickered on his lips before he reached out and ruffled your hair in a gentle pat.

Then, John pulled something from his pocket and held up a stuffed hippopotamus, showing it to Simon.

Simon frowned, clearly displeased with the choice.

“Come on, you know she fancies it.” Price said, trying to lighten the heavy mood. “Hippos are tough, you know?”

But Price’s joke was cut short when he noticed you were waking up. Your eyes opened slowly, blinking several times as you oriented yourself. Simon shifted in his chair, and a quick glance was enough for John to understand that maybe it was best for you not to see your father right away – not while his image was still tied to the terror of the night.

“Hi, Uncle John…” Your small voice came out in a hoarse whisper, heavy with sleep.

“Oi, little doll.” he murmured back, his expression filled with a warmth he only used with you.

He didn’t need to say anything else to make you smile. As soon as he lifted the stuffed hippo, shaking it like it was going to devour you, you let out a giggle.

The sound relieved Price, and especially Simon. He watched as your tiny fingers grabbed the toy, hugging the plush creature to your chest.

“Thank you…” you murmured, pouting a little as you placed your index finger between your upper lip and nose, mimicking his mustache.

Price copied the gesture, but the face he made was much funnier than yours.

“Where’s Daddy?” you asked just like the first time you woke up, your brows furrowing in worry.

The beeping on the monitor sped up slightly. Simon noticed immediately and ran his thumb over your hand again – a reminder that you weren’t alone. You turned your head and found him there, still sitting in the same chair, his dark eyes betraying the sleepless night he had spent.

“I'm here, love.” His voice was firm, both a reassurance and a promise.

You gripped his forearm tighter than you had held your new stuffed hippo. Simon felt the tension in your small fingers and let you cling to him without saying a word. You seemed calmer now, less frightened.

Price grabbed a cup of water and handed it to Simon, who helped you drink. You took a few small sips, the way children do, but it was enough.

Then, your eyes locked onto your father’s, serious, as if you had something important to resolve. He braced himself for anything. Maybe a question about what had happened, maybe a request to go home. But not this:

"You said a bad word."

Simon blinked slowly. “What?”

“He said ‘bloody hell’.” you whispered to Price, as if revealing a forbidden secret.

Price raised his eyebrows, holding back a smile. “Oh, really, eh?”

Simon sighed, running a hand over his face. “Prob'ly did.”

Price let out a low chuckle, satisfied to get some reaction out of him.

Suddenly, you started paying attention to your surroundings. A hospital room wasn’t strange to you, since you had been here a few times before, but that didn’t mean you liked it. The doctors always said they needed to keep you under observation until the crisis passed, and the worst situations happened quickly, in the middle of chaos, before anyone could stabilize you.

There was a time they had to use a defibrillator, and just the thought of it sent a shiver down Simon’s spine. To his relief, this time all you needed was to simply shut down, a milder way to calm your emotions.

“I want to go home…” you pleaded, your voice thick with emotion.

“We will, in a few hours.” Simon replied firmly. If he gave you an inch, he knew you’d push until the end.

“Is Uncle John staying with us?” you asked, grabbing the hippo by the ear and waving the plush toy in front of Price, who pretended to try catching it but failed miserably.

“No, Princess. I'm sorry.” he answered regretfully. “I wish I could stay longer, but I only came to see you. I’ve gotta head back home soon.” He pinched your nose between his fingers, making you giggle.

“Okay…” you murmured, disappointed, but already starting to feel a little stronger.

You shifted on the bed, getting on your knees to hug Price, who held you firmly, running his hand over your back before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. As soon as you let go, you turned to your father and practically buried yourself in his lap, seeking shelter. You settled on his legs, leaning your torso against his broad chest.

Simon was used to this, but this time, you seemed even more in need of security. Your small fingers poked at the dog tag hanging around his neck, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Simon knew you were still scared. He knew that, in the coming days, you wouldn’t leave his side. And he didn’t mind.

Because deep down, he wanted to stay close to you too.

He held on to this moment, feeling you fidget with the metal piece on his neck. Simon knew things wouldn’t be easy for now, but he chose not to get lost in thoughts of the future. He held you even tighter, his arms wrapping around you like a blanket while you found comfort in the calm. Simon felt deeply grateful that you hadn’t asked questions about the boy, and in silence, he turned to Price, who responded with a simple nod, as if he had understood the unspoken message.

Price took a few steps closer and crouched down, looking at you with affection. “Goodbye, Thumbelina,” he said, extending his fist for a farewell bump.

“Goodbye, Mr. Mustache.” you replied softly, but with a smile that made Price chuckle as he ruffled your hair. He stood up, turning to Simon with a look that carried the same unwavering trust as always.

“Take care, lad. I’ll see you soon.” he said, not waiting for a response, already knowing the lieutenant’s temperament well.

Simon watched Price leave, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hardened expression softened the moment there was no longer a need to hide behind it. He still made an effort to appear confident for you, but as he closed his eyes and held you tighter, he finally allowed himself to relax. The silent gesture of protection he offered was an unspoken promise.

He knew that as long as he was with you, nothing else mattered. He would always be by your side. And even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, Simon allowed himself to believe, just for a moment, that maybe the future would be a little lighter. No matter what came next. Together, he and you would face it all.

[m1stm3]

now playing…

fragile by laufey

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

tenko shimura x reader

“mist stop w all of the domestic bliss drabbles!” NO!!!!!! n e ways here’s post rehabilitation tenko :)

cw’s!!: gn! reader, bathing together (nonsexual), not canon compliant!! (he’s in rehab and staying w UR family :]), he is so emotionally constipated i luv him, andddd i think that’s it!! ^.^

wc: 673

“are you sure this is okay?” tenko’s voice is soft from his spot behind you. there’s a quiet sound of the lukewarm — not either of your preferences for temperature, but it was better for his skin — water sloshing when he shifted to hook his chin over your shoulder, his rough cheek lightly brushing against yours.

you know why he’s asking that, but you act oblivious. “it’s late, i’m sure my family doesn’t mind us hogging the bathroom while they’re asleep.” his arms unconsciously tighten around your middle.

“no, like-“ he lets out a small huff, cutting off his own words. it sounds like he’s about to drop the topic altogether just because he can’t find the right words, but he continues. you’re happy he’s learning to grow out of that habit.

“is this okay…? staying here, i mean.”

“tenko, my family really likes you.” he falters.

“i don’t understand how they could…”

“because i love you, so they love you too.”

his lips pull into a small frown at that.

“they can’t just ignore what i’ve done, they’d be stupid to do that.” there’s a lilt of irritation behind his words but you know better than to take it personally.

“they’re not ignoring what you’ve done. they trust you, tenko.” there’s always this annoying adoration in your voice whenever you say his new (old?) name that he has to stop himself from snapping back at. it’s not that he disliked it — not at all — but it just… didn’t make sense to him. it made him feel oblivious, like you were keeping a secret from him despite how vocal your praise always was.

you sigh softly when his brows furrow, your hand coming up to gently smooth out the familiar little wrinkle between them.

“they trust us.” you reiterate.

“well they shouldn’t.”

you raise a brow at that.

“why not?”

his lips pull into an unconscious little pout (a habit you didn’t dare bring to his attention even after all of these years. not out of fear of him getting angry — out of fear of him forcing the small vulnerability away).

“because obviously i’m still evil and you have some sort of weird stockholm syndrome that you refuse to acknowledge.” you have to bite back a laugh at his sudden petulance.

“no, baby, i don’t have any sort of stockholm syndrome.”

“see.” he grumbles, clearly convinced by his own astute observations.

you can’t fight the small snicker that leaves you at that, but you decide to humor him for a moment.

“alright, so i have stockholm syndrome. how exactly are you still evil?”

he thinks on your question for a second.

“i’m mean and antisocial and i dusted your brothers game controller the other day…” your smile grows.

“and i still hate heroes and i-” he continues for a moment only to stop when he sees the widening smile on your face. god, you’re so irritating…

“what?” he grits out, unable to hide the small flush on his face. he’d blame it on the steam from the lukewarm bath later.

“no, nothing.” his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“really, tenko, it’s nothing.” a small laugh laces your words when he continues glaring at you. he doesn’t say anything, expecting you to fold and tell him what’s on your mind with just a look (you would, of course. neither of you were known for having strong resolves against each other).

“it’s just…” you pause, contemplating how to word your thoughts.

“… you’re human, tenko. last time i checked there’s nothing evil about that.”

he pauses, considering your words for a long moment. he’s human. he has preferences and flaws and makes mistakes because he’s human — not because he’s evil. it’s common sense but it still takes him aback for some reason. how irritating.

he brings up his hand from under the water, pressing his wet palm to your cheek to push your face away from his flushed one.

“that’s a stupid thing to say.” is the only thing he says in response. you smile.

“i know.”

[asce-of-hearts]

So, I was wondering if you could write about a female or gender neutral darling, for BNHA, where the yandere catches their darling in the act of trying to end themselves. When they question their darling, they just respond that they feel like they are just a burden to their yandere and feel that the yandere shouldn't have to take care of them. Darling does have Stockholm Syndrome. How would yanderes Eraserhead, Present Mic, Fat Gum, and Gang Orca respond to this. You can choose the method of what the darling was using. SFW, please.

However, I do completely understand if you are too uncomfortable to do this ask! I wish you luck with your grades!❤️

Burdened

contents: Yan!Pro heroes x gn!reader scenario in which they catch reader about to commit suicide.

more pro hero content here

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM AND SUICIDE, HURT COMFORT, SOFT YANDERE.

A/N: The scenario I wrote is ambiguous enough so you can interpret it as whoever you would like telling you those words. since I found myself writing the same thing over and over again just with a different character. I hope this suffices.

He feels that something's off. Maybe its his sixth sense, he feels this need to run back home and check on you. He doesn't know why, he just knows it. It itches in the back of his head, crawling all over his skin.

It could be anything really. But he's paranoid. Maybe you played too rough with the cat and ended up with a scratch on the arm, or fell on the bathroom.

Or worse, you ran away.

He can't focus, he really can't. He fakes whatever illness, inducing himself to vomit isn't that hard all of the sudden. And he runs back home. He opens the door with strength, startling the cats. Yet you're nowhere to be found, not a sound. He slowly walks inside, quiet, it's too quiet.

He sees the trail of blood on the covers, and follows it to the bathroom. He doesn't care why or how, his hands stop you right before the blade hits your skin again. He cradles you in his arms, quietly, gently, not minding the red staining the water of the bathtub. You don't answer, but you seem alert. That's enough for him.

— There was no need for you to do this, — he whispers against your skin as he presses a kiss to your open wound, carefully wrapping a bandage around them all. — Guess I'll just have to be more careful with you. Never leave you out of my sight. — His voice is rough, but his tone is gentle. He seems tired. But that night he can't sleep, he watches the rising and falling on your chest, paranoid once again, maybe it'll stop when he leasts expects it.

He can't let that happen. He loves you too much for that.

— You don't burden me, you know that? — He whispers to your sleeping body. — You could never... You're my adoration. — He sighs, wrapping his arms around you once again — I wish I could scold you for this, but you seem so fragile right now. Like you could crumble if I held you too tight. — He kisses at your temple, then at the nape of your neck. — I'll keep you safe.

hope you enjoyed this, have a good day/night

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[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v ] [ pt. 6 ]

Authors Note: I’m so sorry for how long it took to get this out to you guys. I’ve been going through it. This chapter is also going to be heavily situated in flashbacks and take place more in the past of r and Rio.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE |

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rio understands that she’s now crossed more lines than she can ever uncross. She is Death, she has shaken lives and has been worshipped for thousands of years. But you lay fragile in the bed you share and she wonders just how thin the line between magic and pure, unfiltered love actually is. Meanwhile, outside of the flashbacks, you make sense of the puzzle Rio Vidal is and has always been.

Content Warnings: While this has mostly flashbacks and isn’t inherently as dark as the rest, it begins to reveal the nature of Rio’s actions so — take caution! Aftermath of magic [ r ], mental break [ r ], misuse of magic [ Rio ], confusion and memory loss [ r ], minor gaslighting and major manipulation [ Rio -> R ], pregnancy and the side effects that come with it, threats of violence [ r -> Rio ], we learn how R gets a magical collar, discussions of power dynamics, Stockholm Syndrome taking deep roots so as a result R has become an unreliable narrator in that there's: Fluff, softness, kindness from Rio

Word Count: 4.06k

1955

Rio had exposed you to too much too quickly.

The magic she had done quick work with after Agatha had left while you sat in that painful comatose like state had filtered the memories of what you witnessed.

She couldn’t keep her nature from you forever — she knew that, eventually, you would have to be aware of her true self, the entirety of who and what Rio Vidal was.

But this — what Agatha had shown you was like cracking your brain open and removing the parts that made you understand the world and how reality sat.

She had to sift through it all — your mind was entirely overwhelmed. You were unable to come up a reasonable explanation as to why Agatha’s hands glowed violently purple, why her eyes followed suit. You tried in the back of your head while the rest of your brain protected you in the way it could: leaving you catatonic and pliable.

So Rio worked more magic to undo the damage.

It was like snipping threads that had tangled into intricate knots and couldn’t be simply untangled. Only loosened by a pair of sharp scissors to cut them free and undoing the strain that threatened to pull apart your mental facilities.

When she was through, you slumbered for a week. She woke you to spill broth and hot tea down your throat, ensuring your body, too, wouldn’t fall victim to Rio’s own recklessness.

She should not have allowed Rio to step a single foot into the house. Should have lured her somewhere farther away, allowed the angry woman to get her say and send her off.

But Rio had been stuck in this . . . Vision of perfection and completeness she had finally felt after millennia of feeling so empty that she was foolish enough to forget that grudges — no matter how pointless and emotionally damaging they were — can last centuries if the bearer has the lifespan.

And Agatha Harkness had the lifespan.

Friday evening started coming around and Rio had to pretend to be human without you to witness her acting — for if you woke and saw her otherwise . . . She did not want to test the newly built constraints of your mental state when it still healed.

You made a low noise as she was bringing up a tray with the same meal as the last few days — but she had decided to upgrade you to a chicken noodle soup.

She noticed your movements, weak and flinching, almost instantly. She was quick to set the tray down onto the bedside table and crouch low to meet you at your level.

“Angel,” she tried, voice low and beckoning. She scooped limp hair away from your forehead and tried to draw you further out of sleep.

For a while you didn’t answer, but you did respond to her touches and shift when she spoke.

“Rio?” It was such a hushed little thing, your whisper. Voice hoarse from days of misuse — but she knew it could perhaps be worse than it was if she hadn’t kept you hydrated.

"I'm glad to see you awake, my love," Rio crooned ever so sweetly as she stroked at your hair and smiled encouragingly the more you regained your consciousness. "Are you feeling better?"

"What happened?" you asked as you clenched the sheets between your fingers and push yourself up onto your butt and wait for the dizziness to abate before facing her fully. "I feel like I fell down a flight of stairs."

"You did," Rio told you and you could feel the guilt in her voice as she joined you on the other side of the bed and pressed her shoulder to you and offered lighter touches than her heavy hand usually offered. "You woke up and came to find me but you weren't really able to get your footing, I don't think."

You tried to focus your cotton-stuffed brain on what you could last remember, but all you could grab onto was the conversation you had with Rio when you first woke up. "How long have I been asleep? Did I hit my head?"

Rio's expression shuttered and her hand pulled away, ending the warm strokes it made across your leg. She looked so lost -- and that was not normal for Rio as you knew her.

"You were unconscious for a week, Angel," Rio admitted finally as though the words were removed from her forcefully.

"What?" You shot up higher and panicked. Lunch with your mother was next Thursday -- or last Thursday, now -- and you missed it! "Oh that's not good, Rio. Why didn't you call an ambulance?"

Rio scowled at you. The look gave you a pause and you held your tongue from demanding to know why she seemed offended at your questioning of how she handled your fall.

"I called a doctor to the house to check on you," Rio replied coolly, her hand reaching back out to wrap around your arm and anchor you back to the bed to prevent escape. "He said you bumped your head but it wasn't anything to terrible and that you were expected to remain asleep for some time."

She spoke with the same silver tongue that always awarded her with the desired reactions, but your head was throbbing far too heavily to believe a fall down the stairs of this severity was deduced to just resting and sleeping.

You've been hospitalized by your husband for head injuries that hurt less than the way it hurt right now. Your ears had a ringing that couldn't seem to ease up and yet they felt like water clogged them to the drum.

"Angel." The hand tightened and the pain -- pain is a familiar concept and always drew you away from wandering thoughts -- drags you away from what you knew was the beginning of a nagging feeling of distrust against the woman you've fallen in love with.

"Sorry," you murmured, blinking blearily at her. "I'm trying to wrap my head around it. You said I fell down the stairs?"

Rio studied you, grip loosening, fingers starting to gently rub the hurt left behind the less signs of suspicion she thought she saw.

Then she nods, slowly, "Pretty roughly. You cut your forehead," she that hand from your arm up quicker than you expected and the flinch that followed had her freezing for a second before she continued like it never happened, "right here."

A soft thumb ran along your forehead and left behind a stinging sensation in the wake. You winced and reared back from her thumb, and she turned the appendage to show you flakes of dried blood that scraped off.

You looked away. "Is that the only injury? What did the doctor say?"

"Plenty of fluids and let you sleep as long as you show signs of improvement. I only left once to run to the store to grab your prescription. He gave you a painkiller, but I don't want you taking it without checking in with me first, Angel."

"Fine -- yes, of course. That's fine." You rubbed your eyes. Your mind-space was sludgy and you trudged through your thoughts with no way to sort them the way you wanted.

"Did you call my mother?" you asked when you could remember that fact. "She probably will be in a tizzy if she doesn't know what is going on and I simply did not show up for our lunch."

Rio nodded and pressed a kiss to your hand. "Called her the same day you fell. She and your father dropped by to visit you when the doctor was here, too, of course. They were concerned and your mother's dropped off numerous baked goods while assaulting me with rather invasive questions."

A flush ran up your body and you closed your eyes. Your mother had good intentions and she cared deeply, worried for you and distrustful of Rio. It does not surprise you that she would use this as a chance to infiltrate Rio's home and likely snoop about and ask inappropriate questions.

"I'm sorry." But when you opened your eyes, your partner had a good-natured smile adorning her face as though the entire idea was amusing to her. "She's protective and thinks you have terrible intentions."

Rio's endearing smile became a wicked grin. "Is she truly far off?"

"Rio."

2024

"I hope you die," you told Death, maturely and like the adult you were, as you stared at the plate of your favorite meal while shuddering in disgust.

"Counterproductive and obsolete," was the only response you got as the plate that was only just set in front of you was removed as quickly as it came, lest you vomit everywhere.

"You did this."

Rio did not bother arguing, denying, or otherwise saying a word against your statement of fact -- your accusation -- but put the untouched plate into the fridge.

"I can't control what they like, Angel," Rio unwisely said as she returned to you with a concerned crunch in her brows.

You had reached a stage in your first trimester in which your morning sickness should have gotten better by now. You were not expecting it to worsen and bring with it an onslaught of food aversions that you didn't have beforehand.

Your favorite foods that you desired and made Rio either make or go grab for you were suddenly a scale on whether or not you'd get sick at the smell, sight, or taste of it.

You'd requested your favorite snack one early morning and when she had returned with it, she swore up and down your skin had turned green [ no magic involved ].

With your frustrations and emotional turmoil came your increasing need for comfort that only Rio could provide. It was getting more difficult by the day to not pretend like this was a normal relationship and allow her to fawn over you like you were her greatest treasure.

You had no other human companions to turn to -- not like back when your first run in a real relationship had been. Rio had been . . . reasonable then but you had time to think on it.

She had been hiding in a skin that was not truly hers in order to play house with a human woman, playing by the society's rules despite being above all and being one of the few able to ignore them.

Rio Vidal the woman did not make sense like Rio Vidal the Undertaker did. At least as Death, she had a black and white duty and did have to play by some important rules that exposed some of her otherwise hidden side.

As a human she could do whatever she wanted, be whoever she wanted, and before she had revealed herself to you she had managed to puppet her world to her needs perfectly.

You remember those days and conclude that while her desires remain somewhat the same, she had gone about the execution of those desires very differently this time around.

Cool fingers wrap around the back of your neck and you dropped your head back so you could meet her gaze as she frowned down at you. She fingered at the magic that thrummed at her touch -- at her just being there.

"So pale," she said, mostly to herself as she strokes at the magic. It sent a course of ease through you that overwhelmed the nausea and ache that had been haunting you all day. "We need to get color back in those cheeks."

"Your fault," you repeated but closed your eyes to take in the comfortable feelings that coursed through you at her will.

"Hmm," she agreed. "Can you think of something else that sounds good for your tummy?"

"Sushi."

"You know you can't have sushi."

"I hate you," you whined as tears started filling your eyes.

Her hand moved up suddenly, grasping your chin as she glared down at you. "And you're carrying a baby, baby. Sushi is not good for you during your pregnancy so stop whining."

You ripped your face out of her hold, knowing she wasn't keeping you into a fiercely firm one. "You're being mean to me when I can't control most of my body or emotions anymore. I didn't get a choice in this! Any of this! Why did you do this now and not then? What changed?"

"You know how I answer those questions, Angel," she warns you as she watched you curl up in the dining chair and cry like she was watching an interesting animal. "Because I can."

1955

Recovery from the fall was moreso taxing on your head than your body. Your memory was foggy and you were forgetful whenever you went to do something and got distracted by another.

Rio had fussed and hovered the likes of which you’d never encountered. She took on over half of your usual household duties — “I’ve been doing them while you were sleeping, anyway, Angel,” — and tried cooking.

You told her in no uncertain terms after the fifth meal she made you that it was fine if she wanted to help you when you struggled, but cooking was off limits and not for her to do.

She didn’t argue.

Two weeks out and you hang up off the phone with your beside herself mother, having finally assured her that you were getting up and about without as many issues as you believed and that the doctor would be making a drop in soon.

You fiddle with the itchy collar of your dress and let the comforting quiet of the house seep into every tired bone of your body.

Rio was hesitant to return to work but her boss had been so lenient already with her. She already had so much more to prove than her male coworkers and showing weakness now would cause strife.

You had packed her lunch as you usually did and promised her you’d take it slow today and call her if you felt off.

She had given you the softest of kisses and had left, leaving you behind to find something to do. You would keep your promise on taking it slow. The house was clean right now, but you’d listened to the radio until your ears bled.

You peer out into the backyard that Rio had never truly made much use of. The sunlight flared through the curtains, striking you directly in the eyes and as it did a painful, searing sensation flared in your head.

Flashes of purple and green filtering through your mind, ripping apart your synapses. You collapsed against the back of the couch and breathed heavily, fingers digging into the cushions. The pain felt heavy and uncomfortable, pounding into your skull like a pickaxe.

You thought to call Rio and tell her about the pain but an intense reaction prevented you from moving toward the telephone on the wall.

For some reason, you would sit on the floor against the sofa for however it long it took for the pain to ebb. When tilting your head upward even a few inches did not result in a weight feeling forced onto your skull, you took it as a sign you should stand.

There was not something quite right even as you regained your strength and filled a class of water for yourself to sip upon. A deep, wrenching reaction to this pain -- something was off but questioning it brought on another headache.

You did not keep track of the time or the amount of times you refilled your glass of water.

Your head -- it was a . . . why did it hurt when you tried to unjumble these messy images of purple and green? Why was there resistance in your own being as you made moves to recall these events?

You were not an educated woman -- would Rio simply tell you that you still suffered post-injury side effects?

You felt trapped in the kitchen until the sunset's soft colors began soaking through the windows, a warning of your misuse of the day.

Rio was taken aback by the sight upon seeking you out. Head in your hands, haunched low at the table with fingers tightly skewed into your hair as you trembled in place.

A glass was shattered atop the surface as water spilled over the floor in small, even drips.

She set down her stuff gently next to her, making no noise to avoid startling you. She unbuttoned the cuffs of her sleeves and began to slowly make her way over to you.

Rio could feel the ripples of her magic like river-made waves on shores of a bank. Her magic had meant to reset your memories to an extent, to replace what you saw of her and Agatha.

Somehow you were having . . . almost an allergic reaction to her magic. You should not be experiencing this level of pain or despair when trying to recall any sort of happenings after she went through your mindscape, and yet . . .

The Green Witch crouched low at your side and lifted a hand to seize the tendrils of magic that became corrupted and caused you pain. Even around her fingers it felt slimy, heavy, and almost suffocating in nature.

She had not meant to . . . do this. When her magic had been placed within you, it was not this inky, antagonistic, thing.

This was an infection of a wound she created. She had used her magic to fix your mental state too hastily when she had thought she had been as careful as she could have been.

Undoing this magic, with this level of oily corruption and blackness, would shatter you. For the first time in a very long time, Rio was not sure how to fix this for you.

You still had not moved. Your suffering -- brought on by her failing magic work and your failing state -- was keeping you head locked as your body went into a state of shock that no human doctor could repair.

Her eyes floated to your neck. The solution she did have would dampen her previous work but would have to be maintained -- effectively locking you to her side for the rest of her existence and forgoing your mortality.

She would have to forge a familiar bond with you.

2024

You rubbed under your neck at what was not there to begin with. Depending on Rio's mood, you either forgot it existed entirely or there was sometimes an ache that accompanied it's existence.

The small amount of magic you got back from her collar returning to your neck was stronger than normal. You couldn't do much -- manipulating the windows to open or starting the oven or turning the water on was basic familiar work.

Rio had become her greatest opponent in meeting you -- refusing to take you, staying around for you, taking you as a familiar and then keeping a sexual relationship with you -- you learned a lot about familiars quickly after she had revealed her true self to you.

Most witches chose animals because they were covert -- especially cats, toads, lizards, or birds. She had then said less commonplace animals had started being used as modernization occurred and witches grew less traditional. It wasn't uncommon for a witch who did not know about her own bloodline to accidentally make a familiar out of a tiger if she worked at a sanctuary.

But a human was taboo. Human familiars placed dynamics on both ends of the bond that normal familiar bonds lacked -- along with additional magical abilities that fuzzy friends do not have advantages to receive.

But Rio never kept company of other witches -- she was the Witch of witches. Death was her name and it was fitting for her to choose only the most accurate familiar to be at her side.

Even though you've made an attempt on her life many times.

These days -- the days after you paused on your fight -- you wondered how your child would differ in place of Agatha's. Was it because you were bound to Rio in a way that the other witch simply wasn't?

Rio had clenched her jaw when you had asked her the question one night as she ran a hand over your new, small bump. Her eyes had been soft, movements gentle and warm.

"Is it because of . . . of what I am? The magic you used on me?" you asked her in the quiet. The windows were open to allow the spring breeze in, along with the noise of neighborhood children laughing past curfew and crickets chirping their songs.

Her dark gaze shuttered the second the question was out of your mouth, her hand stilling on the rise of your stomach.

You did not bring up Nicholas very much -- knew he was a sore spot for the dark haired woman. She had told you about him on occasion, how he came to be and why he could not stay on this plane . . . which is how everything with Agatha had fallen apart.

But she had also told you that she kept him close in the afterlife he had chosen to drift into. She had created a home for him there, made of warm fields and sunny days that never gave way to cold nights or heavy storms.

She would visit often, she had said, and spend time with her lost son knowing Agatha was running from the chance to be reunited and embrace the same form of peace.

"The magic I used on you may be different, yes," Rio answered roughly. You realized the exposure of her emotions here rested your head on her shoulder. "Your life is the only one I am paying for to keep. So far, I have not had . . . not had to answer for . . ."

"For her," you finished.

"Her?"

You smiled at the feel of Rio's chin on top of head moving in the echo of the word, tasting it on her tongue. "Too early to tell," you admit, splaying a hand next to hers on the small swell, "but I have a feeling."

"Hmm." Rio buried her nose in your hair. For now you accepted the fall of the subject of how your child's ability to survive without breaking the rules works . . . but it would bother you again and you would demand answers later.

Some days you felt aching guilt for being so . . . weak. Easily broken and willful to Rio's tactics that you had thought you had learned from the first time around. It would leak into bouts of rage that had her ultimately fixing what parts of the house you destroyed.

She would poke at your rage at times, scold you for having such childish tantrums. But you knew every single time why she did. It was a circle of anger and grief with nowhere to go -- and you were at an increasing risk of injuring yourself.

Eventually she started providing you with more things to do when she could detect these bouts; "tell me where you want this koi pond and willow tree -- I will not be using magic to install either of them," was one such project. It took you a day to find a suitable spot in the yard, and now Rio was singlehandedly, without magic, taking her time to put in a koi pond in the yard with a newly planted willow tree beside it.

Leaving the house was now an option -- together, not alone.

"The dog is going to tear up the house if we don't walk him, and he likes you better," she told you as she handed you a new fitting pair of tennis shoes.

Said dog had released a heavy sigh from his spot under the coffee table, but had relented when you clipped the leash to his collar.

Dinner. Movie dates. Zoo trips. She was making these plans as activities to be done before you could crash and burn. On one hand you appreciated it, on another . . .

Sometimes you wished for flames.

rio and reader will return in part 7

PART SEVEN

Tag List: @dandelions4us , @flow33didontsmoke , @girlsgotissues , @crescentcrush -- if I forgot anyone, please let me know!

[rosecoloredsunshine]

i've become a figment of my imagination — james patrick march

masterlist | request link | part one

PAIRINGS: james patrick march x female!reader

SUMMARY: despite your many attempts to leave, it seems like you were already tethered to the hotel, and as his madness consumes you, you find yourself entrapped in his twisted and terrifying love that it made you question your sanity and desire for freedom.

REMINDERS: please be reminded that this is a work of fiction. meaning that all events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. any resemblance to actual life events and people, living or dead, are all purely coincidence.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, stockholm syndrome, a little bit of angst (if you squint enough), situation acceptance, mrs. evers being villainized, the countess does not exist in this fic, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i never planned on making a part 2 of my jpm fic since i don't have any idea anymore how i'll continue it. but someone had requested, so ask and you shall received. i'm also open to other requests, especially for evan peters himself lol. to the one who requested this, i hope this will be up to your standards. enjoy! :)

Time blurred in the Hotel Cortez. Days had bled into nights with no clear distinction, trapped in an eternal twilight beneath the dim glow of chandeliers that never once flickered, as if time itself dared not displease James Patrick March. You had lost count of how long you had been in the hotel. Weeks? Months? Honestly, who knows.

You knew that you should have left the moment that realization struck you, that the hotel was not just eerie, but it is cursed. That it was not just old, but haunted. That James was not just a peculiar man in an outdated suit, but a murderer, a monster, the architect of the hell you now lived in. Yet, you remained.

At first, you had fought. Pleaded with James, even struck a deal with him, begging him to let you go. But he would only tilt his head at you in that patient, indulgent way, as if you were a child throwing a tantrum. James never raised his voice, never lifted a hand against you. If anything, James worshipped you and the ground you walked in, doted on you, treated you as something so precious and fragile—an exquisite doll, an irreplaceable treasure.

“You do not understand, my dear,” he murmured into your hair one evening, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to your temple. “You were meant to be here. With me.”

And maybe, somewhere along the way, your protests had begun to grow quieter each passing day.

James provided for your every need. Luxurious gowns in silks and velvets, diamonds and pearls so fine they could make royalty weep. Lavish dinners that felt like a fever dream—glasses of deep, red wine, reflecting candlelight, and the scent of roses thick in the air. They way he looked at you, as though you hung the very stars in the sky.

He never hurt you, he never would. But he would not let you leave, and that should have terrified you. It did not. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, each syllable is a sweet poison slipping into your veins, or the way his hands ghosted over you in reverence. Never demanding, nor forceful—just patient, as though he had all the time in the world. Perhaps it was the hotel itself, or perhaps, deep down, a sick part of you liked it—liked the devotion, and being wanted so desperately that a man would reshape the laws of reality just to keep you by his side.

After all, how does one fight against a man who has already decided you are the love of his life, the woman who slipped through his fingers once before? James was determined that it would not happen again.

Your family was looking for you, of that you were certain. You were not just anyone. You were born into a world of power and wealth—exactly just like your past life, and woman like you did not simply disappear. There would be whispers in the upper echelons—society’s most elite circles, scandals and suspicions. But out there, you were just a missing person. Inside the Cortez, you were a queen, and James ensured that you were treated as such. At least, that had been his intention.

However, the ghosts of the Hotel Cortez were not as enamored with you as James was. They whispered behind your back, snickered when you passed. Some ignored you entirely, acting as if you were nothing but another unfortunate soul trapped within these cursed walls. Some resented you, hated you for the way James doted on you.

Mrs. Evers was the worst.

She had made no effort to her disdain. Her devotion for James ran deep, an infatuation so profound that your very presence offended her. She had refused to acknowledge you as anything more than an unwelcome guest. A temporary indulgence to her beloved Mr. March.

Except for Liz and Sally. Liz had taken to you almost instantly, her sharp wit and unwavering confidence is a breath of fresh air in the suffocating presence of the others. She treated you like a person, not an obstacle. Then Sally, well, Sally was a ghost of chaos, but she never sneered at you. Never looked at you like you were an invader in her world. Perhaps because she, too, had suffered in this place.

You had mentioned it to James once, just once, how the others would often dismiss you. But when his expression darkened, jaw tightened in barely restrained anger, you had quickly brushed it off.

“It’s nothing,” you had assured him. “It doesn't bother me, really.”

James did not believe you. He was patient, but he was observant. He had studied you long before he ever spoke your name, and he knew you better than you knew yourself. James had seen the way you bit the inside of your cheek when they spoke over you, the way your fingers twisted in your lap when they snickered as you passed by. James had seen the slight drop of your shoulders when Mrs. Evers ignored you completely.

Most specially, he had seen how you never fought back.

You avoided confrontation, you always had. A woman of your upbringing had been taught to maintain grace, to swallow any discomfort you felt with a demure smile. You would rather choose to suffer in silence than engage in something ugly as conflict. But James found that unacceptable, and so, one evening, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

It began at dinner, in the grand dining hall he had prepared just for the two of you. You had noticed something was different, James was tense, posture too rigid, and gripping his glass just a fraction too tight. Then the doors opened. The ghosts entered one by one, some were confused, others were wary. They gathered around the long dining table, not really sure why they had been summoned. Mrs. Evers stood off to the side, her lips pursed in thinly veiled contempt.

James rose from his seat. “I have gathered you here,” he began, voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade, “because it seems that my beloved has not been afforded the respect she deserves.”

You felt your stomach drop, the room stilled. The air grew heavy, suffocating.

“I have been most…lenient in allowing you all your petty grievances,” James continued, slow and measured, “but I will not, cannot, abide this insolence.”

He turned to Mrs. Evers. “You, dear Mrs. Evers, have been particularly ungracious.”

Her expression faltered. “Mr. March, I—”

James slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing through the hall. You flinched, as the other ghosts stiffened. I placed a hand over his fist, motioning him to stop.

“James, it’s fine. You don’t have to do this.” you whispered, but James ignored you.

“She is your lady,” he snapped, voice laced with venom. “You will address her as such. You will treat her with the respect she is owed.”

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering against your ribs. It felt like your heart was about to beat right off of your chest.

His gaze swept over the rest of the room. “Let me make myself abundantly clear. She is mine. She belongs to me, as I do to her. She is the lady of this house, and you will bow to her, as you bow to me. Disrespect her again, and I will personally see to it that your eternity in this hotel is spent in agony.”

Silence. Then, slowly, Mrs. Evers lowered her gaze. Others followed in a begrudging submission. A forced acceptance. James exhaled, satisfaction gleaming in his dark eyes. He turned back to you, his expression softening, and reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips.

“There, my darling,” he murmured, voice smooth, gentle. “All is well.”

You forced a smile, though something in your chest twisted painfully. This should have horrified you, but instead, as James gazed at you with adoration, as the others begrudgingly averted their eyes in deference, you felt something else. Something warm, something akin to acceptance.

James sat back down, exhaled slowly. He reached for your face, cupping it with tenderness that was at odds with the violence in his voice a few moments ago.

“You deserve reverence,” he whispered. “And if they refuse to see it, then I will make them see it.”

You swallowed and nodded slowly. You knew very well that there was no winning this argument. So you let him believe he had won. Because, in the end, perhaps he had, and you had long since realized something more terrifying. You were falling. Falling into his world, his madness, the inescapable gravity of his obsession.

The worst of it all? You didn't think you wanted to be saved anymore.

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[fel-09]

Incomplete Vampire Part:1

This was an idea that was spinning around in my head for a long time, but I created a bot based on it, and now I decided to write.

Warnings: 18+, Blood, Disease, stockholm syndrome

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader

________________________________________________________________________

The day was calm when the carriage arrived at a huge mansion which stood far away from the City, this place was big, and the mansion itself was made of marble that shone in the sun ,the sun passed through the carriage window and fell on the doctor's face ,Carlisle winced slightly, and his skin shone imperceptibly from the sunlight, he got out of the carriage where the servants of the mansion were already waiting for him, they bowed to the new guest of their family and quietly escorted him along the luxurious corridor. If they had time, they would have shown us the beauty of the mansion, but right now it was urgent.

Carlisle came urgently from France to Venice to examine the patient to whom he was being taken. Some said it was almost impossible to save the girl. She was constantly ill, coughing up blood, suffering from high fever and frequent dizziness, which made her seem weak and illegible in movements.

The doctor opened the door to one of the rooms, which looked truly grand. The bed was large, and a little girl with long hair lay quietly upon it. She was breathing heavily, occasionally whimpering softly in pain.

One of the servants stood next to the doctor and said, - "Unfortunately, Miss's parents died a long time ago and her relatives are looking after her."

.Carlisle nodded and approached the bed, his gaze fixed on the girl. Now they were alone. The doctor sat down in a chair beside her, his eyes tracing every detail. He watched the rise and fall of her labored breathe, the way her cheeks burned with fever. But it went beyond a mere examination of her body—it was as though he was looking deeper, trying to glimpse into her very soul. This was more than just medical observation; it was a silent understanding, a moment when the doctor saw not only her physical suffering,This puzzled him a little but he continued to observe.

his hand unconsciously reached out to her and pressed against her cheek, which was tender and hot, Carlisle found it difficult to stand next to the woman whose mole was singing, because he had recently become a vampire, but now he felt her blood running through his veins, and it shook his fortitude.

reader opened her eyes with special difficulty, she could not see anything in front of her , but she felt someone's cold and gentle hand touching her cheek, giving her at least a little clarity of mind.

Carlisle took her hand in his and stroked her fragile palm, hypnotizing one place on her arm, the next two minutes unable to resist, he pressed her palm to his lips, leaving a light kiss in accordance with etiquette, although he himself knew... what is it...Not because of etiquette.

"I'll try to help you, my lady."

the whisper reached the reader's ears, which she only glanced at from where the sound of the voice came from.

§

the following days went well, Carlisle tried to help the girl every day, she seemed to get better and better, her skin became more vibrant, and the veil disappeared from her eyes, because of which she could not see.Carlisle saw that now she could get out of bed and walk, every time he approached her, she smiled at him so joyfully, the warm smile that he had always seen over the past couple of months brightened up his life, and every time he got used to it, he got used to her gentle and fragile nature Although he understood that she had recovered a little from her illness, he was still worried, it was alarming...It was growing... When she went out for a walk, it was as if she was whispering something to him... "She could get sick again," his mind slowly but surely failed him, every day he tried his best to isolate her from the outside world, hiding her again in a room

So what was he afraid of? diseases? which Can come back? or that he would leave.... leave her alone when she gets better

His thoughts haunted him every time he saw her, hugged her and stroked her head,but one day everything changed...

§

"Please please just stay conscious"

Carlisle said in despair as he gave her the pills, the reader could not drink them every time the pill came out with blood, which she coughed up ,

For Carlisle, it was hell-her fever, her cough, her blood..

especially the blood that sang for him, that first day when he realized that she was his only one, but now, feeling her blood, it cost him a lot of effort not to bite her .He was on edge, as if a hundred needles had been thrust into his body.

This thought was in his mind every time, but Carlisle was stronger

The worst thing at that time was that her body was gradually getting cold, she couldn't hold on for long, the blood was pouring out of her too much and the only thing he could do... Turn her into a vampire

a tear rolled down his cheek, he knew that this was practically the only way out of the situation he found himself in, but his principles did not allow him to do this, he did not want to ruin her life forever, but he could not lose her.

Despair, hopelessness, because Carlisle couldn't save her, couldn't control the situation anymore.

his lips trembled as he held the reader in his arms, his lips trembled as he picked up the syringe....taking some of his blood....he treated her hand with alcohol , and guided the syringe carefully , leading his blood into her body.

They sat in silence for the next couple of minutes while he waited for her to wake up... But it didn't happen for an hour

three.. Outwardly, she was already pale as marble, but her skin... Strangely, her skin became warm, even hot, but she was not breathing, her heartbeat was low,pursing his lips, the doctor leaned towards the reader, hugging her limp body, he pressed his nose into her neck, inhaling her fragrance..It calmed him down.

Reader's arms wrapped around the doctor just as wearily and listlessly , while her head rested on the doctor 's shoulder...

"From now on everything will be fine my dear I promise"

The promise that Carlisle made that day.

End of the part 1

Part 2

________________________________________________________________________

Sorry for the mistakes in the text, I tried to write it more clearly.

[j0kers-light]

Hi chaos! I hope you’re having a good day!

I saw your headcanons post for joker x reader who struggles with anemia & loved it so, so much! It’s always lovely when we get to see our favorite characters caring for us in little ways like that, especially when it comes to our daily struggles that often go largely ignored by society. I was wondering if you’d be willing to do a joker x f!reader with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome sometime? And as always, no pressure at all <3

— 🌹

Welcome my sweet 🌹anon!!

You ask, and I deliver! I had to do some extensive research with my mom to make sure I was accurate with this request! I learned so much via articles and short documentaries! Shoutout to my chronic pain sufferers! Chaos acknowledges you and I loves you!!

If anything doesn't sound right let me know 🌹 anon so I can correct it! I hope you enjoy! There are several sub-types of the disease but we'll focus on hEDS for this head canon 🖤✨

Since your disorder is rare and hereditary, there isn't any known treatment or any medical studies/research done to cure the illness. There isn't even a test done to diagnose its so vastly ignored! 😡😡

Society turns a blind eye to _EDS, simply chalking it up to hypermobility and being non-life threatening. WRONG.

hEDS is life threatening and sources fail to address the lifelong chronic pain and other debilitating issues that the rare disease causes. There are 13 sub types with their own crippling ailments.

Joker would hardly notice anything wrong until you go and hurt yourself, which is rather easy due to your fragile skin and joints.

Your body doesn't heal well after injury so bruises linger, scars are permanent, and dislocations are a common occurrence. Yay to pain. ��✨

Growing up, it was cool to show off your double joints and overly flexible body but as your age hit the double digits, you noticed the complications of your parlor tricks pretty quickly.

Muscle weakness was the first indicator followed by scarier issues like weak blood vessels and potential organ ruptures. Chronic pain is a reality that you have to endure since your body fails to function properly.

Life grinds to a halt when you have a flare up and Joker arches an eyebrow when you stay in bed for days at a time and work remotely.

Just moving is an impossible feat and your body punishes you for defying its demands for rest. You still have to live your life! Somehow.

Joker tries to crack jokes but you roll your eyes and ignore him. You’re just not in the mood.

He doesn't understand how you can go from practicing yoga in the sunroom to being bedridden in the same hour so he assumes you're faking being sick and that thought makes you cry.

Knowing that your lover believes that you are acting, hurts more than your aching joints and Joker immediately notices when your mental health begins to decline.

Now he's worried. When you can, you do as much as you're able, never knowing when your body will betray you and confine you to bed. Every moment is precious and Joker will never understand that.

Life returns back to "normal" but Joker demands answers. He's still in shock.

Weren't you on death's door just yesterday? Now you're returning to work, laughing and smiling, as if nothing is wrong. He doesn’t know what to think.

So he disappears to search the internet and after hours of clicking away, he's just as confused as when he started. (I feel you J..)

Joker refuses to believe there is nothing he can do to help his Bunny. This hEDS can't keep you down forever. Right? 👀

Why aren't there any studies, or any institutions pledging to find a cure for this?! Does he have to kidnap a doctor or two to get the ball rolling?

Joker remembers he does have a doctor on his payroll. He calls up Sarai and bombards her with the same questions he typed into Google.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BUNNY?🧑‍💻

Sarai doesn't give him much else to go on except keeping you comfortable, well medicated if you take any, and to continue your physical therapy but not too much exercise as to aggravate your joints.

Great... so he's back to square one!

Joker hears you groan from the next room and goes to check on his poor Bunny. He would find a way to make you feel better himself.

You had dozed off for a long quick nap and woke up to the sound of something falling over in the bathroom.

It still hurt to move but at least it wasn’t agonizing anymore. This current pain level you could tolerate.

You were willing yourself to toss the covers back when Joker appeared in the doorway looking rather sheepish.

“Hey doll. Uhh are ya feeling up to move?” He scanned you over as if he could gauge your pain tolerance by sight. Your small smile gave him some hope.

“Mmm. I gotta get up and fix something to eat.” You were weak and probably dehydrated from lying in bed all day, but that was to be expected.

Joker watched you swing a leg over and rushed to your side. “I uh.. ran a bath. If ya want. A Reddit post mentioned ah.. hoT water being helpful.”

It didn’t dawn on you just what Joker was saying. All you heard was the latter part of his sentence. “You have a Reddit account?”

He smacked his lips while helping you slowly walk towards the en-suite bath. To your surprise, the bath was waiting for you with a rolling cart next to it, hopefully with something to snack on.

You were speechless. “J… you did all this for me?”

He looked away and you got the impression that he was blushing. He still had his clown makeup on so you couldn’t tell for sure.

“Thank you J. I mean it.” He helped you sit on the nearby wooden bench after you kissed his cheek. “Um. I can undress myself.. if you need to—ah! Okay! You’re seriously doing this.”

Joker started with your socks and worked his way up until not a single thread of fabric was left on your body. You felt so exposed sitting there nude while Joker dipped his hand into the bath water.

It was hot enough to be medicinal but not scalding. He snapped his fingers and dashed over to the storage area to grab your bag of epsom salt before dumping a few cups in.

You got to see a rare softer side of Joker hard at work. No one would believe you if you reported this. The Joker, Gotham City’s worst nightmare, was preparing you a bath with the greatest care.

“All-right-yyy ya ready pretty girl?” Joker’s voice snapped you out of your daydream. He playfully flicked some water at you to get your attention.

You couldn’t flinch away and huffed your displeasure.

“I couldn’t resist, Bunny. Now in ya go! Hold onto my shoulders, yeah?” He picked you up as if you were made of glass and gently lowered you into the bath. “Easy doll, I know it’s hot. Just relax.”

Joker shushed any whimpers you made and held you steady underneath the water. For the next few unbearable moments, Joker was right there whispering sweet nothings to calm you down.

Finally you relaxed with a deep sigh, “This is perfect.”

“Good. If ya want, you can rest a bit. I’ll keep you.. well you know.. from drowning. But ya do need to eat something first. Here.” He dried his hand off and fed you a [insert favorite snack].

You felt like royalty and Joker had no issue helping you adjust to the role. He fed you piece by piece, offering you sips of water in between while holding your hand and rubbing soothing circles on your skin with his thumb.

The contact warmed your heart. Joker may not know much about your medical condition, but he would always be there to support you.

You couldn’t ask for a better partner.

[saranitysstuff]

having autism and adhd in this day and age really drains you. because on one end, there are people who think that you cannot possibly be autistic because you aren't severely disabled by it. well, you can speak, and you can go to school, and you are good at things...i was genuinely told that my blood test for fragile x syndrome meant that i didn't have autism. people still think there is a blood test for autism! you're not autistic, you're just a little different...

and on the other end...well, you just have different wiring. you can't say you "have autism," you're autistic. levels aren't real and are ableist. researchers should stop researching about the biological mechanisms behind autism, autism is just a difference and none of us want treated or cured ever. autism doesn't need to be treated at all. adhd is a social construct, adhd and autism are the next step in evolution, they are evolutionary advantages, all neurotypicals are evil and hate autistic people, all doctor's are quacks who don't know what they're talking about, autism is just liking things a lot and being socially awkward. you're just a little different....

it's awful. i feel so alone and invalidated by every single post i see about autism. no, i'm not "just a little different," i have a neurological disability that i need services and compassion and understanding. i want autism to be researched and i want treatments for behaviors that can harm myself or others. i want to know how to interact with other people in a way that makes sense for both me and the neurotypical person, and i want it to be comfortable for the both of us. i want to refer to my autism how i prefer to talk about it. i want the misinformation around autism to stop. is it really too much to ask?

[jasper-stims]

This Disability Pride Month...

[ If you don't see your disability or situation, add on! I just added some things I rarely see mentioned on Tumblr. I'd love to see your additions! ]

Shout out to people with Down Syndrome!

Shout out to people with Fragile X Syndrome!

Shout out to people with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome!

Shout out to people with Angelman Syndrome!

Shout out to people with Williams Syndrome!

Shout out to people with Gigantism!

Shout out to people with Dwarfism!

Shout out to people with Brittle Bone Disease!

Shout out to people with Pfeiffer Syndrome!

Shout out to DeafBlind people!

Shout out to people with sensory disabilities!

Shout out to people with Cerebral Palsy!

Shout out to people missing parts of their brain!

Shout out to people missing organs!

Shout out to disabled people on medication!

Shout out to disabled people who don't want medication!

Shout out to disabled people who can't afford medication!

Shout out to stroke survivors!

Shout out to people with Dementia and Alzheimers!

Shout out to people with missing/deformed limbs!

Shout out to people with craniofacial differences!

Shout out to people who spend almost all their time in bed!

Shout out to people who are constantly in and out of the hospital!

Shout out to people with noticeable scars, wounds, or marks!

Shout out to people with bulky, noticeable, and complex disability aids!

Shout out to disabled people who need a carer 24/7!

Shout out to disabled people who put themselves in danger!

Shout out to disabled people who wear diapers!

Shout out to people who were born disabled!

Shout out to people who became disabled through trauma!

Shout out to people who are newly disabled!

Shout out to genetically disabled people!

Shout out to medically complex disabled people!

Shout out to immunocompromised people!

Shout out to people with Intellectual Disability!

Shout out to nonverbal people!

Shout out to people who communicate with AAC!

Shout out to people who communicate with gestures or noises!

Shout out to people who can't read or write!

Shout out with people who don't understand how to communicate!

Shout out to people with rare/unknown disabilities!

Shout out to people with progressive disabilities!

Shout out to people with terminal disabilities!

Shout out to disabled kids and teens!

Shout out to fat disabled people!

Shout out to trans and queer disabled people!

Shout out to disabled people of color!

Shout out to institutionalized disabled people!

Shout out to disabled people in prison!

Shout out to poor disabled people!

Shout out to unhoused disabled people!

Shout out to addicted disabled people!

---- Adding On From The Comments ---

Shout out to people with CFS!

Shout out to people with Essential Tremor!

Shout out to people with Nemaline Myopathy!

[eccentricphilosoph]

VENT: Millennials and Gen Z Need to Stop Being So “Introverted”, Especially Americans

The one thing I dislike about Millennials and Gen Z is that they act like they’re so damn shy like everyone is gonna hurt them or whatever😑 Especially the adults. You’re an ADULT now. You can overcome.

You can deal with people and you should. I can’t even have a fun dinner or cocktail party because you Millennials “hate people” even though a party will have my friends who are truly good people who I painstakingly choose. You have to work with people and people can be fun if you would just stop being so into yourself and your mental problems and your “introvertedness”. We all have mental problems. How are an entire two generations TRUE “introverts”? The internet isn’t an excuse. We are hard wired to need other people to survive, being a hermit isn’t normal. “Oh but I’m an introvert. I need my safe space. I hate people.” That isn’t normal. Get help where you can

I just passed a Gen Z adult in a hallway and she wouldn’t even move until I was right up on her and said “excuse me” and she move *six inches* for me to SQUEEZE by and she didn’t even look at me besides a quick eye glance. Even in Japan someone would be more accommodating and they usually hardly interact with strangers! Jfc

I’m an ambivert with ADHD, PMDD, depression, anxiety, been betrayed by several friends, have been in several bad relationships, have had bad family experiences, have been harassed, bullied, have chronic fatigue syndrome, have been sexually assaulted and harassed, have been careerless for nearly a decade, had professors treat me poorly in university, etc. so I get it! I’ve been there, but life is fun when you share it with many others.

I just am sick and tired of my own damn generation being so boring and defensive and being bad friends all the time! I look at my parents having fun mature parties with friends all these decades only wishing I could do that, but I can’t. I see them going on group outings and trips with friends and I can’t do that either. I also want to make better friends but no one wants that because they’re all too defensive about their “private lives”. Millennials are so damn flaky and boring and self-centered (as in they think a lot about themselves and what’s going on with themselves) and I’m getting so so tired of it.

Young Gen X still has kids, so they’re not easy to hang out with and anyone older than that is like my parents’ age which, rn is still weird to me tbh…

Millennials are also so flaky too. If you don’t keep them on the line, they just go away or they tell you they’re just too tired or busy or whatever. They make poor friends because they’re not there when you need actual help with something because it’s “too much” for their fragile being with their “mental problems” or they can’t trust people because they’re “jaded”.

Like jfc it’s a CYCLE. If you are an introverted selfish person, that’s the kind of people you’ll be around too because they learned it from those around them. If you learn to be better, then people end up becoming better.

Just. Please. Grow. Up. Get. Help. Be. A. Real. Friend. Be. Better.

Do you realize you’re BLOCKING out people who can UNDERSTAND YOU?

Inb4 all the excuses of mental health or being betrayed all the time or being jaded or being really and truly introverted.

[nursingwriter]

Individual Impacts Genetic Diagnosis Individual Impacts of Genetic Diagnosis The number of inherited disorders and risk factors that can be detected through genetic testing is increasing rapidly, and genetic testing may soon become a common component of routine medical care. Is behavioural medicine ready? For the first time, a sophisticated understanding of gene-environment interactions as manifested in the interactions among an individual's genetic predispositions, behaviour, and environment seems within reach. Rather than diminishing the role of behavioural science, advances in molecular medicine highlight the centrality of behaviour both in disease etiology and in the translation of science into practice. This paper is systematic review of the literature on the individual impacts of genetic diagnosis in behavioural and psychological terms. It draws from papers on these topics and cites their studies extensively. The upshot is that carrier and predictive testing may have effects on anxiety and depression, but that there is genetic stigmatization. Prenatal testing may lead to increased premature termination of pregnancies. The subset of psychological issues and processes that are most salient within the clinical genetics context has evolved alongside advances in biotechnology. Prenatal testing and carrier testing were among the first services offered, affording an opportunity for individuals to learn whether they had transmitted an altered gene to their offspring. As these tests provided information about the risk to the fetus, the focus of counseling tended to be on reproductive decision-making. More recently, genetic testing is being applied to detect personal susceptibility to disease, shifting the focus of counseling to personal risk reduction. The hope is that awareness of genetic risk will enhance informed medical decision making by physicians and patients alike. However, there may also be psycho- logical and social risks of genetic testing that should be considered, regardless of the potential medical benefits provided by testing. It is in this consideration of the entire breadth of the potential costs and benefits that psychologists can play a critical role. Both researchers and clinicians can assist patients, families, physicians, and policymakers as they grapple with the complex task of integrating genetic information into their professional practice and everyday lives (Lerman et al., 2002). Psychological Effects of Carrier Testing In one of the earliest reports of the impact of carrier testing, investigators studied the implementation of a sickle-cell disease carrier screening program in a community where 23% of the population were gene carriers and about 1% of infants were born with sickle-cell disease. The community's custom of arranging marriages provided the opportunity to offer counseling aimed at avoiding matings between carriers. A 7-year follow-up descriptive evaluation indicated that notification of carrier status resulted in anxiety, embarrassment, and an inferior social status, particularly among women. In fact, 20% of parents reported that they requested that their noncarrier children not marry a carrier, even though such an arrangement would not result in any offspring with the disease. In a related study, carriers and noncarriers did not report differences in self-image. However, noncarriers were found to have more negative attitudes about sickle-cell carrier status than carriers, suggesting the potential for social stigmatization. A more recent qualitative study examined adults' experiences with carrier testing for four disorders: cystic fibrosis, Tay-Sachs disease, Duchenne muscular dystrophy, and Fragile X syndrome. Results suggested that noncarriers experienced relief and a general sense of well-being toward their future childbearing. However, carriers reported feelings of hopelessness regarding the health of their offspring. As is evident from this brief review, few studies of carrier testing have used validated tools for assessing psychological outcomes. However, in a prospective study of general-population cystic fibrosis screening in Great Britain, investigators compared carriers and noncarriers in terms of anxiety levels (as measured by the State -- Trait Anxiety Inventory ). Carriers reported small but statistically significant increases in anxiety immediately following testing. Although most carriers did not report sustained anxiety, those who still intended to have children reported some anxiety at 6-month follow-up. One study also reported on the psychological status of cystic fibrosis mutation carriers. A modified version of the STAI administered after genetic counseling did not reveal differences in anxiety between carriers and a matched control sample of test decliners (Lerman, et al., 2002). Psychological Effects of Predictive Testing Huntington's disease. The first longitudinal study of HD testing was initiated in British Columbia in 1986. The results indicated that immediately after learning test results (7 -- 10 days), the in- creased risk group reported decreased scores on the General Well- Being Scale, but little change on measures of distress (General Severity Index from the Symptom Checklist 90) and depressive symptoms (Beck Depression Inventory ) from baseline. Those who had a decreased risk reported increases on the General Well-Being Scale, along with reductions in the General Severity Index and the BDI. By 6 months posttest, the difference between groups was limited to scores on the General Well-Being Scale, and at the 1-year posttest measurement the groups did not differ significantly on any of the three measures. This study also followed 40 individuals who did not receive risk-altering information. A subset (n =23) of these individuals declined testing, whereas the others (n =17) were told that testing would not be informative for them. By the 1-year follow-up, this group had higher levels of depressive symptoms and lower well- being scores than the increased or decreased risk groups. Studies of testing for HD have also examined predictors of psychological responses to testing. Another study reported data from carriers and noncarriers approximately 6 months after receiving genetic test results. Precounseling HD-related stress symptoms (based on the Impact of Event Scale ) predicted poorer adjustment. Other studies evaluated participants in an HD testing program using the BDI and the BHS. Baseline distress scores were the best predictor of postcounseling distress, and genetic status was only marginally predictive (Lerman et al., 2002). Cancer susceptibility. A few large-scale longitudinal studies have begun to yield data on the psychological effects of genetic testing for cancer susceptibility. In a study of members of hereditary breast cancer families, noncarriers of BRCA1 mutations reported significant reductions in depressive symptoms (as defined by the CES -- D scale) and functional impairment (as measured by two scales from the Medical Outcomes Study), compared with carriers and those who chose not to be tested. However, carriers did not show overall increases from baseline to follow-up in measures of depressive symptoms and functional impairment. In another study of BRCA1 testing, carriers reported higher levels of test-related distress (as measured by the IES) than noncarriers approximately 1 -- 2 weeks after learning test results. Similar to this study, carriers did not exhibit increases in anxiety (as defined by scores on the STAI) from baseline to follow-up. In this study, carrier women who had never experienced cancer or cancer-related surgery reported higher levels of test-related distress (Lerman et al., 2002). Although these studies did not provide evidence for adverse effects of testing, analyses have been conducted to identify sub- groups of individuals that might be more psychologically vulnerable. Other studies classified their hereditary breast cancer family members into low-moderate (two lowest tertiles) and high-stress categories based on their scores on the Intrusion subscale of the IES. The highest levels of depression symptoms 1 month after testing (based on CES -- D scores) were reported by individuals with high stress at baseline who decided not to get tested. In this subgroup, 26% reported symptoms consistent with depression at baseline, and by 1 month, this number had increased to 47%. More recently, a study reported that testing participants who underestimated the emotional impact of testing were more likely to experience distress 6 months after receiving their results (Lerman et al., 2002). A study addressed the psychological effects of genetic testing for familial adenomatous polyposis, a form of colon cancer first characterized by the formation of hundreds of polyps in adolescence and early adulthood. Investigators surveyed tested children and their parents before and 3 months after testing using the Children's Depression Inventory or the Reynolds Adolescent Depression Scale and Children's Manifest Anxiety Scale. Children's depression levels remained in normal ranges after testing. How- ever, mutation-positive children with affected mothers had significantly higher follow-up depression scores. Further, all children with affected mothers had increased anxiety scores. Behavioral Outcomes of Predictive Testing Although initial studies suggest that genetic-testing decisions were motivated by the desire to gain information about surveillance options, little is known about the actual ways in which genetic testing influences behavior. In one longitudinal study, none of the 41 BRCi carriers reported having a prophylactic mastectomy by 1-year follow-up, but 17% were considering it. It is interesting to note that 43% of the eligible carriers reported having had an oophorectomy within the year since learning their test results, with most of the other carriers considering it. There were no differences in reported mammography use between carriers and noncarriers among women over 40 years old (81% of carriers and 73% of noncarriers reported a mammogram within the year). However, younger carriers (aged 25 -- 39) were more likely than younger noncarriers to have reported a mammogram within the year (45% vs. 17%, respectively). A second study of women followed for 1 year after BRCi testing found that only 1 of 29 (3%) unaffected female carriers had a prophylactic mastectomy within 1 year after receiving genetic test results and 13% had a prophylactic oophorectomy. Sixty-eight percent of carriers reported an annual mammogram at the 1-year follow-up, com- pared with 44% of the noncarriers. Women over 40 were more likely to have had an annual mammogram than women between 25 and 39 years old. Of greater concern was the finding that less than 15% of BRCi carriers had the recommended ovarian cancer screening (Lerman et al., 2002). Psychological and Behavioral Outcomes of Genetic Testing Overall, this body of research is consistent in the finding that genetic test results have less influence on emotional distress than initially anticipated. Although some studies report initial increases in anxiety following prenatal, carrier, or predictive testing, these effects tend to be transient and not clinically significant. However, there are several important caveats. For example, most research studies have used optimal models of genetic counseling that may have more beneficial outcomes than more minimal approaches used in some clinical settings. In addition, standardized measures of distress may not be sensitive enough to detect more subtle changes in functioning that are specific to genetic testing. Some of these effects are reported anecdotally as occurring in persons who test negative, such as survivor guilt and difficulties adjusting expectations based on "good" news from testing (Lerman et al., 2002). Another caveat is that analyses of differences between groups of tested individuals (i.e., carriers, noncarriers, decliners) do not reveal within-group variation in adverse psychological effects. With few exceptions, the interactions between personality and dispositional factors with test results have been largely ignored. More sophisticated theoretical models and analytic strategies should be applied to identify possible subgroups of participants that may be more psychologically vulnerable. In this regard, other investigators proposed a novel model to shape research on stress and genetic testing for disease risk. A unique feature of this model is the focus on uncertainty as a stressor characteristic and ambiguity in the appraisal process. Individual differences in tolerance for uncertainty or need for information may be important moderators of the impact of genetic test results on psychological functioning (Lerman et al., 2002). Also understudied is the effect of genetic testing on the family. One study of HD showed that partners' responses to testing are qualitatively similar to tested individuals. In a study of BRCi testing, researchers found the highest levels of distress among female carriers who had siblings who tested negative. However, distress also was elevated in male noncarriers when siblings' test results were positive. A similar effect of siblings' test results on female noncarriers was reported. The complexity of the family interactions responsible for these findings is unlikely to be captured by ignoring interaction effects or relying on standardized measures of family environment. New measures and analytic strategies specific to these and other issues in genetic testing are needed to tap the richness of family responses and to create a more complete picture of the effects of genetic testing (Lerman et al., 2002). Reviews on the psychological impact of genetic testing have reported either no change in psychological outcomes among unaffected mutation carriers relative to baseline or decreased anxiety and worry after genetic testing. It has been noted that some studies have consistently shown short-term increases in anxiety among unaffected carriers. Results regarding depression have been mixed. We found that overall genetic testing had no impact of psychological outcomes such as general and specific distress, anxiety, or depression in either carriers or noncarriers. These results held true regardless of the measurement tools used or whether results were reported separately (e.g., anxiety, depression) or combined (as for the results of general distress that may have also included anxiety and depression). We also noted the trend in some studies for there to be short-term (i.e., up to 4 months) increases in some of these measures among carriers, although this trend disappeared with time. The impact of genetic testing on worry was less clear and only a few studies in our review assessed this outcome measure (Lerman et al., 2002). According to Davison et al., ethical aspects of predictive testing for Huntington's Disease have been a major concern. Salient themes in these discussions have been: the individual's right to know his/her own status; the psychological impact of diagnosing an untreatable lethal disorder and the possibility of encouraging suicide; and the need for counselling and support before and after a test is carried out. Research on Huntington's Disease testing has also uncovered some less expected areas of popular perception and reaction that have major implications for more widespread applications of predictive genetic testing. Salient among these are:- a) the realisation that both positive and negative results can cause personal and family anguish or dislocation. While anxiety and depression may be expected to follow a result which indicates that one has the condition, there is some evidence to suggest that those 'escaping' it experience a negative reaction through a kind of survivor guilt (some of their loved ones are or will be victims) and through a feeling of 'not belonging' to the descent group they thought was theirs. They also may have in some senses planned their lives as sufferers; by for example choosing not to reproduce. b) the recognition that some kin groups within which the disorder has been transmitted have their methods of 'deciding' which individuals will be sufferers. Through a process which has been called 'pre-selection' some families appear to identify a member who has inherited the disorder, and proceed to treat that person as 'sick'. Schooling decisions and both intra and extra familial activities may be circumscribed. While pre-selection is not accurate as a means of identifying affected individuals, Kessler postulates that it functions to reduce: multiple uncertainties . . . As if the chance nature of gene transmission is brought under control and the chronic threat of stochastic processes has been defused. c) the indication that uncertainty (not knowing the ostensibly precise details of personal risk status) may have a distinct cultural or social value (Davison et al. 1994). The idea that knowing about possible futures may actually decrease the quality of a person's life is not easily accommodated within the essentially rationalist or utilitarian philosophy underlying the idea of screening. One aspect of this is the maintenance of 'hope' (often 'against hope'), as articulated by a tested individual receiving results indicative of high risk: I feel like someone has died. Part of me has died - the hopeful part. The key response to what are usually seen as 'psychological problems' by those involved in the development of clinical services has been to stress the importance of counselling and support for those offered predictive testing or their families. Research into, and debates about, the role of counselling have mainly focused on the choice to be tested for carrier or 'sufferer' status, and the relative merits of the termination of affected pregnancies following prenatal genetic diagnosis. Any widespread introduction of predictive testing for adult onset diseases will pose additional ethical dilemmas. Thus, rather than being a field in which people receive information providing a basis for test on freely-determined action, the reality is that 'whatever counsellors might wish those consulting them or referred to them to think, most people perceive the encounter as one with a high-status medical expert, whose advice has to be taken seriously' (Davison et al., 1994). Petersen offers individual narratives on the experiences of those affected by genetic testing. The data highlighted a number of broad themes revealed by earlier research on illness narratives: experiences of disruption and uncertainty following the onset of illness, individuals' search for a diagnosis, and their effort to achieve acceptance, independence, and some sense of normality. They also revealed some particular challenges confronting individuals posed by the inheritable nature of their condition. Although people's experiences were diverse, having been shaped by factors such as the nature of their condition, its symptoms and treatment, and prior experience of illness, they tended to involve some recurrent themes. One of these was the quest for information, beginning with diagnosis. A pregnancy or a series of episodes of undiagnosed symptoms such as constant tiredness or bleeding trauma, sometimes following surgery, often led the individual to search for an explanation for their illness. Some respondents said that they came to learn about the nature of their condition after a series of misdiagnoses or non-diagnoses and efforts to seek treatments outside the conventional medical system. The experience of a respondent who has haemochromatosis is not untypical: 'The diagnosis was made after continuous complaints by me. I couldn't seem to recover my health and strength and fitness after I had surgery for cancer, and follow up chemotherapy. Read the full article

[ansautism]

ICD-11, Autism: Clinical Features

Common symptom presentations of Autism Spectrum Disorder in young children are parental or caregiver concerns about intellectual or other developmental delays (e.g., problems in language and motor coordination). When there is no significant impairment of intellectual functioning, clinical services may only be sought later (e.g., due to behaviour or social problems when starting school). In middle childhood, there may be prominent symptoms of anxiety, including Social Anxiety Disorder, school refusal, and Specific Phobia. During adolescence and adulthood, Depressive Disorders are often a presenting feature.

Co-occurrence of Autism Spectrum Disorder with other Mental, Behavioural or Neurodevelopmental Disorders is common across the lifespan. In a substantial proportion of cases, particularly in adolescence and adulthood, it is a co-occurring disorder that first brings an individual with Autism Spectrum Disorder to clinical attention.

Pragmatic language difficulties may manifest as an overly literal understanding of others’ speech, speech that lacks normal prosody and emotional tone and therefore appears monotonous, lack of awareness of the appropriateness of their choice of language in particular social contexts, or pedantic precision in the use of language.

Social naiveté, especially during adolescence, can lead to exploitation by others, a risk that may be enhanced by the use of social media without adequate supervision.

Profiles of specific cognitive skills in Autism Spectrum Disorder as measured by standardized assessments may show striking and unusual patterns of strengths and weaknesses that are highly variable from individual to individual. These deficits can affect learning and adaptive functioning to a greater extent than would be predicted from the overall scores on measures of verbal and non-verbal intelligence.

Self-injurious behaviours (e.g., hitting one’s face, head banging) occur more often in individuals with co-occurring Disorder of Intellectual Development.

Some young individuals with Autism Spectrum Disorder, especially those with a co-occurring Disorder of Intellectual Development, develop epilepsy or seizures during early childhood with a second increase in prevalence during adolescence. Catatonic states have also been described. A number of medical disorders such as Tuberous Sclerosis, chromosomal abnormalities including Fragile X Syndrome, Cerebral Palsy, early onset epileptic encephalopathies, and Neurofibromatosis are associated with Autism Spectrum Disorder with or without a co-occurring Disorder of Intellectual Development. Genomic deletions, duplications and other genetic abnormalities are increasingly described in individuals with Autism Spectrum Disorder, some of which may be important for genetic counselling. Prenatal exposure to valproate is also associated with an increased risk of Autism Spectrum Disorder.

Self-injurious behaviours (e.g., hitting one’s face, head banging) occur more often in individuals with co-occurring Disorder of Intellectual Development.

Some individuals with Autism Spectrum Disorder are capable of functioning adequately by making an exceptional effort to compensate for their symptoms during childhood, adolescence or adulthood. Such sustained effort, which may be more typical of affected females, can have a deleterious impact on mental health and well-being.

-ICD 11, Autism

[phonologix-1]

Signs of Delayed Development in Children and When to Seek Help

Every child grows at their own pace, but there are key developmental milestones that serve as benchmarks for progress in areas like speech, motor skills, social interaction, and cognitive abilities. While some variations are normal, significant delays can indicate the need for professional support. Recognizing the signs early and seeking help can make a crucial difference in a child’s development.

In this blog, we’ll explore the common signs of delayed development, their possible causes, and when parents should seek professional guidance.

Understanding Developmental Milestones

Developmental milestones are skills or behaviors that most children achieve by a certain age. These milestones fall into several categories:

Physical/Motor Skills: Rolling over, crawling, walking, or holding objects.

Language and Communication: Babbling, speaking first words, forming sentences.

Social and Emotional Skills: Interacting with others, showing emotions, or playing with peers.

Cognitive Skills: Problem-solving, memory, and understanding cause and effect.

Signs of Developmental Delays

Here are some key signs of delays in different areas of development:

1. Motor Skills

Difficulty sitting up, crawling, or walking by expected ages.

Poor coordination or muscle weakness.

Trouble holding objects, such as a rattle or crayon.

2. Language and Communication

No babbling or cooing by 12 months.

Lack of first words by 18 months or inability to form simple sentences by age 2.

Difficulty understanding or following instructions.

3. Social and Emotional Development

Lack of interest in playing with others or interacting with caregivers.

Difficulty expressing emotions or understanding social cues.

Avoidance of eye contact or limited facial expressions.

4. Cognitive Development

Trouble focusing on tasks or following simple routines.

Delayed problem-solving skills or lack of curiosity.

Struggles with memory, such as recalling familiar objects or names.

Possible Causes of Developmental Delays

Developmental delays can result from a variety of factors, including:

Genetic Conditions: Such as Down syndrome or fragile X syndrome.

Premature Birth: Which may impact physical and cognitive development.

Environmental Factors: Such as exposure to toxins, malnutrition, or lack of stimulation.

Medical Conditions: Like hearing loss, autism spectrum disorder (ASD), or cerebral palsy.

When Should Parents Seek Help?

Parents should trust their instincts when it comes to their child’s development. If you notice any of the following, it’s time to consult a pediatrician or developmental specialist:

Your child consistently misses key milestones for their age.

Significant regression in skills they previously mastered.

Persistent difficulties in interacting, communicating, or learning.

Concerns raised by caregivers, teachers, or family members.

Who Can Help with Developmental Delays?

Several professionals specialize in assessing and addressing developmental delays, including:

Pediatricians: Provide initial evaluations and referrals to specialists.

Speech-Language Pathologists: Focus on language and communication skills.

Occupational Therapists: Help with fine motor skills, coordination, and daily tasks.

Physical Therapists: Address gross motor skills like crawling, walking, and posture.

Developmental Psychologists: Assess cognitive and emotional development.

How Early Intervention Makes a Difference

Early intervention services provide specialized support to help children overcome developmental delays. These services often include therapy, educational programs, and family training, tailored to the child’s unique needs. Studies show that early intervention can significantly improve outcomes, enhancing a child’s ability to learn, communicate, and thrive.

Tips for Parents

Stay Informed: Learn about developmental milestones and observe your child’s progress.

Engage Your Child: Provide opportunities for play, interaction, and learning.

Be Patient: Development takes time, and every child progresses differently.

Collaborate with Professionals: Work closely with therapists or educators to create a supportive environment for your child.

Conclusion

Recognizing the signs of delayed development in children is the first step toward helping them achieve their full potential. By seeking help early and accessing the right resources, parents can make a profound difference in their child’s growth and well-being.

If you’re concerned about your child’s development, don’t hesitate to reach out to a healthcare provider or specialist. Early support is key to ensuring your child’s success in all aspects of life.

Would you like tips on tracking milestones or understanding specific developmental disorders? Let me know!

[industrynewsupdates]

Antisense And RNAi Therapeutics Market: Key Trends and Growth Opportunities

The global antisense and RNAi therapeutics market size is expected to reach USD 14.35 billion by 2030, registering a CAGR of 18.72% from 2024 to 2030, according to a new report by Grand View Research, Inc. Developments in biological vectors & nanotechnology and increased financial help for clinical investigations, including the launch of novel drug molecules, are critical in product development and are driving market expansion.

Multinational healthcare organizations raise awareness and assist in the development of novel remedies for a variety of ailments. Private institutes and companies participating in conducting trials through supporting research institutes are predicted to considerably fuel sector expansion. For instance, in March 2022, Biogen  Inc. and Ionis Pharmaceuticals, Inc. announced outcomes from the Phase 1 study of an investigational antisense oligonucleotide for treating people with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). Such increasing clinical trials through industry participants is anticipated to propel the market growth by rising the product launches based on antisense and RNAi therapies.

Antisense and RNAi therapies can be used to treat various disorders that impact the cell growth cycle and target nucleic acids. The ability of miRNA to regenerate gene expression and regulate protein production, consequently impacting industrial advancement, is receiving much attention. According to the article published by the American Association for the Advancement of Science in July 2023, an antisense therapy developed by UMass Chan Medical School and RUSH University Medical Center is found useful in restoring production of the protein FMRP in cell specimens taken from individuals suffering from fragile X syndrome. Such advancements in the industry are expected to propel the demand for RNAi and antisense therapeutics for treating numerous diseases over the forecast period.

Gather more insights about the market drivers, restrains and growth of the Antisense And RNAi Therapeutics Market

Antisense And RNAi Therapeutics Market Report Highlights

• Antisense RNA technology accounted for the largest revenue share in 2023 in the technology segment due to its wide applications in diseases like neurodegenerative and genetic conditions.

• The RNA interference segment is anticipated to witness the fastest growth in technology. This technology is further segmented into siRNA & miRNA. Due to miRNA's important role in sustaining cell identity, it's being employed to understand cancer spread better.

• Based on application, the genetic disease segment's dominance can be attributed to key players' increasing focus on developing novel genetic disease treatments.

• North America accounted for the largest revenue share in the global antisense and RNAi therapeutics market. The region's dominance can be attributed to the presence of several players in the region and their efforts to strengthen their position in the industry.

• Europe is anticipated to register the fastest growth over the forecast period from 2024 to 2030, owing to key companies like Secarna operating and expanding in the region.

Antisense And RNAi Therapeutics Market Segmentation

 Grand View Research has segmented the global antisense and RNAi therapeutics market report based on technology, application, route of administration, and region

Antisense And RNAi Therapeutics Technology Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2018 - 2030)

• RNA Interference

• Antisense RNA

Antisense And RNAi Therapeutics Application Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2018 - 2030)

• Genetic Disease

• Cancer

• Infectious Disease

• Neurodegenerative Disorders

• Cardiometabolic & Renal Disorders

• Ocular Disorders

• Respiratory Disorders

• Skin Disorders

Antisense And RNAi Therapeutics Route of Administration Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2018 - 2030)

• Intravenous Injections

• Intrathecal Injections

• Subcutaneous Injections

• Other Delivery Methods

Antisense And RNAi Therapeutics Regional Outlook (Revenue, USD Million, 2018 - 2030)

• North America

o U.S.

o Canada

• Europe

o Germany

o UK

o France

o Italy

o Spain

o Denmark

o Sweden

o Norway

• Asia Pacific

o China

o Japan

o India

o South Korea

o Australia

o Thailand

• Latin  America

o Brazil

o Mexico

o Argentina

• MEA

o South Africa

o Saudi Arabia

o UAE

Order a free sample PDF of the Antisense And RNAi Therapeutics Market Intelligence Study, published by Grand View Research.