#allergy tests information

[mitchmarner]

mitch marner daniel ricciardo

🤝

being infuriatingly beautiful athletes with bumpy noses and brown hair who have amazing smiles and their only purpose in life is to make other people laugh at their terrible jokes and also i’m inexplicably attracted to them despite being a lesbian

[telomirage]

"who here has skin? raise your hand" - friends at the table: palisade without context

[cocklessboy]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[teslacoils-and-hubris]

Hey my stomach is trying to kill me but not as much as the gravel is, send me asks about my ocs and listen to my funny ramblings as I desperately fight off the drowsy effects of the medicine cause I have shit to do tonight that I can't miss

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

So I would like to make a post about food allergies given the information I've been taught by my allergist regarding my food allergies.

The difference between food allergy, sensitivity, and intolerance.

Allergy. This is the classic anaphylaxis.

Sensitivity. This is caused by allergies, but the risk here isn't anaphylaxis. It's inflammation in gut that can cause fatigue, nausea, diarrhea, constipation, generalized ick feeling.

Intolerance. Your body is literally unable to process the food. It lacks the ability to, which means the food causes inflammation in the gut, causing similar symptoms as sensitivity.

Sensitivities will show up on an allergy test. Intolerance has to take a different test specific for that type of intolerance.

I mention this because I see a lot of fake claiming food allergies that's like "Yeah but I cross contaminated the food with eggs and that didn't kill her. She must be lying." Yeah food sensitivities can be pretty mild. Where if you give them an egg salad, they're gonna be having a bad day. But if you rub egg on their burger, they may not even notice.

Also like there's a lot of medical conditions that can affect a person's diet. They may have stomach issues that means they can't eat a lot of acidic foods, and if saying "Hey, I'm allergic to pineapple" gets you to not put pineapple juice in their drink because it'll cause a flare-up. I'm all for people doing whatever they need to make sure their health is taken seriously. Even if it's outright lying because food allergies is the only fucking thing people seem to take seriously in this world.

Anyways take people's "I can't eat this food" seriously. And don't fake claim them if they go "I can't eat this food but I'm not at risk if there's cross contamination"

-fae

[feyburner]

I loved LOVED a word, a look, will be enough. I’m obsessed with the way you write jason and tim. No pressure to answer this at all, but I was curious if you have a headcanon about how the missing spleen reveal eventually goes

Jay »

Good afternoon Timothy.

« tim

uh oh

Jay »

I just had a fascinating conversation with Doc thompson

Care to hazard a guess about what?

« tim

pollen season

Jay »

No.

« tim

bird flu

Jay »

Is there a reason you havent told anyone in your life that you dont have a fucking spleen?

« tim

okay first of all

i’m not sure why doc thompson felt the need to tell you my private medical information

pretty sure they have a rule about that

Jay »

It’s not her fault.

I mentioned that you got whammied with that stupid germ bomb from Typhoid Tony or whatever the fuck his name was

« tim

vik vyral

Jay »

And she got all serious and told me I should get you into the clinic asap, and I was like no he’s fine now, it was basically a 24 hour bug, and she was like no, theres no such thing as a 24 hour bug for him, he needs to come get his blood tested yesterday

And then she clearly realized I had no fucking clue what she was talking about and clammed up. Wouldn’t say a thing. Told me to ask you myself.

Jay »

The look she gave me when I said you slept it off and went back to work. Like I should know better. like I was letting you be careless and shit bc thats just how I am or something.

« tim

“letting” me?

Jay »

yeah. Letting you. I know you know what I mean

« tim

i’m not sure i do.

Jay »

When youre with someone you take care of them.

I dont pretend to know much about this shit but I know that.

I’m not talking about handcuffing you to the radiator. Im talking about knowing whats going on with you and knowing that sometimes you let shit slide that I wouldn’t. When it comes to you

You do that for me and the others all the time. Thats how it works.

« tim

doc thompson doesn’t know you’re “with” me

Jay »

If you think everyone doesn’t know exactly what’s going on then your detective skills need work

Jay »

Also, Jesus, Tim.

« tim

ok sorry, i didn’t mean the scare quotes part

but did you pause to consider maybe there’s a reason i haven’t told everyone other than whatever shortsighted masochistic bs you’re assuming

Jay »

I dont need you to tell everyone. I’m not asking you to write a report on it.

Just like. if there’s any other major medical shit can you maybe tell me

Before you fucking die of a sinus infection or whatever bc the asshole who lives with you didn’t know your immune system has the horsepower of a bicycle

« tim

did you know you curse more when you’re fronting like you’re not worried about me

Jay »

I’m actually not fronting! in this moment!

« tim

okay

well. i am sorry

that sounded sarcastic bc of who i am as a person

but it’s not. i mean it.

Jay »

Sorry for yelling at you

« tim

i dont wanna go into it over text but i’ll tell you tonight. okay?

about what happened.

also there’s nothing else. it’s just the spleen thing

ok?

Jay »

Okay.

« tim

well and the mango allergy

well. and i’m double jointed specifically bc i have joint-hypermobility syndrome

which is why im so flexible :)

but also why i dislocate things a lot :(

um and im mildly allergic to carrots, bananas, pineapples, and most legumes, but it’s fine they just make my tongue itch

i think that’s all

Jay »

Tim can you be honest with me for a second

« tim

yeah…

Jay »

Are you inbred

« tim

NSJDN/&2&jdj?!_£_??

Jay »

Like are you that type of rich person

You can tell me. We are not going to procreate so I dont mind either way

« tim

just scared the living shit out of an intern who had never seen me laugh before. i think she thought i was choking

jesus CHRIST

i will see you at home.

Jay »

You

didn’t answer the question….

[cloakedsparrow]

Alfred is Tim's Biological Grandfather AU

Bruce and Alfred had found it slightly odd that Jack and Janet Drake didn't ask any questions about Tim spending so much time at Wayne Manor. True, the Drakes could have questioned Tim and he simply could have not told them. However, the boy knew better than to keep it to himself if he'd made any excuses Bruce might need to know or if his parents were likely to make any complaints. Neither of the Drakes ever contacted Bruce or the Manor. They never requested to see or speak with any member of the family.

While they were making the arrangements for Janet's funeral (because Jack was in a coma and Tim was just a child), Bruce received a summons from her lawyer, stating that she'd remembered her dear friend in her will. Bruce was immediately suspicious because he and Janet Drake hadn't been friends.

Bruce receives a letter, along with a small, locked box, about the size of a document mailer. The letter apologizes for the deception and requests that Bruce give the box to Alfred Pennyworth, stating that the combination was Tim's birthday. Out of respect for Alfred more than anything, Bruce follows the instructions.

After going through the box privately, Alfred appears more solemn than Bruce has seen him in decades. He tells Bruce that -years before- he'd slept with a upper-class woman when visiting his father, who had already been working for the Waynes. After coming to work for the Wayne's himself, Alfred had learned that the woman had gotten married not long after and had a child. A child that was just the right age to potentially be his. At his request, Thomas and Martha invited the woman and her husband to a party at the Manor. Alfred very professionally informed her that she had an important phone call and to please follow him to an appropriate guest phone. Once they were in a private room, Alfred calmly informed her that he was going to require proof that the child was not his. He would be happy to take a paternity test himself, or she could take one for her husband that proved he was father. Whether she told her husband or did it behind his back, Alfred didn't care. He had no intention of causing a scene but he fully intended to be there for his child if he had one. The woman had agreed and discreetly had a paternity test done that had proven her daughter was her husband's child.

Alfred had thought that was the end of it. However, Janet Drake had left him a letter informing him that she had been that child. More importantly, she had informed him that the paternity test had been forged to keep him out of the picture since her mother had found a better prospect in her husband. After her parents died (she'd been an adult), Janet had found the results and a letter from her deceased maternal grandmother (who helped with the forgery) explaining the matter. She hadn't been sure how to feel or what to do about it. She'd ended up just ignoring it.

She had been concerned when Tim suddenly started spending time at Wayne Manor, but when she asked Tim about it, after talking about how nice Mr Wayne was and how cool Dick was and learning to play tennis and getting help with his gymnastics et all, he'd started talking about Alfred. He kept talking about how amazing he was. How kind he was. How funny he was. How clever he was.

Even though Tim hadn't known about the blood they shared, he'd clearly loved Alfred. Janet couldn't take his grandfather from him. That was why she let him spend so much time at Wayne Manor. That was why she never demanded to speak to Bruce. As far as she was concerned, it wasn't really about him. It was about family.

She also let Alfred know that she'd always been the primary caregiver for Tim. She'd always made the decisions in regards to him. She selected his nannies, babysitters, and boarding school. She saw to his medical appointments and made sure anyone preparing meals for Tim knew about his allergy (I always headcanon hazelnuts for some reason). She signed him up for gymnastics and martial arts. She made sure he got to and from Summer camp.

She knew Jack wouldn't know how to be a parent and requested that Alfred help out as much as he was comfortable with.

She also apologized for not telling Alfred the truth until it was too late for her to get to know him herself. She told him that the more Tim talked about him, the more she considered telling them both the truth. That she'd truly wanted to know him but just kept putting it off. If he was reading the letter, then she’d obviously waited too long.

Bruce and Alfred double check Alfred's blood against Tim's in the Cave before Alfred tells the boy he's his grandson. With Tim's permission, he discreetly has a proper blood test ran and uses the results to quietly assume custody of his grandson while Jack is in a coma.

When Jack wakes up and Alfred learns that he's both made arrangements for Tim to get an early junior's license to drive him around and also to work at Drake Industries for him, he doesn't just complain. He sees Jack privately and informs him that HE has had custody of Tim, not Bruce, as the city has assumed. He informs him of their relation. He informs him that he made a good deal of money both in the service of Her Royal Majesty and the Waynes and he invested that money wisely. In fact, he currently has more money than Jack. He informs Jack that unless he wants them to take it to a judge, Tim will not be acting as a caregiver, chauffeur, or executive assistant to Jack. If the man cannot afford to hire appropriate help, then Alfred will happy to pay for it, discreetly, of course.

Jack takes the latter option. He and Tim still move into the Manor next door, so that Tim can easily & quickly go to Alfred if he needs anything. While he's reluctant to say it aloud and almost petulant about it at times, Jack actually appreciates Alfred's help with Tim. He doesn't pay as much attention to the boy, but Tim ends up better taken care of anyway.

Alfred attends the Young Justice parent-Red Tornado conference alongside Dick (he asked Dick to still come as he’d understand the needs of a group of young heroes better than anyone else present). Unlike the others, he always stays on top of what the kids are getting up to. He refuses to participate in the sixteenth birthday trauma, which Tim figures out quicker since Bruce is working on his own (and he has someone to turn to afterwards -Alfred and Bruce have WORDS). He also holds people who hurt him accountable (it's harder with Bruce, who he sees as a son, but he does not mince words with Jack, Stephanie, or anyone else). He adored Dana and they had tea together once every fortnight just to ensure they were on the same page with Tim. He steps in and treats Tim much more fairly after Damian enters the picture. He goes full John Wick on Ra's after the man goes after his grandson.

He's still a grandfather to the others, but having custody of Tim (and a letter from his daughter asking him to care for the boy) gives him a sense of authority that he lacks with them. With the rest of the Waynes, he tries to stay somewhat professional, despite his feelings for them. He doesn't feel the need to do so with Tim because he's not the valet who also helped raise him. He's his grandfather, first and foremost.

[thebibliosphere]

Hello there - I had a question which I think(?) you might be able to help with. Or at least point me in the direction of more information.

I have a few chronic illnesses and disabilities and as such there's many gremlins I deal with. One thing that crops up a lot are comorbidities between my conditions.

I'm trying to be more vigilant with regards to my health - as a child there were many, many missed opportunities to get my symptoms seen to by a doctor (all squandered due to my parents nor believing me about my symptoms).

Anyway, I wanted to ask about MCAS and if you know it's possible to have it but not realise it?

I've had a few incidents like this, but mostly forgot them or ignored them. But yesterday I ate some basil from my windowsill plant and I had what can only be described as an allergic reaction. I'm not allergic to any foods (as far as I know) but I've eaten from this exact plant before and been fine. I have mint growing next to it which I also ate and it caused the same reaction. Again, I've eaten from this exact plant before. It was like my mouth was burning or stinging and the leaves felt, spicy? In my mouth. I'm not sure how to describe it but I hope you know what I mean. Today I ate from the exact same plants and had no reaction whatsoever.

I've definitely had similar things happen before- but events like yesterday are few and far between. But utterly confounding when they do happen. I have urticaria (diagnosed since age 18) which I suspect is relevant, somehow.

I'm starting to wonder if a lot of my symptoms I've written off have actually been MCAS. But I'm not sure. Do you have any advice around talking to a doctor about this or if I have a leg to stand on so to speak?

Sending my best wishes!

Hey friend, sorry to hear you've been dealing with some neglect.

And considering MCAS was only really recognized as a condition in the last 15 years, it's absolutely possible to have it and not know until symptoms get worse. I was experiencing anaphylactoid reactions my whole childhood, but because I tested negative on IgE tests (I still do), it was dismissed as anxiety right up until I hit my 30s and I experienced my first episode of full-blown idiopathic anaphylaxis.

(Note: anaphylaxis is not a requirement for diagnosis, and not everyone experiences it.)

You should discuss your inconsistent allergies with your doctor or allergist. I would also advise pursuing allergen testing, as new allergens can develop at any time, even if you don't have mast cell instability.

If you suspect some form of mast cell instability may be the root cause of your issues, I'd suggest checking out The Mast Cell Disease Society. (Their website is in the process of being updated, still. But they have good resources there.)

Their signs and symptoms (and triggers) page has recently been updated and is fairly concise:

If any of that rings a bell, it might be worth bringing up with your allergist, but fair warning, not everyone is receptive to the idea of mast cell disorders outside of mastocytosis. (And even then some doctors gaslight their patients to hell and back.)

If you do find yourself in this situation, try joining a couple of support groups to see if there are any MCAS aware doctors in your area, or alternatively, try the TMS physician finder tool:

Sorry if it seems like I'm just throwing a lot of links at you, but they are very useful links and I'm not at my best right now to explain things.

I hope this is helpful and if I missed something, please let me know.

I wish you luck in remedying your chronic health issues <3

[nonegenderleftpain]

Hey folks on t gel-

If you are taking Actavis brand t gel (it's in little metal tubes) and have a nickel allergy, keep an eye out for allergic reactions. I've been on three separate brands with no reaction, and then after three months of using this one, I had a horrific case of contact dermatitis everywhere it touched. I've had a patch test and have had no reaction to the ingredients in the medication, which leads me to believe the tubes may have nickel components in them, as that's the only contact allergy I have. This is entirely speculation, as I can't find any information on what the tubes are made of, but I'll be attempting to contact Actavis to find out. Just keep an eye on it and if you start to have itching at the contact site, please go to your doctor instead of waiting three weeks like I did.

[shmaptainwrites]

Hi hi thoughts on Wilson dating a first responder who comes into the hospital time and time again after calls and such?

Also lemme claim this emoji 🧸

yayyy you picked an emojiiii hehehe and bestie this was so good i blurbed it 💀🫡 also it’s unedited cause i’m lazy

Pairings: James Wilson x GN!Reader

Warnings: mentions of gun shot wound, injury, surgery

Emergency

Wilson rarely found himself in the ER, but an easy way to get doctors moving around to places they weren’t used to going to was a nurse’s strike.

Today he was doing his “nurse-doctor rotation”, as they were calling it, in the ER. It was interesting working in the high pressure, fast paced environment when he was used to slowly forming connections with his patients and those who counted on him. Right now, he was probably just a blurry face to most.

“We’ve got another one coming in!” an occupied doctor called and Wilson rushed over, saying he would attend to it, gathering the information from the first responders to create a chart while they wheeled the patient in.

“47 year old male, GSW to the shoulder, went into V-fib on the way here, we shocked him and his rhythms are normal again.”

“Any preexisting conditions you found out about?”

“Penicillin allergy.”

Another doctor came to deal with the gunshot wound and Wilson kept scribbling down more information on the chart, but paused when the firefighter addressed him.

“You don’t look like an ER doctor.”

He looked own at his clothes, the dress pants and a button up with a tie and his white coat. They were right about that.

“I’m not usually,” he chuckled nervously. “You know the strike and everything.”

“Wilson, what are you doing!” Cameron came and took the clipboard from him. “I told you, you can’t be writing charts anymore, no one can read your chicken scratch, this is the ER, people’s lives depend on this.”

Wilson could feel his cheeks begin to heat up at Cameron’s assertions in front of the very pretty firefighter.

“Yo! Twinkle-Toes! We gotta go!”

You looked back at your crew and then back at Wilson, wishing him good luck with the rest of his shift before jogging back to the engine.

At least he wouldn’t find much of a chance to embarrass himself further and he thought it was a shame he’d probably never see you again.

—

A few weeks later…

“Did you get those patient files from Mercy? They were supposed to send them yesterday, but they’ve been delayed,” Wilson sighed, leaning against the reception desk.

“I don’t think they’ve come in yet, but I’ll double check, just give me a second.”

“You’re an angel, thank you,” Wilson flashed her a grateful smile which seemed to put her in a good mood which always sped things along.

“Hi, sorry, I’m looking for Winston Green. He was brought in a few days ago, firefighting accident. I’m his coworker, I just wanted to come visit.”

Wilson turned his head over to the voice speaking to the other receptionist and had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

The pretty firefighter, just like the last time, only now in civilian attire.

You turned your head and noticed the doctor staring, a smile making it to your lips when you recognized him.

“Dr. Wilson, fancy seeing you here.”

“I could say the same for you,” he chuckled.

“Everything back to normal now?” you asked and he nodded.

“Back over in oncology. That’s where I like it. And you can call me James.”

“James,” you tested out the name, liking how it made him smile when you said it.

“I-I don’t think I caught your name. I mean I could call you Twinkle-Toes but I feel like that’s a workplace nickname,” he joked.

“Right, Isaac is always calling me that in front of people,” you rolled your eyes before properly introducing yourself. “I’ve gotta admit I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.”

“Neither did I. I’m sorry it ended up happening because your friend is in the hospital,” he said sympathetically and you thanked him for his kind words just as both you and Wilson were given the information you needed from the desk. “I could walk you to your friend’s room if you’d like, it’s on the same floor as my office.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” you smiled and walked side by side with the oncologist, who eagerly asked you questions about your work and what it entailed.

You were both a little sad by the time you reached your colleague’s room so you decided to take the next step and see where it might take you.

“Hey, I don’t know if you’re free later or something, but I have the day off if you wanna grab dinner?” you suggested.

“Dinner sounds nice,” Wilson nodded.

You pulled out a pen from Wilson’s pocket protector and grabbed an old receipt from your purse, scribbling down your name number before handing it to him.

“I’ll call you,” he smiled, accepting the paper. “Maybe over dinner you can tell me how you got the name Twinkle-Toes.”

“Oh, I think that’s maybe more of a tenth date story,” you patted his arm and tucked the pen back into his pocket.

“You predicting there’s gonna be ten?” he asked.

“I think I’d like for there to be ten,” you smiled, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, James.”

Wilson turned away to head back to his office with his hands shoved into the pocket of his white coat and a faint pink tint to his cheeks

—

Wilson wished he could say getting woken up in the middle of the night by a cane rapping on his door was an uncommon occurrence, but since his last divorce it seemed more and more regular.

He tiredly walked over to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open, seeing House standing on the other side.

“House, go away it’s 3 A.M.” Wilson groaned.

“Sorry, I can’t. Trying to avoid the team.”

“And you think hiding at your one friend’s apartment is going to do anything other than just make me suffer along with you?”

“Best case scenario, they leave us both alone, worst case, you get them to leave us alone.”

“No,” Wilson shook his head, “Best case is you leave and go home right now.”

“What is that shirt you’re wearing,” House deflected, noticing a difference in his friend’s sleep attire. “Is that a fire department shirt?”

Wilson looked down and nodded his head.

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Does it matter where I got it from-?”

“He got it from me.”

Wilson turned his head around and saw you standing by the hallway leading to the bedroom. You walked up to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek before looking over at House.

“So it’s your shirt?” House looked like he was about to have a field day.

“No, I got it for him as a gift,” you chuckled. “Any chance you’d be inclined to carry on this conversation another time? I have an early shift tomorrow.”

“You’ll answer all my questions?” he asked.

“Honey, I wouldn’t-,”

“Done,” you nodded and put your hand out for him to shake. “I run into burning buildings for a living, I think I can deal with some invasive questioning. Plus, you’ve met my colleagues they’re a handful and a half.”

“I guess I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” House winked and you wished him a polite goodnight before Wilson shut the door and followed you back into the bedroom.

“Be careful on your shift, okay?” he said once you were all curled up in his arms again. “I need to see how this thing plays out with House.”

“Glad you’re so concerned for my safety,” you teased and he shut you up with a kiss. “Sorry I came out, but I thought you could maybe use a hand getting back into bed.”

“You’re probably right,” Wilson sighed while sinking further into the bed. “He’s easier to negotiate with when you have something he wants.”

“He seems like an interesting guy, I’m excited to finally get to know him,” you admitted with a yawn.

“Really?” Wilson seemed surprised. House was an acquired taste for most, he wasn’t sure he’d met anyone who actually genuinely wanted to get to know him more after meeting him, well aside from himself.

“Yeah, he’s your friend. We don’t have to get along as well as you guys do, but it’ll be nice to know a bit more about him.”

Wilson kissed you one more time before encouraging you to go back to bed so you could get a little more sleep before your shift, having a feeling, deep down, you were going to be around for the long run.

—

Wilson often passed the ER on his way out of the hospital to get to his car. Today was no different, he had swapped out his white coat for a jacket and a scarf and was planning on going to grab something for dinner and maybe head over to your fire hall to drop in for a quick visit before going home.

“Hey, hey, have you seen a Dr. Wilson around?”

Wilson turned his head at the sound of his name, noticing one of your colleagues speaking to a nurse.”

“He works in oncology, he’s not usually-,”

“I see him. Yo James!” Isaac waved and he quickly made his way over to see what was happening.

“Isaac, what’s going on?” he asked.

“Look, man, there was a fire,” he started. “Twinkle-Toes and I ran back in to grab this kid that was trapped, but the structure was deteriorating and before I knew it I was pushed to the ground and a beam had fallen on their leg.”

“A beam?” Wilson’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. This couldn’t be happening.

“We just came in, they’ve gone to surgery for it already. Everyone will be okay, but…just some recovery time I guess.”

Wilson could see how guilty Isaac felt so he felt the need to reassure him on your behalf. He knew it’s what you would have done, you were just doing your job and looking out for your friend.

“I-I’m gonna stay,” Wilson said. “I’ll keep you posted, okay?”

Isaac nodded and reluctantly went back outside to meet up with the rest of his team while Wilson went to talk to Cuddy about what OR you were in.

He felt a small sense of relief knowing Chase was presiding over your injuries, knowing you were in more than capable hands and while he couldn’t go into the OR, he would stand in the observation room until the procedure was completed.

“Chase, how’s it looking?” Wilson asked through the intercom.

“It’s a pretty bad set of fractures, but we’re going to set it with some pins and after some time and PT things should be all healed.”

“What about going back to work?” he asked, knowing how much your job meant to you, anxious to hear the answer.

“I can’t say for sure,” he admitted. “But if you keep a close eye and make sure all my post-op instructions are followed I’d say there’s a pretty good chance things will go back to normal.”

Wilson sighed in relief which made it much easier to wait until the surgery was done and meet you in a recovery room after calling Isaac to let him and your team know that you were okay.

When you awoke after the anesthesia has worn off, you smile a little at the sight of Wilson sleeping in a chair across from your bed, his jacket and scarf draped over the armrest. He looked so peaceful you didn’t really want to wake him up, but you knew he’d give you a hard time if you didn’t.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he grinned, rubbing his eyes awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Loopy,” you chuckled.

“That might be the morphine,” his hand came to hold your cheek, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone. “You had a pretty big fall. Or should I say a beam had a pretty big fall on you?”

“I’m alive, that’s all that matters,” you assured him. “And hopefully I can go back to work? Did the surgeon say anything about that?”

“Obviously not right away, but he feels pretty confident if you follow all the necessary PT and healing instructions you’ll be able to go back. Just can’t get away from running into danger, can you?”

“Why do you think I started dating you?” you teased and he laughed, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Of all the times you’ve come into the hospital I have to admit this is probably my least favourite,” he sighed. “Try and just bring us patients next time, don’t become one.”

“I’ll try my best, they don’t call me Twinkle-Toes for nothing,” you pinched his cheek. “I’m glad you were working that shift in the ER that day, though.”

“Me too,” Wilson reached over and gave your hand a squeeze, finding it funny how emergencies now made him smile.

[cybunii]

DOCTOR !!

a/n: I wanted to add smut so bad but writers block is literally killing me...

Pairing: Steve Raglan/William afton x gn!reader

cw: power difference, age gaps, uhh inappropriate doctor? no smut, just suggestive talk, maybe stalker-ish behavior

-

You took a deep breath and walked into the surprisingly cold building, avoiding eye contact with the people waiting in the lobby.

You check in at the front for your appointment, a quick checkup with Dr. Raglan at 2:30. He wasn’t your normal doctor, but since he was the only one available, you had to make due.

You had been feeling well but decided to come in anyway. Besides, what harm could a checkup do? 

You sit in one of the chairs, anxiously bouncing your leg up and down. Places like this always made you nervous, you had no reason for it, but you couldn’t calm the extreme nervousness you felt in hospitals and doctor's offices. 

“…?” 

You hear a woman call your name and you quickly stand up, making small talk with her as she leads you down the hallway to the room.

She takes your blood pressure and asks you questions about allergies and any new medications, the average standard questions. 

“Okay, you’re all set! Dr.Raglan will be in to see you shortly.” The woman cheerfully exclaimed, nodding, before shutting the door behind her.

You look around at all the framed diplomas, degrees, and bunny-themed decorations around the room. 

Your eyes are drawn to the one on the desk. You pick it up and observe it in your hands. A small yellow ceramic bunny sitting down, and the back is decorated with tiny orange spots. Some of the paint is smudged off, and its eye is partially missing, but it’s cute nonetheless.

You hear footsteps getting closer to the door and you quickly place it back, hoping it’s in the same position it was in. 

A few knocks on the door and he steps in. 

You give a small grin to him as he sits down, your eyes roaming his body as he turns the computer on. 

He was wearing the typical white coat, paired with sleek black pants, a tight-fitting button-up shirt, and a grape-colored tie complimenting his rather muted outfit. 

His intense gaze was focused on the digital screen in front of him, his lean shoulders slightly hunched over. The contours of his arms and toned back were accentuated by the tight-fitting shirt he wore. Even when concentrating, his natural charm was impossible to hide behind those piercing eyes and sharp focus. You can't help but look at him, even if he is completely aware of your gaze.

-

Steve- 

No. 

William was fully aware of your staring. 

A slight grin appears on his face as he continues to stalk through your information on the computer, keeping a mental note of each small detail for later. 

He deliberately set up this appointment, making sure he was the only one to see you today. A check-up was a good enough excuse, knowing he didn't have enough credentials to perform any other exams. 

-

Dr.Raglan clears his throat and your eyes dart up to meet his, embarrassment creeping up to settle on your face. 

“Well, today is a simple procedure.” He says, abruptly standing up, walking over to the counter, and grabbing gloves. He casually slides the gloves over his hands, your eyes almost trained on them. 

He walks back over and gestures to the table. You nod and carefully lay down on the hard table, the supposed cushion under you failing to provide any comfort. You try to focus on the uncomfortable feeling, not wanting to bring any attention to the clearly attractive doctor about to feel you up. 

“Just gonna lift this up, okay?” He says, a more gentle tone added to his deep voice. His hands gradually lift the hem of your shirt up and bunch it near your chest. His fingertips barely graze your skin and you take a sharp breath in, your heartbeat quickening. 

His hands press into your abdomen, not enough to hurt but enough so that it's uncomfortable. Your face scrunches a bit before he lets up, testing to see if anywhere is sensitive. 

“Did that hurt?” He whispers, quickly pressing down on another spot. 

You shake your head, your eyes avoiding his intense gaze. “No…” 

His hands trail even lower, pressing a little above your belt. “What about this?” He murmurs, his hungry gaze watching your every reaction. 

You bite your lip and shake your head again, your eyes meeting his when he keeps his hands in place. 

“You sure?” He asks, pressing his hands into you even harder. 

You wince and wiggle a bit, trying to relieve the pain by moving. “Uh- yeah, that hurts a bit..” You say, looking up at him with an uncomfortable expression. 

He hums and takes his hands off, throwing the gloves away in the nearby trash can. You take a deep breath in and rub the sore spot, knowing it'll be a bruise by tomorrow. 

“Let me do that…” He mumbles, his now bare hands rubbing the sore spot, the heat radiating from them feeling very good. 

“..feels g-good..” You stutter, instantly regretting saying anything due to the tone your voice decides to use. He raises his eyebrow and smirks, his look basically mocking you. 

He hums again, his hands grazing across your waist now, almost testing you. 

Time almost stands still for a minute, the only sounds of soft breathing filling the room. His hands pull away and he sits down at the computer, leaving you lying there. 

You frown and pull your shirt back down, finally sitting up and stretching from lying down for that long. 

You stare at the back of his head for what feels like ages. The sound of the quick typing almost drives you crazy. He turns around in the chair and stares at you, almost scanning you with his eyes. 

“You're a little sensitive, but overall everything seems to be okay. You’re as healthy as you can be!” He says, clasping his hands together.

You grin, nodding your head. “That's great to hear-”

“Though, I might have a suggestion” He says, cutting you off. 

You raise your eyebrows, giving him a confused look. 

“There was a study released recently, a huge list about many things someone should do everyday to make sure they stay healthy. The study was conducted by many educated scientists and doctors, so don’t have any worries about whether it's fake or not. We've all seen those websites…” He explains, pretty much rambling at this point. 

“Anyways, there was one on there that I think would suit your…” He pauses, his gaze sizing you up. “Needs.”

Your face scrunches up, the confusion still all over your features. “I’m sorry- My needs?” You ask, slight embarrassment creeping up on your face at the hidden meaning of those words. 

His once innocent grin widens into a wicked smile, quickly standing up and towering over you.

“Don't act so shy…You know what im talking about sweetheart” He murmurs, his rough hand going to rest on your thigh.

His hand gently strokes your thigh, inching its way up. You try to move your leg, but it is difficult, his strong grip keeping you in place. 

His face moves closer to yours, slowly, ever so slowly. 

Your heart hammers away in your chest, your body heating up at his touch and his breath getting closer and closer to you. 

“I'll give you the first dose…” He whispers, his hungry eyes practically glued to your lips. He smirks and leans in, his lips are soft and warm. They meet yours, and he starts to slowly kiss you. 

His other hand moves up off your thigh, and it brushes lightly against your skin. You can feel the touch, but it isn't aggressive or forced. It is a hungry yet gentle kiss, filled with passion. 

He groans and breaks the kiss, looking at you with an amused expression. You shudder at his warm breath hitting your face as he speaks, your face continuing to flush at the closeness. 

“Do you think you would be interested in learning more?” He asks, an expecting look on his face, begging, maybe demanding for you to give in. 

You think for a moment, your mind still reeling from the sudden kiss.

You nod your head a few times and he grins, turning around and finding an appointment card. “For when you need a higher dose” He says, handing you a card with an address quickly scribbled on it. 

“I'll be expecting a visit very soon…” He leans closer to you, whispering in your ear in a lust filled tone. He smirks again and stands up, opening the door for you to leave. 

You lift yourself off the table and quickly leave, glancing behind you to see him still staring at you. 

You stare at the card once you get in the car, your hand going up to softly touch your lips. It's like you can still feel his touch.

Maybe you should make another appointment…

-

word count: 1.5k

[she-is-ovarit]

This is for all the younger gen Z women, particularly those of you within the ages of 17 to roughly 23. This is written from an American perspective, things might be a little different depending on where you're from.

I graduated high school with the unconscious assumption that certain systems will take care of me. The medical system would educate me on proper nutrition and health issues was probably my largest underlying assumption, but really I just had trust in institutions generally.

This isn't true. You are responsible for learning. As an example, I have been vegetarian since age 14. Nobody talked to me about proper nutrition, they just told me I needed to eat more protein.

I lived a decade of my life having shortness of breath, sleeping issues, clumsiness, cold hands and feet, having brain fog, extreme fatigue, heightened anxiety, etc. My period was extremely light and brown, it'd last for about 2 or so days. I'd go and talk about these problems, and telling doctors that I was vegetarian was one of the first things that came out of my mouth just with any visit because I knew at least that piece was important to communicate.

There was really no action taken over the span of about 10 years. I was told the period thing was normal, that changes for women. A sleep specialist let me know that feeling exhausted was also normal. The brain fog was probably due to anxiety. Here, try allergy medication (tbh that did help for other reasons). Then one day I just asked them to check my vitamin and mineral levels. Prior to this I didn't think you can make requests to doctors, I thought you showed up and they performed tests on what they recommended. With some reluctance from my primary care physician and some compromise because she said my insurance wouldn't cover testing things like B12 levels (I later found out from a nurse that, they would, she would have just needed to fill out extra paperwork), she did some tests.

I found out both my iron and D3 levels were low. What else could be?

I later learned pretty much all the vitamins common to be low for vegetarians were low. D3, magnesium, vitamin Bs, iron, and healthy fats. Bought some liquid vitamins (because the body only absorbs 10% of the pill supplements), began eating an avocado a day, my period became normal for the first time in nine years, and I am able to function.

Another example of how human systems won't educate you: I don't have feeling in some of my toes due to wearing incorrect sized footwear for years resulting in permanent nerve damage. I'm size 11.5 in women's, and I was relying on someone to tell me how proper footwear worked, because surely the guy in the minimum wage position working the footwear section would know.

Don't trust human systems to guide you through how certain things work. Seek specific specialists and experts when you can, and inform yourself on your own. Don't blindly trust search engines like Google, it's not like how it used to be when I was growing up and many millennial adults will tell you to "just google things" because we're used to finding actual substantive answers when we do. However, now, usually whoever pays is who makes the first page or two of search engines, it has nothing to do with what information is "most correct". Don't be afraid to request certain tests be done by doctors or certain referrals made to different specialists.

Edit: And also, I've found general practitioners are terrible when you walk in and tell them about several different symptoms at one time. They're more used to treating one symptom at a time, and they treat the symptom not the root cause. If you go in with a runny nose, general practitioners are going to throw medications at you to try and treat the runny nose, not look deeper into what's causing the runny nose. It's equivalent to if you're in a boat and it's sinking, they're bailing out water without actually fixing the hole or trying to figure out where it is, with the exception of emergency situations and even then it depends.

[duality-disability]

is any other disabled person tired of 'throw a medication at it' approaches that a lot of doctors seem to have?

In Feburary I had an appointment with an allergist; I was told to not take any antihistimines for 7 days before this appointment because they would mess with allergy testing. Prior to that, I've been having hives every day for a week.

I stopped the antihistimines, The hives got so bad that I had to go to urgent care because I could not walk. They gave me enough steriods to last until the allergist appointment.

The allergist appointment comes... They refuse to do any allergy testing. They looked for markers of inflamation in my blood, and told me to follow up in a month after perscribing an antihistimine to take daily.

They told me because the hives weren't chronic [lasting over 6 months], and weren't affecting my respitory system, they were not concerned with allergy testing and were only focused on symptom management.

The first antihistimine they perscribed made my throat start to swell shut; so we moved on. I now take 2 capsules of 180mg of Allegra, once in the morning and once at night.

I still have hives, every day.

I informed my doctor. They added 40mg of famotidine.

I still have hives, every day. They just changed spots.

I still dont know what's causing it. It's been weeks of this. I'm exhausted.

They refuse to do any testing.

(This excludes the weekly random swelling I've been having since December, which they also refuse to test anything for)

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return: Part 3

Chapter 1: Sick with Dread

Part One | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

There are a lot of new people here who may not know I have an ongoing series, so here's a little info about it. It started as a request and quickly grew into a multichapter fic (the longest one I've ever created!) The reader is Whitebeard's Daughter, who has a volcano devil fruit ability and who has been away for two years, only to return and meet a familiar spunky fire user. There's nineteen chapters before this, so you might want to go read those first for some background information, but we've just entered the start of what leads to the Marineford arc, so things are about to get real. It's a commitment, but I believe it's worth it if you're looking for a character-centric in-depth story!

If you're keeping up with the story, releases will be on Monday and Thursday unless I say otherwise!

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1.5k

You were fairly certain you were about to die. Jinx hadn’t left you alone for days. Jinx, who couldn’t stand you or your presence. Jinx, who only saw you as competition from the moment Ace saved her from that stupid box and she claimed him as her own. 

That cat had hated you from the moment it saw you. But now she was curled up on your chest, sleeping soundly. You could’ve sworn she was just waiting for the moment your heart stopped, so she could boastfully sit atop your corpse. That’s just how Jinx was. 

You couldn’t blame her; you were an easy target right now. The Spring ecosystem you were in had completely messed with your allergies. It was only a matter of time before she would be able to smother you and completely get away with murder. Some days you were so sick, you couldn’t even get out of bed to go throw up. Today was one of those days. 

You were sick from allergies and sick with worry. It was one day past due for Thatch to report back to the ship before the crew would have to send in a second team. He could’ve been caught, or killed, or tied up and made a mockery of. You had plenty of time to think about it, since you were basically bedridden at this point. 

You were certain the commanders and strategists were all thinking of a plan to go find out what had occurred, but it would take at least two days to mobilize them. And in that time, Thatch could be taken away or sunk to the bottom of the ocean. It hurt to breathe just thinking about it.

The door opened quietly, and you heard Ace’s voice from the doorframe. “Are you awake?” he whispered. “I have someone here for you.”

“I’m awake,” you said, your voice scratchy and raw. You almost got your hopes up about the visitor, but Ace sounded solemn, which was a good indicator that the visitor wasn’t Thatch.

Marco stepped inside instead, and you groaned at his appearance. “Just let me die, Marco. Leave me alone.”

He hummed, frowning over your body as you laid in bed. “I’d really like to run some tests,” Marco said. “The concept of fever and colds are completely foreign to your body, and yet something is clearly off. You shouldn’t be this sick for so long.”

“Or maybe the substitute cook has been cooking so badly he gave me food poisoning that’s lasted the past two weeks,” you shot back. “I want Thatch back.”

“I know.” Marco sat down on the bed next to you. “He’ll be home soon. In the meantime, let me get some bloodwork to check out.”

“No,” you hissed, pulling your arm away from him. “I told you, it’s just allergies.”

Marco looked at you with skepticism. He knew that it wasn’t just allergies, and you did too. 

“Allergies don’t make people throw up,” he reminded you gently. 

“Worry does,” you argued. “And so does food poisoning. So leave me alone.”

“If you’re not better by tomorrow, I’m taking your blood by force,” Marco said, getting up and heading for the door. He gave Ace a knowing look, as if to say “Good luck!” and then left you two alone. 

Marco had dealt with your varieties of illnesses over the years, and he knew you were too stubborn and whiny to listen to any of his advice. But for Ace, this was relatively new territory. You had been sick a few times over the past few months, but it had never been anything serious. Not like this. But you had been sick with worry ever since Thatch left. Something just didn’t feel right about this mission. 

Ace laid down next to you and began to brush your matted hair from your face, but instantly pulled back. 

He scowled at you. “I know you’re upset and want to be alone, but you don’t have to burn me.”

“I’m tired and I want to rest,” you groaned, turning away from him in bed. “Just let me sleep for a little bit, please?”

Ace sighed and got up from the bed. It was clear Marco must’ve given him some pointers. 

“I’ll let you know if I hear any news about Thatch, okay?”

“Thank you,” you whispered, trying your best to sound normal. 

The door opened and with a soft click of the door handle, he was gone. 

You hadn’t meant to burn him, but you couldn’t let him know that. Your powers had been a little haywire recently. You were overloaded on stress and high emotions, and though you had thought you had gotten that mostly under control, it seemed that your powers sometimes had a mind of their own. 

You’d be more concerned about it, but you were so damn tired that you fell asleep before you had time to think too hard. 

You weren’t sure how long you were asleep, but you woke again to Ace’s voice, jostling you awake.

“Y/N,” he whispered, shaking you lightly. “Thatch is back.”

You sat up immediately, looking around the room. The sudden motion made Jinx hiss and bolt away from you, but you didn’t care. At least she was acting normal again.

“Where?” you asked. 

“Out on the deck.”

You jumped up, ignoring the queasy feeling in your gut, and took off towards the deck. As you emerged, the setting sun illuminated the ship in a golden glow. You scanned the ship, desperately searching for him. He was here, somewhere. He had to be. 

And then you found him, his pompadour hair making him stand out from the crowd. 

“Thatch!” You screamed, running towards him. 

His eyes moved over to you and he broke out into a massive grin, holding his arms open to catch you. 

You slammed into him with such force, the two of you almost fell to the ground. But he kept you steady, like he always did. You did your best to keep the tears out of your eyes, but you were so relieved that he was okay. 

“I told you I’d be back,” he said, rubbing your back.

“You’re late,” you sobbed into his chest. “You promised two weeks.”

“Will you forgive me?”

You pulled away from him, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I guess I can this time. Just don’t do it again.”

He smiled and gave you a nod. “Yes ma’am. You have my word.”

You had been so happy to see him, you hadn’t realized he had come back with a prize. 

“You found a devil fruit?” you asked, looking at it skeptically.

“I did!” Thatch grinned, holding it out for you to see. “Take a look!”

You took the fruit from him and examined it. It was a small purple fruit that looked relatively unimpressive. There was no real indication of what it did exactly. But still, finding a devil fruit was a great feat, even on the Grand Line. 

“What are you going to do with it?” you asked, still checking it over for any indication of what it could be. 

“Not sure yet,” Thatch admitted. “I’m not sure I want to lose my ability to swim, especially if it’s a lame power. I might just sell it.”

You nodded. “There’s no good way to tell what it does, really. Probably better selling it than taking a risk for a lame power.”

“Pretty cool though, huh?!” He stood proud and tall. 

“You’ve got color again!” Marco called, walking over to the two of you. “She was sick with worry, you know.”

Thatch laughed and pulled you in for another hug. “It was definitely a challenge. You were right, we were better off taking a few members from Division Two. But we made it work.”

“I knew you would,” you said, giving him a tight squeeze. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Alright,” he said, pulling away from you and addressing the crowd. “Let’s eat!”

He took his devil fruit back from you and headed for the kitchen. Your appetite was back now that your cook was back. All felt right with the world. 

“You look better,” Ace said, grabbing your hand with his own. 

“I feel better,” you admitted. “God, I was so nervous. It feels so silly looking back on it.”

Ace pulled you in, dropping a sweet kiss on your lips that tasted like cinnamon. 

You pulled away from him, grinning giddily. “Did the commanders do Welcome Back shots?”

Ace gave a nervous laugh. “Maybe two or three,” he admitted. “You weren’t the only one who was nervous today.”

That was a little bit of a relief. Everyone else had kept such cool demeanors, you were worried you had been overreacting. But everyone had been nervous, they were all just better at hiding it. But now the anxiety that had covered the ship was nothing but a fading memory.

“Let's go eat,” you said, pulling him along with you. You were excited to finally have food that agreed with your stomach again, and finally felt like you could eat in peace.

--

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[celepom]

Sex Repulsion often leads to people limiting their exposure to sexual situations for their own well being. It's a personal responsibility.

But just like allergies if someone is informed of this situation and chooses to expose them to it as a "test" or a "joke" or because they don't believe it's that serious - they're a butthole.

On the flip-side, it's everywhere. Not everyone is negatively affected, lots of people quite enjoy it, and the world doesn't revolve around you. That's where the personal responsibility really comes in. Advocate for yourself, but don't force others to be like you when they are fundamentally different.

Read on: TAPAS | WEBTOON | TUMBLR

[rosesloveletters]

The Flowers You Gave Me.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 3,080

Warnings: no major content warnings apply.

Summary: Reader has a food allergy/intolerance and has to carefully monitor everything that they consume. They are unable to eat anything inside of Wonka's original Chocolate Room and, therefore, he takes it upon himself to create an entirely separate Chocolate Room for their enjoyment and pleasure with foods which are completely safe for them to eat and free from any cross-contamination.

Author's Note: this fic is incredibly special to me, as Wonka's Chocolate Room is my absolute FAVORITE room inside his factory, but I would likely be able to eat almost nothing in there. At least, the chocolate would be off limits to me. I like to think Wonka would want everyone to be able to enjoy his chocolate and sweets, regardless of allergies and/or intolerances and, as we all know quite well, he goes above and beyond with extravagance.

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

The chocolate factory was a symphony of sights, sounds and smells.

The aroma of melted chocolate that filled the air was impossible to resist. Its rich, saccharine scent was intoxicating and sensual, making your mouth water in anticipation of the delicious treats that lied ahead. The sound of machines grinding and churning echoed in hypnotic rhythm throughout the halls while the incandescent lights shone down in poor, artificial substitution for real sunlight. 

Anyone else might have run off to taste-test as much product as they could get their hands on, but you had to be vigilant of everything you put into your mouth, scrutinize every ingredient to make absolute certain that there was nothing used in the production of what you were about to eat that could potentially make you sick. 

You were a bit resentful that you could not simply indulge in whatever you pleased, but this was your reality and you chose to make the best of it rather than let it control you. 

“I still don’t understand why you won’t just tell me what new product you’ve made, Willy,” your voice was terse, strained as if it pained you to remain cordial when he unwittingly teased you with treats you would not be able to sample, “why do I have to see it?”

It was not his fault, you reminded yourself. He knew your system could not tolerate certain foods, yet it was still understandable that time to time he might forget, although it was unlikely, considering his high intelligence, attention to detail and information retention. 

It was not that you were disinterested in his work; you wanted to share his excitement, but you could only do so much. 

You couldn’t taste anything inside of the chocolate factory until he gave you the ‘all clear’. You had to have confirmation and extensive reassurance that you were not ingesting anything toxic to your system and that nothing you put into your body was contaminated in any way. It was of the utmost importance that Wonka took the necessary steps and food safety precautions before offering you anything to eat. 

“Because to believe is to see, my dear, and you believe in me, do you not?” the smart curve of his lips as he smirked at you and the twinkle in his eyes betrayed little, but you felt like he was tempting you despite his words not making much sense, “I can see the worry lines forming, but please don’t be alarmed. You have tried so many of my creations and I haven’t poisoned you yet.” 

His words were meant to be comforting, but the added ‘yet’ at the end of his sentence filled you with apprehension. You knew that Willy would never intentionally give you something that would make you sick. He was not that cruel or uncaring. His words were playful and innocent and meant only to calm you down.  

Your cheeks were warm with embarrassment as you followed along beside him, however he stayed a pace or two ahead, traveling at a rather brisk clip. 

“I know. You’re right and I didn’t mean to imply that you would do something like that,” you tried to explain yourself, but Willy did not want to hear it. 

He held his hand up to silence you long enough for him to interject, “no need to explain anything away. I understand your concern, my dear, and am very sympathetic to your condition. Nevertheless, I simply must show you this.”

There was no getting around it. Whatever it was that Willy Wonka had to share, he was going to show it to you. At this point, your curiosity was starting to get the best of you and you increased your pace to keep up with him as he led you down a long hallway that you had never been on before.  

You were in the wing of the factory which housed Wonka’s beloved Chocolate Room. 

The sweet fragrance of melted chocolate wafted into your nostrils and you could practically taste it on your tongue. 

There was a lot which was unsafe for you to eat inside that room and it piqued your curiosity of why he would bring you to this part of the factory, but you remained silent as he led you on down the hall. 

Willy stopped in front of a door not unlike the one which led to the Chocolate Room. The wood itself was the same rich brown, carved to resemble a chocolate bar, except this one had an intricate gold inlay to set it apart from the others and indicate a very clear distinction between this room and the Chocolate Room. 

You would have noticed this door if you had chosen not to avoid this part of the factory and now as you stood outside the wonders held within the room beyond, you could not help yourself from asking, “what are we doing here?”  

He did not answer your question, but there was a knowing look in his eyes and that was one which you were highly familiar with. 

Willy Wonka was always up to something, but whether you wanted to know what it was were you uncertain. He had a penchant for hijinks and was known for being a bit of a trickster; you never quite knew if you could trust what he was saying or doing. He had created an aura of mystery and crafted the illusion that things happened inside the factory that were beyond his control, but you knew better. You had wised up to his antics and knew that nothing that happened here was without his approval, knowledge or doing. He was very much in control of what went on inside of his chocolate factory, regardless of what he might have let others believe.

His laissez-faire attitude added to the magic, but it was all a façade; this was his chocolate factory and he was the mastermind. 

“This is my most recent masterpiece,” he informed you, “the latest and greatest in chocolate confectionery that was as much of a challenge as it was a labor of love and artistry.”

He was proud of what he had created here, that was for certain. He was often humble about his work, even though you would have sung his praises to the moon and beyond. 

You did not know what to expect and so you eagerly awaited the unveiling with bated breath and hoped that whatever lied behind that door was edible and safe for you to consume. 

Wonka practically read your thoughts, “don’t get over-excited, my dear. Take it all in stride and appreciate what considerable effort went into it.”

His overreaching statements were as wild in sentiment as his hair was in texture and volume. 

You watched with wonder as one of the panels on the door flipped down to reveal a small piano lock, just like the one he had installed to keep the Chocolate Room off limits and protected. He played a few notes, which had a lower cadence and was played at a considerably slower pace than that of the overture of Mozart’s Marriage of figaro. 

Wonka deftly tapped the keys in smooth succession and you recognized the opening notes of Claude Debussy’s Clair de lune as the door unlocked itself. 

A wave of conscious relaxation washed over you like the calm, undulating ripples of the sun-warmed sea. 

He had wanted to surprise you, but this came as a shock. Clair de lune was your favorite piece and you vaguely recalled telling him this long ago; somehow, he had remembered. 

Willy Wonka didn’t acknowledge your surprise but was grinning from ear to ear as he pushed the door open. 

You remained where you stood, rooted to the spot. 

He had…remembered?

Why did he choose to use such a specific piece for this lock?

What was going on?

You felt like there was some giant secret that everyone was in on except for you, which was often the case with him, even if it would have been merely your perception with anyone else. 

You decided better than to ask him about it, knowing he did not like to be questioned and would therefore make up a silly excuse not to answer. Perhaps it was better that way, to simply enjoy these little surprises for what they were and to not look a gift horse in the mouth. 

A little smile lit up your expression and Wonka glanced over his shoulder to admire the look on your face. 

The soft light in his cornflower eyes made him seem almost ethereal. 

His gaze shifted skyward and his smirk grew.

He refrained from divulging that he had learned Clair de lune in its entirety; perhaps he would share this with you after dinner, when he might idly choose to sit at the piano and play, giving you yet another little surprise like tiny morsels spread throughout the day so that you could have a taste of sweetness each time you had a craving. 

What use was it to devour it all at once, rather than savor everything he had to offer?

Willy Wonka had so many secrets to share, but he wanted to take his time. 

Luckily, you would have willingly spent a lifetime just to learn his name, not to mention everything else in his head, which was an even more beautiful place than any one of the seven wonders of the world. 

Wonka gestured for you to enter, holding the door open for you. 

After you had recovered, your legs felt like jelly, but were steady enough to carry you over the threshold and onto the landing inside the room.

The sight that greeted you was so overwhelming that you did not notice Wonka enter and close the door behind you. 

He was still smiling, his eyes raking over you as he assessed your reaction to determine whether you were pleased. 

You covered your gaping mouth as your eyes were drawn to an array of vibrant colors and abstract shapes, candy-coated woodland scenery inside of a sugar-inducing wonderland.

It was all too reminiscent of his original Chocolate Room, except for the lack of a chocolate waterfall, but you were not about to complain. 

He had brought this vision to life straight out of his storybook mind and everything that your eyes gazed upon was something Wonka had envisioned and created with his own two hands. It was miraculous and beautiful, swirling and twisting delicacies that grew on trees and from the ground like real living plants and flowers. 

Your mouth watered and your stomach rumbled with hunger. You were literally a kid in a candy store; even your actual age couldn’t call you otherwise. 

However, as quickly as your excitement had built, it soon faded twice as fast. 

You could not eat any of it. 

“Oh, Willy…” your voice came out in a soft, halting whine, desperate to fill your mouth and stomach with sweets you knew you could not have, “it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“It’s for you.”

His words did not resonate with you at first; you did not even acknowledge them.

How could all of this be for you?

You did not understand and Willy did not clarify. 

He took your hand and tucked it under his arm as he led you down the steps and along one of the little paths. The small pathway curved into a small clearing filled with chocolate flowers and giant mushrooms with red licorice caps and frosting-filled spots. Your eyes did not deceive you when you thought you saw the very same edible flower teacups that grew in his original Chocolate Room. They were even the same color!

You bent down to admire them as they blossomed in buttery yellow splendor, a pleasant smile blooming across your features. 

These ones were somewhat different, shimmering as if they had been sprinkled with pixie dust; Wonka’s factory was nothing short of a fairy tale and you wondered what they were made of. 

“Give one a try,” Willy urged you, “I know you’ve always wanted to.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the glint in Wonka’s eye made you pause. 

What was he not telling you?

You were beginning to put the pieces together and suddenly it clicked in your mind.

“You did all this…for me?”

Wonka nodded humbly, “of course. I can’t have you missing out on any of my confections, now, can I? Everything in this room is safe for you to eat and the only ones who have access to it are a select few Oompa-Loompas I have chosen specifically for their expertise in cross-contamination prevention who have been made aware of your dietary restrictions, you and myself.”

You did not know what to say. No amount of thanks would ever be enough compensation for all the work he had done to provide you with the safety and comfort that everything that you consumed inside this room was perfectly safe for you to eat. You would never have been able to repay such a grand gesture, but Willy did not ask you to. He simply wanted you to be able to enjoy these delicacies despite your restrictions and since he was the most masterful chocolatier in the world, he was more than capable of giving you that. 

“I don’t know what to say…,” but soon, you blurted out, “thank you, Willy!”

Tears pricked your eyes like sharp glass droplets and Willy’s expression softened. He extended his arms, offering you a hug which you gladly accepted. 

His arms enveloped you in a tight embrace and you burrowed in against his chest. He smelled of cocoa and understated tones of autumn earth and candied maple drizzle with brown sugar nectar. 

You inhaled, your head swimming with the intoxicating smell of him as he held you. 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, craning his neck to look down at you. 

His eyes chased yours as you seemed somewhat afraid to make eye contact with him now; he wanted you to see the gentle look on his face and know that you were always safe here with him.

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, “it’s just…no one has ever gone to so much trouble for me before.”

“What trouble?” he asked with a slight frown on his face, “putting this together for you was a delight.”

“You know what I meant.”

Of course, he did. 

This was a massive undertaking for him alongside his usual work and to keep such a secret right under your nose would have been impossible if he hadn’t been Willy Wonka.

He heard everything that you were trying to say and it warmed his heart that you had such difficulty communicating it to him verbally. It meant more to him to see that satisfaction on your face rather than coming out of your mouth. 

Actions were stronger than words and this you and Wonka agreed upon. 

You gave him another little nuzzle and he patted your back in a comforting gesture. 

“Now, you can have whatever you like with no worry that it might be contaminated,” he assured you, his gentle voice like a sweetly sung melody, “but I don’t want you in here filling your belly unattended. A little bit of sugar goes a long way, so…I suggest we enjoy such things in moderation.”

You nodded, but then a thought came to you, “I think I’m far more at risk for sugar sickness from all your sweet words and kindnesses than from a little chocolate.”

“This isn’t your way of telling me to be unkind to you, is it?”

His teasing lilt made you laugh. 

“Absolutely not!” you replied, chuckling as he let go of you, “and all jokes aside, I really, really appreciate this, Willy. You have no idea…”

“Oh, I do,” he laughed with you.

He bent down and plucked one of the flower teacups and passed it to you, which you gratefully took from him. 

It was true; you had been longing to take a bite out of one of these since you had laid eyes on them, but thought it was never meant to be. Now, holding one in your hands, you were faced with the very real idea that you were as much a part of Wonka’s world as he was. 

You were as important to him as the cocoa bean was to the creation of chocolate. 

Everything that he did was now done with you in mind. 

It had taken some time to get to this point with him, but every step you took was another one which kept you by his side and you were ready and willing to carry on like this with him for the rest of your life. You wanted to coexist with him, to enjoy this wonderful world of candy that only he could create and now your fears seemed so far away.

Fear that had once convinced you that your limitations might cause resentment. 

Willy Wonka wanted you to know that no matter whether you could eat all his chocolate or none of it, that it did not determine how he felt about you. 

You were what was special and important to him and your impediments were not a disincentive. 

He would find a way around those because you deserved as much consideration and care as anyone else and he was determined to show you that. 

Willy knew how much it bothered you that you couldn’t just eat without worry and therefore he also knew just how much this meant to you that he cared enough for you that he would spend his free time putting together a Chocolate Room specifically designed to cater to your dietary needs and restrictions. 

He knew all this, and more, as he watched you take your first bite of the yellow flower teacup that had caught your fancy so much time ago. 

Your face twisted in delight and you hummed appreciatively as the taste of sweet crystal cream coated your taste buds. 

Knowing that he had finally been able to give you a gift that allowed you to enjoy his sweets uninhibited filled him with joy and even though he also knew you would be thanking him until the end of time, you didn’t need to. 

He had done this for no other reason than for your own enjoyment and pleasure and he knew how much you appreciated him. 

He knew more than you ever would have thought.  

Willy Wonka even knew that you loved him.