#experience and higher anxiety than normal

[cass-ass]

I got together like 6 bags of stuff to donate/give to people and there's a parking lot where a lot of homeless people are camping and I want to just give it to them but my social anxiety is so high when doing anything where there's a large group of people and there's at least 30 people there 😔

I want to give to them directly but fuck I dont know how to approach this social interaction and I dont know these people so I cant script it. I hate my anxiety (aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

Also where do I park my car that isn't intruding on them? I dont wanna intrude upon their house- no matter how temporary it may be.

[domesticated-whores]

choked so hard swallowing my drink down the wrong way that I almost puked and I'm still kinda nauseous hours later, so lol. also, friend (the mutual work friend of me and my man that actually hangs out with him outside of work) witnessed and started saying something about how some people choke on things like that bad enough that it kinda spooks them from drinking and they get dehydrated out of paranoia (no idea if that's true, sounds fake but whatever, he's one of those people yk?) and my dumb ass, full of autism and pure thoughts only, said "damn, if that were a problem I wouldn't be able to put nothing in my mouth, my gag reflex is shit 😞😞" which has probably made it's way to my man. because I'm stupid and was really woozy from coughing til I almost vomited and totally didn't think of what I was saying.

[autistichalsin]

I hate that I have to give this PSA at all- that I do is a failure on the part of multiple governmental organizations. But it is important.

COVID damages a lot more than you think. It damages more than your lungs, and does more than give you digestive issues. And sometimes, those issues can last well after you get better, even if you're not a person you would otherwise think of as being sick with long COVID.

If you only remember these two things, please just remember that:

COVID can and does damage your heart.

COVID can and does damage your nervous system, particularly your brain.

If you have had COVID in the last 18 months, you are at a highly elevated risk of sudden cardiac death compared to someone who hasn't. In the first three weeks after getting sick, your odds of dying from a heart-related event are 81 times that of an uninfected person, and five times higher in the following 18 months. You are also at a higher risk of of developing nonfatal heart disease; 40% likelier. (Source for all claims in this paragraph)

If you develop ANY cardiac symptoms at all after getting COVID- heart palpitations, blood pressure issues, fatigue, fainting, getting out of breath easier than is normal for you- you need to see a doctor as soon as possible, and you need to tell them you've recently had COVID. You have long COVID until proven otherwise.

Similarly, your risk of neurological disorders remains heightened over a year after getting COVID; approximately 40% higher. (Source) This manifests in more ways than I have time to list, but includes a vastly higher risk of dementia of all types (doctors are particularly seeing this with the under-45 group that was previously extremely rare), memory disorders, sensory issues (like persisting loss or distortion of taste and smell), mental health issues like anxiety or depression, and even more.

These can manifest in a lot of ways. But if you experience new anxiety or depression, new behavioral issues (particularly for those under the age of 18), if you suddenly can't focus anymore or can't remember things anymore (ESPECIALLY words, COVID has been noted to cause extreme difficulty with word recall), if you have tremors, if you're tired all the time, if you have "brain fog", if you have trouble sleeping, I could go on... again. You have long COVID until proven otherwise. EVEN IF you aren't "that sick". Even if you have energy to do things and can mostly function but you just aren't doing well in school/at work anymore because you can't remember the things your teacher/professor is talking about/the new work protocols your boss went over with you.

If you hop over to the subreddits for teachers or professors, you will notice a lot of them noting their students don't remember basic things the teachers have been pressing for an entire semester, or that students can't sit long enough to focus through a movie. And sure, some of that is cell phones reducing attention span, or students just not paying attention- but they just can't seem to pick up the pieces there that they are seeing long-term sequelae (that is, a different illness arising from COVID infection) in their students. It is everywhere, but few people are connecting the dots.

Similarly, there is a huge wave of pilots being unable to pass their physicals and losing their licenses, or making mistakes due to brain fog (in some cases even leading to crashes) or falling victim to sudden cardiac death in the middle of a flight.

EVERYONE is at risk from this. No one is talking about this. I don't kn- well, actually, no, I do know exactly why, I just don't like it. People want to make COVID the new flu, but it just isn't. It is not and never will be the flu. And we are willingly inflicting cardiomyopathy and dementia and all sorts of awful things on people in the name of regaining a sense of normalcy that is gone, but ironically would be closer to returning if we had accepted for a while that things WEREN'T normal and acted accordingly. But that chance is gone now, COVID is never going away because people couldn't bother, but they still can't admit it, they can't face the consequences of their actions, so instead we're getting this attempted coverup of the real long-terms dangers of COVID that even "young and healthy" people have.

But pretending things are normal doesn't make sick people healthy. So instead, try to educate folks, because there is a very high chance you or someone you know is sick right now, due to COVID infections they had months ago, and doesn't know it because people are pretending COVID is just the flu but with tummy upset and a disrupted sense of taste/smell.

People NEED to know what the actual dangers are.

ALSO, sidenote: if you are masking, and ask your medical team to mask, and they respond by starting to suggest you are experiencing "COVID anxiety", find a new provider. Immediately. Don't even continue the appointment. They are not interested in helping you.

Signed, your friendly neighborhood epidemiologist.

[leth-writes]

Twilight wolves x reader who has to leave for college? :>

I love this idea!

Sam

The two of you have known each other for years at this point. You were there when he first shifted, and when he imprinted, you felt like the entire world was right, at least for that moment. Sam shifted in his senior year of high school, so your relationship has been going strong for at least a year at this point.

Sam had never been academically focused; he was always more of a handyman, so he had planned to go to trade school, maybe in Port Angeles. Shifting had really destroyed that dream, as he had to stay near the reservation to lead the pack and make sure any of the new wolves were able to handle themselves. His entire world revolved around the pack, around the reservation, and around you, but he just didn’t have any time to study. His grades dropped, and he barely went to class. Especially when more and more teens are shifting, he’s needed elsewhere to keep the peace.

You’ve always had higher ambitions. You wanted to leave the dreary environment of Forks for a big city, dreaming of the sparkling lights and opportunities. You wanted the sun and the soft turquoise waves of somewhere warm and pleasant, not the constant rain of Forks.

Sam wants you to go to college. He wants you to get an education and achieve your dreams. It would be hell for him, but he’d do anything for you. Luckily, when you met him, your priorities shifted. Suddenly, with the long walks in the woods with him shifted, the runs and the soft cuddles, you began to appreciate the luscious, vibrant green around you. You began to see the beauty in the soft, muted colors of La Push, the dark, deep swirling waves, the gravel crunching under your feet. You couldn’t picture leaving his side any more than he could picture leaving yours.

Sam doesn’t want you to give up on your dreams. He wants you to get out there, to experience life to the fullest. He begs you not to give up, and to apply for university, to get the education you’ve been working for your whole life.

So, you apply to various Universities and Colleges in Seattle. It’s a four hour drive from campus, where you’re staying, to Forks.

The two of you alternate; one weekend he drives up to see you and spends the night at your dorm, the next weekend you drive down to stay at the reservation and meet up with the pack and your lifelong friends.

It’s hard, not being able to see you, but he knows you’re living life to the fullest, and he’s so proud of you.

Every time the two of you meet, he sweeps you into an all-encompassing hug. It’s like the world is right again.

Constant calls and messages. You two talk for hours every night, making sure to regale each-other with the intricacies of your day even when nothing exciting happened.

He brags to everyone and anyone about how smart you are, how proud he is.

Paul

Paul is more protective. He doesn’t want you moving where he can’t follow. While he’d love to move with you, he can’t; he needs to stay close to the others, to patrol and to protect the town and the people he loves. But even the thought of you being so far away is killing him. He has no clue what to do.

When you first mention moving away for University or College, I’m not going to lie, the two of you get into a massive argument. Paul is convinced you’re leaving him, that you’re going to go date someone normal, that you can’t handle the ‘freak of nature’ anymore. Please reassure him this isn’t true, he can’t handle thinking you hate him.

Really, it all stems from the same source of protectiveness that fuels his every action toward you.

Once you convince him that no, you aren’t moving so you can date a non-shifter and yes, you do love him, his anger eases up a bit and exposes that underlying anxiety driving his behavior, that fear of not being heard that forces him to be extra loud and in everyones’ faces.

Understanding his behavior is key. You need to know he isn’t acting out, he isn’t angry, because he can be, he’s angry because it’s the only way he knows how to express his anxiety. Paul has spent his entire life being written off for who he is, and only that anger and that passion ensures he’s heard.

Tell him you understand his position, but that you can’t budge on seeking an education. Tell him how important it is, how it feels like you’re trapped in Forks, how you need an opportunity to see the world before settling down.

He’ll understand. Hell, he’s in Leah’s head, he’s felt the same sense of being trapped and the longing to experience everything she’s felt for her whole life.

Still, the thought of being too far away kills you, so you set your heart on Seattle. He gets a job working as a mechanic and starts really saving. Every penny goes toward his master plan.

You’re living in the dorms and he’s driving you down to Forks as often as he can. He doesn’t really love the city, but he’ll put up with it for you

That first year is rough. Paul is naturally quite passionate, so not being able to wrap you up in a hug, not being able to fall asleep to your foreheads pressed together, to sleepy kisses with your eyes closed and your soft snoring, it’s hell for him.

So, a year into your degree, he rents an apartment for the two of you to stay in together. It’s just temporary, after you finish your education he fully plans on moving back in to his old house and working at the shared garage the pack manages, but it’s the easiest way to be close to you. On the weekends you two drive down together to see the pack and to be close by, especially so he can patrol, but Sam understands how hard it is for Paul to be apart from you. Besides, the anxiety was driving him crazy, and subsequently driving the whole pack crazy through their bonds.

The apartment is small, and kinda dingy, but it’s perfect for the two of you. He once again gets a job as a mechanic in Seattle, working to make sure you can enjoy your education, and the two of you are inseparable. He loves driving you to campus and goes to every party and every event with you.

Jacob

Jacob encourages you to go to college right away. Just because he never got the chance doesn’t mean he doesn’t want that for you. Besides, he’d do anything for you, including putting up with a bit of distance and a long drive.

Unlike the others, Jacob always drives up to see you, never the other way around. He isn’t as connected to the pack as the others.

Jacob wished he could’ve gotten the opportunity to go to trade school, but finances and the shifting and then everything with vampires made life too complicated and he couldn’t go.

He’s living vicariously through you.

Loves going to parties with you on campus, though can definitely get into a fight if another guy comes too close and definitely ends up punching someone who thought groping you was appropriate

Jacob isn’t as clingy as the others, preferring to give you a bit of space. This is leftover from his time spent resisting the bond. A bit of him feels guilty he put the both of you in such pain, so he’s definitely a bit more willing to put in so much effort.

Loves when you send him pictures right before class; he gets to see how adorable you look with your hair mussed and your comfy clothes. Especially loves it if you wear glasses, you look so cozy.

A part of Jacob still feels insecure; it’s part of why he’s so willing to put some distance between the two of you. He’s avoiding those massive emotions that come along with the bond, repressing them deep down.

Somewhere along your third year he just… breaks. It’s hard for him to deal with the wave after wave after wave of longing, but he manages. Please convince him how much you care about him, he can be deeply insecure.

Overall supportive, but please help him figure out how he feels before he snaps himself in half over his suppressed emotions 🙁

Let me know if anyone wants more!

[clowncaraz]

a transandrophobic's guide to transandrophobia

a small and short guide that oversimplifies things so even normies can understand. basically "don't say these things, be normal about queer men."

what is transandrophobia?

transandrophobia was coined around 2017 by a user named Saint (st-dionysus). it's a term describing multiple ways transmascs, trans men, or genderqueer men experience a form of androphobia that has the main goal of separating manhood from trans identities.

what is transandrophobia made of?

transandrophobia is made up of transmisogyny and androphobia. the transmisogyny is the ideas that trans men are either women in disguise, traitors or alien to womanhood, or lost little girls fetishizing lesbians. the focus on trans men as confused women is to assume that women cannot be anything but little innocent girls or servants. if a woman is not of those categories, then they are traitors, snakes, and are not real/pretending to be women. we see this in all sorts of spaces. if a woman is not subservient and tolerable, then they must be a "bitch," or a man in hiding. for trans men, this narrative means that they are failing womanhood because they too are not tolerable or subservient.

androphobia is the fear of men or the patriarchy. it affects women more than it affects men, and most trauma resulting from it comes from direct or indirect sexual violence or misogyny. androphobia in terms of trans men would be the fear of manhood or isolation of manhood from transness. a common pushback against androphobia and transandrophobia seems to be the idea that trans men are just trans, not men. they aren't women, but they aren't men either, so they stay in the gray zone of being defined by their agab or their sex traits.

the isolation of manhood from transness is a tactic used to correctly gender trans men without having to acknowledge their gender as being related to manhood, even if that fear is towards those who uphold the patriarchy - which trans men, by identity, do not fit in the patriarchy. it is why androphobia is known as irrational or abnormal, as all phobias are, but isn't recognized as hate or discrimination. when trans men and cis men are perceived as the same type of manhood, the assumption becomes that trans men are of the patriarchal system instead of being completely outside of it.

why androphobia and not misandry?

misandry was created to be used as a gotcha towards feminism. no one wants that. misandry is real, but is not represented in the term. instead, the subsequent discrimination and hate of men would stem from androphobia's fear. fear is the reason many people say they hate something that could cause it, and it's not irrational to fear, but the consistent anxiety and distrust leading to narratives that affect men who are not of the patriarchy is a phobia.

no one hates cis men for being men, it is hate of their ability to use their cis status and patriarchal power. cis manhood is preferred, it is widely accepted, it is natural.. trans men on the other hand are hated for being failed cis men and confused women, who are then hated for being related to cis men by being men incorrectly.

you might be transandrophobic if..

...you see trans men as the cis men of the trans community. this is a running joke in some spaces, but it perpetuates the idea that since cis men are of a higher power due to privilege, that trans men must have the same privileges and the same status due to them being men. this is not how you affirm transmasculine identities and frankly, it's downright gross. when you begin to see trans men as trans men instead of removing their manhood from their transness, you see that the manhood is inseparable from our transness and is in close quarters to how our identity functions. without that manhood, we are not trans and we are no longer of that community - we are then lumped into three categories; "non-men," nonbinary, or afab. when trans men say that we do not want our manhood to be reduced/separated from our transness, we mean that the other terms to categorize us are inaccurate, false, or derogatory.

...you don't think theyfab is a slur. it was made specifically to go after those who were assigned female at birth and used they/them primarily. this affects most if not all trans people who are genderqueer/nonbinary and were assigned female. it's a slur and is used that way.

...you don't say trans man, but instead say "tme." tme is transmisogyny exempt, and is known to be used as a stand in for anyone not presenting as a woman. it's a bioessentialist/intersexist term alongside it's counterpart; tma. these terms leave out and actively discriminate against intersex bodies and identities - and if pointed out - those who use the terms tme/tma will have a meltdown.

...say more slurs. if any of this is in your daily or private vocabulary and you actively refer to trans men or transmascs like this, there is a problem.

...you position our HRT or manhood as poison. i don't have to explain this that much but would it be acceptable for a trans man to say that estrogen is a poison and womanhood is essentially harmful by nature? if not, that might be a reason as to not do the same to trans men who need it.

...you position our oppression as lesser or never experienced. trans women face transandrophobia. that's the truth. the fear of supposed men in women spaces is one of the most rampant forms of prejudice against trans women.anyone can experience transandrophobia and transmisogyny. anyone can experience exorsexism. the main point of it is what it is supposed to be attacking. transmisogyny attacks womanhood that is trans or queer. transandrophobia attacks manhood by removing it from transness.

...you ignore the quarrels of trans men against rampant transandrophobia that seem to revolve around fears of being excluded due to not being feminine or woman enough, which the community seems to gravitate towards.

...you make transandrophobic claims that don't make sense at all.

[whumpfish]

Reference: Psychogenic Fever

You've seen it in anime loads of times: the protagonist overexerts themselves or experiences a highly stressful event, and they dramatically collapse. The next thing you know, they're in bed with a cloth over their forehead and an ally informs the rest of us that they have a fever.

Well, it turns out that can actually happen.

If your immune system is already shot, and you experience acute levels of stress, your body will respond to those stress hormones the way it would normally respond to a virus. Your core heats up, and you develop a full-blown fever.

According to what information I was able to dig up, some patients can develop core temperatures of 41°C/105°F. I didn't apparently record mine when this was going on, but given the temperature dysregulation caused by the seroquel I take that prevents me from cooling off if I get hot and the reverse, and how hot literally anything I touched got, I was probably in that higher range.

The Progression:

I went to bed at around 1:45 a.m. I'd already been through so much stress with my grandfather's funeral, how my dad elected to process grief, and scrambling to get the SSI-D function report that had arrived in our mailbox when I was out of town returned on time, I had already crashed out earlier that day from the energy expenditure. Now, I have ME/CFS, and crashing out after exertion/stress is normal, so nothing stood out as a warning sign. If there was one, I dismissed it as my usual fatigue. I went to sleep.

I woke up about 2.5 hours later, experiencing sleep paralysis--presumably in lieu of a fever dream. When I woke up the rest of the way, I was sweating profusely and feeling about like I'd been mowing the lawn in 105° heat. I've done that, and collapsed from heat exhaustion from it, before. I was hotter at that moment than I had been back then.

I put a wrist to my forehead, and the sensation was like holding a hairdryer on high to my forehead at point-blank range. My pillow was just as hot, and no amount of flipping fixed that. (I should point out here that I normally run cold--ridiculously cold, sleep with the quilt up in the middle of a Texas summer cold--and this never happens unless I am very sick.)

I smelled like fever. Some people don't think you can smell fevers, but I was a sickly child and spent so much of my life in pediatricians' waiting rooms full of feverish children that after a while I noticed a particular smell unique to those environments. Since then, I've been able to accurately identify it elsewhere by that smell.

I was completely confused. I'd had to go into the grocery store without a mask earlier that day because I ran out, but even I don't present that quickly. It couldn't be from that. Some old geek part of me remembered Anime Fever, and on a hunch, I googled "can you give yourself a fever from stress?" And yes. Yes, you can.

I sat up, and when I touched the mattress where I had been sleeping with one hand, it felt like trying to pick a dish up out of the dishwasher immediately after it's through running. It was that hot.

The recommended treatment was anti-inflammatories and any relevant psych meds that can reduce anxiety, so I took 800mg of ibuprofen and an extra, small dose of seroquel. Then I took my clothes off and downed a few bottles of water, my usual trick for cooling down once I've gotten too hot, and sat on the foot of my bed to give my mattress time to cool down before getting back in bed to try to sleep.

The fever broke at around 6:15 a.m., and I was finally able to rotate back to the other side of my mattress and pillow, and go back to sleep. I slept until 1:20 p.m.

The Takeaway: This is a real phenomenon! Use it on your whumpees with poor immune systems, either naturally or broken down from their ordeal. It's no longer just an anime trope.

[doctorprofessorsong]

It is not even Pride month anymore and I continue to see biphobic things popping up on my SM (seriously I so do not need this in my life right now and it has been relentless). So let me just again rant for a moment that it is NOT a competition for who has it worse, but if you are walking around telling bisexuals their life is easier because they have the benefit of the closet and/or invisibility, please allow me to disabuse you of that notion.

Bisexuals have demonstrably worse health outcomes than their gay, lesbian and heterosexual counterparts. There are numerous studies that tell us this.

Here's a pretty clear article summarizing a lot of the research. Dropping some quotes below if you don't want to click through.

Bisexual people are at higher risk for depression, anxiety, suicide and suicidal ideation than their lesbian, gay or heterosexual counterparts. The Canadian Community Health Survey, for instance, shows bisexual women are six times more likely than heterosexual women to experience suicidal thoughts and attempts, whereas lesbian women are four times more likely. Other research has found that young bisexual women have the highest suicide rates of all LGB youth.

In terms of relationships and sexual health, bi women experience higher risks of sexual assault and intimate partner violence than lesbians and heterosexual women. They also have a higher risk of contracting sexually transmitted infections (STIs), and bisexual teens face higher rates of pregnancy.

The study found that, overall, bisexuals reported higher rates of poor mental and physical health, chronic diseases, smoking and alcohol use than gay, lesbian and heterosexual people, with bisexual women surpassing nearly all female-identified participants.

While there is less research on the physical health of bi women, studies show they are overrepresented when it comes to diabetes and hypertension diagnoses relative to their lesbian counterparts. Bisexual women are also more likely to smoke cigarettes, abuse alcohol and engage in substance abuse than lesbians. A recent study found bisexual women are seven times more likely to use cannabis on a daily basis than heterosexual women—double the rate of lesbians

One of the leading theories is that bi folks are less likely to have the benefit of support from the queer community and are more likely to experience double discrimination, that is discrimination from both heterosexual and queer folks.

Here's a nice robust study outlining some of that.

Additionally, bisexuals are more likely to feel pressured to stay in the closet.

The point is this: exclusion, biphobia, and bi invisibility are harmful to bi+ folks and treating us like we somehow float through the world if we are in a relationship that is presumed to be straight absolutely ignores the reality shown in the data.

Exclusion is harmful. Invalidation of our sexual orientation is harmful. I am begging people to be normal about bisexuals.

[cetaceacyberia]

even MORE sillies from @superxstarzz's classpect fusions!! this time with a wee bit of analysis below the cut because i have the evil homestuck autism that makes me go crazy about this stuff. also the reason these guys look freaky is because theyre a human+troll fusion

OKAY SO generally i imagine fusedtiers would naturally be far stronger than a regular tier, though not quite as strong as a master class, at least depending on the development of each. They are also, of course, far more specific in nature, leading to highly specialized roles. Anywho, here's my interpretation of the classes featured here. I'll probably end up doing more later. Apologies in advance for my wordiness. I know there's a lot of speculation about the role mages play, so I'll provide a brief explanation of how I interpret them first.

Mages, in my opinion, are the active counterpart to seers, being able to take the knowledge they gain through or recieve from their aspect and put it into action. For an example, a Mage of Space as is a component here would be able to take the knowlege of the behaviors of elements and atoms, and be able to manipulate them at their will, provided they know what they're doing, and it's physically possible, alongside being able to ascertain. This can be seen with Meulins ability to form relationships out of seemingly nothing and Sollux's pension for causing doomsday esque events (aradia, sgrub, the like)

Prophet of Design

Prophets, in my opinion, would take the prediction abilities of the seer and the active knowledge mages can use and be able to speak events into reality.

Prophets tend to be extremely high strung people. The suffering that comes with being a mage and the all-consuming knowledge that comes so easily to seers create a scenario in which it's very common for them to slip into anxiety about the events they cause. The butterfly effect, if you will. Prophets do not use their powers carelessly, each move is thought out and incredibly calculated. Prophets are, naturally, blindingly intelligent, being the fusion of the two knowing classes. This can manifest itself in many ways, though the shortcomings mages often experience in relation to their aspect can often cut down their confidence, leading to a prophet underestimating themselves constantly. Despite their anxious tendencies and low self-conciousness, prophets can also be very snarky and sarcastic, when not gleefully oversharing about whatever piques their interest at the moment.

Design would be the merging of the concepts of fate and inevitability with the universe, creation and physics. Design players have domain over the physical outcomes of things. Reactions, from chemical to physical, even quantum at a higher level, all of that is within the control of a Design player. So!! i think a Prophet of Design would be able to speak into reality the outcomes of reactions they create or observe. For example, prophet would be able to do something like say "when i take a step forward, I will actually be twelve feet ahead of where i would have been" and just have that shit happen. As they get stronger, their prophecies can becomem more long term and more drastic, from being able to speak into reality an event that will happen some time in the future to prediting events that might not even be physically possible normally. Beholder of Birth

A beholder, a class that combines the insane growth potential of a page and the mage's expansive knowledge to produce a role of one that is able to expotentially build on the knowledge they have of their aspect. To create entire knowledge trees given the smallest bit of information. From a basic fact to the most niche, minute detail, none of it can escape the gaze of a Beholder. A fully realized Beholder would know, quite literally, everything there is to know when it comes to their aspect, which can be an enormously vast amount when it comes to Space or Time players.

Beholders are natural detectives, though it never comes easy. It starts as the beholder starts to make connections, faint at first but with a sure sign there's something more. Often ones to second-guess their findings, but once they dig deeper, and their ideas are validated, there's nothing stopping a beholder from uncovering everything there is to know from that one initial spark. For lack of a better word, beholders are quirky people, kind but stubborn, and their ascenion often is hindered by that trait due to the help they might need at first. They might get knocked down easily at first, but are wickedly determined, and bounce back quickly and eagerly learn from their mistakes, often brute-forcing their way out of problems. Thanks to the manipulation of knowledge that comes with their Mage counterpart, rising the ranks is far easier for a Beholder than a Page, though roadblocks are to be expected with their headstrong attitude towards growth.

Birth is the merging of creation, physics and the universe with the mind, logic and raw information. I think these would blend into birth players being in control of the inception of very nearly anything. How exactly they can control this depends on the class, of course, but birth players hold the essence of creation in their very soul,

A Beholder of Birth would have the ability to hold an object and see everything that lead up to its creation, how it was created, and everything that happened to it. Not just objects either, but people and other living things. A fully realized Beholder of Birth could potentially have the full knowledge of everything that has ever happened in the universe, from before the big bang to the very end of it that was no doubt caused by the activation of SBURB and everything in between.

[delphientropy]

anxiety is a normal, human emotion that is prevalent in everyday life.

an anxiety disorder is a disorder in which anxiety is bad to the point where it is distressing and interferes with your ability to do everyday activities.

orientation and gender are social constructs created based on feelings and attraction

having multiple, separate identities in your head is not a normal, everyday emotion, nor is it a social construct crafted based on emotion.

multiple identities is a product of your brain staying split due to dissociation and trauma. it is exclusive to DID and it's similar disorders. it is genuinely, scientifically impossible to form multiple identities without having dissociation keeping your developing brain split up.

your trauma isn't "enough?" you were a child. children just started developing, making it very easy for presumably "small" things to interrupt a child's brain's growth.

you don't remember your trauma? that's the point. dissociation and memories are separated between identities. therefore, it's far more likely than not that you do not remember past trauma.

dont have trauma? then it's something else.

schizophrenia is a disorder that can be caused by trauma, but can also be caused by inheriting it, abnormalities in the brain, and how you developed before you were born. schizophrenic people often experience delusions and hallucinations, thinking your thoughts aren't yours, hearing voices, amnesia, and mental confusion.

psychosis is a collection of symptoms during an episode where one is detached from reality. you can experience delusions, hallucinations, disorganized thoughts and behaviors, and agitation.

depersonalization-derealization disorder is when you always or often feel disconnected from your body, feelings, and environment. this is caused by trauma, but can also be caused by anxiety and depression, drug abuse, neurocognitive disorders, and those with mentally ill parents have higher risk factors.

many normal human experiences can be confused for having multiple identities. this includes changing your personality depending on who you're interacting with, feeling like a "different person" during an episode of rage, forgetting a past memory, having fluid identity, intrusive thoughts, and "hearing voices" in your head.

any questions?

[stxneflxwers]

neuvillette is the type to drop what he's doing so he can rush to your side and comfort you when your anxiety is higher than normal. even when you try to bottle it up and tell yourself so many times that it's "not a big deal."

he, personally, thinks it's a big deal to you—no matter how much you don't want to confess to it. even then, your alarmingly high level of anxiety is very concerning to him. it's important to him to see you grow and flourish.

he may tell you he "doesn't quite understand the root for such high anxiety," but he has certainly felt similar ways in the past. he's simply never had that chance to put it into the right words. but with the way you describe your feelings, your experiences, your pain—he's suddenly understanding both you and himself a lot better.

he has you to thank for that.

and one day, he'll tell you while he helps you come back down to earth. his firm grasp cradles you like a fragile baby bird while one hand soothing you with slow brushes of his gloveless hand over your head,

"you have quite the way with words," he murmurs sweetly, leaning his forehead against your temple, "you have assisted me in innumerable ways with my own...anxiety. thank you."

[smolandweirdwriter]

The Bad Kids In/After College:

Adaine, Kristen, and Riz attended Astral State University together. Ordinarily, a three-person party isn't the most likely to be successful, but they have a reputation and experience that many adventurers haven't, and they make it work, becoming saviors of not just Elmville, Solace, or their surrounding world but of planes of existence as well.

Fig dropped out after Junior Year. Since then, she has begun a recording label in Hell that operates something of the way Bill Seacaster's patronage does. She's effectively a patron to dozens of bard-warlock multiclassers at this point. Fig and the Sig Figs is going strong, but they're not touring as much because Gorgug's schedule has been wacky.

Why, you ask? Because Gorgug decided to take Arthur Aguefort up on his offer to teach at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, and that resulted in Arthur forcing offering Gorgug to study directly under him. He's been hopping around through time and space with Arthur learning about Artificing and Barbarianism and the history of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy and all sorts of crazy things. It's been a chaotic four years, and also, somehow, the best four years of Gorgug's life. Weirdly enough, he and Arthur develop some convoluted bond/understanding of each other. He wants to take some time away from all the Aguefort stuff (both the man himself and the school) before he starts, so he'll be teaching in the next fall. Until then, he's returning to Elmville and staying with his parents.

Fabian did not pursue any form of higher education or further adventuring type thing. Of all the bad kids, he's become the most, well, normal. He and Mazey opened a dance-fighting studio. He wants to propose to her. Is 25 too soon? He asks Adaine over Fantasy FaceTime one night.

She's in a small bunk of an inter-dimensional spaceship, heading home soon. Her hair is dyed blue and longer than it's ever been, wrapping around her shoulder and spilling all the way out of sight of the screen. She's stronger now, dressed in something of intergalactic armor. She's not the person he knew--she's who that person was always supposed to be, and it aches because in all truth, she was his first crush, and he is always thinking about her and her sister and how much he loves them and how different that love feels now than it did when he was 15. How childish he was. How easily he wanted people who did not want him. How happy he is now with Mazey. How he always wants to feel like this.

Adaine shrugs. She doesn't really understand marriage, herself. Doesn't want it. Will marriage do anything to change what you think of her?

What? No. Of course not. It'll just make it more... Permanent.

Nothing's permanent, she tells him. But you two are cute. If marrying her will make you feel more connected, go ahead.

He bites his lip. I don't suppose you can look into the future for me and see if she says yes?

Adaine doesn't answer. They both know it doesn't work that way. She doesn't really know the future any better than anyone else. Her anxiety has not gone away or faded, her problems have not miraculously vanished, but she is not alone anymore. She is not afraid. She is so immensely loved, and there are days when that still strikes her as unbelievable, but those are few and far between.

Kristen loves college. She loves the freedom, loves the discovery of information on her own time and in her own interests, loves hanging out with Riz and Adaine, loves the mystery of new, unknown places that she and Cassandra can revel in. For all that has occurred, she and Cassandra are learning together, a reborn god and her reborn prophet who is young and has made mistakes and knows herself well enough now to know trying and failing is not something to fear. It's sort of ironic, but Kristen has become so alike to the philosophy student guardians she had with YES?. And yet she is still something different. She is gloriously unpretentious, but she has grown into (and simultaneously out of the more childish aspects of) her questioning and escapist nature, and she cares. She cares so much about everything. About fairness and justice and answers answers answers. She worships not only Cassandra but Cassandra and Ankarna, gathering power from both equally, a Cleric of Two Gods, the Cleric of the Reborn Ones, cleric of Dusk and Dawn. She's thinking of pursuing grad school. Maybe she'll study philosophy. Maybe not. She and Riz talk about it late into the night. She has not gotten over Tracker, but nor have they gotten back together in full. They are friends, and that's something that will not sit quite right in the pit of Kristen's stomach, but she lives and she learns and one day it will.

Riz it turns out, has discovered quite a lot about himself in the last few years. Like, oh, he can have friends who aren't the ones he made in high school. Like, oh, all those clubs he joined Junior Year? Yeah, it turns out he really, really likes some of them. He discovers, especially strangely, that he likes gardening. He likes the idea that he planted something, made something, helped keep it alive, that they together are surviving and thriving and okay. He likes taking care of things. He keeps a small potted plant that he carries with him everywhere.

When the Bad Kids come back together, they are not new people. They are who they were always meant to be.

[fandom-trash-xl]

Revised Headcanon: Tail Behavior in Arcosians/Frieza's Race

Tail motions in an Arcosian are a major form of emotional body language. It's the body's form of expending excess mood energy; in a way, it can be also considered self-stimulatory. This form of expression can often "betray" its owner, as it can clue someone into any masked feelings if they know what to make note of.

"Waggling": The usual display of intense (positive) emotion, usually in a wagging, dog-like, back and forth motion or a brief wave-like flutter. These "waggles" are usually gentle, although the speed of the movement can be influenced by personal temperament- for example, Frieza's more easily riled nature results in faster motions.

An Arcosian may also experience involuntary tail swaying in time with music.

Negative moods: Negative moods, mainly anger, are conveyed through harsher motions, usually fast flicks or whip-cracking motions. There is usually significant force input as well, bringing a painful sting to those who draw too close.

Anxiety: Metronome-like whip-cracks of the tail in continuous sequence are typically a symptom of anxiety and/or a panic attack.

Stress/Fear: The tail tends to tense up out of stress or fear, having a tendency to squeeze around any nearby objects if not simply curling into itself.

Low movements: A tail dragging, often slowly, against the ground can be indicative of more sullen moods, such as sadness and depression, or simply fatigue or low energy.

Neurodivergent behaviors: Some neurodivergent Arcosians may experience tail motions at a higher rate than normal. This can be often be attributed to carrying mood energy in heavy excess, with even minor reactions needing to be worked out via the tail. Frequency may also be due to having difficulty stopping the waggles once they start. Some may find comfort in the motion in general.

[nd-of-a-manatee]

I know this isn’t quite how ranks work in Psychonauts canon, just go with it.

[Image ID: The following is rendered in fuzzy digital pastel. Razputin Aquato–in his late teens, tall and skinny–lies breathless on his back on the ground, covered in sweat. He’s wearing sweatpants, a striped undershirt, and sneakers. His hair is disheveled, pushed back by his signature goggles. One of his eyes is a little higher than the other, now that he’s older. He stares upward with eyes wide, at his wit’s end. He lies in a white space, his colors graded dull blue. The foreboding cyan shadow of a three-digit number is projected over him: 206. End ID]

Raz has a problem.

He trains so hard to rank up his prowess as a psychic. He’s been training since the day he learned what a Psychonaut is. Now that he’s one of them, he sees diminishing returns for his efforts. That’s normal, they say. It gets harder over time. But he’s only 15, and it hasn’t changed in months. He’s way behind the other cadets his age, all approaching the 300s in their psychic specialities. Here he is stuck at 206.

This isn’t normal.

It’s not just about the number. There isn’t supposed to be a ceiling. A person can always improve, always extend themself to reach closer to their full potential. His mentors–his heroes, all well into the 1000s themselves–gave him a chance to be a Psychonaut because they saw so much of that potential in him. They were impressed that he picked up his first set of powers so quickly and used them to save the day nearly by himself–twice. What if that was the trick? He picks up a new discipline right away, then can’t advance it past a certain point. Hydrokinesis should be what he’s good at, but he’s barely better with it than anything else. That’s it. This is his potential. It was all a trick.

He lies awake at night, frantically weighing in anything that could be related to why. Anything he could do about it. He has often looked back on himself and thought that autism or ADHD or both could explain whatever being an enthusiastic little psychic nerd couldn’t. What if this is part of that? What if he can’t change it? His heart sinks.

He can’t hide it. They’ll all find out what he really is. What will they do if he can’t live up to the position he’s been awarded?

An old anxiety stirs. He doesn’t belong here.

Suddenly, Raz can’t concentrate. His performance falls below even his mediocre rank in practice, in study, in everything. He can’t even walk without tripping. His peers and mentors notice, though he insists that he’s fine.

It reaches a point where a couple of his teachers stop in their busy schedules and call him to sit down with them. That’s when the truth comes out. He tells them everything.

He waits nervously for their response.

They answer easily and say that he’s already proven his worth as a Psychonaut beyond any kind of rank or measure of raw power. His sense of duty, determination, willingness to learn from his mistakes, inventiveness, and compassion are what maximize the effectiveness of his psychic abilites–not to mention his unique skills as an acrobatic. If strength were all that mattered, none of them would be worthy of the abilities they wield.

[Image ID: Raz sits up. The hole in the zero makes it look like the shadow has retreated until it’s almost all the way off of him, lingering at the top of his head. His eyebrows are raised, but he’s calmer–having made an epiphany. End ID]

He hadn’t thought of it like that.

After some rest, Raz goes looking for new psychic sensitivities–not in a desperate attempt to find the thing that will bring him up to par, but with all the curiosity of an adventurer in search of new discoveries. By the end of the year, he has achieved adequate command of a wide, wide range of disciplines and has begun experimenting with using them in tandem. “Power juggling” is a difficult art for most psychics. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and lose control. As it turns out, Raz thrives in that kind of chaos and is able to compartmentalize his focus enough to practically create new powers unto themselves, if for a very short time. He shakes the dust off of his acrobatics. It’s no longer a grueling requirement to please his family. It’s his now. Fun and challenging, a test of dexterity and flow. He quickly renews his skills and finds new ways to wrap his powers around them. The other cadets come and watch him practice just to see what wild shit he’s up to that day.

He feels alive. He feels like himself, now more than ever.

[Image ID: Raz sprints out from under the shadow, turning to raise a middle finger at it with gleeful disdain. End ID]

[Image ID: The story shifts to a comic book sequence, also graded blue-green. Morceau Oleander has a green psychic shield raised to protect him, Milla Vodello, Adam Gette, and Norma Natividad from blue psychic needles that threaten to skewer them from above. The others use their own powers to try to fight the needles off, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. Someone talks over them. “Miserable fools.” A lanky white woman in a housecoat, plain shirt, sweats, and slippers with long billowing silver hair commands the scene from the center of some kind of pump room. Her arms are outstretched like a conductor. Her needles press buttons on control panels and hover menacingly over tied and gagged hostages. “I’ve had to devote my life to perfection to get this far,” she declares with triumphant superiority. We see her up close. She’s in her late 50s with sharp facial features and a high hairline, and she’s wearing a small earring on each ear. Her teeth gleam in a wicked smile as she shouts. “You have no idea of the sacrifice. The fortitude. I alone am qualified to correct the modern world’s failure to compete. Content weaklings like you don’t stand a chance. Just look at you.” She turns to face a shadowed corridor within a tangle of pipes behind her. “You can’t even sneak up properly.” Someone with angular shin-high boots runs down some steps deep in the corridor. That person– wearing black gloves and Sasha Nein’s old green jacket–uses orange psi power to draw water in the shape of a hand from a pocket-sized bottle. The hydro hand leaps forward toward the woman with its fingers outstretched. A coil of orange lighting snakes around it. Then, the hand freezes into an electrified claw. The hand is suddenly shattered on a horizontal needle that pops into existence. The woman sneers. “Ha!” The person uses the needle to swing forward and lunge out from the shadows feet-first. It’s Raz in his cool spy mission outfit. His boot folds the old woman in half by the stomach. She makes the dumbest surprised face, having been caught in her most confident moment. Raz looks determined and focused. Ice shards tinkle in the air around them. Raz then has her pinned on the floor. He has produced a helmet that looks like a Geodesic Psychoisolation Chamber from his jacket and plunked it on her head. “Did I break anything?” he asks, deadly serious. “My worldview is shattered,” she answers, bewildered. Raz pops into his excitable mode. “Oh! We can help with that.” He takes out a psi-portal. She turns to him and says, “Ok.” End ID]

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

I keep rewording my commentary on this idea, so here’s the jumble:

I love the idea of protagonist syndrome. Main character kiddo is the specialest one of all who overcomes impossible odds or has a big cool unique ability. You see it all over magical/superhero kid cartoons. And then, that all collapses when they get older and change or can’t measure up and have to learn how to detach from the initial self-image and explore who they want to be (Steven Universe & Future, Venture Bros, my actual life experience if you can’t guess). I know it’s a little weird to poke holes in fun kids’ media and should be done with care. But I’m super interested in how protag syndrome applies to real life post-straight-A/sports star/Good Kid TM imposter syndrome. I wanna use this kinda thing as a framework to explore ways to be kinder to and happier with ourselves.

And just look at the boi. He’s doing so good.

Special guest appearance by the Noodler’s mean aunt, the Needler.

[Image ID: The Needler–the woman described before–is depicted in an initial sketch in black and white. She looks annoyed, standing with her hands and fingers splayed out in an “evil wizard” kind of gesture. The image is a little simplified. She has no nose. End ID]

[sophieinwonderland]

At best plurality is akin to a philosophy, or way of life. No way of life is “truth” necessarily, though people tend to believe that their own way is The way. It’s an alternative explanation for natural brain phenomenon. Internal dialogue is normal; however, one can choose to decipher the “other” as separate if that so pleases them. As social beings, having internal dialogues is incredibly useful. They can help broaden one’s perspective of a situation, to see another side. It can also be helpful for brainstorming, in the creative process. And of course, it’s useful from a mental health perspective, such as managing depression or anxiety. I have “voices” in my head all the time. If I’m overly anxious about something, I might tell myself to chill in a manner that isn’t my typical tone or manner, and yes it can appear to come from “outside” me. What my brain is doing is borrowing from its environment. I could of course decide to focus on this “voice” and draw it out as its own separate entity. However, I don’t see the usefulness of that. That’s then living inside my own head, rather than being present in the here and now. I spent my whole youth living inside my head and all that did was isolate me. I find living in the here and working to forge connections with my environment and the people around me brings me a much higher quality of life. Again though, that is me and what makes sense for where I am in this current stage of my life.

It can be dangerous to spread this kind of rhetoric, that plurality is an objective reality, when you have a platform that may attract younger minds not yet fully developed. This way of thinking can create a hinderance in their development. It’s one thing to talk about it as something you experience that helps you. It’s an entirely other to encourage it in hopes of propagating it. The most current research shows, for example, that encouraging the idea of separate identities to clients actually hurts their progress.

First, before we get into the bulk of what you're saying, this blog is a fact first zone. If there is a study out there that has shown empirically that encouraging the idea of separate identities is harmful then I would like to see it and know what methods they used to come to such a conclusion.

So far, internal family systems has been shown to help people. Tulpamancy is shown to help people. And while DID specialists do tend to recommend treating them as parts of one whole person, they also paradoxically want to approach each alter as a separate individual to build up communication between the system.

Many spiritual beliefs that involve speaking to some invisible other have shown positive results as well.

So if you have research showing that people treating different identities as separate is harmful then it's up to you to show it. As of right now I have no reason to take your word for it.

With that out of the way, I really find this whole argument you're making to be pretty... basic.

Despite what you say, I don't think a majority of people actually have multiple autonomous voices in their head. Aside from, perhaps, when they're sleeping. (Whole other can of worms there.)

Having these separate agents with their own memories and senses of self is not nearly a philosophy. It is a psychological phenomenon, and one that occurs cross-culturally. Yes, some cultures will say that it is a spiritual possession, just like an earlier anon mentioned that they used to consider the people they communicate with ghosts. But if you look deeper and get past people's own personal explanations for what they experience, what you will find is a lot of commonality between these phenomena, regardless of whether somebody gives a spiritual or psychological explanation.

At the same time though, this does not seem to apply to everybody. There are singlets out there who are just one person. They may be different in different circumstances as people are. But they don't experience the type of experiences that are described by plurals and wouldn't relate to them.

To reduce plurality to just being a philosophical concept does a disservice to it. Because plurality isn't merely philosophical but has very distinct psychological characteristics and understanding how plurality works might help to solve some of the greatest mysteries about how human brains in general function.

[faeriefully]

I don’t know if I agree with homeschooling. I always found it doesn’t really expose kids to the real world and kind of teaches them to bubble wrap themselves from the rest of the world. Did you have a good experience being homeschooled and feel differently? (PS. This isn’t supposed to be an argument or a jab, just thinking about stuff!)

Well, in one sense, you are correct.

Homeschooling does not expose children to the evils of the real world before they are ready to comprehend them.

As a child, I was not exposed to porn, sex, drugs, bullying, verbal abuse from my peers, physical or sexual abuse from others, or authoritative abuse from adults.

Now, I'm not saying these things cannot/don't happen within the home. They do, and it's evil. However, there is a far lesser chance of them happening when you, the parent, are actively engaged in your child's life and education.

Instead, my childhood was one of love and support and growth. My interests were fed and developed, and my needs met both emotionally and intellectually by my parents who were both fully invested in my education and development.

My experience with homeschooling (as well as the majority of my friends') is that we were educated at a pace that was our own, many times a faster rate and higher level than our peers within public school. I normally finished all my "in the books" schooling for the day from 10am-1pm. Even so, when compared to my peers, I tested one to two "grades" higher than my age range.

My exposure to "real world" issues was monitored by my parents. I had discussions about what sex, marriage, racism, politics, government, abuse, and various other "real world" topics were at an age appropriate level that gradually advanced until I was about 17 yeas old.

As far as "real world" experiences go:

I volunteered at a hospital during my teenage years. I knew how to work and how to manage my money from the time I was fifteen. (First babysitting, then eventually retail.) I was in soccer as a kid and later did martial arts for ten years. I learned and talked politics with my family and other home schooled kids from the time I was fifteen. I had a class specifically titled "worldviews" in which I learned not only my Christian worldview, but about other religions and politics and current cultural events happening around us. I learned about puberty in a safe environment with all my questions answered and the comfort of understanding what was happening. I never had to deal with crude comments or abuse as a young girl.

I consumed media that was age appropriate and anything I encountered that I questioned or was unfamiliar with, I brought to my parents whom I trusted and would always discuss things with me in a mature manner.

I grew up with a consistent friend group that I trusted and still have to this day, though time has changed our dynamics and relationships. Currently, I'm quite content with my ability to make friends, socialize, and the number of friends I have.

My relationship with my parents was strong and held mutual trust. I was monitored as a small child, but gradually gained more independence as I got older and understood more about the world. If I had questions, I would bring them to my parents with no hesitation, embarrassment, nor fear. That relationship still remains, though now I'm a good number of years into adulthood.

Every challenge I faced growing up, I felt prepared for-- because my parents had taken the time to prepare me for it. In my education, work life, social life. If it was unfamiliar, I would bring it to them, but I rarely had to. I knew how to problem solve and think critically. I knew how to think things through and address adults and those in authority even if I was in an unfamiliar place. I could find my way around situations with little anxiety.

When it came time for college, I tested higher than average and was asked if I'd graduated in the top 5% of my class. I am now in an honors program and recently accepted into the highest ranked honors society across all majors in the country.

What real world experience does a child need that their parents cannot provide them when they actually invest in their children?

Society trains us into believing that a parent cannot provide their child with the education, development, and "experiences" they need. But what are these "experiences"?

Our media is flooded with horror stories and abuse victims of the public school system-- from burnt out teens, to abuse, to drugs and pregnancy, to anxiety attacks, to bullying, to pornography exposure.

What benefit does it give you as a parent or your child to hand them over into the hands of strangers (whom you're told to trust) for 8+ hours a day to sit in a chair and be lectured to with little to no expression or socialization with anyone outside of the classroom environment? They may sit in the same room as other peers (not allowed to move or talk), walk the same halls, eat in the same places, but they are not learning to properly engage with the world around them.

Children primarily interact with others their age during the day, and in what way is their conversations developing life skills that they need? Yes, they have friends and that is good. People need healthy friends. But a majority of the people they engage with are not their friends and they are not learning how to handle tough situations with individuals.

They are learning to judge one another, to morph and fit in, to avoid being bullied, to become the cutout that the government appointed educator approves of.

I always remind parents, schools don't just teach "abcs" and "123s". Schools form your children's entire foundation and worldview. The internet indoctrinates kids more than anything else once you let them have access to it.

Do you trust over 100 other children to have your child's well being and best interests at heart? Do you trust the government appointed official? Do you trust the internet?

Either you raise your kids; or someone else will.

You teach your child; or someone else will.

[redhairedwolfwitch]

In Sickness - Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were going to be okay.

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

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

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

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

You were COVID positive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lo siento.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a promise you could not keep.

/// translations hopefully ///

mi dulce flor - my sweet flower

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

Bebé - baby

lo siento - i'm sorry

gracias - thank you