#i have a terminal condition called ‘not being able to say no’

[thanksgiving-isnt-ur-fav-holiday]

how do i tell this man that the only man i am remotely attracted to is david john tennant

[bullet-prooflove]

Listen: Dean Archer x Reader (feat: Sean Archer)

Tagging: @kmc1989@helsinkibaby@hufflepuffgirl@mimi-8793

When Dean sees his son Sean for the first time in fifteen years, he’s dressed in a beige prison XL prison uniform and there’s a pane of glass between the two of them with fingerprints streaked across the surface.

Surely he thinks, they should be able to do better especially after COVID. They could at least wipe the damn thing down or something. His hands are shaking when he picks up the phone but he masks it by gripping the receiver so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

It’s been a couple of weeks since Sean called him from Cook County, that’s how long it’s taken him to get visitation. He hadn’t realised it was such a process. In the meantime he’s been in contact with Sean’s lawyer, an over encumbered public defender in an attempt to understand the charges against him. The woman had barely even remembered his name.

He tries to explain the detriment of this to Sean as he sits across from him but it starts a fight. All hell breaks loose between the two of them because Dean, he’s never really understood Sean, not since he hit fourteen and came home from Sea Cadets that summer a withdrawn, sullen teenager. It’s six moths later when his grades started to drop that they found the weed and the pills.

Sean ends up hanging up the phone and terminating the visit and Dean is left with this weird feeling of purgatory because he’s back where he was fifteen years ago, with a son that doesn’t want to talk to him.

“I don’t know how to get through to him.” Dean tells you later that night when you’re cooking dinner together. He’s tired, overwhelmed, exasperated. He wants to fix this, truly he does, he just doesn’t know how to. “I don’t know why there’s such a disconnect.”

“Have you tried listening to him?” You ask as you chop peppers on the cutting board for the salad. “I mean actually sitting down and hearing what he has to say.”

“Of course…” He replies with an edge of annoyance and you give him that look, the one that tells him he’s being an ass. He falls silent after that, mulling it over in his head as he cooks steak on the stove.

Dean has always parented the way his father parented him. His father was an admiral, he had a strict military upbringing, bouncing around from base to base, never sticking around long enough to make too many friends. It’s the reason he’s found it hard to make connections in the past, if you build a barrier between you and the rest of the world it’s less likely you’ll get hurt when it’s time to move on. He carried that into his first marriage and into every job he’s ever worked.

His father had always insisted on things being tidy, ordered and Dean he’s lived with that mantra his entire life. He thinks that’s why he was so hard on Sean, he’s used to a chain of command, a hierarchy. He was the parent and Sean was the kid. It should have been as simple as that but the truth is people are messy. It’s only through his therapy sessions with Daniel that he’s realising how much his father’s version of parenting affected him. He was always distant, emotionally cold. When he was present it was about earning his time, not enjoying it. He wonders if he brought that to the table with Sean, if he taught him that love was conditional, dependant on good behaviour.

“I think you’re right.” He tells you when the two of you settle into bed that night. You’re curled up against his side, your head resting through on his chest as his fingers comb through your hair. “Maybe I haven’t been listening.”

He’s lucky that Sean agrees to see him the second time, he could refuse, he could take him off the visitor’s list but he doesn’t. Dean thinks that means there’s hope for the two of them, that he’s committed to mending fences, after all it was Sean that reached out, Sean that called Dean wanting nothing more than to talk to his dad.

“My wife…” Dean as he sits down across from his son. “She says I’ve got a tendency to override everything but the sound of my own voice and she’s right. I just… if there’s anything you want to say to me after all this time I’ll try my best to listen.”

“You got remarried?” Sean says finally, his elbow resting on the ledge as he leans forward. “I thought the way things ended with you and mom would have put you off.”

Dean doesn’t look back on that time fondly, they’d tried to shield Sean away from the majority of it but there were nights when Leanne’s addiction was out of control and his patience had stretched to breaking point. He’s not proud of the way he handled things back then, his first marriage left him mistrustful and with a sense of worthlessness, that he still feels to this very day.

“It did.” Dean admits as he cups the phone under his chin. “I was alone for a long time before I met Isobel…”

He trails off then because he’s not sure if this is the kind of thing that Sean wants to hear. The life he has now is so different from the one he had before. He’s happy these days, relaxed. He understands that things aren’t so black and white, they don’t fit neatly into little boxes the way that he was taught they should.

It occurs to him that Sean doesn’t know this version of him. Dean preached a lot of tough love back then and not a whole lot of empathy, he had been taught addiction and mental health were character flaws, a sign of weakness. He knows different these days, from his own experiences, from yours. He’s not the same person he was fifteen years ago, he’s much more free with heart, more understanding, more compassionate. He hopes he can show Sean that in the future, that he’s changed, that he’s willing to rebuild this relationship.

“Does she know about me?” Sean asks him quietly, his voice a little rough. “Your wife Isobel? Did you tell her about me?”

There’s a slight pinkness in his cheeks and his gaze slips down the chipped table, his thumb running over a deep indentation. It takes Dean a second to realise what he’s seeing in his son and it feels like a knife plunging straight into his chest.

Shame.

Sean thinks that Dean’s ashamed of him. That he’s hidden his son away like he’s some horrible secret. He’s never wanted to reach out so badly before, he wishes the glass wasn’t there, that he could touch Sean, hug him but he can’t no matter how much he wants to.

“She does.” He tells his son, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile. “She wants to meet you when you’re ready.”

“We should probably wait until I’m out.” Sean says gesturing at their surroundings. “I don’t think prison’s the best place to meet my dad’s new wife. I’d prefer to put my best foot forward and all that.”

“She’s an M.E.” Dean laughs as he looks around the room. “She’s worked out of far worse surroundings than this.”

Sean smiles then and something in Dean’s chest just lifts.

“It’s not your fault you know?” Sean says suddenly, surprising Dean. “That I’m fucked up. I know you blame yourself but it was nothing you did or didn’t do. I just… I need you to know that.”

There’s an ache in Dean’s chest, it feels so visceral, like someone’s reached in and torn his heart right out of his rib cage.

“Don’t do that.” Dean tells him, his voice breaking. “Don’t let me off the hook that easy. I messed up I know I did…”

“And so did I.” Sean tells him, his eyes burning with sincerity. “I just want you to know  that I’m trying to own the shit I did, to making amends for it.”

“Sean…” Dean begins but Sean shakes his head cutting him off.

“Dad.” Sean reminds him gently. “You promised to listen.”

“I did.” Dean concedes as he adjusts the handset under his chin. “Alright son, I’m listening.”

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[cujokroggo]

Part Two of the Abbot lore

@jonahs-arks @ouro-bones you seemed to like it!

I based him, Nerva and Rockwell's relationship on this thing called the Flesh, Machine, Divine.

Nerva is the flesh, Rockwell is the Divine, and Abbot is the machine. Why, you ask, is Abbot a machine?

I wanted to give him his own form of corruption. In Aberration, his DNA allows him to safely go into the red zone (it does give him sickness but no damage, I can also draw his DNA!) As such, he stayed there and drank from the pink water which had microscopic levels of Edmundium.

See, he consumed small amounts SLOWLY. Allowing his body to adapt, since he already had it in his cells. This gave him a type of genetic mutation I call "Genus Chamelus." Which means "Changing Genes." This makes his genetic structure soft due to the casing and the molecules becoming lubricated from the element in a gel like form.

When he was impregnated with a reaper, the reapers as I mentioned before in my au, change their genes depending on the person so their immune system accepts the embryo. Reapers ALSO contain Genus Chamelus due to long term evolution in the red zone. As such, reaper kings on the surface don't have his gene which is why they don't reproduce sexually.

Since Abbot and his twins had these genetics, they in a way, TRADED genes. Making the reapers 2.8% Sapius NecroDeus, and Abbot becoming 2.8% REAPER. These genes allowed him to develop hard keratin on the surface of the skin (only in the feet, ears and hands/distal areas) which blackened over time like a reaper. This also allowed him to possess the genetics that grant immunity to radioactive decay like a reaper.

So while Rockwell did become a "God" in a sense, he technically did it the wrong way.

1. He did not possess the Genus Chamelus

2. He was not Sapius NecroDeus

3. He didn't SLOWLY introduce himself to the element.

This means his system was NOT ready to accept the Edmundium, this causing a less than appealing transformation. Abbot on the other hand wouldn't become a monstrous being but rather it gives him a way to adapt to environments when he has he DNA of another organism within an area where it can be absorbed.

Where's this all going?

In the Genesis simulation controlled by Rockwell, let's say Rockwell is actually to invested in the Genesis 2 SHIP to handle it. So he gives Abbot admin access to the simulation as he pleases. Notice how I said admin? Abbot begins to adapt the AI the same way he would. Because he spends HOURS each day in the simulation (against what Rockwell advises) he begins to turn INTO the machine. Only in the simulation of course, though. Because Abbot isn't getting the desired result, as well as his slowly decaying sanity from the conditions he's been through, Abbot is very aggressive. (Remember when I said I'd reference the Neebs Cast in Abbot's Genesis?)

As Abbot selected his five humans to experiment on, Abbot essentially made them immortal. He used his weapon he made, (the red gun), to terminate any coding he wanted gone and summoned new ones. These five people were of BASE stats, what he craved. Since his form in genesis contained long winding wires, he was referred to as the viper. Which correlates when the survivor and HLNA defeat him in place of Rockwell. His form is a giant snake. Similar to he corrupted survivor texture but all of the pieces are WHITE. This ofc was his "corruption" as he overindulges in his addiction to the machinery.

Sound familiar? It should, Abbot in genesis 1 is meant to represent Allied Mastercomputer, as the five people tell HLNA they were trapped with Abbot for CENTURIES.

In the Island, many will face a fight with the Overseer. An implant that protects the ascension into scorched earth. However, Abbot is the Desired Genus with the element composition, which is able to TRICK the systems in place into thinking he is the same thing as the Overseer Boss.

He is then given a message that says. "Access Granted, Administrative Permissions Deployed." Which means he didn't have to die, or fight to go into SE. And since his rage towards Rockwell's betrayal was still WHITE HOT, he gladly went.

But there's something missing. WHY is Abbot going insane? It can't just be the betrayal, loss and conditions he's been set in.

Y'know how I said he didn't have to fight the Overseer? And admin permissions were given? Y'know how in Bob's tales he says "It wasn't comforting to know I wasn't the original Bob."? Abbot saw his "Specimen" in a way. As he looked, he saw rows. Rows. Rows of HIM. Then it clicks. The spots of memory he loses? The faces he can't remember? He begins to lose it. Is he even real? Who is he? Does he EXIST? Then ironically the Allied Mastercomputer ideology comes in and he's losing his mind.

Because he's been isolated through SE and AB, this FESTERS. It grows. His hatred for the flesh grows.

Why is it, that Abbot chose to stay with Rockwell instead of killing him? Because my friends, at the time Rockwell sneaks Abbot back, Abbot is still heavily pregnant with the reapers. Also, Rockwell has unbelievable Rizz.

But seriously, Rockwell chooses to HIDE him in his lab while he experimented. This allowed him to see what his element addiction would do. Abbot being like all species, produced a pheromone that only a member of his species (AND desired mate) can sense. Since Rockwell's genes changed rapidly, he was able to sense this pheromone and his endocrine system produced HIS OWN. Which in a way formed a symbiotic relationship. The pheromones were therapeutic when reacting to a desired mate, and Abbot was too fucking tired and nauseated from morning sickness to ask for a better option.

Abbot gave birth around the time Rockwell uploaded himself and Abbot into the Genesis ship. So Abbot's postpartum gave him the desire to FIND a better spot to spread. And after Abbot had his and ROCKWELL'S child, Abbot had the idea to return to the specimen containment and find Nerva's genetic samples. He found a way to combine his and Rockwells DNA into the unborn child, making the baby have TWO fathers.

When Abbot HAD the baby in Fjordur where Rockwell uploaded him (and his twins ofc), Abbot began to mellow out. As he had the entire ark to himself, and Abbot, has creative mode.

(No he didn't destroy everything he fucking built giant dicks all over the ark LMAO)

[crows-home]

Do you sometimes wonder if Maria had oldest daughter síndrome ™ and what was going through her head while they were haunting down his little baby brother who she never was able to protect and knows how poorly he is treated by everyone else but her ?

hooooo boy ok. i have so many thoughts about Maria Robotnik anon. You're lucky i have free time right now to ramble.

THIS ENDED UP SO MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD SORRY LMAOOOO

Maria is somewhat of a blank slate, no? at least, she was in the beginning. Her main purpose was "tragic backstory." and there's something to be said about girls/women in media and their only roles being support for the male characters and their arcs. but those are big conversations that other people are more verbose in digging into. also i'm sleepy.

Maria, to me, has always been a blank slate. If not, she's always been the "perfect, proper, glass child." Poor Maria, so soft-spoken, so kind, but sick. She died sacrificing herself, don't you feel bad for her?

i don't think Maria has eldest daughter syndrome. It's something adjacent, though. It's a suppression of emotions, especially negative ones, that can be seen as eldest daughter syndrome. It's the expectations that have been put on her, by herself, to be kind, be courteous, be good.

Because Maria has a terminal illness, perhaps since she was born. The people in her life care about her so much, her grandfather takes her to space because it lessens her condition, there is a massive project going on to save her life!!

Maria doesn't get to be sad. She doesn't get to be angry. She can't show any of these emotions, can't scream and cry about how unfair all this is, can't speak out against people talking like they've already lost her when she's right fucking here. She can't be "difficult". Because her family has given so much to her, for her. They're so sad when they look at her, she can tell. So, I think, Maria puts this pressure on herself. To smile and be happy and positive, so as to not worry or bother anyone.

Children do that, when they perceive themselves to be a burden. It doesn't matter if they're explicitly told that or not. Maybe the adults in their life tell them "God, taking care of you is so expensive. Do you know how much better things would be if you weren't here?" Or maybe their family is loving, but at the end of the day, they see their parents struggling to pay bills, struggling to put food on the table, and wonder "Is it because of me? Am I weighing them down?"

So they become what I like to call "low-maintenance." Never taking more than is needed, because they're hyper aware of the resources they're taking. They make sure to stay happy and agreeable, because they don't want to cause trouble or bother anyone.

In my head, this is where Maria was at. She was happy, sure! No doubt, she loved her family and her grandfather and she loved Earth so much, so desperately did she want to be a part of it.

But she could never talk about the ugly bits. About her anger and frustration and even the depressing thoughts.

I think she started to with Shadow.

Here's her little brother, this little guy that was born from a test tube to be her cure, but has a soul all his own. Who she could talk to about these tough things.

"I sometimes wonder why I was created," Shadow might say.

And Maria, her soul aching, understands.

They come to their own conclusions, on the ARK, about who they are. Shadow is treated like an experiment, a pet, a thing, rarely ever with respect. By most, except for Maria. Maria looks at Shadow and sees family.

With Shadow, she can be moody. She can be snappy. Shadow can be silly and as unserious as he wants without constantly being under the proverbial magnifying glass. They are siblings, that's what they do!!! They don't have to put up this front like they do in front of other people. They don't have to be perfect when they're around each other.

"I feel guilty," Maria might say. Her voice might quiver and shake, like she's admitting something damning. "For existing, sometimes."

Shadow, absolutely floored by the admission that his sister is not always happiness and sunshine, understands.

I love headcanons and aus where Maria is allowed to be just a Weird Little Girl or really get into what she might have been into (goth, macabre, art, etc.) It gives her depth. It gives her life.

So I imagine all this, all the ways this young girl kept herself amicable and calm and pleasant, because she's so afraid of being anything but. Then I imagine all of it coming away when she's with her brother.

Then I imagine her running down the hall, grabbing his hand as the alarms blare. She is filled with love and hope for a world that she was never sure she would get to see. But by God, Shadow will see it. I imagine that there was always the possibility of death looming over her life, and the bullet just sealed it. I imagine the guilt that she feels when she pushes the button that sends him down. I imagine the fear and sadness she feels at the thought of him being alone, ultimately knowing there's nothing she can do. But hoping it was enough.

[ciaossu-imagines]

So for day 11 of the event, I used the letter ‘B’ from prompt 13 for Motojirou from Bungou Stray Dogs! I had a lot of fun writing for him, as he’s not someone I have a lot of experience writing for or even digging deep into and I hope that any fans of his will enjoy 😊

Being best friends with Kotojirou

So, let’s bring up the obvious. To truly be best friends with someone like Motojirou, you’d have to have somewhat loose morals. Motojirou is a man with little respect for humanity and human life, holding science above all else. To get along with other people, he needs to find them either interesting and intriguing or respect them and to truly connect with him, his best friend does have to at least hold some interest in science and be willing to accept and roll with the human sacrifices needed, in Motojirou’s mind, for that science.

I do think, for a friendship to really work for Motojirou, he wants a best friend who will challenge him while accepting him at the same time. He wants someone to question him, to be like ‘okay, this doesn’t make sense in my head. Either explain it to me or accept that you might be wrong this time’ because, as a scientist and someone who considers himself a lifelong learner, complacency is a fear of his and having someone to challenge him like that is absolutely necessary in his mind. However, he doesn’t want a ‘friend’ who will constantly be harping on him about how he chooses to live his life or how he chooses to conduct his experiments. He has enough voices calling him insane, unhinged, a villain, he doesn’t need any more and especially not from someone who claims to care about him.

I do headcanon pretty strongly that Motojirou is someone who is attracted, in all ways, to people who are terminally ill or even just deal with a chronic condition. He finds it intriguing and getting to spend his life, even just a part of it, with someone going through that, getting to see the progress of the illness or the impacts it has on his friend – that would really interest him and would make the person both friend and interesting subject to him philosophically, scientifically, and emotionally.

Motojirou is someone who is very intellectual in his own way. He enjoys thinking about and exploring some really deep subject matter and while he’ll be thrilled if his best friend is someone who also enjoys science, it’s not actually a necessity. What is a necessity in his best friend is that they’re someone who is also very intellectual. He wants to be able to talk about all the serious subjects and the heavy topics, both sociologically, scientifically, and philosophically and he needs a best friend who won’t be afraid to talk about, learn about, and discuss these various sensitive topics with him. Not only does he want them to talk about these subjects, but he wants them to have their own opinions and he’ll have a lot of fun, actually, if they make the topic into a sort of debate, with ideas and opinions that might challenge his own.

That’s not to say that being best friends with this man is all seriousness and science and mental stimulation, because it’s not. It will be a large part of it, but at the same time, he is only human, and he does want to just be silly or have fun with his friend at times.

Motojirou really does enjoy opera and he’ll want to get out with his friend to go watch performances whenever their schedules align. While he’ll expect silence during the performance, so that they can both get really into the opera being performed, he really has a lot of fun discussing what was good about the performance, what could have been improved, thoughts on the storyline, the songs, and all of that.

I do really see him loving science fiction stories as well, both reading them and watching media geared towards that kind of thing and I think on really chill days or nights, when there’s not a lot going on or Motojirou has exhausted most of his energy, he really does love just sitting down with his friend, some take-out, a big comfy couch, and binging a good sci-fi show together. He actually doesn’t demand silence during the show and it’s nothing for him and his best friend to keep a pretty steady stream of chatter throughout the show, both about normal topics that pop into their mind and about the show itself.

[wvbaandtheboys]

k lore time for sandy, macky and pete!! k so here's what's gonna happen. gonna give a synopsis of everyone's backstories and then gonna say how they all met. and then events that happen. well. leading up to title defense and after title defense.

oh and also while im at it, you have been warned from now abt upsetting themes so please read at your own discretion. (illness/terminal illness mention, neglect, and substance abuse to name a few.)

Mr. Sandman: Lived in a rather troubling home situation, but not for the reasons you'd think. Born Oswald Jones, he had a loving father and mother. Oswald's father was a boxer while his mother was a stay-at-home momma. However, Oswald's birth brought both joy and stress to the family. Despite seeming healthy for a while after being born, Oswald's health soon plummeted: he was born with a rare (and possibly deteriorative) respiratory condition called Dreamdust Syndrome. (As previously explained, DDS causes the afflicted lungs to rapidly produce a grainy material similar to sand. This substance is an irritant to the lungs but can sometimes be produced in such large quantities that it makes breathing difficult and can sometimes stop the person from breathing all together. It can also cause dream-like hallucinations.) Despite having stable income, and readily seeking out doctors for their little boy, it just seemed like no one could treat Oswald. And that's when things took a turn for the worst. Oswald fell seriously ill after his most severe attack where he coughed up blood and went unconscious, unable to breath. After rushing their boy to the hospital, Oswald had to be put under sedation to prevent any more coughing, and his parents received devastating news: the damage to Oswald's lungs and throat was getting serious. And with the way the disease seemed untreatable, Oswald would likely die eventually due to lung damage. Without anyone else to turn to, Oswald's dad turned to Dreamland for one last hope of helping his son, after a chat with Mr. Dream. The corporation took Oswald into their care, and managed to create a medication that suppressed the disease to a manageable level long enough for Oswald to adequately heal. And at long last, he was on the path to being able to begin his dream of becoming a boxer like his dad. Medicated and taking proper care of his body, of course. (I suppose the minor inclusion of the Arm Wrestling cast is that they work for Dreamland. So Sandy probably knows them.)

Little Mac: Sad boi with bad home life. Born as MacKenzie Reyes, he grew up in a poor family who hopped from low income housing to homelessness, and was often neglected by his own family. In light of these events, Mac turned into quite the little delinquent who'd often use aggression to vent his feelings about how he was being treated. This caused him to have some rather bad anger/temperamental issues later on down the road as he didn't have a healthy way to deal with them. On top of that, the feeling of being isolated from the people that were supposed to love him gave him fear of being abandoned. (Still sticks with him today.) It all built up to a fever pitch eventually, as Mac took a stash of supplies with him (things he had both managed to afford, and things he had stolen) and ran away from home. He hardly managed to take care of himself while on the run after a while, and by the time he reached New York City (where the WVBA is), he was pretty malnourished and exhausted. That's when he was discovered later by WVBA security near unconscious by the building's back exit. After receiving a visit from Mr. Dream himself regarding the reason he was here, Mr. Dream welcomed Mac to stay with the corporation, since he obviously had nowhere else to go. This was where Mac and Sandman got to know each other. Despite being offput by Mac's demeanor, and Mac being somewhat frightened by Sandman's intimidating personality (what he thought at the time), the two eventually became alright with the other's presence and became friends. Mac also became a boxer to begin earning income, or well, have money he could use. This is also how Mac met Doc Louis, as Doc was assigned to be Mac's coach and technically caretaker. (Doc managed the money Mac earned.)

Peter Punch: Was happy for a while but then the reality of his life hit him. Born Piera Rodriguez, he lived a life of complete luxury and comfort when he was a kid. (My Peter is transmasc and later changed his name to Pietro, so this past part will refer to his old identity.) As a kid, she traveled a lot with other relatives to see the world while her dad and mom (Peter Perfect, a boxer who was a champion of the WVBA's Branch B, and Paulina Perfect, his personal ring girl and of course doting wife) did their thing in the WVBA. However, even with all the fun times with his family, Piera struggled to feel comfortable with herself as it was hard to make friends and how she wanted to be a boxer like her father, yet always had to spend time away from him. Later on in life, Piera transitioned into being transmasculine with support from her family. Now Pietro, he found himself being much more comfortable in his own skin and feeling optimistic about following in her father's footsteps. That was until something horrid happened. Pietro and his mother watched his father get killed on national television as Nick Bruiser punched him in the chest with his own special move that was a straight shot punch to the abdomen. Perfect fell to the ground and ceased movement. And then they realized he wasn't breathing. He was rushed to the hospital but was pronounced dead on arrival. The cause was later found to be cardiac arrest caused by blunt force trauma to the chest. It was later revealed privately to his family members that Perfect was suspected to have a substance abuse problem (steroids) that caused his internal health to deteriorate, hence why they could not revive him. Paulina retired right after her husband's death, unable to go on in the ring without him, and equally trying to process how she never knew or found out that her husband needed help. Pietro finally realized why his father sent him away often to spend time with other relatives. But, after the mourning passed, he used this as even more motivation to become a boxer. To preserve his father's legacy even if he knew the truth. And to be an honest, strong boxer, and hide his pain behind a smile. (hypocritical, yes, we know.) Young Peter joined the Dreamland Program to train. And of course, that was when he met Mac and Sandman who were also training to become qualified. Peter did make them both weirded out at first with his friendly demeanor (those two rlly did not know what it meant to be an extrovert and genuinely nice lmao), eventually the three became a sort of trio of best friends. Peter felt a sort of protectiveness towards both of them, but especially Mac. Despite having a kind of extensive family before, Peter had never had a sibling and saw Mac as a little brother once they became closer. They're all bros. Basically. Sandy's the eldest, Pete's the middle child and Mac's le baby. And then when they all became boxers, MAN did things get tough.

When Mac was gearing up to fight Sandman for the first time, Sandman outwardly told him that he wasn't going to go easy on him just because they were friends. (Not in a belittling way, just honesty.) Sandy is overwhelmingly loyal to his title as he holds it as a memoir of his dad and as a thank you to Dreamland for saving his life. Thanks to all that “nearly died” stuff he went through, it left him with an issue with feeling weak. His disease was still with him, after all, the thing that nearly killed him. And whenever he went under those hallucinations, it made it all the worse. But Mac couldn’t really understand that, so he just responded in a “I knew that, I want to fight the real you, not a you that has to go easy on me” way.

Then when Mac actually took the belt from him, oooh Sandy was PISSED. Not at Mac (only like a little bit), at himself. It just sent him into a spiral of feeling imperfect, like he failed, all those issues just surfaced. And that anger motivated him. Which lowkey made Mac hesitant to talk to him, let alone approach him. Peter tried to help him during that time, having a different outlook on it and trying to reassure his friend that Sandman wasn’t angry at him.

“I need ya to understand somethin’, Mac. Sandman’s not mad at you. I dunno who he’s mad at, but it ain’t you. Sandman could never hate you or anything for taking the title. Trust me… I’m sure somewhere in his heart he’s proud of ya like I am.”

Title Defense made this all the more messy as Sandman gave Mac the BUSINESS in the ring. He was seriously giving it his all to try and get his title back which did not help Mac’s fear of Sandman being mad at him. Eventually, Mac did win the fight returning the aggression, but hoo smth scary happened. Thanks to all the hits to the torso, DDS came out once again and Sandman went down hard, coughing and wheezing overpowered by the cheering of the crowds. And well, Mac was the only one that noticed that Sandy was going unconscious cause of an attack.

After the fight, Sandman had to take a long break from boxing while being reevaluated. This made Mac feel awful for making it happen, but when Sandman was able to see him again, they hugged and talked it out.

“…I’m…. I’m really, really sorry…. I never m.. meant to…”

“Shh, Shh… It’s alright… It’s alright, Mac. I… I understand. I always knew you never meant to. And I forgive you. …I’m real proud of you.”

Then we have the title bout between Peter and Nick! Which did not end well! Cause leading up to it, Peter became withdrawn from his friends for the purpose of heavy training. (Well uh, of course he may feel some kind of way bc the guy killed his dad even if he didn’t mean it.) He was super miserable, and the fight’s aftermath just got plain ugly. Peter kept his cool during the fight even if Mac, who was retired at the time by the way (and going to school since he had the funds for it), could sense some serious seething behind his charismatic smile while watching with Doc and Sandman.

But afterwards, Peter just full on started avoiding everyone. And it got poor Doc stressed out cause both the boys did live with him! Late one night, Mac took it upon himself to go find him behind Doc’s back, going all the way to the studio on Doc’s bike. He found Peter alone in the back alleyway.

Boy did it go poorly. The title bout and all the shit he had taken from Branch B as a whole from both fans and boxers cause he’d been lying to himself just BROKE HIM. He full on threw away his title of Peter Punch and took on Canary Carnage to try and combat his feelings again. (He wanted to feel worth something. The whole thing about knowing Perfect wasn’t “perfect” and everyone was thinking the same thing for him was just fuckin’ stressful. Also just Branch B are just not v nice in general. Eh.)

Mac and Peter broke out into a vicious verbal fight where they debated about who was right for feeling what way, and it eventually nearly got physical as Peter nearly punched him while just spewing the truth of what his father did. But he stopped himself. It finally got Peter to give it up, and Mac took him home.

Peter’s still working on making the new persona something he can be proud of. He had to trash the old one for the sake of his sanity.

And well! That’s about it. A whole buncha problems they solved together. This has been my TED talk

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for pretending to have a rare terminal tropical disease?

I (M, 34) am self- employed and run a private consulting agency — in other words, I serve as unofficial adviser for the police, and for those who might require assistance in personal matters. I have a friend (M, 36) whom I occasionally call upon for assistance. We shared lodgings for several years, although two years ago he took a wife and moved elsewhere in the city; this of course led to some distance in our arrangement, as I am fairly solitary in my habits and have few occasions to call upon the happy couple. Having mentioned this, it would be a disservice to the good fellow if I did not say that I still believe he would gladly render his company and assistance in any small problems that might need clearing up.

Several weeks ago I was engaged in an investigation concerning the death of a young man, who had supposedly died as the result of an illness, but in which I suspected foul play. My inquiries led me to the eastern district of the city and I was able to trace the possible instigation of the disease to a certain Mr. S, an expert in tropical diseases, and uncle of the aforementioned young man. I determined that the best course of action would be to set a trap for this Mr. S, and the easiest method of doing so would be to adopt a pretence of having contracted the disease, through the same method that I suspected him to have poisoned his victim. Although I am by no means famous, I am not unknown to the criminal classes, and I let Mr. S know that I was on his trail. He played into my hand by anonymously sending me a poisoned box, which all but confirmed his guilt in the matter to me. I knew Mr. S’ vindictive nature and he would almost certainly come to look upon his handiwork. I could then elicit a confession and call upon the police to clear the matter up. 

To continue with the trap, I needed a helpmate, as a bedridden and ill man could not reasonably be expected to approach Mr. S on his own. For this I decided to enlist the assistance of my friend; he could inform Mr. S of my illness and so bring Mr. S within my grasp and the arms of the law. However, I could not inform my friend of this plan, as despite his positive qualities he unquestionably has no talent for dissimulation, and I could not rely on him to convey the reality of the false disease to Mr. S through his acting abilities alone. I would also have to inform my landlady of my condition, as she would be my point of contact for reaching my friend in his practice. Therefore, it was essential that I impress these two individuals with the reality of my having contracted the illness. This would not be so difficult in the case of the landlady, as it is the nature of womankind to be swayed easily by sentiment and allow this to cloud one’s judgement, and I knew that I could rely on her concern for my health to outweigh her natural discernment. However, in the case of my friend I anticipated a more elaborate deception, as he is a practicing medical doctor — and indeed I have great respect for his abilities, and have enlisted his help in some small medical matters. Fortunately, I have some experience in the fine art of malingering and of practical stage effects, and so endeavoured to recreate the symptoms of the disease as faithfully as possible. I also undertook three days of absolute fast (not so great a feat for myself, as my habits are irregular). I believe the final product was entirely convincing, and I confess to being pleased with my efforts and the effect it produced. 

I put my plan into motion by informing the good landlady of my illness, and ensured she would contact my friend first by insisting that I only be treated by him. My friend seemed very taken by my initial appearance and expressed his desire to find another doctor who could treat me; but of course I could not allow him to seek another professional as they would instantly expose my plan. I told him of my contracture of the disease, of my pitiful state, and of the absolute importance of finding a suitable expert to treat me, establishing Mr. S as the only viable candidate. I did not allow him to approach or treat me as I knew that he would see through the deception at once on account of my lack of fever — the one element of the illness I could not simulate. To ensure he was entirely convinced of the dissolution of my mental faculties, as would be expected in this disease, I proceeded to feign delirium, although on reflection I may have been somewhat too harsh in my words towards him, especially those regarding his medical abilities (I maintain that this was absolutely necessary for the deception). I kept him in my room for two hours in this way, and having finally ascertained that he was utterly taken by the urgency of the situation and moved by my condition, I allowed him to go fetch Mr. S. My friend then returned to act as an unwitting witness, concealed in my room, while I conducted the final coup de theatre. 

Ultimately, I was successful in my efforts; Mr. S was arrested, and I and my friend testified as witnesses. I do not believe I would have handled the situation differently had I the opportunity to do so, and when examining my actions I fail to see any glaring errors in my reasoning. I carried forth my plan with the complete thoroughness of the artist. However, I am beginning to grow anxious that I may have unknowingly offended my friend permanently with my admittedly inconsiderate behaviour in the pursuit of justice; it does not seem he has taken well to being deceived in such a way and he has remained distant since the affair concluded a week ago. Have I committed an unforgivable offence? I await your verdict with some apprehension. 

[troonwolf]

I found your blog going through the anti-endo tag (idk I get bored sometimes) and im sorry all this is going on. I hesitate to call myself a cult survivor because what I dealt with never felt severe enough to call it that and the “cult” word makes me flinch at times, but I do agree that the endo stuff that I’ve seen is atrocious and lines up with what you describe. I’m primarily anti-endo due to the whole “sysmed” concept and the harmful aspects of endos, before I ever found out I was a system.

When I did discover our system and they felt more comfortable explaining system stuff like that, one of our alters had came to the fore explaining their reasons for disliking them, which although we avoided endo spaces like the plague (anyone who calls a trauma survivor names like “sysmed” or god forbid, “traumascum”, is automatically horrifically awful), what we did read from accounts about people who were in endo spaces is horrific.

I don’t have much else to say tbh, just that I hope you have better days and nights ahead of you, whatever that means for you.

Thank you for putting in the effort to share this with me, anon. Especially since I know I do not come across as the most approachable person in the world when I'm stuck on frustration mode and questioning existence because someone annoyed me lol.

Your alter has such good instincts for immediately catching the red flags like that. Funnily enough back when we first got involved in all this (literally like a decade ago) although the discourse did exist in a lesser form, it hadn't become so vitriolic that people were being called "traumascum" and "sysmed". That part is honestly pretty recent. Back when I was on the endo side, we just called people "antis", which is like the generic moniker people on the internet use in general when they have discourse.

"Anti" is pretty neutral when compared to "sysmed" or "traumascum". What people don't realise is this is a purposeful manipulation tactic, so that people will associate this argument with trans people and transmeds. This in itself is literally a cult tactic and the only reason people don't want to call it what it is, is because it makes them uncomfortable. Not because it's not applicable. They think what they're doing is for good and justified reasons, but it's still toxic.

And it's not one or two or a few endos using this term. It's almost all of them. They will fight tooth and nail for the "permission" (for lack of a better word, sorry lol) to call anti-endos, who are often trans themselves and often have negative experiences with transmeds, the "system equivalent of transmed". They don't care if it's triggering or if it comes across as transphobic or ableist, what matters is it has the impact they want it to have.

The community has actively gotten worse and more extreme tbh.

The rest under the cut because it involves some details on my own trauma and I don't want people to accidentally skim and get triggered. Tw doomsday cult experiences.

When we first got involved with the endo community, we were literally fresh out of a doomsday cult. We were in it because of our mother, and it was the sort of thing that started off small and innocent seeming in early childhood, but became more extreme and dangerous as years passed.

I'm not going to get into too much detail, but eventually we were in a scenario where the cult had relocated to an isolated area in the middle of the mountains. The conditions were very bad. The things that happened there were very bad. It had already been bad but this was like, "oh someone is gonna fucking die" bad. (Someone almost did die eventually, because of the refusal to take them to the hospital. It turned into the sort of thing where it's considered a miracle they're still alive. Their sickness had become almost terminal due to neglect.)

Anyway, when we finally were able to escape, we didn't leave because we stopped believing the world was gonna end. We 100% still believed the world was gonna end. We just decided we would rather go down from the mountain, re-enter civilisation, and die there with the rest of society instead of being stuck on that compound.

We didn't tell anyone this though. Honestly we struggled for years to understand what happened to us and name it what it is. At the time, our mindset was that we were just going to live life in visible normalcy, and not mention to anyone the world was ending. We did this again not because we didn't think it was true, but because we wanted to spare everyone the stress of Knowing like we did.

It was during this period of being escaped from the cult but still not having shed our programming, that we found the soulbonding community. We had already worked out we were a system, but not really the specifics. And our prior history of being in a cult where medicine and psychiatry was rejected, and replaced with spirituality, crazy natural remedies, etc, meant some of us were very hesitant about the idea of DID or any other disorder.

There's a certain alter in here who is the most programmed out of the rest of us, and it was him who immediately became attached to the notion of soulbonding. At first he didn't really care TOO much about it, but constantly having it drilled into him that "soulbonds" (and then "endogenics", when that term was coined) were "real people from other dimensions" and that "DID alters are just symptoms", appealed to the same fantasy-based programming that had already been coded into him. Us being naive, we didn't do anything to stop him at first. It was only when we'd finally begun to detangle our cult programming and trauma, that we were also able to detangle the terrible mindset that he'd been influenced to adopt.

And as I mentioned in my other post, it really did negatively impact him and the system in many ways. After seeing what he/we went through, there's no way anyone can convince me endogenic beliefs aren't inherently damaging and cultish. Any belief that rejects medicine and tries to replace it with some woo-woo shit that has no basis in known science or known reality, is damaging and cultish.

This is what I'm trying to explain to people, but no one is reading what I actually said lol. If you are raised in certain kinds of environments, even environments that aren't as extreme as the one I outlined, you can be prone to fantastical thinking and toxic spiritual programming, which is the same kind seen in endo spaces.

Meaning that, you may have DID, but like my alter here, you are unable to unpack that, and when you come across an ideology that feels more comforting than the truth, it's easy for prior programming to sway you towards that ideology. If you have already been programmed, you can be programmed again very easily if you're not aware of your own programming and how to overcome it.

People think me calling them a cult means I'm calling them all malicious abusers, when the only people acting like that's what a cult is, are the people vaguing and attacking me. I genuinely feel like all I've done is try to raise awareness on something obvious, for the benefit of survivors of spiritual abuse inside and outside the endo community, but because of a petty little word choice like "cult", no one will even read what I said to hear where I'm coming from.

People have also tried to use the existence of cult survivors in the endo community as a way to dismiss me, But That's Literally What I'm Saying! Of course there are cult survivors in the endo community! WE were a cult survivor in the endo community! Endo beliefs appeal very strongly to certain kinds of cult programming, that's literally what I'm trying to say my mans!

And no matter how well-meaning someone is or believes themselves to be, that programming is still unhealthy. They don't understand that, because of their programming, and that programming causes harm to others due to the spread of the ideology. That person is still a victim of programming, and their programming causes them to unwittingly create more victims. That's how cults WORK.

All this nuance can indeed exist at once, and everyone would know that's what I'm saying if they actually read my posts.

[puzzlingmagic]

Chapter One: Dying Alone

Summary: Hermione's life is changed forever.

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: 18+, Talks of medical conditions, break ups, and death.

A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first Dramione story! I hope you enjoy it enough to continue reading after this first chapter!

~*~*~*~*~

June 2004

“I’m sorry Miss Granger..” The Healer said; Hermione could hear the pity in his voice, it made her chest constrict painfully. Or was that the curse? She couldn't tell anymore. “There’s nothing more we can do. I’m afraid it’s terminal.”

Terminal.

That was never good. She remembered that word from when old Mr. Harris next door got sick when she was seven. Cancer her parents had said. He was gone a few weeks later. Would she go just as quickly?

Closing her eyes she fisted her hands into the skirt of her sundress, the fabric keeping her nails from piercing the skin on her palms. Trying to keep her voice from shaking she took a deep breath and looked at the man across the desk from her. “You're sure?”

“Unfortunately,” Healer Greenwich sighed, closing her file he set his folded hands on top of it as he leaned forward a bit. “We have exhausted all treatments and nothing has shown any sort of improvement. I'm sorry.” 

Blinking the tears from her eyes she lifted her head up towards the ceiling. “How long?”

“Given the rate at which it's spreading and how your magic is depleting, I'd say three months, maybe four if you're lucky. All we can do now is set you up with a few potions to hopefully make this transition easier and when the time comes we can help you pass peacefully.”

So that was it then.

Nodding, she took a fortifying breath. Feeling her throat start to close with emotion, she weakly pushed out. “Okay… okay.” 

The room went quiet again, the only sounds were the scratching of a quill on parchment and their breathing. Unclenching her hands from her skirt she brought the trembling appendage to her chest trying to rub the pain away. It wouldn't help. It never did. 

It started a year ago. The pain in her chest. Not enough to worry her, honestly, she thought it was just anxiety or a pulled muscle from stretching weird. She spent a lot of time hunched over her desk at the ministry and when she finally allowed herself to move she could feel her joints pop and her muscles constrict in odd ways. She just brushed it off with the thought that it would go away after a few days. It didn't. 

It finally took her not being able to get a full breath in without her chest feeling like a hippogriff was crushing it that she finally caved and went to St. Mungos. The Healers couldn’t figure it out. So they asked about her medical history, her allergies, if she had been working on potions, or with any magical plants. Through painful short breaths she told them no, but did go into detail about Antonin Dolohov's flame whip and how Madam Pomfrey had cured it in fifth year. How Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her on the drawing room floor of Malfoy Manor. Her tests were showing that she was in significant pain but everything diagnostic charm they performed came back normal. No one knew what was happening. 

It wasn't until one random healer with a pair of modified Omnioculars found the issue that turned her into a medical mystery. There was a mass sitting on the bottom of her left lung the size of a snitch. It had fused with the tissue and made itself at home. Bringing with it a curse. And it was growing, spreading like roots in the ground, taking up valuable space in her lungs and pressing them against her heart. And the thing that made the curse grow? Her very own magical core. It would take her magic and use it to burrow deeper, spreading until she suffocated. Slowly. Painfully. 

She's been every week at St. Mungos since then so they can observe and make attempts at healing it. But nothing helped. No healer, potion master, or curse breaker was successful. Not even the Unspeakable they called in was able to do anything about it.  

So in no uncertain terms… She was a dead woman walking. Another victim of the Second Wizarding War and it was all thanks to Antonin Dolohov. At least they assumed it was him. He was the only one to hit her in the chest, and with a curse that could have killed her on the spot if she hadn't silenced him beforehand. It may not have gotten her then but it sure as hell was doing its best now. All those potions Madam Pomfrey made her take and somehow this small bit was missed. So it sat there feeding off her for years until it could finally take her out. 

She had to hand it to Dolohov. Wherever the hell he was, he sure knew how to get in one last fuck you to the Mudblood. An unbreakable curse sitting in her chest like a time bomb. 

“Here are your prescriptions. Just the normal ones; pain potion, calming draught, and dreamless sleep if you need it. This should be enough for a few months.” 

“Thank you.” She mumbled as she leaned forward to take the paperwork from him. The three pieces of parchment feel heavy in her hand. Her end of life care plan. Potions to make her life easier as she slowly suffocated and they finally put her out of her misery. “Can I get a copy of the new papers for my records please?”

“Of course. Just give me a moment.” They usually didn't do this but she was a special case. She wanted to have something that showed they tried. Something she could look at when she had questions or needed a moment to just stare at her own mortality. With a wave of his wand and a muttered spell, he made a copy of the new pages and handed them over to her. “Here you are. Please don't hesitate to come back if anything feels wrong or you need assistance and when you’re ready we can make you as comfortable as we can. I'm sorry we couldn't do more.” 

Nodding, she said a quiet farewell and shoved all the papers into her beaded bag. It's the one she's had since the war, the one she keeps everything in. It brings her peace knowing that everything she needs is at her fingertips. Crossing her arms around her middle she walks slowly from the Healers office and to the lifts that would take her out into the lobby and out of St. Mungos. The fresh air felt nice on her skin and in her ruined lungs. With every breath she could feel the curse taking up more and more space, she thinks she could feel the tendrils moving as it feasted on her magic, spreading like ivy. Choking her from the inside. 

Shaking her head she pulls her light cardigan closer around her and starts off down the street. That appointment didn’t take as long as she thought it was going to and now she made her way down the street towards the Leaky so she could head into Diagon Alley. She needed to grab her new batch of potions before she headed home for the night. 

It was odd watching people as she walked, her flats barely making a sound on the concrete as she passed others on the street. All these people moving about their lives while she felt like hers had come to a screeching halt. 

‘Four months if I’m lucky…’  Sighing, she continued towards the old pub. The streets around her seemed to blur as she moved through the quickly growing crowds and loud cars as Hermione lost herself in her thoughts. Once she recognized the street she was on she looked at the sign when it came into view and gave a slight smile, she remembered seeing that sign for the first time when she was eleven. The first time her and her parents had entered into the magical world to collect her school things for her first year at Hogwarts. 

She missed her parents more than anything at times like this, all she wanted to do was curl up with her mum while she played with her hair and her dad made them all tea. She had made the decision during the war that with one simple spell she would erase herself from their lives and send them off. To protect them from the evils that were trying to eradicate her and her kind. Once it was over she made the trip to Melbourne to bring them home, but she had underestimated her abilities and no matter how hard she tried there was no bringing their memories back. Leaving them to live their lives in Australia was the best solution for them. It was that or insanity according to the Australian Ministry. Now they would never know about the death of their only daughter left behind here in England. 

Pushing the old door open she gave a wave to Hannah Abbott behind the bar as she headed through the spread out tables and towards the back of the pub that would take her to Diagon. Hannah had taken over as owner and landlady of the pub after poor Tom had passed away two years ago. Closing the back entrance behind her she pulled out her wand and tapped the bricks that blocked her path waiting patiently as it scraped and shifted out of the way for her. Moving through the barrier she nodded her head to a few people who called out to her as she made her way to the northside of the alley, she could see the apothecary just up ahead and was able to slip inside before she was called again.

A bell rang above her head as she entered. 

“Just a minute!” A voice called from the back. 

“Take your time!” She called in answer as she looked around. It was the same as it always was. Ingredients for brewing sat in jars and boxes on shelves and large barrels took up much floor space to the right side of the store while pre-made ready to buy potions sat on the left. Her potions, though common, wouldn't be there. The Healers at St. Mungos made hers a little stronger to help fight the pain in her chest that normal potions couldn’t control anymore. 

“Alright, sorry ‘bout tha- oh! Miss Granger! Pleasure to see ya again!” Bonnie smiled as she wiped her hands on her apron coming to stand behind the counter at the back of the store. “How are you feelin’? Any better?”

Hermione smiled at the older woman sadly and shook her head pulling open her bag to look for the papers. “Unfortunately no. It seems to have gotten worse. Healer Greenwich says there’s nothing to be done. I have a few prescriptions for some potions though if you have the time?”

“I’m sorry to ‘ear that. Of course, of course I ‘ave the time.” She said forlornly, holding her hand out for the pieces of parchment. Taking them gently from her hands she flipped through them and nodded her head. “Quite a bit more than normal…”

Hermione decided to ignore the sad look in her eyes. She’s come to know Bonnie and her husband, Atlas, very well over the last year. She would miss them when the time came.

“I’ve been stockin’ up for ya.” Bonnie said, looking over at her with a small smile. “Let me go get these. Shouldn’t take much time.”

“Thank you Bonnie,” Hermione muttered as she watched the witch head to the back to collect her potions. She knew Bonnie was aware of what was happening… She's been running this place long enough to know what this means. 

It only took twenty minutes for Bonnie to come back out with a bag full of the little clinking vials. Placing them on the counter she gave Hermione another small sad smile as she rang her out at the register. “Fifteen galleons, love.”

“That doesn’t seem like enough..” Hermione said, pulling her coin purse from her beaded bag and started to count the gold coins. 

“You ‘ave other things to worry about right now..” She said taking the coins once Hermione had pulled out fifteen. Placing them in the drawer, she closed it with her hip, and came around the counter pulling the younger witch into a hug. 

Tears stung her eyes as she hugged her back. She didn't know how badly she needed a hug. 

“You take care of yourself darlin’.” Bonnie mumbled into her hair before pulling back and rubbing her shoulders. 

“You as well.” Hermione nodded, wiping a finger under her eyes before taking the bag of potions and placing them in her beaded one. Giving a small wave she left the shop, her heart feeling heavy. She would most likely never see them again. Taking a shuddering breath, Hermione started to walk back down the Alley back towards the pub. She loved Diagon. Taking a moment to look around at all the shops that decorated the street, some old, some new, but everything felt the same. Gringotts still stood proudly at the end of the path, the inside of the bank and roof brand new thanks to her and the boys riding a dragon out of the vaults all those years ago. 

At times she missed all the adventures she, Harry, and Ron had gone on. 

Shaking her head, Hermione continued down her path. She stopped again when the sign for Knockturn Alley caught her eye… she had heard rumors… steeling her nerves she looked around for a second before starting down the street to the part of Diagon that not many people traveled. She had to see for herself if the rumors were true. 

~*~*~*~*~

An hour later Hermione found herself sitting on the patio of a small muggle Cafe, a barely touched lemon glaze scone and a half drunk cappuccino in front of her with one additional potion in her bag. 

The rumors had been true and it took some convincing but she had one. Just as a precaution she told herself, a way to end things on her terms. Picking up her cup she took a sip of the now warm drink and watched a child skip down the street holding her mother's hand. She used to do that. Played her own invisible game of hopscotch as she held her parents hands as they walked. She smiled a little.

Ron wanted children. Hell, she wanted children. Harry and Ginny just had little James a month ago and all the other Weasley brothers and wives had their own kids running around now. Her and Ron were the only ones left. But she couldn't give him what he wanted. She had been putting it off for a year now, not wanting to put the full responsibility of parenthood on his shoulders if she died, not to mention she didn't know what this curse would do to an unborn child. She didn't have enough time left to go through a full pregnancy. In all honesty she had been hoping the Healers could do something but… she’d have to tell Ron. Tonight. She couldn't keep hiding this from him. 

Taking a second bite of her scone, her stomach twisted with unease, but she finished her coffee anyway and wrapped the rest of the pastry in a napkin for later. Her appetite had been dwindling recently, she wasn't sure if that was the curse or her new found depression but she decided not to think about it. Pulling her bag open she pulled out a few notes to place on the table to cover her bill and stacked her dishes for the waitress. Wrapping the strings of her bag around her wrist she stood up, said a quiet goodbye to the waitress coming her way, and headed home. 

It was time to face the music. The Healers told her that apparition was risky with her condition, all that twisting and pulling wasn’t good on her lungs, but she was tired of walking and just wanted to get home. Walking towards the nearest apparition point she looked around the alley before she pulled her wand from the extended pocket in her cardigan and with a twist she felt that pull at her naval and she was gone. Landing in a different alley a few houses down from hers. Hermione stumbled as she lost her footing, the world around her spinning for a moment as she dropped her wand. The pain surged, her heart beating double time, as her lungs constricted a bit, her throat tight. Wincing, she leaned against the wall behind her and coughed trying to clear the curse from her lungs that would never leave and after a few moments the pain dulled, her heart slowed, and her throat opened again leaving her to catch her breath before she was able to pick her wand back up and tuck it away again. Taking another moment to steady herself, she took a breath and moved one foot in front of the other, leaving the alley and down the street to her home.

Her parents' home really. The home she grew up in, the home she found out she was a witch in when Professor McGonagall visited with her Hogwarts letter. Standing outside the gates to the house she thought of her parents again. Her mum had planted flowers in her garden every summer and like clock work her dad would throw snowballs at them as they made snowmen before they wrapped themselves up in blankets and sat by the fire inside with hot chocolate when she was home for the holidays. Good memories, happy memories, the ones she thought about when she needed to bring out her patronus. Pushing the gate open she walked up the short walkway and opened the door letting it close behind her with a little click. Crookshanks greeted her at the door like he always did, meowing and purring as he did a little figure eight between her legs. Dropping her bag gently on the small table next to the door she smiled at her familiar. “Hello Crooks. Ron, I’m home!”

“In the living room.” 

The tone of his voice made her pause just as she bent down to pick up the half kneazle. Taking another breath she wrapped the furry creature into her arms and walked into the room giving him a small smile. “How was your day?”

Ron sat on the armchair next to the couch, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “Fine. Yours?”

‘Could have been better…’ She thought as she took a seat on the couch, Crookshanks meowed as she sat him down on the couch next to her. “Fine. Ron there's something I nee-”   

“Are we alright?” 

“I’m sorry?” Hermione asked as she looked up at him in confusion.

“Us. Are we okay?” He asked again, looking up at her from under his lashes. He looked upset, but she couldn’t tell if it was anger or sadness that was currently playing on his features. She usually had an easier time telling his moods apart.

“Of course we are. Why wouldn't we be?”

“It's just .. What's going on ‘Mione?” Ron sighed sadly, his expression was one of heartbreak. At least she was able to tell now that he was actually full on looking at her. “You're pulling away from me. You have been for months now. Did I do something?” 

“No! Merlin, Ron no. You- you didn't do anything.” Hermione said, leaning forward and shaking her head at him. “Wh-”

“Is it the idea of kids? I know Mum’s been pushing for them, we are the only ones left without them. Is that it? Do you not want any?”

“Ron… It's not that…”

“Then what?” He asked in exasperation. Blinking, he looked away from her for a moment, like he finally landed on a new thought that made him breath harshly, before quietly asking, “Are you cheating on me?”

“What?” Shaking her head Hermione looked at him in complete shock. Of all the things to accuse her of, that's what he chose? When had she ever given him that idea?!

“Just tell me the truth.”

“No Ronald! Why would you think that?!”

“What am I supposed to think? You think I don’t notice?” Ron sneered standing up from the chair to pace in front of the coffee table between them. “You’ve stopped any kind of intimacy I try to have with you for a while now. You leave work early once a week and when you come home it's well into the night and you're exhausted.”

“You honestly think I would do that to you?” She said standing up to be on equal ground with him. She hated when he would try to intimidate her with his height. Hermione felt her heart start to speed up and the pain pulsed just a bit making her take a moment to calm herself before she sighed, how could she explain to him that she was so exhausted because she was being used as a test subject at St. Mungos? “I would never do that. You know I would never do that.”

He just gave her a look that told her he wasn’t sure and she knew at that moment it would be pointless to try and convince him otherwise. If she told him now about her curse would he even believe her? Hermione knew he had a bit of a temper and when he let his mind wander he could convince himself of anything. Like when that damn locket was around his neck and he was so sure she and Harry had slept together on the Horcrux hunt. This many years later and she was still trying to get him to believe that it never happened.

Clearing his throat he shook his head biting his lip before he made up his mind. “I think we need some time away from each other.”

Hermione blinked at him. Shocked. This was not how she saw this conversation going. Softly she asked, “You’re breaking up with me?”

“It might be better for the both of us right now.” Ron said as he moved around the living room and towards the stairs that would lead him up to their shared room. “We need to clear our heads. Maybe we can try again in a few months after we’ve thought about what we really want. I’ll pack and go stay at my parents house for a while...”

But all she had left was a few months… This was all happening so fast. She felt like her world was collapsing as she listened to him walk up the stairs. After a moment she took her seat again on the couch with her face in her hands. She definitely couldn’t tell him now. He would either believe her and stay out of guilt or some perceived duty or he would think she was using it as an excuse to hide this so-called affair he had concocted in his mind and resent her for the rest of her very short life. Wiping at her eyes she leaned back on the couch, Crookshanks purring as he moved to cuddle up in her lap. He didn’t like it when his mistress was upset. Pawing at her hand, he rubbed his face on her palm when she moved it to give him absentminded pets. Today was just not her day.

~*~*~*~*~

Ron came down the stairs about an hour later two duffle bags filled with his things. She was sure he had to use a shrinking charm to get his Chudley Cannons memorabilia to fit inside at least one of them. Placing the bags down in front of the fireplace he turned to look at her where she stood in the kitchen doorway, a glass of wine in her hand and tears on her cheeks. “If you need anything you know where to find me.”

“Mhm,” She nodded as she emptied the glass in two large swallows. Licking the wine from her bottom lip she watched as he grabbed his bags, slinging them on his shoulders, and then grabbed a handful of floo powder from the mantle. They had connected it to the floo network when they took over the home. It was easier to travel that way. 

“I guess I’ll see you later then.” He said as he stepped into the fireplace. He gave her one last glance and she wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say at this point. But there was only one thing to say.

“Goodbye Ronald.” She muttered.

Nodding, he tossed the powder down and called out for the Burrow and in a whoosh of green smoke he was gone. For the first time in six years Hermione found herself completely and utterly alone. Looking down at the cat by her feet she let a tear drop from her lashes. “It’s just us now Crooks.”

With a choked sigh she wandered back into the kitchen, placed the empty glass in the sink, and grabbed the open bottle of wine from the counter taking a swig straight from the bottle. Who needed a wine glass anyway? Not bothering to wipe away her tears any longer she held up the bottle in a mock salute, “Here’s to dying alone.”

~*~*~*~*~

Chapter List - Forward

[stardustinmyhands]

5/3/24

I now have to coat the ends of my hair in coconut oil. The pool is frying my hair. My face is also dry. Lotion and coconut oil routine daily.

I’m sore today, but able to function. Meds on board of course. Doing laundry right now.

Yesterday I wrote 12 pages in my journal. I guess I had a lot to say.

I’m washing laundry right now. I kinda wanna go swimming but I don’t have the energy for a shower afterwards. That is a big deterrent for me, showering takes a lot of spoons. I work this weekend too, so I have to make sure I have energy for that.

I’m having dry mouth pretty bad lately, I think it’s my new mouthwash. It has alcohol in it. I didn’t read the ingredients, my last one didn’t and didn’t do this to my mouth. So I’m drinking a lot of water, which with my lasix makes me pee even more. It’s only 9:50 am and I’ve peed 5 times already.

I see my pcp on Wednesday and get my ivig on Thursday. I have a list already for my pcp, I need referrals, med refills, on top of what she wants to do. I hope my A1C hasn’t jumped. I will have to go back on meds more than likely. I’ve been eating carbs cause my stomach can handle them with my stomach issues. I will also ask for Zofran, well more of it my gi doctor only gave me 4mg pills, when my normal dose is 8mg.

I still have to call the new hospital I will get my IVIG at and see how the new order is going. I might as well stay at the Phoenix location till I see my immunologist next month. I like those nurses anyway. I’m nervous to go to a new clinic, I have to learn a new hospital layout, new nurses. Hopefully it’s as comfortable as the Phoenix location. All that is nerve wracking to someone who doesn’t like change

Some days I wish I could have a normal life. A full time job in the career I trained in, making $40 an hour. With a kids. Of all the things I had to give up cause of my condition being a mom is the biggest one. My OBGYN told me I would be high risk right from the start. With my autoimmune condition, my autoimmune system may attack my baby. But they would do whatever they could to keep me and the baby safe. They also told I would be an automatic c section at 37 weeks. My psychiatrist told me he wouldn’t even want me to get pregnant with my mood stabilizer in my system, cause it can cause fetal abnormalities. And I may have to consider termination, even if it’s a wanted baby. I also take methotrexate every week, which can cause abortions. Which here in Az is now illegal, except in certain cases. I tried to get pregnant, but it never happened. I did get pregnant when I was 18, and had a miscarriage. I had a dream I gave birth to a son, I took a test that morning and I was pregnant. So I knew it was a boy. His name would have been Ezra. Ultimately I guess it works for the best I never became pregnant, even though I have wishes for it since I was a little girl.

[jeneelestrange]

Man, you see where it says healthcare workers are slamming this decision? I’m a healthcare worker, I’m someone with some sort of virus-triggered condition in which I am currently in diagnosis limbo for(the current theory is LUPUS), and I’ll outright say it: FUCK THE CDC. THE CDC ENDANGERS YOU AND MAKES MY JOB WORSE.

I read World Health Organization reports sometimes, the org you SHOULD be listening to, and it’s darkly hilarious on certain topics the vibe of sheer passive aggressive, “And I wouldn’t even HAVE to write this follow-up report if CERTAIN COUNTRIES would have listened to the FIRST REPORT….” But if you look at their history and what they used to be able to accomplish, lot of our regulatory bodies have undergone corporate capture. Their interests our not ANY of ours. And anyone with two brain cells and the memory of a fourth grade science education. Look to international groups from now on that have no country’s individual industry looking to ease their country’s regulations.

But not only does it endanger you in the obvious ways you can see, it endangers you in knock-off ways you can’t see. When the pandemic hit and there was nearly no information known about it and patients were calling us to ask what to do because they trusted us, we didn’t have much extra information than they did—but I’m sure a lot of us clung on to hope that eventually!!!! Sometime soon!!!! There would be good clear guidance on what to do!!!! And then the guidance just contradicted itself and continually made no sense and clearly put everyone in danger. So really, if I as a healthcare worker wanted to take on additional training to advise a patient on what to do, where should I turn to and what should I say to them? If the head medical body of the United States gives guidance that everyone KNOWS is determined by business interests only and not actual health standards, it leaves us rudderless. Most of the time I tell patients to not stop quarantining until they test negative and to not push their body if it tells them to stop, and that’s all I have until I have ironclad proof that other advice is better.

But wow, ANYONE ELSE NOTICE THE RISE OF HEALTH CONSPIRACY BULLSHIT? You can blame that on fear of the pandemic itself, and that’s certainly part of it. But a big part of it is most definitely what is supposed to be the premier health governing body of the nation changing its mind month to month in ways that to absolutely anyone show they do not have actual science and our interests at heart. And most people understandably don’t know much about our Byzantine healthcare system—a lot of people think we’re just like….all a piece and all communicate and pay each other and are going to stick up for each other. Bruh, if you don’t go to a hospital that my doctor has privileges at, they’re not going to let me know that you DIED. And if you think YOU hate insurance companies, I think it’s genuinely strange that somewhere a healthcare worker hasn’t been diagnosed with something terminal and decided to make the world a better place by taking out some insurance company’s soulless pharmacy benefits manager. So seeing a rise in people believing wildass health beliefs that you can’t convince them out of, being pissy af, and thinking Fauci sends me personal marching orders and a kickback when I make the same as a Walmart cashier….you can’t convince me the CDC isn’t partially responsible for this! And who can completely blame them? We can talk all we want about low healthcare knowledge or whatever, and yeah that’s a piece of not falling into the rabbithole(although I have DEFINITELY known people who should KNOW BETTER), but the gravity of the largest governing healthcare body being in the pocket of big industry….I mean yeah, a certain amount of the population is going to write off healthcare altogether. And their health will get worse and that has knock-on effects on us, as I’m sure we’re aware.

So yeah. I’ll say it and I don’t care who knows it. Fuck the CDC

I have nothing but bad news for y'all

We were supposed to have until April to leave comments, but the cdc has officially ended the 5 day isolation period as of today, March 1st, 2024.

They're saying as long as it's been 24hrs and your symptoms are improving, you're good.

Nothing about covid has changed. Medical professionals are obviously slamming this decision. All this does is make it even more difficult to avoid long covid, because now workers will have to fight for sick days and time off they already barely have just to fucking heal from an organ damaging virus.

Idk what to say for this one.

[themomsandthecity]

The Very Real Sacrifice of Caring For Aging Parents in Your 20s

"I think things will be easier if my mom dies first," I found myself saying out loud to my best friend late last year, sitting on the carpeted steps of her rental house. This sentence may have come across as cold and morbid to anyone else, but I knew Tessa understood where I was coming from: Her dad and my dad both have terminal lung diseases, and neither of us have the best relationships with our moms, either. My mom in particular is generally healthy, but I worry about her living alone as someone who can be forgetful, overly trusting, isolated, and naive. Tessa and I met working at our college bookstore as cashiers. She's now a math teacher married to a great guy with a new baby boy. Tessa just turned 29. I'm a healthcare reporter who lives in Oakland, CA. I take art classes, love walking around the Bay, and have a 9-year-old cat named Clark. I'll be 28 later this year. Tessa and I both have older parents, and have bonded over how it can sometimes feel like we got robbed of fully enjoying our 20s. I don't call Tessa to gab about a new crush, or text her photos of my outfit options before a date. Instead, we talk about having to navigate federal healthcare on behalf of our parents, and arrange care for them while simultaneously trying to keep our own lives afloat. Neither of us feel like we have the same normalcy our friends do; we don't often call our parents for advice or anticipate the holiday season with excitement. Instead, our 20s have mostly felt like we're consistently waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when it does, we turn to each other for support. I am one of many millennials being affected by what's been referred to as an elder-care crisis. It's difficult to care for aging parents, especially with whom you have a strained relationship, while also navigating early adulthood. . . and financially earning less than they did at my age. The weight of credit card debt, student loans, and societal expectations can feel crushing. Hell, sometimes vet bills for just Clark can get pricey, even with pet insurance. I want to save money. I want to travel. I'd like to upgrade from a studio to a one bedroom so I don't have to fall asleep staring at my desk, since I work from home. But I also know that when my dad inevitably passes - and likely before my mom due to his condition - I'll need to be able to spring a last-minute plane ticket home and help get things in order. I recently received a master's degree from Syracuse University's Newhouse School, and throughout my final few semesters, I routinely thought to myself, "I hope my dad stays alive at least until I finish this degree." It can often feel like I'm holding my breath, hoping my parents hang on until I'm in a more established place in my life, so that I can offer the best care while also being my best self. My dad's prognosis was originally around seven years max, and he's now in his third year since being diagnosed. His health isn't currently changing much day by day, and when people ask how he's doing, I reply, "About the same." It can often feel like I'm holding my breath. I deeply desire to maintain autonomy in my own life, which still feels like it's just beginning. But I also want to make sure my parents are safe, healthy, and have all the resources they need as they age. So, rather than save for an eventual wedding or other milestone, I now have a separate savings account explicitly meant to help my parents in the event of something tragic. Just like a wedding is a major life event, so is losing a parent and maintaining care for the other parent - particularly if you're an only child, like I am. (At this point, some might ask, "Why don't you just leave the Bay Area if you're so concerned about money?" So, I should note that I have two uncles who live here, and we're very close. They weren't always part of my life, and as they also get up there in age, I want to be around them as long as possible, making… https://www.popsugar.com/family/millennial-taking-care-aging-parents-essay-49351514?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[collectingtruths]

Part 8: A Change Is Gonna Come

“You wouldn't just have to solve the crime, you'd have to solve the entire world that that crime happened in.”

― Alan Moore

[Life had a way of changing, sometimes all at once and sometimes over a long stretch of time. For her, it seemed to happen all at once. One minute she was on a clear and defined path, the next she had lost someone she cared about, someone whom she still blamed herself for his death. Then she had been forced to go on vacation which had quickly turned into the best thing that had ever happened to her. She had always loved the sun, in a platonic way. But that just wasn’t the case anymore. Apollo had come into her life when she least expected it and it wasn’t something she was going to do without anymore. Somehow, he had added God of Making Long Distance Relationships Work to the already long list of skills he possessed and she was thankful. He had become far too important to her and she hadn’t wanted to walk away from that or him and he didn’t seem to want to sever the connection either. 

Shortly after she returned to work she had a visit from someone she hadn’t been expecting. An old friend of Dom’s that worked for the FBI. And not just any old office, but a very prestigious one out of Quantico. Raymond Westcott had stopped by /her/ office and not so subtly told her he wanted her working for him. He had told her that Philadelphia had plenty of work to be done, but that it was “small fucking potatoes” compared to the work she could be doing. The offer wasn’t something she could just chuck off her desk because Westcott made it far too appealing to say no all at once and she had suspected that was the point. The potential for an increase in salary had been nice, and it was being offered as a consultant. But what had really tugged at her was that Dom had personally recommended her. He had told Westcott that she was one of the best analysts he had ever worked with. Dom had always been tactical, he was never in the behavioral aspect of things, but he had a close relationship with Westcott and had confided in him, he told him her talents were being wasted in this Killadelphia. She hadn’t accepted the offer then. She wanted to think about it and after she had gone home that night, she asked Apollo to join her. His advice had been sound after she laid it all out to him. He had of course encouraged her to do whatever she felt would be right for her and that he wasn’t tied to any place specifically so if she took it and moved, he would simply find her wherever she was. He talked about the hard work she had done to even be considered since she hadn’t even applied for it to begin with. Again, Apollo gave her good advice. She was sure he could have told her to yodel in the Alps and she would’ve yodel-Ay-Ee-Oooo’ed until her throat was sore. She had called Westcott that evening and accepted, but…she wanted to be able to earn that spot in some way. So the next morning, she turned in her resignation and had made it effective immediately. Her supervisor hadn’t even acted all that surprised and ended the conversation with the words, “I’ll never be able to replace you, Vance.” 

For three weeks, she had worked with Apollo on conditioning herself. She wasn’t out of shape, but she didn’t think she could meet the physical requirements of the Basic Field Training Course (BFTC) on a diet of chopped cheese hoagies and Auntie Anne’s pretzel nuggets. Apollo was appalled at her diet and immediately terminated her lease agreement and whisked her away to Greece where he said, “I can keep my eyes on you at all time, Thaleia. You can’t be trusted.” She thought he had been joking, but about physical fitness and keeping her body in optimal form was not something he joked about. The first thing he did was replace every bit of the processed food she consumed with whole foods. Fruits, vegetables, grains, meats, dairy, fats. Everything had been the best of the best, but had just been a start. The training he had in mind wrecked her. Every muscle in her body had been stretched to the max, everything had hurt. But then he had oh so many ways to make it feel good. She had quickly been made aware that he was God of Orgasms too. But those three weeks had passed in a blur and then he was dropping her off at Quantico with a kiss and a slap to her ass and said, “Know the right moment, knowing that all other things are secondary to this.” She had laughed and told him he could have just said go get’em, tiger. His grin could cause both her heart and her thighs to squeeze at the same time. 

The BFTC was a sixteen week long course. The curriculum includes lessons in a variety of

areas like firearms, defensive tactics, interview and interrogation, and human intelligence. And in order to graduate, she had to pass the Physical Fitness Test (PFT), scoring a minimum of twelve points with at least one point in each of the four events. If she made it through, her graduation would be in week sixteen. She had been required to reside on campus for the

entire first three weeks of training with a midnight curfew. After that, she had stayed in an off campus apartment where her tanned, blonde, Greek God visited as often as he could. By far her favorite part of the sixteen weeks had been the academic side and the operational skills she had learned. And what she had learned was that training with an actual god /had/ prepared her for the  Physical Fitness Test that had been administered multiple times throughout the sixteen weeks. Her continuous sit-ups in one minute along with her timed 300-meter sprint rivaled quite a few of the men in her course and she certainly enjoyed the pride that beamed off Apollo when she relayed that bit of praise from her instructor. 

The day of her graduation made her feel as though she had accomplished something that never thought she could. And when she shook the hand of the FBI director and received her credentials that labeled her as a federal agent, she knew Dom would have been proud. When she left the stage, she found Apollo waiting for her. He had wrapped her up in a tight up, stood to his full height and her feet had dangled. She heard a chuckle come from behind her and when she had turned, one of the agents that had been in her training shook his head. “So, that’s how you did all those damn sit-ups. I’m onto you, Vance.” She blushed and shook her head. Apollo had countered that it had been his instruction, but her determination that got her that victory. It had been one of her proudest moments. 

Blowing out a breath, she stood in the lobby and waited for Westcott to come out. “Vance. Good to see you.” She turned and smiled at him. While she opted to remain under the third option of working for his team, she still had the credentials if she needed them.] Thank you, sir. I’m a little nervous, but I can’t wait to meet your team. [He chuckled. “We’ll you’re a part of that now. Welcome to your new assignment. I’m going to have you working on the cold cases for now. They could really use the fresh eyes and I don’t want to throw you into the deep end just yet. There’s a difference between the BAU and the BAP. In the BAP, we send you out to train officers and agencies. In the BAU, we focus on apprehension and actively working cases. I know we talked about putting you in BAU-1, it’s more of the analyst side of things, but…I know in my gut you’ll be better suited for BAU-4.” He opened a door, four other sets of eyes looked in her direction and they smiled. It felt welcoming. Three men, one woman and an empty desk in the back with a few files sitting on the top. Westcott walked toward the back and tapped on the back of the chair. “Welcome to Violent Criminal Apprehension Program also known as ViCAP.” She smiled and made her way to her desk. She had just set down her bag when her eyes caught on the file that sat on the top. She opened it up and read the bulletin.

“SEEKING INFORMATION: Sasha Beekman, a fourteen-year-old female teen, was reported missing by her parents on July 14, 1994, to local law enforcement in Beaver County, Pennsylvania. Several months later, on November 4, 1994, Sarah's remains were discovered in the "Berlin Reservoir," located within an Ohio state park, Portage County, Ohio. This rural community in Ohio was located approximately two hours away from the victim's home in Pennsylvania. 

Additionally, Karen Mack, another female teen victim, went missing on August 25, 1994, and her nude body was found several days later on an oil road near the "Berlin Reservoir." Karen had been strangled to death. Both Sasha and Karen’s bodies were located approximately 1/2 mile apart in the same Ohio state park. Seventeen-year-old Karen was from Portage County, Ohio.

Information is being sought in both cases. Specifically, how Beekman from Pennsylvania ended up murdered in Ohio and information regarding the murder of Mack. Investigators believe the two cases may be related. The FBI from both Pennsylvania and Ohio have been working closely with local law enforcement from Portage County, Ohio, as well as Beaver County, Pennsylvania.

If you have any information concerning this person, please contact your local FBI office or the nearest American Embassy or Consulate. 

Field Office: Pittsburgh.” 

She chewed the inside of her cheek. Looked like she was going back to PA after all.] 

#TDATD #KillerCases

[sweetie-peaches]

(I know this says “you will not get sick from eating the meat” and is a hypothetical situation and question. but I need to be a nerd for a sec, sorryy)

Okay okay, putting in my “I’m going to med school” glasses for a second here to talk about the actual consequences in a non hypothetical situation of cannibalism!!!

While eating the cooked meat meat of a human is safe, just the same as eating cooked meat from any other animal. The brain is a very very different.

When eating a human brain there is a possibility of transmission of a disease called Kuru, this is a rare degenerative brain disorder, or a piron disease. Another well known condition is Bovine Spongiform encephalopathy or more commonly known as mad cow disease.

See, prion protein, or PrP occurs naturally in the brain. Scientists don’t actually know why it occurs, theorizing it has something to do with various illnesses including Alzheimer’s.

The Fore people, who live in the Okapa District of the eastern highlands province, Papuan New Guinea. Are the only population who have experienced a full epidemic of Kuru. That peaked in the 1950s and was the leading cause of death in females in the Fore and their neighbors.

Bodies in the Fore people were eaten out of love after they passed as a funeral rite, a full explanation would be extremely long, so I recommend doing some research and looking into it because it is very interesting

The Fore believed that bodies should be eaten by those who loved and cared for them then say worms or maggots. By doing this they were able to show their love and grief for the deceased.

Typically, the females and children would eat the flesh of the deceased. Because Fore men believed that consuming the flesh would weaken them when it came time for battles. Where the Kuru disease was transmitted

The word itself “Kuru” comes from the Fore language, meaning “to shake”. Kuru is also known as the “laughing sickness” because of the pathological bursts of laughter the sick would display.

At its peak, 2% of the deaths of the village were due to Kuru. Some villages even became completely devoid of women.

Symptoms wise Kuru is asymptomatic for 5 to 20 years after being transmitted the disease.

Once symptoms do appear, they split into three phases

Ambulant stage

• headaches

• joint pain

• shaking

• loss of balance

• deterioration of speech

• decreased muscle control

Sedentary stage

• the inability to walk without support

• loss of muscle coordination

• severe tremors

• emotional instability, including depression with outbursts of uncontrollable hysteric laughter

Terminal stage

• being unable to sit without being supported

• having virtually no muscle coordination

• inability to speak

• incontience

• difficulty swallowing

• unresponsiveness

• ulcerations with pus and necrosis

What gets me personally is that you have no clue your infected to five to twenty years, you don’t know your fate is already sealed until you start to show symptoms because oh yeah there is no cure, once the symptoms show it’s already too late.

Most people die within two months to two years after the terminal stage begins, however, not due to Kuru but instead pneumonia or infected pressure sores.

the practice of cannibalism in the Fore has been significantly reduced. Infact, the last person infected with Kuru passed away in 2005.

While it’s likely never to be a major health issue again, the outbreak proved extremely useful to many medical researchers. The relative recent concerns over Mad cow disease and Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease(another fatal brain disease that can develop from eating a bovine that has BSE) has sparked more interest and studies into Kuru!

By understanding how this disease works, researchers might be able to design treatments to prevent or at least reduce the chances of future prion diseases

Anyway to answer the question, I’d only eat the person if they didn’t know me. But also like, human meat seems squishy so idk.

*person has consented to being eaten; they’ve donated their body. they died without suffering. you can cook the meat. you will not get sick from the meat.

bonus: explain why!

[lindamilesauthor]

Cultivating Strength and Compassion as Caregivers of Dementia Patients

Transcending The Happily Ever After Myth

By, Dr. Linda Miles

Joseph Campbell wrote that "the purpose of life is to find joy amidst suffering." Successful couples manage to be happy together much of the time despite Life Challenges.

Once upon a time, over two decades ago, my husband and I wrote a book together called The New Marriage: Transcending the Happily Ever After Myth. The main theme of our book was the ability to let go of myths about marriage and embrace reality—When We read fairytales to Merritt, the granddaughter, we changed the ending. Instead of saying the couple married "and lived happily ever after" we'd say, "they began the work of making a good and happy marriage."

 As a psychotherapist, I have been inspired by the work of Stephen Levine and his work with the terminally ill. He writes about "sacred spaciousness" so that patients and caregivers can make room in their minds for the pain and the grace of the moment. I now know firsthand how heartwarming and heartbreaking it is to care for a cherished family member suffering from a chronic condition. Robert, my beloved husband of 33 years, has advanced dementia. He often doesn't recognize me. Just today, he remarked to me, "You look familiar. I have seen you around here quite often. "He may not know me, but I know him.

This is the last chapter of a long love story.

Recently, we renewed our vows—a reminder and promise of togetherness till the end. It helps me find strength by seeking and creating moments of joy amidst suffering. One night before Christmas, when I walked into the bedroom, Robert looked up and told me he had seen me at work many times. He added that he found me smart and attractive and wanted to marry me. What his mind did not remember, his heart still knew. My heart still knows.

His memory, in part, was true; we had worked together as colleagues at a mental health center decades ago. He could not remember that we were already married and had been for decades. I joyfully said yes to this second marriage proposal; we renewed our vows in the company of our family, with our pastor's son performing the ceremony. Robert could not stand, but his longtime friend supported him from his medical school days. So much grace surrounded us that night.

One night after the vow renewal celebration, Robert seemed to know who I was and became protective. My husband had been healthy and worked as a psychiatrist for most of his life. He seemed to think he was protecting me because he told me that I needed to go find someone else because he was now "ugly and dumb." It hurt me that he would feel like that about himself, and I reassured him that I would never leave. With the help of the family and Hospice, we have been able to keep him at home. I am grateful that I am healthy and can care for him. 

My adult son saw the toll that caregiving alone was taking on me and offered to move his family from Virginia to help. Having his family here has brought so many moments of joy and opportunities to practice sacred spaciousness. Robert loves having family around. Merritt, the granddaughter we read about relationships, is now pregnant with a great-grandchild named after Robert. She calls weekly from Chicago. No matter where the conversation with Robert takes them, she sounds interested and responds appropriately. Recently, he believed that we were at a campground and she went with the story and ask him all about the tents. Later, I pretended to escort out a wild turkey that he imagined was in the room with us. I later laughed with the family, because there was no way I would get near a wild turkey! I live the lesson that humor can be like a gentle rain that carries away some pent-up tension. I also have good friends who understand my situation because they are also caregivers. I can call them at any hour to vent, share my feelings, and, finally, to laugh.

Being chronically ill can be a heavy burden—too many people can attest to that. What fewer people mention is that caring for a chronically ill loved one takes its toll, too. The caretakers of those who have dementia or Alzheimer's are often referred to as the "second patient" because of the intense physical and emotional demands of this type of caretaking. It's easy to feel burned out, worn down, psychologically distressed, or even resentful when motivated by guilt, a sense of duty, social pressure, or greed. On the other hand, caregivers who combine duty with the desire to show loving-kindness and genuinely protect the person they care for are those who experience fewer negative emotions. Such caring is associated with positive feelings, positive brain chemicals, including oxytocin and dopamine, and the increased likelihood of reaching out to others for help and support. 

The National Institute of Health cites that the majority of caregivers enjoy the positive experiences that foster togetherness with their loved ones: shared activities, bonding, spiritual and personal growth, increased faith, and feelings of accomplishment and mastery. When duty and desire are aligned, there is increased fulfillment and reduced psychological distress. Caretakers of those with chronic conditions—just like chronic patients themselves—can individually become better or bitter based on their capacity for loving kindness toward themselves and others.

A happy and sustainable relationship bypasses fairytale notions about marriage and happens when two people deal together with the vicissitudes of life. Although it takes work, resilience, faith, compassion, and the conscious choice to confront—and not run from—life's challenges.

To overcome these challenges and find purpose in life, it is important to celebrate life together. I find many moments of light as a caregiver for my husband. And its life-affirming, hope-igniting, and heart-warming to pursue and celebrate love as this lasting light. It is easy to give and receive love when the going is easy, the sun is shining, our cares are few, and the romance is fresh. It is harder— fulfilling—to share love when the road is littered with challenges, the day has darkened, and time or trouble has made us (in the words of Yeats) feel old and grey and full of sleep. But that is where we find true love, the love that is consciously cultivated brings opportunities for transformation of the mind and spirit. As I write this, my husband peacefully sleeps, and the door is open to our wooded backyard on a beautiful day. I take time to mindfully experience the miracles around us and feel gratitude that the love of my life is still beside me.

Dr. Linda Miles

[surrealinkrpstories]

FuckinLucid and FuckinPredator

Aleva ~ @FuckinLucid:

[The warm air wraps around me like a blanket as I step out of the air-conditioned reception of the motel I was staying in. My damp tresses will easily dry in this heat, but it’s likely that the humidity will make it look wild. I grab a hair tie from my pocket. The bright sun causing my eyes to squint. Shame I don’t have sunglasses. I make a mental note to acquire some soon. My fingers brush the nasty graze on my temple as I collect my hair up and thread it through the elasticated bangle. I want coffee. I need to stay awake. At least until I can find somewhere safe to rest. Lack of sleep, my hangover and the head knock make my steps awkward and unbalanced. I feel sickish. I’m parched, my throat is dry and I’m practically salivating for coffee. I don’t quite recall the layout of this place, so I decide to head to the coffee place near the bus terminal. A collection of stands and shops for people entering the state of Texas. It’s not too far from where I was staying. It doesn’t take very long at all, even in my shitty condition to walk the couple of blocks. I am still thinking about the night before, the fight and the tattoo store, distracted as a bus pulls up in the terminal I’m walking past.]

Paige ~ @FuckinPredator:

*I have to get me another ride. I really have to get me another ride. Because I have to sit on one more retched piss infused capsule with morons who like to leave their DNA on the floor like a greeting card I may just blow someone’s arm off. I forgot how sweltering it can be in the big state. Where cowboys and all- american citizens come to line dance and ride the bulls. I wish I could say this was a leisure trip but its not. This is so I can fill in some missing pieces. Missing pieces my superior says they can not fill in. I call bullshit but I won’t approach them yet. Not until.I get everything. I breeze down the aisle with Lucy strapped to my back concealed in a guitar case. A fellow passenger grins as I near the steps his hand twitching. I look dead in his eyes and pour as much threat into my voice as I speak.* If you want to keep that hand I suggest you keep it off my ass. Good boy. *Descending the stairs, I take a look around to contemplate where to head first. Maybe a drink. Its never too early for one of those. I head South into the sun trying to shade my eyes with a hand*

Aleva ~ @FuckinLucid:

[I sway as I walk. The sun beats down on my skin and my head starts to pound. I’m pretty certain I had a bottle of water in my bag. I pull my large rucksack from my aching back and begin to rummage through the messy contents, picking up random items and holding them in my hands while I try to find something to drink. I curse not being more organised and vow that as soon as I get chance to sit, to sort out my shit. As I continue to search, I don’t look at where I’m walking and crash into the front of @FuckinPredator, a blonde woman. I’m momentarily distracted by the ink on her skin, I stumble and drop my bag, trying to catch myself but dragging @FuckinPredator to the pavement with me.] Oh shit… [I mumble]

Paige ~ @FuckinPredator:

*The next item on your list Paige is a pair of sunglasses. This sun is killer on my eyes. I continue my path down the sidewalk just as a pretty little thing comes ploughing me down to the concrete. Usually I would go ape shit but @FuckinLucid looked a bit beat up. I begin to to stand before offering @FuckinLucid a hand in getting up* Hey. Its cool. Do you need any help?

Aleva ~ @FuckinLucid:

[I sigh looking from the pair of bright, grey intense eyes belonging to @FuckinPredator to my possessions littering the sidewalk. Twice in the space of twenty-four hours I seem to have connected with the floor. I nod at @FuckinPredator, taking her hand and standing.] I’ve been so clumsy these past few days. [I try to explain to @FuckinPredator whilst leaning down to grab my iPod.]

Paige ~ @FuckinPredator:

*My eyes seem to not be able to control its direction from @FuckinLucid face to the beautiful ink etched into her soft skin. I was itching to get more ink. I’m sure i could find a spot. I listen to @FuckinLucid talk about her misfortunes as I help her gather her things* Sounds like you are having some bad luck. You know what they say, once you hit rock bottom the only place to go is up. *I give @FuckinLucida warm smile noticing the imperfection on her head. Damn @FuckinLucidmentioned clumsy but that looks like she fell into a tire iron. I pick up a bottle of what looks like painkillers and hands them to @FuckinLucid as she stands. Such a small woman she is. “Cute” I say to myself but something in @FuckinLucid vivid brown eyes tells me she’s definitely not innocent* So uh, do you know any good bars around here?

Aleva ~ @FuckinLucid:

[My eyes widen at @FuckinPredator’s question.] Bars? [As I try to think, a wave of dizziness overtakes me and I know I need to move soon. I forget the water and look around us to try to get some sense of direction. I point down one of the roads behind @FuckinPredator] Actually, a friend of mine said there’s a cool place that way. In the warehouse district… [A flash of the fight from the night before reminds me of what else is in that direction.] It’s near a run-down ink store. [The mention of tattoos has my eyes roaming over @FuckinPredator again.] Nice tatts.

Paige ~ @FuckinPredator:

*I look down @FuckinLucid and grin as I pull down my shirt to show her my chest* I’m an impulse buyer. I see something I get it. The same goes for you. You have some interesting ink. *I look behind me then back at @FuckinLucid* Care to join me? You look in need of a stiff one.

Aleva ~ @FuckinLucid: 

[I laugh and wave my hand dismissively at @FuckinPredator.] You go ahead. I’m hungover. [I shove the last of my shit in my bag.] I need caffeine to wake me up… [And soon. I nod and offer my free hand to @FuckinPredator.] Aleva. Sorry once again for bumping into you.

Paige ~ @FuckinPredator:

*I take @FuckinLucid hand and give it a firm shake. My senses go off something causes my body to hum. Could it be her? Nah.* Paige. It was a pleasure getting mowed down by you. *I give @FuckinLucid a smirk and re-adjusts Lucy on my back* Well if we ever bump into each other again, drinks will be on me. Oh and not literally. *I nod at @FuckinLucid and head in the direction she mentioned. Getting wasted was in order*

Aleva ~ @FuckinLucid:

[I chuckle nervously. @FuckinPredator is giving me a strange look… but it could just be my imagination. I shake my head.] Sounds like a plan. I’ll catch you in there sometime. [I nod again and wave before turning away and heading towards the coffee-shop.]