#no i'm not getting medical care for this yet

[littlegreenteacup]

I'm Gonna Marry You One Day

Summary: At the end of a very long week (Y/N) is tasked with caring for a less than sober Eric. As the night wares on Eric's usual tough guy exterior melts away leaving the Eric she remembers from childhood.

Word Count: 3,881

Warnings: Drunk Eric, Someone slipped him something and its making him act a bit different than usual, passing references to working as an ER doctor - of sorts, dubious consent - i don't know how much consent can be given in this situation, It's not marked NSFW for anything smutty just other things.

A/N: I'm so bad at summaries. The book the reader is listening to is from Essex Dogs by Dan Jones - I've never read it but I was listening to a history podcast from the same author during work and it made more sense to have her listening to a book instead of a podcast. I also had a really specific idea of the things in the reader's apartment, or at last the things that were described, and I have no idea how to include descriptions of those items without over explaining, so if I have time I might come up with some kind of drawing or something and post it somewhere. I don't know yet.

A/N 2: Yeah, no. I've already forgot what kind of bullshit i was talking about, but this is what I get for posting something to tumblr months after i posted it to Ao3, which is where that first note is from.

It had started right after dinner had ended in the Pit. The customary Friday evening crowd of Dauntless, young and old, seeking alcohol and company for the evening streaming into the cavernous room, loud conversations and cheers and greetings called from across the room echoing off the ceiling. (Y/N), never one for the noise and chaos of Dauntless parties, had opted to stay in her apartment, heat up a cup of leftover soup and read a book.

It had been a long week compounded by an even longer day, Eric and Four were never easy on the initiates but this year’s bunch were particularly whiny, and she had paid the price for it. Every few hours Eric or Four or one of the few initiates still standing after the latest round of fights had showed up at the door to her office, the arm of whatever poor bastard had been the latest to receive a beating slung over their shoulder. She would direct them to lay their victim on an open cot and go about the unfortunately familiar process of patching up her newest patient.

All week it had been bad - whoever thought allowing the untrained and idiotic young adults free reign in the evenings to drink, party and be absolute idiots and then turn around and expect them to be able shoot straight during target practice the next morning was not her favorite person at the moment - and Friday morning had been the cherry on top. She’d woken up three hours earlier than usual to an urgent message from one of the night nurses about an infirmary full of patients thanks to a drinking game gone very wrong and an accident involving a train car that disconnected from the rest of the train leaving anyone onboard to jump – weather it was an ideal situation or not. Normally the latter group would have been sent straight to the more well equipped city hospital, but Dauntless had been the closest medical facility, and so doctors from the hospital had instead been dispatched to help with the sudden influx of patients making the infirmary even more crowded than it would have otherwise been, and giving (Y/N) a migraine from dealing with some of her former faction-mates who had also gone into medicine – Leaonard was still and asshole and he probably always would be, but it was as sorry state of affairs if his snide remarks and cruel jeers offered some form of comfort in that they were predictable – all while trying, and occasionally failing, to keep her patients from being in too much pain from their injuries. And all of this wasn’t including the stomach bug that had been going around and had laid out several senior medical staff, leaving (Y/N) overworked, and the infirmary understaffed, all week.

Later on in the morning, once the initiates had started their day, Eric had been in a particularly pissy mood and had had them all running six miles around the compound. When one of the smaller girls had tripped over some loose gravel and scraped her knees up badly enough to need stitches, and in the process caused some of the other initiates to trip over her, he dragged them all in to see (Y/N), and berated the poor girl who had started the pile up for her clumsiness until (Y/N) had had enough and told Eric to either grab a pair of tweezers and help take the gravel out of the girl’s knees or to get out. Eric had shot her a dark look but left anyway, muttering under his breath the entire way back to wherever he had come from.

The rest of the day had followed similarly, one disaster after another, one accident leaving her infirmary more packed than before until early evening when the ambulances had arrived to take the patients in need of more intensive care or who needed to be watched for the night to the city hospital, and anyone else was sent home bandaged and bruised with prescriptions to fill at the pharmacy down the hall.

(Y/N) had spent another hour or so catching up on the paperwork she had neglected in favor of her patients, and then left for the evening, leaving her infirmary in the care of the night staff until the next shift change in the morning, when the weekend staff would take over. Having missed dinner in the Pit, she had elected to go straight home, where she could take a hot shower, enjoy a glass or two of wine some leftover soup and read her book. As an Erudite transfer (Y/N) had never quite managed to rid herself of her love of books and reading, nor did she particularly care to, and so to her spending a Friday evening at home making some headway on the novel she had started the week before was a far better proposition than jockeying for space at the bar among drunk faction-mates who were already too far gone to understand what a healthy distance might be, regardless of how early in the evening it might have been.

That was how it had started. And with the week she’d had (Y/N) wasn’t entirely sure why she was surprised when Four showed up at her door with an incredibly drunk, and possibly high, Eric with him.

“What the hell happened to him?” (Y/N) asked, as Four half stepped half stumbled through the door, the other man weighing him down, and made his way to the living room where he deposited Eric on the sofa and stood up straight before turning to the woman in front of him, with an almost amused smirk on his face.

“He got drunk in the Pit, and I think someone slipped him something too” Four said scratching his head.

With a sigh, (Y/N) grabbed a green cream and pink striped afghan blanket off the back of her sofa and draped over Eric’s shoulders as he sat, grinning like an idiot, staring at the overcrowded bookshelf against her living room wall.

“I don’t know what though.” Four turned back to the front door, “you gonna be okay with him?”

(Y/N) raised a brow at his question, “Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked the older man in front of her.

“I don’t know,” Four responded, “it’s Eric,” he continued, “Tris said you be the best bet for someone who could take care of him while he was like this, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“Uh huh,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes “and if I said ‘no’ what would you have done?”

Four didn’t say anything. It was a rhetorical question and they both already know the answer.

“Tell Tris I said ‘hi’, will you?” (Y/N) snickered at the blush that flushed Four’s cheeks at the mere mention of his girlfriend. Tris’s reaction would have been the same, their good old fashioned Abnegation upbringing rearing its head, and (Y/N) had never missed a chance to tease Tris about her crush on Four during Initiation, and that teasing extended to Four as well once both girls had passed and been welcomed into Dauntless, their social circles overlapping fairly extensively once (Y/N) had taken over management of the infirmary, and Tris had started dating their former instructor. But that overlap had also extended to Eric. He and Four weren’t exactly what anyone could call friends, but they did end up in the same place at the same time more often than not, and that resulted in (Y/N) and Eric spending a fair bit of time together, and before she knew it, (Y/N) found herself falling love with him.

Her obvious feelings for the man had led to more than a few teasing comments from Four, Tris, and especially from Christina whose Candor tendencies only seemed to become more apparent once she was accepted.

Four nodded his goodbye to (Y/N), and headed out the door, closing it softly in his wake, as (Y/N) went back to the kitchen. If she was taking care of an inebriated Eric she couldn’t have that glass of wine she been looking forward to all day, instead she filled the kettle she kept on her stove with water from the sink, lit the largest burner on her stove and placed the kettle over it. Taking down two oversized mugs from the cabinet, and a box of teabags from its place by her fridge, (Y/N) set the items next to the stove, ready and waiting for the water to boil.

Turning, she glanced into the living room to check and see what Eric was doing, and she almost let out a giggle at the sight in front of her. Big mean Eric, whose bark was just as bad as his bite most of the time, was laying on her sofa, his long legs sticking out over the arm on one side, his head resting on the other. For a second, she thought he was sleeping, and then she heard him murmuring to himself and watched in mild amusement as the man she’d harbored a crush on for the last few years reached an arm up and traced the shapes of the constellations she’d painted on her ceiling through the air. As (Y/N) stepped further into the room, she could see that his eyes were large and he had a soft goofy smile on his face.

The whistle of the kettle called her back to the kitchen, and as she turned off the stove and pored the water into the waiting mugs, she was reminded that it was the rare appearance of a soft vulnerable Eric - the one she had known in her childhood when he’d been the one to find her crying in a windowsill and get her book of fairytales back from some older kids for her - that was the reason she’d always liked the man, even when he had been harder on her during initiation than anyone else. This was the version of Eric that made her laugh when she was upset, who made her hear beat faster in her chest when he shot her a sly smirk, the version who would show up unannounced at the door to the infirmary just as her shift ended and insist on walking her home again. The Eric that would leave her at her door, and wish her a good night, and each time there was a slight hesitation before he turned and left, as if he had something else, he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. This was the Eric she had fallen in love with.

Shaking her head, (Y/N) dismissed the memories, fixed the two mugs of tea with milk and sugar and placed a pot on the stove to reheat the soup she’d made the night before. Turning the burner at the back of the stove down to simmer, she took a sip of her tea, savoring the moment, and cradling the warm cup in her hands. Gingerly setting the mug down on the counter, (Y/N) turned to the speaker she kept on her counter and turned it before pressing resume on the audiobook she had begun earlier in the day.

…'Christ's bones, wake up!' 'Loveday' FitzTalbot jerked his head up. Father had dug him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. Despite the cold saltwater spray that whipped his face, the rocking of the landing craft had lulled him into a moment of sleep. He had dreamed he was at home. But now his eyes were open again, he saw that he was not. They were still here. Out at sea. As far from home as they had ever been. Getting further from it every second…

The warm timber of the narrator’s accented voice echoed throughout the tiny apartment, as she placed Eric’s mug of tea on the table in front of the sofa. Returning to the kitchen, and leaning against the counter, he own mug once again in hand, it wasn’t long before (Y/N) was lost in the story.

…waved airily at him and told him there would be plenty enough to make good sport. He said he had this directly from the Marshal of the Army, Lord Warwick, who had it from King Edward himself. Noble men. Knightly men. Men who knew best. If I had wanted good sport, thought Loveday, I would have stayed home in Essex, playing dice in the inn near Colchester and paying a penny to lay my head of a night between the thighs of Gilda, the alewife's girl. But he had held his peace with Sir Robert. The man was a fool, but he was the fool who had recruited them for this campaign. Who would pay their wages for the next forty days. The Dogs hired their sword- and bow-arms…

Eric, still half dazed and laying on the sofa, turned his head so he could see (Y/N) in the Kitchen, the sight if her, so engrossed in the story playing through the speaker, had warmth blossoming in his chest. Stumbling to his feet, Eric was dimly aware of the dull thud sound his shin made as it hit the edge of the coffee table, the mug of tea (Y/N) had placed there for him almost tipping over in the process.

Stumbling over his socked-feet – when had his boots been taken off? – and across the soft blue and red rug in the living room and into the kitchen, Eric couldn’t help but grin at the sight in front of him.

(Y/N), once again cradling her mug of tea, had a soft amused smile spreading across her face, as she watched Eric clumsily make his way into the kitchen. The fairy-lights under the cabinets casting a warm glow across the pair of them.

As the chapter of the audiobook (Y/N) had been listening to came to a close, she switched the speaker to music, the lyrics and instruments blending into one as Eric’s attention focused on the woman standing in front of him, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Her hair was tied up in a messy braid, strands of hair falling out of place and casting shadows across her cheeks, the t-shirt she wore was several sizes too large with the logo of some band he knew she liked emblazoned across the front – he wondered if she would be the type to steal his shirts if given the chance – (Y/N) wore a large maroon knit cardigan over the top of her shirt. It was obvious, even in his less than sober state of mind, that (Y/N) had been ready for a peaceful night in.

Hearing the music, almost as if for the first time, Eric reached forward with both hands outstretched as if in invitation, and as soon as (Y/N) had set her, now empty, mug down, he grasped her hands and pulled her into his chest, spinning them both around the tiny kitchen with surprising grace for how out of it he had been when he’d arrived only an hour or two before.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but let out a breathless dizzy laugh as Eric spun her around and around in time with the music that poured from the speaker. As the song ended, Eric pulled her into his chest, burying his nose in her hair, his arms wrapped securely around her. She’d never felt so safe. The scent of his cologne – smokey and woodsy with a hint of some kind of citrusy note – mixed with the warm familiar smell of him and the acrid tinge of gun powder, metal, and boot polish.

Eric wrapped his arms tighter around (Y/N), inhaling deep breaths of her shampoo and perfume. He was so calm. Everything felt right in the world with her in his arms – there was no awful, bloody, violent past dragging him down, no worries about what might have happened had things not gone the way they had, no concerns about what the idiots he was training were doing or how they might behave the next morning, none of that. Everything was perfect and calm. Peaceful. Still. Everything was exactly as it should be in that moment.

Without thinking about it, Eric pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and murmured six little words that he never would have had the courage to say at any other time: “‘m gonna marry you one day.”

(Y/N) froze. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought Eric Coulter of all people would say that to her. She had never thought he would, in any situation, return her affections. And she had most defiantly never thought that Eric would be the one to say something first.

But he was drunk, possibly still high on whatever drug he had been given earlier in the evening, and not in any state to be having this conversation. (Y/N) pulled herself out of his grasp as best she could, a sad tired smile having replaced the bright happy one she’d had on only moments before, and firmly guided Eric back the sofa in the living room. She guided him to lay down and covered him with the same warm wool afghan she had wrapped over his shoulders earlier that evening.

Before she could pull away entirely, Eric wrapped his arms around her waist again, and tugged, gently, pulling (Y/N) onto the couch and against his chest before falling into a deep sleep, thoroughly exhausted from the long week and feeling very warm and sleepy in this cozy apartment with too many fairly lights and books stacked everywhere, with stars painted on the ceiling and dragons napping on tea mugs; the warm milky smell of cinnamon and tea permeating the entire space, and the woman he’d been in love with for years curled up against him.

Knowing there was no point in trying to get up and go to bed once she heard Eric’s first snore, (Y/N), for her part, curled further into the comfort of Eric’s warm embrace and the comforting rhythm of his breathing, tugged part of the large blanket over herself, and surrendered to the siren call of sleep. Eric’s tea and the soup they’d never bothered to eat both forgotten where they lay.

As the sun shone through the large arched window of her living room, it’s light diffused by the sheer curtains she long ago embroidered with golden stars, (Y/N) woke to the feeling of gentle circles being traced across her back. Remembering that she was still curled up with Eric on the sofa, she hazarded a glance up, he eyes meeting the steely blue-gray gaze of the man whose arms were wrapped around her. Eric looked as exhausted as he always did, but something in his eyes was more relaxed and at peace then she had ever seen him.

Slowly, and rather reluctantly, extricating herself from his arms, (Y/N) stood up from her spot on the sofa, already missing the warmth from being pressed against Eric’s chest. Pacing softly into the kitchen, she opened the cabinet in the corner, pulled down the basket of medication and grasped the bottle of ibuprofen and taking out two of the flat white pills. Gently placing them on the counter, she turned to get a glass out of the other cabinet. Reaching up, the only clean water glass was only slightly out of reach.

Before she could get the stepstool out of the pantry, Eric’s warm chest pressed against her back, his arm reaching up to grasp the glass and take it down for her. Taking it from his grasp, (Y/N) placed it on the counter and filled it with water from the pitcher in the fridge. Pressing both the glass of water and the pills into Eric’s hand, (Y/N) hoisted herself onto the counter as he took the offered medication and placed the glass in the sink.

“I meant what I said,” Eric’s voice still rough from sleep, (Y/N)’s eyes went wide as she looked up at him, “I’m going to marry you one day,” Eric tried again, “I promised I would the day we met.”

(Y/N) couldn’t keep the grin off her lips at his words. The day they met, it seemed like lifetimes ago and at the same time like it could have happened only yesterday.

“The day we met?” she questions, Eric flushes slightly. They were only kids then “Do you mean the day you got my book back for me?”

Eric simply wraps his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, buries his nose in her hair and inhales, “Yeah,” he responds, “the last time I ever did anything good in my life,” he pauses, inhales deeply, and continues, “and don’t say it isn’t true – I’ve done more than my fair share of things that should never have been allowed to happen,”

“Eric,” (Y/N) says softly, resting a gentle hand against his cheek, “what you did…” she trails off.

“What I did,” Eric continues, this time keeping eye contact, “I could have known was wrong so much sooner if I had wanted to,” his chest hitches with a barely there sob, “I should have known, and I chose not to.”

(Y/N), still sitting atop the kitchen counter, pulls the taller man standing in front of her into a hug, “I’m not asking you right now,” Eric continues, “but one day, when I’m not a complete mess, and I have a ring for you, I’m going to ask you to marry me,” here he cuts off, a look of hope and fear in his eyes, that takes (Y/N)’s breath away, “and then it’s up to you.”

“What are you saying?” she asks, confusion coloring her clear voice, “are you…what” she can’t quite form the thoughts in her head into a complete sentence. There isn’t a way to form those thoughts into any sentence at all – this situation is too strange, too bizarre, too something and too nothing to be able to fully comprehend what it is Eric is saying.

Eric takes a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh and a desperate pleading bid for enough strength to get through this moment.

 “I haven’t really asked you anything,” tears are beginning to well at his lower lash line, and (Y/N) is struck nearly dumb by the simple fact that Eric fucking Coulter is here, in her kitchen, confessing that he’s apparently been in love with her for years and that he wants to marry her.

“First things first,” (Y/N) interjects, a brief look of relief flashing in Eric’s eyes, there and gone in a second, “why don’t we go out, and see how this goes, and decide from there.”

There’s a finality in those words neither care to analyze. They have been together without being together for a long time. In another life, they probably would have already been married, or maybe not. Eric might have decided a long time ago that the only woman he would marry was (Y/N), but it’s only the events of the last few years that have brought back the Eric that (Y/N) would entertain the idea of marrying. The one she knew years ago. The one who was her quite protector in school. The one who pushed her to do, to be, her best in initiation. The one she’d been in love with for years.

[eorzeanpages]

Something Personal About Me That Still Somehow Ends Up Being FFXIV Related Because Of Course

So I have osteoarthritis in my neck which presents as moderate-severe spinal stenosis at c4-6 on the left side.

For those who want the tl;dr that's not medical terms, my vertebrae are crushing the nerves coming out of my spinal cord to the left, midway up my neck or so.

This presents in a lot of problems, the most relevant bit to this story is that if my nerves get extra pinched by me holding my neck incorrectly, I get intense dizziness, nausea, extreme sleepiness, and I enter this weird psychosis state where I can't move but hallucinate vividly.

And I ended up with a sleep paralysis demon, which yes is a real thing if you have sleep or psychotic disorders. He was like Gollum if Gollum was super stretched out and had wings. I started calling him Hat Man to the group chat, after the benadryl Hat Man post.

Then my sister said, "lmao he should be Amon if he's the hat man, you'd never be afraid of him"

You can, with effort and meditation, change the appearance of your demon.

...

Anyway sometimes when the pain in my neck makes me want to black out, I start vividly hallucinate Amon of Syrcus Tower, stupid hat and all. He stands by my bed staring at me and I laugh at him.

The End

[crimeronan]

I TESTED POSITIVE FOR LUPUS ANTIBODIES

[darkwood-sleddog]

life with primitive dogs is me everyday asking my pack: will you be governable today? and they go "only if you provide us with payment good enough to exchange our labor for and our standards for that labor payment will change daily. and if we don't want to do it that day? Even for payment? You are out of luck."

[jadedbirch]

Gather around, my young friends and fellow dinosaurs, let me tell you about some BULLSHIT no one ever tells you about. I'm talking about menopause and perimenopause. Now, menopause has a very stringent medical definition. You have to not have had a period for exactly 12 months and a day to be considered in menopause. All the bullshit before that day once you start going through The Change is considered perimenopause. Here's some bullshit you might experience that people actually talk about when you're in perimenopause:

- shorter time between periods

- irregular periods

- hot flashes and/or cold flashes

- fucked up sleep

- OMG NIGHT SWEATS

- Vagina as dry as the Sahara desert

- lighter periods and/or endless bleeding like it's The Flood but it's in your pants

- lack of interest in Adult Fun Times

This time of joy can last anywhere from a couple of years to a god damn decade and there's no medical way right now to predict it.

Here's some of the REAL bullshit they don't tell you about but your dinosaur aunt is here to let you know:

- You can start perimenopause in your 30s, don't listen to idiot doctors who tell you you're "too young" because they don't know your body like you do.

- Perimenopause will make you HELLA DUMB. Seriously, I'm talking Bigly broken brain. Brain fog? Check. Short term memory? Wave goodbye to it. Ability to make words form out of thoughts? Yeah, good luck to you.

- Perimenopause can cause horrible fatigue because in addition to losing estrogen, you're also losing testosterone. Oh and that also leads to muscle wasting, cool cool.

- Things might suddenly hurt more because estrogen is known to be neuroprotective.

- If you're super lucky like I am, and like to collect rare illnesses, you might even get Burning Mouth Syndrome 💀

- And meanwhile, while you're going through this bullshit, you'll be getting gaslit by doctors who are operating based on 30 year old debunked data about how HRT causes breast cancer (not really) and that they shouldn't put you on it until you're in actual menopause. (Data shows starting HRT early can potentially prevent Alzheimer's in later years.)

- There are entire online clinics right now (I use Midi Health) focused on providing care for peri and menopausal patients and they will happily prescribe you HRT even if your regular PCP or OBGYN do not (if you meet the criteria). I've been pretty impressed with how holistically they view the patient. For full disclosure, I learned about them from my integrative health doctor and they do not accept Medicare (yet).

I'm 46 years old right now and I've been symptomatic for perimenopause for the last 8 years, although it's gotten the most dramatic in the past 2 years or so, which I hope means I'm almost done, holy hell. Yeah I was on the early side, but if it can happen to me, it can happen to you, so it's never too early to think about these things. And I hope to at least spare some of you the mind-fuckery I've been through because no one told me about most of this stuff, including my own mother who just DOESN'T REMEMBER what happened to her and now I completely understand why. And because I also have a connective tissue disease, I used to just dismiss my pain and fatigue as being caused by that illness rather than the loss of hormones.

Anyways, this is why we need Elders in our lives, so they can do Grandma Story Hour like I just did and validate you when the entire medical field tries to gaslight you. I hope you've found some or all of this educational/useful. Please share with your friends because we really do NOT talk about this stuff enough. (Ewwww Moon Blood!)

Stay well, and don't let the bastards grind you down!

[insipid-drivel]

The hardest thing I've ever had to accept about myself is that I am not worthy of being loved by anyone, no matter how hard I try. I'm a categorically unlovable person, and regardless of how much I wish even my own family loved me, they never will, and I just have to learn to live with it. I know my mom loves me, but I don't deserve it for all she's endured and suffered because of me. At least my siblings were wise enough to learn to feel nothing for me and aren't wasting their time with me anymore.

If you have people you truly love in your life, don't take them for granted. Love is a privilege that I will never earn regardless of how much of it I try to give and show, and I'm very sad that my life is going to be as lonely as it's going to be in spite of how hard I tried to cling to the parts of me that my family seemed to like.

It was never enough. I was never enough. I never will be.

Cherish the people you have.

[grendil9]

Evil and creepy and horrific and possibly fake.

I mean there may well be no euthanasia patients at all. The only thing we are shown is golem actors doing interviews before the deed is supposedly done. What if they do the interview, get wheeled through the flaps crying or something, get up, hop off the gurney, and walk out the back? Then they take their paycheck, laugh, and say "I hope the humans fall for it". Then they resurface in another country with another name and hair dye. It's not like you'll check. I'm guessing you, a normal human, will get the run around if you tried to call and schedule. But who knows?

I'm partially joking, obviously in real life the young Skeksis director will yell "Cut.", and everyone will get up and get lunch. Then they'll edit and post the video.

They'll do one or two pre-death interviews like this for youtube or the news. Maybe they'll have a youtuber crying on his/her channel saying he's gonna sign up for it, because he/she can't stand living with some fake disease anymore. Six gorillion views out of nowhere, recommended to you out of nowhere. And again he/she disappears with one last farewell video, and his name is changed, he is paid, and he's passed off to a new Skeksis handler.

It's a hoax, probably, but you've gotta understand, it's still genocide against white people. It's not something that can be laughed off and excused. This is pure evil.

This is soft genocide, not hard genocide, it's the pride of the Skeksis and their golems that they are utterly ruthless, yet in their own eyes completely innocent. They live under the sweet "law", a fabrication of masonry that stands against our creator and spits in the face of the innocent and righteous. Protected through gentle ritual, and a whimsical culture of utter secrecy, and predatory cruelty towards those who care about the truth.

So the point isn't really actually to kill anybody. The point is that you know this whole euthanasia thing is going on. The point is the recommended video. The point is to attack you with falsehood, with a message of death. It's spellcraft. It is violence, inflicting injury, against your conscience and spirit. In many ways, actually all ways, it is far, far worse than outright violence.

The message is the same across the board. All hoaxes only really have one thing to say these days, at least to me: If you are white, die or degenerate or you are not wanted.

All propaganda is this in the end. Unaliving yourself if you are white. It really doesn't matter if it comes in the form of homosexuality or transgenderism or even this, the natural evolution: outright medically assisted unaliving. It literally doesn't matter. In the end it's about ending your white, non-golem bloodline. The entirety of modern culture is set up to send you and every newborn child this message as often and as ruthlessly as possible.

Non-golem and non-Skeksis white children, normal white kids, especially in this generation, go as far as to castrate themselves and dance around in skirts because of the sheer consistency of the messaging. Literally look around to see this truth. It's death.

Yet not one proud "Christian" organization seeks to save them. Because Christianity is a conquered religion, and white people like us are in captivity to our slavers. The Skeksis. There is no mouthpiece against it, so you don't notice it at all. Until now (maybe, I'm trying to point it out as Christ commanded, because it's true).

Every single day, every single avenue of communication demands unaliving from white Christians. And it's not just hoaxes. Every story in every piece of media with a white male Character will only portray him as a good and positive force if he becomes a homosexual, or was at first born a woman and changed his gender. Otherwise he is portrayed as the villain, or as an untrustworthy, uncaring antagonist figure. There is not one single example of any alternative anywhere at all.

In nonficion, the news, and fiction, hollywood, we are told to die. We are told to destroy ourselves. And where is our Christ to save us from this unending assault that OBVIOUSLY works and works very well? Dubai? Switzerland? Wherever our savior is, I hope he is safe and having a good time.

[buttercuparry]

I know I sound like a broken record by now: repeating the same things others have said before but I think banality of it all is the point of my post. The fact that I have nothing new to say– not about the genocide in Gaza, not about the dwindling attention of allies, is HORRIFYING. 

It has been 11 months of a genocide that the UN calls “war on children”. Malnutrition, diseases, lack of suitable medical care have caused Gazan children to lose their childhood; to lose their lives entirely!  

There is no hope left for a future unmarked of pain and my friend Siraj Abudayeh ( @siraj2024 ) , who is father to three sons describes it as a “feeling of oppression”.  He laments that his children have been forced away from their schools, hopes and dreams  by colonizers and where before there were ambitions to excel in either studies or sports, all they know now is helplessness, fear and anger. 

Siraj has told me how his children- Abed, Muhammad and Amir have confessed to their father about how they have begun to  feel guilty for surviving at all now ; after having lost so many of their friends to the genocide they are experiencing survivor's guilt and it breaks my heart to hear that. Abed, the eldest son, is ONLY ELEVEN!!  Can you imagine an eleven year old feeling guilty because he has managed to survive while his friends haven't ? And what kind of survival it is– Half starving, drinking unclean water, forced into tents where sand mites pester him throughout the day?

I am not sure what happened or why the engagement with fundraisers has dropped so drastically lately but there is nothing more atrocious, more horrible than apathy when children are suffering.  It is so strange that we can quote James Baldwin so easily and yet have failed to understand what he meant when he said,

"The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; ...whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality. ”

We have the power that is not afforded to Gazans and therefore it is on us to be attentive no matter how repetitive these posts feel. It is ridiculous and dehumanizing that during a genocide one has to worry about making a post original enough to maintain attention. And yes I know that we won't be able to stop the horrifying banality of Israel’s evil in a day but WE CAN help provide FIVE families that are dependent on this fundraiser with a lifeline during times such as these.  

Please we have managed to get this far after struggling for so long, it cannot be that we will fail Siraj when he is so close to the end goal of 82k !!

So DONATE AND BOOST. Find it in yourself to not just reblog but circulate the fundraiser among your colleagues, friends and family. Share it in your whatsapp chats and discord servers. Share it on every other platform that you may have a reach on.

Currently at $72,987 CAD of the short term goal of 75k. We have 2k left to raise by tomorrow. 

Vetting at 219

[iscratchdoors]

i know this is the trans website and im preaching to the choir here but there is something to be said about the medical gatekeeping around transition being largely based on the idea that transitioning medically is the risky, dangerous option, while denying that transition to people actively seeking it is safe and harmless. all the medical professionals i've dealt with so far seem to understand the harm that comes to a cis person who mistakenly transitions and makes irreversible changes to their body, but the idea that that same suffering is also experienced by trans people who have not yet been allowed to transition, to a greater degree even, seems basically non existent. a cis person's ideal gendered appearance is treated as a thing inherently worth protecting and maintaining, while that of a trans person is treated as something they deliberately chose to pursue and don't actually need. the harm that comes to a trans person through putting off any sort of medical (and as a consequence, legal) transition is a thing that does not exist to these people. only the harm that comes to people who regret it is deemed worth considering. that's been my experience anyway

[crippledpunks]

i was recently denied life-saving gallbladder removal surgery by my GI specialist due to being "too fat" (i'm 300 lbs and very muscular) and "needing to lose 10 -15 pounds and waiting 2 - 3 months in order to get the surgery". i was then signed up for bariatric weight loss surgery before i could get the gallbladder removal despite the gallstone stuck in the neck of the organ as well as the other stones inside of it causing me to be incapable of keeping down food

i ended up getting the surgery done by a local hospital with far better doctors, but the initial denial had me so defeated. if you are fat and have ever been denied important surgeries, life saving or otherwise, because of your weight, i am so sorry and you should never have to face that. most surgeries are not impacted by weight in the slightest. this is usually an issue with the surgeon's skill as a surgeon.

i was told by every other surgeon i met that weight has no bearing on a laparoscopic gallbladder removal surgery. at the other hospital i was also told that anesthesia wouldn't work on me or that i wouldn't survive it. yet again i was told by other surgeons that was also not the case. most surgeons worth their paygrade can do these surgeries after just... trying and learning how to work with fat bodies.

i was told by the surgeons and nurses in the ER that it's ridiculous for the other hospital to behave as though fat people will never need surgery of any kind ever throughout their lives, for one reason or another. it's unrealistic. most people will encounter a potential surgery in their life times, no matter their weight and it's unprofessional to just give up when someone above a certain weight threshold needs help.

my heart goes out to you especially if you're trans, intersex, gnc, and queer and have been denied top surgery or other gender affirming care surgeries because of your weight. this is also medically unethical and done for no reason other than fatphobic transphobic bias. you do not need to lose weight to get top or bottom surgery.

take care of yourself. my heart goes out to you and you don't deserve this treatment at all

[randomactsofpigeon]

The fact that I'm having an almost identical experience tonight after surgery as I did when they kept me in the hospital overnight 10 years ago suggests to me that I was correct, and discharging me was probably not the best move.

[periwinklecosma]

list of palestinian fundraisers (part 1)

(part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

during the past several days, i have received a mass influx of asks and messages from vetted palestinians seeking my support for their campaigns. up until now, i have been answering these people on an individual basis, but i no longer find that very practical given how many there are, so i'm going to try to create masterlists like this one instead. it's something i had been considering doing for a while now, since i find that lists tend to get more engagement, not to mention that it's recently become clear that a good handful of people on here baselessly equate asks with scams, so maybe this will help.

if you see this post, please consider not just reblogging. the point of lists like these is to spotlight various fundraisers and get people to support them monetarily. please, try picking out one of two of these and consider contributing! every little bit helps!

Ehab Ayyad (@ehabayyad23) - €1,055/€50,000 (2.11%) // new fundraiser not yet vetted but appears legitimate // EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS

Basel Ayyad (@basel-1995) - CHF6,978/CHF60,000 (11.63%) // vetted twice by @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi (#214 on this spreadsheet) -> Note: Basel's daughter is chronically ill and requires medical care.

Safaa and Abed (@safaabed8) - €27,379/€90,000 (30.42%) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here) and @/northgazaupdates (here)

Adham Ayyad (@stupendouswolfearthquake) - kr10,698/kr750,000 (1.43%) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here) // EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS

Hadeel Mikki (@hadeelmekki) - €12,817/€35,000 (36.62%) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here)

Walaa Ahmed (@ahmed79ss) - $10,631 CAD/$50,000 (21.26%) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here) -> Note: Walaa has Type 1 diabetes and is in desperate need of insulin.

Mahmoud Alkhaldi (@mahmoud1995) - $10,651/$50,000 (21.30%) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here)

Abdel Muti Al-Habil (@abdelmutei) - €9,648/€25,000 (38.59%) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here)

Nour Alanqar (@noor-alanqar) - €19,603/€40,000 (49.01%) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here)

Heba Al-Anqar (@heba-baker) - €3,504/€60,000 (5.84%) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here) // LOW ON FUNDS -> Note: Heba's father is physically disabled with heart problems, and Heba's mother suffers from asthma.

[deosilplanarglitches]

Reason #345734 why I don't tell my mom shit.

Her pain and suffering is the only kind she cares about, and she'll play stupid games with me like ghost me for 3+ weeks after a minor surgery, just to make sure I'm worried enough about her life to check, so she "has permission" to start in with the talking my ear off about her problems without boundaries or preamble. She won't know shit about my issues til after they're over (if she hears about them at all) bc she never asks a damn thing about my life, and literally only ever leaves room for herself and her feelings in any equation literally ever and then peaces tf out like. Bitch I'm permanently disabled and in a degenerative spiral that's gonna last my whole fkn life, and you're still bitching about yourself? Wanting me to cater to your emotions when you haven't even spared a CRUMB of consideration in return?

FUck all the way off.

Should have known that if she had died or sth bad happened, I'd have heard something right away. After 30+ yrs of her pulling the "yeah my kid tried to kill themself for the 7th time, but have you asked ME how hard it is to raise them doing the nothing I have been, bc I still don't know them as a person at all or even try to? Where's the compassion?!" shit... you'd think I would know better, but my compassion gets me fucked over YET AGAIN.

If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty.

Back to no contact.

Let the bitch suffocate if she can't self soothe.

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 3: A Toon's Aid

Previously // Next - (chapter list)

[contains: BLOOD / INJURY]

The small bathroom was quiet except for the occasional droplets of water from the leaky faucet. The Grim man sat on the closed toilet lid, tense, yet worn down from his nasty injuries.

Jack sat on a stool in front with a needle and thread in hand, his face taut with stress and concentration as beads of sweat slid down his forehead, trying his best to sew the wound as cleanly as he could.

He interrogates the Toon with a list of short, yet straightforward questions. They've been at it for a while now, the scarred man's cold eyes staying locked on Jack for any suspicious movements as he spoke.

“Who are you?”

"Jack Desmond, sir." He winces as the needle pierces through the edge of the wound. "I'm an office worker at-"

"Where am I?"

"C-Cel City. It's one of the- ow." Jack tugs on the strings and closes a part of the wound, cringing in sympathy at how painful it looked. "Sorry…" He habitually apologizes, feeling bad for any discomfort he might've caused the other, before continuing his sentence. "It's one of the biggest cities here, only second to Doodleheart Center."

As Jack continues to trail off giving the man some background information, the Grim man's stare slowly starts to gravitate towards the Toon’s hands. His eyes followed the way they would pause mid-air, trying to steady them from shaking, before going back to sewing carefully.

His brows furrow at this. It was unclear whether it was out of displeasure or something else, his expression as unreadable as ever, even during this painful procedure.

"What do you hope to gain from this?"

Jack blinked, looking up at the man's eyes with a startled look on his face. Then he furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Nothing..?" He answers, sounding just as questioning about his own decision as the other was. Then he sighs, pausing his task to think of a proper answer.

"To be honest, I… didn't want to bring you here at first." He angled his gaze downwards, feeling heavy with guilt at admitting to his true feelings and scared of how the other man might react. "I mean, you were scary and obviously not from around here," he fidgets with the needle in his fingers as he recounts his terrifying first encounter with the man, "so I meant to just call the authorities on you or something' n' leave…"

"But." Jack lifts his head up to look back at the other. Mixed within the nervousness in his eyes was genuine care. "You just looked like you needed help, so…"

The Grim man's gaze narrowed. Cold sweat continued to creep down the side of Jack's face as he swallowed his saliva, but he didn't look away, fearful that his true intentions may get deemed disingenuous by the other as he stared at him.

…

….

After a while, the Grim man heaves a deep sigh and looks away, seemingly done with his interrogation. Jack's tense frame relaxed the moment the man's eyes were off of him, inhaling in relief before quickly huffing the air back out in disgust as the smell of blood assaulted his nose. Right: the wound.

He went back into stitching, and the room was quiet after that.

Trying not to pay any mind to the silence, Jack's attention eventually began to zone in on the task at hand.

While working on the nasty wound, Jack internally thanked the stars for still being able to remember the important stuff that got taught to him years ago in school.

For a Genre with healing properties as ridiculous as theirs, all Toon citizens must have knowledge on basic medical care. Or at the very least, they must be able to aid wounded individuals in case of emergencies. It's mandatory to be taught in schools, some teaching them as early as Elementary.

Jack's memory on this is vague by this point since it's been such a long time ago. Apparently, a lot of the practices being tested and mastered back then were cultivated mostly to care for the people outside of their own Genre.

Aside from a few mixed-Genres here and there, Jack had grown up in a largely Toon-populated area with little to no contact to the other Genres outside his own. He briefly learned about non-Toon people being far more vulnerable to injuries than they were. Not having met one his entire life, he hadn’t quite grasped the severity of it all until he saw this man dying in that alleyway. It horrified him to see how much a person can be hurt to such an extreme degree.

He didn’t know what happened to the other man in order for him to end up in such a situation, and he didn’t have enough courage to ask him to be honest. But the thought that he may have gotten injured in a city of Toons of all places - and in an area near where he lived at that - made his heart brew with fear.

What happened?

There was an unending waterfall of concerned questions, and the uncertainty of it all made him feel a tad bit too afraid. He didn’t want to think about it. Not for now at least.

Honestly, if Jack had been any less reassured in his ability to at least be able to stop the heavy bleeding, he wouldn't have even thought of taking the wounded man into his apartment.

Jack did his best to finish it up as quickly as he could, though not hastily as his nerves might do more unneeded damage, imagining how much in pain the man was probably in right now.

Snip.

The thread gets cut off with a small scissor. And with that, they were done!

"Phew." Jack stretches, popping a few joints that had become tense from having to keep them steady in the air for so long. He gives the newly stitched wound a hard look, examining it.

…Still red and angry, but no more bleeding. He knows he's largely inexperienced, but he hopes this is good enough.

With that out of the way, he now had to deal with the man himself who had returned to staring at him again a while ago. The side of Jack's mouth curved up into a smile without his control, looking more like a grimace at being observed so intently by such a scary individual.

"So, uh…" His voice wobbled. He clears his throat and stands up, walking to the sink and turning on the faulty faucet to wash off the stain on his hands, struggling to appear more casual. "May I ask for your name, sir?" Jack tries to start a conversation to lessen the tension that's been building between them since the man woke up.

The other's expression doesn't shift. After a beat of silence that stretched on for a bit too long, he spoke.

“No.”

'Yep, I figured as much.' He thought to himself. "Right," Jack chuckles, drained of the usual humor he carried.

To be honest, he felt a bit tired after all of that. He'd been up all night caring for the Grim's wounds, he could really use a quick nap right now… Jack could only hope that this (probably a criminal) guy was at least nice enough to not murder him before he falls asleep.

Turning off the stream of water, he flicks the water off his hands and turns to leave. "Well,” he notes, “feel free to help yourself here. I'll go and get you something clean to wear." He then exits the bathroom, now done with the conversation he was attempting to have.

Pushing aside how he probably hadn't been following some medical rules and regulations taught to (and forgotten by) him years ago. With all the scars on that guy, he's assuming that it's probably fine to just leave him be for now, right? Surely a violence-prone-looking man like that would already know how to take care of himself when he's hurt, right? He sure hopes so. He doesn’t wanna come back to a dead body.

With that thought, Jack goes off to retrieve the clothes he had left for him by the nightstand.

"…"

Gavriel sat in silence in the bathroom, the soft hum of the distant city and the ambience of the Toon’s neighbors filtering through the walls. He was now left on his own, leaving him to reflect on the situation.

Shifting slightly, he grimaced as pain flared through his side and throughout the rest of his body. The stitches pulled, a stark reminder that he wasn’t in any shape to defend himself if something went wrong. Not that it mattered. If the Toon wanted him dead, he’d already had the chance to let him bleed out.

So why hadn’t he?

That thought didn’t bring comfort to him, only deepening his unease. The Toon’s actions were naively kind, something which he understood yet hesitated to accept.

So far, the other hadn’t given him any suspicious answers. Every question Gavriel had asked were met with genuine - albeit bumbling - honesty. The nervous man stuttered more often than not, but he hadn’t hesitated, nor had he tried to deflect or go off topic. The only weird thing happening right now was the fact that the Toon was helping him.

This behavior didn’t seem to come from a place of deception and ulterior motives. Or perhaps it did, and Gavriel just couldn’t see it yet.

In the bathroom, Gavriel could hear the other’s voice phasing through the thin apartment walls. Though his words were muffled, he sounded mournful with phrases like, "I spent money on that…" and "Tsk, tsk. What a waste." followed by a heavy sigh.

Gavriel pressed his lips into a thin line. Despite himself, the lament struck a chord. Money and food. Those were two of the main things a person must never waste in life.

Before he could fall deeper on this thought, Gavriel hears the gentle pitter patter of the Toon’s feet. He appears a moment after, quietly stepping into the bathroom with the clothes in hand. He glanced at Gavriel, who was still seated on the toilet, and carefully placed the clothes on the dry part of the sink’s edge, not having much space to put them anywhere else. His movements were quick but not rushed, clearly trying to avoid intruding too much on the other man’s space.

"Here," the Toon said softly. "The clothes I left for you. I can get you something else if these aren’t… comfortable,” he offers, looking at how much smaller the size of his own t-shirt was compared to Gavriel’s body.

He glances at Gavriel briefly before looking down at the floor, the tension in the room thick, but Jack manages a kind, almost awkward smile.

"I’ll… leave you to it then." Without waiting for a response, the Toon does a polite little head bow before turning on his heel and leaving the bathroom. He even made sure to gently close the door behind him, leaving Gavriel to change in peace.

Gavriel turned his attention to the clothes Jack had left neatly folded on the edge of the sink. Standing up, he walks over to inspect the clothes given to him. They looked cheap and would probably be a bit too tight for him to wear but it was better than staying cold and bare.

He glanced back toward the door, his brows furrowing. The Toon hadn’t lingered, hadn’t said anything besides the brief statement that the clothes were for him, nor were there any lectures, insistence, or attempts to force a conversation. Just a quiet exit. Probably to clean up the mess Gavriel had left in the other room, he guessed.

Gavriel shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to people like that Toon. People who gave generously without any strings attached or wanting something back, people who respected him, not like the wariness of his enemies or the reverence of his underlings, but simply out of basic human decency - albeit with reasonable fear. The Toon… Jack Desmond was painfully normal, perhaps a touch too kind for his own good.

His mind wandered to Desmond’s face earlier. The nervous and awkward glances, the apologetic grimaces when the needle went through his flesh, and the reluctance to meet his eyes, yet his determination to keep helping despite the tension. It had been… odd. Gavriel couldn’t pinpoint what irritated him more. Desmond’s clumsy kindness or the fact that it seemed genuine.

Gavriel sighed, his breath heavy with the weight of his thoughts. His fingers tightened around the clothes.

For now, staying here and recuperating wasn’t the worst plan.

[This chapter has been edited.] _

Previously // Next - (chapter list)

Special thanks to @demonicrhythms for proofreading this chapter.

[searchingwardrobes]

I have been debating sharing this for some time, but with the new year weight loss ads amping up, I feel it's something I have to say. I'm worried for people's health.

Unless you've been living under a rock, you probably already know about people taking the diabetic drug ozempic for weight loss. You've probably heard the debates about the ethics of taking needed drugs away from diabetes patients and maybe even the side effect of "ozempic face." However, there is one side effect of taking these drugs that, in my opinion, people are not being warned about.

If you carefully pay attention to the television ads, you will hear them mention "pancreatitis" as a possible side effect. If you're like me a decade ago, that word probably means nothing to you. Let me warn you, however, it is no minor thing. My husband suffered from chronic pancreatitis for five agonizing years. The pain is beyond comprehension. Doctors who specialize in the pancreas describe it as the worst pain a human can endure. There is no actual cure. Little is understood about the disease, so treatment is difficult. Doctors who understand it are few and far between. It took my husband forever to get diagnosed. He went through multiple surgeries and procedures, but nothing worked. He had to go on an extremely limiting diet. If he varied from it in any way, he would have an attack. The only way to recover from an attack was to not eat at all for days, then slowly add in broth and jello. Did he lose weight? Yes. As a matter of fact, one day he stepped out of the shower, and I burst into tears at the sight of him. He was skin and bones - I could count every rib. Was it worth it to be thin? If you even ask that question, I'm concerned for your mental health.

They couldn't figure out exactly why my husband got pancreatitis. At that time, they thought only alcoholics and drug addicts got pancreatitis. This made it difficult to get compassionate medical care, unfortunately. Now they know that prescription medication (particularly diabetic medication) and high cholesterol can also cause it. Then there is another group - where they just don't know. But you better believe I would hesitate to take any medication that could cause pancreatitis. I would weigh my options carefully to assess if it was worth the risk. In my opinion, weight loss is not worth that risk.

My concern has been heightened seeing the Hers commercials for these drugs (under different names, but rest assured, it is the same thing). These commercials brag that you can get these drugs from Hers with just a simple virtual call, no questions asked. I wonder if people are fully aware of the risks of these drugs. I also wonder if we even know all of the risks yet. I also fear that the culture around these drugs could develop into an us vs. them mentality. That if it's so easy to be thin, why wouldn't you be? And some are getting dangerously thin on these drugs.

I know some diabetics who are on these drugs, and necessarily so. They tell me that it causes nausea when they eat. That's why they don't eat much. Again, that doesn't sound like a pleasant way to live. If you need it to regulate your blood sugar, that's one thing. But if you don't? Why would you do this to yourself?

My husband is now healed of pancreatitis. It was a miracle. You may not believe in that sort of thing, but I'm telling you, there is no other explanation. We had exhausted every medical solution, then the pandemic hit. We were concerned because hospitals were only taking life or death cases. What if he had a bad attack and needed an iv of pain meds? What would we do? Weeks passed - no pain. A month passed - no pain. Six weeks passed - no pain. He decided to grill a steak - something he hadn't been able to even take a nibble of in 5 years. I watched him take a bite, holding my breath. Nothing. He ate the whole thing. No pain. Five years later, still no pain. The doctors can't explain it, either.

So our story has a happy ending. Not everyone else's does. I hope people take the time to read this. If you do, please, please share it. I don't want anyone suffering needlessly.

[thebibliosphere]

Not to keep reliving trauma on main, but I'm getting weird deja vu from where my health was a few years ago and where it's at now. And most of it is revolving around Good Omens.

In May of 2019, we genuinely thought I was dying because I was dying. My organs were in the process of shutting down because my red blood cells were prematurely self-destructing and damaging my kidneys in the process, and I was rapidly coming to terms with the fact that I might not survive much longer. I'd fought the good fight, and I'd lost. Mostly due to medical neglect. And I was mad about a lot of things, but do you know what I remember from the traumatic blur I'm left with?

"I'm going to be so pissed if I die before Good Omens comes out."

I'd waited 20+ years at that point for something like a tv adaptation of Good Omens. Ever since I was a child and my dad read the book to me, and I fell in love with it. And here I was, mere weeks away from the TV release and on the verge of death.

Then like a miracle, a miracle that hinged on human compassion and a doctor being willing to listen to me, I was saved. Dragged back from the jaws of death by a relentless hematology department that refused to give up on me and ultimately saved my life. And a week later, I got to watch Good Omens propped up in my own bed, still weak, still ill, with my heart stuttering in my chest every time I laughed. And I remember thinking, "I did it. I got to see it."

That it's now it's 2023 and my health has tanked again. My organs are rebelling against me and no one seems to know why. But yet again, a few weeks before Good Omens is set to release, I find a doctor who listens to me and is doing all he can to help. Striving with the grim kind of determination that can only come from a place of compassion and care. Like my world is worth saving, and not just his.

Which is rather fitting, I think.