#two tumours in my head/neck

[not-poignant]

Okay so next chapter of Palmarosa is ready but also not going up today because I've had a headache for about 4 days and I think staring at a computer screen is going to make that worse somehow?

Meanwhile I'm just going to put my head in the bin real quick

[altcvnningham]

canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

[sunshinebarbarian]

Chapter 6 - Change

All Chapters <3

Sol headed towards the door opposite the way she and Lae'zel had come through, figuring that was the way to go. The three women entered into yet another strange room. It had a single pod in the center, surrounded by black chairs. Slowly making her way to the pod, Sol saw a woman trapped inside it. She wasn't dead, but she seemed dazed, and didn't notice the group standing right below her.

Sol tried the pod lid again, but this one was stuck shut. She walked around it looking for another way to free the woman.

"Why do you insist on picking up strays at every opportunity?" - Lae'zel had figured Sol out quickly.

Sol didn't answer. Shadowheart motioned to a console nearby. It looked different than the one that had unleashed those two men on Sol and Lae'zel.

"I feel like I'm cursed to put my hands on everything" - Sol mumbled to herself and sighed, preparing herself for what she knew she was about to do. As she placed her hand on the console, she heard, or felt, something inside her head. A presence, connected to the pod, commanding the person inside to... change. A dreadful feeling came over Sol, her blood turned to ice. She started hearing screaming and banging from the pod.

The woman was awake. The pod lid had not opened. Instead, her eyes had turned yellow, and a darkness had started to spread from them, down her face, like smeared makeup but so much worse. Sol, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel watched in frozen horror as the poor woman inside the pod suddenly stopped struggling. Her head twisted with a sick sound of bone breaking. Her jaw seemed to extend past what a normal human jaw should be able to, but no sound came from the woman. Something moved under her skin, up her chest, up her neck. From the dislocated jaw four tentacles spread forth. Her short ginger hair fell out, as her skull elongated. Her skin seemed to burn off, at the same time her body grew in size, her flesh bubbling like boiling water, as if tumours grew under it, turning different shades of purple and erasing any sign of what, and who, she used to be. A mind flayer stood there instead.

"Oh fuck" - Sol whispered, not taking her eyes off the creature.

"Kaincha! Changed at the pull of a lever? How?" - Lae'zel seemed upset. She turned to face Sol and Shadowheart. - If we are not purified, this may be our fate."

"Let's get out of here before it fully awakens" - Shadowheart suggested, eyes also fixed on the newborn creature.

They quickly looked around the room for anything useful, excruciatingly and uncomfortably aware of the mind flayer watching them from the pod. Once they retreated into the previous room, Sol noticed a table - or a mind flayers version of it - with some potentially useful items. Just beyond it was another doorway, seemingly the only way out of the room.

"This ship is half destroyed. What are we going to do if the way to the helm is gone?" - Sol asked as she went through the items on the table.

Lae'zel would not entertain the notion. - "Keep moving." - She walked towards the doorway. Shadowheart and Sol exchanged looks. Sol shrugged. They went through the doorway together.

[valgasnewsthings]

How to fight ears noises.

 From ears' noises are suffering every fifth liver of adult age, and these are   squeak ,  whistle, buzz, hiss. And a most simple reasons over tired, and   sulphur plug. And this is happening in long hearing players through earpieces, and in arterial pressure   jumps and in emotional tensions. And noise is result at   of damage tympanic membrane, inside ear diseases, thyroid gland, injury for head, neck, neck   osteochondrosis, sugar diabetes, tumour for middle ear, allergies.

And affecting of a few remedies as aspirin, himidin, pentamicin, and Menier s diseases and here ear noises having with dizziness, nausea, vomiting and coordination mobility bad. And in adults having in othosclerosis or destroy for hear nerve.

A reason for these noises just put doctor, and he will advise right tests and add right cure.  Medicaments here are improving blood circulation and nootropics energizing nerve cells and physical cure with ultrasound, elector cure, phonophoresis, massage kinds and music therapy. And cure directed on a fighting base problem. But specialists advising to avoid noises, sound, and for fighting into ear noise create external noise background,at home keep radio turned on, and better hear rain  sounds, sea, or ocean/check below are radios in my blog/, and avoiding drinking caffeine, stimulants, spirit drinks, smoking and worry stop about these noises, stressing about this and till anxiety. Patient need to learn to relax.

Tested cure. 

Noises in ears lowering and hear restoring with one tbl.sp. Melissa herb add in glas for the hot water, infuse ten min, use regular, like a tea till calming noises , but for month.

Grind three pieces of garlic, add 2 tbl.sp. mass in 30 perc. sol. propolis of spirit, infuse 5 days, filter, rub behind ears with this remedy for 2-3 times/day  .

Mix one tbl.sp. mint piperine and leafs fragaria , 2 tbl.sp. Melissa  officinalis, add mass mixed in 0.5 l. of the hot water, infuse 20 min, use after one tbl.sp. for 3-4 times/day before meal for 30-45 days.

Chop dried stems ,sockets and seeds of dill, and one tbl.sp. mixed mass add  in 0.5 l. of the hot water, infuse 30 in, use 0.5 glass for 3 times/day before meal, for 1-2 months. .

Mix two tbl.sp. Melissa and one tbl.sp. mint piperine and leafs fragaria,  add this mass in 0.5 l. of the hot water, infuse 20 min, after  use one tbl.sp. for 3 times/day before meal for 30-45 days.

Hyssop burning herb smoke helps in noises ,that his used Hippocrates by.

And if noises in ears having on evening ,thus bake onion, force meat with caraway, press juice, drip on 3 drops in every ear for 2 times/day, till noises stopping, that you can repeat cure for 3 days, and repeat course in week.

Cooked of  chop berries viburnum and added  honey, apply mass on towel, wrap in knot and apply behind ears for night, and help for weak noise and remove.

Bad hear, noises with help use hot infusion of humulus  lupulus a one cup .day, and drip in ear of 7–8 drops almond oil alternating this cure for one day drip oil in right, and in other day in left ear, course a cure month, in month repeat cure.

Exercises.

Regular doing on the morning exercises with self massage neck side of vertebra for 1-2 times/day for min, and rub ears intensively.

Fight ear noises and head in help following special gymnastic:

Low chin maximally below, if its hard for you, thus cross fingers and put theirs on occiput and not worry right away, if on begin feeling ache.

After doing move back ,that look before itself ceiling.

After turns head in different sides looking in mirror. And on begin affect all body, but later in relaxing muscles of neck you can use just theirs.

Side inclines of head, trying touching with ears are shoulders.

Head moves circle, that on begin doing on sitting position and this is keeping balance and helping avoiding falling, and after doing staying on.

These exercises doing a few times/day, all moves doing for 5 times in every direction.

By E.Tarasov M.D.

from Valga s health news,gardening,and cooking ,and beauty . https://ift.tt/8mSUKZ0 via https://ift.tt/jFmKIS0

[lethiwebhengu]

Overall, my first fieldwork week was quite busy and overwhelming. I will start the first day, Monday. A full day. We had orientation and a brief introduction to the Inkosi Albert Luthuli Central Hospital. The Chief OT there, emphasised to us that there is a high turnover. The first day went fine. We were assigned two patients each because of the high turnover. I had first gone to do a few assessments on my first patient which was a burns patient. I had never had a burns patient before, so it was going to be a learning experience.

He was 41-year-old male with TBSA 35% burns-bilateral upper neck, posterior neck, right post head, and ULs. He had had debridement on the burns last week and now waiting to be ready for skin grafting. but I met him when he was in a lot of pain, and I got scared and mistaken him for having an attitude. He had just changed his dressing that morning and in a lot of EXCRUTIATING pain. I didn’t do any muscle strength and ROM assessments, I settled for an interview and balance assessments (trunk impairment and bergs balance scale). I managed to get a little bit of background information on the patient although he had a high frustration tolerance that day, he was a bit co-operative. He is a brother to his sister; he lives with her and his 1 niece and 2 nephews in KwaMashu. The patient is single and has no children but regards his sisters as his own. His education level is grade 12 and he is currently unemployed but earns the employment relief fund of R350. His previous occupation was working in retail stores packing and assisting customers. He jogs inconsistently. The balance assessments showed he had good balance. The balance session took us about 25 minutes, and he was complaining and moaning about his pain throughout the session and took a break after 13 minutes, I concluded that he has poor muscle endurance.

Later that day, I went to visit my second patient or back up patient if you will. I was able to get background information, assessed bed mobility and left. There wasn’t much time left to be with him. He is a 33-year-old male diagnosed with thoracic myelopathy from T3. I had to go research a little bit on his diagnosis because I have never heard of it before. It is a nervous system disorder that affects the spinal cord in the muddle of the spine (thoracic) which is caused by a disease, compression or tumours in the spinal cord. The symptoms are having pain in the back or neck, abnormality walking, muscle weakness, problems with coordination, rhythmic muscle spasm, stiff muscles, loss of muscle, muscle quiver, or overactive reflexes. For Sensory function, the patient may experience pins and needles, reduced sensation of touch, or uncomfortable tingling and burning. Urinary: leaking of urine or urinary retention Also common: balance disorder. (Ventak. S.R 2018) The patient’s level of education was grade 12 and he works at DSW and picks up dirt from households. The patient has a stable partner (girlfriend) and toddler children that live in Ixopo. He currently stays at Sydenham for work. The patient can not turn on the bed independently, but his upper limbs work very well. I prioritised the muscle tone, muscle strength, sensation, ROM, oedema, and balance assessments for the following day.

For my backup patient I did the sensation assessment on Wednesday using fingers to poke the patient (deep touch), cotton wool (soft touch) and a paper towel covered safety pin (pain). The Asia scale pin prick and light touch score was 46/56. The patient could feel in all dermatomes of the body but could partially feel in anterior proximal part of his LLs and plantar area of his feet. The muscle tone assessment showed that he had a score of 1 for his lower limb muscle groups but they were inconsistent and would be 0. The patient has muscle spasms. The muscle groups for upper limb scores are 0. This means they are good. The patient can do 50% of AROM in his lower limbs and his muscle strength grade for them was 3-. The muscle strength assessment was done on Thursday after the activity with the first patient.

For my first patient the assessment of sensation showed that the patient’s bandaged areas (RUL, proximal part LUL, Head) were deep touched and the patient had his eyes closed to describe what he felt. The patient was able to feel the touch on his posterior part of the proximal RUL and forearm as well as hi whole LUL. The patient could not feel in his head (which may be due to very thick bandaging). Range of motion was very limited. Range of Motion for the left upper limb was tested through stretches (shoulder-reaching for ceiling and moving it back, elbow- flexing and extending, hand-making a fist, wrist- moving it in circular motion)  and was noted to not have any limited ROM. The same stretches were done for the RUL and limitation was observed. Therefore ROM was measured with the goniometers. I learned a lot of treatment methods that my supervisor taught about burns. She had taught me about using warm water to make the muscles tender so that they allow for more ROM, and she told me about scar massage. I watched YouTube videos (My favourite link below) to teach myself-ways to how I could do it. I plan to include these as warm up in my following sessions.

Thursday came (half day as well). I had organised a meal prep activity of sandwich making which did not challenge the patient at all. This activity was really bad, and my supervisor explained this to me. If I were to get a chance to redo it, I would have done a face washing activity and grooming using his affected RUL to allow for more ROM IN HIS RUL. The patient’s session would have been a little longer and since he has good standing balance, the activity would be done in standing.

Although this week was overwhelming, but I learnt to be more client centered in terms of client factors as well and not just context wise. The next intervention sessions for my second patient would start with balance as this is his biggest problem. My first patient’s would focus on ADLs that the patient is struggling to do, doing exercises on the RUL to prepare for activities and educate the patient more about the importance of educating the patient about doing exercises and massages to help heal the wounds faster. I plan to sit and analyse how I will adapt the activities, make him use his affected limb for his occupations which will be a bit tricky as the Barthel index shows that he is independent using his LUL.

LinK: Venkat,S.R. (October 2018). What Is Meopathy? Retrieved from  What To Know About Melopathy? https://www.webmd.com/brain/what-to-know-myelopathy

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKszhYKy-9w&ab_channel=Asociaci%C3%B3nPro-Ni%C3%B1osQuemadosdeNicaragua

[change-the-world-someday]

I'll Be Here

Oh boy I'm back baby. Here's a Derek Shepherd x Teen!reader bc I just started Grey's Anatomy. I'm well aware I've had stuff in my inbox for over a year, and frankly I'll get round to them soon. I hope this tides you over.

Derek Shepherd x Teen!Reader

Summary: Who'd have thought the child of Derek Shepherd would suffer with something even he can't cure?

A/N: I've been twitching a lot lately so this was a comfort write. Derek and Meredith don't have a relationship, and there's a bit of canon divergence.

⚠️TW⚠️ Talk and descriptions of twitching/tics

—•—

You knew the moment you woke up you were going to have a bad day.

Your alarm went off at the bright and early nine and as you made a move to turn it off, your arm twitched, almost pushing it off your nightstand. You let out a sigh, leaning down and managing to shut it off and sit up.

Until you neck starts to snap left and right, tensing and relaxing each muscle.

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter under your breath, standing and stretching, well, as much as you can before your twitches start up again. You makes your way downstairs, finding an empty kitchen and a note on the counter. You manage to pick it up and read it.

Sorry, I got called in today. Let me know when you’re up

— Dad

You shake your head, whistling and shaking your hands. Great, so you're alone on a day where your twitches are worse than normal. You sigh and head back upstairs, almost losing balance on the stairs, and takes a quick shower before trying to style your hair. With difficulty, you get changed before reaching over and grabbing your phone. You grip it tightly, until it’s flung across the room.

“Shit,” you mumble, reaching down and picking it up. You open your messages, trying to text your dad.

Y/N

Hi, up. Bad today

It’s short, and to the untrained eye, might seem pretty rude, but to you and your dad, is a warning. Heading back to the kitchen, you try to eat a bowl of cereal. Instead, you managed to spill the cereal twice, drop milk on the floor, and then poke yourself in the side of the face a few times with your spoon instead of eating.

Your phone buzzes.

Dad

Do you need me at

home?

Y/N

No. Just bad

Dad

Do you want to come

to the hospital? You

can stay in one of the

offices if you want

You think about it for a moment, though you don’t get too long before your phone starts ringing. You pick up.

“Hi—” you whistle “—hi Dad.”

You hear him sigh. “Hey kid. Do you want to come in today? I can make sure no one stops you and you can come straight to the office.”

You click, your neck jerking forward. “You sure? I’ve—“ you whistle “—never been there before. I don’t want—“ you click “—to become a case study.”

Your dad laughs lightly down the phone. “I won’t let them. Just make your way over, and keep your earphones in. Music helps.”

You nod, before your neck twitches to the side and cracks, making your dad wince audibly. “Okay. I’ll let you know—“ you whistle and sigh, clearly getting frustrated with yourself.

“I get it. Don’t work yourself up; it’ll only make it worse. See you soon. Love you.”

A ghost of a smile passes across your face. “Love you too, Dad.”

—•—

Derek hangs up and leaves the store cupboard, almost bumping into Dr Bailey as she marches past.

“Watch where you’re going, McDreamy,” she scolds and Derek smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Bailey narrows her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Y'N's coming here. They're having a bad day,” he replies and Bailey nods, immediately catching on. “No one else knows.”

Surprisingly enough, you haven’t met anyone from Derek’s work, except for Bailey and even then, that was an accident. You'd bumped into her on a bad day and Derek had to explain what was wrong. Ever since, Bailey’s had a soft spot for you.

“Not even the chief?” She asks and Derek shakes his head. “Did you warn them?” He nods. “Well, there’s not much else you can do.”

“They're texting me when they’re a few minutes away. If I get caught in surgery, can you meet them at the doors please?”

The two stop in the corridor, Bailey pulling him over. “I have my own schedule too, Shepherd.”

Derek nods. “I know, but you’re the only other person here they know, and you know how they can get in places they don’t know…”

Bailey looks around. “If you’re caught up, you owe me one.”

Derek smiles and nods, a look of relief on his face. “Thank you.”

—•—

You're walking down the street to the hospital, constantly readjusting your earphones so they don’t fall out. Your neck keeps snapping to the side and jerking forward, earning a few odd looks from strangers. You sigh, a few minutes away from the hospital, and pull out your phone. Before you can do anything, though, you promptly throw your phone on the pavement.

Thank god your dad bought you one of those industrial phone cases. You pick it up, dodging people as you go to call your dad. He picks up after two rings.

“Hi, I’m—“ you click “—a minute away.”

“Okay. I don’t think I’m going to be able to meet you at the doors. Just walk through, take the stairs to the fifth floor, and come down the hall. I’ll be in the break room, second door on the left.”

Your eyes widen; you're going to be by yourself? Walking through a hospital? Where no one knows you?

“O-Okay,” you stammer out and your dad sighs.

“I’m sorry kid. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”

He hangs up and you take a breath, nodding to yourself. You pocket your phone and turn your music up as loud as it can be. Your dad was right, it does ease your twitching, though not as much as you'd like.

Fall Out Boy blasts through your earphones as you walk through the doors of Seattle Grace. You refuse to make eye contact with anyone, your neck twitch making it a lot easier to achieve. You click as you make your way to the stairwell, making your way up.

You don’t hear the calls of concerns from the interns following you, trying to catch up to you.

By the time you reach the fifth floor, the two interns have gone to find Dr Bailey to try and assist them, and Dr Shepherd who can help with the disorder being presented. They haven’t had someone who needs medical attention blatantly ignore them and go to a certain department before.

You lose your balance a little as you walk through the doors to the fifth floor, your neck jerking left and right repeatedly, muscles tensing and relaxing. Your hands are shaking and you walk like a new fawn.

You reach the door and push it open, whistling and clicking as you do so. At least you can see your dad today.

—•—

Derek knows immediately what kind of day is happening when you steps into the room. You're a jerking mess, neck and shoulders tensing and relaxing as though given electric shocks. You're whistling, clicking, and your eyes have recently started screwing shut, temporarily blinding you.

And that’s with your headphones in.

“Hey Y/N,” he greets, gently taking one earbud out of your ear and leading you to the seats. At least if you're sat, you have less of a chance of hurting yourself.

“Hi Dad,” you reply until a whistle comes back out. “S-Sorry.”

“Hey,” Derek places a firm but kind hand on your shoulder, “don’t apologise. None of this is your fault.” There’s a silence between you two, only broken by the sound coming from the removed earphone. “Fall Out Boy? Nice choice.”

Your neck snaps but you give a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Do you want something to eat? Did you manage to get some breakfast?” You sigh, your hands twitching and trembling, which tells Derek everything he needs to know. “Is it a bomb-site there?”

You shake your head. “I managed—“ you whistle “—to clean up. Took ages.” Your neck jerks forward. Derek sighs, putting an arm around you and pulling you into his side. You've always been wary; you never want to hurt your dad accidentally but Derek doesn’t care. You're his kid, and nothing will change that.

“You’re okay. Do you want some lunch? We can go to the cafeteria—they’ve got some pizza in there that’s actually pretty good.”

You nod, knowing anything you try to say will be interrupted by one of your twitches. You walk alongside Derek, trying your hardest to suppress your twitching as you make your way through the hospital and into to lift, where a few others are going to different floors. Derek notices, and leans into your ear. “You don’t have to hide it here, kid. Promise.”

There’s an audible sigh of relief from you as you let out a scatter of twitches, your neck jerking forward as you whistle and click. Your hands shake and flap and you let it all go. A few of the doctors and nurses turn around to look at you, but one harsh glare from Dr Shepherd makes them all go back to minding their own business.

You exit the lift and walk through the corridors to the cafeteria. You join the queue and you feel Derek keep an arm around you, trying to help you ease your twitches. You're grateful, though you both know there isn’t much either of you can do to stop them. You sigh, putting your earphones back in and blasting some music, this time Hozier.

Derek watches you struggle, sympathy panging through his heart. He hates that you've been cursed with this, and the worst part is they can’t find anything that’s causing it. It’s not like there’s a tumour or growth on your brain Dr Shepherd can operate on, you're just stuck with it.

“Dr Shepherd, good afternoon. Who’s this?” Lindsey, the server behind the food counter, greets. Derek smiles.

“Afternoon Lindsey. This is my kid, Y/N. They're joining me at the hospital today,” he explains, gently tapping you on the shoulder and causing you to take an earphone out. “Y/N, this is Lindsey.”

“Hi,” you greet, before your neck jerks forward yet again, cracking. The two adults give a wince and Lindsey gives you a small smile.

“What would you like, hun?” She asks. You look over, or does so as best you can. You can barely stay still long enough to read the menu. “We have a standard pizza or pepperoni pizza today. We also have some ham, chicken, or cheese sandwiches and salads. Or a few pastries we can heat up if you’d prefer.”

You give her a grateful smile. “Can I—“ you whistle “—have pepperoni please? And a—“ you click “—bottle of water?”

“Sure thing, and you Dr Shepherd?”

You put your earphones back in, trying your hardest to stop twitching. The problem is, the more you try to stop it, the worse it gets. It takes a few minutes for you to get your food, and when you do, Derek carries both trays to a table and sets them down. He takes a seat opposite you, giving a small smile.

“Thanks Dad,” you thank, pulling one earphone out so you can hear the conversation. You pick up the plastic fork and spear a few chips, but before you can eat them, your hand twitches and you throw it on the floor. You sigh but before either you or your dad can make a move to pick it up, someone else does it for you.

“You better be more careful. I don’t want fries on my shoes.” You recognise that voice anywhere, and smile as you look up at Dr Bailey. You let out a small laugh.

“Hi Dr Bailey,” you greet, whistling as your head snaps to the side and back. She smiles at you.

“Heard you were coming and through I’d say hello.”

—•—

“Guys, shut up,” Cristina hisses. “Do you see?”

“See what?” George asks as they quieten down. She nods her head and the table of interns turn around to catch sight of what’s going on. Dr Bailey is talking Dr Shepherd… and you sat with them. You're not dressed in any kind of hospital gown, nor are you wearing scrubs, so who are you? And how are you making Dr Bailey smile?

Meredith watches, catching sigh of your hair, and her eyes widen. She reaches over, slapping George on the arm.

“What?” He asks.

“It’s them,” she replies, “the person from earlier. Y’know, the one who didn’t check in at reception and took the stairs. The one who ignored us!”

George’s eyes widen too, and the two get up and start to walk over, ignoring the protests of Cristina and Izzie as they reach the table. You're struggling to get a sentence out, whistling and clicking as you try to tell Dr Shepherd about something.

“Dr Shepherd!” Meredith calls out, making the conversation halt between you. “Are you with a patient?”

She misses how you cringe. Dr Shepherd frowns, which only deepens more at the crack in your neck as it jerks forward. “Dr Grey, Dr O’Malley, how can I help?”

“W-We saw, erm, this kid walk straight through and up to neurology without checking in. Do you want us to check them in and get a better examination? We were going to come to you for a consult when we saw them anyway, but since you already seem to know them…” George trails off and Dr Shepherd looks between you, the interns, and Dr Bailey.

An awkward silence falls between you, only disturbed by the occasional whistle or click from you. “I can get a wheelchair if it’s easier.”

“No need,” Dr Shepherd cuts in. “They aren’t a patient, their name’s Y/N. They're my kid and they're accompanying me to work today.” The two interns look at each other, mortified. “Now, if you excuse us, we were just having lunch.”

Your hand flexes again, making you throw your fork on the floor (the second one in the space of fifteen minutes) and sigh. You go to pick it up, only for George to beat you to it. “Here.”

“Than—“ you click as your head jerks forward “Thank you.”

“Don’t you two have places to be?” Bailey asks, less than impressed with her two interns in front of her. They both nod and scurry off, back to their table to tell Cristina and Izzie about Dr McDreamy’s kid.

—•—

“I don’t know how they cope with it,” George muses as the group of four interns sit on some beds in the back corridor, waiting to be paged for something.

“Yeah, twitching all the time. God, I’d kill myself if I had them,” Izzie continues. “Would ruin my chances at both medicine and modelling. And a lot of other things, probably.”

“Do you think they wanted to go into medicine? Y’know, before they started twitching? Or have they always had it?” Cristina asks. “Or do they have a tumour?”

“For your information,” a voice cuts in, making all four jump and turn to the source, meeting the likes of Dr Shepherd, “Y/N wants to be a lawyer.” He walks down the corridor to them, everyone’s cheeks turning red a the prospect of being caught gossiping. “The tics developed about eighteen months ago, just before we moved to Seattle. It’s not a tumour, or any kind of swelling; in fact, we have no clue what set it off.”

“Have you done an MRI? CT?” Meredith suggests and Derek nods.

“We ran everything. It all came back clean.” He looks at Cristina. “They did want to be a doctor. When we realised we couldn’t cure them, they were upset for weeks. They—“

“Talking about me?” A voice calls down the corridor and Derek’s face splits into a smile, something that doesn’t go amiss by the others. You whistle, making it to the group and taking a seat next to your dad. You lean on him… until your neck twitches and you almost fall back. Derek’s hand shoots out, supporting you.

“We were just—“ Izzie tries to say before you cut her off, clicking in the process.

“Let me guess.” You whistle. “The doctor que—“ you click “—question and how I live with—“ your neck jerks to the side “—it.”

Your dad gives you a smile. “Ten out of ten for you,” he smiles. You nod.

“Well, I used to want to—“ you click “—be a doctor, until we found out this is incurable.” You whistle. “Pretty soul-crushing.” Your neck jerks back, and if it wasn’t for your dad’s hand, you would’ve hit the wall. “And we’ve learned to adapt to it. There are—“ you click “—days where I’m fine, with only a few, and days—“ you whistle and everyone can feel the frustration radiating off you. Still, no one chooses to finish your sentence, letting you get it out yourself “—like this.”

—•—

For a while, the six make general conversation, until, slowly but surely, you start to drift off. It isn’t until there’s an odd silence that Derek notices, and he has a smile on his face as he looks down at you, asleep on his shoulder.

“They look so… peaceful,” Izzie comments quietly, the others agreeing.

“Yeah. We’ve had a few rough days this week. God knows they need the rest,” Derek mutters. He shifts to look between the four. “Any of you wake them, I’ll make sure you’re banned from the OR for a month.”

Everyone’s eyes widen as they nod in unison; they’re all begging for a chance at more surgery. Carefully, Derek manoeuvres you so your head’s lying in his lap, body stretched out on the hospital bed. He carefully cards his fingers through your hair, detangling it as gently as he can.

The interns’ pagers go off, assigning them jobs and the four rush off, leaving Derek and you to rest. He smiles, getting himself comfortable sitting on the end of the bed, back against the wall.

“Get some rest, buddy. I’ll always be here for you.”

—•—

Hope y'all enjoyed. I know it's pretty different from what I usually write, but this is for my own comfort so...

Sorry not sorry

Taglist

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[canadianceliac]

When I was 12 years old, I got my first migraine. I had just gotten my first period, and along with the cramps and general ickiness of that, I was nauseous, my neck was killing me, and my head felt like an ice pick had been driven into my skull.

This is normal

That’s all the women in my life told me. That they had the same thing, every once in a while on their period. But not me. I got migraines on my period, on random Wednesday’s, after seeing movies with friends, after walking the dog, in class, in bed…in short, every where, any time, with no warning. That isn’t normal. So 12 year old me was packed up in the car and taken to a doctor.

This is normal

That’s all the doctor told me. I was told to take acetaminophen and ibuprofen, put an ice pack on my head, and deal. So I did. Two years passed of near constant migraines; I changed my behaviour, hoping it would help. I stopped going to movies, I stopped hanging out with friends if there was even a chance I’d get a migraine. Somewhere in this time, not only was my period a major migraine trigger, but it was heavy enough that I would pass out and need more pads than any woman should ever need. At 13ish, I was put on birth control. It took 12 years to get off of it. Eventually, the dizziness and fainting got so bad even outside of my period that finally, after months of begging, I was sent for a blood test where they discovered my iron levels were so low, they were literally undetectable. So now, armed with birth control, pain meds, and iron supplements, I was ready to start high school. Except none of those things were helping. The migraines got worse and worse, the iron supplements hurt my stomach and didn’t help raise my iron levels, and the birth control was not only unnecessary (raging lesbian here) but were likely causing more migraines! My first year of high school, I missed so many classes that I was told at the end of the year that if I had missed one more class, I would not have passed. I had a headache everyday at the end of school, so I would leave before my last class ended. My iron levels were so low that I could barely participate in gym class, and had to nap for hours a day just to feel a bit of energy. At the end of grade 9, after once again begging for months, my doctor sent me to a neurologist.

This is normal…but if you think you have a brain tumour, let me know

That is a genuine quote from my neurologist. And since I didn’t think I had a brain tumour (and he scared me to death with that sentence), I instead sought out other doctors who could help. From the age of 14 to 19, I saw chiropractors, physiotherapists, acupuncturists, nutritionists, naturopaths, hematologists, and more. I had Botox injections, took every type of medication under the sun, from triptans to anti-seizure meds to antidepressants to painkillers, and nothing worked for more than 3 months. That was the limit on every med and every treatment. Nothing really made my migraines go away completely, but they helped a little.

When I went to university, things got a little better. I got a new doctor who was willing to offer new treatments, I was happier, and I had a room with blackout blinds. All a girl could need. I was still getting migraines weekly, but somehow they seemed more tolerable. That was until the summer arrived, and with it, some of the most stressful times of my life. I had gotten a fun summer job, was living at home again, and generally relaxing for the summer. But as the summer arrived, humidity, thunderstorms, and some family issues would elevate my migraines to some of the worst I’d ever had. Trips to the ER offered no relief as I was told to just take more ibuprofen, the chiropractor was visited daily, and I had to quit my job because I missed weeks on end.

The migraines lessened as the summer ended, but my iron deficiency had made everything worse. I was dizzy, tired, and irritable. So, after years of supplements that hurt my stomach and did nothing for my iron levels, I asked for an infusion and instead, I got injections. 10 of them, in my glutes. It was awful, and they left stains on my butt, but my iron levels were finally detectable. When I went back to school, I needed a doctor to sign off on the injections to get them from the school nurse. Now, at my school, you don’t see the same doctor every time so I was sent to see a new doctor who asked a question that somehow, in 12 years of dizziness and supplements, no doctor had ever asked.

Why

It seems like a silly question, but it would change my life. This was the first time a doctor had gone past the explanation of “woman with low iron”. Why did I have low iron? I took supplements, I ate red meat, and I didn’t bleed a lot on my period because of the birth control. So how did my iron never get better unless it was injected directly into my muscles. There were a few potential reasons that we quickly ruled out through tests or family history, and then the doctor said “I have one last thing to check for, but it will almost definitely come back negative since you have none of the symptoms, but we should try anyway”. The test was $100 bucks out of pocket, and until recently, I don’t think I would have gotten that test done if I wasn’t so desperate for an answer.

A week after the test, my doctor called and asked me to come in. They would never discuss results over the phone, so it didn’t seem like anything important to me, just another negative test and no answers. But when I got there, and my doctor opened the results to read, she literally laughed out loud. I was the first person she had ever sent for the test, with no symptoms, and yet I somehow had the highest levels she’d ever seen. I’d need a biopsy to confirm, she warned, but she was 100% sure I has Celiac disease. Now this might be obvious to you due to my account name, but at the time I was floored. Allergic to gluten? I’m an Italian Jew, all we do is eat gluten. My stomach never hurt, I never had digestive issues, and yet my body was destroying itself every time I had so much as a crumb.

I got the biopsy and an official diagnosis, I stopped eating gluten, and slowly but surely, my migraines went away. Not entirely, I still have a migraine on my period, and if the weather gets really crazy, but once a month is better than always. But now I get to see movies with friends, and go to fireworks shows, and go on long walks, and dance in night clubs. I’m making this post to help others like me, who have searched and pleaded with doctors to do something and gotten no where. I want to make it so clear right now that I did everything I could. I advocated for myself, I asked questions, I tried every treatment offered to me, and got no where until some random doctor asked a question no one had tried to answer, and just happened to know that migraines and iron deficiency could be symptoms of Celiac disease.

I’m making this post, and this account, to tell people that they should ask to get tested, even if there’s no family history or stomach troubles. The asymptomatic version makes it hard to diagnose, but my life got so much better when I found out. I’m not cured. I still have low iron and migraines, but it’s better. I’m happier.

The rest of this blog is going to be actually good recipes, GF alternatives, and some need-to-knows about being gluten free. But I hope my story will get out there and help at least one person suffering (My grandma tells everyone she’s ever met who’s had a headache to get tested, and she’s already helped 3 people so I think my chances are pretty good.)

Thanks for sticking around to read this. I appreciate it.

[unexpected-character]

Sisters and Surprises

(gif not mine) I’m obsessed. My wifeeeys🥺💗

In celebration of my two wives' birthdays, Kate Walsh (October 13) and Caterina Scorsone (October 16), here's a drabble.

Amelia Shepherd x Reader

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

You and Amelia started dating a few weeks after you arrived in Grey Sloan looking for a fresh start and a job as a Cardiothoracic Surgeon. That was about 6 months ago and even until now you were both happy and contented with what you both have. Sure you knew about how complicated her recent drama that had happened before you arrived which is her having a kid and an ex that asked her to marry him however she declined and hell broke lose. So things were a bit awkward but you didn't wanna get into it because you really really like Amelia and you're not going to judge her for what happened in the past and whatever reason. You'd rather support her and be there for her instead. You both chose each other, that for the both of you is enough.

You knew the basic things about her, like her being an ex-addict and her brain tumour and the likes. She also told you briefly of her sisters and said how they all don't see eye to eye. You were both still getting to know each other and you are okay and looking forward to all the discovery. You both started to know the little things first then gradually the big ones and the ones you both like to do. For example, what both of you want to eat early in the morning or even the way you both would like to cuddle 5 minutes more after the alarm rang so you both put it 5 minutes earlier so you guys try to not be late for your shifts, keyword try.

So when she paged you, as she was looking for you. You paged her back to the OR because her page said 911 however you were still finishing up your surgery so you can't just runout there for her. You were almost done anyway just a little bit of stitch and you let the resident to close up. So when you just unscrub out of a double bypass surgery when you notice Amelia doing a beeline towards you. She said she wanted you to meet someone she really cares about. She wanted you to meet her chosen sister, with that in mind you asked if you can prepare yourself first to look more well put. You want to be presentable to someone she consider as a sister knowing that she didn't have good biological ones. You were tired and a bit thirsty too due to having back to back surgeries since early this morning so you asked her if you both can go to the attendings' lounge first. She agreed but told you to hurry up because she really is excited for it. So you entered the lounge first while Amelia is following you close.

As you both enter, your eyes locked towards the water dispenser while Amelia saw the person she wanted you to meet. Amelia being too excited she wasn't able to control her tone and said, "Y/n, I want you to —" you raised your head up due to her loudness and thats when you notice the other person inside the lounge, "Woah! If it isn't the infamous Forbes." You teasingly told the older woman. Addison seeing you simply smirked and approached you. She launch herself to you for a full body embrace. She seems so relax with you. "How are you here? It's been years, Y/n/n." She said while she buries her head on the crook of your neck. You hugged her tightly. You never thought that you'll be seeing her since forever. She was on her 1st year as an attending and you were on your 4th year of residency when you were given an offer you can't refuse to another country to study your chosen specialty as it was going to make or break your career, so you left. It was emotional but both of you agreed it was for the best. You had few good years and for you guys it was enough. Your friends to lovers to friends again was good 'til you both were busy with your careers, communications were cut. You haven't forgotten her though, both of you didn't. "Almost 22 years to be exact, Forbes. I haven't heard from you a few months after I left for Zurich." "Yeah. We were both so busy, weren't we?" She looked at you fondly. The relationship didn't work out but you both hold each other dearly in each other's heart.

"Uhmm okay. This is weird. How do you both know each other?" For a minute you both forgot that there was someone in the room with you. Most especially your girlfriend. So when her initial surprise of her lover and sister knowing each other she spoke. You and Addison, both detangled yourselves from each other. You smiled at your girlfriend and approach her, taking her hand with your own. "Amelia, Addie and I were really close back when we were both residents. She's a really good friend however due to both our success in our own fields we weren't able to catch up until now." You looked at your girlfriend lovingly, happy that you have your friend back again after so much time has passed.

"Oh, okay. I feel like there's a lot of history there but it's good both of you are now in each others life, I guess." she replied, and you looked at her and can feel her jealousy about what had happened a while ago. You wanna smirk and teased her but you'd rather not because she was right that there is history but you know that whatever you and Addie had back then can't compare to what you have with Amelia now. You really hope she knows that though.

"Yes, Amy but we're good. I'm just happy that I have my friend back in my life after so many years. I didn't even know I'd see her again because last time I heard she was a hotshot bachelorette taking Europe by storm after her miracles in Zurich." Addie trying to lighten the mood and tension that you three feel inside the room. "Yeah, I did but then I thought why not visit the states and start a storm here too. However, I'm not the hotshot bachelorette though. I mean still hot, but not a bachelorette. Very much taken by this wonderful human being, a world-class neurosurgeon at that." You said and kissed Amelia's cheek. She tried really hard but she can't help the blush creeping up. You wrapped your arms around her waist and she leaned on you.

"You guys look so cute together. I am so happy that you both finally found someone that will always be there for each other. You guys are perfect." She gushed and genuinely happy at both her friend. One a little sister, and one that she can actually even admit to be her person back then maybe still is. You smiled at your friend. Happy about everything. "Okay. Let's go to the serious part now." She said and it made you a bit confused but still listened to what she'll have to say. "Y/n, you better take good care of my sister. I will kick your ass and destroy you if you ever break her heart. Amy, I love you, you know that but Y/n here was once my person back when I was just starting my career so take good care of her too. Just take care of each other or you both will feel the wrath of Satan." She said jokingly but the sincerity and truth shine through on what she said to you both. "Addie... don't worry, I really like her. I'm madly in love with her, very much so. I promise I won't intentionally hurt her. If I do, I'm gonna give myself the boot so I really understand. I will take good care of her and her heart too." You look down at Amelia. Conveying everything in your eyes that you really mean it.

"You love me?" Amelia asked. You both haven't said it yet even if you both know how you both love each other, shown through actions and care but you admitting it openly not just to her but to her sister too, it brought tears to her eyes. "I do, Amy. I really love you." You replied. Amelia can't help herself and kissed you with everything in her. She adores you so much. You can feel it through the kiss. "I love you too, Y/n. So much." She gave you another peck. "Okay. You, guys. I'm still here. Please don't fuck in front of me go to an on-call room or something." "Oh shut up, Forbes. I hope you get stalked by a lot of pregnant mothers." She gave you a strong punch and left you both for privacy. You just laugh it off. Nothing can beat how happy and in love you feel right now.

"So... Amy, baby. Don't get jealous, okay? I only love you." You said smirking and teasing her of her behaviour a while ago. You can't help but laugh your ass off because of it. "Oh shut up! I take it back, you're just annoying." She replied back. You can't help yourself and gave her a grin she knows so well. She knows that look and before she can get away, you carried her in a fireman's carry, her on your shoulder and run towards the nearest on-call room.

You both passed by Webber, him with a look of surprise and confusion but he learned to never question anything he sees with his doctors. He already got himself too much information and scarred in all the years he have been in this hospital.

[not-poignant]

August 2024 Writing Round-Up

Here’s the monthly round-up of everything written and posted in August 2024!

Here’s the chapters that were released:

Underline the Black 93

Underline the Black 94

Underline the Black 95

Underline the Blue 18

Underline the Blue 19

Constellations 09

Constellations 12 (Gary+Efnisien Tier+)

Underline the Blue 20 (Gwyn+Augus Tier+)

Underline the Blue 21 (Gwyn+Augus Tier+)

Chapter Commentary - Underline the Blue - 18 (Mosk+Eran Tier)

Chapter Commentary - Underline the Blue - 19 (Mosk+Eran Tier)

FANFICTION

A Stain that Won't Dissolve 41

A Stain that Won't Dissolve 42

~

All Patreon early access chapters are mirrored at Ream, which is anti-censorship, author-friendly, and supports diverse fictional writing.

~

Behind the scenes I wrote 30,204 words in August across Underline the Black, Constellations, and Underline the Blue. In reality, I only wrote one chapter of the last two, and seven chapters of Underline the Black. The most I've written in any month this year. This is why there was no Palmarosa update! I'm so sorry!

The burnout is real, folks. This month (September) I'm also starting back into my tumour/cancer surveillance (I have 3 head/neck tumours, 2 have been treated with radiotherapy but never shrunk, and 1 hasn't been treated at all, so they all need regular monitoring for the rest of my life). This stuff tires me out, the scanxiety is real.

I feel like one day I'll look back on 2024 as a really hard year, and I know I'm not the only one. If you're reading this now, and you're going through a hard year, I'm sending you love and solidarity, because there just seems to be a lot of shit going on for mostly everyone. Please hang in there, we all deserve better years.

~

As always, you can support the stories you love by subscribing over at Patreon and Ream! You can also follow for free, and just get email notifications of news and other things that I release to everyone. :D

[gingercauldron]

Quiet Brilliance (Spencer Reid x BAU! Reader)

A/N: Here is my offering to the Criminal Minds fandom. Also this is my first time really writing fanfic? Just really wanted to have Spencer impressed by the reader and fall in love with them. So I hope you enjoy!! This is totally not an excuse to somehow make random stuff I’ve read about relevant in BAU cases lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU! Reader

Synopsis: Spencer notices how intelligent you really are, as well as how shy you are about it. He can’t stop thinking about you, your brilliance, and how much he just wants to hold you.

Warnings: None really, just fluff, and normal Criminal Minds content

Wordcount: 1.9k

No one in the BAU seemed to give you enough credit.

Not that it was their intention, of course, but Dr. Spencer Reid could not help but notice all of the times that your quiet brilliance went by as unremarkable. He might have had an eidetic memory, carrying a labyrinthine of facts and figures in his head - but you knew things that even he had not come across. He could tell that you were a researcher, that you would explore through files for knowledge because you wanted to.

When Spencer would pull a fact or statistic out of the air, you would be listening raptly. On several occasions you would scribble something down afterwards, and it made Spencer’s heart swell. This was how he first became so attuned to you when you joined the team. After that, he made sure to observe you.

He noticed that you would duck your head into files of each case, going through detail after detail with a furrowed brow. You would write in a frantic scrawl on post-it notes as a cue to do further research.

The most endearing part of it all, was that you would do the same thing even if there wasn’t a case. You would carry a tome with you, with the tails of post-it flaps coming out the side, each one crowded with writing. You were smart, Spencer learned, and he wondered why it wasn’t seen as big of an asset as it truly was to the team.

At first he could pretend that his interest was merely for the good of the team, learning more about you and what you were capable of. Obviously you were hired for a reason, likely your careful observations and sharp psychological profiling — but there was so much more. Spencer was finding it harder to pretend that this interest was not at all motivated by the affection that was developing for you.

He had three PhDs and was the so-called “resident genius,” but he wondered if you could give him a run for his money. The thing was, because you were quiet and private, he didn’t know — and that in itself was exciting.

On one case where you were observing the body at the scene, a particularly strange case where the jaw of the victim had swelled with tumors, you quickly told everyone to back up.

“What is it?” Hotch asked.

“It looks like possible radiation poisoning because of how localized the tumors are — like the unsub had the victim consume radium.” You said. “I could be wrong, of course. We could check her teeth.”

“Teeth?” Morgan asked.

Spencer quickly replied. “Radium has properties that make it glow in the dark, it was used as a novelty for that reason well into the 1970’s before restrictions were placed on it, actually. If the victim had been ingesting radium it is possible her teeth might glow. In 1938 a case was settled where a group factory workers sued their employment because they had been encouraged to lick paintbrushes covered in radium in the course of their work, resulting in massive tumours around the neck and jaw.”

“And the factory workers had tumours like this?” Hotch asked. He was asking Spencer now, not you.

“Remarkably similar.” Spencer replied.

Spencer glanced at you, but it didn’t seem to bother you that he had jumped in. In fact, the only that seemed to be upsetting to you was the fact that the unsub was on the loose.

“I’ll call some radiologists in.” Hotch said, already lifting the phone to his ear.

It turned out, that you were right. It was in fact radium, and you made sure that the team was safe by telling them to keep their distance from the body. The radiation levels on the body were dangerous.

On the plane home from that case Spencer had sat beside you, and he couldn’t stop thinking about your astute observation. You smiled up at him when he settled next to you, looking back down at the book in your lap.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You looked back up at him. “Yeah, Spencer?”

“That was a good catch with the radium.”

“Oh, that. Thank you.” You beamed. “But you would have caught it if I hadn’t.”

Would he? With all of the gruesome things he had seen they all morphed together, he wasn’t sure that he would have jumped to radium, of all things, as quickly as you had. That he would have been as cautious in avoiding the body to investigate if you hadn’t said something.

“I mean it. It was good catch. It was pretty brilliant, actually.”

“Thanks, Spence.” You said softly.

He knew he should let you get back to your book that was covered in post-it notes, but there was a thought that kept nagging at him. “Y/N?” He said again.

“Yeah?”

“Did it — did I overstep when you were telling the team about the radiation? Because if I did—”

“No, I got to stop you there. You helped. I’d rather not have the attention.”

He furrowed his brow, but didn’t say anything more, letting you return to your book.

After that it seemed that the rest of the team was starting to pick up on your fierce intelligence, too. It was hard to ignore the books you carried with you, but Spencer thought it would have been impossible to not notice you. Not just because you were utterly beautiful, but because everything about your mind was captivating.

Morgan remarked on it when you found a pattern in the artwork of a string of victims’ homes. The artwork looked nothing alike, but you picked it up.

“This painting.” You said, pointing at it. “It’s German expressionist.”

“Okay?” Morgan said.

“It could be nothing, but the last victim had a print of German artwork in their home — it was from the dada movement — but they’re both from the same time period. The other two victims had books on the Bauhaus — an influential German design school that operated between the first and second world wars.” You explained. “I wouldn’t have said anything, but the average joe wouldn’t have German post-World War One art. All of our victims are interested in the same time period for art — seems like too much of a coincidence.”

Morgan stared at you.

“What?” You asked sheepishly.

“Did Reid just possess you for a moment there? How’d you know all that?”

You shrugged and changed the subject. “I’ll call Garcia and see if she can connect the victims through local art groups or galleries.”

Morgan stared at you as you walked off, phoning Garcia. Spencer came up beside him and squinted at the painting on the wall.

“I think I know how the victims might be connected.” Spencer said to Morgan, analyzing the painting.

“The art?”

Spencer looked at Morgan in surprise. “You know about German art?”

Morgan snorted and shook his head. He gestured to you. “Y/N is calling up Garcia right now. Can’t imagine how she knew anything about it.”

Spencer furrowed his brow. “I knew it, though.”

“Exactly.” Morgan patted Spencer’s shoulder and left to talk to Hotch.

You put the phone down and turned noticing Spencer looking at you. You smiled when you saw him. He loved the way you smiled at him, as if he was the only other person in the entire world. He felt his heart rate increase and new, scientifically speaking, that he was completely infatuated with you.

“Garcia found a connection.” You told him.

You said nothing to him of the connections you had made first, but it made him appreciate the fact that he knew all the more. You downplayed your accomplishments. He wanted nothing more than to be by your side so that he could learn about every one of them.

Rossi noticed during a case, when Spencer was reading one of the unsub’s journals. Flipping through the book quickly and absorbing the information.

“Hard to believe the kid can read that fast sometimes.” Rossi said to you. “He reads 20,000 words per minute.”

“It’s over 60 times the norm. He’s pretty amazing.” You said back.

“The norm?”

You nodded. “Yeah, average adult reads between 200 to 300 words per minute, he reads around 333 words per second.”

“You some kind of whiz kid, too?” Rossi asked.

You scoffed. “Hardly. I just read a lot.”

“So does Reid.”

“You know what I mean.” And with that you left Rossi, effectively stopping the conversation.

Spencer smiled, having overheard you two. Whether you wanted to or not, you would slip little bits of information that show just how much you were thinking. You couldn’t hide your mind completely, and Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about what conversations would ensue in just spending a day with you alone.

Your voice saying he’s pretty amazing kept playing in his head and he could feel his face flush. Did you know how that sounded? You thought he, of all people, was amazing - not his brain, or his skills, but him. Did you mean it to sound like that?

Rossi turned to Spencer. “You know your face is red.” He said.

Spencer stared at Rossi, but he couldn’t make his mouth form any words. A grin spread across Rossi’s face, reading Spencer like a book.

“It’s okay Doctor, I won’t tell anyone.” Rossi said, and got back to his own work.

The rest of the day Spencer could hardly focus on anything, constantly aware of where you were in the bullpen - or distracted when you left the bullpen to see Garcia because that meant you were gone. He tried to keep his head down and look at evidence, but you were so close and you thought that he was pretty amazing, and it was nearly impossible to think about anything else. By the time he felt satisfied enough with the work he had done that day to maybe pack up it was already dark out.

Spencer saw you reading at your desk in the bullpen. Everyone had gone home already, but you were there scribbling notes down. When Spencer neared your desk he saw the book, a book he had been reading two days ago.

You looked up and smiled at him in surprise, with those dazzling eyes of yours. You pushed your hair behind your ear and all that Spencer could think about was what it would feel like to touch.

“Hi, Spence.” You said. “What’s up?”

Spencer swallowed, and his world came to a standstill. The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I think I love you.” His eyes suddenly went wide when he realized what he had said.

He turned around on his heel and rushed towards the door. He could hear your chair scratch against the floor and you called out.

“Spencer!”

He stilled, his hand on the door. He wanted to run, to get as far away and hopefully have you forget about it and not lose your friendship. He never wanted to disappoint you or make you uncomfortable, but he couldn’t turn his back on you either. He turned his head slowly, afraid to see your face.

You didn’t look angry. You had a small shy smile on your face.

“I think I love you, too.”

He dropped his hand from the door. “You do?”

You nodded. “I do.”

He laughed, feeling giddy. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He confessed. “About your kindness and your brilliance, and just, you. I just — can I kiss you?”

“Why, Dr. Spencer Reid, I would like nothing more.”

That was all he needed before he was across the room, holding your face in his hands and kissing you. Spencer, with his eidetic memory, could not remember having ever been so happy.

[morganaspendragonss]

quédate un segundo más (1/8)

@911lonestarangstweek day 8 - t is for...tumour, terminal, treatment

title from voy a quedarme by blas cantó, translates roughly to 'stay a second more'

thanks to @halsteadmarchs and @tarlos-spain for the beta!

as shown above, this will be eight chapters if all goes to plan, and i hope to finish it before season 3 begins. much of what is written both in this chapter and in future ones is ripped directly from life and i am only writing from my own perspective and experiences of losing a loved one to cancer.

ao3 | 1.6k | angst, hurt tk, cancer, terminal illness, more warnings to come in future chapters

A rare genetic mutation.

That’s what the doctors tell him when the results come back.

A rare genetic mutation that has rendered his cancer practically undetectable until its latest stages, until all that’s left to do is wait to die.

TK’s hands shake as various leaflets on Managing Your Diagnosis and What To Expect and Looking After Someone With Cancer are placed in them. He feels two steps to the side of himself, his entire world halting in its tracks the moment those words had left the doctor’s lips.

“I’m afraid it’s not good news,” he’d said, eyes wide and empathetic. “Your scans and blood results have come back showing evidence of a tumour on your pancreas. There are treatment options which we can and will—with your consent—pursue, however I have to inform you that your cancer is entering stage IV. It has begun to spread to your bladder and liver. I’m sorry to say that, at this point, treatment is more focused on managing your pain and making you as comfortable as possible; we do not anticipate recovery.”

It’s just… TK’s fine. He feels fine. Like, sure, he’s been a little more tired recently and he’s been getting these weird pains, but they always fade after a while, and he’s fine.

But he couldn’t deny the blood spotting his pee, the last straw which had finally sent him to the doctor’s office.

Too late, apparently.

A touch on his knee brings him back to reality with a start. TK looks up to meet the doctor’s kind gaze, and he wants to cry.

“I understand this is a lot to take in,” he’s saying. “If you have any questions, please ask.”

“I…” TK shakes his head, swallowing a couple of times before dropping his eyes to his knees, the words on the pamphlets blurred through his tears. “How long?”

The doctor hesitates a moment, then sighs regretfully. “I can’t say for certain. People frequently outlive their projected timeframes; equally, it could be less. However, given the way your tumour looks and the rate it appears to be spreading at, I would estimate around six months.”

Six months.

Six—six months.

“Oh,” TK says, and it feels wildly insufficient but it’s all he has. What even is there to say? He’s dying, and that’s...that’s that.

“Do you have a support system in place?” the doctor asks. “This is going to be a difficult process, and you are going to need other people to help you through it.”

TK nods slowly, not looking up. “M-My husband. Carlos. He was supposed to come with me today but he was called into work last minute. He’s a detective, so he couldn’t exactly refuse—not that that stopped him from trying.” He laughs wetly, remembering how he’d insisted that everything would be fine when Carlos had stalled leaving this morning. “And there’s my dad, and my team—my family. I’m a paramedic and I work in a fire station, so we’re all pretty close. I… Shit, I’m sorry. You don’t need to know all this.”

“It’s okay.” The doctor is still smiling, still so understanding, and TK wonders—just how many times has he had to do this? “I’m glad to hear you have solid support behind you; that’s going to be incredibly important for the coming months. I’ve also given you a few leaflets about support groups you can access, that your family can access, and, of course, your treatment team will be there every step of the way.

“Now,” he continues, returning to a semi-professional aspect, “I want to see you later this week to iron out how we’re going to proceed. For now, why don’t you go home and rest, allow yourself to process this? Does Friday at 10.30 work for your next appointment?”

TK nods absently, clutching the pamphlets tight enough to crease them. “That’s fine,” he whispers.

“Okay,” the doctor says, just as quiet. “Are you going to be okay to get home?”

“Yeah.”

But he doesn’t move. He can’t. In this room, he’s separated from the rest of the world—TK doesn’t want to go back into it, where he’ll have to tell everyone he loves that he’s… That he…

“TK.”

TK’s head snaps up at the doctor’s voice and he flushes a little at seeing his pointed look. “Sorry,” he mutters, scrambling to stand up.

The doctor stands too, much more gracefully than TK, and gets the door for him. “It’s okay. I’ll see you on Friday, TK, alright?”

He mumbles an affirmative then steps out of the office, taken aback for a moment by the bustle and noise in the corridor. It’s strange to witness it now, to see all these people who don’t know him from Adam going about their lives, while his has, in the span of thirty minutes, completely crumbled.

TK takes a deep breath (and how many of those does he have left?) and joins the flow.

*

He’s home.

That’s… He doesn’t remember it. He must have unlocked the front door because the keys are in his hand and he’s standing in the entryway, but TK has no idea how he managed to get from the doctor’s office to here.

He made good time though, judging by the clock on the wall.

Small victories.

With heavy steps, TK walks to the sofa, easing himself down and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. It still doesn’t feel real that there's this—this thing inside him, growing and mutating and killing him. He’s not sure when it finally will.

Maybe in a few months, when his skin is sagging off his bones and his hair is gone and even the very act of breathing is a challenge.

Or maybe in a few hours, when Carlos comes home and TK has to break the news. TK can picture his face now, the way his ever-present smile will crack and break, the shock and hurt and grief that will take its place.

He thinks he understands his dad now.

TK closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind, just for a moment, of everything that’s happened today.

Which, as it turns out, is a mistake, because that’s when he remembers the letter that came for them yesterday and the phone call they’re going to make after dinner.

The phone call they were going to make after dinner.

TK wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. They’ve been waiting for that moment for so long, the moment in which they found out they were finally cleared to adopt a kid. And now…

Gone.

Carlos is going to be crushed.

As if the universe is reacting to that last thought, the door suddenly swings open, marking Carlos’s return from his impromptu shift. For a moment, TK panics. He’s not ready, dammit, he needs more time to plan and to figure it all out, how he feels and what he’s going to say, but—

But, in the end, it doesn’t matter. He could have had the most detailed and well-thought out plan in the world and it wouldn’t have mattered.

Because all it takes is one look at Carlos’s smile for TK to fall apart.

Carlos is by his side in an instant, gathering him in his arms and sliding to the floor with him when TK can no longer support himself on the couch. TK fists his hands in his husband’s shirt and cries into his neck, all the emotion that’s been slowly building all day exploding from him all at once.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Carlos shushes, which only makes TK cry harder, because how is he supposed to tell him that it’s not?

He shakes his head and clings onto him tighter, feeling Carlos do the same to him in return. TK’s always felt safe in his arms and it’s no different now; he thinks that, if he can just stay here forever, maybe things will turn out okay after all.

But the moment ends, as they tend to do. When TK’s sobs have run dry, Carlos carefully pulls back from him, his hands rising to cup his face and wipe the tears from his cheeks.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, so much worry in those damn eyes that it hurts. “Is it… Did the doctor say something? Are you okay?”

TK opens his mouth, but the words refuse to come out. All he manages is a wordless shake of the head, and even that turns Carlos’s expression into the picture of devastation. He can’t bear to look at it, so he wraps his arms around Carlos’s waist and leans into him again, resting his head on his chest.

Carlos holds him and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “We’ll get through it,” he promises. “Whatever it takes.”

And it turns out that he does have a few more tears left in him; TK squeezes his eyes shut and breathes out shakily as a couple of lone drops fall down his cheeks. “We can’t,” he whispers hoarsely. Carlos stiffens and shifts as if to look TK in the eyes, but TK doesn’t let him. If he has to look at Carlos, he doesn’t think he’ll have the courage to say it. He hesitates a moment longer, a huge lump forming in his throat, but eventually he manages it.

“It’s cancer,” he chokes out. “Stage IV. Incurable. They think… I’ve got six months.”

It’s like time stops.

They’re both motionless on the floor of their front room, neither saying anything, barely breathing as the weight of it settles between them.

TK doesn’t know how long it lasts for, but suddenly Carlos sobs and grips onto him with a bruising strength. Carlos’s body heaves and shakes with the force of his cries, and it’s TK’s turn to hold him as tears drip down Carlos’s cheeks into his hair.

And, in that moment, it becomes real.

[the-darklings]

—𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞;

⤫ pairing: johnny silverhand x corp!v(ermillion)

⤫ summary: Usually, they’re a calamity together—destructive and volatile as each other. But right now, just for a second, there is only music and them.

⤫ word count: 2.3k+

⤫ warnings: spoilers for act i & side mission the ballad of buck ravers, third person but can be read as RI ig, swearing, written in one sitting so who knows what the final result is - certainly not me. 

⤫ notes: let me leave my clown shoes outside.

It starts out the way it always does. 

One ring leads to another and she suddenly finds herself running or driving around the Night City with little to no rest, pulling one job after another. The more jobs she closes the more she seems to be in demand.

Good for business. Good for making a name for herself, too, but not so good on her overall being. 

She’s been running. Like a fucking coward. Filing her days with meaningless shit while trying desperately not to think about her ticking clock. About Jackie. 

Guilt gnaws on her bones daily. She should have done more, been better, more careful. Jackie never should have died. It was stupid and blind ambition that drove them both to try and pull this near impossible heist in the first place. Her own reckless drive has blinded her, and now the person closest to her in this fucking city is nothing more than a cold corpse. 

Fuck.

She should have sent him to his family instead. She only wanted to spare them from the grief of having to see Jackie in the state he was in but now Araska has his body and god knows what those assholes might be doing with it. 

And now…

Well she has nothing to lose, does she? She’s already dying, already hunted, her only close friend is dead. She promised to make him proud. Make it to the big leagues or make a league all on her own if that’s what it takes. Bleed this city dry if that’s the price to pay for what she wants. 

Back when she worked for Arasaka she wanted knowledge which led to power. Then she wanted guns and money and a roof over her head. 

Now she wants something more. After coming face to face with her own fragile morality, she has begun to realise how meaningless things like money and power are. Now she wants to surpass that. To become something immortal—something that will outlive her body. Maybe even outlive this city.  

Jackie should have been one of such people. 

“You look like you’re about to shit yourself,” a voice drawls from beside her, a crackle filling the air as a too familiar silhouette of a man appears in her sight. “Or cry.”

“Fuck off.”

V turns away from one Johnny Silverhand because it’s hard to look at him and not be reminded of the fact that she’s slowly dying and the construct only she can see and hear is the one doing the deed.

“This self-pitying bullshit needs to stop,” he says, ignoring her vicious words. “We share a brain, remember? I feel what you feel. It’s downright depressing in your head right now.”   

Her jaw clicks at the reminder. Everyday she wakes up and feels like they’re linked by a bridge—he stands on one side, and she on another. When they come closer, she can feel it—feel him. The overlap is near dizzying, overwhelming, even a little addictive. But it’s always followed by agony because she fights back, tries to shove him away. If not, he will consume her, but she will get him out of her head before that ever happens. 

You share a brain now, Vik had told her only days prior, his eyebrows knitted tight and—albeit subdued—but clear worry in his low voice, senses and memories, even perception. Eventually it will become impossible to tell whose who anymore. 

The worst thing is the fact that he’s right. 

She can feel Silverhand rooted inside her; a constant, a presence that is persistent to a point she knows she’s not alone even if she wishes to be. 

An echo of a being deep inside her.

“Then get the hell out,” she bites back, fighting to keep her temper leashed so she doesn’t burst out at him like she did at the diner. She can still remember the wary stares she received from the diners when she started shouting verbally at a figment only she could perceive in the first place. “I didn’t ask for a parasite to make himself home in my brain.”

Johnny scoffs under his breath, raising a cigarette to his mouth, and she’s nearly overcome with need to remind him that he’s fucking dead, and can’t smoke. That, and the fact that she would prefer him to leave her the fuck alone. 

“You did the job, didn’t ya? You sure you didn’t have this comin’?”

Flipping him off, she storms past him, her jaw clenched to appoint it aches and eyes narrowed. Just her luck not only to get stuck with a human tumour but for the said tumour to be a bastard to boot.  

So much for being buddies. 

Sun has set over Westbrook hours ago yet Chinatown is as busting with life as always. Overflowing with conversations all spoken in different languages, smells, distant gunshots, and people from all walks of life just trying to survive. Even during her years with the Arasaka, she never quite got used to the vastness of the Night City—not even when she was sure she was at the top. The way this city seems to breathe and fester day in and out; a living beast full of dangers and potential is unique. 

Lost in the crowd, it’s almost easy to forget who she is aside from another face in the said crowd. She’s not a merc, not an ex-corp working counterintelligence—she’s not anything. 

Her optics catch sight of several Tiger Claws lingering around the market, and she makes sure to give them a wide berth, especially when she notes the impressive list of their stats. She’s not stupid enough to attack outright when they outclass her—for now—and there are several of them around. With the market this busy the only outcome to that fight would be a bloodbath with police on her ass when that’s the last thing she needs right now. 

Despite that logical part inside her steering her well clear of the gang members the need to blow off some steam bubbles under her skin. An ache starts to form against her temple soon after, making her focus blur around the edges as she wanders from vendor to vendor aimlessly. 

“Hey, V,” a rumble of a voice cuts through her thoughts—and she hates how she can’t quite ignore his voice unlike everyone else—and turns her head in the direction of the call. She had foolishly assumed he was going to give her some peace of mind for tonight at least. “Check this guy out.”

Walking up a dimly lit staircase, she had barely noticed a man sitting on a rickety chair and playing a guitar. Much like her, others walk right past him, ignoring the man altogether. 

Johnny glimmers into sight, squatting in place and oddly intent on observing the old man while he plays.   

She entertains the idea of walking away simply to piss him off. If something is of interest to him, then she wants to ignore it so hard it gets under his nonexistent skin. Petty, perhaps, but ever so satisfying. 

Hearing no reply or receiving much reaction at all, Johnny slants his head her way, nodding once towards the man, “What do you think?”

Squinting, she drags her gaze towards the guitarist, crossing her arms over her chest while she listens. She’s not even sure why she’s bothering but…

The melody is slow, near drowned out by the bustling sounds of the nearby market and chatter of people walking past. 

“He’s...fine?” she offers lamely. “I mean he’s pretty good.”

A slight smirk crosses over Johnny’s mouth—gone in a blink but the focus he places on the man who seems to be unaware of her or the silent second spectator surprises her. 

“Loses tempo more than he keeps it,” he comments, almost absently, and she feels her eyebrows arch in another show of bewilderment. A quiet spells falls over their little nook, and Johnny listens more, thoughts rolling inside his head if his body language is any sign. “Sloppy on the technique but he has feeling in the way he plays. Can’t teach that.”

“If only you didn’t die,” she sighs softly, closing her eyes in mock sympathy. “This could have been you.”

He surprises her again by laughing at that. It’s a deep rumble of a sound, and she can almost feel it echo between them and their mental bridge. “You’re kinda of a bitch. Has anyone told you that before?”

Her teeth flash in the dim orange glow of the neon lights. “And you’re sort of a dick. Anyone tell you that before?” she wonders with a charming, practiced smile. 

He flickers out of sight and she’s about to call it a mental victory but a tickle of electricity kisses across the bare curve of her shoulder and neck, and she shivers when he appears beside her. His arms are crossed as well, and he glances her way briefly.

“Seems to me like we’re two peas in a fuckin’ pot, then,” he points out easily, and shakes his head, seemingly amused by his own words. “I might have tried to kill you a few weeks ago but look at us being chummy, Ver.”

Her throat closes up at that, expression tightening. He notices of course. Or maybe it’s the unease that slices through her mind at the casual way he uses her nickname. 

“What? Am I not allowed to call you that or somethin’?” he wonders curiously, seemingly entertained by her reaction. Asshole. 

“Only my friends call me Ver.”

Jackie was the first. 

That thought makes her swallow painfully, a dull ache clawing against her heart. One would think that years being a corpo would have wiped whatever humanity still lived in her but Jackie’s death had been a stark reminder that she couldn’t be further from the truth if she tried.  

“Why?”

She gives him a flat look. “Because my full name is Vermillion, but people tend to find it a mouthful so…”

“Vermillion,” he repeats, his intonation dry, and she shoots him a quick glare, daring him to make an issue of it. Naturally, his next words don’t surprise her, “That’s a stupid fuckin’ name.”

“Oh, because Johnny Silverhand is so much better.”

She expects him to say something snarky in return, argue maybe, but he only snorts. His metal hand lifts, pushing his aviators down slightly as he glances at her over them.

“You got me there.” 

Usually, they’re a calamity together—destructive and volatile as each other. But right now, just for a second, there is only music and them. Shadows and life of the Night City holding them both suspended in this moment. No arguments or biting comments. No guilt, either. 

A slight smile tugs across her mouth as she continues listening to the man play his downbeat little tune. Her shoulders loosen, drooping slightly and she lets herself breathe for a moment. Just the one. 

“Used to be just like him,” Johnny speaks up suddenly, his voice more subdued, lower, and taps his fingers against the cigarette he’s holding. “But better. Used to play everywhere we could. Garages, bars. Anywhere that would have us, and we always had an audience.”

She hums, offering him a brief glance. “You mean you were actually good?”

She can’t see his eyes in the darkness of the street or through his tinted shades. But despite that, she can still feel his glare and the mental bite of chagrin/irritation/why is she so annoying? and deeper than that a spark of amusement/little shit thinks she’s funny. 

“What’s this?” he muses, his words sarcastic. “A corpo rat that actually has a sense of humour? Colour me surprised.”

“No can do,” she shoots back promptly, fighting back a wider grin. “You’re too dead for that.”

He tsks, throwing his cigarette to the ground and she almost rolls her eyes. “Can’t wait to be out of your damn head, princess.” 

“Can’t wait to be rid of you, either, so the feeling is mutual.”

Their words might be stringent but she can almost taste the faint amusement trickling between them and under that bridge that connects them. 

“There might still be some bootlegs of those old days,” he muses thoughtfully. “People used to record everything back in my day.”

She drags her gaze his way, lips thinning into a firm line, “I’m not becoming a fan, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“Afraid you’ll hear real music and won’t be able to go back to this modern garbage I hear everywhere?”

There is challenge in his words and she bristles. Maybe this is what she needs. She may not be able to put holes in some Tiger Claws with her sniper rifle but she sure as hell can go on a scavenger hunt and see what she finds. 

Besides, it might help her to understand the man nested inside her mind a little better.

So when an hour later the old, wrinkly vendor asks her why he should give her his oldest, most precious Samurai vinyl, she tells him the truth. 

A twisted truth. 

But truth all the same.

“He’s with me every step I take, every move I make,” she confesses softly, something deep down breathing awake at that admittance. “Johnny’s like my conscience. My eternal, infernal moral compass.”  

She doesn’t miss how the man in question doesn’t appear, doesn’t say anything even after hearing that. She would have figured he would be the first in line to offer her some mocking, snarky comment but there is only silence. 

In fact, she can barely feel him at all. The tether between them is still and quiet. 

And his silence says a lot more than he probably realises. 

.

an: hello. guess whose not dead and kinda back to writing. dunno how much of cp77 you should expect because coa is still my priority but maybe occasional fic for these dumbos is on the cards. oh, and takemura because cdpr are cowards for not giving us that enemies to friends/partners to lovers romance. also I know this isn’t strictly RI and I honestly considered writing it as such but saw...no point? since the premise still would have been the same, so something a little different today ig. 

[sukipershipper]

Her Suffering is Ensured

Alcina almost never left the castle, only ever if Miranda needed her, but that was the only time she didn’t want to be consumed by the cold. So it wasn’t very often she got to interact with the other lords, unless they came to the castle, which was almost never. Heisenberg never came around unless it was to drop off food, other than that he couldn’t stand the place, understandably so. Donna was never a frequent visitor, she felt very out of place in that castle. Then there was Moreau.

Moreau came around the most, often to drop off vials of medicine that he could whip up (he might be deformed but he’s still proficient in his work), sometimes he hung around for a it of a chat and some food, Alcina often ranted to him about what was going on with her and Heisenberg. Moreau? Well he never liked to complain but he’d ask if he was worth anything to the others, to which Alcina merely stayed quiet and would light one of her long cigarettes. That was all the answer Moreau would ever need.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like him, Moreau was often the nicest to her daughters, spoiling them with gifts and whatever treasures he could find. It was more or less worry or disappointment, worry that he would get himself hurt, and disappointment at the fact Miranda ruined him like that. He had potential but it wasted to try and satisfy herself, and the worst part was that Moreau let her get away with it. Moreau let her take advantage of him, it was sad to say the least.

But such was life and neither could change it now.

The cold air outside blew onto her suddenly, she tucked her arms into her sides to prevent the cold getting her more, she looked to see Moreau standing outside, the poor soul shivering like there was no tomorrow, and his drenched coat (presumably drenched from the reservoir) wouldn’t be keeping him very warm now.

“Stop standing outside you fool, get in!” Alcina demanded, without another thought, the younger lord quickly obeyed, dashing inside as quick as his legs would allow him to go. Moreau let the warmth of the castle embrace him, despite its size and haunting nature, Alcina’s home was quite warm and inviting.

Alcina quickly slammed the door shut and turned to the younger lord, “How bad is it?” Alcina asked, Moreau sighed and slowly took his coat off himself, revealing his back cover with pus filled boils and tumours, eyes poking out of every crevice and a small green acid dripping off the sides. A small droplet fell off and onto Moreau’s skin, causing him to wince in pain.

The Lady could only grimace and hold back tears at the sight she saw, Moreau was getting worse by the hour, but he refused to dwell on it any longer. Tossing his coat aside, he stood still for a bit, staring at the ground in front of him, “How have the girls been?” He asked.

Alcina nodded, “They’ve been good, better now that their favourite uncle has arrived” she smiled, Moreau gave a chuckle as he heard the chittering of bugs flying around, suddenly forming into three slightly older than teenage girls. “Uncle Sal!” They cried, the three dashing towards Moreau in a haste, only for Alcina to raise her hand to slow them down. “Girls be gentle”, Alcina warned, “I’m afraid your uncle isn’t all too well”, “What’s wrong with him?” Cassandra, one of the older daughters, asked (if I got this wrong please tell me).

Moreau only shrugged and laughed, “Oh, it’s nothing” he said, only to wince in pain and hold onto his sides, scaring the girls slightly. The man then looked up and gave a slight laugh, “Don’t worry about me”, he said, “I’ve got gifts for you three.”

With that, he pulled out a little burlap sack from his pocket and opened it to reveal three necklaces of different coloured shells and pearls. Blue for Bela, Purple for Daniela and Yellow for Cassandra.

The three girls all smiled in delight as they gently placed the necklaces around their necks, all marvelling at its beauty. “I hope you like them” Moreau said, “They’re a little hastily made”, “Oh, Uncle they’re perfect!” Bela said, Daniela nodded happily, “Absolutely wonderful!”

The three girls all gently wrapped their arms around their uncle, “Now what do you say, girls?” Alcina asked, “Thank you!” The three girls replied in unison. Both lords chuckled, Alcina smiling and shaking her head “Alright, now off to the kitchens please, make something up for your uncle”, “Oh don’t fuss over me, I won’t eat much” Moreau chimed in, only for Dimitrescu to shoot him a look, “Salvatore Antonio Moreau, I insist you have something to eat, have your fill dear brother” she said. Moreau had to laugh a little, using his own words from their story against him.

The girls soon disappeared as quickly as they appeared, leaving only the two lords still in the main hall. “Come, Salvatore” Alcina said, taking long strides towards the sitting room of the castle, “Sit down and talk to me”, “Of course, Alcina” Moreau said, trying his best to sit down in one of Alcina’s chairs, though it was a struggle due to his back.

Alcina soon brought a backless seat, “Here, take this one” she offered. Moreau graciously accepted, sitting down as best he could, though he still felt a pain surge throughout his body. As he tried to redirect the source of his pain, he found himself unable to hold it in anymore.

“Bucket” he mumbled, Alcina was confused, “I’m sorry?”, “BUCKET!” he cried.The Lady soon realized what he meant as The younger lord held his sides and began to curl his body over in pain. Alcina grabbed the nearest bucket she could find, which happened to not be a bucket at all and more an old jewellery box that she never used.

Moreau snatched it and spewed, the acid burning his mouth slightly. Once he finished he tucked the box Away under his coat, “I'll...get rid of that when I go” he said, “I’ve never had that much though”, “That’s not normal?” Alcina asked, trying her best not to look at the bubbly acid in her now ruined jewellery box.

“No, it usually happens in spurts, just little spits…” Moreau said, holding his sides again as he felt like he was about to collapse at any moment. Alcina sighed, “It’s getting worse,Mother Miranda had one job and she fucked it up!” she yelled, “You don’t deserve to live like this”, “Don’t say that…” Moreau said, groggily, trying to regain his balance, “...besides...I won’t need to live any longer…”

The Tall Mistress stared at her brother in shock, what the heck was that meant to mean? It took her a while but soon she put the pieces together…and she wasn’t fond of the results. “No…” she whispered, before standing up, “No! No! NO! You can’t be!”, “Alcina...I’m dying” Moreau answered, his head down the entire time.

“My Cadou is getting worse by the second and my mutated self keeps coming out against my will...I don’t have control of it” Moreau said, “I’m feeling myself get weaker every day...I-I don’t want to go, Alcie” The younger lord then let a small stream of tears flow down his cheeks as he tried to hide his face.

Alcina shook her head and screamed, “I CAN’T ALLOW THIS! THERE HAS GOT TO BE ANOTHER WAY!”, “Alcie! I was gifted with FOUR Cadou! There is no way to save me!” Moreau cried. Alcina couldn’t bear the idea of losing who she considered a wonderful brother, especially not to something that was meant to bring about joy for him. Something that was meant to help him, ended up being his demise...she couldn’t stand the thought.

The mistress went to kneel down to meet her brother for a hug, but instead she saw Moreau do something she hadn’t seen him do in a long time. The younger lord took a deep breath and straightened up his back. It was painful, as to be expected when you have a massive parasitic growth on your back, but he managed. Soon Alcina found herself being lunged at, her younger sibling wrapping his arms around her in a hug.

The Lady smiled and allowed tears to fall down her face as she hugged back. “I promise you, Moreau” she spoke softly, holding the younger lords head close to her, “I will make sure Mother Miranda pays for what she did to you, even if it’s not me who does it, I will ensure you that she suffers the consequences.”

[valgasnewsthings]

How to fight ears noises.

 From ears' noises are suffering every fifth liver of adult age, and these are   squeak ,  whistle, buzz, hiss. And a most simple reasons over tired, and   sulphur plug. And this is happening in long hearing players through earpieces, and in arterial pressure   jumps and in emotional tensions. And noise is result at   of damage tympanic membrane, inside ear diseases, thyroid gland, injury for head, neck, neck   osteochondrosis, sugar diabetes, tumour for middle ear, allergies.

And affecting of a few remedies as aspirin, himidin, pentamicin, and Menier s diseases and here ear noises having with dizziness, nausea, vomiting and coordination mobility bad. And in adults having in othosclerosis or destroy for hear nerve.

A reason for these noises just put doctor, and he will advise right tests and add right cure.  Medicaments here are improving blood circulation and nootropics energizing nerve cells and physical cure with ultrasound, elector cure, phonophoresis, massage kinds and music therapy. And cure directed on a fighting base problem. But specialists advising to avoid noises, sound, and for fighting into ear noise create external noise background,at home keep radio turned on, and better hear rain  sounds, sea, or ocean/check below are radios in my blog/, and avoiding drinking caffeine, stimulants, spirit drinks, smoking and worry stop about these noises, stressing about this and till anxiety. Patient need to learn to relax.

Tested cure. 

Noises in ears lowering and hear restoring with one tbl.sp. Melissa herb add in glas for the hot water, infuse ten min, use regular, like a tea till calming noises , but for month.

Grind three pieces of garlic, add 2 tbl.sp. mass in 30 perc. sol. propolis of spirit, infuse 5 days, filter, rub behind ears with this remedy for 2-3 times/day  .

Mix one tbl.sp. mint piperine and leafs fragaria , 2 tbl.sp. Melissa  officinalis, add mass mixed in 0.5 l. of the hot water, infuse 20 min, use after one tbl.sp. for 3-4 times/day before meal for 30-45 days.

Chop dried stems ,sockets and seeds of dill, and one tbl.sp. mixed mass add  in 0.5 l. of the hot water, infuse 30 in, use 0.5 glass for 3 times/day before meal, for 1-2 months. .

Mix two tbl.sp. Melissa and one tbl.sp. mint piperine and leafs fragaria,  add this mass in 0.5 l. of the hot water, infuse 20 min, after  use one tbl.sp. for 3 times/day before meal for 30-45 days.

Hyssop burning herb smoke helps in noises ,that his used Hippocrates by.

And if noises in ears having on evening ,thus bake onion, force meat with caraway, press juice, drip on 3 drops in every ear for 2 times/day, till noises stopping, that you can repeat cure for 3 days, and repeat course in week.

Cooked of  chop berries viburnum and added  honey, apply mass on towel, wrap in knot and apply behind ears for night, and help for weak noise and remove.

Bad hear, noises with help use hot infusion of humulus  lupulus a one cup .day, and drip in ear of 7–8 drops almond oil alternating this cure for one day drip oil in right, and in other day in left ear, course a cure month, in month repeat cure.

Exercises.

Regular doing on the morning exercises with self massage neck side of vertebra for 1-2 times/day for min, and rub ears intensively.

Fight ear noises and head in help following special gymnastic:

Low chin maximally below, if its hard for you, thus cross fingers and put theirs on occiput and not worry right away, if on begin feeling ache.

After doing move back ,that look before itself ceiling.

After turns head in different sides looking in mirror. And on begin affect all body, but later in relaxing muscles of neck you can use just theirs.

Side inclines of head, trying touching with ears are shoulders.

Head moves circle, that on begin doing on sitting position and this is keeping balance and helping avoiding falling, and after doing staying on.

These exercises doing a few times/day, all moves doing for 5 times in every direction.

By E.Tarasov M.D.

from Valga s health news,gardening,and cooking ,and beauty . https://ift.tt/b8zP5Jn via https://ift.tt/ZpPoTnJ

[feathers-scales-and-tails]

My ‘unhealthy’ chickens

My blog has a lot of cute chicken photos on it, and sometimes I get comments such as “wow I want a chicken like that!” Which is lovely! I’m glad to spread the chicken love! However I want to take a second to address this. Just like with dogs, there are many breeds of chicken which are unhealthy and have health consequences because of this. I have a couple of birds like this. I just want to make people aware that if they seriously want a bird like this, to take into account what health issues may come with them.

Sooty - Frizzle feathers

Sooty is a fan favourite, and one of my favourites too. I do admit that I love the frizzle feather gene, it just looks so cool! However frizzle feathering causes some issues and I didn’t intentionally get a frizzle, Sooty hatched from a mystery egg. Her Dad was the only frizzle in the flock, with 13 other roosters, so she was a surprise to say the least!

Weather intolerance: Due to the feathers sticking out like that, birds can’t warm up in the cold since their feathers don’t provide a protective barrier and body heat escapes. This also means they have no natural shelter from rain and wind. Sooty doesn’t have to worry about any of this, it’s never cold where I live and she lives inside. She really struggles in the heat, however that’s likely due to her leg and foot feathering which I’ll discuss later, rather than the frizzle feathering.

Flight: Birds can’t fly well, since their primary wing feathers are curled or brittle. This puts them at risk of leg and spinal injuries if they try to fly from too large a height. Sooty did severe nervous damage to her spine when she was 8 weeks old, causing her to become paralysed in the legs for 3 months. Thankfully, she fully recovered after 5 months of physiotherapy.

Sooty’s wings look like this. Not all frizzle feathered birds have flights this poor, however it is a potential consequence of the feather type.

Communication: Another issue frizzle feathers cause is communication within a flock. Sooty used to get pecked a lot by her top hen Kath, because Kath thinks Sooty is always challenging her to fight! Chickens use their neck feathers, called hackle feathers, to communicate a whole bunch of things. From fear, to aggression, to even asking another flock member to clean their feathers. Since frizzle feathers stick out like that, the bird struggles to move them into the positions used for communication so can’t talk to their flock very well. Sooty’s curled hackle feathers make it look like she’s always challenging another hen to a fight

You can see how those raised hackles kinda look like Sooty’s ‘mane’ of curled neck feathers! Thankfully, Sooty is second in command and her head hen, Kath, seems to have learnt that Sooty just looks like that! So she doesn’t get attacked very frequently anymore.

Unethical breeding: The gene which causes frizzle feathers in homozygous form (two copies of the gene) also causes serious issues. These birds are called Frazzles or ‘over frizzled’ and their feathers are very weak, often falling out and leaving the bird naked. It can be painful for them, and if they’re left outside, they certainly wouldn’t survive. Therefore frizzles should never be bred together. To breed frizzles you should use a frizzle feathered bird with a smooth feathered bird. However, this means you hatch only 50% frizzles, so some unethical breeders breed frizzle x frizzle to reduce the amount of smooth feathered birds they get.

A Frazzle chicken

Heart failure: These feathers have also been linked with enlarged hearts, increasing risk of heart failure. Since the feathers cause loss of body heat, it causes an increase in metabolism and other physiological functions to keep the body temperature at the appropriate level. This means the heart has to work harder, increasing its size and putting more strain on it. Sooty tires out easier, and when she used to be out ranging she’d frequently come inside to sleep on the couch while her flock was still outside having fun. I could see this putting them more at risk of predation, since if they’re already tired they don’t have the same stamina of another bird to flee a predator.

Solo - Heavy foot/leg feathering

Not the most flattering photo of her but the best one I have to show her foot feathering! As you can see she was quite cranky with me! She’s a Silkie X Pekin, which are both breeds known to have heavily feathered legs. There are many breeds with healthy foot feathering, such as Langshans

But some like the show-type Pekin bantam, have a number of issues associated with their foot feathering. Here’s a Pekin in comparison to the Langshan above

As you can see the feathering is much much heavier!

Mobility: Very heavy leg and foot feathering significantly reduces mobility. The large feathers make it harder to move toes, making perching more difficult, and are a tripping hazard. Solo is always tripping over, stumbling, and ‘shuffling’ when she walks since her feet impair her movement a significant amount. I’m probably going to cut her foot feathers off so she can move about easier. They’d never hindered her movement until now, this molt they grew in humongous for some reason. Obviously having a built in tripping hazard isn’t a good idea, since it predisposes the bird to a higher risk of leg injuries.

Thermotegulation: As mentioned above, legs and feet are very important in helping a bird regulate their temperature. Lightly feathered legs like the Langshan has don’t have this issue, since the bird has majority of its foot free to cool down with. Heavily feathered legs like the pekin provide little surface area to cool down with, so the birds can really struggle in hot weather. Solo is one of our least heat tolerant birds, and she thankfully has wattles and a comb unlike poor Silkies!

Cleanliness: Heavily feathered feet get disgusting! They’re more prone to getting dirty and are harder for the birds to keep clean. Solo always has poop, sticks, food, mud, and all sorts of other gunk crusted into her foot feathering. I have to clean them quite frequently so that she doesn’t get bacterial build up.

Other health ailments: In my experience, heavily feathered feet tend to be a beacon for related leg and foot health issues. We don’t have to worry about this where I live, but foot feathers can get wet in snow and heighten frostbite risk for toes. Although I don’t have to worry about the cold, sadly these foot feathers also have heat related issues! I live in a sub-tropical environment, so humidity levels get pretty high here. Bacteria loves humidity. Solo has had a bad case of Bumblefoot which was really hard to treat due to this humidity. Sweep, another bird with heavy foot feathering, has had 2 cases of bumblefoot now. I’ve never had a clean-legged bird get bumblefoot, so it’s definitely linked to trapping bacteria and humidity. I haven’t had to deal with this parasite myself, but apparently feather-legged breeds are more prone to Scaly-leg mite too.

Cujo - Heavy layer breeds

Cujo is a Hamburg, sometimes referrred to as ‘Everlayers’ since they have a reputation for reliably laying an egg every day. They rarely go broody, and if they do are very easy to dissuade. I am very against production breeds if they’re not within an agricultural industry, where they have a purpose, since it tragically shortens their lives so much. The Hamburgs lay on average 200 eggs annually, which isn’t too bad and makes them a healthier layer breed, but it’s certainly heavier laying than most of the other breeds I have. Cujo is actually very healthy, I took great care in picking a breeder to get her from and most of his birds are lighter layers than they ‘should’ be. Cujo was laying 3-4 eggs a week before her current molt, much better than the 5-7 her breed has a reputation for.

Heart failure: One of the most frequent ends to laying birds is heart failure. Their bodies are under so much stress to make an egg every day that their bodies eventually just give up, usually from heart failure.

They don’t go broody: A lot of people don’t like broody hens, since they stop laying and sit on their nest all day, however I really like them. A broody hen gets a much needed break from laying eggs! Some breeds continue to lay eggs over winter, and some birds don’t stop laying when they molt if it’s a light one. So broodies give the bird a choice to stop laying and sit on eggs when she wants, if she didn’t get a break over winter or molt. Breeding this behaviour out of production breeds contributes to their issues, since they can’t take that break.

Shortened life span: Due to the strain mass egg production puts on their bodies, average lifespan is 3-4 years compared to the 6-10+ of healthy heritage breeds. I had a utility leghorn as a pet many years ago, her heart tragically gave out on her one day while I wasn’t home. She was dirtbathing in her favourite spot when it happened, so I hope to think it was a peaceful end. She was only 2 years old.

Reproductive complications: Heavy layer breeds are more prone to experiencing issues with their reproductive tract. This includes cancers, tumours, prolapses, egg binding, and egg yolk peritonitis (infection). They’re also more prone to nutrient deficiencies, especially with calcium, since it takes so much out of them to lay eggs. This is easily preventable with a balanced diet, however if calcium deficiency does occur the hen can suffer from brittle bones.

Sweep - Aggressive breeds

Now Sweep isn’t nearly as bad as this title frames her to be, but it’s still worth a mention. We can only guess what her parentage is since she came from mystery eggs, but we think Sweep is an Old English Game cross Pekin. In Australia, Old English Game are a hyper aggressive breed. They were bred for the cruel sport of cockfighting, where two roosters are forced to fight to the death. Thankfully this sport is now criminalised, but nobody bred the aggressiveness out of this breed.

Injury risk: hyper aggressive breeds pose a greater risk of injury mainly to other flock mates, but also to themselves. These birds often antagonise others despite there not really being a reason to, resulting in more fighting, disharmony, and injury within a flock. If another bird is stronger than them and gets sick of their shit, they themselves could be seriously hurt since they often don’t know when to back down from a fight like non-aggressive birds do. Sweep has to be housed separate from my main flock with her mother, Solo for company. She has tried many times to outrank birds in my main flock but her fighting is very brutal compared to the normal pecking order fights. She aims for the eyes, and came close to blinding a bird once before, I can’t risk that sort of injury.

Mortality risk: continuing on from that first point, some individuals will take their aggressiveness too far and kill fellow flock mates. What might start out as a simple pecking order fight can turn very bloody and very brutal with these breeds fast. Roosters can kill hens and hens can kill hens. This obviously should never happen in well bred, good tempered birds. I do not say this jokingly when I say that Sweep and Sooty would kill each other if I let them. They’re both Pekin X Old English, and although Sooty is good with other birds, she’s terrible with Sweep. I’m hoping Sweep will mellow with age (she’s currently 2) and I can integrate her and Solo as part of Blossom’s flock.

Social interaction: I think this is something a lot of people don’t seem to consider, but having hyper aggressive birds which have to be housed seperate will obviously hugely impact upon their social needs. It doesn’t matter how aggressive the bird is, a chicken is, and always will be, a social animal. They need companionship, and while this can be provided by us, it’s easiest to provide it with other chickens. Keeping a social animal by itself, never letting it interact with others, and not providing that companionship yourself is incredibly inhumane in my opinion. It doesn’t matter if that bird is incapable of interacting without trying to kill the others, the fact is that this animal is still hardwired to live in a social group. By breeding such aggressive animals, it’s very cruel since it deprives them of such a basic need.

Now this post isn’t to say people can’t get a breed if they like it but it has health consequences, because something like those heavy foot feathers don’t cause the bird any harm or pain in itself, it’s just a consequence of poor management. So if you’re willing to do the work to ensure those features don’t hinder the animals quality of life, then excellent! Go ahead and get those basketball-shaped Pekin lads! This post was merely a reminder to think critically and research any animal/breed before you get them, and to make sure you’re prepared for any future consequences or adjustments for that animal/breed. Sooty and Solo need fans set up on their pens during the Summer, Sweep needs a seperate coop, and all three need adjusted perches and weekly foot health checks because of their heavily feathered feet. Once again, the importance of you screening for ethical, responsible breeders is crucial when deciding to bring a new family member home.

Thanks for reading!

[seoultrippins]

focus | pjm | 01

Summary: Park Jimin is an extremely accomplished con man who takes an amateur con artist under his wing. What he did not see coming was you and him being romantically involved and with Jimin’s profession of being a liar and a cheater for a living, he realizes that deception and love are things that don't go together. Or could it?

Pairing: Reader x Jimin

Genre: Crime, Conman!Jimin, Conartist!Reader, Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 2851

Warnings: Cussing, Slight groping

Status: 1/?

A/N: Hey! It feels nice to be writing on tumblr, I've always wanted to. I 've grown accustomed to publishing my writings on AFF but I thought it'd be pretty cool to start publishing here. I hope you enjoy reading and I am not too sure how many parts there would be but either way don't be a silent rider. The smut in the next chapter will be intense however, so bless me.

From the lazy spin of the fans, to the recumbent light of eventide that will soon be starlit black, the bar soaks in the ambiance of this good night. It's a bar, in a hotel that has a name you could barely pronounce but everyone is attempting to appear proper in their high end suits and attire, as you are. Fidgeting through the skin tight dress you had on, you rested your arm on the bar countertop as you analysed the surroundings. The bar is hundreds of conversations told in loud voices, all of them competing with the live jazz music that dominated the atmosphere. The crowd had a mixture of the young and the old and it was perfect. Perfect to source out for your very next victim. However, as you searched the throng, you felt a strong warmth around your waist and turned around as your eyes met with a desperate pair. Dressed in a suit two sizes bigger than required, the sloppy looking man insisted he had you in his arms. You wrinkled your brows as you realized where this was going, and it was destroying your good mood. Nervously, you removed the man’s hands away but his persistence remained. Whispering filthy nothings in your ears, your hands reached out to push the man away. Frustration boiled through your veins as you desperately thought of ways to remove yourself from the dreadful situation.

“Okay, you know what,” You chuckled nervously. “My boyfriend could be here any minute.” Your hands were busy pushing his persistent hands away as he laughed.

“Yea? I don’t see anyone. C’mon baby, no point lying..”

Rolling your eyes, you eyes scan through the crowd. Eyes evidently searching for someone you could confide in and that did it. Your eyes landed on the gentleman feasting on his dinner. Your eyes widened, handsome is a state of soul that carries through that man. He had that kind of face that stopped you in your tracks. He must get used to that, the sudden pause in a person’s natural expression when they looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. Lips curling into a soft smirk, you tug the annoying man harshly, eyes meeting his as he pulls away in shock.

“Look, he’s there.” Your index finger pointing to the handsome gentleman who caught your attention confidently. “Fuck off, really.”

Walking past the bewildered drunk man, you breathe your nerves away as you approach the gentleman. You watch the way he sits with such elegance - so poignant and dignified. His white suit was tailored to his frame, and his unbuttoned dress shirt allowed his flawless skin to breathe while his fingers were adorned with precise lines of metallic rings. Fingers wrapped delicately around his wine glass as you watch his eyes shift towards you when voluntarily slip into the seat in front of him. Placing your baguette bag to your lap, you watch him raise his eyebrow in question as you lean forward to explain yourself.

“Could you -” You stopped, turning around to look at the creep still standing by the bar countertop looking right back at you before whispering. “Do you mind being my boyfriend? Like just for a minute.”

Staring at the man in front of you, you watch him smirk behind his glass before gently placing the drink down as he leans back against the soft cushion of his chair. Extending his long, toned legs into a manspread, he leans his face against his fingers as he watches you. Growing confused, you began to fidget in your seat.

“You - you’re not a serial killer are you?” You asked.

He stares, fingers playing with his rings as he shrugs. “That depends. How many times does it take to get to “serial”?” He shoots back.

Your face contorted into a genuine thoughtful expression as you answer. “Uhm..five..?”

“Oh then, no we’re good.” He leans forward as he answers you with a straight face.

This man was something else. You thought to yourself as your lips curled into a smile upon hearing his response. Hand stretching out, you introduced yourself.

“Y/N”

“Jimin.” His fingers slip comfortably into yours as he shakes your hand. It was brief, friendly even - but the way his attractive gaze stayed on yours made it oddly intimate.

“Ha Ha, funny.” You mocked, as you took a sip of the red liquor swirling in the shiny glass. “I only came to you because you seemed awfully lonely. Eating your dinner like that, I just felt so so bad..”

“Yea?” He prodded you with an eyebrow raise. “Then that’s also the reason why you’re here alone, waiting for a non-existent boyfriend you can use to chase away creeps?”

Okay he had a point.

“Hey!” You frowned. “A girl needs time alone alright? Also, you started this unnecessary feud on how you were the best choice in this damn bar. I was just trying to avoid ending up in the newspapers as a missing person.” Your frustration is evident in your tone as he watches you intently.

Not long, the both of you were bursting into bits of laughter as you recount the trivial conversation. Your eyes shifted to your wrist, taking note of the 30 minutes you’ve spent conversing with this stranger and everything seemed oddly perfect. Too perfect even.

“Thank you,” You said as he rested comfortably on his chair. “Thank you for saving me.”

His lips curled up slightly as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah we definitely showed him.” He says as his head points to the creep. The only difference was that he was knocked up, completely unconscious on the countertop.

You laughed. “Damn, was that what I was missing out on?”

As he laughs along, you watch him shift, toned body leaning forward and you couldn’t help but take note of the way his necklace dangled over his neck as he stares at you. “Can I walk you somewhere?”

The air in your lungs became stuck in your throat. This guy was extremely beautiful. His voice sounded like melted honey and it took all you had not to lean forward and take his lips in yours.

“Um,” You began. “I’m actually staying here, upstairs.”

“Really?” He says but you watch the way he fidgets in his seat, hands adjusting his rings and he runs his fingers through his hair - throughout, his gaze is fixed on you.

“Let me walk you there then.”

"Fuck." Jimin was nestled under you, your hips grinding against the evident arousal between his thighs as you drag your lips down his neck.

You shivered, feeling the way his hands travelled down your frame to your ass, squeezing the thick flesh mercilessly as forcefully grinds you against his arousal.

"Fuck Jimin, fuck do that again.." You whimpered.

Lips intertwined, you heart drops to your stomach when you took sight of the way he smiles between the kiss. You nearly forgot why you brought him up here in the first place. Not until the loud sound of your hotel room door crashing open did you remind yourself that you had a task to perform. Rolling your eyes, you switched into character.

"Oh fuck! It's my husband." As you watched Kihoon enter the room, you sprang into the area next to Jimin. Kihoon's fingers gripped tightly on the rifle as he pointed it towards Jimin's face.

"Kihoon wait-"

"Shut the fuck up." Kihoon groaned, his eyes gleaming as he faced Jimin.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jimin voices, palms up as he surrenders himself to the situation but you couldn't ignore the slight tint of smile in the corner of his lips as he does so. Is this man a fucking psycho?

"Just let him go Kihoon."

"You fucking cheated. No way, he's fucking dead." Kihoon screams, lines of veins bulging out his reddening neck as he does so. You noted the sweat crowding his forehead. "Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't do it."

At this moment, your heart was racing. You knew there was no intention of shooting Jimin, and it was aggravating to see the man next to you undisturbed by the scenario. His surrending palms were now resting comfortable under his head as he watches you. You sighed internally, coming up with a respond to Kihoon but Jimin cuts you off.

"I'm drawing a blank." He says, eyes shifting away from you to Kihoon.

"What?" Kihoon mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I think you should shoot me." Jimin continues, smile creeping onto his handsome face. "Let's be honest, you've been aggrieved."

"Don't mess with him Jimin. He's done hard time." You tried to salvage the situation as you fidgeted in your spot.

"Yea man, I've done fucking hard time!"

Jimin chuckles, eyes lazily shifting as he stares at you. "Man, if you had any idea what I was about to do to her-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Kihoon yells, his rifle still pointing at Jimin's face, but this man remains unconcerned.

"Please, come on, shoot me." Jimin urges. "You're really doing me a favour. Cancer. Tumour, the size of a peach." He lifted his hand to offer a visual representation as he chuckles. "Shoot me, you'll see."

"Fuck!" You groaned, rolling your eyes as you aggravatedly run your fingers through your hair. "He's onto us, Kihoon. Wake the fuck up."

You watch Jimin sit up slowly as he rolled off the bed. His eyes fixed on you as he fixed his blazer. "Just give us the money Jimin."

"Or?" He challenges.

"He'll shoot you in the neck."

Kihoon falters, eyes shifting to you. "I can't shoot a guy with cancer. My grandma had cancer.."

"He does not have cancer, you idiot!" You groaned. "Get out man."

Your perked up when you hear Jimin laughing as watches the situation unfold. "You guys suck."

He leans forward, sinful hands slipping into his pants pockets. "First of all, you gotta wait till she gets my pants off." He says as he walks to rest against the wall nearest to the door. "Then you gotta give me a chance to run, that's how you get the money and you should never drop the con. You never break. Die with the lie."

"How did you figure this out?" You asked.

"When you stole that creep's wallet before you came to me."

You heave in wrath and fury, you feel your ego breaking through your spirit. Frowning, you questioned. "Then why'd you come up here with me then if you're so smart?"

Jimin shrugs. "Professional curiousity." He walks towards the door before turning around. "Also, I love ass so I figured it's a win-win."

You groaned. "Fuck off Jimin."

"You suck baby."

The cold night was all around as you stepped out of the hotel. Tugging onto your sweater, you hugged your shivering frame as you made your way home. You feel the chill in your blood, coldness bringing the synapses of your brain to a stand still. However, you were still perplexed by the failed operation, and your thoughts kept replaying the scene in your brain. You groaned internally. All you wanted was to get home and sulk on your own.

Until -

"You really should be more aware." You ears perked up at the familiar melted honey voice. Rolling your eyes, you caught sight of Jimin walking up to you from behind, his hands stuffed in his pants pockets. "I've been behind you for two blocks."

You stayed silent, footsteps hurrying but he prods you. "You didn't see me?"

"I don't have eyes at the back of my head." You responded.

"Well, if you're gonna play this game you might wanna grow a pair."

You turn to face him. He was the kind of handsome that got into your bones. He was handsome from the depth of his eyes to the gentle expressions of his voice. Nonetheless, you brushed the thoughts away as you rolled your eyes. "I can take care of myself Jimin."

Shaking his head, he stops you. "No, you're going to get hurt." and when you don't answer, he offers. "Let me buy you coffee."

"I don't drink coffee." Hoping that would make him piss off, you failed, yet again, as he stood across you - silently staring at you. Groaning, you walked away. "Fine.

As he grabbed for the glass door, the two of you strolled side by side, stumbling onto the nearest café. You looked up to see his eyes already locked on you as he reached out to guide you inside the café, and the warmth of it sent an electric chill down your spine. As you took your seat, you gazed out the window at the to watch the thick blanket of snow that had blanketed the grounds. An icy serenade, a coolness to bring out the warmth within. As promised, Jimin comes back to the table with coffee cups in his hands.

"Thank you." You muttered softly, hands reaching for the cup as you caught his staring eyes.

"So, what's your thing?" You began, curious eyes finding his intense ones. "Inside? Roper? You can tell me."

He smiles, taking a sip of his coffee. "Everything. Been in this game for so long."

"Your story. I wanna know all of it if that's okay with you."

He nods, placing the cup onto the wooden table before leaning against his seat. Your eyes lingered over the spread of his toned thighs but chastised yourself for getting distracted.

"My grandfather used to run a crooked game in Busan." Jimin began. "Eventually, my father started shilling for him. One day they get burned. Mobbed-guy catches them throwing signals. Everybody's guns come out. Standoff. No way out. Except one."

Your eyes glued to the man in front of you, completely focused. "The Toledo Panic Button."

Your frowned. "What the hell is that?"

Jimin's chuckles and you don't think you'd ever get used to the sound of that. "You shoot your partner. Proves you're not together."

Mouth agape, you internalize the way Jimin casually spills horrid, explicit details on the world he's associated with. "So your grandfather killed your father?"

"That's the world you're in. Dabblers get killed." He shrugs, raising an eyebrow as he sips on his coffee.

God, was he hot.

You sighed. "Look, I wasn't born into this like you. I was a dyslexic foster kid. No prospects, no future. I mean, it's a minor miracle I'm not a hooker right now."

Jimin smirks at that as he leans his elbow against the armrest. He can't deny that the picture of your delicate hands wrapped around a poll accompanied by the dimmed lighting indeed piqued his interest. Hands grazing his jaw gently as you catch the way his eyes scans your frame. Brushing that act off, you lean forward. "Tutor me, Jimin."

"No." He shakes his head.

"Why not?"

"Why should I?" Jimin shoots back.

Groaning, you reach for your bag as you pulled out a leather Birkin. "Well, look, I could pay you, if that helps ."

Jimin crosses his arms, lips curling into a smile before eventually transcending into a contagious laugh. "Y/N, whose wallet is that?"

"Um," You flipped the wallet open, tugging onto an identity card. "Dr Kim Wooshik?"

He does not reply immediately but stares at your hopeful face.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Jimin says before you could register. Head whipping up to the man in front of you, you watch the way his tongue swipe between his lips, wetting his lower lip as he awaits your response.

"I- are you serious? How do I contact you then?" You stood up when he did.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he closes up on you. Handsome face leaning towards yours as his supple lips lands on your right ear to whisper, "I'll call you."

As he leans back, your eyes catches sight on his hand lifting to your face with your watch in his hands. Eyes widening, you lifted your wrist to find it empty.

"How-"

"I'll see you tomorrow. Stay safe." He walks away, turning around briefly to flash a smile as you stood alone, baffled.