#Risk Factors for Depression

[healingwgabs]

What Causes Psychosis?

High anxiety is also a psychosis risk factor (complex bpd, Dr Fox)

A lot of people conflate psychosis with anxiety, they are not the same! there may be overlap tho and anxiety can co-occur with psychotic episodes (mine def had features of anxious distress)

I posted something about the use of adhd medication being a psychosis risk factor not too long ago, I rlly hope i didnt make seem like that was the sole cause of me developing psychosis

[orcelito]

Starting the birth control thing today and it may or may not change my entire demeanor (on account of balancing out my shit hormones bc I apparently have PCOS lol) so if I am a different person after this now you know why 👍

[youtubevideopromotion]

Did You Know Your Mental Health Is Linked to Strokes?

Join us as we unravel the secrets, and discover how nurturing your mental well-being can be your superhero against strokes! For more click here

[artisticdivasworld]

Postpartum Depression: Is It Serious?

Childbirth is a joyous time, however, not every new mother feels joyful. There is such a thing as “postpartum depression” and it causes loss of interest, fatigue, even thoughts of harming self or others. This does not happen to every person who gives birth, but it does happen often enough that it is important to educate people about it. This blog post aims to provide educational insights and…

[hopkinrx]

Parkinson's Disease: Symptoms, 3 Main Causes, Treatment And Current Research

IntroductionUnderstanding Parkinson’s DiseaseWhat is Parkinson’s disease?How common is Parkinson’s disease?Who is at risk?Symptoms of Parkinson’s DiseaseMotor symptomsNon-motor symptomsCauses of Parkinson’s DiseaseGenetic factorsEnvironmental factorsDopamine deficiencyDiagnosing Parkinson’s DiseaseMedical history and physical examinationNeurological examinationImaging testsTreatment Options for…

[iamespecter]

My phone's battery keeps dying (I think something's wrong with it) but I cooked a little bit more on this Doctor!Caine and Patient!Pomni idea.... and this may or may not become bigger than The Amazing Digital Roadtrip.....

My mental illness cannot be contained!!!!!!!!!!!! Also these designs are subject to change because yes ✌️

Things I've come up with last afternoon while going crazy from the lack of dopamine are:

- Abstraction is currently determined to be a terminal illness

- It's contagious via skin-on-skin contact, and can be inherited through genes

- it can even bloom late in life, but that doesn't mean everyone that the patient has touched before is immediately affected

- The physical symptoms are inky black "cracks" forming along the skin, physical degradation, loss of saturation and many more

- Depending on a lot of factors, this illness can be aggressive, or at most be dormant.

- Once it reaches the patient's brain, it is too late

- But the progress of abstraction can also be delayed through amputation, depending on where the "source" is

- It only really affects "organic" stuff

- Which means AI robots are immune, and can touch the patient as much as they want without risk of infecting themselves

- Kinger is the CEO/Founder of the AI Association that focuses on the research about Abstraction, and how to cure it

- He is also, strangely enough, kinda immune? idek he seems fine except he's a bit cuckoo

- Because of it's contagiousness, people who suffer from the abstraction illness are GREATLY FEARED by others

- People who have the illness have to wear a lot of protection (such as gloves, face mask, etc.) in order to even interact with the outside world

- They also need to have their AI Doctor/Nurse with them AT ALL TIMES.

About the main pairing:

- Pomni is the only daughter of Kinger and the late Queenie

- She used to be more upbeat early in her life, until Queenie passed. She then became depressed, and it only got worse as her illness began to show and she became cynical as a result, believing she'll die early, and alone

- Caine was named and created based off of the image of Pomni's imaginary friend during her childhood, in order to ease her into accepting Caine as her personal doctor

- This did NOT, in fact, ease her into accepting Caine as her personal doctor because what the fuck.

- Pomni hates AIs for being unable to save Queenie.

- She also thinks that her new doctor won’t be able to save her, and that her dad’s efforts to delay her situation are fruitless.

- Part of her still clings onto hope. However, said part is also dying.

- Caine is a test prototype of a model that’s supposed to handle (and even possibly cure) the symptoms of abstraction, so there’s defo a lotta pressure on his shoulders

- Especially when he gets assigned to SPECIFICALLY THE DAUGHTER OF THE CEO WHO OWNS HIM

- He’s also one of the first AIs to not only be psuedo-sentient, but also self-evolving; in order to be able to adjust to patient needs and wants.

- He can “manifest” anything physical as long as it’s within the size limit of his own physical manifestation. For example, if Pomni is hyperventilating; he can manifest a pair of artificial lungs that pump oxygen in order to give her breathing space. (You know what that means)

- Not only is he able to float, he is also able to carry Pomni like she weighs like a couple of grapes because this is not me being self-indulgent and thinking he should carry her bridal style all the time (lie), this is me saying “it’s for emergencies when Pomni is too weak to even stand or walk”

- Pomni hated Caine A LOT at first because she hated having to be co-dependent on this walking life support so yes this is an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers kinda story (except it was one-sided "enemies")

- As the story progresses, Pomni clings onto the hope of not just surviving, but also living again; as Caine learns what it means to be not just existing, but alive!!! because me and my homies love stories about positivity and hope amongst shitty situations!!!!

- And then they fuck. Oh yes, they fuck eventually. And they fuck a lot after that

I don’t care this is MY story, MY AU, I will do whatever the fuck I want!!!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAA

I have no idea if I want some of the gang to be AI Doctors/Nurses too but erm. we'll see

[literaryvein-reblogs]

When your Character is Sleep Deprived

Sleep Deprivation - occurs when you don’t routinely get sufficient sleep at night.

Seven to eight hours of quality sleep time is the baseline for most adults, yet the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) estimates that one third of American adults suffer from measurable sleep loss.

This lack of sleep can lead to disruptions in everyday life, from grogginess and delayed reaction times to serious medical conditions.

Causes of Sleep Deprivation

Many factors can prevent you from getting a good night's sleep. These include:

Sleep disorders: Certain conditions like sleep apnea and restless leg syndrome can interfere with healthy sleep.

Mental health conditions: Depression and anxiety can be sources of severe sleep deprivation.

External stimuli: Loud noises, bright lights, and hot temperatures can all prevent you from getting enough sleep.

Work schedules: Shift work at night can clash with your natural circadian rhythms and trigger sleep deprivation.

Physical activity: Exercise can inhibit sleep onset if scheduled too close to bedtime.

Effects of Sleep Deprivation

The consequences of sleep deprivation can be serious. A person operating on insufficient sleep may face increased risk of the following effects.

Daytime drowsiness: A poorly rested person can go through the day feeling groggy. This can lead to drowsy driving, car accidents, mental slip-ups, and poor cognition.

Microsleep: In addition to general drowsiness, a person running on very little sleep can experience microsleep—very short bursts of unconsciousness that feel like blacking out.

Mood swings: A person overcome by sleepiness may be cranky and irritable, and they may also experience headaches that further sour their mood.

Memory issues: Poor sleep patterns that cause a person to get less sleep have the potential to affect memory recall.

Tips for Avoiding Sleep Deprivation

To ensure you get consistent and sufficient sleep duration, consider the following strategies.

Stick to a bedtime routine. Sleep difficulties can stem from inconsistent schedules and routines. Improve your sleep hygiene by creating consistent sleep habits and a bedtime routine. This may involve stretching, an evening shower, or a cup of tea.

Avoid digital screens before bed. The blue light of electronics can mimic the effects of sunlight and prevent your body from entering its natural sleep cycle. Keep digital devices out of the bedroom, and when you must use them before bed, use a blue light filter that keeps the most disruptive light out of your eyes.

Consider a natural sleep remedy. Supplemental melatonin can help you fall asleep when your routine sleep schedule has been disrupted. Take care to not build reliance on sleep medications that may dampen the restorative effects of REM sleep and non-REM sleep.

Lower the temperature of your bedroom. A nighttime room temperature of 60 to 67 degrees Fahrenheit signals to your brain that it’s time to sleep.

Practice mindful relaxation techniques. A bedtime ritual of deep breathing exercises and slow exhales can promote progressive muscle relaxation. Mindfulness can also eliminate tension while allowing your body to drift into drowsiness and get enough hours of sleep.

Monitor your health conditions. Certain medical conditions, like sleep apnea and restless leg syndrome, can impair sleep onset and deprive you of sleep over the course of the night. Seek medical advice for handling such conditions, and work with your healthcare provider to develop treatment and coping strategies.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[rosenclaws]

Lost || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You risk your life on missions when you shouldn't. Logan can't stand it. He thinks it's because you want to play hero. It isn't until something shifts that he realizes there's more to it. That the two of you are more alike than ever.

warnings: Suicidal ideation, implied Self harm (scratching), depressive thoughts and feelings, self hatred manifesting in different ways, mostly the reader is very mean to themselves, the reader is having a mental spiral basically, poor eating, angst, injuries, hopeful ending.

wc: 3.3k

a/n: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! This fic contains very triggering topics and if you think that reading or being exposed to them will hurt you please DO NOT READ. I value peoples well being over this fic 1000%. If I'm being honest this was my own kind of therapy. The way I wrote the reader's thought process and feelings is a lot like my own. I've been going through it a little and I just needed to get something out. I would also like to disclaimer that I am okay! Please take care of yourself first and be gentle to yourself. If you need someone to talk to my dms and inbox are open or please consider reaching out to someone

Things worked like clockwork around here. The kid would go to class. Do their homework. Play outside. The adults would be training or teaching. Dinner was at the same time every night. Occasionally the team would get sent on a mission and even then things worked like they normally did.

Scott led the team with a plan, Logan usually ignored that plan, Ro got between them when their childish bickering got to be too much, and you all got home just fine.

"Again?" Beast is shaking his head as you hobble into the lab again. A pained smile on your face as Scott helps you onto the cold metal table. 

"What can I say beastie, I just love your company." You groan as he gently touches your side. A sharp pain shoots through your body and dark spots cloud your vision.

 "Broken ribs, definitely." He mutters as he writes something down. He asks you to follow his finger and you do your best. 

"Concussion. Again." You wince as his tone grows harsher.

 "Superficial cuts and bruises." The list goes on and on as you're examined.

"Can you just prescribe me some pain meds and let go? That's what we did last time." You ask and he just looks at you like a disappointed parent.

 "We did that last time and the time before that and the time before that. This is your third concussion and I can't even remember how many broken ribs." You feel like a child as he starts lecturing you on safety and the dangers of missions and blah blah blah.

Look you get that this isn't great but you're an X-Man right? They help people by any means even when the world seems to hate them. So you're helping people by putting yourself in harms way. Even your teammates.

 "I really don't understand why you continue to do this to yourself." Beast injects something into your arm and you flinch.

 "Fuck! A little warning next time please." You rub your arm and close your eyes as the exhaustion is starting to catch up to you. 

"No missions for at least three months." He says to Scott who you forgot was still there. 

"What!" You shoot up and double over in pain from your ribs.

 "Come on, you can't bench me for three months." You whine as you look at Scott. 

"Our top priority is that you're safe and healthy firefly." Scott says and you scoff. 

"No our top priority is helping people." He sighs and pats you on the shoulder. Great, is this another scolding? Beasts was like a parent but Scott was always more brotherly than anything.

 "Firefly, We understand the want to help but you can't help people if you keep getting hurt. You throw yourself into danger without even thinking about it." 

"So does Logan!" You protest but you know the argument is futile.

 "Logan has rapid healing factor. You don't. Look, just take the three months okay? Please? We worry about you." Scott says with such sincerity it makes you feel a little bad. 

"Okay fine." You mumble in agreement. Satisfied with your answer Scott leaves, letting Hank patch you up. You're silent as you think back to the mission.

It was dangerous. You weren't dealing with low level grunts or something. These people were deadly. They weren't going to spare anyone. Rogue and Jubilee joined the mission and as much as you loved them they weren't ready. The fight was getting messier and exhaustion was kicking in.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jubilee and Rogue barely fighting off their attackers. Without thinking you jump in to help them. The calls to retreat came and you saw Logan come help the three of you. His claws sliced his way through. 

"Get back to the ship!" He growled as he took down yet another man. Everyone else was safe except for the four of you. 

"Go, I'll be right behind you!" You yell over your shoulder.

You put up a wall to block the bullets as you walk back. In your head you know how this plays out. You get on the ship and they shoot it down, killing you all. Or you don't make it. Or a million other ways it can go wrong. As Logan grabs Jubilee and Rouge and pulls them onto the ship he holds his hand out to you.

 "We need to go!" Without thinking you take down you start to build energy in your hands. The wall wavers as the bullets continue. 

"Quit fucking around and get in here!" Logan roars. Sorry Logan, you tend to ignore him anyways on missions. Which is how you tend to get hurt but you always end up okay. 

"I got this!" You can hear Logan's angry shouting as the plane door closes. They had no choice but to listen to you. A bullet pierces your wall and rips through your side. You let out a cry as your knee buckles. Sweat pours down your face as you gather every last bit of your energy into your hands.

 "Eat shit." You snarl as you make eye contact with who you assume was the leader.

You release the energy and it blasts through everyone and everything around you. The ship is safe due to protective measures but you aren't. The blowback slams you into the hard jet doors. A sickening crunch as your body hits the cold metal. Your vision becomes hazy as you hit the ground hard. Spots dancing in your vision as you crawl away from the jet.

Everything fucking hurt. You vaguely hear the doors opening again and the hands-on your face. Someone's talking to you but you don't register a thing they say. Which landed you back in the lab. Right now getting patched up.

"Thanks Hank." You say as you hop off the table. You decline any help getting to your room and awkwardly walk to the doors. To your surprise, Logan stands right outside of them. Arms crossed a really pissed off look on his face. 

"Logan, always a pleasure." You flash a smile and he rolls his eyes. He stalks after you as you walk slowly to the elevator. 

"Did Charles send you to check up on me or something because I'm really not in the mood." 

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He snarls. He slams his hand on a button and the elevator stops.

 "Logan I really want to go to bed." You groan as you try to push past him but to no avail. It was like a brick wall.

 "No, you're going to shut up and listen. I don't know what compels you to be so incredibly stupid but you need to fucking quit it." You shrink under his harsh words.

 "I've seen people like you before, always trying to play hero. You're reckless. Putting yourself into danger so you can be the one to save the day." You let him rip into you. Not speaking a word he slams his hand on the button and the elevator moves again.

 "Nothing to say?" He rolls his eyes and storms out of the elevator. 

"I'm sorry." You whisper to no one as the elevator doors close on you.

No one sees you for a while. You stay locked up in your room. Not even coming out for food. Every day some student brings food to your door and leaves it there. You wonder who told them to do that. Jean maybe, probably 'Ro. 

Sometimes you take it just so they don't worry but other times you leave it there until the next plate comes. You spend your day staring at the ceiling or sleeping. Sometimes though you're too tired to sleep. Does it make sense? No but it's how you feel. Logan's words replaying in your head.

If Beast and Scott were like family, Logan was something more. As much as you tried to hide it your feelings had changed, evolved from friendly into something more. You cared so much about what he thinks of you even when you don’t want to. You can’t help it. 

So his words cut deeper than anyone else's. You aren't trying to be a hero or take the glory. But maybe you are? Maybe you want that love and recognition from people, from him. Does it matter though? What your intentions were?

Apparently, you come across as an egotistical reckless person with a hero complex. It's not like that. You argue with yourself about it all the time. Shifting from hero to villain in an instant. You're selfish. You do it for attention. 

No wonder he thinks that way. Does everyone else think so too? But you care. You're an X-men but you aren't one of the X-men. You're not the one people think of when they come to save the day and you're okay with that. Your expendable. Better you than them. Right? You've hurt people in your past. You aren't worthy of this life. This family. You need to prove yourself. Sacrifice yourself if needed.

The spiral won't stop. It never. Stops. You can't get it to stop. You just want peace. Just one day where you don't wake up and feel guilt in everything you do. A loud knock on your door rings through your room but you don't move. 

"Hey." It's Logan. What is he doing here?

 "Look I uh, I shouldn't have snapped at you. The other day." You can tell he's struggling to get his thoughts out. Not that he didn't want to do it, he just didn't know how.

 "I was angry." He waits a few moments and you hear a frustrated growl. 

"Come on firefly, you've been holed up here long enough." You roll onto your side to face the door. Looking at his shoes through the small crack in the bottom. He's pacing.

 "Seriously I-er We're getting worried alright?" You don't catch the slip of his tongue. Too wrapped up feeling guilty. Again. Guilty for hurting your team, for not understanding what was wrong with you. Guilty for even feeling this way in the first place. 

"I thought you should know that Remy's making your favorite dinner." You hear him sigh and walk away. More guilt creeps up on you. You're making everyone worry about you.

 You're being selfish, just pull it together. Beating yourself up over and over again. As the sun goes down the smell of dinner wafts through your room. It doesn't normally do that so you suspect someone is trying to lure you out. Enough of this.

You get up and change your clothes. You stop and look in the mirror, trying to put on your best smile. You don't look very convincing but it should be fine. Peeking your head out you hear a lot of voices coming from the kitchen. You quietly walk into the doorway.

It takes a second but someone notices you and then everyone does. The talking dies down as they just stare at you. It's really uncomfortable. You feel terrible for making them worry. You don't deserve to be worried about like this.

 "All this for me?" You joke and thankfully the room grows louder again.

You say hi to some of the people who come up to you. A plate is placed in front of you and you graciously accept it. Looking across the room you can see Logan staring at you. He's silent but watching your every move. 

"So how's recovery coming? You've been taking bed rest pretty seriously." Scott says with a smile.

You know he doesn't mean anything by it but for some reason, it stings. Like you've been lazy or something. You're a mutant. Recovery shouldn't take this long. You're not putting in the work. You're wasting your time. You don't get to rest. 

"Hey? Firefly?" You snap out of it and put on a smile.

 "Going great, it's nice being able to sleep without interruption." People seem to accept that answer and the conversation moves on.

You pick at your food, moving it around your plate and chopping it up but never putting it in your mouth. It's your favorite meal but you just, can't bring yourself to eat it right now.

The room is so full of talking and laughter but for some reason, you feel a million years away. Like you're lonely. Really, really lonely. How can that even be? To feel so alone while being surrounded by so many people. 

As dinner wraps up you quietly slip out. Sneaking out to the gardens instead. It's cold and you have no coat but you don't care. Some fresh air is what you need. Maybe the trees can tell you what's wrong with you. You find a small bench and sit down.

The stars shine so nicely tonight. You wonder what it'd be like to be a star. If it's freeing to be up so high. Or is it lonely? To lack the warmth of the sun and be a million light years away from each other. 

"What are you doing out here?" Logan stands in front of you. You hadn't even noticed him. 

"Nothing." He lights a cigar and takes a seat next to you. His legs spread out, knocking his knees into yours. 

"So you wanna tell me what's going on?" 

"What are you talking about?" You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hide away. 

"You may have fooled everyone else but I know somethings going on in that head of yours." You just shrug. 

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit." Logan scoffs. You watch the soft glow of cigar ash tumble to the ground.

The light dies out as it hits the cold cement. He wants to help, or at least he wants to listen. For some reason, you can't get the words you. Anger replaces any rational thought. You want him to leave, to not care so damn much.

"Why do you even care? Last time I checked you don't do these heart to hearts." You snap.

The cold air bites your face and you shiver. Your nails scratch down your arms harshly. The slight stinging soothes you in some fucked up way. Logan notices and grabs onto your hand. Taking it and holding it in his warm one. 

"Just leave me alone Logan." You try taking your hand away but he won't let you.

"No. You're right I don't do the sappy shit but this is different. It's more than you're letting on." You feel a pit forming in your stomach.

Everything in your body screams for you to run. To hide and put up your walls and ignore this ever happened. But then you look into his pretty hazel eyes. The rough and tough Wolverine was silently begging you to stay. To talk to him. 

"I don't try to be a hero, It's not a hero complex, or a savior complex or whatever you want to call it." His thumb rubs over your hand as you talk. He wants to butt in but he lets you talk.

 "I don't know. It's a lot. What goes on in my head." You start to count the blades of grass that you can see. Anything to keep you from breaking down. 

"I don't care if I get hurt if I'm helping people. I just. It's how I help. My life is worth saving people. Saving you guys. I don't care if..." You trail off. You can't get the words right.

 "You don't care if you die." Logan finishes. He swallows harshly. It breaks his heart to hear but that small part of him understands. More than you’ll ever know. 

 "Kind of. It's complicated alright? I'm not actively trying to die but...Look I don't think I deserve this life sometimes. I've caused a lot of hurt and I've lost so many people." Logan reaches up and wipes away a tear.

There's a lot of pain that sits with a lifetime of trauma. Pain that you've chosen to ignore over and over again. Burying it until you've convinced yourself this is what life is like. What you deserve. 

"It's stupid right? There's so much that I should be grateful for. What right do I have to complain about?"

 "You're a mutant, your life hasn't been easy." 

"Yeah I guess." Logan doesn't let go of your hand. He holds it, squeezes it. Its warm and fits perfectly with yours. 

"Life sucks, a lot. Trust me I understand. It's like the days blend together right? There's this massive hole that just seems to get bigger. You can stuff it with things, try and close it up or even pretend it never exists. But it never goes away." Logan says.

He understands because he feels the same way. Maybe not exactly how you feel but he knows what its like. To have this, hatred for yourself grow and fester until you can't breathe. You convince yourself that nothings going to change so why even bother? 

"I just want it to go away." You whisper sadly. 

"It will, we're tough. We survive."

"What if I'm tired of surviving? What if I don't want to be strong anymore?" You confess. You feel like you have to be strong all the time and it weighs you down like bricks. You're drowning. 

"That's okay, you come to me and I'll carry what you can't." He pulls you in closer and you bury your face in his neck. He's warm, protecting you from the chill.

 "Just please, promise me no more heroics on missions okay?" He mumbles. 

You scared the shit out of him. You were bleeding and in so much pain. You couldn't even register that it was his hands on your face. That he carried you to the jet and held you while you went in and out of consciousness. He stayed by your side until you got back. He disappeared to the background as Scott took you to the lab. His worry and fear of losing you turning to anger. Wondering why you continue to put yourself in danger.

 "Okay." You lean in and press a light kiss to his cheek.

"Logan, Can I ask why you're out here? How did you even notice something was wrong?" It's not that you weren't friends, in fact you were closer than most. But Logan isn't really the best with this kind of thing. Yet somehow, he always knows what to say.

"You mean a lot to me firefly..."

He could tell you that he loves you right here and now. Tell you that you're everything to him. How he's fallen in love with you over the years. But he keeps it inside. It's not the right time. Sometimes love isn't enough to get better and he knows that there's work to be done. He doesn't want to put this pressure on you to get better for him. He wants you to get better for yourself. He'll be by your side for the whole thing though. He won't let you spiral as long as he's there. 

"You mean a lot to me too Logan." You smile, a real one this time. He caresses your face, tilting your head as his lips kiss your forehead. You giggle as beard tickles your skin.

 "There's that sweet sound," He hums. He takes off his jacket and places it on your shoulders. The worn leather smells like him.

 "You really think things get better?" You ask as you link your hand with his. He doesn't answer right away. He'd be a hypocrite to preach that everything's fine and dandy all the time. Sometimes he doesn't believe it himself. But he keeps going, every day. Just as you do. 

"Yeah I do, I don't know when. But someday it will." You nod and rest your head on his shoulder. It might take a long time until you truly feel better but you can keep going. Waking up and living.

With a hope, no a belief, that someday. It will get better. 

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

When it comes to healthcare, you’ll occasionally encounter things presented as an opinion or as something up for debate - when there’s actually clear scientific facts on those topics. 

You can probably think of some general examples off the top of your head, like: 

Vaccines (They save lives. In fact, they are one of the most effective tools for reducing mortality rates worldwide) 

Pasteurized milk (Raw milk is not healthier than pasteurized milk, it’s actually unsafe. Pasteurization kills harmful bacteria which can cause severe illness) 

Fluoride (Water fluoridation is a safe and effective public health measure) 

Climate change (It exists and directly impacts respiratory and cardiovascular health)

“Detox” (The liver and kidneys detox your body naturally; detox teas, juice cleanses etc. are unnecessary) 

Cancer (Cancer isn’t just one disease, it’s an umbrella term for many different diseases and that’s why it’s very, very difficult, if not impossible, to just find the one simple fix to end cancer forever) 

Sugar substitutes (They have been extensively studied and are safe for consumption within recommended limits) 

There’s a lot of misinformation out there and it often thrives because it plays on fears (such as the natural fear of illness, dangerous substances and life-threatening side effects). Nobody wants to willingly put themselves or their loved ones into danger - but this absolutely natural desire for protection can be exploited. 

Some common tactics for that are: 

relying on personal anecdotes (emotional stories often feel more reliable or trustworthy than cold, hard data, even though they aren’t) 

appealing to those who distrust authority (the suggestion that governments/scientists/corporations/“they” are conspiring against you feels trustworthy if it seemingly “confirms” fears you already had) 

misusing scientific terminology (Complex-sounding terms can make something appear credible and well-researched, even if these terms are used completely incorrectly) 

giving quick, easy answers or fixes to complex problems (health is a complicated, multifaceted topic and there’s oftentimes no easy-cut answer to why a certain person gets sick or if a now-healthy person will still be as healthy in 10 years. This unpredictability can feel scary, and oversimplified answers can offer comfort) 

While health myths impact anyone, they disproportionately affect marginalized groups - for example chronically ill or disabled people but also our community.  

That’s because health myths (or outright health lies) can perpetuate stigma and create barriers to accessing evidence-based care. 

Myths specifically targeting queer health often follow the same patterns we talked about above. Let's take a closer look at some common topics and break down the facts behind them: 

Pedophilia (There is no evidence linking sexual orientation or gender identity to pedophilia or predatory behavior. This myth is rooted in bigotry and perpetuates harmful stereotypes) 

HIV/AIDS (it’s not “the gay disease” or even a “punishment for being gay”. It’s a virus that can affect people of all genders and sexual orientations) 

Regret rates (Regret rates for gender-affirming care are very low, even lower than for getting a new hip or a tattoo.) 

Regret rates, 2.0 (“Regret” does not automatically translate to “they were wrong about being trans”. A trans person could regret medical decisions for a multitude of reasons (even external factors like a lack of social support or experience of harassment) and still continue to identify as trans) 

Mental illness (The higher rate of mental health issues in queer people is caused by external factors like discrimination and social exclusion, not by the identity itself. Being queer is not a mental illness.) 

Conversion therapy (It doesn’t work. It also causes severe psychological harm including an increased risk of depression, anxiety, and suicide) 

Treating these myths as not “only” homophobia and transphobia but also as health misinformation may feel nitpicky, but I think it’s important. If we don’t, it’s easy to dismiss them as merely a matter of “not accidentally saying something offensive” - but there’s more at stake than hurt feelings. Health misinformation can prevent people from getting the medical care they need and put their lives at risk. And that applies to “Trans people often regret their surgeries” as much as it does to “Covid vaccines are dangerous”. 

So, look out for those typical patterns and warning signs - not only in the general “health and wellness” area but also in discussions about queer issues. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[earthling-writer]

Isn't it a little crazy how you can get a heart attack from strong emotions?

Heart attacks are very deadly, why would they be connected to... emotions?

Of course emotions can trigger strong psychological reactions, that eventually trigger physical reactions as well (unfortunately)

But to the point that you risk having a deadly heart attack???

(this is now a humans are space orcs prompt)

———––-

Alien (a friend of the doc): what was the cause of his recent hospitalization?

Human doc: a heart attack, depending on the situation, the gravity of it, and other factors there are chances of survival

Alien: so a heart attack is deadly?

Human: not necessarily if hospitalised, especially with recent technologies, but it can be if action isn't taken imminently, we have CPR for a reason

Alien: is it a common assurance?

Human: more common than most people think, it can happen to anyone for many reasons: coronary artery disease causes most heart attacks, but also coronary artery spasm, certain infections, Spontaneous coronary artery dissection, also science suggests that certain psychosocial factors, such as grief, depression, stress, and job loss, contribute to heart attack and cardiac arrest

Alien: that's terrible, i am really sorry for what your species has to go throu- HOLD ON did you just say grief?? Isn't that an emotion??

Human: like i just elenched heart attacks can be caused by strong emotions

Alien:... And that doesn't freak you out?

Human: i just said it's a common occurrence, especially if you work in a hospital.

Alien: what's the connection between psychic and literary one of yours, if not the most important vital organ?

Human: weeeeeeeell to explain it quickly: emotional stress causes a negative chain reaction in your body which makes it release stress hormones, to prepare you for upcoming stress

Alien, whispering: of course you got stress hormones...

Human: they cause your heart to beat more rapidly and your blood vessels to narrow to help push blood to the center of the body. After the stress subsides, the blood pressure and heart rate should return to normal. If continually stressed out though, the body doesn't have a chance to recover. This may lead to damage of the artery walls. Don't you guys have connections between mental health and body health?

Alien: of course we do, the curse that your brain will make your body malfunction if the mental health isn't kept at good levels is something spread to all beings with such organ unfortunately.

Human:.... Do

Alien: don't

Human: jellyfish..

Alien: i need you to stop you right there

Human: ..even need mental health?

Alien: THIS IS OUTSIDE YOUR SHIELD OF STUDY YOU KNOW THIS WILL BRING YOU TO A LOOPHOLE OF QUESTIONS

Human: they shouldn't since they don't have a brain....

Alien: i am begging you to stop

[divinerapturesys]

Welcome to my Ted Talk about AsPD, or Antisocial Personality Disorder, which the internet likes to coin as sociopath 👌🏻 if you don’t like long infodumps about stigmatized mental disorders from someone who is diagnosed, move on.

Quick toxic rundown: People with AsPD are generally characterized as emotionless, violent, manipulative abusers who kill animals and like to make other people their bitches. The biggest pet peeve we have is the emotionless, sadistic and abusive generalization.

Personally, we are highly neurotic, with highs and lows of: depression, frantic drive, self abuse tactics, chronic fear, lapses of rejection, overwhelming over-analyzation, grey area thinking, false goods and false bads, ultimatums, obsessive compulsive behavior, harsh self demands, and irritability.

AsPD is a disorder that is caused primarily (according to current research) by trauma and abuse in childhood; most notably being emotional neglect and absent caregivers that cause a child to have emotional shutdowns and repression episodes in an attempt to self soothe. Primary caregivers who do not bond with their children are also a factor. Children learn how to behave from those around them. If a primary caregiver is emotionally distant and unavailable, children will learn that is normal behavior and that’s how people are. If a primary caregiver does not provide empathy and sympathy during moments of distress and fear, children will learn that aloofness and disregard of others feelings is normal behavior. If a primary caregiver does not keep a child safe, children will learn that they should not prioritize their own safety or the safety of others. You can find my follow up post regarding this here.

Neglected and abused children often act out trying to get attention and help, often acting out in bad ways because they lack the ability to articulate what they’re feeling and what is happening to them. The pipeline for AsPD typically is: Oppositional Defiance Disorder as a child, Conduct Disorder as a teen, AsPD as an adult. There are a lot of warning signs cueing that AsPD is becoming a risk for development, but often kids do not have a support system to help negate it as it’s their support system that is usually a factor in its creation.

Being AsPD is like being an emotional La Croix 70% of the time. If you’re depressed, then it’s like someone in the other room has depression and is telling you about it. The other 30% of the time, if you’re depressed, your brain doesn’t understand how to handle it so it’s an ultimatum between doing something drastic to remove the Trigger or ignoring and dissociating for days on end.

People with AsPD are very good at ignoring things. Honestly it’s problematic as fuck but it’s not hard to ignore major issues when you just, don’t care. It’s not in the terms of being cruel or making ourselves not care, but the fact that finding the emotional willpower is so far out of our feasible reach we don’t do it. This causes us to piss people off because we don’t have the capacity to care as much as they want us to, even if we can and do to an extent.

Think of it this way: empathy/sympathy is a deep tub of water that everyone has. They can easily fill their measuring cup for the needed amount of empathy without any issues and it’s easy for them. People with AsPD don’t have a tub of water. We have shallow skillet. When we try to dip our cup to fill it, we can’t, it always comes up short and it is difficult to get any water in it as there is no room for the cup to dive. Our ability to care is limited because we do not have the same emotional resources everyone else does.

❌ False Positives & False Negatives ❌

I operate on what I’ve learned are called false positives and false negatives. These are things that are trained into the brain from an early age based off of childhood trauma and other factors. False positives are a distorted version of why we do something to help ourself and for our own good, meanwhile a false negative is something we do because it’s a threat, or based out of fear.

❌ Some of my false positives:

- It is good to be afraid of nothing

- It is good to adapt to someone’s personality if they are stronger than you

- It is good to isolate yourself

- It is good to be a silver tongue because you can get into any place you want

- It is good to become a social chameleon and shape yourself to whatever those around you need/want most, because then you have no chance of being abandoned

❌ Some of my false negatives, which can explain the false positives as well as core beliefs:

- it is bad to be afraid, if I am afraid then I am vulnerable and it can be used against me

- It is bad to be emotional or show concern for others emotions because they do not care for mine

- It is bad to be able to be exploited, because I believe it is everywhere

- It is bad to allow myself to be bored, because boredom begets bad thoughts and no one can or wants to help me when I spiral

- It is bad to not shape yourself to the social circle, because people quickly grow tired of those who do not match them perfectly and being discarded means I failed

My core beliefs can be viewed as the root for the false positives and negatives, because they are based on the core of trauma, abuse and neglect. They come from patterns and instances that make someone with AsPD become the opposite of what they experienced:

- eat or be eaten

- If I don’t show that my bite is worse than my bark, I will be taken advantage of and I must remain on top because the ones on top are safe

- I must look out for myself because nobody will do it for me

- It doesn’t matter what happens to me, therefore it doesn’t matter what people think of me

- If I cannot do something well, then I should not do it at all

- If you are dependent on others for emotional and mental well being, you are weak, therefore I must isolate myself to avoid becoming codependent and a burden and useless

- If I can handle the stress of a situation better than everyone else, therefore I will keep the problem (financial, emotional, mental, etc) to myself to reduce chances of being abandoned due to failure of perfection

People with AsPD are hard to get along with. We often:

- are always anticipating a fight

- lack respect for authority

- ignore social structures to an extent

- tendency to lie if it’ll lessen punishment or if we feel the lie is more acceptable than our actions

- limit social support because it’s wrong to be dependent on others

- have an inflated view of our own importance — which turns into a self ridicule for believing someome like me could be found important to others —

- can be rude and inconsiderate of others feelings somewhat unintentionally

- are unable to read the correct social cues in relation to empathy towards people and animals

- am constantly confused by others dependence upon empathy and inability to make desicions from logic based standpoints

We can’t speak for everyone who has AsPD, nor are we saying that no one with AsPD is capable of being a murderer/abuser etc. but we are saying that y’all need to stop automatically classifying someone as a certain “type” as soon as you know about their disorder.

One last thing I do want to point out is that it is not uncommon for people with AsPD to derive some sort of enjoyment in causing harm, doing something illegal, hurting someone or animals, etc. This entirely stems from lack of environmental control as a child. Being able to control what happens to others or being able to control the things you say or do that hurts someone else is a hefty high to get addicted to; it soothes the underlying itch of not being able to control your own trauma and abuse, so in turn you push these behaviors onto others and enjoy it because it gives you a sense of power and control. Some people with AsPD do genuinely love hurting others, and some enjoy hurting others when they believe it’s deserved or their ire has been stoked. Some enjoy causing pain to those they think deserve it, and others don’t care who they hurt as long as they feel like they’re in control of the situation.

Hope this have some insight into AsPD 🤙🏻 if y’all have any questions, shoot.

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

How The Links Got Their Names

Notes: Written for @mirensiart <33

Link Lofty was ready. 

“In two miles, turn right on West Holdrege Street to arrive at your destination of 5805 West Holdrege Street”, his GPS, Fi, blared at top, scratchy volume, nestled in the cozy dashboard of his 2011 Volkswagen Beetle. He didn’t particularly care for driving, because Zelda was more than happy to step up–as she tended to do a lot in their relationship–but something told him the love of his life wouldn’t be especially pleased to know he was risking his life for what had to be the dumbest idea he’d had to date, and that was factoring in the calamity that was his bitch of a boss–cleverly nicknamed “Demise” for his cruel and unusual enforcement of company policy and iron-fist when any and all interns were involved; Link himself had been one of those interns, but now he was manager, so Mr. Ganon Gerudo could fuck himself right where it hurts—into the convoluted, rather-insane equation. 

So, when his phone had dinged one innocuous afternoon to inform him that he’d been added to an even more innocuous nine-person messenger group, there was little Link could do but read the ringleader’s—who was also named Link!–message, which proclaimed a date, set of coordinates in Nebraska, of all places, and intent to fight over their shared name. 

It was… well, Link thought it was rather fascinating, so, after obscuring the message group from his girlfriend Zelda’s well-meaning gaze, he promptly scoured his mind for an excuse to be in Nebraska on any day, eventually landing on the time-tested ‘business trip’ spiel, only that his manager had been extra considerate in informing him a year early. He didn’t consider it lying, because it really was business, just not the type his beloved thought as she wished him farewell through the driver’s window of their shared sky-blue Volkswagen, waving from the driveway until he was out of sight. 

And now, six grueling hours later, he was here. The sky was a healthy, cloudless cerulean, melding almost seamlessly with the building-dotted horizon as Link pulled off the highway, tires crunching as they made contact with the thin gravel of the country-esque road. A sense of calm washed over the man as he drove, easily navigating to his destination with Fi’s ever-screamed assistance. 

A folded piece of paper lay in the pocket of his white-washed jeans, bearing names like Quentin, Theo, and, Zelda’s personal favorite after a spectacularly sneaky game of ‘what would you name me if I was a dog’: Skyler. Link wasn't sure how he felt about the first two, provided the Master-batter—his trusty and appropriately-named baseball bat—proved to be no match for his opponents, but he could get on with Skyler, if worse came to worst. Probably because that would give him grounds to call his beloved “Sun” without having to explain any wonderfully cheeky wordplay. 

The road stretched on and on. Link checked his rearview mirror, noting the appearance of a man riding a rather flashy black motorcycle and an equally flashy, royal-blue Dodge Challenger pulling in behind him. He glanced at the clock—11:50 am—and halfheartedly wondered if this was his competition. 

In the distance, a chrome-white Toyota Tacoma was parked by the road, a tall blonde man leaning against the bed, smoking what appeared to be a half-finished cigarette. He looked distinctly familiar; perhaps Link Lon-Lon? Link had taken care to scroll the members list last night so the situation couldn’t possibly confuse him more than it already did. Behind Lon-Lon, another blonde man—dressed in a brilliant blue tracksuit that contrasted harshly with the corn-colored swathes of hair that grew from his head, so long that Link swore they seemed infinite at first glance—sat atop the dented roof of a lapis Subaru Outback that looked like it had seen many better days. 

With a sigh worthy of someone in the depths of seasonal depression, Link pulled onto the side of the road, taking a few short breaths to compose and prepare himself for the fuckery that was about to ensue. When he was ready, he stepped out of the vehicle and grabbed the Master-batter from the backseat, knowing full well that his life would never fully be the same once this was over. 

Link—er, Wild, because he’d been mentally practicing going by a new name on the incredibly rare off-chance that one of the other blokes he invited to the middle of nowhere managed to get the upper hand—was ready. He watched stoically as three more vehicles slithered down the winding road: a sky-blue Volkswagen that only a sane (that was going to be a problem, because he was banking on the fact that they were all a little insane) person would dare own, obsidian motorcycle than he wouldn’t mind stealing if Zelda hadn’t forced him to promise to try and be a law-abiding citizen, and a Dodge Challenger that somehow managed to be bluer than the ever-brilliant sky. 

As the vehicles pulled closer, Link Lon-Lon, the first to arrive after him, sighed with the defeat only a father would know, putting out his cigarette and standing to his full, impressive height, arms crossed over what Link had to admit was an especially beefy chest. How old was this guy, forty? Fifty? Sixty? He certainly talked like it, Link gathered after a tense first meeting to confirm that the man was here for the name and not because he lived in an underground bunker hidden somewhere on the property.

The Link in the adorable Volkswagen exited first, relinquishing a fucking baseball bat from the backseat before walking forward; steps tentative, yet determined. Link hopped from the roof to greet him. “Hey, Link!” he called, waving both hands over his head. Lon-Lon watched the exchange quietly, small tendrils of smoke still puffing from his lips. “You are Link, right?”

The man in question nodded, sending his chocolate-blonde hair into a shaking mess with every bob. “That’s me,” he paused, looked down at his bat, then back at Link, expression somewhat incredulous. “...And you’re Link?”

Link–Wild, he reminded himself, wondering how many times Zelda would smack him over the head if he turned up at her lab with a whole new name–nodded with much more visible excitement. “That’s me!” he parroted, just to fuck with the other man, who was beginning to look just as amused as Lon-Lon. “Last name?”

“...Lofty.”

Link made a show of pulling out a pre-made checklist scribbled on the back of one of Zelda’s abandoned worksheets and checking off one “Link Lofty”. Both Lon-Lon and Lofty stared at him, and, oh, did it feel good to be regarded as though he was brilliantly insane. 

Someone cleared their throat, and another man approached the group. He was tall and built, dressed in what Link could only describe as the most sexy un-sexy biker get-up he’d seen since Zelda shamed him into parting with his dearly-beloved YouTube shorts. Effortlessly-tousled dirty-blonde hair swept across his forehead, parted in a manner that made Link–Wild–briefly consider chopping his hard-grown hair off to replicate it. 

“‘M gonna guess y’all are Link?”

Dear Hylia, was that a country accent? Swoon! 

“That’s me!” Link—Hylia, he really needed to remember that it could be ‘Wild’!–-chimed, just as the two others responded similarly. Yeah, this was already weird, but when wasn’t it? Zelda liked to say it was his superpower, in addition to being more indestructible than a cockroach. “Name?”

Sexy-cowboy’s brow furrowed. His hip, the one the biker helmet was poised on, cocked incredulously. He did not look amused. “...Link Ordon.”

Lofty looked up, his fingers fingering the end of his very metal, very dangerous bat. Should Link have banned those? Naw. “Oh, from Kentucky?”

The newly-named Ordon’s expression softened some, and he broke into a grin. “Tha’s right, ya’ve been?”

“Once, with my girlfriend,” Lofty smiled, relinquishing part of his hold on the bat to brush a bit of hair from his face. Link watched; he didn’t understand why they were getting chummy when they were here to fight for name custody, but he was hardly one to judge. 

“Good fer ya,” Ordon suddenly snapped his fingers. “Hey, y’all try our pumpkin stew last ya were there?”

“I think so! It was really good, but I prefer the one from my hometown.”

Just like that, there was silence. Ordon’s expression returned to something vaguely constipated, and, oh dear, was that cultural offense? Oh no? Link shared a half-glance with Lon-Lon, who looked seconds away from relighting his cigarette. 

“Lemme guess, yer from Skyloft City?”

Lofty looked apprehensive, like he was going to piss. Or take a defensive swing with that bat. Link wasn’t sure which was worse. “...Are we going to have a problem?”

Before Orodon could answer, the doors to the Dodge Challenger that had been idling on the opposite side of the road finally swung open, revealing—

“Ya invited a fuckin’ child?!” Ordon exclaimed in abject horror. 

—what appeared to be a fourteen-year-old boy and his very gay, alcohol-addicted father. Well, Link rather assumed that after all the simultaneous 2 am fashion designer quotes dotting his page and the divorced-dad vibes the guy seemed to naturally exude, but he could never be sure. Should he ask? Zelda would have said no, followed by a half-hearted smack to the back of his head for behaving like a hyperactive toddler, but Link wasn’t Zelda, which meant he was thus lawless. 

“ARE YOU THE FATHER?!” He screamed across the road as the man and boy approached. Lon-Lon facepalmed, while Ordon and Lofty looked chagrined by the mere insinuation that he’d invited a child into this madness. It wasn’t Link’s fault; they were friends on Hyrule Messenger, so how was he supposed to exercise proper internet procedure and check bios?

“He’s done with life,” the fourteen-year-old answered with the confidence of a forty-year-old man. “That’s why we’re getting soft tacos later.”

The man in question scowled, looking down at his companion. He too was blonde, though it was far lighter than the likes of Ordon and Lofty, possibly even Link himself, who was quite proud of his ability to blind most people when his hair hit any patch of light. “Sailor— I swear to—”

“Sailor? You’re changing your legal name to ‘Sailor’?” Link interjected; incredulous, and the smallest bit baffled. He knew Wild was a bit… out there, but this was a whole different issue. What kind of father would allow that? 

Ordon made a noise of confusion. “Hol’ up, legal name?” 

“...You’re kidding me,” Link’s jaw fell open, but he closed it quickly after remembering that Zelda was the only one interested in seeing him like that. “I mentioned that, like, two-hundred days ago.”

Realization dawned upon the group. Gay-father and Ordon looked shocked, while Lofty fingered the paper Wild could see poking from the front pocket of his jeans and Lon-Lon’s expression drifted ever closer to mirroring Link’s—or was he Wild? Did he care anymore??—mugshot after getting caught setting his girlfriend’s kidnapper’s residence on fire. Only Link—the child—pulled out his phone to be remotely helpful. 

“You didn’t,” the fourteen-year-old paused, then resolved to continue making the rest of them look dumb with his advanced vocabulary. A few taps could be heard. “You’re a lot more articulate over text though.”

Wild—Aw, jeez, Link—bristled. He placed his hands on his hips and tried to look intimidating, but he was also short as hell, so it definitely didn’t have the same effect as it would if Lon-Lon had instantaneously chosen violence to end the conundrum before it robbed an ounce more sanity from everyone involved. “What did you think I meant?”

“Ah thought ya meant nicknames,” stated Ordon. He also held a piece of crumpled paper in his hand, though, unlike Lofty, the look he shot it could have ignited stone. 

Ah, thought Wild in a moment of clarity stolen from Zelda, definitely a nickname. 

JSSSSHHHHH!

All heads turned when a beat-up brown 1981 Toyota Land Cruiser came barreling over the hill, screeching to a stop over the hot, dry grass. Apparently, this Link didn’t see the merit of obeying traffic laws, which was both totally respectable and highly encouraged. All was silent as the driver's door jiggled, and Link could vaguely see the outline of a brown-haired man through the tinted windshield. 

The door jiggled some more, and a muffled curse filtered out from the interior of the Toyota. 

A beat passed. 

The jiggling grew more furious. 

Ordon took a half step forward. Wild—Link—tried not to observe his shapely calves, even if it was just to marvel at how anyone could be so goddamn thicc. “...Ah’m gonna—” 

As if by fate, the door swung open with a loud bang. The man inside, who looked far younger without all the tint in the way, lowered his foot and stepped out. He was about the same height as Link himself, with mahogany-colored curls that looked just as untamed as Link’s penchant for getting himself into any and all manner of trouble. 

“Hi,” said the new guy. He sounded shy. He also looked easy to pin. Link was not intimidated. Until the other man reached into the side of the door and pulled out what appeared to be an aerosol can and a lighter. 

Suddenly, Link was intimidated, though it was Lon-Lon who beat him to the punch. 

“Absolutely not.”

The Curly Link seemed to deflate a bit. He glanced down at his treasures, then back at the group. Specifically Link—Wild—who was quite obviously the ringleader of the operation, considering the clipboard he had raised over his chest like a shield. “...I didn’t see a weapons list,” he defended. 

Ah, Wild knew he had forgotten something. Drat. He lowered his clipboard now that there wasn’t any imminent danger of being spontaneously ignited. “...Last name?”

“Wait, Cap, does that mean we can’t use the rifle?” Came “Sailor’s” whisper to his obviously gay guardian at the back of the group. 

Curly Link hesitated. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a torn piece of paper so yellow it may as well have been parchment, squinting at it for several long seconds before mumbling: “...Hyrule?”

Wild checked his list, ignoring how closely the other man’s admission sounded to a question. There was no mention of a Link Hyrule, but there was an entry without a last name, so he merely scribbled ‘Hyrule’ beside it in a few chicken-scratch letters. “Cool. And what’s your backup name?”

There was a pregnant pause. Then, with a fair bit more conviction, he spoke: “Hyrule.”

Okay. Wild–Link, or was ‘Wild’ simply who he was now??–could deal with that. He checked his list once more. There were two Links still unaccounted for, but he had a pretty good feeling about the situation when a beat-up grey Volkswagen Jetta swerved onto the dusty road, tires screeching across the pavement as the driver expertly barreled towards their gathering of insanity. 

All eyes were on the Jetta as it pulled behind Lofty’s beetle, 

The first thing Wild noticed about this new Link was that he was short as hell. Not just a bit smaller than average, because he technically was too, but when even the literal fourteen-year-old had height on what Link—Wild???—assumed to be a man in his twenties, if his profile was to be believed, it wasn’t hard to notice. Stick-straight blonde hair framed his face, held up by a vibrant green bandana that somehow managed to avoid clashing with the bloody crimson of his sweatshirt and equally obnoxious violet boots. In the background, ‘Cap’ shuddered. Clearly, this was an extreme case of blue-collar wardrobe blindness, but that was neither here nor there. Wild rather thought the crimson was a fantastic idea on the off-chance that large quantities of blood were spilled in their zeal for autonomy. 

All eyes continued to watch as the newcomer bent to rummage in the center council for what appeared to be his phone. When he straightened, the device was tapped several times and the sound of a picture being taken could be heard, likely in case some grievous medical emergency occurred. Obviously, this Link had his shit together and Wild should thus ignore the fact that he was also carrying a mechanic’s wrench the size of Ordon’s forearm, As a treat. 

Link—Wild????—brandished his clipboard as their latest victim approached. “Are you—?”

“Link Smith,” said Shorty without missing a beat. He shoved his phone in the back pocket of his surprisingly-normal jeans, and propped the wrench onto his shoulder in a move that should not have been as cool as it was. 

“...And back up name—?”

“Four.”

There was a stunned silence. Cap’s eye twitched. 

“You know we’re betting on legal names, right?”

Link Smith, or ‘Four’, as Wild was realizing he’d have to call the guy now, remained completely unfazed. “I’m aware.”

There was a cough from Hyrule. “...Divergent?”

The tips of Four’s ears colored a light pink. He gave his own cough, and waved the wrench in a dismissive arc that nearly took Ordon’s kneecap off. “Perish the thought.”

But Curly Link was not to be deterred. “No, no, I actually really like the book–”

“You can read?” Wild blurted. 

“—and— hey! That’s rude!”

“Says the guy who brought a flamethrower to a fight,” Sailor chimed in. He eyed Wild penetratingly. “And you don’t have to know how to read to enjoy books.”

Wild let his hand extend in the direction of the teenager-turned-only-adult-in-the-group-besides-Lon-Lon. “Link— Sailor— Buddy— I’m going to hold your hand when I tell you this…”

Sailor’s face immediately twisted in displeasure, hands raised as he backed away. “No thank you! I’m fourteen, not four!” he then paused, caught Four’s eye, and coughed. “Not you. You’re cool.”

“I know,” said Four in the mildest tone Wild had heard from someone so tiny. 

Ordon cleared his throat. “Ah hate ta interrupt, but ah’ve got a bull rifle out back an’ it seems like we’re goin’ for fists here.”

Wild took a cursory glance at the Kentuckian’s motorcycle. Sure enough, there was a large elephant rifle strapped to the side of the vehicle. Was that legal? Did he care? “Actually, my girlfriend suggested pool noodles, but we can totally do that too if you’re willing to have an armed battery charge on your record.”

Zelda had not, in fact, suggested pool noodles. But what Zelda wouldn’t know wouldn't hurt her. 

A beat passed. 

“Let’s make this quick,” said the tallest of them. Link wanted to call him “Shut-eye” on account of his, well, visibly shut right eye, but that seemed a bit mean considering the poor man would be forced to change his legal name in a few short minutes. “My wife expects me home by sundown.”

“It’s noon,” deadpanned Link. Liar, it was 12:13 pm, but who was counting? 

The crack of knuckles rang through the air. “Exactly.”

Part two anyone?

[lologoinsolo]

Part 3, Part 4

Minds Us All Masterlist

TW: Mentions of seizures, choking to induce visions, epilepsy and schizophrenia is mentioned, I don’t think there’s more but tell me if there is

Price stands by the board, his arms crossed over his chest as he reads over the scans and the numerous notes from the doctors that Nik sent over. The doctors were as thorough as could be expected but it left more questions than answers.

—High stress and anxiety could be the root cause for her seizures or there could be a potential for something more. The Patient's mother had a history of depression but nothing to indicate anything else. Patient’s health records show that she has not been tested prior for epilepsy or schizophrenia or for being at risk of seizures.

—Paitent experienced no symptoms of those neurological disorders at her young age despite being tested as per the request of Patient’s mother. Granted, the last time the patient was seen by her primary doctor was at the age of 9 years old.

—The most recent visit, which was a year ago, the hospital reported that she left without checking herself out. Her health chart only showed a high heart rate but was, surprisingly, not at risk of a heart attack. Unfortunately there is only so much that we are able to do in the short amount of time allotted to us. In our professional opinion, we believe that she is experiencing these hallucinations under strong duress. It could explain how she claims to ‘see’ the things she claimed she did.

Your brainwaves and the brainwaves of a woman around your age with schizophrenia are placed side by side. The difference between the two scans is stark, an ocean wide difference between the two. That woman’s brainwaves are lit up while yours is relatively normal. The doctors that came to see you cannot know for certain the cause behind your ‘sight’. Stress? Anxiety? That’s where it’s all pointing to at the moment.

Logically, this could explain that your ‘sight’ is caused by a stress factor and he could agree with that if you were spouting bullshit—But, you knew. You knew about Johnny’s near death before anyone could and it very well could’ve been explained if you were a spy. Price could work the spy angle but he can’t work around the fact that you knew about Simon’s family. You knew neither of his men on a personal basis and yet Kyle heard you murmur about Sarah, Joseph, Tommy, and Beth in your sleep. Names that he knows for a fact that Simon would never, ever mention even if he was being tortured.

Price takes in a long, hard breath. Laswell digged up everything she could find on you. Only child, mother was in an out of the psyche ward, father never claimed you nor was in the picture. At age thirteen, your mother took her own life and you were thrown from foster care to foster care up until you were 18 years old. You never went to college, bounced around from job to job. Moved from place to place, constantly moving like you had a reason to. He recalls how bare your apartment was when they came, “no roots to put down.” Laswell found absolutely nothing that ties you to Makarov. Nothing save for coded words you wrote. Furthering the nail into the coffin that you’re not a spy.

His eyes move up from what he’s reading when he hears boots hitting the ground. Doesn’t take a genius to know who’s coming around. “You want to talk to her, don’t you?” Price turns to the side when the Ghost steps inside. Giving his Lieutenant a look, he wasn’t allowed back in your room when the doctors came around.

“Yes.”

“That a good idea?” Ghost’s been spending time longer on the punching bag here lately. Nearly broke it open from how hard he’s been hitting. The safehouse they’re all in allows them a gym of sorts, well… it’s not really a safehouse. This place is Price's, a house far into the country and guarded by numerous trees. A private place that he took you to in hopes of getting quick answers. And just in case you turned out to be what he assumed, there’s enough land here on his property to hide a body from prying eyes.

“Johnny wants to as well.”

Now that… that might be a better alternative. Ghost can handle himself, he’s hung from a meat hook for god sake, he knows how to keep a handle on his emotions. Ever since you made him see what you saw he’s been… off. John’s been keeping a tighter eye on him even though he’s not fully convinced in your ability. He trusts Ghost enough to tell the truth even when it doesn’t sound believable. “Give me ten minutes with her, sir.”

Ten minutes is all he needs, you’ve been awake and alone for the past two days. You willingly allowed the doctors to help you, didn’t argue with them for fear that you’d be killed most likely. Or maybe you knew that they’d find nothing.

“I’ll give you that,” Price uncrosses his arms, stepping towards Ghost and his lieutenant doesn’t move away. Stays still like a statue. “Best to let Johnny go in first before you do, yeah?”

Ghost grunts out a “yes, sir” before he turns to leave. A man on a mission in how he steps. Price needs to sit over this, think over what can be done. Laswell mentioned that you should be tested one more, three times the charm after all.

…

Kyle came in earlier to bring you food and clothes to change out of. You asked him if you would be able to leave now but he gave you no reply. Only placed the food on the table and left. You don’t know what’s worse. The fact that you’re alone and craving some kind of contact or the fact that you’re glad he nor the one called John has come back to interrogate you. You don’t think you’ll be able to handle it once more.

Your mind has been empty, to say the least. The doctors recommended medication but you know they’ll do no good. It’ll only make your curse worse and do you no favors. Sometimes this’ll happen though, sometimes your mind will get so quiet that you’ll beg for a vision. It’s a horrible cycle but it’s one you’ve always known and it’s better than the silence. On the bright side, at least that Ghost hasn’t come back. You don’t know how you’ll react if he does or what he’ll do to you.

There’s a small pinch in the back of your mind but it fizzles away almost as quickly as it came. You brace yourself for what’s bound to come.

A knock sounds on your door, an illusionment of courtesy. The knob turns and in walks a man that you’ve met twice but have seen over a hundred times over in your mind. “Hello, bonnie.” There’s a jagged pink scar on his left side, his hairs a little longer, not the mohawk you saw originally. Beard grown out and scraggly looking, he looks rougher than you remember. “Can we,” he pauses a little to step into the room and you freeze up when Ghost steps in as well. “Can we just talk?”

Ignoring him in favor of seeing him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you immediately say to Ghost. “I’ve never done that before. I didn’t know I could do that. I’m sorry.” You still see his family's faces in your mind, can smell their blood staining the walls and on their Christmas tree. You’ve seen a lot of things but you could never stomach seeing deaths. “I’m—“

“Hey, hey,” Johnny comes your way as he speaks gently to quell your rolling anxiety. Your body flinches involuntarily from where you’re sitting on your bed by the sound of his steps. “Ye didnae ken ye could do tha’. We just want to talk.” Johnny pulls up a chair and notices the food at the table. You haven’t touched it nor the other two plates either. “Ye need tae eat, lass,” he laughs slightly, hoping to ease you, “when I was in and out of the hospital I—“

“I want to go home.” You cut him off. His hand twitches, “tell them, tell them I’m not a spy or a soldier or—“

“And where would you go home to, little bird?” Ghost’s arms are crossed over his chest. He stands besides Johnny, “got a place to go home to that we haven’t figured out yet?” Johnny turns to give Ghost a look but he ignores it in favor of continuing on. “Your visions tell you where to live now?”

“I’m sorry that you saw what you did. That wasn’t my intention, it’s never my intention. I can—“

“I didn’t ask for an apology.” He growls out, your knees tuck to your chest immediately. “How did you see them? Tell me.”

“Ghost,” Johnny tries to intervene in some way but it’s no use.

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Your voice growing insistent, begging for him to understand. “It’s— it just happens. I-I can’t help it.”

“Can’t help it.” Ghost mutters under his breath. The muscles in his back are tense, pulled taunt. You’re like a fluttering bird in a cage from how you squawk the same thing over and over again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop. Apologizing.” He takes a step towards you and you scoot back further up the bed, practically pressing yourself into the corner. Johnny stands and places a hand on Ghost’s shoulder. The anger simmers only a little but the tension still stays. Ghost’s hands ball and flex, “can you do it again?” He asks, more like demands.

There’s a hush pause that overtakes the room, even Johnny looks to you for an answer. “I…” you swallow thickly, shaking your head slightly. “I might?”

“Might?” He doesn’t sound pleased with how unsure you sound.

“It’s uh…” you never knew how to explain it, your mother could never explain it herself either. “When…” you take a breath, “when you look into a kaleidoscope do you see the same thing if you move it around?” Johnny shakes his head no but Ghost does nothing, “that’s… that’s kinda how it’s like for me. Sometimes it’s clear enough that I can see it many times,” flickering to Johnny, his moments haunted you for the longest after all. “I don’t know if I can see yours again, Ghost.” His was more than just his memory, it showed a pocket of time before he even saw it. “I’m,” you almost say sorry again but you bite your lip.

“Price said ye started seeing mine after we met,” one accidental touch that led you here. Your visions never hanged around long, it’s why you came to the practice of writing them down. Your curse, for some reason, latched onto Johnny’s future and never let it go. “Saw it for about a year, did ye ken ye’d find me? Is that why ye came up to me?”

You cross your legs, feeling just a smidge at ease while you pick away at your fingers. “I couldn’t have day to myself without seeing you.” You look down to the shorts you're wearing, missing the look that settles in Johnny’s eyes. “There would be this static feeling in my head the closer I thought I got to you.” He was like a flame and you a moth, only the static got louder and louder the closer you were next to him that day. Maybe you weren’t supposed to find him…

“I’m sorry, hen.” You shake your head but he slowly steps closer to the bed. His knees bumbing the edge of the mattress. “I wouldnae be alive without ye. I heard yer voice in my head when I was on that mission. Heard ye screamin’ for me to pull back and I did.” He’s calm in his approach as he takes a seat now. Scared you’ll try to bolt off the bed if he moves too quickly. “Fucker still got me.” He points to his head, the scar telling a story of an almost death. You prevented that. “Shoulda seen me in recove—“

“Let me go home— please.” He sighs at your attempt to leave once more. “I won’t say anything, I won’t talk about this to anyone—“ your muscles seize when Ghost comes closer, his steps heavy against the floor. There’s no way to leave, you know their names save for Ghost. You’re hanging by a thread that can be snipped at any movement. “Please.” You can’t run or they’ll give chase but even then, there’s only so much space left in here. Boxed completely in with one sitting on the bed and one that could easily tackle you.

“I want ye to try,” Johnny sits closer to you now, the bed groaning under joined weights. “See somethin’ again, show me somethin’, hen.” His hands start moving for you now. “Can ye do that for me?”

“I-I don’t know if I can. I don’t,” you bite your bottom lip when his hands wrap around your wrists. His fingers wrapping firmly around them but still enough room that you could twist if you wanted to. “Please, stop. I don’t know if I can make it happen.” There’s the smallest of a buzz in the back of your head. “I’ve never been able to—“

“Try,” is all he says as he pulls you forward enough that you have to sit on your knees. Your trembling, fingers shaking as he maneuvers your hands to cup his face. You can’t pull away even when you try to do so. His blue eyes search yours, his scar damn near pulsing under your cold hands. “Just try, lass.”

Wobbly and unsteady like a newborn doe, your knees are weak as you close your eyes. Brows pinching tight lines in forceful concentration. Your curse only works when it wants to, never for you. The time spent goes to show that it’s not working the way they want it to, “I can’t,” you say once more. “It’s not working.” Hoping they’ll understand, you’ve never been able to just make it happen.

“Maybe you need some motivation,” Ghost doesn’t give you a chance to turn as he lands a solid hand on the back of your neck. The air you had in your lungs punches out, “just need some fear to get it rolling.” The last two times was through fear and if he needs to choke you out then he will.

“S-Stop—“

“I’ll start squeezing,” he warns, his thumb digging in, “won’t take much to make you pop.” He’s cruel in his laughter, Johnny says nothing as his grip stays steady even when you try to tug. “I’ve broken necks easily, just needs,” Ghost’s thumb presses deeper over your raging pulse, “enough force and it’ll crack.”

“Please!” Chest heaving now, anxiety shoots through the roof as your eyes are wet and frantic. You can’t move back, can’t move forward, can’t even swing to the side to get away. You try once more to make it work but, “it’s not wor—“ gasping suddenly. The walls of your throat tightens from his fingers coiling around it like a vice grip. A sharp static jolts to life, his hand squeezes more, air begins being cut off from you.

Your vision starts building up faster, almost painfully now as your grip onto Johnny’s head tightens. An itching, scratching noise burrows in the back of your head. There’s a screeching, halting sound, like nails that claw down a chalkboard but stops before finishing. It echos in Johnny’s ear that he winces at the same time you do. Your vision blurs whether because of the loss of air or because your curse is letting you see once more.

Laughter. Kids, 4. 1 boy. 3 girls. Blue eyes. Backyard. Swing set, swinging. Laughter.

Johnny inhales a breath, he sees the blurred moments alongside you begin to form. Like a projector being cranked to make an old timey movie start. It’s slow but starts to pick up in pace, pushing through the memory faster and faster. Barreling down the spirals of a pocket of time.

You can see a young Johnny playing with his sisters. It’s a warm sunny day, the heat beating down on them and you. He’s swinging and his mother is yelling at him to get off to come eat some snacks. He swings as high as he can before jumping right off. His sisters scream when he lands hard, blood on his mouth and he pulls a tooth out. There’s laughter from him, he’s laughing. His sister, his oldest sister is—

You struggle for air, lungs painfully begging for something to breathe in. You're pulled out, shoved forcefully away from the memory. Figures form in the shadows as your eyes look wildly around. “Good,” you hear Johnny say but it’s distant, far away from you. Miles away. Your forehead is heavy against his shoulder, you don’t know when you did that. Did you do that? Must’ve done so as your mind started twisting into knots, for once you don’t convulse like you typically do but something is wrong. Really wrong.

Ghost let go of your throat the second you started gasping for air. Only seconds for him but to you? You saw 30 minutes of Johnny’s memory. “Well?” He peers down at the both of you, “report, Johnny.”

Johnny tugs you easily into his lap, your body limp against him. “I saw it, Ghost. Saw it like I was there.” They speak now as if you’re not there. Are you here? Where are you right now? Your head tucked under his chin as your heart beats fast while you feel like your realities are blurring and blending together. “We cannae let her leave.”

“Never planned to, Sergeant.” A voice that’s not Ghost’s sounds from behind the two. Price leans against the door frame, he knew they were up to something. Just had to let it happen.

The shadows dance around in your mind, the kaleidoscopes of moments and memories of your own past starts to mash together. The webs are all sticking and rolling into a ball. You feel like you're floating and crashing at the same time. It’s becoming harder and harder to pull away from it. Harder to separate what’s real and what isn’t. Johnny holds tighter to you when you begin shaking. Head hitting against his chest as—

“We need to sedate her.”

— the static buzzing noise sharpens louder and louder. Your fingers spasm and hands thrash around, writing out words in the air. Make it stop, make it stop.—

“Not yet,” Price comes forward with a pen and paper, “she’s seeing something.” Ghost watches in cold curiosity, his eyes squinting under his mask as Price sticks a pen into your thrashing hand. He balls his over your right hand and holds the paper in his left. You jerk it around, scribbling jagged lines till words start forming.

Stop. Stop. Make it. Stop. Let go me. Let. Hand, Let.

“Tell me where Makarov is.” He whispers into your ear. “Where is Vladimir Makarov?” Your eyes roll back into your head as your legs kick out. The lower half of your body flails about while your upper is held tightly. “Write it down.” His voice echos in your head, becoming like an arrow as it breaks through the maze. Zeros you in like a beacon to follow and you fall deeper into the spirals of your vision.

Make it. Make off. Her. Her in. Rus. Northern. Lights north. Rush, make her off. Old. Building. Under, under. Guarded. Old, guarded. Weapons.

You fill the page with words you see that pile in your head. Picture like moments pour into your mind’s eye of a man you’ve never seen. It’s only half a second intervals, like someone’s slowed down the internet speed to the lowest setting possible.

Man. Man, 1. Talk, yells. Rush in. Rush. Hidden. Under. Ground under. Men. Loyal. Men. Men. Men. Cold, snow. New Clear. Nu. Er. Er, boots. Boots. Boots. Blinding Lighstj thaoies gbauqot—

Price pulls the paper away once your words start becoming unreadable. “Good enough,” he gives no sedation this time. You’ve never needed it before, “let her rest, Soap.” He allows you that as your left on your side. Soap reluctantly stands up as you're left to tremble, you’ll pull out on your own time. He reads over what was written and a location comes to mind. “I’ve a feeling I know where our Russian is.”

[saywhat-politics]

America Is Backsliding Toward Its Most Polluted Era

When you inhale a microscopic speck of soot, its journey may go like this: The particle enters your nose and heads into your lungs, penetrating even the tiny air sacs that facilitate gas exchange. Next it may slip into your bloodstream and flow into your heart, or past the blood-brain barrier. Most of us inhale some of these tiny particles every day. But inhaling enough can turn the act of breathing into an existential hazard, prompting or worsening asthma, COPD, respiratory infections, and permanent lung damage. In the heart, the specks can trigger heart disease, heart attacks, and most of the cardiovascular disorders you can think of. Air pollution is also associated with depression and anxiety, and with higher rates of suicide. It can trigger strokes and is linked to dementia or—even at average levels in this country—Parkinson’s disease.

These particles can also cross the placenta, where they can reduce an infant’s lung function before birth. A pre-polluted baby is also more likely to arrive prematurely, and at a lower weight. Exposure to bad air in utero is associated with a higher risk of autism, and exposure in childhood has been linked to behavioral and cognitive problems, including lower IQ. A person’s lungs can develop until age 25, and as Alison Lee, a pulmonologist at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, put it to me, “once you’ve lost lung function, you can’t get it back.” Persistent exposure to air pollution can cause permanent harm, creating health problems for children and setting them up to become sicker adults.

It’s hard to picture a person dropping dead from air pollution, yet it happens all the time. In the United States, particulate matter is estimated to kill more than twice as many people as vehicular accidents do—in total, some 100,000 to 200,000 people a year, as an underlying factor of chronic disease or by way of heart attacks, asthma attacks, and other sudden events. Even as air quality in America has improved, researchers have found that relatively low concentrations of particulate matter can cause major hazards.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

The casual ablists are finally connecting dots folks like me connected 4 years ago... (๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)

By Tapatrisha Das

Covid virus can cause myocarditis, which can further push the heart to an attack. Here's why there’s a rise in heart attacks among young adults.

Earlier, heart attacks were thought to be a disease that affected one in later years but not anymore. There has been a disturbing rise in the number of young people suffering from heart attacks. Especially in healthy young adults, this disease has been observed at a more alarming rate. In the last four years, there has been a 66 percent rise in the number of heart attacks in young people in America – with one in every five heart attack patients being under the age of 40. A report on Daily Mail has explored the connection of this trend with the Covid-19 pandemic.

Reasons behind alarming rise of heart attacks in young adults The report mentions that many factors are at play in increasing the risk of heart attacks in young and fit adults – drug use, obesity and sedentary lifestyle are some of the main reasons. However, considering the timing, Covid-19 is also suspected to be at play here.

The Covid-19 virus can cause widespread inflammation throughout the body, especially affecting the heart and causing blood clots. During the lockdown, people were bound to stay at home – this further triggered depression, anxiety and stress. These all can trigger heart attack risk.

Impact of covid: The timing of surge in heart attacks is suspected to be directly related to the covid pandemic. The covid virus, once inside the body, can cause the heart to be inflamed – this condition is known as myocarditis. This further makes it hard for the heart to pump blood throughout the body. This condition can damage the heart and make it incapable to pump blood throughout the body. This is when heart attacks become more common.

The Daily Mail report also quoted Dr Susan Cheng, a cardiologist at Cedars Sinai who authored a 2023 study that found heart attack deaths in people 25 to 44 increased by nearly 30 percent during pandemic's early years. She had said back then as well that the connection was 'more than coincidental.'

'Young people are obviously not really supposed to die of heart attack. They're not really supposed to have heart attacks at all…There are a lot of things that COVID can do to the cardiovascular system. It appears to be able to increase the stickiness of the blood and increase... the likelihood of blood clot formation. 'It seems to stir up inflammation in the blood vessels. It seems to also cause in some people an overwhelming stress—whether it's related directly to the infection or situations around the infection—that can also cause a spike in blood pressure.'

[herkonular]

SEVENHİLLSSHOPPİNG - MEGA+ (2)

Iranian saffron, available at Seven Hills Shopping, offers a variety of health benefits that make it a valuable addition to any diet. This spice is known for its powerful antioxidant properties, which can help protect the body against oxidative stress and reduce inflammation. Additionally, saffron has been shown to improve mood and treat depressive symptoms, making it a potentially useful tool for managing mental health conditions. Studies have also suggested that saffron may have cancer-fighting properties, reducing the risk of certain types of cancer. With these benefits in mind, incorporating Iranian saffron into your cooking can be an easy and delicious way to support your overall health. Turkish nuts, such as almonds and pistachios, available at Seven Hills Shopping, are packed with nutrients that can benefit overall health. These nuts are rich in healthy fats, protein, fiber, and a variety of vitamins and minerals, making them a nutritious and satisfying snack. Almonds, for example, are a good source of vitamin E, which can help protect against heart disease and other chronic conditions. Pistachios have been shown to improve cholesterol levels and reduce the risk of heart disease. By incorporating Turkish walnuts into your diet, you can enjoy a variety of nutritional benefits that support overall health and well-being. Turkish spices, such as cinnamon and chili, available at Seven Hills Shopping, offer a variety of health benefits beyond their delicious taste. Cinnamon, for example, has been shown to have anti-inflammatory properties that can help combat chronic inflammation, a common factor in many chronic diseases. Chili peppers contain capsaicin, which has been shown to reduce appetite and aid loosing weight tea, as well as potentially reducing the risk of certain types of cancer. By incorporating Turkish spices into your cooking, you can add flavor and nutrition to your meals while reaping a variety of health benefits.