#Case reports of Neurology

[submalevolentgrace]

From the earliest days of the COVID-19 pandemic, scientists have raised concerns about the potential for long-term health problems linked to SARS-CoV-2 and warned repeated infections are likely to increase the risk. An association between COVID and cardiovascular disease emerged quickly. And now — almost exactly four years since the first case was discovered in Wuhan — a growing body of scientific research is cautiously linking the inflammation caused by a COVID infection to diseases like Alzheimer's and Parkinson's as well as autoimmune conditions from bowel disease to rheumatoid arthritis. The virus has even been suggested to impact some pregnant women, associated with double the risk of premature delivery. As the eighth COVID wave hits Australia, experts are taking notice.

...

When the first wave of COVID patients began reporting loss of smell and taste, Barnham's radar went up. "Any time you see olfactory impairment it tells you that there's going to be neurological impact," he says. "Loss of smell is a cardinal, pre-clinical symptom of Parkinson's disease and it's been implicated in Alzheimer's disease as well." The fact that COVID patients reported loss of smell not only during the active phase of the disease, but as a persistent symptom, suggested to Barnham that longer-term health consequences were likely. Loss of smell is associated with loss of brain volume.

[captainmalewriter]

XY

This story is a part of Occam's writing prompt challenge. I highly recommend y'all check out #occam2000 to read the other amazing entries by the other talented writers!!

LATEST REPORT ON RECENTLY DISCOVERED METAMORPHOSIS GENE 

Few things in this world are as beautifully intricate as human reproduction. However, it is not a perfect system. Any number of things could go wrong during the conception and/or birth of a human being, one of which includes genetic mutations. The chances of gene mutation are never zero. While modern-day doctors and scientists continue to fight the good fight of keeping harmful genetic disorders at bay, there is one particularly potent mutation a tiny percentage of the human population carries.

How long this mutation has existed within our gene pool is currently unknown. What is known is that although this malignant gene usually remains dormant within the human body, it can potentially rearrange an individual’s genetic composition and expression when active. Unfortunately, this information was only recently discovered after it had already wreaked havoc in [redacted]. The mutation has been dubbed the Metamorphosis (MM) gene. The MM gene is linked to the Y chromosome in humans. Fortunately, a male’s X chromosome usually functions as a suppressor, thereby keeping the malignant gene dormant in afflicted individuals. However, it is still possible for the MM gene to rekindle if certain conditions are met.

First, an afflicted male must lack the appropriate allele(s) for their X chromosome to properly function as a suppressor against the MM gene. Second, the individual’s body must be in a state of heightened activity due to intense physical exertion. Lastly, on a neurological level, the individual must experience high levels of dopamine, oxytocin, and norepinephrine (or, in simpler terms— love). Should all these conditions be met, the door opens for the MM gene to potentially awaken within the subject. 

As you may have already surmised, statistical probability works in our favor against the MM gene. Unfortunately, however, there remains a chance, regardless of how slight, that the proper conditions will align for this chaotic mutation to awaken and wreak havoc on both the carrier male as well as any surrounding, non-carrier parties. This was the case with one individual in the town of [redacted]. 

Numerous questions about how the MM gene operates and spreads among non-carriers despite being classified as a genetic disorder inundate microbiologists with, unfortunately, little to no answers at the time of this report. Further research into the matter remains a high priority. 

END REPORT 

***

It was supposed to be an ordinary day like any other when Geovanni R. Diaz stepped into the gym that afternoon. He drank his pre-workout in the front lobby while waiting for his friend/gym partner Evan Washington to arrive. The two men had met at the beginning of summer when they both started hitting the gym on the same day. They bonded over making fools of themselves as they misused several exercise machines. They became close friends and regular gym buddies since then. 

Some 20 minutes had passed, and Evan was still nowhere in sight. Geo finished the last few sips of his pre-workout and decided to start without him. It was common for Evan to flake out, especially as of late. While Geo initially shared Evan's casual approach to the gym, he eventually decided he wasn’t satisfied with doing the bare minimum. He took on an intense 60-day workout regime to really challenge himself. Evan supported his friend’s endeavor, but the differences in their goals eventually showed themselves when Evan regularly skipped days while Geo kept at it. He didn’t take it personally; he had grown used to it, although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss having someone to joke around with between sets. Regardless, Geo claimed a chest fly machine, powered up his headphones, and then proceeded to get to work. 

“Hey papi, mind if I work in with you?” 

Geo heard a familiar voice behind him as he finished his warm-up set. He smiled as he turned and saw Evan leaning against the machine. 

“Hey, handsome, I thought you weren’t coming today.” Geo stood up and embraced his close friend. 

“Wasn’t planning on it if I’m being totally honest, but then I decided maybe I’ve been skipping too many days and forced myself out of bed to come here. Did you just start?”

“Yeah man! It’s chest and shoulder day today so I figured I’d start with my favorite machine,” Geo looked at Evan with a grin. “Care to join me?” 

Evan only laughed in response. They both already knew the answer, but they enjoyed asking anyway as a joke. With that, they proceeded to go through Geo’s workout plan together. Naturally, Evan couldn’t keep up with Geo anymore and had to lower the weight after every set, but that didn’t stop them from enjoying their time together. By the end of the workout, they were both tired and sweaty in the locker room after hitting the weights hard.

“I have no idea how you manage to stay on track with this whole fitness challenge thing…” Evan huffed as he caught his breath. “I’d probably give up after the first day. You look good though! Your hard work is paying off and it really shows!”

“You think so?” Geo said as he wiped the sweat off his brow. “It’s hard to tell sometimes. I look in the mirror and I feel good, but then I stare at myself too long and I start worrying if I’m just lying to myself.”

“That’s just body dysmorphia talking, you look great!”

“Aw thank you Evan, you’re too kind.”

“Of course! Anytime you need reassurance, I’ll always be here.” 

Evan flashed Geo a broad smile, and he smiled back. A few minutes passed before Evan started talking again. 

“Hey, are you free tonight? I was thinking of making my world famous lasagna tonight, and I'd love to have you over for dinner.”

Geo stopped drying himself after he heard Evan say that. He turned slowly to Evan and saw him with a shy smile. The same smile formed on his face as he began to answer.

“I would love to have dinner with you, Evan. Of course I’ll come over tonight.”

Evan practically exploded with excitement. He ran to Geo for a hug, almost knocking him over due to the impact. Geo wrapped his arms around Evan and held him in a tight embrace. Their hugs always put Geo in a good mood. He was more than overjoyed to discover that Evan shared his feelings. He knew this hug would quickly become one of his top favorite memories. It was a tender moment between two men falling in love, which made it all the more noticeable when loud indigestion ended their sweet moment abruptly. Geo pulled away and held his stomach as he kneeled over in pain.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Evan asked. 

“Ugh… I’m fine. I think I just need a bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Geo ran off while Evan stayed behind in the locker room. Evan finished packing up their things while he waited. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty. Growing worried, Evan walked to the bathroom stalls to check on his beloved friend. He heard heavy, labored breathing coming from the only closed stall. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” 

Evan knocked on the stall door and found that it was unlocked. He pushed it open slightly. His jaw dropped to the floor when he found Geo naked and drenched in sweat on the tile floor. His eyes were clenched closed, and his face was distorted due to unbearable abdominal pain. Evan ran to his side. 

“What’s going on!? What’s wrong?” Evan asked with apparent urgency in his voice. Geo could barely get words out as he was too busy hyperventilating. 

“So… Hot…”

Evan held a hand against Geo’s forehead and almost immediately recoiled from how hot it was. Geo was running an extremely high fever, unlike anything he had ever seen! Evan’s eyes darted around the bathroom as he desperately sought solutions but couldn’t think of anything due to his panic. He was desperate. He knew he needed to act fast before—

“Ohhhh it hurts!!”

Geo’s sudden shriek stopped Evan’s negative line of thinking. At that moment, time seemed to slow down to a crawl. Evan’s gaze shot back to Geo. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw what was happening to his soon-to-be boyfriend. Unbeknownst to both of them, Geo was a carrier for the Metamorphosis gene, and all the right conditions were met for it to awaken. The gene was hard at work rearranging Geo’s DNA, and he began transforming right before their very eyes! 

It began with his body hair. Like the other men from the paternal side of his family, Geo had never been able to grow much body hair, if any. However, he did have the genes needed for ample body hair, and thanks to the MM gene, it was finally able to express itself. Thick, black hair began sprouting out of his legs in spurts. With each hair follicle that grew in, Geo’s legs grew just a little bit thicker than before, causing Geo to moan obscenely loud as a result. The accelerated hair growth traveled up his legs and into his crotch area where his pubic hair grew in at an alarming rate until he had a jungle of bushy pubes covering his groin. His hairy balls hung lower than before after growing in size and his cock grew an inch thicker in width. Within a few minutes his entire lower half was transformed. His legs became as strong as tree trunks, and with a new, well-endowed package to boot— all covered in a thick layer of hair too! 

The transformation wave continued to ripple throughout the rest of his body. Geo twisted and writhed on the floor as the rest of his body underwent rapid changes. A prominent happy trail formed on his lower abdomen, connecting his belly button and pubic region with a line of long, messy hair. His pecs grew more plump as hair ran up his ab line and onto the center of his chest where it spiraled outward until it formed little rings of hair around his nipples. His chest and abdominal areas were only covered with a slight dusting of body hair compared to his legs. The stubble on his face grew until a thick, connected beard replaced the short goatee Geo once sported. 

His armpits were hit the hardest by the transformation. His pit hair grew and grew until it curled from its long length, leaving Geo with obscenely hairy underarms. Combined with the heavy sweat of an intense workout, Geo’s hairy pit smell began to fill the room. Evan recoiled from how unexpectedly strong Geo’s musky body odor had become, though he couldn’t resist helping himself to a couple of sniffs after he got a whiff of his powerful musk. 

The MM gene had thoroughly scrambled Geo’s DNA sequences, leaving him as a completely unrecognizable, alternate version of himself! 

“WHEW!! God I feel sooo much better now… Hey what’s wrong, babe? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“G… Geo? Is that you?” Evan stood in shock from disbelief. If he hadn’t witnessed it for himself, Evan would’ve never believed that the hairy, smelly jock lying in front of him, staring at him with a lustful smirk, was the same man he had just invited over for dinner. 

“Of course it is, mi hermosito, who else would I be?” Geo winked as he threw his arms up, leaving his hairy underarms exposed. “By the way, I saw you sniffing the air earlier… How about you come and have a whiff right from the source?” 

Evan chuckled nervously, but Geo wasn’t joking. His laughter died down as he realized just how dead-serious Geo was.

“No… You’re not seriously—” 

“Oh but I am,” Geo interrupted. “Just a little taste won’t hurt anyone. Call it a preview for what’s to come later tonight.”

“But right here? In the public bathrooms?”

“Why not? It’s not like anyone else is around right now. We’ll just have to keep our voices down if someone comes in. So, what do you say? I know you want to…”

Geo got up from the ground and approached Evan. He stood close enough that his scent naturally filled Evan’s nose without him needing to sniff. Evan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as his friend’s intoxicating musk left him in a state of deep arousal. Of course, Evan had some reservations about hooking up with Geo after he had just randomly transformed right in front of him, but between how close Geo’s pits already were to his face and the fact that it still seemed to be the same man he had come to know and love on the inside, Evan couldn’t bring himself to reject the offer. Before he could think about it properly, he was already leaning in without even realizing it. 

Once Evan started, he couldn’t stop. He buried his face deep into Geo’s sweaty, rank underarms. Geo’s coarse black hair tickled Evan’s nostrils as he nuzzled against the crevices of his pits. Muffled groans filled with pleasure escaped Evan’s mouth as he indulged in the manly, sweaty scent, each sniff leaving him more satisfied than the last. Soon enough, both Geo and Evan grew rock hard from all the sensual physical touch. The tents in their gym shorts poked and rubbed against each other as they continued pressing their bodies together. For Geo, the thought of getting worshiped in a public place like a gym bathroom was the hottest thing ever while Evan was just happy he got to service a hairy, sweaty gym rat. 

Evan briefly lifted his head out of Geo’s armpit for air. At that moment, Geo held his face and planted a firm kiss on his lips. Their tongues wrestled inside of Evan’s mouth as they locked lips. Once they had their fill of making out after a while, Geo began pushing Evan down onto his knees, to which Evan happily obliged. Geo’s cock stood at full mast, nearly poking one of Evan’s eyes out as he got into position. Evan was in awe as he held the heavy piece of uncut brown meat in his hands. He was drooling just from the sight of it! Not able to restrain himself anymore, Evan dove right in and guided the leaking tip into his mouth.

Arghh… Mmmmm…

Geo let out guttural moans as his friend went down on him. The sound of a man’s deep moans encouraged Evan to service him as best as he physically could. It was almost like he forgot he needed to breathe as he slurped Geo’s entire length up and down with his tongue until it hit the back of his throat. Geo squirmed and grunted obscenely loud as Evan wrapped his cock with his warm, moist mouth. He only lasted a few minutes until he couldn’t hold in his load anymore. Geo held Evan’s head down, his nose pressing against his unruly bush, and let out a loud groan from deep within his lungs as his load came rushing out. Evan whimpered with pleasure as he swallowed Geo’s heavy load, the salty taste of cum filling up his mouth. Once it was done, they both pulled away with a satisfied ahhh!

“Alright, get up. Your turn.”

Geo helped Evan up to his feet, then got down on his knees himself. Evan didn’t deny Geo’s advances, but he also didn’t help him get into position either. He had a blank expression as Geo proceeded to go down on him. Even as he swirled and sucked on his sensitive head, Evan didn’t react or say anything aside from an occasional soft moan. All he could focus on was a prominent cut on the inside of his cheek that he could feel with his tongue. Was that always there? Evan wasn’t sure, but regardless, it was already too late. The damage was done. He had contracted the MM gene from Geo. 

Evan winced as he began to notice a pain growing in the pit of his stomach. It started as a slight ache, but it quickly became unbearable. Evan hunched over, letting a low groan as he held his hands against his side where it hurt the most. It felt like he was being stabbed from the inside out! The next thing he knew, his muscles rapidly stretched and constricted as the gene started rearranging his DNA. 

Because Evan was a non-carrier and his immune system was not already accustomed to suppressing the malignant virus, the MM gene was able to activate without delay and transformed him much faster than Geo. He threw his head back and quietly moaned as the transformation happened. Geo was too busy giving him head to even notice. He just thought he was doing a good job. 

The MM gene was hard at work bringing out Evan’s hidden genetic traits. Although he was only 12.5% Black from his mother’s side, that was more than enough for the virus to play around with. Various points around his skinny body began to inflate with muscle mass. His thin frame and scrawny chicken legs filled in with much-needed mass, giving him sturdy legs with sharp ab lines and impressive cannons for arms. His biceps swelled to the size of melons as his body flexed under the tension of rapid transformation. Evan himself was surprised with how heavy his new body was becoming.

His facial structure shifted and morphed. His nose widened while his jawline became stronger and sharper. A bushy goatee beard grew in where he once could only grow peach fuzz. The once wholly flat-chested Evan Washington now sported two massive slabs of meat resting on his torso. His pecs were firm, strong, and hung low from their own weight. Coupled with bright pink nips, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he now possessed a perfect chest. Although his pale skin tone stayed the same, the MM gene brought his Black features out to the forefront, giving the once undeniably White young man a more visibly biracial appearance by the end of his transformation.

While Evan underwent a total identity change, Geo kept blowing him all the while. Although he did notice a sudden change in Evan’s girth and overall size, the taste of a nice, sweaty cock kept him focused on the task at hand. Geo simply took a breath through his nose and opened his mouth up even wider to keep deepthroating him. Evan’s body was still sensitive from having undergone rapid growth, which only made the pleasure of having his dick sucked sloppily increase tenfold. The veins in his thighs and cock twitched and throbbed as he climaxed and pumped out his thick load straight down Geo’s throat. Geo swallowed, sighed with deep satisfaction, and got up from the ground. 

“Mmm! You know, yours tastes kinda tangy!” Geo gathered and licked up the few stray drops dripping from Evan’s tip. 

Meanwhile, Evan was trembling, struggling to breathe after all the physical stimulation. Only after Geo finished cleaning up the spunky mess did he realize that the Evan standing before him no longer looked like the Evan he once knew.  

“What the— Who are you!! Where’d Evan go?” Geo yelled. Evan turned to look at him, and Geo saw his pupils dilating unnaturally rapidly. “Dude, what’s wrong with your eyes!?”

Evan said nothing in response. The MM gene fried his mind with a heavy concentration of hormones, leaving him in a state of severe brain fog. Evan stumbled forward to the nearby mirror. His cock was still semi-erect. The sight of his own dick was enough to make Evan drool as he admired and flexed his arm muscles. Geo tried calling his attention but to no avail. Evan was unresponsive to his shouts. He had one thing and one thing only on his horny mind. 

“More…” Evan muttered.

“More what?” Geo replied. Evan snapped his line of sight back at Geo. His dazed eyes wandered to Geo’s exposed junk, then narrowed as they met his eyes. He let out a low growl as his eyes suddenly had an intense look that caused Geo to take a few steps back. It was the same look a hungry lion gave a gazelle out in the wild. Geo swallowed his breath. He became acutely aware of the situation he was in.

“Dick! I want more dick!!”

Evan puckered his lips and lunged towards Geo, though Geo managed to sidestep him in time.

“Get away from me! Look man, you might be hot as hell but I’m not interested! I’m a taken man!!” 

Geo quickly gathered his discarded clothes and hightailed it out of the bathroom. Naturally, being in the hyper state that he was, Evan wasn’t going to give up until he got what he craved. He stumbled out of the bathroom stall ass naked, where he was about to run into the perfect target.  

“Man! Today is just not my day,” a bodybuilder mumbled as he walked into the locker room. Dylan was a muscle gay, and he came to the gym solely to go cruising that day. 

However, despite his efforts, he struck out. He was getting sexually frustrated, which made him incredibly willing to hook up with some random stranger in the bathroom. 

Dylan was as equally surprised as he was impressed when Evan stepped out of the stall with his cock out. The smell of sweat and cum hit his nose, arousing him. Dylan loved what he saw and decided to make his move on the muscle-bound hunk.

“Hey there, stud! Need a hand there?” Dylan whistled at Evan, catching his attention.

Evan turned to him. He was still visibly sweaty and was breathing heavily. Dylan wasn’t sure what to make of him, but Evan didn’t give him a chance to reconsider. 

Evan charged at him, planting his lips against his upon impact. Dylan was caught off guard but had no problem matching Evan’s energy. He kissed him back as their frisky hands began feeling up each other’s bodies. Although Dylan loved making out, Evan’s kissing style was quickly turning out to be way too rough for his tastes. Evan forced his tongue in, had an obscene amount of saliva, and even bit down on his bottom lip with enough force to draw blood.

“OWW! What the fuck man!?”

Dylan pushed Evan away and held his bleeding lip. He was glad that there wasn't a lot of blood, but was still rightfully pissed off. As ravenous as he was due to the MM gene, Evan was oblivious to what he had done. Instead, his attention shifted to another guy wearing only a towel near the showers. He ran off in that direction and left Dylan in the dust. 

“Prick…” 

With that, Dylan decided to just give up and get a quick workout in. He took out a rice bar and ate it as he returned to the main area. He did his stretches, picked up a couple of barbells, and claimed an open bench. But just as he was about to start his first set, a powerful hunger overcame him. He grabbed at his stomach and kneeled over in pain as the MM gene took effect.

All of Dylan’s hard-earned muscles melted away within a matter of minutes. He rapidly gained pounds upon pounds of body fat. What were once washboard abs complimented by chiseled biceps were replaced by flabby arms and a protruding, hairy gut. His pecs lost their firmness and began to sag as they became nothing but a pair of man boobs. All the while, the same overwhelming lust Evan had began growing within Dylan too.

A handful of nearby good samaritans came to Dylan’s aid after he collapsed. While they all tried to help Dylan, most stayed back after witnessing his sudden transformation firsthand. Nobody knew what was happening behind the scenes, leading to anxious rumors and worried whispers floating around the gym. While most people were too cautious to get near Dylan, one brave man decided to step forward and help Dylan. Unfortunately, as he tried to help Dylan get up to his feet, Dylan accidentally scratched him on the back. The young man recoiled and dropped Dylan to the ground as a result.

As other people began to help Dylan, the injured man stepped off to the side to tend to his wound. He felt unusually warm as he finished putting on a bandage. He didn’t think much of it and ignored it but soon found himself sweating bullets as he rejoined the group. It got to the point that he needed to take a seat to try to cool off, but it was no use. He soon joined Dylan on the floor, writhing in pain due to contracting the MM gene.

At this point, everyone in the gym had gathered around the two men. The crowd stood back as they bore witness to yet another transformation. They watched in bewilderment as the short man rapidly grew in height. He groaned and gasped in anguish as his limbs stretched out. His torso grew and widened until he had the body of a tall bear. He pawed at the growing tent in his sweats as he thrashed around the floor, massaging his manhood as hormones continued pumping throughout his body. Within minutes, the infected man had gone from a stout 5’4 to a big, burly 6’4.

Although the afflicted man already had a healthy spattering of trimmed body hair, the MM gene forced his hair to grow to what was genetically possible. His body hair grew out beyond what Geo experienced. From his chest and belly to his legs and arms, every hair follicle grew longer and thicker, leaving him a pelt of curly body hair. His facial hair, in particular, grew out the most. His mustache grew longer and longer until it practically covered his mouth! His beard became bushy and unruly with coarse black hair as it reached his chest. All the while, the hair on the top of his head fell out one by one until he had a shiny bald head. He became an unrecognizable version of himself thanks to the MM gene. Once his transformation was over, he sat up and let out a bellowing belch that echoed throughout the gym. 

“Mrmph… Feels sooooo good…”

The crowd of witnesses backed away from the two transformed men. The two men turned to the crowd and smiled. A cold, ominous air filled the atmosphere. A few intuitive individuals saw the writing on the wall and left before shit hit the fan while the majority stayed behind, anxious and confused at what was going on. A few moments filled with tense silence passed, only for it to be broken when Evan came charging in from the men’s locker room and locked lips with the closest man. Almost as if on signal, Dylan and the burly bear joined Evan’s rampage and lashed out, too.

Pandemonium broke out as everyone made a mad dash for the exit. It was like a zombie attack as Evan and the other transformed men attacked every healthy man they could get their hands on. The unfortunate victims contracted the MM gene. Once infected, they, too, succumbed to genetic rearrangements. Some grew insanely muscular, and others became incredibly overweight. Hair was grown and lost; skin colors changed, and every physical feature rearranged until they were completely unrecognizable. All those transformed men wanted nothing more than to kiss, fuck, and spread their seed to as many people as possible until their hyped-up urges were satiated. 

“Shit’s getting crazy out here…” Geo whispered to himself. He poked his head out of the locker room and saw the chaos he unwittingly caused. He wanted nothing to do with the madness and ran out of the gym as fast as he could, though the infected men paid him no attention as he was already one of them. Police were beginning to arrive on the scene as Geo drove away with only one thought: his dinner date with his best friend and crush, Evan. 

Though unfortunately for him, the Evan he knew and loved was long gone. It would only be a matter of time before Geo forgot all about Evan, and his body gradually returned to its original state after the MM gene returned to a state of dormacy.

At least, until the next time Geo or some other carrier falls in love.

***

PUBLIC STATEMENT ISSUED BY THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE

Good evening.

As you may have already heard, a horrific incident has occurred at one of our local gyms. Dozens of men went on a rampage. It took several hours and almost all of our manpower, but our police department has successfully arrested all of the sexually rabid men and have placed them in custody. 

Security camera footage shows that all of these men were physically transformed before attacking. After an initial investigation, medical experts suspect that a rare genetic disorder called the Metamorphosis gene is responsible. Unfortunately, while there were no casualties, some of our own brave policemen were affected by the viral outbreak and were transformed themselves.

Two big questions remain tonight: how did a genetic disorder manage to spread like a virus, and how did these men contract this previously unheard of disorder? The arrested men were questioned about the events that led to this mass riot. None have been able to provide any concrete information. None of them seem to recognize their former identities, citing amnesia and severe migraines as the cause. 

Patient 0 has yet to be found. An active investigation continues as research efforts for a potential cure to the Metamorphosis gene’s effects continue. 

END OF STATEMENT

[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.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hey could you do some tips on writing trauma induced mutism? (when children experience trauma at a super young age, it impacts their ability to speak. even tho they can't consciously remember things the way we do, trauma is stored in the body/brain in ways that impact further development. lots of stress early in life can alter the way their brain is structured. ptsd interferes with the neurological pathways that are required for functional speech) asked this a bit ago but hope this helps lol

Writing Notes: Trauma-Induced Mutism

Traumatic Mutism & Trauma-Induced Selective Mutism

There’s a slight distinction between these two conditions.

If you have traumatic mutism, you may be unable to talk in all situations following a trauma.

On the other hand, with trauma-induced selective mutism, you may find it impossible to talk only in certain situations — say, in front of the person who hurt you or in a setting that resembles the circumstances of your trauma.

Selective Mutism - a condition in which a child speaks normally in some situations, such as at home, but refuses to speak in public or social situations, such as school.

In some cases, a child who is selectively mute may speak to peers or family members, but not to strange adults in a social situation.

Selective mutism is often diagnosed with social phobia and is most common among children of preschool or primary school age, particularly among kindergartners.

The cause of selective mutism is unknown, but several explanations have been offered for it, including reaction to traumatic events.

Traumatic experiences, like witnessing a shooting or experiencing relationship abuse, can also contribute to selective mutism in adulthood, Lindsay Scharfstein says, a licensed psychologist and founder of the private practice Rockville Therapy Center in Rockville, Maryland.

According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition, Text Revision, published in 2022, specific diagnostic criteria include:

the ability to speak normally in home situations, coupled with

the persistent avoidance of speaking in particular social situations when speaking is expected (such as in school).

In addition, this avoidance must last at least 1 month,

interfere with the individual’s education or social functioning, and

cannot be better explained by a communication disorder or solely attributable to autism spectrum disorder, schizophrenia, or another psychotic disorder.

There is no definitive test to diagnose a child has having selective mutism or to rule it out, and it is seldom self-reported.

Instead, the diagnosis is usually made based on observed behavior, including parent-child interactions, and also requires ruling out other possible explanations for the behavior.

Notably, children with selective mutism do not necessarily decline to communicate in social situations; they simply decline to speak.

Many will attempt to communicate through gestures, pointing, or facial expressions.

The person's history of mutism should also be considered.

People who have been through trauma may show some of the same symptoms seen in selective mutism.

Symptoms include:

Ability to speak at home with family

Fear or anxiety around people they do not know well

Inability to speak in certain social situations

Shyness

This pattern must be seen for at least 1 month to be called selective mutism. (The first month of school does not count, because shyness is common during this period.)

In Children

Children with selective mutism do not speak in some social situations where they are expected to speak, such as school, even though they speak in other situations. They will speak in their home around immediate family members, but often will not speak even in front of others, such as close friends or grandparents.

The lack of speech may interfere with social communication,

although children with this disorder sometimes use non-spoken or nonverbal means (e.g., grunting, pointing, writing).

The lack of speech can also have significant consequences in school, leading to academic problems and social isolation.

Many children with selective mutism also experience excessive shyness, fear of social embarrassment and high social anxiety. However, they typically have normal language skills.

Selective mutism usually begins before age 5, but it may not be formally identified until the child enters school.

Many children will outgrow selective mutism.

For children who also have social anxiety disorder, selective mutism may disappear, but symptoms of social anxiety disorder may remain.

The most common treatment for selective mutism is behavior therapy or family therapy, and multiple interventions appear to be the most effective in addressing the problem. In addition to psychotherapy, in some cases, antidepressant or antianxiety medication may also be prescribed.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Character Development ⚜ PDFs

The added info did help! I hope this one more sufficiently covers the aspects of mutism you were looking for as reference. You can find more details in the sources. All the best with your writing!

[garpen]

My January 2025

1) I deleted my gender, pronouns, sexuality, and spirituality off of all my public accounts (with my name and face) after you know who was elected. Having conversations with my ama about packing go bags just in case. Stock piling on necessities and food just in case.

3) I got hit by a car (ER doc gave me the all clear, so no worries)

3) My PCP sent me back to the ER two days later due to a neurological issues and possible brain bleed (Doc gave me the all clear, so no worries)

4) The hospital I was in caught fire (It was put out relatively quickly, so no worries)

5) Watched a man at said hospital die (I used to work in as a SS in a SNF/Rehab with tons of geriatric patients so I'm desensitized to death, so no worries)

6) My card information was stolen to pay for someone's onlyfans subscription (card has been canceled and I am in the process of getting a new one, so no worries)

See parts 1-4, and 6: Here

7) One of my dogs got out and ran away (we got her back after a few hours, so no worries)

8) My sorta ex's (we're still good friends it's been four years) crush asked me out and I rejected them. Funny actually bc they've tried setting me up with another one of their friends awhile back ago. Dang I got three bitches in that friend group, I didn't realize I had game like that (we're all chill though I think, so no worries)

Not gonna put the whole convo, but here's a snippet:

9) Many friends, family, and family friends are contacting me and saying we will not be able to see each other for a long time bc ICE raids are happening nearby and we are all very worried. Discussing with my ama that if something happens and we need to leave the USA, which family/friends would be best to go to in Mexico. (I am very much white passing but the fear is still there as both my parents are from Mexico, and especially worried for my non-white passing family members and friends)

Just one example-

10) Someone made a fake Instagram account pretending to be me. And tried to take money from my friends/family. One of my siblings was dead ass a minute away from sending them $150 (literally happened today at the very end of the month, but my peeps have already started to report and block them so no worries).

✨Can't wait to see what February has in store for me ✨

[muttren]

i have a disability. more specifically, i have a rare genetic condition called camurati-engelmann’s disease, or CED. it is also known as progressive diaphyseal dysplasia (PDD). it is an extremely rare disorder and only around 300 cases have been reported worldwide.

i figured i would make a post talking about it, in an effort to not only educate others, but to possibly connect with others who suffer from it as well. i apologize for the longer post but please this moment to learn about my disorder.

CED is a skeletal condition that is characterized by abnormally thick bones (hyperostosis) in the arms, legs and skull. the overgrowth in bone causes bone pain, muscle weakness and extreme fatigue. the pain feels like an electric stabbing pain, an ever-increasing pressure sensation around the bones affected, or a constant aching. pain can also occur in joints and they will often lock-up, becoming immobile and stiff. the pain is especially severe during 'flare-ups', which can be unpredictable, exhausting and last anywhere from a few hours to several weeks. this is a common occurrence for us, often causing extensive sleep deprivation from the chronic, severe and disabling pain. when this happens, we are often bedridden or housebound for days or even weeks.

those affected also have an unsteady walk and limp. thickening of the skull can also lead to neurological problems, like hearing loss, vision issues, vertigo and tinnitus. symptoms vary in severity from person to person. there are treatments, however it cannot be cured. pain management is a large aspect of living with this chronic disease.

there is very little awareness and research for CED. rare diseases are severely neglected and overlooked, as are those who suffer and live with them. research is often not considered profitable due to their cost to develop and the limited patient population. major federal funding agencies give preference to research that is likely to have a direct impact on patients.

living with a rare disease is extremely difficult and isolating. it impacts the lives of millions of us and our loved ones worldwide. those of us suffering from rare medical conditions should be entitled to the same quality of treatment as other patients. i am disabled, but i am worth it.

[meret118]

During President Donald Trump’s administration, they said, their managers at the Environmental Protection Agency began pressuring them to make new chemicals they were vetting seem safer than they really were. They were encouraged to delete evidence of chemicals’ harms, including cancer, miscarriage and neurological problems, from their reports — and in some cases, they said, their managers deleted the information themselves.

After the scientists pushed back, they received negative performance reviews and three of them were removed from their positions in the EPA’s division of new chemicals and reassigned to jobs elsewhere in the agency.

. . .

A second Trump presidency could see more far-reaching interference with the agency’s scientific work. Project 2025, the radical conservative policy plan to overhaul the government, would make it much easier to fire scientists who raised concerns about industry influence.

[ms-demeanor]

Hey, if you have the time, would you be willing to help me understand whether msg is harmful or not? I'm seeing a lot of conflicting information when I try to look it up, though I understand that a lot of the basis of the (us) hate for it is just racism. In particular this paper worries me and I don't feel that I have the tools to parse it well- https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5938543/&sa=U&ved=2ahUKEwjyoJ_3-bqBAxXRF1kFHeF1DPMQFnoECA0QBg&usg=AOvVaw0i4ZlJU2xakrpbz-DMFx24

Okay, we're going to play chase the reference with a few of the links in this paper.

the [3] link there (which makes the claim that MSG reactions occur 20 minutes after consumption) leads to this paper, which is a case study of a single patient who had swelling in his throat after eating at a Chinese restaurant. That paper has only 7 citations, 4 of which were at least 30 years old (and one was 50 years old) at the time of publication.

Let's dial in to something interesting in that case study:

First of all, the case study that proved symptoms come on in 20 minutes was for a case when symptoms came on after more than eight hours. Secondly let's look at that last sentence - those two papers found that MSG consumption without solids (as in soups) was associated with more reported symptoms, right?

Well. Not completely. Obayashi and Nagamura's review found that the studies in which increased reports of symptoms were present were the ones in which it was possible to taste the difference between MSG and the control, OR in studies where the flavor of even the control was so strong that people might have thought they were being given MSG. The studies in which the MSG was dissolved in chicken stock found no significant difference between groups consuming MSG or a control.

And the other review cited there [7] did note more symptoms reported without solid food, but also noted that those results weren't reproducible.

So the root paper links to a case study that doesn't actually support the sentence it's cited in and that itself cites two papers as evidence that draw different conclusions than the authors of the case study.

That's one source chased. Let's chase another. The misused paper from the case study also shows up in the root paper.

the claim "75 mg/kg MSG significantly elevated systolic blood pressure" is supported by two whole citations. Let's see what they say. Obayashi and Nagamura are pretty clear:

That's the only observation of blood pressure listed in that paper.

What about Shimada et al.?

well, that actually wasn't what they were looking at, there were confounding factors, and the dose that produced the described results is twice what was listed in the root paper.

and actually the 75mg/kg dose in the root paper is mentioned in citation [5] in this paper and whoops, the low (75mg/kg) dose was *not* associated with increases in blood pressure:

Also. I mean. Jeeze. For an adult weighing 200lbs, 75mg/kg is 6 grams.

What did the root paper say they thought the average daily intake was?

so 75mg/kg is six times higher than the high end of an estimated average and is not enough to cause a statistically significant increase in blood pressure. Cool cool cool.

I've looked at this paper long enough now to get really mad at it.

Paragraph by paragraph, here's what this paper says:

MSG: what if it's poison?

According to multiple studies of rodents in which MSG was injected subcutaneously in juvenile animals MSG might cause obesity or neurological symptoms similar to traumatic brain injury. If humans were to get doses similar to infant mice being subcutaneously injected with MSG as toddlers it could be catastrophic.

This one guy even got a swollen throat from MSG eight hours after eating some soup once and some people who study headaches says it's more common to have bad reactions to msg in soup and he ate soup please ignore that actually the headache people weren't saying reports were more common from people eating soup.

Both animal studies with extremely high doses of MSG and a human study with broken links that doesn't appear on the publisher's website anymore suggest that MSG could do reproductive harm or at least make cramps worse possibly.

The way that people have discussed asthma and MSG in the past is really extreme and super negative but actually there's never been a connection proven there.

And actually it seems like maybe MSG prevents anemia? Neat? Possibly. ANYWAY:

what harmful effects??? You have not successfully described any harmful effects!!!!

this kind of thing shows up all the fuck over the place, look at this bit from a totally different paper:

that cites one nearly 40 year old study, two studies that are nearly 30 years old, two rodent studies, and:

and a literature review that does not reflect those findings and calls for further research because there is poor evidence for those claims.

I'm so mad.

I'm not mad at you, I'm mad that the root article frontloaded with a bunch of complicated neurological stuff that is difficult for anyone without a neuroscience background to parse (i sure can't) and then left the bullshit and misused citations for later in the paper. I'm mad that half of the articles cited in every one of these papers is skeptical of MSG as a risk or a threat and those skeptical papers are being linked to as evidence of MSG as a threat. I'm mad that this stuff is inaccessible and confusing because it doesn't need to be confusing i don't know why these people who work at universities and hospitals are writing these kinds of bullshit papers, I don't know why if you look for information about the safety of msg you get webMD "medically verified" articles that tell you to avoid tomato sauce. I hate all of this and I'm so mad and it's bullshit but here is a very long writeup on why the methodology of a lot of the studies cited in the article you linked are not ideal; this piece goes over a lot of the supposed harms of MSG with a fine toothed comb and generally finds that food amounts of MSG are likely fine and that it's probably worthwhile to do some research on MSG as it relates to fetal development but that it should pretty much be considered safe.

[frostyget]

My autistic physical chemistry student (who also has tremors) study on Viper’s hands, or more specifically, her tremors and twitching and how it is most likely ruining her.

The “Incident” was, if not directly, a major contributor to the tremors. I’m going to (reasonably) assume her work with toxins and poisons is the main cause of the shaking. Her core abilities in game (and objectives in daily life and the war if we ignore the terrible game and see it world wise) revolve around controlling space and dealing damage where it’s needed.

Now, Toxic Screen and Poison Cloud creates an area of toxic gas that is meant to damage and obscure vision. This is a war, a very stressful and very tense war, morality and empathy are often forgotten under stress in soldiers when their life is on the line.

So, what would these hypothetical chemicals be?

- Sarin gas

A nerve agent that can obscure/blur vision. It disrupts the nervous system and leads to symptoms such as: Moisis (constricted pupils), eye pain, seizures, difficulty breathing.

Adding in the morality of Valorant and the fact she hasn’t seemingly gone completely insane, and assuming chemical warfare laws stand in the Valorant universe as they do here, using a nerve gas that is considered a war crime is a line I feel like Viper wouldn’t cross.

If she isn’t using a highly illegal gas, what could she be using? Maybe it’s simply CS gas (tear gas).

- Non-lethal

- Causes symptoms such as eye pain, lacrimation (tearing up), and respiratory irritation.

- Obscures vision and forces enemies to disperse/clear out of a site

- A little more ethically okay while still being effective

How is any of this relevant? If she is using something as harsh as a nerve gas, it would explain the tremors. Nerve agents work by inhibiting acetylcholinesterase (an enzyme that breaks down acetylcholine) leading to buildup of acetylcholine in nerve synapses. This excess acetylcholine overstimulates nerve cells which causes various symptoms including muscle twitching, weakness, and tremors. Working with this for years, even with PPE, would still do damage.

If she’s using something more civil such as CS gas, while hand tremors aren’t a commonly reported thing with CS exposure, there can and is still secondary effects of other neurological symptoms that might arise from exposure in either her lab or the field. CS often irritates the skin. In some cases, exposure can lead to more severe neurological symptoms including muscle weakness, numbness, and imbalance, which all potentially contribute to tremors.

Once again, how is this relevant?

Uncontrolled tremors often and will significantly impact one’s emotional well-being. They can lead to anxiety, depression, feelings of social embarrassment, affecting self-esteem and quality of life ect ect. The difficulty of simply functioning with tremors, especially when you’re a chemist working with very dangerous and deadly toxins and poisons all day, has to be god awful. Tremors affect the much simpler things such as eating, drinking, and writing which Viper does a lot of (both paperwork and experiments).

Depression caused from the tremors. Limitations imposed by tremors on daily activities and social interactions can lead to depression, depression leads to other emotions such as anger, anxiety, grief. Things along those lines. Stress Viper definitely doesn’t need in her already stressful life. Viper is so painfully alone and isolated. Having another agent see her tremors, seeing such a vulnerable part of herself definitely adds to her isolation. Locking herself in her lab for hours, days even, simply because of the tremors.

Shooting. Twitching or shaking hands and trying to hold and shoot a gun doesn’t go together very well. Despite this, once again choosing to put my mind into the lore wise world, Viper’s aim would be what I assume to be nearly perfect. Everything else about her is calculated and controlled, it’s assumption she’d pride her shot on being one of the best in the protocol. But as you could imagine, shaky hands would likely lead to missed shots on a few occasions. Despite her having shaky hands she stays calm and collected and can shoot with guns precisely, keeping her control and the show of being calculated around the others.

In conclusion, she definitely has what I would assume to be emotion driven tremors. Fear, guilt, discomfort and perhaps excitement are all adding to the shaking and twitching. Unfortunately I feel like any ounce of stress placed on the chemist would cause the tremors to worsen.

Going by her personality and way of processing things and reactions to situations, she’d definitely be the type of person to hit her hands off of her desk or lab bench in pure frustration at not being able to do an experiment or handle chemicals due to the tremors. Or in worse situations of panic and rage, I definitely think she’d try to break her hands if she got angry and desperate enough.

In conclusion again, she is definitely suffering with most likely very simple daily tasks on the bad days, and while they’re controlled as much as possible and hidden, it is still a contributor to her isolation and grief (and likely self hatred).

does any of that make any sense lol

[the-most-humble-blog]

🧠 🌹 💔

Between Boundaries: Revisiting the Underappreciated Anatomy (Pt. 2)

— A Loofah-Laced, Shame-Crushing, Gender-Neutral Awakening of Soft Satire

👋 Welcome back, you brave, slippery-souled, velvet-creviced pioneers.

You made it to Part Two.

That means one of three things:

You’re still processing Part One, spiritually exfoliated but emotionally confused.

You’ve looked in the mirror, whispered "Forgive me," and patted your gooch like a pet you forgot to feed.

Or… you’re new here. In which case—strap in, scrub up, and take your pants off metaphorically. Or literally. That’s between you and your office chair.

🧠 Let’s Recap:

You have a perineum. It’s not a “guy thing.” It’s not a “medical term.” It’s a biological border town between Heaven’s Gate and Devil’s Doorbell. And ignoring it doesn’t make you progressive. It makes you… crusty.

💀 Why Part Two Exists

Because one post wasn’t enough. Because your subconscious asked for more. Because when a thousand women reblogged Part One with confessions like:

“Why did this make me feel something?” “I didn’t expect to cry over my gooch today.” “No one ever told me I had one.”

…it was no longer satire. It became public service. Cultural CPR. An anatomical awakening.

And like all great awakenings?

It starts with discomfort… and ends with better soap.

🧽 The Spiritual Function of the Gooch

Let’s cut the mystic bullshit and break it down:

Your gooch is:

A tension valve

A nerve-dense shame sponge

A sensor of heat, wetness, and danger

A forgotten bridge between core and cavity

And most importantly?

A neurological trigger zone for grounding.

Yes. Grounding. As in: when you finally feel it, you’re forced to admit—

“Oh. This is real. This is me. This is my body.”

No ring light. No affirmations. No 9-step skincare routine. Just flesh. Damp. Vulnerable. Yours.

👃 The Feminine Funk: Why It Terrifies and Arouses

You ever notice how a woman can:

Light a candle with a “peony champagne” scent,

Mist herself in vanilla sugar,

Carry 12 crystals and a tote bag full of confidence…

…and still feel uncomfortable in her own scent?

That’s not body odor. That’s generational denial.

The gooch—the taint, the fleshbridge, the sin stripe—is where insecurity marinated during every tampon commercial.

Where your gym leggings collected secrets your therapist couldn’t extract.

🔬 Clinically Proven Gooch Phenomena

The “Silent Shriek” The body knows when you ignore it. Women who consciously acknowledge their perineum report lower shame, higher sexual confidence, and stronger boundaries. (See: PubMed Study 2339-DG-TNT: “Embodied Female Neutral Zones and Emotional Reclamation”)

Mirror Trauma Loop Most women zoom in on tits, hips, or ass in the mirror—but skip the strip between. That’s not feminism. That’s Photoshop syndrome.

Scent-Reality Dissonance If the smell of your gooch triggers more shame than curiosity, your self-love is curated—not authentic.

🩸 The Feminist Hypocrisy Nobody Talks About

You say you’re empowered. You reclaim words like "slut" and "bitch" and even wear them like a badge. But ask if women have a taint?

Watch the room get silent.

Watch her stutter. Watch her deflect. Watch her shame recoil faster than a conservative uncle at Pride.

✨ Psychosexual Reclamation: The Ritual You Didn’t Know You Needed

Tonight. No music. No bath bombs. Just you and a mirror.

Lift one leg.

Gaze into the space between pride and panic.

Say:

“You were never ugly. You were just undocumented. You are mine. You are not a secret. You are my sacred hallway. You are moist but mighty. You are enough.”

🧬 Gendered Terminology Be Gone: New Labels to Equalize the Flesh Frontier

Choose your fighter:

The Liminal Ridge

The Velvet Fold

Goochlight Sonata

Shame Dam #4

WAP Buffering Zone

No Man’s Land (But Yours)

The Pause Between Pokes™

The Rorschach Strip

The Whisper Mat

📉 Cultural Bias Breakdown

🧼 Hygiene As Resistance

You want to “reclaim your body?”

Don’t start with nipple pasties and protest slogans.

Start with a washcloth. Get under there. Lift. Swipe. Moisturize. Whisper its name. If your taint can’t trust you with a lather… how can your spirit?

🧘 Final Affirmation

You are not just legs and holes. You are not just tits and politics. You are a unified, weirdly moist, shame-defiant miracle of evolutionary persistence.

And your perineum is the eye of the storm.

Wash it. Own it. Whisper to it.

📩 DM if you didn’t expect your “middle zone” to spiritually wake up mid-scroll.

💬 Comment if you used the term “gooch” today for the first time in your life.

🔁 Reblog if you believe this is the final frontier of true gender equality.

👀 Tag the friend who still thinks “taint” is a guys-only thing.

✂️ Drop a ✂️ in the tags if Part 1 made you buy exfoliating gloves.

⚖️ Legal Disclaimer:

This post is satire, gender-neutral hygiene theology, and cultural parody. It is educational, spiritually protected, and constitutionally blessed under the First Amendment and the Unspoken Law of the Loofah.

If you're offended?

That’s not shame.

That’s your gooch waking up.

Welcome home.

[glendasguidance-inactive]

Pick a Card:

Full Moon in Gemini

how to pick a card and disclaimers

Here are some messages for you this full moon <3

Pile 1 / Pile 2 / Pile 3

spread: Biddy Tarot Full Moon spread and ritual // decks: Rider Waite tarot, Find Your Purpose by Jess Sanders

Pile 1

What have you created and manifested since the new moon? High Priestess - You've finally decided to listen to yourself. Hooray! You've decided it's better to trust yourself and clean up any mistakes you might make, rather than using other people's opinions to make decisions about your life. And you're absolutely right! The world will not crack in 2 when you make a mistake, and you are perfectly capable of righting them when they happen. This is important because it gives your power back to yourself, and people can't take advantage of you. Annnnnd, I got a feeling you've been dealing with some fuck ass bullshit lately. That bullshit will no longer impact you the same way, because you set boundaries. I just want to give you a around of applause for that. It's hard to do, but makes life way easier. You've found peace and confidence. Where are you now? 6 of Pentacles - You're a generous person, and you've been giving back what you've received from the good nature of others. These people you're grateful for could have been online creators or people from your real life. Express your gratitude to them, because what goes around comes around. You're in a great energy for volunteering, so I highly recommend you join a mutual aid group, get more involved in yours, or help start one (no matter how small - a group of 4-5 people supporting each other is stronger than 1!). Whatever kind of help you're inspired to give, give it. Also, read the strawberry chapter of Braiding Sweetgrass. What is coming into your conscious awareness? Ace of Swords - With the peace you now have, you finally have clarity of mind. Anxiety, stress, and worry literally makes us sick. I feel like you had a head injury, or a bad case of brain fog (from hormonal imbalance, long covid, or something else). Sure, you'll start to get new ideas and breakthroughs. But the most exciting part is the feeling like your brain is finally working again! Keep up the meditation, journaling, exercise (make it fun), and good nights sleep - your new neurological results will be able to become your new normal. What is no longer serving you? 3 of Cups Reversed - I got a feeling you've had a lot of awful people around you who say some of the nastiest gossip about you and each other. While I believe you've set boundaries, I don't think you've cut things off. This is just a general reading, trust your judgement before my own. For most people reading this: these people add nothing but misery to your life, they're toxic and poison the good around you. Leave them. Leave the group chat. Report and block them. Their attacks are just DARVO. Grey rock them whenever you have to interact. Giving them nothing will make them eventually leave you alone. Cut. Them. Off. <- If that felt like a relief to hear, do that. If that doesn't feel right to you, then start learning how to set stronger boundaries, and prepare yourself for when you will need to set them. How can you release and let go of those energies? 7 of Pentacles - Journal and reflect on the good times with these people. What made them good? What was fun? What brought you joy? What made you confident? Give thanks to those moments. The moments taught you what to seek in new relationships, as you meet healthy people. Sometimes a healthy person doesn't have the sense of humor you like, or interests, or habits. And that's okay! You can now make a list of what to seek in relationships beyond "trust, honesty, kindness, loyalty" (aka, the bare minimums for any functional relationship). I heard the phrase in my mind "don't let sour fruits spoil what you've gained". I haven't heard that before, but maybe you have? I think it means a couple things. 1.) let the negativity stay in the past, don't bring it in your present 2.) you can remember the lessons without ruminating on your pain 3.) do NOT let these people destroy your new found confidence, peace, and empowerment.

What additional sources are available to you as you let go? Judgement Reversed - YYou're either open to or actively seeking spiritual guidance right now. Make sure you learn about how to protect yourself from cults / high control groups (these can form outside of religion too btw) before you embark on this journey. Trust yourself, and also learn to protect yourself. Anyway, I personally think you'd resonate and connect with someone like Jiddu Krishnamurti. His most famous quote is: In oneself lies the whole world and if you know how to look and learn, the door is there and the key is in your hand. Nobody on earth can give you either the key or the door to open, except yourself. There are videos of his talks he gave in the 1980's available on YouTube, and he also wrote books.

Quote The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. - Amelia Earhart Affirmation I am unafraid to take action. Journal What is one thing that I can do today that I have been putting off?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢

if this reading helped you, here's more on what I offer if you'd like to support my work you can buy me a coffee or reblog check out my USA Election Aftercare reading here!

Pile 2

What have you created and manifested since the new moon? Chariot Reversed - You've been "spinning your wheels in the mud" going no where and getting very tired doing it. Out of this frustration, you're forced to stop hyper focusing on the details, and see the forest for the trees. You're now looking at the whole situation, not just the frustrating thing. This is giving you an opportunity to realize solutions to try. The main lesson you've manifested right now is learning you can't force a solution to work. It kinda sucks to learn, but also not really. Now you'll no longer exhaust yourself. Hell yeah! You're not stuck, there's another way. Instead of punishing yourself for what you think are failures, pat yourself on the back for your efforts.

Where are you now? 3 of Wands Reversed - Ultimately, you've been feeling lost, small, and unqualified. But are those facts, or feelings? When you reflect on this, put yourself in the 3rd person. This helps stop shitty beliefs from impacting our reflection. No matter what, you wouldn't have accomplished what you've done if that were true. If there's an area you're weak in, you can learn and strengthen it. This isn't the end, and don't go back to where you came from. Find a mentor, and break down your goals into the tiniest of baby steps possible. In this moment, in this process, you're learning and growing so much.

What is coming into your conscious awareness? 4 of Swords - You're learning that you've been pushing yourself too hard for too long, and you need a good night's sleep. You need deep rest and relaxation. It will clear your mind and help you accomplish your goals. But don't rest for your goals. Rest for you. You need to disengage from the constant music, podcasts, audiobooks, and noise machines. Let go of social media for a while (like, 2 weeks minimum), scrolling is not rest. Pause gaming. Start slow in your restful silence journey. On day 1, sit with yourself, doing nothing for 1 minute. Day 2 = 2 minutes, Day 3 = 3 min. Day 4 could be 4 min or 8 min. Day 10 could be 10 min or 20 min. You'll be shocked at how much this gives you. Don't record yourself in this silence, don't do it for social media. This is your time for you, it's sacred. This practice will help you evaluate how to bring balance into your life, so you can do what you want.

What is no longer serving you? 4 of Cups - You've been ignoring your needs as you ruminate and hyper focus. You need to eat! Go piss girl! Drink water! Take your meds and supplements! Take breaks from your work, it doesn't need your 24hr attention! Stop shutting people out because you feel overwhelmed, it's actually making things worse - you don't have to have long conversations, just send 1 text, send something. Let them know you care, they might be feeling like you don't. Let go of your apathy, disillusionment, and disappointment with the life - you think know everything is bad and awful. All you're basing that off if is what you see - but you see only a fraction of the whole. Learn a new, HEALTHY coping mechanism. Face your responsibilities head on once you let all this go. You'll finally feel momentum and progress. You'll feel more alive, and maybe like you're flying.

How can you release and let go of those energies? Knight of Cups Reversed - Reign your emotions back in from the maladaptive daydreams you keep floating off into. What you're imagining isn't real, but your emotions are, and so are the physiological effects of those emotions. And so are the impacts this has on your life. Escapism is so so addictive, and it's time to learn what healthy daydreaming looks like. You also have a tendency to put very high expectations on the things that you want, and when they don't exist in the way that you hoped, the come-down from that high feels like everything is crashing and burning. Good news is, it's not crashing and burning! It's just not what you imagined. Sometimes a thing being different doesn't mean it's worse or better - it just is. So let it be and give it a chance. I also think you've been guilt tripping yourself over all the things you haven't accomplished yet. That guilt isn't helping you get anywhere, that bitch is your opp. It's okay that you feel guilt (we all do), but like every emotion, we have to let it flow though us. Don't hold onto it because you feel like you need it in order to do better. Punishment never helped anyone grow.

What resources are available to you as you let go? King of Cups Reversed - Look for leaders in the fields of psychology and trauma healing, so you can learn to give yourself compassion as you heal. Dr. Gabor Mate could be very helpful to you. Learn about how to find self help books that are actually helpful. There are a lot of self help scammers out there, so be mindful of that. Also, fuck Better Help. If you're looking for a therapist, or have one already, ask them what they know about Compassionate Inquiry.

Quote Don't give into your fears. If you do, you won't be able to talk to your heart. - Paulo Coelho Affirmation I listen when my heart guides me. Journal When have I listened to my fears over my heart? What can I learn from those experiences?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢

if this reading helped you, here's more on what I offer if you'd like to support my work you can buy me a coffee or reblog check out my USA Election Aftercare reading here!

Pile 3

What have you created and manifested since the new moon? 10 of Wands Reversed - You have finally released burdens that are not yours to carry. You now know that you are not the only one who can carry that load (even though you can, it was never your responsibility). The people around you you've been supporting can, and should take care of their responsibilities - it's the only way they're gonna grow. You feel lighter, like a free bird. Exhale and fly. Where are you now? The Devil - Wouldst thou like to live deliciously? asked Black Phillip, and you said Yes! You are indulging in the things you have long denied yourself. You're eating good, having fun, surrounded by luxuries, and having great sex. Be careful not to go too far into your hedonism though. Breaking the bank, accidentally starting a new addiction, avoiding all of your responsibilities, and putting your health at risk aren't fun. Don't let the pendulum swing all the way to the other side just because you finally released the extreme restraint you've been putting on yourself. The opposite side also has a loss of agency (as we see with Thomasin in the VVitch - driven to either die for reasons she didn't cause, or live without a soul, she chose to live. But she doesn't chose to fly in the end, she's pulled into the sky. She can't fly because she doesn't have agency over her life anymore). With your new boundaries, there will always be time for fun. And don't worry that you're putting your needs to the side again when you go back to tending to your responsibilites - they actually let you keep your agency and freedom. Anyway, go back to having fun and defying gravity. What is coming into your conscious awareness? Page of Cups - You're realizing your emotional needs, your inner child, and your sense of silliness and fun. Life is so much better this way. You're new to this, and it'll be a journey to ease into this. Give yourself that chance. Whenever you feel too old to try something, or not cool enough, that's when you gotta triple dog dare yourself into trying it just once. Also, our values don’t have to be burdensome. Some people value hard work, but often times in the way that’s like a punishment because they’ve been conditioned to hate themselves. Having fun is a legitimate value. What is no longer serving you? Strength - You don't have to be strong for others. The only thing you "have" to do is show others how to be strong. Be their teacher. They can't learn if you're doing it for them. Give yourself the gift of inner strength so you can have patience with these people throughout this transition process. Also allow for a little impulsivity in your routines, maybe they don't have to be so strict to achieve the same goal. How can you release and let go of those energies? 6 of Cups Reversed - You've been living in the past, in the sense that you think the beliefs you were taught growing up are universal truths (even if you know they're not, you're operating like they are). They're just what you were taught back then, that's all. Ask in the present moment: what reality are these beliefs creating? Is it the reality you want? Is it a reality that brings you joy, peace, a lightness of spirit, and laughter? If it feels right to, try forgiving those who taught you these beliefs - if it feels harmful to yourself to forgive them, then do radical acceptance instead. And, you don't need to keep revisiting the same painful moments you ruminate on - you already know what's there. Now, go play. I'm serious, go do something silly and fun. We're all gonna die anyway, give life a chance to be fun. Give yourself a chance to be fun.

What resources are available to you as you let go? The World - I don't know if it's because the Wicked soundtrack is so deeply stuck in my head as I write this, but I see a stage. I think you should audition for theater, do a recital, play in a concert, or even just do karaoke. Get on stage, feel the magic of performing, and soak in the applause. I googled a quote because I really wasn't sure if this vision in my head was actually a message for you, or because I wasn't focused. I found this quote is from Shakespeare (the stage imagery makes more sense now): All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, [...]

Quote Ask yourself what is really important and then have the courage to build your life around your answer. Affirmation I am guided by what I value most. Journal What are my top five values?

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢

if this reading helped you, here's more on what I offer if you'd like to support my work you can buy me a coffee or reblog check out my USA Election Aftercare reading here!

[diamond-rozie]

regular boy: daniel wayne

masterlist/link to ao3

summary:

“Reporting live from Gotham City!” The reporter spoke “Here at the scene of the crime where Dr. Collin Kilye, renowned geneticist, has shot himself and has been declared dead by the paramedics. Dr. Kilye is suspected to be responsible for the purposeful switching of newborns between families under his care, where an estimated over 500 babies have been swapped in the last 20 years of his employment here. Based on the information provided to the Gotham PD by Nightwing and Batman, the vigilantes investigating the crime, we are led to believe that Nightwing has been investigating this case after an anonymous tipoff of Dr. Kilye’s suspicious activities. After a month and a half of investigating, Nightwing reason to believe the Dr. Kilye of malpractice and came to his office to investigate-” - Dick had learned that people never know a situation as well as they assume they did. Dick had always assumed that he wouldn’t be one of those people. He was a detective, a Bat, the first Robin. The case file in front of him glared tauntingly. Danny Fenton; Birth Parents: Bruce Wayne (father) and Clarissa King (mother). Status: Alive

chapter 01: breaking news

tw/cw: mentions of infant death and fictional medical procedures

dick: 25 jason: 20 danny: 16 tim: 16 steph: 17 cass: 15 duke: 17 damian: 13

Danny sighed, stepping through the front door and into the empty living room not bothering to turn on the lights and tossed his hoodie onto a nearby sofa. Normally Jazz would have berated him for being messy, or maybe Mom would have nagged about Danny being older and needing to clean up after himself. But Jazz was off studying neurology at Harvard. And his parents had gotten an “an amazingly irrefutable offer, Danno” to work at Dalv Co. under their new ecto-technologies sector, that partnered closely with the GIW. So they were usually busy with that. 

Not that Danny wasn’t glad to have time apart from his parents. After what Danny only referred to as The Chicago Incident, he could barely stand being in the same room with them. Danny kept quiet about what happened. He hadn't told anyone, not Sam or Tuck or Val or Wes and especially not Jazz. He couldn’t. He’d only managed to survive thanks to the timely aid of Fright Knight and Firebolt (a ghost friend he made when he was stuck in the Ghost Zone during the GIW’s six-month Martial Law lockdown- but that was a story for another time). 

Leaving his shoes somewhere by the door, Danny made his way into the kitchen, perusing through the remnants of edible material. The equipment in the basement would have been collecting dust if Danny hadn’t taken his liberties with it. Apart from his newfound and unbounded freedom that he regarded with gratitude, Danny even began dabbling in cooking real people food. And it was definitely because he wanted to and not because he was sick of microwavable food, Jazz. 

With Danny’s rendition of chicken alfredo ready, he ate in front of the TV. He flipped through a few channels before just landing back on the news. He half-listened to the anchor telling him about the incoming weather front before the screen abruptly changed, flashing a bright red Breaking News sign for a moment before panning over to a lady in front of what looked like a crime scene. 

“I’m Jenifer Blair, reporting live from West Gotham City with Z News!” The reporter spoke urgently over the loud sounds of police and ambulance sirens in the background. “Here at the scene of the crime where Dr. Collin Kilye, renowned geneticist, and lead researcher at West Gotham General Hospital, has shot himself and has been declared dead by the paramedics. Dr. Kilye is suspected to be responsible for the purposeful switching of newborns of families under his care. It is estimated that over 500 babies have been swapped in the last 20 years of his employment here. Based on the information provided to the Gotham PD by Nightwing and Batman, the vigilantes investigating the crime, we have been told that Nightwing has been investigating this case after an anonymous tipoff of Dr. Kilye’s suspicious activities. After a reported month and a half of investigating, Nightwing had reason to suspect Dr. Kilye of malpractice and came to his office to investigate where--”

The sudden sound of his phone ringing brought Danny back to his living room. “Hey, Tuck,” Danny answered, lowering the volume of the TV. 

“Danny! Dude! Have you seen the news story of Batman and Nightwing’s recent bust?” Tucker asked, his voice radiating fanboy excitement. 

“Wasn’t it mostly just Nightwing?” Danny raised an eyebrow at his friend, even though he couldn’t see it. “Batman showed up later.” 

“Yeah, well, Batman and Nightwing-”

“Nightwing and Batman.”

“Okay, whatever- but isn’t this totally insane? It’s like Parent Trap- but illegal.”

“That’s not what happens in Parent Trap.” Danny pointed out for the sole purpose of being annoying. 

“It’s the essence, Danny!” Tucker groaned. Danny could practically hear him rolling his eyes through the phone. “We’re still on for the new Doom game tonight?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. The others come by yet?” Danny put his plate in the sink. 

“I’m adding them to the call.” 

On the third ring, “‘Sup Fenton ‘n Foley. Ready to get your nonexistent butts handed to you?” Val goaded, already hyped for their game. 

“Hey! I’ll have you know I have a very nice butt. And Danny’s isn’t anything to scoff at either-” Tucker snapped only to be cut off by Danny.

“Okay! Thanks for the defense, Tuck.” Danny stepped in quickly before the conversation took a turn he did not want to witness. 

--- 

Dick was alone in the BatCave, working out the final details of his case before sending it off to be released publicly. In all of Dick’s years as Robin to Nightwing, this case was easily one of the most disastrous to the general public. Given that it was his case, Dick wanted to make sure it went smoothly. Or as smoothly as telling a family their child isn’t biologically theirs can go. 

Sorting through the files and pairing up the families with the correct child was relatively easy, thanks to the incredible details Dr. Kilye stored in his files. If the circumstances were different, Dick would have been amazed at how much data the doctor managed to keep collecting for 568 different subjects of his experiment. Silently praising himself for having already made his way through about half the files, Dick stretched his neck as he clicked the View Next button. 

In his line of work, Dick had learned that people never know a person or situation as well as they thought they did. Dick had been confident he wouldn’t be one of those people. He was a detective, a Bat, the first Robin. He knew better than to assume anything. The file that showed up next was chilling proof that he was wrong. For a Bat, the past never stayed in the past. 

File Number: 6678

Date of Birth: 12 February 20XX

Name: Thomas Wayne Jr 

Assigned Mother: Clarissa King (missing) 

Assigned Father: Bruce Wayne (alive)  

Biological Mother: Madeline Fenton (alive) 

Biological Father: Jack Fenton (alive) 

Medical Conditions: 

Malformations of the heart and lungs

Unidentified chemicals present in blood test

Updates and Notes: 

Deceased on 23 February 20XX (11 days old)

The memories he managed to keep buried for years seized Dick’s senses, and he was back in the hospital waiting room at age 9. None of the others had known about the time Bruce and Thalia had tried to work things out and had given having a family together a try. No LoA business. No Bat or JLA. Just regular(ish) people in a regular(ish) family. 

It had gone well for the months before Talia had become pregnant. Even most of the pregnancy had gone smoothly. Dick got to be in an actual family again after the death of his parents. They had dinner together. Talked about their day. Watched movies together.

But then Talia had gotten sick, and the baby ended up coming out a little early. The doctors had told them it was normal and that the baby would probably still be healthy. So Alfred sat in the waiting room with a nervous Dick, excited to meet his first-ever little brother. He’d always wanted a little brother. Bruce came to the waiting room after making Dick and Alfred wait forever and told them they could come in now. Talia, under the alias Clarissa King, was asleep when they entered. 

Bruce had told them the doctors had taken Thomas to get cleaned and do a few check-ups. Dick remembered the anxious but excited look on Bruce’s face as he kept glancing at the door, ready to pounce the second the doctor would come back with Dick’s new baby brother. 

Except that never happened. 

When the doctor came back into the room, he had a clipboard in his hand, not a baby. The Doctor told them to follow him, and they went inside a room with a bunch of machines in it, and in the middle of the room was Dick’s baby brother.

The baby was mostly bald, but he had little bits of black hair on his head, like Bruce and Talia. Dick wondered what color eyes the baby would have. Talia had green eyes, but Bruce and Dick had blue eyes. Alfred had said the baby needed a lot of rest and that’s why he was sleeping so much. Dick would be a good big brother and wait patiently until his baby brother woke up. 

But the baby had to stay in the hospital for 10 whole days since Bruce had told Dick that his brother was really sick. Dick would check the nursery to make sure it was ready for his brother before Alfred would take him to the hospital to visit. Dick’s baby brother hadn’t been awake any of those days and Dick never got to find out what color his eyes were. 

On the eleventh day, they didn’t go to visit. When Dick asked Alfred why, the butler had walked him to the patch of loose dirt in the backyard marked with a little piece of rock with his brother’s name on it. 

Dick had seen that type of rock with his parent’s name on it before. 

It meant that he was gone, and Dick would never get to see him again. 

When Bruce had introduced Jason Todd and said he would stay with them in the manor, that was the first time Dick had truly ever been betrayed by Bruce. 

Jason wasn’t his brother. Thomas was. But Thomas wasn’t here. Jason may get to say he was Bruce’s son too, but he didn’t get to know about Thomas. 

Not letting his childhood tears deter him from his new goal, Dick quickly found the associated file. Dick’s heart pounded in his chest while his breath was still stuck somewhere in his throat, 

File Number: 77563

Date of Birth: 12 February 20XX

Name: Daniel Fenton 

Assigned Mother: Madeline Fenton (alive) 

Assigned Father: Jack Fenton (alive) 

Biological Mother: Clarissa King (missing) 

Biological Father: Bruce Wayne (alive)  

Medical Conditions: 

Normal Birth

Age 12: Electrocuted 

Hospitalized for 24 hours. 

Developed Acute Bradycardia 

No follow-up medical procedures 

Updates and Notes: 

Prefers “Danny” 

Dick looked over the file again and again. His baby brother was alive. He had come back. 

Should he tell Bruce? Obviously, that was a dumb question. How should he tell Bruce? 

Well, Richard Grayson was nothing if not tactful. He pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket, pulled up both files next to each other on the large screen of the Bat Computer, snapped a picture, and clicked send. Bruce was supposed to be having dinner with some important business people or whatnot, so Dick decided he should flee the scene before the Big Bad Bat found him, not wanting to know what his wrath would bestow on him. Heaven forbid, Bruce might even talk about emotions.

He closed all the files, stored them in a flash drive, and wiped them from the computer. After all, this was his case, and he’d be the one to see it through. Dick was right in front of the elevator when the doors opened to reveal Tim.

“You’re done?” Tim asked, raising a suspicious brow.

“I have a flight to catch.” Dick said, “I need to pack.”

“Is it for a case?” Tim asked, putting his phone in his pocket. 

“Yeah. Be the bestest brother ever and cover for me?” Dick pleaded, flashing his signature smile.

“Why should I?” He huffed already a few feet away from where Dick stayed. 

With a smirk, “‘Cause you don’t want Bruce to know what taking the Batmobile out for a ‘joyride’ was really for,” Dick said with a smirk. 

Tim turned around, alarmed. “Fine, I’ll cover. But you better not tell.” Tim hissed at him.

“Scout’s Honor.” Dick winked before catching the elevator. 

“You weren’t even a Scout.” He heard Tim complain before the doors fully shut. 

Three hours later, Dick landed in Chicago, Illinois and hailed a cab to take him the rest of the 1-and-a-half-hour drive to Amity Park. Where Thomas  Daniel Danny lived. Dick hadn’t exactly planned this whole excursion through, which wasn’t very trained-by-Batman of him. But Dick knew how to do things by the nose when he needed to. 

He had used the time in the plane to finish the rest of the files, which he completed quickly with his ultimatum in mind. Dick purposely ignored every notification vibrating in his pocket knowing he would be facing the wrath of either Tim or Bruce. 

But now he was sitting in a car for one-and-a-half hours with nothing to look out for except the darkness of the night and a relatively empty road. He opened his phone to 56 messages and missed calls. He scrolled through the groupchat, ignoring it when it was just talking about regular stuff. Next, he opened his messages from Tim. 

Timbers: Dick.

Timbers: what did you do?????

Timbers: when you said cover I thought you meant for patrol or smt 

Timbers: not whatever beef Bruce apparently has with you??

Timbers: I demand compensation!!!

Timbers: [1 video]

Dick opened the video Tim sent him. It was 90 seconds of security camera feed from right above the elevator. Bruce’s hair was disturbed from his usual well-done look he kept for business meetings and his tie was undone. He stormed towards the Bat Computer where Tim was doing whatever Tim does on the computer. Despite being dressed in business attire, Dick could practically see the flurrying of the Batman cape behind him as he walked. Bruce whipped the chair Tim sat on around to face him so fast that Tim nearly fell off. 

‘Where’s Dick?’ The camera was a bit far but still picked up Bruce’s echoing voice. To Dick’s surprise, and seemingly Tim’s as well, Bruce didn’t seem mad. Disgruntled, alarmed, slipping from sanity? Yes. Genuinely angry? Not quite. It made Dick feel a little guilty. Only a little, though.

‘I dunno,’ Tim said, still reeling from the surprise attack. 

Bruce pushed Tim’s chair away from the computer, scavenging through the files, no doubt looking for the files on Thomas and Danny. Unfortunately for Bruce, every single one of those files was secure in Dick’s jacket pocket. Bruce would come to realize that soon enough, as he took a shaky breath and stepped away from the screen.

The video ended. 

That explained the 12 missed calls from Bruce. Dick debated calling him back. No doubt Bruce would ask for an explanation. An explanation he still has yet to come up with. 

Deciding this was a problem for future Dick, present Dick decided he would let himself doze off for the rest of the cab ride to his destination.

[yuta-nakamots]

Nightwalker - Ten

Pairing - University!Ten x University!GN Reader

Genre(s) - Fluff, Angst, Action/Thriller, University!AU, Purge!AU

Warning(s) - Mention of death and killing (obviously. It’s the Purge), violence, blood, description of injuries, manipulation, mention of crime and trafficking and attempted murder.

Summary - In a city where, one night a year, crime is unleashed without consequence, graduate student and meticulous killer Ten is drawn into a dangerous game when you catch his attention. As shadows lengthen and rules dissolve, fates intertwine in a tense dance of control and survival. 

Word Count - 6.0k

Author’s Note - This was the toughest fic for me to write recently. Between researching and balancing the mood in each scene, I felt like I  was going insane lol

Taglist - @cinneorolls (join my taglist!)

Written for the Hide If You Can Collab originally hosted by @127-mile. 

Now playing: Nightwalker - Ten, Dangerous - Ten, Tilt - Irene & Seulgi

Once a year, for twelve hours starting at 7pm, all crime, including murder, is legal. The government refers to it as a civic release, a necessary purging of societal aggression to maintain order. But behind the propaganda, the truth festers. It’s a system designed by the elite to eliminate threats, erase debts, and settle scores without consequence. 

Ten Lee is a top graduate student in behavioral neuroscience, known for his groundbreaking work on psychopathy and emotional regulation. Officially, he studies the Purge. Unofficially, he participates in it precisely, cleanly, and efficiently. Not out of hatred or desperation, but curiosity, control, the pursuit of understanding the darkest corners of the human mind, starting with his own. 

He moved like he thought in layers, composed and always two steps ahead. On the surface, he was a model scholar and the youngest to assist on the university’s federally funded Purge Neurology Project. His specialty? Mapping the emotional regulation patterns of those who had killed and lived to tell about it. He called it “clinical curiosity.” Others called it brilliance. 

His lab was cold, sterile, lit in shades of white and blue that reminded him of hospitals or interrogation rooms. Each subject he analyzed, hooked up to wires and hearts thudding in remembered violence, gave him more data and clarity. He saw fear, rage, guilt, or the absence of all three. Patterns emerged. Disorders, too. 

But no one ever mapped his mind.

Late one evening, while Ten was cleaning data scans from that year’s volunteer pool, a request came in. It was unofficial, encrypted, and slipped through a private network that should have been scrubbed clean. A meeting, arranged by a high-level donor, with no names in the calendar. Ten went anyway. 

The man was old money. He wore grief like a badge, but power like armor. He didn’t cry when he spoke of his brother. “Killed in last year’s Purge,” he said. “A tragic accident. The girl walked free.”

Ten sat back, saying nothing. The man reached into a folder, pulled out a photo. You. More specifically, a scan of your university ID card. 

“You know how things work,” the man began. “Her file says it was mutual violence. The police report was clean. But I know she lured him out. I know she helped his ex set him up. He wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t deserve that kind of death.”

Ten studied the image. The card itself was newer than the case, meaning you were still enrolled, still walking the same halls. The donor pulled out more papers. Tuition payments, library records, previous class registrations, and academic history. Chemistry undergrad, average grades, quiet. 

“She destroyed our family…and no one paid the price.” The man slid an envelope forward. Inside was a transfer order. A clean purge clearance and a significant donation to Ten’s research, enough to secure tenure early, maybe even a private lab. “I don’t want to know how. I just want it done. Clean, quiet, the night of.” 

Ten didn’t take the envelope. But he didn’t push it back either. 

Later, alone in his room, Ten pulled up your student profile. You lived off-campus, alone. No family on file, no complaints, no infractions. On paper, you were nobody. But something didn’t add up. 

He dug deeper. That year’s Purge archives had been scrubbed, but he had access to supposedly locked repositories. Patterns emerged again. You were friends with a girl who had filed an abuse claim against the donor’s brother. The girl vanished that night, never confirmed dead. But you? You survived. 

There was footage of you being pulled from a half-burnt safehouse, blood in your hair and your eyes unfocused. It should have looked like trauma. But Ten paused the video.. 

You weren’t shaken. You were calm. Alert and watching. 

“You shouldn’t have survived,” he murmured, almost admiringly. 

And yet, you did. 

The next day, Ten’s eyes trailed you across campus for the first time, not as a curious researcher, but as a hunter. You were alone in a chemistry lab, methodically mixing compounds with a precision that echoed his own obsession with control. No fear, no hesitation. Just a quiet purpose. 

He approached casually, a slight smile resting on his lips like a mask. “You must be the elusive subject,” he greeted, voice smooth and disarming. “I’m Ten. Behavioral neuroscience graduate student.” 

You look up, steady and unreadable. “I’m just a chemistry student.”

“Right. But I’ve heard you have access to some…interesting substances,” he teased, watching for any flicker of reaction. 

You met his gaze evenly. “Science is about what you’re willing to handle.”

Ten liked that. Not scared, not apologetic. 

His eyes lingered on the way your fingers steadied the vial, the calm precision in your movements. “Why chemistry?” he asked, leaning against the counter. “Most people pick a major for jobs or prestige. What’s your story?”

You didn’t turn to him immediately, but when you did, your gaze was steady, challenging. “I like knowing how things fit together, breaking down chaos into patterns. It’s not so different from what you do, isn’t it?”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Maybe. But I work with brains, behaviors…emotions. Dangerous stuff.” 

You smirked, setting the vial down in a rack. “And what makes you so interested in danger?”

Ten smiled, a slow tilt that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s just say I prefer to understand what others fear.” 

You cocked your head. “Sounds like you’re hiding something.”

“I might be.” His tone dropped, serious now. “But enough about me. What about you? What scares you?”

You shrugged, indifferent. “Not much. Fear’s overrated.” 

Ten studied you a moment longer, sensing the wall you’d built but unable to breach it, at least not yet. The chemistry lab felt colder somehow, the hum of the equipment underscoring the quiet between you. 

“I see,” he said finally, stepping away from the counter with a deliberate calm. “Not much scares you. That’s…interesting.”

You met his retreating gaze, expression taut. “People who get scared don’t last. Or they don’t survive the Purge.”

He nodded once, as if acknowledging a truth too sharp to argue with. “Maybe you’re right.” Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving the air thick with unspoken questions. 

That night, alone in his dimly lit apartment, Ten replayed the conversation. Your calm defiance echoed in his mind like a puzzle he was desperate to solve. You should have broken under pressure, even cracked a little, but you didn’t. You didn’t flinch at all. He scanned through your file again, noting every detail, every pattern that didn’t fit the profile of a survivor.

Exactly one week later, at the same time, same place, Ten was waiting. When you entered the lab, his presence was immediate. 

“Back so soon?” you asked, eyebrow raised, a hint of challenge in your voice. 

“I find consistency reassuring,” Ten said, stepping forward smoothly. “And I wanted to try again.” You smiled, curious despite yourself. “Come with me,” his voice was low but inviting. “I want to show you something. My lab.”

You paused, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

Inside the lab, the sterile glow of monitors and the soft hum of machines wrapped around you both. Next to you, Ten moved confidently, pulling up scans and data. “This is where I study what happens during the Purge, how people’ brains shift when morality blurs, when fear turns off.”

He glanced at you, watching for any sign of discomfort. Instead, you met his eyes coolly. “And what happens when the line between hunter and hunted disappears?”

Ten’s smile was a fraction slower this time. “Then the game begins.” He let the silence stretch, then added, “Tell me. If you were part of my research, what would I find?”

You tilted your head, looking up and humming as though thinking. “Someone who doesn’t break. Not easily.”

“Good,” he said softly. “I like that.” Ten lingered beside one of the computer monitors, its screen pulsing with red-blue brainwave readings, abstract but alive. 

He didn’t look at you as he spoke again. “I’ve found that in most cases, people’s neurological responses change during the Purge. Empathy drops. Inhibitions vanish. Violence becomes logical.” He finally turned. “Do you think that’s natural? Or learned?”

You studied the screen for a beat. “Survival is instinct. Violence is…selective memory.”

That made Ten pause. “You speak like someone who’s done more than survive.”

You smiled, slow and sharp. “You study the mind, right? Tell me, what do you see when you look at me?”

Ten took a step forward, just enough to invade the air between you. “A controlled subject. Which makes me wonder what happens when that control slips.”

You didn’t move back. “Maybe you should ask better questions.”

“Maybe I already know the answers.” His tone dropped. “You were there that night. When the donor’s brother died.” The air shifted.

Your lips twitched. “A lot of people died that night.”

“And yet you lived.”

“I had help.” You tilted your head. “What’s it to you?”

Ten didn’t answer at first. He studied you the way predators admire strong prey, curious and almost respectful. “Maybe I like studying anomalies.”

Your laugh was quiet. “Or maybe you’re trying to decide if I’m dangerous.”

“Are you?”

You leaned forward, eyes gleaming in the screenlight. “Only if someone underestimates me.” The tension swelled, sharp as a scalpel. Ten’s breath left him in a slow exhale, as if he were recalibrating something inside himself. But you pulled away first. “I should get going,” brushing imaginary dust from your sleeve. “Wouldn’t want to disturb your research.” 

Ten nodded, masking the sudden, tight pull of disappointment in his chest. “Of course. Thank you for coming.” 

You reached the door, then glanced over your shoulder. “Next time,” your voice silk-wrapped steel, “ask a question worth answering.”

And then you were gone.

Over the next few days, Ten didn’t seek you out immediately, but he was always watching. Not just your movements, but the way you inhabited space. Alone, silent, unafraid. Your routine was precise, almost clinical. No wasted energy, no unnecessary contact. 

It made him restless. So when he saw you appear in his lab, at the same time as last week, a faint scent of antiseptic clinging to your sleeves, he was ready. “Back again?” he asked, glancing up from his tablet, already knowing the answer.

You stepped into the lab without hesitation, eyes scanning the walls as if cataloguing secrets. “You said something about brainwave changes during trauma. I’ve been thinking about cortisol levels under prolonged stress.”

Ten smiled. He hadn’t expected you to follow up. But then again, maybe he had. He gestured to the far monitor. “You want to see the scans?”

You nodded, brushing past him, eyes flicking to the data like you already knew how to read them. You didn’t flinch at the violent spikes, the jagged dips. Instead, you asked, “And what does this pattern tell you?”

“That fear is chemical,” Ten explained. “But control…that’s behavioral. You can train a mind to do anything, even forget how to be afraid.”

You hummed, a thoughtful sound. “Or maybe it never knew fear to begin with.”

He watched the curve of your mouth. “You’re not here for the science, are you?”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes. “Neither are you, it seems.”

Ten felt something jolt in his chest. Fascination…or warning. 

The next time you showed up, a week later, Ten had prepared a different tactic. He let the door click open with a gesture and didn't bother to greet you. Instead, he nodded toward the stool near the microscope. 

“Do you want a hands-on experience?” he asked. “I need an assistant.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s what this is now?”

Ten shrugged, already moving toward the tray of samples. “You’re consistent. I like consistency.” You slipped on gloves without a word. He handed you a thin slide with what looked like a clear smear, nothing extraordinary. “Prefrontal cortex slice. The donor was mid-Purge. High aggression, low inhibition. Find the anomaly.” And then silence.

He stood beside you, but said nothing. He waited. Watching, measuring. Minutes passed. 

Finally, you looked up. “This cell…here.” You pointed to a small cluster. “It’s partially necrotic. Almost as if something shut down mid-response.”

Ten nodded his head. “Exactly.” 

You placed the slide down. “So the question isn’t what activated them. It’s what stopped them.”

His lips pulled into a grin. “I could use someone who sees that.”

You crossed your arms, tugging the gloves off. “Is this an offer or another test?”

“Can’t it be both?” He looked at you, eyes unreadable.

You didn’t answer. Not directly. Instead, you pulled your coat on. “I’ll be back next week. Same time.”

And then you were gone again, leaving behind silence and the faint hum of machines, the scent of sterilized air, and something harder to name.  

Ten didn’t tell anyone he had a new assistant. He didn’t log your visits, didn’t mention your name in his reports. You slipped in and out of his lab like a controlled variable, never early and never late. Always watching, always matching his tempo. It unsettled him how easily you fit into his space. 

And still, he let you in. 

You never asked questions he didn’t want to answer. But you noticed things. The unlabelled drawer in the back of the lab, the camera turned slightly toward the surgical table, the way his voice always calmed right before he said something dangerous. 

You never commented. And he never asked why you weren’t afraid. 

Five days before the Purge, he found you in the library, alone as always. The dim evening light cuts across your face in bars of gold and shadow. You didn’t look up as he sat across from you, sliding a worn notebook onto the table like a peace offering. 

“This Saturday,” he began, quiet and deliberate, “I want you to see something.” 

You met his eyes, calm and unshaken. “What kind of something?”

“Real data. In real time. I’ll be observing from a rooftop downtown. Neutral ground. Clear view.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Observation only?”

“For now.” He waited. 

You closed your book. “Give me the address.”

When you stepped out onto the rooftop of the hotel Ten had sent you the address to, it was 52 minutes until the start of the Purge. The sky was clear, too clear. A sterile kind of night. The wind curled over the edge of the rooftop like a secret. 

Ten had already set up his camera equipment, binoculars, and heart-rate monitors. Clinical and controlled. Though all of it was unnecessary. You both knew the real study wasn’t happening down in the streets.

You walked to the edge, gaze slipping over the city like you were trying to remember it. He joined you, close enough to feel the heat of you against the chill. “You came,” he murmured.

“I said I would.” 

He looked at your profile, sharp in the dark, untouched by fear. “Most people would’ve run.” 

You turned to face him. “You don’t pick easy targets.”

Ten’s smile flickered. “No. I pick the ones who don’t beg.” A silence stretched, then–

He stepped forward, closing the distance. Testing. Not with his hands, but with pressure and presence, the weight of who he was and what he might do. You didn’t move. He leaned in, just enough. “Tell me to stop.” But you didn’t.

Instead, you tilted your head, eyes gleaming in the darkness. “You won’t.” 

Ten froze, not because you were wrong, but because you were right. And it unraveled something. Something he couldn’t study, couldn’t replicate. 

In the half-second before he touched you, before he crossed a line that would turn this into something else entirely. You vanished. Not literally, but with a step and a breath, you were gone from his reach, standing just far enough that he’d have to make the next move. 

But he didn’t. Because suddenly, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure he could win. 

“I like to watch the city settle before it burns,” he said, voice soft like a confession. “There’s a…tension. The kind you don’t see during the chaos. Only right before.” 

You looked at him, the wind brushing your hair across your face. “Is that what you’re recording? Tension?”

“I’m recording everything.”

“Everything down there,” you clarified, nodding toward the flickering city lights. “Or everything up here?”

The corners of his lips twitched, almost impressed. “You’re very focused on the subject of observation.”

“I have to be,” you said simply. “Most of my life’s been spent figuring out which angle someone’s watching from.” 

A beat passed. “Does it bother you?” he asked, stepping toward the edge, gaze sweeping over the grid of buildings below. “That I watch?”

“No. I just wonder what you’re trying to see.” 

Ten turned toward you then, eyes sharp. “A reaction.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that all you want from me?”

“No.” His answer was immediate, firm. “I want accuracy, authenticity. The raw version people hide until the sirens start.”

“Is that what you think I am?” You took a step closer, mirroring him now. “A case study? A test subject that walks and talks and gives you something different to pin under glass?”

His jaw ticked. “You’re different from the others.”

“Because I'm not afraid?”

“Because you should be,” he countered. And for once, his voice lacked curiosity. It was low, almost bitter. “You don’t run. You don’t beg. You don’t even ask me not to touch you.”

You studied him, unblinking. “That’s now power, Ten. That’s a choice.”

And that word, it hit something buried beneath his calm. Because of all his data and for all his precision, choice had always been the illusion he offered others. It was never something that could be taken back. 

“Why did you come tonight?” he asked, voice quieter now, more careful. “Was it curiosity? Or something more…deliberate?”

You smiled, small and knowing. “To see what you’d do when you didn’t get to play predator.”

Ten’s eyes darkened. “I’ve never needed permission.”

“No,” you agreed. “But you like the idea of earning it. You crave control. And I…” You stepped closer, mere inches between you. “I think you’re terrified of what happens when you don’t have it.”

His breath stilled. Far below, people milled about. 44 minutes. Ten looked at you again, really looked, past the lines of your face, the quiet defiance in your eyes. Something flickered in him, low and primal. But he didn’t move. Not yet. 

Instead, he asked, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“No.”

“Would you?”

“I’m still deciding.”

Ten’s smile returned, slow and cold and pleased. “You’d be exceptional.”

“Don’t recruit me,” you spat, sharp now. “Not tonight. You invited me here, but don’t pretend it was about the skyline.” 

“I never pretended.” His eyes gleamed. “I just haven’t decided what kind of ending I want.” 

You breathed in. “That’s the problem with people like you. You think you can orchestrate the ending. You forgot that I can write half the story, too.” Another silence. Then–

“I want to see what you do when the sirens start,” he confessed. “When the world says it’s allowed.”

You met his gaze. “You’ll be disappointed.” 

He stepped toward you again, nearly closing the distance between you. “You keep saying that like it’s a threat.” 

“No,” you whispered. “It’s a promise.”

The minutes passed slowly, like they were being drawn out on purpose. At 39 minutes, Ten sat cross-legged near his equipment, adjusting the lens of his camera, though his eyes never truly left you. You wandered the perimeter of the rooftop, silent, fingers tracing the railing. Neither of you spoke, and yet the air between you buzzed with everything unsaid. 

At 33 minutes, he broke the silence. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

You didn’t turn around. “Which one?”

“Why you came.” 

“I already told you.”

“No.” He stood now, slow and deliberate, like every movement was part of a performance he’d rehearsed in his mind. “You told me what you wanted me to believe. There’s a difference.” 

You turned then. “Do you want the real reason?”

“I always want the real reason.”

You crossed the distance between you again, but this time, you stopped a little closer. Enough that he’d feel the calculation in your silence. “I wanted to see if you’d flinch.” 

Ten blinked, surprised. “And?”

“I’m still watching.” 

He laughed, short and dark. “You think you’re hunting me?”

“I think we’re circling the same cliff edge,” you replied. “And I’m just waiting to see who jumps first.” 

At 25 minutes, the city lights below dimmed in some blocks, a rolling blackout in preparation for the Purge. Far off, a sire test warbled once, then died, and you both turned toward the sound like animals tuning to an instinct. 

“Do you know what I used to believe?” Ten asked, almost conversational. “That people reveal their truest selves when they think no one’s watching. But I was wrong. It’s not solitude that reveals the truth. It’s permission.”

You looked at him. “And tonight gives you that?”

He grinned full-on. “Tonight gives everyone that. But not all of us know what to do with it.”

You cocked your head at him. “Do you?”

He was closer now. A few steps that neither of you marked until the space between you was negligible. “I think I do. But you make me question it.” 

Your voice lowered, words like silk over glass. “Because you can’t read me?”

“Because I don’t want to.” His gaze dropped to your mouth, then returned to your eyes. 

At 14 minutes, the wind picked up, whipping between you like it wanted to cut the tension. Ten reach up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, no permission asked, none needed. This time, you didn’t step away. 

“Are you going to kiss me or kill me?” you asked. 

“I haven’t decided. 

You leaned in, breath brushing his lips. “Then we’re the same.”

At 11 minutes, the camera clicked once. Neither of you looked toward it. The lens was no longer the most powerful gaze in the room. Ten’s fingers ghosted your jaw. “You know what I’m afraid of?” You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. “I’m afraid you’ll stay.” 

10 minutes left. The silence was held tight between you. The world below buzzed louder, preparing. Somewhere nearby, a car alarm wailed like a prophecy. You looked at him. His chest rose and fell, slow and deliberate. You reached for his hand. For the first time, Ten didn’t study at the moment. He surrendered to it.

9 minutes. Ten’s fingers curled around yours, not too tight, not too loose. Like he was still learning the weight of the moment, still deciding whether to hold on or let go. You said nothing. Neither did he.

8 minutes. Far below, a gunshot cracked. Premature and eager. The sound rippled across the city like a dropped match in a field of dry grass. Someone always jumped the gun. You turned slightly toward the noise. Meanwhile, Ten didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.

7 minutes. “I always thought the sirens would excite me,” he said, barely audible above the wind. “But this part…the waiting…it’s worse.” You studied him, your head tilted just enough to make him wonder whether you pitied him or understood him too well.

6 minutes. “There’s no going back after tonight,” you murmured. 

Ten smiled faintly. “You say that like we haven’t already crossed a line.”

You didn’t disagree.

5 minutes. The city was almost silent now, as if it had taken one collective inhale, bracing. The camera behind you ticked once, then again. Still recording, still watching. Just like you.

4 minutes. Ten looked at you fully. “If you run, I’ll find you.”

You simply smiled at him. “That’s the point.”

3 minutes. Far below, the first fires lit, small and scattered. Controlled for now. But they wouldn’t stay that way, not for long. You touched his face then, brief and fleeting, like you were memorizing it. And maybe you were. 

“I’m not like your others,” you whispered. 

“I know,” Ten replied, a dangerous softness in his voice. “You’re the first one I invited.” 

2 minutes. Ten stepped back, not far, but enough. Enough to shift the power. Enough to say ‘choose now’. You didn’t move, your hand staying on his cheek. 

1 minute. A countdown began on one of his devices. The screen glowed faintly. 

60 seconds. 59. 58. You both turned toward the edge of the roof, toward the city, toward the war zone waiting below. “Final question,” Ten said, his voice dark velvet. “Do you want me to catch you?” You didn’t answer.

14 seconds. The wind howled now, threading between you like a warning. The city below was a heart mid-seizure, twitching with light and shadows and something darker creeping in. 

7 seconds. Ten’s eyes didn’t leave yours. And then–

4 seconds. He smiled. Soft, almost mournful.

2 seconds. His hand came to hold yours on his cheek, tight. 

1 second. “I hope you understand,” he whispered. 

The sirens wailed like a scream torn from the earth itself. Low, echoing, apocalyptic. The beginning of something wicked. The city erupted in noise. Glass shattering, voices shouting, metal clanging against concrete. Permission granted. 

And Ten moved. Fast. Brutal. One clean pivot and a shove, palms flat against your shoulders, force aimed low and precise. Calculated. A killer’s motion, not desperate, but designed. 

You didn’t fight it, didn't cry out, didn’t even flinch. Your feet left the roof. Wind tore past your ears, time warped, and for a moment, there was peace. Then you were gone. Over the edge. 

Ten stepped forward immediately, peering over the side. No hesitation. Not out of regret, not out of shock, but verification. 

The alley below was narrow, choked in shadow. A fire escape clattered in the distance. Movement flickered across a reflective surface, perhaps a windshield or a window. 

There was no body. Nothing. Just the gaping space where you should have landed. 

Ten’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He scanned again, still nothing. Not even the sound of impact. Not a single goddamn trace. 

The sirens still echoed as he stepped back from the edge, slower now. His mind was already racing. ‘She let me push her,’ the thought came. ‘She let me.’ And now she was gone. Behind him, the camera clicked again, watching and recording, witnessing the moment the hunter became the hunted. 

Your breath hitched as you crouched low behind a rooftop HVAC unit, one block over. The glide from the fire escape had been rough. Metal bit into your palms, and gravity had tugged too hard, but you were alive. Alive, and now unseen. 

The sirens still cried. The game had begun. And you weren’t prey. Not anymore. You reached into your coat, pulling out the slim black card with your lab clearance code etched in red. 

VOLUNTEER - BEHAVIORAL DEVIANCY DIVISION - PURGE NIGHT CLEARANCE A

Ten had read it once, filed it away, and assumed it meant safety. What he didn’t realize was that it meant access.

You slid the card back into your pocket and whispered into the comm embedded in your collar. “Subject One has initiated first contact. Attempted kill. Status: failed.”

Static. Then a reply crackled through. “Copy that. Begin phase two. Good hunting.”

You moved like a shadow through the city. The world had fallen into sanctioned madness, sirens, screams, fire, and blood, but you operated above the chaos. Every checkpoint was bypassed, every surveillance node looped. The city belonged to the wolves tonight, and you had already memorized the map of the forest. 

Ten’s lab, his real lab, was underground, far below the staged setup he showed you. Ten always liked being beneath things. Hidden, private, quietly watching. He had once told you that silence was his favorite kind of violence. Now you were listening. 

The lab was laughably easy to breach. His security system had a tell, an echo in the thermal pattern, a single node that pulsed too fast. You slipped through the blind spot like it had been waiting for you. 

1:16am. Inside, the lab was cold and perfect. The white walls were bloodless and sterile. You didn’t expect sentimentality here. This wasn’t where Ten felt. This was where he fed. 

You moved to the monitors, eyes flicking over the screens, fingers already inputting codes on the keyboards. You didn’t need to guess his passwords. You knew them. 

The footage was all there. Unfiltered, timestamped, catalogued. Victims. Movements. Patterns. Your face, your conversations, and your rooftop moments are already indexed under ‘Subject Six’. You smiled faintly. “Cute.” You didn’t delete the footage. That would be obvious. Instead, you altered it. Cross-referenced locations, changed timestamps, looped data points so subtly it would take him hours to unravel what was real. You left red herrings, evidence that implicated external buyers, higher bidders, corrupted files spliced with falsified security clearance tags. 

Then, you found the backups buried deeper, files that Ten didn’t label. Payment records. Coordinates. Names. Deals struck with people he should have never spoken to. Mercenary contacts, international traffickers, names on the government’s silent kill list. Ten wasn’t just observing the Purge. He was monetizing it. 

“Subject One, status?” your comm whispered. 

You responded immediately. “Phase two complete. Initiating psychological destabilization.” 

You moved to the freezer vault, where Ten stored post-mortem samples. You opened it and began to paint. 

3:11am. You stood over your work, a replica of a victim from Ten’s third Purge, perfectly reconstructed in blood on the white tile floor, posed identically to the crime scene he thought only he remembered. It was a silent accusation, a perfect echo. By sunrise, there would be five more, each a replica, a message. ‘I know who you are. I see you. You’re not alone anymore.’

5:44am. Ten stumbled back into the lab, covered in soot, sweat, and doubt. The building was dim, lights pulsed erratically, motion sensor was confused by the tampering. He didn’t notice the security feed loop glitching on camera five, not at first. Then he saw the altered footage. His own voice warped, his own images rearranged. Someone had been inside his sanctum, and he hadn’t even felt it. He was unraveling. 

That’s when you stepped into the room. No grand entrance, just a presence at his back. He turned. You stood beside the monitors, your face half-lit by the glow of screens. Calm and composed. Like you’d never fallen, like you had never left. 

Ten looked at you like a man trying to decode his own reflection. “Why?” he rasped, voice frayed from hours of shouting into shadows. “Why are you doing this?”

“To see what you’d become without the lie of control.”

Ten took a slow step towards you. “You’re not punishing me.”

“No,” you agreed. “But I could be.”

He laughed, short and bitter. “Is this a test?” You did not answer. Ten stared at you for a long time. Something in his expression cracked, then flooded. He looked ruined, but hungry. “I haven’t tried to kill you since the roof,” he confessed. 

You nodded. “I noticed.” You were aware he could have tracked you, tried again to kill you, multiple times. 

“You’ve been painting ghosts with my sins. Leaving trails like bait.”

“Have you followed them?”

“Every single one.” 

Silence folded between you like a trap waiting to be sprung. Ten stepped closer. “You don’t want me dead. Not really.”

You didn’t move. “No. I want you to feel it.”

“Feel what?”

“What it’s like when someone sees everything you are and doesn’t run.”

His breath hitched. The lights flickered. Somewhere far above, the city burned. Ten looked at you like he’d already made his choice. “I don’t want to kill you,” he admitted. 

“I know,” you replied. 

“I want to understand you.”

“You can try.” 

He paused. “Do you want me to fail?”

You smirked faintly. “I haven’t decided yet.”

That morning, the sun rose slowly and indifferently. Ash floated through the light like confetti made of bone. Sirens had long gone silent, replaced now with the quiet hiss of emergency drones, the mechanical hum of recovery. A new day had begun, one that refused to mourn what had come before. 

You limped into the lab just after seven, body sore from the night’s events. The hallways flickered back to full brightness as you passed. Everything had been sanitized, except the things that couldn't be. You could still smell it. Smoke, copper, antiseptic, and him. 

Ten was already there. White coat, clean gloves, perfect posture. You knew the blood on his knuckles had been scrubbed off just an hour ago. He had bruises blooming on his arms, a faint cut below his eye, but his gaze was steady. Curious. Like he hadn’t spent the night trying to erase you. 

“Morning,” he greeted. 

You nodded once, slipping your own coat over bruises and scrapes you hadn’t bothered to bandage. “Lab notes?”

“On the desk.” 

You crossed the room, passing him. Too close. Deliberate. The kind of proximity that said ‘I’m still here. I remember everything.’

He watched you sit, watched the way your fingers danced over the keyboard. Then he spoke again. “You left something behind.”

You looked up. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out your lab clearance card, letters still etched in red, blood now dried along the edge like a signature. You didn’t flinch. “Keep it.”

Ten’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile, more like the memory of one. “You want me to have access to you?”

“I want you to remember that I’m always watching.”

He paused. “We could’ve killed each other.” 

“We still might.” 

Silence, warm and tense, wrapped the room in a cocoon of shared violence. You typed a line of code into the monitor, then stopped. “You’re not going to ask what I changed?”

“I already know,” Ten responded. 

“Then why haven’t you fixed it?”

He walked toward you slowly, step by step, measured like a dance he’d rehearsed. “Because if I erase what you did, it means I’m afraid of what comes next.”

“Are you saying you’re not afraid?”

Ten stopped beside you, reaching out, not touching, just close enough to feel the heat radiating off of you. “I’m not. I’m something worse.”

You turned, meeting his gaze. “And what would that be?”

“Curious.”

Day after day, you both returned to each other. You sat on opposite sides of the lab’s long steel table. Always close enough to see the tremble in each other’s hands. Neither of you ever asked why. No one spoke of the night. You didn’t need to.

Instead, you played chess in silence, always starting with the same pieces. Sometimes you let him win, sometimes he lets you corner yourself. Once, he made a move that mirrored your rooftop feint. Knight to F5. A trap. 

You smiled, sweet and blood-deep. “Well played,” you murmured. 

He didn’t respond. Just watched you like he wanted to press his lips to yours and see if you’d let him. 

You weren’t in love, not exactly. But you were bound, wound around each other like two serpents sharing heat. The lab stayed cold, but inside, the two of you burned. You shared a bond forged out of blood and honesty. There was no confession, no guilt. Just the quiet, terrifying comfort of someone who knew what you looked like when you decided not to flinch, when you chose to stay. 

The truest parts of you didn’t live in daylight. They came out once a year, in fire and bone. Yet here you both were. Waiting.  

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Shadow - L.Ten

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive (Daily updates!)

Authors: Rose (Shiqi) Luo Postdoctoral Research Fellow, School of Health and Biomedical Sciences, RMIT University

Catherine Itsiopoulos Professor and Dean, School of Health and Biomedical Sciences, RMIT University

Kate Anderson Vice Chancellor's Senior Research Fellow, RMIT University

Magdalena Plebanski Professor of Immunology, RMIT University

Zhen Zheng Associate Professor, STEM | Health and Biomedical Sciences, RMIT University

____________________________________________________________

Nearly five years into the pandemic, COVID is feeling less central to our daily lives.

But the virus, SARS-CoV-2, is still around, and for many people the effects of an infection can be long-lasting. When symptoms persist for more than three months after the initial COVID infection, this is generally referred to as long COVID.

In September, Grammy-winning Brazilian musician Sérgio Mendes died aged 83 after reportedly having long COVID.

Australian data show 196 deaths were due to the long-term effects of COVID from the beginning of the pandemic up to the end of July 2023.

In the United States, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reported 3,544 long-COVID-related deaths from the start of the pandemic up to the end of June 2022.

The symptoms of long COVID – such as fatigue, shortness of breath and “brain fog” – can be debilitating. But can you die from long COVID? The answer is not so simple.

How could long COVID lead to death? There’s still a lot we don’t understand about what causes long COVID. A popular theory is that “zombie” virus fragments may linger in the body and cause inflammation even after the virus has gone, resulting in long-term health problems. Recent research suggests a reservoir of SARS-CoV-2 proteins in the blood might explain why some people experience ongoing symptoms.

We know a serious COVID infection can damage multiple organs. For example, severe COVID can lead to permanent lung dysfunction, persistent heart inflammation, neurological damage and long-term kidney disease.

These issues can in some cases lead to death, either immediately or months or years down the track. But is death beyond the acute phase of infection from one of these causes the direct result of COVID, long COVID, or something else? Whether long COVID can directly cause death continues to be a topic of debate.

Of the 3,544 deaths related to long COVID in the US up to June 2022, the most commonly recorded underlying cause was COVID itself (67.5%). This could mean they died as a result of one of the long-term effects of a COVID infection, such as those mentioned above.

COVID infection was followed by heart disease (8.6%), cancer (2.9%), Alzheimer’s disease (2.7%), lung disease (2.5%), diabetes (2%) and stroke (1.8%). Adults aged 75–84 had the highest rate of death related to long COVID (28.8%).

These findings suggest many of these people died “with” long COVID, rather than from the condition. In other words, long COVID may not be a direct driver of death, but rather a contributor, likely exacerbating existing conditions.

‘Cause of death’ is difficult to define Long COVID is a relatively recent phenomenon, so mortality data for people with this condition are limited.

However, we can draw some insights from the experiences of people with post-viral conditions that have been studied for longer, such as myalgic encephalomyelitis or chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS).

Like long COVID, ME/CFS is a complex condition which can have significant and varied effects on a person’s physical fitness, nutritional status, social engagement, mental health and quality of life.

Some research indicates people with ME/CFS are at increased risk of dying from causes including heart conditions, infections and suicide, that may be triggered or compounded by the debilitating nature of the syndrome.

So what is the emerging data on long COVID telling us about the potential increased risk of death?

Research from 2023 has suggested adults in the US with long COVID were at greater risk of developing heart disease, stroke, lung disease and asthma.

Research has also found long COVID is associated with a higher risk of suicidal ideation (thinking about or planning suicide). This may reflect common symptoms and consequences of long COVID such as sleep problems, fatigue, chronic pain and emotional distress.

But long COVID is more likely to occur in people who have existing health conditions. This makes it challenging to accurately determine how much long COVID contributes to a person’s death.

Research has long revealed reliability issues in cause-of-death reporting, particularly for people with chronic illness.

So what can we conclude? Ultimately, long COVID is a chronic condition that can significantly affect quality of life, mental wellbeing and overall health.

While long COVID is not usually immediately or directly life-threatening, it’s possible it could exacerbate existing conditions, and play a role in a person’s death in this way.

Importantly, many people with long COVID around the world lack access to appropriate support. We need to develop models of care for the optimal management of people with long COVID with a focus on multidisciplinary care.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

how to write characters with muteness/mutism? (i hope i'm using the right words)

Both words may be used :) Mutism seems to be the more frequently used term in research and clinical settings.

Character Development: Mutism

Mutism - an inability or unwillingness to speak, resulting in an absence or marked paucity of verbal output

It is a common clinical symptom seen in psychiatric as well as neurology outpatient department

It rarely presents as an isolated disability and often occurs in association with other disturbances in behavior, thought processes, affect, or level of consciousness

The condition may also be voluntary, as in monastic vows of silence or the decision to speak only to selected individuals

Mutism occurs in a number of conditions, both functional and organic, and a proper diagnosis is important for the management

To write your character with mutism, you may want to begin with their backstory. Below are some types of mutism you could consider.

Types of Mutism

Selective mutism - having the ability to speak but feeling unable to, often because of social anxiety and debilitating shyness

Organic mutism - caused by brain injury, such as with drug use or after a stroke

Cerebellar mutism - caused by the removal of a brain tumor from a part of the skull surrounding the cerebellum, which controls coordination and balance

Aphasia - occurs when people find it difficult to speak because of stroke, brain tumor, or head injury

Additional definition: Selective mutism is characterized by a consistent failure to speak in social situations in which there is an expectation to speak (e.g., school) even though the individual speaks in other situations. The failure to speak has significant consequences on achievement in academic or occupational settings or otherwise interferes with normal social communication.

After determining the possible type/s and/or causes of your character's mutism, below are some characteristics and behaviours. Choose which ones are appropriate for your character. Also determine the frequency and the degree in which these occur.

Some Characteristics of People with Mutism

Social anxiety or shyness outside of the home

Silence that interferes with work or school

Mutism that can't be explained by trouble with language skills

Having experienced trauma

Suddenly becoming silent after speaking regularly

For organic or cerebellar mutism, not being able to speak despite wanting to

For aphasia, mutism can come with difficulty reading, telling time, understanding numbers, and writing

Being silent in social situations outside of the home

Paralyzing anxiety

Using nonverbal communication when spoken to

Asking others to speak for them

Interruptions in daily well-being because of mutism

Is caused by intense anxiety or social phobia

The symptoms interfere with school or work

Difficulty connecting

For Selective Mutism:

Ability to speak at home with family or people they are comfortable with

Fear or anxiety around people they do not know well

Inability to speak in certain social situations

Shyness

This pattern must be seen for at least 1 month to be called selective mutism. (The first month of school does not count, because shyness is common during this period.)

Note: In selective mutism, the child can understand and speak, but is unable to speak in certain settings or environments. Children with mutism never speak. Selective mutism falls under the "Anxiety Disorders" category.

Sample Case Report from this article

A 35-year-old married male was brought by police personnel with chief complaints of not speaking for the last 3 months. The patient had been under trial for the last 6 months for the alleged charge of setting fire in a cowshed. He would not interact with any of the jail inmates. He would however ask for food by non-verbal communication/gestures and would perform all his daily chores normally as reported. He was asked to follow up with family members. History reviewed from wife and elder brother reveled history of 18 years history characterized by violent abusive behavior, wandering behavior, irritability, decreased sleep, restlessness, muttering to self, and at times reporting that other would harm him, associated with withdrawn behavior and socio-occupational dysfunction. On one occasion, he became mute also and did not talk for a period of around 4 months associated with sadness of mood and decreased interest in surroundings. 6 months back, he had symptoms of muttering to self, would often roam about naked and get irritable on minor issues. No other significant history was obtained. MSE revealed decreased PMA, rapport not established, eye to eye contact could not be maintained, he was mute and would communicate nonverbally appropriately. His affect was blank with no facial expressions. All his routine investigations were within normal limits. A diagnosis of schizophrenia was entertained, and he was started on risperidone 6 mg per day and lorazepam 4 mg per day. Gradually the patient started showing improvement in symptoms.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ Writing Notes & References

If this inspires your writing in any way, do tag me, or send me a link. I would love to read your work!

[darkmaga-returns]

By Frank Bergman February 15, 2025

A group of leading American doctors and scientists is sounding the alarm after confirming that “severe” cases of heart and brain damage are a “reaction” to Covid mRNA “vaccines.”

The warning was issued in a report from the Mercer University School of Medicine in Georgia.

A team of researchers, led by renowned cardiologist Dr. Abraham M. Enyeji, specifically linked Moderna’s Covid mRNA injections to surges in “severe cardiovascular and neurological” injuries.

The alarming report was published in the Annals of Cardiology.

In their report, the researchers present a case study of a patient who suffered a severe cardiovascular and neurological reaction following the Moderna (mRNA) Covid vaccine.

The report describes a 65-year-old male who developed coronary artery occlusion and internuclear ophthalmoplegia weeks after receiving the mRNA “vaccine.”

Internuclear ophthalmoplegia is a condition affecting eye movement that was rarely seen before the Covid “vaccines” were rolled out for public use in early 2021.