#and the vision was like a fucking epilepsy attack

[mvffinhamster]

ttrpgs fuck you up

everyone says “try out dnd”, including me but dude believe me, dnd fucks you up, ttrpgs fuck you up

there’s this person in your head and you can only scream about them to the other five idiots with their own little guys in their heads

and sometimes you can’t even scream at them because first you have to reveal the backstory you came up with and you don’t want to do that immediately

ttrpgs fuck you up because they make you daydream about your little guy and what happened with them AND YOU CAN’T STOP THE THOUGHTS

try out dnd (or any other ttrpg), they say… but what they don’t say is that it’s all emotional damage

and the worst part of it is that you enjoy every fucking minute of that emotional damage

ttrpgs fuck you up.

#last night’s vtm session was a fucking rollercoaster #i can’t stop thinking about it #we started with a tattooing session andit was absolutely cute because the npc was a sweetheart and my character got a tattoo #a little line art #based on her pet rats #and then shit hit the fucking fan #we owed an npc and she asked us to investigate why her runner guy haven’t got back yet #he was supposed to get back with the fugitives hours before #and shit really hit the fan when we got to the meeting point #the guy was dead #the fugitives too #they were fucking massacred #and the runner guy was burned to final death #and my character saw them die in a vision #and the vision was like a fucking epilepsy attack #because i had to roll a rouse check and it was a fail #which meant that cassandra (my character) was bleeding from her hand and feet and forehead because she’s a fucking stigmata #and then the other roll was a messy critical #she saw the whole thing in all red #and then one of the hunters who killed the three of them throw a fucking molotov cocktail on us #one of us almost died #we fought him and i drained him so he died #my humanity level haven’t changed but the thought that cass killed a guy was there #and then the secret kindred radio announced simon’s death because he was also a malkavian the host played a song for his sister #cry little sister by chvrches #i cried and i’m still thinking about it and crying a little because it really fucked me up #vampire the masquerade #vtm #san antonio by night #i am not okay

[phoenixborn]

So the summary of my 2 weeks. Check the tags before reading.

So the whole story of my 'journey' since I got injured on 1st September when I tried to catch my demented father when he fell. My whole left arm was caught between his weight and a steel pole as his weight dragged my arm down.

None of my relatives took me to a doctor, I had to ask my grandma -who was operated last month and still in hospital- 's old flame/friend to pose as my uncle. I cannot go anywhere alone because I have very severe panic attack mixed epilepsy; it depends on a few seconds of taking the meds in time to not go into a semi-coma state.

The first doctor I went to, after a 3 hour wait lifted my arm once, I hissed in pain, he didn't let me tell what happened. Reluctantly had me a X ray. Barely looked at it, told me to live before I'm young to have serious trouble. Mom wants to sue him.

Because that son of a bitch didn't send me to MRI. Went to a private sector MRI for like $120 when we don't have a dollar to spare: rotator cuff tear almost to the point of operation, severe mucositis in my shoulder, bruises, blood clots in the muscles.

Went to an another doctor, a traumatologist because the first one was a godfucked idiot and didn't trust his judgment the slightest.

Now. That time in the X ray the nurse YANKED MY ARM ACROSS THE TABLE LIKE IM ON A FUCKING RACK. To the point I blacked out for a second. And then while I was recovering from the pain and trying to control not cussing her out to America I didn't hear her coming back AND SHE FUCKING DID IT AGAIN AND I FUCKING SCREAMED THAT TIME. Now I sleep during the day because the amount of painkillers and the pain make me sleepy. And I fear that diabolical bitch worsened the tear because since then I'm in even more pain. I have a somewhat high pain tolerance because my periods were absolutely fucking vicious so all of this definitely tells something. And its not a fucking coincidence that I worsened after I was literally dragged onto the table. Who the fuck does that to even patients who don't have shoulder pain???

I went back to this doctor a week later, because he's a traumatologist & he wanted to see the MRI. AND HE DIDN'T FUCKING LOOK AT THE SCANS ONLY THE SUMMARY. I was like the fuck, snitched on the cunt nurse, shrugged it off even when I said I CANT FUCKING SLEEP SINCE THEN and I have 3 painkillers in me, 3 mg of the strongest epilepsy-panic attack meds, a pill to prevent throwing up and I was enveloped in the strongest inflammation reduction cream AND STILL IN PAIN. Plus he also said the tear was not a big deal; like BITCH our surgeon friend said I'm on the verge of a fucking operation. Two millimeters more & I'm cut open. WHAT in the FUCK.

The suggestion: medical gymnastics. Then I told him I literally cannot turn my head to the left without screaming.

Again brought up my wrist which doesn't heal since 1st September when it happened, shrugged it off, of course I don't need an MRI. Yah last time I heard I don't need an MRI a fucking tear was discovered. If he presses between the bones, I shit you not my vision whitens for a second due to the pain. Ignored my possibly swollen lymph nodes in my armpit.

Last night & today:

I couldn't fall asleep no matter what because of pain and other symptoms. I had 4 mg epilepsy meds in me & 2000+ mg of different painkillers. Today I had an extremely aggressive fever which refused to go down. I had to take two cooling showers to prevent shock. Meaning it's ice cold while I shower in near 50°C water because I'm a fucking reptile. Because of full body tremors my shoulder is as fucked up as it was on the 1st. I can't move it without yelling. The cooling showers were so fucking bad that I had to shove a rag in my mouth to muffle the screaming so neighbors don't call the cops. My heart game isn't really on top so I had to stay long and start slow to achieve the ice cold so I don't get a fucking heart attack.

Mom & dad was coughing yesterday, mom had a terrible headache, then I came with never ending pains then the fever during the day, bought covid tests. All of us have it. Today would've been the day when we phone the doctor and finally get rid of my demented dad. He would've been taken into a hospital and after there's ONE place in a care home good for him what we can afford. And now it all failed. I'm just... I don't know what I feel. Devastated, angry and so fucking done because I don't want him there anymore. There was a beam of hope to be free, for my mom to sleep, my shoulder to heal, my plans to go back university and of course it's ripped away just like every time in my life.

And of course I'm taking it the worst, I'm weakened by stress, mental disorders, overworked, borderline anorexic, pain from shoulder.

My fucking father? He only coughs a little & a bit dizzy.

Sorry for dumping this onto whoever reads it, I really needed to get this out of my system. I tried to tag the best as I could & also stated at the beginning. I don't know what will I try to distract myself with, writing, YouTube, Wild Rift; I don't know yet. I want to write so badly but my head doesn't cooperate a lot. And I don't want to half ass anything.

#irl tw #covid tw #🔥 ooc🔥 | out of flames #negativity tw #negative tw

[willadisastercry]

Part 1 of the: ‘Lance has epilepsy and gives everyone an absolute heart attack’ series

tw: epileptic content, migraine symptoms including aura symptoms, seizure activity

also (((( I do not have epilepsy but I am familiar with the condition from first hand experience with a friend, the content described consists of specific symptoms they experienced at one time or another due to several other outside factors and are used to convey a fictional circumstance. Nothing of ill intent here to belittle the condition!! ))))

Lance managed to successfully hide the fact that he has epilepsy from the doctors at the Garrison, telling them the hospitalizations on his file were for fibril seizures and that he’d grown out of them. His parents only let him do it because his condition had been under control for a while after he found the right balance of medication once he’d stopped growing. He hadn’t had a grand mal seizure in years. But he’d only had so many pills on his person when he got thrown into this mess of being a juvenile defender of the universe... and he’s officially run out.

Lance woke up from his nap with a start and winced.

His head was throbbing and the strings of light that flashed before him despite the darkness of his room were nauseating so he pressed his eyes shut, maneuvering shakily into a sitting position to try and steady his breathing.

His headache hadn’t gotten much better in the time he’d spent trying rest. He’d finally managed to fall asleep only to spend it thrashing around and getting tangled in his sheets, kicking them to the floor after he’d worked up enough of a sweat.

He knew this type of headache. By the time Shiro called it quits for training earlier his eyes had felt so strained and his brain had pulsed so angrily within his skull that when he blinked a blur had appeared at the bottom of his field of vision, like he’d had something in his eye making it tear. Except he didn’t.

It was a blind spot of blurred vision from the aura migraine his headache was developing into. But Lance simply wasn’t ready to admit what was coming next so he stubbornly convinced himself that he could just sleep it off.

Because he would be fine. The only other activity he’d had was earlier in the training session when he nearly face planted after succumbing to an absent seizure he’d been trying to fight. It was his turn to spar with the simulated sentry but his feet remained firmly planted underneath him, his mouth frozen in a slanted gape.

Hunk was at his side immediately trying to break the spell, assuring the team he had just gotten lightheaded and needed a minute. It lasted for thirty seconds tops but the amount of effort it took to finally make his feet work left him briefly confused and disoriented.

“You know you need to tell someone, right?” Hunk asked worriedly as his grip on his friends shoulder tightened.

All he could do was nod and promise to tell Shiro and Allura later. It took another minute to convince Hunk that he was fine to finish training, that he was out of the spell and felt a lot better.

But that was admittedly a huge mistake.

Because now his aura migraine had gone from mild and manageable to very concerning. He only ever saw flashes of color or light before he had a seizure and he didn’t even have rescue medicine with him so there would be no preventing it now.

He needed Hunk. He needed to get to his room before the tingling sensation that was making its way up his arms and legs got any worse.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed and waited while he woke up a bit more to get settled in with the orientation. Before the blood rush making his ears ring dissipated a pins and needles sensation crawled up his neck and his jaw clicked as he fought how it wanted to lock, the slow churn of anxiety in his stomach picking up as his head turned to the side without him wanting it to.

No, nope! Gotta move.

He scooted to the very edge of his bed and planted his feet firmly on the floor.

Your gonna get stuck for who knows how long and by then you could be seizing.

Gotta get up, gotta go.

His legs felt like jelly beneath him when he sent his body up into a standing position, letting the momentum of the push take him stumbling to his door. It whooshed open swiftly before the blood rush that hadn’t even settled from when he sat up in his bed could even dissipate, worsened by standing up so quickly, and he tumbled forward boneslessly. He was just able to snag a hold on the door frame when the bright lights of the hallway assaulted his eyes.

And then before he could even ride the nauseating wave of pain from the sudden exposure to such strong lighting he was met by a solid force that threatened to take him to the ground if they weren’t holding onto his arms so tightly.

“You know you’re supposed to have your eyes open when you walk, right?”

Keith.

It was Keith, it was anyone. Lance could’ve cried he was so happy to have quite literally stumbled upon someone who could help.

The other boy’s hands stayed holding Lance’s arms firmly as he fought his rapidly stiffening neck to attempt to look him in the eyes, wincing when he tried to open them and finding that he literally couldn’t.

“Wait, what’s wrong with you?”

He would’ve replied had it not been for the sudden overwhelming surge of blood from his head to his hands and legs. He was about to pass out, shit.

He fought desperately to wrench his jaws apart to speak, coughing and sputtering through pursed lips at the effort but eventually hearing a click and then launching into the renewed ability before it disappeared again.

“Need to sit, like now,” Lance spat urgently, his face paling almost in sync with his statement.

“The fuck—okay, okay, i’ve got you,” Keith started, Lance’s legs buckling not even a beat later, but his arms were around the other boy’s middle and guiding him to sit against the wall before he could even hit the ground.

He groaned pitifully as his head lolled to the side before it locked into position for the absent seizure he’d postponed, still conscious but frozen and battling the not so fun affects of being so very close to fainting but not actually.

“Lance what’s happening?”

Keith’s voice was pitched higher than before and his words came faster, his hand was on his forehead checking for a fever that wouldn’t be there. They then moved to his cheek and the other his neck, his pulse was strong but fast.

“Can you hear me?”

He could, but his face was stuck in a grimace. He made an annoyed noise through his gritted teeth and managed to flick his hand, Keith taking it up hesitantly.

“If you can hear me, uh, squeeze my hand...” he waited and gasped when Lance squeezed, well attempted to. The absent seizure wasn’t sticking which meant that he was going to have a grand mal like a lot sooner than later. He wanted to cry.

“Do you feel—are you sick? You don’t have a fever...”

He hummed and managed to move his head away and back into place, not really a nod but Keith got the idea.

“Okay... can you speak? Like I don’t know what’s wrong but it seems like—“

“Pillows.”

His jaw clicked again and he bit his tongue as he choked the word out, the taste of iron filling his mouth.

“Pillows? What? Why would...? Shit, wait does that m—“

“Keith... pillows.”

Lance didn’t have to ask again, Keith was in his room tearing the covers off of his bed and snatching up the abundance of pillows on Lance’s bed that would have confused him before but now made perfect sense. When he got back to the hallway Lance hadn’t moved except to lay on his side far from the wall, his face wet with tears.

“H-hunk,” Lance pleaded, his voice barely audible as Keith scrunched up the blankets behind him and then nudged him to pick up his head so he could place his pillow beneath it. He was pretty sure what was about to happen and he was terrified for his friend.

“I... I don’t want to leave you alone like this, your scaring me,” Keith said, the fear in his voice genuine and the care sincere. Lance didn’t have to have his eyes open to know exactly how Keith must look with how distraught he sounded and would’ve been really touched if he weren’t so goddamned scared himself.

“Get Hunk. Go now. Hurry.”

His voice broke on the last word and Keith took off in a dead sprint for Pidge’s workspace where he’d seen him last.

Lance wasn’t sure of how much time passed before darkness washed over him... but it wasn’t darkness, he wasn’t seizing yet... someone was here. With the cover of their shadow he managed to work one eye open to test if it would still be agonizing even with the shade.

It was Shiro. He looked more amused than concerned, but Lance couldn’t blame him.

“Lance?! What the fuck, bud?”

He almost laughed but found he couldn’t even do that, his body was too tense, stiffening up but not in the tonic stage yet because he was still conscious. It was getting close though, the seizure would happen soon but his body relaxed as much as it could knowing that Shiro was here with him and he wouldn’t be alone.

“Like I wanna ask, but then again I also don’t know if I want to know—Lance? Wh-Lance?! Lance what the—shit.”

Lance’s sensitive eyes flew open, wide and unseeing before they rolled back and he let out a strangled whine, head snapping back against the pillow so aggressively that the momentum sent him the rest of his body with it. Now rolled onto his arching back while his limbs straightened and stretched out, his middle rose steadily off the ground against his long legs digging into the floor.

Shiro paled and sat in utter shock for a moment before he seemed to snap right into action, realization hitting him in the gut as he wrangled the younger boy’s rigid form back onto his side, just in time for the drool to flood from his mouth in enough of a quantity to have had him choking.

“You’re okay, Lance. That’s it, you’re okay,” Shiro soothed as he scrambled over to his other side so he could use his body to keep him from rolling onto his back while he corded his hand through his now damp hair and rubbed circles between his tensed shoulder blades, this way he could still keep an eye on his face and where his hands were.

The tonic phase lasted a minute, maybe even more, but that was already too long.

Shiro heard footsteps just as Lance’s body shuddered, the prone boy groaning deeply and gurgling hard on more saliva, his hands now rising with speed towards his face but Shiro was quick to catch the fists before they connected, letting them settle at his neck after he’d stopped the force of what would have been a painful blow.

“No, no, shit!” Hunk ground to a halt and dropped down next to Lance, Pidge there a second later immediately rushing to resituate the pillows where they’d leave him with fewer bruises in the morning.

“When did he start seizing?”

“Uhm, literally a minute ago... well no. He started twitching right before you got here but he’s been stiff for a while... Hunk what’s-what’s wrong with him?”

“Well, nothing’s like wrong with him I guess-I don’t know... he just-he just—“

“He has epilepsy.” Pidge offered and Hunk sighed deeply before continuing, Lance’s twitches not letting up and his grunts getting louder.

“It’s been under control for years, once he’d stopped growing and gotten his medicine right, that’s why he was able to pilot for the Garrison. But he ran out of pills last week, god, I told him to tell you! He’s so stubborn... I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for Hunk, you’re a good friend. I’ll chew him out when he’s, uh, better.”

Pidge squeaked when she caught a boney knee to her side after leaning too close to fix the blankets and Hunk shooed her back protectively.

“How long are these supposed to last...?” Keith asked worriedly as he hovered over the scene.

“Hmm, this is actually kinda long for him, they’re only ever a minute or two,” Hunk frowned.

“It’s probably because he couldn’t properly wane himself off of his medicine... he tried to but he kept getting auras and his arms would tingle and he told me, and I quote, that he needed ‘not tingling arms to shoot a gun’.”

“Well, it’s certainly helpful—“

“Hey, I think it’s ending,” Hunk interrupted as Lance slowly began to wind down into the pillows beneath him with steady shudders but not full on spasming, his eyes fluttering closed a minute later with a few residual twitches every now and then.

“What now?” Shiro asked.

“Now we should probably tell Coran and Allura, we need a new way to stop his seizures and until we do he’s going to keep having them,” Pidge said as she straddled Lance to get on his other side and then pushed him onto his back and laid against his side, nearly on top of him, with her hands in his hair.

“I’ll get them,” Keith stated before running off again, happy for the out because he was still rattled and just not good with the comfort stuff.

“We also need to see if we can rouse him, he’s probably gonna be confused when he wakes up... pressure helps him not panic,” Hunk prompted when he saw Shiro eyeing Pidge’s minstrations with confusion.

Hunk leaned down and started rubbing his sternum with his knuckles and whispering close to his ear.

“Come on hermano, open your eyes. It’s over, it passed. You’re okay now.”

His eyes fluttered open slowly but closed quickly and he winced as he turned his head to the side. Shiro moved to block the light like he had before and the pain seemed to wash away instantly.

Pidge cupped his cheek gently and turned his face back up. When he opened his eyes again it didn’t hurt and he softened back into the pillow... wait pillow, why’d his eyes hurt? He wasn’t in his room and Shiro was leaning over him and staring down into this soul but he was also upside down, what—

“Calm down Lance, you had a seizure. You’re okay now, it’s over, just relax,” Hunk soothed as his face came into view over Lance and he let out a small “oh” before taking a deep breath.

“Hey Pidge,” he said after a while and she smiled into the crook of his arm and he returned the sort of hug.

“Hey, stupid.”

“Ugh, rude. Give a guy a break, will ya?”

“Not until you stop being stupid!”

“Pidge has a point, you can’t just keep stuff like this from us. Coran could’ve helped! And what if we were on a mission and Hunk or Pidge weren’t with you to—“ Shiro stopped himself and sighed.

“You just worried us and the point is you should’ve come to us, but I think you get that now... yeah?”

He nodded sheepishly as Shiro bent down to ruffle his hair.

When he seemed less out of it Hunk pulled him up into a sitting position but he was uncharacteristically weak, even for just getting out of a seizure and slumped back immediately, Shiro quickly filling in behind him and keeping him upright. He squeezed his eyes shut now that his shade was gone and breathed through the dizziness.

“You’re eyes still hurt...? Hm, a migraine that long isn’t good,” Pidge mused sympathetically as she continued to run her hands soothingly through his hair and his face scrunched up in frustration.

“I think we should get him to the infirmary and have Coran check him out,” Shiro said as he shifted behind Lance to hold him better.

“Think you can stand or do you still feel weird?”

Lance shook his head slowly, careful not to move faster than he needed to with his head aching once again.

“That’s alright, I’ll give you a lift.”

Piggy back rides from Hunk are always welcome, but not like this. Lance was sad, also sort of embarrassed but mostly really tired. He wasn’t even aware he’d nodded off until Hunk deposited him onto a cot that Coran had set up in the infirmary.

“Lance! Oh, you must stop scaring us all like this!” Allura urged as Shiro placed a hand on her shoulder to ease her tension.

“Scared the crap out of me...” Keith chimed in, Hunk nudged him in approval for having done so well in handing such a bizarre situation given the circumstances.

Lance assumed that everyone was here but refused to open his eyes, his stomach was in knots and he didn’t want to test the stability of his stomach in front of everyone by trying to be a tough guy. Coran seemed to recognize the wrinkling of his nose and flutter under his eyelids for the internal debate that it was.

“Ah, my boy! You can open your eyes, we’ve turned the lights down considerably and have shaded bifocals—right, sun-glasses, for you to wear so you aren’t in pain.”

Lance opened one eye cautiously. The lights were in fact dimmed but even the muted brightness seemed to make his head throb so he reached for the glasses from Coran, grateful when they took the edge off the ache.

“This is better...” he sighed and curled up under the blanket that had been laid out for him now that he knew it was there, holding his arm out for Pidge to resume her position.

“You’re so cold, what the heck,” she fussed as she rubbed his hands aggressively, hoping the friction warmed them.

“It’s probably a side affect of stoping such a strong medicine cold turkey, you’ve probably felt somewhat ill the past few days too...” Coran provided as he hustled around the infirmary, getting supplies as Allura and her mice resumed typing away on a tablet.

“You should’ve told me you experience seizures regularly! Alteans have a similar phenomenon that’s easy to remedy... it might take some time to find the right balance for you, but I think I have several things that we can try, how does that sound?”

“Sounds good, anything so I can keep piloting Blue...”

“Oh... is that why you didn’t want to tell us?” Shiro asked sadly, “because you thought we’d replace you or forbid you from piloting?”

Lance didn’t answer, he only sunk somehow further into the bed but welcomed Pidge’s tightening grip around his chest and could feel Shiro’s hand on his leg as he sat on the edge of the cot.

“We never would have done that, Lance. We would’ve figured something out, tried everything before it came to that and even then how could we? You’re the blue paladin and there’s nothing that could change that.”

Lance was crying again, thankful he had glasses to cover his tears.

“Thanks, Shiro. S’pretty stupid.”

“Shhh, stop saying that. Only I can call you stupid!” Pidge grumbled.

“Aha, right. Sorry, thanks guys.”

“Don’t thank us, bud, it’s our job.”

#lance whump #vld fandom #vld fanfic #whump #voltron whump #voltron fic #tw: epileptic content

[celosiaa]

hi me again 🥺 sorry for making you tear up even if it was in a good way (hopefully?) 💕 i don’t mind the wait at all, i completely understand and it’s 100% worth it (honestly i get so excited whenever you post a new fic)!! soooo... i was doing some research for a project on epilepsy and i got thinking about epileptic martin?? like particular in s1 maybe he didn’t tell the other archives crew as he didn’t know them that well/hadn’t worked closely with them before (ok sorry tbc as i am rambling)

hello friend!!! I am so sorry that this took me a literally unreasonable amount of time to write! I really enjoyed the research I did for this, and I love this hc forever. And I hope this is what you were looking for <3

CW seizures, nausea, misgendering

Focus.

Just focus.

For god’s sake.

It’s been nearly an hour of Martin sitting at his desk, trying desperately to rein in any sliver of concentration he can muster to look at the laptop screen before him. He feels awful doing it, but every time Jon has passed by his desk that day, he’s found himself pretending to click around or to type—though he’s got the brightness set so far down there’s no way he’d be able to see it anyway. After a few attempts at turning it back up, he’s had to immediately look away, as the pounding behind his eyes resumes again. So for now, he’s stuck with reading statements—something he is loathe to do even on a good day.

And this certainly wasn’t.

He knows better than this, knows that he’s very nearly approaching disaster—what with the not sleeping out of hypervigilance, not eating out of anxiety, and not having his seizure meds for the past two days, as he’d managed to run out of his flat without them. And there’s no doubt in his mind that he cannot send anyone back to his flat. Not with Prentiss still on the loose.

Selfish selfish selfish

No, stop it.

You haven’t even done anything.

Wishing more than anything that his mind did not constantly run him ragged with thoughts like this, Martin looks up from his papers, intending to find a rubber band to snap against his wrist as a distraction, but instead—

Instead he finds himself frozen, colors fading in and out across his vision, heartbeat steadily climbing as his fingers go numb.

No no no no

Not now not now please not now

Realistically, he knows it’s only been a few seconds, but the seconds feel like years against the rapid thrum thrum thrum in his ears, made even worse when he sees Tim approaching from the periphery.

Damn it damn it

Please please please

“Hey Marto!”

Like clockwork, the focal aware seizure ends, and at last—at last he is able to move enough to look up at where Tim stands, leaning against his desk, smile fading rapidly as he watches Martin blinking in the suddenly-too-bright light.

“You alright?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at his face, doubtless taking note of how quickly he is breathing now to match his settling heart rate.

“Y-yeah, sorry, um. Was just thinking,” is all he can reply, fighting to put an easy smile back on his face.

It seems to have been the wrong move, as Tim only shifts to sit atop his desk, expression quickly becoming overrun with concern.

“Okay, well…you look like you’re having a panic attack, mate,” he says lowly, reaching across him to grab his water bottle and set it nearer to him. “What do you need?”

Even with his misguided interpretation, Martin can’t help the flood of affection he feels toward him in this moment—because that’s just Tim, isn’t it? Never assumes, just asks what will help and then does it.

If only I weren’t such a mess, and would let him.

“Oh, n-no it’s not—it’s not that, Tim, I’m—I’m alright. Must’ve…drifted off, or something. Had a nightmare.”

There is no way Tim buys that, no way in hell—but thankfully, he lets it go.

“O…kay then. Well. If that’s the case, I was just thinking of grabbing some lunch, do you want anything? Don’t reckon you’ve eaten properly in a bit, yeah?”

God, Tim.

I don’t deserve this.

Yes, you do. You deserve a friend and you need to eat.

You need to eat.

“Uhh—th-thanks, erm.  Where—where are you going?” he asks, wishing to god his voice didn’t sound so shaky.

He takes a few intentionally deep breaths after that—thinking that perhaps it is a panic attack, after all.  Without realizing that several seconds have gone by since his question, he feels Tim’s bracing hand on his shoulder, knowing that he’s not going to ask again—but offering him a clear sign that he’s there all the same.

“Just the corner shop,” he murmurs, starting to rub his thumb over the shoulder seam of Martin’s t-shirt. “Nothing fancy. But I can get you a sandwich, if you like. Well, no—I am getting you a sandwich regardless, but I thought I might be considerate for once and ask if there was anything in particular that you want.”

“Yeah—erm, yeah, just. Anything that’s warm would be nice,” he says at last, sinking a bit as Tim removes his hand from his shoulder. “Thanks, Tim. That’s—that’s really kind.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously,” he says, clapping his hand back against Martin’s shoulder with force before standing. “Be back in a bit. Drink that water.”

“I will,” Martin nods, earning himself some finger guns of approval before Tim starts walking towards the lift. “Thanks, mate.”

And he’s so close now, so close to shouting after him, to asking him to pick up his meds from the chemist, if he calls them in—

Just ask just ask just ask

—and then Tim is around the corner, and out of sight.

Damn it all.

He tells himself it’s probably for the best anyway—that he’s not really even sure he can get them. But it doesn’t stop him burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration and shame. Really though, he ought to call first before mentioning anything—perhaps they have a delivery service, or they’ll refuse him, or something.

And what then?

The idea of finding himself suddenly on the floor of the archives, alone and in the dark with the worms having crawled all over him while he seized—

Have to call.

Reaching bitterly for his phone, he takes a deep breath as it rings, preparing his best “customer service” voice.

“Boots, how can we help you today?”

“Hi! Erm, I was wondering if—if I could get a refill for my prescription? For—for carbamazepine,” he says, cheery voice belying the dread with which he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Sure thing! Just need your name and date of birth and I’ll look you up.”

“Right. Erm—well, it’s Martin, but I think you’ve still got me under, erm. Mary Blackwood,” he says, forcing himself not to grit his teeth at the foul taste his deadname leaves in his mouth. “Date of birth October 15th, 1987.”

“Alright, let’s see here—“

Please please please

“—it looks like you’ve already got your refill, Miss Blackwood. Our system says you picked up your medication on the 19th.”

“It’s—it’s Mister, actually. Erm,” he stammers, stomach churning over the entire thing. “L-listen, I—I’ve had to leave my home quite suddenly, and—and I am unable to return there for the time being. So I don’t—I don’t have access to my meds. And I, erm. Really need them.”

Pathetic pathetic pathetic

“I’m really sorry, Mister Blackwood. You’re going to have your doctor call in another prescription for you before we can get you that refill. Unfortunately, it’s out of our hands.”

Of course.

“Oh, right. That’s erm—that’s okay. Thank you so much,” he says as brightly as possible, unwilling to blame anyone for something out of their control.

“You’re quite welcome. Take care.”

With a long, shaky sigh, Martin throws his phone back onto his desk, returning his head to its rightful place, buried in his hands. There’s no way he can call his doctor today—or tomorrow even, with it already being a Friday afternoon. No chance of him getting his refill, then. And no chance of sending Tim back to his apartment either.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

It was just a focal, nothing too bad.

Nothing unmanageable.

I can make it.

Steeling himself with somewhat tremulous determination, he takes another long breath—blinking back against the steady pounding in his head, and getting back to work.

—

“Aw come on, Sasha! Take a break with me!”

“Not on your life. I’m still furious with you, you know,” she replies, tossing her hair like a lion’s mane over her back. “Can’t believe you’d go all the way to the good café for Martin, and not offer me anything. Not even crumbs, Stoker!”

“Listen—” Tim grins back, hands raised in self-defense. “He looked like he could use some soup! I don’t know what else to say.”

“And you didn’t get me any? What about me doesn’t scream ‘I could use some soup, thank you?’”

“It’s different!! It’s—Martin? You alright?”

As he was walking past their bickering, eyes firmly fixed on the floor on the lookout for worms, Martin had suddenly stopped short—looking anxiously up and over their heads, framed by the doorway of Jon’s office.

“Martin?” Tim repeats, already halfway to standing in worry, following Martin’s gaze behind him and finding nothing.

Faster than he can turn back around, Martin’s muscles all tense at once—and he tips backwards onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Shit! Martin!”

Tim darts forward at once, in some feeble attempt to catch him, but of course, far too late to do so. In his shock, he can do little but stand over him for a few seconds, taken aback upon seeing his eyes still open where he lies still on the floor.

“What happened?” Jon demands, stepping quickly out of his office towards them, where Sasha now crouches near his head.

“I-I don’t know, he just—”

And then Martin begins to convulse.

“Oh my god, he’s—he’s having a seizure,” Sasha gasps as she claps a hand over her mouth, from where it had been pressed against his forehead.

“Fuck. Fuck, what do—what do we do? Do we call 999?” Tim shouts, unwilling to sit by and watch as this all goes on around him, already grabbing Sasha’s phone from her nearby desk.

“I—I think so, let me—”

“Wait.”

Two sets of eyes land upon Jon as he interjects, crouching near Martin’s flailing left arm, waiting for him to set it back down before quickly grabbing at a bracelet circling his wrist.

“I-it’s a medical bracelet. Says epilepsy,” he says lowly, quickly sitting back on his heels as Martin’s arm begins to jerk again.

“Fuck. I—I had no idea,” Tim breathes, running an anxious hand through his hair. “How could we not know?”

“We should—” Sasha breaks off quickly to swallow a lump in her throat, before continuing. “We should be timing it, did anyone see the time?”

“I-I don’t—it’s probably been less than a minute, right?”

“I think so. I’m—here, I’m googling it to make sure—”

While she does so, Martin’s head begins to slam into the ground—and Jon immediately pulls off his cardigan, folding it quickly and placing it beneath him to cushion the blow.

“It’s alright, big guy,” Tim says, settling down to kneel next to Jon, who now has a hand gently pressed to his shoulder—not holding him down, just resting there in a comfort Martin probably cannot receive.

Tim rests his own hand against Martin’s thigh all the same.

“Okay, I think we’re good so far,” Sasha says at last, setting her phone down with a timer running on the screen. “Just time it, and—and keep watch. If it goes past five minutes, we call 999.”

“That’s—that’s it?” Tim says in dismay, snapping his eyes back to his friend, still convulsing on the floor. “There’s nothing else we can do?”

“No. We just have to watch out for him,” she replies, voice low as she adjusts Jon’s cardigan beneath his head. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Not the answer that Tim was looking for.

And so they wait—silent save for the rhythmic smacking of his limbs against the carpeted floor, and the occasional whispered platitude, though all know he cannot hear them. The seconds tick by in agony while they sit helpless, all eyeing the timer on Sasha’s phone creeping up steadily past three minutes.

“I don’t like this,” Tim says, knowing how useless it is to say so—Sasha raising her eyes to meet his for the first time in a while.

“Me neither.”

“Nearly three and a half minutes,” Jon mutters, worrying at his bottom lip while still resting a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you, Martin,” Tim mutters. “We’ve got you.”

Ten more seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

And at last—at last he goes still, right past the four-minute mark.

“Alhamdulillah,” Jon sighs as he lets his chin briefly rest against his chest, a sentiment echoed by everyone around him.

“Okay, turn him on his side, here—Tim—”

“Got it,” Tim says as he moves to crouch next to her, helping roll him towards Jon, head pillowed on the arm Jon stretched out across the floor as a cushion.

As soon as they get him in the recovery position, they watch as saliva runs out of his mouth, surely fit to choke him had they not turned him—and he begins to snore forcefully, catching Tim very much by surprise.

“Wh-what—” he asks in bewilderment, struggling to hold back a bit of shocked laughter.

“The website said that’s normal,” Sasha assures at once, reaching behind her to grab a box of tissues from her desk behind her. “He’s going to be sleepy for a bit.”

“Okay. That’s—okay,” he says, watching as Jon takes the tissues from Sasha and wipes at Martin’s face so very gently, before tossing them aside and taking his hand.

Taking his hand.

…interesting.

Stowing THAT away for later.

As Jon starts to move his thumb across the back of Martin’s palm, the snoring stops—and his eyes begin to flutter rapidly, attempting to force their way fully open.

“Hey Martin, can you hear me?” Sasha says rather loudly, bending over him and tapping his shoulder lightly.

All she receives in response is a moan, deep and low, as he squeezes and unsqueezes his eyelids, coughing a bit against the pooling saliva. Jon reaches for the tissues again at once, cleaning his face as best as possible.

“You’re okay mate,” Tim says, patting his hip before leaving his hand there for support. “You’ve had a seizure.”

It takes a few moments, but at last, Martin opens his eyes, looking vaguely around without meeting Jon’s eyes.

“Wh’ happ’n?” he slurs—all three of them exchanging a meaningful glance, a bit alarmed.

“You had a seizure, Martin,” Sasha repeats, stroking at his hair while Tim starts rubbing his hand up and down his arm, hoping it will somehow help to ground him.

Remaining still for a few moments, still blinking, Martin tries to take it all in— looking down towards where Jon still rubs at his hand, though still seemingly unaware of his presence.

“What happened?” he asks again, voice less slurred, but still weak.

“A seizure, Martin,” Jon says, trying desperately to catch his eyes. “You’re alright.”

At once, Martin wrenches his hand away from Jon’s grasp in favor of clapping it over his mouth, muffling a small and desperate gasp behind it.

“Shit. You gonna be sick?” Tim asks, already looking around him for something to grab as Jon once again prepares his tissues.

He does not respond right away, instead pausing for a few deep breaths—at last shaking his head no. In both relief and the absence of something to do with his hands, Jon fusses at the cardigan again—positioning it just so.

“Wh—oh, seizure,” Martin breathes, and Tim cannot help but feel relieved at his gaining a bit of orientation back.

“Yeah.”

Eyebrows knitting together, Martin moves the hand clapped over his mouth to rest on his eyes, sniffling a bit before speaking.

“M’so sorry,” he gasps—and it’s enough to break Tim’s heart.

All of their hearts apparently, as they immediately place their hands on him in a gesture of comfort.

“Hey, no, none of that,” Sasha soothes, brushing back his fringe again.

“M’sorry.”

“Martin, it’s alright,” reassures Jon, with such rare gentleness that even Martin lowers his hand to look—wincing quickly as he does so, and placing it back over his eyes at once.

“Do the lights hurt?” Sasha asks worriedly, placing her hand to cover his own, hoping to block more of it out.

“Yeah—ah,” he grits out with a pained little gasp, and Jon gets to his feet.

“I’ll get them,” he says, and walks quickly to the switch, sending them into a darkness illuminated only by the light from the hall.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Martin lowers his hand again, eyes still closed, and rubs absently at his nose. Stumbling a bit as his eyes adjust to the dark, Jon makes his way back to kneeling beside him, taking up his free hand again.

“Your head okay?” asks Tim, prompting Sasha to card through his hair to look for any swelling. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I couldn’t catch you.”

“…what?” comes the vague response, delayed by a few seconds as Martin tries in vain to sort through what was said.

“Still confused,” Sasha mouths at him silently—and he nods, instead going back to rubbing up and down Martin’s arm, as Sasha moves to massage his neck.

“M’sorry.”

“Hush, darling. It’s alright,” she says, and Tim knows without a doubt she will sit there all day, repeating these same things to him as long as he needs.

And loves her for it.

“…wh—Jon?”

Eyes more focused than ever, Martin looks down to where Jon still rubs a thumb over his palm, stunned very his very presence in this space.

“Yes, I’m here,” he murmurs, offering a small squeeze of affirmation, inadvertently painting a soft grin briefly across Martin’s face—before it drops quickly again in horror, as the reality of the situation sinks in again.

“Oh god. I—oh god.”

“It’s okay, Martin.”

“No no no.”

“It’s alright,” Jon comforts, more soothing than Tim had ever imagined would be possible for him. “Just be still. You’re alright.”

Five minutes turn into ten, turn into fifteen as Martin’s confusion slowly fades away—his recovery naturally filled with a deluge of apologies, patient soothing from his friends, and tending to the waves of nausea that come over him every few minutes. Ever so gradually, he becomes better able to hold a conversation; better able to hold their gaze, asking what happened before he went down, explaining that his…well, everything is sore, but that it’s nothing unmanageable.

There is very little that Martin would call “unmanageable,” of course, but it’s the most they will get out of him.

“I think I can sit up now,” he says after a bit, bracing his arms underneath himself to prepare, and Tim reaches out to support him at once.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

A bit slow, a bit clumsy, they get him up—not without some worried questioning when he hunches forward, face buried in his hands as the headache worsens with the change of posture. But luckily, it dulls as quickly as it comes, and Martin soon finds himself able to look up, even to offer a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Want some water?” Tim asks as soon as he looks steady.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m on it,” he says, refusing to accept any of Martin’s guilt-laden excuses, and dashes off to the kitchen at once, leaving Jon and Sasha still vaguely holding onto him in the fear that he might fall again.

“I’m alright, guys, really,” he assures, though he makes no effort to shrug their hands off—so there they stay.

“Do you know what caused this, Martin?” Sasha asks, folding his collar from where it sticks up at the nape of his neck.

With a heavy sigh and an exhausted pinch to the bridge of his nose, Martin replies, face reddening with shame.

“Yeah. You’re—you’re going to laugh.”

“Why would we laugh?” Jon asks so earnestly, so softly that it wins him a long and surprised look from Martin.

“I…dunno really, just. It’s just that it’s—it’s all my own fault. Stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t—” he cuts off for a moment to hiss painfully as he rubs at his temple again, and Sasha’s hold tightens ever so slightly as a precaution. “I don’t have my…seizure meds with me. I left them at my flat when—when I ran. From Prentiss.”

Of course.

Of course he did.

“I would have gotten them for you Martin!” Tim shouts as he returns with the water. “Any of us would, mate. You should have said.”

“I didn’t want to send you back to my flat. She might…she might still…be there.”

He fades a bit as he speaks—rubbing once more at his temples, and Sasha resumes her ministrations of massaging his neck.

“Alright, just—it’s alright, Martin,” Jon soothes, a bit alarmed at the way he’s hunched back over—seemingly nauseous again, as he moves the bin a bit closer to himself just in case. “What can we do now?”

After a few long, deep breaths, his churning stomach finally settles long enough for him to answer, albeit a bit more vague-sounding than moments before.

“I tried…I tried to call the chemist, but…they won’t refill it unless I…unless I talk to my doctor. And it’s not like I can just go.”

“You have to get some from A&E then,” Tim insists, sitting back down next to him and pressing a hand atop his shoulder.

“No, I can’t.”

“We’ll go with you,” mutters Jon, before clearing his throat, returning to his best confident-boss tone. “We’ll keep watch for the worms. Go prepared.”

“You don’t—“

“We will,” Sasha says emphatically, leaving no room for argument—and even Martin knows when the battle is lost. “We’re happy to do it, Martin. Seriously.”

“Thank you,” he very nearly whispers, face flushing beet red as the undue attention of the afternoon catches up with him. “That’s really…too kind.”

“Well, you’ve got to get it somehow, mate,” Tim says with a chuckle, earning himself a warning glare from both Sasha and Jon. “What? I’m sure Martin wants this to happen again even less than we do. Which is saying a lot.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, surprising them all by chuckling briefly in return. “Reckon you’re right about that. I didn’t—this is pretty much my worst nightmare, so…just so you all know how sorry I am.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Sasha laughs. “And it keeps continuing to not be your fault.”

“Right. Sure.”

He does not sound at all sure—but she lets it go all the same.

“We should go today, Martin,” Jon says as he stands, already grabbing a canister of CO2 in preparation. “Don’t want you to miss another dose.”

“And take that thing on the Tube?” Martin laughs, fully smiling for the first time since the whole affair began. “Think we might get some looks.”

“It’s the Tube, mate. Stranger things have happened,” Tim chuckles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before jumping in to assist him in standing.

“Suppose you’re probably right about that.”

“Let’s go then,” says Jon, face steeled as if armed to the teeth and ready to tangle with anything coming his way. “Work that needs doing.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma fanfic #martin blackwood #hurt/comfort #cw nausea #cw seizures #cw misgendering #trans martin #jordanian jon #background timsasha #my writing

[luulapants]

I feel like this is a pretty well-known fic, but it’s also phenomenal, so I’m recommending it anyway! I love to see AUs where main characters are living with disabilities we don’t see in canon due to under-representation. This is also a very realistic depiction of Stiles as a blind character, which is a great bonus! It’s a long read, so don’t start this right before bed if you have no self control, like me.

Chapters: 28/28 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Allison Argent/Scott McCall Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Sheriff Stilinski, Kira Yukimura, Isaac Lahey, Melissa McCall, Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore Additional Tags: AU, Disability, Disabled Character, Misunderstandings, Angst, Fluff, Blind Character, Blind Stiles, Eventual Smut, Derek is a creeper, derek has no social skills, In Other Words Canon!Derek, Epilepsy, seizure disorder, Panic Attack, Happy Ending, Not Gonna Tag Every Sex Act Just Trust Me There's Plenty, Alternate Universe, Slow Build, Pack Feels, Slow Burn, Communication, Ableist Language, Demisexuality, Demisexual Derek Hale, Families of Choice, Found Families, POV Derek Hale, Friends to Lovers, Body Dysphoria, Alpha Derek, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek is a socially awkward potato Summary:

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking.

Excerpt:

“You’re blind,” Derek said flatly, the anger draining from him so suddenly he felt almost woozy. His vision cleared, his claws sliding back into blunt fingernails.

“Thanks for the memo, genius,” the kid said acidly. “I can still fucking defend myself, so don’t take another damn step.”

“Fuck, I...I’m sorry,” Derek stuttered.

“What?!” The kid’s brow crinkled. “I mean — what?! You’re fucking sorry!?” His lips thinned into a harsh line. “What, is this some kinda Hallmark movie where you’re discovering the error of your ways because you don’t want to rob a blind person?! That’s fucking condescending, man. I’ll have you know that —”

“Just, wait.” Derek interrupted what was apparently the start of a convincing argument as to why he should rob the kid after all, feeling his head start to spin. “This is — it’s a misunderstanding. I’m — I’m not robbing you. You’re — you’re safe, okay? I’m taking three steps back. Just — just let me explain.”

“Explain why you came busting into my apartment? Yeah, go right ahead, man, I can’t wait to hear this epic tale.”

#fic recommendation #sterek #teen wolf

[gil-notskajla]

So xerath skin confirmed how you feel

I'm conflicted.

As much as I enjoy reading about Xerath in lore and go crazy when anything happens lorewise, skins info gives me a bad feeling. It's mostly caused by circumstances: Riot announced skins for champions who didn't get a skin for a long time. It looks like they just thought: "yeah.. these guys rioting on the back are soo annoying... just throw 'em whatever and get back to lux skins"

And I don't want whatever. I don't want trash.

The worst part is that Riot doesn't do cheap skins anymore. Everything costs 1350 no matter if its good or terrible. It isn't about how well things go together, it's about how many artists and animators worked on it and for how long. That's fair, but at least pay attention to what works and what doesn't.

And I will tell you what works and what doesn't.

Battlecast, Runeborn - nothing flashy, but works

Scorched - semi-works, flashy, best skin to equip if you are in Prestige_XerathTM mood

Guardian - disgusting mess which isnt worth a single penny (i respect guy who made a concept and guy who made splash (splash is beautiful), he had a vision; animator got paid soo whatever; but nevertheless - skin is shitty and doesnt work at all, i regret paying for it, even to i paid with 80%, its not worth it at all)

Why cheap skins work? People call 'em chromas but honestly these are my faves. First, what should work for all skins: attacks are well saturated what makes them comfortable to use in game. Nothing else because those are just repainted defaults. Idle animations work and emotes work as well. Xerath's dance and "Closing Sarcophagus"(CS) emotes are a micro-culture of xerath mains. They are super important and they are an absolute must of all the things that work. These dont work - skin doesn't work. on both skins parts of sarcophagus fit each other what allows them to close into a certain form - it looks great. And dance emote works as it should.

Scorched semi-works because even tho sarcophagus cant close, it looks good - its color palette is well picked, pieces are of a fine sized parts which match each other, his body is 2D but has different texture lava-fire-like which doesnt  look way to off, and dance emote works.

Guardian...oh boy.... Guardian doesnt work in any way. Color theory was abadoned when they were coloring him. Parts dont fit eachother. Mark is way to dark and of complitely different shade of purple (blueish instead of plum). His body is in obviously, painfuly 2D what is impossible to not notice because of darker contouring of light form. Animations suck (except of B, but its only because its his only animated recall). In dance platings are too big and dont allow for full round movements of arms. And CS... lets say he turns into a qantum flower durring epilepsy episode. Absolutely hideous abomination and the worst part is that what you get on splash looks NOTHING like what you have in game. You buy it, cant wait to try it out and when you finally do, you just wanna click the return button instantly. And it costs 1350.

Soo now that we have it all clear, since Xerath skins are called chromas, we want next chroma: pink/purple/white/black or brown. Since we are fans of neglected child our standards arent high:

Dream come true skin for Xerath is this black concept by Tink29

Sarcophagus is made of fitting parts, voidlike substance gives eerie feelings and its majestic. But its never gonna happen because Riot would LITERALLY DIE if they made a good solo skin for unpopular champion. Another idea is white as elementalist (yes, i am delusional) or some nice wind related or somethin' (ive made this concept basing on raider outfit since xerath is a leader of western raiders and planed to finnish it with colors fitting raider costume with very bright, white/light-lime arcane. Its not good for CS animation but its light, and flowing with all the light elements like material straps on the mask and wing-like details)

but its not an option as well.

Brown (with for example... sugar rush theme) wont happen because its not obvious. Soo my guess is either pink or purple and it's gonna be either Voidborn (god please let it be voidborn) or space related, most likely Darkstar (ok i guess). Best way how voidborn could end up looking like is probably this fanart by BlazeMalefica

not only did the artist remmember about the seal (which is kinda a big deal, 50%-of-his-mental-issues deal for xerath) and turned it into the eye but its also capable of closing, animating properly, its not noisy what makes him more readable, has one specific color (pink) and is built on something that already exists. It's perfect for both players and Riot (and it would be also cheaper probably, just sayin'..). If they decide to make Darkstar (ive abadoned Cosmic or Hextech - not gonna happen, it would be to good)im afraid that they will do a color hoarding of purple, blue, black.. literally whatever, slap it all together on the sarcophagus, shape it into some wild shapes, ignore all the animations, do a recall, slap 2D core and call it "Black is new Gold: Guardian of the Sands 2.0 even more retarded than its predecessor" and it will look like this noisy af mess of a bitch (by Slow Damn)

or in best case scenario for which i count if its dark star

by Thorsten Erdt.

and i can bet all my 1300 Eververse silver that Riot will do everything to make it look like shit in game by cutting the funds soo lets do something less risky, easier soo they wont fuck it up.

But that's just my predictions and when it finally comes out I will rate it. Let's hope for the best (void or darkstar, no matter, just give us the purple, the pink, working sarcophagus and limbs)! If its good maybe i will even make a break from Destiny to try it out! 👀👌🏻

#xerath #league of legends #skins #2020 #predictions #rant #voidborn #void #idol #raider #ask #lol #my art #mine #concept art #my

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

Epileptic!John. His meds are good, but one night the pyrotechnics and new strobe lights are just too much along with stress, and he has a grand mal seizure on stage in front of cameras and thousands of people.

This is so sad :( From what I’ve read, photosensitivity isn’t a super common trigger but it’s also a very finicky trigger. Some things can set it off while others can’t. etc etc. Anyways here we go.

♚

John remembered going to soundcheck the night before and admiring the electric output this venue had. In most places, they tried to save as much power as they could for the important things. The lighting. The instruments. The mics. The last thing they needed was for them to blow a fuse trying to put on too many things as once.

Not here. This place seemed to have endless output. The lights on Roger’s drum riser shone bright, flickering faster. The colored lights from above spun more chaotically, intensely. He was excited to see how it’d look the next day, at night in front of thousands. He didn’t have a single worry in his head, his epilepsy not even occurring to him. His medications were finally balanced. He’d never been photosensitive. Why even think about something that’s never happened?

 John’s a worrier though. And he wished he had been a bit more inquisitive as he snooped around the breaker and wires that previous night. A bit anxious over the power they had. Had a tiny morsel of forethought. It was far too late for any of that though.

He was on stage and Flash! had just started. The lights above started to pulsate with the drums, the riser itself flickering at a nauseating speed. They weren’t even a full 20 seconds into the song and John knew it was game over. A familiar feeling starting creeping into him. The fuzzy aura of obscured vision and the painful sensation of his fingers breaking. He knew he’d be on the floor in a matter of moments. He could only hope somebody would notice and stop the show.

His head began to throb, vision swimming as he set his bass down. And then John went down.

♚

“Flash! Ah- Oh my god!” was the last thing the audience heard before chaos broke out on stage. Freddie was the first to notice, singing and gyrating the closest to the bassist. He didn’t even think twice about dropping his microphone to kneel besides John.

Brian was second, his guitar stopping with a ear splitting screech. He was happy in those moments his legs were so long. He ran across the stage in a heartbeat, helping Freddie clear the area around John. Shoving wires aside, moving a mic stand away from John’s head, nudging the edge of an amp away. 

Roger tumbled off his riser, knowing exactly what happened. As fans gasped and screamed, he ran to the side of the stage, barking out the orders to cut the lights, cut the mics, cut everything!

Throughout the panic, John just laid on the floor, thrashing, gargling and wheezing. His eyes rolled back, limbs vibrating. His face contorted, gasping every so often. His head rolled, trunk slamming up and down against the unforgiving floor. 

It was always hard to watch.

At least the lights went off, giving John some privacy. 

Roadies and stage hands came out with flash lights, keeping them low enough so the crowd couldn’t see what was happening. They talked in hushed whispers, even though the fans were loud enough to drown out a jet engine.

“What the fuck’s happening?”

“He’s having a seizure.”

“Let’s call an ambulance.”

“No no. Let’s wait. 5 minutes right?”

“Nobody had the time when he started. I have no idea how long he’s been like this.”

“Can we just wait? Please? He’ll come around…”

“I’m calling the ambulance, fuck this.”

“Aren’t you supposed to put something in his mouth?”

“NO!”

Although the band considered themselves experts in dealing with seizures, they never experienced one on stage. They were frazzled, filled with adrenaline, confused. Nobody had a clue how long John had been seizing or what they could do to safely move him off the stage. Everyone was screaming at each other and nothing was getting done. 

Luckily, someone found the brain to call 999. John was probably fine, but his lips were blue and he couldn’t stop frothing at the mouth. So, it was good to have some actual medical help. Just in case.

They waited in tense silence for either John to stop or a paramedic to rush in, all while the fans were being escorted out of the venue. They knew video and photos had been taken of this but there didn’t need to be any more. For John’s sake. He’d die if a photo of him ended up on the papers.

They all sighed when John finally slowed, his movements becoming less jerky, less strenuous. Until he stopped all together, laying limp on the floor.

They all nearly collapsed when the paramedics arrived just then. Leaving it to a professional felt so much safer.

♚

When John woke up in the hospital, he was tired, sore and ready to go back to sleep. He didn’t question the sudden change of location. He was still confused and only craved some serious slumber. He could figure it out later.

“Oh! He’s awake! Deacy, darling!” Freddie called out, patting John’s cheek in an attempt to keep his eyes open. John whined, swatting weakly at Freddie. 

“Look everyone! He’s awake!” Freddie said, not letting John’s complaining stop him. Two other faces filled his vision. 

John groaned, his brain struggling to piece together what was happening. 

“Jesus, mate, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Roger said, ruffling John’s hair. John swatted at him too.

“Yeah. You never reacted like that to lights before. What the hell was that?” Brian added, squeezing John’s shoulder.

While still a bit frazzled, John was able to figure out he had a seizure. And then he had a sudden realization he was in the middle of a concert when it happened.

“Oh my god. I seized? On stage?” he asked, his vision clearing.

The three went meek, nodding slowly. John could only begin to think about the implications that had.  He had a million questions, a billion concerns, but for some reason, the only thing that came out of his mouth was:

“Did it look cool?”

Freddie started to lightly slap at John’s chest, holding back a screech. “You almost killed us and that’s your only worry!!! We’re in a bloody hospital room!”

Brian snorted, burying his face into his hands. Of course John would ask that. 

“You did! All eyes were on you!” Roger said, chuckling hard. 

Despite being almost beaten by Freddie, John was given the all clear to go home just a few hours after his arrival to the hospital. It was a run of the mill tonic-clonic seizure. Nothing to worry about. Just avoid a certain type of flashing light and he’d be good.

He was escorted home by the boys, who went over everything that happened during the car ride, wondering if it really was the lights, how they could fix it next time around, how they were going to refund the tickets and so on. Meanwhile, John napped on Roger’s shoulder, drooling a little bit. He knew the next few days would be hell with tabloids and management. He wanted to sneak in as much peace as he could before the storm. 

Sleepily, John mumbled, “Don’t you guys think it’s funny I had a seizure during Flash,”

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Brian said, absolutely not having anymore of this funny post seizure John. 

John giggled but let himself drift off. 

#macandlacy #john #epileptic!john

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Helloo could you rec me some fics that are canon and has sterek slow burn? Thank you 🙏

AND

Anonymous said:Hi! Do you know any fics where sterek takes things slow? Thanks :)

AND

Anonymous said:Hi good morning/afternoon/evening :) do you know any sterek fic recs similar to "baking my way into your heart" by theSilence? That kind of fluffy/slow burn/happy pack etc... Thank you :D

AND

Anonymous said:March 10th 2018, 4:52:20 am · 10 months agoheeyya! i'm looking for slow build fics that largely feature derek sneaking into stiles' room

Yeeeeeeesssssss. - Anastasia

Inertia by apocryphal

(1/1 I 21,608 I Mature)

The last thing Derek and Cora are expecting to find outside their motel room is a gaunt Stiles Stilinski, lacrosse bag on one shoulder and the weight of the world on the other.

Tore a Line in the Sun by stilinski

(1/1 I 44,929 I Teen)

 "If you're watching this, you're probably some kind of sentient life form responding to my distress call – well, it's not really an officialdistress call because, well, the hardware for that is kind of crushed, but I'm definitely in distress, so that should probably count for something."

 The young man on the screen sighs and rubs his face, jerking his hand away with a hiss. He's bleeding, Derek realises: there's a gash across his brow and the knuckles of both hands are bruised and bloody, and that's only what he can make out between the cracks in the glass and the frame of the camera.

Insemination and Other Indiscretions by melofttroll

(14/14 I 55,351 I Explicit)

And oh, was he charming. Especially the way he leaned in, and cupped Stiles’ cheek, and kissed him.

It wasn’t so charming when he never called, and the next thing Stiles heard was Derek engaged, traipsing about the Mediterranean.

What a dick. What an absolute ass. What a complete and total…

Sterek Jane the Virgin AU

Strut on a Line, its Discord and Rhyme by xiaq

(21/21 I 61,818 I Teen)

“Carry me,” Stiles says.

“No.”

“But I’m injured.”

“You have a rash,” Derek says. “On your arm. Your feet work just fine.”

“Please?”

“No. You weigh almost as much as I do. And you ate a pound of chicken at lunch.”

"Well, yeah, but I pooped like an hour ago, so.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t play, you love me.”

I do, Derek thinks, relatively horrified. I really do.

There's a Light on the Porch Here for Someone by freeyourheart

(15/15 I 62,843 I Explicit)

Derek Hale moved to Beacon Hills to be alone.He had finally found a place where he fit - a place that fit him.

But that was all too good to be true…

Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

(45/45 I 66,231 I Not Rated)

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself.

With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

The Silence Between by flourcrowned

(14/14 I 66,492 I Explicit)

When Stiles began volunteering at the Beacon Hills Crisis Center, all he hoped for was to help out kids (like him) that needed somewhere to turn. He didn't expect to find something that he needed in a stranger's voice on the other end of the line.

Don't Speak by fatale

(13/13 I 68,916 I Teen)

The Alpha pack has systematically attacked Stiles and his friends for months, testing their strengths and weaknesses. When one of the Alphas goes after Stiles, he awakens in the hospital and realizes that something's wrong. Very wrong. All sounds seem to hurt him, he can't understand what anyone is saying, and when he tries to speak, it's gibberish. How is he supposed to deal with the fact that he's lost the ability to communicate with his dad and his friends?

Without his ability to talk, his sarcasm, and his wit, what does Stiles even have left? Enter Derek, the only one who seems to make it better.

Seeing Wolves (Where There Are No Wolves) by MellytheHun

(16/16 I 71,305 I Explicit)

Or otherwise known as "Derek Goes to the Doctor," wherein Derek gets the therapy he so desperately needs and gets healthy. The clearer his head gets, the more room it seems to have for Stiles.

Windows by dr_girlfriend

(28/28 I 83,017 I Explicit)

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking.

Hallowed Grounds by damnfancyscotch

(16/16 I 109,758 I Mature)

Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college.

Well, except for the fact that he's a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica's epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there's this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him.

Oh, and the murders, of course.

But other than that stuff... totally the same old BH.

Home by TheTypewriterGirl

(18/18 I 167,178 I Teen)

January seventh. Seven days since the start of 2015, and seven days since his father’s death.

The bastard, he thinks bitterly. The past year Derek Hale had made it blatantly obvious that he hated his scrawny guts, taking every given opportunity to shove him up against a wall, growl threats in his ears and roll his eyes whenever he stepped into the room, muttering some snide comment about how spastic or idiotic he was.

So why did he fucking volunteer to take him in?

Teen Sorcerer by G8rguy

(26/26 I 168,331 I Not Rated)

Stiles Stilinski is tired. Tired of being ignored and forgotten once the research is done. After defeating Gerard and freeing Jackson from the Kanima he thought things would improve but somehow it got worse. Derek is focused on building his pack which includes the newly rescued Erica and Body, freed after Allison realized her grandfather was nutso, and the freed Jackson who narrowly avoided being shipped overseas by his parents. Scott is focused on his neverending relationship drama with Allison and his new best bud Isaac. Left alone more often than not, Stiles feels everyone is moving on without him so he looks for his own path.

When Deaton is unable to help him with his Spark he looks elsewhere and finds others who help him along until he finds himself meditating in his room and is surprised by an Astral form that shows up. Unknowing attracting the attention of the new Sorcerer Supreme, Stiles discovers that he might be able to not only help Dr. Strange, but he just might find out how he can protect both his home and those jerks in what he considers his pack - whether Mr. Hale or Mr. McCall consider him or not.

Baking My Way Into Your Heart by theSilence

(22/22 I 178,630 I Mature)

Derek is an uptight college student, all work and no play. His carefully scheduled life is thrown kilter when his regular barista is replaced with someone new.

Your Vision Borrows Mine by hazyascent

(18/18 I 179,353 I Explicit)

Stiles has encountered a fair share of monsters before, way out of his league - the kinds that children are afraid are hiding in their closets and under the bed.

He’d even become one himself when he was void. The nogitsune was in his house, his body, and his mind.

But the worst monster he’s ever faced took even more from him and got away with it.

It’s why Stiles has never really been as terrified of werewolves and kanimas and darachs as he should have been. They’re really not that scary, relatively speaking, and he has a whole team on his side. They always found a way to win - until they lost someone they really loved.

Stiles doesn’t know how to be normal, not after everything he’s done and everyone he’s hurt. The nogitsune is gone, but another monster is on its heels.

His uncle is back. And Stiles has never felt more alone.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #slow build #anon #Anonymous

[blkmxrvel]

Warrior

Pairing: Alex Danvers x Female!Reader

Words: 2,139

Request: Hey, can you do Alex Danvers x fem! Reader. Where reader hides the fact that she has to keep depending on prescription drugs because of her seizures. But she’s too embarrassed to tell Alex about it because she doesn’t want Alex to look at her differently and weak. When reader is a DEO agent like her.

Warnings: Talk of Seizures, Cursing

A/N: I don’t know everything about seizures and medicines that treat them, so I did have to do a little bit of research. I’ve only seen someone have a seizure once, and that was years ago when i was a kid, so I apologize if I get anything wrong.

It was a regular day in the DEO: train, trace, fight. Sounds simple, right?

Wrong.

Everything that could go wrong for you was currently going wrong. You had woken up an hour later, missed your run, and were so tired. It didn’t help the fact that you had training scheduled for you all day today.

Speaking of training, that wasn’t going that well either. You were training with Kara and you had no idea what was going on. You would get into position one second, and then next thing you know, Kara has you pinned against a wall with you tapping out.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Kara asked. She held out her hand to you, which you gladly took. “It’s like you’re not even trying? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine, Kar. I just had a bit of a bad start today, trying to work out the kinks.” You stretched out your limbs before running a hand through your hair.

Kara eyed you, it was obvious she didn’t believe a word you said, lying wasn’t your strong suit by any means. You just hope she didn’t press you any further.

She didn’t.

“Alright then. Why don’t we take a break? Go eat something, maybe take a nap and then get started on the shooting range.” You nodded you head a few times at that. You hope a nap would be what you needed.

You had gotten used to days like this. But that didn’t mean you were particularly fond of them. You’ve had epilepsy since you were a kid, and needed to take medication to keep it under control. It didn’t work for 100% of the time, but it was enough. And like any medicine, it has benefits and the awful side effects.

You had done a pretty sturdy job of keeping your condition under wraps. You had no idea what you would do if someone ever found out. You didn’t want to jeopardize your job at the DEO, you loved it here: saving lives and protecting the world.

All your life, it was a habit of hiding yourself, and since you had started dating Alex, you had become more skilled in that department. You weren’t ashamed of yourself, but you were ashamed of yourself. It was a work in progress, you’d just hoped that this nap would be enough to calm your brain down for a little bit.

Unfortunately, a few hours of unconsciousness didn’t help your case. You were on the shooting range, doing running practice targets. It was an easy task, run, point, shoot, but don’t stop running. You were doing pretty well, until you weren’t.

The bullets in your guns were just placebos thankfully, because you couldn’t stop seeing double. You kept shooting at what you thought was the real target, but you were just shooting the wall.

“Y/L/N! Take a break!” You sighed, before kicking the wall. Bad idea.

“Shit. Fuck that hurt.” You bounced around on your good foot before limping out of the range and into the locker room. You picked a bench to lay down on, before covering your eyes with your forearm.

You were slowly starting to fall back into a daze when a knock on the door brought you out of it. You lifted your head up quick before relaxing your head back on the bench when you saw who it was.

“Hey,” your girlfriend of 6 months came and sat down on the bench, placing your straight legs on top of her bent ones. “I heard you haven’t been doing well today?”

You groaned. “I didn’t know failure traveled so fast.” You covered your face with both of your hands, breathing in and out slowly. Anxiety would do nothing but make everything worse.

“Everyone has an off day, baby. It’s normal.”

“I know, I know. It’s just...” You sighed, but you didn’t finish your sentence.

“Just what?” Alex inquired, rubbing her hand over your knees soothingly.

“I’m a DEO agent, Alex. I can’t afford off days, I’m supposed to be strong like you and Kara and J’onn. This is annoying.” You sniffled, you wished that you could really say what was on your mind, but you didn’t want to handle that just yet.

“Don’t talk like that. Don’t compare yourself to anyone else but yourself. You think I don’t have off days?” Alex scoffed at herself. “I remember, It was my fourth month here, and we had to go on a mission to stop Kara’s evil Aunt. I had the kryptonite gun, and my nerves were so high that I accidentally shot Kara with the gun, instead of her aunt.”

You cringed at that. “Oh my God, you didn’t do that. Please tell me you didn’t do that.”

“Yep,” Alex chuckled awkwardly. “I did it, put Kara down for about a week, but it happened.”  You laughed along with her before sitting up and and rubbing your eyes. When you were done, you found Alex staring at you with the most concerned look on her face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You would tell me if you weren’t right?”

“Yes, babe. I would.” You hoped you didn’t give off any tells, because that was a lie. You leaned a bit forward, grasping Alex’s face in your hands. “Everything is fine, just a bad day.” You squished Alex’s cheeks before pressing your lips to hers for a few seconds.

“Okay, just don’t compare yourself, baby. You’re perfect exactly the way your are.” She placed her hands on your wrists, kissing your nose.

You nodded. “I’ll love you too, so I’ll try.”

That wasn’t a lie. After that moment, you didn’t have any off days. It had been nearly two months, and thankfully your side effects only came out when you were alone. You had been working to tell Alex, but every time you went to confess, the words would get caught in your throat. You weren’t sure it was worth the wave of guilt that washed over you, but you were dealing with it.

It was pretty cold today, and you were lucky enough to have a girlfriend to keep you warm in your apartment. You were laying on Alex, your head on her chest with your arms wrapped around your waist. You hadn’t gotten much sleep in a few days, so you decided a date night with Alex would be the perfect way to catch up on a few z’s.

You slowly started to fade into consciousness and smiled when you came to realize that Alex had a tight hold around your body. You yawned before laying back down on her chest and looking at the time. 12:36.

Your eyes widened. No, no, no. You had to take your medication at the same time each day 10:15. If you didn’t, just missing one dose could cause you to have an immediate seizure.

“Fuck!” Your heart started racing immediately. You tried to calm yourself down and pry yourself out of Alex’s arms. It took some work, but you managed to rush into the bathroom hopefully undetected. You slammed the door shut, locking it quick before reaching for the medicine cabinet. But like everything that day, your arm decided to go against you, twitching and knocking the bottles of pills off the shelf.

“Babe?” You heard Alex’s voice cry out. You cursed under your breath, your heart beginning to race even more now. This shouldn’t be happening, especially not with Alex here. This was the whole situation you were trying to avoid. You got on the floor to find the right bottle, even though you knew, this was something you couldn’t stop.

You chest became more tight and your desire to breathe increased, you gasped for air. Panic attack and a seizure, the universe was really testing you today.

Raps on the door startled you, but made you take a gasp of fresh air.

“Y/N! Open the door.” Alex rattled the knob over and over. “Please, what’s the going on.” You ignored her, finding your medicine and getting a pill and swallowing it with water from the sink.

Your balance started to get away from her, and the room started to spin. You couldn’t keep doing this. Hiding from Alex, being ashamed of yourself, it all had to stop. You held onto the sink, making your way over to the door where Alex continued to knock frantically. You managed to unlock the door and open it for Alex.

She stormed in, taking in everything on the floor before settling on your wavering figure.

“What..”

Your head twitched and your vision began to get blurry.

“Seizure.” Was all you managed to get out before falling on the floor and losing all consciousness.

You regain consciousness, coughing and squeezing your eyes tight. You feel what you assume to be Alex, wiping around your mouth with a towel, before slowly lifting you up. She’s trained with these things, so she knows what some people go through after seizure. She wipes the sweat off your forehead and rubs your back and gives you a few minutes to recompose. The seizure didn’t last longer than normal, only about 2 minutes.

“Hey,” Alex smiled at you. Your eyes were still closed, so you couldn’t see, but her eyes were puffy and red with tears. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Y/- Y/.. Y/N.” You recognized the voice, and that helped you calm down a little bit more.

“Good. You know who I am?” You only nodded your head at that, which Alex accepted.

“Okay, do you think you’re okay enough to let me move you to the bed?” Another nod. Alex lifted you up slowly, carefully, like a baby, before taking her time and walking back into your room. You fell limped on the bed, all the energy taken out of you. Alex rolled you back on your side (just in case) before sitting on the bed next to you. You were only able to register indistinct murmurs before your body became heavier and you drifted off into another sleep.

When you woke up, you immediately regretted opening your eyes. You groaned, slowly bring up your hand to your forehead.

“You’re up.” A voice you again recognized as your girlfriend’s startled you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She walked over to the side of the bed you slept on, before placing a glass of water and two tylenol on your Nightstand. “These were the only kind of aspirin you had, so I figured these would be safe.”

You nodded lightly, before sitting up carefully and taking the medicine. “Thank you.” You whispered before laying down on your back and closing your eyes once again.

“Anything for you, baby.” Alex responded, getting under the covers and laying next to you, in the same position. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You two sat in silence, awkward, painful, expectant silence, before you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I shouldn’t have kept this from you. It was very stupid. I just didn’t want you to look at me differently you know? I was embarrassed, still am. It’s quite pathetic.” A bitter chuckled left your mouth, a tear falling from your eye. “I know you said that everyone has their off days, but every day is an off day for me. I’ve had seizures since I was a kid, I got into a car accident, injured a part of my brain. I’ve had seizures ever since then. I know I shouldn’t be ashamed of it, but I just didn’t want you to look at me differently, to treat me differently. All my life people have given pity and treated me like I’m this fragile little thing when I’m not. I’m a fucking DEO agent for crying out loud. I just wanted to leave everything behind.” You finished your montage with a sigh.

“You know,” Alex started.““ I“do look at you differently.” Your heart sunk. “You’re more of a warrior than I realized, babe. You’ve got literal guts. You train day in, day out, devote yourself to helping other people, while you’re battling something everyday.” Alex turned on her side, propping her head on her hand, and grabbed yours. “You’re not just my little, cute, adorable, badass girlfriend, baby. You’re my little, cute, adorable, badass warrior, girlfriend. I like that better.” You laughed, your eyes still closed and body still aching.

“I love you, I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I get why you did it. Just know, that nothing will be able to make me love you less. Everything little thing I learn about you will only make me love you more.”

“Yeah?” You smiled a blind slime, making Alex tilt her head and look at you like you were her everything.

“Definitely.”

#supergirl x reader #supergirl wlw #supergirl imagine #supergirl #alex danver #alex danvers x reader #female reader #x female reader #alex danvers x female reader #wlw #iconicwlw #wlw imagine #gxg

[interruptingghost]

So I've been having some major speech issues (i.e. slurring, difficulty making my jaw move around sounds, skipping sounds, suspected dysarthria, a heavy feeling in my mouth when talking, very little motpr control in gen., can't understand or use language correctly at times, diffuculty interpreting even my mother language, can't spell/forget what phonics are, lotsa stuttering, dyslexia, and some other shit) and I've been really self-conscious about it for a long time and saying that I should find a speech therapist or a doctor for it.

I couldn't figure out why I had it and also why it seemed to be accelerating so much and so fast and I started obsessively looking at my family history and freaking out bc epilepsy and pediatric stroke is so common with us, and having passed out from vision issues twice already, I thought that I was developing something like that. (Another thought was that it was how severe my overbite is. I mean my jaw is pushed back and up like half an inch and it's really uncormfortable, even at rest. It makes my ears pop a lot from the pressure on them and is awful in general.)

Turns out (and I'm fucking scream-laughing at how hard I was freaking out over this before now) that it wasn't something so extreme at all. I wasn't developing some extreme brain disorder like my aunt's and I didn't need immediate surgery. There wasn't anything super wrong. It was aphasia.

Apparently mild to severe cases of aphasia and other speech/language disorders are actually very common in people with ADHD and/or autism. There is nothing to freak out about. It's legit normal for these things to develop.

I'm laughing so gotdam hard y'all I was having panic attacks over this for literal years and it was FOR NOTHING!!! An extra-special bonus prize deal from my favorite buddy ADHD. Fuck.

Got fucking damnit y'all...

#actually adhd #adhd #aphasia #dyslexia #cognitive disorder #cognitive disability #learning disorder #learning disability #i mean im glad i figured this shit out but damn #what a dissapointing climax #completely disproportionate to the buildup #jeez #sorry #actuallypsychotic #god jesus ficking christ on a buttery ritz cracker #hooray for being not *as* fucked up as i thought!!!! #*blows party kazoo*