#POTS post concussion

[concussionspot]

Why is it taking so long to recover from my concussion? You might have POTS.

Post-concussion Pots is a challenging combination of conditions that can significantly impact a person’s life. Awareness, early diagnosis, and appropriate management are vital for improving outcomes and enhancing the overall well-being of those affected.

[aloysiavirgata]

Will you write me a post-Fight Club fic? They’re bruised and beat up and I want to read about it.

Kersh had said Sweet fancy Moses when he saw their injuries and ordered them either home or desk bound until such time as they would not terrify small children with their countenances.

***

Scully slouched against the wall with an ice pack on her face. She did not want to be here, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else either. People stared and she hated it more than she hated paperwork. She had practically worn a groove in her apartment floor from caged pacing.

Mulder was using a tape dispenser to grind Excedrin tablets into a powder. He rubbed it on the insides of his swollen lips like cocaine.

“Ow,” he observed. He didn’t get the fun medications until he went home, which he didn’t wish to do because it was boring. He carried his injuries with a certain swagger.

“I thought Mr. Saperstein was going to show you some in-your-face, smack-down moves so you could quit getting your ass kicked so often,” Scully said.

Mulder scowled at her. He grabbed a pad of paper from the desk and wrote YOU’RE LOOKING PRETTY ROUGH YOURSELF XENA. He tapped at it until she looked up.

“The Lorax is coming for you, Mulder,” she warned.

He was finding it difficult to talk clearly with a wired jaw but, because he found it impossible to refrain from making smart remarks, he was on his third legal pad.

WELL EXCUSE ME BUT I WASN’T EXPECTING TO HAVE TO EITHER TAKE A CANE TO THE JAW OR PUNCH AN OLD LADY

He added a frowny face and several exclamation points to emphasize the complexity of the situation.

Scully examined her reflection in the back of a spoon. Either Lulu or Betty - Scully couldn’t remember which thanks to the concussion - had launched herself off the ropes and onto Scully. She had led with her forehead.

“Burt Zupanic,” she mused, readjusting the ice. “Of all the men to fight over.”

SWEET-ASS PERM, Mulder noted, unhelpfully.

She laughed, which hurt. Most things hurt at present, her pride included. She’d already had three cups of coffee this morning, but after surviving all her various maimings, Scully was confident her organs could handle it. She emptied the pot into her Stanford mug.

Mulder tapped her arm. HEY I AM ORDERING SOME CLAM CHOWDER FOR LUNCH. DO YOU WANT ANYTHING?

“Clam chowder through a straw, ugh, Mulder. Besides, you’re not supposed to have anything with chunks in it.”

THEY ARE BLENDING IT UP FOR ME. MILKSHAKE OF THE SEA.

She gagged a little. “That’s vile.”

PROBABLY. IF THEY MAKE ANOTHER MOVIE ABOUT US I THINK WE SHOULD NOT MENTION THIS PARTICULAR INCIDENT.

As though he actual movie had been so much better. She cringed every time she thought about it. At least the COPS episode conveyed her reluctance and irritation. “Pinky swear.”

He held his own finger out and she hooked hers around it.

THE PACT IS SEALED

“Hey Mulder?”

���Hmmm?”

“Do you want to get the hell out of here, go take some of the really good painkillers, curl up in my bed in our underwear, and watch bad Lifetime movies until we pass out? I don’t have chowder but there’s leftover tomato bisque with your name on it.”

FUCK THE CHOWDER LET’S ROLL

They were out the door before the ink dried.

[fuck-customers]

worked in a kitchen space prepping simple lunches for summer camp kids one year.

asked my supervisor if I could sit on a stool while I bagged a huge amount of tiny celery sticks, something that was stated I was allowed in my accommodations when I applied, and she was aware of this (I have POTS, can't stand up in one place for long periods of time or else I get faint)

she said no, I was a kid and didn't have the courage to fight back on it.

bam 20 minutes later I pass out with no warning, hitting my head on a metal table as I go down, then on the tile floor.

supervisor apparently just stood there and watched while my coworker called an ambulance, I was out cold on the floor for a good few minutes and woke up to paramedics

landed in the ER with a concussion and a few stitches, didn't tell anyone my supervisor refused to give me a stool cause I was scared

convinced my parents to let me quit the next day because fuck that woman, I should've sued her

Posted by admin Rodney

[read-write-thrive]

there are all of 6 fics on ao3 that come up when you search the word “disabled” in the dead boy detectives fandom. I’m dealing with a fibromyalgia flare up rn so I’ve decided to come up with some (potential!) disability/condition/syndrome/etc. headcanons. enjoy!

(oh and just to note: I stayed away from conditions with obvious facial / appearance difference as no actors with facial / appearance difference were cast in the show and I was unsure if it would be appropriate. while I have experience with a lot of the following diagnoses, I do not claim to be an expert on any of them and do not intend for this to be used as a diagnostic tool. if you feel any of these are offensive/inappropriate, please message me and I’m happy to talk about it :) this is more just to encourage broader disability representation within the fandom!)

Edwin: autistic, PTSD (from hell), chronic pain/fibromyalgia (from his death/hell), minor visual impairment (not enough to need the hard-to-come-by testing needed for glasses when he was alive and so assumed the various limits/effects were normal. was told otherwise by Niko), would’ve had shingles if lived long enough

Charles: ADHD, PTSD (from his father/growing up in an abusive household), dyslexia, Reynaud’s syndrome (either already born with it or as a result of his death—both angsty), was in the beginning stages of an ED prior to his death, post-concussion syndrome, near-sightedness (never given glasses bc he wasn’t about to tell his dad the board looked a little blurry sometimes)

Crystal: cPTSD (reminder that neglect is also abuse :), bipolar 1, IBS, endometriosis

Niko: autism, depression, POTS, hEDS, anxiety, sprite-induced agoraphobia, epilepsy, lactose intolerance

Monty: Depersonalization-derealization disorder, selective amnesia (this is not the first times Esther has messed with his form/killed and revived him, but the experience is traumatic and so his brain decides not to remember it), recurrent arrhythmia, synesthesia

Jenny: OCD, BPD, ED recovered, Celiac’s disease, diabetes type 1, anemia

TCK: autism, NPD, lactose intolerance, colourblind

Esther: chronic pain (I’m choosing to believe that the cane isn’t just for show!!), NPD, endometriosis

Tragic Mick: cPTSD, depression, HoH, arthritis, diabetes

(The Night Nurse , the Dandelion Sprites, and various other characters felt either too supernatural and/or not developed enough to assign anything to lmao)

[formosusiniquis]

the bells, the joy (together in darkness)

Robin Buckley & Steve Harringto WC: 11963 | T | Tags/Themes: hivemind, Post S3, Scoops Troop Friendship, Nonbinary Steve and Robin, Blink and you miss it Steddie and Buckingham pre-slash AKA It's the Stobin Hivemind fic y'all! thank you very very very much to @spectrum-spectre for beta-ing this for me!!

Steve has never done LSD before. Which is the kind of statement his father would call ‘qualifying’ and ‘implies other kinds of wrongdoing, Stephan.’ Like the time he’d said he hadn’t smoked anything other than cigarettes that weekend. Apparently the ‘that weekend’ was a qualifier that got his very small pot stash flushed, and forced him into a second transaction with Eddie Munson in as many weeks.

Yeah okay maybe there were worse things, as far as punishments go.

Qualifying or not though, Steve has never done LSD. Not after the weekend he spent reading the supposedly true diary of a supposedly real teen that had been left on his bed. Like mother, like son, his father had sneered when he'd caught Steve curled up with it, like the whole plan to keep him from becoming pot-addled and destined for the gutter, or whatever, hadn’t relied on his gossipy nature.

It was mostly stupid, the book, but Steve figured it didn’t hurt to stick to weed. The stuff about that he knew for sure was totally fake.

Except now, he wishes he maybe knew a little bit more about what LSD was supposed to feel like. So he knows how to portion out blame for his current state. It’s currently 50% Upside-Down-Shit and 40% Russian-LSD-Shit and 10% Concussion-Shit, but if he’s being fair he’s blamed the Upside Down for about half of everything that’s gone wrong in his life since 1983. He’s willing to acknowledge that maybe the blame breakdown should be readjusted for this one.

“Hey Robin?” Trauma changes people, makes you want to stay close to the people who are changed the same way you are. Robin had shown up at Steve’s house the Monday after everything, trumpet case and duffle bag in hand. Apparently, she had walked from the school where she was supposed to be catching the bus to Band Camp, like she does every year. Apparently, when you undergo traumas heretofore unexperienced by any teen ever, Russian torture and flesh monsters, it’s okay to skip Summer Intensive to move in with your new best friend without telling your parents. Apparently, if you’re the kid that the Band Person, Director, wants to keep happy because in addition to the billion and seven languages you can play any instrument with a mouthpiece -- except trombone, slide positions, Steve had pretended he knew what that meant -- then you can just leave school to deal with your ‘mall fire smoke inhalation’ at your ‘aunt’s house’ instead. Apparently this is fine and Steve doesn’t need to worry about any angry former hippies beating down his dore because ‘what they don’t know won’t hurt them.’

So he can call out for Robin, without raising his voice because he knows she’s there. Somewhere in the house, the weight of it changed now that someone else is in it with him. He can call out even though he’s pretty sure she’s holed up in his Mom’s library on the ground floor, because he can feel her in the back of his brain and he knows she’ll hear him.

Drifting in an unfocused middle distance, he can imagine Robin. Curled up, she knows she’s been called for but isn’t in any hurry to comply, Steve will wait. He's fine with waiting, at least for the five minutes it will take for her to finish her chapter. He can see her, slotting her bookmark in place and sitting up straight for the first time in hours. She stretches, uncurls from the window seat that Steve also favors, gently sets the book down before letting a foot dangle and brush the floor to actually stand. And she leaves the library. She starts to feel closer, her presence looming stronger in his brain and Steve aware of himself in his own body. Then he hears her feet on the stairs.

“What is it, Dingus, did you know your Mom has a whole collection of French books? I’m in the middle of a bunch of lesbian short stories.”

“Yeah, she speaks it, not sure why.” He answers absently, “Have you ever done LSD?”

“I’ve had half a pot brownie and gotten way too high before.”

That’s not really the same thing, Steve thinks.

“I know it’s not really the same thing, Dingus, I was using it as a framework.” She flops facedown on the bed beside him, wiggling into what he’s started thinking of as her side. A lucky coincidence that she prefers to be tucked in on the side closest to the wall. Probably because she’s never seen anything burst out of one.

“Okay don’t think that, cause now I’m never going to be able to sleep again, I don’t think you’ve got enough space for us to pull your bed into the center of your room.”

He can see the way she imagines it. His bed, an island in the center of the room floating in a sea of plaid. Something about it is even more unnerving than if it stayed up against the wall.

“Not a good look.” He doubts anything will come from the walls again anyway, the Upside Down has proven to be surprisingly adaptive; it doesn't seem to attack in the same way twice. It makes it harder to be prepared, but he’s less worried about not being able to protect Robin in the middle of the night.

“Savior complex. Your mom has psychology books down there too. What does she even do?”

“Reads mostly. Do you think there’s anything down there about LSD?” He doesn’t think this is normal.

“Nice leap, Steve, I don’t think there are many drugs that link your brain with your coworker.” She says coworker, but he feels friend. Even that concept isn’t enough to describe the depth of warmth and affection that he feels wash over him as she thinks.

He lets the silence hang for a second, thinking but not sure what yet. His thoughts are slower to arrive and more jumbled in these early days post-concussion. His right hand curls, his fingers flex. First and third finger tap, then one and two, then none, one and two, and two, and none.

Robin’s knee jostles the bed as her leg bounces just a little.

“I think something else happened to us.”

“Wondered how long I’d have to tap your fingers for you before you got there with me.”

Read the rest on AO3

[verybadatwriting]

The Winged One

Summary: Bucky falls off the train, but HYDRA doesn't catch him. Someone else does.

Warnings: a fall from a great height, descriptions of fever/sickness/infection,

Notes: Uhhh. I guess you get two fics in one day after me not posting in months. I'm open to doing a part 2, if anybody wants that. Reader is a person, but with wings. (They're an Inhuman, which are kinda like the Mutants) Part 2 is out now! :D

Gn!reader

Word Count: 2,765

A train passed by somewhere far overhead. It almost didn’t warrant note, since it happened fairly often. The white of your wings concealed you perfectly in the snowy landscape. You continued walking when all of a sudden you heard an impact somewhere off to your left. Interested, you picked your way through the low shrubbery in that direction.

There, lying on the cold ground, was a man. His whole left arm was all crushed, and he wasn’t conscious. You knelt next to him, and was surprised to discover that his heart was still beating. Unslinging your bag from your shoulder, you tore off the strap and fastened it into a tourniquet around the small bit of arm left. You straightened up as you finished, and started to figure out what to do with him. 

One fear you had was that he could be a Snake Worshiper. Those foul men had been stinking up the area; forcing train tracks into the landscape, scaring off the animals, and crafting forts and encampments into the woods you once hunted in. 

While thinking, you triaged the man. If you decided to help him, you’d need to know what you’re getting yourself into. His left arm was mostly gone, and the rest of his body was littered with bumps and scrapes. There was a fracture in his collarbone, and one particular bruise on his forehead had you worried that he may have a concussion. 

Then his eyes opened.

“Who are,” He began, but the pain hit him and he gasped. You’d been around the surrounding military bases enough to hear the ways the Snake Worshipers talked, and this was not it. They spoke with harsher consonants and longer words. 

“I am here to assist you.” You said, wishing that you had paid closer attention to this language’s flow. You had some key part of the rhythm off, and it seemed to take the man a few seconds to figure out what you meant. Once he comprehended that you weren’t going to hurt him, he seemed to relax, just a little bit.

Snow began to fall again, and you knew time was ticking. If you were going to save this guy, you would have to do something now. You pulled his remaining arm around your shoulders, and began to walk, half dragging him along. He tried his darndest to help, but it still wasn’t easy going. 

A few paces away from your hovel in the side of a hill, he completely gave out and he tumbled to the ground. The snow was really falling now as you grabbed him and dragged with all your might. You opened the door, dragged him inside, and shut it behind you. After you got a fire going, you rolled him near it, and collapsed into bed. You’d deal with him tomorrow. 

It was not long after sunrise when you awoke. You went just outside the door and dug a pot of soup out from under the thick layer of snow. It was fully frozen, so you smashed off two sizable chunks. You left the rest of it in the pot outside, and brought the chunks in with you to melt over the fire.

At some point you became aware that the man was conscious and observing you. You continued on as normal, and dished out the now-hot soup into two bowls. Turning, you set them on the floor between the two of you, and passed him a spoon. 

But when he tried to sit up, he found that his left arm failed to push off from the ground. He glanced down and dropped the spoon. Horror spread across his face as he stared at the empty spot where his arm used to be. His eyes turned to you.

“The fall.” You tried to explain using the man’s language,“Falling.”

“Oh.” He said. He adjusted, and managed to lean against the bed next to him. Looking around, he took in the room for the first time. 

The walls were made of dirt, the bed had a thick quilt, and he was lying on one as well. There was a shoddily made wicker chair in one corner, and a heavy door with a mat rolled up against the cracks to keep the cold from seeping in. Nothing was level or smooth. It was like it had been made by a very inexperienced craftsman. The room was dark, but would have been pitchblack if not for the roaring fire. The room was small enough that one hearth was enough to warm the whole place.

He then looked at you, and you stared back. You were an unkempt, wild looking teen with two giant wings, eating soup out of a homemade bowl and beckoning for him to do the same. He picked up his spoon and began to eat. He found he was insanely hungry, and devoured it.

Seeing that he’d finished his serving, you took his dish and rose to grab him another from the pot out in the snow.

“Wait,” He said, “Kid, where are you going?” But you didn’t understand his words, so you continued on and opened the door. A cold wall of air flooded the room as you left. The man shivered and pulled the blanket closer around him. 

When you came back inside carrying a pot, and set it on the fire, he seemed to understand. After he’d eaten his fill, the pot was empty. It was meant to last you a few more days, but that didn’t really matter. One less man was dead. On that note, you needed to figure out who this guy was.

“I am,” You said, pointing to yourself, “Y/n.”

The man paused for a second, then pointed at you and repeated your name. You nodded. Then he motioned to himself.

“Bucky.”

The next morning, he was well enough to walk, and so he followed you all around and helped with the basic chores of your days. Foraging, checking traps, repairing old things, really anything that was needed. 

After a day or two of trying to figure each other's language out, Bucky seemed to pick the basics of yours and vice versa. When you added this to a little bit of the Snake Worshiper’s language – Which Bucky told you was German – you’d created a strange mash of language. 

As you showed him how to make a hare trap, he inquired about the elephant in the room.

“How did you get those wings?” He asked, “Were you born with them or…?”

“Oh.” You inhaled, “I don’t really remember the story that goes along with them, nor do I like to remember it. All I know is I was born a normal person, then touched a strange rock and was cocooned in it for hours, and when I emerged I had these.

“My mother was concerned, so she brought me to the town’s cleric, who decided it was best if I was left in the woods for nature to reclaim, since I was obviously cursed. My mother didn’t much like that idea, but she had to go along with it. She sent me out here with the barebones supplies I’d need to survive.”

“I’m so sorry.” Bucky said, “How have you been out here alone?”

“Five winters, give or take.” You replied, “What about you? How did you come to fall from a Snake Worshiper’s train into this valley?”

“Steve – he's the friend I told you about –  Gabe Jones, and I were trying to stop some mad scientist who was on the train. It didn’t go too well.”

“I know.”

“I've been meaning to ask you,” He said, “Do you think it's possible that you could help me get back to my camp?”

“Maybe…” You said, “Let's finish this trap and then I'll show you something.”

“Here it is.” You said, opening a small box you kept on the least crooked shelf. You pulled out an old, faded piece of paper. It was rough around the edges. 

“I’ve been mapping out the actions of any newcomers to the area,” You said, pointing to specific parts of the paper, “Here is where I think your camp is. This thick line is the train tracks. And over in this dark splotch is a Snake Worshiper base.”

“Snake Worshiper… the ones that speak German?” Bucky asked. You nodded. 

“Okay. Where are we on here?” Bucky asked.

“Well…” You sighed, “That's the problem. We're all the way over here.” You poked a spot worryingly close to the Snake Worshiper's base. “And your people's camp is all the way over yonder. It's as far as I've mapped, since I don't have much paper.”

“How long did it take you to map all this?” Bucky asked. 

“It only took me a day's journey to get from home to the – what did you call them? Allies? – base. Sadly for you, I was flying. On foot, that would take close to three days.”

“Should we start preparing for the trip?”

“Of course.”

Hunting, fishing, gathering, even some sewing, was required to prepare. The work went by faster when you had a helping hand, and it gave Bucky a chance to learn how to navigate life with only a single arm.

Everything was almost ready, and you could probably leave in a day or two, but that evening, as you were unwrapping the area where his arm used to be, you noticed it looked strange and had an unpleasant smell.

“Well…” You said, after cleaning the wound, “I think it’s infected. I know some herbs that could help, but it’s a bad one.”

“It was normal this morning.” Bucky said in awe.

“That just means it’s moving fast.”

“How bad is it?”

“I don’t think you’ll survive unless your people have some way of fixing this.” 

“Oh.”

“Our objective doesn’t change, just the degree of urgency.” You said, “We’ve still got to get you back as soon as possible. If it gets worse on the trip, we just have to push through it.”

The next morning, you two were out the door as the sun rose. You had enough food and water to last for the trip, and a sack of herbs that could lessen the infection’s power. He took one dose in the morning. 

That first day of travel was brutal, but not the worst. Occasionally, you’d fly ahead to ensure your navigation was correct. Aside from that, you two walked side by side and talked. It was mostly you asking about his people and his base.

“What’s the food like?”

“It’s not great out here,” He said, “But that’s just because of the war.”

“So there was a time before?”

“Of course!” His face lit up a little as he remembered, and started rambling. “We’d have things like fresh bread, pies, chicken, and meatloaf. Sometimes, as a treat, we’d have pancakes for breakfast. Those were the best days…”

The conversation went on, but over the course of the day his energy decreased and his words became jumbled. His pace slowed, and by the time the sun started to dip beneath the trees, he was barely trudging along. 

As you set up a fire, Bucky was trying to string two hammocks between trees. Eventually, you just told him to sit by the fire and hung them by yourself. You cooked, and then shared a meal with him. He was crashing, fast. To try and combat it, you gave him tea brewed from the herbs, and told him to sleep.

The next morning you packed up the camp, all besides Bucky and his hammock. When you went to wake him he woke up and started incoherently murmuring. He was burning up, sweating, and shivering– definitely in no condition to complete the journey. But you knew if he didn’t make it to his people’s base he wouldn’t make it anywhere.

You wouldn't help him survive this long just to die of an infection in the icy forest. He didn’t survive the fall just for a few days of misery. He didn’t walk a whole day for this. He didn’t learn a whole new language for this. He couldn’t die today.  

So you came up with a plan. After gathering some thin but sturdy strips of wood, you tied them together with strips of your hammock. With a lot of work, you managed to fashion a sort of sled. It had ropes at the front you could pull it from, and a spot for Bucky to lie on top of the bags. 

Carefully, you maneuvered the sled underneath his hammock, and loosened the ropes securing him. He slid down and landed right where he was meant to. He awoke slightly, and looked very confused.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You said, “We’re gonna get you home.”

He seemed to calm down after that. You looped the strap across yourself, and started to pull Bucky across the snow-covered landscape. You swept across the snow, and you barely stopped around noon for a swig of water, to get a bite to eat, and to check on Bucky. He was disoriented, so it took a bit of convincing to get him to drink a few sips of water.

It wasn’t horrible, that first day pulling the sled. Once the sun started to set, you contemplated stopping and sleeping. The pitch darkness surrounded you, so you lit a torch. Shadows flickered at the edges of the light, sometimes looking like a pair of eyes. You wedged the torch into a crack in the ground, to keep it upright while you slept.

You sat Bucky up, and gave him some more water. You wrapped him in as many blankets as you had, then sat at his feet on the edge of the sled. It was deathly cold, but you’d been through this before. During the first few nights after the Cleric had cast you out, you’d figured out that you could tuck your knees to your chest and shield yourself from the cold with your wings.

About halfway through the night you were awoken by a gagging sound. Turns out, Bucky’s infection had gotten worse, his fever raged on, and he was now heaving up the few sips of water he’d had. You sat him up and turned him so he would throw up into the snow, and not choke.

After you were reasonably sure he was done, you decided to continue onwards, despite the night. You grabbed the now long extinguished torch and pushed off the ground into the sky to see if you recognized anything. 

Far ahead, there was a river. If you moved fast, you could probably reach it by dawn. Then you could stop for a bit, refill water and such. You enjoyed the air swirling around you, making you feel weightless. But you knew you had to descend sooner or later. You dipped your wings, and glided downwards. To combat the forward motion, you angled them to swoop in a slow spiral.

Landing softly, you checked on Bucky once again. His arm was much worse. You cleaned it, applied more herbs, and wrapped it back up. It looked quite painful, and you could only hope that he couldn’t feel it through his feverish sleep. 

All day was spent sprinting through the forest. Night fell, and you could tell you were drawing close to the Allied base. The shrubs were growing sparse, and the smells of humanity wafted through the air. Right when the camp was in view, you stopped. Shrouded in darkness and trees, you unhooked yourself from the sled. 

Taking one loop of Bucky’s hammock in each hand, you rose steeply into the air. From above, the camp seemed like a maze of tents. You searched for a symbol of a red ‘x’ on its side, which Bucky had told you was the doctor’s emblem. After spying a tent bearing the sign, you awkwardly descended to the ground. 

You untangled Bucky from the hammock, and balled it up. He hadn’t gained consciousness all day. His only hope was the doctors here.

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you knelt next to him.

“Goodbye.” You whispered, “Thank you for being my friend.” You took a large stick and banged it against the metal pole of the tent to draw attention to him before you flew away. As you soared into the woods, you glanced back. People streamed over, and you could barely see them taking Bucky into the tent.

After bringing the sled deeper into the woods, you set off for home.

Part 2

[coulsonlives]

Real talk for a moment. Today I was looking on youtube, and I came across a video that was hm... highly sus.

In this video, a doctor claimed that he could treat very specific airway problems with something called "prolotherapy". And immediately, red flags went up because I was like, no... those specific airway problems happen because of nasal, jaw, or soft tissue structure issues. That's not something an injectable substance can cure.

Then I saw the rest of their channel and my jaw dropped.

In these 3 screenshots alone, here's a list of everything this quack claims to cure with "prolotherapy":

Cervical instability

Knee instability

Elbow instability

Knee injuries

Osteoarthritis

Being wheelchair bound

Big toe/bunion pain

Upper airway resistance syndrome

Vagus nerve degeneration

Lower back pain

POTS

Snapping scapula syndrome

Pes anserine bursitis

Thoracolumbar syndrome

Trigeminal neuralgia

Achilles tendon pain

Post-concussion syndrome

Seizures

"Atlas misalignment" (chiro stuff)

Wrist instability

Carpal tunnel

Scoliosis

If you're familiar with at least a few of these things, you'd know it's way more complicated than injecting some miracle cure into those areas. He also centers a lot of his videos around "cervical instability", which he attributes to causing all sorts of stuff:

Visual snow

Migraine

Itchy arms

White matter lesions

Dissociative episodes

Seizure disorders including absence seizures

POTS

MCAS

(Etc)

And he also uses terms that, if you google them, show up exclusively on his own website and nowhere else. One of the terms was cervical "dysstructure".

So um. Friendly reminder not to get sucked in by charlatans like this who claims to have a cure for a stupid amount of unrelated illnesses. You're just gonna get bilked out of your money, and you might even end up worse than before. These people prey on your desperation, and they're really good at it. Someone documented their experience with this "doctor" here. Reddit and other sites are full of negative reviews about him. Many people call him a scammer.

Don't let these quacks win. Do your research and take a breath before throwing money at them.

[taleeater]

Masterlist

2003 TMNT

All

Leonardo

Raphael

Bayverse TMNT

All

Fragile

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 (End)

Leonardo

Raphael

Donatello

[geddy-leesbian]

romantic Serrennedy weed smoking scene because I don't want to wait until the stuff that happens before it is done to post it (think the necessary context is just that they're in a fancy hotel and fucked a lot the night before because they'll be apart a while for Luis's tour)

(basically just sweet fluff, but there's one paragraph where Luis talks about a bar fight he got into years before. but it's not angsty at all, he's laughing and bragging)

Baths are one of Leon's guilty pleasures. Leon wasn't one to appreciate life's finer things, so much of the hotel's luxuries were lost on him. But the bathroom? That he very much did appreciate. He was looking forward to the biggest bathtub he'd ever seen. Square, fancy jets, right by a huge window overlooking the city.

Leon soaks, Luis perches on the edge of the tub, bouncing his leg.

“You look like you want to ask something.”

“Would you mind if I smoked in here? Not cigarettes. Pot,” Well then. Leon figured he was going to ask if he could get in the tub with Leon, there's enough room. Pot is a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. It's been a while, but from what he remembers, pot makes Leon all sappy and romantic. “I know you don't like cigarettes.”

“Get in the tub with me,” Leon answers. “And share.”

“Deal.”

Luis leaves for a minute and then comes back with a joint he hands to Leon while he undresses. Leon would have liked to watch him undress (even though he knows what Luis looks like under the clothes, there's still something exciting about the process) but instead he takes a hit and coughs until Luis is already sliding in the tub next to him. He’s kind of embarrassed to be hacking up a lung. He has done this before, really, it's just been a while.

“This is nice,” Luis says, stretching out his legs and taking puffs that don't make him cough like Leon. “I've never been much of a bath person, but I've never been in a bathtub long enough for my legs.”

Leon is a lightweight and starts getting a buzz long before Luis, and slides to the other end of the tub. Luis looks a bit hurt.

“Just wanna look at you,” Leon explains. “You're pretty. I don't tell you that very much. You tell me I'm pretty all the time, I don't say it back. Not sure why, you are. Get why that girl threw her bra at you. Would've done the same thing if I had one. You looked so good up there. And sounded. Fucked up. Fucked up that someone's just allowed to look that hot. You shouldn't be allowed on the streets.”

Luis doesn't say anything, but smiles, very amused by the weed turning Leon into such a chatterbox.

“Perfectly imperfect,” Leon is still going, now staring at the scar on Luis's cheek. “I like the scar on your cheek. I wouldn't like your face as much if you didn't have it. You'd be too perfect, you need a flaw to balance it. How'd you get it? Sorry. That's rude to ask. I'm high.”

“Yeah, I can tell you are. It's okay. I really don't mind talking about it, I won the fight, it's a good story. I would have told you the story sooner if I knew you liked the scar. I've told you how people picked fights with my band. I got this the first time it happened. There was a girl flirting with me, I flirted back. Turned out she already had a boyfriend, who was very drunk. Also very confused. It was hilarious!” Luis succumbs to a giggle fit. He finished the joint, and while it's not hitting him like it is Leon, he's definitely high. “He was pissed I was flirting with his girl, but he was also pissed that I, in his opinion, looked gay. So somehow I wasn't attracted to women and that was bad, but I also was attracted to his girlfriend, which was also bad. He kept flipping between which thing he was mad at, it was so funny. But anyway, somehow it got physical, I really don't remember how honestly, just how it ended. My cheek got cut with a shard of glass. Bled a lot. The scar would probably be much less noticeable if I'd gotten stitches, but I was afraid to go… I broke a bottle on the guy's head. He had a concussion probably, his girlfriend dragged him out to take him to the ER. Was afraid I'd get arrested. So I just hurried to grab the rest of my shit and flee from the scene of the crime with my band, hoping he'd be too drunk to remember and tell the cops anything. Doubt they would have cared about what he did to me, just what I did. But it was okay. Didn't get in trouble, learned a lesson, got a neat scar. Never got into bad fights after. Learned to hit people with mic stands, things wouldn't escalate to emergency room bad if they didn't get close.”

“Really? The guy's head?” Luis nods. “What the hell. My boyfriend knows how to beat people up. That's hot. Badass. Didn't think that actually happened in real life. Thought it was just movie shit. Damn. I love you.”

“I love you too. All the time, but especially when you're high. Wouldn't have guessed you'd be a talker like this.”

“Should buy us a house with a big tub, we'll do this all the time then.”

“It's not like we need to both be in a bath to do this.”

“Yeah,” Leon pouts. “But I like baths.”

“We'll remodel if whatever house we buy doesn't have a tub up to your standards,” Satisfied, Leon goes back to smiling. “So, you were excited for last night, it live up to what you were expecting?”

“Fuck. Sure did. Glad you made me wait, was pretty romantic.”

“So… Up for another round after we're out of the tub?”

“Shit,” Leon wishes he could say yes. He wants as much Luis as possible before he leaves today. But part of why he wanted to soak in the tub so much was that he got a lot of Luis last night, to the point he's sore all over, outside and inside. It's the good kind of sore, like he'd get after working out, but it's still soreness. “Was too good, I'm sore. Might actually die if you do anything to me. I'll suck your dick though.”

[supurrb]

tw: car accident

wanna preface that i am okay, but finding it VERY funny that yesterday i flipped my car, suffered a concussion and had to get staples on my head, but still found the time to post about not wanting to stir the pot with inflammatory anons. literally was in the hospital when i wrote that and in between the shock i guess i rly went ‘this is very important rn’.

[rat-in-a-coffin]

im in the hospital rn and im really not feeling well so i might not post much for a while. my blood pressure is very low and i can’t stand without fainting, my heart isn’t working right either, it takes extra beats and is constantly jumping between like 40 and 250 bpm. a lot of the time i cant remember a shit and is just really confused. but i also got a bad concussion and i cannot eat without throwing up. also i got diagnosed with pots

[autobot2001]

A Terrible Fall

@juneofdoom

Day 16 "At least it can't get any worse." | Stairs | Concussion

Whumpee has been busy with an important project with the deadline getting closer. They don't eat much and barely sleeps. No one knows this since it's normal for Whumpee to be in their office for hours. Being the last to leave. "The deadline is tomorrow," Whumpee worries. They decide to get food to bring to their office. Hating their office is on the second floor. Extra pointless walking.

A few co-workers, including their Friend, watch Whumpee walk towards the stairs, looking distracted. "Whumpee!" Their Friend yells. Whumpee doesn't hear them in time. The co-workers watch Whumpee fall forward and down the stairs. Immediately someone calls 911 while the others hurry to stop Whumpee's fall, but they fail.

Whumpee is unconscious when they land on the floor. Whumpee's Friend and the others are worried. They know not to move Whumpee. The others are relieved Whumpee wakes up quickly but still worries about what injuries they could have. No one can go with Whumpee to the hospital because they are only friends. The boss allows Whumpee's Friend to go to the hospital. "They live alone, and their closest family is three states away. They'll need someone to help them, and they trust you," the boss explains, "keep us posted."

Whumpee's Friend knew they'd be waiting. Hoping to be on time. Worried if Whumpee's emergency contact was a family member. Sure, it's logical, but not when there's no family nearby. They watch a doctor talk to the receptionist, and the receptionist points to them. The doctor explains how Friend is Whumpee's emergency contact. They are allowed to see Whumpee.

"They have a mild concision and broken wrist," the doctor explains, "I don't want them going home alone. They told me to call you." Whumpee tries to shield their eyes from the light as the doctor and Whumpee's Friend reach their exam room. They smile hearing their Friend is here, and they can go home after the nurse gets their release papers. "So, am I staying at your house or taking you to mine?" Friend asks. "I'll go to your house," Whumpee smiles, "I don't know how much help I'll be getting some stuff from my house." "Pain relief should kick in by then. If not, I can manage while you wait in the car. Our boss will understand if I need to take time off too. At least it can't get any worse." "Deadline, like tomorrow!" "Our boss will understand." Friend decides to call the boos now, putting the call on speaker phone. "Noting we can do now," the boss says, "I can get someone else to finish though the report will be a little late. It's better than making you come to work." "You can relax now," Friend says. The two know they're lucky to have an understanding boss. Friend can take time off with Whumpee.

Whumpee couldn't help Friend get items from their home but trusts Friend will know what to get. "Ok, clothes and other supplies for a week," Friend comments after putting a suitcase in the car, "I can get more things if I need to, but the doctor thinks you'll be able to go to work and not need support in a week."

Even with pain relief, Whumpee needs to lie down. Friend brings them to the guest room rather than the couch. "You think you can eat something before going to sleep?" "No." Ok, I'll put a snack on the nightstand, and we'll figure out dinner later." Friend leaves Whumpee in a dark room. They plan on checking on them every half-hour. They know the timing seems excessive, but they worry after watching Whumpee fall down the stairs. They worry this could get worse.

Whumpee is awake at five and feels they're able to eat. Friend did make their favorite soup. Whumpee laughs, seeing their Friend made a large pot, but Friend quickly says they'll make something else when Whumpee wants for dinner. "You're fine," Whumpee smiles. Did I scare them that bad? They think, worried.

Whumpee doesn't mind lying on the couch while their Friend reads a book. They hope they're not making Friend unable to watch T.V. and that this only lasts a while. Though their Friend seems to enjoy the book, they're reading.

The two figured a routine would be established while Whumpee recovers. The two like the time together. Realizing they need to plan more time together outside of work.

After a few days, Whumpee asks to try to play a card game. There's a little thinking involved. Whumpee hopes they're well enough, though they'd like to return to work. They have an appointment tomorrow and can inform their doctor they did fine playing a card game.

Whumpee's Friend brings them to the doctor, where Whumpee is told they can return to work in four days, even with how well their recovery is going. Their broken wrist is healing nicely but still needs to be in a cast. "Hoping to leave so soon?" Friend jokes. "No, I'm looking forward to doing more things with you." Whumpee smiles. "Maybe we can watch a movie tonight, but at home for now."

[eusuntgratie]

first sentence game

 Tagged by @voxofthevoid 😘

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

I’m doing a mix of posted fics and wips, bc why not.

In reverse chronological order (for wips based on when I plan to finish/post):

1. Travis doesn’t recognize the guy in his face running through all the stupid protocol questions he’s done a million times. (tknp concussion angst, wip)

2. TK is halfway through a story when he stops, frozen, mouth hanging open, Law staring at him like he’s a fucking idiot, people awkwardly shuffling around them. (tknp, thirsty airport meet cute au, wip)

3. Nolan tries hard to project an aura of “responsible adult” as he walks into the schoolyard. (tknp, school pickup thirst au, wip)

4. Normally they leave him alone when he gets like this, let him suffer in silence for a minute until he gets his shit together enough to address the team, say something to bring everybody back together, refocused and leaving the last period behind. (sidgeno d/s fic, wip)

5. Patty holds his breath when the text comes through from his agent with a link to the article. (tknp, patty retires fic, wip - hopefully my next to post but still a ways out!)

6. Sid’s happy, watching his team trail into his house with their wives, girlfriends, and kids. (sidannageno, can’t help it i want you, posted)

7. Allison watches as Cora grips a canvas bag she doesn’t recognize, twisting the handle in her hands. (allison/cora, let’s get lost, posted)

8. “They’re never gonna go away,” Stiles says, out of the blue, while he’s chopping veggies for a salad and Stiles is stirring a pot of pasta sauce on the stove. (sterek, i know places, part of stiles gets migraine ‘verse series, posted)

9. Allison hears someone come into the bathroom and figures it’s probably Lydia waiting to corner her about some party this weekend. (allison/erica, pink like the truth you can’t hide, posted)

10. TK drags Patty by the hand through the woods until she stops bitching about TK making her hike and starts taking in the beauty around her. (rule 63 tknp, she, posted)

No pressure tagging @jbarneswilson @munsonboy @lostcol @onward--upward @librarian-von-sassypants

[lustrumlane]

Aurelius ; revelation [ RE: Lacunas ]

The tap of a cane, a presence behind him. Fine hairs raise along the back of Aurelius's neck; at first, it's from fear. But soon after? Excitement. An incoherent timeline begins to knit itself into something more reasonable, and he can't stop a smile from pulling across his mouth.

"I see! That's very helpful. Thank you, Mr. Lacunas." Then, he turns to face the others. "If I may, I'd like to propose a timeline, alongside establishing everyone's alibi."

Aurelius walks to the center of the room; it's clear he's excited, weight shifting subtly from foot to foot. With a flourish, he spreads his arms, claws glinting.

"So! The establishing scene! Around 10:30 PM, Upsilon's killer buys the murder weapon. Assuming it has one, they enter the bar via the backdoor, purchase the pistol, and then leave soon after. They undergo whatever preparations are necessary, setting up that magic circle and procuring a change of clothing."

A turn of the heel, the flash of gold in his mouth. "Then! Sometime around 11:05 to 11:10, the pot by the entryway breaks. It's hard to say if our killer was responsible for it, but Coronis is seen nearby. Perhaps it's linked to the omen she warned me and Uroro of, and goes to perform some sort of ritual to stave it off. But, speaking of rituals," he looks to Uroro, "someone else is well underway with one. Uroro rushes around the same area, procuring materials for that which he prays will save us. Items are collected, placed within the effigies we saw on the beach—chief among them Maya's camera. Another Chekov's gun in our grisly tale."

The pain in his hip is ignored. "An hour later, at 12:10, the bloodied clothes become wet. But not with sanguine, that comes later. We can assume this is when the killer made their wardrobe change, and most likely when they set out to meet Upsilon, braving the storm to enact their terrible plan. And that plan blossoms around 12:32, in quite the explosive fashion. Upsilon is shot through the chest," finger pistols with one hand, miming the taking of a shot, "and falls into the water, which pools in her lungs for some time post-mortem."

Aurelius talks with his hands throughout his speech, gestures animated and near-giddy. "And then: fire! A collapsing building! The lightning might have been a coincidence or cosmically ordained, but one thing is certain: the killer was prepared for a fire. Perhaps knocked over from the beam which passed through Upsilon, trees fencing the Respite from the bookstore fall over, giving them a neat route through the wreckage. Having possibly doused themselves in flame retardant prior, they move recklessly through the inferno. So recklessly, in fact, their undershirt snags on some debris, leaving behind a singed scrap at 12:37. Kit, in his trapped state, at least manages to catch some details: blonde hair, short or restrained as to not catch alight, minimal clothing, and a held hat."

He pronounces debris wrong, like how it's spelled. Deb-riss.

"Given the state things are in, we're all forced to take the long way around to reach the wreckage. Meanwhile, our killer is in a race against time. At 12:51, they're caught on camera by Coronis. Perhaps she saw them making their way across the coast, attempting to dispose of the murder weapon by throwing it into the Depths. So, mayhaps she takes a photo, tries to catch them in the act, but she's spotted. A scuffle ensues, causing her scrapes and bruises, before the killer grabs the camera, concussing her with it and taking their leave. They leave their clothes in the lighthouse, switching into something less blood-soaked, just in time to rush back to the scene of the crime. At 12:55, we discover Upsilon's body and save Kit from the fire."

Breathless, he looks around the room. "If anyone has any corrections, I'm more than open to them. But I think we can definitively narrow down our suspects now, don't you agree? First, let's start with those who aren't, the ones with definitive alibis. Dante and Kit are the most obvious, they were together prior to the murder and were inside the bookstore when it occurred. Myself, Anisha, and Rui were preoccupied in the plaza. Uroro was preparing his ritual. Victor, Lacunas, and Packet remained inside the manor for the whole evening, and Elena, Emerson, and Matt remained a cohesive group. And finally, Coronis was incapacitated."

Aurelius realizes he's shaking; is this what it feels like to pass judgement? His head is swimming. "That leaves several people without a verifiable cover, either because they have not spoken up or because their claimed activities were undertaken solo. We can narrow the list further going off the description Kit provided. Maya, Edith, Venetia, and Mikhail are all innocent, by virtue of being nowhere near blonde. Thus, we are left with only two suspects."

All he can hear is his own hearbeat. Excitement wanes into something manic.There's no comfortable place to rest his tongue; it drifts listlessly in the confines of his dry mouth.

"Ephemerael and Dahlia. The former has already given her testimony, so I'd like to hear from Ms. Wu, if possible."

[rosescxrner]

What Is Going On? (an essay)

In the spring of 2021, it was 9pm when I passed out in the middle of the kitchen. I’d been talking to my dad about theater and school, and he was teasing me about a crush I probably definitely had on a senior in theater. When I woke up, my head was in the dog bowl, which was probably what saved me from a total head injury. I felt completely fine after, though no one believed me, and my parents promptly scheduled a doctor’s appointment for the next day.

I went to school for the first two hours of the day, and then was shipped off to the hospital for some tests. I learned that while I was unconscious, I’d had what almost resembled a seizure, on a small scale. Of course, the doctors asked if I’d eaten, drank water, or had salt. I had, to all of them, and the initial decision was that I was just a teenage girl who needed more water and salt. Of course, they also made sure to ask about my screentime, because we all know phones and chromebooks cause fainting spells, right?

In the three years since then, I have yet to have a diagnosis. We came close with POTS, but the doctors retracted that statement soon after giving it. Ever since, I’ve felt almost dejected because of my lack of diagnosis. Was this really all in my head, like some doctors said? Was it just that I needed more water and salt, even though those are the two things I consume most now? I wanted answers, so I did my own research. Now, I know self-diagnosing on the internet is frowned upon, but I hope if I come to a doctor with my findings, they might be able to narrow down something.

The first thing I found relevant to my case was CTE. Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. In most cases, it isn’t found until the patient is much older than I am, and in all cases, it cannot be diagnosed until after death, when the doctor can formally scan the brain on a personal level. That gave me hope, believe it or not, because that meant CTE was virtually an invisible disease of sorts. You may be wondering, though, why I went to CTE. “Rose, CTE only happens to people who suffer head injuries!” Yes, I know. Believe you me, I have suffered my fair share of head injuries in my short time of life.

From eight feet up, I’ve had a ten-pound, large wooden block fall on my head, had a twenty-to-thirty pound wooden platform shoved into my temple, had a hammer to the side of my face, and many other small injuries like tables being in the way, or knocking into shelves and cupboards. All of this combined, it’s no wonder I have as many headaches as I do, let’s just say. But, too much of my body’s ailments were going undiagnosed, so I felt they may be connected.

In my digging, I found PCS, post-concussive syndrome. It’s where a concussion hasn’t fully healed, and continues to present itself in various symptoms. I’ve only ever had a few concussions, but they suck. Immensely. In 2022, when the wooden block fell on my head, I went back to school the very next day, and showed up to theater, which my director called me insane for. I felt awful the entire time, and by the time we had our post-rehearsal meeting, I could hardly stand on my own. I find myself having many concussive symptoms, but not at the same intensity as if I had had one again. This is normal in most people with PCS, though the ailment itself is very rare in people who have had concussions.

This led me to look into my second issue– body aches, tremors, and tics. The tremor and tics didn’t start until about the time the wooden block hit me, and the aches didn’t start until I pulled my shoulder from pushing a 40lb rolling platform across a stage by myself. My decisions in life are nothing, if not flawed. In my defense, we needed it for rehearsal, and the directors and I genuinely thought I could do it. I just…hadn’t anticipated the actor atop said platform to step down while I was below him, kicking me in the face and popping my shoulder out of place a bit. I don’t blame him for it, he didn’t know I was directly below him. Yes, he could have looked before he stepped, but what’s done is done. 

After researching particular symptoms, I learned that continuous head injuries can, in fact, cause body aches and nerve pain. In one study, 64% of patients who suffered an mTBI (mild traumatic brain injury) reported body pain, specifically in the legs, back, and shoulders. Other side effects of a head injury included dizziness, headaches, loss of memory, and loss of concentration. In the past few years, I’ve noticed my memory and concentration slipping, and it’s always scared me a bit, since memory problems run in my family. It felt odd that it would present so early in life, but I tend to not be someone who thinks rationally when scared. However, combining the suddenness of said symptoms surfacing, and the timing of my first major head injury, it felt like it was finally starting to make sense. That, paired with the simply declining memory and concentration issues, solidified my belief that this was all occurring due to my injuries. 

In many cases of head injuries, people find themselves suffering from tremors and tics, such as twitching uncontrollably. However macabre, I was thankful to these people, because it meant I might have a real reason for suddenly developing these symptoms. In my latest doctor visit on the subject, I was told it was probably anxiety, and that all of my aches and tics were just me being anxious. 

Although I never said so, I was partially offended by this. All of these doctor visits, money wasted, time spent worrying, just for a psych doctor to tell me I was anxious? I’ve never lasted very long with any sort of therapist, whether it be counseling, cognitive therapy, or the latest psychiatrist, because they love pinning all of my issues on mental health. Do I believe mental health can present in physical symptoms? Of course, and it has for me before. But this felt like more than ‘anxiety’. This felt like more than ‘teenage angst and grief’ like people had officially begun telling me. 

Nevertheless, I tried the exercises my psychologist gave me. Hold your head the opposite way when you twitch, hold your hands down when they tremor, force yourself to not twitch so your brain stops doing it. But in the end, all that did was hurt more. Now, something I forgot to mention, was that one doctor diagnosed me with a muscle degenerative disorder, a light version of it. He said I could still function, but that most of what I love doing for theater (drills, power saws, lifting sets) had to go if I wanted to not break myself in half. I didn’t really listen, though I appreciate my directors to no end for trying to force me to take a break when I didn’t want to. I probably will continue to be stubborn, but in moments like this, I truly do appreciate them for what they do for me.

According to an article by Flint Rehab, one can experience muscle weakness and nerve pain after a concussion, from weeks to months to years after. Some symptoms that last after a concussion can also consist of tinnitus (ringing of the ears), numbness and tingling in various parts of the body, and sensitivity to light and noise. Now, is it a coincidence that in the few years since the first injury (and many since), I have developed all of these? I don’t think so, personally. In the past few years, I’ve grown terribly sensitive to sounds, and everything is heightened in a way it wasn’t three years ago. I also find my various limbs in bouts of painstaking tingling, somewhere between numbness and absolute pain. It’s an odd sensation that I’ve never been able to describe entirely accurately, as much as I try. I also, in my defense, thought for a long time that it was entirely normal for people to encounter a ringing sensation in their ears. That one has been happening for a while, probably the second symptom to emerge, right before the persistent headaches and migraines.

One side effect of a head injury does intrigue me, in a bad way. Behavioral issues, mood swings, and personality changes are less common, but just as awful of side effects. This, ladies and gents, brings us full-circle, back to CTE. Many patients with CTE report personality changes, such as sudden lack of motivation (long term), feeling suddenly constantly overwhelmed, and the sudden inability to be entirely self-aware. I haven’t brought these issues to a doctor, for the simple fact that I dread the idea that this one (two, three) accident caused an entire shift in my brain. 

In my past, writing came naturally, easy for me, and ever since that first incident, I’ve found it progressively harder to complete things that used to come so easy, such as writing, art, and basic things like schoolwork. Yes, gifted kid burnout is a real thing, and I do think I suffered it a bit, but I truly do not think this entire sudden lack of motivation and awareness has come from a bit of childhood academic pressure.

I’m not sure what, exactly, this is. Maybe it’s PCS, maybe CTE, maybe something I haven’t found yet. Either way, I wanted to share my story and findings, in hopes that maybe someone will be able to help, or have an idea as to what’s going on in my body.

[commanderstarry]

Midnight Healer - Chapter 7 Update!

Good Afternoon Guys!!

I've just posted chapter 7 of Midnight Healer - Concussions & An Early Night

you can find it on AO3 here and Wattpad here !

little excerpt from this chapter <3

“How did that man even get a good enough hit on you, Zeph?” The woman asked. “You’re usually so good about not getting injured.”

“Traumatic case, and then Mind Link distracted me on arrival.” Izuku grumbled. “Though it's not Links’ fault I got distracted, he was trying to get the assailants attention.”

The woman hummed in acknowledgement. “Fuyu-chan told me about that boy! He’s quite the gentleman, I hear.” Saori teased, causing the younger to blush bright red.

“You’ll meet him at some point, ya gossip.” Izuku huffed lightheartedly. “He’s in here quite frequently; he has taken to patrolling the neutral zone with me since the attack, and so we can spend more time together.”

“Pot meet kettle,” the woman said at his jab about her being a gossip. “I’m sure I will.”

Happy Reading <3

Commander Starry