#disorders pls stop disordering

[redflagzsys]

me when the disorder starts disordering

[yujeong]

You know, people suddenly loving Tonkla at the expense of Great isn't the win I wanted nor needed.

[bpdohwhatajoy]

Google search for how to stop being your own worst enemy

[angelwowings]

friendly reminder that people with C.I.P.A also can’t feel when they need to pee or when they’re hungry also can’t sweat.

and to Tourette’s; twitches ≠ tics

they’re not the same keep the difference thanks

Hope this helps ^__^

[m0nost4tic]

"hey mono, are you ever gonna finish or work on your long-term projects that you started months ag-" no. ... maybe someday. not today tho

anyway. here's a short clip for a magluck scene idea. it's set in a modern au my friends and i have been discussing. there are small references to au-specific stuff, so heads up for that

idrk how people tag fanfic works on this site so uhh..

913 words (wow just under a thousand, go me), ~5,200 characters, magna having thoughts on dumbfuck luck voltia, read post tags for more input ig

ps, because of my tendency to crank out short works but never finish anything long-term quickly, i've been thinking of doing a like.. magluck oneshot book for ao3. lmk if that's something anyone wants to see from me🙏🙏

continue reading for gay fic --

Luck's head swayed to the side, larimar eyes glimmering with something more beneath them, wild golden locks obscuring parts of his face. He let his knees inch away from his chest and loosely unfold the perfect cocoon he was wrapped in, elbows and forearms resting against his legs, hands playing with the white drawstrings of his baggy teal hoodie.

He curled the snowy thread around his finger, flipped it over, pulled it up and down, methodically twisted it - he ran his hand through a million-and-one different motions all within seconds. The air grew heavy with his quietness, a stark, uncomfortable contrast to the strings of words and teases that usually slipped nonstop from the live wire.

To the other, the silence was nothing short of unbearable and nigh deafening. But he waited. He waited, and watched as Luck's lips scrunched to the side - the rare indicator of him biting the inside of his cheek, deep in thought or consideration. An infrequent habit Luck had formed back when words were all too much, all too-consuming and demanding; somedays, it still felt that way.

Then, after what felt like hours but couldn't have been longer than a minute, it came. A quiet, hesitant word, a knife that cut through the thickened space between them;

"Why?"

And, well, that was a loaded question.

It was one word. Simple, short, and plain--except nothing really, truthfully was simple or plain with Luck. It just liked to appear that way on the surface; a wolf dressed in sheep's clothing. Presented problems and looming shadows hidden behind tied ribbons and drawn curtains - a thousand spiraling thoughts dismissed with the same old intricate smile.

But behind it came all the possibilities. All the individual branches of why, all muddled by past experience or an assumption of what was inevitably to happen. And Magna had some solid guesses for most of them.

Why don't you hate me? Why do you keep staying? Why haven't you left already? Why are you here? Why haven't you given up on me? Why aren't you like everybody else?

If there were ever a time and a place for it, Magna would fire back some of his own - why do you always think I'm going to leave your ass? Why is it like you can't believe I give a shit about you? Why do you always act like I'm going to disappear the second you take your eyes off me?

Though if there was one, it certainly wasn't now. Not when Luck was hunched up like this, curled in as if he had to hold himself together by force, a thread dangerously close to snapping; not when Magna was sitting quietly on the end of his bed, hands stationary and sunglasses idly placed upon the bedpost; not when the world was abandoned outside the boarded window, friends and adventures temporarily forgotten to dwell in the pit of a barren self-perceived internal wasteland.

So, instead, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shoulders rising and falling to expel the weight of the situation from him. He let the words of what to say bubble up in his chest, head desperately reeling to find the right ones. Damn you, he'd curse in his head.

Honestly, yeah, damn Luck. Damn him and his ability to make Magna think of all these things, to make his world more than just a stage play-by-play that he wasn't even the protagonist of. Damn Luck and the way he gave everything he did and said some kind of meaning; gave his life a meaning beyond the repetitive simplicity of school, baseball, video games, and friends. Damn Luck and his addictive smiles that lit up a room, that made Magna's own chest overfill with puddy-like euphoria, that made Magna crave the sound of his laughter and the sight of his joy more than anything else. Damn Luck for making him want to be something more than what he simply was born as, to be something to Luck, like a backboard one could lean on.

Damn Luck for making him a better man. Completely fuck that guy, really.

But, as much as he loathed to admit, he'd go through this routine. Again, and again, and again; the disc tirelessly on loop, never-ending repetition that, unlike all else, unlike every other boring monotonous humdrum aspect of the day or week, never seemed to grow dull. Maybe that was Luck's fault. Maybe there were scratches on the CD, or maybe there was a malfunction on the player--but it was their own special tune, expertly crafted by whatever this hell of a life had in store.

He'd commit to this, for however many times Luck needed him; needed the gentle (or not-so-gentle) reminder that he was loved, cared for, worried about, whatever else. Even if his own brain refused to believe it, partly refused to even dare to let himself have it, Magna wasn't about to back down and let him win this one. He'd done enough of letting things go unseen, unspoken, and left stowed beneath poorly painted-over cracks when they were kids. And now he'd spend a lifetime trying to unravel all of this mess; trying to understand his problems, rather than demand them to be fixed. If that meant soggy shoulders, empty pudding containers, and conveniently misplaced jackets, then Magna could cope with that.

Because that's what you do for someone you love, no matter how big a pain in the ass they are.

[thatonebabybat]

Hey btw having depression is not a requirement for being goth and if you think it is I don't like you. That's a whole chronic illness, not a part of your "goth mindset"/"aesthetic". Please reflect on that.

[biggestcringefailure]

every time someone in the deh fandom (specifically deh tiktok) either completely ignores jared’s character or waters down his actions in the show an angel loses its wings

[bpdcodone]

If your cluster b and autistic it’s like life is inherently traumatizing

[bho-alt]

when the alter who is very religious and the alter who is very scientific start fighting

[awetistic-things]

forget ABA therapy teach me how to read a fucking room so i stop telling strangers my mom bathed me ‘till i was 13 years old ‘cause i thought a shark would eat me

[donnieisaprettyboy]

me: so yeah my antidepressants double as my adhd meds so I’ve been having a pretty hard time since I haven’t been able to get ahold of them-

person not even apart of the conversation: oh I could NEVER take adhd meds

me:

person: I did once and I just felt like such a ZOMBIE how do you even FUNCTION like that

me:

person: no cuz like I didn’t even feel like a PERSON when I was medicated how do you MANAGE being medicated

me: …cuz if I don’t take them I’ll kill myself-

[whattadroid]

so has anyone on the face of this planet read vN by Madeline Ashby because I'm losing it a little

[astriwilt]

You didn’t tell me the anxiety disorder was actually gonna negatively impact my ability to function as a human being.

[eclaire-went-bam]

I REALLY NEED TO STOP TREATING THERAPY LIKE A GAME. MY THERAPISTS ARE NOT PLAYING CHESS W ME. CALM DOWN !!!

[arisveah]

I Love When My Important Joints Dislocate- kinda unironically. we got my autism diagnosis before the hypermobility thing, and that was only tested because of the autism, so now whenever i think "am i really autistic or am i just faking it for attention" something in my body will dislocate, or i'll feel a sharp pain in my abdomen from one of those motherfucking connective tissues having trouble (my current problem, as i type this) and i'll be reminded that even though im high functioning ish, my body will never escape the physical traits autism gave me, such as sensory issues and pain, all the fucking time.

[traumas-echo]

man that eating disorder wasn't lying.

that body CAN deteriorate