#tw: seizure mention

[kitsunesflames]

Just a thought that won’t leave my head. Just a few years ago I was this teen.

This teen had a small service part-time job where I had to stand for four to five hours. I didn’t know what breaks were.

Every two weeks I’d get this check for $84. $98 if I was lucky and got to work a Sunday morning.

And I’d be so excited every time that check was handed to me. I’d be smiling for the rest of that day.

I would just wiped down tables, roll silverware, and seat people. That was my job parameters at least in the beginning.

I was so happy with each little check I got, smiling when I got home late even if my service dog in training at the time made a mess for me to clean up when the sun was down.

I started to sweep the restaurant, take out the trash, sort the silverware out and if I found rolled silverware that wasn’t clean enough to me I’d reroll the entire set and send back the dirty ones. I’d take drink orders for waitresses having a bad day or just needed a little help that day. I’d write down orders for them occasionally too.

I’d talk to customers and keep them happy and entertained while they were waiting to check out. I’d engage with them so they wouldn’t get mad that their waitress wasn’t immediately there to take their bill.

I got tipped once for just talking to a costumer while her waitress was calming down from a huge rush. I didn’t understand tipping very well then. Still don’t. This lovely woman put a twenty dollar bill into my hands. She was from England visiting family for the holidays. I lived all the stories each costumer was willing to tell me.

When the costumer left I tried to give that tip to the waitress in charge of the costumers table. I didn’t understand how that money was meant for me. My job was to sit people, clean tables off, and roll silverware after all. Nothing to be tipped over.

That waitress, she grabbed my hands and had me cover the bill, and slide it into my pockets. I think I understand now today why she did that. The only thing she said to me, “This money is meant for you hon. Just don’t tell no one that you were given it.” I didn’t understand why she didn’t take the cash that I was convinced was meant for her, and I didn’t understand why she seemed so sad when I tried to refuse that twenty.

I had a seizure three months into the job while on the clock. My shift was ten minutes from ending. It wasn’t even a gran mal, and no costumers saw me seize. My mother got me and took me home early. I was said that I didn’t get to finish my shift. I’d been recently diagnosed, I guess you could say I was still in denial. That was my last shift at that job.

I wasn’t fired. I didn’t quit. I had a single on site mioclonic seizure at the end of my shift and I was no longer being called in. I asked too when my next shift was. My uncle worked at that same place, he came to me one night and handed me a check for $64 dollars.

I was frustrated. I wanted to go back to work. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t go back to sitting people and rolling silverware. I wanted to small at my bi weekly check that wasn’t much.

I miss those checks. I miss having a job. I tried two years after that to apply for another job. It was smooth sailing until the in person interview. My service dog was working and by my side 24/7 at that point. The in person interview didn’t last five minutes.

I miss the routine, I miss my busy work, I miss my small conversations, and I miss my tiny checks that said, “You got paid! You did work and you have the proof!”

I don’t smile as much anymore. I can’t drive. My work experience is that one job that I loved too much.

But I don’t know how I’d even start to get that little happiness back. I miss it. I have part time online college classes, but a good grade isn’t the same as a check, even a tiny one. I have a 4.0, and that doesn’t make me smile. But a check that was $84 had me smiling for days.

[eliaswasoncehere]

what is one of your “bad” habits?

Do seizures count as a bad habit? *chuckles*

[kitxkatrp]

[MISC. SENTENCE STARTERS WITH A BIT OF ANGST] ❝ you're gonna be okay. eventually. but first you gotta not be okay for a while. it's gotta suck so you can actually recognize when you're alright again. ❞ // Kotetsu to Barnaby @cpirits

It was one thing to internally start to realize what Maverick had done to him that he didn't remember--it was another thing for this realization to happen in the hospital with Kotetsu by his side.

The doctors had said it was likely that the damage to his nerves had been done by repeated electric shocks. He didn't remember any of this, but the proof was there and in the seizure he'd had that put him in this hospital bed in the first place.

"...That man...how could I have been so blind...?" He whispered, staring up at the ceiling with dark, absent eyes. He still hadn't quite recovered yet, but it was better that Kotetsu was by his side.

[dryadalismagicae]

@dalishflame || LIKED for a STARTER

"Would you... would you help me sit up- I'm so sorry to impose." How much more could he say, how much could he offer in explanation? Mayhap everything, mayhap naught; seizures were viewed differently depending on the person, after all. Some considered it a symptom of possession, others a medical problem; either way, the healer had done all he could to hide it ever since he was a young man and even now, much further into the future, was it something he struggled with immensely.

[abbeyofcyn]

Krang infection 42

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[written-by-jayy]

Prompt #7

Carbon Monoxide Poisoning

Masterlist

••••••••••••••••••••••••

I don't think I've ever seen Carbon Monoxide poisoning in whump...

I mean, there's just so much potential!

Characters falling ill with some mysterious sickness, everyone in the house having similar, if not the same symptoms.

Maybe it's just dizziness, fatigue, headaches, muscle aches, and nausea. All things that are inconvenient, and after a certain point, become worrisome and quite concerning but not life threatening and some might just brush off. Maybe if they live alone they think they're over-dramatic or that their age or past experiences are finally getting to them. If they have roommates, maybe they chock it up to food poisoning or seasonal allergies being extra bad or maybe it's all the studying, work, and/or parties. Some could even think it's a virus of some kind.

But it continues to get worse. With things like seizures, hallucinations, and disorientation making a character who lives alone think they're going completely insane or maybe they finally go to the hospital because y'know. Seizures. If they're roommates, then wow, that's some bad food poisoning. Or they've been having some awful trips lately.

Anyway, eventually if nothings done about it, it can leave a character or two comatose or even eventually dead.

Just seems quite whumpy and with a ton of potential. Whether it's a sickfic, environmental whump, etc.

Not to mention; what about a recovering whumpee? What or who are they hallucinating? This sure would make physical and mental recovery a hell of a lot harder. Especially when the caretaker is extremely ill and experiencing similar symptoms as the whumpee.

Would be a shame if this happened to your poor recovering blorbos :(

[pomeraniandancer]

I bought BG3 three weeks ago, and I adore Karlach as much as the next person, but speaking as someone who has had an external fixator (and still has some internal fixation), MY GOD do those rivets look painful.

I'm obviously still pretty early in the game, but thus far it seems Larian missed an opportunity to include a chronic pain aspect to her infernal engine storyline.

[sicknessbysalem]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Sixteen

prompt: waking up puking

hi yes sorry i died for a week. things were rough.

i swear i have other ocs. but something about making novak puke his pretty little guts out makes me happy inside. and i felt like that was a better thing to come back and write.

@monthofsick

if you have any questions, comments, or requests, feel free to send them.

tw emeto, fever, exhaustion, seizure mention (but no actual seizures this time)

Novak stood on the sidelines of the football field, observing the players as they ran through defensive drills. As the defensive coach for the Mavericks, he felt a sense of responsibility to ensure the team was performing at their best. Whether it was the defensive line, the offensive line, or even himself. Novak wanted everyone to perform at their best, even in practice.

For himself, he was desperate to perform at the top of his game, even though he was sidelined. He had to do well. He needed to prove that it wasn't a waste to move him to the coaching position that was open when he couldn't play anymore, not safely anyway. And usually, Novak was good at what he did. He was tough, but not relentless. He was determined for his team to do the best they could do, even in practice, and would hardly accept anything else.

But today, he felt like he was failing them. Novak couldn't shake off the feeling of exhaustion that seemed to weigh him down with each passing minute.

The sun beat down relentlessly on the field, intensifying the heat and adding to Novak's discomfort. Despite the temperature, he felt a chill run through his body, accompanied by a persistent ache in his muscles. Novak rubbed his temples, trying to alleviate the throbbing headache that had been plaguing him all morning.

As the practice continued, Novak found it increasingly difficult to focus on the drills. His movements felt sluggish, and he struggled to keep up with the fast pace of the players. Every step seemed to take more effort than usual, and he couldn't shake off the feeling of fatigue that weighed heavily on him.

Still, Novak pushed through, determined not to let his team down. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep moving, ignoring the protests of his tired body. He couldn't afford to show any weakness, especially not in front of his players. He didn't even know why he felt so... bad. Yuliya had been sick, he took care of her. But surely, Novak told himself, that wasn't what caused that. It couldn't be. Not right now.

He checked his watch briefly. His heart rate looked fine. He didn't feel like he was really at risk for a seizure, so at least that was good. He sighed to himself, before going back to his clipboard and resuming his duties, taking off his sweatshirt in hopes to make himself feel at least a little better.

As practice dragged on, Novak's condition only seemed to worsen. The pounding in his head grew more intense, and a wave of nausea swept over him. He staggered slightly, feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

Despite his best efforts to hide his discomfort, one of his assistant coaches noticed Novak's struggle.

"Hey, Novak, you alright?" Kyle asked, concern evident in his voice.

Novak forced a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, just a little tired. My girlfriend, she was sick over the weekend. SO I'm just a little worn out. Nothing to worry about."

But Kyle wasn't convinced. "You don't look so good. Maybe you should take a break, get some water or something."

Novak shook his head. "I'm fine, really. I'll tough it out."

With a shrug, Kyle reluctantly backed off, but Novak could tell that his condition hadn't gone unnoticed. He cursed himself for not being able to hide it better. The last thing he wanted, especially after the incident in July, was for anyone to be paying extra close attention to him. Even for a short time.

As practice continued, Novak struggled to keep his focus, his vision blurring at the edges. Each passing minute felt like an eternity, and he counted down the clock until he could go home and crash. Maybe that was all he needed, an early night and he would be fine in the morning.

-

Novak had hardly stepped in the door when his mom came out. She immediately noticed the fatigue etched on his face and the weariness in his eyes, he could see her worry on her face. The thought made him feel guilty.

"Novak, you don't look well," Marina said, her voice filled with worry.

Novak forced a smile. "I'm just tired, Mom. Yuliya was sick over the weekend, you know... I took care of her. And took care of Elya. I'll probably just go to bed early tonight."

Marina studied him for a moment, unconvinced by his explanation. She knew her son well enough to sense when something was off, and today, Novak seemed more than just tired.

"Are you sure that's all it is?" Marina pressed, placing her hand on his shoulder, "Do I need to call Willow?"

"I'm not going to have..." Novak couldn't make himself finish the sentence, "I'm fine. I'm just tired."

"Alright, słoneczko," Marina said, trying to hide her concern. "Why don't you sit down and rest? I'll make us some tea."

Novak nodded gratefully, sinking onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Marina disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Novak alone with his thoughts, trying to piece together why exactly he felt so fucking exhausted. He was tired, but it was more than that. Something told him it was much more than that.

Before he knew it, Novak's eyelids grew heavy, and he succumbed to the irresistible pull of sleep. Unaware of his own actions, he drifted off into a restless slumber, his body craving the rest it so desperately needed.

-

Yuliya's hands running through his hair are somehow incredibly comforting and makes his skin crawl at the same time.

He opened his eyes, staring at the living room ceiling. His head was pounding, the living room lights made him cringe and close his eyes again.

"You're sweating..." Yulia said, he heard the sound her her rubbing her hands on her leggings, "Do you feel okay?"

Novak mustered a weak nod in response to Yuliya's question, though he knew it was far from the truth. His body felt like it was on fire, and each movement sent waves of nausea rippling through him. Novak struggled to form a coherent response, his mind fogged by fatigue and the relentless throbbing in his head. He managed a weak nod, though he knew it wasn't entirely truthful.

"Just tired," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just need some rest."

Yuliya's brows furrowed with concern as she observed Novak's pale complexion and the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. She reached out to touch his cheek, her hand coming away warm and clammy.

"You're burning up," she said softly, her worry palpable in her voice. "I think you might have a fever."

Novak's stomach churned uneasily at her words, a wave of nausea washing over him. He swallowed hard, trying to push back the rising tide of sickness threatening to overwhelm him.

"I'll be fine," he insisted, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

Yuliya's expression softened with understanding as she gazed at Novak with unwavering concern.

"Let's get you to bed," she said gently, offering him a reassuring smile. "You need to rest."

"I have to get Elya from-"

"Your mom took care of it," Yuliya said, "She's worried. Come on, lets get you in bed..."

Yuliya helped Novak to his feet, supporting him as they made their way to the bedroom. Novak's legs felt like lead, each step a struggle against the mounting exhaustion and dizziness.

Once they reached the bed, Novak sank down onto the mattress with a weary sigh, his body feeling heavier than usual. Novak laid on top of his sheets. He felt entiely uncomfortable, and though he felt slightly cold, he was sure the added feeling of sheets on his skin would send him into an overstimulated spiral.

Yuliya sat beside him, gently brushing her fingers through his hair, carefully detangling the ash blond locks that grew tangled from how wet they were from sweat.

"Do you want to change?" Yuliya asked.

Novak thought about it. And he thought about not changing. Just dealing with it. But, he figured he would probably be more comfortable. So, he nodded, forcing himself to his feet and grabbing a change of clothes. Yuliya looked away, occupying herself by picking things up off the floor. Her clothes, his clothes, she tossed them in the bin.

"I'll probably wash these when you fall asleep, okay?" Yuliya said.

Standing made Novak dizzy, he grabbed his dresser as he pulled on some comfortable clothes. He almost didn't answer, his brain not cooperating.

"You don't have to," Novak said, laying back down.

Yuliya sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Novak's shoulder. Yuliya was the only exception in terms of his touch aversion. At least, to a degree.

"Try to get some sleep," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Novak's clammy forehead. "I'll be right here if you need anything."

Novak nodded weakly, his eyelids already drooping with fatigue. He closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would offer some relief from the relentless ache in his head and the queasiness in his stomach.

Despite the exhaustion, Novak drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time he surfaced from the depths of sleep, Novak found himself enveloped in a fog of disorientation and confusion. His head throbbed with an intensity that seemed to reverberate through every fiber of his being, pulsing with each beat of his feverish heart.

His room is dark when he finally managed to pry his heavy eyelids open, the world swam in a dizzying haze before him. The room spun around him, tilting and swaying with each movement, leaving him feeling nauseous and unsteady, even as he laid down. He felt the weight of Yuliya behind him, her hand resting on the side of his head, as if she dozed off while lightly scratching the side and back of his head with her nails, as she always did. It was comforting, it made him feel better. Usually.

Now her hand just rested there, a surprinsingly comfortable pressure he could focus on that wasn't the nausea, wasn't the headache.

His stomach churned with a queasy unease, threatening to rebel against him at any moment. Novak clenched his jaw tightly, willing himself to hold back the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Despite his best efforts, he could feel the telltale signs of impending sickness clawing at the back of his throat, a bitter taste flooding his mouth with each ragged breath he took.

Novak's limbs felt heavy and leaden, as if weighed down by an invisible force that sapped him of his strength and vitality. He longed to rise from the suffocating confines of his bed, to escape the oppressive grasp of illness that held him captive.

But try as he might, he found himself trapped in a state of being unable to muster the energy to move. He tasted saliva in his mouth, swallowing hard and shuddering against it.

The slight shudder must have woke Yuliya. He heard her behind him, heard her hum softly and sit up, reaching over him to turn on his lamp on his nightstand, Yuliya's concern deepened as she watched Novak struggle, his pale complexion contrasting starkly against the rumpled sheets of the bed. She could see the distress etched into the lines of his furrowed brow, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on his clammy skin.

"Novak, are you alright?" Yuliya's voice was laced with worry, her hand brushing over the side of his face, pushing back sweaty hair. He glanced at his watch, his phone was sitting on the nightstand. At least it wasn't that... she figured.

Novak couldn't even bring himself to shake his head at first. His throat constricted with the effort of holding back the rising tide of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Every slight movement sent a fresh wave of dizziness crashing over him, leaving him feeling light-headed and disoriented.

He tried to will himself to move, to push past the suffocating weight that pressed down on him from all sides. He needed to get up, to run to the bathroom, or to his desk, where his trash can was. Something, anything. But his limbs felt leaden and unresponsive, as if anchored to the mattress by invisible chains that refused to loosen their grip.

As the minutes ticked by, Novak's resolve began to waver, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as the relentless onslaught of sickness tightened its grip around him.

"Novak.. Novak hey," Yuliya said, "What's wrong?"

Desperation clawed at his chest as he struggled to keep the roiling contents of his stomach at bay, his muscles tensed with the effort of holding back what he tried not to imagine was the remains of lunch and breakfast, and maybe dinner from the day before. He could finally move, briefly, only enough to cover his mouth with his hand.

"Shit," Yuliya said, starting to go to get up and grab something.

Novak shook his head. He needed to move, he tried to move. But he couldn't. That was when the panic started to set in.

Maybe he could just... breathe. Maybe he could settle his own stomach. Maybe, maybe.

But despite his best efforts, Novak could feel the telltale churn of his stomach intensifying with each passing second, a grim reminder of his body's relentless betrayal in the face of illness.

As soon as Yuliya set down the trash can, then he could move. He moved just enough to grab the bin. It was milliseconds vefore he started heaving, his body trying to purge whatever dared make him feel so disgusting.

Yuliya watched with a mixture of concern and helplessness as Novak's body convulsed with each violent heave, his features contorted in agony as he struggled to expel the contents of his roiling stomach.

She moved closer, her hand hovering uncertainly over his trembling form, wanting desperately to offer comfort but unsure of how to help.

"Easy, Novak," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "Just let it out. You'll feel better once it's all out of your system."

Novak could only nod weakly in response, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he rode out the storm of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He clung to the trash can with a white-knuckled grip, his knuckles turning pale with the effort of holding on.

With each retch and gag, Novak felt a small measure of relief wash over him. Each wave of sick made his stomach feel less tense and full.

At one point, Novak stopped briefly to take a breath. His body giving him a split second relief. But when the nausea kicked back up again, this time Novak knew he coulf make it to the bathroom. And make it to the bathroom he did.

He bolted, abandoning the trash bin, knowing there was more in his system. Sure enough, as soon as he was on his knees if front of the toilet he was vomiting again.

Yulia sat it the doorway. Wincing as Novak retched up more and more waves of sludge from his stomach. Waves of gods knew what. Yuliya moved a little closer.

Yuliya reached out a gentle hand to brush the sweat-dampened hair from Novak's forehead, her touch comforting.

Novak continued to heave for what felt like an eternity. But finally, finally he was left gasping, trying to catch his breath.

He looked at Yuliya, who offered a small smile.

“It’s gonna be a long night, my love…” Yuliya said softly. “But, I’ll be right here.”

[erebus-the-answer]

Here are my sprite edits of what I think Ryuji and Yusuke's moms might look like! Yusuke's mom, I named her Tsumugi, and Ryuji's mom I named Saeko! I put some more detailed descriptions about both of them under the cut!

Keep in mind that everything under the cut is mostly my headcanons and only vaguely makes sense to the actual p5 lore lol

Tsumugi Kitagawa:

In an AU where Tsumugi didn't die due to Madarame's negligence, I find myself liking the idea that the moment when Madarame refused to try and save her life was the moment when Tsumugi would decide to turn her life around for the sake of her son. Leaving Madarame's abusive hold on her and her son with nothing to her name besides the clothes on her back, Tsumugi and Yusuke found themselves at a women's shelter. It was there where she met Ryuji and Saeko for the first time, but only briefly.

Tsumugi eventually got herself on her feet, but times were still tough for the single mother and her son. They managed to find a small room together, but it certainly wasn't the best way to live.

After a few years of quiet living for Yusuke and Tsumugi, with no more willing pupils left at his atelier and with a sudden change of heart, Madarame confessed to the abuse and plagiarism that he committed. He released to the public that Tsumugi was the true painter of The Sayuri.

Almost instantly life changed for Tsumugi and Yusuke. Tsumugi was offered almost endless deals with TV companies, movie producers, and interviewers. Because of stress being bad for her epilepsy, Tsumugi turned down all of the offers that she was given besides one: the chance to teach at Kosei High. She settled with this, and because of her status as a teacher and Yusuke's great skill, he was offered a scholarship! Saeko Sakura: Saeko Sakura (maiden name Uryuu) is Ryuji's mother.

She was a young, dumb, punk teenager when she first met Ryuji's father, a member of one of her favorite bands. He was also a teenager.

Ryuji wasn't a planned pregnancy, and when Saeko found out that she was pregnant, she went and told Ryuji's father that he had to take responsibility. He begrudgingly married her and settled down with her, but he always resented her and Ryuji for it.

Following the Persona 5 canon, Ryuji's father was verbally and physically abusive to his wife and son. unlike in canon, instead of his father up and leaving, it was Saeko and Ryuji who left, finding themselves in a womens shelter for some time.

Saeko's carer as a nurse helped the two of them to find another place to live fairly quickly, though because of this, Saeko found herself working many bizarre hours.

Eventually, she ended up meeting Sojiro Sakura, a man who worked at Cafe Leblanc which she frequently visited. She instantly found a sort of attraction the man, but she was certain that he was married to a certain Wakaba Isshiki because the two of them had two children together. She later came to find out that they were in a different sort of family arrangement and the two of them were more platonic than anything. She found love and a new family in Sojiro Sakura and his children, and they lived happily ever after!

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Random shit while I have a headache again.

The Eclipses Show AU Edition!

Solar treats Backup and Original as his brothers once they get through the awkward adjustment phases. Solar doesn’t exactly have a good relationship with either of his brothers so he actually secretly does like having Backup and Original around because it feels like he finally has someone that cares about him.

Backup has physical backlash from the star. Namely occasional seizures and memory gaps. The memory gaps are mainly from his time having the star but there’s also a few memory gaps he has from controlled shocks given to him by the OG Blood Moon twins.

Original has high anxiety around wild animals. He just does. He doesn’t know why. In reality, it’s because animals would further break his body while he was offline and his AI developed an irrational fear of wild animals. A wolf was the reason half his leg was missing actually. And a bear was what broke his faceplate and eyes. His internals, for five months, housed a bunny. He’s terrified of most animals.

[rippedstitch-s]

( @ira-langley )

Asa sways. It’s that salty ocean smell that he enjoys - a push back to normalcy. Back to the cliffs and the open windows in Beauford Cross. Does he miss it? Normalcy being a little bed and simple meals, a bevy of medications that keep him complacent and slow? Unaware of... all of this?

A popular song plays in the back of his brain. Faux cheery when played in an echoing rec room, back then.

Somewhere, beyond the sea...

His jacket is buffeted around him. His hair a mess, a scarf that’s already coming untangled where it was once safe around his neck. 

It’s so cold but his body feels warm. Magma beneath his skin.

He’s not… sad, per se. Nor is he angry. Not much of anything. His body doesn’t take in the outside stimulus as it should. It’s just a dull pulsing and wind.

Where he stands doesn't even cross his mind as precarious - and yet where he stands is on top of a bridge. There are no grand feelings or thoughts of ending it all. It's just where he's ended up stopping and standing in another sleepless night with brain fuzzing in and out after a seizure.

He's just taking in the view.

Then he sees someone. A person. Someone he must put the shroud of civility and calm and normal back on for. It's a struggle moreso than other nights. But... "Evening, officer."

[theoi-crow]

Hey there, hope you're doing well! This may be a little bit of a sensitive ask (tw pet death) so please feel free to ignore it, but I was wondering if there were any myths about what happens to our pets when they pass, and/or how to honor them. I was thinking of having a little mini altar for my dog, and to give dog treats as offerings, but I wasn't sure if that was proper. Thanks in advance!!

I'm so sorry for your loss…

The ancient Greeks and Romans loved their dogs a lot and although there aren't a lot of stories about dogs in ancient mythology, we've found a lot of graves and epithets written by grieving owners who had to bury their dogs. Here's an example of one:

"I am in tears, while carrying you to your last resting place as much as I rejoiced when bringing you home in my own hands fifteen years ago."

Here are the rest: (LINK)

Here's a bit more on how the ancient Greeks cherished and loved their dogs. Plato even called them the greatest philosophers because they knew the difference between good and bad people: (LINK)

"The dog was a companion, protector, and hunter for the Greeks and the spiked collar…was invented by the Greeks to protect the necks of their canine friends from wolves." Source: (LINK)

So as you can see, dogs were very important to the ancient Greeks and they memorialized their dogs too so it's okay to put him on your altar. It won't be disrespectful and the gods will understand.

Here are examples of what they'd often look like:

To talk a bit more about my own grieving experience as a Hellenic polytheist and grieving my dog I hope it's okay if I tell you a bit about my own little dog who I lost this past March:

Mourning a dog is so hard because their love for us is so sincere and pure. They love fiercely and protect us as much as they can even when they're so much smaller than whoever they are challenging (my dog was a tiny Maltese Poodle but boy did that dog loved to bark and try to protect me.)

His death came a lot earlier than we expected, he got early onset doggy dementia also known as canine cognitive decline, which is very similar to human dementia.

He began to forget who we were and his health took a nosedive a few months before he passed. We chose to put him down before he got to the final stage (seizures) because as someone who grew up taking care of someone with seizures, I knew he was going to be in excruciating pain. But because he also had dementia he didn't know who we were so I knew he'd be very scared and in excruciating pain with less than a year to live.

Two weeks before his final appointment he lived like a king. He ate all his favorite foods and treats, watched Hamilton everyday (his favorite character was George Washington) and we had the vet come to our apartment so he would be very comfortable since he hated going to the vet.

The Aftermath:

Mourning the loss of a loved one is hard and although we're all familiar with feeling sadness when we grieve, no one ever talks about the guilt and rage that might come over you during your grieving process.

I was angry at my gods

I didn't even know why, I just was. I was mad at them, myself, my spouse, my school, my neighbors, I just wanted to be left alone. But because I was angry at my gods, my Catholic guilt kicked in and I felt guilty for being angry with my gods. I was spiraling because I was trying not to be angry and trying so hard to be sad instead.

But that's when Apollo showed up and I had an honest conversation with him about the guilt behind how I was grieving:

He told me that anger is a natural part of the mourning period. Not everyone will grieve the same but being angry with your gods is normal because when we lose someone who we loved so much there will be a flood of emotions that we didn't know we would feel and forcing them to express in only a sad way keeps you from truly processing your grief. My anger was a part of my grieving process, and so was my confusion and denial of having lost my dog. This was all normal.

I was so overwhelmed with my feelings of rage, guilt, and shame that we left home for a week so I could be away from my altar, my gods and from finding the many dog bones my dog hid before passing.

I desperately needed a break from my gods and they understood.

They weren't upset with me. They knew how much my dog meant to me and how much I loved him, so we left and I was able to process my emotions outside of my home. Prior to this I never understood why people in shows and movies needed to go on a trip when they suffered a loss but after my dog passed I was overwhelmed with the desire to be in nature. To be with Gaia, to be with Demeter. (Two gods I don't normally work with but I desperately needed)

It's okay to go through your own grieving process as it comes. To accept your feelings as they are.

It's okay to feel angry when you're grieving. It's also okay to be angry at your gods because they understand you're grieving. And finally, it's okay to memorialize your dog in whatever way brings you the most comfort.

My dog's little box sits on my altar. He gets his treats and has an electric candle we make sure never turns off. I often mentally see him sitting on Ares' lap or playing fetch with Hermes. He hangs out with my gods and I know my gods don't hold my grieving process against me. They know losing a dog was hard for the ancient Greeks and it's still hard for their modern followers because losing someone who loves you so unconditionally and accepts you for who you truly are without judgment is the hardest thing to do. I wanted to share this with you so you can grieve freely and honor your dog in whatever form brings you the most comfort. The gods understand and they will grieve with you & be there for you.

I personally believe all dogs go straight to the Elysian Fields because dogs are our greatest heroes.

[unityrain24]

okay first off i hate ads but second off how in the fuck are they allowed to make flashing ads???? a high percentage of the ads i've seen lately have a bad bright, flashing saturated colours and i'm just like ????? there is no warning to this and you can't like,, skip it? or avoid it or anything?? i mean i'm lucky that i don't get seizures from bright flashing colours but it's a widely known thing that lots of people do?? what the FUCK

[csaventing]

I have three modes:

-frozen like a statue, terrified if anyone comes close

-fighting my abuser in a flashback and having seizures

-“oh my god i miss you come back i love you”

[befuddled-calico-whump]

ok ok so you had an ask here about cyborg jericho hacking himself to escape control. imagine though if it caused him to have random glitches since his hacking was rushed, which manifests as seizure fits, mental blackouts and impaired vision and speech that comes and goes

ooh yeah, I can definitely see it having some side effects. He'd adapt to it, and either have work-arounds or some kind of signal (probably to Joy since she'll still be an engineer in this universe) that he needs an assist

[sicknessbysalem]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Twenty-Seven

@monthofsick | day twenty-seven: head [ache | pain | injury]

i feel like for as much as i mentioned how novak gets migraines (and how novak has seizured with his migraines), i havent really written a fic about novak having a migraine

tw emeto, migraine, hypersensitivity/overstimulation, seizure (at the end)

*author note: novak’s migraine/seizure relationship is based off my own irl experiences

As the sun rose over the sprawling football field, Novak found himself amidst the hustle and bustle of another day at Mavericks Stadium. Dressed in his customary coaching attire, he stood tall, a figure of authority amidst the sea of players clad in their team colors. Novak loved his team. He loved them when he played, and loved them differently now that he moved to coaching.

Today, however, the promise of a routine practice session was swiftly overshadowed by an ominous sensation creeping into Novak's consciousness. A flicker of light danced at the edge of his vision, like a warning sign. Novak had grown accustomed to these debilitating headaches, each one a relentless assault on his senses. It was always his vision before the pain. Then the pain. Then the fatigue. Then the nausea. Then, maybe the seizure.

As the minutes ticked by, the aura intensified, casting an eerie glow over the field. Novak's temples throbbed in rhythm with the pounding of his heart, his vision blurred by shimmering distortions. Every sound, every movement seemed amplified, a cacophony threatening to engulf him.

At a water break, he took a double dose of migraine medicine. But it had already been an hour before he knew it and the medicine was doing fuck all to help.

Novak gritted his teeth, swallowing down the bitter taste of frustration along with the ineffective medication. He knew all too well the futility of trying to stave off the inevitable onslaught of pain. It was a battle he fought time and time again, a battle he knew he couldn't win, but one he refused to surrender without a fight.

With a weary sigh, Novak forced himself back into the fray, his movements growing more sluggish with each passing moment. The players, engrossed in their drills, remained oblivious to their coach's silent struggle, their shouts and cheers a distant echo in Novak's throbbing ears.

As practice wore on, Novak's world began to narrow, his focus narrowing to a single, all-consuming thought: endure. Endure the pain, endure the nausea, endure the relentless assault on his senses until the final whistle blew and he could retreat to the sanctuary of solitude.

But even as he pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion, Novak knew that this was not just about enduring the physical torment. It was about proving to himself, to his team, that he was more than just a victim of circumstance. He was a warrior, a survivor, determined to overcome whatever obstacles stood in his path.

And so, with every ounce of strength he could muster, Novak pressed on, his body screaming in protest with every step.

-

As Novak trudged through the door of his modest home, the weight of the day's exertions bore down upon him like a leaden shroud. The migraine, once a distant specter, now consumed his every thought, a relentless torment that refused to be ignored.

Yuliya greeted him with a warm smile, her eyes betraying a flicker of concern as she took in his haggard appearance. Beside her, Elya bounced with youthful exuberance, her laughter filling the air like a ray of sunshine amidst the gathering storm.

"Hi, Daddy!" Elya chirped, her voice tinged with excitement. "We're making cookies! Do you want to help?"

Novak forced a smile, her joy was a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him, but it made him happy.

"Of course, sweetheart," he replied, his voice strained with effort. "I'd love to."

As he joined them in the kitchen, Novak's senses were assaulted by a barrage of sights, sounds, and smells, each one magnified to agonizing proportions by the relentless onslaught of his migraine. The clatter of utensils, the sizzle of butter in the pan, the cloying scent of vanilla—all threatened to overwhelm him as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Yuliya, ever perceptive, watched him closely, her brow furrowing with concern as she noted the telltale signs of his distress.

"Novak," she said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "You're shaking. Why don't you go lie down for a bit? Elya and I can handle things here."

Novak opened his mouth to protest, but a sudden wave of nausea washed over him, leaving him weak and trembling. With a defeated sigh, he nodded, allowing Yuliya to guide him to the sanctuary of their bedroom. He didn't realize it, not at first, but Yuliya was right. He was in so much pain he was shaking.

"Daddy?" Elya asked, "Are you okay?"

Novak forced a reassuring smile, though every fiber of his being screamed in protest. "I'm fine, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "Just a little tired, that's all."

But Elya wasn't convinced. The furrow of concern deepened on her young brow as she watched her father with wide, worried eyes. "But you look sick, Daddy," she insisted, her voice tinged with fear.

Novak's heart ached at the sight of his daughter's distress, the weight of his own suffering compounded by the knowledge that he was causing her undue worry. With a shaky hand, he reached out, brushing a lock of hair away from her face.

"I promise, sweetheart, I'll be okay," he whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Sometimes Daddy's head just hurts a little, but it'll get better soon, I promise."

Elya nodded, though the uncertainty lingered in her gaze. She trusted her father implicitly, but she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at her young heart.

Yuliya, ever the voice of reason, intervened once more, her gentle touch a soothing presence amidst the turmoil. "Why don't you finish up the cookies with me, sweetheart?" she suggested, her tone light and playful. "I bet Daddy will feel better once they're ready to eat."

Elya brightened at the prospect, the worry melting away from her features like morning mist beneath the sun. With a final glance at her father, she skipped off to join Yuliya in the kitchen, her laughter a welcome respite from the oppressive silence that had settled over the room.

Alone in the dimly lit bedroom, Novak allowed himself a moment of weakness, the weight of his pain pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket.He laid back, anxiously grabbing the bedsheets.

With a weary sigh, Novak closed his eyes, surrendering to the embrace of sleep as the world faded away around him, if only for a fleeting moment of respite amidst the chaos of his pain. For though the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, he knew that as long as he had the love of his family, he would always find the strength to carry on.

-

As Novak stirred from his fitful slumber, a wave of agony washed over him, dragging him back into consciousness with a cruel, relentless force. Every nerve in his body seemed to scream in protest, his senses overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught of pain.

Blinking against the harsh glare of the bedside lamp, Novak struggled to orient himself, his mind fogged by a haze of nausea and dizziness. Beside him, Yuliya sat in silent vigil, her fingers absentmindedly weaving through his hair as she read her book. This happened nightly. It was so normal. Novak always fell asleep before Yuliya. He was constantly exhausted, and his girlfriend was much like his daughter, constantly full of energy.

But instead of comfort, Novak found only torment in her touch. Each gentle stroke sent shockwaves of pain reverberating through his skull, his hypersensitive nerves recoiling from the slightest contact as though it were a branding iron against his skin. Her hand stopped, she must've gotten invested in the part of the book she was reading, but her small hand felt like bricks pressing against his head, making it hurt worse. He tried to tough it out for Yuliya's sake. But when she started running her fingers through his hair again, he couldn't take it.

"Yuliya," he gasped, his voice raw with agony. "Please... I can't..."

Yuliya's movements faltered, her eyes widening in alarm as she registered the anguish etched upon Novak's features. With a trembling hand, she withdrew, her touch hovering uncertainly in the air as she struggled to comprehend the depths of his suffering.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with remorse. "I didn't realize..."

But Novak shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips despite the pain. "It's not your fault," he rasped, his words a mere whisper against the oppressive silence of the room. "It's just... everything hurts."

And indeed it did. With each passing moment, the migraine tightened its grip upon Novak's body, a vice-like hold that left him gasping for breath. The nausea churned in the pit of his stomach, threatening to engulf him in a tidal wave of sickness.

"Did you take anything?" Yuliya questioned.

Novak forced himself to nod. Even that was killer. It always was.

"It did fuck all to help." Novak said through clenched teeth.

Yuliya sighed sadly, "That always happens to you. Especially after that game."

As the night wore on, Novak's torment intensified with each passing moment, the relentless onslaught of pain merciless in its ferocity. His head throbbed with a rhythm all its own, a relentless drumbeat that echoed through every fiber of his being, drowning out all other sensation.

With each shallow breath, Novak felt as though he were drowning in a sea of agony, his senses overwhelmed by the crushing weight of his affliction.

Every sound, every movement seemed magnified to excruciating proportions, a cacophony of torment that threatened to drive him to the brink of madness. The gentle rustle of the sheets against his skin felt like sandpaper against raw flesh, the soft hum of the air conditioner a shrill scream in the darkness. His own clothes felt like they were burning his skin. Everything felt so bad.

And through it all, Novak remained hyperaware of the world around him, his senses heightened to a painful degree. The cool touch of the pillow beneath his head sent shivers of agony down his spine, the faint scent of lavender, the spray Yuliya kept in her nightstand for specifically this reason, in the air a sickly-sweet reminder of the normalcy he could no longer grasp. When his headaches started, or when his anxiety was winning out those moments he felt alone enough to allow himself to deal with it. Yuliya put some of the spray on her hands and run her hands through his hair. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes it didn't.

Beside him, Yuliya watched in silent anguish, her heart heavy with the weight of his suffering. She longed to offer comfort, to ease the burden that bore down upon him like a mountain of lead, but she knew that there was little she could do in the face of such relentless agony.

And then, just when Novak thought he could endure no more, the nausea struck with a vengeance, twisting his stomach into knots and leaving him gasping for breath. With a choked cry, he stumbled from the bed, his vision swimming with dizziness as he raced to the bathroom.

Barely making it to the toilet in time, Novak doubled over in a fit of dry heaves, his body wracked with spasms of pain. Each convulsion sent shockwaves of agony coursing through him, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of his suffering.

And as he lay there on the cold tile floor, his world reduced to a blur of pain and nausea, Novak couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could take this.

The bathroom walls seemed to close in around Novak, their stark white surfaces pressing in on him. Every tile, every crack in the grout, seemed to taunt him with their pristine perfection, a stark contrast to the chaos that raged within his own body.

The harsh fluorescent light overhead flickered and buzzed. Each flicker sent a jolt of pain lancing through Novak's skull, his hypersensitive nerves recoiling from the assault with a vengeance.

The air was thick with the acrid stench of bile and desperation. Each breath was a battle, a struggle against the suffocating weight of his own suffering.

The pain was intense. And every wave of pain made him vomit again. Every wave of vomit caused more pain. And the cycle felt like it went on forever.

Novak was hyperaware of the taste in his mouth. The acidic bitterness. The faint taste of the green tea he drank at practice before the headache happened, he never drank coffee. He was sure it would hurt and taste a lot worse if he did.

With a trembling hand, Novak reached out, gripping the edge of the porcelain sink with white-knuckled fingers. The cool touch of the ceramic offered a fleeting respite from the searing pain that consumed him. He shut off the light, hoping that maybe, just maybe, that would help. The migraine, relentless in its fury, showed no mercy, its tendrils creeping ever deeper into the recesses of his mind.

He leaned against the wall, sliding down, eventually laying down on the cold tile.

as he lay there on the cold tile floor, his body wracked with spasms of pain, Novak couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could endure. At the very least, how much more he could take before he had to suffer a seizure from the sheer overstimulation of everything.

Honestly, for as much as the seizures hurt, Novak was hoping one would happen sooner, rather than later. As he ran his hands over his face, the sensation feeling as though his face was coming off from the simple act of running his hands over his skin. But usually, seizures meant the migraine would let up. Like hitting the peak of a mountain and sliding straight down.

With each passing moment, Novak's desperation grew, his body a battleground where pain and exhaustion waged a relentless war. He clung to the fragile hope that relief would come, but with each agonizing second, that hope dimmed like a dying ember in the darkness.

Fumbling with the locket around his neck, Novak sought solace in the familiar weight of the pendant against his chest. It was a small comfort, but comforting nonetheless.

And then the door creaked open, revealing Yuliya's worried face peering into the dimly lit room. Her eyes widened in alarm as she took in the sight of Novak lying on the floor, his body trembling with the effort of his fight against the migraine.

"Novak," she breathed, her voice thick with concern. "Are you okay?"

Novak managed a weak nod, though the effort sent sparks of pain dancing behind his eyes.

"I'm trying," he whispered hoarsely, his words barely audible above the pounding of his own heartbeat.

Yuliya stepped into the room, her presence a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos. She knelt beside Novak, her touch gentle as she brushed a lock of hair away from his sweat-drenched brow. It was brief, she knew it would hurt him if she kept it up, but she couldn't help herself.

Both Novak and Yuliya's watches emitted a soft beep. Yuliya checked it, Novak didn't, Novak knew. Novak was at high risk of a seizure, the culmination of his body's desperate struggle against the onslaught of the migraine. This always happened when they got this bad.

A surge of panic gripped Yuliya's heart, but mingled with that fear was a strange sense of relief. For as much as the seizures hurt, Yuliya knew that for Novak, they also signaled the beginning of the end of the migraine, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

Yuliya reached, nudging Novak in such a way his body would reflexively lay on his side.

"It's going to be okay," she murmured, though whether it was meant for Novak or herself, she couldn't say. For a moment, Novak ran his fingers over his locket. But then, his hands stopped. Yuliya knew.

As Novak's body tensed with the onset of the seizure, a wave of helplessness washed over Yuliya, her heart aching at the sight of his suffering. She had seen it before, this cruel dance of agony and relief, and yet each time it struck, it felt like a fresh wound reopening in her soul.

Novak's muscles contracted with painful intensity, his limbs contorting in spasms of uncontrollable movement. It was a terrifying sight, one that never failed to fill Yuliya with a sense of dread, despite the knowledge that it was a necessary evil in Novak's battle against the migraine. Seizures were so normal, now, for Novak. And yet, they never stopped scaring her.

But even as she watched in silent anguish, Yuliya found solace in the knowledge that this too shall pass. For as the minutes stretched into eternity, the tension in Novak's body began to ebb, his muscles gradually relaxing as the seizure ran its course.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Novak lay still, his body limp and exhausted, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his pallid skin. Beside him, Yuliya let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush a strand of hair away from his face.

"It's over," she whispered, her voice thick with relief. "You're going to be okay."

Novak forced himself to nod.

"You're going to be okay," Yuliya said, rubbing Novak's shoulder. "It's over."