#none epileptic seizures

[blue-eyed-cutiepatootie]

.

#having a stressful night involving a family member having an epileptic seizure #none of us knew he had a history of seizures

[genderfluid-insomniac]

“Little Seizures” Six Eared Macaque x reader x Sun Wukong & MK

Note: I don't know what to put as an intro but this is based on my experiences with epilepsy as I've had it for a year and a half. Seizures are fucking annoying and I don't see much epilepsy content in fanfiction so I did it myself. Enjoy!

P.S. This may not be accurate to your unique experiences because I based it off of general epileptics.

You had gone with MK to Flower Fruit Mountain for his training and you volunteered to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t mentally drain himself. Maybe there was another reason that you had but it totally wasn’t about your friend’s two mentors were in the process of courting you and how all the citizens of the mountain were adorable fluffy monkeys. Speaking of which a few of them were sitting on your back and picking through your hair for bugs to which they’d unfortunately for them find none of. But some others were sitting around you eating the fruit you’d given them. “Guys I hate to tell you but you won’t find anything but you’re more than happy to have a mango, peach, or banana.”

“Lotus, don’t you want to feed me a piece of fruit?” You must have jumped at least 3 feet in the air as some of your companions cried out at your reaction and the new demon by your side. Groaning you playfully hit his arm and rolled your eyes as Macaque laughed at your amusing reaction. Some monkeys chirped and moved over to him, climbing his black fur and settling in on his head for grooming. You looked at your friend who was still training with both his mentors and back at the shadow demon who was now smirking at you. “Shouldn’t you be fighting MK and Wukong without using a shadow clone?”

“Yeah but eating sweet fruit and spending time with you is much better.” Taking a bite of a banana and glancing at you with a raised brow, growing concerned at the lack of response from you and how you swayed. You guessed at least. All you could see or feel was the room growing darker and everything feeling like the ground beneath you was shaking (and not from the huge battle going on just a few yards away). Bits of conversation could be heard as all of your senses faded in and out, one dark fuzzy outline holding you surrounded by little white ones and two tanish ginger figures running over to you.

“What’s….to….?” Your body grew tired and all of a sudden you wanted to sleep, tiny hands poked your cheek in alarm and worriedly cried out to someone. “Name!……me-“ “They just…..passed out….. shaking-“ “Macaque…. keep….. still….. King get…..much water….” There wasn’t anything you could hear after that, only having the feeling of falling asleep like any other night. Your entire body felt like lead and gravity was ten times stronger, barely able to open your eyes and speak anything except for a single word. “Fuck.”

Hearing was one of your first senses to come back and touch wasn’t far behind, feeling a warm body supporting your back as you rested against them. “Ha. Glad to see you’re awake! You have all of us a scare!” Sun Wukong was the person holding you. Not that you could see him but his voice was enough of a hint. “The kid was worried sick pacing around and muttering about how he should’ve noticed. I’m guessing this is something to do with the thing MK said about having pepsi or something?” You weakly laughed and tried to sit up, only to be gentle pushed back down.

“Easy, peaches. From what I could see and what Mac heard, it sounds like your body short circuited. MK! They’re awake bud!” No doubt your friend hadn’t strayed far from you given his already anxious worry about you and your disorder but he cared and you were thankful for it. “Epilepsy.” He looked down at your comment. “Hm?” You went to clarify, sti fatigued from your body’s strange method of expending your built up energy. “It’s called Epilepsy. It basically like my brain overloads from time to time which causes me to do that.”

An anxious loud voice called your name and your turned your head to see MK, looking up at Wukong and hearing his whisper. “I’m glad your okay. Nearly thought Id lost you.” His vibrant tail circled your wrist comforting, and looking back over to his successor. “NAME!” The wind was knocked out of you by MK tackle hugging you and spewing apologies with teary eyes. You loved him dearly but he apologized for things out of his control and his heart is too kind for the world sometimes. “MK, I need to breathe. I’m okay! You’ve seen me have one of my seizures, I probably just got overly stressed or dehydrated.”

“Let’s give them some space, bud.” Macaque came into your view with a clay cup of what you could guess to be water and used his tail to lift the young adult off you. Handing the water to you and visibly relaxing once he surveyed your appearance. “Happy you’re okay, kid. Sorry if my scare caused this-“ The demon sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and averted your gaze before coming looking back at you. “If I’d known this would happen I never would have jumped you.” You grabbed his hand and smiled, softly chuckling. “I forgive you Mac. It was probably a result of my medication change and thank you for getting me water- Hey guys…”

A bunch of small monkeys crept up behind you all and approached you, climbing on your lap and tugging your shift to grab your attention. “I’m alright. Thank you for your concern!” It was all adorable, watching the ones who were close to you with a bit more boldness quietly make noises at you. Not that you could hear what they were saying but you could tell they were also worried. Both celestial primates make some calls at the young ones who answered back and went back to their day, all except for one. Who ran over to your bag and pulled out a fruit, offering it to you. “Thanks buddy. I need to energy.”

#lmk sun wukong x reader #lmk x reader #lmk macaque x reader #lmk macaque #lmk sun wukong #lmk qi xiaotian #lmk mk #lmk mk x reader #lego monkie kid #tw: epileptic content

[hannigramslesbianhusband]

Clocks and Metronomes in Hannibal

``Hannibal counted the beats of the metronome against those of the clock. They went in and out of phase``

?????? Clocks???! speaking of this, I found out something really cool. I was researching trying to find some kind of connection or UN-connection between clocks and metronomes and what they might mean here, and I found this very interesting journal, which references and builds off of some of Christiaan Huygens' discoveries and work.

Let's list out a couple of things:

Arguably, Hannibal's favorite book is Treatise of Light, by none other than Christiaan Huygens.

``Among Mr. Jakov’s books was a copy bound in leather of Christiaan Huyghens’ Treatise on Light, and Hannibal was fascinated with it, with following the movement of Huyghens’ mind, feeling him moving toward discovery. He associated the Treatise on Light with the glare of the snow and the rainbow distortions in the old windowpanes. The elegance of Huyghens’ thought was like the clean and simplified lines of winter, the structure under the leaves. A box opening with a click and inside, a principle that works every time. It was a dependable thrill, and he had been feeling it since he could read.``

I skimmed a bit of the book- and it does include an explanations of the calculations Hannibal used to determine the height of the towers in his castle- which he was doing before he read the book. Bro is a literal genius.

``Also in the year Hannibal was six, Count Lecter found his son determining the height of the castle towers by the length of their shadows, following instructions which he said came directly from Euclid himself. Count Lecter improved his tutors then—within six weeks arrived Mr. Jakov, a penniless scholar from Leipzig.``

The journal I previously mentioned is, in very simple terms, about how pendulums and clocks synchronize. We can very reliably assume Hannibal is a fan of Christiaan Huygens, it’s very possible he could later have read Horologium oscillatorium, where he discusses these discoveries. Unfortunately, I can not dig too deep into the original text because the only copy I could find is in Latin, and I really don’t want to translate all that. But I CAN use the information provided in the journal. It’s also reasonable to assume Hannibal would know a lot of the information presented in the journal, because although Christiaan Huygens’ books are from the 1600s, Hannibal is not, and discoveries have been made! Science has advanced! Yippee!

In the journal, It is stated that “Synchronization occurs in diverse physical, biological, and chemical systems. Examples include the synchronous flashing of fireflies, the chorusing of crickets, the rhythmic applause of concert audiences, the coordinated beating of cardiac pacemaker cells, the pathological neural synchrony associated with epileptic seizures, and the coherent voltage oscillations of superconducting Josephson junction arrays.”

It all sounds very artistic. It is beautiful and connected. Right up Hannibal's alley, for sure. But- whats that near the end?? “ the pathological neural synchrony associated with epileptic seizures”. Epileptic seizures. Let’s put that away for later. 

The synchronisation of pendulums (pendulum clocks, metronomes) placed on the same (wooden) surface even if started at antiphase will eventually become in phase with eachother BUT: synchonizing in phase causes the pendulums in the clocks to slow down, so they lose time (multiple seconds an hour) but- they way they synchronize is dependent on several things(mechanisms in the clock, length and thickness of the surface they're on,etc etc.) but basically- with a SMALL amount of damping (loss of energy in an oscillating system) the clocks with synchronize in phase, with a large amount of it they will be antiphase. clocks synchronizing in antiphase has been called sympathetic motion or the sympathy of clocks (not empathy). 

Synchronization in itself is a pretty artistic thing, beautiful and connected. It shows up everywhere- including something called neural synchrony. neural synchrony is basically when two people interact or communicate, their brain rythms/waves synchronize, couple, create matching patterns. You understand eachother. this is seen a lot more in romantic couples or people who are close together, child-parent relationships(especially as infants) and the such. Not usually seen in strangers. the brain to brain synchronization happens in the  temporal-parietal part of the brain. The way will makes himself think like killers- to the point sometimes he feels like he becomes them- is definitely neural synchrony. Why he can do that so easily with strangers, who may have never even met? Who knows; but at least we know all kills leave behind a part of the killer, a part of their psyche, and not always just a message.  Basically, Will's whole metronome thing is symbolic of him synchronizing mentally(and neurologically! Very cool) with the killers. This may have been way too much work for something that is a bit obvious, but it’s very interesting to unravel.

I’m not sure how I started with picking apart clocks and metronomes in relation to Hannibal (in the book), and ended up with a conclusion about Will (in the show), but I did! I can’t say much more on this for now as I haven’t finished the book, and Will has yet to show up. 

Now, that thing we put away for later.

Neural synchrony is also associated with epileptic seizures. Neuron firing tends to become synchronous/hypersynchronous in the middle of a seizure.

I wanted to go more into Will's encephalitis and seizures related to this- but those are only a thing in the TV show, so I cant connect it quite as well. I can share the things I did find out, though, so if anyone is interested to see that please let me know! But right now, I'm too researched out to put it all together, and that's mainly why I'm not including it here now. All in all- we all know Hannibal knows all that psychiatry stuff and is crazy smart and crazy insane, so here is a bit of the science of it and how it all loosely connects to the books. And, of course as someone who values beauty and art, he would become obsessed with Will upon seeing how effortlessly he can achieve that synchronicity with others- especially those who think similarly to him. Honorable mention to Eldon Stammets.

#hannibal #hannigram #mads mikkelsen #hannibal rising #hannibal lecter #fannibal #hannibal analysis #hannibal and will #will graham #hannibal series #hannibal fandom #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #book analysis #show analysis #analysis #lots of science #science #ask me if none of this makes sense #i'm hyperfixating too close to the sun #psychology #eldon stammets #Annimeta #hannibal meta

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #34

34. CYPRUS Silia Kapsis - "Liar" 15th place

Decade Ranking: 128/153 [Above Benny, below Reiley]

15th place? Generous. Good floordrops only get you so far if that's the ONLY thing you've got.

Every year there's a few acts that I thought just plain sucked, and yet can't really muster feelings of dislike for. Like, what's the point of putting in the effort of emoting if I can simply choose to focus my attention on better, worthier songs? They're shit, but that's their problem, not mine.

And that awkward little spot where those acts go is also where dear young Sillia lands. "Liar" is bad, I think we all agree? Laurel Barker still hasn't shown her busted face since "Sober" (GOOD.) but her spirit lives on in mediocre, poorly written girlbops with no substance, and this season had multiples of those. "Liar" stood out the worst to me by virtue of, well, not really standing out at all, other than for its horrible libretto.

CUZ YOU'RE A LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR YEAH YEAH YEAH YOU LIE IE IE IE YEAH YEAH YEAH

that THIS is a chorus of a Eurovision FINALIST. 😳 Futhermore the lyrics also rhyme "oolala" with "truth la la" (okay this one is ACTUALLY funny) and present Silia as some sort of... intrusive busybody calling out pther people's adultery and philandering? I suppose it's a little LESS scuffed than have Isaiah Firebrace hone his gaslighting, uglycrying and concern trollery skills at the same age. But if you're going to tweak the narrative in function of her being a minor, and attempt to steer her away from sexualization, then perhaps don't style her in a top that accentuates her cleavage? And don't end with this:

(always a telltale sign of a losing battle when you have to splice THAT into a song/act that doesn't call for it just to get a Q.)

Unlike a Nutsa or a Sarah, you can't quite say that Silia was at the top of the performance game. She was a 17 year old with limited on-stage experience, and it showed. She had memorized her stupid lines and rehearsed her stupid TikTok dances and delivered both as flat and robotic as one does when they go through the motions. The Dance Break lmao what the FUCK was this epileptic seizure:

If you want a true Performative Piece emulating a neurotic disorder, got tho say Il Senso did it better.

"SHARP. BLADES. OF. TIME. CUTS. THE. SPACE. :twitches: " 😍

Silia was in the Reiley zone where nothing she did was particularly bad but also none of the things she did were objectively good, and it balances out in blandness. It was all just a little bit too much "Participation Trophy" material, which is the Cypriot special by now. Btw, did you know it is a Greek hand-me-down? ("Liar" starts at 0:59)

That's right, this was the song that lost to "WHAT THEY SAY" and then tried to fight its loss in court and lost the appeal. This song is so embarrasing it lost in an internal selection to Victor Vernikos.

Ofc behind all of this lay a huge shitstorm of a selection with Cyprus planning to do an NF on Greek soil based on a format ERT had planned and trashed sometime in the past. Greece found out and threatened to blank Cyprus completely if they appropriated their NF concept, which forced Cyprus to recruit another Australian and contact Kontopoulos who still had "Liar" in his folder, with the hopes that the badness would fly under the radar.

But don't worry Cyprus repaid Greece by ranking Eden ahead of Marina in the jury vote. 🙂 I wouldn't blame the Greeks if they invaded and annexed (or bribed the Turks to do it for them) 🙂

So yeah, Cyprus made the final. Unfortunate because it rewards an entry that deliberately plays lowest base on several levels. I suppose I would find Liar's advancement offensive in most cases, but like... it's semi 1. Half of the acts in that shitshow deserved to get the boot including Silia yes, and all five acts that were eliminated, so whatevs. Do we really care which shitty acts made it in, if at least three of them were advancing anyway, idfts. Finland was the only one I wanted to see dead (not literally. i think.) and that was never happening in a full televote from that second half.

Besides, the finale had a much bigger fish to fry, and Cyprus's generous-AF 15th place overall (reminder: this is the same placement Maraaya and Zalagasper got in WORSE finals) feels like such a trifle in comparison. So, I'm FINE with ranking her barely into yellow today. Pray that we're spared more degenerative nonsense from this clown country next year if there's a next yeah and and if Poseidon doesn't make the disrespectful island sink into the sea for its many crimes against Marina Satti.

THE RANKING

#Eurovision #ESC #Eurovision Song Contest #BorisBubbles #Eurovision 2024 #Malmö 2024 #ESC 2024 #Cyprus #Silia Kapsis #Liar #Youtube

[psychic-refugee]

Xavier Thorpe had always been interested in art. It had been his passion since he was young.

He dreamt of galaxies and spaceships, of a man with flowers and tall aliens who graciously accepted them.

His art was world renowned in the sci-fi world. He was commissioned to do cover art for novels and made a tidy living from concept art for blockbuster films.

He had his own art studio in SoHo that was a popular destination when the Star Trek convention and other like events were in town.

Lately, he had dreamt of a woman with dark hair and agate eyes. He painted her over and over again, unlike anything he had ever done before. Those paintings were in his private collection, and none had ever seen them.

Unbeknownst to him, his studio got repeat visitors from a pair that always wore crisp black suits. The studio manager always politely asked them if they were interested in purchasing a piece, but they always said no.

It didn’t occur to the manager that it was odd that he never remembered them, even when they visited nearly every day for the past several weeks. They were always so discreet and nothing about them had ever stuck in his mind.

“Well, that’s definitely a Betazoid,” Agent A commented as he studied the painting.

“It’s not just a Betazoid, it’s Reittan Grax,” Agent W specified quietly, “And it’s a far more flattering portrait than he deserves.”

Agent A simply laughed, he knew his partner was one to hold grudges and the biennial Betazoid Trade Agreement Conference being held on Earth was a headache for the Organization globally.

As they studied all the art on display, they also took note of Bolians, Mizarians, and Zakdorns.

They had all the public and non-public records of Xavier Thorpe. From all their research, he was as human as they came.

The question was, how was he painting aliens that were not known to humans? At first their boss, Agent L had suspected an undocumented alien merely capitalizing on actual alien likenesses in order to make Earth money and a life for themselves. But Xavier Thorpe had all the proper records and history, even their most prolific forger would have a hard time mimicking a human life so well.

They were sent to investigate and had lucked out that day as Xavier needed to consult with his manager about his next showing.

Xavier was left speechless when he literally met the woman of his dreams.

Agent W and Agent A were suspicious when it looked like Xavier recognized Agent W, which should have been impossible.

They did their usual protocol when they introduced themselves by implying they were government agents, their badges held no actual seal of any U.S. government agency, but most of the human population was never that observant.

Xavier had been nervous, but he answered their questions honestly. His answers all matched up to his paperwork and they each discreetly performed tests with their advanced technology.

Xavier Thorpe was human and of Earth, there was no denying that.

“Thank you for answering our questions,” Agent W started to wrap it up, they would need to head back to HQ to debrief Agent L and get guidance of what to do next. She took out a silver cylindrical tube, ignoring Xavier’s confused look.

She set the time and date for him to forget, and with a quick flash, she started to do her normal spiel,

“You never saw…” her words died on her lips when Xavier simply looked confused rather than dazed.

“What did you just flash me with?” the flash wasn’t painful, nor did he have any idea why she did it, but he could have been epileptic for all she knew. It was just rude and dangerous.

Agent A frowned at the neuralyzer, wondering if it was broken. It had never happened before to his knowledge, but he wasn’t sure what else to think.

She flashed him again, and again Xavier was not affected by the device. In fact, he got annoyed and smacked it out of her hand.

She frowned at him and he frowned right back at her,

“You’re gonna give me a seizure or something,” he griped.

Xavier also wasn’t entrenched in the sci-fi fandom for nothing, so he put together the two nameless agents in sunglasses while indoors and the weird doohickey they flashed in his face.

“Is it safe to say that you guys are part of some shadow government?”

Both agents sighed deeply, and Agent A rolled his eyes.

The Men in Black were a known secret amongst the sci-fi nerds, and they wondered if others were immune to the neuralyzer and that’s how they ended up on Reddit all the time.

Xavier brought them back to his apartment and showed them the paintings of Agent W.

They were beautiful and well done, and Agent W almost shed a tear for they were snapshots of her past life, before she became an Agent.

When she had a family and a dream to become a writer.

They took him to MiB headquarters and Xavier was amazed that so much was hidden under their very noses. He had passed the HQ building several times and never would have thought it held a secret government agency.

They ran some tests and Agent L explained,

“Xavier, you are the rare human that has psychic ability. It’s why you dream of aliens that have visited our planet and why the neuralyzer does not work on you. Normally we would make you disappear, put you in a sort of exile to preserve the secret of alien life and protect Earth. However, with your abilities, I believe you would be ideal for our special unit.”

“Special unit?” Xavier took it all in stride, he thinks he always believed there might be some truth to his dreams.

“Yes, it’s not just extra-terrestrials we deal with. It’s a secret even to most of our most senior agents. Most of the time, it’s more than enough to know aliens exist. If they also knew the supernatural existed as well…well some have had to retire early,” was all she would say.

Xavier considered his options. He certainly didn’t want to go into exile, and he wasn’t particularly close with anyone. He hadn’t even spoken to his father in years, and he didn’t have any close friends.

He could only think of Agent W, and the dreams of them together. He felt he was where he was meant to be.

So, he accepted Agent L’s offer. He traded in his paintbrushes for his own neuralyzer, and his paint splattered camo pants for a bespoke black suit.

You will not stand out in any way. Your entire image is crafted to leave no lasting memory with anyone you encounter. You’re a rumor, recognizable only as deja vu, and dismissed just as quickly. You don’t exist. You were never even born. Anonymity is your name. Silence, your native tongue. You are no longer part of the system. You are above the system. Over it. Beyond it. We’re “them.” We’re “they.” In the absence of light, darkness prevails. We stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers.

The words of Agent L echo in his mind as he puts on the suit.

There are things that go bump in the night…we are what bump back.

He developed his psychic abilities under the guidance of Agent L. He was glad to see that Agent W and Agent A were given promotions and assigned to his unit.

“Welcome,” Agent L began, “Our unit is a secret within a secret. We are the Outcasts. This is our newest agent, Agent X.”

Agent W nodded respectfully, but from the heated way she eyed him up and down, rather liking him in a black suit, Xavier, now Agent X, knew his dreams would be coming true sooner rather than later.

#xavier thorpe #wednesday addams #wenvier #wenvier moodboard #men in black inspo #wednesday x xavier #ajax petropolus #larissa weems

[v-tired-queer]

Hey! We don't know each other but I found you through the PNES tag. I'm trying to find out more info about PNES versus temporal lobe epilepsy, to help me figure out how likely it is that I need medication for what I'm pretty sure are focal seizures.

My question is: can PNES seizures have an aura?

Are there any ways you know of to tell the difference aside from an EEG during an episode? I am planning on getting a neuro referral at my next doctor's appointment but it's been giving me bad anxiety worrying about it.

Thank you for your time.

Hello! I really hope things go well with your appointment! I know how scary all of it can be. I have full faith that you've totally got this though!!

So, to answer your question: yes, some people with PNES can and will experience an aura before a seizure, but others won't. The way that PNES affects people and is experienced can vary from person to person. For example, like I said, I do experience an aura sensation before I have a seizure. My head begins to fog up in a way that's kind of hard for me to fully describe. For me, it's almost like I'm slowly becoming mentally numb, like a fog is rolling in that puts me on high alert. But I also have other tell-teale signs that I'm about to seize: my left hand always starts to tremble, and I always become vastly less-than-aware of myself and my surroundings. Other people with PNES might have different cues, or similar cues, or anything else entirely. That being said, the seizures themselves can differ, too. While mine include no longer being in control of my limbs and violent convulsions and twitches, some people may have ones that look like absence seizures, or even another type completely.

Before I was officially diagnosed, I went to two different neurologists and had two different EEG scans done: one in office and one overnight. They monitored how my brain behaved both outside of a seizure and during a seizure. PNES seizures and epileptic seizures look very different on EEGs, which is to be expected due to their different causes. It's actually pretty cool to see the difference, I recommend looking up some different scans to see! But outside of the tests, my doctors ran through my symptoms and how I experience having a seizure, and were able to jot down the differences in what I was experiencing compared to someone with epilepsy. For example, I'm actually able to hear everything around me during a seizure, but since I'm seizing, I'm unresponsive no matter what, which tends to be abnormal for the type of seizure I experience. I also go completely nonverbal after a seizure for anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour. But again, that's just how I experience them. Experiences can and often times will vary from person to person, but the cause is the same: PNES is brought on by an emotional response, while epileptic seizures are caused by a physical response from the brains nerves cells.

Now that being said, temporal lobe epilepsy doesn't seem to be caused by an emotional reaction, but rather, can be triggered by an emotional reaction (usually high stress levels) due to the epilepsy being present in the, well, temporal lobes. Which then circles back around to the overall cause being different, though symptoms can be similar.

To be honest, due to their similarities, I'm not sure if you could be diagnosed with one or the other without having EEGs and other tests done. But the good news is, none of the tests hurt! And for all of them you'll be closely monitored so in the event of a seizure you won't be injured then, either.

(I'm a "glass half full" kind of person lmao)

I cannot stress enough how important it is to be honest with your doctor about what you're experiencing. It's definitely anxiety inducing for a lot of us, but the more open and honest you are with them, the more they can help steer you in the right direction. And if you get saddled with a doctor unwilling to listen or simply write you off, please don't hesitate to really advocate for yourself. You really need to be in your own corner so you can get the correct diagnosis, so you can then get the proper help and treatment you need. It'll take time, and at some points it'll probably be frustrating--I know it was for me--but it's so important to get the proper treatment for the true problem.

I really, really hope that things go well for you and that you can figure out what it is that you're experiencing! I'm rooting for you!!

(Also this got very long very quickly, but I hope it helps nonetheless!)

#bearing in mind that i am not a doctor nor do i play one on tv lmao #the cleveland clinic has some good information on their site about both epileptic and pnes type seizures #i recommended looking there for some more info! #asks #ask #answered #pnes #psychogenic non epileptic seizures #seizures #seizure disorder #non epileptic seizures #epilepsy #temporal lobe epilepsy #tle

[nocopops]

lotftober - day 10

‘silly boy’

-

why didn’t they listen to him?

why did they choose to laugh at him instead of taking him seriously?

why did they choose to listen to the head of his choir instead of him himself, the small scrawny boy in the corner, cradling the conch like a lifeline?

why did they laugh at the epileptic boy?

why did they laugh at the silly little boy?

why did they laugh at the boy who was nothing but a poor, misguided child?

why didn’t he see that he wasn’t wanted there?

in a way, simon sort of predicted his demise from the beginning. he knew from the start that he was different. none of the other boys had seizures or passed out constantly, did they?

none of the other boys knew the truth, did they?

so why is it always those who are enlightened with the treasure of truth that get killed by those stupider and stronger than them?

-

@lotftober

#lord of the flies #lotf #lotftober #lotftober 2023

[tombodabombo]

holy shit what. u missed the point entirely. flashing lights (you know, blinkies, on your blog. entirely untagged!) can trigger epileptic/photosensitive seizures in people + that can kill ppl! What! What the fuck! How can you be so dense! i literally told you!

Shout out to the epileptic homies who DIEAD after seeing apparently something from my last pose you would have loved the rave scene

Anyways, actually consulted some epileptic people and literally none of them had problems with any of the imagery on my blog :)

[honeycombhank]

6/8/23

Today was a lot of things.. fun but at times very hard and emotional, I felt supported but I also wish I could be more supportive and helpful to some in my family but I sometimes don’t feel like I can even care for myself many days. Life is a strange ride.

I walked another 5 miles with my love today, the weather was a bit cooler and it was just about perfect for us out there.

Yay! We made the choice to move our bodies and that pretty much always feels like a win.

#cardio workout #healing #honeycombhank #apple watch #fitness #walkingtime #keep moving forward #speed walking #outdoor trail #workout #athletic shoes #athletic wear #indoor rugs #life with seizures #none epileptic seizures #disability #support #family

[opia-jpg]

joining the hyperspecific poll train! it's fun

#go crazy go stupid #polls #juno's silly little thoughts

[applesap-fics]

FABril day 4 - Chores, part two

1, 2, 3

T, 2750 words, Bruno/Agustín, Bruno & Mirabel.

Mirabel starts living with Bruno for a little while. She’s curious about why he left. Then she finds out a little more.

tw: this part depicts an epileptic seizure at the end.

--

Bruno really doesn’t like it when she says she wants to clean up the house for him. 

“Woah, woah, you didn’t come here to be my maid, alright? If this- if this was all some ploy by your mother to get me to ‘get my act together’ or to- to-” 

But she clears up his anger with her own. 

“Look, I don’t care about all of that, okay? If your back hurts and I’m here making things awkward for you, the least I can do is help out a little. Besides, it’s just one day. I’m not gonna throw over your whole house every week. We’ll help each other out, okay?” 

And that’s that.

It seems that the moment the apartment realizes they’re cleaning, dust flares up like glitter in the sunbeams, saying: “Look at me. Wave me away.” It reminds her of Casita in that way.

The first thing Mirabel does is open all the windows and effectively shoo the evidence of his dormant life into the breeze. This makes the letters fly all over the apartment, even those that have been stifled beneath years of suppression; books, cabinets, and novela scripts.

“Close the windows! Close the windows!” Bruno razes around in a frenzy for fifteen minutes, trying to pick up every flitting envelope, backpain forgotten. “Damnit, don’t touch the letters! Don’t look!”

Then there’s the rats, which from Bruno’s talk about how they’re actually quite friendly makes it seem like they’re pets at first. One of them even lets Bruno stroke its head. But then Mirabel loses her mind again when it’s clear that they’re only here because he doesn’t take the trash out often enough and leaves uneaten arepas for them to nibble on everywhere, and she realizes they’re actually vermin. 

After a while, Bruno secedes from the cleaning storm to watch her from afar on the couch, tired and his back aching from half a day of housekeeping. Mirabel, on the other hand, has energy for two. There’s a constant stream of chatter that, after he answered a few of those ramblings, he realizes is more a conversation she has with herself than with him. 

She’s like a hurricane in a way that makes him think of Pepa. Bad weather always seemed to come whenever his sister felt bad, like the visions he gets before an epilepsy attack hits him. But Mirabel’s excitement is like a summer breeze. 

The only thing that would complete the picture is Agustín on the piano, playing a jazzy, jaunty tune.

He thinks of letters to write.

Linnen are billowing all over the apartment like clouds while they do a thorough wash. Books are sorted. The dishes are done because he doesn’t have a dishwasher and they always pile up bit by bit. Half-eaten arepas are thrown away reluctant but admissioningly.

There’s a milk crate full with magazines Mirabel wants to move that, as soon as Bruno notices she’s noticed, he throws himself over. “I’ll do this one!”

“Yup! Okay, Tío.” She throws her hands up and lets him carry it to his room looking like a dockworker hauling cargo. 

She’s already seen the scantily-clad man on the cover of the magazine on top, and it’s evocative enough without having read the saucy contents blurbs. She pointedly doesn’t say or ask what it or the other magazines under it could be, because that’s really none of her business. 

But it does make her curious, and answers a few questions.

She kind of trails behind him. After shoving the box under his bed, tío Bruno rubs his hands over himself like he’s swatting away evil. 

“Uhm, you know,” Mirabel says. “I don’t really care if that’s what you’re into.”

“You don’t?” His eyes are big and he stops swatting himself. “Well, anyway…Can’t have that in the open. You’re not quite old enough to see that,” he chortles embarrassedly and moves past her. She rolls her eyes.

“Does…” she hesitates. Tío Bruno has, so far, been very avoidant any time she’s mentioned the family and this more than anything else she’s tried to talk with him about seems a sensitive topic. “Is it a secret?” she settles for, avoiding any mention of her parents. 

“Oh, sure. I’m not that obvious, am I? Heh, I kinda used to be as a kid. At least, the bullies thought so. Always called me a ma- you know, names. Eeeh it’s always been kind of troublesome when anyone else but the family knew about it, so there’s not really a point…” 

There’s her answer.

--

“So…you don’t have a boyfriend?” she asks later.

“Oh, no. I’m kind of a still waters run deep type. Y’know, all quiet and alone.” He says this in a sing-song voice like it’s the most relatable and fun thing to be for a bachelor. “Waiting for that prince in my tower.” He grins abashedly and scratches the scruff on his jaw, then folds his fingers together dreamily. 

“Uhuh, and do these princes know you’re here and available?”

“Don’t you ruin my fantasy. Say, now that you know…” Bruno sighs and puts a hand on his back, staring off into the distance. “I have to tell you why I use the cane. It was a betrayal, you see. I had a lover, he was a jealous man and couldn’t take that I got the part he wanted to play. Mercutio, like his temper, but my voice carries better, and I am much more familiar with cursing others. He pushed me off the rafters and left me for dead on the stage. Thankfully the janitor found me or else...” He gives her a knowing look of death.

Her empathic surprise falls away almost immediately when she realizes he’s messing with her.

She stares at him, unimpressed.

“As fantastic as that sounds,” she says. “I don’t think I believe that.”

He slaps his knee and curses. “But it’s the truth, damn you!”

--

For all their initial anxiety, it’s easy to live with tío Bruno. They settle quickly and establish a routine wherein he lets he do mostly whatever she wants, granted she takes a lucky item for protection whenever she goes out, doesn’t rank up the phone bill too much every other day when she calls home, or doesn’t play the accordion past or during certain hours. 

He trusts her, and it feels nice to be trusted.

There’s so much to do in the city Mirabel almost doesn’t know where to start. She ends up joining a roller skating club that she finds fast friends in, the church choir, takes up art classes, and babysits for pocket money. And at the end of the first week, Bruno takes her to the theater he works at for an introduction. If asked, she won’t deny it makes her miss Camilo a little.

The teen drama group is led by a large dame with dull eyes that she paints in bright colors. “Oh!” she gasps when she sees Mirabel, and cups her cheeks. “You have such magic, I can see it. Just like your uncle.”

“Uhh, I don’t think so,” she mumbles as she’s being squished. She’s probably the only one in her family who is not magical in any way. Never performed a single miracle.

“You see it, don’t you?” she asks Bruno, turning Mirabel’s head to where he sits in the empty audience.

Bruno gives her two enthusiastic thumbs up from the front row and his brightest, toothiest grin.

--

“Ah, this is where it happened…” he remnisces when he’s standing on the stage with her.  

He’s been wielding his cane like a sword ever since they entered the building. He gestures dramatically, staring up at this grand temple of storytelling: a modest hall with limited budget. She’s got a feeling where he’s going with this; tío Bruno has been making up little stories about his bad back ranging from ‘annoying’ to ‘creative’. 

“A thespian ghost roams this theater, you know. Lit by a single light — a ghost light, they call it — she plays the dame each night for the other spirits in the center of the stage. Ever since I discovered her, she’s been my muse. It’s the closest thing to love I have… For ten years every Friday I’ve snuck into the theater to watch her perform, but someone turned off the ghost light that evening and I tripped and fell. I haven’t seen her since.”

Mirabel asks the señora, who can neither confirm or deny this.

--

Bruno buzzes her in when she comes home one day, having forgotten to bring her keys with her, from her hunt to join another club, and after she rings the doorbell he walks to the front door to open it for her. 

The ache in his back has gotten less and less each day despite the liveliness his niece brings to his life. He’s hardly used his cane the past few days.

He opens the door, but to his surprise it’s not Mirabel on the other side.

Her father stands there, tall and as square-shouldered as ever, carrying in his arms a heavy sewing machine box. His kind eyes are uncertain, like he’s not sure what he’s doing here either. But his mouth is curled up into a smile under his sharp mustache. 

“Agustín?” Bruno asks surprised, legs weak.

“Dad?” Mirabel’s voice sounds from slightly below the figure. “What’s with him? Did he call?”

“I have to write a letter,” Bruno doesn’t say, tongue locked with tension.

His muscles spasm and he feels himself fall to the floor.

--

Mirabel is in a panic when he comes to. 

He’s lying in the stable lateral position, hands tucked comfortably under his cheek as if he’s going to sleep in a soft bed. But it’s the hard floor in the hallway, uncomfortable, and his niece is breathing heavily over him, obviously trying to keep in tears. 

“It’s been one and a half minute,” she says, voice thick. 

Mirabel has done a first aid course back at home and knows to call an ambulance if he doesn’t wake up after five minutes have passed. She’s told him about this when he first mentioned his epilepsy. He had thanked her back then, but told her he had his medicine and that the attacks were usually small. He hadn’t wanted her to worry. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles from the floor. She shakes her head, eyes red from forcing down tears. Slowly, he moves to sit upright, her hands light over his shoulder and back. “S’okay, Mirabel. I’m okay.”

She lets his sagging body lean against her as she helps him to the couch. He’s not much taller than her, but heavy like this. On his request she burns sage to drive the bad luck away and she drapes his robe around him to keep him comfortable for good measure. She takes the needle off the bolero he was listening to, silencing the apartment. 

“This is exactly what I was worried about,” he says. His knobby fingers weave around the cup of tea he’s poured for himself. “I never wanted to scare you with this. And when your Mamá asked you to come here…”

“You were worried I’d see?” He nods. She puzzles over that, letting the silence hang between them. “When… Before we cleaned the house, you said I shouldn’t help you because you thought Mamá sent me to do that.”

“Ehh,” Bruno begins with a shrug, considering and aware he overthinks and does a lot of prejudiced blaming, including that statement. Even so that he momentarily forgot about Agustín’s earnesty. But then nods at what Mirabel says, because he had run his mouth at her. “Everyone knows how much there is wrong with me. And your mom worries a lot, always has. I considered that she might’ve sent you here to be my caretaker in disguise. But that shouldn’t be your job. You’re just a kid. That’s why I refused. And just now…”

“You know, kid. I’m a bit of a triple threat. I was an epileptic in a small town that still thinks being left handed is a sign of the devil. I get depressed, really depressed. Kinda hard to handle having someone in your house who just can’t do anything. It was like I wasn’t really there — I could’ve been living in the walls for all anyone knew, heh. I should’ve tried that... And I don’t like girls, which…Abuela was actually kinda fine with. Until…well, until she wasn’t anymore, I guess. But you know, she tried. 

“But, uhh. So, the reason I left is…” He shakes his head, face contorting at the painful memories. “When you were little, the family and I were always fighting. I guess you don’t really remember that.”

The story is familiar to her. “The house got mad,” Mirabel says quietly. Then corrects herself, “Tío Félix told me that.”

“Yeah. The house got mad. Abuela got mad. I got mad. Pepa and Juli…I wasn’t good for them. I wasn’t good for you guys. Dolores always cried because of me. Camilo was scared. But I love my family, you know? I just don’t know how to…” He shakes his head and warms his lips on his tea. 

There’s always been cracks he doesn’t know how to fill. 

“So, that’s why I was on the fence about you coming here. Responsibility, pffft!” He blows a raspberry and does a thumbs down.

Mirabel huffs a laugh at that, but can’t quite find the humor in the other things he’s mentioned. “When Mamá called you and you said you didn’t want me here, I thought…” She averts her eyes. “You know, it’s stupid.”

“Nah, you’re never stupid to me.”

She breathes in and out and does a weird dramatic gesture with her hands, like she’s so over it. “I thought it meant you didn’t want me, period.” Before he has time to purse his lips and refute heavily against that, she continues: “With the way everyone always talks about you- or doesn’t, I guess. Ugh. I know you so much better now. You’d never say it like that. I’m sorry for freaking out. I know- I know this is sort of normal for you and I shouldn’t make this big of a deal out of it.”

He shakes his head. “Heh. Yeah, my little miracle.”

“Miracle? No- That’s…Not what I meant,” Mirabel struggles. “This isn’t like healing better after having Mom’s food, or waking up with roses in your hair.”

“Yeah, it is,” Bruno insists. “Just because I’ve gotten the short end of the stick doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen to me at all. I’m sorry, kid. You’ve gotta roll with the punches you’re dealt. I just wish you hadn’t seen that. I guess you’re right that it’s normal for me, in both ways.”

He can tell by the way she’s silent and folds her arms, sinking deeper into the couch against him, that her thoughts are getting all twisted up at that. “Geesh, goes to show I know nothing about miracles.”

His heart breaks a little for her, just like it had when he read Agustín’s version of it. Both of them; his own alienating experience as someone ‘unexceptional’ marrying into the Madrigal family, for whom science and explanations has not stuck around to make sense of their world wherein anything can happen, and Mirabel’s perception of her ‘unexceptional’ life that she’s been stuck with since she’s never had anything happen to her like the rest of those born into this family. 

Nothing bad ever happens to the Madrigals, not since Pedro’s sacrifice at the river. Because of that strange day, little miracles pile up by the dozen. It’s easy to forget how special you are when others are being told about their exceptional-ness on the daily.

“Hey,” Bruno reassures her. “Miracles are obvious. I think you have a subtler magic going on about you. And for what it’s worth, I like that better. That’s the kind of magic that smoothes out a story.”

That makes her smile fondly at him. “Thanks, Tío.” She hesitates before she says, “It wasn’t Mamá’s idea, by the way. I wanted to come here and meet you.” 

Considering Julieta’s hesitant phone call, this doesn’t come as a surprise at all. And now that he’s gotten to know Mirabel properly he knows how much it means to her that she knows the whole family now, including the man they’d all sort of shunned.

For the first time she’s here, he’s the one to pull her into a hug.

-tbc

#bruno madrigal #mirabel madrigal #encanto #encanto fanfics #fabshipping #almost there... #fabril

[wood-white-writer]

"In the Land of the Blind" [Chapter VII]

"In the Land of the Blind, the One-Eyed Man is King"

Pairing: Silco x Toxicologist!Reader

Summary: In which Silco makes a profound discovery

Read the AO3 version here | > Chapter VIII

You’re already headed for The Last Drop the day after, with half a plan and a bottle of venomous secretions tucked safely in your pocket. There’s no way of knowing how tonight is going to turn, and you’ll rather take on the risk of death by toxic inhalation than whatever Silco might inflict if he registers this as potential insubordination.

It’s barely been months since Vander kicked the bucket, yet the changes around the Undercity are already making headlines at this point. Carriages pass you by, as do the masses. No doubt the work of the Chem-Barons, who perceives this development as advantageous to their overall influence.

The bar, which previously served as a beacon of the underground, has since been lit up with neon signs that make epileptic seizures probable, and outside of its grand entrance stands two bouncers fit for the role of both the welcoming committee and the warning crew. You’ve seldom indulged in visits to the establishment, less so since the decline of the Hound, but even less now with all these recent developments. Death visits these streets more frequently now that there’s no guard dog to keep watch.

As soon as you approach the entrance, the bounces are quick to evaluate you. Granted, you probably stand a sore thumb by comparison to their usual guests, with your mundane clothing and lack of shimmer intoxication, but that does little to decrease their reservations. If you’re not here for pleasure, you’re here on business, and one might argue that the latter serves as the more dubious alternative.

“Just here for a drink,” you brief them, hoping that they’re not going to ask any questions.

The bouncers turn to look at each other, a non-verbal exchange passing between them before they finally grant you entrance.

The life of the underground is presented in front of you via drinks, partying, and questionable substances of variable nature. The music blasts its way through your eardrums, threatening to combust them with the sheer volume alone. Oh, you miss your clinic already, but you’re not turning back. Not yet.

Yeah, The Drop has changed since you last passed through these doors. Vander’s Drop was more of a tavern, with a serene and calm atmosphere to accommodate its patrons. This is the pinpoint definition of a hellhole, for a lack of better phrasing. There’s dancing, there’s sex, and there’s even the occasional shimmer injection in the far corner of the bar, yet none seem to register these acts as potentially dangerous. To them, this is the way things have always been.

Normal .

“Damn,” you murmur to yourself, your voice falling short against the reverberating music. With a defeated shrug, you push your way through the crowd, evading the party members as you walk. Some take offense to your opposition whereas some leave you be as you are. Either way, you successfully get to the front counter of the bar with all of your limbs intact.

The bartender is quick to turn to you. He’s younger than you are, and the light in his eyes suggests he has yet to lose his blissful naivety, even for his age. That’s a rare thing to come across, especially nowadays. Maybe it’s for the best, or maybe there’s an explosion waiting to happen once the truth slaps him in the face. Either way, it’s none of your concern as far as you make it so.

You seat yourself atop a chair in front of the wooden counter, but don’t say a word before he opens up the possibility of conversation.

“So, what can I get y-”

“I wanna talk to your boss,”

He freezes like a deer in headlights, fumbling with a half-cleaned tumbler in his hands as he musters a response. “I- Uhm, Sevika isn’t-”

“I’m not talking about Sevika,” you incline your head to the staircase leading up. “I’m talking about the Eye himself. He occupied?”

“I- I wouldn’t know.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” You almost feel sorry for the sod. He doesn’t grasp quite how serious him being here is, and you can’t blame him. What better way to make your usefulness profitable than serving drinks to the kings, and simultaneously maintaining your anonymity? Maybe anonymous doesn’t quite fit the description, but no one is going to question a bartender without reason.

“While I wait for him to be available, make me an Old Fashioned?” you offer with the auspicious wave of your hand.

“I- I’m not sure when-”

“Thieram, stop being such a pussy and make the goddamn drink already.” Sevika orders as she positions herself on the seat a few feet from yours, a bottle of hard liquor already tightly attached to her good hand. On cue, the guy is quick to scramble up the necessary ingredients to concoct the beverage.

You scoff, feeling the weight of the vial play in your left hand as you consider your current circumstances. With the flick of your finger, you can make the entirety of this establishment drop dead on your command. The Last Drop Dead would’ve been their next name. “I suppose you’re the woman I need to refer to to get to him.”

“He’s busy with one of those topside lickspittles,” she grumbles sourly under her breath, her voice almost drowned by the background of the bar as she swirls the bottle in her grip. “He’s almost done.”

“Hmm.” You glance at her left hand, which rests concealed beneath the comforts of her poncho. “Are the painkillers effective?”

“Huh?” For a moment, she looks confused. Then, her trail of thoughts merges with your own and she shifts to her artificial arm. “Oh, right. Yeah, they’re useful, I guess. It doesn’t … itch anymore.”

“Good.” Just as you finish your response, Thieram places your drink in front of you. To be honest, it doesn’t look quite as … appealing as the kind Vander used to make, but as long as it contains alcohol in its list of primary ingredients, you’re appeased with ingesting it. You do, and its warmth burns down your throat like wildfire in a vast forest. Makes your predicament all the more manifested, somehow.

Long story short, it tastes like absolute horseshit.

Sevika turns her head to you before swinging the bottle to take a proportionate gulp of her own liquor. It doesn’t lessen her mood, but she forces it down with a surprisingly stoic disposition. Half of it, in fact. However disgusting it tastes, her mood outweighs its bitterness by tenfold. “What do you even wanna talk to him about anyway? Any chemical troubles we should be aware of?”

“One of your colleagues has been making hell for the workers at Babette’s.”

She is quick to cease her drinking, and a look akin to murderous adorns her marred face. “Who?”

“A bouncer named Dex,” you supplement, placing the tumbler back down with a firm thud. “He made a mess of their receptionist. A young girl, hardly old enough to make a decent worker. He’s due several ribs. Maybe a few additional bones to throw in the lot.”

“Nellie?” you glance up at her, curiosity riddling your face. Sevika’s face is surprisingly abysmal, and the need for adequate compensation shows clear as day. “That fucker went for her?”

“You know her?”

“She… She’s a good kid. Not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed, but she’s good.” You can tell that the look in her eyes reveals sincere concern. Sevika heaves a hard sigh as her face crumbles against her fist on the counter. “Did he do anything to her?”

“A broken nose and a few bruised ribs from what I could gather, but she’ll be fine. He didn’t touch her if you get what I’m saying. Not for a lack of trying though.” The grip around your glass tightens to the point where cracks almost establish themselves on the rims. “He will get what’s coming for him. With or without Silco’s aid.”

Sevika doesn’t seem to oppose the sentiment, but her obligations are another matter. She has responsibilities seeing it as she’s one of Silco’s primary workers. She’s valuable. You’re not. If she can’t see this through, then you will, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re capable of it.

You don’t have anything keeping you back. No family. No allies. No nothing. You’re only putting yourself on the line, and it doesn’t appall you as much as it should.

After a few moments, she peeks a glance up the staircase. “You can probably go up there now, just make sure that you knock first. He doesn’t like being interrupted.”

“Is that a fact?” You stand up from your seat, searching your other pocket for a few coins to grant the poor bartender. They make an impact against the counter with a clank, and a few even dare to roll against the edge. Thieram makes no move to collect them at first. “Thank you for the warning.”

“Hey, doc.”

“What?”

She holds up her bottle to you, a sign of begrudging respect. “Make him pay real fucking good.”

You say nothing, but your intent is clear with tilt of your head before you make your way up the stairs.

The corridors on the second floor are lacking, void of neon signs displaying “SILCO’S OFFICE”, but it somehow affirms that you’re on the right path. It’s quiet, even with all the background noise. Eerie.

As you’re about to pass a seemingly standard door, it slams open with a firm hand, and a man wearing the gear of a Piltovan enforcer exits. You halt in your steps just as your respective paths are about to intertwine, and he does the same. Just by looking at you, you can tell he’s disgusted, the premature wrinkles on his otherwise youthful face making it obvious to anyone with the gift of sight.

“Get out of my way, gutter rat!” he orders and grasps at your shoulder, but you won't budge at first. He tries again, more forceful now than before, but your only response to this is to provide him an acidic scowl.

“Let her be, Marcus.” Silco’s cool voice from within his office speaks. “I would advise against exasperating her.”

This enforcer – Marcus – begrudgingly removes his hand. Whatever’s been discussed in the office has not earned him any favors. With one last glare, the sharp heels of his feet announce his departure down the staircase, and you can’t help but glare at his descent. The Undercity’s disdain for enforcers is something you share with the crowd, but not without reasons.

“You are welcome to enter, you know. Or do you intend to linger instead?”

For its clear tone, Silco’s voice doesn’t leave much room for opposition. Heaving a deep breath, you decide to enter, shutting the door behind you.

For all his dealings, Silco’s office doesn’t strike you as suspicious in any way or fashion. It’s clean, it’s neat. Fit for a businessman in every sense of the word. Even has its own view. However, there’s the unmistakable atmosphere of something sinister lurking about, and it’s almost enough to make you second-guess your visit for just a split second.

You’re standing in dangerous waters now, and if you don’t tread carefully, the shark in the abyss will swallow you whole. Bones, flesh, blood, everything will be gone, with only wavering ripples left as evidence of your existence.

The Eye of Zaun – King of the Lanes – is seated on the only couch in the room, a lit cigar settled between his lips and legs crossed, like a regent fit for a throne. He looks vaguely amused by your entrance. “Miss Toxicologist. What a lovely surprise.”

“Silco,” you acknowledge, your lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line as you regard him. He tilts his head to the seat opposite of him, and you obey. The seat still lingers with the remaining warmth left behind by the fuming enforcer. Whatever arrangements took place prior to your arrival, Silco had benefited from it.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, both eyes aimed unwaveringly at yours. “It has to be severe if it warranted a personal visit.”

“It’s not personal, I assure you.”

“Not even a little?”

“I won’t waste your time. I’m here for one of your bouncers.”

He raises an eyebrow, his curiosity momentarily piqued. “Why?”

“He assaulted one of the workers at Babette’s.”

Whatever he was previously about to vocalize dies at the tip of his tongue, and his entire façade freezes up as if time itself has ceased moving at a regular pace. Facially speaking, he doesn’t look any different from what you’re accustomed to, yet there’s a shadow over his eyes that remind you of liquid Sulphur. Simmering. Brewing just beneath the surface, ready to erupt from the slightest misstep.

“When?” he asks, and though he’s not raising his voice in the slightest, you can tell that the ice-cold layers of his composure are gradually melting.

It’s potentially hazardous for you to remain, but you’re here on an endeavor, and your determination to see this through is not quivering, regardless of the cost it might warrant. “Last night.”

“Any casualties?”

“No, but the receptionist suffered grievous injuries. I patched her up, but the girl’s conditio–”

“Girl?” He looks like he’s halfway through biting the cigar clean in half.

Your demeanor doesn’t change despite the evidential shift in his’, but it’s gradually on its way to. The Eye never struck you as the kind of person to care about what happened to a young woman – a child – but given his current role as the caregiver to a rather turbulent girl not much younger than Nellie, maybe there was something that hit a little too close to home in that department?

“A child, really. Barely in her late teens by the looks of it. According to the courtesans, the guy was apparently into that kind of … service.”

Truly, you’ve underestimated his sheer capability of remaining self-possessed, though it was to be expected given his line of work. It must have taken years to master it, but if the tight creases along the back of his couch atop which his arms rest serve as any indicator, it’s that he’s one bad word from unleashing the beast he’s so gracefully tried to contain.

It’s admirable, in a way, and you could probably admit that to yourself without falsehood.

Silco takes a deep, hollow breath through his nostrils before finally dipping the remnants of his cigar into the ashtray on the table, though you can’t help but note the way he all but mushes it beneath his thumb. Ashes smear across his otherwise clean skin, but he makes no effort to acknowledge or remedy it.

“The perpetrator. What’s his name?”

“Dex.”

Realization seems to wash over him like a bucket of scalding water, or it might be the simmering rage making it seem like his head’s about to combust.

Meanwhile, all you can hope to do now is to keep your head low and pray that the poison in your pocket will have no use here. For the first time since you’ve met the man in person, you can tell that he’s angry, and that’s putting it mildly. Even Vander, with his overwhelming size and strength, couldn’t hope to hold a candle to this display of wrath.

For all your reservations about being here at this very moment, you’re curious as to what Silco intends to do about this. A part of you, however small, hopes that he’s going to take the necessary actions to prevent this kind of incident in the future. If Babette’s words hold any meaning to you.

Or, he might view this as an act of defiance, and that’s when the image of rippling water makes resurfaces in the back of your head. A stone in the withering waters, only visible for a few seconds before merging with the darkness below.

That’s what you’ll become. A sinking rock. The one who thread too far. The one who leapt before she tested the waters.

You dig your hand into your pocket, tumbling with the small container still there, yet it doesn’t make you feel much safer. It should; it always had, whether it regarded unruly patrons or dangers on the streets, it’s never failed to make you feel like you have some kind of hold – control – over your circumstances.

Up until now.

It speaks volumes of Silco’s hold over you, however unintentional or unwilling.

Finally, after what feels like hours of unnerving quietness, he tilts his head to the side, eyes never straying far from yours as he retrieves what shred of composure he momentarily lost. “The bouncer will be dealt with, I can assure you. You may convey to Babette that no further harm will come to her establishment from my workers in any near future.”

“Do I have your word.”

“You have my word. Babette will have her pound of flesh.”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, relief coursing through your veins in a near-uncharacteristic sense. “Good.” Your business has concluded, and so you get up to your feet and straighten your coat. “Then I will take my leave.”

“Is that the only reason you were here?” he asks. “There was no other issue that needed discussing? All this for someone else’s cause?”

“That was all,” you confirm. “I thank you for your time, Silco, but I’m sure you’re an occupied man, so I won’t keep you any further.”

“… Very well, but before you leave, would me mind indulging me an answer?” Matching your stance, Silco stands up from his seat and takes a few steps closer to you. Close enough to catch wind of the tobacco lingering in his breath, but far enough that physical contact is not a risk.

It’s in moments like these when you’re reminded that, for his slim build, his sense of authority cannot be misplaced by anyone, yet there you stand. “What do you get out of this?”

You shift your head to get a better look at him, attempting yet failing to deduce whatever underlying implications grace the surface of his eyes. Was this an attempt at mockery, or a genuine inquiry? For someone who looked halfway about to commit murder mere moments ago, he’s recollected himself profoundly well on such short notice. A snake shedding its former layer of skin in favor of a fresh disposition.

Taking your silence a sign of confusion, he continues, “Was this just business on your end? Secure more patrons for your establishment by posing as their protector. After all, the term of our contract was that our respective works would have no effect on each other, and yet here you are, going out of your way to inform me of the misdemeanors of one of my men on behalf of another. Rather charitable of you, wouldn’t you say, for someone who claims to hold no obligations for matters outside of her own work?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d believe that he appeared somewhat disappointed by the notion. 

“Don’t mistake this for charity, Silco,” you reply as firmly as you can muster. You straighten your back, this time facing him completely with a sharpness to your gaze. “I’m no one’s savior, but we both know that no one fucks with the escort agencies. No one is above that rule. Not even the men of the powerful Industrialist himself. I merely intended to remind you of that.”

There’s a shift in his demeanor as you say this. Admiration. Heat. Understanding. Your words might have been taken as an insult with the way you carried them, but Silco does not seem to harbour any animosity. If anything, he’s enamoured.

“It seems you’re a walking contradiction, my dear,” he speaks softly, so much so that you almost strain to hear it. He arrives with clarification before you can even request it of him. “You hold loyalty for your fellows, even when you mean to convey otherwise.”

“Loyalty? Is that what you believe fueled this visit?”

“Was it not? Not even for Babette?”

“I came here as a messenger for Babette. Nothing more. What difference does loyal obligations make?”

This time, he leans in closer, his warm breath tingling the outline of your face. Under any other circumstances, this might have been perceived as an intimate encounter, but both of you are very well aware of the nature of your relationship. It’s just business.

“Plenty,” he murmurs barely above a whisper. “After all, if I told you that I had no intention of dealing with this matter, what would you have done? Let it lie, or handled it yourself?”

He already knows your answer. What your voice fails to reply with, your eyes make up for.

“I would’ve taken care of it.” 

There’s no question about it. There’s a fire in your eyes that burns hotter than any sun, though the owner would prefer to let it be perceived as mere embers to avoid garnering suspicions. But he sees through it like glass. What’s resting underneath your calm exterior is a wildfire, and it’s the same one he’s been attempting to catch a glimpse of since the day he first met you.

He watches you intently up until the moment where the door shuts behind you, and the sound of your feet gradually vanish down the hallway.

You’re an enigma, he decides, and he’s always harbored an affinity for puzzles. He’s gotten one answer from this meeting, and it’s that – for all your apathetic regards – you’re loyal. Perhaps not to him, not yet, but at the very least for the city in which you both reside. This event has more than proved that, even if you would prefer to pretend otherwise. 

You’re loyal in the sense that you would cast your own well-being aside to deliver a message towards arguably the most powerful man in Zaun, and you did so without wavering even once.

A quality like that is seldom found, and you just handed it to him on a platter. 

Sevika arrives shortly, and he doesn’t even question why the offending bouncer at the centre of all of this is currently thrown bruised and beaten on his floor, like cattle sent to slaughter.

First things first, it is time to make an example.

#silco x reader #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #silco/reader #in the land of the blind #arcane lol #silco x oc #fanfiction

[princesssarisa]

Nihal for the character ask?

Favorite thing about them: As a person, what I like best about her is the kindness and concern she shows to the sick Beşir, even if she doesn't really care as deeply as she should. On a meta level, I like the sheer complexity and emotional depth of her character, so unexpected for a 12-to-15-year-old girl in a turn-of-the-20th-century novel written by a man. In a more conventional book, she would just be a sweet, innocent foil to her adulterous stepmother Bihter, but she's most definitely not. On the one hand, she's spoiled, bitter, often irrational, manipulative, and much too possessive. But on the other hand, we can sympathize with her pain at being "abandoned" by her loved ones, especially because her father's remarriage comes at the same time as (and is partly motivated by) her transition from a child to a young woman in society, with the expectation of soon leaving her home to marry some stranger. Add to these her assorted other qualities, like her cleverness and her moments of genuine kindness, and she arguably has the richest characterization in the entire book.

Least favorite thing about them: Well, if she were a real person, I'd dislike her spiteful, vindictive tendencies, but that's part of what makes her interesting. As a character... I'm tempted to agree with @ariel-seagull-wings about disliking the idea that her rivalry with Bihter was inevitable, that stepmothers and stepdaughters are always rivals. But since (unless I'm forgetting something) it's only Mademoiselle de Courton who says this, I'll argue that we the readers don't need to take that view, per se.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I'm uncomfortable with change.

*I'm sometimes afraid of abandonment.

*I like Classical music.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I don't have a stepmother.

*I've always been strong and healthy.

*I don't play the piano.

Favorite line: "Father, when a child becomes a young girl she finally becomes a bride, doesn’t she? Do you know? I have made a decision, a decision that can’t be changed: Little Nihal won’t become a bride. You know you used to ask me when I was little: You used to say, Nihal, who will you marry. I, doubtless with a a serious conviction, used to say: You. Don’t panic, now I am not of that opinion, but I will stay by your side, do you understand, father? Always together with you…”

brOTP: Bülent (when she's not acting like he betrayed her just by innocently calling Bihter "mother") and Mademoiselle de Courton.

In crossover-land, I might also like her to meet either of the two Catherines from Wuthering Heights – she shares traits with both, combining an upbringing more like Catherine Linton's with the selfishness, pathology, need for adoration, and (eventual) emotion-aggravated sickliness of Catherine Earnshaw, and dealing with the hard transition from girlhood to womanhood too. I don't know if they could ever be friends or if they'd hate each other, though.

OTP: None; she's not psychologically ready for romance and might never be.

nOTP: Behlül, or her father.

Random headcanon: Her illness is some form of epilepsy (her fainting spells are actually seizures), and she's on the autism spectrum too. After all, about 10% to 12% of people with ASD are also epileptic, and it would explain a lot about her personality: black and white thinking, dislike of change, not wanting to leave the safety of childhood, etc.

Unpopular opinion: If it's unpopular to think of her as a unique, complex, morally gray character, and not just an ingénue foil to Bihter, then that's my unpopular opinion. Although I think anyone who thinks she's a stock ingénue must either only know a bad adaptation, not the book, or else lack basic reading comprehension!

Song I associate with them: None at the moment.

Favorite picture of them: These pictures from @faintingheroine of Itır Esen in the 1975 TV version.

#aşk ı memnu #nihal #character ask #fictional characters #ask game #turkish literature

[gamerbearmira]

HAPPY EPILEPSY AWARENESS MONTH EVERY BODY Epileptic Mirabel should be all thats posted/j IM JOKING I SWEAR Anyways Epileptic Mirabel waking up at 6 am from a Seizure and just SCREAMS her heart out because she threw up and none was there Ya'll can laugh btw its funny-Epileptic Baby Bear

HAPOY EPILEPSY AWARENESS‼️‼️‼️

#epilepsy awareness

[imnothingimnobody]

God

I pushed my mind as far as it could go. With drugs, starvation, near death experiences, huge periods of reflection and introversion. I wanted to understand something that me, as a materialist and scientific rationalist, couldn't understand. Why is there there this consciousness, this uniqueness? The closest anyone ever came was giving a primate that could do sign language treats, thus prompting it. There is nothing on par with human consciousness. I say that as an environmentalist. I say that as someone who understands that our treatment of nature as expendable will cause our extinction. Yet here I was with a problem. Tool use in animals, I found out about it. Beavers constructing dams, chimps using sticks to get ants and so on. None of that compares to the singular intelligence of humans. So one species out of 8.7 million can go into space. Can nullify nature. Alright, there is no God? When I was dying in the ICU, and a couple times before from epileptic seizures, I saw the nature of God as much as anyone could. It's without gender. It isn't anything we could ever understand, I certainly couldn't. But somehow it brought what exists into being. I kept hearing this repeating message, "There's bad so good can exist." Repeated and it leveled me. I woke up like a different person. Of course I fell by the wayside later on but that's another story. Again: It is not evil, it is not good It is ambivalent to the trials and tribulations of mankind It offers nothing but endlessly more lives It doesn't ask anything of you because It's nature is ours It understands but needs no worship It wonders how the Big Bang doesn't confirm It's existence What people understand as free will is much more free Everything is recycled, conserving the law of conservation It's existence precludes to the Big Bang initiating

#god #deism #33 degrees #OT 8

[deepdownclowns]

Remember the Horrors version of Third Base I wrote for?

I gave him an overhaul who sticks by the same ish religion.

Meet Colis Morgan

Backstory:

Tw for religious abuse, misgendering, child abuse, mild abelism, familicide, seizures, and child murder

He grew up in a cult whose lore I'll get into later. He was taught as a kid to respect his elders, ask no questions, play the perfect daughter. His transgenderness has lore importance. He was that, perfect and devout to the Older Brother through worship.

But he wasn't often allowed in church as was epileptic. That was seen as Demonic and violent by his mother, the preists kid. So he lived with his father while his brother played good choir boy. One day he snuck out to play instead of clean under the guidance of his older brother who just wanted him to have fun.

His mother found out and savagely beat the brother. Since he was being punished by someone so high, none of the adults bothered to helped him.

He died on the steps of the church and was devoured by crows. This caused the change in the younger brother. He became a Horror and set to murder his mother. Others intervened but he slaughtered them too. He grabbed his father's ax and slaughtered both his parents. By the time he had calmed down it was just him and his grandfather.

He went to his grandfather's study, stole his holy book, and used it to bash in his head. Honestly he'd have ended up a proxy if HABIT hadn't snatched him up first.

After the slaughter of the rest of his churh and an awful seizure he decided to escape the Warren. He didn't feel safe with HABIT and feared the eyes (the sun and stars) of his ancestors judgement. So he settled on the Deep.

He used the knowledge of the Deep that he'd acquired from Vick to get down there. Now he hides out in clubs, his only friends are Matthias and a skull masked prophet whose working to ease him to worship the Sadist. That the Sadist is his fabled first brother.

Other small notes:

*He's unsure if he's human or horror but he's praying he stays human.

*the Deep occasionally scares him as he thinks he's waking up in his hell.

*He dreams of trees and gods beyond his understanding. They're enough to keep him from getting proper sleep.

*He's never seen the Hedonist.

*The crow he keeps with him is a Beast he saved. (It wasn't initially part but my friend threw them in so yeah) He's not... fond of the shape shifting mass of black flesh. But the crow listens and helps him with seizures. So he tolerates the "Demon". Also since he thinks the Beast is a demon, the title Demon is technically their name.

#horrors au #horrors oc