#i have epilepsy i would be fucked

[crazywolf828]

I think it's hilarious when people talk about surviving the zombie apocalypse or whatever because they always forget about one thing, Medication.

Legit just about everyone I know is on some sort of medication and you won't get that when the world ends. Yes, this includes glasses, those things break? That's it, you're blind, is that a zombie walking towards you or another survivor? Guess you'll have to wait to find out!

[thestarkster1465]

Haven't been following the James Somerton drama closely but it's become so ridiculous that it's funny

Is no one going to talk about the fact that he said that he thought it was okay for him to mention Vito Russo in the opening credits and then never mention him again because his book was out of print and Russo was dead....

And then in the same breath say that he was 'extending Russo's legacy' like my brother in Christ do you even hear yourself-

[sunkern-plus]

shout out to the people who can never have kids physically because their physical and mental health issues combined alone would put them at risk of serious harm or death if not on the right amount of pills at the right time, you guys are the real ones

[jewishfalin]

Why do so many psychiatrists love to gaslight. Okay, Hannibal Lecture.

If I had a nickel for every time a psychiatrist straight up told me lies I would have too fucking many and that's a problem.

[yeehawwillow]

it still frustrates me endlessly that basically every game nowadays INCLUDING HORROR GAMES WITH JUMPSCARES give flashing light warnings and some even give accessibility options to turn them off. meanwhile spirtifarer still has no warning and no plans to ever give an accessibility option making the game unplayable for ppl like me unless i am willing to risk my health. love it.

[this-doesnt-endd]

I still find it kinda wild that after 1 psych eval they immediently put me on antipsychotics

[hellhoundlair]

sam traumatic brain injury thoughts rn

[sevenvi]

what the fuck do you mean she won’t let me retake my exam

[cidnangarlond]

just had a really intense but very very brief full body spasm. hello

[rosielav]

Having absolutely massive anxiety today. Struggling to do literally anything, including focusing. It's a struggle to even stay lucid, like I feel like I took a sleeping pill. I want to draw, I want to color, I want to figure out how to make wallpapers and phone backgrounds so I can start doing that. I have so much I want and need to do and I feel like I can't do any of it. And I don't know how to stop that feeling.

[nervousyoungtwinfantasydog]

getting high at 11 am and listening to dark wave at full volume before my neuroscience lecture is very #mecore

[fulltransmetalgenderist]

.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

For the last couple days I’ve had a variation of the “take ibuprofen with me” meme that instead says “commit arson with me” and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a meme that actually said that, it’s just been haunting me and I don’t know where it comes from

[rotationalsymmetry]

good morning. Guess who couldn’t sleep!

when I started posting on this blog, I had a clear sense of intention. That intention has faded away over time into a whole lot of click the button that causes me to feel a little bit good over and over and over again. Which is not really how I want to be.

So, I’m doing a reset. Self control allowing, I will be off this blog for a month, until Sept 21. And when I come back…I will actually use all the content-notice tags that I say I’m going to use. And in particular I’m going to be more screen reader friendly: I do really value some images/videos and realistically cannot describe all the ones that I like, but, I can go back to tagging those “undescribed” and making them a small minority of my blog.

(one exception from the month break: I did say I was going to make a post on abolition. feminism. now. so I will do that. And maybe if I get my act together post some things saved in drafts. But otherwise? See you in September.)

[pinknatural]

Pick out the biggest, reddest, juiciest strawberries. Wash ‘em real good. Lay them out on a tray covered in parchment paper. Pat them dry, and leave them out. Put some chocolate chips in a bowl, and microwave in 30 second intervals. After the chocolate is good and melted, pick up the strawberries by the stem and dip them in, coating them thoroughly before putting them back on the tray. 

Dean’s never made chocolate-covered strawberries before. Never had a reason to. It’s kinda nice, to dedicate all his focus to making sure the chocolate is covering up the berries evenly. To try not to get them to drip. 

Since moving into the Bunker, Dean’s found that baking is fun. He likes putting a bunch of stuff together and seeing delicious results. And chocolate-covered strawberries aren’t exactly rocket science, but he knows they’ll taste good and make Sammy happy and that’s all he really wants, right?

Plus, he thinks, gently placing another strawberry back on the parchment paper. He doesn’t think Jack has ever had a chocolate-covered strawberry before, and he can just picture the kid’s excited eyebrows at the taste. 

He picks up another strawberry, pinching all the leaves between his fingers so they don’t get chocolatey. He dips it nice and slow into the glass bowl, turning it gently as he brings it out of the chocolate.

“What are you doing?” 

Dean yelps, nearly dropping his strawberry. 

“Jesus christ, Cas, you snuck up on me!” he says, turning to glare over his shoulder. Cas is standing just behind him, staring curiously. He could’ve been there for two minutes or twenty. Dean didn’t even know he was in the Bunker, let alone the kitchen. “I’m not kidding about that bell, dude.”

“Apologies,” Cas says. He doesn’t sound a bit sorry at all. Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to his strawberry, putting it on the tray next to the other completed ones. Cas moves in closer. “What is the purpose of this exercise?”

“Chocolate-covered strawberries,” Dean says. 

“I see that,” Cas says. He sniffs, as if the smell disagrees with him. “But why are you covering the strawberries in the chocolate? Is it for a spell?”

“No, it’s a dessert. Like a candy, I guess,” Dean says. “For Valentine’s Day.”

“Ah, yes,” Cas says. “Unattached drifter Christmas.”

Something in Dean’s heart stabs, at that. He hates that Cas has heard him say that, or heard Sam reference it, or whatever. 

“Yeah,” he says, looking away from Cas’ eyes. The strawberries are safer to look at. “I guess.”

Cas’ big hands enter Dean’s field of view, and he plucks up a strawberry. Not one with chocolate on it. A naked one. Despite himself, Dean looks back up at Cas. It’s hard to not look at him. He has a very nice face.

“What does chocolate strawberries have to with the patron saint of bees?” 

“Bees?”

“And epilepsy,” Cas says, squinting at the strawberry. “And the mentally ill. And happy marriages.”

“Uh, it’s more about the happy marriages thing,” Dean says. “Valentine’s Day is about love and shit.”

“And strawberries,” Cas says, nodding wisely, as if he understands everything. He sets the strawberry back on the tray. Dean’s not sure if he’s fucking with him or not. Surely after all this time on earth, Cas knows what fucking Valentine’s Day is. 

“You give the strawberries to your Valentine,” Dean says. “Or chocolate or whatever. Or those fucking disgusting chalky heart things. But Eileen loves chocolate-covered strawberries and so these are for Sam. To give to her.”

Dean told Sam to make his own chocolate-covered strawberries, but Sam said that either Dean could make them or he would buy some from the store. And Dean does not trust fucking Hy-Vee to have quality chocolate-covered strawberries. He picks up Cas’ naked strawberry--the last one--and dips it into the chocolate. 

“That’s very kind of you,” Cas says, watching him. “To help Sam out.”

“Whatever,” Dean mutters, holding the strawberry up so the excess chocolate can drip back into the bowl. “I wanted Jack to try some, too.”

“You say that like it will make me think you less kind,” Cas says. Dean is tempted to throw him out of the kitchen. But goddamnit, he likes Cas and likes when Cas hangs out with him and asks stupid questions about Valentine’s Day. But knows that Saint Valentine is the patron saint of epilepsy, or whatever. Ugh. 

Dean never knows when Cas is leaving, anyway, so he’s gotta take all the time he can get. He leaves his strawberries behind and fetches another glass bowl. The white chocolate chips are already out, beside the opened bag of regular chocolate chips. 

“I thought you said white chocolate was an abomination,” Cas says, watching Dean pour some into the bowl. 

“It is,” Dean says. “But it will look fancier this way, trust me.” He puts the bowl in the microwave, punches in a 3-0-enter then turns around to look at Cas. He’s inspecting the neat line of chocolate-covered strawberries. They’re a little messier than Dean wants, but hell, it’s his very first try. 

“I don’t understand why you would put the chocolate on the strawberries,” Cas says. “My understanding is that strawberries are perfectly good on their own.”

“Dude, bacon is perfectly good on its own and we put chocolate on that,” Dean says. He crosses back to the counter and picks up a strawberry by the stem, holds it out to Cas. “Go on, try it.”

He expects Cas to take the strawberry from him--chocolate end first, and then he’ll get chocolate all over his fingers and Dean will die a million deaths watching him lick the chocolate off. Instead, Cas does something a thousand times worse and leans forward, biting into the strawberry without taking it, like Dean’s feeding it to him or some shit. 

Dean has a vision of a picnic somewhere, red and white checkered blanket and all. The sky is blue and the grass is soft and Cas’ head is in Dean’s lap and Dean’s feeding him strawberries and kissing him between each one. 

But instead Cas just--doesn’t break eye contact. Just stares, as he bites into the strawberry, chews and swallows. 

“Good?” Dean says, mouth dry. 

Cas closes his eyes, licking his lips. “Mmm, very.” He straightens back up. Even though he licked his lips, he missed a little--has a chocolate mustache. Dean has the insane urge to lick it right off his face. 

“Uh, you got some--chocolate,” Dean croaks instead. He mimes with his own thumb. Cas swipes the chocolate and succeeds in smearing it everywhere. 

“Did I get it?” he asks, and his wide blue eyes hypnotize Dean into reaching forward and wiping the chocolate off Cas’ face with his own fingers. Then Dean licks the chocolate off his thumb. 

Then Dean realizes that the microwave is beeping and the white chocolate’s first 30 seconds have been up for a long time, and he should probably go get that, and he escapes across the kitchen. 

“The strawberry molecules and chocolate molecules are very pleasing together,” Cas says. “Do humans put chocolate on other fruits?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, stirring the white chocolate frantically. If he doesn’t look at Cas maybe Cas will think that what just happened was normal, and that Dean isn’t fucking insane. “Uh, apples, bananas, pineapples. I think I saw it on kiwi once. Uh, maybe orange slices.”

“Fascinating,” Cas says. Dean puts the white chocolate back into the microwave. “Yes, I think Jack would like that very much.”

“Good,” Dean says. He goes to the fridge, gets a beer. Opens it on the side of the counter and takes a big swig. The microwave beeps.

It’s all melted. Dean grabs a spoon and goes over to the berries. He is not confident about this part at all, but crazyforcrust.com said to use a spoon. And hopefully he can get, like four or five good-looking ones for Sam, and the rest can be for him to pig out on on the fourteenth alone in his room while he tries not to wonder where Cas is. 

He dips the spoon into the white chocolate and covers it, then raises it over a strawberry and zig-zags over it, letting the white chocolate drip and drizzle overtop.

“See?” Dean says to Cas, who he knows is watching. “You can hardly taste the white chocolate this way but it looks good.” Well, it doesn’t look bad. Dean’s sure they’ll look better as he goes.

“I see,” Cas says. He points to the drizzled strawberry. “Are you giving that one to Sam?”

“No,” Dean says. “That one was just a practice one.”

“Good,” Cas says, and he picks up the strawberry by the stem. Dean’s never, ever seen him go for seconds before, but he makes a mental note of it. But then Cas turns the strawberry around, unmistakably offering it to Dean. “You should have one. You made them.”

“But--” Dean starts to say, and then Cas brings it up, so it nearly touches Dean’s lips. He looks at him with the same kind of focus he gives to a hunt, or smiting demons. 

“Eat it,” he says, nudging Dean’s lips with the fruit. Dean opens his mouth and bites into it. Maybe Dean would lay his head on Cas’ lap in their picnic, and Cas would feed Dean. 

The strawberry is good, probably. Dean’s not really sure what it tastes like. All he can see are Cas’ eyes, boring into his. 

Dean swallows. 

“You don’t have any chocolate on your face,” Cas says. He sounds disappointed. Dean can’t unpack that. 

“That’s ‘cause the chocolate is less melty,” Dean says, mostly on autopilot. He feels a million miles away. “Cause it’s starting to harden.”

“Okay,” Cas says. “Can I help with the drizzle?”

“Oh,” Dean says, shaken out of some kind of trance. “Sure. Get a spoon.”

Cas fetches one. He holds it like an instrument of war. Dean loves him so fucking much.

They drizzle white chocolate over the strawberries. Cas does it so precisely his drizzles look like they came from the store. Dean’s drizzles improve. He makes a couple decent ones. For Jack, he guesses, ‘cause the ones Cas made should probably go to Sam.

“I gave you a strawberry,” Cas says out of nowhere. “And you gave me one. Does that make us Valentines?”

Dean freezes. 

A moment later, his heart restarts and he looks at Cas, who is solemnly drizzling. Then he looks innocently up at Dean, and Dean realizes that Cas has absolutely been fucking with him this whole time. Absolutely knows about Valentine’s Day, absolutely ate that strawberry out of Dean’s hand on purpose. Dean narrows his eyes at him. Cas tilts his head. 

“You’re a menace,” Dean grumbles. 

“That’s not a no,” Cas says. 

“You’re right,” Dean says. “I guess it does make us Valentines.” Cas smiles, a tiny, private thing, and then looks back down at his drizzling. 

“Good,” he says quietly, and Dean ducks his head, cheeks warm and heart fluttering, and he lifts up his spoon. 

It’s kind of cold in Kansas in February, but Dean imagines him and Cas wrapped in blankets,  feeding each other chocolate-covered strawberries in front of the TV. This time, he thinks, he’ll actually taste the strawberry. And you know what? Dean’s sure that those strawberry molecules and those chocolate molecules are gonna be fucking fantastic.

Especially if he gets to kiss them off Cas’ lips. 

(ao3)

[witchthewriter]

Hey! I'm sorry to bother ya, but I saw that Requests were open, and I wanted to know, how would Simon react if they had a S/O with epilepsy, and he caught them having a seizure? You don't have to answer if you don't wanna, I thought I'd just ask! Have a nice day/night/evening, and don' forget to drink water and take breaks, breathe! Love ya, Hun!

tw: mentions of violence, blood, stabbing, angst, seizure, epilepsy and describing of seizures.

Simon had known panic. He had seen it in men's eyes as he thrust a knife through their ribs, knowing their death would come after.

Simon had known panic. He'd seen it in his fellow soldiers, even his fellow Task Force comrades. The way Soap's knee would bounce hearing the next mission. Or when Gaz's nose would flare for a moment before jumping from the plane.

But Simon had never known panic like this.

In the home you shared, with the couch you chose and the pillows you both 'fought' over, he found you.

Your body was uncontrollable, the way your face looked nearly made him drop to his knees. Bile rose in his throat. This was what filled his nightmares. He hadn't known how long you were like this; ten, twenty, thirty minutes? He had only run to the store. But in this moment he couldn't think straught.

It was like his soul left his body. Looking down on him from above, watching himself drop the grocery bags and rush over to you.

Simon checked your mouth: there wasn't anything in there. His soul, now following him, watched himself do everything he had learned in training.

"Come on love," he growled. Beads of sweat starting to drip down his face. Eyes focused so hard they started to blur.

"Please," he had gone through all the steps and now was holding your hand. Pleading both internally; to any gods that would hear him, to the universe, to your giardian angel.

And to you, yourself. To be strong. Because you were his, and he was yours and he could not go on without you.

"I love you goddamit," he grumbled, pressing her hand against his cheek.

Like a siren's song, Simon's soul slammed into his body as soon as you came to.

"Wha-" you started to get up but was held gently down.

Without a moments notice, Simon knew you needed to be calmed, to know where you are and who you were with. Cooing and soothing you, Simon moved the hair from your face and explained what happened.

When your eyes fully opened, you smiled up at him; you head in his lap, "Hey there, handsome," you said weakly.

Simon guffawed.

"You scared me to death! I thought, I though- fuck!" The tears starting to stream down his face faster now, happy and relieved. Safe. Safe. Safe. You were safe.

"Well I apologise," you said faintly. A small smile on your lips. a hand slowly coming up to cup his face.

"I love you too Simon."