#incurable

[new-ronantics]

mike wheeler fumble of the century

[an0neemouse]

POTs is a scary illness. Imagine going about your day and without warning you lose the ability to control your body. With near-syncopy you don't always lose your cognition because you don't fully lose consciousness. I can hear everything going on around me but I can't control my body. I can't see. I can't speak. Often times I feel stupid. I am an intelligent, educated woman but I struggle to find words or concepts. When I'm having a bad flare up I sometimes have slurred speech or temporary mutism that lasts for hours and sometimes days. There are times I fall. Not just when I faint. But sometimes my balance is bad enough that I stumble like I'm drunk or just lose the ability to support myself. I have headaches. Neck, back, and shoulder pain. Digestive discomfort ranging from heartburn to diarrhea. Hot flashes to put menopause to shame. Shortness of breath. Loss of hearing. Blurry vision. Racing heart rate. Uncontrollable trembling. Exhaustion. Fatigue. Depression. Anxiety. Shit, this stupid illness even causes dry skin.

But all people know about POTs is that you pass out if you stand up too quickly. If only it were that simple.

[fourgods-nobrakes]

I was looking up Ruven-related things for other reasons today and came across this bit of flashback in Void Stalker (to when the Ultramarine successors were trying to eliminate the Night Lords), and DAMN I wish we'd had more of this:

All five of the Praetors had left the safety of their cover. All five stood in the open, their limbs locked tight, shuddering as spasms wracked their bodies. As First Claw watched, two of them dropped their weapons. Their unburdened fingers trembled and curled, all control lost. A figure stepped into view behind them. Horns curled in an elegant rise from his skull-faced helm, and his T-shaped visor looked upon the scene in expressionless silence. In one armoured fist, the figure held an ancient bolter; in the other, a staff of mercury-threaded black iron, topped by a cluster of human skulls. The Praetors’ shaking helms clicked with flawed vox signals, as they tried to vocalise their torment. Smoke hissed from their melting armour joints, and their epileptic quivers redoubled. As holes appeared in their armour-plating, the screams finally broke free from the molten decay. One by one, they collapsed to the hangar decking, liquidised organic filth spilling in slow gushes from each armoured suit. The figure lowered its staff, and walked calmly towards First Claw. ‘You weren’t thinking of leaving without me, were you?’ asked Ruven. His voice lacked even the shadow of emotion. ‘No,’ Talos lied. ‘Not for a moment.”

Somebody pls draw him with his elegant horns and his skull staff and his monstrousness <3

(Book club question: did Ruven decide to betray them before or after First Claw made it Very Clear that they held him in contempt and wanted to be rid of him however they could?)

[seagreenstardust]

Yuga: is a traitor, responsible for heroes and classmates getting injured and quirks being stolen and lots of trauma in 1-A

Katsuki: so he’s quirkless just like Izuku is, that’s surprising how Aoyama was quirkless because Izuku was too, can’t believe how quirkless Izuku used to be

[senatortedcruz]

Hiking the Alaskan wilderness and still made time to stalk my ho today

[j-august]

It occurred to Mr Campion that what Mr Rigget really needed was some sort of reverse process of psycho-analysis. To know the truth about oneself, if it were both unpleasant and incurable, must be a variety of hell, he decided.

Margery Allingham, Flowers for the Judge

[0rph3u5]

“Oh Senor" said the niece. "Your grace should send them to be burned (books), just like all the rest, because it's very likely that my dear uncle, having been cured of the chivalric disease, will read these and want to become a shepherd and wander through the woods and meadows singing and playing and, what would be even worse, become a poet, and that, they say, is an incurable and contagious disease.” ― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra Don Quixote

[mvaljean525]

And if my heart be scarred and burned, The safer, I, for all I learned; The calmer, I, to see it true That ways of love are never new— The love that sets you daft and dazed Is every love that ever blazed; The happier, I, to fathom this: A kiss is every other kiss. The reckless vow, the lovely name, When Helen walked, were spoke the same; The weighted breast, the grinding woe, When Phaon fled, were ever so. Oh, it is sure as it is sad That any lad is every lad, And what’s a girl, to dare implore Her dear be hers forevermore? Though he be tried and he be bold, And swearing death should he be cold, He’ll run the path the others went.… But you, my sweet, are different.

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Incurable

Dorothy Parker 1893-1967

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Graphic - Mary Carroll (B.1979)