#drug induced mania

[hella1975]

im thinkign about him

#'andrew never heals' if i could have taken nora's writing apparatus off her and set it on FIRE i would have #yeah let me just write this tormented character that has been traumatised by every single person in his life #including but not limited to people who were DIRECTLY in official positions designed to help him #and it's left him violent and cruel and possessive and i actively call him a monster and every single character views him badly #either consistently or at least for a little while and regularly dismisses him and his behaviour #and he never heals. he never learns to say i love you. is that not a good story haha?? am i crazy for that? i feel crazyyyy #like the courts there to pursue justice? forced him on mania-inducing drugs that completely altered his personality #the foster system? dont get me started #his family? nice try! #his teammates? getting warmer but we're still not there! #his very readers that supposedly have the benefit of omniscient narrative perspective? nope! #like WHAT FUCKING GIVES #what if i started killing. idc if there are hundresd THOUSANDS of you andrew-antis give me a knife and a vodka shot i will WIN #andrew minyard #aftg

[chaoticace2005]

I feel like the whole world should be lucky I don’t do drugs recreationally.

I’m small, it takes like 1 mg of weed to take me out. My family has a history of substance of abuse. And I’m already unhinged enough as is. All of these ramblings are fueled by depression, stress induced mania, sleep deprivation, or autism. Can you IMAGINE throwing drugs into the mix?

#shitpost #textposts #textpost #i need sleep #welp #depression #anxiety #autism

[henrysglock]

High Existence and ZeroSpace: The First Shadow and NINA May Be Massive, Immersive Drug Trips

The blurb in last Friday's video from TFS sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. I found a lot of sites quoting The Alchemist about the universe conspiring to give you what you truly want (which is similar and it's probably what I was thinking of when this blurb registered as familiar), but I couldn't find this exact quote:

Well...not at first, anyway. I decided to stick every word I could make out here ^ into my search bar...and I found where the blurb comes from:

This blog post is quite literally the only source I could find for it, and the whole damn thing is directly lifted.

Right off the bat, the site fucking jump-scared me:

And it doesn't end there. Let's dive in, because this rabbit hole is a trip unto itself...no MDMA​ ​required.

1. The Fucking Website...#1 (HighExistence.com)

High Existence is a sort of drug-induced-spiritual-trip centered self-help site.

It's got blog posts and podcasts and all that jazz. Here are some of the highlights:

Wow! That was...a lot. A lot of words from the word show, too:

Wholeness, heroes, ancient aliens, prisons of politeness, and the fucking Shire, too, I guess. Why not?

(An Aside: I've included the VR in here too because of the sheer similarities between Henry's experience with the Shadow in VR, El's experience in NINA, and The First Shadow in general.)

Like fuck it, why not keep going, these posts date back to at least 2017:

And don't let me start in on that Creel boy and Faust...

[Jason voice] "[Eddie] made a deal with the devil and now he has his powers!" (Also we get it, one of them is neurotic and the other is psychotic. I've been saying this since like...forever)

Of course, all that insanity aside, the Russian base arc has just...an insane amount of ST4 and TFS stuff packed into it in general:

(And this isn't even all of it. I know others [cough] Stav Heroesbyler [cough] have covered it even more...but bro it is THERE)

But most importantly for the NINA arc:

Three things: Dialogue doubling (there's the one I showed, plus a) Robin yelling "Wipeout!" at Steve which has the pipeline -> "Wipeout!" at Rink-O-Mania -> 002-005 bullying El in a very similar manner and b) Steve's "that's amazing" line about the water fountain -> "This is amazing!" not only from Alice irt the Creel house but also from Mike irt Will's painting on their way to save El from NINA. Again, these are just a few of MANY instances), makeup doubling with the bloodshot eyes, and my beloved: set/prop doubling.

I love that beautiful framing on the nearly-identical square clocks. I have so much to say about that clock, but specifically:

The clocks being set 9 minutes apart, which happens to be the exact length of time from the end of Vecna's voiceover in 4.07 to the start of the fight sequence in 4.07 (aka the length of One's frozen-clock monologue).

Not only that, but the clock isn't even right. It says it's 3:55, but it's definitely not 3:55 AM (see: movie theater scene) but it's also not 3:55 PM:

(And why do we have a clock in an elevator anyway? That's the real question. That thang only exists to deliver subtext, baby! It exists to connect the two scenes further!)

Anyway, as you all likely noticed, this site mostly deals in psychedelics, stimulants, and empathogens.

link

Hell, you could even pull One's bit on the ecosystem into it, since he's describing connections between beings that are being disturbed/destroyed by humanity.

Anyway, the site tends to center specifically on DMT and MDMA...so let's talk about those:

MDMA & DMT An aside: Interesting to me that psychosis here can be counteracted with sedatives. Makes me wonder if whatever happened in 1979 could have been halted if they'd just tranq'd One. Hm.

First off: Did I read that right? Piggy-backing? Damn, son. 4.09, The Piggyback, is pictured in that paragraph. So is Brenner's candy bit with the children -> "candy flipping" vs LSD use in Brenner's lab.

Second: Ah, how nice. Intravenous/injectable. Just like how El is constantly being shot up with...something...to enter NINA.

Now, nearly all psychedelics can induce psychosis, but especially so if they're combined with other psychoactive substances and/or if the user has a history of psychosis (either themselves or in their family).

However, MDMA specifically has been posited as a treatment for PTSD and retrograde/traumagenic amnesia:

link Like...wow. Okay, I guess!

tl;dr: One seems to have been tripping fucking balls during the monologue. Literally every fucking version of him. El likely is as well. Funny how that works. Was any of that real? [smash cut to the way blood pours down the walls and the dead children dance around in the VR version of NINA] And either way, Henry in TFS isn't far behind with his hallucinogenic moments.

The connection? Whatever the hell is going on in Hawkins Labs...and symptoms of drug use.

I was not expecting to get this much out of a single rabbit hole. But...that's life with this show, isn't it? And this is only Part 1.

2. The Fucking Website...#2 (Futurism.com)

The guy who made that original post that TFS lifted the blurb from (Jordan Lejuwaan) runs a couple different websites. The most interesting one is Futurism, which is basically an online version of the Weekly Watcher:

It won't let me filter by date, but it seems to have been founded in 2017, stemming from an infographic subreddit. (Now, it says it's a trustworthy news source, and maybe it is, but... Do your own assessment of that. I'm not your mother, yknow?)

Jordan Lejuwaan was also involved in something far more interesting irt Stranger Things...

3. Zero Space

Jordan co-founded an immersive, interactive theater experience called ZeroSpace back in 2018. As we all know, TFS was just in the beginning phase of its creation around this time.

So...This was like a brick to the skull:

"Alice in Wonderland" (don't get me started: rabbit fuckery, DRUGS!!!!!, clocks/being later, Alice Creel, Fringe connections (Through The Looking Glass and What Walter Found There being the episode about the pocket universe where 20 years passed in 5 days...and also wherein we find out about him hiding away an Observer child that he will later time travel with to save the world from the Observer takeover...erasing himself from time/the timeline by doing so...there is SO much) not to mention the "one pill makes you larger/smaller" vs teen El and baby El...it's too much to try and fit in this post), "ALIENS AND LASERS", "stretch the perceived reality of the sense", "art, actors and your own mind converge to prompt MORE QUESTIONS THAN ANSWERS" (which was a common complaint about TFS: it leaves people with more questions than answers).

("See you on the other side" being an in-show line from Henry in the lab to Patty in the void, but this image is ripped directly from the same promo video that the High Existence blurb appears in.)

Here's a little taste of what ZeroSpace is like, but I suggest going to the actual page to see it in action:

It's heavily heavily reminiscent of TFS, even just in the content warnings...

Not to mention the actual show content SFX:

However, the goal of TFS isn't to stretch our senses. We're just watching. We are not the volunteer seeing the other side.

For most of the show, that person is Henry (except the first 5 mins, when it's Cptn. Brenner and his crew literally experiencing the other side). Henry is doing the experiencing. He's the one breaking the fourth wall by picking at/breaking the sets, the one running through the audience and leaving out the theater doors (only to end up right back on stage just like El in the Rainbow Room in 4.05).

With each bit of info I find out adjacent to the play, the more convinced I am that this is some secret third boy's experience in a NINA-like simulation.

Overall—

a) TFS most likely isn't wholly real, and it seems very likely that it's the same kind of simulation as NINA.

b) El was probably drugged up with some kind of empathogenic psychedelic going into NINA, likely with the goal of setting her up to form emotional connections quickly and deeply only to rip that deep connection away in order to bolster her abilities.

c) NINA is not, then, wholly based in truth. Parts of NINA (staring at the bullying from 002-005) may have been generated from El's memories of the outside world.

d) With NINA and TFS seeming so similar, I wouldn't be shocked if parts of it are just one massive empathogen trip (staring at how quickly Henry and Patty bond, similarly to how quickly Henry and El bond in NINA).

e) Whoever is in NINA with teen El is also tripping balls, most likely, and may have gone off the rails in that regard. However, that's in a simulation...hard to assign guilt or blame for things done in a fictional/unreal world.

f) Whoever was with baby El in 1979 may have been in a similar situation "moving chess pieces"-style instead. Read: drugged in order to put him in a situation where he would bolster El's latent abilities...and it went wrong (see also: Walter Bishop's orchestrated/fake massacre meant to bolster Olivia's latent abilities.)

g) Richard Brenner having been the head of narcotics makes me question which Brenner we're seeing at any given time: Martin, or Richard?

#st nina project #st: tfs #henry creel #el hopper #non-consensual drug use #medical malpractice #ZeroSpace #High Existence

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 21: Brave Enough

Authors Note

Word count: 7.9k

Read the rest here!

After an emotionally taxing conversation with his psychologist, Damiano decided to also stop smoking weed/otherwise consuming cannabis. It’d been too triggering, a reminder of all the reasons he loved coke and opioids. Admitting he wasn’t ready for parties or group gatherings was even more difficult. He loved his friends, his family, and going to Vic’s DJ gigs. He loved playing pool at bars or dancing to the deafening pulse of techno music in a club. These things allowed him to feel the hurried, bright energy of his youth. It was proving hard to differentiate between craving community, craving mania, and craving situations because he associated them with drug use. 

He also made a habit of exercising in the mornings, before treatment. The earlier he took his lithium and ate some protein, the better he tended to feel throughout the day. Routine made cravings easier to resist when he woke up with them and endorphins lessened the severity of his depressive moods.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” That's what you told Damiano when he debriefed you the next evening, a chip to mark 24 hours sober clutched in his fist. He’d disclosed his relapse in group and sobbed, despite hardy efforts not to shed a tear. You make dinner and stroke his hair when Dami lays his head on your lap. He’s cynical, not receptive to positive affirmation. Unfortunately, this mood has become more common as the years pass. So you focus on gestures: nicely making his bed, meal prepping his breakfast, cleaning the litter box even though it was his turn. 

Surprisingly, Damiano requests you read aloud some favorite passages from the books you’ve finished since the breakup. You’d always thought of that as an activity for your sake. Of course he doesn’t actually use the word “breakup.” Dami won’t touch that terminology with a 10 foot pole. He’s grumpy and lovable, snuggled under the pale pink bed sheet as you speak.

Dami returned the favor by waking you up with coffee, which became a tradition on weekdays. He probably got up 10 minutes earlier than necessary to do so. The first morning you thought it was a glorious dream. Instead of the abrasive and occasionally rage-inducing beep of your alarm, a hand you recognized as Damiano’s was rubbing your back. It slides under your t-shirt and gently strokes your spine. You shiver and hum in delight, then scooch closer. Eyes still closed, the bed dips and you sense Dami taking a seat on the edge. The morning light pours in through the curtains – to which you have your back turned – as the scent of espresso reaches your nose. Such sensory perfection must be fantasy.

“It’s time to wake up,” he murmurs.

“Mm mm.” You object and scoot closer, curling around Damiano. He chuckles and massages your scalp with his fingertips. 

“Big stretch,” he narrates as Cheeto rouses herself by his feet. You can tell it’s not Princess, since she’d be meowing by the bedroom door as soon as she heard Damiano up and about. Finally, your brain starts to register that this might be reality, since you never dreamed of Cheeto and Dami simultaneously. You open one eye and are accosted by the bright light, confirming that this isn’t a dream.

“Hey,” you croak, squinting up at him. “What time is it?”

“A couple minutes before your alarm. I turned it off.” You readjust, head, shoulders, and arms splayed across Dami’s lap. “I don’t think that counts as getting out of bed.”

“I’d like to contest that.”

“Getting out of bed in general or if laying on my lap counts?”

“Yes,” you sigh, eyes falling closed.

“Mm mm, keep ‘em open,” he requests, affectionately. You whine in protest and pout. More than anything, you want to pull Dami into the bed for cuddles, but it’d make you late for work.

“Fine.” Awkwardly, you flip onto your back to stare up at Damiano. He’s smiling, which is good motivation to keep looking.

“You’re cute when it’s too bright. You squint so hard that you get this little line between your eyebrows.” He runs his finger along your nose, then taps your cupid’s bow. You’d very much like him to keep going, gently stroking your features. He delicately moves the hair from your face and your eyelids grow heavy. Damiano tsks, working a hand between your mid-back and the mattress.

“Sit up. C’mon.” With a sigh, you detangle your legs from the sheet. “C’mon,” he coaxes sweetly. “When you’re ready to stop pouting, there's coffee.” Your feet land on the floor as Damiano helps push you upright. After a couple sips of espresso, your pupils adapt and the brain begins working. Dami remains seated, hand on your back, and you love that he’s content to just share space. Love that things don’t always have to be full of words and amusements for one another.

“Thank you, this is so nice!” You hug Dami with messy enthusiasm, leaning some of your weight against him. Damiano embraces back and kisses your head.

“I’m happy to do it, sweetheart.” His hand resumes stroking your spine, the other moving the hair from blocking your face. “Just stay awake.”

“Okay, okay,” you groan, standing up and stretching. Dami doesn’t move, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of something. You want the physical affection to continue so badly that it hurts in your chest a little. So you give into an urge before thinking about it and sit on Damiano’s lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders. 

“Wha – hey there, sweetheart.” Aware of morning breath, you kiss Dami’s neck, hairline, and behind his ears. “Feeling a little touch-starved?” You nod. Slowly, he slides his hands under your shirt. By touch-starved, you hadn’t necessarily meant skin to skin. Damiano sneakily took advantage of an opportunity by reading into it and you certainly weren’t mad about his decision. 

Things start innocent enough, his hands rubbing your back, but then they move away from your spine. When stroking around your waist and hips, his fingertips brushed your stomach, pinky dipping underneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. Then those hands slide up, cupping your ribcage. You stop breathing, frozen with anticipation. Would he touch your breast? Would he slide his hand to the front of your chest and caress it in his warm, rough palm? Would he play with your nipples? Rub them with the callous on his thumb? Would he then slide his hand down your front and into your shorts? If he did, you’d raise your hips to give him room. Then you’d trap his hand against your pussy and grind. Did he want to tease you today or make you moan? Or make you cum? 

When you check his expression, Dami’s eyes are glued to your heaving chest and erect nipples. Knowing that he’s hard, you throw a leg over and straddle him. Then you scoot in as close as possible to rest your weight against his erection, stimulating both of you. Damiano’s eyes flutter and his hands escalate from stroking to grasping. You wait for him to make the nest move, but he doesn’t.

“If you could do anything –”

“If I could do anything you’d be underneath me and too wracked with pleasure to say anything but my name and the word please. If I could do anything the neighbors would be filing a noise complaint and you’d be on probation at work for repeated tardiness. If I could do anything we’d have already gone through a bottle of lube and half a dozen sex toys. Our clothes would be on the doormat, panties included because last night we fucked against the front door as soon as you got home. Then again on the kitchen counter and again in front of the bathroom mirror and a fourth time in the shower, which was all a preamble to what I’d do to you in this bed.” 

You look over his shoulder at the mattress cover and twisted sheet. You’d gotten in the habit of sleeping on Dami’s side. It hadn’t actually smelled like him for months.

“What would you do?” he asks.

“I…I have to get ready for work.” You try to climb off his lap, but Damiano holds onto your waist firmly.

“Did what I said offend you?” he pressed.

“No,” you reply breathlessly. The moment is deliciously intense, especially the way he’s staring.

“Overwhelm you? Turn you off in some way?”

“Uh, no. Well, maybe overwhelm a little bit…”

“In a bad way?” Dami hasn’t forced the issue in terms of sex since coming home.

“In a good way.”

“Then what would you do? If you didn’t have to get ready for work.” You pause and look down. “We don’t have to actually do it, at least not right now,” he whispers.

“I would – I want you….Um, you’d play with my nipples.”

“Mhm.” His hand slides up your chest and rests on your sternum.

“Then you’d put – push your hand down my front.” Dami obeys, his fingertips stopping at the waistband of your shorts. You stare, willing him to go further with every ounce of your being.

“Does my hand go under your shorts?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Does it go into your panties?”

“Yes.” His real hand doesn’t move. “Between my legs so I can…Actually, I kinda wish that I was just wearing a t-shirt so I could pull your pjs down and grind against your cock. And then, maybe…”

“Mhm,” he encourages.

“I’d take off my shirt too and rub my nipples against your chest until they were sore. Your – your sweaty, hairy chest. And you’d hold me like you weren’t worried about scaring me away. Really grabbing me, like you were confident, but also because you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Show me what you mean,” he demands.

“I – I can’t. You just have to.” Dami grabs a hold of your upper thigh with his free hand and flips both bodies. Your back lands on the mattress, arms and legs already wrapped around him. Damiano pushes you further onto the bed, so he has room to climb on top.  It would take less than a minute for you to both wiggle out of your clothes then locate a condom and lube. Probably closer to 30 seconds. It's the same sensation as the makeout two mornings ago. You wanted to say yes, but your self preservation instincts weren’t letting that happen.

Damiano searches your wide-eyed expression for decisiveness and finds nothing of the sort. He can see you thinking about it. Then he sees you over-thinking it and knows that this will not be the moment you feel comfortable enough to trust freely.

“Like this?” He’s panting, as well, and for some reason, that's unbearable sexy. Dami isn’t putting on a facade. This borderline chaste amount of physical contact has got him worked up, too. You almost kiss him, then recall your morning breath and cover your mouth.

“I need to brush my teeth.”

“Y/n, I don’t give a good god damn whether or not you’ve brushed your teeth. I don’t care!” Dami loses his cool, but quickly recovers it. “I – sorry. Sorry, let me…” He walks his hands backwards and climbs off the bed, then helps you stand up.

“Thank you for the coffee,” you repeat, taking a long sip, that way a response won’t be expected. As you slip by Dami to leave the bedroom, he gives your butt a little squeeze. It was once a regular gesture in private, but he hadn’t taken this type of initiative since getting sober. You whip around with an impish smile, the mug nearly held to your lips. Damiano’s expression is watchful, then validated. He was testing the waters and your reaction basically invited him to jump right in.

Rather than refocus on his own routine, Dami watches you assemble a lunch while still in pajamas. He stands on the edge of the kitchen, pondering something, admiring you.

“Whatever your timeline for physical intimacy, I will respect it, 100%.”

“I know that, Damia.” You wash and fill your water bottle. He leans his hip against the counter with crossed arms. 

“But if you're waiting for things to feel not scary with me, that day may never come. Our history isn’t gonna get more palatable.” You hadn’t considered things from that perspective before. “Part of a nurturing relationship is pushing each other, challenging restrictive thought patterns.” Damiano moseys over. First, his right hand cups your hip. Then, the left rubs the side of your glute languidly, before wrapping around your middle. Dami holds you casually, but still body to body, standing behind you at the kitchen sink. Each exhale ruffles your hair, a reminder of how much you’d missed this. Dami’s wandering hands and desire for closeness.

This must have been another thing you blocked out for survival, since an awareness of what once was made losing it lethally painful. You’d forced yourself not to remember and now the remembering felt like the first first bloom of spring after a frosty winter. 

You lean against Dami, let his shoulder take the weight of your head. Then you lay your left arm over his, fingers lacing together.

“And I don’t want to push past your boundaries, but at the same time…” He leaves tender kisses down the column of your exposed neck. “This definitely exceeds a hand holding level of intimacy. It breaks the no couple behavior boundary –”

“Me and my fucking rules,” you groan. Repeated back, you sound certifiable, even from an understanding Damiano.

“This certainly qualifies as sexual touch.” His pinky and ring finger dip under your waistband as he dips into a whisper. “But I didn’t ask first and I don’t have to ask now, either, because just your body language is telling me how much you like this.”

“Forgot until just now.” With an even more dramatic groan, you turn around to meet his eyes. “Ugh! I know I’m shit at this –”

“Not what I was saying, at all,” he interrupts, thumb brushing your cheek. “I was just gonna suggest using a Listen for My No system of consent instead of Wait for My Yes. But that's such a sexually aggressive thing to suggest on someone else’s behalf that I…” He makes a face, nose scrunched up.

“But I agree with you. I’d like that, I really would, but, um…” Dami’s expression goes from relieved back to uneasy. “When I submit, I can’t usually access the decision making part of my brain. Kinda the point, actually.” 

“Baby, we never do anything in subspace if we haven’t agreed to it first.”

“I know, but I’d feel –” You gesture erratically, but the right adjective never surfaces. So you settle on “shitty, I guess.” Avoidant, you stare at the floor in anticipation of Dami’s reaction. Of course, Princess is right there, biding her time for the inevitable moment that all this attention is rightfully turned to her. “Sassy Pants,” you coo. She rests her front paws on your shin and meows, so you pick her up.

“Y/n, I never want you to – awe, look at the fur baby.” Damiano gets distracted by Princess, who uses you like an elevator to his shoulder. She leaps onto him and Dami winces at her claws through his thin t-shirt. “Ow, ow, ow. Thanks for that Sassy Pants, now get off.” He sets Princess back down where she stares at him in betrayal.

“I’m sorry, was having him to yourself all night not enough attention?” You sass her right back with a hand on your hip while Dami laughs. The cat sulks, nimbly returning to the couch and curling up right on his pillow. “Do you see that? She’s the real reason we practice non-monogamy. So I don’t end up with my throat slit in my fucking sleep by her murder mittens!” Hoping to have successfully distracted him, you brush your teeth then slip back into the bedroom to get dressed. In the living room Dami sings to Princess, doing a little dance with her paws. The happy sounds carry through the partially ajar door.

“So, uh…” You’d almost finished pulling on your stockings when he leans against the door frame. “Sorry, am I allowed to look?”

“Yes, you’re allowed to look,” you scoff. He turns the corner just in time to watch your thighs disappear beneath a linen skirt. His lack of objection indicates that your earlier distraction wasn’t effective. He’s not feeling playful.

“What I was saying before is that I never want you to feel bad about putting parameters –”

“Damia, it’s not that.” He’s trying to soften the determination in his expression. “If I allow my rational mind to just slip away then I’m gonna…” again, words evade you “embarrass myself.”

“What do you mean embarrass yourself?” he croons. Damiano walks into the bedroom, cupping your cheek in his right palm. Meanwhile, his left hand slides across your waist and settles on the top of your glute. Another barrage of hidden memories: the early years when Damiano spoke your self-confidence into being fruition on anxiety-ridden mornings.

“I mean grind against your lap or leg or whatever while begging you to fuck me until I sob in a way that’s gonna hurt you to watch. Zero inhibitions as I try to convince you, okay? Just babbling and clinging and tears for your cock. ‘Daddy, my heart hurts because you won’t make love to me.’ I don’t want either of us in a position to navigate that.” Damiano becomes a statue. When it doesn’t immediately pass, you decide to pick a pair of sensible shoes while his brain resets.

“Does your heart hurt for more intimacy?” Now you’re the one frozen in place. “Seems like you may have just accidentally been completely honest with yourself.” Fuck. He was right.

“Could you pretend not to know me as well as you do?”

“No, y/n, I can’t.” You’d tried to lighten the mood, give yourself an out, and he’s rejected that effort wholesale. Damiano stands there, waiting for a real response, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. Every morning he puts them on, after sleeping in his boxers, to make you comfortable. It suddenly feels so elementary, this game of pretend you’d been playing because you were scared shitless of losing him again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being a nervous wreck.”

“Being a nervous wreck about what?” You’re taken aback, having expected some sweet platitude like "don't be sorry, sweetheart.” Or perhaps, “You’re trying your best in a tough situation” punctuated by a kiss to the forehead. But you’d finally exhausted his patience and Damiano wasn’t going to feed you reassurances that you already knew to be true.

“About,” you gesture between your bodies “us!”

“Elaborate for me, please. What about us?” His tone isn’t hostile, just insistent.

“Our relationship.”

“Not my sobriety?”

“No…actually.” You’re even more surprised than Dami at that answer.

“Good. Why is our relationship making you a nervous wreck?”

“Because, because…” You feel cornered even though he hasn’t moved an inch. “I’m not sure.”

“Yes you are. You’re constantly reflecting and self-examining, especially recently. Some days you’re more in your head than you are in the world.”

“But the last couple days, I’ve been better at staying in the present. After our fight, I’ve been trying not to walk on eggshells.” 

“And we’ve been so much more connected, which has been fucking incredible. But you’re still unhappy.”

“I’m not…” Were you happy? You should be happy. You have an objectively good job, a beautiful apartment. You have a loving family, loving friends, loving companions. Your soulmate has returned and he’s stable. But were you happy? With a subjectively horrible job, home full of traumatic memories, emotionally unavailable parents, fading friendships, and companions who’s reassurance couldn’t make you feel adequate so you’d stopped asking for it entirely. 

“How many months do I need to go without relapse, without a crazy mood swing, without –”

“To get your dick wet?” You snap at him in anger. This was the definition of pressuring you.

“For you to trust me, y/n!”

“But sex is the way to show that I trust you? Go get laid, Damianno. Stop avoiding your other companions because you’re afraid they won’t forgive your behavior.”

“You get laid. Stop avoiding your companions because they remind you how profound our intimacy could be.” For what feels like an eon, you glare at each other in silence.

“How about we both admit that having sex with other people wouldn’t do anything to fill this…space?” It feels good to concede. Most of the tension leaves the air.

“Void?”

“Void is probably more accurate, yeah.” It’s just enough breathing room for reality to set in. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late for work.” You look around frantically for a hair tie to wrangle your unbrushed hair into an updo.

“Can you please just give this conversation another five minutes of your time?” There's a hair elastic on the floor, by your nightstand. You make a noise of victory, trying to remember if your travel hairbrush was still in the glovebox. “Three minutes?” he pleads. It’s too much. Mentally, you try to check out as an act of self-preservation. In your peripheral vision, Damiano snatches your phone off the bed. You can’t leave without it.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m asking how long until you can trust me?”

“For me to trust you completely?” That gives Dami pause. He seems to realize that it's a pretty big question to spring on you before 9 AM. ”Check the phone you’re holding hostage for the time, please.” So begins the hunt for your purse.

“It’s…” With a strained voice, he looks at the home screen. Then his hand drops to his side. “It doesn’t matter. I am asking you – How about when are you gonna be able to at least trust that I’m not gonna abandon you?” Despite attempts to create space between yourself and this moment, it feels like being stabbed with a dull spear, right through the center of your torso. “Hey!” he finally raises his voice in exhasperation. “Can you at least fucking look at me when I’m bearing my soul to you!?” Both cats are hiding under the kitchen table. Standing in the kitchen, you turn to meet his gaze.

“I’m gonna be late for work.” 

“Then be late! You hate that job anyways!” The shock reads easily on your features.. “I – that was out of line. Sorry. But this is never gonna work right until you trust me.” Your stomach drops. You feel nauseous and something akin to the beginnings of dissociation. This is why you’d been avoiding tough conversations. What if it went wrong? And if it did go wrong, what was going to happen? The ways Damiano had evolved as a person since going to rehab were great, but it also meant that you couldn’t predict his behavior anymore. If he walked out in anger, would he walk back in?

“Baby, that was really bad phrasing on my part.” His tone shifts completely,  soft and doting in the way you’d expected it to be earlier. “Way too extreme.” Dami knew he’d scared you. That took precedence over what he so desperately wanted to achieve with this conversation. You have half a mind to run into his arms. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s gonna make me feel reassured that you won’t abandon me.”

“You don’t know, as in you can’t think of anything?”

“I don’t know!” You curl your hands into tight fists, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palms.

“Giving me an answer you regret and take back would be better than this purgatory.” Demand has officially overtaken supply. You’d required so much patience from Dami that it’d burned through all the categorical gratitude he felt for taking him back in any capacity. He was no longer just grateful to be here, he wanted a partner. 

“If your answer is I don’t think I can ever trust you again, so be it.”

“I can trust you! I do trust you, but you’re also…” He’s hanging on to every word and you can’t even craft a basic sentence. “There’s you, but then there’s also an addict you. The first one earned my trust back more easily than I’d care to admit, but the addict you, he – it’s always there.”

“And you can never trust an addict.”

“No! But, but –” The phrase “never gonna work” rattles around in your head. “No, because…because” then we might break-up. You barely think the thought, but it's like a tripwire. Suddenly trapped under all the ways you could lose Damiano. Originally there were two contenders: freak accident and growing apart. Then fame was added to this list, then addiction. Now you had to acknowledge a fifth. Like the fifth side to a cage that can finally hold you captive, invisible to others, making them helpless to do anything but watch the light leave your eyes. He might break-up with you because you couldn’t figure out how to put the pieces back together.

“Hug me.” Damiano crosses the apartment in a few quick steps. The stinging of tears distracts you from returning the embrace, but that doesn't give him pause. The only reason you weren’t blubbering already was how secure he’d made you feel the past few days. Now that was out the window.

“Continuous hugging or do you want room to breathe?”

“Breathe,” you choke, wiping your eyes. Dami’s version of breathing room was taking half a step back and resting both hands on your hips. It was perfect.

“Be brave a little longer,” he coaxes.

“I don’t want us to…God, it’s like saying Voldemort or some shit.”

“The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named that starts with a ‘B’ and ends in the word ‘up?’”

“Yeah, I…No, I don’t even want to talk about it, Damia.”

“That's adorable.” You rest your forehead against his sternum and whine. He cups the base of your head and you loosely cross your arms behind him. “But I do need to know what made you think of The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named.”

“What if,” you resume hugging him instead of finishing the sentence. “What if I can never learn to trust the addict part of you and it happens?”

“I don’t trust the addict part of me, y/n. After everything that’s happened, I sure as shit don’t expect you to.” You pull away in order to look up in confusion. “Awe, sweetheart. I just need you to trust that this part of me has control over that shithead.”

“But relapse happens and – and you’ll always be an addict and an alcoholic. This is permanently a part of you.”

“Can you trust that I’m always gonna do my damndest not to lose control? And if I do I’m gonna find my way back?” 

“It hasn’t even been three weeks.” Dami opens his mouth, closes it, and nods.

“Yeah thats a fucking good point. Damn.” He’s reeling. It’s interesting to see it happen to someone else. “I’m over here fuckin’...demanding to know when you’re gonna trust me again when I haven’t even given you a full month of stability.” You place a hand on Dami’s cheek, trying to redirect his gaze back to yours so he doesn’t get lost in self-loathing. He turns his head, but looks down. “I’m fucking comparing ‘well, I feel this way about her so –’”

“How do you feel about me?” His eyes flit up and you think the romantic in him might win.

“I feel the same way.” Or not. “Because it's easy to fall in love with somebody again and trust them again when they’re the same person. When they don’t have all this new baggage like I do.” Staring at his feet, Damiano mutters, “Nothing to compensate or…”

“You do not need to compensate, what a ridiculous thing to say!” 

“Okay.” You watch him only partially internalize your words, in the same way he raises his eyes, but doesn’t quite look at you.

“Hey, you getting sober created new character traits that I love and am attracted to.”

“Enough to balance out the shit?” You scoff, taken aback.

“Yes! You’re not a fucking equation, Damia. You are a beautiful, compelling man who contains multitudes with this incredible capacity to create multitudes. Don’t separate yourself into these categories of worthwhile or not worthwhile.”

“Y/n.”

“It’s so linear. You’re reduced to a collection of likable traits when –”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he announces. You allow yourself to be pulled in by the back of the head, eyes falling to his mauve, shapely lips. It’s sweet, slow, polite. It’s a gesture. It’s a this-kiss-conveys-my-love-and-respect-because-it's-not-the-kiss-I-wanted-to-give-you gesture. It’s a gesture that reveals he’s forgotten the comment you made earlier this morning.

“Lets,” one syllable and you feel short of breath. “Let's have the big scary talk tonight – tomorrow night! Let's have it tomorrow night.”

“Alright.” Damiano coaxes you back in by holding your chin and brushing his pointer finger back and forth. It tickles faintly and makes you smile into the equally chaste kiss. “Don’t forget, you have therapy today.”

***

“I’m only here to avoid the missed appointment fee, honestly.” You slouch, as if trying to disappear into the chartreuse loveseat. 

“Oh?” Your therapist puts pen to paper and waits for elaboration. You stare at the floor and feel the pressure of tears behind your eyes. It's been like that since leaving the apartment, as though you were one inconvenience away from crying.

“Your disposition is certainly much different from our recent sessions.” Dr. Borough gives you another chance to speak, which you don’t take. She’s wearing all beige, minus an oversized necklace of reflective black beads. The color palette certainly suits the mood.

“Is it Damiano, work, anxiety that's been weighing on you?”

“All of the above.” After arriving 13 minutes late for work, Izolda called you into her stuffy, windowless office. She chastised you for being tardy twice in two weeks and you didn’t have the balls to point out that she’d personally excused the first instance. There were vague references to your performance review and callous comments about “allowing personal experiences to impede project outcomes.”

“Wow. So it's been a tough week?”

“It’s been emotionally laborious…So, yeah. Tough, I guess.”

“But productive?”

“Not when it comes to my job. That place is so devoid of humanity that I can feel part of my soul dying.”

“Sounds like you might need a change. Have you tried searching for –”

“I can’t handle a career change right now!”

“So what can you handle?” Finally, you burst into tears. “Oh, dear.” Dr. Borough pushes the box of tissues across the coffee table. “So what's going on in the other facets of your life? Are you and Damiano on good terms?”

“Yeah. He woke me up with espresso this morning, it was really sweet.” You wipe your face, which leaves a black smudge of hastily applied mascara on the white tissue.  

“And his sobriety?”

“He relapsed trying to reintegrate too fast. It was just booze and he’s been sober since.”

“Wow.” She scribbles on her notepad. “So that must have been triggering.”

“It…It actually made me realize how sturdy he is. Like, he got right back on the wagon and he started really acting like himself the next morning. He didn’t go back to being an asshole with a passive death wish, he did the opposite.”

“So that sounds like great news!”

“I was such a mess, such a fucking mess.” The note taking intensifies. Somehow Dr. Borough is already halfway down the page. “He was so supportive! And he basically confronted me.”

“You mean comforted?”

“No. Well, yes. He’s noticed that I’m always in my head, trying to figure out the correct or most true course of action. And he said I didn’t need to be, because I wasn’t going to ruin his sobriety. Because he was taking care of his sobriety with a bunch of people at his rehab and stuff, so I didn’t need to prioritize it anymore. I could just prioritize myself and I could depend on him because he’s gotten to a point where he can be my support and also stay sober. But I –” you devolve into sobbing.

“Alright, take a moment. Just take a moment, y/n.” Dr. Borough doesn’t look up from her notepad for several seconds. “So, that's huge! How many days ago was that? You must be emotionally drained.”

“Yeah, from not dealing with it.”

“You’re emotionally drained from purposefully ignoring emotions?”

“Basically.” 

“Alright.” Visibly processing, Dr. Borough adjusts her teal glasses and sits back. “Tell me about that.”

“Damiano just keeps pressing the issue. He wants to deconstruct and cross-examine the whole fucking situation immediately.” 

“Is this usually the case, him pursuing hard conversations and you avoiding? In the past, you’ve mentioned having great communication.” It feels like an accusation that you’ve failed Damiano somehow.

“No, I’m just not ready.”

“Ready for what?” 

“These fucking exhausting, weighty conversations!”

“What about them are you not ready for? In my experience, you can be very articulate, especially when it comes to emotions.”

“I’m not scared of talking about our feelings. We talk about our feelings all the time, anyways. I’m not even scared of conflict. We’ve fought twice this week already!”

“Oh, really?”

“But we work it out because we can admit that we’re wrong. We don’t get off on resenting or controlling each other.”

“What were those fights about?”

“This! Me!”

“You?”

“Ugh!” You throw your head back and groan. “He…thinks that I’m unhappy. I’m making myself miserable trying to do the right thing or by trying to control…something, us.”

“The right thing?” She raises one thinning eyebrow. 

“What's best for me.”

“Doing what's best for you is doing what makes you happy. It’s doing what makes you fulfilled, puts you on the path to achieve your goals.” Dr. Borough pauses, staring at you pointedly. “In terms of Damiano. What are your goals? What will make you fulfilled?”

“Being together for real, harmonious, mind, body, and soul.”

“And are your current choices facilitating that?” You feel claustrophobic, fingernails digging into the heel of your hand again. “Why the anxiety?” 

“Because I can’t control him!”

“True. But that’s always been true, y/n.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter what my goals are if the other person doesn’t feel the same.”

“You think Damiano doesn’t feel the same?”

“Well, no. I know he does.”

“Alright. So let's talk about this desire to control him.” That definitely felt like an accusation. “I just watched you have a strong reaction. Why don’t you explain that to me.” Pen to paper, Dr. Borough waits while you roll your eyes and huff in annoyance.

“Before I ever stepped foot in this office, I knew that the desire to control another person was toxic. I was already taking steps to ignore that desire when I felt it.”

“So you’re not trying to control him? That's not what's making you miserable?”

“I’m not miserable,” you bite.

“No, you’re not,” she agrees. “But you are experiencing bouts of unhappiness, like right now. You also have clinical anxiety which constantly affects your quality of life. Agreed?”

“Yeah…” The section of carpet at your feet is more worn than another other spot in the room.

“Explain to me why that is.” You choose to be insolent instead of introspective. 

“It’s impossible to tack down exactly what collection of innate and external factors contribute to any one person developing –”

“Not the anxiety, y/n.”

“I…” don’t know. But Dr. Borough wasn’t going to let you off the hook. She waits expectantly. You check the clock to find that the session isn’t quite halfway done. Damn it.

“Why are you unhappy?”

“I’m at my therapy appointment when I’d much rather be taking a nap.”

“How has your sleep been since Damiano’s relapse?”

“Worse than usual, better than expected. We…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t judge me, but the night he relapsed we slept in the same bed. Like, I slept with him on the couch.”

“‘Slept with’ as in…?”

“Cuddled.” You blush all the way up to your ears.

“And that was enjoyable.” It’s apparently obvious from your delivery since Dr. Borough makes a statement, not a question.

“Yeah and…I could hear him crying so hard. I didn’t intend to spend the night there either, but I got sleepy really quick.” A stinging sensation alerts that you’d been picking at your cuticles without realizing. “Because it felt so safe.”

“Huh. So it didn’t feel like the kiss on the plane?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you unhappy?” You glower, finally meeting Dr. Borough’s eyes. She is unfazed. “Damiano has the same relationship goals and it sounds as though he may be ready to act on those goals, right?” You don’t protest, because she’s correct, but you also don’t concede. “So this should be great news! It’s exactly what you wanted, which is why this reaction raises questions. I know it’ll be hard to admit, but maybe now that you have Damiano back, you’ve realized that your feelings towards him have changed.”

“What? No! God, I fucking wish I felt more casually about him. I wish that he couldn’t read my mind and that we didn’t have this fucking soul bond and that I could have a halfway satisfying sex life without him. I want to stop watching him sleep, getting choked up when I see his bougie shampoo in the shower, huffing his dirty gym clothes, and feeling like my heart’s been ripped out because I love him so much. I want to be less in love with him!”

“No, you don’t.” Dr. Borough sets the notepad and pen on her lap and settles into her chair with a smile. There’s been some sort of breakthrough or resolution reached. “So what's the real reason you’re self-sabotaging? Do you feel like you don’t deserve him?”

“I…guess.”

“Don’t guess.”

“Deep down inside somewhere, probably.”

“So is that it?”

“You’re the therapist.”

“And you’re far from emotionally repressed.” Dr. Borough purses her lips and squints. “So are you afraid of losing him?” You swallow hard, vision blurring with tears.

“Yes, of course. Now with these fucking high stakes conversations, what if something goes wrong?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything!”

“Based on what you've said so far, it sounds like you guys would work it out.”

“What if we break up?”

“Does it feel like you’re going to break up?”

“No.” You blow your nose and steel yourself. “I need him. I’ve let myself need him again. So I can’t, ca – can’t lose hi – him again. I can’t! It’ll fucking kill me. I don’t care if you think that's dramatic, because it genuinely feels like I’d die of heartbreak. Even thinking a – about it, can’t – I ca – ca –can’t breathe!” Dr. Borough ends up talking you off the edge of a panic attack. You think that’ll earn some slack, but it doesn’t. 

“Okay, so just take small sips of water.” She uses her most soothing voice as you hold the paper cup in a trembling hand. “I’m going to be candid with you, y/n. Breaking up has always been a possibility and you’ve functioned despite it for years. Damiano dying of an overdose, however, is new. I think that’s what’s scaring you, the fact that death is irreparable.” You manage a nod. “Alright. That risk factor is never going away. So you have to decide if he’s worth it.”

“Of course he’s…” It's reminiscent of what Dami said this morning, which forces you to acknowledge that he was probably right. Putting the pieces back together was going to feel terrifying and you had to do it anyway. “I have all these rules to stop things from progressing before I’m ready. But maybe I’m never going to feel ready.”

“Progressing?”

“To stop Dami from getting too close, from things getting too intimate. I compartmentalized so damn much and I…every time I let him a little bit closer, it's like being hit by a semi-truck.”

“Reminders of his substance abuse?”

“No, beautiful memories of how our love manifested, all the ways we connected and felt at home in each other, felt profoundly understood. Memories of being joyous and intimate and becoming better people together.” Dr. Borough is noticeably moved. 

“You choose to close yourself off to that because of the possibility of pain?” 

“Yes!”

“That’s not living.” Finally, someone had just outright said it. You should feel stunned, but you don’t. “We’ve talked about living versus surviving in terms of your anxiety. The same can happen after trauma. Seeing Dami on life support –”

“Haven’t we already talked about that enough?” Reflexively, you make yourself smaller, hunkering down to survive this horrendous topic.

“I don’t know. Based on this reaction –”

“Based on this reaction, seeing my soulmate an inch from death is still traumatic? Shocking!”

“Traumatic, absolutely.” The even tonality of her speech is an embarrassing juxtaposition to your reactivity, but you’re still unable to quell it. “And based on your reaction, that memory still holds tremendous power over you.”

“Of fucking course it does! I still can’t even think about it like a real thing that happened to me!”

“I recall you’ve been dealing with a lot of dissociation, recently. More than usual.” Dr. Borough resumes note taking.

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I can’t handle what's happening around me,” you reply, monotonously.

“You think you can’t handle what's happening around you because a parentified, 15-year-old y/n without an emotional support system couldn’t handle it.” She pauses. In that space, tears blur your vision until the view of the damaged carpet and scuffed shoes becomes indiscernible. “But now you have an emotional support system. You are deserving of an emotional support system, which is something that your parents failed to model in your childhood.” Again, Dr. Borough gives you space to speak, but you curl into a ball, instead. She nudges the tissues further across the table with an empathetic expression. “So you’re protecting her.”

“I am not protecting my mother,” you grumble.

“Not your mother. You’ve been protecting 15-year-old y/n, shielding her. And now you’re protecting the y/n who was confronted by the mortality of her support system’s keystone. Neither of them could handle the present moment, but you can.” Dr. Borough cleans her glasses while waiting for you to say something. Maybe it's an intentional respite from being examined.

“What – How can –” your first reaction is to splutter incredulously. “I’m not, I mean I’m – That's just human development, isn’t it? Burning your hand on the stove teaches you not to touch a hot stove. Burns are bad. They scar, they get infected.”

“Y/n, you are not avoiding a burn. You are eating takeout for every meal to avoid going in the kitchen at all. You are putting on noise canceling headphones everytime someone says the word ‘stove’ and singing to yourself loudly. In this metaphor –”

“I get it, I get it.” Well, shit.

“You’ve heard me say this before: the anxiety, the trauma isn’t your fault. However, coping constructively is still your responsibility. And, yes, that’s unfair. You had to live for your emotionally unequipped parents. In reaction to that hospital visit, I think you may have done a bit of living for Damiano when he was emotionally unequipped for sobriety. Now you’re living for the versions of yourself that are emotionally unequipped to handle the present. But it won’t break you like it might have then.”

“How can you know that!? How…I just want time to recover! I want to be certain!”

“There will never be certainty and there will never be a pause button. I know that's a really hard reality to face with clinical anxiety.” Dr. Borough sets her elbows on her notepad and leans forward. “But y/n, face it you must.”

***

You hold it together on the drive home. Knowing that Dami will be on a Zoom call with his songwriting and production team, you don’t want to walk through the front door a mess and distract him. Unfortunately, Spotify decides to play Folklore-era Taylor Swift as you pull into the parking garage.

I knew you/Hand under my sweatshirt/Baby, kiss it better

By the time the car is parked, you’re already crying. Your first group outing as a couple was a Roma football game with most of his friends and several cousins. The omnipresent barrage of screaming made your ears ring and triggered a panic attack. You tried to suppress your reaction, for which you’d finally receive a diagnosis just weeks later. When that became impossible, you settled on concealing your emotions until it passed. Just don’t freak out. For fucks sake, don’t embaress yourself. 

Having turned your focus inward, the roar of the audience was a surprise and so inescapably loud that it couldn’t even be described by volume. The sound became a tangible force, beating you over the head. So you fled, hands clamped over your ears, tears flowing. It seemed like every person you passed chided you. 

“‘Msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry,” you repeated, voice frail and high-pitched with terror. The adrenaline at least made climbing all those steps easier. Upon reaching the hallway at the top of the staircase, you turned around to scan the field, determining it was a good time to drop your hands. That's when you saw 18-year-old Damiano huffing and puffing, all focus dropped from the game behind him. 

“Hey,” he panted, expression confused. “Hey, you just…Are you okay?” You shook your head, mouth contorted into an ugly shape. “Well, come here, baby.” Dami opened his arms like it was obviously the next logical step to hold you. The gesture revealed that he’d remembered your purse and was wearing it. You could have blurted out “I love you,” right then and there. His sparkling, empathetic eyes framed by smeared eyeliner, outstretched hands decorated by gaudy rings, and wearing his lucky sneakers which were at least a size too small. A couple middle-aged, balding men looked him up and down in disgust. Dami didn’t even notice.

“You need a hug,’ he decided, wrapping you up. 

“Thanks,” you croaked, trembling arms finding steadiness where they held him. 

“What’s wrong with her?” asked a male voice passing by.

“Nothings wrong with her! Who the fuck are you, eh?”

“Sorry, man.”

“No, who the fuck do you think you are saying that?”

“You’re in the middle of the walkway, dude.”

“And you’re in the middle of my fucking business, asshole!”

“Damia,” you murmured.

“Sorry, sorry.” You wondered if he could discern your smile against his pilling jersey. The fabric made your face feel raw after exposure to the ruthlessly cold gusts of wind that swept up the sides of the stadium. Still, you felt compelled to hug him tighter, but ignored the compulsion so as not to encourage Damiano acting like an attack dog. But fuck if it hadn’t made you feel chosen at age 18, coming from a family who’s attitude was god forbid your emotions inconvenience anyone. 

Damiano didn’t think you were too emotional, the girl choking on her own tears over a football audience being predictably loud. He stood in the stadium’s walkway, inconveniencing everyone else to prioritize comforting you. Despite not knowing what was awry, he still managed to be soothing. Dami’s inexplicably warm hands rubbed your back under the Roma sweatshirt you wore – actually his, of course. He hummed music from the radio with a cheek pressed to your head and you subsequently felt the music’s vibrations. It tickled. An unfamiliar sensation burgeoned in the darkest recesses of your heart. Not then, but eventually, you’d come to know it as stillness.

Notes: Don't yell at me I warned you! Also I'll post the next part (the smuttastic part) when this post has 40 notes hehe

-XOXO Eden

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[lirational]

Scarlet

Fantasy AU Path to Nowhere

Vampire!Oak Casket x Nurse!Reader

Content warnings: Yandere themes, dubious consent, fantasy drugging, and mentions of blood. DARK CONTENT. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

SMUT UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

The first time Oak got close to you outside of work, you were half-asleep, darkness threatening to claim you as your eyes glaze in a futile attempt to read the documents.

New supplies of medicine, something about the increasing costs, and the subtle change in basic ingredients of a medicine rendering a few patients unable to ingest it or risk a fatal reaction. There was always something to be done, something that needs fixing, and as one of the few people working here, you have to pull your weight, too.

But, you cannot deny your own exhaustion.

In a daze, you flick the document to the next page, intending to place the document asking for a permit to perform a blood test on the Sinners to the side. It was something you could not handle yourself, as such things require direct approval from the Chief - and you could deal with it in the morning.

As you were about to take the paper, though, a stinging sensation split your skin open, and you hiss in pain, awareness returning to you with the sharp sting.

“(Name)?”

You jerk your head to look at the source of the voice. Of course you recognized her, after all, she was one of the few patients assigned to you. Though you never interacted with her beyond what professional duties were demanded of you, she was here long enough for you to know a little bit about her, including her Mania-induced mutation that gave her a taste for blood.

“Oak? Why are you here? It is late.”

“You’re injured.”

Your mind was bleary from exhaustion, but you were able to notice that she didn’t answer your question.

For a long moment, Oak stared at the red bead of blood seeping out from the slight cut, pupils blown and dilated. If her gaze could rake hot coals onto its target, you would’ve been turned into ashes long ago. She swallowed, bit her lips, and turned away, fishing for the handkerchief hidden beneath her clothes. Even under the dim lights of the late-night office, it looked pure-white and well-maintained.

“It’s alright, Oak, I can just—“

Your protest were interrupted by a hiss escaping your own mouth, and the press of soft cloth against your wound. You watched as blood bloomed on the cloth, stark and sharp stain marring it. Oak did not seem to mind, her mismatched eyes staring at the scarlet stain in marked interest.

It was then, you realized, that you were alone, exhausted, and in the presence of a Sinner with affinity for blood.

“You should rest. Not much time left until dawn approaches,” Oak said, pocketing the sullied cloth, her expression unbothered. “If you start the next day exhausted, as much as I would enjoy witnessing the proof of our mortality stemmed from careless mistakes, you would not feel the same.”

“But, there is still—“

“Perhaps, you would prefer to sleep next to me instead?”

The thought of sleeping inside a coffin was enough to silence you, and in turn, push you to go back to your quarters.

“Alright. Good night, Oak.”

As you closed the door, she sighed, lips curving in a triumphant smile. Pale fingers hooked on the dirtied handkerchief, and she brought the stained part close to her face, taking a deep whiff with the glee of a starving man who was given a plate of fresh food, her lips grazed at it in a desperation she would not show anyone but you.

She muttered your name with reverence, each repeated call leaving her lips tinted with desire and want. The sweet, sweet scent was enough to almost bring her to her knees, clawing at her sanity. The pitter-patter of your steps, going further by the second, was enticing her to go and give chase, to claim and possess you. Needle-sharp fangs poke at the blood, a show of desperation for you.

“(Name), you…” she muttered, voice breathy. With each moment, her desire for you soared. Her mind was an echoing mess, only telling her one thing.

Claim them. Take them. Do not let go.

—

The second time she got close to you outside of work, you were alone once again. This time, though it was a bit late at night, you decided to sort through the haphazardly-placed medicine bottles, just so it would not add to the hassle of tomorrow. Mind-numbing would be an understatement, and you ended up daydreaming as you sorted the glass containers in the correct order with the aid of muscle memory.

As you were lost in your own thoughts, there was a slight creak from the door, and you call for your visitor without even thinking.

“Is it an emergency? I will have to ask you to come back tomorrow, otherwise,”

Your voice were tinged a bit with exhaustion. The day has almost ended, and if you could help it, you would rather not have additional work.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” a familiar voice spoke, each word accompanied with a cold breath on your ears. One hand snaked around your waist, another creeping up your neck to tilt your head to the side. A pair of needle-sharp fangs was grazing your neck, hovering to search for that sweet spot.

“Oak, you—“

“Shh, (Name), there is nothing to be afraid of,” she cut you off with a reassuring voice. “You’re in good hands.”

You could feel her smirk against your skin, her warm breaths, full of anticipation, fanned your trembling body. Even with your struggle, in hopes to at least have your captor in your field of vision, yet the iron grip of the pale arm circling your wrist remained. Your scream died into a soundless gasp as she sank her fangs onto the tender spot on your collarbone, followed by throbbing pain in tune with your panicked heartbeat. Though adrenaline flowed throughout your body, your limbs felt leaden, frozen in place, locking your attention towards the spot where your captor’s lips connected with your shoulders.

“Does it hurt?” She whispered as she retracted her fangs, her tongue swirling a loving pattern on the puncture wounds. “It’ll be all better soon.”

At first, there was only pain, soothed partway by the way she blew cold air over the throbbing wound. Yet, with each passing second, the pain faded, changing in tune with your panicked heartbeat into a pit of yearning. Your legs felt wobbly, supported only by her body pressed flush against yours, and you were unable to muster any form of protest as she directed you towards the bed. Now, with her on top of you, even the darkness was not enough to conceal the unbidden desire swirling in her soul, shining through mismatched eyes with intensity enough to devour everything alive.

“I’ve been waiting for this chance. You were always so cautious, so afraid of me and most of the other Sinners,” she breathed out, one hand grasping your face, her thumb stroking your cheek, “and now, you truly are mine.”

You bit your lip down as another jolt of desire racked your body, a shudder running down your spine and gathering straight at your sensitive bud. You felt as if your body were set aflame from the inside, venom melting you from within and preparing you for your predator’s feast. Oak only smiled at your state, pink tongue darting out to lick her lips, cleaning traces of your blood.

“Let me help you, then. Consider this as a thank you.”

One hand held your wrists above your head, and the other reached down to your pants, pulling the fabric down to expose your drenched panties. One touch of her fingertip, even through the ruined fabric, was enough to send your mind into overdrive, desperation ridding your addled thoughts from all thoughts of survival. With just a twitch, you felt the edges of your vision turning white.

“Do you feel it? The desire pierced into your soul, now spilling out from here?” She asked, giving the bite wound another lick, fangs grazing upon the spot again. “Should you desire relief, you need only ask~“

“Ask? How dare—“

Again, she did not let you finish as her fingers explored deeper, pushing the soaked panties aside and exposing your bare sex to the cold air. Her movements were restrained, though her twitching fingers all but signaled that it took all her willpower to even prepare you for her. She added in another finger soon after, scissoring motions pressing on your walls without a rhythm.

From her quick movements, it was clear that it took everything in her to restrain her own lust, let alone give you consideration in this twisted act of passion. The worst part was that despite how wild and selfish this mockery of love was, her attempt to fan the flames burning on your stomach was working, your desire climbing higher as pleased noises began to spill out from your lips, your voice calling for Oak’s name in half-formed syllables. One spot made your toes curl, your high pitched voice bitten down in a half-hearted attempt to not allow her the satisfaction, yet you could tell your attempt have all but failed, and every so often, she made it a point to brush the sensitive spot with a teasing smile that reminded you of a cat batting its dying prey.

Kisses were trailed down all over your body, the hand holding your wrists now gliding down towards your torso. You thought it was a chance to fight back, yet, a slow, agonizing, pleasurable lick at the bite wound and a simple command to stop was enough to statue your body into perfect obedience. The black nail on her index finger sharpened into a claw for just a moment, enough to split your clothing, allowing her access to mark your neck, down to your shoulders and the valley of your breasts.

She swirled her tongue on a nipple, and the nub hardened as if on command, the cold making it even more sensitive. Her fangs stopped at your chest, right where your beating heart is, then she bit down, licking the wound just as you started to get lightheaded. At the same time, you finally tipped over the edge, and your vision whited out as you came all over her fingers.

With an embarassing squelch, she pulled out both of her fingers, and she stared at you in the eyes as her tongue cleaned your slick.

The flames in your belly have started to settle a bit, but saying this would be enough is nothing short of a blatant lie.

Oak gave you a knowing smile and got off you. However, as you were about to sigh in relief, you saw her take off her panties, letting the fabric fall on the floor. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw the fabric was soaked, as well, juices glistening under the dim light of the room.

“What an insatiable thrall,” she said in a chastising tone, a contrast to her mischievous smile, “then, you wouldn’t mind helping me out as well, hm?”

She stopped your protest once again - her cunt resting so close to your face. Then, there was a nip in your inner thigh, the familiar piercing sensation from her fangs, then the pain fading into a mounting pleasure that all but erased your previous fatigue. Loathe as you are to admit it, you were once again forced to feel pleasure, her tongue licking your puncture wounds to soothe it before resting flat on your folds.

“What do they usually say… Ah, right, a favor for a favor.”

To emphasize her words, she grinded her cunt on your face, enveloping you in her scent. A wordless suck on your aching bud became your cue to start, your tongue tracing sloppy patterns on her folds. Your efforts did not go unrewarded, as she matched your speed, and even her breaths on your wet heat was a strong enough stimulation to make your hips buck towards her, your thighs enveloping her head to draw more friction, give more fuel to the creeping sensitivity that had enveloped your entire body once again.

As you sped up, calling her name in between breathes that smelled like her, you finally tip over the edge. Though your climax did not hit you with the same sheer force as the first one, you were forced to feel every moment of it, and the clear liquid gushing forth from your twisted lover’s climax soon after became a reminder of your current state. Your face was practically drenched, and you were frozen, perhaps both from exhaustion and mortification, as she licked your juices clean from between your thighs.

She finally shifted off you, swiping her own slick from your face with her thumb with the care of a loving partner. She licked her own thumb soon after, and the last thing you hear, just before your vision went dark, was her promise.

“I will see you again soon, (Name).”

—

The third time you met her, you were sleep-deprived, nightmares filling the dark every time you closed your eyes.

Ever since that encounter, you had begged at your superior to allow you a transfer, preferably somewhere you wouldn’t have to deal with Sinners aside from a need-to-know basis. Though your request was granted, you quickly discover that your mind has betrayed you, images of that encounter replaying in a loop, giving you a restless sleep that left you wanting the next day. Your body and mind seem to have all but betrayed you, conjuring a burning need for someone that was more than content to keep you, if not as a lover, as a thing to satisfy her own twisted desires.

You had fallen asleep, once again, though at least your luck allowed you to keep your wits until the last few minutes of your work.

As your eyes fluttered open, your gaze met Oak’s mismatched eyes, and it took everything you have to not kick and shout like a wild animal. You two were in a dark, narrow place, and your arms brushed wooden walls as you try to move.

She was pinning you down with an almost embarassing ease.

“Are you avoiding me?”

The question was asked with a relaxed lilt and a smile, not much different from a dear friend asking about the weather.

“What did you do to me?” The question slipped out from your lips before you could stop yourself, venom all but spilling from your tone.

“It was a simple thing, really. Have you never heard of the undead being capable of creating thralls?” She smiled, full of victory as she pressed the spot where her fangs sunk into you for the very first time. “I told you, you were mine now, yet you still refuse me.”

She stroked your hair in what was, perhaps, meant to be a comforting gesture, and to your horror, it all but worked, as you closed your eyes from the comfort.

“But now, there is no need to worry. We will have plenty of time to get to know each other, after all~“

#path to nowhere #path to nowhere x reader #ptn x reader #path to nowhere headcanons #oak casket x reader #yandere oak casket x reader

[magnificentempress]

my possibly unpopular opinions on therapy/psychiatry

- Just like suffering is not inherent to womanhood, suffering is not inherent to humans. Just like it is not okay to just expect that women will be subjected to suffering, it is not okay to expect that it will happen to anyone and it's just the way things are.

- Therapy is not inherently wrong for trying to alleviate the suffering, but I fail to see the doctors acknowledging the fact that the suffering is a collectively shared experience, and suffering is caused by someone. Moreover it is the whole point of therapy to focus on just yourself, "take responsibility"(for the harm that was done to you?) and seeing what you can make do. Basically because again, doctors cant really tell their patients to go overthrow the gvt or divorce their shitty husbands. Thus endless copium instead of, yknow... something actually meaningful.

- Antidepressants arent inherently bad but they cant cure you. They are just psychoactive drugs. Caffeine, tobacco, cocaine, they all are psychoactive in one way or another, and your brain doesnt really care if the substance is legal, illegal or prescribed. It modifies the symptoms but it cannot actually cure you. Or something. If you struggle with depression/anxiety related issues, I would highly recommend that you try to look for a way to alleviate them that is not just you popping pills for 10 years in a row.

- Our society is purposefully built to fuck us up. Just like "dyslexia" is not a thing in societies that dont have a writing system, "ADHD" or "depression" or "anxiety" are non-syndromes, they show only in very specific circumstances. It is possible to reform the world so that it doesnt force suffering and disabilities onto people.

- Psychoactive drugs that actively alter people's neurochemistry and may lead to both psychological and physical dependency are catastrophically overprescribed and one day the big pharma will be held accountable for their crimes lol

- I repeat that I do not oppose psychiatric medicines as a concept. Psychiatric disorders fuck people up, I know it personally. BUT. Sorry but there is a difference between a socially-induced disorder like anxiety, and a disorder of a purely biological genesis like bipolar mania or schizophrenia. I dont think depression or anxiety are easy. But consider what, someone suffering from delusions in mania cannot CBT their delusions away, they basically have to be on meds. MAYBE think really hard of the pros and cons here. You are lucky to have a relatively healthy brain, dont wash it down the drain.

- Medicalization and profiting off of any suffering is highly concerning. The transgender pharma will also pay for their crime of persuading (otherwise healthy) people that they cannot exist and will literally kill themselves without unnecessary medications and surgeries.

- If you have agreed on me on the previous points but my opinion on transness triggered you, consider unbrainwashing yourself? Idk? Can't you put 2 and 2 together? These are literally the same kind of phenomena.

- I say it all as someone who has been on antidepressants for a long time, and also who knows many people who were on antidepressants for a long time. I've seen both huge benefits and huge debilitating side effects.

As a matter of fact I am also completely normal and can be trusted w

#radfems do touch #radblr #anti psychiatry #psychiatry #antidepressants #ssri withdrawal #zoloft #opinion

[otdiaftg]

Andrew takes the call.

"Pig Higgins, is that you?" Andrew asked. "Oh, it is. Yes, I'm surprised. Did you forget I don't like surprises? What? No, don't stall. You wouldn't hunt me down after all this time just to chat, so what do you want?" Andrew went quiet for a few seconds to listen, then said, "No," and hung up. The phone started ringing again almost immediately. The Foxes were staring openly now, their stretches forgotten. Wymack didn't order them back to business, so Matt sat on one of the benches to watch this odd scene unfold. Andrew yanked at his jersey until Wymack let go, then put space between them as fast as he could. He leaned against the wall, clapped his free hand over his ear, and answered the phone. "What? No, I didn't hang up on you. I wouldn't do that. I—no. Shut up." Andrew hung up again, but Higgins was persistent enough to call a third time. Andrew let it ring five times before answering with an explosive sigh. "Talk to me," Andrew said, and waited as Higgins explained himself all over again. Higgins went on for a good two minutes. Whatever he was saying couldn't be good; the conversation was visibly cutting through Andrew's drug-induced mania. Andrew's smile was long gone, and he started tapping his foot halfway through Higgins' story. He looked away from Aaron as the last of his cheer bleached out of his expression and pointed his gaze at the ceiling instead. "Go back," Andrew finally said. "Who complained? Oh, Pig, don't give me the runaround. I know where you work, you see. I know who you work with. That means there's a child in her house. She isn't supposed—what? No. Don't ask me that. I said don't. Leave me alone. Hey," Andrew said, a little louder like he was trying to drown the officer's arguments out. "Call me again and I'll kill you." He hung up. This time the phone stayed silent. Andrew waited to make sure Higgins got the hint, then put one hand over his eyes and started laughing.

Day: Wednesday, August 30th Time: 4:02 PM EST

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #trk #the raven king #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #palmetto state university #psu foxes #andreil #on this day in aftg #otdiaftg #palmetto state foxes #otdi all for the game #nora sakavic #the foxes #on this day in all for the game #kevin day #nicky hemmick #aaron minyard #coach wymack #betsy dobson #abby winfield #matt boyd #dan wilds #renee walker #allison reynolds

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Deconstructing Dieter Bravo: Part 3

If you haven't read chapter 27 of Destiny & Deliverance, do so before continuing with this post to avoid spoilers. 😉

Now that we finally have Dieter's official diagnosis, I thought it might be a good topic to cover for Part 3 of Deconstructing Dieter Bravo so we can dig into things a little deeper. Let's learn a little bit more about bipolar disorder and the types of symptoms he was experiencing from it. This gets a little long and it is a very high-level overview, but it is interesting stuff.

Most individuals are diagnosed with bipolar disorder in their teens to 20's, but it can occur at any time. Having a family member who has been diagnosed does raise chances of having the disorder by 10%. Experiencing a traumatic event and abusing drugs and alcohol also increase chances for a positive diagnosis.

Bipolar disorder has several classifications which include bipolar I, bipolar II, cyclothymic disorder, and drug induced bipolar. The symptoms in each of these classifications typically result in unpredictable mood and behavior changes that can have a major impact on daily life.

The difference in the classifications mostly has to do with the type of symptoms, how severe they are, and how often episodes occur. Since Dieter was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder, we will focus on the details for that type.

To be diagnosed with bipolar I disorder, the patient will have had at least one manic episode. This episode would either need to follow or precede a major depressive or hypomanic episode. A hypomanic episode has the same symptoms as a manic episode, only less severe.

Symptoms of mania and hypomania include an abnormally upbeat attitude, jumpy or wired behavior, an increase in energy, activity, and/or agitation, exaggerated sense of well-being and self-confidence (euphoria), insomnia, unusual talkativeness, easily distracted, racing thoughts, and/or poor decision-making skills. The patient must have experienced at least three of these symptoms for diagnosis.

Major depressive episodes include a depressed mood (feeling sad, empty, hopeless, tearful, irritable, worthless, excessive or inappropriate guilt, etc.), loss of interest in most activities, weight loss/gain, a decrease/increase of appetite, forgetfulness, insomnia or sleeping too much, restlessness or slowed behavior, fatigue, inability to concentrate, indecisiveness, and/or suicidal ideation. The patient must have experienced at least five of these symptoms for it to be classified as a depressive episode.

In some cases, the patient could also experience distress driven by extreme anxiety or a reality break (psychosis).

Many people with bipolar disorder do not recognize their behavior is an issue or see how it disrupts their day-to-day activities. They may even enjoy the high feeling of manic episodes if it increases their productivity and/or creativity. It is the eventual crash that follows these manic episodes when they start to see problems of feeling depressed and fatigued. This behavior can often create issues with working and familial relationships, which can compound the symptoms.

Given all this information, I think it is safe to say that our poor Dieter had the odds stacked against him. We can see that he was experiencing many of these symptoms, though less severe, from the very beginning of the story and most likely had been for a while. As discussed in Deconstructing Dieter Bravo: Part 2, being improperly medicated was most likely the catalyst that took things over the edge for him.

The use of antidepressants (especially those in the SSRI, SNRI, and tricyclics categories) in patients who have a genetic predisposition for the illness and whose symptoms began in adolescence into early adulthood have an increased risk of having what is called treatment-emergent affective switch (TEAS). This is when the use of antidepressants triggers manic or depressive episodes within eight weeks of starting the medication. Some of these medications have higher risks or worse effects than others. It is believed that these types of drugs trigger episodes because they affect the central dopamine and serotonin systems in the brain, causing an imbalance. In Dieter's case, he had all the risk factors for this to happen.

So, what steps does Dieter need to take to keep his shit together? Obviously, his medication needed to be sorted out and it has been. For him, that was the biggest hurdle. Patients who suffer from this disorder will often need a mood stabilizer, antipsychotics, and/or alternative antidepressants to manage their moods and it can take a lot of trial an error to get all of that figured out. This disorder will require long-term treatment to manage the severity and symptoms and constant monitoring to ensure medications continue to work effectively and are not causing any side effects mentally or physically.

Psychotherapy is also an important component to treatment so the patient and family members can learn about warning signs, coping skills for dealing with triggers (lack of sleep, high stress levels, drug use, significant life changes, loss, trauma, family history, etc), and improving communication.

In addition, it is important to have a consistent sleep schedule, eat a healthy diet, exercise (to boost mood), know what supplements are safe (ex. St. John's Wort and Omega-3's have been known to induce mania), keep a mood journal (to monitor triggers, changes in eating and sleep patterns, etc), avoid alcohol and drugs, minimize stress, and maintain healthy relationships for support. It is also imperative to keep an open line of communication with doctors and take medications as prescribed.

Obviously, Dieter (and Talia for that matter) has some major changes ahead. He took his treatment seriously and is going to work hard to meet all these requirements for himself and his family. The whole experience has changed his outlook on life and really influences his priorities and goals going forward. There are some big changes to come and lots of happiness to be had for everyone involved.

Thank you all for continuing to follow along on Dieter's journey! We are almost to his happy ending!😉

🌛Mysterious-Moonstruck-Musings

Resources:

US Mental Health Resources International Mental Health Helplines

Tag List: @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @for-a-longlongtime @hisandsnakes @chaoticfestninja @survivingandenduring @partyofone3413 @wannab-urs @cakipy-blog @titlee78 @poodlebae @guelyury @missladym1981 @maried01 @alokaerza @samiamproductions @misstokyo7love @themonadiaries-blog @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @avastrasposts @weho2kcmo @harriedandharassed @tkchaos @girlofchaos @yghuibt @musings-of-a-rose @annieispunk @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat

Let me know in the comments below if you would like to be added to the tag list.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x ofc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #destiny & deliverance series #deconstructing dieter bravo series #the bubble #mental health awareness #mental health

[the-meat-machine]

On page 5714 of Homestuck, when Jane is bopping a bunch of enemies with the lollipop juju, the cherub-looking dudes turn into Lil Cal looking guys, with the red blood ones looking just like him and the green blood ones having green lipstick and cheeks + white bowtie, instead of red and black respectively. And, Jake's Caliborn-esque symbol turns into a Lil Cal-esque symbol.

I feel like this means SOMETHING about Lil Cal, but I have no idea what. Sending this to you because I consider you the Lil Cal Expert. This is absolutely haunting me.

For those who don't remember, anon is referring to this:

Okay, so, before you sent this ask, I hadn't thought too much about this. I figured this was just reinforcing the conceptual link between cherubs and Lil Cal by implying that Trickster Mode cherubs look like Lil Cal.

But I think we can go deeper. Specifically, I'd like to think about what it would mean for Lil Cal to be a juju that's patterned after a trickster-mode cherub.

Bear with me - I'm not sure how much of this is obvious and how much isn't, so I'm just going to go through everything.

Cherubs are connected with Lil Cal

This one is fairly obvious. From a Doylist perspective, Lord English's design deliberately draws elements from Lil Cal's design, and therefore cherubs in general resemble Lil Cal. And of course, Caliborn's soul becomes entangled with Lil Cal's. Even the name Lil Cal is a clear connection.

Cherubs are connected with Trickster Mode

Again, fairly obvious. It's Calliope and Caliborn's combined jujus that cause Trickster mode. All of the Zillyweapons the tricksters create are tied with ridiculous cherub lore. Et cetera.

In addition… I'm going to quote from Hussie explaining Trickster Mode to Caliborn:

Furthermore, [Trickster Mode] could only be seen as a boon from an asocial species. You never have to deal with other people. So if you lick a magic lollipop that flips a switch in your brain that says "all my problems are solved," I guess maybe that's fine for cherubs, but if you're a human you haven't actually solved anything. By the same logic it's not much of a boon to a human's physical journey either. Using an item that lets them start maniacally powering from point A to point B isn't doing them any favors.

This seems to imply that Trickster Mode would be a better power-up for cherubs, who generally don't have to worry about petty things like "fucking up all your interpersonal relationships in a drug-induced mania". It also implies that cherubs may be physically more able to handle Trickster Mode than humans, who seem to be exhausted once it wears off. Like maybe this is a cherub power-up that isn't really meant to be used on humans.

There's also the matter of the energy that tricksters draw on to fuel their antics… but I'll get to that in a bit.

Lil Cal, specifically, is connected with Trickster Mode

As noted in the ask, Lil Cal motifs show up in several places during the Trickster Mode arc. The cherubs in that one flash turn into Lil Cal lookalikes, Jake's skull symbol turns into Lil Cal's head - plus Dirk's Trickster Mode outfit is based on Lil Cal's outfit.

The implication here is that Trickster Mode cherubs look like Lil Cal. Or to put it another way: Lil Cal looks like a Trickster Mode cherub.

And maybe we could stop there. Cherubs, Trickster Mode, and Lil Cal are all connected, so making the trickster cherubs look like Lil Cal could just be a fun visual way to reinforce those ties in the reader's head.

But on the other hand… Lil Cal could, in a way, be an embodiment of cherub Trickster Mode.

Here's where we get more speculative.

Lil Cal has trickster-like traits

What little we know about Lil Cal's "personality" reinforces the impression of him as somehow trickstery. As Calsprite, he literally does nothing but laugh, all the time, always. As a puppet, he shows up throughout the comic, appearing and disappearing in a way that's almost playful and yet also deeply unsettling. And "unsettling playfulness" is pretty much the essence of Trickster Mode.

So far, so good. This all feels like even more reason why Lil Cal makes sense as a representation of a trickster cherub.

Let's go deeper.

the enigmatic forces presiding over all that is eternal (or, what if ALL the rainbow glowy shit is connected)

Here we're going to take a bit of a detour. Ok, maybe it's more of a full-on dialectical road trip. It starts, as all the best things do, with cherub sex.

Here's a quote from Aranea's explanation of cherub reproduction (typing quirk removed for readability):

While dueling in such a monstrous form, their energy is inexhaustible. The transformation taps into the cherubs' latent connection with the enigmatic forces presiding over all that is eternal, and permeating all those endowed with immortality. Normally this power is only accessible to them during mating. In this form, they are only able to be injured by one another, and are otherwise indestructible.

The important part here is that cherubs have an innate connection to a power that imbues immortality, and this power is visually represented as a flashing rainbow energy.

This force is also almost certainly the power underlying both Caliborn/Lord English's immortality and god tier resurrections.

I'll start with the god tier resurrections, because it ties directly in with where Caliborn gets his immortality.

Here's a comparison between the god tier clock and the stock image that it was based on:

Of note here are two changes that Hussie made: 1) The angels (or should I say cherubs) on top have much larger wings. 2) The animals flanking the clock face have been changed to have crocodile heads that resemble the heads of cherubs when they're in their mating form.

All of this is to say that the god tier clock has very deliberate connections to cherubs. This, combined with its apparent function (resurrecting god tiers who have died, conditional on their death being neither heroic nor just) suggests that god tier resurrections are fueled by the same "enigmatic forces presiding over all that is eternal" as mating cherubs. We also get to see that flashing rainbow energy again when it activates:

Caliborn's reward for defeating Yaldabaoth appears to be the god tier clock itself. When Caliborn destroys it, he absorbs the (rainbow, flashing) energy it emits, rendering him unconditionally immortal. As a cherub, Caliborn is the perfect recipient for this boon - he already has an inherent affinity for this sort of power thanks to his species.

Ok, so what does this all have to do with Trickster Mode?

You know what else is associated with flashing rainbow energy? That's right: Trickster Mode.

I know, this may seem like a stretch, but also bear in mind that the exact pastel rainbow flashing colors that the tricksters talk in (and that show up when Jake, Roxy, and Dirk transform) are also seen both when one of the cherubs transforms into its mating form and when a cherub hatches from its egg (compare the text colors to the colors around the red cherub below). So, we've got more connections to cherub energy here.

My theory is that Trickster Mode taps into the same well of energy that powers cherubs' transformations during mating. In this case, the point is less the immortality and more the "inexhaustible energy" that mating cherubs have.

This would track with Trickster Mode being a power-up that's much better suited to cherubs than humans - cherubs are inherently connected to this energy and are built to withstand it. It also would give an added dimension to the tricksters' obsession with sex and babies - they're imbued with mating energy!

Under this view, Trickster Mode would be "intended" as a power-up that would grant a cherub all the power and energy they normally can only tap into while mating, presumably without needing to transform into a giant snake or waste all that energy on a years-long sex battle.

If this theory was correct, it might imply that someone in Trickster Mode would be unkillable for the duration of the transformation. There's no proof of this, which is the main reason I consider this theory to just be speculation rather than something I think was definitely intended in canon. Still, there's also no proof that tricksters aren't immortal, and would anyone really be surprised if you tried to kill a trickster and they just grinned at you and kept on going? It seems like it would be in keeping with the trickster power set, is all I'm saying.

Lord English as a perma-Trickster?

Now, as I mentioned above, as of the end of Homestuck Caliborn already has forged a permanent connection to "the enigmatic forces presiding over all that is eternal", making him unconditionally immortal and also giving him some really annoying-to-look-at eyeballs. But that in itself still doesn't grant him all the power Lord English has. He doesn't seem to, for example, have limitless energy or the ability to shoot rainbow laser beams out of his mouth.

So here's where my theorizing becomes even more improbable. I don't really think this next part is an "intended" reading, but I still think it's an interesting possibility to consider.

Lord English inherits traits from most of the souls inhabiting Lil Cal - Caliborn most obviously, but also Equius's muscles, Gamzee's honking, etc. But here's the thing: Lil Cal - as in, the juju itself - is also an ectobiological component of Lord English. It's not unthinkable that Lord English could inherit traits from Lil-Cal-the-juju - which, remember, is patterned off of a Trickster Mode cherub.

So my theory here is that Lord English is basically in a permanent Trickster Mode-like state, thanks to inheriting traits from Lil Cal. This state could be what grants him his absurdly massive amounts of power and the aforementioned rainbow-mouth-laser abilities.

After all, what does Trickster Mode do? It flips a switch in your brain that tells you that all your problems are solved and grants you huge amounts of energy to go do whatever your id desires most. And what would Caliborn do if he had unlimited energy and no obstacles left to stand in his way? I think the answer is obvious: Fuck. Shit. Up.

Lord English is basically Caliborn's id writ large and given limitless power to spend fucking shit up for all eternity. And really, what more could a cherub dream of?

#flashing images under the cut #homestuck meta #lil cal #trickster mode #meatmeta #flashing #REDOING THIS WHOLE DAMN POST BECAUSE FUCK TUMBLR

[krak3n23]

Diagnosing Andrew Minyard

An hour long research adventure ft akums razor 

A serious note before we begin. I did this fun, I have no medical background besides also having been on a cocktail of medications for similar symptoms. If a medication is causing you to get worse instead of better: tell your doctor, don't quit cold turkey you might get brain damage, and medications are not a cure all. Thank you and lets begin.

Originally I went into this thinking that Andrew being on an antipsychotic was simply an oversight, or an under researched plot point. However, thinking about the fact that Nora has had this series in her mind for over ten years by the time of publication, I have decided to actually look into the idea. 

I have narrowed down Andrews diagnostic history and medications to two primary options. Either Andrew is on a fictional representation of real life antipsychotic medications or Neil is an unreliable narrator. (or of course… this is an oversight, but I’m not pursuing english to not give authors a benefit of the doubt.) 

There are a few antipsychotics that Andrew’s may be based on, one is ARIPIPRAZOLE. This medication, (like some other generation 2, or atypical antipsychotics), has the adverse side effect of causing an increase in irritation, being overly excited, and having a decrease in risk assessment. Aka, drug induced mania. It can also cause an inability to sleep, a symptom that Andrew experiences. 

The poor research, I think, comes in with another symptom: tardive dyskinesia. This condition is not uncommon in the list of side effects for antipsychotics and is the uncontrolled movement of muscles, like Andrew’s smile, however that is an uncommon form of the symptom. This side effect would also explain why Wymack is okay with Andrew not being on his medications for games. 

Personally I think if Andrew is on an antipsychotic, it would be this one. 

This medication implies Andrew having the diagnosis of Bipolar 1. This is due to Andrew not fitting the criteria of Schizophrenia. These are the two main disorders treated by antipsychotics, which means he likely has one of the two, if he is in fact on antipsychotics. Andrew, to our knowledge doesn’t experience hallucinations off of his medications, therefore he does not have Schizophrenia. 

Now for the second theory, Neil is an unreliable narrator, or the media was just villainizing Andrew further after the incident. There are cases of other medications causing mania, the only set that would make sense for Andrew to be on is antidepressants to treat either OCD, or PTSD. 

Andrew does have PTSD, and it would make sense for him to have become violent when triggered, as he is literally a metaphor for the fight response. Antidepressants are often used to treat the depression and anxiety of PTSD, therefore if this scenario is the correct one, the psychiatrist on Andrew’s case believed the incident to be a fight response due to his PTSD. 

Antidepressants however, rarely cause mania for anyone who doesn’t already have that symptom. This is part of the reason why people with Bipolar disorder often get their diagnosis after going through several combinations of drugs, their brains can have “unpredictable” responses to medications that treat depressive symptoms, and anxiety symptoms, of their disorder. This is why I think Andrew, at the start of the series, has undiagnosed Bipolar disorder. If he had been given a cocktail of medication I would argue he had it diagnosed, however we only hear of one medication. 

Andrew does mention hallucinations due to his medications, not in great detail, but he does seem to believe that during his time on them he had them, and delusions as well. These are both symptoms of severe mania episodes, and are why I think Andrew specifically has Bipolar 1. Drug induced mania is itself a classification under Bipolar, however I think Andrew had that already and the medication simply triggered prolonged manic episodes. Bipolar 2 I would like to rule out because Andrew lacks defining symptoms of Major Depressive disorder, while yes he is depressed, it appears more like Persistent depressive disorder, which according to the DSM-5 is less debilitating and is part of Bipolar 1. In addition to this, Bipolar 2 causes hypomania, which is less severe manic episodes, and quite frankly I think Andrew does have full on manic episodes even off of his medications, such as the incident that got him on the medication in the first place.

Either way, Andrew was not on a good medication for his brain chemistry. Especially since he would miss days and the external manic symptoms would go away, I do actually think he was on an antipsychotic. Some generation 2 antipsychotics do cause manic symptoms, but this is typically noticed during early usage. Andrew’s frequent misuse of the drug, smoking, drinking and usage of a stimulant while medicated, could have prolonged this side effect. Generation 2 antipsychotics are also, as their name suggests, relatively new, especially for when the series is set. All of the side effects may not have been fully understood at this time, and honestly the court probably wanted the situation to go away as soon as possible and therefore didn’t do the routine check-ins with due diligence. If a patient experiences those symptoms for a prolonged time they are supposed to switch over to a new medication. 

So Andrew’s diagnosis, he has PTSD and Bipolar 1 disorder in either scenario and I do think he was on a generation 2 antipsychotic.

#andrew minyard #aftg #This was just a fun little project #do not take me seriously

[a-really-mediocre-writer]

angel of small death - prelude

Welcome to my Daryl Dixon slow burn fan fiction, I hope you enjoy!

Summary for entire work: Piper, a 19 year old girl, alongside her 16 year old sister, Dina, are thrust into a dead-infested wasteland of the world they once knew. Having had a difficult home life before turn, will this new world be a sweet release?

[this is just the prelude to meet the OCs at the beginning of the apocalypse, you do not need to read this if you want to get straight to the story!]

<< P R E L U D E >>

My relationship with my mother had been a complicated one my entire life, but that didn’t make saying goodbye any less heartbreaking. About a day ago she had been bitten by some homeless man in a sort of drug-induced mania- usually this would not be as big of a deal as it is now, however with the strange “Wildfire” virus going around, we thought it would be best to go to the ER to get it checked after about 2 hours as she started to suffer the dreaded fever- a telltale sign of this mysterious plague.

Sitting next to my mom in this chemical scented room made me reflect on life with her; a life with a blended mixture of extremes of enjoyment at one moment, but also the emotional turmoil that comes with having a vain and abusive parent. Although most of the time that I received physical beatings was from a slew of her ex-boyfriends including my own father, the abuse that damaged me the most was her emotional insensitivity- to her I was not to be admired as an ever-blooming piece of her, but rather as a rival garden that needed to be conquered and put in her place with as many chemicals and weeds as possible. I was not a child, never to her and therefore never to anyone, classically “mature for my age” from the moment I was born. I had to grow up fast to protect my sister, Adina.

The goodbye was not intended to be the final one when we had arrived, however when we heard the gunshots begin to echo throughout the hospital hallways we stared each other in the eyes like deer in headlights.

“Go. Before they stop you- Go get Dina. Be Safe. I love you both.”

I froze.

Then I cried. Hard. Slobbering over my mother’s chest as I embraced her. She loves me.

“I have to get you out of here- I can’t leave you here like this!” I frantically shout over the gunfire growing closer by the minute, grasping my mother’s arms trying to get her out of the hospital bed. She stops me, holding my hand and squeezing it tightly, “You need to go, Piper. I love you so much. Go- It’s okay- Just don’t get caught- Go!” shouting the last bit at me I nod quickly and begin to turn towards the door when just then the handle turns and clicks. My eyes go wide as I lunge to hide behind the door as it opens, holding a hand over my mouth to mask my heavy breathing as the soldier in the riot gear inspects my mother, and once he sees the bite mark on her forearm and her pale, sweat soaked sickly skin he shoots without hesitation.

One shot in her brain.

I jump and clasp my hand tighter over my mouth, fearful of what might happen to me if he realises that I am cowering behind the door. My crying however was not as quiet as I thought, as the man turns around to face me and aims his rifle at my face.

“Hands up!”

I oblige, moving both of my now quivering hands away from my face, hyperventilating.

“Please! Please don’t shoot- I’m n-not bit- I just wanted to say g-goodbye to my mom-“

The soldier stares me down and looks me over, not moving his gun out of my face or saying a word. We make eye contact for a few seconds before he silently lowers his gun, looking between me and my mother guiltily and then he leaves without saying a word, jogging down the hallway to the others.

I glance back over to my mother’s now deceased body and flinch as she comes into my eye line. It all happened so fast; it hasn’t settled in my mind that she was murdered in front of me. I grab a white bed sheet and drape it over her lifeless body.

“Goodnight, Mom. I love you.”

Leaving the room and gently closing the door, I glance down the hallway towards the exit and after scanning for danger I make a beeline for the stairwell. As I turn a corner in this desolate maze, I lock eyes with a police officer, barricading a hospital room door with a gurney. For the second time today, I have another gun pulled in my face.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? Everyone was evacuated!”

I put my hands up “They…They killed my mom- I need to go- I need to get my sister!” I shout down the hall as I slowly begin to lower my hands as he lowers his gun. Once we nod at each other that we aren’t going to hurt one another I bolt out of the hospital and into my car in the parking lot. Wasting no time, I speed down the roads to get home and hopefully find my sister alive and well, watching as fully loaded cars of families are packed up and driving in the opposite direction of me and out of town.

As I pull up to the house my sister runs out to greet me with a hug, which is only short lived as we both head inside to pack up things to bring with us to evacuate. I go to my room and grab a backpack, filling it with clothes, hygiene items like deodorant and sunscreen, a mini photo album, some other random bits and pieces, my converse and two books. I grab my granddads over-sized leather jacket, the one given to me when he passed, and put it on, then grab another bag and head to the kitchen to start clearing out the cupboards full of canned goods. As I continue scraping through the cupboards for any food we can take, I holler out to my sister,

“Dina! We gotta go- you got your shit?”

“I’m coming!” She shouts back as she emerges into the kitchen, backpack fastened to her back and ready.

We load our things into the car as Adina asks me about mom. If she is okay. I just freeze and glance up at her briefly, telling her through my eyes that it was in fact not okay. She goes quiet herself and we continue to load up the car with old camping gear and food in silence. Then we hear a car pulling up the driveway. Shit. It’s our mom’s latest boyfriend, and he does not look happy that we are filling up my mom’s car.

“Hey! Whaddaya think yall doin’? Best not have cleared out them cabinets, girl- half that shit’s mine!” He yells as he approaches us aggressively. We continue to pack the car but only faster, getting into the front and slamming the doors behind us. Backing up off the drive and scratching his car as we peel off down the road with me shouting “Fuck you” and flipping the bird out the window, he is now shouting and trying to chase the car only to give up after we turn the corner. We look between each other concerned and we stay silent until we hit the traffic on the highway.

“Shit.” I mutter to myself as I turn off the car engine, “We’re gonna be here a while.”

Silence.

“…Piper? What happened to mom…?”

I avoid her gaze and stare into my lap uncomfortably, “She’s gone.” I say quietly.

Silence.

After a while of the uncomfortably heavy silence, something catches my eye from a few cars behind us.

The man I saw in the hospital.

“Stay here a sec…” I say as I get out of the car and shut the door, making my way over towards the police officer and his family.

“Hey…did I see you earlier?” He turns around at the sound of my voice and is visibly surprised to see me.

“Yeah, you saw me…” He states and sombrely reflects on the events from earlier on in the day.

“I uhm, never introduced myself earlier- I’m Piper, my sister in that car back there is Adina. Thank you for not uhm, you know, firing at me…” I gulp and nervously introduce myself to the muscular man as he takes a step closer to me. “Not a problem darlin’, ‘m Shane. Officer Shane Walsh,” he sticks his hand out for me to shake, which I do, and his hand lingers on mine as he looks me up and down, before gesturing over his shoulder to the people near the car next to his, “That’s Lori and her son, Carl…his dad, my best friend, was the one I was visitin’ today…He passed.” Hearing this I squeeze his hand apologetically, “I’m so sorry for your loss…” His attention is pulled back to me as he scans my face, “Me too, sorry ‘bout your mom.” We both give each other the same devastated look before I speak up again.

“I’d better get goin’ back to my sister, but we’re only a few cars ahead of you if you need anything.”

“Will do, darlin’.”

---

A/N: AAAAHHHHH i havent written properly in so long i hope you guys enjoy it, chapter one will be uploaded today as well <3

also i wasnt sure what to title the general story but was listening the the hoizer song "angel of small death and codeine scene" and thought that would be cool LMAO

#twd fanfic #twd #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon #twd daryl #rick grimes #shane walsh #twd imagine #twd x oc #twd season 1 #slow burn #ftwd

[candysharkart]

hi would u be willing to talk more ab ur belcher hcs that theyre all schizoaffective? :]

i can defs try! i cant promise i have really anything "smart" or insightful to say, cuz my husband and i just kinda draw from our own experiences :o

(if u are reading this and dont know what schizoaffective disorder is, im writing this w/ the definition of "a combination of schizophrenic symptoms and mood disorder symptoms like major depressive and bipolar disorder")

bob has felt the most schiz to us from the start, he's got his voices, which feel way more like he's acting as a mouthpiece for the objects he's talking to, rather than him just doing a bit. he knows its not "real" but also. it is to him. (i think hes also had some? hallucinations? but most are drug or stress induced and he also has a lot of cartoon dream sequences so...?) he struggles with paranoia and anxiety, and he's had pretty manic and depressive episodes in the show. i think he tries his best to stay grounded and self-aware with his delusions. he's very skeptical, and gets really irritated by misinformation. (probs also an affect of his autism tbh)

we also have a hc that he's more irritable and negative in the early seasons bc he's on meds that arent a good fit for him. (we dont really have meds hcs other than that. they might not be able to afford them)

linda's symptoms arent as obvious beyond her delusions like the raccoons and the cemetery stuff, but i think she's taught herself to suppress her issues so she could better support gayle who had more disruptive ones. her parents seem like the "stop being mentally ill its annoying" types. she has her own instances of paranoia and anxiety, but she mostly tries to smother and ignore anything negative she feels. VERY manic and impulsive tho. i think she also has some hallucinations in show but im drawing blanks on specifics.....

i would personally say tina is pretty depressive, but she's good at trying to cope in (mostly) healthy ways. her family is a good support system for her! she does have the most instances of visual hallucinations that arent cartoon bits (she seems to have them a lot when shes feeling guilty...) her anxiety and paranoia reminds me a lot of bob but also of gayle. they have similar outburts

gene has the least examples that i can think of.... i think he considers ken to be pretend and is just joking about him being real bc it annoys bob (compared to tina who thinks her horse Jericho is maybe...a little real) but i think he has some other hallucinations tht arent like that. hes surprisingly anti-social! he definitely often views himself as superior to the kids he knows. gets that from his dad lol. and his mania and impulsiveness are very much like linda :) he doesnt have depressive episodes as much as the others, but they hit him really hard :(

and louise! shes paranoid and has lots of aggression issues! to me she is also very depressed. (the puppet ep is esp relatable to me lol........) and she's VERY manic in the ambergris ep! i think she also has a couple instances of voices similar to bob's? but its kinda hard to tell the difference when shes still a kid who plays pretend with her toys. her talking to the taffy dummy feels more like what bob does tho.

i hope? thats the kind of hcs you were talking about? ive been trying to think of the right words for like 3 hours now. im very bad with words and so much of this stuff can also be attributed to other brain stuff, and one person can have a lot going on in one brain! so i hope i dont upset anyone with this post. thank u for ur time :)

#also gotta remember that its a Silly Jokes Cartoon so i dont really....think most of this is intentional #bob's burgers #hope this isnt. illegible word salad also. sorry......

[mostlymaudlin]

fanfic writer challenge!

instructions:

list & explain the three lines/moments from canon that are most fundamental to how you write your fave character

challenge 3 more fic writers to do the same!

ok i did this for carry on but im doing a separate one for aftg <3 because its fun

it is surprising to no one, but my fave character to write is andrew :) and i gotta put this puppy under a read more because i wrote way too much. i have [clenches fist] SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT ANDREW MINYARD !!!

but first, ill tag: @sillyunicorn @starwarned @takitalks @rainbow-0bsidian @pipedream-darling @otherworldsivelivedin @mrskrementz @fortheloveofexy @seasy33 @jostenminyard

(doing more than three to get the ball rolling lol)

Andrew's smile vanished when the elevator started its slow crawl down. Neil returned his stare, every muscle tensed for a fight. At the fifth floor, Andrew pushed away from the back railing and started for Neil. He reached for Neil's keys, but Neil moved the ring out of reach. Andrew tried again, and Neil had to step back to dodge his grab. He backed right into the metal doors and realized a moment too late Andrew didn't care about his keys at all. He buried the ring in his pocket, feeling pinned in. How stupid, that someone so short could have such a presence. -- (The Foxhole Court, Chapter 2)

ok, a long one to start, but important ! one of the reasons i love writing andrew is because of the way hes fucking nuts. and as someone who is also nuts, this is pleasing to me. and let me make this point without using silly euphemisms: mania is a state in which a person is heightened, but they are still fundamentally themselves. their thoughts are not limited by silly things like filters or predicting consequences. it is impulse and pleasure-chasing. so! when i look at andrew, who is supposedly on some whacked out fake drug that induces mania, i think about how his actions that could be brushed off as "he's just high" actually reflect an andrew without inhibitions. this is especially helpful when looking at andrew in TKM, when he becomes incredibly difficult to read.

this scene is the reverse, though, and that's why it's important to me. andrew is not on his medicine here, but he's not Mr. Repressed either. this is an in-between, where he's choosing to let some of himself shine through (mostly with the intention of freaking out neil, lol). and it's great, because andrew shows us a few big things:

he reads & understands people SO well, even if he rarely caters to their needs. the fact that he goes for neil's keys on day 1 to draw a reaction is like... yep. you got him lol.

he is willing to take drastic measures in the name of.... well, at this point in the story we're not sure, but soon we'll see that its to protect his people

he's crazy???? lol. i just think andrew's dialogue in tfc/trk in his brief unmedicated moments (and even his manic ones!) are so indicative of how andrew thinks. he's so fucking weird. in this scene, he follows his cornering act with "How nice to meet you, Neil," Andrew drawled. that's so weird!! he's weird. his brain is silly and clever and quick. This bit and others like it are the foundation on which ive built my version of his POV.

now, speaking of andrew's brain --

Andrew stared stone-faced back at him. Neil would have assumed it a silent rejection of Neil's veiled accusations if Andrew's hand hadn't frozen midair between them. -- (The King's Men, Chapter 11)

let's set the scene. immediately before this, neil has suggested they go on spring break, implied that there was a this, then hit andrew with his "And I am nothing" / "And as you've always said, you want nothing."

so like. andrew just got punched in the gut approximately six times in under a minute. poor guy. when neil prompts him back into action, he first threatens to kill neil, and then kisses the shit out of him. squeeee, ROMANCE!!!

when i look at this scene, i think of that first quote i pulled. i think of andrews silly and clever and quick brain, and about how much work he does to keep his mask on. there are plenty of times his mask cracks, but this one is the most fun because he is so clearly being overwhelmed by FEELINGS. he is confused by neil, irritated with him for bringing up all these things that andrew long ago decided didn't matter, and furious with himself for wanting it all too. he has to freeze so that none of that slips out of his mouth or onto his face. when he recovers, he deflects thru being mean (which is useless against neil, but still a satisfying way to blow off some steam) and then kissing him :) because really, that's what it all boils down to: andrew wants neil so bad it makes him want to murder him.

and look at this, a nice transition to the final scene!

"Rumor has it I'm pretty interesting."

"Don't believe everything you hear."

Neil ignored that dismissal because Andrew was already pulling him down again. They kissed until Neil felt dizzy, until he wasn't sure he could hold himself up anymore, and then Andrew pulled Neil's hand off the beanbag chair. He held it up and away from them for an eternity, then slowly pressed it flat against his chest and let go. Andrew tensed up under Neil's hand but relaxed before Neil could pull away. --(The Kings Men, Chapter 15) (The second Chapter 15) (Because thats something we have to clarify in these dumbass books)

oh my GOD. has a scene ever scened like this scene scened. has a touch ever meant so much. has a character ever tried this hard. ok, once we've all finished banging our heads against the wall and screaming, let's review:

andrew wants neil so bad it makes him want to murder him. but andrew also wants neil so bad that it makes him want to TRY. im actually going to take this apart bit by bit because if for some reason you're still reading this madness, i think you'll appreciate the detail LOL.

ok, first: before this paragraph, neil confronts andrew again with the gravity of their relationship, and andrew plays his usual game of deflecting and bullying. that doesnt work (andrew, has that EVER worked???***) so of course the next action is kissing.

and kissing and kissing and kissing.

and somewhere in all this kissing that is so good that neil is dizzy, something in andrew says: i want more. he takes neil's hand, maybe on impulse, and has to stop to think about what he's going to do. and then he tries to give: he places neil's hand on his chest, LETS GO, and then relaxes under his touch.

its hard to tell how much of this was impulse and how much was thought through. im willing to bet it was mostly impulse, especially because andrew doesnt hit neil with a "i never do anything i dont want to do" when neil acknowledges that this is probably something theyre not ready for. (instead, andrew reacts by deflecting/bullying -- "One hundred and one" -- and then more kissing. so predictable!).

but still! it says so much. it says that he wants and wants and wants, he dreams about things he thinks he'll never have. and neil keeps trying to prove him wrong, and andrew wants to believe him so badly, wants to SHOW neil that he's starting to believe him. scream!!! andrew invented romance. he put neils hand on his chest and LET GO. he said: "look. im trying. i want this too, even if i cant even think the words." he said: "i want to figure out how to trust you."

because underneath it all, i believe andrew is a deeply hopeful creature, and that is the thing he hates most about himself. he wants a home, he wants a family, he wants to belong -- and it makes him feel so fucking foolish. its easier to wrap these wants up in duties and protections, concrete and emotionless things. but neil never actually wanted andrew's protection, yet he still wants andrew more than anyone ever has before. thats fuckin earth-shattering. theres only so much deflecting and bullying and kissing you can do before some of that deeply buried hope claws its way out.

SO YEAH i really didnt need to do all that but i did. if youre still reading then like LOL youre a trooper hope u enjoyed the 2AM Nerd Rory show. but i think about andrew a lot (obviously) and hes such a difficult character to write, so returning to scenes like these three really help ground me in the version of him that lives in my head. so that i can put him in situations :)

***actually wait i just remembered one time where the bullying/deflecting worked, so here's a bonus. in ch 10, the make it to finals and have a party at abbys. andrew and neil are outside, and neil is frustrated with andrews apathy -- "Would it kill you to let something in?" / "It almost did last time." -- and then also starts talking oh so earnestly about how andrew could be court if he'd just TRY. andrew, obviously, gets mad and asks Neil if hes capable of talking about anything other than Exy. which actually hurts neil's feelings, because neil just really likes talking to andrew about exy (the thing hes most passionate about) & deeply values his opinions, and hes upset by the implication that they dont actually have this in common.

and like, you could read this as andrew just being sick of talking about exy lol. but i see it as part of the pattern. andrew is triggered, first of all. and then neil is being a little too earnest about the future and andrew, talk to me. and andrew's fucking overwhelmed !!! he does not know what to do with this! so: lash out. hit neil where it hurts. deflect and bully.

#my writing #ive done a lot of unhinged things on this site but like this might be up there #welcome to the depths of how much i think abt this goddamn CHARACTER

[witchofthesouls]

The Dionysian Effect

We need more religious festivals and symbolism of the Thirteen incorporated into TFP since they were deities and I want more lore, so here’s a peak of the Megatronus Prime sex cult with Soundwave being devout follower

(Heads up: drug-induced sex):

The first sparklings on Cybertron descended by a union of Megatronus and Solus. The Prime of Chaos took the Prime of Creation upon the aftermath of the Thirteen’s triumph against the Unmaker. He filled her divine frame with his holy essence. For Thirteen days and Thirteen nights they were joined and that passion internally crafted a Forge when Life took root in her spark and made it possible to bring newsparks into the world.

Primus blessed their union by allowing all Cybertronians similar equipment to mimic the First Conjunx.

It mattered not if her other brothers had laid with her as well, nor if Solus' final Gift was the Well of Allsparks. To this day, all newsparks emerge from their carrier's frame with only their base instincts to guide them, full of wants and fears, soft-plated and blind, mewling and crying.

By that union, Megatronus and Solus left them their greatest legacy: to ignite life between their mortal frames and sacred sparks outside of the Well.

___________

The Marks of the blended insignias of Megatronus and Solus wavered in the very air, flashing liquid gold and bright blue, and all he could taste the thick, syrupy sweetness on his glossa. The strange vines undulating across his frame, between his legs, and within his throat as he clung onto the stuck pair of hips, overloading into the tight valve.

The wall suddenly gave away into nothingness, and he quickly wrestled the other squirming frame to the ground, wrenching arms and deploying data-cables to pin them down. Seeking out the warm, wet valve again, rocking into the clenching mesh as he silently mouthed the Litany of Solus into heated neck-cables, inhaling the sudden release of ozone, burnt circuitry, and lubricant. The stranger wailed beneath him, hips attempting to move but she -a data-cable had found a secondary valve and made it its home -could only twitch, vents expelling immense heat as the wild field immediately snapped and synched into his own.

Soundwave groaned at the hot charge clawing down his frame and the last vestiges of sanity and repressed code broke, his denta sank into the neck-cables and began to rut into the pliant, wanting valve.

When Megatronus claimed Solus, it was not on a bejeweled altar of an exalted temple under perfumed incense and controlled words of high-caste priests. Closeted away from the outside world and its taint of filth and savagery.

No, he claimed her in the dirt on Primus' scorched and blood-soaked ground, directly on their Creator’s very alt-mode in the very wilds.

Their frames were the temple. Their energon and fluids were the anointing oils. Their sparks were the hymns.

Soundwave was a dutiful spark; even with his visor blackened and neural net seared from the raw code-related ecstasy and drug-induced mania, his vows were upheld even when the dark caverns and stained grounds that he pledged upon were long gone, ravaged by warfare and Cybertron's demise.

And on this strange, organic planet in the middle of absolute nowhere, here lied an artifact of his chosen God and his Conjunx, so they shall consecrate the hidden cave with nothing but themselves and claim it the old way.

#transformers #Transformers Prime #tfp #soundwave #solus prime #Megatronus Prime #maccadam #My writing #fic ideas #The Dionysian Effect #valveplug #religious imagery #Religious Symbolism #cybertronian culture #creation myth #dubcon #guess who got stuck in the wall?

[criminalgays]

we never find out what everyone majored in in aftg (except for neil, but it was never confirmed he majored in spanish, just heavily implied), but i think that andrew majored in the social sciences with intentions to work in social services/with the foster system. i don’t think he ever planned on going pro in exy, so when wymack recruited him he had an actual plan (granted, his drug-induced mania prevented him from spending too much time on school freshman year, but that’s what 5th years are for) the rest of the foxes didn’t actually think that he was serious about it, but by junior year andrew was taking 6 classes to make up for freshman year, playing exy, and working.

when andrew is picked up by a pro team after graduation, he almost doesn’t accept the offer. he put so much work into his degree that he can’t just throw it away. it takes nicky 4 weeks to convince him that he’s not throwing his degree away, just putting it on hold momentarily. it takes renee telling andrew that all the foster kids watching him, a broken, used-to-be-lonely, kid who was fucked by the system, succeeding in life would be doing good. it takes neil to remind him that he can still help the system by donating and outreach.

it takes wymack for him to realize that maybe in the system isn’t where he needs to be, but instead outside, supporting the kids. it takes wymack for him to realize that wymack’s dream was the same. it takes wymack for andrew to realize that one good social worker doesn’t have as much impact as sweeping systemic changes, doesn’t have as much impact as legislation requiring the ENTIRE foster family to be vetted by the agency, not just the parents.

andrew realizes that a world famous Court-level exy player might just be able to make these changes, especially if other world class players like kevin day, neil josten, and matt boyd are rallying behind him.

#all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #andrew was serious about his academics and freaked everyone out #david wymack #exy

[the-s-exy-squad]

That goofy little moment when you hear a song and the lyrics spiral into a very sad and heartbreaking au of AFTG and when your brain was done, you started actually crying.

But like what if Andrew never got sent to Easthaven to detox?

He would still be in that stupid induced mania and in a “silly goofy mood” and think the whole thing is funny or at the very least it seem that way to other people, and he’d start pushing literally everyone away even Renee.

What if Aaron saw Andrew’s happy go lucky attitude and deep down he knows it’s the meds but it doesn’t stop him from wondering if it is JUST the meds or if he actually finds the situation funny, and he felt so bad and guilty about it that he started doing drugs again? Andrew gets mad at him over the drugs but bc the mania he isn’t seen *as mad* and looks like he’s just taunting Aaron over actually killing a man and doing drugs again.

Nicky sees the both of them spiral and that pushes his guilt induced depressive episode even farther and he starts wondering about how none of this would have happened if he stayed in the closet and on good terms with his parents . He stops calling Erik as frequently claiming to be tired and exhausted from practice and school but that was only partial truth.

Neil Sees Andrew breaking down over it bc he sees things about Andrew that others don’t and he doesn’t know why (bc demisexuality and yk the “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you” hasnt/might not even actually happen.) but his heart is shattering at it. His reason for staying wasn’t just the Exy and the only other reason was falling apart and through his fingers and he didn’t know how to help. He’d start to heavily debate running again and gets so so close to doing so if he didn’t actually do it.

Allison sees Aaron’s addiction again and how Andrew seemingly doesn’t care and is seeming to be urging him on and after Seth really triggers her.

Renee is trying to be supportive of Andrew but can’t figure out a way to get through to him without pushing him too far bc the meds. She starts to feel like despite everything Andrew still doesn’t care about how much she cares.

Kevin sees all the chaos and knows that Riko won. He got exactly what he intended by paying off Drake to be at the Hemmicks’ house that night and having him demand the Hemmicks’ ensure the twins are there. He starts drinking more and stops caring about exy bc his life is over. If not literally, at least in that regard, which to him is the equivalent.

Matt seeing Aaron start using again gave an influx on the urges of restarting which made him pull away from the team. He’d go to class and practices but lock himself in his room otherwise to try and minimize that urge and if his roommate was there he’d go sit in the lounge at the court.

Dan was with him throughout it and refused to let him pull away from her but she started to realize that the shit with the ravens was too much and there was no way they could beat them. She starts questioning her self worth and starts thinking abt all the misogynistic things she’s heard.

#idk why my brain does this #these kids had it rough AS IS #THEY DONT NEED MY BS BRAIN MAKING IT WORSE #I would like to say that this book LITERALLY changed my brain chemistry #All for the game #Andrew Minyard #Neil Josten #Aaron Minyard #Kevin day #Matt Boyd #allison reynolds #renee walker #Dan wilds #nicky hemmick