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lost-in-fandoms · 13 days

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A little kitten knight Max AU prompt because honestly, I will never have enough... Also, don't worry about fulfilling it any time soon, just for when the brain worms want to worm, and if they never want to, that's fine too. But I noticed, a common trend in this AU is that Max turns into his cat form when Daniel least expects it and its like a welcome surprise to him when it happens, cue cuteness and love.

So what about a time, well in their established relationship, probably when he's used to Max's shifting pattern, something happens and he's expecting Max to shift, and it doesn't happen? And Daniel is just like ???? but cat form????

OR one where Daniel is the one in the need of comfort at the time, which is rare, despite Max being the Knight Captain and supposedly the tough one, and Max tries to help him in his human form but nothing works, so he shifts into his kitten form and that's the one that does the trick...

I'm sorry, this AU really corrupted my brain now, I will shut up now and patiently wait for another bit at some point

Thank you so much for sending this! It means a lot to me that you enjoy this universe so much <3

It took me a few days, but I hope you like this! I took the two prompts and combined them into one! Also this is accidentally almost 1.8k.

Daniel loves his life.

It's not perfect, and it's not the easiest, he could do with less dead hour watches and more hours in bed, preferably with Max, but it's good. He has a group of friends he loves dearly, even if they're mostly dickheads, and the last time he lost one was because he left the guards to go live on a farm with his family, not because of war and death. The kingdom has been mostly peaceful for years, and even the occasional border skirmishes have become less frequent, mostly solved with words and carefully placed marriages and threats.

And he has Max. Max, who is his own little piece of magic, who would make this life worth it even if it was worse than this.

So yes, Daniel loves Max, and he loves his life, but sometimes... Sometimes, when the nights are long and cold, and the rain seems endless, he can't help but miss the searing hot burn of red sand and the blinding glare of the sun. Sometimes, when one of the guys leaves the castle to have a meal with his family, his own food turns to ash in his mouth, tasting nothing like the things he used to love. Sometimes, when him and Max take three days of leave to go visit his mother or his sister, he can't help but think about how three days would not even cover half of way home for him, no matter a whole round trip.

Sometimes he's homesick.

He doesn't regret leaving, doesn't regret the adventures that brought him here, doesn't regret this life, will never regret putting down roots by Max's side, but he wishes it didn't have to be that far away. He never stopped exchanging letters with his family, with his mom especially, but it's not the same. It's not the same when he thinks about how useless he'd be if someone grew sick, or died. It's not the same when, even if he'll never tell anyone, he misses his mom's arms around him more fiercely than anything.

In those times, he pulls himself away. He doesn't hang out with the others outside of his shift, he doesn't spar for fun, he doesn't sit down with them in the hazy vapor of the baths, doesn't share meals with them. It's not easier to deal with the feeling by himself, but it's not harder, and that will have to do.

He's sitting on top of one of the high towers, eyes fixed on the horizon as if he would suddenly become able to see all the way home, when Max finds him.

He's still wearing his fancy cloak, the one he wears when the King has important visitors and Max needs to look less like a random guard and more like his Captain, he must have come straight from his duties, but he still leans against the wet stone ramparts with Daniel.

For a long moment, they stand in silence. Daniel can feel Max's eyes on him, but he doesn't look, busy trying to pierce insurmountable distances.

"Are you alright?" Max finally asks, shifting closer, their arms brushing from shoulder to wrist, their fingers knocking together. Even if they're alone, it's not safe to touch any more than that, and Daniel appreciates the gesture.

He nods, not really feeling like talking, suddenly wishing Max could hold him right there. He doesn't want to take his eyes away from the horizon, doesn't want Max to move further away. He wants both, always wants both, and it would make him laugh if it was any other moment, how simply the ache in his heart can be summarised in this single moment.

Max shifts again next to him, moving his weight from one foot to another, an unusual show of hesitance from him that doesn't really surprise Daniel. As lovely as Max is, he never really knows what to say when Daniel is like this.

Where Daniel had been raised with gentle hands and words of love, Max had known bruises and reproach, and even if he's come a long way, he still struggles sometimes with reassurances and feelings.

Max shifts again, their arms no longer touching, and Daniel almost expects to look to the side and find a kitten watching him instead. It's what Max does when he doesn't know what to say to Daniel: he turns in a shape where things are easier and then pours out his love in purrs and kitten licks, cuddling as close as possible to Daniel's heart.

But when Daniel looks, Max is still there, taking off his cloak to carefully drape him across Daniel's shoulders.

Daniel shivers, surprise and sudden warmth making his chest feel weird. He hadn't even realised he was cold.

It's not quite a hug, but he accepts it with the best version of a smile he can muster at the moment, and it seems to be enough to satisfy Max. They stand on top of the tower in silence for a long time.

The feeling doesn't go away the next day. Or the one after that.

It's unusual for him to feel this heavily homesick for so many days in a row, but he doesn't know how to make it go away, and it's clear Max doesn't know either.

He's been staying as close to Daniel as possible, taking care of him in many small different ways, holding him tight when they find each other in bed, but it doesn't seem to be enough. There's an ache in Daniel's chest that doesn't go away.

He's walking through the courtyard, limbs feeling heavier than they should be even after a long watch in the city's streets, when his eyes catch on a shadow, slinking away between some crates, and he realises what it might be that he needs.

"I saw a cat earlier," he tells Max.

They're laying in bed, Daniel's head on Max's naked chest, both too tired to have sex but still needing to be close.

"Are you going to make a joke about cousins again?" Max grumbles, chest vibrating under Daniel's cheek. He doesn't have to look up to know Max is frowning and smiling at the same time.

"No," Daniel replies with a giggle, "even if..."

Max pinches him before he can finish the sentence, and Daniel yelps, squirming away and then closer again.

He takes a breath, steadying himself. He doesn't know if this is okay to ask, has never had to ask before.

"Is everything okay?" Max asks, serious again, one hand coming up to gently cup Daniel's cheek.

Daniel nods, then hesitates some more. He doesn't want to...offend Max, or something like that, but he also just. He thinks that would make it right. Maybe.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Max's answer come so quickly Daniel would tease him for it if it was another day.

"And if I am out of line, you'll tell me?"

Finally, Max seems to have enough of this uncertainty and he moves Daniel around until he's able to meet his eyes. There's a deep frown line between his eyebrows, and Daniel almost reaches out to smooth it out.

"You are worrying me, Daniel. Just say it?"

Daniel bites at his lip for a second, but then he nods again. If he drags it out further he'll either end up not saying it at all or turning it in an even bigger thing than it needs to be.

"Can you shift?" he blurts out, almost immediately regretting not thinking of a better question.

Max's frown deepens.

"You mean...I am able to?"

Daniel shakes his head, moving his hands restlessly.

"No, I mean, could you? Right now?" He hates not knowing if he's like making an horrible faux-pas right now, but at least he's pretty confident Max won't hate him for it.

Max tilts his head, eyes studying Daniel so carefully he feels a bit like a miniature in a gilded book, understanding slowly making his way onto his face. Daniel both loves and hates how well Max knows him.

"That would make you feel better?" he asks gently.

Daniel nods again, helpless, unable and unwilling to lie.

"It..he..." Max swallows, frustrated. Daniel is glad that at least they both seem uncertain on what way is the best one to talk about this. "It's better when I am like that?"

And oh, Daniel can't have that.

He shakes his head, hands flying up to cup Max's cheeks, crashing forward to push their lips together.

"No, no! You are perfect, and I..." he kisses Max again, tries to put too much into it. "You have been great, but I think..."

"Daniel," Max calls, half a smile on his lips, grabbing Daniel's shoulders.

Daniel takes a breath, letting Max slow him down again. The next kiss is softer, sweeter. His thoughts clearer.

"I love you, like this and like that, but I would like some furry cuddles right now."

Max smile grows at his choice of words, but he gently pushes Daniel away to get himself some space, not needing to be asked twice.

"I love you too," he says, pressing one last kiss to Daniel's cheek.

And then one second Daniel is looking at his eyes, and the next he has to look down to find the small kitten already fighting with the bunched up blankets.

He laughs, helping him out of them while ignoring the disgruntled little meows. He doesn't know what it is about this, but his soul already feels more settled, lighter.

"Hello baby," he greets, laying back down on the bed in a comfortable position. He immediately feels Max climbing over him, little pinpricks of pain following his journey towards Daniel's collarbone, but he stays still, letting him do his thing.

When Max is settled down, curled up in a little furry ball next to Daniel's neck, purrs already vibrating through him, he brings up a hand to pet him softly, feeling his wet nose press against his skin in response.

He reaches over to turn off the oil lamp, letting the moon take over. He still misses his old home, still misses his family, but the pain of it has subsided in the familiar thrum that always resides between his ribs, bearable once again.

"Thank you, Maxy," he whispers in the silver darkness, brushing his cheek against Max's little body. Max just purrs louder, and Daniel smiles.

Tomorrow he will write a new letter to his mom, will ask about his nephews and about the harvest, but for now he closes his eyes, letting Max lull him to sleep.

#maxiel #my writing #kitten knight max au #ignore any possible typos i kept forgetting how to english #i knew i wanted to write it like this as soon as i read this ask but it took me a few days to do it #because i was busy and then away for the weekend #hope this is okay! always scary to fill prompts and not knowing if it will be good enough for what people have pictures in their heads ajkj #i feel like im forgetting something like a tag or whatever but idk

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jacksprostate · 4 months

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Treatise on why No, the doctor just giving the narrator of Fight Club (full name) his requested sleep medication or sending him to therapy would not have Fixed Him

Firstly, saying giving him the insomnia meds would’ve fixed him ignores the reason he has insomnia in the first place. He is so deeply upset by his place in society that he literally cannot sleep. Drugging him to sleep would not change that. That, of course, is the easy, quick response.

But with regard to therapy? The biggest flaw is that it ignores a central tenet of the book. Part of what tortures the narrator and drives him to invent Tyler is that his feelings about this collective, systemic issue are constantly reduced to a Just Him thing. His seatmates ask what his company is. He’s the only one upset at the office. He gets weird looks if he says the truth of what he does. People will do anything in their power to pretend he is the issue, as an individual, because it is far scarier to consider the full implications of the systemic issues implied by what he is saying. Everyone treats it as if the issue is him, so he goes insane. He does anything to get someone to say, holy shit, that’s fucked up, what you’re a part of is wrong. In an attempt to feel any sort of vague sympathy and catharsis, he goes to support groups to pretend to be dying, because then at least people don’t habitually blame him for his anguish.

Saying therapy would fix him ignores that his problems are not individual. They are collective. It’s the reason the entire story resonates with people! Something deeply, unignorably wrong with society, where people would rather blame you for bringing it up than try and address it, because it feels impossible. I don’t blame people for this, really, because it IS scary. It’s terrifying to sit and feel like you’ve realized there’s something deeply, deeply wrong, but if you say something, people will get mad at you since it’s so baked into everything around you. Or, even if they agree, it’s easier to deal with the dissonance by pretending it’s individual.

And it’s not like that’s not the purpose therapy and medications largely serve, anyway. Getting into dangerous territory for this website, but ultimately, the reason the narrator was seeking medication was because it’s a bandaid. A very numbing bandaid. For these very large, dissonance causing problems, therapy does very little. Medications do what they always have, and distract you with numbness or side effects. It’s a false solution. He is seeking an individualized false solution because he has been browbeaten with the idea that this is an issue with him alone, when it's plainly clear it's not.

Don't get me wrong. Obviously he has something wrong with him. But it's a product of his situation. It is a fictional exaggeration of a very real occurrence of mental illness provoked by deep unconscionable dissonance and anguish. There is a clear correlation between what happens and his mental state and his job and how isolated he is.

The thing is, even if he were chemically numbed, I do think he would’ve lost it regardless. Many people on meds find they don’t fix things. For reasons I’ll get into, but in this case because even if numbed or distracted, once you’ve learned about deep, far reaching corruption in society, it’s very hard to forget. Especially if, in his case, you literally serve as the acting hand of this particular variety. He’s crawling up the walls.

So why do people say this? Well, it's funny I guess. Maybe the first time or whatever. But also, often, they believe it, to a degree. Maybe they've just been told how effective therapy and meds are for mental illness, they believe wholeheartedly in The Disease Model of Mental Illness, maybe they themselves have engaged with either and have considered it successful. Maybe they or someone they know has been 'saved' by such treatments.

But in all honesty.... What therapy can help with is mentality, it's how you approach problems. For issues on a smaller scale, not meaning they are easier to deal with my any degree, but ones that are not raw and direct from deep awareness of corruption; these are things that can be worked through if you get lucky and get an actually good therapist who helps build up your resiliency. But when your issue is concrete, something large and inescapable? It's useless. At best it can help you develop coping mechanisms, but there is a limit for that. There is a point where that fails. To develop the ability to handle something like this requires intense development of a comfort with ambiguity and dissonance and being isolated and a firm positioning of your purpose and values and and belief in wonder and all the other shit I ramble about. The things that the narrator lacks, which lead him to taking an ineffectual death knell anarchist self-destruction path. Therapy, where the narrator is, full of the knowledge of braces melted to seats and all the people that have to allow this to happen? It fails.

And meds â€” meds are a fucking scam. We know the working mechanism of basically none of them, the serotonin receptor model was made up and paid its way into prominence. We have very little evidence they're any better than placebo, and they come with genuinely horrific side effects. Maybe you got lucky. I did, on some meds. On others? I don't remember 2018. The pharmaceutical industry is also known for rampant medical ghostwriting, and for creating 'off-label' uses for drugs that have gained too many protests in their original use, then creating a cult of use to then have 'grassroots' campaigns for it to be made a label use (ie, legitimize their ghostwritten articles with guided anecdotes).

The DSM itself is basically a marketing segregation plot. It's an attempt to legitimize the disease model by isolating subgroups of symptoms to propose individualized treatments for subgroups that are not necessarily all that separate. But if the groups exist, you can prescribe more and different medications, no? Not to mention, if you use the disease model, you can propose that these diseases are permanent, or permanent until treated, considered more and more severe to offset and justify the horrific side effects of the medications. Do you know why male birth control doesn't really exist? Same reason. They can justify all the horrible side effects for women, because the other option is pregnancy. For men, it's nothing.

And they're not bothering to invent new drugs without side effects. When they invent new drugs it's just because the last one got too bad of a name, or they can enter a new market. Modern drugs don't work any better than gen1 drugs. They still have horrific side effects. At best, the industry will shit out studies saying the old one was flawed (truth) so they can say this new gen will be better (lie). They're doing it with ssris right now.

Fundamentally, the single proposed benefit of any of these drugs is that they numb you. To whatever is torturing you. It's harder to be depressed if you can't feel it, or if you just can't muster the same outrage. Of course, there is people who find that numbness to be helpful, or worth it. But often, it's stasis. For the people who have problems that can be worked on, it serves as a stopgap to not actually work on said problems. The natural outcome of the disease model is stagnation for those whose need is to develop skills and resiliency. It keeps them medicalized and dependent on the idea that they're diseased and incapable. Profitable. Stuck in the womb.

I’ve been there. It’s easier, to wallow, and resist growth because it’s difficult and painful and unfair and cruel and you can think of five billion reasons to justify your languishing. But don’t listen to anyone who tells you you’re just permanently damaged, no matter how nicely they word it, no identity or novel pathologization, no matter how many benefits they promise, especially if they swear up and down some lovely expensive medications with little solid backing and plentiful off-label usage and side effects that’ll kill you. Some days it feels like they want us all stuck in pods, agoraphobic and addicted to the ads they feed us to isolate the markets for the drugs they’ve trained us to beg them to pump us with. Polarization making it as easy as flashing blue light for go, red like for stop, or vice versa. I worry about the kids, for fucks sake. That’s a bit dark and intense, and I apologize. But I want you (generic) to understand, there is a profit motive. Behind everything. And they do not mean well. They do not care about your mental health or your rights or your personhood or your growth. They care about how they can profit off of you.

For those struggling with immovable, society problems, like the narrator grappling with how his job fits into and is accepted by society while his rejection and horror in the face of it does not, it can work about as well as any other drug addiction. Your mileage may vary. From what I've seen, recovering from being on prozac for a long time can be worse than alcohol. They put kids on this shit. They keep campaigning for more. Off label, again. A pharmaceutical company’s favorite thing to do has to be to spread rumors of someone who knows someone who said an off label use of this drug helps with this little understood condition. Or, in the case of mental illness, questionably defined condition. And like, damn, I know I'm posting on the 'medicalization is my identity' website so no one will like all this and has probably stopped reading by now, but yall should be exposed to at least one person who doubts this stuff. Doesn't just trust it. Because I mean, that's the thing right?

It's so big. What would it mean, for this all to be true? Yeah, everyone says pharmaceutical companies are evil and predatory and ghostwriting, but to think about what that really entails. Coming back to the book, everyone knows the car lobby is huge and puts dangerous vehicles through that kill people. What does it mean if the car companies all hire people to calculate the cost of a recall and the cost of lawsuits? No one wants to think about the scale that means for people allowing it or the systems that have to be geared towards money, not safety like they say. Hell, even Chuck misses the beat and has the narrator threaten his boss with the Department of Transportation. And shit, man, if every company is doing this, you think Transportation doesn't know? That they give a fuck? You're better off mailing all the evidence to the news outlets and hoping they only character assassinate you a little bit as they release the news in a way that says it's all the fault of little workers like you, not the whole system. Something something, David McBride, any whistleblower you feel like, etc.

So I don't blame you, if your reaction is "but but but, that can't be right, people wouldn't do it, they wouldn't allow it" or just an overwhelming feeling of dread that pushes you to deny all of this and avoid thinking about it. Just know, that's in the book. That's all the seatmates on the flights. That's all his fellow officemates. It's easier to pretend, I know.

But think about, how the response fits in with the themes of the book. The story, as a movie too. What drives the narrator’s mental breakdown? How would you handle being in his position? How would you handle being his seatmate? It’s easy to say you’d listen. But have you? Have you had any soul wrenching betrayals of how you thought society worked? How about a betrayal by the thing that promised to be the fix of the first? Can you honestly say you wouldn’t follow that gut instinct, saying follow what everyone says, that person must just be crazy, evil, rude, cruel, whatever it is that means you can set what they said aside?

For a lot of people, they can do that, I guess. Set it aside. Reaching that aforementioned state of managing to cope with the dissonance and ambiguity and despair is very hard. The narrator made the Big Realization, but he couldn’t cope. He self-destructed. Even when people don’t make the big realization consciously, they’re already self-destructing. It’s hard to escape it when it feels easier than continuing anyway. When it feels like the only option,

Would therapy fix the narrator of Fight Club? Would meds fix the narrator of Fight Club? No. He knows too much. All meds will do, by the time he’s in the psych ward, is spiritually neuter him. A silly phrase, but really. Take the wind out of his sails.

Is he fixed if he doesn’t try to blow up town? If he just shuts up and settles in and stops costing money? If he still can’t cope with the things he’s unearthed? Do you see how this is a commentary in a commentary in a commentary?

Fight Club is an absolutely fascinating story because of this. The fact that it addresses the fallout of knowing. The isolation. The hopelessness. The spiral that results from a lack of hope. This is, I think, what resonates most with people, even if not consciously. Going insane because you’ve discovered something you wish you could unknow. It’s a classic horror story. Should our society be lovecraftian evil? I don’t think so.

Do I think changing it will be easy? No. Lord knows a lot exists to push people who make these sorts of Realizations towards feelings of individuality and individualized solutions and denial and other distractions and coping methods. And to prevent people who make One realization from expanding on it and considering further ramifications. Fight Club itself gets into this; the isolation of men being a strict part of the role society shapes for their sex leaves them very vulnerable to death fetishes, in a sense, and generally towards self destructive violence. It helps funnel them away from substantial change and towards ineffectual change. Many things, misogyny, racism, serve to keep people isolated from one another, individualized, angry, and impossible to work with. Market segregation; god knows even appealing on those fronts has become such a classic ploy that companies do it now, the US military frames its plundering that way, etc.

I’ve wandered a bit but ultimately, my point is this: Fight Club is a love letter to the horrors of critical thinking, and the importance of not falling into the trap of self destruction and hopelessness in the face of it. The latter is why Tyler was an anarchoterrorist instead of anything useful. The latter is why it was a death cult. It’s important to work through the horrors of critical thinking so you can do it, and stand on the other side ready to believe in each other. It’s worth it.

#fight club #my writing #uh. sorta #If you disagree with me it's fine btw. That's a given for me but I realize that's not usual for this website #my big desire is always to provoke thought and get people to think about why they think things #not necessarily to get them to agree with me. though obviously like any person i enjoy that #it was nice to type this out #also #aside from the prozac withdrawals mention and my own experience w memory loss (hilariously not even the most major of my beefs with the #medical industry! or even just the mental health industry! but its an easy nonoffensive one so #anyway i kept it nonspecific because if you go specific it becomes easier for people to just go 'oh well its That that's the problem and i #dont need to reflect at all on my drug/condition/issue/etc'#which ppl will anyway ofc. but yk #maybe theyll find it easier to ignore without the horrific specific examples but i want to leave it broad because 1. doing research and #going past the first thing you find and confirmation bias stuff is good 4 u #second. it's better imo to leave it more open for people to try and apply it broadly #whew ANYWAY #a bonafide Rant #i shouldve put #anti psychiatry #in the first few tags. i havent really looked on tumblr to see what the community 4 that is like on here because it feels like an oxymoron #on this website #but im sure it probably exists even if its used for smth else #(please change)

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