#but my brain just keep misfiring

[halinski]

.

[yoonyia]

you ever look at your own pysche and then look at everyone else and look at the media you like and things you relate to and try and draw a version of yourself from all the things that are you and then walk back and see your creation and then just get hit by a wave of "this is me, but I'm not this"

and like it's really confusing because everything that makes you you is there

and it is you, if you were to make it alive it would be an identical copy

but I would feel that it wasent me

it's me but it's not apart of what I am

I see what I'm meant to be and I know it is myself but I can't find that part of me I found within myself

It says what I say it breathes what I breathe it writes consumes and suffers all the same but where is that suffering, that guilt, that sadness that hatred that exhaustion in me? I can't find it

it is me, I am, no intention to offend but, I am a miserable tired person filled with self loathing, hatred for what i am, someone who loves and creates. But I cant find that love, I can't find that hate either, I can't find emptiness or the lack of those things either

what am I?

I'm merely me

and I will never know what that is.

[rorywritesjunk]

And I'm just the boy who's had too many chances

You and Buggy are finding out that becoming a teenager is absolutely terrible.

Rating: PG. Warning: Hurt feelings, friends being jerks, upset Reader, teenage hormones. A kiss. Buggy catches feelings. A/N: A request from @pfogjvhurnfj for a part 2 of teen Buggy. I enjoy writing him as just a teenager.

Title comes from “A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More ‘Touch Me’” by Fall Out Boy. Part 1

You had hoped maybe Buggy would have learned his lesson when it came to poorly timed pranks on Shanks. After the misfire a few months ago that had you and Buggy spending a week on the night watch, where the first night you two accidentally had your first kiss, you thought maybe he gained a few brain cells. Didn't that happen to teens when they got older, they were supposed to get a bit smarter?

Unfortunately for Buggy, that was not the case. 

He meant the innocent prank to happen to Shanks this time, really, and maybe he shouldn't have set the telescope down unattended while he went to look for his friend, and maybe he didn't realize you were curious about what you were seeing in the water some distance away. So really, Buggy maybe wasn't completely at fault for the black circles around your eyes from it.

It wasn't so much the prank that upset you but that the boys laughed at you while Shanks said you looked like a raccoon. That had the boys laughing harder as you stomped away, purposefully shoving them aside as you went to clean your face. 

They didn’t think much of it, snickering and trying to control themselves. You’d be fine in a few hours, you normally weren’t too bothered by things like that, but at dinner, when you refused to sit with them, they figured maybe you were still mad. That was… okay, whatever, maybe you were just moody like you sometimes got. 

At bedtime, you started a few minutes before them, getting yourself ready with very little words to them. Shanks wasn’t down there yet, just Buggy, and he saw the wash cloth you had used earlier, the black ink smudged all over it. You had managed to get your eyes clean of it but the wash cloth was filthy from it.

“You… okay?” He tried asking but you looked up at him, glaring at him through the reflection of the mirror. If it was possible, your gaze would have turned Buggy to stone. “Uh, listen-”

“Shut it.” You snapped at him as you pushed away from the sink. “Don’t talk to me, Buggy.”

“What?! Why?!” He demanded, looking confused. “It’s not my fault!”

“You put ink on the eye piece, you ass!”

“That was for Shanks to get pranked, not you!” Buggy shot back as he crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. “It’s not my fault you keep involving yourself!”

“You’re such an asshole, Buggy!” You shoved past him to head to your cot. You had moved it further away from the boys, pushing it against an interior wall of the quarters. “Why won’t you accept responsibility?!”

“What responsibility? You picked it up! You got yourself pranked!” 

“Yea, but you two laughed at me!” You shot back. “And kept laughing, it wasn’t funny! It was embarrassing!”

“Why are you getting so upset over it? That’s dumb!” Buggy insisted as you crawled into your bed, trying to ignore him. “Don’t be such a baby!”

“Shut up, I’m going to bed.” You told him as you pulled your blanket over and turned your back to him. His jaw dropped. You were just going to ignore him now? No, no, he didn’t like that. You two were friends, what happened was funny! You weren’t supposed to get so upset about it. “Don’t talk to me anymore, Buggy.”

“Fine, I’ll leave you alone for the night.”

“No, I don’t want you talking to me again!” You sniffed as you pulled the blanket over yourself. “You’re such a jerk, so stop talking to me!”

Buggy stood beside your bed and stared at you. Really? You didn’t want to talk to him anymore? He scowled, though you couldn’t see it. “Fine! I won’t talk to you ever again then if that’s what you want! Whatever, you’ve become such a crybaby. You used to be fun but now you just cry all the time.”

Because you make me cry. You thought as you rubbed your eyes, sniffling still. You heard the floorboards creak under him as he remained beside your bed before he turned and stomped off. You hated feeling like this, and while Crocus and Rayleigh kind of explained what was going on as you got older, you still hated it. Why did you have to get emotional over stupid things? It wasn’t fair. The boys didn’t have to do this, if anything they became more of a pain in the ass than before. 

Why did you have to deal with this?

~

Buggy thought maybe you’d be over it the next day, but you didn’t talk to him or Shanks through breakfast, chores, lunch, any time. They tried to get you to talk, but any time they asked you a question you turned your back to them. When you didn’t sit with them at meals, their feelings were a little hurt but they didn’t say anything, and when the cook asked for help from one of the three, you jumped at the chance, wanting any task you could get away from the boys. 

Since when did you want to work in the kitchen? You hated washing dishes, but for you, that meant quiet time. The cook didn’t talk much and you weren’t up for talking, so it worked out.

You held your ground for a week until Buggy cornered you when you were by yourself in the kitchen. You tried to ignore him as he buzzed around you like a gnat and you were ready to smack him away, but you were tired. You didn’t feel up to fighting with him so you kept quiet as he buzzed around you, demanding your attention.

“You can’t still be mad!” He complained as you swept the floor of crumbs and vegetable peels. “It was a funny prank, okay, but it would have been funnier on Shanks!”

You looked at him and sighed, handing him the broom before you grabbed the dust pan to collect what you swept up. Buggy huffed in annoyance as you walked back over and knelt down in front of him, holding the dust pan firmly on the floor as he swept the pile up into it. 

“Why are you not talking to me? I want you to talk to me!” Buggy insisted, almost a whine as he gripped the broom.

You straightened up and looked at him. “I thought I was a crybaby and you were tired of me crying all the time.”

Oh, yea, he said that. He leaned on the broom and shrugged, looking down at his feet. “Well, you do cry a lot now. It’s weird.”

“And you’ve become a bigger pain in the ass.” You told him as you tossed the crud into a bin. “If you learned to apologize when you’re an asshole, I wouldn’t cry that much.”

Buggy frowned. “Why? Are you talking about when we laughed at you?”

“Obviously!” You were wondering if anyone would miss him if you threw him overboard. Was he always this clueless about how others felt? Was he just that dumb? “You both laughed at me, Buggy, it was embarrassing!”

“Yea, but Shanks called you a raccoon, not me.” Buggy reminded you. “So he should be the one to apologize.”

“He already did, Buggy, this morning after breakfast!” You exclaimed. “But you didn’t stand up for me or anything! You could have told him to stop laughing or that it was mean to say that, but you just laughed along with him!”

Buggy stared at you in confusion. First off, Shanks apologized first?! Really? And second, you… wanted him to stand up for you? You always looked out for yourself, held your own, so why did you want Buggy to stand up for you all of a sudden? It was weird. He shrugged and looked away from you, scratching his cheek as he looked a little uncomfortable. 

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” He mumbled, looking over at the wall, refusing to meet your eyes. You stared at him, contemplating maybe just throwing his stupid head overboard if he was going to be this dumb. 

“Apologize, that’s all I want, dumbass!”

“Hey, don’t call me that if you want me to apologize!”

“Buggy!” You stomped your foot and clenched your fists as you glared at him. You hated how your eyes burned, that tears were welling up and starting to spill, streaming down your cheeks. He saw this and swallowed heavily, straightening up as he realized he needed to do this or else the two of you would be going in circles and never go anywhere with this.

“I’m… sorry.” He muttered, gritting his teeth. “I’m sorry, okay, sorry you were embarrassed and that Shanks and I were assholes, okay, but-”

“But what, Buggy?” 

If he said you were being too sensitive, you would definitely throw him overboard.  

“... Shanks… shouldn’t have said what he said?” Buggy suggested. Fine, it was a bit of a poor apology but it was an apology. You would take it for what it was. You sighed and nodded in acceptance to what he said.

“That will do, Buggy.” You said. “Apology accepted.”

“So you’ll start talking to me again?” Buggy asked. “Move your cot back over near ours, okay, it’s lonely without you.”

Your cheeks pinked and you shrugged. “Maybe.”

Buggy reached out and grabbed your hand suddenly. “I know Shanks apologized first, but is there something else I could do to make my apology better than his?”

Of course he needed to compete with this, but you had an idea if he really wanted to make it better. You took a step toward him and turned your head, pointing at your cheek. 

“Can I have a kiss?”

“W-What?!” Buggy turned red. Why, why would you want that? Sure, you two kissed already, accidentally having your first kiss during the night watch up in the crow’s nest together, but why would you want another one?

“I’unno, I heard someone say something about kissing and making up, so I figure that’s what this is.” You shrugged. “It’s just on the cheek, but if you don’t wanna, that’s fine.”

“... But Shanks apologized first.” Buggy mumbled, face bright red. “Fine, on the cheek, and my apology was better, okay?”

“Okay, Buggy.” 

He looked over at the door, listening for a moment to make sure no one was going to see this, before he leaned in quickly and pecked you on the cheek, nose scrunching and honking softly as it bonked your cheek. He immediately pulled back while you covered your face, letting out a quiet giggle as you blushed as much as Buggy.

“Thank you, Buggy, your apology was better than Shanks.” You assured him as he tried not to make eye contact with you. “I’ll start talking to you again.”

“Good.” He mumbled, glancing at you briefly before looking away again. “And… I am sorry you ended up crying. I uh, didn’t want that to happen so… yea.” He didn’t know what else to stay so he hurried out of the kitchen, leaving you to finish up your chores. He was glad to have this resolved but he wondered if his heart was supposed to pound in his chest after apologizing or if he was supposed to have this weird fluttery feeling in his stomach. Maybe it was just a side effect of saying he was sorry. It’d go away eventually, right?

[helpfandom]

Yandere! Batman Rouges Gallery x Platonic OCD! Reader PT.1

TAS Version! I have OCD and this is off of MY version and experiences with OCD. I would be most grateful if anyone had other ideas or plots (like the episode Lock-Up but with the reader.)

Reader's kind of... angry? I don't know how else to explain it.

TW//CW: Suicide (Mentions of, not anyone doing) Canon-typical violence, cursing.

Been sitting in my drafts for like months so might as well post it.

God, you couldn't believe it came to this. Honestly, why were you here anyway, it's not like you belong with the criminals. This was just so that they could try and teach the insane to be nicer, to not be criminals.

Honestly, they shouldn't have chosen you, you kind of belonged in here. The way that people would look at you when you twitched, a singular mis-fire in your brain made people think there was something wrong with you. Like you belonged with the freaks of Arkham. Well, one too many jokes about suicide and jokes of your trauma and BOOM! You've been chosen for our unpaid internship at Arkham, too bad you have to stay here you freak! God. It pisses you off to feel their stares of judgement on the streets.

To feel their pity. Batman saves you from a bridge too many times and you're involuntarily put in here.

You walked, two guards right beside you. Their shoes clacking against the tile. One of them was touching you and it made your body feel off. A misfire, and your head jerks to the right.

"Please stop touching me." They give you a stern look. Panic filters your brain. "I can walk myself. I'm a big kid." You crack a smile at the last part, makes it easier to tell when it's a joke.

They keep staring at you, you misfire, and then the second guard takes their hand off of your shoulder. Great. Now more people think you belong in here. Misfire. Misfire, this time nodding your head. Misfire. Jeezy creezy. "Sorry." You continue walking with them, but you can tell that they're staring at you. Or is iy the phenomena of Spotlight, where you delude yourself into thinking that everyone is staring at you? Nevertheless, you can feel them looking at you.

Not just the guards, but the inmates too, the other ones. The ones you belong with. Not the fucking insane criminals. They watch you, a teen, get walked- misfire -to the criminal side of the asylum. It's quiet, but there are whispers. Of course, part of you says that they're talking about you, but is it just because you're being moved to the criminals, or is it because you -misfire- look like you belong here? The other part says it's narcissistic to think they're talking about you. You reach the doors, steel, heavy steel to make sure that they don't cross over to the section you belong in, misfire, to the people that can be helped.

[selfship-confession-box]

Honestly, I feel so jealous of people who feel fulfilled just having a romantic f/o and don't desire real romantic relationships. I'm lonely and touch starved and desperately want to have a real partner, but it's like my brain keeps misfiring and accidentally falling in love with fictional people instead. I love my f/o's truly and deeply, but for me it feels like unrequited love. I love daydreaming about going on dates with them, I want to kiss them whenever I see them smile, and I imagine cuddling them when I'm falling asleep at night. But I'm very aware that it's all in my head, and they're not real, even though my feelings are real. It hurts. I'm monogamous and only have serious feelings for one person at a time, and that includes my feelings for my main f/o's. How am I supposed to find a real partner when I spend years at a time madly in love with these fictional people? It feels so lonely. I was 10 years old first time I cried because my crush wasn't real, and now here I am crying for the same reason (with a different character obviously) as an adult.

.

[cowgurrrl]

Love the writing! Could I please request baby!Miller first steps and Joel just melting?

Thank you for the request and your sweet words!! Here’s Charlie girl taking her first steps 🥹

Never Grow Up

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: “Why did I decide to walk in the kitchen?” “Maybe you just saw something you wanted.” aka this ask

Author’s note: oh my little Look for the Light verse how I missed you

Warnings: parental anxiety, Joel being a softie, Ellie being the worlds best big sister

Sarah took her first steps the day after her first birthday, deciding that she officially had to be one before she could hit her milestone. Jane took her first steps about a month before she turned one. She was tired of waiting for someone to pick her up so she could get somewhere, ever a woman on a mission, even as a toddler. But Charlie, Charlie turned one a month ago and still hasn't shown any interest in trying to walk. And it's not for lack of trying. You, Ellie, and Joel all take turns holding her chubby little hands and guiding her feet across the floor, which she's perfectly content with until you let go. Then, she plops back down on the floor and scootches to wherever she wants to be.

"I just don't get it," you say to Joel one night as you get ready for bed. He sighs as he hangs up his jacket in the closet. "I mean, do you think something's wrong? Should we take her to the doctor?"

"Every kid is gonna hit their milestones at a different time. She's just takin' a little longer, that's all."

"How do you know?" You ask. He takes a deep breath before walking over to you and cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs swipe soothing lines across your cheekbones, and you let yourself relax into him.

"Because you're her mama and one of the most capable people I know. She's got your good genes," he says as he kisses your forehead, and you laugh a little bit. You breathe him in, the smell of pine and the lavender detergent you use to wash the clothes surrounding you. The house is silent as you stand in your shared room, your anxieties misfiring against the old wood. "She's gonna be fine."

"And if she's not?"

"Then, we'll handle it."

You agree to give it one more month. If she doesn't walk in another month, you'll take her to the doctor. In the meantime, you try to let it go. You let her scoot around the house and try not to get too excited when she pulls herself to her feet. You have a feeling that she can sense whenever you're expecting her to do something, the baited anticipation too much for her little brain to comprehend. It may be silly, but you know your kid. You know how she operates.

Ellie likes to lie on the floor with Charlie, and she gives her a step-by-step guide on how to get on her feet and take a few steps. "It's not that hard! Just watch," Ellie coaches as Charlie watches her with curious eyes. You wish you had a camera to record Ellie crawling on her hands and knees before gaining her balance, standing, and walking while explaining its mechanics. You laugh when Charlie just burps and crawls to you, lifting her arms to be picked up. "I hate to say it, but I think she may have gotten Joel's thick skull."

"She'll figure it out," you say as you kiss Charlie's cheek and bring her into the kitchen. As the weeks fly by and Charlie still refuses to walk, you try to bury your worry in your patrols. You do your best to keep Jackson safe so that Charlie can feel protected enough to take her first steps. Or that's what your logic is, at least.

On the last day of the month, you stomp snow out of your work boots outside the front door before entering your warm house. There's a fire going in the fireplace, and the promise of a warm meal greets you when you walk in the door. Joel and Ellie shout from the kitchen, followed by a very excited, "Mama!" You smile and shrug out of your jacket, ready to attack your favorite people with kisses, when Charlie scoots out to the hallway.

"What's up, Charlie girl?" You ask as you hang up your coat next to the front door. Then, without warning or preparation, Charlie plants her feet under her and stands. You freeze, and Charlie looks at you, and for a second, you swear you can read her mind. "It's okay, baby. Mama's right here for you. I won't let you get hurt, okay?" You say, crouching down and opening your arms. Joel and Ellie hear you and look confused as they step into the hallway and see Charlie standing. You think the whole world stops as she takes one step. Then another. And another until she's across the room and in your arms. You pick her up and spin her around, deliriously happy giggles leaving you as you kiss her face. "You did it, baby girl! You walked!"

"Yay, Charlie!" Ellie says as she rushes over to join in your celebration. Charlie laughs as Ellie tickles her belly and kisses her cheeks. You glance at Joel and see tears glistening in his eyes. You hold your hand out to him and take a shaky breath as he walks over, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing your forehead.

"This is good, baby. Why are you crying?" You ask, and he shakes his head.

"She's gettin' so big." He says, his voice cracking, and you have to fight the urge to laugh because this is what you've both wanted for so long, and now that it's happened, he wants her to be a newborn again. You let Ellie slip Charlie out of your arms and hug Joel tightly. Because, of course, after years of being tough and broody, the thing to send him over the edge is watching his youngest daughter walk toward the love of his life for the first time.

[misty-caligula]

This is my big one for s2e6 and it’s the thing that made me bolt upright in my chair, really just ... kicked me in the chest. For context my point of view on the show is a non-supernatural one, I do not think Lottie is psychic I think she’s delusional. It’s okay if you do not, but that’s the context for my take:

I have a strong suspicion that adult!Lottie’s being played, and I really do not like it.

Full disclosure, I have a history in the psychiatric world as a patient, I’m not schizophrenic but I am psychotic and I am well managed and very stable but like... I know what this shit is meant to be like, from about 15 years of personal experience. So back in s2e4 I was immediately .... confused. By Lott’s new psych. She seemed... just off.

I thought to myself “Hey, you know, psychiatry is one of those things that is so often misrepresented in all forms of media, I’m probably just reading too much into it.” But then I rewatched (and rewatched) and the more I did the more it felt... deliberate. What got to me was that ... her normal psych has gone on sabattical and been replaced, and the new one is trying to tell her not to suppress her visions with medication but try to understand them and what they’re trying to tell her.

A real psychiatrist simply would never talk like that. Would never suggest that. As far as psychiatry is concerned, Lottie is schizophrenic, her visions are delusional. And delusions/hallucinations are less ... they’re less like dreams where you might think “Oh I’m going to keep track of what I’m dreaming about and see if it means anything” (which, incidentally, is also not a thing a psychiatrist would usually do, but that’s besides the point) but are more like... a damaged computer, throwing up random, unsorted and unrelated data. Our brains are pattern finders, we desperately try to make connections in what we experience, and when our brains start misfiring and giving us bizarre and nonsensical data we still try to connect it. Delusional thinking doesn’t ... say anything about you, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the brain trying to sort nonsense into piles of organised nonsense.

From a psychiatric perspective a delusion or hallucination is a symptom no different to a ... headache or a rash. It’s a non-desirable issue to be treated and ideally cured, not ... explored and looked at for some kind of deeper meaning. And this isn’t even talking about like, trauma, and processing it through therapy. Lottie’s psychosis manifested long before the plane, she’s been on medication most of her life. It’s not something she can just... ignore, or choose to fight, or try not to have. More than that, by actively engaging with it it damages her coping mechanisms that she’s developed over the years to ground her in reality when she’s not certain.

Anyway. This all just seemed.... off. Wrong. And Lottie’s reaction is to say “There’s no meaning, because they’re not REAL.” Because she’s spent a LOT of time in treatment, trying to build a solid foundation of reality to live on. She’s clearly very distressed by the idea of losing touch with that, and her psych is NOT helping. It all seemed very... off.

I thought through options of what was going on. Maybe... maybe her new psych isn’t real? Maybe she’s talking to the wall? That was my best theory with so little to go on. But it was not a very satisfying answer, and didn’t really fit the general themes and style of the show anyway... I was confused.

Fast forward to ep 6 and we get more time with the new psych. Lott is now CLEARLY agitated. She can’t sit still, seems very anxious. She starts talking about “the visions” and “this feeling even about things that I know are right infront of me, it’s like it’s pointing me towards back then.” Her psych says “Is it possible that your fear of the past might be actually your fear of your illness?” Only THAT IS NOT WHAT LOTT SAID. She didn’t SAY she was afraid of the past, she was afraid of “a feeling about things I know are right infront of me, pointing me back towards then.” What does she mean by that? Finding random queens in a pile of papers? Visions of dead bees? The reality is that she’s not afraid of the past, she’s losing touch with reality. In psychiatric wording, she’s struggling to hold onto “insight” i.e. the ability to determine what’s real or not.

Lott kind of misses this disconnected thought though, and instead she says “That’s not the problem, I’m not worried that I’m ill, I’m worried I never was.” This shows a complete LACK of insight, she’s forgotten that only very recently she was terrified of her illness and now she’s suddenly thinking that maybe 30+ years of treatment were all for nothing? Maybe she was just never sick at all?

Then she goes off on a tangent, she says “With Travis coming, Natalie and now Misty’s here too. It’s like it sent them here, to show me.” “To show you what?” “That it WAS real. And that I wasn’t the only one who felt it out there, that it was all of us, that it was a part of us.” “What is...it...Lottie?” And she goes off about the god of the wilderness and the terrible things they did.

But... okay so Lott’s losing her objectivity here, which is ... not uncommon for a psychotic person to deal with. And she’s developing a belief that she was never sick, that she was never delusional, that it was always real. Now only 2 episodes beforehand she’d come to the psych on an emergency basis to increase her meds PRECISELY because she was afraid this would happen. She’s TERRIFIED of getting to this exact point, being this exact way. Because it leaves her absolutely out of control of herself, her own mind.

But listen to what the psychiatrist is saying. First she says to her face that Lott’s psychosis is “controlled.” But... no it’s not! She’s having hallucinations, she’s CLEARLY delusional, and showing all kinds of signs of psychosis. She’s definitionally out of control.

Then she asks probing questions not about her mental state, but about the details of her delusions, about the god of the forest. She STILL hasn’t increased her meds and she’s acting like it’s not at all weird that she’s saying stuff like “I think I’m not sick and never was.” Which, to a psychotic person or a psychiatrist is SUCH a red flag, because the next immediate question to raise if a schizophrenic or bipolar or otherwise psychotic person says those words is “...are you taking your medication?” Because believing that you’re not delusional is one of the core hallmarks OF BEING DELUSIONAL.

Literally the definition of a delusion is a belief without evidence that you hold against all odds even in the face of contradictory evidence. If you are sitting there saying EXTRAORDINARY things and requiring zero external evidence to back up your claims and ABSOLUTELY certain in those beliefs no matter what... that’s delusional. Of COURSE you think you’re sane, if you lack insight you simply cannot tell what you’re thinking isn’t rational.

It’s like you are so certain that gravity exists, you can feel it, you can see its’ effects, and you comfortably put your life on the line for gravity a hundred times a day. If someone told you gravity wasn’t real you’d think they sounded mad, and if they told you YOU were the one out of touch, and that actually gravity wasn’t real, you could just look around and go “Uh... obviously you’re wrong.” But if you’re getting bad info into your brain you could be relying on something with JUST AS MUCH certainty and have absolutely no idea or capacity to tell that it’s actually completely wrong, no matter how many times you were told or shown. Medicated psychotic people regain their insight and can say “Sometimes I think things that don’t make sense, and I can tell that they’re not real, and I’m glad I don’t make choices based on that false information.” Unmanaged psychotic people say “I don’t know why I should take some pill, I’m fine, nothing’s wrong at all.”

I just canNOT fathom how any psychiatrist in the world would sit with a known schizophrenic patient who’s describing having active visions, who believes that a god they found in the middle of the forest is sending people to them so they can all be magically healed by them, and not IMMEDIATELY say to themselves “Hmm, this person is clearly having a psychotic event, is clearly in a tough spot, and needs their meds adjusted and maybe we should look into their wellbeing in the short term.”

All of which led me to suddenly jump up in my chair and shout “OH MY GOD” at my poor friend who was watching with me. Because I think that Lottie is being manipulated. I think that someone’s been fucking with her meds. I think that someone got rid of her real psychiatrist and replaced him with a plant. I think the new psych is either trying to encourage her to become a more invested cult leader, possibly the cult is becoming like... more intense without her knowledge and they’re trying to turn her into a saint by removing her meds and encouraging her delusions. OR someone is trying to work out what REALLY happened in the woods and they’re manipulating her so that she’ll tell them the full story while she’s vulnerable and confused.

Either way, I’m 99.9% sure someone’s deliberately fucking with her at this point, and it’s actually really pissing me off because I can’t stand seeing vulnerable people, esp mentally ill people, being manipulated and used. It’s a HUGE thing for me, and ... aaaaaah whoever’s behind this shit I hope they meet Shauna on a very bad day.

[phdmama]

I'd absolutely love some sterek fic recs because I'm trying to broaden the ships I read. I've watched the first 3 seasons of teen wolf but haven't read any fics and don't know where to start. I'm fairly open to reading any content, although I'm not the biggest fan of like the common school/coffee shop etc AUs.

Also I love how you're gotten into blogging hockey recently. Have you read any hockey rpf since getting into nhl? Personally sidgeno and mattdrai have my heart, but like I said I'm looking for new ships to read like sterek.

WOOOO LET'S GOOOO!!

As always, read the tags etc etc. Probably a lot of these will be author recs. I will say Sterek has the potential for an age gap concern but I don't read fic where that's written as a predatory thing, FWIW, but I do read some where Stiles is 17 but where I feel like it's handled at least somewhat gracefully

Gravity's Got Nothing on You by @zosofi is great - I really like all their stuff actually!

@kalpurna's Fascination and @drunktuesdays' bigger, longer and uncut are both *gems* - so funny.

We've Written Volumes (in Blood and Scars and Ink) by @notthequiettype is absolutely brilliant, one of my fav fics of all time, way up on my reread regularly list. They only have one other Sterek but I love that one too (and they write hockey rpf but I haven't really dived in there yet!).

The Moon's Gonna Follow Me Home by @turningterrific is stunning. They're SUCH a good writer, although sadly this is their only Sterek (but they have written some amazing hockey RPF as well!).

Every stumble and each misfire by @everchanginginks is fucking phenomenal. True story, I read this fic and then didn't keep track of it but it stayed in my brain, and I spent literally HOURS combing my AO3 history to find it, and when I did, I promptly downloaded it and created the "Best Ever" collection on my Kindle specifically for this fic.

Everything by @suburbanmotel. They are an incredible writer and even more incredible person and I'm so lucky to call them a friend!

I really love @lunacanislupus-22-blog writing but particular favorites are: Feel it like a fever, burning through the night , Spirit grows when love goes away and I know that you love me, even when I lose my head (and I'm not normally one for amnesia fics because they make me SO ANXIOUS but this one is SO good).

Cornerstone by Vendelin is really good too (mind the tags on this one).

By Any Other Name by @entanglednow is fucking phenomenal (and again with the amnesia fics?!?!) and so so well-written. Check out all their stuff!

I really love @devildoll's writing very much a lot! Particular favorites include: Come with Me and Walk the Longest Mile (and I don't usually gravitate to post-apocalyptic fic even though I love the genre in fiction but this one is fucking brilliant); Stand Fast in Your Enchantments (painful and so good); My Heart Comes Tumbling Down (OH MY HEART) and Love, Like a Sentence of Death.

There's Monsters at Home by @wellhalesbells | calrissian18 is a classic and really good! They've written a ton of really great fics (the Hilary Duff lyrics one is a another personal favorite!)

Not Quite Lost (Not Quite Found) by @alocalband is gorgeous. Just. beautifully written.

stuck in reverse by @crazyassmurdererwall is also really good! Definitely check the tags on this one, as it is Stiles still in HS.

Start Small, Like Oak Trees by smallbirds is really lovely. Everything of theirs that I've read, I've really liked.

Okay, just a couple more I promise!!

The Difficult Kind (series) by whiskey_in_tea is an old one but really really wonderful.

The First Date series by @halffizzbin - the whole thing is delightful but I absolutely adore the final installment!

I will note that many of these authors also have Hockey RPF fic, JUST SAYING (I really am fascinated as to what that pipeline is??). I've read a ton of hockey RPF as well (sidgeno for sure) and I'll check out mattdrai now!!

Anyway, hope this helps as a place to start!!

[princesstarfire1234]

Random ideas for a hypothetical Scavengers (mini) series

So I made a google doc a few nights ago and filled it with random ass ideas for how a cartoony likely-episodic Scavengers series could go... It was around the same time I wanted to get to animating a Scavs-related thing but no promises there or to this ever becoming more than rambles

Anyways... heres an unorganized collection of my silly thoughts:

POST-WAR!! War’s over, Autobot-Decepticon alliance is great and dandy for everyone except of course the folks who got left behind and forgotten by respective High Commands and have had to make their own dealings in space to get thru life and shit; focusing on the daily struggles of your average low of the low genericons/bots, the Scavengers

Optimus and Megatron are definitely married (trust); we go the IDW MTMTE route but instead of Megs off on a quest with Roddy and gang, he’s with Optimus and they both publicly surrender/call truce or whatever on-video and agree to help repair cybertron instead of squabbling, sending a message to all cybertronians taking refuge amongst the stars blah blah blah its time to go home (pilot should open with this i think, set the worldview up straight from the beginning)

It could either be set in the slums of like some populated city or smthn, like maybe Dead End of Kaon or smthn OR… now consider… Set NOT on Cybertron, literally anywhere BUT Cybertron; the Scavs wander space, at least every few episodes or so would be set in a different planet or smthn, having them do their usual shenanigans and (failing) their supply/scavenging runs, as well as the occasional star station too for like a pit stop i guess; there’d be atleast one episode where they go to earth probably

Main characters (scavs duh, but lemme write some shit down here rq):

Krok - the dutiful, ever-patient (one can of engex away from losing it) leader of the Scavengers; he’s the one that usually has the single functioning brain cell

Crankcase - the skillful pilot of the crew’s beloved Decepticon-hijacked Autobot vessel, always in a sour mood, think TFA Ratchet but up the old man crankiness to 500; really good at fixing things (mechanic)

Spinister - a little stupid… all the stupid actually… but he’s got things rattling in there too, don’t worry! The Scavengers’ medic; would probably be Cybertron’s greatest surgeon if it weren’t for everything else

Fulcrum - Defunct?? Rejected?? Something-class Decepticon, a bit of a coward, found in a dumpster by Misfire; he’s a technician too! Score!

Misfire - ideas are about as good as his aim (which is not at all); the really really talkative and social one; rejected Rainmaker/Seeker (bro didnt pass Decepticon Academy, rip)

Additional members that get added to the crew later on!

Grimlock - resident Dinobot and the only Autobot on the crew (for now or smthn idk), thinking of either having them find him during the pilot episode or a bit later on?; i think Krok would definitely have a thing where he’s super wary of him until a big character development episode thing happens like in MTMTE #46

Nickel - hmmm idk yet.. Maybe a former high ranking decepticon officer whose position has been stripped from her the more fucked up and bad the faction ended up becoming because she was very vocal about its problems til the current day? (I just don’t think her being connected to the DJD would work here womp womp)

Flywheels (unsure) - some mech that tagged along with them during one random shenanigans episode

MP3 / or some other new human character (unsure) - they have an episode where they go to Earth and befriend silly human… may or may not keep them, maybe they could be an honorary Scavenger but only appears sometimes or stays on Earth but keeps in touch with the Scavs (look I just think having a human on the crew would be kinda silly and funky for the dynamic)

Meanies to the crew (weekly bad guy):

Novastorm - leader of the Rainmakers; has beef with Misfire

Skullcruncher- Krok hates his guts; he’s the TFA Sentinel to Krok’s TFA Prime, probably served together on like whatever the equivalent of a Warworld ship would be in this

Raiders??? Space pirates??? Idk but I’d def make em be related to Spinister’s past or smthn (this was inspired by some fanfic I read a bit ago, I think Fool’s Paradise on AO3)

Needlenose? (Spin trusted him, betrayed copter boy :((( or smthn)

Scorponok - probably the biggest threat of the show (ofc not in universe), but he’d be like IDW Scorponok in that one Scavs issue, all kinda silly and dramatic but def a threat, he kinda reminds me of Dino/BW Megatron a bit

DJD (absolutely unsure, maybe a passing mention or not at all) - would probably have to sillify them a bit (a lot, idk how the hell Cyberverse managed it with Tarn)...

There's more in the doc but they're not fully formed ideas yet... My countless hours scrolling the Scavengers tags on tumblr have also given me ideas for certain kinds of episodes that could happen but again, nothing concretely written down yet

If I have the energy or remember this, I'm def gonna be updating it with some more ideas cuz whether this becomes real or not, its fun!! Maybe I could write it as a fic one day or if someones wants to idk

Okay bai bai for now, I gotta eep 👋

[distant-velleity]

Stay With Me

Summary: Santiago and Chrysos have a lot of feelings to work out. Spoiler alert: they still don't confess. Word count: 2.6k Warnings: major character not-actually death (this is my Boxing Day gift to you all) A/N: I wish I could've put Major Character Death as a real warning. Alas... such is life. Anyway :) I'm super done with writing this, I don't wanna keep going insane, I'm just gonna post it as is. It's actually pretty tame for angst on my part. Enjoy!! Tagging: @thehollowwriter (finn mention!!!) @kitwasnothere and @nahelenia as my top 3 murderers <3

-

When Santiago comes to, groggy and lightheaded, he’s greeted by the watered-down sun filtering through the seas of Octavinelle above him. Bird and sky separated only by the glass and several gallons of water, his limbs sure feeling as distant and heavy as the ocean.

Ah, he thinks, ever-intelligently. How did I end up here…?

He can’t quite remember. All of his recent memories are escaping like soap bubbles in the wind. 

While he racks his brain trying to figure it out, someone approaches and kneels next to him. A single glance at the person’s blonde hair and red eyes tells Santiago all he needs to know.

“Sorry about that,” Chrysos says, monotone as always. It’s hard to tell if the merman really is sorry or not. “I usually don’t get normal customers involved when 86’ing nuisances.” 

Santiago can’t help the smirk that comes to him all too easily. “Are you sure I wasn’t the nuisance?”

“Hard to say,” replies Chrysos with an amused huff. He stands back up and offers Santiago a hand, to help him stand up.

Something about it feels off—maybe because Chrysos’ gaze seems so benevolent, that he seems so unbothered about gently helping someone he’d normally be too embarrassed or proud to. Still, Santiago laughs and sits up. “Tight-lipped as always,” he comments, and reaches for Chrysos’ hand, pulling himself up to stand.

They hold hands for a moment longer than they need to. It feels, if he dares to admit it just to himself, nice—

“Hold it.”

As if he’s been burned, Santiago jumps away from Chrysos at the sound of Azul’s voice. Approaching them are the Octavinelle housewarden and his entourage of three. 

Santiago notices, with a distant sense of dread, that he’s never seen Chrysos look so furious and disappointed upon seeing his upperclassmen. 

“Get back, Parrotfish,” Floyd warns. “That’s not the right Lionfishie to be getting all buddy-buddy with.”

How odd. Why would Floyd, of all people, go out of his way to warn him?

Santiago glances at the Octaquartet, then at Chrysos, whose expression is steadily darkening.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chrysos says coldly.

“My, my.” Jade conceals his magic pen, clasped tightly in one hand, beneath the other. “There’s no need for that frigid tone. I’m sure we’re already on the same page.”

“No?” interjects Santiago. “No, we’re not. What’s going on?”

Finn looks him dead in the eye and then cocks his head towards Chrysos. 

Santiago turns back around, and everything changes. 

Where Chrysos was just standing as normal, there’s suddenly inky shadows surrounding the Octavinelle freshman. His eyes flare red-and-yellow as the ink (no, blot) viciously wraps around him in strands to form a cocoon of sorts. Santiago staggers back when the cocoon contracts, a dark purple haze spreading throughout the area and blocking out the sun. The whole dorm is plunged into a deep-sea darkness.

It’s Chrysos and a towering Phantom now, him hovering a little too close to the glowing pendant around its neck for anyone’s liking. 

“We’re running out of time,” Azul says grimly. “Our fight from earlier didn’t do anything—”

“I’ll help fight him if it cuts down on time,” Santiago immediately declares without missing a beat. “If it saves his life.”

“Of course you would. Well, stay sharp, then.”

And Santiago tries, of course—

—but it doesn’t stop him from misfiring at some point, trying to hit the Phantom, only for it to grab Chrysos with a sickening crunch of his ribs and hold him up in range of the destructive fire spell. Santiago can only watch as it strikes Chrysos indiscriminately. 

The resulting wail of agony is bloodcurdling and unbearable, but not nearly as much as when the Phantom moves a thrashing Chrysos closer and closer to its chest, a gaping hole like a beast’s maw forming there, the pendant dangling right before it.

“Wait—”

It’s what all the teachers warn about when they discuss the occurrences of Overblots. Defeat the Phantom, and the victim will come out unscathed. Take too long to destroy it, and the Phantom will… will…

Chrysos is brought to that gap, drawn in like an object near a black hole.

Santiago can’t breathe. 

He can’t bring himself to close his eyes either. Even when a sinking feeling blossoms in his stomach, gripping him with all the force of a predator’s claws.

The ‘hand’ of the Phantom squeezes, another crunch of body parts that shouldn’t be breaking—

“Don’t you dare take him—let him go—” Santiago begs, but it’s useless.

The Phantom simply. Tucks Chrysos away in itself like nothing. Ignorant to his furious, fearful screams. 

The hole in its chest closes over with viscous blot. 

Santiago can’t look away.

“Ah… Ahh…”

He 

can’t 

look 

away—

“AAAAAHHHHH—!!!”

A guttural scream tears its way out into the open from Santiago’s raw throat, burning and hoarse and painful. Still begging for a life not his own, his eyes fly open as he sits up in a grieving frenzy. “Chrysos, please, don’t leave—!”

“I’m right here,” calls a familiar voice from beside him, miraculously free of its terrifying Overblot overlay. It’s melodious and soothing, easy on the ears, just when he thought he’d never hear it again.

“You—” Santiago’s hand shoots out without thinking, clamping down on Chrysos’ where it was gripping the edge of his blanket.

…his… blanket…?

Only then does Santiago realize, half-delirious, that he’s on a bed in the school infirmary. He’s not in Octavinelle, he’s not surrounded by torrents and mists of pure blot. The air is clear here, and the sun is shining bright and pleasant through the windows like it does through the forest canopy back home. Although his lungs still burn a little, everything’s okay.

And, looking at the boy sitting right next to him—Chrysos is okay. He’s alive. 

In silent awe, Santiago squeezes the cold, ungloved hand in his a little more tightly.

He’s alive.

Chrysos bites his lower lip and pointedly avoids looking at their joined hands. “What a nightmare you were having,” he says, false indifference in his tone. “Screaming like that… You’re lucky the nurse isn’t in right now.”

Santiago blinks. “A nightmare?” 

“Yes. You were trembling and crying out in your sleep. If it weren’t the first time you’d shown any signs of movement in days…” Chrysos trails off, brows pressed tightly together.

Putting aside the fact that it was all little more than a bad dream, thank the Great Seven— “What do you mean, in days?” Santiago echoes disbelievingly. “I don’t even know how I ended up here, and you’re telling me I’ve been unconscious for days? Hello? Way to hit me with the double whammy.”

It was an attempt to lighten the mood for both their sakes, but when the corners of Chrysos’ mouth twitch downwards and his lips thin in a stressed frown, Santiago immediately realizes he’s said something either really wrong or really stupid. Or both.

“You don’t remember what happened at the SDC?” asks Chrysos. “Weren’t you there? You know, for Schoenheit’s Overblot, like Yu said…”

Santiago’s eyes widen. He only slightly loosens his grip on Chrysos’ hand a second later. “Oh, you mean—”

Toxic purple mist surrounded them, reeking of a sickly sweet concoction. 

More saccharine still was the smile on Vil’s face. Even as blot dripped down his snow-white face from beneath his elaborate crown, he still found it in himself to pursue being the fairest one of all. 

Showing simultaneously all and nothing of his burning jealousy and bitterness.

“—yeah, I remember,” he continues, letting out a laugh with no real humor in it. “I even remember getting a faceful of poisonous mist and then passing out right after the awards ceremony ‘cause I tried to act tough.”

“At least your brain wasn’t permanently damaged. That’s good,” remarks Chrysos with a half-hearted smirk. “Maybe you’ll be out of here sooner than I thought.”

No, there was definitely a screw knocked loose if Santiago was imagining Chrysos Overblotting in place of Vil… much less sobbing desperately at the possibility of his death…

…Santiago swallows, mouth suddenly dry for no good reason. “Uh-huh? I don’t know, I still feel a little off.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Chrysos suddenly leans forward, hand subconsciously moving at lightning speed to place itself on Santiago’s wrist. “You still feel off? You’re not messing with me, are you?” he asks, voice demanding with a hint of… something else. “I swear, I will have the nurse over here faster than—”

“Whoa! Don’t get your boxers in a twist, jeez!” Santiago exclaims, and Chrysos halts immediately. “Am I still dreaming? Did you just gaslight me into thinking this is reality? I mean, seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worried about me.”

“I’m not worried,” retorts Chrysos, although the watery look in his eyes as he tries to meet Santiago’s gaze says otherwise. And where there would normally be an underlying bite to his tone, it’s totally absent. “Isn’t it fair to ask questions when a certain someone has been unconscious for days?”

Nevermind, I’m definitely not still dreaming.

“So you’ve been worried about me. Got it.” Hopefully that isn’t giddiness bubbling up in his chest, despite—or because of—the way Chrysos sputters out another denial, because it sure as hell is conflicting with his sense of spite. “Why don’t you save any of it for yourself? You’ve been a resident here way more often than me.”

Chrysos stiffens, before puffing up a little; chin lifted indignantly and gaze judgmental. Santiago wouldn’t have it any other way.) “I was conscious all those times and did not actively inhale dangerous toxins made by a very powerful mage.”

Seriously, this guy… Santiago shakes his head. “Dude, I heard you nearly turned yourself into sand that one time, also because of ‘a very powerful mage.’ I saw for myself when you could’ve died fighting Jamil or Overblotted at the same time and had to stay in the infirmary for a very lengthy check-up. You know, you—” 

died in my dream because of me and I would never forgive you or myself for that matter if that actually happened,

“—are a grade-A idiot getting hung up on the wrong details,” he decides to say instead. “One of these days, you’re gonna end up back here and I’m gonna get to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Hmph.” Chrysos scoffs and turns his head away. To anyone else, it might look aristocratically prim and stuck-up in the way his hair tosses slightly. “You wouldn’t come running to my bedside crying out my name, then?”

It’s Santiago’s turn to stiffen, feeling called out in too many ways. “...fuck, I forgot you heard me talking in my sleep. Well…” He pauses, searching for an appropriate response. “I would if you wanted me to.” He doesn’t have time to appreciate how smooth that was on his part before his traitorous mouth moves faster than his brain, going right ahead and saying, “And I’d still do it even if you didn’t want me to, ‘cause if you die on me I’m absolutely going to—”

Crap! Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack!

He shuts up immediately before he can incriminate himself any more, pursing his lips and watching carefully for signs of a negative reaction.

Almost too neutrally, Chrysos glances back over at him from the corner of his eyes, the piercing look in his irises only partially hidden by his lashes. “...You really would be that concerned?”

“Maybe,” Santiago answers, pasting on a nervous smile.

“‘Maybe’ isn’t an acceptable response.” Chrysos looks him straight in the eyes. His hand feels warmer, for some reason. “Don’t be shy. What would you do?”

Santiago huffs defensively. “Fancy that, you telling me to not be shy—”

“Santiago. Stop messing with me already.”

That tone, desperate and curious and impatient all in one, is singlehandedly more commanding than any other order Santiago has ever gotten in his life. 

The beastman slumps back against the headrest, being sapped of his will to argue. He already knows it’s pointless. It’s kind of hard to beat around the bush when the bush has already slapped you in the face with a very thorny nightmare. “Miss you, probably. I mean, I dreamed about it, but…” 

He thinks about the way he screamed and forced himself to wake up because that scenario had seemed so real. Probably can only begin to describe whatever he was feeling.

“...Well. You’re the only person who’s ever gotten me, y’know, so don’t die because you couldn’t help yourself. I don’t wanna have to cope with my dream becoming reality. Please,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh.” Chrysos stares blankly at him for a moment, then at their hands. “...oh,” he repeats, in a much quieter ‘sudden realization’ sort of voice.

Santiago squints at him. “Dude. What kind of guy tells his buddy to open up about his feelings in such a pleading tone and then is surprised when he actually opens up about it?”

“The one right next to you who was expecting his buddy to dodge the question again.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Santiago replies, rolls his eyes. 

Chrysos worries his bottom lips, gaze shifting to the side suspiciously quickly. It looks like he’s considering something.

“...Are you taking that literally?” Santiago wants Chrysos to take what he said literally, to be honest, but that’s beside the point.

“Because you’re so dense, yes,” Chrysos snaps back. His free hand comes up to tug one of his curls closer to his face in that bashful way he always does. “If you died like you could’ve from Schoenheit’s poison, I would march right over to the afterlife and drag you back into the world of the living. Then I’d beat you into the ground for hurting me like that. Your ass is not leaving this life until I say it’s okay to. Does that make enough sense to you?” 

“I don’t remember the story of the musician and his muse being this violent,” mutters Santiago, feeling incredibly touched despite the brash nature of that admission. Or maybe because of it.

Chrysos’s cheeks flush as red as the ends of his hair. “You asked. I delivered. Look who’s being a hypocrite now.”

“Touché.” 

It feels like something between them has… changed, when they both fall silent for lack of things to say. Not in the terrifying way Santiago’s surroundings shifted during his nightmare, but a change for the better. Like a burden has been lifted off his shoulders, making the silence bearable.

“I… think I may need to go,” Chrysos says, a dusting of pink still on his face. Maybe because he’s spoken too much, or at least by his own standards. He stands up, letting go of Santiago’s hand. “Culture fair and. All that. You know how it is. I’ll see you—”

“Wait a minute.”

Santiago reaches out and, instead of just grabbing, intertwines their fingers. His longer ones settle perfectly between Chrysos’ knuckles as if they were meant to be there. 

The merman goes still. 

“Hypothetically,” Santiago begins, “if I asked you to stay a little longer—would you say yes?”

Chrysos’ mouth opens, freezes, and then closes. When he next speaks, it’s slow and cautious, like he’s testing out how the words actually feel. Testing the waters. “In this hypothetical scenario… I could be convinced to stay. Possibly.”

“Cool. So don’t run away just yet. Stay here with me.”

They make eye contact.

“...How persuasive. Well—” Chrysos sighs and sits back down, before offering Santiago a small smirk. Barely noticeable, but there. “It seems like I’ve actually got plenty of time to spare all of a sudden.”

Santiago can’t help but smile too.

[lonely-business]

howdy folks! it's time to talk about some Religious Trauma!

i grew up born and raised into the LDS (mormon) church. every single member of my immediate and extended family was mormon. luckily i was raised in oregon, so it was relatively chiller culturally than utah or idaho, but ideologically the beliefs are the same.

when i was 11 (1999) i came to the realization that i didn't believe in the church. this revelation was largely due to the fact that i didn't believe that being gay was wrong. shout out to card captor sakura for part of this, because i thought the older brother and his friend would be cute boyfriends.

now, thinking homosexuality was actually totally normal and fine was COMPLETELY against church doctrine. just a couple years before the church had come out with a "new revelation" called "The Family: A Proclamation to the World" that specifically stated that marriage was between a man and a woman and emphasized that people who violate the laws of chastity will "one day stand accountable before god." it even calls on the government to promote these views for "families."

i was in open defiance of revelation. this was supposedly god's word given to the prophet and i disagreed. i thought gay people should be able to get married, have families, live happy lives. i then thought if i don't believe this, what else don't i believe? it turned out. . . all of it. and i couldn't tell anyone. i was a kid. everyone i knew belonged to the church. plus my dad was verbally/emotionally abusive, i didn't even want to imagine what he would do to me if he found out.

but i couldn't keep it all in. i shared a room with my sister and we would sometimes have talks in the dark before bed. during one of these nights she was telling me about a trip to the temple she took to do baptisms for the dead with a group from church. in the stillness of the room i quietly said "i don't know if i believe in the church." we didn't speak about it again until i was 19.

a few months later when my sister was sleeping at a friends house i was sleeping in our room by myself. i had grown in my conviction that i didn't believe in the church. i had to keep it secret. i woke up in the middle of the night to a pitch black man with red eyes standing at the end of my bed staring at me. i was convinced it was the devil. he knew i didn't believe anymore. it was confirmation that god had abandoned me. i couldn't move. the second i regained control and the man was gone i ran to my parents room scared out of my mind and asked if i could sleep in the chair in their room. i didn't tell them about the devil. i didn't want them to ask why he would be in my room.

i know now that it was sleep paralysis. it wasn't the devil in my room, just my brain misfiring and scaring me. but the church made me believe as a child that because i believed that people, no matter who they are, should be happy, that god abandoned me and left me to the devil's mercy. i didn't try to believe in the church after the incident. i couldn't. once a benevolent god throws you to the devil because you learned to love better than him, you abandon him right back.

[preciouslandmermaid]

shhh

he went for a low five he did that stupid move of putting his hand behind his head and was like “swerved” or whatever he said whatever !!

then i tried to do the same thing but my brain misfired and we just high fived like normal but i started moving my hand towards his. i’m probably explaining it badly. bear with me.

so we ended up just doing like a slow motion high five i don’t know what was happening we went from up top to down low while keeping our hands touching like ….i don’t even understand how it happened…think a hand touch and then it goes into an robot arm as both your arms made a ninety degree angle and you keep your palms touching the whole time

but it’s like that quote that’s like:

YOU INVENT ELABORATE EXUSES TO TOUCH ME

like i know i did it all wrong but we didn’t need to have a whole pride and prejudice about it

[omegalomania]

the thing that truly Truly unhinges me about infinity on high is that it is not simply an album about the horrible stomach-wrenching rollercoaster of fame and it is not solely an album about wrestling with your demons but it is a marriage of those two it is very much about fighting the worst parts of yourself in the most public avenues available. it's an album that all but rattles with the amount of references there are to medication. every seeming bout of narcissism is undercut with a sardonic twist and the snap of subtle self-loathing brimming beneath.

and the worst part of it is how that isn't even the worst part of it. the worst part of it for me is the fear. the fear of becoming something other than what you are. the fear of getting better. because this is how the world likes you - broken and stripped down to your ugly parts and embittered and exposed. this is how the world wants you, consumes you, because it's in your brokenness that they pick out such pretty patterns like finding rainbows in shards of glass. it's your wrecked-up brain with all its sporadic misfirings that draws everyone to you like moths to a faulty porchlight. i only keep myself this sick in the head 'cause i know how the words get you off. infinity on high. van gogh, the poster child for the ethos of creating something even at your lowest points. the poster child for the speculative, horrifying ethos of how your flaws and faults and fuck-ups are the only things worth keeping. how often have we seen that rhetoric. if van gogh wasn't depressed, we wouldn't have gotten starry night.

on september 15th 2006 at 9:08pm est pete wentz answered a fan question about what accomplishment of his he is proudest of.

I don’t really think about success or accomplishments too often. I guess just being around. Letting myself move past who I used to be- because that person was continually unhappy. Or at least trying to get to that point and not feel like im “changing for the worse” just because im letting myself feel ok. 10 years ago I didn’t listen to anything anyone said ever for the most part.

on september 18th 2006 at 2:36am est pete wentz wrote on one of his blogs how infinity on high was beginning to feel like a "nocturnal record" as it began to take shape.

somehow the things we say mean more in corners of dancefloors and we focus on love below the waist and outside of the head. "dont you want to get better"- i just dont want you to worry. "dont you want to get better" - tonight i do. the way they say "youre committing slow suicide" when someone lights up or cuts loose. but arent we all. everything we do just shortens our life, every breath is one less. but its what makes everything so treasured. in my head. it aint a funeral babe, i just want the headline to die. recovery is the new drug.

it hurts sometimes thinking about who he was in that moment. someone so fucking scared of getting better and desperate to get better, committing every flaw and insecurity he had to paper and trying to make art out of how desperately he fucking hated himself. as if his pain was the only compelling thing about him.

that's what kills me about this record. truly. it's not just about the perils and pitfalls of fame and renown. it's about how it feels, really feels, to think that your fame is reliant on you fucking hating yourself and how that is killing you.

and yet. infinity on high. a title taken from words written in 1888, from van gogh to his brother, as he talks about how his improving health has had a positive effect on his art.

Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.

van gogh did not give us starry night because he was depressed and suicidal and falling apart. van gogh did not make incredible works of art because of how much he was suffering. van gogh created in spite of that, because he had a brother who loved him and reasons to keep going.

pete wentz did not write some of his best lyrics on infinity on high because he was depressed and suicidal and falling apart. he wrote them in spite of that, because he had people in his life who loved him and over 15 years later he is still alive, he has 3 kids, he has his band who have been together for over 20 years and still love making music together, and at least externally, he no longer feels the need to self-immolate so the onlookers can make pretty patterns from the ashes left over.

[helpfandom]

Sneak peek at something probably posted in like 4 months.

@yanderefangirl

Yandere! Batman Rouges Gallery x Platonic OCD! Reader.

I have OCD and this is off of MY version and experiences with OCD. I would be most grateful if anyone had other ideas or plots (like the episode Lock-Up but with the reader.)Reader's kind of... angry? I don't know how else to explain it.

TW//CW: Suicide (Mentions of, not anyone doing) Canon-typical violence, cursing,

God, you couldn't believe it came to this. Honestly, why were you here anyway, it's not like you belong with the criminals. This was just so that they could try and teach the insane to be nicer, to not be criminals.

Honestly, they shouldn't have chosen you, you kind of belonged in here. The way that people would look at you when you twitched, a singular mis-fire in your brain made people think there was something wrong with you. Like you belonged with the freaks of Arkham. Well, one too many jokes about suicide and jokes of your trauma and BOOM! You've been chosen for our unpaid internship at Arkham, too bad you have to stay here you freak! God. It pisses you off to feel their stares of judgement on the streets.

To feel their pity. Batman saves you from a bridge too many times and you're involuntarily put in here.

You walked, two guards right beside you. Their shoes clacking against the tile. One of them was touching you and it made your body feel off. A misfire, and your head jerks to the right. "Please stop touching me." They give you a stern look. Panic filters your brain. "I can walk myself. I'm a big kid." You crack a smile at the last part, makes it easier to tell when it's a joke. They keep staring at you, you misfire, and then the second guard takes their hand off of your shoulder. Great. Now more people think you belong in here. Misfire. Misfire, this time nodding your head. Misfire. Jeezy creezy. "Sorry." You continue walking with them, but you can tell that they're staring at you.

Or is the phenomena of Spotlight, where you delude yourself into thinking that everyone is staring at you. Nevertheless, you can feel them looking at you.

Not just the guards, but the inmates too, the other ones. The ones you belong with. Not the fucking insane criminals.They watch you, a teen, get walked- misfire -to the criminal side of the asylum. It's quiet, but there are whispers. Of course, part of you says that they're talking about you, but is it just because you're being moved to the criminals, or is it because you -misfire- look like you belong here? The other part says it's narcissistic to think they're talking about you.

You reach the doors, steel, heavy steel to make sure that they don't cross over to the section you belong in, misfire, to the people that can be helped.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Are we getting your review on set me free? The real question is and you know it Did he make the bias list?

***

Hi Anon,

I already reviewed Set Me Free Pt 2. I've written more about SMF Pt 2 than I have about any other song actually. But I'll provide a summary here for you:

My expectations before listening to it - here and here.

My initial reaction immediately after listening to it - here.

My review and Jimin's interview - here and here.

Initial response to panicky asks in my inbox + fan art - here.

Yet another word on the subject of autotune - here.

Alternate perspective on 'opps' - here.

And on the question of if Jimin is now my bias... well, the answer is,

Yes, I think he is.

I mean, I've been in a daze since Friday. It's been more than 24 hours and my body still feels as though it's on fire every time I listen to it. This man dropped the best song of the year, in March. Like Jimin doesn't need to do anything else the rest of 2023, he has already dropped the song of the year.

I haven't mentioned this yet, but one of the most impressive things about SMF Pt 2 is the backup dancers. It is very difficult to perform high-intensity moves for longer than a minute (according to a friend who dances professionally), but in SMF Pt 2 the dancers start doing HIIT push-up moves 2:30 minutes into the song. They'd been dancing for over two minutes and ratcheted up the intensity later on in the song. It's crazy difficult. And yet that's the minimum of what is required to keep up with Jimin. Because he executes every single move perfectly.

And then there's the lyrical content of the song that just sealed the deal for me. I'll explain: the rapline are my loves for life because the way they speak reminds me of myself, sometimes. It's one reason. They have an acute awareness of who they are, and they've explicitly communicated it to everyone through their art. To do that well requires a peculiar kind of energy. That's an energy I relate to on a fundamental level, and I usually feel it only from the rapline. No other member. Until Jimin in Set Me Free Pt 2.

*

I say "I think" he is my bias because there's still a chance he's not. I mean, I'm still able to write about him. My brain isn't misfiring at the thought. Etc. So maybe I'm just in shock, but Jimin in this song is all I've been able to think about for hours now. I've listened to his song on three different earphones, one headphone, and three speakers. In the car too. He sounds only more incredible every time. His pronunciation of the lyrics tells me he fully believes every word coming out of his mouth. The song is a masterpiece. An auditory delight.

He's such a beautiful genius.

Nasty too.

But that's what I like.

So here we are.

[seven-oomen]

Considering it's the international assistance dog week, I want to highlight why I need an assistance dog and what they'll be able to assist me with.

3 years ago I was diagnosed with PTSD (present in children of 6 years and younger), since it's been there for most of my life. I also have an ADHD diagnosis, and since 2 years, an autism diagnosis. Add to that a functional neurological disorder and a complex pain syndrome (including fibromyalgia) caused by my PTSD, and you have a glimpse of what it's like to live in my body.

Basically, I am in pain 24/7, my body doesn't let me do what I want it to do. My brain is misfiring 24/7, my hands tremble, my legs are weak, and my dissociations vary from once a day for a few minutes, to 5-hour episodes where I can no longer recognize my own reflection.

Add ADHD and autism to that mix, and you have a brain that cannot concentrate or filter sounds/smells/sights/ etc. And is constantly operating with 25 tabs open at all times. It costs tremendous amounts of energy to do anything, and I do not realize how much it costs me until I get home.

I am beyond exhausted and sleep does nothing to recharge the battery. Coffee does nothing to recharge the battery.

So what can an assistance dog do that psychotherapy, outpatient assistance (ambulante begeleiding), EMDR, Intensive traumatherapy couldn't do combined?

Basically, be there 24/7. Without judgement. Without prejudice. An assistance dog will not completely fix me. But it will give me enough structure and assistance to rehabilitate back to a working position. That is the dream. To return to a 15 hour/20 hour work week in 5 years.

Tasks that an assistance dog can do for me:

- provide structure through walks/ a routine/ training

- retrieve medication and remind me to take them

- signal dissociations and guide me to a safe space to ride them out

- signal sensory overload and shutdown and guide me to a quiet place

- provide deep pressure therapy to calm me down

- wake me up from nightmares / unrestful sleep

- provide a soothing and protective presence

- keep people at a distance / block people from getting too close to me

- accompany me to work/school/volunteering work/in public transport/to hospitals & doctors / on vacation etc.

And that is what I am fighting for right now. These dogs are costly. Between 8.000 and 20.000 euros.

So my hope is that the municipality will fund an internationally certified assistance dog. Because Dutch health insurance doesn't. Which is ridiculous because they do fund guide dogs, hearing dogs, and mobility dogs. Just not psychiatric assistance dogs for civilians. Psychiatric assistance dogs for the military are funded by the police/military.

Recently I also found out that, technically, you can train your own dog in the Netherlands. Though, public access rights are unclear with them and there is talk of the law changing in the next five years. I hope that when it does, psychiatric assistance dogs are then also covered by health insurance, because right now, the disparity between the different types is discriminatory.