#drug bug

[ghostedgary]

Flower man, Grave man,,,,,,

Drug bug fan art ^_^, if you don’t know what I’m talking about sorry for your loss 😔

[preesistersswallowingadonkeyseye]

all ive been listening to lately

[drinksss]

invertebrate debauchery session

[st-hedge]

Biblically accurate kusuriuri

[cavity-collector]

LAPAWTOMY!! :3

[sluckythewizard]

'I wont cry for you, I wont crucify the things you do. I wont cry for you, see, when you're gone, I'll still be BLOODY MARY'

[promptcontainmentzone]

MISC FALLOUT SCENARIO PROMPTS. pulled from moments in various games. warnings for death, violence, drugs, alcohol, bugs, etc. add + REVERSE to change up who's doing what.

[ 22 ] - our muses explore vault 22 together.

[ DEATHCLAW ] - our muses are caught in a small space. there is an indeterminate amount of deathclaws outside.

[ GLOW ] - our muses explore the glowing sea.

[ STIMPACK ] - sender gives receiver a stimpack.

[ MADRE ] - our muses search for the treasure of the sierra madre.

[ DIVIDE ] - our muses explore the divide.

[ LUCKY ] - our muses get kicked out of a casino.

[ SYNTH ] - one muse is suspected by the other of being a synth.

[ BOUNTY ] - there's a price on sender's head. receiver is either hunting or hiding them.

[ IDES ] - our muses kill caesar.

[ GOODSPRINGS ] - our muses share a drink in the goodsprings saloon.

[ GRAVE ] - our muses dig a grave.

[ SNEAK ] - sender steals (or attempts to steal) something valuable from receiver.

[ RADIATION ] - receiver has radiation sickness. sender helps out.

[ FROZEN ] - sender was frozen in a vault (utp if they're pre war or if they just got caught in a situation). receiver is the first person they see upon thawing.

[ RIGGED ] - sender shot receiver. receiver is now chasing receiver through the wasteland. they meet.

[ SCORPION ] - sender has been brawling with giant radscorpions in the thorn. receiver reacts.

[ EGGS ] - our muses are on an ill-fated hunt for deathclaw eggs.

[ MEGATON ] - sender blew up megaton. receiver reacts.

[ UNDERWORLD ] - our muses explore the underworld.

[ TRANQUILITY ] - our muses "wake up" in tranquility lane.

[ AWAKE ] - sender nearly died. they wake to receiver, who's fixed them up (to the best of their ability).

[ RAIDER ] - our muses bargain with raiders.

[ BULLET ] - our muses have a shootout.

[ FISH ] - our muses see fish. maybe for the first time.

[ BOOMER ] - our muses attempt to get into boomer territory without being blown up.

[ LOCKPICK ] - sender watches receiver pick a lock.

[ HACK ] - sender watches receiver hack a terminal.

[ EMPTY ] - our muses get stuck in the big empty. brains optional.

[ SHROUD ] - our muses argue about who has to wear the silver shroud costume (and then - optionally - go run heroic errands).

[ SMOOTHSKIN ] - sender is pretty damn sure they're a ghoul. receiver is hellbent on convincing them they aren't.

[ TINKER ] - sender requests help with fixing something from receiver.

[ STAR ] - our muses find a sunset sarsaparilla star bottle cap and are attacked by a treasure hunter.

[ MOONLIGHT ] - our muses camp overnight in the wasteland.

[ DINKY ] - our muses enjoy the view from the top of novac's resident dinosaur.

[ EDUCATION ] - receiver teaches sender a little something about a skill of their choice.

[ ANIMAL ] - receiver watches as sender hangs out with wasteland wildlife.

[ STORM ] - our muses are caught in a radstorm.

[ HEARTH ] - sender shows receiver their home.

[ RECIPE ] - sender teaches receiver a recipe at a campfire on the trail.

[florwal]

my sim can walk on water 😍

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was sitting with a friend and a cockroach crawled on their leg, I went to brush it off, but they stopped me and said, “That’s Gerald, he’s cool.” Gerald was in fact cool, but he tried to give me cocaine.

Anyways, I ate him.

[whumble-beeee]

Just Relax (It's Not That Serious)

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 13

Content: drugging, noncon undressing, dissociation, (fear of) needles, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), tied up/handcuffs, past captivity references, begging, fear, light unreality? (related to the ptsd)

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[The first 72 hours after a hero’s capture is also massively critical to you, villain, as your hero’s keeper! When planning on long-term hero-keeping, use this time to lie low, keep your hero firmly in your grasp, and really set the mood for the rest of their stay. Set non-negotiable expectations. Show your patience. For as much as your hero may fight you, curse and jeer and scorn and defy you, they will still be only human (with select power exceptions, of course). They will still need food, water, shelter. All of which must be obtained from you, their captor! You are the one ultimately in control, no matter how much the hero may scream otherwise. 

So why are these first 72 hours so important? Well, how long do experts generally agree that a person can survive without food or water? How long can they ignore you? How long before they have to rely on you for their every need?

72 hours.

Be patient.

Make them count.]

* * * * * * * *

“Finally, Christ,” Deeby muttered under his breath as Stan finished forcing the bar down his throat. It had taken him longer than he'd meant, what with the dehydration and the not wanting to be drugged and the weary pain that seeped into his every bone and the spinning of the room and the not wanting to be drugged. It was a surprisingly difficult task to knowingly poison himself. Who’d've thunk?

“Happy?” Stan finally spat with a heaving breath. There was the slightest taste of salt and battery acid twinging the back of his mouth. It made him nauseous.

Deeby absent-mindedly grabbed the used protein bar wrapper and tossed it into his plastic bag. “Yeah. Not done yet, though.”

 Stan whined. It was all he could do to not start crying on the spot. “Why can't you just let me fall into unconsciousness in peace? I ate your stupid protein bar! It's-it's never-ending with you!”

“Well, it feels less gross to have you undress now than when you're high off your ass.”

Stan blinked. It was like the world had been overlaid with TV static for a moment. But he was back. Violently. Because what? “Ah– Co-come again?” 

“Your uh– fuckin’... What's it called, your tank top? The transgender tank top, the one that squishes your ribs. Your… ‘tranksgender’ top.”

“My binder?”

Deeby snapped his fingers in triumph. “That's the bitch! We're taking that off now.”

“WHAT?!”

“I can help if you want. I don’t know how long it's gonna take the drug to start affecting you, considering you haven’t eaten in two days, so it might not–”

“I’m not taking my binder off!” Stan yelled, startling back from yet another all-consuming dip into the static. The worst part was, it wasn't even unpleasant. He almost would have enjoyed it, save for the predator six feet away stalking at him as if he were a wounded antelope, one hand resting on the ornate knife holstered right next to his gun. His eyes sparkled with that ever-dangerous red excitement that Stan had become painfully acquainted with again and again and again over the past two days, though there was something more serious underneath the child-like sadism. Tired eyes, deep breaths... 

“I know you're not supposed to wear it for this long, runt.” The mercenary brushed the still bright-red gash on his cheek from where Stan had whacked him with the handcuffs. “And besides, I still need to get you back for this. Please make me do it the hard way.”

Stan’s breath caught between a groan and a cry and his vision swam around him, only grounded by the sudden noxious pit in his stomach. “Dee-deeby…” he panted. “Stay away from me.”

Deeby continued to stalk closer, voice taking that dangerous low twang, the light bass growl snaking through the room and slithering around Stan’s throat, suffocating him more than a literal yank by his damn collar would. “Aw…” he tutted. “That's no fun, is it chiquito? I think you just need–”

“OKAY, OKAY!” Stan skittered back, pressing himself into the wall with racing heart and rabbit-fast breath. “I'll-I'll do it, I'll do it! You don't– You–... I'll take off my binder…”

That did, in fact, stop Deeby dead in his tracks. Stan swayed. Deeby looked at him expectantly. Stan stared into the distance. Deeby raised an eyebrow and made an impatient circular motion at Stan with his hands: get moving.

The static.

“Runt, if you don’t–”

“I– jus– ju-just-just don't touch me–”

“Stan–” Deeby warned, taking a single step toward him. All the air sucked out of the room. “I'm done giving you chances. Off. Now, or I'll do it.”

Stan grit his teeth with an almost mewling whine. His cheeks burned a bright red embarrassment under near-invisible blue freckles, and his very lungs stuttered as they tried to figure out if he wanted to scream or just cry. He started to pulled the shirt over his head, slowly, as if he could go slow enough that the bounty hunter would just get bored and give up entirely.

Ha.

Then he lost his way. He searched. More fabric. Where did the holes go? Where was he? He was lost! He tangled his arms around, searching, growling with frustration as he unsuccessfully tried to free himself, genuinely trapped as time simultaneously moved way too fast and excruciatingly slow. Then a whoosh, and his cotton-polyester prison disappeared, pulled off over his head to reveal a very amused Deeby glinting back at him, eyes sparkling as always. 

It was so cold in here.

Stan shoved him away, thankfully braced against the wall or else he might have fallen over himself. The world was so… tilted.

“Turn-turn around,” Stan ordered, blinking hard to keep himself present.

“What, no ‘thank you?’”

“Turn around!”

“Not turning around, bud.”

“Please, I don-don’t– don’t want you to-to see– to–...Turn around!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Please! Deeby, I’m begging!”

“Not happenin’,” he sang, deadpan as ever.

“I thought you-you-you-ou said you weren't gugh-guh-gon-gonna–...” Stan shivered and took a deep breath. This stutter was driving him insane. “Tha-at you weren't a perv!”

“I'm not. I'm not gonna do anything except make sure you're not trying to pull some shit.”

“I won’t! I'm drugged! I-I can’t even take my shirt off!”

“All the more reason–”

“Declan!” Stan pleaded, pupils blown out and wide, tension at the top of his mouth so tight he was sure he was about to start bawling. “I care. I care-are-re. I don’t wan-want you–... Please…”

His voice turned high and quiet, tears burning to fall, pressure building up behind his eyes and ready to burst.

“Plea-ease…”

Declan closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose. Another tired deep breath.

“Turn yourself around if you care so much,” he muttered. The knife appeared in his hands, point pressed into the taut fabric on Stan's chest. “I'm done playing games. Stop stalling. Now.”

“I’m no-ot–”

The mercenary grabbed the strap of Stan’s binder and yanked him forward, barely pulling the knife out of the way in time for Stan to not fall on top of it and instead sending him hurtling into the man’s chest with a blood-curdling screech, then flailing and shoving off of the captor as hard as humanly possible. The push mixed with a sudden heavy fog bank engulfing his mind mixed with a painful misstep on his bad leg caused him to all but crumble to the freezing concrete floor in a heap, chin banged and bleeding and dripping and staining on the ground as his face pressing into scratchy dirt particles, as he laid there confused and scared and scrambling, just trying to figure out how to silence the roaring confusion of his mind as it blindly panicked in the pressing, buzzing fog that surrounded it. Threatened to swallow him whole.

Then a force grasped him by the back of his neck. Then a knee planted into the base of his spine. The full body weight of a man at least twice his size ground into his lower vertebrates, seemingly trying to press them straight through the soft flesh of his stomach into the unforgiving floor.

Stan screamed.

Was Deeby going back on his promise not to–

GET OFF!!

His binder, he couldn't let Declan take it off.

OWOWOWOWOW– NO NONONO–

The fog the fog the fog the fog the fog the fog buzzing buzzing buzzing buzzing BZZZZZZZZZZ–

A gloved hand pressed him into the floor by the back of his neck. Others in scratchy black tactical gear held his flailing limbs down. He strained. He cried. He screamed. He screamed so loud. So loud his throat was sore. They didn’t let up.

He wanted his mom. His dad. His sister. COME HELP!! Where were they? He cried out for them, heaving sobs. Unheeded.

“DEEBY!” He screeched, feet kicking out as if they could somehow free himself if he just kicked hard enough. “Get off! GET OFF! You're not taking my binder off–!”

“Mhm, yeah, sure bud,” Deeby mumbled as Stan continued his tantrum. His fingers squeezed slightly at either side of Stan’s neck. Warning. Patient. Waiting. He was waiting him out. Stan's head spun as if filled with angry bees, cries becoming weaker, fighting more and more sluggish as Deeby just sat on top of him.

Where was his sister? Where was Chloe?! CHLOE!! He needed to protect her! That was his only task! Protect her! He’d failed, he’d failed, he needed to save her, save them, get away. Every time he raged and strained and screamed another hand just came to pin him to the dusty ground. He was an animal thrashing around in a cage, a trap that only tightened around his throat the more he struggled.

“DEEBY– Deeby… Declan, Deeb– please get off, please, I need to save her, I don't– I just– can't–... ple-ee-ea-ease…” 

Deeby didn't say anything. Was it the drug that made him feel like he was floating on air as a pressure chamber simultaneously caged in his skull, teasing it to shatter? Or maybe the hyperventilating as he realized there was no escape. Or maybe the gutting hunger, or the throat squeezing thirst, or the burning panic, or the bone-deep exhaustion, or the pain, the pain, make it stop, all-encompassing, never-ending, or the violent shaking from lack of oxygen, or any number of the many other things that were wrong with him. Maybe all of them. His limbs lay stiff, as if held down by lead weights. His protests devolved into barely a whimpering whisper. He couldn't breathe. Not with the bounty hunter on top of him pressing his stomach into the floor, not with the probably broken ribs, not with the binder pressing into the swelling of his ribs and making every intake of air a monumentally agonizing feat achieved less and less each time…

“God, shut her up, I’m not dealing with this in the transport.”

“Really? It’s just a kid.”

“Unless you’d rather I shut her up myself.”

NO NO NO ESCAPE ESCAPE HE NEEDED TO FIND HIS FAMILY–

A tiny little prick on his upper arm. He screamed. Screamed until he couldn’t anymore, screamed because he couldn’t do anything else, screamed until one of the gloved hands slapped over his mouth and stayed there until he quieted, and then he couldn’t even scream. It stayed there until tears soaked through the course fabric. The edges of his vision started to go dark. 

“That’s it kid, shut up, go to sleep. Don’t struggle. It’ll be easier if you just relax.”

His head fell limp against the dirty ground.

He was gonna die here, wasn't he?

Yeah.

Made sense. 

He let his head lie down on the floor.

He lurched with silent sobs.

He couldn't do this anymore.

He couldn't.

This was all pointless.

He was done.

And he went limp.

“There ya go. Attaboy.”

Deeby's voice came from above him. Slow, comforting, praising, as if he were speaking from a thousand miles away.

“Attagirl…” The last voice he heard. The last time he saw his childhood home. The last time he saw his parents. The end of his first fight for his life. Failed. 

The black consumed him. 

Stan let out something between a whine and a sob. The mercenary took just a moment to readjust, legs now caging him in and pushing inward on either side of Stan's hips. “Yeah okay, whatever runt. Let’s just get this done.” 

Deeby's fingers probed under the binder for a moment, causing Stan to squirm anew purely on instinct. Until he hit a particularly nasty bruise. An electrical storm webbed through his ribcage. A flash of white. Stan yelped a cut-off, strangled squeal, a sound he prayed he’d never have to hear again.

“Sorry…” muttered above him. His binder flipped upward and over itself, a brief squeeze, the fabric pulling lightly at his skin, his arms, his hair, then pressure relieved.

Breathe in…

Holy fuck, he was alive!

Stan gulped in the first deep breath he'd taken in what felt like years, gasping and desperate and a full, deep breath. His senses sharpened. Kinda. He still sat pinned within a sea of cotton, the static that blanketed the clouds, limbs heavy, mind slow. But he could breathe! He almost remembered that he only felt like this because Deeby forcibly stripped him. That bitch.

“Holy shit,” the bounty hunter whispered quietly, amazed, almost inaudible. A moment of breath-taking clarity as adrenaline shot through Stan’s system for one last, final hurrah. Holy shit?

“Wh-what, what–?” He tried unsuccessfully to turn around and see. He even managed to convince himself that he didn't care that his tits were basically out, right before he flopped face-first into the ground again. This drug worked miracles.

Declan paused for a moment. Then: “Ah… Nothing, nothing, just, your ribs are much worse off than I thought. Bruised to shit…”

Stan laughed. Really? Bruised to shit? Who could have guessed? The burning anger and hatred and desperation he expected to feel, that he'd been fighting nonstop for two or three or however-the-hell many days straight? It was now buried under layers of static and sand and that lovely familiar darkness which pressed everything that made him himself to somewhere deep in the darkest recesses of his brain, unnoticed in the rolling fog. Though the knot in his throat that made him want to burst out crying still persisted. That was weird. What did he have to cry about? “Yeah… maybe you should… not… Aheh, uh, throw me… to–... walls anymore…” he giggled. He was pretty sure at least. That’s what his voice sounded like, right?

His limbs were so heavy. He might not be able to move them if he tried. Not that he wanted to. What if he just went to sleep right here?

Ah shit, he didn't have a shirt on still.

But like, who even cared anymore? The mercenary would take what he wanted, including Stan’s shirt, including his binder. He could take everything from him. Take his freedom, take his personhood, take any slight chance at happiness or have a normal family that wasn’t shattered to pieces. Shoot him with that pretty old gun, take his life entirely. Come back again and again just to make sure Stan never saw the light of day again. Who even cared if he saw Stan’s chest? Who even cared if this was one of the most humiliating things to ever happen to him? He shouldn’t fight so hard. He wouldn't be pinned face down to the floor and chained up and drugged if he just stopped fighting. This was fine. He felt fine. He liked this.

Keep fighting, rage, rage, escape.

Oh, shut up.

He felt the white overly large shirt being pulled back on over his head a million miles away, something with Eeby-Deeby getting frustrated again and his arms getting roughly shoved through the armholes before Stan could even try to lift his leaden limbs.

Chill out, man. It's fine. It's not that serious.

The way the world swirled around him was almost a comfort now. He was drugged. He knew it, it was just a fact now. The fog and the static and the way he could barely think and the way it was kinda hard to move and the way it took a second to move even if he did actually want to move… That wasn’t really Stan. That was some other guy. He was just drugged. Drugged Stan.

It was nice. Normal Stan was always so wound up about everything. Normal Stan fought so hard to change what couldn’t be changed, made everything so much worse for himself. And for what? He’d always be captured again, always chained up, always poked and prodded and beholden to the will of others, always treated like a petulant, whiny animal that needs to be tamed. Normal Stan couldn’t seem to get that. Normal Stan was those bad thoughts at the edges of his mind, the ones that kept him screaming, running, fighting even when Deeby got up off of him and gave him water which he desperately needed, sweet, sweet, water that relieved the pain and carried all his troubles away like a gently rushing river, cooled his insides of the burning heat and anger. GOD, he forgot how nice water tasted.

It was weird. Eeber-Deeber was almost thoughtful, in his own special way. When you looked past the violence. Stan should be nicer to him, make him not have to violence so much. Maybe then Stan go home! No fight, just go home and see his family… he didn’t really have a home, did he? No… But that was okay, because he still had Marcus and Chloe! He could see them again! That would be nice. Marcus, Chloe. He loved them so much. He needed to protect them. Why was he still here? His Mom and Dad couldn’t protect them, it was his job because they were…

Dead?

Dead.

It was for the best that they were.

It was fine though. It wasn’t that serious. 

…

He missed them.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska | @thebestieyoureinlovewith

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[s1x-foot-deep]

YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD HAVE IT ALL BUT NOW YOU'VE HAD YOUR FIRST SNOOT FULL AND IT WILL BURY YOU ALL

[nevbisvevbis]

okay so i just remembered i have like a gigantic 50 ft tall caterpillar kaiju version of my sona, but like guys hear me out-

[autisticenbydonnie]

do yall remember months ago when i said eggo has a twin?

well @haunted-wolfpup made a turtlesona, Nekronardo and we HAD to make them twins !!them being twins just made sence :P (these are old btw, i just forgot to post them bdhnasjfbdsjklfbsd)

[solradguy]

Is there a canonical reason why Sol was dripped out in the middle of the Holy War during his greasy trash man era?

Do you think Kliff gave him an allowance and one day and he went into town then came back Riot branded head to toe? Do you think Riot sponsored the Holy War?

I like to imagine Kliff put him in charge of the month’s funds for food and Sol spent it all on his designed Riot Holy Order Uniform. Then Kliff said “Haha Sol you have spent all of our money we will now starve” and then it was a really awkward month that made Sol decide to leave the Order

Post-Begin to post-Crusades Sol basically doesn't have any lore so you can just say whatever and it has just as high odds of maybe being true some day tbh lol

Sol was a bounty hunter before joining the Holy Order though. Probably he rolled up with fat stacks of cash, they showed him the uniform and he was like "fuck OFF I only wear red," and then had his boys over at Riot make him a custom tailored Holy Order uniform with its stupid fingerless-not-fingerless gloves with steel fingernails with RIOT stamped on them

but then Sol didn't have any money left over and ate all the Holy Order's food and Kliff said they will now starve anyway

[ruthlesslistener]

happy 4/20 here's some headcanons about the shit bugs used to get elevated

Alcohol: good 'ol alcohol. Found everywhere in every tribe of Hallownest, brewed in pretty much every way possible. Unregulated in trade by pretty much all tribes except for the stuff the Pale King consumes, which is often strong enough to give an entire room alcohol poisoning (wyrms are resistant to pretty much all toxins). Even the Hive have fermented honey and nectar, though they are much stricter about who indulges; it's more often exported for trade than consumed. Among the tribes, limitations only exist among the beetles and mantises, as both have violent tendencies and are liable to pick a fight when drunk; mantises regulate it to festivals and mating season, when sparring is likely to happen anyways, while drunk beetles outside homes and bars are often picked up and stuffed into trash cans to sober them up (and hopefully teach them a lesson in the meanwhile)

Gulka venom: an intoxicating substance with mildly hallucinogenic effects. Unregulated in trade, though that's mostly because there is no trade- the Mosskin refuse to collect it for other tribes, going out of their way only for the snail shamans (who are herb-masters with great healing knowledge) You'll have to harvest it yourself if you want to indulge, and that means there's a bit of a black market for it in Hallownest

Shamanistic Death-Herbs: a blend of relatively common herbs that, when dried together in a certain way, creates an extremely toxic blend if consumed or inhaled (when burned). Typically used to give those suffering a peaceful, painless death, it has powerful hallucinogenic effect under its killing threshold, and is one of the few toxins that can affect void creatures in any way (it puts them to sleep/makes them high). The fear of the void worshipers using them in battle against her moths was one of the excuses the Radiance used for her genocide against the snail tribe, though the shamans themselves have strict oaths to use them only for healing, and have never broken those oaths or used them against another tribe (at least, as far as the few who remember the age of dark can recall)

Bitterroot: an anti-contraceptive and abortion drug that can have an intoxicating-but dangerous- effect if too much of it is chewed. Grows primarily in the Crossroad region, and is heavily regulated in Hallownest- it is easily attainable and available to all, but herbalists are required by law to cut it and sell it in specific portion sizes for different species of bug, to prevent fatalistic overdosing. Tribes with overlap of the growing range tend to follow this rule, though it is not as strictly monitored as in the City (where many different species of bugs congregate, and thus require different doses to be effective)

Lifeblood: A life-boosting substance with magical roots that invigorates the self, at the risk of overestimating limitations and causing irreversible harm to the body when infused with it. This risk, while minimal with supervision, was what the Pale King used as an excuse to ban it, when in reality the main reason for the ban is because it is directly tied to an unascended abyssal god (the Lifeblood creature). Pretty heavily regulated in the Pale King's realm, but is used pretty regularly outside of his lands because nobody outside the most religious of the Beetle Tribe gives a shit

Brightpede poison: an extremely bitter, cyanide-based toxin that, like the death-herbs, can get one high if consumed in extremely small amounts. Secreted by pink and yellow-banded millipedes in the Deepnest region, used most commonly to kill political enemies or ease the passing of mortally wounded individuals. Harmlessly intoxicating to wyrms and their kin

Smokeweed: marijuana. It grows pretty much everywhere in Hallownest where greenery thrives, and is used both recreationally and medicinally, though the extent of it varies from culture to culture. Among the mantises, it's reserved only for strong warriors, to ease pain, battle-rage, and battle-lust. In the City of Tears, use is limited to smokehouses to prevent air contamination in close quarters, but is perfectly legal in private quarters, cheap to buy, and is typically recreational or therapeutic (there is, however, more variation in strains and expensive variants available to those of higher social rank, with the blooms grown in the White Lady's gardens going for the highest). In Deepnest, it's technically limited from the working castes to prevent injury, but is allowed during times of leisure and is unlimited to the injured or sick (if trade allows it). The Mosskin, Snails, and the Moths typically used it for religious reasons. Only the Hive have strict regulations against it (as they do with everything else). 

Shrooms: Several species of mushrooms in Deepnest and the Fungal Wastes offer a variety of intoxicating and hallucinogenic effects, with a variety of different toxicity/fatality levels. Really only the Mantids know how to correctly harvest and identify each species responsible for each effect, a secret they hold closely guarded within their own tribe, but that doesn't stop certain individuals from different tribes to come in and sample the shrooms (and, if overdosed, become a fun little treat for the mantises)

The sap and nectar of the White Lady: really only attainable if you go praying to her for reproductive help, as it is an intense healing agent and potent aphrodisiac. Momentarily cures infertility, and brings about a high, but also induces heat. Tea can be made from her bark with similar (but less potent) effects, but again it must be provided from her willingly, and such examples are rare. Technically intoxicating, but only given to those struggling with infertility, miscarriages, suffering from injuries related to childbearing or birth, etc

[clegfly]

“Of course you have an Other Brother,” he says, waving off her denial as he opens some nearby cabinets. “Who else would I be if I wasn’t?”

Small WIP sketch of the Other Brother from IDKSomethingClever99’s fic “Mari in the Pink Palace”!!! OMORI and Coraline are my two biggest interests ever so this fic was like winning the lottery for me. Not to mention how good it is… please go read it ragh