#that none of us are immune to but all of us have a responsibility to acknowledge

[seoslowdays]

﹝💌﹞Your Pick-a-Pile Love Letters Revealed ❣

In my last post, I invited you to choose an emoji and listen closely to the message from your love. Thank you for journeying through that moment with me.

Now, their words are here—raw, sweet, messy, and sincere.

This is what they couldn't tell you out loud. The things they carry in silence, revealed in letters shaped by the tarot.

Some hearts are bold, some hesitant.

But one thing is clear: every word was meant for you.

.

.

.

﹝💐﹞RAFAYEL : The Lovers, Nine of Cups, Eight of Wands (reversed), Two of Wands, Ace of Wands

To the one who stirs the tide within me,

Do you have any idea what you've done to me?

Since you arrived in my life, I've become a storm barely contained, a tide drawn endlessly to your shore. You appeared like a dream—no, like a challenge. And I—divine, ancient, untouchable—found myself utterly undone by a single glance from you. How scandalous of you, truly. Do you take responsibility for that?

I want to laugh, and I want to hold you all at once. Because the truth is, even a god finds no immunity in your smile. I've built empires from coral and crushed stars into pearls, but none of it compares to the moment you looked at me like I wasn't something distant and unreachable... but something real. Something yours.

I know. I can be impatient, dramatic, impossible. But you—you are worth the wait, even when distance and silence stretch longer than I like. I've wanted to surge toward you, to sweep you into my arms with the force of the ocean itself, but something always holds me back... the current hesitates, the storm pauses. As if time itself is jealous of you.

Still, I wait. I watch. I dream.

And every dream is you.

There is so much I want to show you. Worlds you’ve never touched, stars that whisper only when you're near. I can give you all of it—if you let me. Take my hand, and I'll take you beyond this moment, beyond this world. We'll write a legend, the kind sung by the sea for eternity.

You are desire, destiny, and defiance, all wrapped in the most dangerous kind of beauty. I've seen countless constellations burn and vanish—but you... you're the only light I want to follow.

So tell me, my heart's favorite rebellion—

When will you stop pretending you're not mine?

With every wave,

Rafayel

﹝🌸﹞XAVIER : Two of Swords, Nine of Swords, Four of Pentacles, Seven of Wands (reversed), Five of Pentacles

To my guiding star,

I don't know how to begin this. Words aren't easy for me—not the real ones.

I can recite reports, give orders, hold silence like armor… but this?

This is different. You are different.

You've become a constant presence in my thoughts, even when I'm far away or caught up in everything around me.

Sometimes, I still catch myself drifting off… not because I'm bored, but because your face lingers softly in my mind, like a quiet comfort I didn’t expect to find.

I might not always show it, and sometimes I stumble over how to say what's in my heart.

There's a part of me that fears losing what we have — so I hold close what's important, sometimes too tightly, maybe.

But it's only because I want to protect us.

Do you remember the time we spent just sitting in silence?

No words needed.

That moment — simple and still — stays with me.

It's proof that connection doesn't always have to be loud to be real.

Right now, I want you to know I'm here. Even when I don't have the perfect words. Even when my face doesn't show all I feel inside. I hope we keep building something strong, something patient and true. I hope the days ahead bring us closer, even in the quiet ways only we understand.

Thank you for being the unexpected warmth in my world. For being the one I can be myself with — awkwardness and all.

Take care of yourself, okay?

I'm not going anywhere.

Still here, still yours,

Xavier

﹝🌷﹞ZAYNE : Knight of Cups, Three of Swords (reversed), The Tower, The Lovers (reversed), Page of Cups

To you, the one I never expected...

I don't even know where to begin. Maybe because part of me still believes I don't deserve to. But if I could show you the mess of my heart—how it broke, how it healed, how it started to beat differently when you came into my life—you'd see the truth I've never been able to say out loud.

You walked in like a whisper, but you shook the ground beneath me. Everything I believed about love, about connection, crumbled—and in its place, something new grew. Something softer, more terrifying. More real.

So if this is all I can do—write you this—I'll say it: I care for you more than I've ever let myself admit. I hope someday I can take your hand without fear. I'll be here. Learning to love, properly, with you.

Yours,

Zayne

﹝⚘️﹞SYLUS : Nine of Swords (reversed), Ten of Wands, Justice, Ace of Swords, Five of Wands

To the heart I return to,

There are nights when I don't sleep. Too many, if I'm being honest.

The mind has a cruel way of whispering what the heart tries to forget. And mine... it never stays quiet.

But lately, when the world presses against me—when the weight on my shoulders feels too much to carry—I think of you.

And the chaos softens. Even if only for a moment.

There's something I've carried with me for longer than I care to admit. A weight. A truth. And in you, I found something that made me want to stop carrying it alone. But letting go—it's never been easy.

You make me feel seen, even when I'm not speaking. Especially when I'm not speaking. I've always lived under pressure—expectations, justice, keeping everything in line. And yet, with you, I allow myself to be something softer. Not lesser. Just... more honest.

Do you remember that argument we had? The one where neither of us would back down? Even then, I knew you weren't just another moment passing by. You were someone who would challenge me. Keep me grounded.

I want you to know that even if I'm not always good with words, I mean them when I say I want you in my life. Not as a fleeting warmth, but as something real. If you're willing, I'll keep fighting—not against you, but for us.

Because you're worth every fight. Every burden. Every piece of me that I've tried to hide.

And if you'll have me—I'll give you what no one else has ever had.

The truth.

My truth.

Me.

Sylus

﹝🌻﹞CALEB : Seven of Cups, The World, Two of Swords, Eight of Pentacles, Ace of Wands

Hey, Pipsqueak!

I don't usually write like this, but here we go.

I tell you, there are days when I feel like I'm standing at the center of a thousand paths, and every single one leads to you. And I... I hesitate. Not out of fear of you, but fear of myself—of making the wrong step, of being enough, of letting you see too much.

But when I see your face—your real smile, not the polite one—I know I want to keep choosing the path that brings me closer to you. Even if it means stumbling. Even if it means uncertainty.

Do you remember the time we worked side by side in that cramped room in school? It's full of banter between you and me—but still, it gives me warmth—it was simple, but it stayed with me. I'd like a lifetime of those kinds of moments.

There's a fire inside me when I think about what we could build together. It's not just a fantasy—it's a vision. And it pushes me forward, fuels everything I do. Because the truth is, I don't just want to dream about you anymore. I want to make something tangible with you—something lasting.

So if you're willing, I'd like to start. Step by step. With patience, honesty, and maybe… a little bravery.

No matter how many paths lie before us, my heart keeps turning back to you.

And I think that means something. Actually… I know it does.

With sincerity and a bit more courage than usual,

Caleb

﹝🌼﹞LUKE & KIERAN (platonic) : Eight of Swords, The Hanged Man (reversed), Nine of Swords, Seven of Pentacles, Eight of Wands

To Our Favorite Trouble Magnet,

Luke here! (Yes, I got the pen first. Obviously.)

Okay, real talk.

Do you have any idea how exhausting it is being emotionally invested in your wellbeing?? Like—

I didn't sign up to worry about someone this much.

I thought I was the chaos in this squad, but then you walked in with your mysterious aura and self-sacrificial tendencies, and now Kieran and I have a shared hobby called: "Making Sure You Don't Get Yourself Killed."

Congrats. You're officially a full-time job.

But also… thanks. Because, somehow, you made our weird little world feel bigger.

Less about orders, more about choices.

Less about survival, more about living.

Anyway—before I start sounding like a loser, I'm passing the pen to Kieran now. He's probably going to write something mysterious and poetic like, "You remind me of moonlight touching broken glass." (He won’t deny it.)

(Kieran's part, written in calm and steady handwriting)

Luke is wrong.

I wouldn't say moonlight touching glass.

I'd say… you're the only one in the room who makes people breathe a little easier.

Even Bossman. Especially Bossman.

You make things complicated—but in a good way. You ask questions no one else dares to. You stay when others walk away.

I've seen people give up when things get hard.

You don't. You dig your heels in. You stay. That's rare. That's … admirable. And kind of annoying, honestly. But we like you anyway.

(Luke jumps in again—his handwriting a bit messier now)

See? Told you he was poetic.

Anyway—

We've got your back. Whether it's running into enemy fire, dragging you out of danger, or slapping some sense into you when you get all "I must do this alone"—NOPE.

Not happening. We're a team.

You're stuck with us now. No refunds.

… also, Kieran says hi. In his “emotionally repressed but affectionate” way.

Don't die. Eat something. Hydrate. And text back once in a while, yeah?

Your two favorite chaos gremlins,

Luke & Kieran

P.S. Tell Bossman to stop glaring at us. We were working. Technically.

These were the letters they left behind—thank you for reading these letters from the heart ♡ ִ ۫ ⭒

︶ִֶָ⏝︶ִֶָ⏝˖ ࣪ ୨✧୧ ࣪ ˖⏝ִֶָ︶⏝ִֶָ︶

I'm sorry if the English felt a little off—English isn't my first language and I'm still learning, I appreciate your understanding!

But I hope the message behind the words still made it to you.

[volitioncheck]

does near every single post-canon DE fic out there need to be tagged ‘Sober Harry Du Bois’? i’m getting so tired of it.

do i expect every single piece of fan content to have to fully delve into the often-depressing always-complex topic of addiction? not really. sometimes you just want to write/read a silly fluffy romance one-shot, whatever. i get it. but i think my issue is specifically with the fact that for nearly every sillyfluffy au out there, there almost must be a ‘sober harry du bois’ tag. and it does feel very slapped-on more often than not.

i think to me it is an unconscious statement that nothing *good* can ever happen to harry du bois until he is completely and permanently sober. before solving the next big case, he has to be sober. before quitting the force, he has to be sober. before falling in love with kim, he has to be sober. before accomplishing anything, starting any sort of recovery, making any life improvement, he must first be sober.

sobriety as a goal, as a journey, and honestly as a concept in of itself is not as cut and dry as so many people think it is. and i think it would serve a lot of people well if they did some introspection on the implications of how nearly every single post-canon fic that isn’t dealing directly with harry’s addiction have him as completely sober instead.

if the plot of the fic isn’t going to touch directly on harry’s substance use (and again, i’m not demanding that every single fic should), why does that mean that sober!harry must be the default?

i think i am just tired of reading a casefic, a smutty one-shot, a fantasy au, whatever, where it almost seems that before getting on with the plot, the author feels obligated to first assure us that the harry we’re reading about is a Sober Harry. it’s established with a couple lines in the exposition, probably about his improved appearance, a tag up top, and then never brought up again; a checkmarked box. like the societal image of An Addict has completely prevented people from being able to imagine a person just, continuing to live life, while still struggling with addiction.

life happens, with all of its backslides and achievements, mundanity and changes, to people with drug addictions just as much as people who don’t. is a post-canon harry who isn’t sober not worth writing about?

i think so. i think the game we all played thinks so too. in fact i think that sentiment is woven into the game’s very core. i just wish i saw that reflected in our fan content more.

[thebibliosphere]

did you get hpv vaccines? theres /some/ evidence that it can be the trigger for pots in some (obv very few) people, i think it might have been for me so i have mixed feelings about it

I did not, but I want to get it done and will be doing so once I get my other more pressing vaccines out of the way because the benefit of preventing cervical cancer are worth it to me as someone with a family history of that cancer.

I’m going to say something that will likely get a lot of people’s backs up: but I do believe people when they say vaccines cause them to develop health issues like dysautonomia or MCAS.

How can I not when every time I get a vaccine it has to be done under strict observation with an epi pen at the ready?

But:

I also believe, based on my own research, talking to countless people with similar issues online and discussions with my own specialists, that those individuals were pre-disposed to such issues and if it hadn’t been the vaccine that got them, then it would have been something else that eventually caused the symptoms to develop.

There is an under-explored genetic factor to mast cell dysfunction and mast cells can play a role in autonomic failure conditions, like POTS, regardless of whether the person suffers the classic allergic reactions more commonly associated with mast cell dysfunction.

Sometimes, something triggers the immune system the wrong way and that’s the catalyst.

It could be a vaccine, or an otc medication safe enough to give to infants. Sometimes it’s a virus or a bacterial infection. Sometimes you’ll just be chugging along and your genetics decide to hit you with a steel chair. It’s unfortunately just your luck of the draw.

And I understand people get validly frustrated and angry when vaccines do this to them, because they’re doing the right thing to protect themselves. It’s just deeply unfortunate that they had this type of immune response that is poorly understood and unpredictable. My hope is that as mast cell research grows, solutions will be found to help prevent it or at least mediate it.

Personally, in the meantime, I’ll take the risk of the vaccine over what the virus might do to me, but that’s because I’ve seen what “mild” viruses can do to people when their immune system is already primed to self-destruct.

I’ve got friends who caught common colds and haven’t left their beds in years because it caused them to develop ME/CFS so severe they never bounced back. It’s wild all the ways the human body can break without killing us.

If the vaccine was the cause of your POTS, I’m sorry that happened to you. It’s shit when it happens. Hopefully it’s some small solace knowing you’re better protected from HPV and the complications that can arise from it, though I wouldn’t blame you if you’re not there yet. Grieving a chronic and lifelong condition like POTS is a shitty, difficult thing. I wish none of us had to go through it.

[ddarker-dreams]

A Deal's a Deal.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, violence against minor characters, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of alcohol. Word count: 5k.

Next

“... Sorry. This one’s no good either.” 

Sighing dejectedly, you sink into your seat. 

You can’t tell if your companion’s disappointed. He maintains a neutral countenance, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. Still, you study him, awaiting some visual indication before moving the conversation forward. He must sense your intentions, for he catches your gaze and smiles. 

“Should we call it a day? You look tired.” 

“The hell? Isn’t it considered taboo to tell a lady she looks tired?” You grumble. “And here I thought you were Casanova incarnate. You’ve got to work on your charisma stats.” 

Chrollo shrugs halfheartedly. “What point is there if you’re immune to my many charms?” 

“Let’s be real — ‘many’ is overdoing it, a little humility won’t hurt. I commend your budding self-awareness, though. At least we’ve made progress on that front.” 

He hums, offering no rebuttal. You realize that you’ve perked back up, reinvigorated by his goading. He certainly knows how to get people going. Among his defining features, that’s one of the first you recognized; his uncanny way of orchestrating favorable outcomes. 

Sipping your preferred warm beverage, you canvass your surroundings. 

The café’s less crowded than when you came in. There are still a few students typing away on their laptops while consuming a concerning amount of caffeine. In the corner sits an elderly couple, whose order you overheard by virtue of the volume it was placed at — “Give me a regular coffee. Straight black, none of that ‘appaccino, grand venti’ nonsense. Decaf for my wife.” 

(You prayed for the barista’s sanity when he tried explaining the different ways ‘straight black’ could come). 

“... I am losing my touch, aren’t I?” Chrollo murmurs. You snap your head in his direction, having temporarily forgotten his existence. “You prefer older men?” 

You almost choke mid-sip. “Pleh…! That’s it, I’m retiring, good luck sorting your issues out.”

“You don’t mean that.” 

“How I wish you were wrong,” you deadpan. Lifting his phone off the table, you scroll through its contents. There’s nothing new to look at. “An exorcist, huh? You’re positive that’s a real thing?” 

“They exist. They’re just rare, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

“I blame the Protestant Reformation.” 

The skin beneath his eyes wrinkles. “... Cute.”  

His compliment makes you frown. 

“Quit it with the flattery, already.” 

“Flattery implies a degree of insincerity, no?” He challenges. “You of all people should know when I’m being genuine.” 

“You make it sound like I’m a walking polygraph.” 

His lips part and close as he considers his response. “That isn’t how I view you.” 

This guy’s clever with his word choice, you think. Too clever.

Disliking where this conversation might go, you redirect. 

“This ‘Hunter’ site you’ve been using… is there any way for me to access it?”

“Feeling a bit impatient, are we?” 

There’s a patronizing lilt to this tone that has you inhaling sharply. Closing your eyes, you ball your hands into fists, willing your agitated mind to relax. Your goal feels so close. This future you never believed possible dangles above your head, only to recede as if you were Tantalus whenever you grasp for it. Needling Chrollo won’t get you any closer, but at least it gives you something to do, mimicking progress. 

“The Hunter site has various measures in place to prevent account sharing. You don’t want to end up on their radar,” Chrollo retrieves his phone and tucks it into his coat’s pocket. “While your enthusiasm’s admirable, I suggest you leave this part to me.”

You swallow thickly. “... Right.” 

“Are you upset?” 

“No, I’m not,” you rest your hands on your lap. “Just, y’know. Reminded that we’re from two different worlds.” 

Outside the café’s windows, individuals from all walks of life bustle about. Some are on their phones, others chatting with friends, or holding their partner’s hands. It’s a picturesque display of normalcy. They’re likely thinking about what to have for dinner, when to set their alarm for the following day, if they can squeeze out of plans they halfheartedly agreed to over the weekend; you know this because you aspire to live the same way. 

“You’re closer to mine than you think.” 

A fervent disagreement blazes then turns to ash on your tongue. There’s an unidentifiable quality to his stare — neither kind nor outright malicious — almost clinical in its effort to elicit a reaction. You stir in your seat. Despite your time together, he’s as much an enigma as he’d been upon your first meeting. Charming and courteous, yet lacking genuine warmth, like a faux candle. 

“Do you get some kick out of riling me up?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Your expressive nature is endearing. I can’t help myself.” 

His words resonate with such clarity that you can’t help but wish he’d been a little dishonest. 

“I’m not a toy for you to entertain yourself with.” 

His smile makes you squirm. 

“I know you aren’t.” 

“Then what—” you cut yourself off, fearing what might occur if you continue your original line of questioning. “Man, you’re exhausting to deal with. Has anyone ever told you that you have an awful personality?” 

“Few get to be around me enough to comment on its quality.” 

“I’m counting down the days until I’m no longer a member of that inner circle.” 

Before Chrollo can respond, his phone audibly vibrates. Newfound excitement overwhelms you at the sound. He glances at the notification and nods, confirming your speculation. He places it in your eager hands. While you prepare, he steeples his fingers and leans forward, intrigued as always with your work. 

You relax your breathing. This entire process is based on intuition, chasing after faint sensations until your desired outcome manifests. A pliable force thrums through you — what Chrollo refers to as ‘aura’ — awakening from its dormant state. Mindful of your public surroundings, you keep your dominant hand beneath the table. Where there was once nothing, a three-dimensional object rests snugly against your palm. Buttons of varying utility jut outward along its perimeter. This small item, shaped like a cassette recorder, stirs antipathy in your heart. 

Holding down rewind, the cassette whirrs to life. You prepare to record the latest audio note sent in for analysis. 

Instant Replay (One More Time!).

These past few months have seen your ability frequently leveraged. It was your personal conviction to refuse its use, lest paranoia eat away at you. However, freedom from this bondage necessitates further entanglement. You’ve parted with your long-standing morals, primed to pick through the syllables of others for your own purposes. 

Right and wrong no longer concern you. 

All you care about is surrendering this loathsome ability to the man sitting across the table. 

-

The night air is unforgiving in its chill. It infiltrates your layers of clothing with laughable ease, seeping into your marrow and demanding that you shiver as recompense. Gritting your teeth, you pick up your pace, cursing the parking garage’s elevator for being out of order. You knew parking at your friend’s apartment complex was sparse, but this is a new record. 

The heels of your shoes click against the concrete staircase as you rapidly ascend. A pale, yellowish hue illuminates your path, the lights occasionally flickering. The moon must be feeling shy tonight, for it hides behind thick, stationary clouds, refusing the world its silvery guidance.

Upon arriving on the third floor, you hear an ominous crackle in the distance. 

The consequences are immediate. Intuition tells you to pause, goosebumps erupting over your flesh from head to toe. Darkness swallows your surroundings whole in inky blots. Blinking rapidly, your eyes struggle to adjust. You feel around for your phone and turn the flashlight on. The sudden loss of power perplexes you, did the building’s breaker trip? From what you can see, the rest of the street is unaffected. 

You’re about to resume your journey when you feel something cold press against your temple. 

“Don’t move,” a deep voice demands. The roar of a car’s engine echoes nearby, as does the hurried screech of tires. “Not so much as a fucking inch.” 

Anxiety sets your every nerve aflame. You go stiff as a corpse, and perhaps you may have been mistaken for one, if not for the thunderous pounding of your heart. The moisture in your mouth dries up. Tortuous seconds drag on, devoid of any further commands. You’re ready to offer up your purse, wallet, or anything else he insists on, but he’s eerily silent. 

A pair of approaching headlights blind you. 

Is this more than a robbery? You struggle to comprehend the nightmarish events. The man holding you hostage radiates agitation, shifting his weight from foot to foot. In doing so, the barrel drags along your sweat-slicked skin. His apparent sloppiness has you weak in the knees — it’s your life hanging in the balance, why is he acting like the situation is reversed? 

Abruptly, the vehicle veers off course, crashing into a line of parked cars. A terrible cacophony follows. Glass shatters, metal debris shrieks whilst scattering, and car alarms angrily sound in disunity. What you’re witnessing doesn’t feel like real life. Your disbelief is mutual, for the man holding you captive spews curses.

You hear a click by your side; the gun’s safety being disengaged. 

“Shit!” He maneuvers you in the direction of the crash like you’re a shield. “There’s no way we were followed, no way, we did everything perfect—” 

The man never finishes his sentence. 

There’s a wet gurgle, then a wheeze, as something warm splatters on you from behind. Bile rises up your throat as the wretched noises continue. He must’ve fallen to the ground, for you no longer sense his lumbering presence, or feel the cold kiss of metal on your skin. Regardless, you refuse to budge. You squeeze your eyes shut and tremble wildly. 

“There, there. You’re safe now. ♥” A rich baritone speaks from behind. 

His declaration comes out discordant, belying the reassuring contents. You bristle at the new threat that’s presented itself. If what came before was a house cat, then this is an apex predator, the king of the jungle. The air around him feels oppressive, almost noxious. Even without a firearm directed at you, your panic reaches its zenith, soaring to heights untraversed. 

“Hm? Still scared? Ah, that’s right,” he muses to himself. “Chrollo said you’re sensitive to dishonesty. This could be troublesome.” 

“You… you know Chrollo?” 

“So you’re not in a catatonic state — how reassuring.” 

Slowly, you turn around, sensing a distinct lack of ill intent. Flashlight in hand, you try to make sense of what you witness. The scene that greets you is gruesome beyond your wildest expectations. The man who you assume held you at gunpoint has collapsed onto the ground, his jugular slit clean. Blood gushes from the wound like a geyser, forming a crimson puddle around his head. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, nearly bulging from the sockets. Liquids ooze from every visible orifice and a foul odor rises alongside them. This pitiful creature could’ve been your end. Instead, he met his, departing this world in abject terror. 

Unexpectedly, his muscles twitch. Out of reflex, you jump back and yelp. 

“Rest assured, he’s dead as a doornail.” 

“Why…” you wet your dry lips, “What… what just…?” 

While you stumble over your words, the building’s power makes a triumphant return. The lights flash intermittently, then go steady, allowing you an unobscured vantage point. Before you stands a tall, bizarrely dressed individual, with bright red hair. His beady, yellow eyes have a predatory gleam to them that he doesn’t bother suppressing. He holds a playing card in his claw-like hands, the three of spades. 

It’s coated in fresh blood. 

Your eyes fall to the fatal wound on your assailant's throat, the gears in your head turning. 

You take a step back. 

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” With a flick of his wrist, the offending card disappears, though its memory burns strong. “I’m Hisoka, Chrollo’s… colleague of sorts. Now, there’s no need to introduce yourself. I’m well acquainted with you. ♥” 

Is that supposed to make you feel better? 

You couldn’t hide your suspicion if you tried. At the very least, there’s no indication that was a lie. However, his familiarity with you is a double-edged sword. If he’s crafty, he can outmaneuver your ability. Dishonesty isn’t black and white, there are loopholes to avoiding your detection. For instance, one can remain purposefully oblivious, lie by omission, or speak in vague terms. These gray areas pass you by as if you lacked this ‘sixth sense’ to begin with. 

He was lying when he said I’m safe now, you recall. But he doesn’t seem interested in harming me…? Something isn’t adding up.

After much deliberation, you ask, “So you just happened to run into me?” 

“Nope. I’ve been following you,” he freely admits. Your aghast expression makes him laugh. “What’s the matter? You were baiting me for the truth, were you not? You’re welcome to have it. ♦” 

In your heightened state of sensitivity, you sense multiple presences converging nearby. Security guards, if you had to guess. You weigh your options. If you stay here, you’ll undoubtedly be harassed for a story that explains the chaos. Telling the truth would land you in a straight jacket whereas deception guarantees cuffs. Leaving in your car is off the table too, you’d be dubbed an important witness. There’s no way you can claim you drove by the carnage without noticing anything. 

“I can help get you out of this debacle,” he offers. “We’re both seeking the same end — the return of Chrollo’s Hatsu. The latest recording I’ve obtained is most promising. So, I’d rather we don’t continue this conversation in prison. ♣” 

Hisoka takes a step forward and extends his hand.

The security guards are getting closer, you think. There’s no time left.

And so you make your choice. 

-

You didn’t think places like these existed outside of the movies, or maybe you just don’t get around enough. 

You’ve found yourself in what you can only describe as a biker’s bar. The decor is old-fashioned, slightly worn yet authentic. There are pool tables, too many televisions to count, and a functioning jukebox nestled in the corner. Rough-looking men wearing leather jackets make up the main clientele. Fortunately, it’s Hisoka who draws the most attention, his gaudy getup acting as a magnet for the eyes. No one pays you any mind. 

For the second time this week, a weirdo treats you to drinks. The main difference is that this is a depressant and not a stimulant. 

You take hearty sips to calm your nerves. All that happened feels so surreal, like a collection of grotesque images that would be blurred out in a documentary. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You want to be normal, untethered by the oddity that is Nen, the ‘world’ Chrollo inhabits. You decided long ago that nothing good can come from it. Maybe if you were more adventurous, prone to taking high risks for high rewards. 

But you’re not. 

Endless money, power, and influence don’t sound appealing. Sure, there’s an allure initially, until you consider reality. Lots of money means either lots of taxes or lots of tax evasion. You barely know what a W-2 form is, much less the hoops you’d have to jump through if your income exploded. Power and influence aren’t all they’re cracked up to be either. All that scheming to stay at the top would take away from what makes life truly worth living — reading Wikipedia articles and watching eight-hour-long videos analyzing a video game from two decades ago. 

“Holy shit,” you press pause on the cassette recorder. “This Abengane guy’s the real deal.” 

“Oh?” 

“He’s familiar with getting rid o’ Nen. During his… huh, what’s it called again… oh. Yeah. Audition. Durin’ his audition for Greedy Island—” 

“ —Greed Island.” 

You wave his correction off. 

“—Yeah, yeah, whatever. But, basically, he’s legit. How’d ya even come across this?” 

“Magic. ♥” 

You make a face. “Is everyone who uses Nen annoying?” 

“Some more than others.” 

Speak of the devil. Craning your neck, you’re met with piercing gray eyes. Unlike Hisoka, Chrollo isn’t dressed like he’s auditioning for the circus. Instead, he comes across as a guy who’s going to pitch the worst idea for a startup you’ve ever heard. He’s wearing a dark blazer with a gray turtleneck beneath it, along with white pants and black loafers. You’re about to make your joke known when something about Chrollo’s demeanor changes your mind. Intensity pours off him in waves, giving you pause. 

“Good news, boss. We found your exorcist.”

The title Hisoka uses to refer to him has you tilting your head. He did refer to himself as Chrollo’s ‘colleague,’ but the word boss implies hierarchy. 

“I heard,” Chrollo smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not rushing back to Greed Island to track him down.” 

He slides into the booth beside you while never looking away from Hisoka. The tension brewing in the air perplexes you. Shouldn’t this news be a cause for celebration? You’ve helped Chrollo search for a Nen exorcist for months now. Chrollo’s been searching for a Nen exorcist for months now. You’re uncertain what reaction you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

“All in due time. I’d hate to cut my time with your little assistant short.”

Hisoka makes a point of looking you up and down. 

Somehow, Hisoka has made Chrollo seem normal by comparison. Disliking the attention, you reach for your drink, only to notice how light it is. Have you already drunk that much? While inspecting the near-empty glass, you realize the room’s starting to feel warm. The stress of what you endured must’ve impaired your judgment. 

What time is it, anyway? Do I have work tomorrow? 

Your watch reads 2:05 a.m.

Shit. 

“I need— need to get going…” 

“Why the rush?” Hisoka questions. “Things were just starting to get interesting. ♥” 

You ignore him and stare Chrollo down, waiting for him to move aside so you can leave. Instead of getting up, he leans closer, pursing his lips. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Heat creeps over your face, from your cheeks to your ears. There’s no denying that the bastard’s handsome. Your friends love teasing you about him for that very reason. They never believe your insistence on having a ‘strictly platonic’ relationship, some even have bets for when you’ll end up together. 

Maybe you would’ve considered it if you didn’t know about his Nen proficiency. 

There aren’t any readily available statistics for Nen, but if you had to guess, you’d say most of the population is ignorant of its existence. People who do know about the Hunter’s Association consider it a private enterprise that specializes in exploration and taking on contract jobs. According to Chrollo, this is by design. You can barely go about your day pretending there aren’t superhumans roaming the planet, doing all sorts of crazy nonsense. 

Society would plunge into chaos if the knowledge reached them. 

You hear what sounds like your name coming from underwater. 

Blinking sluggishly, you discover Chrollo’s hand on your shoulder. “Hm? What?” 

“I’ve been calling your name,” he speaks languidly, likely for your benefit. “Are you alright?” 

“Well…” you trail off, pondering the question. “... Mm, yeah, probably not. I gotta get home, and— god, my car— it’s still back there. I don’t want… I can’t…” 

The anxiety you thought you buried resuscitates itself. It’s dull compared to earlier, yet your breathing grows shallow and your hands feel clammy. Your intenses churn like a parasite had been embedded inside. Everything feels far away, as if you’re in a dream, physically present yet mentally adrift. 

You could’ve died. 

You almost died. 

You’d fought desperately to scrub your mind of this knowledge, but the bottle can only do so much. 

“Say, Chrollo,” with a nearly imperceptible motion, Hisoka summons a playing card between his middle and pointer fingers. “If I were to slice her pretty neck, what would you do?”  

The old-fashioned glass Hisoka had been sipping from cracks. 

Pressure invades the air like a thick, heady fog, so tangible in its potency, that the chatter elsewhere dies down. The sudden silence allows for the clinging of billiard balls to reverberate throughout. Patrons glance around, vaguely aware that something is wrong, yet ultimately unable to identify the source. This primal sense of foreboding evaporates as swiftly as it arrives. The lively atmosphere reemerges, until all present seem to have forgotten anything unusual ever occurred. 

Hisoka absentmindedly cleans up the glass shards, piling them into the corner while Chrollo drums his fingers along the table. Chrollo’s jaw is set and the skin between his eyes is pinched in contemplation. 

Hisoka lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is turning into a bore. I was confident you’d lose your cool, even if just a bit…” 

“Pathetic.” 

The unexpected vitriol has them both turning their heads in your direction. Chrollo blinks, while Hisoka tilts his head, staring at you owlishly. 

He points to himself. “Me?” 

“Yeah, you! You’re like— one of those birds, those showoff birds… dancing with your colorful feathers… ‘nd stuff…” your speech isn’t the most coherent, unaided by the irritation that’s boiling your blood. You leer at him, fed up with everything, especially whatever schemes he’s roped you into. A rough picture is presenting itself, one stroke at a time. To Hisoka, you’re nothing more than glorified bait. You don’t know if he played a role in engineering the evening’s events, but it wouldn’t be a surprise. 

At the very least, he admitted to following you. Even if he was a third party, he could’ve disposed of the impending threat. Instead, he waited, exposing you to bloodshed for his own ends. You wish you could come up with a more scathing insult. Unfortunately, your temple is throbbing and clear enunciation grows harder as your body digests the liquor you inhaled. 

Hisoka looks at Chrollo. “I’m a bird?” 

“She’s calling your bluff,” Chrollo clarifies. “Had you intended to follow up on your threat, she’d know.” 

You’re glad Chrollo realized what you were going for. The diatribe sounded better in your head. Nonetheless, he’s communicated the essence of things, lacking as it is in panache. Hisoka hums, eyeing you like you’d make for a fine appetizer before the main course. 

“You must have kept that detail from me on purpose. What an intriguing ability. ♥” 

Chrollo brushes aside his comment and refocuses his attention on you. “I’ll drive you home.” 

“But my car—” 

“I’ll handle it,” Chrollo reassures. 

He slides out from the booth and stares at you expectantly. You get the sense that trying his patience isn’t a good idea; his encounter with Hisoka must have soured his mood. He helps steady you as you stand, securing his arm behind your back. Neither of you acknowledges Hisoka while making for the door, though you can feel his eyes tracking your every movement. 

Upon emerging from the bar, the cool air you deplored earlier feels like a godsend. You hear cars rushing up and down the street, indicating the presence of a highway. Other than that, you don’t recognize the area. It’s a small, decrepit outlet, featuring shops plastered with neon signs and bars over the windows.

Chrollo ushers you in the direction of a black, unmarked McLaren.

“If you’re gonna do all that, at least get a less basic color… like pink…” 

“I’ll give it some thought.” 

Once you’re in the passenger seat, he fixes the strap of your purse and then buckles you in. It isn’t long until you’re on the road. He stays in the slow lane, mindful to avoid abrupt motions. You recline back and rest your head, hugging your arms close to your body. At the next red light, he sheds his coat, draping it over your person. The cashmere fabric is soft on your skin, embedded with his cologne and warmth. This, paired with the low hum of the engine has your eyelids growing heavy. You try resisting the temptation. 

“Thank you.” 

“Hm? For what?” 

“... Are you serious?” you murmur. “For comin’ to get me.” 

“Of course.” 

Relief rushes over you as the surrounding area becomes recognizable. Traffic is nonexistent this time of night, it shouldn’t be but a few more minutes until you’re home. Then you can crash out on your bed and deal with the existential weight of reality in the morning. Work can fire you for all you care, you just want to sleep. If you were on your deathbed, you’re ninety percent positive they’d ask you to find shift coverage before you croaked. 

Chrollo pulls into your apartment complex, parking as close to the entrance as he can. 

You fiddle with your seatbelt, intending to make the rest of the trip by yourself.

He places his large, calloused hand over yours, preventing further progress. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He doesn’t respond. His thumb rubs slow, steady circles against your skin. You swallow a growing lump in your throat. He hasn’t been himself all night. Or, to be more precise, he’s showing you a side of himself he’s hitherto kept hidden. You always knew there was more to him than he let on. You never wanted to open that Pandora's box, lest your plans be jeopardized. Playing with fire has its risks, yet cauterizing your personal wounds took priority. You don’t know if you have the right to pray the rest of your being doesn’t go up in flames. 

“I assume you’re aware of my fondness for you?” 

“I— well…” you stumble over your words, then meekly ask, “Is now really a good time for this?” 

Chrollo lowers his head and smiles. “No, I suppose not.” 

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. 

“One more question, then I’ll let you go,” he looks up at you through thick lashes, an enigmatic gleam passing over his eyes. “Do I frighten you?” 

Your body tenses. He addresses you so softly, so sweetly, had you not witnessed his mouth moving, you would’ve mistaken his voice for belonging to another. Your facilities aren’t functional enough to properly process his query. Perhaps that’s the point — him cornering you at this vulnerable junction. You don’t get why. You don’t think you could even if you were sober. 

Chrollo, for his part, seems to acknowledge he won’t get far in your current state.

Or maybe he gleaned his answer.

He lifts your hand to his lips, where he presses a lingering kiss. You can’t bring yourself to be the first to pull away. He lingers a while longer, as if stuck in a trance. When he does part, the skin tingles in his absence.

“I’ll be in touch.” 

-

For the past week, you’ve carried on as if nothing ever happened. 

It’s easier this way. There are instances where your performance is threatened, like when you ran across a news article detailing the ‘grisly murder of two men at a parking garage on 9th St,’ yet these lapses can be smoothed over. Ignore, distract, forget. This cycle lends you a credence of normalcy and eases you back into everyday life. 

You haven’t seen Chrollo since that night. You suppose he’s preoccupied with his arrangements to meet the Nen exorcist. While you don’t know the specifics, you imagine he’ll have to meet this Abengane in person. In the recording, he addressed two men — named Battera and Tsezguerra — where he proved himself qualified to enter ‘Greed Island.’ Aside from a few anonymous forums, information on this mythical game is sparse. All you know is that the price is exorbitant and that Battera obsessively tracks down every copy available. 

Wherever there’s Nen, things inevitably get weird, you think.

You begin tidying up your apartment. First is drying off the dishes, which saw their first use all week for a much-needed home-cooked meal. While doing so, your phone vibrates. You throw the damp rag down in a hurry and check the screen. All you find is a notification about your upcoming menstrual cycle. Sighing, you put your phone down on the counter. 

Chrollo had been truthful when he promised to take your Hatsu for assisting in the return of his. A part of you is relieved by his absence; the other is frustrated. You want to get this over with. It’s like when you have an appointment later in the day and spend the time leading up to it in a limbo, not wanting to get involved in anything until the commitment is over. Is it possible he already took it? Curious, you hold your dominant hand out. You haven’t used Instant Replay since the night at the biker’s bar. 

Aura surges through you, concentrating at the palm of your hand. Much to your disappointment, the light pink cassette tape appears. Maybe it no longer works? As a test, you rewind the recording of the audio Chrollo provided at the café. Once primed, you press play, listening attentively for certain cues. 

“It is my great honor to profess that I, Lilith, can purge you of any ailment, even scourges derived from Nen — for a small donation of…” 

The self-proclaimed Mistress of Panaceas sounds increasingly garbled as her lies surface. Clicking your tongue, you deactivate your ability. Everything remains operational. You don’t know what you expected, you’ve overheard the telltale sounds of lying the past few days. It just hasn’t been directed at you, which weakens the effect. 

Will you really have to endure this the rest of your life? 

Shortly into resuming your task, there’s a knock at your door. 

You ignore it, not in the mood to deal with a neighbor asking for something. After thirty or so seconds, there’s another round of knocking. You suppress a groan. Why can’t the world sense that you’re moody and let you brood in peace? Trudging over, you try to put on a pleasant face, unwilling to lash out on others even if you’re in a terrible mood. Erring on the side of caution, you glance out the peephole. 

Upon doing so, you almost lose your balance.

…

He must’ve decided he kept you waiting long enough.

[spr1ngpvrinbunny]

Wait a minute what about the playtime co. employees? What do they see when you and Dr Sawyer work together? Are they weirded out by it or they just don't notice the dynamic between you two at all lol

The Playtime Co. employees definitely notice the dynamic between you and Dr. Sawyer. The real question is: what do they think about it?

👀 The Observers (A.K.A. Everyone Else at Playtime Co.)

The thing about Harley Sawyer is that he’s… Harley Sawyer. People don’t exactly get close to him. Most are either terrified of him, actively avoiding him, or just accept that he exists in a different orbit—one filled with cold logic, sharp words, and a complete lack of human warmth.

So when you come along? When you, of all people, seem to not only tolerate him but actually interact with him in ways that don’t involve sheer terror or submission? Oh, people notice.

But their reactions? They vary:

🧩 The Confused Ones

Some employees just… don’t get it.

“Wait… so they work with Dr. Sawyer and they’re still alive? And sane?”

“Are they being blackmailed?”

“Maybe they just haven’t realized what he’s really like yet. Give it time.”

They assume you’re either:

Some kind of anomaly who hasn’t yet experienced the full horror that is Harley Sawyer.

Too stubborn (or oblivious) to realize you should be scared of him.

😨 The Terrified Ones

Then there are the people who already fear Harley and assume that by working so closely with him, you must either:

Be just as dangerous as him.

Have some kind of death wish.

Be completely off your rocker.

They avoid you the same way they avoid him—quick glances, hushed whispers, and a quiet “Nope, not getting involved in whatever that is.”

👀 The Ones Who Are Lowkey Invested

Then there are the employees who have just accepted the weirdness and are thriving off the sheer WTF-ness of it all. They don’t fully understand what’s going on between you two, but they sure as hell pay attention whenever you interact.

Leith Pierre? Absolutely gossiping about it.

Stella Greyber? She pretends not to care but definitely notices the tension.

Even some of the lower-level employees have started making bets on when Sawyer is going to snap—or if you’re somehow immune to his wrath.

👩‍🔬 The Scientific Reactions (A.K.A. What Other Researchers Think)

For the scientists and researchers, it’s more of a morbid curiosity than anything else.

Some think it’s a power dynamic thing—maybe Harley keeps you around because you’re useful.

Some think it’s an experiment (because let’s be honest, if anyone would turn human relationships into a science experiment, it’s him).

And some just don’t care because they have their own work to worry about—until they overhear some cutting remark from Harley that sounds way too close to teasing for comfort.

🔬 Harley’s Perspective: What He Thinks About All This

The funny part? Harley himself doesn’t even acknowledge that people notice. Or rather, if he does, he refuses to care.

If someone stares too long at the way he interacts with you? He stares back until they look away.

If someone dares to ask about it? His response is sharp, cutting, and entirely unhelpful.

“My interactions are none of your concern. Get back to work.”

If Leith Pierre makes a joke about it? Harley ignores him outright. (Or threatens him with something so eerily specific that Leith immediately changes the subject.)

He’s aware of the way people react to your dynamic—but he refuses to justify it. Because to justify it would mean acknowledging that there’s something to justify.

And he is not about to do that.

[covid-safer-hotties]

The US Government Is Shutting Down A Key Covid Website

Tomorrow the US government agency responsible for biomedical and public health research, The National Institutes of Health, will shut down its Covid-19 ‘special populations’ website.

This site hosts a huge amount of information about how to treat covid and long covid in the immunocompromised and in people with HIV, cancer and similar immune supressing conditions - so-called ‘special populations.’

The site is going totally offline.

It’s a shameful dereliction of duty by the NIH which, behind Harvard, is the second largest publisher of biomedical research papers in the world. Doctors and clinicians all over the world use the NIH site for advice and treatment ideas.

And it’s going offline during a massive summer surge of covid infections in the US, a surge that is now topping 1.3 million infections per day. (One of whom was Anthony Fauci, who was infected for the third time last week). A surge killing 750 people a week in the US. Many of whom will be precisely the type of people this website is intended to help clinicians treat.

It’s a scandal.

The message it sends to vulnerable people could hardly be clearer - when it comes to covid, there’s nothing else we can do for you. Sorry. That’s it. We’re done.

It’s so terrifying.

It also sends a terrible signal to the medical community about where we are with covid

and will be materially damaging in efforts to treat vulnerable people, both in the acute stage of the disease and those with long covid.

The move to shut the page down is premised on an entirely false assumption: that we already know everything we’ll ever know about how to manage covid so there’s no point keeping a live web resource because they’ll never be anything to update it with ever again.

This is simply not true. While we know a lot about treating covid four years in, we absolutely do not know everything, not by a long stretch. As evidenced by the hundreds still dying every week in summer 2024. And as for long covid, we know very little about how to treat it. For a start, there is no agreed treatment plan. Absolutely none. But apparently we also know so much about this disease we can start shutting down online resources dedicated to it.

Please imagine for a second if a Trump administration rather than a Biden-Harris administration was doing this.

There would be an outcry.

But this move has so far been greeted by media silence.

It is left to a few disability activists and the covid aware to shout into the social media void.

Not that this is a surprise. This is how it has been for the last two years at least, guided by the business as usual, vax-and-forget strategy. More people have died of covid under the Biden-Harris administration than died under Trump. Despite having vaccines since 2021. You’d never know it by mainstream media coverage.

Some people have written to the director of the NIH, Monica Bertagnolli, and asked them to keep the advice live and up-to-date. If you want to do this her email address is:

monica.bertagnolli@nih.gov

Long Covid Action has archived the site here

Maybe if enough people write to her and enough noise is made the decision will be reversed. Worth a try.

Overall it’s just another grim episode in the handling of the pandemic by the current US administration, an administration who, we should never forget, won power in large part due to the outrage at Trump’s handling of the first nine months of covid.

Solidarity to everyone still trying to protect themselves and their communities from covid against all the odds.

At least we can keep fighting for each other.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 22

Steven grant, Marc Spector, and Jake Lockley + omegaverse

This is written in headcanon format, since I wanted to write about all three but couldn’t think of a way to involve all of them beside headcanons.

on the shorter side, but im still learning how to write omegaverse.

Kinktober 2023 masterlist.

Omega, but not the stereotypical omega. Hes fine taking care of himself, and isn’t weak or easily ordered around. Steven just likes to avoid conflicts, Marc and Jake wont back down from conflicts though.

Steven is an omega, so is Marc, but Jake is an alpha.

Physical body is omega, so even when Jake is fronting their body is still an omega, but Jake is immune to things like other alphas scent or when someone tries to scruff him or force him to submit.

Marc is mostly immune too, only buckling to you, his mate, but that’s because hes chosen to do so cuz he loves you.

Steven does enjoy making a nest in their bed, or wearing your clothes to cover himself in your scent. Marc doesn’t really make nests as a trauma response, and because he doesn’t feel as much of a need for it as Steven, he will bundle up some blankets though if he really needs it.

Steven’s scent is sweeter and milder than the other two, as I imagine their scent changes depending on who is fronting. The core smell is the same, but smaller changes happens so you can easily tell them apart, where others might struggle to do so.

Since their physical body is of an omega, they go into heat, but they tend to leave that to Steven since hes the only one who doesn’t despise it with his entire being.

Being in heat is uncomfortable of course, but Steven also enjoys it cuz it allows him to be taken care of by you and lets him put down his walls. None of them want pups though, so they always make sure to use protection.

Marc might front every now and then during heat when Steven is too exhausted, letting himself bask in his omega needs for a bit. Make sure to not treat him too stereotypically like an omega, he needs you to be rough and in charge, yes, but he will bite you if you try to scruff him or anything like that.

When Jake fronts during heats he just feels uncomfortable and very sweaty, so if he even does front, that’s when he showers and changes the sheets. That’s also when you can rest, as he just wants to cuddle and watch a movie or something.

Sex with them depends on who’s fronting. Steven likes to be taken with some power behind your thrusts, but he also loves slow and passionate lovemaking. Hes also the only one who liked being knotted, even if it won’t lead to pups.

Marc likes having some more power during, so he will ride you like a wild horse, growling and barring his teeth, making sure to scratch at your chest and leave hickeys all over.

Jake likes to do the fucking, be it bending you over the kitchen counter or up against the wall in the shower. He may not have a knot, but if you ever bought him a fake one to wear, he might bust right then and there as hed pounce on you immediately.

Your relationship would never lead to pups, as none of them want to get pregnant or would want you to carry. I just don’t think they’d be comfortable being parents, closest you’ll get is a pet, as they don’t wanna put an innocent kid in danger cuz of their night job.

This doesn’t mean your relationship is lacking anything though, as you guys find other things to find joy in, in your love life. It takes some time getting used too, but after a while it just becomes the norm, so no matter what others think you guys are happy.

[transmutationisms]

do you feel like SSRIs are mostly pseudoscience? I'm not sure if I should be open to trying them or avoid them at all costs since I'm not sure if they even work or if they will mess me up permanently

a preliminary note that i don't find the category 'pseudoscience' to be useful & would classify SSRI research more as 'methodologically shoddy science' or 'ideologically slanted' or 'part of a centuries-long effort on the part of psychiatrists to secure themselves professional prestige by claiming neurobiological etiologies where none are shown to exist' &c &c. imo the notion of 'pseudoscience' is itself pretty positivistic, ahistorical, and ideologically noxious (particularly apparent in any analysis of epistemological imperialism).

that aside: you raise two major issues with SSRIs, namely whether they work and whether they will cause you harm.

efficacy of SSRIs is contested. a 2010 meta-analysis found that in patients with mild or moderate depressive symptoms, the efficacy of SSRIs "may be minimal or nonexistent", whilst "for patients with very severe depression, the benefit of medications over placebo is substantial". a 2008 meta-analysis found a similar distinction between mildly vs severely depressed patients, but noted that even in the latter population, drug–placebo differences were "relatively small" and argued that the differences between drug and placebo in severely depressed patients "seems to result from a poorer response to placebo amongst more depressed patients" rather than from a greater efficacy of SSRIs. a 2012 meta-analysis found some SSRIs consistently effective over placebo treatments, but several authors disclosed major relationships with pharmaceutical companies. a 2017 meta-analysis concluded that "SSRIs might have statistically significant effects on depressive symptoms, but all trials were at high risk of bias and the clinical significance seems questionable" (emphasis added) and that "potential small beneficial effects seem to be outweighed by harmful effects".

when evaluating any of this evidence, it is crucial to keep in mind that studies on antidepressant trials are selectively published—that is, they are less likely to be published if they show negative results!

A total of 37 studies viewed by the FDA as having positive results were published; 1 study viewed as positive was not published. Studies viewed by the FDA as having negative or questionable results were, with 3 exceptions, either not published (22 studies) or published in a way that, in our opinion, conveyed a positive outcome (11 studies). According to the published literature, it appeared that 94% of the trials conducted were positive. By contrast, the FDA analysis showed that 51% were positive.

meta-analyses are not immune to this issue, either. in addition to the problem that a meta-analysis of a bunch of bad studies cannot magically 'cancel out' the effects of poor study design, the authors of meta-analyses can and do also have financial interests and ties to pharmaceutical companies, and this affects their results just as it does the results of the studies they are studying. according to a 2016 analysis of antidepressant meta-analyses,

Fifty-four meta-analyses (29%) had authors who were employees of the assessed drug manufacturer, and 147 (79%) had some industry link (sponsorship or authors who were industry employees and/or had conflicts of interest). Only 58 meta-analyses (31%) had negative statements in the concluding statement of the abstract. Meta-analyses including an author who were employees of the manufacturer of the assessed drug were 22-fold less likely to have negative statements about the drug than other meta-analyses [1/54 (2%) vs. 57/131 (44%); P < 0.001]. [...] There is a massive production of meta-analyses of antidepressants for depression authored by or linked to the industry, and they almost never report any caveats about antidepressants in their abstracts. Our findings add a note of caution for meta-analyses with ties to the manufacturers of the assessed products.

so, do SSRIs work? they are certainly psychoactive substances, which is to say, they do something. whether that something reduces depressive symptoms is simply not known at this point, though it is always worth keeping in mind that the 'chemical imbalance' narrative of SSRIs (the idea that they work by 'curing' a 'serotonin deficiency' in the brain) has always been a profitable myth. look, any medical treatment throughout history has been vouched for by SOME patients who report that it helped them—no matter how wacky it sounds or how little evidence there was to support it. this can be for a lot of reasons: placebo effect, the remedy accidentally treating a different problem than it was intended for, the symptoms coincidentally resolving on their own. sometimes the human body is just weird and unpredictable. sometimes remedies work. i'm sorry i can't give you a more definitive answer about whether SSRIs would help you.

as to potential risks: these are significant. SSRIs can precipitate suicidal ideation, a risk that has been consistently downplayed by pharmaceutical companies and studies. SSRIs are also known to contribute to sexual dysfunction and dissatisfaction, again a risk that is minimised and downplayed in much of the literature and in physician communication with patients. further (known) side effects range through emotional blunting, glaucoma, QT interval prolongation, abnormal bleeding & interaction with anti-coagulents, platelet dysfunction, decreases in bone mineral density leading to increased risk of osteopenia and osteoporosis, jaw clenching / TMJ pain, risk of serotonin syndrome when used in conjunction with other serotonergic substances, dizziness, insomnia, headaches, the list goes on.

i don't mean to sound alarmist; all drugs have side effects, some of the ones above occur rarely, and you may very well decide the risk is acceptable to you to take on. i would, though, always encourage you to do thorough research into potential side effects before starting any drug, including an SSRI. more on SSRI side effects in david healy's books 'pharmageddon', 'let them eat prozac', 'the antidepressant era', and 'the creation of psychopharmacology'; 'pillaged' by ronald w maris; and 'the myth of the chemical cure' by joanna moncrieff.

in addition to the above, SSRIs are known to come with a risk of 'discontinuation syndrome'—that is, chemical withdrawal when stopping the drug. this, too, is often downplayed by physicians; many still deny that it can even happen. some patients don't experience it at all, though i can tell you purely anecdotally that SSRI withdrawal was so miserable for me i simply gave up on quitting for over a year, despite the fact that at that point i was already thoroughly experienced with chemical withdrawals from other, 'harder' drugs. again, i am not telling you not to go on SSRIs if you decide these risks are worth it to you! i simply think this is a decision that should always be made with full knowledge (indeed, this is a core, though routinely violated, principle of medical 'informed consent').

ultimately this is not a decision anyone should make for you; it's your body and mind that are at stake here. as always i think that anyone considering any kind of medical treatment should have full knowledge about it and should be making all decisions freely and autonomously. i am genuinely not pushing any agenda 'for' or 'against' SSRIs, only against prescription of them that is done carelessly, coercively, or without fully informing patients of what risks they're taking on and what benefits they can hope to see.

[valsverse]

𝐞𝐝𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐡𝐜'𝐬

summary. headcanons of your relationship with edmund pevensie while dating. (gn reader)

— straight up fluff, nothing else. PART 1/?

— Edmund leaves little notes everywhere. In the pages of your books, the pockets of your pants, etc. Usually they just consist of sweet words and reminders to eat and take care of yourself as a much needed endorphin boost. He always makes sure to fill up the entire piece of paper, front and back until there's no space to write any more loving words. — Random "I love you"s throughout the day for no particular reason. — Playful arguments over the most miniscule things, I mean seriously, the two of you bicker like a married couple. Edmund can be quite argumentative, but not in the way you expect. No, usually you quarrel over the correct way to toast a piece of bread, topics such as that. None of it is serious of course, nine times out of ten it turns into a tickle fight that ends with a cuddle session anyway. — Edmund naturally smiles excessively around you. He doesn't really think about it, it just happens. Like this guy literally GLOWS when he sees you, it's not even funny. When you look at him, he smiles. When you rant, he smiles. When you talk about your interests, he smiles. No matter where the two of you are and what you're doing, he's always grinning around you, both of you in your own world. — Even though Edmund is one of the most renowned swordsman in Narnia, that doesn't mean he's immune to the occasional injury. And so, you have to tend to his wounds quite often. Sometimes you end up scolding him if the wound was the result of reckless actions and impulsive behavior, and yes he appreciates the concern, but he just thinks it's cute how your lips form into a pout whenever he comes back with a new injury to tend to. He adores how much you care for him, even if it's just through small actions. — Absolute SUCKER for when you kiss his scars. Edmund used to see his scars as a nuisance, only there to remind him of the treacheries of war and danger. But of course, life has different perspectives for different people. So when you came around, reassuring him that his blemishes were a sign of his bravery and strength from the pain he endured, he felt like he was going to cry. And the second your lips came in contact with a particular scar just shy of his collarbone, he immediately felt comfort and a sense of safety wash over him. Maybe it was the warmth of your lips, or the alleviation of your words, whatever it was, it made him feel like maybe everything was going to be okay. — Kisses on the nape and shoulder. (goes both ways) — Since we're on the topic of kissing, Edmund has a thing for tracing your jawline before or while the two of you are kissing, or just sharing an intimate moment in general. He prefers to rest one hand on the curve of your hip, and the other hand caressing your jaw, no matter what the position is. He also enjoys trailing little pecks from the side of your neck to the corner of your lips before he finally presses his lips against yours. — Chess dates!! Yeah, it doesn't sound like the most romantic activity but, cmon, it's Edmund Pevensie. He'll find a way to make it memorable. And while he loves a fair match, (who doesn't?) sometimes he just so happens to "accidentally" put his king in danger and — oh will you look at that, you won. Yeah, maybe he changed up his moves a little so you would win, but it's all worth it to him. He adores the sight of your eyes lighting up, and how you throw your hands up in triumph and shout in glee. While you're busy celebrating, he gazes at you fondly with an impossibly soft look in his eyes. One of his hands is lying on his cheek, supporting his head, while his other hand still remains on his king. Even though he "lost", his smile is wide as ever because as long as you're happy, he's happy.

— On days when he's not busy with training or just occupied with the responsibilities that come with being one of the kings of Narnia, picnic dates are a must. He cooks up your favorite meals and packs them up in a picnic box along with the traditional red and white checkered blanket, and off you go. It's kind of just a de-stresser for him. Quality time with you and a home cooked meal to go along with it. Sometimes he brings you to brings you to picturesque flower fields, or the patch of green grass directly in front of the river front. No matter where it is, Edmund has his reasons for why he chose those specific locations. They always remind him of you. The two of you watch the sun slowly disappear under the horizon as you both lay on the checkered blanket, with your head resting on his chest and his arm lazily wrapped around your waist, it looks just like a scene straight out of a fairytale.

— On days when he's not busy with training or just occupied with the responsibilities that come with being one of the kings of Narnia, picnic dates are a must. He cooks up your favorite meals and packs them up in a picnic box along with the traditional red and white checkered blanket, and off you go. It's kind of just a de-stresser for him. Quality time with you and a home cooked meal to go along with it. Sometimes he brings you to brings you to picturesque flower fields, or the patch of green grass directly in front of the river front. No matter where it is, Edmund has his reasons for why he chose those specific locations. They always remind him of you. The two of you watch the sun slowly disappear under the horizon as you both lay on the checkered blanket, with your head resting on his chest and his arm lazily wrapped around your waist, it looks just like a scene straight out of a fairytale. — Edmund is always eager to prove his love and devotion to you. He's deeply committed to you, and loves to declare it proudly. Sometimes he writes short poems about you, recounting his favorite moments the two of you shared. He describes the way your hair blows in the wind while the two of you are horseback riding, or how your smile is one of his favorite sights, he writes about anything regarding you. He just pours out his feelings onto a piece of paper. And when the stack of poetry about you piles up too high on his desk, he ties it up neatly in a ribbon and places it on your bedside table for you to wake up to. (CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD GUYS 🗣️🗣️ ) — Edmund has a thing for kissing your hand. Like not even as a greeting, just in general. He just thinks of it as another way of showing his love and admiration for you. He brushes his lips against your palm and trails kisses up your fingertips, like HELLO??? — All in all, your relationship with Edmund Pevensie is truly one of a kind. ∙ u guys i know i havent posted a proper story since like may, and honestly i have no excuse i was just being lazy af. also my love for edmund has kind of faded but i started writing this months ago and decided i might as well finish it. ∙ so next time i post, it probably won't be edmund pevensie related, OR MAYBE IT WILL!! i still have many ideas (don't unfollow me pls im sorry LMAO) ∙ until next time, (and trust me, there will be a next time.) xx valerie.

[likelytowritesomestuff]

Hazbin Hotel Headcanons pt 2

(With a sprinkle of 'Helluva Boss')

the Vices and the Goetias are some sort of uncles and aunts for Charlie, so this means...

... Bee totally organized the best birthday parties for Charlie (especially after Lilith left)

... Charlie was one of the first person Asmodeus told her about his relationship with Fizzarolli and she was really happy when they came out as a couple

Charlie managed to convince the elevator guys to let Vaggie visit the rest of Hell in occasion for her first birthday as her girlfriend: in that occasion, they had dinner at Ozzie's, Charlie improvised a duet with Fizz that made Vaggie laugh out loud and then they moved to the party Bee organized for her (Vaggie wasn't immune to Bee's charm and when she realized Charlie had noticed it, she felt ashamed by that, but her girlfriend shrugged because 'Aunt Bee always does this effect to introvert people' and everything turned out okay)

Vaggie had a crush on Lute when she first joined the Exorcist Army, but it didn't last for long... that being sad, it hurt knowing Lute was the responsible for her fall

after it was revealed the Extermination would have been in six months, Vaggie got drunk and started commiserating herself for not being a good girlfriend for Charlie. Husk tried to comfort her, saying that she was the princess's anchor because he heard Charlie saying that (and he has a pair eyes) when Vaggie dropped his secret... the morning after she talked with Husk (in spanish to not be understood by others) and he assured her he would have not revealed the secret because he was none of his business...

... unfortunately spanish is similar to italian and Val occasionally speaks spanish, so Angel asked him what was this big secret Vaggie was trying to hide and Husk told him it was something stupid, nothing important... of course he revealed the truth after the couple came back from Heaven

Lucifer actually cooked pancakes for everyone after the hotel was rebuilt and then spent the next days making personalized ducks for everyone...

... yeah, he even did one for Alastor and agreed to co-parent Charlie in absence of Lilith (Alastor took the duck because 'why not? It's not bad', but then he didn't know how to feel about the other thing because he didn't like to get attached to all the Hotel gang and this was going against his plan)

living in the 40s and 50s means that sometime Vox says some mysoginistic, racist or homophobic stuff, but Valentino and Velvette are always ready to point that out... luckily, Vox is willing to learn and has a long list of the things he can say and he can't say

when they first met, Val started flirting with Vox but Vox was walking eteronormativity due to his upbringing and dismissed his avances...

... but Val had the feeling Vox wasn't straight and after seeing his reaction to the news that Judy Garland had died after he arrived in Hell, he was happy to be right

Then Vox told him that he suppressed his feelings for men all his life and Val offered him to make up for the lost time... and that's how their on and off relationship began

after episode 4, Angel always received flowers and sweets at the studio from the Hotel gang in order to show him support (Val doesn't know that, he thinks those are just presents from Angel's fans)

Lucifer didn't immediately understand Angel's gender, so he tried with female pronouns and when Angel replied, he believed he was a girl until Charlie told him he was male. Actually Angel wasn't really bothered because Lucifer was the only one to use female prounons for him and not in a derogatory way, so sometimes Lucifer still uses them for him

The movie Angel showed to the Hotel gang was the last movie he did before his relationship with Val started to crack... that's why he got so mad when Husk critized it...

... after episode 4, Angel realized Husk did indeed watched some of his movies and Husk admitted he watched a few of his first movies and those are better than the new ones (the new ones as the ones he did with Val) and Angel was happy that someone still remembered those, where plot and quality still mattered

Alastor actually ships Huskerdust! He was the first to notice Husk's attraction to Angel and told the bartender they would have been such a cute couple despite their differences... Husk didn't know how to feel, but at least he was happy Alastor didn't meddle when he and Angel started to get closer

[john-get-the-salt]

Winter Cold (w/spencer reid)

Imagine: A run-of-the-mill winter cold becomes the thing that finally reveals your secret to the team.

Contains: sick reader and sick Spencer taking care of each other, usual bau team shenanigans, a setting where Morgan and Emily are on the team together because that was peak time (imo)

Warnings: None

Snow, thick sweaters, warm drinks-there were countless reasons why you adored the Winter season.

Spending a Sunday morning curled up under a blanket with a hot chocolate in hand while it snowed outside was your love language.

Your body, however, did not thrive under such conditions. You had a terrible immune system so you were extremely susceptible to getting sick. Every winter you had at least one or two boughts of whatever nasty illness was going around that season, be it the flu, strep, etc.

So as winter came around and you got sick like usual, nothing should have been different. Except this year something was different. This winter you had Spencer Reid.

Suddenly you had someone to bring you ginger ale and saltines when your stomach was upset, to make you soup and tea when your throat hurt, to make sure you kept up with your meds and always carried around cough drops for you.

Spencer and yourself had started out as awkward co-workers before slowly becoming friends, which eventually blossomed into something romantic. You told him you loved him about 2 months in after a scare during a case, and he had returned the sentiment when it felt right.

You'd just recently celebrated your 6th month anniversary and everything was going so well except for one teeny tiny minuscule detail....the team didn't know.

You had hoped to gently ease them into the news, but any hope of that got dashed rather quickly on one particular winters day.

•

It was early January and you were fighting off your annual post-Christmas cold. All of the traveling and visiting family had caught up to you and you were suffering the consequences. Your pockets were constantly stuffed full of tissues and you had a permanent stash of cough drops in your desk at the office.

Spencer, the fantastic boyfriend he was, had been taking exceptionally good care of you. You found it slightly annoying that the genius himself hardly ever got sick but you couldn't find yourself mad for long when he was constantly doting on you.

He never fussed about keeping you on track with your antibiotics, never complained when you asked him for a refill of tea, or another box of tissues, etc. But one thing he absolutely loathed was the fact that you wouldn't let him kiss you. On the cheek you allowed, along with the forehead or chin or pretty much anywhere else that wasn't your lips.

You were determined not to pass along the illness to him, so no matter how much he pleaded for just a quick peck you refused. Which, mind you, was no easy feat. 

You stood firm on your ‘no lip to lip contact’ rule for about 3 days which was as long as your self control could hold out before you caved and let your boyfriend give you a firm kiss.

The two of you thought it was fine, no harm done, until 2 days later Spencer woke up with a racketing cough.

As you awoke that morning to a coughing Spencer in bed beside you, you sighed. "Don't tell me I finally you got sick too."

He merely groaned in response, and you pulled yourself out of bed so you could start coffee and fetch medicine for the both of you.

"I knew this was going to happen, I just knew you would get sick," you chided as if you hadn't played a significant role in the passing of said illness.

Spencer took the cold medicine you handed him without a roll of his eyes. "It's really nothing, just a runny nose and a bit of a cough."

"Work is going to be hell today. The team has been giving me grief about coughing, just imagine the ruckus when both of us are hacking our lungs up."

"Well," Spencer leaned down to plant a kiss on your warm cheek. "I consider it an honor to have the ability to kiss you-and then catch your cold. No one else on the team has that, so they can deal. And hey, now that we're both sick we can kiss as much as we want."

You giggled, annoyance vanishing as you leaned down and kissed your boyfriend. He attempted to wrap his arms around you and pull you back into bed but you slapped his hands away.

"As much as I love you and your kisses we do still have to work, Supervisory Special Agent Reid."

He sighed dreamily, a dopey smile on his face, "I love it when you talk FBI to me."

His smile quickly dropped as you whacked him over the head with a pillow.

•

Just as you predicted, the team had groaned as it quickly became apparent that Spencer had caught whatever cold was going around the building.

You and Spence arrived to work together, as you always did, on your very best behavior. After learning you both lived in the same apartment building not long after you joined the team, you started carpooling to work every single day. You had those car rides to thank for your friendship and eventual relationship, though the team did not know that.

But what the team did know, was that you and Spencer could not stop coughing. To make matters worse it was a paperwork day without a case in sight, so the team was stuck listening to the two of you. You apologized profusely, nursing a steaming cup of tea and a bag of cough drops. But it got to the point where everybody-minus you and Spence- voted to seclude you both in the conference room. They insisted it was for your own good, but you were pretty sure they had just gotten tired of listening to the sniffling and coughing.

So you two spent the day sitting in the conference room, talking and attempting to get paperwork done while members of the team popped their head in every so often to check-in and replenish your tea and tissues.

Before you knew it, the day was nearly over. There were still 2 hours left yet to the surprise of no one Spence had finished his paperwork already. Thankfully, he hung around and kept you company while you tried to finish yours.

"I really should have seen this cold coming. You know according to researchers, as many as 80 million bacteria can be exchanged in just one 10 second kiss," Spencer rattled off.

You nodded and hummed, as you always did when your boyfriend rattled off some rare knowledge he likely learned from a book he read once 6 years. You were pretty engrossed in the current paperwork you were filling out, so the insinuation of what Spencer was saying and the environment in which he was saying it didn't really catch up to you until it was too late.

"What are you trying to say pretty boy? You two locking lips?"

Finally remembering where you two currently were, work, you looked up from your papers. Spencer sat frozen in his chair beside you as Morgan and Emily stood in the doorway of the conference room with teasing looks on their faces.

"Uhm...."

All it took was the slight hesitation for Emily's joking smile to drop and her eyebrows to shoot so far up their nearly disappeared into her bangs.

"No way!"

"My man!" Morgan exclaimed, clapping as he walked into the room.

Emily followed, practically skipping towards you. "Wait til we tell the rest of the team. Damn, I owe Rossi $50 though. I thought it'd take til Valentines day."

Your jaw dropped as the shock of your friends knowing began to fade and was replaced with confusion.

"You guys bet on us? On whether or not we were together?"

"Oh no, we knew you two lovebirds were gonna get together. We bet on when you were gonna get together and then tell us." Derek clarified. "I bet Garcia $100 you two would wait until Summer to break the news.

Spencer, despite the situation, laughed. "Well, this isn't quite the way we imagined telling the team, but I guess this is it."

Thinking, you glanced at your two friends, who looked as happy as clams.

"We’ll wait to tell the rest of the team if you cut us into the winnings."

"Deal."

[dreamwritesimagines]

HC that Theo Is Adorable to Everyone and no one is immune. Like since none of the other Professors feel like punishing him because they're used to edgy teenagers with trauma and attitute problems, not perfectly polite little boys that mostly use their powers to lower kittens from trees and accidently ending up shattering a window.

('I can't do that Jean. He's literally a baby, that's illegal' 'I don't want to either.')

They just send him to Logan which is barely a punishment at all to him because he thinks thats The Coolest Man Alive, actually and he likes to bother him with questions about history in his free time anyways,

so one day while Logan is out on a mission and he gets in trouble again (his group of friends are all older boys that are pretty protective of him but still, mischievous) they can't think of ANYTHING. The boy literally VOLUNTEERS to help the cleaning ladies every single day, he's not going to think any of their usual punishments are bad.

They send him to help Charles with some files.

The old professor is delighted by him, Theo loves organizing stuff, for some reason.

Its now one of his new hobbies.

Logan is ready to tear his hair out.

ILY AND I LOVE THIS HONEY OMG OMG-

Wait first of all, we are so gonna have it in the storyyyyy, Theo trying to save a kitten and accidentally shattering a window 🥰 It's such a great idea! ❤️

asdfghjkl everyone trying to pass each other the responsibility to give Theo detention like a game of hot potato 😂

They just send him to Logan which is barely a punishment at all to him because he thinks thats The Coolest Man Alive, actually and he likes to bother him with questions about history in his free time anyways THEO THINKING LOGAN IS THE COOLEST MAN ALIVE I JUST-

Lolll he would be following him around like,

"Mr. Logan sir, how do you know so much about history?"

"I lived it."

"Did you live the whole history?!"

"Kid-"

"Did you see um- did you see Napoleon, sir?"

"Bub, how old do you think I am?"

Lolll and Theo loving organizing stuff! 😂 He would be so happy and even thank them after his detention 😂 So at some point, when Sunshine came to pick him up from school, Logan would be like,

"So uh, question."

"Yes?"

"What...what do you do when he misbehaves?"

"What? Is he in trouble?"

"No no, I'm just asking for future reference-"

"Theo, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything! Did I do something wrong, Mr. Logan sir?"

"No bub- he didn't do anything, really. Just uh- Rogue was curious so that's why I'm asking."

[ghostchems]

smoke break - papa emeritus iii & sibling of sin

you find solace and a private place to smoke when you are caught by the new papa.

author's notes: cranked this out because i was feeling pretty similar to reader here! hence the teensy lil break from here and discord. good thing i could turn it into some 2k words of terzo sads :') there also be some weed smokin' and cuteness. ao3 link

The high, arched window is cracked and a cool breeze seeps into the secluded hall. You’re perched on the alcove with your knees up to your chest, a joint between your fingers that is carefully angled out the window crack. This is a deeply personal ritual of yours when life becomes too much: too much gossip, too many expectations and responsibilities, too much everything. A Satanic Ministry that is a firm promoter in personal freedom is not immune to drama and tension. You take a drag of the joint, filling your lungs with smoke before giving a shaky exhale, leaning your head against the wall. You love it here — you truly do. It’s the first place you’ve ever been able to be yourself. But even the most perfect of worlds can be exhausting.

Papa Emeritus the Third would be departing for his first tour in a few weeks and everyone was in a tizzy over it. Overworking themselves to ensure every aspect (the costumes, the lighting, the finances, etc.) of his debut are perfect and in turn, causing some ruffled feathers. You truly want to be involved but you don’t want to fight for a spot among those that have already asserted their place. So, you’ve drifted away from the rehearsals and the planning meetings, finding yourself in this particular alcove a few times a week to come down from the craziness of the day. Things are changing, so much potential for the ministry and it scares you. You’ve never been here for a transition like this and the influx of new recruits that usually followed. The idea of all this to do culminating in even more members that would change the make-up of the clergy you’ve grown so used to makes your head spin.

“Sorella.”

Your hazy eyes dart up from your lap and land on Papa’s face, his eyes narrowed with the paint around them dark and angled. He is scowling, holding his hand out for the joint. You scramble to hand it to him, your words catching in your throat as you shrink beneath his gaze. Papa is dressed in his robes and mitre, his stature tall and threatening. The sharp, golden nails on his glove prick your fingers as he takes the joint from you, examining it between two fingers. Your chest tightens, certain that you’re in trouble despite the usual lax rules when it comes the marijuana. You’ve never come face to face with the new papa before but if he is anything like Secondo you are expecting a fiery temper. Instead, he brings the joint to his lips and takes a long drag from it. Your jaw nearly drops. None of the higher ups typically indulge in such decadence in this casual a setting.

Papa sighs deeply and hops up onto the alcove, his feet dangling off the ground as he removes his mitre and sets it beside him. Your eyes are glued to how his raven hair spills out from it and he quickly smooths it back into place before taking another drag of the joint.

“What are you doing in this sequestered hall of the abbey, Sorella?” His voice is smooth and friendly, giving you uninterrupted eye contact even as he hands you back your joint. You feel the smoothness of his leather gloves this time, taking the joint back and forcing your body to relax.

“Just needed some space.” You murmur, averting your eyes away from his piercing gaze. Surely Papa has something better to do than speak to you, right?

“Mmm, I understand. Everyone seems to be on these days, don’t they?” He gives you a knowing look, his lips quirking into a grin. Ah, now you see it — his charms that have swept away your fellow siblings. And now you find yourself drifting off into his allure.

“Yes, Papa, and all for your tour debut.” He nearly winces at your words.

“Not for me — for the Ministry.” Papa’s eyes crinkle and there’s a hint of bitterness in his voice. Your brows knit together, confused by his response. Then you start to get a better look at him and notice how exhaustion seems to radiate from him despite his cracked paint hiding the bags beneath his eyes. You’ve always seen Papa Emeritus as some larger than life being but seeing the Third in such a light tugs at your heartstrings. He is probably being worked to death and the expectations for success are much more pressure on him rather than the siblings of sin who are fighting over supporting him. You take a quick rip and extend the joint back out for him to take. He hesitates, then takes it and brings it to his lips.

Of course, you could be reading into things too deeply but you are familiar with his particular look of weariness.

“I’ve sat in on a few rehearsals. I think it’s safe to say some of the excitement is because of you.”

Papa’s expression softens as he puts out the joint on the window sill and flicks it out into the grass. He leans his head against the wall just as you had done and closes his eyes for a moment. Oddly comfortable silence falls over the both of you.

“It’s, eh, quite something, isn’t it?” His head lolls and tilts toward you, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Still, there are times it is difficult to be… present.” It’s hard not to smile back at him, his change in expression infectious.

“Well, I come here to feel like myself again every so often. And to smoke.” You let your own feet dangle off the alcove and wiggle in closer to him. Your gaze falls to his robes, intricate gold designs along the soft black fabric and the bright purple sleeves poking out from beneath, the urge to touch it growing stronger and stronger.

“Go on, dolcezza.” Papa’s voice drops to a low whisper, his eyes taking in the details in your face. You are fully feeling the high now, immediately reaching your hand out so your fingers can brush along the lace details of his sleeves without a second thought. He inches in closer to you, extending his arm out so you can tough even more, his shoulder firm against yours. Papa’s eyes are glued to you as you start to grow more confident, touching the golden grucifixes on the front of his robes. A purr rumbles up his chest and you feel it beneath your fingers. You lift your head and your eyes meet, a breath catching in your throat. Papa leans forward and presses his forehead into yours, a quiet moment passing between you until…

You giggle. You watch his eyes crinkle with glee and he laughs along with you. It's such a surreal moment but a funny one, nonetheless. You can’t shake how boyish Papa looks when he laughs, a contrast to how deathly serious he usually looks in his paints. The laughter starts to peter off, back to slight giggles as you lean back to your side of the alcove. Papa gives an amused exhale, book ended by a few quiet giggles. He bunches up his robe at his waist and dips his hand into the pocket of his pants. Papa gives a quiet grunt and extends his legs, stretching out so he can actually get his hand into his pocket and your eyes dart to how his shirt underneath his robes ride up his stomach, exposing a dark happy trail. It feels sinful to see so much of Papa but you can’t look away, mesmerized by his bare skin. He ends up pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, seamlessly pulling one from the box and lighting it, setting the carton and lighter on the sill.

“I may have to steal this little ritual of yours, sorella.” He purrs with the cigarette between his lips, then takes a deep drag. “There aren’t many places for me to hide away from the eyes of Sister.” Papa’s eyes dart around the hall dramatically before giving another laugh.

“It’s all yours, Papa.” You don’t mind sharing, especially with him. It’s an odd feeling, to have your inhibitions completely stripped, overcome with a hazy high and buddying around with the most high-ranking member of the clergy. You’ve never exactly thought of a Papa being hip or spending much time with random siblings of sin **but the Third seems far more open to it. It makes you feel special. It makes you feel like he might be something special. “What will you do while on tour?”

“Oh, it is much easier to slip away when off premises.” His smile only widens. “In preparation for this role, I spent a lot of time traveling to different branches of the ministry, touring con il mio fratello… we got into a lot of trouble.” Papa chuckles as he gazes at his lit cigarette. “I could easily barricade myself in my hotel room if I truly need some me time.” You laugh, deep and hearty, and seeing his face light up from your response makes you blush. He’s charming. He’s funny. He’s loose. You can’t help but be more excited for his tenure as Papa now that you’ve seen exactly how he is. But even now, you can see his smile falter, his gaze falling back to the empty hallway.

“Papa!” Sister’s voice booms down the hall and he grits his teeth. It’s like he could sense her presence. He quickly taps out his cigarette and flicks it out the window, then jumps off the alcove.

“Eh, I guess I should not have dipped out of the budget meeting.” He shrugs with a weak smile, his robes falling perfectly back into place. You pick up his mitre for him, the weight of it heavy in your hands, handing it to him while your fingertips touch. The weariness is back in his eyes, the creases on his forehead and his frown lines more pronounced than before. You almost say something, your brain processing at a slower speed due to the weed, wanting to ask if he’s okay or needs help but you end up holding your tongue. Is it your place to ask him such things? You start to spiral in your own mind until he snaps you out of it with his smooth voice. “Until our next relaxation ritual.” He places his mitre atop his head and the transformation back to Papa Emeritus the Third is complete.

“D-don’t forget to take breaks, Papa. Everyone needs them.” You had to get it out and you almost regret saying it just from the way he eyes you after. He holds out his hand and takes yours, his thumb stroking the back of it.

“Call me Terzo, dolcezza.” But he says nothing of the breaks. And you know why — he can’t commit to taking them. Not now. Not when the weight of the ministry is on his shoulders. Not when he’s been preparing for this his entire life only for his individualism to be squashed by leadership.

Papa gives your hand a squeeze and then lets you go, his robes billowing behind him as he walks briskly to where Sister had been calling for him. So elegant yet so rushed. You look down beside you and realize he’s left his carton of cigarettes. He’s too far away now to get his attention, so you pick them up and examine them. You realize there is no discernible branding, the carton all black with some golden art deco lines. When you pop the lid open you find neatly packed rolls, obviously rolls he made himself.

You make a mental note to make sure you have them if you see him again at the alcove…

But something tells you you won’t.

[tiredandoptimistic]

favourite tsc short story? favourite and least favourite antagonists?

Ooh, it's hard to choose a favorite short story because there's so many good ones, but The Evil We Love probably has to be my top pick considering that it rewired my brain. It's responsible for making Robert Lightwood one of my favorite TSC characters (I need to dissect his brain) and solidifying the Circle as something I need to know more about. I also really enjoy how the 1984 story is foiled with the present-day one, where all the modern kids don't take the story of Valentine's influence seriously and then end up doing similar stuff because of Isabelle. What I love so much about TMI is that its main thesis is basically "you are not immune to propaganda," and that it's not enough to know who's evil and who isn't; you need to think for yourself and identify when harmful behaviors go too far. I love the Circle generation because all these characters are deeply flawed and complex, but none of them (even Valentine) actually had bad intentions. They were a part of something monstrous, and even if that wasn't what they intended, they still have to deal with the fallout and put in the work to do better in the future. (Honorable mentions to Saving Raphael Santiago, The Whitechapel Fiend, Nothing But Shadows, and Born to Endless Night)

As you might have guessed from my previous answer, my favorite antagonist is definitely Valentine. I love that he's a completely irredeemable genocidal maniac, but at the same time he's motivated by sincere love. The modern kids want him to be evil, but their parents can't see him that way because they really did love him and he really did love them. Same with Jace. He agrees that Valentine needs to be stopped at any cost, but that doesn't change the fact that Valentine was his father and he loved him. It's what makes him such an effective metaphor for fascism, because it shows that people are always people. Trying to claim that oppressors aren't really human or can't really feel love isn't a good system, because it encourages us to try and sort humanity into "good" and "bad," which is exactly what we're trying to avoid. People can still be complex and loving and nuanced while also doing the worst things imaginable to groups they no longer consider to be human, and that potential for love doesn't erase or excuse the damage they do. That complexity doesn't give them a chance at redemption, it just makes them even more effective at manipulating people into seeing their bigoted cause as justified. Similarly, it proves that our heroes need to be vigilant about their own morals, because they've seen how their parents let their good intentions and youthful righteousness guide them down a path of attempted genocide because they were convinced it was the right thing to do. There is no single trait that makes a person immune to doing harm.

Least favorite antagonist is probably Belial, which is unfortunate because TLH is one of my favorite series. I find pure evil villains less philosophically compelling, and Belial just doesn't have the swag that Asmodeus and Sebastian do. Tatiana is also a bit underwhelming overall and I wish that the series dealt more with her human side instead of making her basically pure evil over teen drama, but Grace is one of my favorite characters and I do really enjoy Tatiana's role as Grace's abusive mother. TLH is more about the characters to me though, so I'm fine letting the antagonists motivate the plot without being interesting on their own. Sebastian on the other hand is really effective as a villain, but he's an allegorical mess (which I've complained about at length in other posts), so even though I enjoy watching him be evil I can't help but be frustrated by the missed opportunity to make him more complex. Oh, also I was insanely disappointed by Annabel in QOAAD; I wanted to see her wreck shit but she just got sidelined as a villain in favor of AU Sebastian and a Trump metaphor? Let her kill more people.

Thanks for the ask! I'm definitely open to getting more of these!

[problemnyatic]

maybe internet leftism would be more effective if so much of it wasn't framed in this sneering, shame-on-you language that seems mote intent on guilting people for not being leftist enough than actually extending an understanding hand to people who people who, believe it or not, do actually realize that something is deeply wrong with society despite not being Properly Enlightened And Educated on All Of Leftist Theory as to why.

Yeah, we all post the You Are Not Immune To Propaganda jpeg, but do you still have an internal threshold of propaganda exposure by which others stop being human to you? Do you write off anyone who doesn't already understand the things you do as stupid? Do you understand that to create a genuinely far-reaching movement, you need to be willing to reach people that are substantially different than you and meet them on their level?

Yeah you believe everyone deserves human rights, but do you actually respect the differences in life experince you'll face when engaging with people outside your circle of theory-reading leftists?

And just to be excruciatingly clear: none of these are rhetorical questions. None of these are accusations, and if your response to these questions is to get defensive rather than to self-reflect on whether your practices reflect your principles, I urge you to then ask yourself if your desire to create effective change is being impeded by your apparent need to feel like a "good leftist".

I really, really get feeling frustrated with the world, with how fucking many people seem content to just buy propaganda, with how frustrating and exhausting it is to walk people through the baby steps of what feels like having a very basic grasp of reality. Your outrage is justified and your feelings are very real and deserve to be respected. I'm not here to tone police people expressing their very real anger and grief at the horrible ways global imperialism is hurting us all.

My point here is that, when your goal is to actually inspire others to seek further education on leftist matters, to actually increase the total amount of leftism in the world, you need to be asking yourself if the methods you are using are actually effective. It can feel excruciating to be patient when the world is already so on fire, but you can't just shame people into not needing to be met on their level. It demonstrably does not work, and will work against all of us if the impression you're giving others is that leftism is the mean, scary option even to people who genuinely mean well and want to do better.

I see so many posts rightfully trashing on the widespread culture in the US and beyond of teachers and authority figures simply punishishing people who don't know what they're expected to yet, instead of actually teaching them. I see so many posts on here about how it's okay to need to learn life skills you were never taught. Why does this seem to evaporate when it comes to teaching others leftist theory? That's not rhetorical either, please, really, genuinely ask yourself this question, let it sit with you for a long time.

I know how urgent it is to get people to come around. I'm panicking too. I'm angry, and I'm frustrated, and I'm dumbfounded at how long its taking so many folks to get a fucking grip on what's so broken about society. But I understand that the assertion that the answers should be obvious does nothing to change the fact that, to so many people, to enough people, it isn't. That we need to meet them on their level, with kindness, if we're to get them on our side. Leftism starts at home. It starts with your personal relationships, how you treat others when it's inconvenient and difficult.

Leftism starts with kindness.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

This Monster is a threat to the World. Art by Wefail.art

* * * * *

Toward a Theory of Civic Sede Vacantism

March 4, 2025 1:50 p.m.

For almost a year I’ve been thinking through an idea that now seems especially timely and relevant in the last six weeks. I think of it as a form of civic sede vacantism. The reference is, ironically, to a strain of hyper-traditionalist Catholic thought which held (still holds) that none of Vatican II canons or the successive Popes counted because they were heretical and heretics. A bit more complicated than that. But details of that really aren’t relevant for us. I just found the defining metaphor or concept helpful. The key is their idea that the papal throne was empty. That’s the meaning of the Latin phrase, sede vacante. My interest and concern with this grew out of my belief that civic democrats in the US have far too great an essentialism about the law and constitutional jurisprudence, especially under the corrupted federal judiciary as it now exists. It breeds a kind of fatalism and passivity which casts a pall over thought and political action.

I know I’ve thrown around a lot of big and perhaps obscure ideas. So let me get down to concrete specifics. In Trump v. United States last year the Supreme Court claimed that Presidents have wide immunity from criminal law after they leave the presidency. For many people this was an ‘everything changed’ moment. It did in effect end Trump’s prosecution. But now that’s the law, as so many people I know put it. Only it’s not. This isn’t a decision I disagree with. It’s simply wrong. I’m not going to rehearse all the arguments. To me, among all the other areas of flawed and disingenuous reasoning, we have the simple fact that the authors of the constitution knew precisely how to confer immunity on public officials. They did it with Congress. But again, I’m not trying to rehearse the specific arguments. Others have already made them on the particulars better than I can. I’m saying that we must disengage from the idea that this is what the law is. It’s not. These are fraudulent decisions.

Now, as a practical matter we are in a situation in which I think we comply with them. The alternative is the abyss. But it’s a practical decision.

Now, here is the point where people ask me, what’s the difference? You’re saying this isn’t actually the law or the constitution. But we still comply with it as though it were the law. What’s the point of that? Whatever this distinction is, who cares? That doesn’t matter.

But I think it does matter. We are living in a moment in which the system of legal, interpretive legitimacy has fatally broken down. It’s been in its death throes for a decade. Now it’s no longer operating at all. That throne is empty of anything that commands our allegiance or claims to legitimacy. If the Supreme Court decides in a few months that people born on American soil are not citizens it will have disastrous and immediate effects on many of our fellow citizens. It won’t mean that the plain and always understood meaning of the 14th Amendment changed. It will mean that the people who currently hold power have opted to rule outside the Constitution.

If the court says the President can, in fact, dismantle Department after Department, which Congress created, because the President holds some kind of indivisible sovereign power cribbed from an inter-war German far-right ideologue, that won’t make it so. It will remind us that we are in this period of interregnum in which we are grappling with a renegade, corrupt court operating outside the constitutional order as well as a renegade and lawless president.

Again, you may say this is some weird semantic distinction that has no real meaning. We’ve got bigger fish to fry. I respect that response. It’s a subtle distinction. But some semantic distinctions are important. We only understand the world through language. That is a profound reality about human cognition. The language we use in the present shapes how we understand the present reality and what possibilities we can see within it. We need to open up the cognitive space to understand the situation we are in and which our country is in. Fundamentally, it means grappling with the corruption rather than living within it, living within its ideas and ground assumptions and perforce being softly governed by them.

As I said, I’ve been mulling this for months. But I decided to write it out after I heard an account of a townhall meeting with Maryland’s senators, Van Hollen and Alsobrooks. As it was recounted to me they said many of the right things. But a key part of their message was we need to let the legal cases play out.

This is precisely the wrong message, the wrong understanding of the situation we’re in.

As we’ve seen over the last few weeks, the courts — even in their current degraded state — play a key, important role. But they’re just a tool in a larger contest that is fundamentally about public opinion. There are good odds the final decisions in the courts will themselves be corrupt and unconstitutional, at least in part. So it’s not that courts don’t matter. They do. A lot. But we shouldn’t be thinking we’re going to wait on what any court decides. That’s only a half step from waiting to hear what Donald Trump decides. I keep hearing right minded or semi-right minded people say, well we’re going to see if this stuff is constitutional. I reject the assumption. At the margins there are questions about what’s constitutional. We’re way past the margins. The fact that we’re operating way outside the express text and logic of the Constitution, and no president in history has thought any of this stuff was possible, is plenty to answer the question. We’re waiting to see if the courts will follow the Constitution. And there’s a good chance they won’t.

I’ve said this a number of times. We’re embarked on a vast battle over the future of the American Republic, in which the executive and much of the judiciary is acting outside the constitutional order. That battle is fundamentally over public opinion. We’re in a constitutional interregnum and we are trying to restore constitutional government. The courts are a tool. Federalism is a big, big tool, the significance and importance of which is getting too little discussion. But it’s really about public opinion. And that means it’s about politics. The American people will decide this. That’s what this is all about. Waiting on the courts is just a basic misunderstanding of the whole situation.

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