#IO: mind over matter

[gxldensxldiers]

Once again from @asshork from discord! Eileen "Io" O'Donnell my beloathed /lh. Don't mind her playing fucked up mind games and making everyone else's lives hard just bc she can. Something something everyone supports women's rights but nobody fights for women's wrongs

[yeaimsafiya]

CHAPTER ONE back from rehab

SYNOPSIS the beginning of a teenage girl named y/n who is fresh out of rehab but doesn't intend to stay clean.

FROM THE WRITER AHH IM SORRY IM LATE GUYS!! This is the first chapter I'm ever writing, I took some inspo from episode 1 but I'm going to have to cut each episode into fourths because I really don't want to spend a whole week trying to finish a whole episode and school work. But I hope you guys really enjoy this chapter as much as I did - Love you guys, Sapiyah <3

WARNINGS Lots of unnecessary writing, female! reader, mentions of drugs and drinking, strong sexual content, nudity, violence, adult content, adult language, scenes might be uncomfortable for some, some scenes might include mentions of mental illness'

SERIES EUPHORIA

CHARACTERS INCLUDED members of the bakusquad & dekusquad, big three(?), some characters of class 1A

NOTES MDNI! Ageless blogs will be blocked or removed.

Readers discretion is advised

Suddenly, the whole world goes dark and nothing else matters except the person standing in front of you.

You were once happy. Content.

Sloshing and swimming around your own private, primordial pool; Then one day, for reasons beyond your control, you were continuously and repeatedly crushed...

Over..and over.. again by the cervix of your mother, M/n.

You put up a good fight, but eventually lost, for the first time, but not the last.

You were born 3 days after 9/11, your mother and father spent two days in the hospital, holding you under the soft glow of the television, watching those towers fall over and over again, until the feeling of grief gave away to numbness.

And then, without warning, a middle-class childhood in the American suburbs.

|

You were sitting at the dinner table with your mother, M/n, and Father, F/n. But it appeared something else had gotten your attention, a set of numerous lights above the dinner table, in which you wanted to count.

"Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen.."

" What are you looking at y/n?"

"..."

"What are you doing? ..Y-y/n look at me."

"One, two, three, .."

"What are you doing Y/n?"

*cries*

|

"Id say she's suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder..."

Its not like you were physically abused..

"...attention deficit disorder..."

..Or had some type of clean water storage..

"..general anxiety disorder.."

..Or was molested by a family member.

"..and possibly bipolar disorder. But she's a little bit too young to tell."

So, explain this shit to me.

|

"Honey, it's just the way your brain was hardwired; Plenty of great, intelligent, funny, interesting and creative people have struggled with the same things you struggle with."

"Like who?"

"Vincent Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath, and even Brittney Spears, your favorite!"

You haven't remembered much from the ages of eight to twelve. Just that the world moved fast, and your mind moved slow.

"Does anyone have an idea of what a perception might be?"

And every now and then, if you focused on the way you breathed...

You'd die.

"Slow down, just breathe"

Until every second of the day, you'd find yourself trying to outrun your anxiety.

"What's wrong Y/n?"

..And quite frankly..

"I'm just fucking exhausted"

|

Coming down to the kitchen, you could hear the small talk between your mother and younger sister, S/N.

"You said the doctor was in our network. How can he suddenly be out of network?"

"I can't afford it."

"Did you see that video of the girl who got acid thrown at her face?"

"What? No.."

"It's pretty fucked up.."

"Mom do you know where the tampons are?"

"In my bathroom, right under the sink."

And at one point, you'd make a choice of who you are and what you want.

"Alright Gia, let's go"

"Why do the co-payments cost $300?"

"Y/n did you eat breakfast?"

".."

"What's with the glasses?"

"What glasses?"

You just happened to show up one day, without a map or a compass..

"Attention students, we need to lockdown."

..Or to be honest, anyone capable of giving on iota of good fucking advice.

And I know it all seems sad but guess what? You did not build this system up, nor fuck it up yourself.

But then it happens. That moment where your breath starts to slow. And every time you breathe, you breathe out all the oxygen you have.

Then everything stops: Your heart, your lungs, then finally, your brain. And everything you feel, you wish, and want to forget, it all just sinks.

And then suddenly... you give it air again, give it life again.

You remember the first time it happened, where you were so scared you wanted to call 911. Go to the hospital and be kept alive by machines and apple juice. But you didn't want to look like an idiot, and you didn't want to fuck up everyone else's night.

And now overtime, that's all you've wanted.. those two seconds of nothingness.

You spent a good portion of summer before junior year in rehab. God granted you the serenity to accept things you cannot change, the courage to change the things you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

"Y/N," your sister yelled from afar, greeting you after your long leave. You smiled, and whilst running up to her, tried to continue the conversation with your younger sibling.

"Hey, Come here!"

"How are you?"

"Good, I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"Look at you, are you growing?"

"No."

Looking over, you see your mother standing by your family car.

"Hey," you yelled out to her, only to receive a small smile from her.

And with that. you knew it was your time to go.

|

"I'm very happy for you Y/n. You're about to start a brand-new chapter," Your mother says while driving you and your sister to school. You looked at her with a smile, then turned your attention back to the car window.

You had no intentions of staying clean. And yet, Jirou just moved into town.

"There's some new girl in town that I think you'll be friends with," Shoto said, with you standing beside him in his store.

"Who?"

"Shit, I don't know. She came in looking all punk rock and shit; So I'm thinking to myself, like, 'look like somebody Y/n would be friends with'."

Which was sort of a dead-on observation for Shoto, who's not normally revolving in the same direction as planet earth.

"So how long have you been back?" He asked.

"About five days."

"And how are you feeling?"

"I mean, ever since I gave my life over to my lord and savior Jesus Christ, things have been, like, really good."

"Word? That's what's up," You chuckled at his snarky remark, giving him a small smile.

"I'm fucking with you," you said whilst laughing, "It was a joke."

"Shit, hey, I don't judge," he defended, hands raising to just above his chest.

"But for real, is Deku in the back?"

"Are you serious?" Shoto questioned, seeming very disappointed in you.

"What, you think cause' I went to rehab I stayed clean?"

"I mean, ain't that the point?" he asks.

"Yeah, well, the world is coming to an end, and I haven't even graduated high school yet."

You gave Shoto one more smile before going to Deku, whilst Shoto stared at you the entire way there; There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, but since you were too busy looking for Deku, you didn't see.

You opened one of the doors of the refrigerators, leading you right to him with a bowl of fruit loops,"I thought your ass was dead," he said one he saw your appearance.

"And I thought you had Asperger's till I realized your just a prick," you barked back.

"This a fickle industry, y'all come and go. I'm just trying to stack my cash, pay off our mortgage," he said while pulling out a bunch of plastic bags out of a microwave.

"So what the fuck do you want?" You gave him a knowing look before he handed you needed.

"You sure you don't want to try something new?" He asks you.

"Like what?"

"2C-T-2, 2C-T-7, and 5-MeO-DIPT."

"I'm sorry I have no fucking idea of what you just said."

"It doesn't matter," he stated, "but this shit, is fucking lit."

"What is it?"

"N-diisopropyl-5-methoxytryptamine. It's a fast-acting psychedelic."

Got some similarities to LSD, but with, like, key differences. Not as visual as shit, but definitely a sense distorter.

"What's wrong?" That same dark purple hair girl questioned.

"I'm just so happy," you responded back.

"I don't know, this shits been going off in Tampa, and mad people like to fuck with this," Deku continued on with his descriptions with the drug.

"Okay. Yeah, why not."

"That'll be 120."

"Oh uh, Shoto said he'd spot me."

"Shoto doesn't spot nobody."

"Yeah, well, it's a post-rehab discount, so you should ask him."

"I will go ask him, cause' I know your full of shit."

Those were the last words he said before you walked out. Those were the last words you heard before you saw the same two boys in freshman year.

Bakugo and Kirishima.

TAGLIST: (send an ask or reply to add or remove) @urinejaeger, @saturxnn, @lv9su, @minnipe, @flamgosstuff, @lilrockzstar, @actfsgxcv, @lovebuggyboo, @russochild19, @iits-lexie, @mendez5657, @animatronicrat, @thirstygorl, @scrittynotfound, @pleaseleavemebelol, @thymebread, @cocojellie, @vxnanaaa-blog, @tn-johnson, @knotatwink, @hpttstears, @blackcatluna, @queennb-123, @nndntahg

All work is subject to copyright by © yeaimsapiyah as of 2024.

Do not steal, use or reupload my work without given permission or my consent. If so, you will either be blocked, removed, or reported.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Even if you're paying for the product, you're still the product

There’s something oddly comforting about the idea that “if you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product,” namely, the corollary: “If you can afford to pay for a product, you won’t be the product.” But it’s bullshit. Companies don’t make you the product because you don’t pay — they make you the product because you can’t stop them.

The theory behind “if you’re not paying for the product…” is that old economist’s saw: “incentives matter.” Companies that monetize attention are incentivized to manipulate and spy on you, while companies that you pay just want to make you happy.

This is a theory of corporate behavior grounded in economics, not power, a creature of theory and doctrine that never bothers to check in with the real world to see how that theory and doctrine map to actual events. Reality is a lot uglier.

Apple has blanketed the planet with billboards and print and online ads extolling its privacy-forward system design (e.g. “Privacy. That’s Iphone.”). There’s something to this: in 2020, the company made it very easy to opt out of third-party Ios surveillance, and 96% of its users opted out:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2021/05/96-of-us-users-opt-out-of-app-tracking-in-ios-14-5-analytics-find/

That decision cost Facebook $10 billion in a single year, and the losses keep coming. Facebook launched a campaign that accused Apple of privacywashing an anticompetitive maneuver, claiming that Apple didn’t care about its users’ privacy, they just wanted to eliminate competition for Apple’s own ad brokerage:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/12/facebooks-laughable-campaign-against-apple-really-against-users-and-small

Facebook’s campaign poses itself as the true champion of its users, accusing Apple of shamming. It’s laughable. Facebook manifestly despises its users and proves that fact every day in a thousand ways, large and small. Facebook’s true objection to Apple’s privacy tools is that they reduced Facebook’s earnings by $10b. Obviously.

But that doesn’t mean that Facebook is wrong about Apple’s cynicism. Apple exercises enormous control over its users. It’s a direct control. Apple blocks you from installing software of your choosing or from using third-party repair services of your choosing. They pour millions into engineering to make this technically challenging, and lead a coalition of large corporations that kill right to repair legislation whenever it is mooted:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

Some of Facebook’s critics accuse it of exercising similar control, but via a far more insidious method: they say that Facebook’s voracious surveillance of its users, combined with machine learning, allows Facebook to control its users’ minds, stripping them of their free will and turning them into algorithm-addled zombies who do whatever Facebook directs them to do.

This is an extraordinary claim, given that every previous claim of mind-control turned out to be bullshit, from Mesmer to MK Ultra. The best evidence for these mind-control claims comes from Facebook’s own marketing materials, where the company assures advertisers that they should spend their money on FB’s platform because of its mind-control features.

When FB critics repeat these claims, they’re engaged in “criti-hype,” Lee Vinsel’s useful coinage describing criticism that serves to bolster the target’s own propaganda. If FB are evil geniuses, well, at least they’re still geniuses.

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

Some Facebookers doubtless believe their own hype, but that doesn’t mean we have to join them in self-delusion. We can criticize Facebook for seeking control over its users, and for using that control to do things that serve its own interests at the expense of its users’ interests.

https://onezero.medium.com/how-to-destroy-surveillance-capitalism-8135e6744d59

That’s the true sin of Big Tech: using deception and coercion to control users. Companies that gain this control can be reliably expected to use it in whichever ways they can get away with. They are paperclip-maximizing artificial life-forms bent on devouring the human race, not ethical actors.

Apple’s commitment to privacy is best understood as instrumental. Apple thinks that protecting your privacy will attract your business, and they’re right. I would like to have privacy! But while Apple can increase its revenues by telling you they’ll protect your privacy, they can increase them even more by lying about it.

That’s just what they do. Earlier this month, a small security research firm called Mysk released a video revealing that when you tick the box on your Iphone that promises “disable the sharing of Device Analytics altogether,” your Iphone continues to spy on you, and sends the data it collects to Apple:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8JxvH80Rrcw

The data Iphones gather is extraordinarily fine-grained: “what you tapped on, which apps you search for, what ads you saw, and how long you looked at a given app and how you found it.”

https://gizmodo.com/apple-iphone-analytics-tracking-even-when-off-app-store-1849757558

It doesn’t stop there: “The app sent details about you and your device as well, including ID numbers, what kind of phone you’re using, your screen resolution, your keyboard languages, how you’re connected to the internet — notably, the kind of information commonly used for device fingerprinting.”

The researchers had to jailbreak an Iphone in order to find this lie. Apple has gone to extraordinary lengths to make jailbreaking illegal. Apple claims that allowing users to disable the locks on their phones will make them vulnerable to bad actors who will install deceptive, coercive software.

That is true, but it’s also true that these locks make it impossible to determine whether Apple’s software is deceptive and coercive. The walled fortress that keeps you safe from third parties is also a walled prison that leaves you at the mercy of the warlord who owns the fortress.

Once a company attains a certain scale, it becomes too big to jail, and then it monetizes you however it can. If you think the future of technology is battle is between Google’s approach and Apple’s, think again. The real fight is between the freedom to decide how technology works for you, and corporate control over technology.

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

Apple and Google are like the pigs and the men at the end of Animal Farm: supposed bitter enemies who turn out to be indistinguishable from one another. Google also has “privacy” switches in its preference panels that do nothing:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/01/you-are-here/#goog

Indeed, there are so many places in Google’s location privacy settings where you can tick a box that claims to turn off location spying. None of them work. A senior product manager at Google complained to her colleagues that she had turned off three different settings and was still being tracked:

https://twitter.com/jason_kint/status/1398359580275523590

Apple is now the subject of a California class action suit over its deceptive practices, which violate the California Invasion of Privacy Act.

https://www.bloomberglaw.com/public/desktop/document/LibmanvAppleIncDocketNo522cv07069NDCalNov102022CourtDocket

As Gizmodo’s Thomas Germain notes, Apple has a good — if self-serving — reason to spy on its users. It has launched its own ad network, and is selling advertisers the ability to target its customers based on their activities:

https://gizmodo.com/apple-iphone-privacy-analytics-class-action-suit-1849774313

Companies will only protect your privacy to the extent that it is more profitable than not doing so. They can increase those profits by advertising privacy promises to potential customers. They can increase them more by secretly breaking those promises, And they can increase them even more by using privacy claims to block their rivals’ spying, so they’re the sole supplier of your nonconsensually collected personal information.

That’s what’s happening with Google’s endless proposals to “increase privacy” in Chrome that block third parties from spying on users, while letting Google continue to invade our privacy:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/03/googles-floc-terrible-idea

If we want our privacy, we need both transparency (so third parties can investigate companies’ claims to protect privacy) and regulation (so cheating companies will face consequences when they’re caught by those third parties).

That’s why it’s so exciting that the FTC has announced its intention to treat privacy invasions as antitrust violations:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/12/regulatory-uncapture/#conscious-uncoupling

For so long as corporations can use technology and law to hide their misdeeds and power to avoid consequences for those misdeeds, “voting with your wallet” is as useless as opting out of Ios tracking.

We had advertising-supported media for generations — centuries — without mass surveillance. The problem with advertising isn’t incentives — it’s impunity.

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[Image ID: An Apple 'Privacy. That's iPhone.' ad. The three rear-facing camera lenses have been replaced by the staring, red eye of HAL9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey.]

[chainera]

The Throw and The Catch

“Hey, are you sure you’ll be alright out there?” Mars asks, his sad voice shaded with concern. Next to him is the Earth, with heavy bags under his eyes, the faded lines of tears still scratching on his surface like a broken tattoo. The Moon isn’t sure how that worked, but he also isn’t sure how sound even traveled in space, or how any of them were even sentient. So he supposes it didn’t really matter. 

A little less than an astronomical unit away are Venus and Mercury, talking with the Sun about what the Moon had informed them of. It’s strange watching them interact— usually Venus would be spitting insults at Mercury, and Mercury would fire back in his own defiant way, heading away and taking all the offense in stride. But now they were actually interacting like two normal beings, even if the conversation was stifled and tense. The looming threat of the moon revolution was obviously more important than whatever disagreement they had gotten themselves tangled up in now.

The Moon looks on towards the asteroid belt, a realm of gloomy dark rocks, as far as the eye can see. He remembers the last time he was here— of watching, terrified, as his fellow moons planned a coup against his best friend. He remembers dodging the asteroids, desperately launching them back, convincing Callisto to go on the right track, all while his Dark side snored in the back of his mind.

“I-I can go if you want.” Mars stammers, but the Moon refuses. Earth needed Mars right now, needed affirmation that they wouldn’t abandon him. As for Mercury and Venus, the Sun wouldn’t allow them to leave, and besides, they needed to devise a back-up plan anyways. 

“I’ll go.” The Moon states firmly, and before Mars could say another word, the Moon floated off into the asteroid belt, forcing down the panic that spiked in his core.

It’s fine. He thinks, as the sunlight behind him grew dimmer and dimmer, the warm pink fading off into the dark blue of space. I just need to get to Jupiter, and warn the gas giants about this whole thing. I just need to…

Then, something flies past him. 

What—

The Moon reels back, narrowly dodging a small, spiky asteroid. He looks up to see a figure in the distance, but it resembles either Phobos or Deimos more than Ceres, the only one who he was expecting.

“Hello!” The asteroid(?) grins, batting her eyes. “I’m Amalthea. A moon of Jupiter’s, or how he would like to call us, a prize.” She spits the last word with venom, and more pointed asteroids rise around to her. 

“Well I’ve seen you’ve returned, Earth’s Moon.” Europa greets, coming over, before letting out a bubbly laugh. Flanking her are more asteroids- or well, he assumes, more of Jupiter’s moons. “Pardon Amalthea, but she doesn’t take lightly to beings who betray us. But, if you join us, we’ll put that all in the past. I won’t even ask about your… disappearance.”

The Moon grits his teeth, trying to keep his thoughts steady. “If I could take Io and Callisto, I can definitely take you guys.”

Europa scowls, opening her mouth, but then—

“But are you sure you can take us?” Said a voice, familiar in all the wrong ways. 

The Moon turns around so fast he gives himself whiplash. Sure enough, floating in front of him was Ganymede, along with many other beings he didn’t recognize. 

“Aw, sweetheart, you always have the best timing.” Europa giggles, any sense of anger gone from her tone at the sight of the newcomer. 

“Of course I do.” Ganymede winks, before directing his attention to the Moon, his once flattered smile fading into a mean sneer. The Moon feels a sudden, overwhelming wave of dread. 

“Meet the moons of Saturn.” Ganymede grins. “Mimas,” the gray one with one eye beams, “Ba-Dione,” the one with a white streak on her surface rolls her eyes, “Ensalada,” the one with blue veins scoffs, but holds his tongue, “Iapetus,” the one with a white and brown surface looks on with a neutral expression, “and the rest!”

The remaining small moons glare at him, but stay silent.

“Y’know, since I’m nice,” Ganymede continues, “I’ll give you one last chance. Join us.”

The Moon’s gaze darts around the area, and he was sure that if he was an earthling, he’d be drowning in sweat. There was nothing around him, nothing but more and more moons all giving him silent stares. There was no one coming— Callisto and Titan were in who-knows-where, the inner planets were too busy doing their own thing, Ceres probably had enough sense not to intervene, and the gas giants had no reason to check the belt. Desperate, the Moon turns to the enemy, grasping at the straws.

I can do this. I convinced Callisto, I can—

“Do you really think what you’re doing is right?!” The Moon asks, his voice thankfully growing stronger with each word. “Going against the planets? The Sun?! And what do you even plan to do with the Earth? Kill him?!”

He sees Dione purse her lips, Enceladus glancing away, and something shifts in Iapetus’s eyes. He’s getting through them at least.

But then Ganymede laughs. “Do you take us for idiots? Of course we aren’t going to kill him. Make an example out of him, strip him of all his precious little Earthlings, sure, but no killing. And as for the Sun… we’re working on it.”

And instantly, all the moons nod, like robots.

“And what about you all?!” The Moon questions, trying to keep his voice measured, but there’s a pathetically obvious note of desperation in it. “Did you really just let him waltz over and persuade you? How do you even know he’s going to keep his word and not betray all of you?”

“Oh please.” Ganymede responds, his tone clipped and dark. “I’m not like you. I’m not a traitor. Now, I was aware that I gave you one last chance. And that sounded like a no.”

The Moon gulps, feeling fear overtake his core. The stares at him turn piercing, and he’s distantly aware of Amalthea raising her razor sharp asteroids and Saturn’s moons gathering some as well. Europa laughs sharply, and Ganymede’s mouth turns into another sneer. The fear is breaking the Moon’s resolve, and—

Light.

The Moon gasps, eyes widening. The cloudy fear breaks. The piercing stares turned… confused, almost, and—

Light.

Dark’s thoughts, excited and venomous, cuts through The Moon’s. Are they causing trouble for you?

The stares slowly turn piercing again, and Ganymede—

Yes. Please—!

Ganymede yells, “Knock him out!”

Immediately, asteroids are hurled towards the Moon at all sides. Dark flings themselves down, and the asteroids crash together, one of them going straight towards Ensalada.

“OW!” Ensalada yelps as the asteroid lands squarely below his eye. Ganymede tuts.

“You should know better than to try and fight back, Earth's moon. Don’t make this difficult for us.”

Oh, this is going to be fun.

Another barrage of asteroids heads towards the Moon like a solarflare. The Moon squeezes his eyes shut, giving reins to his counterpart. Instead of running, Dark turns and expertly evades each one, much to the other moons’ shock.

Europa frowns. “What the—

Dark smirks, widening his deep black eyes. The Moon wishes he could see the others’ reactions right now.

Dark cackles, each peal of laughter crisp and deadly. He brings the nearby asteroids around him with ease, forming a ring.

“What- what is with your eyes?!” Ganymede shouts, flabbergasted. 

“Well, the thing is, I’m not the Moon. At least, not the one you’re used to. I’m his Dark side.”

And Dark spins, the asteroids twirling and flying towards their opponents like bullets. Most of the other moons avoid them, but one hits Europa’s side, and another one slams into Ganymede’s cheek, eliciting twin yelps of pain. 

Dark laughs again, thrilled. 

“And here you thought beating us will be that easy.” He taunts, and Ganymede’s eyes light up with fury. 

“Attack him!” He shouts, and Dark forms a shield, blocking the asteroids coming at him easily. Some asteroids are thrown nastily towards his back, but the Moon handles that, deflecting every one. The two of them fight like a dance, completely synchronized in ways only two beings who existed together all their lives would. 

We should get out of here. Light thinks, as he shoves him and Dark back, dodging one of Iapetus’s asteroids, who’s still looking at him strangely. 

Oh come on. Dark whines in their head. We could beat them all easily. And I haven’t fought in forever…

No we can’t. Light scolds. You have too big of an ego. 

Ganymede screams a war cry, and an asteroid bruises the Moon’s side. Pain blossoms, and both Light and Dark wince. 

Maybe you’re right. Dark admits, But if we’re going to flee, we’re going to go out with a bang.

Wha—

Give me your strength. 

…fine. But I better not regret this. 

With their combined strength, Dark raises up at least a dozen asteroids, and they rise up behind him like a wave. 

The last thing Light sees before the asteroids come crashing down is Ganymede’s dropped jaw. The last thing he hears is Europa’s high-pitched shriek.

“Next time, don’t fight against someone when you don’t even know half of them!” Dark shouts victoriously as they flee away, fast as lightning. Within seconds the shouts of the other moons fade, and within minutes they tumble out of the belt.

That was—

Amazing! Can we do it again?!

The Moon groans, his- their entire body tired and covered in bruises. Seriously?!

[diiwata]

i am literally going to be thinking about former emo-girl Clemensia Dovecote for the rest of my life. since you said you want to be bothered with questions i have to ask if you have any other fun (or not fun) headcanons about the mentors?

omg you're so welcome?? no b/c that was off the top of my head 😭

here are some other hcs i cooked up (some made by my moots) that I've practically considered canon!!! i added them into my wattpad fics (but i WILL transfer over to my boba shop au on ao3 that I'm planning atm)

clemmie's notes MUST be written in red pen!!! it's her color!!

felix uses a bunch of big words without understanding the meaning of them (it was a little strange that he called the lamb "scandalous"-- we took that and RAN)

dennis fling is into photography!!! idk it just felt right while writing one of my wp fics--

vipsania plays the harp (she just seems like a musical prodigy that specializes in "old timey" instruments)

pup's into nicknames and pet names. he's got something for everyone, which is why he doesn't mind "pup" no matter how silly it sounds!! (plus, calling lamina "my girl"?? he's ADORABLE)

i somehow associate io with the color purple, so that's her favorite color now.

festus was described as being burlier, so if the academy had some sort of sports extracurriculars, he'd take up wrestling!!

hilarius is a mama's boy. SHE picked those reaping shorts out. HE can't say no to her.

that's all I can think of off the top of my head 🤭 thanks for letting me ramble... this was so fun <3

[angelof-thevoid]

Memorable Moments / Wisdom

Io remained the same in spite of everything else that’s happened. Ikora came to the Jovian moon expecting it to be changed as well, but found the only thing different was her. As a person. Doubtful. Hopeless, and stripped of the light. What was once the steady presence of a background hum is now a gaping void of silence. Emotions that had been long-time strangers now rise back to the surface to force their re-acquaintance if she lingers too long on that thought.

The traveler was caged and the last safe city was no longer safe, overrun with red legion troops making a mess of what humanity had re-built. She scans the horizon, eyes dragged to the focal point of the cradle, a strange series of geometric risings carved out of the yellow sulfur infused ground. Like the beginnings of a project once started but left unfinished and abandoned. 

Like how she abandoned the city. Ikora draws in steady breath as she turns around to face the area commonly dubbed the lost oasis. Lost, like I am. It’s hard for her to reach for the usual faith she holds in the light as Ikora stands by watching idly the taken in the distance near tear shiver and teleport in that unnatural way. She feels powerless. She hates this feeling. 

All the wisdom Ikora possessed seemed outside her reach at this moment, feeling untethered to an integral part of who she was and her belief system. Holding the highest crucible record meant nothing if that bravado was only backed by the strength of her light, who is she outside of that capability? Another cowering mortal, waiting out the oncoming days, seeing which day might be the last?

Who did she want to be was the real question. Her hands tightened for a moment behind her back before deciding to get down in a kneeled position, choosing to meditate on the dilemma. Ikora shuts her eyes and sets her breathing into an even pace as her mind flickers between images of what used to matter to her, what matters now and what always had. 

The pursuit of knowledge. Proving herself and her strength. Learning to study and grow from other’s teachings. Knowing her identity separated from that and knowing when to walk away. Ikora inhales, then exhales.

Her fire team. Zavala. Cayde. Her Hidden. The rest of the guardians and the mortal civilians of the last city. Everyone who is still there, doing their best to survive this current crisis like many others. But this was different, this threat brought right to their doorstep, right on top of their home and safe haven. Ikora clenches her fists in her lap again. How dare they. Taking the traveler and their home. 

Ikora continues her meditation with her evened breathing to prevent herself from feeling overwhelmed, when she hears the tell-tale sound of a jump ship flying overhead. She looks up and sees what she believes to be the guardian’s ship, now hovering to settle in low orbit as they transmat out of the vehicle.

She rises and looks back out toward the cradle, feeling a sort of kinship to it out here half undone and lonely on its own. Ikora hears the guardian’s footsteps behind her with what seems like misplaced confidence, all things considered, and she feels… Wait. She feels the presence of the guardian as she always had, including their light.

The guardian’s light? How? Ghaul cut off the traveler! Ikora kept her surprise inward as she argued internally over this. The guardian had proven to be quite extraordinary, maybe they were somehow unaffected? But there was footage of them falling from high up, like a puppet cut from its strings along with their ghost being spotted searching for them. 

Even so, if it’s possible to have the light returned and the guardian found a way, not all was lost then. If they have that knowledge then that could mean there’s still a chance to turn all of this around. A spark of hope ignites within her chest as Ikora basks in the familiar sense of that background hum of light coming off the guardian, although a part of it seems a little… Changed. 

What that could mean she doesn’t know nor have the wisdom at this present moment to determine. But what it did mean was in her mind a turning point as Ikora addresses the guardian, confiding in them her concerns while still sticking to the wisdom of their faith in the light. And she considers the reappearance of the guardian before her as a sign of that wisdom being true.

[chubbygirlmaddy14]

The Dollmaker: The Cabin

Dale Kobble x reader

A/N: This is not proof-read and I’m so incredibly sorry for the wait, college and work have not been nice to me but I finally have a chapter up so hope you enjoy!! :3

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/374688245?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=chubby_girl_maddy16

Chapter 18: The Cabin (1,115 words)

The drive felt way longer than it was. The tension was rising every mile we drove. What was I going to do now? I'm spending the next week or two in a cabin with a murderer, not just anyone though.

Longlegs

The one man I had been on the hunt for ever since I got here, and now he's driving my car up to a cabin for us to hide away. The trees started melting together as I looked out the window for too long drowning in my head before I felt his hand on my thigh, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"You okay?" he said softly looking up at me as I turn my head, "yeah I just... it's all so much." grabbing my hand he kisses it softly before holding it tight, "I promise we'll work it through."

I smile back at him before he pulls off into the driveway, going through the hidden woods before seeing the cabin sitting there. Parking the car we get out, grab all of our stuff, and unlocking the door set all of our stuff down in the living room.

It was past midnight by the time we got there, exhaustion hitting me harder than I expected it. Turning around Dale walks over, wrapping his arms around my waist as mine comes up to his shoulders. "It'll all be okay my little angel," leaning down his lips meet mine, making me pull him in closer.

All my fears and worries melted into his lips, making me as relaxed as I think i'll ever be again. Pulling away to catch my breath I see his eyes not looking away from me, "what?"

He shrugs, still smiling down at me "how did I get little miss fbi agent wrapped around my finger?" Rolling my eyes I slap his arm playfully as I walk away before feeling him come behind and pick me up. My laughs and "let me go" fall through deaf ears before he's sitting us down on the couch making me comfy in his lap.

  Resting my head on his chest I sigh as he pushes his fingers through my hair, carefully untangling the knots that had made their way into it, "you have a lot on your mind." I take a deep breath before looking up at him, "what are we gonna do?"

  He looks at me confused a bit before I talk again, "I'm on one of the longest going murder cases where we live, and now i'm sitting on said murderers lap letting him play with my hair as we hide from everyone so you don't get caught."

  Not saying a word he just sits and listens to me, "they know what you look like now... it'll only be a matter of time." Pushing my head back against his chest, he sits like he's as calm as can be.

  "I have a friend that will make all this go away sweetheart, you don't need to worry about a thing." Closing my eyes I take a deep breath, the sound of his heart beat soon pulling me into sleep without realizing it.

Longlegs POV:

  I knew he would fix all this mess that led up to this. Looking down at y/n, I can't help but smile, she was my gift. A gift he sent just for me and all that I've done for him. I couldn't think of anything better.

  Seeing her passed out against me, I stand up and make my way into the closest bedroom that I found, setting her down to make sure she was as comfortable as possible.

  Moving away from the room for a bit I look around the small house, the little photos of her family and her as she grew up throughout the years, getting to know little things about her more through them. I needed her just like she needs me.

  It was small yes, but it felt right being here knowing she was here voluntarily. She didn't run, she didn't scream, she didn't need to fight me before taking me down to turn me in. I knew she wouldn't have, but I could tell she was scared of it all.

  I understood why though, she could get in trouble just like me, but the drive over made me realize more and more that he'll soon help me.

  Moving back to the room, I make my way under the covers to feel her moving into my side. "Get some rest, don't spend all night staring at me creep." I giggle a bit, rubbing her back as I kiss her forehead softly, "but I like staring at you."

  If her eyes were open I would've seen them rolling back like always, I can make them roll another way. Shaking my head from the thoughts I close my eyes as I hear her breathing even as soon falling asleep beside her.

Y/N POV:

  I wake up feeling the sun shine through the curtains, groaning as it hits against my face. Feeling the bed beside me empty, I sit up confused looking around the room. Standing up, I stretch my back out before heading into the kitchen.

Where is he?

  The front door opens wide, dale walking in with groceries and my eyes go wide. "Morning my angel," he says moving past me to set the bags down before looking over at me. "Why did you leave? You could've been seen, you know you can't do that. Do you wanna get caught I just-" I ramble on and on keeping eye contact with him.

  He walks closer, his hands moving onto my face as I keep talking before he leans in, pushing his lips against mine. My eyes fall closed as I relax into him, grabbing his wrists to keep him there.

His hands soon moved to my hips, picking me up without letting go each other and setting me on the counter. My legs wrap around his waist to pull him in more, the kiss growing heated.

  I pull away from him to catch my breath, his lips moving down to my neck as he squeezes my waist, "Dale-" my breathing gets heavy, leaning my head back giving him more access "I have work to do~"

  He pulls away looking in my eyes, "I don't think you mind it though do you?" His hands fall on my chin pulling my face closer to him.

  My face turns bright red, "make me some breakfast and maybe I'll show you if I do or not." He smirks before kissing me one more time, pulling away and moving to the groceries.

This is going to be a long two weeks

[coldshrugs]

longing's favorite season 🔹 prologue

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau rating: general - this is a simple introduction to the concept. later parts will be mature/explicit. word count: 925 additional entries: part 1 🔹 part 2 🔹 stable scene 🔹

Count Edmont De Fortemps has no cause to enter quietly, especially in his own home, yet he is quite good at it. Engrossed as she is in the most interesting part of this grand old house, Io doesn't hear him until a loose floorboard creaks under the weight of his bad leg.

She looks up from the shelf, "Edmont... Good evening. I was just admiring—"

"Yes, of course, Mistress Laithe, admiring..." He steps into the warm light cast by the fireplace; the red and black jewels decorating his coat take on a liquid sheen, like tiny droplets of blood suspended in time. It wouldn't surprise her if they fell to the floor with a splatter. "Exploiting. The difference is a matter of etiquette, is it not?"

What on earth? Io recoils slightly, shaken by his unfamiliar tone. "My lord?"

He waves a dismissive hand and settles heavily into an armchair by the hearth. "Come. Sit with me, then you may return to your admiring momentarily."

She follows him warily. The aura about him bears... not exactly a threat, but something malign. There is a game in process and she does not yet know the rules. With a satisfied smile, Edmont looks her over, sizing up posture and countenance as she sits across from him.

"My son is quite taken with you, Mistress Laithe. For now, in any case."

For now?

He continues. "Just two days past, he fairly begged me to sanction a union between you. He is an idealist—you are not free from his expectations, but if allowed, Haurchefant would live his life as a fairytale. On the other hand, I must be more practical, for the sake of my family and my country."

"Haurchefant wants to marry me?" Io whispers, looking from Edmont to the fire.

Haurchefant's attention has been plain since she stepped foot in Camp Dragonhead nearly a year ago. His warm welcome came with hungry eyes, and he proved an audacious flirt, in a charming sort of way. Charming enough to make a night in his chambers sound enticing once. While the interest and advances were not entirely one-sided and the time they've spent together has occasionally skirted the bounds of romance, Io feels his expectations weigh more heavily than hers can match. He's been a valuable friend and has shown her great kindness many times over. She owes him a great deal—her life and the lives of her friends most of all—but truth be told, they don't know each other very well...

With the Dragonsong War at its end and her name mostly cleared, she thought she might move on. But...

"That is his current whim, aye," Edmont sighs. "I was keen to deny it, of course. Heavens, the difficulty... You, a foreigner in these lands—Viera—with those markings on display, a bow on your back, and blood on your hands. I will hail you as a hero, of course, but I fail to picture you as a lady and wife. But perhaps... perhaps that is exactly what I need at this time."

Io stares into the flames as she listens to him. His hospitality seemed freely given but she cannot help but recall something he said moons ago: 'How quickly we forget the petty nature of men. I'd wager your friends are no more than pawns in another of my countrymen's games. Such is the way of things between the High Houses...'

House Fortemps is no different, she supposes.

Io's stomach turns. She dares to glance at him. The flickering light throws his features into a menacing caricature of the Edmont she's familiar with.

"At his side, and in residence at this estate, you could be the perfect example." He leans forward, looking at her through steepled fingers. "The less open-minded High Houses could learn to see the beauty in truly open borders. What do you think, my dear? You could help propel our fair city into its new age, complete with a life of comfort, free from grief, and you need do no more than you've already done: use my wealth, my resources, and entertain my son. What say you?"

"—daresay it was one of the more awkward sessions of my career. The bride sat beautifully while her soon-to-be husband fidgeted, though I hear he is an energetic man with a racing mind. They did converse during the sitting, as well-acquainted friends; his lordship is a veritable jester and his humor seemed to keep his lady at ease. I had been told they were a love match. Alas, I would liken the flame between them to a bedside candle instead of the roaring fire usually found in the betrothed... "

—Renowned portraitist Duremert, overheard while shopping in the Jeweled Crozier

"Preparations must be hastened, and leave the matter of gil to the Count. Unreasonable as his requests may be, surely we can provide yet another 'Wedding of the Season.' It does make one wonder just why the need for all this fuss and rush, but I digress."

—spied in a letter from Lisette Valentione

"His lordship has tasked me with a new mistress—the Warrior of Light herself! I want to hear all her stories! Although she's not a warrior anymore. She's a lady now, and I'm to look after her in the manor. I think she misses being out there. Can't say I blame her. If it were me, I wouldn't dream of giving up all those adventures to stay in this stuffy old house all day."

—Saulette, in service to House Fortemps, in a letter to her aunt

[hotsuqueen]

Yamato Hotsuin's Recordbreaker Dialogue - Friday

Yamato & Io dialogue below the cut

Friday 06:30 Yamato & Io

Nagata-cho Tokyo Branch

You find Io speaking to Yamato…

Yamato: Yes, Nitta? What do you want?

Io: Er… I-I wanted to ask you something. Why did you, um…

Yamato: I've seen this for some time now. You are wise and open-minded, Nitta, but rather poor at relationships. It is a noticeable defect.

Io: S-Sorry, I'll try to keep that in mind.

Yamato: So long as you understand. Now, what do you want? Keep it brief, please.

Io: Wh-Why did you say those things when you know they could cause a split?

Yamato: Hahaha! A split? How very amusing. I assume you mean my speech about the meritocracy.

Io: Wh-What's so funny? You… You hide things from people, make them angry and scared! How is that funny?

Yamato: Silence, girl. It is not required that you understand. Think what you will.

Io: Why do you say things like that? If you were nicer, people would be more understanding.

Yamato: I don't doubt it. That is how the world rotted in the first place.

Io: What…!? Rotted?

Yamato: Nitta, you must be quite happy with the status quo. All your good intentions and sincere endeavors will never succeed over self-interest. No one takes the long view. Any civility man maintains is only to prevent the loss of social benefits. Those dregs are worthless! They rise up while the worthy are crushed underfoot! What is the point in such a world? To be a true leader, one must jettison the past that has built up like so much filth! If no one else will do it, then I must. I'll fight to the bitter end, even if I stand alone!

Io: But… I…! E-Excuse me!

Io rushes from the room…

Yamato: Now then. You're here, aren't you, Hibiki?

Hibiki Kuze: - I wasn't hiding that well. - No, I'm not! - Don't be cruel to Io!

I wasn't hiding that well. Yamato: Hahaha! You knew I noticed your presence, didn't you?

No, I'm not! Yamato: *sigh* How flippant. You knew that I noticed your presence, didn't you?

Don't be cruel to Io! Yamato: Oh, is that one yours? Pardon me for saying so, but she seems to lack discipline.

Yamato: I can see the pawns have begun to think. Now, the question is: What conclusion will they reach?

Hibiki Kuze: - Same goes for Ronaldo. - It'll vary, I think.

Same goes for Ronaldo. Yamato: The fool in Nagoya? He is trivial. If he gets in my way, I will crush him. That is all.

It'll vary, I think. Yamato: Indeed it will. But regardless of what anyone thinks, I'll not waver from this path.

Yamato: No matter how desperately they struggle, only one world can be made. Only one world is worthy of being made. Those filth waste their lives propping each other up. If they cannot agree to my merit system, then I will gladly sacrifice every last one for my ideal. I do respect you. I won't force you to my side, but I hope you will consider this carefully.

Yamato gracefully salutes before leaving…

---

Yamato telling Io she sucks at relationships absolutely clotheslined me the first time I ever heard it, and the fact that her only response is 'oh ok' and not laughing her ass off just kills me. NOT LIKE YOU, RIGHT, BUDDY?!

I also felt a lot of feelings about Yamato assuming that Io is 'Hibiki's' if you choose to defend her, and while I'm not sure that they're necessarily good ones, I do find it interesting that he's not totally oblivious to romance. He has a pretty snobby attitude about anything sex-adjacent, but he clearly has some understanding.

'It is a noticeable defect' y'all, I can't

[not-a-coral-snake]

There are a million things for Laurent to be thinking about right now. 

The running of two kingdoms. Securing his rule. Securing Damen’s. Holding Ios together with a handful of men and the strength of his will, capturing the more worrisome of Kastor’s supporters, safeguarding against assassins. Showing the council that he is competent to rule, and not merely a scion of the correct bloodline and innocent of treason.

Damen, who is stable and not in danger of dying, Paschal says, but who will nonetheless face a long recovery. 

But right here and right now, Laurent is having trouble thinking of anything but the revelation that his uncle killed his father. 

He is surprised at himself for never having suspected it before. He feels foolish. He, who seemingly alone at court was so used to seeing his uncle’s hand in everything that went wrong, at spotting treachery in every mishap, had never even suspected. Stupid, he chides himself, stupid not to have realized it, to have never even wondered. To have taken his original understanding of his father’s death, seen through a child’s eyes, and never questioned it once his assessment of his uncle’s character had improved. 

His uncle’s treachery predates him. That is perhaps the heart of this; it matters more than any self-recrimination he might feel about his own naivete. He tries to put the thought of it aside--he’ll have some sort of feeling about this later, when it is more convenient. But the thought resists that. 

His uncle’s treachery predates him. It wasn’t Laurent’s own fault. His uncle was always going to make a play for the throne. One doesn’t kill one’s brother, attempt to get away with regicide, for a regency of six years. His betrayal of Laurent, all his efforts to depose him, was preordained. It wasn’t something Laurent drove him to, the regent acting out of sincere concern that Laurent was unfit for the throne. It wasn’t the regent acting for Vere’s sake because of the flaws in Laurent’s character. There was no test Laurent had, unknowing, failed. 

Laurent had known this, of course. He’s not a fool. But to judge based on the way he is feeling now, on some level he hadn’t really believed it. And believing it now matters. It hits him the same way it did when Herode knelt and called him king. 

And yet, it hurts in a way that thinking of his uncle’s better-known evils, the injuries he has done Laurent himself, no longer do. It’s just--it would have hurt Aleron.

He blurts this out awkwardly a few days later, when a now-awake Damen has asked him what has him brooding so much, and Laurent has, tentatively and unused to the possibility of revealing his thoughts to anyone, told him he was thinking of the fact that his uncle had murdered his father. Damen had made a hurt little noise, had made a face that reminded Laurent all too sharply that Damen now knows far too much, and Laurent had nearly stumbled over his words in his haste to clarify that he himself had already known that there was no good in his uncle, had already mercilessly stamped out any feelings of affection towards him. 

“It’s just, it would have hurt my father, to know he had done that,” he says, and, “My father knew his brother wasn’t a good man. Still, he. He tried to have some kind of relationship with him, to put in effort, to be kind. It would hurt him to know that for all that his brother thought little enough of him to kill him for a crown.” 

And then he realizes what he is saying and who he is saying it to, and cuts himself off. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I shouldn’t--” 

“It’s all right,” Damen says. But he is biting his lip and his face is as shuttered as Damen is capable of making it. 

“Let's speak of something else,” Laurent says.

But Laurent doesn’t stop thinking of it, now and then, in the rare moments of quiet he gets. He turns the knowledge over and over in his mind, occasionally finding new facets to inspect. In the silence of his bedchamber one night between first sleep and second, he thinks, if Auguste had not died at Marlas, Uncle would have tried to kill him, too. 

He shuts down that line of thought quickly and with prejudice, He doesn’t want to analyze whether, had Auguste lived, he, Laurent, would have been able to save him. He doesn’t want to consider whether losing Auguste was inevitable, whether in some way it was for the best that Damen had killed him. Not now, when he’s not yet even completely certain he forgives Damen. 

He loves Damen. Surely for now that can be enough?

So he won’t let himself think about what his father’s murder meant for Auguste. But it’s in his nature to consider every angle, and he cannot banish them all from his thoughts. 

He is glad, he supposes, that now he has a public reason to hate his uncle with as much vitriol as he’d like. No more will courtiers--however well-intentioned or accustomed to appearing so--be able to look at him with condescension and remind him that whatever the state of affairs now, he ought at least to be grateful for the way his uncle had been there for him in the wake of his father’s death.

And he is angry, he knows, angry that his uncle still has the power to unsettle him like this. To shock him with his cruelty like this. To hurt him like this. He thought he had been done feeling anything familial to him years ago. Hell, he thought he was done feeling anything familial towards Aleron years ago too. 

He is thinking of how his uncle murdered his father when Herode, trying to get his attention, says, “Your majesty?” for what appears to be not the first time in a row. He apologizes and tries to find the thread of the conversation. Herode had asked to meet with him privately to discuss his agreement with Damen with regards to Delfeur and just now they had been discussing--what? The fate of the garrison at Marlas?

“If I may ask, your majesty,” Herode says, “Is there something more pressing on your mind? If you wish to reschedule the remainder of this meeting I will of course be at your disposal.”

He sounds sincere, and yet it will do Laurent no good to appear careless of his Council’s time. He runs through possible responses in his mind. For once, it seems that the truth is the most advantageous explanation. He is distracted not by Akielos or Akielons, but with a concern that is properly filial. And Herode had been his father’s friend. 

He tells Herode the truth, the words an unaccustomed, vulnerable weight in his mouth. 

“It is never far from my thoughts, either,” Herode says. A measured, measuring pause. “If your majesty ever wishes for someone to talk with . . .  if you wish it, I am here.”

Laurent dismisses the idea immediately out of habit. He doesn’t have confidants, other than the one. Then returns to the thought of it, files it away for further consideration. In every way, except that Laurent has long ago lost the habit of confiding in him, Herode would be a better person to talk about this with than Damen. 

He says, “Perhaps another time.” Hopes his tone was decisive enough to shut down the conversation for now, but gentle enough to convey a possible openness to Herode’s offer in the future.

“Yes, the news is still so fresh,” Herode says. “It’s only natural for you to be distracted. And with everything else that’s happened as well--you must have a million things on your mind.”

A million things on his mind. Yes, Laurent does. And he probably always will. And for now, he’ll accept that this is one of them.

[gxldensxldiers]

Thinking about Io again and just the automatic beef she would have with Chamber in a Valorant verse

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Saluti, sono io! :)

Influencing you with Santino x John AHAHAH-

I found an interesting sentence, and I'm curious about your opinion, "Hold my hand. You're going to be fine." Like, whatever you have in mind with that sentence with Santino and John

Bella come sempre!! Wonderful prompt. Guess I’ve been bamboozled into writing angsty drabble, oh noooo…

TW: mention of past physical abuse

“Santino?” John came into their bedroom looking for him, almost done preparing dinner. He found him staring out the window, the setting sun flaring against the edges of his curls. 

Santino didn’t turn to face him. “I will be with you, I’m just…trying to return a phone call.”

“From who?”

He cleared his throat and attempted to sound casual. “My father.” Four months ago, Santino had lied and told his father he was moving to New York on business. In reality, he came to live with John. They had barely spoken since. Santino had asked for space to focus on work, which, for once, his father had accepted. He was no doubt glad that Santino finally seemed interested in making a mark on the world, and relieved that things were so quiet and untroubled on Santino’s turf. But he would call eventually, and now he finally had. 

“You don’t have to talk to him.” John’s voice had gone suddenly flat and hard.

“Yes I do.” He sighed, fidgeting with his tie. “If I ignore him forever, he’ll cut me out of the will. Besides, it’s ridiculous to be upset over this. I’ve talked to him for most of my life. Moving out, talking to him less and less…it made me soft. I should suck it up like I used to.” He made a small, choked sound that should’ve been a laugh. John made him soft, honestly, that was the truth. And he liked it. John made him care about himself, about his own wellbeing. Put him in touch with his emotions. After all that had passed between them over the last few months, to return to being degraded and belittled hurt more than he could explain. To talk politely to the man who had beaten him…after confessing to John how much those beatings had destroyed him…it made something twist inside his gut.

“Hey. No you shouldn’t ‘suck it up’.” John could no longer hold back from embracing him. Santino finally turned towards his lover and curled into him, his face crumpling against John’s shoulder.

“Why did you have to go and make me love being alive, mio caro? I was good and numb before you came along. Now it will hurt so much more to talk to him. I don’t know if I can do it.”

Again, John said, “You don’t have to.”

“No. I have to. And I will.” He pulled back and straightened his vest, composing himself. John hesitated, knowing deep down that this call truly could not be avoided. The best John could do was to comfort him.

“Can I stay next to you?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Good. Hold my hand. You’re gonna be fine.” John held up his palm to Santino, waiting patiently. “No matter what he says to you, I’m here.”

He swallowed, and looked at John with a small glint of confidence growing in his eyes.  He took his hand and squeezed it. “Okay.” Then he dialed.

John didn’t let go or take his eyes off of him for the entire call. Whenever Santino felt misery building in his chest, he just remembered the steady pressure of John’s hand in his, grounding him, and knew that John cared for him. What else really mattered? Whenever Santino had to agree to something, or apologize for something, a look of protective rage passed over John’s dark eyes, making him feel so very loved. The old fool on the other end of the line would never understand the kind of happiness they had. He rubbed his thumb over John’s fingers in a gesture of gratitude. "Ti amo,” he mouthed silently to John, during a particularly vicious speech that he was hardly hearing, and squeezed his hand again. John squeezed back.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Footnotes

[1] Ie-hovah, and in composition Iah, the Being; Iao, ioupitur, same meaning; ha-iah, Heb., he was; ei, Gr, he is, ei-nai, to be; an-i, Heb., and in conjugation th-i, me; e-go, io, ich, i, m-i, me, t-ibi, te, and all the personal pronouns in which the vowels i, e, ei, oi, denote personality in general, and the consonants, m or n, s or t, serve to indicate the number of the person. For the rest, let who will dispute over these analogies; I have no objections: at this depth, the science of the philologist is but cloud and mystery. The important point to which I wish to call attention is that the phonetic relation of names seems to correspond to the metaphysical relation of ideas.

[2] The Chinese have preserved in their traditions the remembrance of a religion which had ceased to exist among them five or six centuries before our era. (See Pauthier, “China,” Paris, Didot.) More surprising still is it that this singular people, in losing its primitive faith, seems to have understood that divinity is simply the collective me of humanity: so that, more than two thousand years ago, China had reached, in its commonly-accepted belief, the latest results of the philosophy of the Occident. “What Heaven sees and understands,” it is written in the Shu-king, “is only that which the people see and understand. What the people deem worthy of reward and punishment is that which Heaven wishes to punish and reward. There is an intimate communication between Heaven and the people: let those who govern the people, therefore, be watchful and cautious.” Confucius expressed the same idea in another manner: “Gain the affection of the people, and you gain empire. Lose the affection of the people, and you lose empire.” There, then, general reason was regarded as queen of the world, a distinction which elsewhere has been bestowed upon revelations. The Tao-te-king is still more explicit. In this work, which is but an outline criticism of pure reason, the philosopher Lao-tse continually identifies, under the name of TAO, universal reason and the infinite being; and all the obscurity of the book of Lao tse consists, in my opinion, of this constant identification of principles which our religious and metaphysical habits have so widely separated.

[3] See, among others, Auguste Comte, “Course of Positive Philosophy,” and P. J. Proudhon, “Creation of Order in Humanity.”

[4] I do not mean to affirm here in a positive manner the transmutability of bodies, or to point it out as a subject for investigation; still less do I pretend to say what ought to be the opinion of savants upon this point. I wish only to call attention to the species of scepticism generated in every uninformed mind by the most general conclusions of chemical philosophy, or, better, by the irreconcilable hypotheses which serve as the basis of its theories. Chemistry is truly the despair of reason: on all sides it mingles with the fanciful; and the more knowledge of it we gain by experience, the more it envelops itself in impenetrable mysteries. This thought was recently suggested to me by reading M. Liebig’s “Letters on Chemistry” (Paris, Masgana, 1845, translation of Bertet-Dupiney and Dubreuil Helion).

Thus M. Liebig, after having banished from science hypothetical causes and all the entities admitted by the ancients, — such as the creative power of matter, the horror of a vacuum, the esprit recteur, etc. (p. 22), — admits immediately, as necessary to the comprehension of chemical phenomena, a series of entities no less obscure, — vital force, chemical force, electric force, the force of attraction, etc. (pp. 146, 149). One might call it a realization of the properties of bodies, in imitation of the psychologists’ realization of the faculties of the soul under the names liberty, imagination, memory, etc. Why not keep to the elements? Why, if the atoms have weight of their own, as M. Liebig appears to believe, may they not also have electricity and life of their own? Curious thing! the phenomena of matter, like those of mind, become intelligible only by supposing them to be produced by unintelligible forces and governed by contradictory laws: such is the inference to be drawn from every page of M. Liebig’s book.

Matter, according to M. Liebig, is essentially inert and entirely destitute of spontaneous activity (p. 148): why, then, do the atoms have weight? Is not the weight inherent in atoms the real, eternal, and spontaneous motion of matter? And that which we chance to regard as rest, — may it not be equilibrium rather? Why, then, suppose now an inertia which definitions contradict, now an external potentiality which nothing proves?

Atoms having weight, M. Liebig infers that they are indivisible (p. 58). What logic! Weight is only force, that is, a thing hidden from the senses, whose phenomena alone are perceptible, — a thing, consequently, to which the idea of division and indivision is inapplicable; and from the presence of this force, from the hypothesis of an indeterminate and immaterial entity, is inferred an indivisible material existence! For the rest, M. Liebig confesses that it is impossible for the mind to conceive of particles absolutely indivisible; he recognizes, further, that the fact of this indivisibility is not proved; but he adds that science cannot dispense with this hypothesis: so that, by the confession of its teachers, chemistry has for its point of departure a fiction as repugnant to the mind as it is foreign to experience. What irony!

Atoms are unequal in weight, says M. Liebig, because unequal in volume: nevertheless, it is impossible to demonstrate that chemical equivalents express the relative weight of atoms, or, in other words, that what the calculation of atomic equivalents leads us to regard as an atom is not composed of several atoms. This is tantamount to saying that more matter weighs more than less matter; and, since weight is the essence of materiality, we may logically conclude that, weight being universally identical with itself, there is also an identity in matter; that the differences of simple bodies are due solely, either to different methods of atomic association, or to different degrees of molecular condensation, and that, in reality, atoms are transmutable: which M. Liebig does not admit.

“We have,” he says, “no reason for believing that one element is convertible into another element” (p. 135). What do you know about it? The reasons for believing in such a conversion can very well exist and at the same time escape your attention; and it is not certain that your intelligence in this respect has risen to the level of your experience. But, admitting the negative argument of M. Liebig, what follows? That, with about fifty-six exceptions, irreducible as yet, all matter is in a condition of perpetual metamorphosis. Now, it is a law of our reason to suppose in Nature unity of substance as well as unity of force and system; moreover, the series of chemical compounds and simple substances themselves leads us irresistibly to this conclusion. Why, then, refuse to follow to the end the road opened by science, and to admit an hypothesis which is the inevitable result of experience itself?

M. Liebig not only denies the transmutability of elements, but rejects the spontaneous formation of germs. Now, if we reject the spontaneous formation of germs, we are forced to admit their eternity; and as, on the other hand, geology proves that the globe has not been inhabited always, we must admit also that, at a given moment, the eternal germs of animals and plants were born, without father or mother, over the whole face of the earth. Thus, the denial of spontaneous generation leads back to the hypothesis of spontaneity: what is there in much-derided metaphysics more contradictory Let it not be thought, however, that I deny the value and certainty of chemical theories, or that the atomic theory seems to me absurd, or that I share the Epicurean opinion as to spontaneous generation. Once more, all that I wish to point out is that, from the point of view of principles, chemistry needs to exercise extreme tolerance, since its own existence depends on a certain number of fictions, contrary to reason and experience, and destructive of each other.

[5] Chemists distinguish between mixture and composition, just as logicians distinguish between the association of ideas and their synthesis. It is true, nevertheless, that, according to the chemists, composition may be after all but a mixture, or rather an aggregation of atoms, no longer fortuitous, but systematic, the atoms forming different compounds by varying their arrangement. But still this is only an hypothesis, wholly gratuitous; an hypothesis which explains nothing, and has not even the merit of being logical. Why does a purely numerical or geometrical difference in the composition and form of atoms give rise to physiological properties so different? If atoms are indivisible and impenetrable, why does not their association, confined to mechanical effects, leave them unchanged in essence? Where is the relation between the cause supposed and the effect obtained?

We must distrust our intellectual vision: it is with chemical theories as with psychological systems. The mind, in order to account for phenomena, works with atoms, which it does not and can never see, as with the me, which it does not perceive: it applies its categories to everything; that is, it distinguishes, individualizes, concretes, numbers, compares, things which, material or immaterial, are thoroughly identical and indistinguishable. Matter, as well as spirit, plays, as we view it, all sorts of parts; and, as there is nothing arbitrary in its metamorphoses, we build upon them these psychologic and atomic theories, true in so far as they faithfully represent, in terms agreed upon, the series of phenomena, but radically false as soon as they pretend to realize their abstractions and are accepted literally.

[6] The passage quoted may not be given in the exact words used by Malthus, it having reached its present shape through the medium of a French rendering — Translator.

[7] “The principle which governs the life of nations is not pure science: it is the total of the complex data which depend on the state of enlightenment, on needs and interests.” Thus expressed itself, in December, 1844, one of the clearest minds that France contained, M. Leon Faucher. Explain, if you can, how a man of this stamp was led by his economic convictions to declare that the complex data of society are opposed to pure science.

[8] “History of Public Credit.”

[9] In France, the sale of tobacco is a government monopoly. — Translator.

[10] A subtle philologist, M. Paul Ackermann, has shown, using the French language as an illustration, that, since every word in a language has its opposite, or, as the author calls it, its antonym, the entire vocabulary might be arranged in couples, forming a vast dualistic system. (See Dictionary of Antonyms. By PAUL ACKERMAN. Paris: Brockhaus & Avenarius. 1842)

[11] “Treatise on Political Economy.”

[12] Tocqueville, “Democracy in America.”

[13] Meeting of the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences, September, 1845.

[14] Journal des Economistes,” April, 1843.

[15] “The Liberty of Labor,” Vol. II, p. 80.

[16] In spite of the most approved authorities, I cannot accept the idea that serf, in Latin servus, was so called from servare, to keep, because the slave was a prisoner of war who was kept for labor. Servitude, or at least domesticity, is certainly prior to war, although war may have noticeably strengthened it. Why, moreover, if such was the origin of the idea as well as of the thing, should they not have said, instead of serv-us, serv-atus, in conformity with grammatical deduction? To me the real etymology is revealed in the opposition of serv-are and serv-ire, the primitive theme of which is ser-o in-stro, to join, to press, whence ser-ies, joint, continuity, Ser-a, lock, sertir, insert, etc. All these words imply the idea of a principal thing, to which is joined an accessory, as an object of special usefulness. Thence serv-ire, to be an object of usefulness, a thing secondary to another; serv-are, as we say to press, to put aside, to assign a thing its utility; serv-us, a man at hand, a utility, a chattel, in short, a man of service. The opposite of servus is dem-inus (dom-us, dom-anium, and domare); that is, the head of the household, the master of the house, he who utilizes men, servat, animals, domat, and things, possidet.That consequently prisoners of war should have been reserved for slavery, servati ad servitium, or rather serti ad glebam, is perfectly conceivable; their destiny being known, they have simply taken their name from it.

[17] A comparison of this passage, as given here, with the English translation of “What is Property” will show a marked variation in the language. This is explained by the fact that the author, in reproducing the passage, modified it considerably. The same is true of another quotation from the same work which will be found a few pages farther on. — Translator.

[18] This extract from Scott, as well as that from a parliamentary report cited a few paragraphs later, is here translated from the French, and presumably differs in form somewhat, therefore, from the original English. — Translator.

[19] The spinning-wheel is silent in the valley: family feelings are at an end. Over a little smoke the aged grandsire spreads his pale hands; and the empty hearth is as desolate as his heart. — Translator.

[20] Possibly these paragraphs will not be clear to all without the explanation that the form of association discussed in them, called in French the commandite, is a joint-stock company to which the shareholders simply lend their capital, without acquiring a share in the management or incurring responsibility for the results thereof. — Translator.

[21] Hunting, fishing, mining, — in short, the gathering of all natural products. — Translator.

[22] Little bones taken from the joints of animals and serving as playthings for children. — Translator.

[23] A tax whose total product is not fixed in advance, but depends upon the quantity of things or persons upon whom it happens to fall. — Translator.

[24] This sentence, as it stands, is unintelligible, and probably is not correctly quoted by Proudhon. At any rate, one of Garnier’s works contains a similar passage, which begins thus: “Given a levy of one on the area of the land, and lands of different qualities producing, the first eight, the second six, the third five, the tax will call for one-eighth,” etc. This is perfectly clear, and the circumstances supposed are aptly illustrative of Proudhon’s point. I should unhesitatingly pronounce it the correct version, except for the fact that Proudhon, in the succeeding paragraph, interprets Garnier as supposing income to be assessed instead of capital. — Translator.

[25] Thank heaven! the minister has settled the question, and I tender him my very sincere compliments. By the proposed tariff letter-postage will be reduced to 2 cents for distances under 12 1/2 miles; 4 cents, for distances between 12 1/2 and 25 miles; 6 cents, between 25 and 75 miles; 8 cents, between 75 and 225 miles; 10 cents, for longer distances.]

[26] The new law regarding service-books has confined the independence of workers within narrower limits. The democratic press has again thundered its indignation this subject against those in power, as if they had been guilty of anything more than the application of the principles of authority and property, which are those of democracy. What the Chambers have done in regard to service-books was inevitable, and should have been expected. It is as impossible for a society founded on the proprietary principle not to end in class distinctions as for a democracy to avoid despotism, for a religion to be reasonable, for fanaticism to show tolerance. This is the law of contradiction: how long will it take us to understand it?

[27] The crime makes the shame, and not the scaffold. — Translator.

[28] See volume II, chapter IX.

[29] Ibid., chapter X.

[30] Ibid., chapter XI.

[31] Date of the Napoleonic coup d’Etat, according to the revolutionary calendar.

[32] The Metaphysics of Morals [1.11]

[33] The Metaphysics of Morals 1.15. (Editor).

[34] “I possess because I possess”; “I possess because you possess” (Editor)

[35] A coupon is the amount of interest paid per year expressed as a percentage of the face value of a bond. A bond is, in finance, a debt security in which the issuer is the borrower (debtor) and the holder is the lender (creditor). (Editor)

[36] Proudhon writes “Il était le courtisan de la terre.” Courtesan historically referred to a courtier. However, these were often considered as insincere, skilled at flattery and intrigue, ambitious and lacking regard for the national interest and so, in French, courtesan figuratively means “sycophant.” (Editor)

[37] Proudhon is alluding to the Latin phrase “conubio iungam stabili propriamque dicabo” from Virgil’s epic, The Aeneid (4.126), in which the goddess Juno proposes to “consecrate” the passion of Dido for Aeneas through marriage, turning unstable passion into a stable bond of property. (Editor)

[38] Artaxerxes I was king of the Persian Empire from 464 BC to 424 BC. After Persia had been defeated at Eurymedon, Artaxerxes began to weaken the Athenians by funding their enemies in Greece. (Editor)

[39] Vincent de Paul (1581-1660) was a Catholic priest dedicated to serving the poor. He was canonised in 1737. (Editor)

[40] Harpagon was the name of the miser in Molière's comedy L'Avare (The Miser) (Editor)

[41] Perrin Dandin is a simple citizen in François Rabelais’ Third Book. He seats himself as a judge and passes offhand judgements in any matter of litigation. (Editor)

[42] Bertrand du Guesclin (1320-80), known as the Eagle of Brittany, was a Breton knight and French military commander during the Hundred Years' War. (Editor)

[43] This is an allusion to tradesmen who owned their own tools and took them in a bag or sack (“sac”) when they were dismissed from employment. Hence the expression “get the sack” which is derived from the 17th century French expression “On luy a donné son sac.” (Editor)

[44] There is a play-on-words in Proudhon’s “Chacun de vous porte dans son sac la verge qui sert à le corriger, et qui peut lui servir un jour à corriger les autre.” Corriger as well as meaning “to correct” also means “to give a good hiding to” or “to punish.” (Editor)

[45] Proudhon wrote: “Vous ne serez libres qu'après vous être rachetés, par l'asservissement de vos maîtres, de la servitude qu’ils font peser sur vous.” Racheter as well as meaning “to atone for” or “to redeem” also means “to buy” and he plays with this dual meaning. (Editor)

[46] “Thus I wish. Thus I command” (Editor)

[47] Licitation is sale to the highest bidder. (Translator)

[48] From the Latin Bible: “Jesus said to him: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy whole heart and with thy whole soul and with thy whole mind. This is the first and greatest commandment.” (Matthew 22:37-38). (Editor)

[49] A form of long-term lease that was an institution of Roman law (although derived from the Greek law) and found in French law. An owner of poorly cultivated land granted such leases so that a tenant would take on the task of improving the land. The tenant paid a small rent or canon for this right and the owner regained the land in its improved condition after a number of years. (Editor)

[50] See [Raymond-Théodore] Troplong, Contrat de Louage [Rental Contracts], volume 1st, in which he argues, alone among all the jurisconsults who are his precursors and contemporaries, and with reason, as we think, that in renting, the tenant acquires a right in the thing, and that the lease gives way immediately to a real and personal share.

[51] “even as though some force tearing earth apart should unlock the infernal house, and disclose the pallid realms abhorred of heaven, and deep down the monstrous gulf be descried where the ghosts flutter in the streaming daylight.” (Virgil, The Aeneid of Virgil [MacMillan and Co. Ltd: London, 1920], Translated by J. W. Mackail, Eighth Book, 178). (Editor)

[52] In Kantian philosophy, a thing as it is in itself, as distinct from a thing as it is knowable by the senses through phenomenal attributes. (Editor)

[53] Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations, Volume 1, Book I, Chapter 5, 34-5. The original text is used where appropriate, although Proudhon quotes a French translation which differs somewhat from the original. (Editor)

[54] Smith, Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter VI, 54-5. (Editor)

[55] Smith, Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter 6, 56. As before, Proudhon is quoting from a French translation and this ends with the words “Il faut qu'il paie pour avoir la permission. de les recueillir; c'est-à-dire qu'il paie au propriétaire une portion de ce qu'il recueille ou de ce qu'il produit, sans lui, par son travail”: “He must pay to have permission to collect them; that is to say, he pays the landlord a portion of what he collects or produces, without him, by his labour.” (Editor)

[56] A combination and slight re-organising of selections from The Wealth of Nations. The first sentence is from Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter 6 (57) while the rest is from Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter 9, with the second sentence originally appearing at the end of the rest of the passage. (110, 109-10). (Editor)

[57] In chapter VII, Proudhon writes of “great family of preventive, coercive, repressive, and vindictive institutions which A. Smith designated by the generic term police.” In other words, State power. (Editor)

[58] A paraphrase of Adam Smith: “the law, besides, authorises, or at least does not prohibit their combinations, while it prohibits those of the workmen […] Masters are always and everywhere in a sort of tacit, but constant and uniform combination, not to raise the wages of labour above their actual rate. To violate this combination is everywhere a most unpopular action, and a sort of reproach to a master among his neighbours and equals […] The masters upon these occasions are just as clamorous upon the other side, and never cease to call aloud for the assistance of the civil magistrate, and the rigorous execution of those laws which have been enacted with so much severity against the combinations of servants, labourers, and journeymen.” (Volume 1, Part 1, Chapter 8, 74-6). (Editor)

[59] Smith, Volume 1, Book I, Chapter VIII, 72. Indicators of missing sentences have been added. (Editor)

[60] Hodgskins, Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter X, Recherches sur la nature et les causes de la richesse des nations (Paris: Chez Guillaumin Libraire, 1843), 132. (Editor)

[61] Smith, Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter 8, 88. (Editor)

[amaurotine-daydreaming]

14 - Telling

“Dearest Cousin,” says Igeyorhm, and the stiffness of her posture and her smile is telling. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Lahabrea arches an eyebrow at her. “Will you make your business brief?”

“Of course.”

A lie, naturally.

In truth, Igeyorhm would hound him until he indulged whatever scolding she had in mind. Whether it was in private or in public was a matter of how quickly her target complied.

Not turning his back on her is acquiescence enough–Igeyorhm spins on her heel and walks down the gilded hallway. She wrenches the door to her office open and makes broad sweeping motions with her hand – ‘get in here, quickly’ – and wrenches the door shut again with equal force. 

She rounds on him. “What in the stars above have you done?” she demands, incensed. “Your soul–”

Lahabrea lifts a hand, palm facing forward. It is both a ‘halt’ gesture and the beginnings of an arcane ward: Red sigils flare around both him and Igeyorhm and then disappear, dampening the sound beyond the walls of the office. 

“Is hale, Igeyorhm, thank you for your concern.”

“Hale? Mayhap. Whole? Certainly not. It’s…” She twists her fingers in the air in front of her as if attempting to understand an invisible, arcane object in her hands. “Ugh.” Her hands go to her sides, clenched. “Did you believe such a thing would go without comment?”

“Nay. I am sure Emet-Selch will see fit to say something soon enough, although he has not been short of suspicious scowls for me in the interim.”

“I have never sensed such a void in someone's aether,” Igeyorhm interrupts, her thumb and index finger spread across her temple as she begins to pace like a caged Io. “Your very presence has changed. If it weren’t for the telling precision of the work, I would think some concept had gorged itself on your soul’s aether!” 

Igeyorhm crosses the carpet in eight paces, Lahabrea notes with disinterest – “It is a miracle you are even alive!” she exclaims as she stalks the eight paces back – a tedious detail supplied by his mind as a way to pass the time. 

“This has to do with Athena.” Now Igeyorhm halts as if she’s made some kind of grand revelation. “It cannot be coincidence.” 

She rounds on him again, and her breath seethes as if she had just run across the entire Capitol and not walked around her office. “So I will ask you again, Cousin: What have you done? What has she done?”

A single twitch of muscle in Lahabrea’s face hints at the limits of his patience. “I have ensured our colleagues know what they need to–naught more, naught less. You are no exception, Igeyorhm. The rest, I will remind you, is my business and my business alone.”

Igeyorhm never had fully stopped thinking that their blood relation entitled her to some kind of privileged look into his affairs. And from the way she narrows her eyes now, he still has yet to disabuse her of that notion.  

“I never liked her, you know,” Igeyorhm finally says.

“I am aware.”

“And you never should have trusted her to the extent that you did.”

“I am aware.” 

Lahabrea lets the razor-sharp silence lay between them for a moment. Then he shifts his gaze from her to just over her shoulder.

“Now I will ask you, Igeyorhm: Is there aught else? I have matters to attend to in Pandaemonium now that Athena is…no longer with us.” 

“One thing, in fact,” Igeyorhm says, her eyes still narrowed. “How is Erichthonios?”

The chilly look Lahabrea levels at her is met with nary a flinch. Despite fashioning her hair a serene and oceanic blue, Igeyorhm had fire; just as he - though his flame-red hair had long since grayed - was implacable and cold. What an unlikely pair of relations they made.

“Good day, Igeyorhm,” he replies.

“Of course,” says Igeyorhm as he passes her, her tight smile returning. “Don’t let me keep you.”

The sound dampening wards brighten again, then dissolve, this time by Igeyorhm’s own hand. For the time being, she has no choice but to keep the rest of her counsel.

[buzzdixonwriter]

Why Do People Take Drugs?

To feel better.

Duh.

It doesn’t matter what the drug is, we take it to feel better,

Have an infection?  Take penicillin, feel better.

Headache?  Take aspirin, feel better.

Cancer?  Chemotherapy.

Stress?  Nicotine.

Loneliness?  Alcohol.

Name the problem, there’s a drug for it.

The hypocrisy we spew is that some ailments are entitled tp use some drugs, but other ailments are blamed on the sufferer, who ios either expected to endure their suffering with stoic silence or seek relief through socially approved health care providers.

Gawd help the poor schmuck who opts to self-medicate.

When we talk about “the drug problem” we never mean it in the sense of big phrama charging too damn much.

Rather, we talk about it in the sense of denying that we as a society have failed many of our citizens by ignoring the myriad root causes of their psychic pain and instead demonize their efforts to seek relief.

Healthy people -- physically / emotionally / mentally -- do not need drugs to feel better; they’re already feeling good and / or at peace with themselves.

Only when something hurts do we seek relief.

A person sound of heart and mind may suffer some illness or injury that requires strong pain relievers, but once the cause of the pain is successfully treated the desire / need for pain relief vanishes.

But we see far too many people suffering psychic pain / illness / injury / trauma who hide it from public view, who succumb to drug addiction when treated for physical pain.* 

The prescribed drug does its assigned job well, it numbs the physical pain, but in many cases it also numbs the invisible pain, the emotional pain, the eternal internal pain.

And that’s when people get hooked.

Hanks to pious self-righteous blue-nosed progs (looking at you, my fellow Christians), people with internal damage are denied pain relief.

“If you feel bad, it’s because you sinned.  Pray the sin away.”

Yeah, calling shenanigans on that.  “Sin” means falling short of the mark.  It means not giving a damn about others or their pain, just relieving in self-preening pride over our own lack or fecal odor.

There is a sinner in most sermons, typically the one casting stones from behind the pulpit.

This is not to say people with addiction issues can’t be hurtful or harmful to others,

I don’t care how much you need to drink to forget whatever-their-name-in, DON’T GET BEHIND THE WHEEL OF A CAR!

Addiction related problems arise by forcing users to seek expensive black market drugs which often propels them to commit crimes to finance their drug use.

Many sex workers are classic examples of this.  They feel guilt or shame over their profession, turning to drugs to assuage those feelings, requiring more sex work to buy more drugs to numb more feelings, etc., etc., and of course, etc.

Even in supposedly nice middle class Norman Rockwell homes the same issues arise.  Homemakers need “mother’s little helper” to get through the day which makes them less likely to meet their obligations be they self-imposed or even worse, imposed by whatever group the homemaker identifies with.

Which of course leads to more drugs to soothe the pain which only causes more pain requiring more drugs…

You get the picture?

The first step towards helping people with addiction issues is for society to stop being so damn moralistic and judgmental.

Stop laying imaginary sins on them from the pulpit, accept them for what they are where they are.

The next step is to accept responsible drug use.  There are people who are alcoholics and drug addicts who know how to keep their consumption under control.  People like that are to be encouraged.

Drug addiction is not a moral issue but a health problem,

Cure it, don’t punish it.

  © Buzz Dixon

 * Because gawd forbid we show we are vulnerable on the inside.  Whack off our arms and legs, gouge out our eyes, rip out our tongues, but never reveal any mental or emotional weakness.

[popiacopia]

Benvenuto, welcome.

Here is the lay of the land. Please read:

TLDR: Admin is a legal adult. Blog will contain NSFW content, so no minors please (MDNI). Hateful behavior is not tolerated.

More guidelines below.

Detail from Masaccio’s “Holy Trinity” [Inscription: IO FUI GIA QUEL CHE VOI SIETE, E QUEL CH’ IO SONO VOI ANCOR SARETE]

Admin is over 20.

Some content here will get a little nasty and NSFW. I ask minors not to engage with this blog. I’ve seen multiple people try to be slick and sneak in, or just flat-out ignore this rule. I’m not comfortable with underage people seeing it get freaky in here, so if I find out you’re a minor you will be blocked.

I feel like this goes without saying, but just to be clear– I refuse to engage with hate speech, discrimination, harassment, right-wing ideology, or anything else along that line. End of discussion. [Edit: I support a free Palestine, Sudan, Ukraine, etc. Foreign occupation/colonization/genocide must be stopped worldwide!]

I also thought that this went without saying, but apparently I need to clarify it to some people. If you’re a zoophile (bestiality), MAP (pedophile), etc… For the love of god, don’t follow me. It doesn’t matter if you’re “anti-contact” or whatever else. I don’t care what anyone is into sexually as long as it isn’t illegal– these categories are illegal, and they are illegal for a reason. They are not kinks, they are serious psychological issues. There is a difference. I genuinely encourage you to seek help if you have any of these tendencies.

Please don't send me anything serious: I'm not here to give drastic life or health advice, and I'm definitely not qualified to do so. I can give you encouragement or tips, absolutely! Go right ahead, I don’t mind it at all. But if you need serious help, please talk to a doctor, your family, or another trustworthy person in your life. I’m just some person on the internet– I’m not able to fully help you in the way that you would need. I don't take myself too seriously, and I encourage you all to do the same.

Please don't ask me to weigh in on any controversies within the Ghost fan base. (Or controversies in general.) I don't know anything about the majority of Ghost drama, and frankly, I don't really care. I will address situations on my own terms if I want/need to, but for the most part I’m staying out of it. I don’t like participating in that kind of stuff. I'm just here to have a good time and be nice to people.

In short, I’m going to block you if you cross the boundaries I set above, or if you act like an asshole. And if you treat me respectfully, I will treat you with respect in return. It’s that easy!

My grasp of Italian is shaky, and for that I am sorry. Please just pretend that I am not using an online translator.

Grazie, ciao!

Admin 🜋