#actually schizophrenic author

[cannibal-nightmares]

Trust Fall: Euclid - (Chapter 1)

Stein has a complete breakdown at Spirit's door.

Writing stuff like this helps me defrag. Such is my river. This takes place sometime after anime canon, more or less. It's loose in that regard. I didn't intend for this to be a multi-chapter project, but I think it flows better this way. I also haven't been able to touch art since I've been stuck on this piece, so breaking it up will help in that.

Soul Eater - Stein x Spirit (ship is up to interpretation, SFW) // hurt+comfort, actually schizophrenic author, schizophrenic Stein, psychosis, panic attacks, paranoia, non-verbal Stein Word count - 3,322 -- [AO3 link]

As familiar and cradling as the dark quiet was, the short memory of a cadence echoed in his ears until he realized it hadn’t been a part of his dream and had him gasp in surprise. Two raps and a delayed third had stirred Death Scythe from his sleep that night. A pause, sitting up now, the sound blurred in his recounting over and over in deciphering where it had come from, what it meant, who it could have belonged to. Why was he awake again? Spirit found his face with his palm and blinked into the room, the window shining faint blue with moonglow, sighing and recollecting consciousness.

Someone was knocking at the door.

The weapon made polite and tossed on a pair of pyjama pants before padding out through the apartment to the entrance. If he were any more present, he would have flipped on some of the light switches along the way for whoever it was he was about to greet, but the nicety was left in the sheets.

Too, he forgot to even look through the peephole before fumbling the door open.

“Yeah?”

Now he was awake.

“Franken?”

At the threshold was a drooping figure of a man in a tired labcoat, his countenance evading sight, though what could be caught of his pale irises contrasted back and forth from his deep circles to pin-dot pupils. His eyes darted amongst the floor in the area around Spirit’s ankles, and Death Scythe had an instinct to comment on his unsteady swaying before his guest nearly collapsed into his chest. He didn’t hesitate to catch him, taking the embrace in like a parent holding a distraught child.

“Hey, hey…!” He cooed with worry startlingly frying his voice. “What is it?”

The response returned was smaller than anything Albarn had ever heard before.

“I need your help, Spirit.”

“Help with…” Death Scythe started, but tightened his arms grip as the desperate man went nearly dead-weight over his feet. Exhausted laughter stifled only by breathiness and the fabric of a night shirt escaped the meister’s lungs. “Wh– Hey, talk to me–” Spirit stammered, then recentered as the shattered professor wedged between them one hand to cover his own mouth and the other to tightly shield his eyes. His shoulders jerked as the tormented giggling no longer had a way to escape.

His partner had managed shenanigans before to weasel his way into Death Scythes's apartment for reasons to reveal themselves, but there was no doubt in his mind now that this was not the case. Still, he was admittingly afraid to move as the doctor was convulsing choked wheezes in his hold.

Spirit gently dipped his body to take a look at the professor’s face, but, as they separated, Franken just curled more into himself at the waist, his shoulders hunched more and more in an assured attempt to get smaller. He was tense down to every muscle; Spirit kept a calm hand to the meister's upper arm and couldn't help but acknowledge the high-voltage anxiety course through his own throat.

“Let's get inside, Stein,” Albarn gently pressed him in, granting a few shuffled steps, but barely as the weapon shifted to close the door behind them did Franken's stressed chuckling become audible again, stumbling one more step inward and going weak in the knees. Spirit gasped and made haste to catch him, but couldn't keep them both from collapsing to the floor, jammed to where the perimeter met the wall. His laughter was starting to sound less like giggling and more like a struggle to breathe, prompting Albarn to circle around low to meet his front. The strain in his squeezed-shut eyes reflected something beyond pain and annoyance with it; Stein death-gripped one side of his brow with a flexed hand, the other he met forcefully with the heel of his palm once, twice–

“Hey, hey, none of that,” Spirit heard a tremble in his own tone. He put his hand on top of the assaulting wrist, but didn’t make a strict attempt to hold it back. With his left, he swept heavy hair behind his ear out from the professor's face.

“None of that, dear. You're safe, Stein. You're safe with me.”

With the singular beat of pause did reality come crashing: The DWMA’s greatest meister had scouted and crumpled at Albarn's doorstep. Spirit had only once seen Stein in such a near-drastic state before, but he otherwise often kept aloof and to himself out of what he perceived as self-preservation. What brought him here now, Spirit didn't know, and that unsettled him like a chilled breeze warning storms. It was his immediate reaction to ask questions, but he could only figure how that was going to play out. Franken muted his laugh with his chin to his sternum.

“Stein,” Spirit decided clearly, his jaw trembling. “Take a second, Stein. Can you hear me?” Albarn adjusted so that he could sit more comfortably close before him, rubbing his partner's shoulder soothingly, hoping the touch would ground him and grant him the ability to listen.

“I'm sure your ears are ringing,” he hesitated, fighting the want to trail off out of uncertainty. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

The doctor grew impossibly smaller, his throat hitching a few times until his stifled laughter started to sound too uncomfortably like hyperventilation.

He finally let go of his face to take Spirit’s shoulder in search of panicked balance, each inhale becoming shorter than the last.

"Hey, come on now, Stein, listen to your breathing. Here, sit upright." Spirit hoped his tone sounded encouraging and not pressuring, but it was getting more and more difficult to compartmentalize his anxiety.

"Match me, Stein." He squeezed his shoulder with a confident hand. "Feel that?"

Franken kept his eyes strained closed, his head turned deep into himself and away. A short inhale, a shaky but gentle fist-tap to his forehead, a held breath, and at last forced a deep exhale. His right hand remained clutched onto Spirit’s shoulder. An inhale, a giggle, a flinch away, a held breath… He nodded to Spirit’s ask. Exhale, slowly…

A few more times, and the room fell quiet.

“What's happened, Stein?” Spirit released a sigh to himself, eyes long-since watering.

The meister didn’t seem to dare move from his awkward pose. The question was partly rhetorical, but attempting to answer seemed to gag him, his brow twitching in reflexes. A good moment, and his mouth opened to reply but was chased by his left hand to clasp it shut and a minute though frantic headshake. Eventually, that same hand shifted to further blind his vision as if he could see through his own eyelids.

 All of this, he seemed afraid to let go of Spirit.

“That’s okay, Stein. Take your time.”

Death Scythe breathed deep, himself, blinking away tears of shock seeing his ever-strong meister at a loss for words, seemingly as though he had a gun to his head to keep from speaking. To say it was all uncharacteristic would have been a massive understatement.

“Let me help you up.” Albarn said softly. “You can sleep here, I know you need it.” He corrected himself too late with error lumping in his throat. “You look like you need it.”

He shifted only a little in preparation to help him stand, but as Stein accepted the support on his other side, mania neutralized his sheer strength against the exhaustion of fear and Spirit very suddenly realized his current position under his grip.

Death Scythe could have sworn he started to hear a faint yet piercing static-electric ringing.

The difference between them being he was able to ignore it.

His hands having shifted under and near Stein's elbows and forearms, Franken still with one to Spirit's shoulder, the weapon cleared his throat in transition.

“You ready?”

Stein didn't move but a slight pained spasm in his countenance. Spirit didn't, either, but he watched closely in the dim dark for any hint at a micro cue, as if a falling lock of hair could speak more to him. Further pause, and finally Franken gave a small nod followed by a quiet but soothing yet threatening and disturbed shushing to himself. Albarn wasn't sure if he should comment on it. 

“I… Didn’t say anything, dear.” He brought his volume down, anyways.

“Not...” Stein gave a short sigh to the sound of his own voice, then very quickly hummed as if he were distracting from a mistake. “They…”

Spirit saw how instantaneous he was getting worked up again. “Hey, listen to me: You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.” He choked, a misplaced anger in his eyes as he finally met Death Scythe’s in a spontaneous contact, then let a glint retreat him back to cornered despair as the focus was more disarming than anticipated, very clearly catching the sight of tears in his partner’s eyes.

“It’s not…” Stein’s throat hitched again, panic in his pupils, suddenly stuck in an unfaltering stare. “I–”

“I’m in no rush.” Spirit was bold to interrupt, sighing in hoping his meister would reflect him, would feel his soul attempt to calm. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I am here for you.”

A beat.

“Spirit?”

“Yes, Stein?”

Franken almost couldn’t believe the noise over his tongue. “Spirit, is this actually happening?”

Albarn had started to wonder the same thing, but his position made him the last person to be in denial. The question was nearly too ambiguous to answer directly.

“You’re in my apartment. It’s late at night. You’re wearing your favourite lab coat... I’m here to help you through this, whatever you may need.”

Stein started to half-narrow his eyes and turned his head to face the room, his line of sight still locked to his partner momentarily before snapping it away and flicking amongst the dark. The weapon hoped to Death he hadn’t said the wrong thing, though it seemed the professor’s muscles were finally untensing, even if just a little.

“Come on. I’ll help you to the guest room.”

Franken accepted his partner’s grasp with a squeeze under his palm, unlooking, and Spirit didn’t have to think twice about the weight he was about to hoist up, his foot kicking his hip closer to balance them both as they made it to their feet. What took Albarn by surprise, then, was Stein’s hurried instinct to hide his face into the weapon’s collar; he could feel within his meister the irregularities of natural strength and circumstantial physical weakness fighting against each other, his limbs shaking with effort.

“Sorry, I–” Stein forced a chuff, starting to pull away, only to yelp as if something caught his attention, returning himself to Spirit’s chest with a grimace, groaning scared annoyances followed by hushed manic giggling. He brought his more readily-free hand through his hair so that his fingers were around the stem of his screw between his ear and the head of the bolt, pressing his skull like keeping something from escaping.

“Shh, it’s okay, Stein. I’m here.”

He enveloped the junior inward, brushing his hand across his back like comforting a boy afraid of the dark. In his meister’s convulsions, though, Spirit was beginning to admit to himself the struggle of keeping himself together: Five whole minutes into this intervened altercation and he found himself unsure of where to redirect his self-doubt. No, “uncertainty” wasn’t the word, but so starkly seeing the contrast… Before him was the otherwise most fortified man Spirit knew, hiding from the whims of his own mind in the arms of his weapon; the reversed symmetry in the inverted mirror was truthfully overwhelming.

But, as he had before, Spirit took the role of guidance with unhesitated grace. If Stein wasn’t giving up, neither was he.

“Do you want me to lead you?”

Franken deepened himself, flexing his fingers through his hair repeatedly. Despite the different shade of distress, he counted through a breathing exercise and Spirit waited.

In, two, three, four…

As he considered his patience, Albarn took accord.

Hold, two, three, four, five, six…

In the rows did something stumbling find another: A hushed and scrambled cacophony of channels flipping on a television set fell steep with both hands gripping back on a yoke, the descent mere inches from the utmost height to the floor, like tripping over an edge in a nightmare… The other, a boat on a black sea with the mainsail long-pulled taught against unprecedented but not unexpected winds... Intangible and unlikely otherwise, the two came together in the image of a dream and all became but a tolerable buzz, a soothing pendulum...

Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…

Strain built intentionally tight in Spirit’s chest, but, with the exhale, tension he wasn’t even aware of released from his jaw and neck, his head a bit dizzy with the new air and the familiar scent of his meister. He continued to pause for several more rounds, several more heartbeats, the grip in Stein’s fidgeting lessening in white.

Spirit took his right hand and found his own shoulder where his meister still had not let go. With the smallest smile, Albarn lowered himself in gesture.

“Keep your eyes closed if you need to. I will guide you.”

Stein nodded. Shakily but earnest, he nodded.

The weapon considered prying Franken’s hand off of him to more comfortably take him by the wrist, but instead let his own fingertips suggest that his hand was fine right where it was, turning away and having the placement shift to follow suit. Stein couldn’t help an anxious muttering in the readjustment that had Spirit raise an eye to his attention. He concluded it was all self-soothing. Stein looked so little in his frame.

A few shuffled paces, they made it across the living room to the hall and the spare bedroom door, but a couple clicks of involuntary ratcheting caused Franken to yank back on his escort with wild eyes snapped open in a sudden shock.

“Stein!” Spirit yelped.

“Shhsh! No, no, we can’t– You can’t–” He brought both hands to the back of his neck, elbows almost touching in the middle.

Spirit jammed his nerves into a lower gear. “Slow down, Stein.” He tried to move non-threateningly to alter his focus, but the panic was becoming intoxicating. “What is it?”

“They’re waiting for us, you’ll see, you’ll figure it out. You’ll know.” Stein’s flickering eyes were just as they were when he showed up to the apartment: Frantic, lost, certain of something displaced. He flinched, he shushed, he giggled false reassurances as an apology for his child-like fear.

“Inside?” Spirit had to retain a quiver. “Did your soul perception tell you that?”

Stein went eerily quiet, his mouth just barely open. His lips met again when he allowed a tiny nod, his pindot pupils unchanging in the confirmation.

Albarn forced an amused huff with a playful smirk. “What are the odds a death scythe wouldn't be able to defend himself?” From his forearm that neared the door, an arching blade flashed out from his ulna to his wrist.

Something wild crossed Stein's face, but, this time, Spirit couldn't place what it was; maybe it was the shift in energy in the now-unwavering eye contact, the desperate nod that followed, the microexpression of curling-upward lips. Franken reached out to return his balance to Spirit.

The weapon turned the knob and pushed in–a bit awkward with his scythe unsheathed–half-expecting the darkness inside to spill out and swallow them whole, but, of course, the room was exactly as it were, save the faint luminescence of the moon. They crept inside, Stein mentally clearing the space from one corner to the next, and the blade was put away with a slight metallic scraping. Spirit threw back the comforter of the bed and circled on his heel to suggest his partner to sit on the edge, his static-electric unease gradually ebbing further from its peaks. He made sure to remain patient in his movements, kneeling to help Franken untie his shoes.

“When’s the last time you slept, hon?”

Stein watched Albarn’s meticulous fingers, but Spirit couldn’t tell if he was observing them as an anchor or tearing them apart like a riddle.

“I keep having nightmares.” He murmured, his voice like that of a child confessing to trouble.

Death Scythe pretended that was a conclusive response with a hum, though genuinely surprised and relieved he had an answer at all. He held the junior’s calf while loosening the tongue of his left shoe, slipping it off and setting it aside.

“I’ll…” Stein spoke again. “I’m not sure this isn’t one of them.”

Spirit looked up from his task once he made a pair, expecting to find the professor’s gaze, but it was a thousand yards away like a bullet that had long gone straight through him.

“Franken…” he said just to make noise. Albarn took his hand that rested in his lap and met his height, closing his eyes and sighed resolutely. He touched his forehead to his meister’s and brought his left hand to the side of his neck only thereafter. Stein jerked at the touch, but seemed to then lean into Spirit’s confidence of trust.

“You’re here with me. Nightmare or not, I am here to get you through this; you've made it all this way.” He stepped back to meet his eye contact. “You don't have to fight this alone, I'm here with you. I am here for you.”

Spirit's rambling went on a bit too long to prevent a trembling in his voice, but he didn't think twice in pressing through to convey his sincerity. He knew talking to Stein in that moment was like talking through a TV screen, but hoped to Death something slipped over the cross-reception to sell him worth-while reassurances.

Franken found himself in a different kind of daze, watching not the stitches fray apart, but the sutures sew together. This time, the eye contact torn away seemed more of an acknowledgement than a retreat, though still unfocused on anything in their plane. Spirit slipped his hands away and stood, returning, then, kind fingertips to the inside hem of the doctor's lab coat, but his wrist was met with a startled grab.

“You want to keep your coat on?” Albarn plainly asked aloud.

Stein shakily agreed with a met haze. “It's keeping me here.”

A softness passed over Spirit. “Alright, dear.” He met his meister's bicep gently in gesture, and Franken awkwardly complied to tuck his legs up onto the mattress and let his body sink into the plushness of the sheets. The beat prior, they both realized, would be the last time their eyes would meet that night.

“I don't know what decision led you to come to me, but I am grateful for your faith.” Spirit brought the blanket over Stein's torso and up to his collar, then leaned in to kiss him smally on the temple. “I will be just in the other room if you need me, Stein. And you can come to me for anything.”

The scythe returned upright and stepped towards the hall, his watch worriedly lingering over the junior who huddled the comforter to his chin.

“Do you want the door open?”

He didn't answer.

Spirit dipped his half in a nod after a moment.

“Good night, Stein.”

Death Scythe left the door cracked and took a few paces to stop dead-center in the living room. His ears were ringing. How long had they been ringing? The blackness of the corners of the walls sighed with a heaviness released from the weapon’s chest, and he stumbled a single step for balance while a cry unexpectedly welled up and out of his throat. He met his hands clasped to his mouth to keep from making noise, but nothing could stop the convulsions in his shoulders.

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

cosplay of main character li huowang 李火旺 from next big chinese IP 道诡异仙dao gui yi xian/Dao of the Bizarre Immortal (chinese fantacy-thriller-suspense fiction based on dao culture) and the last part is the trailer of anime unreleased yet

[schizononagesimus]

🎶 they tried to make me go to rehab and i said PLEASE PLEASE HOLY FUCK I FEEL SO BAD WILL NOBODY HELP ME I CANT STOP WHY DOESNT ANYBODY NOTICE HOW BAD IT IS PLEASE HELP

[equalperson]

there's this post that circulates sometimes that's like "psychotic people please don't share your triggers online," which I think is true sometimes, but not for everyone. the most important thing IMO is risk assessment!!

you gotta understand the risks. are you willing to have people intentionally try to trigger you? are you willing to risk harassment? how well could you handle it if people online were to treat your psychosis as a source of entertainment, something to be willfully initiated?

how likely this is also depends on your account. do you have a big following? are you prone to hate? do you post controversial things?

I think this applies to everyone really, not just psychotic people. when exposing personal information online, you need to understand not just how it benefits you, but also how it can hurt you.

I'm a writer, so I tend to write personal stuff. I understand and accept the risks I'm taking by arguably oversharing on the internet. but it's not for everyone.

sometimes, being more secretive--even if it's not "normal" in your online circle--is better than being open about every little thing that affects you.

[sinbadalexandros]

Please help by donating to my book ‘I Hide Among the Words” to make it across the finish line to publication. PayPal.Me link: paypal.me/forcedevolutio…

I Hide Among the Words

By Sinbad Alexandros

Poetry and Prose from within a schizophrenic's mind, heart and soul. Come explore, find me, and maybe a little of  yourselves. We are not so different.

322 pieces of my own work written over the last 40 years and 14 by my protege & fiance, Jaira Gena, in the final chapter of the book

tinyurl.com/Soul-Poetry

This is the first time I have written something which I said to, as a quote, and it became something else. First, a 4-line poem, and then a poetic story verse where I try to explain something to a friend. What's unusual about it is I tried to write it from the female perspective for her. Both works share the same name.

"Cages 1"

{ 4-line poem / quote}

"Not all cages,

are of metal, wood, or stone.

Sometimes we consign ourselves,

to a prison of flesh, blood, and bone."

"Cages 2"

{ Poetical Story Verse }

I feel chained up, like I'm all tied down,

but I'm lying in the park, lazily upon the ground.

Can't figure out what's up, don't know what's wrong,

so, I do some daydreaming, while listening to a song.

The next song begins to play, the lyrics strike deep to my core,

they make me hurt in every way, and there is no mystery anymore.

I see people fight like children, every day they scream and yell,

they act like complete animals; it feels like we’re living in hell.

I think no one understands me, no way they could feel the same,

our lives are so very different, and most think it's a big game.

I feel broken and damaged, in this there is no crime,

but others did this to me, with their actions over time.

As the days grow colder, and the light becomes dim,

my mind begins to wonder, will I sink, or will I swim?

I wish to know freedom, and experience real love,

please send me an angel, from the sky up above.

After long years of searching, I finally meet someone new,

who treats me so special, to keep me from being blue.

We go out on some dates, and I have an amazing time,

I wonder if he's like the others, Will he also commit a crime?

I want him to hold me, and to kiss my sweet lips,

yet I'm afraid all he wants, is only between my hips.

I hope he won’t hurt me; his love feels oh so real,

he is different from others, and makes me start to reel.

I talk to him of my fears, and try to drive him away,

he stands his ground firmly, and says, “I'm here to stay.” 

He speaks to my heart, with love in his voice,

to give it reassurance, he made the right choice.

We talked of our bad times, and seeing tragedy’s vision,

then what he did to escape, from his own lonely prison.

And I now realize not all cages, are of metal, wood, or stone.

Sometimes we consign ourselves, to a prison of flesh, blood, and bone.

But every jail can be opened, no matter how solid its pawls,

by offering love and compassion, you can bring down the walls.

He’s healing my damaged heart, and wishes to unshatter my soul,

I wonder if he's strong enough. Can he reach such a lofty goal?

Something has started now, I’m not sure I can finish,

and if it all goes wrong, the man I love will diminish.

We take things slowly, setting our own pace,

leaving those around us, to fight the rat race.

And each day gets better, than the ones before,

being given more reasons, to protect a man I adore.

Perhaps it’s manifest destiny, or just a simple trick of life,

all that time longing for love, and now I’m becoming a wife.

[veryrealauthorthings]

[schizoetic]

Home stretch of my book about living with schizophrenia. 81 000 words. Woot woot!!!

[valeria-sage]

Guys this is important.

People with carers!!! Or people who have had carers or know a carer or know people who have carers or are a carer! Look here!!

I’d like to write a story.

MC’s carer is a serial killer. Along with multiple physical ailments, MC also has schizophrenia. Because of this, nobody believes MC when they tell people that their carer is a serial killer. So they have to figure out a way to stop them.

So! What does a typical day with a carer look like? What do they help with? What does it look like when someone doesn’t like or doesn’t mesh with their carer? Any advice for writing a carer? Any tips for writing someone with a carer?

I know how to write disability (duh) and I know how to write killers, but I’ve never read anything involving a carer or even someone with a carer who isn’t terminally ill. Thanks in advance, I’m very excited to write this.

[evil-jennifer-hamilton-wb]

I see it because it's on most tags in any social media that relate to schizo-spec disorders, psychosis, delusions, because people flood those tags with "delulu" and "schizoposting" and "girl interrupted syndrome". It's hard enough to find community as is, it's upsetting.

The other times I see it is talking to people in the flesh because my peers who use tiktok take that trivialization of our issues with them to the material world. This isn't a rag on you or anything OP, just my experience as someone who is not really able to mask psychosis most of the time.

proof that i am getting old/losing touch is how i have not once heard or read the phrase "delulu" outside of those posts talking about how fucked up it is that everyone is saying "delulu" now

[schizosupport]

Do you know of any books that show psychotic characters in a positive light?

Feeling a bit alone and want to read stuff that doesn’t treat my illness like it’s something subhumans have.

I’ll read anything. Realistic fiction, fantasy, sci-fi, novels, short stories, comic books, etc.

Hey there! I have not been reading as much as I want to for a very long time, so I haven't read most of these myself, but here are some I've come across.

"Challenger Deep" by Neal Shusterman is the only one on this list that I've actually read. It follows a young guy with developing schizophrenia before and during his first hospitalization. I personally quite liked it. The author has a schizophrenic son who allegedly helped him a lot with the book.

"Freaks like us" by Susan Vaught is a book that I started reading, but had to stop because it was stressful. It's a thriller/mystery where the main character is a teenager with schizophrenia. When his best friend goes missing he becomes a suspect primarily due to ableism and he tries to help solve the case. I've been assured by others that it does have a happy ending, if somewhat bittersweet.

"The book of Form and Emptiness" by Ruth Ozeki follows a young teenager who is having psychotic symptoms after the death of his father, and some other mentally struggling characters as they support one another. Judging from what I've read about it, this book is at least somewhat critical of psychiatry and I believe that it may be a theme that the main character is overmedicated, with questions about what's normal and what's abnormal, etc. I haven't read it but it sounds interesting to me.

There's also a fantasy science series called "The locked Tomb", where the second book is "Harrow the Ninth" where the main character has been confirmed by the author to be dealing with schizophrenia (though this concept isn't recognized in the same manner in the world the story takes place in). It's a sequel to a book called Gideon the Ninth, the main character of the second book is schizophrenic, and they may also have a role in the first book without being the main character. (Edited with a correction from the comments)

"I never promised you a Rose Garden" is a classic from 1977 by Joanne Greenberg (pen name Hannah Green). It is a semi-autobiographical account of a teenage girl's three-year battle with schizophrenia. "Deborah Blau, bright and artistically talented, has created a world, the Kingdom of Yr, as a form of defense from a confusing, frightening reality. " The story takes place in a mental hospital in the 1950s so without having read it, I imagine it might involve some disturbing stuff.

If anyone knows of others, or can speak for or against the books that I have mentioned, please don't hesitate to chime in!

[sk3tch404]

Yandere Donnie Darko Hcs

A/n: I finally came around to watching Donnie Darko while I was styling my hair this morning. It was so good and omgg HIS CHARACTER!!! Love it 💜 What he voices in where he rebels against authority resonates with me in the most honest and straight up sense, it's crazy.

CW: Characterizing of psychosis without research (I am in no way claiming this is how individuals who suffer some psychosis or with schizophrenic symptoms act or feel like. This is simply a work of fiction and how I see Donnie's mental state affect the scenario), Donnie is actually very tame here except for his obvious criminal record and acts of violence, and YALL HES A MENTALLY ILL TEENAGE BOY so he's a lowkey soft okay. Y'all see him with Gretchen? So caring and passionate ugh, love him sm. <33 I try to write as close to canon as possible, but sometimes that leads to really soft yans and I kind of doubt my writing. Despite that. I like to think that not all yanderes need to be possessive killing machines in order to fit into the troupe. Everyone's got their own way of dealing with obsession, and so I think I did decently with this one lol.

Proof read a few times, so sorry for wordy/run on sentences and possible wonky grammar.

I feel like Donnie is very observant and patient with his darling. He's quite analytical for a teenage boy which leads him to take time to consider the variables that weigh within your possible relationship.

Donnie is still an awkward kid, so dont be surprised when you accidentally find him staring at you for a considerable period of time in class. In school, he doesn't approach you, seeing as the setting is already suffocating enough. He'd try to catch you after school or when you two have a little bit of privacy.

He's kinda shy and clumsy at first glance--- too talkative in his speech and self-aware of his minor fuck ups. Over time, he'll be more open to what he wants with you. Donnie might not really understand how to handle love and all of its complexities, but hell try really hard to make it work.

Yeah, y'all saw how fast he dived in for that kiss in the film?... Embarrassing, but it's true that he's quite excited to show his affection for you. He'll be "so chill with it," and he is to an extent--- not too clingy at all--- but when he's around he gives you guard dog privileges. Stays at your side and defends you from any brain rotting comments made from the guys around the neighborhood. Donnie isn't much of a fighter, but he's damn well capable of planning and executing a crime if it calls for it. One count of arson, another unaccounted for, severe property damage, and murder? Don't doubt it for one second that he won't consider further acts in the future to come.

His psychosis affects him directly when it comes to you--- as it also does with most things. He already feels so shitty with how things are going in his life, Frank voicing the many thoughts he has about you day to day stresses him further. Sometimes Donnie is scared Frank will convince him to hurt you as the countdown progresses. Despite that fear, he can't keep away from you.

This distress causes Donnie to rebel more often. As he spirals down the rabbit hole Frank keeps digging for him, the anxiety that follows with what will happen to you once the world ends lingers late at night in his bed.

Donnie's main love language is quality time. He walks with you from school and chills with you pretty much wherever. He's pretty book-smart, so he'll pitch in with your projects and homework assignments. His parents don't really seem like they care what he does most of the time, so if he's given the chance, he'll crash at your place for a few before they think he's off sleepwalking or some shit.

Donnie already knows he's slipping off the rails, placebo medication or not, Frank stays to stir the pot. He's almost scared, scared to death that you'll think he's an insane lunatic and he'll scare you off. But at the same time, why be scared if it's the truth? He has evidence, the book, and his own visions. That anxiety doesn't go away when he rambles on about the six-foot-tall bunny rabbit and how that thing has led him to the method of time travel.

You're just left there dumb founded as he stares on at you with that deadpanned look. Too late to back out now. World's ending and you don't got a boyfriend. Well, you got Donnie... and Frank's there too sometimes, but either way, you're all each other's got. You don't want to be alone do you? Donnie knows he doesn't.

He trusts you more than anyone else. Yeah he's on meds, and sure he's loony, but everyone knows that already; not that they seemed to care too much anyway. He feels like he can just exist with you around. All that pent up frustration with the looming guilt of his actions festering inside can be washed out like waves on a cold shore. Of course, it's not a cure-all, but it's damn nice compared to the bone headed friends he got and the tense dinner table back at home.

He has scratch paper in his drawers that are just filled with messy sketches of you. Not sure if he'd be the type to use sketchbooks, but he is pretty organized in his own room. Donnie just finds you so easy and beautiful to draw. Art block has nothing on this boy. He hates it when his sisters barge into his room and see any unfinished piece of you lying around. They tease him so bad about it, he wishes they'd just leave him alone.

"Ooo, is this the girl you're always wasting your time with?"

"No, gimme it. It's none of your business, and get out of my room."

"Geez, fine. Not like that's the freakiest thing you got in here anyway."

Donnie wouldn't be the extreme stalking type, but if he caught a glance of you, he wouldn't be able to look away. He'd also take into account what your daily patterns are as well as your likes and dislikes. He notices your little habits like if you constantly apply too much pressure to your mechanical pencil, making your lead break. He's always have had a passive opinion on the school uniform, but you made it look good, great even. Donnie likes it even more seeing you in street wear. He takes note on your style and even thinks of taking some inspiration from it to feel closer to you.

He's sensitive in places a teenager would be in most. He's irritable and closed off much of the time, even to you if it gets bad enough. Of course, it's not your fault usually. It only makes sense to be defensive in the case of anything he may perceive as a threat, even if that means any possibility of you breaking his heart.

Donnie may be a bit shy in his advances, but what he isn't is hesitant. He's quite bold in his thoughts and feelings. While he is afraid of your judgement in particular, he doesn't mind doing many things in front of you. Your collar is crooked, so let him just fix it up real quick. Talk about something that's got him thinking? He's letting his thoughts pour out like it's happy hour. He sees no issue in doing what he wants to, so if you're feeling unsure or nervous about something, he'll be the one to do it for you. Not many questions asked unless it's got his serious attention.

Kisses are passionate and deep. (Tbh when I first watched the movie I was like, "DAMN dont eat her face- shit.") I dont know if Donnie has had previous experience or not, but he's definitely got the enthusiasm. He tries to match your rhythm if you seem to have trouble following. Not too much tongue, but best believe he's devouring your lips like it's the last 6 hours in the universe. His hands are roaming around your body, feeling the dips and curves so cautiously because Jesus, you're just rocking his fucking world. If you tell him to slow down, he will. Donnie never wants to force you to do anything you wouldn't want to.

Words of affirmation aren't really a thing for him. If he says something to you, it was probably on his mind anyway. If you say "I love you" to him, he'd be almost stunned but wouldn't have a problem reciprocating that energy. He just felt like that connection between you two was already clear enough. No need to say it so directly. Although, it's nice. He really loves and cares for you. Would take a bullet for you--- cross his heart till he dies, all that sappy shit.

If you reject him, let's just say Frank and Donnie will be speaking more often. It pushes him off the edge. Frank isn't in Donnie's head just to do evil shit, but it's not like his presence doesn't perpetuate Donnie's behavior further. He wouldn't go on a killing spree or anything excessively violent like that. He'd be hyper-focused on the time travel aspect of his situation and become more forceful in his methods. He'd demand answers to make sense of all of it. To cope with the fact you didn't want him like how he needed you. Why didn't you like him enough? What didn't he do? Actually, what did he do? His mind feels like its on the brink of breaking as he tries to rationalize all the negativity in his life. He's already done too much, his world feels like it's collapsing in on itself before the actual day could even come. You were a majority of that world, and now it's just broken.

Donnie is so distraught and confused about his adolescent experiences, he almost doesn't know what to do. The only thing to do from then on is to focus on the countdown. Time travel, and how to fix it all. Otherwise, not only would he be left alone, but you would be too. Donnie wouldn't want that for you, not ever. Even with all the pain and frustration stowed away inside his still beating heart, he would never wish to hurt you; one of the only people on Earth who didn't suck so much as everyone else did.

[harrisonarchive]

George Harrison in the Liverpool Institute school photo, April 1956; screenshot from The Beatles Anthology.

George’s first day at the Institute was 8 September 1954.

“The first day at the Institute Tony Workman leapt on my back from behind a door and said, ‘Do you want a fight, lad.’ [...] I hated being dictated to. Some schizophrenic jerk, just out of training college, would just read out notes to you which you were expected to take down. I could never read them afterwards anyway. They never fooled me. Useless, the lot of them. That’s when things go wrong, when you’re quietly trying to grow up and they start trying to force being part of society down your throat. They’re all trying to transfigure you from the pure way of thought as a child, forcing their illusions on you. All those things annoyed me. I was just trying to be myself. They were trying to turn everybody into rows of little toffees.” - George Harrison, The Beatles Authorized Biography

“The Big School, Liverpool Institute, was a real pain in the neck. [...] It was such a dump. It could have looked good. It could have had the paint scraped off the woodwork and been decorated like the Victoriana it was. I took Olivia to see it. Coming from California she couldn’t believe it. There was a night school going on so we were able to wander around and look at the rooms where I had been.” - George Harrison, I Me Mine

“Actually, I was a real sort of lout in my youth. When I was a kid I liked to run about and jump and do all those things kids do, but then they took me away and put me in college or high school where we didn’t do anything except Latin and logrith — logarithms.” - George Harrison, Rockline, 10 February 1988

George Harrison: “Yeah, I’d like to send one [request] too, to two mates of mine who were at school and always getting kicked out with me, Kelly and Workman, that is, Tony Workman and Arthur Kelly. If yer listening —" (John Lennon shouts) “Get a job!” (Laughter) GH: “Hello, how are yer, and all the best.” - Chris Denning’s Radio Luxembourg show, backstage at the Hammersmith Odeon during Another Beatles Christmas Show, December 1964 (x)

[italian-lit-tournament]

Italian literature tournament - First round.

Propaganda in support of the authors is accepted, you can write it both in the tag if reblog the poll (explaining maybe that is propaganda and you want to see posted) or in the comments. Every few days it will be recollected and posted here under the cut.

The propaganda here are in order from left to right, first Carlo Gozzi and then Guid Cavalcanti

Carlo Gozzi propaganda by @girlboccaccio

Do you like theatre? Do you like opera? Are you interested in commedia dell'arte? Do you like fables with dubious morales, fairy tales with dark hidden meanings, plays inspired by 16th morally ambiguous short tales and The thousand and one nights? If yes you should take two second and vote for Carlo Gozzi (yeah the funky guy in b/w on the left). Without him we couldn't have masterpieces like Puccini's Turandot and The Love for Three Oranges by Sergei Prokofiev. He was a great admirer of spanish literature and theatre. He defended commedia dell'arte and funky plays when this manners of making theatre were dying. Immaculate yeah? He wrote an autobiography named Useless Memories, truly cunty, right? He was a rate A+ hater when he decided to start shitting against the king of the new modern way of writing theatre, Carlo Goldoni. He died in a Country that stopped existing in the last decade of his life (The Not So Serene Republic Of Venice) and lost all his friends in exile. He was the bitch of the venetian intellectual life. He was the bitch of the coolest italian actresses of the time. He was friend with Francesco Algarotti, the loveboy of Frederich the Great.

Fella, if you love the 18th century, you have only one choice in you hand: vote Carlo Gozzi.

Propaganda in favor of Guido Cavalcanti by @eresia-catara

May I add further propaganda for Guido: He's a noble, he disdains aristocrats, he was Florence's number one Server of Cunt, he was the city's faggot, he was heretical, he went on a random pilgrimage but interrupted it and managed to be buried in a church anyway, he had an archenemy who sent some men to murder him on said pilgrimage, he came back and tried to murder him back in plain daylight, he gave zero fucks about politics, he got exiled because he was considered a menace for the city. He SAW DANTE's poetical talent, encouraged it, shaped it, and through him the whole of italian literature. Think about it. Also they became besties until they evolved to a tormented psychosexual haunting dynamic (see break-up poem) where Dante himself actually exiled him. In the 13th century his poetry anticipates so many of the literary themes of the XXth century, going from fragmentation of the self (his is basically vivisection and dispersion of his parts), to dissociation from one's own mind and body, lack of identity, irony, desecration, his poetry is full of schizophrenic-like hallucinations, reading them is truly a trip, and yet his language is profoundly meoldic and sweet. And there's also gender-fuckery. and theater, of course, because his poems develop like a scene from a theater (adding layers to the dissociation). So really he has it all guys.

Guido Cavalcanti propaganda by @girldante

GUIDO CAVALCANTI PROPAGANDA ABBIAMO:

LA DISSOCIAZIONE SCHIZOFRENICA:

IL COMICO, IL SIMPATICO BURLONE, IL MEMATORE ANTE LITTERAM:

IL MACABRO, IL GORE, I SINTOMI™

IL BREAKUP TOSSICO PASSIVO AGGRESSIVO CON DANTE

in conclusione

[dolliestfairy]

𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑟 𝐵𝑒𝑙𝑙 🧚🏻‍♀️💋

Michael myers, Jason voorhees, & Bo sinclair with chubby!fem!reader who is a fairy.

༊ Authors Note : yes i come up with another fairy hcs 'gain.. i'm really running out of ideas right now, help me out, please!

༊ Warnings : pet names, murder/killing, michael myers tryna throw his knife at you, and maybe some misspelled words. Poc Friendly Reader.

ׅ𝅄ֹ ׅ gifs are not mine.

𐬹 ۫ ۪ ᩍ Enjoy My Fairies 🧚🏻‍♀️ ₊ ˖  ་ ݁٬ ࣪ ،

𔓘 Michael myers

• the first he saw you, he tryna throw his knife at your direction, but you manage to avoid the attack.

• he first think of you as a pretty weird person. or.. creatures perhaps.

• but everytime he sees you or notice your appereance, he can feel his heart fluttering and he swear he really actually feel giddy about it.

• but dont spill it though, or he'll slit your throat alive /j

• but yea he loves you and your curves and those stretch marks are also a plus-plus. but since he doesnt talk, he just show it with how much he want to spend his time with you.

• if anyone dare to say such a bad things to you? then i suppose you have to prepare yourself because you're just about to witness a brutal death.

𔓘 Jason voorhees

• first meet he think he was dreaming..

• like this is not real, you're not real.. why? because you're a fairy! a non-existent creature.. you shouldnt be exist..

• but as times goes by where he would see you literally almost everywhere in the woods, he manage to make sure of himself that you are indeed a one true creatures.

• everytime he look at you, even if it was just an accidental look or just a coincidence, he can feel his inner child being giddy.

• you can also notice from outside of his mask everytime you stare at him, and he stared back at you where you would notice the softness that was brighten up in his eyes.

• and eventually you both are gonna become more and more trust at each other.

• until the points where he would touch the soft palm of your hand, and you touching the harsh palm of his hands.

• and where you both can shake other hands with no such fear, only trust and where it softness sparks.

𔓘 Bo sinclair

• first he met you, his reaction was just like jason, but this time, he didnt think it was a dream. he just think that.. he was high!

• he calls himself lucky but also a schizophrenic at the same time for having the opportunity to see and have you.

• he calls you a pet name, in which this was kinda funny to me, but he usually calls you "thicker bell" [ 💀 ]

• like seriously bro, he just called you out like "hey come get your ass here thicker bell."

• but besides that, he actually adores you so much lmao, but dont ever point it out at him. he's a major tsundere dude (although he would never admit that too lol)

[makethosenarratorsfight]

UNRELIABLE NARRATORS; SIDE C

*NOTE; propaganda is out of order due to poll length!

Eugenides Propaganda:

the entire plot hinges on a detail he lets the reader (and every other character) assume is true. I don't want to spoil it because it's a really fun reveal but he is lying from the first second he appears on the page and you can't trust him to tell the full truth about ANYTHING related to himself and his goals. he mostly does it to keep his advantage and not have other characters be suspicious of him but it's just so fun when you realise he's been lying the whole time

Harrowhark Propaganda:

She gave herself a lobotomy and gives completely incorrect flashbacks to the previous book. Things that straight up did not happen. Gaslight gatekeep girlboss.

She’s schizophrenic (confirmed by the author) and also lives in a world with necromancy and ghostly revenants. She’s not just an unreliable narrator for readers, she’s an unreliable narrator of her own internal experience. She knows this and has to work with people around her to compensate for it. Descent into spoilerville below. Seriously Do Not Read if you want to read these books. There’s also the little matter about how she is *not actually the narrator* of a huge chunk of the story that we are initially led to believe is being told from her perspective.

(Spoilers) Holy shit she is THE most unreliable narrator. This gremlin gave herself a lobotomy so that she could forget about Gideon Nav, the most important person in her life (for magic soul-preserving reasons) so half of the second book in the series is spent gaslighting the reader about a book they just read. She comes up with an entire alternate version of the events of the first book in the series to carefully exclude any mentions of Gideon, and any time someone says ‘Gideon’ in front of her she LITERALLY has a stroke and/or an intercranial hemorrhage as her brain overwrites the word with someone else’s name. God occasionally intentionally triggers her memory revision to get out of difficult conversations. She also hallucinates ALL the time (unrelated to the lobotomy). She shows up at her frenemy’s room in the middle of the night (think little kid stumbling to their parents’ room and saying “I frew up”) to ask her to come check underneath her bed for the corpse that’s been wandering the space station. When frenemy checks underneath the bed, frenemy claims not to see anything, and Harrow is such an unbelievably unreliable narrator that it’s an open question in the fandom as to whether frenemy genuinely didn’t see the corpse or if frenemy was just yanking Harrow’s chain. Harrow is also haunted by a literal ghost that fucks up her already fucked up alternate history. Girlie will pick up a piece of paper and read from it the most violent and haunting piece of prose ever composed, when in reality all that’s written on the paper is the elementary school Superman S*. I am NOT joking that is a real goddamn scene. Harrow was created to win this poll. TLDR; she has brain damage and memory loss, she hallucinates, and is also haunted. * https://twitter.com/vestenet/status/1301012651145859072

Girl is so unreliable, she unreliably tells me events I was there for!!! She's retelling the previous book and I'm like "girlie, this is absolutely not how it happened". Also, she gave herself a DIY lobotomy, it has to impact your memory center I guess

She literally had a lobotomy, how can she be reliable

More Propaganda under cut!

Harrowhark is simply the unreliable narrator of all time. Can’t remember shit because of a lifetime of trauma? Check. Maybe lying to yourself and those around you a bit? Most definitely. Being gaslit by the survivors you depend on to orient you to reality? For sure. How about a little bit of canon schizophrenia? She’s got it all. Ghosts? Or something? Spirits that are attached in some way to your body and are not perceivable by others? Sure, sure! But how about spirits that are attached in some way to your body and are gonna use you to hijack others’ bodies and maybe kill God, too? Absolutely. Wee bit of DIY brain surgery? If it would make you an unreliable narrator, friends, then Harrowhark Nonagesimus has been there, been subjected to that!

Okay I don't know that much about this series since I haven't convinced myself to read all of the first book, but this is my blorbo in law so I'd feel bad not spreading propaganda (all of what I'm saying is something I've read, as to prevent myself from straight up submitting misinformation). So all of Harrow's unreliable narration takes place in the second book, Harrow the Ninth. Basically, without her even seemingto acknowledge it, Harrow's brain is very fucked up during this book, to the point where even she's not sure how reliable her narrative is. There's many questions left unclear as a result of her fucked up little brain, like what's real, what's fake, whether we can trust her judgement, whether even she can trust her own judgement, whether her original cavalier is dead or not (Harrow is convinced she is), etc. Let me tell you, I adore unreliable narrators who aren't even that sure if they're reliable. I have yet to eat that trope up here in this circumstance, but this poll might not run again by the time I do, so for now, here's my messed up blorbo in law.

OKAY SO REMEMBER MY GIDEON SUBMISSION? HARROW DOESN’T! SPOILERS AHEAD BECAUSE SHE LOBOTOMIZED HERSELF TO FORGET GIDEON BECAUSE THAT’S A HEALTHY WAY TO GRIEVE AND THEN IN THE ONLY PARTS OF HER BOOK THAT SHE NARRATES (THE REVISED CANAAN HOUSE PARTS) IT’S LITERALLY A ROOM FULL OF GHOSTS HER BRAIN SUMMONED TO DEAL WITH THE FACT THAT SHE CUT HER BRAIN IN HALF TO FORGET GIDEON. she also is a) haunted and b) psychotic, experiencing hallucinations her entire life of both the ghosts haunting her and less supernatural hallucinations- bells tolling, bones rattling, her parents (some of the only dead people NOT haunting her), etc! in the revised history of canaan house that her brainghosts invent, she brings along someone who knows about her psychosis to help reality check her when she tells him go! her caregiver as a child and support when she got older, crux, is a horrible man- but at one point, when someone other than harrow is in harrow’s body and tells him “i am not harrowhark, i am sorry,” his response is simply “aye, you’ve said that before too. who are you then, if not my lady harrowhark?” showing his familiarity with her psychosis and his love for the child he wouldn’t dare see as a daughter. but enough about that lets talk about her unreliable narration! she lies about her feelings of course but she also simply hides the truth from everyone, all the time, compulsively. also literally the entire section of her book that she narrates is a lie she’s telling US about a lie she’s telling HERSELF and no one understands even a little bit of the truth until like the last act of the book. queen.

[sinbadalexandros]