#also if I was Sam and had problems with addiction

[autism-swagger]

Society if more people remembered that addiction runs in the Carpenter family

[enobariasteeth]

thinking about how good supernatural could’ve been if it’s original target audience wasn’t toxically masculine men and if it took itself seriously in later seasons

[leona-hawthorne]

SELFISH / mattheo riddle

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: he dreams of you after you leave him because of his addiction

warnings: angst, addiction, drug use, swearing, mention of vomit (super brief), established relationship, mattheo and reader live together, post-war

words: 4.4k

a/n: i went to the melanie martinez concert yesterday! yay! anyways here’s a depressing fic for you <3 also i can’t lie, this was kind of inspired by that one line in chloe or sam or sophia or marcus by taylor swift (included at the end)

navigation mattheo riddle masterlist

The dim light of the kitchen amplified the feeling of darkness threatening to take over your soul as you sat perched on the counter, silk robe slipping off your shoulder. The sweet scent of fresh cookies flooded your nostrils each time you took a breath, the tray resting on top of the stove. An ice pack was pressed to the burn you’d just attained as you were taking the cookies out of the oven.

It seemed baking was one of your many ways of running from your problems instead of solving them.

Mattheo would be home soon. And unbeknownst to the poor boy, you were currently contemplating how to do it. How to leave him.

Maybe you should just leave now, before he returns. No fuss. Or maybe you could spend one more night in his loving arms and then leave a note on the fridge and quietly slip out at the first cracks of light. But that seemed cruel. You knew what you had to do. You had to tell him face to face. That’s what’s right, isn’t it?

If only it wasn’t so hard.

At heart, Mattheo Riddle was a selfish man.

He was selfish when you kissed him for the first time and he greedily pulled you back in. He was selfish the first time he saw you talking to another boy and got his knuckles bloody because you were supposed to be his only. He was selfish when you gave him your body for the first time and he ravished it from dusk to dawn. He was selfish when he continued to love you during the war, knowing his very being compromised your safety. And he was especially selfish when he didn’t flush the powder down the toilet each time after you washed him of his own fucking vomit. He was even more selfish because he didn’t want to let you go.

You were the light of his life, and as much as he wanted to tell himself that he didn’t know how he’d managed to snuff out your bright candle, that was a lie. With each action he took, with each time he ignored your teary eyes as he grabbed the bottle, there was a gust of wind blowing your once fiery spirit out. He felt as though a knife was being stabbed into his chest over and over and over again, piercing the tissue of his heart and breaking him down. He just couldn’t stop.

“Matty, please,” begging, your whispers would break apart, your voice trembling even in the quietest of tones. He’d shrink down to the floor with you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as your palm clamped over your mouth to silence your whimpers, his glazed eyes would look back to the drawer, unable to stop himself from walking to it.

Guilt, guilt, guilt. It was the only feeling he’d known for a long time now. Guilt, eating away at him as he stumbled home with dilated pupils, your beautiful soul straying from judgment and instead leaning his arm over your shoulder. Guilt, gnawing at his quivering fingers as they drew a new line of white, your muffled sobs leaking through the bathroom door. Guilt streaming down his cheeks in the form of tears as he held you in the aftermath, whispers of false promises that both of you knew were fake but wanted to believe anyway.

The sound of the front door creaking open shook you from your daze, furrowed brows relaxing and pulling your nails away from your teeth. You don’t move. You don’t get up to greet him. Even him walking through the door was a rocky road of memories for you. Sometimes, he’d come home with a smile and a kiss. Other times, he’d return with red eyes and arms that refused to hold onto you for help walking.

”Y/N?” His deep, tired voice called out.

”Kitchen.” You yelled, eventually hearing his footsteps approaching you. Still staring at the floor, you see his feet come into sight as he stands in front of you.

”You’re adorable, you know? Making my favorite cookies for when I get home.” He commented, giving you a lazy smile and a long kiss on the top of your head. “What happened to your finger?” He asked, concern filling his eyes as he saw the ice pack on your hand. You ignore his question.

With a shake of your head, you finally look up so your eyes meet his. “Um… Matt, baby, we need to talk.” Your voice is quiet as you contemplate which words to use. His face sours, lips curling downwards into a frown. “Okay…” He swallowed nervously.

You take a moment to really study your boyfriend’s face and lo and behold, his eyes are red. No surprise. Your expression doesn’t morph into shock or horror or concern. This is your usual now.

“What did you and Theo do today, Matt?” The question sounds innocent but Mattheo knows it is anything but.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” He chuckled nervously in an attempt to dodge your question.

”No, but I asked you a question.”

His head tilts down, staring at his feet embarrassedly, and after a long moment of silence, he answers. “You know.”

You huffed quietly, the sound a mixture of a bitter laugh and a scoff. “Yeah, I know… That’s actually what I wanted to talk about.”

His head snapped back up in an instant, eyes filling with fear that he desperately tried to cover up as his feet shifted around, the wooden floor creaking under him. You averted your eyes, unable to meet his fearful gaze as you just decided to be straightforward with it.

“I can’t watch this happen anymore, Mattheo.”

He stumbled back a bit, as if your words were a physical blow. “What?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you continue. “I’m done.” You got down from the kitchen counter to walk away but his hands were already grabbing at your arms. It was like his blood had turned to gasoline, your words the match. He’d been speechless for many moments, his brain going blank as your words settled in and became the only thing occupying his mind, bouncing around the corners of his skull with a groundbreaking echo. Anger, despair, and most of all, fear. Fear that he’d finally pushed you too far, that you were finally leaving. His hands grabbed at you in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to lock you to himself. “No, please—”

“Stop, Mattheo.” You mutter, your voice breaking. His hand froze, his heart clenching in his chest as your voice hit his ears. He hated the way you said his name. There was no love or warmth in it anymore. Just a cold, sharp edge.

“We can talk about this.” He pleaded, his voice becoming low and desperate. “Please, Y/N. Just let me explain.”

“This isn’t something we can fix with a fucking conversation, Mattheo. Not anymore.”

“We can try!” He insisted, his grip on your arm becoming a little firmer. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, and he wasn’t going to let you go without trying to fix this.

“Mattheo, we have tried.” You let out a broken sob.

“I know I messed up. And— and I’ll do better. I’ll stop, I’ll do anything.” He said, the desperation seeping into his voice. “Please, Y/N, I’m begging you.”

If it weren’t for the fact that you’d heard similar words leave his mouth many times before, you may have broken and given in.

“That’s not how that works and you know it.” You utter quietly, teary eyes darting back up to his.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling a mixture of anger and hurt wash over him. “You’re not even willing to fix it.” He spat, his grip on your arm tightening.

He hated the way you spoke to him, like it was so easy for you to walk away. It tore his heart out of his chest. “You don’t get to act like you’re better than me, because you’re not. You’re just a coward, running away instead of facing this like an adult.”

With a sniffle, you bit your tongue and said, “Maybe. But I can’t take this anymore, so I don’t care.”

He flinched at your words, the pain stabbing at his heart as he realized that to you, it was that simple. A part of him wanted to say something more, to convince you to stay, but he knew he couldn't do anything to change your mind. He didn’t deserve for you to change your mind.

And so, with a frustrated, heartbroken glare into your eyes, he abruptly took a few steps back away from you, the walls he’d spent ages lowering for you closing back up, the years worth of trust and progress shattering within an instant.

“Fine. Go ahead. Run away. See if I care.”

You swallowed and walked to your guys’ shared bedroom to pack your things, hoping the walls are thick enough to muffle your sobs.

He watched you walk away, feeling like a dagger was plunging deeper and deeper into his heart with every step you took. He wanted to run after you, to hold you in his arms right then and there and sink down to the living room floor with you, but the cold reality of everything that had happened hit him, and he stayed rooted in his spot, unable to move.

Sitting against the gray wall, he couldn’t even look at you as you walked out the door with your bags clutched in your shaking hands. After you left, he sat there for what felt like hours. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His mind was filled with an overwhelming mix of anger, resentment, betrayal, but most of all, an excruciating amount of just simple childlike sadness. It felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

And hours later, still in the same dumbstruck position, in the hazy depths of his mind, he could swear he heard your pretty voice, felt your gentle fingers tracing the outline of his face as they’d done so many times before.

Finally, he decided that he needed to do something, anything to distract himself from the painful emptiness. So he did the only thing he knew how: he went to the white nightstand beside what used to be the both of yours’ bed to take out the one thing he knew would quiet his pounding head.

His fingers brushed against the bottle, and his heart leaped as he recognized the familiar feel of its cylindrical shape. He pulled it out, his eyes widening with relief as he held the bottle in his hands. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He hastily opened the bottle as he walked towards the door leaned against it.

Soon enough, a sudden lightheadedness washed over him, and he sat there for a moment, enjoying the light fuzzy feeling inside his head. It helped to erase all the terrible thoughts that were plaguing his mind, making him feel like he was floating. He reached for another pill, but as he was about to take it, a voice at the back of his head started scolding him.

“What are you doing?”

He flinched as he heard the voice in his mind, his hands still clutching the bottle. He looked around, even though it was clear that the voice wasn’t coming from anywhere in his room. He tried to ignore it, shaking his head and popping another pill into his mouth.

But the voice didn’t go away. It grew louder, demanding he listen to it.

“Stop!”

He began to recognize the voice as yours.

He let out a frustrated groan, rolling his eyes at the voice. “Please shut up, I need this right now!”

But the voice kept echoing through his head. “But Mattheo, you’re hurting yourself. You’re hurting me. Don’t do this to us.”

Jesus, had he really gone so crazy to the point that he started hearing voices and talking to himself in an empty room?

Reluctantly, he laid the bottle back down beside him.

“Good job, pretty baby. Go drink some water.” Your voice murmured in the back of his head.

He felt a pang in his heart at the way you spoke to him. He missed having your hand gently soothing his cheek, your soft kisses planted on his skin. He missed you, even though he was trying his best not to, to just be mad. Hearing your voice in his head, so soft and gentle, was making him crave you even more.

He sniffled loudly, blinking away his tears before they could fall. He couldn’t help but obey.

Without wasting another second, he stood up and huddled off to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. As the cold liquid flowed down his throat, he couldn’t help but feel like you were there with him. He could almost imagine you standing beside him, softly stroking his hair like you had done countless times before.

Sauntering back to the bedroom with his eyes glazed over, he laid back down in the bed, pulling the quilt over his body. The fact that it was riddled with your scent didn’t help to soothe his aching chest. A tired, defeated sigh escaped his lips as he sunk into the soft mattress. His body felt heavy and fatigue washed over him, making it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t help but wish it was you beside him instead of your pillow, your body pressed against his like it usually was every night.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, the voice spoke up again. “Go to sleep, my love. I’ll watch over you.”

His eyes snapped open and he sat up a bit straighter, his heart racing. God, you’re not really here, are you? You can’t be.

He shook his head, trying to convince himself that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But the voice continued, growing even more fond.

“Relax, darling. Don’t overthink it. Just rest and I’ll see you in your dreams.”

Your voice in his head was so gentle, a soothing balm over the wound in his heart. He hesitated for a few moments before laying back down. He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into a deep sleep.

But before he lost himself to the dream world, he could have sworn that he felt a gentle pair of lips grazing over his face.

In his dream, he found himself in a beautiful garden, surrounded by bright, colorful flowers. The air was filled with the sweet, fruity scents, and the warm sunlight danced on his skin softly. He stood there, taking a moment to drink in the beauty of his surroundings, before seeing a familiar figure in the distance.

You were walking towards him, dressed in a simple sundress. Your hair gently moved with the wind, and your eyes shimmered under the sunlight, resembling a star in the night sky. You were gorgeous, more beautiful than any flower in the garden.

He couldn’t help but smile as you approached him. He reached out for you, wanting to touch you and see if you were real. But as soon as his fingers brushed against your skin, you vanished, leaving him standing alone in the garden, all silent except for the sound of the gentle breeze.

His heart sank with confusion and disappointment as he realized he was alone again. He let out a frustrated scoff, kicking the grass as he began to look around the garden for you. Finally, he spotted you again, standing under an elegant archway.

He quickly closed the distance between the two of you, his hands reaching up to cup your face. He was relieved that he could touch you again. He softly caressed your cheeks, staring into your eyes with admiration. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice filled with longing.

But before he could say anything else, you vanished once again. He gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling within him as he yelled out your name. He began desperately running around the garden, searching every corner until he spotted you sitting under a cherry blossom tree.

His heart leaped in his chest as he ran towards you, but as soon as he reached the tree, you disappeared once more. He felt his frustration reach its peak and he let out a groan of annoyance, his fists clenching as he yelled angrily.

“Stop disappearing on me! Let me hold you, damn it!”

Just as he was about to give up hope, he suddenly noticed you standing behind him. You were smiling, a kind and loving smile gracing your lips as you said, “Catch me if you can, pretty boy.”

His eyes widened as soon as he heard your voice. He slowly turned around to face you, his heart thumping rapidly as he realized you had really appeared. He reached out to grab you, but just as he was about to wrap his arms around your waist, you suddenly sprinted off, your laughter filling the air.

Despite the initial shock, he broke out into a huge, boyish grin. Without hesitation, he began chasing after you. He was laughing, feeling more alive than he had in weeks. As time flew by, the two of you ran through the flower garden, chasing each other like little children.

Finally, after a long chase, he managed to catch you. He pulled you close, wrapping his strong arms tightly around your body. He let out a satisfied laugh, his eyes filled with warmth and affection as he whispered, “Got you now.”

His heart swelled with happiness as you wrapped your arms around him too, your body pressed securely against his. He buried his face into your hair and breathed in your scent, feeling overwhelmed with contentment.

He let out a gentle sigh before pulling away just enough so he could look down at your face. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before murmuring, “I love you, darling.”

You pulled away slightly to look into his eyes, mirroring his look of contentment. “I love you too, beautiful boy,” you whispered as you gently caressed his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, relishing the feeling of your fingertips against his skin.

But when he opened his eyes, he was met with the image of your figure fading away, a startled gasp escaping him. “No! Come back!” He called out, but you were gone. He frantically looked around the garden, only to find that he was alone once more. He felt your absence like a physical ache, and a sense of longing washed over him.

He stood there, his heart feeling heavy and lonely as he whispered your name, hoping for you to come back. But there was no sign of you, no response to his calls. He sank down onto the grass, feeling lost and desperate. The sun continued to shine, almost as if mocking him and his misery.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to regain a sense of comfort, but it wasn't the same. He missed you, longed for your presence. He couldn't bear being alone anymore. The garden around him, which had been so beautiful and filled with life, now seemed empty and boring without you.

He closed his eyes as he lay flat on the ground. Suddenly he felt a kiss on his cheek. His eyes snapped open to see you standing above him with a teasing smile.

A mix of disbelief and happiness washed over him as he saw you standing there, a playful smile gracing your lips. He sat up straight, looking up at you with a mixture of relief and confusion. “You’re back,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“What do you mean? I never went anywhere?…” Your voice echoes through the garden as you tilt your head in confusion, looking down at him.

He furrowed his brows, a bit confused by your answer. He looked around at the garden, which was now eerily quiet, then back at you. “But you disappeared. I was chasing you and you vanished.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve been here the whole time.” You giggled, toying with the straps of your dress.

The confusion in his eyes only deepened as he listened to your words. He was starting to feel a bit disoriented, like he was stuck in a twisted dream. “No, you weren’t,” he insisted. “I lost sight of you for a moment, and then I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Oh, beautiful boy. Are you seeing things again?” Your gentle voice echoed throughout the open field.

As he heard the echo of your voice, he felt a pang in his chest. There was something amiss, something that didn’t feel right. “I don’t understand… Are you really here, or is this just my imagination?” he asked, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.

“I’m whatever you want me to be,” You murmured, looking out at the swaying flowers with an innocent smile.

Frustration started to bubble up in him as he heard your ambiguous answer. “That’s not an answer. I need to know if you’re really here or if you’re just a figment of my imagination.” He stood up from the ground and stepped closer to you, his eyes fixed on your face, searching for any signs of truth in your expressions.

Your innocent smile morphed into a playful smirk, angling your head up to look at him. “Catch me,” You say before running again.

He watched you run away, a mix of frustration and determination now etched on his face. He let out a huff and began chasing after you once more. He was tired of feeling powerless and confused, and he was determined to catch you this time.

As he ran through the garden, the flowers of different colors and shapes passed him in a colorful blur. He pushed himself harder, ignoring the occasional thorns and leaves that clawed at his skin. His focus was solely on you, his eyes locked onto your figure as you darted through the garden.

He tried to strategize as he ran, trying to anticipate your next move. You were nimble and elusive, like a butterfly fluttering just out of reach. But he refused to give up. He zigzagged through the garden, trying to cut you off. He was getting closer, he was sure of it.

Finally, he saw an opportunity to cut you off as you headed towards a narrow path between two rows of tall bushes. He pushed himself to sprint even faster and managed to get in front of you, blocking your escape route.

He stood there in front of you, panting heavily from the chase. His chest was heaving, his eyes locked onto yours. “Caught you, darling,” he said breathlessly, a hint of triumph in his voice.

“Come back to me, Mattheo,” You whispered.

The sound of your voice was like a bandage to his tired soul. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them. He reached out and gently took your hands in his, his fingers intertwined with yours. "I'm right here, darling," he whispered back.

“No… You’re not. This isn’t real.”

He furrowed his brows, confusion and a tinge of hurt evident on his face. "What do you mean? Of course, this is real. We're here together, talking, touching. How can it not be real?”

He looked down at your intertwined fingers and lightly brushed his thumb over your knuckles, as if trying to convince himself of your tangible existence. "I can feel you," he murmured. "I can feel your skin against mine. How can that be unreal?"

He lifted one of your hands to his chest, placing it over his heart. It was hammering against his ribcage, his pulse strong and steady. "Can you feel that?" he asked quietly. "Can you feel my heartbeat? That's real. I'm real."

“No, you’re not, sweet boy,” You whisper, your body slowly fading away.

His eyes widened in alarm as he watched your form start to disappear once again. "No, no, no, no, you can't leave me!" He clutched at your hand tightly, unwilling to let you go. "No, you must be real. You have to be!" Panic and despair welled up inside him as he saw your body fading. He gripped tighter onto your hand, desperately trying to keep you with him. "Please, don't disappear," he pleaded, his voice trembling. "I need you. Don't leave me alone again."

“Wake up,” is the last thing you whisper before disappearing from his grasp.

His eyes snapped open, and he jolted upright in his bed. He was bathed in sweat, his heart racing and his breaths coming out in pants. He sat there for a moment, disoriented and confused. It had all felt so real, yet now he was back in his cold, empty room.

He raked a hand through his messy hair, raking his mind over the dream he had just had, searching for answers.

He couldn't shake the feeling of melancholy that had settled over him. He could still remember the way you had felt in his arms, the warmth of your touch and the sweet melody of your voice. He could still see your captivating smile and the sparkle in your eyes. But it was all just a dream.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling both physically and emotionally exhausted. He looked around at his room, which now seemed even more hollow without your presence. He let out a deep sigh, feeling more lonely and empty than ever.

It was clear he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep in the bed you once shared so he ambled back to the kitchen sleepily and grabbed one of the cookies you’d left in one hand, a bottle in the other, chugging it with no reaction to the sting.

Stumbling to the sofa and collapsing down, now with his system in overdrive, he couldn’t help but selfishly hope you’d come back and save him from falling deeper into oblivion.

But he knew you wouldn’t and most painfully of all, he knew that he deserved it.

You needed me but you needed drugs more and I couldn’t watch it happen

I changed into goddesses, villains, and fools

Changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules

All to outrun my desertion of you

And you just watched it

If you wanna break my cold, cold heart, just say “I loved you the way that you were”

If you wanna tear my world apart, just say you’ve always wondered

— Taylor Swift

[copperbadge]

Hi Sam, could you please recommend any resources/websites to learn about ADHD medication? Until reading your post about second-line meds I thought Adderal was the only one

I can definitely talk about it a little! Always bearing in mind that I am not a doctor and this is not medical advice, etc. etc.

So, I've had many friends with ADHD in my life before I got my diagnosis and I picked up some stuff from them even before getting diagnosed; I also spoke with my prescribing psychiatrist about options when we met. If you think your psychiatrist might be resistant to discussing options, or you don't have one, doing your own research is good, but it's not really a substitute for a specialist in medication management. So it's also important to know what your needs are -- ie, "I want help with my executive function but I need something that's nonaddictive" or "I want something nonsedative" or "I don't think the treatment I'm on is working, what is available outside of this kind of medication?"

The problems you run into with researching medication for ADHD are threefold:

Most well-informed sources aren't actually geared towards non-doctor adults who just want to know what their options are -- they're usually either doctors who don't know how to talk about medication to non-doctors, or doctors (and parents) talking to parents about pediatric options.

A huge number of sites when you google are either AI-generated, covert ads for stimulant addiction rehab, or both.

Reliable sites with easy-to-understand information are not updated super often.

So you just kind of have to be really alert and read the "page" itself for context clues -- is it a science journal, is it an organization that helps people with ADHD, is it a doctor, is it a rehab clinic, is it a drug advertiser, is it a random site with a weird URL that's probably AI generated, etc.

So for example, ADDitude Magazine, which is kind of the pre-eminent clearinghouse for non-scholarly information on ADHD, is a great place to start, but when the research is clearly outlined it sometimes isn't up-to-date, and when it's up-to-date it's often a little impenetrable. They have an extensive library of podcast/webinars, and I started this particular research with this one, but his slides aren't super well-organized, he flips back and forth between chemical and brand name, and he doesn't always designate which is which. However, he does have a couple of slides that list off a bunch of medications, so I just put those into a spreadsheet, gleaned what I could from him, and then searched each medication. I did find a pretty good chart at WebMD that at least gives you the types and brand names fairly visibly. (Fwiw with the webinar, I definitely spent more time skimming the transcript than listening to him, auto transcription isn't GOOD but it is helpful in speeding through stuff like that.)

I think, functionally, there are four types of meds for ADHD, and the more popular ones often have several variations. Sometimes this is just for dosage purposes -- like, if you have trouble swallowing pills there are some meds that come in liquids or patches, so it's useful to learn the chemical name rather than the brand name, because then you can identify several "brands" that all use the same chemical and start to differentiate between them.

Top of the list you have your methylphenidate and your amphetamine, those are the two types of stimulant medications; the most well known brand names for these are Ritalin (methylphenidate) and Adderall (amphetamine).

Then there's the nonstimulant medications, SNRIs (Strattera, for example) and Alpha-2 Agonists (guanfacine and clonidine, brand names Kapvay and Intuniv; I'm looking at these for a second-line medication). There's some crossover between these and the next category:

Antidepressants are sometimes helpful with ADHD symptoms as well as being helpful for depression; I haven't looked at these much because for me they feel like the nuclear option, but it's Dopamine reuptake inhibitors like Wellbutrin and tricyclics like Tofranil. If you're researching these you don't need to look at like, every antidepressant ever, just look for ones that are specifically mentioned in context with ADHD.

Lastly there are what I call the Offlabels -- medications that we understand to have an impact on ADHD for some people, but which aren't generally prescribed very often, and sometimes aren't approved for use. I don't know much about these, either, because they tend to be for complex cases that don't respond to the usual scrips and are particularly difficult to research. The one I have in my notes is memantine (brand name Namenda) which is primarily a dementia medication that has shown to be particularly helpful for social cognition in people with combined Autism/ADHD.

So yeah -- hopefully that's a start for you, but as with everything online, don't take my word for it -- I'm also a lay person and may get stuff wrong, so this is just what I've found and kept in my notes. Your best bet truly is to find a psychiatrist specializing in ADHD medication management and discuss your options with them. Good luck!

[kremlin]

An earnest call for your support: Help me determine if there is a gas leak in my house.

for a long time now, I have been reading and hearing about This Guy on the news, and have been reading all the articles and stories about him:

Above: Sam, tenting his weird-ass fucked up fingers like a real Wall Street Guy might do in a movie he saw

Yep, you already know this guy, his name is Sam, I'll be referring to him as Sam, as that is his first name, and not by his initials, which is what I imagine a pod person might do in an attempt to emulate human behaviour. Whatever. You already know him and what he did, I won't waste your time. Listen. Pay attention. This is not a post about this guy or what he did. That shit is boring as fuck. This is a post about a potential gas leak in my house. We'll get to that in just a bit. Remember.

I've read all the articles and all the op-eds and everything. About Sam. Let us explore the entire spectrum of media coverage of Sam and Sam's Big Ass Problem, starting from the bottom, with the worm-food-tier jackasses: What do people like Jim Cramer and Shark Tank Guy have to say about him?

Above: CNN's "Mad Money" Jim Cramer also doing a weird hand gesture while he tells your alcoholic cable-news-addicted uncle to put his money in some dumbass shit

Above: I think this is the Shark Tank guy? I don't remember his name. Could have sworn his suit had dollar signs and not question marks (?)

I'll summarize their conclusions: "Sam is a boy genius who is super duper smart and can move objects with his massive brain due to knowing about Tech, FinDom FinTech, and computer money, specifically Money Coding. Unfortunately Sam committed massive fraud and will get his ass fucked in federal court".

Moving on from the worm-food-tier to the mediocre-tier: The totally nameless basic bitch journalists at the New York Times or Bloomberg. What do these assholes have to say?

Above: Jim Fuckface, associate financial correspondent for Bloomberg. Jim enjoys winding down on a Friday afternoon by sipping a Bud Lite Lime and wearing his baseball cap backwards, which bears the logo of his local professional sports team.

Above: Kate Fuckface, columnist at the New York Times. Kate enjoys spending her time chatting and interacting with her friends on Social Media Platforms like Facebook and Instagram, as well as purchasing items on Etsy

I'll summarize their conclusions: "Displaying the characteristic awkwardness of incredible technical and financial genius, it was clear to me during our interview that Sam's depth of knowledge truly knew no bounds. Unfortunately Sam committed massive fraud and will get his ass fucked in federal court."

Finally moving on to the people that might actually have a clue about what they're talking about. Sam Levine and Michael Lewis:

Above: Matt Levine, author of a comedy email newsletter named Money Stuff that is 95% financial information by weight and somehow still usually funny as fuck.

Above: Michael Lewis, author of a bunch of really good books you haven't read that were made into pretty decent movies you have seen: Moneyball and The Big Short.

I'll summarize their conclusions: "Sam sure is a smart kid and seems to know a whole lot about economics and this digital currency, and I mean a whole lot, and even more about business, accounting, and finance. Bright kid! Unfortunately Sam committed massive fraud and will get his ass fucked in federal court."

A pretty goddamn clear consensus across the board on both counts.

I listened to the interviews the entire spectrum of people listed above conducted with him -- the ones during which they unanimously concluded how smart he is. I listened to many hours of ad-hoc, unscripted Twitter Space calls he participated in, where he fielded questions about his fraud and his business with complete strangers. I listened to them very carefully. And here is my problem! I came to a different conclusion!

Sam is a fucking moron. I am not talking about solely his intellect, or solely his decision-making abilities, or any specific criteria. I am talking about all of them.

There are two possibilities:

(A) I am correct and, somehow, literally everyone else is incorrect, most of whom know vastly more about these topics than I do

(B) There is a fucking gas leak in my house and I have completely lost all cognitive abilities, suddenly and unwittingly, and exist in a cartoon reality inside my skull that would allow me to reach such a wildly different conclusion from the same evidence.

The likelihood of (A) being correct is very nearly 0%. I mean, come on. I am not fucking around when I tell you how troubling this is for me. I wrote earlier that this isn't a post about Sam or his bullshit. This is a post asking for your help in determining whether I have lost my god damn marbles.

I'll give Sam one thing -- he has some nominal ability to bullshit. If he's writing a Tweet, or making a short statement, he can finesse his words that, on some level, mask how much of a dimwit he is. He absolutely can't do that through about six hours of unscripted interviews. Listen to that shit. Listen.

I am going to go check all the joints in the gas lines in my house as well as the ports on my stove and heater. I'll come back and write a follow-up post on outlining exactly why I think homeboy is an idiot. While I do that, please, go listen to the interviews and tell me what you think.

[dearreader]

hello fellow members of the tortured poets department.

id like to continue entering into evidence analysis from previous days i missed. next is chloe or sam or sofia or marcus

previous day's here:

standard tracks: masterpost

anthology tracks: the black dog, imgonnagetyouback, the albatross

chloe et al. is similar to my explanation to evermore’s theme of “a love album about heartbreak”. because at it’s core it’s a song about heartbreak and longing in a similar fashion to champagne problems or tis the damn season.

the narrator is still reeling and dealing with this heartbreak and knowing it was the right decision but still can’t recover from it. like i was thinking about it because, i’ve mentioned this before, but addiction runs in my family and how heartbreaking the “you needed me but you needed drugs more/and i couldn’t watch it happen” is. and a common theme on the album is having to chose to save yourself over a relationship (“sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days”) and the longing that comes from that and the constant wondering of what could’ve been or come from it.

so in chloe and oomfs it’s the narrator thinking about this relationship that happened and they crashed into each other at one point but the narrator bolted and left this person but it haunted them for years. and when they eventually came back together they realized it wasn’t anything anymore and they were romanticizing their past and what they had and that’s the only way they can have each other is in the memory of their old love and the idea of what they could’ve been instead of what they actually were. and the narrator criticizing them for it but her also doing it herself by wondering what would’ve been if they hadn’t run. even with knowing what they know they still can’t ever get the feeling gone. the idea of them and the love that could’ve been us always there…

if we do look at the album like this and the relationship the narrator leaves there old partner for, it can be seen as the person she always wondered was a "what if..." but never tempted her until her relationship was slowly dying and killing her. then she remembered the fleeting memories of happiness and what ifs and ran back to him and vice versa, both abandoning everyone to be together, and running on nothing but the memory of feelings and touches between each other. only for both to realize it's long since dead but neither is ever going to fully move on because they'll still try to find some way for them to end up together but it'll never happen because they broke up for a valid reason the first time and nothing can bring them back to life... dancing phantoms on the terrace/are they second hand embarrassed that i can't get out of bed/because something counterfeit is dead... would it be enough to just float in your orbit/could we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses/cooler in theory but not if your force it to be...if one thing had been different/would everything be different today?...will i always wonder?

[thelovetheystole]

I've made a list of all the dark and depressing stories Emmerdale have done in recent times under the cut. Lots of trigger warnings for this one, beware.

So, in fairly recent times (from 2022 to now), we've had:

Nicola beaten by a gang of teenage girls / ptsd / afraid to leave her house

Marlon's stroke

Noah stalked Chloe / went to prison / swapped personality with Samson

Return of Dawn's evil ex Alex who pretty much threatened to traffic his own kids

Leyla addicted to cocaine / violent dealer put both Jacob and Suzy in hospital / Leyla overdose / rehab / divorce from Liam

Charity ectopic pregnancy

Sandra trying to fleece her own daughter and push her off the wagon

Faith dead

Harriet dead

Sam speared on farm equipment

Nate trampled by cows

Liv dead

Samson missing/ found half dead after the storm

Chas using her dead daughter to manipulate Aaron to leave the country after Liv's funeral to cover up her affair with Al

Kyle shot Al dead / Cain in prison

Paddy depressed / suicide attempt

Samson tried to have his own daughter taken away from Amelia and put into care and bullied/pushed his dad

Amelia stalked first online then in real life

Lloyd the stalker dead / Dan sent to prison

Cathy pmdd diagnosis

Lydia raped / Craig dead

Eric Parkinson's diagnosis

Caleb in a coma after Nicky pushed him off a cliff

Rishi dead / pushed down the stairs?

Chloe, Mack and Charity in a car accident

Mack kidnapped and beaten / lost Rueben / stabbed by Charity

Charity ptsd after killing Mack's kidnapper

Marshall's homophobic dad locking both him and Laurel up

Heath dead / Angelica custodial sentence

Naomi left and stole Vinny's money from selling the Mill

Ryan and Gail's secret son sick

Victor Anderson dead

Mary scammed / victim of revenge porn

Jacob almost died from allergic reaction

David disowned Jacob over Victoria and told him not to call him dad anymore, left the village

End of Nate and Tracy's marriage

Ruby made Caleb humiliate Tracy

Nicky and Suni attacked by homophobes

Aaron hated everyone / seduced Ethan only to humiliate him to get back at Charles

Vinny bullied and beaten by Aaron

Aaron and Cain trying to batter each other half to death with a spanner / Cain in serious condition

Cain compared Aaron to Gordon and wanted to drive him out of the village

Chas' breast cancer and double mastectomy

Aaron's faulty gene

The entire 'Little Ivy' story from stolen embryos to kidnapping to Gus in prison to marriage problems for Marlon and Rhona

Belle continously abused / same with Piper

Vinny beaten up by Tom

Evan's leukaemia

Nicky (and Ethan) in a car accident / coma

Ethan ran over / dead from unrelated brain bleed

Reveal of Ella as a 'child killer'

Samson stabbed

Matty set up by transphobe / in prison/ arranged his own beating

Laurel, did she have a heart attack?

Jai and Laurel nasty divorce

Samson sent to prison

Ella (and Dawn) in a car accident / pregnancy loss

Mackenzie head injury

And now something is seriously wrong with Moira and there is a big fire stunt coming with at least one death I'm sure, I'm also fairly certain they'll reveal John to have ptsd as well. Then it's time to grieve Zak...

Did I leave anything important out? I'm going to try and make a list for the lighter / more heartwarming stuff, but I think it will be much shorter...

[daresplaining]

hi! long time admirer of your blog! is there any particular reason why matt (specifically) pretends he's dead when something goes fucked up in his life? is it as a result of trauma or a past experience 'cause i have yet to figure it out myself. thanks in advance! hope you're having a wonderful day!

Hi, and thank you!

That's a really interesting question. To my memory, Matt has never psychoanalyzed himself on-panel about this, so I suppose it's up to us.

The short answer is that each faked death tends to be tied to the specific circumstances that surround it, as well as Matt's state of mind at the time, but there are noticeable patterns. (I'll do a quick run-through of The Deaths of Matt Murdock, but here's a more comprehensive (though not quite up-to-date) overview for anyone unfamiliar.)

His earliest faked deaths were more about pragmatism than anything, and had to do with protecting-- or simplifying-- his secret identity. His very first, of course, was "killing" Mike, which he presented as just being a matter of convenience. The Mike identity, while fun, had outlived its purpose and was starting to cause Matt trouble in his relationships with Karen and Foggy, in addition to just being a tiring logistical nightmare. (Also, Mike was cooler than Matt and that just wouldn't do.) There wasn't much forethought to his decision, he just encountered a situation in which Daredevil (Mike) would be in danger and suddenly thought, "Hey, what if he died?"

Matt (thinking): I just thought of something! ...The nuttiest idea I've ever had! But, if I can pull it off...it'll end my triple-identity bit...forever!" Daredevil vol. 1 #41 by Stan Lee, Gene Colan, John Tartaglione, and Sam Rosen

Matt's second faked death came about when supervillain Starr Saxon discovered his secret identity. This threat to his double life brought out feelings of resentment that Matt had been harboring toward his civilian identity since issue 1. In these early years, in an effort to hide his powers and superheroics, Matt turned his mild-mannered alter ego into an exaggerated caricature of a blind person, played at being helpless, prevented himself from acting on his feelings toward Karen Page, and dialed down his personality. He believed that this was necessary, but he also hated it and found it stifling. Added to this was his overall bitterness toward the ableism he had experienced since his accident, and the sense that the world around him viewed him as helpless (Matt mentions in an issue shortly afterward that his least favorite sentiment is pity). Thus, at this point, he saw the Matt Murdock identity as a prison, and the Daredevil identity as liberation, and so he grasped at the idea of faking his (Matt Murdock's) death not just as a way to counter Starr Saxon's threats, but also as an opportunity to finally rid himself of an identity that he actively disliked.

Matt: "My problem isn't Daredevil--and never was! It was always Matt--the blind lawyer--the hapless, helpless invalid! He's been my plague...since the day I first donned a costume! Then, let Matt Murdock no longer exist!!" Daredevil vol. 1 #53 by Stan Lee, Roy Thomas, Gene Colin, George Klein, and Artie Simek

Fortunately, Matt largely got over this resentment after he stopped putting his different identities into such rigid boxes. He does occasionally give up one or the other of his identities from time to time, but we don't see him actively killing an identity out of hatred again. Which is...certainly a positive sign in regards to Matt's overall mental health.

Instead, in the decades since the Starr Saxon incident, Matt's faked deaths have tended to revolve around two vital needs: the need to escape from something horrible in his life, and the need to protect his loved ones. Sometimes it's more of one, sometimes it's more of the other. In the Nocenti/JRJR run, Matt screws up real bad by cheating on Karen Page (at this point still recovering from her drug addiction and very fragile) with Mary Walker. Matt gets nearly killed by Typhoid Mary, wakes up in the hospital and learns that Karen has discovered his treachery. He finds himself at a crossroads, hating himself for the betrayal, hating the violence in his life and the seeming futility of everything he does, and feeling unable to cope, he abandons his civilian identity, vanishes from the lives of the people who know him, holds a symbolic "funeral" for Matt Murdock, and runs off upstate.

In the Chichester/McDaniel run, Matt ends up with a convenient body double in the wake of a major secret identity scare and decides that it would be best to fake his death in order to protect his loved ones. The only person who knows he's still alive is Maggie, his mother, because Matt goes to her for name suggestions for his new civilian alter ego (she ends up suggesting "Jack").

Maggie: "Oh, Matt, thank god you're alive!" Matt: "No 'Matt', Maggie. Not anymore. That's become a dangerous name for anyone too near to me." Daredevil vol. 1 #325 by D.G. Chichester, Scott McDaniel, and Christie Scheele

After becoming a full-on supervillain in Shadowland, Matt again decides that it's "for the best" if his loved ones think he's dead, and he vanishes off to New Mexico. In this case, the only people he allows to know the truth are Elektra and Ben Urich. Then there's Matt's memorable, utterly bonkers deal with the Kingpin in the second volume of the Waid/Samnee run after his, Foggy's, and Kirsten's lives have been ravaged by one supervillain attack after another:

Matt: "My offer is this: You guarantee the safety of my people, and the identity bell gets unrung. Think of it as a perverse twist on witness protection. Everyone--Foggy, Kirsten, everyone--will be told I'm dead. Meanwhile, you'll give me a new name and identity known only to you. You'll get back the secret you paid for. You'll oversee the plastic surgery so that only you recognize the face. Hell, even I won't see it. Hell, graft the mask to my skin. I won't care." Fisk: "But you'll still be Daredevil." Matt: "That way, you'll always know where I am. How to use me even when I don't think I'm being used. And how to, at any time, take anyone or anything away from me that you don't want me to have." Daredevil vol. 4 #16 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, Matthew Wilson, and Joe Caramagna

And then, of course, we have our most recent example, in which Matt coped with the chaos of his recent life and the violent death of his brother by using Mike's corpse as a body double and fleeing the city to go fight ninjas with Elektra.

What's interesting about these faked deaths is the gap between the reasoning that Matt offers himself versus the actual reality of what he is doing. Each time, Matt is convinced that his loved ones will be better off, safer, even happier if they think he is dead. And of course, this is not based on nothing. Matt has suffered tremendous loss, and has brought great pain into the lives of the people in his orbit. He lost his father. He accidentally got Elektra's father killed, and then later had Elektra herself die in his arms. He contributed to the circumstances that led to Heather's suicide. One of his villains killed Glori. Another killed Karen Page, and nearly killed his mother. Yet another put Milla in a psychiatric hospital, possibly permanently. His brother just literally died in his place. Foggy's life has been in danger more times than I can list. Matt's story has a towering body count, and he carries that grief with him at all times--particularly in circumstances when his life is in shambles, when enemies are closing in, and when those around him are in the crosshairs or have just survived being there. Of course Matt would think that everyone would be "better off" without him around. In the purest, most practical sense, he's probably not wrong. And so, when he lets his loved ones think he is dead and tells himself it's for their own good, I do think he genuinely believes it.

But of course, that also isn't entirely true or realistic. Sending the people who care about him into mourning again and again is not protecting them. And when you really look closely, it's obvious that Matt's most frequent reason for faking his death is the same reason he clings so strongly to the Daredevil identity despite the pain it has caused him: escape. When Matt feels stressed, under pressure, unable to think, or powerless, he can always put on that suit and hop out the window. And when Matt's world is falling apart and he cannot cope at all and doesn't know what else to do, he abandons his life. He escapes into a different identity. He leaves. In his head it's for the people he loves, but it's clearly also for himself. And as frustrating as this coping mechanism can be as a long-term Daredevil reader, I also love it for how incredibly human it is.

With all of this said, though, I think the funniest answer is that Matt inherited some kind of when-in-doubt-fake-your-death gene from his mom.

[cringefaecompilation]

for character questions: veth, jester, caduceus

veth

First impression

also found cr through an animatic and the guy who made it made nott/veth curvy and sexy, and that disappointed me because i thought it was her canon design. i'm so happy it was just that guy being weird about women.

Impression now

genuinely my favorite pc sam has ever made. knocked scanlan right off his perch

Favorite moment

the scene where she's in the invulnerable vagrant with luc and yeza is so fucking cute and heartwarming every time.

Idea for a story

i would put this in the headcanon section but i'm saving it for another thing. god it would be so funny if at the end of this mn interlude after they kill the weavemind veth says "hey so um... we're having another kid..." and the rest of the nein LOSES IT

Unpopular opinion

i don't think there's anything inherently bad with widobrave as a ship. i personally prefer vethyeza just because if a guy ever said to me "i don't want a poem, i want a wife" with the same tone that yeza did i'd love him for eternity, but widobrave being treated like it's a morally wrong ship because it'd turn caleb into a homewrecker or whatever feels odd to me.

Favorite relationship

her and jester and her and caleb! also honorary nod to the fjord/nott love-hate relationship

Favorite headcanon

veth also has picked up on some zemnian while traveling with caleb!

jester

First impression

i was worried i would dislike her. something about her seemed disingenuous compared to the rest of the nein and i guess i was worried her kindness and sweetness would be revealed to be a front or she would stick out like a sore thumb.

Impression now

i've never been happier to be wrong, jester you are my darling angel princess cinnamon apple and i love you

Favorite moment

jester's massive 700 hp point heal in the reunited special was so cool to see firsthand

Idea for a story

i think arty should keep fucking up and nearly getting killed so she can have more excuses to keep saving him

Unpopular opinion

i don't think she has autism/adhd. runs away

Favorite relationship

her and her mama and arty.

Favorite headcanon

i think if they had gotten tossed into jail instead of caleb showing off the beacon she would have been able to charm the guards and get them out. the power of jester.

caduceus

First impression

i got spoiled on him because i went out of order but i thought he was cool and loved his design

Impression now

Favorite moment

the comparatively underrated (according to fandom trends) scene where he reunites with his family

Idea for a story

i want him to see that orb vision of the gods destroying aeor so bad rn because i feel like it might make him trust melora MORE but i wanna be sure lol

Unpopular opinion

i sort of wish he'd stayed more morbid. taliesin went for the creepy vibes hard in the liveshow and then he fell off it just as hard and leaned into hippy. and that's not bad, and i get that he did it on purpose to push himself out of his comfort zone but it does make me curious as to what a "taliesin-friendly" caduceus would look like

Favorite relationship

finally giving fjord something with wildbrothers. i know a lot of people looking back on it now have problems with the portrayal of gods as wholly 100% good compared to "false" deities but hey, if going off the pact = addiction route, i think that's it's fair enough for fjord to recover from his addiction with faith and caduceus doesn't force his beliefs on him or imply it's the right thing to do

Favorite headcanon

intersex caduceus is real to ME

[dreamersbcll]

OKAY SO let's suppose sam went to rehab in those years she wasn't with tara, what if years later tara also finds comfort in alcohol and drugs and there's a moment where she realises how big of a problem this is becoming and sam is the only one that understands her

“Stranger”

and it echoes when i breathe, till all you see is my ghost

——————————————————————————

Sandpaper.

That’s all Tara could taste the moment she woke up. She was lying flat on her back, her eyes fixated on the ceiling above her. Popcorn ceiling. Today, it was white, but last night, it was an array of colors— like a rainbow.

Tara felt more like the storm that came before the rainbow.

She couldn’t quite remember the night before or even the day before that. In fact, she wasn’t really sure whether or not she was alive right now.

All she could do was stare at the ceiling and count the white popcorn puffs. Her mouth was so dry— sandpaper. The pillow beneath her head was stiff. She moved her hand behind her head, only to find out that it was a crumpled t-shirt that supported her head.

Groaning, she propped herself up, blinking hard. Her vision was blurry and doubled, and her head swam with nausea. She was pretty sure five people were in the room with her, all in various sleeping positions on the floor and dirty mattress.

This wasn’t a home. It could’ve been one a long time ago. But now it was just a house with a dirty mattress and too many addicts sprawled across it.

Tara got up, swinging her legs onto the floor. If she leaned forward too far, she would crash into the person curled up next to the radiator. Fuck. Her head was pounding. Was there water anywhere? She surveyed the room, only seeing empty liquor bottles and various needles and joints littered across the floor.

Never mind that. She needed out. The walls were closing in, and she couldn’t breathe. The more she looked around, the more she realized she shouldn’t be here.

She shouldn’t fucking be here.

Pushing herself to her feet, she winced, her head pounding. Fuck.

Carefully, Tara made her way out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house. As she pushed through the front door, she squinted as the sun hit her face first, blinding her. She stumbled back, her hand covering the sun, blinking rapidly. Shit. Was it always that bright? How long has she missed the sunlight?

She averted her eyes, noticing her shoes were sprawled across the dirty welcome mat. She bent down quickly, ignoring the wave of nausea that ran through her body. Mind over matter. Mind over fucking matter.

After she put her shoes on, Tara perched herself on the porch railing, her legs dangling above the ground. She looked across the yard, watching cars passing by. Kids were walking with their mothers, people were walking their dogs, and runners were jogging. She was always surprised that the world kept turning even if it stopped for her.

Looking down, she dug her nails into her thighs. If she looked closely, she would see under the half-mooned crescents all of her sins that she tried to hide. There was a scar across her left thigh— she believes it was the time she attempted to heat the spoon with a faulty lighter. Or maybe it was when she tried to see how many rings she could make with one lit cigarette.

Time was a fickle thing. She can’t remember what she did last week, but she still remembers how excruciatingly visceral it was to watch Sam go. Nothing had been the same since then. Tara hadn’t been the same since then.

She knows she made terrible choices. The moment she held the joint to her lips, she knew it was over. Seven years ago, she watched Sam light her first joint on their porch, coughing and gagging as it worked its way through her lungs.

Sitting on the porch railing next to Sam, Tara remembered that she smiled as Sam coughed and damn near threw up. Good. That’s what Sam deserved for trying to disappear on Tara.

But Sam did anyway— and like every little sister, she followed her big sister down the same path.

Here she was again, on a porch rail of a home that she didn’t recognize or know, wishing she was someone else— feeling sorry for herself.

Yet this was all her fault. Tara knew the risks; she knew her fate. Fuck, she saw it with her own damn eyes. She remembers very well seeing Sam lose hair, come home in the early hours, and the bruises. God, she remembers the bruises. It was as if Sam didn’t care for herself or her well-being at all, as if she was asking for the pain.

Tara didn’t understand then. But she does now, and god damn it, was it fucking agony.

She always wanted to be just like Sam, and now she was. She was just like Sam.

Laughing a bit, Tara hiccuped, wincing as her ribs flared in pain. Fuck. She doesn’t remember where that pain came from. She doesn’t remember where any of this pain came from.

All this pain, all this pain that she was so goddamn afraid of, still a part of her. She tried to run, she tried to hide, but it found her. It found her on the sunniest days, the quietest of nights, the most tranquil mornings. No matter how far she ran or how many times she hid, it found her, and it infected her.

If someone opened up her chest, she was sure they would find nothing but decayed organs and bones broken to dust. There would be a heart that no longer beat- black and molding. Around her chest cavity would be littered needles, vials, and blood that no longer were needed.

She was so sick of being tired and so tired of being sick.

Without thinking, Tara pulled her phone out, wiping dust off the cracked screen. She mindlessly scrolled through her contacts for a moment, wondering who would respond, wondering who was there.

One name stood out to her— the one she hadn’t heard from in years.

What the hell? Tara couldn’t remember her own last name at this point.

Clicking on it, she pressed the speaker and let it ring. She expected it to ring for one, two, maybe even seven times.

She didn’t expect it to pick up on the first ring.

“Hello, this is Sam.”

Sam’s voice was clear, clearer than Tara had expected. She doesn’t remember the last time she heard Sam so level, so calm. It had been years. Fuck, it had been nearly a decade.

Her big sister was always her rock, love, and safe place. She hadn’t heard that voice so clear in so long. Sam was back.

But now Tara is gone.

Time was a fickle thing.

“Sam,” Tara breathed, her voice cracking. She answered. Her big sister really answered.

Her big sister paused, putting together the pieces. Sam spoke slowly, calmly, as if not to spook her little sister. “Tara? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Tara swallowed hard, looking down at her feet. She was missing a sock. Where was the lace on her left shoe? Has it always been like that? When did she last have a shoelace?

Fuck. She can’t remember. She just can’t remember.

Running a hand through her hair, Tara laughed a bit. This was all so fucked-up. She shouldn’t be here. She should be in the second period, learning about chemistry. Sam should be finishing college, planning to stay home for the summer, maybe stay for the rest of their lives. They would’ve been so happy.

They should’ve been happy.

“Sam, I, I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. I don’t know, fuck,” she choked out, her chest twisting.

Hot, shameful tears started to run down Tara’s face, coating her sinful lips and hands. She was so pathetic for becoming this monster. So fucking pathetic.

There were no words she could say, no phrase that could fix this. She couldn’t even find the words to say I Need Help.

But she tried anyway.

“Sammy,” she cried, ducking her head in shame.

It took all of five seconds for Sam to respond.

“I’m on my way. Send me your location, and don’t move. Got it?” Sam said levelly, her voice stoic.

How could Tara ever deny her big sister?

Tara let her tears flow freely, coughing a bit as she listened to her big sister get into her car and pull away. Wherever she was, whatever time of day it was, Sam would find her.

Sam would save Tara from herself.

Just like it was always supposed to be.

[ananke-xiii]

My ranking of SPN seasons (based only on their PLOT) pt. 4 [final]

OKAAAAAY, LEEEEET'S GO!

Here, here and here I've covered from ranking #15 to #4 so let's see which seasons will be on the podium!

3. Season 8: This season really gave me life, it's absolutely one of the best. Plot-wise, I ADORED the introduction of the tablets and the Trials, whoever came up with this idea was pure genius. So Basically our heroes have to deal with the aftermath of the events in season 7: Dean has spent 1 year fighting monsters in Purgatory while Sam run away from his responsibilities and has found shelter in the arms of a woman. Cas seems nowhere to be found. The character who moves the plot forward is my beloved Crowley: while Dean was feeling pure in Purgatory with this vampire boyfriend (ihih), and Sam was guitl-trapped into adopting a dog (seriuosly? biggest red flag ever), our King of Hell was busy carrying the show on his shoulders. He kidnaps Kevin and orders him to translate the demon tablet. Since he's not stupid, he quickly understands that 1 leviathan table + 1 demon tablet = 1 angel tablet. Consequently, his quest for the latter begins. After 1 year of hedonism, our heroes realize that they had left poor Kevin behind while an astonished Castiel comes out of nowhere. The plot gets interesting. We find out that the demon tablet contains information on how to close the Gates of Hell. Comedy of error ensues since literally everybody thinks that the angle tablet would contain the same info as the demon tablet (really, guys? The ONLY smart person in the room about this was DEAN, as per usual). So what's written on the angel tablet? Surprise! We don't really know 'cause poor Kevin spent 6 effing months trying to translate half of the demon tablet so there's now way to know now! Cas makes the usual stupid choice and gets played by Metatron: he will undergo the Three Trials to close the Gates of Heaven. Meanwhile poor Sam undergoes the Trials to close the Gates of Hell. Eventually, Dean convinces him to stop the last trial otherwise he will die and poor Dean cannot live without his baby brother (same goes for little jealous Sam who, while literally dying, finds time to tell Dean that he feels left behind because Dean seems to love his Purgatory vampire and his trenchoated angel more than him (codependecy level: atomic)). Metatron fools everyone and cast a spell to make all angels fall. BOOM, season finale is EPIC. I really really enjoyed this season, it was so rich and full of turns of events but everything was coherent and engaging. What I didn't like is brainwashing Cas via Naomi. Plot-wise, it was unnecessary since Naomi literally reveals her original plan to Dean after episode 17 so, what was the point? Sure it gave us the memorable crypt scene and for it I am forever grateful. But in terms of plot, meh. It was weak. Also, it looks a lot like what happened with Godstiel in season 6 AND weird Cas in season 7 (poor Cas knows no peace of mind, literally).Once again Cas as a character is not fully in control and makes shitty decisions for reasons unknown? Mmmmh, me not likey.

2. Season 4: This season was explosive, I fucking loved it! First of all, as I've already said, I like when there's sort of a deadline in the plot and here we have a big one: Lilith is on her course to open the 66 seals that will free Lucifer from his cage. Problem is: nobody knows which ones she will choose since there are like 600 of them. Sam and Dean try to prevent the opening of the seals but things get complicated when the Angels enter the arena: they certainly look more like enemies rather than allies and for sure cause a lot of problems more than provide solutions. Previosly on Supernatural, Dean was rescued by Castiel from Hell (what an epic entrance, Cas!!!) after having spent 30 human years torturing and being tortured by demons, yay! Sam is now addicted to demon blood and nobody is pleased about it so our heroes have plenty on their plate. Plot-wise, this season was everything, it was a rollercoaster of turns of events, allies that become enemies, enemies become allies but wait no! they've been enemies all along! Castiel inadvertently changes the course of the story and creates real free will, Supernatural goes fully meta with the introduction of the Supernatural books by Chuck Shurley, angels are showed as scary, powerful creatures rather than comforting, merciful, ethereal beings ("Read the bible" LOL)... Man, what a fucking epic season! It felt serious but also carefree? It seems weird to say that but later on SPN gets increasingly tragic in tone so I'm very pleased with season 4 because it managed to balance everything out but with a lighter twist.

Season 11: while I was writing this, I was not sure which season would be number 1 but here I am, once again, in love with the plot of season 11. What can I say? "I'm a lover, not a fighter". So, the plot: the Winchester Bros Codependency Inc. has reached catastrophic levels: they are the ones to be thanked for the release of The Darkness into the world. The first interesting thing is that, for the first time ever, nobody really seems to know what to do. Thank God, there's the King of Hell (LOL) who promptly seizes the opportunity to take Amara and raise her hoping this would turn the events in his favours. However, he's unable to control her and soon Amara escapes wreacking havoc in the world. Not knowing what to do, Castiel decides to find Metatron, while Sam decides to go back into the Cage because he believes that Lucifer might be key to fighting Amara. Chaos ensues. Metatron doesn't really know shit, Lucifer same but he manages to escape via Castiel!vessel and we get Casifer (it was insane, I loved every minute of it!), the world is in shambles. A deus ex machina is needed: God/Chuck enters the chat. From here on, it all gets very philosophical and maybe that's why I frigging love this season. So, remember the Winchester Bros Codependency Inc.? Well, turns out Amara and God suffers from the same syndrome. They manage to (momentarily) find their balance while Dean (who had a bond with Amara because they both shared the Mark of Cain or whatever) decides to go to battle alone to convince Amara to stop or, if not possible, to die trying to save the world. And Sam Winchester is finally okay with this! Wow, progress, yes, right??? All ends so well that Amara gifts Dean with his friggin' mother who was dead 30+ years ago! Happy ending, much? LOL. I liked the simplicity of the plot, it's all very progressive, the pacing is slow but never boring, all characters still continue to make stupid choices but ultimately these don't bite them in the ass and they use them to grow... I don't know, I really enjoyed season 11. The only "negative" thing is that I wish the writers made Dean tell Cas something more meaningful than "you're our brother". Tons of metas have been written about it and yeah, I know, I know. Still, this season was all about "following the heart" so I'd have appreciated more honesty about this topic but hey, we all know how it ended so #nosurprise.

Okay, I'm done here! What do YOU think? Do you agree with my ranking? I'm curious, let me know!

[javelinbk]

Idk if this is really out of line, if anything I apologized.

But I know you’ve got the facts so:

Is it true that John was a raging sex-addict? I’ve read that many times but I can’t seem to find a source about it. Please enlighten me😭

(I also read yoko once told him to go with other girls because she couldnt keep up with him)

Thanks in advance❤️

No problem - always happy to receive questions, but I'm not always the best person to answer them.

I'm not sure 'sex addict' is the term I'd use, but here is the general impression I've gained of John's sex life over the years...

He had a voracious sexual appetite - both Cyn and May's books are full of stories about how much amazing sex they had. Pete Shotton's book about when they were younger also mentions how insatiable he was (but then, what teen boy isn't?)

The Beatles had constant sex on tap, and there are loads of stories of them having different girls every night (including from John himself, who said it was like Satyricon)

He was never faithful to Cyn, and told her as much in 1968

He said himself that 'Norwegian Wood' is about an affair he was having - the general consensus is that this was Sonnie Freeman, wife of photographer and friend Robert Freeman, who lived in the same building as John and Cyn for a while (she's the other woman in the photos of them all in Austria during Help)

John preferred having an emotional connection during sex, and spoke about how he grew to dislike the shallowness of the hook-ups on tour

On the other hand, he also seemed to have a weird checklist about different 'types' of girls, and making sure he slept with them all (first blonde, then Asian, then black)

He seemed to take sexual compatibility with a partner very seriously, and got concerned if that compatibility was lacking.

When May Pang was their assistant, Yoko asked her to be John's girlfriend. The implication was that John was going to start sleeping around anyway, and Yoko wanted to be in control

John was keen that Yoko also sleep with other people while they were separated (I think he had some weird idea that lack of sex caused cancer or something? Not cigarettes though, of course)

Whenever John got overly stressed, he seemed to turn to alcohol/drugs and sex (see: shagging a girl at the election party, sleeping with groupies in LA)

Whenever John & Yoko's marriage went through difficulties, their answer seemed to be sleeping with other people (see: Yoko & David Spinozza, John & May, Yoko & Sam Green).

So, yeah. I'm sure I'm forgetting loads too. It does seem like everyone who slept with John was very satisfied, but I'm not sure he always was - but then I'm not surprised after all the years he had of being able to sleep with practically whoever he wanted. There's also all the questions about his sexuality, but that's a whole other kettle of worms.

Sources for some of the above...

May Pang, Loving John

[mariana-oconnor]

Shoscombe Old Place full

First of all, in my head this story is either called Shoscombe Old Spot*, and is about pigs, or Is a repeat of the Boscombe Valley Mystery. I cannot call it the right name to save my life.

This is all I am going to see for every character in this story. I apologise in advance.

*There is a type of pig called a Gloucester Old Spot.

Sherlock Holmes had been bending for a long time over a low-power microscope. Now he straightened himself up and looked round at me in triumph.

"Since I ran down that coiner by the zinc and copper filings in the seam of his cuff they have begun to realize the importance of the microscope.”

And 100 years later it would be used in flashy, edited montages of pretty forensic scientists also identifying glue and threads from a tweed coat.

"Watson, you know something of racing?” “I ought to. I pay for it with about half my wound pension.”

Did Mary die, or did she throw him out for his gambling addiction and they both agreed to pretend the other was dead because it's Victorian Britain?

“It was when he horsewhipped Sam Brewer, the well-known Curzon Street money-lender, on Newmarket Heath. He nearly killed the man.” “Ah, he sounds interesting! Does he often indulge in that way?”

I would call that neither interesting, nor indulging, but you do you, I guess.

Sir Robert Norberton. Sounds like a great guy.

"He should have been a buck in the days of the Regency—a boxer, an athlete, a plunger on the turf, a lover of fair ladies, and, by all account, so far down Queer Street that he may never find his way back again.”

That took a distinct turn for the unexpected at the end there. Quite the euphemism there. Apparently it just means he has money problems (presumably because of being a horrible person and a gambler) but the joys of linguistic evolution strike again.

Is he... far down Queer Street, or has he just gone a few steps?

“There are the Shoscombe spaniels,” said I. “You hear of them at every dog show. The most exclusive breed in England. They are the special pride of the lady of Shoscombe Old Place.”

The spaniels are now also pigs in my brain. Everything is pigs. It's actually a long con that Lady Beatrice has been pulling for years. 'Most exclusive breed' = they're actually pigs in disguise.

...the firm, austere expression which is only seen upon those who have to control horses or boys.

This absolutely made me laugh. Excellent description.

“First of all, Mr. Holmes, I think that my employer, Sir Robert, has gone mad.”

Really? How could you tell? He seems like such a level-headed and calm person with absolutely no emotional issues whatsoever.

No really, how could you tell?

“Well, sir, when a man does one queer thing, or two queer things, there may be a meaning to it, but when everything he does is queer, then you begin to wonder."

😐😐😐

They did say he was pretty far down Queer Street, my dude. That's probably what the issue is.

This story is already one of the most unintentionally hilarious we've read. I hope it doesn't end with the deaths of horses or children. Or some woman marrying the abusive arsehole. That would ruin the joy.

And ah, we have reached the casual antisemitism. Because of course we have. Money lenders were mentioned, clearly there was going to be some.

"Then there is his conduct to Lady Beatrice!” “Ah! What is that?” “They have always been the best of friends. They had the same tastes, the two of them"

Does she also enjoy whipping people almost to death? Family dinners must be a riot!

“And a bitter, savage, spiteful quarrel at that. Why else would he give away her pet spaniel that she loved as if he were her child?"

"But then, again, what is master doing down at the old church crypt at night? And who is the man that meets him there?”

...I mean... Do we really want to get into that?

There's a haunted crypt? Excellent. Ghost pigs abound.

"So we up when Sir Robert was gone and pretended we were just having a walk like in the moonlight..."

Just a casual moonlit bro walk at midnight in the hook-up graveyard. Like bros.

What even is this story? I don't need to provide commentary, it's all in the text (apart from the pigs).

‘Hullo, mate! who may you be?’ says I. I guess he had not heard us coming, so he looked over his shoulder with a face as if he had seen the devil coming out of hell.

You were in the haunted graveyard. He thought you were a fucking ghost my friend. And if he didn't, he should have done and I will be very annoyed.

"From Dr. Watson's description of Sir Robert I can realize that no woman is safe from him."

Or man. Or non-binary person.

“No, sir, and there is something more that I can't fit in. Why should Sir Robert want to dig up a dead body?”

I feel... like you could have opened with the grave robbery? Maybe. Could be important. Seems relevant, if not to the case as a whole then just to... general interest, honestly.

If he dug up a grave at the haunted hook-up graveyard on Queer Street, man's going to be haunted by all the queerest ghosts. It's going to be Queer Eye for a Live Guy all over that place. Though I suspect Sr Robert is beyond their undead assistance.

"It was all in order, sir, except that in one corner was a bit of a human body.”

A bit... Which bit?

"It was just the head and a few bones of a mummy. It may have been a thousand years old."

Oh wow, is this the thing where people ate mummies for their health or something? There was a massive fad where people were just like 'I guess eating this person who is dead will stop me from dying, that makes logical sense and isn't disgusting at all' nom nom nom. Please tell me one of these people is a cannibal. Not like cannibalism yay, obviously, but that's pretty much the last thing this story needs to become completely epic.

"The creature was howling outside the old well-house, and Sir Robert was in one of his tantrums that morning. He caught it up, and I thought he would have killed it. Then he gave it to Sandy Bain, the jockey, and told him to take the dog to old Barnes at the Green Dragon, for he never wished to see it again.”

Ways in which Sir Robert Norberton is better than Sir Eustace of The Abbey Grange fame: instead of covering the dog in petrol and setting it on fire, Sir Robert just sent it away. The bar is so incredibly low for Holmesian villains.

Also, there was something in the old well-house. Probably a horse. Dog was giving it away so dog had to go.

But he didn't kill the dog. So proud. He can whip men half to death, but he draws the line at hurting dogs, apparently.

“It's the upper condyle of a human femur,” said I.

Hey. Look! Watson did a doctor thing! And it wasn't brandy.

And now they're going undercover.

Part 2

"...refuses to stop at the stables to greet her favourite horse..."

This makes me feel like it's not her favourite horse. We've already been told the horse has a doppelganger. Did the real horse die and now he's got a problem because all his money is on the horse winning the race, but he's only got the rubbish one? Or was there only ever one horse in the first place and it's rubbish? But the bone is a human femur, or so Watson says.

"Let us suppose, Watson—it is merely a scandalous supposition, a hypothesis put forward for argument's sake—that Sir Robert has done away with his sister.”

Did not see that coming. I think I missed that no one at all had seen her other than the maid. I guess it makes sense because if she dies, the estate goes to someone else and then he has no money at all. I have been distracted by horses.

Though the fact that Holmes is saying this implies to me that it's not the case. On the other hand, this is only a two parter, so there can't be that much more plot to go.

“My dear Holmes, it is out of the question.” “Very possibly, Watson. Sir Robert is a man of an honourable stock."

There is so much wrong with this exchange, I don't know where to start.

"Never mind me. I shall stand behind this holly-bush and see what I can see.”

By which you mean whether the 'spaniel' wants to go to its mistress.

Aw, he's such a good boy.

Then they stop in the suspected murder investigation to have a fishing day. That's the thing about the Holmes stories. ACD isn't afraid to say 'and there was nothing that could be done right then so we just had a jolly day out'. Crime fighting is such a leisurely business.

“‘Fore God, Mr. Holmes, it's all right,” said he. “Appearances are against me, I'll admit, but I could act no otherwise.”

A surprisingly reasonable response here from the man that we have been repeatedly told by multiple people likes to punch first and ask questions never.

"Mrs. Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, has for some years been my sister's confidential maid."

The maid is married!? and her husband's a character?! That Sir Robert knows?! Plot twist!

So she died of natural causes. That's kind of nice. If it wasn't for all the antisemitism, this one would be pretty good.

Except for how the violent gambling addict magically makes good in the end and turns out not to be so bad after all. Though I suppose I should be happy he turned his life around. Maybe a little anticlimactic, but it's a good twist that I didn't see coming because I was too busy thinking of horses.

And pigs.

[laf-outloud]

One of the problems with the MOC Dean and Demon Dean is they had zero courage to make Dean look truly evil. They had him kill bad people and expected that to be enough. The worse he did was hunt Sam.

Whereas they fully embraced the addiction aspect of Demon Blood Sam, and even really made it hit home that he “drank a nurse”

Also, Jared is much better at nuance and showing character growth. Not only was Dean after the Mark not much different from Dean before the Mark, he wasn’t much different than Dean with the Mark.

And therefore, it just fell flat. And was disappointing.

Agree! There was nothing for Dean to feel guilty about. Even the harsh way he treated Sam as both a Demon and with the MOC was glossed over because Sam automatically forgave him (as opposed to Dean holding Sam's "sins" over his head for years).

As for the acting, I'm going to go on a bit of tangent if you don't mind, lol! Jared has always been great about creating emotion and depth, even with bad writing, because he draws his acting from within. With Jensen, I see his acting as more externally-driven. I feel like he needs a great director that can push him beyond his comfort zone and reach the necessary emotional beats. Kim Manners was fantastic at this and probably the reason why we get so much more depth from Jensen/Dean in the earlier seasons. I get the impression that later-season directors didn't do much pushing when it came to J2's acting, rather, they simply trusted that J2 knew their characters and mostly worked on the technical directing (to Jensen's detriment).

[copperbadge]

Sam - You probably already know this, but I just heard that Adderall is now on back-order nationwide (even worse than it had been before). If you can start trying to re-order it well before you run out this time, I'd recommend it. I don't know if that's possible, though...

Unfortunately -- but also fortunately! -- it’s not possible. Because it’s a controlled substance that can both be abused by the patient and sold for a reasonable profit, it’s got very firm regulations. You get one scrip for a 30 day supply (you can’t have more) and then on day 30 you can file a whole new scrip (no refills!) for your next 30 day supply. This is a bit bullshit because there’s no real reason not to give someone who has a history of regular non-abuse a 90 day supply or two refills, but it’s legal meth, so you know, I see why the bullshit is in place. 

So it’s Bad, obviously, because it means I can’t get a refill now while there might be some still in stock; my 30-day deadline is next Friday and there’s no moving that. So that’s me fucked a bit. However, this is also Good, because it means nobody else can do this either -- you can’t create artificial demand when it comes to Adderall, because nobody can buy out the entire stock or take more than their share. So while it would be much more ideal if I had renewed my scrip last week, the demand will only rise as much as the immediate action of people who are normally slow to fill their scrips, which I can’t imagine is a lot. Like yes we all have executive dysfunction but I think a lot of us have a real laser focus on the Good Brain Drug, you know? 

The real problem is an uneven backstock. Some pharmacies will probably have a reasonable amount, others will be out for weeks.  The pharmacy I use is a perpetually-empty Walgreens that nobody ever goes into or uses because nobody lives near it (I work near it) so I might get lucky. 

Usually, so far, the protocol for me has been "every 30 days have a consult with my psychiatrist, he puts in a new scrip, they fill it". This time, OF COURSE this time, we're trying something new -- he wrote two scrips at once, one got filled, the other one gets submitted by me on the 30 day mark. So I’ll call the pharmacy on Monday and be like “I’m not freaking out about the shortage, I just need to know when I should submit a scrip that can’t be filled until Friday” but hopefully I’ll also get some info on the shortage. 

And if I can’t get any immediately, well, I take frequent breaks and often don’t take my second dose, so I did the math in my tracking sheet and I have enough to see me halfway into November, especially if I don’t take any on weekends. I don’t love breaking into my personal backstock, but that’s why it exists, after all. This is a much bigger deal for people who really need the drug for basic function -- people on higher doses are going to be significantly more fucked. 

I may ask my psych next time I see him if I could get on a 20mg scrip so I can split the tabs and make a 30 day supply last 60 days; I don’t think it’s normally something he’d approve of but with the shortage it might be the best way to secure a reasonably-sized emergency stash. 

And I think all of this -- the spreading of the news, the counting of backstock pills, the strategies to stabilize one’s personal supply -- are really fascinating evidence of how treating non-addicts like addicts...makes them behave like addicts. If half the population of Adderall patients had a 90 day supply in hand, this shortage wouldn’t be such an issue. 

[seriouslysam8]

Thanks for this synodic universe sam thanks for showing this version of Sirius and for Marlene mckinon i stared to follow your works after reading this one shot a potter and lupin from there i have read your moments in time universe stories tbh the way you write and describe I can just visualize that world and characters from that story u r one of the few authors i came across in fanfiction to write a story which is closer to reality hinny rather than silly lovey dove hinny which I always wanted to read and also thanks for the MIT universe which is so far my favorite in ur works thanks for entertaining us with ur works ❤️ u sam

I’m so glad you have enjoyed my writing!

I got a lot of flak while writing Brontide and was told over and over again how OOC Harry was. I think people just wanted a happy Harry with Ginny and his kids. But our boy had trauma. He went through it. Developing an unhealthy coping mechanism during a crisis isn’t far-fetched. It was really important to me to have the first half of that story be a little… well, boring. How Harry’s near-death experience and recovery from some random potions smuggler really affected his confidence. The idea that he was now not invincible bothered him. It was really the first time he didn’t come out on top in a battle. He couldn’t even fumble his way through it like he did as a kid. So, the entire addiction storyline and Harry’s gripping fear of fucking up so bad he’d lose everything he has always wanted and Ginny dismissing the signs because he’s Harry was entertaining to me. I liked that they had conflict and, in the end, it made their relationship stronger than ever. I enjoyed writing them as a real couple with real problems but who also would fight tooth and nail for each other.

I often think about Synodic and how different everyone would be. Sirius wouldn’t be nearly as damaged. He’d be able to function in a way that post-Azkaban Sirius struggled with. Sirius has something to focus all his attention on: protecting his last remaining family members. For him, that’s enough. He’s free and he has Harry and he has support where canon Sirius never did. Canon Sirius couldn’t do the one thing he wanted: have custody of Harry and protect him. Meanwhile, Harry would have a healthy trust in adults and his guardians. He would be more confident and happy. When things started to go to shit at Hogwarts, Harry would be communicating with Sirius and Marlene about what was going on. He would trust them to help. They would. They always show up.