#and i know its a symptom of his deep mental unwellness that hes that good at business but its also a symbol of his deep ass pockets

[nashvillethotchicken]

One thing I deeply admire about ldpdl is his permanent allegiance to the bag

[border-spam]

Does troy really have a split jaw or is that fanon?

It's total fanon!

The design of the split lines across his cheekbones and chin coupled with the cheek clips and v shaped hinge outline next to his ears lead to a lot of people coming to that same outcome, that there is something up with his mouth from a prosthetic/mod standpoint.

So much of his design is never mentioned once or referenced in any way (hightech spinal rig with tattoos under it, neuro connector, mech arm that's much older and doesn't seem related to the spine and neuroport, implants on bicep, face mod etc) that like Tyreen's scars and possible lower body Siren markings, fandom took over when it came to coming up with logical explanations for 'em.

This actually touches ground with some Ao3 comments I wanted to share as they are all Leech Lord compliant, so I'll list them here alongside links to the fics they were related to (note warnings!)

You leave no avenue for characterization unexplored. Troy's facial prostheses finally receiving backstory is amazing

- Maw (Gore/Bodyhorror)

I LOVE the idea of it being not just decorative shit on his face, but my MO for any content I make is always based around asking why, over and over, and trying to make sense of what material I'm using in the first place. The modded mouth is a popular piece of fanon but you know... why? Why would he do that shit to himself. WHY would he want to be grotesque, why would he be chasing the reaction people would have to it when canonically he seems to really not be interested in fan attention the same way Tyreen is, what's the difference to him between being adored as his persona or being lusted after as a monster, etc. I just love deep-diving into the logic behind character and world building? It's what adds meat to the bone for me.

Big 'ol character and worldbuilding / lore responses list under the cut -

He could afford better robots but these ones UNDERSTAND Ty, don't you get it?

- Good night in (tooth rotting fluff)

Hey just because it's mangled and broken, and can't perform its intended function to a degree expected of it by everyone around it... and it's got rusty sharp bits it accidentally hurts you with sometimes... and it's cranky but it doesn't mean it... and sometimes it errors out in a way that's mildly disturbing in a way you can't place.. uh.. doesn't mean you should just GIVE UP ON IT you know? He can fix them :) They will be fine :) No one should just throw away something that's trying so hard just because it's damaged... haha... :')

It's so hard seeing how much they tear each other down when they're the only thing they have left. And what a poor self-image Tyreen has beyond all that glitter and bluster...

- Wolf in sheep's clothing

The twins function well enough as a unit till tensions rise, and I was trying to seed in The Leech's influence on them in earlier work like this too - towards anyone else Ty would become MORE aggressively confident, more assured in her complete and utter dominance of the situation, her flawlessness, but against Troy who see's her for what she is, it turns inwards and eats at her instead of lashing outwards. He switches from relatively submissive around her to almost surgical levels of dissection, he knows exactly how to go for the jugular with words, and doesn't hold back. She's The Leech's mouth but he's its eyes and it's only when they lose control emotionally enough for it to claw to the surface of their psyches that you get an idea of how much it really affects them individually. GB had an absolute goldmine on their hands here of cosmic/body horror and the concept of toxic family when all you have is each other, there's so much to work with, and I figure it's a factor in why some people still really enjoy messing around with Calypso content.

I like how you allow Troy to be a disabled character, how his congenital defects and prosthetics colour his outlook and appear in ways big and small in all these vignettes. It's easy, I think, to see him as largely untroubled by his health apart from when he needs a charge from Tyreen in the game, but you allow him to struggle with his weakness.

- Chronic (Drug use)

I'm really glad to hear that's coming through in the writing because it's something I noticed a lot too. Very often when Troy, or other characters canonically disabled / chronically unwell are written it's "told" and not "shown". Chronic pain, illness, it's not something that is just a little tickbox in a life or some descriptive terms added to a character synopsis, it's something you live and deal with. There are bad days. There are times it is a negative that has to be worked around or faced in ways that aren't pleasant. It doesn't make you lesser or weak to have times where illness does leave you unable to function to a level you want to, it's not a failure for you to be unable to perform tasks when a disability or flair up means it's not viable. I feel personally that by showing scenes like this where his health and body issues do have a very visceral and impossible to ignore the effect on his ability to function, and going through his mental processes of dealing with and managing them, it brings the character across as stronger than if he never seemed to be shown dealing with symptoms or weaknesses. People are more than their disabilities and conditions, those aren't just kinda taglines to add onto a character's description and then never address. I feel like doing that in a way undermines what people deal with who manage chronic illness, pain, and who have disabilities that affect their daily lives negatively. Appreciating the effort it takes to manage them is important.

What I really like about these is that you can really understand as a reader how their dynamic must have evolved. How even before Leda's death Tyreen would have felt demonized while Troy got the attention because of his condition, because he was less willful.

- Starlight, Moonbright

Ah man, absolutely - and that shit stayed with them. It wasn't his fault and he never wanted it, but of course their parents would have had their extremely ill child at the forefront of their thoughts, especially during weeks when he was.. bad. Tyreen by nature even without The Leech's influence is a little attention seeker, she'd be the life of any party and she BLOSSOMS if she's got the spotlight, but as a little kid who's got literally no one but her parents and her brother, and who all three of which can't give her nearly as much time as she deserved? That's rough. That's really unfair. That coupled with The Leech's warping effect on their egos as they grew up and the bitterness and resentment they harbored in different ways created a reverse dynamic. She'd never be out of the Galaxy's attention again, and he'd have no choice but to take his rightful place in her shadow.

I love how you illustrate both how much more, and yet how much less Troy is now. How the blameless child, full of potential, is inextricably linked to the brutal, larger-than-life avatar he fashions.

- DeLeon ( Graphic Violence / Gore / Hallucinations)

He's molded the monster he is now out of the bones of the man he should have been - there's no going back really. There's nothing left to go back to. He broke Troy DeLeon apart to build the persona that acts like an iron lung now, suffocating him breath by breath while forcing him to still take them. That life is over, he killed it before it had a chance, but the idea of it is still there in his subconscious. Somewhere in the absolute trainwreck of Troy's brain is the tiny, flickering belief that maaaaaybe one day this will all be over and he can shuck off the bracer and spines, peel off all the shit he's covered his skin with, and just go back to not being Calypso. DeLeon here isn't some aspect of his mental state or his sins haunting him - it's The Leech, spitting venom at a host it loathes in something that's not sound or comprehensible language. His subconscious has just translated it into something it can understand - his greatest regret.

On if Borderlands Humans originated on Earth -

There's a really tenuous link between BL verse and rEarth, but it's there and can't be ignored. The cultures, accents, terminologies, so many are Earth specific despite these people being spread across galaxies, so hell yes - Earth as an emergence point makes total sense. The next question then, is why is it never mentioned - and you can cover for that with a lot of things like say, tt was so long ago that it's not relevant to anything that would ever be discussed, or it could be a mass evacuation from a catastrophe there is little record of now. I like to go with something along those lines, that the first human Siren host emergence on earth just absolutely decimated the planet. Like, we were doing fine till this random woman somewhere in the ass-end of nowhere develops weird markings overnight, then goes apocalyptic. The first Leech maybe, not understanding her powers and having them rip across continents in a spread of crackling electric death that only left husked shells of plants and animals in its wake, or the first Firehawk who went nuclear and burned the sky, or the first Voidgrasp who lost control and began to collapse the planet's core - some extreme shit that had humans fleeing en masse with barely any preparation and HUGE swathes of history and knowledge left behind. That would cover so many social things surviving into the BL verse, cultures, accents, cooking, that shit comes with us regardless of what we were able to throw into escape ships. Like so much data would be stored on any tech and data arrays within the vessels people would use to leave a dying planet even in an insane rush, but that shit waters down over time - if you're farming barely edible plants on some planet that smells like farts, are you really gonna be that stressed about teaching your kids history from a lost planet when your current concerns are not being eaten by something with 19 legs and 4 buttholes? Don't think so.

On if the other Siren entities are as influential to their hosts as The Leech -

I touch on it a wee bit throughout LL, but the others are FAR more passive and meld more to their host's whims. The Firehawk Siren wouldn't.. like.. care? If the host was burning down a planet or fighting off an evil corporation? They are removed from any nonsense happening on this side, they might not even really be able to tell, it's like asking an amoeba or a collection of sentient atomic particles what its opinion is on Brexit. That's not really its priority. The Leech is so aggressive in its control of the twins and desperation to drive them towards an outcome it desires only cause it's split, broken, removed from the song, and completely lost. We're talking a caged, half-mad animal removed from its natural environment and left totally isolated from its own kind for millennia. It's in pain, it's confused, it wants to find its way back to the song and the others and where it belongs, but it's stopped by a barrier it can't comprehend ( the twins and being ripped between them), so in its impotent rage it feeds back that hatred onto them. It's not really sentient in the way we would describe functional intelligence, but it wants, and craves, and FEELS. And it feels very, very angry.

Big thanks to @undergoingcalibrations for talking through so much of this with me!

Asks are Open!

[janekfan]

Chronic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802141

Thank you @taylortut for helping me!!!

Jon looked at the clock.

537.

The glowing numbers burned themselves into his retinas. How had it been less than an hour since last he’d checked? No use for it. Better to get himself up and ready for work. But he’d closed his eyes against the headache blaring like a klaxon and he’d have to open them again at some point.

Taking advantage of his lonely flat, Jon allowed himself to indulge the noise pushing its way through grit teeth as he maneuvered his sore legs from under the quilt. He sat a moment, pressing the bare soles of his feet on the cold floor and levering his heavy body upright with a shaking arm.

Exhausted.

And it’s only--a quick glance.

544.

The hell was wrong with him?

Since just before accepting the position as Head Archivist, and rightly pissing off both Sasha and Tim on her behalf, Jon felt like he’d been constantly coming down with something. Dizzy and nauseous and unable to eat, he was chronically exhausted and while he’d never slept well at the best of times, it was evading him more than ever.

And there were his mornings. Struggling to motivate himself out of bed, brushing his teeth with his eyes closed and leaning against the wall. Deciding he could forgo a shower just once more and choosing instead to make breakfast. Forcing himself to eat a piece of dry toast with his heart hammering away in his throat and half laying on the table, panting through his tea. Mentally, Jon prepared himself for the walk to the train, automatically going for his cane because lord knew he needed the support.

He’d get to the Institute hours early.

At least that made him look good?

Taking advantage of being a cane user, Jon opted for a reserved seat, the guilt at truly needing one eating away at his insides. But there were black spots at the corners of his vision and he had to sit down before he fell down and the guilt is a far sight better than causing a scene. The trip was too short. His chest ached from the constant pounding and he pressed the hand not holding his cane for dear life against his breastbone. It didn’t help but the pressure and touch grounded him enough to stand up. To head to the cross street. To wait for the lights to change. To stagger down the stairs and into his office, to drop into his desk chair and focus on every breath of air moving into his body and back out of it.

Jon put his head down. There was no one here. Wouldn’t be for a couple hours yet and he was exhausted, shaking from it. Nauseated. There wasn’t a fever. He’d gone as far as to purchase a thermometer to be certain when the strange symptoms refused to abate no matter how often he let himself rest, no matter the meals he tried his damndest to eat, the water he drank down. He was trying. Jon couldn’t remember ever taking such good care of himself and of course it refused to pay off. In Uni, he’d driven himself into the ground with little consequence. He’d maintained those habits until a few months ago and now--

Muffled voices drifted through his door, the rise and fall of easy conversation. The kind he’d once been allowed to partake in. Laughter filled the air and while Jon wished to join them he knew he wasn’t welcome.

Why had he done it?

Why hadn’t he refused Elias?

Because you’re selfish. You’ve always been selfish. Needy. Greedy, grasping, always striving to know answers and never satisfied with what you're given. You take what you don’t deserve.

Reluctantly, Jon stood, slowly, because doing anything quickly these days has him ducking his head between his legs or waking up on the floor without any recollection of how he came to be there. He could at least collect their research in person, greet them. Try to be the boss they deserved.

Sasha was the boss they deserved.

“Ah, g’good morning.”

“Jon!” Martin, smiling shyly. “You’re here so early!” He began to stammer and Jon’s legs began to ache. This wasn’t a good day. They seldom were anymore. “I m’mean, of course y’you are, you work very hard!” Martin was saved by Tim swinging an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ve broken ‘im, boss.” A flush rose in Jon’s cheeks. He could feel it. “No worries, Marto. He’s always been an early riser.” While it was said in jest, the tone settled heavy in Jon’s chest, directly beside the pain blossoming like a thorny rose. Luckily, he was rescued by Rosie, standing halfway down the stairs and informing him that Elias requested him in his office. Jon didn’t relish the climb, no matter how grateful he was to escape out from underneath Sash’s heavy gaze. She had every right and he would bear his punishment in silence until she chose, if she ever did, to forgive him.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jon limped out of Elias’ office without any recollection of what they’d spoken about or if he’d even spoken at all. Thumping pain and panic and he knew he was rude to ignore Rosie at her desk but he wasn’t in any shape to hold a conversation, fairly certain that he wasn’t able to currently speak, far too focused on trying to hide how ill he was. But every sound was magnified tenfold in his ears and he could barely remember where the door to the archives was with the way his head reeled and spun. Jon wanted to sink to the ground once he had the door between himself and the lobby but he’d never make it to his feet again after that. Push through, he told himself. Get to your desk. He allowed himself a moment, two, just to put his head to rights, to try and breathe through the battering of his pulse.

And oh god he wasn’t going to make it and he wondered if somehow Elias knew. It was as though he’d kept him standing there talking about nothing until Jon hit his limit, knowing he wouldn’t have the strength to get back to his office.

But he had to try and he’d almost gotten down the ridiculously narrow stairwell before he forgot nearly entirely why he was there in the first place. Was he going up? Down? Meeting with someone? Just arriving? He could barely breathe and the panic welling in his throat was choking and the black was crawling over his eyes and the dizziness only increased and he needed...needed…

For a moment, Jon didn’t recognize where he was, the migraine, the fuzziness, conspiring against memory and reason. But he knew this color, the hideous lick of paint some contractor had splashed over the walls a lifetime ago.

Breakroom?

Wha--

“Jon!” He winced, his own name like broken glass shredding every sense to ribbons. “Christ, are you alright?” Martin, the sounds he made were shrill, grating, and if he’d been able to tell him to be silent, he would have. “We heard the noise--you’d, you fainted! On the stairs! Luckily it was only the last few.” Jon blinked, dull and dumb, forcing himself up, up, up, and through heavy mist and fog in his search for words. Weary to the marrow of his aching bones, Jon slumped on the cushions and tried to think of a way to stop Martin’s incessant chattering. Tim and Sasha, alerted most likely by all the commotion, stood over him and he craned his neck up to look at them. Tim especially looked furious.

“You could have been seriously hurt!”

“S’sorry…” And he was, between his rabbiting heartbeat, throbbing migraine, and difficulty drawing breath into his exhausted lungs, he wanted to cry with how sorry he was.

“This is ridiculous. You need to take better care of yourself.” Jon wasn’t sure why the sting from Tim’s accusation cut so deep and he hung his head, biting trembling lips to prevent the tears threatening to spring free.

It wasn’t fair.

By all accounts he was taking care of himself. More than ever!

“Did you even eat today? Drink anything?” He nodded, miserable, unwell, and equipped with no better answers than the truth.

“Tim. He’s just come to.” The understanding was the final straw, and Jon’s sight blurred with salt damp. “I’ll make sure he eats something before going back to work.”

“Alright, Martin. If he gives you any trouble, call.” At Jon, he pointed. “And you, no trouble.” And he nodded miserably.

“Okay, they’ve gone.” The familiar sounds of the kettle heating filled the room, the clink of a pair of ceramic mugs, the rustling of the tea bags, Martin’s distracted murmuring, all combined to calm him. “How long have you been feeling this way?” Jon looked up, surprised, and shrugged one shoulder, accepting the small plate of biscuits and nibbling slowly and when he finished those, Martin offered up the tea. Sitting with him in companionable quiet, he sipped on his own cup. Nothing more was exchanged and when Jon finished he thanked Martin for the company and locked himself away.

Jon was at wit’s end. Nothing he tried seemed to improve anything and the few times he did speak with a doctor, he was sent away with the same, useless advice, or worse, told he was imagining things, making it up, having panic attacks even though he was familiar with those and this was not that.

Work was a nightmare made even more miserable with the overwhelming amount of paperwork, statements, boxes, misfiled folders and envelopes and items and Jon missed the easy camaraderie and understanding he’d had with Sasha and Tim. Maybe he should resign, try and salvage what little of the relationship they still had, or, or invite them out for dinner, his treat, but Elias would never let him quit and the very idea of entertaining exhausted him. A cuppa appeared at his elbow filled with something new, something floral and slightly sweet, accompanied, as always, by a few biscuits.

“That’s a lot of work, Jon.” He sipped, grateful, lifting an eyebrow in response.

“I knew it would be when I accepted this position.” Undeterred, Martin stumbled forward.

“Y’yeah, I mean, you would have. Of course. I just--” A breath. “I’ve finished with my other assignments, ready for round, uh. Well, another round!”

“Ah. Alright, I’ll bring something over when I pick up your translations.” Martin took back the cup, nodding enthusiastically, and Jon appreciated that it was business as usual, selecting a few he’d been putting off and making his way toward his assistants ignoring inquiring looks in favor of taking the chair Martin offered up to go over his expectations. Short, succinct. A few notes on one translation, advice to remember for next time, and Jon felt reasonably confident Martin could handle himself. It wasn’t until he’d gotten back to his office that Jon realized that was the first time he’d been offered a chair. It was becoming apparent that Martin was good at noticing the little things about them. A blush heated his cheeks and he tried to rub it away, feeling ridiculous that such a small act of kindness made him feel so seen.

Jon pushed forward, ignoring the warnings his body was trying to give him in favor of plowing through his work like he’d always done, and by the time he made it home, was on the verge of collapse. Hot tears of frustration stung at the corners of his eyes, spilling over when Jon allowed himself to feel it. More than anything, he was used to having control over himself, working when he wanted, burying himself in the research, devouring knowledge. Now he was at the whim of his physical form. Paying more attention to it than ever before and never knowing if he was going to wake up and have a good day or a bad day and it was maddening. Managing whatever it was without knowing what it was, was impossible with no rhyme or reason he could discern.

So in the absence of both, Jon kept shoving his way through how difficult it was because if he could just be normal through pretending everything was normal, then it would be.

Jon knew Tim was cross with him and managed to avoid him for most of the day, taking breaks here and there like he’d promised Martin he would do. But his luck, while it had been holding steady, had just run out and he found himself cornered in the breakroom.

“What do you think you’re on about?” Frustration had long since turned to outrage, boiling over.

“Tim, I. I’m not sure what you mean--”

“Damn it, Jon! You’ve already taken on a job you aren’t fit for! You can’t keep heaping your work onto Martin and then swanning off!”

“That’s.” He balled his hands into fists, nails biting crescent moons into his palms. How could he explain when even the doctors thought he was making it all up? Heat rushed through him, top to toe, flushing his face and he wavered, legs threatening to buckle, vision threatening to go dark. He was going to pass out a second time today if he didn’t sit down. But that would mean walking away from Tim, and he didn’t think the man would let him. At least not until he was done telling him off. Better to be silent. Try not to pay attention to how erratic the persistent beating caged behind fragile ribs had become.

“Why didn’t you say no?” Because he wanted to be useful. Because Elias made him feel like he was capable even if he wasn’t. “Why didn’t you just let Sasha have this?” Because he was an awful, selfish person. “God, Jon. Why did you drag us all down here with you?”

Because he was lonely.

Because they’d been friends. Once.

Rather than remind Tim that he was free to go at any time, that he and Sash hadn’t been forced or coerced into accepting positions here in the archives, Jon pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Well?!” Sharp, strident, Tim’s shout echoed around in the space between his own hurting, agonal breaths in his ears.

“I. I, I need to si’down…” wanted to lay down. Wanted to sleep, trembling with exhaustion, about to go down.

“What?” Lashes fluttering as he gripped the thread of consciousness with both hands, he barely registered Tim’s hands around his shoulders, guiding him into a chair and pushing his head down between his knees. “Jon?”

“M’okay…”

“You are clearly not.” A wide palm settled on his back, keeping him folded over. It was helping.

“S’mm...been. S’fine.” The floor came back into focus, all the little cracks and imperfections and Jon counted the streaks in the pattern in an attempt to ground himself but kept losing track of the number. Neither moved until Jon attempted to sit up, slowly, accepting Tim’s help.

“Jon?” He looked spooked, pale. “Please, what’s going on?” His hand settled in the crux of shoulder and neck, thumb ghosting along his clammy skin, and Jon allowed himself to find a morsel of comfort in the familiar gesture, the threat of tears closer than ever. So he reached for him.

“I don’t know.” And Tim pulled away as if burned, the frustration and anger rising in his face again, and Jon was bereft. “T’truly! I--”

“Why won’t you be honest with me? Don’t you trust me?” Standing, he took a step backwards, away from him, the hurt in him a palpable thing. “We’re supposed to be friends!”

Yes. They were friends. It was most likely why for the first time in a long while, the pain in his chest wasn’t a physical ache.

“Tim, I.” Fingers folded to fists to rest on his knees. But he was already gone.

“Jon!” Tentative, Martin lifted his chin. “Oh, oh.” Having been crying, Jon figured his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and he didn’t bother attempting to hide the evidence. “Alright.” Martin went about making tea, chamomile, herbal and calming, placing it before him on the table with a chocolate digestive. “Drink this down and then go home. It’s half six.”

“Mm.”

“Sleep will help.”

“Mm.”

“I could speak to them for you. If--”

“No!” All but shouted. “No. That won’t be necessary, Martin.” Carefully he stood, paused. “Thank you.” And left.

Jon called off.

Called off again.

Again.

Apologized to Elias in a curt email requesting leave and was granted it.

He ignored his phone. His texts. The knock at the door and Martin’s voice behind it. He slept when he was tired and he was tired often and it was easier besides, to finally listen to the screaming of his body. It was after hours on his fifth day gone when Tim let himself in with the spare key to Jon’s flat.

“Hey.” Sheepish, he held up his hands in surrender, a bag of takeaway from Jon’s favorite place dangling from one. “Martin said you wouldn’t let him in.” Dressed in the most comfortable clothes he had, which were also the shabbiest, Jon glared at him from where he laid on the couch. “I was an arse.” Slowly, he sat up, making Tim wait on purpose, a powerful frown still aimed in his direction.

“You were.” He was aware he looked a mess, greasy hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, but he felt a sight better for the rest he’d gotten.

“Would you accept an apology?” Folding his arms, Jon leaned back into the cushions and fixed his stare at whatever rubbish was on the telly.

“Might do.” Silently, Tim scurried into the tiny kitchen and Jon listened to the familiar sounds of him rooting around for cutlery. It smelled delicious and comforting, a reminder of nights spent together laughing at nothing on this same couch and despite himself, Jon began to relax.

“I’m sorry.”

“Alright.” Tim’s face split in a wide, relieved grin, and he flopped down next to him, planting a loud kiss to his temple before urging him to eat. “Martin sent you here.”

“An angry Marto is not to be trifled with.” Through a mouthful of noodles, Tim chuffed in laughter. “Wouldn’t tell me anything, other than to stop being a prick.”

“He did not.”

“He did not. But it was more than implied!” He put his bowl on the low table in front of them, sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees. “And he was right. I didn’t give you a fair shake and accused you of awful things. And I know you’re doing your best at this job.”

“Gertrude isn’t making it easy.”

“Neither is your health, I take it.” Jon set his own meal aside, curling into the padded arm.

“No. It isn’t.”

“And you don’t know what’s causing it?”

“I know some things that help. M’Martin has been invaluable.”

“Has he, now?”

“Leave off!”

“Okay, okay.” But he continued giggling as Jon felt his face go hot, muttering.

“He really has.” This time Tim pulled him gently into an embrace.

“Then Sash and I will just have to catch up.”

[missmentelle]

I got married at 16. My husband was 18. We are from the deep south and we got married because I ended up pregnant. He just seems angry all the time now. Whenever I panic or get anxiety, he starts yelling at me, giving me the silent treatment and interrupting me when I try to speak. I asked him yesterday to please take me to behavioral health and he refused. He kept asking "why" and couldn't he be the one to fix it. He'll say I'm unwell then when I try to fix it he gets mad. Is this gaslighting?

Hey sorry its the girl who got married at 16 again. I forgot to mention that this has happened a lot to me with him. He’ll make me think I’m crazy and unstable. The situation from yesterday, we were in the car driving back home and out of nowhere, I started silently crying and couldn’t regulate my breathing. My thoughts wouldn’t stop racing. That’s when he got mad. Every time I try to get help he says, “all they’ll do is give you pills. It won’t do anything.” I feel lost and idk what to do. 

This is a lot of things, and none of them are good. There are a lot of red flags here that point to this being an unhealthy or abusive relationship - for the sake of education, let’s just go through and tally them all up individually:

You got married very young. I’m not saying that all young marriages are automatically abusive, but you are certainly much greater risk of ending up in an abusive relationship when you are younger. At sixteen, you don’t have a lot of life experience, you are still very naive (it’s not a bad thing, it’s just a natural part of only having been alive for sixteen years), you are likely very insecure, you don’t know who you are yet, you aren’t financially independent, and you are used to following the authority of others. People can definitely get into abusive relationships at any age, but you are much more vulnerable in your mid-teens than you are in your mid-thirties. 

You were rushed into marriage before you were ready. Again, not all couples who marry early in their relationship are abusive, but the fact that you were rushed into a marriage you probably weren’t ready for due to social pressure is a big red flag. I don’t know you and your husband personally, and I don’t know everything about your circumstances, but this situation creates a big possibility of resentment arising. Your husband may feel trapped or angry about the situation, and may dump all of that anger and resentment and blame on you. 

There are anger issues present. Anger issues are always a bad sign in a relationship. You should never have to live in fear of your spouse’s wrath. That’s a miserable way to live, especially because you never know when your spouse’s anger may escalate to physical violence. 

He responds to your mental illness with anger and emotional abuse. When a spouse is upset or struggling or in pain, a normal person tries to comfort and calm them. Getting angry and yelling at them is not an acceptable response. Likewise, withdrawing from you entirely is emotional manipulation - he is punishing you for having feelings, and that’s not okay. He doesn’t respect your intelligence enough to let you make your own medical decisions or even finish your sentences before he starts speaking over you. All of this points to him being incredibly controlling; when you start having feelings or thoughts that he doesn’t approve of, he lashes out and does whatever he has to do to punish you for straying from his control. 

He absolutely gaslights you. “Gaslighting” is rapidly becoming an overused term, but this absolutely fits the definition to a tee. Emphasizing how sick and mentally ill someone is while simultaneously denying that they are sick enough to need a doctor is textbook gaslighting. It sounds like you’re always going to be the exact amount of sick that’s convenient for him - when you want to make a decision that goes against him, he’s going to suddenly tell you that you’re much, much too sick to be making that decision and you don’t know what you’re saying, but if you try to get actual help, your issues are suddenly going to be so minor that you just need a nap. Healthy partners emphasize their partner’s strengths, not their weaknesses. 

He is actively preventing you from getting the help you need. This is probably the most alarming one of all, to be honest. Your symptoms are quite serious, and it’s clear that you do need to have the checked out, but he is actively preventing that from happening. When someone tells their spouse to drive them to the hospital, the response should be “I’ll go start the car”, not “No, I can fix you myself”. Again, this points to control - in a psychiatric hospital you will be completely beyond his control, and worse yet, if the staff catch a whiff of what your relationship is like, they will identify the abuse and try to help you leave. He doesn’t want that, and he doesn’t actually want you to get better - he wants you at home, sick and vulnerable, so you won’t go anywhere. At this point, he is putting you in physical and psychological danger by not letting you get help.

I think there are two big things you need to do from here: you need to find a way to start getting mental health treatment, and you need to decide if this is a relationship that you want to stay in for the rest of your life. Both of those things may be a very long process, and I don’t expect things to change overnight. I will say that trying to manage a mental health condition while you’re still in an unhealthy relationship can be a bit like trying to get the smoke smell out of your curtains while your house is still actively on fire. That doesn’t mean that therapy is useless - it means that any therapy you get will probably have to focus on help you get a good perspective on your relationship and find the strength to leave the situation before you can start addressing the other mental health problems. 

Talk to other survivors of abusive relationships, or at least read their stories - you can find all kinds of Facebook groups, subreddits, Tumblr hashtags and forums dedicated to this. See if anything resonates with you. Read up on unhealthy relationships. If you can, read Why Does He Do That by Lundy Bancroft - you can find a free PDF of the book by clicking that link. See if you can get someone else in your life to take you to the Behavioural Health Unit, or ask to speak to your doctor privately the next time you have an appointment. Reach out to a domestic violence hotline or organization for information. Gather whatever information you need to gather, take whatever steps you need to take. But know that your relationship is not healthy, and you deserve better. Best of luck to you Miss Mentelle 

[pyre-prism]

LONG POST ‘CAUSE BIO!! (I’m still a n00b with tumblr formatting... halp...)

I finally got his details down in a way that I'm happy enough to share them. I do know that some of the stuff I've got with him may be a little... is it cliche? I don't really know and I don't particularly care. As it is, I like him as I've made him, but I'm more than willing to have discussions if anyone has an idea that may make things even better.

Critiques are welcome~!

~*~

Real Name – Lonán [approximately pronounced “loo-nan”]

Alias – ‘Cat-Eyes’

Age – Believed to be 500+ but he’s not sure

Birthday – September 22

Gender – Male

Species – Cursed ‘Human’/Cambion

Ethnicity – European

Place of Origin – Ireland

Languages Spoken – Irish Gaelic, English, and Latin, although he can puzzle his way through Italian, as well due to its lingering similarities to its parent language, and he can also apply this –to a lesser extent– to the other ‘romance languages’

Eyes – Usually light aquamarine but tend to become much more vivid when using his racial abilities, vertically-slit pupils, always has black marks akin to eyeliner all around the eye

Hair – Black, strip of red in the middle of his goatee (if he didn’t shave, he would also have patches of red on both cheeks just below the ridge of his cheekbones)

Skin – Pale, almost translucent

Build – Lean, almost perfectly-defined musculature for his build, extremely flexible, 6’0”

Typical Outfit – Lonán doesn’t like to weigh his body down with unnecessary cloth, and so tends to underdress. He’s usually found wearing the following ensemble: • Teal hooded zip-up sweatshirt with thumbholes in the cuffs of the slightly-elongated sleeves, frequently worn completely unzipped • Grey wifebeater shirt if it’s actually cold enough that most other people would wear two or three layers of clothing • Indigo sweatpants • Black thongs/flip-flops, which he has no particular care for whether he loses them or not as he actually prefers going barefoot

Personality – Usually fairly aloof and secretive, viciously vindictive, arrogant, driven, cunning and conniving, highly-curious, can be playful when in a good enough mood, ‘I meant to do that’, fickle, showy when he believes he has the time to be, will manipulate others until the cows come home (especially if it means he gets to keep his own hands clean), wants to ‘shape humanity up’ and gets increasingly frustrated when people seem to repeat old mistakes, becomes an absolute hot-head when he actually loses his temper, technically has a rather flexible personality so as to present the ‘correct version of himself’ to those he approaches, prone to snuggling if he gives in and gets a ‘sexy fix’ (once he wakes up again, he either leaves them or kills them)

Likes – Being warm, being touchy-feely with people, sleeping, learning and reading, dishes that involve rabbit meat, classical and folk music (it calms him down), snowflakes and ice crystals, watching fire

Dislikes – ‘Normal people’ (calls them ‘the unenlightened’), having to prove himself in any way, times when information is actively kept from him, music that relies on electronics to be able to be played ‘correctly’

Orientation – Bisexual, and bi-romantic… but he will have intermittent bouts of either particular leanings or ‘literally anything works’

Fears – Losing all complex thoughts and becoming nothing more than a beast, deep or rough water, drowning

Voice – Smooth, ‘svelte’, tends to be mildly amused and playful, gains a low and almost-constant growl or hiss when irritated or otherwise losing his cool

Strengths: • Stemming from his inhuman parentage, Lonán has the ability to hypnotise and ‘bewitch’ other people into doing his bidding. By using a particular tone of voice or by keeping their gaze on his eyes for long enough, he can begin to influence his targets to do almost anything he requests of them. Alongside this, he has phenomenal skill with words and mental manipulation, even without utilising this power.

• Also thanks to his parentage, he is capable of a form of mind-reading, with two distinct levels of potency. By simply being in the general area –within eyesight range– he can get a reasonably-clear impression of a person’s ‘self’ and the general style of their surface thoughts, but when he instigates some kind of skin-to-skin contact, he is actually able to read more clearly into their surface thoughts and even –to a much lesser degree– their memories.

• Lonán has the ability to replenish his energy reserves by absorbing sexual energy, whether directly or by ‘soaking in the atmosphere’ in a sexually-charged space. If he makes use of it, he can essentially live without ever resting.

• His body is extremely flexible, enabling him to manoeuvre himself through and into spaces that he doesn’t appear to be able to, according only to his size and stature.

• He was taught various magic spells and the like, which he could feasibly use to do any number of things that a more ‘normal’ individual could never dream of. Thanks to a tendency to improvise and improve upon what he actually does, this versatile set of potential capabilities has the chance to expand exponentially.

• Lonán regularly brews and drinks a potion that allows him to survive up to eight fatal injuries in quick succession. After beginning to use it, his nails became retractable cat-like claws and his eye-teeth both sharpened and lengthened.

Weaknesses: • For all of his innate skill with it, Lonán’s hypnotic power isn’t infallible. He cannot use it to make people completely bypass their moral code, not to mention the fact that some people are simply more resistant to being hypnotised –unlike ‘regular hypnosis’, however, he is able to affect anyone. The effects aren’t permanent, either, and the victim can be broken out of it by being knocked out… and some can even shake it off themselves, particularly in the appropriate circumstances as determined by the individual in question.

• Lonán can make various missteps with his choice of words and actions while trying to manipulate someone. If he makes a small mistake, he gets a bit flustered… which often leads into more and more being made as he gets more and more frustrated with himself.

• While ‘getting a basic read on someone’ is practically instinctual for him, it is more than possible for him to get even that wrong, let alone the more complex contact-based forms of reading people’s minds. Truthfully, he tries his hardest to avoid using it, and as such is very inexperienced in its use.

• Lonán’s hesitance to indulge in his hereditary nature doesn’t only leave him lacking in practice with his mind-reading, but also in ‘metabolising’ any sexual energy that he absorbs. Not processing it properly tends to wind up with him acting as if he was drunk or even high, along with all of the downsides of such states.

• A lot of what he was taught about magic has since been forgotten due to a lack of use upon learning about the more subtle technicalities regarding the potion. With how magic has changed in the eyes of the world, refreshing his memory is difficult at best and almost impossible at worst. With that being said, he still tries to recall what he learned; these almost invariably have unpredictable results, not all of which being remotely pleasant for him, let alone useful.

• Using the potion that he does has definite downsides to it, and he needs to drink some every couple of days to keep its effect from being interrupted. In the event of going through a period of time where he doesn’t take any, however, the withdrawal symptoms quickly rear their rather ugly heads; to begin with, his temper takes a definite turn for the worst, but then he starts to grow increasingly restless with no apparent method of easing it –aside from the potion itself. Once that has begun to sink in, Lonán’s demeanour and even his way of thinking turns into something more bestial, with the last symptoms that he’s ever experienced being the early stages of a physical transformation into some sort of monstrous feline biped. He has deduced that, should he ever allow these symptoms to progress any further than that, then it would become permanent. Unfortunately for him, each instance of withdrawal progresses at a quicker rate than the previous one, and he has even noticed some of these occasionally popping up when he loses his temper.

How They Can Die – Lonán is just as susceptible to injury and other forms of damage as any normal human, but his heritage has granted him an indefinite lifespan and the potion he takes has given him the ability to essentially ‘shrug off’ up to eight instances of ‘fatal damage’ in the –typically short– time between taking the potion.

Physiological Conditions – Withdrawal symptoms (intermittent and wildly-varying in effect)

Psychological Conditions – Nymphomania (barely ever fully indulges, but is incapable of completely neglecting his urges); Sociopathy; Antisocial Personality Disorder (to some degree)

Quotes – “You people never learn…” “This immortality thing… it’s very high-maintenance.”

Primary Reasons for Killing – Resources and Proving a Point

Weapon of Choice – Although Lonán possesses sharp claws, he prefers to restrict their use as much as he can. Instead, his favoured weapon –when he actually expects the potential of running into trouble– is a kopis ‘machete’, with a lancet for any more precise cuts for gathering ingredients.

Primary Targets – Those with seemingly-healthy bodies, regardless of age

Avoids Targeting – Anyone who is obviously-unwell, regardless of age

Preferred Method of Killing – Convincing the victim to attack either themselves or another victim by way of hypnotic suggestion, and if that fails then he will ultimately aim to knock them out and slice their throat open nearly to the point of decapitation. After the target is dead, he removes a number of body parts from the carcass, most of which are then either preserved in ethanol for later use or are quickly put into the next batch of his potion.

Details of the Potion – Crafted from a plethora of ingredients, ranging from a salad of mint and various other plants, to a black cat’s tail, paws, and ears, to human body parts. The ingredients used in the recipe that Lonán originally learned are the heart, lungs, liver, stomach, and both large and small intestines; he has, however, adapted the recipe over the years in an attempt to limit the symptoms of withdrawal and to increase the maximum gap between doses, and these newer components are the eyes, ears, tongue, and hands. Once properly brewed, it is strained and boiled once again, before he actually drinks it.

Taking ingredients from human bodies actually has a number of requirements that need to be met. For starters, it is best if he is able to take them from a willing victim, although knowing what they’re agreeing to is not necessary –he is able to twist the will of his victims using his hypnotic ability to make them more amenable to the possibility. Other than that, these body parts also need to be reasonably ‘fresh’ –with no more than a couple of days passing between being harvested and being ‘put into the pot’, unless he manages to preserve them; however, this does some strange things to the potion, in and of itself, due to the nature of the substances used to preserve body parts. Another detail that Lonán has to bear in mind is that no amount of ‘perfect preparation’ will make the batch succeed if he’s a complete stranger to the individual in question.

Despite what he believes it to be, the potion is not meant for inducing any form of ‘immortality’. It is meant to ascribe traits believed to belong to an animal to a person –in this case, the ‘nine lives’ folkloric property of cats is the primary focus, using black cats in particular due to their believed connections to not only witches and the fey but also to magic in general. Each time he takes a dose, these ‘nine lives’ are replenished, but it also further cements his reliance on it as well as his addiction to it.

Family – Lonán doesn’t know anything about any relatives he might have in the modern day, and he never particularly discusses the family that raised him. • Father – Asmodeus Both father and son barely know anything about each other, to the point that Lonán doesn’t even know for certain who his father even is –let alone anything about the ‘Lord of Lust’. It’s possible that, via Lonán’s occasional interactions with the ‘prime demonic real estate’ that is Lucy Blumenthal, Asmodeus may come to actually meet his son at some point in the future.

• Mother – [Unknown, deceased] She met Asmodeus while she was running away from her family and the makings of an arranged marriage, and saw the demon as a way of escaping her parents’ plans. However, he left shortly after impregnating her (unknowing of the actual success of the act). She found a couple who owned an inn in the next township over, and was given a place to stay in return for working for them. Lonán’s mother took care of him there for the first two years of his life, before dumping him in the care of the innkeeper and his wife and disappearing.

• Adopted Family – Paidin and Elyn O Cleirigh [deceased] Until they met Lonán’s mother, nothing of particular interest had happened in their lives. Elyn took pity on the pregnant woman when she showed up on their doorstep, and Paidin readily offered her a job at their inn. When Lonán was two years old, his mother disappeared from the inn and never returned, leaving the child entirely in the care of the couple who had effectively become his godparents.

Being left to care for him, however, was something they came to resent to some degree, especially considering the boy’s strange traits which became more obvious as he grew older. Once Paidin deemed him to be old enough, Lonán was given various chores around the inn; he particularly took to kitchen tasks and to chores in the stables, although he also had a knack for convincing customers to stay another night or to order more expensive food and drink.

During his childhood, Lonán cared a lot about them both, but as he grew into adolescence, this started to twist into a form of grudging resentment regarding their hesitance to talk about his birth-family beyond ‘his mother left him in their care’.

• Other Family – …Various… It’s practically a given that he has at least some half-siblings, courtesy of his father’s activities, just as there is a definite possibility of some other relatives on his mother’s side surviving to the modern-day.

Friendly Interactions – Lucy Blumenthal/Ghostly Ripper (reasonably friendly) [OC]

Neutral Interactions – Generally neutral and even aloof to everyone and everything, with one clear distinction…

Antagonistic Interactions – Lucy’s demonic passengers (especially his former teacher), and then there’s normal people –the ‘unenlightened’– who he almost always treats with either cold aloofness or outright hostility

History – Before Lonán was even born, his life had already been derailed from the norm for the time and place. His mother –whose name he still doesn’t know– had run away from her family, seeking ‘true love’ instead of the arranged marriage that her father expected her to go along with. Two weeks into her escape, she met a foreign man who she fell in love with. Unbeknownst to her, however, this man was the current host of a demon by the name of Asmodeus –all he was after was a fleeting sexual ‘fix’… and he left her after a few months once he’d had his fill.

Lonán’s mother took another month to realise that she was pregnant and that’s when she started to panic. With winter already on the doorstep, finding somewhere that she could live in safety was her first priority, but she was terrified of returning to her family –pregnant and unmarried– but she also knew that almost no-one would marry a woman who was already carrying a child.

When she reached the next town along the vague path through the country that she’d been following, she was able to get a room at the inn for a week. The innkeeper’s wife noticed her growing belly and darkening mood; after pressuring her for her story, Elyn set about persuading her husband to consider allowing her to stay for longer than she’s originally paid for. Paidin agreed to let her, for as long as she was willing to work at their inn.

This arrangement stayed in-place for months, and Lonán was even born in one of the inn’s rooms with Elyn acting as a midwife. In fact, the young mother stayed and worked at the inn until her son was two years old, at which point she left and never returned, leaving him behind. Initially, neither Paidin nor Elyn were sure what to do with the toddler, but having grown somewhat attached to him, they took Lonán in.

As he grew older, Paidin noticed that Lonán had an almost bewitching effect on their customers –he was somehow able to convince them to stay longer or to buy more expensive meals. However, despite that capability, when they started to get the boy to pitch in around the inn, he took especially to the kitchen and to the stables. In this manner, their lives were reasonably comfortable for years. Paidin and Elyn raised Lonán as if he was their own, and he loved them in return.

Not long after he turned 13, something happened which prompted Paidin to keep Lonán out of customer interactions. A family stayed at the O Cleirigh inn –father, mother, and two daughters– and upon seeing the young teen, they requested that Lonán be their primary service-provider during their stay; it wasn’t the first time that such a request had been made and so it was readily agreed to, especially with the additional money the father offered for the ‘privilege’. Things stayed normal for the first couple of days… the daughters seemed to be enamoured with him, and the father was particularly prone to calling on Lonán for the tiniest of tasks. On the fourth night, however, a series of screams woke the entire building.

The daughters had called for Lonán late that night, and each dragged him into their beds in quick succession. Trying to keep a sense of ‘professionalism’, not least of which being because of the sizeable profit the family’s stay presented, he rejected their blatant advances and attempted to leave. Their mother arrived upon hearing her daughter’s raised voices, followed shortly after by the father. Both daughters launched themselves at their mother, crying and accusing Lonán of trying to take advantage of them; while the mother was occupied with comforting the girls, their father turned his attention to the accused teen.

Lonán found himself being attacked by the man, eventually winding up pinned –bruised and bloodied– to the floor by the father’s full weight. It was when his clothes were being torn from his body that Lonán finally started to realise just how much trouble he was in. At that point, he began to struggle even more to escape, running more on instinct than coherent thought… Then, at long last, the father released him and stood, swaying on his feet for a few moments before attacking his own wife and daughters.

The resultant screaming brought both O Cleirighs, along with a number of the other guests, rushing into the room. The sight that greeted them was grisly; the father had practically mauled his family to death before apparently tearing his own throat out. Lonán had pressed himself into the corner furthest from the gore, but wasted no time in trying to bury himself into Elyn’s shocked but ready embrace.

Lonán never told anyone what happened, not even his adoptive parents, although the horrific event did significantly lessen the number of guests they received for another few years. In that time, Lonán was finally specifically told that he wasn’t actually related to the O Cleirighs by blood, leading him to ask question after question about his birth-family. By the time he had turned 17, he’d grown more than a little impatient with the lack of answers they gave him, and even somewhat resentful about the apparent secrecy –not realising that it was largely due to the fact that neither Paidin nor Elyn actually knew that much about his mother’s family… and nothing about his father.

One night, around a month after turning 18, he was woken by the sound of music in the nearby woods. Curious, he slipped out to investigate, eventually coming across a wealthy-looking man sitting on a fallen tree and playing a pipe. The man finished his song before urging Lonán to join him, introducing himself as Faolan.

They talked for a while, each trying to get a decent impression of the other’s nature, and Lonán was shocked to discover that the strange man was the easiest person to simply chat with that he’d ever met. In turn, Faolan –truly the current host of the demon named Belial– had noticed something ‘off’ about his young visitor that he wanted to investigate further. Eventually, talk turned to the teenager’s dreams for the future, and Lonán told his new friend something that he’d never brought up to anyone else; he wanted to change the world, to make it better than it currently was, but he had no idea as to how to acquire the power to do so.

This was the opening that Belial had been waiting for. He regaled Lonán with tales of influential and wealthy people who lived far longer than seemed natural, people who began life with nothing and ended it with everything… Unsurprisingly, the young man begged to learn more and Belial gleefully agreed. They sealed the agreement with a handshake, at which point the demon finally understood who and what Lonán was –a cambion child of the ‘Lord of Lust’, whom Belial had been in a steady disagreement with for years, making the boy a prime candidate for some good old-fashioned revenge.

Over the next several months, ‘Faolan’ taught his new student how to read and write, as well as basic mathematics. Once he was comfortable with what Lonán had learned –coupled with how ready he was to listen to the demon– he began to introduce the youngster to the topic of magic… a topic that the cambion took to like a fish to water. Another month was spent building up Lonán’s knowledge in the topic before Belial finally brought up the potion that he said was designed to grant immortality to whoever drank it. Feeling like he was finally getting to what he was truly after, Lonán dove headlong into this particular series of lessons without a second thought and, eventually, student and teacher brewed up a batch together –the fact that some of the ingredients had been procured from Paidin was something that Belial kept to himself, along with the truth of exactly what those particular body parts were from in the first place.

At that point, ‘Faolan’ left the town on what he described as ‘important business’, returning again a week later to see the result of his handiwork…

Lonán, having been deliberately kept in the dark about any side-effects of the potion, as well as the truth about some of the critical ingredients, was in the midst of his very first bout of withdrawal symptoms. Over the course of the week that Belial had been gone, Lonán had grown increasingly irritable and violent as the ‘beast-like nature’ the potion had imbued into him started to take hold. The inn was in shambles, the guests and their horses had either fled or died before they could, the few staff members had done the same… and Elyn –while trying to calm her adopted son down– had been killed.

Belial was delighted, and after securely tying his student up, brewed another batch of the potion and forced him to drink it. The next day, Lonán finally come down from the manic ‘high’ with no memory of what had truly transpired; this is when the demon finally told him everything –from the truth of the potion’s ingredients, to being a demon, to tricking him, to even the fact that Lonán himself was never entirely human to begin with. With that said and done, ‘Faolan’ vanished, leaving the teen to free himself and escape before anyone could pin the blame for the events on him.

The next primary note in Lonán’s history was much later. In an effort to try to find ways of altering the recipe of the potion that he was now functionally dependant on, he had managed to get work as an undertaker. However, not only did trying to use parts from the deceased not really work, but he was also discovered and run out of town for mutilating the bodies.

~*~

Story is on the back-burner for the time being, but I will write one for him.