#borderline psychotic ranting

[crazy56u]

It's late, I'm bored, I wanna ramble about a thing.

So, a while back, I did that thing again where I had an art commission made (shoutout @thenovika); it never got shared on here, but it was shared on other places. And I feel like talking about it a little bit, just for kicks. And also to share the deep lore that's been burning in my head concerning it, some of which might not 100% track, but fuck it, it's my imagination, and I decide the path it takes.

To start, said commission is this:

(shifting to "Read More" mode now)

Firstly, yes, this is using "Quantum Leap Jesus Painting" as a reference.

Believe it or not, this is the last time this becomes relevant in this rant; things are gonna deviate quick here.

Secondly, this post is mainly a (very long delayed) response to some people's interpretation of what is going on in the image; namely, that Julie-Su is dead.

This was never my intention... however, admittedly, my intention is somewhat worse. Essentially, the intrusive thoughts were angry.

Let me explain: For those unaware, in the Archie comics, prior to the Big Legal Kerfluffle that resulted in the SGW reboot, Rouge was, to be blunt, a self-serving bastard, and basically didn't give a shit that Knuckles had a girlfriend.

Later on in the comic, Knuckles was going through The Shit due to briefly being evil (long fucking story) and trying to "free" people from technology and shit, and decided after everything was said and done that he needed to self-isolate.

Fast forward two issues, and Knuckles decides to return to public life... mainly thanks to Rouge wanting to further an agenda (that I don't really think gets revealed, given how the comics soon quickly fall down a cliff in terms of #shenangans and #lawsuits).

And here is where the thoughts started getting loud; Rouge could've tried to have it both ways: Get Knuckles back in to the fight, and also keep him to herself.

After all, Knuckles did have a good reason to stay away from Julie-Su after The Shit happened...

Yeah, he almost did that; stands to reason he could be convinced to keep his distance... or, rather, be convinced Julie-Su wanted to keep her distance.

Here is where the real shit kicks into gear with how this plays out in my brain: In order to play both sides (and, this is important, there is a very small window of opportunity Rouge would have her to prevent Knuckles from properly reuniting with her), Rouge confronts Julie-Su privately shortly after The Shit and, upon pushing just the right buttons (basically insinuating to her that it was her fault Knuckles went through The Shit at all), Rouge manipulates her into having that long-awaited rematch between the two of them in a private location... where she basically wipes the floor with her (she can kick Knuckles' ass just fine, this wouldn't be nothing in comparison; plus, cybernetics can be shorted out, just a tip), and knocks her out (see the first image).

Now.

You may have noticed my decision to use the phrase "play both sides".

Well, that's because that was what I was thinking of.

As much as she wanted Knuckles for herself, Rouge wouldn't kill Julie-Su directly.

She'd kill the idea of her.

She'd take her home. To a familiar face.

Who is on the record not above screwing with Julie-Su's brain to get what she wants.

(Plus, it's implied that chip never came out...)

And now also has a new partner in crime to help make the transition process smoother.

And Rouge 100% would A) know how to contact Lien-Da, B) talk her into taking part in this plan, and C) turn a blind eye to it all after the fact.

So, yes, in a very warped sense, everyone wins.

Knuckles gets to start moving on from The Shit, no longer burdened with one of the biggest reminders of how deep that went.

Rouge gets her prize.

Lien-Da gets to clear the slate and start fresh with a new ally, and a new member of the Dark Egg Legion.

And as far as everyone is concerned, Julie-Su has left for greener pastures, for her own good.

Rouge wouldn't kill Julie-Su. Not directly. Too many lost resources that way.

...but maybe it'd be merciful the other way around...

[chronicsymptomsyndrome]

Can I just vent. For a second. Infighting really sucks in disability/mental illness/chronic illness communities. There are going to be contradictory experiences and endless nuances within any community. And its understandable to be upset and/or angry if you come across something triggering in your safe space. It sucks but that’s the inevitable reality of the internet.

Keep scrolling or report the content or leave a respectful comment about your difference in experience/perspective or let them know it was triggering and respectfully ask that they please tag a certain thing in the future or just block them altogether. Rather than attack each other, there are so many more constructive options. We all live in a world not made for us. None of us have it easy. We all know it’s a constant battle. We don’t need to be battling each other on top of that

[queerpossums]

ack it feels like i smoked way too much and then ate a bowl of coffee grounds. salt hasn’t helped so it isn’t pots/neurologic issues. i need to sleep but i fucking can’t. it’s been days of feeling fucked in the head and i’ve been actively avoiding all risky activities and behaviors since i noticed shit getting weird. fuck fuck fuck i have to make it through the next semester and keep my merit scholarship. at least i’ve done a months worth of late work in the past five days

[minimilkerz420]

i feel like growing up as a very autistic young girl i was isolated mostly by myself, im not sure if asperger’s is different from the spectrum or the whole logistics lolol

even as an adult i feel it so overwhelmingly, along with the bpd. i don’t think it’s misdiagnosed, making sense. i need to find more people with the autism + bpd i think, feeling like you don’t even fit with the cool bpd girls because you’re too weird. which is really weird, and i know that. maybe i’m crazy, i am.

i also love listening to animal crossing throughout the day though, it’s really nice specifically noon am ! but it helps me cool my thoughts and my chest. i used to be on abilify and duloxetine which helped quite a bit though honestly

im in the process of finding a purpose for my life i guess, im 22 years old living alone in a rented room and i have nothing to show except scars and a diagnosis saying i can’t enlist in the military. OR a gun btw, super annoying. lowkey ableism, unbased! i considered mortuary science, librarian, going into welding, staying as a landscaper with my moms company. i never prepared myself for college, i’d say did anyone, but everyone did. i feel like when you have a traumatic event in your life you don’t think about careers and college, you just think of having a home i guess. someone to love and love you, a support system, food on the table. which even nowadays is getting harder especially.

don’t even ask how i feel about men these days on my mama

[aajjks]

work hard and love hard. (m)

warnings: 18+ thèmès, mánïpülátíón, ángèr ïssues, mástrúbàtíón, yándèrè thèmès, phónè sèx.

pairing: yandere ceo x fem!reader

note. ANOTHER OC! Ask him things all you want. I HOPE YOU GUYS WILL LIKE HIM. HEHE!!!!! he’s a mystery and I guess we all like mysteries. ;)

………………………………………………….

Yandere CEO who didn’t notice you the first time he saw you working as a receptionist in the large company, because he is not a man who notices people, especially not those who are beneath him

Yandere CEO who is a very serious man, A very cold and cynical type of person and as cliché as it sounds, everyone of his employees are scared to talk to him about anything he would when it comes to work

Yandere CEO who is actually borderline psychotic because he’s a workaholic and addicted to success.

And that’s where you come along and it takes him 4 to 5 months to finally take notice of you, when he walks in with anger, seething because he was almost late to a meeting and felt your gaze on him.

“WHAT?!?” He remembers screaming in your face, and the way you had flinched, so badly. His gaze had immediately softened.

He didn’t realize why, that is until… he found himself feeling feeling guilty about screaming at you, and, he found himself noticing your presence more often.

Your eyes, especially your gaze.. that scared, yet curious gaze. He knows that you’re curious about him. But the thing Is they you’ve been occupying his mind often.

Yandere CEO who as days pass, becomes increasingly aware and curious about your existence.

And before he can even realize he’s starting to fall for you, which is ridiculous by the way because he hasn’t even interacted with you enough,

Yandere CEO has started to become more patient and less aggressive with his employees when it comes to talking to them just so he can make you feel comfortable enough to interact with him for longer than two minutes

Yandere CEO, who looks for every single opportunity to interact with you and whenever you do interact with him, he’s just so happy

Yandere CEO, who didn’t realize that how unhappy he was before you came into his life

 Yandere CEO who takes you out to dinner, sometimes even lunch when it’s lunchtime at the company and he takes you to the most luxurious restaurants ever

The reaction that you give him are just so adorable, he finds himself giggling and smiling.

And what makes him the most happy? Is that you’re single, you are such a good girl you answer every single one of his questions without questioning him

Yandere CEO, who decides to pursue you into a relationship. One day when you’re having lunch with him.

“Yn.. um I know that this is really awkward but.. I really like you more than I should.. I like you,, a lot.. your presence just feels so light. I really like it. Can you please… just… consider my feelings?”

Yandere CEO who understands your confusion, so he decides to give you time, a lot of time.

And it’s hard, because you make him so… horny, and.. obsessed.

He wants more, he NEEDS more. He needs more than a touch of your hands together. He wants to be inside you,

Yandere CEO who’s going insane from longing, desire. Just a call from you as soon as he’s hearing your voice, even when you’re saying the most innocent, stupid random things ranting about your day to him

Yandere CEO is cumming so hard as he strokes his cock for the nth time.

Yandere CEO who doesn’t think that he can last without you anymore he needs to have you or he will actually go insane and do something that you might both regret, but then it will be too late.

[borderline-culture-is]

(not culture)

FELLOW BPD TRANS MEN / TRANS MASCS !!!!!!

we're gonna unite like power rangers or something.

POWER RANGERS: BORDERLINE MAN FORCE XD

honestly i feel the exact same way about other pds too though. like... narcissistic is used against cheating exes. paranoia is used against people who worry about failing exams once or twice. histrionic is (from what i've seen) is barely even recognised, and when it is, it's just "oh, girls on their period!" (and that's when they even know what it is. the lack of awareness even amongst pd groups is absolutely insane).

schizophrenic is someone doing something weird.

psychotic is doing something slightly unhinged.

sociopathic is being slightly mean to someone.

we cannot win.

(sorry for the rant, holy fuck)

- 🎋🩰🛹

(it's okay dw)

[drizzleoftherain]

Liturgia

Chapter 1: La Corriente Que Nace De Esta Fuente

Pairing: Ava Silva & Beatrice

Ao3

Author's note: This story wouldn’t let me live my life so I guess it had to be done. There’s a playlist and a mood-board. I’m tired now and will sleep.

Beatrice would swear upon her death bed that meeting Ava that day was not in any way shape or form a monumental deviation in her life plans.

Had this moment in time been a carefully calculated move? No. This had been simple dumb luck and it horrified her. One moment they were being ignored at dingy small gigs and suddenly they were performing at Lollapalooza. Beatrice couldn’t even begin to understand what 110,000 people looked like. Much less hearing them sing back their music, the songs that she had carefully written and slaved over for years. And here they were, expected to just pretend like that was normal. Like it was just a regular day. She was sure she needed therapy. And a new manager. Definitely a new manager. Lilith needed a haircut. Did they all need haircuts? 

Her mind spiraled. 

All in good time. 

The green room was stuffy and the air felt heavy with anxiety and pre-show jitters that shouldn’t still be happening or at least this intensely. Thoughts went back to that crowd and fear started to bubble again. She looked to her fellow bandmates, each going through their routines, and her lips curved with a small smile that she hoped would calm their nerves. 

They were set to appear as one of two musical guests, not something she recalls happening often, but unavoidable given a last minute scheduling conflict and countless apologies from The Graham Norton Show production team.

They were The Cruciforms, England’s biggest rock band since The Beatles, or she would tell her grandmother that if ever asked. Silly little hobby and all. Their EP had sold inexplicably well, well enough that eyes were on them, many eyes and they had been ill prepared. The amount of attention in itself was difficult to explain, it was as if overnight everything had fallen into place, but not. The music industry was messy, confusing and borderline psychotic. 

“Do you think she’ll be nice?” Camila’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Who?” 

A unanimous groan stretched throughout the cramped room. 

Right. 

Ava. 

The other musical guest. 

“Do you think we’ll ever get a chance to print our vinyls at the rate she’s going?” Lilith spoke up, hair in her face. She definitely needed thera— wait no she needed a haircut, but also therapy. 

Mary rubbed her forehead knowing full well where the topic was heading. “Don’t start, you’ll just get Beatrice going on a rant again.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can put up with musical statistics and artistic integrity.” Lilith stood from the couch and walked to the heavily lit mirror in an attempt to tame her unruly hair.

Beatrice scoffed, feeling slightly validated by Lilith’s comment. “I mean honestly out of everyone that could have possibly come today and overshadow us it had to be her. Does she even have to do this anymore?”

“Careful, your inner brat is showing.”

“When you’re in the party bum-bum-bumping’ that beat!” Camila sprung up, triggered. 

“Oh God no.”

“That sewer sluts a vibe! 

Internationally recognised!

 I set the tone, it’s my design and it’s stuck in your—”

Beatrice moved as fast as she could. One squeal later and Camila was restrained. She stared up, breathing through her nose as Beatrice’s hands held her mouth shut. The couch underneath them protested with the sudden movement.

“It has been a great year for pop music. I've gone back several months and can safely say we’re finally out of the dark ages that were the early 2010’s.” Yasmine, who had been rather occupied with her phone, spoke up. She was nose deep tracking charts or plotting to take them down. One or the other. Or both. “It’s not all Ava’s fault. Though her tactics are a bit questionable and borderline exploitative.”

“See! Yasmine agrees. She has over-capitalised music and for what. Is it any good? Probably not, just some over-produced crap that will sound dated—aaaaahhh!” Camila bit her. Actually bit her. “You bit me!”

Camila had managed to squeeze her way out of Beatrice’s grasp. “How dare you speak about our lord and saviour like this.”

“She’s clearly only popular because of all the features she has managed to grab.” Beatrice continued her tirade, rubbing her hand in soothing patterns. “That and the radio won’t stop playing her.”

Mary stared at Beatrice, patience clearly gone. “Okay, you’re starting to sound like a Reddit basement dweller. I have heard her albums, they’re great, she’s talented.” Her eyes bore into hers like an older sibling would to a misbehaving little sister. “Is it my cup of tea? No. I don’t drink tea, but I can at least admit she works hard.”

“You said you wouldn’t.” Beatrice wasn’t petulant, but they had agreed not to listen to the top 100, which meant Ava was off limits. Or at least she thought they had all agreed. Clearly Camila was a filthy liar and now Mary too. 

“I’m quite partial to Malamente .” 

“No, Lilith, not you too.”

“What about Bagdad ?” Yasmine perked up, suddenly very interested in the conversation being had. “The interpolation of the choir and Justin Timberlake’s ‘ Cry Me A River ’ is brilliant.”

Beatrice sat defeated. The betrayal. They shared meals together.

She was already thinking of ways to make them suffer during practice. They were only listening to greats from now on or so help her God. They can’t squander it, this opportunity only comes once in a lifetime and they were going to focus. She would plan their listening schedule; Bob Dylan, Bowie, good old Simon & Garfunkel, aaaaaaand she was boring herself. Bananarama…what. Too much. 

Knock- knock knock- knock

“It’s probably Vincent.” Lilith had somehow constructed her hair into a braid, who thought she had it her.

“Useless,” Beatrice muttered, putting some distance between herself and the door. She knew whatever news he was bringing was going to age her in seconds. They truly needed a new manager.

It was Camila who stood to answer.

“ Hi ”

Camila slammed the door shut. The Earth spun just a little faster. 

The girls all stared as she stood perfectly still, back to the door in a state of complete panic. “It’s…it’s…” she stuttered, with full blown realisation. 

“Who is it?”

“Vincent?”

“No.”

“Graham?”

“No.”

“Ava?”

Camilla raised her hands to her mouth and nose nodding slowly, “…yes”.

Mary basically pried her bandmate off the door. “Woman, for crying out loud let your fellow countryperson in.”

The door opened and there she was. Hands behind her back, with a smile that could probably make someone trip on a busy city street. And they were all staring.

Thud

Yasmine’s phone hit the floor and all eyes followed the movement as she scrambled to pick it up. All except for Beatrice who had for a second forgotten herself. An indescribable force. Ava was or looked younger than she was expecting. She wore an oversized white t-shirt tucked into her jeans, hair in a messy bun and no makeup to speak of. Beatrice breathed in once and looked down as if struck, but couldn’t resist a second glance. Brown eyes met hers.

Ava moved forward, awkwardly doing a small wave, “Hi guys…what’s up?”

“The ceiling usually, I mean if there is one, sometimes it could be sky, but I guess…that can also depend on the weather because there’s rain and clouds and pollen and…solar wind patterns can disrupt the Earth’s magnetosphere in a phenomenon we refer to as an Aurora.” Oh no, Yasmine.

Mary nodded along only for a second. “Ava, right? I’m Mary.”

“Hello,” She smiled brightly again, outstretching her hand for Mary to shake. 

“I once had a weird dream after listening to ‘ De Aqui No Sales ’.” Beatrice could see Camilla’s mouth moving but could only hope that she had misheard. 

“Oh?” Ava chuckled, her voice turned oddly raspy with mischief. “What was it about?”

“I don’t know. It involved my dead dog Mauricio and buñuelos.”

“¿Buñuelos? Me encantan.”

“Si, a mi igual,” Camila chuckled with so much admiration.

“This is Camila, she apologises for slamming the door on your face,” Mary said gently, who apparently had taken it upon herself to be the only normal person in the room. And without any prompting began to go around introducing everyone. “That’s Yasmine and her now very broken phone.” Yasmine half smiled half winced. “The one with the sour face over there is Lilith.” A quick salute. “And this is Bea-”

Beatrice doesn’t know what possessed her to walk across the room, but she found herself in front of Ava with a tentative hand outstretched, “Beatrice.” And the indescribable force was back, negating her own will as their eyes met again. Brown. Kind. Cute laugh lines by her eyes when she smiles.

“Beatrice.” Ava repeated dumbly. “Ava.”

Lilith rolled her eyes, “Oh, we know.”

—

“Ohh! Oh that is lovely!” Graham Norton’s voice resonated over the boisterous studio audience as he made his entrance. He waved his hands, “Hello everyone, hello! Good evening. You’re all so welcome to the show. It is Friday night and like your overpowering mother-in-law, I’m back! We’ve got a great line up to finish up the week with not just one but two musical guests. If you look over there singing for us later we have The Cruciforms , Europe’s latest obsession.”

The crowd erupted into delighted cheers as the girls waved back. They were now all wearing matching form fitting black suits with paired high waisted pants. Thin ties adorned their white button ups. 

Yasmine sat behind her drums twirling one of her sticks flawlessly in her left hand, Camila on keys, Mary with a funky bass, Lilith and her guitar remained perfectly still and Beatrice smiled from the center, microphone nearby.

“They’ll be performing their latest single ‘ Stuck ’, but first who are we meeting on my sofa tonight!” Graham spoke enthusiastically as he diverted his attention to the entry leading backstage. “Well this actress has decided to return to familiar shores, and is currently starring in the West End revival of Macbeth, put your hands together for Academy Award winner Olivia Coleman!”

All big smiles as the actress emerged waving at the crowd and giving Graham a warm hug. She took a seat clapping along as the host continued.

“Next up you may know him from this year’s box office hit Dune 2 and upcoming Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown , Mr. Timothée Chalamet!” 

Timothée walked through the opening, small moustache and all. He shook Graham's hand before joining Olivia on the sofa.

“And our final guest needs no introduction. She’s our two time Grammy award winning neighbour, back from her record breaking global tour! Ava!”

The cheers somehow got louder as the audience absolutely lost their minds. Ava practically materialised wearing a long sleeved black Schiaparelli ensemble that resembled a matador chaquetilla vest with gold embellishments. Her hair now in long draping curls framed her perfect face. She glowed as the attention consumed her. Graham walked to meet her halfway giving her a big hug before helping her to the sofa. 

The show went through its finely structured style for a bit as Graham took several moments discussing everyone’s upcoming projects and accomplishments. They joked and spoke, Timothée and Ava already familiar with each other and Olivia just entranced by the overall energy that had taken over the studio.

“Right! It’s time for music. This band had a great year, they’ve already been announced as The Brit Rising Star for next year. Here performing their current single ‘ Stuck ’ it’s The Cruciforms!”

The audience cheered. The lights dimmed. Lilith’s opening notes queued them in. Yasmine followed. And suddenly they were all bouncing along as the lights focused and vamped up the atmosphere. Beatrice kicked her black chucks along with the beat of the song and reached for the standing mic. 

We talk…

Talk ‘til we’re blue in face

The words…

The words don’t resonate

Seasons…

They always seem to stay the same

Holding…on to things we said we would change 

Beatrice sang, her voice coming flawlessly through the studio speakers. She glanced at Camila as she sang into the mic joining her for the chorus, keys bouncing up and down under her fingertips.

I’m stuck, babe 

Stuck with nowhere to go

Because, babe

We’re just taking it slow

It’s overdue oh oh uh oh oh

Make your move oh oh uh oh oh

Stuck, babe

Stuck with nowhere to go

Their song came to an end and the audience cheered.

“There we go!” Graham joined “The Cruciforms, everybody!”

They waved, smiles all around.

“Come on over girls! Leave those instruments there and join us on the sofa.” They followed his direction, Lilith and Mary handing over their instruments to nearby staff members. They walked the curve of the stage over to the interview area as the other guests stood to greet them. “That was fantastic, thank you so so much.” 

Beatrice, the ever stoic leader was first shaking hands with Ava, Timothée and Olivia as Graham introduced all the members by name. The girls followed her lead and quickly everyone was acquainted. 

“That is such an ear-worm, truly fantastic job ladies,” Graham took his seat and everyone else followed suit. 

“Thank you very much.” Beatrice hoped her voice wouldn’t crack and betray just how nervous she was. 

“That single is from your EP, and it’s out now and is a thing of beauty,” He continued the praise leaving all the members shy and bewildered. “How do you all feel after the incredible year you’ve had? ‘ Stuck ’ was the biggest British single of the year.”

Beatrice looked around to her band members as she spoke, “I think we’re all just in a state of shock still, to be perfectly honest. We couldn’t have imagined the amount of traction or how much the song resonated with people.”

The guests nodded along basking in the pure happiness each of the girls was giving off. 

Beatrice had just realised just who she sat next to. Ava’s smile was immense as she listened along. “How did it feel listening to the song on the radio for the first time?” She asked, eyes meeting hers.

“I know this is going to sound absurd because surely band members are with each other every second of every day,” Beatrice chuckled, “but we all heard it at different times.” 

“It was surreal!” Camila added and everyone nodded in agreement.

“I think you have this idea or this hope for so long… I’m sorry I’m not used to this. I’m nervous.” Beatrice hesitated while taking a breath, the audience laughed. 

Ava tapped her leg in encouragement, “No one is.”

Beatrice smiled at the encouragement and continued, “when we all finally heard it together we were in a cab on the way to get dumplings and we almost caused our driver to crash.” 

Everyone laughed again delighted. The show continued with more of the same atmosphere and fun banter between Graham and the guests. They spoke about their upcoming European tour and promotional endeavours for the upcoming album. 

When the show was ready to wrap, Ava stood from her spot next to Beatrice and walked towards the stage, where her guitarist and a percussionist with a cajon waited for her. She sat on the chair between them, her demeanour shifted to a more sullen tone appropriate one. 

The lights dimmed and the flamenco guitar began. 

Qué bien sé yo la fuente 

Que mana y corre

Aunque eeeeeees de noche

Aquella eterna fuente está escondida

Qué bien sé yo donde tiene su manida

Aunque eeeeeees de noche

En esta noche oscura de esta vida

Qué bien sé yo por fe la fuente fría

Aunque es de noche

Aunque es de noche

Aunque es de noche

Music, Beatrice found, always had a way of burying itself down to her bones. She didn’t need to speak the language, she understood the emotion perfectly. And Ava, what could she even be nitpicky about, Ava was delivering every line with so much care and love. In that instance she couldn’t help but chastise herself. She had devalued Ava, just as much as any other popular artist. And for what? To seem knowledgeable and alternative?

The song shifted. The tempo increased, but Ava’s falsettos had merged so perfectly that Beatrice would have just assumed it was the same song until it wasn’t. Ava stood, the light now reflecting the change of mood and the room mutated rather intensely. 

Taggea'o tu nombre en la pared, eh

O El Mal Querer en Times Square, ¿o qué?

Driving speed limit DGT, eh

O quemando rue'a sin carnet, ¿o qué?

Vas a lo suave a lo kitty cat, eh

O muerdes si tienes que morder, ¿o qué?

Muerdes si tienes que morder, eh

Muerdes si tienes que morder

Beatrice looked around to her bandmates, all enthralled with what had just occurred. Camila was practically levitating, and she knew she wouldn’t hear the end of this today. Was Olivia Coleman dancing? Mary’s eyes met hers, see , she could hear her.

A palé, a palé, a palé, a palé

A palé, a palé, a palé, a

A palé, a palé, a palé, a palé

A palé, a palé, a palé, a-a-a

Fuck the greats.

—

“What the fuck was that?” Ava winced, as she was all but pushed back against the wall. The show staff were far enough not to hear or see. Her manager stood in front of her. She was still taller than Ava even in heels. “I thought we had agreed, they’re not ready to hear that. It’s not the right time.”

Ava felt small, but the rage had been building inside her for years, eating away at her. She needed this. A change in her sound had been a long time coming and no amount of begging and hoping was going to accomplish it anymore. Keep your eyes up. She reminded herself. 

“The audience enjoyed it, didn’t they?” Ava squared her shoulders. 

A dry laugh. “A decision like this can derail your entire career.” Her manager ran her hands through her wavy hair, “Who encouraged you?”

Ava shook her head baffled. “You think I needed encouragement? If you truly believe that you clearly haven't been paying attention.”

“I need to call Fermin and get this sorted before it gains any traction.”

“Emilia.”

Emilia turned, phone to her ear. “Hell–”

“We’ll call you back.” Ava's eyes were so intense that she was sure she was about to cry and she knew Emilia knew.

Eyes bore into hers, “Let me make something exceedingly clear to you. You are where you are because of all the hours I’ve devoted to making it happen. Not only do you continue to act like a child every chance you get, you also make no effort to hide it.” This time the shove against the wall was physical. “Who do you think contacts the media to hide all your little “mistakes”. Not to mention the rampant alcoholism that everyone ignores and puts up with.” Tears were beginning to well in Ava’s eyes. “Do you think it’s cute what you’re doing? Do you think it’s funny?” Emilia spoke calmly, completely stone-faced.“How fucking dare you?”

Ava couldn’t bear to raise her gaze to meet Emilia’s.

“Let me predict with 100% certainty what’s about to happen after we leave this building.” Emilia lowered her mouth close to Ava’s left ear, “You’re going to sneak out of your hotel room and you’re going to drink until you black out, and I’m going to find you in your bathtub tomorrow morning feeling sorry for yourself. And then we’ll leave this God forsaken country and never speak about this again.”

A noise from down the hall alerted them immediately. Ava could feel Emilia extracting herself. She gave a small glance in the direction of the noise, but couldn't make out what it was. 

Emilia’s eyes were furious as her gaze returned to Ava. “I’ll let the driver know we’re ready to leave.”

Ava watched as her manager made her way down the hall and into one of the green rooms. The same noise resonated across the hall again. She wiped her face as best she could, turning the corner and without realising, smashing straight into something solid.

Beatrice. 

Vest pocket tangled on the handle of the janitor’s closet. She would laugh if the circumstances weren’t pointing to the fact that she was sure the woman had overheard the exchange. And she knows that face. She sees her assistant make that face all too often.

“Why are you coming out of the closet?” Ava was nothing without her humour after all. 

A beat. Beatrice hesitated, Ava could see her eyes frantically searching for the proper response. “Well…you see I was just trying to find the–”

“The?”

Beatrice made an attempt to form words, but gave up several times. She struggled with the handle again, somehow she had managed to make it go further into her pocket.

Ava chuckled. A full on throaty chuckle. “Here. Let me.” Ava placed her hand on her arm and gently twisted the handle enough that it slipped right out. 

The honey brown eyes danced awkwardly from wall to wall before meeting hers. 

There was a breath and Ava began to understand that this was probably something Beatrice did often before speaking. A learned response she knew all too well. “Are you alright?” Beatrice asked, arms coming to her side. 

She waited for Ava’s response. Strange . Most people would have already walked away from what had just happened. Pretending. Always pretending. “Do you know Claridge’s?” She hoped Beatrice wouldn’t push.

“Do I know Claridge’s?” An inflection on the ‘I’.

“Meet me outside at ten.”

“What? Like, tonight?”

“Ten. tonight.”

Ava turned to leave.

“Ten?”

“Tonight.”

—

Beatrice is not in the habit of meeting up with world famous pop stars outside of bougie hotels, but she was in fact a big fan of a mystery and that’s what Ava was. A person like Ava shouldn't exist. The raw emotion and vocal talent she had just witnessed could not have come out of a five foot tall person that looked like that. 

Like what? Like sunshine? 

She physically shook the thought from her head and glanced down at the watch on her wrist. 

10:14 pm

This had to have been a joke. Why would she have ever thought that something like this could happen to someone like her. The doormen knew it. And she knew it. She didn’t belong and they were definitely going to call the Bobbies. She swiped through her phone a couple of times looking for the train schedule. She had time. She could still walk away without being charged for trespassing.

“Hi.” Beatrice was sure she caught some air. “I’m sorry about the wait, I had to do a bit of Mission Impossible–ling,” Ave smiled way too happy about her own joke. 

“I see.”

She looked at Beatrice for a moment, long enough to be noticed, that is, “You look slick.”

And it wasn’t a usual thing for Beatrice to care about her appearance. Her eyes looked down, suddenly vulnerable. She was wearing houndstooth trousers, slip-on-sneakers, a white cotton shirt and a black coat. And then she looked at Ava who was wearing the same outfit from the green room plus an oversized coat and heels, hair still in curls.

“Thanks.”

Ava began to walk.

Beatrice hesitated for a moment but followed after her. “Wait. Where are we going?”

“Looking for some nightlife.” Ava was quick on her feet, comfortable in her heels as they made their way down the cobblestone street. A feat that Beatrice herself has never been able to maneuver that well.

“A nightlife here? In Mayfair?” The only kind of night life in Mayfair was over expensive single-grape wine from wherever the fuck in France. 

As they walked they passed high end shop windows and luxury vehicles parked on the street. There were a healthy amount of people wandering nearby restaurants and bars, which calmed Beatrice’s nerves. After passing The King’s Head, Ava made a right with no signs of slowing down.

“You seem to know where you’re going.”

Ava slowed, taking pity on her. “I come to London a lot, usually to record.”

“That makes sense.”

“Do you like it here?”

“London? I mean, I was raised here, can’t complain.” Beatrice continued, “What about you?”

“Can’t say I stick around long enough to form an opinion.”

“I can show you around if you’d like sometime.”

Ava giggled, but didn’t look at Beatrice. “Maybe next time I’m in town.”

Beatrice wasn’t sure what it was about Ava that caused her to lose all sense of self. If it were any other Friday night she would be in her flat reading or listening to her latest record find. Only leaving if her bandmates had plans together or to have dinners with her parents. Was it because of who she was? No. Beatrice had already met her fair share of celebrities so this wasn’t that. Plus, she was never one to be around people like Ava. People that shined easily.

They stopped in front of white steps. She looked up at a simple black door with the number 46.

“Are we visiting someone?”

Ava didn’t answer, choosing to climb instead.“When we go in, don't accept anything from anyone. Don’t wander far from me and definitely do not speak to the staff more than required. They will know.”

“Sorry?” Ava knocked and after a few seconds the door was opened by a man in a tailored suit with an earpiece.

“Ms. Silva, good evening.”

“Good evening.” Ava grabbed her hand leading her inside.

 Past the entryway was a long hallway and a set of heavy doors. What the fuck was happening? 

“Good evening Ms. Silva, coats?”

Ava removed her coat, handing it over to a staff member behind the counter, then began to help Beatrice out of hers. 

“Thank you. Enjoy your evening ladies.”

Her hand was grabbed again as they passed through the solid doors. 

The building seemed to suddenly expand, the lights were dimmed and cigar smoke floated up towards strategically placed vents. Several men and women sat around chairs she was sure would cost more than her university education. The brown oak coffee tables held various drinks and if she looked close enough she could see old water marks left behind from years of use. As they made their way down the room she made out rows and rows of people chatting to one another or laughing. The music was jazzy and at a level where easy conversation could be had.

Ava didn’t pay much attention to their surroundings and was headed for the stairs. Her hand felt suddenly very clammy with uncertainty. And as they neared the steps she felt the bass of the music increase. 

Beatrice knew better than to get herself into a situation like this, so, why had a woman she had only met a few hours prior been so powerful. She was almost sure this was turning out to be some weird Ready or Not shit, where rich people kill for sport. And the funny thing was she knew this was how she went. All those years of repression and putting music first, all too be undone by a pretty girl with red lips. Her bandmates were going to kill her for this–well, she’d be dead, but they would definitely come to the wake and roast her.

They took two steps at a time and emerged into what was obviously a club. The lights bounced with the beat of the music as the people inside danced along, not acknowledging anything but the vibe and themselves. The bar stretched across the entire length of the left wall and several tables stood snuggly to the right, both hugging the dance floor. 

Ava walked straight to the bar, finally releasing her hand. Beatrice couldn’t see much apart from the pulsating lights hitting the walls due to how dark it was.

“What will you have?” Ava got close enough to speak into her ear.

“Huh? Sorry I was looking at the architecture.” 

Ava gave her a fond look then turned her attention to the bartender. “We’ll start with shots.”

“Oh, I don’t–I’m not—”

“Just try it. It’s a no pressure shot.”

Beatrice looked from the glass and to Ava. This was not a good idea.

By the time Beatrice had mustered a semblance of courage to even hold the shot Ava was already on her fourth. She watched her expectantly and the indescribable force was back. The liquor went down hard. She could feel it burning all the way down. 

“That was vile!”

“I bet!”

Ava looked at the crowd. The energy was feeding into her. “Dance?”

Beatrice wavered considering her options. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.” She was hoping Ava wouldn’t question it. And when she didn’t Beatrice sent a small prayer to anyone who was listening. She watched as Ava made her way through the crowd needing no time to synchronise to everyone else.

“Anything else?” The bartender asked impatiently.

“Water, please.”

This was going to be a long night.

She had somehow made it through to Ava, who was now flushed red and perspiring, though it was not something that looked bad on her. She smiled the moment she spotted Beatrice and rushed to put her hands on her hips.

Oh, your gravity, your gravity

Your gravity, I will follow you

Oh, your gravity, your gravity

Your gravity, I will follow you

The bodies next to them bounced and swayed matching the rhythm. 

Head in the stars, I see you everywhere

I could never get away, get away (away)

In a hold, just take me anywhere

And I believe in what you say

—

Beatrice adjusted the body on her back again.

Yup, this had been a terrible idea.

She had only made it down two streets and her ankles were not complying. Ava was essentially dead weight at this point and she could feel a cool kind of liquid on the shoulder where her head rested. 

It was now 3 AM and she was having some major regrets. 

Beatrice wasn’t sure how much alcohol Ava had consumed, she had lost track at some point. She had begged her to have some water, peanuts, anything, but Ava had been hard headed and knew exactly what she was doing.

She bounced her butt up, catching Ava’s thighs again. At least it didn’t look out of place. Plenty of people had stumbled out and they had left a straggler a street behind who kept insisting he was Harry Styles.

Thank God for her sneakers or else this would have looked more like she was pulling a dead body. Oh fuck. Did it look like she was carrying a dead body? Her pace increased out of pure fear. This literally could not be happening right now. She was done for. Ava’s fans would kill her. They wouldn’t even question her. They would tear her apart limb from limb in some sadistic medieval torture session while chanting along to one of their idol’s songs.

She had by some miraculous stroke of luck made it back to Claridge’s. The two doormen from earlier watched her struggle the last few meters to the door.

“Hello there!” She sounded way too excited. 

“Evening,” one of the doormen greeted her unenthusiastically.

“Yes, hi. She–she’s a guest at this hotel and as you can–” she adjusted their bodies. The men looked between them, but showed no signs of letting her through. “As you can see, she is very much asleep.”

“What name is the room booked under?”

“Silva? Ava Silva?”

“There’s no such guest staying with us.”

Of course.

She readjusted Ava again. Hoping for some kind of pity. 

Ava’s hand appeared in front of her face holding a room key. “Oh! Well, there we go then. Excuse us.”

The door was held open long enough for Beatrice to slip inside. 

“You are…weird–weirdly strong,” Ava said a little slurred. 

Beatrice’s sneakers squeaked on the checkered marble flooring. The grand entryway was entirely too opulent for the amount of pain currently coursing through every inch of her body.

 She needed a lift. 

The night attendants watched them closely.

 She heard the distinctive ding and rushed to make it, but the doors closed.

She lowered her face to the console and pressed the up button with her nose. This had to be a new low even for her, which is saying a lot because she NEVER does anything like this. The most she would admit to is staying up all night during record store day and camping outside the vinyl store for hours. It took a few seconds and the other set of doors opened. She slipped inside taking a moment to balance Ava and herself against a wall.

There was a beep and the lift began to rise. 

“Did you just?”

Ava nodded against her shoulder.

When they arrived at the correct floor Beatrice mustered all the strength she had left. She readjusted Ava and in one smooth motion used the wall to push them forward.

“Room?!”

“The–the door on the left,” Ava pointed down the hall.

Her legs were shaking. She needed to run into that room. The door clicked open and she rushed in quickly finding the bed and throwing Ava on it, who bounced a couple of times giggling as if Beatrice hadn’t just carried her for what felt like kilometers. There was definitely going to be murder tonight, and she would accept her fate at the hands of her fanbase.

“How could you be laughing!” Beatrice began, eyebrows cast down, anger suddenly blooming after tonight's events. “How could you just let yourself drink to the point of passing out? What if I hadn’t been there? How would you have gotten back here? Do I need to take you to the hospital? Do you need your stomach pumped?!” Beatrice took a breath. Her face was hot and she was sure, no, she knew, she had pulled one of her calf muscles. 

Ava was sitting upright watching her closely, her face was red, small strands of hair stuck to her forehead. Suddenly, Ava stood with yet another impressive display of heel sportsmanship, discarding her coat in one go and running to the bathroom.

She managed to make it to the toilet before retching and vomiting into it.

“Oh my God–are you okay?” Beatrice wobbled her way into the bathroom. Ava nodded weakly, giving her a thumbs up.“Here, let me pull your hair back.” Beatrice took the hair tie on her wrist, somewhat picking up Ava’s sticky hair off her face. Yup, that was definitely a chunk of something tangled in her hair. Ava’s shoulder shook with a giggle.“You look a mess and you are laughing?!” Beatrice couldn't help it, her shoulder began to shake as well.

They both laughed wholeheartedly or in this case deliriously. And then Ava began to retch again.

“N—” Beatrice could feel it. The need to join. It was all dry, but enough for her body to gag and compulse a bit in solidarity.

Ava threw up again and Beatrice wobbled out needing to get out of there before dry turned into not so dry. She looked around the room looking for a small fridge with hopefully some water inside. It was a miracle at this point that she hadn’t tripped on the amount of clothing littering the floor. The room she found was as chaotic as its inhabitant. 

Score.

She grabbed the sealed bottle and basically hopped on one foot to the bathroom. She kneeled down to where Ava’s head was in the toilet, handing the bottle over. “Please rinse out your mouth. Stomach acid is not good for your teeth.”

Ava did as she was told. She sat back against the bathtub, everything finally catching up to her. 

Beatrice had wandered back into the room, she removed her coat and let herself rest against the bed. Her bandmates were never going to believe her if she ever brought this up. This could not happen again. She wasn’t built for this. She was built for late night doom scrolling and hot cups of tea. This had filled her social quota for the century and in a moment of weakness imagined her life right now in a different reality. She could be a nun, transcribing old texts and doing a bit of bookkeeping. Yup, that she was made for.

The toilet flushed and Ava slowly emerged from the bathroom. She leaned against the door frame, removing a heel at a time.“That was close.” She fiddled with the button of her jeans until she gave up and pulled them down without any warning.

Ava was a terrorist.

Beatrice made no attempt to look away. What would the point have been? Ava had managed to top whatever she did with something else. Silky black underwear. Pfft. “Right. So, I’m going to go now.” She pushed off the bed and shoved her hands in her pant pockets, “I would like to say that it has been great, but it has not.”

Ava pulled the covers and slipped inside without paying her any attention.

Beatrice waited for any kind of reply, but when none came concern took over once again. Ava was lying so still that she could have sworn she had a cardiac episode without any kind of preamble. She stepped closer, lowering her face enough to hear some kind of breath. Soft, hardly there. She could see Ava’s chest slowly rising and falling in rhythm. The person before her now felt so small and fragile, without the carefully crafted mask she had wielded the whole day.

She unconsciously ran a gentle hand down Ava’s cheek, the force pulling her to do it was so strong she didn’t have the strength to fight against it anymore. Ava was okay. She was asleep.

Beatrice grabbed the bottle from where Ava had left it on the bathroom counter and brought it to the night table closest to Ava. With one final look to satisfy her worry she turned to leave, carefully putting her weight on her foot, surprised to find that it felt much better already. She closed the room door lightly behind her and as she reached the lift doors. A noise from down the hall alerted her. The same woman from before, Emilia, emerged from the room opposite of Ava’s. She scanned a keycard against Ava’s door, but before stepping inside, her face turned, making eye contact with Beatrice.

Her face was unreadable and for just a moment Beatrice feared for her life. She looked away, smashing the lift button a couple of more times. She heard the door close down the hall and breathed a sigh of relief as the lift doors closed behind her.

—

Beatrice had hoped that a Sunday morning run followed by a cup of coffee would bring her some kind of peace. The chilly Autumn wind hit her cheeks, turning them pink. She sat outside her favourite coffee shop, which was just a few minutes walk from her flat. The run had filled her body with endorphins and she was currently riding the ‘ nothing is absolutely wrong ’ train. 

The last few days had been a roller coaster and dare she say a shit fest. Vincent was not answering her calls or any of their calls and had apparently disappeared from the face of the Earth. Her emails were out of control with managers, producers, sponsors and basically everyone in the industry that wanted a piece of them.

So this, a simple coffee, she could do for the moment. She wasn’t going to think about what had happened with Ava last night. And she was not going to think about murdering Vincent.

Several undisclosed and heavy shopping bags were deposited on the table in front of her. The sudden action caused her to blink rapidly several times.

A woman stood there observing her closely. She wore brown high waisted pants with a cream turtleneck and an olive coat, “Beatrice Young?”

“…Yes?” She was hesitant to confirm.

“Suzanne De Fanti,” She took a seat across from her.

Why did that name sound so familiar?

She waited for Beatrice to speak, but when no reply came she continued, “I hear that you are in need of a manager.”

“Oh well, that’s— does everyone know that?”

“Yes.” It was direct and Beatrice liked that in a person. “I have taken it upon myself to reach out to several brands that meet the bands general aesthetic or as you young kids call it now ‘vibes’.”

“I can see that.”

“It seems you are a difficult commodity to get a hold of and I am here to facilitate that.”

Realisation suddenly hit her. “You’re THE Suzanne De Fanti? You’re a legend. I thought you retired from management a couple of years ago.”

The woman shrugged. “If I’m being perfectly honest, the industry was a bit stagnant.”

“And you’re back?” 

“I believe so.” She answered, fingers picking at something on her nail. I have plenty of connections and old friends. I assume everything is still exploitative and disruptive.”

Beatrice watched her for a moment. This was probably too good to be true. How does something like this even happen? Also, how did Suzanne even find her? 

“Where are your bandmates? I’d like to meet them so we’re all acquainted.” Suzanne had a way about herself and Beatrice knew to keep a bit of skepticism. 

“That simple then?”

“It can be. I assume you don’t speak for them.”

“No, I do not.” A breath. “What’s in it for you? A return to your former glory?” 

“Don’t misunderstand my offer.” She began, “In my years of doing this I have rarely seen such a reaction towards a musician much less a band. You’ve done well, but that can only take you so far in this industry. You need proper connections and someone with the experience to help you navigate it all.” Suzanne searched her face. “You want to hear the most useful advice I can give you? Quit. Quit now before it hurts. Because it’s going to get a lot more difficult from here on out. Yes, getting attention in itself is a feat, but keeping it? That takes work, and not everyone is built for it. Trust me. I have seen it.”

Beatrice shifted her eyes. The words cut a little too close. “Is that all you think it is for us?”

“No, but the way I see it is, eventually, you forget to think about why you started in the first place. And then the hurt sets in.”

Beatrice doesn’t have a response. She lets the conversation sit between them and thinks. Always thinking. Her bandmates were beginning to show frustrations with Vincent’s lack of initiative, they had been busy and tired, so tired. Suzanne could be the person they needed.

“We have practice in thirty minutes. I can give you the address to the studio we’re renting, you can come see us then.”

“Nearby?”

“Just a few streets from here. I was about to change and head over before…” Beatrice waved her hand around not needing to communicate what had just happened.

“Alright, we go now.” Suzanne stood pointing at the bags, “How fashion savvy are you?”

“I have been trying very hard not to be giddy over the Alexander McQueen logo.”

She smiled in approval. “Well, what are we waiting for?” She grabbed a few bags and left the rest for Beatrice to help with. 

Beatrice thought she was a speedy walker on most days. Growing up in London had ingrained a mad scramble mentality to grab The Tube on busy work days, but this was on another level. Suzanne walked with so much haste that it was like she was running circles around Beatrice and still pulling in ahead and her legs could only take her so far.

“Bea! Beeeeaaaaaaa! BEATRICE!” Camila screamed across the street from them, somehow spotting them on her way to practice.

Suzanne stopped before she did and it took all her self control not to topple over her. 

Camila crossed the avenue, catching up to them. “I can spot those little pigeon ankles from anywhere.” She looked from Beatrice to the stranger, before her eyes caught sight of the bags.

“Camila Delcán”

“Oh…wow that’s scary.” She paused, “Do we know this…very well dressed woman?”

“Hi Camila,” Beatrice greeted her, a fond look on her face. “This is Suzanne De Fanti.”

“The Real Housewives of Napoli?”

“...I don’t…what?”

Suzanne laughed and it was genuine. “Potential new manager,” She extended her hand to Camila who shook it with both hers.

“I have been manifesting this.” She said, way too happy with the possibility. 

Suzanne handed the remaining bags to Camila, “Grab these will you, I need to make a phone call.” She pulled a phone from her purse and pressed the screen exactly once. “Lead the way ladies.”

And they were off again. Beatrice didn’t know what had possessed her, but somehow she was walking faster, eager to meet the rest of her bandmates. Camila kept pace next to her, she was hopping. They turned a corner and headed towards a three story building. Once inside they called for the lift and turned to look at Suzanne who had hung up and was taking in her sights.

“This won't do.”

“It was all we could afford and we’re still under contract.”

The lift arrived, doors grinded struggling to open.

“Stairs?”

“To our left but the lights have been out since August and the neighborhood teens hang out in there.” Camila offered, already stepping onto the lift alongside Beatrice. “I once found a boobless Barbie doll, it was so strange.”

“Hmm.”

They were all crammed in the small space as the sorry excuse for lift ascended. The metal rattled and further protested as the bass from the levels above amplified aggressive sounding drums and guitars. Beatrice and Camila looked at each other with concern as the lift’s door slowly opened to reveal the saddest looking loft imaginable. 

The three occupants inside continued their session. Lilith fiercely sing-screaming into the microphone while strumming her guitar. Mary casually just jamming with her bass and Yasmine too distracted on the drums to notice that anyone had arrived.

Wake up, wake up, wake up

We are appalling and we need to stop just watching shit in bed

And I know it sounds boring and we like things that are funny

But we need to get this in our fucking heads

The economy's a goner, republic's a banana, ignore it if you wanna

Suzanne looked around, slightly concerned with the safety of the loft as the walls shook and dust particles fell off the ceiling. The studio equipment was prehistoric and to be perfectly honest half of it didn’t even work anymore. There was a small couch by the wall behind the control booth and copious amounts of carpets. 

I don't like going outside, so bring me everything here

HEY! 

WOO!

YEA!

Mary was the first to notice their new guests, she gave Beatrice and Camila a small wave before walking towards the amps and shutting off their power. It took a few seconds for Lilith and Yasmine to realise what had occurred. 

“Guys! We have a new manager!” Camila shouted excitedly on her way to her bandmates.

“No…wait Camila,” Beatrice called out after her.

“New manager? I don’t remember us having a democratic vote about this? Beatrice?” Mary was always on top of everything.

“Suzanne De Fanti,” The older woman reached out for a handshake.

“Oh shit? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Mary,” Mary shook her hand without hesitation.

“I know.”

Lilith and Yasmine now joined the rest.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Beatrice raised her eyebrow towards Lilith.

“I vote yes.”

“We should think about this together.”

“No, I’m done waiting around,” Lilith answered back unfazed. “I’m well aware of who she is and what she is capable of.”

“And I’m well aware of who you are and what you’re capable of.” Suzanne smiled. “Your mother and I ran around the same circles years ago, I’m glad to see that she wasn’t wrong about you.”

The girls all stood in silence.

“Yes”

“YES!”

“Yea”

“I like her very much,” Yasmine spoke last.

“That settles it then.” Suzanne crossed her arms, looking at them a little too close for comfort. “Haircuts, clothes, studio, and Levy.”

“Levy?” Beatrice asked, confused.

“Yasmin, I require information of all that has happened this year and leading up to it.” Their new manager continued, not bothering to answer, “I’ve been following along but I need to know what the media doesn’t know.”

“I’m on it. I’ve kept a spreadsheet of all our exploits thus far.”

Camila’s eyes bulged. “What! What exploits?”

 The lift doors opened just as weakly as before.

“Uh, so I was just verbally assaulted by a very off-brand Billie Eilish outside.” The man walked towards them. He was impeccably dressed, coat outlining his shoulders perfectly. 

Suzanne smirked. “Girls, this is Levy.”

Camila bounced in place. “Can we keep him?”

—

One Month Later

“I thought I already told you to stop biting your cuticles, you look like a sneaky little rodent,” Levy leaned over and whispered-yelled rather roughly into her ear.

Beatrice was so close so so very close to ending his life. 

A model squeezed between them scrabbling towards her fitting assistant. 

Beatrice’s nails came back to her mouth. 

How Suzanne figured out she used to do ballet was a mystery to her. She had never referenced it in any interview, heck, her bandmates didn’t know. Well, except for Camila, but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t, right? Why, Yes, Suzanne I love fashion. Please put me on a runway show, it’ll be great for the group's image and reachability. And sure, Suzanne had been skeptical about her abilities, but a few contacts later and a runway coach from hell had prepared her to do just one outfit. She could do this. It was just walking. She walked all the time in straight lines, and not so straight lines. Plus, she had great stamina. 

Levy swatted her hand away. 

She glanced around the massive room around her. Everyone was running around like a bunch of headless chickens. Photographers, hair stylists, makeup artists, assistants of assistants, models in various stages of undress and Levy. The lights were so bright that she was sure it would leave an impression in her corneas. Everyone was yelling and somehow it was the weirdest dance she had ever experienced. Everything was somehow going according to plan.

She found a bit of wall to lean on and it lasted exactly one second before Levy pulled her off it. “You’re going to crease it! And I am not about to be impaled by Sarah Burton.”

“You try standing on these!”

“I would willingly sell my left nipple to do so.”

Admittedly, the dress and heels she was wearing were beautiful, but she would not give him the satisfaction of enjoying this one bit. The embroidered black lace hugged her torso perfectly, which flowed until it hit silk that further became undone with fine brushed textures. She was about to politely scream like a banshee and truly personify the dress she was wearing. 

Levy walked off to answer his phone. Beatrice was certain it was Suzanne asking how she was doing. And by the look on his face, he was not being very kind. She would give him an earful once he came back.

Everyone around them burst into cheers suddenly, even the models engrossed in conversation stopped to look over. A few photographers rushed forward snapping pictures as the person walked to the enormous wall that was the entrance to the catwalk. The person must be the musical number that was meant to close the show. There was a break in the crowd and Beatrice could only stare a little slack jawed. 

Ava. 

It was Ava. 

Her hair had been cut straight across her shoulders in a clean bob. She had fierce eye makeup just like Beatrice’s and wore a dress that resembled one of the earlier looks. With cascading translucent white silk chiffon that stopped just a bit past her bottom with beautiful sunray pleats. She nodded a few times to the assistants nearby as they handed her a microphone and put in her in-ears. The music shifted and Ava stepped onto the runway.

“Beatrice!” Levy was urgently trying to get her attention.

She saw the closing looks coming together in order. The stage assistant ran frantically towards her. “Remember. Do it just like earlier during practice. Follow 41. Remember the cameras are mainly positioned at the front.” She wasn’t much younger than Beatrice. “Once you’re back, be ready to head back out to close the show with the rest of the models.”

Ava’s voice echoed inside.

She nodded, purely by instinct as she was pulled towards 41. 

Me da miedo cuando sales

Sonriendo pa' la calle

Porque todos pueden ver

Los hoyuelitos que te salen

She and 41 were about to become so intimate.

41 stepped through onto the runway and a hand was held in front of her. Once that hand was down it was go time. There was no more deliberation. She focused on Ava’s voice. The arm came down and she was off.

 She had practiced with the lights on before. She knew how intense they would be, but nothing could have prepared her for the amount of eyes that were currently on her. On either side of the runway were rows upon rows of the fashion elite. All taking notes in order to be the front page article the moment the show was over. The flash of photographers set her on edge momentarily as she navigated the now very foggy catwalk. She spotted Suzanne sitting to her left, who gave a quick nod, but nothing more.

Cuando sales por la puerta

Pienso que no vuelves nunca

Y si no te agarro fuerte

Siento que será mi culpa

Ava must have noticed her somehow because she made eye contact and stumbled with her words for a second. She walked past, head forward. She was almost there, almost finished. The photographer's flashes intensified as she made it to the end of the runway giving them a quick pose.

Pienso en tu mirá, tu mirá clavá es una bala en el pecho

Pienso en tu mirá, tu mirá clavá es una bala en el pecho

Pienso en tu mirá, tu mirá clavá es una bala en el pecho

Ava sang into her microphone, her powerful voice coming through perfectly. They made eye contact again. Beatrice’s stomach jumped. Huh . That was definitely new territory.

The walk backstage was even faster.

She made it, careful to stand out of the way for the final looks to come through. Levy waved frantically, his smile genuine. The models around her began to line up for the closing parade and she followed suit. 

Once they were all ready the stage assistant lowered her arm and they all walked out to the runway. The feeling was indescribable, she was riding on the world's weirdest high right now. She was equal parts delirious and beyond elated. 41 had saved her life and she was eternally grateful. 

As she made her way back from the photographers she gave Suzanne a huge smile and then it was over. Sarah Burton walked past her eager to take her bows as the audience clapped enthusiastically. 

Levy crushed her in a big hug. “I was rooting for you the whole time, didn’t doubt you for a second!” 

“I feel really really lightheaded right now.” She leaned back against a table, dress be damned. She needed something to ground her. All of that stress for maybe 5 minutes of having to do it.

Everyone around her was celebrating how great the show had turned out. Some models weren’t even fazed, already taking their makeup off and pulling at their hairs, the assistants around them helping them out of their outfits.

Without meaning to her eyes sought Ava in the crowd. Something that she should have been more careful about because as soon as she found her she saw more than she bargained for. And sure this was a fashion show and she had spent the majority of the day seeing the human anatomy in ways she hadn’t before. One of Ava’s assistants helped her out of her dress while the other one held another outfit. It was quick. She could have missed it if she looked away, but her heart began to palpitate. 

Ava’s eyes met hers and held her gaze. It was seconds, but it felt like an eternity and she had the audacity to wink in her direction.

The second assistant slid the dress on causing their gaze to shatter.

Oh God, can you make my heart stop?

Hit me with your kill shot, baby

I mean it so serious

God, can you make my heart stop?

Honey, with your kill shot, baby

I mean it so serious

[wholoveseggs]

Camping anon here⛺️,, I’m so happy that you took time out of your schedule to expand and add onto my thoughts… I love how you describe each of the characters, even going into detail about Finn,, which is something I don’t see people do much. Which you are absolutely right about what you said about him. He is essentially just a symbol,, an object and he is used as such. He gets used as a plot device for the story to continue on, almost like a puppet…

I loved reading your thoughts on the others, you expanded a lot on why they are the way they are which is something I thought about doing but I didn’t want to write you a whole essay 😭…

Regarding Kol (my love), I definitely agree with you that Daniel Sharman is the better actor (for multiple reasons other than just his acting abilities…). He plays the character of Kol very well and conveys the emotions beautifully. I don’t know if you have watched it but he plays a character named Troy Otto on Fear: The Walking Dead,, Troy is borderline psychotic for a number of reasons,, the way he was raised and y’know the added stress of being in the apocalypse and having to lead a group of survivors,, Sharman depicts the character very well… I’d argue that he could have played vamp!Kol better… (I still love you vamp!Kol…)

Daniel also plays on Teen Wolf,, another show that you may or may not have watched. He plays Isaac Lahey,, a victim of abuse and he portrays the character in such a beautiful and accurate way. He’s incredibly talented as an actor and way underrated imo. Not to get into a Teen Wolf rant because God knows I will, but there’s a lot of talent on that show and some underrated actors who deserve way more recognition than they get and Daniel falls into that category.

~ Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with me 💜

p.s. I’m so dumb I’m just realizing you can change the font size and color and stuff even when you’re anonymous, I thought you couldn’t do that…

I have not seen either of those shows! He is a brilliant actor and I would love to see him in more things.

&& this is a PSA please send me essays about your favorite TVDU or HOTD character ... I love that shit, I gobble it up like a feral little gremlin.

[strangeauthor]

while idk if they're Offensive all the time some of the other personality disorder names piss me the hell off. Like actually "histrionic" sucks it's literally "wow ur overreacting" stupid disorder name. BPD- the borderline is bc it was seen as being on "The Borderline Between Psychotic and Neurotic" like. What. also looking up differences between OCD and COPD is. Quote from a website "The primary difference is that OCD includes obsessions/compulsions, while OCPD does not" THEN WHY IS IT CALLED OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE PERSONALITY DISORDER. Anyway probably less stupid but more confusing is the disorders beginning with the Schizo prefix. Schizophrenia - generally known as a psychosis disorder, also has negative symptoms like flat affect/anhedonia/etc. Schizoaffective - generally seem to be defines as schizophrenia in conjunction with a mood disorder. Schizotypal PD - generally lacks hallucinations or delusions, but still have negative symptoms and "odd beliefs" that may not align with reality. Schizoid personality disorder: this one's just social it's literally just social. Also one of the core diagnostic criteria is asexuality (or some places say "lack of interest in sexual relationships" like can we please just redo this whole shit. Also schizoid USED to be synonymous with schizophrenia but now it refers to the more social disorder. (it's a little funny when ppl try to use "schizoid" as an insult similar to psychotic bc it's much closer to saying antisocial.) WAIT I FORGOT ASPD.... CRIME DISORDER tho that's more diagnosis than name. Personality disorder names/diagnoses are just a mess we gotta start over (also in other countries personality disorders have been like re categorized with new names in the International Classification of Diseases, being more... Umbrella terms now?? It's something idk) sorry for this long fuckin rant I gt fixated on Schizoid personality disorder bc Mental Illness and now my brain is full of ????

signed cause that was some TRUE SHIT you said!!!!

[rreskk]

TREVOR PHILIPS EXTENDED ANALYSIS

Trevor Philips…

Drug dealer, “international CEO”, son, brother, friend.

TW: -Self harm -Implied drug use -Childhood abuse

I’ve made a longer analysis of Trevor as a character (THIS ISN’T A FANFICTION). 

ENJOY!

Growing up in the Canadian region border of America, it has been portrayed that he has a complicated history surrounding family and mental illness. While it isn’t exactly proven (unless Trevor stated himself), his childhood had been the possible causes of his later behaviour and long-term issues. As for now, we see it as psychopathy, or as wiki would say “Intermittent Explosive Disorder” (impulsive behaviour and explosive temper that could lead to physical aggression). Others would argue that he suffers from borderline personality disorder, considering his struggle to contain stable relationships and is seen experiencing the main symptoms of what a person of BPD can have.

His childhood consisted of instability, financial stress, emotional damage, and physical abuse. Trevor mentioned his mothers constant absence to Lamar and Franklin during a friendly hangout. -“She came back, she left again, came back, left again…” The repeated cycle of his mother leaving, whether this was earlier or later in his teens, it would show the great affect it had on him, personally. Trevor made it clear about his abandonment issues during the storyline and dialogue. His whole idea of finding Michael was to fulfil the years of being abandoned and alone. Having experienced this instability for his childhood had took a toll on his emotional availability. The cravenness of reassurance, respect, presence, or just staying with him. However, his anger issues would make it harder for him to keep people around.

Trevor has also stated his anger management being poor since the beginning of his time. After having a conversation with Jimmy De Santa, he was asked when he knew what he wanted in life. It’s safe to say he had this psychotic mindset since birth, theoretically the result of his mother’s drug addict and poor lifestyle. -“I was pulling the legs off spiders, and I wanted more. I wanted to kill all the way up to the food chain until I hit top, the human being.” However, when being antagonised about this behaviour, he swiftly blames it on his childhood as Amanda would say: -“God, he is such a turd! That wounded childhood bullshit – we all had had shitty childhoods, you balding lump!” This same coping mechanism from Trevor is seen when being asked about his mother. We all know he has been through some verbal/emotional abuse as for his fear of talking about her. Trevor has never said anything negative about his mother despite complaining about his childhood… If someone dares speak her name, he’ll throw a fit, a rageful rant about respecting his mother, almost protecting the fact that she may be the reason for his tormented soul. The “Mrs Philips” mission towards the end of the game, we can see the emotional abuse he receives without doing anything wrong to deserve her bitterness. The constant insults and belittlement, Betty even demands Trevor to seek her medication and would not let him inside the trailer until it was finished. If this is bad enough during his adulthood, we can’t even imagine the mess he had to deal with during childhood. Nevertheless, his mother issues has inserted a particular taste in women throughout the years. -“Old women are to be cherished!” He'd say during a strangers and freaks mission. His calm behaviour towards Patricia and any lady in general would suggest his utter respect (or secret fear). He craves female attention and a maternal dependence. If we look at this closely, we may understand how the lack of maternal attachment between the first few years of his life (0-5 years) would influence his later decision to grow attachments to the wrong people, and the wrong things. (This is called attachment theory- psychological theory). Trevor’s mother may have missed most of his early childhood for financial gain (her stripping, prostitution, etc), and therefore left Trevor with whoever she had at home, his brother and some of his step-dads. Occasionally he was left alone.

Moving on to his difficult relationship with fathers in general, we can understand that the physical abuse he gets from the men in his past would influence his behaviour to men in the future and present. Trevor had grew up being physically abused and dominated, almost tricking his mind into exacting himself into the repeated cycle, turning into the abuse he got and aims the intensions to weaker men (Ron, Floyd, Wade) to fill in that insecurities he got from his biological and step-fathers. Although a father figure isn’t as important to a maternal figure, it did affect his perspectives and made his anger issues worse, especially (I can’t exactly remember the source) when Trevor’s biological father abandoned him in a shopping mall (that he later burnt down in retaliation). Being let down by many older figures had made him dependent on people in the future, people who have a stand in power with Trevor, someone who is able to balance and handle his anger (Michael and Franklin).

It has also been stated that his brother, Ryan, had died of unnatural causes. Elements of Trevor’s words would convince us that he had something to do with it considering they hadn’t of gotten along well enough… To live. However, there is not much information surrounding his brother during this time.

His education is flawed (dropping out before graduating) and being expelled due to the aggressive nature. Trevor had moved all over Canada and had been switched between care homes, trailers, schools, prisons all throughout growing up. However, he has surprising gains in mathematics and can workout sums within a second, and with full accuracy. Trevor is able to process mathematical problems fast, as Wade would say: -“He’s very good with numbers.” Furthermore, the lack of grammar and overall English makes him improvise during speeches and messages. Trevor always speaks metaphorically, he hyperbolises a lot, uses imaginative scenarios to engage the people around him. (Sometimes manipulating – extremely, to get his point across… even if it doesn’t make sense).

“I was a drifter up by the border, wandering from truck stop to truck stop, recently out of the military… Huffing gas, fucking people over, killing, eating, whatever.” Trevor’s discharge from the military was caused by the detached and restrained relationship with his mother. Psychologically, maternal dependence and relationships determines someone’s emotional strengths and depth… Trevor mentioned during an online heist that the therapist who was determining his worth would constantly try and talk about his mother, resulting in an episode which… Eventually led to his discharge (thanks to his anger issues). His dreams to fly planes would crush and Trevor would be left drifting around the Midwest, utterly defused and emotionally damaged. That’s until he meets Michael, and then Brad.

2004, the prologue. We can consider Trevor’s experience to be titled as “survivors guilt”. His loyalty and partnership with both Michael and Brad was cut off after they both unexpectedly got shot. Trevor lived with the guilt of seeing his best friends die, thinking he could of done something… But Michael had obviously told him to save himself, resulting in the 9 years of isolation and depression. He was unknown of Michael’s plan to escape the criminal aspects, feasting the money for himself, the money Trevor couldn’t access as his identity was blown. Imagining that Trevor had to shave his hair and beard just to pass the radar of his North Yankton wanted posters, he had to skip towns without money, and impressively invested a meth business, earning a good load to make him… Well, wealthy. His mother had been absent for years after being imprisoned (as it was mentioned through story-mode), leaving Trevor to be living in Sandy Shores with a successful rising drug business, but with the shame of his past abandonment and lawful struggles to keep his morality clean… Obviously his modesty being destroyed by the abuse of drugs and alcohol (his damaging coping mechanisms).

Unsuspecting Michael being alive, it was a total shock for him to see the news, a potential copycat… Yet Trevor knew. Trevor’s intuition was strong, always have been strong. Throughout the gameplay, Trevor has odd intelligence and senses. He can tell when something doesn’t fit and he’ll suddenly click. He can understand situations faster than most people. He caught eyes with Davey and he knew him. He first saw Michael after 9 years and knew he was lying. After some convincing… Michael’s denials had led Trevor to realise that Brad’s imprisonment was also a lie. It seems that although Trevor takes on the worse from his experiences, he also earns himself the skill to predict and understand unfolding events. He can attack and approach situations, while impulsively, but effectively.

Further notes: Trevor’s coping mechanisms would include niche drugs, alcohol, sex, pornography, aggression, self-harm, and isolation. He finds himself deeply attached to women in general, often exploiting himself by seeing many prostitutes and masturbating to pornography daily. This would be the result of his mother’s absence and abuse… Nevertheless, he engulfs in self-harm (hitting his head, biting, scratching, etc) as a way to defuse his self-hatred (as he always saw himself as the problem… Thanks to his childhood again). His suicidal tendencies is pretty obvious throughout the gameplay.

[slashgod]

Rant under cut. TW: medical stuff, suicidal thoughts.

Me: on some heavy duty anti-psychotics for my borderline personality disorder and anti-depressants for my manic depression

Goes to collect medication from pharmacy. Gets told no request was put in for it.

Weird, I remember doing that last week. But ok.

Calls GP.

GP: oh ok we can issue an emergency medication request.

Me: great! Can we do that?

GP: I’ll call you back once it’s done.

Me: waits for a call that doesn’t happen. Realises they’ve now closed for the night and I have 0 medication left.

Calls 111 (non emergency services out of hours)

111: that’s your GPs problem, not ours. All the pharmacies are closed tonight so you’ll have to try again tomorrow.

Me: tries not to be concerned, one day should be ok right?

Calls GP again in the morning. Told an emergency request will be put through.

Calls pharmacist. No answer. Waits an hour. Calls again. No answer. Waits an hour. Calls again.

Pharmacist: the earliest you can have this is Friday.

Me: concerned. “I don’t have any left at all, the doctor said this was put through as an emergency?”

Pharmacist: we only just got it. We need to order it and have time to process it.

Me: calls GP back up. Says what I’ve been told.

GP: the pharmacy is nothing to do with us. We’ve put in the urgent request, it’s there job now, nothing else we can do.

Me: calls a different pharmacy to see if it’s in stock. Gets told no, and that all other pharmacy’s under that name don’t have it either according to their stock.

Me: calls 111 again. Makes sure it’s early enough that the pharmacies are still open and will be for another 5+ hours. Explains situation.

111: someone will call you back, thanks.

Me: doesn’t hear anything for 4 hours, calls them back.

111: yeah any calls we get before 6:30pm aren’t important so we don’t call back.

Me: uhhh… ok. So can you help me now it’s out of hours?

111: did you try your GP first?

Me: yes. Here is what happened.

111: did you actually try and call other pharmacies?

Me: yes. HERE IS WHAT HAPPENED AGAIN. What should I do now? I’ve tried all of these things! Should I just jump off a fucking bridge seeing as no-one seems to care?!

111: well this isn’t urgent so you’re not getting a call back soon. Bye.

Me: in tears. Right. I’ll deal. Calls a third pharmacy to see if they have stock. Told no again.

111: calls back. But now all the pharmacies are closed so byeeeee.

Me: crying. Thinking about suicide. Confides in mum what’s happening.

Dad: have you ever considered how that makes ME feel?

Me: ???? How do you think I feel right now???

Dad: yells at me as I leave the room. IF YOURE THAT DEPENDENT ON THEM THEY CLEARLY ARENT WORKING!

Me: laying in bed crying thinking about killing myself. Why is getting the medication I need so hard?

111: calls me back. Oh yeah you shouldn’t have been without medication at all even for one day it’s SUPER important you take something. A doctor will call you back.

Me: still waiting.

[seeinginthedark]

Taking psychedelics took my spiritual awakening to a whole new level. I actually wouldn’t recommend it. It’s borderline psychotic. Luckily I know myself and I have self-awareness and have been working on my psychology for years and I’m Carl Jung fan. So I knew what was my imagination what was delusion.

You start with: rubbing shoulders with entities from fourth and fifth dimension. Who somehow “came into me” as I was filming my video rant journal channel on YouTube call them, angels, or devils, djinn. I then stopped the ranting videos and starting filming my alternate personalities the Earth Goddesses.

Lately I’m hearing a lot of spiritualists talk about calling on your spirit guides or your higher self to guide you during dangerous dark times. I never knew how to do that, and I don’t need to communicate with my higher self as I am myself. The Internet will tell you that you’re a Starseed from a different planetary system, incarnating on earth to raise earths consciousness. I think it’s a bunch of bullshit. I’m a human from earth and I love earth and I care about earth and during my psychosis, I morphed into a superhero provoking and hunting for aliens and members of the paedophile species to make them suffer for their atrocities in humanity. Especially astrocities of children . It got really bad I had to quit my job because I couldn’t concentrate on my tasks with all the thoughts of the poor suffering Children kept kept somewhere in the world. Their prayers unanswered. I heard their prayers. My ancestors protected me throughout this time. I believe in the old gods, and the deitys , but I don’t believe in putting up an altar and praying to them every day and asking for the blessings. All I need is my ancestors. I have a shrine for them. I never summoned angels. I knew what the angel numbers really were about. They aren’t angel numbers. They are a distraction for you in the simulation that they created for us to be trapped in. To get you off path to create a false destiny. So you waste your time looking at what the angel numbers mean. Remember what they say about vampires, if you want to deter them, throws and pebbles or coins on the ground because they can’t help themselves, but to stop and count them all before they continue to chase you. That’s what they’re doing to us with the angel numbers. I never summoned angels, Demons, or beings. They just surrounded me, probably my whole life, but I only became aware of it after I took DMT.

Sadly, the story ends with me in a dark depression back in the third dimension, missing my psychosis and my alternate personalities. unable to use substances to cope because the universe decided that I was going to be a mother again after 10 years. So I’m back in the matrix for now. Glued to a screen. Wondering if reincarnation really is a thing and if so do I really want to be a part of a repeated process of life instead of dwelling in the afterlife?

Oh, the joys.

[nikolasongsa]

psychopathic rant I did whilst I read something from whoever it was

the post dissappeared apparently because I took my fine ass time

Like thaulf said, women "are just like that", but psychiatry is not the practice of listing mere 'personality traits' as personality traits, but disorders. The way illness is described is also different

the point of psychiatry is often to use it against those undeserving of it; cut resistance, to make people mad, and sell drugs and in general just muddle things that are actually real and have empirical evidence

+ using words like "bpd" is faggot language

Read any DSM and continue to be amazed. The audacity of them to list things like genetics, IQ and retardation and use it like retards themselves

gay notes for myself mainly

"Romans 7:17 And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway’."

"Here are other words of this doctor who lived a century before Orwell wrote 1984. According to Heinroth, the psychiatrist

appears to the patient as helper and saviour, as a father and benefactor, as a sympathetic friend, as a friendly teacher, but also as a judge who weighs the evidence, passes judgement, and executes the sentence; at the same time seems to be the visible God to the patient…

“The biggest issue we faced during the time our daughter began to manifest problems (when she was five years old) was to convince the ‘professionals’ that she did indeed have a disease that was biologically based and not caused by alleged child abuse [or] bad parenting”

"I’m a 16 year old girl who has just gotten out of a ‘psychiatric treatment center’. I was there for over 4 months because I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality disorder and Manic Depression. Borderline Personality Disorder is the biggest f— joke I have heard of. All it is a description of an immature teenager. Haha. I am also not Manic Depressive. The psych people there somehow managed to convince everyone that I was, including my parents. (‘She has severe highs and lows. And she’s impulsive too!’) They put me on lots of medication.

Perfectly normal people are kept in treatment centers. Perfectly normal teenagers. Nobody was crazy there. Not even one person. They were just teenagers with divorced parents. Or teenagers who did a few drugs. Or teenagers who got suspended from school. Suddenly we were all Borderlines, Schizophrenics, and Manic Depressives who ‘needed’ long term hospitalization. We also ‘needed’ medication. They put us on heavy doses of anti-psychotics, mood stabilizers, antidepressants, anti-whatevers. I was the only patient who didn’t take the medication. I will never take psychiatric medication. I’ve tried it before. It does nothing except for turn me into a zombie. It dulls me out. Makes it so I can’t think straight. Everyone else took it though." 1996

"In the dawn of the 21st century the diagnoses that were used against her and her mates (‘borderlines’, ‘schizophrenics’, ‘manic depressives’) are as fraudulent as the diagnoses that the psychiatrists used in the 19th century (‘moral insanity’, ‘folie lucide’, ‘nymphomania’)."

"Psychiatrists are fond of stressing how much suffering schizophrenia causes. However, I can truthfully say being labeled a schizophrenic has caused me a hundred times as much suffering as the so-called ‘illness’ itself. Since recovering my sanity in 1961, I have spent decades struggling to gain some measure of self-understanding and self-esteem. In this regard, I never fully recovered from what psychiatry and my parents did to me until I finally realized I had never been ill in the first place."

(The same person who coined the term 'schizophrenia' coined the term 'autism')

"How, for example, can a psychiatrist validate his identity as a medical doctor without labeling others as mentally sick’, asks Modrow, ‘that is to say, without dehumanizing others and thoroughly destroying their identities?’

"Economics controls politics, so the pivotal issue is an economic one. To see what is happening, look at the textbook or manual called DSM-III, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, third edition. Translated into economic and political terms, mental disorder means undesired mental states and attitudes and behaviour […]

The criteria in the manual are very useful for controlling the population because you can bring them to bear on practically anyone if the occasion seems to demand it. Look at this: ‘Oppositional disorder’ is a very good one."

"In 1999 Professor Leonard Duhl of the University of California defined mental illness and poverty in the most perfect sense of the ideologists of the Great Confinement of the 17th century: ‘the inability to command events that affect one’s life’."

"If the philosophy of the biologicistic psychiatrists is right, all our passions, traumas and conflicts, loves and fears, are not the result of our desires in conflict with the external world, but of the swings of small polypeptides in our bodies that are transformed into despair."

"The primitive witch-doctor, who tried to understand Nature in human terms, treated objects as agents: a position known as animism. The modern witch-doctor, who tries to understand the subjectivity of man in terms of Nature, treats agents as objects: a position known as bioreductionism. Primitive man has been demystified in our scientific era. Who will demystify psychiatry doctors?"

"a mandate to strip anyone of their civil liberties […] to homogenize people who are out of line. Presented as a medical exercise, it is an undercover operation. "

"Personality disorders are diagnosed in 40–60% of psychiatric patients, rendering them the most common of all psychiatric diagnoses"

"First, concerning point (a) above, DSM-IV-TR already lists Intermittent Explosive Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Conduct Disorder, Avoidant Personality Disorder, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, and countless more poorly defined and controversial diagnostic labels, all in large part oriented at defining as mentally ill the kinds of behavior that Dr. Diamond wants to pathologize further. But no psychiatrist intent on listing yet more disorders in the DSM should be blind to the risks of overdiagnosis, given the embarrassing amount of overlap that already exists among these disorders. "

[crazy56u]

Currently on phone, but here’s a bullet list for now:

Home Alone and Galaxy Quest:

Jon Miller is the DM, and is seemingly conspiring against Kara Strait.

The plot shifts into borderline psychological horror.

Paulo Quiros’ character repeatedly tries to derail the plot. (Marv trying to talk Harry out of robbing the McCallister’s house versus Jason Nesmith taking baths and getting high instead of doing anything of substance.)

Kara Strait’s character dies while Paulo Quiros’ character technically wins the campaign due to breaking away from the plot. (Marv managing to escape and reinvent his life versus Jason Nesmith agreeing to stay in the Matrix.)

Paulo Quiros’ character gets severely injured through their own stupidity. (Marv getting electrocuted cutting through the power lines versus Jason Nesmith throwing out his back opening a heavy door.)

The main setting of the campaign gets destroyed by the end. (Granted, the Protector was digitized, not destroyed, but by the end of the campaign, it no longer existed in a physical sense, so it counts. Also, it kept blowing the fuck up due to Jason Nesmith’s stupidity.)

Kara Strait’s character is pinned for crimes they didn’t do. (Kevin blaming Harry for destroying his house versus Arthur pinning Guy’s death on Sir Alexander.)

Home Alone and Clue:

The DM has players be separated in order to have certain information and actions kept secret.

The DM recreates a scene from the movie off the top of their head. (Jon Miller’s “Angels with Filthy Souls” reenactment versus Lisa Kopitsky’s one-woman performance of Mr. Boddy’s arrival at the mansion.)

A character has an obsession with an element pertaining to the bathroom at the detriment of the plot. (Marv sticking to the Wet Bandits’ shtick of flooding the house versus Carolyn Faye Kramer almost having a heart attack ranting about the poop scraper,)

The climax sees Joz Vammer’s character run out of a house, and attract the attention of the police.

Paulo Quiros’ character stumbles across some form of political conspiracy (Marv mistakenly thinking the “party” Kevin throws is a political rally versus Mr. Green knowing about Mrs. Peacock taking bribes for her senator husband and Colonel Mustard’s treason.)

Property damage is a plot point. (Technically, the falling chandelier squishing the cop counts as property damage.)

The campaign involves elements being added that aren’t common to a usual campaign in order to facilitate a sense of mystery. (Lisa independently using game pieces from the actual Clue board game versus Jon only letting Joz have access to the full McCallister house gameboard, while Paulo and Kara have to uncover it room by room.)

Clue and Galaxy Quest:

The plot gets broken due to the players getting separated into groups. (This one is a minor stretch; I’m going this route due to Wadsworth becoming a borderline non-entity after Part 1 due to multiple players splitting off to do other things.)

At one point, the police storm into a building to arrest Kara Strait’s character.

Joz Vammer’s character suffers a psychotic break during the final episode.

Joz Vammer’s character dies.

There’s the presence of a DM-controlled character operating off of a false identity. (Wadsworth is revealed in the movie to be the real Mr. Boddy. Broms keeps pretending to be other people.)

Andy Hoover’s character gets nabbed by the cops, and taken for questioning.

A character is killed off screen, and Kara Strait has some degree of involvement. (Mr. Boddy is revealed to have been killed by Mrs. White, while Jon reveals Guy got murdered by a mugger between Parts 2 and 3, with Arthur deciding to pin it on Sir Alexander.)

Home Alone, Clue, and Galaxy Quest:

Hail of bullets ending.

The ineffectualness of the police. (The lone policer that shows up at the McCalister’s house and is Jeff-adjacent verse the cop that accident causes the chandelier to crash onto him versus the police causing a bloodbath at Spirit Gum Theater.)

Kara Strait and Joz Vammer’s characters are at each other’s throats.

Kara Strait running afoul of the police is a plot point.

Paulo Quiros gets a weapon used on him at one point at varying degrees of success. (Marv getting fed through the meat grinder via Kevin’s various traps versus Mrs. Peacock threatening Mr. Green with the fireplace poker [and Professor Plum trying to shoot Mr. Green] versus Sarris firing at the Protector [which Jason Nesmith was piloting, so it counts].)

Paulo Quiros is a player character rather than the DM, to the detriment of the other players. (Marv and Harry slowly falling apart as a group versus Jason Nesmith’s mere existence versus Mr. Green being the secret FBI agent looking to have everyone else go to jail.)

The closest the campaign gets to a successful ending is a pyrrhic victory. (Home Alone: Kevin beats the Wet Bandits, but his house gets destroyed. Clue: Mr. Green successfully turned over the evidence for everyone’s crimes… except Mrs. White’s. Galaxy Quest: Jason, Tommy and Fred willingly agree to stay in the morass and life lives of fantasy, while Spirit Gum Theater gets a rave review at the express of multiple deaths.)

So, about Galaxy Quest Part 5

MASSIVE FUCKING SPOILERS BELOW

So, if I were to tell you that Home Alone, Clue, and Galaxy Quest all form a Venn Diagram, with one specific thing in the center, what would you think I was alluding to...

[firemustachetodoroki]

i hate how enji is written in vigilantes but damn look at that bubble butt

[rubendiass]

yk i’ll never understand people who feel the need to tag clubs they hate in their rants/disgusting posts because all i wanna do is scroll thru the tag and see gifs and pics not your fuckery