#dr faciler

[simply-sammm]

SCP: Facility Breach (parte 2)

Ganó la Fundación

[zitgrimes]

Alright, I've got a bone to pick with season 3 ep 15 of House. Specifically the people in it. First of all House literally told everyone to stop being nosy and that he DIDNT have cancer multiple times and yet they STILL bothered him, I get it, they care about him and wanna make sure he doesn't actually have cancer, that parts understandable. But what really pisses me off is when they get mad at him for "lying" about it. HE NEVER LIED!?? THATS THE THING. Everyone was trying to force having cancer onto him after he repeatedly told them he didn't. He was literally forced to "lie" about it because they wouldnt stop badgering him and not believing him. "He was doing it to get high!!" He was doing it to maybe get some PAIN relief for his chronic leg PAIN. Yeah I know you can't excuse everything house does on his disability but everyone acted like house was some horrible manipulative lying drug fiend when he never intended for them to even find out and he didn't want them to. Everyone around house constantly enables his behavior and then gets upset when he continues to do it like??? He's an adult, he can make his own choices but still clearly he's struggling throughout a majority of the show and the whole time all the people around him are criticizing him while at the same time letting him continue to act that way. Also just to note I love (mostly) everyone in this show and I get that what makes a good character is for them to have flaws but I just wanted to share my point of view and stick up for House a little.

[theflaggerrrr]

[ID: A 9 stripe flag with the colors orange, red, blue, green an yellow on it. The flag on the right has more contrast to it.]

" Dr Cleffer Pride Flag "

A joke pride flag for queer neurodivergent people who like and/or relate to Dr Clef from the SCP foundation. The term "Dr Cleffer" or "Cleffer" was coined by @thescaryhyperfem to jokingly describe describe gay neurodivergent people (me) who like Dr Clef.

This can be taken seriously, who am I to stop you?

[ID: A transparent image that says "Willy holds no DNI, but is not afraid to block." with a picture of the account's mascot (mentioned in the introduction) upside down.]

[luvisia]

meet noakes, barlow, and dorris! from red barrels’ twitter & instagram.

[schnee-gheist]

dp fanfic ideas are getting to me again goddammit

[assortedvillainvault]

Love that prompt list! How about 24 - “Did you just bite me?” - for the DV'Cule, please?

In honour of the fact I've just quit my weekend job - DC please humbly accept my first outrightedly suggestive prose answer: praise the soup and your patience, here we go:

TLDR: Venomous bites and kinky viziers is certainly a match, and not one made in heaven, even for gods.

TW: Suggestive themes, biting, nothing overtly described. Implied threesome.

Did you just Bite Me?! - The DVCule: Jafar x Hades X Facilier

The yelp that cuts though the warm, heavy air startles them so badly that someone – Facilier maybe – tumbles off the bed with a swear, helped by one of Hades legs as the god flails. Flames roar between blue and orange as he grabs the back of Jafar’s head and tries to yank, grunting at the teeth buried in his shoulder.

The sorcerer remains locked in place – dazed and cross eyed as he clings - sweaty, sinuous, satisfied and apparently on another fucking planet for all that he was paying attention.

“Did you seriously just bite me?!” Hades croaks incredulously. “Jaf- Jafar, what the fuck-”

Muffled groans and what sound like an aborted reply leak between wet flesh. Hades winces as he tries to pry the sorcerers head away but finds him all but locked into the muscle – golden ichor dribbling between them. Despite the sudden burst of flame all the sorcerer does is grip harder, tongue idly flicking at the blood as it dribbles down his skin and smears the sheets.

Facilier stumbles up, nursing a bruised backside and scowling - swatting at Jafar to move but only getting a strangled hiss and an unfocused red glare for his trouble. The bokor blinks, noticing the odd..smooth sheen of Jafars skin, and the subtle red and black banding beginning to show.

“Ah, fuck. Is he-”

“Fanged up? No shit.” Hades hisses, feeling the two white hot, needle-like fangs twitch and flex what feels like down to his bones. “I don’t- fucking- need an anatomy discussion doc, get him off-!”

“I’m tryin-!”

Mood murdered - they attempt to wrangle the punch-drunk half-transformed sorcerer off the larger god, trading swears every time the teeth buried in his neck jostle, grimacing as Jafar swallows more and more godblood and slowly begins to giggle and produce some kind of awful hissy purr that shakes the bed and makes Hades especially regret the fireproof spells written into it.

Eventually they manage to pop Jafar’s unnervingly stretchy jaw off, tossing the ex vizier to the side while Facilier grabs rags for the bleeding and Hades glares at his lover. Slitted red eyes blink out of sync back as the half snake curls languidly in place, sleepy and pleased.

Hades scowls. “Memo to me – add a clause about biting...” He pinches his nose and sighs explosively, letting Facilier swipe at his shoulder where the wounds are already closing. “Oy, he’s such a freak.”

Facilier chuckles at that. “Yeah. An’ you like it, so what does that make you?”

“A pincusion apparently, oy-” He rolls his eyes and rubs his temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Was just starting to relax too...”

Facilier makes a sympathetic noise and throws the rag away. He slides back up, all smooth grace now that tall dark and twisted was slightly snoring. He gently cards a hand through the flames, letting them wrap around his fingers as Hades leans into the touch. “You wanna keep goin? Or leave it here? I’m game for either.”

Hades hums as he mulls it over and leans into him. Facilier’s brows pinch as he realises he’s�� actually having to brace the god kinda hard. “Uh...Cher?”

Yellow eyes slowly blink open, and alarm bells start ringing as he sees just how wide the pupils are. “Hades..??”

“Faci...” He mumbles. “...have...have there always been three of you?”

The bokor feels his stomach tie into knots as he suddenly connects some dots - snapping his head around to see Jafar yawn, yellow drops of venom still clinging to his fangs.

He about launches himself out of bed – ignoring Hades sudden whine - and scrambles for his trousers, slung over the dresser. “Gotta get Ursula darlin’ - berightback-!”

[ninjastormhawkkat]

Everyone was exhausted from the eventful day. Dr.Two-Brains had put the mice pups on a makeshift little bed for them to sleep on. They seemed to have grown attached to both Becky and the mad scientist in the short amount of time they were taking care of them. When they put the mice pups down they squeaked to be picked up again. When they finally fell asleep, full from their dinner, Becky and Dr.Two-Brains quietly left. Though Becky didn't want to leave the pinkies alone. The villain spoke softly. "They will be okay there. I promise. Let's be quiet and let them sleep." Becky stared at her father for a moment. She had a thoughtful expression, following after him. Dr.Two-Brains had put his kid to bed. Once she was tucked in. Bob too. He kissed her forehead goodnight. "Goodnight my little ray of hope. Rest well. I'll never let anyone hurt you anymore. I promise. You'll be safe from now on. I'll never let you out of my sight again." He mumbled this, his eyelids feeling so heavy now. He drifted off to sleep, head on the bed. Becky untucked herself and made herself comfortable near her dad. Bob made himself comfortable as well on the opposite side. Both of them curled up next to him. The others had already left for their own home. Leaving Carl, Steven and Matthew with them. Carl and Steven had been taken to the spare rooms while Matthew had only the couch to sleep on. If he was going to be honest it was still much better than the poor excuse of a bed they forced him to sleep on during his time in Maximum prison. The facility where he was transferred was so much worse. He was going to take what they gave. As his son in law wished, he was on his best behavior. It would stay that way until they didn't need him anymore. The truth was, he wants his kids to be happy. Just like any other parent would. Once he was of no use anymore, he will make sure they never see him again. He'll be far away. Just like they wanted. Despite what happened, Gene was still his favorite. He was so proud that his son turned out to be so brilliant, kind from what he saw. He was still all that despite the mouse brain. His son was strong. Maybe even more than him. He gave in, Dr.Two-Brains didn't give into it for the sake of his daughter. Matthew finally allowed himself to drift to sleep.

The next morning, Matthew was woken up by his son cooking breakfast for everyone. Well everyone but him. He assumed that Gene would want to feed the man he hates. Matthew felt guilt. Over hurting his son like that. Everyone else woke up soon, gathering around the table. Once it was set up, everyone helped themself to the delicious and cheesy meal. Matthew stayed in the living room though. Becky glanced over at him, puzzled why he wasn't joining them. Dr.Two-Brains felt his insides twist. As much as he hates Matthew he couldn't let his little girl panic like that. If he's staying here, he must eat as well. He spoke in a less than enthused tone. "You want your plate over there or are you going to join us?" Matthew blinked owlishly. He saw that the table seemed a bit crowded and he doubted they wanted him to sit with them. "I'll fix up my plate and eat on the couch. Thank you." There was no sarcasm in his tone. He was genuinely thanking his son. After they ate, Matthew and Dr.Two-Brains were alone in the living room. It was tense. Matthew wasn't looking at his son, not wanting to make the situation worse. He didn't see the expression Dr.Two-Brains was wearing. Grim. He wanted answers. He was finally able to ask this question he had been dying to ask for years. "Why did you do it? Why did you massacre all those heroes? Rebecca?" Two-Brains found himself even more emotional, bringing up his late best friend. There was anger in his eyes. Sadness. Hurt. Matthew only felt guilty when it came to his family. He hated seeing them hurt. A thought he always had. If he hadn't massacred the heroes, maybe he could've done something to prevent Carl and Steven from being kidnapped. Prevent Gene from going through all that. "You wish to know? I'll tell you. Just a heads up. I'm telling you why and it's not an excuse for what I did. I'm simply telling you what happened." Matthew paused for a second, frowning at the memory. "A good man died so many years ago. Not one hero shed a tear for someone whose intentions were good. Despite his less than legal ways of achieving his goals, he was on their side. They never saw it that way. It didn't affect him in the least. He still fought for what was good. They said horrible things about him. Yet he never retaliated. Never spoke against them in anger. My uncle. He hated this vigilante just as much. Hated that he was teaching me just as much. I didn't realize it at the time but this vigilante was more of a hero than the others were. Not one of them, including my uncle, mourned for him. They never even mentioned his passing once. The one who killed him, he wasn't going to stop. I had to make him stop. The anger I felt. I wiped him out. With his goons. They didn't care how many lives were lost. That added so much fuel to my hatred of heroes. So much so. It blinded me. Making me no better. I became the malicious monster that my uncle said I was. The rage grew in me. He disowned me. So did my mother. When the rage grew, I only had one thought. One goal. I was unfortunately blinded by this. Not seeing the damage I've done after I executed my plan. All of my rage was released. I don't remember killing most of them. But I know I did. I truly love you and your siblings. Your father, I never stopped loving him. Yet my hatred was stronger. I gave into it. I know this is the consequence of my actions and I accept it. If you wish to get revenge, I won't fight back. Do as you please. I'm truly sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything to you since it's from me. But my apology is genuine. I am sorry. I don't expect forgiveness. But I thought you deserved an apology."

Dr. Two Brains sat stunned at Maddrix's explanation. He had no idea Matthew used to be a hero. None of them did. He didn't know how to react to his apology either. It was a little too late to say sorry. Yet on the other hand, Two Brains could tell he was being serious and genuine. Maddrix's explanation though, it opened up more questions for him as he reflected on his past before the massacre, analyzing Matthew's actions and comparing it to what he knows now. "Is that why you raised me to be a villain? So I wouldn't end up like the heroes you hated so much?" Two Brains asked. Matthew shook his head. "I had that hatred festering, but it wasn't the main reason I raised you to be a villain. I genuinely saw the natural spark and flare you had for villainy at an early age. When you acted sweet and innocent as a cover to get what you want or to get away with biting people that made you mad." Matthew paused a bit as he chuckled a little at the memories. "I honestly lost count of how many people you bit." Two Brains couldn't help but smirk at that. "It was the only way I could get back at those who made me upset. Neither you nor dad would let me gain access to tech until I was 13." Two Brains quipped. Matthew nodded with a bittersweet smile. "True. We were both slightly afraid what you mind would do if we gave you access to tools and tech before you were mature enough to use them." Matthew then frowned. "The true reason was I didn't want you to end up like me. I had a lot of anger and aggression issues when I was growing up. I don't exactly know where they came from. I just know that my uncle nor my mother never gave me the help I needed. My uncle saw me nothing more than a weapon that made him look good until I didn't. My mother was a spineless fool who went along with anything my uncle told her. I wanted to help channel your villainous impulses into something productive. I wanted to give you the helping guidance I never got. Even after you got me arrested. I was miffed yeah but I was never truly mad at you. I'm proud of the person you grown up into. Not because of the villain part. It's because you have a lot more control over your priorities and better restraints over your impulses than I ever did." "So that's why you told dad you were an orphan." Two Brains muttered as he processed what Matthew told him. Maddrix just shrugged. "Well your biological grandfather walked out when I was a toddler and the only true parental figure I had died when I was teenager. It was easier to say I was an orphan than to go into the nitty gritty." Dr. Two Brains leveled Matthew a hardened look. "You kept a lot of secrets from dad, including the part about you and me being villains. I remember you said it was best that no one else in our family knew the truth about our villain work. Even though they wouldn't be bothered about it, you still didn't want them to know. Why was that? Were you afraid of them getting hurt if they knew?" Dr. Two Brains interrogated. Matthew's expression became pale before he turned his gaze away Dr. Two Brains looked at the man with annoyance and confusion for not answering his question in a rude manner. A thought then struck his head. That evasive and somewhat rude reaction. He knew it all too well. "You were afraid dad would hate your for being a villain and kick you out like your mom and uncle did. That was why?" Two Brains muttered quietly. Maddrix didn't reply. He didn't have too. Dr. Two Brains could see clear as day the prickling tears the villain was trying to blink away. Two Brains gave a bitter chuckle. "I guess I did take more after you than I realized." Two Brains mumbled. Both he and Matthew never wanted their loved ones to see the true them, consumed by their fear of being hated and alone by those they cared the most. The difference here, while Two Brains found a better way to cope with his fears and learn to be more open to others, Matthew didn't. @dualnaturedscientist

[mary-bell-radiation-authority]

who the hell is writing Dr Apollo x NC fanfiction during work hours?

[eggman91]

So I’m planning on making a voodoo Mordecai au where he accidentally gets voodoo powers decides to fully commit because it’s for work he even has his own shadow demon now

the savoys -are pogging at this

mister Ada sweet -is confused and worried, but hey, at least he’s on our side. Definitely not investigating the gang too.

I’ll post other characters reactions later when I think of them out.

Also, now I’m imagining him forced to sing I got friends on the other side, but very gullibly and the Savoys are the one actually singing

[escapism-from-the-real-world]

Flynn: So what’s your gender and sexuality?

Dillon: What’s a gender?

Dr K in the background: What’s a sexuality?

Flynn: Uh

Ziggy: Dillon uses He/Him and Dr K uses She/Her, but you can use any pronouns really. As for sexuality, Dillon has never felt attracted to a women in his life and I’m still sure Dr K doesn’t know how romance works.

Dr K: You’re telling me people kiss because of feelings and not the social expectations of society??

Dillon: No, really. What’s a gender?

[spockvarietyhour]

[intothewickedwood]

For @darkpoisonouslove

[brinaarcadia]

PERSEPHONE DETENTION FACILITY

[baltears]

despite how stupid and narmy david cage's writing can feel at times i actually think theres a layer of genuine emotional depth to it that typically gets ignored or missed entirely in favor of talking about its flaws &i think a lot of that comes from the actors involved but some of their ability to give really good performances has to do with being given good opportunities to do that by the script. and also i think some of the narm quality comes from the animation looking uncanny valley because dbh for instance tries very hard for realism in its graphics and animation but just doesnt look quite real enough to not be distracting. its kind of like looking past bad special effects in a movie like these really nuanced and beautiful acting performances are in the game but you have to kind of fill the rest of the visual nuances in yourself because the animation is only capturing maybe half of them. like imo the animation just not being all the way there is such a huge reason why a lot of people found the game like funny and weird and cringey. we can read the actors' faces but like only kind of because their smallest microexpressions are not being translated.

[worldisahouseonfire]

I think something has happened to me, from a lifetime of trying to communicate with people who seemed committed to misunderstand me. I say one thing, and the way they respond, it's like they were listening to another audio track, or radio frequency. I think something happens when nothing a person says gets understood, believed, acknowledged, for years on end.

It becomes impossible for me to understand what even the point is of language. The more I try to correct, the less I make sense, even to myself anymore. And I worry that all the reasons people gave for not understanding me only served to make me more anxious and difficult to understand, even for people who wanted to make an effort.

I read things that Mel Baggs and other disabled writers wrote, and they're things that make sense with what I'm going through now. On the one hand it's validating to know I'm not the only one experiencing these things. On the other hand, many of those disabled writers are now dead, and the people who should be reading their words never have and possibly never will. If I send posts to people and they refuse to read them, and refuse to listen to me and what I can now quote from memory, then what would be the point of me writing or speaking at all?

I think a lot of people lose their voices and words this way.

I think a lot of people die this way.

Not because they're not articulate, not because they lack insight into what's happening around them, but because the people crammed in thickly around them are determined to misunderstand them, until the frustration boils over, meltdowns and 'behaviors' are had, and this is used as justification for chemical restraint, institutionalization, coercive control, and brilliant minds are vanished to silence their voices.

I don't want this to happen to me.

I think this is something that's been happening throughout the history of language and oppression to a lot of people, and it's a dangerous razor's edge to walk sometimes. Every word. Every facial expression. Every tone. Every movement. Every variation in volume. Where it's not merely about the perception of people in the immediate vicinity, but what they can write into charts and notes. What they can report to doctors, paramedics, agencies, therapists, and the sort of kangaroo courts that preside over involuntary commitment, guardianship, conservatorship.

Where anything you do or say or write, and even how you do it, can and will be used against you in the court of public opinion, so easily manipulated by those who can benefit from shutting someone up and away.

No staff have to be smart to do this. All they have to do is be more credible than those in their care. And this credibility is a function of their position. It's built into disability support services and welfare agencies, places and systems where we wind up when there is nowhere else to turn.

I live in an adult residential facility. When I was placed here, it was supposed to be temporary, to get me out of a dangerous shelter, to keep me off the streets and out of some inpatient situation. Much was not disclosed to me until after I was shuffled in. I am still legally my own person, and I'm alone.

The facility is getting paid over $10k a month for my board and care.

This facility has the highest restriction possible for a facility of this type, in order to be able to charge the maximum legal amount.

I have been here over a year. In that time I have not been able to access actual medical care.

Even in this expensive area, that much money a month could have paid rent, paid for a car and a printer/scanner, and paid for a graduate student from a nearby prestigious university to come over for a couple of hours twice a week to help me unfuck my life and actually access care.

When a business provides care for profit, they keep whatever they don't spend on those in their care. They keep whatever they don't spend on the staff salaries or training. They can hire people who don't even speak English, can barely read or write, and staff will be motivated to do whatever they're told by those who sign their checks. They see just how easily they could wind up in much worse jobs, working for people who haven't been groomed into terrified passivity, under the watchful metal eyes of Ring cameras in almost every room, whose footage is only accessible to the people signing the checks.

It doesn't matter what I say, what I understand, what I write. It doesn't matter what I experience.

All that matters is I have disabilities and I am poor. That is what is heard, instead of me. Like a loud, insistent, ringing alarm that drowns out my attempts to communicate. Like something that, once you know it, you can't ever un-know it, that undermines any willingness to understand, to feel respect for what I'm going through. Pity feels degrading, demeaning to put up with. It places me beneath the person feeling it, expressing it, exuding it.

It doesn't matter that I feel like a veteran of some of the worst shit imaginable, like I was born into a war on my very self, and I have largely had to fight and survive it alone.

Mel Baggs wrote about something -- I think sie called it the 'rule of two.' Where when there is just one other person accompanying you into a situation with a care provider, a doctor, someone in a position of power, then we get listened to more, treated a little more fairly. And the person doing the accompaniment may be mystified, if the expected discrimination and interpersonal badness doesn't actually happen. They may think we were exaggerating for dramatic effect.

But people thought that about femmes' overwhelming experiences of sexual harassment and assault, and Black people's overwhelming experiences of cop violence and harassment violence. It's not an accident that it mostly only happens when someone with too much power is alone with someone who is not considered a credible reporter of their own reality.

As a trans human I experience this also. As I child I experienced this with my abusers. And many, many, many disabled and chronically ill people experience this with care providers and caregivers, compounded the more marginalized and disbelieved we are in other ways.

I think there's a strong, strong tendency to want to differentiate and distance from people sharing stories of interpersonal harm. I don't think it's necessarily conscious, which is part of what makes it so difficult to interrupt. I think there's an instinctive, socialized, acculturated response that happens, in the knee-jerk responses people have to being told that a human is hurting another human. Interrogating details, heaping pity and unsolicited advice, a listener trying to feel safe again in their own experiences, in their own skin, in their own humanity. Trying to find reasons the victim of misfortunate brought it on themself, choices and mistakes the listener will of course never make. Never to live like that, or lose their job, or wear that, at that time of night in that neighborhood, with a person who in hindsight is easily evaluated as dangerous and harmful.

I don't know what to do or say about this. I think the more we ignore the reality that people don't have to mean harm to do harm, the more harm can proliferate. Like ignoring that termites can eat wood will wind up ensuring the house gets chewed to pieces around you -- like ignoring that black mold can grow in damp poorly-cleaned places inevitably ensures an equally unhealthy home -- ignoring the ways we all fuck up and fail to course-correct ensures that it's going to keep going, and going to get a whole lot worse, and eventually it won't be people making choices you're careful not to make yourself.

Eventually we will all harm others, and be harmed by others.

Denial is something that goes around and comes around. It seems like a harmless habit at first. But eventually you wind up dependent on so much denial, and so many people cooperating in that denial, that when some really bad shit goes down, you're alone.

And you're stuck in a place you can't leave.

And there's nowhere else to go.

And things are happening that are so bad that they are unbelievable, because everyone seems so Nice™ and everything looks so Pleasant™ whenever anyone with any power is watching. And the people who are saying that this shit ain't kosher struggle to string words together in a way that makes sense, and seem constantly afraid that if they speak up, things will get worse for them.

They seem, on the surface, quite Mad and unreliable. Paranoid, even. In spite of the fact that there are literal cameras watching them, and people 24/7 monitoring them and writing little notes in files that are kept under lock and key, that the subjects themselves can't see and can't contribute to.

And one of those subjects is you.

And people who don't have to live like you do tell you to be patient. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

They ask, over and over, if anything bad has happened. But they don't seem to understand or even believe the things you do say, or if they do, then what they do about it makes things even worse for you.

If you're lucky -- very lucky -- you have held onto a laptop computer, and have managed to stay off the worst of the mind-scrambling drugs by staying quiet and keeping to a minimum interactions with the people in a position to panic and administer those drugs. If you're very lucky, you have a lifelong habit of responding to confusion and anxiety by reading and reaching out online to find other people writing about situations like yours.

Unfortunately a lot of the people in situations like yours are just as disbelieved and anxious and afraid and wound so tight you and they set each other off all the time. It will be like interacting with other burn victims while still trapped in the burning house. You will argue over whose burns are worse and how far away you have to stay from each other, and who should get priority for any ointments and bandages hurled in through the flames. (Metaphorically speaking.)

You will realize just how many of you there are. And you will find writing by people who are now just charred skeletons, who never made it out. You will wonder how many others didn't have the great good fortune to have words to put to paper, who died voiceless, stories untold.

You will try to help each other, but there will never be enough soothing or healing or supplies or support to go around. You will wind up hurting others. You may wind up feeling just as awful as the people who are calling platitudes on the outside, telling you to just be patient, asking who set the fire, and not believing you when you tell them that the arsonists, wearing flameproof suits, are still wandering through the house setting and feeding fires.

They will tell you that those people are firefighters.

The arsonists will tell you they are fighting fire with fire.

This will seem like absolute bullshit. No one who's not an arsonist is coming into the inferno anymore, so there's no one to tell except each other. But it feels horrible to keep harping on it, so doing almost anything else, anything distracting, is essential so as not to just lie down and feed your pain-wracked exhausted flesh to the flames.

You will get really, really pissed about the trollish people who ring the house and mock you and others like you for 'letting' this happen to you. You will yell back sometimes, and they will become absolutely unhinged and go round up their trollish friends to investigate your entire life and say horrible things about your personal private business, both to you and everyone in earshot.

You will, understandably, be feeling a bit misanthropic and apathetic.

You will probably hate people who tell you that the only fire is a bad attitude, and that if you wanted to get up and leave, you could.

You will probably hate people who think you need a therapist to fix your way of thinking about and responding to being in hell.

On the bright side, you will probably come around to appreciate the really dark humor of the people you're burning with. Laughs will be your only morphine, sometimes, and they may sound maniacal, because you all need them so bad.

You will probably wonder if this is actually what Madness is -- pain whose context is not understood and experienced by others.

And if you are lucky, and have the capacity for it, you may read and listen to things Mad people have written and said through history.

You might come to think that the real madness lies not in your perception of what's actually happening, but the yahoos outside calling syrupy-sweet reassurances and platitudes in to all of you, chasing the denial dragon like absolute fiends.

You may wonder if there was ever a time when your world was not a house on fire, or if it was just a dream you once had.

You might write. You might sing. You might cry. You might rock. You might roll. You might sleep. You might even come to enjoy your nightmares, because at least they go away when you wake up into the nightmare that never ends, and they're a change of fuckery.

You may develop more of a taste for swearing, especially really creative swears. They will be honest.

You may start writing and be unable to stop.

You may despair, knowing that no one has the patience and attention span and desire to read that much anymore. Especially if there aren't any cat pictures to go along with it.

You may post it anyway. And include a cat picture at the end as a reward or apology for anyone who read all the way through. Gods only know what someone who read all the way through this is going through (as long as they're not out trollin' & hatin').

And even though you don't know them, and may never compare burn scars with them, or trade cool rocks with them, you'll feel love for them, as I love you, right now. And you'll hope, as I do, that your love -- so painfully necessary to feel right now -- is received with understanding, and can be passed on, as it was to me, as I pass it on to you.

You matter. Your voice matters. Your words matter. What you have to communicate without words matters. It really fucking sucks that you're stuck where you are, wherever you are. I hope one day you get out, and laugh in the rain, and cry in the sun, and do all the things you love and want to do. You are human, and you matter.

Here it is, your moment of cat:

[emerald-onion]

Onion hits a writer-block so they decide to make memes again

This one is for Dr. Onion and Dr. Lucas, my and @denieatsart's rp characters after what shall be dubbed The Attachment Issue Arc.

Alternation: