#enjoying doing drugs

[wormadderall]

bought a gram scale for the kitchen, i can see why people enjoy doing drugs now

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ FLESH OF MY FLESH; BLOOD OF MY BLOOD ꒱ KAMO CHOSO X READER — ft. itadori yuuji

warnings ⟢ dead dove: do not eat. minors do not interact—i will block you! incest. yandere elements. implied drugging. noncon. slight forced feminization (choso uses “sister” and she/her pronouns to refer to reader, but reader is nb). religious imagery. reader is yuuji’s twin, but no physical descriptors are used. reader has a vagina.

word count ⟢ 963

notes ⟢ this is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was choso + incest. i have an au with big brother choso and twins yuuji and reader, so this was the perfect opportunity to explore their dynamic. a huge thank you to my dearest lexi—@drleggman—for requesting this (and for allowing me to go full degenerate) <3

“Yuu…”  “Yuu…ji…” “Yuuji…”

Your twin’s name ambles from your petal-soft lips, voice laden with slumber, muted snores drifting through the gaps. The bedroom you share is swathed in midnight’s gloom; moonbeams peek through the cheap apartment blinds, luminous stripes cutting across the men huddled above your nude figure.  

“Our baby sister seems to be having sweet dreams,” Choso states, mouth reluctantly detaching from your nipple, a silvery thread of spider silk connecting his lips to your tender flesh. “She’s naughty, though—calling out to you when I’m the one pleasuring her.”

Choso removes two thick digits from your weeping hole, examining the twitch of your jaw as he strums your clit with calloused fingertips. He experimentally increases the speed and pressure of his caresses, humming when you let out a whimper. As your breath grows heavier and your eyes flicker and dance beneath your lids, he pauses to smear your slick across your pubic hair, and scrapes his teeth up your neck to nip at your pulse point. 

Yuuji lies beside you, honeyed gaze soaking in the tranquil curves of your dreamy expression. He strokes the hair at your temple with the care of a collector admiring his choicest possession; he can’t help but drag his nose across your cheek, blotting a kiss at the hollow behind your earlobe.  

The reverence Yuuji treats you with starkly contrasts the way his muscular body presses against your softness, his bare cock dribbling pre onto the plush of your thigh. It’s something of a punishment that Choso doled out—not being able to indulge in you fully—upset with your twin for being secretive and possessive of you. But as far as Yuuji is concerned, to be anywhere in the halo of your presence is a heavenly gift. To merely witness your divinity, to press his lowly, sweaty skin flush to yours—it’s more than he deserves. 

“Don’t be too rough with them,” Yuuji fusses when Choso abruptly presses your knees to your chest, leveling his face with your spread cunt. “W-wait—I wanna taste, too.” 

After Yuuji shuffles over to join Choso, two sets of broad shoulders hunch over to marvel at your beauty. Yuuji fully expects to be chewed out again—perhaps even shoved off the bed or thrown out of the room; he swallows his pride and formulates a half-hearted apology, prepared to grovel for a chance to revel in you.

Instead, he grunts in surprise when he’s pulled into a kiss.

Chapped, chilly lips slip against his own, urging Yuuji’s mouth open, wet muscles intertwining. A shiver skitters across his limbs when he discovers the little silver ball that pierces Choso’s tongue—now bumping along the expanse of his palate, tracing the velvet of his gums. It’s a sloppy exchange of spit and teeth and tongue, too frenzied to be mistaken as purely passionate. Choso reaches over to swipe a thumb across Yuuji’s fat, leaking cock head. Yuuji keens into his brother’s mouth before ripping himself away, swollen lips parted, blooming rose from the tips of his ears down to his heaving chest.

“Let’s taste her together,” Choso rasps.

Not waiting for a reply, he pecks the fat of your hip before dipping down to lap at the arousal leaking from your hole; Yuuji watches heatedly, letting saliva pool on his tongue and drip onto your clit. He then cleans his mess with noisy sucks, occasionally tugging at your folds. Too preoccupied with coaxing your unconscious body to orgasm, the brothers don’t realize how you begin to stir, fingers and toes flexing and relaxing. They savor your eventual high, admiring your glistening release.

“I’ll have her first,” Choso announces thickly, Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. He’s practically vibrating—pale skin dewy with desire—having fantasized about this exact scenario more times than he can count. “You should prop her up.”

Yuuji leans against the headboard and pulls you between his strong legs, your head resting on his chest. Choso angles your hips and pumps his throbbing length a few times before nudging your entrance. Your breathing shallows and you yawn; Yuuji’s heart catches in his throat.

“Fuck—how much did you give them? Clearly not enough,” he hisses, arms tightening around your waist. “I think they’re about to wake up.”

For the first time all evening, Choso smiles at Yuuji. It’s an unsettling sight: his knife-sharp inscisors gleam in the dusk, irises black as bruised plums. “Relax,” he soothes. “She’s going to enjoy this, too. It will become a treasured memory for us all.”

Before Yuuji can respond, your eyelids flutter open. “Ch-Choso…Yuuji…” you murmur, words slow and slurred as molasses, “what are you—”

The air is promptly punched from your lungs, a strangled yelp interrupting your train of thought as Choso enters you in a single thrust—cock so deep you swear you can taste it. One of Yuuji’s rough palms rests on your belly and meanly presses down with the movement; you throw your head back and warble a moan.

“Call me ‘onii-chan,’” Choso grits out, refusing to succumb to the squeeze of your cunt so soon.

“W-what?” you sniffle. Your brain is foggy from whatever concoction they gave you, incapable of piecing together your predicament.

He grasps your chin firmly, forcing your glazed stare to focus on him. “Onii-chan,” he repeats with a harsh snap of his hips.

You squirm, trying to turn to Yuuji for help, unaware of the tears carving hot rivulets down your cheeks. But Choso won’t let you go. His heavy frame eclipses yours, trapping you in place. “We’re family,” he huffs, fucking you steadily, umber strands falling to curtain his face.

“Everything we do, we do together. You have both been—nnghhh—selfish. It’s time to make it up to onii-chan.” 

[transpierced]

strahm fans are funny to me because every so often a gifset of the same three scenes of him will drop and without fail every single peterhead on this site immediately makes a beeline for the reblog button so they can diagnose him with pretty princess disorder (incurable) and talk about needing to handfeed him crack cocaine like he's a starving horse with behavioral problems and they're the first gentle touch he's ever felt

[mamawasatesttube]

the thing about generally-accepted broad fanon batfam dynamics is that even if you disregard the complete stripping of all nuance in order to make a perfectly nuclear family with no lasting or significant conflict etc etc, half of it is all just built on vaguely (or explicitly) racist stereotypes anyway, like .......... ah yes the little half arab boy is a violent feral gremlin who can't fit in with refined polite society. the half east asian girl is the golden child who never speaks and is good at everything and has no flaws because she's the favorite who holds the family together. the romani one is a slut. LIKE. okay...!

[fvedyetor]

american sigzai

[piratekane]

Kate pauses, the coffee pot titled over her to-go mug as the freshly-brewed dark roast starts to fill it. “Another undercover assignment? For both of us?” Lucy carefully takes the pot from Kate, leveling it off before all 8 ounces end up on the counter. “Cool, right? A joint undercover operation. Thelma and Lousie, teaming up to take on the bad guys.”

i do, you do, we do - the imagined opening and closing scenes of NCIS: Hawai'i season 3, episode 4 (aka The Newlyweds episode).

[jacksprostate]

Treatise on why No, the doctor just giving the narrator of Fight Club (full name) his requested sleep medication or sending him to therapy would not have Fixed Him

Firstly, saying giving him the insomnia meds would’ve fixed him ignores the reason he has insomnia in the first place. He is so deeply upset by his place in society that he literally cannot sleep. Drugging him to sleep would not change that. That, of course, is the easy, quick response.

But with regard to therapy? The biggest flaw is that it ignores a central tenet of the book. Part of what tortures the narrator and drives him to invent Tyler is that his feelings about this collective, systemic issue are constantly reduced to a Just Him thing. His seatmates ask what his company is. He’s the only one upset at the office. He gets weird looks if he says the truth of what he does. People will do anything in their power to pretend he is the issue, as an individual, because it is far scarier to consider the full implications of the systemic issues implied by what he is saying. Everyone treats it as if the issue is him, so he goes insane. He does anything to get someone to say, holy shit, that’s fucked up, what you’re a part of is wrong. In an attempt to feel any sort of vague sympathy and catharsis, he goes to support groups to pretend to be dying, because then at least people don’t habitually blame him for his anguish. 

Saying therapy would fix him ignores that his problems are not individual. They are collective. It’s the reason the entire story resonates with people! Something deeply, unignorably wrong with society, where people would rather blame you for bringing it up than try and address it, because it feels impossible. I don’t blame people for this, really, because it IS scary. It’s terrifying to sit and feel like you’ve realized there’s something deeply, deeply wrong, but if you say something, people will get mad at you since it’s so baked into everything around you. Or, even if they agree, it’s easier to deal with the dissonance by pretending it’s individual.

And it’s not like that’s not the purpose therapy and medications largely serve, anyway. Getting into dangerous territory for this website, but ultimately, the reason the narrator was seeking medication was because it’s a bandaid. A very numbing bandaid. For these very large, dissonance causing problems, therapy does very little. Medications do what they always have, and distract you with numbness or side effects. It’s a false solution. He is seeking an individualized false solution because he has been browbeaten with the idea that this is an issue with him alone, when it's plainly clear it's not. 

Don't get me wrong. Obviously he has something wrong with him. But it's a product of his situation. It is a fictional exaggeration of a very real occurrence of mental illness provoked by deep unconscionable dissonance and anguish.  There is a clear correlation between what happens and his mental state and his job and how isolated he is. 

The thing is, even if he were chemically numbed, I do think he would’ve lost it regardless. Many people on meds find they don’t fix things. For reasons I’ll get into, but in this case because even if numbed or distracted, once you’ve learned about deep, far reaching corruption in society, it’s very hard to forget. Especially if, in his case, you literally serve as the acting hand of this particular variety. He’s crawling up the walls. 

So why do people say this?  Well, it's funny I guess. Maybe the first time or whatever. But also, often, they believe it, to a degree. Maybe they've just been told how effective therapy and meds are for mental illness, they believe wholeheartedly in The Disease Model of Mental Illness, maybe they themselves have engaged with either and have considered it successful. Maybe they or someone they know has been 'saved' by such treatments. 

But in all honesty.... What therapy can help with is mentality, it's how you approach problems. For issues on a smaller scale, not meaning they are easier to deal with my any degree, but ones that are not raw and direct from deep awareness of corruption; these are things that can be worked through if you get lucky and get an actually good therapist who helps build up your resiliency. But when your issue is concrete, something large and inescapable? It's useless. At best it can help you develop coping mechanisms, but there is a limit for that. There is a point where that fails. To develop the ability to handle something like this requires intense development of a comfort with ambiguity and dissonance and being isolated and a firm positioning of your purpose and values and and belief in wonder and all the other shit I ramble about. The things that the narrator lacks, which lead him to taking an ineffectual death knell anarchist self-destruction path. Therapy, where the narrator is, full of the knowledge of braces melted to seats and all the people that have to allow this to happen? It fails. 

And meds — meds are a fucking scam. We know the working mechanism of basically none of them, the serotonin receptor model was made up and paid its way into prominence. We have very little evidence they're any better than placebo, and they come with genuinely horrific side effects. Maybe you got lucky. I did, on some meds. On others? I don't remember 2018. The pharmaceutical industry is also known for rampant medical ghostwriting, and for creating 'off-label' uses for drugs that have gained too many protests in their original use, then creating a cult of use to then have 'grassroots' campaigns for it to be made a label use (ie, legitimize their ghostwritten articles with guided anecdotes). 

The DSM itself is basically a marketing segregation plot. It's an attempt to legitimize the disease model by isolating subgroups of symptoms to propose individualized treatments for subgroups that are not necessarily all that separate. But if the groups exist, you can prescribe more and different medications, no? Not to mention, if you use the disease model, you can propose that these diseases are permanent, or permanent until treated, considered more and more severe to offset and justify the horrific side effects of the medications. Do you know why male birth control doesn't really exist? Same reason. They can justify all the horrible side effects for women, because the other option is pregnancy. For men, it's nothing. 

And they're not bothering to invent new drugs without side effects. When they invent new drugs it's just because the last one got too bad of a name, or they can enter a new market. Modern drugs don't work any better than gen1 drugs. They still have horrific side effects. At best, the industry will shit out studies saying the old one was flawed (truth) so they can say this new gen will be better (lie). They're doing it with ssris right now. 

Fundamentally, the single proposed benefit of any of these drugs is that they numb you. To whatever is torturing you. It's harder to be depressed if you can't feel it, or if you just can't muster the same outrage. Of course, there is people who find that numbness to be helpful, or worth it. But often, it's stasis. For the people who have problems that can be worked on, it serves as a stopgap to not actually work on said problems. The natural outcome of the disease model is stagnation for those whose need is to develop skills and resiliency. It keeps them medicalized and dependent on the idea that they're diseased and incapable. Profitable. Stuck in the womb. 

I’ve been there. It’s easier, to wallow, and resist growth because it’s difficult and painful and unfair and cruel and you can think of five billion reasons to justify your languishing. But don’t listen to anyone who tells you you’re just permanently damaged, no matter how nicely they word it, no identity or novel pathologization, no matter how many benefits they promise, especially if they swear up and down some lovely expensive medications with little solid backing and plentiful off-label usage and side effects that’ll kill you. Some days it feels like they want us all stuck in pods, agoraphobic and addicted to the ads they feed us to isolate the markets for the drugs they’ve trained us to beg them to pump us with. Polarization making it as easy as flashing blue light for go, red like for stop, or vice versa. I worry about the kids, for fucks sake. That’s a bit dark and intense, and I apologize. But I want you (generic) to understand, there is a profit motive. Behind everything. And they do not mean well. They do not care about your mental health or your rights or your personhood or your growth. They care about how they can profit off of you.

For those struggling with immovable, society problems, like the narrator grappling with how his job fits into and is accepted by society while his rejection and horror in the face of it does not, it can work about as well as any other drug addiction. Your mileage may vary. From what I've seen, recovering from being on prozac for a long time can be worse than alcohol. They put kids on this shit. They keep campaigning for more. Off label, again. A pharmaceutical company’s favorite thing to do has to be to spread rumors of someone who knows someone who said an off label use of this drug helps with this little understood condition. Or, in the case of mental illness, questionably defined condition. And like, damn, I know I'm posting on the 'medicalization is my identity' website so no one will like all this and has probably stopped reading by now, but yall should be exposed to at least one person who doubts this stuff. Doesn't just trust it. Because I mean, that's the thing right?

It's so big. What would it mean, for this all to be true? Yeah, everyone says pharmaceutical companies are evil and predatory and ghostwriting, but to think about what that really entails. Coming back to the book, everyone knows the car lobby is huge and puts dangerous vehicles through that kill people. What does it mean if the car companies all hire people to calculate the cost of a recall and the cost of lawsuits? No one wants to think about the scale that means for people allowing it or the systems that have to be geared towards money, not safety like they say. Hell, even Chuck misses the beat and has the narrator threaten his boss with the Department of Transportation. And shit, man, if every company is doing this, you think Transportation doesn't know? That they give a fuck? You're better off mailing all the evidence to the news outlets and hoping they only character assassinate you a little bit as they release the news in a way that says it's all the fault of little workers like you, not the whole system. Something something, David McBride, any whistleblower you feel like, etc. 

So I don't blame you, if your reaction is "but but but, that can't be right, people wouldn't do it, they wouldn't allow it" or just an overwhelming feeling of dread that pushes you to deny all of this and avoid thinking about it. Just know, that's in the book. That's all the seatmates on the flights. That's all his fellow officemates. It's easier to pretend, I know.

But think about, how the response fits in with the themes of the book. The story, as a movie too. What drives the narrator’s mental breakdown? How would you handle being in his position? How would you handle being his seatmate? It’s easy to say you’d listen. But have you? Have you had any soul wrenching betrayals of how you thought society worked? How about a betrayal by the thing that promised to be the fix of the first? Can you honestly say you wouldn’t follow that gut instinct, saying follow what everyone says, that person must just be crazy, evil, rude, cruel, whatever it is that means you can set what they said aside?

For a lot of people, they can do that, I guess. Set it aside. Reaching that aforementioned state of managing to cope with the dissonance and ambiguity and despair is very hard. The narrator made the Big Realization, but he couldn’t cope. He self-destructed. Even when people don’t make the big realization consciously, they’re already self-destructing. It’s hard to escape it when it feels easier than continuing anyway. When it feels like the only option,

Would therapy fix the narrator of Fight Club? Would meds fix the narrator of Fight Club? No. He knows too much. All meds will do, by the time he’s in the psych ward, is spiritually neuter him. A silly phrase, but really. Take the wind out of his sails. 

Is he fixed if he doesn’t try to blow up town? If he just shuts up and settles in and stops costing money? If he still can’t cope with the things he’s unearthed? Do you see how this is a commentary in a commentary in a commentary?

Fight Club is an absolutely fascinating story because of this. The fact that it addresses the fallout of knowing. The isolation. The hopelessness. The spiral that results from a lack of hope. This is, I think, what resonates most with people, even if not consciously. Going insane because you’ve discovered something you wish you could unknow. It’s a classic horror story. Should our society be lovecraftian evil? I don’t think so. 

Do I think changing it will be easy? No. Lord knows a lot exists to push people who make these sorts of Realizations towards feelings of individuality and individualized solutions and denial and other distractions and coping methods. And to prevent people who make One realization from expanding on it and considering further ramifications. Fight Club itself gets into this; the isolation of men being a strict part of the role society shapes for their sex leaves them very vulnerable to death fetishes, in a sense, and generally towards self destructive violence. It helps funnel them away from substantial change and towards ineffectual change. Many things, misogyny, racism, serve to keep people isolated from one another, individualized, angry, and impossible to work with. Market segregation; god knows even appealing on those fronts has become such a classic ploy that companies do it now, the US military frames its plundering that way, etc. 

I’ve wandered a bit but ultimately, my point is this: Fight Club is a love letter to the horrors of critical thinking, and the importance of not falling into the trap of self destruction and hopelessness in the face of it. The latter is why Tyler was an anarchoterrorist instead of anything useful. The latter is why it was a death cult. It’s important to work through the horrors of critical thinking so you can do it, and stand on the other side ready to believe in each other. It’s worth it.

[coffin-spider]

[dailyashleighraichu]

In honor of @punkitt-is-here getting this meme on know your meme, I guess I'll actually post my version I did a while ago LOL congrats cap'n you deserve it

[pushing500]

Euclid, that tea is for the psychite-dependant biliog colonis— Oh, who cares? Go ahead. There's plenty to share.

A Tale of Tea and Tuques. Nothing can stop Euclid from being the best tailor in the rim, not even a mental-break-induced addiction.

Nobody likes this place

Sorry you had to become a toddler in a place like this, Bluegum. Hopefully we can figure something out soon.

Crowded around a fire in our sleeping bags and steel cribs, huddling up with the animals for warmth... What a life.

Now, as I'm posting this, we've still got an hour-and-a-bit on the last poll about the end of the series, but I noticed some people in the comments with some suggestions, so I'm making a new poll here just to gauge people's thoughts:

Thank you for your input! <3

First | Next | Previous

[wraithsoutlaws]

"Days with you are just...better."

[bedrotboy]

im just curious bc idk many trans guys and idk what ppl do. also do most of us drop out of college or is that just who i interact with lol

also if ur something niche w a degree pls say what :0

[kingcrim]

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

I also think it's really interesting how they chose to address Holmes's substance abuse in Granada's Devil's Foot (because if I remember correctly, it's not this way in canon, there it's just stated that Holmes was exhausted and needed to recover). So they first show Holmes using (or preparing to use), then swearing off the drugs, but later in the episode he goes through a literal horror trip when he's under the influence of the devil's foot.

And I cannot help but wonder ... Holmes has a strong will, and he has decided to forsake the drugs. But there's this strange powder on the lamp, and this is for science, and he knows he will likely experience horrors beyond this comprehension, but he's been in a strange, muted state of despair during his stay in Cornwall anyway, and he's curious, and maybe he just needs to get out of his skin.

So there he goes. He needs to know and someone needs to try it, so it's the only logical solution. And despite everything, he's still careless.

When I first watched this sequence, I wasn't such a fan, but the longer I think about it, the more I think it's very cleverly done. They manage to bring up a lot of things that are haunting Holmes, and maybe even to make a meta commentary on the story (or that's just me overinterpreting things as usual).

He's clearly HIGH. He's running. He's approaching a grave, death. Then he's not. Cut to the swirling water. Holmes has been dead before, perished at the Reichenbach Falls. He was dead because he was dead in Watson's writing. It has been implied heavily before in the episode that he was sick and thinking about death. Watson has warned him, and if he continues like this, he might as well be running into his own death for real.

Take a closer look through the magnifying glass. Holmes. This is a self-examination. Still the swirling water. Holmes's younger self. No. Moriarty rushing up to him. (There have been remarks on the similarity between the two.) Then ... I don't know. Hell. Horror. Water. Blood on his face, from his eyes. Seeing and observing is Holmes's way to perceive the world, to make sense of it, so if he's losing his eyes, he's losing his mind. A shot-reverse-shot like montage of Holmes leaning against the tomb, and a distorted memory of Moriarty's face. He's falling and he can't get out of his head and he's losing control and he's falling and falling -

And then ... John.

[smilesrobotlover]

Volunteer

Just gonna post the other fic I mentioned. Now fair warning, this is a HEAVY one. Very dark and not for the faint of heart, so please head the warnings.

Warnings: nonconsensual touching, experimentation, cutting, needles, kidnapping, drugging, blood, and injury.

The men had been walking in an open plain for days now, with no signs of civilization to be seen for miles. Fortunately, the path was flat, so it was easy on the ones that weren’t used to traveling by foot. It was just so long, and there was nowhere to hide if they were to be attacked by monsters. It stressed Leon out the longer they were out here.

The others didn’t complain too much though; they were grateful for the kind terrain and chatted with each other as they walked. Leon however remained silent, searching for anything that could endanger them. When the group reached a small group of trees with small hills around it, Leon figured it’d be a good place to stop.

“Let’s set up camp here,” he said, observing a tree. The trees weren’t thick enough to produce good shade, but it was better than nothing. “We’re more covered here, so hopefully any monsters will pass us by.”

“Wow, Leon is stopping before sundown?” Rusl teased, leaning against a tree across from the first knight. Leon frowned.

“I doubt we’ll find a place like this again, so we might as well take advantage of it,” Leon explained, glaring at him. “Besides, we’ve been walking for a while. Might as well rest our feet.”

“Aw, so you do care,” Linebeck jumped in, and Leon rolled his eyes.

“Oh good goddesses, I’m not a monster! I’d never push you past your limits!”

The men remained silent.

“I-I don’t push anyone past their limits! Do I?”

Talon shrugged. “Well you ain’t as bad as you were before.”

Benji and Linebeck snorted and the rest of the men started teasing Leon. He huffed and spun around.

“Oh whatever,” he grumbled, turning away, “I’m going to scout the area to make sure we are safe. Hang tight.”

“Now hold on, you really shouldn’t go alone,” Rusl called out to him, but Leon waved his concerns away.

“I won’t be too far, I’ll holler if I need you.”

“Oh for Din’s sake, Leon—“ Rusl started, but Leon was already gone, jogging to the hills.

It didn’t take long to get on top of the first hill. Fortunately he took off his armor a while ago so he didn’t have unnecessary weight dragging him down. From what he saw on top of it, there was nothing, not even monsters. He was surprised at how empty the place was, and he wondered how many people avoided this place due to the vastness. As he walked along the ridge of the hill, however, he spotted a small, almost hidden trail tucked between two smaller hills across from him. He frowned and started to jog down the hill, curious as to where that trail led to. It was clearly not a well worn trail like the one he and the others were traveling on due to it being well hidden, but he wondered why it was there, and what was special about the hills. As he got closer, he started to hear whimpering. It was a woman crying from what he could hear, and he sprinted up the hill, spotting a traveler on the ground, holding her leg painfully.

“Oh dear,” he muttered, and he slid down the hill, right to where she was laying. She gasped when he was at her side, but relaxed when she knew she was in no danger. The woman was very small and petite, with raven black hair the contrasted her pale skin. Immediately Leon noticed that despite her cries, there were no tears on her face, but he brushed that aside, kneeling to be on her level.

“A-are you a traveler?” She asked, and Leon nodded.

“Yes. What happened here?”

“I… I was walking and I twisted my ankle, I can barely walk on it,” she cried dramatically, gripping her shin with her hand. Leon frowned and gently peeled her fingers away to check on the ankle.

“Alright, don’t worry, I can get you help,” he said softly, gently pulling her shoe off so he could get a better view. He pulled her sock down slightly to finally reveal the ankle and frowned. For a twisted ankle, it looked perfectly fine. No bruising, no swelling, nothing. Leon supposed a twisted ankle was better than a sprained ankle and therefore wouldn’t look injured, but he figured he needed to bring her to Talon to check on it. The woman was smiling at him when he looked up, but it wasn’t a grateful smile that would have been expected from someone like her. It was a smile that made his skin crawl, and he set her foot down, straightening his back.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

“Um… I’m… my name is Leon,” he said, suddenly feeling nervous around her.

“Leon? Oh wonderful. Thank you for volunteering.”

“Volunteering—?” Leon heard the footsteps behind him one second too late, and he was suddenly grabbed with one arm around his neck. A cloth was shoved into his face where a sweet smell assaulted his nostrils. He fought back and was able to tear the cloth off his face, but he was quickly pinned to the ground by a masked stranger, who shoved the cloth in his face again. Leon grabbed at the mask, attempting to tear it off, but black spots began to appear in his vision, and he felt his limbs grow heavy. He let out a muffled cry in an attempt to get his friends’ attention, but being surrounded by hills, it was futile. His arm was torn off the mask and pinned to the ground, but he had no strength to fight back. Darkness began to surround him and the last thing he saw before falling unconscious was the masked stranger and the woman smiling at him.

~~~

“… which room…. in?”

“This one will…. take off…”

Leon’s senses began to return to him, and he felt himself being held up by both his arms as he was dragged through a dark hallway. A person was leading the way, entering a room where he and the two people holding him followed. Leon still felt groggy, and he hardly noticed when they took off his shirt and shoes. He was lifted onto a table, and the cold air woke him up enough to realize what was going on. There was another masked stranger at his side and he swung his left arm at them. There was a satisfying crack from where his hand met the mask, and the individual stumbled back in shock. Leon shot up and tried to jump off the table, but several hands grabbed him, holding him down.

“Quickly, tie him down!” He heard a woman say. Leon grunted as he tried to break free, but the men that were holding him down were strong, and they were successful in strapping him to the table. His wrists were strapped next to his waist, where another strap was tied down to the table. Straps held down his ankles and as he tried to sit up, one more strap went across his chest, keeping him stuck. He thrashed around, trying to escape, but to no avail. He looked around him, finally taking in the room and the masked strangers. The room was brightly lit from strange bulb-like plants stuck to the walls, making everything look a sickly white. The men that attacked him wore masks that had an upside-down eye symbol on them, and they wore hoods that put their white masks into shadows. The woman came into view, her black hair hanging around her eyes, which were staring at him as if he were a prize she just won. He glared at her, trying to break his hands free.

“You—where am I?” He yelled, and the woman smiled more.

“Oh I hit the jackpot,” she murmured, ignoring his question. Her hands started to trace over his arms, her eyes bright. “What a strong man.” Her hands found themselves at his bare chest, he squirmed as they traveled down to his abdomen.

“Stop touching me,” Leon snarled, his teeth gritted, but she continued to ignore him. She tilted her head at his scar on his side, and she poked the middle of the scar harshly, causing him to flinch.

“Still hurts?” She giggled, and Leon glared at her. The woman leaned in and started to play with his hair. “You are perfect.”

Her hand moved to his face, and when it got close enough, Leon bit down as hard as he could. She yelped and jumped back, holding her hand painfully. The masked strangers charged at him, but she held up her uninjured hand, stopping them.

“A feisty one, isn’t he?” She said breathlessly, rubbing her hand. “I can't wait to see how he looks on the inside.”

“Should we gag him?” One of the masked ones suggested, but she shook her head.

“Oh no, you know how much I love to hear them scream.”

Panic spiked through Leon for a moment. What was she going to do to him? Rusl’s warning of not searching alone echoed through his mind, and he internally kicked himself. Why was he so stupid? The woman stared amused as he squirmed in his restraints before looking up at the men and nodding, the group dispensing as they started to grab things.

“My good sir, you’re probably wondering what is going on. We are scientists who conduct experiments for medical purposes. Your cooperation will help save hundreds of people.”

“I didn’t ask for this!” Leon spat, once again trying to squirm out of his restraints. The woman only smiled.

“Do not worry, love. This won’t last long.” She glanced up when a masked stranger arrived with a long needle. Leon felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach began doing flips. The woman giggled at his reaction as the masked one straightened out his arm and started poking at his elbow. “Scared of needles?” She teased lightly. Leon glared at her but didn’t say anything. A sharp pain went through his elbow and panic shot through him again. He began to breathe heavily as the needle stayed inside his arm, terrified to move it.

“You’re so brave,” the woman taunted, and Leon glared at her again. The edges of his vision suddenly became blurry, and he saw her grab a scalpel, observing it as unconsciousness once again began to take hold of him. “Let’s see what makes you tick.”

~~~

Leon’s torso was on fire. It took a moment for consciousness to fully return to him, but the pain from his chest was the first thing that came to him. He struggled to breathe, his throat feeling like it was closed up, and he instinctively went to rub his chest, but the restraints at his wrists stopped him. The woman was hunched over him, staring at his chest intently. She noticed him and mumbled some things but Leon couldn’t hear her. He wanted to scream in pain, he wanted to writhe away from whatever was causing him pain, but he couldn’t move. Another sharp pain went through his other arm, and he gasped, except it was more of a gargled sputter. Something metallic covered his entire mouth—was it blood? He felt the liquid clog up his mouth, and he sat there drowning in his own fluids.

His vision went blurry as he choked on whatever was in his mouth, the pain on his torso making him feel lightheaded. The woman came into view and she barked some orders out as he laid there dying, and he barely felt hands on him. He felt himself get jostled and turned on his side, and the blood poured out of his mouth, finally allowing him to cough and breathe. Leon coughed for a long time, taking in precious air that he didn’t have before. He heaved in silence for a moment, his hands finally reaching his chest, looking down to see what was wrong with it. There was blood all over him, and yet…

The pain was gone. His torso and neck stopped hurting, and he was able to breathe again. Goddesses, he even felt… normal. He looked up and saw the woman grinning ear to ear.

“It worked!” She cheered. She nodded at another masked stranger and he walked up to Leon, popping a powdered substance into the air, which he breathed in accidentally. Leon blinked harshly and shook his head. Goddesses couldn’t he catch a break?

“What’s your name?” The woman asked. Leon’s senses suddenly became dulled, and he looked around him, confusion filling him. Where was he again?

“What’s your name?” She repeated, and Leon squinted. This woman… she… is she friendly? What’d she ask? His name? He should say it right?

“L-Leon?” He said, his words slurring.

“Good good, so your brain is still intact,” she cooed. “Well Leon, you’ve been wonderful to work with. We’ll put you right back where we found you.”

Leon frowned. Right back where she found him? Where was he before this? She smiled patiently at him and he nodded. It was the polite thing to do, right? His arms were grabbed and he was led off the table. He stumbled slightly, but with the hands on his arms, he didn’t fall.

“I’ll let you know if we need you again!” The woman called out as he left the room, and Leon was once again dragged through the hallway.

~~~

He didn’t realize he was walking. There didn’t seem to be a purpose in his march. Where was he going? He was staring at the dry grass and rocks he walked onto, no thought going through his mind. Even when he stepped on a sharp rock, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t feel the pain for some reason.

“Leon.”

He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping off his nose as he walked. Goddesses he was hot. Was he in a desert?

“Leon!”

He stumbled slightly when he tripped over a rock, and he finally stopped, staring at the ground for a long moment. Why was he staring?

“Goddesses, Leon!”

Someone grabbed him and whirled him around. He nearly fell over again, but whoever was holding him kept him steady. It took a moment, but he recognized Linebeck, a worried look on his face. He looked him up and down, his eyes studying his chest for a moment, a disgusted look on his face. His eyes traveled back up to his own, his thumb caressing his cheek slightly.

“What happened to you? You were missing for hours!” He finally said, his voice thick with worry.. Leon squinted. Missing? He was missing? Where did he go?

“What were you doing?” Linebeck asked impatiently when Leon stared blankly at him.

“I… w-was walking,” he mumbled, staring at the ground again.

Linebeck was frowning as he looked him over. “Are you ok?”

Leon nodded enthusiastically.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

Leon nodded enthusiastically again. Linebeck gave him an annoyed look.

“You don’t understand what I’m saying, do you?”

Leon paused, but once again nodded enthusiastically. Linebeck rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around his shoulder, leading him somewhere.

“Let’s get you back,” he glanced down at Leon again and gave him a look. “Where are your clothes?”

Leon looked down. He wasn’t wearing his shirt. Why… How funny. He exploded into a fit of giggles, toppling over in Linebeck’s arms. Linebeck swore under his breath as he caught him, holding him tightly against his body. Leon continued to laugh, tears streaming down his face.

“Goddesses, what the heck is wrong with you?” Linebeck grumbled, gripping onto Leon’s waist to hold him up. Leon glanced down and squeezed Linebeck’s arm lightly.

“I didn’t know you… were such a s…strong man,” Leon slurred, tracing his fingers along his arms. Linebeck’s face turned red, his green eyes wide as he blinked at him.

“I—wh—you—“ Linebeck sputtered, but he couldn’t form a coherent sentence together. He opened his mouth to try again, but grunting interrupted him.

“What’s goin’ on?” He heard a voice say.

“Something is seriously wrong with him.” Linebeck explained, clearly anxious to hand Leon off to someone else. Leon wavered for a moment, wanting to lay fully on Linebeck—whether it was because he was tired or because he wanted to mess with him, he didn’t know—so he suddenly went limp, and Linebeck cussed again, this time not being able to catch him. Leon was laughing hysterically now, his stomach sore from giggling so much. He saw another person, Talon, enter his vision.

“What the hell…?” He muttered, and Leon pointed at him.

“That is not an appropriate thing to say,” Leon teased, breaking into a fit of laughter again.

Linebeck and Talon glanced at each other, and Talon sighed.

“Alright, let’s bring him back,” he said, grabbing his arm and swinging him over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing. Leon hung there, going silent now, continuing to stare at the grass beneath him.

~~~

Leon jolted awake. He was under blankets in a tent, a damp cloth resting on his forehead. It felt like he was in death mountain, with sweat clearly coating his entire body. He groaned and tore the blankets off of him, tossing the cloth off his head. Sitting up fortunately wasn’t a challenge for him, but his chest and stomach was killing him. He looked down at himself, and for some reason, he was expecting an injury or a scar, but the only scar there was the one from his son. His eyes traveled to his elbows. No bruise or mark on either of them, but they felt sore. In fact, his entire body felt sore. What happened?

“Leon!”

He looked up to see Talon holding a bowl of water. Relief swept through him to see a friend and he rested on his arms, letting out a breath.

“We were so worried about you!” Talon sat down, handing him the bowl. “Are you thirsty?”

The dryness of his mouth suddenly assaulted him, and he took the bowl from Talon, chugging it until it was all gone. He let out a sigh when he was finished, wiping his mouth. Goddesses he felt terrible.

“What happened to you?” Talon asked, his brows pinched together. “Linebeck found you walking mindlessly across the plain with nothing on but your pants! You were covered in blood too, but no injuries! Except for your feet, those are gonna need some time to recover.”

Leon frowned and pulled his feet out from under his blanket, hissing as they stung from being rubbed against the blanket. They were cleaned up with some bandages, but some scratches and bruises remained. He groaned and rested his head against his hands, trying to remember what happened.

“Are you ok?” Talon finally asked, rubbing his back.

“I… I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He tried to remember what happened before everything. “What happened?”

“That’s what I’m askin’. You left to scout ahead and then you went missing! We spent so long lookin’ for you!”

He went to scout ahead… right… he found a woman, and she…

What did she do? Why couldn’t he remember?

“I-I found a woman and…” Leon hoped that explaining what he did remember, he would be able to jog his memory. But no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn’t remember what happened with her.

“Were you… kidnapped?” Talon pressed, and Leon sighed.

“I… maybe? I think… I… I can’t remember.”

Talon frowned. “Ok. Um… are you in pain anywhere?”

Leon closed his eyes. “Yes, my elbows and… my middle,” Leon gestured to the inside of his elbows, then drew a line with his finger down his middle. There were instances of an aching pain in those areas, yet Leon didn’t know what could’ve caused him pain there.

“Anywhere else?”

Leon rested his head against his hand, shifting around to see if anything else hurt. “I suppose my feet, but I do remember injuring those.”

“Hm, weird,” Talon muttered. They were silent for a moment until the tent door opened and Linebeck entered in. He got on his knees and scooted to the two men, worriedly staring at Leon.

“Are you…. Sober?” He asked, and Leon rolled his eyes, annoyed. Linebeck snorted slightly and smiled at Talon. “Well that answers my question.”

Talon chuckled and rubbed Leon’s shoulder. “I think he’s back in Hyrule now.”

“Oh good,” Linebeck smiled more genuinely at Leon. “Let me tell you, I’ve seen some pretty terrifying things, but nothing is more scary than hearing you giggle.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. He didn’t remember giggling. Talon chuckled again.

“It was pretty scary. You’re as stoic and serious as stone face, yet here you were, a bumbling mess!”

Leon smiled slightly. “Well, I’m glad you both found me. I owe you my life. Thank you.”

“Oh, Linebeck deserves all the credit,” Talon lightly teased, nudging Linebeck’s shoulder as he groaned. “He was the one who found you!”

“Oh please—“

“He’s a hero! He didn’t rest until you were found!”

“Talon! I—“

“Threatened to kill anyone who got in his way!” Talon continued as Linebeck glared, giving up on silencing him. Leon smiled.

“Being humble, Linebeck? I didn’t know you could do that,” he teased, and Linebeck huffed.

“You people are so annoying.”

The two men chuckled. It felt good to laugh. Leon felt like he had been under extreme stress for days. He let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes.

“Are you good? What happened?” Linebeck asked.

“That’s what we’re tryin’ to figure out,” Talon said. “Leon doesn’t remember what happened.”

Linebeck’s eyes widened. “Really? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised based on the state I found you in but… nothing? Nothing at all?”

Leon shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. I remember a woman but… I can’t tell if I imagined her or if she was real or…” he sighed. “I don’t know.”

Linebeck hummed. “Benji thinks that you ate plants that made you high. But you were covered in blood when I found you, so I don’t believe that.”

“Leon would also never eat random plants,” Talon added.

“Benji would be the one to eat a random plant,” Leon muttered, and Linebeck snorted.

“Are we sure you’re sober? Because you’re not insufferable to talk to!”

Leon gave him a look. “I can be insufferable if you keep that up.”

“There he is,” Linebeck said with a smirk. “There’s the Leon I know and love.”

Leon couldn’t help but smirk back.

“Alright, well you should get some more rest then,” Talon said after a moment of silence. “You probably need it, and hopefully it’ll… I don’t know… job your memory or somethin’.”

Leon frowned. “I don’t know, I… if I was attacked or something, I don’t think we’ll be safe out here—“

“Oh we’ll be fine. You want to know why?” Linebeck asked, a teasing smile on his face. Leon only stared at him unamused. “Because we’re together.”

Leon groaned, rubbing his face as Linebeck nodded.

“Honestly, If you run off again on your own I think Rusl will try to kill you.”

Leon sighed. “Yes, I’m sorry, but it’s not like I try to go missing!”

“Well next time you try to scout ahead, take one of us with ya!” Talon suggested, bumping into Linebeck lightly. “I’m sure Linebeck would love to go with you!”

Leon frowned. “I’d rather be kidnapped honestly.”

“Ouch.”

Leon smirked and began to lay back, exhaustion beginning to get the best of him.

“Alright, you get some rest, I’ll tell the others that you’re ok,” Talon said, helping him get comfortable. Leon gave him a grateful smile, his heavy eyelids falling, and he was once again swept into unconsciousness.

[soup-is-here]

Mouthwashing Spoilers

TW: Addiction and Self Harm

I wanna go on about Swansea's final monologue but it's hard to put into words, but I'm gonna try anyways cause it's a short, but strong story about autonomy again. This post ended up significantly longer than I wanted though

It's the autonomy to choose the "less healthy" option because it's appealing to you. It's the moral assignment to normality and stability. An alcoholic is an alcoholic by choice, technically, but do they owe us otherwise? Is it morally reprehensible to enjoy taking LSD at a party? Should we see someone as less than because they relax with a xanax instead of a hot shower? It's not healthy. We know that. We've seen anti-drug ad after ad after ad. But is that the part that's morally wrong, in and of itself? Does enjoying the drugs and chaos make Swansea a worse person?

Like him talking about his entire life and ending it by saying between the "stable" "normal" life and him waking up every morning with a new hangover, he preferred the latter. People always talk about getting clean and fixing their lives and Swansea did it! He did the thing "good men" do! A wife and kids and a trade job and sobriety! He was doing it! He was finally "worth" something!

And he hated it! I mean I don't know if he actually hated/despised it, but he misses his previous life. He misses drugs and partying and living like you might not wake up the next day. He said the thing that changed him was seeing himself dead in a ditch under the bright beam of a streetlight. Now he's looking down the barrel of a gun. And as he looks down it, he looks back. That was his preference. It felt good to be like that. And he wouldn't be here if he stayed there

We always have a narrative about drugs or gambling or sleeping around where a person suddenly realizes that they aren't "doing anything" with their life and becomes stable and it's always played like addiction is a false pleasure. Swansea got to the stability people said would be the real pleasure of life and that just wasn't true for him. One bad paycheck could've been the difference between his stable life and falling apart anyways. His lifestyle was going to kill him someday apparently, yet he's staring down the barrel of a gun at his steady trade job to feed his wife and kids.

I don't know quite how to word it but Swansea is the poster child for rehabilitation. There's this weight to him saying his alcoholic period was the best time of his life. Like it just hits at that pang that makes people wear DARE shirts while smoking weed and post those videos of smoking 100 cigarettes at once. Anti-vaping ads tell you about the damage they do to your body but everyone knows that already. Everyone knows "this is what your brain looks like on drugs." I smoke medical marijuana and it isn't good for my lungs but it's good for my pain. Doing drugs isn't good for me and I know that and that's sorta the point sometimes.

I don't know it's just this weird pang where I know what Swansea means, just not to nearly the same extent. I don't have an addiction so I don't think I could fully understand it. Maybe a better thing I could relate it to for myself is self harm. It's not healthy sure, but who do I owe health? Myself? Other people? And what is healthy? Is it feeling better now? Is it resisting now and feeling worse for it until it stops? What if the coping skills I learn make it worse? What if they make it better? Do I want it to get better? Does Swansea want to get better? What would better feel like to either of us?

Who knows until you try. Swansea got a collared shirt, a mortgage, and a credit card. He got a job and a wife and kids. He got sober. He got healthier, depending on your definition.

But did he feel better? He's looking down a barrel of a gun and he has to decide if he feels better. It doesn't seem like he regrets his new life. He says he wants his kids to be better than him. He wants good things to happen for them. He saw himself as one bad slip away from falling again. I don't think he felt better though. I think he got healthier. He likely would've ended up in the ditch he dreamt about, but we don't know that. We also don't know if that's what he'd prefer. But, we do know he got healthier, depending on your definition.