#fuck maybe even trip on shrooms

[rosicheeks]

💖

[snekdood]

so august 2018 is when my peak being-crazy-made art craziness happened, huh

[annebd]

this is not!fic. it’s just been bouncing around my head for a while now and i needed to get it out.

daniel is a professional trip sitter. he’s officially a licensed psychotherapist, but that’s more of a side effect of the trip sitting. he kind of fell into it by accident. he had a couple of friends who got into some seriously bad shit when they were younger, and he told them that whenever they were going to partake in anything, they needed to call him so that he could make sure they were okay. they did, and he was really good at keeping them safe and keeping the vibes chill. word got around, and eventually he was trip sitting for friends of friends of friends and it became an actual thing. he got the therapy degree mostly just to make the whole thing seem more legit.

max is max. but he’s max without daniel’s influence to temper and even him out. so he’s max, but pointier. it’s the second summer break of 2024, he’s fighting for his fucking life out on track, the team is doing nothing to help him win this wdc, the media is hounding him constantly, and he’s fraying at the edges. he’s lashing out and has no idea how he’s gonna get through the next two triple headers to finish the season.

maybe rupert is the one who takes him aside one day and hands him a business card and is like “if anyone asks, i will deny this with my dying breath, but you need to calm the fuck down. please call this guy. he will help you.”

or maybe it’s martijn. they’re on a facetime and martijn is like “motherfucker, we aren’t even on the same continent and you’re stressing ME out with how high strung you are. please sort your shit out. i know a guy who knows a guy. i’ll send you his contacts. please call him. for the sake of my sanity.”

or maybe it’s both of them. and when max finally gets around to looking at the details that they gave him, he realizes that it’s the same guy. and he figures that if both rupert and martijn have independently heard of him, maybe there’s something to it.

so he calls and speaks to someone who sounds very perky and very australian and schedules a time to meet so that they can talk about the plan and stuff

they meet. something something something. the maxiel of it all.

daniel is a professional and takes his job super seriously so he knows he can’t act on these feelings at all, but omg, this is the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen in his entire life. he’s got these broad shoulders and pouty lips and the tiniest waist and the cutest lisp and he’s so grumpy, omg so grumpy, but he laughs at daniel’s dumb jokes and makes his own dumb jokes back

and max is like, immediately and irrevocably in love. end of sentence. but even he realizes that it’s probably not a great idea to try and bone the therapist who’s gonna trip sit for you. he’s not happy about it, but he gets it.

so they set it up and he drinks the tea or whatev and has the floatiest happiest bestest time and daniel is there with him and basically it’s everything he could possibly have wanted. good job, psychedelic mushrooms.

he comes down and feels amazing and thanks daniel and tips him entirely too much when he gets the invoice two days later and puts his head down to finish out the season

he wins

six months later, he’s back in LA and he calls the number on the back of the card and asks daniel if he wants to go out for a cup of tea. without the shrooms this time. <3

[bitchesuntitled]

Walk in the Park

Little Dieter drabble for the @dieterbravobrainrotclub ❤️ Thank you @sweetenerobert & @jay-zzle for giving this a look over 🥰

Pairing: Dieter & GN!Reader

Warning: Cussing

Masterlist||AO3 Link

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Fuck!”

You startle, shooting up from the bench you decided to rest at, as a man stumbles out of the bushes.

“Are you real?!” He asks panicked, scrubbing his hands along the sides of his face, twigs and leaves scattered throughout his dark messy curls, eyes hidden behind alien eye-shaped sunglasses you’ve seen at a local party store.

Great, a deranged stranger. He looks familiar but you can’t quite place him, gripping the mace on your keychain tighter. Wary of his presence.

“I just—“ he says, taking a deep breath and leaning over. Palms against his thighs as he exhales slowly, “I’m all mixed up out here. A friend of mine suggested doing shrooms and taking a walk, to get to know nature, all that bullshit. Horrible idea. Ever seen a frog up close and personal? Scary, unpredictable fuckers. Lead me astray hours ago.”

You couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for the man, having had your share of similar shrooms trips.

“Feeling okay?” You ask, deciding to take the kind route, and sitting back down. The man is dressed in soft pj pants, a threadbare shirt, crocs, and a bathrobe. Interesting choice for a trip to the park but you’ve seen worse.

“I think I’m finally coming down,” The man shrugs, “My name’s Dieter by the way,” he adds, extending his hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Dieter,” you say, grabbing his clammy hand, giving a small shake, and sharing your name.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Dieter asks, pointing at the spot next to you.

“Go right on ahead,” you nod towards the bench.

You begin making small talk, sharing bits and pieces about each other’s lives. You learn he’s an actor, which is why he looked so familiar. Award-winning actor Dieter Bravo, the trainwreck that he is. The bathrobe should have been your tip, can’t even begin to count the number of times you’d seen that featured on all the covers of gossip magazines.

“Okay, now let’s get to the hard-hitting questions,” Dieter says, clapping his hands together, the alien glasses sliding down his aquiline nose, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Negative.”

“What about soulmates?”

“Not sure yet,” you laugh, shrugging, “Never found anyone worth my time.”

“That so?” Dieter asks, eyebrows peaking above the frame of his unique sunglasses.

“What is with those ridiculous sunglasses?” you ask, unable to contain a laugh, “I cannot take you seriously. You’re supposed to be some award-winning actor, yet you’re literally wearing pajamas and costume store sunglasses shaped like alien-eyes.”

“Inspiration, my dear,” Dieter smirks, “Inspiration.”

“Inspiration?”

“Of course! It’s for my next role, I’m a scientist on the search for answers of another life form.”

“So what?” You laugh, “You take shrooms, slap on some alien glasses, take a stroll through the park, and think you’re going to find your character?”

“Next question,” Dieter says, ignoring you, “Do you believe in aliens?”

“Of course.”

“Last question,” Dieter giggles, “Wanna have sex with me?”

You sit back, biting your cheek, looking at him. The patchy scruff on his face, his nose, his hair still scattered with leaves, and the earring dangling off his earlobe.

“Take the glasses off.”

He huffs but removes them, letting you get a good look at his face without anything obstructing your view. You look at those dark orbs, pupils still a little dilated, shaking your head.

“Maybe next time” you smirk, getting up and walking away.

[star-girl69]

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: exams are crazy these next few days so expect delays in chapters 💔 but i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: murder, death, blood, knives, mentions of drugs (shrooms), kissing, mentions of sex, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Eighteen - Everything

Chapter Eighteen - Everything

—-

2021-

Shauna called you early in the morning when you had just gotten on the road, your Starbucks in your cup holder, and you had almost considered not answering it. The hunt was over, and you wanted to go home, and go back to your boring life as a Whole Foods cashier.

You wanted to go back to the normalcy you had worked so hard to make yourself accept- and this short little trip would have to be enough for the rest of your life.

Shauna had called, and she had sounded so scared, talking about her murdered lover, and at first- you really didn’t believe her. But, you turned around anyways, heading back towards the address she had sent you.

You met up with Taissa and Natalie in the parking lot, where in the elevator Taissa ended up asking for a sip of your coffee. You had shared much worse together, so what was one sip?

“Jesus Christ,” Tai spat. “Why the fuck is that so sugary?”

You put the lid of your coffee back on, shuffling around awkwardly. “I like it sweet.”

Tai shoots you a look saying she clearly doesn’t approve, and just Natalie laughs slightly, thinking about something.

The elevator dings to a stop, and Natalie walks out and bangs on the apartment door, rustic farmhouse style, and Shauna opens the door with a shush.

“Is this his apartment?” Taissa asks, and the three of you file in, looking around awkwardly. You step around the counter, expecting someone to walk around from around the kitchen, or the bathroom, still not quite believing he’s dead- but Taissa suddenly lets out a loud gasp. “Oh, my God, Shauna… you killed him?”

A man lays on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth, an open stab wound in his chest.

“You guys are, like, so fucking insane,” you mutter, not able to take your eyes away from the pooling blood.

“Who is he?” Nat asks, less shocked by this, for whatever the reason.

“I met him a few months ago. We got into a car accident and then we started… sleeping with each other.”

“For fucks sake, Shauna, this is your boyfriend?”

“You were seeing somebody around the time that all of us got blackmailed and didn’t think to mention it?” Nat asks, throwing her hands around in odd ways.

“I’m telling you now,” she sighs.

Nat gestures to the dead body. “When he’s dead!” she shouts. “When he can’t fucking mumble a word to us. What the fuck, Shauna?” She starts pacing.

“Jesus Christ, are you even sure he did it?” Tai asks.

“Well, um… he went out to get coffee for us this morning, and when he was gone,” she picks up the duffel bag with Callie’s handprints on it, “I found this in his closet.”

Natalie snatches it for her.

“He came back and he saw me with it, and, you know, he realized that I must know what he did, so, he attacked me.”

You look over at Shauna, but she doesn’t seem hurt.

“And, I, um, you know, I had no choice.”

“Where’s my money?” Natalie asks, throwing around the empty bag.

“Where’s your money, Natalie? I’m not sure. Maybe he booked a cruise with it,” she sighs.

Natalie slams the bag onto an armchair, and you roll your eyes.

“Uh, it’s not here, but the burner phone, the one with the texts from your guys, it’s…” she holds up the small black flip phone.

“How did he know anything about the symbol?” Tai sighs.

“Well, um,” Shauna starts, digging through the bag and clearing her throat, “He also had these.” She holds up a small leather bound notebook.

“Oh, Shauna,” you mutter. “You didn’t.”

“What the fuck is that?” Tai asks.

Shauna sighs heavily, looking away from everyone. “They’re my… journals… from the wilderness. I-I couldn’t get rid of them. I’ve been really careful, they’re in a safe in my closet, but… he must have broken into it sometime pretty soon after we started seeing each other.”

“Holy shit, Shauna. You let this guy in your house?”

“Can you try to be a little less judgemental? I already feel stupid enough as it is.”

“You really think this is the guy who killed Travis?” Nat asks, leaning over the body.

You want to say something, to smack her, make it get through her head that sometimes death just happens. And she, out of all people, should know that.

“I-I don’t know.”

Natalie leans forward and starts touching him, and you bite back a gag.

“Oh, my God, don’t start touching him-”

“Natalie, don’t do that!”

“Jesus Christ!” you shout. “What if he has like, fucking HIV or something, Natalie-”

Shauna shoots you a wide-eyed look.

“-or something else!”

“I can’t believe you killed him, Shauna!” she shouts after she’s done with her search. “Now we’re not gonna know anything!”

“Well, you were gonna shoot him at the warehouse,” Shauna retorts.

“Okay, which, recall, we told her not to do.” Tai says.

“I wouldn’t have fucking killed him, I would’ve just hit his knees-” Nat starts to explain.

“He was lying to me,” Shauna says. And you look over and there’s tears in her eyes. “He was going to hurt me. I thought that- that he loved me, I trusted him,” she cries.

“Shauna,” you mumble, giving her a small hug as she turns around and wipes away her tears.

“Well, I needed answers. So, fuck, Shauna!”

“So, now what?” Shauna says after a moment, and you let the hands around her fall.

“Well, we can’t just leave him here.”

“Well, we can’t exactly- Weekend at Bernie’s him out the door, either.”

“Getting rid of the body isn’t our only problem, Shauna. Your fucking DNA is all over this place. Your fucking texts are in his cloud. God, the police are not gonna have to dig deep to find you.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Shauna says after Tai’s outburst. “You’re a lawyer. What-what do we do?”

“I practiced land use, not murder clean-up.”

Natalie finishes walking around the apartment, whatever she was looking for still not found.

“Hey. You’re all silent over there, that’s unusual. You got any ideas?”

Natalie sighs like she doesn’t want to say it.

“Yeah. One.” She rolls her eyes.

—-

1996-

You wake up on the cold ground, feeling like you had just committed a murder. There’s something sticky running down your chest and throat, and you’re covered in dirt, and you can tell your makeup is smeared.

Natalie groans.

You don’t remember how you got here last night, besides for faintly stumbling through the woods, Natalie dropping the knife they had almost killed Travis with, practically boiling in anger. You remember before that more clearly, the trees bending, looking for her, finding her and then Jackie.

Natalie sits up next to you and stares at you with wide eyes, your lipstick smeared all over her face and neck, and when you feel your tangled hair and look at your ripped dress, it’s not hard to figure out what happened.

“My neck hurts,” is the first thing you say.

She laughs. “Well, sleeping on the ground will do that.”

She’s still angry, you can tell, but all of last night is so hazy.

“What-what happened?” you mumble, trying to fix your dress, dusting the dirt off of you.

“Misty poisoned us,” she mumbles, bringing her knees up to her chest as she stares off into the distance. You stop.

“What? I mean, I know now that I was hallucinating, but, I-”

“Yep. Shrooms,” she whispers.

You reach forward and place your hand over hers.

“Natalie… what happened last night?”

She stares at you for a long moment. “I don’t know.”

—-

The two of you walk through the vaguely familiar woods, and after a moment, her hand slips back into yours, and you start to head towards the cabin.

Natalie squeezes your hand. “What did she mean, last night? Do you know?”

“Know what?” you frown, looking up at the trees, trying to remember what happened last night- but parts of it are covered in a haze.

“Lottie? How we’ll all see it like you soon?”

When you look at her, she looks scared.

“Lottie was high off her ass last night. Don’t- don’t listen to her, Nat.”

She pulls you to a stop.

“What do you remember from last night?”

“I hallucinated trees moving. I… I remember wanting to find you. I-I wanted to apologize, Natalie.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It was stupid, and I-I don’t know what I was thinking. I care about you, Nat, and not your past.”

She smiles and looks at the ground before looking back up at you, her crown of sticks hanging out of her hair. She looks back up at you, and her eyes soften, and she places a tentative hand on your cheek.

“I would have nothing if I lost you,” she whispers. “You… you’re my best friend, Y/N. You’re everything.”

What happens if violence and peace aren’t different? What if they’re one in the same? What if it’s the sun and the moon, constantly chasing each other through the sky, never quite meeting. What happens if peace and violence are connected in a way that is beyond your understanding?

“We’ll be better this time,” she says, staring at your lips. You hum, staring at hers.

You lean forward and kiss her.

This is what happens.

—-

taglist:

@sweetdayme4427 @dreaming-for-an-escape @peachydoki @happysparklingshadows @zhivaxo @maraudeerrs @karsonromanoff

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

[misty-caligula]

A short post about DRUGS

The Doomcoming as a reference to It Chooses is such a specific choice, I think, because it was never resolved. I feel like some folk think it was like a non-sequitor, a sign of things to come but otherwise disconnected from the events that followed. But here’s a thought I’ve been having:

Here’s how a weird trip could have occurred if they were on, like, a camping trip. They go out, have some drugs, it goes places they didn’t expect, they go a bit wild, they come down, they wake up the next morning, feeling embarrassed, maybe a bit of pain and anger, maybe apologise to each other, pack up and go home. The whole thing is a ... blip on the radar of their lives, and tomorrow they’re back in Walmart, gossiping about celebrities.

But that’s not the situation here. There is no solid ground here, there’s nowhere to return to, and the Doomcoming is a fundamentally destabilizing episode.

When they hit the shrooms they have this transcendental experience. The core cult lay around and connected to each other, and with The Wilderness. Travis, Jackie, Misty, Ben and Natalie are all absent, and Javi doesn’t get into it, but the rest of them spend a lot of time in this ... space. Lottie has her premonition that Something Is Coming and that they’ll be fed soon, and then ... well you saw it.

But the day AFTER, when they wake up sober, they do not forget the experience. Mushrooms do not wipe your memory, you don’t get blacked out like alcohol. If you tried you could recall with a lot of specificity what happened, and what you were thinking. And the connections that people make while tripping are often ... lasting. People wake up the next day and change their entire fucking lives around, it happens.

So they wake up, and they’re a bit embarrassed, a bit overwhelmed, but NOBODY apologises. Nobody says “Man that was ridiculous and dumb.” There’s a moment, a tiny sliver of a moment, when Ben tells them what’s up, and they turn on Misty that they might have all decided that it was just a huge silly waste of time but then... the bear turns up.

That timing, that specific series of events, just completely vindicates not only Lottie as divine, but also the entire night of the Doomcoming as being... legitimate. Like, the part of them that’s still attached to the outside world (the part that’s getting weaker every day) knows what drugs are, knows how they work... and they know, in theory, to distrust it. But simultaneously... We’re also primed to look at drugs as a spiritual tool. For many thousands of years people have been using drugs to get attached to the supernatural. And in the Doomcoming they felt the connection. They felt what Lottie feels. And then, completely stone cold sober, they saw the proof.

So, when It Chooses comes around, they don’t NEED the drugs. They KNOW what to do, they’ve had the dress rehearsal. It’s harder sober, but the memory of the connection is there, is personal, and once the adrenaline hits, it’s familiar, and it’s Real.

It makes me think of the bacchanal. The way that their hunger, their grief, the weird spiritual randomness of the moment, culminated in an event they’d never have planned, and the way that they approached it as a manic banquet. Like they barely realised what they were even doing once they broke the taboo. It makes me think how vast the gulf is between that and what happened to Pit Girl, how calm they are, how Aware they are. The bacchanal got them through it the first time, as the drugs got them through the Doomcoming. In S2E9 I’m expecting... something much colder, much more ... deliberate. Aware.

[razorblade180]

Unspoken connection

Collei:Master, I’m back!

Tighnari:You’ve been out for awhile. Don’t push yourself too hard. You’re still steadily growing stre- what happened!?

Collei:*face scratched up* I fell.

Tighnari:…

Collei:Down a hill.

……..

Collei:From a ruin drake.

Tighnari:Collei!!!!

Collei:It’s okay! I’m fine. Even made a new…friend.

Scara:*walks in* I prefer acquaintance. The bar for friendship shouldn’t be saving a life.

Collei:I know that. I was just thought we were getting along well.

Scara:If that’s your reasoning…then I guess we are new friends…it seems. Anyway I brought back your stude- oh.

Tighnari:Hello. Who are you…?

Scara:(Say anything that’s incriminating.) I am a Wanderer who’s helping Aether.

Tighnari:Oh? He certainly knows a lot of people. How’d you get tangled with him?

Scara:(Why the fuck did I say that..?) That’s a long story. Anyways, by Collei. Next time don’t trip, or at least tuck and roll. *leaves*

Tighnari:Collei, please be wary of who approaches you. Even if he helps.

Collei:It’s not like my guard was down. It’s true I was a little put off by his clothes and sudden appearance, but he didn’t seem to causing trouble. He was picking shrooms and fruit. Also….

Tighnari:What is it?

Collei:I’m not sure. It’s just a gut feeling I had when we looked at each other. It’s as if we immediately found common ground without speaking to each other. Felt rude to ask why.

Tighnari: “Birds of a feather”, as they say. Maybe you’ll learn why another time, but do be careful in general.

Collei:Hehe, yes sir.

Tighnari:Good. I have to go visit some patients so I’ll be back later. Patch yourself up and then take whatever your duties you have left slowly. Rest if you need to. *leaves*

Collei:…..(I hope I get to meet him again. His eyes…kinda looked like mine.)

[ofwrxth]

+ SASHA / THE FREY

"Sash, this stall is cursed. I swear! There's a fucking raccoon every time I look over my shoulder." Jerry scratches his elbow and, with a wince, looks over his shoulder for a beat. Almost as quickly as he'd looked, he glances away, whispering loudly to her. "It's still there." He says, nodding in the direction of the trash panda. "Did I take something?" Jerry's hand hovers around his mouth. "I know I shouldn't have had that pie from old lady Forester. I bet she put shrooms in it. Do you think I'm tripping? Do you see it? I feel like I keep seeing it. Did I make that up?" His questions come in rapid succession as he shifts from side to side on his work station stool. Though he doesn't know why Sasha insists on bringing him with her to The Frey. It's not like he can contribute much.

Still, he doesn't mind keeping her company. At least he didn't usually. But the raccoon! If he understood the complexities of what he did and didn't see, Jerry would know that his sister's familiar was always keeping a keen eye on him. And sometimes he even remembered it was her familiar. Other times, like today, he'd swear left, right and center, that it was an omen. Or a sign he'd been cursed. Though, perhaps it's not even Bandit whose gaze he's keenly aware of, but rather Echo. Non corporeal and unseen by her witch whose eyes were blind to his own magic when Jerry is present. Echo shifts, nudging Bandit away so Jerry will relax, following suit as they both jump off the table they were perched on. "Or maybe," Jerry's been rambling about the old stall owner for a minute now, "she's hexed them. Otherwise why would I keep seeing the trash –" he looks over again, mouth opening and closing at the sight of...nothing. "Panda...." @gloriouswhispers

[slit-you-open]

Thinking about bringing home this cocksucker i know, you know, one of those little fucking teases who doesn't seem to realize anyone's looking when they walk around with their thighs and stomach on display. I want them bad, I do. They say they're not looking for anything right now. Long term relationship. I'm about ready to snap, I want their ass so bad.

So fuck it. I'm thinking about bringing them back to my place. Tell him I want them in the living room, that we're going to hang out and have a nice platonic night in smoking weed and watching those dumb fucking cartoons he likes. I won't actually partake, but I doubt he'll notice. Justify it if he asks with work in the morning, but he probably won't even ask. Then... hell, I'll make him dinner, I know he likes that. Slip a little something fun in there. Not a serious tranq, I'm not pathetic. I want him to struggle. Just a little something to make it harder to remember in the morning. Shrooms, maybe, or a little ket.

I'll get him in my room somehow, it won't be hard. Tell him I've got a gift, or something to show him. They're stupid and trusting. It'll work, it'll be easy. They'll eat out the palm of my fucking hand if I tell them to. Just won't offer up that tight little cunt of his. The one fucking thing to call off-limits...

It'd be a classic to bend him over the desk, but really, a bed this big with a frame this solid is begging to be used. I'll pin his chest to it after we walk through the door. Trip him, maybe, the drugs will make him clumsy. He'll freeze first, ask what I'm doing; that's good because he's always wearing these tight denim jeans and I know it'd be a fucking hell of a time trying to unbutton them if he was thrashing. I could cut them off him if I need, but I don't want to have to need.

He's not gonna be that stupid even when I got him drugged up, though, I'm not gonna plan for him to be. He'll put it together when he feels me ripping his pants and his boxers away from his cunt. He'll start to struggle here, but not too hard. He's my friend. He won't want to hurt me, not at first. That works for me. He'll probably try to push his chest up, or try to push at my hands. Maybe both. Not coordinated. I keep ropes attached to the bedframe for other things - laundry lines and keeping stuff in place - but that's an excuse; the real reason is that it's easier to tie an errant limb up when you've already got everything attached. I don't want to really hurt him but i want to secure him first; i can always retie him later. His right arm is always going to be closest to the side of the bedframe. It'll be no hard task to catch it and tie it down to the metal, pull the line taut and trap his dominant hand to the side of the bedframe.

He's high, so he'll start begging here, getting scared. The tears will start to run, the gasping. "What are you doing, I don't like it, stop, what's happening?" Like music to my goddamn ears. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. And he's not stupid, just high. He knows some of what I like. It won't take long before he's really fighting, pulling hard and twisting and trying to bite me where I'm holding his face into the mattress. If I'm not careful, if he gets his teeth in my arm he's going to do some real damage, god knows he bites like a dog.

At this point fucking... planning around it is stupid, I know what I want and I know I'll be out of my mind with the wanting. i'd say I had more plans here, I'd say I'd fix the tie or I'd pull off his binder. I'm putting my fingers up his cunt, we all know that. He's going to be squirming and pulling, his stupid skinny jeans around his knees stopping him from doing almost anything with his legs, and I'm going to watch his ass work and the muscles strain and the way his belly fills out as he gasps for breath and I know I won't be able to stop myself. I'll swipe through his folds, flick his little t-dick, and then god knows I'll push my fingers into his hot little fucking hole and listen to the way his voice changes when I reach deep inside him.

He's probably tight as hell. He's been on testosterone longer than I've even known him. Every so often I hear him talk about this dildo and that one he can't quite make work any more. According to him he used to be a real size queen. I've been wanting to get my fist inside him since we met. I'll be seeing if it'll even work.

I think this'll scare him, just a little. He'll go still for a moment, let me fix my grip on his upper body. Easiest place to hold would be his neck, but he'll have a much harder time prying my hand off his upper spine, but honestly now that I have him where I want him I don't need him pinned. He's got nowhere to go; i'm between him and the rest of the room and his hand is tied to the bed probably tighter than it should be. I can let him up, wrap my forearm over his throat, instead. Not a choke, just a hold; something hard as fuck to get out of one-handed. Hell, he might even like having me pressed up against his back. He seems like the type.

He'll probably start trying to bite me again after a little of this, me fitting as many fingers as I can into his little off-limits pussy and panting and probably ranting deranged nonsense into his ear, and I'll have to grab his jaw if I want to keep control of that. That'll let him get a grip on my arm and try to pull me off, but that's not going to help him much. He'll probably try to kick off his pants, but there's no way that works out for him, not uncoordinated and without any real room to work. I might let his upper body go entirely just for the sake of looping my loose rope through the crease of his thigh and tying that to the bedframe too, though, just to hold him even more firmly in place. He'll probably slap at me, and god knows that'll make me laugh if it does anything. I don't think he'll be ready for me to hit back. I think he'll forget that's an option. I think it'll take him by surprise when I punch him in the ribs, and I think it'll really surprise him when i don't let him even try to get in another blow, no matter how uncoordinated, how when he starts raising his free off hand I'll hit him again, low and hard. I don't think he even knows how to land a strike on someone behind him; he might elbow me but I'd ve surprised if he did it well. And all the while I'd still be pumping my fingers in his cunt, feeling him twitching and clenching around me as I stretch his walls wider and wider.

I don't think two fingers will be hard to fit. Three maybe, but doable. My fingers are slim, all things told. The pinky I can work in no matter how tight he is, basic trick of physiology. When I get that in, I can work him over my knuckles. Maybe he'll tear. Won't put me off, I've always liked a little blood. Besides, he'll walk it off. If he's walking tonight, that is.

He's high and he's been fighting me. The more pain he's in, the less energy he'll have for any of that. I don't want him totally out of fight, but I want to maneuver him a little, move him around without getting kicked in the head for my trouble. These first few minutes are going to be the hardest, before i can really tire him out.

I'll force my whole hand into his cunt, thumb pinning his little t-dick between the side of it and the ridge of my hand, and while i'm curling and uncurling my fingers I'll push him up further onto the bed, change the angle so he's up on his toes, hips up on the mattress for me. That'll give me a good angle to get at him, really work my way into his cunt. Press the knuckles of my fingers hard into his cervix and the back of my hand against his g-spot, feel his little dick harden into the pressure even as he begs and sobs against my bed or tries again to shove me away. It'll be cute. I'll tell him, if I feel like it. I'm sure I will. It's cute that he'd get off from me violating his trust and his body like this, it really is, like he's practically a toy. Put in the right inputs, shove something into his holes and hold him down until he gets used to it, and he might even like it. I imagine this'll make him start fighting again; maybe it'll startle him bad enough if I ram my fist into him from the inside he'll stop and maybe it'll make him try harder, and there's no real reason not to find out. I'll give it a try, listen to the way he'll groan.

And all too soon it won't be enough, I know it. His turgid little clit pinned in my hand, his entire body splayed out for me, still tied. I really should fix that. Soon, sure. I need my hands free and I need my cock buried in him first. I'll give it one last thrust, one final squeeze to his clit, and then pull myself out, holding his folds apart. He might try to get away again, so I should be quick with this, working the head of my dick into his gaping hole. With the heel of my hand at the top of his pubis mound i should be able to keep him in place, at least enough, to thrust my way inside before he can get anywhere else.

Alright. With both hands free it's time to fix the ropes. He's probably got some compression damage on the wrist, maybe burns there and in his inner thigh both. And i need his legs to open wider anyway. I undo that and he's probably going to try to scramble up onto the bed; i'll use my off hand to catch him around the throat. Maybe by the hair instead. Maybe i'll hit him again. It'll make him jump, make him clench, make it all the better for me. Maybe i'll tell him I want to untie his wrist. Maybe he'll hold a little stiller for me, maybe he'll bide his time and try to get away when I undo the rope entirely. He'll feel good no matter what he's doing. I'll just be enjoying myself.

Instead of loosing his legs from his stupid tight jeans, I'll step through them with one leg, trapping his hips against me. I can maneuver fine like this. All it means is that he'll have even harder a time trying to get away from me. Then I'm going to lean over and sink my teeth into the side of his ribs.

By this point I know he'll be tired. Sapped of energy, between the fighting and the drugs. I'll take my sweet time with it. Tie his wrist back up right, tie his thigh up tight and admire the way it presses into the curve of his lower ass. Grope the parts of him he never lets me get away with touching, unzip his little binder and play with his stupid little tits and dig my fingers into the muscle between his belly and the bone of his hip, grab at his ass hard enough to bruise. Maybe i'll hold his little t-cock gainst the shaft of my own, stroke back and forth and tell him it's basically frotting, make a crack about how his is smaller than mine or something. Anything to put a little life into him, make him squirm and moan and go back to struggling like a fish on a line. Maybe he'll finally get one of his legs out of the jeans and try to kick me so I have an excuse to beat him black and blue.

I'll cum in him, just for the hell of it. I know he's not on BC, but i'd be surprised if anything came of it. I could blame it on his girlfriend if it did. Don't think they would even think of me either way. Then while he's lying there, tired and practically out of his mind, i'll take his phone and his thumb, use his tied-up hand to open the finger lock. What's he going to do, stop me? I'll open up his Instagram, post a story, maybe snap a picture of his face from the front, me barely visible in the back, slap some text on. "made a really bad choice tonight but it felt so good, might have to fuck around on the dl more often" or something. Throw some doubt on the record. We all know what he likes, it's not like it'd be out of this world for him to have asked me for this. If he didn't have that fucking girlfriend, that is.

Then I'll take some real photos, nice ones. Spanl bank material. His leaking cunt, maybe a shot with my fingers back in there if I'm still feeling tempted. My hands on his hair, his ass, his back, some of the brighter bruises. The ropes, probably. God knows the cherry burns and black fabric will sit nicely against each other. Maybe if he's really flying high I'll tell him to smile, see if I can't get a couple real good shots of his tear-streaked face in there too. Maybe i can even convince him he asked for this in the morning.

Because he's still going to be here, of course. He's high, he's got to sleep that shit off here. He knew that from the minute he got here.

I'll bundle him off to the shower, make sure he's clean and seems taken care of. I'll bandage any cuts. Remind him what a great time I had, tell him I'm glad we're friends. We'll crash in the same bed, the same way we always have. I'm sure he'll notice the way I'm holding him is hard to get out from unnoticed. I'm sure it'll be the first time he ever does.

In the morning I'll say something stupid, something cheesy. Ask him how I played the role or something, let him think I thought that was what he wanted. Ask if next time I should get him off more or if that was enough, if I should be rougher. If I scrambled his brains right, he'll be second-guessing already. He'll get nervous, get weird. He'll go home, work himself into a panic, and try to hide it from his girlfriend. But i'm sure someone's already shown her my post to his account, at that point.

Maybe they'll break up. Maybe he'll even ask me to tap his ass a second time, if I play my cards right.

Mmm... Maybe I really will invite him over. Just gotta make sure I have everything set up...

[slashingdisneypasta]

Dale Acton x Fem!Ex!Reader || Oneshot

Plot: Dale's shocked to spot you, the one who got away, in a bar one night and its very clear- he's not over it.

Warnings: Cursing, sexual references, reverences to mob activity and first-time smoking. Also unedited.

Its not long before Wayne notices Dale's attention continuously flitting away from the group and over to the bar side, seeing a girl get such a gloomy puppy dog look out of his young associate. A mean chuckle flickers out of his mouth, shaking his head and taking a slow sip of his beer.

"What are you waiting for? I can give you some pointers... but I don't think you want 'em... "

Looking away from the girl again, back to the table that only has 25 percent of his attention tonight, Dale picks up his own beer; putting it to his lips. "The hell are you talking about old man??"

"The girl y'cant stop starin' at. D'you know her? Or doya just want her ass that bad?"

At this Dale's mouth clamps shut, setting the beer back down and looking away. Not to her, this time. Just away from Wayne's horrible jeering face. He's not up for it, tonight- not with you here.

Norman, quiet up until this point and faced the opposite direction to the bar, takes this moment to turn around and check out this girl. He might as well; its better to know exactly what's going on, with these two. Well, with men like them in general... but especially his two morons.

It doesn't take much to figure out which girl they're talking about- he knew her. Y/N. She was hanging around Dale - or, actually, he was pretty much hanging around her. Not that she seemed to mind at all, for a while, - some years back. Before Wayne got out of prison and joined up with them. A little after that Lucas Cain fuck up.

... letting out a huff of a chuckle, barely smiling but definitely amused, Norman turns back to the table; shaking his head. Wayne jumps on him. "What?? What? Who is it???"

"Thats Dale's girl who got away... " Norman lifts up his glass, filled with amber liquid that burns, smirking into the glass. "Isn't that right man?"

Shifting uncomfortably and frowning deeply, Dale refuses to respond. He doesn't like them talking about you- he definitely doesn't like Wayne knowing about you. Yeah, sure, he's come to like the guy - he's a fucking asshole but the guy knows how to have a good time, sometimes, - , but you cant trust a guy like that. Though, Dale supposes, you cant really trust any one of them. They're losers... you were right.

Wayne watches him carefully though, dark eyes taking every little movement in and slowly smirking. "... oh."

"Oh?" Dale fucking hates it when Wayne does shit like this. Thinks he knows what the hell he's thinking when he doesn't. "Fucking what, old man??"

"You got a little broken heart, huh?~ "

"Shut up."

"Uhuh, real broke. What'd she do? Find someone new and leave your ass?" The smirk gets even bigger, like the cheshire-fucken-cat outta that one fucked-up movie - god Dale hated that movie, since an old buddy of his made him watch it while tripping balls on bad shrooms. Worst trip of his goddamn life, and the stupid fucking cat gave him nightmares for weeks, - , and then their's knocking under the table from above Wayne's lap. His hand's lost under the surface. "I bet he had a much bigger dick, right? Whore's are fickle like that, huh?"

Dale cant take the heat. Not fucking tonight. Before the old bastard can say more, he shoves the table in anger and gets up to his feet- leaving him and fucking Norman, who's not doing shit right now, to go smoke out the back. Maybe when he comes back, you'll be gone and he'll be alright again.

Once outside, the cool air on his face and a lit cigarette between his lips, he has a moment to think. What Wayne said hit its mark, of-fucking-course.

But he was still wrong. You didn't leave him for another dude; You weren't- well, you were a whore,.. but you were his whore. Or at least tats what you said that one time... trying to cheer him up after a bad night with Norman and Lyle. I'll do whatever you want, you'd told him so gently, his face so gentle in your hands and perched in his lap were you were supposed to be. Just please baby; smile. Cheer up for me. I hate to see you all mopey.

The memory warms him up in the cold, the smoke filling his lungs and calming him down. For a second he can forget that you're in there, feeling like you're thousands of miles away from him anyway.

You were the fucking sweetest. You were actually perfect.

He fucked it up. It was him. He knows that; thats the worst part.

You were okay with him working with the Tyrus', as long as he didn't get you in any trouble. And that was fine, he had thought at the time. No problem. He didn't want you getting hurt, either.

... But Lyle heard about you. He wasn't sure how, though he has a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Norman. And he wanted to meet you. You said no, you didn't wanna be apart of it, and Dale thought- cool, fine. I'll just go tell Lyle you're not into it and that'll be that. Right?

Blowing smoke out of slightly parted lips and glowering at the opposite wall, the alleyway Dale's hiding in cramped and full of fucken trash feeling even smaller all of a sudden thinking about this. Because, no, Lyle wasn't fucking 'okay' with that; saying some shit like if the girl wont join the family then well she couldn't reap the fucken benefits- or something like that. And... he told Dale he had to drop her.

And Dale did.

He doesn't fucking know w h y he did, but he did. Like Y/N meant nothing. And he can still see the hurt, confused look on her face when he picked a fight with her out of nowhere all those years ago and left that same night. He can still fucking see it.

Getting so worked up, Dale accidentally crushes the cigarette between his fingers; making him curse as he chucks it to the ground and searches for another one to light. The flame is just lighting up his face again, when the back door to the bar opens up again and he looks up to see you slip out.

He freezes.

~

As soon as your eyes fall on Dale out in the alleyway, the gentle, tipsy smile falls off your face completely. Your eyes widen. You freeze.

"... fuck." You knew you saw Norman in there.

Dale lowers his head and comes towards you, flicking his cigarette away from him with a familiarly fingerless glove-covered hand and pocketing his lighter quickly. "I'm getting out of here, don't worry- "

Before he can squeeze past you through the door, way-too-damn close to you after all this time, you put a hand to his chest and push him gently back. "Hey, hey, hey. How come you get to leave??"

"Uh- okay, yeah you're right." He has that cute almost-innocent look on his face, almost believable with those pretty brown eyes if it weren't for the stoner goatee, and your stomach does summersaults that you sternly ignore. "What, uh... whadayou wanna do then??"

"I... " What do you want right now?? You want to yell at Dale, thats for sure. You've spent the last couple years getting over him and what he did to you (trying to figure out why), which was hard as fuck and the job is still not done apparently. But also you want to just be anywhere but here, snug in your apartment wearing fuzzy slippers watching horror movies or f.r.i.e.n.d.s; you don't wanna deal with this at all. So... Your gaze lowers to his pocket, where you saw the lighter disappear, and bite your bottom lip. "... can I get a smoke?"

"... you smoke now?"

"Right now I do! Can I have one or not?" You snap, irritated at him acting like a bonehead right now. He hops to it really quickly then, fumbling in his pockets to get out another cigarette and handing you the lighter. "Thanks."

A tiny smile slips across his face, pleased to hear something so 'nice', from you. "Uh, no problem- " Ugh.

"Don't talk."

"Ok."

~

About 10 minutes, a coughing fit and a back pounding from Dale, and you're just sitting side-by-side on the steps now. Silently.

... except- "Look, Y/N, lemme explain what happened when we uh- when we broke up. Okay? So- "

Except Dale cant keep quiet for too long. "What happened to the silence?? I liked that."

"Yeah, but- "

He's working you up, a deep frown drawing across your lips. "I don't wanna hear it!" You snap again at him, feeling all the frustration and confusion coming tumbling terribly back like the goddamn Jabberwock's head in Alice in Wonderland. God, you hate that movie- "I made up plenty of explanations after you left, and you know what? None of them made me feel better. I mean!?-- What could possibly be an excuse for what you did, Dale?? We were happy! I mean, I thought we were. But then you picked the dumbest fight out of- out of n o w h e r e, and left! And I never saw you again! Who the fuck does that?? How do you excuse that?? I don't- "

Suddenly those half cotton-clad fingers cover up your cheeks and you're pulled into familiar lips. You sink into the kiss like the last time you did it was just yesterday; tilting your head deeply and kissing him back with as much pent-up need as he is kissing you with. You didn't know you wanted this- missed this- needed this, until now.

When he pulls back, still holding your face, a thumb brushing against our cheek bone, your lips feeling bruised, he looks absolutely earnest. Which is an odd look on him, if you know him; which you do. Dale's a dumbass, bad news, insincere loser. Or at least, thats what you told him he was that loud night he just up and left.

"I know. There's no real fucking excuse. I just- I just wanted you to know, I guess... I didn't wanna."

... what on earth does that mean?? "Y'didn't- "

Suddenly he stands up and you have to crane your neck to look at him. But then he steps up onto the top step and reaches for the door, and you're watching him leave (again), and you cant help it. you scramble up after him and catch him by the arm and draw him back to you.

For a moment you don't know what to say, lips parted and mouth dry. This is possibly the dumbest thing you have ever done, but you never were smart when it came to Dale Acton. "... um- "

"What?"

"I- I- I don't know."

"You don't..?" He's searching your face for a clue kind of desperately, but you're searching for the same thing on his. You're both hopeless.

"I just... don't want you to leave again just yet." You don't know yet if you could stomach that excuse he was going to give you, or if you could ever forgive him-- but you're a little tipsy, and he looks so good, and you've missed him. There's never been anyone else, not one, and... Your fingers and eyes feel down from his shoulder, coming to rest unsurely on his chest. "I just... "

Looking up at his face again, you lose it. Your lips collide once again and this time its not just a short, little kiss.

~~~

Inside the bar Norman and Wayne watched you slip out the back a few minutes after Dale did and fully expected one of them to come storming out a minute later... but then 10 minutes past.

Then another 10.

By the time the half hour mark hits, Norman's rolling his eyes and Wayne's smirking into his 4th beer. They know what that means.

[e-m-p-error]

fuck it *gives chazz illumorphene*

Trials in Tainted Space Transformative Items Magic Anons

Illumorpheme - Grants the user moth attributes. If user does not have wings or antennae, illumorpheme will cause them to manifest.

[ Chazz ]

He didn't even notice as he was slurping on the tube of creamy liquid that anything was changing about himself. He hummed a little, bouncing his head from side to side to the song stuck in it when he noticed something weird dangling in front of his face. Long, feathery antennae hung down, drooping more when he noticed them before standing up straight.

"Wha-- Huh?" On his back, large seafoam green wings fluttered in confusion, further fueling that feeling in him, "What?"

Did he stop eating it? No. Was he confused? Absolutely. But he'd drank an entire teapot of shroom tea twenty minutes ago and he was chalking it up to a bad trip.

Sluuurp slurp.

"...damn." Whatever he'd been eating had been so tasty... Maybe he could find another one.

...if he could see. Why was he suddenly struggling so much to see?

[bisluthq]

Well yea the thing is I’ve been trying to move on for like 2 years lol I go on the dating apps and stuff but I can’t find anyone else who I’m all that interested in, especially not to the same degree as that guy

You know, okay - look. If you’re determined to do something then no one can really stop you. As long as you’re well aware that this is unlikely to be a happily ever after situation where you ride off on a white stallion into a gorgeous sunset, then far be it from me to tell you not to do it. I’ve done some stuff I knew would 99% end badly lol and I assessed the risks and sometimes did it anyway because like… I wanted to lol. Most egregious examples were fucking a girl at work non-exclusively even well into her getting into a relationship, like that was a total mess and I knew it but I kept doing it for literal years and honestly if she hadn’t emigrated idk how I’d have totally stopped lol because I really like fucking her and also her personality as a person lol and a lot about her actually but we also really actively don’t work as a couple. The other one was the spite sex situation with my situationship’s best friend. I also didn’t think that was smart but I wanted to lol so I did.

If this guy is into weird drugs see if he wants to do like an Ayahausca retreat or a shroom journey or something and maybe y’all can talk a bit more under those circumstances. Nothing like tripping balls with weird people tbf like it’ll most likely help u figure this out lmao or he a terrible experience but at least it’ll be progress.

[welcometomybrain818]

Scenes from a breakup part II

I went to Portland with C. Before flying, I felt fine not contacting you. I thought I was healed. I thought I was moving on. But I am nostalgic and soft, and Portland makes me think of you and the sweeter moments we had together. I wanted to contact you, but I knew it wasn’t a good idea for me. I wanted to contact you so badly, my fingers twitched. I thought about running into you and what I would say. I saw cars that looked like yours and they would pass and I would worry you’d seen me. That you’d be mad. Or sad. Or worse, passive. Numb. I didn’t want you to be numb. I wanted you to feel the extent of your feelings. I wanted you to be free. The trip was really lovely all in all, and it helped me process more. And I am grateful to C. I will always be grateful to C for supporting me through all of this. She makes me believe in true friendship. 

I posted some writing to my Instagram story and you saw it. I alluded to the idea that we were incompatible, which you absolutely know is true. You were the one who flagged it! I was willing to ignore it! To ignore all of my needs! To sacrifice so much of myself. Maybe that’s why you don’t see it, because I was so willing to shrink myself for you. You texted me to “check in”. We had a somewhat difficult exchange where I tried to be gentle and honest about my experience and you didn’t take it well. It was really hard for me to say anything to you, truthfully. To advocate for myself and speak my needs. It is still an uncomfortable practice. You sent me a flippant message, unwilling to express your experience or take on our ending and I could feel the malice in your words even if, to an onlooker they appeared benign. Later that day I was high and I saw you’d chosen to text me after all. I burst into tears because I thought the message was nice. Of course, I wasn’t entirely lucid. In my lucidity I could see how different our perspectives really were. How little responsibility you wanted to take for how you made me feel. 

I was on a third-ish date. It was a birthday party on a roof with strangers, which I always find fun. I brought my friend M with me. We were having fun and then my date offered me shrooms. I am normally quite intentional with substances, but this evening I had a sort of “fuck-it-all” attitude about things and figured a small amount wouldn’t hurt. I ended up having a full-on trip that started in a room full of strangers. It freaked me out. I lay on my dates’ bed with him and it was clear we were mentally in very different places. He was present in the room and I was off somewhere seeing wild visuals with my eyes closed, trying to figure out how to leave. At one point he held me very tightly against his chest and put his mouth on my nose. He made a popping noise that I found quite unpleasant. He expressed how much he liked me and I expressed how much I needed to go home. So he waited with me and I got into a Lyft. The entire time I was in the Lyft, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how much I missed you and needed to speak to you. I knew you’d know how to save me. So I called you and you were obviously very surprised but willing to help me. But your phone was low on battery and you had to drive home from somewhere far away so you couldn’t stay with me. You said you’d call me when you got home and sent me tips and music recommendations which was nice of you. I was extremely apologetic about reaching out because I knew I had violated an unspoken boundary. My trip was unproductive and existential. I was reckoning with the fact that I was ultimately alone and nobody could actually save me or make me feel saved. I waited until 3 AM for you to call me and eventually you texted me that we could talk but that you needed to “text the boys” first. This broke me. This tore me apart. Why did you say that? Why did you have to remind me I wasn’t your first priority? When I needed you? Why was that necessary? We talked on the phone for about an hour and caught up. It was clear to me after that call that you hadn’t really changed. What was I to expect from you really? But it surprised me when you told me you had been feeling mean, because I could tell, but I didn’t really expect it from you. And that gave me the clarity I needed to move on because I knew then that I couldn’t hold out for you. When we ended, you were so concerned about hurting me or saying something you couldn’t take back. And I realized after we spoke that I can have deep empathy and compassion for you. For your life struggles. For your pain. And I can also draw a boundary that protects myself, because I don’t deserve meanness or cruelty. I never did. I don’t deserve to feel small and I don’t want to allow that for myself anymore. You always said, “you deserve so much more than what you allow for yourself”, and after that night I understood how true that statement was.

I started to have dreams about you where you disrespected me. I felt so much anger towards some of the things you’d said or blown off. I felt frustrated that I hadn’t defended myself. Really, I was sad that I didn’t speak up for myself. But I was also furious. How dare you blame my reactivity in our relationship on my inner child wounds, as though you didn’t know you were kicking them up. As though it doesn’t take two to tango. How dare you complain about me to your friends right in front of me. How dare you suggest my boundaries are unreasonable. How dare you not take responsibility. So I really felt my anger this time. I wrote everything down I wished I could say to you. I screamed. I cried. And then I burnt it. I released it all. And I felt better after that.

The dreams changed. They weren’t about betrayal or your nonchalance with mistreating me. They were soft. They were gentle. They were about being held and hugged and kissed. And comfort. And I still miss those parts most of all. The fleeting tenderness. I started going to slow yoga classes and focusing on opening my heart again. I am realizing now that part of opening my heart again is understanding that the tenderness I seek, the comfort, the love, all of that lives within me. I can access that well whenever I need to. I don’t need to depend on anyone else to feel worthy of love, because I am love. It is not outside of me. I lay in bed and I realized I had reached a culminating point. Tears streamed down my face and a sense of peace came over me. I’m sure the grief will return in some shape or form. I still have shadows to address, but I knew that the fact that I’d started to focus on good things again, on the sweetest parts of me and you meant I was moving on in a new way. Giving myself permission to feel everything had opened a door to my future. A pathway out of bitterness. A pathway back to myself. 

[magnoliamyrrh]

Don't you have a psychotic father? Didn't you fear that acid might trigger psychosis in you too?

He did. Its unclear what has caused my fathers psychosis however. His mother holds that when he was young he overdosed on some medication and had a long series of epileptic-like seizures, and that this may be the source; doesnt seem too far fetched bc there have been cases of this happening, and of epileptic seizures causing religious-focused psychosis, and feelings of "heaven" and "hell." Noone else in that line of my family, or on any side of my familty, has had any kind of psychosis-inducing mental illness however, noone recently at least or noone that anyone knows of

I used to worry about it at the beggining, yes, every once in awhile I still do. I mean, before i even did psychadelics weed could have technically caused psychosis - ive met ppl in psych wards who had weed-induced psychosis who had no family history of it even; one girl who it hit after the first time she smoked, and didnt even smoke much. However, no matter how much and how frequently ive smoked, ive never come close to feeling like it was causing that - the most ive had is weed-induced paranoia and other shit, but nothing once I came down. To smoke weed was a risk in the first place, which i took, and so far its been years and nothing has hit me

When i first tried psychadelics, and acid was the first one, I knew it was a risk, one i took because I know I could handle high doses of weed without losing it, and because I was...... well. I was fucked up. anorexia bulimia suicidality a bunch of other shit, i wasnt far away from a second suicide attempt at all, and I couldnt rly see many ways out of the shitshow i was in - i figured if I didnt kill myself the anorexia or bulimia would kill me anyway...... and so, i decided to take the risk, that everything good ive heard might be worth it. And im very glad I did, bc theres a high chance id be...... either dead or much worse off today

By now ive tripped idk well over 50/60 times and have yet to feel like my brain has been pushed twoards psychosis. The most I can say is that, and this applies only to acid which I dont rly do anymore, when I did later on take probably too high doses and had rly bad trips,,,,, yea, in the middle of the bad trip i was afraid of that possibility (or more accurately afraid the trip would never end) - frankly, I think the fact that I had the strength to keep myself together and pull myself out of it got me through it; i dont know if someone else going through that experience without prior experience and the ability to try to keep it together would have had a psychotic break, idk, maybe so maybe not - maybe it wouldnt have been chemical but it would have been so traumatic that theyd have been lost in the sauce. Or maybe not........ the most i can say is that I learned my lesson w strong doses of acid, and that it did happen that I felt its effects for days or weeks after the trip - not psychosis or delusions - hard to explain, but its like the trip lingers; in good cases this is called psychadelic "afterglow," after bad or exhausting trips its not particularly pleasant

Sooo, idk. Yea, i guess it could happen, fuck it, it could happen with weed too. Its a risk I take. I don't smoke as commonly as I used to anyway, and I dont do psychadelics as often (tho frankly the times when I would do shrooms around once or twice a month were the most productive, stable, sane, happy periods of my life). I hope to God it wont, but it could, even being careful and respectful with it

....... overall though? psychadelics, and especially shrooms, have made me feel exponentially, exponentially more "sane" than I ever was before I took them..... and even particularly crazy trips managed to teach me, my brains a lot more put together and stronger than I thought it was

[didnt-hear-cold-as-you-live]

TW: trauma, drug use

So for background I grew up in a pretty traumatic household with drug use. So drugs in any nature make me anxious. My boyfriend went on a boys trip with his friends and before he left I told him to not tell me if he uses drugs. Today, I get off from an 8 hour shift and call him and he’s all giddy. So I assume he’s taken a few shots. Then he goes “I love you and can’t lie to you. I took some shrooms.” Immediately I start to feel my heart race and I realize “I’m going to have a fucking panic attack.” I tell him I can’t talk to him and hang up. Then he texted me to apologize and said he gets it. But like he doesn’t! If he did then he wouldn’t have even told me like I asked him to do. I’m just super frustrated because I don’t want to be controlling and tell someone they can’t to drugs if they want to date me. However, I asked for one request due to my childhood trauma and he couldn’t pull through on that? I’m just really pissed and needed to get this out. Thank you.

Ugh bestie I’m so sorry. I also have trauma related to drugs - not family stuff; my high school boyfriend who i was with for 5 years did shrooms once and he literally became a completely different person after, like it just fully warped his entire worldview and personality and the way he treated me and all of it, and so I have a similar thing where I just cannot be around people doing them bc I will also have a panic attack - I can only imagine that gets 300x worse when it’s family related trauma that you’ve dealt with your whole life. And, for not wanting to be controlling, I have a similar policy as you where im like do it but I cannot know bc I will spiral. And it’s so unfair and shitty that you communicated that to him and did it anyways, bc it’s like… you can’t un-know something and he sorta poisoned your brain with it. Maybe he thought he was trying to be like “oh she said don’t tell me but she didn’t want me to do them and I don’t want to lie to her so it’s the right thing to do”, but also,,, that’s fucking dumb dgshdjdj. I think you should have a more thorough convo about it after / when he is not high about why you feel the way you do but gOD that’s so frustrating and im really sorry

[viceandmen]

Dear friends,

There’s also something so cathartic being able to talk with y’all. It’s such a reciprocal relationship. I gab; you listen. I don’t ask for advice and you don’t give it.

Muah, truly chef’s kiss 🤌🏽

If I remember correctly my writing entails sharing about the revolving door of men and female friends in my life. Sometimes I sprinkle in my professional woes. No more drunk shenanigans as I’m coming up on 5.5 years no booze tomorrow.

I still get my kicks from trying to fix my world with relationships. Currently I’m involved with the boy across the street. After my two and half year relationship dismantled, I found a boy in AA to wipe away my tears but sadly his pen15 couldn’t get hard. Oopsies I suck at anonymity. Sue me.

And then the text came:

He had texted me about a year earlier which I not-so-politely ignored. This boy was my kryptonite and I was dating my ex. The last time I opened a dialogue with The Neighbor I ended up cheating on my first boyfriend. Another oopsie.

I was single and not really ready to mingle. The Broken Dick Boy cutting things off prematurely hurt my heart. Which goes to show how desperate I am for companionship. Willing to be with a boy who couldn’t pleasure me properly ooof.

But The Neighbor texted me and it felt like the clouds parted and the sun was shining on what I was searching for. We had met in 2016 and bonded over our mutual attempt at sobriety. I fell in lust or premature love, there was something that pulled me in. Sorry first ex boyfriend you were absolutely collateral damage in my quest for love. It’s not that yours wasn’t enough, I wanted more.

We both relapsed and found sobriety a few different times between 2016 and now. We both had separate relationships that ended. And here we were, both single, living across the street from one and other, and trying to remain drug and alcohol free.

So imagine how heartbroken I was after hanging out a few times to find out he had taken to drinking once more. And I’m a classic I-can-fix-it gal, I didn’t run, I got sucked in even further. I wasn’t about to let a six pack of hard ciders a night ruin my love story.

Oh how my heart fluttered when I got this text. THIS WAS IT. He wanted to get healthy with me by his side. GOD WAS DOING IT!

It was my pleasure escorting him to detox, receiving phone calls each night he was gone, and to pick him up with the widest of open arms. So fuck us both that a month later we’re back in this shitty threesome of me, him, and the booze.

I don’t want to leave him, I don’t want to take my sponsor’s suggestion and run, I want to stay. But boy am I uncomfortable. The change in his attitude, the way he nonchalantly makes digs at me, the spotlight on my defects. I want to hate him. I just hate this goddamn disease.

I’ve got 18 minutes left of my shift and I need to pee and make a coffee because afterwards I need to go across the street and grovel. When I found out yesterday he had maybe plans to go to the beach with a girl from high school, I let my jealous/insecurity send me into a reactionary rage of silence and tears.

My words escaped me and I pulled up a text thread from my girlfriend earlier. I wanted to text her to see if I was overreacting or reacting normally. But before I could, he came behind me to hug me. Instead of swiping the text away, I scrolled letting him see that I made plans to possible trip shrooms with her after achieving a year of sobriety from marijuana.

That was a mistake. He has mentioned weeks ago the idea of us doing them together on a mountain top and he thought because I felt hurt about him going to the beach I purposely pulled up the convo to hurt him back.

Maybe I subconsciously did. I bite back quickly and hard when I feel threatened. Not my favorite trait. Usually I’m so polite and perfect (sarcasm).

So I’m gonna go piss and plot how to make him feel safe when the irony of him drinking again makes me feel the opposite.

It’s the moments like this where I think everything will be alright. And we’ll be alright. That we’re just soulmates going through some soul problems.

Fuck me and my delusional romantic heart.

Until next time,

Yours truly.