#gonna take a bunch of fucking meds and then TRY TO get stuff done

[amischiefofmuses]

[phagodyke]

my god. new contender for most shite day at work this year so far

another morning another free bus journey..

[wjehfshs]

I forgot to take my meds so I’m gonna do some silly short imagines/scenarios with COD and DBH characters x reader

Warnings??: swearing. Cringe and uncreative :3, but I’m having fun so… reader being chaotic and silly

Mentions of smoking/cigars at one point and blood at one point but not too bad

A really fucked up looking cake made by reader and Connor

Somewhat Connor x reader

Price being basically the dad of everyone

Hank and Connor being the best father son duo

Hank kinda being a father figure overall

Hank also creating an abomination

OOC Connor??? Sorta??? Idk if headcanons about Deviant Connor count as OOC we don’t really see much of Deviant Connors personality.

COD imagines

Reader: who’s got their hands on their favourite food and they’re devouring it (may or may not be inspired by me at dinner earlier today)

Everyone else: looking on in fear and awe, their food basically untouched as reader is basically oblivious to the world

Soap: “Jesus fuckin Christ lad/lass, could ya slow down?! It’s givin’ me a stomach ache just looking at ya”

Reader: who stops dead in their tracks, food stuffed in their mouth as they are mid chew, fork with more food on it held up in midair as if they are about to take another bite. And they start slowly chewing again as they slowly descend back into their episode of shovelling food down their throat

Soap: “that’s fuckin it, bloody hell im eatin in my room” as he picks up his plate and walks off

Reader: walking back inside with a plastic tub that seems to be wet and heavy.

Price: “what have you done this time.”

Reader: “noooothing” they smile a little to themselves as they try to conceal their laughter

Price: “let me look in the tub. Now.”

Reader: backing off not wanting to make him angry.

Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Rudy, Alejandro, and Graves: All siting peacefully in the main area.

Price: in the background “Why the fuck did you bring a fucking baby Shark inside?!”

Ghost: covered in glitter, absolutely pissed beyond belief “would you like to tell me why there was a bucket of glitter sat on top of my door?!”

Reader: “well that’s actually a funny story you see…” starts booking it in the opposite direction

Ghost: chasing after them at full speed, still covered in glitter, leaving a glitter trail behind him.

Everyone: very confused as to why there is a glitter trail eventually leading to a locked door with a glitter covered Ghost banging on it with reader crying/laughing behind it out of both fear and it being the funniest shit they have seen all day

COD headcanons

I like to imagine Gaz really likes Beyoncé so if he’s ever put on cleaning duty he will wait until everyone’s asleep and he’ll listen to Beyoncé with his headphones on while cleaning, he’s definitely been caught a couple times by Price or Graves or something. He never lived it down but it still didn’t stop his love for Beyoncé.

Soap really loves olives, like, REALLY loves them so much so to the point where every time they get a supply of Olives they have to lock them away so Soap doesn’t take them too his room and eat them all in one sitting (side note: I hate olives, I really fucking hate olives)

Ghost likes hello kitty because it reminds him of the softer things in life (which he doesn’t really get to see much I can imagine) so back at home he has a bunch of hello kitty stuff such as plushies all placed neatly on his bed along with some other stuff like bed sheets, but he refuses to take any of it with him on missions even if he can keep it in his room in the Barracks because he’s just so scared that if the Barracks get attacked his plushies will either get dirty/bloody or straight up “injured” and he just loves them too much to let that happen, just quietly he thinks if that where to ever happen his entire world would fucking crumble in front of him (self inserting myself a bit bc I love my plushies this much too and I love hello kitty)

Price although he smokes cigars he knows how it can make Gaz worry (worried son moment frfr) so he’s trying to stop so he’s taken up chewing a shit load of gum. He will sneak in an occasional cigar if he gets too stressed out on a mission. He just needs that relief for a second but he swears he’ll stop next time (he doesn’t).

Soap likes to collect bath toys, ever since he got his nickname “Soap” he’s taken a liking to collecting bath toys (specifically rubber ducky’s) whenever he’s back at home.

Graves is a full blown homosexual but he’s too scared to admit it so he denies it every time.

DBH imagines

Hank: getting home after reader and Connor (deviant Connor, sorry I really only write deviant Connor bc he holds a special place in my heart and any kind of Connor hurts me) get a day off “Hey im homeeee…”

Reader: covered in flour and butter

Connor: the ends of his fingers are charred black a bit from the oven and he has icing bits in his hair

Reader and Connor collectively: “We made you a cake! :D”

The cake in question:

Hank: literal fucking tears in his eyes out of pure terror and stress. “…Thanks guys, I’m not. I’m not hungry right now but I’ll eat it later” as he slowly shuffles to his room with a shell shocked look on his face.

Connor and Reader: Looking at each other with the stupidest and biggest smile on their faces.

(This is inspired by a tik tok audio)

Connor: who’s deviant but is still used to being a machine so he analyses every single little thing. He walks up to reader. “You’re hair smells different today, did you use a different shampoo?”

Reader: slowly turning around with a scared smile on their face. “That’s actually really… creepy”

Connor: (in his head) “creepy? Am I. Creepy?” But on the outside he looks like he’s on the verge of tears

Reader: who sees his expression and immediately hugs him just to assure him they’re not mad just giving him a heads up that it’s kinda weird, they still love him tho (either platonically or romantically)

Hank: in the kitchen making something

Connor: “Hey Hank, what are you making?” As he makes the mistake, the traumatic life changing mistake of looking in the pot

Hank: who’s boiling fucking raw chicken with nothing but hot water. “Chicken.” He says bluntly as he cleans up and puts the chicken on the plate and eats it while it’s completely unseasoned and practically raw

Connor: from the sheer shock of the encounter he goes into overload and he’s getting warning systems all over telling him sometimes wrong

Reader: who has to sit Connor down as they try not to gag from Hanks creation he dares to call a “meal”

DBH headcanons

Neither Hank nor Connor can cook for shit so 90% of the time it’s either microwaveable food or take out for Hank.

Since Connor turned Deviant he developed social anxiety but when he’s around people such as Hank or reader he’s so silly, he gets so stupid and funny it’s so cute to see him like that (I want to squeeze him and put him in my pocket then have him surgically inserted into my heart permanently I love him so much)

Connors autistic

Hanks Bi

Connors Pansexual

Connor and Hank so father son activities such as play catch outside and walk Sumo (with reader ofc)

Hank had his house renovated to have an extra room put in for Connor (and if you also want to live there an extra room for you but if your romantically in a relationship with Connor you would probably just have a bed put in Connors room and Connor, although he doesn’t need sleep, he’ll go into sleeping mode with you on the bed as you two cuddle)

Connor saved up enough money to buy a phone so once he got it all set up the camera roll is just filled with pictures of Sumo, other dogs he saw in public while out, him and Hank taking selfies, Hank who once got drunk and stole his phone and took pictures of himself, you and Connor selfies, (if you two are romantically together, sometimes just pictures of you, many, many pictures of you) and, you, Hank, Sumo and him all in a photo together. Maybe a couple of photos with his other friends too such as Markus etc etc but it’s mainly those.

Connor love’s physical touch, platonically, romantically, all of it. Every day he gives Hank a good morning hug, and a good night hug (best son ever fr) and every time he sees you he squeezes you into a tight hug and won’t let go for a good minute (if you two are in love he’ll also pepper your entire face with kisses for that entire minute finishing off with a smooch on the lips)

Ok that’s all for now, I love Connor fr he’s my favourite I would die for him.

I know this was super cringe but I had sm fun doing this.

Ok it’s like 2AM I should go to bed

Bye bye!

[goldenimpact]

hELLO IS ANYONE OUT THERE????

OKAY HI hELLO  FIRST OFF I HOPE EVERYONE IS WELL NOW

THAT THE EVIL WHATEVER I AM HAS FALLEN AND GCANT GET UP COMMERCIAL

SOMETHIN SEOMTHIGN DID IT HURT WHEN YOU FELL FROM HEAVEN THE ANSWER IS YES I GOT SHOVES TO THE FLOOR RECENTLY AND THIS FUCKIN BRUISE ISNT FADING FUNNNY HAHA OK PLEASENTRIRSSE ARE DONE

UH IM CATHERINE, MOD-SAN, GOLD, whatever they're callin me nowadays holy shit dude my hands are shakin like crazy

they've had me literally cleaning house PRETTY MUCH AS SOON AS I RECOVERED all work no play makes jack a dull boy thats me IM jack damn it i can't tell if i've eveolved into  a live-in housekeeper or some sort of roomaate and the paymetnt si s that i get to keep my lifeand also i REALLY need to move my keyboard over or get the window to leave the screen cause i can't blind type it just ain't happenin my leg's jitterering like hell BUT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART IS IM ALIVE YAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO but i have absolutely NO CLUE how ;long THAS gonna last BBUT the great news is that ive finally been able to sit at my dangf computer and and actual;ly TYOOUCH ANFD LOOK AT IT ive practically been buried in all the freezers BUT ANYWAYS GOD MY HANDSA THEY STING SO FUCKING IABAD D ALKl ANYWAYS IM ALIVE IM STILL HERE IM TRYING?????????? TO GET BACK BUT EVERYONE HERE IS UHH NOT GOOD TO PUT IT LIGHTLY ITS TERRIFYIN OVER HERE BUT IM SENDING MY WELL WISHES THAT EVERYONE IS OKAY OVER THERE AND YOU SURVIVED WHETER THE HECK ANGR MY BIG SDIS MUST"VE SBUBJECTED YALL TOO BEACSE SHE IS FUCKING PISSSEEED LATELY IM GENUUNINLY WORRIED FOR OURLIVES LEVEL THERES SO MANY FIGHTS AND COMING-OUT-ABOUT-HER-LEGEND-OF-VIOLENCE STORY AND THE SHOOTIGN REVENTLY AND POINT IS THE LEGAL STUFF MIGHT GET RESOLVED OKAY?????? DADS MAGIC PROTAG POWERS OR WHATER APAPRENTLY HE KNOWS EVREYONE PERSON ON THE PLANET ITS GODDAMN WITCHCARAFT BUT MOMS DROPPIN LIKE EVERY OTHER DAY BBBBBBUYT OTS HER BIRTHDAY THIS WEEK AND WERE GONNA TRY AND TAKE ME OUTSIDE AND SEE IF I EXPLODE IN THE SUNLIGHT SO UUUUUUUUUUUUUUH THANKS FOR EVERYTHIGN I LOVE YOU GUYS ILL TRYT TO FUCKIN REACTIVATE ALL MY ACCOUNTS ALL A BAJILLION OF THEM APPARENTLY I WAS ONE CRASY AKJSFI KID PLEAASE PASS THIS MESSAGE ON MY BI G SIS WAKES UP SOON IF SHE HEARS ME IM GETTTIN IT I HAVE NO FUCKIN IDEA WHATS GOIN ON ON YOUR SIDE CAUSE NO ONE IS SAYIN JACK SHIT BADUM TSSHH BUT I GOT  MY SHIT COMIN AT LIKE 9 AM RIGHT WHEN I TAKE MY VERY MYSTERIOUS NO ONE KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK THEY DO ANYMORE MEDS AND IF I KICIK THE BUCKET AT LEAST I FUCKING STAYED BABY YAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

ALSO IM NOT DRUNK WE DONT DRINK IN THIS HOUSE EVER BUT I DEFINITYL NEEDS A LIL HELP IN LIKE ANY SORT OF MEANIN NO ONE IN THIS HOUSE FUCKIN REMEMBERS ANYTHING IN ANY SOR TOF WAY FOR ANY SORT OF THING ITS AN ACTUAL I HAVE NO IDEA WHOSE CALLIN OR TOUCHIN SHIT OR WHAT TALL THIS SHTI IS IN THE HOUSE AND FRANKLY IM TERRIFIED CAUSE EVREYONE LEAVES POR PASSES OUT BEFORE I CAN GET A CLEAR ANSWER AND AND ADN COLD WAR INTELLIGENCE WHATHER NEWS STORY OLD POPS HERE IS PUTTIN ON TV ANYWAYS LOVE YOU GUYS STAY SAFE CALL OUT IF YOU SEE ME IN THE WILDS SOMEDAY BUYYEYEEE

WAIT I JUST REMEMBRED BIG SIS IS GONNE DESTROY SHIT SOON SONSONSOON SHIT HSHISTHSHIT OK ANYWAYS ERVYTHIN ONLINE LOOKS OKAY FROM WHERE I CAN SEE IT IN MYSETRUOS VPN LAND AND IM GOIN THROUGH MY COMP RIGHT NOW BUT EVREYON IN OUR HOUSE RECOGNIZES THE DISCORD SYMBOL PROBABLY>>>?????? SO IM TRYIN TO FIND ALL OTHER CONTACTS BUT ITS JUST A BUNCH OF EMAILS DDDDUDE I JUST HAD TO LET YALL KNOW WE'RE ALIEV HOPE ALL OF YOU ARE WELL LOVE YALL EVER IF YOU DONT BELIEVE THAT ASTY SAFE WATCH OUT FOR FUKCING PUNCHES OR SIDESWEEPS AND MY BIG SISSS KILLING BLOW AND THE FCKKGNGI  SWORD ON TOP OF HER BOOKSELG OR THE LITTLE GUN THING IN HER LCOSET WHAT THE FUCK IS EVEN IN HER ROOM ANYMROE ANYWASY DONT DIE OUT THERE LIKE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PEACE OUT BURY ME UNDER A BLUE SKY WITH ALL MY SHIT IIM HANDING  DOWN WHATEVR THE ITTY BITTY NOT SO BITTY NEICE WANTS LIL PRINCESS LILLY HAACKER SCAMMER HUSTLER SECOND LEGEND OF VIOLENCE IN THE MAKIN IM GONNA FUCKIN PASS OUT I HAVE NO  IDEA OF FUCKIN ANYTHIN THATS HAPPPENIN HERE EVERERR GOD CAN I TALK TO ANYONE THAT ISNT THIS NEIGHBORHOOD THAT THIGNS I HAVE HEARSD ABOUT THE PWOPLE ROUND HERE any ewysbans m y hands are shak in and breakin and crankin love yall stay safe dont fall into a ditch like me ever again mMWAHH TEDDIE IF YOURE OUT I STILL OWE YOU THAT FUCKIN LETTTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 3731

my momma came by this morning to bring some stuff over. i was grateful to get a hug from her.

i also got to move my car back to the driveway, and then as joel and i went to go pick up his meds from the drug store, i got a call from a random mass number.

i picked it up.

it was marcus, the account manager at biogen.

he told me i was being removed from the site.

keep in mind, i have received no notice about my performance, i am out sick with covid, and my last week off was approved, so there is nothing that i could possibly know of that would warrant being removed from the site.

but all i could say was "okay," and try not to cry.

so.

i no longer work at biogen.

which is surprising, but honestly i'm better off.

i cried for a bit, but joel was with me and helped me kinda calm down. as the day has gone on, i've realized more and more that it's a relief. i was overworked and upset and honestly so fucking tired that it was basically impossible to get anything done. and to be removed without being spoken to or given an opportunity to improve, i must have been genuinely, sincerely, and extremely overworked and exhausted.

so.

i'm okay.

glad i don't have to deal with them.

but i do have to go in and get my belongings from the office. which sucks, but it's fine.

i gotta say, deleting my 3:50am alarms felt really nice.

plus i can see my friends again without needing to prioritize being awake at 4am the next day.

i can see my friends again!!

i'm gonna need to take a week to recover beyond the covid for sleep behavior, but i'll get to see joel more and i'll get to see my friends more and i'll be able to get things done.

i already spent a bunch of time today looking at jobs. i saw an open position for a carpenter in woodsville. that was funny.

but that's a lot. that's what i went through today.

leo has been very concerned. i know how bad my mental state has been recently because of the covid, and adding "loss of job with no chance for course correction" is shitty, but with joel's support, i'm just fine. i've been talking to leo all evening off and on, and he's nervous about his job now, too. he thinks he doesn't do a good job but he's always doing great. he pays attention and communicates and asks good questions and doesn't get distracted. unlike me.

i have a lot of potential options for temporary employment, plus i'm still waiting on the big one. in the meantime, i need to be reimbursed by the con and joel said he'd help me with my bills. which i very much appreciate.

also earlier today, jey reached out to me! he asked how things in the gsoc were going and i said "it's funny you say that" and told him about my phone call with marcus and everything. he asked about leo, i asked about how he's doing. all seems like it's just fine except for me constantly being a disaster.

so i'm glad for all of them for doing well.

i just wish i could say the same, yknow?

sigh.

[bigskydreaming]

I kinda wanna fucking scream, so here, have a offline bullshit rant post.

So I’ve literally been trying to get my stupid fucking meds for over a MONTH now at this point, which I’m sure you can all see like, my mood is just wooooonderful these days. Not an excuse, casual reminder that yeah you do gotta take care of your own space so if my mood is dragging anyone down, I’m totes on board with blocking or unfollowing or y’know, burning me in effigy or something. Okay maybe not that last part. But still. You get it. And its not even that like, I need mood stabilizers per se, lol, so shout out to the armchair diagnosticians helpfully peppering my inbox still in their quest to oh so slickly be like ‘hey you’re a hot mess, take your hot messness away from tumblr’ like lol, didn’t ask.....nah, its mostly the perpetual lack of sleep and chronic pain issues that I have zero distraction from when my specific combo of meds isn’t able to let me actually weaponize my ADHD properly and power through that. Its a whole thing. Whatever. Just go with it.

POINT IS. So I’ve been trying to do this for over a month now, first obstacle was even just getting the money together for my refill appointment which is a whopping $150, because I have to pay out of pocket for mental health stuff these days because I had to switch my insurance over to something that paid out more heavily for physical benefits like my jaw surgery.....and because of the pandemic, and how many psychiatrists in my area and that I could actually reach aren’t taking new patients during the pandemic since most of them are conducting business virtually still, like, I have barely any resources for seeking out and trying new psychiatrist offices in the meanwhile that might charge less and I’m kinda stuck with the one I have because the last thing I can afford is to have like, NO psychiatrist at the moment, y’know?

So first I had to have that to even BOOK the appointment, which took forever because rent and food are a joy to accrue when you can barely manage to function as an actual employee of the capitalist machine ahfsklhflkahflakf, but so then I did that and like, got an appointment put on the books for August 19th. That was the soonest they could fit me in back when I paid them for my appointment about a week and a half ago. No, two weeks ago now? Eh, time is fake. ANYWAY, so that wasn’t gonna work for me, so basically the entirety of last week was devoted to constantly calling and trying to check in every other hour to see if they had any sooner cancellations I could take, because for whatever fucking reason, they just ‘don’t do’ a cancellation list wherein they call the next person on the list once they have a cancellation. Whatever.

So finally got a cancellation slot with a virtual appointment last Saturday night at random as fuck 8:40. Okay cool. Most of my refills are fairly simple, no real changes, but two are controlled substances so like, they have to do their due diligence and go through the proper protocols before giving me another prescription to one or whatever. Fine. Okay.

So I call the CVS they sent the prescription for my ADHD med to, the very next morning. One of the controlled substances, and the key med to like....making me functional instead of a rambling disjointed whirlibird of a thought emitter. Problem is, that medication is on back order. Won’t be in until Tuesday. Ugh. Okay, fine. Nothing I can do about it, because while the specific provider I spoke to in order to GET my refill prescriptions was taking an appointment the night before, the actual offices that schedule appointments and connect patients through to their providers was closed for the weekend, so I couldn’t even ask for them to send the scrip somewhere else.

SO. I go back to the CVS on Monday, hoping that maybe it came in early because not like I can do much else in the meanwhile. Course its not there, but oh well. I toy with the idea of calling to ask my provider to send the scrip to a different pharmacy (only had it sent to this one cuz its within walking distance to me, and since I can’t drive for medical reasons and Uber’s are expensive as fuck, just for errands, like, even though walking is sooooo not fun for me physically, like it is what it is). I decide against it because here’s another fun fact about this controlled substance....for security reasons, pharmacies don’t have to tell people over the phone if they have it in stock or not. Like, they won’t just say no we don’t have it in stock - I mean, they WILL say that, but that doesn’t actually mean anything because that’s what most of them say about that particular medication no matter whether or not they DO, and then just cite security protocols, so you have to actually GO to the store in question to ask them and even get a real answer to whether or not they even HAVE it in stock to FILL a prescription if its sent over. And no, the provider won’t just send scrips into several different pharmacies at once and just be whichever has it in stock can fill it - because again, controlled substance.

SO. I decide its not worth it to try getting the scrip sent over somewhere else, because I’d have to at least waste money on an Uber to even travel to various pharmacies and even check if they CAN fill it sooner than this one, when at least this place will have it in tomorrow. Its just one more day at this point.

Except then I go back on Tuesday. Oh sorry, don’t know why that other person told you we’d have our order in today, our shipments of that medication don’t come in until Wednesdays.

So I go back Wednesday. Success! They have it in stock. I go to pay, pulling out my goodRx coupon that was just printed out that morning, specifically citing the price for CVS at Target. The pharmacy manager says sorry, we don’t honor that coupon here for controlled substances like this one. I say: record scratch? He’s like yeah, that’s at the discretion of individual pharmacies, and we don’t honor that price for this specific medication, because we don’t want to attract customers only coming here to get that medication filled for that price. (This pharmacy is right at the edge of Inglewood and Culver City, for anyone who is familiar with those neighborhoods. The implications are exactly as they appear to be). So I’m like, what’s the regular generic price? He quotes me something that’s $180 more than the coupon, and thus $180 more than I have since I was focused totally on getting THIS amount ASAP, so I could get these meds so I could do more work and make more money. You see the train of thought. I’m like well that’s awesome, I don’t have anything close to that. Hey. Weird question. Why did nobody I talked to the past three days in a row that I’ve walked into this store in person to request this refill, like, mention this little tidbit about not honoring this coupon so instead of waiting for a backorder that would do me no good, I could have been spending that time having my prescription transferred somewhere that WOULD honor it?

He’s like, well did you mention to any of them that you’d be using a goodRx coupon for this particular medication? I said, yup. He said, you sure? I said well the specific process each time was I came in, I asked if this medication was in, they said what’s your name and date of birth, I provided that info, they said are you paying out of pocket, we don’t have valid insurance info for this on file for you, I said yup paying out of pocket with a goodRx coupon, they said *clickety clack of the keyboard* nope, sorry, we won’t have this medicine in until Tuesday, I mean Wednesday. 

He’s like, well you must be misremembering or they would have told you at the time that we don’t take GoodRx coupons on this medication. I’m like, dude, it was you. It was literally you that I spoke to two of those three times, right here at the counter, in person. I’m gonna go ahead and trust my memory of those interactions and what was said there over yours since you don’t actually remember having talked to me two times in the last three days. He’s like, I gotta go help another customer. There is no other customer. I leave. Fun day for everyone.

So then I call around town to at least check which CVS will actually honor the coupon I have and the price that I can afford to pay it at. I don’t bother asking if they even have the medication in stock because I know its not guaranteed to be a CORRECT answer, but at least I can see who accepts this damn coupon. Also, reason I’m only trying big brand pharmacies instead of smaller, hole in the wall ones is because again, controlled substance, and I know from experience that the bigger brand pharmacies are at least more likely to have that med in stock whereas most smaller ones tend to run out very quickly as they usually only get enough for their existing/regular customers and a little extra.

I find a CVS five miles away - not walkable, gonna have to Uber. Call my psychiatrist office again to ask them to transfer the scrip, front office says they’ll send the request to my provider, who usually checks and fulfills such requests in 24-48 hours. I’m like okay cool, can I get a phone call to let me know when that happens, so at least I know when to check back to follow up if it hasn’t happened yet for whatever reason? They’re like no, the pharmacy will send you a text or call when they get the prescription sent over and you can take it from there with them. I’m like okay, but I’ve done this a bunch of times and know from experience the pharmacy does NOT in fact always call or text, so is there a certain time to follow up to inquire if the provider has already sent the scrip and the pharmacy SHOULD have it by now or if the delay is on the provider’s end? Front office is like yeah no. I’m like, swell.

So that was yesterday. I call the pharmacy (which I still don’t even know if they have the medication IN STOCK to fill the scrip even once they GET the scrip, and won’t until I can actually Uber out there, but one thing at a time at this point) at like 9 pm, they’re a 24 hour pharmacy, and they’re like nope, we got nothing (this is after spending an hour and a half on hold to even TALK to someone at the pharmacy). Called them again today at noon, still nada. Technically I have another 29 hours before the window in which the provider is supposed to send the refill scrip to this new location, before I can be like, okay so they still haven’t done it, can we send him a nudge or another request. The 24-48 hour window will only actually EXPIRE after their offices close on Friday meaning it’ll be Monday before I can even actually REACH someone again to ask them to send the scrip again, if the pharmacy hasn’t ACTUALLY gotten it by Friday night, and pessimistically, I’m not super inclined to assume that they will at this point. 

I’m antsy, irritable, hungry because I don’t even know for SURE sure if the new pharmacy will ACTUALLY honor the coupon or say no sorry we don’t do that here either, whoever told you that was wrong, or if they’ll even actually have it in stock versus I’ll have to have it sent somewhere else AGAIN, so I have to pinch every penny possible in order to ensure I have the most money possible once my prescription IS filled in case the price is more than I expected again or in case I have to take Ubers there or further than I expected or basically....shit happens that I don’t expect. And this is what I’m basically spending all my time doing instead of working, because trying to get work done in this state is like....the harder I try to make it happen, the less it actually gets done, so I try and prioritize this and its roadblock after roadblock dragging out and wasting my time, and like yeah, I can post and shit while I’m doing this aka sitting on hold or walking around town trying to get shit filled because its fine if I ramble incoherently along the way in posts, but actual WORK work requires like....fucking coherency and succinctness and not having to stop and start every five minutes to call someone else, and oh yeah, being able to power through migraine spikes. And just.

I’m very annoyed about anything and everything to do with this shit. The hoops you have to jump through to even get the stuff that like....actualizes your hoop jumping ability, is just....*gnashing of teeth*

Anyway. So that’s my offline bullshit rant. Yay. The end.

[dzpenumbra]

11/13/22

In bed before 3:30?! Gonna need it. I swear to god, on those "I can't sleep until it's light out" nights, I get like... one hour of daylight after I wake up. It's just miserable. This time change really fucks nocturnal PTSD folk like myself.

I slept pretty poorly last night, I've been nodding off since like midnight, but Max's hyperthyroid meds need to be done every 12 hours and I've been doing them at the 2's(ish). So here I am, tryin to reset my sleep schedule a bit.

There's a homemade candle place in town my mom and I are hoping to go to tomorrow to see if they have any raw beeswax I could get for sealing wooden beads. Today, I sanded down a big piece of layered greenstone/quartz into a sorta soapdish so I could use it as a mortar. I scraped off some incense resin and ground it up into a fine dust, and mixed it with the wax/honey/propolis stuff. Unfortunately, that stuff is more like a petroleum jelly consistency than wax, so it was pretty hard to mix properly. I imagine heating up wax to a liquid state and mixing in powders is much easier than trying to grind it into a gel with a rock. But it worked. Another unfortunately, the wax gel stuff has its own scent, which is pretty strong, so it kinda competes with the incense smell a bit. It's not bad, but it's not ideal. So hopefully I can get my hands on some good wax to play around with.

I tried the wax gel mix on a new handcarved bead, it definitely took a darker stain and the darkest of it went into cracks in the wood, accenting the grain, which was a nice touch. But I'm not sure it's really penetrating the wood the way a legit heated wax would, I'm afraid it's kinda just sitting on the surface. I made a few more blanks too. I broke out the old box fan grindwheel thing I jury-rigged a while back. I can speed up the grinding process pretty quick with it, but... I really just wish I had a lathe. I'm doing it all backwards. If the bead itself is stationary and spinning rather than the sandpaper, then I can get much cleaner symmetry. Right now, I'm really shaping it blind and praying I get it right, and it's not really necessary. I decided to take a tip from the internet and grab an old allen key I'm not using that fits into my portable rotary tool and sawed off the L section of it, just making it a straight shaft. Unfortunately, the bit is just... too small. The bead blanks just fly right off the end of it when I try to shape with it. :( So... might be looking into some kind of lathe or something? Something quiet, maybe even manual.

While my rotary was charging for that whole trial-and-error adventure, I went to the bathtub and sanded a bunch of softer stones with pretty cool color pattern in them into what will hopefully be beads. For like... and hour and a half. And my fingers are damn sore after that. I figured with softer stone, I can probably just use my portable dremel to drill a hole through. It's just gonna be tricky using a vice on something as small as like the tip of my pinkie finger.

So yeah, today was a lot of trial and error in using found materials to try and build up a stock of kinda... filler materials? Like... not centerpieces for jewelry, but accompanying beads, accents and such. Or centerpieces for simpler pieces. Figuring out a process is exciting but it can get a bit frustrating and it can really feel... unproductive. Because I have no idea if this process is even going to stick. But that's just how it goes, you have to try things to find out if it works for you or if it's not your thing. I think the wood beads are much easier to make than I thought and I can do those pretty easily anywhere. Stone might be trickier without making a ton of noise. Unless I take the tumbler route. But I'm really not sure how that's going to go over if I have neighbors... and I still would have to drill the holes. I don't know how I can make that not loud.

I have to go up to meet with my new landlord (at least someone who works at the building) next week. I'm a bit concerned because I'm not really sure how I'm going to work around Max getting her meds. If I give her the 2PM meds... then I drive up immediately... I'm getting up to the new city around 4:30ish. I guess that's not too bad, but it's the earliest I can get there, and I'm going to have to head back later that night too. So I might as well take a load of stuff with me when I go, I guess? I'll have to brainstorm that tomorrow. The move is starting to get real. It's 1/4 exciting, 1/2 scary and 1/4 no feelings because I'm not really processing it fully. Could be worse!

I played drums again today because skating didn't work out. I didn't record, but I did jam out and it was pretty damn good today. I remember very clearly one sorta hip-hop beat that I was absolutely killing it on. It's such a cool feeling when you really get in the groove and are just locked in. I've never felt that with actual people while on drums, but I imagine it's pretty crazy. I just wanted to share that moment because it was really a highlight of my day.

My Rimworld colony is heading into their second winter and we rescued in a 4 year old boy and 7 year old girl, both orphans. It's... odd... having children around a grim survival situation, but they're doing great and the growth and learning system in the new DLC looks very interesting. I'm curious to see how things turn out. The colony is very stable right now, we even have a solar grid, batteries and a heated greenhouse so that (hopefully) food can be grown even when it's -30F out, cutting down that dreadful reliance on hunting in the winter, which can be pretty rough. We have a good stockpile of food, a reliable power supply that's not dependent on fuel, tons of hay for the yaks (plural, and Savannah, the original yak, has a mate and a child now) and the cows (I think we have 3 or 4 now). This colony has had a lot of twists and turns, it never goes how you plan. The new DLC is pretty cool I guess, it's just kinda weird when you think you're fighting a dude and then suddenly he just starts breathing fire at you and you're just like... "what the fuck are you, dude!"

Time to catch up on sleep. Fingers crossed for a sunny day tomorrow, I'd love to get the board out a few more times before the snow hits! Then out comes the snowskate!

[issa-me-addy]

It Still Hurts (Peter Parker x Reader)

okay so i saw this gifset here and the quote from the movie [Happy: I thought you had super strength. // Peter: It still hurts. ] and INSPIRATION STRUCK, again i bet this concept has been done before but i cannot hold back i must write about this so here is my sad petey x reader one shot please enjoy 

WARNINGS: angst?, cursing, talk of blood/stitching, crying and generally just a really sad piece i have no reason for this i just couldn’t get the concept out my mind 

Word count: 1725

It was getting late. Very late, even for Peter and you were growing very concerned. He told May that he was going to stay at the Tower with Happy after a simple arms deal bust he was assigned to do with Sam and Bucky out at the shipyard. So of course, the two of you arranged that he’d come in through your fire escape to spend the night instead. To your disbelief though, he was late. 

In general, when the two of you made these kinds of plans he would be in your window at three the latest but it was pushing near four in the morning and you were growing more and more anxious by the second. 

As the clock hit 4:30, Peter’s hand hit your window. 

You opened it up quickly, the dim light of your TV the only thing illuminating your room. He shuffled in, leaning heavily on you, panting and wincing with every rough step towards your bed. 

“What the fuck happened Peter?” You asked, genuinely curious, releasing your hold on his elbow as he sat down on the corner of your bed. His body fell forward as he leaned his forearms onto his knees and allowed his head to swing between his shoulders. 

“I was wearing the old suit. I left the new one in the lab because I coded some new stuff for it and I’ve been putting off this last update. I thought I would be fine since it was an easy mission, plus Wanda came out with us but these guys had some punch to ‘em.” Peter explained as you stood in front of him, slowly moving his head and arms around to check for anything that needed special attention. When you lifted his right arm he winced. 

You nodded, allowing him to continue explaining what went down at the docks. You shuffled through your closet until you found your old med kit, humming softly every now and then to let him know you were still listening. 

The kit had some dust from sitting at the very back of the shelf and not being touched for over a year since Peter had joined forces with the Avengers. With the major suit upgrade and the med team at the tower, he never had to sneak in through your window at night to get patched up anymore, which begged the question that you could no longer hold back. 

“Pete, why didn’t you go back to the tower to get patched up?” You asked. 

“I didn’t want to go to the tower, they would have made me stay there,” he explained. “And I really wanted to see you. I got my ass handed to me, babe. It sucked.” 

You turned on the lamp that sat atop the small table by your bed and sat to Pete’s right, examining the cut just above his right shoulder blade. He was going to need a few stitches. 

“I can see that,” You joked, opening up the kit and prepping your needle. “Take the suit off, I need to clean this up. It’s gonna be at least four stitches.” 

He obliged, hissing as he peeled off the top and letting it drop into his lap. “I always hated stitches.” 

“I know, but it’s gotta happen,” you explained, gently wiping the gash with alcohol and wincing alongside his reactions. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for the blood, for making you do this.” 

You shake your head despite the fact that he has his back to you. “It’s fine,” you reply. “I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t wanna get patched up by the nurse at the tower. She even gives lollipops afterwards.” 

He lets out a sharp chuckle. “Yeah Nurse Katherine’s great at fixing me up, sure, but I really didn’t want to sleep alone tonight.” 

You hum in reply as you prep your needle. “Okay, Pete, I’m gonna start the stitches.” 

Peter nods his head and remembers not to talk while you do these stitches. 

Up until high school, the only stitches you knew were the kind you did to patch up the pits of your t-shirts and to put little flowers in your denim jacket. Then, in your freshman year, your cousin had busted his forearm open at the skatepark and you were the only person in the entire family with a steady hand. That night you learned how to stitch a man up. After you told Peter that story though, he started showing up on your fire escape with cuts, scrapes and bruises galore. 

Although it had been over a year since you’d last done this though, Peter had given you a lot of practice and you were back in your groove very quickly. 

Despite this, you heard soft cries coming from the broad body in front of you. 

“I thought you had super strength,” you attempted to make fun, pulling through your third stitch. 

“It still hurts,” he replied, his voice raspy and low. 

In your heart you knew he wasn’t talking about the stitches. You’ve stitched up a gouge much worse on his calf after he got caught up with a girl who really loved her knives, and he didn’t even complain. That night it was eight stitches and not a peep from him.

You finished the rest of the stitches in silence. After wiping up the rest of the blood smeared on his body, you cleaned up the skin around the suture and placed a large cotton pad atop it, securing that in place and hoping that he didn’t get blood on your bed sheets again. 

You packed away your med pack and grabbed a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from the collection of clothes you’d stolen from Peter in the last year or so that you guys have been together. 

“Thank you,” he said, pulling his suit off and climbing into his sweats. 

His eyes were still red and puffy, the only sounds filling the room were random sniffles and the sound of you sorting out the bed for the two of you to sleep. 

“Are you okay, Pete?” You asked, sitting up on the left side of the bed, the comforter pulled up in your lap. 

He pulled the shirt on over his head and pulled the blanket off your lap and settled himself in between your legs, his back pressed up against you, and pulling your arms around his shoulders. 

Before you could piece words together to react, soft sobs filled the room. 

A minute passed and you pulled him closer to you, pressing soft kisses to the crown of his head and running your thumb up and down his forearm. 

His breathing finally slowed. “I miss him so much.” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek thinking of something to say. 

You knew well enough he was talking about Tony. Ever since Tony died, Peter’s been off his game. Even with the Stark tech, he was getting pretty hurt at every single mission. He wasn’t sleeping as much and if you managed to catch him in between tasks, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. 

“I know,” you reply. “I’m sorry, Peter.” 

You can’t think of anything else to do but squeeze him a little tighter. 

“I just-- it still hurts. It’s been months and it still hurts. I miss him. I don’t like the world without Tony Stark. It’s scarier. Even I’m scared all the time. I can’t focus on missions, and that means I’m putting people in danger,” he stops to breathe, pulling your arms a little closer to his chest. “and I’m just so tired of watching good men die at the hands of selfish people.” 

You sit and listen and feel your heart ache at the sight and sound of nothing but a boy in pain, mourning the loss of someone he loved so dearly, and there’s not much else you can do but hold him close, listen and be there for him.

“I know. It’s not fair. There’s nothing fair about it.” 

“I want Tony back.” 

The two of you sit there for a while longer, Pete’s sniffles filling the air. Eventually they stop and he unwraps your arms from around him and the two of you lie down. 

You end up on your back with Peter’s head resting on your chest, slowly breathing in your scent. His arms snake around your middle and you know he’s going to be insistent on holding you like this for the rest of the night, so you try to get comfy. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you rake through them over and over and over again, hoping that he’ll fall asleep soon. 

He doesn’t. 

“Do you think we’ll be okay?” he asked, his voice soft and quiet. 

“I think New York can only be so bad with a guy like Spiderman defending it,” you mutter back, pressing another kiss to his forehead. 

“I don’t think I can fill Mr. Stark’s shoes, y/n.” 

“I think you can. He picked you, Peter.” 

“But he was Iron Man, he was always there when the world needed saving.” 

“I don’t think he would have done what he did if he didn’t think that you could help take care of the world for him.” 

He didn’t respond, but you felt him hold his breath, so you continued. 

“And you’re not alone Pete. He gave you a family with the Avengers and he believed in you.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I believe in you.” 

You smoothed his hair back before tangling your fingers with the bunch at the nape of his neck. The two of you lied awake for nearly another hour, not speaking, just holding each other. 

You held this boy in your arms, desperate to protect him from anymore loss and grief. This boy who had a huge heart and nothing but a yearn to protect the ones around him. This boy who was one of the people responsible for saving the universe. 

And Peter held his number one reason for continuing to fight the good fight. That night, as you held him and his chest filled with an ache only you could soothe, he made a promise to himself that he would protect the world with every bit of him, so long as you were in it. 

[poisonedapples]

Roman Gets Help 1/5: Bad Nights

Part One: Virgil

Part Summary: Roman is always trying to make his anxiety more manageable with a bunch of different tactics. But a disorder is a disorder, and some days are worse than others. But at least his best friend Virgil is around to help.

Part of the Service Dog AU!

Pairings: Platonic Prinxiety

Warnings: Past panic attacks, medication, anxiety, Remus making poop jokes because he’s Remus, swearing and food mentions

Word Count: 2,751

Taglist: @hold-our-destiny @pricklyfish777 @romansleftshoulderpad

Notes: Cornybird on Ao3 deserves Many Squishmallows for editing so much of my stuff, including this. So send visual squishmallow vibes to her, she deserves it

Virgil really should have known something was weird when Roman didn’t text back.

The two had made plans during lunch to meet up at Roman’s house so he could help with Virgil’s Spanish homework. Roman was infinitely better with language stuff than Virgil could ever dream to be, and even when the work was done, it was always nice to hang out in his room and get away from his wild parents every once in a while. But since Roman left school early and Virgil had to stay after for band practice, he hadn’t heard or seen Roman in a while.

That in itself wasn’t weird, though. What was weird was that when Virgil texted him that he was on his way, Roman didn’t respond. Not even with an emoji reaction or a simple ‘okay’. But even then, what was even weirder was that Virgil was right outside his door, texting Roman to open it for him, and he still wasn’t responding.

Virgil checked the last three messages he sent to Roman’s phone. All of them were marked as delivered but not read, which was also very concerning. What could Roman be doing that he hadn’t checked his phone in thirty minutes? Virgil got anxious when he didn’t read messages immediately, let alone waiting half an hour.

Virgil sent him one last text before putting his phone away. You there? I’m outside.

No response. Virgil knocked on the door and shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting and shifting on his feet for someone to open the door. After a couple minutes, he started to think Roman had just forgotten.

However, a slight spark of hope rose up in him at the sound of the front door opening. But when Virgil looked up from his shoes to the person at the door, he felt his shoulders sag.

It wasn’t Roman who had opened the door. There was no shy and apologetic smile with Princess right under his feet. Instead, it was his bastard brother in ripped jeans and a green tank top, blowing bubblegum like a bully in a 90s Nickelodeon show.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite emo! What brings you here, Raven Way?” Remus asked, leaning on the door frame with a cocky smile.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “You’ve already used that one.”

“It’s my favorite nickname for you. It’s the perfect brand of insulting. It has spice to it.”

“I’m glad you’re entertained then. Is Roman out somewhere?”

Remus cocked an eyebrow. “No, he’s been up in his room. Last I checked he was as passed out as a corpse.”

“Okay...can I come in then?”

Remus smiled and opened the door for Virgil, taking a bow as he stepped inside. Virgil rolled his eyes again. This guy is so fucking weird. “You know where his room and the shitter is. Just follow the trail of dog hair to his royal highness.”

“You terrify me, Remus.”

“Good! That’s the aesthetic I’m going for. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a bigass thing of chili dip in the fridge that may or may not be expired. We’ll see!” Virgil’s eyes narrowed as Remus skipped back to the kitchen and right to the fridge, but he really didn’t want to be around for that mess. Instead, Virgil went upstairs and turned left to Roman’s room, the colorful Disney decorations covering his door. Virgil knocked twice, but when met with no answer, he came inside anyway.

The first thing Virgil noticed was the lights. The windows and blinds were shut tight so no sunlight could get through while Roman’s fairy lights around his room were turned on. The soft twinkling gave the room a feeling of calmness, but the sight on the bed was more concerning than tranquil. Princess was sat down on top of the bed comforter with two arms wrapped around her, Roman blending in with the sheets he was under as he shoved his face in his dog’s fur. At least she didn’t seem to mind.

Roman looked up at the sound of the door opening. Virgil felt his heart sink when he saw the tear streaks down his face and his messed up hair, but Roman tried his best to respond to Virgil anyway. “Hey…”

Virgil took off his shoes and threw his backpack onto the floor next to the door. “Hey, dude. You look like shit.”

Roman made a strange huff sound, probably meant to be a laugh. “Thanks.”

He buried his face back into Princess’ fur, and Virgil felt that pang of worry grow stronger. He moved to the other side of the bed, sitting alongside Roman and his pile of blankets and pillows. “You okay?”

Roman shrugged. “I’m doing better.”

“What happened?”

“Panic attack.”

Virgil sucked the air through his teeth as a way to say yikes. “Seems like it was a pretty bad one.”

Princess rolled over onto Roman’s chest, and Roman cuddled even closer than what Virgil thought was possible. He looked so small when he did that. “Worse than usual.”

“Do you know what caused it?”

“No. Sometimes it just happens.” Roman kissed the top of Princess’ head. “Anxiety just...does that.”

“Yeah, I get it. Trust me, out of everyone you know, I’d probably be the one to understand it the most.”

“...Yeah.”

An awkward silence fell between the two of them. Virgil didn’t actually know what to do when Roman was like this. He’s stopped him from having panic attacks in the past, but he’d never seen him look this bad. Roman was curled in on himself under the covers, gripping onto Princess for dear life in an attempt to soothe himself. His pile of stuffed animals usually spread around the bed were now in a giant pile around his body, and his weighted blanket poked out from under the comforter too. It looked like he was trying his hardest to get comfortable, and Virgil didn’t know what else he could do. A distraction? A nap?

Well, only one way to find out.

Virgil took a deep breath in. “...Is there any way I can help?”

Roman shrugged again. “Not that I know.”

“Did you take a nap? That usually helps me the most.”

“I just woke up. My meds knocked me out.”

“Your meds?”

Roman took a pill bottle from his nightstand and showed it to Virgil. He read the confusing label that all medicine bottles have, but the name of the pills was long and unfamiliar in Virgil’s mind. Roman placed them back once Virgil got a good look and curled in on himself more. “Panic attack meds. They help you calm down really quick when you’re having an attack. They always put me to sleep after. Remus likes to call them my tranquilizer dart.”

Virgil snorted. “I mean...accurate name. I’ve just never seen you with those before.”

“I only take them on bad days. My therapist warned me about how I shouldn’t take them after every panic attack, because then I’ll never learn how to deal with them on my own, and I might get addicted. Which I’d rather not.”

“Yeah, I know about the addiction thing. I used to be on anti-anxiety until last year.”

Roman tilted his head up to look at Virgil for the first time. “Really?”

“Yup. I got eased off them after a while, though. Now I just take an antidepressant, which honestly isn’t much. I think everyone in our friend group is on some kind of meds.”

“...Patton?” Roman asked.

“Patton’s one depressed mother fucker. I say that out of love, but yes, he’s also on antidepressants.”

“And Logan?”

“...Dude. Epilepsy.”

Roman let out a silent oh. “...I forgot you take meds for that.”

“Our brains are fucked up and we accept this.”

Roman flashed a small smile but didn’t respond. After that, the two had fell silent as Virgil awkwardly patted a beat on his leg to put his nervous fidgeting to use.

What do you do for someone getting out of a panic attack? It was obvious Roman wasn’t in a talking mood, but it was killing him inside to just...sit there while he looked so helpless. But he’d never had to deal with this with a friend before. The worst he’d dealt with were Patton’s bad depression days, and those had nothing on how horrible Roman looked right now. And if he already took a nap...what else were you supposed to do after a panic attack?

Virgil thought back to his own experiences. Of course, Virgil’s anxiety was nothing compared to Roman’s, but it was better than nothing. And comfort worked no matter how bad you felt, even if it was only a little.

He thought back to his own parents. How his mom would hold him and let him cry into his shoulder if he needed to, but that was too awkward for him to do with Roman. His dad would let him curl up and watch him play games on the console, which could maybe work…

...Then Virgil remembered another thing his mom did once after one of his worst panic attacks. It might be a bit embarrassing because of intimacy, but it would help Roman feel better. And that’s all that matters.

“I’m gonna go get some stuff, okay?” Virgil said, “You stay right here.”

Roman hummed. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, but okay.”

With that, Virgil hopped out of Roman’s bed and left the bedroom.

First, he needed a water bottle. Roman probably had some water when he took his meds, but it likely wasn’t enough to stop a headache after all the crying. Virgil went downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. While he was there, he looked through the rest of the fridge and noticed that there was no container of chili dip in there anymore. Gross.

Expired chili dip aside, he would need a face rag as well. Virgil went through a hallway on the first floor to the older bathroom downstairs, looking through the drawers for a decent cloth. A small one was hidden in the back of the drawer with some bottles of face wash and lotion, so Virgil grabbed that and took a mental note to put it back later. He stood in front of the faucet and stared at it for a while.

Was cold or hot water better for getting tears off someone’s face? Warm water seemed like it’d be more comfortable, but cold water could also be more refreshing. He thought about the possibilities for a while and settled on warm based on his own preferences, turning the hot and cold handles to where the water was only slightly warm, wetting a side of the cloth then turning the faucet off.

Before he left the bathroom, Virgil grabbed a couple squares of toilet paper and then headed out the door. He was back in Roman’s room not even five minutes later, setting his stuff on the nightstand for a second as he grabbed his DS from his bag and turned it on. Roman glanced up from the bed with a confused look, but didn’t say anything. Virgil came back next to the bed and motioned for Roman to move to the middle. Reluctantly, and with some shifting of Princess still at his side, Roman did so.

Virgil sat in Roman’s old spot and grabbed the wad of toilet paper. “Here, sit up and blow your nose. The last thing you need right now is more breathing problems.”

Roman grunted as she shimmied out from under his weighted blanket to sit up against the headboard of his bed. He took the toilet paper from Virgil and blew. “...Thanks.”

“No problem. Now just stick with me for this next part, because I’m not good with touchy-touchy shit, so this’ll be a little awkward.”

Roman gave Virgil a confused look, but he didn’t say anything. He grabbed the damp cloth and silently tilted Roman’s head to face him. Virgil tentatively lifted the cloth to his face and wiped the tears from under his eyes, the gesture mixed with the warm water making Roman hum in content. Virgil didn’t acknowledge what was happening, he just wiped off his friend’s face, flipping to the dry part of the cloth to dry him off after.

“There. That should help you feel less gross, anyway.”

“Thanks...it helped.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” Virgil set the cloth to the side and handed Roman the water bottle. “And drink this, it’ll help with that nasty headache you probably have.”

Roman twisted the cap open and chugged the bottle, finishing half of it in record speed before putting it down again. Virgil could tell by how fast he chugged it that his head was probably throbbing.

“Feeling a little better now?” Roman nodded. “Wanna watch me play Harvest Moon until you probably pass out again?”

He nodded again, Virgil scooting closer to him so Roman could place his head on his shoulder as he watched. His hand combed through Princess’ fur as Princess trapped the other under her paw to lick. Most people would think it was gross, but considering licking was one of her grounding techniques, he was desensitized to it by now. “Which one do you have?”

“A New Beginning. I’ll show you all my cows because they’re bomb as fuck. My first cow is named Oven and I have a baby one named Chaos.”

Roman laughed as Virgil started up the game. “Awesome. You play it often?”

“Eh, sometimes. It’s not my favorite game, but I carry it with me because it’s good for calming anxiety down. All I gotta do is feed my animals and mine and shit. Nothing else matters, you know?”

Roman nodded as best he could from Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil loaded up his save file and started to show Roman around his farm, mostly skipping the crops and going straight to the pets and farm animals with the most ridiculous names Virgil could get away with using only six letters. Virgil chatted away about his game and read all the speech bubbles out loud, showing off his wife who he swears he married platonically since his character was obviously gay and talking about his rivalry with the hair stylist. Roman wasn’t responding much, just a few hums and little laughs here and there, but Virgil didn’t mind. So long as his friend was feeling better, that was all that mattered.

A while later, Virgil was baking desserts for a contest being held in town when he spoke up again. “I’m shit at cooking good stuff in this game, but I can make some neat pancakes, apparently. I’m gonna make this contest my bitch.”

There was no response. That wasn’t very strange in itself, but usually when Virgil sweared, Roman at least made a small huff of a laugh from his shoulder. But this time, he was completely quiet. Virgil looked over at his shoulder when he almost awwww’ed out loud.

Roman had fallen back asleep, his mouth open slightly with his arms cuddling Princess extra close as she seemed to relax alongside him. He was adorable, and in a moment of softness that Virgil would deny to the end of his days, he helped Roman to lay back in bed and brushed the hair out of his face. Roman still clung slightly to him even as he slept, so Virgil accepted his fate and moved to curl up alongside him, continuing his game with a smile on his face.

“Your sleep schedule is gonna be absolutely fucked, dude.” Virgil said. There was no response, obviously, and Virgil didn’t talk to his sleeping friend after that. He just took a mental note to tell his parents he was staying the night before it got too late and kept caring for his farm.

Maybe later he’d wake Roman up and get him some dinner, letting him recharge and take a shower before they actually had to go to bed. He’d be too awake to actually sleep at first, but the company of his friend and the comfort of his dog would keep him calm through that, even when Roman hated being awake past eleven. Patton may even find out and tease Virgil about having a heart after all, which Virgil would deny until the end of his days. But his edgy reputation wasn’t what mattered right now.

Instead, Virgil smiled and cuddled closer as Roman slept peacefully.

[neighbourskid]

Dave? Dave.

It's been quite a bit since I've written anything here, huh? Well, I guess as it has been for pretty much everyone, life has been kinda strange for a while now. Despite vaccine roll-outs and continually changing safety regulations, there's still a global pandemic on, and everyone is trying to navigate this reality the best they can. For once, we are all, generally speaking, in the same boat now (sure, there are huge differences between countries because capitalism fucking sucks and rich greedy humans are once again proof that things need to change asap, but overall, we all have to deal with this pandemic).

But I don't actually want to talk about the pandemic, it just exists as a frame of what I do wanna talk about.

As I have mentioned before, when the pandemic hit, I was in the last semester of my undergrad studies and writing my Bachelor thesis. Or that's what I was supposed to do, anyway. I did do a lot of reading for it, early in the first lockdown after university closed and we were all attending from home. I was lucky, I had no classes, I only had like three scheduled meetings to check in on progress of the thesis, but otherwise I was free of zoom calls and attempting to attend university digitally. So I read.

After a while, reading became taking a book with me into the sun, glancing at one or two pages, and then just napping for most of the day, and spending my evenings either playing video games or watching some tv show or movie. At some point, I felt like now was the perfect time to rewatch all fifteen seasons of CRIMINAL MINDS, so I did that, instead of writing my thesis. I still occasionally read, but most of the days I just felt exhausted and unmotivated so I stayed in bed and binged my crime show.

As the deadline for the thesis started approaching, and the time I had left fell under a month, a switch in my brain seemed to be activated and, oh, hello, suddenly there was a certain drive there for that thesis again. Which lasted exactly until an email from university dinged into my inbox a few days later, informing me that I would get another month for my thesis, due to the pandemic. And away that motivation and drive went, immediately.

Not much later I had a session with the therapist I was seeing at the time, because of the hormone treatment I had started early that same year. I had talked to him about my concern that I might have ADHD before because I didn't feel like there was anything we needed to talk about related to my transition, so I brought it up again here. I told him how my thesis was going -- or rather, how it wasn't going at all -- and finally, as I told him about some of the issues I experienced while trying to do work for it, he acknowledged that I may indeed have some attention regulation issues. He prescribed me medication to try out, and -- wonder oh wonder -- suddenly I was writing my thesis. I ended up finishing it on time (even though a week before I had a moment of "all of this is garbage, I will never pass, I should start the whole thing from scratch") and got a decent grade for it, too. I've been on those meds since.

Over the last, I don't know how many years, I've always known that there was something a bit wonky about my brain. There were always these things that seemed to come so easy to other people, and try as I might, I just couldn't make them happen. I, presumably, had a lot of neurotypical friends. I also have friends with depression, BPD, anxiety disorders and other neurodivergencies. I have family members with autism. I know my mom suspected I might be on that spectrum as well.

Reading up on many of those things I never felt like any of them described what I was experiencing. There were certain traits, sure, but mostly there was a lack of what I actually did experience in most of them. Even ADHD, when reading about the "required" issues and traits, doing those self-diagnosing questionnaires, I just never saw what I felt represented. And then I started reading about what people with diagnosed ADHD had to say about how they experience things. I ignored the more medical or clinical information, and just looked for people talking about how they navigate their lives with ADHD. And then all of a sudden it was, oh, yeah this, this is relatable. This is where my brain's at.

Suddenly it made sense that caffeine didn't do nothing for me, that a nice, warm cup of coffee put me right to sleep. It made sense how, after only a month, suddenly a well beloved hobby or tv show was suddenly of no interest whatsoever. Staring at the wall for three hours instead of doing a simple task. Drawing in class so that I could pay attention to what is being said. The inability to remember much of my life before 6th grade. Having to bounce my leg so I could read a simple text. Needing to visually break a book down into chapters with colourful post-its to keep me from being overwhelmed by the length of the book. And so many other things. Suddenly, there was a reason for that.

I've always liked doing personality quizzes. Or doing stuff related to my zodiac sign even if I don't believe in astrology per se. Finding out what my Enneagram number is. Or my Myers-Briggs type. Not because I think those things define me or describe me to a T, but because they give me a vocabulary. They give me options. I love answering a bunch of questions and then getting a wall of text telling me This Is Who You Are and then I get to pick out what is accurate and what isn't. It gives me words to describe who I am that I didn't have before.

And it is the same thing with posts or videos of people with ADHD. It gives me a vocabulary for the things I experience and it lets me express those things in a way I wasn't able to before. Before, I was like, doing things that my brain doesn't want to do, feels like running headfirst into a wall because there is no way above, around, or underneath it. There is no door, no ladder, no tunnel, no nothing. There is only running headfirst into it until maybe, hopefully, it cracks. Preferably before my head does. But that is exhausting and most of the time, I prefer to not get through the wall at all, if what it takes is going headfirst through it. Now, I know that what that is, is a dopamine deficiency. The task that needs doing, the task that this wall is, doesn't give my brain enough dopamine. There is no satisfaction, there is nothing to gain from that task, so the brain isn't interested.

One of the things that I recently discovered and helps me a lot in this quest of figuring out how my brain works, is this guy Connor on tiktok, who also has ADHD. His videos are both hilarious and informative. And also incredibly relatable. They might be silly haha funny videos on the dear old internet, but I walk away from most of them going, oh! oh that makes sense, good to know.

He occasionally talks about how ADHD is completely misnamed and how Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder does not actually accurately describe what exactly people with ADHD lack. In one of his videos, he calls it DAVE instead. It's silly, and sounds a bit dumb, but I kinda like it. Dave. Dopamine Attention Variability Executive-Disfunction. Dave. I like Dave.

Y'know, I don't mind having ADHD. Presumably, I've lived with it my whole life so far. And it's annoying as shit some of the time. Especially when things need to get done and they just won't. But I don't mind that, especially now that I know that this is what it is. I've always feared that if I finally do go to a therapist and try to figure out what my brain is up to, they'll just tell me that I'm fine and there's nothing to worry about. And at first, my therapist did say I was psychologically unremarkable. But I guess if you've lived like this your whole life and nobody has really picked up on it, even a therapist doesn't notice (it's called masking, I've learned, thanks Connor).

But knowing is good. Knowing means I can learn things that help. I can take medication when needed. And, looking at the grades I'm currently getting in my graduate studies? Hells yeah, taking that medication and knowing how to deal with certain aspects of my brain helps a lot. It is incredibly funny to me that the best grades I have gotten in my entire academic career have been achieved in my Master's studies during a global pandemic. There is currently an actual real possibility that I may graduate summa cum laude. In my MA. That is insane!

Anyway, I am avoiding tasks by writing this right now. Oh, the irony. I'm gonna try and do those tasks now. Y'all take care. Cheers!

[sapphicautistic]

every dr appointment I have I gain a new specialist or two, they’re like hydra heads, I keep thinking surely I’ve collected all the specialists I could possibly need and then I go to an appointment with another one and she’s like oh also I’m gonna refer you to Y and Z because you really need to get that addressed.

Honestly though I’m really loving being in the [redacted] system though because every doctor I’ve seen has been extremely competent and they share notes with each other and when they make a referral it’s easy to do cuz they’re all connected and my insurance is always already on file and everything.

I saw a new neurologist today and she continued the pattern of doctors expressing horror at things my doctors in Iowa really should/should not have done. I’m a little shocked at how seriously she took my pain and at the lengths she’s willing to go to to deal with it.

She said if a headache lasts a whole day I’m to use this new rescue med she’s prescribing, on day 2 I can take it again, and if the headache goes into day 3 I’m to contact her immediately and she’ll prescribe something else that day to end that particular headache.

Which like... I have to consciously pay attention to see whether I have a headache most of the time because I’m so dissociated from it I don’t notice unless something makes me think about it or unless it gets so bad it makes it hard to do stuff. I have headaches most of the time.

She said she is gonna try to get me down to 0 to 1 headache days per month and it was all I could do not to laugh at her because that seems insane. I thought I’ve been doing good that it’s like 24ish now with the meds I’m on!!

She’s prescribed me a bunch of new stuff and I passed on the q from my rheumatologist if it’s ok to go up on the nortryptyline (apparently it helps with fibro too?) and she upped it immediately. She said if I don’t like the new stuff to message her and she’ll get me in for botox next month. (I was on botox in IA and it did help some but she thinks this stuff will help more)

She had to rearrange her schedule to even get me in for a video visit next month, and in-person appointments are out to the end of September, but she was like very intense and said if I want the botox she will find a way to squeeze me in. I have NEVER had a dr that dedicated!

OH and also she seems to think my headaches are like. A very bad case? Even though I told her I don’t have vision issues with it and my nausea could be from another of my chronic illnesses. She didn’t even ask how severe they were, she was horrified that I have them like most of the time and I guess that was enough to think this is very bad?

I just keep being shocked every time I go to an appointment and the doctor takes me seriously and believes that my suffering is a problem worth attempting to solve. It’s so so different to what I was dealing with back in IA and I’m so fucking glad I moved here.

[itstheelvenjedi]

TW: ableism, bullying, violence, very ranty, some ableist slurs (they’re not written out but they’re mentioned in-context/as I talk about what I’ve experienced over the years, fuck off, don’t be a clown)

I’ve been thinking about this a lot this weekend specifically, had a convo with dad in the car that ended up being sorta a little bit triggering ig that set it off.

No one ever talks about how alienating it is to grow up disabled. I’ve always been disabled, from the moment I was old enough to have memories of anything, my legs have been messed up. And it’s never gotten better, it’s only gotten worse. And even tho I wasn’t officially diagnosed till I was 21, I’ve always been neurodivergent growing up. But I didn’t have that diagnosis, so I grew up thinking that there was something horribly wrong with me. That it was my fault that I was hyper-interested in things that were “unimportant” to other prepubescent children my age and absolutely not interested in the other things (that was also the closet queer showing but that’s not as relevant to this particular talk post so I’m not gonna dwell on it) And no one likes to talk about what it’s like to deal with that. Because the truth is it’s a lot of SHIT.

How everyone’s default, whether abled people or even other disabled people is always “someone has it worse, stop making excuses so you don’t have to do stuff”

As if we enjoy not being able to do these things and it’s not, you know....incredibly dehumanising, upsetting and FRUSTRATING to not be able to do the simplest fucking thing for yourself without help. Cause unless you have money coming out your ass and can pay for any and all adaptations you need then you’re in trouble (I’ve been having these issues with the local ppl for years and I’m sick to death of it)

I KNOW the situation for SSI/SSDI or whatever it’s called in the states is worse and at least we have the NHS here, but that should not invalidate bad experiences that disabled people here have to go through too.

Like the people doing the “disability assessments” being a bunch of able-bodied pencil pushers who will sit there and tell you that “you’re not trying hard enough” to do something that they take for granted which is literally impossible for you and that’s the fucking point of it. Or that they do not seem to understand what the phrase “from birth” fucking means. It means I was born like this and I will DIE like this, jackass. So it’s not going to “need different care in 3 years time so you’ll have to do another assessment”

You know what’s more harmful for us? Having to re-apply with the same motherfucking information every 3 years, when nothing has changed. It’s stressful as fuck, and it’s humiliating as fuck too! I’m sick and tired of being told it’s “necessary” for me to have to basically take an exam every 3 years to “prove I struggle enough with my disability” just so I can get aid to pay for the help that I need to survive.

Trust me, I’d rather be fucking working a “proper” job too, but nobody wants to make allowances for my shortcomings and I’m done with making my pain and injuries worse than they already are just to please fucking ableds. I’m done with being a “volunteer” who’s expected to do part-time hours for no pay while I get verbally abused for “not doing a good enough job” because what I did was the best I’m physically able to fucking give you, Susan, I’m fucking crippled.

And for the most part I think I’m over the early trauma from my school years, but nobody ever talked about, or prepared me for, the physical and verbal abuse I’d endure from my classmates for shit I literally couldn’t control.

I still feel weird calling anybody a “friend” tbh, and it takes me a long time trusting people, because my “friends” during my formative years were just nice to my face so they could then get “more material” to take to the rest of the school so they could mock me and call me slurs (like the r word, the s word, and “weirdo” and “fucking freak”, and “the one who runs like an s-word horse”)

Or how I had to literally be taken out of PE/Gym lessons for my own fucking protection because the team that “lost” because they got “stuck with the fucking s word/r word freak” (me) lost, and I’d get the shit beaten out of me for....not being able bodied ig?? I’m sorry it’s so problematic for you, ableds. I hate it too.

I hate that I spent so much of my childhood with internalised ableism where I’d either feel like I shouldn’t exist at all, or I’d wish “my disability was worse and I’d be in a wheelchair, because then at least people would take me seriously and not hurt me as much”.

And I hate how nobody, but ESPECIALLY abled people, wants to acknowledge this shit. How the first response to disabled and disabled + ND people talking about the impact their symptoms have on their life is

“well someone else has it worse” or “well it’s not ACTUALLY that bad”

tw: capslock and cussing

_________________________________________________________

BITCH. HOW THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW, YOU’RE ABLE-BODIED, YOU’VE NEVER HAD TO WORRY ABOUT THIS SHIT A DAY IN YOUR FUCKING LIFE!!! YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT HOW MUCH PAIN I’M IN 24/7 AND HOW IT ENTIRELY AFFECTS MY DAY-TO-DAY LIFE AND ABILITY TO DO SIMPLE THINGS LIKE FUCKING EAT, BATHE, EXERCISE, DRIVE  AND EVEN SOCIALISE ETC. YOU DON’T. KNOW. SHIT.

_________________________________________________________

end of capslock

And the fact that my own dad is doing that shit, and gets arsey about it when I call him out on it, was very upsetting.

“It’s not your disability actually it’s the neurodivergence and if you just learnt to mask better you’d cope more”

as if my ND status has anything to do with my physical disability which causes me constant pain, even ON pain meds.

The pain meds don’t take the pain away,  motherfucker, they just tamp it down to a level where it’s (most of the time) “managable” and I can still attempt to do things in spite of the pain. But it still takes effort, a lot of effort, way more effort than you, an able-bodied person, have to put into doing the same thing.

The best that I can give as a disabled person is never “good enough”, because abled people will always assume that because they can do something easily/without thinking about it, that anyone else can and anyone who says they can’t is just LAZY, or STUPID or BOTH

I could probably honestly go on and on about this a lot more but I’d be talking mostly in circles at this point so I’m gonna stop myself here.

OK to RB, other disabled people feel free to add to this. Ableds CAN (and are encouraged) to reblog too but KEEP YOUR FUCKING PIEHOLES CLOSED. Thank u

[albatris]

ik this is probably an inappropriate question to ask but i deal with stpd and just recently discovered this. Previously thought it was just depression/anxiety but ive been on like 7 antidepressants/2 of which were more geared towards anxiety. I was wondering if you take any meds or have any advice you might recommend. Id really appreciate it. Im running out of ideas lol.( Sorry to bother and thank you)

nah you’re all good, I don’t have any problem with questions like this n I’m happy to share any experiences of mine that people might find useful!! though in this case idk how much help I’ll be, sorry D:

mostly about meds but my bad for goin on a whole ramble in the middle about therapy?? I talk a lot and have trouble staying on topic

'cause meds n therapy both have been useful to me but both probably would've been pretty useless without the other

under cut for personal rambles

so I was in the same boat as you for several years, I was in treatment for depression and anxiety and then borderline later on, way way way before anyone landed on schizotypal

as such I’ve been obviously dealing with stpd symptoms for basically my whole life but I only got diagnosed early last year n it’s the first time I’ve been. like. actually in any sort of therapy that addresses it properly and I’m still getting a feel for it

in terms of meds, I’ve been on a whole slew of different antidepressants, didn’t find one that worked until I was maybe 18 or 19? so I’ve been on the highest dose mirtazapine since then....... helps with that kinda baseline anxiety background hum, helps with obsessions and guilt spirals..... I didn’t think it did much for depression until I tried coming off it??

like, it gave me a slight boost in terms of energy and motivation, not a huge one, but definitely noticeable once it was gone

but yeah, it was kinda..... yeah, this med is about as helpful as I’m gonna get, so I decided to stick with it. I recently have considered coming off it ‘cause the sedation was a nightmare, but that’s on hold for the time being

I’ve been on two different antipsychotics, first quetiapine, which did absolutely nothing and was even more sedating on top of the mirtazapine, and currently I’m starting on aripiprazole. still on a super low dose, but working up to something that will hopefully ease some psychotic symptoms. side effects of insomnia and nausea but eased off mostly after the first week

but yeah, I haven’t really had much experience with antipsychotics or how helpful they are yet, atm I’m gonna wait and see whether there’s any real positive effects

but meds are super hard to give advice about, ‘cause different ones work for different folks, what works for me might not for you, what works for you might be something I tried and hated, etc etc etc, y’know

honestly the most helpful thing for me has been therapy, I’ve pretty much been in therapy since I was like 5 and I’ve done a lot of it

meds might be helpful to some people on their own but for me I think they would have been mainly useless without some form of therapy

meds kinda helped with some of the “edges” ie, the resulting depression and anxiety of the personality disorder, hopefully will help with some psychotic symptoms too, therapy has also helped with some of these issues on the edges, and I’m currently addressing some of the more specifically schizotypal core issues, although I will likely have to continue doing the work on those issues for most of my life

if you have a good doctor who listens to you, if you want to continue trying out meds then you might still find one that helps you out! I don’t really have a lot of advice here, because the effects can be so different from person to person. but I’ve found that meds only help on a really small scale, they kind of take a little bit of the weight off but it’s still a whole lot of heavy lifting on my own

so therapy was real good for some of that stuff too, skills for easing some of the load. therapy for me involved Other People, but for others it could involve other resources, such as online workbooks n that kind of thing....... ‘cause I know personally for me I fuckin HATE meeting new people and having to bare my soul for them, so therapy gets. interesting

and I know therapy is not realistic for some folks (and also not what this question was about but I’m just rambling now)

n I know especially that that shit gets fucking HARD when any sort of psychosis and paranoia is involved, in terms of stpd, I flat out refused to speak about certain symptoms with professionals due to paranoia and fear, and had a lot of issues trying to come into a therapy environment and immediately having complete strangers be like “ok tell me about what’s up”

like, no???? fuck off?? I don’t even know you??

n until recently all my therapies where only tangentially useful as a schizotypal, like, I did a bunch of social anxiety stuff which helped with some of the surface level day-to-day social anxiety (not so much the more deep-seated stpd social anxiety, that whole “it gets worse the closer you get to people” type, very fun), I did a lot of work around depression and suicidal urges and goals and meaningful living and whatnot, I did DBT which also encompassed a lot of work on interpersonal skills and handling dissociation and paranoia

n like. some of it was helpful? none of it got to the core of the issue or addressed what I really needed to address

I got super lucky with my current psychiatrist in that she was someone I already knew for around a year and a half beforehand ‘cause she helped out in my DBT group therapy. so I was able to get a feel for what kind of person she was beforehand and got to find my feet in trusting her in a more distanced context before entering one on one therapy. she also specialises in personality disorders and was the one who actually diagnosed me so it wasn’t like she was like “oh you’re definitely schizotypal, I’m gonna just pan you off to someone more experienced now” which was nice

she’s also the one who’s helping me out with meds currently

but ya, therapy can be A Lot, ‘specially for schizotypals who tend to isolate and get uncomfy in those vulnerable scenarios. in order to make the most out of it I have to practice an extremely uncomfortable sort of “radical openness” which is like..... well, I’ve spent most of my life being miserable and unhappy and feeling trapped and stuck in these patterns, and this has gotten me nowhere, in order for something to change I need to be radically open about my experiences

which gets HARD because the knee-jerk reaction to paranoia and delusions is often to pull back and isolate, and often I’ve struggled with the idea that it’s not “safe” to speak about certain things or that something bad will happen if I do

so it’s difficult, but I have to continually commit myself to being open and placing myself in intensely uncomfortable scenarios, getting used to the idea of trust being An Action, and practicing trust even when I don’t necessarily Feel It

that’s been a really helpful outlook for me and the only thing that’s kept me involved with therapy and meds and treatment. idk if it’ll be useful to others. I also know that some therapists and psychiatrists are shit and being radically open with the wrong people can be a nightmare

but it’s something that applies in my other relationships too and with my relationship to myself, so. *shrug emoji*

but yeah. that’s been what’s helpful for me

meds do a little bit of the work, but honestly I still have to pull a fuckload of the weight on my own, I kinda got to the point with meds where I was just like “ok this is obviously as good as it’s gonna get” and just stuck with it......... which is kind of a bummer of an answer

ik that kinda turned into a whole unrelated ramble in the middle there but I hope this kinda answers a bit of your question maybe or maybe not ‘cause I don’t really know what I’m doing

but also

I hope you have a nice day

[iron--spider]

there’s something wrong

Peter thought he would be happy, after he took the Goblin down. 

 It’s been a long time coming. Almost a year trying to figure out who the hell he was, then finding out and dealing with that shit, because who the hell can target Norman Osborn and get away with it? Tony helped, but Peter doesn’t like bothering him with stuff like this after everything he’s been through. He’s been through enough, and he doesn’t need Peter bringing more problems to his door. He brought him back to life, he saved the world, that—that should be enough. More than enough. Beyond enough.

 The battle was five days ago, and Norman, being who he is, threw everything he had at Peter. They were at his Hell’s Kitchen power plant, and Peter could barely breathe, there was so much smoke from the overloaded stacks, and he was sure Norman was trying to blow them both up, end it in a fiery blaze with Spider-Man’s corpse emblazoned on the front page of the Bugle. 

 But, despite the damage to the suit, despite the massive concussion and broken arm they had to reset that night at the facility, Peter finished it. His eyes were burning and his mask was destroyed and Norman knew who he was, but he finished it. 

 But Peter isn’t happy.

 The doctors said Norman might not wake up again. That set Tony’s mind at ease, knowing Peter’s identity was locked inside his decaying mind, but it made Peter’s guilt flare up like the fire did all around the two of them in the otherwise darkness of that night. He hates that he can’t help these people. He hates that they hate him. That they’ll never allow themselves to come back from what they’ve turned towards.

 He thought it was that making him sick, at first. The guilt. 

 “What’s wrong?” Ned asks, from beside him on Peter’s bedroom floor. “Do you miss your girlfriend? I can’t believe you have a girlfriend. I can’t believe it’s Michelle.”

 “Nothing’s wrong,” Peter snaps. He tries to focus on his paper, but his hand feels like it can barely support the fucking pencil. “Leave me alone, I’m trying to do this.”

 “Peter…”

 “Ned,” Peter says. He sighs, and turns over, laying on his back. He drops the pencil and covers his face with his hands. “Just stop, please.”

 “There’s something wrong with you,” Ned says. Peter feels him reach over and pat his head. “I know you’ve been through a lot lately. But you’re being snappy.”

 “I’m fine,” Peter says, voice muffled. 

 “Maybe you should ask for an extension on this paper?” Ned asks.

 “And what would my excuse be?” Peter asks. “Can’t tell him I almost just died fighting the Green Goblin, Ned.” Almost died. He’s exaggerating, but sometimes it feels that way.

 “Could tell him you’re sick,” Ned says.

 “Jeffords won’t care,” Peter says. “And anyways, I’m not.” He feels like his whole face is numb, and he sighs. He’s stressing himself out too much. “I gotta eat something. I have a bad taste in my mouth.” He twists around, pressing his hands to the carpet as he pulls himself to his feet. He hasn’t done much patrolling since the Goblin fight, only a couple nights here and there, but he feels like his muscles are crying out for him to take a big break. 

 “You just ate!” Ned yells after him, as Peter stumbles into the living room.

 “Stop judging me!” Peter yells back. His mouth tastes like blood, but he’s definitely not gonna tell Ned that. There’s probably something wrong with his gums or something. Maybe he brushed too hard...this morning. Or something.

 He sighs, and looks for chocolate, already planning on making tonight an early night.

 “Just bring me something too!” Ned says.

 ~

 MJ: Are you still feeling bad?

 PETER: I’m fine, I’m fine, I promise

 MJ: literally cannot believe you’re lying to me

MJ: you know I see through your lies we’ve dealt with me seeing through your lies

 PETER: love that you’re concerned :)

 MJ: that’s kinda part of my job description now, isn’t it?

 PETER: i’m fine totally fine completely fine

 ~

 Two days later, it’s…

 Has it only been two days?

 Jesus, Peter doesn’t know.

 He can’t think.

 Something’s wrong, but he doesn’t know what the hell it could be. He hasn’t been out anywhere, but his mind questions that, because he can’t remember. He can’t remember the last time he went out patrolling, what the hell happened when he did. He can’t remember shit. 

 His whole face feels frozen, and school is a complete and utter lost cause. He barely hears Ned when he tries to get his attention, and he doesn’t eat anything at lunch. MJ runs her hands up and down his back and it feels good but he can barely concentrate on it. 

 He shouldn’t be able to get sick anymore. He rarely does, now that he’s enhanced, and if he does it goes away within a day, at the latest.

 Peter feels like Ned is talking to him one moment and then the next, he’s in the back of Happy’s car. He’s cutting in and out.

 He leans down, bracing his elbows on his knees, and he feels like he’s shaking. He doesn’t know if he actually is. He feels like he’s deep within his body, small and broken and sad, watching as he falls apart. 

 Is this his guilt? Tearing him up? For Norman Osborn? It wasn’t this bad when Ben died. It wasn’t this bad when he almost lost Tony. Now he’s feeling guilt about his guilt and there’s a certain kind of sadness draping over him that he hasn’t seen the likes of before. It’s heavy and stifling and feels out of place, like it doesn’t belong to him.

 He blinks and rubs at his eyes.

 “Are you even hearing me?” Happy asks. “What the hell is going on? I’ve never seen you this out of it before. Well, on a normal day. And that’s assuming today is a normal day.”

 Maybe Peter has to accept that something is going on. But what the fuck would be going on? He hasn’t done anything of worth since the fight—

 —but he can’t remember.

 And is that the problem? The fact that he can’t remember? Or is the problem that he did do something? And he can’t remember it?

 His head feels like sludge. He presses his hands to his face and it feels like he doesn’t have a face anymore. Or hands. He shakes his head and his stomach turns. 

 “Okay, Peter, you need to tell me what’s happening, because if I drag you into the facility acting like this with no warnings for Tony—”

 “There’s something wrong,” Peter mutters, and just talking makes him feel like he’s gonna puke.

 Next thing he knows they’re not driving anymore, and Tony is there, peeling him out of the car. They’re at the facility but he doesn’t remember arriving, doesn’t remember half of the ride. Peter sighs, and can barely stay on his feet once he’s on solid ground, and Tony gets a good hold around his waist.

 “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Tony says, close to Peter’s ear. “Jesus, he’s pale, Hap.”

 “Something’s wrong,” Peter whispers. He tries to think back, tries to measure how this played out and where it started, but his brain pulls up blue screens, because he fucked up, because he’s been ignoring how he’s been feeling and how he’s been deteriorating each day—and what the hell did he do? What did he do, what was his mistake? Where did he make it?

 Tony groans but he bends a little and picks Peter up—he’s got the iron arm now, so it’s probably easier—and Peter squeezes his eyes shut tight, turning his face into Tony’s shoulder as he rushes him into the facility. He doesn’t even have the energy to make a joke about being carried like a baby.

 “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Tony asks, gently. “Tell me what hurts. And what happened.”

 “I don’t—know what happened,” Peter whispers, his own voice rattling in his head like metal clanging down a well. “Mouth tastes like blood. Uh. Muscles weak. Hurts to breathe. Bad mood, uh, feel sick. Sad. Nervous. Been getting worse, day by day, but I’ve been—ignoring.” He sighs, hates how it sounds. “I’m sorry.”

 “No sorry,” Tony says. “Just hold on. I’ve got an idea of what might be going on and if it’s that we gotta get on it stat.” Peter feels the terrain change under Tony’s feet, and he knows they’re getting closer to the side door. “Happy, call the Raft’s people and find out if Osborn is sick, please.”

 “Got it,” Happy says.

 Peter squeezes his eyes shut tighter and one of his arms flops down. He’s just exhausted. “Sorry I ignored it,” he whispers. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t sure what—”

 “Don’t worry,” Tony whispers. 

 But he sounds worried.

 ~

 They get Peter into the med bay and he wouldn’t exactly call what he’s doing blacking out, but more like stepping back. He retreats further into his head and everything becomes muted, because there’s so much going on and people running around everywhere and a fleet of doctors surrounding him and hooking him up to shit and his head hurts the more he pays attention. His senses are off. Loud then nothing. Everything out of whack.

 Peter keeps his eyes closed.

 “Osborn was trying to poison the both of them,” Happy’s voice says, somewhere in the ether. “There was goddamn mercury in the air, Tony—”

 “I thought so,” Tony’s voice says, closer, grave. “Okay, okay, can we—”

 “Yes, we can start—”

 “Remember, he’s enhanced so things are different, things affect him differently, Norman probably thought of that—”

 “It’s under control—”

 Peter groans and tries not to listen. He doesn’t know how much time passes but he knows he’s being poked and prodded and given things and moved around and he doesn’t want to open his eyes.

 He feels a hand on his forehead. Another on his forearm. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he turns towards the warmth. 

 “I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony whispers. “We should have checked you for something like this when we were resetting your arm and checking on the concussion. Goddamnit. We didn’t think.”

 “He poisoned us both?” Peter asks, trying to open one eye to look at him.

 “Yeah,” Tony says, brushing Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “He’s dying. He got the brunt of it, a nice fucking cocktail of bullshit, including mercury and a bunch of other toxic shit—”

 “Am I dying?” Peter whispers, voice breaking.

 “No,” Tony says, shaking his head. “No, it’s—it’s not good, but we’re dealing with it. I’ve got some treatments on the way and they’re gonna help. You being who you are helps. It’ll be okay.”

 Tears prick at Peter’s eyes, and everything still feels like it’s too big, burning, too much pressure.

 “Tell me if you need to throw up,” Tony says, rubbing Peter’s arm. 

 “Did I throw up?” Peter asks. He watches as another doctor rushes into the room behind Tony. 

 “Yeah, when you first got here,” Tony says. Peter doesn’t remember, and he sighs, wishing this was all over, wishing it wasn’t happening at all. “Just tell me if you have to, okay?” Tony asks, and Peter nods. “I’m not going anywhere. I called May. She’s coming.”

 “Okay,” Peter whispers, and his voice breaks again, horribly, a tear tracking down his cheek. 

 Tony quickly wipes it away, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “You’re gonna be fine, webs, I promise. I won’t have it any other way and I’m the savior of the universe so I get what I want.”

 Peter blows out a breath. “Good. Be stubborn about this.”

 “Oh, I’m gonna,” Tony says. Peter closes his eyes again and tries to keep his balance, even though he’s not fucking moving. “Try to sleep, okay? You’ve got a ton of people here working for you and I don’t wanna try to concoct the strong stuff to knock you out.”

 “You’re gonna flush it out?” Peter whispers. “The poison?”

 “Yes,” Tony says, gripping Peter’s wrist, fingers seemingly trying to track his pulse. “I promise.”

 ~

 Peter does sleep. He thinks. He isn’t really sure, except for the dreams, in which the Goblin traces across the sky and spews out poison gas from his mouth. Peter remembers the news reports. Norman had a son. Peter can’t remember his name, but after all that, he doesn’t like the idea of him losing his father, too. Norman is insane, and an asshole, but his son doesn’t deserve for him to die. Especially by his own hand. Peter doesn’t like the idea of him living with that.

 When he wakes up everything is a lot calmer, and darker, except for the one light beside his bed. He still feels out of it, but in a different way, and his mouth still tastes like blood. Metal.

 “Baby,” May whispers, suddenly sitting on the side of the bed.

 “May,” he says, still so tired. She’s fuzzy but it looks like there’s a halo behind her head. Maybe a light from the hallway. He sees Tony is sleeping in the chair by the bed, breathing through his mouth.

 “You’re okay, sweetheart,” May says. 

 Peter glances up and sees that he’s hooked up to about a hundred different things. He’s got a nasal cannula in and it’s definitely helping with the not breathing shit. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize,” he says, softly. He’s so annoyed at himself. There was gas everywhere, at the power plant. Norman was obviously doing something. But Peter was so distracted. “I should have—”

 “We should have realized something was wrong,” May says. “You were a little off, and MJ said something to me—”

 “He did it like this on purpose,” Peter says, holding onto her hand. “Osborn. So we wouldn’t know...right away.”

 May sets her jaw and then she shakes her head, leaning down and kissing him on the cheek twice in a row. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We’re here.”

 Peter nods, trying not to think about all of it. Trying not to wallow in his own stupidity and guilt.

 ~

 When he wakes up again it’s brighter, and Tony is standing over him, checking on his chart. 

 “Are they doubling the poison?” Peter asks. “Finally a way to get rid of the Spider-Man?”

 “The Spider-Man,” Tony says. “The Iron Man. The Captain America.”

 “Mine works, yours don’t,” Peter says. He glances over at the other chair and sees that May isn’t here right now.

 “She’s downstairs making sure everyone properly puts your lunch together,” Tony says, reading his mind. He hangs the chart back up and sits on Peter’s bed, gently. “How you doing?”

 “Okay,” Peter says. He still doesn’t feel...amazing, but it’s not as bad as it was before. “How long have I been asleep?”

 “Uh, going on eleven hours,” Tony says, gritting his teeth. “Which is why May is so insistent on the—lunch. Gonna be a big one, she almost wanted to start feeding you through a tube.”

 Peter blows out a breath and sinks down a little further into his pillows.

 “We’re gonna have to do a couple different treatments over the next few months for the mercury,” Tony says. “It wasn’t death-level but it was close, with all the other shit he mixed in there, and it’s not good to have it in your body. With your heightened—everything, and your healing, your system was trying to attack it but, well—what he made was strong, and it was spewing out everywhere at that plant. It’s a good thing you caught it when you did, because we were able to contact everybody who went to the scene that night before they shut everything down. You saved a lot of lives, Pete. Now they’re all gonna get treated, and it would have hit them harder than it hit you because they’re not—spider men. You were just more exposed.”

 Peter stares at him. “What about Norman?”

 Tony’s face goes stern. “Why do you care about that asshole? He did this to you.”

 “He’s got...a kid, Tony,” Peter says. “My age, I think. I’m sure, as disappointed as his kid is that his dad is a super villain, he still...doesn’t want him dead.”

 Tony looks down at his hands. “He’s still alive,” he says. “I sent some of my best guys to the prison to treat him. Because I knew you’d want me to. I didn’t do it because I wanted to or because I want him to live, I did it because I knew it’s what you would have wanted.”

 Peter feels warmer, under all that, and he reaches out and grabs Tony’s hand, the one that isn’t iron. “Thank you,” he says.

 “Uh huh,” Tony says, but he squeezes Peter’s hand. “He deserves to rot for doing this to you, Pete. You’re gonna be dealing with this shit for six months or so. Minimum.”

 “I’ll beat it before then,” Peter says, smiling at him, trying to ignore how like shit he feels.

 Tony meets his eyes. “You’re too good. You need to stop being too good.”

 Peter shrugs and keeps smiling. He doesn’t think he’s good enough, at anything, ever. But he knows that’s not the right thing to say to Tony right now. 

 Tony scoffs and squeezes his hand again. “Uh, are you okay for visitors? Because Morgan was having a complete heart attack.”

 “Always ready for a Morgan visit,” Peter says. “And can you, uh—call Ned and MJ?”

 “Yeah, they’re on their way already,” Tony says. “I gotta keep your girl from chastising you too hard.”

 “No way to avoid that,” Peter says.

 “Yeah,” Tony says, patting Peter’s hand. He clears his throat and doesn’t let go quite yet. “I’m proud of you. I know I said it before when it all first happened, and I wish I had been there to back you up—I wish anybody had been, but I just—wanted to say it again. Because you deserve to hear it, especially when you’re—dealing with something like this.” He looks at him and smiles fondly, a little sadly. “I’m proud of you.”

 It’s one of Peter’s favorite things to hear, especially from Tony and May. He knows getting through this is gonna be hard, but he’s got the kind of support system that people literally wait lifetimes for. He’s beyond lucky. 

 He holds onto Tony’s hand. “I’m proud of you too.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Make It Through The Night (Part 3)

(x)

Summary: The reader meets Dean’s friend, Benny, but everything isn’t as smooth sailing as it seems...

Masterlist

Pairing: Apocalypse!Dean x reader

Square: Dean Winchester

Word Count: 3,100ish

Warnings: langauge, minor violence

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo​​​

_____

“Morning sunshine,” said Dean as you walked into the kitchen. “Eggs and rice for breakfast.”

“It’s hot. I ain’t complaining,” you said, fixing your arm in it’s sling.

“You change your bandages out yet?” he asked. You yawned and nodded, taking a seat at the counter. “Ever been shot before?”

“No. Hurts like a bitch,” you said, looking around. “So where’s the rice come from?”

“One of the largest rice distribution plants is about twenty minutes down the road. I stocked up,” he said.

“Smart move,” you said. “So where the hell am I exactly? This place I mean.”

“Short version, there used to be these guys, Men of Letters. My grandpa was one. This was their base of operations. They got wiped out in the fifties though,” said Dean. “They used to research monsters, how to kill them, that sort of thing. Through a very long series of events which started long before I was born, I wound up being raised by a hunter, my dad. Along with Sam. Hunters used to kill monsters back when the world was normal and no one knew about this stuff. After my dad died, it was me and Sam for a while and a whole bunch of other bad shit happened and then he got on demon blood and we went our separate ways. I ended up meeting my grandpa who traveled through time before he died and he told me about this place. It’s safe from monsters, demons, you name it. It runs itself. There’s a bunch of information in that library that might be useful. It’s pretty...I lost you at the time traveling grandpa, didn’t I.”

“If that’s the short version, I can’t imagine the long,” you said, resting your head against your palm. “You’re serious?”

“My life’s always been strange. Everyone else finally caught up a year ago,” he said.

“It’s completely safe here?” you asked.

“I mean, nothing is completely safe but it’s probably the safest place on the planet,” he said.

“Good,” you said, closing your eyes. “I could do with someplace safe.”

“It’s not pretty out there. The world now I mean,” he said, handing you a plate, your eyes fluttering open.

“Those guys were probably going to sell me to a monster...or a demon. It seems to be the hot commodity,” you said.

“Speaking of which, after breakfast, you’re gonna have to get tatted up,” said Dean. 

“Um, what?” you said as you started to eat.

“Tattoo,” he said, pulling aside his flannel and t shirt, showing off a tattoo on his chest. “Anti-possession. A demon can’t take over your body that way.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s probably good to have,” you said. “You know how to do tattoo’s?”

“Personally, no but one of my friends should be getting back home soon. He was out on a supply run,” said Dean.

“Oh. Cool,” you said.

“Y/N,” he said, poking at his food. “I thought about last night, what we talked about, what you said. You’re right. I can’t kill Sam. I never could. I don’t want to kill him. It’s my job to fucking protect him. I’m not going to give up on him. I want to try to talk to him, figure out how to catch him and get him off of the demon blood, get rid of his powers. That’s the only option. I know you offered but I won’t go down that road.”

“No killing Sam. Okay,” you said with a nod. “We’ll figure something out then.”

“Thank you,” said Dean. 

Thirty minutes later you were in the library trying to figure out some basics about demons when the front door opened and man in combat gear came walking down the stairs with a box.

“I found you extremely stale gummy bears. You’re welcome,” said the man, setting the box down on the war room table, staring at you. “Cher.”

“What?” you asked, glancing at Dean.

“It’s a nickname thing he does. Y/N, this is Benny. Ex-vampire I met in purgatory. Benny, this is Y/N. Met her yesterday when a few unscrupulous fellas were on my property again,” said Dean.

“Vampire,” you said, instinctively getting out of your seat and taking a few steps back.

“Ex-vampire,” said Dean as he flipped through a book. “He doesn’t bite.”

“Unless you’re into that,” he smiled, flashing you a wink.

“Dude. I get that the dating pool is limited but-”

“Excuse, Dean,” said Benny, ruffling his hair as he went past and took a seat. “He’s a worrier. Plus it’s fun to tease him. He’s totally into you anyways.”

You blinked slowly, Dean giving Benny a bitchface.

“Let’s not scare off the first company we’ve had in oh, months? Hm?” said Dean.

“Ignoring the purgatory part of that sentence for right now, how does one become an ex-vampire?” you asked, staring at Benny.

“Ordinarily there’s a cure but it only works if the person has never tasted human blood and if you have the fang of the vamp that turned you. Benny though...well when we got out of purgatory, he was still a vamp,” said Dean.

“I was almost at the point of asking Deano to end it for me. I knew I would break and hurt someone. But the world decided to go to shit and I drank from an infected person. I got really sick. Majorly sick,” said Benny, peeling off his boots and kicking up his feet in a nearby chair.

“We tried the cure, figured what the hell and now Benny is as human as the day he was born,” said Dean. “He’s like really fucking old by the way.”

“Shut up,” said Benny, pushing Dean’s face, a smile popping up on it for a moment. “So ex-vampire. No need to be afraid.”

“Alright,” you said as you sat back down. 

“What’s with the chicken wing?” asked Benny, nodding at you.

“Shot yesterday. Graze on the arm, through and through in the shoulder,” said Dean, flipping through his book again. “Y/N’s gonna stay here, help with the Sam situation.”

“Good. We could always use a few more hands,” said Benny.

“How many hands are there?” you asked.

“There’s a network of hunters out there. It’s not huge but it’d be useful to get close to Sam,” said Dean. “Plan’s changed by the way, Benny. We take him alive and cure him or it’s the end of us.”

“Whatever you want, brother,” said Benny, standing up with a sigh. “I’ve been on the road all night. I’m gonna shower and crash before I have to head out again.”

“I’ll need a tat done before you go. Gonna stick around more than a day for once?” asked Dean.

“I’ll be here a few days. I know you miss this pretty face, Deano,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes and Benny wandered off down a different hall. 

“So purgatory...no one can ever say you have not led a full life,” you said. Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat. 

“Full of horrors. But yeah, I suppose you’re right. It’s been interesting,” he said.

“Did you like...die,” you said, Dean cocking his head. “Purgatory.”

“No. Accidentally wound up there when I killed a special kind of monster. I met up with Benny there. We found a way out together,” said Dean. “Just because a monster is a monster...they can be your friend too. I got a buddy who’s a werewolf actually.”

“Here I thought study abroad would make me exciting,” you said. Dean smiled and slid over his book to you.

“Read this one. It’ll give you some good info. We’ll go over some good ways to kill demons maybe later in the week,” he said.

“I’m not a soldier. I don’t know...everything I know, I picked up on my own,” you said.

“I’m pretty confident in your abilities,” he said. “We don’t have to go after Sam this second. Something like this, we need to know our game plan first and I don’t even know where to start so focus on healing and training a bit for now.”

“Alright,” you said, Benny cutting back in wearing nothing but his boxers.

“Dude. We have a lady in the house now,” said Dean.

“She can walk around in her underwear too. I don’t care,” said Benny, going to the box and pulling out a bottle of soap. 

“You and your old spice you freak,” said Dean.

“Don’t knock it,” said Benny. “There’s some shaving cream in there too in case you decide to shave that peach fuzz.”

“Asshole,” said Dean as Benny laughed, carrying the box away with him.

“I like the beard,” you said with a shrug.

“See, brother? Match made in heaven right here,” he said.

“Oh shut up,” said Dean. “Go get clean. You smell filthy.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, whistling as he went.

“Sorry. He’s a bit...Benny sometimes,” said Dean. 

“I like him,” you said, glancing through the pages.

“You actually like the beard?” he asked. Your eyes glanced over and met his, noticing just how pretty of a green they were. 

“It suits you. You look like some badass or something,” you said. He smirked and you rolled your eyes. “Oh my God. I can only handle one man-child at a time.”

“Speaking of badasses, you’ll need some new gear. I’ll take a look around in storage,” he said. “Also, I am so not a man-child.”

“Gummy bears?” you said with a smile.

“Touche,” he said, grabbing his notebook and jogging up into the library. “You get bored of reading come find me. I’m sure we can find something for you to work on.”

“Hey,” said Dean a few hours later. You let out a hiss and grit your teeth, Benny wiping off your bicep. “How’d she do?”

“She was good,” he said. “Barely made a peep.”

“How’s it look?” you asked.

“Good,” said Dean. “It’s just a precaution we have to take.”

“No, it’s fine. I probably should have gone with the right arm is all,” you said, wincing a bit. 

“Come on you two. Dinner’s done,” said Dean. You followed him back down the hall while Benny turned off the equipment. Dean plopped a bottle of pills in front of you at the table. You shook your head and he took two out, putting them on your plate. “Y/N. Take the pain meds. It’s fine.”

“So you come up with anything today?” you asked as Benny joined you, diving into his bowl of stew.

“Maybe. I was thinking Ben, we could retrofit the dungeon, turn it into a holding cell, detox chamber kind of thing,” said Dean.

“It could work. How we get him inside is another problem,” said Benny.

“Do you think you could work on gathering materials, figuring out the best way to build a safe room?” asked Dean.

“I can think of something. I’ll head up North, visit Donna. She’s good with that sort of thing,” said Benny.

“So are you two an item yet or are you still living in denial?” asked Dean, giving him a smirk.

“Who? Me and Donna?” scoffed Benny. “No way. Strictly platonic. We both been burned before.”

“I know about the camping store incident,” smirked Dean. “Benny bear.”

“Fine. We’re dating. You girls gonna chat about this too?” he said, crossing his arms.

“Maybe. We do love to talk about boys and braid our hair,” teased Dean. “Nah, man, that’s great. You and Donna make a good team. Tactically.”

“Shut up. Worse than a high school girl,” said Benny. “You see what I’ve been dealing with during the end of the world?”

“Is she cute?” you asked, Benny throwing up his hands.

“Oh yeah,” said Dean with a laugh. “Donna’s a pretty girl. Sweet as can be but she’s tough. She and Jody…”

He trailed off and pursed his lips, Benny nodding.

“Jody didn’t make it,” said Benny. “Demons. If you guys are all set, I’m gonna head out soon.”

“You travel at night?” you asked.

“Safer actually,” said Dean. “Most of the infected people, they still sleep for some reason. Benny can get up to Sioux falls by dawn pretty good this way.”

“Write down any gear you think you may need,” he said, finishing off his drink before he took off.

“Why is he leaving already?” you asked. “He just got here this morning.”

“He has a job to do and I told it to him,” said Dean. “Benny moves at his own pace. If he wants to go tonight, he can go, I won’t baby him.”

“Doesn’t he want to rest?”

“Benny crashed most of the day. He’s good,” said Dean. “Unlike you. Early bedtime tonight.”

“What are you, my mother?” you mumbled.

“Do I need to be?” he asked. You rolled your eyes and went back to your food, Dean finishing his off before he started to pick up. 

You closed your eyes and rested your head against the table.

“I feel funny,” you said. “Did you drug me?”

“It’s the pain med’s, dumbass. They’re kicking in. It’s pretty strong stuff,” he said. He walked over and sat you upright. “Finish your food and then you can sleep.”

“Or you drugged me,” you said, reaching for your knife. Dean quickly knocked it away and you pulled the gun out of the back of his pants. He froze as you turned off the safety. 

“Y/N. Calm down. No one’s going to hurt you,” said Dean.

“Back up,” you mumbled. He stared at you before you were suddenly on the floor, gun back in his hands.

“Are you infected?” he asked, aiming the gun at you. “Are you?”

“Whoa,” said Benny as he came rushing back in. “What the hell is going on in here?”

“She thinks I drugged her which is insane,” said Dean.

“This ain’t pain medication, dip shit,” you said, flipping him off as you propped yourself up against the wall, the cold floor making you shiver. “Fuck you. You’re the one that’s nuts, not me.”

“You’re both idiots,” said Benny. He walked over to you and reached behind his back, a pair of restraints around your wrists. You shoulder would have been killing you if it weren’t for the drugs. “I drugged her.”

“Excuse me,” said Dean, suddenly lowering the gun and tucking it away. “You did what, Benjamin?”

“I heard of this chick, the second you said her name I knew who she was. She knows Sam.”

You shook your head when Dean slowly turned and stared you down.

“I don’t. I swear,” you said.

“I definitely heard of some demon talking about this chick right here and Sam,” said Benny. 

“You’re thinking an inside job?” asked Dean, pulling the gun out again.

“Possibly. Could be a human that decided to side with what she thinks is the winning side,” said Benny. “Could be a lot of things but point is, we can’t trust her.”

You were too tired to say anything more, simply sat there and shut your eyes, trying not to think of how odds are you wouldn’t be waking up again.

“Y/N,” said Dean. You breathed slowly, Dean’s hand on your shoulder shaking you. “Y/N. You with Sam or not?”

Last thing you remembered you slumped over, straight to the ground.

“Hey,” said Dean. Something wet was on your forehead, a washcloth if you had to guess. It took a moment for you to get your bearings, finding yourself in your room strangely. “Relax. You’re okay.”

“Drugged me,” you said, frowning at him, pushing the washcloth away. “Asshole.”

“Benny made a mistake,” said Dean.

“I wanna go,” you said, shutting your eyes, head swimming. “Let me go.”

“You can go. Just let this stuff get out of your system first,” said Dean. He took the cloth away and you scowled when he put it back. “I’ll make up your bag for you.”

Four hours later you were standing in the garage, trying to get your bag on unsuccessfully.

“Y/N,” said Dean quietly. “Maybe you should stay.”

“Maybe you need better friends,” you said, throwing the bag on, immediately shooting a hand to your shoulder. You sniffled and swallowed hard, giving Dean a dirty look when he stared at you. “What?”

“We both know that if you go out in your condition, the first sign of trouble and you’re dead,” he said.

“What do you care?” you said. You tried heading out but the pain was too much and you had to shrug off the backpack. 

“Something is going on. Benny was adamant that he heard something involving you. I was adamant that whatever your part in this is, you aren’t the bad guy,” said Dean. “You know how it is now. You can’t take chances and Benny wasn’t taking one. But I will.”

You sighed and set the bag down.

“Why?” you asked dryly.

“Because you’re not the bad guy. If you want to go, you can go. Or you can stay and recover and maybe you can help me save my brother.”

You spun around and went past him, heading inside.

“Next time something like that happens, I shoot. No questions asked,” you said. “And don’t think I didn’t realize you put a brick in the bottom of my bag.”

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 4 here!

[entitycradle]

A Tree Without Wind

Content warnings: mention of, discussion of, threats of, and plans to commit suicide. Panic attacks, disassociation, and paranoia are described, sometimes in detail. An eating disorder is alluded to. Characters are horny for each other but there’s nothing sexually explicit.

I promise the ending is hopeful. I genuinely am not trying to trick you, I know what this sort of thing is like, I want to respect your capacity while still being truthful to the experience and allowing tension in the story. If you’re in the right place for it, click that button.

A TREE WITHOUT WIND

I was nine years old the first time Phoenix told me he was going to kill himself. Is that too brutal? Sorry. It's where this starts. We were outside, in the morning before it got too hot, kicking around a ball in the scrubby grass. We used the long shadow of the I34Q tower to make the rules--you can't use your hands if you're in the sun, that sorta thing. It was fun because the boundaries of the shadow were always moving with the shape of the tower, and because the tower was a little scary. Phoenix lost a game and just said it, frustrated, "I'm gonna kill myself." I laughed.

When I was that age I loved looking at the shadow of the tower, because it made so much more sense than the real thing. You'd look at the dark, fuzzy stain on the ground and you could imagine it was some sort of antenna, or house, or marker. But then you'd look at the structure itself and your eyes would glaze over trying to figure it out. Unevenly rotating, stacked polyhedral structures, dark gray but covered with a rainbow film like an oil slick. Irregular pieces would be transferred between different sections with no apparent pattern. It smelled like someone you'd never met. The tower was doing something but no one was ever clear on what. That's how it is with I34Q stuff, I think.

I'm stalling. It was some stupid shit, he must've picked it up from some awful caster or something. As a kid Phoenix liked that sorta thing. He'd watch videos of mean people cursing and laughing and he'd laugh with them. I preferred my cartoons, or the I34Q casts, as weird as they were. Later I repeated what he said when I found out my dad was making squash for dinner, "I'm gonna kill myself," and my mom told me off pretty hard. Kept me from saying it again, at least in school and at home. Phoenix kept at it though.

- = -

Phoenix and I got put in the same dormitory when we went to T-school. Do they call it T-school in other places? It's the thing where 4Q tanks (as in I34Q) come and take a bunch of eleven-year-old kids to stay at "training" facilities. No one I've asked knows what T-school is actually for, same as the towers, same as all the 4Q stuff like I said before. An organic shape attached to the ground heads a classroom, gibbering except for the occasional english sentence (Phoenix said he also recognized some Cantonese). Mrs. Lough, who apparently also lives in the facility, tries to teach "formalist english," which is like english but the rules contradict themselves. You take notes on the behavior of a tank filled with inky fluid for four hours a week. One day a three-legged machine packs up your stuff and shepherds you to the gate.

I was ejected a year and a half after Phoenix. I went home on the bus and met him at burger king that afternoon. I caught a glimpse of him from outside. His hair was in long, tight braids. I felt self-conscious about the uncontrollable smile growing on my face. "Aco!" he said through a grin as I opened the glass door. A green poster advertised a meal made from "water beads," an I34Q plant thing.

"Dang," I said, grinning as I sat down. "Dang."

"You make it out? Fuck you to 4Q?" He'd stopped eating to greet me. His grin looked as uncontrollable as mine. Phoenix's nose was wide and flat, also like mine.

"Fork you, 4Q." I still felt nervous about cursing. I was fourteen. "How ya doing, Phoenix?"

"I'm good, I'm good. High school is interesting."

"Oh, man..."

"It's actually like, fucking nice to understand what's happening. But now there are actual smart kids and you actually get punished when you, y'know, mouth off. I'm like, I gotta get around to--" He swiped with his hand, bent his neck, and made a cracking sound with his mouth. I laughed. "Don't worry, I'll show you around. Maybe we'll have a class together."

- = -

We did have a class together. High school with Phoenix was fun, because I got to have a proper crush on him. Pining, sexuality, youthful obsession, yards and yards of it. It was weird, we kinda drifted--Phoenix hung out with kids that I was afraid of, I hung out with kids who played too many videogames. As our familiarity waned, I started seeing him differently. A foreign, adult desire began to penetrate me, replacing childish affection. It took me a while to realize that's what was happening.

It was a shame our familiarity waned, though, because Phoenix was really struggling, and I didn't see it. His friends were mean, when they weren't outright abusive. Not a lot of people liked him. I learned later that he started hurting himself when he was sixteen. Little cigarette burns, and then cuts. He got put on meds at seventeen--the wrong meds, for a year. He went to a psych ward when he was nineteen. His family did not have the money to pay for an extended stay. I still don't know exactly how that worked out. I do know he went into debt after his second stay two years later.

I wasn't doing too well myself, after I hit twenty-two. Something in me broke I guess. So when Phoenix told me he was going to travel to the Santitos digger and throw himself off a cliff, it didn't take me very long to ask if I could go with him.

- = -

"I... I didn't..." He paused for a long time. Ten seconds of silence feels unbearably long in a conversation, and I was quiet for fifteen. My teeth held each other tightly as his thoughts whirled. "I didn't..." He looked me in the eyes. There was an intensity to both our gazes. He'd stuck his jaw out, just a little. "I guess I did. I was, kinda, hoping you'd say that."

"Fuck," I said, looking away and down. "Fuck." I put a hand over my eyes, gripping my face as tears came.

"I'm gonna die," he said, beginning to smile and looking up. I felt the discomfort I'd felt since we were nine.

"Yeah, I wanna go, I wanna go," I said, pulling my hand away midway through and looking back at him with a force I didn't recognize.

He looked back at me and said, "I'm gonna die, and you're gonna die with me."

- = -

The Santitos digger is in northern California, in the Redwood national park. People have figured out the basic idea of what the digger is doing, unlike the towers or the T-schools: the digger is making a big hole. I'd heard that in some places it had dug more than a mile, almost straight down. Don't ask me how the digger would've done that. Don't ask me why it's called Santitos, either, since it's pretty big and not very saintly. Maybe it was the name of a town. Getting to the digger from Prince George County was about fifty hours.

"I figure we could do it in three days if we really fuck-you-pushed-it. But I'm planning on five." I craned my neck to look at Phoenix's cracked phone screen, where he'd pulled up the route.

Gas is expensive because 4Q takes most of it. Basically no one flies. Even in Phoenix's hybrid, it would be a thousand dollars to get to the west coast. But it's not like we'd need the money afterwards.

"We'll eat along the way," he continued. I bit my thumbnail. "I'm not picky, we'll just stop at wherever they won't run us out of town."

We'd sleep in the car. It was April, so temperature wouldn't be a concern. I packed a change of clothes, a water bottle, my meds, and a box cutter I'd stolen from my last job.

The next morning, he pulled his blue, dented '38 prius in front of my apartment building. I saw the car arrive out the window. There was an anxious pit in my stomach that deepened when I opened my front door. I didn't want anyone to see me. This is it, I thought, this is it, this is it. I repeated that phrase down the stairs. My landlord could fucking charge rent to my corpse, I could give a shit. This is it, I thought. That final T stretched to enrobe me. The sky was gray and wet. The sensation wasn't enough to rip me from my inwards reverie. I was about to get in the back of the car when Phoenix spoke. "That ain't it."

He was leaning out the window, regarding me coolly. "Morning. Shall we go?" I walked around the car and got in the front seat.

- = -

Virginia is beautiful once you get into the mountains, forested and rolling. I told Phoenix, "Once I read the Appalachians are millions of years old, and used to be taller than the Himalayas."

"No shit. Was there like an Everest? Where's the old Everest?"

"I don't know, I never heard anything about that. But yeah the continental plates looked totally different. And then things changed and the rain and wind and plants broke them down."

"Hah. Fucking awful. Just being broken down like that. I mean, it's better than what 4Q did to Everest."

I was quiet for a moment. "That's... the worst thing they did, right?"

"I dunno, dude, I think taking kids from their families is worse."

"No, right, right. But like... Everest was like... like everyone knew about Everest. When I was really little I had this big book about mountains and I read the bit on Everest so many times. And now it's like... they made it about them. And people lived in the Himalayas before 4Q came! It forced everyone out and carved a bunch of nonsense into it. A forever reminder that we're below them."

"Hah, literally. Hmmm. I still wouldn't say worst, but, I get what you mean. I'm so numb to it. It's good some people still care." Phoenix shrugged. "I mean I dunno. It doesn't matter much to me, at this point. But from an outside perspective it's good."

That first evening was alright. I drove Phoenix into a beautiful sunset. You hear the phrase "rode off into the sunset" and you think, what a nice ending, but it's not really an ending. If you're the cowboy you keep riding, and eventually the sky darkens and you have to set up camp and eat and sleep and wake up the next morning and eat and go riding again. A feeling of dread and desperation fills me when I think of surviving alone like that. Maybe I'd get used to it. The trip to Santitos was an attempt to write a story with a proper ending.

We didn't stop until we crossed into Illinois. We parked on the shoulder of a country road. I used the light in the car to look at the atlas we'd bought for when we didn't have cell service, and laughed. "We've been in five states today. Pretty good. Keep it up and we'll have visited every state by June."

"What the--?" Phoenix snorted, laughing. "You mean if we visit five states a day. Asshole."

I always giggled when he snorted and called me an asshole. "Hey, I'm just saying."

"Fucking dumb. Doesn't even work. You'd have to wake up in a different state than you fell asleep in." He caught my eye. The smile felt intimate, mutual. Born of sleepy exhaustion from a shared journey. I looked at the divot between his nose and upper lip.

I realized something. "Shit, I forgot to bring a blanket."

"Poor baby. You cold?"

"Hmm. I guess not really."

"Oh, you know what I do have..." He leaned towards me and reached toward the back seat. I watched his shirt stretch over his chest. Phoenix retrieved a big gray sweater. "Feel free to stretch it out."

My fingertips touched the back of his hands as I took the bundle. I did that on purpose. His skin was warmer than I expected, as skin always is. We tipped our seats back. Not the most comfortable, though the sweater would help, hopefully. I checked out Phoenix to see him on his side, looking at me and smiling. I let my own smile relax into me as I watched his eyes. His irises were a rich, beautiful brown. His skin was the color of cardboard in your childhood memories. I loved the way his smile wasn't symmetrical, wider on one side than the other. I carefully resisted scanning my gaze down his body. I actually saw his eyes flick down my form, instantaneously. His eyelids half-lowered, and then, horribly, what seemed to be a great tide of sadness overtook him. I watched him hold it back. I watched his smile mix with growing grief and fear, then bow to neutrality. He covered his gaze with his eyelids, breathed in, breathed out. "All right," he whispered, then opened his eyes. The gaze was gone. "Time to sleep." He sat up and turned off the light.

The sweater had a very particular, subtle smell to it. I guess it was his smell. I was desperately horny, yet blasted to pieces. A heady mix.

"I think I could fall in love with you, if things were a little different." He broke the silence, fifteen minutes later. "I probably would. But I'd cling to you like a fucking baby. And you're here, right?" He paused. For a response? I didn't give him one in time. "That's what I mean, codependent hell. I'd only be alive for you, and you'd only be alive for me, and then the second anything goes wrong we'd be right back here except I'd, fucking, direct all my shittiness at you... and you'd blame yourself."

I was quiet. "Ain't... ain't being codependent better than dying?"

"Hah! But that's what I'm saying, it doesn't change anything, it just leads us back here."

I fumbled for something. "Yeah but if it could... like stave it off..."

"Why is that good? The world is fucked, Acoatl, totally and truly fucked. Things don't get better from here, for me, for people. Should I beg? Stay here in misery out of some misplaced sense of morality? We're doing the only thing that makes sense."

I stayed quiet, not unconvinced. Sleep came, eventually, uncomfortably, anxiously.

- = -

The International Astronomical Union provisionally called it 8I/2034 Q1. I had to look that up. The eighth interstellar comet discovered, identified in 2034. I don't know what Q1 means. The name was briefly changed to 8I/Pasarati, for the research group that had discovered it, but by that time I34Q was clearly accelerating non-gravitationally and on an Earthbound trajectory. 8I/Pasarati is still in orbit, technically. You can see it through a telescope, it's like five miles across. But I34Q is the name for all of it, the craft that came to the surface, the life it brought with it, the structures it built, the war, all the consequences. No one can make any sense of it, except the one thing everyone knows: something else controls the world now.

- = -

I just barely remember waking up to switch seats in the morning, and then desiring nothing more than to return to sleep. Eventually Phoenix nudged me awake. "Hey." We were parked somewhere in Missouri. I'd slept all the way through the night and Phoenix's turn to drive. At least twelve hours, depending on when I actually fell asleep last night. I'd missed the big arch in St. Louis.

Phoenix was curt and reserved as I drove. I thought he was still thinking about last night, or angry at me for leaving him alone on his drive. Then he tilted his head back and began to gag. "My... heart..." Tears streamed down him face.

"Phoenix." I glanced back and forth between him and the road. There were abandoned cars on the shoulder; I couldn't pull over. "Phoenix, Phoenix, um."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, stop." He bent, heaved, and emitted a yowling, harsh retch. Nothing else left his mouth. "My heart..." He was breathing hard. A panic attack, I realized, stupidly too late.

"Do we have..." Panic attacks can be interrupted with certain intense sensations. The general goal is to increase awareness of the environment, focus the mind on the current moment rather than the future or past. Holding an ice cube can help. There were no ice cubes. I reached into the back seat for my water bottle, which would at least be cool. A truck behind us laid on the horn. I swerved back into my lane. "Sorry." Phoenix dry heaved again. It was a uniquely distressing sound.

I searched for the hazards, feeling useless. Far too much time passed before I found them and started slowing down. A different truck laid on a different horn. I was able to slip in a gap on the shoulder between an abandoned pickup and a rusting minivan.

I led Phoenix onto the tall grass beyond the asphalt, where he collapsed onto all fours. His torso flexed as he heaved. I put a hand on his back. "Phoenix, look at the trees." There were bushy, broken trees lining the sides of the highway, a vibrant green against the blue and white sky. "The, listen to the road." No, the road was stressing me the fuck out. "Listen to the grass waving, feel it." Stalks crumpled in his fists. I twisted my head and saw the tip of an I34Q tower peeking up over the treeline. "Look, a tower, just like when we were kids." Over the next few minutes, his breathing slowed, his heaving stopped. But the tears stayed. He sobbed away the panic. I read somewhere that tears actually contain different chemicals depending on the emotion causing them. Something to do with hormones I think.

He apologized to me. I would've done the same thing. I've done the same thing. So I got it, but felt indignant at having understood--he didn't need to apologize!

We got back on the road and listened to static on the radio. Sometimes the edge of a station would pass by, and we'd get fuzzy country, or christian rock. I changed it whenever there was a sermon. Sermons always come back to 4Q and they're always awful. The 4Q broadcasts are actually better than sermons about 4Q. They're kind of like static, anyway, totally unintelligible. We encountered more of them than I expected. Maybe static itself is a 4Q broadcast. I don't think that's right, I think static is like cosmic background radiation. But maybe 4Q has changed it somehow, like it used to be white noise and now it's blue noise, a different random distribution but still random.

"I'm off my meds," he said, as we rolled into darkness. The moon was a crescent, low on the western horizon. He spoke flatly and calmly. "I didn't even bring them with me. I thought you should know."

I hesitated. I wanted to voice this diplomatically. But then, we'd be dead in four days, anyway. "Is that why you had the attack?"

"No. I panic even on meds." That made sense. I remembered a few times in the past year when he'd canceled an event with little notice, or left early. "But I'm not a person right now, and that's definitely because I'm off my meds."

"You're not a person right now?"

"Yeah. It's called depersonalization. Also derealization, which is when nothing is real. Or that's how it feels, as I'm told. It's pretty freaky if I'm honest. You don't get the same emotional reaction from stuff. It feels like you're watching from somewhere else." He wasn't looking at me. He was looking down. "You're not you. You're not even real." He whispered. "Pretty freaky."

"Can I--do you--"

"Ahh, I'm coming out of it. Some of it is just recognizing that you're in it." He drew a knee up to his chest and shook his head. "Uhh, could you. Could you hold my hand. Touch helps."

I gripped the wheel with my left hand and held his palm with my right. It was warm and sweaty. I wish I could say that was okay. I felt miserable. I wanted to feel happy, holding his hand, comforting him. I didn't.

Sleep came quicker that night, though still uncomfortable, still anxious.

- = -

I slept late, again. I hadn't touched the chicken sandwich I'd gotten from a drive-thru last night. It had awful 4Q stuff on it anyway. I hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours, so I was pretty hungry, but I had no actual desire to eat. I'd deal with it later.

My own panic attack must've seemed similarly unbidden to Phoenix, though I felt it coming about an hour beforehand, and tried to stave it off. We were on I-80, driving through the hypnotizing flatness of Nebraska. Every ten or fifteen minutes I kept seeing this scarlet structure. It was like a giant, bloody caricature of a water tower, a skinny, triangular column maybe ten feet across and at least two hundred feet tall, supporting an enormous squashed sphere more than twice as wide as the column was tall. I'd watch it rise from the horizon, far too big. I'd never seen them before but guessed they must be 4Q. I started thinking we were somehow traveling in a loop, that my sense of direction was faulty and we were passing the same structure in the same field over and over again. Then I started thinking about how crazy that sounded. But I couldn't stop the thought.

I wanted to pull over but I couldn't stop anywhere in view of the structure, because it was watching me. Of course it wasn't, but I couldn't stop the thought that it was. Hell, maybe it was. Maybe only the mad can decode the purpose of I34Q stuff. I felt how hard I was breathing and glanced over at Phoenix, wondering why he hadn't said anything. He was staring down. He was probably disassociating again, I realized later, but at the time all I knew was that I was alone.

I get angry at myself after my attacks. I feel so stupid. Phoenix apologized to me that night, which made me feel even stupider. I couldn't wait to get to the Santitos digger.

- = -

The next day was bad. Quiet, lonely, and frustrated. A further reminder of the reasons. I saw patches of 4Q purple grass climbing up the Rockies. We both took long shifts and entered Redwood park just after midnight.

- = -

I read a story once about a man that was falling in the dark. He was falling so far that he would die instantly when he hit the ground. He realized that his brain wouldn't have time to process the impact, or even the few moments before. And he couldn't see the ground. He couldn't see anything. All that was left in the world was him and his death. I wondered if Phoenix had read the same story, and was hoping for a similar effect, coming here at night. Of course, we got it wrong. There were clouds, burgundy with light pollution, and every few minutes a star would gaze through; an unearthly glow was cast up from distant pieces of the digger.

Some parts of the digger looked like the towers, spinning and shifting. Some parts looked like exposed microelectronics, cables sutured to shiny terminals of minute complexity. Some parts were just made of asphalt blocks, cream-, gray-, and lime-colored pebbles tightly embedded in dark tar. Distant redwoods, many damaged by fire, ringed the horizon. The Santitos digger was less an object and more a place.

I felt wordlessly close to Phoenix as we scrambled over asphalt, looking for a pit. We touched each other frequently in our effort, to assist, to communicate. We'd have to give each other boosts, lift each other up, look for alternate routes. This place was not made for people.

Finally we came upon a deep canyon. I had half a mind to walk off the edge immediately. But both Phoenix and I stopped to regard it.

I couldn't tell if the rumors were true. You could only see maybe a hundred yards down before the walls of the abyss disappeared into ink. Or, not ink--not blackness, either. People are black. This was something else. The most prominent features were the semi-perceivable red blotches left on my optic nerve after gazing at one of the digger's glowing sectors. The unknowable told me nothing. It just revealed the flaws of my being. Maybe we would achieve our effect after all.

"This is it," I said, elliptically. The beginning is the end. If you take out the 'h' that phrase is a palindrome. "That was the first thing I said out of the door before I got into your car on Saturday. If you take out the 'h' the phrase is a palindrome. The beginning is the end. This is elliptical. This is it."

"That ain't it." He was regarding me coolly.

I laughed.

He was angry. "Are you fucking kidding me? The point of this thing, the whole fucking point is you do it in your right mind. You're letting your madness make the decision for you. You have to make the decision!"

I found that extremely funny. I laughed harder.

"Shut up! Fuck!"

"What's a right mind?" I asked, still grinning. "There's no such thing anymore. Even when it was a thing, all it meant was the most socially-acceptable, capital-promoting mind. Now? The world doesn't fit us anymore. The human condition is inconvenient to its purpose. 4Q can't even train us. The right mind is a dead one. You want a right mind, go ahead." I gestured at the abyss. That's what I did.

He stepped forward. He stepped forward. A foot hung above the end.

I don't know what I would've done if he had lowered that foot, changing his balance, tipping him forward. Jumping in after him wouldn't have felt right. Maybe I'd have gone back to those red eyes in Nebraska and begged for them to torture me. Maybe his idiosyncrasies would have been repelled by the unknowable, flowing away from his body and into me, and I'd be lost forever in a derealized paranoia. Maybe I'd have gotten in the car and driven back home.

His foot remained, hanging, the edge a gallows. "Suicide is about pain. It's the ultimate response to ongoing distress. I never wanted you to be normal. I just didn't want you to be in pain. In a twisted way, I guess I thought, if this was your way of dealing with pain, I wasn't going to stop you. That is your right. I feel like that has to be your right." His balance was incredible. He remained still, a tree without wind. "But you can be abnormal, you can be a bad fit for the world, you can be utterly broken, and you can still live without pain." We're both crying. Tears descend into the pit.

| ' , |

I do think madness is the right way to understand I34Q. I feel this mysteriously. I wonder what it would be like if I tried going to T-school while embracing my altered states, living in them. I suspect Phoenix would have more success, being more comfortable with unreality. Not that either of us would participate in whatever hegemony 4Q perpetuates. More that we'd figure out what it wanted, and how to resist. I've been thinking about this a lot. Maybe other people are, too. We need to find each other.

Phoenix and I wandered north. We found this incredible queer community in Oregon, with actual traditions and mechanisms to deal with communal trauma. I can't say anything about the world, the world is unknowable. But I think there's hope for us.

Phoenix and I are together, now, in a way I can't quite name. We did finally make love. That was beautiful. But we don't live together. I make love to other people, sometimes, and he does the same. Sometimes I'll go a week or two without seeing him, without notice. Sometimes I'll go a few days without even thinking about him. I love him, and I tell him that, and he says the same to me, though both of us have admitted that we don't know what that means.

We still panic. I still get paranoid. Phoenix disassociates. He's been using the state to make art. I think about I34Q and write down what I think. I'm pretty good at eating regularly, even if I don't feel like it. I don't know if we're living without pain. I think maybe that's a pretty tall order. But I don't want to kill myself anymore. So I think that's pretty good.

[Ed.: have this little treat. It takes me about the length of this playlist to read the story.]

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5VD5lJJqNUJsITPj3Rg8Sn?si=d262096479104d4f