#like someone who is better at research and knows shit about anxiety

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

lover, you should've come over - m. schmidt

a/n: you guys should have seen this one coming! as always i appreciate any likes and reblogs and hope you enjoy :) warnings: suggestive themes, big angst, lots of talk about tattoos and pain and needles, mike having horrible anxiety and commitment issues, reader is mostly gender neutral except for one thing ! tattoo aftercare, hurt/comfort, kissing word count: 3.6k summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader now playing: lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder."

Penny has done almost all of your tattoos, save for the stick and poke star you gave yourself while you were way too high to be handling that sort of equipment, and a few flash designs you’ve gotten for holidays. And usually, you keep it simple and easy, pitching a design idea and getting a finished stencil a few hours later.

But this time, you go into the shop a few months before you plan to get the tattoo and describe to her what you want. She’s shocked that you want a half sleeve—It’s a big step, she tells you, and it’ll mean sitting for a few hours while she does her work. It’ll be painful, and the design will take a few weeks to get made, because she wants to give you the best possible design.

She does good work. When you visit again in about three weeks, you put down a deposit and make an official date to get it done. October 9th.

You go home that night to your small, but warm home to find your boyfriend trying to make chicken parm. His goal all year has been to learn how to cook, not just to make things out of a box. You know a bit better how to cook, but you let him improve his skills, always providing helpful, gentle critiques.

Abby is worse at being gentle.

She’s brutal with her brother’s cooking, and even though Mike loves your gentle words, he appreciates Abby’s feedback, and just wants her to eat a full plate of food before bed each night.

Tonight, his food smells good. You mentioned about a month ago how you missed your mom’s chicken parm, and since then, he’s been reading and researching different recipes at work. Ever since he quit working at Freddy’s, he’s put down the book of dreams and has picked up cookbooks, working his way up slowly.

You tell him he’ll be making Thanksgiving Dinner in no time. You kiss his jaw when you say that, and later, he returns the favor by placing a kiss to your shoulder.

You go to him, standing in the kitchen, as he squints at the recipe book in front of him. He wears washed blue jeans, an old Foo Fighters tee shirt and a pair of blue fuzzy socks. A towel hangs over his shoulder as he mutters to himself, as he gets ready to put some garlic bread in the oven.

You’re still in your work clothes, though, it’s not as if you’re wearing anything fancy. Just a different pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with your shop’s logo on it. Your hair is messy, and you smell vaguely of dirt. The smell has become comforting to him in his time knowing you.

You step closer to him, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. He relaxes at your touch.

“Hey, Mike.” You say softly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, how was your day?”

“Not too bad. The food smells pretty good.”

“You think so?” His voice is hopeful, especially since he’s trying to live up to your memories of the dish as a kid. It’s his way of thanking you for being so good to him while he’s gotten his shit together.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go wash up and have Abby help me set the table.” You tell him. You kiss his jaw quickly before heading off to the bathroom to scrub the dirt from beneath your fingernails. You wash your face and arms too and begin to realize how domestic this all is.

You never saw yourself having kids, and never thought of yourself dating someone who did.

And you still never think about having kids, but you did find yourself treating Abby as if she is your own. This has nothing to do with how much you adore her brother. Abby is just easy to love. You wonder if anyone’s ever told her that.

When your work boots find themselves at the end of your bed, you change into a muscle tee. You’re awfully fond of them. You find a pair of Mike’s fuzzy socks and slip them on too. You take a moment to stare at your shoulder in the mirror, imagining how it’ll look when ink covers it. Most of your tattoos are on your legs, and for a long time, this arm has been bare of any ink. You’ve been saving it for this project for years.

You go to Abby’s room and knock gently before entering. You find her painting at this aisle you got for her birthday. She’s been working on this painting for a few days now, and it’s turning out quite nice.

“Hey, Abs.” You say softly, and she puts her paintbrush down to give you this big, toothy grin. “Go wash up and help me set the table?” You ask.

“Sure.” She hums and starts to skip along to the bathroom, but you stop her at the door.

“And remember, even if Mike’s food is bad, what do we say?”

“Mm, this food is so good and not horrible at all!”

“Abby.”

She sighs.

“This is unlike anything you’ve made before, and I appreciate the effort?”

“That’s it.” You let her go wash up, and then go to set the table.

When Mike eventually serves dinner, you’re starved. You don’t care if it’s bad, or if it’s burnt, you know you’ll like it because you weren’t able to take a lunch break that day. But it genuinely looks good.

He cuts up Abby’s food and puts the plate in front of her before sitting down and looking to you two for a reaction. You take a bite, and you have to pause.

Did Mike really cook something not just edible, but… good?

Not fine, not decent, really good.

“Mike, this is—”

“Amazing!” Abby gasps, going in for another bite. His cheeks flush.

“You guys don’t have to pretend, it’s alright—”

“No, Mike, we’re not pretending, it’s really good!” You defend, going in for a second bite yourself. “Try it!”

He does, and he even looks shocked at the quality of the food he’s produced. And it sets the mood for the whole dinner, until you eventually blurt out,

“I booked a tattoo appointment for next week.”

“What are you getting?” Mike can’t ever admit this to you, but he adores your tattoos. He thinks the placement of them are all wonderful, even if they’re smaller. He likes to kiss them, to trace his fingers over them, to just admire them in the summer.

“It’s a surprise.” You tell him. Owning your own shop and being your own boss has its perks. You have no worries about people judging you for your half sleeve, deciding that you can just ban them from your shop.

Your conversation drifts off and you focus on other things. When you’re done, you and Mike begin to clean up with him, letting some of the pan soak in the sink. You sit on the counter, drying some of the plates as Mike rinses.

“Thank you for dinner.” You tell him.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Comfortable silence fills the room. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.” You smile softly. He dries his hand and steps between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in.

“Tease.” He mumbled, leaning forward, and kissing your shoulder. A hand goes to his hair, your fingers tangling in his locks.

“I’m not teasing, I’m just being a little secretive.” You tell him, playing with his hair. You’re a fan of the scruff he’s been growing out lately.

“Isn’t it gonna hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll take breaks and remember to eat.” You tell him. “This isn’t my first tattoo, Mike.”

“I know, baby.” He says softly, “I just get worried—”

“You get worried about me? And yet, when I’m worried about you, you ignore me but—” He cuts you off with a kiss, and your hands land on his jaw, the scruff tickling your face.

• • •

The ink swirls around your shoulder, a moth wrapping around your shoulder and reaching to the top of your arm. Vines wrap around the moth, as flowers bloom in different places. Your birth flower is one of them, as well as your mother’s. You also place Abby and Mike’s around the moth, maybe protecting it. Thorns poke out of some of the vines, and the ink covers your shoulder, and down to just above your elbow.

You got it done on a Saturday afternoon, leaving late enough so Mike could sleep in without having to deal with Abby, but being able to give them some time to relax together.

It takes a few hours, and by the end of it, you’re exhausted. As with all your other tattoos, you’re sore, but this is a new type of sore. You ache for Mike’s hands on you, to hold you and kiss your shoulders, even though he can’t kiss your left shoulder for a few days.

The second skin will remain on your arm for a day or two, and then you’ll have to go through the process of moisturizing your tattoo.

You have Penny take lots of photos of it before you head home, Mike and Abby both waiting in anticipation for you to come home and show them your new ink. You’re excited to show them, since there’s a connection to them in the art. 

When you open the door, Abby runs to you and immediately starts to look for the ink in question. She gasps when she sees it, all wrapped up on your arm.

“It’s a moth,” You tell her, “With my favorite plants.” You crouch down to point out different plans in the works. “These are my mom’s birth flowers, they’re carnations.” You tell her, “Do you know what these are?” You point to another flower.

Abby shakes her head, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the fresh, raw flesh of the person she considers to be her caregiver.

“They’re lily of the valley flowers. They’re your birth flower.” You reach out and tuck hair behind her ear. Then, you point to the third flower. “And these? They’re honey suckles. They’re Mike’s birth flower.”

Mike watches your interaction, listening to your explanation of the tattoo. Suddenly, this anxiety pools in his chest. You’ve been living together for a few months, but somehow a symbol of him and Abby being engraved on your skin makes things all too real.

He could cry.

“Did you get the flowers because you’re a flower person?” You grin, knowing she doesn’t remember the title of your job.

“Botanist, you mean? Sort of, but you two mean a lot to me, and I wanted to tribute something to you guys.” You confess.

She grins and turns to look at Mike.

“I wanna be a tattoo artist when I’m older.” Mike is pale with anxiety.

He wants to tell you it looks good, that it’s brilliantly done, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He wants to run, to abandon this relationship at the door, to never speak to you again to avoid the fact that he wants you desperately and thinks he might marry you one day.

He walks off to the bathroom, and he’s unsure if it’s to throw up or to cry.

You’re disappointed, because you wanted him to like it desperately, since this tattoo is now on you forever, and you wanted it to be a tribute to him. It almost hurts you that he doesn’t love it. Or at least pretend to. Instead, his disdain is visible on his face, and you do your best to turn your attention back to Abby.

“Wanna help me make dinner?” You smile softly, and she nods.

“Did your tattoo hurt?” She acts gently.

“Yeah, but with a good artist it goes quickly, and they don’t aim to torture you.” You explain, as you begin to make mac and cheese.

As she sets the table, you turn back to her and ask, “Can you go get Mike for dinner?” She nods and skips along to your bedroom, where Mike sits on the bed, frustrated with himself.

“Mike?” She asks gently. “We’re making mac and cheese.”

“I’m not hungry.” He says softly, and Abby can just tell something isn’t right.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well..”

“Oh…” she suspects this is a lie.

“I’m sorry. Tell them I said sorry.” Tears prick Mike’s eyes. He’s unsure why he’s like this, and why he can’t just admire your tattoo and love you and tell you how much you mean to him. But he can’t. He gets the words out. He wants to love you so badly but something in him demands to not let him be happy.

He lays on the bed and tries to stay quiet as he cries.

• • •

Hours later, you sit at the table anxiously, your hands tapping on the wood, a cold bowl of Mac and Cheese on the table. You decide to get up to clean up dinner, and just as you do, soft steps creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area.

Mike stands and stares at the cold dinner that he feels bad for rejecting. He should just tell you what’s bothering him. Instead, his gaze turns and looks at you, doing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to make dinner.”

“You didn’t seem well, and Abby needed to eat.”

This comment sparks a much larger fire in Mike, and he isn’t sure why he’s angered by how much you care about his sister, his world.

“You aren’t her mom, you don’t have any reason to make her dinner or put her to bed—”

“Yeah, Mike, well, You’re not really her dad.” You glare. “I’ve taken care of her for months, fed her, made sure she’s taken care of, I’ve picked her up from school, and now suddenly, you’ve decided I have no right to just care about her? Fuck you, if you don’t love me anymore, then don’t take it out on your sister, talk to me like a god damn grown up and stop acting like a child.” You spit, angrily turning back around to keep doing your dishes so that Mike doesn’t see your red face or your tears.

With your back turned, he can see the moth on your shoulder blade, and he aches to trace the lines of your tattoos, kissing the skin around it. But cotton fills his mouth every time he tries to sew the gap between you two.

And your words strike him. He knows why you might think he doesn’t love you anymore, but he does. He loves you deeply and finds himself enamored with you, and yet he can’t even compliment this tattoo that you have obviously put a ton of time, effort and money into.

“I’m sorry—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“I think we should give each other some space.” The words hit you like a ton of brick, and you’re ready to get on your hands and knees and beg him, beg him to not leave, beg him to forgive you (for what, you don’t know), beg him to touch you, beg him to want you.

“What..?”

“I just think I need some space.” He said softly, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You want to ask if he’s hungry, to kiss away all the sadness in the worry lines of his face.

You nod, bite your tongue. He wants to hold you and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” You mumble, sighing softly. You also plan to leave early before Mike gets up.

Mike steps towards you, maybe to apologize. You step past him to go get pajamas from your dresser, not letting him grasp onto you. You don’t want him to apologize now. You want him to sit in his regret and you want to sit in your anger.

As you attempt to fall asleep that night, you pray Abby didn’t hear your conversation with him.

Both of you try to drift to sleep and salt streams from your eyes and into your ears.

• • •

A few days pass. Your tattoo starts to heal, and you take the second skin off your shoulder and arm and begin the process of aftercare.

You and Mike exchanged a total of about thirty words over the next few days. Abby noticed your angst towards each other and tried to get the two of you to make up. She figured that Mike was being an idiot, and just needed to apologize.

She was right, but he didn’t want to admit that to his kid sister.

It’s hell. You have to pretend that you don’t want to beg for his forgiveness, but you know that neither of you are blameless. Your pride tells you not to be the first one to cave. His anxiety tells him that you hate him.

When he gets home one afternoon from work, you’re napping in bed. He knows the couch isn’t that comfortable and he’s sure you’re home because you’d mentioned to Abby that you weren’t feeling well. You probably didn’t expect to still be asleep when he got home.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts. He kisses your head and leaves a glass of water and cold medicine on the nightstand, before going to make himself busy somewhere else, as if not to disrupt your rest.

He takes one last glance at you before he leaves.

One night, he comes home from work late. You take it as an opportunity to take a hot shower after putting Abby to bed and taking a few minutes to sit in the bedroom that you missed while sleeping on the couch.

Besides, your bones ached from that uncomfortable couch while you were spoiled, used to Mike’s warm bed.

You barely hear the front door open as you continue your nightly routine. You need to apply lotion to your tattoo, to keep it moisturized as it heals. But you find yourself struggling to reach your shoulder.

Mike watches you from the doorway of the bedroom, biting his lip. The bags around his eyes have grown darker since your fight.

He takes off his boots first, and then strips his top down to an undershirt, then takes off his jeans. If you weren’t so busy, you’d acknowledge how handsome he looked in just his boxers and a gray tee shirt.

The bed dips behind you, as he sits behind you. You stop what you’re doing.

“Give me the lotion.” He says softly, and with a sigh of defeat, maybe even a bit of relief, you hand him the lotion. He squirts some lotion on his hands, then begins to rub it into your skin. You shudder at the contact, and he feels tears in his eyes again. He missed you. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked your tattoo. I love it.”

“I’m sorry I said you didn’t love me, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t Abby’s dad.”

“But I’m not—”

“But you are her parent.”

“So are you.”

A silence fills the room.

“What happened on Saturday?”

“I got anxious when I saw Abby and I’s birth flowers on you. Like how much I loved you was just engraved in your skin, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t mean to push you away, I was just terrified. Terrified that you’re going to leave. Terrified that I won’t be able to protect you.” His voice cracks at the end, and he leans his head against your shoulder that isn’t inked.

Your head turns to kiss his head.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know..” he says softly, but a part of him doesn’t believe it. You and Abby, you’re the only ones who have stayed, the only ones he’s been able to save. He doesn’t know who he is without the two of you. “I’m sorry, I was such a dick.”

“Yeah, but so was I.” You tell him.

“I love your tattoo. I love all of your tattoos. All of them. I love kissing them. I’m desperate for this one to heal so I can kiss this shoulder again.”

“Thank you for helping me with it. It itches like a son of a bitch.” You tell him, a weak smile on your face. Tears stain your shirt.

“Can we go back to normal now? I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you so much.” You turn and wrap your arms around him, the warmth radiating from his body as he holds you close. You wonder if either of you will ever be able to let yourselves be loved.

You hope to let each other try.

You kiss him, salty tears mixing, as you hold him close. He’s careful of your tattoo, not wanting to scratch or hurt you. He’s gentle in a way that betrays him. He desires you in this way that transcends want or need, something that is vital, as if it were breathing.

Yet his hands remain respectful. Gentle. You’re the one that adjusts your position to be over him, as you gently push him back against the bed, kissing him deeper.

He decides he will marry you someday. That maybe the idea of being with you for the rest of his life isn’t scary.

Not when you kiss him like that.

[sturniolo-simp4life]

perfect enemy 2

y/n has been close friends with the triplets. Well, with 2 off them. The one thing she knows is- Matt absolutely hates her. She doesn’t know why, but he does. Or does he?

warnings- cursing. PREVIOUS PART

series taglist. NEXT PART.

A MONTH EARLIER it was litterly any normal Monday. You waited in front of the boy’s locker room, since hockey practice was about to end.

A boy of smell boys walked out of the locker room, passing by you, until you saw Chris and nick.

and him.

the smile wiped off of your face as Matt smirked at you. “Aww, someone’s grumpy this morning.” He teased.

“Ugh Matt, it’s too early for this.” Nick said.

“I agree,” you muttered as the 4 of you started to walk through the hallways.

the bell rang, and you made it too your first class, which you unfortunately shared with Matt.

“alright class, we will begin with a group project.” A collective sound of groans flooded the classroom, making the teacher roll her eyes.

“You will be paired in groups of 2. Unfortunately, I have prepared groups for you, because our class can’t seem to behave, considering what happened last time you got to choose partners.” The teacher glared at 2 snickering boys.

even more groans where heard across the class. “Alright I will beginning calling names. You will move next to your partner.”

she began calling names, until yours was called. “Y/n and… Matt.”

you couldn’t be fucking serious. You looked to Matt, who was already smirked at you. You glared and turned around.

he came and set his stuff next to you. “Hey princess.” He teased. “Shut up,” you snapped.

“quiet down everyone. For this project, it will be about entrepreneurship. Your objective is to design a t-shirt and phone case based on the school mascot. The first week you will spend researching for softwares and sourcing materials.”

‘This shouldn’t be too hard,’ you thought. You were a really creative person, so you figured it wouldn’t be too hard.

‘Matt is gonna make this so fucking hard me,’ you internally groaned.

Matt could sense your unease. “What’s wrong princess? Worried I’m going mess up this project?” He snickered.

You shot him a glare. “I don’t care if you don’t do shit. But mess up this project for me? Me and you are going to have a far worse problem.”

he lifted up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Someone’s angy.”

you scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“You should come over after school. For the project I mean.” He said after a moment of silence.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you want a good grade or not?” He said. You sighed and reluctantly agreed. “Fine.”

you felt an odd sense of anxiety as you walked up to his house. You had been to their house plenty of times— why were you nervous now?

you shook the thought as your rung the doorbell.

you where met by Chris. “Oh, hey y/n. What are you doing here?” He asked. “Hey. Uhh, is Matt home?” The words felt foreign coming out of your mouth.

Chris’s mouth dropped slightly. “Asking for Matt? Damn— that’s a first.” He chuckled. “I think he’s in his room.”

you mumbled a thanks and entered the house. You looked around and began to walk up the stairs.

His door was slightly ajar, and you peaked into it. He was on his bed, scrolling through his phone. His hair was fluffy and mess, and his lips were almost red.

Just looking at him made butterflies fly in your stomach. Wait, butterflies?

you shuddered in the thought. Matt was attractive, but there’s no way you were attracted to him. Right?

“like what you see?” His voice snapped you out of your trance. “In your dreams,” you muttered as you walked in.

“Alright so I was thinking we should do these 2 colors,” you said as you opened your laptop. You showed him.

he grimaced. “Hell no. We should do Red and blue instead.” You glared at him. “Red and black looks better.”

Matt groaned and rolled his eyes. “Just do all three, since you’re so stuck up.” You scoffed.

This was going to be a long evening.

It’s kind of boring but bare with me guys, it’s coming 😬

taggys-heartsforsturniolo567 fratbrochrisgf lizzysmith110 hottiirr ilovechrissturniolosposts luvbotsblog

[shadowqueenjude]

Azriel stood there silently, staring at Rhysand as he gave him instructions.

“So, are you ok with it? Dealing with Eris?”

Now, Azriel was no political expert, but he didn’t see how this could possibly work. “You do remember the High Lord meeting, right?”

Rhysans shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair. “So?”

Azriel’s shadows swirled agitatedly around him. “Where I, you know, tried to strangle him?”

Rhysand snorted. “Helion was into it, you know.”

Azriel bared his teeth at Rhysand. “Is there anything that man isn’t into? The point is, I hate him and I’m sure Eris feels the same way about me. It’ll be a disaster. Besides, I am no courtier.”

Rhysand slammed his hand on the table, leaning forward. His violet eyes were filled with rage. “You will do as I say, Azriel. Mor is in Vallahan, and after the Nesta incident, we cannot use Cassian anymore. After Solstice, one would think you’d have stopped trusting yourself to make intelligent decisions.”

Azriel blushed, but he sent all his raging back at Rhysand. “Fine,” he grumbled under his breath. “I’ll do it.” Not like he would’ve dared disobeying Rhysand anyway.

“Good. I accept a full report by midweek.”

Azriel spent the next few days researching the Autumn Court with the help of his good friend Gwyn. She was very helpful and clearly very clever, but no one could cram this much knowledge into a few days. Whatever. Perhaps he’d just kill Eris for good this time. What did they even need him for anyway? The image of Mor nailed to the border of Autumn caused his hands to clench into fists.

Prick. Cunt. Asshole.

It didn’t matter how many names Azriel called Eris; it didn’t change the deadline fast approaching. Fuck. What would Azriel even say? He was no good at this shit. He scribbled down a few opening lines on a piece of paper that he shoved into his pocket, trying to soothe his anxiety. He felt naked without his usual Illyrian leathers, dressed in a black and gold doublet which was so far out of the realm of something he would wear. This seemed ostentatious even for Rhysand, but something that Eris would approve of. Yuck.

Azriel’s shadows tried to send him soothing thoughts and words, one of them going so far as to caress his cheek. Azriel slapped it away.

It’ll be ok, Azriel. Just stick to the script.

Azriel melted into shadow and reappeared at the meeting location. All words emptied out of his head, filled with only a pounding rage that saw a vulnerable target that ought to be taken out. Azriel walked towards him silently, blending into the shadows. On the last few steps, Azriel leapt at Eris, who whipped his head around so fast that Azriel didn’t see it coming.

Eris blasted him back with fire, pinning him to the ground in orange-red manacles. Azriel’s shadows swirled around him maniacally as Eris smirked at his supine form. His body glowed with an aura of flame, a sound like crackling embers emanating from his form. Such a contrast to his dark, silent form made to blend in.

“They didn’t send the general this time?” Eris crooned. Cassian. Azriel gave away nothing. Eris pulled out a dagger- Nesta’s Made dagger- and began cleaning his nails. “Well, thank the Mother for that. Perhaps you, at least, will speak like someone who has had an education.”

Azriel scowled. “You know just as well as I that I possess no political acumen.”

Eris shrugged, that smirk not leaving his face. “Worry not, shadowsinger. The bar is…exceptionally low.”

Eris had the ability to turn a compliment into an insult with the slightest turn of phrase. It rankled Azriel, who struggled against his chains of flame, trying to sneak his way out.

Eris tsked. “Already sick of me, Illyrian brute? My my, you lot have no stamina,” he drawled. He conjured a chair and sat on it, facing his prisoner. “Any news from Night, Azriel?”

Azriel kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t about to reveal precious information without Eris giving something as well.

Eris chuckled. “See?” he crooned. “Already better than Cassian. He would’ve been spilling everything to me before I even had the chance to ask.”

A mocking compliment, but Azriel couldn’t deny that some part of him relished being better than Cassian. Cassian, who’d slept with his love Mor out of jealousy. Cassian, who Feyre, Rhysand, and Mor all preferred to him. Cassian, who had an Archeron mate while he did not.

“What is happening with your father,” Azriel asked flatly. Eris’s smile faded. “Lucien and I exchanged some information while I visited Spring. You’ve stationed him there for the time being, yes?”

Azriel clenched his teeth and nodded. Eris continued, “He told me that Tamlin and Tarquin intended to start relocating Spring Court refugees in Summer back to Spring, and well…it seems that somehow my father has gotten word of it.” He fixed his piercing amber eyes on Azriel. “My father intends to infiltrate the refugee train. Spark violence there. I’m sure his goal is to take down Spring and Summer in one swoop.”

Cold trickled down Azriel’s spine. The Hybern war had left them all vulnerable, and it seemed that Beron would stop at nothing to obtain all of Prythian for himself.

“Then you must know,” Azriel said quietly. “We had an intergalactic visitor recently.”

Eris’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, the only sign of his surprise. “What?”

“It seems that there are some who have the ability to travel through worlds,” Azriel continued. “The girl who came…she has revived the Dusk court. Beron may be coming after that abandoned land too, and he may be seeking allies outside of this world. Allies far more formidable than even Koschei.”

Eris scrubbed his face, true emotion shining in there for once: worry. “This is crucial information. Thank you for telling me, shadowsinger. I must return home straight away.”

Taken aback by the abrupt announcement of his departure, Azriel whispered, “How are we going to stop him?”

Eris smiled, though it didn’t meet his eyes. “Trust me, shadowsinger. I’ve been dealing with him for centuries.” Then, to Azriel’s eternal shock, Eris knelt before him, his eyes searching and open, his face soft. He pressed his hand to Azriel’s cheek, bending his face over so that their lips were centimeters apart.

“I look forward to working with you more often, shadowsinger,” Eris murmured, and Azriel felt his breath against him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe until Eris stood up and winnowed away.

The manacles disappeared with Eris. Azriel got up, brushing the dirt off of his clothing. He cursed himself for letting him get so close, for letting him affect him so, for not being more vicious.

He hated that he liked Eris Vanserra more than his own found family.

For Day 1 of @azrisweek contrasts

also tagging @hieragalbatorixdottir

[mixelation]

some of the reborn au stuff i was working on

context: tori has applied to an internal chunin promotion, and instead of just giving it to her, minato was like "nah, go do the next exam in kiri. it'll be good pr for konoha if you're in the tournament, which i want you to just win. oh, but do it using really obvious and flashy fuinjutsu. and don't melt anyone we don't want to seem scary. idk you should try to be, like, cool and charming for potential clients"

so tori has made herself EXTREMELY stressed over this because while everyone else in her life is like "yeah obviously tori could beat the shit out of any random genin" she habitually underestimates her self. what if there is a deidara or an itachi in the tournament. ever think of that???

anyway this is introducing the other konoha-nin involved

****

Tori arrived to her meeting spot near Konoha’s front gate with two minutes to spare, take-away latte in hand. The genin of Team 2 were already there, looking distinctly nervous. 

They are so small, Tori thought with some anxiety. What if the Kiri-nin metaphorically tried to eat them? Actual thirteen year olds were vicious things, but they were also delicate little babies. Would Tori have to save them? 

“Hey,” she greeted. “Team 2? I’m Tori, the other genin.” They stared at her, nonplussed. Oh no, they’re scared little babies, Tori thought with some trepidation. “Er– where is your sensei?”

“We just got word he has meningitis,” the girl of the team said, sounding upset. She had the cute round face and the orangey-red hair of an Akimichi, flowing over her shoulders in two braids. “The messenger said someone else would be assigned.”

Tori squinted at her. Okay, yeah, that sounded… bad. 

“Viral or bacterial?” Tori asked. All three genin stared blankly back at her. Had she slipped up? They had different and fewer pathogens here. Maybe they only had one type…?

Oh, no, maybe thirteen year olds just didn’t know the difference.

Tori had no idea how one recruited a Jounin for a mission this long, this last second. In theory Minato could command ninja to do whatever he wanted, but he also seemed to operate under the policy that better treated ninja got him better results. There weren't a lot of people who would just be okay with being told one morning they’d be in Kiri for over a month, plus travel time in both directions. She imagined they were about to be set up with some sort of weirdo from ANBU.  

They only had to wait another fifteen minutes for their replacement Jounin. 

Oh my God, Tori thought as she stared at him.

“I’m Uchiha Shisui!” Shisui aimed his introduction at the team of thirteen year olds. He beamed at them, flashing his teeth. Compared to the little genin, he looked more like an adult than a gangly teen. “I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you. Let’s all get along.”

He took a moment to eye Tori’s latte with what she assumed was regular Uchiha judgment. She tightened her grip on it. She needed this latte, okay? Lattes were the only thing keeping her sane nowadays. 

The kunoichi of the genin team was blushing as she stared shyly back at Shisui. Tori felt tempted to pick her up and shake her. 

“Why don’t you all introduce yourselves before we head out?” Shisui said. “Because this is so last minute, I didn’t get a chance to brief myself on any of your backgrounds. Have any of you run missions outside Fire Country before?”

Tori knew this question was aimed at the actual children, because Shisui obviously knew all about Team 4’s missions and where she’d grown up via Itachi. The wording that he assumed they all hadn’t still made her hackles rise. 

Team 2 hadn’t ever been out of the country for a mission, it turned out. Akimichi Himi, the blushing kunoichi, said she’d gone on a month-long trip with her parents last year to research cuisines in Rice Country. 

“That’s super cool, Himi-chan,” Tori said, perhaps too loudly and quickly. God knew Shisui wasn’t good at not dismissing the incredibly interesting and rich lives of young ladies. 

Himi looked at her like she wasn’t sure why she was talking. Tori shut her mouth.

The two boys on the team were Kato Tetsuro and Uchiha Shouten. Shouten also seemed flustered to be speaking with Shisui. Tori had no idea why. Weren’t they cousins?

“I’m Tori,” Tori said when her turn came. “I’ve been outside of Fire Country before. Um, let’s see, I’m running solo because my genin teammates were already promoted. I already took the exam once, so I’m happy to answer questions about it.”

“But you failed?” Shouten asked, raising his head to eye her in incredible judgment. 

Is every Uchiha an asshole? Tori wondered. 

“Failing a chunin exam is sometimes more about politics than a ninja’s quality,” Shisui said smoothly. Well, at least he wasn’t condescending every time he opened his mouth. 

“Is everyone ready to head out?” Shisui asked. “Don’t worry. We can take this trip slow and steady. I want you guys to tell me more about yourselves.” 

And slow and steady they did take it, walking out of the village at a casual pace and then keeping that pace up for the rest of the day. Itachi would be having a meltdown. 

Shisui quizzed them on their specialties as they walked, since he’d been filling in as their mentor for the exam. His attentions were focused more on the young genin team, which Tori didn’t mind. He spoke to them like they were about eight, and if he used that tone on her, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her tongue in check. 

When they breaked to make camp, Shisui went off on his own to scout the area. Himi immediately turned to Shouten. 

“Oh my gosh,” she gushed. “Shouten, your cousin is a total hottie.”

Shouten rolled his eyes. “He’s out of your league, Himi-chan,” he said. “Shisui-san is a genius. He’s one of the most decorated ninja in the clan, and he’s only seventeen.”

And too old for you! Tori nearly yelled at Himi. She knew it was normal for a kid to crush on older people, but… but!

“Do you think he could help you awaken your sharingan?” Tetsuro asked, and Shouten’s cheeks went red. 

“Never mind that!” Himi said. “Quick, tell me everything you know about Shisui-san. What are his favorite foods? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, duh! Does he like girls with long hair or short?”

“I don’t know him that well,” Shouten griped, stretching his legs out in front of him. His face remained red. “The Uchiha clan is pretty big, and we’re not closely related. Plus, he’s like super famous. He’s the only one Itachi-sama ever hangs out with. He’s that good.”

What the hell is happening? Tori wondered as Tetsuro leaned back on his hands and started to wonder out loud what kind of training they could get from such a prestigious shinobi that the Uchiha Itachi would deign to be buddies with him. How do these random children know so much about Itachi?

“Oh yeah!” Himi said, turning to Tori. “Aren’t you the same age as Uchiha Itachi? Were you in his class?”

“Uh,” Tori said. 

“Why would she remember?” Shouten cut in. “He graduated in four months.”

“Really?” Tori asked, surprised. She thought he’d been in there a whole year… 

“Do you really not know?” Shisui asked, suddenly appearing behind her. Then he said, in a decidedly more authoritative voice than he’d used so far that day,  “Did none of you make any moves to set up camp?”

The conversation switched to splitting up tasks. Team 2 obviously already had their own system, and while Tori would usually be happy to just sit back and watch other people work, she felt self-conscious about doing it on their first night in front of Shisui. She was pretty sure Shisui saw her as full of herself and overconfident, and she wouldn’t give him more support for that theory. 

She ended up prepping ingredients for dinner under Himi’s command. She didn’t know how she ended up being bossed around by a little thirteen year old, but… well, what was she going to do? Tell an Akimichi how to cook? 

Over dinner, Shisui turned to Tori and asked, “How’s R&D?”

Tori was surprised that he’d both known her current station and also cared enough to ask. Did… did Itachi talk about her? She felt a flash of warmth at the idea. 

“It was a bit of an adjustment,” she said slowly, acutely aware of Team 2 also listening in. She wouldn’t go into why it was an adjustment, not with Shouten staring between her and Shisui that intently. “I’m going for promotion with the hopes of heading my own projects, actually.”

Shisui frowned slightly. “You couldn’t just get an internal promotion? Your mission record has got to be strong enough that you’d get one no problem.”

Shouten’s look was intensifying as he tried to unravel the conversation they were having. Shisui’s posture stayed loose and casual, like Shouten didn’t look like he was attempting to awaken his sharingan as he spoke. 

“I applied, but… um, Hokage-sama told me to do this instead,” Tori said. 

“Ah,” Shisui said, like that made total sense. “Yeah, okay. I thought it was weird he’d be taking you off R&D for a whole month…” Shisui suddenly straightened, flashing a smile at the rest of the genin. “The chunin exam is only a month-long commitment if you make it to the final stage. It’s no big deal if you don’t! Like I said, politics are a big part of these exams. Even your little hero Itachi failed his first exam.”

“No way,” Shouten exhaled. 

“Yep,” Shisui said with a wink. “By the way, Himi, this is really good.”

Himi preened. Tori considered tossing her dinner in Shisui’s face. She didn’t think Shisui was a slimeball who’d purposefully encourage a kid’s crush on him on, but also–!

The after-dinner talk turned into the other genin quizzing Shisui on missions he’d been on, and who the coolest ninja he’d worked with were. Shisui was incredibly vague in most of his answers, as ANBU missions tended to be super classified, but he had no problem dropping a handful of famous names, seemingly just to see the genin’s faces light up. ANBU operatives had tears of anonymity; basically everyone knew who Hatake Kakashi was and that he was a captain, for example. 

“Itachi is like a legend,” Himi babbled. “He’s two years above us, so he graduated before we started, but all the senior students talked about him.”

Shouten glared at his sandals as she talked, clearly… jealous, or something. Poor kid. 

“Oh yeah,” Shisui said, turning to Tori, who’s mostly been sitting out of this conversation. “How did you of all people not know Itachi graduated early?”

“Look, I knew he graduated early,” Tori said. “I just didn’t realize how early. Four months, seriously? You’re lucky he knows how to read.”

Apparently this was a disrespectful thing to say, as Team 2 all looked stricken and then turned to Shisui with wide eyes. Shisui just laughed good naturedly. 

“‘You of all people’….?” Himi repeated. Then she brightened. “Tori, are you a fan of Itachi?”

The tiniest smirk crossed Shisui’s lips.

“Yes,” he said. “The biggest fan.”

Fuck you, Tori thought. 

xXx

Tori did not bother to correct anyone on their assumptions about her and Itachi, mostly because she predicted that would turn the ten day trip even more awkward. Tori did not like the idea of anyone being impressed with her social connections, rather than Tori’s own accomplishments. She kept her mouth shut on her genin team. 

Himi did very smugly ask Tori for her crush list more than once. They were– technically– physically Himi was only a year younger than her. This would be a normal way to bond. But it also made Tori low-key want to scream. 

(Tori almost said Kakashi as a way to make Himi stop asking. He seemed like a normal target for a ninja celebrity crush, and she knew enough about him to have a conversation. But also, if that ever somehow got back to him, she would actually die.)

“How is Deidara not famous?” she did mutter to Shisui one evening while they were washing out cooking ware together. 

“I think they’re probably too young to be paying attention to the really interesting gossip,” Shisui replied. “Maybe you should hype him up. I’ll back you up that you’re a huge fangirl–”

Tori splashed water at him. “Oi!” she said. “Why did you even do that?”

Shisui flipped a pot over, pouring water back into the stream they were sitting on. 

“I thought you might not like them losing their minds,” he said. “I figured– like, if you didn’t like it, you could have just corrected me.”

This was… true. She did prefer it this way, if they had to talk about Itachi. But also: she still didn’t like it. 

“How is the entire world obsessed with him?” she wondered. 

“Beats me,” Shisui replied. 

They made it to Kiri midday of day ten, right on time. Kiri was surrounded by a thick, blue-gray stone wall. The individual stones were not uniformly cut, yet every irregular angle and nook fit perfectly into the neighboring stone. It was impressive. 

There was a guard outside the main gate, specifically for the Chunin Exam. Shisui chatted with her briefly and handed over their papers. Someone was called in to lead them to their accommodations, and while they waited for their tour guide, the guard lectured them on their rules of conduct for the stay. 

It was better than the rules they were given in Iwa. They could actually look around parts of the village, and they were getting an actual hotel room instead of abandoned dorms. No one patted them down for contraband. Shisui was handed a stack of food vouchers, good at any restaurant. 

Then something happened that Tori should have anticipated, but had been so stressed over other things that she hadn’t given it much thought. Kisame showed up to be their guide. 

“Really?” the guard asked, eyeing Kisame up and down dubiously. “Don’t they have better things for you to be doing?”

Kisame smiled, all friendly but showing off pointed teeth. Shisui straightened up, and the other genin shuffled nervously. Tori had no idea if a genin would recognize Kisame, but they’d definitely recognize he was a giant blue shark man. 

“I volunteered,” Kisame said. “I’ve met one of the entrants before. I was curious.”

Shisui’s eyes immediately shot to Tori, almost accusing. 

Oh, they really didn’t brief you, huh, Tori thought. She attempted to communicate this at him with her face. 

“Well, whatever,” the guard was saying. “Konoha, this is Hoshigaki Kisame. He’s one of our Seven Swordsmen. Be polite, or he’ll eat you.”

Team 2’s collective faces went pale, and Kisame laughed. 

He led them into the village, and Shisui stepped forward to lead the Konoha genin, walking at Kisame’s side. He introduced himself to Kisame, making small talk as they walked. Tori watched them, wondering how much Itachi had talked about Shisui to Kisame, before. Kisame was usually pretty easy to read, but he was also habitually polite. It was difficult to tell if he was being friendlier with Shisui than he would anyone else. 

“Iwa was an… interesting experience,” Kisame was saying, and then turned his head to flash his teeth at Tori over his shoulder. 

“Extremely interesting,” Tori agreed. “I hope this exam is comparatively boring.”

“With you here?” Kisame teased, and Tori felt her face go hot. 

“I’ll have you know that I’ve been explicitly ordered to be peppy,” she replied. 

“Peppy?” Shisui repeated, dubious. This was clearly news to him. 

“Are any other entrants here yet?” Tori asked, directing the conversation away from herself. 

“You’re on the earlier side,” Kisame replied, and then he made her work to get as much info on other teams as she could out of him. 

Kisame pointed out their hotel, and then took them on a walk around the surrounding neighborhoods they were allowed to wander freely. It was, as far as Tori could tell, a largely civilian part of town. But it was pretty and comfortable, she thought; she’d always liked all the greenery and little canals Kiri had running through it. The mood of the people they saw on the street was overall happier than when she’d last been here, eyes following them more with curiosity than disdain. Kisame had done a good job saving his village from civil war. 

The outskirts of the perimeter had some training grounds they were allowed to use, as they’d arrived two days before the start of the exam. 

Finally, Kisame said, “And then… well, technically it’s not inside the perimeter, but I could still show you…” 

Kisame had been largely directing his tour guide speech to Shisui, but now he turned to Tori, grinning down at her knowingly. 

“Have any of you genin been to a beach?” 

****

for anyone of you who picked up the moral inconsistency between tori being annoyed at shisui for potentially (though not intentionally) encouraging himi's crush and her own treatment of mangetsu....... yes <3

[hevlaska]

dgm quartet + reader with PMDD

PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder) is an endocrine disease that causes intense pms symptoms + depression, anxiety, mood swings, changes in apetite, and many other things, 10 - 14 days before a person's period. I was recently diagnosed and I thought this would be comforting for me bc im kinda struggling with it recently. Do with it what you will.

Brief nsfw mentions for Lavi and Kanda sorry. Its just boobs + sex mentions lol but you know. Tumblr. Just gotta be safe.

Allen

He's really kind about it, but it can be hard for him to be patient with you sometimes when your symptoms start to show.

You get into very hopeless, dire moods and he wants to snap at you when you speak unkindly about yourself. But he restrains himself

Would probably do a bunch of research on it and give suggestions on how to better cope with it, if you don't have a handle on it already.

Hes ready to give you whatever you need tbh. If you need space, he'll leave you be. If you're wanting support, he's there.

There are times when Allen will need a moment to cool down, too, when you're having a hard time. It stresses him out to see you so upset, and he has to walk away sometimes.

Often suggests different food to make you feel better. Will force Link to make it for you

Lenalee

Because it is influenced by stress and trauma, I imagine Lenalee may have PMDD herself. Or, at least knows of it, since everyone in her line of work experiences stress and trauma.

If she doesnt know of it, she researches it, similarly to Allen. But its easier for her to be patient with you than it is for him. That is, unless she experiences it herself.

In that case you two are synced and theres either a lot of crying or a lot of arguing. Or both!

yeah, sorry but two people with pmdd....no. just no

You might be very on and off with her because of it.

If she doesn't have symptoms, though, she takes very good care of you! Makes you tea, exercises with you, lots of cuddles.

There are times when you can be really difficult though and even she would lose her patience sometimes. Not that it would even result in a fight, she'd just drop the subject.

Lavi

Lavi is a walking encyclopedia so he knows what pmdd is and how to treat it. He's actually very good to you about it, and rarely does it ever result in genuine arguments, even when you do have serious mood swings and say the most depressed things he's ever heard very suddenly.

Offers to massage your boobs lol. He's trying to be funny but also knows you're in pain

another one who would exercise with you, but prefers napping together, of course!

Is very good at wrapping you in blankets, holding your face and talking sense into you.

When he can't deal with you though, which is rare, he just avoids talking to you if it gets far enough. He doesn't track your cycle or anything but can tell when you're suffering. The type to shut you out for a while and then act like nothing happened.

Kanda

Uh oh

Like, I was gonna say there's a lot of arguments around the time that you start experiencing symptoms, but. It's just these little (loud, though) spats about you suddenly being the most dramatic depressed person on earth and him getting really pissed when you speak about yourself with so much hate

I was gonna say he'd yell at you, which is probably still true, but genuinely? You could make this man cry. The shit I say when pmdd hits, I think seeing someone he loved like that would upset him deeply. He'd be terrified of you snapping and offing yourself tbh

but, the fights wouldn't last long, I don't think. You just end up crying in his arms lol

He really encourages you to do anything you can to cope because he's scared bro!! He's pushy about it

Will exercise with you. He really pushes this one, because it helps him, too. Will do whatever he can to help you along, if you're kinda weak or inexperienced with exercise

Forces you to eat if you lose your appetite

Doesn't care if it lowers your libido. Even though physical touch of any kind is usually how he expresses his feelings for you, because he sucks with words, he's fine as long as he can cuddle you whenever lol

If you don't have that problem he might try to fuck the self loathing out of you though. Again, he's a very physical guy.

[scientia-rex]

Medicine is a numbers game. I use probability all the time. If you don't understand probability, you'll look at someone with chest pain and have no fucking clue how likely it is that you're looking at a heart attack. You may not even know what the other top contenders are. GERD is common. Anxiety. An angry rib muscle. Lots of options. Most of the time, most chest pain won't be a heart attack, but sometime it'll be something worse--an aortic dissection that's rupturing will kill you even faster than most heart attacks.

I see so many patients who come in with a symptom that the Internet, whether Google or influencers, has told them is associated with this one thing. It's often the thyroid. And yeah! A fucked-up thyroid can cause all kinds of symptoms. But here's the deal: if I check your thyroid and it looks normal, it's probably not your thyroid that's causing the symptoms. It could be something else we understand. It is very often something we don't understand. But the fact that I can tell you modern medicine doesn't understand some process doesn't mean your naturopath or chiropractor or Certified Hormone Expert Influencer does understand it because they have this different way of looking at the body. Look, long, long before I wanted to be a doctor, I wanted to be an herbalist. I'm queer, I'm a woman(ish), I am neurodivergent, I am not The Man. I'm not beholden to the system; the system doesn't care for me and wishes I would sit down and shut up, most days. And I have a background in research science and statistics. I used to have a rubber stamp that said "Denied" and one that said "Approved" and I'd hit piles of paper for research applications at an R-1 university, in triplicate, with my stamps, because I understood research well enough to get a Human Subjects Division job evaluating it. If a naturopathic approach to thyroid worked well, I would be doing it. I'm a utilitarian. I don't give a rat's ass about the theoretical underpinnings of modern medical practice, I want things to work. Ideally I would like to know why they work, too, but hey, we can't always have it all.

So the dozens of patients I get every month who are looking elsewhere for answers, looking to people who don't actually know any better but are good at pretending they do, who pay money for elaborate supplement regimens or unvalidated genetic tests or (my personal least favorite) "memory-improving games," I have to be calm and professional and diplomatic about what I say. I can't say, "That's quack shit." I can't say, "Your favorite influencer is a liar and an idiot." Not just because I'd get lower patient satisfaction scores, but because patients wouldn't believe me, and they would reactively like me less and the other guy more. (You're calling me stupid? You're saying I wasted money? If I believe you're just a shill for Big Pharma, that hurts less.)

It takes years, even decades, to understand how to put together the probability maps. Chest pain in a patient under 40? Highly unlikely to be a myocardial infarction, but not totally impossible, especially if they've been doing cocaine. In a patient over 60? Much more likely. Is the pain crushing? Is it sub-sternal? How long has it been going on? Is it constant, or intermittent? Does the patient smoke? What other health conditions does the patient have? These are all deeply important questions, and I remember feeling overwhelmed by things like this all the time in medical school. It's taken so long to build my knowledge, and my background in research is only tangentially valuable most of the time.

Please don't believe authority just because it looks good. Don't trust people because you want to trust them. Learn about the scientific process, learn how the sausage gets made, and then you'll be in an infinitely better position to know whether this is a "wow! science!!!" or a "wow! science bullshit!" moment.

[eggsaladsandwhic]

Vash Headcannons (SFW and NSFW)

Follow my previous posts about the Poly Knives x OC x Vash CollegeAU fic I'm doing so here's some ideas I gotta dump.

SFW/General

Ecology Major vibes, is also getting an Ethics minor

Hates chemistry with a burning passion

Makes a lot of friends, but only hangs out with a few so he doesn't overwhelm himself

Nurodivergent Vash!

(He/They)! Or (They/them) either works

Doing a stem degree while having ADHD and anxiety sucks so much but Vash thrives in it somehow

College has really been flaring up his plant traits lately, has to call Rem or talk to Nai on the weekly for help (Though Nai just keeps telling him to stop repressing it)

Has to wear long sleeves or hoodie a lot to cover up the feathering leaves that pop out.

Vash doesn't realize it but it's anxiety that's causing it, but Nai started lending him some compression shirts and so it's gotten better

BUFF DADBOD VASH (this idea possess me)

He's gotten better with dealing with stress and no longer resorts to starving himself

GOES TO THERAPY(one of these twins gotta do it)

Between Nai's cooking, drinking on the weekends, and the amount of donuts this dude can eat he's living his best life

Works out when he gets the time and bowls competitively

Wants a significant other (Mates for life) but it's so hard, especially when starts thinking about the fact he's not human

Has a fear of having someone he really loves and then them finding out he's a plant and reacting negatively. Vash thinks Nai and him would likely have to move back to the facility with Rem. He doesn't want to uproot the lifestyle him and his brother have

Gets a little depressed about it, but is really good with having a support group on standby

Gets hit on at bars a lot but it always flys over his head or they're too pushy about it.

Wolfwood sets him up with dates once in a blue moon but it goes horrible or the girls just don't like him for more than his looks

Physical touch is this man's love language and he just wants someone he can lean on

Add someone who likes doing domestic activities?? Y'all are going to the courthouse next week

Wants to just curl up next to someone even platonically at this point

Has an agreement with Nai sometimes that they sleep in the same bed like when they were kids (Nai always grumbles about it but sleeps better that night anyway)

Nsfw Below 👇

OH SHIT OH FUCK

(NSFW)

So I did some research today and did y'all know that wild purple geraniums have a tendency to be Hermaphrodites

YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS

Vash is a dual package (living the dream ong)

Plantussy and Plantdick combo meal

So I imagine that his dick would sit above his vulva and vagina? Testes would likely be internal (genuinely trying to form an anatomy basis I'm actually looking at a diagram rn)

As for his female organs I'd say he consented to a hysterectomy because it was causing growth issues (post op sucked but he figured it out)

Took testosterone for awhile until everything was functional

Became a lot more sexually comfortable with himself after this

6.5in prehensile tentacle dick, bumpy rounded ridges on the sides and little more on the girthy end

Has more of those downy soft petals that unfold during sex, and dick likely has a sheath because it's more fleshy (kinda like the inside of your mouth)

Hyperspremia and leaves a mess everytime he jerks off, squirts a lot too (probably got a dedicated bath towel at this point)

He has fucked himself with his own dick and usually prefers to

Owns quite a few sex toys and likes to experiment around a little bit

Goes from a Fleshlight, a regular dildo, has a couple fantasy ones, and anal and prostate toys

High sex drive, but can cum pretty quick (short recovery period, usually goes 3 rounds but can do more)

Rut is 10x worse too you'd be lucky to make it to the fridge

Makes sperm plugs during rut

SWITCH VASH(still a virgin though)

Desperate sex kinda guy, gets pussy drunk or cock dumb so easily, folds like a chair no matter what

Make him unfurl his wings out it means he trusts you so much

Please go down on him and absolutely devour him

Very sweet though and would definitely check in a lot (check in with him too it makes him feel fuzzy)

Has a sex awareness to not hurting you accidentally, during rut he's very nervous about it

Aftercare King (loves to shower or take a bath after)

More of a hickey giver than a biter

Usual kinks: Breeding, Pegging, Overstimulation, Cum play, cockwarming, Oral, Praise, Hair-pulling

Unusual: Blindfolding, Shibari(both ways around), Begging, wants to be degraded a little bit

Jesus my brain went wild there, I was doing research for some of this shit. Was supposed to be doing Geochemistry homework but this happened ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯. Anyways gn y'all I got a 9am.

[devisopod]

Levity Creek infodump

It's long, I'm warning you.

╭──────────..★..──────────╮

Brave. Let's see if you regret trying to read my ramblings.

Changing some initial things from the first post, but they're minor. I'm doing this entirely based off what my Little Brain That Could absorbed from the show and Journal 3, so don't @ me if something's off, I'm not bothering to use online sources. As much as my mind gremlin'd love to deep dive this shit again, the whole point of an AU is to distort the canon. And while I'm keeping aspects of it, I'm not going out of my way to make it perfect either.

And who knows? Some of it may be subject to a little tweaking come July. We'll start off with what we know.

╭──────────..★..──────────╮

1975

Not a super big year in terms of the AU. Ford arrives in Gravity Falls, and nothing is different just yet. He begins his research enthusiastically. For six years, this fella gets to run around carefree! He's learning, exploring, and documenting like the ever-curious researcher he is. Then, he gets whacked with the inevitable question of "why?". Gravity Falls is the way it is, but no matter what he does, he can't determine the reason for it. It's eating him up, and so he's desperate to find answers, he'll ignore his better judgment.

Meanwhile, Stan's already been banned in about 30 states. He's hopped from scam to scam, or as he'd probably put it, "business strategy", and getting himself into trouble. He's missing his brother, missing having true connections, but too prideful to admit it yet. During this time, he's living in his car. This lasts for the majority of the year, and perhaps some months afterward, staying at motels on and off when he gets the cash.

1981

Bill.

Love him or hate him, he's crucial, and I'm going to enjoy the hell out of stepping on his toes at every possible opportunity in this AU. What's fun, and frustrating, is having to get into his mindset. He's a mastermind in his own right, but he's also weak to his—you know it, say it with me—ego!

After Bill convinces Ford that a portal is the most effective way to understand Gravity Falls' weirdness, Fiddleford comes into play. We know that Fiddleford works with, and researches the anomalies of Gravity Falls, alongside Ford for a year before the portal incident.

He's goes through a lot of stress and exhibits signs of anxiety during this period, not only from the work and frightening encounters, but because he misses his family. The fear that's instilled in him results in the creation of the memory gun, and soon to follow, The Society of The Blind Eye (we'll get back to that). Moreover, it has him questioning Ford and the portal project.

1982

Here's where we start to diverge!

That month before the portal incident, Stan seeks out Ford rather than facing everything he's going through alone. He's hit so many walls that even his pride takes a beating. It's a daunting task, showing up on the doorstep of someone you've wronged, looking to make that connection again, but he's got nothing left. Our Stan's a trooper, but even his snark and tough outer shell don't save him from his instinct to care, nor his need to be cared for.

His arrival in Gravity Falls is not exactly welcome, but Ford doesn't turn him away either. I really want to give him the benefit of the doubt here. He's kind of a self-righteous asshole during this period of his life, but he also lets small hints of his sentimentality slip from time to time. He was so excited to have someone to share his research and time with again, expressing gratitude and fondness for Fiddleford, much like I think he would have done with Stan. He misses Stan just as much as Stan misses him, but they process their emotions differently. He buries himself in work and strives for a goal that would make him one of The Greats, or whatever. But when his mind isn't as occupied, I'm sure it's on that beach in New Jersey.

So, showing a shred of decency, Ford agrees to try and patch things up with Stan, but on the terms that he doesn't interfere with his work. Stan sets up in a motel in town, visiting Ford on occasion during the month up until the portal is tested.

The Test

Here's where shit hits the fan, right? Everything starts going downhill, but let's think about it differently.

Fiddleford is arguably the balancing factor here. His character is such a great one, and I think it would have served him much better had he not succumbed to his own fear. He deserved a lot better, and it's not hard to determine that based on the details we have. He has an instinctual need to protect and help people, whether he knows them personally or not. He warns and prompts Ford on multiple occasions to express his doubt, even before the incident with the portal, but Ford is much too prideful to accept any of Fiddleford's concerns.

Ford saw himself as a good friend to Fiddleford, and to an extent I would accept that, but ultimately Ford was simply meeting the minimal efforts required of him to keep his research partner afloat.

After one last attempt at dissuading Ford from testing the portal, Fiddleford doesn't have a choice but to carry on with the initial plan—he's going to see it through because he's come this far. So, what's he do when he gets a glimpse of the catastrophic consequences that could result from the portal's use? He gets the hell outta dodge, and naturally so. He's met his limit, and since Ford doesn't want to listen, he's going to take it upon himself to protect himself and others.

Aftermath

Now, at this point in the canon, Fiddleford has already loosely established The Society of The Blind Eye and it's been building in the background. Though, it won't last long.

He shows a lot of common sense throughout his time researching with Ford, and I'd like to tap into that a little more. Frankly, he's too smart to drive himself into insanity. And while he doesn't know if there are side effects, he knows that if he loses himself, he's putting others at risk. So, after he uses the memory gun to forget what he saw in the portal, he elects to retire it. As much as it could be a help, he realizes it poses its own dangers and temptations based on the ways he's used it so far.

The Society of The Blind Eye is disbanded abruptly here. The members collected so far have their memory wiped of the group's existence, and that's that.

Ford's Dilemma

After the mess with the portal, Ford becomes increasingly more paranoid and unstable. As one does when they've become subject to physical and mental torment by a being they can't control.

Stan is immediately concerned, and arguably pissed off by this development. He's come all this way to fix things, and now Ford's changed on a dime, but he doesn't understand why. So, they fight. When it comes down to it though, Ford knows he can trust Stan. His brother, despite everything, has sought to make things right. So, he spills his guts. Flat out breaks down, and it's needed. While it doesn't solve his immediate problem, he's given another path to take.

Ford already knows about the memory gun, and he believes that one of the best ways to keep Bill out of his head is to eliminate what he wants from it: how to operate the portal. It's a reluctant reunion, and perhaps not a very trusting one, but Fiddleford agrees to wipe Ford's memory regarding the portal's operation on the condition that the pages of the journals are burned and the portal is dismantled.

Ford hates that condition, of course. It causes more strain, as he's already been told once that he should destroy the portal. His life's work. But it isn't, though, is it? The portal wasn't his idea. Hell, he put a lot of effort and time into it, but he knows now that it's a danger. Surely he would take the precaution to preserve life as we know it even if it lands a blow to his self-importance.

And here, he does. It's reluctant, but he does it. He burns the pages (allowing him to keep his journals), wipes his memory of said pages/the portal's operation, and dismantles it. Bill torments him for a little while after this, determined to physically and mentally destroy the pawn he no longer has a use for, but Project Mentem becomes the inevitable solution.

Let's Play Nice

When things finally start to settle down, Ford is determined to get back to work and dead set on finding a way to complete his research. This time, though, he has Stan along. They're really doing their darndest to work things out, but it's rocky at best. Doing fine one minute, then pouting in corners the next. While it's slow going, they're making progress a little a time.

Meanwhile, Fiddleford has gotten back to his dream of becoming an inventor. He even travels a bit on and off, returning home to California for a brief time before he's back to Gravity Falls, his family to follow within the next few months. He's taken on a project regarding the creation of a system (hardware and software) for the county's government facilities.

Daphne

Our little self-insert. There she is! Daphne isn't especially important to begin with. She's an old friend of Fiddleford's from back south who had the same types of interests and hobbies. She took a different route, of course, working odd jobs while in college, but eventually drops it altogether when she's offered a position working as a software engineer. She works this job until she gets in contact with Fiddleford again. When he talks about what he's working on, she's interested in helping out, if only to get away from her current job for a little while. Fiddleford accepts, and Daphne makes a road trip out west.

On the way, taking the scenic route obviously, she swings by and picks up Tate to bring him out to Gravity Falls a little early. The first week or so in Gravity Falls, Daphne hates it. The scenery is great, but the place freaks her out. She's not especially superstitious, but there are some things she just doesn't mess with. Weird creatures are on that list of things. Where she comes from, stuff like that is just what you leave alone and don't talk about, but here that rule doesn't even matter. Something's gonna happen regardless.

It takes about a month to completely finish her part of the project, then she's off again. Eager to get the hell away from Oregon, she says her goodbyes and heads out. Not even an hour into the ride, Tate reveals himself, not able to hold in the fact that he's stowed away any longer. Unamused, but unable to get mad at him, she reluctantly turns right back around to bring him back to Fiddleford. Just inside Gravity Falls, a creature runs face first into her van, effectively totaling it.

Ford, naturally, is in hot pursuit of this creature he's been chasing. When he sees the damage it's caused, he's torn between following the creature and helping out. The only reason he stops is because he recognizes Tate.

From there, Daphne has a few choice words for this lunatic that's wrecked her favorite possession, though she's still pretty rattled by seeing something so bizzare. Fiddleford is the one that has to kind of mediate this situation and also explain Gravity Falls to Daphne. He's not especially glad that she's met Ford; he's still having a little trouble trusting him, so he doesn't want her around him, but won't explain why. Effectively, it makes her more wary of Gravity Falls, but now she's stuck there. At least, for now. Fixing her van and staying at a motel, trying her best to avoid contact with the strangest parts of the town.

And that's where I'm gonna leave the rest to my art!

With that all established, Levity Creek as a whole is going to follow a more comedic route than anything, hence the "levity". Which isn't to say that I'll avoid the touchy subjects or heavier themes, but they'll be sparce.

I also wanna kinda make it clear that my intent with Daphne in this AU isn't super traditional in the sense of a self-insert. A lot of focus is gonna be put specifically into the Stan brothers before Daphne's eventual inclusion. If anything, there's very slow character development to begin with for most of the characters. I wanna give them room for growth personally so that they can grow together!

For funsies, this is the model of the van I drive irl! I don't feel comfortable sharing an actual picture of it for privacy reasons, but you get the gist!

TL;DR

I'm a lunatic

[ghostchems]

hello my dumbass was up watching horror media before bed even though i know it gives me HORRIBLE anxiety so could we maybe get a drabble or something of terzo comforting a fem!reader having a mini anxiety attack before bed, maybe with cuddling involved? thank you so much :,)

love love this prompt! tw anxiety. about 700 words.

“Oh my god, why did I do this to myself?” You squeak out in a hushed whisper as you pull your knees up to your chest. Blankets and pillows surround you and the only light in your room coming from your dimly light cell phone screen which is now laying face up on your bed. It’s just you in your room. You feel your chest start to tighten and your heart starts to thud. Your phone screen times out and goes black, a jolt of terror striking through you so you quickly unlock your phone. 

It was one of those nights where you didn’t have much to do and you went down a YouTube rabbit hole. It didn’t take long until you found yourself deep into unsettling videos that you could have just scrolled past but your curiosity had gotten the better of you. You told yourself you wouldn’t be scared, that they weren’t real and that you’ve seen and researched far worse things while being a member of the church of Satan but… here you are. 

You try to distract yourself but the thoughts have already taken hold. The thought to text a few of your friends crossed your mind but who would be awake at this hour?

Shit.

You know someone who would be.

Within seconds, he is at your door with somehow perfectly ruffled hair and a sleepy grin. His t-shirt is a bit wrinkly and his sweatpants make it painfully obvious that he is not wearing any briefs. He leans in close to you, his grin only growing.

“Thinking about me, eh, sibling?” Terzo’s voice is deep and husky but at the moment, you couldn’t care less about him being the over the top flirt he is. The two of you had connected recently and the last time you were together things got a bit hot and heavy. 

“I-I’m sorry, Terzo. I’m not in the mood for that.” You whisper, holding your pillow to your chest and clutching your phone. “I’m a little spooked tonight.” A wave of embarrassment washes over you as your cheeks turn bright red. His expression immediately changes to concern and he is quick to loop one of his arms around you and pull you close.

“Why didn’t you say so, tesoro?” He hums into your ear then starts to usher you back to your bed. The light of your phone helps guide the two of you until Terzo flips the switch to your desk lamp to allow a warm, dim yellow light to flood the room. He is so close behind you, his strong nose nuzzling against your hair and neck as the two of you waddle to your bed. You slip into it and he is right there beside you, the warmth of his body pressing into you and his arms wrapping securely around your chest. 

When you hooked up, there was no snuggling or after care, so you’re pleasantly surprised by how comfortable he makes you. In all honesty, you weren’t expecting him to react in such a way to you being frightened but it makes the crush on him you already have blossom and the butterflies in your stomach flutter. 

“Will you stay the night?” You pipe up once you are comfortably nestled underneath the covers and in his arms. The tightness in your chest is already gone and you still feel a little bit like a baby for having to have someone come comfort you.

“Si, si, of course I will. I would not be able to live with myself if you have a nightmare after I’ve left.” He teases, his soft lips brushing against your cheek, You snuggle in close to him and manage a soft giggle as he gives you a squeeze. “Rest now, puffetta. I will fight off the monsters for you.” 

Terzo starts to gently stroke your arms and presses his nose against your temple. You focus on his breathing, his chest rising and falling against you and you start to match the pattern until your eyes start to grow heavy and your mind starts to drift.

Soft breaths puff through your lips as you fall asleep soundly in his strong arms.

[aeolianblues]

I say to myself, ‘Why would [x] ever respond to me?’ and a few reasons do legitimately pop up. It’s mad, it’s a little scary. 00s indie stars don’t always have the same star power they once did. Memories, yes. The could have touched your mum and left a deep impression on her, but really do their names carry the same weight anymore? They actually need some press. Are they speaking to the NME? Yes, so what. Sky’s the limit. There’s no reason today that I can’t be interviewing the same bands as the NME. NME are the British press. I’m not. I’m international press.

I’m press in a country that oddly cares about British music (old habits die hard). I’m also in a fairly small music industry. MTV is gone. Much Music is gone. Big radio is too big for you, you who were once in regular rotation. What is public service broadcasting? Who lies between someone like me and CBC Q? Absolutely no one. It’s a chasm that has frustrated me too, believe me. It means all those artists we break, hype, mould, narrate and throw upwards to the skies of stardom, there is no one up there to catch them. There is no one watching. There are bands I have personally thrown up, who in another era would’ve been minor rockstars by now. There’s no one up there. There’s nowhere upwards for me to move, either. Commercial radio doesn’t care for you. Advertisers’ wishes rule its world.

So where will you go? Unless Tom Power’s schedule is looking unusually empty or Talia Shlanger isn’t on tour and is happy to take you on for a short interview, where else will you go? Public service broadcasting, the national broadcaster. Only when something about you should excite or inform everyday Canadians, public service broadcasting won’t have you. So you come to me. And I get told all the time, I’m pretty good at what I do. I have to be, I get to meet such cool people. I can’t waste my chances. I have things I need to know. From somewhere in there has come a good interviewer. I know, it’s bizarre because I’m always so scared, but it works out. I work it out, in the end. And so I’m here. I’ll talk to you. I’ll be interested in talking to you. I’m not a promoter. I am not advertising your show. We are talking. We are talking about music; you the musician, me the musician; you the interviewee. And somehow, it sells your gig and sounds impressive enough for people to constantly be pulling out those Tom Power comparisons. (With all due love and respect to Tom, I love his easy style of conversation, but we are nothing alike. I suspect you’re far more likely to have an anxiety bout in the middle of an interview with me. I have things I want to know, I am badly, focused on them. God knows why anyone says it works. But I do often get told that I’m a good interviewer, that bands enjoyed it. I put it down to being the only person that does the research. UK bands, seemingly, are usually less impressed than their Canadian counterparts. I suppose they’ve seen better? Or is our industry quite solemnly shit. I won’t know, but similarly, I am not like Tom Power. You just don’t know any other interviewers in this country.)

All this is to say, in a very long-winding way, there’s no reason not to. Send that email. I’m sending that email.

[goodluckclove]

In researching for a scene I was trying to delve into particular Canadian slang and idioms. The dangerous thing about research on Google for me is not the Googling itself, but the tangentially related People Also Ask questions - because those get so wild so quickly.

Take, for example, 85 Ways to Say Thank You, a listicle from Shari's Berries that totally has a reason to exist until you think about it for more than twenty seconds. I immediately skimmed the list, which I am almost certain was written by a sad English major who imagined a better use for their degree (We've all been there, man), and I just wanted to pick out some of the gems and how they made me feel.

I just wanted to write to say thanks a bunch for the gift!

So a lot of these seem to be ideas for things to write in thank you cards, either in response to getting a gift, or perhaps when giving a loved one some chocolate covered berries from a company that someone reviewed with just the word "don't". My problem is this: I get people might not know what to put in a thank you card. Not everyone is a writer. That's why humanity has managed to last for as long as it has.

But on the other hand, I have to imagine giving a thank you card with a message that says this is a thank you card i wrote in to thank you for the thing you gave me would be most people's first thought. It's less "sweet sentiment" and more "surface-level observation". I am worried for the person that reads this and has something suddenly click for them.

The coffee mug you sent is so me. Thank you for making my mornings brighter.

A few mentioned specific gifts in their examples, which is fine. But they didn't mention how you can alter the message to mention the gift you were given. So I am a little worried someone is going to give a thank you card in response to a new car or cat or child that just says "i love this coffee mug i cannot wait to sip the fluids within it". I can see that causing problems.

I know you spent a lot of time picking out the perfect gift for me and I feel blessed to have such a thoughtful friend in my life.

This right here is presumptuous at best and passive-aggressive at worst.

There were other categories for Thankful Occasions (Or Thank-asions as I call them), like when someone does a kind deed for you. Some shining quotes to use in this case rely heavily on implying that you are so grateful that it's pushed you into some sort of psychosis.

My stomach (and I) want to thank you for that delicious meal.

I have a childhood friend that I've legitimately known since the second grade who's coming up to visit me and my wife next month. If I made him dinner and he unironically said that his stomach wants to thank me for the meal, I would never speak to him again. Case closed.

You made me feel so at home that I forgot I wasn’t! Thank you for having me.

This feels like something I would say to a friend if I visited them while in a social anxiety spiral. Just like "hey i'm so glad you invited me over. side note that whole night i had no fucking idea where i was and even now i'm not that much more confident".

Or what if you want to thank a friend, just for continuing being their friend even though you keep sending them shit, overpriced fruit that usually shows up moldy?

Thank you for helping me through that difficult time. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I have two for you.

What does this mean? Are you a robot trying to one-up someone else's kind thought? Dave offered you a shoulder to cry on? Cry on both my shoulders. Cry in my mouth. Dave is soft and weak. His bones aren't bird-hollow but they might as well be. Here's some mold it was sixty dollars.

The ones that are the most baffling to me have to be the ways to thank a boss or colleague at work.

Thank you for your email, it was really appreciated.

"Dave you send great hentai but I'd love it if you stopped sending it through our work emails and work computers."

Thank you for sharing your opinion. I value your honesty and will respond as quickly as possible.

I have worked a LOT of jobs, and there isn't a single job I've had where I would be able to receive this message and not immediately view it as a threat.

Thanks for your attention on the matter.

This is so unfathomably vague I cannot imagine it not being in reference to a crime. Or like a message someone in a cartel or mob sends alongside a batch of Chocolate Covered BOO Berries that were custom ordered to be all ghosts just so the eminent crime scene has a touch of panache.

Anyways I got totally sidetracked but the next time I need to either communicate gratitude for a prior felony or provide warning for an upcoming one, I have tons of ideas to work with. Thanks Shari.

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

🛌 🏒

Thank you, thank you <3 from this ask game.

From the home invasion fic:

“Thanks,” Jamie wheezed.

“Just rest,” Roy said, running his hand through Jamie’s hair.

Jamie flinched at the touch. It was minor, something someone else might not have noticed, but to Roy, so attuned to Jamie’s body and movements, it might as well have been a slap. Guilt and sadness fought for dominance in his gut.

“Sorry. Shit. Sorry,” Roy offered, a fleeting wish he hadn’t done it fleeting like a meteor through his mind.

Jamie looked, fuck, Jamie looked guilty. All sunken cheekbones, bruises and hurts seen and unseen painting across his face making Roy’s anger, something previously simmering and low turn bright and quick and deafening inside him as he fought his urge to run from the hospital and find the men who were responsible and do whatever he could to make sure there was nothing else they could inflict on anyone else.

and from the hockey au:

They spent the rest of the walk to the arena finalizing the lines and who would play the power-play, who would kill any penalties. Beard was the research man, without asking, Ted knew he would have found all the games the team had played in the last two years. More if he had time.

Ted felt slightly better by the time they reached the arena. Beard had that effect on him. Just his presence was able to calm Ted when he didn’t even know he was about to tumble down a metaphorical hill of anxiety.

The arena was alive with activity as the coaches arrived, players running through their normal pre match activities and preparation. That, too, relaxed Ted a bit, the normality of the scene, of skates being sharpened, meals being eaten, physios being utilized.

[donnerpartyofone]

I'm sick of my system responding to every single thing as if it's a mortal threat. Due to a strange coincidence, I get to go to London next month to record a blu ray commentary--I don't think I'm allowed to say what yet, but it's something I've been researching independently for years, and this is a pretty amazing way for all that self-directed toiling in obscurity to pay off. Of course this kind of thing is not lucrative and I'm scared to dig into my dwindling savings while I'm still unemployed, but it's also like, what's money even for if not for this exact kind of thing? Would I really be happier if I looked back on the time when I held onto the money because that's "responsible" instead of fulfilling a kind of dream that just fell into my lap? And besides that, I have the extreme good luck that a close friend who DOES have money is encouraging me to make more of a vacation out of it, on her dime. And I'll be working with a colleague who is really cool and wants to show me the city. Like basically this is the perfect setup, but for as usual I'm having this terrible paralysis where I'm vibrating with anxiety and my brain keeps going OH NO I have to do something, I'm too tired. OH NO I have to make flight and lodging reservations, what if they get screwed up. OH NO I have to hang out with a person I've never hung out with before, what if I don't know how to act or what to say and it's exhausting and embarrassing. OH NO what if I starve to death because I bought plane tickets right after moving to a more expensive apartment. OH NO I better not get out my computer and draw up a fun itinerary of all the cool things I want to do and figure out what I need to spend on food every day and then tell someone to put the money in my hand. I better not book the trip already so I can stop worrying about it and just look forward to it. I better not do this, it will surely ruin me. I had this one second flash of a thought that was like, WOW I get to go to a city I've never been to, to do something really fucking cool, I'm SO LUCKY! It was like Oh yeah, this is probably how normal people feel when they get an opportunity to do something awesome. They don't immediately register it as a threat to their existence and wonder how they're going to survive it. What could that be like!

Admittedly I'm tired from doing a ton of shit for the move yesterday, and when I'm tired (which is often) it can make me feel vulnerable, which can make me even more nervous than usual. Unfortunately I'm concerned that a new medication I'm on could be raising my baseline anxiety to a higher level, and I'm not sure if I really want to go to the trouble of experimenting with that and putting myself through the ringer of trying alternatives if I'm not even totally sure that anything unusual is happening. It's just a thing. I wish I could be on mood meds but they all do something bad to me, if anybody has some kind of hippie nerve remedy that is not straight up marijuana I'm willing to hear about it.

[northwest-cryptid]

The sheer amount of times I have heard someone go "oh me oh same yea that's me!" about some depressed person or thing; only to then turn around and be the least understanding person in the room when it comes to someone else having symptoms of depression is honestly staggering.

I feel like "depression" has just become this funny little word we throw around that no one understands to the point where if you're ACTUALLY depressed it's aggravating to hear. Because you exhibit one minor symptom of depression and it's this whole thing about how annoying you are or how you're no fun to be around or whatever but then the second it's some quirky cute thing to "be depressed" in an anime or tv show or game; you hear all these people say "oh lol that's so me!" No it's not, it's fucking not dude.

Yea I understand "everyone experiences different things with the same problems" and while that's true, you also gotta remember:

We have clinical definitions of these things because there are ENOUGH symptoms that EVERYONE experiences if they're experiencing The Thing. That's how we know you have DEPRESSION and not something else like "you're sad" or "you're bored" or whatever.

A lot of these people are younger kids from what I've seen and I genuinely don't believe they have an understanding or grasp of what a real mental disorder is (I'm not saying everyone who is young is like this, trust me I've met plenty of minors who know damn well what depression is, and I've met plenty of adults well into their 50's who DO NOT.)

Never the less it's just bothersome to be going through some shit and hear someone basically say "I have that quirky cute disorder!" only to exhibit a symptom that is not quirky, nor cute and have everyone look at you like that awkward party meme, you know the one.

Self aware "depression" time, if you aren't understanding of why someone might be experiencing:

Insomnia (like actual insomnia, not "I just downed 5 energy drinks and now I TOTALLY like, have insomnia guys")

Anxiety

Apathy

General feelings of hopelessness.

MOOD SWINGS

Agitation

General slowness in activities

Irritability

Social Isolation

Repetition of thoughts

(AND THIS ISN'T AN EXHAUSTIVE LIST AT ALL!)

But you still see them go through this shit and think they're just an asshole or some shit, and you look at them like THIS

You likely don't ACTUALLY have "depression" you likely just think it's cute and quirky to have a disorder and depression is the easiest for you to pretend you have.

I say this because as someone who has had MULTIPLE mental disorders my whole life it's not hard to identify your own among others.

I'm not saying I have some authority to diagnose people or any formal training, what I AM saying is that I see someone going through these things and typically my first thought is "oh shit those are an awful lot of signs you're experiencing depression my friend, you may want to consider seeing someone about that." NOT "wow, you good dude? You're kinda bitchy..."

This is true of multiple things like ADHD, Autism, Depression, etc

If you've got something as serious as depression (yes a life threatening, serious disorder) you typically do your research to figure it out a bit better because not doing so will ruin your life. You typically know symptoms of your disorder/mental illness; and can identify them in others as well as yourself.

I know this isn't anything new for people but BOY have I been experiencing it a LOT lately and well, it might just be my depression making me irritable; but I'm losing it man.

[horce-divorce]

as someone who has been all but fucking abandoned by doctors to manage my extreme and severe nerve damage pain from my rare disorder on my own. every time someone brings up cannabis hyperemesis syndrome to me makes me more insulted and irate than the last.

especially because the last several times I wasn't talking about vomiting. I was talking about preprandial PAIN. that began when I was NINE YEARS OLD. ie pain after EATING. that is RELIEVED. by SMOKING.

1. onset of CHE must be AFTER several YEARS of continuous cannabis usage. the reverse is true in my case. I did not start smoking cannabis until several many years AFTER onset/worsening of pain and other symptoms like vomiting. cannabis RELIEVES these symptoms and is in fact THE ONLY THING THAT DOES THAT and NO! gabapentin didn't do fuck all for me!!!!!

2. CHE is characterized by vomiting, pain & other symptoms occuring AFTER YOU SMOKE! and symptoms that get better when you stop! FUCKING FASCINATING! that is, again, the exact opposite of true for me!!!!

3. People with CHE find relief in hot showers???? Lmfao my POTS having ass could never but ESPECIALLY when I'm nauseous are you fucking kidding me? That would actually kill me!!! What is actually going on with cannabis hyperemesis???? like. that is weird as fuck.

(source btfw. since apparently doctors love referencing shit they cannot fucking read)

so not only do the 3 MAIN DIAGNOSTIC CRITERIA blatantly not apply to my case, I have seen DOZENS UPON DOZENS of other doctors, do you really think none of them fucking thought of ibs, anxiety and cannabis hyperemesis syndrome? because lol, lmao, I promise you, each and every single doctor I've ever spoken to went out of their way to mention those each MORE than once.

The fucking university that diagnosed me with MALS, a rare disorder characterized by pain so severe it caused panic attacks, has a strict no opioids policy, and apparently I'm not a candidate for MALS surgery until I'm dying already (they literally told me id have to be on a feeding tube first. that is a whole separate posts worth of bad information). they literally told me to go smoke weed and fuck off. they left me on my fucking own. and it took me TEN (10) YEARS to get diagnosed. It took me a DECADE To get to the point where I was told "yeah we know exactly what you have and that it's insanely painful and causing a lot of nerve damage. umm smoke weed about it since you love doing that so much? bye"

so I do what they ask of me, I take my care entirely into my own fucking hands and I learn everything I can and *I* painstakingly stay in top of the latest research about my condition, and *I* find ways to manage the pain, and *I* document my results, and *I* am my own fucking full time carer since this pain is so disabling it cost me my 20s. Only to have every SINGLE fucking one of my doctors turn around and disrespect and disregard ALL of that fucking work I do to ask me "have you considered not smoking weed, in the interest of me doing a bad and lazy job?"

literally how fucking hard is it to give someone- WHO HAS ALREADY PROVEN THEY ARE COMPETENT ABOUT THEIR DIAGNOSES!!!!! Ok!!! So we are not talking fucking hypotheticals here, we are talking 'i have a piece of paper from the university next door that says I have this and I am actually explaining what it is TO the doctor' okay??- THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT ABOUT MY OWN EXPERIENCE. which btw, is the PRIMARY evidence you even HAVE to work with and do your job. basic lab results will only tell you so much.

why is it so FUCKING HARD to get medical professionals to treat disabled people like we are fucking people!!!!!! they act like it's so hard. like we're asking them to go fucking above and beyond or something with this shit.

this was far from being the worst thing about that visit btw I just am sitting here seething at 4am checking off every single box on the Shitty Healthcare Provider Bingo Card in my brain and I'm going "AND ANOTHER THING!" ableist as fuck, check- she literally called autistic people assholes in the context of, "not EVERYONE with autism is the stereotype, like, an asshole and into trains or whatever"- and then suggested to Bel that his widespread joint pain is probably from being clumsy and hurting himself bc he's autistic.........). disregarded everything we said, check. repeatedly recommended a bunch of irrelevant and ineffective medications or options (such as "quitting smoking weed") that we have already tried, check. brought up a legitimate related issue (hypoglycemia) that she then glossed over and told us nothing about, check. made HELLA assumptions instead of just fucking asking us things- she started going into this spiel about how, like, you know getting diagnosed doesn't mean you'll get a CURE, right? :/ And we both had to be like ummmmmmmmm. I have a vascular compression and fucking nerve damage I need to know about that shit happening inside my body. That's not about getting a cure it's about making sure all my organs get enough blood and that I GET ADEQUATE MEDICAL CARE, INCLUDING PAIN MANAGEMENT.

This is why Bel and I go to all our appointments together these days. I can't imagine how fucking awful this would've been if we'd met with her alone, so she could've just steamrolled over us 1-on-1 in private.

I fucking hate doctors this is why nobody ever wants to go to the hospital. Not only does it cost an arm and a leg, we are paying to get fucking disrespected and disregarded, and then they're all confused about why their patients have shitty dispositions. Fuck you

[that-girl-glader]

You know what's crazy? I have never once EVER considered that I had OCD. And I'm still not convinced I do at all. And I am neurodivergent. So ik symptoms overlap sometimes right? But I didn't realise till today that I have never once researched OCD. Never. And I actually know so little about it. But there are times when I look at myself, and I'm like this feels like it might be a symptom, but like it doesn't affect my daily life. But now I thought a little more, and I just considered that maybe it does.

Yet, I also get anxious and paranoid sometimes, and I always just think that's anxiety. That I'm just anxious or worried. And maybe it is just that. But I need an OCD perspective. (Keep in mind that I live in a country with like no mental health professionals where like there is stigma for mental health. And my family aren't like people who believe in that stuff. I also don't want a diagnosis or assurance of everything. I am an undiagnosed neurodivergent person, and for now I'm okay with that.I'm just curious to understand this topic better.)

Can OCD look like:

Maybe in your life you have like a set of cups right. One green thin cup may have been dirty once years ago. Or something happened years ago that you don't even remember. But now you never use those cups because you get "bad vibes" and only ever use the purple ones or any other cup but all the green thin ones.

You're anxious/scared of your future life and you have no control. The only thing that makes you feel a bit better temporarily is like taking BuzzFeed/uquiz/online quizzes that tell you what your future life will be. What initial you'll end up with. Any predicting crap.

You think things like "if I play my spotify liked songs and the first song is heather by Conan gray, I will marry my crush" "If my dad says the word gumball then so and so will live to be 98" "if I met my soulmate today I will see the word lavender".

Your brain constantly going "what I'd you die" "What if you exploded" "what if so and such is a lie" "what if you jumped in front of a bus" "what if you end up in a horror movie rn" "what if you are dying and you don't know it"

You know clear as day that your friend of 1 year is named Alicia, but when it's their birthday you have to check 33 times that that is actually their actual name and that their name wasn't like Dina or something when you wanna write their name.

You blow on dandelions, search for four leafed clovers, not step on cracks for some reason even though you do not believe it'll break your mamas back. All just for a little sense of luck and for something you wish for to be true or you just get bad vibes from doing certain things.

This one feels a little more wrong to me, but like you constantly ask God for reassurance about your future through maybe dreams or like a word or something.

Rarely but sometimes if you have a bracelet you just count if the amount of beads minus like the word needs are an even number and if you can put like 8 beads each on a side.

Obviously you also have intrusive thoughts that you yourself do NOT believe, but you feel ashamed by some of them. Like you love someone to pieces, but your brain goes "they're annoying when *insert an unfixable neurodivergent trait*" and like NOOO you don't believe that but now you feel bad. Or like you have like thoughts of like kissing someone else or not loving them anymore or like hurting them with your nails somehow in like a good 60% of times when you think of them. And sometimes your intrusive thoughts are like incest, racism, ableism, or stuff like that. And NOOO you don't want to take part in any of that at all, but it HAUNTS you DISGUSTS you and makes you feel a little like shit.

You always push in your chair and your friend chair after class and if you see other chairs....you FIGHT the urge not to push in those chairs too and live.

You always use certain bathroom stalls and if it's taken you have a back up bathroom stall you use.

Self-degrading voices and inner thoughts. Like "you are a horrible person" "everyone is better than you" "everyone can do this better than you WHY can't you??"(In like a social situation like group convos or like being of more help to someone you love with their mental health) "When it's you who is neurodivergent, gay, a certain body shape and whatever it's like wrong but when others do it it's okay".

Now, this are like examples of how my brain works. And I just wanted to see if it was familiar to the OCD community outta innocent curiosity. And I'm NOT looking for a diagnosis at all. I just want some perspective. Because I never considered that OCD was more than just intrusive thoughts, repetitive behaviour, perfection tendencies, and superstition at severe levels. Like I did have an idea that it was more than all the stereotypes. I just never looked into it more. I do want to understand it better. And like yk see through all the stigma. And Ik a few or maybe even all of the stuff I listed are probably not even OCD at all...I just want to know what y'all have to say about it.