#there existed an addiction to blood

[kidpix-album-covers]

clipping. - There Existed an Addiction to Blood (2019)

[talos-stims]

THERE EXISTED AN ADDICTION TO BLOOD / VISIONS OF BODIES BEING BURNED

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[orange-calx]

there existed an addiction to blood 2xLP 'blood spattered' vinyl

[violet-moonstone]

could you imagine if jordan peele made a movie inspired by one of clipping's horror albums or "splendor and misery"? or if clipping made an entire album to be the soundtrack for a jordan peele movie?

I need it to happen

like you can't listen to "nothing is safe," "pain everyday," or "story 7" and tell me that's not a great idea

[glitterdustcyclops]

idk why i decided today was the day i would revisit clipping but nothing is safe rules

[daddyd0nt]

“There Existed AnAddiction To Blood” goes super hard especially for a for funnies side project he made years after he got famous while he was working on snowpiercer like Dave’s Diggs is one of the most talented men alive

[superwhosecock]

song is "la Mala Ordina" by clipping. I'm not kidding when I say the last two minutes of this song are the most fucked up noise you will ever hear

https://youtu.be/oRIT-neg3Rg?si=AJ0YuK2lER2ez9rM

when Benny the Butcher did a collab with clipping and the rita and they faded out into a noise wall a bunch of benny the butcher fans were complaining that the audio file was corrupted

[rottengurlz]

leona and her soon to be dead husband

before!!!!

[gayserblast]

So um. Happy 27th birthday to me tomorrow! I'm being sent to [University hospital] emergency room on Saturday as per my doctor's recommendation bc there's a high I have adrenal cancer!! Hopefully it hasn't metastisized and spread to my liver✌️ ^_^

But uh if I drop off the face of the earth it's because I'm hospital

[recitedemise]

𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗻 𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘆 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝘆. For him, the feeling of the latter—striking, palpable, entirely all-body—is addictive. It feels the most potent, singing through his body in a manner that thrills, and after calling down lightning in a flash of blue, its the fragrance of a storm that he's proud to wear. It makes his nerves feel alive. His every muscle feels wired. In a way, life's at its brightest when he plays with lightning, and mad in his eyes and wild in his hair, there's no element that comes close to besting it.

That said, however, it is necromancy that he's grown most adept in. Unfortunately, his relationship with it isn't half as kind as it is with lightning. Rotting from the inside, skin cracking nastily, Gale had grown desperate to control the orb. Because he's dying, he thought it best to study dying, poring himself endlessly in necromantic textbooks and experimenting (unsuccessfully) on his blight-gotten wounds. To note, necromancy itself isn't inherently evil. For example, it doesn't mean you support the raising of the dead. Rather, it's a study that's neutral just as any other, and as a study on forces from both death to life, Gale, with urgency, obsessively learned. With his year in solitude, it is feverishly that he took to necromancy. Somatically and verbally, his aptitude for the field is practically bar-none, and after Elminster helped tame the orb, the breadth of his studies comes to fruition. It isn't his favorite field, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't thoroughly enjoy it. It works well, anyway, considering his leaning for lightning; with necromancy chilling him, those violent bolts warm.

[11-eyed-rook]

FAITH wasn't enough. DUSK had to reel me in with that classic Doom-like gameplay. I already had a Doom addiction, now I have a Dusk addiction. How did we get here.

[firedragon1321]

All You Never Wanted (Short Story)

I'm working on a short story collection called Down With This Ship. It's on the back burner, mostly. But the central theme is "forced love". There's dystopias, artificial intelligence, fractured fairy tales, a horrifying deconstruction of The Bachelor (inspired by the hellsite itself) and an early draft for my novel Tick Tick, amongst many other things.

This entry is a second-person experiment. It's One-Sided Male Yandere Human Cartoon Character x Gender Unspecified "Normal" Reader. This is not meant to be romantic, but that's the clearest way I can communicate the content. It's still a little rough, but I wanted to share the draft anyway. It was kicked off by this post I made in the past, though I may revisit the idea again in a more polished form. If there's interest in this, I may post a few more stories from the collection.

Triggers include- yandere, alcoholism (implied by unreliable/yandere narrator), trauma mention, blood, minor character death, implied rape (of reader), bad end

Short Summary- An ordinary human gets together with ordinary friends to watch childhood cartoons. A drunken spat grows out of control. A wish is made- "may my favorite character always be happy". The morning after, the wish leads a poor soul to a new life. There, they meet the monster they created.

Now, now. Don’t  be afraid.

Don’t you recognize me, love?

It’s your old friend Touya. Y’know—from that kid’s anime? The one with the magical transforming monsters? I’m not a cosplayer or a hallucination. Can’t you see my hand? It’s smooth, without imperfections. Feel it. Haha! Does it scare you not to feel fingerprints? Rest assured- I’m real as you are.

I’ve always been here for you…

I’m sure you don’t remember the wish you made. You had a full plate of drunkenness last night, with a side order of high. Do you like poisoning your brain? Does it scare you? Maybe it’s your little friends. I don’t know why you all need drugs to have a good time.

When you have me…

You were watching my cartoon for old time’s sake. Laughing at the corny jokes. Laughing like asses. Hee-haw, hee-haw! Though I can’t blame you for being under the influence of those drugs.

And your stupid friends…you never needed them…

It’s been years since you’ve seen my backstory, but you never forgot it. I remember it, too. But it’s no longer a part of me. It’s all thanks to your wish. 

I owe you so much. I love you so much.

Still don’t remember? Picture this—the cold beer in your hand, your friends laughter like cheese graters, the stench of pot. The screen, in sepia tone, showing my little brother falling out of a tree house. It was because I wasn’t careful. He nearly died because of my negligence. It always bothered you, since

—you always loved me—

I was a child then. How can a little boy be expected to care for a toddler? All I cared about was adventure—the shining sky above, the world like ants below me. I didn’t want to leave my brother behind. I’d get in trouble if he was alone in the house. Yet, I still was the fool. I took the fall. It wounded me forever.

It wounded you too, love.

Your friends said something stupid about over-dramatics. Like every other character didn’t also have problems. They kept their mouths shut on them. But me? It was “going too far for a kid’s cartoon”. It made you furiously angry.

See? You don’t need them…

That’s when you made the wish. It was a challenge, almost. You were egged on by their asinine behavior. They had to stop their dumbass hee-hawing. Seeing me suffer was never a joke, even when you were drugged out of your mind.

Because I was always your favorite.

You wished I never suffered. You wished it never happened. You wished I would always be happy, and the sun would always shine upon me. 

It worked. I’m here, aren’t I?

You said a lot of other things, too. Many of them were angry. Your friends called you a baby. You never took well to insults. The drugs didn’t help. A few fists flew. A glass or two broke. One donkey hit the coffee table. He didn’t die, but there was a lot of blood. That’s when the others got scared. They scattered from your house, back to the pasture.

I think it was worth it—don’t you?

So here we are, in your bedroom. The posters of me—hand-drawn or official—are missing. All the toys on your shelves are gone. Your wish whisked me out of your room. It purged me from your life. I’m a puppet that danced on your screen as a child- no more, no less.

But you still remember me, don’t you?

I was always worried—about my brother, about other people. I longed to prevent that kind of suffering. My pain turned to love, my love to courage. That was what you envied most about me—courage. You craved it like a fetish. Without beer, there’s not a brave bone in your body. People like you long for a sip of valor. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?

And because of that, no-one loves you but me.

If not for my trauma, I wouldn’t be brave. Without my courageous heroics, you were never enthralled by me in grade school. You never carried me through your life. In rewriting my life, you rewrote your own life. But I still clung to your nostalgic memories.

You love me too, don’t you?

So here we are—in a bedroom with drab adult decor. You don’t know those smelly donkeys. You’ve never touched a single drug. Life is better, but not grand. You’re an office worker someplace. You go to work, clack on the keys, and go home. Only your boss and your parents know your name. You’re a blank face in the crowd. No-one knows you. No-one loves you.

No-one but me.

At least your wish worked for me. I have everything I could have ever wanted. One night, I dreamed of you—a shining star. I saw your little shit-show. Then, a gentle, maternal voice told me that I would be reborn. I would recall the dream, and my past life. I would remember you. But I would wake as a small child, ready to do my life over.

I’m eternally grateful.

I encountered no obstacles before the first episode began. The old me had to struggle to lead the team. I floundered for episode after episode, like a fish gasping for breath. But after your wish, I have no such issues. I lead with power, not courage. 

That is still appealing to you, isn’t it?

I killed that annoying bitch who told me I was being too harsh. I smashed her head against a log. It made me think of your donkey-friend. Hee-haw! Hee-haw! 

You were on my mind the whole time.

But that’s only the beginning. My rival? Monster chow. That one kid who worried about everything? Unfortunate accident. The others scrambled to find the monster who did it. They never checked the boy in front of them.

I did it all for you.

But there was one thing I still wanted. I made myself king. It was easy. The world was too scared to say no. My monster kept them all in line. The world saw what my creature of death could do. Every villain was torn to bloody shreds by his fangs. The goody-two-shoes were as grateful as they were afraid. All I had to do was ask, and the crown was mine. 

Doesn’t every king deserve a consort at his side? 

I couldn’t marry you as a child, though I had longed to. Luckily, my creators made me older, season by season. So I waited until I grew up. 

Then it was time for us to finally be together.

I went to the heart of my magical world. There, I slaughtered the great guardian of time and space. I still remember his blood on my hands, like gooey stardust. The barrier between worlds that he guarded became mine. I left several monster slaves there, to ward off any nosy donkeys. Then, I came here, to your world, to bring you back to mine.

We were always meant to be together.

You sweat like a pig with a knife pressed to its neck. Don’t be afraid. It won’t be so bad. You’ll finally be something. Haven’t you always wished for that? You may be a coward, but I still love you.

It’s the reason I love you.

Here—feel my chest. These are the velvety robes you gave me. I’ll give you a matching set—a thousand times more beautiful. I’ll give you the sun, the moon, the stars—whatever you wish. You won’t be able to leave my side. But you won’t want to.

I love you so much.

A weak word creeps from your lips—“no”. This isn’t what you wanted? Too bad. This is exactly what you wished for. It’s everything you ever wanted. After one night, you’ll remember how much you love me.

Even if I have to force you.

The portal won’t stay open forever. My time runs low. Good thing you’re easy to carry. Is that fear making you immobile? Your skin is like ice. Your blood is frozen syrup. Ironic—by defending courage, you plunged into further cowardice. But you must still love me. I’ll just have to remind you. After one night, you’ll never want to leave my side again.

We’ll be together—forever.

[comrade-g0dstiel]

I love sam winchester. guy who misses cocaine SO badly and it will NEVER come up in show

[violet-moonstone]

it may not be halloween yet but guess what its friday the 13th and i cant stop listening to this

[scientia-rex]

For the most part, my approach to prescribing hormones is “sure,” but I will note that the one thing I lean HARD on patients about is smoking. If you’re transgender, and you’re on hormones, the number one thing we want to protect is your cardiovascular health. That’s frankly the number one thing I want to protect in all my patients, but anyone taking exogenous hormones is at higher baseline risk. And the best thing you can do for your heart is DON’T SMOKE. It’s a bitch to quit, and I didn’t even smoke much or long before I quit in my late teens, and I STILL didn’t enjoy quitting and had smoking dreams for years. It’s harder to quit than just about anything else up to and including crack and heroin, and that’s coming from a patient of mine who recently passed in her early 60s who’d done all of those things—for years and years—but eventually was able to quit everything except smoking. And that killed her. She developed severe COPD and eventually called to say her blood oxygen saturation was dipping into the 70s, which is incompatible with life. She was lucid enough to decline medical care, including refusing to call 911 or go to the ER. A week later, after both I and one of our outreach nurses had contacted her to ask her to please go to the ER, I got a notification that she’d been found dead. She had been so frustrated that she wasn’t a candidate for a lung transplant.

One of my oldest trans patients is in her late 50s. She’s had blood clots that went to the lungs. Repeatedly. Smoking raises that risk. Estrogen raises that risk. She’s a veteran with PTSD; of course she smoked.

These aren’t theoretical. These are humans I’ve cared for over years of their lives. I have been rooting for them—my beloved former addict, who spoke without shame about her years of homelessness and drug use in the city; my queer elders, who are slowly trading in their motorcycles for power scooters. I want everyone to live their fullest, best life.

Smoking doesn’t fit into that. Please don’t smoke. I don’t want you to die like that—not now and not later. I want you to have the future that you may not be able to see yet, but exists.

Since I moved home as an out queer, word got out, and there’s a whole apartment complex of lesbians in their 60s to their 80s who come see me—sitting next to their wives in the office, nagging about blood pressure meds, tattling about not having gotten the shingles shot they said they would. To be clear, when I was growing up in town, I knew no lesbians. Not one. I knew one gay kid in my class, which eventually turned into two. We were it. To see these women living decades with their wives and being able to squabble like any couple in my office over who was supposed to bring their home blood pressure cuff in for us to check it… it means the world to me.

[snapcracklepop-myjoints]

i wrote this in the notes of another post originally and am copy + pasting it here because im right but "tell the cops nothing, tell the doctors everything" is such a stupid ass fucking abled take. doctors engage in policing idk how to explain to yall that some people cannot in fact just tell doctors everything without it putting them at risk

like im not gonna go into the myriad of ways this is bs but like a quick example is i cant tell my doctors about my substance use issues because if i get that listed on my medical records it will actively endanger me. It will impact how I'm treated in emergency situations and will get me labeled as "drug seeking" when i try to get other issues dealt with.

i dont say this to scare people but because this is actually important information for people to have. if a medical professional claims this isnt an issue, they are NOT "one of the good ones". they are either straight up lying or theyre utterly unaware, which is frankly not better. doctors are cops. never forget it

like YES tell ur doctor abt being sexually active but stop saying "tell the cops nothing and the doctor everything" before i start killing in cold blood

I KNOW THE ORIGINAL QUOTE. This is about how people misquote it, as well as how they view the phrase as meaning "all medical professionals". ALSO! emts are not the neutral figures you think they are. please stop spewing your lack of understanding on the topic all over my tags, its embarrassing. Paramedics kill people and engage in policing stop fucking shilling for them indiscriminately

finally, THIS POST IS ABOUT DRUGS. FIRST AND FOREMOST IT IS ABOUT DRUGS. THIS WAS WRITTEN BY AN ADDICT. the way yall are talking about addicts and drugs users in the tags is so fucking dehumanising. you are part of the problem. Id suggest non addicts shut their traps please and thank you.

similarly, before you comment, ask youself: am i an addict ? do i have an understanding of how addicts, particularly otherwise disabled addicts, have to navigate healthcare systems ? if not, consider SHUTTING THE FUCK UP. hope this helps !

read the notes before you leave a comment im so fucking serious. reblogs are off because none of you know how to act and i have zero patience at this point. if you think im being bitchy pls consider the fact that your stupid comment does not exist in a vacuum and i have received and deleted countless stupid notes and abusive asks on and about this post and your stupid comment exists within that context and i am fucking tired.