#they be having a derealization moment

[halfdent]

◖ @divingdownthehole / 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 :  "Sit down before you fall down.

⚖  ― blood, blood, gallons of the stuff ! 彡

They  are  displaced  .  They  don't  know  right  this  second  who  is  in  the  forefront  of  their  mind  ,  breath  tight  .  Their  ribs  feel  full  of  fluid  ,  it  was  just  a  sensation  ,  though  it  constricted  their  chest  nonetheless  .  Panic .

Their  body  heavy  while  they  seem  to  be  out  of  bounds  and  out  of  their  body  .  Soon  came  a  voice  .  Sit  down  .

Can  they  sit  ?  Would  their  body  allow  for  that  ?  They  willed  it  anyway  ,  breathing  in  ,  air  trying  to  join  the  mugginess  of  their  lungs  .

❝  What  ?  -  Who  .  ❞  Vision  abstracts  until  it  doesn't  ,  it  settles  ,  focusing  on  the  figure  in  front  of  them  .  ❝  You  .  ❞  It  yields  no  malice  ,  no  their  words  are  escaping  their  split  lips  ,  though  not  quite  registering  to  their  own  ears  .  ...  Jervis  Tetch  .  That's  who  this  is  .  They  look  to  their  hands  ,  squeezing  them  tight  .

[mango-peach-strawberry]

Carrying a body that’s not your own

[unorcadox]

i am poison in the water

[arolesbianism]

I wanna take a crack at making some fake screenshot graphics for my Sif Odile duo loopers au but I do not feel confident enough in my ability to mimic isat's art style and I also have a crippling fear of drawing backgrounds

[stargiirl27]

was laying in bed with my cat and started crying because she and I both have names that were given to us by the women who loved us the most

[grymmoires]

I think whatever cocktail of drugs kamala harris is on would fix me

[quietstime]

🚪

[jrueships]

if gup gets shopped out im gonna be so pissed yall

[gourde]

Oh yeah I pirated Inside Out 2 and it's a good movie. But also I'm a huge sap for the idea that there's little guys in your head who love you for who you are which makes me ummmmm super sobby which is kinda dumb but whatever. Like wow even after all the horrid shit I've done... there's some guys who are like "That doesn't define you... show with actions not words that you are a better person now. Recovery isn't linear" and I'm like wow you're so right people in my head.... thank you for loving me.... anyways

[thebibliosphere]

You ever say something and people’s reactions completely recontextualize something you’ve been forced to internalize as “normal” because you don’t have any other choice?

Tonight I logged into the Discord after 17 hours of a migraine from hell and mentioned that my migraine made me throw up so badly my neck subluxated and my collarbone popped out of place with it.

(They’re back in place before anyone yells at me to go to the hospital)

The reaction was the equivalent of the fallout meme: Nobody Liked That.

And that’s when my still slightly derealized ass had a moment of, oh. My daily existence is a medical emergency to other people. Or like an extended version of a SAW movie, depending on your perspective.

Oh. Hm. I see.

And then I bought a bunch of stuff from Joann’s because I can’t do shit about it. Might as well have my fun little hobbies to stave off The Horrors.

[hyperfixiation-station]

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him. 

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face. 

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you  could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room. 

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you. 

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.” 

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable”  and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you. 

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around. 

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge? 

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies. 

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in. 

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound. 

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening. 

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out. 

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies. 

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again. 

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05  @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz  @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

[soapcloth]

Statue!Ghost x reader - pt 2

CW: 18+ MDNI, noncon/dubcon elements, size kink, horror aspects, scopophobia, temporary loss of movement, derealization(?), large insertion, reader gets fingered by a statue pt 1 - not edited - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

It’s been getting worse. 

Ever since you became fearful of a giant marble statue prowling around your place of work, the duration of your shifts would stretch out- mangled and twisted by his presence. No one would pass through the warehouse, causing the towering labyrinth of stock to feel more like an ancient crypt than a museum's storage. 

In light of the phrase 'Out of sight, out of mind.' you had employed the company of a radio that hadn't seen daylight since the nineties to chase away the dread laving across your spine. It helped at first, finally letting you plug away at work, but it was shortlived- only lasting a moment before all sounds started to slowly wither away, leaving only you, your thoughts, and the distant scraping echo.

You couldn't decide which you disliked more; when you’d look away only to find him contorted into a new position, or when you actually saw it happen. Things that big, things with no fibrous muscle or supporting bone to speak of should not be able to move.

The hulking figure was fond of defying nature. 

He had begun to do something much worse than the previous two options, though. The first time you experienced it, there was a quiet rolling noise, distant and unfamiliar. Your base instincts screamed at you not to look, and yet.

He was in a new pose this time, playfully holding his skull-shaped death mask against his face. That itself would not have been too bad if not for the two gaping black pits where his unblinking gaze had resided Two eyes, wet as your own and boasting irritated veins peered at you from the hollow holes through blown, pitch black irises. Following you. 

Slowly, accompanied by the low hum of moving stone, the mask lowered to reveal his usual carved visage. Nothing was stated out loud but you could tell that against your will, something had shifted. 

He approached, agonizingly slowly, but directly and with thundering footfall. He knelt down before you, head swiveling as he got closer inorganically. You could hear laboured breath whistling through the notch in his still lips, examining it at this angle revealed a small hole that hadn't been there before. This alerted you to a fact that gave you pause- below thick stone skin there was a cavity with room to accommodate something you couldn’t possibly begin to fathom rattling around inside him. The thought sat at your eyes, too difficult to be transmitted through their receptors into your brain beyond a surface level acknowledgment. 

Up close, you could see that his motions were not as smooth as you had initially assumed; every inch moved labourous, awkward, and accompanied by the incremental jerk. 

He would get closer until his lips, though much larger, were level with your own. 

The contact came contradictorily, both expected- welcomed, and unheralded, an ice water shock to your system.

Something in your mind that had rationalized him as a thing had told you he was of flesh like you, but the kiss was chilled and unmoving. Stone fingers digging into the cement floor told you he was expecting reciprocity, leaving you with no other options but to accomodate embarassingly and press warm lips to stone. 

His marble head nudged to the side softly, leading you like a lamb to the notch. Your lips slowed as you were hit with the nausea that accompanied peering into a hollow otherside, too dark to see anything in there- and there was something in there.

All at once, you were accosted by visions of a man, a victor- every glimpse lasting only microseconds and each one incredibly overwhelming. 

Dizzy. 

You fell back with a crawling sense of paralysis taking over your body, and with a freezing touch, more gentle and reverent than you could have ever expected- he cradled you, dragging his big body back to his ornate podium to pet and nudge at you, head uncannily tilting with curiousity for each sound he managed to pull from you. 

Pulseless fingers prodded at you as you looked up at him and for a passing moment, he was man, both of the earth and grounded as a large finger slipped under your shirt, soft grit tracing at your belly. For a passing moment, expressionless monochromatic eyes were those of man too, incredibly melancholic and lonely before the emotion vanished, gone all to soon. 

Your monolith breathed as his finger curled downwards, dipping into your undergarments, playing with the hidden flesh, absorbing your warmth for himself. 

His touch heated, and you could hear distant cheers of a battle hard won and a band- no, a single instrument, perhaps a lyre? It sounded far off and intimate, but it was there; it's dulcet tones swimming around your head.

A big, warm hand fussed with your pussy, pumping in and out with an unspoken worship.

Too focused on the feeling, you could only barely make out his deep voice murmuring as he talked you through his touches, the blurred looming silhouette of your giant somehow bigger made mortal than he ever seemed in his effigy. 

With heavy lids you blinked, and then through your bleary gaze you caught sight of those crystal clear bloodshot eyes set over a black void on his undefined face. You gasped, pulling away as he examined you, invasive and unwelcome gaze the only thing you could make out of his vague form. Like you had been scorched by fire, suddenly all you could feel was the hot freeze of a stone finger dug inside your folds, pumping you full. he continued to nudge around inside you experimentally, stretching you out far beyond anything you were accustomed to. he kept the same deep and agonizingly deliberate pace as you writhed beneath his bulk, squinting as humid, laboured Shallow breath fanned your face, painting you in a wet sheen. You clenched around the solid intrusion; crying out as you came on the numbingly cold marble that met your skin.

You panted, sprawled across stone with swelling lungs as you gazed upwards at the silent image of a man. Coming to, you blinked as sunlight bled in through the raised skylights, soaking the back of his head in a white glow. He stared back through unmoving spheres as you gave a shaky, torturous heave, pulling yourself off him. Ache scorched your inner muscles as you staggered through the warehouse and to the stairwell doors. As with all things relating to him, the sting only got worse the more you acknowledged it. Pushing the pain to the back of your mind, you stumbled towards your waypoint, everything around you becoming more tangible as ambient sounds flooded and warmed your ears. You didn’t look back at the carved idol, but that was fine- watchful eyes would find you through troubled dreams.

[delta-chan]

The fact that people are genuinely asking "is this real?" about obviously photoshopped shitposts and begging for them to be tagged "unreality" is extremely concerning. If people are begging for this because "omg it's gonna make me have a derealization episode" that's not what derealization is and not learning (seemingly outright refusing) how to distinguish when something is real--ESPECIALLY news--is incredibly dangerous.

Seriously, people are getting upset over "the bean freaking melted!" and asking "is this real?" is horrific.

[thisishaskins]

no u know what…..working in theatre is a little like purgatory

[lovemomhatepolice]

as a boyfriend - carlos sainz jr.

navigation taglist requests

pairing: carlos sainz jr. x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, mention of sex, slightly suggestive, English is my second language!

summary: how is he acting as your boyfriend?

more content: formula 1 masterlist, carlos sainz masterlist, latest oscar piastri one-shot ,as a boyfriend - lando norris, as a boyfriend - oscar piastri, as a boyfriend - charles leclerc

boyfriend!carlos who always makes his strange faces and through him you inherited them, as well as his derealization problems - you took over everything from him and now to meet you is worse than children who do not listen

boyfriend!carlos who notices the little things—if you’re stressed, if you’re tired, if you just need a moment

boyfriend!carlos who definitely isn’t above marking you up a little—not enough to be obvious, but enough that he knows and you know [nswf]

boyfriend!carlos who claims he’s the best at keeping secrets but can’t keep a surprise from you to save his life

boyfriend!carlos who, one day, absentmindedly calls you su mujer in conversation when you were both in Spain and doesn’t even realize it until you stare at him—then he just smirks, “What? You will be.” (He was proud that you understood more and more words in Spanish; translation: his wife)

boyfriend!carlos who hums under his breath when he cooks, completely unaware of how cute he looks flipping pancakes in his hoodie and sweats

boyfriend!carlos who sings Smooth Operator at random times, considering it his song and won't shut up even after pleas (He even recorded his version and set it for your phone ringtone)

boyfriend!carlos who is the “sunshine” person in the group. sometimes you are surprised how only with his person he can make everyone happier, but that's how carlos is

boyfriend!carlos who loves to tease, running his hands up your thighs under the dinner table, acting completely innocent while you struggle to keep a straight face [nswf]

boyfriend!carlos who apologizes first if he knows he was wrong, voice soft as he pulls you into him, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry, cariño

boyfriend!carlos who is trying to teach you Spanish to the best of his ability (1. He taught you only naughty things, 2. You already know how Lando felt)

boyfriend!carlos who insists he doesn’t get jealous, yet somehow always ends up kissing you just a little longer, a little deeper, when someone’s been looking at you for too long

boyfriend!carlos who loves when you play with his hair but will never say it out loud—he’ll just melt under your touch and mumble, “Don’t stop.” (So does he think he has better hair than you).

boyfriend!carlos who tells you he’s proud of you all the time, even for the little things—“I knew you could do it.”

boyfriend!carlos who definitely has a soft spot for lazy Sundays—lying on the couch, your legs over his lap, aimlessly scrolling but somehow always ending up watching something dumb

boyfriend!carlos who told you as the first person about the end of his career at Ferrari, possible contracts and his desire to tie his immediate future to Williams (he was afraid of your reaction, but was very grateful for your support)

boyfriend!carlos who loves to take you with him on his bike workouts, thinks it brings you together and you have a great time (he ignores the fact that you are several meters behind him and can barely catch your breath - he thinks he will still fix your condition)

boyfriend!carlos who insists on holding you after, murmuring soft things in Spanish, his voice so much softer than before [nswf]

boyfriend!carlos who sometimes jokes that your future son will also be put in the car as soon as he was (he doesn't realize how much warmth this causes in your heart, because he says it so habitually, as if it had been planned long ago)

boyfriend!carlos who never fails to make you feel safe, loved, and completely, utterly his

A/N: please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

blue is also pretty, isn't it? love you to the moon and back, carlitos

[altariartx]

Ink's psychology is so interesting. Let's talk about it.

Think back on one of your core memories. You're able to associate said memory with a feeling - good or bad, right? Perhaps you're able to recall a place, too. Now, imagine being Ink. Depending on his consumption of vials, he might only recall events when those same circumstances are recreated. How difficult would that be? How feasible is it to consume an exact amount, an exact combination, at an exact place and time? This is known as state-dependent memory, something Ink is incapable of experiencing.

Memory is most effectively recalled when context matches an encoding environment. An AU carries so much variability. Factors shift at the drop of a hat, and usually, it becomes impossible to recreate a moment. Ink feels something, but is he able to internalize it as a true experience? What he processes is a mechanical mimicry of enotion. It's so easy to avoid introspection when these things pass you by so quick. It's not worth dwelling on.

On that note: Identity Diffusion. It's something I see explored infrequently, but Ink's inner struggles are so rich with potential. Who is he, really? What was he meant to be, and will he ever know? The straight answer: no. Ink was never meant to be, and it's up to him to shape his own identity. His goals and values are always changing based on external factors. What does it look like inside his mind, when he's put at odds with his sense of self? What does he believe in, and does it align with how he felt yesterday? The extent of Ink's derealization is so underutilized. When he pauses mid-sentence, disassociates when all he comes up with is null. I'd like to see Ink's thoughts on his blank state, when he's off his vials and turns to a living instinct. I see a lot of interpretations where Ink avoids his "negative feeling" vials, because it's too difficult, or not worth the hassle, or he doesn't care. But what if he did allow himself to feel the guilt and remorse? The harrowing, sinking feeling that there is no "him." He's a projection, he has no real grasp on how he behaves. It's all an illusion in the end.

Closing thought, I wonder if Ink ever experiences a form of Pavlovian Memory; emotional responses linked to stimuli in the environment. Even if he can't perfectly recreate a memory, what of his subconscious? Does he have some deep-rooted color theory going on? When he looks at a clear blue sky, does his mind's programming attempt to piece together a notion or feeling, even if he isn't on his blue vial?

I think about him a lot. I'll try to write some more of these.