#though schizotypal is much more obviously

[antlerkitty]

Guide to coping with paranoia/intense fears as a schizospec person

Disclaimer: This is made for people with similar experiences to me. I have recurring brief reactive psychosis (diagnosed I think) and in daily life am along the lines of schizotypal, though that label isn't fully accurate. This may not help if you have more chronic, daily psychosis, or more severe psychotic symptoms than me.

Paranoia of things "beyond this world" (probably biggest category since have lots and lots of experience with this):

Most widely applicable/recommended/healthy:

Humming/singing cheerful tunes or songs. Learned this from Totoro actually! And it really can help with keeping a bit of your brain in reality.

Decorating your space in color and fun and whimsy can make it seem more inviting of positive energy.

Having comfort objects and keeping things the same can help a lot. Alternately, changing things up a bit every once in a while can help with being less paranoid if something gets lost or moved a bit if someone else lives with you or visits you.

Playlist of upbeat, non-creepy songs for when the paranoia and distortions are bugging you a lot (currently using this strategy actually). Funny videos can help too!

Getting up and moving. Engaging with familiar people in person. Dancing, getting outside, etc., or doing whatever moving works for you in your situation!

Stimming.

Bringing pets/people with you when you go to struggle areas. I always bring my cats around the house with me when I am going to places that worsen paranoia and distortions.

Do DBT calming skills if that usually helps you.

Less recommended/works for specific people only/may worsen issues:

Basic witchcraft like protection and cleansing spells.

Keeping creepy-but-endearing things around. I personally find comfort in disturbing and creepy things, I feel like the bridge the gap between my reality and the real world. But I make sure I find them friendly and non-threatening.

Paranoia of others:

Stay in areas with people that you find non-threatening or don't have paranoid fears about. I always make sure I'm near larger groups of people, especially with kids. (May not work for others, may worsen fears)

Carry comfort objects with you.

For relationship-related paranoia (in healthy relationships), try doing something positive and non-threatening with the person/people you're in a relationship very regularly. Ideally every day, even multiple times a day. Regularly talk positively to the other person/people about them, and ask them to do the same for you.

If you find yourself yourself paranoia spiraling, take a break from interactions. Find a trusted person if you have one. Try to not make any impulsive decisions, and alert trusted people if possible.

[jackdawandicarus]

My character naming process

My friend @robinsinthesummer did a post like this so now I’m doing one too. Also I’m probably going to put more effort into this than is really necessary but idc.

The first method is just giving them a name that randomly spawns in my brain and fucking haunts my thoughts until a name a character it or create a new character solely to name something that name. The current name haunting my brain is Sidney fwi. I have an OC named it but I don’t really like said character, they are too un-queer. Sidney is a name for the gays. A name-ghost I actually went through with naming the character is Michael for my main project’s protag’s father and Sandy for this little cryptic hunter character I have. Honestly might give her a sister just to name said sister Sidney lol. Or a friend or something. Maybe-

If there’s another character with a name too similar to the current name-ghost (e.g. my *other* potential Sidney, who is very queer, is a main character for my book in which there is already a main character named Kit, I found the start of the names too similar to use Sidney for the character, Sydney might’ve worked but I hate that spelling), I begin an actual active naming process. I think of names with similar sounds and vibes (to continue with my example, Macey or Darcy which have the ending sound which I want for the character), using Behind the Name to assist if necessary. Usually I’ll have around 3 names on the list.

I’ll try to to think about themes, personality, arc, etc. with some more important characters. My protagonist in one of my current projects is named Ophelia. While Ophelia was a name-ghost, I gave it to the character I did because I thought that the meaning of ‘help’ fit for the character (also something something Hamlet something something idk I don’t know shit about Hamlet, I just know Ophelia goes mad and kills herself, which actually fits my Ophelia tbh) because she begins the story very passive, she very much views herself as a supporting character. It also fits as a silent cry for help hidden within her name, she is unable to reach out for help, and attempts to repress her negative emotions. Pretty sure Hamlet also had something to do with it at the time but I’ve genuinely forgotten.

Her sister Casandra’s name was chosen in a similar fashion. Only I know for sure that I named her after the Greek mythological figure of Cassandra. I dropped an S because I like the way it looks like that. Casandra has Schizotypal Personality Disorder, which is a pretty recent addition to her character but I think makes sense with my pre-existing characterisation of her as having ‘magical thinking’, to quote Wikipedia’s page on STPD lol. Cassandra in Greek mythology is obviously most known for being cursed to see the future and have no one believe her (though she’s a personal interest of mine and I could probably tell you everything about her if you asked me to), which is how Casandra perceives herself. I’m still working on figuring out how I’m going to adapt her character now I’ve decided to give her STPD.

There’s also a little (read- pathetic) guy I named Pigeon. They’re my most recent character because I’m tired of not writing about anthropomorphic cats, I’m a Warriors fan goddamn it it is in my blood. Pigeon is named after a bird species which absolutely no one will be able to guess from his name! He’s named after the bird because said bird has this whole tragic ‘used to be a valued pet and working animal and then we abandoned them and call them sky-rats’ thing going on which fits their character arc.

Sometimes I’ll just go to Behind the Name and look through it to find a suitable name though lol. After naming Ophelia and Casandra I needed to name their triplet brother. I literally just looked through the masculine Ancient Greek list on Behind the Name until I found Zopyrus at the very bottom and thought it worked well enough. He dies half way through anyway.

Sometimes I’ll name a character after a real life person I went to Primary school with or something. This is most common with my Sims, though, tbh. I named a character Jessica, but I think that’s literally it for OCs so far

And thus ends my overly long post!

[cthulhubert]

I've long thought something similar, and Scott Alexander has a really neat little discussion of it in this post: Ontology of Psychiatric Conditions, where he introduced me to the great vocabulary word "Taxonic".

He talks about a couple papers on taxometrics of psychiatric conditions, which have fairly different conclusions.

But like, even Schizophrenia, which really seems like it should be taxonic (I mean, you either have auditory hallucinations or you don't), has related schizotypal diagnoses.

Scott makes a metaphor about the power distribution of wealth (ie, the uber-wealthy may "merely" have a lot more dollars in their net worth than average, but that difference is extreme enough it means they live very different lives from most of humanity). But one I really like is height. If I were to start shrinking, I could quantify eg, how hard it is to shop for clothes, or how frequently I need to use a step stool; but once I'm to a certain point, I need to pay a lot extra for all kinds of specialized or custom clothes or goods, nearly every counter (not specifically built for me) is so high I'd get shoulder RSI without a constantly present stool, etc. I think autism spectrum disorders are this at an extremely high point of "neural precision", and ADHD is probably something similar (though "attention" isn't really a rigorously coherent measure, it's obviously downstream of something more much more specific like reward-center-frontal-lobe-bandwidth or something else that neatly slices reality at a joint we don't even see yet, much like "neural precision" seems to make a lot of ASD symptoms fall into a neat line that we couldn't easily talk about before).

Of course, then there's the comparison with achondroplasia. Among the people who are significantly shorter than average, it's usually because they have some disorder that has shortness among its symptoms, but it also causes other symptoms. I would be willing to bet there's a couple specific disorders that strongly affect our underlying-measure-of-which-"attention"-is-a-roughly-correlated-side-effect, and also cause other problems we see in our ADHD-symptoms-have-a-significant-impact-on-my-quality-of-life people (vs the people that merely could benefit from more use of a "stool"(stimulants). (This also gives us a neat metaphor of people that lose focus or become manic when they take stimulants: people that step on a stool and get clipped in the head by a ceiling fan)).

what are you a truther about re: adhd specifically?

i mean theres just tons and tons of weakly-supported "infomation" about ADHD online. one big thing is like, the whole rejection sensitive dysphoria thing, which seems very weakly evidenced, i can find two studies, both fairly small (one 40 people, one 200, which is much better), but both of those are about emotional dysregulation rather than RSD, and in general it would take a lot to sway me from a model where ADHD is less well understood as anything like a discrete disorder and more just being particularly low on a normal distribution of attention

[painted-piggy-ships-archive]

When the Cat’s Away...

Wade Wilson x Poe Dalke, featuring fankid Ulysses!

Word Count: 1093

Tag List: @heavenshipped @fangedwife @ghostlyvenus-selfships @the-schizotypal-cryptid @cherry-bomb-ships

Summary: Poe and Wade need someone to look out for Ulysses while they go out on a contract.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, kidnapping, fighting, death, blood, and bruises. Nothing explicitly detailed in the entire fic. Brief suggestive humor toward the end.

REBLOGS > COMMENTS > LIKES

“Weasel, you unreliable chucklefuck, we need a favor,” Poe called as he entered Sister Margaret’s, his boyfriend and adopted daughter not far behind.

“Yeah??” The greasy man turned to his best customers. It was early in the day, so technically the place was closed… the only patron left in the bar was passed out on the floor at the opposite side of the room. “Why’d you bring your kid???”

“Because, although Ulysses is a teenager and a merc in training, I still want someone to keep an eye on her while Wade and I head out on a contract.”

Ulysses hopped up and sat on the bar counter, scratching at the scales on her face.

“You can do that, right, old buddy old pal?” Wade asked.

“Uh… yeah, sure, sure, I’m honestly surprised Poe’s allowing for this to happen at all.”

“You’re an ally enough.” Poe turned to his daughter, taking her hands in his. “I’ll call you when we’re on our way back. Ask Weasel if you need anything…” he suddenly shot a glare at the bartender and weapons dealer, “don’t you dare offer her alcohol.”

“Ah, c’mon, papa… not even a sip?”

“No! Not until you’re 21.”

“We would leave her at the apartment, but since she’s our kid… well, Weasel, can’t you understand our adoring concern that she might be kidnapped or whatever???” Wade ruffled Ulysses hair, then playfully squished her face, turning it to his friend, “and who can turn down making sure this cute little troublemaker doesn’t get in trouble themself??”

“Dad, knock it off,” Ulysses laughed, lightly smacking away his hand.

“Yeah, alright… when will you two be back?” Weasel asked as Ulysses opened their miniature backpack, taking out a Nintendo Switch. Poe shrugged.

“You know contracts.”

“And how they like to hide targets behind layers of disposables!” Wade chimed in, always giddy like it’s the first time he’s mowed through bodies.

“Alright…”

“Oh, and don’t worry about food or anything, I packed Lyssie a lunch and snacks. She might ask for a non-alcoholic drink, though, just put it on our tab.”

“Nah, it’s alright. Anything she wants will be on the house.”

Poe nodded and turned to his daughter once more.

“We’ll see you in a bit, okay, hun? Try not to cause Weasel too much grief.” Poe winked.

“Uh-huh,” Ulysses was already caught up in whatever game they were playing. Poe shook his head, smiling to himself before walking toward the exit.

“Bye, Lyssie,” Wade gave her a quick half-hug before following Poe, turning at the door and blowing an exaggerated kiss through his mask. Ulysses looked up and caught it, pressing it to her chest before blowing one back. Wade did the same pressing-to-chest gesture before waving and heading off.

“So… what games do you like to play??” Weasel asked awkwardly as he poured himself a wake-up shot.

~~~

“That took a helluva lot longer than I expected it to,” Poe spoke breathlessly as the couple made it back to Sister Margaret’s, drenched in the blood of people who stood in the way, and of course their contract. “I hope Ulysses didn’t get bored…”

As they entered the bar, Poe paused before shrieking in realization. Ulysses still sat on the bar counter, though now with a bag of ice on an obviously black eye, along with several other obvious bruises. In the middle of the bar was a pile of people, some knocked out, other’s groaning in pain.

“WEASEL!” Poe roared, storming toward him as the bartender quickly covered his head in defense. Wade swept in and picked his boyfriend up off the floor, restraining him.

“Holy hell, kid, did you do all that??” He asked in reference to the beat-up pile, more impressed than concerned. Ulysses grinned triumphantly while Poe struggled in Wade’s grip.

“Let me go! WEASEL, DID YOU FUCKING ENCOURAGE A BAR FIGHT WITH MY CHILD IN IT?! THEY’RE NOT IMMORTAL, Y’KNOW!”

“Papa, papa, calm down, I’m fine! It’s just a black eye and some bruises, it’s not like I broke anything, you know my powers make me far more resilient compared to normal people…”

Poe continued to huff, slinging half threats at Weasel as he slowly lost energy, the red in his face beginning to fade. Eventually, he went limp in Wade’s arms, breathing heavily.

“You good, baby?” Wade asked softly and genuinely in Poe’s ear. Poe only responded with a grunt, causing Wade to shift him to a piggy-back position. “Welp, I think that’s all he’s got in himself for the night… thanks, Weasel.”

“Thanks, Mr. Weasel,” Ulysses spoke as she packed up her things, “I had fun.”

“Er, anytime, kid. So long as your pops doesn’t try to kill me in my sleep.”

Wade took his family home, helping Poe shower and setting his love to bed for the evening.

“I’m gonna kill ‘im.” Poe spoke weakly as Wade was tucking him in.

“I know, baby, I know.”

“… How’s Lyssie?”

“Hm? Oh, Ulysses is fine, Poe. She’ll be a bit sore for a couple of days but it’s just some bruises, I checked! If you really don’t believe me, I guess we can take her to the doctor’s tomorrow.”

“Mmm…”

Wade kissed Poe’s forehead, finishing securing him under the blankets.

“Sleep, my sweet, adorable, feisty little raven. You’ve earned the rest.”

Poe’s eyelids fluttered shut, though they still bore a sour expression as they fell into the lightest form of sleep. Wade let them be and went to the living room, where Ulysses now watched Brooklyn-99 on the TV. Wade paused the episode, much to her dismay, and took a seat beside her.

“Y’know, y’really scared Poe like that.”

Ulysses sighed. “Yeah…”

“Hey, I’m proud of your fighting spirit. Let’s just all take it easy for a bit, because I’m pretty fucking sure all this stress is gonna make your papa sick for a little while. In fact,” Wade grabbed a nearby piece of paper and a pen, “why don’t you make a list of things to help him recover?”

Ulysses shrugged and took the paper and pen. “Okay. I think that’s fair.”

“And don’t worry, I’ll be making my own list and helping out, too… you understand you can’t be a part of some of my suggestions, right?”

“Gross, dad,” Ulysses wrinkled their nose at the idea of her parents’ intimacy.

“I’m just being honest!” Wade smiled genuinely. “Alright, I’m gonna hop in bed with ‘em. Don’t stay up too late,” Wade stood and kissed the top of her head. “Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you, too, dad.”

[albatris]

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

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

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

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

under cut for personal rambles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but also

I hope you have a nice day

[gayassbagelmom]

A short(but probably long) rant about the beginning of chapter 23 and Thomas’s mental health in general:

Ps: this isn’t proofread and is likely all over the place, blame the ADHD lmao

At the beginning of chapter 23 there’s a scene where 10 year old Thomas is in the hospital waiting room, while his parents and doctor discuss his health. The doctor mentions the Thomas has OCD, that’s the first and biggest problem I have with this chapter. Let me give you all a lesson on psychology. OCD is probably one of the most misunderstood disorders out there. The main problem is people mistake OCD for OCPD. OCPD = obsessive compulsive personality disorder. You may think “okay well what’s the big deal? Aren’t they the same thing” no, they aren’t. In the DSM(diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders), the organize disorders into 5 categories, called axes:

Axis 1: clinical disorders

Axis 2: personality disorders

Axis 3: general medical disorders

Axis 4: psychosocial and environmental factors

Axis 5: the global assessment of functioning

Right now, axes 1 and 2 are the ones we will be focusing on.

OCD is an axis 1, or clinical disorder. Axis 1 disorders tend to be things that more so effect people’s moods or reactions. Examples being anxiety, depression, sleep disorders, eating disorders, and most mood related disorders. Basically, everything but personality disorders and mental retardation. People with these clinical disorders are usally well aware of their Irrational behavior and are distressed by it, actively seeking help.

OCPD is an axis 2, or personality disorders. Axis 2 disorders, as the name suggests, effect a persons personality and life as a whole. Examples being narssistic personlity disorder, mental retardation, antisocial personlity disorders, schizoid and schizotypal personlity disorder, basically, if it’s got “personlity” in the name, it most likely fits into this category. The difference between these and axis 1 disorders is they usally aren’t aware or their irrational behaviors and aren’t particularly upset by them. They usally only seek help due to friends or family

Thomas doesn’t have OCD, he has OCPD. Before I go over the differences between them, let me define two terms:

Ego dystonic: thoughts, impulses, and behaviors that are felt to be repugnant, distressing, or unacceptable with one's self-concept.(OCD)

Ego syntonic: thoughts, impulses, and behaviors that are felt to be natural or acceptable with one’s self-concept.(OCPD)

Okay now the rant like, actually begins. There’s a fuck ton of evidence the supports Thomas having OCPD and NOT OCD. OCD is a disorder charactrized by impulses and cleanliness. People with OCD usally have one or a few specific obsessions, an example being ALWAYS unlocking and relocking your front door three times before leaving, or washing your hands til they’re sore and red. People with OCD are motivated by the idea that some imaginary disaster could happen if they don’t do this. This is why OCD is considered an anxiety disorder. This is also where the fact that it’s a clinical disorder plays a large role. People with OCD actively seek out help, they don’t like the way their impulses effect their lives, OCD is an ego dystonic disorder. OCPD is much different though. Unlike OCD, people with OCPD, don’t have just a couple of rituals. The focus completely on perfectionism and control. They want everything to be orderly and under control, and have a tendency to come off as domineering. People with personlity disorders, don’t view it as a disorder and only seek help due to family and friends openly discussing that they dislike said persons behavior. They don’t view it as unnatural, that is why OCPD is a ego syntonic disorder. Off the bat there’s already a lot more similarities with OCPD symptoms and Thomas’s symptoms. Another fun little tidbit, studies show, a good number of OCPD cases may have developed due to overcontrolling, intrusive and dominating parents. Let’s look back at chapter 23 and I’ll list some example of OCPD behavior

“He had seen other kids his age--ten--scribbling stick figures when they drew, but he wanted his to look perfect. Or else what the hell was the point?” I mean come on, this literally screams obsession with perfection. He finds no interest in something less than perfect and can’t understand why anyone would be different.

“He switched his crayons from red to a black, tucking it back in the cardboard packet in the slot where it belonged.” A subtle but an example of a need for orderliness.

“He hated that there were ugly blue lines slashed through his drawing.” While the context of this scene relates to the lines reminding him of school, they also break the perfect nature of the picture

Some may argue “well if people with OCPD don’t think they’re behavior is so weird, then why is he obviously so bothered by it?” Well see, Thomas isn’t bothered by his OCPD, he’s bothered by his IED. His parents obvious concern is him becoming a surgeon, and dont get me wrong, I don’t wish OCPD upon anyone, but it seems like something 2 asshole parents would for their kid to have. People with OCPD tend to work extremely hard at their jobs, like way too hard, ruins their relationships usally. This whole situation mixed with his IED, just spells disaster. Thomas has absolutely no control in this scenario, he has no say in his medication, his dorm, his school, his studies, etc. to him, it’s not perfect, it’s not exactly how he wants it to be. This also explains why the medication really wasn’t working (and oh boy will I get to the medication part later)

I think I know why Thomas likes cars. He’s in control. To him cars are PERFECT, they’re sleek, shiny, made with no mistakes. When he’s behind the wheel, he has full control over this object that is so incredibly “perfect” he can make it go where he pleases, and go as fast as he pleases.

Now onto the medication part, oh man, fair warning and apologizes, I can already tell I’m going to get heated. Obviously Thomas is 10, so he’s going to have his parents take part in these sort of appointments. But I find it extremely hard to believe Thomas wouldn’t be in there with them. At least in the beginning to disccus any possible side effects. But okay whatever, that’s not even the part that got me mad. So we find out that Thomas is taking 9 medications and is having another one added.

I’m sorry,

What?

There is no way in hell they’re going to prescribe that much medication to a 10 year old. Sure maybe if the kid has fucking cancer, but an IED, OCD(OCPD) and migraines? Hell fucking no. And also they wouldn’t have prescribed the migraine medication “Nurtec” for a 10 year old. This is because the company that makes nurtec doesn’t know if it’s safe for children or not. And If a side effect of the Nurtec was depression, then they would have fucking taken him off of it. ITS LITTERALLY THE MAIN SIDE EFFECTS DOCTORS SAY TO PAY ATTENTION TO!!!!!!!!!!!! And this is assuming that the thing doesn’t even work, because If it did work, why would he be taking 7 other medications????? You’re trying to tell me those are all for OCD and anger mangement? I DONT FUCKING THINK SO. ITS JUST FUCKING UGHHHH THE PARENTS ARE ANNOYING AS FUCK!! PUT YOUR KID IN THERAPY AND STOP COMPARING IT TO A RUPTURED APPENDIX. FUCK THIS HAS ME SO ANGRY. ITS JUST LIKE, NOT ONLY IS THIS WHAT I WANNA GO TO COLLEGE FOR BUT ITS ALSO SHIT IVE EXPERINCED FIRST HAND. IVE BEEN TAKING SOME OF THE EXACT SAME MEDICATION THOMAS HAS SINCE I WAS 12, I KNOW WHAT THE SYSTEM IS LIKE AND THIS AINT IT. Whew sorry about that, I just feel like ranting in all caps can help you calm down a bit faster. Ok I think I’m done, if you read through all this, lol, sorry.

I’m not trying to be mean @the-hamilton-files-author trust me, I don’t expect you to know most of this stuff. It’s a complicated science that I love dearly. Very, very, dearly. :’)

[little-stpd-things]

I’m 24, schizotypal, and have never been in a relationship. I’ve been in all the right environments where others connect, but still failed to myself. Making friends has been difficult for years as well, though not as challenging. Generally speaking, I have a poor understanding of how relationships form. I’ve been told that romantic connections “just happen” but I have trouble understanding that since it never has for me. I’m desperate for hope. “You’ll find someone” isn’t enough. Thoughts?

I'm not sure how late my reply to this is, but I am sorry about how long it's taken.

I had so much trouble making friendships when I went to school, and I basically was alone for the majority of it cause I could barely make or keep friends. What helped me a lot was making friends online. How I did that took a while, but I hung out in group chats about things that I'm interested in, and after a while I ended up becoming very close friends with some people. We went from talking about mutual interests, to joking about that, and than just talking about ourselves and our thoughts.

Basically you have to go through different levels of knowing a person. When you first meet you can talk about things that's appropriate to talk about to a stranger who you have just met. After a while you'll have a better understanding of the person and will be able to talk about the things they like and dislike and etc in more detail. It takes time, but getting to know and care about a person is how you can make friends.

I, for the most part, don't think that romantic relations just happen. I think you fall in love with a person the more you get to know them, obviously not everyone you get to know tho lol

[reyneclaw]

Sorry if this is a bit long, i just came back from my appointment and i'm still upset. Please lmk if discussing meds isnt allowed, i'll delete this part.

So, i made this appointment to get a new prescription for antidepressants. Reported permanent exhaustion, anhedonia, irritability, lack of focus (i used to be a straight A student... the old story), this should meet the criteria for (mild, it got better since quarantine) depression. There's also (social) anxiety, i'm pretty sure this is rejection sensitive dysphoria (what if they don't want me, applies literally everywhere in my life including university, friendships, this forum as well), reported a recent panic attack over the (made-up) possibility a friend might cut ties with me. I have an official diagnosis for both anxiety and depression. Should have been easy. Instead. She wasn't sure what's up with me, suggested additional tests, screenings etc, and even hospitalization (no thanks, i definitely don't need this). Wrote down it possibly might be a neurosis-like form of schizotypal disorder. Now this is a catch-all diagnosis for 'not sure what's wrong with them' in my country, it comes with heavy stigma, it implies more obstacles in legal transition (i'm trans) etc etc, and most importantly it doesn't apply to me. Basically, i'm not a doctor, but it's my job to critically read any kind of academic works, including medical, and this neurosis-like thing is innate (my mental health problems are obviously due to all the stress and emotional abuse at the uni, i didn't have it before), it comes with obsessions, phobias, hypochondria (i don't have any of this) etc. So i just got labelled with something wrong because of... looking weird? I'm also temporarily deaf in my left ear, ofc this looks weird to a stranger, as well as social anxiety, and i only explained this at the end of the appoinment lol. Now about the meds, thankfully i got my prozac, and additionally 50 mg sulpiride. I know it's not clinically approved in the US, so, sorry if this is the wrong place to ask, but i'm really suspicious about taking it and would prefer not to. Even though low-dose sulpiride allegedly works as a stimulant and is supposed to help with studying, and spoons. I still don't trust the thing, or that doctor. So... thank you for reading... i kinda need advice. My idea was to only take prozac which i initially asked for, and forget about the rest... Edit. Idon't see any reason for hospitalization, and i'd be much better off at home, having at least some control over my life. Like, i'm quite 'functional' (don't like this label but even in the doc's opinion), i can study even though with some difficulty, i'm actually working (translations, edits, tutoring etc), i can socialize and live a 'normal' (in their opinion) life, it's just.. exhausting and kind of meaningless and also scary sometimes.

[honeydewhaiku]

I absolutely support self-diagnosis as a necessary and productive process, but just keep in mind almost all of these symptoms overlap with at least one other disorder. Even if you have most of these symptoms, there might be something else that you should be treated for before settling on an ADHD diagnosis (bipolar disorder being a prominent example with a LOT of overlap here). I think people are usually very accurate at knowing something is “different” or “wrong” and keying in on a few of those differences, but it can be hard to get perspective on differential diagnosis and comorbidity on your own. Thus, anytime someone has severe symptoms of any developmental disorder and/or mental illness that greatly impacts their life, I would advise them to seek a professional opinion. The best situation is finding a psychiatrist (or psychologist) who you can trust and collaborating with them to come to a mutual agreement about what the problems are. 

I say that because this list is broad and definitely gets into very transdiagnostic factors like rejection sensitivity (which is actually most pronounced in BPD), memory issues (shared by all mood disorders and also all traumagenic disorders), boundaries/volume control and stimming and others that are obviously autism-like traits, sleep disorders (could go with anything but most characteristic of a bipolar disorder), even reality testing (which is much more characteristic of a psychotic spectrum disorder like schizotypal PD than ADHD). Meanwhile emotion dysregulation and executive dysfunction apply quite broadly to all or almost all mental disorders. It’s pretty interesting to read through though.

Source: I am a psychologist at a major research university, feel free to ask for specific cites and I will be happy to find them.

Here's the ADHD Checklist! I finally made it, it's originally from this post. But I've put it in a more easy to read manner.

Requested by: @partykeet I hope this helps!

If you don't know if you have ADHD or not but have an inkling you might, these are important questions to consider when self diagnosing and researching into the disorder!

Executive Dysfunction

Do you struggle with getting things done?

Do you mean to do it and you don’t?

Do you feel overwhelmed by trying to do it?

Do you forget to do it?

Do you feel like you can’t for whatever reason?

Emotional Dysregulation

Are you often told you’re overemotional?

Are you told you overreact?

Do you feel like you can’t control your emotions?

Do you often go from one emotion to the next?

Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD)

Do you react strongly without meaning to?

Do you get really depressed after wearing yourself out?

Do you feel awful after someone’s criticized you?

Do you often spiral when something goes wrong?

Do you feel like you can perk back up when that person asks you what’s wrong?

Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome

Do you have a hard time waking up?

Do you have a hard time going to bed?

Do you have very vivid dreams?

Are you aggressive and irritable when someone wakes you up (for like, school)?

Do you struggle keeping a consistent sleep schedule over vacation or summer break, even on the weekends?

Inattention(Dissociation) and Hyperfocus

Do you often zone out?

Do you daydream?

Do you get disinterested often?

Do you feel like you can multitask (listen to music and read at the same time)?

Do you get so absorbed in something that when you return to reality, hours have passed by?

Hyperfixation and Emotional Hyperarousal

Do you have “obsessions” or things that feel incredibly pleasurable/taste good when you interact with them?

Do you have a loud mind that runs a thousand miles a minute?

Do you feel overwhelmed or stressed out by your mind?

Do you overthink or overanalyze things?

Is your head really foggy or thoughts blurry?

Working Memory, Inattention and Object Permanence

Do you seem to have memory problems?

Like you cant remember something someone told you to do (homework, chores)?

Or you easily lose things, having it just been there?

Do you forget that things exist after having them put away?

Do you forget important things like birthdays, dates and numbers, but remember other “trivial” things?

Do you have a hard time remembering the past or your childhood?

Stimulation and Stimming

Does listening to music help you get things done?

Do you need to watch something while you’re eating and get distracted if you don’t?

Do you feel dissociated or distracted when you can’t listen to music or have your phone out?

Do you constantly fidget, shake your legs, play with parts of things?

Do you feel like if you try to stop fidgeting, you’ll feel an urge to do it more?

Do you have a million phone games?

Do you feel like some games aren’t enough to play on their own but some are too much that you can’t focus on anything else?

"Money Blindness" and Impulsivity

Do you have trouble with money when given control over it?

Do you spend money on things other people find pointless or useless?

Do you have trouble with microtransactions?

Do you feel like when you buy something that you’ll have enough money left for things you need?

Are you often broke? Especially if you claimed that you would save money?

Do you often feel like the consequences of buying something aren't that serious?

Time Blindness

Do you have a hard time keeping track of time?

Do you feel like you’re often late to things?

If not, do you have anxiety, and often panic about the time?

Do you often have a hard time keeping a schedule?

Do people say you have poor time management skills, but no matter what you do, you can’t fix it?

Habits, Executive Dysfunction and Disorganization

Do you have poor hygiene?

Do you struggle to remember to brush your teeth?

Is it hard taking a bath/shower? If so, does it take a long time to get into the bath or shower?

If left to your own devices do you wear the same outfit for days?

Do you often look disheveled despite trying to be organized and clean?

Do you often rub off makeup or have messy hair?

Do you try to be organized but no matter what, you can’t?

Boundaries, RSD, and Volume Control

Do you struggle with boundaries?

Do you have a hard time controlling your volume (either too loud or too quiet)?

Do you feel like you’ve ruined everything when someone tells you that you did something wrong?

Do you think you’ve offended people when you haven't?

Do you have a hard time judging reality correctly (like you think you’ve offended or hurt someone and you feel awful but it didn’t bother them that much)?

Disclaimer: Don't say someone who self diagnoses is faking. If you relate to these questions and symptoms, you definitely are not faking. ADHD is a disability that is incredibly hard to manage. People who have it don't like it as they have likely struggled all their life. Being undiagnosed and unmedicated is damaging and traumatizing. Be kind to people, especially if they don't have access to medical help.

[transsexualtravesty]

i know i exhibit symptoms of more than one personality disorder. i've had symptoms for as long as i can remember, and i fit the basic criteria for one (or more), but i'm a minor and i feel like i don't count. i feel like i'm not particularly struggling right now even though i know that's a lie and i definitely am, just perhaps not in a stereotypical way. and i know i'm going to struggle so immensely when i'm an adult. i could list every thing that i'm certain will cause me problems, if i would even be able to do it at all, knowing full well i will never get to be a normal person with a normal life. even the small tastes of adulthood i've gotten have been entirely too much for me, and they weren't even the full, genuine experience.

but even though i feel that way, i also really need to say something to someone about it.

so if i had to guess, i'd say that my symptoms could fall under one or more of these personality disorders:

schizoid

avoidant

narcissistic

dependent

schizotypal

borderline

obviously i know i don't have all of these. i just suspect that these might be something i have. they explain my experiences and i relate deeply to the diagnostic criteria and to the shared experiences of people who have them.

[acuriousbecoming]

(long boi- 13 minutes- but important. Please save to read when you have time.)

I slept in Lincoln Park last night.

Actually, "slept" is not the right word. I shivered in Lincoln Park last night. I meticulously calculated the position that exposed my minimal body surface area to the cold night air. I wiggled my toes in paranoia every few minutes to make sure they had not succumbed to frostbite. I watched my breath condense into the freezing night air, in spite of being huddled under two winter coats, a sleeping bag, and two comforters. I didn't fall asleep until the morning sun had warmed me enough that I was able to doze lightly- not real sleep, but something like it. Even now, three hours later, my feet and hands remain frozen. I am on pinpricks as I walk.

I slept in Lincoln Park last night, though I didn't have to. My ex-husband has been letting me sleep on his couch since I got out of a local rehab program where I was treated for methamphetamine abuse. His gracious offer comes with a caveat, obviously: I can continue to stay so long as I am seeking help.

I have no objection to this stipulation. I am eager to end a year that has managed to be worse for me than 2020. Yesterday, I met with a licensed addiction counselor, whose professional opinion is that I am not an addict: I am a person with a severe psychiatric condition, who has used drugs to manage its symptoms on and off throughout my life. He referred me a to a program intended to help me learn better ways to live with the schizotypal diagnosis that is unquestionably on its way.

This shift in the narrative has changed the meaning of what "seeking help" means. I've already spent years in therapies identical to the one I was referred to. It's unlikely this new season of attendance will bring me much in the way of new skills or knowledge. I'm basically a walking encyclopedia of mental health conditions, therapy modalities, and coping techniques. I've had to educate my past several therapists about aspects of my conditions upon which their backgrounds had not touched. Yet with this new diagnosis, and the extensive toll it has taken on my entire existence, I am on foreign soil. Perhaps that is the aspect that will ultimately make this time different.

Because unlike the typical profile of "recreational drug abuser" than comes to the minds of polite society, especially with substances we deem 'harder' than others, like meth or heroin, I was not using drugs to escape my life, or because I was so invested in my own leisure that I didn't want to take responsibility for my children. To the contrary, I was using drugs because I wanted very much to live my life, and was utterly miserable getting high. For months, I cried every night before I fell asleep and every morning when I woke up, wondering when exactly I would finally be able to just go back to normal: when my life would return to doing laundry, making grocery lists, driving kids to school and appointments. And then every morning, I would dry my tears, put on a battle face, and return to the tasks dreamed up by my rapidly misfiring neurons- because the mission was so much bigger than myself. I was willing to sacrifice anything to carry it out, which ultimately cost me my home, everything I owned, and every bit of history of my entire life.

It also cost me the trust of my family and friends, who were more focused on the symptoms of my condition than the nature of the delusions themselves. They were reticent to offer aid to what they perceived as a persistent preference for getting high, rather than seeing an extended episode of hallucinations experienced in various states of mental acuity and sobriety and which left me living through the looking glass. Some of these I continue to experience, in the absence of illicit substance abuse, and in spite of the proper prescription medications to manage them.

My experience was similar to that of soldiers stationed in war zones, because that's exactly what I was doing: fighting a war to save the children. Not just my own children, but all the children of Earth. But a member of the military, obviously, fights wars that are waged for sovereign nations, on tangible battlefields, in public view, with quantifiable opponents. The battle I was waging was experienced inside the confines of my own head, with enemies who were unseen and ever changing. The faction I fought for was otherworldly in nature. There was no way to measure any progress or ground gained, and the goalposts were eternally shifting.

And while I, on any other day of my life, would agree that using stimulants to stay awake as long and often as possible is not a healthy or realistic way to solve problems, even the most well adjusted among us would have to admit that not pushing yourself to these limits, if on a time sensitive mission to save the children, would be highly irresponsible, if true.

From the outside perspective, it looked like I had lost my mind and moral compass, and didn't care about my family anymore. In truth, years of psychiatric over and mis-medication, combined with dysfunctional relationships, and the constant barriers presented by the chronic poverty common to those with my diagnostic history, I'd simply followed my mind when I found my moral compass as a result of trauma regression when my brother committed suicide in 2019. Contrary to these pessimistic assessments, I cared so much about my family that I was willing to sacrifice absolutely everything, including my life, to save them.

The average person may scoff at the comparison of real world war veterans to imaginary war veterans, but the scientific fact is this: the human brain itself cannot tell the difference between dreaming and reality. The mind and body of person experiencing a psychiatric episode including hallucinations and delusions of grandeur undergoes the same basic wear and tear as that of a person experiencing the actual situation. The same neurons fire, the same neurochemicals are released. The increased heart rate, pupil dilation, tensed muscles, and levels of mortal terror that I experienced in my imaginary war were identical in nature to that of someone stationed in combat, regardless of whether the missiles I believed incoming existed.

There's a reason that, across cultures, the homeless population is swollen with the ranks of soldiers and the mentally ill. Trauma guts one's ability to function normally, and addiction is the aftermath. The nature of prolonged drug use is not, as many perceive, the rejection of being a self-sustaining member of society; it's the predictable result of being rejected by society for failing to produce enough to sustain others. Addiction is the last ditch resort of people who have given everything of themselves; the flawed respite of those who have nothing and know not what to do in a world that demands more.

Helping the people of the streets cannot simply be about expecting the people on the streets to seek out resources from the agencies around them. They already are. Go to any place in this country where the homeless population congregates and I promise you, just about everyone not exhibiting extreme psychotic features will happily direct you to the things you need to improve your situation, be they food, work documents, or medical care. They will do all of this while feeding and clothing their neighbors actively in the midst of psychotic delusions, as well as their neighbors too deep in the throes of existential despair to be anything other than too drunk or otherwise inebriated to help themselves.

Just like people living inside of homes, people living outside of homes experience cycles of greater hopelessness and dysfunction. The man you see in the gutter too drunk to walk today may have been freshly groomed and first in line at the staffing agency every day for the past month. The person who has given up on appearing presentable, or as though they have any will left to live, may be dressed to the nines, bright eyed, and enthusiastically exploring new ways to find a place next week.

The difference is that these sheepish hangovers or optimistic brainstorming sessions, when done by the homed, are not visible to the public eye. They rarely impact all aspects of the public policy governing the lives of the comfortably sheltered and uncomfortably unsheltered alike.

Solving the problem of homelessness and addiction in this society doesn't come down to the idea that the homeless aren't trying to help themselves. Solving the problem of homelessness in this country boils down to the homed recognizing that the people of the streets have been trying to help themselves, and others. More often than not, they have failed or been failed, unfairly, and for so long that they've forgotten what it even means to have a secure and comforting place to call home- if they ever knew what it meant in the first place.

This is about people in homes recognizing that legislation and public opinion have all but made homelessness a crime, and so homelessness has become a full-time job, lest those who were simply without homes also become criminals. Gathering the things necessary just to stay alive is extremely time and calorie consuming, as one must caravan from aid agency to aid agency, with one's entire world packed upon their back, and then find a place to spend the night where they will not be trespassing or a nuisance. They must do all of this while avoiding civic retaliation or criminal charges, which demand even more from monetary resources they don't have. An arrest almost always brings the complete loss of everything they own, and any progress they have made.

Our society approaches everything from education to basic dignity as a competition in which there is not enough to go around. The prize- having the stability necessary to live in a house and participate in civic systems- means the winners have so much more power than the losers that they can quite literally make the losers disappear, through tax dollars and the policies passed down to the local police department.

So while I am homeless, and I am homeless entirely because of my own choices, I'm not ashamed to tell my story as part of my work to help my peers. The reason I torched my entire life to the ground, and my drug use throughout, was because I was fighting a war to save my children- and yours. This war may have been imagined, but it was imagined as the result of a major psychiatric illness with with which I had not yet been diagnosed, and which only afflicts 1.1% of the population.

I immediately sought help when I understood the truth, but the fact that no one understood the battle I was fighting meant it cost me everything. This is in spite of the fact that I've spent the past eleven years actively receiving treatment for mental health symptoms, taking medication, charting six hospitalizations, and filing for SSI on three occasions. I was trying to establish a basic foundation of stability, one that might have prevented me from losing all of my writing, family and personal artifacts, and all the other precious items that someone in their right mind would have been cognizant enough of to be concerned about when losing their home.

I spent a decade trying to garner a complete understanding of and preventative plan for a mental illness of such a serious nature- Bipolar 1, my original diagnosis- that I was informed duringy first hospital stay that I may realistically never be able to work. That my day to day life might need to look different than that of those around me; that it might be necessary to have extra support nn order to manage my stress without my symptoms snowballing into a tsunami spiral of chaos in times of difficulty.

Yet the government repeatedly implied I was investing the time and effort necessary to keep up an endless string of therapy, psych, and med appointments, in which I begged providers for more comprehensive care, as a malingering scheme to draw $400 in undeserved benefits. That $400, not worthy of the time or energy I would have to spend pursuing or maintaining it fraudulently, very much could have prevented utility disconnections and unnecessary moves, caused by my inability to maintain employment. All of this undeniably affected my ability to establish long term stability.

My first psychiatric stay in 2010 lasted 27 days,in part because I was having auditory hallucinations at a time completely devoid of drug or alcohol use, yet my family opted to isolate and punish me for past and suspected drug use when I believed was speaking to aliens and ghosts for most of this year. They were so focused on the inaccurate picture they had constructed of my situation that it never occurred to them I was literally incapable of understanding the gravity everything happening around me, though I initially shared my hallucinations openly with them. They still have no idea that I truly believed I would be receiving my most valued possessions back, no matter what happened. If I hadn't survived an attempted lithium overdose in July by mysterious, miraculous luck, they'd never have known the truth I still haven't told them- I wasn't planning to die at all, just wake up somewhere else in a new body.

My family actually doesn't know much at about what happened to me over the past year. I tried to tell them about these things I believed to be visions, at a time when I wasn't using drugs. All they cared about were the drugs in my past, though my history of mental illness was far longer and more extreme. By the time I decided to start using again, desperate to save that world, I'd stopped trying to explain what I was seeing or hearing to them. I believed they would see my truth soon enough.

Still, in the course of losing my imaginary war, I stumbled upon another, very real one. The war against acknowledging that people like me- people with the self awareness, access to resources resulting from my lack of criminal and legal records, and the immediate ability to get help- are the exception, not the rule.

The simple fact is, I didn't have to sleep in Lincoln Park last night. I'm no longer suffering psychotic delusions, using drugs, and I had a place to stay. I chose to sleep there because I am seeking help, and the help I need is identical to every other person who slept here last night. I've been gifted with the ability to seek help through my gift for writing: not only for myself, but on behalf of all the people alongside whom I spent months sleeping on the streets with.

I chose to sleep in Lincoln Park last night because the last time I slept in Lincoln Park, it was a warm evening in early fall, and I gazed up at a gorgeous midnight blue sky lit up with a canopy of stars. Classic rock and Spanish music played through government funded phones with cracked screens and drifted out of Bluetooth speakers fished out of nearby dumpsters. Picnics of sandwiches, fruit bowls, and lemonade, purchased with food stamp benefits from 7eleven, were spread out under trees, as people laughed over beers- beers that, yes, were sometimes purchased with the dollars procured through panhandling all day. My fellow homeless citizens relaxed with friends, and dreamef the same things everyone dreams of before going to bed on a beautiful evening in mid September.

Last time I slept in Lincoln Park, I was living in a false paradigm of reality, and had complete faith that I would soon wake up in a new home, in a better world.

Somehow, the last time I slept in Lincoln Park seems like a disingenuous representation of the problem before us, which is why I had to sleep there again. The big picture of homelessness is more akin to sleeping underneath a cloudy, empty, dead-black, and frozen sky, while the people eat heavily processed, sugar-laden foods and drink Mountain Dew for energy. Sleeping iin subdegree weather requires a remarkable amount of calories, but SNAP benefits do not allow for the purchase of warm foods on cold nights.

Plus, Lincoln Park is in the middle of a food desert. There's no grocery store in reasonable walking distance at which to purchase healthier options, if there was a stove to cook food on in the first place. The drugs and alcohol consumed on a cold night in early November help raise internal body temperatures, and numb freezing bodies to the cruel reality of the fast dropping temperature. The same cold left me shaking, unable to think or sleep, all through the night, without the aid of substances to help me forget- or at least ignore- the biting cold, until I finally experienced the merciful rays of the morning sun, at which point I was able to finally fall asleep.

But only for an hour, at which point the increasing activity of homed visitors to the playground, combined with the stirring of my fellow homeless, beginning their daily rituals of hunting and gathering the supplies and food necessary to make it through another day, woke me. So I slowly rose from my sudden and unexpected inferno of multiple heavy coats, sleeping bag, and heavy comforters to write this article, before exhaustedly collapsing in a heap on my ex-husband's couch.

A couch that is a luxury denied to so many of my friends, but also a reminder that I, have no home, no privacy, and no faith that things in this world we live in are ever guaranteed to get better.

Helping the homeless population means families, and society at large, taking the time to think about what it's like to live without basic necessities, such as soap and socks and toothbrushes, and how these simple things that most take for granted affect one's presentability for things such as job interviews. Of course, this provision assumes that one is even realistically capable of maintaining employment in the first place.

Helping the homeless means acknowledging that they need access to showers and medications and meals, and understanding that the absence of such basic necessities causes one's ability to make good, healthy choices to be physically and medically diminished. Some people go so far as to bathe in the toilet water in the Lincoln Park bathroom to maintain a neat appearance- people including veterans of real wars, who surely deserve better facilities.

Helping the homeless means recognizing how inherently dehumanizing it is that police officers sit at all corners of the vicinities they gather in, looking for any opportunity to remove the eyesore that is our collective social failure from the eyes of the homed public. Even the most law abiding members of the homeless community are uniformly punished for the actions of those who misbehave.

Helping the homeless means having the curiosity to genuinely wonder how it feels to sleep on the cold ground, with inadequate blankets and shelter, and no ability or freedom to light fires in a public park on a 34° night in November, in Colorado.

Because, honestly, the most important reason I slept in Lincoln Park last night is that I am no longer living with the delusion that I am invincible, and that everything is going to be okay. I am not entertaining any notions that it will actually even be safe to sleep in Lincoln Park if I wait another week to see what it's like, when the temperature has dropped a few more degrees. Not everyone still sleeping in Lincoln Park at this point can say the same. And the ones who can?

They quite simply have no other place to go, and the freezing weather may cause them to run out of time before they find the kindness of a vacant couch to sleep on.

That's the real reason they cap off their evenings with a nip of their preferred drug or spirit- because in all reality, the chance that they might not make it to it to the morning looms larger and more immediately than it ever should to any person in any society that dares to call itself "civilized."

[dybbukdoll]

Schizophrenia Awareness Prompts – Delusions

(Since I didn’t do the introduction; I have Schizotypal Personality Disorder)

My Delusions/Odd Beliefs center around not feeling Real. Not in the same way as Dissociation, which I also get, but more in an... “I'm in the wrong Reality” kind of way. Existing has always felt Weird, and sort of “Wrong” to me. I don't think I belong in this world, and I think people can tell when they look at or interact with me. This has led to a lot of wondering as to which Reality I do belong in, if any. I think my Reality, the one I'm supposed to Exist in, is a lot like Wonderland, or at least similar.

I also have a Belief that people can read my mind and that it (the mind-reading) is strongest when I'm touching someone. A Delusion that has persisted since Childhood, though I don't have as much anxiety about it as I did when I was a kid. But I'm still Careful about what I think in front of other people, and it's led to me having a fairly severe Aversion to being touched, especially by people I'm not familiar with. The Shadows can read my mind the easiest, though, even if they stay at a distance.

It’s also really easy to get me to be believe things that, to normal people, would seem very obviously Fake. For example: I had a friend in high school convinced me that she was a Werewolf. And I really believed her for about a Year, until I started noticing inconsistencies in her Story. (I don’t know if this is a Common Thing among Schizo-spec people, or if I’m just Easily Influenced?)

I don’t like talking about my Delusions much. I know people will think they’re crazy. I tried telling my Mother about people reading my mind once and she looked at me like I was nuts, so I stopped. And overall, I just don’t trust people enough to tell them things about this. I feel like if I talk about it, they’ll try to take it away somehow, and I don’t want that. I’ve become weirdly attached to my Delusions, even though they can get Scary sometimes. But, if you have questions, please feel free to ask.

[painted-piggy-ships-archive]

Baby Mine

Nandor the Relentless x V the Human (soon-to-be Midwestern Vampire), with platonic appearences from Guillermo and Colin! (And obviously Lazslo is also a romantic f/o but seemingly not at this point in time-)

Word Count: 743

Tag List: @heavenshipped @fangedwife @the-schizotypal-cryptid @f-orever-and-ever

Summary: V finds out they are pregnant with Nandor’s half-vampire, half-human, child, revealing to the other vampires they are not the blood-sucking creature they appear to be! They deliver the news to their lover, who is more than ecstatic to have an heir, even though he is immortal.

Warnings: Pregnancy mentions throughout, emeto mention, sex mention.

Like my writing? Consider Reblogging 🔁 or leaving a nice Comment 💬 when you can! Thank you!

“Oh! Hello V, what brings you here this evening?” Guillermo asked, surprised to find his neighbor on his doorstep.

“I’ve got some news. Can I come in?” They looked more disheveled than usual; their dark hair a mess, even deeper shadows under their eyes, and their clothing as large and as comfortable as it can get.

“Yes, please,” Guillermo stepped aside, ushering V into the vampiric home. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you look… beat.”

“Yeah… is Nandor home?”

“No, it’s just me, Colin, and Lazslo right now.”

“Well… I guess they can be in on it. Library, I’m guessing?”

“Mm-hm.”

The two went to the library, V being greeted in a friendly manner as they entered. They heavily sat on one of the chairs.

“I’ve got some… Big news, guys.” They started out slowly.

“What is it?” Lazslo asked, bearing a slight frown. “You look fit to drop dead. Well, if you could.”

V arched their brow at the statement but continued. “So, you all know how Nandor and I have been… close, these past few months. I. There’s no point evading it, I’m pregnant.”

Stunned silence.

“How? That’s not physically possible.” Colin chimed in.

“What do you mean?” V asked, looking directly at him.

“You’re a vampire… right??? We don’t reproduce like that.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you guys I didn’t think they were a vampire…” Guillermo muttered before clearing his throat and speaking up; “Did you know?”

“Know what? That Nandor was a vampire? Obviously. A bit after we all became true friends I figured it out. I didn’t say anything, but I did think it was weird nobody has bitten me yet, as I’m definitely not opposed to it.”

“You mean to tell me Nandor fucks???” Lazslo spoke at last, after much thinking.

“Yes, Nandor ‘fucks.’ And now I’m carrying his partially immortal spawn.” V paused, taking a breath and letting that sink in. “How do you think he’ll react?”

“… I think he’ll be happier than you expect. A bit shocked, maybe, but happy nonetheless. And then he’ll immediately want to turn you, but you seem okay with that outcome.” Colin mused.

“So how did you find out??” Lazslo asked.

“Sudden aversion to garlic, horrible vomiting and vertigo spells, blacking out and waking up in weird places. Not your typical baby symptoms, but I knew I had sex with Nandor so I took a couple tests and that was that. Truthfully I didn’t think anything of it when we did the deed, either.”

“Yes, unfortunately we can impregnate humans, but vampires cannot get pregnant themselves. Typically the baby does not survive, because the human parent cannot keep up with the mixed-species child’s needs, and the vampire has flown the coop.” Colin spoke, now actively feeding off of V, in spite of them already being drained from the baby in their gut.

“Knock it off, Colin,” Guillermo scolded, going to V’s side. “Come on, I’ll set up a place for you to rest until my master comes back.”

~~~

When V awoke, they were being stood over by their colossal lover.

“Something is different about you,” Nandor spoke lowly, concern evident in his beautiful, dark eyes. V slowly sat up, taking his hands in theirs.

“Yeah, yeah. Something is different-”

“Are you sick?”

“No, no! Don’t worry… it’s just… I’m pregnant. It’s yours.”

A wave of emotions crashed behind Nandor’s eyes, though his expression did not change. His hands began to shake.

“You mean… you’re human?”

“Yes. But I won’t leave you. If being yours and carrying your spawn requires being turned, I’m willing.”

Nandor practically fell to his knees, resting his forehead on V’s hands. He allowed himself a few hidden tears, but V was never one to shame him for being emotional, so they lifted his face up so he would look at them.

“V… I’m a papa.”

“Yes…” V themself began to tear up as well. Nandor lifted his head properly and kissed his lover softly.

“I will turn you as soon as the baby is born… I don’t want it complicating the pregnancy. Oh… I’m a papa…” He stood, squeezing V quickly before rushing out of the room to tell the good news to those who already knew it. V smiled, wiping away their tears.

“He’ll be a good dad.” They assured themself, though they didn’t really need to. It was obvious his love was bursting at the seams for both of them.

[gyobu-a]

go off about modern verse yoshi, like what is her Life Experience like in comparison to her sengoku counterpart, how does she differ in terms of her values, identity and morality

send me a topic to write a meta about.

Modern Yoshitsugu and her sengoku counterpart both share a distinct hatred for humanity, but what sets them apart is how they handle it. While sengoku Yoshitsugu will do everything in his power to bring about suffering and misfortune to the land, modern Yoshitsugu is content with just letting things be as they are. Sure, she wishes more people would suffer a bit, so they could understand the plights of those who have to live in misery almost every single day of their lives— but, there isn’t really much she can do about that.

For starters, there’s no war going on that she can use to her advantage. She certainly retains her intelligence, but she has no authority over anything. Its such circumstances that changes her line of thinking from her counterpart. 

   ( and weed. she obtained marijuana for pain relief and realized she likes being high. a lot. )

Yoshitsugu’s father, mostly, placed great expectations on her. Obviously, not to be skilled in the art of war, but he did push her to strive for success. She was intelligent, received perfect grades, but something led to her simply being a homebody with niche interests and only a few people she would dare to call friends. She feels no disappointment in herself, though. She feels her life is better in seclusion, save for those souls who she carefully chooses to let in. Her employer calls on her time to time, which is how she continues to pay rent for her cozy studio apartment, but she tends to finish the work he assigns her fairly quickly.

Being in a modern setting also allows for her to do more deep introspection about her identity, namely her gender. Yoshitsugu exists as both the sun and earth. Her femininity steers in the direction of tempt and decadence; gushing gold, ornate jewelry, the sheen of snake scales, raven plumes. Her masculinity is that of moths, dust, and stars.

Yoshitsugu is much more hedonistic in nature. Not having to worry about securing her home’s position in a war and the well-being of her best friend is definitely freeing. Not having to worry about such grand things offers her more time to herself. In fact, she has so much time to herself.

Her morals and values are a rather strange subject. She values life… unless she just doesn’t. She certainly values her friends ( especially Mitsunari ), and she is empathetic towards those who have to suffer through life, but if you are neither her friend or someone who has to struggle daily, she couldn’t care less about you. You may as well just not exist to her.

I would think of Yoshitsugu as being schizotypal. She displays behavior that would be odd to most, and frequently turns to her superstitious beliefs as an explanation for things.

In conclusion:

basara yoshitsugu: i want misery to rain down upon us all. i hate virtue. i want every human on earth to suffer including myself

modern yoshitsugu:

@habouki

[starnova-between-two-worlds]

Born this way.

Music: Various Vocaloid songs/some Calum Scott 

All signs, it turns out, point to me having been born with this. 

Yesterday I finally worked up the nerve to ask my dad about what my babyhood was like. Except for snippets in a baby book updated up to age 4, my babyhood is entirely shrouded in mystery. I wanted to know what went on then, if anything at all went on that could have somehow led to this. What happened to make me...a glitch? Did it happen back then? 

It was my dad talking and he likes to idealize things, so I can’t tell how much of it he really told me or how much of it was just tiptoeing around the bush to make things sound normal. After all, he does that for his wife now even though anyone with a brain knows something’s terribly wrong. But in that moment he didn’t really have TOO much reason to lie to me. It was only me and Lightning there. His wife wasn’t there. I expected some glaring incident to stick out at me--something that would make me go “AHA!” and understand everything. The first thing I asked about was how I was nearly miscarried early on into the pregnancy, which I had learned from reading the baby book was a thing that happened. I wondered what his wife had done to cause a near-miscarriage, and what it could’ve done to my developing brain... 

Well, turns out she did nothing. He said even the doctors couldn’t figure out the cause, other than “complications.” My fetus had just decided to attempt suicide for no discernible reason, by the sounds of it. Scary. I almost died when I was still a 21-week-old fetus, for no real reason other than just deciding to jump ship. You take that to bed with you about the blessing of being alive...

I asked why I had to be in the NICU when I was born (which was a screwed-up birth process, it turned out. Maybe that was secretly the “AHA?” The fact that for some reason the doctors had to fucking fight to get me out of the womb because I was stuck in the damn corner? I don’t know, I don’t know enough about conditions that cause prenatal brain damage. More “I’m so fucking glad to be alive” material, though, as I could’ve ended up stuck in there and died). It was just for jaundice. And did they visit me in the NICU? I had a feeling my dad’s wife wouldn’t have visited me because “She couldn’t be bothered.” But no, she did. They both came by every day to hold and feed me. Even my dad’s wife, who by the sounds of it, was either totally normal during my entire babyhood, or was doing a damn good job of pretending to be...

Other than the “your birth was really fucking complicated and you almost died twice” story and being born on the low end of “healthy birth weight” (to think I’d NEVER be a tiny person again), the rest of it was...unremarkable. I sat there listening to how absolutely nothing abnormal or untoward happened during my first three years of life. In fact, the developmental markers were all hit quickly and very early, one after the other in rapid-fire succession. A hyper-processing supercomputer even at that tiny age...figuring words out and succeeding at an early age, walking at 8 months old, tiny sentences 8 months later. For some reason, I always expected to be a slow, delayed baby. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had turned out I didn’t speak a real word until I was 3 years old. To see it marked down that I was talking in sentences by 16 months was a mind-blower. He said my doctor at the time couldn’t figure it out how I was born 6 weeks premature (another “AHA?” Maybe?), yet everything had not only fully developed the way it was supposed to but had developed BEYOND what it was supposed to. 

...So what the hell. 

I obviously didn’t tell my dad the real reason I wanted him to tell me all these stories. I waved it off as “There’s an entire 3 years of my life that’s a complete mystery to me” which is not a lie. The real reason was that I wanted to find the “AHA,” the thing that had happened which had led to this mystery that psychiatric science happens to have a name for, schizotypal. I wanted to see if anything had been done to my poor brain by that narcissist I was at the mercy of for all of my childhood. I wanted to know WHAT HAPPENED.

Only to find out that nothing happened. My babyhood was...well, not typical considering the advanced development, but not anything that pointed to something outside causing this mental illness. When we thought it was BPD, we could pinpoint EXACTLY what would have caused it. But now... 

The symptoms of this particular monster started to show up at around age 3. Dad told me about how they would take me to the park, but I hated other kids and would avoid them like it was an instinct. If one came around, I would hide until they went away. I could understand why. It’s the same reason I don’t like people now: they’re loud, they act weird, they get in my way, and you never fucking know what they’re going to do next. It’s the reason I now wear noise-blockers when in the presence of other people at school. I never liked the two-legged vermin. It sounds as though even my first experiences with social peers were not happy ones. Dad said he ended up having to take me to an old park where nobody else ever came around to, and I had the time of my life, playing with “the dinosaurs” and “Miss Frizzle and the Magic School Bus” and “Flotsam and Jetsam,” Ursula’s two eels who were my favorite characters (can I take a moment to brag that by 4 years old I could pronounce most of the dinosaurs’ names, including things like “baryonyx” and my favorite “parasaurolophus”? I couldn’t SPELL them for shit, but I could say them. Though I remember having trouble with “euoplocephalus” and would call it “euoplocetalus”). 

Now that I think about it, could these have been proto-soulbonds? 

I started fixating on anything with a screen at 3 years old. What can I say? Those screens showed me windows into worlds that even then I felt were so much nicer than this one. I mentioned the Zoogs from Disney Channel in another post. Anyone remember  those little pixelated cyberspace-alien things from the acid-trippy Disney segments in the late 90s? Well, those things were my greatest “friends” back in the day. But people from this world? Those loud, fleshy creatures that only LOOKED just like me? It turns out there was never a moment in time when I didn’t want them the hell away from me. 

This has been going on LONGER than I can remember... 

And we have no discernible reason why. 

Which can only mean one thing: I was born this way. 

Born glitched. Born incompatible. Born into a world in which I just do not belong...and never will. A critical error...

It’s been a day and I still don’t know what the fuck to do with this information. I really don’t. The first thing I did when I got home from school was go directly to Google and not pass go. I slammed “was I born schizotypal” into that Google search like my life depended on it...and I felt very much like it did, at the time. Well, even Google was like “Why the fuck are you asking me that question” and giving me arbitrary links...and then I found two things: a research study on the birth factors behind schizotypal, and a PsychCentral forum post by schizotypals asking eachother when it all started. 

To make a long story short because I really don’t want to type anymore (I’ve been sitting here for a goddamn hour and my feet are getting restless to get up and move)...I was born this way. 

And I still don’t know what to do with this information. All I know is I kinda don’t want to go to school today. Except Edward says that will only make me feel worse... 

And the worst part of all is that this means I could have broken her...

What would you do if your child was born fundamentally cut off from her own world?

[painted-piggy-ships-archive]

I Met You in Autumn, How Ironic, For You Made Me Fall

Michael Myers x Victor

Word Count: 1801

Tag List: @ghostlyvenus @the-schizotypal-cryptid @heavenshipped @fangedwife

Summary: I STARTED THIS ON APRIL 11th AND ONLY FINISHED IT TODAY... Uh, a super self indulgent “how I met Michael” + a bit of slice of life thrown in there, too. Also the pronouns are all over the place (he/they) BECAUSE I did two different writing sessions on it, bare with me shhshsgsgh

Warnings: Non-sexual nudity, murder/death alluded to obviously, wound/blood mentions.

It had been early autumn when Victor and Michael met. The author had returned from getting groceries in the town to his mansion atop a hill, the highest point in the area he lived in. His home was like a dark vulture, peering over the edge and down at the common folk below, with their dainty neighborhoods and lively streets… it was much too big for one person, but he had inherited it from family, and didn’t mind being alone much. No distractions meant successful writing sessions.

As soon as he had set out to put his groceries away, he noticed a broken window. Frowning, Victor followed a muddy, bloody trail to his living area. Slumped against a large bookcase was a large human figure, blood smeared on its navy coveralls, and its face obscured by a pale mask with a blank expression. Anyone else would’ve screamed, ran away, got their phone, something. But Victor paused in the living room entrance and pondered his next move, fascinated by the sheer size of the person before him.

If this stranger was dangerous, they could easily overpower him. But, since they appeared to be injured, maybe they’d be more compliant. He approached the figure slowly.

“Can you hear me?” He asked first. The stranger’s head shot up in acknowledgment, dark eyes locking onto Victor’s form, though they were barely noticeable in the shadow of their mask. “Oh good, you must’ve not hit your head too hard then.”

Victor’s statement was a mix of dry humor and filling the silence.

“Can I help you?” He asked second. The stranger did not move this time, still studying the person before them, body tense as they decided their next action. Victor ventured closer, this time making a hopefully non-threatening reach for the mask. The stranger’s huge hand shot up and grabbed his wrist, holding tight enough to make Victor hiss in pain, though he did not struggle.

“Okay. I won’t touch you, then… but we really ought to check up on any wounds you might have, don’t you think?”

The stranger was bewildered by their inability to strike fear into this seemingly average person. If he really wanted to, he could break their hand… and arm… and maybe the rest of them, too, right then and there. But he was smarter than that. Knowing he was injured, he’d have to allow this person to provide help for the time being… no matter how much he’d rather deal with it himself and get as far away from this place as possible.

The stranger dropped Victor’s wrist, and he promptly began to rub the tender skin in an attempt to soothe the throbbing the seize had caused.

“Quite a grip you’ve got there,” Victor muttered to himself. The stranger began to unbutton his coveralls, inviting Victor’s eyes to a display of both trust and a toned torso dotted with scars from who knows what. The author nodded to themself, taking a breath to clear their mind before rushing off to get a first aid kit. He returned to the now completely naked stranger, save for too tight of briefs, the mask, and muddy, clunky hiking boots. Victor silently questioned how the man removed his jumpsuit without touching the boots, then thought it best not to ask.

He dropped to his knees beside the stranger and began to examine his luscious body, having to remind himself that this was no time to be oggling this injured man… but perhaps later.

“Oh my gods, is that a bullet???” Victor exclaimed upon seeing a glint in the man’s right bicep. He looked into the eyeholes of the stranger’s mask, “I don’t think I’m qualified to remove that.”

The stranger uttered a heaving sigh. He was… bored. Bored! Victor bit back his disbelief, but couldn’t help but stare. The man’s large hand snatched a pair of tweezers from the kit and made the motion to extract the bullet himself, barely giving his host any time to react.

“Don’t-!” Victor tried to warn, but it was much too late. The bullet had been roughly yanked from the flesh, and now the wound gushed crimson blood. Victor ran his hands through his messy black locks, looking distressed. “What’s one more scar, right??”

He hurriedly disinfected and wrapped the bullet wound in gauze, took a few breaths, and continued with his examination. The bullet happened to be the biggest issue, everything else was mostly bruising or small cuts from crashing through Victor’s window.

“Listen, I have no idea what you went through to get to me like this, but as I don’t want to incriminate myself, I won’t ask any questions,” he rambled as he put the medical tools away, “just stay here until you think you’re ready to leave, and… well, I suppose I can’t tell you what to do, but please, don’t come back.”

Victor stood and put the first aid kit away, returning to the living room where the stranger now put his clothes back on. Standing, imposing could not even begin to describe his figure. He was tall, and even with the coveralls hiding his rippling muscles, the strength radiated off of him like toxic smoke, a silent warning, a “don’t fuck with me” pheromone. But he didn’t stay on his feet for long, instead, he crashed down onto the couch.

“Okay. So. Can I get you something, maybe?? Water??” Victor paused, “y’know what, I’ll get you some water.”

~~~

Now it’s been a few months, and Michael, the tall, dark, and intimidating stranger, had become a fairly permanent resident of Victor’s home and life. The two had very separate agendas… at first. As they came to know each other’s quirks and start on the path of trust, Michael revealed Victor’s darker side. Though he never spoke, he got answers to the questions in his mind;

Would his host put up a fight if they knew of his hobby? No, not at all. Sure, they screamed a little at the sight of him after a hunt, but having grown used to his presence, they didn’t put up much of a fuss after that.

And once he found them used to his bloody ways, would they indulge if he brought them a “gift?” The presence of a half-beaten victim disturbed them until he showed them what he wanted done. That was the encounter that seemed to change everything… and Michael quite enjoyed seeing Victor torture the “pets” he brought them. Victor was exactly what he needed. Someone small, and quick, and clever… who could fulfill needs he didn’t know he had.

It’s a summer evening. Michael has returned from a hunt, but Victor is not where he usually would be. Not in the kitchen or the living room, and not even in his study… however, the smell of vanilla candles behind a bathroom door certainly gave him away. Without warning, Michael barged into the bathroom, making his partner jump slightly.

“Oh, it’s just you. Damn near gave me a heart attack…” They slowly sat up slightly in the tub, peering at him over the numerous candles. He closed the door behind him and began to strip the coveralls from his body. Victor waited patiently as piece after piece fell away from Michael’s sculpted body, until he wore nothing but the mask. His hands flexed in a moment of anxiety, a very rare sight.

Finally, he removed the costume mask. It was hard to make out any distinct features in the dim candlelight, but Victor could see an unruly poof of dark curls spilling from the top of his head. They smiled a little to themself before making room for the large man among the foamy water. The murderer slowly slipped into the tub in the space behind Victor, so that the author sat between his muscular legs. Again, without warning or hesitation, Michael pulled Victor flush against his chest, sending some water sloshing over the edge of the tub.

“So straightforward,~” Victor laughed softly as their face burned. When Michael wanted physical contact, it was a wonderful thing, considering the only other way he’d communicate was through body language or gifts. As they laid together, Victor scrubbed the blood off Michael’s hands, much to his discontentment, which he made evident by the nip he gave the back of their neck.

“Sor-ry, you’re the one who got in here with me,” Victor sighed as he dropped the large hand back into the water. The two stayed like this for a bit before Michael decided he no longer enjoyed lounging in, essentially to him, a warm, indoor puddle. He picked Victor up as he clumsily exited the tub, blindly snatched up a towel, and exited the bathroom. He wrapped his partner in the towel and set them on the bed, but he himself was content to be naked and soaked.

In the light of the bedroom lamp, Victor finally got a good look at Michael’s face. It was far more youthful than they were expecting, but hardened. A deep scar went over his right eye, the eye itself having turned pale and blind. Victor found himself getting lost in Michael’s rarely seen features, especially his pouty, rosy lips, and those eyes…

It wasn’t long before Michael was laying on top of him, wanting to be praised for his successful kills. Victor carefully played with his dark curls, and placed feather-light kisses to any skin he could reach. He knew Michael was indifferent to kisses, but would make it known if he wasn’t in the mood, so he was always cautious but gracious with the action. He gently trailed his nails down Michael’s back and the large man shuddered, pressing himself even harder against his partner, practically smothering him.

“Michael,” Victor choked out. For a moment, the murderer did not budge, and Victor felt irritated that he had decided to fall asleep in that moment, but eventually, Michael rolled off of him. Victor gasped for air, slipping his petite hand into Michael’s much larger one without fear of it being crushed. He placed another kiss on his shoulder and tossed the towel from underneath him onto the floor. Michael’s skin was dry, now, but the sheets were drenched with the bathwater he refused to shake off. Victor mentally sighed, he’d change the sheets tomorrow… Michael had settled for the night, so neither of them were likely to budge.

“Goodnight my big, rugged, handsome murder man.~” Victor hummed. He didn’t expect a response, yet, the large man responded with a low, gruff sound that could’ve been “night,” if you strained your hearing hard enough. Victor’s heart fluttered and he turned off the bedside lamp. He knew his partner could make noise if he really wanted to, but he hadn’t expected any words, if that was a word.