#we're self medicating

[distinctlywhumpthing]

This Time

(Unintentional 30)

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CW: BBU-adjacent (institutionalized slavery), brief references to past-beating, fear of noncon drugging. It's the boys' first time out in public together, we're being gentle, this is practically all fluff. Beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

When it’s seven o’clock and not a minute sooner, Leo says, “I’d feel better if you came with me.” He almost adds ‘this time’ and wonders if Aiden is also remembering the last time Leo left him alone while he ran into a store. 

Aiden’s eyes widen. “I…mmm…I…” He timidly raises a hand to the base of his throat, gaze falling as he does it. 

Leo tries not to read shame into his uncertainty. He clears his throat, wanting to sound as casual as possible. “I know. I looked it up and the law says you just need some form of identification on you. It doesn’t have to be…uh…” Nope, he can’t say it out loud. “But that’s really more if you’re on your own. If you’re accompanied…” 

He will also not be repeating the stipulation that in the absence of ‘wearable restraints’, anyone with a ‘plausible reason or concern’ may request that Leo ‘subdue’ Aiden or they are within their rights to do so themselves ‘by any means necessary’. Which unfortunately “explains” the bastards who tore him from the van that first night.

Leo runs a hand over his hair. “We’ll be in and out in five minutes, it’ll be fine.” 

Halfway to the door, Aiden loses his footing. Leo’s ready though, catching him with an arm threaded under his shoulders. 

“Mmm’sorry…” Aiden clutches Leo’s sleeve with his uninjured hand, leaning into him to steady himself. He doesn’t let go once he’s standing so Leo keeps an arm around him.

“No worries. It’s icy as hell and Converse aren’t exactly known for their traction.” They’re also not very warm so Leo ushers the wobbly kid on, making sure to steer him where there’s road salt or dry patches.

 They pause outside the door so he can pull Aiden’s hood off and make sure the scars on the back of his neck are covered by its fabric. “Hands out, right?” he reminds. Aiden nods. 

The last thing they need is some racist assistant manager on a power trip insisting on frisking him. Just the thought has Leo rethinking this whole stop. He’d never be able to stand aside and let that happen. The poor kid has already seen the worst at the hands of strangers; there’s no telling what reaction yet another pair might set off. Leo might be able to spare him the experience by outing him as a Companion but that isn’t exactly risk-free either. Leo doesn’t think he’d be able to make a passable demonstration of the “justice” he’d rain down later on his sticky-fingered Companion and even if he could, he’s pretty sure Aiden wouldn’t be play-acting terrified. After what he already had to put the kid through tonight, he doesn’t want to risk anything else testing the fragile trust between them. 

Aiden shifts from one foot to the other. Leo’s hesitance is making him even more nervous. The parking lot is still empty and Delia’s car has real locks and an alarm he’d hear from inside. Maybe there’s no need to take any risk—

“What-what…if…mmm’I…mmm…” Aiden looks over his shoulder to where he just slipped, furrowing his brow. 

There’s no way Leo can bring him back to the car now, not without confirming that he doesn’t trust him to manage his own two feet either. Sure, he’s not very stable on ice but it’s been weeks since he tripped in the house. Regardless, it’s one hypothetical Leo would happily handle.  

“You’ll be fine, you can do this.” 

Aiden drops his gaze. Leo can’t tell if it’s because he’s shy about the encouragement or if he thinks it’s just empty words. 

“I’ve got your back, kiddo,” he says, straightening Aiden’s beanie that doesn’t need straightening. “I’ll catch you if you trip again.” 

Aiden meets his eyes and only searches them for a second before nodding. 

Any remaining apprehension on Aiden’s part is eclipsed by a quiet overwhelm once they step through the door. His eyes widen and he looks even smaller surrounded by the full shelves, under fluorescent lights. He follows Leo closely, practically brushing against his side as though they’re jostling through a crowd and might get separated even though there’s no one else in sight. 

Leo steers his mind away from wondering too much about the last time Aiden was in a store. 

They walk along the even-brighter cosmetic aisle toward the prescription counter at the back. Aiden looks away from the little mirrors framed by bright red, pink, and coral lipsticks. His eyes trace the bottles on the other side instead, shampoos in colorful plastic, hairsprays in metallic spray cans, and gels in an array of containers all lined up in rows. He keeps his arms perfectly straight and pinned to his sides but his fingers twitch there. Like maybe he wants to touch something but he thinks he’s not allowed to. 

Leo pauses by the shower gel, earning a concerned if not startled stare from Aiden. “Easy, all good. Why don’t we pick one you like?” 

Aiden looks at him like he just suggested flying to Mars. 

Leo picks up the brightest red bottle, flips the cap open and sniffs. Nothing special, just a generic soap smell. He holds it out for Aiden who, slowly, eyes flicking up to Leo’s three times before he leans forward all the way, inhales too. 

“Anything?” 

He shrugs noncommittally, nervous now that Leo’s put him on the spot but Leo wants this to be light and fun, though that might be a leap. He goes for one that says ‘coconut-something island bliss’ in a yellow bottle. Smells nice enough. Aiden leans in a bit easier this time and, though barely discernible, wrinkles his nose. 

“I think not,” Leo offers. 

Aiden shakes his head. 

“Go on, pick another one.” 

He bites his lip and raises his good hand. Hesitates a few times as he scans the shelf before pausing in front of a teal bottle. His fingertips rub together absently as his gaze slides over to Leo, who gives him a reassuring nod. He carefully picks it up. Luckily, this one only needs to be pressed down to be opened and he gets it right away. He holds it out to Leo first—something floral this time—just shrugging once he smells it himself. 

But now he’s into it. 

Leo pulls a pink bottle off the shelf as Aiden chooses purple. Their arms cross in the air when they hold them out to each other and Aiden’s lips almost twitch into a smile. Leo wants to beam but he forces himself to play it cool. 

Aiden replaces his bottle and picks another red, ‘blood-orange orchid blossom’. It smells only of citrus because last time Leo checked, orchids don’t smell like anything so why even call it that except to fool people into paying more for something just because it sounds fancy?  

A black Axe bottle Leo is relieved Aiden also hates, Irish Spring, a classic Dove. Aiden only has trouble with one of the tops. Leo worries it’ll kill the moment but Aiden just passes it to him and finds another bottle. 

After a few more, Aiden goes back for the purple, or actually, ‘lavender fields in summer’, pulling it off the shelf again with about as much confidence as if he were playing Russian roulette. 

“Nice, good job.” 

Aiden huffs and tucks his chin against his chest, hiding a small smile that might just be relief but Leo hopes is something more. They feel different, this smile and the one in the car. Leo can’t put his finger on how they’re different but he finds himself willing to do just about anything to see one again. 

He has another internal debate about whether or not Aiden should be next to him at the prescription counter. In the end, he decides it can only help his case later if a neutral third party explains the medications to them both. 

The pharmacist is young and way too energetic for seven in the morning. Leo makes zero effort to match the vibe. He slides his license across the counter. “Hi, I’m here to pick up some prescriptions, please. Marshall.” 

“Marshall, Marshall, Marshall,” she repeats as she searches the system. “Leo?” she asks like it’s not on the license she’s holding. 

“Yep.” She passes it back and disappears behind the shelves. 

Aiden’s still as stone beside him. Leo smiles reassuringly but it’s no match for the basket of prescription bottles the pharmacist returns with. He should have read Noah’s notes to know exactly what they were getting into. 

A two-week course of—thankfully—liquid amoxicillin. High-dose naproxen for pain as needed. A refill of his paroxetine thanks to Delia. She’s good. He definitely would have skipped it to reduce the sheer volume of pills he would be picking up with Aiden. At least the pharmacist skips the instructions because she can see it’s a refill of a medication he’s been taking for years. 

The last is the worst. Alprazolam with an over-the-top warning that it “causes extreme drowsiness” and “do not operate heavy machinery”. Finally, the real nail in the coffin: “it’s a potent tranquilizer.” Five doses, no refills. He definitely should have read Noah’s notes first. 

Leo rushes to end the exchange and move on to damage control. He grabs a basket from the stack, sweeps the medications in, and resists the urge to rush Aiden out of the whole damn store. He walks them to the far right, along the cold cases of sodas and drinks and freezers filled with ice cream, bags of ice, and a smattering of frozen dinners, mostly for one. The opposite side of the aisle is lined with chips but Aiden’s eyes are glued to the pile of white paper bags in the red plastic basket. 

Christ, where to start? 

“Aiden, can you look at me?” He does, of course. Eyes shining and full of betrayal. “Hon, I know you heard some things back there—” 

“...good…” 

“What?” 

Aiden swallows, wets his lips. He’s clutching the bottle of body wash like it’s keeping him upright. “I-I-I’ll…be…mmm…good.” His eyes flick to the basket and back to Leo’s, pleading. 

“Of course you will. You are good. You’re always good, I know that.” 

No dice. Leo’s reassurances mean nothing, not with what he’s holding. He drops the basket behind him, an arm’s length away. The gesture is met with open suspicion. 

“Hon, the only thing in there that you have to take are the antibiotics. To fight off the infection in your hand. The liquid one Delia talked about, right?” 

He nods once but his eyes narrow. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Delia and Noah only wrote the other prescriptions to give you options. The pain killers, the anxiety pills, they’re only if you want them.” 

Aiden’s expression crumples and he shakes his head. Distressed by the suggestion that he would ever choose to take anything? Or can he only see the whole thing as a trick, a mockery of his agency or lack thereof? 

Leo’s heart aches for him. There’s nothing he can say that will erase all of that history or make it any easier to carry. “Okay, okay. I know this is overwhelming but I wanted you to hear it for yourself. I mean, from someone other than me. That way when you… If you… You can decide…” Aiden looks at him miserably, eyes still burning with betrayal. Leo’s only digging himself deeper. “One of the prescriptions is for me anyway,” he flounders. “Let’s just—” He reaches for Aiden’s shoulder but he steps back, out of reach. 

For a moment they just stare at each other. 

Aiden takes another step back and his eyes widen, surprised to find himself where he’s just stepped. Surprised Leo hasn’t grabbed him yet. His gaze slides from Leo’s face to a point over his shoulder and Leo’s heart sinks. 

The door? Would he run? Aiden takes a step forward, eyes still locked over Leo’s shoulder. 

“Wait—” Leo can’t handle the thought of losing this kid for the third time tonight. His eyes film over with tears. “Ple—”

Instead of walking around him, Aiden steps right into his arms. 

And then the sound hits his ears and Leo turns, shuffling Aiden behind his back for the shelter he was seeking. He wasn’t trying to run, he heard people coming in. He leans into Leo’s back, free hand gripping a fistful of Leo’s jacket so tightly Leo can feel how hard he’s shaking. They don’t have much of a height difference but he’s ducked his head to try to hide better, Leo can feel his cheek against his shoulder blade. 

It’s no wonder why—though Leo is impressed by his hearing—the guys are similar enough to the group that beat the shit out of him that first day. They laugh and banter their way to the first case in the aisle like this is just one stop in a fun night that’s still going. They pull out a six-pack of Red Bull and head to the registers without so much as a glance Leo’s way. 

He doesn’t move until Aiden does and Aiden waits until they’ve picked out a scratch-off and multiple vape flavors, joking with the cashier. Leo doesn’t bother keeping the judgment off his face with Aiden tucked behind his back. They stay, frozen like that until the pair amble out of the store. 

Aiden straightens, releasing Leo’s coat as soon as the first set of automatic doors slides shut. Leo turns to find him staring ahead unseeing, bottle in one hand and the other still closed into a tight fist. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Leo keeps his voice a whisper, all too aware they’re still in public. “It’s all right, they’re gone.” 

Aiden nods but only reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut once, twice, blinking away more tears each time he opens them. His fist trembles between them, arm still locked where it was holding Leo’s coat. 

Leo’s nervous to touch the poor kid considering the mental whiplash he must have—thinking Leo might drug him against his will only to be forced to depend on him for some semblance of safety—but if Aiden’s clenching his fist as tight as it looks, he’s putting too much strain on his stitches. 

“Can I give you a hand?” Leo holds his out, palm up. 

A few days ago, he’d spent a whole bathroom re-tile brainstorming a phrase to use during these moments when he didn’t know where to begin. Something neutral, not explicitly offering help but still open-ended enough that Aiden might get what he needed.  

Without even looking, Aiden drops his hand into Leo’s, uncurling his shaking fingers to grip him tightly. Leo’s momentarily dumbstruck that it worked. Has to be a fluke. 

“You’re doing great. We’re almost done.” He wraps his other arm around Aiden who shudders, finally exhaling. Leo wishes he could just hold him properly, until he stopped shaking, until he felt safe, no matter how long it took. “I just need to grab a few more things and then we’re outta here.” He gives Aiden one last squeeze before releasing him. 

The list from Noah is actually in his sister’s handwriting, first the prescriptions with more specific instructions and then a bunch of other things. Before he attaches himself to that fucking depository of pills again, he grabs a bag of pretzels and another of popcorn off the shelf to add to the basket. It’s an obvious move but at least now the prescription bags aren’t staring at them.

“Sterile gauze and bandages,” he tells Aiden, who nods stiffly, falling in to shadow him as he weaves through the store. He could move faster but he can’t risk anything else going wrong just now. 

Aiden doesn’t react to anything else Leo adds to the basket. As much as Leo wants to involve him, give him some choice or context, he can see the kid is dead on his feet. He is too, has been all night. 

Clothing basics happen to be at the end of the last aisle on their way to the registers. Leo wonders how bad is it to get some for Aiden now. Probably not as bad as it was to let him go this long constantly borrowing Leo’s. A pack of t-shirts, a pack of boxers, a pack of socks. Black for sure to avoid his tendency to flat-out panic about stains. Evidently, even this strip mall CVS is influenced by the pretentiousness of the surrounding area: there’s a choice of organic cotton that costs about forty percent more. Leo wonders if that means he can permit himself to feel forty percent less shitty for not getting Aiden even one thing to call his own sooner. 

He’s not sure what to expect when they get to the register. The woman in her mid-forties has hoops in her ears and acrylic French tips tapping on the side of her lime green phone case. She unabashedly continues scrolling, even after Leo says hello until he finishes unloading the basket. 

“Morning,” she says offhandedly as she starts scanning and bagging. 

When Leo leans away stack away the empty basket, Aiden steps forward to soundlessly place the bottle of body wash on the counter. 

“And good morning to you too, darlin’,” the cashier says, winking theatrically. 

Leo is about to step in front of him, make some remark about the weather to pull focus, but Aiden flashes her a smile that is as dazzling as it is vacant. Leo finds it unsettling but the cashier laughs, joking about how Aiden should look her up when he’s ten years older. Leo forces a chuckle as he pays, shoving the receipt in his coat and telling her to have a nice day while he grabs the bags off the counter. 

She returns the pleasantries and waves at Aiden. Leo’s jaw almost hits the floor when Aiden wiggles his fingers back as they walk away. 

Outside, Leo shifts all the bags to one side, turning to offer Aiden his other arm. 

He holds on right away, glancing around nervously like he's a deer about to step into an open field. He can’t seem to decide if he should watch his footing or surroundings. The street lights cast harsh angles on his face, hollowing his cheeks and throat, deepening the weariness under his eyes. 

Night and day from the mask of a smile he’d pulled on inside and haunting in an entirely different way. Leo is struck again by how little he knows about Aiden, how much he may never know, and the fact that if he’s going to do right by him, he’ll have to be ready for it all.

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[beanghostprincess]

Just thinking about the fact Sora died because of the poison she drink to save her kids, because she is gentle and kind. And her only son who the desesperate act work is as kind as her.

But the StrawHats don't know she did that, this is something he don't have the courage to tell. And they know even less that Sanji is ready to do the same.

He isn't pround of that, but he ends up discovering the poison she drink and even have the recipe of how to do it. Because the germa soldiers teached them this and others poisons.

And this little fact is like a silent threat, a thing that if the crew discovers this, would be attentive about anything he drinks until they're certainly he's not gonna do the same thing his mother did.

And when the StrawHats learn about this fact, the exactly thing he expected happens, he notice Chopper and Robin always near the kitchen with the excuse of how's there was calmer, Nami and Usopp start to do his drinks for him or always are looking him while he's doing it, the others does things too. And Sanji notices all of this.

It's needed months to calm the crew, but still after they stop, all of them always have this fear in the back of they're minds (Luffy even goes as far as asking Law to do a check up on Sanji the next time they meet), that he will do this, but they want to believe he will not. They really want to.

(Just a thought that come to my mind yesterday, and I wanted to share, y'know? Based on some headcanons)

Oh, damn. This honestly hits close to home and it's really interesting so I wanna talk about it. But, you know, it's a serious topic so:

TW // Suicide, poison, self-harm, depression, etc etc you know the drill about Sanji and his issues. I don't go deep, tho, so It's not THAT explicit but could be triggering.

I think that after WCI and Wano, they'd all be worried. Sanji has always been pretty self-sacrificing with everyone and he doesn't value his life in the slightest. He doesn't show signs at first of being actively suicidal but the way he treats his own life makes it clear that he gets into self-sabotaging situations to the point of it being considered self-harm or even passive suicidal behavior. He just- Doesn't care about dying because he puts others first all the time. He has been doing that forever and Skypiea is just one of the times he does that. But, y'know, they never notice that. At least not everyone. I think Zoro is the first to know because of Thriller Bark, honestly. That's one of the biggest signs imo. But then they're separated and it's not like they can talk about it. Then two years happen and uh, shit goes downhill after that because WCI is just utterly traumatizing for Sanji and Wano makes everything worse to the point of asking Zoro to kill him if he loses himself. And we always say that's really gay (because it is) but we ignore the whole point of Sanji genuinely asking somebody to kill him without any fucking hesitation. And he spends all of Wano having the biggest crisis of his life wondering if he's human enough or worthy of being in the crew and???? What the actual fuck. Anyway, I think the crew ends up finding out about everything and I don't believe Sanji is well mentally after all of this. I know they don't write it like this because things are happening and they have to go to Egghead, but I think Sanji would end up really fucked up after WCI and Wano to the point of being worrisome.

If they do find out about the poison thing and Sanj's suicidal thoughts (honestly, I don't know how they would even find out about it unless Reiju tells them or Sanji snaps and yells about that, but, y'know. The point is that they know and Sanji is getting worse) I think you're completely right and they'd be all over him. Because that's exactly what happens when somebody acts this way. They look after him to a suffocating extent and watch his steps. They take turns to watch him. They prepare his drinks. They even make up something so he doesn't have to be on night watch so he can sleep, because he's probably not sleeping either. Or eating well, for that matter, which is what makes them all worry even more in the first place.

And hear me out, because I think he would try to do it. Like- Commit, I mean. Not gonna get into the topic too deep but I think he'd try and I think it wouldn't work because somebody would help him right away and I think he'd try to play it off as a mistake and a misunderstanding, but everyone would know. And he'd just try to ignore their pep talks and interventions.

This is projecting from personal experience and everyone goes through these things differently, but God, I think he'd fucking hate it if they looked after him. Because he knows he won't do it again. At least he doesn't want to do it again. But everybody keeps looking after him like he's about to break at any moment and it's so damn annoying to not have any type of privacy because they think he's gonna off himself the second he's alone. And he gets why they're doing it and appreciates their efforts to look after him, but acting this way is not the answer to his problems. It's just asphyxiating and it isn't helping him get better. You know how the crew is, they're NOT subtle and careful with anything and they're just-- They have good intentions but it's suffocating and he can't handle it anymore.

And I think he'd snap. I actually want to write a fic about this if you let me use your idea (I will credit you, ofc) because I think it'd be great to make him snap at Nami, specifically, and then regret it completely.

Long story short because this is getting long: I think Brook and Robin would end up talking things out with him because they're the ones who understand him the most in this situation. He'd apologize to Nami but also everyone else would apologize too for acting this way, they were just worried and wanted to look after him. I think, after this, the only ones watching Sanji would be Brook and Robin and they'd do it carefully, supporting him and helping him get better. And the whole crew would be next to him along the way but doing it with less assertiveness and just gentler.

I think the concept of Sanji thinking about death so often is great because it adds depth to his character and it's not a crazy thought. I think it's pretty damn canon, actually. At least him being careless about his own life.

[simplydnp]

What inspired u to get a degree in math just curious now :) :0

i've always been really good at math. for some reason, it comes extremely naturally to me. i chalk it up to genes and also my environment. i was fortunate enough to have 2 very present parents in my life that really valued education, so not only was i reading at an early age, but any time we travelled, we would do math flashcards in the car.

i was told that university courses would be difficult, so i braced for math to get harder. but it never really did. like yes, i had to do homework and study for tests, but i never had to work to understand something, it always just clicked. i think i'm simply hardwired for math. and i really love it. it makes so much sense to me, and it's almost beautiful the way a lot of complex mathematics works. it's like you're tapped into the universe and it's speaking about the mysteries of existence, and you learn to listen and speak back.

[chiropteracupola]

a little pain now, to save a great deal more pain later

[flintlock fortress is a collaboration with @dxppercxdxver]

[centaurianthropology]

On Faceless Death, From the Perspective of Someone Who Deals with Death Every Day

This is a post I’ve toyed with writing for a while, and I keep thinking about writing it every few months when a new tragedy or accident or some other event that leads to loss of life comes up, and I see the inevitable deluge of people celebrating the deaths.  And these are very rarely the deaths of known actors, those whose actions, both good and bad, are public record.

These are, for lack of a better term, the unknown and faceless.  The “Ten People Die in Such-and-Such a Circumstance” people.  What is known about them is usually that they were in a place when an event occurred, be it a concert, a festival, a town, whatever.  But there are assumptions made about them because of where they were and what they might have been doing.  People claim that “everyone” doing a specific thing or being in a specific place was a member of XYZ group, and that’s why it’s fine to laugh and celebrate the deaths of these very ordinary people.

And I call them ordinary because they are.  Because all death is ordinary, because everyone is equalized in that.  Because these are not known actors, but those people who simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and their names, their faces, their stories are likely known only to those they left behind. 

I am a medical examiner.  Every day I go to work and I’m greeted by photos and stories of the dead.  These are also often people who were in a certain place at a certain time, who have judgment passed on them.  These are the woman found in a cheap motel room with a syringe floating next to her in a moldy bathtub.  These are the tatted-up uncle walking his nephew home when he’s caught in a drive-by.  This is the wealthy man who is bludgeoned to death while out walking on a secluded trail.  These are the kids caught in cross-fire as their older siblings shoot out their disputes.  These are an old woman dying alone at home and not being found for weeks because no one thought to check on her.  These are young college students driving home from a party when they roll over and get ejected through a windshield.  These are the rich, the poor, the addicted, the previously-sick, the expected-right-up-until-it-wasn’t.  These are those who at least someone will claim weren’t “innocent” victims.  These are people of unknown pasts and stories found dead far from home, whose stories and even identities may never be known.  Sometimes it’s natural, sometimes accidental, sometimes they kill themselves or someone else kills them.  Sometimes we just can’t tell because they’re so decomposed by the time they’re found that all we can say is that there’s no obvious trauma and no retained bullets. 

And the thing that unites all these cases, from the mundane to the photos that still haunt me, is that they’ve almost all left people behind.  These are the people who death truly hurts, because for the dead there is no more hurt, but for those that remain there is nothing but hurt.  The woman who overdoses in the tub is found by her boyfriend.  The old woman finally has a daughter who comes from hours away to crawl through a window and find her.  The nephew sees his uncle gunned down.  The siblings realize exactly the cost of their war when their baby siblings are bleeding out.  They are the ones left behind.  They are the ones who feel the guilt and the grief and the hole in the world where their loved ones used to be. 

And every time I see people celebrating the death of some stranger whose name and life is unknown to them, purely because they were at a certain place at a certain time, or they are assumed to be “one of those sorts of people”, I think about these deaths: lonely or in public, in fear or shock or the simple and chill acceptance that comes with realizing they will die.  I think about the conversations a medical examiner or a paramedic or a scene investigator has with those left behind.  I think about these lives, each unique, intricate, and gone.  I think about the tattoos that tell a story.  I think about the color of clouded-over eyes.  I think about the clothing they or someone else chose for them.  I think about text conversations, about emails and scribbled-down notes in handwriting so bad I can only make out a few words.  I think about all the things that they have done or could have done, all the paths they have walked and will never walk.

Working with death on such an intimate level is an incredibly humbling experience.  It makes me realize how small we all are, and yet also how vast.  How our lives and deaths spread out to touch so many others.   It’s why, with very few exceptions, I view all deaths as tragedies.  Yes, including the death of that nameless, faceless person you’re thinking about right now who was probably a member of some group you think deserves it.  Because lives can change.  Paths can change.  People can change, right up until everything stops.  Death is the one thing that guarantees a person will never change.  Maybe you think that because they might have been a part of a certain group, they are purely and simply Bad People, or that they must have done terrible things and their death is therefore somehow a good thing.  In your hypothetical world where this very real death can be used for moral clout and grandstanding.

But you don’t know who they were.  You don’t know what they did or who they left behind.  Death is never clean.  It is a fracture that goes through so many lives.  There are so few people in the world whose loss is a genuine net good.  Of course they exist, but I find that they are rare.  And I certainly can never assume that someone I don’t know, who was simply in a place at a time and may or may not be “one of those people”, whichever people are being discussed, would be so bad that their death should be celebrated, and that the pain of those left behind should, in turn, also be celebrated.  I think the world has more than enough casual cruelty without adding to it in that way. 

[luminesnake]

fork spotted in kitchen moment but depression fucks you up crazystyle

[eclecticopposition]

Got tagged in the 9 people you want to know better by @grand-magnificent and @podcastingpineapple (and have been named as one of the cool friends at the table people. indistinguishable from the people who have been here for way longer than us. we are actually thrilled)

Last song: Like Real People Do by Hozier. it came on as our first morning alarm yesterday

Currently watching: Nothing. We don't watch a lot of things. Am listening to Counter/Weight again. Looking for a mech anime to start.

Currently reading: Fucking Trans Women the zine, by Mira Bellwether. It's good. If you haven't read it you should read it.

Current obsession: Man good question. Variance (our own OCs), friends at the table (specifically palisade), meditation, and climbing trees? It doesn't feel like a full obsession in the usual sense we define it. There isn't a lot of joy or compulsion that we can act on without reservation. Unless you count the stuff you get with probably undiagnosed OCD-spectrum anxiety, in which case it's trying to be connected with the rest of our system and communicate sincerely and be mature and feeling like it's a live or die situation that defines our moral character when we do literally anything or have mean thoughts. (Working on it. Actually trying not to work on it 24/7 because that's an obsession thing.) Also our skin gets way more bumpy in the summer and our BFRB goes nuts. But once we get over the thought phobia, we'll probably go back to having classic obsessions and special interests. And then we'll probably have so many things to talk about.

tagging (if you want!!): let's get a mix of both social circles in here. fuck it. @aurochsent @beeeeeans @andromedasea @circuitousmoths @psiideaffect @mithridic @gretchenfinch @kira-serialfaggot @mosswolf

[lunarflare64]

Pmdd shouldn't fucking exist. That shit can go die. Piss off.

[dawnedon]

ive posted abt my goals for dawn for 2024 but my personal goals (for tumblr at least) is to try to be around a little bit more, be a little bit more active and involved and such which is like! easier said than done! last year was just such a rough time emotionally and i had a tough time in the rpc but im hopeful things will be better this year. i need to try letting go of some of that brutal anxiety otherwise im bound to feel stagnant bc of my own self/actions :') ik this is probably Relatable but i cant help but irrationally think that like. sending people asks/interacting with people's posts only makes them annoyed/think im annoying in the sense of like. 'OMG its her again can she just leave me alone!!' which in my heart i know isnt true because, if it was then like... why would i be mutuals with as many people as i am you know! just stupid brain moment, and an issue that i can only tackle by just ignoring those thoughts and putting such things into practice.....

that being said though. from jan 17th - jan 22nd ill be out of town bc me and my bf are going to vegas and im SO excited for it bc ive never been there!! and i havent left the state in general since like!!! 2018!!!!!!!

[pokemonruby]

ok so i had my first dentist appointment today in uhhhhhhhhhhh a long time and i apparently need something adjacent to a surgery (basically a heavy-duty cleaning since i have a lot of inflammation and it’s bordering on gum disease but it’s the early stages so! good thing i didn’t just let it fester or else it could’ve been a whole lot worse haha.) but also i ? apparently have a rare condition that effects less than 1% of the general population called a mesidoden which basically refers to an ungrown tooth lodged behind my two front teeth and according to them it’s completely harmless at the moment unless it ends up growing through but they said it’s unlikely so. that was fun i guess. a testament to how my family never really cared to get me check out for - anything medical-wise like i just had this and didn’t even realize. until today. two months before i hit my technical mid twenties. wow 

[sumi-sprite]

Yes, us Americans live in capitalistic dystopia...

But if you laugh at us for figuring out ways around these problems, then you CANNOT enjoy The Hunger Games or any other dystopian story as anything other than a comedy. If the horrible governing issues are only taken seriously in fiction and comedic in real life, maybe it's not just americans living in a dystopia.

These are $30 for one but stitches at the hospital are more expensive so this is pretty damn great

[eyrieofsynapses]

y'know, I'm chill with other people smoking/vaping/etc. it's absolutely not good for you, but bodily autonomy is a thing for a reason, we all only live once, some people find that it helps with other issues etc. etc. it's like doing just about anything that's bad for you, which is, you know, a lot of things. not getting enough sleep is bad. eating too much processed food is bad. hell, just sitting on our phones all the time is awful for us.

what absolutely pisses me off--what makes me want to shake people by the shoulders--is everyone who does it in an indoor space where others live without asking if it's okay. because here's the thing: when you smoke by yourself, you consent to all the stuff it'll do to you.

but. everyone else? did not consent to the culprit fucking up their body. it's the equivalent of punching them repeatedly in the jaw. except that is, at least, blatant, immediate pain. secondhand/thirdhand smoke and vape? that is fucking insidious. that's carcinogens, and chemicals that sit and build up inside your body, slowly but surely screwing you over. it may be decades until the consequences unfold. or it might only be a few months, if you're sensitive to it. might make everyone in the house feel sick within a day or two, if they're sensitive at all. and, of course, there's everyone with asthma and other chronic conditions for whom this becomes even worse, for whom it does not merely irritate but suffocates.

back when we didn't know how bad cigarettes could fuck us up--back then, there was an excuse. but now? now everyone knows what this shit does. hell, plenty of us have family members who died of lung cancer. so there is no excuse, now. now, you know you're hurting people when you do it, that every poisonous puff is worming its way oh so slowly into everyone else's cells, bodies, lungs, blood.

some people struggle with addiction. I'm not targeting that. sometimes you know how bad a thing is, and you do everything you can to stop, and you just can't. (doesn't make you less culpable--but it isn't all carelessness, at that point.) I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about all the damn generation Z people (my peers) I run into lately who display a ridiculous lack of caring for others' health. and you know, I'm just... impressed, really. at how anyone can justify that to themself. at how you could possibly call yourself a good person and still do that.

our generation grew up with endless, endless messages explaining exactly what cigarettes do to us, exactly why we needed to avoid secondhand smoke like the plague it is. I know kids of smokers who deal with the ramifications of it even now. how the hell, how the living bloody hell, could you possibly learn all of that, know people who went through that, and still justify exposing other people without a care in the damn world?

[wallabywannabe]

It has been a rough month for 100% physical reasons. I often blame a lot of physical symptoms on my mental health and I think it's often valid, but a sinus infection is not one of those things. I really really want my head to stop hurting.

[je-suis-problematique]

The CBD oil prescription can't come soon enough.

– Moony

[autumnoakes]

how in the hell am i meant to get anything done

[the-mycelium-collective]

We've got our period (our body is afab), and it's at its peak and I feel like throwing up and I've got camps and no heating pad. I won't be sleeping for quite a while.

Why am I fronting for this? I hate this so much