a chemical love story

the worst thing is when you have a song stuck in your head but you only know one line

“Use them with care, and use them with respect as to the transformations they can achieve, and you have an extraordinary research tool. Go banging about with a psychedelic drug for a Saturday night turn-on, and you can get into a really bad place, psychologically. Know what you’re using, decide just why you’re using it, and you can have a rich experience. They’re not addictive, and they’re certainly not escapist, either, but they’re exceptionally valuable tools for understanding the human mind, and how it works.” 

― Alexander Shulgin, Pihkal: A Chemical Love Story

This one has a story.

I don’t get to see many concerts and if I wanted to I would have to travel internationally for it, which is why I missed the concert he signed this at.

I have the nicest friend I could ever ask for.

He went to the concert and he was only allowed to have one signature and security was there to prevent him from getting more. He somehow managed to tell Frank about me without the security noticing.

Frank totally rebelled against all the rules, signed this second piece as well for me and not only that, but he placed a cute little heart beside it as well, sending his love. It’s on a postcard of parachutes that he also gave as a gift. It only reached me now after months but I couldn’t be happier.

I hope that this story made you see the love that is still in this world.

The hardest part of this, is leaving you…
—  My Chemical Romance “Cancer”

I remember when I first watched Life On The Murder Scene my mom was in the room and it was during the part when they were talking about how they’re from Jersey and she was like “wait. Way? MICHAEL Way? GIVE ME A MINUTE!” and sprints out of the room and comes back in with her High School yearbook and long story short my mom and aunt went to high school with Mikey Way

Between Wayhaught and Sanvers it’s become so clear that I am done, so very done, with tempest and angst. I am done with epic level drama. I am done with star crossed lovers and twilight. I am done with pain and pining. I am done with love as a fucking battlefield leaving scars or maiming.

To be fair I might never truly have been into any of that shit, but that was all I was handed. Because love between women is supposed to hurt, according to the narrative we’ve grown up with.

But now, now that we’re getting pairings like these, how could I go back?

Give me caring women in love with each other. Give me gentle development and fluff. Give me a love story where love is not replaced by the flash of passion, but is just another aspect of it. Give me a love story that is not second-degree chemical burns, but instead is that nice electric blanket and a cup of tea. Give me gentle, give me caring, give me intimacy.

Give me more of this please.


6x01: The Memory of Damon

6x02: Until It Ends, There Is No End

6x03: Grocery Stores And Swimming Holes

6x04: Damon Is Everything

6x05: One Hell Of A Homecoming

6x06: Bourbon Required

6x07: To Optimism

6x08: You Can’t Hang On And You Can’t Let Go

6x09: Lights Will Guide You Home

6x10 A Not-So-Merry Christmas

6x11 Breaking Free

6x12 Days Of Our Lives

6x13 Dying To Live

6x14 Do Not Resuscitate 

6x15 Into The Dark

6x16 I’ve Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth

6x17 How I Met Your Mother

6x18 I Could Make You Happy

6x19 Thinking Out Loud

6x20 If You’re A Bird…

6x21 Better Homes and Gardens

6x22 Wake Me Up

8x03 The Way We Get By

8x09 All I Need

8x16 Plav Crack The Sky


Other Meta:

Here are most of my posts that matter the most to me…

Love Speaks

5.23.09 (A Delena Meta)

Damon’s Evolution and Influence on Elena

Promises In The Rain

And you made him feel human…

One episode makes everything more meaningful

The Damon Box

Elena’s future

Delena + Letting Go

Unheard Goodbyes 

This is it

Delena’s Undying Love

Orange Is The New Black describing Delena

Delena In Love

A small foreshadowing

Elena experienced what Damon never wanted to

It’s Always Been Delena (A Promo Pic Love Story)

What was that for?

Delena: More Than Chemical

Delena’s love is Eternal

Delena Meta Love Month

A Delena July

Head Canons:

If Kai Never Came

Delena’s last scene

I'm suppose to be avoiding you

Ever Thought Of Calling When You Had A Few

Hic Et Nunc

What I’d Give



Delena Colours

Delena Per Episode


SHE was beautiful. Every part of her defined beauty. The way she appropriately dressed, and her taste in music. The way she believed that she wasn’t beautiful even if everyone contradicted her because she wasn’t full of herself. HE was also beautiful, but in a different way, he had the face of an angel, but the heart of a fiend, nonetheless, they balanced each other out, what a beautiful dysfunctional couple…
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write.

[Here is my first little surprise. Now, it is important that you all read this: This fic is my take on Harley Quinn’s origin story. Now I have taken elements from the animated series and I kind of framed the characters around the SS versions of Harley and Mister J. I also just made a lot up (of course) with the help of a friend who brainstorms with me, she is in every way the brains behind this operation as well, I tried to make it as realistic as possible and at the end of most of the fics I will kind of explain/justify my choices if anyone is interested. If you don’t like it, well shit, if you do, fantastic. Xoxo, Doc]

            I woke up at 6am, sliding my finger across my phone screen to shut off the alarm. I’ll admit I was excited and perhaps a little apprehensive but excited none the less. I had been anticipating this day for months as staff from the asylum, police officers, and military professionals tried to prepare me for one of the biggest if not the biggest moment of my career. 
           I spent seven years at an Ivy League university to get my PHD in psychology, forced my way up, and fought to create a name for myself. I had treated many patients, my work had been published, and I had conducted seminars, and buried myself in research all for an opportunity like this one. 
          My colleagues thought I was stupid to take the job, for one hour, one day a week at 10am sharp I would travel to the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane and analyse one of Gotham’s most notorious criminal: The Joker. My colleagues thought it was a waste of time, why try to fix or understand an un-fixable and insane man? They kept asking me. Call it naive, but I didn’t believe that, I believed everyone could be saved in some way; they just had to want it. I wasn’t a fool either, despite what most people thought. They don’t give a damn about my publications, my PHD’s, or my work with The Riddler. All they see is the blonde and the boobs, and the naivety… but I know my value. I know I am damn good at what I do, and again, I am no fool. I know what The Joker has done, he is a murderer, an arsonist, a terrorist, and that is only a vague and shortened list of his crimes. He had been deemed criminally insane, and I, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, his last chance at redemption.
          Many psychologists had tried, most quitting, others going completely insane. The most notable case was in regards to Doctor Iobard Shrike. He had had a similar opportunity with The Joker three years ago but it did not end well. Four sessions, that’s all it took for Iobard to decide to set his house on fire with his pregnant wife trapped inside, rob a bank, and then shoot himself whilst surrounded by the police. No one knew what The Joker had said to him, Shrike had burned his tapes and his notes to make sure of it. It took me weeks just to convince all parties to keep the cameras off to gain the patients trust, under the condition that once my time with him was done (however long or short that may be) I would surrender a copy of my files to the police and undergo a thirty minute debrief/psychological evaluation after every session.
         Getting out of bed I showered and dressed for the big day. 

           It took me an hour to get through security and again to listen to what I had already been briefed on but I didn’t complain, I was too focused, too excited, too nervous. Once I was in the room I pulled out my notebook and his rather thick file. Having the file out was more of a formality though, I knew that file back to front. I must have straightened and re-straightened the file a dozen times; strumming my fingernails on the cool metal table, practically buzzing with the anticipation of it all, and then he entered the room. He did not disappoint, he laughed, actually, as the guard roughly shoved him into his seat. 
            Bound in a straitjacket, his teeth had been fixed with silver, his hair was the most vibrant green I had ever seen, his skin was pale, lips rouged, and his eyes… there was something indescribable about his eyes. I wrote notes about his appearance, mentally noting the irony of the ‘Damaged’ tattoo on his forehead. I turned my recorder on. 
            “Well aren’t you a dream,” he purred, before laughing again. 
            I pushed my glasses up with my forefinger. “Mister… J, my name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel, I will be seeing you for one hour, once a week from now on.”
            “Is that right? Is that right, Doc?” He laughed lightly.
            As cliché as this first meeting would start out, I felt like it had to be done.
            “So, how are you today, Mister J?” I asked. 
            He looked down at himself, “A little tied up, but other than that, just swell,” he said in a half mocking tone.
            I powered on, flipping through his file without needing to look. He just stared at me, he rolled his head cracking his neck and extending it. I wrote down that it may be a telling tick of some sort, or perhaps his bindings were simply uncomfortable. 
            “So, Mister J, you have been deemed clinically insane,”
            “Well shucks,” I ignored him.
            “You’re in here for murder, theft, arson; you have more crimes under your belt than most.” 
            “Just makin’ a living,” he purred. 
           I arched a brow, “Okay, your most recent endeavour resulted in an Italian mobster being tortured for five days, why? You call that making a living?” 
           “He didn’t laugh at my joke.”
           “And you think that’s justified?” I asked.
           He leaned back in his seat, “Do you think it’s justified?”
           “I want to talk about you.” 
           “But think you are so much more interesting.”
           Licking my lips I clasped my hands together on the table, “Mister J, do you think it was justified?” I repeated patiently. 
           He groaned a loud, long, and obnoxious groan that annoyed me slightly and he rolled his neck. 
           “Mister J-” 
           “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Tell me, did your mommy and daddy read to you growing up?”
           I shifted in my seat, “Mister J I want to talk about-”
           “Tell me if you know this one. Little Miss Muffet, she sat on a tuffet-”
           “Eating her curds and whey;
            There came a great spider; 
            Who sat down beside her,” 
           He stared at me in a way that made my blood run cold, “And frightened Little Miss Muffet away.”
           I cleared my throat before resuming, “Mister J I think we should utilise the time we have left-”
           He smacked his head hard on the table and I jumped. “Little Miss Doctor,” Another bang of his head and I began to panic. 
           “Please stop!”
           “Was off her rocker,” BANG.
           “Thinking she could save the day,” his voice rose with each line, and blood dripped down his forehead.
           “Then came The Joker!” BANG. The guards burst into the room, grabbing him as he struggled. 
           “Who wanted to choke her,” his eyes burned me as he was yanked from the room. I could hear his laugh as he yelled the last line of his sick poem, “And frightened Little Miss Quinzel away!” More laughter before it died off in the distance.
           I must have stared at the blood on the table for several minutes, scarcely breathing before I was able to pack up my things and leave. 


           Bolting upright in bed I was drenched in sweat and I could still feel his eyes on me, I could still hear his dying laughter. Turning my lamp on my Chiappa Rhino 60DS was aimed at the silhouette by the window in seconds. 
           “I’m not here to hurt you, Doctor Quinzel,” The Bat said in a deep gravelly voice.
           “No, you’re just here to break and enter, not very classy.”
            He ignored this and I lowered my gun, I couldn’t see his face but I knew he was looking at it. 
           “It’s registered, it’s a dangerous city we live in,” I said, not that I owed him an explanation.
           “That’s why I am here, to protect this city, to protect people like you, to make it better.” 
           I gave him a look, “I can take care of myself, now may I ask why you are here?” 
           Just because he was Batman it didn’t give him the right to break into people’s houses whenever it pleased him. 
           “I wanted to ensure you were okay, The Joker, he’s tricky. He is manipulative, and I just don’t want him to use y-”
           I let out an indignant laugh, “You’ve broken in to offend me by insulting my intelligence and capabilities as a psychiatrist?”
           “I meant no offence,” he said quickly. “I’m just saying he is a lunatic, a psychopath, many have tried and failed to ‘help’ him. He has a way of breaking people and as a woman-”
           I clenched my fists. I was so tired of people like Batman, The Joker, and my colleagues thinking that I did not have what it takes. They reduced me to my sex and they only saw what they wanted to see, everyone always did.
           “Look Batsy,” I cut him off, “If you have issues with my sex or intelligence I’d be happy to show you my degrees, or the door. I’m a professional; this is what I do for a living. I understand The Joker is a dangerous man; I have dealt with many like him. Thank you for your concern but please leave.”
           He was silent for a moment before he gritted out quickly “Keep your guard up, you don’t want to end up like Shrike, keep him out of your head.” 
           And then he was gone, back to whatever cave he crawled out of. I couldn’t help but wonder if The Joker was already in my head. All I could hear, echoing in the recesses of my mind was his voice as he recited the last line of the poem, And frightened Little Miss Quinzel away!
Almost, Mister J, but I’m going to prove him wrong. I don’t give up that easily even though I was kind of rattled, I can take it. I knew what I was getting myself into, and unlike Iobard Shrike, I was going to last damn longer than four days. The joke will be on The Joker this time. He only made me more determined to help him today. Thinking about the look on his face when he saw me at our next session made me smile, but an awful sense of foreboding washed over me as well. As I slowly began to fall asleep his shocking antics invaded my dreams once again.

(That is it for chapter one. The reason we made Mister J have a violent outburst instead of immediately laying it thick on the charm, is because we figured he has been through this too many times. He wanted to test her, he wanted to see if she can handle him and it was kind of a scare tactic to weed out the weak if that makes sense.)

You are, and always will be, my favorite memory…
—  10 word story
Her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, No matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him.
—  F. Scott Fitzgerald

Magic Mushrooms, Weed, XTC, hash, 4-AcO-DMT, 4-HO-MET, LSD, 2C-E, Hydromorphone, Ketamine

Buy PIHKAL: A Chemical Love Story by Alexander Shulgin


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