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THE ghostlock scene of all time. walking towards that empty grave.... what if that stressed me out too?

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[id: two fanarts of Lucy Carlyle and the Skull from Lockwood and Co books. in the first one Lucy’s holding a silver-glass jar in front of her at an eye level, her head is tilted as she's looking at it. Skull's jar emits light, it washes over Lucy's hands and face. the second one is Skull's point of view of the previous image, he's standing in front of Lucy, who's silhouette is pure light, her hands extended to seem to hold his face. he hesitantly reaches out with his hand to her face. both drawings copy the style of an ink drawing./end id]

you were the last light bringing the night quiet

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I got the nicest comment on my latest work! It was a big fandom so I didn't think anyone would see it, but it's actually doing really well! (compared to what my stuff usually does lol)

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Castle by Oliver Ryan

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We've seen Luke and Steven and Leigh in your Haunting of Hill House wip, do Theo and Shirley make any appearances? I really loved the snippet you shared with Luke finding Steven in the kitchen, I loved seeing their relationship. I think it's such a great idea to expand more on Steven's relationship with his other siblings. (I really love everything I've read from your wip and it's been on my mind recently)

Oh boy, do they. Shirley less so because I don't like her as much as the others, but I'm willing to accept that's likely because she plays the role extremely well and it's a little to close to real life people I know that are UnFun. But yes, Shirley and Theo are a large part of the plot, and it generally is a Found Family story in the sense that they have been lost to each other for quite awhile, and the story is them reconnecting and becoming an actual family again - this story essentially fills in the gaps between the final scene where everyone is happy and having moved on (Luke, 2 years sober; Steven and Leigh expecting; Shirley still married; and Theo engaged/married). Mostly because Found Family is trope you will pry from my cold, dead hands (which is hilarious given this is a ghost story). Annnnnnnnnyway. Onwards to the snippet:

“You know what always pissed me off about that last night? And how dad refused to tell us anything?” Steven asked quietly. He leaned back against the sofa, resting his head against it so that he stared straight up at the ceiling.

“Besides everything?” Theo asked.

“That we could guess anyway.” Steven absently twisted the glass in his hand. “If you took all the pieces from that night and saw them for what they were, we could figure it out on our own. He wasn’t protecting us from shit, except a definitive answer from a goddamn adult.”

Luke shot a worried glance to Theo, but his middle sister didn’t say anything. Shirley, on the other hand and as per usual, had something to add.

“Yeah, Steve?” she pushed, needling in that way only she could. “And what exactly is that? How did you manage to solve the mystery of the Crain family when no one else could?”

Steven didn’t move, and Luke found himself looking at the same spot in the ceiling his older brother fixated on, trying to figure out what was so interesting, even if he half expected a ‘made you look!’ joke.

“I listened to you. To Nellie, and to Luke. We had all the pieces. We just…didn’t look. Not really. Maybe because we just didn’t want to know. Not for sure. But when you take away the imaginary parts - the ghosts and the tea party and all the little kid stuff - what does the story tell you?”

Shirley scoffed quietly. “You never listened to me.”

“Just because I don’t listen doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention,” Steven admitted, and finally he pulls his head up with herculean effort, and for the first time, Luke sees parts of Hugh there. Steven looks older, wearier. That same weight that always seemed to be pressing down on their father had settled on his brother, and Luke worries how much more Steven can carry. “You said Mom never left. She didn’t go see Aunt Janet. You came down for food that night, and you saw her in the kitchen with the tea set. It’s strange, sure. But not menacing, not by itself. So something you saw, something in the way she behaved, made you run for Dad. You were twelve and weren’t exactly what I would call imaginative.”

Shirley bristled at that. “I had an imagination.”

Theo shot her a glare. “You wouldn’t play pretend with Nell ever, and you kept trying to pawn her off on me every time she asked about having a tea party.” She didn’t mention that Shirley continued to pawn off her siblings on Steven, or even each other, well into adulthood.

“I’m not complaining about it, I’m just saying - you weren’t the type to overreact. You didn’t scare easily from imaginary things. And still, something about Mom made you afraid.” Steven glanced over at Theo before letting his gaze slide back to his own hands. “Then, according to Theo, she runs into Dad on his way out of the house, and he has both Nellie and Luke with him, and he orders you out to the car because he has to come get me and you. But not Mom. When Dad came and got me, he made me promise not to open my eyes, and he carried me out of the house. He didn’t walk, he ran, and he didn’t put me down again until we were almost at the bottom of the stairs. We got in the car, the girls were crying, Luke was screaming about Abigail, and Dad took off. He didn’t look back, he didn’t turn around, he didn’t stop until we were at the motel. And all he told us was that’s not Mom. Luke said Mom looked hurt - that they were having a tea party with Mom and Abigail in the Red Room, and Mom fell. And do you remember what Nellie said?”

“’That wasn’t Mommy’,” Theo supplied. She’d almost forgotten that conversation in the motel. It seemed more like a dream than an actual memory. Or maybe nightmare was the better word.

“So, break that down and we have,” Steven said, raising a finger with each point, “Mom acting so bizarrely even Shirley noticed. That six year old Nellie and Luke noticed. Mom did something so bad that Dad had to get us away from her, and for him to not even think about bringing her with us when we left. That something had to do with a tea party with Nellie and Luke and…and Abigail. And that something had to be so bad that Dad reacted in violence. Something bad enough, Mom couldn’t live with herself afterward. Put it together and, with what the prosecution accused Dad of, you can guess well enough.”

“Which is?” Shirley prompted.

“They call it ‘filicide’- when a parent murders a child,” Steven continued, his voice still in that same flat, monotone. “Parents are responsible for sixty one percent of children’s death under the age of five. Sixty one percent, Shirl. Seventy two percent at six and under. So, yeah. When you ask me which version I believed - Mom was killed by a haunted house, or Mom’s mental health was allowed to deteriorate so far that it took her trying to kill our siblings before anyone took it seriously - of course I thought the second one, because it happens to other people. It wasn’t just us. Or Mom.”

Well…fuck.

I really must finish this. It's been like...75% finished for ages, but I don't really know how to end it, so it just sort of flounders in WIP Land without a destination. So - if you have suggestions, or thoughts, you can always either shoot me an ask or a DM. I am always down to discuss this show.

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I just love painting the sea, I wanna do just that until I find a new thing to obsess over

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I was jamming to my music and then my speaker in the other room turned on and stole it :(

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That's how they do that

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12 monkeys x i know the end

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“We’re in a fanfic drought” Tell the writers you like their work.

“All Tumblr ever does is write oneshots now” Tell the writers that you’d love to see them write longer things.

“Nobody updates their fics anymore” Tell the writers you love the fic and want to see more of it.

Tell the writers.

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truly some people have no genre savviness whatsoever. A girl came back from the dead the other day and fresh out of the grave she laughed and laughed and lay down on the grass nearby to watch the sky, dirt still under her nails. I asked her if she’s sad about anything and she asked me why she should be. I asked her if she’s perhaps worried she’s a shadow of who she used to be and she said that if she is a shadow she is a joyous one, and anyway whoever she was she is her, now, and that’s enough. I inquired about revenge, about unfinished business, about what had filled her with the incessant need to claw her way out from beneath but she just said she’s here to live. I told her about ghosts, about zombies, tried to explain to her how her options lie between horror and tragedy but she just said if those are the stories meant for her then she’ll make another one. I said “isn’t it terribly lonely how in your triumph over death nobody was here to greet you?” and she just looked at me funny and said “what do you mean? The whole world was here, waiting”. Some people, I tell you.

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WRITE IT ANYWAY!!! EVEN IF YOU DONT THINK YOURE GOOD ENOUGH!!! WRITE!!! IT!!!! ANYWAY!!!!!!!

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hey, did you know that the world is a better place because of your creations and art and writing, no matter how niche or how many people see it

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I posted a new fic late last night and am pulling unprecedented numbers

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I posted my second work of 2025! My passion for writing is making a comeback

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Connor