#cw for potential derealization

[benetnvsch]

Blocking ppl both makes me feel safer and yet skyrockets my paranoia

[steeltwigz]

My derealization is like. Almost Cartoonishly bad, I think. Like I'll walk through any location and it's All Liminal Spaces for me, (almost) all the time. Prolly why backrooms horror doesn't irk me. For me they're just the Normal Rooms!

[gleamingtempest]

DRDT - Final Murderer Predictions

Please share your final murderer prediction on this post. : ) Feel free to share theories as well. Below will be a list of potential murder motive for every remaining student. There are spoilers.

CW: Suicide, Derealization

It is an equal failing to trust everybody, and to trust no one at all.

Distrust is Teruko's folly. Teruko killed to protect herself from danger.

If you forgot it, then it probably wasn’t important to begin with. None of those memories should ever be kept, anyway.

Charles forgot. Charles killed so that he could learn the truth behind his secret & the trauma of the event caused him to forget the truth.

You can’t go back, no matter how hard you try.

Regret. Eden clings to a regret she has in the outside world, so tightly that she seeks release from the pressure of the Killing Game. She killed out of desperation.

Why should I own up for the mistakes that someone else made?

Nico hated the victim. Their resentment boiled over and they compulsively organized a murder for the victim.

I don’t know what to do with myself anymore.

Ace was terrified of dying so he killed in order to escape. Having seen his life flash before his eyes, he now clings to life more desperately than before.

I want to pay for what I’ve done. But even then, I still want to live.

Hu killed for the sake of living itself. A desperation to cling to something which has been fleeting for her entire life. She was given a reason to live by the killing game itself and she won't let go of it now that she finally has it.

Once something is broken, it can never be pieced together in quite the same way again. The same goes for people.

Veronika was bored. The killing game wasn't up to her entertainment standards, so she wanted to spice things up.

In the end, the only thing I can do is watch my wretched life go on.

Rose was exhausted. Her nightmares, memories, the present and the future all blended into one and Rose lost her sense of reality. Without even realizing what she was doing, Rose killed the victim.

Please don’t call me your daughter ever again.

J killed the victim for the sake of vengeance. This group threw & disregarded her problems, so why should she give a crap about them? She clearly doesn't matter to them.

You hated them, but even that doesn’t justify what you did.

Arturo killed the victim for personal vengeance. The victim slighted him so he wanted them to pay for what they'd done. That day should never have been remembered.

I always believed that a person is defined by their actions alone. But maybe that’s just a poor excuse for my heartlessness.

Levi killed for self preservation. Not bothered by the result one way or another, Levi saw killing to escape as the most practical solution to the Killing Game scenario. It was nothing personal.

We tend to idolize the dead.

Whit killed the victim. (???)

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I wish you could just die.

David killed the victim for his ideal. There's something which matters more than all of your lives; now - die for it.

[gin-xoxo]

𝔪𝔦𝔷𝔲 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔩𝔢

first actual writing post heh. constructive criticism appreciated very very much

CW: mention of nightmares and panic attacks

if mizu finds out she's in love with you, she'll be in shock! she'll hate herself for having a weak spot and denies it over and over and over to herself and other people, until she accepts it eventually. what she refuses to accept is that you'd love her back, or that you even like her platonically. even when you've told her over and over and over that you do, even if you LITERALLY FLIRT WITH HER CONSTANTLY. she can be an overthinker, and it takes a toll on her (and sometimes you), but she tries her best.

mizu has a hard time sleeping at night. it's too cold for her, most of the time. or she'll be lost in thought- her revenge? her past? her future? she can't find it in her to ask for you to come closer or hug her because she's scared of upsetting you, even if you'd be more than happy to cuddle her. maybe one night, if it gets especially bad, she'll spend a few minutes trying to ask. she can't find the right words. it's too strange a request. you'll get the message, right?

"(name?)"

"mhm?"

"..nevermind."

"okay."

mizu would take you with her everywhere. she's a vagabond, and you're her prized possession. she can't stand the thought of leaving you behind, unless where she's going would put you in danger.

"mizu, i'll be fine. don't-"

"no. you're going into madame kaji's with me. i don't want to leave you alone."

"….okay?"

mizu likes taking things from you. the little charms you put on your obi's strings didn't actually fall off. the clip or comb you used to put in your hair is hidden on her somewhere. anything of yours that she can get her hands on is hers. and she'll fidget with your stolen possessions when she's stressed- it helps her calm down.

"mizu, have you seen my-"

"hm? no." (it is literally in her hands)

mizu's mind has never been and will probably never be at rest. she thinks about the people she killed (excluding her potential dads) and wonders, "did they deserve it?" even if they did. she has nightmares about taigen and kohama and her mother and mikio and ringo leaving her. the poor girl always wakes up shaking with tears in her eyes- which is why she doesn't sleep. she has panic attacks after some of her kills. or thinking of them. mizu goes to great efforts to make sure nobody sees them. after all, she's calloused and cold. she doesn't cry. she doesn't hyperventilate and ball up or let fear and sadness capture her breath for minutes at a time. she doesn't sit there, gripping the fabric of her pants or the blankets or the dirt for some sort of stability while derealization takes over her senses, she doesn't scream for her mom or for swordfather out of pure terror knowing she can't fight it. she doesn't waver, right?

extra: @chatter-crow are you proud of me? :3

[risingscorchingsuns]

———————————————————————

Requiem of the Subconscious

[REK-wee-UM. An act or token of remembrance for the dead. From the Latin word requies, meaning ‘rest’.]

🪲

potential cw for derealization! dreamlike scenarios, shifting scenery, nightmares, etc. read with caution <3

———————————————————————

It was a perfect autumn afternoon.

It was one of those days where the weather was just sunny enough to be warm, but the breeze was cool enough to be pleasant, without getting too chilly. The clouds were fluffy and billowing across the pale blue sky, and the vast expanse of ancient trees that made up the Sumitomo Forest were painted in beautiful vibrant hues of crimson and gold, mixing and contrasting with the rich, eternal green of the pines and the deep, verdant moss. Fallen leaves cover the soft forest floor, overlaying the damp earth with a vibrant carpet of sunset. Sunbeams filter through the canopy above, dappling the world with molten light.

Nestled deep in the heart of these vast timeworn woods, was a small, welcoming wooden cabin. Though isolated within the trees, this little home was anything but empty.

Amidst the trees outside this home, laughter echoes through the trees. Leaves crunch and twigs snap as tiny feet tumble and patter across the forest floor, shrieking with joy as they play. Five young boys are playing together, of varying ages. The oldest is maybe twelve, the youngest about three. The children are clearly siblings, identifiable by their wild indigo hair and slightly lopsided smiles.

The second-oldest laughs, and flings a fistful of moss at a younger brother. The victim shrieks with mock rage and tackles him to the ground, the two of them squealing with joy and laughter. The second-youngest sits next to the toddler, the two of them studying a large beetle with rapt attention. Their father sits nearby, watching the five with a warm smile, his half-moon glasses reflecting the afternoon sunlight.

The oldest child laughs and runs with his brothers, filled with childlike wonder and energy. He slows to a stop, panting and grinning as he catches his breath. He looks up, and in a brief burst of sudden lucidity amidst his breathless laughter, is struck by the beauty of the moment. For a moment, the young boy is simply entranced, mesmerized by the world around him. He sees the beams of sunlight casting pools of warmth across the cool autumn forest, reflecting off his siblings’ indigo-dark hair. He sees the way the trees move in the wind, the way the forest seems to breathe. For just a moment, the young boy starts to comprehend the sheer interconnectedness of life.

And just like that, as soon as he realizes it, it’s gone again- another distant memory, a twinge of deja vu. A resounding echo that lingers in the back of dreams.

The young boy blinks, brushing his wild, dark hair out of his eyes. He stares into the distant woods for a moment, into the vast expanse of lush green and autumn. He blinks again. For a moment, he thinks he sees something staring back.

Malevolent golden eyes, framed by pale pink lashes, with deep blue sclera crackled like stained glass. Deep golden pupils that radiated bitter fury, etched with the number three.

The child calls out to the trees, asking the eyes to identify their owners. He turns around to alert his family, but as he turns his back, he realizes they’re gone. The small boy stands alone, quickly growing frantic. He looks up at the trees, but the ancient pillars of nature that had always guided and supported him now seemed so dark. Vast, towering, unfamiliar.

The boy starts to panic, calling for his father, his brothers, anybody. The forest around him is getting darker, the trees are getting bigger. Looming over him, caging him in. He begins to run, bare feet pounding against the moss, frantically trying to escape. A root snags his ankle, and he trips hard, plummeting into the unforgiving earth.

The child cries out with pain at the impact, suddenly aware of a stinging across the bridge of his nose, and the telltale warm wetness of blood running down his face. He whimpers softly, and looks up.

The forest is gone. No more trees, no dappled sunbeams, no vibrant autumn leaves. The world around him is now a frozen wasteland, with nothing but cold, unforgiving ice, gray and white and freezing as far as he can see. Wind bites harshly at his skin, causing his fingertips to go numb. As far as he can see, there is only cold, lifeless winter, devoid of color and devoid of mercy.

Gray and white and dead, except for the mound of frozen ice in front of him. A grave, though the boy isn’t sure how he knows that. Growing from the pile of ice and snow, the only splash of color in this merciless winter void, is a singular winter crocus. A stark vibrant purple, delicate petals holding resiliently in the storm.

The boy reaches out, grasping for the flower. He’s freezing, he can barely move, he feels like moving his limbs right now is the hardest thing he’s ever done. Like forcing his arms through syrup, the child reaches forward.

As his frozen-red fingers close around the petals, the world goes dark.

Hikaru Eritora sits bolt upright in his futon with a strangled gasp, clutching at his chest. His eyes are wild and unfocused, and he’s keenly aware of the sweat sticking his yukata to his skin. He gasps for breath, disoriented and terrified.

“Karu?”

The man sleeping next to him quickly sits up as well, rubbing sleep from his golden and crimson eyes. Looking at his lover with concern, Kyojuro Rengoku reaches out to cup Hikaru’s face, tenderly brushing his cheekbone with a calloused thumb.

“Are you alright, my flame? What’s happened?” he asks gently, voice still thick with sleep but laden with love and concern. “Another nightmare?”

Hikaru nods vaguely, still dazed and panting. He can feel his heart thundering against his ribcage, blood roaring in his ears. Kyojuro moves his hand from Hikaru’s face to rest bracingly on his forearm, grounding him to reality. He squeezes gently, comfortingly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kyojuro asks gently.

Hikaru shakes his head no, leaning tiredly into his lover. Kyojuro wraps his arms around him, and Hikaru lets out a shuddering sigh, his gemstone eyes still unfocused.

“I was just thinking of… home,” he murmurs.

“The only one I used to know.”

———————————————————————

hi guys leon here!! its 4am!!!!!!! i saw a post about childhood nostalgia, and then got really emotional about places you can never return to, and now it’s nearly 4:30 and I have no idea if this is good or not lmao 💀💀

I want to put some kind of prose here about how the past affects the present affects the future, but I’m very tired, and I’m afraid I’m out of words.

I wanted this little drabble to convey the sorta… hazy feeling of a dream, of a memory you can’t quite put your finger on. The way the world feels fuzzy around the edges, colors faded like an old photograph. I wanted it to feel like nostalgia. For Hikaru, it’s a longing for home that haunts him, a home he can never go back to.

[crvwly]

my good omens fics from silliest to most serious

let's be real, that's the only ranking system that matters

Fell's Flavourtown Festivities Rating: Mature Words: 5,526

Aziraphale looks at Crowley fondly as he continues. "Next, we have a Michelin-starred restaurateur, host of Hell's Kitchen and Kitchen Nightmares, and my personal friend, Chef Anthony Crowley!" human au: aziraphale is guy fieri and crowley is gordon ramsay. yes you read that right. no i will not explain myself

get up high Rating: Mature Words: 10,880 CW: cannabis smoking

Crowley snorts, flicking his joint, and Aziraphale’s eyes follow the ashes nervously, like he’s worried they’ll catch on something and ignite. “Can’t do it downtown,” Crowley says, shrugging. “Plus, I get a great view out here. Even if I get up high in London, it’s too bright to see the stars.” human au: neurodivergent stoner crowley, babey! meet-cute and fluff

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) Rating: Mature Words: 4,702 CW: male-presenting pregnancy, labour / childbirth

post not-pocalypse ineffable parents fic: TLC's "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" starring Aziraphale Fell and The Corporation That Didn't Get The Memo About Bodily Functions After The Not-Pocalypse i cannot remember what possessed me to write this. but i stand by it.

please bring it back home to me Rating: Mature Words: 13,462 CW: minor mentions of potentially memory-altering human illnesses (including mental illness and degenerative memory disorders) TW: content may be triggering for readers who experience derealization, depersonalization, and/or dissociation

It’s like the missing furniture. There’s a space in Crowley’s life where someone should be, but it’s empty. Maybe, wherever they went, they took Crowley with them. Maybe they left this empty, ravaged shell behind. post S2 fix-it, angst with a happy ending

these, our bodies, possessed by light Rating: Mature Words: 49,787 Chapters: 7/? CW: a ton of emotional angst, it's a tragic crowley backstory! TW: Archive warning applies - graphic depictions of violence

When observed with the naked eye, Alpha Centauri appears to be a single star — the third brightest light in the Earth’s sky, beaming like a lighthouse beacon behind a fog of nebulas. In actuality, Alpha Centauri is a binary system. Its two stars share an orbit so tight that they shine together as one. six thousand year slow burn in progress, extremely slowly updated WIP im so sorry lmfao. ft. blind crowley!

[bluenightcomedies]

❌this is Laceburner. something unusual recently occurred that i would like to talk about. this is put together by technically secondhand observation, so don't mind the odd tone. this is specifically plural/system-related. not sure if this counts but potential cw for derealization.

during the day, Sylverwynd and Blue had been experiencing constant dissociation, having memory gaps and zoning out. approximately 5pm, judging by the log, Blue, Sylverwynd, and Kal began blending on top of the dissociation, lending to a struggle to stay focused and Blue showing unusual behavior while fronting. at some point shortly after, Blue lost her sense of identity altogether mid-conversation and a seemingly new identity began trying to ground themselves, talking to fellow plurals we knew we could trust in an attempt to ground and identify themselves. they were unable to name themselves and instead identified using "i" and "me" in quotation marks, and describes that they felt like to quote "fragments glued together to make something that shouldn't exist". this state was apparently very distressing as they also mentioned crying, describing how disturbing and uncomfortable the experience was, and having urges to tear themself apart. they spent the entire time holding conversations and attending distractions in an attempt to avoid having a full panic attack or meltdown. around two hours later, i began fronting and found myself staring at these conversations and friends trying to comfort them. (I thank you for your help, those who spoke with this identity.) the eerie part is that there were faint memories of that duration, but as i tried to recall and piece them together, the memories faded until i could remember nothing but the conversation log i read through. as a friend of ours described, it was akin to waking from a dream and trying to write it down before it disappeared. it seems i got to witness what i believe was dissociative amnesia in real time, which was morbid yet fascinating. i'm writing this down not just because i find it curious, but also if it's possible i would like some outside explanation on what just happened.

one of the identity's grounding attempts was a vent doodle, so i'm sharing it as well;

[stair-case-the-wise]

Mini fic things. Cw/ might upset people who struggled with derealization, other then that I don't things there's anything else that potentially trigger anyone.

First person pov for effectB]

------

Monsters. They live in the head of children, most are make believe, stuffed into a thin wooden wardrobe once they grow out of the stage of believing in the unknown monster they lurk in the shadows waiting for them to belive in them again. I have learned in my 16 and a half years of living that no one believes In monsters forever. No one worries about them lurking in dark at night, no one screams and cry at a strange shadow in their room, or when something moves out of place... At least they shouldn't, logically they shouldn't be afraid. And nither should I, but when I see a glimpse a figure behind me I still jump turning around quickly to find nothing there thinking its only my imagination continueing on with my life as it was until I hear faint footsteps slowly approaching my bedroom I can't help but let my heart raise, i cant stop it from thrubbing against my ribcage and I can't help the way my hands sweat and shake, i cant help when my mind starts to race for answers after something (or someone) starts scratch at the wooden door. "Maybe it was the dog?" I say to myself. "Yeah.. that's right, it was the dog. It has to be.. he just wants new food or some treats." But when I check to see if Walter was sat infront of the door pawing at it and i open it to find nothing there I can help but worry, shake and let a chill run up my spine. "Maybe he went away? Got bored or inpatient and went to my mother to bother her with it instead?" Logically I knew that had to be true but I couldn't stop my mind from racing once again, my stomach fumbling as i thought of other possibilities. It was fine. It was going to be alright. I closed my door and walked back to my bed, the mattress dipping as I sat on the edge. I shook my head and ran my hand through my blond hair. "It's fine tommy" I whispered to myself. "You're fine-" I stoped talking when I heard the sound again, this time louder and more aggressive. It was the scratching again. And it went on and on, the clawing sound never halting. Sweat collected on the back of my neck as I watched the door waiting for something to come through that door, to let its self in, to attack and claw and scratch its way through. I lifted my hand to my neck and wiped the sweat away. I swallowed sharply before I stood. I paused and watched the door, the sound only got louder and more intense. I took one step. It got louder. I took another. It got louder. I took another, and another. It got louder and louder. I took another and another and another. It got louder and louder and louder. I reached the door and the sound was so unbearable I wanted to claw and scratch at my own ears. I wanted it to stop but it didn't! It only got louder. And louder. And louder, it got faster and faster. I needed to open the door I needed to get rid of the monster. I need the sound to just. Stop. I took one last step and slammed the door open. My eye go wide and my shoulders slump. There was nothing there. The door didn't have a srach or claw more on it. The paint was smooth. It wasn't there the monster wasn't really there.

[absalbr]

Art in header credit. Header temp credit. Banner temp credit. IC banner temp credit.

-— First and foremost, I don't own any concept of the Backroom universe. It's a fun concept to play around with an inject my own ideas into, etc. Absal is, however, fully my creation. Their 'fc' is Danger the EDM persona simply because that's the closest tangible thing I have for them right now.

— Note this is an activity upon demand blog. Meaning as long as there's a demand for this character, there will be activity. I'm not going to be seeking out people to follow or write with or sinking too much time into networking.

— General TW for this blog are the typical ones found with content concerning the Backrooms or general weirdcore shit. Derealization, disturbing imagery, death, gore, etc. Because of these themes and because this is attached to my main blog, I likely will not be entertaining interaction with muses or muns under 21+

— Abby's pronouns are purely they/them or it/it's ic and ooc, please. They also will not likely share their true name or nickname with your muse initially so feel free to come up with whatever silly nickname you want. :)

— Also TW for fucky audio and flashing. Flashing imagery will always be tagged with cw flashing. In terms of the audio, many of the songs on their playlist are glitch and noise.

— I will soft-block if I don't see us being able to interact or, usually, if I think this blog will have triggers that align with your own. Please don't take it personally. Here's a pretty detailed list of potential triggering content you might find here.

— Note that I prefer to have Abby exist within the Backrooms. Though there are 'canon' LEVELS, it's to be noted you can make up just about anything. I encourage partners to go ham and cultivate their own fucky setting.

-— I also encourage ask blog-esque interactions from anons. :) Just don't be weird please!

— I will play Abby outside of their home turf to be more accessible to partners , but they are always going to be some sort of fucked up and incomprehensible creature of unknown origin.

— A lot of my inspo comes from general weirdcore/dreamcore, J*ck Strauber, _boisvert, Bread Man, OFF, General analog horror, Joey Val*nce & Brae, j*rma985, and more if you're looking to catch a vibe.

[avampirescholar]

[mrsandmanbrings]

Welcome💫

☁️ You have entered the domain of the Sandman, a home to all dreamers who seek it. Come and rest a while

☁️ Hello, friends, and welcome to my realm. I’m your own personal sandman and dreamer, here to share this special space with you in the waking world. Here I will bring you poetry/rambles, musings on the different Sandman myths, dream related posts, story-based posts, aesthetic posts, etc. Please, make yourself comfortable

(cw for potentially dark themes such of derealization, death, or occasional body horror due to dreamcore and dark academia related content. All content will be tagged, or otherwise open to tagging. Proceed at your own discretion)

☁️ Blog Rules:

LGBTQIA+ safe space; exclusionists dni

no racism, ableism, xenophobia, proshipping, etc.

general courtesy always applies please be respectful to everyone

no follow-back policy, please do not ask

feel free to message through this blog or admin’s blog, but please respect the admin’s right to decline requests

this blog is just for fun and may be incorrect sometimes; admin is trying their best and is always open to constructive criticism

Find the Tag Guide here

For information pages please visit the Library

(Additional information may be listed here once they’re posted, please check back for updates)

Until next time...

sweet dreams everyone 🌙 🌌

[thelaundryghost]

An Introduction to Yourself

lil thoughts about symbols i like related to myself :]

CW: Death mentions, general sad things, derealization (perhaps?)

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if you choke to death but theres no one around, did you really even die? is it still real?

maybe itd be nice to freeze to death; dying warm and content, held in the arms of snow.

youre nothing and everything and all you feel like is the absence of a person.

youve destroyed yourself for a false idea of freedom and now everything that you used to be is rotting, sloughing off your bones in strings.

art is your one passion and its being let from your veins like blood. youre dying and it doesnt matter.

you cannot control your life. your nails will break and the corners will be sharp and you will file them down.

you will never get what you want. you will never get to be the watcher, only the watched. you want to be scary but instead you are terrified.

you are the center of your little world because you are yourself and thats how you see everything. is it a world if you feel alone?

you have the urge to set fire and spark and put your hand in that pot of boiling water. you cant control yourself, can you? youre filled with stupidity and the desperate need to be warm.

in the familiar, homely dark, youre nothing but a scared little kid. go to sleep. your eyes may shine but you will never be the dark you still feel scared of sometimes, deep in the night.

you dont feel relief. but you scratch anyways. maybe someone will see it then. maybe someone will see your poison.

what is your life but the slow pull of time back into the past and the ruin of the potential future?

[ojibwa]

[n3crobabes]

FEEL SO CLEAN LIKE A MONEY MACHINE ✨✨

.

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.

[synchlora]

hm I am Thinking abt ranboos lore stream again and hhhhhhhh

the panic room and prison cell both being small obsidian rooms.. the prison falling apart at the end of the stream.....

what if ranboo wakes up in a destroyed panic room after all this???