#ill put both JIC

[sparklefurever]

https://www.deviantart.com/whiteliolynx/art/Playful-80222509

(c) whiteliolynx, 2008

[milos-art]

:^(

[phocids]

having older pets and going to college thousands of miles away. erm. sucks

[vickyvicarious]

(In order to not derail op's thread, and jic they've not finished reading the books, hope this is ok) The madness/mental illness discussion between Laura and Jonathan made me think about the in-between of Jonathan leaving the hospital and then being validated!

One thing is, pre-Hawkins death, Mina states to Lucy that Jonathan has been working hard, but that he is weak still and placid, and also that he has nightmares. It tells on them both, because Mina cannot get a full night's sleep due to him waking up screaming and she needs to soothe him. Journal aside, Mina says she is so worried about his nerves that she doesn't communicate with him about how tired she is herself. It reminds me of Walter wanting to protect Laura from distress.

Post-Hawkins death, Jonathan gets worse. "He says the amount of responsibility which it puts upon him makes him nervous. He begins to doubt himself. I try to cheer him up, and my belief in him helps him to have a belief in himself. But it is here that the grave shock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his—a nature which enabled him by our dear, good friend’s aid to rise from clerk to master in a few years—should be so injured that the very essence of its strength is gone."

Not a very traditionally ''manful'' picture, but Mina never goes there. Still, he throws himself into work. Mina says her belief in him helps Jonathan believe in himself. Maybe Laura would have benefited from being believed in.

What prompts Walter to do something drastic is when Laura weeps in her sleep. What prompts Mina to break the seal later is when Jonathan faints in public and loses the memory of it.

The way Mina treats Lucy and Jonathan in illness seems equal. She keeps their secrets upon their request too. Walter and Mina take similar active roles for their spouses, though Mina isn't necessarily masculine for it.

An interesting imho comparison could also be when Mina chooses to consult Van Helsing while Jonathan is away for his first work trip and how they communicate throughout it, and Walter with the sisters.

Aside, when she asks Van Helsing to help Jonathan, he says, "I promise you that I will gladly do all for him that I can—all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happy one." Van Helsing promises to make his life manly, though Mina had asked to make him "well again". So he kind of made it about gender, though it wasn't for Mina.

(I also wonder if we can call Jonathan ''cured'' really, as he doesn't actually return to his former self, but it'd get too long!)

(Tagging @animate-mush because the WIW substack has ended now, hopefully you're all caught up... but regardless no spoilers past where we were last week.)

Anon, you sum up my thoughts incredibly well: "Maybe Laura would have benefited from being believed in."

I think that is perhaps the most major difference between the recovery period for the two of them. Because while they both have remarkably similar symptoms, and both their spouses hide stuff from them for a while... when things come to a head Mina chooses to believe in Jonathan. Not just in supporting him as he goes back to work (which you're right, he has little choice about doing - an external gendered element there, where societal pressures/norms mean Jonathan kind of has to get to work and Laura is never expected to at all); Mina trusts Jonathan with information, with an important role in what follows.

There's obvious contextual differences. Jonathan knew he could access his lost memories and explicitly didn't want to unless it was necessary. He put the power to decide that in Mina's hands (and it was his request but still her choice to share in his ignorance until she needed more information). When she reads his journal, she's trying to better help him within parameters they have both agreed to. When she eventually tells him everything is true, she's trusting that this will be validating for him and help him heal, help him be more "well again" (though you're right both that he never returns to his former self, and that Van Helsing is the only one who brings gender into it with his assumption that Mina's looking to make Jonathan more manly).

Laura never had an equivalent - both in terms of a discussion with the ones leaving her out for the sake of her mental health, and in the sense of some record she knows she can fall back on. She didn't have a hidden journal when she was being drugged or in the asylum. Most of the information Walter and Marian gather is from other people.

I think there is a period where both Jonathan and Laura have information hidden from them for their own sake. And I don't think that was inherently wrong or anything; in fact I think it was somewhat needed. Jonathan got the chance to explicitly ask for that period of ignorance. We don't quite have any such dialogue from Laura, but the narration still tells us that there were certain topics that were very confusing to her or which she didn't like to linger on (and her experience with Mr. Fairlie even after getting out of the asylum can't have helped), and there's that scene where she says she will "try to get better", showing recognition of how unwell she currently is. I think they both need this time to focus on recovering, and their spouses/loved ones want to support them so they can do so. Again, the societal gender role divides them here: Jonathan has to work and in fact has to take on new/more challenging work, while Laura doesn't and can devote more time to rest and recovery. There's benefits and drawbacks to both of those, in my mind. Jonathan got support from Mina and reassurance that she (and Mr. Hawkins) believed in him, which was helpful. On the other hand, it stressed him out more and he was still suffering from his nightmares, etc. Laura got more time to take it easy without having other stress added on, which was helpful. But on the other hand, she didn't get the same level of trust and belief in her ability to, if not 'return to normal,' at least to be productive and helpful in some way.

Yeah, I'm talking about her drawings. I think that is where the big divide comes. Because when she wants to contribute and help with the household, Walter decides to lie to her and play-act that she is bringing in money. I get that he's trying to avoid letting her stress over money, but it feels so condescending. He's treating her like a child rather than being honest with her - right after she asks him not to treat her like a child. Maybe being honest would just be telling her that she's not well enough to work/that it wouldn't be safe, and that he has the money handled. Maybe they'd come up with some other way she could chip in. At least she'd be involved in the discussion as she clearly wanted to be. And while I don't think she would be involved in the hunting down different accounts or confrontations that follow at the end of the book any more than Marian was, I think they should have told her what was going on. That doesn't necessarily mean giving her all the nitty gritties especially if they're triggering to her; but giving her the chance to speak for herself, to add her thoughts, even to ask to be left out if she thinks she can't handle it. She never gets that. There's no reevaluation later on.

Both Jonathan and Laura were denied validation in a way that made them doubt their sanity. Jonathan's experiences were supernatural and he fears he lost his mind. Laura was lied to and gaslit about her own identity, outright told she was suffering from delusions. Revealing that the supernatural things he remember are real was validating for Jonathan in itself, even as he still had all the accompanying trauma. Laura's (official/public) validation isn't possible until after the villains are defeated and everything is over, which in a sense stretches out that middle period. Similarly, Jonathan getting the information leads right into him getting a change to assuage his feelings of guilt and seek revenge, which could be cathartic for him. Laura probably wouldn't have the same opportunities or even desire to do so, and so maybe looping her in wouldn't have been as helpful. But it feels cruel to me never to give her the option. After a certain point, it's no longer just trying to spare her from distress, but it feels like believing she isn't capable of handling any at all.

I guess that's what feels most gendered to me. Walter, and to an extent Marian too, don't treat Laura like an adult or an equal after her experience. This does happen throughout the book, but it gets so much more egregious after she's rescued from the asylum. Marian talks about women/is kind of treated like an exception to women in general, and Walter is leaving both women out in key moments. So given how women were typically seen as less capable, to me it feels somewhat bound up in that rather than just being about her specifically (I think she handles/is capable of a lot more than she's given credit for). Mina doesn't do really that, she doesn't really bring gender into her treatment of either Jonathan or Lucy in the same way. And while others in Dracula do, it's shown to be more of a mistake.

[ruhrohrichie]

sorryyyyyyyy I'm justttt... would you ever wanna write hcs/a fic wherein Richie was a Casanova who seduced Eddie to be able to drink from him, but then he and Eddie liked each other so much that Eddie became his Blood Doll *mixed* with kittenplay, like Eddie gets called kitten all the time, and he likes to perch up on Richie's thigh and bare his neck and rub against Richie until Richie can't help but drink from him and feel him up at the same time? Terminology from here: https://hellhorror.com/vampires/vampire-glossary/

never apologize for this omg this is art of COURSE i'd wanna write about that

i would love to write this as a fic eventually but for now i think i'm gonna keep it to hc's

tw for blood,  stalking/obsessive tendencies, brief mentions of a huge age gap (ik its vampires lol but still figured i’d mention jic), and a sort of predator/prey vibe. also brief mentions of how much sonia sucks and her prejudices she tried to force onto eddie

so for this au, we’re thinking vampires are fairly common. most of them are chill. there are blood donors for them, and it’s very easy to get blood from banks. vampires aren’t usually seen as dangerous–not any more dangerous than humans, anyway. 

but eddie grew up in a small town, where his mom and all of his neighbors warned him of the dangers of catching yourself alone with a vampire

eddie’s mother and hometown are far in the past now. eddie’s in his early twenties, living in rural-leaning-suburban new england. he works as a mechanic most days and is taking classes at a local college at night. 

while his hometown is a state and a half away, he never made it to any big city. he’s been to Boston, once. and Burlington a handful of times. but mostly he’s content to stay someplace quieter. the people here are kind, and the college campus is beautiful—all old brick buildings that smell like books and history.

but, eddie learns quickly, the buildings are not the only old things in this town. 

as a night student, he’s had a few classes with a vampire or two. they were both lovely. one had a somewhat distracting habit of clicking her pen, but otherwise they proved all of the horror stories and cautionary tales eddie’s mother had filled his head with wrong.

basically he learns that everything his mom said about vampires was horrible bullshit, just like everything else she ever said

so eddie knew better than to be afraid of vampires. 

but there were people who warranted putting up your guard, people without fangs.

and so, as nature would and will always have it, just as there are humans with ill intentions, there are vampires one would be wise to steer clear of.

eddie thinks richie tozier might be like that.

it is the first day of eddie’s latest computer science class. he’s already in his seat, laptop and notebook neatly arranged on his desk.

he’s looking around the room when richie walks in and drops the temperature in the room a subtle but tangible few degrees.

richie’s gaze falls almost immediately to eddie, and eddie can see the hint of fangs poking out, cushioned against richie’s plush bottom lip. his face is all sharp angles, except for his freckled nose that softens and rounds and turns slightly downward that the tip, and his lips, so full and soft eddie can feels like he already knows how they’d feel on his skin. 

shit.

eddie looks down at his notebook hastily, but the damage is done. richie has seen him staring, and he smirks as he passes eddie, sitting just behind him and to the side, just close enough that eddie feels his gaze all class.

every class

eventually, richie invites eddie over. or maybe he says it’s dangerous for eddie to be walking home alone at night and walks him home.

on the first offer eddie declines, and he feels someone—something—following him all the way home.

it’s unusual for vampires to hunt, but richie nearly hunts eddie. he memorizes his path home. he spends all night walking between his own house and eddie’s apartment, counting the paces between them, finding the shortest, most private route. he can see how small eddie’s apartment is through the windows he only rarely leaves open at night (smart boy, richie thinks with a patronizing smile on his lips), and he can’t help but think about how much happier eddie would be living with him, living in his big house hidden away in the woods with its big windows and plush couches and various quiet reading rooms.

he sees it, how eddie doesn’t like loud noises or crowded places. richie could give him a home far from all of that, where richie would keep him. 

eddie is nervous through the process, almost aware of what richie is doing but not wanting to jump to assumptions

richie also calls eddie kitten before they even get together, low and teasing and he can hear the blood rushing through eddie’s body every time he says it, despite the displeased faces eddie tries to force in response at first

soon enough he knows it’s no use and is just openly bashful about the pet name

richie references that he’s old, and it should make eddie squeamish, but it just makes him a little lightheaded, an embarrassing throbbing between his legs as richie looms over him, not specifying just how much older than eddie he is, how much more he knows

but he gets a sense when eddie finally comes to his house

richie has a whole fucking mansion to himself

they’re supposed to be studying, but richie keeps getting closer, and nuzzling into eddie’s neck, and talking to him in this low voice that thrums slightly in the base of eddie’s skull in the nicest way, and it’s late of course, and richie is so fucking smart and hot and this couch is so soft, so soft where richie is firm, and guides eddie down and lets him hump richie’s leg while richie feeds from him for the first time

eddie comes in his pants as soon as he feels richie growling in pleasure as his blood pools over richie’s tongue <3

eddie gets so pliant and cuddly, until he just is richie’s kitten

he’s his lap pet, his little blood doll, and richie reminds him all the time

“just giving yourself up to me, baby, such a dumb kitty begging me to drink from you all the time. and why? ‘cause it gets your little cock hard? sweetheart, i could fucking drain you”

that always makes eddie cum

and yes omg kitten eddie. so perfect. so happy to just sit in richie’s lap no matter what richie is doing—if eddie wants attention, he just sits right in front of richie’s sight line

and he begssss for richie to use him and let him be his good little blood doll <3 

to the point where richie has to laugh and say no sometimes. but eddie pouts, so richie soothes him by letting eddie suck on his cock for as long as he wants

god i love vampires god i love kittenplay. thank you for this oh my god

[miidorikawa]

HERE THEY ARE !!!

i think its pretty easy to tell equivalents but jic in top to bottom order its

25ji, mmj, vbs, l/n, wxs

the ones closest to the labels are unit leaders and theyre positioned how they would be in the ingame character screen (nobody cares but me but i will tell you anyways)

the vocaloids are their signature vocaloids besides miku (the ones that have their unit 3d model outfit preunlocked) which ended up being pretty close to canon with the exception of len, luka, and kaito which doesnt SEEM like a lot but. i put luka w 25ji bc 25ji’s signature. IS miku. and so kaito took her place at l/n and so len took HIS place at wxs

the full name of wxs’s equivalent is COTTON CANDY! it’s showtime☆ but i shortened it bc its kinda lengthy

more little brainstorms under the cut pls read them <3 /nf

i only have stuff for this unit bc it was my original swap unit

im gonna talk abt myself in 3rd person here for sake of clarity ok? ok.

so kanade solo composed for a while and gained decent popularity

toya reached out like heyyy…..im a fan of ur work….. can we collab pretty pls….

kanades like sure !

they both realize neither of them can reasonably do the mv (usually k does them but it’d make it take longer to come out and k’s lagging behind bc artblock)

toyas like okay. can i get my buddy to help

kanades like sure !

enter nene stage left /j

and thats all i’ve got. SO FAR

their nightcord usernames are k, kusane, chiku (PLS ASK ME HOW I CAME UP W THIS I FIND IT SI FUNNY /NF), and yoya

misc brainstorms relating to other groups

saki saw idols (not necessarily haruka, but maybe haruka) on tv in the hospital and she was like!!! that!!! i wanna be that!!!!

even after she gets out no agency wants the risk of an idol w a history of chronic illness :(

does saki sound familiar? its bc i stole this idea from @//lucypanpan’s swap saki lol

shes friends with minori at school and minori ALSO wants to be an idol bc shes. minori. /lh

they fail auditions together!!

eventually they get sick of auditions so theyre like hey what if we…..started an idol club….

only emu and kohane wanna join so its kinda useless to register it to the school so it just kinda plays out like mmj rooftop stuff

except its a LOT harder to grow from livestreams without ex idols to boost you so they do street performances too sometimes!

the only other misc hc (i guess this was more of a hopeful*cosmics section huh) i have is that shizuku joined cc! for the employee discount on phenny plushes for shiho

[chaudharis]

thinking abt indra rn and like. u know how i was mentioning her and trace having sort of similar ways of Dealing with issues. im thinkin abt that and i wanna elaborate on thwt a little. just indra tho bc she needs more attention all the time.

putting under a cut jic its too long

(also dont rb, bc im jost a little iffy abt it yaknow. its just rambly thoughts)

the way i kinda see the end of av2 when she talks abt not feeling like "indra" anymore i honestly really like the idea that this is like. denial, in a way. and having big denial issues when it comes to their sense of selves is what i mean when i say trace and indra are shaking hands on this. bc they both have identity denialism i think! or at least this is how i read their characters.

but indras is very different in that her denialism comes from like. unlike traces where his comes from smth like "i dont think im x, and i cant be y, so what am i" and ill elaborate on that mess later (maybe), but indras is sort of the opposite, where hers comes from knowing Exactly who she is.

i think those last few lines she has are honestly like. negative development for her. this is worse for her. absolutely. shes already someone who i feel represses so much abt what she (understandably!) hates abt herself. she was a terribly neglectful mother, and shes. literally a billionare. one of the first notes you find talks abt how shes made billions of dollars from making thousands of people jobless during a time of economic crisis. shes done absolutely awful things! shes not a good person!

and so with that, and the way she sort of Presents herself in the game, to me it reads as her being insanely repressive of the way she feels abt herself. this is honestly why i really loved the little skirmish you have with your body/amashilama, because its just. even the SLIGHTEST hint at some form of confrontation. because i really dont think it was just amashilama talking in that scene!! so its like!! her guilt and everything is something she deeply represses!

and its like. so what do you think is gonna happen when you force the worlds best repression woman of the year to confront herself even the slightest. when you force her to see the consequences to her actions (samara is in the afterlife after all.), i can absolutely see her reaction is to just. go even further with it all. receeding back even more.

which is why i think the whole "im not indra, im something else" is negative chara development. it reads to me as her receeding back more, and separating herself from "indra". indra is someone that has hurt so many people, but that isnt Her anymore. shes helping people now! shes gonna get damu his body back! shes saved the world! this universe, even!

and while typically i think it would be fair to be like "im not that person anymore" with that, the thing is to be able to do that she still needs to like. actually develop as a person, which i super dont think she fucking has lol. just gonna gesture to av1 here for no reason in particular. so uhm. i dont think shes actualky done any growing as a person!

and this is why i fucking love her character! like yes!! she gets WORSE, in a way. which i think honestly might be the best way to go for her if you Were going to do a "indra gets better as a person" arc for her. shes just gotta get a little worse before she can get better. and id love to see her improve one day. id love to see the progress she makes! she has the capability to change but that time isnt now and thats ok. she is a character thats fine.

(honestly i should really start playing with this aspect abt her more. what that sort of process could look like, bc i really would love to see it! and u gotta make the content u wanna see in the world yaknow. so one day ill chip away at this!)

anyways! she has some problems and issues. and i love her for it.

thank u for reading btw heres an image of her. a special treat if uve read this. look at her v

[syngonivm]

made my first wetstick prop box tonight :3 i microwaved the moss in hot water yesterday in preparation just to make sure it sterile beforehand cause i had a prop rot in some of it once and i was worried it left bacteria/fungus on the moss </3

the large sticks are a syngonium albo that i got as one cutting with a beautiful leaf a few weeks back but the roots it had got stunted for some reason and the leaf died :( so as a last resort i cut it up and made a prop box for it

this was her pretty leaf rip

decided to throw in some other stuff i had no luck rooting so far either. two regular ol scindapsus even tho i have more than enough lol it just feels like a waste throwing them </3 theyre from a second vine of my plant i got last summer that i recently repotted and gave a moss pole. it Literally grew itself into a knot?? so when i repotted i decided to cut it but i've jut not had any luck so far with propping them 😩 ive had them in water ive had them in moss, they rotted, i tossed the rotted ones and put the healthy ones back in water along with more cuttings hoping they'll trigger root growth in each other but nothing!!

hard to see but theres two very very tiny scindapsus silvery ann. mine died mysteriously early this year? or late last year and ive been trying to root the little i could save since :( this ones been stunted and its leaf finally died too so i cut it up and stuck it in. i hope i can save it 😩 rn i got two more cuttings in soil.

i miss the plant dearly i was always so excited to see the new leaf pattern and it grew sm and fast but then suddenly its leafs curled and it never recovered. tried not to overwater even tho the leafs were obviously thirsty and eventually found out the bottom part of its stem is all dried up. the big rootsystem and the rest of the plant were fine but i had to cut it :( and the curled leafs didnt even recover after putting them in water. the roots i end up tossing cause i had it in water and forgot by the time i remembered it was rotting </3

tho today i saw one of the water cuttings did finally push a new leaf. at least i think it was a silvery ann. i took some before the plant died so it could get bushier and it's been like over half a year but finally roots. i planted it so fingers crossed

anyways theres also one white butterfly syngonium cutting in there. i got a big old one in semihydro for only 5€ a little while ago and i made 3 cuttings. one i gifted away, one is still happily rooting in water (the head one) and this ones leaf just died and the roots it had suddenly rotted off 😭 i cleaned it up and hopefully can give it a second chance in the prop box. weirdly the eye under its leaf wasnt sleeping it was already bulging u can see it on the photo bottom right first pic.

i wanna make backup copies of the plant in soil jic the whole hydro stuff doesnt work out. i got 0 experience with it and finding info on this stuffs so hard most i find is for growing veggies in pure hydro and growing weed in semihydro :/ both pretty useless to me atm

anyways. fingers crossed <3 i read mixed info on wether or not i need to air the box out so uh ill wing it

I'm so excited to see new growth tho ik it'll take long 😔

today i also planted a rooted cutting i was gifted :3 im not sure what type of syngonium it is tho. looks like it could be either a juvenile batik or a white butterfly? but it's stems are red 🤔 fingers crossed it'll quickly adjust. theres some new growth on of the stems already.

[foxcoin]

not to overshare in a good way but . ILL PUT IT UNDER READMORE JIC

i heard back from my little brother’s s0cial worker (long personal story but we’ve both been through shit bc my brother+sister+my mom died) and apparently my brother was excited at the idea to talk to me even though we fell out of touch bc of my grieving process+isolation as a result and im really relieved and happy, i have faith that he’ll be okay now that he’s getting help and it makes me feel warm that he’s not mad at me

[aghostisawish-blog]

RIP

time to die | accepting | @witnessmarked

big massive content warning: death, mention of mental illness, ableist language, body horror maybe ( because of the black mold? jic ), also this is too long for a drabble

Leigh wasn’t answering his calls, always letting them go to voicemail instead, probably deleting them as soon as she heard the first note of Steve’s voice. He understands that. A plethora of wishes, all sprouted and flourished and aged from the same decades-old seed, circle in his head until he’s tired and headachey and heads back to his hotel room.

All he wants to do is sleep all his fuck-ups away. His argument, if it could be called that, with Nell; lying to Leigh; the book; the night Luke and Joey came to his house on a day pass.

And there’s the… illness that’s flaring up. Just a flare-up; it’s not the first time he’s seen his mother, however distorted or silhouetted or hazy or– she was never clear anymore. She’s never been clear since – since when? Since before the House? But no, that was unfair, and it was the mold that did her in. That made her– made her die. Smashed the vanity mirror with the mold he painted over but he didn’t know, did he, he didn’t know and thought it was anything but a genuine threat–

He huffs into his pillow, his head turned to the side with one eye open, watching the red haze of his mother in the corner. Why is she in red? Does the mind put together symbols when nothing makes sense? The Red Room becomes a red mother. Sounds like a load of horseshit: the mind is nonsense and any “meaning” is straw-grabbing.

He needs real sleep, to recharge and be able to think instead of drowning in guilt and dread. Because Leigh will leave him, and it’d be better for her to do that, all the years he’s made her waste with him when he couldn’t give what they both wanted. Just as well, because this is a sign of the future and the future will repeat or rhyme with the past and he can’t put that on his kids, his never-to-be-kids. Even if he’d had the chance, even if he tried to avoid repetition he would’ve done it anyway.

Steve falls asleep against his own body’s alarm: his red mother is coming closer.

Spluttering awake at midnight, Steve sees that the lights are off like someone had flicked the switch for him. He knew they were on when he’d collapsed on the bed but now they weren’t so he must’ve, at some point during the evening, gotten up and done that himself, or one of the cleaning staff saw him and turned the light out. Do they do that? Did he turn it off? Was he so out of it that he doesn’t remember? Probably, yes, he’s often on autopilot these days. These days?

There’s a dip in the bed so real he forgets his scepticism. A hand in his hair and a little hum of a tune he can’t quite remember. Well-kept nails scraping just so against his scalp that makes his skin turn to goosebumps.

When he dares to turn, he doesn’t need the light when the moonlight from out his hotel window shines in just so and illuminates the black mold that’s riddled his mother’s face.

                         “Stevie, my love,”

his mother says, her mouth moving abnormally like her jaw is fractured, as she tightens her grip on his hair like a vice,

                         “come home.”

A cry and wrenching free and he tumbles out of bed, smacking his head against the bedside table, landing hard on bristly blue-green carpet.

The lights are on now. There are tears in Stevie’s eyes and he can’t tell if it’s from grief or fear or dread or the pain of all-too-real fingers that had threatened to rip his scalp off if he did not come home.

He’s not going to die. That’s not his plan, no, he just needs to see the House and understand. Confronting the past and the House, for it is only a house, just a building of neat bricks and walls, would do him some good. Not as much good as, say, seeing a doctor and seeking treatment, but it’ll do for now until he does.

But what is there to understand? Unsure of his own reasoning but gunning for it anyway.

The chain is easy to do away with and he should probably find a proper way of keeping this place closed ( because he’s not calling Dad to do it, no way – all the way in fucking Florida? no ). The House, once he’s out of the car, doesn’t look any different since that last night, when Dad had said that’s not your mother. If Dad saw him now, would he say that’s not my son? No relatives if you’re fucking crazy– if you’re ill.

What do you need to see, Stevie?

Like the lights, he doesn’t remember the short trek over the overgrowth of the garden to the door, or opening it up ( no locks on that, either ), just autopiloted movement and yeah, he should see a doctor at some point even if autopilot mode is normal for normal people. Just nothing but the dark House and it’s shadows.

Then there’s a whisper of his name – Stevie, my love, come home – and he turns and then he turns again and there’s light. The foyer is lit like it used to be before bedtime and it shouldn’t be because the electricity was cut off ( was it? Dad wouldn’t waste that kind of money on this place ) but it’s all on anyway.

More whispering, conspiratorial and familiar and young, and he follows the sounds, sticking to the walls while his heart thunders against his ribcage, while his mind screams to run anywhere but here, anywhere but here, anywhere but here, Stevie, what were you thinking! But he has to see it through. He has to see it through.

They’re all at the dinner table, crowded round, all casual and cosy and comfortable that it makes Steve’s heart ache. Leigh, his beautiful, wonderful wife sees him first and beams at him like she hasn’t done since sometime before the truth spilled out of him. She’s the first to collect him in her arms, and he’s missed her so much, been wanting to fix this rift he’d put between them and made a chasm, so he wraps around her just the same, his breath coming in short staccato gasps as she soothes him. God, but he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it when his siblings and his dad gather around him, enveloping him in warmth he doesn’t deserve.

It’s not real! It’s not real! It’s not real!

But they’re so warm. And they’re telling him they understand – about the book, about the money, about his struggling with distinguishing reality from a wish. This last – this last thing they tell him, that Nellie tells him, breaks him, breath becoming spluttered cries as his legs threaten to give out beneath him. Because he has been fearing the worst, that his mind was going ( and it must be, because he’s here and they shouldn’t be and it doesn’t make any sense– ), and he’d– he’d wanted it fixed, not to burden his family but hearing it being acknowledged, especially by his own younger siblings who had suffered more than him–

     “It’s not a competition, Stevie, you know that,” Nellie says.

–it’s not something he wants to admit to wanting.

     “We love you, Steven. We never stopped loving you.”

     “We’re taking the party upstairs,” Shirley says, nudging him in the side like when she used to when they were in college. Kevin is already herding the kids up the shaky-looking metal steps of the spiral steps, followed by Luke and Theo and Dad and Leigh. Nell is hanging back with Arthur, waiting to see if Steve will follow them up. He’s wary, of course he’s wary, look at the steps–

“OK,” he says, trusting them when he shouldn’t. He follows them – Shirley, Arthur, Nellie, him.

His phone rings at the top step, showing the time to be three minutes past midnight. Wow, that’s past the kids’ bedtime. The contact’s name is Nell. He blinks, rubs his eyes, because that can’t be right ( but it is ), because Nellie’s just in front of him – except they’ve all disappeared, and what was lit by wall lights is now dark and dusty and cold. His breath shudders as he answers the phone: “Nellie?”

     “Steve–” She sounds just as out of breath.

“Nellie, is that you? Where are you?” He grips the railing, keeping his eye on the archway leading into the deeper dark, fearing what he knew was coming.

     “It–yes, I’m at home–? Steve, I know– I know it’s late–”

“I love you Nellie, you know that?” He has to let her know, and he only looks to the railing for a second, glancing to gauge how far a way from the stair case he is now, only a second–

     “Steve–” Nell tries to get a word in edgeways just as Mom appears in front of him, her hand gently gripping his jaw to make him look at her, mold and milky eyes and all. If Nellie says anything else, he doesn’t hear it, only his mother’s words.

                         “Welcome home, my love.”

He’s no longer gripping the railing, or his phone: the phone drops to the floor of the balcony, clattering, clattering to the floor below, shattering and distorting the connection the House allows for this moment, and his mother pushes him backwards. The last thing he hears is the fractured and frantic, “Steve! Steve are you there–?” from the shattered phone as his head hits the floor below.

Silence falls over everything in the House.

[capnledian]

(Hey I know this is dumb just just popping in to say I love your style and your art is absolutely amazing holy shit! Both my gf and I get really excited when you post because WOW that is some quality content aaaaa) (How did you develop your drawing style??)

oh my GOD thats really cute that you and your gf both get excited about it aaaa thank you so much!!! 

idk if this is something other people are wondering but ill post it to my blog jic? i still have a lot to learn, and It’s hard to say how I “developed” my style since it’s really just a big mash up of whatever i was interested in growing up. i watched a lot of cartoons and anime and a LOT of comic books as a kid and did a lot of copying art styles and big ol anime eyes haha. When I was in jr high I started making comics for my friends that were more cartoony, about us all being superheroes going on adventures together. I would put ANYTHING i wanted into it, aka robots, monsters, aliens, space adventures, rocket ships, Space Raves, really really dumb goofy jokes, Cool One Liners, the power of friendship, so on. 

Now I’m in college and I’m pretty much still doing the same thing I’ve always done, which is draw the things that make me happiest! STUDY, of course, but study what you love and what you really want to be good at. 

But draw what you love over and over and over again! Learn how to draw the things you love! Right now I’m practicing spaceships and cool cars and robots a lot more because I love techy stuff, so I gotta draw those things over and over and over and its heckin hard, but i love it so much that when you pull off your first thing you did on your own with what youve learned, its just an amazing feeling. 

aaa im ranting, i type a mile a minute, anyway, thank you again! 

edit: im adding a little more because i LOVE ART, but something about developing a STYLE is its really just uncovering whatever YOURE made out of, and thats the really cool part of it!!! I feel like whenever I advance in my skills im simultaneously like, actively shaping the expression of what i want to draw but also i feel like i just spotted a little bit more about who i am, and thats a really amazing feeling! I feel like a lot of artists worry about developing a “style”, but your style will come no matter what path you take in learning how to draw things or make things, its something that comes on its own and its very magical!

this all sounds silly because i mostly post dumb shippy fanart to this blog right now haha, but legitimately i still think that even thats a really great thing thats really helped me improve my art and what im interested in and what makes me happy! 

ANYWAY SORRY OKAY SHHH ME

[beganaskiddy]

Smoke signal , alarm asleep on Grandfather’s Dresser, Why didn’t you incarnate as a Man? octopus above this space inside occular, Benevolence . Prayer to

the Emperor and Empress. where were we? You were above this left shoulder balancing tray whispered napkin telekinesis Grandfather left tangent arrowhead table sky dark ceiling lofted table this pleasance. You arched to pass the vessel the word  a state with this tongue dear , Ive posted lots of leverage all the way to nogales via hermanas searching for your remembrance. Not so much to date or haggle , just precipice’d after Grandfather asked this if it had enough to get wherever, without hesitation /Plenty hesitation with Faith based upon companionless. You were wearing ink your back left shoulder, what ghost? That was all __though like FEVER relative of… Forest Spirit it was humonnguess. You have magical a-ddress though his is red him and his get away with person.whatever. I found my Grandfathers space temporally. translates (narcissus ball (((HAIL)))) and it was hovering one mountain on our center right (wright) my other Grandfather “sideways out the periphery vision” cain’t look straightonatit it  looks back (octopus ceiling) kundalini in this room (Beast)HIVE)) emanating soundcloud stress day afterwork jam. archived hive sound stereo like sinking any ship within range with pure holy spirit. if you Look up later it could come within side of periphery then conscious allocution without spite visually it articulates telekinetic hologram of our mind (mined)IT”S) transmorphic uno geometry sit tight the Lord has angels with Play.yya (terra) yesterdays Raven today’s please do not steal the light, as we are nearing something immeasurable sides down. This not so much/ different incarnation forward/ You why are we living so much longer yet dying to be with the Lord quicker? spiritual calamity or build your strength decay rate quickening like falling if the Lord shows up with the Kingdom lessons started long ago it matriculates as it draws near. awareness. if the sky should ever scroll down stand up please many times before this one. Where were we? Thirsty. reading recent events. Didn’t feel like starting anything until we met. I mustve lost you in Albuquerque at the pearl. English and Espanol JIC. Ohh all the dreams. Sleeping Beauty, outside gravel or whyoming dirt I thought you were deceased knelt beside you. know motion nose to sky. Daphne (archetype) lifted chin leant breath ear mouth ajar and then instead of words only air between us until your lungs filled oxygen twice twilight then big box truck  two redneck twangy friendly (noticed tire parked on both your feet) he talked niceties ;ike returning to scene of rhyme nursery. Justice is in the ROOM. Turned to you and you had gotten up and vanished. Some previous life Is till Love you, the mystery between us is not so much mystery though our Souls departed long ago then returned stranger; our physical connection is missing though our hearts beat to a single drum, forever how could one forget Love? Your life is quaint as it should be almost like a reward for Faith, this is just a tramp timestamp “dandy lion” found Teacher and God. the ones especially afterlife the goto or not. in the WIND. nothings definitive. some other person thinks this about them and whamo. although intent was omniscience perspective within time continuum has not occurred within realm of substrata consciousness timed delay lightning first storm of the season yet.i. could not bear contact bowed my eyes despaired meow meow I’m sure a man could comprehend and celebrate internally nearness with Death, temporally maybe it swings around for a downtempo three feather condor soaring bighorn Crow chorus symmetrically depth chasm watery eyes how the sunny side feral bees crawl all over ya looking for some way inside to cauterize no dice. Others are pure relations. Dark Brother. almost seem to demarcate boundaries (LOTS) worked out months ago though when Angels guard the insides The Lord is near enough to show like how our learning phase continues throughout life based upon too many indiscriminate factors to even contemplate without you there is abundant recovery time.All things Grow WithLove. including the buzz of ethereality. Expressionless, there are abundance of our Teachers. yeah, like potter. One day walking spotted the ROSIcrucian, steepled in someones frontward as a wild rosebush, same colors variegated. it was like the whole existence of the vision was based upon majesty with the earth and all sentient beings. What does it indicate? Oh and (alarm) those Hellcat’s. Spinach just in time. Bloodhounds our relativity possibly what you perceive as otherworldly; what you don’t yet actualize couldn’t hurt yourself due to the proximity with whim. Lightning has yet reached our perimeter . where does it strike first? mt or wy? then witching season over for a spell. i.e. the bridge between the gap of when in the priors of seen lightning before its charge arrives (CHART) dreamings anybodies they hand of time to the winged elements, they initial light i.e. messengers. where were we? ohh I know the violent femmes (trio) like starchy and hush + oversized tranny in back seat. cruisin. red river tribe. well, the person in from of me onto a soft cushion like a bed side diagonally facing wall 110 socket knee high to a moment steeped in forever I could not see you directly only from a strange position. the quiet lasted for some time to eject inside poem each glance between a sweetness drawn and confabulated return to sender from Lunar City, Lunacy USA don’t waste your time you are already voice inside mined learning dharnmic cardio if ever you see the orb dancing is what is on the inside steering time sideways clockwise neutral lipstick and Apex Twin lost ingress visualized blush with Love rose hips 2nd Amendment Guaranteed one in the kitchen , pointed unmerciful. Not the time for ill will, Defense . The Good Lord Provides when we reach within our existence Voodoo SAC’Mcised beyond alert  edge of seat Prayer to first responders. perspective. praying with any bike self aware breath cleated Raptor flesh for flesh fetish anima bride whirlwind rode hard and put away wet in the wind of coldness (ostracized) before the age of 5 years of age , I knew bachelor for life was set with her grimaced snarl that day in 1973. You were alive somewhere in 1973 no matter our age today. wilderness. Some female growls. guards blood. Conch, sometimes seams willow and the stand of fervor in the wind skies are like surroundings live at your discretion. how obsolete is kiss when myth is missing from constructed life based upon input from everything since first breath and before idealized as the dreamtime of nectarine or copper )it’s hot IV of Pentacles, the bedside of OCD (this typing) for one afternoon of Romp to celebrate cardio. ohh theres the sigh… the periphery of the her origin. think in any room without border (although borders are good, they demarcate (LOTS) anyway, you there is only light , though the light is unique, intensity from the same veil of Hue. how hot is your sustain for living everlasting versus short term free for all as though karma were irrelevant , nurture as nature.forgiving based upon how we circumnavigate each moment. this is was a channel of what comes to the near surface of this typist in terms of spirit residuals for dictation to syllables as such; “poetry” self contained psychonautical storied as reverb from past adaptations of time travel. stitches to  Yawn helped with energy from a haven unrealized cart placed horse early to tantra eyes  trance Yagya. illness from internet fever. “Lids off the HIVE SYNDROME” please put the lid back soon or the hive will locate your weakest point and eliminate the threat of so and so, how near the end only the Good Lord knows the date. where are we? subconsciously the we arrive before the presence conjure locality spell weaver dreams silk path radial arched in the middle vortice flowering prayer …… How to walk with the Beast civilized not to spill the light as though to Vanquish time from timeless via internalized questions at some pace equidistant with fervor to avarice with Life versus condition based upon selfless,, what remains of this day?  where were we when in the backseat at twilight some hilly city not sf, hovering above the earth one foot clubbed anima in some old jalopy blue vinyl bench front seat, you and I in the backseat with our legs calfs resting onto of bench seemingly floating backwards downhill without anyone steering the vessel moving at a rate sublime excite you were talking forever like a bus inside twilight central and san pedro albequerque dusk heading nSE towards cemetery crack hoetel big spider left behind, if she only remembered how I wrote and wrote and wrote her bonnets of forget me knots squinted between her toes clover girls buzzing lily pads of seance if only I could sting your absorption with death and sling you within the perspective of current before the beginning months before time slips possibly art once ricochet around the rosies slump test with three Cords of Wood stacked vertical plus don’t forget to go back and get the D chord horseman the headless sERAPHIM . her shirt said “PLAY” , and so I wondered how, till now temporally until the spell wears off FUN, If I told you you were beautiful, would you check it off your list of to do or if withheld like a bonnet of funshine, squandered intermittently forever to salve the lifelong painless of aloneness oddity inland catch yours spirit twin inside spirit world or this land when pure/ There were two that would not vacate…. without work involved magic. time is contracting slow now or near earth outside realm of impure (border) what constitutes boundaries in spiritland ?

[daandori]

rules: answer all the questions, add one of your own and tag as many people as there are questions.

Tagged by: @daisho-u​ & @eejoon​ tysm guys ily!! ♡♡♡♡

so sorry mobile ppl :’(

1. coke or pepsi: coke!

2. disney or dreamworks: i love them both ;o;

3. coffee or tea: tea!

4. books or movies: movies, just bc you can have it on in the bg and you dont have to set aside certain time for it

5. windows or mac: windows

6. dc or marvel: marvel!

7. xbox or playstation: i only have a ds :’) i wasnt allowed video games as a kid

8. dragon age or mass effect: havent played either !

9. night owl or early riser: defs a night owl omg but if i rly have to study then ill rise early 

10. cards or chess: cards omfg chess rly frustrates me

11. chocolate or vanilla: vanilla!

12. vans or converse: dont have either! id probs wear vans over converse tho

13. Lavellan, Trevelyan, Cadash, or Adaar: ???

14. fluff or angst FLUFF FOREVER GIVE ME SAPPIEST FLUFF IN THE WORLD 

15. beach or forest: beach!!

16. dogs or cats: cats but i love dogs too :’))))

17. clear skies or rain: clear skies! i do like rain tho

18. cooking or eating out: i eat out way more often

19. spicy or mild food: mild im too white

20. halloween or christmas: both!!! but i love the atmosphere around christmas sm ;v;

21. would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot: a little too hot

22. if you could have a superpower what would it be: time control!

23. animation or live action: hmmmmmmm animation

24. paragon or renegade: ?

25. bath or shower: i would take a bath every single day if i could

26. team cap or team ironman: cap forever

27. fantasy or sci-fi: fantasy!

28. do you have 3 or 4 favorite quotes if so what are they: hmmm im not sure! weirdly enough i rly liked metroman’s speech to megamind in the movie???? so ill put that lmfao (i know it from memory, jic you thought i was cool)

“you know, little buddy, there’s a yin for every yang. if there’s bad, good will rise up against it! it’s taken me a long time to find my calling; now it’s about time you found yours.”

“yet, even amidst the hatred and carnage, life is still worth living. It is possible for wonderful encounters and beautiful things to exist.” - hayao miyazaki  

“so what? You failed your finals. You gained some weight. So what? You’re single again. You lost your job. So what? What now? You live. You try again. That’s what.”

29. youtube or netflix: youtube! youtube videos calm me tbh

30. harry potter or percy jackson: harry potter!! grew up with it :’))

31. when do you feel accomplished: when i work hard on something and i get a good grade aha

32. star wars or star trek: never watched either sry guys

33. paperback books or hardcover books: paperback!

34. fantastic beasts or cursed child: havent seen either! 

35. rock or pop music: pop!!

36. rock, paper, scissors GO!: usually scissors 

37. anime or cartoons?: anime

38. handwriting or typing: typing

39. favorite film: hmm i rly like scott pilgrim! i love lots of movies tho

40. favorite place in the world? seoul!

41. cds or vinyl: cds?

42. song lyric that’s important to you? but music and singing have been my refuge, and music and singing shall be my light

43. what’s your form of self-care? sitting in my basement and watching friends over and over (and taking super longs baths)

44. what language/languages would you like to learn? i defs wanna improve my korean during my exchange!! and my russian in general, haha. id wanna learn japanese too!!

45. fave song currently? hmmmmm, idk if i have a fave, but ive been listening to vip kid, 404 not found, and  サマーホラーパーティ (all by reol) and salaisuus by rajaton a lot lately!!

46. favorite game? all pokemons, all mario games, and acnl!

my question: 47. what type of bender would you be?

im not gonna tag 46 ppl lmao thats too much even for me, but i will tag @akaaishii @asexuallyaroused @yukiyuna @hinanoyas @koushii @flawlessmangakarohan @galaxy-tooru @oikz @tsuyius @heckks @caycchi no pressure!!!

[butwhatistrue]

Dream, Reality, Psychosis and Me

Okay, look ^^^^^ there is a pretentious title to start this pretentious introspective piece off. I almost feel like I’m on my old blog! Except, this time it’s personal.

Uhhm cw for nightmare content and unreality I guess but not too badly and nothing graphic. Mentions of demons(possession), murder, syringes, blood, violence.

In which I contemplate my relationship to Reality, The Dreamworld, Dream Intergration and it’s relation to my supposed psychosis.

Okay so I was recently diagnosed with psychosis (non-organic, unspecified). This is a weird position for me to be in, because if I accept this diagnosis I will, in effect, have to accept that I have been more or less psychotic since before a time I can barely remember.. And that is …. Hard to accept.

You’d think it was easy, too. Whenever my friends talk about being bullied in school I end up going a little quiet, because the truth is I have MASSIVE gaps in my memory but I remember SOME bad things, and some really really WAY UNREALISTICALLY bad things which I assume are dream-memories. I remember the fear and the feeling that everyone was plotting against me, from small things like seating in the classroom, to bigger things, like their supposed endgoal of “putting me down” with a euthanasia syringe stolen from the local vet, or setting the playhouse on fire with me stuck in it. But I also have very clear memories of being called “a slut” and “a whore” with reference to events which I at the time had no memory of, and which were likely fabrication(?!). I wonder if my classmates noticed my faulty episodic memory and used it against me, or if they didn’t realize how much they were fucking with my mind?

Still, the tale goes back before school, at least to kindergarten but dare I say the daycare too. I vaguely remember daycare, but I think what I remember are dreams and not reality. I just remember lying in my bed with someone standing over me and being absolutely certain I was going to die and believing they were hurting me. I never did like daycare, according to my mom. I would come home “cleaner than when I arrived”, so they might have been bathing me which could explain the issue as I was massively opposed to being cleaned as a child. I think the dreams began then or a little later. At first they were a little silly. The lamp would flicker, rip itself loose and come floating towards me from above. The teddies on my duvet would get up and start to wander towards me, closer and closer, their intent unknown. 

At this time I didn’t think of them as dreams or nightmares. They were ‘the things that happened in my room at night’. To this day I wonder about the two categories of nightmares: Awful shit nightmares, and “things that happen in my room at night” nightmares. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even dreaming, I wouldn’t be able to say if I weren’t. The ‘awful shit that happens’ nightmares came right on their tail. My brother would hold me down while my father butchered me with an axe; I would be buried alive or thrown in the trash. My mother would cry over my still-sentient mutilated dead body. Sometimes they were weird and eery. Like one time my brother and his friends acquired a syringe and every time someone was struck with it, they would start to multiply, and their personality and wishes would be washed out the more they multiplied and the more it would be replaced with the need to multiply others too. Some were just bloody and gory beyond belief, like the one time all the other children had been slaughtered and i was forced to drink their blood (which tasted like overripe tomatoes, a food item i can’t eat to this day lmao)

I believed strongly at this age that there were spirits, often hiding in lamps, who could occupy a human body and bend it to their will. This could happen at anytime, to anyone, which meant I was never safe – even from the one person I did trust (my mother).  I also never did trust reality. I started to wake up from nightmares within another nightmare that would play out in the house. Going to my mom for comfort, only to find her possessed by spirits, or getting attacked and mutilated on my way through the house, was a stable. I would have dreams within dreams within dreams. When I was awake I was anxious enough to turn reality into a nightmare, too. The darkness came to life before my eyes. So naturally, I became wary of reality.

Who wouldn’t? At an early point in kindergarten I had my first successful lucid dream. I was having a scary dream, not really a nightmare. It was too silly, too cliché, like something other kids would tell me about. A witch had caught me, and was preparing the bowl in which she was going to cook me alive. “This cannot be,” I said to myself. “How ridiculous. This ain’t even scary – you gotta do better!” and you know. In the end I WAS boiled alive by the witch but I knew I wasn’t REALLY dying. And that was a grand victory over The Dreamworld. I told the other kids, proud of my accomplishments, and I was deemed a Dream Hero (or maybe they didn’t believe me but those are Lesser Details).

Of course, I rejoiced too soon. The dreamworld did up it’s game, and soon Reality followed. By the time I entered school and people had the realization that I Was Not Correct, and presumably started to freeze me out and/or even bully me, The Dreamworld was Ready to Strike.

And it wasn’t as much about seeing Dream stuff in reality, it was more about fake memories and weird notions given too much credit. yet. yet..

I never really thought about any of this in terms of psychosis. The thought honestly never even crossed my mind???? Until a little over a year ago when that psych dude indelicately pointed it out. 

Since being a small child I’ve thought about this like a battle between Reality and The Dreamworld (and sometimes with anxiety). The world of dreams contains both bad and good. There are good things there for me to harvest. Eventually I had non-scary lucid dreams, and I started having good-natured inception-style battles of wit with my “subconscious”. I would be wake up exasperated but fond.

Just like the Dreamworld knows how to fuck me up, it knows my aesthetics intimately, and I’ve had the most beautiful views and riveting adventures in that world. It was a force of nature for me to tame and control. The night is twilight hour. Anything can happen during the night. You don’t even know if you’re dreaming or awake, during the night. Trust, me if you wake up enough times from a waking position, you’re going to lose count.

It doesn’t matter either. You marvel at the beauty of it all. Or quiver in existential fear.

I’ve been constantly questioning reality, whether dreaming or awake, since I was four. I’ve had to. And I know the rules. If something seems reality-ish I play by the rules of Reality lest I fuck up. Even if things seem very very dream-ish I try not to do anything that would kill me in Reality, jic. It’s working out great. I feel like my connection to the Dreamworld is a gift as much as a curse.

Sometimes Dream-elements enter reality, even at day, and I guess that is what people so clinically refer to as “hallucinations”, but to be honest I never thought much of it. It never goes beyond a point where everything is reality-ish, so I still act according to the Reality-ruleset and then I may employ a second jic-ruleset which might be considered a little to the delusional side.

But who really cares as long as it’s working out?

I never assumed reality was supposed to be clearcut. I always saw figures in the dark and considered if it was a man walking his dog, an axe-murderer, a demon or a trick of my mind. Those were all equally valid options and I considered that to be the way reality works.

You can’t trust everything you experience, but there are so many reasons not to? It could be a dream, or it could contain dream elements, or I could be misreading something.

It’s not a scary, weird thing, pathological thing, is it????? How much do people trust their senses normally? I’m sure it happens just as often that I consider something a Trick of Mind, when in fact, it’s true. Just the other night I was sleeping at my friend’s mom’s place. I woke up to a dripping sound, and found that the ceiling was dripping rhythmically on my duvet. Naturally I assumed this was a “thing that happens at night”, and went back to sleep. Next day it turns out there WAS in fact water dripping from the ceiling!

I mean isn’t that equally a problem? And now that people are throwing about scary words like psychosis and even schizophrenia, it makes it all so much more scary and anxiety-inducing.

It’s not just about a battle of wits anymore. It’s about “mental illness”. And it’s like…. All the hard work I’ve done.. is not good enough?????? Like I’ve worked so hard,, And I’ve gotten so much better… but it’s not good enough?? I’m not good enough.

And what are they even basing this whole thing on??? “Oh you hear a few things? Oh you smell a few things? Oh times is weird? Oh lamps are scary?” like no fucking shit but I GOT THIS OKAY

So WHY AM I EVEN WASTING THEIR TIME? What do I want???? I guess I really really really wanted someone to tell me the whole structure/concentration issue was an adhd issue and prescribe me miracle meds …. If I’m being honest. I don’t know how to deal with these meds. They scare me. I don’t know what Reality is without Dream Intergration???? But it sounds really empty and scary and meaningless.

At the same time they’re saying it might help my anxiety and I’m so DESPERATE for relief it’s embarrassing. I almost cry at the thought of relief????? Because it just. It hurts so fucking much??? Lmao im so weak but still. It makes me so anxious to think it might have no effect. I was so resigned to status quo. The idea that it can be different creates hope and hope breeds anxiety. I was going to be fine but now I’m DESPERATE for that sweet relief??? I fantasize about it.

And then there is dream logic which shouldn’t be taken too seriously. But I have noted that I’ve missed two buses since I started on these meds, which I would’ve made it to if my usual time-skills had been working. I can’t say for sure the meds have anything to do with it, the system does fail me sometimes, but it’s quite the coincidence. Twice time has seemed to go in the opposite direction of what dream logic dictates, or at least been flowing in non-gentle directions. It’s supposed to be a just in time matching system. The logical Reality explanation is that I’m tired and not focusing on the time properly, which is not good either. But it’s like. Some time stuff has returned. For example I’ve started checking the time at 13.13, 14.14, 19.19 etc again. I feel very proud??? Even thought it’s a useless skill. But that might indicate my time-understanding is improving. I might just need to adjust, so checking those keypoints could be a way of adjusting?

There are also real, valid concerns about anti-psychotics, that I’m ignoring in favor of hunting that Sweet Anxiety Relief…

I feel like I’ve played myself. Am I scrapping over twenty years of learned tolerance for the Dreamworld’s antics? What comes after?

I never ever want to be small and afraid and without reality testing again.

[magpiewritingthing]

i did not believe in ghosts until i saw my own body

Series: steve is the ghost au

Summary: Silence falls over everything in the House.

Warnings: death, mention of mental illness, ableist language, body horror maybe ( because of the black mold? jic )

Other notes: reposted from my (now archived) rp blog aghostisawish; apologies to my RP partners who read it, and apologies to the Discord chat; title from Topaz Winter’s “battlefield”, from her book poems for the sound of the sky before thunder

Leigh wasn’t answering his calls, always letting them go to voicemail instead, probably deleting them as soon as she heard the first note of Steve’s voice. He understands that. A plethora of wishes, all sprouted and flourished and aged from the same decades-old seed, circle in his head until he’s tired and headachey and heads back to his hotel room.

All he wants to do is sleep all his fuck-ups away. His argument, if it could be called that, with Nell; lying to Leigh; the book; the night Luke and Joey came to his house on a day pass.

And there’s the… illness that’s flaring up. Just a flare-up; it’s not the first time he’s seen his mother, however distorted or silhouetted or hazy or— she was never clear anymore. She’s never been clear since — since when? Since before the House? But no, that was unfair, and it was the mold that did her in. That made her— made her die. Smashed the vanity mirror with the mold he painted over but he didn’t know, did he, he didn’t know and thought it was anything but a genuine threat—

He huffs into his pillow, his head turned to the side with one eye open, watching the red haze of his mother in the corner. Why is she in red? Does the mind put together symbols when nothing makes sense? The Red Room becomes a red mother. Sounds like a load of horseshit: the mind is nonsense and any “meaning” is straw-grabbing.

He needs real sleep, to recharge and be able to think instead of drowning in guilt and dread. Because Leigh will leave him, and it’d be better for her to do that, all the years he’s made her waste with him when he couldn’t give what they both wanted. Just as well, because this is a sign of the future and the future will repeat or rhyme with the past and he can’t put that on his kids, his never-to-be-kids. Even if he’d had the chance, even if he tried to avoid repetition he would’ve done it anyway.

Steve falls asleep against his own body’s alarm: his red mother is coming closer.

Spluttering awake at midnight, Steve sees that the lights are off like someone had flicked the switch for him. He knew they were on when he’d collapsed on the bed but now they weren’t so he must’ve, at some point during the evening, gotten up and done that himself, or one of the cleaning staff saw him and turned the light out. Do they do that? Did he turn it off? Was he so out of it that he doesn’t remember? Probably, yes, he’s often on autopilot these days. These days?

There’s a dip in the bed so real he forgets his scepticism. A hand in his hair and a little hum of a tune he can’t quite remember. Well-kept nails scraping just so against his scalp that makes his skin turn to goosebumps.

When he dares to turn, he doesn’t need the light when the moonlight from out his hotel window shines in just so and illuminates the black mold that’s riddled his mother’s face.

    “Stevie, my love,”

his mother says, her mouth moving abnormally like her jaw is fractured, as she tightens her grip on his hair like a vice,

    “come home.”

A cry and wrenching free and he tumbles out of bed, smacking his head against the bedside table, landing hard on bristly blue-green carpet.

The lights are on now. There are tears in Stevie’s eyes and he can’t tell if it’s from grief or fear or dread or the pain of all-too-real fingers that had threatened to rip his scalp off if he did not come home.

He’s not going to die. That’s not his plan, no, he just needs to see the House and understand. Confronting the past and the House, for it is only a house, just a building of neat bricks and walls, would do him some good. Not as much good as, say, seeing a doctor and seeking treatment, but it’ll do for now until he does.

But what is there to understand? Unsure of his own reasoning but gunning for it anyway.

The chain is easy to do away with and he should probably find a proper way of keeping this place closed ( because he’s not calling Dad to do it, no way — all the way in fucking Florida? no ). The House, once he’s out of the car, doesn’t look any different since that last night, when Dad had said that’s not your mother. If Dad saw him now, would he say that’s not my son? No relatives if you’re fucking crazy— if you’re ill.

What do you need to see, Stevie?

Like the lights, he doesn’t remember the short trek over the overgrowth of the garden to the door, or opening it up ( no locks on that, either ), just autopiloted movement and yeah, he should see a doctor at some point even if autopilot mode is normal for normal people. Just nothing but the dark House and it’s shadows.

Then there’s a whisper of his name — Stevie, my love, come home — and he turns and then he turns again and there’s light. The foyer is lit like it used to be before bedtime and it shouldn’t be because the electricity was cut off ( was it? Dad wouldn’t waste that kind of money on this place ) but it’s all on anyway.

More whispering, conspiratorial and familiar and young, and he follows the sounds, sticking to the walls while his heart thunders against his ribcage, while his mind screams to run anywhere but here, anywhere but here, anywhere but here, Stevie, what were you thinking! But he has to see it through. He has to see it through.

They’re all at the dinner table, crowded round, all casual and cosy and comfortable that it makes Steve’s heart ache. Leigh, his beautiful, wonderful wife sees him first and beams at him like she hasn’t done since sometime before the truth spilled out of him. She’s the first to collect him in her arms, and he’s missed her so much, been wanting to fix this rift he’d put between them and made a chasm, so he wraps around her just the same, his breath coming in short staccato gasps as she soothes him. God, but he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it when his siblings and his dad gather around him, enveloping him in warmth he doesn’t deserve.

It’s not real! It’s not real! It’s not REAL!

But they’re so warm. And they’re telling him they understand – about the book, about the money, about his struggling with distinguishing reality from a wish. This last — this last thing they tell him, that Nellie tells him, breaks him, breath becoming spluttered cries as his legs threaten to give out beneath him. Because he has been fearing the worst, that his mind was going ( and it must be, because he’s here and they shouldn’t be and it doesn’t make any sense— ), and he’d— he’d wanted it fixed, not to burden his family but hearing it being acknowledged, especially by his own younger siblings who had suffered more than him—

     “It’s not a competition, Stevie, you know that,” Nellie says.

—it’s not something he wants to admit to wanting.

     “We love you, Steven. We never stopped loving you.”

     “We’re taking the party upstairs,” Shirley says, nudging him in the side like when she used to when they were in college. Kevin is already herding the kids up the shaky-looking metal steps of the spiral steps, followed by Luke and Theo and Dad and Leigh. Nell is hanging back with Arthur, waiting to see if Steve will follow them up. He’s wary, of course he’s wary, look at the steps—

“OK,” he says, trusting them when he shouldn’t. He follows them — Shirley, Arthur, Nellie, him.

His phone rings at the top step, showing the time to be three minutes past midnight. Wow, that’s past the kids’ bedtime. The contact’s name is Nell. He blinks, rubs his eyes, because that can’t be right ( but it is ), because Nellie’s just in front of him — except they’ve all disappeared, and what was lit by wall lights is now dark and dusty and cold. His breath shudders as he answers the phone: “Nellie?”

     “Steve—” She sounds just as out of breath.

“Nellie, is that you? Where are you?” He grips the railing, keeping his eye on the archway leading into the deeper dark, fearing what he knew was coming.

     “It—yes, I’m at home—? Steve, I know— I know it’s late—”

“I love you Nellie, you know that?” He has to let her know, and he only looks to the railing for a second, glancing to gauge how far a way from the stair case he is now, only a second—

     “Steve—” Nell tries to get a word in edgeways just as Mom appears in front of him, her hand gently gripping his jaw to make him look at her, mold and milky eyes and all. If Nellie says anything else, he doesn’t hear it, only his mother’s words.

    “Welcome home, my love.”

He’s no longer gripping the railing, or his phone: the phone drops to the floor of the balcony, clattering, clattering to the floor below, shattering and distorting the connection the House allows for this moment, and his mother pushes him backwards. The last thing he hears is the fractured and frantic, “Steve! Steve are you there—?” from the shattered phone as his head hits the floor below.

Silence falls over everything in the House.