#I’m so ill. tell me I’m hallucinating

[subaru-meteorlight]

I just found the source of remember to talk it out kieran I think I’m going through 7 stages of an indescribable emotion rn

[wolvesandshine]

“You know I had always assumed dear cousin Bella would be the first one to go to Azkaban.”

Great. One week in and he was already hearing the voices of people who have been dead for 2 years.

“Oh come on Sirius don’t tell me Azkaban broke your brain in less than a week.”

Sirius had almost forgotten how insulting Regulus could be when he put his mind to it. Sometime after his death he had forgotten - can’t speak ill of the dead and all but Azkaban really seemed intent on not letting him sulk in peace

“And you called me the soft one.” Sirius opens his eyes, annoyed, prepared to roll his eyes at thin air when he actually laid eyes on Regulus. He looked older, finally having grown into his regal features yet he also looked more cut up and bruised, hair longer and wilder than would ever be appropriate for the most noble and ancient house of Black.

Great. He was visually hallucinating too. “Serves me right that I can only properly remember how you look like in literal hell.”

Not- Regulus snorts. “Oh this is pathetic. Are you really so far gone you can’t tell I’m real?”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Fuck off. You’ve been dead for almost 2 years.”

“Aw. You do care about me.”

Sirius bristles, the familiar annoyance raising up in him. “Fine then if you’re so real prove it.”

At that Regulus laughs, loudly. “Sirius, you can literally turn into a fucking dog. Your mind might be lying to you but your animagus? It’s impossible.”

Sirius stares shocked. Regulus shouldn’t have known that. Only three people did. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Regulus stares at him, expression unreadable. “I kept tabs on you too you know.” He swallows and looks away.

Sirius blinks the sudden tears away. Regulus had always been too smart for his own good.

He didn’t need to turn into padfoot - Regulus had always been the only person who could make him feel this way.

“Well?”

Sirius blinks. “Well what?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Turn into your animagus form so that we can leave this place. I don’t know about you but this isn’t my type of vacation.”

“Leave?”

Regulus just stares at him incredulously. “You’re telling me you haven’t tried?”

Sirius feels chastised. “Well the war is over -“

Regulus cuts in. “So you fancied staying in Azkaban? When we have things to do?”

Sirius feels very unprepared for the conversation. “What things?”

Regulus ‘s smile is all teeth. “Killing Dumbledore and Voldemort for good.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

I think it's canon that stan smokes and gets high when he was younger

So I'm thinking reader (they are as old as the og mystery twins) is the type to smoke when they're stress and they say that smoking/getting high clears the fog in their brain

So how do you think stan & ford react to this? I mean they know it's bad but it helps them

Most research about the negative effects of weed I found online, whether or not half of them are actual negative effects is beyond me.

Stan isn’t a hypocrite, he’s gotten high before and so he knows what state your life must be for you to resort to getting high as a stress relief.

He fully understands why you’d always resort to doing such a thing but would remind you that you could always come to him if anything was ever bothering you instead of resorting to getting high.

‘I appreciate it but I don’t want to bother you with what goes on in my head, half of the time I can’t even put it into words that best describes what I’m going through but with this,’ you raised your blunt, ‘it helps me in ways that talking to someone else never could.’

‘Okay, just know I’m here to talk toots.’ Stanley said as he patted your shoulder and left you be.

Stan did it to escape everything and avoid the consequences of his own actions, so much so that he often abused the substance on more then one occasion, but after Dipper and Mabel came for the summer, he has later learned to cut down his smoking sessions for the betterment for the twins and himself.

So whenever he sees you heading out towards your designated smoking spot- the top of the shack- he’d sometimes join you for a smoke, especially when Ford came back and had been nothing but a stubborn nuisance as you shared common worries while the smell of his cigarette and weed was all you could smell.

Neither of you spoke but there was a solidarity between the two of you until you were done. Stan knew that it wasn’t exactly healthy but he wasn’t going to cut you off weed completely if it helped when you needed it most, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t not join you to make sure you weren’t abusing the substance like he did when he was younger.

Ford fully understands that weed is a natural product that can calm people who suffer from anxiety and stress related issues, but over-usage of it was highly discouraged.

Ford knew his brother did similar things in his youth and hated it then, but knowing that you did also only made his distaste for the strong smell stronger as he would then avoid any and all areas that you smoked in, and yet the smell clung to you like second skin and Ford was reminded of how much he hated the stuff and would try to give you something that would hopefully act as a replacement for weed.

Unfortunately for Ford it didn’t work and by the end of the week you were back to smoking weed almost on the regular to destress.

He’d even list off the risks you’d run if you low using the substance.

CHS syndrome

Elevated anxiety

Paranoia

Psychosis illnesses such as schizophrenia

Addiction to weed, if you hadn’t already formed one.

Confusions and or potential hallucinations

And so many more but the more he listed the less you seemed to care as you had relied on the weed for a good majority of your life, and did so in controlled quantities but understood Ford’s worries regardless in the matter and placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘I’m fine Ford, I know it’s not exactly good for me but it’s the only thing that helps.’ You tell him.

‘I’m here.’ Ford replied, a little hurt that you didn’t think of him as a good option for distressing.

‘You’re far too busy in your lab or out monster hunting to sit still for ten minutes and listen to me talk about my worries.’ You said as though it was obvious. ‘So weed is my only resort to calm mind.’

‘Meditation exists, so does journaling and or scrapbooking?’ Ford suggests and it was obvious that he was trying to mitigate any permanent damage you might do to yourself in the future.

‘Not my thing and I lack the patience when this mind is loud as fuck.’ You shrugged before walking up to the top of the shack to smoke, leaving Ford a little at a loss of what he could do for you now. He didn’t condemn you for your usage of weed, but he just worries that an addiction will grow from it and he wants to be there for you, he just doesn’t know how…

[briardoll]

The Obey Me! Characters react to an MC who talks to themselves!

Lucifer actually thinks it’s kind of cute, but worries you may be lonely, or quite possibly mentally ill. He may ask why you talk to yourself so much so please assure him that you’re fine!!

Mammon thinks you’re crazy, “who likes talkin’ to themselves??” Maybe it’s a weird human thing, or maybe you’re just a weird human. Either way he’s gonna bust in and ask why you’re so passionate in your hatred for modern art. (The kind of stuff where they paint a canvas entirely blue or tape a banana to a canvas and call it art. <- defo isn’t something I’M passionately hateful about (¬_¬))

Levi understands completely what it’s like to have to converse with yourself because you know nobody else understands/cares about what you’re saying. Comes in and tries his best to listen and understand your thoughts!

Satan stands outside and eavesdrops on what you’re saying, uses the information he earns to one-up his brothers by knowing what you like/dislike without ever having asked or being told directly. It creeps you out until you come out of your room unexpectedly and catch him spying.

Asmo will originally think that your live-streaming something and check all your socials, (why would you stream without telling him!? He wants to watch every second you know!) when there are no lives to be found, he comes in and asks to help film the deviltube video with you, realizing there’s no video to film either he decides to get in on the conversation and even agrees with what you’re saying! He never knew you had that much in common before!!

Beel thinks you must be hallucinating, it’s because you haven’t eaten enough of course!! He brings you your favorite meals, drinks, and snacks so that you can regain your mental stability. You tell him that you just talk to yourself to get your thoughts out somewhere and it confuses him, he’s a man of not too many words, and if it’s not about food he’s doesn’t usually pay enough attention to form an opinion. Eats snacks with you and listens to what you have to say.

Belphie thinks you talk way too much about things that aren’t important. Does laugh when he hears about the time a cicada flew in your mouth one summer as a child. “So you’ve never known how to keep your mouth shut, huh?” Whoops, gave himself away, now you know he’s there!!! (Definitely never happened to me and I’m definitely NOT speaking from experience! Actually… yes it did. I’m scared of cicadas TO. THIS. DAY.)

Diavolo thinks you talk to yourself because he doesn’t make enough time for you! He feels bad that you feel the need to talk to yourself because he’s made you so lonely! Please promise him that he did nothing wrong! He’ll still deploy a little D. To be your conversation partner when he’s busy with paperwork.

Barbatos only requests that you speak to yourself quietly, the young lord is working you know! At least now he knows your likes and dislikes better and can better cater to your needs. (him and Satan have similar mindsets in this regard)

Simeon wonders in you’re recording some kind of podcast. He’s never found it online, but it doesn’t bother him because he can listen from right outside your door. Is always excited to know what the next episode is about!

Luke comes in and asks you if you’re sick, when you tell him no, he asks if you’re lonely. You could’ve just asked him to talk! Baked some sweets and shares them with you while you talk about your common interests.

Solomon responds randomly to your rhetorical questions from outside the door. You tell him to go away and that you weren’t talking to him, just when you think he’s gone he answers you again and laughs, it’s now a fun game for him to play when he visits you.

Thirteen plays pranks on you while you do it, knocks on the door really hard and then hides so that when you open it nobody’s there! Will go to the electrical breaker in the house and switch the lights in your room on and off to hear you scream in terror.

Raphael thinks a curse might’ve been placed on you, asks if he needs to rain spears onto the person who did this to you, you tell him that no, you weren’t cursed, you’re just like this. He now thinks you are very odd and may possibly need some kind of mental help.

Mephisto will not tolerate your stupidity. If there is nobody in the room, you simply don’t speak, you aren’t filming a video, you aren’t talking on the phone, and you’re certainly not normal for acting like this! Cease it at once!

[milkyblxxd]

Price coming home from deployment, itching with anticipation to see you after weeks apart- only when he enters your home, you’re nowhere to be seen. Anxiety bubbles in him, you always greeted him the second you heard the doorknob twist. Your shoes are neatly placed by the door, keys on the table next to your purse - but where are you?

Suddenly as he’s still scanning the first floor for any indication of where you went, he hears a hacking cough coming from upstairs. Heart beating in his throat he quickly shucks off his shoes and hat, racing up to your shared bedroom. His fingers are grazing the doorknob as he hears sniffling on the other side.

John opens the door carefully, and when he sees you in bed, he’s relieved but worry still swims in his stomach. Tissues litter the floor around your side of the bed, cold and flu medicine bottles haphazardly strewn over your bedside table, a box of saltine crackers spilling out along side. He sees your form under the pile of blankets shielding you, your flushed face the only visible part of your body.

“Oh darling…” he slowly makes his way over, not wanting to startle you.

Your eyes open slightly feeling the shift of the bed under his weight. He can tell by the confused look in your eyes that you’re trying to figure out if he’s really here, or if another fever induced hallucination of him has appeared before you.

“John?” You whimper, trying to sit up.

He stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “It’s me love, I’m home.” His hand moves to your forehead, feeling the heat radiate from your skin. “You’re burning up baby, how long ‘ave you been sick?” The frown on his face is prominent. He can’t stand to see you like this, hates knowing he was away while you had to deal with this illness all alone. He should have been here to nurse you back to health, to take care of you.

Before you’re able to answer, a coughing fit interrupts you. John coos at you, rubbing his hand along your chest. When you stop, you reply, voice croaking from not using it for several days, “S-Since Wednesday,” you place your hand over your eyes, the light shining through your window becoming painful, “I think I’m dying.”

John hums, moving some of your hair out of the way of your sweaty face. “I don’ think so, my love. I think you’re just very, very sick.”

“I wish I was then, it would be better than leaking snot everywhere.” You moan, chest aching with every word.

His shoulders shake in a gentle laugh, you always were a bit dramatic when you became sick. Leaning down, he begins to pick up the stray tissues, wiping up crumbs from the saltines.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” you mumble, “thought I’d be better when you got back to clean.”

John shushes you. “There’s no need to apologize, love. Let me take care of you, yeah?” The way your eyes close shut as he rubs your temple with his thumb makes his own eyes crinkle, smile etching his lips. Even when sick, you’re still the most beautiful thing in the world to him.

After finishing cleaning up, John moves to your bathroom to start a bath, adding in your favorite bubble bath scent and lighting a candle that shouldn’t be too overwhelming. Your eyes are shut when he comes back, clearly exhausted. They only open as you feel strong arms slide underneath your body, face flushing even more as you’re picked up like you weigh nothing.

“Come on darling,” John whispers into your hair, “let me get you cleaned up and we can go watch a movie together, I’ll make you some tea too.”

[ruvaidwani]

Schizo Ruvaid :

I once read in a psychology book that the earlier in life that one appears odd, the more severely they’re likely to be impacted by their mental illness later on in life. I guess you could say that’s the case for me. I can trace certain thoughts back to as early as 6 years old. I had crippling social anxiety and would become fearful of totally irrational things. Irrational even for that age. I was freaked out constantly and didn’t even like walking to the bathroom in my own house during the day time. I had this sensation that someone was right behind me all the time. I never felt alone.

My psychotic symptoms appeared when I was 12. They were brief and very spread out then. The first hallucination I ever remember was seeing a black hole or portal in my yard. By 14–15, I was having visual hallucinations nearly constantly. Mostly when I was by myself though. They really scared me . My parents didn’t wanna hear it because it upset them.

Around that time I also started having delusions that stalkers from my old school were crawling in my air vents, so I’d always close the vents. I believed I had to punish myself to absolve the world of its pain and sins and that was my duty on this earth. This led me to hurting or torturing myself in various ways. I believed I had a sort of gift to communicate with the ghost world but I couldn’t brag about it or else I’d be a pompous sinner like all the rest.

I also would hallucinate glowing quotation marks and I thought that was the spirit world quoting my thoughts. Whenever that would happen I’d focus extra hard on whatever I was thinking because I thought the spirits were trying to tell me it had a deeper meaning about how to punish myself for the world. I would also think random things were making vague references to my thoughts and that was a punishment toward me to make me suffer and go crazy.

There was also this delusion I had that my bathroom mirror was a two way mirror and I didn’t shower often because I didn’t want whoever was on the other side to see me naked. And I would see this caterpillar man on the bathroom door and I don’t know why but I believed he was the spirit of a criminal.

When I was 18 I started having more vivid hallucinations as well as nightmares where I’d wake up and see visions. I got these new visuals where shadows would commit suicide in front of me. I also started hearing voices at this time, usually at night. I would hear static and a lady calling me rude names and just repeating words. And I heard a man’s voice saying the name of a TV character. I also began losing my train of thought mid sentence or text or forget what words I’m trying to say. Or I will misread words on paper.

Despite the toll this takes on me, I keep it mostly to myself. I know deep down I am either gifted with the ability to see the forces around us, or I genuinely have schizophrenia.

I stay to myself as much as I can in my room. I do have to study and I manage to get through it. I’d say I’m pretty functional though I am constantly tormented with fears and thoughts. I can never truly chill out because it’s always going on and I can’t just fully ignore it or get used to it. I just hope that it doesn’t progress past this point.

It got worse when I was 18 I started to hallucinate more but it got better after I overcame my addiction but now it's happening again

[comikbook]

Hey I love you art, but is there anywhere you might explain the context and meaning behind you art just so that It can help me to understand and interpret it better. I’m really interested in your art and I’d love to understand it deeper. Thank you

hi !! i can give a very quick intro to my work here :)

My paintings are a physical representation of my struggle with schizophrenia, psychosis, and delusions of religion. As a child i was at a catholic school for a couple years, and during this time my brain latched onto the idea of religion. The first hallucination i remember having was sitting in my moms car on the way from school and hearing a message thru the clicking of her car blinker. I thought this could only be God. God would talk to me and tell me to do horrific things which is very confusing and scary as a small child. It went against everything I thought God was supposed to be.

There was a dead period for awhile where these delusions and hallucinations stopped when i left catholic school, but all came to a head when i was about 18-19. This is when I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. I was in a terrible time of my life, suffering from intense psychosis and depression, as well as an extreme eating disorder. When you see the red haired girl in my paintings, that was me then. I was worse than I have ever been, and it led me to seeking help and starting medication.

I have now been medicated for a few years, and have better control over my illness. I have healed but the experience changed me, and now I make work to help me thru my process of getting better !

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

The Key to His Heart

It is often said that the key to a man’s heart, goes through his stomach. Well, that doesn’t apply to the man who owns my heart, and vice versa. By all means, we do indulge in culinary treats. 

In our younger days, it was heaps of take-away; Indian, Chinese, Indonesian. Never Italian, though. Angelo would’ve been devastated if we sought out Italian food somewhere else.

And there were of course the sweets, to satisfy the madman I lived with. 

(Still lives with, to be clear.) 

Ginger nuts, jammy dodgers, scones, Mrs. Hudson’s home baked cakes and biscuits, tiramisu, chocolate mousse, and sticky toffee pudding.

But I’m rambling. My madman, the great Sherlock Holmes, still doesn’t eat the amount of food I would like him to. He still claims that it slows him down. Not that he has places to be nowadays. If you don’t count his beloved beehives that is.

I seem unable to keep my thoughts collected on one topic today. The thing I was going to tell you about, was how I, John Hamish Watson, was given the key to the detective’s heart.

Everyone thought we were a couple from the day I moved into Baker Street. Quite a lot of them took it as a personal insult, when we, well, mostly I, objected to the assumption.

“Not gay!” I shouted out to anyone who cared to listen.

Few did, but the one that mattered the most, always listened. It still hurts to think about. 

Sherlock is interested in all kinds of things, but the thing that has stuck with him since childhood, is the fascination for bees. I was stunned when he told me about it quite early in our acquaintanceship. Living in London assured that we didn’t come across them very often, unless we walked the parks. We mostly ran through the parks, always chasing the bad guys. That was a relief, because I was terrified of the tiny creatures. 

“How is that possible? You invaded Afghanistan,” Sherlock protested when I told him.

“Well, childhood trauma isn’t that easily forgotten, Sherlock,” I stated.

When I was eight years old, I was stung by dozens of bees. I had been fighting with Harry, and she pushed me against our uncle’s two beehives. The push was hard, and both hives fell to the ground. I can still recall the angry buzzing and the bees’ fierce attack. It was summer, and I was only wearing a pair of shorts… 

Enough about my childhood horrors. 

It took me too long to realise that I loved Sherlock. Even when he came back from the dead, I acted like I hadn’t grieved him like a lover.

Keep calm and carry on.

Sherlock’s sudden illness, which forced him to stay in bed for almost a fortnight, made us both come out of our shells. His high fever made him hallucinate, and he was quite talkative throughout. He pledged his love for me numerous times a day, mostly in his sleep, so I didn’t put much into the declarations. I worked it out in the end and did some pledging myself.

He wasn’t entirely convinced at first. The not gay statement still lingered in his mind, and he was reluctant to do more than occasionally holding my hand and hug me. So, I decided to convince him. I just had to get Harry on board. She was surprisingly amenable to my suggestion to buy her share of our uncle’s cottage, which we both had inherited some years previous. 

Sherlock didn’t know about it. I had almost forgotten about it myself by that time. 

The cottage was called “In the Meadows”, and the name fit perfectly. It was surrounded by them on three sides, and said meadows needed some taming. Nobody had lived there for at least three years. An old neighbour had kept an eye on it, though, so it wasn’t in total decay. It needed some loving hands, which I hoped Sherlock and I could provide.

I took him down to Sussex one sunny Saturday in May. The neighbour had assured me that beehives were in place, and the gear needed to tend to them.

“Happy belated birthday, Sherlock,” I said when we stood outside the house.

“What do you mean, John?” he asked, too stunned to deduce and observe properly.

“It’s for you. Or us, really,” I told him.

I was so anxious for his reaction.

The blinking came first. I had anticipated that. What came as a total surprise was the kiss once he had spotted the hives.

He turned to face me, cradled my face, and pressed his lips softly against mine. I almost stopped breathing but finally got my arms to work and circled them around his waist.

“My John. You…how…but you’re terrified of…” Sherlock stuttered after he broke the kiss.

“Well, I’ll just have to trust you to protect me for once, then,” I murmured, still dazed from the tender kiss.

“Do you really love me that much, John?” Sherlock inquired.

“More than anything,” I told him, which lead to further kisses.

If you wondered; yes, we’re both retired, and our address isn’t 221B Baker Street anymore, but “In the Meadows”, Sussex.

-------------------------------------------------------

This is also my entry to the Sherlock Challenge of July, prompt: key.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @sherlockchallenge @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno

@helloliriels @raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler

@topsyturvy-turtely @jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh

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[python333]

HAI! i rlly like your platonic 141 fics and I'm wondering if we could get some more dad price and/or brother gaz sleepy cuddles? :3

stretched too thin — python333

— — — —

synopsis gaz notices you overworking yourself one night and decides to step in before you end up pulling an all-nighter.

relationships platonic!gaz & gn!reader.

characters gaz.

word count 2.05k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of pet names [love, darling], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note oh my god im so sorry i disappeared for like. a month. ill try my best to not be gone for more than a week at a time, but with all of my schoolwork and just over all stress ive been experiencing lately, i dont know if ill be able to get fics out every week :< ill try my best though! please accept this fic as an apology—its another big bro gaz one!! special shoutout to everyone else who has an older sibling thats very distant with them, you and me are in the same boat fr!! also, last thing—im thinking about making a discord server where i announce when fics are being written and published and stuff, but i dunno if yall would join or anything, so if u would pls lmk!!

You haven’t left your office in five hours. 

Recently—just about two days ago—you finished up an assignment fairly quickly and, as a result, had to write a detailed report of said assignment. It went over the mission you’d gone on, and listed off every major detail you could think of, though because you just can’t give yourself a break you were constantly thinking of other details you might’ve missed even though there was little chance you’d missed anything.

The mission wasn’t anything too important, honestly. It was originally going to be a week-long camp-out reconnaissance by an enemy task force’s base, obtaining information on their schedule and what they did throughout the day and whatnot. However, only a day into the mission, the small squad of soldiers that had accompanied you saw another small military group observing the same group you’d been observing.

So, naturally, you observed them as well. Aren’t you just the best multi-tasker?

The task force eventually found out about the other group, just a day later, while your squad was still in the clear to continue your observations. So, your mission had quickly come to a close—but, because of the circumstances under which the mission had come to a close, you were required to write an extremely detailed report on the other group and the group you’d been observing.

It would be an understatement to say you were tired. You’re exhausted.

Between the non-stop writing, the coffee sitting on your desk that’s been microwaved five times and has been refilled thrice, and the uncomfortable chair you’ve sat in that you have yet to replace, you’re extremely exhausted. Your movements are sluggish, your fingers aren’t as swift on the keyboard of your computer as they usually are, and worst of all—you still have more to write. 

Your eyes stung and felt dry, your hands felt like they were going to stop working completely at any moment, and you were overall just exhausted. 

You look over at the clock on your desk, and it reads 02:28 AM, indicating that you would only have about four hours to sleep if you went to bed now. I’m too far into this report to stop now, You tell yourself, sighing as you blink slowly at your computer screen, If only my vision didn’t keep getting blurry… 

Suddenly, you hear a knock at the door. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, and for a second you think you’re hallucinating until the knock sounds once more. 

Reluctantly, with a voice raspy from not using it almost all day, you call out, “Come in!” 

Your voice is softer and quieter than you’d like it to be, but it doesn’t matter too much to you at this moment—at least, not in your foggy mind that still begs you for sleep, even when you have far more of your report to finish. 

The door opens with a creak, and in walks Gaz. 

“Sarg,” He greets you, not bothering to close the door behind him as he walks up to your desk, “Pleasure to see you for the first time in, what… three days?” 

“Two days and eighteen hours,” You correct him, taking a moment to crack your stiff knuckles, not taking your eyes off of your monitor, “And you know you don’t have to call me ‘sarg’ or ‘sergeant’ or anything. We’re the same rank.” 

Gaz promptly ignores you, “Right, well, anything over a day is way too long for me to go without seeing you. Why’re you all cooped up in here on your computer?”

“‘Cause I need to write a report on my assignment,” You briefly explain, before lightly goading Gaz, “Not all of us need a shit ton of attention every day like you do.” 

“Ehh,” Gaz theatrically makes a thinking face, before shrugging, “Not sure what you mean by ‘us’, but alright.” 

“By ‘us’, I mean everyone but you.” 

“Surely that doesn’t include you, right?” 

“It does.” 

Gaz gasps quietly at your reply, before dramatically responding, “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely can,” You hum, finally taking your eyes off of your computer screen to look up at Gaz, “Is it so hard for you to believe that I don’t need to talk to you every waking hour?” 

“It is, actually,” Gaz scoffs, “Because I know that you do need to talk to me every waking hour.” 

“Uh, no I don’t,” You childishly argue, raising an eyebrow at Gaz.

“Uh, yes you do,” Gaz immaturely argues back, crossing his arms, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that the past two days and eighteen hours haven’t been shit because I haven’t given you any attention.”

You open your mouth to form a response but quickly close it, realizing that yeah, actually, I kind of do crave his attention. 

Fuck.

“You’re not the only person that gives me attention,” You point out, hoping to find some way to change the subject.

“Sure, but you like the attention I give you the most,” Gaz hums, leaning forward to rest his crossed arms on your desk opposite of where you sit.

“You don’t know that.”

“Then tell me that I’m wrong,” Gaz challenges you.

You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him for a moment before sighing, “You suck.”

“Maybe I suck, but you look like you haven’t slept for the past week,” Gaz points out, “You look exhausted, by the way. And dehydrated. Actually, you just look like the human embodiment of a headache.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“I mean that in the most loving, non-offensive way possible.”

“You come into my office, accuse me of needing attention from you, then you insult me by calling me the human version of a headache?”

“It wasn’t an insult!” Gaz raises his hands in surrender, before sighing, “I’m being serious. You look dead, [c/n]. You need sleep.” 

“What I need is to finish this report,” You huff out, beginning to turn your attention back to your computer, before Gaz’s hand is quickly placed on your chin and forces you to look back at him. 

“No, what you need is some rest,” Gaz argues, more serious this time, taking his hand off of your chin—something you shouldn’t miss nearly as much as you do, the warmth of his hand fading far too quickly from your face—and bringing it back to rest on the desk. 

“Maybe you need rest, Gaz.”

“Sure I do,” He shrugs, “But I’m only going to sleep if you do.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Really? You’re pulling that card?”

“I am.” 

You stare at him for a moment, mentally weighing your options, before sighing and bringing your elbows up to the table so that you can place your forehead in your hands.

On one hand, if you stay in your office you can finish up your report before four and then go to sleep, and hope that you magically feel active even with just an hour or two of sleep in the morning. On the other hand, if you go to sleep now, so does Gaz, and then you both get more than just two hours of sleep. 

After another moment of consideration, you huff out a frustrated breath and mutter, “Fine.” 

Gaz smiles down at you and walks around your desk to your side of it, holding out a hand for you to grab to help yourself up from your chair and using his free hand to save your report and power off your monitor. 

You take his hand and stand up, your legs a little weak and balance iffy from sitting down for so long, but within the next few minutes you’re sure you’ll be able to properly walk. You let go of his hand once you’re positive you won’t fall over, and once he sees that you’re able to walk, Gaz silently walks towards the door of your office. Just as quietly, you follow him. 

He turns off the lights for you and lets you walk out of the office first, locking the door from the inside and closing it once you’re out. Once he’s done, he takes the lead again and you follow him down to his sleeping quarters. It’s not too long of a walk there, only two minutes at most.

Once you’re there, Gaz opens the door and lets you walk in first. Once you’re inside and Gaz has closed the door, you shrug off your camouflage patterned jacket and toe off your already loosened tan boots, leaving you in just your camouflage cargo pants and army green undershirt.

You look down at your pants with a frown, knowing from experience that sleeping in them was incredibly uncomfortable and left you regretting your whole existence the morning after, but before you could even look over at Gaz to tell him of your situation, you felt something being thrown at you. 

You immediately turn your attention to the item that had been hurled at you—the item in question being a pair of gray sweatpants, some that would probably be a little bit looser than you’d prefer on your figure—and then look over at Gaz with a questioning look. 

“Figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in that,” Gaz shrugs, nodding to your cargo pants in response to your nonverbal confusion. 

You hum in appreciation, not wanting to talk too much at the moment, instead waiting for Gaz to look away before slipping off your pants and replacing them with the sweatpants Gaz had thrown at you. The fit isn’t as uncomfortable as you thought they’d be—they’re loose and hang low on your hips, just like you thought they would, of course, but they don’t feel nearly as weird as you thought they would.

Once you’ve tightened the strings on the waist of the pants, you get into Gaz’s bed, pulling the covers up and over yourself. Gaz quickly settles into the bed next to you, quickly getting himself comfortable under the sheets, and pulling the covers up and over his shoulders in one swift movement.

He gets closer to you, so close that his chest presses against your back and you can feel the tip of his nose ghosting over the top of your head. He wraps one arm over your body to pull you impossibly closer to him, and his other arm snakes underneath the side of your body so that both of his arms are wrapped around you.

He hums contently and his thumb rubs small circles into your clothed stomach, the action—despite being small—causing your stomach to warm up almost immediately. 

“Comfortable, darling?” Gaz asks quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“Very,” You mumble back, trying to subtly lean your head back against Gaz in hopes of getting at least one more kiss. Noticing your efforts, he huffs out a small laugh and presses another gentle kiss right at the edge of your hairline before pressing one last one to your forehead. 

Even with the comforting atmosphere, you can’t find it within yourself to fully relax, your body still tense and stiff underneath the blanket. Gaz, just like he did with your “subtle” movements, notices and frowns. 

“Just sleep,” Gaz tiredly mumbles into the top of your head, “You have to get up in three hours. The sooner you sleep, the more sleep you get.” 

You don’t respond, instead simply sighing and forcing your eyes closed. You do have to admit, it’s nice being able to actually close your eyes for something other than blinking, and closing your eyes for longer than half a second has made you realize that they were even drier than you thought they were. 

Exhausted and ready to finally sleep, you eventually get to a point where you no longer need to force your eyes shut, and as a result, your whole body relaxes for the first time in almost six hours. 

“G’night, love,” Gaz murmurs, feeling your body relax next to his. You hum in acknowledgment of his words, not finding the energy within yourself to properly respond, instead finding yourself drifting off into a deep sleep. 

And if four hours later, Gaz wakes up and simply lies there, not waking you and instead letting you get some more sleep despite you having to be up soon, nobody has to know.

[cloudcountry]

hELLO THERE <3 i would like to perhaps request a reader that has a weak immune system with Leona, Jamil, Idia?

- Reader is weak frequently and gets sick easily, while viruses or illnesses are incubating in them they’re overly tired. They get fevers often and when they’re sick they’re prone to hallucinations and delusions- like one night they can hear colors and green tells them to eat cake (this happened 2 me <3 i’m sick rn)

they wander around at night a lot bc they’re delirious when sick and it’s a lil silly

they also apologize a lot for burdening s/o when they’re sick bc they’re sick so often

i hope u don’t mind the details ;; have a great

day night evening 🌽

SUMMARY: Leona, Jamil, and Idia with a S/O that has a weak immune system.

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: i hope you feel better soon!! :C <3 i didnt mind the details at all <33 i hope your day/night is lovely as well, thank you!!

When Leona learns about your weakened immune system, he suggests you join the Savanaclaw dorm for their daily exercise with a mocking grin on his face. He isn’t doing it to be mean, he’s just teasing in his typical Leona way.

Hell, you’ll even be invited to Spelldrive practice since he heard exercising can help with your weakened immune system. If you’d prefer to stay in his room and keep the lights off, however, he’ll accept that as well. After all, nobody besides Ruggie is going to enter his room.

If you apologize for being a burden he’ll shrug it off. If you were a burden, he would have thrown you to the wolves a while ago. He takes care of you because he cares about you. You’re not forcing him to do anything.

He makes you balanced and healthy meals when you’re sick (and if you ask nicely, he might feed you hehe.) Sometimes Kalim will burst into your room and try to, ahem, help, but Jamil always shoos him away.

If you ever thank him for taking care of you and imply that it’s hard work, Jamil will sigh and tell you that he’s here because he wants to be. You’re not forcing him to do anything against his will.

And because he hates a lack of freedom, you know he’s being genuine. (Although he will get a bit teasing when you talk about colors talking to you.)

Idia, oh Idia. He has absolutely no idea what to do. He'll offer you some of his shitty packaged ramen noodles with a shaky hand and a soft voice. Also, his room is deathly cold because of his computer systems so you’re going to have to heap on the blankets if you want to stay cool!!

Ortho is your saving grace, looking up recipes and helping Idia come up with home remedies to help you feel just a little bit better.

Idia’s still a bit shy when it comes to you, and honestly the day when he’ll finally open up may be far off, but when you complain about being a burden he just mumbles something about how you’re not and not to worry.

[lcvejoy]

speak now

wilbur soot x gn!reader

tw!: alcohol, throwing up, angst? hurt/comfort. kinda makes no sense; not proofread.

word count: 1,336

a/n: i hate this but i rlly just wanted to post bc i miss it. more stuff coming! this is just to get me back into the groove of writing and sharing lol. clearlyyyy i write too much angst im sorry i just thrive in it. ill write more fluff! expect more!

wilbur is lying on the vinyl kitchen flooring when he calls.

he’s wine drunk and crying like an overtired toddler. wails of grief and laboured breaths, clutching his phone with one hand and gripping his hair with the other. the cold surface of the floor giving him some relief for his overheated body.

“hey, you’ve reached y/n! i must be super busy, but leave a message and i’ll get back to you when i can!” he’s heard that voicemail hundreds of times this week. he loves hearing your voice, even if only through a phone speaker.

“baby?” he sniffles, wiping his snot on his sleeve, “hey darling, hey y/n.”

a shaky breath, “listen i-“ he looks at at the ceiling, silently cursing himself, “i need you to tell me where you are, okay?” he catches a sob before it escapes, trying to display strength. “we’re all so worried about you. i-i’m so worried about you.” he’s dizzy, the room is spinning now. he reaches his hand out to lay flat against the floor in an attempt to steady himself.

“just call me. or text one of us. anyone. w-we just want to know you’re okay.” wilbur can no longer hide his misery. his voice is wobbly and it cracks at the beginning of each sentence.

“i love you, y/n. i-i love you so much it hurts.” he begins to feel the bile rise in his throat, “come home, okay?” he hangs up. he gets up from the floor on shaky legs, stumbling his way to the bathroom, and lets out of the contents of his stomach. he’s coughing and spitting, hugging the toilet and resting his head on the side of the seat.

he flushes the toilet and scoots back to lay his back against the opposite wall. he leans his head back, closing his eyes, before crumbling again. loud sobs, fat tears, hiccups and laboured breaths. the pain and grief hits him like a train.

there was an argument between you two the night you left. he hasn’t seen you since, and nobody has heard from you. your phone, however, has remained on - proven by the fact that wilbur has been able to leave you voicemails and each of his texts deliver. both, however, go unanswered and unread.

he is riddled with guilt - his brain playing every possible scenario. hurt, kidnapped, murdered, lost, alone. although, his hopeful side prays you’re at your parents house and you just don’t want to talk to anyone.

he picks up his phone and calls again. he leaves more voicemails. he does this for hours until he’s sober with a pounding headache and a broken heart.

until, finally, “wilbur, please stop calling.”

you answer. he’s frozen, sitting up from his leant over position quickly.

“y/n?” he’s convinced he’s hallucinating, that this isn’t real, that you didn’t actually pick up your phone.

“i’m fine, wil. i’m safe. please stop calling and go to sleep.” you seem annoyed, your voice is heavy with exhaustion; like he’s woken you up multiple times with his constant calls.

“w-where are you?” he’s frantic.

“i’m safe.” you respond, sternly.

“stop calling, wil.” it comes out like a warning.

“are you going to come back?” he asks, the emotions bubbling in his gut, “please, y/n. please come home.”

he hears you sigh. he holds his breath as he waits for your answer.

“i’m sorry i worried you” you began, “i just needed some space. i’m coming home in a couple days.”

wilbur falls apart with relief. he cries without the pain and grief present.

“we will talk more about it when i come back. just-“ you pause.

“just give me some space, okay? get some sleep.” you speak gently.

he nods, wiping the tears spilling down his cheeks.

“i love you” he sobs.

“i love you, too” you whisper. you hang up, and wilbur cries more.

two days later, wilbur hears keys jingling at his front door as he sits on the couch. he rises to his feet so quickly that he stumbles slightly, nearly tripping. he watches the lock switch, the door handle twist, and the door begin to slowly swing open. he’s frozen as he watches, wide-eyed.

you walk in, a small bag in hand. you haven’t yet noticed wilbur’s presence as you lock the door and remove your shoes, setting your bag down on the floor next to you.

finally, you look up. you freeze upon meeting wil’s eyes. you both stand there - staring in each others eyes, mouth slightly agape, feet planted in place.

wilbur’s mouth opens as if he’s going to say something, but the words get caught in his throat. he gulps, feeling the emotions rise to his eyes.

“hi wil” you break the silence with a small whisper.

his lip quivers, a tear falls down his cheek.

“hi” his voice cracks as he whispers back.

there’s a beat of silence as you both remain solid in your places. wilbur is silently crying, staring at you. you can feel your eyes welling with tears as you speak again; “i’m sorry i left” you begin, “i just needed some space. i should’ve told you where i was going. that was incredibly selfish of me.” you look down, your fingers anxiously playing with the hem of your shirt. you swallow before beginning again, “it killed me to not talk to you, but we both needed time apart.” you look up to meet wilbur’s eyes again. he has tears steadily streaming down his cheeks, his mouth is slightly open. you are finally taking in just how broken he looks; his hair is a mess, he has dark eye bags as if he hasn’t slept since the night you left, his skin is pale and dry. you feel like the shittiest human being on earth for having caused him this pain. you quickly wipe the tear that falls from your eye.

wilbur gulps again before speaking in a hushed voice and broken tone; “i never want to go that long wondering if you’re okay again. w-wondering if i’ll ever see you again. i-“ a choked sob leaves his lips. he breathes deeply before continuing, “i was s-so scared that the only time i would ever hear your voice again was through your voicemail message.”

you can’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks as he speaks. you nod as you look down.

“i’m so sorry” you crumble, both of you letting out soft sobs and hitches of sharp breaths.

“let me hold you” wilbur speaks up, “please, l-let me hold you.”

all you can do is nod. the words won’t form. so you do; you nod as he quickly steps forward.

and as he reaches you, he pulls you into him. his hands wrap themselves around your middle as his head buries into your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull your face into his chest, breathing him in. you can feel his hot tears on your skin and his body jump as he lets out quiet sobs.

you stand there, in the living room of your shared apartment, holding each other and crying together for an unmeasurable amount of time. until eventually, the sobbing subsides and all that is heard is sniffles.

wilbur pulls away from the hug and instead, brings his hands to your face and rests his forehead against yours. you hold his forearms and close your eyes. you missed this - you missed being close to him, feeling him, smelling him. you missed him.

he missed you equally as much.

“never again” he whispers, as his thumbs begin moving against your cheeks.

“never again” you repeat in an equally quiet voice.

you both smile slightly. wilbur moves his head up to leave a long, lingering kiss on your forehead before returning his forehead to yours.

a silent vow of forgiveness, a silent vow of “i’m sorry.”

and yet, there is a quiet but heard vow of a promise to never let this happen again.

[schizodiaries]

how to care for a loved one with schizophrenia

I have made a few posts already about self-care tips for schizophrenic people, but now I want to talk about different ways a non-schizophrenic can help care for their schizophrenic friends and family.

Do some research on schizophrenia. Learn about the history of the disorder, the symptoms that may be present (and the different categories of symptoms), the medication we take, etc. Showing that you’ve made an effort to try to understand us is a kind gesture and we won’t forget it.

Learn how to talk to someone who is actively delusional, psychotic, or hallucinating. You want to stay as neutral as possible, as in, avoid outright denying or endorsing what they believe. (Ex. “I’m the president of the U.S.” “Oh, I thought the president was Joe Biden?”)

Uncover their triggers. If they are comfortable sharing it with you, it may help to know what their triggers are so you can avoid them or help them to cope. (Sharing triggers is a sign of trust, don’t abuse this trust by taking advantage of them.)

Create a safe and welcoming environment for your schizophrenic loved one. Refrain from using ableist language, or misusing words used to describe our symptoms (delusional, psychotic, etc). We might not act like it hurts us, but it does.

Don’t believe in all the stereotypes you see in the media. Schizophrenic people are not inherently violent. At the same time, don’t be surprised if they display bizarre or unpredictable behavior. This illness affects different people in different ways. There is no one way to be schizophrenic.

Speaking of which, let your schizophrenic loved one unmask every now and again, or as often as you’re both comfortable with. Let them talk to themselves, make odd movements, rant about their ideas, obsess over numbers, or whatever unmasking looks like for them. Don’t punish them for it or make them feel bad about it either.

Try not to see schizophrenia as something that needs to be “cured.” Currently there is no cure for schizophrenia, though it is treatable. It’s one thing to wish for a cure as a schizophrenic person, but it’s another for someone else to wish we can be cured. To us, it implies that you don’t want us to be ourselves or want to change something about us. Wouldn’t you rather have us just the way we are, schizophrenia and all?

Avoid sending your loved one to a psych hospital as much as possible. I understand that they aren’t all bad and can be necessary or even beneficial to a person experiencing a mental health crisis. But these places are notorious for being neglectful, traumatizing, and abusive. Look at the reviews for any of your local psych hospitals and tell me why you would want to send your loved one there.

If you want to join support groups for schizophrenia, online or irl, look into ones that focus primarily on the people that have the illness, not just their loved ones. It’s important to hear directly from schizophrenic individuals and learn about the experiences we have. I understand it may be hard for you as a parent, child, caretaker, etc. of a schizophrenic person, but it’s infinite times harder for them.

[inamagicalhallucination]

since no one pointed out my favorite part of the i just wanna know u fic, ill do it myself

"

“Excuse me,” a soft voice said, startling Atsushi. Atsushi stepped back, looking at the source. A girl with long dark hair flowing down her back, dark eyes, and dark lashes, stood there, hand outreached. It took Atsushi an embarrassingly long second to realize that she was trying to reach for one of the brooches he’d unknowingly been blocking with his body.

He took a few more steps back, awkwardly laughing.

“Sorry about that!”

“No worries. You seemed deep in thought.” She said, And though she was probably just being polite, Atsushi ended up sharing —

“Ah, I’m trying to buy a gift for someone I don’t really know. He’s pretty goth but I don’t really know like anything specific about him.”

“Oh? Maybe I can help, I may not look like it now,” she gestured to her yellow dress, “but I have a good eye for different styles.”

“Really? That would help so much! It wouldn’t be a bother?”

“No,” she laughed, “I’m trying to be more social – outside of work. This is for my own benefit too.”

“Oh!”

“Well, what do you know about your friend?”

“He’s not my friend,” Atsushi said quickly. The girl blinked. “Er, sorry— he did me a favor, I guess. Um for work.”

Something in the girl’s face changed as if she was putting together a puzzle — what that puzzle was, he didn’t know. But her lips tipped up to an amused and —something else but Atsushi couldn’t tell— smile.

“I see. Hmm, since it’s a gratitude present, maybe you should go with instinct? I’m sure he’ll appreciate it if it’s from you.”

Atsushi chuckled, ignoring whatever double meaning he knew she had (he just didn’t know what it was).

“I doubt that, I don’t think he likes me much.” understatement of the year. But the girl just laughed.

“I wouldn't be too sure.”

Atsushi frowned looking back at his options, deciding to trust her anyway, even if she was weird — it was better than his idea. He picked up the cat. It had nothing to do with his own ability. Seriously. In fact, when she wasn’t trying to rip him apart, Rashomon kind of looked like a cat.

“Thanks,” he said, turning back to the girl, but she was long gone.

“Huh,” he said looking around for any sign she had been around at all, “my hallucinations are getting weird.” He thought back to the girl, now realizing that she looked like Akutagawa – a girl Akutagawa — “Really weird.”

Pondering it no more, he purchased the brooch and stepped out."

(aka atsushi meeting gin and then thinking she was a weird akutagawa-hallucination)

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

What're some Steph Brown moments you think should be talked about more?

Thank you sm for asking me this…

This one is actually really hard for me to answer because I think society should be talking about every stephanie brown moment all of the time. Additionally, I genuinely don’t think I can tell what moments w her are underrated anymore.

That being said I have made a list:

1. This Scene w Crystal in cataclysm

Robin #54

Really shows some extremely interesting parts of their relationship. This is like one of our first indications Crystal and Steph’s relationship might be on the mend. We get a look into how close they are despite their many issues. We have a minute where Steph jokes about Crystal blaming herself for the quake “too” implying Crystal often blames herself for things out of her control, which as I’m always discussing is a Stephanie Brown classic trait. The idea that this is something Crystal might do as well is so compelling to me. And throughout it all, we have Steph trying to protect Crystal, taking care of her, even tucking her in like a parent would their child. (Cough Stephanie brown parentification cough cough)

2. This panel from GK37. The way Batmans silhouette steps forward while Steph’s silhouette stands starkly still. The purple overcast sky with the flakes of snow (the whole weather/environment in gk37 kills me). The emphasis on ‘go to hell’ as after a comic of bargaining Steph finally comes to terms with the fact that she can’t rely on anyone else, that Batman going to her and telling her she could be something, that she could be good meant absolutely nothing to him. Amazing. Imprinted into my brain.

4. Steph’s conversation with Natalia about the stars in Robin 104. Gorgeous panel with an interesting look into Steph’s brain.

5. The Riddle scene in Robin 113, because I’m not smart enough to break down the Riddlers riddles and put together the implications which I assume are there and I want someone else to do it for me. Additionally, the lighting is absolutely gorgeous as we get to see Steph at this low point.

6. Robin #92, the scene where Bruce talks to Steph about the future, deeply unsettling her to the point that months and months later at the very start of war games she’s still thinking about it

7. The moment after Tim Drake’s birthday gaslighting bonanza where he commiserates with Steph abt getting tested by Batman. I’m imagining that he feels guilty for his role in her own test. For the record I’m hallucinating that guilt. I think it’s possible Lewis straight up didn’t know how Tim lied to Steph in Batman Family. But on the other hand the parallels to GK37 are insane and clearly there for a reason. Thinking about this lots. The repetition of “I know” vs “go to hell”. Their reversal of roles…I’ve already blabbed abt this on my blog but I’m still putting it here also bc I’m thinking abt it always.

Robin #120

8. All of GK22 as a reflection of how Batman’s loneliness post officer down is actually inextricably connected with his decision to sanction Steph as Spoiler. But specifically this scene because it makes me sick and ill and because it’s my header. Love the decapitated head side eyeing Batman.

9. Okay last one. One moment I’ve been thinking about a lot recently is Stephanie’s first interaction with Batman post War Games. Like the first thing she says to him after returning from her faked death is her essentially asking permission to patrol in Gotham.

Robin #174

Which is so fucking insane. She was unironically and genuinely spiritually broken by the events of war games. One of the very core tenets of her characterization, her willingness to be Spoiler no matter what regardless of the consequences, is fractured and entirely reversed. I have a lot of thoughts about this, and in general how post war games pre bg2009 Steph has healed physically but something big has clearly changed in her and not for the better. If you ask me, that period of time is stephanie brown at her lowest point. Will be posting abt this more eventually because writing this out has given me worse brain worms than normal.

Thank you so much for the ask again, sorry this took me a second I kept writing out way too much. I’m unfortunately a rambler at heart. Would love to hear anyone’s thoughts on any of these moments or other moments I missed.

[pinkeoni]

Joyce’s Aunt Darlene

In season one, we get a throwaway line from Lonnie regarding Joyce’s Aunt Darlene—

We don’t hear a lot about her specifically, but there’s a lot of context clues that actually tell us a lot about her.

This line comes up when Joyce and Lonnie are discussing how Joyce has been seeing and feeling Will, which Lonnie remarks is all in her head.

When Lonnie compares her situation to Aunt Darlene, Joyce becomes defensive. I’m not like her.

Lonnie’s solution to Joyce’s situation is to see a therapist, or even, religious intervention.

So here’s what we know about Aunt Darlene given the context in the scene:

Joyce has an Aunt Darlene who used to see things that weren’t there and had delusions.

They both talk about her in the past tense, indicating that she might not be around anymore

Neither Lonnie nor Joyce speak about her with a particular fondness

The solution to Darlene’s situation was either handled with doctors and/or a pastor

Now, it’s possible that Darlene just has a mental illness, and Lonnie brings her up as a point of contrast to the audience between them, Joyce is not like Darlene.

Unless, Darlene’s mention here is actually supposed to be a point of comparison, in which this line could point to Darlene:

I mean, with how this show works, I think it’s fair to question if there’s more behind Aunt Darlene.

Where is Aunt Darlene?

I’m gonna answer this question first because I think it will lead well into everything else.

We know that Darlene was likely diagnosed with some kind of mentall illness, likely schizophrenia if she was seeing things that no one else was seeing. It’s possible that Darlene is just living somewhere at home, but especially in the 80’s when mental illness was a lot more stigmatized, I’m wondering if she was institutionalized. I did point out earlier that Lonnie and Joyce speak about her in the past tense, as if she isn’t around anymore.

What mental hospital is mentioned earlier in the same season? And then gets brought back in season four?

I think Aunt Darlene might be in Pennhurst.

Here’s what I’m thinking: Aunt Darlene either witnessed something regarding the Upside Down, and/or she has powers.

I think about this line from season two regarding Will’s true sight visions:

“Let’s see if he’s a wizard or a schizo.”

Another point in season two is a line thrown in about El’s “Crazy great aunt Shirley,” and El being a character who we know for a fact has powers.

If powers are passed down genetically, it would make sense for some of her family to have some. Aunt Shirley was probably in the same boat as Aunt Darlene, and their abilities of sight was misinterpreted as mental illness.

Right now what I’m thinking is that Darlene either had a true sight ability similar to Will, and/or she was able to see into the future. Whatever power she has is definitely related to sight. I think too about this line spoken by Will in season three:

If that isn’t the biggest “I have prophetic powers” indicator then I don’t know what is.

I’m honestly leaning more in the camp of her having powers, but if she’s being compared to Joyce, it would also make sense if she only witnessed something related to it, and was called crazy because no one believed her.

This would reflect Victor Creel’s situation pretty well. He was witnessing something supernatural of he was seen as a paranoid schizophrenic by others. The earlier reference to religious intervention makes me think of Victor as well. I know that Lonnie meant Joyce should just talk to the pastor and not have an exorcism done, but the small mention still draws a connection. It’s possible that whatever Darlene was seeing could have been misinterpreted as divine hallucinations.

If she does have powers, I think it likely that HNL would know about her. I’m still working on a post that talks about the possible connection between HNL and Pennhurst, but I think Victor’s residency in Pennhurst is enough to see a possible connection between both institutes.

So here’s what I think happened to Darlene (Maldonado?):

Darlene was either seeing something with her powers, and/or she witnessed something supernatural that no one else saw

She was misdiagnosed with schizophrenia and sent to Pennhurst

It’s possible she might have been dangerous similar to Victor, or possibly percieved as such

She likely still resides at Pennhurst

I think it might be possible that we might even see Darlene in season 5.

This is just theoretical, but especially it both her and Will have powers, I could see him meeting her and learning more about where his powers come from as a likely possibility, or another character visiting her in Pennhurst and learning more from her. She wouldn’t have a whole storyline, probably just a cameo in one episode.

tagging: @heroesbyler

[misty-caligula]

This is my big one for s2e6 and it’s the thing that made me bolt upright in my chair, really just ... kicked me in the chest. For context my point of view on the show is a non-supernatural one, I do not think Lottie is psychic I think she’s delusional. It’s okay if you do not, but that’s the context for my take:

I have a strong suspicion that adult!Lottie’s being played, and I really do not like it.

Full disclosure, I have a history in the psychiatric world as a patient, I’m not schizophrenic but I am psychotic and I am well managed and very stable but like... I know what this shit is meant to be like, from about 15 years of personal experience. So back in s2e4 I was immediately .... confused. By Lott’s new psych. She seemed... just off.

I thought to myself “Hey, you know, psychiatry is one of those things that is so often misrepresented in all forms of media, I’m probably just reading too much into it.” But then I rewatched (and rewatched) and the more I did the more it felt... deliberate. What got to me was that ... her normal psych has gone on sabattical and been replaced, and the new one is trying to tell her not to suppress her visions with medication but try to understand them and what they’re trying to tell her.

A real psychiatrist simply would never talk like that. Would never suggest that. As far as psychiatry is concerned, Lottie is schizophrenic, her visions are delusional. And delusions/hallucinations are less ... they’re less like dreams where you might think “Oh I’m going to keep track of what I’m dreaming about and see if it means anything” (which, incidentally, is also not a thing a psychiatrist would usually do, but that’s besides the point) but are more like... a damaged computer, throwing up random, unsorted and unrelated data. Our brains are pattern finders, we desperately try to make connections in what we experience, and when our brains start misfiring and giving us bizarre and nonsensical data we still try to connect it. Delusional thinking doesn’t ... say anything about you, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the brain trying to sort nonsense into piles of organised nonsense.

From a psychiatric perspective a delusion or hallucination is a symptom no different to a ... headache or a rash. It’s a non-desirable issue to be treated and ideally cured, not ... explored and looked at for some kind of deeper meaning. And this isn’t even talking about like, trauma, and processing it through therapy. Lottie’s psychosis manifested long before the plane, she’s been on medication most of her life. It’s not something she can just... ignore, or choose to fight, or try not to have. More than that, by actively engaging with it it damages her coping mechanisms that she’s developed over the years to ground her in reality when she’s not certain.

Anyway. This all just seemed.... off. Wrong. And Lottie’s reaction is to say “There’s no meaning, because they’re not REAL.” Because she’s spent a LOT of time in treatment, trying to build a solid foundation of reality to live on. She’s clearly very distressed by the idea of losing touch with that, and her psych is NOT helping. It all seemed very... off.

I thought through options of what was going on. Maybe... maybe her new psych isn’t real? Maybe she’s talking to the wall? That was my best theory with so little to go on. But it was not a very satisfying answer, and didn’t really fit the general themes and style of the show anyway... I was confused.

Fast forward to ep 6 and we get more time with the new psych. Lott is now CLEARLY agitated. She can’t sit still, seems very anxious. She starts talking about “the visions” and “this feeling even about things that I know are right infront of me, it’s like it’s pointing me towards back then.” Her psych says “Is it possible that your fear of the past might be actually your fear of your illness?” Only THAT IS NOT WHAT LOTT SAID. She didn’t SAY she was afraid of the past, she was afraid of “a feeling about things I know are right infront of me, pointing me back towards then.” What does she mean by that? Finding random queens in a pile of papers? Visions of dead bees? The reality is that she’s not afraid of the past, she’s losing touch with reality. In psychiatric wording, she’s struggling to hold onto “insight” i.e. the ability to determine what’s real or not.

Lott kind of misses this disconnected thought though, and instead she says “That’s not the problem, I’m not worried that I’m ill, I’m worried I never was.” This shows a complete LACK of insight, she’s forgotten that only very recently she was terrified of her illness and now she’s suddenly thinking that maybe 30+ years of treatment were all for nothing? Maybe she was just never sick at all?

Then she goes off on a tangent, she says “With Travis coming, Natalie and now Misty’s here too. It’s like it sent them here, to show me.” “To show you what?” “That it WAS real. And that I wasn’t the only one who felt it out there, that it was all of us, that it was a part of us.” “What is...it...Lottie?” And she goes off about the god of the wilderness and the terrible things they did.

But... okay so Lott’s losing her objectivity here, which is ... not uncommon for a psychotic person to deal with. And she’s developing a belief that she was never sick, that she was never delusional, that it was always real. Now only 2 episodes beforehand she’d come to the psych on an emergency basis to increase her meds PRECISELY because she was afraid this would happen. She’s TERRIFIED of getting to this exact point, being this exact way. Because it leaves her absolutely out of control of herself, her own mind.

But listen to what the psychiatrist is saying. First she says to her face that Lott’s psychosis is “controlled.” But... no it’s not! She’s having hallucinations, she’s CLEARLY delusional, and showing all kinds of signs of psychosis. She’s definitionally out of control.

Then she asks probing questions not about her mental state, but about the details of her delusions, about the god of the forest. She STILL hasn’t increased her meds and she’s acting like it’s not at all weird that she’s saying stuff like “I think I’m not sick and never was.” Which, to a psychotic person or a psychiatrist is SUCH a red flag, because the next immediate question to raise if a schizophrenic or bipolar or otherwise psychotic person says those words is “...are you taking your medication?” Because believing that you’re not delusional is one of the core hallmarks OF BEING DELUSIONAL.

Literally the definition of a delusion is a belief without evidence that you hold against all odds even in the face of contradictory evidence. If you are sitting there saying EXTRAORDINARY things and requiring zero external evidence to back up your claims and ABSOLUTELY certain in those beliefs no matter what... that’s delusional. Of COURSE you think you’re sane, if you lack insight you simply cannot tell what you’re thinking isn’t rational.

It’s like you are so certain that gravity exists, you can feel it, you can see its’ effects, and you comfortably put your life on the line for gravity a hundred times a day. If someone told you gravity wasn’t real you’d think they sounded mad, and if they told you YOU were the one out of touch, and that actually gravity wasn’t real, you could just look around and go “Uh... obviously you’re wrong.” But if you’re getting bad info into your brain you could be relying on something with JUST AS MUCH certainty and have absolutely no idea or capacity to tell that it’s actually completely wrong, no matter how many times you were told or shown. Medicated psychotic people regain their insight and can say “Sometimes I think things that don’t make sense, and I can tell that they’re not real, and I’m glad I don’t make choices based on that false information.” Unmanaged psychotic people say “I don’t know why I should take some pill, I’m fine, nothing’s wrong at all.”

I just canNOT fathom how any psychiatrist in the world would sit with a known schizophrenic patient who’s describing having active visions, who believes that a god they found in the middle of the forest is sending people to them so they can all be magically healed by them, and not IMMEDIATELY say to themselves “Hmm, this person is clearly having a psychotic event, is clearly in a tough spot, and needs their meds adjusted and maybe we should look into their wellbeing in the short term.”

All of which led me to suddenly jump up in my chair and shout “OH MY GOD” at my poor friend who was watching with me. Because I think that Lottie is being manipulated. I think that someone’s been fucking with her meds. I think that someone got rid of her real psychiatrist and replaced him with a plant. I think the new psych is either trying to encourage her to become a more invested cult leader, possibly the cult is becoming like... more intense without her knowledge and they’re trying to turn her into a saint by removing her meds and encouraging her delusions. OR someone is trying to work out what REALLY happened in the woods and they’re manipulating her so that she’ll tell them the full story while she’s vulnerable and confused.

Either way, I’m 99.9% sure someone’s deliberately fucking with her at this point, and it’s actually really pissing me off because I can’t stand seeing vulnerable people, esp mentally ill people, being manipulated and used. It’s a HUGE thing for me, and ... aaaaaah whoever’s behind this shit I hope they meet Shauna on a very bad day.