Realistic or Modern 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵

Twin Fantasy · Jan 30, 2023

i'm sick and tired of praying,
i just wanna get better

DANTE NARVAEZ SANTA MARIA

001
02

warning!

This post contains brief mentions of CSA. Proceed with caution.

i agree
1
2

you tried to pull the trigger but your hand began to shake
Several eyes were making their way into Dante's possession. If he was going to make a sock puppet, he was going to make it fucked up. So fine. Fucking eldritch horror sock puppet.

It looked how he felt. He got glue stuck between his fingers.

And then he was being spoken to. His bones tightened up, hands clenched suddenly as he tried not to curl up into a ball and cover his ears. It was just another patient. They're all fucked up. They're all here just like you. But the man addressing him -- Matt Wright -- looked like an angel in worldly clothes. Biblical. It was clear he knew it, too, he always looked prepared to feast on the innards of the nearest weak creature. He was going to chew the guts out of Dante's belly. He was going to peel the tripe from inside of him and gnaw it.

"What are you making?"

"You- you could probably make a dick." Dante snickered. Mostly at the idea that anyone would give a shit what kind of sock puppet he was making. "I mean- just say it's an expression of... I don't know. Deep-seated sex trauma. Gender dysphoria. Something like that." In Dante's imagination, a long shadow was standing behind him, giggling at the oh-so-ironic mention of sex trauma.

It was hardly trauma. He couldn't remember it.

"It's your soul puppet. It's a little dick. The dick of your soul." At least he could still banter. "And the part where your hand goes in is the butthole."

He then turned quickly, being addressed again. His shoulders hunched a bit. Why the fuck did everyone want to talk to him?! He avoided eye contact with Forbes and Ostin, as he did with everyone else. "Uh- I..." All conversational bravado escaped him. What little he'd started with, anyway. "...Can't escape some people." He stuck some more eyes to his sock. It judged him. "Can't escape some things." Then he paused. Fuck! You sound like fucking Nostradamus, you weirdo! "But- uh- y'know, just... Tell her to stop, maybe? I've never... Nobody's... Y'know."

His fingers scratched and tapped against the table.
and you dodged a bullet that you wanted to take

information

Mood:
shitty

Location:
art room

Mentions:
ostin, forbes, matt

tags:
Ticl @cavitea qunqun

outfit
a

weldherwings · Feb 2, 2023

"you're an inspiration."
no. i'm sick

LUCA SEONG

001
02

warning!

This post may make mention of binge eating, body dysmorphia, malnourished, phentermine abuse, depression, anxiety and afrid. whilst not in full description, please note that there are mentions of these ailments and the character's inner thoughts throughout the post.

i'm aware
1
2

i'm so draining to everyone else

additional trigger warning!
mentions of body dysmorphia (thoughts), pro-ed affixation + affirmation and fatphobic comments

Thoughts paraded through his head. An ongoing carousel with no emergency exit. An array of voices and memories echoed into the vacancy of his mind as he tried to focus on Annette’s words to follow along with the instructions given. An invisible weighted blanket draped itself over his chest, compressing it tighter with an anaconda grasp with each inhale and exhale. Dark eyes flickered amongst the faces of those around in his peripheral vision, suddenly feeling very aware of the appearances of others around him.

Directly before him stood a large, ginger-haired male. His form-fitting singlet left nothing to the imagination as his muscles bulged from within the man’s own skin. The man’s face was what Luca would only describe as perfection, hand sculpted by the world’s finest artists and free from blemishes; well, that’s what Luca saw, at least. Then, for a moment, his eyes connected with the other’s; a thunderous seafoam hue instantly dismissing the bland, nothingness of Luca’s dark brown ones. How was it possible to be in awe of something God had beautifully crafted while also drowning in envy and a great fear of them?

"Are you...alright?"

A small gasp of air slipped past his lips, with Jelle’s words dragging him out of the dark sea that had been trying to drag him down into the pits of despair. Widened eyes tore from the large brute to the much shorter roommate beside him. After a moment of hesitation, replaying the sentence in his mind over and over until it was louder than the voices trying to steal his attention, Luca offered the other a warm, dimple-filled smile. His apparent trademark. “Yeah,” He lied through his teeth, nodding along as if it would easily aid in selling it “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Annette’s voice called out towards the patients, giving instructions on their first move. As instructed, the patients began to bend over to stretch their backs. Just as Luca went to follow along, the fiery-haired male caught his eye contact once more. This time, a wink throw his way. It was enough to greet those voices back into his head once more, starting with a harmless whisper before continuing to escalate as Luca went onto autopilot. His body was present, but his mind was taken captive by the voices.

They wondered and questioned loudly, boldly and with no shame. Why can’t my body look like his? one asked, wandering back and forth with it’s face buried in his hands. I bet you he didn’t have eggs and toast for breakfast this morning. Why did we think that was a good idea? another frowned, their face furrowing in great displeasure. Why would he even wink at us? He doesn’t even like us? Who would? Bryce used to say he loved us and look how shit that turned out the last voice whispered in full volume as it sat in the back of his head, rocking back and forth in a rhythmic beat.

As they proceeded onto their next pose, focusing on stretching their hips, Annette began to walk around, inspecting each patient. They stood up straight with their feet together and knees and hips aligned, before bending their knees gradually and slowly liftng their arms over their heads as they inhaled. Here and there, she paused to help correct their positions to ensure they were stretching correctly. A slight pause at the wild, Irish man, and Annette shook her head to herself before moving onwards. A huffed mutter under her breath escaped past her lips, and if one had listened close enough, one might have caught her expressing how she didn’t want to touch the man in fear of contracting whatever STD he was riddled with.

Her movements landed her at Jelle and Luca, approaching the pair from behind as she examined their positioning. Luca, whose mind had been carried away from the distressed voices as he raised his arms in a deep inhale, shuddered in fright as he felt Annette’s hands land upon his hips. Talk about a jumpscare he thought to himself, feeling his body instantly tense up. “It’s alright, love” Annette’s croaky voice reaffirmed him, her hands placed firmly on both sides “You’re doing well. Just shift your weight a little bit more - and there is it. See, not that hard, right? Much easier when you don’t have all that fadompbadoob hanging in the way” She patted his sides, causing him to flinch once more before she stepped to the side and made her way onwards to inspect Jelle’s posture.

Fadompbadoob. That’s a creative way for saying fat Luca mused to himself, trying to reposition himself to the posture Annette had encouraged him to stand. But no matter how much he tried to ease into it, nor how well he stood with his arms high and knees bent, there was just nothing relaxing or calming about this first yoga class at this hospital.

and I've been told i'm heavy to hold

information

Mood:
fadompbadoob??

Location:
Yoga class

Mentions:
Jelle + Graham

tags:
@riddle . + @qun

outfit
a

Miaow · Feb 4, 2023

you look at me
with those hollow eyes

NAGASE MIYU

001
02

warning!

This post includes self depricating thoughts.

i agree
1
2

and it seems all a lie
She smiled as he signed "good" to her, though something about his body language said otherwise. She didn't want to pry, but she also didn't know how to pry any further. She paused as she pondered his question. If she said good, that would be cheating, right..? He'd just said good, she would just be copying his movements. Instead, she signed "okay."

As their short interaction seemed to pause, she turned to the art supplies in front of her, pondering what exactly to make. She leaned over the desk, grabbed a white sock and pulled it over to her workspace. She mapped out what she wanted to do with it before making any permanent decisions involving glitter glue, precariously placing a pair of googly eyes where the face would be. She grabbed a pink pen and began drawing little cheeks, clearly inspired by pikachu.

She soon realized they had been joined by other patients. She signed "hello" to her roommate with a smile, then at the man she didn't quite recognise. She returned to her project, her tongue peeking between her lips as she focused on getting the face just right.
Why do I care so much? It's a sock puppet. She sighed a little louder than she had meant to, unable to hear her own sounds of disappointment.
No one else will care what my sock puppet looks like, why even try-- Shut up, this is meant to be mindful or whatever.

She spotted a beige sheet of sugar paper sliding into her peripheral vision and couldn't help but look, reading the scrawlings of a madman done in huge felt tip.
Isn't everyone's writing the scrawlings of a madman if they're in here?
Either way, she averted her eyes.
Don't laugh at it. Don't laugh at it. Don't laugh at it.
It was kind of funny, though, but she could tell Max didn't see it that way. She could understand why it could be embarrassing, she'd be embarrassed, but she made a lot of noises she didn't know about, even when she was awake. She could feel the rising tension from Max. Now she was definitely glad she didn't laugh.

She went to tap his shoulder but hesitated. No, touching people is gross and blegh. She quickly retracted her hand, pulling her unfinished sock puppet onto her opposite arm and holding it up to Max. She used her free hand to sign "hello" against her sock puppet's head with an awkward smile on her face.
He's not a child, that's not gonna work, stupid. Why is he even friends with you?

information

Mood:
Wow, I am an idiot

Location:
Art room

Mentions:
Max, Trinity, Ambrus

tags:
Chimney Swift Gao Sugarnaut

outfit
a

weldherwings · Feb 7, 2023

"if I'm going down
at least it's with friends"

andrew james
twenty-five

001
02

warning!

Trigger warning: This post contains the mention of suicide

i'm aware
1
2

We're going down, down in an earlier round
“C'moan, loue. Juist let me skip yin class”

Caught in his tracks travelling in the opposite direction of art class, Andrew James had been caught red-handed trying to make a desperate escape to… somewhere. Even he wasn’t sure exactly where he had planned on going. But it was always quite exciting to get the nurses spooked and on their feet to try and pull him back onto his main course. From the looks of it, he was succeeding in his never-ending ambitions to bring some life and color to this dry, crusty and dull place.

“You know we can’t let you do that, Andrew” One of the female nurses sighed, making her way to his side and placing her hand softly upon his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the art class”

“Och, a bonny lassie oan mah arm as ah donder in. Ah will be th' blether o' th' toun” the man giggled with delight, his thick Scottish accent making the nurse’s eyes widen and her lips pursed as she tried to distinguish exactly what he was saying. Unknown to the man, all the staff members at the facility knew his accent was butchered and utterly ridiculously put on. Having listened to past recorded files of the man, there was an accent but wasn’t as rooted or indistinguishable as he made it sound these days.

With the nurse by his side, a gigantic grin spread ear to ear on his face, Andrew walked with a little bounce as they approached the door. Poking his head in, his wild, unkempt hair standing on it’s ends as he titled his head, his gaze trailing the room. “Sock puppets?” he scoffed as he observed the other patients finding some joy and dopamine in creating such foolish things. “Ah jalouse ah wantit anither thing tae jack aff intae”

“Okay, time to go in now Andrew” she nursed gently reminded him, giving him a pat on his shoulder. Like a child walking into their new classroom for the very first time, dumbfounded and overwhelmed by everything around them, Andrew entered the room with his mouth slightly agape and his eyes travelling around the room. An awkward shuffle in the room followed by the art teacher pointing out a spot for him to sit down and proceed to make his puppet. And, just like a child completely unaware of any sort of social etiquette, he even began to pull out the wedgie that had been forming in his pants in a rather ungraceful manner as he began to walk over to where the teacher had pointed.

Ah. Children

Well, they weren’t children. But they were much younger than him. Much easier to persuade when it came to such fickle matters like life and death. A grin formed upon his face, but not before dramatically running his tongue over his dry lips like a comedic animated wolf would before preying on their feast of three little piggies in their houses. Taking hold of a chair across the two younger patients, allowing it to scrape loudly, Andrew flopped down on the seat. He leant back, combing his fingers through his ruthless hair before leaning forward towards the boy and girl with determination.

“Thae sock puppets ur a joke, dinnae ye think?” he commented, followed by a widened eyes and a deep chuckle as he picked up a spare sock that laid on the table. “Ur we preparing tae entertain th' queen wi' thae hings?” Once again, another chuckle as he tossed the sock back onto the table before them. And then, once more, leant even further forward to ensure he had caught the attention of the pair of them. However, this time his voice was no longer bold and forceful nor echoing within the room with his boastful chuckles. This time it came as a hissed question aimed directly at the pair.

“Awright, hae ye ever thought aboot killing yersel'?”

And sugar, we're going down swinging

information

Mood:
children

Location:
Art therapy

Mentions:
Max and Miyu

tags:
softy Chimney Swift

outfit
a

Gao · Feb 14, 2023

[/border]

"TO BE IMMORTAL; LIKE GOD."

AMBRUS MIKSA

THE WIDOWER

001
02

warning!

This post includes: Ambrus annoying two undeserving individuals.

CONTINUE
1
2

Mulberry fruit still reddens at its ripeness.

It was on the same wave-length as bashing someone’s head in with a rock:

The art of lying.

A classic hand of Dolos, how a sharp corner of his mouth would tick to the surge of pulse and panic. The simplicity of a note– a lie, miring the boy into a tunnel of moon-eyed alarm. A feline swatting songbird from perch only to watch it struggle to recalibrate the distance between maw and impact.

And another had entered orbit. Nebula freckles and curtained hair, he’d pass brief eyes over the girl who’d smiled and saluted a greeting.

Ambrus pulled the finger in return.

His sign language was limited.

Quivering hand and skin splaying ruby red betrayed Max’s distress like flares over charcoal wasteland, watched by smokescreen sage iris, half-lidded and eyebrows arched with lack of enthusiasm.

I am so sorry.

A steady stare given in turn suspended merciless judgement like a bladed pendulum. Prying free any remaining shell of comfort with all the subtlety of a chisel and hammer. Pinching a fragment of mild contention, gentle mockery blanketed Ambrus and unfurled a wrong kind of tension between the pair.

The dwindle of patience, or tolerance, waning like a coil of smoke as Max fought bravely with a pink gel pen— somehow lost, and struggled with its bleeding aftermath.

The kid was a danger to himself.

Sighed out through the nose, whisked away by stagnant air as flamingo hues blotted through palmar creases. By the time his roommate had gathered enough wits to stop smearing it around like the blood of Peppa Pig, Ambrus had flipped the paper over— hiding their pink roadkill that was barely decipherable through tremble and haste — to bestow another spool of charming cobalt.

Because of your DEMONIC respiratory system, I fear I'm much too tired to design my puppet.

Wink wink. Nudge nudge. A pause to consider his wants, felt-tip cap held between leonine teeth. Fortuitously, Ambrus was a simple man.

Just no pink, my dear.

An arm hovered across the table like a slinking of carbon. Pointer and index pressed atop a googly eye each,— stolen from resourceful little Miyu —and slid them over to Max in one direct motion. An emperor granting, sentencing, this royal errand.

Extorting puppets from kids. Nice.

Consigning duty to his roommate, the Hungarian’s prowl of intention passed from pestering the juveniles to folding arms upon his chest. Spine curved to chair and letting his head lull back to watch the buzz of vapid lights, peaceful intermission was shortly ruined by a shrill squeal and plummet of a newcomer.

“Thae sock puppets ur a joke, dinnae ye think?”

What the fuck was that.

“Ur we preparing tae entertain th' queen wi' thae hings?"

That sounds disgusting.

Raking gaze to land on the shock of tawny-haired insanity, Ambrus had to control the “oh god what the hell” leaping the walls of his teeth. Almost jumpscared by the lunatic posturing like a bird of prey before the puppet-making youths, he’d watch the hiss and hush of further incoherency before leaning forward to intrude the classified counsel.

Folding elbow to table, Ambrus would whisper across his own question to Andrew.

“I just have to ask," a begging of curiosity, "are you chewing glass, or having a brain aneurysm?”

And the ashes rest, sat in a common urn.

information

MOOD:
EWWW OMFFGGG WHAT IS THATT??? MWAHT IS THATT EWW OMFGG LOL

Location:
Art room.

Mentions:
Max + Miyu + Andrew

Interactions:
Chimney Swift + Miaow + weldherwings

outfit

Bury Me
THE LUKA STATE
a

Chimney Swift · Feb 14, 2023

I want you to notice
when I'm not around.

MAX BERKOWITZ

001
02

warning!

Contains mentions of bullying, mild internalized ableism, and allusion to past sexual harassment

i agree
1
2

I need a little room to breathe.

What was once just him and Miyu had become nearly a full circle of bored chattering patients around the table of crafting supplies. Max, already suffocating from the embarrassment of his roommate Ambrus’s latest note, suddenly felt frozen in his seat. After Ambrus and the curly-headed quiet kid came another patient to plunk down at their table: a familiar short young man who’d been here at least as long as Max had, back at the beginning of the month… they’d never talked to each other, primarily because of Max’s willful avoidance of everyone during those first few weeks, but Max often liked to think that the guy’s messy dark hair reminded him of the laidback stoner boys back at Ohio State University, usually the only fellow students he could count on to leave him alone. Though any memories of his brief time in college usually plunged him into a crippling anxiety attack, the slight familiar resemblance made Max just the tiniest bit more comfortable letting down his guard around this guy. From his appearance and mannerisms alone, Max could imagine Jackson as being the easygoing type, someone laidback and self-content enough to ignore a dirty rumor or a leaked sex tape…

Sometimes it was easy to forget what this place was: a psychiatric inpatient unit, the psycho ward, the looney bin, the cuckoo’s nest, crazy jail. No one here was really easygoing and self-content, were they? Max had no way of knowing why Jackson was here now, but it was clear that his assumptions about his personality were likely just that– assumptions. Perhaps it was wrong of Max to judge people, even positively. He had no idea what trauma was underneath that seemingly-pleasant and trustable exterior.
It was evident that not everyone wore their heart on their sleeves as Max did.
Anyone who’d been around Max for more than one second, watching him fret and falter and panic at the slightest affront, anyone who’d seen the fading bruises on his neck, could tell exactly what had brought him to this place. He might as well walk around the unit wearing a shirt that said: “Bully Me.”

Anyway, Jackson was talking. A lot. To him? He couldn’t even tell… all he could bring himself to do was grin awkwardly and nod, pretending to have heard his words as Jackson grabbed a brown sock and some yarn from the table. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Jackson that he was deaf. Just thinking about ruining the mood brought a heavy flood of guilt to his lungs. He ducked his head down to distance himself from the circle of patients around him, nervously picking at the glittery pink stain that had dried onto the pale skin of his hand.

Miyu must have noticed the anxiety and embarrassment that radiated off of Max, because she gently nudged her little sock puppet into his peripheral vision, using her free hand to make the fabric creature sign “Hello.” The poor girl was trying her best. Max’s pained expression softened somewhat, confused but endeared by her effort to cheer him up. He’d have to thank her properly later, once they were out of this mess.

Between Ambrus’s nerve-wracking notes and all the new faces at the table, Max hadn’t even started on his own puppet yet. All he had in front of him on the table was a single green-and-yellow striped sock, plus the googly eyes that Ambrus had just pushed over to him. “Because of your DEMONIC respiratory system, I fear I'm much too tired to design my puppet.” his latest note claimed, prompting an irritated glare from Max as he grabbed a glue stick in defeat and stuck a single eye onto the sock in a manner that could only be described as passive-aggressive. He dropped the sock back onto the table, a single shake of his pink-stained hand signing: “Finished.”
He’d never admit to how deeply humiliating those little notes were, but he didn’t need to be open about his feelings when they read so clearly over his face.

Max roughly scooted his chair back from the table, oblivious to the loud screech of the metal legs dragging across the hardwood floor. He really did intend to leave, to escape, to run back to the nurses’ station and beg for a Xanax to slow down his panicked racing heartbeat, to tell his social worker that he was never going to another fucking group therapy session again, but he didn’t get to do any of those things.
Someone else had sauntered up to the table, late as hell to the puppet-making session.
And, horrifyingly, he leaned right over the table until he was mere inches from Max’s face.

He almost threw up.

Instantly in a feverish panic, the younger man froze, unblinking, mouth hanging open slightly as he tried to piece the syllables on the man’s lips into something vaguely resembling an English sentence. He’d already missed the first few sentences as the round blond gentleman tossed a sock around on the table, the intensity in his mischievous smirk making Max viscerally sick to his stomach.

He wasn’t even good at reading lips.

“How… those… children… or shells?”

That didn’t make any sense. That couldn’t possibly be what he actually said. Granted, if Max had actually understood what Andrew had just asked him and Miyu, he would've fainted on the spot.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t quite… didn’t quite catch what you said. Sorry.” Max’s stammering voice, overly-loud with a stilted cadence and a distinct but untraceable accent, was a dead giveaway as to why he didn’t hear what Andrew said. He could pretend he wasn’t deaf all he wanted, avoid the elephant in the room like the plague, but it was no use.

He felt his face burning red again, from his nose to the tips of his ears, and he slowly lowered his head in shame, half expecting the new stranger to take the opportunity to punch him upside the skull.

On the table, his stripey one-eyed cyclops sock stared back at him with its one sad plastic eye, as if to say “you blew it, kid.”
Stupid sock puppet.

'Cause I'm one step closer to the edge, and I'm about to break.

information

Mood:
Mortified

Location:
Art Therapy Room

Mentions:
Miyu, Trinity Ambrus, Jackson, Andrew

tags: Miaow Gao weldherwings Harrowhark

outfit
a

Harrowhark · Feb 22, 2023

Oh no! I blinked! Can I retake it?

Jackson Flores-Belrose

001
02

warning!

Suicide mentions

i agree
1
2

What the fuck is going on?

Wow, this was getting a little cozy. A lot of people but not a lot of talking. What a quiet bunch. To each their own. Humming to himself to fill the noiseless void, Jackson bit the yarn into short pieces, gluing them haphazardly to his sock. He was just getting started when a rather loud mouthed sock insulted him. Wow, betrayal, from another socky friend?

Shoving the sock on his hand, still wet with glue, Jackson made his talk too. “Eat shit, toothpick.” Not like he had room to talk, but he’d take a rhyme when he could. Wait… He mouthed the words to himself… Did those even rhyme? They sounded like it, but… Holy shit, his brain was melting. Make it stop!

“Fuck you.” Jackson let the puppet say a couple more words before taking it off. Skinned it. Oh poor bigfoot, he just took all the guts out of him. What kind of horrible person would ever? Whispering an apology to his sock, he vowed never to do something so violent to any Bigfoot ever again. After petting the fabric until his guilt faded away, Jackson went pack to gluing yarn chunks on like nothing ever happened.

Soon, he had a fluffy bigfoot and that shit fucking slapped (not that he would ever slap bigfoot). But right now it looked more like Cousin It. Hmmm… Oh, right, eyes. Having forgotten to leave space for them, Jackson crudely plucked yarn from the sock in order to place the eyes. Two big googly eyes were placed crookedly on the sock. There was still something missing. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what else his bigfoot needed… Big… Foot…

Oh duh! Feet! How could he be so stupid? Nibbling on a sheet of construction paper, he was able to make a sort of foot shape without consuming too much paper. That’s fiber though, right? Healthy and shit. Maybe he should eat some glue too… No, this is bigfoot time.

At least it was until-

“Thae sock puppets ur a joke, dinnae ye think”

What
The
Fuck

Jackson stuck his fingers in his ears, scooping out any earwax that might be in there, but the guy sounded like he was trying to talk with his mouth full of shit.

“What the fuck are you talking about?" Jackson wasn’t the only one confused as fuck, which made him feel better. Usually he was alone on that. Yeah! What the smart twink said!

All that gibberish and the only words he understood were “kill yourself.” Nice try bud, in high school, he had jumped off a bridge when his boyfriend told him to, but this was some random asshole who wasn’t even speaking english.

If he’d leaned into Jackson’s face and said that, all he would do was laugh, but this guy looked like he wanted to throw up on him. This motherfucker was trying to start a fight. Alright, no need to threaten Jackson with a good time. Sorry bigfoot, your feet will have to wait.

Kicking his chair away, Jackson stepped into the small huddle that had been created. “You got a fucking problem?” Now he had a problem too, and he wasn’t afraid to push this guy around.

Push him around? Yeah, that was exactly what he was going to do. Giving Andrew a light shove, it barely occurred to Jackson he would likely be punished for this yet again. “Don’t mess with my friends, asshole.” His brand new friends who hadn’t said a word to him and whose names he didn’t even know. Yep, they were besties.

No, seriously, what the fuck is going on?

information

Mood:
IDK what ur saying but thems fightin words

Location:
Art Therapy Room

Mentions:
Forbes, Miyu, Ambrus (smart twink), Max + Andrew (if i forgot anyone im sorry)

tags:

Miaow Gao Chimney Swift Ticl weldherwings

outfit
a

qunqun · Feb 22, 2023

someone help me

MATT WRIGHT

001
02

warning!

Trigger Warning: Depiction of a panic attack, nicotine addiction, and depression. mentions of gore.

i agree
1
2

It's an indigo night, there's a chill
A world of static and gray. His perfect paradise.

It was funny, really, because he spent so much time trying to entertain himself out of the fuzziness of the world around him.

It was hard to care about other people, and what other people thought, when you could barely muster up the energy to get out of bed. It was really hard to muster up the energy to give three fucks when it took so much to just eat and drink. Black coffee and nicotine allowing for energy and a small enough of a buzz for him to pretend like he was human and not just a bunch of smoke.

Friendships were a fleeting thing, abandoned when there was something as simple as a location change. Love, a far away reach that he could never even begin to think about. A solitary and lonely existence, only broken up by a rush of passion and lust for a week.

But never fondness. That wasn’t something that he particularly chased after. Couldn’t really let himself chase after.

It hurt too much in the end. When he had to go.

The white of teeth, a flash of warning before a violent bloody death, but here in the privacy of sterility and surrounded by felt, softness without any murderous utensils… Though perhaps the intent was all the same.

Tapped the side of a nose with a nicotine stained finger. “You.” A point at Dante in camaraderie, prideful at his “friend’s” achievement. “You’re so smart.”

They wanted him to get off nicotine fully before they put him on antidepressants. Apparently you could “smell it on him” or whatever. The depression. It used to smell like cigarettes and black coffee

It meant that more often than not he felt a little bit like there was a pressure at the back of his head, a quiet flutter to him that… it wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was one that he thought had died a long time ago.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like the idea that there were feelings starting to return, he’d much prefer to keep to his world of static and gray.

He wanted to smoke again. Nicotine gave him a light buzz, helped him keep his thoughts steady and clear. When he felt the pressure in his head, he knew that it was time for another. But he wasn’t going to get another till after this stupid fucking puppet shit that he could barely care about.

There was a slight lump at the back of his throat. His head was starting to feel spacey and weird. Glanced up at the ceiling really quickly, were the lights always… like this? Something is wrong. There was something wrong. Something was wrong.

What was wrong.

Eyebrows knitted, he took a deep breath and then turned to Dante. “Hey. Is…" Is English the language I'm supposed to speak. But that would mean suspicion. And suspicion meant death. Or worse, abandonment. "Where are we.”

He’s going to think you’re fucking insane.

“... Ignore that.” He fucked up. He fucked up. He fucked up. He was going to get left behind and he was fucked in the head and that’s why he was stuck here and he was ultimately a broken person who was stuck here and abandoned and nobody loved him and-

“Lighting’s just…” Maybe Dante wasn’t noticing that he was starting to breathe really heavily. “... Off.”

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-

“I need to get some water. For the dick.” He said, quickly getting up. Pretending like he wasn’t talking on a rapid in breath. He needed to get out of there. He needed to get out of there.

He needed to get out of there.

He was a burden. He was a burdenhewasaburdenhewasaburdenhewasaburdenhewasa-

The door handle was cold as he nearly ran into the door in the effort to get out - enthusiasm hopefully mistaken instead of panic and fear and stress and-

What was happening.

What was happening - he couldn’t breathe.

Oh fuck he couldn’t breathe.

No. Nonononono. No. No. Nono.

Where was he.

What country was he even in

What language was he supposed to know

What was his fucking name

He hadn’t received any letters. Everyone he loved was dead. He never got to tell them he loved them. He was going to die. Everyone he loved was dead and he never got to tell them that he loved them and he was going to die in a fucking mental hospital not even fucking gunfire could kill him how the fuck was it nicotine withdrawa-

Wheezing, he slowly made his way down to the ground. What was happening. What was-

Weakness wouldn’t be tolerated. He’d been labelled a strong kid, the type of kid that could see blood and guts and bones and barely bat an eye.

They thought it was guts and strength. It wasn’t. He didn’t know when it all became noise and fuzz, but at one point it did.

The lights were wrong.

The lights were wrong.

The lights were wrong.

The lights were wrong.

The lights were wrong.

Who was he?

Come out and haunt me, I know you want me

information

Mood:
I'm booooorrred

Location:
Sock Puppets

Mentions:
Dante, Jelle, Forbes

tags:
Twin Fantasy

outfit

indigo nights by tamino
a

floralmoon · Mar 1, 2023

"where do broken hearts go?"

celeste archambeau

001
02

warning!

Contains mentions of light bullying, proceed with caution.

i agree
1
2

i tell them my story, it's never enough.
A hand reaches in between the little space between Celeste and Graham, resting on her shoulder, causing her to turn her head to the new addition of the pair. "Well, well, look at these two lovebirds. Mind if I join in on the party? Great.” There had been no acceptance towards the stranger joining them, but it seemed like there was no other option than to allow it.

The trio entered the courtyard where yoga was being held, making their way to their respective mats, Graham moved ahead of them, while fingers were dug into the girl's shoulder as a way of forcing her to stay in a certain spot. "Is he challenging me?" Celeste thought to herself, there was no way that this was the situation, right? A glare was shot toward him, but she maintained the location that had been selected for her.

“Gotta keep yer’all where I can hear.” Julian spoke up, pointing to his ear, saying something about his hearing being shit. With a roll of her eyes, Celeste prepared for the yoga session by slipping off her shoes and placing her feet on the mat in front of her. Although she would oblige with the unspoken request from Julian this time, there would be no second time that this would occur.

She didn't see exactly what had happened, but when she looked up, the ginger's arms were spinning around him, almost to regain his balance. At his height, there wasn't much thought into how graceful he would be, but it didn't seem like that was one of his attributes. Losing the fight, the man tumbles backward into Julian, knocking him over, causing Celeste to release a laugh into the air.

The instructor's eyes snap over to the commotion, but not much mind was paid to what she had to say, as Celeste was too busy watching the two men struggle to untangle themselves from each other. "It's such a shame you chose to be right behind him, this all could've been avoided, hm?" A smirk crawls across her mouth while standing over the two, speaking to Julian.

i'm losing myself again.

information

Mood:
bunch of goofs

Location:
courtyard yoga!

Mentions:
Graham || Julian

tags:
qunqun || jinxxes

outfit
a

weldherwings · Mar 7, 2023

"if I'm going down
at least it's with friends"

andrew james
twenty-five

001
02

warning!

Trigger warning: This post contains the mention of suicide

i'm aware
1
2

We're going down, down in an earlier round
“C'moan, loue. Juist let me skip yin class”

An excited grin plastered upon his face, waiting for their answer with absolute sheer adrenalin coursing through his body. He had already managed to get six people from his group sessions to confirm that they would love to be a part of this little agreement. There was power in numbers, and Andrew was determined to get as powerful - sorry, not powerful - to get as many people to be a part of this revolutionary movement. My body, my choice was the phrase taught in school these days, was it not?

“I just have to ask… are you chewing glass, or having a brain aneurysm?”

With a snap of the head and a blink of an eye, Andrew’s gaze tore from the two young patients and towards the person who had questioned his accent. Something which Andrew was quite sensitive about despite it not being his real one. But they didn’t need to know that. Along with the glare came an onslaught of sounds that could torture not only your ears, but soul. “A'm fookin' yer maw, that's whit a'm daein'!” his voice bellowed as he stared down at the man who questioned him. Oblivious to the collection of eyes that had gathered to stare towards his direction, Andrew turned back to the two as if to demonstrate in such a sassy way to the other older man that he was done with having a conversation with him.

“So-” he went to speak once more before the small gay-looking one spoke up, saying he didn’t quite catch what he said. Oh, this was that guy, wasn’t it? Andrew had his ways of learning who was who in this hospital, and he was pretty confident he had heard all about the boy before him. Afterall, how many deaf, gay, young adults roamed these halls? The answer: not many at all. “Och, ye'r heard o' hearing, aren't ye laddie?” Andrew commented with a small pout “'ere, let me hulp ye oot” He raised his hands, placing them by his mouth in attempt to create a megaphone as he began to, once more, yell. “Ah said dae yi'll waant tae murdurr yersel'?”

He was prepared to continue with his rampage of convincing these young ones to join his group, he felt a light shove to his side along with a threat. Eyes widened in surprise that someone touched him, Andrew turned to come face to face with another stranger only to release a small chuckle. “Aye, son. Ye keek lik' yin o' they emo wee jimmies fae 2000s lassie movie” he said to Jackson, the corner of his lips upturned in a cheeky grin and his nose scrunching up. He then raised his hands to his shoulder height in a dramatic display, waving them in the air as he began to speak in a mocking tone “Och, keek at me. A'm th' ill bahookie punk hert throb wha plays in a band 'n' th' main lassie haes a huge crush oan me bit a'm tae gallus sae we cannae date. Bit secretly tis fur a'm emotionally constipated 'n' howfur kin ah loue someone else whin ah cannae even loue masell?”

At the drop of a hat, Andrew’s face changed from glee and wonder to one of seriousness and coldness. “Jyne in wi' mah suicide pact group or ah will tell thaim ye did it” He spoke in a low tone, his glare sharp as he gazed at Jackson. What exactly did he mean “did it”? He’d tell who that Jackson did what? Before it could be verbally questioned, Andrew raised his fist in a swift movement and punched himself harshly in the right eye. With the force of the hit, momentum took place and left Andrew flying backward off his seat and onto the floor with his legs hooked over the chair still. “Fuck!” he made damn sure that his crash and cry was heard from everyone in the art room.

“What’s going on over there?”

Finally the art teacher was paying attention.

And sugar, we're going down swinging

information

Mood:
join me one and all

Location:
Art therapy

Mentions:
Max, Miyu, Ambrus and Jackson

tags:
softy Chimney Swift Gao @Harrowhawk

outfit
a

Chimney Swift · Mar 7, 2023

I want you to notice
when I'm not around.

MAX BERKOWITZ

001
02

warning!

Contains panic symptoms.

i agree
1
2

I need a little room to breathe.

Unsurprisingly, Andrew cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting did not help Max understand him one bit. Max didn’t have the nerve to clarify that he was totally deaf– would this guy take it as an insult, or as further ammunition for whatever the hell he was trying to say? He couldn’t imagine that this guy would be understanding or compassionate about the situation. Max shook his head, shivering, twisting his cyclopean sock puppet in his hands until his knuckles turned white. He should have run away from art therapy while he still had the chance, but now it was too late.

He should never have agreed to come here.

Maybe this guy wasn’t just picking on him out of boredom, though– maybe it was personal. It was all too easy for Max to assume that he had somehow unintentionally angered this guy: maybe he’d accidentally stolen some of his laundry, or maybe this was about how he drank the last apple juice on Thursday. Or maybe someone here had picked up some rumors floating around from his time at OSU…

The short guy looked up from making his fluffy brown gorilla-looking sock puppet (or maybe it was an orangutan? Or a bonobo? Max didn’t really know his great apes as well as he should), narrowed his green eyes, and stared at the new guy for a moment with an expression that Max could only describe as disgusted. Without warning, Jackson kicked his chair back and stood up, closing the distance between him and Andrew, saying something that his expressions alone assured were scathing. But the sandy blond assailant seemed unfazed by Jackson’s actions. He didn’t even wipe the smug grin off his face, gesturing theatrically as if he enjoyed all the attention.

Then Jackson shoved him back. Max flinched as if the blow had somehow hit him instead.
If this turned into a fistfight, Max was absolutely going to die, but… something occurred to him, looking up from his pathetic one-eyed puppet at Jackson bravely snapping back at whatever Andrew had said.
…Was this guy standing up for him?
No, it couldn’t be. No one ever did that.

“Maybe… maybe you just write…” He started to say to Andrew in a desperate attempt to distract from the escalating altercation, his voice cracking and wavering more than he’d ever know, taking up the pink glittery gel pen and a clean sheet of mint-green construction paper in his trembling hands and trying to pass them over to the unhinged blond man. But Andrew wasn’t looking at him anymore… and he wasn’t smiling.

Max’s stomach clenched.

The last words off of Andrew’s lips moved slowly enough for Max to catch five words.

“Suicide… tell them… did it.”

He had no time to guess what the hell that meant before the blond’s fist swung upwards and right-hooked his own eye, sending him melodramatically flying backward and toppling to the floor along with his chair with such force that the whole room seemed to shake. Max instinctively clamped his hand over his mouth in case he screamed, muffling his own hyperventilating, shrinking into his own chair, and watching helplessly as the scene around him exploded into a whirlwind of chaos.

Every head in the room had turned to witness the show. The art therapist was running over.
That was the last thing that Max was fully conscious of before his vision started to blur over with hazy white spots.

'Cause I'm one step closer to the edge, and I'm about to break.

information

Mood:
Trying not to pass tf out

Location:
Art Therapy Room

Mentions:
Miyu, Trinity Ambrus, Jackson, Andrew

tags: Miaow Gao weldherwings Harrowhark

outfit
a

weldherwings · Mar 10, 2023

OCTOBER 2022

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October Birthdays

2nd - Iosefina Williams
30th - Akira Kasuga
31st - Celeste Archambeau

It’s spoopy season at Saint Margaret Private Hospital!

While children are roaming the streets adorned in their spooky costumes, charming their neighbours in the hope of sweets, and while the adults are drowning their sorrows with a bottle full of whiskey while dressed as slutty versions of whatever they could get their hands on, the patients of Saint Margaret are celebrating Halloween in their own wonderful, creepy way with the help of enthusiastic staff members.

A donated dress-up box lays in the recreation room, pleading for someone to notice and indulge in the various costumes that lie within. The art room is home to Mr Finnick, who had so lovingly brought in some face paint for patients to experiment with their crazy, whacky Halloween designs on one another. The main living area is showing back-to-back Halloween movies such as Hocus Pocus, Monster House, Casper and Hotel Transylvania - nothing too scary. And finally, you can mash along with the monsters with the canteen’s Halloween-inspired meals, including mashed potato as a side for dinner!

It’s drawing on six in the evening, and with dinner finishing up, the patients have been given their one-hour warning before they have to return back to their rooms. It’s the perfect time to finish the rest of the movie, to have your nighttime medication, and start packing away the costumes provided throughout the day. However, two little devils have other plans in mind. The patients of Saint Margaret are going to find out what really goes bump in the night when there is a blackout.

our word of the chapter

infect!

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

weldherwings · Mar 21, 2023

"you're an inspiration."
no. i'm sick

LUCA SEONG

001
02

warning!

This post may make mention of binge eating, body dysmorphia, malnourished, phentermine abuse, depression, anxiety and afrid. whilst not in full description, please note that there are mentions of these ailments and the character's inner thoughts throughout the post.

i'm aware
1
2

i'm so draining to everyone else

additional trigger warning!
description of arfid reaction

He wasn’t going to be here for long.
He was going to be going home soon.

That’s what he told himself every single morning he woke up. He would echo it to his poor roommate, to the nurses who gave him his morning medication, to whoever was stuck with him for one on one supervision, to his doctors and then to anyone in group therapy who hadn’t heard it yet. They were beginning to sound like a cult-like daily affirmation prayer. But with each passing day, the energy and joy that radiated from those words attached to his giant grin began to drag him down like an anchor to the sea bed. It was getting heavier with each sunrise, and as he laid his head down to sleep at night, he prayed that it would finally be the day that this heaviness would leave.

It only continued to grow and drag him down into the watery depths of despair.

Everything he claimed was going to be easy… wasn’t easy. He never knew that an adult like himself could get into so much ‘trouble’. Now, they didn’t call it getting into ‘trouble’ here. They would often phrase it as trying to ‘guide you back onto the correct path to recovery’. But when you saw no reason to be guided, nor in need of any help for anything, it came across as getting into ‘trouble’. At least, that’s what it felt like to Luca.

His one-on-one sessions with his doctor did nothing to motivate him to change his ways. If anything, it infuriated him more, especially when he would get into ‘trouble’ for something as simple as not shitting. Despite being there for eight days, he was yet to pass a stool. His doctor had stated that if he didn’t pass one by tonight, they would be prescribing him some laxatives to help him. Well, excuse me, doc, for not wanting to have someone look me dead in the eye while I’m birthing something into a toilet he had thought to himself as he sat before the doctor with an emotionless complexion and crossed arms. He had also gotten into ‘trouble’ for not sharing enough about his thoughts and feelings not only during these sessions he had with the other man, but during the group therapy. And finally, he was getting in ‘trouble’ for meal times.

Like now, for example.

Halloween night; the kitchen had served an array of creepy Halloween-themed meals throughout the day to make the mouth water in delight and brain tingle with creativity. Luca sat at the table once more, fork in hand and having a staring match at the food upon his plate. The sad mashed potato slouched in the corner, surrounded by various poorly microwaved steamed vegetables, and the ‘eyeball’ meatball stood in awe as one of their own was selected to dance with the fork that Luca held in his hand. Trailing the meatball around the plate ever so lightly, Luca’s eyes gazed up towards the clock in the dining area. Its obnoxious ticking was deafening tonight as the company of the room began to dwindle down to a remaining few patients and nurses as it came close to the end of meal time. Dark, sullen eyes gazed around the room, landing upon the nurses that were surveying the other patients or guiding them to retrieve their medicine for the night. Out of all the nurses, he had to be stuck with him.

“Come on, Luca” a gruff voice by his side tried to encourage him. “Almost time to get ready for bed”

Luca gazed at the man next to him, instantly displeased that his charming ways wouldn’t work here. And believe me, he had already tried. The nurse sat next to him, arms crossed and back straight like a rod was shoved so far up his ass to align his spine into place. The way he spoke to Luca - even the way he looked at him - reminded him of a disgruntled parent figure, telling their child to eat their dinner otherwise, they’d get into ‘trouble’. He wouldn’t put it past him if the dude took his plate and saved it for breakfast for him to eat then. The nurse’s name was Arthur, and he had been assigned to him for one on one supervision while Hayley - his other nurse - wasn’t on shift. The significant difference between Arthur and Hayley was their approaches to coaxing. Hayley was soft-spoken and would often play along with Luca’s wit and charm attempts. Arthur, on the other hand, oddly reminded him of his gym teacher from the eighth grade who made him climb up those damn ropes, screaming in his face the whole time. And when he was unable to move any further, cuss you out in front of the whole classroom.

“I uh…” Luca began, gazing back at his food once more. Every excuse under the sun came forming but oddly enough, he couldn’t find the will power to form them.

“Look, dude,” Arthur began, leaning forward and motioning towards the potatoes. “One mouthful. Just one mouthful and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night”

A shaky exhale slipped past Luca’s lips. His fork trailed slowly to the potato, making its way through the mashed-up mixture. Anxiety danced through his body, making itself home in almost every room available. He could feel his chest starting to tighten and his eyes sting as they began to water. It’s just mashed potato he thought to himself, trying to encourage his inner child to just scoop the damn food and eat it. But the thought of the texture touching his tongue, pooling in the back of his throat, was enough to make his hair stand and want to gag. Arthur sat in anticipation, practically breathing down Luca’s neck as he watched intensely. All the sudden, Luca felt like he was just another caged animal at a circus, and Arthur was a spectator standing before him with a big old bag of popcorn, complaining that he wasn’t doing anything despite paying good money to come and see him.

As he blinked, a single tear fell from the corner of his eye, prompting him to quickly wipe it away with his spare hand. This is not a place to cry, he told himself, embarrassed that something so simple as mashed potatoes was making him cry. In the heat of the moment, he took a strong grasp of the fork, piled on by the potatoes, and shoved it straight into his mouth. He couldn’t even bring himself to take the fork out of his mouth as his hands automatically planted themselves upon his temple. Eyes shut, head down, and elbows planted upon the table to provide support for his head as he held onto it. The fork he had used fell upon the tabletop with a clang as he focused on getting the food down. It took longer than he had no only expected, but had hoped, his eyes progressively watering more and more with each passing moment the food was held in his mouth.

And finally, it was gone.

Opening his mouth, he turned sorrowfully towards Arthur and stuck his tongue out to show the magic trick he had just performed. A grin came upon the nurse’s face as he stood up, planting a pat upon his back before grabbing the tray of unwanted food. “There you go mate. Wasn’t too bad, was it?” he said to him before moving onwards to bring the tray back to the kitchen. If it wasn’t too bad… Why do I feel like absolute dog shit, Luca thought to himself as he brought his posture back as it was before; hands holding head and hunched over the table with his elbows to support him head up. A shiver ran down his spine as the thought of the potato sitting in the back of his throat lingered.

And with it came another tear falling from his eye.

and I've been told i'm heavy to hold

information

Mood:
why am i crying over food???

Location:
Dining hall

Mentions:
Jelle

tags:
@riddle .

outfit
a

Harrowhark · Apr 2, 2023

Mental hospital speed run

Cyrus Korey

001
02

warning!

Unrealistic expectations

i agree
1
2

Silly funny

For normal people, Halloween was a holiday of candy and costumes. For Cyrus, it was the day before the first of the month, the day fiscal reports and monthly summaries were due. It was also the day he was checking himself into the mental hospital. No one noticed if someone wasn’t in class on a holiday. They had big plans, perhaps they were driving home to see family.

Cyrus did have big plans of course, none of which included going to his company’s silent auction tonight. Instead, he was driving hundreds of miles the night before, all the way to Ohio, a place where no one like him had any business being. Which is why it was perfect to go to.

If this tape is addressed to you, you are aware of what’s happening. If it is not, kindly stop the tape here, as you do not have my permission to listen further. Now, ask yourself, where is Cyrus? If you know where I am, stop the tape here. If not, I am here, seven to nine business days ago on this tape. I don’t think you’ll need this, but if you get this and I am still unaccounted for, come find me. And try to take care of my baby. No joy rides.

Cyrus dropped the extra key to his vintage, blue, 1964 ford mustang, and a receipt into the pre-addressed manila envelope, taping the shit out of it before dropping it off at the post office. The receipt was not for the storage unit he was putting his car in (as parking it in a lot for days on end would be a crime against nice cars), but to a Chinese food restaurant. The location was not a clue, but the tip was first in a long scavenger hunt, assuring only the person he trusted most would be able to follow him to Ohio if something did go wrong.

But nothing would, this week had been carefully picked and vetted to be the best time to improve his mental health. It was also the only time Cyrus had to improve his mental health all together. Hell, he’d scheduled this out two months in advance, and that was considered short notice on his part. The much needed cure for the wrong way his brain had processed this summer’s event.

If this fool proof plan somehow fell through (to no fault of his own), Cyrus still had the tape as a safety net. Making the scavenger hunt was the only thing that had brought him peace in the past few months. It was cathartic to say the least.

Of course, Cyrus was no stranger to making a complete disappearance, he knew the ins and outs of being difficult to find. Anything that could be tracked wouldn’t come close to his final destination. Not that he’d need any of those items there anyway, the rules seemed very restrictive.

Not having a phone was a minor inconvenience compared to the wardrobe requirements. Cyrus understood why ties weren’t allowed, but he did have to remind himself multiple times while packing. The “metal ring binder” situation was not as understood, but he did purchase one with flex rings instead to contain the rest of his schoolwork for the given semester. Just in case.

The most stressful part of this trip was the ride between the storage facility and St. Margret's. Cyrus had ordered an Uber under a throwaway account on a burner phone, not that he thought the record of the ride was the way he’d be found out, but having one app on a phone made a scavenger hunt a lot easier than having to dig through more. The entire ride, he sat with his duffle bag on his lap, eyes fixated out the window.

———-

Everything else was a dull Tuesday. No business calls or three hour long classes, only sitting in a room while waiting for doctors and nurses to come in and out. Items confiscated, all Cyrus could do was tap his toes in his brand new grippy socks. It felt like hours, and by the time he’d been placed, the sun was already starting to set.

The walls of the otherwise bland environment were covered in cheesy Halloween decorations, ghosts and other monsters. It was like setting foot in a day care for adults. The grips of the socks held tight to his shoes, making them bunch up in a way that annoyed Cyrus with every step. He tried to walk faster, but the nurse in front of him was dragging her feet the entire way.

After a much too long hallway, the woman stopped just in front of a door on their left. Finally, he was about to throw his shoes at the wall. After a late night road trip, all Cyrus wanted to do was lie down and stare at the ceiling until-

Two beds… A person…

These motherfuckers.

Cyrus had never been unfortunate enough to have a roommate before. Even in his freshman year he was living in a one bedroom apartment. In his life, he’d only shared a room when he wanted to. At sleepovers, sometimes hotels, and occasionally with a partner. A week long sleepover with a stranger… Absolutely not. Opening his mouth to speak, Cyrus was given a hard pat on the back and before he knew it, the nurse was half way down the hall.

Cool. People pleasing personality back on. Just what he wanted from this jouney. Cyrus looked at Ko for another moment, just long enough to process his existence, but not long enough to be weird.

Fine.

“Hey there. Sorry to intrude on your space. I’m Cyrus.” He shifted his duffle bag to his left hand, holding out his right for a handshake. It was only a week, right, he could share a space for one week. This sad little space… This shit better be worth it.

This guy better not suck

information

Mood:
In need of a quick fix

Location:
Room

Mentions:
Ko

tags:
.wren

outfit
a

.wren · Apr 6, 2023

僕の全て？いいえ、いいえ、あなたはしたすることすっかり違ったを理解する。僕は何ないあります

KO YASUTAKE

001
02

warning!

this post contains various mentions of suicide, various depictions of sickness, medicine, and more. read at your own discretion

i agree
1
2

someone at least give me a painkiller or something…

“Give the medication at least a week to get in your system, then talk it over with your doctor. You’ll never know what will help you if you don’t give it a chance.”

His optimism was a load of bullshit.
Ko had followed the advice of his boyfriend and gave his new meds a chance for the week, and less than three days in, he was already feeling awful. It was like someone had been beating him up in his sleep with all the bruises that were just appearing all over his body. On top of that, he felt sick, all the time. The nausea was so bad he felt that it might as well just kill him already. It was a miracle he hadn’t collapsed or spewed his innards all over the place. Then came the rashes. His entire body was covered in some nasty rashes. Red, itchy, bumpy, flaking off his skin, and they looked more like hives in some places. The staff knew, too. When he showed them his recent developments, they gave him some steroid creams to ease the itchiness, at the very least, and relieve some of the rashes at best. Then they told him to stay in gowns for a little longer until they make sure he isn’t doing some of the bruising to himself (or something like that). Either way he was pissed that he would have to remain cold and exposed for longer. Now everyone could see his progressively worsening condition regardless of whether they wanted to or not. And finally, he was bleeding. Not just any bleeding, however, his urine was stained with blood, and at that point he thought he was dying.

On the bright side, he wasn’t on one-to-one supervision anymore. He could sleep without any unwavering gazes from staff. Though, that was about the only positive he had. On top of all the side effects from his medication, he was hungry. The food here was so awful. It was unseasoned, had plenty of mystery meat, and worst of all there was no rice. Call him stereotypical, but a meal might as well be incomplete without it. The only time he didn’t have rice with a meal was when he was in a rush, didn’t have any leftover, or he was getting fast food. He would kill for even a little bit of rice at this point. The cantina was trying, sure, but whatever they managed to engineer somehow got worse and worse. Maybe he’ll ask his boyfriend to sneak him in a snack next time he comes by.
Dinner had ended, the majority of which he did not eat, but at the very least tried; and he was back on the unit. Ko decided to make a pit stop at the nurses station to grab some more ointment for his never ending rashes, and once he got it, proceeded to made a run for the bathroom and get just a bit of that temporary relief. The nurses would keep it in a fridge for him so it was cold as well, and lately nothing felt better than the moments that passed while he spread the the itch relief over his whole body, little of which wasn’t inflamed. The most annoying part about the rashes wasn’t just the itchiness and burning sensation, however, it was the bruises that lie beneath almost all of them. The ointment solved one thing, but applying it created another. Rubbing it in, even as softly as he could, put immense amounts of pressure on them. He sighed as his body started to slump in the chair, letting himself relax for just a moment before getting ready to move on. He didn’t understand why they hadn’t taken him off that medicine yet; clearly he wasn’t having a good reaction to it. Regardless, he was ready to stand up and leave to return the ointment. As he did, he was suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness and felt extremely lightheaded. Immediately, he began to shakily feel around for the chair to sit back down. It was like he couldn’t do anything, and that was probably the worst feeling of all.

Once his senses cleared, he stood up again, this time much slower, and made his way to the nurses station. After returning the steroid cream, he made his way to his room. The day room had nothing but cheesy halloween movies on all day, which was super annoying if you ask him. Borrowing a book from someone was stupid, especially because it would probably suck, and his head hurt too much to focus on things like english and just words in general. Maybe he would try to get in some actual sleep. That sounded like a good idea.

After he had returned to his room, Ko plopped down on his hard, sad hospital bed. He wasn’t gonna try to get any more comfortable. Just laying on his stomach, face smashed in the pillow. Then the door opened. He didn’t think too much of it until he heard talking. There were two other people, not just one.

Immediately, he turned his head, still laying down, head in the pillow, but it was now craned towards the door. There was another guy here. He stared at the new person upon entry, looking him up and down before groaning and shoving his face back in the pillow. “うん、うん。Hi. Name’s Ko.” he said into the pillow. “You’re not intruding. Not unless you’re bothered by the consequences of the staff’s actions. I’ve been dying for like— I don’t know. A week now?”

...this shit is driving me crazy.

information

Mood:
tired, hungry, in lots of pain

Location:
his room

Mentions:
Cyrus

tags:
Harrowhark

outfit
a

neverbackdown · Apr 14, 2023

"The world fucked me enough it got to see the goods

Beth Howard

001
02

warning!

This post contains mentions of self-inflicted harm, depression, suicide and suicidal ideals, medication and off course dark humor. Please proceed with caution

i agree
1
2

Having a threesome tonight
Looking down at her outfit, Beth let a low and long sigh pass her lips. While the outfit of a show girl suited her predicament, she was foolish to believe that dressing up could help her spirits rather all it did was remind her what she was missing out on, her eyes darted towards the clock as she checked the time, right now she should be highly intoxicated at some halloween party but here she was on halloween night, eating a terrible meatball, wearing someone's old smelly outfit completely and utterly sober.

She wondered if that was the whole point, to make them feel like there missing out, to miss their old lives, infect them with a sense of longing for their old ways. She rolled her eyes as she shook her head. Beth missed the freedom all right and right now she missed booze and drugs and parties but the longing didn't fix the problems, it didn't fix the pain and it certainly wasn't enough to make her want to live.

Wanting to live .... the thought itself made a bitter laugh fall from her lips as she slightly shook her head. She was good at playing the game, that or her therapist only heard what she wanted to hear, her mind casting back to that morning session where the doctor confirmed that Beth "appeared to be doing better" the idea while humorous to the dark demons clasping her mind, also filled Beth with a sense of hope, hope that she might actually get out of here sooner rather than later.

The desire to get better was necessary to heal as she kept being told but she didn't have that desire to heal, that desire to be.. The doctor promised her it was the meds and that antidepressants can take a while to work and maybe if Beth didn't lie and say shes "doing good" or "things are looking up" they'd have changed her medication to try and find the suitable drug but lying was easier, she couldn't tell the truth, she couldn't let it out. In truth she was afraid to open that door and let the flood waters out. Talking and addressing the problem can only make it worse and to be honest she wasn't ready to deal with it all.

Snapping herself from her thoughts Beth looked down at the butchered meatball on her plate, her fingers white from being tightly wrapped around the fork she was holding. "Yep I'm doing better alright" she muttered quietly to herself as she loosened her grip before placing the fork down on her plate.

Unsure what to do with her remaining time, Beth pouted her lips as she looked around the room, she had spent most of the day watching halloween kid movies and whilst she enjoyed them at the time she was sick of the concept, she wanted to watch Halloween or Scream or just some kind of slasher film but that argument had not worked in her favour earlier as she had been reminded that slasher films could be triggering for ex-cutters. Apparently saying that watching someone getting sliced and imaging it as yourself was not the right way to go about the subject as the conversation was abruptly cut off after that. She was joking off course but the doctor didn't want to hear it.

Me, the Bath and the Toaster

information

Mood:
This is shit

Location:
Dining Hall/ Hell

Mentions:
Noone

tags:
anyone?

outfit
a

Harrowhark · Apr 18, 2023

Oh no! I blinked! Can I retake it?

Jackson Flores-Belrose

001
02

warning!

Depictions of cocaine withdrawal (mostly memory problems), paranoia, and mentions of drugs in general

i agree
1
2

Screaming crying throwing up

The rest of art fucking sucked. Not only was Jackson in trouble, but they took his bigfoot. Poor, lonely, bigfoot. He did, however, actually hit that piece of shit guy, because if he was in trouble, it might as well be worth it.

Sedatives, yay! A little ket never hurt anybody. It did however take hours from his memory. Like time travel… Cool!

When Jackson was cognizant enough, he was then given more bad news. Another room change. At this point, he was sure they were taking him to solitary confinement like back in juvie. He’d miss the sun, but he was strong. They would never break him.

Oh… Hi Julian! Back to his original room. Something about moving him causing more trouble than the two of them were worth, but he knew George or Grant or whoever had come through with what he asked. Thanks Gerard! He’d never hugged someone so hard (which got him yelled at by the nurse and thrown to the ground by Julian but he didn’t care). Things were perfect!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh god, life sucked. Life fucking sucked! Insomnia continued, staying awake for days at a time until his brain gave up and let him experience the most vivid nightmares. Drugs were better than this. Way better. He’d take anything at this point.

Anything except the drugs they wanted him to have. Those were poison. They wanted to change him, to fix him, to make him a mindless zombie like the rest of the American people. Jackson wouldn’t stand for that. They all thought his mind was dangerous, but that was only because he refused to conform. Being free wasn’t dangerous, it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Time felt distorted inside St. Margret's. Even when Jackson did sleep, it felt like one continuous day. The activities meant to ground him all morphed into one art-exercise-meal in his head. Last night felt like a week ago and last month felt like yesterday. Not that any of those memories were clear, he only had bits and pieces.

Jack did know that tonight was Halloween, but like most days, he felt like it had been Halloween for an unsettlingly long time, and he didn’t know what movie they were watching. But, he had asked enough times to annoy everyone around him, so he knew he shouldn’t ask again. Everyone on screen was a monster of some type, several witches, a skeleton, and whatever the fuck else there was, he didn’t actually care.

For once, Jax had managed to calm down. Using Julian’s thigh as a pillow, he didn’t care if he was getting kicked every five minutes. In fact, he barely noticed it. He was busy reordering his memories in his head like a bingo cage. Rolling and rolling and rolling until one of them popped out. B23! Bigfoot. Right!

“Julian…” Jackson’s whisper wasn’t quiet at all, but he was making an effort to be respectful. “Psssst Julian.” Tugging at his sleeve to get his attention, all Jack got was a warning glace. “They took bigfoot from me, man.” This was an emergency, people had committed a great injustice. He sat up, frantically looking around. There had to be someone here who saw what they did.

That guy. Yes, the guy who preferred staring at everyone instead of watching the movie. He looked away the moment Jackson caught him (quite possibly only looking because he was interrupting the movie), but he knew. The watcher. He saw everything, he was everywhere, he knew all of it.

“That guy.” Jackson, not at all subtly, pointed directly at Max. “We made sock puppets.” Yes, his new best friend! He remembered it. “Earlier today…” Pause… No, he got into a fight that day… The bruises on his knuckles were old… As he flexed them open and closed, they didn’t even hurt. “Not today but… Sometime… Not important!” A couple girls in front of him turned to shush them, but this was so much more important than the creature movie!

“I made Bigfoot… From the sock… Oh shit that’s so fucking meta.” Sock goes on foot. Bigfoot on foot. Yeah! Clearly his mind was not all there, but Jackson was earnestly trying his best. “And they took him Julian. They took my Bigfoot!” Finally to the point, now circle back to Max. “And he-“ Another full, unmistakable point, “-knows where they put him. I know he does.”

At this point, his mind was starting to bounce around like a ping pong ball, faster and faster every time it hit his skull. “You need to help me get him back. Please.” Remembering to whisper again all too late. Everyone in the room was completely annoyed with him.

Bigfoot

information

Mood:
Hes losing it guys

Location:
Movie night bb

Mentions:
Julian and Max but yall know Matt and Snake are hearing this and giving the most bombastic side eye

tags:

jinxxes Chimney Swift qunqun SoggySailor

outfit
a

SoggySailor · Apr 21, 2023

"you need help."
no, i need a bird army to do my bidding

Calder Lachlan Dunsmore

001
02

warning!

mentioned recreational drug use, latin, birds, disparaging remarks made by staff at the mentally ill, tranquilizer mention.

okay boots
1
2

the very good no bad, terrible, coffee diner experience
It was 4:22 pm.

This seemingly inconspicuous set of numbers just so happened to be one minute off of Snake’s very favorite minute of the day.

Perched attentively at his post, the man sat stoically, waiting.

Sipping delicately at the boxed apple juice he had traded information for just a few hours prior, he sat expectantly with notebook and strawberry scented dry erase marker in hand.

His latest deal had taken place at 1:52 pm to be exact. Neatly and covertly taking place during support group.

Who would’ve thought- that being such a living database of information would be so lucrative behind bars?

Snake.

Snake had thought so.

Due to his occasional medical allowances of being permitted 'group goal reflection' in the comfort of his bed, Snake was currently not there reflecting.

As a scientist, every moment of reflection took away valuable time for experimentation.

The barely permissible paper straw was slowly dissolving to bits beneath the unforgiving fork of the man’s tongue as he waited.

Casting a glance from barred window to hallway arch, the overhead clock spelled out the following with a barely audible tick-tick-tick.

4:23 pm.

A light fluttering sound teased his set of muddled green eyes back to the open window.

He held up a finger to his friend, waving a greeting.

“Smile at your friends” flashed the reminder in his mother’s slurred voice.
Almost as if he was off to school again.

And almost as if he had friends who could smile back.

His lips deepened into a pleasant curve as his unsmiling companion came to rest on the open window’s ledge, feathers flicking irritatedly against the narrow bars.
Reaching into his waistband, Snake procured his gift, holding it in the center of his palm before his winged friend.
There was a quick dive of a beak toward the exposed soda can tab on his flattened palm, followed by an immediate halt in motion at Snake’s stern tone.

“Exspecto.”

The crow fidgeted, teetering toward the open hand as if the man wouldn’t notice.

“Exspecto.” he repeated stiffly.
Unwavering.

Conceding, the bird sat back in hesitant obedience.
The curve of Snake’s lips deepened as the crow showed off the labors of his extensive training.

“Propinquo.”

The Light scratching of talons on stone brought the crow closer as she knelt before the outstretched hand, eying her prize with covetous intent.

Snake’s fingers itched for his notebook.
This was going splendidly.

“Concipio.”

He finally breathed after an agonizing few more seconds of testing.
The nip of beak on skin left his palm pink as his loyal bird friend excitedly took her newly earned treasure, flapping her wings excitedly in conquest.

The squeak of rubber on tile snapped Snake back to focus.

“Amitto.”

He whispered, lounging more inconspicuously against the window.
She hesitated, eyeing the man’s pink hand in distrust.

Who was to say that he wasn’t withholding another sliver of wealth from her? Something for her to bring home to decorate, something for her to show the kids? Something that she could proudly show the one she lo-

“Volo!” the man hissed, and she was gone.

“Dunsmore.” came a disapproving voice from overhead.

Snake gazed up at the man, intrigued by his presence.

"Bradley."

He was early today.

The nonslip soles of the man’s velcro sneakers were caked in mud, and he reeked of poorly disguised marijuana.

Snake cocked his head to the side, sniffing loudly.
What was it?
Ocean breeze?
Clean laundry?

“Would you stop that?”

The man’s whining, irritable voice gave Snake all he needed.

Oh of course.

The downstairs staff bathroom had an adjacent halfway and exit leading to the fenced back yards.

How could he have been so foolish?

“Passion Papaya.” he stated confidently, emphasizing with a pointed finger and a single firm nod.

Bradley blinked hard, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he cleared his throat defensively.

“You shouldnt be over here,” he sniffed. “Dinner’s in half an hour.”

Bradley was only half right.

Snake pretended to glance at the clock, as if he didn’t already know the time.

It was 4:26 pm.

“Thirty-four minutes.”

There was another irritable rustling as the man checked his watch.

No response.

“Just- get away from the window. You’re supposed to be in bed.”

That was, granted, mostly true.

Snake feigned a cough into his sleeve, maintaining unblinking eye contact.

“Doctor said some fresh air would do me good.”

Which was, granted, mostly untrue- while partially- the slightest bit true.

That's a tally.

Bradley stared- bloodshot eyes searching for something they didn’t even know if they wanted to find.

Snake stared back, offering nothing but a slight curve of his lips below his empty, but not nearly vacant eyes.

Bradley cursed under his breath, losing the staring contest as he looked away uncomfortably.

“Just go- be weird somewhere else.”

The man trudged away, squeaking and trailing the remnants of his lingering mishandled contraband.

“Sick fuck.”

Snake snapped open his notebook to jot down his findings.

Adding a tally mark on page 37, the man shakily got to his feet.

Lies told since arrival: IIIII IIIII IIIII II
Veronica’s obedience training: 6/10

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The common room was bustling upon Snake’s arrival for that night’s dinner and halloween showing. As the chairs slowly filled with the mentally unwell (and Snake), he placed himself in the most opportune seat to witness the real show- whatever one of the patients decided to get up to during the movie.

Starting off slow with a brief struggle in the hallway due to movie choice, nothing exciting seemed to be happening, much to Snake’s dismay and boredom.

Glancing about the room, he surveyed his options.

It seemed a new romance had blossomed overnight in St. Margaret’s- and they just so happened to be roommates.

The blonde hair and dead eyes of Julian Price flickered in the dim light of the projector screen, spelling out boredom and a general disinterest for most things- with today’s riveting film likely being no exception.

The tufts of brown in Julian’s lap belonged to the empty head of one Jackson Flores-Belrose.
For a man with an affinity for sock puppeteering, it seemed his pesky addiction to tranquilizers was doomed to get in the way of his life’s passions.

Snake had watched in fascination as the haphazardly placed tufts of yarn on the man’s sock puppet had mirrored those of it’s creator effortlessly.
Wildly enough, it seemed that Jackson had actually been proud of his puppet before it was so cruelly taken from him by the staff.

Separated, at creation.

Luckily for Snake, and whoever could be of benefit to Snake, he just so happened to know where the arts and crafts were kept after each session.

Coincidentally locking eyes with the scruffy man, Snake looked away.

The last thing he needed was for Jackson to interpret his staring as a threat and get himself tranquilized again before he could be of any use to Snake.

And so he watched the movie, straining his ears to hear the delirious mumblings from lover to lover.

If Snake had anything, it was patience.

Credits flashed across the screen, flickering in and out as the patients found a way to harass the projector.

Snake stood, leaning on a cane as he approached the couple.

They looked at him, he looked at them.

“I want one of your teeth.” he stated, eyes boring into Jackson’s.

“You know where to find me.”

Confident that at least one of them would understand, Snake strolled off with a plan in utero.

This would be rather entertaining if nothing else.

and I've been told i'm heavy to hold

information

Mood:
intruiged

Location:
common room movie night

Mentions:
Jackson, Julian

tags:
Jinxxes, Harrowhark.

outfit
a

jinxxes · Apr 21, 2023

the gods are watching

PERCY EBELING

001
02

warning!

This post contains depictions of active delusions and a hint suggesting forced sedation. Read at your own discretion.

i agree
1
2

Sleep, Delicious and profound
…

A terrible droning sound, it rumbled in his ears threatening the connection. Gods didn’t speak in words: It was a finicky thing, signs and feelings as messages. They became clearer to him in moments like these, the patterns, the miracles. Athena watched over him, protected him. Arachnae’s revenge left him weak, but he was not abandoned by his patron goddess. Warmth of her surrounded his body, the call of an owl though barely audible past that noise… She was still here for him-

”Percy?”

Eyes snapped to awareness, pulled away from the language of the higher powers. It was so easy to get lost in these moments, a conversation easily unnoticed by a regular man. “Ah, yes.” Back in mortal standing, Percy fought his mind to remember what he was doing, what was happening here. The walls came back in familiar, flashes of being shown around the ward and taking care of his things littered his memory in torn pieces. They were back at the start, for Percy to go off as he pleased for this holiday.

”If that’s all settled then, I’ll leave you to it. Things are winding down for the evening but you have a little more time to check things out and have some fun for Halloween if you’d like.”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll head back to my room and lay down for a little.” At least, he’d attempt that. But Percy doubted he’d stay down for long. At some point he’d have to see about getting his medication, but he had about an hour to settle in before worrying about that.

With a polite goodbye, Percy’s feet carried him along back the way he came to find the rooms. Footsteps quiet, he let his body go on autopilot through the labyrinth, hand tracing the wall he followed the golden thread left there to guide him to the door and-

Well, this didn’t appear right.

A stranger in bed pulled him back to the present once again. While he didn’t know his roommates face, the lacking of his things spoke that he made a mistake in the directions somewhere and this was not his boarding.

”Apologies, I seem to have gotten turned around.” His voice came out gentle, comparable to someone roused from their sleep (or sedation), with a breeze of a French accent. Brows furrowing slightly, Percy took a glance back at the hall to see if his brain could fill in what he was missing. It was most definitely a door along this side, a distinct memory of feeling along the wall as a guide there the last time too. Percy at least trusted he’d be close by that knowledge. Maybe one or two doors down a direction. That was still a great risk of barging into other’s rooms though, or more likely knocking politely to peek, which was not something he wanted to be doing at the moment.

Gaze back on the man, Percy leaned slightly on the door frame as his mind sloppily configured a plan of action. Going door to door would be a last resort. Above that was asking staff, an acceptable but still unwanted choice, unless he found the one who toured him that would probably be a lot of steps and take up the rest of the evening he had. This left a shot in the dark that if it worked, would be the quickest, and if it didn’t, it wouldn't take long leaving him plenty of time for another option.

Of course, just asking ‘Do you know where my room is?’ wouldn’t be a very fair request of him. It would be quite a feat to have caught onto a new patient's lodgings as Percy only visited his room once momentarily. There was bound to be something though…

A flicker of a memory danced along the forefront of his mind, Percy had seen notebooks that were tucked neatly away when his absent roommates name was mentioned as-

“I’m sorry, my mind’s a little all over the place.” In a mental hospital? No way. “Poor word choice.” A small shake of his head to rid himself of that fumble. “My name’s Percy. You wouldn’t know where ‘Calder’s’ room would be, perhaps? I’ve gotten myself a little lost.” Much better, his expression easing into a comfortable friendliness now that he got back on track with his thoughts. It had only been a few moments worth of hesitation, but it felt so much longer to Percy from trying to make sense of scrambled pieces of memory.

the very counterfeit of death

information

Mood:
He's very polite, your honor

Location:
Graham's Room

Mentions:
Graham

tags:
qunqun

outfit
a

qunqun · May 20, 2023

ew exposition? never heard of her

GRAHAM BYRNE

001
02

warning!

Trigger Warning: Depression, self-hatred, emotional self-harm, grief, death of a sibling, parental emotional neglect, flirting

i agree
1
2

You won't stay with me, I know

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew …

— Oscar Wilde

Graham had a tendency to overexert himself. Truly, a feast or famine kind of man, it was easy to tell when he was checked out of a task or when he was actually putting in effort. Usually, the way to tell was if he completely disregarded whatever he’d been assigned and started fucking with the people about.

Sometimes literally.

It helped settle all of the rising bile in his throat whenever he was left by himself for too long. Bothering people was his gig, after all. And he knew what most people wanted when they saw him, lust was an easy thing to spot when you knew what to look for.

That made him sound like a fecking tool, but it was true. At least, it was pretty simple to him. And besides, he wasn’t opposed to people smacking him around a little bit – the tightrope between lust and wrath was a careful one, after all.

It had not been the first time he had woken up

He felt staring upon him. The burning sensation that came from an unclean soul staying in a place with a saint’s name attached to it. He did like his irony, after all. Not that he could’ve probably asked for specifically a nondenominational loony bin to be sent to unwillingly.

She wouldn’t have to have been sent in here.

Never. She was stronger than he was in that manner.

They’d been the unfortunate pair: the two of them. He, the sensitive and prone to melancholy one – she, the aggressive and rebellious one. Their roles should’ve been reversed. She would’ve burned the fecking town to the ground before needing to be sent to a place like this. He was weak enough to allow doctors to continually prod around his head like he was one of their lab rats – a secret special mental illness if you just looked hard enough, like a kinder surprise but for scientists with too much time on their hands.

It’d been a long time ago, too. He should be fecking over it by now. He’d taken a psych paper in university. But all that knowledge didn’t help to know that he was squandering a life that he shouldn’t have. A life unnaturally extended, gross and over bloated with gluttony and overconsumption and indulgence in sin.

Needless to say, he was a very bad Catholic, desperately needed a confessional, and was most definitely going to Hell when this shite existence ended. But hey, at least he went out making some people enjoy their sentence on this floating hunk of rock.

It didn’t matter that all he could see when he closed his eyes was blood and the feelings of cold, of never being warm again, of tears and digging in soft dark earth as green eyes stared endlessly at the sky.

Of lowering the body downwards, having to strip the clothing off so that he could layer on some more insulation between his freezing form and the nature which was threatening his very being.

The blood staining his hands, where if he focused for too long on them, he could see it again. Of starving. Of collapsing in the forest, knowing that he’d failed, and knowing that he died as a failure.

And then waking up again, knowing that he’d have to face the world with these memories seared into his head.

And knowing that he’d have to face his parents once more, and that they wanted to know how she died, why she’d died, where he’d buried her. What happened to her at the very end.

There’d been no warmth given to him during that time. When he was explaining why he hadn’t managed to bring their darling little girl home. Why it was all his fault in the end, anyways.

They’d gone gravely silent, and then they’d mourned in only the way a parent could mourn. Together.

Graham had had no place to interject with his own pain then. And he’d had no right to continue on making every little thing about him like the attention seeker he’d been back then.

Nowadays, he used it mostly to break rising tensions by focusing everyone’s ire onto himself. But back then… He was angry, and he was taking it out on everyone like the little brat that he’d been. He felt like he’d been hurt.

He had no right to do any of that. It’d been his fault, after all.

His parents had gone easy on him, even as he watched them shuffle about their house, ghosts and shells of the people they’d been before. If it had been him as judge, jury, and executioner, he would’ve thrown him out to the wolves.

Instead, he’d caused them more pain in the end. Because that was all he knew how to do. Poison the people around him with vice…

His mother’s ashen face, and the very carefully painted smile that she wore when he’d left them for university was branded into his mind. She hadn’t smiled since the incident had happened, but it was nice that she was making the effort right now.

He knew that the shadow of her loomed large, often overcasting anything that he could achieve. He didn’t deserve recognition after all. He was the one that murdered her.

His father’s sunken in eyes and tired wary face. Paranoia seeped in well when you were living with a murderer, after all. He didn’t even try to smile as he waved his son off.

Graham hadn’t asked them to come with him to England to help him move into the dorm. He knew it’d be too painful – they weren’t good with doing much other than listlessly live out their lives like ghosts. Though, he wasn’t sure that he fared much better in that regard.

Maybe he was just better at hiding it.

But as he laid in his bed, now staring at the ceiling of St Margaret, with the voices of his family ringing in his ears as they called him every kind of failure and lazy piece of shite that he was, he realized how much of a fecking basket case he was.

And how much he fecking deserved every ounce of pain that this illness gave him.

No matter how much he bled, it would never come close to fulfilling the amount of blood needed to atone for his crime.

He was going to suffer on this planet for years, his punishment was going to be long and ongoing, and at the rate of his “rehabilitation” he wouldn’t be able to do shit all about it.

And this kind of hollow existential dread filled him as he mentally calculated his sentence in terms of how long the average human lifespan was. How long he’d be in pain and never know peace.

How much money his parents were most definitely spending on a futile endeavor. Surely the hospital had called them at this point.

Another child wasted. Truly, he was a disappointment.

And upon the hollow feeling that had filled him, came the crushing pressure in his skull as tears began to prick in the corners of his eyes.

He would never know peace.

He could never find contentment.

He was here to continue to suffer and be a burden upon anybody that happened to-

Someone barged into his room. A cute redhead.

Oh.

Graham took a moment while the redhead was orientating himself to quickly flick tears away as he raised from the bed, a smile already curling around his lips as he rolled to his side to observe the intruder ~~with a very nice ass hello~~.

“Apologies, I seem to have gotten turned around.” French? And posh word choice. Oh that was absolutely adorable. Graham liked this one.

“Oh I think you’ve come exactly to where you need to be, love.” He said, throwing out that flicker of a flirtation. Get a feel, see how the intruder responded. “What can I do for you?”

And a wink thrown in for flair.

“I’m sorry”

See, the thing about psychiatric hospitals is that sometimes the medication made people a bit dreary and sleepy. They were still there, it was just a side effect. If they came onto him, Graham would be careful, but he’d still be willing.

This was not that.

This was… something a bit more than that.

And something superseded all of the desperate need for distraction that was currently filling his body with dread and self-loathing and fear and pressure: responsibility towards this person who’d just randomly walked into his room.

Now, he needed to take care of the sad feck and make sure he ended up alright in the end.

“Poor word choice”

“Don’t even worry about it, love, wasn’t gonna mention a thing” Graham replied breezily. “I dunno where your friend is, but feck it. I’m willing to help you try to find him.”

A pause. Green eyes scanning Percy’s face, his body language, his manner of speaking. Honed in on his eyes, right below them, right to the sides of them, the muscles around his mouth, his neck.

One conclusion: Jesus fucking Christ this kid needed to sleep. His abilities to read people were definitely going to be skewed after this entire fecking mess if this was going to be this kid’s baseline.

“Ehm… are you… are you feeling alright?” No. No, Percy was not feeling alright. Graham could see that clearly, but it was more polite to ask than to overrule with an executive decision right out of the gate within the first five minutes of meeting the guy. Hell, usually Graham was a lot more subtle in the way that he analyzed people. He had a feeling that Percy wouldn’t quite remember that, though, in a couple hours.

“If you need to take a breather for a bit before we start…” And Graham patted the bed next to him. “Might cuddle a bit, but I don’t bite without consent. Or touch people like… that. Cross my heart.”

And then a pause. “My name’s Graham, by the way, so you aren’t just jumpin’ in bed with a stranger.”

Nope. Not the time Graham. A fast recovery was made with a small chuckle at his own joke. Better to be a dickhead than to be a pervert.

“Sorry, bad force of habit. Sense of humor skews to the innuendo.”

But you can have your way with me till you go

information

Mood:
HELLO DISTRACTION

Location:
Graham's room

Mentions:
Percy

tags:
jinxxes

outfit

let's fall in love for the night by finneas
a

Realistic or Modern 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵

My Boy

◉-◉

Bad job, Superstar!

◉-◉

[sad jester jingle noises]

i am confusion

Yeah, I'm a gamer *plays solitaire for 5 hours*

Give me your herbs, worm.

pushing the gay agenda

◉-◉

i am confusion

◉-◉

◉-◉

Yeah, I'm a gamer *plays solitaire for 5 hours*

broke artist

To live would be an awfully big adventure

Yeah, I'm a gamer *plays solitaire for 5 hours*

New Member

[disgust in gucci]

Give me your herbs, worm.

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