#like i said she doesnt belong here and they cant exist in one body so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haemosexuality · 8 months

Text

some people are very mad at the implication that the LN world is ~All A Dream~ but i dont think thats exactly it? like to me it seems very clear that the ln world is a real place, and all that happens in it is real. i think that what's happening is that when they go to sleep, their consciousness is transported into this paralel reality (the Nowhere) and they leave once they awaken, but as they spent more and more time there they slowly succumb to whatever powers or entities rule that world and they become trapped there. its like. kind of like the dark worlds in deltarune, or the other world in coraline, or the upside down in stranger things, or the fear reality/ies in the magnus archives you get the idea

those entities seem to both feed off of and be created by childrens fear, a paradoxical "it exists because children fear it and children fear it because it exists" thing. in an interview a dev said that "something happened before in [the kids] lives that made them a good fit for little nightmares" and i think that "something" is being traumatized: you have more nightmares that way.

something interesting about six specifically is that she's always described as being from somewhere else, not belonging 'here', etc, one description even says she "awoke in a world she cannot recognize" which. straight up confirms shes Not From This World, but like, if all of the kids came here because of nightmares whats different about her? why do they apparently 'belong' in the nowhere but she doesnt? maybe she has, like, too much willpower to succumb to the powers or something and thus doesnt belong with the other kids trapped here who have all given up, but then again shes also described to be "fading away from this world" at the start of ln2 which does seem to mean that shes succumbing to it? like, giving up and fading away? idk idk

bandai website description, issue 1 of the comic

also from the bandai namco website. six's "terrible fate" might be her succumbing to depression or whatever but have no idea why guiding mono to the signal tower would be important? maybe its not actually about the tower and its just about having a purpose and a friend to hold on to so she still has hope

ok heres my tinfoil hat theory: obv the podcast, the devs, promotional material and concept art all seem to be saying that ''kids go to a nightmare world when they go to sleep and sometimes get trapped there" is whats happening, but this post theorizes that maybe the nightmares noone in the podcast is having are prophetic and like. the nightmares explained video says that "the nightmares are crossing into the real world". what if what happened is that vulnerable kids who kept having nightmares were going to this future reality where the world got fucked up because of these entities, and maybe whenever they succumbed to them the entities were able to use their bodies to cross into our world, which eventually led to them being able to take over? resulting in the future fucked up reality kids were going to in their dreams? its not like little nightmares is unfamiliar with time paradoxes thats basically what happened to mono. idk!!!!

i keep bringing up other media but im not really comparing them im just using similsr exampled to explain what i mean bc its so weird i cant think of how else to do it. anyways what if the kids who fully give up and succumb to the fear become like the goners frok undertale. everyone just forgets they ever existed

#this is just brainstorming i havent been able to stop thinking about this all day #i was resistant to the dream theory before bc i was quite attached to my ''six is a feral kid who grew up in the woods'' headcanon and that #doesnt work if shes just a normal kid from a other world who got isekaid to hell #but! with the podcast it seems like that rlly is where the plots going #so now im recontextualizing everything ik ab this game lol #also what does that make mono??? why the fuck does he randomly have powers????? is he also from a normal world????? oh god the questions #i haven't watched that video theory btw ive just seen quotes of it. i will at some point just not rn #little nightmares #the sounds of nightmares #please tell me if this makes no fucking sense im sleep deprived

50 notes · View notes

huphilpuffs · 5 years

Text

flares

chapter: 25/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3065 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: a huge thanks goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan wakes up on Thursday to a heaviness in his chest.

He groans before he even opens his eyes. His face is squished against a pillow, his ribs pressed too harshly against the mattress. Stabs of pain burst between them, make his muscles spasm and send his breath escaping in a stutter. He has to count, one, two, three, four to keep it from happening a second time.

It eases some when he rolls onto his back.

And he tries to comfort himself further by counting out how long it’s been since he’s been able to sleep on his stomach. Too long, probably.

He’s been getting better, though. Even staring at the bedroom ceiling through his tears, Dan knows that. Knows the he’s helped Phil with dinner the last few nights, and managed to handle the curtains being open for a few hours yesterday.

His hand smoothes across his sternum, and he pokes at the painful spots in his sides until the sharpness dulls.

It’s enough to let Dan sit up, then stand on shaky knees. He tosses Phil’s pillow back to where it belongs and tucks the duvet into place to prove the voice in his head, wondering why he’s suddenly worse again, that he’s fine.

And to ignore the second voice, telling him it’s anxiety that causes your pain, over and over again.

His appointment is in a day.

Dan’s hardly slept for three.

He tries to swallow back a sigh. Whatever rush of adrenaline had dragged him out of bed has faded, left fatigue settling heavy in his bones again. He could drag himself to the lounge, curl up in his blankets and continue his new daily routine of watching people on YouTube for hours.

But his body aches and his eyes burn, and he crawls back into bed instead.

The voice in his head grows louder.

Dan grabs Phil’s pillow, clutches it ot his chest and presses his face against the fabric, breathing deeply.

It smells like Phil.

He holds it until he falls back asleep.

---

The afternoon drags.

It’s past two when Dan wakes up again. The flat is still empty, the bed unmade again. He crawls out without bothering to fix it, makes himself a sandwich, and settles back on the sofa, where he can rest his head against the cushions and ignore the tightness around his heart.

Every time he turns on his phone, it’s too a notification reminding him he has an appointment tomorrow that has his muscles seizing, making it ache to breathe.

And to a reminder he half regrets setting, since he’s ignored it for days.

Call mum.

There’s only a few hours to follow through with it now.

He glances back at the clock that tells him it’s just ticking past three. Twenty-five hours left, says the voice in his head. It sounds like the last GP he saw, who looked him in the eyes and told him to try acting like he had more energy, who told him it would help.

You should try it, his mum had said afterwards. You never know unless you do.

Dan’s thumb swipes across the screen. He finds her contact, sucks in a breath, and hits the call button.

He doesn’t breathe again until she picks up on the third ring.

“Hi, Dan,” she says.

He hasn’t heard her voice since he decided to stay here. It feels like a lifetime ago, suddenly.

“Hi, mum.”

There’s silence for a long moment. He can hear her breathing over the line, low and steady, and wonders if she can hear the shakiness in his.

“How are you?” she asks

“I’m okay,” he says. “I, uh, have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

He swallows, nodding even though she can’t see him. “Just with my new GP, but I’m hoping he might be able to help me,” he says. “With, well, you know.”

“I hope he can.”

She sounds sad. It’s been a long time since Dan’s heard that.

“Me too,” he says. And then, because he can’t handle the silence: “But, uh, I was hoping you could maybe help me figure out my medical history, to prepare? I don’t remember all of it from when I first got sick.”

Back when she was responsible for it, he doesn’t say. Back when anyone could keep track of all of it.

“I’ll text it to you, okay?” she says. “I know your memory isn’t always the best, and your wrists tend to ache from writing.”

“Really?” He slams his mouth shut, the click of his teeth probably audible over the phone. “I mean, thanks.”

She chuckles, quiet, distant, like he can hear the miles between them. “I’m not always heartless, you know,” she says.

Dan’s breath comes out in a rush. Guilt bursts in its place, painful, bringing tears to his eyes. And he wants to tell her he never thought she was, but he can’t. She knows he can’t. He doesn’t even know what he thinks about her now, crying, hands shaking as he clutches his phone too tightly.

“Can I ask you something?” she says. “Without you getting mad?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you doing?” she says. “I know you don’t think your problems are with your mental health, and I’m not implying they are–” the not this time goes unspoken “–but I know you’ve had bad experiences with doctors and you’re my son.”

His breath catches. A tear rolls down his cheek, and he wipes it away with his hand.

This is his first appointment without her, he realizes. The first one in six years that she’s not driving him to, waiting outside or sitting next to him for the length of it. The first time she won’t smooth his hand over his knee in the waiting room, telling him it’ll be okay, that doctors can be trusted, even though they’d been proving otherwise for so long.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Phil’s coming with me.”

“That’s good,” she says, like she means it. “I am glad you have him, you know.”

He almost reminds her what she thought of him living with Phil last time they spoke, but his heart aches and his eyes are stinging and he doesn’t want to fight, not this time.

“Me too,” he says. “He’s the best, mum.”

She sounds like she’s smiling when she says: “I’d love to meet him, one day.”

Dan swallows. He can hardly picture it, bringing Phil back to a house filled with terrible memories and people he still doesn’t trust entirely. And yet there’s a tug in his chest, a bittersweet image forming in the back of his mind.

He doesn’t say anything.

Neither does she, for a while.

“I should get going,” is what she ends up saying. “As long as you’re okay? I’ll text you your medical information in a little bit.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

She hums. “And Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“You should call your grandma. She misses her sofa buddy.”

He chuckles. It aches. Suddenly, he’s exhausted again. “Okay. I will,” he promises. “And mum?”

“Yeah?”

“No news is good news, okay? If I don’t call you after the appointment, I mean.”

“Okay,” she says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead.

His head falls back against the cushion and his phone drops onto the sofa. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he’s not entirely sure he knows why.

Or maybe he just can’t untangle all the many, many reasons.

---

Phil’s quiet when he gets home.

He takes the smoothie Dan didn’t touch and sets it on the coffee table before dropping onto the empty cushion. His arm is draped across the back of the cushion, his hip just inches from Dan’s, as he turns his gaze to the open laptop, lit up with another Smosh video.

Dan’s been watching them mindlessly since his tears dried on his cheeks.

“This is a good one,” says Phil.

It’s an older one, the production value a little cheaper and humour a tad outdated. Probably more similar to what Phil had watched back at uni, Dan thinks. He tries to imagine it, a younger version of Phil, one with longer hair and a slightly narrower frame, sitting in a uni room like the one Dan moved out of before coming here.

He hardly can. Maybe because his mind is still muddled, hanging onto words he said during the phone call, onto all the things he should have said but didn’t.

“It is,” he says, just as the video ends.

He doesn’t start a new one.

Phil’s fingers sweep across his shoulder. In Dan’s peripheral, he can see Phil turn to look at him, but he doesn’t look back.

“Are you okay?” asks Phil.

Dan swallows. There’s a lump in his throat, a pressure behind his eyes so harsh it aches.

“Didn’t sleep very well,” he says.

Phil squeezes his shoulder. “I know.”

That makes the corner of his mouth quirk up. Of course Phil knows. He was there, arms wrapped around Dan as he fidgeted, tossed, and turned. His hands had combed through Dan’s hair, and his quiet questions about if Dan was okay were mumbled against his shoulder, his reassurance felt in his touch.

Phil usually falls asleep pretty quickly, Dan’s learned. Last night, he didn’t.

The hand at his shoulder tightens. Dan finally turns to face Phil.

“Is that all that’s bothering you?”

His eyes are soft, almost sad, as his hand rubs gentle circles against Dan’s skin. He knows. He must know something’s up. Dan has to remind himself that Phil’s seen him after countless sleepless nights, curled up in soft blankets on the sofa and dozing when his mind gets too tired to keep racing.

Today isn’t like that.

Dan reaches out to rest a hand on Phil’s knee, needing to feel grounded, as the first tear rolls down his cheek. Phil draws him closer, so Dan’s head is by his shoulder, his tears dripping down onto the fabric of Phil’s shirt.

There’s no pressure, none but the weight of Phil’s hand on his shoulder, when Dan says:

“I called my mum.”

Phil goes tense. “Oh,” he say. “How did that go?”

Dan swallows. “I don’t know.”

He really doesn’t. His chest feels too full with contradictions, the weight of past accusations crashing up against her understanding tone and he doesn’t know what to think anymore. He’s never been sure how to exist around her, not since pain first settled in his bones and she told him it was growing pains, it would pass, it would get better.

And it never did.

“I haven’t talked to her since I told her I was staying in Manchester,” he says, maybe as an afterthought, maybe because it’s felt heavy on his shoulders since he answered the phone.

“Was she nicer this time?”

He nods. Another tear falls. “She’s texting me my medical history,” says Dan. “She offered, because she– she knew I had trouble writing and remembering.”

Phil hums. His breath has gone even again. His mouth is close to the top of Dan’s head. He sounds hesitant when he speaks. “It sounds like she cares.”

Dan feels that, sharp and painful in his gut. Another tear rolls down his cheek, and his breath catches, and Phil holds him tighter like he’s scared Dan will fall apart.

Maybe he will.

It’s been so long,

He’s been so that sure she doesn’t actually care.

Now, he doesn’t know what to think.

---

His mum texts him.

Dan almost cries. His teeth dig into his lip and his ribs ache and he stares, wide-eyed, at the list of diagnoses and unexplained symptoms he’s had over the years. There’s the migraines they never treated at the beginning, the lightheadedness it took them four years to explain, the instructions to do more exercise that dot the whole six years that he’s been ill.

The first time he went to therapy, and the antidepressants they put him on, and the second time he went to therapy.

And every time he told his doctor he was still sick after that.

Phil’s hand lands on his wrist, gently pushing the phone from Dan’s line of sight. His voice is barely a whisper when he says: “Are you okay?”

Dan swallows. His throat aches.

Laid out like this, it doesn’t look that bad, a distant voice in his head that’s haunted him for too long tries to remind him that maybe he’s just making it all up. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. But Dan can remember the A&E doctor who turned him away because it was growing pains. Can remember the so many times his blood pressure was low before anyone bothered to point it out.

The time his doctor looked at him and said–

“Can we do something?” says Dan. “I want to– I need a distraction.”

Phil nods. In Dan’s peripheral, his phone screen goes black. The knot in his chest loosens, just a bit.

“Wanna play video games?” says Phil.

He shakes his head. “Wanna go out. It’s been too long.”

Phil’s brows furrow, like he’s about to point out that there’s a reason it’s been so long, about to warn Dan that he doesn’t want to make himself sick before such an important day.

Except part of Dan does. He’s done it before, forced himself to be in pain because maybe that way the doctors would actually see that he wasn’t lying. Not that it’s ever worked.

“Please?” he says.

Phil squeezes his wrist. “Okay.” His thumb drifts across Dan’s, careful and comforting. “Where do you want to go?”

---

Dan squeezes into his skinny jeans, even though the fabric burns his legs. He pulls a shirt over his head for what feels like the first time in forever. Though his knees are shaky, he bends down to tie his own laces, as Phil watches from where he’s leaning against the door.

“Are you sure about this?”

He reaches out, without a word, to help Dan stand again.

“I’m sure,” says Dan. “And don’t worry, you won’t need to take me to A&E this time.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks up, and Dan knows he’s forcing it. He can feel his worry in the too-tight clench of Phil’s hand around his, the way his gaze trips over Dan legs when he wobbles as he stands.

He squeezes Phil’s fingers, forcing a smile of his own, as he opens the door.

It’s warm outside. The sky’s going purple as the sun sinks below the city. Dan realizes, staring up at it, that he hasn’t left the flat since he trip to A&E, hasn’t enjoyed being outside in far too long.

If his joints would let him, he’d suggest they walk around a bit. Instead, he stares up at the clouds and reminds himself to spend more evenings, when the sun won’t burn his eyes, on their little balcony, just to feel the wind against his cheeks again.

Phil tugs on his hand when the cab pulls up in front of them. They pile in, side by side in the back seat. Dan doesn’t put on his seatbelt. He can’t be bothered to deal with the harsh rub of fabric against his ribs.

His chest is still tight, the quiet buzz of anxiety at the back of his mind growing louder. He can still feel his phone, heavy in his pocket, can still imagine the text he hasn’t yet responded to. He can remember their last movie night, laughing and gasping and falling asleep with Phil’s hands trying to massage the pain away.

They hadn’t even gone out last time.

Dan stares out the window and hopes he can keep his promise that it’ll be okay this time.

They slip out of the car at the cinema. Phil pays the driver. Dan leans against the wall as he waits, wondering if the lines inside are long. It’s been so long since he’s been to the cinema, he can hardly imagine it anymore. The screens usually hurt his eyes and the audio gives him a headache and he doesn’t care today.

“You okay?”

Phil’s smiling at him, standing by the door. He holds it open for Dan, and buys their tickets for a random comedy neither of them particularly wanted to see. He lets Dan go find a seat as he buys them popcorn, soda, and a chocolate bar to share. He hands it over, in the darkness of the theatre, with a smile.

Between them, their knees bump together as the film starts.

---

They’re holding hands when it ends.

Dan’s eyes are starting to burn and his chest aches from laughing, but the voices in his head have dulled just enough that he can breathe a little easier. He doesn’t think about the appointment he needs to show up to tomorrow, or the doctor he hasn’t met yet who might dash his hopes all over again.

He stares at their joined hands as the cinema empties, smiling.

“You ready to go home?” says Phil.

Dan shrugs. He probably should give his spine a break by sinking into the sofa again, close his eyes against the bright lights of the city before a headache wells in his temples. But he doesn’t want to sit in the dark and wait until tomorrow, letting his fears return.

“Can we get pizza?”

“You up to walk?”

He nods. Phil helps him to his feet and leads him out of the cinema. He knows Manchester better than Dan does, and tells a story about coming to watch movies with Ian when he was younger as they find the nearest pizza place. Dan listens, maybe more attentively than he needs to, to keep his mind from going hazy as the city moves around him.

There’s still a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dan wonders if him of a few years ago would have believed that he’d end up here.

The restaurant they end up in is small and quiet, and they slide into a booth in the corner of the room. Dan sinks back against the cushion, realizing that Phil’s smiling, too.

His chest feels warm. His fingers twist in the tablecloth, because part of him misses holding Phil’s hand.

“Thanks for tonight,” says Dan. “I had fun.”

Under the table, Phil knocks their feet together.

“I did too,” he says.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #flares #callie writes words #sorry I haven't been online much #turns out when irl is going either better or worse than just fine i don't find much tumblr time

39 notes · View notes

overanalyzing-homestuck · 5 years

Text

So, Marvus’ friendsim is interesting because Marvus seems to be aware of timelines, which points to the idea that he’s likely a time player (I’m very tempted to say he’s a Lord of Time), indicating that his sign is either Capries or Caprist depending on whether he’s a prospit or derse dreamer (personally, I’m leaning towards prospit, but I’m doubtful only because that was the sign on his hat in his troll call, which we were told was a trick, but that in of itself could have been a trick)

But I’m not here to classpect Marvus. I’m here to analyze all the time shit he says and make the nonsense he said make sense to all of you.

Long post, so everything is under the cut. rip mobile users

Alright, I can’t do jack shit w/o evidence, so here’s the evidence we’ll be using for this portion of the essay post. I’ll be reviewing two scenes in particular, so buckle up

“Oh well it wasn’t really much fo a stunt, you were just going along with your friend’s ludicrous plan to try to scam him into a friendship under false pretenses. But it was a really bad plan, and your friend was killed on the spot immediately, and now you’re pretty sure you’re cosmically fated to die due to making a non-canonical decision.”

“wat u mean non-canon

“all dis b non-canon fam

“wat can it even mean 2 be non-canonical w/in da context of an inherently extracanonical framework? skeet skeet brrrap!”

“You’re not sure. But you definitely have the sense that some of the decisions within the simulation carry greater values of truth and relevance than others, and that the linear progression of events is rigorously enforced by an obligate narrative flow that privileges those actions which most smoothly facilitate the designs of the story’s architect.”

“sure u can hear dat noize dat way

“but i say u the architeckt of ya own f8!”

Convo w/o Marvus’ quirk bc his quirk is sometimes hard to read:

“What do you mean non-canon? All of this is non-canon, fam. What can it even mean to be non-caonical within the context of an inherently extracanonical framework? Skeet skeet brrap!”

“Sure you can hear that noise that way, but I say you’re the architect of your own fate!”

So the first scene I wanted to analyze was this one, particularly because of Marvus’ comment on how “all dis b non-canon,” which indicates an awareness that the timeline they are currently in isn’t the alpha timeline, if we consider the alpha timeline as being “canon” and the other timelines to be “non-canon.” The following line adds onto the idea that Marvus is aware that he’s not in the alpha timeline, but in a more meta way, and we know this because of his description of “extracanonical.”

Extracanonical: being outside the body of officially accepted writings: not included in a list of authorized books specifically: being outside a canon of books held to be sacred an extracanonical writing.

This essentially describes what Hiveswap Friendsim as a game-a non-canonical work that is outside the “alpha timeline” of Homestuck and Hiveswap. In other words, everything that happens in Hiveswap Friendsim, even the “correct” timelines, are all, ultimately, offshoot timelines that are doomed. MC even mentions it themselves:

“But now, for some reason, you have a hunch that you’re near the ened of your Alternian travels.”

This, of course, is true. There are only two friendsims left-only five more trolls to meet, and I have a feeling that all the timelines are going to be cleaned up by the end-with the implication being that everyone is going to die, and it’s going to be official that the entirety of Hiveswap Friendsim is a doomed timeline, so none of your choices matter in the end anyway because it doesn’t affect the main timeline at all.

But... that’s not what it’s really about, is it? A large theme in Homestuck is the idea that your choices matter regardless of whether or not you’re part of the alpha timeline because what you do works towards making the alpha timeline happen, and this same theme is being reflected in what Marvus says: “u the architeckt of ya own f8!”

But, this also sounds familiar. Who else talked about fate in a doomed timeline?

Boldir.

In response to MC asking if she truly believes in fate, and believes that fate brought the two of them together, she says “that would imply that none of our choices matter, and that causality is inevitable,” which is a line more indicative of the fact that causality is inevitable for those whose deaths are required for the alpha timeline and those whose deaths happen because they don’t belong to the alpha timeline.

But, then, Boldir follows up that statement with “but that disregards our choices. fate dictates that all possibilities are, by their very nature, necessities.” The necessities part is important-it’s what I spoke about earlier, isn’t it? That doomed timelines are required to help the alpha timeline on their journey?

What’s interesting here is how different Marvus and Boldir’s thoughts about fate are. They both have similar viewpoints, but the way they’re phrased offers them different meanings that may give us a good viewpoint on how Muses and Lords (If Marvus is a Lord) see fate differently due to their, respectively, passive or active nature.

Boldir finds fate to be something that dictates all that is necessary-a more passive viewpoint, with everything that happens in alternate timelimes indirectly affecting the alpha timeline.

Marvus finds fate to be something you control-a more active viewpoint, with everything that happens being the result of your own actions.

But that’s enough of that. Let’s go onto the next scene:

“depending on how u look at it evry branch in the timeline b fundamental 2 da metatextual structure of da essence of existence itself

“even an incident dat faliz outside a the strict confines of canonical continuity contributez 2 a metaconsciousness dat b built by & could even b said 2 b at its most essential level defined primarily by the extratextual xxxchange of interpretation by those who observe it

“each path a tranzlucent fragment dat via mirrorin or distortin or magnifyin certain aspectz of the ‘ultimate reality’ foldz itself invisibly into da fabric of dat reality

“itzelf immeasurable & intangible but da space it once occupied indelible

“da observation of irreality can still inform how reality iz 2 b interpreted even if dat irreality doesnt satisfy even a cursory standard of legitimacy

“and the act of contravening continuity can in itself provide definition to dat very integrity it defilez

“even if watz goin down here cant b said 2 b ‘true’ dat doesnt mean we r meaningless”

Also this monologue w/o the quirk: “Depending on how you look at it, every branch in the timeline is fundamental to the metatextual structure of the essence of existence itself. Even an incident that falls outside of the strict confines of canonical continuity contributes to a metaconsciousness that is built by and could even be said to be at its most essential level defined primarily by the extratextual exchange of interpretation by those who observe it. Each path a translucent fragment that via mirroring or distorting or magnifying certain aspects of the ‘ultimate reality’ folds itself invisibly into the fabric of that reality, itself immeasurable and intangible but the space it once occupied indelible. The observation of irreality can still inform how reality is to be interpreted even if that irreality doesn’t satisfy even a cursory standard of legitimacy, and the act of contravening continuity can in itself provide definition to that very integrity it defiles (defines?). Even if what is going down here can’t be said to be ‘true,’ that doesn’t mean we are meaningless.”

To put this monologue simply, it’s the same thing Boldir said-that all possibilities and timelines are necessary to the continuation and implementation of the alpha timeline.

To go into more detail, each timeline that occurs has a specific job to do. Marvus describes it as “mirrorin or distortin or magnifying certain aspects of the ‘ultimate reality,’” which means that each timeline serves a purpose to enhance and understand a certain part of the alpha timeline or a certain fundamental theme of the alpha timeline.

This actually might be a kind of mockery of those who claim the game doesn’t matter and is just silly because it’s not actually canon, but the game does serve a purpose, and that’s to learn about all the trolls on the troll call. These friendsims serve as a way to understand not only the trolls, but also the society they live in, and possibly how that society is controlled and manipulated by outside forces in order to achieve a certain goal (but this is a topic that would be better supported by Fozzer’s route, a theory which is kind of addressed here)

Ultimately, the friendsims serve as a way for us to understand how Alternian society shapes and oppresses trolls in order to make an environment where the Homestuck Alternian trolls can have a chance to beat SGRUB.

Anyway, that’s my two cents. Send me asks or tag me in stuff if you’re interested in this sort of thing or have your own two cents to add or feel like I missed anything. I’d be happy to here from y’all!

#hiveswap friendsim #hiveswap friendsim spoilers #marvus xoloto #spoilers #homestuck #hiveswap #meta #boldir lamati #long post #analysis #hiveswap analysis #hiveswap friendsim analysis #homestuck analysis #overanalyzing homestuck #overanalyzing hiveswap

161 notes · View notes

swampgallows · 6 years

Text

i need help. i cant do anything. even in europe all i did was trail behind. i didnt book anything or research anything. i just followed along. everybody else planned everything and i just followed behind.

i dont know what will happen to me without coverage. i need to make calls but i dont know what will happen. i really need help and i really want to be able to do things without my parents. there is so much my parents dont know and that i dont feel safe telling them. there is so much i dont trust my parents with but they control everything. they dont even know i quit my job because i was going to kill myself. ir eally want to get help. and i really need to get help. and i feel like the only way i can truly do it is if im entirely removed from this environment for an extended period of time. i thought europe would be the thing to help me enough but during the last few days when i realized i was going to have to come back here i started panicking and getting sick. and since i got home my body has been rejecting even the most mild of foods (oatmeal, applesauce, eggs and toast) and i cant sleep for more than a few hours at a time, at random. and i cant focus on anything again, and i only managed to draw something for a little bit when my mom was at the hospital again.

i hate that i cant do anything alone but i feel like when im by myself i’ll disappear. but even when im with people i fall out of existence and stop being a person. i cant be here. im struggling to be here any more as a person.

i had canceled my wow subscription (i guess?) so it wouldnt charge me while i wasnt playing and i havent started it back up again yet. i opened hots but i didnt play it. i cant even play video games.

i really need help. i really need to get somewhere where i can be away from this environment and get help or im just going to sit in my bed until i die. im dissociated more than im grounded nowadays, even on the trip. if eel like unless im in a super safe and time-constrained situation (like a rave or at a restaurant?? or something) i cant be a human being. like i have to have a scripted event and i cant exist outside of it. i dont know what to do with myself unless im being perceived or something like that.

i hate writing about this stuff on tumblr but it’s making me lose my mind if i dont get it out somehow. it’s just spinning in my head and all i can do is sit here. it’s 4 in the morning and i thought about cleaning my room to do something productive while not having to be a person, per se, but it’s 4am and it would be too loud. i thought about getting in my car and driving around a little while the streets are super empty but my mom is awake and sitting by the door.

im so fucking sick of my parents knowing about every single thing i do. i cant be a person independent of them if i cant do or say anything without them knowing. and even if i put up my middle finger and say like FUCK YOU IM DOING THIS like my sister does it doesnt matter, in the end they still control everything and they still KNOW. i still have to come back to their house to go to bed, and even if im gone for days they know im gone. my sister is looking into renting a place with her shitty chaotic boyfriend (even though she swore up and down that she would NEVER move in with him) just so she doesnt have to fucking live here. AND SHE’S 29 AND I’M 27 WE SHOULDNT HAVE TO STILL LIVE WITH OUR PARENTS BUT NO ONE IN MY GENERATION CAN AFFORD TO MOVE OUT WITHOUT LIVING WITH 9 STRANGERS FOR 800 A MONTH EACH, AND THOSE NUMBERS ARE NOT EXAGGERATED

it was such a relief when i was in europe to just not check in with them at all or have to tell them anything. not even ‘hey i’m here safe!’ fuck you. i barely even posted on facebook about it except for checking in to places on swarm, and not to tell them, but just to do it, because it’s what i’d do anyway. “thanks for the update” my sister wrote, like i was supposed to tell them sooner. it’s none of their fucking business. they are not part of the equation at all. i bought the plane ticket, i paid for my share of the hotel and hostel and apartment, AND i was planning to drive myself to nate’s house until my mother fucking berated me about it and dropped me off instead (they were using my car that week anyway).

my sister is on a career path and so is my brother and im not. i havent tried learning coding again in a while. i really do not have anything to live for, im not in love with anybody and i have no dreams and i dont even want to get married really and i DEFINITELY do not want children, i still feel like a child, i feel too helpless and stupid to do anything, my art is WAY below the professional level and i couldnt even fulfill all the commissions i took, i barely even draw for myself. i dont do anythign for myself. i cant even take care of myself. im full of self-destructive impulses maybe because i feel like if it gets bad enough my parents will give a shit about me, or something, but they dont, or they cant, theyre incapable. i think about all the healing i have to do and all the trauma ive been through and how my mother takes even that away from me, using it to further her own self-flagellation about what a bad mother she is. even if i killed myself, my suicide would matter to her more as a means to further punish herself than as a loss of my life. and i know this because when i was hit by the car and didnt have the self-preservation to call for help or do anything, all she did was scream at me at the top of her lungs and then complain about what a bad mother she was that she apparently never taught us to call our parents.

i had to throw up when we were driving back to lax to drop cookies off and i thought i could make it. i puked all over myself, bad, in nate’s car, and he said, “you need to just tell me if you have to and i’ll pull over.” and i legitimately didnt even think of that. i am so accustomed to just suffering in silence and then getting punished afterward that i didnt do a solid for myself or for my friends by just giving a heads up about what was happening to me. i just let it happen and dealt with the consequences. and that thought really unnerved me. why didnt i say something? did i really think he would get mad at me for asking, for having the audacity to get sick? was i embarrassed??? well i was sure as fuck embarrassed for puking all over myself like a fucking infant, so why didnt i just say something? like who the fuck does that? i just sat there fighting it, thinking it would go away, instead of saying like “dude, can we pull over? i think im gonna throw up.” maybe i didnt want to be an inconvenience, or ruin the good time, or be needy, or draw attention to myself, or possibly make cookies late for her plane (she had more than enough time and it wouldnt have been a problem at all. pulling over for a minute wouldnt have mattered. we werent even on the freeway.) so why didn’t i even think to say something?

i was never like this. i was never somebody who didnt stand up for myself.

or was i? i dont know. i have avenged people in the past, speaking up for them when they didnt have anyone on their side, so why cant i speak up for myself? i didnt say anything when i was being molested, or raped, but i was just a child. but ive been ground down more and more to be more subservient, quieter, helpless, and the few times i try to defend myself or make a stand or speak up i end up saying a very wrong thing or being extremely rude or just embarrassing myself by saying something foolish. or i come off as aggressive.

aggression.

i have nothing so i have nothing to ground me and nothing with which to assert myself. as time goes on i feel weaker and weaker, more and more feeble and like i need permission to be alive. i cant be open with my family about nearly any of my beliefs or interests, hence why i am so fervent and adamant them in spaces that i can be (like, here, for instance, blogging until i am blue in the face about warcraft and dumb rave shit). in person i feel foolish among other wow fans, who play the game better than i do and know more about the lore than i do, and i am made to feel like an imposter (FUCK YOU spellcheck i prefer the -er) or an idiot or a “fake fan” or like “wow you dedicate so much of your life to this and you still dont know a fucking thing, what a loser, what a moron”. and i feel that way about rave shit too. hanging around other DJs and shit who know so much more about their specific areas, things im not necessarily against knowing but havent really done the research on my own, i feel like i’m nothing, too.

i dont have any worthwhile qualities and especially nothing that i’m capable of doing to a lucrative or productive degree. i have a worthless art degree, speaking of which, after 5 interminable soul-crushing years at a university that ground me in its teeth and made me feel like i belonged as a smear on the pavement. and then i almost was that after being hit by a car during what was supposed to be my final semester.

im just really not supposed to be here and i have nothing to offer. and i know nobody is “supposed” to be here but i dont even have the means to act like it or to make myself useful. i cant even be useful to myself. i cant even do the things i have an inkling of wanting to do. i just start hitting myself or crying even when i try to do the things that will make me happy. the amount of times ive been at my tables mixing away and then beating the shit out of myself at the slightest mistake and having to sit in the bath for an hour to calm down are innumerable. drawing isn’t as violent, unless im interrupted, in which case it becomes a heavy weight, like an anvil on my forehead, screaming about all the time i was wasting, and how i spent x hours on this and it still looks like shit or it’s completely pointless or “oh orcs again how fucking original you fucking cuntrag of course your favorite is the inexcusably evil and violent genocidal piece of shit character you constantly try to “fix” in your head and make excuses for because youre a broken worthless idiot addicted to abuse since being used is the only function you have in this world”

im kind of glad r/incel was banned because i was developing kind of a hate-read addiction to seeing screenshots on here. i never went to the reddit itself but being raised on that kind of mentality brought back a lot of feelings, and i was trying to train myself to just laugh at those posts, but so many people like that have ruined me in the past that i ended up feeling like i had a duty to “hear” them out. i was practically raised by men who would now be classified as “incels” and that rhetoric comprised a bulk of my understanding about sexuality, especially when my introduction to the entire concept of sex was through entitlement via rape. i thought letting myself be abused was some act of altruism, and that men wanting to possess me was something admirable and validating, especially since i was so ugly, that they in turn were being charitable by allowing themselves to be associated with me, that the least i could do was let them get some kind of pleasure out of it.

sure i didnt know any better as a child but im still fighting these feelings as an adult. i cant even navigate my own feelings about men. the pirate wants to go to bar sinister again on saturday (with smee, luckily) but i still cant feel out if it’s a date or not, and i still cant decide whether or not i’m comfortable with it being a date, since i dont know what attraction is, i dont want to hurt the guy’s feelings, and i’d like to stay friends, and i dont want to make him mad, and i dont want to lead him on either, and i DONT KNOW WHY i am basically arguing with myself as to whether or not i should ‘let this happen’, that i should just allow something to happen to me, again, because i “pursued” this man enough to let him know i wanted to get to know him better and hang with him outside of just seeing him on the bus, but i do not believe i have ever consciously pursued someone romantically IN MY LIFE (and if i did i was the last to know i was doing it). i have never had the thought “I want to date this person” because i dont fucking know what dating is, i dont know what anything is, i dont fucking know anything, i am not someone who would intentionally make a “First Move” on someone in the way of “wow i want to kiss this person so i had better get to know them better” like they do in the movies.

ultimately i guess i cannot ever imagine someone respecting me and being reciprocal with me. cannot ever imagine someone wanting to be around me for me and not because of some ulterior motive, like that theyre in love with me because of some shit emotional labor they squeezed out of me or some naive infatuation theyve conjured up in their heads about how we’re going to be married someday even if i explicitly reject them outright on several separate occasions, or how they’re so emotionally stunted that me being a cordial human being and sharing a trace of interest with them (wow youre a girl, AND you play video games? AND you have hooves?) translates into a crush because they have zero boundaries or understanding of women.

cause like, im a fucking disaster area. i dont even want to be around me. i cannot even look at myself in the mirror, my insecurity is volatile, i’m incredibly unstable and i have no self-preservation or means of independence. if you want to be dragged down in every facet possible, look no further: i am a living embodiment of trench foot. so because i deem myself having no value i dont see why anyone else could. which is why im comfortable with traces of platonic shit and why social media is perfect. it’s meaningful enough interaction to let me know that i, individually, have value, but superficial and ephemeral enough to know it’s not because anyone has any weird fucking obsession with or bias toward me. my art appears on their dash in a flash and if they like it, they like it, and that’s it. they dont gotta say shit, and it’s an entirely objective Unit of Value not based on any expected performance from me or my identity as a human being. Just, deemed worthy, and if they add their own addendum or something it’s because they’re contributing to something larger, not directly feeding into my ego/personhood.

and in turn, on my blog i can provide whatever sort of content i want without expectation and at the end of the day even if it goes unnoticed, im not doing it for any means to an end so ultimately its impact is irrelevant. like, thank fucking god. my blog doesnt provide a service to people where they expect some kind of Product, and they can opt out at any time. as long as im not going around hurting people (and obviously i would never want to do that) my blog doesnt matter, and i dont have to matter.

“you matter”. fuck off. maybe i dont want to matter. maybe im better off just being a transient, tied to nothing and no one to keep from burdening anybody or burdening myself by feeling like i have to be fucking “useful” all the time.

for how truly invisible i feel all the time, it’s ironic how much i wish i could be.

#blathering

8 notes · View notes