Do you believe in ghosts? You seem to read about them so much.
I believe in ghosts in some ways. Mostly in symbolic senses.
I believe in ghosts as parts of our own pasts that we can't let go of. When you hear widows talk about seeing their spouses around the house. When people tell you their dead parents visit through birds and butterflies.
But in terms of floating things in your home that open your cupboards and turn on the TV in the middle of the night--I think that those ghosts exist as manifestations of loneliness. I think humans invented those types of ghosts out of need for company.
I think that since we're all social creatures--we need other humans' company to live--we look for others like us in all realms and in all possibilities.
Even after death, we believe that we'll crave the company of someone else so much that we might just stick around.
So, I believe in ghosts in the sense that humans can will anything into existence. I believe that since we've written countless stories about them, invented so much lore around them, then yes, they have to exist in one way, shape, or form. Maybe they only exist on a page. Maybe when I die, I'll let you know.
(Note: this story features Marlow Lancaster from Star and Sunny, but these are separate stories! This is the non-BBU version of the story.)
For other Marlow posts: #marlow lancaster: wildcat
Taglist (ask if you want to be added/removed): @painful-pooch
CW: head wound, thoughts of death, stab wound
***
Marlow catches herself against a brick wall, the world spinning out of focus. The soft glow of the street lamps blurs into one blob of light, and she groans, tipping her head back and trying not to fall over. One hand stays on her leg, putting pressure on the fresh wound pouring blood down her leg, the other finds her switchblade in her jacket pocket, pulling it out and opening it.
Can’t be too careful, especially when she’s like this.
Her ears are still fucking ringing from getting her head thrown into the ground, she can remember exactly how it felt when the knife slid into her thigh, the searing pain.
She should have called the fight. Taken her loss and whatever came with it.
But she got back up.
She takes a deep breath and pushes herself off the wall, but just a few steps have her head splitting with pain, her breathing labored.
The pavement’s looking like a great spot for a nap right now, but she knows she can’t.
She reaches up to touch her temple, and her fingers come away sticky with blood. Damn. She saw her face in the locker room mirror and knew she looked fucked, but she didn’t catch how bad her head’s bleeding.
Sweat–or maybe blood, she doesn’t know at this point–drips down the back of her neck, soaking into her sports bra. Her mouth is dry and all she can taste is copper weighing heavily on her tongue.
This…not how she thought she was going to die.
She takes a few more steps and crumples to her hands and knees, spitting blood onto the sidewalk. Fuck, my head.
Marlow lifts her gaze as much as she can, but even that sends another shockwave of pain through her body, and she drops onto her side, groaning weakly.
Not how she thought she was going to die.
Marlow closes her eyes, pushing back all the images that threaten to overwhelm her senses further. Well, it’s been one hell of a run. It was a matter of months, really, until she died.
She deserves worse. The blood on her hands…
Yeah. She deserves worse.
Marlow takes a deep breath, feeling herself grow colder. The knife must have nicked a vein or something, based on all the blood that soaked into the sawdust floor of the arena.
She won’t miss the smell, the blood and alcohol and fear. She won’t miss much about this life.
Something brushes against her shoulder, and Marlow’s eyes flutter open. She doesn’t have the strength to go for her knife, and instead she just stares into the honey eyes of the man standing above her.
He immediately crouches down in front of her, and Marlow sees his paramedic uniform. Panic alarms rise in her head, and she tries to scramble away, green eyes wide with fear.
The man gently raises his hands. He can’t be older than 26, 27, with a soft smile that probably puts most of his patients at ease. “Hey, kid, it’s okay. I’m just trying to help.” He starts reaching for his radio, clipped to his belt, but Marlow raises her knife in a shaky hand, pointing it at him.
“N-no hospitals,” she stammers out, her mouth feeling disconnected from the rest of her body. “Can’t go to the hospital.”
“You’re bleeding out,” the man says softly. A few strands of hair fall loose from his bun, but he doesn’t move to fix it. “I’m just going to call an ambulance for you, okay?”
Marlow shakes her head and winces. “N-no. Can’t…” She cuts herself off as the pain worsens, squeezing her eyes shut. “Please.”
When she reopens her eyes, the man puts his backpack on the ground, pulling out a roll of gauze. “What if I promise no hospitals? Will you let me help you then?”
“Y-you’re lying.” Marlow balls her hands into fists, dropping the knife. “You’re g-gonna take me when I pass out.”
“No. I won’t.” He gingerly reaches forward, brushing Marlow’s hair back from her face, and she almost–embarrassingly– leans into the touch, but he pulls his hand back and frowns. “Your head is bleeding too.”
“Cause I hit it, dumbass,” she snarls out. “Get away from me. I’m not going to the hospital.”
“What can I do to make you believe me, huh?” He sighs. “Listen. My name is Ray Tehrani. I am a paramedic, which means that I can help you. I’m not on duty right now. If you pass out with no one helping you, you could die or get kidnapped. Let me help you.”
Marlow can feel the world slipping away, Ray getting blurrier and blurrier in front of her. Fear strikes her deep in her heart. The hospital. Getting tracked down and this whole thing ends. Everything.
She was ready to die. She is ready to die.
“No hospital,” she says, her words slurring together. “N-no…hospital.”
“No hospital. Alright.” He packs the wound on her leg with gauze, his eyes not once leaving her face. “Can you at least tell me your name?”
She hesitates, just for a second. She could give a fake name, keep her identity safe, but she doesn’t want to die nameless. “Marlow,” she finally whispers. “My name is Marlow.”
“Marlow,” Ray says, tying her upper leg off with a strip of rubber. “Alright, Marlow. My car’s just down the street. Let’s get you patched up.
She opens her mouth to answer, but she finds herself stuck, unable to speak as the world dims at the edges. She’s slipping, can’t stay awake much longer. Her heart is beating so loud that she can’t hear anything but the blood rushing to her head. It hurts. It all hurts and she doesn’t know if she can trust Ray, but she doesn’t have any other options.
Ray seems to notice her struggle, and he gives her a sympathetic look, but he doesn’t touch her other than binding her leg, doesn’t make any coddling gestures. “It’s okay,” he says loudly, enough to be heard over the pressure in Marlow’s head. “You’re going to be fine.”
Marlow rests her head onto the pavement, staring up at the scars. If this is her last view on this planet…she’ll be okay with that.
She’s made her peace with violence, and this fight isn’t in her hands anymore.
If you don't mind me asking, what did autism speaks do with Julia? I haven't kept up in a while, heh
Of course and don't worry I need to put a Tw tho
TW. ABLEISM/ DEATH THOUGHTS
Basically Julia was introduced as a good representation for autistic person like me. She uses a speaker and don't like to play in a "traditional" way but the other characters easily adjusted to her needs and had fun together. The family was super supportive and a great representation of the struggle that they/we can face but also how to handle them.
It was good. Until Autism Speak decided to basically destroy this.
They started by making her look more like a troublemaker? And the family that used to include her and support here "suddenly" start to mention how much a burden she is. How the autism makes her miserable, how they wish they had a different daughter and how often they think of killing themselves/the daughter.
It's crazy and disgusting. But if you look at what they're doing to autistic people it's not a surprise. I can go on and on about the many disgusting things they did to her and the autistic people but I don't want to.
She was something that I looked with admiration, I saw myself in her. I saw how people accepted her and was willing to learn about her autism and her needs. The show gave me hope for my future, gave me joy. When I saw her stimming I was afraid because I'm used to the reactions that I receive in real life, disgust and embarrassment, instead they started "a jumpy stimmy train" all together and that made me cry.
Also I didn't mention that Muppets/Sesame Street is one of my special interest so this whole thing was tougher because of that too.
But again Autism Speak ruined that too...so I will never forgive them. Never.
At times it’s comforting. mainly devestating, often times fusterating. Then there’s the times full of guilt. Other times terror. Sometimes laughter when I reminisce but then quickly pain.
People don’t understand, no matter the conversation or the time of day, I am forcing back tears and painting a smile on my face. Because I can’t stop thinking about you.
As a Goth* with at a minor but very real interest in death, the progressive death community is a fascinating look at the turnaround of the human species. From the dawn of time, most human communities (at least as far as I know, I don’t know of a whole lot of exceptions) made it a priority to preserve the bodies of the deceased, give them a place of honor and rest, do something special with them, let it be known in the afterlife that they were a person and they mattered. It was a sign of their humanity. And if someone died and nothing was done with their body, that was kind of a problem. It was very much not desired. If it was on purpose, it was usually a sign that the person did something ‘to deserve’ that great dishonor in life. If it was on accident, it was a tragedy.
Today, we now have a small but growing, passionate subset of the population who want nothing more than to erase their bodies from the world. So many people saying yeah I want to be thrown to the dogs, be composted, be worm food, rot away, leave no trace behind. I get the idea that it’s like ‘returning to nature, becoming one with mother earth’ or the edgier version ‘bodies are just sacks of meat, we’re not special, who cares’ but yeah it just seems interesting, humans spending eons finding importance in treating the human body with this kind of elevation and honor as a way of emphasizing their human lives - that they mattered, they had friends and family and a name and a soul and they mattered - and so many people today finding it beautiful to treat their bodies as nameless, with no importance or honor at all.
CW: drugging, restrained, acceptance of death, noncon touching, trapped in one’s own body
Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next
Days. It had been days of walking. Days of not knowing what would happen to him. Nik felt invisible. No one had given him a second glance since he had given himself up.
The road changed underneath him. No longer was it the packed dirt and leaves of the forest, soft and natural. It morphed into hard, shaped rocks. The clicking of the horse’s hooves grew louder as it echoed against the hard surface.
Somehow, it made Nik feel uncomfortable. He had never stood on something that seemed to block his connection to the earth. His connection to the ground and the living world that he stood on. Nik tried to focus on this mystery, as it was better than the alternative.
He had worn shoes all his life, and that hadn’t made him feel this way. He didn’t feel more connected when he was barefoot. His heart sunk as he realized that it was just because it was different.
Not home.
His wrist had been tied in front of him so he could be led with a chain attached to the Sorcerer’s horse. At first, he looked around. He tried to soak up the feelings and sounds of the forest. Soon enough, the world around him started to change. Open plains, fields, houses.
He chose to look at the ground in front of him.
~
A cell. A cell with no windows. Nik turned around and studied the walls.
The feeling of disconnection had only grown worse, and now a quiet panic had settled in his chest. The walls were stone, the floor was stone, the ceiling was stone. The only light came from the torch directly outside of the bars. There was a bit of hay strewn around the floor, but nothing else. Nothing else to distract himself from the questions of what he was doing there. Nothing else for him to think about. He tried to push the thoughts out of his head, but they crept back in again and again.
When the door creaked open, he was almost glad. A servant came in with a small cup.
“For you. Master wants you to drink this.” She offered the cup to him. He took it lightly and looked at the liquid inside. It looked like a weak tea. Nik sniffed it. Smelled like it, too. He took a sip. A simple tea. Not great, but it was something. The girl looked nervous to be there, so Nik drank it as quickly as he could. When he was finished, he gave the cup back and she scurried away.
Nik sat with his back against the wall and ran his fingers through his brown hair. Was this all? Could he hope that he was brought here just to sit in a windowless cell and drink weak tea? The quiet panic in his chest started to slow.
Nik sat alone with his thoughts until the door opened once again. The Sorcerer. Nik looked up at him slowly. Why didn’t he flinch? He was afraid of the figure who loomed in the doorway. His eyes listed slowly to the side. The tea, he thought as he tried to pull away from the man’s touch, I can’t fight him.
Wordlessly, the man pulled him to his feet and led him out of the cell. Nik stumbled along, forced to hold onto the Sorcerer’s arm for support. His heartbeat was steady and slow, his breathing normal and even. However, his head was racing. Fear gripped his mind so firmly he felt as if he couldn’t see straight.
They arrived at another windowless room, and the Sorcerer lead Nik to the center between two wooden pillars. He hated how easily the man positioned his body to kneel. Nik let his head fall and rest on his knees.
There was a disconnect between his brain and the rest of his body. Nik could feel energy creeping under his skin. The feeling right before a shiver ran through him. But it never came. It built and built, but his arms never moved. He could imagine his body tensing to run, the blood rushing to his muscles and joints before he bolted away. He could tell his arms to move. It felt as if any second they would obey him, but they never did. It was a strange kind of building torture. Tears welled in his eyes and he wished the electricity mounting in his veins would fade away.
“Oh, now,” cooed the Sorcerer as he lifted Nik’s head. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried the tears from his face. Nik tried to open his mouth, to ask what he was doing, but his mouth only fell open slightly with a pathetic squeak. The Sorcerer smirked and closed his mouth.
He brought out a silk bag from which he pulled a pair of gold cuffs. They were thick, with symbols and runes etched into the soft metal. The man lifted Nik’s wrist and clicked it on. It was long and heavy, starting at the end of his wrist and covered almost a third of his forearm, but had no ring or hook to attach to anything.
They don’t even attach to each other, thought Nik as another was snapped around his other wrist.
The man reached into the bag again and pulled out two more cuffs, as well as a gold collar. It looked the same as the cuffs with the exception of a large red gem in the middle. Nik’s eyes followed the hand that held the collar. A small whimper escaped from the back of his throat. The Sorcerer chucked.
“Oh, come now. It’s not that bad.” He could see the Sorcerer’s other hand reach back beyond his vision and could feel the fingers twist around his hair. His head was lifted to expose his neck, and he kept his vision locked on the collar for as long as he could. When it moved too close to see, he shut his eyes and wished. Wished it would be quick. Painless.
The metal was cold around his throat. He swallowed hard and felt the unforgiving resistance. The hand receded from his hair, and Nik’s head fell once again to his knees. He was only vaguely aware of the other cuffs closing around his ankles.
A small rustling came from the corner of the room, but he didn’t lift his head. Soon, too soon, hands laid on his shoulders and lifted him back to sitting on his ankles. Again, fingers wrapped around his wrists, moving them from the place they were last placed. Leather circled the joint; leather connected to thick rope. One after the other, his arms were pulled taught towards the pillars on either side of him.
Nik’s chin was lifted again. Again, the Sorcerer pulled the handkerchief from his pocket to take away the tears that had fallen from his eyes. The man looked deep into his eyes again, examining them and searching.
“Keep your eyes open.” There was a hint of a smile in the order, and it made Nik only want to shut his eyes even tighter. If he had opened them, if he had had the mind to look around, he may have seen a matching cuff around the Sorcerer’s own wrist.
At first, it was just the cold of the cuffs.
Then a slight buzz under the skin they covered.
Then the buzz around them.
Nik’s mind raced as his body stayed still. His own body betrayed his emotions, keeping them locked in his head. Not letting them bleed through into the real world. Where they real if only he experienced them?
A strange feeling grew in his arms. Like wet sand underneath his skin. The grains moved along his muscles and veins. They were pulled, slowly, towards the cuffs. If only he had been able to shiver, to shake his arms, maybe the feeling would have subsided. But it didn’t. It grew just as the cold of cuffs grew. Deepened.
His fingertips were numb.
The numbness creeped up his arms and legs. His hands and feet were cold and dead. The Sorcerer lifted his head and searched for something in his eyes.
Gods, what do you want? Do you want to watch me die? Is that it? Just let me freeze in peace, he glared at the man. The collar froze his neck. His head felt light, and his vision swirled lightly around him.
Then came the pain. Blinding pain from the crown of his head. It was as if someone had hammered a pick into his skull, then continued to push if farther and deeper down. White overtook his senses and Nik’s frozen voice broke the silence.
Just as suddenly as it had come, the pain was gone. A hand rested on the top of his head. Words were said, but the air swallowed them up before they reached Nik’s ears. The pain was replaced by a ground shaking void. Like a missing heartbeat ricocheting in his head.
The collar was gone.
The numbness spread slowly and evenly. First the skin would grow cold, then buzz. Then grains under his skin would be pulled into the void, and the cycle would inch forward. Nik kept his eyes closed and let it happen. It would all be over soon. He didn’t quite understand what was happening, but he had a general idea.
This Sorcerer had hunted his people for years. Everywhere they went, every time they thought they could build a new life, his troops came crashing in. He wanted power; a power he believed they could give him.
I guess we can, thought Nik as he felt his limbs grow weak.
Still, this was worth it. Nik could be cold in his last moments to keep his people safe. To keep them warm.
The numbness had swallowed his arms up to his shoulders; his legs up to his hips. Again, fingers hooked under his chin and lifted his head. Nik closed his eyes.
Just let me die.
A series of small slaps hit is check. Not enough to hurt, but more than enough to be unforgivably annoying. He tried to pull his head away and open his eyes to give the man a look that said, what the hell? More examination. The hand pulled away and his head fell again.
The numbness had past his stomach when his breath hitched. Cold crept into his lungs. Seconds later, another spasm.
This is it, thought Nik as his breathing stopped completely. Should have figured. I can’t even breathe.
For the first time in what felt like hours, Nik felt his pulse quicken. Not much comfort, but it was something. He closed his eyes and let the buzzing in his head overwhelm his other senses.
