#plastiicparasite

[ninetyscnds]

continuing (x) .// @plastiicparasite​ // big brother steve

The world was spinning. No, not spinning; more like moving in tall, angry waves, leaving Luke swaying even thought he was standing still. The solid frame of his brother was like a tether, an anchor, keeping him upright, safe, out of harm’s way and out of the deep, dark seas. Everything hurt. Everything was too cold. Too warm. Too clammy. Too dry. His brain seemed to throb and grow, trying to leak out of his eyes and ears but at the same time he felt as though his skull was empty, dark and filled with bruised cobwebs, the spiders crawling out through the cracks in his jaw, scratching the back of his throat.

“’m sorry,” he mumbled, weak and quiet. Everything felt like it was unravelling... again. His brother knew what to do. His brother had his own life figured out, had everything you could ever want. A beautiful house. A beautiful wife. A wonderful dream job, writing successful books, turning more and more famous with each published work. Luke just wanted to be like him, so very badly. Twenty-five and a lost cause, going from house to house to rehab center, to street alley to bench to cardboard box. Twenty-five with nothing but stigma to his name and dirty looks when he was introduced as a Crain sibling in any context. 

The house smelled of dinner, of red wine freshly poured and lit candles. A whiff of perfume soared through the air, too, when Leigh seemed to pass by, saying something that echoed in his hollow brain. It wasn’t meant for him, anyway. Was meant for Steve. She was kind to him too, Leigh, forgave him for a lot, opened her home and her arms to him and each time he hurt her just the same as he had any other of his family members.

Oh, if mom could see him now... how she would have cried and cried and cried.

Sniffling, nodding, Luke barely pushed himself off of Steve to look around with bloodshot eyes, wet, thick tears welling and flowing down his dirty face. Home was no where, yet he wanted to go there so badly. What did that say about him, he feared? Did he just want to... not be anywhere? Was that home, the darkness? “I’m-- I’m sorry I c-come here and ruin your night,” he half-brokenly sobbed, dragging the tears away with the well-worn hoodie sleeve. He can’t stand to look his brother in the eye, though... too hard. The eye in the wooden floor is a better place to look. 

“I don’t wanna be--, I-I can leave Steve I promise it’s okay if-- if you don’t want me here-” 

[cxrpe-nxctum]

’ It’s not the first time some psychopath called me out. ’ @theo

“That’s still our little fucking sister, Steve.” Theo replied harshly. She and Nell haven’t spoken in several months now, but even she knew that her sister had been going to a new therapist who was a complete whack job who had no idea how to properly treat her. Who knows what she had been going through lately, and crashing a book signing was definitely unlike her, so for Steve to mock her so nonchalantly was infuriating. 

[ninetyscnds]

❛ see with your eyes, not with your hands. ❜

JEREMY P. BUSHNELL’S THE INSIDES ( 2016 ) STARTERS .// (meme)

Luke’s hands had barely lifted from hanging by his sides, ghosting over a picture frame on the dresser in the living room. Blunt fingers splay out, eyebrows shoot up to arch high and stay there, a half step taken back as he looks over to his older brother. He could hear the voices of Leigh and Joey in the dining room just next to them. Steve seemed tense. But when didn’t he, really? What was it he liked to say Theo was – as angry and pent up as a raised fist? What was Steve, then - the straight palm, ready to smack fingertips darting out too far?

“Sorry.” 

No matter what he’d try and explain it with, Steve wouldn’t buy it. So it was just easier to stick his hands in his hoodie pockets and instead just look at the picture of mom, reminiscing and trying to remember that smile he could see shining back at him from the little frame. And yeah, maybe he wanted to steal it for himself to keep… maybe more now, than he had ever even considered before. 

[ninetyscnds]

❛❛ I wish it could have gone differently. I wish it had been me. ❜❜ 4 one ghosty boy

haunted starters .// (meme)

Remorse.

It had a different kind of look on Steve than anyone else. Most people seemed to become a little lighter once their remorse was spoken, like the rocks and boulders that had been resting on their necks and shoulders rolled off slowly, relieving them of their burden. Steve, though… Luke could almost see the thick chains growing in size around his older brother’s neck, almost locking onto the dark floorboards and pulling him down, down, down. Even if emotions were no more, Luke still felt something pain him watching him, listening to him lay down his remorse, his wishes, his sorrow.

Touching was off limits. That’s what Luke had learned before he died here, that’s what mom and Nell told him later. Touching means torment, means trauma. He couldn’t traumatize anyone further than what he already had, over the years. It was hard, though, not just reaching out to hug his brother right then. 

He shakes his head no, “don’t say that,” hands push into pockets, the white shirt stained with black mold crinkling a little like dry leaves even if it had no tactile sensation or form any longer. “You’d hate it here… so many ghosts, you’d be arguing with them about their existence like some crazy solipsism philosopher,” he chuckles, rubs his neck a little nervously. From the stairs, Nell, mom and dad are watching, giving them their space. As though they understood the tension and grief they both felt, for having lost each other, and never mended their bonds properly before the end.

“It’s… you know. I-I– I wish I had come to you earlier. Y’know? Or–or told you to listen a bit more. Remember that time, I was like… fifteen or something, and you were moving to LA with Leigh and– and I came to you, wanting to talk that one night?” Shoulders bunching, foot idly kicking at nothing. “And you were.. I don’t know, stressed or something because you told me – ‘not now, Luke!’… You know I.. uh, I wanted to tell you  that I thought.. that I needed help with uh-, with my drinking problem. But… you know. I- I didn’t wanna.. Anyway-”

Wow, way to make it worse than better! He glanced over his shoulder to get a sympathetic little smile from mom, dad looking like dad. Not much help to get.

“I– I’m sorry, look, Steve – it’s okay. It’s better like this anyway. You know? A— at least we.. get to see each other sometimes. And you can- y-you can get on with your life and you don’t have to worry about me or Nell anymore. Right? It’s better. I promise.” 

[ninetyscnds]

a phone call would’ve been nice.

“Yeah I’m– I’m sorry, Steve, I-, I lost the phone and I didn’t wanna tell you right away.” 

Please don’t be mad at him, Steve. Please. It might have been the third phone since he got to LA, but you don’t know what a burner goes for on the streets these days and prices for a good time are high as hell…

“—’cause I lost the other ones too, you know. I’m sorry. C-can I come in? It’s freezing out here…” 

[ninetyscnds]

❛ what makes you so sure we’re not crazy. ❜

JEREMY P. BUSHNELL’S THE INSIDES ( 2016 ) STARTERS .// (meme)

“What makes you so sure we are?” 

Again, once more, raging oceans crashing against each other, storms having brewed finally colliding and lightning striking with every breath. In the absence of dad, it seemed Steve could only find room to fight with Luke. It was Thanksgiving, one of the last they all held together, and of course the drinks hadn’t exactly helped the ever-growing tension between all the Crain children. Luke was drunk, blasted, even, deep in his first addiction. Steve, tipsy at least, a couple glasses of wine and maybe a beer, too. And, as always, they somehow ended back on this old track, this old conversation, about what was real and what wasn’t. 

“It’s not a-any of our fucking problems that YOU won’t consider there’s m-more to life than this– this black and white binary shit that you live by, St-steve. Are – s-so what, are all those people y-you steal from crazy? Huh?! D-do you tell it to their fucking faces, too?”

Like that one night, with heavy hail and rocks breaking windows in Hill House, a storm rages and keeps the Crain siblings trapped together. Only today, the storm was not Mother Nature’s doing, but that of two brothers so desperately wanting to understand each other, but always failing to get closer when they tried.

[ninetyscnds]

“Did you hit your head?”

Injuries starters .// (meme)

The frat house was loud, the walls shaking in some places from the bass vibrating so much. Mom’d have said that the house was dancing, too, feeling it in its bones. People were jumping around, some were clustered in little packs talking loudly over the music, some drinking endlessly from red cups lighting up the dark rooms like Christmas lights. Luke was there, a lot more scrawny than the rest, but the sprouts of a beard on his jawline helped give the illusion he was a couple of years older than his driver’s license would say. It was Steve’s college. He had heard about the party through some of his ‘friends’, loving to hide in plain sight and being given drink after drink after drink without any question. It was a good place to vanish, and a good place to nurture the gaping hole in his chest, filling it with alcohol and thick plumes of smoke. 

Slinking upstairs, Luke held one of those red cups tight, tight, tight in his grasp as he looked around. Nothing of value on the walls, nothing seemed to be in the cupboards or on the shelves. People with faster hands had probably already been through here. Just as he was taking the last step up, he looked ahead to see a person right in front of him. 

Five seconds later, he found himself at the foot of the stairs, the drink spilled all over him, people laughing, a couple of girls shocked and some guys cheering in the background. Luke himself was groaning and trying to laugh, even if he hurt his knee pretty badly. 

“St-steve, hey-” 

The person at the top of the stairs had been none other than his loving big brother. The look he was given, as said brother had rushed down the stairs, was - to Luke - a mix of worry and maybe a tinge of anger. Luke rubbed the back of his head as he started picking himself up off of the floor, “n-no I’m okay. Thanks. Hey, uh. Hey. I was– I was looking for you. Having fun?” 

[the-soldicr]

@plastiicparasite​​​ sent:

❝ you know something, spill it. ❞

KNIVES OUT STARTERS || O P E N

“ And  W H Y  should I? ”  James Hauley all but BARKED back to the nosy journalist, incredulous. His father Thomas was cool,  s m o o t h ,  slow about these kinds of things while James was essentially anything but. Practically carrying the family on his back, James found himself QUICK to dismiss others, a little short-tempered with his shoulders riding high. He didn’t take ORDERS from CIVILIANS.

            “ Why  W O U L D  I  tell  YOU  A N Y T H I N G ?                                                            No  offense, but I’ve  READ  some of your work. ” 

Only a  HALF  lie,  Eli  was technically the one currently applying themselves to familiarize the both of them with the pesky’s writer’s claims after the first time they’d seen him crawling around the area and asking questions. 

“It’s not MY JOB to hold your hand through this, dude.  — You wouldn’t believe a DAMN word I had to say anyway.

                                                                      So what do you  REALLY  want from me, huh?”

It certainly didn’t LOOK good for a military specialist to be asking around about the GHOSTS and GHOULS of the world. He thinks for a moment. A confession. An admission. That’s what he wanted. James’ voice dropped all too low, suddenly quiet & AUTHORITATIVE. 

“ —  LOOK ,  I  think  would be  BEST  for  y o u  to just... turn around and HEAD HOME,  sir. ”

                                                                                            ( IT’S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD. )