Shion: Hey, lean down.
Nezumi: Make me.
For flavorofanime - Grimmjow
sometimes I don’t realize just how hot a certain character is until I draw them ha
(Source: selcium)
i’m really, really sorry
i’ve been having the dumbest art block for about a week and every time i try to draw i just suck
i don’t really have an excuse but i’m trying again today. sorry again sighs i am literally the slowest artist on the planet
![For flames-ofthesea (double request) — First person narrative AU fic in which Shion is schizophrenic—with literary freedom on Nezumi’s existence—and a picture that goes along with the story.
I’m falling, again, seeing golden motes in the dusty sunlight. They trail behind me like glass-spun baubles, glistening like small beads of dew on sweetgrass, and I am reminded of lemon drops and and caramel coffee swirls as I watch them dance lightly around me, twinkling and shimmering in and out of my field of vision like fireflies.
A shy hand extends, timidly brushing the honeyed droplets, but they slip through my fingertips like flowing water. I try again, this time successfully, but the instant my slender fingers brush against the gossamer beads, my vision suddenly explodes in a flash of blinding white light.
The atmosphere is charged with energy; colliding electrons and misfiring neurons send sparks of electricity crawling against my skin, and I feel the hair on the back of my nape stand on end as the light burns behind my retinas, making my skull throb with its intensity. There is nothing―no color or sound, sight or sensation―nothing but an immense, electrified silence, yet everything seems full of a rich emptiness. It seeps into and out of every pore in my body. It is bliss.
[[MORE]]My mind registers a sharp pain in my shoulder; it seems foreign and alien, out of place in this white and rapturous expanse of nothingness. The blinding light has me disorientated and exhilarated and confused, so it takes me a moment to realize that the pain I feel is real and whole, and the euphoria from a dream—I must be dozing. The heavy, water-like glaze that lies over my eyelids begins to lift, and my body sluggishly detaches itself from sleep’s ample embrace.
“Ouch.” Now fully awake, I cringe. I know he hit me, despite the look of innocence he feigns. “What the heck was that for? I was having a… very nice dream.” I frown.
“You were convulsing and twitching like you were in the throes of death, so I woke you. And shouldn’t you be ignoring me? I don’t exist, remember?” His own frown, mirroring mine, sets itself in his face. My expression softens and I sit up.
“You know what the doctor said, Nezumi. I have to distinguish between what’s really here and what’s… not.”
Nezumi stares at me, his expression unreadable, and then abruptly moves away to the far side of the field. I watch his retreating back and let out a sigh. Despite the fact that I know he’s not real, I’ve hurt his feelings (for lack of a better term), and I feel guilty. But I also know I’m not supposed to speak to him―I can’t get better if I continue to acknowledge him like this. The doctor has been reiterating that for months.
~*~
Schizophrenia doesn’t run in my family―I’m the only one who suffers from it.
When I was little, I thought nothing of the multitude of friends I had. (Looking back in retrospect, though, it all seems to make so much more sense.) They would come and go as if flitting in and out of existence, like shadows within darkness, like ghosts―by my side one second, and gone the next. I had no idea that they were figments of my own psyche until I was much older. My mother never suspected anything, for she thought it was good-natured play―wasn’t it perfectly normal for a child to amuse himself by talking to himself from time to time?
Not until I was eleven did she notice something amiss. She would hear my raucous, hearty laughter from beyond the door to my room, released from some untold joke that no one else could hear. I began to linger too long in the doorways at banquets and parties, chatting merrily to the companion that the eyes of others could not see. With the numerous and ever increasing instances of oh hello, how are you todays and I’d love to go out and play but I’m really quite busys uttered to no one in particular, she grew increasingly concerned as my behavior became too strange for someone of my age.
I was diagnosed with acute schizophrenia a year later, and here we are, today, five years past.
The most chilling part about this illness is that I will always wonder… always wonder about the individuals that I have met and talked to all these years. Were they real?
I will never know how many people in this life I have imagined. Did the kind, old woman who cultivated yellow petunias really live in the house next to ours? Did I actually have friends as a boy, or were those all phantoms of my own making, too? Who had been real, and who had been a hallucination? When you can’t differentiate reality from the mirages within your own mind, the world around you can become truly terrifying. And this is where I reach the impasse with Nezumi.
It took me a few months for me to realize that he existed only in my head. Nezumi has attempted to persuade me otherwise more times than I can count, but I know he’s invisible to others. When asking the question that’s plagued me for months, do you see this man?, the only person who didn’t think I was insane was a five-year old girl. (And I must point out that it took a lot of courage to intentionally look like an idiot and ask that.)
But he seems so real, so tangible; the creases that form around his eyes when he smiles, his laughter that seems to sneak into my own system like a germ, so contagious that my sides ache with mirth, all make him seem like he exists…. Like he isn’t part of my psyche―because he’s way too complex to be just an apparition. But I know that I’m only humoring myself, because no one else can see him. I wish they could.
Despite the past, despite all the accomplices I have imagined and know I am capable of imagining, deep down I refuse to believe Nezumi is a part of me. He seems too real for that.
~*~
The house I live in overlooks a small meadow filled with sweetgrass, dandelion, marigolds, daffodils―all sorts of flowers from the shades of bloodred to deep violet. Their buds unfurl themselves into blossoms at the peak of spring, and the aroma of pollen and petals during this time of year can stop a hardened man of the city in his tracks to admire the scent and scenery.
Nezumi and I met at this very field when I was twelve. It was spring. I had stepped outside briefly to sit on the wooden steps of our porch when I saw a boy slowly winding his way through the meadow, his hands in his front pockets. I figured he was just walking to enjoy the beautiful day, so I didn’t think much of this odd person, standing serenely in the middle of a cluster of asters.
He’d said they were his favorite flower. I’d never heard someone of the male persuasion to ever admit that he has a favorite flower.
~*~
Nezumi stops walking and sits down. I bite my lip, replaying the words of caution uttered by the doctor (you have to ignore him, you can’t keep letting him win, otherwise you’ll be like this forever, and you don’t want that, do you?), and my emotions are rocketing within me like the sparks of a burning cinder, telling me to go over to him and comfort him.
I let out a sigh as my feet begin to move towards his hunched back—my emotions have won once again.
“Are you going to talk to me? I thought I wasn’t real,” he laughs bitterly.
I can’t help firing my own retort back at him―I bicker with him too much for my own good.
“You’re not. And I’m not talking to you either; I’m talking to myself. People talk to themselves all the time, so this is a completely normal thing to do.”
“If you would just believe me when I say that I’m real and stop being so stubborn, we wouldn’t have this issue.”
“Our issue is technically my issue.” I look at Nezumi helplessly.
Here’s the impasse again. I don’t know why I’m so intent on proving him wrong. Maybe it’s because you care about him too much, a little voice whispers in my head. You don’t want to believe he’s real, to believe he exists, only to have the illusion shattered in your face, cutting you like a million shards of glass. Then… then you truly will be alone.
His hand whips out in a blur like the strike of a hunting snake, catching my forearm against his hard fingertips. A red welt immediately begins to form.
“Ow, what―” I begin angrily.
“Did you feel that?”
“Let’s investigate Nezumi’s mystery of the day. Of course I felt it!”
“There. I exist, plain and simple.”
“That doesn’t prove anything! I’m schizophrenic, Nezumi! Because you’re in my head, and my head decides what I feel! I can see, hear, touch, smell and taste you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re here.”
“Gross.” His response catches me off guard and I pause.
“What?”
“You said you could taste me.”
“God, grow up, Nezumi,” I laugh.
“The only way I could grow up was if I existed, which I obviously don’t! If I want to be immature, I will be.” He crosses his arms and continues, trying to keep the hurt from creeping into his voice. He fails. “I’ve decided to get over the initial insult of my false existence and go with whatever you think is great.”
He tucks his head in his arms, looking away from me. My emotions change and contort as rapidly as a see-saw falls and rises on a pivot: guilt and pain immediately flood into me once again.
I know what will make him happy: saying the words I believe you. But I can’t lie to him. He is my best friend.
“Prove to me that you are real.”
“What?”
“Please. Prove it to me. You seem so sure of your existence, and I’m not going to lie to you… I can’t.” I place my hand on his shoulder. If I’m honest, the words I’m about to say are addressed more to myself than to him, and as they’re spoken, I feel a slow burn start to rise in my lungs. “If you’re real, then this should simple,” I whisper.
He lifts his head and looks me in the eyes, his steel gray gaze piercing my own. “Am I important to you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m real.”*******
Note: The dream sequence in the beginning is supposed to represent everything that Nezumi gave Shion—the truth about a utopia that never existed, and new feelings and emotions that Shion’s never felt before, all symbolized as white light. I felt this color was appropriate since it’s almost akin to an awakening/enlightenment. And since Shion is overwhelmed by these new emotions but at the same time is drawn to and captivated by them (and Nezumi), I described the entire sequence and atmosphere as “charged with energy” and full of “rich emptiness” and “bliss”. (It makes more sense if you read the passage again knowing what the dream represents, I promise.)](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m68yjdxZDw1rys7nho1_500.png)
For flames-ofthesea (double request) — First person narrative AU fic in which Shion is schizophrenic—with literary freedom on Nezumi’s existence—and a picture that goes along with the story.
I’m falling, again, seeing golden motes in the dusty sunlight. They trail behind me like glass-spun baubles, glistening like small beads of dew on sweetgrass, and I am reminded of lemon drops and and caramel coffee swirls as I watch them dance lightly around me, twinkling and shimmering in and out of my field of vision like fireflies.
A shy hand extends, timidly brushing the honeyed droplets, but they slip through my fingertips like flowing water. I try again, this time successfully, but the instant my slender fingers brush against the gossamer beads, my vision suddenly explodes in a flash of blinding white light.
The atmosphere is charged with energy; colliding electrons and misfiring neurons send sparks of electricity crawling against my skin, and I feel the hair on the back of my nape stand on end as the light burns behind my retinas, making my skull throb with its intensity. There is nothing―no color or sound, sight or sensation―nothing but an immense, electrified silence, yet everything seems full of a rich emptiness. It seeps into and out of every pore in my body. It is bliss.
❝ Goodbye, Yuki. ❞
This week’s episode killed me so naturally I drew something that made me feel even worse
(Source: selcium)
baby akira and baby tapioca taking an afternoon nap ヾ(･ω･*)ﾉ i love these two so much eee
(i know ducks don’t live 10+ years so akira shouldn’t be this young but just pretend tapioca is a super duck okay)
…. im sorry
For yanderenoodlez
You’re one of the nicest and sweetest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of talking to, so I’d like to say thank you! Thank you for all the wonderful conversations and compliments, and please stay amazing. :)
