Right now, I'm just trying to avoid thinking about--the fuckin--pain. [ Haha, heehee. ] I'm trying to get control of it. Stephen Strange is a sorcerer, he's got--experience with this kind of thing. He's helping me master it.
[ Sorry, Stephen, but it's funny. Almost as funny as the question. Does he want to come in? The pain dims a little bit. That's something odd, isn't it? ]
Just--wondering. Some people don't dream. I don't know if they're lucky or...they're probably lucky.
What, if I wanna come in, are you gonna clean up your headspace?
Okay, well--that's a good image to start with. Maybe...maybe every time you see mess, ask yourself if you're dreaming. Eventually, you'll see mess in a dream, you'll ask yourself, and you'll realize whoa, yeah I am.
Then, start cleaning. Once you can clean and stay in the dream--stay aware that you're dreaming? Hit me up. We can do--we can do next steps.
[ The edges of his mind bubble as he tries to make sense of the instructions. The words are clear but the how is not, his consciousness too detached from himself to comprehend it. Still, he notes it all down.
There will be an after, and he can sort out the details then, when he wakes up. Because he will wake up. This can't last forever.
The space around him sighs and expands, relaxing. ]
You said you were.
[ Unfortunately for Quentin, a relaxed Harlan has more brainpower to argue with. ]
You said you have a... little psychic hole. Stephen Strange is helping you with it.
Just--if I can control the dream better, I can get out faster! I can--bail if I need to, or if someone is having a shitty nightmare, I can help them out! It helps me sleep better, I dunno, what does it matter?
It matters 'cause you're going into people's brains! Safe space!
[ But, okay, those reasons sound legit to Harlan. And he can't exactly argue he wouldn't be dreamhopping himself if he had the ability... Privacy concerns only apply to him. ]
Were you in Mavis' dream? That how she killed you?
It was-- [ It was strange. He has to sound the logic outas he explains it. ] It was Aristaeus' dream, but they--I think they share a mindspace, or--I'm not totally sure how their minds work but--when I killed him, she was left. And she took me out.
I've died in dreams before. This was--sorry. This sounds like nonsense. I'm--I think I'm losing the thread. This hurts.
[ But Quentin is right, and Harlan's in no position to wrap his head around it, either.
So, he moves on. He can help. ]
People hire me to talk them through pain. I make it feel good. [ There's a twinge of dissatisfaction. That's not how he should put it, but whatever. ] I don't know if it works here. But it can feel good if you let it. It's grounding. It makes your head quiet.
[ He has no idea if this will actually work, trapped in their own heads like they are—but he's not about to remind Quentin of that. That would all but guarantee failure. ]
[ Hm. That's a new one. He's not sure what to do with that. ]
Okay... Is there a rhythm to it? I cut myself sometimes and I like the pulse of it. It's steady and predictable. Find the rhythm and focus on it. Don't fight it, just let yourself feel it.
[ He layers the words with more magic than he intends to. It's difficult to control like this, without a filter between his thoughts and his mouth. ]
It's not like--not like cutting. [ He knows that with certainty. But Harlan tells him there's a rhythm, and Quentin finds he knows exactly what that means. For a few moments of quiet, he searches for it.
[ Loosely, dreamily: ] Maybe it's...like a...like a wine glass. Singing. [ A round, continuous rhythm. ]
[ Well, no, he can't breathe through it. Hm. This is exponentially more difficult without that physicality to tie in. There aren't any other sense to lean on, just the pain. ]
Um. Singing. Okay. There's... there's this instrument called a theremin. They use it in a lot of sci-fi shit, like, uh. Kind of like the Star Trek theme. It's not actually— it's close enough. It's this box thing with two antennas sticking out, one on top and one on the side. They make these little electromagnetic fields.
[ He huffs out a sigh at himself. Where is he going with this? Focus. ]
You play it by disrupting the fields with your hands. Up and down is pitch—that's your right hand—and side to side is volume. Left hand.
It puts a sound to electricity, is what I'm getting at. Nerves are electricity. So, you know. Visualize the box with the antennas. It's just electricity. You can control that. You can adjust the pitch.
But I can't--I can't turn it down or something, it's-- [ For a second, his failure turns into a spike of panic. All he can feel is the pain. But Harlan didn't say to adjust the volume. He said to adjust the pitch. The fuck does that mean? How the fuck does that feel?
[ Something slots into place. It doesn't hurt less, but the feeling slides along his nerves differently. Quentin reaches back out with surprise, anxiety. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Do you dream?
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That's a dumb name.
[A name he keeps hearing, though. Probably worth looking into.]
Um. Sometimes. Nothing good. Why? Do you want to... come in?
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Just--wondering. Some people don't dream. I don't know if they're lucky or...they're probably lucky.
What, if I wanna come in, are you gonna clean up your headspace?
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[What he would give to have sleep just be a safe space sometimes.]
...Is that something I can do? Clean up?
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[ There's a small laugh. Self-deprecating, but it's a start. ]
Lucid dreaming about cleaning sounds nice.
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Then, start cleaning. Once you can clean and stay in the dream--stay aware that you're dreaming? Hit me up. We can do--we can do next steps.
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Okay... Hit you up, what, like this?
[ The thought of trying to communicate telepathically from a dream feels impossible. But the, he's doing it now, isn't he? Sort of. ]
Why are you going into people's dreams?
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There will be an after, and he can sort out the details then, when he wakes up. Because he will wake up. This can't last forever.
The space around him sighs and expands, relaxing. ]
You said you were.
[ Unfortunately for Quentin, a relaxed Harlan has more brainpower to argue with. ]
You said you have a... little psychic hole. Stephen Strange is helping you with it.
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[ Also unfortunately for Quentin, he's not good at lying in most circumstances, including this very weird, intimate one. ]
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[ Why are you climbing into everybody else's psychic holes??? ]
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[ But, okay, those reasons sound legit to Harlan. And he can't exactly argue he wouldn't be dreamhopping himself if he had the ability... Privacy concerns only apply to him. ]
Were you in Mavis' dream? That how she killed you?
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I've died in dreams before. This was--sorry. This sounds like nonsense. I'm--I think I'm losing the thread. This hurts.
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[ But Quentin is right, and Harlan's in no position to wrap his head around it, either.
So, he moves on. He can help. ]
People hire me to talk them through pain. I make it feel good. [ There's a twinge of dissatisfaction. That's not how he should put it, but whatever. ] I don't know if it works here. But it can feel good if you let it. It's grounding. It makes your head quiet.
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Fuck off. I'm trying to help. You helped me.
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How do you do it? What do I do?
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[ He has no idea if this will actually work, trapped in their own heads like they are—but he's not about to remind Quentin of that. That would all but guarantee failure. ]
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It feels like my nerves are boiling.
cw self harm
Okay... Is there a rhythm to it? I cut myself sometimes and I like the pulse of it. It's steady and predictable. Find the rhythm and focus on it. Don't fight it, just let yourself feel it.
[ He layers the words with more magic than he intends to. It's difficult to control like this, without a filter between his thoughts and his mouth. ]
no subject
[ Loosely, dreamily: ] Maybe it's...like a...like a wine glass. Singing. [ A round, continuous rhythm. ]
no subject
[ Well, no, he can't breathe through it. Hm. This is exponentially more difficult without that physicality to tie in. There aren't any other sense to lean on, just the pain. ]
Um. Singing. Okay. There's... there's this instrument called a theremin. They use it in a lot of sci-fi shit, like, uh. Kind of like the Star Trek theme. It's not actually— it's close enough. It's this box thing with two antennas sticking out, one on top and one on the side. They make these little electromagnetic fields.
[ He huffs out a sigh at himself. Where is he going with this? Focus. ]
You play it by disrupting the fields with your hands. Up and down is pitch—that's your right hand—and side to side is volume. Left hand.
It puts a sound to electricity, is what I'm getting at. Nerves are electricity. So, you know. Visualize the box with the antennas. It's just electricity. You can control that. You can adjust the pitch.
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[ Something slots into place. It doesn't hurt less, but the feeling slides along his nerves differently. Quentin reaches back out with surprise, anxiety. ]
Harlan.
(no subject)
cw: self harm discussion, dubconny vibes, harlan didn't consent to this scene
cw whee more dubcon
cw: suicidal...vibes
(no subject)
🎀!!