#— affliction: hallucinations

[chaosartisan]

Never let Andrew Lester live this down.

Who the fuck shoots a TEENAGER, in the HEAD, for RINGING A DOORBELL???!

If you can't show up in person, make a phone call. If you can't call, write a letter. If you can't write a letter, an email.

In order to liberate our communities from this lovecraft country's Jim & Jane Crow violence, we have to upRoot white supremacist politics and practices from the root.

[thrashkink-coven]

Occultists, witches and spiritualists really need to stop peddling the lie that spirituality, witchcraft, paganism, etc. isn’t a psychological phenomenon as well as a mystical one. Your psychology will in fact, fundamentally inform your experiences with spirituality.

And we also need to stop pretending that spirituality and witchcraft are somehow contrary to mental illness. Or that having a mental illness means you can’t do witchcraft.

I’ll be completely honest with you guys and say that certain people with certain afflictions are more predisposed to different “mystical” experiences than others. I don’t think it’s a great coincidence that I am so great at visualization given that I was raised in a severely neglectful household. It doesn’t surprise me that many pagans are lonely people. This doesn’t mean to say that spirituality is “filling” a hole within anyone (although if it is, that’s great for you) but more so that, well, this path is unpopular for a reason. Alternative subcultures are alternative for a reason, and outcasts and rejects usually find a home there for a reason.

This also doesn’t mean to say that people who engage in witchcraft and spiritualism are inherently mentally ill. There is still a difference between hallucinations and spiritual encounters. And there was never any rule that said that both of these things cannot happen to a single person. For the safety of yourself and others we should be aware of the warning signs of dissociation and hallucination, but that doesn’t make anyone “wrong” for experiencing those things. And experiencing those things doesn’t mean you cannot explore spirituality or do witchcraft.

I hate it when “spiritualists” who are actually just anti-vax conservatives push the narrative that people with mental health issues cannot participate in spirituality. I also despise the notion that mental health issues are inherently a sign of an energetic imbalance. We’re all walking around with a special concoction of brain soup in our heads, it doesn’t surprise me that Ares devotees tend to have BPD, that many Aphrodite devotees struggle with self harm, that many people who work with angels have paranoia or generalized anxiety.

There was never any rule that said that you cannot use your deities or magic to help you cope with your mental health. I know some people will say “the Gods aren’t here to be your friend or hold your hand through life” but I’ve seen no evidence to suggest that’s true. I see no reason why a God like Ares couldn’t help his devotee with BPD come down after a bout of rage, I see no reason why Dionysus couldn’t help his devotee with their alcoholism or substance abuse, I see no reason why Aphrodite couldn’t help a devotee with relapse or negative self talk.

Witchcraft and paganism were historically used as a tool for survival, to bring people ease, to help people feel safe and secure, blessed and protected. That applied to all people, including those with mental health issues.

[blindmagdalena]

The Dark of Sleep

18+ 3k homelander x reader. no pronouns, no y/n. established relationship, angst, referenced child abuse, referenced sleep deprivation, insomnia, lactation/nursing (no pregnancy referenced), somnophilia, sleepy comfort sex, cream pie, cock warming.

Homelander wakes from a nightmare and seeks comfort in your ever welcoming arms, not minding that you haven't quite woken yet.

Settling has never been an option for Homelander. He has always needed someone who is fierce and will love him until death, who will be on his side no matter the shadow that befalls it. Someone who will destroy and be destroyed by him. He has always needed you.

Homelander doesn't sleep well.

Vought was always testing the boundaries of how human he really was. There came a time when he was a boy they began to reduce his sleep by an hour every few nights.

Each day they would repeat the same grueling tests to see at what point the lack began to affect not only his cognitive abilities, but his powers.

Given the sheer amount of Compound V in his system, there were some who wondered if he really needed to sleep at all.

It would have been miraculous if he didn’t. It would be one more aspect of his perfect design that they could pat themselves on the back for. 

Unfortunately for both him and them, it was not so.

When they realized the deprivation did affect him, they wanted to understand how badly. They continued the deprivation until they had reduced his sleep to nothing at all, keeping him awake by any means necessary. He begged for sleep. 

It’s a marathon, John, Vogelbaum told him. Eleven days. That’s the record for a human. You can beat that, can’t’cha, tiger?

Tiger. It always made him feel stronger when Jonah called him that.

Ultimately it was less about his perseverance and more about his endurance. He didn’t have much choice in the matter of whether or not he would fall asleep.

Every time he started to doze off, an alarm would blare in his room, startling him back awake. I’m sorry, he would sob, riddled with guilt for the perceived failure.

There was never any answer.

His memories of that particular stretch of time are few and far between. He knows that on the fifth day, he started hallucinating. Only then did they finally allow him to sleep, realizing that–in his delirium–he could potentially destroy the facility if they didn’t.

Ever since those experiments, he’s had difficulty falling asleep. Guilt worms its way into his stomach each night, a cold dread that builds the closer he gets to a doze.

He never entirely got over the feeling of disappointment that came with the revelation he was indeed afflicted with this little aspect of humanity.

The scientists had seemed so excited by the prospect that he wouldn’t be.

He often wishes he wasn’t. The guilt is nothing compared to the nightmares that precede it.

Things began to change when you entered the picture.

Unlike him, you love to sleep.

He’d begun to think you might suffer from low grade narcolepsy with how easily you fall into it. Any time you’re being driven in a warm car, snuggled against his side watching television, or you’ve simply been stationary too long, you start to doze off with an ease that he’s never known.

It’s just really easy to sleep when I feel safe, you told him when he called you on it. I feel safe with you.

He had no choice but to kiss you senseless for that.

The time he spends with you changes his perception of sleep. Instead of viewing it as little more than a necessary evil to maintain the condition of his body and mind, he thinks of feeling your body against his.

He thinks of your breaths, deep at first and then growing shallow as you begin to dream.

He thinks of the way he holds you and–even more wonderful–the way you hold him, inviting him into your arms again and again for the explicit purpose of sleep.

No lingering threat of alarms or disappointed looks through a pane of glass. Just you. Just this.

I feel safe with you.

The nightmares lessened. Nowadays he generally sleeps however long you do, but old habits die hard. 

Homelander startles awake, heart racing, the after-images of his nightmare still flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinks.

It takes a moment to register his reality: cuddled up snug against your back, wide awake too early in the morning, the sun only just starting to rise. He exhales roughly, nuzzling at the back of your neck, then your bare shoulder.

The weight of you in his arms is a constant warm comfort, the smell of you intoxicating. He's not even sure he could sleep at all without you anymore. 

Even the way you snore endears him.

He holds you close while the nightmare fades into the back of his mind, his pulse gradually slowing, soothed by the steady beat of yours.

Given the chance, he can't help but explore you. He runs his hand along your naked side, trailing the slopes of your body from your ribs to your outer thigh, then back up. He knows the shape of you as well as he knows the New York skyline.

At times he feels like every curve of you was made just for him. Under the sensitive pads of his fingers he can feel little goosebumps prickling along your skin where he touches you, featherlight and ticklish.

You make a soft sound in your sleep, giving him pause. The corner of his mouth quirks slightly.

Mmm...

He kisses the junction between your neck and your shoulder, ghosting his hand back down your body. On the slide back up, he cups your breast. Supple and full, with every drop of it dedicated to him.

That you do this for him is still a wonder. That you would allow him this forbidden thing without judgment or agenda. It leaves him awestruck: one more trauma that you’ve spun into golden comfort.

He thumbs gently at your nipple, coaxing it until wetness seeps onto his thumb. His cock gives an answering throb at the feel of it, of your body responding to him involuntarily in your sleep. 

"Babe," he whispers against your skin. No response. He licks his lips, his own heart rate picking up with excitement. He kneads your breast slowly, his mouth bone dry, achingly thirsty for the answering rivulets of milk that drip onto his hand.

Still you don’t wake. He gingerly lifts away from you, helping you to roll back into the dip in the bed his hand pressed into it creates, your torso turned towards him.

You’re deep asleep, your head lolled to one side. 

Leaning in, he meets your pearl-soft skin with a kiss just at the swell of your breast, peppering more further down. Your scent fills his nose, sharpest in the line between your breasts. He runs his mouth slowly over them, between them. You smell of maple and summer rain. Heady, sweet, wistful.

“Babe,” he says once more, voice too soft to actually rouse you.

Just enough that he’d be able to say he tried to wake you. That you’re not even conscious adds to the taboo nature of what he’s about to do, thrilling something deep inside him.

Despite your encouragement, getting what he’s always wanted has never stopped feeling like thievery. Like something he was never meant to have.

His stomach flips while his cock throbs as he takes your nipple into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut. He rumbles a quiet moan for the taste of you filling his mouth, tongue pressing against the firm bud.

You taste sweeter than you smell, your skin even softer against his tongue. He sucks slowly and gently, flooding his mouth nearly to the point of spill before he swallows, greedy for the taste of you.

You sigh a sweet little noise and his heart jumps again, lids flickering open to glance up at you.

Still asleep.

He rolls your nipple with his tongue, presses it into his top teeth just enough that more nectarine warmth spills into his mouth and you shiver against him.

Fuck, he thinks, nearly moans the thought aloud into your skin. Arousal mingles with the cream-sweet smell of you and it sends a pang of heat through him so intense that his body curls against yours, his hardening cock pressing into the curve of your ass. 

He moves his hand a touch more firmly down your body, over your stomach, further until his fingertips brush your clit. He begins rubbing slow, gentle circles while he continues to suck.

You moan so very sweetly, a breathy sound pulled from deep in your chest even as you sleep.

Resisting the urge to bite, he holds you to him, grinding against your ass.

He's achingly hard now and more than a little desperate for your active participation. He lifts from your breast with a wet pop, panting softly.

"Babe," he murmurs, louder now, more urgent. "Honey... Wake up," he says, breath tickling the shell of your ear. He rubs more firmly between your thighs, coaxing you in more ways than one.

With a sharp inhale you finally wake, disoriented with sleep.

"Mmm, wha—Nnnngh..." you moan, reflexively grabbing him by the wrist.

He always runs warmer than you, but even so he can feel how hot your skin is against his. You come out of sleep with feverish need already in full gear, your cunt velvet soft against his fingers.

He exhales a heated sigh along your neck. He uses the arm crooked under you to catch hold of your jaw and turn your head to face him, kissing you fervently.

"Need you," he murmurs between kisses. "Couldn't help myself," he says by way of half-hearted apology, the words tumbling out in an urgent stream of desire. “M’so hungry.”

He craves more than milk, more than a fuck, more than pleasure and flesh. He knows there is an emptiness inside him–knows even the people who put it there–and that so few things in this world have ever scratched the surface of what it would mean to fill that pit.

Your love has come the closest.

Settling has never been an option for him. He has always needed someone who is fierce and will love him until death, who will be on his side no matter the shadow that befalls it. Someone who will destroy and be destroyed by him. He has always needed you.

Still half asleep, you reach between your legs, beyond his hand, and grasp blindly at his cock, surprising a breathless little moan out of him. Parting your thighs, you guide his cock between them and then tighten them back together.

"Don't stop," you tell him, voice frayed with sleep and arousal in equal parts.

He eagerly puts his hand back to work massaging circles over your clit, stopping only briefly to bring his fingers up to his lips, sucking them into his mouth, savoring the heady flavor of you while thoroughly wetting them before he puts them right back where they belong.

He thrusts against you, fucking the plush, warm space between your thighs, your cunt wet and perfectly soft along the top of his cock.

Hooking your arm over the back of his neck, you slide your fingers into his hair and grip it gently, bringing his mouth to yours. He licks your own taste into your mouth, groaning his pleasure, his fervence. You clench your thighs until he breaks from your lips with a gasp.

“Inside,” you urge him, licking your lips. He stares at the shine of them, transfixed by how kiss-swollen and delicious they look. “I want you inside me.”

He nods deliriously, pausing his stroking of you in order to align himself, letting out a shaky breath for the wet heat of your cunt against the head of his cock.

The novelty of this never dies; how fucking good it feels when your pussy opens to him, the silky pull of your quivering walls stealing the breath from his lungs.

The hungry flutter of noise that scrapes up your throat as he bottoms out nearly makes him come then and there.

He screws his eyes shut, filling both palms with the weight of your breasts, kneading with tight restraint, spurred by the quickening breaths that bloom from your parted lips.

Your eyes meet his, bleary and wild.

“I love you,” you say breathlessly. “Mm, you feel so good. Harder, wanna feel your strength,” you moan, breath hitching when he obeys you, when he lets go just a fraction more of his power and his skin slaps against yours with force enough to make you gasp.

Your words wrap tight around his heart like a fist. He swallows the lump in his throat and kisses you once, twice, thrice, each one more desperate than the last.

He holds your stare, lips parted, brows furrowed. He’s never fucked someone who holds his gaze the way you do. It’s as if you don’t want to miss a single moment of the pleasure you give him.

It drives him insane.

He wants nothing more than for you to never take your eyes off of him, to shower him always in your love. Your attention would be wasted anywhere else.

You were made for him.

“I love you, too,” he says, voice strained, hips rolling in sharp, deep thrusts that really make you start to sing for him. "Ffffuck, fuck," he moans, thrusts turning jagged the closer he climbs to his release. He slides one hand down your side, hikes your leg up so that he can fuck you deeper. 

He's determined to bring you to the edge with him, adjusting until he finds the angle that makes you cry out and yank his hair.

"Homelander," you gasp, your skin pricking with goosebumps, pussy locking up around him the closer you get.

You're fully awake now, shaken from the haze of sleep, but helpless to do anything but hold on against the onslaught of his thrusts. You squeeze his hair with one hand and grab his wrist with the other.

"Oh, god. That feels so f-fucking good, gonna make me, make me—"

He doesn't get to hear the rest of it, but he feels it.

He feels your whole body tense in exquisite agony; your hold on his hair tightening, your nails biting ineffective crescents into the invulnerable skin of his wrist, but it’s the soaked convulsing of your cunt quivering tight all around him that hurls him over the precipice of his own release.

His brows knit tightly together, eyes screwing shut right before that last tether of control snaps and he drives his hips up. He comes hard on that deep thrust, spilling load after load into you, your pussy greedily milking his cock with the aftershocks of your own climax.

He forgets to breathe for a solid minute, the orgasm shaking him to his core. He sucks in a shaky breath when the tremors settle, exhaling roughly as he gently rocks his hips into the wet mess he's made of your cunt, burying his face into your chest, nuzzling at the same breast he’d had his lips on.

The two of you spend a few moments just breathing, gradually floating down from the high of it, peaceful silence falling over you both. He nuzzles you, smiling dreamily in the aftermath of his pleasure. He kisses your breast as you stroke your fingers through his hair. 

When you cup the back of his head, subtly pulling him to your chest, he takes the hint and sucks your nipple back into his mouth, exhaling a deep breath from his nose.

He falls into a near trance like this, his eyes heavily lidded and glazed over. Your fingers card through his hair, your body a warm sanctuary that he keeps himself buried deep within, your limbs slotted perfectly against one another.

Each stroke along his scalp sends pleasant tingles down his spine. You bring him a peace that he once could have only imagined for himself.

He feels your love in every tender touch, hears it in the steady thrum of your heart. He's thoroughly addicted to you, intoxicated by the effortlessness with which you soothe him, with which you love him.

“God, that was amazing,” you murmur. The praise is so tender, so earnest that it helps him come down slowly from his high, turning his freefall into a gradual descent. “You're amazing."

Once satiated–at least for now–Homelander pulls from your breast with a soft pop, placing a kiss upon it before adjusting properly behind you, allowing you back onto your side. He nuzzles at your neck, kissing the shell of your ear. He moves to pull out, but you stop him.

“Stay,” you tell him, voice wrung out and as sweet as a vanilla milkshake. You stroke his thigh, nails scraping exquisitely along his skin. He loves the way you feel against him after he fucks you; warm and thoroughly claimed. “Feels good.”

Smiling–amazed by all that you are–he eases himself flush to you once more, wrapping both arms around your middle and squeezing as tight as he dares, wringing a cute little hum from you.

You interlace your fingers with his, squeezing his hand in turn.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs at your ear, brushing his lips over the shell of it. He’s been in relationships before–he’s loved before–but it’s never felt like this. It never felt like something eagerly shared with him until it was coming from you.

Now that he has it, he’d sooner burn the whole world down than ever be without it again.

You give a ticklish little shiver against him. “Go’sleep,” you tell him, snuggling into your pillow. “‘Fore I get grumpy.”

He laughs, settling his head down on the pillow behind yours. “Is that a threat?”

“Mmhm,” you say, and before he can respond, you–in all your delicious cruelty–clench down on his spent cock hard enough to make him groan.

He buries his face into the back of your neck, exhaling a rough little breath. It won’t be long before the wet heat of you riles him right back up and he’s ready to go again.

“Gonna make me hard again,” he warns, licking his lips. He’d much rather go for round two than go back to sleep.

“Gimme another hour,” you say, the words beginning to slur as you fade back into it yourself, a smile audible in your voice. “Then you can make that my problem.” He grins, those words like music to his ears.

Just as he said–you’re fucking perfect.

[renaultmograine]

I think the important thing to remember about wow is that Metzen does what he thinks sounds cool, rather than committing to well thought out concepts.

He was a highlord, a military (and religious? I think only paladins get it) title that as far as I can tell wasn't used at all IRL. Tirion is the only lord we see with actual veritable lands that governs and shit (Of Blood and Honor), outside of like... Daval Prestor? Who just has a nice estate if I remember correctly (Day of the Dragon)?

Honestly, Hearthglen is the only place I can say with any certainty is governed by a lord in any lore relevant way. I know Darkshire is and maybe Lakeshire too but that's not really addressed.

Anyway, regardless, yes, in a proper medieval fantasy he would have staff and whatnot taking care of things in his estate, but Warcraft is not really a medieval fantasy, as much as it likes to dress up as one. The fact that he doesn't have any staff brought up or living in a relatively modest home for a lord is up to your own lore interpretation. Maybe Alexandros just likes larping that rustic life considering he doesn't live in Capital City.

I've been reading a lot on like medieval European society lately because I am curious to understand the Alexandros situation, like he was a knight? And also a lord (they call him Lord) so he had some land and people working on that land (though probably not a lot). Were there other people living on Alexandros's estate? Someone had to look after and raise Darion when he was a baby because Alexandros certainly couldn't do it alone and they didn't have formula back then. Someone also would've been watching the kids while Alexandros went to fight? I don't know why I am so invested in this.

[lua-magic]

Numbers secrets that brings good luck.

Avoid using numbers eight and four in your mobile, or even in bank account number because eight represents 🪐 SATURN and Saturn has the energy to slow down things, avoid using symbols of Saturn as well ie infinity ♾️ because it represents loop, it will keep you in a loop and give you result after hard work.

Four is the number of Rahu, Rahu is an illusion, it keeps you stuck in desires without giving you result, Rahu is smoke, so Rahu makes you hallucinate and delusion which keeps you away from reality. Avoid using symbols of Rahu such as snake and Dragons, as I have observed many people get such tatoo and Rahu turns their life upside down.

So, avoid using numbers like 888 and 444 because you are only giving strength to Rahu and Saturn, as I have seen Many people uses such numbers thinking it is good luck, but until and unless Rahu and Saturn are well placed in your chart avoid eighth and four.

You can choose numbers like one(sun) which represents success and authority.

Two(Moon) which is your creativity and imagination.

Three(Jupiter) which knowledge and higher learning.

Five (Mercury) which skill and travel.

Six(Venus) Which luxury and beauty.

Seven (ketu) Untill and unless you want to go deep into Astrology and occult don't use this number as ketu gives you isolation but great idea comes only when you are isolated.

Nine(9) Nine is number of Mars, Mars is good as it gives you lot of energy and passion but also makes you accident and injury prone so don't overuse this number.

Certain combination of numbers you need to avoid that is 24 because two is moon and four is Rahu and moon and rahu are enemy planets. Again this number when add comes on six which is number of Venus, but instead you can use 51.

Next is 26 because when you add two and six it will come on eighth which also represents Saturn.

Avoid using 🖤 black colour, because it is colour of Saturn.

Blue is Rahu, and Red is Mars, use in minimal quantity, especially in your House.

Don't use red bedsheet and black bed sheets it will effect your sleep and married life negatively. Avoid using blue and grey as well, as grey is ketu.

Your bed room is Venus, so use more white colour in bedroom and rose fragrance.

If you facing problems with liquid cash then your moon is afflicted, increase water elements in your house, like keep an Aquarium, or a fountain.

If you want name and fame then use picture of sun in your house.

If you want to increase energy of Mars, then use tortoise symbol at home, because tortoise symbolises strong back which can take the load.

Tortoise symbol is good, if you are facing problems in job.

If you want to increase Jupiter energy that for knowledge and guidance then use more yellow colour in house and keep temple inside your House and keep it clean.

Avoid using half cut photos or symbols because it represents ketu.

If you have any idol or there is someone like whom you want to become, keep his/her photo in North eastern corner, because north east is your subconscious mind

Keep north east corner always clean and avoid keeping anything there

Remember, choose your idols wisely our subconscious mind is extremely powerful so if your idol's married life is mess even your married life will go for a toss, so choose very wisely whom you follow, don't follow any successful person mindlessly.

If you want to increase energy of Mercury, or if you are facing problems in your business then keep more green plants at your home and use more green colour..

[illwilledomen]

Negative Effects Headcanons

Here are a mere few of the various ways you can magically suffer in Minecraft.

Slowness — Disorientation and lack of coordination. Causes the individual to feel woozy and off balance, and their joints may lock up. Makes you feel heavier than you really are, and slows down your reaction speed. In high doses, can function as a tranquilizer. Overdoses can cause the afflicted to have difficulty swallowing, and can cause permanent paralysis.

Weakness — Light-headedness, difficulty breathing and tremors. The afflicted will begin to tremble uncontrollably and experience shortness of breath. Blood will not coagulate properly, and will flow freely in critical amounts from small injuries, causing severe blood loss. Can cause severe joint pain, headaches and even loss of consciousness in high doses.

Bad Omen — A strong, foul odor, and heightened paranoia. Small lapis lazuli crystals injected into a pillager captain’s blood enter your own through your pores, and you can be monitored and hunted down, like a tracked animal. It also causes a milder version of the mania that lapis-insertion causes, due to the soul reacting with the magic mineral.

Poison — Coughing, nausea and vomiting. Severe stomach pain and itching. In higher potencies, can cause migraines and hallucinations with lasting delirium.

Harming — Chemical burns, spasms and excruciating pain. The label doesn’t lie. Works like a very potent acid, but can only dissolve biological material. Can sear through layers and layers of body matter, even dissolving bone. When drunken, this will kill you in five painful, painful minutes. Weapons or tools are dunked in a non-lethal dilution of this frightful substance to be used as torture instruments, as well as brands.

Withering — Radiation poisoning but worse. Causes rapid growth of discolored, tumor-like material on the point of entry. Causes organ failure, confusion, vomiting and hair loss, as well as rapid atrophy of muscles and soft tissues (like eyes). Afflicted’s skin may bruise and blacken around the wound, and at the point of death they may be unrecognizable. Survivors of the effect will be permanently disabled, and may need amputation of afflicted area so the effect does not continue at a later date.

Hunger — Insatiable hunger (no way, really?) and indigestion. Any food eaten will come right back out. While the physical symptoms of starvation are not present, the brain is tricked into thinking it is starving, and the afflicted may act irrational and salivate heavily.

Bad Luck — A feeling of despondency and frustration. Causes depression and anxiety, and may cause the afflicted to feel uncharacteristically under-the-weather.

Darkness — Hallucinogen released by the sculk shrieker that causes blindness and eye irritation, as well as disorientation. Meant to cause prey to stumble about and make as much noise as possible so it reveals its location.

Levitation — Floating (obviously), a feeling of weightlessness, and a sinking sensation in the stomach felt as if you’re falling. Also, subsequent injuries causes from hitting the ground rapidly.

[lych33dragoncookie]

So, uh... About that update.

Yeah, I got my hopes up. Irrefutably so. This is definitely not a Shadow Milk release update, considering his body isn't even ready yet. Unlike someone else's, which absolutely is...

I'd been paying attention to leaks, and... Yeah, I knew this was gonna happen. Unfortunately, the way things are being set up, Shadow Milk is likely gonna be the last of the beasts to get a full release. Which, to my impulsive side, is quite frustrating, but...

With a few of the new things we've found out, it... Makes sense, all things considered.

This? This isn't normal. He's not normal. None of this is normal. He doesn't even have a properly finished body yet, but he can still, through the power of his soul alone, bend "the other-space", whatever that may be. We already knew he could manipulate and alter matter and/or space, but the fact he can do the things he does in this update, without even having a body, is... Frankly terrifying, as far as implications about his level of power go. Can... Can he inherently control souls? What's his dominion over the realm of spirits? Because, clearly he has some, otherwise...

... He wouldn't be able to do this.

The screams he talks about aren't fabricated, no, even Wind Archer could sense that the Ultimate Cookie was, in fact, in pain, lending credence to the fact that Shadow Milk could, in fact, hear the agonized screams of the souls being drained from these mindless, artificial lifeforms.

So, I guess we now know Shadow Milk, one way or another, can both perceive and manipulate the spirit realm as he pleases, and that seems to be how he afflicts people with hallucinations and visions. By giving them a glimpse into a realm he has a scary degree of control over.

I'd also like to correct my previous post's statements, because...

Yeah, he's here strictly to fuck with Wind. He's just here to have fun while his body is in the works. The Cake Witch seems to have appeared on its own, and Wind is clearly of no threat to Dark Enchantress's plans. So he... Just showed up to fuck with him. Not to ensure his death, not to test out his new body, no. He couldn't actually do anything, for the most part. He just wanted to have fun.

I love it.

Although... Clearly, it's not like he has no power over the physical realm.

Wind Archer's work is undone. Immediately. Just like that. And, presumably, he's also the reason Burning Spice awakens. Though, this may not necessarily be control over the physical realm, he could just use his dominion over the spirit realm to take away the lifeforms' peace, and immediately bring back their suffering. Just as he could perceive it perfectly, he can reinstate it the moment it's soothed.

And I just have to think... Has he been here this whole time? Bound to the laboratorium, hearing all these little things scream in agony, writhing, drained of life? This whole time? And he's still overjoyed to help carry on the process? There's no way Dark Enchantress could sense that same suffering, only he can, and he still goes along with it anyways, and he enjoys it. Every. Single. Second of it.

Christ, man. What the fuck is wrong with you.

I promise this isn't just a Shadow Milk blog, i just think he's neat

[starrynightsoversunflowers]

I made a rec list for Latin American books that have queer themes

*DISCLAIMER: "Queer" is not a theme per se. Sometimes it's about identity, sexuality, love, horror, violence, etc. All happening around queer characters.

Most of these deal with pretty heavy themes: prostitution, rape, violence, aids, death. Some representations can be considered "problematic" if you're boring. There are different ways to approach queerness.

Feel free to yell at me about these books/ask where to read them/make recommendations/etc. I definetly have favourites. Also some have movie adaptations.

Descriptions and warnings under the cut

La condesa sangrienta (The bloody countess):

The story of countess Erzebeth Báthory, a medieval hungarian countess know for committing more than 650 murders and inspiring the figure of the vampire. There´s no explicit queer relationships here but there´s absolutely some homoerotism in the narrations of torture. Pizarnik was a lesbian also. TW: disturbing, torture, blood, murder, you should not read this in one go.

El lugar sin límites (Hell has no limits):

The story about la Manuela, a homosexual transvestite that owns half a brothel in a small town. Her daughter owns the other half. The novel shows crudely the misery of forgotten towns and the day to day life of prostitution. There's also a movie. TW: prostitution, murder, homo/transphobia.

El mundo alucinante (A Hallucinations):

A fantasy and free version parody of the Memoires of Fray Servando Teresa de Mier. Known for the uses of magical realism and innovative prose.

Cobra:

Two stories meet. The first is of Cobra, a transvestite, and her transformation. The second of her initiation in a band of black jackers. Erotism and death.

Evita vive (Evita lives):

A controversial book around Eva Perón (after her death) who lives among prostitutes and homosexuals, having orgies and living a life of debauchery.

El beso de la mujer araña (The kiss of the spider woman):

The meeting of two prisoners living in the same cell. One, Valentín, is a political prisoner and the other, Molina, is a sexual deviant. During their weeks there, Molina narrates movies to Valentín and their relationship develops. There's also a movie.

Stella Manhattan:

During Brasil's military dictatorship, the apolitical Eduardo, a.k.a. Stella Manhattan, is expelled form his country for his shameful homosexuality. He returns to the surface as a brazilian counsil in New York and is immediately accosted by a military called Colonel Vianna, a sadomasichist known as the "Black Widow", and by the guerrillas seeking his befall.

Antes que anochezca (Before night falls):

Th 7th of december of 1990 the Cuban author Reinaldo Arenas, in a terminal phase of AIDS, would commit suicide, leaving behing this moving and political testimony, which he finished mere days before taking his own life.

Salón de belleza (Beauty salon):

In a large, unnamed city, a strange, highly infectious disease begins to spread, afflicting its victims with an excruciating descent toward death, particularly unsparing in its assault of those on society's margins. Spurned by their loved ones and denied treatment by hospitals, the sick are left to die on the streets until a beauty salon owner, whose previous caretaking experience extended only to the exotic fish tanks scattered among his workstations, opens his doors as a refuge. In the ramshackle Morgue, victim to persecution and violence, he accompanies his male guests as they suffer through the lifeless anticipation of certain death, eventually leaving the wistful narrator in complete, ill-fated isolation.

Bajar es lo peor (Going down is the worst):

With gothic resonances, Enríquez shows crudely the Buenos Aires of the 90's. The confinement and the paranoia of cocaine, sex as a means to escape or survive, political unbelief, mix with a romantic love that never reaches satisfaction. There's also a movie. TW: drugs, prostitution, rape, suicide.

Loco afán (Mad eagerness):

These "chronicles of aids" narrate stories of homosexuality in Latin America, focused on drag, transvestites and AIDS.

Sirena Selena vestida de pena:

Discovered by Martha Divine in the backstreets of San Juan, picking over garbage, drugged out of his mind and singing boleros that transfix the listener, a fifteen year old hustler is transformed into Sirena Selena, a diva whose uncanny beauty and irrisistable voice will be their ticket to fame and fortune. Auditioning for one of the luxury hotels in the Dominican Republic, Selena casts her spell over Hugo Graubel, one of the hotel's rich investors. Graubel is a powerful man in the Republic, married with children. Selena, determined to escape the poverty and abuse s/he suffered as a child, engages Graubel in a long seduction in this mordant, intensely lyrical tragi-comedy - part masque, part cabaret - about identity (class, race, gender) and "the hunger and desire to be other things."

Tengo miedo torero (My tender matador):

It is the spring of 1986, and Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet is losing his grip on power. In one of Santiago’s many poor neighborhoods, a man known as the Queen of the Corner embroiders linens for the wealthy. A hopeless and lonely romantic, he listens to boleros to drown out the gunshots. Then he meets Carlos, a young, handsome man who befriends the aging homosexual and uses his house to store mysterious boxes and hold clandestine meetings. And as the relationship between these two very different men blossoms, they find themselves caught in a revolution that could doom them both. There's also a movie.

Adiós mariquita linda (Goodbye pretty pansy):

Chronicles of ire, delation, passion, resentment and loves. Stories of different cities and travels.

Sexografías (Sexographies):

In fierce and sumptuous first-person accounts, renowned Peruvian journalist Gabriela Wiener records infiltrating the most dangerous Peruvian prison, participating in sexual exchanges in swingers clubs, traveling the dark paths of the Bois de Boulogne in Paris in the company of transvestites and prostitutes, undergoing a complicated process of egg donation, and participating in a ritual of ayahuasca ingestion in the Amazon jungle--all while taking us on inward journeys that explore immigration, maternity, fear of death, ugliness, and threesomes. Fortunately, our eagle-eyed voyeur emerges from her narrative forays unscathed and ready to take on the kinks, obsessions, and messiness of our lives. Sexographies is an eye-opening, kamikaze journey across the contours of the human body and mind.

Los topos (The moles):

The son of missing persons of the Dictatorship casually meets a half-brother who poses as a transvestite to investigate ex repressors and cops.

La virgen cabeza (Slum virgin):

When the Virgin Mary appears to Cleopatra, she renounces sex work and takes charge of the shantytown she lives in, transforming it into a tiny utopia. Ambitious journalist Quity knows she’s found the story of the year when she hears about it, but her life is changed forever once she finds herself irrevocably seduced by the captivating subject of her article.

Falsa liebre (False hare):

The darkness at the port engulfs everything. Pachi and Vinicio go deeper into the beach, approaching an improvised party. They are looking for something to numb their bodies, something to finally erase themselves. Summer has been long, and that day was much worse. Not far from there, Zahir fantasizes about his next travel to the capital city or the northern part of Mexico, away from the aunt who keeps asking him for money, controls him through physical violence, and has driven his little brother, Andrik, to run away from the family home and end up in another: a man’s house, who caresses Andrik and then strikes him with the same hand. Now Zahir must not only convince Andrik to start a new life, but make sure they find a way out of that seemingly endless beach. TW: rape, prostitution, violence.

Ladrilleros (Brickmakers):

Oscar Tamai and Elvio Miranda, the patriarchs of two families of brickmakers, have for years nursed a mutual hatred, but their teenage sons, Pájaro and Ángelito, somehow fell in love. Brickmakers begins as Pájaro and Marciano, Ángelito’s older brother, lie dying in the mud at the base of a Ferris wheel. Inhabiting a dreamlike state between life and death, they recall the events that forced them to pay the price of their fathers’ petty feud. The Tamai and Miranda families are caught, like the Capulets and the Montagues, in an almost mythic conflict, one that emerges from stubborn pride and intractable machismo. Like her heralded debut, The Wind That Lays Waste, Selva Almada’s fierce and tender second novel is an unforgettable portrayal of characters who initially seem to stand in opposition, but are ultimately revealed to be bound by their similarities. TW: violence.

Cuerpo a tierra (Body to the ground):

We aren't always owners of our own decisions, sometimes we´re pulled by an irrecognizable impulse and, sometimes, the only truth is that of the body. Betrayal and deception, love and heartbreak, love and search are the protagonists of these stories.

Temporada de huracanes (Hurricane season):

The Witch is dead. And the discovery of her corpse has the whole village investigating the murder. As the novel unfolds in a dazzling linguistic torrent, with each unreliable narrator lingering on new details, new acts of depravity or brutality, Melchor extracts some tiny shred of humanity from these characters—inners whom most people would write off as irredeemable—forming a lasting portrait of a damned Mexican village. There will be a movie by the end of the year. TW: rape, paedophilia, prostitution.

Pelea de gallos (Cockfight):

Ampuero sheds light on the hidden aspects of the home: the grotesque realities of family, coming of age, religion, and class struggle. A family’s maids witness a horrible cycle of abuse, a girl is auctioned off by a gang of criminals, and two sisters find themselves at the mercy of their spiteful brother. With violence masquerading as love, characters spend their lives trapped reenacting their past traumas. Heralding a brutal and singular new voice, Cockfight explores the power of the home to both create and destroy those within it. TW: rape, incest, violence.

Las aventuras de la China Iron (The adventures of China Iron):

1872. The pampas of Argentina. China is a young woman eking out an existence in a remote gaucho encampment. After her no-good husband is conscripted into the army, China bolts for freedom, setting off on a wagon journey through the pampas in the company of her new-found friend Liz, a settler from Scotland. While Liz provides China with a sentimental education and schools her in the nefarious ways of the British Empire, their eyes are opened to the wonders of Argentina’s richly diverse flora and fauna, cultures and languages, as well as to the ruthless violence involved in nation-building.

Mandíbula (Jawbone):

Fernanda and Annelise are so close they are practically sisters: a double image, inseparable. So how does Fernanda end up bound on the floor of a deserted cabin, held hostage by one of her teachers and estranged from Annelise? When Fernanda, Annelise, and their friends from the Delta Bilingual Academy convene after school, Annelise leads them in thrilling but increasingly dangerous rituals to a rhinestoned, Dior-scented, drag-queen god of her own invention. Even more perilous is the secret Annelise and Fernanda share, rooted in a dare in which violence meets love. Meanwhile, their literature teacher Miss Clara, who is obsessed with imitating her dead mother, struggles to preserve her deteriorating sanity. Each day she edges nearer to a total break with reality. TW: violence, cannibalism.

Las malas (Bad girls):

A trans woman's coming-of-age tale about finding a community among fellow outcasts. Born in the small Argentine town of Mina Clavero, Camila is designated male but begins to identify from an early age as a girl. She is well aware that she's different from other children and reacts to her oppressive, poverty-stricken home life, with a cowed mother and abusive, alcoholic father, by acting out-with swift consequences. Deeply intelligent, she eventually leaves for the city to attend university, slipping into prostitution to make ends meet. And in Sarmiento Park, in the heart of Córdoba, she discovers the strange, wonderful world of the trans sex workers who dwell there. Taken under the wing of Auntie Encarna, the 178-year-old eternal whose house shelters this unconventional extended family, Camila becomes a part of their stories-of a Headless Man who fled his country's wars, a mute young woman who transforms into a bird, an abandoned baby boy who brings a twinkle to your eye. TW: rape, prostitution, transphobia, murder, child death.

Nuestra parte de noche (Our share of the night):

A young father and son set out on a road trip, devastated by the death of the wife and mother they both loved. United in grief, the pair travel to her ancestral home, where they must confront the terrifying legacy she has bequeathed: a family called the Order that commits unspeakable acts in search of immortality. For Gaspar, the son, this maniacal cult is his destiny. As the Order tries to pull him into their evil, he and his father take flight, attempting to outrun a powerful clan that will do anything to ensure its own survival. But how far will Gaspar’s father go to protect his child? And can anyone escape their fate? Moving back and forth in time, from London in the swinging 1960s to the brutal years of Argentina’s military dictatorship and its turbulent aftermath.

Tesis sobre una domesticación (Thesis about a domestication):

A single transvestite is enough to undermine the foundations of a house, to untie the knots of compromise, to break a promise, to give up a life. The familiy clings to brief moments of happiness without noticing it´s been defeated since the start.

La hija única (Still born):

Alina and Laura are independent and career-driven women in their mid-thirties, neither of whom have built their future around the prospect of a family. Laura is so determined not to become a mother that she has taken the drastic decision to have her tubes tied. But when she announces this to her friend, she learns that Alina has made the opposite decision and is preparing to have a child of her own. Alina's pregnancy shakes the women's lives, first creating distance and then a remarkable closeness between them. When Alina's daughter survives childbirth – after a diagnosis that predicted the opposite – and Laura becomes attached to her neighbor's son, both women are forced to reckon with the complexity of their emotions, their needs, and the needs of the people who are dependent upon them. TW: child disease, family violence.

Huaco retrato (Undiscovered):

In an ethnographic museum in Paris, Gabriela Wiener is confronted with her unusual inheritance. She is visiting an exhibition of pre-Columbian artefacts, the spoils of European colonial plunder. As she peers through the glass, she sees sculptures of Indigenous faces that resemble her own - but the man responsible for pillaging them was her own great-great-grandfather, Austrian colonial explorer Charles Wiener. In the wake of her father's death, Gabriela begins delving into all she has inherited from her paternal line. From the brutal trail of racism and theft that Charles left behind to revelations of her father's infidelity, she traces a legacy of abandonment, jealousy and colonial violence, in turn reframing her own struggles with desire, love and race. Seeking relief from these personal and historical wounds, Gabriela turns to the body and desire as sources of both constraint and potential freedom.

Sacrificios humanos (Human sacrifices):

An undocumented woman answers a job posting only to find herself held hostage, a group of outcasts obsess over popular boys drowned while surfing, and two girls suspect sinister behavior from the missionaries lodging in their home. Simultaneously terrifying and exquisite, Human Sacrifices is "tropical gothic" at its finest. Ampuero considers the decay and oppression beneath the surface of our humid and hostile world, where those on the margins must pay the price for the comfort and safety of the elite. These twelve stories contemplate the nature of exploitation and abuse, illuminating the realities of those society consumes and leaves behind.

Soy una tonta por quererte (I'm a fool to want you):

In the 1990s, a woman makes a living as a rental girlfriend for gay men. In a Harlem den, a travesti gets to know none other than Billie Holiday. A group of rugby players haggle over the price of a night of sex, and in return they get what they deserve. Nuns, grandmothers, children, and dogs are never what they seem. These 9 stories are inhabited by extravagant and profoundly human characters who face an ominous reality in ways as strange as themselves.

Las indignas (The unworthy):

A searing, dystopian tale about climate crisis, ideological extremism, and the tidal pull of our most violent, exploitative instincts. TW: death, animal death, rape, cults.

[girlwtdragontattoo]

Litha Dance

Young Halsin x Ethereal GN Reader Fluff Piece

Summary: after the former Archdruid of the Grove was consumed by the Shadowcurse, the title falls to Halsin. Unable to deal with the new, overwhelming duty, he runs off into the forest. There he meets a strange creature, which reminds him of Thaniel.

I like the idea of a Reader that isn't just a normal human/Tav. I wanted to write something different.

If you like to imagine yourself as an etheral, magical creature, this Fic is for you lol

Please listen to the song I had in mind while writing this. The humming at the beginning is what I imagine the forest joins in with.

Word Count: 1.6k

-----

The shrubbery shook as the druid whizzed through it. Faint calls reverberated behind the tall elf, but the further he ventured, the quieter they got.

He didn’t want it. Everyone had stared at him in awe and anticipation when it was pronounced that he would be the next Archdruid, their encouraging words bounced off of him as he felt the earth under him collapse. He couldn’t help but feel everything at once at that moment. Anger, Fear, Duty, Honor, Loss, Anxiety. He wanted to explore and go on adventures; not stay here and fulfill this crushing task he did not ask for. He wanted to find Thaniel. And cure him of the horrid affliction that robbed the Grove of the last Archdruid.

Halsin fell against a tree trunk with his broad back, clutching his chest with his right hand. The disquiet was clawing its way through him, feeding off of his anxious muscles and organs. The druid thought his throat would combust, unable to swallow with the knot forming there.

He never showed anyone how much their expectations weighed on him, since he didn’t want them to worry or feel unsafe. The pace of his breath increased and his fingers dug into the flesh around his pounding heart. He tried to steady himself with his other palm placed against the trunk of the tree. The grounding form of the large being held him firmly in place, despite his mind wanting to escape the earthly planes. He couldn’t focus on his breath, although meditation was a common practice for him. The swirling thoughts of everyone depending on him grew louder and more deafening. A horrifying image of Thaniel, lost in darkness. The body of the former Archdruid sprawled before him. The young Halsin shook his head violently, grunting out as his body shook. He felt like his heart would explode. His body was on fire, thoughts racing as everything crashed on top of him. His knees wobbled, while his fingers dug into the bark of the tree.

As his breath seemed unable to slow, the fuzzy air around him took him off guard.

Halsin thought he was hallucinating. The trees behind him were humming, while they swayed gently in the commanding wind. Their harmonies seemed to hug him, holding his shaking body as the tension in his muscles eased. He shook his head, thinking the stark refocusing of his ears would make the ethereal sounds disappear. But they only grew stronger.

The elf felt the air become sweeter, a warmth emanating from the clearing behind him. Halsin turned himself to glimpse at the swaying trees above him.

He watched the trees dance serenely, as the wind swirled cheerfully between their branches. They really were humming. There was no mistaking that the song came from them. He noticed that the tree he was leaning against was vibrating to the rhythm.

His gaze remained upward, as the tree tops reeled to the song they were humming. He had heard of music within the forest before, but knew that bards often came here to practice their tunes. He had never seen the trees join in. As a firm believer of trees being alive, it wasn’t all too surprising to the young druid. Beautiful, nonetheless. But something he had never experienced before.

Within the harmony, there was one voice that stood out among them, leading the chant on. This one sounded more humanoid and less otherworldly. Halsin’s gaze lowered to the middle of the clearing where a faint figure swayed with the trees. The light surrounding them was pleasant and sultry, growing with the increasing volume of the humming. He blinked hard, trying to make out what creature could be leading this choir, and made out that it looked like a regular human. Their arms were outstretched in front of them, as their hair fell forward, obscuring their face. The clothes they wore seemed elaborately crafted, beautiful stitching twinkled as the light around them grew.

As the young druid peered behind the tree at this magical ritual, he had completely forgotten why he had been so nervous before.

He saw the being in the middle lift their head up towards the trees, faint tear lines staining their face. Halsin observed their features and couldn’t help but notice the sheer beauty they emitted. Their eyes were tightly shut, as they let out a deep and long note.

The music slowly ebbed away, as the light within the small clearing dimmed around their form. They clutched their hands, bringing their fingers to their lips in silent prayer.

Halsin swallowed.

What was he privy to here? Was he invading a holy practice?

“You’re not invading.” A sleepy voice sounded in Halsin’s head, which scared him to stand up straight, looking around for the origin of the words.  He looked over his shoulder, whirling around to find who had spoken to him. But no one was around.

The young druid’s eyes flittered over the glade, where the face of the being was turned to him.

Their eyes beamed like moonlight, wonder beyond description.

“You needn't be afraid.” The tired voice chimed in his head again. He felt his body tense up at the sudden appearance of the sound again, but the beautiful face smiled at him. Was it speaking to him?

The young druid carefully revealed himself from behind the tree, a palm still resting against the bark to ground himself. Stepping slowly into the glade, the being’s smile grew.

“Do you feel better?” the voice echoed again.

Halsin blinked at the question, unsure what it meant. He looked down at himself, analyzing his own form. In realization, his head swung up to meet the creature’s eyes again. He gulped.

“I- I don’t know. What- what do you mean?”

The ethereal being blinked slowly, their eyelashes sparkling in the sun that shot through the holes in the branches. It stood up. It looked human, but the energy around it was something Halsin had only experienced once before. It reminded him of Thaniel. But this was no child: its sturdy form reminded him of the tree he had sought refuge behind. Their hair fell effortlessly to their shoulders. He wasn’t able to fully categorize what stood before him: he knew only that it was beautiful.

“I felt your sorrow. I made the trees absorb it, dispelling it into the wind. How do you feel?“

Halsin’s hand returned to his chest, his heart beating at a normal, calmer pace. It was true, that the moment he heard the melody a lot of his worries felt…erased.

“You…absorbed it?” He gazed down at his chest once more, then looked back at the bright eyes that glittered up at him. He felt himself blush. It seemed to nod.

“Th-thank you." The words crashed out of him as he noticed it waiting for a response. His brain was too foggy to form coherent sentences: "I uh... oh I apologize, but what- who are you?”

The being blinked slowly, the everlasting smile remaining as it looked into the green eyes of the druid.

“Your kind likes to name things. I don’t have much use for that. I just am.”

Halsin nodded, not sure what to do with the lack of information.

“Pardon me, I do not wish to offend. My people study the forest and all its inhabitants, the creator, our Oakfather, and all that connects here. I have never come across a tale of what just happened here…”

The being’s gaze pierced through him, then shifted upwards into the tree tops. The bright irises expanded gleefully, as the trees responded to their gaze with their yawning swaying.

“Your people love the woods. Just like me. Silvanus is its father. But he cannot be everywhere all at once. So, this forest became my ward.”

So this being was like Thaniel. Just with a different form.

“I come here to sing with my siblings. We take burdens and form them into nourishment for the glade.”  

Burdens. That poked something in the young druid’s abdomen. He still had the duty waiting for him, no matter what this being did to alleviate his anxiety.

“You don’t seem happy,” the voice sounded a bit confused in his head. Halsin swallowed harshly, looking up at the trees the being seemed like family to. He sighed.

“This is a burden I must carry. My people depend on me. As much as I don’t want it.”

The creature stared at him, unblinking. It seemed to be examining him thoroughly. Knowing he was unable to hide the unease that was slowly returning within him, Halsin returned its gaze with a soft smile: “This forest is your ward. The Grove is mine, ... now.”

The being listened to the words leave Halsin's shaking lips and inhaled them as they traveled around them. It closed its eyes, the softness of their face made Halsin blush. He felt completely at ease around it, despite the discomfort within him about his new task, especially knowing that it was something like Thaniel’s kin.

It sat down in the grass, placing their palms in the soil. It beaconed for Halsin to join, which he did without hesitation. The breeze smelled like lavender and wet grass. The young druid’s braids swung behind his shoulders and he closed his eyes to feel the earth around him pulse.

They sat beside each other in silence for a while, until the voice echoed within him again:

“I see your heart, bear cub. It is stretched into many directions. You feel needed.”

Halsin felt an increasing warmth around his heart, like a pair of hands holding it gently.

“It’s okay to be astray. We’re all a bit lost here.”

The elf felt tears fall from his closed eyes. They came without warning. Even if he wanted to suppress them, he wasn't able to. Perhaps it was this creature's magic that stopped his walls from staying up.

A soft hand laced into his fingers. He gripped it gently, feeling the burden of his new title wash over him once again. The old Archdruid being consumed by the Shadow-curse flashed before him. And worse, an image of poor Thaniel being overrun by the evil curse, escaping Halsin’s frantic grasp remained in his mind.

The being cried with him as it hummed together with the shaking foliage once more. He felt the trees sigh out the overbearing sadness within him again. But it couldn’t get rid of it entirely. The wound was too deep.

Halsin opened his wet eyes and saw the being sit across him now, its hand within his. The moonlight eyes studied him eagerly.

They stared at each other for a while. Understanding that this wasn’t a sorrow they could fix with their magic, the being smiled once again.

“Come back to me, when you feel lost. I will listen. The forest sings for you and your people.”

Halsin nodded.

“When I tell my people about you, what word can I use to refer to you?”, he asked carefully.

The being tilted its head, thinking briefly. A coquette smile returned to its face.

“I like the name Y/N. I’ve heard someone call it out while looking for their child.”

Halsin smiled, hearing the cute name it gave itself. He bowed slightly, unsure how else to thank it for its work.

He knew he couldn't run away from his new title. But he felt he had found something truly sacred right outside the Grove. A place where he could go and let it all out without judgement or fear of disappointing people.

The being would take him into their song. And cradle him into soft acceptance.

[my-moo-moo]

ground zero alien invasion

You made a grave mistake having sex with an alien one time. 

You don’t remember much of the experience. Only flashes of memories remain, brief and disjointed. You normally weren’t someone to engage in one night stands, but the man you met told you it was his only day in town and you just couldn’t miss this opportunity. 

And so you remember stumbling home drunk from the club with the hottest man you’ve ever attracted. You shrunk away in surprise when you felt his ice cold fingers around your waist, but his dazzling smile pulled you back again. One moment you have your eyes closed, writhing with each lick of a tongue teasing at your entrance. A slobbering kiss on your neck makes your eyes peel wide open again. It then came upon you that you were in fact not being eaten out this entire time. Instead, your one night stand was replaced by a blue-skinned alien with its tentacle-like appendage part way into your pussy. 

Before you turn into full-fledged panic, he whispers foreign words into your ear and pushes deeper into you, splitting you apart with the girthy part of his cock. Thoughts of leaving go down the drain as he begins to make you feel better than any date has ever achieved, penetrate you deeper than has ever been explored. Even if you weren't hallucinating, what would be so wrong with having a sex with an alien?

The last thing you remember is screaming as he breaches through your cervix.

For the entire morning immediately following, you question your mentality— whether you had been lucid dreaming, or you were tripping balls. Your body had felt bloated and achy, like your insides had been thoroughly rearranged— something that you wrote off as a result of the rough sex last night.

You were only forced out of bed by the intense rumbling of your stomach. You fight the wave of exhaustion to make yourself a hearty lunch. Perhaps you had a little too much food because you needed to untie the drawstring of your sweatpants afterwards.

As you finish cleaning up your kitchen, you accidentally bump your abdomen against the countertop. You flinch back and your hands fly over the afflicted spot. Just then you are made aware of the fact that your belly curves underneath your palm. You rush to the bathroom to look at yourself properly in the mirror. Your eyes widen at the sight. You’ve never seen yourself get this bloated before.

You poke at the strange mass attached to your waist— it's solid and cold to the touch. You swear your breasts look bigger than when you wear your most padded pushup bra. You don’t know how long you stand there transfixed by your own reflection. You swear every time you take a breath in, your belly expands a bit more, and it doesn’t retract down when you breathe out. 

Your brain tries to sort through all the explanations of what’s happening to you, but it keeps leading to the same absurd conclusion that couldn’t possibly be real. There’s one blaring conclusion that keeps coming up, but it’s so absurd that you’d sooner believe that you were dying of an unknown disease. 

The only thing you can think of doing was going to the emergency room. It’s not surprising when the nurses don’t take your concerns seriously and put you in the back of the waiting list. As you wait in the uncomfortable plastic chair, you continue to grow without halt. You’re forced to watch your belly go from being just perfectly tucked underneath your t-shirt to spilling underneath the hem and pushing your thighs apart. Some people, who’ve been there as long as you have, begin to double take your appearance. 

When a new nurse comes in for a shift, you had to grab the opportunity. You clutch your underbelly and waddle yourself down the hall to the fastest of your capabilities to flag her attention. She looks your heavily pregnant body up and down and immediately her first question is to ask if you’re in labour. You have no idea what that would entail, but you spit out yes, and you’ve been waiting for hours already.

Things move quickly thereafter with you getting sent to get an ultrasound. Finally, you’ll get the answers you’ve been waiting for. 

“How far along are you?” the doctor asks you. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I woke up this morning and I just blew up… like a… like a balloon… in one day! Aren’t you the doctor here?” you stammer without making much sense. 

She looks at you incredulously and her eyes only widen when she looks back at the ultrasound screen. 

“Well… you are certainly pregnant,” she starts. 

“Oh…” Your heart falls to the ground. You knew this was a possibility but hearing it confirmed makes the dire reality set in. You’re having a baby. “Is it… healthy?” you ask. 

The doctor doesn’t answer your question, instead seems to be rendered speechless as her eyes dart around monitoring the screen. 

When she finally looks back at you, she is literally shaking from head to toe. “What the hell is in your womb?” she shoots at you with malice underlying each syllable. 

“I told you… I don’t know,” you whisper. It was then you felt a tumbling within your belly as if your baby was greeting you. Your arm wraps around your belly, a surge of protectiveness rising over you even though you’ve barely processed the news of being pregnant. 

“We need to burn that thing with fire,” she seethes, 

You promptly clammer off the hospital bed. You grab the nearest scalpel and waves in front of you like a maniac. “Don’t touch me!” You don’t know where that confidence came from because you’ve always been afraid to even run a red light.

The doctor backs away in fear, and tries to reason with you more cautiously, “Didn't you come here wanting to stop whatever was happening to you? 

You shake your head. You had forgotten why you had come here at all and all that was clear to you was that you would do anything to protect the baby in your belly. 

“We need to run more tests to see what is growing inside you,” she tries to reason, but you don’t trust her any longer. She makes the grave mistake of reaching out to grab you, prompting you to puncture her in the arm. Fresh red blood sprays onto your hand and you panic. 

Escaping the yells from behind, you clutch your now heavy overdue belly and stammer out of the hospital, barely stopping to breathe despite the baby already restricting your lungs. You speed all the way home and you don’t stop until you get home and bolted your door and all your windows. 

Finally, you catch up on your breathing and head over to your mirror again. When you left the house a mere couple of hours ago, you looked like you could possibly be sporting a beer belly or maybe in your second trimester, but now it was undeniable to any stranger that you were very pregnant. It would now be more of a question of when you were going to pop or if you were carrying two. 

Either way, you are convinced you are going into labour soon. Though you don’t feel any contractions yet, your skin is tight as a drum already and your pelvis feels like it’s going to bust under all the weight. You could not fathom possibly getting larger. There is just  no way. 

Utterly exhausted by the events of the day, you resign to lying down in your bed. You’re waiting for any sign of labour, before you lose the battle to sleep. 

Pacing around your living room, you wait for the first sign of labour. At any moment you should either feel contractions tighten around your abdomen or water leaking down your legs. Instead you continue to grow outwards, resembling more like you are carrying twins. You stripped off all your clothing at this point, annoyed by how restricting it felt against your ever growing body. 

It wasn’t too long before you were jolted awake by the intense pressure on your bladder. You groan as the baby inside you makes the situation worse by a strong kick. When you finally peel your eyes open, you can barely comprehend the sight before you. Never have you ever seen such a gravid belly on anyone let alone yourself. You made a grave mistake closing your eyes briefly and now your belly is hanging out part way off the edge of your mattress. Essentially pinned down into your soft mattress, you grunt to push your heavy torso upright. You try to leverage yourself against your bed frame, on your elbows, with the edge of the mattress— all with futile success. There was a deep-seeded fear for a while that you were going to be stuck in that spot forever. Fortunately, minutes of struggle lead to eventually succumbing to sliding your body off the bed like a beaching whale, with it your bladder losing in the battle.

Regardless, you are determined to waddle yourself to the bathroom to see the state of your soiled body. Given how insanely top and front heavy you are, you need to hold yourself against the wall to avoid toppling over. You feel your thighs tremble and your hips crack with each tiny step forward. 

A wave of accomplishment washes over you when you finally make it in front of your bathroom mirror. The remnants of your old self lie in the blood stained t-shirt that has ridden up your torso to resemble more of a sports bra. Your belly has grown outward so far that the sheer weight of it began pulling the mass down to your mid thighs. When you wrap your arms around yourself, your fingertips could barely touch your non-existent belly button. Your skin has been stretched thin like a balloon, so transparent that you could see the web of blue veins underneath.

Although the baby in your belly has grown unrestrictedly minute after minute, the rest of your body has barely kept up to sustain. Fear sets in as you contemplate how you’re going to possibly birth this massive baby out your unprepared pelvis. 

Before you are left wondering any longer, you feel a gush of water trail down your legs. It couldn’t have been your already emptied bladder. 

Just over 24 hours after your encounter with the alien, the price of your horny decisions come back to bite you in the ass in the form of a big-headed alien baby splitting your pelvis in half. 

You scream at the top of your lungs as you give one last battle push. You feel the sweet relief of pressure as the baby gushes out of you at once. Umbilical cord still attached, you drag the baby up onto your deflating stomach. The baby doesn’t resemble you at all. Its eyelids are still shut, skin is a sickly translucent blue and limbs resemble tentacles. 

There’s no time to question if the baby is healthy because it begins crawling up your body on its own until it stops at your nipple. It begins suckling without any assistance at all, as if it was completely natural for a human to mother an alien species. 

There wasn’t much time to process before your body is wracked with another wave of contractions. You had thought it might be the afterbirth, until you felt another large skull lodge into your cervix.

You smile as you cradle your baby closer to your chest and start pushing again. 

.

You hum to your babies as they suckle out of both your tits. They’ve already put on double the weight since you’ve given birth and you already feel bittersweet that they’re growing up too fast. 

You can walk without feeling pain anymore and your outrageous belly has thankfully gone down. It’s not completely flat like pre-pregnancy, but you’re grateful you got your two babies out of your strong body. 

You pass your hand over your belly reminiscing about waking up being pregnant. It wasn’t too long ago, but it feels just like it... You run your hands back over realizing you are more bloated than before. 

You refuse to believe it until an hour later, you are clearly sporting a pregnant belly like you had woken up with before. There’s no way you could be pregnant again when you haven’t had sex since that one time with the alien. 

And yet, you continue to progress in growth like deja vu. Whilst you were freaking out, you forgot about the babies you had already birthed. You look everywhere, turning the house upside down until your pregnant belly grows so enormous it prohibits you from moving. 

Your babies were gone like the wind and it was hitting you harder than expected. You hadn’t wanted to get pregnant, but now these babies are your whole life. Your grief only wanes when you are hit with contractions once again. 

You will quickly realize your role. Your babies will grow up and leave your nest, but soon enough there is going to be another litter of babies for you to take care of. 

.

You get into a routine, not knowing how many weeks have passed, nor what was happening in the world outside your little nest. 

....Until one day you open your local news channel, and you find out you haven’t been alone in your experience. 

The first official reporting happened right here in our small town, but the doctor was brushed off because of absurdity. The reports of rapid pregnancies have since risen to the thousands and the CDC is now calling it an alien invasion. 

These aliens can disguise themselves as humans and we have no way of picking them apart. They are capable of infecting all the eggs in your ovaries with a single sexual encounter. After birth, they can mature into productive adults in a weeks time. We estimate that there may be 500,000 adults hiding amongst us in the United States alone.

Currently available contraceptives on the market are not effective in prevention. As a precaution, avoid sexual intimacy with all individuals. 

Symptoms of infection include rapid pregnancy in a 24 hour framework. New pregnancies will continue in succession, and as of this moment, we do not have a cure without harming the carrier’s life. 

Infected individuals may display behaviours of violence. They will lay down their life to protect their babies. Please approach with caution. 

Realization then comes upon you that you might have been ground zero for an alien invasion.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

continuation of this because i want more angst :3

(cw: obsession, gaslighting/mindfuck, emotional manipulation, horrible people doing horrible things essentially)

even after dust sold his soul to nightmare for his dream, he's still unruly and disobedient, especially when it comes to killer. dust wouldn't kill him. he wouldn't capture the traitor or drag him back to nightmare screaming. even though nightmare always gives him opportunities to engage with killer one-to-one on battlefields. dust couldn't bring himself to do it, to deprive killer of his happy ending. but he's also conflicted, because he's supposed to be killer's happy ending. he's in a perpetual ping-pong game with his own desires. he wants killer, but he also wishes for killer's happiness. maybe this is the best way to keep killer in the rest of his (hopefully not short) life. determination to see his light again. perseverance to keep living under nightmare's rule.

and dust's disregard of nightmare's orders constantly puts him under nightmare's wrath. nightmare knows about dust's afflictions - and while they feed nightmare well, it is a pain to deal with dust's unpredictable outbursts whenever killer appears or is brought up. he's a glass cannon basically. dust sports more and more injuries over time, both from nightmare's punishments and his own unchecked self-destructive tendencies. more bandages over his body, like temporary fixes to a problem that won't go away. he looks more vulnerable that way, which nightmare finds some uses for - bait for bleeding hearts over the multiverse. they don't know the sharks that circle the pretty mermaid they have invited into their homes.

and nightmare can tell dust is getting worse, marginally so but it's still frustrating. would be a shame if he loses a valuable spawn, just enough stubbornness and loyalty to keep in his inventory. so he tries to reward dust with little things to keep the lovesick fool function. killer's old room is now dust's, of course. dreamless nights, even though dust rarely sleeps. little tidbits about what killer is doing, from his spies. the occasional hearty meals, to keep dust well-fed. new "toys" for dust, even though he rarely cares about them. sometimes nightmare shapeshifts into his killer to give dust little gestures of affection, like letting him sleep on his lap or hugging him - dust is observant (and obsessive enough over killer) to notice the ruse anyway. dust often encounters daydreams and hallucinations of his loved ones, and if he listened to them he wouldn't be here at all. he calls nightmare out on them every time, angry like a cornered injured wild animal, but nightmare only finds the reactions cutely amusing. maybe one day when dust is finally desperate enough, he'd allow nightmare to erect the occasional fantasy dates with "killer". even though it's not real, it's just enough to keep his delusion going, to keep his will to live longer.

just as long as he's aware it's a dream and not slip down any further down the edge.

just as long as he's still cognizant that the killer doesn't love him back.

[bonefall]

are there any bb!cats with schizophrenia or that regularly experience psychosis? people absolutely suck about mental illness so like. seeing characters like me going thru life and being treated like people and not monsters for something out of their control never fails to put a smile on my face! thank you for all the research and effort you put into making sure your disabled cats are not only believable but human. pd: cinderheart with bpd is an extremely based headcanon

Not yet but it's on my radar, plus NPD. The reason why I feel so unflappably confident with BPD is because I know and love people who have it, and I hate that I don't see any characters who are like them! So I feel like I'm really good at handling it, and knowing what's wanted in portrayals of it. It feels very personally important to me.

Pair that with the fact I write BB!Clans as canonically struggling with ableism and all these being so heavily stigmatized irl, I've gotta be REALLY careful with NPD and psychosis. I'm less connected to them so personally and I don't want to accidentally strike a nerve, you get me?

That said... I got an ask a while back that I'd been thinking about a lot, basically asking me about how Clan Culture would see psychosis in the first place. I've actually always been fascinated by how deeply schizophrenia is affected by the culture of the afflicted, so I've been idly thinking about that for a while without sharing those thoughts.

OH WAIT hangon let me explain some stuff about Schizophrenia and psychosis for people in the audience!!

Schizophrenia used to be diagnosed in subtypes before 2013. This is no longer accurate! A lot like Autism, it's a spectrum of symptoms that affect people differently. It's a cognitive disorder that messes with rational and organized thinking, and that can express in all sorts of ways.

One of the symptoms is hallucinations. It's The Famous symptom of it, but it's not actually something you NEED to have to be Schizophrenic. Not all people who are having hallucinations or delusions are Schizophrenic, either! I want to include an OCD character of some kind who experiences some mild auditory hallucinations, actually. The type where it's just random mumbling.

Delusions and hallucinations aren't the same thing Delusions are false beliefs and hallucinations are false experiences. An example of a delusion is, "If I don't click my pen three times, my family will die." An example of a hallucination is hearing voices.

PEOPLE WITH PSYCHOSIS ARE FAR MORE LIKELY TO BE THE VICTIMS OF VIOLENCE THAN TO COMMIT IT Feel like this is common knowledge in this space, and especially within my own following since I make a lot of art about mental illness and awareness, but it's always worth repeating.

So anyway

If you compare psychosis between cultures, you actually end up seeing VERY different expressions of the hallucinations. For example, in some cultures, voice hallucinations tend to say things that are negative or abusive, while other cultures hear significantly more positive, playful voices.

This doesn't mean that they're always less distressing. For example, the study above points out that Nigerian students (reported to hear lots of playful hallucinations) experience as much distress as Dutch students (tend to experience negative, abusive voices) during their psychotic episodes.

Still, there does seem to be a correlation with "less distress" and cultures that encourage psychotic people to see their hallucinations as positive, personal things. Even more interestingly, distress seems to be correlated with income and individualism in a culture.

But it doesn't stop there, the findings are fascinating.

Delusions of grandeur are rare in societies that discourage that sort of social mobility, reflecting social values.

Cultures that believe religious experiences are specific experiences-- like certain smells, temperatures, or sounds, will see those reflected in psychotic episodes

Yet, "voices" seem to be something seen across ALL cultures studied. Though some have more prevalence of random sounds and mumbling than others, they all share some expression of "voices that say stuff."

SO all that to say-- if I include psychosis it's definitely going to be trying to take the culture of each Clan into account, and I need to do a lot more research into what sorts of things people with schizophrenia and various types of psychosis want to see more often.

[ptn-imagines]

I bloody hope you aren't overwhelmed with numerous requests yet (please take care of yourself and rest well!) but may I please request a one shot telling how Adela wants to help her beloved (female sinner as well) get rid of her unpleasant remembrances via a haircut but the sinner refuses to cut her hair as it now holds the most precious and charming memories as well – the ones about Adela? Thank you very much in advance.

Here you go, anon! This is my very first imagine for this blog, so I hope it was worth the wait! I feel like I fell off towards the end, but eh... You know what they say about being your own worst critic.

THE PRICE OF FORSAKEN MEMORIES [ sinner reader x adela ]

rating. teen and up audiences cws. depictions of ptsd and disassociation, implicit hallucinations (visual and audible) word count. 1,683 words.

Mania, among those afflicted, was primarily characterized by the suffering it wrought. Blood, sweat and tears; these were the things that the illness seemed to feed on, the things it was most skilled at drawing out. Mania would bleed a person's heart dry, and then, and only then, would it allow the withered husk left behind to depart from the world. It was a brutal and sadistic inevitability, and even Sinners knew they simply had more time than the rest. Still, amid all the misery and pain, there were good days; days where the Mania was quiet, and the afflicted could play at being “normal.” Healthy. Uninfected. Something other than the refuse of society.

Today, for you, was not one of those days.

You'd buried yourself underneath every duvet you owned to stave off the frigid chill that seeped into your bones. Now, your skin sweltered, drops of sweat pouring down your forehead; and yet, your teeth continued to chatter as shivers wracked your body, fragile in a way known only to the Mania-ridden.

You could feel your blood sprinting through your veins like it had places to be, your treacherous heart spurred into an overtime frenzy. Reason and past experience told you you weren't going to die here – but oh, it certainly felt as though the last grain of sand in the hourglass had fallen for you.

At least I'm not coughing blood this time. A macabre musing that claws its way to the surface of the muck. It carves a smile onto your lips, half-delirious with pain as you are.

You keep your eyes shut. Nothing can muffle the whispers, then the shouts and the screams – but you can blind yourself to the hazy shadows that lurk in the corners, turn your back to the memories that vie for you to bring them to life. No. Not today.

Your body shudders. A cough spills from your throat. If you spoke, would you know your own voice? Nightmares thread with reality as you lay there, a prisoner with no chains, shackled to that day, both your origin and your ending.

A bell rings through the apartment, sharp enough to cut through the empty haze. A bell, a bell, what did it mean again? Your mind struggles under the weight of your half-buried past as Mania tries to claw you back into its wretched grasp. A bell…

Adela. The thought is a lantern shining through the oppressive gloom. Your eyes snap open, the specters fleeing from the light she has brought to the tiny apartment. Your heart still beats to an uneven tempo, but it's no longer the sickness making you dizzy.

“Dearest, are you in here?” Her voice, sweet and silvery like birdsong, is muffled, but you can hear her footsteps approach. You're still too weak to get up, so you wait, a little smile on your lips. It's been a long day. You can't wait to see her.

The door creaks open – you were supposed to call someone about that, weren't you? – and Adela's beautiful face peers into the bedroom. You offer her a little wave, and she breaks out into a radiant smile.

At least, until she notices your ashen-faced features; her smile melts into a worried frown, and she's at your side in a moment. She feels your forehead for a temperature, fretting like a mother hen. She always does this. It never gets any less adorable.

“Are you alright, dear?” she worries, scanning you for obvious signs of malady. “You have a fever… Are you sick?”

You giggle a bit despite how it scrapes at your raw throat, leaning into her tender touch. You are sick, but not in the way she means. “Just a bad day,” you whisper, reaching to intertwine your fingers, and you see the moment realization dawns on her. Of course, she knows; she's a Sinner too, after all. She cannot remember what trauma triggered her change like you can, but Mania finds its ways to torment her even so.

“Oh, my beloved…” Adela's free hand goes to your cheek, gently caressing your face. “I'm sorry. I should have been here.” She's always like this; always blaming herself for things she couldn't possibly control. You don't think you'll ever change this about her, not for lack of trying.

Still, you don't want to let her dwell on it, so you shake your head, rasping a reply: “You're here now, ‘dela. That's… what matters most to me.” You give her the best smile you can, comforting her in the only way you currently know how.

Adela blinks a few times, as though she's surprised you're not blaming her. She probably is; the silly woman takes so much of others’ burdens onto her own shoulders that she's forgotten what it's like not to be responsible for somebody else's woes. “...Thank you, dearest,” she finally manages to say, giving your hand a little squeeze. “Still, forgive my saying this, but you look truly awful. How can I help?”

Your eyes flutter close as you let out a considering hum. “Tea. Then cuddles.”

A few minutes later, you're sipping at a cup of Adela's special tea blend while sitting in your girlfriend's lap. Her hands stroke through your hair, so gentle and kind, and her warmth combined with the sweet and delicate aroma of the drink banishes the darkness that yet lingers. A contented silence settles over the pair of you, basking in the safety and adoration of one another.

…No, not quite contented. Something's on Adela's mind; you can tell by the way her hands occasionally pause before resuming their stroking. You think about asking her about it, but she beats you to it; a gentle sigh passes her lips, and she speaks.

“It was a very bad day for you, wasn't it?” she asks quietly. You glance at the mirror on the wall and see that Adela is fixated on a particular spot on your back. You can imagine what she's seeing, even if it's only in her mind; tresses of twisted, mangy hair spilling over your shoulders, the embodiment of your stress and your anxiety. You wonder how long it is after today.

You can't deny it, so you give an affirmative hum. Adela leans forward to slowly rest against your back, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as she rubs gentle circles into your shoulders. It's a blissful sensation, and only the prospect of the upcoming conversation keeps you present in the moment.

“I don't know why you don't let me cut it away, my love,” she whispers, her breath tickling your ear. You don't remember quite exactly how you found out about Mad Shears; you suspect Adela tampered with those memories. Nevertheless, you'd remembered enough to find your way back to the hairdresser, even after she fled to another neighborhood. She'd been shocked, but… that was years ago now, and you didn't like to think of it much. It had led to a beautiful love blossoming between the two of you, and that's all you cared to dwell on. 

“You're in so much pain,” Adela continues, and you remain silent, trying to gather together the words to say. Adela takes that as a cue to keep talking. “I could fix it all for you. Dearest, why won't you let me help you?”

You sit up properly, and do your best to ignore the twinge of your heart at Adela's little disappointed sigh. “My pain… It's not just tied to the day I became a Sinner, is it?” you answer, your eyes never leaving those of your most beloved in the mirror. “It's entrenched in my Mania. You'd have to wipe my memory completely to erase it, and even then, there's a chance traces of it could linger, right?”

Adela was silent for a moment, hesitant in the face of the flaws in her ability. Her eyes lowered, gaze once again falling your hallucinatory locks of hair; by the way her fingers twisted around nothing, she was fruitlessly attempting to comb out the mess of worries. “But you'd still feel much better than you do now,” she murmured. “Isn't it worth a try?”

“It's a short-term solution to a long-term problem, Adela.” You finally turned around to face your girlfriend properly; her shocked gaze lifted up to your face, and you reached out to stroke her cheeks, smiling. “Besides, even if I was happier for a little bit… I'd eventually just end up even more miserable. Do you know why?”

Adela is silent for a long while, her gaze on you feeling like flames licking your skin. Eventually, ever so slowly, she shakes her head, looking lost. “I don't know. Please tell me.”

“Because… I'd be losing you, the person I love more than anyone or anything.” Adela's eyes widen with shock; even though you feel this should be plain to see, it's clear that such an answer hadn't ever crossed her mind. “Adela, my love, you're the reason I ultimately get up each morning; you're why I haven't curled up and died yet. Without you… I'd be swallowed by my Mania sooner or later, memories or no.”

The other Sinner stared at you as though she was seeing you in a whole new light. Wonder was the one word to describe her expression. Eventually, she shook herself out of it, features curling into the heartfelt smile you adored so much. “I can't say I understand, but… I do trust you. When you say these things… I can't help but feel they must be true.”

“That's good enough for me.” You hold out your arms, and Adela melts into them. She's deceptively strong, but right now, with her body curled against yours, she reminds you of a weak and fragile baby animal. You hold her closer. “You don't have to understand, love. As long as you don't go all Mad Shears on me in my sleep.”

It's a joke, and Adela must know it, judging by the light giggle she lets out. Still, her reply, almost inaudible, is in earnest.

“I promise, my dearest.”

[lua-magic]

How Planets Affect Our Health and Body

People with exhalted sun, or sun with fiery planets like Mars and south node could suffer from baldness.

Debilated sun, like in libra or cancer could cause you heart problems.

Sun afflicted by south node or north node or when gets debilated libra or water signs, could give eyes related problems, or bones issue.

Sun or Mars in Scorpio though considered exalted could give piles

Mars when gets debilated in water signs like fourth house, or twelfth house or afflicted by south node or north node could give skin problems.

Debilated Jupiter in Capricorn or when afflicted by south node north node or when combust with sun could cause liver problems and cholesterol.

In extreme case, bad Jupiter could cause cancer as well.

Bad Venus or when afflicted could cause impotency in men especially when Venus is with south node.

Venus is always exalted in water signs in fourth house and in pieces.

Fast moving planets like Mercury and moon in twelfth house could give you insomnia.

Moon is in when sixth, eighth and twelfth could give you mental issues, as you can't let things go easily from you.

Remedy is too give power to moon.

Issues, like migraine and bloating, pain in legs and teeth are caused by bad Saturn.

Bad ketu or south node in chart could give problems of back pain and urinary tract infection and problems related to ears..

Bad north node or rahu could give you hallucinations, schizophrenia and phobias and disconnect you from reality.

Bad or afflicted Mercury could cause you ADHD, anxiety, learning issues and speech problems like stammering, stutter and lisp.

If the fifth house is damaged by rahu, ketu or Saturn or if Jupiter is afflicted or debilated in women then it can cause, infertility or trouble during childbirth.

[makshu]

Kamaitachi songs that I think fit JSHK characters

Hello there! I thought about making this post because many of this artist's songs remind me of JSHK

–> Well, but who is Kamaitachi you ask me? Kamaitachi is a Brazilian singer and composer who writes songs on a variety of themes, the most common being romantic and horror themes. His musical style is varied, with indie, rock, blues, pop, jazz and others in his composition.

–> In addition, Kamaitachi created his own universe in his songs, having connected songs telling a story such as 'Bob', 'O Sono de Emily' and 'Sr. Sono'. The name Kamaitachi is inspired by Japanese folklore, where "Kama" means cuts and "Itachi" means weasel, representing the sweet and sour crowd.

Well, now that you know him, let's get to the songs and characters! :)

Hanako-kun with 'O Fantasma'

'O Fantasma' translates to 'The Ghost', this song reminds me of Hanako not only because of the name, but also because of the ghostly and melancholic melody. The song demonstrates an internal struggle and a search for redemption. In the song, the lyrical self wants to remove a part of himself, which would be the "ghost", a part that haunts him. The part that reminds me most of Hanako is this one:

I was never an angel

I didn't even have wings to fly away

From what afflicts me

But I was once a demon

And I had to die

To learn how to live as a human being

The theme in general fits very well with Hanako, besides at the end of the song the lyrical self apologizes to someone dear to him for everything that happened. Promising to change and to no longer let the "rays of the past" haunt his life and everyone else's. Remembering Hanako with Yashiro or even with Tsukasa.

Tsukasa Yugi with 'O Sono de Emily'

'O Sono de Emily' translates to 'The Sleep of Emily'. The song features themes of friendship, fear and a plan beyond the tangible, featuring the lyrical self as a little boy named Bob who tries to reach out and befriend a girl named Emily. It's also shown that they are "shadows" and that Bob wants to keep Emily with him. This song reminds me a lot of Tsukasa's relationship with the entity, both in the old and new timelines. Unfortunately, I can't really develop the similarities since we don't know much about how exactly the entity works. However, we do know that Tsukasa makes friends with the entity. The song has a more intense and somewhat sinister melody, as if it were on another plane, and Bob's lines are kinda unsettling.

The song fits very well with Tsukasa's aura, as it presents a very powerful childlike entity that conveys fear of the unknown, just like Tsukasa in all its versions.

Nene Yashiro with 'Alice' (tw: drugs)

'Alice' alludes to the character Alice from "Alice in Wonderland" bringing a dark meaning that has been used several times, that Alice was under the influence of illicit substances and hallucinating everything she saw. Supernatural things are not things that people normally see, you shouldn't see things that don't exist, but Yashiro does. It wouldn't be so absurd, if we put it into reality, to imagine that Yashiro would be under the effect of something. The song brings up the theme of drug addiction and its terrible consequences, and yet, Nene, who truly sees supernaturals, has also had consequences (mostly psychological). And let's be honest, to an outsider, Yashiro really does seem to be hallucinating.

Tsukasa Yugi with 'O Treco'

'O Treco' translates to 'The Thing'. the song presents a dark and enigmatic narrative, where the lyrical self describes the unexpected and disturbing visit of a mysterious man.

I had to put him back on the list since this song really suits him as a mysterious antagonist (and there are many edits of him with this song).

Tsukasa is an enigmatic and unpredictable figure, always appearing out of nowhere and giving many jumpscares to the characters. However, most of the time he actually has an "invitation" when he appears, which is a deep wish made by a supernatural. I think the song suits him very well, especially in this new reality, where he's a bizarre and disturbing child entity, presenting the unknown and danger in the face of those who face him.

Hanako-kun and Aoi Akane with 'Às Cegas no Monte'

'Às Cegas no Monte' translates to 'Blind On the Hill' and the song brings a reflection on the journey of life and the relentless search for happiness. This song reminds me of them in the "To The Far Shore" arc due to the literal meaning of the song since we follow a "train" throughout the song. Throughout the lyrics, it's possible to observe many similarities, such as a train that runs without stopping, something that reminds us of dawn and the desire to still want to be happy even if "it's not the time to be happy."

In its meaning, the song presents the search for happiness, which is something that both Hanako and Aoi seek, even if it's almost impossible to achieve, and it's also about the journey of life, or in this case, the journey that has ended. The song has a calm melody, but it manages to bring a weight to certain phrases and this vibe reminds me of the two of them at the beginning of this arc, a heavy atmosphere but they still try to avoid it by talking about what their lives were like.

Hanako-kun and Nene Yashiro with 'Carnaval'

'Carnaval' which translates to 'Carnival' is about longing and desire, intertwined with the hope of reunion. The song features a lyrical self who misses the other person and who always asks if his partner is okay, indicating that perhaps they haven't seen each other for a while. And in the chorus, the song uses a metaphor, saying that the kiss of this person reminds him of Carnival (a typical Brazilian party) because of all the excitement and effervescence that this party brings.

This all brings out the essence of Hananene, this concern for each other, the occasional separations and the desire. And also all the little moments apart where count the minutes until they meet again. The song features an upbeat instrumental that creates a good vibe and brings a feeling of happiness, especially when you think about your loved one. A really good match with these two.

Hanako-kun and Nene Yashiro with "O Sol e a Lua"

'O Sol e a Lua' translates to 'The Sun and the Moon' the song addresses, in a poetic and figurative way, the relationship between the celestial bodies Sun and Moon, presenting the feeling of revealing oneself and mutual protection. Demonstrating love and how both are important to maintain life. In addition to the music having references to other spatial aspects.

I know that the sun and moon are concepts mainly attributed to the twins in JSHK, but considering romantic dynamics, Hanako and Yashiro fit perfectly into "sun and moon". Hanako is the moon being the most mysterious and serious side of the relationship and Yashiro is the sun being the most cheerful and lively part of the relationship.

I put them back on the list because this song is very hananene coded and I don't know how to explain it other than just saying "it suits them".

—

Well that's it for now, I hope you enjoyed this list and if you give the songs a chance I'll be happy too! Kamaitachi is a very plural and unique artist, and I really appreciate his work.

Thanks for reading ^^

[viviennevermillion]

Mortals and Fools — First Look #1 (Coming Soon)

Want to read a SFW coming-of-age fantasy novel with evil gods, two adult aspec protagonists and magic? Consider supporting this project!

Author's Note: After a total of 8 years of posting fanfiction on this account, I am excited to announce that I am finally starting my first long-term original work as an author! Goal is to get this series published as an actual novel but until then, I will be uploading chapters online as I write them, hopefully building an audience in the process! Mortals and Fools will be available on Wattpad and potentially other platforms. The first 4 chapters will be uploaded to Tumblr as well. Over the next few weeks I will keep uploading promo posts with new characters and more info! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported me as a writer over the years and welcome to everyone who's new here!

Summary: In the land of Elsthess, brilliant but arrogant Dr. Immanuel Faust is doing his best to follow the teachings of the Goddess of Wisdom, live up to his late grandmother's expectations and hide the fact that he has been seeing strange, mystical apparitions all his life. When his pupil becomes afflicted with an ancient curse and the things he has seen turn out to be more than just hallucinations, Immanuel must forge a contract with Morgan, a being from another realm who's ready to humble him at every turn, and learn his religion's most despised art: magic. As he steps outside of the simple world he has grown up in, he slowly comes to realize that there is much more to learn for him still.

Themes:

The Meaning of Wisdom & Growth

Unlearning harmful narratives and prejudices

Religious Trauma

Healing from Abuse

Rebuilding trust in others

Learning to understand others

Navigating radical changes during adulthood

Elitism and class inequality

The problems with the ideal of meritocracy

Queerplatonic & Alterous Attraction

Addiction

Gender Dysphoria

What this story contains:

A variety of fun magical powers!

Evil Gods & Forces from other Realms!

Queer rep! (demisexual & aroace protagonists, a trans man and a wlw couple)

Mysteries to unravel

The coming-of-age fantasy adventures you're used to from YA novels but with characters in their 20s and struggles of adulthood

Humor

My blood, sweat and tears as an author

The Cast: Introducing 3 Characters

Here's some info on the three characters in the header, from left to right!

#1 — Dr. Immanuel Icarus Faust

❝ It wasn't supposed to be like this... I've failed... as both a doctor and a man of faith. I wanted to follow your teachings, dear Goddess, and guide those who seek wisdom and knowledge, as grandmother did... but I couldn't even save one innocent girl. Have I become godless? ❝

Raised by his grandmother, the High Priestess of Solbrynn's temple, Immanuel was taught from an early age on to aspire to be the best in everything he attempted to do and dedicate his life to wisdom, in order to make the Goddess Adira proud. Having become a renowned physician at the age of 28, Immanuel understands himself as his kingdom's ideal of a self-made man: a scholar who can achieve everything he puts his mind to, no matter the circumstances. As a result, he has put himself on a pedestal, believing that those who achieved less than him had all the chances and merely didn't use them. Fearing nothing more than failure and becoming anything like his absent, alcoholic father; Immanuel is bound for a rude awakening.

#2 — Morgan Miralaith

❝ While you were having your existential crisis in the mad scientist laboratory you call your bedroom, I took the liberty to read your grandmother's diary. The good news is, I finally understand where all the hubris comes from. ❝

Morgan, belonging to a long-lived species from the realm of Calliah, is the second-in-command for the Elsthess Resistance against the Plague Avatars. While the Resistance on Mhorunn regards her as a capable leader and a skilled fighter; using fire magic to blaze her way to victory; it is clear to most that she has many secrets and ulterior motives. She cares about others in her own way, yet hardly lets anyone close to her. With her mischievous demeanor and cynical nature, Morgan has made it her new mission to recruit Immanuel for the Resistance and, while at it, shatter his very distorted self-image and worldview. Upon forging a contract with her, Immanuel believes that he has sold his soul to a demon. It is only upon meeting others of her kind that he realizes that really is just her personality.

#3 — Mortis Grimm

❞ People reject that which is foreign to them. You of all people should know this. Still, my personal aspirations and origins are of no concern to you. Remember that. ❝

While there are several people from the Realm of Calliah in Elsthess, the realm that Mortis Grimm originated from is unknown. He seems to be the only one of his kind and there is something sinister about him. Wielding powerful magic that matches no other in recorded nature, Mortis, despite being the leader of the Resistance, is a big mystery to all of its members. Usually donning a Plague Doctor mask, Morgan is among the few to have seen his face. He is Mhorunn's greatest ally, but hardly a trusted one. Most understand that he could just as well become its greatest enemy one day.

Interested in reading more and receiving updates as they're posted? Comment on this post and tell me if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Reblogs are appreciated to spread the word! 💞

Taglist — @gwaaaaar @silveryloneliness @noxochicoztliv @justletmeon12 @averytirednerd @letsallsleepoverwork @styrofauxm @non-pressurizeddiamond @mangoinacan13 @amateurmasksmith @kenobiblue @soru-dee @pictures-of-the-stars @elf-osamu @animusicnerd @jaytherat-hometothereblog @watcherofeternalflame