#Oneiric observers

[markerofthemidnight]

who are the members of OO? Are any of them connected to the other characters in Doai?

Okay, it’s really rough so far but to give you the basic rundown (under cut cause this gets looooong):

Blaire

Blaire is the founder-but-not-leader of the Oneiric Observers. Well, she was the leader at some point when it was basically just her, but as she slowly began to add to the group, she went from being the leader to just the founder.

She’s the basic archetypical ‘hyperactive girl who may or may not have ADHD’, armed with nothing but an interest in murder-mysteries and a dream. A dream to, one day, be regarded as one of the greatest investigators of all time.

To be regarded as a hero to all those plagued by unsolved mysteries: and for a while, she settled simply for local disappearances and unsolved crimes from long ago. She was especially plagued by the mystery of the late, the great detective champion, Russel Hawke’s untimely death…

…until she realised that all those mysteries might be more connected than she thought. So now, she’s decided to stop going for small fry, and start shooting for the stars… unaware that, if she’s not careful, the stars might just shoot back.

She was named after Blaire Lily, the main protagonist of Unfriended, which you may recognise as being listed as the main inspiration for Myke and how he functions. Basically, to make naming them easier on me, every OO member is associated with a Veldigun and named after characters in/people who worked on their inspired movies.

Tyler

Tyler is kind of the main protagonist, in a sense.

I don’t have much of a personality for him down yet other than “loser who does not want to be a loser”. Unskilled in… more or less everything, but he’s got drive, and that’s what counts!… kind of.

Tired of living in his stupid-ass older sister’s shadow his whole life, the story properly begins when Tyler finally decides to take Blaire up on her constant offers to literally everyone in school to join the OO, or the “Paranormal Investigation Club”, as all the lame people who are out of the loop know it as.

He’s easily one of the most dedicated to their cause, desperate to finally prove his worth to a world that has forgotten him… and also, kind of to prove his worth to himself.

He was named after Tyler Ledford from The Menu, henceforth making his associated Veldigun Julian. A bit of a weird character to pull inspiration from, considering- other than being a member of the OO, which immediately makes you a bad person- he’s significantly nicer than the Tyler in that movie, but just roll with me here.

Miles

Miles is the first person to join the OO after its founding, who ascended to the rank of official leader due to his great skills and dedication to their cause.

No one really knows why he’s there. He’s regarded as fairly popular- or at least, was before he joined a club occupied solely by losers. In fact, joining the OO might’ve made his popularity even worse than it already was, so what gives?

Well, apparently he thinks all the attention he’s gotten so far is nowhere near enough. He wants more, and he thinks the OO and their investigation of the town’s surprisingly common disappearances might be key to that.

Out of all the main cast, Miles is the one who best sums up what it’s like to be a member of the Oneiric Observers- fitting, since he is the leader- in that he… is an asshole. Just a total douchebag who happens to be really good at hiding that.

He was named after Dr. Miles Bennell from (the 1916 version of) Invasion of the Body Snatchers, making his associated Veldigun Victor.

Oh, and just so you know, when not at school he keeps his uniform on but only keeps the top button done, so that way his cardigan looks like a cape. That’s how self-absorbed he is.

Akela

Akela is the second member to join after its founding, and probably the only one to join (besides technically Blaire?) out of a genuine interest in the paranormal and nothing else.

She’s the archetypical quiet, well-behaved girl with good grades who basically everyone else is really jealous of. She joined because she wanted to see what the Paranormal Investigation Club had to offer… only to be deeply shocked when it was not a bunch of professionals like she was expecting, but just a bunch of random losers grasping at straws in order to get popular.

The only reason why Akela sticks around is because she wants to see what will happen next… and also because, she may or may not genuinely believe that the OO might be key to getting more respect, rather than just jealous stares.

She’s also the kind of person who occasionally asks things like “hey by the way do you know which area you should target if you want to effectively torture information out of someone?” to people with no warning, just to freak them out.

She was named after Akela Cooper, who wrote M3GAN, making her associated Veldigun Candice.

Evelyn

The third member to join after its founding, Evelyn is… shy. She’s real shy. Easily the one starting member of the OO who’s the closest to being a good person.

She joins after being promised by Miles that she could be a hero to the people of her town if she joined, and she’d do anything to get her confidence up, so she accepted… not knowing what she’d be dragged into as a result.

There’s honestly not much else to say about her at this point in time. She was named after Evelyn Abbott, the mother from A Quiet Place, making her associated Veldigun Beau.

Doreen

Doreen is the fifth and final member to join the OO post-founding, which actually doesn’t happen until about halfway through the main story. She is also Tyler’s aforementioned stupid-ass older sister.

She’s regarded as pretty popular, in fact even more popular than Miles was, at least before he joined the OO. Both pretty smart and pretty pretty, everyone knows her, and everyone’s interested on getting her on their good side.

And she… is interested in absolutely none of them.

There are two main reasons why she joins: firstly, she knows her brother’s been roped into a really dangerous situation and she wants to help out in any way she can. Secondly, she would sell her goddamn soul if it meant getting all the admirers desperate for superficial relationships off her.

She’s the only one who knows that popularity does not equal happiness, a lesson that, unfortunately, not many of them listen to even after she joins. Still, she’s grateful to get all those eyes off her… even if it means getting other, far more dangerous eyes watching her wherever she goes.

She is unique amongst the entire cast- minus her associated Veldigun- in that she was not named after a character from a horror movie. Well, said Veldigun was vaguely inspired by The Black Phone, but that wasn’t his main inspiration.

His main inspiration was actually the real life disappearance of the Jack family in Canada, 1989, as described in Real Horror’s video, The Family That Vanished.

Specifically, one specific moment in that video detailing a strange event during the investigation in which an anonymous person called the police, told them the supposed area in which the Jack family’s corpses were buried- though it was too garbled and deep for them to figure out the exact location, to the point where to this day, no signs of bodies have ever been found.

I watched that video a while back, got to that absolutely chilling moment, and thought to myself, “Hey, I wanna make a character who calls people investigating mysteries, gives them a genuinely ground-breaking piece of information, and then immediately hangs up!”

Which then eventually resulted in Doreen being named after the late mother of the family of four, and Russel being named after the family’s first-born. Russel… he’s a pretty special guy. Even by Veldigun standards.

The video was really great, the mystery really enticing, and the case really… tragic, so I named them after two of the four total victims. It’s a shame that, after death, people are reduced to their method of dying and nothing more, but… I suppose there’s really nothing we can do about that. The least I could do was pay my respects, and naming OCs after them was the first thing I came up with to do so.

(Oh, and to answer your second question: whilst it’s both too early in the writing process and too spoilery to say if they’re connected to any canon characters, I think I can at least mention this:

The way DOAI: OO and canon DOAI are connected to each other is kinda similar to Jumanji and its two sequels in which they take place in the same universe, but have little connection to each other due to taking place in two completely different times with different casts.

There ARE a few connections here and there- and Six probably will show up, or at least get mentioned at some point- but other than that, it’s its own story.)

[oneiricobservationaublog]

Did somebody say Oneiric Observation cover art?

Spent a good 2 hours coming up with ideas for what the PFP of the sideblog should look like. This is definitely too big for that, but it’s certainly a start! Oh, lineless art, my beloved…

If you look closely, you can also see a few new additions to the lore and little hints as well!

[merakiui]

never-ending noctuary; love forevermore.

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, non-con, overblot!malleus, obsession, breeding, baby-trapping, malleus is written to have two dicks, spoilers for part two of book seven note - and sitting powerful on his throne of thorns, omniscience at his fingertips, the lord of malevolence takes a bride.

An eerie, all-consuming quiet has fallen over Sage’s Island.

It is frigid and unfriendly like winter. Harsh and oppressive like silence. Painful and abrasive like brambles. Time has come to a swift halt here, and with it the people fall into never-ending euneirophrenia. Delights so dreamy shall inhabit the minds of all who sleep, the grandest gift granted to those unwilling. Like fate itself, wound around every living soul, it is inescapable. Inevitable like death—unfair and unforgettable.

But then it is also peaceful and secure. Quaint and warm like a blanket. Fluffy and floral like spring’s first kiss. Solace is far sweeter when spent in oneiric solitude, and so it will seem for one-thousand years. Forevermore, stretched taut into the future, the dream persists.

Is that not the best blessing? To those who wish to savor a fleeting moment just a second more, is this not a wish granted generously tenfold? Rather than immortalizing the past with photographs, it shall never come to pass. There is no need for bittersweet recollections or tearful farewells. The present will persevere, lived out in endless dreams.

Surely this is the correct course. Not just for Malleus, for he is a gentle, kind creature who recognizes the mutual desire for interminable merriment, but for the entirety of the island. Although in hoping for love forevermore, he has shackled himself to selfish, Epicurean pleasures. The type which normally lasts as long as a vision spent on cloud nine.

Currently, sitting proud and alone on a cold throne, Malleus knows of no greater joy.

The party may have fallen still as the grave, bodies slumbering in stiff propinquity, but it hasn’t finished. The food may have congealed, inedible and decaying, but it is there. A testament to spirits kept aloft, if only to ensure no one ever knows the desolation of endings.

Paradise is what you make of it. Thus, should you hope for it, you can walk on the clouds in your mind and never know of Icarus’s plights. You can shed insecurities and anxieties and taste delectable metamorphosis. You can be anyone and anything. You can be strong and wealthy. You can be fearless and heroic. You can be an impossible ideal.

You can be loved.

Malleus watches your seemingly lifeless form splayed on the sofa, limbs draped over that of Ace and Deuce. It’s a tranquil sight, a marionette freed from the strings of somber, suffocating life.

Under a roof of thorns, you are reborn.

Paradise is wondrous for Malleus, albeit a touch silent. He wonders what you might say if you were to stand at his side and observe this eternal slumber party. Would it fill you with awe? With appreciation? With abject terror?

Perhaps there is no use in theorizing. He doesn’t need to know, for you will love him even in sleep.

He rises, taking each step at a time. Thorny branches and roots part to make way for him, a groom traversing the aisle in search of his bride. You lie still, secrets sealed behind pretty, plush lips, and if he was not the cause for your current state he might assume you were late.

But there is no death here. It cannot reach. It will never reach because Paradise knows not of death or suffering.

Paradise is the garden before the infestation. Paradise is the body before bacterial devastation. Paradise is love before departed lamentation.

Malleus gazes at your restful face, leaning down to trace a clawed, blot-tainted finger along your cheek. There are no tears; you are a doll incapable of such sorrow, sculpted to portray perfect neutrality. He is most pleased with this development, his chest rumbling with a triumphant chuckle. Now you shall never know an ending ever again. Now you shall remain here, safe and stagnant in his arms, far from the mirror that may allow you to return home.

Gathering your body in his arms, he lifts you from the cushions. You crumble in his grasp, head lolling and arms noodling at your sides. Sagging dead weight, but he places his ear to your chest to listen to the melodic thrum of your heart. You’re alive, frailty shielded from the horrors of the world. Here, in thorny idyll, you will live forevermore.

Historically, all rulers must have someone to call their own. Whether it be by way of arrangement or convenience, strung together for the sake of conjoined power or out of obligation, this is an irrefutable fact. Historically, all rulers must bear an heir—someone to carry on the glory of an ever-present lineage.

Malleus refuses to bring a child into the world unless they are given the blessing of the one thing he was deprived of since birth.

A mother.

You fit in his embrace, a puppet tugged into a one-sided waltz. He steps over fallen bodies as he holds you against his chest, following the routine even though you aren’t awake to reciprocate.

Historically, a married pair must share the first dance. Or that’s what he’s read in fairy tales.

There are no rings here; promises are left unspoken. He won’t entertain rejection because there is no room for it in Paradise. Every unsavory, horrid thing—pestilence and pain, death and destruction, and sadness and sin—is packed away in Pandora’s box and shelved. Malleus won’t risk opening it to release the tiny shred of hope desperately clawing for escape. It’s not worth it.

He will foster his own hope if he must, and she exists in his arms—beautifully motionless.

The steps are executed with care, up the stairs and towards a lonesome chair. He attempts a twirl, lowering you into a dip. Your arms hang limply, eyes shut in permanence. Brimming with fondness, Malleus tugs you back up to press his lips to your forehead.

“Dearest one,” he mumbles, “may you know many fruitful fantasies in the arms of Morpheus.”

He reclaims his seat and situates you to face him while perched on his lap. You slump against him, near-boneless. He smiles at you, imagining the ruckus that would certainly come about from such a daring gesture. Sebek would squawk at you to have more respect and dignity. Silver would tut and shake his head. Lilia would look on in amusement.

These are small pleasantries, little wishes he hopes to witness someday.

Historically, a married pair must consummate their bond.

Malleus’s fingertips flit across your figure, feeling fabric beneath his palms. He tries to exercise restraint and take it slow—everything in moderation, Lilia would remind him—but he can’t contain his nympholepsy. Your clothes are discarded at once, shredded to scraps in his haste. He moves clumsily, following the searchlight of intrinsic ardor. You’re softer when bare, he observes, peeling your bra from your skin. A pallid hand presses down onto your breast, the pudge of which caves beneath his fingers. He withdraws and it bounces back to its shape.

Fascinating, he marvels with wide, enchanted eyes.

Claws tweak at your hardened nipples next. He’s careful because you’re notably weaker. Even in sleep, he must mind his hedonism. Too much and you will break. Too little and he’ll be left unsatisfied. Malleus watches your expression. It was mostly neutral, but now your eyebrows are twitching in response to his touch.

In sleep, you are the most vulnerable.

He knows this because he’s peered in from afar, admiring you through a glass barrier while you slept unaware in Ramshackle. He would never do anything without invitation. Though it may not be in writing, your body is oh-so-inviting. And he indulges because he’s only known this fervor in the deepest, darkest dreams.

Curiously, in his pursuit of passion, Malleus happens upon the special space between your legs. Delicate like a flower, it’s the prettiest part of your anatomy. If he wishes to connect with you, to tie himself to you in unholy communion, he must acquaint himself with this sliver of seventh heaven. He’s never seen one up close; the sight is foreign but very welcome. He drinks it in, burning your form into his retinas. Two fingers trace your labia, stroking along flowery folds in V-shaped strokes. You twitch in his arms, an unconscious, knee-jerk reaction.

At some point, in the middle of his experimental exploration, Malleus begins to hum. It’s a soft, genial lilt. Low and soothing, the lullaby fills the silent halls of Diasomnia’s common room like poison gas.

He contemplates whether this is enough. Can you feel these sensations even when you’re so deep in your dreams? Perhaps so, for when he brushes back the hood protecting your clit to rub at it you soak his fingers. Lubricious, your wetness shimmers on his fingertips when he pulls them away to admire the very essence of you. Without hesitation, he places his fingers on the pad of his tongue to clean both. It’s a divine taste, proof of pleasure.

You cannot speak, so instead your body does so for you. A most bewitching behavior.

Malleus’s hand slithers back towards home, his fingers sliding in with surprising ease. Gummy walls cling to slender digits, embracing the intrusion as if it’s meant to be. With each pump of his fingers, your body warms. The sinful squelch of scissoring fingers joins his humming in a salacious song. Every now and then, you spasm in his arms, your lips parting ever so slightly to release a sigh or a breathy moan. It’s musical, a whimsy he’s only just discovered.

“My beautiful bride,” Malleus croons, “you will know love in my arms. Love forevermore, here in this sanctuary. Fear not, for I have done away with all that may terrify and traumatize.”

Pressure is straining beneath the belt, an itch that must be promptly dealt with. Removing his fingers, he shifts you on his lap so that he may free his cocks from confinement. Twin monstrosities curve towards his stomach; perhaps you’d have been frightened if you were awake to behold them. His hand settles on the small of your back, steadying you as he lines one of them up with your body. The tip just reaches past your navel. For a moment, Malleus ponders whether he might break you.

Careful now, he can hear Lilia’s chiding. Impatience will lead to injury.

He heeds the unspoken warning, lifting you with both hands until the head of his cock is kissing your pussy. And then, slowly, he lowers you down onto him. Your pussy stretches around him, a snug squeeze that only grows tighter with every inch swallowed. Malleus pulls you flush against his chest when he’s halfway slotted, his breathing staggered. Your body quivers, walls fluttering around him, while his other unsheathed cock presses against your navel. Pre-cum smears on your stomach.

He’s determined to cherish you, thrusting all the way to the hilt after a few determined tries. It’s a firm fit, but it’s still bliss. Hissing through his teeth, brows knitted in concentration, Malleus wraps his arms around you and fucks. Mindless, mostly, but with the intent to reach the only acceptable end here: orgasmic ecstasy. He makes up for the lack of motion on your part by moving his hips to meet yours as he rocks you up and down. Whimpers slip past your lips; he shushes you with song, humming through groans and grunts.

This is love.

Malleus thinks so when he positions your hands over his other untouched cock. The illusion doesn’t last long because your hands are quick to fall away. Instead, he grasps your hand, guides it back to his shaft, and pumps himself using your precious palm for friction.

You’re bounced up and down in a parody of consensual copulation. Malleus dwells in imagination, picturing you in a wedding gown. He considers what you might say, the vows you would undoubtedly swear, and the sweet nothings you’d exchange late into the evening. He’d twirl you across an elegant ballroom while everyone looks on with tender adoration and reverence. He’d show you the stars hanging just within reach, and when you’re swept up in riveting romance the sky is tangible and dreams are spun from sugar.

He’d place you on his bed, stripping you of your dress, hands trailing up to tug the frilly garter from your thigh, and you’d smile at him, open your arms and welcome him with mutual affection. You’d bloom for him like a moonflower, your heart beating in sync with his, as he fulfills the final promise—one so bodily imperative. An oath to disturb desolate halls with noise. To hear the pitter-patter of tiny footfalls upon stone floors—he can’t imagine anything more harmonious.

You would soften throughout the months, bright with that foretold pregnancy glow. He would press his hands to your rounded belly and feel squirming within, restless kicks and nudges. You’d discuss potential names over breakfast, and he would hover even though he knows you’re plenty capable. But he worries because you’re so fragile and fleeting. So pretty. So round with child. He wouldn’t leave you alone for a moment; you’re far too enchanting. Perhaps, in some distant future, he’ll lower to the height of your stomach and sing to the baby.

A smile would tug at your lips and you’d reach down to pat his head, running your fingers over his horns. And then— 

Malleus cracks his eyes open, his breath hot against your face. His chest heaves as he comes down from the high of domestic daydreams to find your stomach spattered with cum. Swallowing thickly, he peers between your bodies at your pussy stretched around his other cock.

Oh, he came inside.

Unexpectedly. Or perhaps not, for this was his intention. But once is not nearly enough, and he must fill you until you’re fit to burst—until it’s biologically certain you’re pregnant.

An emotion flickers on your face. Malleus mistakes it for jubilation, the type which calls forth a sunshower on your cheeks. He kisses the tears trailing down your face, ending at your lips for a chaste peck.

This is not the finale. It is simply the beginning.

[softichill]

The Sounds of Nightmares unofficial transcript

Chapter 3 - The Theater of the Mind

(Once again made with @queen0fm0nsterz!!!)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

-------------

[Click]

[Otto sighs, shifting]

OTTO: Noone vanished last night. 

[Another sigh]

OTTO: As she slept, I was monitoring her ultradian sleep cycle. There was no REM/NREM oscillation; instead, involuntary spasms grew progressively worse. [shift] As I was about to wake Noone, her… body… evanesced. For a split instant- then returned, calm as can be. 

OTTO: [deep breath, loud exhale] Lacking sleep, I can’t be sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Yet the image of her sheets deflating… is imprinted upon my mind. [Sigh] After yesterday’s session, no less, when she claimed to hear this:

[Click, tape plays]

Recording of NOONE: “The faraway drifts near. Tread long, then, sink deep. Two flows from one, and here, is whole again.”

[Click, tape stops]

OTTO: A coincidence? [light clinking of ceramic/glass] Or, synchronicity? …(Scoff) Is that that bloody moth again?! 

[Loud smack, Otto sits back down] 

OTTO: Riddle piles upon riddle, and answers continue to elude. [Tape rewinding] I’ll sift through every word if I must. 

[Intro plays]

[Click]

[Loud clicking and clacking, electric humming, Otto screwing something in]

OTTO: [Humming drops, returns] It’s clear. Noone’s symptoms go beyond parasomnias. [Continuing to build] Her retellings are too detailed, vocabulary too advanced, as if derived from the oneiric itself. 

[Humming raises in pitch, clicking] 

OTTO: However, what I find impossible to believe is that Noone’s seen who you saw, Cici. [Chair creaks, clattering] If two people, without any contact, shared the exact same observation, is it proof of transpersonal dreaming?

[Otto’s building continues]

OTTO: But such implies concurrence! And these dreams are years apart! Then… no. [buzzing picks up] I cannot be taken to metaphysical backwaters. Sounding like my old professor. [building] I’ve remained balanced over the years by clinging to the notion that my recollection of what happened years ago was wrong. [click, humming gets loud again] But now, those memories are coming home to roost. 

[Clicks, electronic humming, building stops]

OTTO: [Shift] Before I began at the CPI I promised to finish this apparatus. I let it fall away, convinced that attempting it was fool’s work. Now struggling to put myself in her shoes, well. Fool me twice. 

[Humming gets louder, buzzes out completely as it shocks Otto and he lets out an “Oh!”]

[A small pained noise from Otto before he starts to put the apparatus away]

[Door opens]

OTTO: (Gasp) Noone! [Scoff, he walks away from the recorder] You’re meant to wait outside. 

NOONE: (Far away) What are you working on?-

[Audio cuts]

[Click, blank noise]

[Audio starts again]

OTTO: We’ve come to know each other better over the past weeks, haven’t we?

NOONE: Because we’re friends! That’s why. And, friends tell each other things. 

OTTO: Friends. That’s right. One of the absolutes I’ve come to realize is that, the more time you spend with someone, the harder it becomes to hide who you really are. The only exception to this rule is with the company of oneself- we willfully hide what we’d rather not face. Like, the Candleman you mentioned seeing, under hypnosis. 

NOONE: I don’t like that. 

OTTO: What?

NOONE: Hiding things from myself. 

OTTO: Nobody likes it. That’s why it’s important to reveal your inner face. “Depth analysis”, we call it. And so, I’d like you to think of this session as a dialogue with your unconscious mind- you are asking the questions, not me. 

NOONE: …Asking myself questions?

OTTO: I’ll help! But, as you go, I’d like you to try. So! This… Candleman. Did you see him again?

NOONE: I-I did. 

OTTO: And what was this meeting like?

NOONE: …He was much clearer. Not just him, everything about it. My nightmare. 

OTTO: Elaborate, please. Was it worse? More vivid?

NOONE: What’s it like- Uhm… as if I’m watching a film, that I’m also the star of. And when I woke… it was here, in the Coppy, that felt more like the dream. 

OTTO: Hm, more palpable. The Candleman-

NOONE: I can’t talk about him without the rest. …If this is an interview with myself, might I begin where I want?

OTTO: Of course! Let your imagination run. But don’t be afraid to interact with the dream. This is an important step in our process- the dialogue. Bring together the divided parts of yourself. 

NOONE: …The mirror. 

OTTO: Pardon?

NOONE: The one off your shelf. If I’m meant to speak to myself, well…

OTTO: [Pause] …Patients aren’t meant to have mirrors, but, here you are, my bright girl. 

[Otto gives her the mirror]

OTTO: Begin as you please. 

[Pause]

NOONE, Narrating: …In the dark… a hand let go of mine. 

[Slip noise, Dream!Noone gasps. Dream ambience begins.] 

NOONE: Opening my eyes, I lay on hot concrete, staring up at a sky with- no sun. And… before me was, endless grey, broken by- yellow lines of paint, all the way to the horizon!

NOONE: Standing, in that carpark, I heard a silence. So silent, my own heartbeat was a marching drum in comparison. …It was followed by… a loneliness, so lonely, I could hardly bear it. I had to turn away. 

[Dream!Noone walking on gravel]

NOONE: Behind me, I was glad to see a building! A shopping mall, so large I- I felt half my normal size. Its doors opened, [sliding gravel] and I ran to them. 

[running footsteps, transition from gravel to tile. Doors close behind Dream!Noone.]

NOONE: Inside the promenade, [lights click on] the lights flicked on, one by one, greeting me as the PA speakers came alive with music. 

[Tinny, slightly off-sounding mall music]

NOONE: It had been ages since I’d visited a shopping center. I didn’t know where to start!

OTTO: You saw no need to find an exit right away?

NOONE: I felt like I was in good hands. But many shops were closed, though. There were no doors, and… no displays in the windows. Or, there must have been a private entrance, because- I could see shadows beyond the glass. 

NOONE: …A-after passing by several shops this way, I grew disappointed, but that’s when… a cowboy’s voice came over the speaker. 

COWBOY, slightly overlapped with Noone: “Sale at Jujube’s Toys! Dolls, games, puzzles, and more! Ground floor by the fountain!”

NOONE: I could see that fountain in front of me! And on the other side, was… a bright green storefront, with bubbles floating out the entrance. 

[Dream!Noone walking over, doors hiss as they open. Different tinny music.]

NOONE: Shelves and- shelves of wonders lined the shop! The toys on the first shelf were very old, but… deeper shelves held the same toys I had back home, and deeper ones held exactly those I’d wish for, even Little Lotty Potty! But… these Lotties had black eyes, not blue. And their skin was… yellow, like autumn leaves. 

NOONE: The shop owner wasn’t present, so… I grabbed one and began playing on the carpet. 

[Dream!Noone humming Six’s Theme. Doll makes automated noises.]

NOONE: But, it didn’t take long for me to grow… bored. That was the first time I… I felt too old for dolls. 

OTTO: (distant-sounding) Maturity is natural as you approach adolescence. The brain loses interest in things once held dear. 

NOONE: The idea of growing up made me sad. And as if reacting… Lotty’s dress became wet. The doll was doing as its name said, but… [doll chattering] the liquid was- dark and thick. I put her down to find something else. But the choices were almost too many! Towering shelves extending deep in- the gloom of the impossibly long shop!

NOONE: I settled on the games section, but, most were meant for two. Suddenly, a staticky whisper said,

Voice, overlapping with NOONE: “I’ll play with you.”

NOONE: I-I thought it was the shopkeeper, but… nobody was around. My eyes fell upon a jewelry-making kit, with a red necklace on the cover. I took the box back to where I left Lotty, only… she was gone. The shelf above, where the other dolls had been, was completely empty too. I wanted to make the jewelry, I really did, but… I felt weird, so… I put it down. Then, the PA crackled, a woman’s voice this time:

Voice, ov. NOONE: “Jujube’s Toys is now closing.”

NOONE: [Lights clicking off] The lights shut off, bubbles stopped… and, the last thing I saw before exiting… [toy train noises] was the train set crashing to a stop. [quiet fake bell ringing, toy engine stops] 

[Dream!Noone walking out of the store]

NOONE: The promenade was empty, still. Each step [steps become echoey] echoed across the walls and floors, which were- pearl white, and had patterns like… veins. 

[steps and music continues]

NOONE: I came to three sets of stairs, side-by-side, leading to the next floor. I chose one, and, reaching to the top, I saw another open shop. Mademoiselle’s… (saying it wrong) bijottery. 

OTTO: (still distant) Bijouterie. But, regardless- you could read this?

NOONE: Yes. The letters were quite big. 

OTTO: …Have you been able to read in your dreams before?

NOONE: I’m not sure. That’s not a question I would ask myself, though, Otto. 

OTTO: Apologies. 

NOONE, Narrating: The glass case in the center of the room… pulled me in. Full of… gold, and silver necklaces. Hanging in the middle, was… an enchanting red pendant. And before you ask, yes, it was just like on the box at the toy store. T-The PA came on again,

Voice, ov. with NOONE: “A free gift to all little girls 10 and under!”

NOONE: Without asking, I put the necklace on, glowing, like a ruby teardrop. With my gift, I set to leave, but… someone must’ve left the speaker on because… I heard arguing. 

NOONE: (overlapping) “Don’t overdo it!” Said a first voice, followed by a second, (overlapping) “One more prize can’t hurt!”

[something being set down, wheels across tile, whoosh]

NOONE: From the back room, a rack of dresses rolled out. All, exactly my size.

[Dream!Noone looking through the dresses]

NOONE: It’d been ages since I’d been allowed to pick out my own dress. The telly people chose them for me. These ones were very pretty, with lace and, and bows and stitching but, one… it… it was the plaid dress I wore the day I arrived at the Coppy. How could my dress be here? [lowering pitch of voice, asking questions to herself] Your real life doesn’t have to mix into your dreams Noone, why now? 

OTTO, interrupting narration: (astonished) Pardon?

NOONE: (giggling) I’m asking myself questions. Well, the only explanation is that they could see inside my head.

OTTO: I’m not sure that’s logical.

NOONE: Let me finish! Please. You’ll see.

NOONE, narrating: Back out on the promenade, the shop gates began to slam shut. [Gates slamming] I was worried the mall was closing, but on the floor above, a set of spinning bright lights came on [Lights turn on]. The music stopped and, the PA crackled with a sing-songy voice, 

Voice, ov. with NOONE: [music] “Showtime’s patrons! Our daily motion picture will begin shortly. Hot popcorn’s popping and the seats await in the playhouse!” 

NOONE: [Lights shutting off] The rest of the mall went dark, making the lights more enticing to follow. 

[Dream!Noone walks across the mall]

NOONE: The lobby was- red from floor to ceiling. Buckets of popcorn overflowed on the concession stand. I grabbed one, and hurried to push open the huge golden doors leading into the theater.  

[Running steps, doors creak. Slightly off organ music plays.] 

NOONE: The velvet seats went for rows and rows, full of people. A spotlight hit the stage, illuminating an organ, but… there was no organ player. Only tall curtains swaying in some breeze. I tiptoed down the aisle, and sat centered with the screen. The chair seemed to hug me, and the room fell dark [crunching] as the first buttery bit hit my tongue. 

[Music stops playing, sounds of projector booting up]

NOONE: Without adverts or introduction, the film began. Images of… trees on fire and… white hooves galloping. I recognized the picture instantly because I’ve seen it a hundred times. “The Healing Horn”. [Movie plays] Only the scenes were out of order, and the unicorn… her horn was misshapen, like… a rotten tree branch. The evil prince’s face, too, was… was wrong. 

NOONE: Feeling out of place I – I looked around. The audience, I… I realized, was not people but… mannequins. 

NOONE: All of a sudden, a familiar scent entered the dream. Ocean. I was no longer alone. The dusty projector light made it difficult to suss, but a few seats over… was the Candleman. His eyes and mouth were… deep black pits inside a mess like a wet gunny sack, sagging down the floor. Without turning, he spoke. 

[Growing noise stops]

OTTO, interrupting abruptly: He – what?! [Shifting] What did he say? 

NOONE: [Sighing] It was like a – a voice underwater. The words could hardly escape the folds of skin. He repeated them to me. 

NOONE as the FERRYMAN, glitching: “The faraway drifts near. Tread long, then sink deep. Two flows from one, and here, is whole again.”

OTTO: And then? [shifting in the chair] What else? 

NOONE, as the FERRYMAN: “Here. Here. Here.”

NOONE: He just repeated over and over.

OTTO: There must be more! Try, try! Interact with the dream!

NOONE: There was no more!

OTTO: (raising his voice) Ask who he is, ask what he wants!

NOONE: (raising her voice) It doesn’t work that way!

OTTO: You were right there! Don’t tell me you did nothing?! Not a damn thing!

NOONE: Stop!

OTTO: [farther away] I’m beginning to doubt you’ve seen this Candleman! [Noone struggling] Perhaps you’ve invented the whole story! 

NOONE: Please, stop- my head!

[Otto hisses (gets hit?), sounds of something being knocked over, Noone runs out of the room.] 

[Otto huffs and stops the tape]

[Click. Blank noise. Another click]

[Various shifting noises. Silence. Door opens and someone walks, then closes it]

OTTO: [far away, stern] What are you doing? With the mirror. [Steps] You’re up to something, but we’ll let it slide. I know girls like you. 

[Shifting]

OTTO: You’re upset with me, aren’t you? [plastic clacking] Here. A pill for your headache. (Sigh) Earlier, that was… awfully…[Otto sits] that- that was not how friends act. Sleep has evaded me too. I’ve grown worried, trying to… please, forgive me. I’d very much like to hear the rest. I won’t interrupt, you have my word. 

[Silence.]

NOONE: … Fine. 

OTTO: So… you were in this theater with him. 

NOONE, narrating: … All kinds of pictured* flashed on the screen, and then he was gone, leaving me alone again. Or so I thought. The projector flickered in the booth. I dashed up, and found the door ajar. A new voice came over the PA, angry. “No patrons in the projection room!” The door was stuck, but I pushed and pushed. The PA boomed, 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “You must not enter!”

[Crashing, door opens]

NOONE: The projector I saw first was shaped like… a deformed eye. Then, my attention fell to… the mass on the floor. [Slimy sound] A brain? A heart? …No. It’s muscles pumped and pumped, and its tubes ran into the walls. The voice came, both from inside the room and over the PA: 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “Happy day, No One.”

NOONE: It… it knew my real nickname. The ones kids at school scribbled all over my books. How? Because it was in my head. …I asked, “You’re the one who’s been talking? All those voices?”. Then, I saw countless film cans around the room, and understood. It was so alone, it took to imitating. Then it said, 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “Are you going to leave? Like all the others?”

NOONE: I managed a… “Yes”. The thing began pulsing and, upset, it sort of cried out. 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “So many, they take what they want and go, or get snatched away or worse!” 

NOONE: It paused, then went on, 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “Whatever you desire, it’s yours.”

NOONE: … But I didn’t want anything from it. The PA belted, 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “The pendant! You wanted that!”

NOONE: The pulsing worsened until another voice came within the first,

VOICE 2, ov. with NOONE: “You’ve driven another away!” [Not overlapping, repeating: “You’ve driven another away!]

NOONE: I felt bad for it. Or them… this place had been warped by pain, and wanted so badly to keep me. Even the walls began throbbing. What could I do?!

[Noise intensifies, Dream!Noone breathes heavily] 

NOONE: I – I ran. Down the stairs, out of the theater. 

[Dream!Noone runs away]

NOONE: On the promenade, the lights were flashing so as to be dizzying. The PA screeched, 

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “Everyone needs someone! Don’t leave me alone!”

NOONE: The walls began to cry that dark thick liquid, pooling around me, I looked up. From the floor above, the Candleman stared, pointing at my chest. At the pendant. I flung it down into the liquid, then he reached a hand toward me and – 

[All noise stops]

NOONE: And all faded, as the PA sobbed,

VOICE, ov. with NOONE: “Don’t take her! Not this one, too…” 

[Narration stops. Silence. Shifting]

OTTO: T-There was um… uh, e-excuse me, a curious phrase. “Warped by pain”. Is that how you feel, sometimes? 

[Silence]

OTTO: Noone? Are you still angry with me? Or… distracted by the mirror? 

NOONE: Behind my ear…  there’s… a sore. 

OTTO: Is that why you wanted the mirror all along?

NOONE: [Hum] It’s like the ones I used to get. I need to see it. 

[Shifting]

OTTO: Nothing’s there. It’s red because you’ve been picking at it. 

NOONE: …I have one more question for myself. Why do I have these dreams? Water sickness, that’s my answer. 

OTTO: Noone. It’s wiped out of your system. There have been no known reinfections. It’s in your mind. 

NOONE: (with increasing distress) What if the cure is the cause? I never had nightmares or headaches before all of this, before going on telly, before – before this! –

OTTO, interrupting: (whispering) No, no, come, come, come, come here, my girl. [Shifting, Otto hugs Noone] You’re not sick. You’re perfectly fine. You’re a perfectly wonderful little girl. This time I will protect you. 

[The mirror falls on the ground and breaks]

NOONE: I’m sorry! I’m sorry, uh, you were squeezing so tight and… it slipped. 

[The mirror shards are picked up. Otto throws them away] 

OTTO: You asked why you dream. The truth? Nobody knows. My studies always assumed they were more than the brain’s way of filtering unconscious thoughts. But I had no answer either. An old professor of mine thought he did. He believed dreams come from an ever shifting plane, a quiddity of consciousness. 

NOONE: Quidd-i-ty…

OTTO: Quiddity. The essence of a thing. In this case, a semiatangible plane outside the mind. 

NOONE: Is it the same as mutual dreams? I don’t understand.

OTTO: My colleagues didn’t either. I’ve flip-flopped over the years, but I figured it was impossible to prove.

NOONE: Will I ever get rid of them, then? Will I ever leave the Coppy?

OTTO: You must understand, you are a unique case. I want to let you go, as soon as – 

NOONE, interrupting: I’m better?

OTTO: (sighing) Yes. As soon as you’re better. [Otto stands, picks something up] Now – 

NOONE: I know, I know. (Lower pitch, mimicking Otto) “Sweets for my sweet”. …Do I have to go back to my room?

[Sounds of plates] 

OTTO: I’ve- got to tidy, [wrappers] and, you reminded me there’s something I need to find. On you go. I’ll come by later. 

[Shift, audio cuts]

[Audio starts]

[Otto looks through papers, and sighs] 

OTTO: Ah, I found it. The paper that stained my professor’s career. Kept it all these years, hoping and dreading there was truth in these words… 

OTTO, reading: “We know now that there is no center to the universe. Previously we thought it was the Sun, before that we thought it was the Earth. Our species always insists that ours is the quintessence of experience. Yet scientific observation proves our folly ad nauseum. If geocentrism took centuries to disprove, the question is not if but when the same will happen to reality itself. That which we are equipped to perceive may not be the only world. Let alone the predominant one.” 

[Click]

[Outro plays]

------------

*This is what she actually says. I have no idea why.

[hiddendepths-aublog]

To all: What is your name? What is your quest? What is the velocity of an unladen swallow?

MARKER! THE TRANSMITTER FOR YOUR STUPID HATCHYFIELD THINGY IS SPITTING BULLSHIT AGAIN!

Myke, when did I give you permission to use the Hidden Depths blog?

I CAN BE ANYWHERE! I’M YOUR FAVOURITE, AREN’T I?

You’re not going to be my favourite soon.

AND THAT STLL WON’T STOP ME FROM MESSING WITH YOU! AH, THE BEAUTY OF NATURE. I MEAN, C’MON, IT’S NOT MY FAULT THE NEW LORDS’ DUMBASS FANS ARE INSERTING NICHE REFERENCES THEY STUPIDLY EXPECT EITHER OF US TO GET!

“Dumbass” fans?

…Do you want Oneiric Observation to be cancelled? Because I can have that arranged-

OKAY, OKAY, FINE! WAY TO SHOOT THE MESSENGER. CHRIST, LADY.

(yeah in other words i. i’m not sure how to respond to this)

[lailoken]

Hey there!

I was wondering, what exactly is a Housel and can it translate over to a Deipnon (as in for Hekate) or Esbat working? Do forgive me for asking and best to you always!

Hello!

Historically speaking, the word "Housel" is technically an archaic synonym for "eucharist." However, it has taken on linguistic connotations with the idea of a "Witch's Eucharist" amongst certain occultists. I will only really attempt to speak about what it means within the context of my own tradition, though.

In the Wending Way, a Housel is an act of spiritual communion that takes the form of a ritual feast offered to one or more numinous entities. Any given Housel is composed of three feasting elements, which symbolically represent a sacrificial slaying. They include the Housel Flesh (a baked good—generally a loaf of bread—representing the sacrificed flesh), the Housel Blood (a propitiatory libation—generally Wine—representing the spilled blood of the sacrifice), and the Housel Spirit (pure honey, which represents the freed soul of the sacrifice.)  During special occasions, a "Housel Pit" is dug outdoors and utilized as a Mouth of Offering, wherein feasting propitiations are interred after the practitioner has partaken of those offerings themselves. A Housel is generally undertaken when trying to beseech an entity or entities.

During the Cardinal Sabbaths that we observe throughout the year, specialized Housels are performed as part of larger seasonal worship, which bind one to the land, the ancestors, and the spirits. These involve traditional and oneiric rites, and probably have the most in common with the Esbats you mention.

During the Full of the Moon and the Dark of the Moon, specialized Housels are also undertaken, which serve as ritual renewal of Oathbound compacts between the seeker and their Initiators. In particular, the Witch-Father is propitiated during the Full Moon, and the Witch-Mother is propitiated during the Dark Moon. During Lunar Eclipses, a third Deity who makes up a Trinity with these two is wroshipped—sometimes called the Angel, the Dragon, or the Androgyne. These specialized forms of Lunar Housel are called Dapum (Dapis singular), and they have the most in common with the Deipnon you reference. In fact, they share etymological roots, and the Dark Moon Dapis I observe shares a lot of things with the Deipnon.

[artsycervidae]

Moksha: Chapter 6

Gyutaro confronts Daki, and then the Slayers.

Word Count: 5.6k

Refer to the trigger warning list before proceeding.

Gyutaro did not dream. He hadn't for as long as he could remember, but he also hadn't bothered sifting through rusted-over memories seeking something as useless to him as 'dreams.' Daki didn't sleep at all, and she'd been annoyed with his reply to what the whole thing was like. It wasn't an absence of time or lucidity: it was like going somewhere very quiet, or turning to a corner rather than acknowledging the rest of the room. He only called it sleeping because, like sleeping, it was difficult to pull him out of that mindset save for some loud noise, like the squawking of an old hen or Daki's own shrill crying. Thankfully, she allowed him to rise to consciousness on his own most of the time. He would occasionally surface and watch the world through his little sister's eyes before slipping away into that liminal coma again.

The night passed that way: an oneiric cacophony of music, throats, heartbeats, and drink. A blurred painting of eyes and mouths, focus sharpening just enough for him to get his bearings before he decided whether to sink or stay. The jewel of the tea house scanned over the simmering heads of guests and girls alike, counting the chattle; unbeknownst to her, Gyutaro awoke for certain this time. Seemed she had just finished a lavish walk in the streets, and he wasn't sorry to miss it. It had its novelty once-- who wouldn't enjoy marching through town, turning heads, earning admiration and awe? But those looks were for his sister, so the ego boost was short-lived. He couldn't help but be jealous, which always rained on his sister's parade. He was as happy for her as an envious sibling could be.

Suddenly Daki's gaze fell on the glowing admiration of one girl floating in and out of elbows alongside his sister. She had been painted and accessorized to prop up Daki's otherworldly beauty, but this close up even Gyutaro could see she was very pretty herself. Her dark chestnut hair, once veiling her throat, was pulled back into tidy clips and pins. Soft, plump cheeks had been unnaturally rouged, but with a little concentration he could still hear the blood singing in her capillaries. The lashes of her eyes were long enough to brush her cheeks when she smiled, and she had only smiles for his sister.

It didn't take a genius to know she was also sloshed out of her fucking gourd. Her dark, wet eyes couldn't focus on one thing at a time and she relied on the sway of other bodies to keep her balance. Daki didn't seem to mind this one bit-- she kept extending an arm out, tugging Kazuko back into her reach when the human trailed too far.

'Great,' he thought sarcastically, 'she has another pet.'

These girls never lasted too long. Daki only liked holding onto them for when a bad day arose, during which her temper would reach its breaking point and she would stress-eat her 'beloved' compatriot. What Gyutaro worried more about were the implications: decades of living under her skin had given him ample time to parse the language of a jilted sibling. 'I don't need you, I have a new friend. Nevermind that everybody loves me,' is what her petty friendships translated as. He would just have to wait for the bloodshed. Once she began crying hysterically over a broken toy, it would be his turn to comfort her and say 'I told you so.'

He had a sense of outgrowing these insecurities. Sure, he was envious of his sister's beauty and the dazzled expressions she received without trying, but he could let that go; his role as her protector came before anything else. All that mattered, in the end, was that his sister was safe and happy. Only, the girl's presence made it clear Daki wasn't happy, and seemed to believe she could protect herself nowadays. (Yes, he was still nursing the Hashira grudge.)

Rather than announce his presence, Gyutaro observed his sister as she crooked a finger that way, flicked a wrist over there, and people moved to obey her unspoken commands. When she wanted to be effective, she could be. He wished she would apply herself like this all the time. But her pride was so delicate, her tantrums brutal. The more she acted out, the less inconspicuous she made herself. She always underestimated humans and their craftiness.

Girls frayed away from the group as they filed back into the house. Some wobbled on aching feet, others pushed through the pain to appease Daki's wishes. One of the few who remained behind was Daki's new friend. A tiny cup had found its way into her curled fingers somehow and she discreetly kissed her fist with a swift motion. Belatedly sensing the attention, she locked eyes with Daki. She offered a sly grin, as if the oiran would stand for open thievery, and winked clumsily. What audacity! He couldn't wait to see--

Daki giggled. Giggled. A warm flutter of sincere flattery settled over her chest and the alien sensation clashed with Gyutaro's immediate revulsion. It felt wrong that his sister should be so comfortable, so domestic over a stranger. This human had illicited her approval without even the vaguest reason.

What the hell.

A sudden shock of cold shuddered down Daki's spine-- despite the churning nausea in her stomach, she strode through the crowd without breaking a sweat. The pet human trailed behind until Daki turned around and said, "I want to lie down now. Come see me later--"

What's that? Gyutaro snarled. For what?

Go back to sleep, she tried to placate him by forming the words in her head. I can explain.

Good. You will. And her stomach twisted sharply as her skin flash-burned over her scapula, Gyutaro pushing hard on the veneer of her skin from the inside. Daki hurried at his unspoken threat, waving her friend off and abandoning the room entirely. Everyone swerved from her path as Daki ignored all attempts to obstruct her, patrons murmuring at the oiran's immediate departure.

Courtesans rushed to fill the space Daki left behind, taking up instruments and conversations. The festive noises faltered then swelled at the beheast of a silently horrified employer, leaned down to catch another woman's hurried whispers. In Daki's haste to scurry upstairs and find privacy, Gyutaro was the only one to catch the words an unpainted woman said: "-- Sayako is missing. What if..."

"It's all cleaned up?" The chaperone whispered viciously, "Good. We'll deal with..."

Gyutaro peeled himself out of her flesh the very second the bedroom door closed, snarling and thrashing against the obstructive layers of silk. His sister fell under the weight of his torso, so he only needed to step out of her body to leer over her. "Who was that?" he demanded.

Daki didn't answer at first, twitching in annoyance and glowering up at him. She had managed to save her clothes from his arrival and huffily tightened them back into place, but her lower lip still stuck out.

"This isn't a game!" He snapped impatiently. "What was that wink for?" And then he smelled it. His head whipped around to the window-- left open -- and he sniffed hard.

Someone had been not just killed, but slaughtered, to the point that he could catch the metallic remnants of it from inside. It couldn't have been further than next door. He wanted to shout. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders so hard that her head whipped. Instead, he dragged his nails down his face. "What did you do?!" he hissed, from now on careful to keep his voice low.

"It's not a big deal. Nobody will miss her." Her self-satisfied smirk made him lose his cool-- but not his volume.

"Daki, they've already noticed! Can't you hear them? How stupid could you get?! What were you thinking?"

Daki flinched but her hesitancy was short-lived. "You didn't bring me anything to eat!" Her whining grated on him, but not nearly as much as the realization that he had forgotten to feed his younger sister. "There weren't any eyewitnesses! I didn't leave any real evidence behind. Nobody thought I was acting out of the ordinary at all and I had it under control, until you butted in."

She was squirming on hot coals, he knew, but he pressed the issue harder. "Daki," trying to keep his patience, trying to simplify it in his head so that even a dummy like her could get it, "You're supposed to avoid any detection. None of this is supposed to happen anywhere around you. If you put yourself in trouble like last time," (her nostrils flared open at this, and her eyebrows furrowed her eyes back into her skull) "then it's easier for people to notice. And you definitely attracted someone's attention." He wouldn't let her forget that. Even if the girl was wrapped around Daki's finger now, there was no guarantee she wouldn't be a problem later.

"Last time was just because there was a Hashira here," she argued, changing the subject. "You didn't see her coming either. I can handle myself otherwise."

"It's not your job to handle that stuff! Next time you need to eat, you wake me up. It's my job to take care of you. Your job is easy: stay safe and don't arouse suspicion!"

An aggravated snort interrupted him.

"What?" he growled.

"Nothing," she swiped airily, folding her arms and looking away from him. "It's just that, from my point of view, it looks an awful lot like I'm the one taking care of us. I mean, I'm working for us, I'm providing a shelter, and I'm the only one keeping tabs on things around here." She pat herself on her chest in self-congratulations.

The more she spoke, the more livid Gyutaro became. The little brat thought she was carrying his weight, just by flouncing around among the humans and playing pretend. As though it pained her to do the bare minimum expected of her. Before he could mold his anger into coherence, a cloud of humans drew close in the hallway: both demons turned to stone. Quiet voices passed the room, nearly every one stopping their whispers as they passed as though holding their breaths. A single person halted outside Daki's door. No knock. No abrupt entrance. He tightened his grip on a scythe, other hand empty in case he needed to clap screams back into their mouth.

"Tsubakihime," the granny's weary voice called out. Gyutaro's eyes tunneled into Daki's face as she raised her hand, gesturing for silence. He didn't know why he allowed it. Against his better judgment, he let Daki have her way. "Sayako has gone missing," the voice croaked, "and there's... well... we are closing for the night. Please stay in your room," and after a pause, "I want to talk about... recent events, when possible. Not tonight... get your rest."

'What the hell happened while I was sleeping?' Gyutaro knew that the longer the speaker lived, the longer she had opportunity to talk. Not to mention the sheer exasperation that a human would dare to boss his sister around tended to annoy him regardless. They should kill her now, as she turned delicately and sadly away. But Daki's hand remained raised. It wasn't until the woman was downstairs that Gyutaro scoffed, "Nothing out of the ordinary, huh? Sounds like you've been making quite a mess." He dug anxious nails into his own palm. "Girls go running off all the time, but they don't leave blood puddles behind, do they?"

Daki didn't meet his eyes or say anything.

"Why were you so messy?" He asked, rhetorically. They both knew she knew better.

Still pouting. Ironically enough, her wallowing convinced him that the unwelcome news worked in his favor. She needed to learn a lesson: things go poorly when she doesn't listen to her older brother. The strategy was to keep at least one of them away from danger, untouchable and therefore unkillable. Daki was supposed to be an oiran, not a problem child. Someone beautiful and powerful, someone that the humans wouldn't dare accuse of having anything to do with the vanishing drunks and transients. If she wanted to squander it all then he would let her. And once he fixed the situation for them again, then maybe she would finally listen. He moved for the window.

"Older brother!" He knew she would scamper after him, stumbling on her knees and pushing herself onto her feet, "where are you going?"

"Hunting. You deal with the humans. Kill them or something, so they don't talk to anyone."

"Kill them?!"

"Oh, suddenly that's not an option?" He mocked her gape with exaggerated sarcasm. "Do whatever. I don't care anymore."

His dramatic exit was hindered again when she grabbed his arm. He looked back at her furious mouth, puckered brow, and terrified eyes. Her cheek muffled the crunching of a too-clenched molar.

And, despite his frustration, he took pity on her. It couldn't be easy being such a silly girl with limited scope. She was doing her best and it wasn't her fault that it amounted to floundering and failing. Especially not when she was right, in a way-- he had given her a lot of responsibility in this double life. She wasn't used to the thankless parts of siblinghood, even after all these years.

He placed his hands on either side of her face and helped push her healing along, repairing the fracture down her jawbone. "Okay, alright," he relented, "I'll take care of it all when I get back." Her eyelashes fluttered in surprise, he snickered but caught himself by forcing a frown.

"Listen. No more spontaneous murders. Now that the humans notice someone is 'gone,' there's going to be more of them." Normally, he would be in favor of simply wiping them all out and starting the slate clean, but thanks to the ever-broadening world beyond the district, it wasn't as easy to do things in a vacuum anymore. "They can't think any of this has anything to do with you. Which means we'll have to be careful from now on. Leave the killing to me. I'll lead them away from Yoshiwara."

Daki's mouth opened as if to say something, but considered otherwise and nodded. "Okay... you'll be back before the sun rises, right?"

"Yeah. But don't leave the window open," he directed, recalling the discomfort humans felt when death was near. "Don't leave any lights on either. Practice your Blood Art."

The flicker of hopelessness in her eyes made him want to crumble into frustration all over again. "You won't learn how to use it if you don't try," he scolded. And he didn't exactly have time to try and guide her through it, not if he wanted to get her more to eat. "I'll show you some things when I'm back."

This seemed to appease her. She nodded and backed from the window, plopping herself onto the ground with the kimonos pooling around her. "Hurry back," she said.

Gyutaro grunted in acknowledgement before slipping out of the window, effortlessly swinging onto the roof and into the night.

As he fled the dark corridor-maze of the district, Gyutaro ignored a couple targets. An unattended child. A passed-out drunkard. Ideally, he wanted to find someone outside the district boundaries. If the bodies led a trail away, then the humans would follow suit. As for the nosy women Daki worked with... Gyutaro had no real idea how they would get that under wraps, but that was nothing new. Much of their life had been decided on the fly, rolling with the punches before looking their opponent in the eye and delivering the damage back. If push came to shove, he was still keeping the 'murder all humans' plan in his back pocket. Frankly though, it sounded an awful lot like losing-- flipping the board and fleeing with Daki somewhere else. Why should they have to abandon their home, just because humans felt scared over the inevitable? Their demonic creator would probably look down on it as well.

Gyutaro scanned the entertainment district's skyline from afar. The more distance he gained from the place, the smaller everything felt. That was complacency-- the same laziness that Daki exhibited earlier. What humans lacked in strength and size, they made up for in their sheer number and inability to lie down and accept their fates. He could kill the lady of the tea house, but some family member would turn up, or government figure, or wealthy friend. Where one human was slain, at least three others were there to cause a scene. And Daki would be at risk.

He couldn't let that happen, no matter what. Their survival was above all else, and he couldn't die so long as she was unharmed... she couldn't be found again, like last week.

He hadn't been awake for the whole confrontation, but he would never forget it. That Hashira had somehow caught Daki outside, and so far from their home, their impenetrable refuge and reputation. Gyutaro jolted into a fight he hadn't foreseen when Daki's mind screamed out-- she was holding her own, though in the midst of chaos and violence. He'd seen her nails lacerate the other woman's face open, he'd cheered her on from inside, genuinely impressed at how his sister moved on such precarious, lacquered sandals. But the sword had been faster, and both siblings had been startled when her vision dropped past her hips at a backwards incline.

I don't want to die, was what she had thought (and to him, spoken) in a hazy panic, a primal fear that didn't make sense for a demon to have. Then she cried like a little girl cowering. Gyutaro, help me, help me, I don't want to die!

And he had burst out of her, slamming into the offender like a tsunami wave of teeth and blades and fingers and blood. The Hashira hardly had time to even realize she had lost. Gyutaro had never asked why Daki left the safety of her private quarters to begin with. He never thought he needed to... she was a good little sister, and could she have helped it, she wouldn't let someone get the upper hand on her. She was just bafflingly air-headed and much too trusting. That was who she was.

Gyutaro blinked back to reality when he realized the warmth on his chest was his own blood. He stopped gnawing his lips to shreds, allowed them to fill with skin and blood, then watched the clumps of skin evaporate from under his nails. That wouldn't happen again: he would be better this time and no Demon Slayer would get close to her.

He had to focus. He turned back to the wilderness, stalking the paths that perimetered the town. It wasn't an ideal hunting time-- the night was easing away, and most humans who wanted to join the festivities had already made it well within the safety of society. The trails were bare, save for critters and bugs. However, his luck hadn't run out just yet: two human heartbeats and the drumming of hooves called out to him in the dark, and he pursued it.

It belonged to a couple-- a young child with pulled-back hair at the reins and a blank-faced woman riding side-saddle behind him, a parasol (perhaps? It was obscured in her lap,) clutched in her hands. Just the two of them hurrying to the entertainment district. Perhaps another potential employee and her escort.

'I can kill the humans and send the horse in the opposite direction,' he decided. A grotesque murderer escaping the district, laywaying visitors then taking their transportation, and vanishing into some unknown fate: that seemed a simple enough story for humans to determine.

Hinata felt Tetsuya's fear-- a turbulent crash against their skull with no goose egg or fragment to blame. They didn't ask, but over time his back and shoulders slowly tensed into a solid wall of mass. The boy didn't even look around. He rode on, knuckles white on the reins, but Hinata vaguely remembered the bite of leather cutting into their own fingers once, could feel their own fear tugged at like a tangled fish line trudging up all sorts of ancient, vile, emotional debris. Not just a pinprick prank or a skipped heartbeat to be laughed off.

It took all their power not to grab the rider by his shoulders and demand to know what was happening. What did he see, hear, and smell? Where was the danger that Hinata, practically a stamped paper away from Hashira status, couldn't sense?!

Although this red herring plan made perfect sense to Gyutaro in his head, he hesitated. Despite the circumstances, something felt wrong, hasty. But no matter how he looked, listened, or smelled, there wasn't another living soul around. Time was also a variable: operating on the idea the sun was coming, this was his most convenient scapegoat. He had to move fast lest they slip past his clutches. And so he whistled through the trees like the wind, prepared to make it quick.

And then Hinata felt it too: like the creeping of a stray shadow, the huff of breath on the back of their neck, the delicious slice of death cutting through the air.

Gyutaro was moving too fast to be sure, but he swore that the woman's chin lifted. For a stationary second, his chest hammered; when their eyes met, he suddenly wanted to curl in on himself and cover his organs and body. The sensation of vulnerability was so jarring and unfamiliar that he felt himself twist his momentum before he had time to consider what it was-- what made him alter course.

He saw a flash of red and magenta. He saw a quicksilver flash of fabric. He saw a swelling cloudy form-- the horse jumping away, screaming, and delivering a swift, overdue kick at his presence.

The demon had gotten closer than Hinata expected-- if it weren't for Tetsuya's spacial awareness (noted and filed for later, if they lived), they could have been a microsecond too late. They sliced the demon down, but he moved midair, jerking out of the opening thread right on time, suffering dismemberment but not beheadment. Impressive! Graceful! Tetsuya gasped amd struggled for the reins, scared of falling off.

"Woah," a rumbling voice said appreciatively as Gyutaro plummeted behind thundering hooves. "He's fast." He spiraled, his arms swinging out to anchor his landing before he went crashing. He fell anyway as his left arm slipped away from his body, sliced cleanly at the bicep. The same went for his left leg, and so he had somersalted sharply to gain any distance. They regrew in a violent thrash of muscle easily and he snarled, facing the humans.

The passenger (could a girl have struck him that viciously?) must have dropped off the horse, but did so without tumbling or breaking anything. They simply appeared to have been standing at the ready the whole time. Their definitely-not-a-parasol hung at their hip now as their unsheathed blade raised before them, lazily spearing the air from their right hand. The matte black shadow of the blade became a reflective streak of scarlet and pink in the moonlight, the colors so indistinct that he nearly mistook the intermittent splashes for his blood though it wasn't effusing.

In the wake of the horse's gallop, Hinata was struck with dirt, pebbles-- and glass? They briefly glanced at the abrasion across the back of their fleshed hand. Whatever it had been was gone but Hinata was struck by the roaring of blood in their ears and an intrusive nausea, the caving of their organs that signified decayed cells and an impossible internal flora. 'That worked wonderfully!' Hinata wondered what was caustic enough to injure them: Nails? Skin? Blood? Teeth?

Hinata didn't get a single opportunity to process or appraise how the biological sample had been obtained: the demon had regenerated those limbs in a blink and careened at them.

He bore down on them, intending to separate both arms from their shoulders, but they seemed to read this movement. His strikes swept air or parried off their sword, and there was a following phantom strike that rang off his scythe, slicing too low and carving a gash across his chest.

Gyutaro sensed it again-- the feeling of being followed and watched-- recognizing it briefly and managing to cleanly escape this time by pulling his head out of reach. He knew what to listen for now: the way a Demon Corps soldier drew air into their lungs and diaphragm, a soldier steeling their nerves for a killing strike. Gyutaro fumed. He should have trusted his gut. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to be too angry: not when he was distracted by his inaccuracy-- he hadn't landed a single blow yet. It had been years since he'd faced a fair fight, and for it to last this long already made him feel more out of practice.

'Not just that,' his mind itched. Something about the way this human moved was pestering Gyutaro. He couldn't put his finger on it.

The human flickered again-- instantly they were in arm's reach, which stupefied him, though he was nothing if not deadlier up close. His kama caught the sword, blocking, trying to latch and twist it away, but its wielder easily slid away from his counters as though made of stray spider silk. He fought for breathing space, wildly dicing the air as the swordsman danced away. Gyutaro raised his weapons, the human mirrored him-- the demon froze, and so too did they.

The horse had continued on, more than happy to escape, but its rider forced the animal to halt and turn. "Yasumoto!" The young man squeaked indignantly, voice higher with agitation than worry. He looked back with horror and uncertainty regardless.

Yasumoto hadn't stopped watching Gyutaro, their silvery eyes glowing in anticipation. "Go on ahead," it was their voice that lurched like a gulch, but one unexpectedly sonarous and sultry. Gyutaro gave up on figuring them out: man or woman, they wielded a nichirin blade. He had to determine if the other was armed too, but it was a wasted double take. The moment Gyutaro's vision slid away from them, Yasumoto twitched from his peripheral view, reacting to the blind spot. 'Not reacting. They move the exact moment I do.'

In the instant that Gyutaro swatted Yasumoto away in a flurry of attacks, the mounted Slayer had turned his screaming steed towards civilization and abandoned them. Towards Daki.

He emitted a guttural shout and made to break away and chase the horse; as predicted, the monochromatic Slayer sprinted the same second the demon did. He swung hard-- 'Good grief!' Hinata noticed the demon dislocating his shoulder briefly to put more viciousness into it-- and released his Blood Demon Art right before spinning on his heel. The liquid crescents seared through the air, trailing the rider, as Gyutaro prepared to pounce an intervening Yasumoto. Certainly, they would engage with a feint attack to defend their partner's turned back.

He didn't expect Yasumoto to charge him; they ignored the bait completely. Startled, Gyutaro stopped their sword with his hand-- and they withdrew as swiftly, ribboning his fingers, narrowly avoiding his counter-stab, a wave of frustration rippling from the demon's clenched hand, through the sword, and directly into Hinata's mind-- and then the demon kicked hard. That one landed, but not as solidly as he would have liked. He wanted to feel his foot sink into their muscles and bones, to send the feeble sack of meat flying into the treeline, but it merely clipped them, their body twisting with the motion and spinning out of his reach. "Ouf," they exhaled as if banging their toe on a table, rather than narrowly escaping shattered ribs.

'So adaptable! He's so strong!' Hinata had to redirect most of the demon's attacks, and even struggled with that. They didn't want to be too rough with their new specimen-- oh, what hubris. What arrogance. The more he moved, the more Hinata got a feel for their opponent, and the more they realized they had been lucky to get close enough to touch the demon. He tried to assault the fleeing Tetsuya (blood! His blood had pierced Hinata's skin!), but Hinata had no question of the boy's abilities now.

Nobutoshi was clever like that-- the best thing to do with a human tracker was to ensure their ability to survive. True to form, Tetsuya had gripped his own sword, as if ready to join the fight but changing his mind. He swung the blade, his craft swept up fog and dirt between himself and the fight. 'Good job!' Hinata beamed and the pride surged through their veins and arteries, invigorating their excitement at being left to observe someone new.

There was no death rattle to Gyutaro's ears. Only the sound of steel clashing and the retreating gallop. A chill of worry wracked him at the thought of Daki facing someone alone, no matter how incredibly she had operated last time. But there were zero chances that either stranger could know about her. The only demon here was standing in the middle of the path, and only two eyewitnesses. A manageable situation... he just needed to keep a steady head.

For a second, Hinata drank in the demon's features. Tall. Scrawny-- bone-bare, but muscles rippling with superhuman springiness. Blobs of dark (Ink? Shadows? Birthmarks of a past life?) shadowed a portion of his face. Those cuts on his hand were already healed too. He was on another level... he was a one-of-a-kind powerhouse with an Art like that, and Hinata's heart couldn't help swelling with approval. They were on cloud nine: their head felt light, like attached to a string and floating far up above the treetops, all the while puppeting their body from a distance.

"That wasn't a very good idea," Gyutaro called out, convincing himself at the same time that it couldn't hurt to taunt his eventual prey. A sharp-toothed grin cracked his lips and he slouched forward. "Are you sure you can take me on yourself? Seems you're jumping into unknown waters and I bet you can't keep up that pace. This makes it easier for me to pick you off one at a time."

Hinata rolled their shoulder and stretched their ribs. Their body hummed with expectation to chase, to be chased, but they had to contain this high... if they kept making mistakes, they wouldn't get off so easily next time. "I'm fine to continue," they said with a sharp inhale and a shift to Recovery Breathing. After assessing the beautiful bruise-to-be, they decided to let it be. "I suspect he would rather not have my company right now anyway. He has enough on his mind, given the stress of our profession."

They were looking him directly in the eye but their bravery was a bluff. Gyutaro could see their clothing shifting, their body quaking with fear. Despite that, their red-swirled weapon hovered, so balanced it was nearly suspended... they took a step closer, eyes scanning him up and down while glowing with some elysian hunger. "In fact... I think you're precisely the one I've been looking for." Gyutaro couldn't tell if they were fucking with him-- there was no way they could see his pupils from there.

He didn't allow himself to prophesize the worst case scenario. As comfort, he opted to imagine how their bones would feel sliding between his teeth, if either of them meant to target his sister. "Seriously? What a joke... I don't know who you are, but you're going to regret facing me alone. Talk about stress," the demon rasped, clawing at his throat, (so much blood, so much self-imposed injury-- Hinata wondered if he overworked his healing this often. Why? Did he need to cut and break himself because of his Blood Demon Art?)

"No, I'm rather happy with the situation: of having you to myself." They smiled, slightly parted lips revealing impish teeth, nowhere as malicious as his, but sharpened with intent all the same. The gesture met those eclipse-like eyes that peered right through him, into his brain and rotting soul. "We haven't met before, but sincerely, it's quite a reward to make your acquaintance." Gyutaro's skin became electric with suspense, and he exacerbated the rips at his throat to alleviate the current. Yasumoto tilted their head his way, "I want to get to know you, if you don't mind."

Despite the strangeness of this proposal, he found himself snickering in a series of broken hisses. "Is that right? Are you so unpopular that you resort to chatting up demons? I bet your friend isn't going to like that." But Gyutaro could use that information. He'd killed lonely swordsmen before, and their strength rarely made up for their solitude... more often than not, the isolation wasn't nearly as comforting as they made it sound.

"I've never been popular with my peers," the human replied, as though they shared this in common, "but it's also not a requirement that I be likable."

"Well, isn't that sad for you. You must be a lonely guy." Patronizing and pitying them didn't get the rise Gyutaro wanted out of them.

"That's not true." They adjusted their hold on the sword, their mysteriously swaddled left hand stabilizing for their dominant right. "I have company right here. What more could I want?"

[zofi-persson-quotes]

Nightmare

The user can create, shape, enter and manipulate the nightmares of oneself and others, including modifying, suppressing, fabricating, influencing, manifesting, sensing, observing nightmares and turning dreams into nightmares.

In some cases, the user's power extends to the real world, such as wounds inflicted on a sleeping victim and even pulling someone from the waking world into the dream world.

Astral sub-element

Limitations:

Oneiric Immunity

If the target does not have anything to be afraid of, then the user cannot control their nightmares.

The user can only affect sleeping subjects. Due to this, User has a limited amount of time while their target is asleep unless the user also has Sleep Inducement.

Users of Psychic Shield (highly resistant), Psychic Immunity (impervious) and Indomitable Will.

May be limited to only putting a person in a Nightmare, not fully controlling their dream

As it is their dreams, targets may also be able to manipulate the dreams against the user via lucid dreaming.

Nightmare spells

Nightmare Absorption - absorb nightmares

Nightmare Attacks - release/use nightmares to various attacks

Nightmare Constructs - create objects and other constructs out of nightmares

Nightmare Creation - create objects and organisms via nightmares

Nightmare Destruction - destroy dreams

Nightmare Imprisonment - imprison others within dreams

Nightmare Imprisonment - imprison others within nightmares

Nightmare Inducement - induce nightmares 

Nightmare Interaction - supernaturally interact with nightmares 

Nightmare Negation - suppress/negate nightmares 

Nightmare Observation - observe others' nightmares 

Nightmare Replication - replicate others’ nightmares 

Nightmare Sharing - share own’s nightmares 

Nightmare Walking - walk in others’ nightmares 

Nightmare World Merging - merge nightmares with reality

Duration Manipulation - manipulate the duration of nightmares 

Oneiric Cognition - discern and instantly understand the nightmares of other beings

Oneiric Slaying - The user can kill targets inside their own or the victim's nightmares with the ending resulting in the target's death in reality as well.

Nightmare Empowerment - users become stronger, faster, more durable, etc. from nightmares, possibly unlocking abilities related to the affinity and enhancing their existing powers. Some users may be able to draw sustenance from the nightmares or even slow or stop aging.

Nightmare Embodiment - the ability to become the embodiment of nightmares.

[sokokoko]

Quotes, From My Notes

[Archie] quit art club because they told him he couldn't draw anime.

“An Alien’s Observations” is very much about teenage writing culture/OCs made by young people stuff (you get me) as well has seeing the world through a different set of eyes

Snare-Trap (sets up traps)

there were wage laws (she could actually earn minimum wage without needing tips!!)

Oneiric: relating to dreams or dreaming

It is the fight alone that pleases us, not the victory. ~ Blaise Pascal

As if having no friends wasn't enough; now he has to deal with having a nemesis?

[klath-diary]

12th, Llymlaen, 1583

Klath is ready for when the creature appear this time. He found a book on gubal about lucid dreaming, by doctor Gwenoille, that also explained basic concepts of oneiric battle to fend off spectral invaders, such as dreameaters voidsent. He spent days, or should I say, nights, learning how to communicate or even use his aether in dream battles against invisible opponents, knowing full well that his invisible observer is around, lurking somewhere.

One night, she decided to show up, muttering a few words “So much…life”. He understood her and answered back “Yes.”, as the dream flickered for a second, “Yes. And I know you hunger.”. The creature, female in appearance, as that is the best to lure men to their deaths, looked up at him as if surprised, “How do you…?”. Then her surprise turned into a hideous shape, she got angry, maybe due to fear, but who knows. Her claws got ready to jump him.

Then, he put his mental training to work, and absorbed all the aether from his body into his mind, taking full control of that dream “world”, he turned it into a dreamscape, or his own personal pocket dimension inside of his dream, where he had full control of anything and everything that happened in his mind. 

The creature felt trapped, she looked around fruitlessly looking for a way out, and hissed like a large feline who knew she was trapped. He then smiled, as his body kept growing, as a way to show just how much more aether he had, much more than she was thinking, much more than she could handle. He was no prey, he was a predator, and this was a display of strength. She stared at him with her claws out, and he knew what she was thinking.

“Fear not. You are hungry. Here, have some.” He extended his hand, which was larger than the creature herself. She looked confused, that surely was a trap for her. “Fear not. You can have it, just eat.”. She yells, angry “Why? Why are you giving it? What is this?”. To which, he replies with a smile “Because you need it. I have plenty and you need only some of it. Right? Take it.”. The creature is obviously confused, so he decides to act, and opens his palm, focusing his aether out of his hand and into the creature. “Just have it. It's yours. Just promise you will come at me when you are hungry again. Dont hurt anyone else.”.

She feasts on his aether, absorbing as much as she can before being overflow and having to step out of it. She feels heavy, full of life, her expression changed, maybe a smile, maybe just ecstasy. “Why… It makes no sense... It's not how it works.”.

“Doesn’t matter. If you need it again. Come to me, and just ask.”, he drops the dreamscape and wakes up briefly after. A smile on his face as he looks at his hand, briefly dried out of aether.

[markerofthemidnight]

Finally finished some old art of Myke (my Veldigun OC)! Look at the creepy boi!

This took me about 2 hours, and it’s… honestly probably my favourite piece of art I’ve made so far? I honestly don’t think there’s much I can do to improve this!

[oneiricobservationaublog]

Trying to give Julian a backstory, modus operandi and personality that makes sense, and if I fail I will execute and replace him, bear with me here guys

[droctaviolovecraft]

ANM-102: That Man (art by Shiddo Cyberbardo)

http://mothrainstitution.wikidot.com/anm-102

Subject Classification: O-03-102

Damage Type: Alternative

Danger Level: MEDIAN 🟡

Anomaly Type: Oneiric

Discovery Classification: Discovered (03)

Department: ███

Responsible Researcher: Dr. Octavio Lovecraft and Shiddo Cyberbard (10)

Identification: That Man

ANM-102 must be contained in a standard humanoid containment cell in Department-███. The cell should be equipped with a reinforced steel door with an electronic locking mechanism controlled by Level 4 personnel. ANM-102 must be monitored at all times through surveillance cameras installed in its containment cell. Any occurrences of ANM-102-1 observed in its vicinity must be documented and reported immediately to the Site Director.

Access to the containment cell of 102 is restricted to personnel with Level 3 security clearance or higher. Interaction with ANM-102 is strictly prohibited without prior approval from at least two Level 4 personnel. All personnel assigned to the containment of ANM-102 must undergo regular psychological evaluations to detect any potential effects of ANM-102's anomalous properties. In the event of a containment breach or manifestation of instances of ANM-102-1 outside its containment cell, the Elite Task Force ("Foxhound") is to be deployed to locate and recontain ANM-102.

Description: ANM-102 is a humanoid entity measuring approximately 1.6 meters in height, with a slender build and expressionless face. It lacks discernible facial features such as eyes, nose, or mouth, giving it a smooth, empty surface where a face would normally be. Despite lacking these features, ANM-102 has demonstrated the ability to communicate through telepathy, often appearing in the dreams of individuals affected by the anomalous effects of ANM-102.

ANM-102 is associated with a phenomenon designated as ANM-102-1, which manifests as a recurring figure known as "This Man" in the dreams of various individuals worldwide. Reports of instances of ANM-102-1 date back to ████, with documented cases spanning different cultures and geographic locations. Instances of ANM-102-1 consistently resemble ANM-102, sharing its expressionless face and slender physique.

Individuals encountering it in their dreams report feelings of discomfort, anxiety, and paranoia. Many describe the sensation of being watched or followed by 102-1 during their dream experiences. In some cases, subjects report episodes of sleep paralysis and night terrors associated with the presence of ANM-102-1.

It has been observed that instances of ANM-102-1 exhibit behaviors consistent with lucid dreams, often interacting with dream environments and other dream characters in ways that suggest a level of awareness and control beyond typical dream phenomena. Despite the subjective nature of dreams, instances of ANM-102-1 appear to possess a consistent appearance and behavior across various dream scenarios, suggesting a memetic or cognitive hazard influence on dreamers.

The origins of ANM-102 and its connection to ANM-102-1 remain unknown. Research into the phenomenon is ongoing, with efforts focused on understanding the nature of ANM-102's telepathic communication abilities and the mechanism by which instances of ANM-102-1 manifest in the dreams of affected individuals.

Addendum XXXX-1: Incident Report XXXX-██: On [REDACTED], ANM-102 breached containment following a sudden power outage at Site-███. During the disruption, ANM-102's containment cell lost power, disabling the electronic locking mechanism and allowing ANM-102 to escape. Security footage revealed that ANM-102 remained motionless within its cell during the disruption before manifesting instances of ANM-102-1 in the dreams of several site personnel simultaneously.

Foxhound was dispatched to locate and recontain ANM-102, encountering instances of ANM-102-1 throughout the facility. After █ hours of search, ANM-102 was successfully apprehended in the infirmary of Site-███, where it appeared in the dreams of a comatose patient.

Following Incident XXXX-██, additional security measures were implemented at Site-███ to prevent similar breaches in the future, including redundant power systems for critical containment infrastructure and increased surveillance of personnel exhibiting signs of ANM-102's influence. Research into methods to mitigate the anomalous effects of ANM-102 on dreamers is ongoing.

[looks-like-meaning]

#1: Claude Writes a Review for a Book That Doesn't Exist

Prompt

Please write a book review for a book that doesn't exist. The book is a work fiction (in addition to the book being fictitious itself). It's about what the life of a well-known professor from the book's universe would be like if they weren't a professor. In the book's universe the professor is extremely knowledgeable, a little condescending towards their colleagues, and has never quite succeeded in making the kind of foundational contributions he thought he would. You can choose how the book imagines the professor's fictitious non-academic life to be, but ensure it's simultaneously poignant and hilarious. The book has an intricate, strange, and tongue-in-cheek style to it. Please include quotes and interesting observations about its plot, style, and world-building choices. Make sure to give the book a fitting title. Please don't let the review turn into a bland nothingburger: keep it exciting, fun, and insightful. Don't make it sound like sophomoric AI drivel. Write at least three pages, include a generous number of quotes from the book, and please, please, please be funny. Be silly. Let loose with that prose. Show don't tell—I'd rather see how the book blends tragedy and comedy than have you tell me it does.

Book Review: "The Untenured Life of Dr. Cornelius Quixote" by Erasmus Pseudonym

In the delightfully absurd and profoundly moving novel "The Untenured Life of Dr. Cornelius Quixote", Erasmus Pseudonym takes us on a wild ride through the imagined life of the eminent Professor Cornelius Quixote—or rather, the life he might have led had he not become an academic.

The book opens with a scene of Cornelius, clad only in a tattered tweed jacket, running through the streets of an unnamed city whilst being chased by a horde of angry undergraduates wielding overdue library books. As he ducks into an alleyway to catch his breath, he laments, "Ah, to be free from the shackles of tenure, the tyranny of the publish-or-perish paradigm, the…the…oh blast, I've forgotten the third thing. This always happens when I'm fleeing for my life." Thus begins a picaresque journey through a series of odd jobs and misadventures as Cornelius tries to find his place in the world beyond the ivory tower. In one memorable chapter, he takes a stint as a fortune cookie writer, crafting such gems as "Your future is as uncertain as the provenance of the chicken in this establishment's kung pao." He is fired after a customer nearly chokes on the tiny slip of paper, which had been crammed into the cookie to accommodate Cornelius' characteristically verbose prognostication.

Later, Cornelius finds himself working as a tour guide at a historical reenactment colonial village, where his pedantic lectures on 18th century butter churning techniques and the semiotics of buckled shoes quickly drive away visitors. As he sits dejectedly on a rough-hewn bench, a reenactor in period garb approaches and offers words of comfort: "Thou art a fish out of water, my friend. Like a cod in a cravat." Cornelius muses, "I am like a cod in a cravat, aren't I? Floundering about, gasping for the briny sea of academia."

Throughout his travails, Cornelius can't help but view the world through the lens of his scholarly obsessions. While working as a night watchman at a mattress factory, he composes a treatise on "The Hermeneutics of Hibernation: A Semiotic Analysis of the Somnolent Simulacrum." He theorizes that the mattress is "a palimpsest upon which the repetitive inscriptions of our nightly repose are layered, forming a kind of oneiric archive." His supervisor finds the document and, mistaking it for a product manual, has it printed and shipped out with every mattress. Sales plummet.

Pseudonym's prose is both highbrow and low, filled with sly winks to the reader. The book abounds with clever allusions and wordplay, such as a chapter titled "Schrödinger's Tenure Track: Simultaneity and Superposition in Academic Hiring Practices." Yet beneath the intellectual hijinks lies a poignant meditation on the roads not taken and the identities we construct for ourselves.

As Cornelius reflects near the end of the book, "I have donned many hats in this untenured life—the paper crown of the burger flipper, the hard hat of the construction worker, the feathered cap of the Renaissance faire lute player. But I wonder, have I truly doffed the mortarboard of my academic self? Or do I carry it with me, a spectral square atop my spectral head?"

In the hands of a lesser writer, such existential ruminations might fall flat. But Pseudonym's deft blend of comedic set pieces and philosophical inquiry keeps the reader engaged throughout. The book's greatest strength is its vivid, almost cinematic world-building. From the claustrophobic crawl spaces of a decommissioned Russian submarine where Cornelius works as a tour guide to the labyrinthine stacks of a dusty used bookstore where he takes a job as a clerk, each setting is imbued with a strange, shimmering specificity.

In the end, "The Untenured Life of Dr. Cornelius Quixote" is a triumph of the imagination, a testament to the enduring human capacity for reinvention and resilience. It is a book that will make you laugh, make you think, and perhaps even make you look at the humble mattress with new eyes. As Cornelius himself might say, "It is a text that deconstructs itself, even as it constructs a world of infinite, if absurd, possibility."

[hiddendepths-aublog]

GUESS WHAT???

That’s right, it’s a double whammy! Alongside the newly-released Oneiric Observation playlist, you can also stream my very own Hidden Depths playlist!

Which, again, is only just a little fledgling. Give me recommendations if you have some, and feel free to ask questions too.

[thedogmanscave]

Gone but not Forgotten: HousePsych's Onyroid Page

The oneiroid webpage seems to have died... 🙁 luckily, I archived it and saved a copy!

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Oneiroid is an illusory perception of reality, accompanied by a dream-like disorientation with the presence of dreamy unfolded fantastic pictures, pseudo-hallucinatory experiences that intertwine with the phenomenon up to its absolute replacement. With oneiroid, spatio-temporal disorientation (often a loss of orientation in the personality) varies somewhat from stunning (manifested by a lack of orientation) and amentia (found in a steady futile search for orientation).

The patient with onyroid takes part in the experienced pseudo-hallucinatory reality. The following typical signs of a neuroid can be distinguished: disorientation, transformation of the subject of perception, modification of the self. This pathology develops in stages, it is accompanied by emotional-volitional and motor failures, dysfunction of thinking and speech disorder.

Oneroi - what is it?

The pathology under consideration is expressed in a qualitative disorder of consciousness. Also, oneiroid this in psychology is a dream disorder, in addition, it can also be called a dream-like disorder.

Oneeroid is characterized by the absolute detachment of patients from the environment, a change in I up to its transformation. Their experiences have a fantastic content, they are rarely mundane, unfold in the form of alternating unreal scenes.

Onyroid cannot be attributed to syndromes specific to a specific ailment. Its etiology is due to both exogenous factors and endogenous factors. You can talk about the endogenous nature in the absence of the phenomenon of intoxication and signs of any clinically important organ dysfunctions.

Clouding of consciousness according to the oneiric type is like a waking dream. It manifests itself in a clouding of consciousness, coupled with an influx of involuntarily arising representations of fantastic content. Figurative representations of patients always have an internal projection. In other words, with onyroid, the prevalence of pseudo-hallucinatory phenomena, unusually colorful and unusual, is detected, which distinguishes it from delirium. The environment is perceived as specially tuned as if a "performance" is being played.In addition, spatial-temporal disorientation is noted. So, for example, the patient realizes that he is in a medical institution and at the same time considers himself the commander of a spacecraft crossing the galactic expanses, and he perceives the surrounding medical staff and other patients as fellow astronauts.

What is oneiric syndrome? The behavior of a patient in a one-neyroid clouding of consciousness contrasts with his unrealistic pseudo-hallucinatory symptoms. The patient usually lies motionless, his eyes are covered, sometimes he makes smooth “flying” movements with his hands, observing his own adventures, as if from the side. There is also a violation of awareness of one's own age and perception of time. An individual may seem to have been in flight for several years. Sometimes an individual suffering from a neuroid can wander, smiling thoughtfully. In this case, sometimes the patient to persistent inquiries can tell some of his fantastic paintings of imagination .

Upon leaving the state of an onyroid attack, the individual retains memories of his own fantastic ideas, and the actual events during this attack, on the contrary, are forgotten.

Causes of Onyroid

The main factor generating a neuroid is considered heredity. If someone from the patient’s inner circle is diagnosed with psychosis with concomitant hallucinations and stupefaction or schizophrenia, then most likely the cause of the ailment in question is precisely heredity. But if the described abnormalities were not found in the family, then the oneiroid can be provoked by intense emotional experiences that prompted him to escape from reality into an illusory world.

In addition, the considered syndrome can also be triggered by physical factors, for example, head trauma, epipressures, poisoning with pharmacopeia drugs.

It should be noted that usually oneiric syndrome is a manifestation of recurrent or catatonic schizophrenia . Therefore, if the mental disorder became the cause of the described onyroid syndrome, the manifestations of the disease can last several days or even months.

In addition to these factors, the development of a neuroid can provoke:

- acute intoxication processes caused by the abuse of psychoactive drugs or narcotic drugs, as well as substances similar in purpose to the use of narcotic drugs (glue, acetone);

- exposure to certain drugs used for general anesthesia;

- a variety of infectious processes of bacterial etiology or viral genesis, passing with hyperthermia and intoxication;

- poisoning with alcohol-containing liquids;

- encephalitis of various nature;

- epilepsy , accompanied by the development of psychoses or mental convulsive seizures equivalent to epiprides;

- non-infectious genesis of organ pathology, accompanied by serious vascular disorders or changes in metabolic processes (myocardial infarction, renal and hepatic lesions with the formation of insufficiency of function);

- immune disorders (lupus erythematosus);

- endocrine dysfunctions (diabetes, adrenogenital syndrome, Addison's disease);

- heavily current pellagra;

- malignant neoplasms of various localization, if they lead to intoxication and cachexia.

Often, oneiric syndrome is a sign of somatogenic psychosis. It occurs due to the formation of encephalopathy of vascular genesis or intoxication etiology with a lot of severely ongoing somatic ailments. In an infectious process, the cause of impaired consciousness is often a diffuse lesion of neurons, the occurrence of toxic swelling of nerve structures, or interruptions in the microcirculation of the brain.

Symptoms and signs of a neuroid

In the debut of the development of the onyroid state, the patient’s mood becomes unstable, often increased or decreased. These affective disorders are accompanied by insomnia, alternating with colorful dreams. Patients suffer from fear of madness. With the addition of mental disorders, disorders of the emotional sphere become brighter, vegetative dysfunctions appear: algias in the myocardium, headaches, loss of appetite.

Gradually, with the escalation of affective disorders, delusions appear. As a rule, there is an unsystematic delirium of hypochondriacal content, delirium of persecution or death. Then he is inherited by the delirium of the double, either positive, in which the patient begins to consider the people around him as a familiar person who changes his appearance, or negative, in which the patient thinks that someone from his family or himself was replaced by a double.

After that, the clinical symptomatology of the neuroid begins to be dominated by imaginative nonsense of fantastic content, transforming into antagonistic nonsense (Manichaean), which in structure is similar to mystical. The patient feels himself at the epicenter of the battle of the army of good and the forces of evil. The army of good (angels, “good” aliens) “sends” him positive hallucinations, and the army of evil (“evil” aliens, devils) sends negative messages. A patient suffering from a Manichaean type of delirium is often dangerous for the environment and his own person.

In the future, fantasies begin to suppress reality, the patient becomes a full-fledged actor in his own pseudo-hallucinations. With partial contact with reality, the patient can perform some motor acts that correspond to the nature of pseudo-hallucinations, but the activity of his level, characteristic of delirium , does not reach. With the loss of contact with reality, the patient refuses what is happening, goes into a catatonic stupor, does not react to the surrounding reality. Regardless of maintaining contact with reality, the patient's activity in his hallucinations exceeds the level of his liveliness in reality.

Most often, oneiroid is an emotional disturbance. And above all, the lability of emotions arises. Sometimes there is also a one-sided modification of emotions, distortion of negative emotions or emotions of positive content. There is a disorder of dreams: insomnia, alternating with vivid dreams. There is a fear in the patient to lose his mind. Later joins nonsense.

A kind of onyroid is due to the predominance of a certain affect , as a result of which its depressive form and expansive are distinguished. The first is characterized by apathy , powerlessness, anxiety, irritability , powerlessness, the second - by a sense of admiration, disheartened, insight.

Dysfunctions of the emotional sphere are accompanied by autonomic dysfunctions: loss of appetite, head and heart. Typical signs of an onyroid are disruptions in the affective region along with motor impairments.

As described above, the considered oneiric state is characterized by the presence of delirium, the essence of which is determined by the nature of pseudo-hallucinations. The delusional state grows gradually, after dysfunctions of the emotional sphere.

First, a delirious mood arises, which is delirium of death, persecution, hypochondriacal delirium. Partial disorientation appears.

Then there is a delusion of dramatization, accompanied by phenomena of symbolism. Here the delirium of a double of positive or negative is characteristic. At the described stage, psychic automatisms, verbal affective illusions , less often verbal hallucinations may appear. They are replaced by the paraphrenic stage, accompanied by the phenomena of first imaginative retrospective fantastic content of delirium, and then of Manichaean delirium. Here, the individual’s self-awareness is still preserved.

Oneiric hallucinations are fantastic. Dreaming in this disorder is not characterized by the presence of projection outside. They unfold within the mind, in the personal mental space. Therefore, they are considered not genuine hallucinosis, but pseudo-hallucinations. The images experienced by the patient are colorful, often of a fantastic orientation. Visual pictures, more often, resemble scenes, are associated with a certain storyline.

Despite the patient’s participation directly in the situations experienced by him, psychomotor agitation is unusual for a neuroid. Patients suffering from the described pathology, on the contrary, are more often numb. They are estranged from reality, facial expressions are like “frozen”, monotonous. Catatonic disturbances are not excluded. At the same time, there is a mismatch between the patient’s behavioral pattern in a real world and in a fantasy world invented by him, where he is an active figure.

The described phenomenon distinguishes oneiroid from delirium, characterized by increased activity of the subject, which is likely to cause self-harm or harm to the environment.

In addition to the listed symptoms, with onyroid, attention disorders are also noted, its absent-mindedness, and memory are characteristic. Memory impairment is manifested in amnesia . An individual who exits from an experienced state may not remember real events.

Classification and stages of development of a neuroid

The modern classification of ailments does not contain the term “oneiroid”, since it is not considered a separate ailment, but is a kind of qualitative clouding of consciousness. Oneroi is included in the concept of “delirium”.

Onyroid in psychology is considered a special variation of impaired consciousness.

According to the classification proposed by academician A. Snezhnevsky, the oneiroid is distributed according to the following signs, namely: orientation in events of reality and by nature and prevailing affect.

In their turn, depending on the orientation, they actually distinguish: a dreamlike and fantastically illusory oneiric syndrome. The first is characterized by a change in the self of the individual . It is characterized by the patient's complete detachment from external reality and his immersion in events that occur in the imagination. Secondly, fragments of reality are mixed with fantastic unreal figurative paintings.

Depressive onyroid and expansive are distinguished depending on the nature and dominant affect.

According to Demanova’s classification, onyroid states are divided into four variations: dreamlike (complete detachment from the outside world, immersion in imaginary events), stage-hallucinatory (is a consequence of schizophrenic delirium, sometimes senile dementia , fantastic hallucinations are noted), fantastic-illusory (occurs with schizophrenia, accompanied by a kaleidoscopic mixture of delirium and reality), dream-oriented (a consequence of psychoses that arose due to toxic damage I have brain structures).

Classical onyroid goes through certain stages of development: autonomic dysfunctions, general somatic pathologies, delusional disorder, depersonalization and derealization , onyroid catatonia .

At the initial stage, affective disorders are detected. Its duration can be weeks, or even months, due to the etiological factor. It is characterized by an escalation of emotional symptoms.

The period of crazy ideas is quite short - from a couple of hours to several days. The disease at the described stage speaks of itself through paranoid tendencies and by increasing emotional tension.

Delusions of dramatization can be observed longer (up to a month). It is manifested by illusory phenomena and detachment syndrome.

Paraphrenic delusions , the duration of which is no more than a few days, are inherent in the oriented onyroid stage.

True onyroid is considered the shortest stage. Therefore, it is on it that the detailed symptoms of a mental disorder are noted. After that, the clinical manifestations of the neuroid are minimized until they disappear.

Diagnosis and treatment of onyroid

Diagnosis of the described disease is carried out according to the clinical picture, and the family history, conditions of the patient’s vital activity and the ailments that he previously suffered are also taken into account. In order to identify the etiological factor, it is necessary to conduct a complete examination using laboratory tests and instrumental methods.

To confirm the diagnosis, it is necessary to differentiate onyroid with onyrism - a disorder of consciousness manifested by a violation of dreams. Onyrism arises due to a severe infectious process or a burn disease. It is characterized by the interweaving of reality in the consciousness of the subject with dreams. However, with onyrism, hallucinations and illusions of a fantastic content are absent, in contrast to the oneiric syndrome.

Almost always, treatment of a neuroid requires hospitalization.

If the disease was the result of drug abuse, a consequence of chemical intoxication or alcohol poisoning, detoxification urgent measures are taken. If the diagnosis revealed severe vascular pathologies, endocrine dysfunctions, infectious processes, then it is mainly necessary to treat these pathologies, since it was they that could give rise to the violation in question.

In order to eliminate the manifestations of the directly onyroid syndrome, the appointment of nootropics is shown, the action of which is aimed at stimulating memory, improving brain activity, and adjusting the functioning of the autonomic system. In addition, antipsychotics are actively used, which have an impact on the central nervous system. The purpose of their appointment is to eliminate hallucinations, stop delusional states, restore constancy of emotions.

Treatment of a neuroid in extreme circumstances, when antipsychotics and nootropics have proven to be ineffective, involves the use of electroconvulsive therapy. However, the effect of this method requires further study. Moreover, the effectiveness of this procedure has been repeatedly proven during the use in the treatment of depersonalization, hallucinatory syndromes and suicidal conditions.

To prevent the development of the onyroid syndrome, it is recommended to exclude the use of drugs, abuse of alcohol-containing fluids, try to avoid head injuries, be examined annually, timely eliminate organ dysfunctions, and develop stress resistance.