#Paroxysm

[a-stolidus]

paroxysm! my bird guy.

I don't share that much info of my characters but there is a bit of info of them on my artfight account. anyway I like this bird they're so me.

[quathxr]

STFU ART BLOCK IM WINNING

All OCs and i really wanna info dump… it’ll be under the cut lmao

Okok so. All these characters are from the same story/world. And I just DSKAL;FJDIKAS;RFJHIDSA;JNHFKDLSA;JFKD I love them with all of my heart. They are my children. 

I waaaas gonna info dump about every individual character, but they all have ref sheets… so I’ll post those and info dump about that there.

BUT OH THE LORE. 

The main premise of the story is learning to accept our mental issues and moving towards healing. A lot of the concepts are pulled from IFS therapy, which has been my saving grace when dealing with my own mental health struggles.

Neo Pérez (bottom left), our main character, struggles with chronic depression and is not in a good place mentally. He hates wasting time and wants to find a “quick fix” for himself. After several failed attempts, he ends up at a weird Voodoo-magic shop. The lady insides gives him a drink in a bottle (which Neo later realizes is an opened Gatoraid bottle with the labeling ripped off (magic ‘aint cheap, ok)) and tells him to take small sips and wait for the magic.

Later, after the Gatoraid discovery, Neo angrily downs the entire bottle. The potion was intended to allow him to face bits of himself one or two at a time and work through his problems at an… accelerated pace. But by downing the whole thing, he creates chaos and the bits of his soul scatter. Neo now has to go and collect the pieces of himself and get them to (willingly) come back. And if he doesn’t, he will lose his memories, personality, etc :D 

His roommate Kip (top left)–who totally isnt in love with him, wdym–jumps up to help and recruits Astra (bottom right) and Olive (top right). Astra and Olive are dating and I love them.

ANYWAYS its still very much a wip. But I love them with all of my heart. They actually started out as a cute lil college romcom and….. Uh it spiraled lmao.

If people want more details, I’ll happily give! And I’m prolly gonna make a masterpost with all the info, art, and characters… eventually :3

[kowtownart]

ILOVEU.EXE

Artfight attack on @chilicpepper's Paroxysm!

[lemurlord]

The character of Paroxysm fascinates me deeply.

One of Ward's missed opportunities (one of many, some would say) is that we never actually got to see what Amy Dallon is like in an actual relationship. Sure, one could rather easily picture that mess of codependance, obsession with an unrelated and unwanting woman and general toxicity that we know and love. But you want to witness the trainwreck with your own eyes, right?

Enter Paroxysm, a character with a but paragraph to her name, revealed in Ward's 16.y to be Amy's first girlfriend and her first kiss.

Which is such a crazy concept, if you think about it. How did they meet, considering Amy kind of just stuck to her father's cellblock? What did they find appealing in each other? She doesn't seem to look like what the community have flanderized to be Amy's type, so how's that whole situation? Depending on where in the timeline the relationship occured, this might've been Amy at her more unstable, so how did she manage to navigate that whole thing mentally? Did they part friends or was there a crash and fallout? What happened to Paroxysm after?

And yet we know nothing, and will know that nothing probably forever. Lot's of fertile ground for fanfics though.

One more thing, though. "Paroxysm" is latin-rooted fancy word connected to medicine (Webster defines it as "a fit, attack, or sudden increase or recurrence of symptoms (as of a disease)".) Very similiar to "panacea". Either that was one hell of a conversation starter, or it might not be the woman's actual name.

[so-true-overdue]

The Whisper That Roared

They never come to you in a blaze of glory. No, the seducers of reason are quieter than that. They are whispers—subtle, insidious, serpent-tongued—wrapped in the guise of benevolence. They come when you’re uncertain, weary, or just curious enough to listen.

And oh, how seductive those whispers can be. They speak your language, echo your fears, validate your doubts. The trick is always the same: a morsel of truth, coated in the nectar of lies, delivered by hands too clean to suspect.

You see, misinformation does not knock on the door with a scowl; it dances through the window, fragrant and persuasive. It flirts with your intellect, compliments your intuition, and, before long, it owns your trust. Then comes the paroxysm—the violent, unrelenting convulsion of belief, the seizure of certainty that drowns the voice of doubt.

Here’s the tragedy: you won’t feel it. You won’t recognize the moment you’ve stepped over the edge because the seduction is so complete, the descent so gradual. First, you nod. Then you repeat. Finally, you defend what you once merely considered, and there it is: you are no longer yourself. You are the disciple of an idea that was never yours, a soldier in a war you never signed up for.

Cults are not strange relics of the past. They are not mere footnotes of history, laughable oddities to be dismissed. They are the masters of the whisper. They don’t always wear robes or chant incantations. Some wield algorithms. Some wear suits. Some speak with academic precision. And some, God help us, come disguised as you, staring back in the mirror.

How does one awaken from this? Ah, that is the bitter truth of the matter: it is nearly impossible. The deeper the lie, the greater the fortress built around it, the harder it is to admit you were duped. Pride, fear, and even love conspire to keep the delusion intact.

And yet, here’s where hope, dim and fragile, glimmers. The antidote to paroxysms of false certainty is not a thunderous correction or a scathing rebuke. It is the quiet, persistent reintroduction of questions. It is the embrace of ambiguity, the courage to say, “I do not know.” It is the painstaking process of pulling each thread, no matter how deeply woven into the tapestry it may be.

So guard yourself, dear reader. Guard your mind as you would a cherished treasure, for it is precisely that. Be skeptical, not cynical. Curious, but not credulous. And above all, beware the whisper that roars.

[crystalcanis]

I love Pookie so much because shes the most human looking shadow in the whole story but she's also the one shadow that acts the most like a rabid carnivorous animal and thats kinda fucked up

[warehouseradio]

Warehouse Radio Episode 57 Guest Mix: Paroxysm

WEBSITE: paroxysm.black/

[henghost]

the best amy ship is amy/paroxysm. yeah, that's right, it's not any of the major characters, it's the character who gets mentioned like once or twice by name in the three million words of parahumans.

paroxysm represents the hidden aspect of amy's character: her "off-screen" time spent in the birdcage. her lack of qualities is what makes her the best partner for amy. it is the fanfiction author's duty to render her, to use this blank slate to develop an esoteric exegesis of amy's character, make her into your own.

this is more exhortation than analysis, i'll admit. i am begging amy authors to consider this aspect of her character more fully. i mean she spends like 90% of the chronology of canon in the 'cage, and no one fucking cares! don't you care about her "first real kiss"?! isn't it precisely this most secret, most undertold, part of her story that could yield the new insight about her for which we've been starved since ward???!?!

[nicklloydnow]

Illustration by James Zucco

“In the state of paroxysm without cause, fatigue is a delirium, and the fatigued person the demiurge of a sub-universe.” - Emil Cioran, ‘All Gall is Divided’ (1952)

[gallimaufry-dictionary]

Paroxysm

noun pair-ecks-isum / pair-ox-isum

A sudden uncontrolled outburst of emotion, a sudden attack or fit of symptoms from a disease, a fit or convulsion

Merriam-Webster Dictionary.com

[you-must-be-held-accountable]

Paroxysms of outrage are all we seem to muster when corporations misbehave. It’s a fiery burst—boycotts, hashtags, and some shaky promises to "do better"—then we forget. But when giants go unchecked, they grow teeth, and those teeth bite deep. Accountability isn’t just a feel-good mantra; it’s a leash. Without it, power runs wild, twisting laws, silencing critics, and turning entire markets into their playgrounds. The danger? One day, they’re untouchable. They can poison rivers, crush competition, or sell you dreams wrapped in lies, all while smiling for the camera. Hold them accountable now, or prepare to live under their rules later.

[weird-things-to-think]

So, paroxizm iz like wen u git a hole bunch uv fealings n they jus splode outta you, lyke BANG! it cud be angur or laffter or maybe u stubbed ur toe n screem lyk a walrus got stuk in a trombone. Peepol mite say "wat waz that paroksism?" n u be like "idk my boddy jus did it." Itz kinda lyk an emocshunal burp but BIGR n way mor drahmatic.

[violence-is-literally-stupid]

The Stupidity of Violence: Paroxysm as a Marker of Corruption

Violence is the tantrum of a mind that has lost control. It is not strength. It is weakness. When paroxysm—a sudden, violent outburst—erupts, it lays bare the failure of reason.

Violence, at its core, is irrational. It seeks to dominate but achieves nothing lasting. It destroys but cannot create. It shouts but never truly communicates. The act of violence bypasses thought, relying instead on impulse and brute force. Such behavior is not a display of power; it is a betrayal of reason, the very tool that elevates humanity.

Corruption and violence are intertwined. Corruption erodes ethical boundaries, making violence a convenient tool for those who cannot achieve their goals through fair means. A violent person is often corrupted—not just by greed or power, but by their inability to trust in dialogue, compromise, and the slow work of justice. Violence is the shortcut of the weak-willed.

Paroxysms of violence reflect this internal decay. They reveal a person or system unable to contain its impulses, driven instead by base instincts. History is filled with examples: the mob that tears down what it cannot understand, the tyrant who silences dissent through fear. These acts solve nothing. They merely prolong chaos.

True strength lies in restraint. It takes courage to remain calm in the face of provocation. It requires discipline to wield power without succumbing to its intoxicating call. To reject violence is to affirm the higher capacities of the human mind: logic, empathy, and justice.

Violence is stupid because it denies these capacities. It is a sign of corruption because it betrays the decay of reason. To be violent is to give up on the hard work of being human. And what, then, is left?

[kick-the-clouds]

The Earth Spins, Even if You Close Your Eyes

Truth doesn’t wait for belief. It’s out there, undeniable, shaping our lives whether we embrace it or not. But for many, rejecting science feels as natural as breathing. It’s not because they’re foolish or bad—far from it. It’s because denial is easy. It’s comforting. It’s human.

Imagine standing at the edge of a cliff. The wind is sharp. The view is vast. But someone whispers, "The ground is fake. Jump, and you'll float." The idea is wild, but if you're afraid of heights, it’s tempting. That’s science denial. It offers a way out of fear, confusion, or discomfort.

Take climate change. The data is overwhelming. Ice melts. Storms rage. Temperatures climb. Yet, accepting it feels massive. It demands responsibility, action, and change. Denial? That’s easier. It’s a warm cocoon of "not my problem."

Or vaccines. History shows their power—polio erased, smallpox defeated. But fear is powerful, too. Denial steps in, saying, “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

Here’s the twist: science isn’t a hammer; it’s a light. It doesn’t punish denial—it guides out of it. Education and evidence have the power to heal. When people understand, they grow. Like Galileo’s telescope showing a skeptical world the moons of Jupiter, science invites us to see, not just believe.

Denial doesn’t make us bad; it makes us human. But science can make us better. We can recover. And together, with eyes open, we can thrive.

[lemurlord]

They put Paroxysm into the Birdcage for her 37 counts of hatecrimes against elves.

[so-true-overdue]

The Whispering Abyss: A Sermon on the Seduction of Falsehoods

There is a peculiar comfort in certainty, even when it is wrong.

Misinformation does not scream its arrival; it drapes itself in familiarity, cloaks its visage in righteousness, and beckons with a voice that resonates deeply. It doesn’t demand belief; it seduces it. This is the essence of the cultic undertow—a tidal pull of dogma masquerading as truth, an irresistible current for the unwary.

You see, the human mind is fertile ground for paroxysm, that sudden eruption of fervor born not of reason but of the intoxicating need to belong, to make sense of chaos. Paroxysm is the engine of the cult—the fiery burst of certainty that blinds its adherents to their captivity. It begins innocuously: a charismatic figure proclaiming revelations, an insidious community offering sanctuary from the storm of modernity, or a tidy answer to the tangled knot of existence. Who wouldn’t be tempted?

But herein lies the trap: seduction is not coercion. Misinformation does not bind its victims with chains but with silken threads, spun so fine that each is imperceptible until their sum constricts. The gradual tightening blinds the victim to their transformation. To be seduced by falsehood is to walk willingly into a labyrinth, never realizing the exit has disappeared behind you.

Consider the mechanisms: the usurpation of language, the appropriation of authority, and the skillful interweaving of partial truths. The cult does not fabricate from whole cloth; it distorts, reframes, and reinterprets. It whispers, "They are lying to you," but never stops to reveal its own deceptions. The truth becomes a toy, contorted into shapes so foreign it loses its meaning. The result? A mind captive, a life fractured, and a reality warped into the grotesque.

And how does one recognize this entrapment? Ah, therein lies the crux of the tragedy. To the captive, the chains are invisible, the voice of the captor indistinguishable from their own. Doubt is the first casualty of seduction; skepticism is painted as betrayal. Thus, the seduced become not only victims but unwilling stewards of the deception, proselytizing their misbegotten faith to others with zeal that borders on the manic.

But let us not mistake this for mere folly. No, it is a catastrophic misalignment of human cognition. We are predisposed to seek patterns, to ascribe meaning, to trust those who speak with confidence. These are virtues when tempered by reason and vigilance, yet they become liabilities when surrendered to the siren call of comforting falsehoods.

So how do we resist? By cultivating a spirit of epistemic humility—a rigorous commitment to questioning, doubting, and testing. By embracing discomfort as the price of intellectual integrity. And by recognizing that certainty, though seductive, is often the adversary of truth.

Paroxysm, that flash of uncritical fervor, may light the way to a momentary comfort, but it also blinds. To