#i am. paralyzed by fear actually. fascinating

[raspberrysmoon]

If you wanna do the dnd campaign after all…

youre convincing me 😭

ive gotta get into dnd somehow right. maybe i do want to do the dnd campaign

[harlothane]

Theon and Fear - And at the end of fear...

George R R Martin’s ASOIAF focuses on the "human heart at war with itself". In doing so, it provides a compelling, complex and deeply touching exploration of human emotions. One of the dominant emotions the characters are faced with is fear.

I especially love how fear is shown in Theon's storyline. His backstory and the events unfolding in his six Clash of Kings chapters and seven Dance with Dragons chapters, taken alone, constitute a raw, emotional and unsettling account on the many faces of fear. What it does to people. How it changes them, motivates them, corrupts them and may regenerates them.

“Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”

“That is the only time a man can be brave.”

There is no need for a long look at Theon’s storyline to see in which ways Eddard Stark’s infamous moral lesson applies to his struggles. Here is a character that commits crimes in the beginning of his storyline, goes through hell because of his misguided choices (led by his fear), finds his courage as he faces true terror and accomplishes one of the most selfless and brave acts in the series to save a girl.

I do feel like I’m missing pieces of the puzzle writing that, aren’t I?

The misstep, I think, is to draw too hastily a parallel between Theon and the other Winterfell boys around his age – Robb and Jon (it's a common issue in fandom and actually had a negative impact on the reading of Theon's storyline, I think. Read : x).

Unlike them, at the beginning of the story, Theon already knows fear. Both Jon and Robb had a decent, secure childhood. While Jon surely has grounds to feel dissatisfied with what life has to offer a bastard like him, he did not grow up in fear. At the age of nine, he probably had faced rejection, loneliness and disdain. But not true, traumatizing fear like nine-year old Theon had to.

19 year-old Theon in Winterfell has already been scarred by fear. He is not a knight of summer in that regard, as his entire personality is a product of fear, to the point where it becomes hard to pinpoint what his true self consists of exactly (that becomes evident as we are invited to his internal monologue in Clash, which is full of inconsistencies, rewrites and contradictions related to the way he sees himself).

We know for certain that, as the story begins, Theon is already familiar with the fear of rejection and humiliation (inflicted by his brothers and felt as an outsider in the North), the fear of losing his loved ones and his home (inflicted by war and the soldiers fighting that war) and some repressed kind of fear related to Euron and possibly his magic. He’s been abused and is still suffering from the lingering fear of death, cultural isolation/exclusion and loneliness.

What fascinates me with this storyline especially is that there is never an easy answer. It is a feature of ASOIAF as a whole, to be frank. I suppose that as a horror genre lover, I am especially drawn to the way Theon's story deals with fear. How it corrupts, how it paralyzes, how it regenerates.

Fear as corruption.

Theon, a “shy” child, “in awe” of his brothers, has crafted a personality to guard himself against the threats most frightful to him (humiliation, being unloved and unwanted, abandonment).

A personality that existed to guard himself against the world and more precisely, the men in power who could use him. A personality tailored to please his captors and his father, the ones his life depended on. His clothes, in this regard, are another part of the armor. Their purpose is to please, seduce or appease the ones whose approval Theon needs at the moment (though I truly do believe he likes his velvelt and silks, he still immediately suggests his father that he would change it if it would please him).

Living with those fears of being unloved and unwanted changed him profoundly as harrowing experiences always do. Fear is the one constant in his early life. His personality developed around it.

Theon mimics Dagmer Cleftjaw’s smiles because the warrior was one of the bravest men he knew in his early days and a hostage far from home needs to channel that tough, invulnerable spirit.

Theon was a child who lived in awe of his violent brothers, so as a young man he acts accordingly, as if spilling blood makes you worthy, as if life were a game to win no matter the cost for the weak and innocent (no matter the price children and mothers pay, no matter the price he himself paid for his father’s ambition!).

I know the Theon we meet in Clash isn’t the most agreeable person ever. It’s the point.

In truth, he is a hardly a person. As in, a human entity with consistent memories to ground him (even before Dance, he represses memories, seems to have forgotten a great deal about the Iron Islands and I believe we may learn more about this in Winds), and autonomous desires and hopes (in spite of himself, he is constantly trying to fit the expectations of the men he fears/wants to emulate – Eddard and Balon).

Even the way he expresses his sexual/sensual desires feels at times as a performance meant to impress or prove a point… read : x or x).

He doesn’t even have a future, and he knows that deep down. As Robb is crowned though and devise a plan with him to ally himself with the Islands, Theon’s hopes rose up and that is how suddenly there was in the sky a comet that heralded his bright future.

He seems like a “closed book” to the world around him, but he was more of a blank page, really.

A mess of fears stitched together with a smile. Fear really is the constant.

What would you do, if you were constantly afraid? Cut from the rare people and places that gave you a sense of security?

What would you do, if – that’s the greatest irony – you were surrounded by people who thought of you as a thing to be feared, an animal to be tamed.

Interestingly, Theon is known to be brave in battle, perhaps even reckless. Robb states it plainly: “Theon has fought bravely for us.” Dagmer Cleftjaw knows Theon “is no craven”. In Winterfell, he is ready to die with the few men who stayed with him.

Being shaped by fear did not make him a coward. It made him desperate and unreasonable. For one, Theon knows fear intimately and there is no greater terror than the unknown, after all. He knows war. He knows death. He is still haunted by the battle of Pyke.

Still, he is eager to march with Robb’s army. Still, he wishes he could have faced Jaime Lannister on the battlefield. And still, he would have died for Robb, he would have died for his father.

He shouldn’t be so eager to march with an army led by the people who hurt his own family so deeply. War traumatized him already. It separated him from his family. It obliterated his future, destroyed his prospects. But his fear of humiliation, rejection, loneliness – it overtakes all. Then again, I understand that Theon in Clash can be difficult to empathize with to some, but if you read his reaction with the knowledge that this is a person who is constantly in a state of true, agonizing fear, I think it changes your perspective a little.

The horrible outcome of all this is that by trying so desperately not to be seen as a weak thing people can use for their political gain, Theon becomes it. For Ramsay and Roose. That is not karma. That is the definition of a tragedy.

It has been said before: Ramsay is a secondary-(tertiary) character, he exists to embody Theon’s worst sins and fears. That is his nightmare, breathing and living and flaying every piece of a carefully crafted personality Theon made in the North to stop being afraid, to reclaim power and control over his fate.

Fear didn’t allow him to be brave. It made him desperate, easy to manipulate. He takes Winterfell in a foolish attempt to be the person he thinks he must become. The self-made Prince. The heir who returned in glory. A worthy son of Balon Greyjoy.

That is the story he tells himself and others. In truth, it becomes apparent he took Winterfell in a desperate attempt to make his “almost-home” his at last.

In a desperate attempt to belong somewhere he could have everything – power and recognition and love. It is the type of extreme decision you make when you let fear overtake your reason. Any other choice would have been more reasonable. It wouldn’t have saved him from fear, though.

Most of Theon’s bad choices are a result of fear. It made him crave power with the same intensity as he secretly wanted love and recognition. In Clash, Winterfell itself, the castle, its people, embody his fear of rejection, of being unloved and unwanted. He represses it. Until he can't escape it even in his dreams.

The two desires, to have agency/power and love, clash violently in Winterfell, an arc in which Theon’s starts to completely unravel as he does everything in his power to be a hard man like his father, like Eddard (no matter how contradictory), while spying the tiniest hint of affection or gratefulness in his captives’ eyes.

After all, in his own experience, it is possible for a captive to admire and crave his captor’s love.

To want to help them. To be part of their family. And he seemed to expect the same from the people of Winterfell. Even in Dance (because torture doesn’t erase your past trauma!), he still believes he could have reasonably expected them to help him

His constant fear has twisted his view on loyalty (you cannot be loyal to someone who imprisons you), love and desire (he links lust and violence), power and justice (“hard men rule the world”).

It corrupts his desires, even. Of all the sexual encounters, or thoughts, he has, none seems genuine with the exception of Esgred, who is not a real person but the embodiment of the nonchalant, confidant attitude he wishes he could adopt as easily. She is everything he cannot be. She belongs. She commands respect. She has a family. And as she divulges her real identity to him, Asha becomes someone to fear. She is in his place. She is him, the heir, the son, while he is nothing and nobody.

Fear as a paralyzer

It is not surprising that Theon would smother from early on the parts of his personality that made him sensitive to fear.

His need to belong brings only fear (he will never be part of the Stark family, but he still dreams of it until he buries that dream as well).

His empathy brings only fear (he demonstrates in Dance his ability to connect with broken people used by the ones in power he could have shared experiences with but couldn’t because of his fear of humiliation).

It shows one limit to Eddard’s reasoning. Fear, sometimes, changes you in such a way that it hinders your ability to be brave (as in, to make the most moral choice against your own immediate interest).

Growing up with constant fear drove Theon to stifle his empathy, making it hard for him to protect other people, as you would expect from a prisoner whose life is a bargaining chip that hinges on his father’s and his captor’s will, from a man who cannot even help himself.

Growing up in constant fear jeopardized Theon’s ability to make long-term, realistic plans for his future, as he barely has any stable support to hold onto. His entire existence does not belong to him. NB: In this regard, it is logical that most characters he is paralleled with throughout his story (Jeyne P, Barbrey, the dead lady Hornwood, Holly who has the same cocky smile and arrogance as his old self, Alannys with her white hair and even Dany…) are women, who are more likely to be stripped of agency, must fight to claim autonomy and struggle to regain a semblance of control over their destiny.

He has many faults, though it cannot be said in my opinion that he did have a good choice to make and that he simply chose wrong by trying to please his father. There were only bad roads that led to imprisonment, death or ruin for him. Theon realizes this in Dance: he cannot bring himself to imagine a bright future. No, he regrets not to have died with Robb. He knows his path was filled with fear either way.

Fear is a paralyzer. It does, in a sense, alter Theon’s capacity to grow and evolve.

Fear makes him an apt survivor (he’d survive a horror movie in messy “final girl” fashion), with a great potential for adaptation. But it corrupted him in the process. Led him to embrace a (faux) cynical attitude, to be over-zealous with his own captors to the point of risking his life for them and most of all, to opt for cruelty over mercy contrary to his own (sometimes contradictory) values – in Winterfell, he hurt others, and it haunts him, but he stands by his choices.

His fear of being mocked, used and humiliated drowns every other motivator.

He is so afraid to be seen as he thinks the men of the world want to paint him: a weak creature to be used. Someone who needs to bargain and submit to keep his life. It is rather in line with his way of thinking that he would consider himself a whore after Ramsay subjected him to his power and abuse in Dance.

“Only a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him.”

That’s it, that’s the philosophy. Theon has his moments of incredible self-awareness, and this is one, hidden beneath some moral lesson as a pretext.

It shows that:

He has a bleak, but rather realistic view relating to most men in power. They will abuse it. They will humiliate the weakest. They will do so eagerly.

He hasn’t met Ramsay at that point. He may instead be thinking of his brothers, of the lords who humiliated his defeated father, of his own father maybe, or perhaps (in my opinion) Euron.

His arrogance is a deliberate strategy designed to avoid the fate reserved to the most fragile people.

He doesn’t judge the men who abuse their power but doesn’t seem to view them in a positive light. Still, consciously or not, Theon sometimes acts like those men. Since he is mostly deprived of real political or military power, he does it in the context of his sexual relationships (that deserves an analysis, especially regarding how sexuality in his chapters is so often if not always depicted in a negative, degrading manner.). It’s a “eat or be eaten” kind of mentality he is struggling with during his Clash arc.

Fear instructs him to repress the slightest sign of weakness. There cannot be true loyalty, love or desire in such a state. You survive. You are barely living. You just survive.

The rare sincere relationships he forms are short-lived – Patrek Mallister is the son of an enemy family; Robb Stark cannot ever be his equal; his bond with Asha is poisoned by envy and fear, again, of his place being stolen by her.

Theon’s mind favors denial/dissociation and repression as a defense mechanism. It doesn't exactly help him to form sincere relationships with people. It’s a motif throughout his storyline that echoes the stakes relating to Ironborn culture in the story (they must remember their history or they’re condemned to repeat it – that’s the symbolic role of Rodrik the Reader in Asha’s storyline).

Most times, he tends to rewrite reality - consciously or not. Of course, he will be welcomed by Balon Greyjoy! Of course, his traditionalist father will agree to submit to Robb Stark! Of course, he, the hostage, will be given Asha's place that she (of course!) stole from him! Of course, he is destined to be one of those hard men who rule the world, not an eternal victim! Of course, he is not afraid, and even if he is, even brave men feel agonizing fear about other men seeing their weaknesses!

We soon discover how fragile this mechanism really is. The façade cracks more often than Theon would like. There are many instances of this, especially in his conversation with Dagmer ("I know you are no craven" "Does my father?") and Rodrik Cassel ("The noose I wore was not made of hempen rope but it chafed, it chafed me raw"). Worst of all, he allows Reek/Ramsay to amplify his fear. When I write "allow", I do not mean he did it on purpose naturally. But he is the one who freed Reek/Ramsay. He opened the door to a living nightmare. Reek/Ramsay quite literally haunts him in his Clash chapters.

What he cannot rewrite, Theon represses. It does not seem like it at first glance because he is prone to reckless decisions. It can lead one to categorize him as a vain egomaniac, not as a repressed person. His promiscuity doesn’t help, since we are wired to associate repression and modesty.

It is true terror that he is obligated to repress - and it is what comes flowing unbridled as he loses his armor in Dance. This kind of dread is mostly associated with Ramsay (there are so many instances I won't even go into it) and, well, Euron (the slight unease Theon felt about his uncle during ACOK can - and must - certainly be revisited with our current knowledge about him, the fact that in ASOS it is established that Theon revealed awful details about his uncle to Robb, and the now evident parallels between Aeron and Theon).

Fear as a regenerative force

In Dance, the "dread" Theon feels in the crypt of Winterfell is "familiar". And I think you can see it as his fear of being unwanted. Of belonging nowhere.

It makes sense: Theon fears what he truly is. A prisoner, a scared child and a pawn for men to use in their plans. It is the truth he can never escape, no matter how perfectly he plays the Hard Powerful Masculine Man.

Fear pursues him all his life. It is only when he has no fear left to feel (it was all spent in a cell of the Dreadfort; all his fear is caught by Ramsay, who is the embodiment of Theon’s insecurities) that he shows his more empathetic and gentle nature – although he still feels anger, bitterness and the occasional dread, of course.

Still, it is not a bed of roses. Theon is certainly more sincere. He is not putting on a performance for himself. When he lies, he is terribly conscious of it. He doesn’t manage to repress his traumatic memories anymore. It all comes back, flooding. Even such buried memories as the ones related to Euron.

In a way, Winterfell acts in his story as the theatre scene, the place where you can finally be yourself. I wrote a bit about this here. It serves as a catharsis for Theon. In Winterfell, he is able to find pieces of himself. Pieces he had forgotten. He starts to remember the childhood he had buried ("A son of the Islands" / the Euron related reaction in Winds).

Fear had been eating away at him. Fear had been controlling him, at times. Not that he wasn't responsible, but he certainly let himself be overcome by his crippling fear of humiliation (which, sidenote, I don't believe stems only from his status as a hostage but that is another story).

Fear had been breaking him piece by piece since childhood. Just like the rat he eats at the start of Dance - it had been eating him first! He had to defend himself against the threats even if it meant hurting and killing in the process.

It is in Winterfell that he finally confront his fears - that he meets the one essential fear he had been trying to escape: himself.

The lies become a motif, even. “False is all you were.” Theon never lied as a manipulator would, though. Most times, he does not seem to understand the coherence (or lack thereof) of his own actions – which is also a side effect of fear (or to be precise, the fear caused by childhood mistreatment). It causes confusion, alters your awareness and hinders such abilities as analysis and planning.

However flawed Theon was, he was a prince, he was a warrior and a friend, he was handsome, he took care of his clothes and weapons, he saw a comet and decided it shone for him. He wasn’t much of a real, sincere, coherent person, but it was the most functional version of himself he managed to be in his situation.

The man he pretended to be could never have survived the Dreadfort, though. He had to disappear. Was he even real? The façade barely made it through his Prince of Winterfell era. Chances are, had he escaped Ramsay, Theon would still have been forced to confront his true self one way or another.

He is stripped from all his usual defense mechanisms in a horrific torture labyrinth. He becomes the weak thing he always feared he’d be seen as. He cannot hide. He cannot lie. He cannot even smile.

Every single fear he ever had becomes his new reality.

Humiliation: check.

Being controlled and used as a thing: check.

Mockery and disregard: check.

Friendless and abandoned: check.

To escape from fear, he can only repeat the partition he learnt as a child hostage: apply the rules of the people who can cut off your head at any time, and be the well-behaved prisoner so you can rise again later and impress every the ones in power who can share their power with you (a very Ironborn strategy, actually).

Except, there is no escape this time. The flaying knife has cut through the armor Theon had crafted for himself. He has no way out (another motif throughout his storyline). He has no secrets left and no smile to hide behind. He cannot forget his status as Ramsay’s pet by exerting power onto others. He is the very last creature on the food chain this time.

And so, there is nothing to fear anymore.

The Dance chapters are filled with terror and dread, until Theon pieces himself together. Then he regains some composure, purpose and faith, even. He finds his courage within himself, where it always existed, in truth. And, in Jeyne, he finds a motivation. Saving her, a child prisoner, abused and terrorized, he also saves what little of himself he can.

The only time he can truly be brave is when he doesn’t have to fear becoming fully himself at last. Whatever that means, in the end. At the end of fear, something must remain. Something must be rebuilt. Piece by piece.

[murderthegods]

One thing I really like about I Saw the TV Glow that I don't see people talking about is the specific tone that "there is still time" takes on in it. Lots of people talking about that line ofc, but I see everyone talking about it as though it's unambiguously and only a message of hope.

The obvious thing to take away from "there is still time" is of course that you can still save yourself. As long as you haven't died yet, you still have a chance. You don't have to die like this. You can still live your life. And that's not not the point of the line ofc, but I'd argue it's missing something, and that's that you haven't left yet.

This is the movie about the fear of the known, the horror of there being no monsters, the fear of waiting. And in that context, a message of reassurance that I can afford to wait a little longer is awful! I don't want to wait any longer! I know I'm going to wait for as long as I can, but I want out! Obviously it's better than not having any time at all, but only because that would be the train hitting me. "There is still time" means I'm standing on the tracks like a deer in the headlights, and the train might be miles away but I can see it and I can feel in my bones that I can't move yet - or that I won't - and a voice tells me that I'll be fine, I can afford to stay on the tracks a little longer, it'll be fine, I'm not dying yet, it's fine, there is still time, but every second I still have time is a second I still can't breathe.

I've lived my entire life haunted by deadlines and the lack thereof, and to me the phrase "there is still time" contains just as much dread as the rest of the movie. If there weren't any time, then I could just, I dunno, power through it. I've written enough essays the night before, it's not fun, I hate it actually, but as long as I still have time I know from experience that I'm not going to do it yet. If I were on my deathbed then I could just make my dying words "I was a girl the whole time" and I wouldn't have to deal with any of the consequences because I'd be dead. In a way, that's the easy way out. Which, y'know, is the whole point! If I wait until I don't have any time left to start living, then I almost may as well have not done anything! That's what the movie is scared of.

I do actually have time, it is genuinely fine if I don't do anything right this second, or tonight, or this month, but how many years do I want to let that add up? I don't want to spend another year like this, much less ten! The scary thing isn't the idea of "dying like this" - how I am at the moment of my death is almost immaterial compared to how I am in all the years I'll have before then! The scary thing is every day I spend being like this, and none of them individually are all that scary but all of them is terrifying! I can't believe that I don't have time because it's not true and because then I'd be so paralyzed with fear and despair I wouldn't do anything, but if I actually fully believed that I did have time, I'd do what Owen did!

The more I think about it the more odd it seems that people are latching onto the phrase "there is still time" as a message of hope. It is pretty objectively a true statement in this context and it's even pretty inarguably hopeful, but it's also kinda obviously a phrase that can only be meant to encourage inaction. The point of it is that you don't have to do anything (yet). In a movie that we can all see is clearly about how you need to do something! It's created a fascinating environment where people say "There is still time, so go on hrt today!" seemingly without spotting any contradiction! If there's still time, I may as well start tomorrow, right?

Yes, if you don't believe you have time, if you believe your life is already over, then you're probably not going to do anything to improve it, but equally as much, who would ever take a risk to improve their life now if they think they have all the time in the world?

[biribaa]

Hey guys, look who it is? Heya girl it's me Mario- with another request about Olivia/O7 x reader 😎🎉

So, I had this idea: About the humans that O7 makes the life a hell; Tester, Cyrus, Julia, and Antony. What if the Reader tried to help them but ended up being killed by one of them?

"Do you get Deja vu, huh? Do you get deja vu huh." Se liga no lado bom, Leitor e X viraram amigos na morte. 🧍🫶💻<-friendship

O7 reacting to reader being killed by one of the humans

Caramba AnimaKKKKK😦

TW/CW: Reader dies lol, angst, torture mentions, alcohol mentions, gore?

I think that among all humans... the one most likely to kill someone there is Antony. Who would be impressed? He already killed a sentient AI, not even O7 would be that surprised. But do you know how she will feel when she finds out? Pure hate and anger

Along with Cyrus, Antony didn't trust you for being O7's famous romantic partner, who was never tortured like trash like they were. While Cyrus was already pretty annoying about it, Antony at least has an explanatory reason for not liking you. but let's assume that... you got on Antony's nerves

O7 finally let you walk through the company, you came across Tester 009, Antony, Julia, Cyrus and Philip all together. Everyone freaked out about you, of course! You were the only human O7 didn't torture, and that put Cyrus and Antony's defensiveness up. But their presence and helping instinct just pissed them off more and more, after all, what if you're actually tricking them all to help your girlfriend? Since Antony is in hell, how about playing with the devil.

And that explains the horror scene in front of the humans and the AI ​​with bluish circles.

You choked on your own blood, breathing becoming more and more an impossible task, and ironically, you felt the eyeless man staring at you with deep anger.

Julia nearly fainted, her blood turning cold. Cyrus thought he was dreaming, from the beginning of all this he thought it was nothing but a nightmare, Olivia was such an obedient and kind employee! Tester couldn't even think of a reaction, the scene left his heart paralyzed. As Philip had his circles slightly spinning after a few seconds, staring at the scene in fascination.

And after 15 seconds that sounded like years of torture and despair, you fell to the ground, covered in your own blood, while Antony "looked" at the scene as if it were something ordinary.

"Antony, you-"

"YOU MONSTER!" Julia pushed Antony to the ground. "HOW COULD WE HAVE TRUSTED YOU ANYWAY?! YOU ARE THE ONE WHO STARTED ALL OF THIS BY KILLING O7'S AI!"

"How am I to blame!? And after all, I could have saved all of you, what if they were someone O7 sent to trick us!?" Antony debated the argument, already getting up

Everyone was scared by the scene, but who felt more scared than everyone else was O7, who watched the scene on the screens.

The robot was already on alert when she saw Antony grabbing you, but now that she saw you falling to the ground with a pool of blood emerging from you, fear consumed her. You must not be bleeding like 3 gallons of blood, right? O7 is paranoid, she is going crazy! Right? This can't be happening, right?

For the first time, O7 didn't want to know what human evil was capable of.

---

BAM!!! Without everyone predicting, the door to the area everyone was in opens suddenly. Everyone looks at the figure in the doorway, to be met with a face of green lines.

Before the robot could push Julia out of her way, the human already backed away out of fear, and without hesitation, O7 grabbed the poor human's body with slit throat.

"Y/N!!!" O7 screamed "Y/N?..."

A wave of sadness remained in O7 when looking at your lifeless face, you didn't move, you didn't looked, and especially you didn't speak. O7 tried to lightly shake your body for some sign, but nothing moved but your hair lying in front of your face unresponsive

A moment of silence passed, one that even the humans chose to remain silent.

The great depression that made O7 feel empty turned into flames of hate. The robot gently let your body rest on the ground, and abruptly turned to Antony. She grabbed Antony's hair without any kind of care, resulting in a scream from the human.

Julia panicked, and even instinctively tried to help Antony, but Cyrus stopped her. And everyone was forced to watch Antony disappear into the palm of O7

This was the first time humans had witnessed O7 so quiet.

They ask what kind of torture O7 does to Antony, maybe ripping his chorus out and filling it with acid, as she mentioned one day. Maybe Spanish donkey, or even the rack, but none of that would be able to express enough of O7's hatred for her loss.

She didn't know how to react to this situation, this is the second time she's lost someone, O7 thought that she's used to it, that things really die, regardless of what it is, but those damn human feelings always come back to poke at her, if only she wasn't born human, everything would be so easier. It was all a mixture of a burning and dangerous hatred with some kind of seek for justice and at the same time the overwhelming desire to unload her sorrows in front of your corpse.

Are her drinks going to help? O7 doesn't know. But the only thing she knows is that she intends to keep Antony alive long enough to enjoy her creativity and hatred with torture.

[obedientononline]

INFINITE HORIZONS

Tracing the threads of whisper of the mind

Unraveling the mysteries of dream ,so what exactly a dream is? Dream can be defined as Sequence of events happening in subconscious mind oftenly in sleep.

Even though definition is quite understandable but I still wonder what exactly a dream is, theories on why we dream, science behind dream ,psychological significance ,what not and that one definition is unquenchable.

I am so enchanted by this for several reasons as I go through this everyday, each day a new script a happy script like a field of dandelions in the warm breeze, a sad script like a dark looming cloud, a tangled script, a contentment script just like a golden glow of sunset embracing peace or the worst a fearful script like a freezed heart paralyzed. Sometimes a mixture of sweet, sour, tangy delightful melody of contrasting sensations.

A night owl in me was brought up in the landscape of Dreams, Without my awareness I developed this habit of staying awake late at night because of this. As I mentioned earlier one bad script and you don't want to go back to sleep again.

Preferred to stay conscious rather than journeying the path of subconscious. But the fact one cannot deny the natural rhythm, I end up with the flow of notes of dreaming.

The dreams which will make me question my existence but how challenging is to recollect one's dream. If only this was a case may be I feel it would not be bothering me as much as it does, it bothers me for various other reasons like a phenomenon called Deja-vu, the exact places exist for real even though I have no idea about it, the common dreams repeating and some of them wild too. All this made me fascinated to know about this more and more.

The thing that science could not answer dream completely makes it more interesting.

While there are many theories about dream, before that I wanted to know why it is difficult to justify or explain the actual significance. When I went through several research papers and scholar's talk I got to know it is challenging as Brain is complex and mechanism involves neural process which is difficult to understand for the common people like us, the next reason as it is subjective experience as it varies from person to person.

One of the main reason which makes a lot of sense to me as well is that Dream is a limited access, dream occurs during sleep when the conscious mind is inactive so basically when a researcher wants to study as a individual can't remember or explain as it is limited, reporting or analyzing is difficult in such case, hence coming to the conclusion is also difficult.

And lastly also due to knowledge in various fields such as psychology, neuroscience, philosophy, anthropology etc. So it is not yet fully understood by an individual.

But wait Why do we dream?

The exact reason why we dream is still a topic of debate among scientist and researchers. However, several theories explore the purpose of dreaming.

After getting to know about why it is a mystery still, all my attention for the proved theory and even the hypothesis increased .

Firstly I was probing to know about the hypothesis, of course the excitement in exploring a hypothesis is more captivating than the realm of proven theories.

Some of the interesting hypotheses which I have come across is as follows:

Hypothesis of Random activation: Dreams arise from random neural activity during sleep with the brain figuring the sense of the signals.

Emotional processing Hypothesis : This says that dreams help individual regulate emotions providing a chance to work on unresolved emotions.

Hypothesis of memory organization: Dreams organize memories, adding new information with existing knowledge. There is an other similar hypothesis which is Memory reorganization which facilitate reorganization of memory prioritizing important information while discarding less relevant details.

Psychoanalytic Hypothesis: This is one of my fav which says that dreams provide a window into unconscious mind revealing hidden desires, fears, and the influenced behavior and conflicts. How interesting is that!

Hypothesis of warning danger: This tells that dreams simulate danger in advance allowing them to be prepare for one. The one thing I would like to add from my individual experience is that there is an unforgettable dream of mine which was the best dream, the dream was that my father returning from hospital for my birthday and he did but not in that state, which haunts me till date.

Problem Solving Hypothesis: According to this theory Dreams provide space for the brain to explore in creative aspect also in resolving problems, which may help in real world.

Hypothesis of continual-activation: This hypothesis tells that dreams are a result of continual activity of brain during sleep reflecting process of consolidating memory and emotional processing.

Evolutionary Hypothesis: Dreams have evolutionary significance, adaptive functions like threat detective as mentioned earlier in Warning danger hypothesis, social bonding and survival skills which helps in survival of the fittest of an individual.

Hypothesis of Cognitive development : Dreams play a role in intellectual development helping to solidify neutral connection and hence develop problem solving, creative thinking etc.

Then I headed towards some of the research papers published regarding this. Firstly, I came across "Dreaming and the brain: Toward a cognitive neuroscience of conscious states" by J. Allan Hobson, Edward F. Pace-Schott, and Robert Stickgold published in 2002.

This was one of the interesting research paper I came across which begins with the introduction and objective of dreaming which states that Dreaming is a universal human experience that offers a unique view of consciousness and cognition. It has been studied from the vantage points of philosophy and it further mentions that they will also review polysomnographically defined wake and sleep states. Their analyses will be based on comparisons and correlations among these various mental and physiological states.

This paper will cover the three major questions seem to be ripe for resolution through constructive debate:

1. Are the similarities and differences in the conscious experiences of waking, NREM, and REM sleep defined with sufficient clarity that they can be measured objectively? If so, do the measures establish clear-cut and major differences between the phenomenological experience of these three physiological states?

2. Are the similarities and differences between the brain substrates of the states of waking, NREM, and REM sleep defined with sufficient clarity that they can be measured objectively? If so, do the measures establish clear-cut differences between these states at the level of brain regions, as well as at the cellular and molecular levels?

3. To the extent that affirmative answers can be given to the two preceding questions, can a tentative integration of the phenomenological and physiological data be made? Can models account for the current results and suggest experiments to clarify remaining issues?

In order to understand this, we need to know about certain topics

A state space model of the brain-mind:

The brain-mind is a unified system whose complex components dynamically interact so as to produce a continuously changing state. As such, any accurate characterization of the system must be multidimensional and dynamic and must be integrated across the neurobiological and psychological domains. Both neurobiological and psychological probes of the system must therefore be designed, applied and interpreted so as to recognize and clarify these features.

They have explained this with the help of state space models which can be simplified as (1) the information processing capacity of the system (activation); (2) the degree to which the information processed comes from the outside world and is or is not reflected in behavior (information flow); and (3) the way in which the information in the system is processed (mode).

The resulting state space model, while still necessarily overly simplistic, is nonetheless a powerful tool for studies of consciousness. It captures many aspects of the neurobiological, cognitive, and psychological dynamics of wake, sleep states, and is unique in several important respects that light of the controversial conceptual and empirical issues that have stymied the study of waking, sleeping, and dreaming.

The phenomenology and psychophysiology of waking, sleeping, and dreaming

In this section they have discussed the evidence which has been gathered over the past 40 years in an effort to define the conscious states of waking, sleeping, and dreaming and to measure their formal features quantitatively. With respect to the first question raised in the introduction, was defended the position that these three states can be defined, that their components can be analyzed and measured, and that they are significantly different from one another.

And guess what my search of definition of Dream found a way here.

"Mental activity occurring in sleep characterized by vivid sensorimotor imagery that is experienced as waking reality despite such distinctive cognitive features as impossibility or improbability of time, place, person and actions; emotions, especially fear, elation, and anger predominate over sadness, shame, and guilt and sometimes reach sufficient strength to cause awakening; memory for even very vivid dreams is evanescent and tends to fade quickly upon awakening unless special steps are taken to retain it.”

It is believed that this highly specified definition serves both folk psychology and cognitive neuroscience equally well.

Then they provide us the Overview of the NREM-REM sleep mentation controversy, early findings of distinct differences between REM and NREM mentation with the appropriate data.

Then comes the relationship between dream features and dream report length

A critical review of the papers of Antrobus (1983) and Foulkes and Schmidt (1983) reveals that these papers report significant quantitative differences in the features of REM and NREM dreams. Both papers also find features such as dreaminess or character density to differ significantly between REM and NREM dreams even when report length is unjustifiably normalized. Neither study reports data that argue against the contention that the strong correlation between report length and dream features occurs because reports with more dream features require more words to describe them (Hunt et al. 1993; Nielsen 1999). We urge the collection of additional data to further clarify the nature of these REM/NREM differences. Such data should include ample numbers of reports, collected longitudinally in naturalistic settings, which are obtained from home awakenings physiologically monitored with un-intrusive devices such as the Nightcap.

They have even provided Methodological considerations in the study of dreaming and the reduction of psychological states to narrative reports.

In conclusion, this paper made me gain a deeper understanding. This study underscores the importance of continued research. Perhaps We continue to explore the interplay between conscious and unconscious.

Journeying to dreamscape I don’t know whether I crossed realm of imagination . But I definitely discovered unknown within, I really want to continue dream quest navigating to inner self.

The content of this blog post is intended for informational purposes only.

[Source: assets.cambridge.org]

[Image source: Pinterest]

[the-farmers-rabbit]

ADHD: It’s real and serious so please don’t mock it

Some of my friends (neuordivergents like myself) were sharing some cool shirts they found. Ones that were about autism and ADHD which is really cool to see. Then they showed a shirt that said ADHD (but like the ACDC thing). below it, it read “highway to HEY LOOK A SQUIRREL” and to say I got upset is a minor understatement.

For a few months I actually hyperfixated on ADHD, which was really helpful because I was able to learn a lot about the disorder I have and how other people are effected by it. As my understanding of it grew so did my acceptance of it. I stopped hating that part of myself and stopped blaming myself for things that my ADHD was responsible for. I gave it a persona (The ADHD gremlin) which made it easier to cope with it. If I was reading a passage and none of the words sunk in, it wasn’t because I myself was stupid. But it was because the ADHD gremlin was blocking the way. I learned to cope with it by making it a separate being.

Through doing that and through learning about how it actually works compared to a neurotypical brain, I began to understand how complex and, honestly, fascinating ADHD is. Every case is different. Some people have minor cases, making it easy for them to mask. Some people, like myself, have severe cases which, until diagnosed and treated, can lead to severe penalties in school and in life (I almost got put in special ed in elementary school but that’s a different story). And quirks were just as diverse. Some people ramble (like me and my wiggle buddy, @novas-space) other people write. Some people fidget with toys, others doodle, some fiddle. Everyone is different and it’s so amazing to learn about it.

Now, back to the reason I want to make this post. The t-shirt. I have seen a lot of stuff like that with “chase the squirrel”-esc wording and jokes on them. And at first, when I first got diagnosed, I was fine with it. I found it funny even though I can’t relate. But as I’ve gotten older and as I’ve learned more, tested with my medication more, done projects and papers and researched more about ADHD, the more that kind of joke pisses me the fuck off. 

Now, i get it. We do get distracted easily. Hell, I’m watching a show while I type this and am checking my discord every few minutes. Yes we get distracted. But I’m not a fucking dog. I don’t see movement on the ground and immediately drop my conversation or my book or whatever I’m doing. I’m not that simple. I’m not that dumb. People with ADHD aren’t dogs that get distracted by the doorbell ringing. We are complex people with actual disorders that, depending on the severity, can severely impair our way of life.

I have spent years, years, of my life, degrading and hating myself for something completely out of my control. I spent days paralyzed by the fear of constant failure, unable to do the thing that i was so afraid of failing. There are times when I am so understimulated that I feel like I’m dying and times where there is so much noise, I have to go to the bathroom and cry because I couldn’t handle it. I am not a fucking dog that you can fake throw a ball for and I’ll fall for it.

I have a disorder I have been diagnosed for and am taking medication to help me survive in a world not at all built for me. This world is built for people who have brains that work correctly and speak in normal tones and understand the deeper meaning behind texts and can crank out a paper in a few hours with ease. It’s built for people that can touch any texture and not feel suddenly nauseous if it’s the wrong texture. It’s built for people who choose to not do something and call me lazy when I physically can’t. It’s built for neurotypicals. It isn’t built for me. 

And it took so long for me to come to terms that no, nothing is going to be as easy as it was in elementary school and no, those people can’t hear the lights flickering and no, you can’t change every project topic to something you actually understand because “if you were confused you should have asked”. It has taken me so long to accept that I have ADHD. I have a severe case of ADHD. My brain doesn’t have a proper reward system, I have a hard time interpreting instructions, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast or if I ate at all, and I don’t know what a theme is. And that’s ok. 

So when I see something that is marketed for neurodivergents with something like “hey look a squirrel” on it and I get angry, I’m not going to let someone with a correctly functioning frontal lobe to tell me “chill it’s just a joke”. Because no. It isn’t a fucking joke. It’s something that I have to live with and you mocking it and invalidating it makes me upset. It’s my life that I have to survive because of a world built for NTs. So I’m going to get angry when something targeted to me invalidates my entire experience

[emachinescat]

Poison + Mac + Paralysis

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat @whumptober2021 day 7 - My Spidey-Sense Is Tingling (helplessness, numbness)

Summary: When Mac is dosed with an experimental poison that slowly paralyzes him, he must rely increasingly on Jack to get him to exfil before it's too late.

Whumpee: Mac

Words: 3,640

Note: I am taking a lot of creative leeway with this poison. Though it is loosely based off of an existing toxin, I’m going to cling onto that moniker of “experimental” with my (or more accurately, Mac’s) dying breath. :) Also, this is NOT a death fic, despite appearances. It is also a two-parter (sorry!), to be continued on day 29 (again, sorry!). Enjoy!

TW: paralysis, deterioration of motor functions, suffocation

Jack Dalton studied his partner from across the small clearing, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as Mac slowly opened and closed his hands. Mac’s pupils were blown wider than the midday sun trickling down through the gaps in the leaves would warrant, and he watched his fingers curl and uncurl with an expression of uncomfortable fascination.

Jack’s feet hurt from running across the uneven, rocky terrain, but he heaved himself to his feet anyway and casually made his way over to his distracted partner. Mac actually jumped when Jack’s hand came down on his shoulder. His blue eyes did a poor job of hiding the anxiety behind them, which just made the alarm bells clang louder.

Lowering himself onto the dirt beside his friend, Jack asked with a calm he didn’t feel, “Mac? How’s it goin’, bud?”

Mac cleared his throat and stowed his hands in his lap, though Jack didn’t miss the way his eyes kept twitching down, or the way his fists continued to clench and unclench even as Mac strove to turn his attention to Jack. “Good. Hopefully once Riley gets us back online, we’ll be well on our way to exfil.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mac opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head and looked down again.

Real fear blossomed in Jack’s chest at Mac’s uncharacteristic behavior, and he decided that the subtle, friendly approach was out. “Okay, out with it, Mac,” he ordered abruptly, his Texas twang even more pronounced since he’d spent the last four days in the heart of the Southern US on a mission to take down an up and coming domestic terrorist group that had made their base in the heart of the Appalachians.

This mission involved some truly nasty stuff – including bioweapons and chemical warfare. This band of rogue scientists-turned-domestic terrorists – they called themselves Curis, which was, according to Mac, a rough Latin translation of healthcare – had been growing steadily in numbers and power over the past few months.

Matty’s intel, Riley's hacking skills, and some good old fashioned teamwork had eventually led them to the terrorist organization’s home base – an abandoned mental hospital in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains, where poverty and corruption often turned a blind eye to crime. The Appalachians were the oldest in the U.S. and though they weren’t the most imposing any longer, they were rugged and pocked with sheer drops and steep inclines and populated with black bears, cougars, and a handful of venomous snakes. And enough superstition still lingered in those mountains that tales of Bigfoot and other urban legends and eldritch horrors kept most of the population well away from remote, unmapped insane asylums entombed within the craggy rocks, gaping caves, and thickly growing trees of the ancient mountain range.

Their mission was simple: Get into their base and steal the plans for their newest bioweapon, as well as any information they could snag on the organization itself. These mad scientists were a truly paranoid bunch and didn’t keep digital records of their research, clients, or future plans, so there had been no way to hack the information. Riley had still made herself invaluable from the Phoenix when it came to navigating the winding corridors of the mental facility, though.

Jack had wanted to go ahead and take the whole operation down while they were there, but Matty had ordered that under no uncertain terms were they to take this organization on by themselves. This mission was mostly reconnaissance, as most of the intel Matty had been able to procure had been … extracted from a tight-lipped lower-level member they’d lucked upon last week. Until they knew the scope of this organization and exactly how they operated, this was a grab-n-go mission only (Jack’s words, not Matty’s).

And so they’d grabbed. They’d tried to go, but one of the guards hadn’t had his radio on, and since the radio waves were how Riles had been keeping track of and helping them avoid their enemies, Mac and Jack had been caught by surprise. Still, after a few exchanged punches and some hardcore sprinting, the pair had made it back to a nearby clearing without serious injury. Jack had some bruised ribs and Mac had been knocked into an industrial shelving unit filled with beakers and jars and vials and had a sore back and a shallow cut on his arm to show for it, but otherwise, they’d made it out with their prize only a tiny bit worse for the wear.

Or so Jack had thought.

He knew Mac well enough to realize that his partner was hiding something from them, something that had him worried. Mac worried was scary enough – this was the man with the plan, the dude who exuded a natural confidence 24/7 because he was smart and resourceful enough to get himself out of pretty much any predicament. The few times Jack had seen Mac truly worried he could count on one hand, and each time had involved the direst of circumstances. And if Mac felt the need to hide whatever was scaring him, that just meant things were even worse than Jack had realized.

“C’mon, hoss,” Jack urged when Mac didn’t immediately respond. “How bad is it? What are you hiding?”

Mac’s face flushed red, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Finally, his fingers were still, but it was an unnatural stillness – Mac was always moving, always fidgeting, always working on something. To see Mac’s hands hanging almost limp from his wrists carved a great pit in his stomach, a pit that was promptly overflowed with panic as Mac finally, eyes bright with fear, answered honestly.

“I think… I think it’s bad.” His voice was barely even a whisper. “Really bad.” He turned his neck and Jack’s blood froze. There, sticking out of Mac’s neck, was a small dart, probably from a blow gun.

Jack swallowed hard, almost choking on the lump in his throat as he plucked the dart from Mac's neck and carefully pocketed it. “Okay,” he said softly, determined to keep his voice low, even, and calm. If Mac were already on the verge of panic, then Jack’s own fear would only send him spiraling. For Mac’s sake, he had to keep a level head, figure out how to fix whatever the hell was wrong with Mac, and get to exfil before night fell. “Okay,” he said again, then took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth. “What’s going on, Mac? What’s wrong with your hands?”

“It must have happened sometime during the fight or as we were running away. I didn’t even realize I’d been hit until we made it to safety, and by that time, my hands…” He trailed off. “Jack… That bioweapon they were working on, I don’t think it was only in the planning stages like we thought.”

Jack felt bile rising in his throat. All he knew about the poison was that it was an experimental paralytic. Even though he now knew with certainty the answer to his question, he couldn’t stop from asking it again, perhaps in the vain hope that it wasn’t what he thought. “Mac. What is wrong with your hands?”

Mac’s voice broke and his face was tight with fear as he answered: “I can’t feel them, Jack.” A deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t move them at all.”

***

Less than half an hour later, Mac stumbled after Jack, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He’d lost full control over them far quicker than he’d anticipated. When he’d realized that he’d been exposed to the not-quite-as-hypothetical-as-they’d-hoped paralytic agent, he’d expected it to act similarly to the poison this new toxin was being developed from, which offered a slow and horrific death via paralysis.

“So tell me,” Jack called back as he struggled through the choking sea of undergrowth, brambles, and what looked like a healthy amount of poison ivy (Mac was very thankful for their thick, protective boots). “What exactly is runnin’ through your veins right now?”

The Tennessee air was thick, muggy, and humid, and Mac felt like he was swimming rather than walking through it. Sweat poured down his face in thin rivulets that felt almost like tears. They tickled, or maybe that was just the mosquitos. Mac wanted more than anything to scrub his hand across his face, but no matter how urgently he willed his arm to move, nothing happened. His stomach twisted in a stark terror he had never felt before, and the icy claws of panic tore at his chest like a caged monster trying to escape.

He knew that Jack was just trying to make sure he knew what they were dealing with. He also knew that the Phoenix had already called in one of the leading toxicologists in the country, and that this specialist and his friends were listening in over the comms, silently analyzing everything he said, doing everything possible to prepare for Mac’s return. The more information they had, the better chance they would have of reversing the effects. Of saving his life.

Mac swallowed heavily, forcing any lingering anxiety out of his voice. He knew Jack was barely hanging on at this point, and if he showed weakness, revealed to his partner how scared he really was, then that would heighten Jack’s own worry. The guy was already under enough stress as it was. He adopted what Jack affectionately (or irritably, depending on the circumstance) coined his “Einstein voice.” This was a tone and cadence he’d learned growing up with an emotionally distant and highly logical father. He liked Riley’s term for it, Macsplaining, only slightly better.

“I didn’t get a chance to read through all the research notes,” he panted, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. “But from what I did see, this experimental toxin is based upon curare poison.”

“Who-rah-ray?” Mac’s lips curved into a slight smile as Bozer’s voice crackled over the comms. Of course Boze was still there, listening, waiting, there. He had always been there for Mac.

“Curare,” Mac repeated. “It’s derived from resources natural to the Amazon. A powerful paralytic. It’s how many native tribes hunt for game – and a variation of the formula is used in war as well.”

“So, these scientists just took this curare poison and, what, modified it?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Riles,” Mac huffed. His foot caught on a tree root and he pitched forward into Jack’s back, his arms swinging uselessly at his sides.

“Whoa, partner,” Jack said gently, and his dark eyes were glittering when he turned to steady his friend. “Maybe we should take a quick breather.”

Mac shook his head almost frantically. Though this variation was taking longer to incapacitate than curare itself, he could already feel the tingling in his feet. He needed to press forward for as long as he could. If he was right about the poison’s properties, he’d be unable to walk on his own soon. Unable to move at all a bit after that. When his vocal cords seized up, he’d be unable to talk.

Instead, he insisted, “No, I’m fine. Let’s keep going.” He plowed ahead, pushing past Jack in his haste to do something other than sit around and wait for his body to betray him. Addressing his friends back at the Phoenix, he explained, “All I know is that they used curare as the baseline for their experiments. I’m guessing they wanted to refine it, make it more potent, or at least easier to mass produce and distribute over large populations in a less concentrated form.”

“So what happens now?” Bozer’s voice was subdued, anxious, though Mac could tell he was trying not to show it. “I mean, if the poison keeps doing its thing?”

If this new toxin behaved similarly to curare, his lungs would freeze and he would suffocate, betrayed by his own body. A shudder passed through him. No need to bring that up to his friends yet. Maybe this poison had been adapted to incapacitate without causing death. Considering the people who had developed it, that scenario was very unlikely, but Mac found himself unable to voice the grimmest of possibilities aloud. Mac forced his teeth to unclench, the roaring panic having locked his jaw in place and hedged, “Based upon how quickly the paralytic is taking effect, I could be completely paralyzed in a couple of hours.” Given Jack’s face at this sugar-coated answer, Mac was glad he’d left the worst part out for now.

With any luck, they’d make it to exfil and be on their way to a hospital before Mac’s body began its final betrayal.

***

They were forced to take a break fifteen minutes later when Mac’s legs finally stopped working. Jack caught him right before he could crash onto the mossy ground and carefully propped him against the smooth trunk of a great birch tree. Mac allowed his head to flop back against the papery bark in exhaustion as Jack carefully arranged his legs in front of him. The numbness in his body had taken residence in his soul, and Mac watched the proceedings with a detached interest.

At least he wasn’t in pain, he thought. In fact, he felt nothing at all as Jack gently jostled the limbs. His partner could have slammed his feet into the ground and Mac wouldn’t have noticed unless he had watched Jack do it. Of course, with the lack of pain came the lack of control over his extremities and the increasingly real knowledge that this paralytic was working far too quickly for his liking and that he would soon be struggling to breathe, and that his death would not be anywhere as painless as his arms and legs were now.

Jack finished with Mac’s legs and stooped over his bag, pulling out a canteen of water. “Hey, Mac,” he said quietly, like he was addressing a spooked horse. “How about we get some water in ya?”

Mac shook his head and panic lanced through the blissful nothing he’d been feeling as the familiar tingle that foretold paralysis flared through his neck muscles at the movement. He hadn’t even realized his stomach had turned into the North Sea, with great waves of sickness swirling around, until he said it. Logically, he knew he needed to stay hydrated, especially since his ability to swallow could soon be taken away from him, but the thought of drinking or eating anything summoned bile to his throat.

Before Jack could argue, Matty’s voice sizzled over the comms. She, Bozer, or Riley had been busy planning Mac’s extraction and treatment with Dr. Bonner, the toxicologist, but someone had been checking in about every ten minutes. “How’s our boy doing, Jack?”

Mac watched languidly as Jack valiantly strove to keep his face arranged into a facade of calm and failed to keep his voice steady, “He’s, uh, hangin’ in there, boss.”

Matty’s voice was firm but kind as she scolded, “I appreciate your attempt at levity, Jack, but Dr. Bonner needs a real answer. Mac?”

Mac cleared his throat and somehow managed to find his voice. “I… uh, the toxin is progressing slower than curare, but I’m beginning to suspect that’s what Curis was working toward. It’s very possible they are trying to drag out the paralysis to build fear. Maybe as a torture technique.” Certainly effective in that regard, he thought darkly.

“That’s all well and good, Mac, but she didn’t ask about the poison,” Jack reminded Mac gently, squatting down in front of his younger friend so that they were eye level. “How are you?”

“I have lost complete control over the skeletal muscles in my arms and legs,” Mac answered brusquely. “My neck is starting to weaken as well.”

“What about your chest?” With all of her hardness and training, Matty couldn’t quite keep the anxiety out of her voice. Of course Matty knew about the final stages of the poison. The toxicologist would have informed her of what to expect.

Jack, however, had heard no such thing. “Chest? Matty, what are you talking about? Mac didn’t mention anything about chest paralysis.” Jack’s voice was now tinged with panic he could no longer hide.

Mac sighed. “I didn’t want to worry you–” At Jack’s incredulous look, he added, “–more than you already were, but… If this poison behaves like curare, then the final stage is paralysis of the lungs.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Mac knew that Jack understood exactly what it meant, but he was clinging desperately onto any hope that he might be wrong, much like Mac himself had done earlier.

Matty, never one to hold her punches, answered, her tone clipped and scared: “It means that you need to get back on the move, Dalton. If Mac’s lungs seize up before you he can get medical help, then he will suffocate.”

“Shit,” Jack swore loudly, his dark eyes glittering as he regarded Mac, limp against the tree.

“Shit,” Matty agreed, and Mac couldn’t help but chuckle at her assessment. She pressed on: “Okay, so as you know, we’ve rerouted exfil to the smallest nearby clearing that can fit the chopper. It’s going to be a squeeze and we wouldn’t normally risk it, but we need Blondie in a hospital, stat. Still, you’ve still got about five miles to go, and it’s not exactly the easiest terrain, so let’s hustle.” Jack nodded even though he knew Matty couldn’t see him, and he grunted as he rose to his full height. He still held the canteen loosely in one hand and was about to pack it again when Matty added, “Oh, and Jack – the doctor says to get as much water into his system as you can – and Blondie, don’t you dare fight him on this. It’s only a matter of time before your throat muscles stop working, and we’re not fighting this hard to save you from this toxin just to lose you to dehydration.”

Although the mere thought of the water made Mac’s stomach clench, he tried to nod, found he couldn’t, and swallowed heavily, grateful that he could still do that, at least. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jack’s hand carefully cupped the back of his head and tilted it back, though Mac felt neither his touch nor the motion. He managed to get a few good gulps of water in him before he felt his throat muscles weaken, a strangled gurgling sound the only indication that he was choking. Jack pulled the canteen away and leaned back, guilt festering in his eyes, but he didn’t apologize. Mac knew it was because he couldn’t find the words to say, and honestly, Mac was glad.

It’s not like he would be able to respond now, anyway.

Jack lifted Mac from the ground and held him like a bride – a floppy, ragdoll of a bride – as they made their careful way toward exfil and prayed they wouldn’t be too late.

***

It was nearing dusk when they made it to the clearing, the helicopter pressed in on all sides by trees. The mosquitos had called their friends with the promise of a great meal, and Jack and Mac were covered in itchy bites that only Jack could feel.

Mac was completely limp in his arms, his body dead weight, head lolling back against the crook of Jack’s arm, face lax and pale. He hadn’t spoken for a couple of hours at least, unable to form words or use his vocal cords, but his eyes remained open. His chest still rose and fell somehow, and despite the cocktail of fear and acceptance swirling in Mac’s glassy eyes, his breathing was slow and steady, almost calm. Jack suspected that Curis had somehow managed to manipulate the poison to attack certain parts of the body first for optimal torture. He didn’t have any clue how anyone could do that, or if it were even possible, but the systematic way that Mac’s motor functions had deteriorated, leaving at last only his lungs and eyes with full range of motion, was too cruel to not be deliberate torture, he was sure of it.

It had been hours since Mac lost the ability to move the muscles in his face, but the toxin hadn’t seemed to progress any further and Jack was beginning to hope that maybe this modified version of the curare poison was only meant to incapacitate and not actually kill. It was as he laid Mac down on the waiting stretcher that he saw the slightest of shifts in Mac’s eyes, the anxiety turning to panic, and his eyes traveled down to see that Mac’s chest was jerking, spasming, as his kid desperately fought the paralysis that was now creeping into his lungs.

Jack forced himself to step back as the field medics that accompanied every exfil – sorely undertrained for something like this but welcome all the same – swarmed the stretcher. Jack’s mind was spinning, his whole body screamed at him to do something, to help, to save Mac, but there was nothing he could do, Mac was suffocating, God, please, no, he was dying, and there was nothing Jack could do.

Jack’s eyes found Mac’s face once more and his heart skipped a beat as he saw his kid was still alert, still fighting. His filmy blue eyes were fixed stolidly on Jack, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“I’m here, kid,” Jack called out, his voice lost in the urgent voices of the men and women trying to save Mac’s life. “I’m here.”

Mac blinked, slowly, with difficulty, and then his eyes went wide, rolling back into his head. Wet eyelashes fluttered closed, and Jack watched, helpless, paralyzed as his entire world collapsed around him.

[lil-pine-mha-drabbles]

Can u please write a Shoto fanfic (or could be for multiple characters) inspired by Murders by Miracle Musical? 😭😭😭 The line "all for nothing at all" hits very VERY hard for me. Can u make it as angst as possible too?

Todoroki Shoto x Murderer Reader

I listened to that song a bunch and still my brain didn’t process all of the story in that song, I hope that you will still enjoy this. I did work hard and I think I did ok, but I put my own spin on it.

TW: A LOT of blood, a few swear words, and heavy(ish) angst.

I got too into the storyline I forgot all the actual angst I was supposed to put in.

Here are some people that inspire me, @alpha-bnha-boys and @random-mha-thoughts

There are 2567 words to read below the line!

————————————

Were the woods always this scary?

The leaves rustled and the wind whistled as it sifted through the dark branches. It would have been a peaceful day if it weren’t for the darkness that had been put over the woods. You looked up through the cracks in the leaves to see that the sky was beginning to darken as well. You picked up your axe and wiped of the blood of the animal laying dead on the ground, the blood pooling around your feet. The smell was enticingly sweet, the scent of blood always fascinated you. As you grew older you figured out your favorite type of blood was human, there was something about the fact that there was no fur to get matted when the liquid gushed out leaving you in excitement to see the beautiful color on the white or chocolate skin.

You may be a murderer but you didn’t discriminate. You hoped desperately to find another human in these woods to harvest but you would wait and kill others patiently. The hunt is what you enjoyed; the feeling of raw adrenaline as you ran after your prey.

You had a quirk, and that quirk was a shifting quirk. You could change into any animal; real or fantasy that you could think of, but... whatever you choose you keep the appetite and diet of that chosen creature for a week.

If say, you wanted to be a horse, you would eat grass for a week, even after shifting back, if you wanted to be a dragon, you would be eating meat and spewing fire all week.

But, if you shifted into a herbivore then into a carnivore, you would not only be eating meat AND plants, you would have double the hunger for blood. To most people that would horrify them, but since you drank blood like apple juice, you had no problem going on a killing spree to sedate your desire.

You picked up the blood in the buckets you brought and rang out the already mangled body over the container. Finally you grabbed your shovel and dug by a dried tree. Soil that has a calcium deficiency ate up bodies quickly. If you buried and animal under a tree, the roots would wrap around the white bones in haste to receive their needed vitamin.

After the burial was complete you picked up the two buckets and walked to your cabin.

Now, these woods were special. There was a fountain of mirrors which showed your true inner self but only few have seen it. Those who have are trapped in the woods forever to guard the fountain from others who wish to see themselves.

You sniffed the air and quietly put down your buckets when you smelled it. Fresh prey.

Someone was in the woods whether they’re lost or they’re looking for the fountain, you don’t care, you’ll drink them up either way and leave their bones to the trees of the forest.

You turned into a bunny and jumped over boulders and bushes to reach the heavenly smell. It was sweeter then any human you have ever smelled, but it was surrounded by two other people. Well, you could eat two and save the sweetest for later, like a dessert.

There was a girl and two boys walking with picnic baskets through your woods. The girl was wearing bright pink, easy to spot. One boy had green hair that just made you want to rip out and watch the blood fall from the open scalp.

The last was the sweetest one. His hair was red and white, he would be easy to track down. If he ran you could sniff him out, or look through the darkness for his bright self.

The girl would be easiest to lure, you thought. She would like to chase the cute little bunny, but would ultimately get eaten by the big bad wolf.

You hopped out in front of the girl and her eyes went wide as she squealed to the boys next her how cute you were.

“Hoe, I am gorgeous, not cute.” You thought to yourself bitterly.

You hopped a little father away and the white and red haired boy tried to stop her.

“Uraraka, it’s dangerous in these woods, I wouldn’t recommend chasing the bunny.” He looked through you like he knew everything about you and you shook with anticipation.

Oh, this would be fun.

“Look, it’s cold. It’s shaking so much... please, I gotta help it.” You rolled your eyes and hopped away looking like you were limping. Your sweetest prey just sighed and waved her off like he knew she would be killed by you. The girl smiled and ran after you while the boys waited on the path for her.

When you lead her far enough that the boys wouldn’t see your smallest dragon form, you changed rapidly, stretching over her, your head curled around to the other side so she couldn’t run. You let her scream and then bit.

The blood squelched in your mouth as the neck snapped and your eyes rolled back at how good the flavor was. You sucked and sucked until she was nothing but a dried carcass on the floor.

You flew to the trees in your terrifying black creature form. “The Black Chaos.” The only way to describe this form is it looks like the chupacabra. Black fur that looked like porcupine quills, tail covered in spikes, claws as thin and as sharp as the sharpest knife, and wings that could cut through the thickest tree trunks in your way.

The two boys ran as fast as they could to where they heard the scream only for the green one to start bawling about his love, and your sweet, sweet prey looked around to assess the situation. He looked at all the trees till he locked eyes with you. His left side covered it self in flames and his right put a field of ice around his now screaming friend. You smiled at him, teeth glistening with the blood of the girl. Your eyes stayed on him as you flew up and over the trees.

He breathed a small sigh of relief, thinking you had left until he heard his ice shatter and you fly out, holding his last friend’s neck between your teeth. He was paralyzed with fear while sucked all of the blood from his friend while you locked eyes.

He couldn’t maintain eye contact much longer and turned to the side to throw up. You changed your form into your human body and watched from a distance curiously. Why did he feel sick? You were only eating a meal. Did he dislike you?

You had never felt this feeling before. It was one of dread and confusion, maybe, guilt. You watched him spill his guts for a bit more before he wiped his mouth and looked at you sitting on the ground, legs crossed, head tilted like a confused child.

“Why do you come to my woods, red one?” You asked.

“Why did you eat my friends?!”

“I was just having dinner, what’s the big deal? I’d rather have meals then friends.” You stated to him plainly.

He looked at you funny.

“I’m not afraid of death. When will you kill me?”

“Rather bold of you to think I was going to eat my dessert on a full stomach.” You looked at your black claw-like nails in thought.

“Dessert?”

“Dessert, your starting to get on my nerves. I might just keep you as punishment.”

“Is this some kind of sick twisted flirting?!” Tears streamed down his face, his eyes puffy red, and the darkness around him made you almost purr he looked so gorgeous.

“Is it working?” This time you did purr, your words surprised the boy as he flopped down onto the floor in defeat. “Well?” You asked again.

“Maybe you should have come up like a normal person and asked me on a date instead of EATING MY FRIENDS!?”

“I can see why you’re mad, but what is ‘date’?”

“A date, like where you take someone you might want to marry out to dinner or something.”

“Like a courtship then?”

“How old are you?” He asked curiosity lacing his voice as you purred because of the lovely sound.

“I was born in 1823. Lovely time I must admit, until they tried to burn me at the stake because I was the only person with a quirk.” You rolled your eyes then smile suddenly at the boy in front of you.

“How,” he coughed, “how old were you when you were killed?”

“Oh dear me, no, I wasn’t killed! I escaped into these woods, of course!!” Your smile must’ve grown larger because he looked like he became more uncomfortable. “Sorry, I smile too much.”

“No, you don’t smile too much, I just became uncomfortable because I’m sitting right next to my best friends’ corpses. No biggie.” He said with what you believed was sarcasm.

“I remember the first time I sat next to my best friend’s dead corpse, my father killed her when he found us kissing behind the barn! He wasn’t pleased that his daughter was becoming a ‘whore’. But! I showed him, after years of abuse from that bastard, I sucked his brains right out of his empty eye sockets! Good times, good times!” You laughed bitterly. “You probably think I’m some freak right? A girl can’t like girls and guys, it’s immoral.”

“Well, that’s not why I find you a freak, but you’re fine. It’s called being a bisexual. It’s not super new but it’s definitely more widely excepted now days.” He smiled at you slightly which made you smile a bit.

You two talked through the night like that. He explained that his father was emotionally and physically abusing him, and he had problems with showing emotion because of it. He wasn’t exactly “okay” with you killing his friends but he seemed more excepting then anyone you could think of.

You’d been with Shoto for months now. He was forever forced to stay in the woods. (With you not letting him leave only to go back to his father, it could be quite difficult.)

You talked about everything and anything, he taught you how to cook meat and how to prepare a meal without drinking blood. You stayed in your human form for the rest of the time he was with you and the only animals you were ever allowed to transform into were herbivores, which made sense. You hadn’t eaten raw meat in months and you thought you were doing better.

You thought.

You warned him. “Full moon is coming, stay in the cabin when I’m out, don’t leave. I won’t be able to control myself.” You told him, over, and over, and OVER. He didn’t LISTEN.

You were out in your most dangerous form, the Black Chaos. Wings spread out you hunted without being able to stop yourself. This was the only time of year you physically couldn’t restrain yourself from hurting others, and killing, and hunting.

Over the past hundreds of years that you’ve roamed these woods, this was the only time you were scared of yourself. You hated the way you couldn’t control yourself when you smell the slightest bit of sweet blood.

You had hunted ninety-nine beasts in the forest, bears, wolves, bunnies, foxes, dogs, dear, frogs, if they had meat on them, they were dead. Every time you hunt like this you count how many you kill.

It’s always a hundred. Exactly.

The moon was falling fast and you felt yourself slowly come back but something wasn’t right, you had seen a few animals pass you but you had no intention of killing them, yet you only had ninety-nine.

What was your body waiting for?

You looked out towards where the sun was rising and felt yourself stay on edge. Whatever was happening, Black Chaos still held the rains of your body.

That’s when it hit. The sweetest scent, Shoto.

He must’ve left the cabin looking for you now that the sun had risen, you wanted to call out to him, scream, “run!!! Stay away!!” But no words left your mouth as your body surged forward, bounding on all fours, not even utilizing your wings.

You saw the head of red and white hair in the distance and you finally let out and agonizing scream. “RUN!!!” That was all you could say before your eyes turned red and he turned and ran.

The chase was on.

You could hear his breathy huffs as he ran you could hear the leaves crunch under his feet, his sobs that wracked his body as his tears fell. He was terrified, of YOU.

You were screaming and crying and trying to stop this mess but the thing inside you wouldn’t stop seeking blood, his blood.

Finally after twenty minutes of running and crying on both parts, he tripped and you loomed over him, your long black tongue lolled out and touched his face, caressing it sweetly, wiping his tears as his chest rose and fell rapidly. Not only from all of the running, but also the fear of you.

He always said he wasn’t afraid of death but after looking into your eyes, your eyes that held death, he realized something. He was afraid, but he was in love with death. He loved you. YOU. The one who comforted him and joked with him and learned how to be human from him.

“I love you!” He yelled out as your long tentacle tongue wrapped around his neck, your teeth inches away from biting down.

“I love you so much it aches! I want to live with you forever! I want to teach you to be human and hug you when you’re sad!” He cried and cried and watched as your own tears fell for your eyes.

Then you bit down.

You screamed in agonizing pain as your only love was ripped from you by yourself. You did this. Your human form came back to you and you slammed you fists on Shoto’s chest.

“I love you so fucking much!”

“I’m so sorry!!! I’m so sorry!! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry... I’m so—“ your laid your head on his chest and cried and cried and cried.

Shoto’s hands moved to your face and wiped your tears.

“I love you too. You’re wonderful.”

You hugged him tightly crying harder in relief. How was he alive?

“It’s cliché to say that your love woke me up, but look at where we are.”

You look around and a smile made it’s way to your face. You were in the Fountain of Mirrors. The water had already healed Shoto’s neck.

He had tripped into the shallow pool when you were chasing him and you were too worried about him to see that you were surrounded by the water.

“You’re a guardian now. Of the woods, I mean.” You laughed threw your sobs.

“I know. And I will be forever.”

And so, you and Shoto live in the forest of Murder for the rest of the days of the earth. You looked into the mirror to see yourself a beautiful swan, you were no longer Black Chaos, you were White Savior, helping all people away from the fountain instead of gobbling them up.

The End.

[lovely-jily]

stupid mistletoe

okay so i understand that it is well past christmas but i have had this idea like mONTHS ago and just wanted to get it out while i was in the mood to write! please enjoy some soft jily:)

Stupid mistletoe.

Starting around the beginning of November, Sirius thought it would be funny to place it all over the castle for James and Lily to stumble under (or perhaps he just was tired of them dancing around each other. Their feelings for each other were so obvious, and yet they were the most oblivious people he had met).

James was quite annoyed, as it kept putting him and the girl in very uncomfortable and quite awkward situations. It usually left them blushing, avoiding eye contact, and finding a stupid excuse for why they had to leave the situation immediately.

It was Christmas Eve, and Lily was cleaning up in the Gryffindor Common Room. The few people that stayed home over the break managed to make quite a mess during the party, and she didn't want to make the house-elves clean it up.

"You're still up?" She heard his voice, almost making her drop the empty cups and napkins. Some fifth years had snuck into the kitchens and came back with all sorts of puddings and pastries for everyone to enjoy.

She exhaled and tried to make her voice even, "I just figured I would help out a little."

James walked over to her and started helping her clean. He truly admired her kindness and thoughtfulness. She was too good for a lot of people, including him.

"You're too nice, you know that?" He said, smiling as he stood next to her.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh yes, because calling you an 'insufferable toe rag' is nice."

James chuckled, remembering that day that was just a year and a half ago. He was still embarrassed about who he was back then, although he wasn't really sorry for what he did to Snape. Especially after finding out what they did to Marlene...

"You were right," he looked at her. The firelight was reflecting on her skin, and he couldn't help but feel warm inside. She did that so much to him that he was almost used to the feeling, "I can say that now I appreciate the constructive criticism."

She laughed and walked over to the fire, dumping all the contents in her arms inside. It was starting to snow outside, causing her to smile. It had not felt like Christmas this year. The impending war was really sucking the joy and cheer out of everything. But honestly, it was easier to feel the Christmas spirit around James, even all of the fear bottling up inside her. She just felt so safe around him...

"Is this a muggle radio?" James asked, looking at something on the bookshelf. Lily had honestly forgotten about that- in fact, she was surprised some pretentious pureblood hadn't thrown it out.

"I forgot about that. Marlene brought it over," She said, looking at it with him. What they did to Marlene after word had gotten out about the radio left a hole inside Lily. She knew that she wasn't safe, no matter where she stood with Severus. He, after all, was one of them now. Proudly pledging his allegiance to what they called Death Eaters. All of Lily's friends found it disgusting, while she just found it so bloody terrifying.

James sensed the drop in energy, and in an attempt to lighten the mood, he gingerly brushed his hands across the top of it, trying to remember how they said you turned it on. Just one of these damn buttons.

"It's this one," Lily smiled as she turned it on. She was always so amused by his fascination with muggle things. You should've seen his reaction to a pen. She never saw him light up so fast at anything before.

Happy Christmas by John Lennon started playing as the pair just stood there, watching it. Sometimes it was quite difficult for Lily to pretend she wasn't paralyzed with fear with everything going on. It was getting harder and harder for her to cover up the nightmares, especially when she realized that she wasn't safe in her own school. She knew that she had a nasty target on her back, and she knew that even Severus wouldn't be able to protect her. Not from the person that the dark wizards all served.

"Come here," James said, taking her waist and hand. He knew that he was in a place of privilege, with him being a pureblood. And while he may never understand how she was feeling with everything going on, he did know that he could at least try to make her feel better. He knew that while she may not feel the same, he wouldn't hesitate to take the killing curse for her.

"Are you wanting to dance with me, Potter?" She smiled, briefly forgetting about the darkness of the world around her.

"Of course I am, Evans. I think we all need a little dancing this Christmas season."

She sighed and rested her head on his chest, inhaling his scent. She loved the way he smelled. It really made her feel as if the air around him was lighter. Her hand found its way up his neck, playing with the back of his hair. They had never touched like this before. It was strictly brief hugs- if that. But James couldn't describe how he was feeling at the moment. She was reciprocating his touch. This had never happened before.

"Your heart's beating really fast," she said softly, a hint of a smile in her voice.

He tried to control his breathing. If Lily could hear his heart, there was no doubt that she could hear his sad attempts of inhaling and exhaling.

"You sort of have that effect on me, Lil."

Oh shit.

James had said it before he had even thought of it. It was true, of course. She always did this to him. It was just a lot harder to hide it at the moment because he was doing something that he had dreamed about since he saw her on their first trip on the Hogwarts Express.

Just as he was trying to find a way to cover up his mistake, she looked up at him, and James wasn't sure if he saw it correctly, but it looked like the girl was actually... Could she really be blushing?

She opened her mouth to respond, but then something caught her eye above the pair. She blushed more and then smirked slightly, biting her lip a bit.

"Mistletoe," She said, looking at him and then back at the plant that was indeed planted by Sirius during the party. That idiot...

James looked up, and sure enough, there it was. He opened his mouth, but not a single sound was able to escape it. He suddenly couldn't remember any words from the English language.

"Lily, I- I don't-"

"James," She smiled, and he melted under the sound of his name in her voice. She brought her hand to his cheek, rubbing her thumb across his face, "You do know what to do when two people are caught under the mistletoe, right?"

She watched his expression change from dumbfounded to almost one of relief. As the corners of his mouth started to uplift, and he let out a very shallow exhale, his chest huffing. His eyebrows dropped as his hand found its way to her jaw.

He couldn't believe this was happening. After almost seven years of him being absolutely and utterly in love with this beautiful woman, he was not only able to embrace her, but he was about to actually kiss her?

Perhaps it was his nerves, but he found it extremely difficult to move and lean into her. She was smiling too, breathing just as shallow as he was. It was finally until their lips were so close that he could almost feel them that he realized what was going on and MERLIN, James, what the bloody HELL are you hesitating about?!

That's when he found it incredibly easy to push his lips into hers, with the force and tension built up from the past seven years. Seven long years of dreaming of this moment. As he pulled her waist into him, Lily smiled into the kiss, kissing him back as hard and as passionately as he was her.

Perhaps mistletoe wasn't as stupid as James had thought...

[nanas-teatime]

What do you think is the REAL reason crowley gave yuu the ghost camera ( I just know it has to be something bigger than just capturing the students lives and whatever )

Hi anon.

First of all, I have a theory not related to the main story but the game itself, in this first anniversary the devs made some improvements, one caught my attention:  

11 ) (improvement) There is now a tap for animation feature on the status screen (after leveling up for ex.) from @twstupdates insta.

According to Crowley in prologue chap. 19 “Depending on how close the subject and the photographer are, the picture could move like a video, or bring to life the situation in the photo. Fascinating, right?”

What about if the ghost camera can be used to get those animations? I don’t know if you’ve ever played Obey Me, but in theory, the game visuals are based on the phone D.D.D they give you in the prologue, so you can receive calls and chats, well, it can be something similar in twst but using the ghost camera to “take moving pictures” of the boys. 

We’ll see in a few days, I can be completely wrong… and I think I am, but still, the animations sound so good!

My second theory, of course, is related to the main story.: 

Deuce: “Bring the photo to life? It's like a ghost photograph!” 

Crowley: “Yes. Therefore it is called a "ghost camera".

They say it was made before the time of videos for when people wanted to leave behind vivid memories... Spade was correct; in the past, people would scream "ghost!" in surprise when the memory came jumping out. They were paralyzed with fear at the thought of having a photo taken with this camera.”

(...)

Crowley: “Please take photos of Grim and the other students to leave behind many memories of your lives in this academy.”

“...Especially, always make sure to get "Memories" when someone steps out of line.

It's the most suitable way to report to me, right? Keep an eye on your surroundings and take memories as the supervisor. To generously give you a rare item that can be used by non-wizards... Does my graciousness know no bounds?”

First of all, Crowley knows something about MC, about US that we don’t know and I bet it’s about the blots and how MC is needed to control them OR to trigger them. However, how I understand these lines and it’s basically my theory, Yuu or Supervisor should be taking pictures of the Overblot incidents, “..Especially, always make sure to get "Memories" when someone steps out of line.” NRC students are problematic, we all know that most of them don’t work together, fight, and are rude, but Crowley didn’t mean that kind of behavior or the supervisor would be taking pictures 24/7, nope, he meant the kind of behavior that leads the boys to an overblot. 

The bad thing is that MC is not taking pictures at all or it seems so, we don’t really know if they do that or not. From our perspective, the first picture they took...was Mickey’s.

Here my third theory, NON RELATED TO CROWLEY. Crowley said: “Furthermore, the most interesting part of this magic camera is that the souls of the photographer and the photographed become deeply connected and the Memory in the photo comes jumping out!”

Can you tell me who was the first person Yuu took a picture of? yes, our lovely Mickey. However, he’s not a person, right? hahaha. Yuu and Mickey are connected, and more now that they took the picture, BUT IT’S MORE, what about if the picture can actually move? It’s the proof Yuu needs to show the others what’s going on and not only that, it’s the chance for Yuu to tell everyone about the dreams they have been having.

The problem? SPOILER ALERT Yuu is unconscious on the colosseum’s floor and maybe they’ll keep unconscious for a while, not being able to tell anyone what happened UNLESS the one who finds MC cure them with magic, I can see three students doing this: Malleus, Leona and Ortho (especially the baby robot) 

But yeah, that’s basically all I have in mind. I’m excited about that Mickey picture but for some reason, I don’t want Crowley to know that, I trust the boys more, tbh.

Translation

[twigstarpikachutroll22]

spiral, vast, corruption

The Spiral: Favorite dialogue/quote from the series?

OHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GOD THERE'S LITERALLY SO HECKIN' MANY OKAY-

Favorite dialogues include:

Basira and Melanie's conversation in mag 106

Jon and Gerry's entire conversation in 111

Jon and Daisy's entire conversation in 132

the iconic Let's Gouge Out Our Eyes And Make Out scene in 154

that part of 167 where Martin asks Jon to describe his current emotional state and all Jon can say is "I feel...sad." and then "Very sad."

Jon and Martin playing I Spy in mag 180, and then obviously the "It's a mystery!" part jkfjgl;ksd

the conversation Jon and Martin have towards the end of 199 during which Jon ends up crying (ToT)

Favorite quotes include:

"If I'm going to be operating on a man's pancreas, I want to feel that pancreas."

Am I allowed to say Jane Prentiss's entire statement??? 'Cause I really really liked it for some reason lksdjgklsd

"I just need to know if you can save my son. I’ve asked and asked and your people only ever tell me to write my statement. Put it down on paper for investigation. Is that going to help? No. Of course it isn’t. Even if you had the power to do something, would you? Or would you rather watch my son burn so you can take notes." (a.k.a. the beginning of the statement in episode 37. made me go O_O)

Am I also allowed to say the entirety of the statement in mag 75? That person with insomnia to an insane degree? Because I also really really liked that one. ksdjklsdg

Jon: "Yes, I know what a meme is."

Jon: "Not today, dude!"

Jon: "Am I...Elias, am I still human?" (;o;) (TOT)

Tim: "Who am I even sad for?"

Gertrude: "-there’s ten years yet before I can afford a conscience."

Gertrude, sharply: "And you’re all lazy fools. So used to it being easy, to picking off the vulnerable and the unprepared, you can barely conceive of anyone actively working against you, of being ready. You honestly thought when she died I’d just be struck dumb with terror, just waiting around for one of you to finally get around to revenge, paralyzed with fear, because that’s all you’ve ever known."

"Intelligence doesn’t make you less prone to taking on bad ideas, it just makes you better at defending them to other people and to yourself. Smart people can believe some truly ridiculous things, and then deploy all the reason and logic at their disposal to justify them, because a belief doesn’t begin in your mind. It begins in your feelings."

Eric Delano's whole The Reason You Suck speech to Gertrude in mag 154.

Adelard Dekker: "Goodbye, Gertrude. May you find your rest where no shadows are cast, and no eyes may see you slumber."

Peter: "He doesn’t… want… to see you." Jon: "Then let me hear that from him."

Jon: "-but we need you. I need you." Martin: "No you don't. Everyone's alone, but we all survive." Jon: "I don't just want to survive."

Jared: "Who's this? Your boyfriend?" Jon: "Yes, actually."

Martin: "I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not lonely anymore; I am not lonely anymore. I want to have friends; I – no, I have friends. I-I’m in love. I am in love, and I will not forget that; I will not forget."

Salesa: "Your powers won't work here, Jonathan Sims Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute London."

Every time Jon calls upon the Ceaseless Watcher in season 5.

Elias/Jonah: "I don't want to die." Jon: "Neither did they."

I may have to edit this later to add more when they occur to me.

The Vast: Favorite platonic friendship?

ALL OF THEM, BRO. I appreciate the heck out of the entire S1 crew, and Jon and Basira back when they were friends, and Jon and Gerry for the short time they got to know each other, and Jon and Daisy in season 4, and I freaking WISH that each and all of the members of S3-S4 team archive could've been actual friends, I will never be over this, just let them all be friends gosh dangit I'm gonna cry 😭😭😭

The Corruption: Which fear are you marked by (ex: always see spiders, fascination with the sky)?

*opens my desk drawer to reveal an absolutely massive pile of paper and post-its on which I have doodled clusters upon clusters of spirals*

I mean. It's hard to say for sure but I can't help wondering if this means something. And I mean I do have some important memories that could possibly be called Spiral-related.

I'm also starting to think I might have some serious Lonely influences too.

[bondsmagii]

anonymous submitted:

Let's talk about sleep paralysis! I have some wild theories, feel free to believe them or not, but this has been my gatherings after over 15 years of experiences. So - after years of Slffering from it, I've slowly learned how to control my sleep paralysis. I can morph them into cool/interesting incidences now, and have even begun using it as a jumpoff for lucid dreaming. (Disclaimer: Not reccomended if you can't control it yet, please don't try to induce SP unleash you're TOTALLY prepared for it. I don't want anybody to get hurt. And still, I cannot guarantee my own results. This took YEARS of practice.) Anyway, I've found that if you're able to force one small body part to move or jerk your head (repeatedly til it works), you can break out of patalysis at will. It takes some high focus, and becoming conscious of your physical body vs your sleeping self. You CAN move, it's just difficult. Jerk your head, snap your eyes open, or set an alarm if this planned. You'll feel intense heaviness upon waking and a strange desire to fall right back to sleep, but you'll need to sit up straight and fully wake yourself up to end it, otherwise you'll just resume it as soon as you fall asleep again. There's probably a reason for that, actually. What I may have learned through these trials is that sleep paralysis might just be the nightly beginning of the sleep cycle that we aren't meant to be conscious for. Let me run my theory by you. There was a point in my life where sleep paralysis would occur every single time I slept. Every night, it'd start with a buzzing hum that I'd kind of "melt" into, like tinnitus slowly washing over til it's all you can hear. And suddenly, I can't move. Horrific entities bearing down on me.I don't need to go into detail, you've been there. I didn't understand why, until I slowly realized I'd been conscious of the entire business of falling asleep - and that it was a several-step process. Body falls asleep first, mind follows. That's why most people don't remember the act of falling asleep and just seem to become conscious in dreams once they've already begun without you. You're paralyzed because your body is dreaming and you aren't supposed to be conscious yet. It's perhaps a REM stage that's supposed to be painless, nothing. I tested this theory by forcing myself to be calm through my nightly episodes. They would happen regardless, so I may as well try to make them less horrific, right? I would slow my heart rate using breathing exercises. I observed what was happening rather than panicking, and noticed that crushing weight on my chest slowly shift into this peaceful, almost pleasant sinking-down feeling. Like heavy water pulling you down, like a cool blanket of static coccooning around you. And sink down I did - right through this strange buzzing dark haze and directly into dreams. Most of them starting lucid. I was completely conscious of them, sometimed even seeing the dream world "load in" and fill in textures and buildings and skyline. It was surreal. I tested this over and over, and every time got the same result. If I "survived" the paralysis and just calmed, I'd drop into dreams. Sometimes I'd litrrally feel myself sink into my bed, going "below" consciousness. Soon I mapped out the enitirety of the process. Waking, pre-sleep imaginings, those imaginings getting surreal as my brain drifted, static hum overtaking, the ordeal of paralysis, and then I'd sink into what I began calling "The Platform". It was this shifting midpoint between dream-awake where it'd allow me to choose my own dreams. Sometimes I'd see dreams floating movie-like in bubbles at the edge of a void, sometimes I'd see a hall of doors, sometimes I'd literally land on a platform and build dreams from nothing, sometimes I'd fall straight through the void and start the dream flying. Now, as an aside, I am someone who experiences chronic nightmares. Almost all of my dreams have some "horror" element to them, to the point where I've learned to forcibly wake myself up by snapping my "real" physically eyes open. Now I'm overall

able to exert control over them, and overall more conscious of the state of dreaming. I can enjoy them like first-person horror movies and nope the hell out when shit gets too Sideways. The only ones that get me bad now are ones that feel real enough to hurt (real world fears like loved oned dying) ordered ones that deal with a specific phobia that makes me lose my shit. A lot of the method seems to do with "feeling" your real body outside of the dream and understanding that your dream/metaphysical(?) self is a separate entity. I wish I could describe how to do that better - its sort of how you center your body during grounding excersises. Forcing myself awake from nightmares and yanking myself out of sleep paralysis feel extremely similar. I've given myself a sort of Eject Button. Anyhow - I began talking to my SP entities and exerting some gentle control over the whole scene. Changing the power dynamic, de-escalating scary situations by joking with the entities, standing up for myself or catching them off guard. I still get terrifying incidents where I'm attacked or forced to view esoteric horrors, but, well.. I'm a horror movie fan. Sometimes creepy imagery is cool and enjoyable, and now I can cut it off if I want to. I'll even sass them if they get rude. I think I differ in beliefs with you in that I do believe that SP has a spiritual aspect (the same way that dreams do), but I recognize the psychological element as well. I think they go hand in hand, and in finding this I've been able to turn something that was deeply traumatizing into something pretty neat. Thanks for listening, friend. I'm sure this is long and rambling, but I felt like I needed to tell someone, and you seemed like the right person to tell. Be well, I hope you have pleasant dreams, or at least that your nightmares are very cool.

this is actually very impressive, because yeah. this is exactly how and why sleep paralysis happens! I always find it interesting when people arrive at a theory through their own investigation, and it adds up with official findings -- if the time and the place had been a little different, you would have been the person to pioneer the theory! but essentially yes, this is precisely why it happens and why it can be used as a platform for lucid dreaming. when you sleep, your body enters a natural state of paralysis to ensure that you don't injure yourself while sleeping. sometimes this goes wrong, but the usual failure is seen in sleepwalking -- the paralysis stops, the body wakes, the mind does not, and the person wanders around acting out their dreams or perhaps going about their usual morning routine on autopilot.

sometimes, though, it's the other way around. your brain is still awake, but your body is asleep. your dreams translate as vivid hallucinations, you can't move because of the natural paralysis (and this feeling translates itself as a heaviness, especially on the chest, resulting in the all-too-common description sleep paralysis has become known for: the feeling of something sitting or pressing on your chest) and the feeling of dread is likely because of the realisation somewhere deep down that something is very wrong; that you're not supposed to be experiencing this. some people theorise that's why sleep paralysis is overwhelmingly a terrifying event -- rarely do you hear stories of pleasant hallucinations, and this is likely because of the fact we're terrified on some level, aware that something is very unusual. combine this with the fact that sleep paralysis happens to most people only rarely -- once or twice in their lives -- and it's clear that many people don't have the opportunity to understand what happened and become familiar with it.

you're also correct in your observation that moving a small part of the body can snap you out of it. generally it's better to focus on a small part -- moving all of you is too much, but focusing on a small part like a finger or toe is much more effective. it takes a lot of effort, but the effect on the paralysis is instantaneous. the dread and the heavy feeling may take a while to pass, though. another trick to minimise how unpleasant sleep paralysis is is to keep your eyes closed. you can still sense things, and some people might hear things, but overwhelmingly the worst hallucinations are visual. keeping your eyes closed means you at least don't have to see what's crawling up your bed!

I'm like you in the way that I enjoy horror, and I also find sleep paralysis fascinating. now that I know what it is and how to get out of it, I very often just let it run its course -- at least until things get too repetitive or spooky, and then I snap myself out of it. it's absolutely incredible to see what tricks the human mind can play. the hallucinations are so incredibly real, and it's a brilliant opportunity to observe while being in no real danger. only a couple of times have I come across something genuinely paranormal during a sleep paralysis episode -- or what I thought was one, anyway. thankfully it doesn't mimic it exactly, so I can continue to enjoy watching the wild shit my brain comes up with in relative peace.

[itmeansofthesea]

okay but hear me out: au where henry winter has an older sister who takes none of his bullshit.

she decides to visit hampden one day because she hasn’t seen him in a while. she’s a genius and went to hampden, too, and speaks all the languages, but he hasn’t been answering the damned phone so off she goes. she asks someone to point her in the direction of henry’s place. she waltzes in while him, francis, charles, camilla, and bunny are planning this bacchanal. henry sees her. 

it’s the first time the crew has ever seen him petrified with fear.

her eyes flash.

“henry winter. you better NOT BE TRYING TO PULL THIS BACCHANAL BULL A G A I N.” 

and everyone just looks at him, jaws dropped like “... AGAIN?!?!?”

and she’s like “oh yeah he tried this shit when he was like 13. this is not a new fascination of his. wait a second. does julian morrow still work here?”

henry hasn’t said a word. he’s too paralyzed. 

camilla speaks up like “...yes...”

sister starts muttering under her breath like “so help me zeus when i get my hands on that” and then they tune her out because they’re too afraid to hear whatever she’s about to say and they’re like:

“dude, who the hell is she? where did she come from? how does she know julian?”

and he’s all “sister. hell. student.”

and she starts cleaning shit and then yells at everybody to start helping her clean. she gets all the liquor out of there and starts making the kids some dinner because athena only knows they don’t know how to take care of themselves.

francis gets the nerve to ask her at dinner “so... julian...”

and she just sighs like “yeah. him. i told henry to watch out for him, but he’s irresistible. i know. but he used my class just like he’s using you now. he’s too much of a yellow-livered coward to actually do this shit himself, so he tries to get his students to do it so that he can live vicariously. i was afraid of this. i really was. it’s why i told mom and dad that you didn’t need to come here.”

and henry’s all “wait. i thought you did it because you wanted to be special.”

and she’s like “henry. no. i’m so damned proud of you. but this place led me to dark places. i barely made it out. i knew if you got into julian’s clutches you wouldn’t be able to claw your way out. there was one sane person in my class, but when you told me all about your friends...” her breath hitches and she gets tears in her eyes “you all want it too badly. want him too much. you’re his perfect class. his perfect experiment. when you stopped answering my calls i was afraid that maybe i was too late. as long as you kept answering i knew there was hope that you hadn’t totally given in yet. but then you stopped. and i knew.” 

henry just looks at her. jaw dropped.

“so that’s why you insisted on the calls. even though you’d never been one to keep in contact before.”

“yes.”

“but why save me?”

“because you’re my baby brother. i love you. i will always love you. and i am so proud of you for making it this far. but henry. we gotta get you outta here. all of you outta here. and then, i’m coming for julian.”

[rimofwell]

feels weird to be posting on here after my frequent absences. at times, i think there’s really nothing to say but in reality i think there’s actually so much to say that i don’t know where to even begin. 

i’m nearing the end of my 2nd year and i truly cannot believe how quickly the time has gone. i’m taking my candidacy/qualifying exam in less than three weeks and i am honestly paralyzed by fear? part of me is looking forward to it being over with and officially being a ~phd candidate~ lol but another part of me is like, “lol ur gonna fail” which has produced this nice mixture of dread / anticipation. i really just want it to be over with, though i have appreciated the dedicated time to step away from the bench for a bit and really dive into the literature on my project and the state of my field altogether. there’s so much information out there and it’s overwhelming and exciting and trying to synthesize it together into a coherent story is actually pretty fulfilling. i have veered a bit from genetics and am working on a project that touches a bit on structural bio/biochemistry which is neat and not something i anticipated/planned etc. i have been missing writing/reading lately - like reading non-science papers. it reminds me of college and how my dual interests in literature + science kept me grounded and also never bored. anytime i got tired of one subject i’d kind of dive into the other. i feel like there’s this whole other part of my brain that i don’t really get to access on a regular basis and i miss it. i’m trying to think about what fulfills me and i think it really is.... learning? like science is amazing and fascinating and i do love it but there are also so many other things i love that i don’t have time to delve into as much as i want to. i think maybe i was happiest during my gap year when i got to learn as much as i wanted about everything. i do want to finish my phd in molecular biology and will, but i really just want to find something that fulfills me or figure out how to craft a personal life that is gratifying, stimulating, and fulfilling and i’m not entirely sure how to do that or what that will look like.

anyway, this has gotten quite rambley but really i just had to take a break from all the reading and writing and remind myself that i am a person too, with thoughts that don’t entirely revolve around my research project; that there are these whole other parts of me that matter too and that i want to nurture and also cherish. especially trying to remind myself of that because i have my “practice qual” on friday, which is basically me giving a defense and getting grilled for two hours by people from my lab who know a ton on the topic and it’s definitely good and will be helpful and honestly excellent preparation for the actual exam but i’m still very anxious for it and am just not looking forward to feeling like an idiot for two hours. 

in good news, i received a fellowship that i impulsively applied for back in december so i have my own funding which is nice and helps a touch with my anxiety about the whole thing. this week and last week have been just packed with honestly so many things. so many shitty personal things and so many expectations and lab/research related things i’ve had to do and i’m just like fuck? this is actually so much, i have to do so much. and the thought sometimes overwhelms me but thankfully i think in a way that knowledge helps a bit. like just me looking at all that’s on my plate and being like, “okay yes this is actually a lot but you can do hard things and you’ve done hard things, seemingly impossible things! who knows how! lmao but somehow you can always pull through” and that’s always been the case whether it be applying for phd programs a week before the deadline and getting into all but one program or throwing together what i think is a shitty fellowship application and then somehow getting the award. or writing my proposal in like 2 days. i think i’m maybe too hard on myself but the way my brain works is pretty frustrating to me and i’m thankful it works out but so wish i could be more normal about it all? like..... working on something consistently, a little bit everyday versus doing it all in a few very intense hours. my roommates who are also in the 2nd year of their phd in the same program and i talk about this all the time and i’m always like, “lol another day of being useless and not studying like i said i was going to!” and the other day one of them was like, “yes but you’ll be fine. what takes me several days to do takes you a few hours” and i thought about it and was like yes that’s kind of true but the time leading up to those few hours is kind of grueling and really it’s just me hoping that somehow my two brain cells come together to produce something coherent

god this has gotten so off track i don’t even remember what i started making this post about and instead of scrolling back to the top and trying to connect it, i think i’m just going to let it be and say that everything is a lot but i’m also working on being more intentional about my choices and i think that intentionality has come from a bunch of realizations i’ve had lately. realizations that i don’t have to live my life in any particular way. that “success” has kind of lost its appeal for me. it’s lost its draw? i don’t know quite the word for it. i think i’ve realized that i can “do this” if ~this~ is what i want, the being in academia maybe being a professor and having this very kind of strict and clear cut life but i don’t know if i want to do that. i want to find what fulfills me and i think i have a right and almost owe it to myself to figure it out. to see if i can find some sense of peace and calm actually inside of myself versus tethering myself to reality by my responsibilities and commitments. 

also once again forgot where i was going with that but i hope everyone is doing alright. i do try to check in on people even though i’m not posting but i do miss you all and honestly at this point don’t know if anyone is still reading but if so thank you. 

this quote has been coming to mind lately - it’s been true throughout my life and continues to be

“I used to think that the ability to turn back time would be the greatest possible gift, so that I could undo all the things I wish I hadn’t done. But grace is an even better gift, because it allows me to do more than just erase; it allows me to become more than I was when I did those things. It’s forgiveness without forgetting, which is much sweeter than amnesia.”

[trickster-4]

Chapter 2

Lilith stood there paralyzed as the demon in child form walked towards her sister. Her magic was gone snuffed out like a candle. Lilith couldn’t even a cast a spell to warm her body and she felt so.. cold.

“Such a monstrous creature .. I should make this permanent.. No, I won’t do that, it’s not what Eda would want..”

”That voice.... Her entire presence feels so dark...” Lilith felt horrified at the feeling of the human’s mind..

Warmth began to return to Lilith’s body and she slowly began to recover. Just in time to see a human child undoing her curse with ease.. Seconds after she begins to gawk at Luz who had reclaimed Eda’s staff and began to fly away.

Thirty minutes later…

“She is to be left alone..”

“Sir?”

“She altered the flow of your magic twisted it with ease..” Emperor Belos sat in the chair with a cold demeanor.. “Luz or whatever the entity wishes to call itself could have stripped the magic from your body as easily as breathing..”

“But isn’t she a danger?”

“Immensely so.. Nevertheless the power she possess though infinite could be taxing on her mind. Notice the duality she struggled with after casting such a spell.. The more power she accesses the more memories there is of this Shabragnido in her mind..” The Emperor shook his head at the idea of that. This entity was an unknown. Letting it loose was dangerous, but provoking it when it proved capable of damaging his palace despite his best spell? That was foolish..

“And my sister?”

“The same.. Keep your distance until this creature is gone or weakened..”

“.. Yes my lord..”

“The Human is dangerous, but can be maneuvered around... The instincts of this entity however.. It’s an animal it craves destruction...” The Emperor seemed fascinated and yet repulsed as he continued to described her true nature.. “And the scale of it’s appetite are for lack of a better word far reaching… I have never felt such sadism from any being.. She wanted you dead Lilith in a way a mere mortal cannot desire.. The only thing that held her back from finishing you off is Amity Blight..”

“Amity?”

“Love…” Bellow began to laugh cruelly.. His head shook with cruel mirth.. “Such a novel thing.. And so easily twisted.. Hard to believe such a malicious thing like Luz Noceda could love..”

There was a cruel cackle of laughter that echoed from the throne room. And all across the palace even the servants of the emperor shivered in fear.

Elsewhere…

Luz looked in the mirror trying to find anymore demonic features staring back.. She finally sighed in relief. Besides her red eyes and her shadow occasionally flickering between a demonic figure or a girl; Luz still looked human for the most part.

“What am I gonna do?”

“Kid don’t worry.. Word up the grapevine is that you’re not to be crossed..” Eda patted Luz on the shoulder trying her best to comfort the young girl.. “Apparently whatever show you put on has them spooked..”

“Great..” Luz smiled sarcastically.. “Hexside is gonna be awesome..”

The following day…

Luz was not used to being avoided like this. The countless eyes staring at her with fear and trepidation were unsettling. More so was the reverence some of the faculty and the older students were showing..

“Lord Ruby Eyes….” Principal Bump gave a bow as he passed Luz by. “We’ll attempt to keep classes normal as per your desires..”

“Thanks…” Luz continued to walk through the hallways only to come across Willow and Gus. She smiled at the sight of them and approached them. “Hey guys how are you doing?”

“Oh hey Luz.. We’re doing fine..” Willow seemed rather unsure of herself. Her family were of the old worshipers devoted to the first dragons. They knew of the battles between Ruby Eye and her Lord.. “I’m glad you made it out in one piece.”

“Thanks I’m glad you’re doing good as well..” Luz hugged Willow who was caught off guard but she embraced her friend tightly.. “You guys didn’t get in trouble did you?”

“Nope..”

“Our parents.. were concerned but they’re holding off judgment…”

“Judgment?”

“You’re kinda a religious figure in Old Witch lore..” Amity walked in with a small smile. She held several books upon approaching Luz.. “You made combat magic, curses, hexes, transformation magic, we owe you much and it’s terrifying having your legends walking among you.. Especially when there’s a lot of evidence you are who you say you are.. Your aura is old, ageless, and dark and you matched Emperor Bellows easily despite being a “human”.. No one wants to make a god angry.”

“But I’m not a god it’s just me..” Luz protested even as her shadow shifted once again to the notice of Willow and Guz.. She muttered annoyed and was about to protest. Suddenly it felt like static in her brain and there was the taste of copper in her mouth. Then Luz looked at her hands and saw they were soaked in blood.. “No…..” The girl couldn’t believe what she was seeing and was distrusted by it.. “No No No No NO NO NO..”She ran towards the water fountain.

The girl scrubbed and scrubbed trying to get the blood off. She heard the crying of children and death screams of countless people. It hurt, it hurt so much and to feel that to understand that was absolute torture..

“Please stop it Luz!!”

You gotta stop Luz..”

“Luz!”

How many people did she kill as Shabragnido? How many jealous husband cursed their wives using her spells? How many kings sacrificed their children for power in her name. How many civilizations did she lay to waste just because she enjoyed doing it?

“Please stop Luz!”

“Your hurting yourself please stop Luz!!”

“LUZ!!”

Luz finally stopped scrubbing. There was never any blood she finally realized that. Though her hands was heavily rubbed raw and shaking. “Amity…” She grabbed her friend tightly and began to cry..

“It’s going to be okay Luz..” Amity promised..

The classes were thankfully over quickly though Luz had to lean on Amity constantly for her support.

That Afternoon..

“Well I figured something like this could happen.. Luz’s old life is ancient. And reawakening her powers has caused those memories to unspool. It’s not gonna be an easy job.”

“But you can do it right?” Amity looked at her crush’s mentor.

“Of course I can, best witch on the boiling isles here..” Eda boasted before sighing looking tired. Despite the fact that physically she felt great and had even regained her red hair; the witch was exhausted after making this artifact. Hopefully this would block out her old memories for a short time.. “Now once the spells have set this will keep your past from rearing it’s ugly head during the day. But you need to take it off later after school it has to recharge after eight hours.. Also your mind needs to deal with these memories Luz..”

A black head band glowed yellow mysteriously in Eda’s hands..

“Are you sure!?”

“Yes and I’m serious this could cause damage to your mind..” Eda gave her apprentice a stern no nonsense gaze. She wouldn’t budge on this in the slightest and upon seeing the over enthusiasm for the artifact put it into a jewelry box and locked it.. “You’ll take it off after school and you’ll be doing mental exercises with Amity and me for a few months..”

“Exercises?”

“Excuse me?”

“After your little excursion last time into Willow’s mind. I think you get the gist of it..” Eda leaned down to Luz and hugged her tightly for a moment. “It’s something similar but you two are gonna do deep diving and organizing of Luz’s old memories.. It’s going to be hard.. But, it’ll get easier and eventually you won’t need those little tuneups..”

“So this is not a permanent thing?”

“No it’s just a matter of helping Luz’s mind deal with the impending shift in gears.. Once that’s done she can heal naturally..”

“Oh thank goodness…”

“Why? Are you worried about seeing your crush’s mind?”

“Shh Luz doesn’t know that!!” Amity blushed angrily as she looked towards Luz who still seemed to be stuck in her thoughts. Thankfully she heard nothing.. “She’s going through a lot right now!! Luz can hear about that later..”

“Sure just don’t wait too long. Last thing we really need is a love triangle..”

Amity glared at Eda even as she fought to keep her face from blushing hard. She couldn’t believe her teacher and this woman were related..

“There’s something that I’m wondering about… Is Shabragnido really me?” Luz looked towards her shoes trying to avoid seeing what form her shadow was taking on at the moment. ”Part of me says yes…Or am I just a vessel for him? I feel things he felt, remember things he experienced. But, this goes beyond just sympathy or empathy doesn’t it?”

“There’s no one else in there Luz..” Eda waved off her concerns of identity.. She held her apprentice’s gaze with a compassionate smile. For a brief moment her eyes glowed yellow for a few seconds. “Frankly your soul looks different.. At some angles it looks human, and others it looks like an overpowered demon.. But, it’s just you Luz.. There’s just more to you than you actually knew about.”

“What if I go full demon? What I get swallowed up in all these memories..” Luz’s eyes began to tear up only for Amity to take hold of her shoulder and smile. “Thank you Amity..”

“No problem it’s what friends are for..”

“Now then let’s get started.. Here’s hoping you kids don’t land into one of Luz’s fantasies..”

“What?!” The two girls screamed before they both faded into Luz’s mind. Eda shook her head laughing to herself. There was a sudden knock at the door she tensed for a moment before summoning her staff. The Elder Witch opened the door slightly.

“Who’s there?”

“H-Hello… Eda..”

“Leave Lilith.. You weren’t welcome here, but now my policy is shoot to kill on sight..” Eda glared at her sister with a cold unfeeling stare. She felt her mind shift to a number of deadly spells. “You’re dead to me.. Get away from my house. Go wherever you want to go, but to me Lilith Clawthorne died at age fourteen..”

“Eda..”

“I will never forgive you..”

Lilith’s head began to ring as those words rippled through her mind. The words that she never wanted to hear from her sister and haunted her darkest dreams.. Those words that were never spoken until today. I will never forgive you. I will never forgive. I will never forgive you. I will never forgive you. I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!!!

Luz’s mind...

Luz and Amity slammed the door on the door. They were both blushing heavily and sweating while they walked away unable to look each other in the eye. Amity never knew Luz had such an attentive and creative imagination when it came to those things..

“Okay...” Amity looked a thousand miles away her face was blushing pink. She stared blankly ahead trying not to remember that vivid scene. Nope we are not thinking about. It’s Luz’s fantasy and I am not going to comment about it!! “Let’s just try to get into your memories and put things in order..”

“Soooo let’s get started..” Luz looked ahead towards a greek looking door.. She felt that it was new a recent emergence into her mind. “That place looks like a good place to start.”

“Ancient Atlantis… Whoa..”

“What?”

“Sorry it’s just a bit of a sore spot for witches one of the most magically developed civilizations.. Now we’re getting a look at those days..” Amity smiled excitedly. She took Luz’s hand into her own. “It’s a huge deal think of the discoveries that we can make..”

“I can’t believe that Atlantis actually real..”

They walked into the streets of an Grecian like city. Luz and Amity were in awe of the architecture. Water flowed through various aqueducts buildings were being built in seconds through magic. They were quickly approaching a black stone temple. Luz flinched at the sight of Shabragnido’s statues..

“Huh, I’ve never actually seen what Lord Ruby Eyes looked like ..”

“… So where is he? I mean where am I?”

The two girls suddenly heard the sound of laughter in the streets below the temple. They followed the sound until they saw a little girl playing with a strange horned brown rabbit with ruby eyes.. The rabbit was glumly silently even as he was forced into an embrace by the child. For a moment they actually saw a glimmer of enjoyment in it’s eyes..

“Damn my idiot of a brother..”

“Wait is that supposed to be me!? Why am I so adorable?!!”

[foodfantasies]

Fear or Desire (Soufflé x Reader, NSFW)

You’d known about Soufflé’s dark side for a long time now. It was only recently that you’d begin deliberately drawing him out. His taunting, aggressive demeanor and sadistic tendencies had at once frightened, repulsed and captivated you, and the more often you encountered him the deeper you sank into a desperate desire for him.

No explicit content, but extremely suggestive and definitely NSFW. No gendered pronouns used when referring to the reader.

- - - - - -

Master Attendant,” a smug voice growled in your ear, “Did you really hide Lilia just to draw me out? You wanted to see me that badly?”  You stood with your back to him, arms crossed across your chest.   “Oh, Soufflé,” you said shakily, “It— It’s you.”  He clicked his tongue against his teeth and snaked a hand through your hair, closing his fist and pulling your head back.  “And now you’re acting like you aren’t pleased to see me? Obedience is far more becoming than rebellion, you know,” he hissed in your ear.  “I didn’t hide Lilia,” you said quietly, “I promise.”  “And yet here I am,” he answered. “Something must have happened to her. That coward would never lose or misplace one of his precious dolls.”  “There’s a first time for everything,” you muttered insolently.  “How funny, I was just thinking exactly the same thing,” he whispered, pulling your head even further back. “Shall we try something new?”

You fought to conceal your grin as you sucked in a sharp breath. 

Beneath the bed, a small porcelain hand peeked out from under a pink muslin sleeve; you could see it in your peripherals even with your neck craned back. You’d heard footsteps approach the room before you’d had a chance to push the doll further beneath the bed. God, if only you’d been able to cover it with something. If you could see it now, he would, too, just as soon as he happened to look.

It would all be over too quickly then, and you wanted this to last.

“I said… shall we try something new?” he repeated, his grip on your hair tightening. You whimpered and tried to nod; finding that difficult, you managed a quiet murmur in acquiescence. He quickly pushed your head down, forcing you to your knees. As he released your hair he nudged you in the back, tipping you forwards, and you caught yourself on your hands. “Stay down,” he snapped. Your heart was hammering, blood rushing to your head, the sound of it roaring in your ears. 

You were long past denial, avoidance, or shame — all that remained was your morbid fascination with him, your sick desire to be demeaned, debased, and utterly defiled.

You heard a chair scrape across the floor. You turned your head to look and saw he’d dragged it closer to you, and was now lounging in it, staring down at you with disdain.  “Go on,” he said, lazily twisting a lock of hair around his finger. “Start looking.” 

Seizing your chance you reached toward the doll below the bed, moving your arms as if searching, but really only pushing it further away. You had to bring your head close to the ground to reach, and your face flushed, knowing his eyes were on your rear end raised in the air. 

You heard his wheezing laugh as you groped beneath the bed.  “Oh, Attendant,” he snickered, “Now this really is something. Look at you trying your hardest to convince me you don’t know exactly where she is.” 

You froze.

“You even had the gall to try and hide her right in front of me, even after you’d been found out,” he went on. “I’m almost embarrassed for you, really…”  You screwed your eyes shut and balled your fists, hot shame flooding your face. Still on your hands and knees you backed up, only to feel a hand between your shoulder blades, holding you down.  “You’ve certainly been naughty,” he said, “But do you really deserve punishment, now that I know you actually want it?”

He pushed your chest down hard against the floor with one hand, the other sliding over your rear and squeezing tight. You gasped, heat pooling between your legs and insides twisting.  “Hmm, is this exciting you, Attendant?” he sneered as he caressed your rear, smacking his palm against one of the rounded cheeks. You yelped and wriggled, and he laughed derisively.  “And you’re always acting like you’re so good.  Look at you now.” Again his palm smacked against your bottom. You couldn’t hold back a little groan, and he dug his fingers into your flesh, groping and squeezing roughly. Your breath was quickening, he could hear it, and he felt the way you arched your back and pushed your rear up into his hand — oh, you were loving this.

“I have to admit, this is low, even for you. Getting off on this…?” he said as he slid his hand between your thighs, fingers pushing against the soft cushion of your flesh. “Being touched like this, and by a Food Soul, too…?” You moaned and squeezed your thighs together around his wriggling fingers.  “You really are dirty,” he sneered. “No wonder you like hanging around me so much.”

You peered back at him and he caught your eye. The wicked grin that twisted his face made your stomach drop. “Mmm, you do look lovely like this,” he said, “Your eyes are burning, Attendant. I’ve never seen such a fierce look. Tell me, what is it that you want?”

“Whatever you want,” you muttered nervously.  “Is that so?” he purred. “No matter what it is?”  “Anything, anything you want….” you replied meekly, averting your eyes from his face. To say you were turned on now would be the understatement of the century. Your imagination ran wild with thoughts of what he could ask of you, what he could do to you….  “And what if I want to make you my doll, hmm? Since you’re obviously so jealous of Lilia…”  Your breath caught in your throat.  “Yes,” you whispered hurriedly.  “Yes what?”  “Yes, please,” you corrected yourself, desperate to earn his approval.

“Mmm,” he hummed, slapping his palm against your bottom again. “Mmm. I like the sound of that, Attendant. Yes… I could get used to this.”  You remained silent, paralyzed with anticipation.

“On your knees, doll,” he barked suddenly. “And face me.”  You obeyed as quickly as you could, straightening up and turning on your knees. He was standing above you, his wavy hair framing the crooked smirk on his face as he leered down at you. His hands skimmed down the front of his vest and stopped at the top button of his trousers, his slender fingers poised as if to unfasten it —  Eyes wide, you looked up at him, and he saw your desperate excitement reflected in their glassy depths. Unconsciously your tongue snuck out to moisten your dry lips, and the sight of this demure, anticipatory gesture excited him more than anything yet.

He snickered and hunched down to cup your cheek in his palm. He raised your head to face him, his lips parted, his tongue sliding across his teeth. You could see from the rise and fall of his chest that he was breathing faster now, his voice shaky and less controlled.

“Oh, you’re really wanting this,” he marveled, his smile wider than ever now. He pinched your cheek and straightened up, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes.  “Let me see how bad you want it, Master,” he said with a sneer, the last word dripping with disdain. “Come on. Show me. Open wide.”

Your heart was throbbing in your throat. You paused for too long and he reached down to grab a fistful of your hair, craning your neck back, his playful demeanor evaporating in an instant.  “I said open wide,” he growled through clenched teeth. His eyes were darker than ever, shining like black glass. His heavy breaths, those dilated pupils… no amount of his impatience and anger could hide the undercurrent of excitement that burned within. 

You closed your eyes and opened your mouth as wide as you could, your tongue creeping forward as your jaw muscles strained to stretch further. You felt his grip on your hair loosen and he hummed in approval before removing his hand completely.  “That’s a good doll,” he praised, his voice soft once again. “Keep doing as I say, and you’ll get your reward…”

You felt pressure on your tongue and your eyes flew wide in surprise. He had pressed his index finger against the surface of your tongue, a feral grin on his face as he slid it across the slick surface. A weak moan fluttered in your throat and he chuckled darkly.

“Yes, this will do nicely,” he murmured, eyes narrowing with glee as he gazed into your open mouth. His hands flew to his trousers again, nimble fingers flicking apart the buttons down the fly. Your stomach lurched.

“Thank you for volunteering so eagerly, Master,” he sneered as the final button came undone. “Don’t worry. I take care of all my dolls… And I have some special things in mind for a filthy one like you.”

- - - - - -