#will's had enough of altered states for a lifetime

[givehimthemedicine]

hot take: I could see it being possible Will picks up smoking, and very unlikely Max picks up smoking, for the same reasons just opposite.

Joyce doesn't hide her smoking but she is conscientious not to smoke in Will's presence (she does smoke right next to Jonathan though). iirc she almost never smokes at home when Will is home, and puts it out before she goes in his room. I'm sure she would advise her boys against the habit, but I don't think it would be terribly ooc if they picked it up as a stress response learned from her. they both probably associate the smell with their mother, who is a positive and loving presence in their lives.

btw I have a crisp $1 bill that says pre-s1 Joyce has caught Jonathan smoking before and that's why she feels ok to do it around him

then you've got Max, with multiple varyingly abusive family members who smoked (and drank) in her presence all the time. she comes and puts out Susan's cigarette when she's asleep even though it's already safely in an ashtray, meaning Max just doesn't want to have to smell the rest of it. she resents her mom for blowing so much of their resources on her addictions. plus there's Billy who smoked (and drank) in front of her all the time, both in their house and in his car, and I don't have to tell you Billy is a negative presence in her life.

in my mind Will and Jon are, at a minimum, at peace with it whereas the smell could be almost triggering for Max

[rebeccathenaturalist]

THIS IS SO COOL! So animals can get fungal infections, as can plants and even other fungi. We've seen fungi like Cordyceps produce fruiting bodies on insect hosts postmortem. But this is the first known observation of a fruiting body on a live host! And the frog apparently seemed to be in good health otherwise.

It's likely a situation with an opportunistic spore of Mycena landing in a wound or other small vulnerability on the frog's skin, and since amphibians have to stay wet, the fungus had plenty of water. I'm not sure what it's been consuming since Mycena normally is a decomposer of dead plant tissue; maybe dead skin cells and bacteria?

Before people start leaping to conclusions, this is NOT the start of some sort of zombie apocalypse. Mycena and Cordyceps engage with their hosts in very different ways, and neither are anywhere near related to any fungi that parasitize human hosts and which do not cause any sort of altered mental state of that sort. I find it kind of sad when people have to sci-fi a new scientific discovery in order to find it interesting enough to think about, instead of just appreciating how awesome, weird, and scary nature is all on its own.

Regardless, this is a really spectacular find, and we'll see if any other crop up or whether this was one of those once-in-a-lifetime discoveries.

[lesbianashleywilliams]

So those of you who have been following me may have noticed that I all but disappeared for about three months...well, that's because I've been planning to go to Japanese language school, and the wheels have really begun to start turning!!!!!!

I have been given the opportunity of my lifetime to be able to attend a Japanese language course at the International Study Institute in Tokyo's Shinjuku Ward. The course runs for a year, with the opportunity to extend it to two years, if my grades and money are sound [insert sound of children cheering here].

Being able to study Japanese locally and long-term has been a life goal of mine since I was fourteen. Though I'll probably never be able to fulfill my teenage dream of being an interpreter/translator for expats, this feels like the next best thing. Due to suffering from several comorbid chronic conditions that have majorly altered my life, most notably the beast known as systemic lupus erythematosus, I will probably never be able to seize another chance like this ever again. I won't be going in as a total novice, as I was able to take a year's worth of 1000-level Japanese language courses in college…before I had to drop out…… Since then I've been self-studying and using language exchange apps for practice, but nothing will beat the experience of using it in the day-to-day.

At this point in time (January 2024), my first six months of tuition have already been paid for. I am currently in a quiet waiting period while I wait to get to the next steps of the Certificate of Eligibility/Student Visa process. Before that, though, I need to secure my flight and housing. For the sake of my health, safety, privacy and comfort, a sharehouse will not be an option; I will have to seek a private apartment. I am here today to request assistance with the aforementioned flight and initial housing costs. It's still too early to commit to either of those, but:

The average cost of flexible one-way flights from where I am to either of the two Tokyo metro airports (Haneda and Narita) is running around $1200

I am doing some preliminary apartment scouting and am hoping not to exceed $800 per month (I will be traveling with suitcases and will need to properly store them). The apartments I am looking at do not require a security deposit or key money, but will probably come with a guarantor fee.

Now because I'm not going over there through one of the more common avenues - through a university or a job - I have to do it myself. Real life has meant that I've had to dig into my bank balance a bit, and after paying for the first six months I'm a little under the 2 million yen (~$14k) threshold that Immigration likes to see for a year's study. I'm lucky enough in that I will at least have a regular source of (unearned) income, as well as a financial sponsor; it's just the bank balance, flight, and accommodation that are hanging me up. Right now I am setting the initial goal at $3000, but I expect to move those goalposts at least once. Any extra will go towards a flight home for the Christmas holidays in December. After that, it'll go towards paying down my credit cards as much as I can prior to leaving the United States.

I can provide my conditional letter of acceptance from ISI, as well as the school invoice and receipt of the bank transfer for the first six months of tuition upon request (identifying information redacted, of course).

Because there's still a couple of months until I'm set to fly out I put together a GoFundMe (now that's a name I haven't used in a while) to idly collect whatever help I can. At the very least I just need this post to circulate enough to eventually cast a wider net outside of Tungle.hell.

GoFundMe

If you can't use GFM, V3nmo and P4ypal are also options:

V3nmo: @/venus3palette

P4ypal: @/fantasytheater

Again: I'm not in that much of a hurry, and the situation isn't dire! Thank you for combing my wall of text!!!!

[mariacallous]

A war stretching into its sixth month with no end in sight, more than 100 hostages still held by Hamas, nearly 120,000 evacuees from towns along the Gaza and Lebanon borders waiting to return home, and a sputtering economy. Any one of these issues should be enough to bring down Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, but the greatest threat hanging over his government today is the question of whether the ultra-Orthodox should be conscripted into the military, an affair that has been simmering unresolved for more than 20 years.

At first glance, it might seem strange that in the Jewish state, the most intensely religious Jews refuse to serve in the military. But the ultra-Orthodox, or Haredim, have always had a problem with a Jewish state created by human action rather than by divine decree. To help win them over, Israel’s founding father, David Ben-Gurion, made a series of concessions to them around the time of independence in 1948, including exempting from conscription young men for whom “Torah is [their] occupation.” In other words, men spending their lives engaged in the study of religious texts.

It seemed like a minor issue at the time. Many Haredim were fighting in the war. Europe’s ultra-Orthodox community had been decimated by the Holocaust, and its numbers were tiny and expected to decline with assimilation. The total number who were to be exempted was about 400.

By the end of the 1990s, however, that concession no longer looked so minor. Thanks to an extraordinarily high birth rate, the Haredi population was growing rapidly. Today, it comprises about 13 percent of the population and by 2042 it may reach more than 20 percent, by the government’s own estimates. Meanwhile, state subsidies for the Haredim grew immensely after Menachem Begin and his Likud party took power in 1977, enabling the community to realize its ideal of a lifetime of Torah study for males. Even as they took money from the state, refusal to serve in the military became, for the Haredim, as sacrosanct as keeping kosher or the Sabbath.

The first serious challenge to this arrangement came in 1998, when the High Court of Justice ruled that it violated the legal principle of equality among Israelis—in this case, the “equality of burden” in regard to military service. That began a two-decade saga of legislation that failed to correct the problem, more court challenges, and foot-dragging. While the draft issue periodically became headline material, it quickly faded. Politicians from the left and the right were loath to touch the issue for fear of losing the support of Haredi political parties, which often hold the balance of power.

The fact that the controversy has suddenly been reignited is due to a confluence of events.

The first and most important is the war in Gaza, which has made the fact that some Israelis are fighting and dying while others are not more glaring than in many years past. Since Israeli ground forces entered Gaza in late October, more than 240 soldiers have been killed and thousands wounded. More reservists have been called up than at any time in the last 40 years. The sacrifice they have made has been underscored by the fact that most Israelis see the Gaza campaign and the fight with Hezbollah in the north as a war of survival unlike any the country has fought since the 1973 Arab-Israeli War. The sense of national unity that emerged after Hamas’s Oct. 7 massacre has made it harder for the ultra-Orthodox to explain their unwillingness to share in the sacrifice.

That imperative for public sacrifice will not go away when the war ends. Oct. 7 has fundamentally altered Israel’s national security thinking of the last 20 years, which held that threats from Hamas and Hezbollah could be contained and that technology could replace boots on the ground. To ensure it has enough soldiers, the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) plans to increase mandatory service and the number of days reservists may be called up every year. Even now, it is reportedly short some 7,000 soldiers in the standing army—which numbers around 170,000.

Before the war, the Netanyahu government promised the Haredi parties it would pass legislation shielding the Haredi exemption from future court challenges. Among the wilder ideas was to pass a quasi-constitutional law that equated Torah study with military service, thereby getting around the equality-of-burden problem. However, preoccupied with its judicial-overhaul drive, the government failed to act. Instead, the cabinet voted to give itself what has turned out to be an inauspicious deadline of March 31 to come up with a solution. It is now asking the High Court to give it another three months, but at a Feb. 26 hearing, the justices showed little sympathy for further delays. If they don’t extend the deadline, young Haredi men will, in principle, be liable for the draft starting April 1.

If Haredi political leaders recognize that the public’s attitude has changed, they have shown no signs of it. There was a brief flurry of news reports at the start of the war about ultra-Orthodox men signing up for military service, but it turned out to be overblown. The IDF’s Personnel Directorate told a Knesset committee last month that just 540 had actually enlisted. By comparison, a record 66,000 Haredim received an exemption over the past year. In a December survey of Haredim by the Jewish People Policy Institute, 70 percent said the war had not changed their opinion that they should be exempt (another 12 percent said they felt even more strongly about it). “We won’t agree to anything in regards to drafting yeshiva students. … Nobody can force us to abandon the Torah,” Rabbi Meir Zvi Bergman, an influential member of the rabbinical advisory panel of the United Torah Judaism party, vowed last weekend.

Haredi apologists offer up a variety of justifications for the draft exemptions. They claim that the military doesn’t actually need them and point out that many Haredim volunteer for civilian rescue services. Ultra-Orthodox rabbis contend that Torah study is no less important than military service because it ensures Israel’s divine protection.

But even many believers acknowledge that some of the men who shirk the draft are enrolled on paper in yeshivas but don’t actually study. The real reason the Haredi leaders fear the draft is that it threatens the barriers they have so carefully erected: In the military, young enlistees would encounter non-Haredim in a serious way for the first time in their lives; see the outside world; perhaps learn a useful skill or trade; and, worst of all, meet secular women. Many may never come back.

For Netanyahu, the Haredi case for exemption or the military’s personnel needs are secondary at best. What concerns him is keeping his coalition intact. If the two ultra-Orthodox parties quit over the draft and take their 18 Knesset seats, the coalition won’t survive. Yet Netanyahu cannot, as he has in the past, assume his party and far-right coalition partners will do as commanded. Ordinarily spineless Likud backbenchers have said that a solution involving at least some Haredim being drafted is unavoidable. Even Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, an extreme rightist sympathetic to ultra-Orthodox interests, has picked up on the change. “The current situation is outrageous and cannot continue,” he said during a visit to a yeshiva for more moderate Orthodox students who do enlist.

In the end, most of these renegades will fall in line with Netanyahu; they, too, are focused on their political survival. But that may not be true in the case of the National Unity, a centrist party that joined the coalition at the start of the war, and in the case of Defense Minister Yoav Gallant, a Likud politician. Gallant laid down the gauntlet on Feb. 28 when he said he would not back any conscription bill that did not have National Unity’s support. The party has laid out a relatively moderate plan for drafting Haredim, but nothing Haredi leaders would ever consent to.

As a result, Netanyahu is boxed in. On the one side is Haredi obduracy; on the other, Gallant’s position raises the risk of National Unity and even Gallant leaving the coalition if they don’t get what they want. Technically, the prime minister doesn’t need National Unity or Gallant to stay in power. But their exit from the coalition would leave him in a difficult position, running a complicated war with mostly inexperienced and extremist ministers. The Haredim may feel boxed in as well, in which case they might force an early election—as a way of buying time. A caretaker government would not be allowed to deal with such a critical issue, putting it off until the formation of a new government.

Netanyahu may try to kick the can again by giving the High Court a plan for a Haredi draft that looks good on paper but is designed to fail. If it’s vague enough and impractical in the long run, the Haredim might be willing to go with it. The problem is that in the post-Oct. 7 reality, almost no one else would accept it.

[quicklikelight]

... In light of the last thing I reblogged, since I'm not actually sure if I ever I ever told folks here...

Mental health/medical diagnosis info under the cut.

I was misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2010 following the birth of my son. I'd had anxiety, depression, and what I now know is OCD symptoms for years at that point, but they all got much worse after kiddo was born. I believe I've shared here before that I was very ill while pregnant, and nearly died before and during my emergency C-section that bright kiddo into the world. I have very few memories of my pregnancy but the ones I do have are impressed into my brain like the world's most depressing stamp collection: not neat pictures, but deep grooves that form shapes and can be laid over one another to see the cumulative chaos, the terror that I still feel every time someone puts a blood pressure cuff around my arm, the dissociation from my body that I still have because all I can remember was it hurting.

I had cptsd before I ever got pregnant, but my pregnancy made my symptoms so much worse, and a doctor who spoke to me for three seconds gave me the "convenient" diagnosis of bipolar disorder. I was a young woman in college, it was 2010, and he never asked me anything about my life. This diagnosis wasn't corrected until 2022.

I'm sharing this because in the past I frequently blogged about being bipolar. I wasn't bipolar though. What I thought was mania was just my behavior when I was triggered beyond my ability to ignore. What I thought was depression was... Well, it was depression. My life was miserable, my ex is a horrible human being who deserves to be thrown in a deep pit full of snakes, my family hates me and acts like it, I lived in Texas of all places, and on top of that I was working in a dead end job that I couldn't ever seem to escape.

In 2020, I was fortunate enough to move in with my friend LC and her family. We weathered the worst of lockdown together, our children becoming close friends, and I'm grateful for the time, energy, space, and love LC afforded me to begin recovering from a lifetime of wounds.

I'm 2021, I moved to New York state to live with my best friend, my heart's companion, @tofixtheshadows. Dea has been the best partner I could want as I grappled with my changing sense of self, the sheer madness and unreality of what my life used to be. I am so fortunate to call her my best friend and to be able to share my life with someone who knows me and wants to help me be better.

I found a psychiatrist in 2022 who changed my life when she said, "I believe everything you say that happened to you. I think bipolar disorder is a convenient diagnosis for a man to give a traumatized young woman when he isn't interested in doing his job well. You aren't bipolar, Anne. You have PTSD."

I was shocked. I shouldn't have been, since I already knew Dea thought I had PTSD. But it seemed so out of left field to me, that... Well, that maybe there hadn't been anything inherently wrong with me in the first place, as I had been led to believe, but that the years of horrible actions happening around and to me had just taken their toll.

It was liberating. Scary, but good.

I've been working with my psychiatrist and a therapist since to try and build more tolerance, better coping skills, and to process my trauma. It's slow going. Life doesn't stop because I need EMDR. But it's ultimately been so rewarding, and I'm still only in the early stages of the work.

Last year, for basically the first time in my adult life, I was able to go off of all my mood altering medications. I just didn't need them anymore.

I'm still in treatment and working toward goals that will probably take a while. But I am happy. I'm actually happy for the first time in my entire life. And to me, that's pretty much everything.

[softquietsteadylove]

Hi! I know it's been a while, I've got this li'l request? If it's okay? So I remember this Odin scene in Eternals where Gil said Odin taught him some drink or whatever bartending skills Odin taught him😂

I was thinking of Odin and his fighters/people resting on Gil and Thena's place and Odin offering Gil to live in Asgard as a thanks for helping them in the battle of Tonsberg or whatever that is 'cuz I totally forgot😭. And then one of Odin's knights/fighters saw Thena having an episode and of course Gil was quick to calm Thena down and Odin thinks/saw the threat Thena brought on Gil's life so he reminded him of is offer again, Gil said he would ask Thena about it and that's when Odin said that he couldn't bring Thena with him in Asgard because of the threat she posed (uhh yes, we slander Odin). And Gil immediately asked Odin to leave their place, because Gil would never let anyone disrespect Thena!!!!!!!!

Thena heard the whole thing and when they were having dinner, she asked Gil why didn't he accepted because he always told her about Asgard and actually considered living there.

You decide what happens next, so yeah this is kinda angsty request jsjshs. Thank you so much, not just for this but for everything...

"I have not tasted this since the great battle of Jotunheim."

It would be more apt to call it the battle of Earth, the war between the Frost Giants and Asgardians - with the Eternals to assist - taking place here on the planet.

But the Allfather was visiting for the sake of old times, he said. Supposedly he was doing his due-diligence of checking on one of his many realms of protection by dropping in on Earth.

Thena quite thought they had the planet under control.

Odin had even brought his young ones to inspect the planet tethered to their very own Asgard. Two boys, although the Warrior Eternal had distinct memory of whispers about Odin's 'fiercest child'. Surely the child making snakes out of rope and the boy trailing at her brothers' ankles were not the holder of that title.

She could remember being in Asgard, after the battle. It was beautiful there, the people under Odin's rule were peaceful and happy. Everyone kept addressing her as Valkyrie, which was odd, but she was unfortunately quite used to being called things by mistake at that point in time.

In many ways it happened a whole lifetime ago, and yet was less than a thousand years ago as well. His young ones had yet to become great warriors, as the old god was hoping and pushing for ceaselessly.

"I've tweaked the recipe--just a little," Gilgamesh smiled and laughed with the old god, the two sitting across their humble table like drinking buddies instead of two of the galaxy's fiercest defenders.

"You have altered my recipe?!" Odin thundered, and yet dissolved into laughter in the same breath. The lines in his face bent and accommodated the patch over his eye. "I could have you tried and exiled for such a thing!"

The two laughed with force enough to crack the bifrost.

Too loudly for the Warrior Eternal. Although she did smile as she rose from her seat. Odin observed as she trailed her hand from one of Gilgamesh's shoulders to the other, leaving with his mug to refill it from the larger vessel of brew outside the house.

Gilgamesh watched with soft eyes.

Odin cleared his throat and leaned forward, "and yet in exile I seem to find you."

Usually one to say exactly what he thought and felt at all times, the Strongest Eternal was silent. He took another sip, "you think?"

The old god looked around him, regarding the homemade - very literally hand crafted - house surrounding him, a far cry from the glittering opulence of Asgard's finest. "Is it...?"

Odin knew of Mahd Wy'ry. He had once stated that he could sense for more behind the Warrior Eternal's eyes than even a being of their life expectancy should have.

Gilgamesh looked around the home, candles flickering and casting long shadows around them. "We came here to be alone, together."

The old god made a face he might make at one of his sons. "Is that truly all you have to say, Gilgamesh?"

He shrugged.

Odin set his drink down more firmly, the way a ruler did when demanding attention. He leaned back and tipped his chin up, his white hair catching on the adorned shoulders of gold he wore. "My offer still stands."

After the battle of Jotunheim, Odin had extended the offer to Gilgamesh to come and stay on Asgard. His skill and strength was beyond renown and he had claimed that they would be honoured to welcome a warrior as fine as he.

Gilgamesh had said thanks but no thanks--he was happy on Earth.

Gil looked at the old god now, not even shrugging so much as rolling his shoulders, "my answer's the same."

"Your mission is done," Odin declared needlessly. "If you are truly not to return to Olympia then tell me why you would not agree to joining the echelon of the galaxy's strongest?"

Gil swirled around the suds in the bottom of his cup. "I'd have to ask Thena what-"

"No."

The air sat heavy. Gil inhaled, also setting cup down hard. "No?"

Odin straightened in his chair. "The offer is for you alone, Gilgamesh. The Warrior Eternal-"

"Thena."

The old god paused. "What?"

"She has a name," Gil reiterated, pressing his palms to the table as he pushed his chair back. "You've called her a valiant warrior, you fought alongside her, called her an ally of Asgard. But I've never heard you address her by her name. It's only ever Warrior Eternal."

"That is what she is," Odin snarled in the face of Gilgamesh's argument.

"And who she is," Gilgamesh growled right back at him, "is Thena."

The air began to fold and bend around the two forces of power in the room. Odin leaned on his elbow, fist on the table, "she is not sound, Gilgamesh. I will not bring a danger into my walls."

"But you would sit across from her in our home?"

"She is a liability to you!" Odin stood, forcing his chair back and his mug to roll and shatter on the ground.

Gilgamesh was quiet and steady. "Keep your voice down."

"Are you ordering a god?"

"I'm asking an old friend," Gilgamesh pressed harder on the table, letting the wood moan under his touch. "To not disrespect the woman I love."

Odin's face did not change. He was not happy to be ordered nor asked to do anything, whether by an old ally and friend or an enemy. "She is unstable, and I would hate to see a great warrior such as yourself fall victim to something as fragile as the heart!"

"Maybe yours is fragile," Gilgamesh scoffed, moving the table out of his way as if kicking a pebble out of his path. It toppled over. "It's time for you to go."

"Think about this, Gilgamesh," Odin far from pleaded but perhaps seethed at him. "Do you truly wish to make an enemy of the Nine Realms?"

The Strongest Eternal met the old god eye to eye. "Anyone who has a problem with Thena isn't welcome at my table."

Odin gave his old ally one last look of disdain, letting his disgust in the developments of the night drip off of him like mud. "It is always a shame to see a great warrior succumb."

"Thena has always been a better warrior than me."

Thena turned her head away as Odin took off in a thunderstorm of an exit. She sighed, "you just fixed the roof."

Gil shrugged, also looking up at the sky as the old god and once-ally made quite a dramatic exit. He bumped his shoulder against hers, "I can fix it again."

Thena looked at him, her eyes searching for answers he didn't offer to their guest. "Why didn't you?"

He had no need to clarify what she meant. He shrugged again, leaning over to pick up the table and then reaching for the broom. "It was never an option."

Thena let him put himself between her and the pile of shattered ceramic on the floor. She padded back to her chair in her bare feet. "It could be."

He ignored her.

"Gilgamesh," she attempted, but he swept the ceramic under his foot and then, with a glow of gold, ground it into dust. Then he swept it up to toss out the window properly. "Gilgamesh!"

"I didn't consider it then and I'm certainly not now," he grumbled, pulling the shutters closed against the evening breeze.

Of course he hadn't. Even after Jotunheim, even if they weren't still bound to their mission, he would never have considered it. Gil loved earth too much. There was too much to rebuild, too much healing to do. Their family was here.

Now their family was scattered around the planet.

He tossed the broom back to its place and slumped down in his chair again. He looked at her, "without you?"

Thena tried not to let her lip tremble as she whispered, "you could."

Gilgamesh did not indulge her misery, waving his hand through the air with a light 'peh'. She tilted her head, but he looked at her, shaking his head, eyes brimming with emotion. "How could I ever be without you?"

Thena blinked away tears of her own. Her other half raised her hand off the table in front of them and kissed it so gently it was like a whisper. "Perhaps you would be better off."

"Nah," Gil dismissed much more lightly again. He chuckled, "you think I wanna be anywhere but our little paradise here?"

Gilgamesh, the mighty and brave, champion of Athens and hero of Jotunheim and the strongest Eternal, much preferred his modest and hand built little shack. He had no need for Asgardian palaces or promises of Valhalla.

"I have everything I could ever need right here in front of me."

Thena smiled, almost laughing under her breath. She hadn't spoken a word since Odin's arrival. She leaned her head onto Gil's shoulder, "perhaps you are right."

"I am."

"You are far too soft for Asgardian warfare."

Gilgamesh laughed softly, running his fingers through her hair, "yeah, maybe. You seem to love me just fine, though."

[captainkurosolaire]

Resolute Once More, Forever Lastly.

Heading back to create a lot of writing and stories this year throughout. Return to what foremost matters. But within every New Year resides a newly grown sprout of light; hope. However intense we set our resolutions and tough forth with action is how well that hope blossoms into something worthy enough for memories... What I'm setting myself too is simple, but altering to my essence.

Now officially, a decade ago, upon this time. I endured my meant trial a very close touch to death. Young and not determining value yet, I threw myself numerously towards surgeries and just carelessly towards the voices that were experts in treating me for the better, and while true. Every-time I seemingly fearlessly showed while others were frightful of mere needles, I turned blank like stone, uncaring letting my life become the epitome of waves. Hell, I never used my voice even towards what mattered, spoke out, for myself before that time. I was just a simple-minded creature that lives off only habit.

But at the same time all that happened and I was in my critical state only relying on hearing what my surroundings brought. Graced by potent dreams brought on by some powerful painful medicine. I still felt my soul, linger. I heard and felt, every day even when my eyes could not open or my body wasn't in my control, the noise warped my realities and nothing felt, real as it wasn't, but was. There was no way, I couldn't bring up in my mind, was this it? And that is where and when, everything flashes. Confronted what fulfilling things you brought in your time alive? I knew for one thing wasn't definitely, not enough. So why didn't I fight, be tougher, challenge myself, explore, think. To accept death isn't brave not when you can still run marathons. I survived. Told myself I would never again place myself into that position when I awoke and could finally rise to a daybreak, I would hold against myself more. Reinvent, discover, figure out what drives me, challenge, I would tangle and wrestle life itself, cause it wasn't ever going to slip against me. Long as I drew breathe from lungs. In almost the same vain, when I couldn't find value within his own life. A friend who had life's endless potential, accolades, credentials, smart, the type of smile that warmed a whole school, avid wrestler too, just easily liked. Unforeseeable, accidentally and most definitely could been evaded died around when I was recovering and emerging. Two opposing spectrum's, stances. Took that personal, harder than seemingly anyone, just because it was practically a brother, a first friend who saw and knew me beforehand, type you never forget, someone you clung and loved quite simply. So now I get to thrive and before I even jogged out, I now had to collect myself again. Many avenues, paths, could've taken. I could've slipped just gave up found myself quickly back where I started... but instead I spit in the eyes of fate and stubbornly, said I will live a life worth two, or as many as it takes to make up for it, I forced my eyelids open to the light, even when all the power was turned off! I turned my entire soul into a pledged tribute. And that made me rise against being shy easily, to become more engaging, even when I was told to rest, I kept going until I strained myself continuously back to hospital visits, in heaps of pain, but never once undetermined. Took up writing and never looked back, threw and went against pills, never wanting it to be a new way I was defined, or have some excuse so I invented my own cure, what better place, to live many lifetime's over, but to create them? To build them and aim to make them raw. Lead to writing, I could express and be myself, showcase parts of me and be my voice as much as needed, learn and acquire everything I lacked previously. Often we become the stories we tell ourselves. It awakens and alerts us to parts we never subconsciously had deep meaning or connected. There is a bountiful and lifetime amount of stories I have yet to write and to create, dramatics, fights, ups and downs, to dabble into things not in my nature or character, that doesn't discern someone like me. Because writing, no... creating is to know the existence of infinity. Might be asked why I spilled and always go into such elaborate lengths into everything I do. Now in days, if want people to know your story, it's say it under less than ten words. But that's not me. If you understand anything from why I am, who I am. You'd know I think and reflect deeply, I put "why, where and what" after each thought. I risk the damages of knowing those three words, into everything. Every year that changes, is a new beginning. It's only natural and spirit, I reflect on previously, and seek to aim for something new. After a decade of the garden I made. Being someone stubborn always punishing himself, forcing himself into challenges, being hard if I couldn't succeed, no matter what effort I put into, I made myself the grandest mental antagonist, villain in any story, a critic that destroys. Why sure, destruction can often lead you to admire what's left in the aftermath you created. Can't forget what destruction really means. So with it all being laid out. I'm doing something wild. I'm betting, gambling on myself. For once I'm not out to punish, challenge myself to something artificial, to force me to live the fullest. But something much grandeur. I want to live for a happiness for myself. See to really let yourself live for happiness outweighs everything else and that I believe is really what value really is. No matter how smart or massive it may be, or shape and size, if you give it importance, it becomes just that. Silly taken me this long to finally do that for myself and like when I did the XIVWrite to that Tribute my passed Friend, I can now dedicate forever and now on to tribute myself while still many times over. But this was a journey I had to undergo, writing and creating took me on this amazing path here. Met some outstanding people to call friends and mutual-alike, met crucial people that impacted me and sharpened me. Sorry for the blog post but you know, it's a blog I’m old school and lay it all on the table. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Moving on to content and ongoing things forth. I spent last year restraining myself and limiting myself a lot so I could make myself truly thirst and understand what is important and writing has never ached more to do. So throughout year, I got a small goal to just throw some chapters out, sixty would be a sick number, but let's not break this resolution. Getting refresh with somethings for the next week or so, try getting myself polished on some stuff for the Budokai 3 showdown. It's going to be the continuation of these works below, chronologically listed.

1. Parley of the Oceans

2. Give Up Butterfly

3. Genesis

Ideally I have the actual Fight, chopped into seven chapters for a full-on week, soon. Working on condensing stories into one chapters, or just a lot less, going forward. But eventually I can begin the dramatic story-telling and really exploring a whole roster of characters... O_O I've got a lot in-store but this makes me come alive above many things. Got some gut-wrenching feuds, some epic showdowns, war uprising, most anticipating is actually a pirate custom-made sport, next best thing since Blitzball in this universe, I conjured. xD That I really want to get to in the story-timeline. 5v5 of a ton of characters to figure out how I can spoof them up for their debuts. Somehow, unfathomably made it this far down. Thanks, means a lot to have some supporters and even those I admire to give me inspiration to not just create for myself but also create as large I possibly can so that it may matter for others too. That right there is stupendously valuable to me. Cheers hearties and even my lurking enemies!

[tetsunabouquet]

Monster High OOAK OC: Shemmer Boogeyman

Because of Twyla's neon frights doll having infamous poor make-up quality including the ones I had, I altered her a little bit. I was really inspired by Cerise Hood and Ramona Bad Wolf for the Boogeyman twins.

I blurred the backgrounds so one cannot see the damage my cats have made to their cat tower. Character Profile: The older twin sister of Twyla. Whilst autistic like her sister, she is the more outgoing one of the two which is why she disappears from time to time- needing to recharge her social batteries in the shadows. Like her more monstrous appearance hints at; Shemmer is at first glance the stereotypical evil twin. She has an extensive knowledge on horror movies and often likes pranking people by scaring them in ways inspired by the movies she enjoys. With her wit and charm she usually only gets a slap on the wrist for her antics and some believe she is using her disability to her advantage. Only to her beloved twin, she dares to open up to how she’s vulnerable to states of depression due to her autism and how she is actually too much of a chicken to scare little children with the same props she uses on her friends. She simply pretends to be the tougher one and be the bigger bully scaring other bullies away from Twyla. She’s very protective over her little sister and has a weak spot for little kids. She prefers giving nightmares to people she thinks that deserve it like parents who hurt their children. Shemmer does not really have any true friends aside from Lagoona Blue and Draculaura and drifts from social circles to another depending on her mood. She does have a pretty close frenemy relationship with Toralei though and usually when Shemmer needs to recruit someone to make one of Twyla’s bullies experience the nightmare of their lifetime- its this kitty that’s at her side. Favorite Activities: Reading up on history with her sister. Scaring people. Writing poetry (which occasionally end up as lyrics for the Hissfits) Trivia: Shemmer’s name fits the same naming pattern as her sister. Like Twyla’s name obviously refers to twilight, Shemer’s name refers to the Dutch word for twilight, schemering. Shemmer typically wears more bold colors compared to Twyla to fit her bolder bright blue hair. This also refers to Dutch specific old tales of the boogeyman where he dressed in bright, bold colors. Shemmer often refers to herself as a lovable pest.  Creators notes: Being autistic myself, I liked the idea of having a darker autistic character who's special interests are more morbidly inclined like horror movies- as those always have been a fascination of mine. I always thought Monster High doesn't creates enough dolls with tails, and I get why it's annoying like when it comes to the clothes (which is why I made Shemmer's tail removable), but I still think its a bit of a misser so I gave Shemmer a tail with my 3d pen. And yes, aside from styling Shemmer's hair the exact same as Twyla, I also gave them identical moles to amp up the twin effect. For those who aren't neurodivergent: Identical neurodivergent twins absolutely happen. I actually attended special needs school with a pair of identical twins.

[electrificata]

i think the central tragedy of succession is that there are so so so many ways out of their situation. logan roy is the devil. youre his kid. but you are rich as hell. you regularly get offered gigantic sums of money, enough for a mere mortal to live several lifetimes off of. you can get a really nice loft in chicago and start collecting art or something. you can fuck off to hong kong and never talk to your family again. you could gain an immense amount of public goodwill by starting a nonprofit that will not, in the end, meaningfully alter your lifestyle. but all of roy's kids are so stuck on the idea of power that they can't get away from it.

even conner, who isn't half as smart or dynamic as the rest of the family, cant stay on his ranch. he's not gonna run for mayor, or even governor (he could probably win that without too much trouble, depending on the state), he's gonna run for president. shiv can't stay in dc, she's gotta come "in" and start rolling around in the mud with everyone else (the feeling of superiority is nothing compared to even the possibility of CEO). kendall continuously fails to make his own deals, because his only dream for himself is "what if i could be dad, but wearing jordans and maybe a little nicer." roman doesn't want to build or make anything, he just wants the title, he wants to coast, and party, and make an occasional flashy deal he can take back to his dad for head pats. even cousin greg gives up a quarter billion dollar inheritance to play ball with the roys.

like, if you gave me even a fraction of the sums they throw around on this show, youd never fucking see me again. if i had like 2 mil i would spend all my time living well within my means and fucking chilling. i would have a locked twitter account where i posted about nice wine and my dogs toe beans. rich people are so fuckign stupid

[adleryoung]

"I'd be delighted," Venatrix declared excitedly. "After folklore, fashion is one of my passions. The particular style of dress I'm wearing was invented by a spider, as was much of Roger's wardrobe as well. It all started with a talented seamstress named Serica who had two very enthusiastic patrons…"

"… and the Lord Centipede and the Lady Millipede did indeed wed," she continued after what seemed like a neverending, interminable backstory. "And they commissioned Serica to make clothes for all 300 of their children. Each one had to be unique so the nobles could tell their offspring apart at a glance. The wide variety of outfits she created became the basis for much of the costume popular today."

"All right, all right," I jumped in when Venatrix paused for breath. "I wasn't looking for a comprehensive history of styles, just a description of what's trending right now; what's hot on the street, if you will. You seem to have a keen understanding of the subject, so here's what I need first: You must procure an outfit for a fashionable lady; and by that I mean a full set of clothes, everything from the ground up. It must all look most swell, with the elegance and the pizzazz and the hey hey hey, but not attract undue attention. I can give you her measurements, very nice, very feminine, but I'm not sure they are 100 percent accurate, so the clothes may have to be altered slightly when it comes time for her to wear them."

"That shan't be a problem," Venatrix stated confidently. "I don't think I exaggerate when I say that I am a more-than-capable seamstress myself."

"Who is the special lady?" Barkingthwaite asked, with a roguish wiggle of his eyebrows.

"That isn't important yet," I declared. "You'll find out more after you have finished this task, IF you finish this task. Finding me was only the first of your tests. Oh, and I shall give you funds enough to cover all your expenses pertaining to this matter."

"Oh pish-posh," Barkingthwaite scoffed. "There's no need for payment, my lord. The gift you've already given us is all we need. Our newfound love will last a lifetime."

"No really, I insist," I insisted. "I have a huge store of gold. HUGE. Let me reimburse you for your trouble. Traveling here couldn't have been cheap, or easy. The dress will have to be bought somewhere, and I should give you a retainer for future assignments."

Plus, I thought, word of a substantial cash reward might draw more followers!

"Oh it's no trouble at all!" Venatrix protested. "We journeyed here at our own expense. We fully expected a loss of finances. And anyway, traveling between Eire and England isn't all that far. We're happy to perform your tasks free of charge. Not to be too indelicate, but I happen to have a ready supply of fabric which does not cost me a farthing! It's the least we can do for what you've already given us." "Take the money," I reiterated. "For your time, if nothing else."

"Wouldn't dream of it, old bean," Barkingthwaite demurred. "TAKE THE BLASTED MONEY OR I SHALL BECOME QUITE CROSS!" I yelled. "WHEN AN ELF OFFERS YOU GIFTS, YOU DO NOT REFUSE! IT'S A MATTER OF HONOR!"

[bu11seye]

closed starter for @starmore .

it was official , jessie was having the worst time . not only was she technically left at the alter once before , but this time it was her running . twice in one lifetime has she almost been married and it has completely bombed and blew up in her face . she could laugh at how stupid she was , but atleast this time , she had some money rather than when she ran away from home without a dime to her name , and ended up looking like an idiot just riding her horse on the side of the highway .

jessie was still having a terrible time , because not only is she unsure about her decision to leave the best man in existence , she's also missing emily . jessie was homeless and she was crying about a girl back in georgia who didn't give a shit about her , and it also happened way too long ago for her to not be embarrassed about it . it was leaving buzz that stirred up these emotions , now twenty five and still feeling hopeless and seventeen , despite not having been seventeen in a long time . she was told it would get better with time , but time is not going by fast enough . there she was , weeping on a park bench , full on ugly sobbing as she grips the rope that sits around bullseye's saddle . the creature was even giving the expression that he wanted nothing to do with her , and that makes her cry even more . she's cried through six states and six years , and for some reason the tears keep flowing . jessie is embarrassed of herself .

" fine . you wanna ditch me too ? " jessie sniffed , dropping the rope . she's losing it . she's arguing with her horse . " then go. see if i care . " she mutters , crossing her arms over her chest as bullseye just stands there . pulling her legs up on the bench , she hides her face in her knees for a little bit until she hears noises from around her . bullseye must be eating garbage , so the redhead runs a hand through messy locks before sighing .

" i thought i told you to go . " she snapped , voice sounding more angry as the sentence went on , eyes opening to see someone who was not bullseye . " fuck . im so sorry . i thought you were my horse . " super cool , jess . now they probably think you're insane , and bullseye actually walked away. so not only are you without house , you are also without horse .

jessie gets up from the bench , scratching the back of her neck . " sorry if i bugged you. "

[msommers]

7, 16, 35 for jorina and riya!

i give u keeses xxxx // character development questions: hard mode

7) Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

JORINA — absolutely, and all of them spawning from events of the fifth blight. endless types of darkspawn attacks, memories and re-imaginings of arl howe's attack on the alienage, the sickness and slavers that infected it afterwards, seeing her loved ones in peril (bonus points for being unable to help them, or fucking up in trying), probably some good old stuck in the darkness ones thrown in there. went through a period of having stress dreams about her siblings and father starving because she wouldn't be able to provide for them, but those gradually went away after she got that job as a cartographer for the fereldan crown. can only imagine the new ones she'd have about red lyrium after scouting for the inquisition.

RIYA — i don't think she's had many nightmares in her life up until leaving cumberland, not enough of them to have any recurring themes at least. after fleeing she was struggling with constant nightmares of picturing victor on That Night, her thoughts aren't very kind to her there :// she also had some during those weeks of running where her imagination would provide scenarios of what could happen if she and bash were caught, though they weren't frequent. as of last night's session, gonna tack on all of the darkspawn nightmares she'll have as a warden, and also bash's death lmao that's gonna stick around for a long time sorry babe

16) Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

JORINA — oh man, i can see it either way for her. probs happiness more?? i think she'd have such a tinted view of the years she had with her mother, some of those memories altered just to bring her more comfort. she believes they were the best times because the family was complete! they were happy and content!! mama was there!!! she has conveniently forgotten (or elected to ignore) the fact that they were still struggling with funds, contending with the humans of the city, and her mother had occasional arguments with some of the folk in the alienage over things she never learned, etc etc. 

RIYA — success, no doubt about it. she was raised by a mother who frequently spoke of the successes she'd achieved in her lifetime, about both the happiness they brought her and how she expected the same from her children so they could make the noble house great again. her brothers all excel in their fields, and her absolute favorite one told her stories all the damn time about his wonderful hunts and daring deeds. she's been left with a wildly idealized view of success and the satisfaction it will bring her, which i suppose isn't terribly wrong (because she was, in fact, incredibly satisfied with her tourney win) but can lead to some disappointments down the road.

35) How does your character behave around people they like?

JORINA — she's not wound up so tightly, isn't as evasive as she might be with strangers or mere acquaintances. will be more open to small talk or longer conversations that aren't focused solely on discussing work duties, though it doesn't make her any more skilled at actually navigating those types of chats. she gives everybody a full body once-over when engaging with them, but she's slightly more likely to actually speak up about what she discovers (current state, emotions, focus, y'know) with that observation than she would be usually.

RIYA — gonna be honest, there isn't a whole lot riya does differently around separate people. she's just A Presence You Can't Ignore no matter who's there. i'd say she's more inclined to initiate physical contact on whatever level she feels in the moment, slightly more eager to see if she can get a smile or chuckle out of them.

[harbingrs]

Most people here know Skillet's corny AMV songs like Monster and Hero but albums like Comatose just wholesale capture the experience of being a teenager in an extremely charismatic evangelical church in the 2000s

Anyone who hasn't had that experience does not understand the sheer emotional intensity and the kind of... genuine altered state involved in that kind of "worship"

Like I've had experiences with actual drugs that were less intense than an average worship meeting

And that Skillet album references that 1000x. Of course the lyrics are ambiguous enough that you can spin it as a romance thing, but when we were listening to this stuff? There was total consensus that this about God actually and this is the experience we're having

Comatose:

Comatose I'll never wake up without an overdose of you I don't want to live I don't want to breathe Uness I feel you next to me You take the pain I feel I don't want to live I don't want to breathe Unless I feel you next to me You take the pain I feel (Waking up to you never felt so real) I don't want to sleep I don't want to dream 'Cause my dreams don't comfort me The way you make me feel (Waking up to you never felt so real)

& the aptly named Better Than Drugs:

Feel your every heartbeat Feel you on these empty nights Calm the ache, stop the shakes You clear my mind You're my escape From this messed up place 'Cause you let me forget You numb my pain How can I tell you just all that you are What you do to me You're better than drugs Your love is like wine Feel you coming on so fast Feel you coming to get me high You're better than drugs Addicted for life Feel you coming on so fast Feel you coming on to get me high

Like, when it comes to that kind of religious group, this is not a bug, it's a feature. And that experience is intended to be your coping mechanism for absolutely everything, it's gonna take all your pain away

It's also a feature and not a bug that they targeted teenagers with a history of trauma for conversion

In a shocking twist it just set me up for a lifetime of substance use issues once I left the church because I needed something else that was going to do the same thing for me

[embracethemadmess]

Dreaming with the Witch- #2 - just Marc

Story summary:  Steven is refusing to sleep at night again, but this time he also doesn’t want to front during the day, so Marc has to cover for him at work, running on little to no sleep every day, straining his voice on -quite bad- British soft accent. If that wasn’t enough, there’s this third alter still actively moon knighting without the other two knowing. All this leaves the body completely exhausted and, well, on the edge of falling apart. One time the system meets a witch willing to help heal both the body and the disturbed minds in it.

Chapter summary: Steven disappears for a day.

word count: 5682

masterpost

spotify playlist

Chapter notes: I actually had the whole chapter ready to publish but I forgot that ao3 doesn't automatically save drafts. The page refreshed and I lost the last two pages or so. I'm gonna have to write it from scraps, will probably update this chapter later (but maybe I'll decide to add it as a separate one), till this time please enjoy what has survived this tragic moment.

likes and comments are always appreciated :).

Disclaimers: I do not have D.I.D., therefore my story should not be treated as a trustful source of knowledge on the topic. I strongly encourage you all to learn about it from actual systems or other resources. Mirrors and all that reflections theme are used as a way to connect the story to the TV show. If you notice any mistakes on my side, please let me know so I can fix them.

Their dreams were primarily separate. Each of them would dream of different things, at different times even, which gave them something they could chat about in the morning during their breakfast time. Marc only shared his good or at least neutral dreams, not wanting to add to Steven's anxiety or ruin his good mood, even though the brit rarely had it nowadays. Part of Marc was quite impressed with the fact the other's jollity became rarer than his own, the other part was worried by it, settling the feeling of well-known unease down his lower stomach. 

Steven, on the other hand, would tell Marc about every single one of his dreams, making it a part of their morning routine. The thing was, he would talk about them quickly and without really elaborating on them as if he wished to leave this matter on a shallow surface, not wanting to dig deeper into the meaning of what his imagination was projecting for him at night. Marc never once questioned it, knowing better than to force his headmate to do something he clearly wasn't comfortable with.

However, there were times when their dreams interacted with each other in some ways; different scenarios mixing into one messed-up one, fighting for a spot of their own, or unexpectedly taking over their collective mind without any warning.

Like this time.

Marc starts the night dreaming of nothing, which was his favourite state. Every time his dreams were consisting of just a plain grey space without any sound, specific sight or unidentified scent, he couldn't be more grateful to his imagination, taking the opportunity to properly rest and gather the energy for the next day. He isn't ready for Steven's nightmare flooding his mind out of nowhere, to say the least.

His jaw tightens in sleep when it all hits all at once with a force of a train, the safety of a light room around him being replaced with the worst memories they both earned throughout their lifetimes. Whichever turn he takes, whichever direction he takes a cautious step in, a new demon appears right in front of him, ripping a piece of his soul out of his gashed open body. Fear coated the whole place with darkness, the only source of light being a red flash blinding him from underneath the silhouettes of monsters, whether it be Harrow calling him a parasite, his mother holding a belt in her hand and spitting venomous insults to his face, or his little brother, all stiff and cold from drowning alive in a cave. Nothing seems to help; Marc tries to escape but always somehow ends up in the exact same spot, tries to shout it is just a dream but the boneless figures only laugh hysterically at that, and tries to call out for Steven to wake up but he is nowhere to be seen or heard. 

"Leave us alone." He says out loud and locks his fist around the edge of a carpet that in the dream turns out to be cold sand on which he fell while backing away from the demonic version of his mom. It's not even her corrupt, livid body that frightens him, it's simply the sole fact that she was there and had him cornered with nowhere to escape. After all these years, he still wasn't ready to fully face this part of his childhood trauma, not even in a dream, not without full control over the time and way this would happen, and definitely not without Steven by his side. It's too much and he wants to get out.

"Stay right where the fuck you are, you hear me?" he mouths in the silence of their apartment, surprised that he can talk freely since he noticed that when he tried to scream, not a sound would come out of his mouth, he would just let out a trembling breath and nothing more. 

The ground underneath him starts moving, catching his attention for a second as his brows knit at the sight of his hands and feet slowly dipping in the sand, his whole body freezing suddenly but painfully. Should've been you, he hears each time a belt meets his skin in hard blows, crushing another part of his fossiled body until there's nothing left of him but a little bit of dust floating around in cold air.

With a dramatic gasp, he wakes up, rapidly raising his head only to crash into the underside of the tabletop he fell asleep under. Thoughts are racing in his mind chaotically, he's panting and whining from pain spreading across his forehead, leaving him unable to recognise his bearings. 

"Fuckin' hell." After he swears to himself, he lies back down on the floor, rolls over to his stomach and lazily crawls out from under the coffee table in the middle of their apartment. Squinting his eyes in order to protect his still sensitive sight from the sunlight pouring through one of three large windows, he caresses the spot on his forehead that took a direct hit, while the other hand he uses for support, pressing the palm against the wooden floor as he slowly stands up. Without thinking he drags the body to the kitchen to put a coffee pot of his favourite coffee blend on the burner; he's been making coffee the same minute he's heard his alarm going off for years now, so it practically became his instinct to touch the coffee pot before he even looked in the bathroom mirror on his way to take a morning pee. He might forget to shower, but he never once skipped his coffee time. It tasted best in Egypt, sure, but life taught him well not to complain as it always could be worse.

As soon as the drink was boiling hot and ready, simmering in a pot a little under an impatient look Marc was throwing at it, he pours the jet black liquid into the cup and immediately raises it to his face, closing his eyes and sighing softly on how pleasantly it smells. 

"How 'r we feeling today, Stevie bean?" he asks and then blinks surprised by his own raspy voice as he lazily makes his way to the middle part of their studio where the old green armchair is standing next to a simple little table (snowed under approximately a ton of books) and a drying rack full of clothes that were waiting for their turn to be folded neatly and put into a cupboard. He knocks on the surface of a full-length mirror in front o him prior to sitting down comfortably, giving his coffee a quick blow before taking a few sips. "It's another working day, is there a point in singing some counting rhyme to determine which one of us is fronting today?" he adds in a playful voice but that mocking tone leaves him the moment he sees a sorrowful look on a man in the mirror who should be just his own reflection but somehow wasn't.

"I ain't gonna bite you, so just, talk to me?" Marc tries, this time gently and not louder than a whisper. His alter only shrugs in response to that and then there's a good minute of complete silence between them. It's not awkward, no; just expectant. Within this time they're both simply watching each other, pondering - Marc on what upset Steven to a point where he's visibly holding back tears, and Steven on how Marc managed to look so calm, almost unimpressed, just moments after waking up from a horrible dream he knew he accidentally let experience them both instead of only himself. It seems for Steven as if not even a single wrinkle has appeared on their shared face due to stress caused by an unwanted image from the past, not a single redness on their cheeks secretly hiding a blush of anger, and not an uncomfortable glare coming from Marc's eyes but a clear expression of care and tenderness poured on dark chocolate of them. Brit's heart aches as he realises how close the two of them have become for the other alter to show affection toward him openly. Because that's exactly what it is, as strange as it may sound, since Marc letting anyone read anything, apart from annoyance, off his face is something that doesn't happen often.

After that Steven finally decides to speak.

'M tired. Had a nightmare, he says with an exhausted sigh, and Marc nods in understanding.

"I know. Uh, does it mean you'd prefer to just, you know, hide?" the one in front asks hesitantly, showing his worry even more with the way he rubs the nape of his neck. "Like, inside?"

It's Steven's turn to nod, and he's biting the inside of his cheek like he's afraid of Marc's reaction to his decision, even if he's the one to propose it. Marc quickly decides that he hates seeing his headmate this nervous in front of him. He shouldn't be, not with him, not with anyone really. But Steven's simply too pure for this world and all these little gestures are proof of it. 

Iff it's not a problem ffor you, I'd like to stayy inside and rest a bit, per-rhaps? comes from the man in the mirror, not quite stuttering, but dragging out some of the letters as if using the space between them for his personal needs.

Marc doesn't mind. He hums in agreement, one corner of his lips shifts upwards as he returns the small smile Steven gives him before disappearing deep to the back of their shared space within the mind, and in a matter of seconds, he's left alone with the system's body. He still can feel Steven somewhere, but it's obvious the British alter is no longer co-conscious and present in a way they agreed on after their little adventure in the Duat.

It feels weird, it feels wrong even, and a singular shiver climbs up on his spine at the feeling of being completely on his own, just like in their dream. 

While still looking in the mirror, he calls out Steven's name just in case, and as soon as he's met with no response and a reflection that is clearly his own, his whole demeanour changes. His lips fall to a straight line, shoulders drop a little, although still remain fairly straight compared to the frame Steven usually wears due to his years in the army, and dark-circled eyes seem to sink in even more than before, putting extreme exhaustion on a perfect display for no one to see but Marc.

He stays in this position, stilled in an armchair with his fingers curled around the coffee cup and his gaze directed at his image in the mirror, for a while, trying to gather the energy to face the stress he willingly put himself out for. When he finally moves, his whole body weighs twice as much, or at least that's what it feels like. Muscles tighten and strain under the pressure he puts on walking around the apartment, from the bathroom to the sleeping area to the kitchen and back, in a process of getting ready for work, having his alarm set for just the right time to leave so he won't be late. It's almost as if he's got a step-by-step plan written down in his memory, he realises somewhere between brushing gently his bouncing curls with a wide-tooth comb and eating leftover vegan dumplings Steven managed to order online the day before but didn't eat. Every minute out of thirty is used to the fullest, some of them are even spent on doing a few things at once, and well calculated to the point where he knows exactly how much time he has left before the alarm goes off.

Classical music is playing faintly in the background the whole time he spends alone going from sitting pointlessly in his pyjamas with the remains of sleep on his eyelids to steaming clothes he quickly chose after not giving the outfit prepared by Steven a second glance. It's easier this way, he reckons, listening to some melody and picking up all the instruments hidden within different notes, not giving his mind time to come up with intrusive thoughts he's been dealing with for ages now. With his alter not feeling well enough to even survive an entire day fronting, he finds himself not having time for his own issues when all of his energy he puts into fronting if necessary and not throwing up while doing so, since it is far from what he truly desires. 

The cool air from outside causes the hair on his arms to stand up and jars his shoulders with a rapid shiver as he strips naked in order to put on freshly ironed clothing. Strands of loose curls get in his eyes every time he makes a sudden move with his head, leaving him blowing dramatically in attempts to rid his sight of them; he's not used to having his hair like that, always preferred styling it with gel so it stayed slicked back for hours, not interrupting him during the whole day. But it's Steven's workplace he is about to enter, and there's already an element of surprise in the shape of a beard on his face, so he doesn't want to change yet another aspect of the body's appearance for Steven's colleagues to become curious about.

On this day, Steven only shows up, well, willingly, once more, two minutes before Marc's leaving the apartment. What triggers him to do so is a soft click of the clasp in Marc's favourite (and the only one) watch. 

Can you shave for us before you leave?

"No" is the only response Marc gives to this question, short, quick and emotionless not because he's being mean to him, but because he doesn't feel the need to sugarcoat something that won't have a direct effect on his headmate. Steven huffs loudly and tries again when he feels the body tensing due to moving towards the door.

I had clothes prepped for today, you know. The brit grunts shily and that has Marc chuckling a bit. Issa reason for them to be folded outside the cupboard, innit?

"If anyone has any reason why I should not wear this fine cashmere sweater-" Marc starts saying quietly as he steps outside the flat, locking the door behind them but Steven cuts across him with an almost offended-sounding: jumper. The American rolls both his eyes at the comment and his sleeves of a mustard yellow sweater up to the middle of his forearms before he continues. "Instead of this ugly patterned shirt that does absolutely nothing to our nice shoulders, speak now or forever hold your peace."

They will cut my paycheck if they see you wearing cashmere.

"Can’t hear ya, I’m too far now."  Words are leaving his mouth freely as he's heading to the stairs after choosing them over the elevator, certain that no one will hear him talking to himself. 

I’m quite literally in your head, you prick.

Marc snorts out a burst of genuine laughter at the sound of Steven's tantrum, then he gently tugs up the fabric of his black corduroy trousers on his thighs and runs down the stairs as if trying to pump some adrenaline into the drained body.

Instead, he pumps dizziness into the space between the brain and the skull, and nausea hits the stomach and the whole nervous system as soon as he's at the front door of the building. His vision gets blurry and he bends in half, leaning the palms of his hands against his knees, feeling his heart hammering painfully in his chest. 

One moment he loses strength and feels how darkness swallows him whole, leaving both the body and his mind floating powerlessly in attenuation.

Second, he feels his control over the body being taken away from him but differently, not by fainting. He's pushed inside and trapped there while the body is standing still next to some strangers caged in the same pose as it does in the middle of a pavement. He feels the presence of not just Steven in their collective space of mind, and all he can see is red, red bleeding in from everywhere, drowning them.

Three swearwords rip through the thick scarlet smoke.

Fuck.

Shite.

Joder.

Although it's like they are all spoken in the headspace, each one of them actually leaves their shared mouth, one by one, each of them said with more struggle than the previous; each of them weaker and huskier while their throat is getting tighter as if a steely grip was trying to break their windpipe.

Even when being imprisoned inside the body, not having any hold on it whatsoever, they still can feel the temperature around it going down all of a sudden, leaving it shuddering, almost being tossed around by the howling wind. Physical pain slowly takes over all of their senses and makes them want to grit their teeth as they can so much as to scream dreadfully; only on the inside, because their physical form remains frozen in time, in a way, since they can't move no matter how hard they try.

Utterly blind to the outer world, they don't see a figure of a woman appearing on every reflective surface around them - she's seen by not a soul caged on cobblestone, but for eyes of a deity standing on the nearest ceiling, bracing itself on a golden cane with a crescent atop, she is noticeable. It lets out a sigh at the sight of her before it looks over to its avatar and sees how he's visibly trying to summon his suit - black leatherette combats are replacing corduroy for a split second before fading right back away, and the thickness of textured fabric attempts to hide his curls under a silvery hood of a well-fitted jacket at the same time as smooth bandage-like stripes, some of which embroidered with Egyptian symbols, are wrapping and unwrapping his torso. 

The god has never seen anything like that - throughout all the years he's spent using different bodies as his fist of vengeance, he's never once seen an avatar fighting for a chance to suit up, yet failing.

The aura of pure desperation is rimming the one helpless body, mingling with the red mist in the cold air around it, while the other ones are already lost to fear, choking slowly and painfully enough for the veins on their necks to show up. She can feel it as she's walking by stiff figures, the same mist swirling around her hands while she plays with her fingers, the only part of naked skin on her gloved forearms; she sees his hands trembling as if wanting to reach his throat, she hears uneven breaths and almost non-audible groans and it all intrigues her nearly to the point where she's thinking about stopping by him and swaying his chin up to look in the eyes of the bravest warrior of them all. But she doesn't.

Instead, the billowing skirt on the back of her body gently brushes the fabric of his hanging loose suspenders when she passes him without noticing a single detail of his lowered face, and she lazily makes her way to the front of a small group of people gathered in one place between the buildings. Upon this view, the deity hits the ceiling it's been standing on with its cane and with this simple movement, it appears before her, to which she tilts her head slightly, and a ghost of smirk tugs one corner of her lips.

"Khonsu" a quick greeting leaves her mouth, a piercing look in her eyes almost paralysing.

"The Scarlet Witch..." The god responds quickly but the tone of his voice is stern as always. 

They both take a moment to salute each other with a simple nod of their heads, a sign of mutual respect.

"So you know me," she points out, now resting her arms down her sides instead of fiddling with her hands, "I'm flattered."

"A cursed witch, forged by the Chaos Magic-"

"Don't." She interjects, already knowing where this is going, but he ignores her warning and continues.

"-destined to either rule over or destroy the world."

At that, she clenches her fists and the red mist forms around her hands again as well as it wraps around the throats of innocent people all around the both of them, tightening its grip to the point when they simultaneously let out a horrific scream.

"Careful, what you say to me." This comes out in the form of a hiss from her, although her face remains perfectly unbothered, red-glowing eyes being the only sign of her malignity.

Khonshu turns his beak ever so slightly to the side to see his avatar dropping to his knees, the falcon's skull-shaped kneepads appearing just in time to insure his fall, and as soon as the witch catches the deity's sudden move, with obvious curiosity she starts to turn her head to the place it's facing. Just a second before she can notice the face of the avatar, she feels an unexpected gale surrounding her, causing soft curls to get in her eyes for a moment, sticking to her lips and tangling in the horns of her tiara. 

By the time she's raised her hands and thrown a few blood-red blasts that cleared the air around her, she finds herself being in a completely different place, far away from the one she craved to see. As a response to the situation, she lets out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. 

Khonshu is there as well, his position in front of her hasn't changed, contrary to their environment. He's towering above her, although it seems like she's the one trumping over him and, judging by her expression, she's aware of it. 

"Could it be dismay I feel in you..?" She asks politely, her fingers niddling again from the lack of other occupation, irony dripping off the corners of her lips like venom. "Why bother fighting if you know I'm inevitable?" comes in addition, only confirming her cheekiness.

"So, the prophecy comes to life," the god announces, oblivious to what has just been said. When getting no response besides a raised eyebrow, he adds, "you begin the end of the world by killing off the strongest ones first. Clever, that I must admit."

"If by 'the strongest" you mean the ones you have to hide from me behind your tricks, then it's not clever at all," she says, "it's a playdate."

"Don't you dare disrespect me like that."  The deity spits out, anger peeking from the bony skull. "I'm a God, you accurst creature. Lay your hand on my avatar and you-"

"I have higher matters at hand right now." The Scarlet Witch interrupts his threat with a teasing smile playing on her lips once more when the rest of her face is a beautiful painting of severity to be feared. "Therefore, God of the moon, as long as you stay out of my way, you can rest assured I am not going to cause a single hair to fall off your toy's head."

"He's not my toy."

"He's currently suffocating to death, yet you are here, chatting with me. Is it because you know you are powerless against me, or because you crave to know how much pain he can truly bear? Tell me, Khonsu, if you play with his life, what does that make him-" she pauses just for the time needed to step toward him with a curious look on a pale face. She notices how the god warns her by leaning his cane just a little bit toward her, nevertheless, she decides to ignore it. When she's close enough before him, she lifts her chin so she's able to look up at him. "-if not just a pitiful toy of yours?"

With that, she sends a single swirl of red mist to the sides of his head, more of a mock rather than attack, and then she backs away, not even glancing behind when she says her last words.

"You'll be seeing me when I need you, till this time you and your avatar have nothing to worry about."

The witch then waves her fingers, creating yet another bloody-toned wreath, and at that moment her silhouette fades away, leaving a speck of shimmery gold dust that later on dissolves into thin air. Like she was never there, to begin with.

The Moon-god only tilts his head at her exit, then, with a tap of his cane and a simple turn, he comes back to his previous place, on the ceiling of an old building next to his avatar's apartment; to the place where the red energy left people, including Marc Spector, collapsing to the ground as a result of their waking from the forceful trance.

Although certainly not the first one to gasp, Marc is back on his feet in a matter of seconds after shaking off the stupor. Holding one hand, closed in a fist, close to his chest and breathing extremely heavily, he reaches his throat with his other palm and starts massaging it with a gentle touch of fingertips. His mind is still clouded, his vision a little fuzzy like every time he tries to read something written in a small font without wearing glasses, and he still doesn't have a proper grip over his body, but after taking a quick glance at other victims, he's satisfied with his ability to move without falling back down. 

He takes a second to put his right hand in the front pocket of his pants, through the hole he cut out there, to the inner side of his thigh where a little pocket knife is strapped around the tense muscles. Confusion, settled into his brow the whole time, softens subtly at the contact with the blade.

"The hell was that?" he asks out loud while exchanging a few consternated looks with other people, then slides his fingers over his cheek, through his short beard. He doesn't look scared- that's the thing about Marc that comes to Steven's mind as a first thought whenever he thinks of words to describe the American alter -, he never does, his facial expression comes as far as to a display of unease, but he never shows fright. It's like he doesn't even feel it, though they know he does, he simply keeps it to himself, knowing too well not to show any of his weaknesses to the outer world as it's full of people only waiting for a chance to use them against him.

So that's what he does, remains neutral on the outside, stone-cold even, as he's offering his hand to some women still sitting on the ground in shock. 

"Steven, what'd you do?"  He breathes out voicelessly through a clenched jaw, just before asking an old lady if she's alright and whether she needs help getting back home.

It wasn’t me, so it’s either you or there’s another alter you didn’t care to tell me about, pal.

His alter's voice sounds different, he thinks to himself and his brows knit in wonder. The accent doesn't seem to fit his British headmate, there's something off about this one sentence, but he shakes his head at the thought and pushes it to the back of his mind, blaming the weird feeling on aftershock. 

"Very funny" is the only comment Marc leaves him with. 

He's less confused than the rest of the strangers gathered around him, that's for sure, simply because he's used to sudden blackouts at this point, so it takes him way less time to collect himself and restart his morning walk to work. That's what it felt like - a blackout. Agonisingly painful blackout.

Now working in a different museum, the Sir John Soane's Museum, they decided not to use the bus to get there, but take it as an opportunity to get some fresh air before and after work. This time isn't any different; Marc takes their regular path, picks up the pace only a little bit, out of his body instincts and learned routines, and after a few long minutes he's almost halfway there. He doesn't look at anyone and anything, as if tunnel-visioned, hands shoved down his pockets, head lowered and focused on the way shortly ahead of him. He's not interested in anything related to the outer world, hasn't been in a long time, so it feels out of character for him to look around and drink up the view and the atmosphere of the city of London. The sun seems to burn his skin, it's blinding and sharp, and painful, and he doesn't belong there, in the light of it. It's not his place, it's Steven's, and he spends his whole trip thinking about how badly he'd want to switch places with his alter, be able to hide again, be able to let go of all these mundane responsibilities. For a split second, he even considers triggering Steven back to the command of the body. And this one thought shocks him to his core, leading him to crouch for a minute at the puffin crossing. 

The heels of his palms dig into his eye sockets as he exhales with frustration at his own attitude.

He's tired, he decides after crushing an intrusive thought to throw himself under a speeding car.

He just needs some rest, he assures himself while making his way across the street.

It will go away, he mouths with a shaky breath, dipping his fingers into his messy curls and pulling not so slightly, just to be sure that it's all real; that he still can feel something physical.

It's gonna be alright, he hums silently as he stands at the museum's entrance, and before walking right in, he takes out his wallet and checks if he has both his real ID and Steven's fake one, just in case.

And Gods, is he wrong.

***

Marc is leaning against the counter, with both elbows resting on a shiny white surface, fingers of one hand tapping on it edgily, the ones of the other alternately tugging soft hair on his forehead and rubbing his temple. He's surrounded by books, stuff made by artisans, and objects such as scarves, jewellery or decorative accessories including, but not limited to plastic miniatures of the museum, figurines of exhibits, or even tableware inspired by the museum's themes.

The small screen before him reads one sentence Marc has already read multiple times, laughing at him from the greenish background.

enter security code

After getting past inserting Steven's employee ID he thought nothing else would surprise him, and yet he's here, unable to log into the system he's supposed to work on. Part of him regrets all of his life choices, especially the one he made not to pay attention to his alter's responsibilities throughout Steven's gift shop clerk career, opting to stay hidden during his shifts and gather energy for his nightly missions with Khonshu. He spent all these years limiting his share in the process to checking in on Steven whenever things got nasty, and occasionally taking over the body after the other's extra hours to ensure his safety on the way back to their flat. Other than that, instead of at least learning the basics in case of the situations like the one he finds himself in at the moment, he was happily burying himself deep in the back of their head the second his headmate put his foot inside the British Museum.

A different part of him, on the other hand, is actually glad he doesn't know the code, simply because by this moment he's already painfully aware of his lack of ability to operate a cash register, as well as his lack of proper manners needed in the area of customer service.

He's screwed, he decides while pressing some random numbers on the keyboard, audibly or not, he doesn't really care. Having learned the hard way to think twice the next time he volunteers to replace the British guy at work, Marc groans at the thought of being defeated by the machine as he flutters his eyes shut and sighs in relief at how pleasant the darkness proves to be contrary to the blinding bright lights hitting him mercilessly from every angle.

For a brief moment, he feels at ease.

Brief, because after what seems to last only a short minute, he hears footsteps approaching him from the side and feels fingertips curling around his bicep. Without giving it a second thought, he relies on pure instinct when he takes a sudden turn to his face the intruder, combat mode kicking right in. He throws his right arm to his opponent's cross tricep, hand gripping the meat there tightly, while his left arm goes to their same side wrist. In one second he pulls the tricep, shoots his left wrist inward and pushes it through the wrist which easily grants him control of the whole arm. Another second later he curls the wrist, comes over to put his hand on the elbow, then slips the left hand up into the tricep area, grabbing it while pulling down on the elbow, and just like that, in a blink of an eye he holds his attacker in a strong armlock that has their arm behind their back with their wrist out their mid-back and their tricep in a steely grip. Marc puts his free arm around their neck which results in keeping them tight, and only when a strand of their cocoa-brown hair tangles between his fingers and they gasp loudly, does he realise that he's not in danger, and that most likely he's holding one of Steven's female coworkers.

Now he's definitely screwed, he thinks to himself as he mutters a ghost of a sound that takes the form of the word 'fuck'.

[bylertruther]

sorry but that episode title has me going bONKERS like. the fucking... Possibilities. dear god. we know that will's connection to henry grows stronger the more that he spreads into the rightside up and now we literally have both worlds colliding. will knows the state that henry is in. that means, when they fight, henry might know what state will is in, too, if the connection still goes both ways.

and like... imagine if will is able to cast fog cloud or protection spells? because he made the upside down look like hawkins, so what if he can subtly alter it if it creeps into the rightside up enough? but there are so many weird and dangerous things happening, that no one gives it a second thought they just roll with the punches and take the opportunity to escape when it arises?

what if he can block out henry's connection to wherever it is that they are so that he won't feel them through the vines or whatever? like a blind spot, because he's not connected to the hivemind, but he is connected to henry. like a nerve/receptor block. or something.

what if will is able to do these things but he doesn't KNOW it until the smoke clears and they're like ... wait a minute... 🤨 how did that happen... how did you know where to go? how did they not see us? how are we still alive? etc etc. (and he's not going to totally believe it's him, because he doesn't remember ever doing this before and when was the last time will ever got what he wanted no matter how small?)

and it builds off of what the teens are going to 100% reveal early on about the upside down being frozen on the day that will got there. bc i feel like will would chalk it up to coincidence bc he's not a lab kid like eleven and he thinks he'd remember being able to do something like that (which makes eleven reveal how her trauma made her lose her powers and how henry created his own, so no, will, it's very possible actually) and no one expects it or wants to believe it (because that then puts will in danger again and they've had enough of that for at least 3 lifetimes tbh).

and so on and so forth. like. So Much Could Happen. so much!!!!!!

[innerfuel]

Reprogram Your Brain With Reputation And Neuroplasticity

What if you had a brain that was designed to start fresh every morning, could change and grow constantly, would rewire itself with anything you told it, always got rid of the limits other people placed on it, and was capable of talents and skills you thought only other people had and would continue to grow and evolve throughout your lifetime?

Imagine having that brain. That’s yours or might be. However, before starting, we should know those bullet points:

You should never underestimate the power of positive programming. You can do it through hypnosis, meditation, or repetitive habits and behaviors.

Every message you got was recorded in your brain from the minute you were born. Every impression you had — everything you heard, saw, experienced, idea, and communication you got from any source — was stored in your brain. The frequently repeated and recorded messages develop neural pathways and networks in your brain. These brain pathways and networks are referred to as programs.

They showed us more programming on what we couldn’t do than shows about what we could achieve or become. This is true whether you are currently a high achiever or have yet to realize your full potential. Fortunately, because of your neuroplastic brain, your brain change, arrange, and create new cells.

The part of your brain that stores all the messages you tell daily will listen to anything you say, especially before sleep or during theta brain waves state. The part of your brain that stores information doesn’t know if what you’re telling is true or false, right or wrong, good or bad. It just stores it, and if the same message is repeated often enough, the brain wires it in and acts on it as if it were true.

To increase neurogenesis, you rewire your brain with supplements, exercises, coffee, deep sleep, and other things.

In this article, we will discover Reprogram Your Brain With Repetition And Neuroplasticity and other important information that might helpful.

Are Our Brain Stop Growing? Human Brain, Brain Function, and Neuron

For generations, they thought the brain was largely unchanging after its first growing stage during human childhood. (Scientists now know that the brain continues to develop new neurons throughout an individual’s lifespan.)

Though we now know better, scientists were also convinced that a person’s genes controlled the architecture of the brain and that the brain, in turn, controlled how each individual thought, how intelligent they would be, and, most importantly, what inborn and lifelong qualities they would or would not possess.

There’s a strong possibility you’re smarter than you think. Or, at the very least, you could be if you wanted to. In a few years, we won’t even recognize the traditional IQ tests we used to rely on. (How can a single test, possibly taken just once in your childhood, effectively describe the intellect of a brain that evolves continually and rewires itself every day of a person’s life?)

If, as we now know, your brain evolves in response to the information you give it, it stands to reason that if you give it the proper, fresh input, your competent or useable IQ will rise with it.

At the very least, your capacity to apply your intellect more efficiently and effectively will improve.

Remember that the new realization that a limited IQ is not genetically pre-programmed into you provides you with an incredible chance to reset your good intellect. Brain researchers and personal development coaches are now developing brain training activities that alter the brain’s neuronal structure.

As this kind of training advances, it will allow anybody who wants to become more capable, alert, and in touch with everything around them.

For more information, please check it: https://innerfuel.net/rewiring-your-brain-with-habits/

https://medium.com/@innerfuel/reprogram-your-brain-with-reputation-and-neuroplasticity-2e51ea293bda