Does Your Fear Guide You In Your Discovery Of Identity?

hello !!!! mod blue here from the noncanon kin blog :))) i know mod star is going to/already has sent an ask to you as well but i wanted to extend my support as well :)

im big into Horror Media in general so if you Are set on trying to find a source, ill gladly help you out if i can :)) oc kin is Also a very interesting and probable Answer, but i know it can be hard to come to terms with things such as that, especially if you dont Already know people who experience it. ive been identifying and navigating my personal fictionkin experience since i was around 14-16, im 21 now. i understand how confusing and frustrating it can be. i wish you the Best of luck, my friend :) if you’d like to reach out at all, you can message me over at @galactic-inhabitants

much love, my guy <3 i hope you can find some answers <3

You both have been so very kind to me, I don't know how to compensate you for your time but it means a lot. I may just have some questions to ask you, sometime in the near future so consider yourself warned

yo do u have a kin list anywhere 👀

That's a good question--

As of right now, I do not have a kin list. This is due to the fact I still have not been able to find a source that completely matches my kin memories. That being said, I do have a list of sources I have been looking into in hopes of finding a connection which I will list here though if anyone finds any familiarity in me or the memories I depict in my posts, I urge you to reach out to me with any insight you can offer;

https://www.tumblr.com/imitative-magpie/777294067956580352/while-i-have-the-time-to-keep-up-on-my-blog?source=share 

HAPPY IDES OF MARCH, JULES!

well. maybe not so happy for you.... 🗡 🗡 🗡 /silly

Tis the season, I suppose. In any case, it's nice to see you again Fallen.

A Dream About A Home Invasion

There has been something that I have been purposely leaving out for a while, unsure how to touch upon the subject in my documentation in these dreams but I feel as though it is important to mention now. Let’s first start with the facts;

This stage of life is not the first time that I have experienced recurring dreams. In fact, the strange occurrences in my blog have been something that has impacted me in various shades through the entirety of my life, taking many forms. Through fears of fire or fears of the sea and above all, fear of what will happen at the end of the world. One of these fears is what I’ll become when the end inevitably comes for me, and yanks me out of this shallow grave I’ve made for myself..

Sometimes, when I begin my dreams, somebody else is already there. This happened tonight, with me standing in the bedroom of Mindy Hason, and finding a dark, shadowy figure occupying the corner of the bedroom where I should have resided. Long, scraggly dangling limbs, one hand horribly scarred and mangled, the marks tight and mottled that spattered up both arms and a hollow gap in their side where the wind of their ragged breathing seemed to be sucked through. I could not meet their gaze, and yet I felt it, something calculating that sent a shiver down my spine. All I could think of was what that one- whatever they were, had said.. about people being chewed up and swallowed by the mouth of fear. Is this something I have to look forward to becoming? Will I one day have my own hands scarred and broken from tapping into too many realities? We’re both here for the same reason, we’re here for Mindy. 

I take a step towards her, and the shadow does too. Well, what do I do now? Is he heading towards her, or is he heading towards me?? Am I ready to die for a quick fix? I glance back at Mindy, who is now crying softly, shaking while she lays in bed. This was not ideal, there was a pattern we were supposed to follow here, and this was ruining everything! I take another step forward, so does he. I pause, he does too. Mindy makes a noise in the back of her throat, her collarbone trembling under the weight of her fears. It’s then that I decide to make a lunge for her, reaching out for her eyes as the mysterious guest rushes forward as well, both of us bleeding down into her sockets. 

Something clicks and whines, but Mindy doesn’t hear it. She lives out on the countryside, on her own. Years passed since she wrote her novel, ‘A Lovers Glance’, and while she does sometimes find herself feeling lonely, the solitude of her two story colonial feels safe. It feels like something she can depend on.. Mindy Hason lives alone. 

Friends from back in highschool, colleagues from her previous job before she blew up– Mindy lost touch with them all once her book rose in the ranks of popularity. Out on the countryside it's all a distant dream, and so when Mindy heard a knock on her door that September afternoon, she was surprised, and even more so when she  got up to see a milkman. A genuine milkman, donned in all white attire like in the 20s. She can see him there through the window on her way to the front door but as she makes her way to the door she pauses, taking a step backwards into the hall.

 The man leans over and peers in through the window, cupping his hands up to the window and looking in, and at last I gain a proper look at the milkman, his grin twisted and tight against his face, his eyes dark, almost shadows on his face like his flesh was simply a mask. The house remains peaceful, quiet. Even with the gentle sounds of the countryside, nothing can shake the unadulterated terror that is ringing in my ears as Mindy backs towards the kitchen to grab her phone and call the police. She backs through the doorway, reaches her hand along the counter.. The counter is smooth, bare. There is no phone to save Mindy Hason from her fate. I really wish that I had found the wherewithal to ask a question or to break myself out of the fear that was holding me down, but something in the eyes of that man just wasn’t alive, and that terrified me. It felt like a shell, or a puppet being manipulated by something insidious that I couldn’t comprehend. 

Through all this, that was when the second milk man appeared at the back screen room door, reaching for the handle, and Mindy sprints across the kitchen in leaps and bounds just to secure and lock the door in mere fractions of seconds, only to find herself face to face with this uncanny humanoid who stands at her back porch, grinning up at her with plump cartoonishly stretched cheeks. From the front of the house, she hears the door rattle and click, and the chase of running to the front door begins yet again. 

How long were we there? Back and forth, from door to door, desperately relocking and trying to keep our last means of safety unbreeched? She knows she's slowing the inevitable, but she has to resist these monsters anyway she can. She saw their eyes and she knows they aren't human. 

As she heads back for the screen door, he heart drops in her stomach to see the shorter of the two milk men had now found his way into her porch, waddling to the kitchen at an unnervingly calm pace. It's when the front door swings open from behind Mindy, that I wake in a cold sweat wondering just who the mysterious figure in my dreams is, and why he's trying to enter memories like me. 

Street lights by sir20

hi jules :3 it is I once more, the very cool & awesome eden ™ /silly

don't have any suggestions for you this time! I just wanted to pop in to say hello! I hope you're doing as well as can be :)

we all wonder what is jules, but no one asks *how* is jules.... [/lh]

Hello Eden, it's been a while since we've spoken given I've been in the throes of vivid night terrors but as always I'm pleased to hear from you.

If you don't mind me asking, what is your favorite genre of horror? I'm always speaking about horror on this blog but I've never thought to ask my mutuals about their preferences within the genre. Anyone else who reads this, feel free to reply with your own answers as well.

A Dream About A Ghost

I wake up in a dark bedroom, standing in the farthest corners of reality- stop me if you've heard this one before. It's not the shadows that thread themselves in my corporeal form that surprises me, nor is it the way the room seems warped with some macabre version of what you'd see in the daylight, when your fears aren't taking the steering wheel to your mind. 

No, it's the reaction of who I'm visiting that gives me pause for a moment. He's scared, yes. Just like the rest of them. His eyes are locked on me as his breath hitches in his throat.. but then his face smoothes in recognition. It's so jarring that it makes me pause, uncertain if I should continue on with what I set out to do, or if I should stay rooted to my spot like the ignoramus I am.

See, I had been under the impression that there were rules to this. I don't get to leave until I've played my part, and they can't leave until they play theirs. It's why they lay there paralyzed while I stick my fingers into their eyes. Most importantly though, is that we can't speak. And yet he looks at me with fond eyes and says, “Which one of him are you? You've visited before.” 

I feel deeply ashamed, like I should remember visiting him, but I don't. There's been times that I suspected I had these dreams and yet all I remember are vague shadows and screams when I wake up. He must've just been lost in that haze, because I'm trying to recall his memories, and I'm coming up with nothing. I want to ask him just how many of ’me’ are there out there? Who are you? But my tongue is weighed to the bottom of my mouth. 

So I settle for the next best thing, and wade in, closer. At this, he winces slightly, and I realize he knows exactly what I'm going to do to him, and as easy as it can be to lose myself to this… thing, this headspace I get into.. It's hard when he's reminding me that there's a part of me that's still human. I stare him over; the way his throat seems to twitch lightly with his breathing, the way he's watching me close in on him, like I'm nothing more than a tide coming into shore. He gives me a sad smile, but these waves are crashing all the same. I lift my hand over his face, and take a second to drink in his expression, hoping maybe somehow he'll do something to stop me. 

He doesn't. He just smiles and says, “I know you have to.” And I do, so I plunge my finger down into the pupil, and let myself break down into the quickening of his pulse again. 

It's all so hazy, like when you move a polaroid camera too much before taking a picture, but through that haze I can see that our gaze is deadlocked ahead to the water’s edge. The wind is howling, so much that I almost don't hear the faint calling of a name carrying over the crashing of waves against large broken down black rocks that speckle the shores. My gaze stays locked on the horizon, and there's nothing for a sickening moment. There's just the chill of the fog dense air weighing me down. I feel like a bug stuck in molasses, and it just doesn't seem fair. 

This guy, he tried so hard just to keep his head above water, to do the right thing and now he is trapped here, doomed to watch his life pass him by in a cave of his own making- and could anyone blame him? For letting the emptiness swallow him whole, when he had nothing but good intentions? The chill sinks down to my bones, and yet he doesn't shiver, he's just perfectly still. Like a picture. His breath is slow, but he's in shock, and he's just staring dead ahead, ignoring the calling of his name over the quietness of what could be forever. Could I be stuck here forever? If I stay trapped in this memory, in this body will I ever reach a point where I'm found and the nightmare is over, or will it go on and on until it feels dull and empty?..

There's a part of me that looks forward to these dreams. It feels healing. It gives me life and meaning, but this? I couldn't watch this, it was too much. So I tried despite everything to get him to move. It doesn't work like that though, It's a memory. I can't change the course of a memory no matter how much I try, and I was still trying to kick and scream through the waves that were weighing down my body. We aren't too different, this man and I, because he too is somewhere deep under the sea. Something is holding him there, and while it may not be the eye of god, we're still being held there by the very same thing- fear. This man truly might be doomed, I had to claw at the walls of this grave he's found himself in, and steal him from this fate before he was lost to the sands of time.. and I was shouting despite everything, despite it going against my very nature, 

“Don't be afraid..! Don't be afraid!”

I, of course, woke myself up. I was crying in my sleep, which took me aback because usually when I have these dreams, I feel like adrenaline is lighting me up, and the acrid taste of fear in the back of my throat- I didn't taste anything. All I got from this dream was a profound sense of loss.

A Small Infodump about Spider Venom

Look, I know the doctor said I need to take it easy and not work myself up but-

Is it really that bad that I'm currently  compiling a list of different spider venoms and their myriad of effects, along with categorizing different species of spiders to what venom they inflict? I believe a wise man once inquired, "Can't a girl have hobbies?" . Of course we all know the big four categories–

There is Phospholipase D, a venom that interacts with different cellular membrane components, degrades phospholipids, and generates bioactive mediators. This can cause damage to the tissue through necrosis, as well as blistering near the bite. The recluse spider is one of the most well known arachnids to have this venom.

Alpha Latrotoxin, stimulates uncontrolled exocytosis of neurotransmitters from nerve terminals, causing paresthesia, seizures and myocarditis, which always brings up the image of the infamous black widow spider, with her striking hourglass abdomen.

The Delta Atracotoxin wielded by my personal favorite- the black sydney funnel web spider (did you know that a sydney funnel web spider is capable of biting through a human fingernail?) slows the inactivation of sodium ion channels in autonomic and motor neurons. This can cause circulation failure as well as excess salivation, nausea and disorientation…

And of course the less talked about PhTx 3-4, a calcium channel blocking toxin that also stimulates the nervous system, causing nausea, hypertension, and change in arterial flow in parts of the body.

 There's just something about insects and arachnids and all of it as a whole that peaks my curiosity, that runs borderline close to familiarity. I mean, how about I turn the topic at hand onto you all– anyone who would like to share their favorite bugs and why, feel free.

Better yet, why not make it a poll?

Oh, I completely forgot to site my source. Honestly I'm surprised because usually when I prattle on about these things, it's met with snores all around. I'm glad that you have taken interest in the topic!

MIT News | Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Scientists find neurons that process language on different timescales

MIT neuroscientists identified clusters of neurons that appear to respond to word strings of different lengths. These “temporal windows” ran

An Incredibly Informal Post About Neuroscience, at 5am

Using a precise technique that involves recording electrical activity directly from the brain, neuroscientists have identified different clusters of neurons that appear to process language on different timescales. Isn't that fascinating?

So, they had recordings of electrical activity from 177 language responsive electrodes– and this was across six patients that they recorded electrical activity in using the electrodes that they implanted in their brain, and then they had the participants read four different types of language stimuli: complete sentences, lists of words, lists of non-words, and sentences that looked grammatically correct but were just kinda word soup, you know? So then they found that in some of the neural populations, activity would fluctuate up and down with each word. In others activity would build up over multiple words before falling again.

So basically, they could potentially map these timescales. Like sensitivity to features of single words or relationships between words. This is just the beginning, they for sure are going to have a follow up article coming out saying they did another test and compared the data, hopefully within the next year. Maybe by then they'll have some of the questions I'm thinking of answered.

An Update;

So far, my break from latching onto others’ memories is going well! My dreams still haunt me all the same, I try not to remember them– a myriad of eyes, a cacophony of screams in the dark, these will be lost to the sands of time, but if I just ignore them I won't have to breathe life back into the horror of it all by posting on here. Besides, wouldn't that be cheating..?

There were times that I felt like I wanted to go into my inbox, an anxious sort of feeling that  tells me I have to look, but after 6 days ignoring it, this is seemingly fairly manageable! On an unrelated note, did you know you can grit your teeth hard enough to make fractures in them? 

Ocean Eyes

There is an eye at the bottom of the ocean, belonging to an old god whose name has been forgotten, but still leaves echoes in the memory of man. It's there, under the rolling waves and aquatic life. In a constant staring contest with our sun that's dripping crimson with the blood of so many who have given into their fears, the eye gazes not just on that sun but through every life that has ever lived in this reality we've found ourselves in, and so many others.

 When it finally blinks, the world will end. This is a fact. The Earth will begin to swallow us whole, and nature will take back what we've stolen from it. Bridges collapsing and headlights careering into the star filled glinting sea, into doors that were never meant to be opened. Fear and panic in the air, do you feel it too?.. and when that eye blinks, our sun will too. I want to look down into those depths just so I can reassure myself it's fine. ‘It was just a dream, a terrible, terrible dream that you had because you went into cardiac arrest,’

But it's still wriggling in my brain, pulling in and out of my periphery like a tide. So I think..

I'm going to run a little experiment. I've mentioned my urges- 

My fixation with hearing others experiences and memories, my drive to feel that connection, and to pick at the more distressing details of said memories. I would like to stop completely, just to see how uncomfortable I'd get. I want to document how long it takes until my resolve cracks, just to get a sense of how trapped I really am in this cycle.

So, if I don't post for a while, my blog isn't dead! I'm simply trying not to fall into a pattern that I've been feeding into for the past 3 months. I will post the results when I feel I've gotten satisfying results.