when they were all scared

guys I miss Marco


Miles & Monroe (feat. Frank and the Blonde Cadet) | 2.18

"Rachel did this to you."

“No don’t!” Jim cries. Or at least he tries to—it comes out less of an intelligible sentence and more of a high-pitched squeal, like a mouse or a little girl, and if he wasn’t currently scared out of his mind he would probably be embarrassed about that fact. Jim is plastered against Bones’ side, his head resting against a broad shoulder, and every sound he makes goes straight into Bones’ ear, causing the poor doctor to flinch.

Not that Bones is faring much better. He’s goddamn terrified and it’s all Jim’s fault. Let’s watch this scary movie, Bones! Yeah, real good idea. He pulls his feet closer to his body and tries to maneuver so that he can use Jim as a shield instead of the other way around. Horror films are stupid; they are very low down on the list of movies he actually enjoys, losing out even to the princess movies he occasionally gets suckered into watching with Jo. Blood and guts? Sure, okay, he’s a doctor after all. Psychological, mind-fuck murder crap? No thanks. But if it’s something Jim wants to watch, well… he’ll suck it up. For him.

The movie goes silent, except for the heavy breathing of the unfortunate sucker on screen—a sign the killer is about to strike. The following jump scare is predictable, but Bones can’t help the strangled sound that claws its way out of his throat. He buries his face in the side of Jim’s neck and Jim pulls up the pillow that was resting in his lap to block his own view of the television.

The rest of the movie progresses just like that—yelling and hiding, Bones frequently muttering I hate you into Jim’s skin. Almost three-quarters of the way through has ventriloquist dummies coming to life and both of them cowering under a blanket.

Jim crawls into Bones’ lap. “Bones,” he whispers. His eyes are squeezed tightly closed and their faces are less than an inch apart. “Can we turn it off?”

Bones nods, the movement knocking his nose against Jim’s. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do it,” he says. His voice is hoarse from fear. He feels silly, but at least he’s not alone.

A minute ticks by.

“You have to get off me, Jim.”

“Oh, right.”

Jim shuffles off of Bones, lifting a knee over his lap like he’s dismounting a horse. The blanket is still wrapped over them both; blankets have magical, protective powers after all.

Bones exhales shakily. “Wish me luck.” He throws his side of the blanket off his head; a rush of cool air hits him full in the face and he takes a split-second to appreciate that at least his last breath won’t be stale and hot from being under a woolly blanket. He throws himself toward the coffee table where the tv remote is sitting. He presses the power button, probably with more force than necessary, and suddenly the room is bathed in complete darkness, and wow, that’s definitely worse than the movie actually playing. In reality, the table is probably less than three feet from the couch where he and Jim are sitting, but it feels like the distance of a ravine and he launches himself back at the couch, diving back under the protective cocoon of the blankets and into Jim’s arms.

“I’m alive!” Bones pants.

Jim just squeezes Bones tighter.

They stay like that for a while, Bones straddling Jim’s thighs and Jim with his face buried in the juncture of Bones’ neck and shoulder, until Bones decides to break the silence.

“I thought you said, and I quote, ‘horror movies are awesome!’”

Jim makes a sleepy, snuffly sound that Bones can’t help but find adorable. “I lied,” Jim admits. “They scare the bejeezus outta me.”

“Then why—”

“I thought that’s what couples do, ya’know?” Jim rubs his cheek against Bones, the stubble of his growing beard irritating the skin. “They watch scary movies and hide under the blankets together.”

“Darlin’,” Bones says, pulling back slightly so he can look Jim in the face. They’re still underneath the blanket, but it’s been long enough that they’ve adjusted to the darkness and Bones can see Jim’s eyes glittering. “We don’t ever have to do somethin’ just ‘cause other folks do it. We’re not ones to fit some cookie cutter couple mold.”

“Thanks Bones.” Jim tries to give Bones a peck, but misses by a mile and gets his chin instead.

Bones huffs, forcing Jim to give a proper kiss, slow and sweet. “So no more scary movies then?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Jim says and even in the dark Bones can picture the smirk on Jim’s stupid face. Jim tries to wiggle his hips, it’s difficult with Bones’ full weight resting on him, but the message definitely gets across. “I kinda like how this turned out.”

remember when we were all scared that lyon would be in the tartaros arc and sacrifice himself to protect gray and that we were all afraid that he would die and in the end he didnt even appear in the fucking arc

Oh, hey peoples, you wanna know something kinda odd about me? No? Too bad. When I was younger, time period of age seven to thirteen, my cousins had me convinced that people could see you through pictures you had of them. My mom came home from work one day to see all the family photos and cards and such face down or turned around to face the wall. I was in her room turning around all the photos in the photo album.

omg I’m so fucked

I spend this weekend at a confirmation retreat for religion. and I’m not too religious but I acted like I was bc I had to

and so I was basically sharing my love for God and I got to know a lot of people and we were really just doing the loving Christian thing all weekend

but then during lunch in the library I started ranting to my friend about all the things I don’t like about church„ and I even said, “I don’t know if god is real or not but based on these things he sounds like a giant asshole”

and I turned around and the first person I saw was a girl who is in my confirmation group who I spent the last weekend with I’m sooooo fucked

No, but how weird is it that I’ve started dreaming up here after not being able to the past five months? In all that time, I only dreamt once and that one was probably some kind of hijacking to the astral. 

And now I’m having full length dreams where I can remember everything that happens and I can’t even tell that I’m dreaming in them. I usually always know in the back of my mind that I’m dreaming, even if I can’t do anything about it. Last night’s was so vivid and so intense that I woke up panting and covered in a cold sweat because I was trying to get away from people that were trying to catch me and use me for something. And then then the one before that I lost one of my legs. It’s just weird. 

Back home, I have dreams like that all the time, but never up here. For them to start up again for no reason is just weird. I thought that maybe stress was causing me to not be able to dream, but I’m still dreaming even though all sorts of terrible things have been happening that I’ve been dealing with. And I’m still as anxious as ever. 

I don’t know it’s strange. In these dreams I can’t tell that I’m dreaming and that’s the most concerning part. I’m not astraling in my sleep because I’m extremely aware of that when it happens.The dreams themselves aren’t weird, I tend to have really strange ones that fit the theme of being chased and all that jazz. 

I’ve had three this past week. The first I was two different people. We were kidnapped and taken to this giant, two story maze. The people who brought us there brought tons of others. And then they realized this chariot thing that hunted us down. It found the first person that I was fairly quickly and when I died I switched to the second person. There was a guy that I partnered up with and we might have survived because we would leave the others behind and when they were killed we had time to run away. 

The second was the one where I lost my leg and became a secret agent or something. And the third was just so weird that I can’t really put it into words except that I was a part of this team of people that were the strongest magic users in our guild. Our leader declared war against this other guild and sent us to wipe them out. But I discovered that they weren’t who we thought they were and that our leader was evil and was planning on using me as a weapon. I tried to escape and my teammates were sent after me to bring me back and use me for some kind of ritual thing that would kill innocent people. It was weird and I woke up when I was cornered by my best friend and he was telling me to give up or he would have to hurt me if I didn’t behave. 

Dreams are weird.

communistvashoth asked:

18. things you said when you were scared, shan/cass

"I don’t want to be a mage." His voice is too high-pitched, his knees tucked up to his chest, the heels of his palms pressed to his temples just beneath his horns. His ears are flat against his head. "I shouldn’t be a mage. I shouldn’t be a lot of things. I shouldn’t be a mage, I shouldn’t be tal-vashoth, I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t even be in this body," he whimpers, curling in on himself even tighter. Cass kneels next to him and rests one hand carefully on his shoulder. Shan looks at her, his chest heaving. "I’m scared," he squeaks out. "I’m so scared."

"You have a duty," Cass says, as if that will absolve him of his fear. As soon as her mouth begins to move around the words, she knows it’s the wrong thing to say, but she can’t stop it. Shan stares up at her, his eyes wide. His vitaar is running, from the tears and his hands, his face smudged in ash and blood. His hands are covered in the same grime.

"I have a duty," he echoes, the words hollow in his mouth. His eyes are too deep in his skull, his hair is untied, his shirt is torn and his coat is hanging loose. He looks like someone just dumped him down the side of a mountain, laughed while he rolled down, and then kicked him when he hit the bottom, just for good measure. "Is that all i have now?" he asks, voice small. It’s a genuine question, and he’s looking at Cass with fear and hope in his eyes. "Can I rely on that now? Can I—can I stop asking questions?"

Cas hesitates before she answers. These words have to come out right.

"You can rely on duty but—do not stop asking questions."

Shan look away. His knees are still tucked up to his chest, but he lets his arms drift around his shins, so he’s holding them in place. He stares as the ruined stone wall twenty feet in front of him.

"I can do that," he murmurs. "I can trust duty. I can ask questions. I can do that. Even though I’m scared, I can do that." He leans into her hand, closes his eyes. "Asit tal-eb.”

anonymous asked:

Anon for obvious reasons. I'm a mole inside Prof. Annihilation's base. It was going to be a more representative team of infiltrators, but I (the straight white man) was the only one actually hired in the end. I'm just wondering what to do now. My team thinks I should just take him out, but I'll get all the credit when they were all equally capable and willing. Also I'm scared of being his next... bioengineering experiment. Can you advise? Thanks.

If your team thinks (unanimously?) that you should take him out then do it.  And then don’t let them give you all the credit!  You’re allowed to decline awards and stuff.  Do that until your team is recognized.  Maybe stay anonymous offline too and do as much as you can to make it unclear who actually got in.  (Some bioengineering experiments could leave you less kyriarchically privileged, but you shouldn’t bet on it and you still coasted on privilege to get close to the target in the first place, so go ahead and avoid that as best you can.)

 ”Man was nothing, a mist, a shadow absorbed by shadows.”

      — In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

Name: Seamus Ó Branáin
Age: 28; DOB November 01th, 1986
Species: Banshee
Vocation: Travel & D.I.Y.
Traits: + Open-minded, truthful, wise - fearful, anxious, shy
Faceclaim: Dane Dehaan
Availability: Taken

There were no stories to mind Seamus to look under his bed or keep his light on to keep away the monsters, because the monsters would come either way. Monsters are not scared of the light, they do not hid under the bed or behind your clothes, they haunt you until you know they’re everywhere but where you look. They run you in circles and drive you mad. The monsters were all Seamus knew when he was young, they scared him to death when he was bouncing from foster home to foster home all around Ireland.

His parents were unknown; he had been left in a small hospital just outside of Fahan, the names of the parents that had come in were false and his own identity unknown. It was thanks to a special nurse that Seamus had made through the night. Anabelle, with long black hair and brown eyes that swirled between dark and milk chocolate, had nursed him when no one else offered the time to, she had given him to social protection services but had managed to stay in contact with him until the age of sixteen. She was his confidant, the person who he was able to tell about his night terrors, his awful feelings of death and visions of brutality that always came true. Anabelle was with him in writing, through all of his his house changes and was able to calm his anxiety when he’d almost broke the Banshee curse. She’d guide him on how to interact with others rather than stare blatantly at people with no emotion other than fear. If it wasn’t for her, Seamus would be dead, especially considering his supernatural abilities began at birth and he didn’t know what they were. He didn’t find out Anabelle wasn’t a real person until he was about to become of legal age.

It was his behavior that led him to bounce from home to home; his riddles, his fear of people, and his anxiety just speaking to others. Nobody loved a scared, introverted child, and Seamus was okay with that. He knew they weren’t his parents and his letters to Anabelle would make up for the empty space. There was no real explanation for the way Seamus felt, it was as if an unknown burden weighed upon his shoulders and as long as Seamus searched for the reason, the pressure would build. At sixteen, the young boy had broke the banshee curse and found his scream. He’d had the urge to follow an old woman around his small town on the outskirts of Knock, for some reason the barely legal teenager had felt a pressure of urgency form around the both of them—he had to tell her something, but he didn’t know what. His body shook with something new and an intense drive welled inside his chest; standing outside the woman’s house, Seamus had screamed, shaking the light pole and breaking the windows on the cars around him. Everything he felt came out in his scream; the fear, the anxiety, the pressure. It was exhilarating and terrifying. Seamus immediately felt afterwards the feeling of the woman’s impending death; he could see it clearly in his head and could feel the woman’s pain. No more than one day later the woman passed.

After the moment of realization of what he was, Seamus researched for three days straight, gathering as much information as possible to understand what he can possess. He found of his origins, his abilities, and the abundant amount of sadness to follow him in his life. It was heartbreaking to know what a life the Banshee led. He spent the next three years developing more of his abilities and grasping his identity. He never intended to leave Knock, in fact his small town was a perfect fit for him: he could be alone and no one would see him as different than what they knew, the population was small enough to where his death sense would rarely go off, and he had made a statement there. But after being given the opportunity to be paid for his blog, Seamus needed more inspiration and Ruan was the supernatural town of gold. The landscape, the residents, and the all the nitty-gritty in between appealed to Seamus and he up and left, fearful and excited.

For the next nine years Seamus found himself a house in seclusion from others and made himself at home—even if the residents of Ruan don’t know he’s lived there for such a long time. His introverted personality and anxiety with others has left him out of most doings in the small town, but one thing can be sure; residents who know him as a banshee fear him and put salt on their windows to keep him away. They can hear him scream all over town and fear they will be next. 

Special qualities:

  • Seamus is an avid photographer, as his blog has to do with travel, he is snapping pictures of eclectic places and items and posting it on his blog. His camera only ever leaves his neck when he is at home to post information onto his blog. Many of the residents of Ruan know him as the Camera Boy as he doesn’t talk to many people and is so often seen standing in odd places getting pictures.
  • Every month Seamus finds himself with a ticket in his hand and his bum on a bus or airplane seat. To keep up with his travel sideblog, Seamus wills himself to adventure to other places around him. He mainly visits Scotland and other parts of Ireland, but once had made it all the way to Poland. He liked the break from the heavy dark influence that covers Ruan like a blanket—but lately, Seamus can’t find himself going away as often.
  • In school Seamus was bullied by many kids for being so quiet and jumping at the slightest movements or the smallest sounds. He never participated in much while being educated and had no desire to fulfill a further education after secondary school, but one thing he did enjoy was his photography class. One could say he was a photo-nerd, and he was. Lunches he spent in the processing room and at one point he reached the top kid in his class. His photos were always the kind that gave others the chill because they were so mysterious and creepy.
  • Being around people is not his specialty, especially because of his fear of speaking to others and feeling a death coming towards them. People will find him intimidating because of his riddles, the ones he’ll say in awkward silences and to start conversations with others.
  • He will spend an hour a day doing a ritual a genie told him about to rid his apartment of bad spirits and nightmares. The ritual consists of burning Rue and Osha and speaking a Gaelic prayer twice. He does believe it works and has a peaceful vibration come off of his home.
  • Being a sensitive man to noises and lighting, Seamus had rid his home of electronics. The only lighting he has are two small lamps, on in his living area and one by his bed, and his only source of an electronic device is his computer.
  • Even though Banshee’s are meant to communicate with the dead and be the omens of death, Seamus refuses to acknowledge the dead and only when he is exhausted and in deep possession will he scream for someone’s death. He tries to contain everything he can of his supernatural abilities. He wishes he could get a Cure. 


Lila Lynch: It was awkward at first, the two Banshee’s meeting and talking, becoming friends when their kind—and them currently—are solitary folk. Seamus never had anyone to talk to about his afflictions and had always been shunned from the outside world, but Lila had someone to comfort her, to understand she can’t be understood, and she helps Seamus with it all. The don’t do much when they are together, they mostly sit around in silence, but the thought of them being together, even in silence, is comforting to Seamus.

They decided to test out the fire alarms in our buildings today and only sent out the email about it AFTER people called to see what was going on, and ever since then, Margot and Mira have been shaky and it makes me really sad because they’re perfect and they were so scared when the alarms were all going off

anonymous asked:

this is just a question and u don't have to answer it but how do the beast fictive + wirt get along bc like ,,, it's canon wirt's terrified. i'm just confused soory

it’s okay!! I can understand this omg.

when the beast showed up we were all scared. we thought he was going to be horrid and cruel and we were honestly very afraid of what he would do.

however, we soon learned his cruelty is only a thing that happens because of the lantern. it wasn’t on when he arrived. when the lantern is off, he is a gentle spirit, and he’s come to be Greg’s parental figure.

we had to turn the lantern on for a while, and he became horrific. it was like an #addiction to him. he would loom at the spiritual crossroads, like he was waiting for some spirit to come along that he could use. I had to blow it out to calm him down. because this is in-world, while it hurts him, it doesn’t end him.

in times of trouble, The Beast has been a big help, and Wirt admires anyone who helps me out. The Beast helped me fight off my #abuser when he returned, and for that, Wirt was definitely grateful.

it did take a while, though! obviously Beast is a scary aromantic asexual tree who is nine feet tall and has to live in darkness. Wirt was very nervous around him in the beginning. yet, if Greg can sit on The Beast’s antlers/branches without any fear of that which formerly tried to #kill him, Wirt is fine around him.

tl;dr- it was an adjustment for all of us. but he’s nice now and Wirt isn’t really scared of a gentle giant.

im laughing there was a time where we were all so scared when the beast joined my system bc we thought he was a really bad guy and now it’s like “ah yes, that soft hearted weak twig” even tho he’s still nine feet tall and intimidating as heck when he wants t be