#Equinophobia
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I’ll Buy You A Pony
Pairing(s): Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Black!Reader, Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Afro Latina!OC (familial)
Notes: So I recently found out that our beloved Miggy has Equinophobia, or in other words has a fear of horses. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to write about it! Besides that, I wrote this while I was half sleep and I didn’t feel like proof reading so please keep that in mind. I hope y’all enjoy!
Warnings: Fear of horses, a few annoying friends, Miguel pees on himself in front of all of you, biting (from the horse), children, sabotage, two grown yet childish idiots, passing out, profanity. Let me know if I forgot anything!
From the moment Janina was old enough enjoy anything, she’d loved horses. Her favorite show was my little pony, her first word was pony, and her favorite bathing suits have all had some form of a horse on them. She was obsessed.
When she’d asked for a Pony for her sixth birthday, you knew it was a no go due to her father’s equinophobia . What you didn’t know is that when you declined her request, she’d asked your parents the exact same question.
The two of them love their grand babies with all their heart. With the amount of money they have, they buy them everything they want within reason.
On a normal day, they’d never think a horse was a reasonable gift. But for a birthday? Heck yeah!
“NiNi, we have a gift for you, love.” Your mother spoke, pulling Nina into her lap.
“Really, Nana?” Nina asked, a small smile adorning her tanned face, “What is it?”
And when your dad walks into your large backyard, pulling a small horse next to him, all hell breaks loose.
Nina’s eyes light up and she leaps from your mothers lap, running her way over to her grandpa and the horse. “Wow, a real life horse! Mommy, daddy, come look!”
Miguel looks at you and frowns a little. You give him a look before turning back to your daughter and her newfound best friend.
“Daddy’s legs hurt a little right now, baby. I’ll come meet your pony.” You tell her.
You pat Miguel on the shoulder before walking over to your daughter and the pony.
“What are you gonna name her, baby?” You ask.
Janina huffs. “She’s a boy, mommy! You should never assume!”
You laugh at her slip up before apologizing.
“I’m sorry, baby. What’s his name?”
“Mommy Jr.”
“Mommy Jr?”
“Yeah!”
“But what about Sparkle? Or Stud? Maybe even Flashlight?”
“Well Uncle Johnny said I should name him Mommy Jr!”
You whip your head around to face both of her Uncles that go by that name.
There was Jonathan, your brother, and Johansen, Miguel’s friend from who knows where. Both of them shared a similar personality and were always getting your daughter into trouble.
“Which one of y’all idiots told my baby to name this horse after me?”
Both of them looked at each other and then back at you before bursting into laughter.
“You can’t lie, n/n. He kind of looks like you!” Johansen admitted.
“Yeah,” your brother joined in, “Y’all both got that grown man look going on for you.”
You continue to argue with the two, not noticing your father and Janina walking over to your husband. They pull him out of his seat to the side of you furthest from the horse.
“Aww, Miggy.” You look at him, quickly cleansing your mouth of all the curses you had aimed at Jonathan and Johansen. “It’s okay, we won’t let the horse eat you. Come here.”
Miguel allows you to drag him in the middle but he still squeezes himself tightly against you.
“How can I ever be a man if my six year old daughter finds out I’m afraid of horses?” Miguel whispers in your ear.
You turn to face him. “It’s a phobia, baby. Everyone is afraid of something.”
“Who do you know that’s afraid of horses?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.
You don’t answer, only prompting to shush him and get him to loosen up.
“Time for a picture!” Your mom speaks. Your dad hands Nina to Miguel and he puts on the most realistic smile he could manage.
Your mother peaks at you all from behind the the camera and smiles. “On three, say Mommy Jr!”
She begins to count up from one, but right before she says three, Miguel squeals and tries his hardest to jump onto you.
“Cielo, cielo!” He yells, gripping you tightly.
You look at him worriedly. “What’s wrong?”
“He bit my pants!”
You look behind Miguel at the miniature horse who obviously can’t take a hint and nudges your husbands leg once again.
Miguel gulps loudly and looks down at the horse who—unfortunately for him—was staring right back at him.
Miguel shrieks and runs to the other side of you, away from the horse. The horse seemed to be in a playful mood and decided to follow Miguel wherever he went.
Eventually, your daughter grew tired of the run around and jumped from her father’s arms, running over to sit with her uncles. Your party guests watch in amusement and you try to block the horse from your husband.
To your surprise, the horse got around you and approached your husband. He passed out, and both Johnnys stood to their feet, looking over the table at your husband.
“Damn! That nigga scared of horses!”
A few hours later, Miguel blinks his eyes open, squirming uncomfortably as he adjusts to his surroundings.
“Babe!” You squeal, running over to the hospital bed. “You’re okay!”
Miguel side eyes you. “I recall being in the presence of a horse?”
“Um…” you rub the back of your neck. “Yeah.”
“Why was the horse chasing me?” He asks.
“Dumb and dumber put some apple slices in your pocket.”
Miguel frowns.
“If it makes you feel any better, I cut Jonathan’s wicks and put nair in Johansen’s shampoo. You know how crazy they are about their hair.”
Miguel chuckles a little and scoots over to the right, patting the spot next to him. You squeeze in there with him and rest your head on his shoulder.
“Besides that,” you start, “you had a panic attack and it was pretty severe, I guess. They said you’ll be free to go today, but they also had a few extra notes for you. You’re better off hearing it from a doctor.” You start to sit up. “I can go get one if-“
“No!” He protests, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into him. “Stay with me for a little.”
“Okay then.”
“Did I worry anyone?”
“Nah, everyone was too busy laughing.”
“I passed out and people were laughing?”
“You kind of…” you take a deep breath and prepare to answer him, but a doctor walks in to check on him and notices he’s awake.
You promise to tell him later.
Bonus:
Ever since the doctor interrupted your earlier conversation with Miguel, his curiosity had been eating away at him. What happened to him? Why was everyone laughing?
He walks to the bathroom door and knocks on it.
“Baby?” He speaks loudly through the door.
“Yes?” You yell over the stream of water coming from the shower head.
“What happened to me when I passed out?” He asks nervously.
“We will discuss this when I get out.” You respond.
Miguel huffs before stomping his way to Nina’s room where she lay on the floor playing with her Shopkins.
“Nina?” He asks, taking a seat next to her.
She looks up at him. “Yes, daddy?”
“What happened when I passed out?” He asks, picking up one of her dolls.
“Oh, you peed.” She says casually.
His eyes widen. “I peed?”
“Yeah!”
Miguel gulps. “W-was it noticeable?”
Nina raises an eyebrow, confused by the big word her father had used. “What?”
He rephrases his question. “Could people tell that I peed?”
“Oh, yeah!” Nina giggles. “It was really bad. Mommy had to throw away your pants and uncle Johnny took a picture of you.”
Miguel chuckles, thinking his daughter was joking, but she only blinked at him.
“Why are you laughing daddy? I’d want to run away if I were you.”
A lightbulb goes off in Miguel’s head at his daughter’s words. He kisses her head before running back to you in the bathroom.
“We are moving to Mexico.”
“Boy, get out my bathroom!”
© forever1kay 2023 - please don’t translate, convert, copy, paraphrase, repost, or alter any of my works without my permission.
#lovekaia#kaiaxmarvel#marvel#mcu#spiderman#miguel o'hara#spiderman 2099#black coded reader#spiderman itsv#spiderman atsv#fem reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#miguel o’hara x black reader#nueva york#Equinophobia#my little pony#sony animation#beyond the spiderverse
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(⠀🎀⠀) : ❝ Phobia flags (Part 4) (Specified zoophobias) ❞
[Image IDs: 3 flags:
The first flag is a rectangular flag with eleven equally sized horizontal stripes. The colors from top to bottom are as follows, and are mirrored after the last mentioned color: Darkest brown, chocolate brown, red-brown, gold, blonde, and pale blonde.
The second flag is a rectangular flag with eleven equally sized horizontal stripes. The colors from top to bottom are as follows, and are mirrored after the last mentioned color: Greige, light brown-gray, brown, dark brown, brown-black, and green.
The third flag is a rectangular flag with eleven equally sized horizontal stripes. The colors from top to bottom are as follows, and are mirrored after the last mentioned color: darkest cyan, dark royal blue, dark cyan green, light cyan green, lime green, and pale yellow.
/IDs end.]
— ❝ Cynophobia(link), equinophobia(link), and entomophobia(link) flags ❞
— Tagging @mousesquared and @mad-pride. This is not a gender , do not tag it as such
Please read my rentry before interacting ! Don't repost ! ♡
Like what i do ? Consider donating to my Ko-Fi !
#(⠀🎀⠀)⠀⦂⠀ ❝⠀darling's creations⠀❞#cynophobia#equinophobia#entomophobia#mad pride#mad pride flag#mad flag#liom flag#liom#liom term#liomogai#pro endo
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Batman by Michal Ivan
#michal ivan#batman#the joker#dc#please DO NOT reblog as ship with joker#horses tw#tw horses#horses cw#cw horses#equinophobia tw#tw equinophobia#equinophobia cw#cw equionophobia#equinophobia
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Tried to include ones that are common but not usually talked about! So I didn't include some super obvious ones like claustrophonia, arachnophobia, and agoraphobia.
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My submission for the demons community redraw, but I don't know what to name either of them.
#popcross studios#demon#horse demon#blood#equinophobia#maori cowgirl#with a mullet#what am i doing with my life#my art#multiverse tales
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Case Studies: Little Hans - Sigmund Freud
Little Hans
In the early 20th century Sigmund Freud was under pressure to provide evidence to support his theories from client cases. With Dora, Leonardo Da Vinci, and Daniel Paul Schreber, Freud explored similar themes including bisexuality moving between heterosexuality and homosexuality where both environmental challenges, hormonal changes and sexual opportunities availed themselves. And for males, Freud described an intimidation or castration complex where sexuality is affected by traumas of pride. His emphasis on these themes continued with Little Hans, The Ratman, and The Wolfman. With Little Hans, Herbert Graf, Freud was at a disadvantage because he had not yet developed the skills to be a great child Psychoanalyst, so he relied on notes from parents to record their kid's thinking and behaviour patterns. "While I myself supervised the overall plan of treatment and also intervened personally on one occasion by talking to the lad myself, the treatment itself was carried out by the little boy's father." Freud admitted that "...no one else could have persuaded the child to admit so freely to his feelings and nothing could replace the expertise with which the father was able to interpret the utterances of his 5-year-old son: the technical difficulties of carrying out the psychoanalysis of so young a patient would have been insurmountable." Herbert was the son of Max Graf, the music critic, and Olga Hönig who provided most of the material for the analysis. "His parents, who were both among my closest followers, had agreed to bring up their first child with no more constraint than proved necessary to maintain decent behaviour, and as the child developed into a cheerful, good-natured and bright little boy, they proceeded quite happily with their attempt to let him grow and express himself without intimidation."
Infantile Sexuality - Freud: http://psychreviews.org/sexuality-part-2-infantile-sexuality-sigmund-freud/
Sexual theories of children
One of the theories that Freud had to defend was his theories of how children developed sexually before puberty. In Freud's time it was more common to believe that sexuality only begins with puberty. Analysis of a Phobia in a Five-year old Boy, was published a few years after his Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality. Freud's Oral Phase coincides with breast feeding and an early sexual organization. The review of Little Hans takes place in the period of the Phallic phase, around ages 3 - 4, when children obsess about the penis, sexual differences between men and women and early sexual theories, like that of the stork. Children can be direct with their questions, with parents in most cases misdirecting them with inaccurate answers. Freud recounts notes from Hans's parents:
Hans, aged 3 3/4: 'Daddy, have you got a widdler too?'
Father: 'Of course I have.'
Hans: 'But I've never seen it when you get undressed.'
On another occasion he watches with fascination while his mother undresses at bedtime. She asks 'Whatever are you looking at?'
Hans: 'I'm just looking to see if you've got a widdler too.'
Mummy: 'Of course I have. Didn't you know that?'
Hans: 'No, I thought because you're so big you must have a widdler like a horse's.'"
Freud then moves to the castration complex where early masturbation is punished. "At the same time [Hans's] interest in widdlers is not just theoretical: as we might surmise, it stimulates him to touch that organ as well. At the age of 3 1/2 his mother catches him with his hand on his penis. She threatens him: 'If you do that, I'll tell Dr. A. to come and he'll cut off your widdler. What will you do then when you have to widdle?'
Hans: 'I'll use my botty.'"
"He responds without any sense of guilt as yet, but acquires on this occasion the 'castration complex' that is so often to be inferred from the analysis of neurotics, even though without exception they strenuously resist any acknowledgement of it."
Hans continued noticing penises everywhere including on giraffe's, a cow's udder, and horses.
"I draw a giraffe for Hans... He says to me, 'You must draw his widdler.' I reply, 'Draw it on yourself.' At this he adds a new line to the picture of the giraffe, which at first he leaves short but then adds another line to it, remarking, 'His widdler is longer than that.' Hans and I walk past a horse which is urinating. He says, 'The horse's widdler is down below, like mine.' He watches his 3-month-old sister being bathed and says pityingly, 'Her widdler is really really tiny.' He is given a doll to play with, and undresses her. He looks at her carefully and says, 'Her widdler is only really tiny.'"
Sibling rivalry
"...brothers ought not to pursue honours or powers from the same sources but from different ones. ~ Peter Walcot paraphrasing Plutarch (Moralia 486 B & C)
Hans's father Max describes the reactions of his little Herbert with a new inclusion to the family. "Hans is very jealous of the new arrival and as soon as anyone praises her, finds her pretty, etc., he replies scornfully: 'But she hasn't got any teeth yet.' For when he saw her for the first time he was astonished that she was unable to speak and assumed that the reason she could not speak was because she did not have any teeth. In the early days after the birth he finds himself having to play second fiddle, of course, and suddenly comes down with a very sore throat. In his fever he is heard to say: 'But I don't want a little sister!' It takes about six months for him to get over his jealousy, after which he becomes as affectionate towards Hanna as he is conscious of his own superiority." Here we have the sources of jealousy being insecurity over sources of pleasurable attention and the cure coming from the older sibling being able to find their own superiority to regain security. As long as the child cannot find their own distinctive superiority there will be continued resentment based on the feeling of being replaced by the younger sibling. Conflict is reduced when different talents are developed within different siblings then the conflict can only be escalated again if parents stupidly refuse to acknowledge the value of those different talents and start picking favourites. This lesson extends outwards beyond family to the economy. A peaceful society is one where all the world's cultures are able to trade differences with each other in such a way that as many individuals in society gain a sense of security. Economic crashes and limited varieties of industries can create jealous and envious tensions in the world. These tensions can create war, revolution, and even more subtle problems like chronic unemployment and psychological problems. Freud quotes another older child in his notes in the paper as saying of his younger brother that "the stork can take him back again."
Envy and the Greeks: A study of Human Behaviour by Peter Walcot: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780856681462/
Jealous Pets: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_D84wPZ9BU
Bisexuality
"Hans's 5-year-old cousin is here on a visit. Hans, now 4, embraces him continually and during one of these tender embraces and says, 'Oh, I do love you.' This is the first instance of homosexuality that we shall encounter in Hans, but certainly not the last. Our little Hans is apparently the epitome of all the vices! We have moved to a new apartment. (Hans is 4.) A door leads from our kitchen to a narrow balcony, from which one can see into the apartment on the opposite side of the courtyard. Here Hans has discovered a little girl of 7 or 8. Now he sits on the step leading to the balcony waiting to adore her, and will sit there for hours. At 4 O'Clock in particular, when the little girl comes home from school, we cannot keep him in the room, nor stop him from taking up his observation post. On one occasion, when the little girl does not appear at the window at the usual time, Hans becomes very agitated and plagues the servants with questions: 'When is the little girl coming home? Where is she?', etc. When she finally appears he is ecstatic and cannot take his eyes off the apartment opposite. The passion with which Hans embarked on this 'love at a distance' can be explained by the fact that Hans has no little playmate, boy or girl. Frequent contact with other children is obviously a necessary part of a child's normal development."
"Shortly afterwards we leave to spend the summer in Gmunden and Hans (4 1/2) now has company. His playmates are our landlord's the next-door children, Anna (10) and two other little girls whose names I cannot recall, who are about 9 and 7. His favourite is Fritzl, whom he often embraces and assures of his love. On one occasion he is asked, 'Which of the little girls do you like best?' and answers 'Fritzl'. At the same time he is very aggressive towards the girls, swaggers and acts the man, embraces them and smothers them with kisses, which Berta for one very much enjoys. One evening, as Berta is coming out of the room he puts his arms round her neck and says in the sweetest of voices, 'You're so lovely, Berta'; however, this does not stop him from kissing the others and assuring them of his love too. He is also very fond of Mariedl, another of the landlord's daughters who plays with him; she is about 14, and one evening as he is being put to bed he says, 'I want Mariedl to sleep with me.' When he is told, 'She can't do that', he says, 'I want her to sleep with Mummy or Daddy, then.' He is told, 'She can't do that either, Mariedl must sleep downstairs with her parents'."
"On the following occasion, too, Hans said to his Mummy, 'You know, I should so like to sleep with that little girl.' The occasion gives rise to great amusement, for Hans behaves just like a grown-up in love. For some days a pretty little girl, about 8 years old, has been coming into the restaurant where we have lunch, and Hans has of course immediately fallen in love with her. He is constantly turning round on his chair to look at her out of the corner of his eye; he goes over to stand near her and flirt as soon as he has eaten, but goes bright scarlet if anyone catches him at it. If the little girl returns his glance he immediately looks in the opposite direction, covered in shame. His behaviour occasions hilarity, of course, in all the restaurant guests. Every day when we take him into the restaurant he asks, 'Do you think the little girl will be here today?' When she finally comes he goes as red as any adult in the same situation. On one occasion he comes over to me, quite blissful, and whispers in my ear: 'I know where the little girl lives. I've seen her go up the steps in such and such a place.' While he may behave aggressively towards the little girls at home, here he is altogether the platonically languishing beau. This may have something to do with the fact that the girls at home are village children, while this one is a lady of refinement. I have already mentioned that he once said he would like to sleep with her."
Freud's male homosexual theory
Freud continued his theory of male homosexuality by connecting early sexual theories of children where everyone is expected to have a penis. When the penis is then made the prime importance of sexual pleasure, associated with the loving connection of the mother, later discoveries of the vagina and clitoris lead to a disappointment. The desire for a "woman with a penis", as Freud puts it, moves to the new object which is feminine looking male. Of course Freud is in the early days of sexual orientation psychology, but some clues to biology appear in his review of Daniel Paul Schreber's book that show that stress and age related hormonal changes can also affect an adult's sexual orientation even if they were married to a woman and had regular sex with the desire to have a baby. [See: Daniel Paul Schreber: https://rumble.com/v1gu84v-case-studies-daniel-paul-schreber-freud-and-beyond.html] The complexity of sexual orientation is only starting to be unraveled. There are patterns but many people have very individual experiences with their choice of sexual objects and some of confusion has to do with ignorance of biology. At this point in time Freud sticks with his theory of the fluidity of objects and doesn't posit a homosexual drive, or instinct. Instincts for Freud are biological drives to action. "It is quite inappropriate to single out one particular homosexual drive; it is not a peculiarity of his drives that distinguishes the homosexual, but his choice of object." Here Freud pushes a desire for better sexual education of children. Freud says "Hans is homosexual, as all children may very well be, quite in accordance with the undeniable fact that he only knows of one kind of genitalia, genitalia like his own."
Freud then observes Hans's exploration of other girls where he's more bold in some cases, or remains at a distance with yearning. His desire to sleep with them connects with his desire to be in bed with his mother, and Freud even equates the term to "sleep with someone" as an adult term that comes from childhood connections of sleeping in bed with mummy.
Baby wants Blue Velvet - Isabella Rosselini and Dennis Hopper: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=senNDipdmPo
Little Oedipus
Freud also asserts that when there is a "paucity of other objects of love" children can revert, for example, back to their mother. This hints that Freud's theory views sexuality as something that looks for convenient objects. If parents are the only ones around, then children target their desires towards them. When other children are around, then new targets are made. For example, during summer months in "Gmunden, when his father's alternating presence and absence drew his attention to the conditions that determined that longed-for intimacy with his mother. Later...when Hans could no longer count on his father's going away, the wish was intensified until its content was that his father should go away for good, should be 'dead'." Yet there was some ambivalence toward his father as Freud describes. "Hans feels an intense love for the father against whom he harbours a death-wish, and while his intelligence may lead him to query this contradiction, he is still obliged to demonstrate its reality by hitting his father and then immediately kissing the place where he had hit him." His father recounts...
"Hans, 4 1/4 years old. This morning his mummy gives Hans a bath, as she does every day, then dries him and pats him with talcum powder. As she puts talcum powder around his penis, taking care not to touch it, Hans says, 'Why don't you touch me there?"
Mummy: 'Because that's dirty.'
Hans: 'What? Dirty? Why?'
Mummy: 'Because it's not decent.'
Hans (laughing): 'It's fun, though.'"
"Being helped to do a widdle, which involves unfastening the child's trousers and taking out his penis, is obviously a pleasurable activity for Hans. When they are out on a walk it is of course mainly his father who helps Hans in this way, which provides an opportunity for his homosexual tendencies to become fixed on his father."
"Yesterday, when I took Hans for a wee he asked me for the first time to take him behind the house so that no one could see, and added, 'Last year, when I did a widdle, Berta and Olga watched me.' I take this to mean that last year he enjoyed it when the girls watched him, but doesn't any more. The pleasure of exhibitionism is now being repressed. The repression in real life of his desire to be seen - or helped - by Berta and Olga when he is doing a widdle, explains why it has turned up in his dreams...Since then I have repeatedly observed that he does not wish to be seen when doing a widdle."
"Hans (4 1/2) is again watching his little sister being bathed and starts to laugh. Asked, 'Why are you laughing?' he replies, 'I'm laughing at Hanna's widdler.' 'Why?' - 'Because her widdler's so lovely.' Obviously this is not what he means. Hanna's widdler actually struck him as funny. This is incidentally the first time he acknowledges the difference between male and female genitals, instead of denying it."
Cat showing ambivalence with licking and biting (3:28): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S6yngs4woPw
Equinophobia
As the analysis continued Hans's father noticed a phobia begin in his son. "Sexual over-excitement caused by his mother's caresses is no doubt at the root of the problem, but I am at a loss to identify the immediate cause of the disorder. The fear that a horse will bite him on the street seems connected in some way to fear of a large penis - you will recall from my earlier notes that he was aware at a very early stage of the horse's large penis and came to the conclusion that, as she is so big, his mother must have a widdler like a horse's." Freud makes some connections to a dream of Hans's where he loses his mother and is not able to nuzzle with her. This is conflated with the large widdler he assumes his mother has and his hope that "when I get bigger my widdler will grow too." Freud concludes "that he has constantly made comparisons in the course of his observations and remains deeply dissatisfied with the size of his own widdler. He is reminded of this defect by the big animals, which he dislikes for that reason. Since he is probably unable to become fully conscious of this whole train of thought, the painful feeling is transformed into anxiety, so that his present anxiety builds as much on his earlier pleasure as on his present aversion. When once a state of anxiety has been created, anxiety devours all other feelings; as repression takes its course and those once-conscious ideas to which strong feelings have become attached move more and more into the unconscious mind, all the associated emotions may be transformed into anxiety." The repression to not think about the distressing thoughts is motivated by the desire to stop the anxiety. Reminders in the world that connect back to thoughts of a small widdler, including the memory of the threat of castration by the mother, and more recently his first knowledge that girls have different genitalia, and the possibility that he could be widdler-less like them, creates a phobia over any reminder of inferiority. The horse becomes a trigger for anxiety related to inferiority.
Further questioning led to a memory of a horse collapsing while shopping with this mom. Hans imagined that the horse could both bite him or collapse. Freud interpreted the collapsed horse being the father dying so Hans could take his place, but at the same time there was an ambivalence because he also loves his father. Mixed with memories of seeing children hop up on horse driven carts and onto loading ramps, Hans fantasized a danger of the cart moving away just as he hopped onto one and send him crashing down. The horse, or the father, is the incest barrier to the mother. "Behind the original expression of anxiety, the fear that horses will collapse, and both of these, the biting horse and the falling horse, are the father who will punish him because of the wicked desires he harbours against him."
The End - The Doors: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsQtnBu3p7Y
Freud talked to Hans and laid out the characteristics of the horse compared to his father. "...I offered him a partial interpretation of his fear of horses: his father must be the horse, which he had good internal reason to fear. Certain details that aroused fear in Hans, the black around this mouth and in front of his eyes (moustache and spectacles, the prerogatives of the adult male), seemed to me to have been transferred directly from the father to the horses. With this explanation I vanquished the most powerful resistance in Hans to conscious recognition of his unconscious thoughts, since it was his own father who was taking the role of his physician. From this moment on we had conquered the summit of his condition, the material flowed abundantly, the young patient showed courage in communicating the details of his phobia and soon intervened independently in the course of the analysis."
Fecal birth
The parents finally gave in and provided a basic sexual education talk to Hans. "On 24 April my wife and I enlighten Hans up to a point by explaining that babies grow inside the mummy and then are brought into the world like a 'plop' by pushing them out, and that this causes great pain. In the afternoon we go out in the street. He is clearly much relieved, running after carts and carriages, and his residual anxiety is betrayed only by the fact that he does not dare to venture far away from the main entrance, and cannot be persuaded to go for a longer walk at all." Afterwards Hans showed an interest in being a mummy and having children. He imagined his friends being his children, including an imaginary friend Lodi. His play eventually changed his role to become the father and then eventually he bestowed the honor of grandfather and grandmother to his parents. The heavy weight of the cart being pulled by the horse in Hans's memory had further symbolic significance for Freud. "We learn that Hans used to insist on accompanying his mother to the lavatory and that he did the same thing with Berta, who represented his mother at the time, until this was discovered and forbidden. The pleasure derived from watching a beloved person perform such functions corresponds to the 'confluence of drives' / instincts of which we have already seen one example in Hans's behaviour. Hans's father finally turns his mind to the symbolism of plop, and recognizes an analogy between a heavily laden cart and a body weighed down by faecal matter, between the way a cart drives out of the gateway and the way a stool is released from the body." The birth of the baby is treated as a "plop" like when defecating. By use of imagination towards his parents Hans resolved his conflict with his father and mother. Later after puberty Hans will have to take his dream of being a parent and choose an object outside of the family now that he accepts that different people have to be chosen.
Influence through the power of suggestion
The main controversy with Freud's analysis of Hans is the use of his parents as mediators. Shockingly, Freud opens up a can of worms in his paper that goes even beyond it. He makes the excuse that children are less likely to lie than adults, but his main reservation is damaging. "The analysis of a child by his own father, who is steeped in my theoretical views and tainted with my prejudices, is altogether lacking in objective value. A child is of course suggestible to a very high degree, as regards his father, perhaps, more than any other figure; he will allow any words to be put in his mouth out of gratitude to a father who pays him so much attention." The power of suggestion can hardly be better described than that. It presages Freud's later work and object psychology. The reason why most people have voices in their minds is from the rewards and punishments, the giving and withholding of attention from parents, caregivers and powerful people. It's a form of conditioning where suggestions are imitated by children, and adults, to secure attention from others as a reward. This is a weakness that can be exploited by predators, confidence tricksters, cults and advertising. Any attachment wound or emptiness is open for exploitation. With enough repetition children and adults follow the family culture and the wider culture of the world. Even when the original influences are gone, the conditioning remains in the person, motivating actions unconsciously until these attachment needs are brought to consciousness and healthy sources of satisfaction are pursued. If you want to know why you are talking to people in your mind? It's because you want to get agreement and positive attention from them in real life. Real life requires an unreal world to think in, rehearse and strategize in order to make decisions in the actual world. There are also terrible people imitated in our minds and the mind creates stress as if they are really there. They inhibit our choices and we can become like them if we believe their behaviours are rewarding enough to imitate. This is the dark side we all have to fight with and defeat. The real ghosts are impressions in our mind. A fifth column that doesn't always have your best interest at heart.
Luke Skywalker's vision of himself as Darth Vader: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jTcLiEI3Wdg
Cult psychology: https://rumble.com/v1gvih9-cult-psychology.html
Thankfully the observer awareness in meditation can heal these influences, desires for attention, and can help to remove the identification with old cultural habits. It can provide, what Freud would later call the "I" or Ego, opportunities to make choices with a sense of play and authenticity in different directions. When people are conscious of their attachment weaknesses, they are more likely to vet choices and compare them to decide which is better, creating a more independent mind. Any basic meditation pursued for a period of time will have interruptions showing the types of objects imitated in the mind. This includes just being mindful while walking and seeing triggers and memories happen in real time. Being able to breathe through them, relax them and release them will be important to create more independence. The importance of this insight is that cults can appear anywhere there is exploitation. Followers need leaders and leaders need followers. Religious or secular sources of these suggestions that leaders provide, including psychoanalysis, all can fall under cult-like appeals to authority, where a leader is always to be believed and a follower obeys. Watching our attachment wounds and deficits can protect us from predators, especially the friendly looking ones, who are watching from a distance.
Slow boat to China: The Master - Philip Seymour Hoffman and Joaquin Phoenix: https://youtu.be/SeNU4axJOjw
How to motivate yourself - Freud and Beyond: https://rumble.com/v1gv3zl-how-to-motivate-yourself-freud-and-beyond.html
The Wolfman and other cases - Sigmund Freud: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780142437452/
Psychology: http://psychreviews.org/category/psychology01/
#littlehans#sigmund freud#casestudies#psychoanalysis#phobia#equinophobia#psychology#Castrationcomplex#oedipus complex#envy#sibling rivalry
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shout out to MLP and Grimdark/MLP Horror fans who are equinophobic, ygs are so cool
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The Worst Horse
From the very first moment I saw one, I have always hated horses. I remember the event clearly, that first meeting with one of those wretched animals which shattered my innocence at such a young age. I must have been about 8 years old, my family was attending a country fair, and there was an advertisement for pony rides.
Now, up until this point in my development, I had never actually seen a horse in the real world. I'd seen them in picture books, sure, I even owned a couple of toy ones, but I'd never seen an actual, living horse. The shock of beholding the actual animal itself was a viscerally disturbing experience.
Everything about it was wrong. The sour, sweaty smell, the too-large eyes that seemed to eye me as though I were prey, the sharp-tipped hooves, and those horrible, enormous teeth. I watched the attendant give the pony a sugar cube from her hand, and winced in terror at the thought of it simply biting down upon her fingers and snapping them like carrots.
My parents must have thought that my wide-eyed, silent terror was due to being overwhelmed with excitement, because they wound up pushing me forwards, where the attendant helped me up onto the pony. I wanted to scream as I felt myself forced onto the hideous monster, I wanted to beg to be let off, but I was still utterly paralyzed with fear. The attendant began to lead the pony forwards, oblivious to my horror, but the pony knew how I felt. It knew I was afraid.
Without warning it broke free from the attendant's grasp, the rope loosely held in her hands slipping free quickly, as the pony galloped forwards as fast as it could. Finally, I found my voice, and began to scream to be let off, to get away from this monster.
I got my wish sooner than I might have guessed.
The pony bucked, and I found myself flying through the air, crashing into a fence with a gut-wrenching snap as my arm broke from the force and I experienced the worst pain I had ever felt up to that point in my entire life. Blinking tears out of my eyes, I watched as the maddened pony began to rush towards me, seemingly preparing to finish the job. Mercifully, it was at that point I fainted.
Ultimately I was mostly okay, at least physically. There was no lasting damage, as it was a clean break which healed up nicely. The otherwise incompetent attendant successfully managed to keep the pony from ramming into me in the nick of time. Emotionally, however, I would never be quite the same again. It was the first time in my entire life that I was actually, genuinely afraid of dying, and that changes you.
My parents never believed me when I told them that I knew I hated horses from the first instant I saw the pony. They always assume it is simply a false memory, that I was projecting my trauma backwards, but I know the truth. From the very moment I looked at that disgusting animal, I knew that there was something terribly wrong with horses.
All this was decades ago of course. I'm an adult now, more than that in fact, I'm retired; a "senior citizen" as they say. I suppose people have started to get offended by the term "old woman". My parents are long since dead and buried and in all honesty I am very likely soon to join them. Perhaps sooner than I deserve.
My home out in the country isn't especially large, nor especially extravagant, and until now it has served its ultimate purpose quite well; to be somewhere cheap where I can live out the rest of my days in relative comfort. It is a simple old farmhouse, small but with two stories, in good repair and relatively easy to maintain, even at my age. The major downside is that it is fairly isolated from the rest of the world, surrounded by fields as far as the eye can see, but up until recently that felt like more of a blessing than a curse. Now however, I long to be in the city, surrounded by concrete and people, far far away from this place. All because of the Horse.
I cannot help but capitalize the word when I refer to this animal, for it is surely the purest and most hateful representative of its kind. It is a Horse to surpass all other horses, the most foul and despicable member of a species characterized by foulness and despicability. It is, to put it quite simply, the Worst Horse.
My first encounter with the Worst Horse was a few weeks ago now I think, perhaps a month, though I must admit I am unsure of the exact date. I was out hanging up some clothes to dry, and I recall it was a fairly pleasant, sunny day. Or at least, it was until the exact moment I saw the Horse. Almost instantly, the wind seemed to pick up, rustling the tall grass and putting a chill in my bones. A cloud passed over the sun, darkening the sky faintly as I stared at the creature across the field. It was staring back at me.
Living out in the country, it is not entirely rare to see the occasional horse, it is simply an unfortunate fact of life, and as much as I despise the creatures it is not within my power to criminalize the act of riding one. However, it is considerably less common to see one unbridled and unmounted, standing utterly still and staring at you with assuredly malicious intent.
I was obviously deeply uncomfortable, and found myself paralyzed, as if I were once again the frightened little girl confronted by that fairground pony. The Horse was similarly motionless. I am not a religious woman, laugh at me all you want but it always felt difficult to keep faith after my first interaction with a horse. I couldn't reconcile the existence of a benevolent creator with the existence of horses. In that moment, however, I wished I had something to pray to.
At first, I couldn't tell quite what was causing such an extreme reaction. It was a shock, to be sure, but I am a grown woman, not a scared child. I shouldn't be reduced to a quivering statue from the mere sight of my phobia, hundreds of feet away. It took me a few moments to realize that it was the Horse's eyes that had disturbed me.
Most herbivores, horses and their damnable ilk included, have eyes that face sideways, in order to give them a better field of view to spot predators. The forward facing eyes typical of wolves, lions, and other such animals are due to their need to effectively hunt down and kill prey. The Worst Horse has eyes which face forwards.
As I came to this uncomfortable realization, a crow went flying past the Horse, its cawing echoing back towards me across the tall grass. There was a flash of movement. The bird's cry was interrupted with an abrupt crunch. The Horse chewed the mass of bloodstained black feathers for a moment before swallowing the pulverized bird with a disgusting gulping motion.
It was at this point that I was able to successfully remember how to move again, and found myself running into the house in a daze, locking and bolting the door behind me before running to grab the shotgun I keep in a locked case for emergencies. By the time I had finished fiddling with the lock and loading the shells, the Horse was long gone, thought I can hardly imagine where it could have vanished to. There is nowhere to hide in these vast, empty fields, and I should have been able to see it even if it had traveled a mile away.
I was hesitant to relay my encounter to any of my acquaintances. I have few living friends, and due to never marrying have borne no children, but I do keep in contact with my brother on a somewhat regular basis, and generally try to call him whenever anything interesting happens. In this case, however, I worried that he may question my sanity. Tales of disappearing, carnivorous horses are hardly a sign of mental stability after all. This is not to mention the fact that he is well aware of my aversion to horses, and treats it somewhat disrespectfully as a bit of a joke. Given the probability of being treated like a lunatic or a clown, I decided to keep the entire affair to myself.
A few days passed before I saw the Worst Horse again, although that didn't stop me from feeling paranoid whenever I dared to go outside in the meantime. It was around 11 o'clock at night, and I had woken up in bed with the most unnerving feeling of being watched. My bedroom is on the second story of the house, perhaps not a good idea at my age but frankly I always liked the slight bit of exercise from going up and down the stairs. This made it particularly disturbing to see the Horse's long, terrible face staring at me hungrily through my bedroom window.
I found myself once again paralyzed, feeling rather as though I were a rat staring up at a king cobra. I must have sat there for minutes, eyes wide in pure terror of that awful, terrible Horse. It was slightly too dark to get a very clear look at it, but I could make out those evil, predatory eyes and the faint gleam of its teeth. I could swear neither of us blinked during the whole time we watched one another. Eventually, the face lowered down beneath the windowsill, slowly, maintaining eye contact until the last possible moment. I heard a faint snort that, for the life of me, sounded like laughter, followed by the clopping of hooves as it rode off into the night.
I didn't see the Worst Horse for a while after that, but I could tell it was still lurking around the property. I would find piles of dung with shattered bits of bone sticking out of them, and would occasionally hear the faint sound of whinnies or the clopping of hooves drift down on the breeze. On one occasion I heard it skulking about the back of the house, snorting with that derisive, almost human laughter. I just kept very still, waiting for it to go away. There was another sound, a sort of gagging, retching noise followed by a wet splat that made me feel sick to my stomach, and then I could hear the Horse galloping off. I waited for quite a while before checking the back door to make sure it was gone.
When I did, cautiously creaking open the door ever so slowly, I found a pile of hundreds of faintly yellowed horse teeth on the back porch, covered in a thick translucent slime. I put on some disposable rubber gloves and tossed them all into the garbage.
I took to leaving the gun case unlocked, and would frequently wander around the house with the loaded shotgun in my hands. I didn't leave the house very often anymore, I was always just waiting and listening for that infernal Horse to come back. I still didn't tell my brother. This was just something I felt that I had to deal with on my own.
It was 3 days ago that I woke up in the middle of the night to loud thumping hoofbeats, as if the Horse was trying to break down the walls. This time, I was prepared, I had fallen asleep with the shotgun leaning upon the wall by the bed, and I was fully ready to use it. I had taken to sleeping fully clothed, so after putting on my shoes I marched outside, looking for any sign of that awful, terrible, wretched Horse.
I found it. It stood atop the house, silhouetted against the full moon, staring down at me with those ghastly forward facing eyes.
This was the first time I'd seen the Worst Horse up close and clearly, and it was so much worse than I could have ever imagined. It opened its jaws in a wide yawn, revealing rows upon rows of blunted, huge teeth, seeming to occupy almost the entirety of its mouth. Its fur was covered in the thick frothy sweat typical of horses, but it seemed slightly yellow in color, and gave off a noxious steam in the night air as if it were some sort of acid. The worst part, however, were the legs.
Did you know that horse legs are, anatomically speaking, toes? The reason there is but a single hoof is because that is its toenail. There is a medical condition called polydactyly, in which one possesses additional fingers or toes. In horses, this typically results in additional, smaller hooves sticking out at odd angles from the rest of the leg. In the case of the Worst Horse, however, it just meant that it had multiple stunted, twisted limbs branching out where they ought not to be, some just twitching faintly, others sprawled against the roof of the house like some sort of horrible spider.
I wanted to kill it. I wanted to unload two barrels of hot lead into the thing's disgusting, horrific form, to end this nightmare and allow me to live out the rest of my life in peace. I raised the gun to my shoulder and took aim, lining up both barrels to the horse's general direction as best as I could with my shaking arms. The horse took a step closer, still staring, daring me to act, daring me to pull both triggers.
I couldn't do it.
I couldn't will my fingers to move. It was as if I was a statue. My mind screamed at me over and over again, overwhelmed with hate and fear, shrieking out kill it kill it kill it but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't do anything.
The Horse whinnied with cruel, inhuman laughter before scuttling off the roof and galloping away, the echoes of its foul giggling fading away into the night. I fell to the ground on my hands and knees and began to sob.
As soon as it was morning, I went to go call my brother, to tell him everything that had happened and to beg him to let me stay with him and get away from this awful place and the Worst Horse. I didn't care if he laughed at me, I didn't care if he tried to get me institutionalized. I just wanted to be out of this place. I dialed his phone number, but nothing happened. There wasn't so much as a dial tone. I tried again. And again. And again. The phone line had been disconnected. Something had cut the wire. I was certain that if I ran outside to check, I would find that it had been severed with a set of far too many blunt, equine teeth.
I decided to simply drive down to the city, get a hotel and call my brother from there. I packed a small bag and was about to get into the car when I noticed how low it was sitting upon the driveway. I inspected closer to find that each and every tire was completely flat, as though they had been kicked repeatedly by sharp, stiff hooves. I was stranded.
I'm trapped here. I don't know why I've been writing this all down. In all likelihood none of this will ever be read. I suppose I just want to get it out of my head, to set everything down on paper to organize my thoughts.
The Worst Horse has been circling the house for a while now, day and night, just running around it in circles and whinnying. At first it was perhaps a hundred yards away, but it's been getting progressively closer and closer, spiraling in towards the house. I keep the shotgun with me at all times now, though I'm not sure if I intend to use it to fend off my tormentor, or in case I prefer an easy way out rather than being left to the mercy of its sharpened hooves and rows of blunt teeth.
I wrote earlier that I didn't believe in God, but that's not entirely true anymore. I think that the Worst Horse is God, and I know in my heart of hearts that it hates me just as much as I hate it.
- - -
The above note was recovered from the home of Gladys Rosewood in the summer of 1990, after a wellness check was called for by her brother, Stephen Rosewood. Police found that her home appeared to have been broken into, with the door smashed in and significant signs of struggle within the house itself. A double barreled hunting shotgun was found on the premises, one shell fired, and pellets of buckshot were found embedded in a wall nearby. There was no sign of Ms. Rosewood anywhere on the property, and it is unclear where she could have gone. Most curiously, dozens of muddy hoofprints were found through the premises, including on the walls and ceiling.
Further investigation has failed to locate Ms. Rosewood, and due to the absence of any additional evidence the case is considered cold and she has been declared dead in absentia.
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Horrifying idea alert
giraffes that are predatory constrictor that use ther long neck to break the bones of medium animals in the savanna.
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I'm curious to see how this plays out! A friend of mine has arachnophobia because she was bitten by a spider as a child. Conversely, I was bitten by a spider and had no lasting psychological impact, but I have equinophobia despite no traumatic experiences with horses.
You can add what your phobia/phobias are in the tags if you want, but you don't have to!
Reblog for greater sample size and all that
#seriously i have no clue what it is about horses but they freak me out#idea speaks#idea original post#poll#phobia#phobias#polls#tumblr polls#the equinophobia is mild tbf. but the significantly more major phobia I don't want to mention is ALSO not from an event so idk :D
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Anyway on a brighter note, if I was writing these stupid ass books, we'd have a Mechafarm with an animatronic horse already. Just saying.
#it would be dope as hell okay???#what would i do with it?? i dunno!#but animatronic horse would be the Guy of All Time lmao#call it equinophobia and have the animatronic horse be 100% realistic...#in that if it kicks you when you're crouched behind jt#in that if it kicks you when you're right behind it...#well hey! you didn't need that skull anyway right? no harm done!#lmao listen!! horse walks you into the ocean never to be seen again!!!#horse leads the kids away like a hooved pied piper!!!#GIVE ME A COOL FUCKING HORSE#bdjdjdid#scott let me on the team right now i have a horse for you#just give me the okay and I'll give you horse#trade offer: you get horse. i get andrea a safe distance from a publisher.#its a win win!!!#lmao anyway
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Today’s disabled character of the day is Alise from Trigger, who has equinophobia
Requested by Anon
[Image Description: Photo of a young Ann-Kristin Sømme portraying Alise, She has medium length blond hair and light eyes in the photo. She's standing and holding a black bike. he is wearing a beige jacket, lime green turtleneck sweater, and blue jeans. She's standing on a road surrounded by a forest.]
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Unjust Punishment: Prologue
I love 2nd person, and no one can do anything about it-
Summary: Art block is a bitch, and your dumb self went out to the woods to paint a few landscapes. But of course, some crazy things happen *ahem* feral horse *ahem*, and you end up nowhere near where you were.
Tw: implied attempted murder, attempted beheading, MC gets so tired they're a bit delirious
Word Count: 1.1 K
Taglist: @dewdropthesimp @msvanillabean (Inbox or comment if you want to be added-)
This mountain fucking sucks. You aren't at all an active person, but this is just pure torture; scaling up the path while your ankles are halfway dead. At least you could see the top now, maybe another 15 more minutes of pain.
Finally, after reaching the top, there's a feeling of relaxation. No more coughing and wheezing like someone with Tuberculosis. You turn to admire the view before you: every tree top, every bird, and every bush. It simply maybe was worth your struggle. The sight is wonderful and gives great inspiration to your clouded mind.
Being an avid landscape painter, you had a fair share of going on different trips to paint the view. But this time around, a block had been in your way, and you haven't been able to wave the brush like you usually could. So what better than to spend a few days on the mountain, and paint whatever you see? It's a truly great method to pull you out of the entangles of no creativity.
You settle your luggage somewhere, only taking your easel and canvas. After setting up the items, you dig around for your paints, finding them shoved into the bottom bag. Vermilion, Prussian Blue, that ugly bastard yellow that no one likes but is also crucial for shadows...You have them all.
You take out a pencil and do a rough sketch of the landforms of the scenery before taking a light blue and painting over the entire canvas as the initial background. Soon, you start filling in each leaf and blade of grass, making dots and sharp strokes. Your mind turns blank, as concentration fills your head in a heavy, but empty void.
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Once the sun sets, you set up your sleeping site in a rush. You were so concentrated on your painting you forgot you're in the fucking woods with a bunch of feral creatures lurking around. Fortunately, you actually practiced once or twice getting everything ready and managed to finish in record time.
By the time it's nightfall, you're still not quite ready to sleep, so you laze around on your phone, scrolling through your latest interests. You oddly felt calm, despite being in an unfamiliar place, alone. The isolation didn't feel foreign, if anything, it was nice compared to your hectic life.
That is until you hear a neigh. You know your animal sounds. That was a horse. Confused more than ever, you glanced out the makeshift, plastic window. There was in fact a horse. You could only see its hooves, but you could tell it was a gigantic horse. Its black legs and honed clipper-clapper hooves are a bit intimidating.
Then, the horse started to dash, at full speed.
In sudden panic, you took your phone and ran, out the exit. You didn't want to be squashed by a feral horse! After reaching the outside, you head for the nearby path, carefully skidding on the downhill parts. The horse was still running after you, and it freaked you out. Equinophobia was so real. As soon as the path was flat, you turned your direction into a zig-zag formation, trying to confuse the horse.
When you passed a tall pine tree, an object came flying at you, barely missing your head. You felt your heart stop, and your mind go blank for a split second. It was an axe. A fucking axe. First the feral horse, and now flying axes? Your night just went from peaceful to an absolute murder chase. You were basically running on adrenaline and nothing else as you dashed.
The moon illuminated the surface, bright and shining in a silvery colour. If it weren't for the fact you're trying not to collapse and freak out, you would have found the moon another lovely view to paint. Now that your frazzled mind leads back to awareness, exhaustion is really kicking in. You can't even hear the clapping of the horse's hooves anymore. In a desperate attempt at security, you leave the route, sitting on the nearby grass within the shadow of the trees.
You're already witnessing some stereotypical horror story not even five hours in. At least you didn't have to call the emergency number. Maybe in an hour, you can wander back to your settlement and go back home. You missed your bed; your wonderful bed.
"Hey...Are you ok?" A distant voice called, bringing you out of your thoughts.
You blinked and glanced behind your shoulder, deciding whether the voice was a threat, or not. It didn't sound hostile in fact, it felt familiar. Like someone you knew. You stood up, the slight ache in your knees more prominent than ever.
"Are you lost? Hurt?"
You slowly climbed the hill, eyes wide in curiosity as you approached to the source of the voice. You weren't lost or hurt, but something strange and eerie about the calling made you want to see the person behind it. You heaved yourself up the hill, using your abilities to your best. You aren't an athlete, nor an athletic person. You're a painter for fucks sake.
After a few moments, you call out, responding to the message, "Hello? Is someone up here?" You don't know exactly what you were doing, but you hoped for the best. The scare you had earlier made your heart crave comfort. This stranger probably just had a similar voice to someone you knew, but in a way, your body automatically wanted to go towards it. You notice a figure through the thin silhouettes of the trees. Your pace picked up a bit as you waddled through the grass.
The person turned their head, making a lovely smile. They were in a perfect pose, sitting on a spacious boulder underneath the moonlight. The sight was almost like a perfect shot from a movie. Your eyes picked up the shade of Rouge painted across their lips. The deep red highlighted their features nicely.
But in a flash, the person disappeared. Before you could even utter a word, your body tumbles back down the hill; bumping into every rock and twig in sight. It was painful at every impact. Your spine and head pounding terribly. What had happened? You couldn't muster any thoughts. All you could remember was the image of the lipstick.
You landed on the flat ground not long after. You're too exhausted, too out of it to bother sitting up. You just mindlessly stare at the sky, a few twinkling stars laughing upon your pitiful state. Wow, the phrase "Karma is a bitch" has never been more apparent than ever in your life. You should have listened to your close ones about not going out to the wilderness alone. Well, what could you do? You hoped no serial killer would hunt you down. You're tired. You need sleep. Getting murdered can happen another day for you.
You close your eyes...
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WOWWW I ACTUALLY GOT SOMETHING DONE FOR ONCE-
Literally this is probably more confusing and disorganized than it is logical, but hey- my little brain tried lmao
Originally, I was gonna make this a much longer part, (as in including Mikey's introduction) but because of how busy my weekend turned out I had to cut it short.
Fun fact: all the weird shit that goes on in this part is a foreshadowing of the upcoming weirdos haha- I'm so smart /sarc
Well- that's all I got for now. Goodbye world as I turn dead for a whole week and come back to life later-
- Celina
#rottmnt#yandere rottmnt#yandere x reader#rottmnt x reader#yandere tmnt#tmnt x reader#yandere#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt#bullshitting is so real homie
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Mystery Inc. and The Headless Horseman by Emma Kubert
#emma kubert#scooby-doo#velma dinkley#daphne blake#fred jones#shaggy rogers#mystery incorporated#hanna barbera#cartoons#dogs tw#tw dogs#dogs cw#cw dogs#cynophobia tw#tw cynophobia#cynophobia cw#cw cynophobia#cynophobia#equinophobia tw#tw equinophobia#equinophobia cw#cw equinophpbia#equinophobia
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Dreams - Part Three
You've had uncomfortably vivid dreams since your last meeting with Jareth. One night takes it too far and you decide to confront him about it.
Jareth x fem!reader
Rating: Mature. Minors, please do not interact.
Word Count: 3,600
Warnings: Mentions of bad dreams and sleeplessness, stalking, mild equinophobia, fae bullshit.
Previous | Next | Masterlist
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Once upon a time, you didn’t dream.
It had concerned you back then, made you wonder if there was something wrong with you. At any rate, you had suspected that the cause was a wild-haired fey king with mismatched eyes and a penchant for glitter.
You dreamed every night now. And this time, you knew the cause.
Jareth, the fae Goblin King, had done this to you. You weren’t entirely certain how, but you there was no other reason you would be back in that damned labyrinth every time you closed your eyes. Especially since your last meeting - in a dream, of course - had ended with him threatening to track you down no matter how far you ran.
There were a lot of other activities that took place during that meeting, but you tried not to think too hard about them. It wasn’t difficult. You were often too tired to think about anything other than things that were necessary to function in your everyday life.
You saw Jareth, of course. Not terribly often and never close-up, but he was clearly keeping tabs on you. Sometimes, you would round a street corner only to see him disappearing behind a building in the distance. Or you would catch the scent of glitter and magic in the air when the heating kicked on at your job. Or you would come home, darkness pressing against the outside of the open blinds, and find that a single owl feather on the exterior windowsill.
The Goblin King had definitely not disappeared. The only thing you couldn’t understand was why he hadn’t made his move. You understood fae patience, but he had everything he needed to find you. He had found you. So why was he following you around and inflicting the dreams on you instead of doing something more concrete?
Perhaps he was waiting for the dreams to push you over the edge of your sanity. For no particular reason, the dreams seemed to be the worst part.
Any time you slept, you found yourself transported to the labyrinth. It was so close to being what you remembered from when you had run it almost a decade before. High stone walls stretching down either side of you until they met on the distant horizon. The labyrinth had always been impossibly large. Dead branches of fallen trees scattered the corridors and glitter coated random places along the way. When you had first seen them, you remembered wondering if those glitter-covered stones were where a runner’s time had run out. Once in a while, you would catch a glimpse of the twisted castle at the center of the labyrinth, looming in the distance like a fever dream.
And yet, no matter how similar this labyrinth was to the one in your memories, it was not quite the same. It was just as big, just as glittery, but it seemed empty. This dream labyrinth was… desolate, somehow. Abandoned in a way you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
The labyrinth was, as always, ever-shifting. In your dreams, it seemed determined to keep you on the outside. No matter which of your tricks you used, you never managed to work your way into the interior of the maze. You were always stuck in the long exterior walkways meant to exhaust and deter runners. It was frustrating, to put it lightly.
The worst part, however, was that the dreams were anything but restful. When you woke up from your nocturnal visits to the labyrinth, it felt as though you had gotten minutes of rest instead of hours. The exhaustion was wearing on you, even more so than the dreams themselves.
You were in one of those less-than-restful dreams now.
This was either your third or fourth stone corridor - you couldn’t remember, and the nights blended together behind you. Dreams of the labyrinth didn’t fade with time, acting more like memories than true dreams in your mind. In any case, you weren’t going to make much more progress that night. You could feel time passing outside of the dream and you could only hope your alarm would blare soon. The only reason you kept walking is because you refused to stare blankly at a glittering stone wall for the rest of the time before you woke up. The very thought made you want to scream.
Eyeballs on fungal stalks watched you move past and you flipped them off as you went. They didn’t seem offended, though one blinked when you kicked a chunk of rock ahead of you. It skittered down the walkway ahead of you, and your spine tingled as you realized the sound of stone on stone was growing louder instead of fading away. That worry didn’t disappear when you caught up with the then-still rock, passing it as the sound continued to grow louder.
You were close to a corner of the labyrinth by that point and your pace picked up slightly as you stepped into another corridor. Maybe the source of the noise would come into view. Maybe that would even be a good thing, though you weren’t holding your breath.
As you hurried down the new corridor, the noise grew louder and the pace of it - once steady - had increased dramatically. You felt an odd shift in the air of the labyrinth a bare millisecond before a shape emerged from around the next corner.
The stretches of rock, weeds, and glitter that made up the outer edges of the labyrinth were ridiculously, impossibly long, and it was difficult for you to see what the shape was, but it seemed wrong. How, you weren’t certain, but it strained your already-taut nerves. The rhythmic sound continued to grow louder, though it stayed at that increased pace… and you suddenly realized what it was.
Hoofbeats.
You frowned even as your feet slowed. If that was a horse, it was a truly massive one. At least the size of a Shire horse, if not a little bigger, and approaching faster than you could believe. In fact, you wondered if you should turn back the way you had come. You wouldn’t be able to outrun the horse, but anything would be better than approaching it head-on.
You weren’t afraid of horses. That much was a constant in your life. You had never gotten the chance to spend a lot of time around the animals, but they didn’t make you nervous. But surely being afraid to face down a behemoth horse galloping in a narrow stone walkway was proof of self-preservation instead of fear.
Even in the moments you had taken to consider turning back, the horse had nearly halved the distance between you. It was still at a distance that made it difficult to see clearly, but it was much closer than it had been before. By that point, you could see that it was a horse, it was larger than any horse you had ever seen, and that you were scared.
Before you could really process what was happening, you had spun on the toe of your shoe and started running as fast as you could in the opposite direction. It wasn’t a pace you could keep up long-term, but all you needed was a little bit of space.
Suddenly, the labyrinth was open beside you. For all of the time you had spent searching for the optical illusion of the openings in the walls, you had never found one. But now, the labyrinth seemed to be urging you further into its heart. You would normally find that suspicious, but the pounding of hoofbeats behind you was closer than ever, close enough that you could feel each percussive strike of a shod hoof against the ground rattling your ribcage.
You tore through the gap in the labyrinth’s walls, hurling yourself against the opposite wall and ricocheting off. When you had caught your balance, you started moving in the direction the horse was approaching from. With any luck, it would keep running and you would keep running and both of you would end up as far away from each other as possible in your individual lanes of stone.
Beside you, the labyrinth rebuilt itself. Previously, you had only seen the aftereffects of it moving - changed layouts, new passages, courtyards that went missing between one glance and the next - but you had never seen it in motion. It was still incredibly quick, but you could see the slight upward motion of the wall before your eyes, like the labyrinth was building it from the ground up, but impossibly quickly.
Speaking of impossible speed… the hoofbeats were already on the other side of the new wall. There was no way it should be there already, even with the pace you had seen it traveling. You froze when the hoofbeats abruptly stopped, and you staggered to a halt at the apex of your run so you could listen intently. Breath whooshed through nostrils as the horse shifted its weight.
You were panting from the effort of running, but you clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your gasped breaths. Maybe you had seen too many horror movies, but you had a strong fear that a single sound from you would make something dramatically bad happen.
The horse took a step. Then another. It started walking in the direction you had come from and you stood listening for far longer than you thought necessary. But that still wasn’t long enough for your heart rate to ease to a speed that wouldn’t lead to you passing out in one of the glitter piles.
When you could move again, you took careful steps until you could press a hand against the wall that had saved you. The stone was warm under your hand, rough and solid as every other wall in the labyrinth.
You preemptively shut down any stray feelings of gratitude that may try to surface. “I’m not going to thank you for saving me. You’re the one who kept me out of here all this time.”
Then you felt stupid for talking to a wall, so you quickly turned and hurried down the corridor in the direction you had been walking. Or, at least, that had been the plan. Your foot collided with a fallen tree trunk - not large enough to hurt you, but large enough to make you trip. You narrowly avoided falling flat on your face, but the sounds of your shoes against the stone ground was loud.
Every muscle in your body tensed, the tension skyrocketing to levels that made your throat tight. It didn’t plateau, either. It ratcheted higher and higher until you were ready to scream… but the sound of hooves pounding against stone snapped the tension so thoroughly that all you could do was start sprinting down the corridor.
The hoofbeats came up on you, again with that impossible quickness, and you glanced back over your shoulder in terror. You caught sight of a black shape surging up and over the wall of the labyrinth and your knees went weak with terror.
When you opened your eyes, they started searching the ceiling of your room for any hint of a giant black horse. There was none, of course, but you still struggled to get your breathing under control. You were panting, your lungs aching with the effort of trying to outrun the beast. A sheen of sweat covered your body and you grimaced at the dampness of your pajamas and the sheets under you. Your top sheet and comforter had been spared only because you had kicked them off so violently that they lay in a heap on the floor beside your bed.
As soon as you were fully awake and cognizant of the lack of danger, your wide-eyed stare turned into a glare. You hadn’t slept well in so long. The dreams of the labyrinth left you with a sense that you had spent all night wandering rather than resting, but you had never woken up mid-dream. Then again, you had never been chased in your dreams, either.
In any case, this really was too much, and you decided to do something about it. Unfortunately, the only thing you could do was find Jareth.
Finding him was a remarkably simple process. The employees at a local coffee shop had given you an odd look when you asked to sit outside. It was early spring and winter still lurked in the night. It was nearly an hour until dawn, and the air hung cold and humid.
Still, they had said the patio was open. You stepped outside with your beverage and chose a seat facing the sidewalk. Then all you had to do was wait.
It took longer than you had expected, but really only a few minutes had passed when you watched Jareth approach. His hair was just as wild as ever, but he had traded glitter and skintight pants for leather gloves and a peacoat.
The Goblin King took a seat next to you, comfortable as if you were old friends. He settled into the chair and lifted a cup to his lips. He definitely hadn’t gone inside, but your memory went fuzzy if you tried to remember whether he had always had a drink with him. But the logo under the clutch of his slender fingers was… wrong, somehow.
And that answered your question.
“I’m having trouble sleeping,” you told him, continuing the mimicry of friendship you had apparently adopted in the early morning.
“I confess myself surprised,” Jareth replied. His voice was exactly as smooth and cool as you had remembered it being. “I would have thought you would be weary from the effort of avoiding me.”
“You mean the occasional glimpses of you on the other side of the street or disappearing around the corner of a hallway at my work?” You snorted. “Hardly takes effort to ignore that.”
It didn’t sound as derisive as you meant it to, even with the snort. To distract yourself from how not-rude you had sounded, you continued on.
“I keep dreaming about the labyrinth.”
Jareth took a sip from the cup he held. It smelled delicious, but you refused to ask what it was. Not only was he unlikely to answer, but he also may offer you some. Something warned that you wouldn’t be able to decline, and then you would be caught.
“That does happen.”
It was a non-answer - not particularly surprising from Jareth, but definitely frustrating. You shifted slightly and Jareth glanced over. He had been studying you every time he believed you weren’t looking, which was also frustrating. It made thinking difficult.
“I need you to make it not happen anymore,” you said eventually. “I can’t keep functioning like this.”
Jareth set the cup down on the table in favor of folding his hands on the cold metal surface. His expression shifted to something sympathetic, but tainted somehow. It was the facial expression equivalent of poisoned chocolate. “If I could…”
“Could you?” you asked, skepticism heavy in your voice. Maybe it was uncalled for… but if you were to guess from the mischief glittering in his mismatched eyes, you doubted it. “Would you?”
“No.”
It was a simple answer, but you didn’t give him credit for it. He didn’t have much choice in answering a direct question, especially since he couldn’t lie.
“And why can’t you?” you asked. “You control the labyrinth and everything in it.”
“Mmm… Not precisely.” His attention shifted back to the sidewalk, where people dressed for the work day were beginning to pass regularly. The ones who noticed you and Jareth seemed bewildered at your presence outside, but you ignored them.
“Explain.”
“Ordering me about, pet?” Jareth smiled and his teeth looked far, far too sharp for comfort.
“Please.” It came far too late and through gritted teeth, but Jareth gave a slight incline of his head.
“I am the ruler of my land, which includes the labyrinth surrounding my castle. But it has a mind of its own and is not strictly my subject.” Jareth tipped his head back and peered upward. The light pollution of the city tinged the sky with rusty orange and obscured the clouds, but it was almost as if he could trace the constellations anyway. For all you knew, maybe he could. “The labyrinth and I share a bond. It fulfills my desires. I believe it is trying to bring us together because of that desire.”
“Then stop desiring me,” you bit out.
He rolled his head toward you, eyes bright and a grin stretching his mouth wide. “I could never.”
You gave a frustrated huff. “When will it stop?”
“When you are mine.” You couldn’t tell exactly what expression overtook your face at that, but it was clearly unpleasant. Jareth barked out a laugh, but offered an explanation anyway. “At the moment, the labyrinth calls you toward it when you are asleep, when your defenses down. But every time you see yourself there, its grip on you grows stronger. Eventually, it will bring you there during your waking hours. And then, you will never leave.”
“How?” you asked, voice soft with horror. “You have no power over me.”
“No,” he agreed. His voice was equally soft, but lacking all horror. “Have you not wondered why I’ve kept my distance? Your independence from me would have helped you resist the labyrinth as well.”
“That’s a technicality at best,” you hissed.
“My little champion…” The Goblin King’s eyes were soft, filled with a terrifying mixture of pity and mercilessness. “Did you really think you could leave the fae world and never be impacted by the time you spent there? Once you have been touched by the labyrinth, a normal human life is impossible.”
Processing that was nearly impossible and, when you did speak, your voice was hoarse. “But… I won…”
“Winning is never the end of the story - only a sign that you have been marked for bigger things.”
“Bigger things,” you repeated. “Like being pulled into the labyrinth in my dreams until I end up trapped there.”
Jareth inclined his head in acknowledgement of that. “It is too late to fight it. Perhaps it always has been. You will continue to fall further and further into our control until we have you, the labyrinth and I.”
“And if I destroy the labyrinth?”
Your question made Jareth smile. “If it allowed you to do such a thing, I would die with it. Among other things.”
That didn’t sound all bad to you, though… “What other things?”
“I believe I have given you enough to occupy your mind,” he said.
“You can’t lie.”
Jareth shook his head, taking another drink. The incredible smell grew stronger around you. “I am not obligated to tell you everything simply because I cannot lie. We must leave some mysteries for later, my little champion.”
That was so ominous that you needed a moment to soak it in. You let your mind escape for a moment, allowing the beauty of the creeping dawn to distract you. Jareth watched the sun rise in silence, seeming utterly content at your side. As the night turned to day around you both, a customer moved as if to join you on the patio, but seemed to think better of it.
Even the threat of an interruption was enough to bring you to your senses. Time was short. You glanced over to find Jareth already watching you, too. “So you can’t stop the dreams because they’re being caused by the labyrinth itself.”
“Yes.”
You got to your feet, finishing your drink with a gulp and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. “What a waste of a conversation.”
Jareth seemed unbothered by your ire, if you were to judge from his chuckle.
You paused before you left the patio completely, glaring down at him. “If you can’t stop the dreams, can you at least keep other people out of the labyrinth?”
“There are no others in the labyrinth at the moment,” Jareth told you, head tipped back as he watched a bird flit past overhead. “I should know.”
“People, horses…” You waved a hand at him. “Whatever. Just keep them out.”
Abruptly, you seemed to be staring at a statue. Jareth had frozen, his mouth the only thing moving. “Horses.”
“...Yeah.” The intensity of his look was almost too much to bear. It almost felt like those mismatched eyes were going to strip the skin from your skull. “I think the noise is what woke me up. The shoes, you know?”
“The shoes.” Jareth tilted his head slowly. It put you in mind of a snake hypnotizing its prey. “Did this horse have a rider?”
“I don’t know. I mean, you’re the one who said there was no one else in the labyrinth, so I guess not,” you reminded him, frowning. “Listen, I have to-”
Jareth was on his feet before you registered him moving. You reeled back, only to be caught in his grip. His fingers had latched onto your shoulders, clutching so tightly that you could only hope to escape with mere bruises.
“Was there a rider?”
The demand was loud, especially coming from so close. You blinked, already shaking your head. “I’m not sure! I only caught a look at it. It just looked… big. There may have been someone on its back, but I was too busy running to pay much attention.”
“Big.” You nodded and Jareth released you. “I will return directly.”
It wasn’t that your vision blurred or faded. It was like you felt a sudden and intense need to look anywhere else. When you gathered yourself enough to look back at Jareth, he was gone.
---
Author's Note - A long-awaited update! Thank you for your patience, and to everyone who left kind words on the first two parts. You can expect another (spicy) part tomorrow.
Thanks for reading!
#fanfic february#fanfic february 2024#labyrinth#jareth the goblin king#jareth#jareth x reader#jareth x you#fem!reader#reader#reader insert#reader insert fanfiction#reader insert fanfic#reader insert fic#not suitable for minors#minors dni
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concept that prometheus is kind of completely a stupid animal and seemingly not all there but, for literally no reason, he hates hugo so much. there's a switch in his brain that turns him coherent just to mess with hugo. NO ONE sees it anytime it happens though so they all think hugo has a fear of donkeys. like what are you talking about, prometheus doesnt even know he exists, you've just got some extremely specific equinophobia
#vat7k#varian and yong are- (annoyingly in hugo's opinion)- trying to be genuinely accommodating and nice#(while also laughing at the insane claims hugo says about The Donkey)#nuru just straight up makes fun of him for it. thinks hes embarrassed about the fear#(the fear he truly does not actually have)#posting
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