#it's reminded me of the importance of documenting memories

[mariekavanagh]

Thoughts whilst watching "Elizabeth: The Unseen Queen":

How remarkable that one of (if not the) most photographed/filmed people in the world has kept such a massive collection of, until now, entirely private photos and videos for all these years. In this modern age of social media and oversharing, I think this documentary is a reminder of the value of photos and videos primarily as personal memories to treasure, and not just as self-advertising to broadcast for meaningless likes and views. It's a reminder of the importance of documenting personal, family memories simply for that purpose alone, not for filtering the hell out of and using to try and gain some sort of meaningless popularity. Just my rambling thoughts.

[doumadono]

I don’t know if this counts as an emergency request, feel free if to ignore/delete this if it isn’t or if you don’t want to write it

but I’m just so angry right now that I feel like crying.

my mom passed away last march and her best friend is managing her trust. My or my siblings can’t since we’re all underage. She’s been selling and giving away things that belonged to my mom without even consulting us first. She first sold the house she’d been living in for the past 8 yrs (my parents are divorced so we’ve been living with my dad) that we were wanting to buy. She tried selling my mom’s antique Barbie collection that is INCREDIBLY sentimental to us. And she might be trying to sell her freaking wedding dress and ring. (I’m sorry if this is ranting, I’m trying not to)

could I request a Kirishima or Giyuu x reader who would be going through similar things? Just basically a bunch of angry tears

(Again, please ignore this if you do not want to do this.)

A/N: I'm so angry to hear about the difficult situation you're facing. Losing a loved one is challenging, and dealing with the management of their belongings adds another layer of complexity. It's completely understandable that you're upset and frustrated. In such cases, it might be helpful to seek legal advice. Given your age, you might want to consult with a guardian or someone you trust to explore options for managing your mom's trust more responsibly. Documenting your sentimental attachment to specific items could also be beneficial. If you need a listening ear, don't hesitate to message me. I trust that these small headcanons will manage to elicit the slightest hint of a smile on your face

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Kirishima

Kirishima would be the epitome of emotional support. He might not fully understand the intricacies of your situation, but his empathy shines through.

Kirishima's anger isn't just about the items; it's about protecting your feelings and memories. He firmly believes in standing up for what's right, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. "Your mom's stuff means a lot to you, right? I can't stand the thought of someone messing with that."

He suggests a proactive approach, perhaps talking to the trust manager, explaining your emotions, and trying to find a compromise.

Kirishima would spend time with you, engaging in activities that could help ease your mind – maybe a training session or a casual outing.

Kirishima would certainly surprise you with a small gift – a custom-made keychain representing your mom's hobbies or a necklace with a pendant with her picture inside. "I thought this could be a little reminder of the good times. Whenever you look at it, you'll remember her smile."

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the city as you sat with Kirishima on a quiet rooftop. The distant sound of traffic filled the air, but for now, it was just the two of you. Kirishima, sensing your distress, suggested spending some time away from the chaos.

The gentle breeze rustled Kirishima's spiky hair as he spoke, "I get it, you know? Losing something important... it sucks. When my aunt got laid off, we had to sell a lot of stuff. I remember feeling so powerless. But your situation, it's awful. It's so fucking unfair."

He glanced at you, his red eyes softened with empathy. "But we're not powerless now. We can do whatever it takes. We ca meet her and tell her how much these things mean to you. We can contact the authorities to accuse her of adverse management of property. There must be something we can do. Whatever you decide, I'm with you."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Kirishima handed you a small, carefully wrapped package. "I thought this might help. A little something to keep your spirits up."

Opening it, you found a silver necklece with a pendant with a tiny picture of your mom inside. Kirishima smiled sadly, "Whenever you look at it, please remember the good times. We'll face this head-on, together."

Tomioka

Giyuu is more reserved, but his empathy is strong. He might not express his anger openly, but his actions speak volumes.

He listens patiently as you vent your frustration, understanding the depth of your emotions.

Giyuu doesn't express his anger openly but conveys deep empathy through his calm demeanor. "I can't fathom your pain, but I'm here for you. We'll find a way together."

Giyuu suggests a more subtle approach, like writing a heartfelt letter to the trust manager, explaining the importance of these items. "Words have power. Sometimes, they can be more impactful than actions."

He may take you to a serene location, like a quiet lake or a peaceful garden, providing a calm environment to discuss your feelings.

Giyuu, with his calm demeanor, took you to a serene lakeside retreat. The peaceful setting was a balm for your troubled soul, and together, you reflected on your mother's memories.

Underneath the canopy of cherry blossoms, you and Giyuu sat in silence, the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the lake providing a soothing backdrop. Giyuu listened attentively as you shared stories about your mother, each memory a delicate thread binding you to her.

"You have a beautiful way of expressing your love for her," Giyuu spoke softly, his gaze reflecting a mixture of understanding and empathy. "Let the water carries your sorrows away. Feel free to let it all out, darling."

As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Giyuu suggested writing your thoughts on paper, symbolically letting them float away on the lake. The letter, carefully crafted, held the essence of your emotions, a silent plea for understanding.

"You've been strong through this. Your words will find their way to her heart," Giyuu assured, stroking your nape slowly.

[maireyart]

Dude, I just had the best image: so it’s Obito-Lives AU, and part of his capture and house arrest and stipulation to his living is all his criminal assets are turned over and searched. That includes Kamui. So Kakashi goes to Kamui to search for the items Obito admitted are stored there, and he returns so appalled. Because, yes, Obito put bodies and important documents and items there, but he also just dumped a lot of junk. There are stacks of old magazines, dirty clothes piles, an assortment of bento box containers that were too nice to throw away, souvenirs from different places, crap Obito stole just for shits and giggles and Kakashi recognizes some of the stuff as things he “misplaced” over the years. “This was my favorite shirt.” “I knew that.”

Hi anon! And I'm sorry it took me so long to reply :3 The way it played out in my imagination was angsty and a little melodramatic, so no funny illustrations this time 😅 Ok, I admit Obito did call his dimension a "trash basket" (屑かご kuzukago) once in canon, and there must have been blood splashes, debris and not only from his battles, but something tells me he didn't use it as a literal trash dump xD (I guess he could just burn all that junk with a good katon jutsu). But I love the idea of him storing there something curious, something unexpected. I imagine he didn't want any reminders of his friendships, after everything... Even for shits and giggles. They could mess with his evil plan. Evoke the memories he didn't want. He was too vicious to be sentimental anymore, but he could take there something accidentally! Imagine the ANBU Kakashi period. Obito was often spying on his old teammate, and at one point he teleported into Kakashi's room to inspect it or look for specific papers and documents he could be interested in. Instead, he found something unrelated to his objective, something personal -- an old letter from Rin to Kakashi (that Kakashi seemed to have been in the mood to reread some time prior, wallowing in his sadness, so it was right on his table). Obito was standing there deep in thought, looking at the letter, absently analyzing the handwriting, but not really taking in the words yet, and then suddenly felt that Kakashi had shunshinned nearby ->

Obito had to return to Kamui immediately, but forgot to put the letter in place! It stayed in his hand, and then forever in Kamui; he never brought it back. Having read it for the first time, he felt anger and only anger and threw it away somewhere. The letter got lost among the gray blocks. He forgot about the thing altogether. But way later, when he was in his late 20's, or maybe even not long before the war, he found it again, and the words kept ringing in his head till the very end.

This old letter was… Rin's letter about Obito! The real Obito, the kid Obito, which the current Obito had killed in himself once.

It went something like this: "Dear Kakashi, I'm writing this letter to you because it's not easy to talk about these things in real life, but let me try to express my thoughts here. I know you can't stand Obito, but please, please, for the sake of our team, try to understand him, because he's… that and that… (describes his loneliness, and kindness, and potential, and aspirations, and dreams). Maybe if you just show him a flicker of warmth, he will open up, and you'll see for yourself how much it will benefit us as a team and in all other possible ways. I'm his friend and I know him well, and it's so worth it! Just please believe in Obito, just please try, and you'll see how much it will change things."

Obito was so irritated when he read it for the first time. He couldn't feel the message at all, they were just words of a ghost, of an unreal Rin, and that unreal Rin was babbling something about that miserable unreal Obito, the helpless one. Trying to reach Kakashi's heart. How futile.

Later, when he found the letter for the second time as an adult, he wasn't outraged anymore; he was too numb inside for that. But what he didn't like was that the words made him think. They were haunting him, and he hated that. And then, when the Juubi almost destroyed his consciousness, he made himself recall what had made him whole and hopeful once, and Rin's message sparked in his mind's eye again, more brightly, and it helped him take control of the Juubi. But only after the change of heart he finally started seeing the truth in those sentences and even hearing her voice saying them in his head; the words became alive and almost prophetic. And Kakashi's faith in Obito… It did finally touch his heart (as did Naruto's, of course), did finally reach him… and it DID change everything. * Now, Obito lives! And Kakashi somehow keeps the Sharingan eye or gets it back from him. He goes to Kamui after the war to "turn over his criminal assets" and finds that letter…

He brings it from Kamui and gives it back to Obito.

Obito, scratching the nape of his neck: "Ah… Sorry, I accidentally stole it from you ages ago." "I never noticed." "You didn't?" "I… memorized it so well that I never needed the original piece of paper anymore, the words were ingrained in my heart, is all…" "Why did you bring it back?" "I feel like you still need it. …Besides, thanks to it being in Kamui, it wasn't destroyed by Pein, unlike the contents of my whole apartment. When he attacked." "…Sorry." "Albeit losing things is nothing, in comparison with losing people." "Sorry." "I'm glad you're back..."

[arabellavernierwrites]

Hii! I saw you're seeking requests and I may have one for Spencer Reid if that's okay. What if Spencer is invited to hs school reunion, and he really hesitates to go and maybe even getting emotional because that kid went through so much trauma. And reader (his girlfriend) being all supportive and ultimately he decides to go if she comes with him. It's up to you if you continue the story, them being on the reunion (it's always up to you!). If you not want to write this, that's totally okay, but if you do, can u tag me? Much love

Maya

reunion. s.r.

summary : spencer gets invited to his high school reunion, when it proves to be more difficult that he anticipated , you’re there for him.

word count : 1709

warnings : mentions of bullying , panic attack

a/n: hello ! oh my gosh i have missed you guys so much. this is my very first request ! thank you so much maya for requesting a really awesome idea , you have been so lovely and so supportive and i really genuinely thank you so much for it ! go read maya’s work !!! and my requests and dm’s are always open if any of you want me to write anything for you ! you all have continued to show me so much love and support , and from the bottom of my heart, thank you, it truly means so much to me. for some reason, when using tumblr on my phone , i am unable to follow back or reply to comments, so i will be trying to figure it out on my computer. but just know i see all of your comments and they mean so much to me, and even if i can’t follow you back, i check all your accounts and stories out all the time ! thank you again for all of the support, this one is a bit long, but i wanted to make sure it held you over for my absence. having the most amazing and wonderful day ever ! love you !

@c-m-stuff

as another successful day of work had come to a close, you found yourself setting your handful of personal belongings on the kitchen counter. purse, pile of documents from work, the mail. you slid your shoes off and sorted through the stack of papers.

the usual. bills, local advertisements, paychecks. an envelope from an unfamiliar address caught your eye.

you’re invited! 15 year high school reunion. event information and rsvp directions stated below. hope to see you there!

“spencer?” you called, making your way to meet him in the living room.

“oh!” you caught him off guard as he peered up from his book, “how was work?”

“it was alright,” you took a seat next to him on the couch, handing him the card, “you got an invitation to your high school reunion. 15 years”.

“what?” a look of bewilderment struck his face, “why would they want me there?”

it’s no secret that spencer’s high school experience was tougher than most. years of harassment and relentless bullying plagued him. faces he couldn’t forget, names that danced around his mind, traumatic memories that kept him on edge for a lifetime. they were demons that followed spencer everywhere he went, forcing him to treat his life like a fortress that most people never got access to.

“spencer-” you started, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i’m not going,” he interrupted, tossing the invitation off to the side.

“alright,” you smiled, placing a kiss on his nervous lips.

you were quick to throw the card away, not wanting a reminder of high school sitting out at all hours of the day for spencer to reminisce on.

•

a few days later, you and spencer were wrapping up dinner and getting ready to get in bed. he put the dishes away as you grabbed the trash to take out.

opening the lid of the trashcan, you noticed the paper with the words ‘you’re invited!” splayed across the top was gone. you furrowed your brow, thinking spencer could’ve thrown it out on his way to work, maybe he tore it up, the details weren’t important.

“i think i might go,” spencer spoke quietly, noticing your confusion.

“you think that would be good for you?” you asked, wanting to take the matter seriously for his sake.

“i think i’m old enough now to feel more removed from it, more comfortable facing it again,” he responded, unsure.

“if that sounds like it will be a positive experience, i’m all for it,” you stated, wanting him to be sure of himself, no matter what decision he makes.

“there’s a possibility. it’s just,” spencer placed the stack of plates down in front of him, taking a shaky breath, “it’s hard”.

you walked over, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close to you. he dug his face into your neck, trying not to sniffle as he squeezed you.

“i’m sure it is,” you replied, giving him the chance to elaborate.

“when i think of high school, i think of names and faces. people who put me through hell, people who watched. i just don’t think i can do it alone. i think it’ll be too much,” spencer whispered.

“well, you don’t have to do it alone,” you offered.

you knew what spencer had endured in high school. you knew what it meant for a child to be stripped naked by a teenager, you knew that those were traumatizing years for spencer, and you wanted to be there for him in any way that he needed. even if that meant catching a flight to las vegas to attend a high school reunion.

spencer released himself from your grasp, standing to look you in the eyes, “what do you mean?”

“well, if it offers you any support, i’ll go with you,” you reached up to brush his pretty hair behind his ear, “if you need encouragement, a hand to hold, anything. i’ll go with you”.

you both paused.

“you’re sure?” he asked, appearing timid.

“it’s up to you. if you feel like this event is something you would like to attend, and you need someone to go, of course, i’ll be there,” you assured, holding his hands.

spencer thought about it for a few seconds, looking down and chewing on his lip, “i’ll go if you come with me”.

you cheered, “vegas!”

he laughed, swooping down to kiss your lips, “thank you”.

“anything for you”.

•

the next few days had been chock-full of planning. making arrangements with your bosses about needing a few days off, purchasing plane tickets, and booking a hotel room occupied most of your time. but you mainly wanted to keep an eye on spencer, making sure that he was still okay with this somewhat spontaneous trip, and prepare yourself to cancel everything if he changed his mind.

packing was a breeze, the flight was quicker than expected, and the hotel room was nice. overall, spencer seemed to be doing fairly well. aside from the usual stresses of traveling, he seemed to be slightly more stressed than normal, but that was expected.

“how are you feeling?” you asked, straightening spencer’s bowtie in the mirror.

he swallowed nervously, his adam’s apple bobbing, “fine”.

“whenever you’re ready to leave, just let me know,” you promised, knowing it would comfort spencer to have some kind of an out of the event.

“okay,” he nodded, “you look beautiful”.

you tried not to blush, but were unable to keep the heat from rising to your cheeks, “thank you. you look very handsome”.

spencer looked down, a small smile forming on his face, “thank you”.

“ready to go?” you asked, fixing a strand of his hair.

“let’s go,” he reached down to give you a quick kiss.

the journey wasn’t too far from the school, you arrived within a few minutes of leaving the hotel. spencer kept his hand intertwined with yours the entire duration of the ride.

the front of the school was decorated nicely, streamers softly swayed with the breeze, balloons populated either side of the gymnasium doors, and a large “class of ‘94!” banner framed hung from above.

“this is cute,” you nodded at the decor as you and spencer got out of the car.

he was silent. he squeezed your hand uncomfortably, as if you were one of the balloons tied to the front of the school, and he was worried you were going to float out of his grasp. it took him a moment to be able to step through the double doors. his breath wavered as music pounded the walls in front of you.

“you can do this,” you placed a hand on his cheek, looking into his eyes in an attempt to ground him, “we can leave whenever you begin to feel uncomfortable. okay? step by step”.

spencer nodded, “step by step”.

he took a deep breath and walked in. he kept his head low, paying more attention to his shoes than the scene in front of him. a gym full of people, mostly in their early thirties, standing around talking, drinking, and fluttering about tables to reintroduce themselves to their former peers. the lights were dim, the dj seemed to be having a nice time, and nobody was without a smile.

spencer looked up, trying to keep himself stable. he continued breathing in and out, making sure his grasp was comfortable in your hand, and allowed himself to appreciate the vibrations of the booming music. if things continued like this, he could even picture himself having a decent time.

the two of you walked a lap around the tables, not quite ready to engage in conversation yet, but allowing spencer to become more comfortable. he poured the two of you a small glass of champagne to nurse while you chatted with each other. you smiled, proud of the man in front of you.

“spencer reid?” a voice called out, approaching the two of you.

spencer turned to look, all color draining from his face as he realized who it was, “alexa lisbon”.

“oh my gosh, i haven’t seen you since you were just a kid!” she chuckled, “how have you been? i’ve heard you’re working for the fbi now”.

spencer was speechless for a few moments. he was finding it increasingly more difficult to breathe, let alone form sentences, “yes”.

“nice to meet you, i’m spencer’s girlfriend,” you shook her hand politely.

“i’m sorry, we have to go,” spencer choked out, grabbing your wrist and practically dashing out of the room.

he threw his back against the side of the car, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes and sliding down slowly, “i’m sorry”.

“don’t be sorry,” you sunk down with him, rubbing his arms.

“it was just so dark, and so cold, and all those kids were just watching. they watched and they laughed. i couldn’t- i couldn’t even tell my mom about it-” spencer’s breath quicked.

“spencer,” you took both of his wrists in your hands, pulling them away from his eyes before he hurt himself, “look at me”.

he looked up, panic exploded behind his eyes like a menacing firework show. his hands shook, his lips quivered, he was lost inside his own mind.

“you’re here, with me,” you looked deep into his eyes, “we’ll go back to the hotel and get a great night of sleep, then we get to take a lovely flight home back to our warm bed. you’ll go back to work and morgan will ask you how your week was, he’ll ruffle your hair and you’ll roll your eyes as hotch tells you guys to focus. you’ll come home and we’ll have dinner and a bath. we’ll get in bed and you’ll read to me, or i’ll update you on the latest gossip magazine that you definitely don’t care about. you’ll kiss my lips and i’ll kiss yours. we live our own lives now, you aren’t that kid anymore. they can’t hurt you”.

“right,” spencer nodded his head slowly, gaining control over his thoughts again. you held him until his breath evened out, until his hands stopped shaking, and until he was feeling okay again.

you made a promise to be there for spencer, and because of it, he couldn’t be more in love with you.

[06sunnybunny06]

Headcannon

When you give him flowers.

(Ajax, Xiao, Jun Li)

Ajax

Since your first meeting, Ajax likes to give you at least a fraction of his attention, unless of course he was working. When he couldn't meet in person, you'd get a mountain of gifts as a sign of apology. His assistants could always find you or deliver packages directly to your house. You felt remorse because you couldn't really buy him anything yourself. The guy just waved it off. "Your presence is quite enough for me. Rather than spending your savings on something, you can give your love in a different way. "He smiled playfully when your face was flushed. But today was your anniversary. It's a special day, so you decided to prepare something special.

Ajax spent the whole day sorting out documents in his office. When you knocked and came in, he looked up from the paper in surprise. - " T/I? What are you doing here?"

- I just decided to check on you - A smile appeared on your face, but you didn't look at your boyfriend. He noticed that and that your hands were hiding something behind your back.

- I see you're not empty-handed. What's it?

There's a blush on your face. - well, today is a special day and you say that you don't need gifts. So here it is.

A small bouquet of icing lilies lay on Ajax's table. The guy stared at him, as if it was the first time he had ever seen flowers. - Is this for me?

- Of course. I had to wait until the night to rip them off. I even had to take a consultation with Madame Ping, as his petals can hide during the day.

- so much effort for me? I'm flattered.

You snorted back. "this proves once again that money can't buy good memories. Their petals reminded me of your eyes....So here it is...Have fun.

You quickly ran out of the office, leaving the guy in a complete daze. His eyes could scare a lot of people. They didn't have the sparkle and life like yours, but apparently you didn't care at all.

Ajax asked the assistant to put the flowers in a vase. They reminded me that today's work should be finished early. You will also receive a wonderful gift when he returns home...

Xiao

Your always frowning and distant boy had no idea about love at all. It was only after your help that he began to understand something. Although Xiao saw couples many times while walking. They often gave each other gifts. You explained that any gift can have a much greater meaning behind it. Then Xiao decided to give you any trinket he saw during his travels. Sometimes he would put things that were especially important for memory in your room, as you do.

One day you found your boyfriend on the terrace, completely lost in thought. He turned around when he saw you. There was displeasure on his face.

"You're late, even though you promised to be back before dusk."

- I'm sorry. In my defense, I don't leave the inn that often. It's just that my friends and I stayed a little too long....

- today you stayed a little late, and tomorrow you won't come back at all. Do you even realize how dangerous it is to move at night? At least then you called me so that I could come for you.

- but you could be busy.

- your safety is more important.

You awkwardly scratched the back of your head. It wasn't often that Xiao scolded you. He could only keep an eye on you in silence. If anything, just take it to a safe place. But today, he didn't seem to be in the mood at all. So there was only one thing left.

When you left the terrace without saying a word. Yaxa already thought that his words might have hurt you. What if you decide to leave him? But your figure came back with almond tofu in one hand and glass bells in the other. Your trademark smile was shining on your face.

- I'm sorry for my terrible behavior. I didn't want to give you anything to worry about.

When your head tilted in apology, holding out everything you brought in your hands. A blush appeared on Xiao's face. He pulled himself together with a sigh, accepting your gifts.

- OK. If you want, we can have dinner together, but I don't insist....

You were glad to hear his calm tone. Of course, I did not refuse his offer. So you had dinner with almond tofu, telling everyone about your day. A vase with bells stood in the middle of the table, exuding its blissful fragrance.

June Lee

Your husband was exhausted from the daily routine at the Funeral Home. Hu Tao rewarded him with a lot of work, to the point that he almost spent the night outside the house. When the man returned home. My first thought was bed. You stared at him indignantly when Jun Lee didn't even say hello. There were only short answers to your questions. "I'm fine. Give me some rest and I'll get back to normal." - You decided not to torture him anymore. He seems to have passed out right away.

Jun Lee woke up only when the first rays of the sun broke through the darkness of the night. There was already a hot breakfast on the table with his favorite tea, the aroma of which filled the whole house. He left the room when he didn't see you on your side of the bed.

Of the two of you, your husband was always the first to wake up, since you still liked to huddle in a warm bed. You didn't like the morning, so seeing you up early in the morning was considered a miracle.

- Do you have any business? - Jun Lee sat down at the table a little resentful of your wakefulness.

- What makes you think that?

He looked out the window, thinking it was already day outside. "But it's only morning. You hate waking up so early. "

You just smiled at him. "Is it strange to accompany your husband to work? You're getting even more tired. How else can I cheer you up?"

Jun Lee was pleasantly surprised. Although you showed care, but in such difficult days your support filled his heart with fuel. We can assume that further work will not torment him so much. He was about to take a sip of fragrant tea when his eyes noticed a vase filled with a bouquet of Qingxin flower.

- where did you get these flowers?

You stared at him in surprise, but when you turned around, you realized what he was talking about. "Oh, those flowers? Just like that. Walked. So I typed it."

He choked on your words. You were already next to the rag, wiping the remnants of tea from it and the surface of the table.

- do you know where they grow? He cleared his throat.

- of course. On top of the rocks.

Jun Lee rubbed the bridge of his nose. "don't tell me you've been risking your life climbing rocks yourself." What have you been doing all the time I've been away?

- Can you blame me? You don't come home at all, but what should I do? You just reminded me recently in your stories about the Qingxin flower. I was naturally curious to see them in person. The only problem is their location...

- t/I!

You laughed. Jun Lee was often as calm as a boa constrictor, but it seems that the stress at work has slightly shaken his nervous system. Your games were already getting on his nerves. Now fear has settled in my heart. Perhaps, while the man is not at home, his wife is doing dangerous things. Your life is already short...

- Come on. I bought them from a merchant. He's just collecting various rare curiosities. I just returned from my hike yesterday. He promised me these flowers a long time ago. Consider it my gift. You can take them to work. If anything happens, they will calm you down.

The man breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, then. Thanks And please, if you want to take a walk in an unfamiliar place or get some rare thing. Wait for me. I can take the day off if you need it so badly, but without me, not a step from Li Yuey.

You nodded. Disobeying him is more expensive for yourself.

You had a wonderful breakfast. Your husband, satisfied with his courtship, is going to go to work. He left a light kiss on your lips when he left the house. Thoughts raced through my head on the way. We should still assign Xiao to watch over you. You never know..

[the-skybrary]

Our head protector, Raph, wanted to make a comic documenting some of his personal experiences, since he's a unique case to our system. Part of it was to vent and get the thoughts out of his head, but mostly he just wanted to send a positive message out into the community. We hope it finds you well.

Transcript of the dialogue below the cut:

I’m not like everyone else here. Most of this system is made up of various versions of the core, and they all look like some alternative of the body. A sporty version, a goth version, a punk version, a motherly version. But all of them are her in some way, shape, or form. 

There are some fictives here, too, of course. The ratio is about 4:1 though. A majority of the fictives have little to no source memories. They aren’t exactly who they’re based on, they’re their own individual, and they are able to separate themselves from their source. 

I can’t. I’m an outlier here. 

I have pseudo memories. I remember a life before I came here, and that makes things complicated. Especially because I have a very important job to do. 

As a protector, I stand by to help us through everything we’re going through externally. I have experience with dealing in heavy survival-mode situations, and that’s why I believe I was chosen to be here. But…it also means I ended up being given a lot of trauma memories from the body to hold onto, in addition to my own. 

I’ve made my peace with my role here. I like it, actually. I have a partner, and a family, unique to this system. I have friends, and I’ve even been able to meet and talk to my source family in other systems. 

Although I can’t ignore the way I feel sometimes, living in a body…in a life…that is not my own. 

I can’t ignore the real emotions I experience when my source updates. Seeing my family in distress or danger, and being unable to do anything to help causes me intense anxiety. Sometimes if body is having a bad day, the memories will sneak up on me. Other times we’ll see a part reblogged and it will trigger an intense emotion. Sometimes it gets so bad that it affects the entire body and system even when I’m not at front.

I would like to clarify, though, that I’ve never blamed the artist/creator for any of that. As a matter of fact, I think I lucked out with Cass’s Apocalyptic Series being my source. They’re good to me, to my story, and my family. It’s just hard some days, being able to see your life laid out like that to the world.

I feel like a river that was once whole, and then forked to become two. Suddenly I’m going in a different direction, and the path is unfamiliar. I’m me, but I’m not him. I’m us, but I’m not her. I have both memories from source and from body, and it makes me feel…wrong. 

I don’t belong here. I can’t mask well. I don’t know how to walk in a body this small. My voice is    too feminine when I speak. Being without a shell makes me feel naked, even with clothes on. My claws and strength are gone. All of it is just reminder after reminder that I’m not truly Raph anymore. If I ever even was. ‘Pseudo’ means ‘false’. Fake. Pretend. Unreal. 

But I’m Real. The me that exists here and now is real. I eat, I dance, I have hobbies and favorite TV shows. I talk to people in our life, and I form unique relationships with them. I exist. I am a part of this system, and that in turn makes Raph real.

I can’t explain why I have memories and emotions linked to my source. I can’t explain why I formed so differently than the others here. I’m struggling with my identity as I try to balance my job as a system protector with my place in the Outside World, and it’s a lot. Some days I feel stupid and ashamed. Some days I feel okay with it. Some days I don’t care. 

I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to be an alter in a system, no matter what your relationship is to that source, or even based on what your source is! You’ll figure out your own answers with time. They may not be easy answers, and they might make certain things difficult, but I think the most important thing is how you choose to move forward with it all. 

We have a saying in my family: Antawa Hitorijani. I guess I just wanted to let you know, if you’re out there and you relate to any of this, that you are not alone. And that I’m not alone either. None of us are.

~ Raph

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 30/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

All three men join them on the drive back to the safehouse so they can bring the files up in one trip. They’ve been careful, moving only between the Gunmen’s house and their secret apartment, diligently watching for recurring vehicles and changing their route at random. The purported Jehovah’s Witnesses have not knocked on the Gunmen’s door again, however they’ve seen a utility worker checking gas meters as well as an unfamiliar mail carrier on the street, so they are operating under the assumption that the house is being monitored to some degree. 

Scully is too emotionally exhausted to summon the energy for paranoia, so she keeps her head down and allows her male companions to watch for anyone nefarious who might be following them. After all five boxes of files are deposited on the kitchen counter in the safehouse, the Gunmen wish them a good night and remind them to set the alarm, and once again she and Mulder are alone. 

Alone. She still feels so alone, now maybe more than ever. She can’t stop thinking about Missy bleeding out in her entryway, about the vacancies in her ovaries where her future children should be. Mulder is standing in the living room window, hands in his pockets, staring blankly at the gray walls of the surrounding buildings. The memories stored in the very cells of her body are begging her to go to him, to seek comfort in his touch and the smell of his skin. But while he does seem to believe that she is who she says she is, he doesn’t remember her. The question of why is too painful to consider. 

She slumps onto the couch with a weary sigh and he turns around, then carefully makes his way over and sits on the other end, as far away from her as possible. 

“I’m sorry about your sister,” he says, and she looks at him, desperate to find some flicker of recognition. It’s Mulder’s face, Mulder’s eyes, Mulder’s voice. It’s him, but there’s something missing. The part that knows her. That loves her. 

“I’m sorry about yours as well,” she says quietly, and his expression falls. She looks at her feet, feeling maudlin and guilty. This isn’t his fault; they’re both victims here. “Are you afraid of what you’ll find? Is that it?” she asks, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. 

He’s quiet for a long time, but she can sense the buzzing of his thoughts, and waits patiently for his answer. 

“If I read those files, and what I learn is that everyone I know is lying to me…” his voice catches and he stops. Again, she waits. “Won’t that be even worse? To have nothing, and no one?”

She considers her words carefully. It feels incredibly profound to have the opportunity to tell someone who they are. What they believe. What they would want for themselves. She shifts so that her back is against the arm rest, her legs folded up on the cushion in front of her. Mulder pivots his body towards hers as well, his expression expectant.

“There is still so much that I don’t remember,” she tells him, “but I know you. And there is nothing that is more important to you than the truth. Even if it’s painful. Even if it’s inconvenient.” She points to the row of boxes lined up on the counter, and his eyes follow her finger. “The Mulder that I know would have torn through every single one of those documents the second we walked through the Gunmen’s door.” Her voice begins to quaver and she clears her throat. “And I believe that if you will please just read those files, you might remember that.”

Despite her best efforts, a tear springs free and runs down to the corner of her mouth. Mulder watches it fall, and then looks at the floor. His chest rises and falls heavily, and after a few moments, he stands. He stalks toward the back of the apartment, disappearing through the bathroom door, and her heart sinks. Minutes pass. Horrible, desperate minutes in which she has horrible, desperate thoughts about how she can possibly extricate herself from this torment. The toilet flushes, the bathroom door opens, and he appears back in the doorway. 

“Okay,” he says with an air of finality, his shoulders squared. “Let’s get this over with.”

_

She expects that the information regarding Samantha’s abduction will be the most difficult for him to accept. She can recall the way it consumed him, the way it defined the edges of both their lives. She expects it to be just as big, just as prominent, just as important. She is wrong. 

His mother and father, both liars. That fact gives him pause, makes him stop and walk out onto the balcony to collect his thoughts. The idea that his parents are unkind to him feels familiar, and it makes her so indescribably sad. But he moves past it, keeps reading page after page with a set jaw and a blank expression. When it comes to Samantha, he tells her he’s had dreams. He says that it makes sense, in a way, like the final piece of a puzzle. He keeps reading, and she wonders if he will truly find himself again. 

It isn’t until he gets to the parts of the file regarding his life with Diana that he starts to lose control. Starts clenching and unclenching his fists, heaving frustrated sighs and chewing on his bottom lip. She wants to ask him what he’s reading, what he is learning that has him so agitated, but it feels like information that she isn’t entitled to. There was a time that she suspected Cal of being in on it, of lying to her, and she feels a great deal of empathy for Mulder that her worst unfounded fear is his reality. He turns a page over and taps his index finger rapidly against the back of it, his nostrils flaring. 

“Are you okay?” she asks from her spot curled up on one end of the couch. 

She watches the flex of his jaw as his eyes scan wildly over the documents on top of the coffee table. He seems to calm suddenly, running the tips of his fingers under the lip of the tabletop thoughtfully. 

“Mulder—”

He stands with an agonized shout, grabbing the edge of the table and flipping it over. It crashes against a shelf and papers go flying, fluttering through the air like falling snow. Scully’s heart leaps and begins to race, but she stays calm and waits to see what he does next. 

“Did you know?” he asks angrily, spinning to look at her. She’s too stunned to speak, so she just shakes her head, not understanding the question. “Did you know that she did this?!” he asks again, taking two steps toward her and pointing at the mess on the floor. 

“I don’t know anything, Mulder,” she says softly, pressing herself into the corner of the couch. 

“I need to get out of here,” he says, stalking toward the door. 

Scully leaps up and rushes past him, putting herself between him and the door just as he’s reaching for the knob. 

“You can’t leave, Mulder, it’s not safe,” she pleads. 

“Get out of my way, Scully,” he growls, not looking at her. “I can’t be here, I just need…I need to go. Please.” Now it is he who is begging. 

“No,” she says resolutely, straightening up to make herself as large as possible. “I’m not going to let you do that.”

He slowly lifts his eyes to hers, and there is so much pain there it nearly takes her breath away. 

“She lied to me,” he croaks. “About everything. We’re not married, I never left the FBI, she’s not a fucking lawyer.”

His chin puckers and he looks at the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry,” Scully whispers, though she knows that she is not the one he needs an apology from. 

When he looks back at her, his eyes are wet. 

“She let me believe that I cheated on her. She made me believe it. She held it over me, Scully, she—”

She reaches for him then, and he accepts her embrace. He collapses slowly toward the floor in increments, a sinking ship, and she escorts him down to the bottom. To the depths of his loss, his pain, his betrayal. He leans heavily into her and she strokes his hair, rubs his back, tells him how sorry she is that this happened to him. To them. She thinks again about Missy, about Emily, about the terrors that her body has gone through. While she is technically the one providing comfort, she allows herself to take it as well. From the feeling of his muscles flexing under her palm with his shuddering breaths, the weight of his head on her shoulder, the smell of his breath—something she didn’t realize she knew so intimately. They sit there like that, feet from the doorway, until the room starts to grow dim with the setting sun. 

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” she says sweetly, the way his mother should have, but never did. “I think that’s enough reading for today.”

She helps him into the bedroom and out of his clothes, not allowing her eyes to linger on his chest and belly, not allowing herself to remember how they feel pressed against her bare skin. She tucks him in, but when she moves to leave he grabs her hand. 

“Do you need something?” she asks, searching his face and raking her fingers through his hair. 

“Could you sleep in here? Is that…would that be okay?” he asks, so vulnerable it makes her chest ache. “You don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable,” he adds, breaking eye contact. 

“Sure,” she says lightly, as though her heart isn’t about to burst at the idea of being so near to him, of sharing a bed—even if chastely. “I need to go get ready for bed, but I’ll be back soon, okay?”

She smiles at him, and he attempts a smile back. In the bathroom, she changes into her pajamas, washes her face, and brushes her teeth. By the time she arrives back in the bedroom Mulder is quiet and still, and she can tell by his even breathing that he’s fallen asleep. She considers going back to the couch, given that he seems to be sleeping just fine without her, but she told him she would sleep in the bedroom with him and she won’t allow herself to be added to his list of broken promises and lies. 

Carefully, she draws the covers back and slips underneath them. Mulder is lying on his back right in the center of the mattress, so she lays on her side as close to the edge as she can get, both to avoid waking him and to reduce the possibility that she’ll gravitate toward him in her sleep and potentially make him uncomfortable. She feels concurrently exhausted and wired, and she focuses on the steady hush of Mulder’s breaths in and out, synching her own breathing to his. There’s something familiar about this—lying beside him, keeping her distance while craving closeness. She allows her mind to wander, and her eyes to fall closed. 

“What are you thinking about?”

She blushes, even though she knows that he cannot see her face in the murky dark of his motel room. Truthfully, she was thinking about his half-naked body, dappled with drops of water from his shower. She was thinking about the towel slung low on his hips, and the trail of hair below his belly button that disappeared beneath that towel. 

“Nothing, just can’t sleep,” she lies, and he hums. A beat passes, and the air feels thick with anticipation, setting the hairs on her arms on end. “What are you thinking about?” she asks him, sensing that he has something to say. 

She hears the wet sounds of his lips and tongue forming words that don’t make their way out of his mouth. Her heart starts to pound, though she can’t rightly say why. 

“I’m afraid to tell you what I’m thinking about,” he finally admits. “I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

She has never wanted to know anything more in her entire life. Are her instincts correct? Is he thinking about what she thinks he is? What she hopes he is?

“Is it bad?” she asks, testing the waters. 

A pause. He clears his throat. 

“That’s fairly subjective. I’m not sure if you’ll think it’s bad, and I suppose that’s what I’m worried about.”

“Please tell me,” she says, not even caring that the desperation she feels can easily be heard in her voice. 

She feels the mattress dip and hears the rustle of the blankets as he rolls to his side. They are now face to face, the minty heat of his breath warming her cheeks. She can’t see him nearly at all, save for a vague outline, and for that she is grateful. 

“You know how important you are to me,” he says softly, and she nods, even though he didn’t ask a question, and he can’t see her. “I can’t risk the possibility of losing you.”

“You won’t, Mulder,” she tells him. Inside, she’s screaming for him to come out with it, to be brave enough for them both. 

She feels the tips of his fingers bump up against her elbow, and he follows her arm up to her shoulder, then her neck, finally cradling her jaw in his palm. He runs the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, and she closes her eyes. Please, please, please, she begs. 

He begins to pull his hand away and she grabs it, holding it against her chest. 

“Please tell me,” she says again, giving his hand a squeeze. 

He shifts, moving closer, returning his hand to her jaw. She tilts her chin up, letting her lips fall open, and when she feels the brush of his breath against her mouth, she arches up, meeting him halfway. Her whole body relaxes, and he pulls her close as he kisses her again. And again. And again. 

She shoots up in the bed, disoriented and panicked. Mulder is thrashing beside her, kicking at the sheets and shouting half-deciperable gibberish. 

“No! She…she…leave her alone!” he wails, swiping at nothing in the air in front of him. 

Muscle memory kicks in. She’s done this before. 

“Mulder, it’s okay,” she says, touching his shoulder. “You’re dreaming. You’re safe.”

“Don’t touch me!” he barks, throwing an elbow that collides with her cheek bone. 

She cries out and scoots away from him, one hand cradling her throbbing face. She reaches for the bedside lamp and switches it on, squinting and blinking as her eyes attempt to adjust. Mulder shields his eyes with his forearms. 

“Samantha!” he keens, and her stomach drops as she remembers that light does not help. Bright lights are a trigger.

She switches the lamp back off, trying to remember how she used to calm him down in these moments. Pressure. Weight. That’s what he needs. To feel grounded, to find himself in place and time. 

She pitches herself onto him, shielding her face from his flailing arms with her own. She moves quickly, not giving him a chance to throw her before she sits on his chest, her knees tucked into his armpits. She folds her body in half, bringing her mouth as close to his ear as she can get it, and shouts, “Mulder, stop!”

He startles, and his arms and legs freeze before they slowly drop down to the mattress. Now that he’s quiet, she can hear his ragged breaths and feel the hummingbird beat of his heart against her thighs. 

“You’re okay,” she says gently. “You’re safe. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

His heart slows. He doesn’t speak. There is a shuddering breath, and then the bark of a sob. He brings his hand up and covers his mouth, but his chest lurches beneath her and gives him away. She attempts to move off of him, but he grips her upper arms urgently so she stays close, tucking her body against his flank and laying her head on his chest. He holds her so tightly it hurts, his fingers twisted up in her pajama top and his face buried in her hair. And she feels awful, so incredibly awful, because it feels so, so good. To be held by him, to be wanted, and needed. She breathes him in deep, holds him right back, cries her own tears of relief. This isn’t how she wanted it to happen, but if it’s all she can get, she will happily take it. Just to be near him. 

It will have to be enough for now. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

[summermoonshine]

Call Of Duty MWIII - SPOILERS

Below, some clips + videos from MWIII where we'll analyse what happened to Soap.

After sharing them, however, I would like to say a few things (if you not interested in this, I understand, but please: just skip that part as I really need to vent about the matter; my apologies).

Now, the clips.

Let's start with the Soap's death (full video will be uploaded in a separate post because it deserves respect):

Wanting to deliberately leave out the fact that Makarov had complete freedom to engage a firefight without being captured (the idiotic run after killing Soap is truly ridiculous compared to Makarov in MW3), what is inevitable to do is, for me, to compare the dynamics with something already seen: does this scene remind you of anything? No? Maybe this will jog your memory:

This is in addition to what said by Makarov to Captain Price:

"Never bury your enemies alive". Who else was buried alive if not Ghost himself (according to '09 backstory)? This could justify the lack of an official backstory for Ghost 22: would Soap's death be his true downfall into the underworld? Mh.

Speaking of him, I so resent Soap's death for many reasons (which I'll discuss shortly), but above all because by killing him, they also killed Ghost: one shot, two deaths. Ghost had started to live again thanks to Soap, and it was with him that he died, too. Until the end, he was stood next to him because ''no one fights alone''. The fact that, even under the threat of a bomb capable of neutralizing half the world, Ghost chose to remain next to Soap as he bled to death to me is everything. The stone-cold man, detached and attached only to the field manual (where friendship does not even appear), he is the one who SCREAMS his sergeant's name. Let's hear the pain in his voice:

Sure, it could be a standard reaction of any man who sees his teammate killed before his eyes, but no one would expect such a reaction from the 'stone-cold man'. But a mask isn't enough to hide the pain: He's lost; his eyes roaming for help:

He's out of breath, his chest moving up and down as if he's not just catching his breath, but holding back an explosion. Cry? Tears? Anger?

I slowed down this part to highlight how the head-shake was not just to confirm the death, indicating that there was nothing left to be done, but it was personal: he can't believe his eyes, and his heavy breathing confirms it.

At that precise moment, they didn't just kill Ghost; they killed Simon, too.

In fact, in the clip below (I cut+slowed it) it's Simon (see the mask) who takes care of Johnny after his death: he keeps Johnny in his backpack, holds the urn from start to finish, he has the task of scattering the ashes in what appears to be a Scottish's mountain, and he is the one who brings HIM back home with him.

He is family.

It's precisely when talking about family that I can't stop thinking about the quantity of ashes in his urn. The amount of ashes is small: what if half the ashes went to Soap's family and Ghost kept the other half?

Also, Soap has managed to make himself loved by everyone, and this is why I consider this scene (pic below) to be of fundamental importance: the act of adding his nickname stands for: ''you were not a soldier, but something dear to me''.

The document is drawn up by Laswell, the one who protected Task Force 141 from behind the scenes even when General Shepherd had betrayed them, showing that the relationship between them all goes far beyond the working one:

it is a matter of heart.

-

It's for this reason that I feel like I must say some things about all this: there is so much to say actually but, as absurd as it may be, I felt the strong need to take some time for myself and understand what to do with this pain. As a player and historical supporter of the COD saga, I can say that in 20 years I have never seen the fandom as active, lively and full of passion as in 2022.

As I already explained, it was vital to me that AV gave Soap another chance after mw3. Sure, it's a war videogame and deaths are therefore inevitable, but killing the same character twice with the sole hope of making us hate Makarov so as to have more hype for the next COD (which, personally, I doubt will follow this arc since I define it now concluded although there are still unresolved issues) it was a stupid move to make, because by doing so we are hating AV, not Price or Makarov himself.

Furthermore, what is most infuriating is that if the COD family has started to be so creative and enthusiastic again, it is above all thanks to Saop (and to our Neil along with others VA; unfortunately, not every one of them).

Each of the protagonists in MWII was perfect, earning a special place in our hearts, but it is clear that Soap and the relationship established with Ghost were the catalyst of definitive affection that connected us so deeply to the reboot, leading us to buy even a new game that, more than a campaign, more than a DLC, is a scam:

rushed dialogues, too many characters piled on top of each other, typical warzone game dynamics with such a short duration that each level becomes chaotic etc etc etc… 2, maximum 3 hours later, we find ourselves with a Soap killed, slaughtered and left to die with total dullness and without any emotional focus DURING our game without even receiving a cutscene dedicated to him.

And, as if that wasn't enough, by killing him, Ghost was also indirectly killed: for once, perhaps for the first real time, that man - always represented as cold - had found a family and something, someone to hold on to : taking it, taking HIM, away from him, they demolished two people with a single shot.

Atrocious.

Treating one of the characters who has practically supported the entire current COD fortune on his shoulders in this way is, for me, a great injustice, as well as a stupid move.

Again, I don't hate Makarov; I hate AV.

Soap 22 will forever be our comfort zone, because he has never been just a video game character, but our home.

[azhiath]

I'm making a timeline of all the things important for lore that happened in qsmp (I can post here when I finish)

And I see that some things that people don't talk so much, more things before qsmp really start, I will make a little resume because some recent events make me realize this can be important in future

Quackity Final:

A month before qsmp start, the Twitter account Quackity Studios upload a picture

The picture have a message and some codes, the message is in Spanish and English, the translation is:

This unexpected game knows no limits

Impossible to some to others uninhibited

Unexplored universes there are no strings attached

At last the door opens to a world you never knew of

R.S.V.P

The codes lead to a document on Google that updated its content almost all the time, whenever you opened the document it had a different message, the messages were always in English or Spanish

But some of then are really strange and reminds me of some participants, one of them talks about a muffins purchase, another talks about a show and asks the person to attend their next event

@/M0THERDUCKR in Twitter mention about the clock in the background of the photo (which was posted on QSMP accounts to show the event) and is a clock that are similar to pocket watches, these watches were started wearing in the early 16th century, and by coincidence we have a message that speaks of the 16th century

Respectful greetings,

Let's go back to the 16th century! We need a quotation for sheep blood. This latest fashion trend in magic formulas should be of utmost importance to the laboratory. Yes, we know that morden budgets almost never include sheep's blood, but this is what our fashion trends seem to require.

We look forward to receiving your commercial proposals as soon as possible. We thank you in advance for your great cooperation in preparing quotations for us.

Best regards.

Invitation:

A few days before the start of qsmp, the streamers entered minecraft, they appeared in a room that looked like their room in real life. After a small puzzle involving candles an opening door revealing a chest, with a train ticket.

After that the screen closes and appears lost connection with the qsmp logo and a welcome message. This is something that is inside the lore, since Max commented that he does not remember what happened after he picked up the ticket, he only remembers waking up already on the train.

Foolish and BadBoyHalo they also said this to Cellbit on July 8.

What happened to them in the meantime? Why did they lose the memory of that?

[dearestones]

Muscle Memory Part Three (Azul Ashengrotto and Reader)

Warnings: Exploration of merfolk culture, elaboration on certain aspects of canon lore, bullying, mentions of blood and gore, etc. 

@lottieinlimbo Request: Hi Devin!!! Congratulations on the 750 followers :D!! Your writing is incredible, you have more than earned your success!!!! I’m here to steal the final request slot! There were a lot of cool prompts that would have been fascinating with multiple characters, it was hard to choose! But I’m thinking “why did you help me?” With Azul could be really fun, maybe something platonic? I’m really excited to see what you do with this, congrats again on 750 followers!!

.

.

.

To be clear and frank, you were a physical therapist interning at a government facility on a small island not many people knew about. You were not a teacher. You were not meant to be someone others sought out for counseling. That said, you did attend a workshop about empathy and you completed a semester on the principles and strategies of health education. If pushed to it, you could teach a class on how to prevent injury during exercise and what to do after recovering from hospitalization, but you wouldn’t say that you were qualified to settle petty squabbles between teenagers. 

The day started out like any other. You woke up, went into the cafeteria after grooming yourself and had enjoyed a meal that was savory and warm. After a cup of coffee, you retreated into the labs to take stock of the recently delivered potions and reviewed your notes from yesterday. The session with your batch of merfolk wasn’t until the early afternoon (mornings usually consisted of lectures on land culture, reviews of previous lessons, and perhaps a few quizzes if their instructors were so inclined), but you wanted to be at the top of your game. You were one semester away from graduating and that meant that you couldn’t tolerate any mistakes. 

Soren, an early riser like you, teased you for studiousness until you reminded him that he was the same. 

“I always wake up early.” He defended himself. “Unlike you, though, I happen to be spending most of my time playing games.”

He then shoved his phone in front of your face until you were assaulted with images of famous idols dancing and singing to the most popular music. Try as you might, you ended up spending a half hour watching memes and making crude jokes before the both of you finally settled down. 

At some point, your supervisor had bustled in, face shiny with sweat and her eyes preoccupied with important matters that you and your fellow intern had refrained from making a smart comment or a joke. It was clear from the beginning of your internship that while your supervisor was nicer than most, there were still limits to her mercy and that if she showed signs of taking her job seriously (not that she ever fully let her guard down since there was always a risk of lawsuits), so should you. 

Upon seeing the both of you, she charged forward and set a sheaf of documents upon the lab table. As one, both you and Soren took in the contents and then—

“Damn,” Soren whistled. “You seriously weren’t kidding when you thought one of yours would end up quitting. I thought the second day quitters were a myth.”

Your eyes traced over the letter that she had submitted. It was well written, if a bit hastily scrawled, but there was a hidden strength in your classic mer’s words. It was brief, but Adria conveyed how happy she was to have received this rare opportunity to attend land boot camp, but she realized how much commitment and sacrifice it took to live between two seemingly different, uncrossable worlds. After explaining that she was not strong enough to continue with the rest of the training, she ended up thanking you personally by name. 

After confirming that you were done scanning the letter, Soren turned it over to find that there was a signed NDA. 

Of course, there was no need for bad press considering nothing bad happened yesterday. 

Just a scared little girl who needed more time to process. 

“You get used to it, Soren.” You put Adria’s file into a cabinet for future safekeeping. Knowing the bureaucracy and red tape that governments were so fond of, you didn’t doubt that they had already scanned and uploaded the letters and pertinent documents into a virtual archive. “Some merfolk love the idea of getting legs, but don’t understand how much pain and willpower it takes to achieve it for full time use.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved you off. “I saw you eyeing the other groups yesterday. What do you think? Other quitters in our midst?”

You shrugged, not wanting to contribute to such negative talk about the merfolk. It wasn’t their fault that accessibility to the transformation was fraught with complications and pain that had not yet been fully circumvented. 

“I think all three of mine are staying… and if I’m not mistaken, I think your twins are staying too.”

Soren rubbed the bridge of his nose before shooting you a dark look. “If you say it, you’re manifesting it. Shut up.”

“Isn’t it our job to convince them to stay?”

“Shut up!”

After a brief lunch, Soren, your supervisor, and yourself made your way back to the boardwalk. Today, the three of you were early, which meant that you and Soren were busy splashing each other in the water while your supervisor studied the beach for any misplaced trash or pretty shells. She wasn’t strict, relatively speaking, but it shocked you sometimes to see that she could look so approachable when she wasn’t busy delivering live demonstrations or lectures. 

Pretty soon, though, your brief fun was cut short when your students began swimming in from their underwater dormitories. You had only been down there once during orientation: it was a series of grottos and underwater caves that could be lit or kept dark depending on the type of mer’s preferences. The bioluminescence was controlled by magic that could be invoked by a simple incantation. For those who were magicless, they simply needed someone to aid them. 

Once again, you stationed yourself upon the far end of the boardwalk, your three mers either floating or trying to wriggle up the boardwalk to paw at the cooler. You gently nudged the interloper away (the angler fish was a tad more mischievous than you thought she would be) as you stated that no one should be messing around with equipment especially provided by the government. Rules were supposed to be enforced, you reminded all three of them. Even if they meant no harm, it was still best to err on the side of caution. 

Potions could be volatile if not handled correctly and the risk of drowning was still high even if they were born to swim. 

“With that out of the way,” you took a peek at your roster and pulled out the second name on your list, which happened to belong to the angler fish, “since Azul was so kind to volunteer himself to be first yesterday, we’ll have Pacifica as the next volunteer.” 

The teenagers snickered amongst themselves as the angler fish mer steadily drew herself up to the boardwalk and held out a clawed hand. Carefully, you gave her the vial and watched as she neatly uncorked it and tipped the contents into her gaping maw. 

Like yesterday, it was apparent that she was in great pain. However, while your assigned spotters had to make sure that she remained upright and above water from the previous session, she had enough presence of mind to grasp onto the boardwalk and breathe steadily through the pain. As expected, she had become a little more tolerant of the pain. 

“Excellent,” you praised her. She beamed up at you, sharp teeth still on display, but you were confident that you were not in harm’s way. You turned towards the rest of your students and waved them away. “I’ll focus on her for now just to make sure she remembers the basics. Keep to yourselves and don’t bother the other groups.” 

At their nods of assent, you retraced your teachings of treading water, which would hopefully lead into learning how to float and swim in the water. 

For a while, it seemed that all was going according to plan. It had been almost five minutes and she was already showing considerable growth in both her speed and reaction time when it came to her human body. The angler fish mer was resilient and keen on trying out how to swim and had been excitedly clicking her jaws in delight when she began to sniff the air experimentally. 

Most animalistic mers, particularly the predators, had a keener sense of smells than most humans and were on par with both beastman and several species of fae. Of course, with the addition of the transformation potion, you would think some senses were muddled, but every mer that had taken the potion had mixed results concerning what was lost and what was retained. 

Even the mermaid princess had lost her voice before her father had given her enough magic to return it to her. 

That said, you wondered what had caught her attention. Was it a prospective meal? Or—

She snapped her face towards you and for once, you felt yourself gulp at the serrated teeth jutting out of her mouth in an overbite that could only spell trouble. 

“Someone’s bleeding.” 

You felt the chill of reality envelope your entire being as you surveyed the area. Every worker at this facility, especially the ones who worked closely with the merfolk, were aware of the risks. Prey could be just as dangerous as predators if pushed, which meant that even the most affable of mers needed to be taken seriously. 

You helped the angler fish mer into the boardwalk to keep her out of trouble and so she could start splashing the water to keep her active before you scanned the water for any anomalies. So far, nothing, but you could tell that the other two groups were becoming antsy. 

Hurriedly, you approached your supervisor, her aged face wrinkling in dismay. 

“One of my students smelled blood.” 

She nodded to you, immediately understanding the situation. Her batch of merfolk consisted of the older generation with one other who was closer to you in age. Under hushed tones, she gestured for them to keep themselves and to continue treading water. One of the older male merfolk spread his arms wide, treading the water without holding onto the boardwalk for support.

Your supervisor hurried over to your fellow intern, who was busy trying to stop two—two?—eel merfolk from dashing away to your side. You wanted to check out why they were so agitated, but your own batch of merfolk required your utmost attention. You only saw the brilliant flash of dark green tails diving underwater before Soren began barking out orders to resurface.

Three predators to one prey.

That would make at least nine predators in the entire group and if the eel merfolk were any indication, that would mean at least seven others were going to be just as restless.

Thankfully, your angler fish mer was sitting rigidly on the boardwalk, her feet submerged but motionless under the water. You couldn't blame her for not training her muscles. Her face, while expressionless, was stone cold with concentration and you saw that every time she flexed her fingers upon the wood of the boardwalk, bits and pieces would flake off into the water. It was apparent that she was doing everything she could to not move from this position.

The scent of blood must be close.

As much as her restraint filled you with relief that she wasn't moving anywhere, you were still very much aware that you had three students because one of the classic mers quit. Where was the other classic mer and the cecaelia?

Your mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenario. Had the cecaelia finally decided to bite back at the classic mer? Strange, you could have sworn that there wasn’t any animosity in the group yesterday, except for the wary tension between the cecaelia and the angler fish mer. The fright from Adria yesterday shouldn’t be an impetus for today’s mishap, right? She was gone and as far as you knew, the other classic mer hadn’t itneracted with the cecaelia at all. 

Despite your racing thoughts, you didn’t want to waste time. 

Diving into the lowermost portion of the cooler, you picked up a vial that was to be used only in emergencies. It was a potion that helped surface dwellers breathe underwater. This single vial was horribly expensive, but the effects were immediate and could last up to an hour if used correctly. You had no time to recall your training; you took off the stopper, threw back the potion, and then dove into the water once your mouth began to close and gills carved themselves into your neck. 

Another thing that was great about the water breathing potion was that it mimicked what it would be like to have heightened senses like a mer. Humans or any land dweller wouldn’t gain fins (not unless they had a true transformation potion), but they could hear, speak, and breathe underwater. Eyesight was also heightened and there were some people who thought that their sense of smell was also strengthened, but there was still research done into this topic. 

Because these potions (alongside the transformation potions) were highly regulated, you had only used this potion at least five times before. The first three times were due to practice and to acclimate you to its effects should you need to dive (literally) into an emergency but the last two were because… 

Sometimes, the screening for the merfolk was not stringent enough. 

It was rare, but sometimes a few bad eggs happened to slip through the cracks. Speaking ill of other land boot camp operations wasn’t a hobby of yours, but during those two emergencies, you knew for certain that sometimes, the stress of adapting to new things combined with basically competing with other merfolk facilitated an environment that could potentially lead to infighting. Most operations made sure to group merfolk based on the zones they came from, but it was most apparent between the pelagic and benthic zones (although, it was rare for mers to come from the deepest parts of the ocean). 

Most predator and prey mers had long since learned how to coexist in an uneasy truce (quite like how the different species of beastfolk learned how to live under one rule), but it wasn’t uncommon for fights to become deadly. 

Equipped with that knowledge, you allowed yourself only a few seconds to get used to the sudden physiological changes in your body, before opening your eyes and heading towards the source of the merfolks’ discontent. 

What you saw shocked you. 

Underneath the waves, you had expected to see a trail of red blood drifting like spilled ink throughout the underwater environment. However, what you didn’t expect to see was thin, whispery swathes of royal blue wisps dancing in the water and spreading like wildfire. You gasped, shocked, as you traced the royal blue liquid to the source…

What was even worse than the sight that you held before you, was the shouts and keening whimpers from the two merfolk who were currently locked in battle.

Actually, that was a mistake of perception on your part. 

It wasn’t a battle or even a struggle for that matter. 

At the bottom of the sea floor, the cecaelia was curled into himself, his limbs protecting his torso and his head. Two of his octopus arms were loosely curled around the tail and torso of his attacker. At first glance, one would think that Azul was squeezing tightly, but it was quite apparent that even if he were doing that, it was out of self defense.

The remaining classic mer, a male, was biting and punching at Azul's arms, his nails somehow piercing through the thick skin that was slick with slime. Azul, was trying to curl into himself while simultaneously extending the arms that held the classic mer far away from himself. Due to his efforts, it seemed that most of the damage was concentrated around those two main appendages, but you saw the same tendrils of blue blood lazily stream from scratches upon Azul’s pale chest and upon his cheek. 

You were horrified. 

For a moment, your body refused to move, your eyes wide with horror. However, just as you were stuck floundering with what you had to do (your inexperience as an intern inevitably rearing its head for the first time in a long time), your eyes were caught by a pair of bright blue pupils. 

Azul, who was trying to curl into a ball and stem the blood flow from his wounds, seemed to shy away from your gaze. Despite the helpless situation that he was in, you couldn’t detect a cry for help or even the same sort of determination that you often associated with him considering how much work he put into kicking and treading yesterday. No, instead, you were stunned into silence at the resignation that lay heavy in his eyes.

All too soon, Azul's gaze drifted back to his attacker, the grip that his arms had on the classic mer gradually slipping from the effort that the other mer was using in order to both escape and attack.

"Stop!"

Without so much thinking of the consequences, you uttered a short incantation meant to incapacitate and another to separate the two mers. Although you didn't often advertise your adeptness with magic, magical proficiency was one of the few skills that was guaranteed to get you far. Technically speaking, you didn't need to know magic to become a physical therapist (be it for the merfolk initiative or not), but it was a boon to have. In fact, with the way you raved about merfolk culture and how much you wanted to help out your dear friend Shelley, your parents and other close friends thought that you would participate in the science of transformation potionology with your ample supply of magic that coursed through your veins.

That was simply not the case.

Potions were one thing, but they were notoriously complicated and it often took years of experimentation and trials before change could be enacted. For someone like yourself, you wanted to be an inherent part of a mer's experience when it came to helping them adjust upon land. You had your eyes set upon physical therapy long before you knew what it meant. 

Helping Shelley was the step in the right direction and you had kept walking that same path all these years.

In a way, aiding merfolk this way had become nothing short of muscle memory: unconscious and immediate instinct honed from practice.

The invocation of a third level spell was more than enough to tear the merfolk apart while also simultaneously pinning the male classic mer to the ocean floor. Satisfied that your magic would hold, you furiously swam to the cecaelia, fully intent on scanning him for injuries.

Amidst the shouted obscenities, threats, and slurs against the cecaelia, you heard baseless accusations of Azul driving the other classic mer away from the boot camp. In helpless resignation, you could only watch as the young wounded mer curled into an even tighter ball now that all ten of his limbs were free to protect himself. Had you not been paying attention to him the entire time, you would have thought that he was melting into the ocean floor with the way his skin effortlessly blended in with the environment.

One of the masters of camouflage, you remembered reading from your mother's textbooks. Second only to cuttlefish.

"Azul," you whispered. You tried to speak louder, to overcome the angered yells from behind you. Normally, you would cast another minor curse amid the other spells to shut the classic mer up, but your mind was too frazzled and you were more focused on Azul's comfort than on the other mer's anger. Furthermore, you hadn't seen a reason to bring your magestone with you, often opting to leave it in your dorm room because you rarely used magic. Because of your lack of foresight, though, the sting of blot was only barely noticeable against the backdrop of anxiety and stress.

Breathe, you had to remind yourself as you had so often reminded your students.

In through your nose.

Out through the mouth.

"Azul," you said again, but you were not surprised to note that your attempts yielded no reward.

Before you could beat yourself up, you instead focused on the blue blood steadily drifting from his wounds. Despite the fact that his limbs were tightly around himself to make his body look smaller, you were able to separate some of his octopus arms so that you could assess the damage by gently rubbing and patting his skin, careful not to apply too much pressure or to move erratically.

Of the arms that he decided to loosen around his body, he only obliged with six. For the rest of his appendages, he continued to hide his face away or to wrap his torso and tighter and tighter... almost as if he were hoping that he could become a rock to accompany the rest of the landscape.

As you continued to clinically catalog all of the scars that would have to be noted in his file later, you heard your supervisor speaking to the classic mer while Soren swam up to you, his face lined with worry and in his hands, a medkit.

"That bad?" You muttered.

Soren sighed.

"The paperwork is going to be worse."

Together, the two of you tended to Azul while your supervisor called for security and the immediate removal of the classic mer from the land boot camp program.

.

.

.

Tagging: @missam

[PART ONE] [PART TWO] [PART THREE HERE] [PART FOUR]

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

[ettelenethelien]

My very conflicting feelings towards the Athrabeth

The thing with the Athrabeth is that it features a lot of beautiful quotes and ideas and, at the same time, a lot of it weirds me out. Maybe it's the outright attempt to approach Christianity which I think doesn't really work; the Legendarium isn't allegory and I don't think it should get that specific; maybe it's the way many of the theories Finrod and Andreth go through are supremely odd? (Of course, these rarely seem to be meant as statements that are true in-world, more like wild speculations of two people about things they can't really know). Anyway, the first time I read it, at 13 or so, it sent me into a very weird state, possibly coupled with an OCD episode? It's always hard for me to tell whether these mean I perceive something actually wrong or whether it's just OCD fear, but... well, my thoughts on the point are still very muddled.

That said, I do like to think such a document exists in the legendarium, whether based on the notes of either Finrod or Andreth from a single conversation, or cobbled together from several different instances, as seems very likely. I am however somewhat loath to accept it looks exactly like the Athrabeth we have.

Do I headcanon away the idea that elves are afraid their souls are limited to the life of the world? It feels a bit too important, but it does seem to have been one of the things that sent me into that... episode back then. Of course, it wouldn't be true anyway, but if they did believe that, I'd suppose the fear would be less "this is certain unless something might happen to make it otherwise", and more "we just have no idea and fear it might be that, although that's certainly looking at things the pessimistic way."

But the concept of Finrod's Dream/Vision must be a thing in-world, and I am even more sure that in-world it shall come true. After all, I more or less came up with it on my own ages before I read the Athrabeth, haha. And it really cannot be otherwise, and the full fragment is lovely.

‘And then suddenly I beheld as a vision Arda Remade; and there the Eldar completed but not ended could abide in the present for ever, and there walk, maybe, with the Children of Men, their deliverers, and sing to them such songs as, even in the Bliss beyond bliss, should make the green valleys ring and the everlasting mountain-tops to throb like harps.’

Then Andreth looked under her brows at Finrod: ‘And what, when ye were not singing, would ye say to us?’ she asked.

Finrod laughed. ‘I can only guess,’ he said. ‘Why, wise lady, I think that we should tell you tales of the Past and of Arda that was Before, of the perils and great deeds and the making of the Silmarils! We were the lordly ones then! But ye, ye would then be at home, looking at all things intently, as your own. Ye would be the lordly ones. “The eyes of Elves are always thinking of something else,” ye would say. But ye would know then of what we were reminded: of the days when we first met, and our hands touched in the dark. Beyond the End of the World we shall not change; for in memory is our great talent, as shall be seen ever more clearly as the ages of this Arda pass: a heavy burden to be, I fear; but in the Days of which we now speak a great wealth.’

And of course the star-crossed romance between Andreth and Aegnor is exquisite.

------------

When it comes to the "Tale of Adanel" I'm no less conflicted? A lot of it just doesn't fit, doesn't make sense -- and the "fall" presented there certainly seems more excusable than our own irl, or even than Númenor, because despite the "Voice", the way it's written, it feels like the Men don't know what they're doing, don't know any better -- and of course, ultimately, they make the wrong choice because of fear. And fear certainly can lead into evil, but -- original sins should be more than that.

Then, again, the first time I read this along with the Athrabeth it triggered what was certainly an OCD attack in me, and maybe one cannot call it the fault of the text per se, but on the other hand, I feel like the imagery is such that - well, it was more likely to be the cause of such than anything in the actual Silm.

However, I do like to think an equivalent of such a story existed in Gondor, probably something written post Akallabêth, given the similarities... An apocrypha of sorts no one actually considers true - yet in existence. But the actual tale is lost to time.

Although,

"Ye have abjured Me, but ye remain Mine. I gave you life. Now it shall be shortened, and each of you in a little while shall come to Me, to learn who is your Lord: the one ye worship, or I who made him."

is certainly an epic quote.

And,

But it is told that there were a few that escaped us, and went away into far countries, fleeing from the shadow... And they came at last to the land’s end and the shores of the impassable water; and behold! the Enemy was there before them.

is so awfully tragic, and definitely the truth of the matter, regardless what happened back then, in Hildorien.

(Also note: the story is presented as told by the Edain - and yet "we" refers to the evildoers and their own forefathers are referred to in the third person. To be honest, I think that's a characteristic part of the Gondorian psyche. It's always "our downfall" even though they are the Faithful. That assumption of responsibility for all the worst deeds of your people even when you should be able not to...)

--------

Athrabeth is such a lovely word though...

[novankenn]

Ah, come on!?!

FOUR

Jaune and Wolfie sat dejectedly off to the side while a moving company, dropped off all the salvageable equipment in the waterfront warehouse that was to become the new home of the Grimm Development Department. Jaune was despondent due to the hours it was going to take to reconnect everything… Wolfie because he/she met her/his “donor”.

Saphron Arc was a piece of work, and while she did present Wolfie with a proper set of attire, she was entirely TOO handsy in helping him/her put it on. Memories of that encounter caused the humanoid grimm to shiver in fear, particularly because Saphron Arc made a point of saying she would be coming back for another visit, with more cute outfits for her little “sister”.

Wolfie: This is bullshit.

Jaune: You think this is bad? Wait until we have to attend the emergency BoD meeting and explain the added expenses… my budget is going to be decimated!

Wolfie: Seriously, dude? How do you get anything done?

Jaune: I don’t. I’m lucky I get a paycheck each week… which reminds me I have to take you to Human Resources, soon.

Wolfie: Why?

Jaune: You need identification, and your Social Insurance Number, plus you have a TD-1V to complete. Then we need to go to the bank and set up an account.

Wolfie:Uh, again. Why?

Jaune: You are an employee, and as such you need to have the proper documentation, plus the Inner Circle refuses to get nailed for tax evasion so we need to pay you as well as take the proper hold backs for governmental remittance.

Wolfie: Huh? But I’m a monster?

Jaune: You are… or will be a valued employee.

Wolfie: But you built me for combat?

Jaune: Yes, I did, and you will be most likely listed as an active combatant member of our PMC forces.

Wolfie: PMC?

Jaune: Private Military Contractor.

Wolfie: Seriously? I thought we’re supposed to be trying to dominate the world?

Jaune: Well to rule the world we need to be able to provide for security or our people, as well as have sources of income to provide needed social welfare programs, in addition to collecting taxes, etc…

Wolfie: This sucks.

Jaune: Tell me about it. At least you’ll be lucky, once your paperwork is done you’ll be transferred to the PMC division… which Saphron is in charge of by the way…

Wolfie: WHAT?!? SERIOUSLY!?!

Jaune: Yes, anyway, once you’re transferred you’ll be free of this mess and can enjoy yourself…

/==/ 72 Hours Later /==/

After working basically around the clock, Wolfie and Jaune finished reassembling the lab into something that was functional. A day before the scheduled meeting with the Board of Directors. Though, neither, due to sleep, deprivation, noticed the blinking lights on one of the bio-pods.

/==/ 24 Hours Later /==/

Jasmine Arc (Director of Finances): So as a result of the repairs required and the need to relocate Grimm Development, plus the rental of said location… I’m sorry to say Jaune your operating budget is going to be lowered by sixty percent.

Jaune: How am I supposed to get ANY work done? 

Jasmine Arc (Director of Finance): Well, fifteen percent of your budget is just your salary, and ten percent is overhead expenses like utilities. So you still on paper have fifteen percent to allocate towards project development.

Jaune: I was barely able to complete Wolfie under my normal budget! How do I…

Oleander Arc (Executive of Espionage): As important as this is to you, dear brother, I feel we have much more pressing matters. In particular, the assault on one of our SECRET and secure facilities, by the Red Huntress at that. We have a leak.

Saphron Arc (Director of PMC Operations): I can direct my teams to start searching for the leak. Though I would need some assistance from the Security Department.

Azalea Arc (Director of Internal Security): My department has already started to searching, with a focus on former employees.

Tyrian (Director of Legal): IF the leak is an employee, then we do not need to use the PMC forces to “black bag” the perpetrator. All our employees sign an iron clade NDA, and as such if YOU can give my department proof of their actions I can have my department bury them… legally.

Saphron Arc (Director of PMC Operations) Phooey, that’s no fun.

Salem: Be that as it may. We must be vigilant, and protective of our image, and as such we can not afford any rumors of misconduct on our behalf. What of the plan to infiltrate Beacon?

Oleander Arc (Executive of Espionage): We have contracted the Strategic Development Department, and they have drafted a report, for our consideration. Director Watts, if you please.

Arthur Watts (Director of Strategic Development): Upon closer examination of the proposal, we have come to the conclusion that it is inadvisable to sens Doctor Arc in as applicant. His lack of combat training, coupled with his aura not being unlocked, makes it a potentially hazardous work environment for him and as such after consulting with the Legal Department would give him grounds to sue.

Salem: I see. You wouldn’t do that to us, would you, Jaune?

Jaune: I… um… I…

Salem: Jaune?

Arthur Watts (Director of Strategic Development): If I may continue my Lady.

Salem: My apologies. Please, the floor is yours.

Arthur Watts (Director of Strategic Development): Upon further consideration, we have submitted adjustments to the proposal. Namely, that if the operation to get a more insightful information as to the nature of Beacon’s training practices, Jaune should attend as a member of an established team.

Oleander Arc (Executive of Espionage): We have already begun the process to screen potential applicants, though only needing two makes the process easier.

Jaune: Wait a second? Two? Aren’t teams made of four?

Oleander Arc (Executive of Espionage): They are, but as you and Wolfe Bete are both employees of Grimm Development

Wolfie: Since when?!?

Oleander Arc (Executive of Espionage): And this is a project for your department, of course you will both be members of the operation.

(== Table of Contents ==)

[givemethepage]

Layers of Fear 2023 Initial Playthrough Impressions, Part 1.

[SUPER LONG POST AHEAD, LIKELY FULL OF SPOILY BITS] (All my posts in this blog probably will be.)

Obviously I love it and my obsession with this world has been reignited, burning twice as hot as it did the first time around. So far I've played through Painter's Story 3 times, Daughter's Story twice, and I'm about to start the Musician's Story. Meanwhile in story mode, the Writer is about to sit down and begin writing the Actor's Story after a harrowing return to the lighthouse during which she's made an attempt to reject her earlier pact with the Rat Queen. I know. I tend to do things in weird sequences. I just want to see everything there is to see before I finish.

I love love love the additions and changes to the first game and its DLC, insofar far as I can remember the details of the original. The completionist in me is sad I can't find the Dust Mice sketch or whatever is meant to be behind the pipe on the secretary near the front door, and there may perhaps could possibly might be another whisper object that goes on the upstairs table.

But THAT'S not important. What's important is the story and the creation of the story! This new ending seems like it's missing a cutscene, but I really like that before you walk out the door, you're still surrounded by messages of failure. The intrusive thoughts don't disappear just because you've opened a path to healing. I'm not sure if I liked seeing what was beyond the front door, or maybe I just wasn't pleased with what they chose to put there, especially given what I did after I turned the game off.

For the first time in however many playthroughs since the original game came out, I stopped to examine the origins of the house's design. I came across Steep Park House/Potter's Manor. So many urban explorers have documented and photographed this mansion. Must remind myself to make a full post about it! This place seems to be just one of the inspirations for the couple's house, but an important one, given not just how close the architecture of the house's common areas are mirrored (literally) by the Painter's mansion, but also how many of the basic narrative details of LoF are shared with the former owners of Steep Park House, i.e. the painter who abandoned his home after the death of his wife, leaving behind many portraits of her, himself, unknown subjects, still life, etc., along with countless notebooks, letters, publications, and other possessions that provide clues to the lives they led. Seriously that's all actual circumstance from the real life house. I really want to ask the designers about it since all I can find right now is Reddit speculation about whether it's even the right house. But even green tinge of the wife's diary pages and the font on some of the mail can be found in the photographs of Steep Park. It HAS to have been instrumental in dreaming up the very concept of Layers of Fear. At least I choose to believe it is.

Gonna save the full spread for a Steep Park/Potter's Manor post.

Back to the game, though, the growth of the Rat Queen's role for the 2023 version doesn't sully the universality of the game's allegory like I was worried it might based on some Steam reviews. She remains a symbol of the despair that accompanies memories of trauma, and explicitly making a pact with her seems to me to be a commitment to using that despair as a wellspring for creativity, at the expense of any ability to see truth. The despair will only further twist your memories and warp your perspective. We see all 3 members of the family fall prey to the subjectivity of their memory, even moreso in this version with the addition of voiceovers and I think a few more notes(?). And choice still carries just as much weight in the new game, even with a supernatural force pulling strings from behind the curtain. One heartbreaking thing the Rat Queen has said this time around was that the Daughter was "mine from the moment of her birth." Wow. I went straight for the True Ending, so that statement did turn out to be true for me, but what of the Forgiveness and Resentment endings? Do those also necessarily reflect a Daughter trapped in the Rat Queen's grasp? Are these messages from the Rat Queen, (which I presume are spoken to the Writer,) set in stone? Are they reliable? Are they true? So many implications. One of which is:

What will happen to the Writer??

Will she have multiple endings like the others? Will she be able to break her pact with the Rat Queen? And will that depend upon the outcomes of the other stories along with which collectibles I found during her scenes in the lighthouse? That might be a problem because I am just scooping up everything and devouring every bit of lore my cursor passes across.

Other questions:

Have any works of art been added to/subtracted from the family's portion of the game? I want to do a symbolic analysis of all the real works within the context of the timing of each painting's appearance during gameplay. I know that's a huge task with what, 38 works? But that's a future post and it's why I made a whole separate blog for this in the first place. To be honest I'm shocked that I haven't found anything like this online in the 7 years since the original Layers of Fear when there are a million channels dedicated just to deconstructing the lore of one Zelda game, (which I also love.)

Are there any easter eggs in the family's stories? It's been fun to read real critiques of the first game planted all over the lighthouse, but I wonder if anything like the lemons or the ouija board event are going to pop up in this.

Is the Musician more culpable than I thought? I also went back and did the Dad ending in Inheritance and I don't remember Mom being quite as paranoid or short tempered. It made me see her writings in a new light, and it makes me excited to go through her new story a few times. I must see everythinnnnnnnnngggggggggg.

What does the writer mean by "bring him back" in Chapter 3? Did her son die? Did they have a falling out? Does she believe the Rat Queen or her agency has the power to fix this? Do they?

And then ultimately, is the Rat Queen an invention of the writer? Is her fascination with these stories and the mysteries behind them only leading to flawed adaptations tainted with themes of insanity because she has projected the insecurities of her own fragile mind into the events she's depicting in her books? (Nah)

I dunno I dunno I dunno I dunno I dunno

[jiaoji]

Jiang FengMian was holding the red skateboard with skulls in black detail while talking to the receptionist.

Wei Ying was sitting in one of the chairs, chatting happily with a young woman holding a baby and at the same time holding an ice pack against his ankle.

The accident happened close to the rink, Wei WuXian wanted to show Nie Huisang and Jiang Cheng a new trick with jumping when the dog of a woman passing by got loose from her lap and invaded the skate rink, going after Wei WuXian.

He obviously tried to jump to off the board at the last minute and ended up spraining his foot, which left the area swollen. Although he said that he would be fine with some ice, Jiang FengMian saw the way he limped and took him to the doctor anyway.

"Uncle Jiang."

"The receptionist said you're the next, A'Ying."

Wei WuXian wasn't worried since is not thd first time that happened, he just hoped that the doctor in question wasn't the same grumpy old man who reminded him so much of his math teacher, minus the goatee.

It didn't take long for the patient to leave the room and then call the next patient:

'Wei Ying.'

Jiang FengMian took out his keys and handed him some money, "I'll go home to get a document and I'll be right back, buy something from the machine and wait for me here."

"Got it.", he shuffled his foot with less difficulty than he expected. The office was clean, very orderly, and smelled of some bland, apparently expensive perfume.

The doctor had his back, sorting out some more papers, "Sit down, please."

Wei WuXian let out a grunt midway through, the doctor he turned and his brows twitched imperceptibly.

Wei WuXian smiled at him, the doctor however, looked stoic and his eyebrow twitch was the most expressive thing he could make out.

His face was beautiful and enigmatic.

"You are underage."

"Yes but-"

"Where is your guardian?"

Wei WuXian tried to lighten the situation, "He went to get an important document, I can manage. Besides, I'm with a doctor, right? My name is Wei Ying."

The doctor sighed, not looking pleased with the the fact that Jiang FengMian left a teenager behind, "Lan WangJi."

"Lan WangJi... ha! You have the same last name as my teacher!"

"My uncle, in this case, is a professor.", Lan WangJi left the papers on the table and approached Wei Ying. The boy thought the doctor would only greeted him when he questioned Wei WuXian, "Can I carry you? Your foot seems to have an injury, it's not appropriate to put on too much weight."

"Carry me? Dr. Lan, wouldn't that be weird? A grown man being carried?"

"You are not an adult."

"..."

Despite the insistence, Lan WangJi agreed to just let Wei Ying lean on his arm to carry him to the stretcher. At the young patient's second grunt, Lan WangJi sighed, "I apologize."

"Huh? Wh- ah!", Wei WuXian felt two strong hands on his waist, easily holding him and sitting him down on the stretcher.

Wei WuXian felt his face heat up and the memory of his parents came and went like a flash.

"Sorry about that, it would be too much effort to go up alone."

"Ah yes, yes, no problem.", his nervous laugh just came out, without he could have some control.

"Put your legs on the stretcher."

"Mn!"

Wei WuXian pulled up his pants and Lan WangJi came over to examine. It was torturous, to say the least, having those bare hands on his shin and the way that doctor explained something about a sprain and a brace almost passed Wei Ying without him.

had heard, too busy watching the doctor's profile. Analyzing the perfect proportions of your nose, eyes, eyelashes and jaw.

His hands were gentle with his ankle.

He almost sighed with a particular tightness at one point and almost wanted to die, blaming his youthful hormones for such a shameless reaction.

When Jiang FengMian came back and saw Wei Ying being taken away by the doctor, he immediately went to help Lan WangJi.

"Lan WangJi, your uncle once told me about your new job, he looked very proud."

"Mn. I appreciate it.", Lan WangJi looked at the teenager, who didn't look back at him and quickly started talking about his care.

Wei Ying liked his voice.

//

At home, Jiang FengMian casually walked past the half-open bedroom door while Wei Ying was talking to one of his friends.

"-and the doctor was so... right, listen, Huisang- I'm not gay, but he was... so hot and sexy, as you say, and I think he and the professor-"

No.

Jiang FengMian didn't want to hear that, so with a nervous and gentle smile, he turned around and stood in the kitchen.

[calyxthenerd]

Okay 6 & 70 and make it Gastina while your at it

Someone recalling a childhood memory

There’s nothing more heart wrenching than watching your fiancé cry because her mother is regressing into the woman she was when she was a kid

“When I told her we were getting married she flipped out, she started screaming at me that I was a child, and that I was making a mistake and I needed to focus on my career, and suddenly I was seven again and she was yelling at me about writing fantasy stories instead of focusing on school because I had a 7 instead of a 10, and that made me stop writing nine years, until I got the guts again, when I met Luna and she helped me be brave and create Felicity” she smiles through the tears, sniffling

“Remind me to thank Luna for that, I’ll be in her debt forever at this rate, for how much she has helped me find you” he kisses her knuckles and pulls her into his lap, stroking her hair as she falls asleep, exhausted from so many emotions

Someone gets injured due to a stupid reason

They were watching a movie in his couch, just cuddling and taking a break from their crazy friends and enjoying their vacation until he had to fly back to England, that peace was interrupted by both of their phones ringing and they sigh, looking at each other and saying at the same time “those idiots got in trouble again” and picking up the calls

“Luna/Matteo did WHAT?!?” They yell, making eye contact again as he scrambles for his car keys and she grabs coats for both of them to not get sick in the biting wind of a Buenos Aires winter

The drive to the hospital was tense, she squeezed his hand in the gear, they got their quickly due to some light violations of traffic laws, but one look at who’s child was driving the car, the pigs police officers turned a blind eye to the infractions

They stormed the waiting area and circled in on the receptionist, Gastón barked “here for Valente and Balsano, came in half an hour ago” “room 241, take the elevator, end of the hall to the right” she provides, not looking up from where she’s fiddling with her keyboard, before she disappears to answer the phone, but by then the young couple is already long gone, Nina rushing to keep up with her husband, who was stalking through the hospital like a man on a mission

They finally burst into the shared room of their reckless best friends, who were surrounded by cops while laying in their beds

“Is someone gonna explain what happened?” Nina inquired, and before Luna could launch into her messy storytelling, one of the officers cut in “These two criminals stole a boat that belonged to a very important political figure and proceeded to crash it into a beach, when they lost control of it and both jumped ship, leading to the little lady who can’t swim to almost drown, and this little idiot got stung by jellyfish in six different places while trying to save her, as soon as you sign the discharge papers as , we are arresting them”

“But we didn’t steal anything!” Matteo protested, just to get whacked in the back of the head “quiet, perp”

“With all due respect sir, they didn’t steal anything, I can get a signed document to you under an hour, proving that the owner of that boat authorized the use of his property by Ms Valente and Mr Balsano” Nina piped in, embodying her mother and the confidence only a lawyer can have

“Listen, young lady, just because you talk fancy doesn’t mean I’m just gonna give up my arrests for you” he replies, his tone patronizing

Gastón joins the conversation “first of all, don’t talk to my wife like that, second of all, and I hate pulling this card, do you know who you’re talking to??”

“Two idiots who got married young, probably because she got pregnant or somethin’” he shrugs

“I am Gastón Perida, son of law maker Catalina Perida, that boat is mine, I am taking my stupid best friend and his girlfriend home and I am sending you the paper work I had to do for the dumb boat this idiot convinced her to buy, because he worked his way into my family” he ranted

“I am so sorry sir, the discharge papers were left in that table in the corner, you and your wife just need to sign them and drop them off in the reception on your way out, me and my men will be taking our leave, I apologize for the inconvenience” and all the officers leave

“Matteo, you asshole, just because we have money doesn’t mean you can just crash a fucking boat”

“Luna, what the heck? I told you not to go on the boat without a life vest or me there! You know you can’t swim, and I am the only one who knows how to actually drive it” they lecture their friends and then turn around to sign off on their discharge, ignoring the protests behind them

“I didn’t know boats were so hard to control!” Matteo whined

“You know I can’t resist doing stupid stuff!” Luna said

“Let’s go home, and you can break the news to mom that you crashed the boat in the first week, before we even got it insured” Gastón snarked

“Fuck”

[blimbo-buddy]

Your Rise of the Guardians post reminded me of this fucking crazy dream I had-

I should be documenting all my dreams as soon as I remember and they happen because my brain makes either the hardest shit or the dumbest shit or the most unhinged shit ever to be conceived from the human mind.

So, I was basically a new Guardian and the Keeper of Hallow's Eve. Pitch Black was also a Guardian and this felt like an AU where Pitch Black never went evil but was turning into his canon self and I protected him because he didn't do anything wrong and Jack was with me because he was new as well and the other Guardians didn't trust Pitch almost as if they knew about his canon lore and history and were sidelining him on missions and stuff.

Pitch Black snaps and I go after him and he ends up kind of killing me???? but not really and this part is fuzzy because I should've documented it as soon as I had it but forgot because my dumb neurodivergent brain.

The ending was basically Pitch Black leaves and solos his own stuff but he's still a good guy who made mistakes and I was there but not important since everyone kept talking over me and acting like I don't exist when it's convenient.

Weird dream.

Funnier is that I have an actual Rise of the Guardians book-

funnier funnier is that I uhh.. haven't finished it-

I started it 3 years ago and I got busy and I haven't reached the end but so far it's pretty good!

that sounds like a cool as dream actually, glad my jack frost design hate post brought back that memory for you because god I fucking hate his design in the movie so much

i got told that there was a book, but I had no idea it was a whole damn series. Maybe that's something I should give a read soon