#negative kin memories

[lilacs-bliss]

Me when,, neg mems

[desperatecanine]

someone help my english teacher walked up to me during class and said

" how are you today my [ name] ? "

EXCUSE ME ????? I BELONG TO NO ONE ???

SHES NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE AND IT GEEKED ME OUT BECAUSE BEING CALLED "mine" OR "my ____" OR LIKE POSSESSIVE LABELS OF OWNERSHIP BEING PUT ON ME MAKES ME FEEL UNSAFE AND ON EDGE AND NOW IM ALL FERAL, TENSE AND AGGRESSIVE IN ENGLISH CLASS ???

[ keep in mind this is like a grown ass woman and theres a totally plausible reason she is being friendly / playful with me because i am a big reader and im very interested in the books she gives me / i ask her for books to read outside of class and we talk about them but calling me hers out of absolutely knowhere was a big trigger for this poor pup, i just hate the feeling of being owned or beloning to somone and now i feel shitty and unsafe with a teacher i really like because of kin memories and childhood trauma mixed with recent truama ]

[jack-of-amulets]

// amulet wearer kins/irls/fictives watch out please, also there's blood

slightly ventish piece for today's art

[rhythmhound]

Cool kids get turned into a vampire as an act of gay love, I get turned into a vampire by Some Guy in the stairwell of an apartment complex trying to return home from my minimum wage job.

We are not the same.

[westfieldswoes]

local guy remembering his friends dying has to try to remember what the fuck the French Revolution was, more at 10

[vampthropologist]

enstars people have kin assigned me Mika. any enstars folks, give your input as to what this means to you

[lesbiansforboromir]

Categorically the most galling part of this universal perception that Boromir is a 'poor out-of-his-depth himbo whose completely ignorant of politics' is how it is blindingly canonically apparent that he put massive effort into being a political entity, to the point that his political opinions follow him even into the Council of Elrond.

Without the Council of Elrond, one could interpret his narrative positioning as a more 'Middle Man' and less 'high' as something forced upon him, a (narratively framed) negative aspect of his character that Faramir is critisising and lamenting as just 'part of his nature'. He is being associated with the Rohirrim and other 'lesser' men because he is also a 'lesser' man inspite of his heritage, due to his 'flawed' and 'weak-willed' personality.

Although that is still a bit of a stilted and awkward interpretation in my opinion, Eomer explicitely differentiates Boromir's treatment and manner around the Rohirrim from other men of Gondor he has known. He is 'less grim' etc etc, Eomer felt more at ease in his company, which implies to me more that Boromir interacted with the Rohirrim as equals, unlike most of this kin. Which seems more likely to be an active effort on his part.

But interpretations based off of that are entirely unnecessary, because the Council of Elrond exists! Where Boromir, when confronted with Aragorn's mistrust of the Rohirrim and Gwaihir's accusation that they pay a tribute of horses to Sauron, immediately and comfortably comes to their staunch defense. 'It is a lie that comes from the Enemy' he declares, literally pointing out propeganda that all these elves and dunadain are primed to believe given their own investment in the racial divide between them and these 'middle men'. A primer that also belongs to Boromir, whose place amongst the 'high men' is a right bestowed on him from birth, yet one he is actively discarding here in favour of defending the Rohir perspective.

And not only that! He even goes so far as to place the rohirrim's ethnic and cultural heritage as a reason for their trustworthiness, inspite of the fact that they cannot claim any relation to any so called 'blessed' lineage. They come from 'the free days of old', a statement that is similar to one of Faramir's but that, tellingly, Faramir uses as a method of infantilising the rohirrim 'they remind us of the youth of Men'.

These are all inherently and radically political statements for the heir of the Stewardship, the man next in line to be chieftain of the southern dunadain, to declare, especially when acting as emissary as he is now.

So now, all those moments when Boromir is linked directly with middle men, when his right to his 'high' heritage is questioned, when he is critisised with the same racially charged language as the rohirrim are (too warlike, "we are become Middle Men, of the Twilight, but with memory of other things" [-] "So even was my brother, Boromir") - all of that is now on purpose, on Boromir's part. He is the one distancing himself from the title of 'high' and questioning it's validity in the process, something Faramir clearly disapproved of and was a part of the breakdown in his respect for him. (Understandable, considering Faramir's equal and opposite effort to reclaim the title of 'high' for himself and his people.) Boromir is, essentially, engaging in some kind of racial-hierarchy criticism/abolishionism and activism.

That is not to say that his political opinions all entirely pass muster, he does still engage in racist rhetoric at least once, calling Gondor's eastern enemies 'the wild folk of the east'. But within the context of his own country and it's ethnic diversity, his position is maverick in comparison to pretty much everyone else.

And before anyone says it, let me head off comments like 'Boromir was just being himself, he didn't even know it was political he was just that stupid but I love him for it' No. Boromir's reputation in Gondor was complex and multifacetted but a great many people loved and supported him, clearly we see that there was a divide in political opinion between the two brother's stances on war and society. What you are essentially saying here is that Faramir is such a dull-witted statesman that he was incapable of swaying opinion his way against someone who didn't even know he was a part of the discussion, who wasnt even involved in the debates, against a high society that based their cultural identity on being descended from racially superior Numenoreans. The historical perspective is heavily weighted in Faramir's favour.

The much more likely state of affairs is that Boromir and Faramir have both been working towards their own social change and against each other, causing an opinion divide within the country. And apparently Boromir has not been losing that fight, even if he hasn't been definitively winning it either. Some people call him reckless where Faramir is measured, others say Faramir is not bold enough, Denethor himself claims Faramir is placing his desire for nobility and 'high-ness' over the safety of himself and his people. Culturally Gondor is going in for more pursuits of war-sports (wrestling perhaps) and the adulation of the soldiers that defend them, above the men of lore if Faramir is to be believed.

Society is changing around this debate and Boromir is actively, purposefully and directly involved in that debate! Hells bells, he even describes a part of how he works in the political sphere to Frodo! 'Where there are so many, all speech becomes a debate without end. But two together may perhaps find wisdom.' Boromir is!!! A politician!! On purpose!!

The neutral political position of 'Heir to the Stewardship' given to him by his birth is so ludicrously weighted towards faithful that the effort it must have taken to push the needle and associate with the middle men as such a divisive yet loved figure is MASSIVE. Boromir believed the Rohirrim and middle men of Gondor were his social equals and counted them amongst his people and that was a stance he upheld in PARLIMENT! Stop!! Acting like he's just a blockheaded soldier who cares about nothing else- he cares!! He cares a lot!! Professionally in fact!!

[frameacloud]

"Manipulative and Toxic Behaviors Around Noemata and Sourcemates: Patterns of being manipulative in regard to their and other’s noemata (‘kin memories’), source, or ‘canonmates’. [For example:]

"The pattern of someone conveniently having or gaining headmates, kintypes, or noemata that match yours, especially if they claim to be ‘your version’. A type of ‘we are specially connected so you can trust me’ gambit.

"Claiming to have known other people in a past life, often out of the blue and without much evidence they seem to be basing this claim on.

"Claiming they can scry for or otherwise tell someone their kintypes or help them recover noemata. Especially if they don’t know who they are doing this for very well or if they request the person does something for them.

"Frequent ‘sourcemate seeking’, wherein they are looking for ‘their x’ a lot and often have a pattern of making friends with every alterhuman with that kintype and then later ‘dropping’ them.

"Insisting on recreating the dynamics of a relationship (positive or negative) from a source or past life once more despite having just met them recently. Especially if it seems to be solely based on this connection instead of current chemistry.

"Making moral judgements based on alterhuman identity or noemata (ex- claiming that all villain fictionkind are inherently bad people).

"Inability to draw boundaries between them and their source material such as policing or otherwise attacking fandom on what headcanons, aus, or ships are ‘allowed’ of their kintype, or otherwise claiming malicious intent of anyone who views their fictional source differently from them. Insisting fandom has to listen to the because they are ‘the real x’."

- Excerpt from "Safety in Alterhuman Spaces," a document by the Dragonheart Collective, page 14. You can read the whole document here (PDF).

[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 16}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: In the aftermath of a rather eventful and terrifying last summer farmer's market, you try to find a semblance of normalcy as best you can. Meanwhile, Frankie is up to something that is beginning to cause you to worry about the burden you've become in your recovery.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: medical jargon, mild language, emotional monologues, internal monologue, negative feelings, negative thoughts, ptsd symptoms, pining, emotional pining, depressive thoughts, description of pain and injuries, blood, descriptions of post shooting chaos, panic attacks, notions of death, hospital setting, mentions of needles and iv's, mentions of narcotics, use of prescription narcotics, feelings of inadequacy, angst

A/N: um, so it's been four months since i've touched this fic, then i woke up yesterday morning and just began writing like nothing. takes breaks when you need to, don't force things and it'll all work out. please let me know what y'all think!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“C’mon, hang on for me baby, please, don’t-don’t close your eyes.”

“Mantequilla, everything is gonna be okay, I promise, we’re all here for you, please know that everything is going to be okay.”

“We’ve got you, you did so good, you saved my little girl, you did, you saved her.”

“Honey, we all love you so much, please stay strong, I’ll hold your hand the entire way there.”

“Let’s get you turned over, ma’am, c’mon. There we go, you’re doing amazing.”

“Santi, she-she-“

“Papa!! Papa, please help her, I love her! Tio Santi, do something!!”

“Merde, that’s so much blood, Frankie you’ve gotta focus, you’ve gotta calm her down. Get her home safe, to your mother’s, somewhere safe.”

“Will!! They got her, call Morgan! She went missing the second things got crazy.”

“Has anyone seen Benny?”

“They’re transporting her now, rushing her to surgery the second the get there.”

“She’s lost a lot of blood, any donations with the same blood type would be appreciated. Who here is a positive?”

“Sweet girl, please, you’ve got to pull through, I know you can do it. You’re so strong.”

“No response, it’s been how many days now?”

“She’s being rushed into another surgery, she keeps clotting. They can’t figure out why.”

“Fransico Morales? You’re next of kin?”

“No, no, but we’re all she has. Her family is flying out, they’ll be here in a few hours.”

“Taylor, take a moment, it’s…it’s a lot to take in.”

“Daddy, why is tia all tangled in those machines, she’s going to be okay, right?”

“This is my son, he wanted to come and cheer her up because she always did the same for him when he was sick.”

“Please, mi amor, please, you have to make it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Fractered memories played over each other, words echoing and bouncing off of each other through the fog that was all you knew. You couldn’t feel anything, all of your senses stripped away, and you were nothing more than a half-conscious mind tunneling in and out of suspended darkness.

Beeping, an even beeping was the only steady thing you could make out. Sense of environment completely gone and sense of awareness slowly trickling in. Your eyes hurt as you slowly blinked them open, the faint lights around you too bright and you clenched them shut with a huff that pulled at your lungs. The stillness of where you were was shattered as the clattering of a chair sounded, followed by a pair of hands tightening around yours that were settled over your middle. A hushed order to go fetch someone and then a deep voice was rumbling close. You turned your head toward the presence hovering close to your left side, drawn to whoever it was.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, sweet girl.”

A grunt sounded from deep in your chest as you tried to open your mouth and respond. Then a gasp when pain reverberated from the same spot. You tried to shift your legs, hips feeling oddly numb but you couldn’t quite feel them. It was as if they were asleep, but… you cracked your eyes open a second time, squinting down the length of the bed you were in. Your legs were there, obvious underneath the thin, knit, scratchy blankets that only a hospital possessed. You tried to shift again, but even your hips didn’t feel like a part of your body. Your eyes flew open completely, tearing up at the brightness of the room.

Shuddering breaths pulled deep hurt, but you tried to shift again and again but there was no movement underneath the blanket. None.

“Okay, alright, querida, please. Take a deep breath, it’s-it’s gonna be okay.” Frankie. It had been Frankie speaking to you, close to you. His hands reached out for your own, where you had pried them from him to try and prop yourself up, wires and tubes pulling, clattering against each other and making your head swim. “The doctors-“

“I know this must be quite a shock, but it’s good that you’re awake!” A white coat, thrown over a modest skirt and blouse, blonde hair. A kind face, pinched. A furrowed brow. Bad news on the tip of her tongue.

You tried to speak, demand why you couldn’t feel anything below your waist. But you could only croak out the faintest notions of words. Everything was a blur, the hospital room you were in a mess of blue and white, the beeping of machines hurting your ears. Nothing made any sense, confusion coloring every thought as to how you got here and why.

“Let’s get you some water and food first, your body is pretty weak right now. Can I get a level two meal delivered to room thirteen eighty-nine, please?” She turned to address someone who had been hidden behind her, a nurse in teal scrubs.

“Tell me.” You managed to croak out, eyes fixated on her pinched ones.

“I would really prefer to get you a little acclimated.”

“No.”

Her eyes flickered toward Frankie, as if in a silent plea to get him to calm you down and put you at ease however little he could manage. But you ignored the warm weight of his hand on your shoulder, eyes trained on the doctor in front of you as you tried to find more strength to speak around the dry cotton feel of your mouth, the panging hunger that was present in your stomach, the lack of control over your body.

She sighed, arms holding the clipboard in front her in an imitation of a fig leave over her hips.

“We had you in a medically induced coma for the last two weeks. I’m not sure all of what you remember, the brain is fickle that way, pushing things and events out in response to trauma.” She didn’t look from you as the sound of fast steps approached the door, nor when a large figure moved passed her and came straight to your right side. It was Taylor. Both of the most important men in your life on your sides. He was quiet, but you could see the evidence of tears in the puffiness of his eyes, the lack of a smile on his face as he hovered close.

“You were hit in the sacrum and coccyx region, paralyzing you from the waist down. We performed three surgeries to remove the bullet shards and repair as much of the damage as possible. Your blood flow and reflex reactions have improved but we had no way of knowing if anything truly worked until you woke. A week has passed since we stopped inducing you, we were beginning to think you might not wake up.”

The rest of the conversation was a blur, medical terms floating heavy in the air of the room. Daunting, terrifying, life altering. You didn’t think you could handle another life altering event of this caliber. But it didn’t look like you had to traverse it alone. You teared up once the doctor left the room, offering to come back and talk to you once visiting hours were over, though she had mildly glared at both men as she said it. But knowing them both, they had been alternating staying the night to watch over you past the set hours that allowed for them to be present.

You had two wonderful men who were willing to do anything for you, one with a friend group who would follow his lead and the other who had given you so much already. You hoped it wouldn’t be too much, taking what they were willing to give.

“It’s a lot,” Taylor’s voice broke, his words spoken through eyes glittering with tears. His hands tight around yours as he leaned his forehead against yours, completely in your personal space. “But we’ve done somethin’ like this before and we can do it again. We can do it again.”

You could only nod, throat and voice still weak from weeks of disuse.

He walked closer to the side of the bed, the man’s large build shadowing over you in the dimmer setting of the lights you had requested. The full effect of them too bright for you eyes after being unconscious for so long. You reached out to him, urging him to sit atop it as best he could as you all but threw yourself at him. He let you, aware of Frankie standing close to the other side, eyes watering as he heard the cries that began to bubble up from you.

“I-I-“

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here. We’re both here.” Taylor murmured, as he wrapped his own arms around you to pull you close. He smelled like your apartment, a mix of faint buttercream and the rose perfume you favored all rolled into one comforting scent. His own masked by the time he had been in town. “Alfred was here too, but he had to be taken back for school. He sat with you every day for that first week and read to you. He was so worried about you, mami. He kept talking with you like he always does, hoping you would wake up and respond.”

Frankie excused himself, his phone beeping in his pocket and the sound of you crying too much for him to handle all at once. You watched him leave the room, his shadow visible through the blinds in the window looking into the room as he paced up and down the hallway just outside. His voice a low murmur as he spoke with whoever had been trying to contact him.

“I didn’t mean to scare him…or you. I’m so sorry, that call – it must’ve been so terrifying.” You hiccupped into his chest, unable to stop the tears and emotions from flowing all at once, overwhelmed and completely at a loss of how to respond to anything at the moment.

Hushed words eradicated any ill thoughts you were having of yourself, comforting in their genuine indication. He assured you he had been able to handle it, that he was able to handle the hard things that came along with being bonded with someone for life, for knowing someone for so long. For having already done something similar before. But yeah, that it had been scary but Frankie had been as detailed and direct as he needed to be, levelheaded in his description of what had happened and what immediately happened afterwards.

Frankie came up to you both as he entered back into the room, a hand on both your shoulders to get your equal attention. You looked up at him with watery eyes, feeling so proud of how everyone was trying to keep it together for you but guilty at the same time since it had been something they had been dealing with for weeks now.

“That was the airline, they need someone to come in and take over a few tours for double pay. I wouldn’t normally turn them down and I will if you need me here. You’re awake now and I want to be here with you.”

“Y-you should go, if you want to, if you need to.” Scratchy words spoken with what little conviction you could muster. He was conflicted, worried about making the wrong decision.

“You need me here.” He didn’t argue so much as read the thoughts in your mind as clearly as if you had displayed for him to see. “You want me here.”

“Yes, but….money is money, Frankie. For your house, for your daughter, for everything. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I’m gonna run and get a coffee before you head out, I’ll stay the night, okay?” Taylor announced before he pressed a kiss to your temple and stood. Leaving you and Frankie truly alone for the first time since you woke up. You reached out to the man, gripping his open flannel shirt and lightly pulling him toward you. But he didn’t budge, his feet stable on the ground and his back not leaning to meet you. He wasn’t looking quite at you, but just beyond you. His eyes a little distant.

“I’m sorry.” Pulling your hands back to rest in your lap, you began to twiddle your fingers, unsure of what to do, unsure of why he was acting so weird and distant. Maybe he was just exhausted, mentally wiped out from waiting and waiting for you to wake up. Maybe…he was rethinking everything he’s once promised you…

“Hey, no, you don’t have to be sorry.” His eyes caught your own, his hands reaching out to hold your own as he kneeled down to be at your eye level. Emotions you couldn’t read swirling behind them. “I just- It’s just… you’re awake. And I’m so scared I’m going to open my eyes or wake up and you’ll still be unconscious…or passed.”

“I am awake.” You insisted, worried about this being an elaborate dream all the same. Some made up fantasy your brain concocted in its last moments and none of it was real, that you weren’t real anymore.

“I want to stay,” He pleaded with you, desperate for you to understand how hard it is for him to make the decision to leave, to heed the call of an entire week’s worth of pay in just a few days. But he had a plan and he had to stick with it, it would be for the best in the long run.

“C-can you stay tomorrow?”

“Of course, sweet girl. I promise. I just- this is important. For the both of us. I swear.”

“I believe you, Frankie. I love you.” You lifted your intertwined hands and kissed his knuckles. He repeated the words before he shrugged his jacket on and bid you goodnight. He didn’t kiss you back, instead squeezing your hands twice in farewell.

“Hermosa, I-I just-“ Frankie hung his head, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees the next evening.

He had gone home to change and get a little sleep after a hectic two days of back to back tours. A touch restful now that he knew you were awake, but still fleeting. His thoughts had been a jumble as his mind flashed your unconscious form across the backs of his eyelids. Bleeding, hyperventilating, being rushed into emergency surgery not once but three times. Of you completely still save for the slight rise and fall of your chest laid out in the hospital bed. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or diminish anything but- just thank you.”

“You saved her, at such a great risk to yourself. But you did, you saved my little girl when I couldn’t. I have endless love and admiration for you, querida. Please, I am here for you. I will help you with whatever you need or want. And not just because of this, but…but until you don’t want that anymore. You’ve got me, sweet girl. I promise.”

The conviction in his tone was strong despite the way his words were pushed out with deep breaths, trying to keep his composure. His shoulders were quaking with the effort he was holding back another wave of tears. Too many emotions for him to handle since the second you had rushed in front of that gun aimed at his daughter.

“Come here,” You softly compelled him, trying to shuffle atop the bed. Feeling still numb below the tops of your thighs, only some control over your legs that you were trying not to dissect. Going over your charts and test results had helped a little, compartmentalizing that it was happening to you and mind working to help solve and reason the things you read as if it was a patient of your own. Work. And a lot of it was ahead of you.

Frankie shuffled up and out of his shoes, choosing to urge you forward softly so he could be the one resting against the back of the angled bed. He helped to situate you against his chest, his arms coming around you in a warm embrace, the smell of his cologne and body wash puffing up and surrounding you in a comforting way. He pressed kisses to the crown of your head, nose shuffling in your hair and making you sigh out at the human contact.

“I would do it again, in a heartbeat. Even knowing what would happen.”

“Te amo. Te tango mucho amor ti, querida.” He whispered hoarsely in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. All you could do was repeat the words to him, meaning them with everything in your very being. Bringing his hands up to rest over your heart, palms flat over your chest, you both just laid there soaking up each other’s company.

His thoughts took over as you felt your breathing even, reaching over to silence the television that had been playing quietly in the corner where it was installed high on the wall.

‘Everything was so loud, a cacophony of too sharp frequencies grating on his ears as he watched the way your body fell to the ground. The man with the gun fleeing from the scene as soon as the gun had fired, steps heavy as he ran as fast as he could. Pope taking off immediately after him, his own gun pulled from the holster attached to his belt. Permission to carry it around off the clock from one of the local military bases where he worked as a freelance advisor.

Frankie was rushing too, toward you. Toward his daughter. Toward you both. There was a pool of blood forming beneath you, having twisted yourself to prevent from falling on top of Alexia’s smaller frame. She was kneeling beside you, tears running down her cheeks as you reached up to cup her face. A pinched expression on your features and blood blooming dark low on your front. His little girl turned to him as he crashed to his knees behind her and brought her in a crushing embrace to his chest, hearing the hum of the crowd that had begun to form all around.

Shouts to call 911 and responses that more than one person was already speaking with officers, telling them of what had just happened.

She begged him to help you.

She begged him to save you.

Shouting at him in her small voice that she loved you and she knew he loved you too.

She buried her face in his chest as he leaned forward to try and get your eyes to focus on him, but you were barely able to keep them open. Lashes fluttering as your breath became labored. He was speaking, words falling from him as he fell back on years of training. Pinging questions off one after the other, getting no response from you for even one. Unresponsive in the worst way, body completely laid out before him and eyes now completely closed. You could’ve been sleeping, as you were still for a fleeting moment.

But then you started to convulse, body fighting against the bullets that had landed deep in your body. He tried to tilt your head toward him, to avoid you biting on your tongue or choking on your own breath.

A new set of hands was taking over, gently ushering him away as paramedics appeared on the scene.

He could only hold tight to his sobbing daughter as he watched the two technicians tend to you. Your chest ceasing heaving at an alarming rate, your breath almost rattling as your lungs desperately tried to keep working.

Blinking rapidly, Frankie focused his eyes on his hands curled over the controls in front of him. He was flying, the landscape of the city and surrounding greenery, the ocean all laid out before him. He was okay, you were okay. Alexia was okay.

He was at work. He was okay.

His fingers twitched at the clueless ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahh’s’ of the tourists clamoring for views outside the windows. Their voices coming in clear through the headsets they wore to match his own. Completely in their own world and no problems plaguing them. Carefree.

He was at work. He wasn’t okay.

He should’ve stayed with you.

He should’ve turned down the offer.

But he had run at the first opportunity. Unable to stop the events from replaying in his mind on a loop.

Preventing him from sleeping, preventing him from being able to look at you half the time. Seeing you as you had looked right after the attack, seeing you as they rushed you onto the ambulance, seeing you as your chest went completely still once loaded up. The way your body didn’t respond to the attempts of resuscitation.

Mind torturing him by projecting you laid out in an open coffin. Copper hair resting around your lifeless frame, beautiful face covered in the wrong shade of makeup, hiding the freckles that dotted your face from him. Forever closed eyelids hiding your bright eyes from him. Black dress hiding your soft skin from his twitching fingers, itching to trace the delicate ink that decorated your skin. A masterpiece taken from him in a cruel twist of fate.

Shaking his head minutely, he shoved the fake notions out of his head and pivoted the helicopter toward the coast. Following and announcing the route for the tour that the people sat behind him had requested.

He was at work and he didn’t think he’d ever be okay again. But he would try for you, because you were awake and waiting for him to return to you.

He pulled his sunglasses from where the frames were hanging from his collar and covered his reddening eyes.’

“Come on, two more steps and we’re home free.” The physical therapist was encouraging in the most grating of ways. Your normally polite and civil personality being shattered by the turn of events your life had taken. It was a lot of work now, but it had been a lot of work to initially discover that you had only minimal feeling and control over your lower half. Hips sore no matter how much medicine was added to your IV, legs numb and unresponsive more often than not.

But that didn’t stop the doctor from putting you on a physical therapy track of two appointments per week. Something you had thought was a lot right off the bat but not wanting to argue. Just as angered by the quick pace as you were determined to stick to it. It was the second week since waking up, discharge looming like a storm over the horizon, visible but not yet tangible.

There had been talk about Taylor renting a home to move into for the duration of your recovery. His son being taken care of by his co-parent back home with school having started. But Frankie had offered up his own home, a flush to his caramel skin as he did so. Not having wanted to ask you to move in under such dire circumstances. But he would be lying if he said the thought of offering you a space in his home hadn’t been on his mind lately.

Taylor had offered to split his time between Frankie’s and the apartment above the shop. An outpouring of love from the community delivered to the shop and hospital in overwhelmingly equal parts. Baskets of treats, flowers, cards, vouchers for services from all around the city and local vendors. Everything was being toted back between the two spaces that were now yours.

Lex indulging in the treats as she sat with you in the afternoons after school. Homework laid out before her atop the bed as you helped her with her math and writing. Different people picking her up while Frankie returned to work, determined to put in as many hours before he took two whole weeks off to help you transition to being home once you were discharged.

But right now, you were stood on shaking legs, arms braced heavily on the bars on either side of you as you stood between the set up of the parallel bars. Sweat dripping from your hair thrown up in a haphazard bun, skin sallow from the medication you were on a strict rotation of. You had forgone shoes, insistent that you wanted to be able to feel anything should it come back to you while practicing.

Your arms were shaking, holding up the entirety of your body weight on them, muscles straining and tattoos looking distorted with the flex of them. With a huff, you shifted your hips, right leg lifting slightly and managed to shuffle it about a foot before placing your foot down flat and tipping forward to even your weight with the new stance.

“Alright, you did it!” The nurse was a kindly young man, his arms hovering behind you as he waited for you to tap out. But you sucked in a deep breath and concentrated. Shifting your left foot ahead in the same manner before a spike of pain shot up from the arch of it as you settled it flat on the mat.

“Fuck! Okay, okay, I’m out. That’s all I got.” You wavered, arms shaking and legs beginning to tingle where you could feel them.

“That’s okay, you did good today. Four steps is progress.” The nurse helped you, gathering your form in his arms and lifting to get the pressure off your aching shoulders.

Santi was in the room when you were wheeled back, no sign of Taylor or Frankie. He informed you that they were both taking care of something for you which made you feel a little uneasy that they hadn’t told you themselves the night before that they wouldn’t be in to see you today. The nurse let the man take over with helping you get back into the bed, knowing you’d rather it be someone who you knew handling you for something a little more intimate of a move.

The man’s broad shoulders tensed as he supported your nearly dead weight, completely at a loss of energy from the days activities.

“Did they say where they were going?” You inquired, voice soft as you nuzzled your face into the man’s neck. He smelled so good and you were just in a very physically affectionate mood in wake of not getting any direct attention from Frankie in the way you were too hesitant to ask for.

“Mante, you know I would tell you if I knew, but they were like school boys, shuffling their feet and avoiding eye contact. I’m sure it’s just a surprise for you, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

You were quiet for a moment, allowing the man to situate your aching legs as best he could and covering you up with the blankets that had been brought from your apartment. He busied himself with getting a take out bag unpacked and placing containers over the collapsable table attached to the bed for you. A cup of coffee that smelled of caramel and foamed milk pressed gently into your reaching hands. He was so diligent, the soft curls of his graying hair falling over his forehead as he focused. When everything was set up, he settled into the chair beside the bed with his own container and began to dig in.

But you were still, only a sip taken from the hot coffee handed to you.

“Santi…”

“What is it, hermosa?” He looked up from his food, utensils loaded up and a bite halfway to his lips. “I get the wrong thing?”

“No,” A small smile offered to him as your heart fluttered in your chest, unsure of how to even broach the concerns that were crashing over you in overwhelming waves. “No, this is great. Thank you.”

The man watched you, eyes scanning your face as you averted your eyes. He let out a quiet sigh and set down his utensils completely, asking you to tell him what was really on your mind.

“Frankie…he, um, he-“ You felt like a complete idiot as your face heated up, tears welling in your eyes unbidden. Foolish question, it was such a foolish thing to be worried about when the man’s words were nothing but reassuring and loving. “Why won’t he kiss me, Santi?”

“Is that what you need right now?”

You warbled out an affirmative. Feeling for all the world like a pathetic lovesick fool even surrounded by everyone who you could possibly need in your life right now, everyone working together to help you in any way possible.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

A shake of your head was all the answer you could muster up.

“He’s probably just trying to respect you, not wanting to put pressure on you to be that way with him if you’re too overwhelmed.” Santi went on to explain that his best friend had trouble with stuff like this, showing his affection and feelings in wake of traumatic events.

That you should try not to worry too much, though he knew that was easier said than done. To not take it personally, but he admitted to knowing that might be hard to do as well, everything so much at the moment. He reminded you that you could reach out to you with anything at any time. He would try his best to be there for you in any way that he could. Even jokingly offering to pepper kisses over your face and approaching you with overly pursed lips until you erupted into a laughing fit at how ridiculous he looked as he loomed closer. He sealed the conversation with a genuine press of his lips to the corner of your mouth, his hands cradling your face in their warmth before he moved back to his seat and ordered you to eat.

Across town, Taylor and Frankie had a similar conversation as a bell dinged above them where it was nestled in the doorway to a shop front. The two men determined to surprise you with something that Frankie had quietly brought up one night following your first rush into emergency surgery. An approval of sorts he had been seeking after was granted instantaneously with a smile and words of encouragement from the only other man he felt like he could share the conversation with at the moment.  

“Discharge papers should be processed by end of day, looks like you’ll be spending the night in your own bed.” The doctor offered you a small smile. She had been worried about having you under her care when she found out you were a once trained medical technician, knowing how bad of a patient she was when sick herself. But you had surprised her, not talking over her or voicing opinions on what needed to be done. It had been another week, progress made in physical therapy.

You were able to walk the length of the parallel bars, slowly and with a lot of huffing and puffing. But it cleared you for outpatient treatment. The feeling in your legs was spotty, coming to you mostly in the mornings when you first woke up and at the end of the day after resting for a few hours. Something she was only mildly worried about, muscle atrophy from being unconscious for so long lingering even now.

But she had been confident that the feeling would come back completely, though she was honest when she said she was worried about numbness flaring up.

That’s how you found yourself seated in the passenger seat of Frankie’s truck as he pulled into the drive of his house. He was waiting for the garage to open, in order to make it easier for you to walk straight into the laundry room instead of having to attempt to tackle the stairs to the front door. Everyone would be over tomorrow, to celebrate your release. Giving you a free night to settle in and mentally deal with the shift in environments. Lex would be at her grandparents so Frankie could focus on getting you settled.

“One moment, just…want to get something set up before I help you out, okay?” His earnest gaze widened his beautiful eyes, watching you and making sure you were alright to be left alone for a moment. He was through the door and back in the garage in a matter of minutes, a shy smile aimed at you as he helped you down and got a walked ready for you. It had a cushioned seat in the middle, in case you needed to take any breaks when trying to move about. Something you wanted to argue but didn’t have a good one against.

You felt…weird. Having to rely on him so much, but extremely grateful that he was willing to. You’d seen friendships and relationships fall apart with this much stress and similar situations. Both as a professional and a civilian, as a friend. You only hoped this wouldn’t be one of the last things he did for you before telling you it was too much, that you were too much. Love could only encompass so much before it wasn’t enough to hold two individuals together.

Melancholic and depressive thoughts abundant as you tried to come to terms with what the near future would hold for an unknowable amount of time. There was no timeline with things like this and that’s what worried you the most. What if you had flares of numbness for the rest of your life, what if he began to see you as a burden, as work he had to come back to after doing his shifts at the mechanics and his flying tours. What if all your progress was meaningless and you woke up one day with no feeling at all?

He had hushed you on more than one occasion with soft words, promises he wouldn’t do that. Promises that he was yours, that you were his, that you were in this together. But doubt crept in regardless. Even more so in the realization that he hadn’t wanted to kiss you. He was quick to dodge your advances, placing placating touches of his lips to your hair instead; of pulling you tighter to his body instead. Almost as if he was hesitant to show you affection in that way and it was hard to handle when all you wanted was that type of comfort from the man you loved so completely.

His hands were warm as he supported your weight, but he didn’t shift you down to the ground completely, instead he pulled you flush against him. Your own arms tightened around his neck, feet barely touching the ground as he ducked his head to kiss you fully for the first time since you woke up in that hospital bed. You melted into him even more, welcoming his lips against yours reverently, desperately.

The plush give of them against your own feeling like a true welcome home.

Shifting your hands up into his soft hair, you knocked the cap clear of his head as you parted your lips for him. He held you tight, not risking you putting too much weight on your own feet for even a second as he kissed you again and again, lips meeting yours in a dizzying display of his unfettered affection. Pulling at his curls, you pivoted his head to deepen another kiss, desperate for his touch and his taste. He groaned into your mouth, pulling back slightly to rest his forehead against yours. You opened your eyes slowly, watching the way his face was completely relaxed. The lines of his age smoothed out slightly as he moved to peck one last kiss to your slick lips.

He had set the table up before picking you up, at home during the day as he had received your hopeful text about the paperwork this morning. But he had run inside to pull everything from where it was keeping warm in the oven, lighting twin tapers set in the middle of the dining table. You tried to hide the squeal of surprise as he lifted you up completely, choosing to carry you bridal style over the threshold of the house and through the laundry room and into the kitchen.

“Frankie, you didn’t have to do all this.” You placed a kiss to his cheek as he carefully set you down into a chair, making sure your legs were situated how you wanted them. “I woulda been happy with a fast-food drive thru, you know that.”

“I know, but I wanted to do something special for you.” He moved over to the closest chair, settling down into it with a sigh. He looked nervous, you realized as you took in the dinner had had made before picking you up. One of your favorite dishes filling the kitchen with its tantalizing scent. The boys had snuck in food from time to time, but it had mostly been bland hospital food for a majority of the last three weeks.

Frankie cleared his throat, your eyes lifting from the items on the table and toward him.

In his hands was an emerald velvet box, open to reveal a simple gold band with a sparkling rhombus diamond in the middle.

Your lips parted, a gasp falling from them as your heart stuttered hard in your chest. Hands dropping the utensils you had just picked up clattered to the table and you stared across the table at him. At a complete loss for words as he nervously shifted in his seat and leaned closer toward you to take your hands in his own, the small box set down gently beside your plate. His hands were shaking slightly, his nerves obvious as he bared his soul to you with his next words.

“Sweet girl, I know things are going to be touch and go for a long while,” He took a deep breath, chest pulling the fabric of his shirt taut with the action. His tongue peaked between his lips, a habit you noticed when he had a lot on his mind, and he was trying to sort through everything. “But I don’t want you to worry about anything to do with us, with you and me. You have me, you have me until the moment you decide you don’t anymore. I hope you don’t ever change your mind because I’ve been gone on you since the second you aimed that glare in my direction all those months ago. Will- will you do the honor of marrying me?”

Tears welled up the longer you looked at him, his eyes so wide and open, his voice cradling you with his earnest words. All you could do was nod, voice caught in your throat.

He let out a deep exhale, pulling a giggle from you when he broke out into the widest, goofy smile you had seen on him yet. You mirrored him, lips pulling as you squeezed his hands and leaned forward to rest your forehead against them clasped together.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Fransisco. Of course.” You kissed the tops of his hands, one and then the other before you were pushing yourself up slightly, tentatively placing weight on your legs and surging forward to kiss him.

He only let you get away with one before he was standing from his seat and kneeling in front of you with the box in his hands. He carefully removed the ring from its spot nestled safely inside the velvet cushion and you held out your left hand for him. It took a second for him to place it securely on your ring finger, snug and perfect against your skin. It glittered in the candlelight and you felt a tear run down your cheek.

Frankie’s hands came up to cup your face, his lips connecting with yours as he chuckled breathlessly at having managed to pull out the surprise proposal. At your resounding yes. At the prospect of a concrete future with you.

“I love you so much, thank you for...for everything.”

“I love you too, you dork,” Your laugh sparkled against his parted lips. “I can’t believe you just thanked me for agreeing to marry you.”

“Well, you could’ve said no.”

“Not in a million years.”

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @tanzthompson @clevergirl74 @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @anoverwhelmingdin @jessthebaker @peppermintfury @for-a-longlongtime

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

[dreamcrush]

Kin Memory Related Asks

Be sure to specify what kin / comfort character / character in general the ask is for!

A memory on your mind currently

A memory from your biggest kin

A memory from someone you're currently shifting

A romantic memory

A memory with family / those you considered family

A memory with one of your friends

A memory with a partner / crush / qpp or similar

A memory with a pet

A memory that makes you happy

A memory that makes you sad

A memory that makes you really angry

A memory of home

A memory of something painful

A memory of something very happy / exciting

A memory of a love confession

A memory of a fight (physical or verbal)

A memory of a death (your own or someone else's)

A memory of a time you felt loved

A memory of something funny that makes you still laugh

A positive memory of (character) as (x)

A negative memory of (character) as (x)

Most recent memory

First memory you can recall as (x)

Who were your favorite people to be around / friends

Someone you wish you were closer to or knew better

Your interests/hobbies

Your partner(s) and something you loved about them

Any major canon divergences? (ex. roleswaps, plot point changes, etc.)

Any minor canon divergences? (ex. appearance differences, family, relationships, etc.)

Someone you didn't expect to kin and/or someone you knew you would kin immediately

Any current questioning kins and why haven't you kinfirmed them yet

How did you discover you were kin with (x)

How many canons do you have as (x)

Did you have any pets as (x)

How do you get memories? (ex. dreams, fanfiction, consuming source content, etc.)

Favorite moment from source

Least favorite moment from source

What was your gender/sexuality + pronouns

Gender/sexuality + pronouns of (character) in your canon as (x)

Did you have any neurodivergencies or disabilities

Neurodivergencies or disabilities of (character) in your canon as (x)

Favorite image of (kin/character)

Least favorite image of (kin/character)

Things now that remind you of (kin/character/source)?

Favorite location from source / your memories of source

Your favorite things as (x)

Your least favorite things / things you hated as (x)

Song / song lyrics that remind you of (kin/character)

Song / song lyrics that remind you of a comfort ship as (x)

Talk about anything you want! Fun facts, a memory you want to share, something important to you about your kinning

[artivessel]

a few questions to help alters figure out who they are and introduce themselves to others!

B A S I C

Name and nicknames?:

Do you feel older or younger? Age (range)?:

Sexuality? Types of attractions?:

How would you describe your gender and pronouns?:

Role:

Fragment or Alter?:

How would you describe your appearance? Drop faceclaims and picrews:

Human or non-human? Elaborate if you can:

What caused you to split?:

Music taste?:

Likes:

Dislikes:

Kins, relatable characters and sources:

Any media you enjoy?:

Favorite/Disliked food?:

Describe your personality:

Favorite colors and themes?:

Typology:

Do you relate to any mental illnesses?:

How do symptoms affect you?:

Are you safe?:

Other:

A L T E R

Any memories you’d like to mention?:

How much amnesia do you experience?:

What is the last thing you remember?:

Significant events you were part of:

Who did/do you interact with?:

Do you prefer to mask or would you like to meet others?:

Who would you like to meet?:

If you don’t want to, why?:

What are your thoughts on other parts?:

Do you have any connections with other parts?:

What do you think of other people in our life? Family, friends:

Do you have any specific triggers? Positive/negative:

What does dissociation feel like for you?:

How do you act in real life (when masking less)?:

How do you act online (when masking less)?:

P R E S E N T

What are you doing right now?:

What caused you to front?:

Do you have a memory of what happened?:

Are you speaking to anyone?:

How was the switch?:

[katyahina]

It is really interesting to speculate about the meaning of this.. Messengers are associated with the dreaming Hunters and the Dream, but what if those of them who are too far from the Dream are under a lot of strain and the image of the nice person that cared for them is just the only thing they can rely on?

^ In regards to Doll being a 'vessel' of Moon Presence in some regard, this reminds me of Crawlers, other Nightmare creatures! Their larger variants have multiple Messengers sticking out of their guts. I have a personal headcanon on them, but imagine: whereas Winter Lanterns imitate the Doll (and by doing so, Moon Presence), Crawlers are meant to imitate corpse of Kos with the ripped guts. Both are sort of mockery from the Great Ones. A sort of punishment maybe, because if Messengers are souls of the deceased, could Messengers crampled into Crawlers or Winter Lanterns be somehow "failed" spirits? Ones that are yet still to "atone", or, in the case of Moon Presence, ones not taking part in the cycle of the Hunt for one reason or another?

(Retranslation script I always use: ( x ) Internal filenames: ( x ))

Hunters of Hunters had reasons to believe in "proper" burial that further connected to the Hunter's Dream, and Winter Lanterns are referred to be 'failed' Messengers! It might be extention of that fucked up concept of people being cursed for not being properly buried in the eyes of whatever God.

Doll and Gehrman both have interesting connection with the Nightmare Realm, too! Gehrman, strangely, shares the cry with Orphan of Kos, but even if that's to be blamed on simple reuse of assets he still more strangely feels relief after OoK is freed! Whatever prompted that link but who is to tell that spiritual connection with a Great One he helped to torture would not guarantee his own negative emotions helped to give "shape" to Nightmare? It is a lot of power, and the Doll is probably a horrible memory. Maybe the blood and guts' on the dress of Winter Lanterns is a reflection of his pain, memory of an innocent person he trained to be a ruthless murderer, thus ruining that soft version of her and... it didn't end well for Maria, did it?

Alllllright, and before I devolved into a crying cat meme- Doll, strangely, is asleep sometimes, which a doll should not... need? Meanwhile, we find Maria asleep too. I've always loved the idea of their spiritual connection where when one is asleep another is awake, and vice-versa! Ideally, Maria would die and be "reborn" within the Doll, in a way. Could be a spiritual thing of latching onto an object that resembles you (Doll also has Maria's brooch, boots and ribbon but in her hat now ( x )). Or could be Moon Presence's way to further "glorify" her as one of the greatest Hunters. Because, she is Flora of the Hunt. In any case, Kos said no, so Maria's soul is in two states... Winter Lanterns are amalgamation of the two, as well - a gentle singing woman in a dress, but also this dress is bloodied and the woman is aggressive, and don't forget Kin metamorphosis because both Maria and the Doll are close to Eldrich Horrors now!

I don't have much to elaborate on other options as they are much more self-explanatory! Paleblood Hunter wakes up without memories, so Doll could be the most striking person for them, but who is to tell other people would not see THEIR comfort person terribly distorted in Winter Lanterns' place? My personal opinion though is that heads of melted Messengers is a crucial part here.. but I think ALL variants could work so well that seeking 'logical' appeal is pointless ;-; It boils down to what feels more appealing, I suppose..

[neon-sharktank]

0:57───ㅇ───── 2:57

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Everybody Talks - Neon Trees

My name is Shell, but call me Viktor!

Age range bodily is 14-16!

My pronouns are He/They/Xe/H3/Bro/Dude/Blank/Skate/Rev/Swag/Shark/🎶/‼/Gill/🦈/Tune/Bite/🛹/Rad/Goof/Cool

(hey! if xenos are hard He/They/Xe works!!)

𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬!! -

Incredibox (Incredibros included!)

Eddsworld

Minecraft

Death’s Door (Underrated Indie Game)

Pokemon

WildCraft: Animal Sim

Animal Jam

DNI -

ANTI-KIN, ANTI-XENOGENDER, ENDOGENIC SYS + SUPPORTERS, FAKECLAIMERS, PROSHIPPERS. (Very big DNI)

BYI -

I am autistic, with ADHD and Anxiety. Tone tags are very much needed for me. I will be very bombastic with asks and such!

Stuff to expect -

Kin Art!

Mem Talk!

Media Talk!

Screenshots from funny discord moments!

Tags -

#underwater skate park (General Chatting)

#sketchbook doodles (Art)

#shark attack (Ranting/Neg Ranting)

#returning home (Memories)

#aquarium date (S/O + F/O posting)

#walking through san rei (Talking abt canon)

I think that's all I have to mark down for everyone! See y'all on the flip side! :P

[rudywashere]

MARI ANALYSIS (sorta)

NOTE: these are just my personal thoughts about mari’s personality and flaws and most of the proves and reasons i give and show are mostly based off my own interpretation of mari + me projecting myself because she’s a heavykin of mine whagwjswvskegskshq most of the points may sound squishy too because i just copied and pasted everything here while i was talking to my friend at that time

!!!!! AND OBVIOUSLY THERES GONNA BE SPOILERS OF OMORI!!!!!

So many people know and love mari for being the perfect older sister of sunny and overall an older sisterly figure to the rest of the group (except hero of course hahsga) and i am one of those people that love her because of it. despite me heavy kinning her i do have an issue with her character that is kinda being left out whenever people talk abt mari: she barely has any flaws

and whenever the group talked about mari they mostly discussed how perfect she was and how she was literally an angel because of how sweet she is!!! like don’t get me wrong obviously when someone you loved so much dies you can’t think of any negative traits about the person who passed away. you just constantly think about the positive memories you’ve shared with that person. It’s just impossible to think about the negative traits about a beloved one who passed away.

But still even as a mari kinnie myself it kind of bothered me how no one talked about her flaws and such. We all just saw mari as someone who is an older sisterly figure and how perfect she is. The closest we’ve gotten to a flaw of Mari is this

Mari wants to be so perfect that she gets disappointed so quickly when something isn’t good enough for her or doesn’t go according to her plan. That’s it. And whenever people talk about her flaw they mostly associate it with when Mari and Sunny had the fight because Sunny was too pressured thanks to Mari’s perfectionism

PLEASE HOLD ON TO ME IVE GOT A POINT!! Like mari cares ALOT that she HAS to be presented in a perfect manner or else she’ll be unsatisfied. Remember when mari took extra classes to be fully prepared for college??

She did all of it because she really wants to be fully prepared for college. okay now here comes the copy and paste stuff HAVSHAH

If you think abt the college part again mari chose to do these extra classes to be 100% prepared for college and have a perfect start for it because she fears that if she isn’t prepared enough for college, she would fail and failing would not fit her at all because she wants people to see her as a person who can deal with anything and is very independent. It fits to her “perfect status”. So i can see whenever something happens that could even mess some small things up she’ll get frustrated IMMEDIATELY and tries to fix it by herself because Mari is someone who doesn’t want to rely on others. She wants to handle everything by herself.

Personally I think it all started when people started to rely on Mari (mostly the younger ones/the kids that aren’t hero) and start telling her they see her as a motherly/older sisterly figure and mari was so happy to hear it that she doesn’t want to disappoint everyone by failing. So to keep up that title so she will do her best for the sake of not disappointing people. It’s really important to her but also for her friends and Sunny because she cares about them so much.

You could think that Mari’s biggest fear is either the thought of failing itself or disappointing everyone else surrounding her. And I also think that Mari is someone who fears major changes too like MASSIVE changes.

She is someone who wants everyone and everything to stay happy and nice as it has always been. So even the smallest mistake could be horrifying to her and ruin everything, which is why she has to keep everything perfect and make sure everything stays exactly how it is right now. For the sake of her friends’ precious life.

I think the fear of major changes may had hit her SO HARD when she passed away because ever since she died the group had split up, Sunny didn’t leave his house for four entire years and almost everyone isn’t exactly how they used to be. (Aubrey becoming an aggressive person with lots of built up anger or Hero becoming extremely lonely and depressed, having no real desire to keep up)

And because Mari doesn’t want to rely on others and instead lets everyone else rely on her, she doesn’t want to blame anyone for anything that has happened. I remember one specific scene where Sunny looked around in his house and there was some dialogue to a vase that was something like: “A replacement of the vase you have accidentally broken. Mari took the blame for you and said she broke it.”

Hell Mari didn’t even want to blame Sunny for her own death. She instead blames herself. Because of one little mistake she has done. And that mistake was pushing her perfectionism way too hard for the sake of not wanting to disappoint everyone else especially at the upcoming recital. And to think she died while facing one of her worst fears is honestly extremely upsetting for me. Man

Like Mari tried everything from preventing to make something NOT happen only to happen in one of the worst ways possible. Pushing her perfectionism so hard to the of the mistakes she has caused leading her into her own death. And the major changes she has caused to everyone else but also to the friendgroup itself because of it.

I can see why she would take the whole blame for herself and not even dare to make Sunny feel guilty about it. Not only because he’s her little brother but also because she is someone who wants to be responsible. And someone who didn’t want to disappoint everyone else.

PHEWWWWWW

TO SUM IT UP mari is someone who fears failure, little mistakes and especially major changes and her death had made her face those fears. and it’s all thanks to her wanting to be perfect and a reliable, responsible person who’d do anything to make the friend group stay together!!! I really wish omocat wouldve shown more of her flaws in the game and show her “not perfect” nature too!! and her friends would still love her even though she can’t stay perfect forever!!! but she’d still be very very nervous about it!!! again that could be mostly me projecting myself onto her because i heavykin her HAVSGAHSHAH anyways uhmmm if you have read all of it im gonna be SOOO HAPPY ABOUT IT AYAYAYAYA and if not that’s fine too!!’ :D

take care and stay healthy!!!! <333

[fictive-culture]

Was gonna make this a fictive culture is post to queue but then decided I wanted to make a long thing tw: anti endo mention

Sometimes fictive culture or even just Introject culture is something negative happening related to the source and headmates not showing up till after the bad feeling subside by time

By this I mean that and I don't talk about this often but when we first realized we were a system we were eventually presented with telling our friends, sure there is always the option of not telling they aren't owed that information but for better or worse we hate being friends with people that don't know? We hate hiding ourselves and not being able to be friends with people as individuals rather than a collective. We were horrified and while it went well for the most part, the system I already knew was thankfully supportive of endos and another friend even shot back with a same! There was one friend that wasn't supportive a singlet that was firmly anti endo and one of my best friends at the time. We met on a kin server both being tf2 kin though after realizing we were a system those tf2 kins were for sure not kins. We were both huge fans and would create things for each other fanart, writing. It hurt a lot losing them and even if we didn't have solid proof we knew we had tf2 headmates could feel them even if we couldn't interact with them. It's been nearly two years since then, and they fronted for the first time since learning we were a system in September of last year just a few months ago and we were ecstatic. Just felt like a sign we were healing and we were getting truly comfortable in our shared reality and it felt so nice knowing they weren't trapped any longer we have names and faces to people we couldn't reach for so long and it makes us genuinely so happy to see them on our sp and see their chat messages we can also look at tf2 content without being sad anymore? We can enjoy something we lost for a really long time and I don't know I just wanted to share that with y'all? Things hurt but it lessens over time, if you lost a joy you may be able to enjoy it again one day, if you are worried about a headmate they may return to you one day, if you are that headmate from a source the body has bad memories of know that you will still be missed that you are still wanted and your sysmates will smile and cry and hug you if you returned from disappearing. Sometimes we still miss them, especially one of our tf2 crewmates but we are all much happier knowing they aren't in our life and we aren't trying to fit into their box of what is and isn't okay. Even if we did end up being mostly traumagenic traumaendo the endo part is still so important to us and we and all of you deserve people that accept and love those parts of you too.

[dwarvenbash]

Dwarf Longbeards!

Definitely one of my top 3 favorite Dwarf units in Warhammer. I tried my hardest to match the feel of the excellent 6th edition designs by the legendary sculptor Colin Dixon as pictured in the bottom-most picture (the standard bearer in the center-left has been promoted to a Runelord), but I have quite a few quibbles with the newer plastic kit.

Even so, while my take on these old fogeys could maybe do with a couple additions to fill some gaps, I'd like to think I preserved some of that grumpy character to help them fit in with the rest of the unit!

As promised though, more complaining under the cut...

Now before I dive too deep into a screed of negativity, I'll gush a bit about the aforementioned 6th edition sculpts.

Colin Dixon is responsible for some of the best Warhammer Dwarf designs in my opinion, and absolutely nails all the elements that make them stand out from their other more generic fantasy equivalents. They are loaded to the whiskers with small details, from the iconic angular "ancestor" detailing of simplified dwarven faces on their weapons and armor, to accessories from beer steins to smoking pipes to rings on their fingers. Each miniature tells a story, and for these Longbeards especially it's like they're carrying a long lineage of heirlooms and history with them into battle!

One of the greatest parts of Colin's sculpts however in my opinion are how he poses his dwarfs. An essential element that seperated old Warhammer Dwarf designs from others were how short their legs were. Most of the time, a Dwarf's boots were all you could see on a miniature, the rest obscured by long-hanging chainmail or beard hair. While this did a great job of helping them have a distinct look, it also meant it could be hard getting more dynamic and characterful poses out of them; not so for these Longbeards, however! Unlike their more follicle-challenged kin, these old Dwarfs are not shown charging into the fray, hopped up on adrenaline. This is not their first battle, and you're sure to hear them mutter something about how that "back in their day" the orcs were nastier, and the ale tasted better, to boot! So to reflect this, they are posed at ease, resting on their great weapons like walking sticks, unimpressed, just waiting for the enemy to come to them.

Now, much like in the Dwarfen kingdoms of Warhammer, the new-fangled miniature designing ways somewhat pale in comparison to the old masterworks, which brings us to the new Longbeard model...

I'm not going to sugarcoat it; in my opinion, this is a terribly designed kit. The eclectic choice of colors here isn't doing this promotional image any favors, but the problems run a lot deeper than that. Designed to pull double duty as both Hammerers and Longbeards, this 8th edition kit saps all the uniqueness and character from both unit types in order to kill two proverbial Dwarfs with one stone. The kit is basically mono-pose: the head slots into the body in a very specific way, and the ball joint sockets for the arms might as well be for show. Jamming two different unit types into one kit also means there is no room for any interesting accessories or fun bits like (nearly) every other Dwarf kit has; there are only extra heads or weapons from the unit you weren't building in the first place, which in my opinion, have different enough aesthetics to warrant two separate designs.

Beyond the kit itself, though, the design you are left with after you put it together (if you follow the instructions) is egregious. Most glaring is the model's scale: these Dwarfs are for some reason far more bulky than any of their brethren, so much so that it's a challenge trying to rank these guys up on 20mm bases! (These 8th edition models I suspect are one of the reasons TOW moved their bases up 5mm) Their stupidly bulky armor, too, is bedazzled with this bizarre flowing curly-cue ornamentation that looks more like elven handiwork than anything Dwarf-crafted. Their helmets don't even have horns of any kind like the old designs, opting instead for an odd football helmet-esque look with these orbs on each side that I absolutely despise.

The worst offender might be the model's pose. While it might not be as bad when they are built with hand weapons, the great weapon pose has absolutely no character or energy behind it. I assume the idea is that they are supposed to be mid-march, but they look like they have about as much agency and personality as a chess piece. Embarrassingly, most of the Longbeard head option's beards barely even touch the ground! The one requirement to make this unit recognizable as what it is supposed to be, and they could barely manage that.

I will say the Longbeard unit champion in this kit (pictured front and center in the above picture) does maintain some of that original repose and character by virtue of leaning on his shield and great weapon, and in order to salvage this kit I relied heavily on these bits for my own Longbeards, which you may be able to spot in the initial photos.

That and some old reliable bits from the 4th edition Dwarf Warrior kit saved this build for me, but what stings the most about this new kit is that it is what two of the most iconic Dwarf units are stuck with looking like for most people for the foreseeable future. It has been kept in production solidly since 8th edition as an Age of Sigmar unit, and now with The Old World, it'll probably hold that course.

That being said, there's still a chance for some new developments with The Old World, as some units like the Dwarf Lord with Shieldbearers will almost certainly be getting new models. I'll keep my fingers crossed, but like any good Longbeard, I'll probably just keep sticking with the old stuff. :)

Thanks for reading this somewhat rambling editorial, I'll try to keep these constructive rather than full on devolve into GW-bashing all of the time (while that is quite fun...), but I had to devote some time to articulate why exactly I feel so strongly about this particular variety of Dwarf, as one does.

Not to end on a sad note, but Colin Dixon passed away quite recently, so if you have a moment, here is a very nice article memorializing his career as a painter and sculptor of miniatures: