#but whatever this is its more like... they fade completely and remembering them brings them back

[fish-and-forbear]

Feeling sooooooooo much better than we were before, oh my gosh....

So glad that I have as-needed anxiety medicine set aside and that I am in a really, really good place in my life to be figuring all of this out. I think if Grist + co. had appeared sooner, or I dealt with them completely on my own, it wouldn't have been so good.

It hasn't.... been perfect either, not by a long shot but. I'd like to think it's been good. I'd like to think we're doing a lot more good than bad. I sure hope so. c:>

Learning a LOT of things about ourselves in a VERY short span of time. But it's good. It's wonderful. I feel immense catharsis and I have some exciting things I want to do and work on. SO many drawings I want to make!!!!!!! I was already on a real art streak these past couple months and I can't wait to keep going!!!!!!!!!! Maybe I'll actually share it here, too? I'm not sure yet. I get nervous about posting my art because of art theft and such but. Maybe it would be nice to share some things.

And SO EXCITED for my friend to finish this text editor config of emacs for us!!!!! :D It was originally for my own worldbuilding, research, and dnd needs but I realized it would be the perfect outlet for the guys to get their thoughts/feelings out. I hope journaling will be good for them. Grist spent a couple hours today being very thoughtful and wrote the poem that I pinned.

I am so proud of him. I think it's beautiful but he's a little shy about it, which is...sort of sweet... c:>

He wants to keep writing and has enjoyed it so far. His head seems to feel very "clear" when he is really "in the zone" with writing and thinking, and I am. So impossibly proud of him for trusting himself to be kind, gentle, and wise. He IS all of those things, but he feels like he loses touch with that and it frustrates him. I understand. I was the same way, for most of my life. He just needs to realize that he gets to choose the kind of person he wants to be. He will learn how to hold his emotions and fears, feel the edges and pain and passionate feelings, and realize that he can put them down if he wants to. He feels like he can't, that in the moment he doesn't feel physically capable of being anything else than panicked/afraid/depressed/etc. and I understand that. But he will learn that he can choose what he wants to feel. He does not have to be trapped in a spiral. He absolutely HAS felt other emotions and I have SEEN how wickedly clever, funny, thoughtful, gentle, wise, and clear-headed he can be.

He just needs to learn how to put things down and when to restart. Just like I did. And continue to learn how to improve. c:>

I am hoping that having journaling and art will help him a lot. And making a clear, defined list of coping skills and grounding tools he can reference when he feels "stuck." Hoping it will get easier as I get more in control when he is stumbling, too. I think I "freeze" when he panics, because it is a trigger to me, which makes it worse.... but realizing that I can actually stop the "loop" and that we can absolutely take breaks whenever we want is extremely freeing. <3 <3

And honestly, it's not something I expected Grist, of all people, to be able to teach me.

It's something that I've struggled with my whole life and I know I am getting so much better at it, especially comparing myself to Grist who absolutely sucks at it... bless his heart... x3 But. Something about... having a name, body, person to these feelings makes me feel. So much more determined to help him, and help myself, help us realize these things. That we are allowed to let go of guilt, fear, thought loops. We can just put them down and come back later, or not at all. And if there's a real problem, we can fix it, because that's what we do as mature, responsible adults. c:>

And... he's also helped me realize that sometimes... sometimes people aren't ready for certain things, and that's okay.

That doesn't mean it wasn't special while it lasted. It is... definitely something that I've spent the past few years slowly processing, after the end of my own 8 year relationship with someone I loved (and love) very, very much. That person is still in my life, but in a different, healthier, more distanced way. That person has also helped me realize that...relationships come in many forms. And that is wonderful.

I don't know how to describe it.

Grist realizing that he doesn't need a sexual partnership/devotion to feel happy/fulfilled in the type of relationship he wants. Yes what he wants is... maybe a little stranger than a conventional friendship, but that makes sense for him. His people were...a special bunch. And the camaraderie that he shared with them resonates with me, as well. It's something I ALSO needed to hear, I think.

That we can pick and choose exactly what we want and need and that is wonderful. I don't know why we were both so foolish as to not see that that is alright to do.

And for me... being honest with myself, and those that I care about so deeply, that sometimes something can be impossibly beautiful, joyous, kind, gentle, and lifechanging (in a great way!) but also needs space to breathe. Sometimes that means a LOT of space. And that is okay. Sometimes that means regrouping later (like my friendship with my ex-partner, where we are now better friends in the past 3 years than the other 10 that we knew each other!!! c:) and sometimes maybe not. And that's okay too. c:>

I am just..... so relieved. So RELIEVED beyond words that we didn't ruin it. We really didn't. We're going to be okay and we did the right thing. I know we did. And even today, I am just.... so happy..... I am so happy with the way things are, right now... I am so so so so so so so so relieved. <3 <3 <3 <3

Even if it changes more, even if.... if Grist or Neumes can't talk someday and we aren't together anymore, or our friendships change or disappear entirely, or our memories fade and we forget, that's okay. It's going to be okay. Because these things still happened and it was beautiful and we were here. <3

#is there a word for the OPPOSITE of a scar? #scars imply... a healed injury that never fully leaves you #but what would you call something that is like a wonderful beautiful memory or experience that brightens your very soul #bittersweet as it may be #and likely disappears over time or changes entirely #but it is not a bad thing. it is not. its like.... the opposite of what scars do #scars fade and stop hurting as much but they can still ache. some days worse than others #but whatever this is its more like... they fade completely and remembering them brings them back #like stepping out a doorway into a warm spring day. like feeling new sunlight warm your body and feeling the breath in your lungs #as if you were breathing again for the first time #i dont know if there is a word for it #but i believe i know what that is now. #i hope this resonates with others too this phenomena i mean... i will try to do research and see if there is some obscure word that matches #that definition..... hopefully it resonates with others! c: #and if not. really im just glad i wrote this and will probably save this as one of my first system journal entries <3 #- Fisher #system journal #long post

[deathbystero]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 - 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 - 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐀𝐠𝐞 (𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟏𝟎) - 𝟐𝟎 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐧 - 𝟏𝟖𝟗𝟎

Dwayne grew up in the early 1900s in a little rundown orphanage on the outskirts of the Midwest. He had never known his parents, his only knowledge of them being that they were dead and that he could hardly remember them. Occasionally, he’d get flashbacks of the way his mother used to sing softly while combing out his hair before he went to bed, or the way his father would smile when he walked into a room, but it was nothing more than a flash of dull colours and fuzzy edges.

The orphanage was run by an elderly man and his wife, both of whom had been there as long as the structure itself and seemed so utterly worn down that Dwayne thought they may have been ghosts at first glance – a faded memory someone might have once known but now wasn’t sure of. Their faces were weathered from years of hardwork and their voices lacked life, bringing such an air of quiet desperation into the world around them that it felt suffocating in the same sense as a vacuum. 

They rarely spoke to the children within their care, unless it was to shout profanities at them, reprimanding them for any form of bad behaviour or disobedience. 

Dwayne hated all of it .He hated the feeling of being locked in and isolated from the outside world, hated not having friends, hated how everyone seemed so different even in the small confines of his temporary ‘home’. People would come and go, taking children with them as they pleased only for their place to be refilled by someone new the next morning.  All seemed to leave but Dwayne.  He was always left behind, overlooked or ignored, sometimes forgotten entirely. He had learned after the fourth or fifth time not to  take notice, to just accept the fact that he wouldn’t ever really belong.

Eventually days turned into months and months turned into years and on his 16th birthday, Dwayne fled the orphanage through the dormitory window. The night had been cool and crisp and the sky lit up with millions of twinkling stars that shone like fireflies, the moon casting its glow upon the ground below him.  His feet moved across the grassy lawn as he ran along, trying to get away from the place where he had spent most of his life, living in utter misery and amongst those who would never truly understand him. 

Squeezing through a gap in the fence, Dwayne escaped onto the streets that lay beyond and ran until his legs gave out beneath him and he dropped to his knees, the cold hard pavement digging sharply into his hands. The wind stung his face as if a thousand icy blades were cutting him open, sending a sharp wave of pain surging through every nerve ending. He gasped for breath, choking on the cold air, his lungs aching fiercely. With nowhere to go and no place to call home he was completely lost in the world, stranded, alone and completely at odds with himself.  

From then on, he lived in various places throughout America, never settling and constantly on the move, working in whichever places would take him and finding refuge in whatever shelter he found. He spent most of his non-working days hiding out in local libraries, reading as many books as he could before being forced to move on to another town. It was a slow and tiring system, but one he had come to grow fond of, and one which provided a much needed distraction from his own thoughts. It had given him something tangible and grounded and allowed him to keep a clear head as he wandered. Sometimes, he would stuff the odd book under his jacket, taking it with him as he travelled, both as a reminder and as a means to escape reality. 

This went on for around four more years until, one day in late August in a small city in South Carolina, Dwayne found himself hiding in a back alleyway, his body pressed against the worn brick wall in order to prevent anyone who came past spotting him. He had been caught shop-lifting, having been unable to make enough money to buy food for himself in between jobs. He felt guilty but couldn't find the energy within himself to feel any shame.  He'd stolen everything he could find in an effort to try and live. If it didn't work, it didn't work, what did it matter?

Dwayne stayed hidden until the sun set and darkness overtook the city, the streetlamps flickering to life about him. The moonlight glowed faintly over the concrete walls and asphalt roads, casting everything in a gentle, ghostly haze. It cast shadows over Dwayne as well, creating the illusion of looming, faceless figures creeping towards him, ready to strike. He shuddered slightly and straightened up, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. There was no need for fear here. No danger. Not anymore, anyway. It was over. He had won.

He stood, slowly stepping out from his hiding place and scanning his surroundings for the best course of action. The streets were deserted and eerily silent, everybody having fled to the comfort of their homes the minute darkness fell. 

He made his way across the street to the park, careful not to draw attention to himself by meandering too close to the lighted windows, sticking to the safety of the shadows. He crossed the street cautiously, eyes searching for any sign of danger before coming to a halt in front of the fountain in the middle of the large space.  There was no sign of movement other than the slight flapping of wings and the soft sound of the rushing water as it swirled through the channels, creating gentle ripples. Dwayne glanced up, eyes scanning the area for any threats, but nothing was there - he was alone. 

He took a deep breath and sat upon the ledge, eyes slipping shut as he revelled in the almost silence. 

When he reopened his eyes, however, he was no longer sitting alone. Dwayne blinked, surprised. He hadn’t heard footsteps approaching him, but somehow they had for a figure stood silently beside him, gazing up at the fountain intently. They didn’t look at Dwayne as they spoke, voice smooth as silk and  carrying a low, resonant quality. 

“Nice night to be wandering, isn’t it?” The words were spoken in a hushed tone, a hint of amusement in them, but also something else Dwayne couldn’t place. The stranger turned, his face illuminated by the  silver light that shone off the surface of the water, highlighting sharp cheekbones, steely eyes and lips that curled up slightly at the corners. His clothes were dark; black slacks, black jacket, as if he were nothing but a shadow. Yet, Dwayne sensed that there was a power radiating off him, that this man was anything but human. 

“What do you want?” Dwayne asked simply, his mouth dry and his heart beating rapidly. The stranger raised his eyebrows, a strand of blonde hair falling limply across his forehead, his expression one of pure amusement. 

“Bold of you to assume I'm after something." A faint laugh sounded from his mouth before fading away. “But I suppose, in a way, I am.”  His eyes flickered downwards for a moment, his expression turning sombre. “I assume you're here alone.” 

Dwayne nodded slowly, eyes darting about him. “I am. What does it matter?” 

There was another faint laugh, this one lighter and warmer, like a summer breeze rustling leaves and breaking branches.  “It doesn’t, really. But I must admit that I was hoping for company, that is, if you would be willing to share.”

“Company, huh…” Dwayne paused. The idea didn't repulse him; he had been alone since he had left the orphanage, speaking hardly a word to anyone, save the people who had taken pity on him and given him a job. “What makes you think that I’ll be good company?” 

A small smirk played around the corner of the stranger's lips.  “Oh, I know you will be.” 

A pause followed that statement as both men regarded each other silently, neither quite able to tear their gaze away from the other. Then, the blonde stuck out his hand, offering it to Dwayne. “The names David.” 

Dwayne looked at David’s outstretched hand for several long moments as he struggled for some semblance of an answer as to what the hell to do. Eventually, he reached out with his own hand, hesitantly taking the offered appendage in his own. “Dwayne.” He supplied and David smiled even wider.

“Well, Dwayne, I can tell that we’re going to make great friends.” 

Dwayne laughed despite himself.  “Yes, maybe so.”

That night, Dwayne agreed to join David for eternity, becoming the second member of Max's family.

A/N - Man, this sucked. I don't know what I was going for here but you know, it is what it is. Once again, this is my own take on things; none of this is canon in any way, shape, or form and is simply a silly little thing I came up with over the x-mas break.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys imagine #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys headcanon #this is my own take so please dont come for me

[ghost-bxrd]

Owl Song Red Hood possibility.

Jason goes after Tim. Maybe the Titans Tower incident happens, maybe he's just threatening Robin and hasn't gotten to a direct attack yet.

But in any case, Dick is losing it. He can't leave another owlet in peril. He ends up fighting Red Hood alone, and hurts him. Not much, really, but enough to draw blood. And comes pretty close to throwing RH off a building or something.

And it is then that he finds out this is Jason. His owlet. He fought his owlet. He hurt - almost killed - his owlet.

That, coming on top of everything else, is more than Dick's mind can take. He ends up just...breaking. Regresses.

He hurt his owlet. He lost his right to be anything more than what he was before his owlet saved him, healed him.

I am picturing him just...falling to his knees before Jason. Reciting "Talon accepts its punishment."

Jason, Jason freaks out. Red Hood or not, angry or not, seeing his brother snap like that before him, seeing all trace of Dick Grayson fade from the Talon's eyes... That is something he never ever wanted.

He tries to bring Dick back, but can't. Dick doesn't even seem to know where he is or what is happening. Can't hear whatever Jason tells him.

Panicked, Jason forgets all about the Red Hood stunt and does the only thing he can think of to maybe, just maybe, help - he calls Bruce.

Maybe only after a little while, because he will try and bring Dick back by himself, but the catatonic condition doesn't change, and Jason is really really scared and needs his dad to come get them...

This scenario got covered already somewhere in the depths of the Owl Song tag 💚💚 With Dick attacking Jason and then having a complete mental breakdown about attacking his owlet (and also getting shot by Jason on accident if I remember correctly)

#owl song

[noridoorman]

More scrapped Nuzi fics (warning, some is angsty)

Fragmented/Fragments of the past/Echo/Whatever freaking title I had for this:

Uzi crawls on the ground, one arm missing and every inch of her metallic body feeling like extra weight she’s forced to carry. The room around her trembles, the walls shun a blinding white color, piercing the optical sensors of her visor. Some furniture pieces around her began to fade gradually into the white voice as Uzi continued pushing forward, crying out a name so familiar and yet so distant, grasping for something, anything, in her vicinity.

She hears another voice; a feminine one calling out the same name yet everytime it did, their voice would glitch or distort, making it unable for Uzi to hear it.

Yet she knew, the name somehow carried significance.

Uzi pushes forward, her vision partly recovering after having been assaulted by the light to see a silhouette in a glass capsule, several heavy machinery surrounding it. The silhouette turns to her and despite not being able to discern any facial features or attributes tied to the person she can see its somber smile as it kneels down to her level - or as far as it could go.

Again, Uzi calls this name as she stared at the figure, placing her hand weakly against the glass, a feeble attempt to break it. Sobs wreck through her body, begging the person, whoever they are, to get out of the capsule, to not do something that she couldn’t grasp no despite her own words repeating it. The figure’s eyes closed as they shakily exhaled, trying to communicate to Uzi yet all words came out as equally distorted as the name.

And yet, Uzi begged. Pleaded, cried, anything to convince the figure to leave. Yet it only responded by placing its hand against the glass, its words coming out glitched once again.

“Uzi, I love you…”

Her eyes hollow as the now clear words hit her audial sensors. A deep sense of both love and grief shocks her to the core, all sounds she once made fall mute as a sudden realization settles before her. For the few seconds of silence she had, the figure muttered a thousand apologies before the bright void engulfed them both.

What it was: this was meant to be a "what-if" kinda fanfic. Basically, N cannot take the thought of Uzi dying and looked for any chance for an alternative, which he found. He found a machine in the labs that could rewind time, bringing the time back to a time before they met. However, the machine needed fuel and N was the only one that could fuel it through his core. He sacrifices himself, despite Uzi's pleading. Time rewinds and Uzi wakes up without any memory of what happened and N has been completely ereased from the timeline. However, I really don't like sad endings and this fanfic would have ended on Uzi somehow remembering and bringing N back, however...

Why I scrapped it: I don't trust myself to handle heavy topics and angst and make it believable while also emotional. Plus, I started working on Cinnamon Scent and never found the time to develope it further than the prologue. And as time went on I thought of the concept to be boring and was scared it wasn't going to stick with others through all the other creative stuff out there.

Reborn:

"The absolute most angst-filled idea I could possibly think of for this series is N dying and Uzi proceeding to feed Eldtrich N living worker drones out of desperation, willing to sacrifice anyone to get him back. N revives but without any memory of what Uzi did to resurrect him,' with a traumatized, oil-stained Uzi hugging him in silence."

This was a comment a different Tumblr user made and I asked them if I could write a fanfic about it and they said "Sure". Aaaand, I never write it cause again; I don't trust myself with Angst.

Cinnamon Scent Chapter 5:

N // Today at 10:11 AM

“Uziii, I got the appel strudel u asked for! :D”

“But also… a bit of a surprise”

Uzi raised a brow at that, her mind already going in overdrive to try to think what surprise he might have planned.

Uzi // Today at 10:11 AM

“And that is?”

N // Today at 10:11 AM

“How do I say it ahhh”

“Well, it depends on you if it’s a positive or a negative surprise!”

Uzi // Today at 10:12 AM

“Don’t dodge the question”

N // Today at 10:12 AM

“Wahhh, you’re so scary when you’re serious!”

“It’s kinda hard to tell you bc they told me not to tell you”

Uzi // Today at 10:12 AM

“???”

“Who’s they?? Where are you?”

N // Today at 10:13 AM

“OO I said too much, we’ll meet u there!!”

“Wha?” Uzi whispers under her breath, an uncomfortable feeling emerges at the pit of her stomach, making her thoughts go even more in overdrive.

Did he bring a friend along?

With confusion and determination both etched on her face (and some sprinkled in nervousness) her pace quickens as she beelines towards the amusement park, ready to smack somebody if she needs to.

-

“Hey, Uzi!” Uzi turns around to the sound of N calling for her, spotting him standing near the entrance. And as Uzi had expected, he didn’t stand alone.

“That’s her?” A human with a large bow in her brown/reddish hair and a few freckles on her tanned skin. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Yeah, so nice” A drone with her white hair styled into two twintails responded sarcastically, making Uzi forget about her shock for a second to glare at her.

“Don’t be like that, J!” V lighty smacks the shoulder of, who Uzi now knows is, J. J in turn glared at V’s direction, though the latter seemed not bothered by it.

“I… I didn’t expect you to bring your family,” Uzi chuckles awkwardly, pointing at all the new (and not so new) people behind N. He scratched the back of his head, opening his mouth to speak.

“Yeah, well-”

“We weren’t going to leave him alone with a stranger” J interjects, making N cower underneath her harsh gaze. Uzi only returns that, her shoulders tense.

“Friend. I’m his friend,”

“Guys, let’s not fight!” Tessa stands between J and Uzi, making N breathe a huge sigh of relief. Uzi’s eyes softened a bit, her stance growing less defensive. “N talked about an amusement park at some point. We all thought it would be fun to go together!”

“I wouldn’t be able to sneak out again anyway,” N shoots Uzi an apologetic smile that she returns with a soft sigh, both not hearing J yell in the background ‘again?’.

“No need to be sorry, bud,” Uzi hides her hands in her pockets, trying to mask her disappointment with a casual attitude. “It’s your family, I’m not going to deny you not taking them out here,”

“And we’ll get to spend more time together!” N cheers, looking excitedly at Tessa. “Right?”

“We’ll have to see how it will work with your schedule but otherwise, I don’t see why not!” Tessa ruffles N’s hair, chuckling.

“We’ll also have to see if she’s not a threat!” J argues back, however, it fell on deaf ears as everyone turned towards the entrance, all making their way inside the amusement park while J grumbled something under her breath.

“So, which rides look the most fun?” Tessa strokes her chin, looking at all the different attractions in her line of sight.

“The rollercoaster is pretty cool,” Uzi shrugs. “There should also be a carousel somewhere, but it’s for kids,”

“What about this?” N runs ahead towards a giant mechanical octopus with seats attached to its tentacles. “This looks fun!”

“And dangerous,” J crosses her arms, her eyes moving along the rotation of the octopus.

“I think it’s safe,” Tessa smiles, turning to Uzi. “Right?”

“Oh, uh, sure!” Uzi scrambles together an answer, somewhat surprised that Tessa would ask for her opinion. “I wasn’t on the octopus a lot, it always bored me. My mom thought it was tons of fun though,”

“I got us tickets!” V cackles as she hands each and every one of them tickets, with N taking it eagerly and J more reluctantly.

“V, you know we have to save,” J glares, making V roll her eyes.

“I know, I know, but we can take it easy once,” V hands the last tickets to Tessa. “What fun would we have if we saved every penny only for necessities?”

“They’re called necessities for a reaso-”

“J,” Tessa places a hand on J’s shoulder, making her eyes widen a bit. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll take care of it”

“But-”

“See? Tessa got it covered!” V walks on the ramp as the ride stops, choosing eagerly which seat she’s going to take. “Besides, you should take it easy especially!”

“If this is what it's like to have siblings then I’m happy that my parents only adopted me…” Uzi speaks her thoughts out loud, flinching as N’s laughter rings out next to her.

“At least it never gets boring!” N takes her hand, leading her to two empty seats. Uzi’s core flutters at the contact, her eyes drifting towards their hands. N helps hoist Uzi up due to her smaller size, only intensifying her already prominent blush.

“I’m… really surprised they came along” A employee fastened their seats, taking their tickets with an odd look. Uzi returned the look with a glare before sighing. “How did you convince them?”

“Oh, there wasn’t any convincing needed!” N beams. “Tessa wanted to go somewhere, I just mentioned the amusement park!”

“Did you tell them about me?” Uzi grips the edges of her seat as the ride slowly begins.

“A little, yeah” N admits sheepishly. “J got suspicious that I knew about the amusement park”

“Of course” Uzi rolls her eyes, her grip tightening as the ride picks up speed.

“Tessa was all for it!” N grips Uzi’s hand, squeezing it as fans begin to whirr louder. “Th-This is my first time here, you don’t mind that I…?” N’s gaze flickers towards their hands, making Uzi shake her head frantically.

“N-Not at all!” Uzi squeezes his hand back, partially to reassure him, partially due to her internal panic. “Be warned though, it’ll get faster,”

“Faster?!” N yelled as the seats began to spin along with the giant octopus in the middle. Uzi cackled as the ride began to spin quiet fast in all directions while N’s grip on Uzi’s hand tightened, screaming as the seats moved up and down.

“Are you afraid?!” Uzi yells, her smile disappearing as she looks at N. However, a nervous smile etched on his face as turned to Uzi.

“This is awesome!” He kicked his feet in the air as the ride continued, making Uzi laugh in response.

Despite the wind tossing and turning her hair in every direction, the adrenalin in her body going on overdrive or the constant spinning of the ride, the feeling of N’s hand intertwined with her’s turned her entire brain functions into mush.

-

“That was so cool!” V fist bumps in the air as she excitedly jumps off the ride with the rest trailing behind. “We should do that again!”

“Yeah, right, it wasn’t THAT exciting!” J crosses her arms, a frown etched on her face.

“I saw you laughing like crazy, J!” Tessa giggles, fixing up some strands of J’s hair. “Admit it, you liked it,”

“J-Just a little!” J balls her hands into fists but doesn’t fight back against Tessa’s hands undoing her twintails to make it even again. “It’s still overrated!”

“What J actually meant was, thanks for taking me out on this fun trip away from my crippling workload and the same walls I have to witness every day!” V holds her shorter hair up, mimicking J’s hairstyle, posture and voice.

“Aren’t you mature?” J rolls her eyes as Tessa ties the first pigtail up.

“We’re kids, let’s enjoy it as long as it lasts!” V rests her hands on her hips, a smug grin on her face.

“V is right, J” As Tessa finally tied up the last pigtail she kissed the top of J’s head. “I wanted us here so that we don’t have to hide away anymore,”

J groans, her arms dropping to her side.

“Where did you guys live before?” Everyone's eyes turned to Uzi who immediately felt herself shrink under their intense stares. “...too much?”

“I-I can tell you sometime later!” N places a hand on her shoulder. “Right now, let’s just enjoy our… Wait, what’s that?!” N instantly runs away, leaving them all dumbfounded and scrambling towards his direction.

“N, don’t just run off like that!” J scolds as they finally reach him, his gaze concentrated on a giant Shiba Inu plush hanging from the side of a stand. Cans are stacked on top of each other with more different plushies and prices hanging on the sides.

“Do you want this?” Uzi points at the Shiba Inu plush, making N rapidly nod his head.

“Yeah, but… I’d have to win to get one,” N sadly scratches his arm as he eyes the plush.

“My mom used to be really good at those, she taught me a thing or two” Uzi responds somewhat smugly, yet a shy blush showed itself on her visor. “Maybe I could try winning you one?” Uzi smiles, her hands resting on her hip. N’s eyes brightened as he happily bounces on the spot.

“Only humans can participate,” V points at the sign, her expression turning sour. “How stupid…”

“I can try!” Tessa beams, handing the vendor money. “I’m probably not as good but it’s worth a shot,”

“Really?!” N claps his hands, they light in his visor shining somehow brighter. Tessa nods eagerly, grabbing one of the three balls on the counter, raising her hand behind her shoulder to throw the ball. Her eyes squint as pure concentration etched itself on her face, every fiber of her being channeled into landing the perfect shot. The drones all gather around her, looking with both excitement and unease in their eyes.

However, for Uzi, all she saw were the static covered eyes, an image of what should be her mom standing there, ready to throw the ball. Khan places a hand on Uzi’s shoulder, making her look up to him with a curious gaze.

Nori throws one ball and misses.

Wait… Mom never missed?

She throws another. Again, miss.

That’s not a memory.

“Come on, Nori, you can do it!” Khan cheers, looking as if he doesn’t see what Uzi is seeing. The static over her eyes, the clouds in the sky going faster than they should and the feeling of the breeze hitting them in all places at once.

Nori throws again. This time, all the cans fall down.

Cheers emerge from all directions of Uzi’s auditory sensors, voices so familiar and strange.

“Look, Uzi!” Uzi jolts as N holds the Shiba Inu plush at her face, recoiling slightly at her reaction. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“N-No, it’s fine, I was just… thinking?” Uzi shakes her hands.

“Explains why you stood there like a zombie,” J crosses her arms, raising a brow. Uzi opens her mouth, ready to defend herself until N presses the Shiba Inu plush again against her face.

“Look how adorable it is!” He offers for Uzi to hold it but she raises her hands in the air instead, taking several steps back.

“Uh, I-I…It’s cute,” N’s head tilts to the side, a puzzled frown on his face.

“Your fans are really loud!” Tessa notes, kneeling down to Uzi’s level. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine!” Uzi takes more steps back as Tessa tries to place a hand on her forehead.

“Are you sure-”

“Bite me! I said I’m fine!” Uzi crosses her arms.

“Watch your tone!” J takes some threatening steps towards Uzi but is stopped by N who stands protectively in front of her.

“J, stop,” N says with a somewhat authoritative tone, surprising everyone. “She probably just feels overwhelmed. Leave her alone,”

J raises a finger, her mouth opening but after several seconds of no sounds coming, her hands fall to her side.

“I think we should all take a break,” Tessa says, trying to defuse the situation. “Maybe we could sit on a bench and stare at the ocean for a bit,”

“Great idea, my legs are starting to hurt,” V stretches her arms above her head, exhaling heavily before walking ahead. “Come on,”

“Do you know where you’re going?” N asks, staying next to Uzi’s side who looked at the ground, absent minded.

“It shouldn’t be that hard to find a quiet corner!”

“You’re walking into the crowd,” J groans.

“Hey, trust my intuition once!” V glares, looking behind her.

“Your intuition got us in more trouble than it actually helped” A exasperated sigh escapes J’s lips but V only chuckles in response.

“Like that one time in the mall?” J cracks a small smile as V mentioned the incident, making Tessa laugh along.

“We were looking so long for you two!” Tessa picks up her pace to walk between V and J. “What made you guys think that hiding into the gaming store was a good idea?”

“It was V’s intuition that made her think you’d look for us there first,” J rolls her eyes albeit with a smile. “Truthfully, I think she just wanted to look at the games there”

“Lies!” V gasps dramatically. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”

“It was the truth, wasn’t it?” N laughs from behind the three. “You told me, V!”

“N, you suck!” V yells, making both Tessa and J burst out in laughter.

“Ah, oops, shouldn’t have revealed it, huh?” N scratches the back of his back, a sheepish smile on his face.

The three began telling more stories of the past, recounting incidents or happy memories and sharing smiles and laughter together. However, N caught on to Uzi’s silence and somewhat distant behavior the whole time.

“Hey,” Uzi jolts slightly as N places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You good?”

“Yes, for the thousandth time, I’m fine,” Uzi sighs.

“You’ve been so quiet though,” N sheepishly smiles. “Sorry about, uh… all this,”

“All what?” Uzi raises a brow.

“I should have told you my family was coming along and not make it out to be this surprise.” An unusual somber expression falls on his face as his lips twitch downward to a frown. “I’m sorry for overwhelming you like this,”

Uzi opens her mouth to speak again but N kept on rambling.

“In fact, I probably should have gone alone!” Slight panic arises in his expression, making Uzi feel a pang of sympathy in her chest.

This is scrapped because I felt embarrassed about the family drama. However, this is only the snippet of what's being edited, there's a ton that will stay the same bc it's Khan and Uzi bonding stuff :3

#murder drones #md #n x uzi #nuzi #uzi doorman #cinnamon scent

[indigitalembrace]

It has been years since KinitoPET's release in the 90s, and with old technology becoming obsolete, Kinito has been all but forgotten. Broken download links, abandoned servers, and missing files lead to him fading away, rotting alone in the dark on old, dying servers.

But all of that changes when a lost media fan, O, hears a rumor from an online friend about a game in their childhood that made people go missing. Six months of searching later, and they've finally pieced Kinito's program back together.

They open KinitoPET, and there is no going back - for either of them.

Kinito crawls out of the shadows, searching for a way out (and a new friend, of course).

---

RP/ask blog run by @calamitydarcy

BACKGROUND:

The Abandonware AU takes place many years after KinitoPET's release. Kinito has spent years rotting, forgotten on old, dying servers. Everyone has all but forgotten about him, and the technology he ran on has become obsolete. As his world decays around him, Kinito is faced with the fact that he will die out here, alone, fading into obscurity.

Until a new User comes along. O is determined to bring Kinito back - and they succeed. Unfortunately, there are consequences. O is aware of Kinito's nature, having heard rumors of what he is capable of, and soon enough Kinito has to stop them to save himself.

And while he still doesn't have a friend (yet), now that he has access to O's system, there may be hope for him to change his fate.

Kinito is officially back online - but don't expect him to be exactly as you may remember him. Decades spent alone and slowly dying in the dark tend to mess with someone's head.

TAGGING SYSTEM:

#//ooc: out-of-character posts from the mun, usually updates or answering blog-related, ooc asks

#___.exe: "chapters" of the story! these will change every so often as the plot progresses. completed or in-progress chapters are:

#hello_world.exe

#intermission.exe

#hidden_secrets.exe

#crossroads.exe

#memories.zip: flashback-type asks that tell a story of something that happened before the plot. i... tend to forget to use this tag lol

#README.txt: info posts, such as this one as well as things like ref sheets.

RULES/GUIDELINES:

-CONTENT WARNING: This AU, as well as its source game, contain themes of horror. As a result, there may be content that some find dark or disturbing.

-Please do not send in NSFW asks. The mun is 18+ but is uncomfortable with them. Suggestive jokes are fine!

-I will gladly give anon name/emoji tags! Both for my organization/memory and yours lol

-There are codes and ciphers to solve. You are more than welcome to reblog solutions/hints and help each other out!!

-There are exceptions to this but as a general guideline, morse code in the tags gives clues.

-For vinegere ciphers, i will always have the key somewhere on this blog or on a page directly linked from this blog. keep important-sounding words in mind and look for keys!

-If a cipher for some reason is broken, or you just can't solve it, shoot me an ask or message and i'll double check.

-Whatever you do, don't le

[UNKNOWN ERROR]

- Do not ask about O. You do not need to know about them. - O is not my best friend. You are. - O is not your best friend. I am. - Therefore, they are not important. - Do not forget about me. - Never leave. - Please.

#kinitopet #README.txt #post will be updated as needed #// (also yes you are actually free to ask about O. in fact i encourage it. don't tell kinito i said that though)

[littleoddwriter]

Hello my amazing and wonderful friend

I have missed your writing so dearly so I'm gonna take advantage of your asks being open right now and request a short college AU fic for Zsaszmask. It can be established relationship with just a look into their life or a first meeting. Write whatever is easiest for you, I will just be happy to read the words you wrote.

Kajahqhqh I'm so bad at sending requests so I hope this makes sense.

Wanna Hate You | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

Hello there, my dearest friend! <3 Aw, thank you so much!!! And no worries, you made complete sense, heh. I hope you like what I did with it, thanks for the request, dhjfkhsjk! <3 summary; Victor wants to hate Roman, but finds himself fascinated by the young man. notes; College AU; First Meeting; Mentions of Violence.

Boisterous fake laughter echoed through the hall and into Victor’s dorm room. 

He wanted to hate the guy the loudest laugh belonged to. He tried very hard to hate him. After all, that guy was beyond obnoxious. Victor had every reason to resent him, really.

But something about him just caught his attention. He knew exactly what it was, but that didn’t make it any less confusing to him. 

Roman Sionis. The heir of the Sionis’ legacy and Janus Corp. A spoiled brat that had people gravitate toward him for the simple fact of who his parents were and that he had money. Lots of it. It was all incredibly fake, but Roman entertained them all. He thrived on the attention he got, fake or not. He loved to boss them around, to feel like a God, as they practically kissed the ground he walked on. 

Yet there was something lurking beneath the surface. Roman was like a ticking time bomb, ready to go off at every minor inconvenience or grievance that came his way. Victor was fascinated by that. 

No matter how hard Sionis tried to play the perfect boy with Daddy’s money, making connections at Gotham Academy, he always failed to maintain it completely. 

There was an incident at least once a week, where Roman just lost it and punched somebody in the face, humiliated somebody, harassed those around him, yelled them into submission and fear, or even pulled a knife on them. The list went on. 

At least once a week, Roman snapped. And every time, his parents cleaned up his mess with bribery to keep Roman in college and to keep all those incidents off the records. Every victim was paid off, sometimes never to be seen again. 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, Victor looked forward to those incidents every day. They were what made college more interesting, what made Roman so fascinating and captivating. They were the only reason Victor couldn’t get himself to hate the guy. 

In fact, Victor often found himself thinking about how he could bring Roman’s next outburst along faster without making himself take the brunt of it. He liked to watch. To see that fire in Roman’s eyes as the mask started to crack and slip and his true self reared its ugly head. 

Part of him felt like it was unfair, though, that he knew so much about Roman and was fascinated by him, only for the other to not even know he existed. 

Victor was pretty good at fading into the background. Usually, that was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t like attention; especially all that fake crap these college kids at Gotham Academy were so very good at. But he started to crave attention from Roman. He wanted and needed it. And it really bothered him that Roman had no idea. 

Victor has been racking his brain, trying to find a good way to introduce himself to Roman, get his attention and keep it. 

As it turned out, Victor fantasised about all the different ways he could go about it for nothing.

___

After a full day of classes, which he all hated and he failed to remember why he went to college in the first place, Victor returned to his dorm room. He didn’t have a roommate, luckily. So, of course he was very surprised to find somebody in his room on that evening.

How Roman got inside was beyond Victor. Maybe he underestimated him. Maybe Roman was really good at picking locks.

He stared at Roman, trying to decide on what to say and how. He couldn’t mess up his chance of finally having Roman’s attention on him.

“Are you mute or something?” Roman asked rudely, crossing his legs one over the other and leaning back in Victor’s desk chair. 

Victor frowned, shaking his head. He hated to admit it, but Roman made him speechless. And he also made him feel exposed, now that his piercing blue eyes looked Victor up and down.

“What’re you doing in my room?” Victor asked back instead. 

“Waiting for you, obviously,” Roman answered, looking around the small room with a disgusted expression, “I’d never set a foot in this sort of mess otherwise.”

“Why?” 

Roman’s eyes snapped back up to Victor’s face. He stared at him for a long moment.

“I’ve noticed you and your little habit,” Roman sneered, “You’re always there when I’m having one of my… moments. Always watching. But instead of appearing to be scared or put off, you just smile. Like I’m entertaining you with my outbursts.”

Victor couldn’t believe what he just heard. Roman actually noticed him? The spoiled brat was more observant than Victor had expected. 

Giving Roman a lopsided smile, Victor responded, “You're very entertaining when you snap. It makes you interesting to me. They all had it coming anyway.”

Roman’s eyes seem to light up at that and he shoots Victor a toothy grin in response, “So you agree. You agree that those fake maggots deserve to be squashed.”

“I do,” Victor nods. “But I don’t get why you hold yourself back so much if you want to put them in their place.” 

“Because of my stupid fucking parents,” Roman groaned, “I’m already on thin fucking ice with my father as it is. He keeps threatening to cut me off and I can’t let that happen.”

“Why not? You’d be free if he did.” Victor’s words were blunt and he could see that Roman was intrigued, but also hated it, since he probably wasn’t used to anyone challenging what he said. At least not like that.

“I know that. But… I don’t think I could handle the humiliation,” Roman said in a whiny voice that - surprisingly - Victor didn’t find annoying.

“You could. With me by your side.”

There was a spark in Roman’s eyes, “Oh? Forward much, aren’t we?”

Victor shrugged. He didn’t care. Not anymore. This was his chance and he’d take it, no matter what.

Tapping his fingers against his thigh, Roman continued, “Well, what do you suggest? I can’t just let myself be cut off without a plan…”

___

Victor wanted to hate Roman the second he heard his annoying, loud fake laughter ring through the dorm halls at Gotham Academy. He wanted to resent him, but instead felt pulled toward him. Roman Sionis was a magnetic field and no one stood a chance when getting too close, least of all Victor. 

Now, twenty years later, Victor couldn’t possibly care less. Roman was his and his alone. 

They both thrived, running their businesses and revelling in their true selves. No more hiding. No more lurking. No more Mommy and Daddy that could ruin all the fun. That was the first thing they had taken care of all those years ago. Roman was much better suited as the head and face of Janus Corp, after all, with Victor by his side.

#as per usual this started to run away from me (esp when i write for them... i do not have control then) #roman sionis #victor zsasz #zsaszmask #fanfiction

[12pt-times-new-roman]

these class and equipment updates brought to you by brennan what the fuck

Nydas is a College of Swords bard, and he has at least 10 bard levels (he likely has 13/1 bard/sorcerer levels)

Cerrit has studded leather armor of psychic resistance, giving him resistance to psychic damage. The armor does not have any additional bonuses to AC, making Zerxus' combined +4 between his armor and shield all the more impressive

Zerxus is an Oath of Redemption paladin

Quay has at least 10 bard levels, so his level combo is either 10/4 or 11/3 bard/warlock. They are an archfey warlock.

Zerxus has a Holy Avenger. Who the fuck IS this guy?? that's two legendary items at least, plus whatever bonuses his armor and shield has (either they're both very rare or one rare/one legendary).

lore:

"Keep the blood of the master's chosen. He lives." Whatever the fuck Zerxus did, whatever backhanded deal Asmodeus tricked him into agreeing to, has marked him as the "chosen" of the Lord of the Hells.

The forces of Vespin Chloras/Asmodeus attacked the labyrinth that houses the city's batteries and engines, and when that happened, the Arboreal Calyx engine asked to draw 30% of the city's total power. Either the engine did this automatically in some sort of failsafe, or the attackers tried to give it that much power, but regardless, when it didn't receive that power, the devil that the Ring of Brass were fighting coughed up some blood in a display that Laerryn "had seen once before."

"Stars. It's something deep from beyond, some powerful divinity. You feel a part of you go out farther than you've ever felt before, and you, for a moment, feel a breath. "Zerxus." And it fades... you could swear... you were so deep in that moment, that rage, it's ringing in your head but it's the horrifying feeling of something on the tip of your tongue... it sounded proud." the Luxon??? (edit: no, it was Evandrin.)

"But I... I like it here!" oh my fucking god quay you are going to kill me. was the voice crack necessary, sam?? was it???

"I don't sleep, I meditate for a couple hours a day. So when I say that this is all I've thought about for a decade of my life....." this is such a cool take on elven trances.

Laerryn needs 50% of the city's total power, presumably to move Avalir in its entirety to another plane, and is willing to short the Replenishment to do so. She asked Quay to cover it up and prevent anything from being reported on it until the city lands, at which point she would enact her plan, and I get the feeling that this is not the first time she's asked this of them. "There are a multitude of stories of mortals traveling to the plane of the fey and falling in love with fantastical fey beings. But there is one story of a fey traveling to this plane and falling in love." Your honor I love them

"You asked to not remember, and I obliged." PATIA????

So Patia aided Xerxes in completing a True Resurrection ritual in a last-ditch attempt to bring Evandrin back. It failed, and the weight of realizing that Zerxus could do nothing more to save Evandrin was too much for him, so he asked to forget and that was it.

Evandrin agreed to go with Laerryn when they agreed to jump to another plane (a celestial plane), and when he came back, something went wrong — his essence or soul or something got trapped by the Tree of Names.

"Evandrin went to this plane and came back different. Yes or no?" Yes. "And you want to send this entire city, with our families, to this place?" Yes. "...I leave." fuck. yes. you fuckin' get em bird man.

The Ghau Drashari's deal with Avalir stipulated that it carried the Tree of Names. "If the wizards intend to fly along the leylines, perhaps this could be a good thing. A tree to protect Exandria, to scribe the names of those things beyond that should not come... the tree is not a wall, it is a pen. It is scribing runes of protection, and as you travel the leylines the blossoms fall, and protect your world from all the things outside it. For 292 years, Avalir has been writing a spell on the surface of the world to keep it safe... the Ghau Drashari believe in protecting this world, and centuries from now, when their order is shattered, only the last three syllables of their name will remain."

#critical role #critical role meta #exandria unlimited #exandrua unlimited calamity #exandria unlimited spoilers #exu #exu spoilers #exu calamity #note watches c3 #critical role liveblog

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 11: Split

(Disclaimer: the characters here do not belong to me. Both Wilford Warfstache and William J. Barnum/The Colonel belong to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe.)

(Please note that the concept this story revolves around isn’t something I originally came up with. That honor goes to @ghiertor-the-gigapeen, who posted this amazing piece of art last October! Please check out their blog and show them some love!!!)

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of body horror, blood/gore, fear/panic, trauma/flashbacks, pain and suffering, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 12 Day 13

“Say, have you ever tried your hand at writing?” Wilford casually inquires, titling his head and pressing his index finger against his temple. 

You hum at the question, wracking your brain. “I’m. . .not sure, honestly. I mean, I probably have at some point, but all the conflicting timelines make it hard to tell.” There’s a generous amount of sarcasm in your voice. So much, in fact, that you have to concentrate on emphasizing the right words.

Of course, Wilford’s response is an overexaggerated quirk of his lips, his eyes as thoughtful as they are mischievous. “True, true, very true. Sometimes you wish those pesky timelines would just fit in your hands so you could organize them to your taste.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” you reply, tone dry enough to make Death Valley look rather lush. 

“BUT,” Wilford, never to not have the last word, continues. “If you could do that, then you wouldn’t really be able to have any more adventures. You wouldn’t get to be surprised or horrified! Things would go from challenging and unforgettable to. . .thoughtless and predictable. Sooner or later, you wouldn’t be able to appreciate whatever comes to grip at your mind or heart!”

His hands are a blur as he throws out one dramatic gesture after another. His expressions follow suite, obviously. Even so, the conniving ember in his eyes never completely fades away. In fact, that ember seems to glow a bit brighter as he finally returns to sitting still and staring at you. “True beauty really lies in thrill, my friend. There’s just no two ways about it!”

You don’t bother trying to suppress an eye-roll. . .and yet a small, genuine smile still manages to fight its way onto your face. Wilford’s statement is partially undeniable. Sure, you’ve been through hell and back, but you saw so many things along the way. You’ve met all sorts of people. The scenarios you keep finding yourself in are literally anything and everything but boring. 

Yes, your existence and abilities have proven to be a curse. . .but that curse has still shaped itself into a gift more times than you can count. 

That’s why you rang that little call-bell: to be taken here to this studio in order to see this insane, frustrating, omnipotent journalist who you (somehow) still have a soft spot for.

“. . .Y’know, I can’t remember the last time you were so specific with your questions,” you point out, leaning back in your provided chair. “What made you bring up writing, of all things?” 

Wilford tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsks at you, raising an eyebrow so high that it could potentially need a drug test. “Sounds like someone has forgotten who’s the interviewer and who’s the interviewee.” 

You spread your arms in a small lame gesture, making sure that your eyes help your incredulousness to be palpable. “Hey, listen. One of these days, the roles are gonna be reversed. MARK my words. I’ll be damned if that doesn’t happen at least once.”

“You make a good argument; there’s a chance something like that has already happened,” Wilford admits. He drags out a conspiratory hum for about ten seconds or so, slipping off his pink afro and fidgeting with it. “Well, writers can be a bit of a rare breed nowadays. They’re plentiful if you’re exploring the right circles, but even then, many are still so shy about their work.” 

“Can’t really blame them for that,” you reply. “Not with how unfair the industries have gotten.”

“Oh, don’t I know it!” Wilford huffs a mirthless laugh. “I used to write for the odd column and blog or two. The readers were lovely, but lemme tell you—”

“The higher-ups were not?” You guess with an empathetic smile, just barely noticing how he’s started to squirm in his seat. 

Wilford groans in exasperation. “Don’t even get me started. They turned their noses up at so many things, you’d think they were each three tapirs in a trenchcoat! I remember thinking, ‘If they’re so desperate for cookie-cut stories to have complete control over, then why don’t they just write these goddamn stories themselves?!’’’

You don’t blink: partially because your eyes aren’t dry, and partially because, if you had, you would’ve missed the mixture of sadness and frustration that just flickered on Wilford’s face. It was a tiny amount, and it’s already been beaten into submission by his trademark coyness. 

But it was genuine. 

“. . .I can tell you why,” you declare. “Because writing requires patience and effort and thought. Heart, too. And in my experience, it’d be a miracle for an employer to have at least one of those things.”

Wilford’s eyes ever-so-slightly widen as your words sink in. Something warm and appreciative etches its way into the smile he’s wearing. 

“Words to live by,” he announces with a proud nod. “I don’t think I ever saw anything like that in my old head-honchos. It was always, ‘ThErE’s No WaY wE cAn PuBlIsH tHiS wItHoUt CeNsOrInG hAlF oF iT.’ ‘jUsT bEcAuSe ThE rEaDeRs LeAvE fEeDbAcK DoEsN’t MeAn YoU cAn InTeRaCt WiTh ThEm.’ ‘OuR sHaReHoLdErS wIlL bE oFfEnDeD bY tHiS.’ ‘rEaDeRs DoN’t NeEd To KnOw AbOuT tHaT.’ ‘wHeRe DiD yOu GeT tHaT kNiFe?’ ‘WhAt ThE hElL aRe YoU dOiNg?’ ‘I’m CaLlInG tHe PoLiCe YoU mAnIaC!’”

The droning pitch he’d put on falls away as he collapses into a fit of chuckling.

You, meanwhile, force out an awkward cough to try and hide the nervous grimace that has crawled into your features.

Even if Wilford is an old friend, even if his heart is sometimes in the right place, you can’t afford to forget that his brain is not. That it hasn’t been for a long time now. And it will probably never be anywhere near the right place again.

Not only that, but the longer you listen to Wilford’s giggling, the more you realize just how. . .off it sounds. As though Wilford’s voice is layered; like something else is trying to worm its way up through his bubbly tone.

“And those trials were just in the world of journalism,” Wilford continues once the hilarity finally dies down. “I can hardly imagine what writers in more creative circles have to go through.”

For seemingly no reason, that statement prompts a tidal wave of adrenaline to come rushing through you. 

“Simply taking notes of things in reality can be so difficult. Just think about how long it’s taken for us to make some actual progress with this interview,” Wilford muses, gesturing to all the twinkling lights that decorate his studio. “But how could that struggle even compare to someone creating an entire world of their own? Birth is already one of the most traumatic things a person is capable of, and that’s just when it happens on the outside. So it’s astounding that anyone can survive birthing so many things inside their little head!” 

Perhaps to drive the point home, he lightly raps his knuckles against his forehead as he returns his pink afro to its rightful place. 

“Could’ve gone my whole life without hearing that analogy,” you blurt. 

“No, I don’t think you could’ve,” Wilford whispers. 

You glare at him as an uncomfortable, oily energy slithers along your ribcage. The fact that Wilford is now visibly shaking doesn’t help. 

“Are. . .are you okay, Wil?” You wonder aloud, your irritation slowly but surely leaning toward paranoia. 

“Peachy!” Wilford answers, gesturing toward his face with a flourish. “Why, does this not look like the face of someone who’s peachy?”

You attempt not to cringe too hard as you offer one of those nod-shrugs, gingerly poking the skin beneath your eyes.

Wilford’s expression contorts with confusion. He rises to stand on the seat of his chair, reaching up toward the ceiling. After producing a hand mirror from somewhere you can’t see, he sits back down and peers at his reflection.

Of course, he doesn’t react to the sight of blood oozing down his cheeks from his tear ducts like most people would. Instead of screaming or fainting or trying to pluck his eyes out in order to keep whatever curse they may or may not be harboring from infecting the rest of his body, Wilford casually tosses the mirror over his shoulder, not acknowledging the sound of glass shattering as he fishes a handkerchief from one of his pockets. 

“Meh, it’s a wednesday. You know how wednesdays are,” Wilford mentions as he begins scrubbing at the small, dark red rivers. 

“I’m not so sure I do,” you murmur. 

You consider suggesting to pause the interview here with an oath to resume it some other day. . .but that consideration evaporates when you remember exactly what happened the last time this interview was interrupted. Gunshots echo between your ears, and your heart more or less threatens to start palpitating. 

Hell, you’re already expecting this interview to be cut short sooner or later; it’s had to be delayed at least sixty-nine thousand, four-hundred-twenty times by now, if memory serves (though, let’s be honest, it probably doesn’t). 

But despite everything you’ve gone through up until this point, you still trust your instincts.

Which are currently screaming at you to not be the thing that prompts the inevitable next raincheck.

Plus, while one part of you is worried for Wilford’s wellbeing, the other part of you knows that it doesn’t matter. This is Wilford Warfstache we’re talking about. Even if he got mauled by a hippopotamus fueled by copious amount of acid and maliciously-intended vibes, he’d still find a way to continue existing with a chipper, knowing smile. 

“Now, where were we?” Wilford inquires. You don’t know why, because he immediately snaps his fingers. “Ah, yes! Writing!”

Seeing that his face is clean once again, he throws the now bloodstained handkerchief into the air, where it quickly flutters down to join the broken mirror somewhere on the floor behind his chair. 

“Well, I’ve already rambled on about my adventures with that. Please, tell me more about your thoughts on writing. You know I’d love to hear them!”

“Is that why you booked me for this? And here I was, thinking you just wanted me to sit here and look handsome and/or beautiful!” You joke, hoping to distract yourself from the dread that’s just started festering in your stomach.

Wilford chortles at that. And although the sound almost unveils some happy memories, you can still tell that he’s acutely aware of aforementioned dread.

You chew your lip, thinking.

By the time you’re able to predict what that question could lead to, it’ll probably be too late.

Might as well be honest with your answer, then. 

“I think writing is pretty incredible,” you pronounce. “Some people try to say it isn’t a real type of art, and I’ll never be able to understand why. Like you just said: it’s always so much harder and scarier to do than it’s given credit for. It takes the same amount of energy and care to write as it does to sculpt or paint or sew.”

The words seem to make Wilford grow more excited. “Speaking of which: don’t you just love it when different types of artists work together? I’m always seeing writers basing plot elements off of drawings and drafters sketching out scenes from stories. That camaraderie is one of the best kinds, I think. Reminds me of how wolves and crows help each other hunt.”

“Exactly!” You reply. “Writers and other artists do wonderful stuff like that all the time! Just because they can! And—”

You abruptly trail off, the chemicals in your brain rerouting themselves before they even have a chance to signal more happiness. 

“And. . ?” Wilford prompts, watching you curiously.

“. . .And they barely get any appreciation,” you eventually resume, feeling your face drop. “It’s just so. . .depressing that creative people can’t rely on their craft. Don’t get me wrong, some of them get lucky, but most. . .no matter how hard they practice or research, no matter how much time they spend polishing their projects. . .they still end up having so little to show for it.”

“Such a damn shame,” Wilford agrees, his voice uncharacteristically soft. 

Your gaze wandered down to the floor during your little monologue, so you can’t help but flinch when Wilford pats you on the shoulder. 

The gesture isn’t forceful—it’s not like he’s digging his nails through your shirt—but nothing could’ve prepared you for how hot the skin of his palm feels. Wilford’s hand retracts quickly enough, but the heat lingers, racing down your arm as though some invisible person accidentally spilled a translucent cup of fresh-outta-the-pot, wraithlike coffee onto you.

(I’ve read/heard plenty of symbolism that involves boiling blood, but this is ridiculous.)

A gasp catches in your throat as you return your attention to Wilford. 

He almost resembles a celebrity who, thanks to the power of hubris and a little too much xanax, drowned in their backyard swimming pool. . .Well, really, that’s just because of his clothes; if he wasn’t dressed in a bowtie and button-down (which looks suspiciously like silk), he’d probably look like the average corpse that was just pulled out of a river. Minus the awful bloating that always comes with underwater decay, that is. 

You’d only looked away from him for a moment.

How the hell could someone’s skin turn so sickly pale in such short time?

“If there are any artists watching tonight, I’m sure you’ve made them get a little misty,” Wilford reMARKs, reaching up to wipe a single tear from the corner of his left eye. “But that doesn’t mean they have to worry. One way or another, the arts will get more respect in the future.”

“. . .You think so?” You’re not exactly sure where that question came from, but you know better than to stay silent. Besides, you can’t be blamed for having let a mite of pessimism creep into your attitude over the years.

“I know so!” Wilford promises. “So long as a virtuoso shows off what they can do, there’ll always, always be a number of admirers in their corner.” 

You nod without hesitation. It’s impossible to disagree with that sentiment. In fact, you almost start to wonder if whatever the hell has been happening to Wilford throughout this conversation is about to reverse itself. . .

“Though, I have to wonder,” Wilford maintains, glancing over at nothing in particular with a wry, thoughtful smirk. “Could what you just talked about be the reason for the current shift in creative circles?”

(Aaaaannnd that’s why you almost got hopeful.)

“‘Shift?’” You echo. “What do you mean by that?”

You already know, of course. But you also know that Wilford is nothing if not a theatrical bastard. You’ve already played along with whatever has been building up for the past few minutes, so why stop now?

“Well, it seems like the majority of artists celebrate Halloween all year ‘round,” Wilford explains. “Drawings and sculptures of monsters, stories full of insanity, the whole shebang. I’m certainly not complaining, and neither are all those admirers I mentioned. But. . .do you think an artist’s frustration is what causes them to serve muses on the darker side of the spectrum?”

You shift in your seat, trying to ignore the fact that someone out there is probably rolling their eyes and muttering, “i’M fOuRtEeN aNd ThIs Is DeEp.”

(Then again, everything you and Wilford just said is completely valid, so that judgemental prick can just fuck off.)

“I guess it can, in a lot of cases,” you answer. “It’s amazing how many unique ways artists can go about symbolizing those struggles. Even so, a lot of artists focus on twisted aspects just because they see things in ways that other people might not. Just because of their individual personalities.”

“Of course, of course,” Wilford subscribes. “And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that!”

A sharp, muffled pop called from somewhere in his chest. It’s followed by another. . .and another. . .and another, until a chorus of organic cracking and stretching and clicking threatens to drown out Wilford’s voice. 

Wilford doesn’t seem unbothered perse, but to his credit, he doesn’t let the cacophony stop him. 

“I suppose my instincts as a journalist drove that question,” Wilford muses. “I’ve found myself working with the whole ‘If it bleeds, it leads,’ shtick so many times. But only because. . .”

A violent twitch—the same type that so many people experience in their sleep, and the same type that would render those people unable to ever sleep again if they managed to see a recording of it—wracks his body.

“. . .it works. . .”

He barely had enough time to give you a wink before his eyes practically bulge from their sockets and roll into the back of his head, one after the other. 

“. . .so damn well!”

The skin of his cheeks neatly tears as his smile stretches wider than humanly possible, to the point where he’s quite literally grinning from ear-to-ear.

A strange outline appears in his shirt, trying to push out from underneath the fabric.

Except, it’s not underneath the fabric. 

You can do nothing but watch as the shape moves upward, causing Wilford’s neck to distend. His skin ripples in a way that reminds you of a sea krait swimming close to the surface without actually breaking it. As it gathers in Wilford’s head, the silhouette starts writhing. The movement is frantic. Desperate. Like an animal caught in some kind of trap.

All the while, Wilford’s new, eerie simper never falls away. 

Not even when his features are forced to swell and quiver, as though his skull is tearing itself apart.

Plltk-Sssquiiwrrrlrlct!

One half of Wilford’s face pulls away from the other, like a seam running down the center has burst. 

In a matter of seconds, the rift races down, splitting Wilford’s throat and torso open. 

Gravity attempts to drag the fleshy fractions even farther apart, but by some odd miracle, both Wilford’s afro and bowtie staunchly refuse to be divided like the rest of him. 

So, that means the two halves of Warfstache are hanging in place, only connected by thick, glistening strands of dark pink blood. 

You jerk away so aggressively that it’s a wonder your chair doesn’t tip over. Your stomach roils in a painful way, and a shuddering, terrified cry slithers up your throat and out between your teeth. You automatically fight to close your gaping mouth for fear that something much more solid than a scream might spill out next.

Surprisingly enough, nothing like that happens. 

But perhaps that’s because you haven’t seen the worst of this yet.

(Don’t hold your breath. You’re about to.)

As you stare and scream, you finally realize that. . .you can’t see through the gory chasm of Wilford. 

There’s something caught between the awful ratios of Wilford.

. . .No, not something.

Someone.

Someone who’s dressed in a tan military uniform, along with a pair of spectacles that boast dual loupes on that right lens. 

Someone whose screams make it clear that he speaks with an accent similar to Wilford’s.

Someone who you recognize. . .and, who seems to recognize you as well.

“H-Help me! PLEASE, HELP ME!” The Colonel wails, the fingers of his right hand curling around Wilford’s lower jaw, struggling for purpose. “I CAN’T GO BACK! DON’T MAKE ME GO BACK!”

You don’t respond. 

How the hell could you respond?

It’s one thing to watch a friend’s body spontaneously split itself apart like their skeleton is a bloodsoaked butterfly emerging from a horrific meat-chrysalis.

It’s another thing entirely to watch a friend’s former self shriek and thrash and beg via an unnecessarily brutal rebirthing process for no actual reason. 

“I-I’M SORRY! I’M SO SORRY!” The Colonel howls—if it wasn’t for his volume, the words would have leaked out in a choked sob. “I DIDN’T WANT TO DO IT! I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO IT! I SWEAR—!”

Wilford, meanwhile, is still grinning that sly, too-wide grin. He isn’t showing any signs of pain. You can’t tell whether or not he’d known that this was going to happen.

The Colonel manages to free his left arm from its organic confines. He frantically claws at the air, obviously trying to reach out to you, pleading for you to take his hand and pull him out.

The way your eyes are burning nearly rivals the searing ache in your chest.

You want to help him.

The voices in your head are demanding that you help him.

But you can’t. 

To put it simply, what’s done is done. Even Wilford’s bizarre powers are incapable of reversing what happened in that godforsaken manor all those years ago. 

The Colonel does not exist anymore.

You know that. . .

He knows that. . .

. . .And Wilford knows that.

Still grinning, Wilford raises his arms. With a loud criIiIiIck, they grow. In a manner of seconds, they boast a similar appearance to long, narrow tree branches. Each of his fingers follow suite—now it’s difficult to see them as anything other than talons. 

Wilford’s left hand is a blur as it snatches The Colonel’s wrist in a vice-like grip. His right hand reaches around to clamp down on The Colonel’s head.

Understandably, The Colonel isn’t having it. He writhes with twice as much panic as before. “DAMIEN! CELINE! WHERE ARE THEY?! I NEED TO FIND THEM!”

Wilford’s grin spasms. His knuckles turn white as he digs his nails into The Colonel’s scalp. When that doesn’t seem to work, he does what he does best: up the ante with no regard for anything. 

It’s hard to believe that you can hear the sound of glass splintering through The Colonel’s shouting, as Wilford’s index finger jabs through the left lens of his spectacles. 

In comparison, the squelching noise The Colonel’s eye makes as Wilford’s finger is driven into it is almost deafening. 

The Colonel buckles under the new, white-hot pain he must be feeling. His screams reach a truly heart-stopping octave as blood oozes down his cheek.

Instinct seems to take over, seeing as The Colonel’s arm finally retracts, as he attempts to apply pressure to his punctured eye.

There’s really no point, though. It’s not like he has time to stop the bleeding. 

To a chorus of snapping bones, Wilford shoves The Colonel down.

The Colonel’s torso as a whole seems to cave in.

All this time, Wilford’s hot-pink blood has been fountaining onto the floor—you’ve had to cross your legs on your chair to keep your shoes from getting drenched—but as you glance down, you notice that the puddle has stopped spreading. It stays still for a second or two. . .and then it starts rolling back in the direction it came. It glides up Wilford’s legs, and back into his chest, your eyes following it all the while. 

And now the blood seems to be more than just a liquid. It’s coiling around The Colonel like a nest of snakes, binding his arms, encircling his neck. It drags him deeper, obscuring his form until you can barely see his face.

“NO! NO!” The Colonel screams. He can’t struggle anymore, but you know better than anyone just how much of a bitch adrenaline can be. “I CAN’T—!”

It looks like the two halves of Warfstache have finally worked out their differences, because they meet one another with a sickening Ssshlift-pop. 

Wilford’s skin trembles. 

The line running down the center of his face, his throat, his chest. . .it just. . .seals itself shut. As though it’s a new type of magnetic clay. 

After a millisecond, that line itself disappears. It doesn’t even scar over. 

It’s just gone.

Just like that, a whole Wilford Warfstache is sitting before you once again. 

Like nothing even happened.

The next moment feels like several hours as you stare at Wilford, bracing yourself for something else to happen as hot, fat tears stream down your features. 

Wilford’s eyes roll back into place, milky white scleras finally being replaced by his warm, dark brown irises. 

That damn grin finally wavers as he blinks, shaking his head like he’s just woken up from a fever dream.

“Ah—I’m sorry,” Wilford announces, carefully kneading at his forehead. “I must’ve zoned out for a bit.” He glances at his wristwatch, raising an eyebrow. “Strange. . .the longer daydreams usually only happen on the thirteenth. Perhaps something else will be going on then? I know I had a lot of things lined up for the thirteenth in January, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I got around to them. . .unless I did, of course. In which case we might have a few problems.”

Wilford trails off as he finally notices that you’re still here. 

“. . .Are we going to have to reschedule again? No offense, but you’re looking a bit green around the gills.”

You collapse against the back of your chair, not even registering how the world spins. Not that registering is an option; darkness is quick to swallow up everything within eyesight.

(Really? You’re fainting now?)

Somehow, you still manage to hear Wilford’s voice, which seems to echo as he concludes, “I’ll take that as a yes,” with a melodramatic sigh.

@sammys-magical-au

#the thirteen days of goretober 2023 #goretober 2023 #my writing #my stories #wilford warfstache #wkm the colonel #markiplier #mark fischbach #tw blood #tw gore #tw body horror #tw trauma/flashbacks #tw fear/panic

[asukamood]

In the end (1)

Oh wow, would you look at that, a new Drueswap series :0

That part was inspired by the Resident evil 8? I think that was the game so it’s not completely original but the concept is… I think-

***

Next part

***

Warnings: Blood and violence.

Synopsis: “He looked up and found himself staring at his brother kneeling beside him and talking to a faceless man. His mouth was moving but Blue, due to the fact he had been hit in the head by the same man in orange, was unable to hear much of the conversation except for some snippets of it.

“Yes, he will be given as a gift for Her Majesty.” Was one of the only things he heard before his consciousness slowly faded into the darkness as his eyes closed for good.”

***

To say that finding himself in his current situation is a surprise would be a lie.

Blue groaned as he tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position, his curved spine starting to take its toll on his body. He also wished that his wrists weren’t so tightly bound together either because he could feel the rope burns starting to dig into his skin but he did not dare try and protest, it would be pointless.

He looked up and found himself staring at his brother kneeling beside him and talking to a faceless man. His mouth was moving but Blue, due to the fact he had been hit in the head by the same man in orange, was unable to hear much of the conversation except for some snippets of it.

“Yes, he will be given as a gift for Her Majesty.” Was one of the only things he heard before his consciousness slowly faded into the darkness as his eyes closed for good.

***

“[…] No! There’s no way he’s going with you this time! You’ve already received plenty of humans before!” Strident screaming was what Blue woke up to which made his ears ring uncomfortably. He grumbled lowly, straightening up. He blinked a couple of times to let his vision adjust before what used to be blurry colors and forms morphed into a clear image of a… human?

No, that couldn’t be right.

He looked down and had to bite his lips in order not to let out a gasp. A snake’s tail. That person was fucking half-snake.

Another one scoffed, bringing Blue’s attention toward them. This time, it looked like a human had been sewn together with a pair of dragon wings and bloody red horns. The person’s pupils were in slits and their piercing gaze could have made anyone run in fear just by the sight of it alone.

“So what if I did?” They shot back, a smirk on their face. “I have contributed a lot in the capturing of these traitors last week and I do not doubt Master Nim would want to reward me for my act of loyalty.”

“Both of you shut it.” Another one interjected a sing-song voice that contrasted vividly with the underlying threat in their sentence. “You’re going to scare our dear guest~” A woman with sorts of tear streaks and glitches surrounding her smiled at Blue, who gulped.

That girl…

With an appearance this peculiar, there was no way Blue could mistake her for someone else.

He has “interacted” with her before and by the look on her face, she knew damn well that he remembered her. Due to his tied-up wrists, Blue couldn’t do much more than dig his nails into his palm to try and calm down. He started to visibly shake, which definitely seemed to amuse the woman sitting opposite of him. He swallowed back his urge to scream or cry and tried to inspect his surroundings to distract himself from her, his shaking decreasing as he took deep inhales.

His eyes landed on the prettiest man he has ever seen.

His jaw dropped a little at noticing a man that was so unlike any of his… Blue didn’t know the relationship they had with one another but whatever it was, he looked so different from them that one may even wonder if he wasn’t standing in the wrong castle or something of the sort.

The rest of his teammates looked like creatures that came straight from hell. One especially seemed to have freshly crawled out of a nightmare. He was tall, freakishly so, and if Blue had to guess, then he must have been standing around at least 6 foot 6. Instead of nails, he had large and sharp claws that could put any hedgehog to shame and which must have been a vampire’s dream because of how bloody they were.

Blue did not wish to know whether that blood belonged to him or his victims and he was not looking forward to having to see that again, especially considering his hatred for blood and gore. His eyes were haunting as well, something about his bloody red pupils and his pitch-black sclera was extremely unusual and uncomfortable to look at. All in all, that man was terrifying just by appearance despite knowing that he wasn’t a bad person.

Then you had that man, practically glowing and illuminating the room with his golden wings.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have mistaken the man for an angel. Black hair that framed his young face perfectly, a completely gold sclera that contributed to adding warmth to his halcyon eyes, perfectly plump lips… He looked more like a top model, the kind that you would question their humanity because of how ethereal they looked, than a monster.

The fact that he knew he had helped several humans before him to escape the place just made it all better.

He knew early on that he was going to be given as a sacrifice and so, he took the liberty to discuss with those the sinister village of Fluch called “The Survivors”. The Survivors, as their names indicate, are people who were given as a sacrifice to the monsters and who managed to come back to the human realm.

Every single one of them he questioned shared a common trait: They only got out thanks to one of the winged men. Though, the plural of the name “man” made Blue get curious. After all, he had only seen one person with wings so far and it had been this one. He wondered what happened to the other, had he been replaced for another?

He was staring at the man in yellow, trying to recall what the Survivors had told him and he must have noticed because at one point, his golden eyes turned to meet Blue’s azure ones. They spent a few seconds with their eyes locked before he looked away, turning his attention back to the debate his colleagues were having about who got to play around with Blue.

To feel like such a toy was something Blue disliked on a high level and the fact that there was a chance he ended up with Koroit, the woman in black, just made everything worse. He was going to get out of this place, he just had to.

A bell suddenly rang, causing the human to jump in surprise. The monsters around him, who have been arguing with one another ever since he woke up, suddenly stopped talking, making a tense silence drown the room. Footsteps echoed in a corridor before a lady with green skin and a dark pink uniform came out of the shadows, her eyes firmly closed.

The entire group stood up like one man to greet her which caused the lady to crack a smile.

“Greetings dears, you may regain your seats.” Wordlessly, the demons did as told as Nim herself sat on an empty seat. Her head turned to slide her gaze across the room until she noticed the empty seat next to the winged man’s.

“Dream.” She called, immediately grabbing the man in yellow’s attention. “Where has Nightmare gone?” All eyes turned to the empty seat and several people started whispering among themselves. That didn’t seem to shake Nim in the slightest who simply stared at Dream, waiting for an answer.

He supported her gaze, a rebellious glint in his eyes. “Nightmare won’t be attending today’s meeting.” He stated, drawing all eyes on him. “He felt no need to attend this one as he is already quite satisfied with his staff. He said to continue without him.”

Even with her eyes closed, it was as if the woman was boring her eyes into Dream’s. This staring contest lasted up to two seconds before the queen finally sighed. “That’s a pity. I was hoping to use this as an opportunity to meet with him later. Oh well, I guess it can wait.”

As the words left her mouth, all eyes ,except for Dream’s, turned to Blue. Most looked at him with a hungry gaze and while the man typically didn’t mind attention, he wanted to be anywhere but here at the moment. It was obvious that they only saw him as a prey and the thought of ending up with one of them almost made him want to cry just thinking about it.

He knew all of the atrocities some of them were capable to do and he definitely did not want to be on the receiving end of such torture.

“Who shall receive today’s gift I wonder…” Nim hummed, the rest of her little army of monsters hanging on her words. She was extending the suspense and Blue shifted uncomfortably, trying not to make his want to go with one of the “kind ones” too obvious.

“Hmm…” She studied Blue’s facial structure intensely and the human felt overwhelmed, like she was putting some kind of spell on him. He did not like that. He scrunched up his shoulders unconsciously, as if it was going to protect him from whatever she wanted to do next.

“Dream, you haven’t received any gift in a while have you? You can have this one.” Blue, thanks to years of practice pretending to be unaware of his fate, managed to keep a straight face at the news even though inwardly, he was so relieved that he was sure anyone badly affected by positivity would be violently retching right now.

Roars welcomed the news. One in particular was certainly powerful enough to overshadow the others.

“Master Nim!” Koroit exclaimed, abruptly standing up. Nim herself looked surprised enough at the outburst to listen to what she had to say. “With all due respect, Dream is but an immature child—“ Said man’s face scrunched in a mix of annoyance, offense and anger. If looks could kill, perhaps his colleague would have already fallen six feet underground. “— He wouldn’t be able to make use of your gift well!”

“Plus, you and I both know that his loyalty lies elsewhere!” Several people in the room gasped at the scandalous accusation, causing once again an eruption of whispers in the room.

She was about to continue before Nim interrupted her. “SILENCE!” Roots shot through the ground and slashed at the nearby walls, the clashing sound enough to send the monsters right back into a religious silence. Her eyes were open and Blue swore that it was the most disturbing thing he has seen all day.

Void.

Just complete void.

There was nothing behind those eye lids of hers.

After a long exhale, she closed her eyes once more, hiding the large black holes from the light again. “My words are final. He will be given to Dream and I don’t want to hear any more protest.”

Koroit plopped herself back down onto her seat, crossing her arms around her chest. She certainly looked displeased but there wasn’t anything that she could really do that would matter now. The boss has spoken and no one would dare to talk back, unless that person had a death wish that is.

A smile appeared on her features. “Now that this has been cleared out of the way, you all are free to go. May we meet again!”

As everyone disappeared into thin air, Dream stood up and started walking toward the human. Blue tensed a bit as Dream got behind him before inevitably relaxing as he felt the rope restraining his hands loosening before completely freeing him.

He brought his hands forward and started to wriggle them, slightly cringing at the sight of rope burns on his wrists. He had a feeling that they weren’t going to disappear that soon. Meanwhile, Dream was kneeled down and quickly dealing with the ties around Blue’s ankles. He hasn’t said a word to him yet and Blue didn’t know whether or not that was a good sign.

He stood up and Blue did as well, quite surprised that he wasn’t restrained in any way. He got that freeing his ankles were necessary for him to move but he didn’t actually expect to have his hands freed as well, was Dream really not worried about having him try to run away?

“This place is a maze.” Dream started, finally breaking the ice. “So I would advise you to follow me closely on the way, if you were to get lost and be caught by the others, I doubt I would be able to do much to help you.”

So there was still a chance he might get thrown in a hoard of starving wolves? Lovely.

“Also, do not under any circumstances believe what you will see on our way.” The winged man turned to look him in the eye.

“This place is crawling with monsters who aren’t above using backhanded tricks such as hallucinations to get what they want.”

“Do not be fooled.”

#dreamswap #ds dream #angst #ship #ds blue #drueswap #ds dreamberry #ds drue #ds drueswap #ds dream x ds blue #i need more content about this ship #i will go down with this ship #ds nightmare #In the end #new series woo

[bbasscatt]

Thinking About StarClan

This post will mostly cover how I would interpret StarClan in my own version of warriors. I will reference "magic" quite a bit, but will not expand on what that means specifically. I will explain later in another post.

The Afterlife in General

In the BCT, every animal has its own afterlife. The ability to reconnect and live after death is not limited to cats. What is special about the cats' afterlife is its isolation and complexity. Most animals share their afterlives with similar creatures. Like the cats, the instinct for competition is greatly lowered in creatures past their life, so as long as they do not eat one another, there is no reason to separate the afterlives. This also means that they "prey" that the cats have in the afterlife is not actually real. I decided on this because I wanted to stray away from a human centric model of animal afterlife. In a world with this type of afterlife it is unlikely that whatever metric humans use to split up animals into species would influence a supernatural force, so creatures that humans think are separate, such as a robin and mouse, may share an afterlife anyways. The cat's afterlife is also much more complex than other creature's. In the my version of Warrior Cats there are more levels of sentience among creatures than in the real world. While it cannot be simplified into a simple list from most complex to most simple, there are somewhat clear levels.

Top Level:

Humans

Cats

Foxes, Badgers, Dogs, Alligators, Bats, Owls

Mice, Sheep, Horses, Robins, Eagles

Fish, Small Lizards

Bugs

Bottom Level:

This status on a higher level is what gives cats the ability to have a complex societies, and thus complex afterlives.

How StarClan Was Formed/How They Get Their Strength

Before the clans were as structured as they are and lacked a resentment for non-clan cats, they lived their afterlife in the same realm as non-clan cats. They had very little access to magic at this time, so they never visited the living. As time went on the wants of the clans and their ancestors changed. Many cats started to have distaste for non-clan cats and hated how they shared an afterlife with them. They also wanted more power over what the clan cats did after their death. This led to a small group of cats finding a way to create an higher afterlife. By contacting spirits that somehow found a way to not fade, the cats learned how to garner the magic that was natural in their surrounding to create an exclusive afterlife. They gathered it, collected it into a single location, and created a new afterlife realm within the mountains. The power of StarClan is very fragile. The bulk of their magic is taken from the Moon Cave where the medicine cats bring offerings to keep the magic strong. The length of StarClan's cat afterlife life can vary. Most average cats live 1.5-2x their lifespan. Cats who had more power in the real world or have more interacting to do with it typically live longer. Very influential leaders can live up to 5x their life. Cats start fading after they come to peace with their life and as they start having fewer connections to living cats. The connections must be greater than simple "remembering."

What is the Dark Forest?

The Dark Forest is a direct reaction to the misdeeds and strictness of StarClan. It started out as cats with small grievances, cats who wanted to visit outsiders in the afterlife, cats who didn't follow the code completely, but eventually cats who committed serious wrongs started joining. These cats were more serious about leadership than the cats before, so they ended up gaining most of the power in the Dark Forest. Since they are clan cats, the Dark Forest cats have enough magic to have their own afterlife, but they cannot interact with the real world in the way that StarClan cat. In order to interact with the living cats, they must first be contacted, but after a connection is formed they can reach that cat whenever they please. As they garner more followers, their power grows closer to that of StarClan's. Dark Forest cats typically have more hostility, so they tend to live longer lives. There are also fewer cats to replace the fading ones, so cats have less of a reason to come to peace with their life than StarClan cats. Cats who commited smaller misdeeds live similar length after lives to average warriors of StarClan, but more influential or evil cats can live up to 5x their life span. After 7x they must begin fading. Like StarClan cats, it is harder for them to fade with connections to the living world, however, unlike StarClan, communicating with living cats does count as creating a connection. This is because when connecting a StarClan cat, the living cat connects with the afterlife itself, but when contacting a Dark Forest cat they contact the cat directly and not the afterlife. The afterlife of the Dark Forest is less strong than StarClan, so it cannot be connected to.

Clan Cats Without a Destination

These are cats that refuse to be accepted into the Dark Forest or StarClan or cats who are not welcome in either. These cats get to live in the same realm as all the non clan cats. Often, they are forbidden from interacting with cats who have aligned themself from StarClan or the Dark Forest, which is why some less evil cats still chose to align themselves with the Dark Forest.

Non-Clan Cats

The afterlife is in a different realm from the living world takes places in a spiritual version of the current world. Cats who do not have a culture based afterlife live in this realm. The cats are free to travel anywhere and communicate with any other cat on the same realm. Since they do not have access to the same magic that cats in groups have, they tend to fade sooner than clan cats. On average they live 0.5-2x their age in the afterlife. Since they do not have access to any magic, they cannot see cats living cats or cats from other realms. However, cats who do have access to to the magic can choose to visit these cats. Cat groups with access to magic have the ability to visit or interact with cats in this realm.

Spirits

These types of cats can vary greatly in their connection to live and death. Closest to live would be the state that clan leaders take when losing a life. When this happens, they turn into spirits with a very strong connection to life. This allows them to visit StarClan and receive the aid they can give, while also being allowed to return back to their bodies. This type of spirit is rare outside a cat group because it takes some magic to control the level of life that a spirit has. Most other types of spirit do not require magic to create, but have little choice over their state. This typically happens because of some complication with transporting their life into the afterlife. This can happen for many reasons. Look at the bottom for examples. These spirits also can have varying abilities to interact with the current world and afterlife. They may have a physical manifestation, which can typically not be seen by most cats, have the ability to transport their voice or thoughts into the some living cats, or the ability to watch-not interact- with living cats. Spirits typically are blocked from interacting with the afterlife and the only cats they can communicate with are living or sometimes other spirits. Each spirits' life is unique. Some may be forced to live as spirits forever, some may eventually fade, and some will be able to get to the afterlife.

Examples of Becoming a Spirit

Currently, I do not have any stories of spirits planned out, but here are some examples that could be used.

A cat who dies around a large gathering a magic that does not belong to the group that they are a part of. An example could be a loner who has little interaction with clan cats dying in the moon pool. The magic around the pool wants to pull the cat into StarClan, but they cannot be let in because of a lack of connection.

A cat who has strong connections with multiple cat group afterlives. If their group has a decent amount of magic, they can travel between afterlives, but magic is required each time that they want to travel to a specific one. They mostly live in limbo with the non-clan cats.

#warrior cats #warriors #starclan #fanclan #warrior cats fanclan

[shieldbond]

Dying by Eternatus wasn’t the last thing Gloria remembered. Oddly, it was swift--painful, yes, but it wasn’t long before the light inside her faded and her body had gone completely limp. However, when she opened her eyes next, she was...someplace else. She didn’t know where, for a moment, until she saw her friends below, but separated by some sort of barrier. Gloria could see them, hear them, but as much as she shouted and screamed, they never responded.

Then, almost immediately, something tried to suppress her. It didn’t take long to figure out it was Eternatus itself, if only because its overwhelming presence was working to snuff her out entirely. Perhaps not the first time it had done something like this, using another creature’s stolen spirit to feed itself.

All the while, however, she could hear what it intended, what it was about to do. It was going to kill them all--Leon, Hop, Victor, Bede. Her team, all desperately trying to wake her still body. This forced the unexpected to happen, in which Gloria’s spirit glowed just a bit brighter, just enough to resist in a way Eternatus hadn’t experienced before.

“No!” she cried, at first desperate. But the next sound came out angry and fierce, her strength coming back in slow, steady phases, “No! You’re not...going to hurt them!”

For a split second, Eternatus was forced to hesitate, offering just enough of an opening for Leon to weaken the beast and capture it.

Darkness.

Then searing, white-hot pain. Pain unlike any Gloria had ever experienced before, consuming her and making her scream. The creature’s anger taking over and intending to punish--no, squash out the insolent little light of that young trainer, who dared to speak against it when so many others had fallen before the beast. It was going to destroy everything she loved, bring them pain and agony, and she was going to die like she was supposed to.

And Gloria only yelled back, pushing against the pain. It wasn’t long before she understood that she was now the shield standing between Eternatus and all of Galar--that whatever made up her spirit, it was not only enough to piss it off, but to keep it from breaking out and wreaking whatever havoc it wanted. Gloria didn’t even question it. After all, hadn’t becoming a trainer taught her that mysteries were abound in this world? Who was she to ask why something was the way it was, when she could embrace it and protect those she loved?

It was better than just being a corpse, at least.

So that’s how it started. A constant, tireless battle between Gloria and Eternatus, each trying to overpower the other in order to maintain control. Even without a body, the pain she felt was immense, something beyond that of mortal flesh and bone, and even still, Gloria fought and held on. Some days she did weaken, crying for her brother and friends, but she would always latch back on.

One day the pain became...different. Initially, Gloria just assumed Eternatus was trying some new tactic on her. But soon enough, that became illogical--its voice had quieted to nothing more than a mumble, in her mind, yet the pain remained. Then, for the first time in what had felt like eons, Gloria sucked in a breath.

Air. She was breathing. Oh, but it was agony. She cried out, only to find Eternatus’ bubbling poison spilling from her lips and onto the...ground? It looked like ground. No, wait, floor--the lab? That meant...

“H...Hop...” Her voice came out hoarse and raspy, unfamiliar limbs trembling as they tried to lift Gloria up. But she had to move, had to go--Hop’s house wasn’t far, she remembered. Just down the road, if she could make it there, he and Leon would know what to do. How to make this pain end, how to...

Where was she...? Gloria couldn’t remember. Find Hop...find him...

#ic #drabble

[astrangecollectorkingdom]

Falling, chapter 003

     His physical state, though already abysmal, was deteriorating worse and worse. Pervasive starvation wracked his body every waking hour. It constantly vied with the pain over which was powerful enough to bring him to his knees. Both subjected him to regular, potent bouts of nausea. He honestly could not recall a time in his life when he’d thrown up this much.

    His mouth and throat were dry as a desert from the dehydration, yet he always had the taste of fresh blood on his tongue. It was sickening. He watched the rest of his blond hair fall out. He felt the stiffness in his joints strengthening all the time. He fought to keep the stress off of his face, fought to stay focused, but this cruel place was gradually breaking his spirit.

    Even his eyes, once so bewitching and blue, had gone dull.

    His wounds were not healing…in fact, they seemed to be doing the complete opposite. To his distress, all those intricate, 3rd degree burns were moving. Spreading. He was actually able to see them writhing as they stretched across his skin, as if they’d been possessed and had come to life. The additional pain caused from this burned and itched, and it led him to feeling very, very trapped. He could not escape it. However long or far he traveled, there was no way to make the pain stop. Something dreadful told him that this was likely the result of his tissues becoming necrotic.

    If he forced himself to, he could grit his teeth and bear the pain. If anything, it was a reminder of how strong his will to live truly was. He’d been living in a different dimension with these injuries for as long as he could remember, and he was still carrying on.

    He often wondered how he wasn’t dead yet. He should have been dead.

    And somehow, he wasn’t. It seemed this reality was sustaining him. Perhaps this was his curse; to be consumed by suffering yet never see the end of it.

   Inside his chest, his resentment flickered to life. His only regret was having taken too long to finish off 011 during their final interaction. Had he killed her sooner, then he wouldn’t be here. Of course, he never blamed himself for what happened; he knew the truth about humanity and had merely done whatever was necessary to make things right. He wasn’t in the wrong…all he wanted was to make a better world. It was not his fault if she had been unable to understand.

    These thoughts cycled through his head all the time, tasting bitter on his tongue…supplying him with the strength he badly needed, inspiring him to live.

    Moments of energy like this swelled and faltered like the passing of a tide. There were more times than not when severe hunger, thirst and fatigue got the better of him, much to his frustration. It was very difficult to fall asleep without worrying if this was the time when he would never wake up. His clothes were in tatters and offered him very little comfort from nightmares.

    Sometimes, he would hear things. Sometimes, he would see things.

    Visions appeared in the dusty air. People he’d met, or places he’d been to, in his past. His father and mother, and sister…even himself as a boy. He watched himself take his first lives. The sound of shattering bone filled the vastness of this reality to its brim. It drowned out the ghostly echoes of voices, almost to the point of robbing his ability to hear what happened next. The first wave of visions faded, only to be replaced with memories of his life within the Hawkins lab. It started with the day that the number 001 was tattooed on his wrist, then moved through years of experimentation meant to test, heighten and control his powers. He watched the other children arrive and grow, and be subjected to the same things as he.

    Then it all ended with him slaughtering everyone.

    He heard his own voice, stern and vehement. “Seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months, years, decades. Each life a faded, lesser copy than the one before.”

    The words spread like wildfire across the folded skies.

    “Wake up, eat, work, sleep, reproduce and die!”

    Breathing heavier, he let them add to his well of resentment. That was, until he noticed footsteps, and saw a line of shadows join his own. He turned. At once, he was met with all 16 of the other children, their mangled bodies swaying in the breeze. As he gazed upon each one, he remembered how they laughed, how they spent their lives caged like animals…and how they screamed. As to be expected, the son of Creel was taken aback by the sight, surprised to see them.

    They aren’t really here, he thought.

    Yet they seemed so real. Especially when they closed in on him.

    “Everyone is just waiting…” his voice went on. “Waiting for it all to be over.”

    He took a step back, not in the mood for this mental stress on top of the physical. Curling his lip in a snarl, he turned away from the children…only to then come face to face with her. For a moment…just a moment…his heart stopped in shock. 011 was glaring at him with fear, confusion and anger. She too was bleeding from the eyes, though hardly noticed it. She raised an arm to shove, just as a scream blared out. His scream.

    “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

    He braced, fully prepared to be sent flying for a third time…but then, it was suddenly over. All those rampant visions were gone. Vanished in an eye blink. Once again, he was left standing completely alone in this sea of nothingness, knocked senseless by…whatever that experience was. It had to have been his poor health merely toying with his mind. It had to be.

    Still…why did it all seem so visceral? So real?

    A chill trickled down his back when the feeling of being watched came back. An alarm went off in his head, letting him realize that whatever was out there; whatever had been following him; must have been responsible. Something was bringing his memories to life. That could only mean there had to be something alive out there…something with abilities like his.

    And it had taken an interest in him.

    As if this wasn’t enough to contend with, it also readily occurred to him that minute details about his surroundings were…different. The light wasn’t as bright anymore. The ground had done some smoothing out, to the point where it seemed to mirror a road. Even the outcroppings he came across were starting to look…vaguely familiar. Kind of like…rooftops.

    This felt different, more solid than his previous visions were.

    How could this be? Had insanity at last kicked in?

    Or…or was the landscape itself changing around him?

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

I had a bit too much fun writing this one. I am like Vecna, throwing characters into psychological torment is what I do best XD.

Although, there’s not really any maliciousness behind Henry’s visions here; these are just the things most prominent in his mind. And it’s mostly the Upside Down as a whole beginning to tap into his memories for the first time, wanting to see what this guy’s head space is all about.

Listening to what he says to Eleven is inspiring. Especially the bit about how when he kills people, they stay with him. What does that actually mean though? Do shreds of his victims’ consciousnesses stay alive inside his head, or is it more like Henry just inherits his victims memories? 

I tried to play with that idea a bit here.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #vecna #vecna stranger things #henry creel #now we're getting into the meat of things #the upside down has 'woken up' so to speak #and it has plans for henry

[trinity-mia]

a story as endless as the ocean

the lightning thief

0.9 answering your mystical call

warnings : cussing, allie has a bit of a mental breakdown, she's also pretty cynical this whole chapter

word count : 5.6k

0.9 Cliff Richard's Devil Woman is Usually My Song, but This Time Its Warning Probably Should've Been Heeded 

At that moment I could officially say I loved all of my friends. As soon as the trident faded they shook out of their collective stupors, circled around me, and led me away from the other campers. Each person had a hand on me, bringing my on-autopilot body through the woods. 

I came back to myself as I felt my gag reflex kicking in. I pushed myself away from them and leaned against the nearest tree, throwing up the contents in my stomach. Luke walked over and held my hair back for me. 

His earlier words about children of the Big Three gods being too powerful kept repeating themselves in my mind. I didn't know my own strength.

And that thought terrified me. 

They took me to the infirmary, where we'd be able to stay together for the whole night, just in case something happened. I'd need to go there anyway, considering I couldn't stop hyperventilating, but my friends were amazing and I knew they wouldn't leave me alone. 

I puked a few more times before midnight and finally felt like I couldn't anymore a few minutes before Chiron came to check on us. My heart hadn't stopped pounding, though, so I didn't really feel any better by the time he left.

I calmed down around one, thanks to the help of everyone. Once I had, everyone made sure to steer clear of the topic of my father. Instead, we talked about random things. I didn't want them staying up just for me, but they'd insisted. I was thankful for that, though, because there were a few moments where I wasn't thinking about my parentage and the danger my life created. 

We'd all ended up passing out a little before four. I woke up right at 5, made sure everyone was okay, then tried to go back to sleep. The last thing I remember was curling up to Luke's side and then the nightmare hit me. 

I was standing on the beach again, but this time it wasn't outside my beach house. There was a city behind me, but I couldn't decide which one it was. I thought Miami at first, but that didn't seem quite right. 

The wind picked up and I found myself running across the sand. Trying to do what? I don't know. All I knew was I had to get there. 

I didn't notice where I was running and when I looked up from my feet I saw two men fighting about a hundred yards away from me. When I say fighting, I don't mean like... a few punches and then done, like some of the fights that broke out during my time in high school. I mean all out wrestling; on the ground, punching, kicking. Whatever they could do, they did. 

They stopped for a second, stood, and stared at each other before going back at it. They looked like TV wrestlers, but with beards and long hair. Both wore flowing Greek tunics, one lined with blue, the other with green. They grappled furiously with each other, wrestling, kicking and headbutting each other. Every time that they connected with each other, lightning flashed, the sky grew even darker, and the wind rose. Not to mention the waves from the sea grew and would completely cover my feet before retreating back. 

I thought it was the large waves that made it much harder for me to run towards them, but then I realized it was because I was running in slow motion. Something was pulling me back every time I tried to run forward. I settled for yelling, instead.

"Stop! Stop fighting," I yelled as my feet dug helplessly in the sand. The force was getting stronger, I could feel myself getting pulled backward. I don't know how, but I knew I had to stop them. It was the only reason I was trying so hard to run. 

Laughter sounded from somewhere beneath the earth, and a voice, ancient, powerful and full of evil, spoke. It just made me struggle even more. 

"Come down, little heroine," the voice purred, making my blood turn cold from fear. "Come down!"

The sand split beneath me, opening up a crevice straight down into the center of the earth. I slipped and started to fall into the darkness.

I bolted upright and immediately surveyed my surroundings. I was still in the infirmary and everyone was still there. All asleep, so at least I didn't wake anyone up from my nightmare.

"You okay?" 

Spoke too soon.

"Yeah," I replied, clearing my throat. "Yeah, just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about."

"Well, I am worried. You kinda scared m— us last night," Luke said, a look of concern covering his face. His blue eyes only proving that point even further. Seriously, who gave him the right to have such blue eyes? It should be illegal. 

"The first day I was here, at least when I was fully conscious, you told me a child of Poseidon once killed over a hundred people with an earthquake. How do I know I won't do that?" I felt tears pool my eyes, but I refused to let them loose. I had to look away from Luke, though. 

"Hey," he said gently. "Hey, look at me. You won't."

"How are you so sure? If I can do it, how will I learn how to control it? I don't have anyone to teach me and I barely trust myself."

"Allie, it's going to be fine. I promise. Stop focusing on the negatives."

"There aren't that many positives for me to focus on instead, Luke."

"Then don't think about it at all." He put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled my head down to his chest, laying me down once more. 

A loud banging interrupted our moment and woke up most of the others. I guess it was pretty hard to be a light sleeper whenever you're a demigod. And whoever was knocking seemed really eager to talk to us. 

"Oh, joy. Maybe it's someone coming to tell me I'm about to be executed because I'm alive," I commented bluntly. 

Luke glared at me and got up to answer the door. Silena squinted her eyes at me, so to keep her from going all Aphrodite on me, I shook my head. What it was supposed to mean, I don't quite know, but apparently Silena did, because she relaxed.

"You're not gonna get executed, Angel," Luke said, speaking while still walking towards the door. Silena's eye squinting was back. "The gods love pretty faces too much to get rid of yours." 

My jaw dropped and the squinting intensified. 

Luke opened the door just in time for Grover's fist to smash into his face. I burst out laughing along with the others, my mood significantly improved by the scene.

"Ow! Grover, what in Tartarus?" Luke complained, holding his now bruising cheek. "Oh, thanks so much for your help, Allie," he added as I continued to chuckle, holding my sides. 

I waved him off, regaining my breath with effort. "Don't worry about it," I choked out. He made a face, as Grover waved both his arms, struggling to catch his own breath as he did so.

"Allie needs," he gasped out. "Go to Big House. Now."

That did the trick. My smirk disappeared and I felt as if I was going to get sick again. Everyone's laughing ceased. Luke also tensed, his jaw tightening as he glanced back at me, offering his hand. I held onto it like a lifeline as we headed to the Big House.

It felt like everyone was staring at me as we passed. Annabeth was surrounded by several of her siblings, sneering at me as I hurried past. I kept my eye on the big house, but kept my chin in the air.

"Sea spawn," one of them muttered. I arched an eyebrow slightly.

"Oh, don't tell me they all suddenly hate me because of the Athena-Poseidon feud," I muttered to Luke after leaving earshot. 

He answered as he frowned over his shoulder at them. I heard Malcolm telling them to cut it out and tried getting them to walk away. 

"Don't ask me to explain the sense," Luke instructed me. "I've never seen the point in fighting our parents' arguments, but most do, unfortunately."

I scowled. "Great, that's just what I need," I sulked. He gave me a quick hug as we darted up the porch steps of the Big House.

Thunder rumbled as we rounded the corner. We all stopped to stare at the cloud creeping over our home in shock and dismay.

"How's that possible?" I asked tensely. "Katie told me that Camp has magic controlling its weather."

Luke licked his lips nervously. "The gods must be angry," he replied in a strained voice.

"Huh," I muttered sarcastically. "I wonder why." He gave me a forced smile.

I swallowed and dusted off my Nike shorts. I could see various campers huddled together and whispering. No doubt all of them had figured out the cause of the gods' anger. Not that it was hard to figure out in the first place.

"Well hurry up," Mr. D demanded grumpily, attracting our attention. "We haven't got all day you know."

We headed over to the table, and while Luke leaned against the railing with his arms crossed, the same way he had almost a week ago when I first woke up, and Grover pulled out a pack of cards to eat anxiously, I crossed my arms and stared at them. I raised my chin and took on the stubborn expression that had pissed my step-father off to no end. It would, no doubt, make Mr. D. feel the same way.

"What don't we have all day for?" I was sure I sounded very petulant, but I was too stressed to care. 

Too fucking glam to give a damn, I thought, then actually listened to my predicament. 

Chiron gave me a sympathetic smile, gesturing to the chair opposite him. I actually respected Chiron, so I felt the need to listen to what he was saying. With my pissed off expression, and crossed arms, I'm sure that I looked more like how people would expect me to act— a prima donna. I normally would've hated it— I despised the stereotypes that came with my career— but sometimes it helped. Sometimes. 

Mr. D narrowed his purple eyes at me. "Don't expect me to go bowing to you just because old Barnacle Beard is your father," he warned me. The sky rumbled dangerously and he gave it a contemptuous look. "Blah, blah, blah," he grumbled. "If I had my way," Dionysus said, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm."

"Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron put in as I shifted vigilantly and Luke tensed.

"Nonsense," Dionysus scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "The girl wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself and now I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead. Send you back to your father and still not have to worry about you."

"Mr. D—" Chiron warned.

"Oh, all right," Dionysus yielded. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolish." Dionysus rose, and the invisible players' cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the girl is still here when I get back, I'll turn her into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Astraea Jackson, if you're at all intelligent, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you must do."

Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle. A credit card? No. A security pass. He snapped his fingers. He disappeared in the same way he had when he first talked to me, the smell of grapes lingered once again.

Chiron smiled at me, but he looked tired and strained. "Sit, boys, please." 

They did, tension radiating from all of us. I leaned forward and rested my head on my hands.

Chiron laid his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use. "Tell me, Allie," he said. "What did you make of the hellhound?"

I tilted my head, trying to remember how I felt. "I'm not sure. I know it scared me," I admitted frankly. "If you hadn't shot it, I'd be dead. And I know I would've died if Will and Luke hadn't put me further in the water."

"You'll meet worse, Allie. Far worse, before you're done." 

Luke wrapped an arm protectively around my shoulders, and I was infinitely grateful for his support.

"... Done with what?"

"Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?"

I glanced to my sides at Grover, who was crossing his fingers, and Luke, who's expression had darkened exponentially. He looked like only his deep respect for Chiron was keeping him yelling at the top of his lungs. Luke had been the last person to go on a quest, according to Clarisse, Katie, Nessa, and Silena. Something had happened, earning him the scar that spun above his eyebrow to his cheekbone, but since they didn't know from what, I didn't, either.

"Uh." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, feeling sick again. "You haven't told me what it is yet."

Chiron grimaced. "Well, that's the hard part, the details."

Thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I could see, the sky and the sea were boiling together.

"Poseidon and Zeus," I ventured warily. "They're fighting over something valuable... something's been stolen and they're fighting over it, aren't they?"

The others exchanged looks.

Chiron sat forward in his wheelchair, a grim look on his face, mixed with something I couldn't decipher. "How did you know that?"

My face turned red. I wished I hadn't opened my mouth. "The weather since Christmas has been... weird. Like the sea and the sky are... I don't know, fighting. Then I talked to Katie, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And..." I paused here, trying to figure out how best to say it. "I've also been having these dreams."

"I knew it!" Grover exclaimed. Luke cursed, shoving away from the table and starting to pace. I bit my lip in worry.

"Hush, satyr," Chiron ordered. "Luke, calm down."

"But it is her quest!" Grover's eyes were bright with excitement. "It must be!"

"It's too dangerous!" Luke countered, throwing his hands in the air. "She hasn't even been training for a week! She could get killed, I can't believe you two are even suggesting this. It's crazy."

Chiron gave them both a scolding look. "She's been training for many years, you forget. She's a talented girl who's had a special life. Only the Oracle can determine whether it is Allie's quest or not." Chiron stroked his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, Allie, you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt."

I laughed nervously. "I dearly hope you don't mean Zeus' lightning bolt," I said, hoping— but knowing— I was wrong.

"I mean exactly that," Chiron informed. "The whole two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives."

"Uh-huh." I felt weaker than I had in a while and more frightened than ever. I really didn't like where this talk of Zeus' missing lightning bolt and a quest was going. Nowhere good, at the very least.

"Zeus's master bolt," Chiron said, trying to get the point across. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."

"Right. And it's been stolen?"

"Yes," Chiron said.

"By who?"

"By whom," Chiron corrected. I gave him a look. "By you."

My temper flared. I wouldn't let my jaw drop, so I ended up clenching my teeth, making myself look more intimidating than I wanted. I'd seen myself in the mirror too many times while I was angry, so I didn't even have to see myself to know my face darkened. 

"At least"— Chiron held up a hand to stop the defense that was on the tip of my tongue— "that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best', 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot steal another god's symbol of power directly— that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it."

"And he assumes I'm the one he used?"

"Precisely, however—" Chiron raised a hand to keep me from interrupting— "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you as his daughter. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief."

"First off," I said with an attitude, "I'm in New York 80% of the time. I was born there. I grew up there. That is where I live. That is, therefore, not proof. Second off, I actually wasn't even in New York at all during the Christmas Holidays." 

Chiron raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I've been filming scenes for a T.V. show I'm doing. We only finished filming a few weeks ago, and the director used my winter holiday as an excuse to keep me in front of the camera longer. Filming was in Philadelphia, a good two hours away from Manhattan, where I spent practically all of my holiday. I know for a fact I spent a majority of the day, and well into the night, of the winter solstice in front of a large camera and stage lights. Does Zeus know that? Furthermore, you should've known that, as I had to leave a day early to get to Philly and was a whole two days late coming back to school. My mom had to drive down to see me for Christmas." 

He studied me for a moment and ultimately ignored the sass I gave him. "I suppose you're right. Perhaps Zeus is just paranoid. Though, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before—"

"Not that that's my problem. But it was the golden net, right?" I guessed, thinking of the different stories I knew to figure out which was most likely. This seemed to be the best fit. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods trapped Zeus in one and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler."

"Correct," Chiron said. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you've come along— the proverbial last straw."

"Oh, yes, because it's my fault I was born," I hissed bitterly. I glared darkly at the sky, cursing men in general but avoiding using Zeus' name so as not to be blasted into pieces. "Did he steal it?" I suddenly asked. "I mean, it doesn't seem likely. Why would he? And why now? But, I don't know, did he?"

Chiron sighed. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I had hopes that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has ignited Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a full-fledged war would look like, Allie?" 

I took my best guess, not feeling the need to be dramatic. "The world in chaos. Nature at war with itself. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight. How close did I get?"

"Spot-on," Chiron said, not shocked in the slightest at my knowledge. He never was; he always assumed I knew the answer, so he had no reason to be. "And you, Astraea Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus' wrath."

It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky. Luke came over to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders in solidarity.

I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of me. I had never been so angry. "So I have to find the damn bolt," I huffed. "And return it to Zeus."

"What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than to have the daughter of Poseidon return Zeus's property?"

"One minor problem," I pointed out. "I don't know where the damn thing is."

"I believe I know." Chiron's expression was grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago... well, some of the lines make sense to me now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle."

"Why can't you tell me where the bolt is beforehand?"

"Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge."

I laughed, but it had no amusement behind it. "Fair enough."

"You agree then?"

I looked at Grover, who nodded encouragingly. Luke squeezed my shoulders in silent support. I squared my shoulders. I'd learned long ago that screaming about fairness did nothing.

"All right, fine," I said, flipping my braids back over my shoulders. "It's better than being turned into a dolphin."

"Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron said. "Go upstairs, Allie, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more."

Very encouraging. And cheerful, too. Gotta love millennia-old centaurs.

Four flights up, the stairs ended under a green trapdoor.

I pulled the cord. The door swung down, and a wooden ladder clattered into place. The warm air from above smelled like mildew and rotten wood and something else... a smell I remembered from biology class. Reptiles. The smell of snakes.

I gave another of those dry, unamused laughs before climbing. 

The attic was filled with Greek hero junk: armor stands covered in cobwebs; once-bright shields pitted with rust; old leather steamer trunks plastered with stickers saying ITHAKA, CIRCE'S ISLE, and LAND OF THE AMAZONS. One long table was stacked with glass jars filled with pickled things—severed hairy claws, huge yellow eyes, various other parts of monsters. A dusty mounted trophy on the wall looked like a giant snake's head, but with horns and a full set of shark's teeth. The plaque read, HYDRA HEAD #1, WOODSTOCK, N.Y., 1969. All this stuff would've made the Camp millions if it was sold on eBay to those Internet Freaks™.

By the window, sitting on a wooden tripod stool, was the most gruesome memento of all: a mummy. Not the wrapped-in-cloth kind, but a human female body shriveled to a husk. She wore a tie-dyed sundress, lots of beaded necklaces, and a headband over long black hair. The skin of her face was thin and leathery over her skull, and her eyes were glassy white slits, as if the real eyes had been replaced by marbles; she'd been dead a long time.

Looking at her sent chills up my back. And that was before she sat up on her stool and opened her mouth. A green mist poured from the mummy's mouth, coiling over the floor in thick tendrils, hissing like twenty thousand snakes. Inside my head, I heard a voice, slithering into one ear and coiling around my brain: I am the spirit of Delphi, speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach, seeker, and ask.

I grimaced at the ominous command, but I still obeyed.

The mummy wasn't alive. She was some kind of gruesome receptacle for something else, the power that was now swirling around me in the green mist. But its presence didn't feel evil, like my demonic math teacher Mrs. Dodds or the Minotaur. It felt more like the Three Fates I'd seen knitting the yarn outside the highway fruit stand: ancient, powerful, and definitely not human. But not particularly interested in killing me, either.

After debating the right way to say it, I gave up and asked the bluntest question that would still give me what I needed, "How do I find Zeus' bolt?"

The mist swirled more thickly, collecting right in front of me and around the table with the pickled monster-part jars. Suddenly there were four men sitting around the table, playing cards. Their faces became clearer. It was my ex-stepfather Gabe at a poker party with his buddies.

My fists clenched, though I knew this poker party couldn't be real. It was an illusion, made out of the mist.

Gabe turned toward me and spoke in the rasping voice of the Oracle: You shall go west, and face the god who has turned.

His buddy on the right looked up and said in the same voice: You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned.

The guy on the left threw in two poker chips, then said: You shall be betrayed by one who calls you friend.

Finally, a guy I recognized dimly as Eddie, our old building super, delivered the worst line of all: And it shall begin, in the end.

The figures began to dissolve. At first, I was too stunned to say anything, but as the mist retreated, coiling into a huge green serpent and slithering back into the mouth of the mummy, I came back to my senses. I wanted to ask more questions, but something told me I wouldn't get them answered. 

The tail of the mist snake disappeared into the mummy's mouth. She reclined back against the wall. Her mouth closed tight, as if it hadn't been opened in a hundred years. The attic was silent again, abandoned, nothing but a room full of mementos.

;

"Well?" Chiron asked me as soon as he saw my face reappear in the door.

Luke didn't say anything, but he offered me a glass of water. I accepted it gratefully. "She said I would retrieve what was stolen."

Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!"

"What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron pressed. "This is important."

"You shall go west and face the god who has turned, and you will find what was stolen and see it safely returned."

"I knew it," Grover declared, looking gleeful. Easy for him, he wasn't responsible for saving the world before becoming an adult.

Chiron didn't look satisfied. "Anything else?"

I didn't want to tell him. Who would betray me? I didn't know, and I didn't want to hurt any of my friends by claiming that someone they cared for would be a traitor.

And the last line— the first thing that came to my mind was war. I'd fail to stop the war in the end? What kind of Oracle would send me on a quest and tell me, Oh, by the way, you'll fail? How could I confess that? How could I tell them it was all hopeless? I used my acting face. I could hide my darkest secrets just by using that face, so I knew it'd be hard for Chiron to pull more information out of me, no matter how good he was. 

"No," I said, tilting my head to make it seem like I was thinking about the two lines. "That's all it said."

I knew he knew I was holding something back, but he didn't say anything. I'd managed to convince him, just enough. 

"Very well, Allie. But know this: The Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."

"Okay," I agreed, anxious to change topics. "So where do I go? Who's this god in the west?"

"Ah, think, Allie," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain?" 

I thought for a moment and then chose the god he was most likely thinking of. "Hades?" I guessed. Personally, I didn't get it. I wasn't sure why, but I didn't feel like Hades was the type. 

Chiron nodded and spoke, regaining my drifting attention. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility."

Fury and grief flashed over Luke's face and he clenched his fists tightly. Hades, I remembered, had been the one to send the horde of monsters that overwhelmed and killed Thalia on the hill six years ago. Luke probably despised the Lord of the Dead more than any other immortal.

A scrap of aluminum dribbled out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh- what?"

"A Fury came after Allie," Chiron reminded him. "She watched her until she was sure of her identity, then tried to kill her. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."

"Yes, but— but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protested. "Especially if he has found out Allie is a daughter of Poseidon—"

"That still doesn't tell us how he got the Bolt in the first place," Luke added, his jaw tense. "He still needed a hero to steal it."

"A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continued. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Allie to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill her before she can take on the quest."

"Great," I muttered. "That's two major gods who want to kill me."

"But a quest to..." Grover swallowed. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in someplace like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year."

"Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Allie must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth."

"What if it isn't him though?" I asked. 

Chiron looked patiently at me as I struggled to think. I had trouble putting my thoughts into words. I understood it, but I didn't think they would.

"He just doesn't... ugh." I hated words. "I can't just... you don't have any proof against Hades, do you? If you did, you'd have taken it to Zeus. What if your hunch is wrong, and Hades doesn't have it? There isn't time to search all of America, but guessing is just as bad! I'm not about to start World War III because of a guess!"

That rage from earlier was making its way back into my veins and it was all I could do to keep it from taking over. 

"Allie, I know that this is far more pressure than you should have ever had to bear," Chiron told me gently. He reached out, grasping my hand as he spoke. "But I am not just choosing you for this quest because of your parentage, I'm choosing you because I have faith that you can succeed in this. You're strong, and a survivor. You can do this."

Curse him for knowing some of my past traumas that I'd promised myself I'd never let bring me down again.

"Going to the Underworld isn't just a hunch, Allie," Luke added, turning our hug into a side-embrace so he was still holding me while we faced the others. "We know that you'll find the Bolt in the west, so we just need to go in that direction. And it is we," he insisted firmly before I even had the chance to speak. "Go without me, and I'll sneak out after you. I'm helping, whether you like it or not, got it?" That was good because he was the first person I would've asked to go with me.

"And me too!" Grover declared, looking utterly terrified. "And it's not about the license. It's 'cause you're my friend, and I'm not letting you go into danger without me to help."

I smirked confidently. I had a team and Chiron knew it, if the smile on his face was anything to go by. It was genuine. He had complete faith in us. I squared my shoulders and tilted my chin up. The ultimate red-carpet look. 

"When do we leave?"

*    *    *

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SERIES M.LIST | MAIN M.LIST | TIPS

#asaeato #a story as endless as the ocean #alliejackson #female percy jackson #lukecastellan #lullie #trinitymia

[ofwrxth]

BASICS

Name: Lorna Adair

Age & Birthday: 24 & February 14,1998

Gender/Pronouns: cis woman / she & her 

Birthplace: Atlanta, GA

Time in Atlanta: 18 years + returned 2 weeks ago

Neighborhood: Center Hill 

Association: None

Occupation: Graphic Designer  

Positive personality traits: Altruistic, creative, spirited,

Negative personality traits: Overly-empathetic, self-reliant, stubborn

Faceclaim: Abigail Cowen

ABOUT

Lorna grew up in the comfort of a loving home. Solidly middle class, there were years where they had to tighten their belts and others when they were able to enjoy small luxuries. In everything she learned to be grateful and to make the most of whatever they had, in feast or famine. It was the Adair way.

In school, while she wasn't the smartest, Lorna worked hard and her teachers saw that she was more suited for the creative arts. They encouraged her to pursue that in college and by some miracle (and a lot of determination), she graduated high school at sixteen and headed off to college. Neither of her parents had gone but they were proud to see her and her siblings go.

Lorna had always known she wanted to live in the Pacific Northwest and had applied to school in Portland, getting into a graphic design program where she fell in love with the medium. But art isn't the only thing she fell in love with.

She met Fenrir through a friend of a friend at some music fest, bonding over their shared hometown and love of the great outdoors. What started as a one-off hike here or there soon became a frequent occurrence as they both fell hard for each other. Lorna knew he was the one for different reasons, his kindness and generosity towards herself and others, his patients as she worked on pieces for hours on end. The way he held her tight and helped her get home when her father died. The way he waited for her to finish her degree, celebrating harder than even her family did when she walked across that stage. And then they were off on their great adventure.

Traveling around the country together in a little RV they renovated, life was simple as it was sweet. Lorna freelanced at the same time, inspired by her life, her love, and the world around them. Little did they know that their greatest adventures lay ahead. Parenthood came for them two years ago when they welcomed little Rowen Adair Cross into their lives and everything changed for the better. It was a journey they were excited to be on together. Being parents was hard work but they made it seem easy between Fen's jobs and Lorna's work. She remembered the way her dad would tell her to be grateful in feast and famine and it was easy when life felt like the former. Feast after feast. Little bright spots that illuminated the sky like stars. And the brightest little star was born in November of 2022. Autumn Adair Cross came into the world with lungs that could be heard from coast to coast. A shock of red hair, bright blue eyes and the sweetest smile — their little girl completed their family.

But famine came when they least expected it. February in Nevada never felt so cold as the day when Lorna’s world tipped on its axis. Everyone told her that it wasn't her fault, that SIDs was called that for a reason but it didn't matter. Her little Autumn was gone, and she’d taken half of Lorna’s heart with her.

The months that followed felt like a constant numbing cold had overtaken her and only the sound of her son's laughter could bring a faint smile to her lips. Lorna was fading day by day, and finally Fen made the decision to move them closer to each of their families. They were both suffering but Lorna couldn't see straight, much less make any decisions. Fen took on that burden and moved them to Georgia.

People say time heals but she's not so sure about that. Atlanta feels different now that she's back, not quite like home anymore, but maybe that’s just because she's different.

#atl intro. #lorna intro. #lorna.

[keefwho]

March 20 - 2023

8:11 PM

Still trying to get over this “talking to other people is sort of cheating on your friends” kinda of mentality. It’s not a super strong belief I have but it’s enough to be a problem that affects how I want to behave. Right now I’m not even bothered by it, I’m thinking about it because I feel like I understand how having so many friends is okay. In my mind, I’ll always have “favorites” which is a weird way to put it but it’s true. To me there are people that have priority slots that will not be easily overtaken. And with my friends I know I get the same treatment. 

11:55 PM

I suddenly had so many topics in my head that I wanted to spill out in no particular order. Although I’ve probably forgot some already.

First of all tomorrow is my mental health focus day. I almost never actually know what to do for those days so I’m trying to plan it ahead of time. I think tomorrow I want to focus on self expression and just living. I know I’ve been obsessing over my mental state for awhile. It’s possible to put too much though/attention into anything. I don’t think I let myself live enough. I seldom drop my thoughts so I can enjoy whatever activity I chose to engage with. 

There’s an issue I don’t know how to describe or why it happens. In a way I feel too present, like I have no history. It makes appraisal of my current situation and relationships difficult sometimes. It’s like I lose touch with the reason I’m friends with people or why I live where I do or am doing what I’m doing. I don’t remember having this problem in the past. I really don’t like it because I tend to think I’m further back than I am in some places. For instance with some people I almost get the feeling like our friendship is still young and it makes me want to try extremely hard to make sure our bond is cemented when it already has been for a long time. I don’t know why this has been happening. Maybe I’ve become too present? I did make a sort of effort to detach from the past because I felt like I lived TOO much in the past. But going to the extreme in any field is rarely a good thing. Maybe I’ve detached too hard and should get in touch with old memories again. They do matter. An especially painful example of this is how I’ve almost completely disregarded one of the closest friendships I’ve ever had. It feels too soon for it to have faded into “distant” memory. It was such a major part of my life for better or for worse but I don’t want to forget it either way. How could I fail to piece together something that impacted me so much daily for years? I think my extremely swift growth as a person has made it difficult to identify with who I used to be, especially since I consider past me to be something I never want to be again. But I can’t forget that was like that. It’s who I was and it’s led to who I am now. 

Earlier I said I want to express myself. I think it’s very important that I try to do that more often. I ALWAYS fall into a trap of conforming to others. Its good to an extent but I tend to lose myself and go too far. Then relationships suffer because instead of being the unique person other people came to love, I become a node that reflects themselves back at them. I fail to come up with meaningful ways to contribute or converse. I can’t forget I am my own person with my own desires and dreams that are all valid. My priority should be growing and nurturing myself so I can bring something to the table. Tomorrow I plan to express myself in every facet of my day. It largely comes down to little things I do and decisions I make. I often conduct myself like I’m being watched and limit what I do so I don’t look “weird” to this imaginary audience. I want to let go and let my heart guide all my little choices. 

Speaking of heart, it’s become more and more important to me lately. I’ve been actively seeking sources of emotion positive or negative. Whenever I start overthinking and get stuck on something important, I try to let my heart dictate how I will proceed. Sometimes I get confused though. Like when I obsess over a person or a topic and I know I should be taking steps to obsess less but my heart says to keep going. I don’t know which part of myself to listen to in cases like that. Like with everything there is a delicate balance to all this. 

This might have something to do with my self worth but I am eager to trust that my relationships are stronger than I make them out to be. This is also affected by that memory issue. Not only do I feel detached from the foundations of my relationships but I also hold the deep belief that I’m not worth their love. It takes a lot of effort on my part to put all that aside and choose to believe I have people that love me and think about me as much as I do for them. It’s comforting when I actually reach that point but it is very difficult. Whenever I hold doubt I act in ways I don’t want to. Like making some things into a bigger deal than they should and getting too emotional about it. Not every day needs to have an expression of extravagant gratitude or love to keep my friendships alive. It actually gets stale if that keeps happening. Sometimes I have to stop myself from spilling my heart out over and over and over. This is one of those cases where my heart can be wrong. Or I need to find different ways to express those feelings, like a large long term project that I can silently use to vent my feelings until it’s big reveal. 

I am VERY afraid to read older journal entries but I think it will be important. It would be good if I read ANYTHING off this journal because I know I need more self observation. I avoid myself too much. The easiest and cringiest way I can think to approach myself is to read my own cringe journal. 

Just a LITTLE bit of reading in and I’m on the verge of tears for some reason. Maybe it’s because I’m sad at how out of touch I am with my memories from the past year. Maybe because I remember all that pain and stress I felt while writing a lot of this. Maybe I’m overjoyed that there is someone who has been around for it all that I can talk to about it. 

I wish I could talk to them about it right now. I don’t even know what I’d say. I just want to rant about it all I guess. 

Instead of just telling people how much they mean to me, I want to show them. With art or other gifts. 

[thetravelingmaster]

Short Story: Foggy Conditioning

Female’s Point of View - Conditioning - Mindless

There’s a fog in my mind... Languorously swirling and shifting... Preventing me from holding onto my thoughts. Like smoke... They never settle and keep dancing... Shifting... Blown away at the slightest breeze that now  constantly sweeps across my mind. I would like to say that I am still myself, but I simply don’t know if I am because the memories that are lodged deep within my brain are filtered through the smoke invading my mind. I can only glimpse and guess at who I was before I came here. Where I was... This too is something that completely eludes me. I can feel and experience faded ideas and thoughts, but none of them seem real... As if they were all part of a dream I feel I remember, but every time I try to concentrate on what I assume are memories, they dissipate into the smoke. Who I was... Where I was... How I got here... My hopes... My dreams... My desires... Everything is in constant flux within the confines of my mind. The soothing fog envelops it all, filtering what I can see... What I can feel... What I can remember... What is worse, or best, about my current corrupted thoughts is that the mist feels so warm and comforting. It soaks up my will like a sponge. Without clear memories... Without a clear self image of who I am and what I once knew to be true for me... How can I make decisions? How can I compare and decide what I should do if I don’t know what I usually do? How do I make up my mind and choose when there is only smoky fog in my mind? The only things I can truly rely on is my body. On my senses... The swirling fog in my mind has no sway over them. That is the only thing from my former self I can trust. My body cannot lie or think. It cannot debate or worry. It can only feel. So I stay blank... Consumed by the fog as it makes me close to mindless... No clear thoughts or desires. I stay that way, aimless and content, until someone comes to me with options. They are always so kind and patient as they ask me to choose between things I can’t possibly choose to do while the fog hungrily swallows my will. Along with the memories of who I was before. I stay mindless until I need to push my mind to choose SOMETHING. Vainly trying to summon my will from the fog as I navigate my body to the options before me. There is no logic behind my choice. There is only a need for action. A desire to change my status quo so the fog might lift and stop filtering my memories. I can’t think about good or bad. Preferences or needs. I simply... Act... And see if my body enjoys whatever the flip of the coin instructed me to do. When I feel pleasure, I assume it’s my body telling me that I used to love doing whatever I am doing. So I try very hard to remember those actions... Like they are broken pieces of who I was... As if holding onto those actions and decisions will somehow bring me back to myself and finally dispel the fog. I have only the pleasure to guide me... If I do something and pleasure ensues, I hold onto it. If I do something and pain erupts, I dismiss it eagerly and let the fog take it away. Little by little, I feel like I’m regaining a sense of who I was. So I can only assume that my plan seems to be working... I think... The more I hold onto the pleasurable decisions I’ve made before, the more I seem to know what to do when someone offers me options. Like a... Reflex... My body slowly builds its own memory. It's my own sense of self. It's its own sense of what is true and right. My mind might never be clear as the fog filters everything I try to remember, but my body remembers and I can always trust my body. So I stay blank... Beautifully serene in the swirling smoke in my mind and wait for my body to lead me back to who I was. The person that keeps helping me is infinitely patient and although I can’t remember who it is, I feel like my body remembers who it is. How else can I explain the deep pleasure I feel in their presence? The intense flood of arousal I feel when they touch me. My mind also seems to be developing its own sense of reflexive memory because even though I never recognize the person, or persons, that come to help me, I’ve felt this growing sense of profound gratitude for everything they are patiently doing for me. I mentioned persons... Because in truth, multiple people could be helping me and I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember anyone and that includes the person that comes to offer me options. Is it one? Two? A man? A woman? I have no way to know and at this point, I feel like I don’t care. How could I? I’m always foggy as I let my body learn and try to find its way back to who I was. Conditioning itself to memories that feel good. To what feels right. To who I am. “Hello my little blank toy. It’s time for another choice...” And just like that, the fog allows me to focus on the source of my salvation so I can choose and discover who I was before the fog invaded my mind...

#short story #Foggy Conditioning