#Cultural Loss Recovery

[delicatelysublimeforester]

International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples: Reflecting on the Past, Embracing the Future

[poundfooolish]

I have been on a binge reading so much bullshit about the trojan war and odyssey and myths and historicity and doing EVERYTHING IN MY POWER to absorb the stories without actually reading them.

I have to finish Ghosts of the Tsunami first but WHEN I DO-

[undead-moth]

It’s amazing how fatphobes will swear up and down that they exercise for their “health” and that fat people need to exercise for their “health” too but the second someone says they exercise even though they aren’t trying to lose weight or a doctor says “exercise doesn’t cause weight loss but it’s good for your health” fatphobes are immediately like “UM why even do it then?” Like they expose themselves every time it’s amazing. They’ll keep insisting it’s about health though lmao.

Me: Exercise does not cause weight loss. This is a fact that has been demonstrated so robustly in research that even doctors, who hate and fear evidence, are grudgingly starting to admit this.

Someone reading that post: Cool, but have you considered that exercise leads to weight loss?

Me: I am going to eat you

[drdemonprince]

if sex is no big deal and just a normal thing like having dinner with someone, how do you square that with the belief that children can't consent to sex? Like idk this whole thing of "sex is a normal act like any other and we shouldn't treat it differently" makes me soo uncomfortable because i feel like it's really obviously not in a lot of situations? Otherwise what's the difference between being told by my boss to have lunch with one of our prospective clients being told by my boss to blow one of our prospective clients? :/

let's take your dinner example to its logical conclusion, because you are on to something here, but I don't think quite in the way that you think.

children are forced to eat food that they this really dislike (due to sensory issues, allergies, or just run of the mill unfamiliarity) quite regularly by their caregivers. they are also sometimes denied the right to eat because they didn't behave the way their caretakers liked, and sent to bed hungry, or barred from eating food that they can handle, and instead left to go hungry because they won't eat food they can't handle.

treatment like this causes a lot of food issues and trauma to children. It exacerbates eating disorders and erodes a child's sense of their own body autonomy. It can also cause children to have nutritional issues and a scarcity mentality around food that can be really damaging to them.

similarly, people are forced to share meals with people who they are viscerally uncomfortable around all the time too, often to extreme negative effects. employees are forced to sit down with clients who debase them or harass them. Young people in particular are forced into sharing tables with relatives who have crossed their boundaries, insulted them, abused them, bullied them, and whom they want nothing to do with. people in recovery from eating disorders are surrounded by co-workers, family members, or friends at meal times who speak about calories and weight loss and comment on their own bodies and other people's bodies in incredibly invasive and triggering ways that often make them feel way worse, and make taking care of their own bodies far more difficult.

when a powerful institution wants to exert control over other people, they also often do so using food. prisoners are given almost no control over the kind of food they eat, and are often given very low quality food that is in a disgusting condition, or that violates their own nutritional requirements or religious beliefs. patients in hospitals and in mental institutions are also subjected to such treatment, and people in poverty are expected to eat anything that they are given without complaint. It is an extension of their dehumanization to control and limit the kinds of food they're allowed to access, and how and when they are permitted to eat.

each of these experiences surrounding food can be incredibly violating and harmful. food is quite frequently a tool of control and abuse. yet it is not because there is some magical quality to food or to dinners that make them uniquely fraught with the potential for trauma. these experiences are traumatic because they involve a violation of a person's body autonomy, and a lack of social power.

sex isn't any different from dinner. we just have a series of cultural beliefs surrounding it that make the pressure involving sex something that's both a lot more acknowledged, and mostly encountered in the private realm.

Sex is treated as an almost magical thing, at once both sinister and sacrosanct, and so people are primed to see the potential for harm in it, and it is frequently used as a tool for harming people because it is so loaded, but that doesn't mean there aren't abuses involving every other mundane human activity that we simply are conditioned to ignore because doing so is so normal.

People's body autonomy surrounding food is violated traumatically all the fucking time. unfortunately because we consider dinner to be a neutral activity and sex to be this incredibly fraught and almost magical one, we ignore the massive amounts of coercion, pressure, and violation surrounding food.

your boss shouldn't be able to force you to get dinner with someone. and people are uncomfortable with discussions about body autonomy that neutralize sex, because it forces them to confront how little freedom we actually have in every facet of our lives.

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - March 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles! This month’s doodles, like every third month, will be free to the public, so take a look!

1. Zoo 'overjoyed' as lion cubs increase pride to 10

“The litter of rare northern African lions was the second batch to be born recently at Whipsnade Zoo in Bedfordshire, after three arrived in November. […] "The youngsters will grow up side-by-side with their half-siblings, and I'm sure they'll love having an abundance of playmates."”

2. Ohio Appeals Court Rules Trans Care Is Healthcare, Strikes Down Ban For Trans Youth

“The ruling rested on two key findings: first, that gender-affirming care constitutes legitimate medical treatment, and second, that parents have the constitutional right to make healthcare decisions for their children.”

3. Oystercatcher Recovery Campaign Offers a Rare Success Story about Shorebird Conservation

“Fifteen years of coordinated conservation efforts have produced a significant recovery in the U.S. population of the American oystercatcher[….] Schulte predicted that the protection efforts will survive [federal funding cuts] because of the large number of non-federal partners involved.”

4. Fish-tracking robot aims to make fishing more sustainable in developing nations

“A solar-powered, transparent [robot] that can roam the waters autonomously for five days at a stretch, counting fish [… can help fishers] avoid the overfishing [… and] mean less fuel consumed by boats searching for schools of fish, and less degradation of nets due to trawling where there are no fish.”

5. Zoologist Rediscovers Grasshopper Species Believed Extinct

“[… T]he Appalachian grasshopper […] camouflages with its surroundings—perhaps part of the reason people haven’t seen it [since 1946]. [… A zoologist] had seen some reports on iNaturalist that he thought could have been the species[, …] and after surveying several locations, he found a female.”

6. Scaling agroforestry can support fisheries, local food production and cultural practices

“The research found that combining native forest protection (100,000 acres) with transitioning suitable fallow agricultural land to agroforestry (400,000 acres) could [reduce] erosion and boosting nearshore food production by almost 100,000 meals per year[….]”

7. A cell pulls off one of the 'Holy Grails' of biotechnology

“[… A] single-celled alga with a nucleus [… can conduct] a chemical conversion reaction that helps create some of the essential building blocks of life. […] One day, Capone says the nitroplast could be introduced to crops to allow them to convert their own nitrogen without relying on external fertilizer.”

8. FERC: Solar + wind set for a strong 3-year run despite Trump’s sabotage

“Solar accounted for 68.2% of all new generating capacity placed into service in January – more than double the solar capacity added a year earlier (1,176 MW). […] Around 30% of US solar capacity is in small-scale (e.g., rooftop) systems that are not reflected in FERC’s data.”

9. As ghost junk haunts the sea, ‘mermaids’ are fighting back

“Just two days after completing the training, Diana Garcia, one of the Sirenas, helped remove nearly 900 kilograms (2,000 pounds) of [abandoned] ghost gear and debris in the waters near her community[….]”

10. A Nest-Protecting Program Pays Off for Alabama’s Snowy Plovers

“Over the past two breeding seasons, 18 Snowy Plover chicks fledged—a major turnaround after five years of almost no chick survival. [… The team made] a concerted effort to educate the public about the need to give the birds space[, … and] people have not directly caused plover losses in Alabama recently[….]”

March 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[evelyn-and-art]

“As the cold sinks deep into every crevice, I hope my love gives you warmth.”

My submission for Week 2 of Tea’s SuoSaku Monsterfucking Month. With the prompt “He Came Back Wrong”, I decided on a Xianxia AU featuring demonic cultivator! Suo and fierce corpse! Sakura.

Extras (and lore) + Topless Version

Topless Version [TW: (softcore) necrophilia, loss of body parts (but it’s wrapped/stitched), scars (if you’re squeamish about that) & implied decapitation and torture]

—

The idea came from @ros-ales who said to me,

She knows me so well <3. Me thinks Nirei didn’t intend for Suo to actually go through with it, they’re all in mourning after discovering Sakura’s remains and a lot of things can be said carelessly in the moment. Unfortunately, Suo was already unhinged to begin with and Sakura’s death just made him spiral down further. So yeah, this is both horny and sad. Horny sad. (Week 3 is just horny, promise 🖐️😔)

They also gave me the idea for Sakura’s left eye (or lack thereof 😭) since his golden eye might be a valuable prize for some (in this AU skr was considered one of the strongest cultivators in their generation) and I’d imagine the opposing sect responsible for his torture and death would do something like that. Why is it not back in his body like his head? Uhhh, me thinks his scarred eye serves for better storytelling. Oh! And Sakura’s choppy haircut was the result of his head being *gestures to the neck*. Between you and me, Suo has some of the hair remains kept preserved in a pouch inside his magical storage sleeves.

-bUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE:

In East Asian culture, the standard practice in wearing traditional robes was left over right; in China, this is called Yòurèn (右衽, lit. right lapel). The opposite, Zuǒren (左衽, lit. left lapel), is commonly used for the deceased.

Considering in this AU Suo dresses Sakura daily, he was initially hesitant in putting on the robe the appropriate way since it would be the final nail to the coffin (ha!) so to speak—thank you to @psychicwavementality for this additional tidbit! Ah, but I love making Suo lowkey insane so eventually he gave into his delulu and dresses Sakura as if he were still alive. It terrifies and worries the sect though, they’re scared of what might happen if they address this to Suo directly (Suo left quite the mess in their first recovery of Sakura’s body) so they continue to indulge with the pretense. It goes without saying that this is not a healthy way to cope, like at all. If you ask the sect, they would say they’re doing this for Suo, but remember it’s not just Suo who was devastated by Sakura’s death.

—

Week 3 is already out as well since I was working on it at the same time ^^. Ahhh sorry this is so late Tea ( ˶╥﹏╥)7

[thusspoketrish]

Hiya, I'm Trish! Below you'll find a list of my completed Drarry fics + a gist of the story + a handful of tags. All of my stories are postwar, EWE, and rated E or M. I will update this list as I complete more stories! Wooo!!!

MOST RECENT FIC:

Netflix and Chills | E | 20K Halloween might be over, but the tricks, treats, and heat between the sheets are just beginning for our favorite dynamic duo! Humor. Post-Second Wizarding War. EWE. Drarry in the Muggle World. Established Relationship. Snarky Draco Malfoy. Muggle Technology. Slice of Life. Humor. Romance. Domestic Fluff. Pop Culture References. Shenanigans. Halloween Night. Netflix and Chill. Banter. Mystery. Idiots in Love. Light Dom/Sub Elements. Dirty Talk. Blue Ball Hell.

Summary: When Draco innocently asks what "Netflix and Chill" means, Harry simply can't pass up the opportunity to impart some knowledge while demonstrating a masterclass in the art of seduction. Now, if only those plans weren't constantly interrupted by trick-or-treaters—some of them far more trick than treat.

The Art of Getting By | E | 149K Recovery fic set in a psychiatric hospital. Mental health Issues. Trauma/Traumatic Experiences. Heavy Angst. Harry and Draco admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Therapy. Fastburn. Co-dependency. Falling in love. Draco's + Harry's POV. Please read warnings. Dead Dove.

This Year's Love| E | 84K. A Drarry slowburn inspired by When Harry Met Sally! Humor. Light Angst. Draco in the Muggle world. Lovable Disaster!Harry. Enemies to Best Friends. Modern Dating. Layabout!Harry. Medical Student!Draco. Draco Dates Zaddies. Harry Is Living His Best Heaux Life. Sex (or no sex!) Positivity. Idiots In Love. So Much Pining. Harry's POV.

Everything That Happens Is From Now On | E | 42K. A sensitive story that explores the aftermath and recovery from a stranger SA. Established relationship. Secrets. Supportive/Loving Partner. RTS. Living Together. Body Positivity. Enthusiastic Consent. Hope. Draco's POV. Please read warnings.

Lemon Colour, Honey Glow | E | 67K. A love story that takes place over a series of unfortunate nights at the Leaky Cauldron. Enemies to Lovers. Falling in Love. Auror!Harry. Potion Master!Draco. Secret Relationship. Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Possessive Harry. Flangst. Beer Gardens. The Leaky Cauldron. The Slytherin Trio. Bullying/Violence. Spoilers Left Untagged.

Super Rich Kids | E | 81K. True crime meets wild government conspiracies when Draco becomes a twisted sort-of Robin Hood, robbing the badly behaving rich to give to...well...you'll have to read the story to find out! Angst. Murders. Coverups. Enemies to Friends to Lovers. Bisexual Draco. Lush descriptions of glamour. Humor. The ULTIMATE Slytherin ensemble. Mental Health Issues. Drug Usage/Addiction. Pureblood Elitism. Social Season. Angst with a Happy Ending. Draco's POV.

On The Last Day | E | 53K. Draco's role as an Unspeakable, Harry's untimely death and ghostly return, and conspiracies bind them in a quest for truth and redemption. Mystery. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Grief/Mourning. Horror Elements. Science. Neurology/Neuroscience. Slowburn. Memory Loss. Draco's POV.

My Best Friend, the Serial Killer | E | 37K. Ride or Die BFFL Draco finds he's tired of moonlighting as a serial killer's accomplice. No matter how much he loves Pansy, he draws the line at helping her dispose of a sexy, flirty Harry Potter. Dark Humor. Campy/Kitsch Elements. Serial Killer!Pansy. Healer!Draco. Femme Fatale Trope. Falling in Love. Self-Love. Jealousy. Everyone is seriously morally grey. Draco's POV.

A Ferret, a ScarHead, a Weasel, & a Baby | E | 91K. The ultimate bromance takes centre stage (alongside a sweet and tender Drarry romance) in this Three Men & a Baby inspired story! BAMF Auror Draco. Protective Draco. Healer Harry. Capable and Emotionally Intelligent Ron. Illegal Potions Ring. Orphaned Baby. Roommates. Nothing to Something to Everything. Draco's POV.

Seven Days | E | 8K. It takes seven days for the Malfoy-Potter family to unravel. Grief/Mourning. Child Abduction. Death of a Child. Implied Mpreg. Alcohol Relapse. Coming to Terms. Harry's POV. Please Read the Warnings.

Portrait of a Young Girl | M | 8K. Navigating the complexities of love, marriage, and child-rearing, Harry and Draco face a new challenge when they suspect that four-year-old Teddy might be transgender. Married Drarry. Young Couple. Inexperienced Parents. Marital Problems/Disagreements. Stay-at-Home Dad Draco. Fluff. Acceptance. Love. Family. Happy Ending. Harry's POV.

A Day at the Park | M | 6K. Draco discovers that love has its own timing, and sometimes, that means returning to the place where he once lost it all. Estranged couple. Flashbacks. Pining. Postman's Park. Exiled Draco. Draco's POV.

Long for Bliss! | E | 9K. A random night out takes a dark and thrilling turn when Harry, after taking MDMA, encounters Draco Malfoy, looking like something straight out of his wildest dreams – or nightmares. First Time Drug Use. Nightclubs. The Perils of Ennui. Mildly Dubious Consent. Rooftop Sex. Light Dom/Sub Elements. Harry's POV.

Idiot Boys In Love & More | Various Ratings | 18K. Here you'll find a collection of one-shots, drabbles, and poems about Harry and Draco that are all standalone pieces! Each story is centered on a prompt provided by @drarrymicrofic and said prompt will be listed in the summary of each story (Series I completed). Harry + Draco's POV.

[gem-femmes]

Hi to all my readers 💝

This list of my guides and longer articles will be updated periodically.

🦢 Social Skills

How to Handle Running Into a Former Friend or Ex that You’re Not Looking to Reconnect With

How & Why Gatekeep Yourself

10 Conversation Topics to Create a Deep Connection

Level-Up Tip: Sometimes, It’s Best to Let People Learn on Their Own

The Faux Pas Recovery Guide: How to Bounce Back from Awkward Moments

The Art of Asking Questions: How to Open Doors with Curiosity

🦢 Social Climbing

My Experience with “Old Money” & “New Money” in Europe and England

Insider Secrets: The Truth About “Old Money” Style and Breaking Into Elite Circles

7 Subtle Ways People Try to Sabotage Young Women

Sentences that People Might Say to Undermine You

How to Cultivate Presence: The Quiet Power of Being Noticed

The thing no one tells you about social climbing

Social Grace 101: Small Gestures That Make a Big Difference

The Art of Subtle Influence: How to Be the Person Everyone Wants Around

How to Master the Dinner Party Power Dynamic

Body Language Secrets of the Social Elite

Gatekeepers, Allies and Rivals: Navigating Complex Social Hierarchies

🦢 Personal Development

Why Do I Believe that I Can’t?

How to Move On Faster and Build Resilience

My Weight Loss Journey: What Works & What Fails

I didn’t feel like exercising but I did it anyway

Stop Overloading Yourself: Do Less, Not More

The Myth of Effortless Growth Realizing You Can Change, Right This Second

Level Up Reminders Because Why Not

Some Thoughts For Your Own Main Character Era

On Finding (and Firing) Mentors

Babe, You Can Change Your Life Right Now

🦢 Art & Culture

How to Understand an Artwork: A Brief Guide

🦢 Career

How to Subtly Push Back in a Negative Job Interview

🦢 Lists

tiny daily habits for a more intentional life simple ways to romanticize your everyday life ten simple habits for a beautiful and fulfilling life tiny ways to treat yourself every day ways to make your space feel more magical quick ways to spark creativity simple ways to feel more confident every day ways to add luxury to your daily routine how to be the most well-rounded woman in the room in 2025 little ways to stay grounded and present tiny joys to brighten your day ways to romanticize your evenings simple ways to feel more aligned with yourself

🦢 Dating

Advice for Dating at University

[nousrose]

The temporary payoff of other addictions—drugs, gambling, food—pales in comparison with what the transcendent Other may offer. It is not just relief from this world's pain, an anodyne to boredom and depression, but a recovery of that fabled Eden one seeks in the neurological labyrinth of our history. Nothing has greater power over our lives than the hint, the promise, the intimation, of the recovery of Eden through that Magical Other. No wonder, then, the dismay, the horror, of losing Eden again, when its precincts were glimpsed from afar. Who would want to live on, having lost it yet again? The repeated loss of Eden is the human condition, even as the hope for its recovery is our chief fantasy. Yet, we all know that the Other, a simple, flawed human being just like ourselves, can never carry the full weight of our Eden project. Nor can we carry the Other's. Those two diagonal vectors in the relational diagram are the most active of all the twelve possibilities. Invariably, as they carry so much weighted history, so much longing, such a large hope, they will collapse. At that moment, one falls out of love, as the culture has it. More than half of all popular songs mourn this loss of the beloved Other. "Who are you," "I don't know you anymore." "You've changed," "You've broken my heart"—that is, failed my Eden project. But since my Eden project, my desire to go home through you, is essentially unconscious, I am unaware of its origin in myself and can only blame you for this great disappointment.

The Eden Project

James Hollis

[azriona]

Friday Five: Winterhawk Edition #1

Hey, look, it's Friday, awesome. Today's Five focus on Winterhawk (Clint/Bucky). A good mix of canon divergence and straight-up AUs here that run the gamut from schmoopily romantic to downright terrifying. Yay variety!

Want a different pairing? Check out the Friday Five Masterlist!

Silhouette by @mariana-oconnor

(E, Canon Divergence, no superpowers but there is a SHIELD and a metal arm)

Steve and Bucky are SHIELD agents. Natasha and Clint are vigilante assassins. Steve and Bucky are assigned to track and apprehend Natasha and Clint. Things do not go as planned. The epitome of a thriller spy love story, and long-distance secret romance at its best.

💘

Complications/Publications/Sensations by @flawedamythyst

(Teen through Explicit, Soulmate, Avenger!Bucky)

A set of three WinterHawk stories. The first is how they become soulmates and how they deal with the complications. The second is how they manage their relationship with the never-endingly annoying press. The third is my favorite. When Clint is hit with a magical curse that removes all of his senses, he and Bucky have to figure out how to continue Avenging – not to mention whether or not they even can. There’s plot going on too – the first two mostly with Bucky’s Hydra programming, and then the third with Clint’s determination to do everything himself despite having Bucky as backup.

💘

Falling off the Face of the Earth by @teeelsie-posts (Teeelsie)

(Explicit, post CA:CW, Bucky & Clint on the run, Winter Soldier warning)

Bucky’s going through his recovery in Wakanda when there’s an attack, and Steve sends Bucky with Clint to safety. It goes pretty well, until it doesn’t. This fic had me on the edge of my seat in the second half.

💘

This is not a Date, it’s a Kidnapping by sara_holmes

(Teen, Bucky on the run, humor, Lucky the dog)

Bucky Barnes wants Steve to stop looking for him. So obviously the best way to send a message is to kidnap Clint and threaten him until he delivers it. Except Clint’s really bad at convincing Steve to do anything, plus he’s really easy to kidnap, and now there’s a dog, and is it really Bucky’s fault that he keeps kidnapping Clint? ‘Course not. Guy’s too kidnappable, that’s the real problem here.

💘

Ain’t That a Kick in the Head by Finely Honed

(Explicit, new relationship, no powers, disabilities, PTSD)

So technically this is the third in a series that focuses on Stony, but as this is a prequel to the main storyline, it works as a standalone really well. Clint and Bucky are newly invalided out of the Army, and have to navigate not only their new relationship but also their new personal situations (Clint’s hearing loss, Bucky’s amputation) and the reverse culture shock of being civilians again. It’s the trifecta of trauma! But no, seriously, this isn’t half as angsty as it sounds, and their joy in each other is the best part of the fic.

Don't see your favorite fic? Send me a rec!

[foolexby]

La llorona.

Notes: I'm so glad to present a Supernatural Black Brothers AU. Regulus Black x Mexican!Reader, I suposse. Reader is flirting with Sirius and Regulus. For the second week of Festival of AUs by @acourtofchaos. I'm so excited to post this already. A bit of Mexican culture too. Female Reader. No use of Y/N.

WC: 6.6k

CW: Mentions of violence. No major character death (but mentions of death/murder). Slightly angst. Depictions of drowning. Grief and loss. Supernatural horror. Psychological distress. Trauma recovery themes.

Navigation.

Sirius lit his third cigarette of the night as the old motel fan rattled as if it was about to detach from the ceiling. He was about to fall asleep with his shoes on when the door slammed open. His brother entered without saying a word, soaked from the rain and with the frown of someone who had seen something they didn’t want to fully understand.

“Trouble?” Sirius asked without taking his eyes off the weapon.

Regulus threw a crumpled newspaper on the table.

“Valle de Bravo. Mexico. Five missing in the last two weeks. Three men, one woman, and a girl. All last seen near the lake.”

Sirius took the newspaper, raising an eyebrow, clicking his tongue as he read.

“Witnesses say they heard a woman crying before they disappeared,” he read aloud, then looked at him. “La Llorona? Isn’t that just a legend to scare children?”

“Yeah. Like wendigos and shadow men. Until we saw them with our own eyes.” Regulus tossed a folder on the table: photos of the scene, clippings of other similar disappearances, notes in his neat handwriting.

Sirius slumped in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head.

“What do the forensic reports say?”

“Drowning. But no water in the lungs. No signs of a struggle. One of them had finger marks on his neck, like he’d been dragged… without leaving any traces. Not even on the shore.”

Silence settled for a moment. Outside, the wind kept banging against the shutters insistently.

“And what do you propose?” Sirius asked, his tone more serious now.

Regulus walked up to the window, gazing at the distant city lights.

“We’re going to Mexico. Something’s happening there. And whatever it is, we need to find out before it claims more victims.”

Sirius sighed and got up from the bed, looking at the newspaper one more time.

“So, we’re going to Mexico?”

Regulus nodded, without hesitation.

“Yeah. And if what they’re saying is true... there’s something in that lake we can’t ignore.”

Sirius sighed, stood up from the chair, and put on his leather jacket.

“Mexico, huh? At least we’ll get to try tequila, if we don’t end up being killed by some vengeful spirit.”

Regulus didn’t answer, already with his backpack ready for the trip.

The trip to the village was long and, as usual, silent. Sirius had been behind the wheel for hours, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel of the old Jeep as the road stretched between fog-covered mountains. In the distance, the lake began to appear, like a dark mirror between the trees.

“It seems peaceful,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off the road. “Too peaceful.”

Regulus, with an open notebook on his lap, didn’t answer. He had been jotting down observations, details of the cases, possible patterns. Always methodical. Always cold. But even he couldn’t deny that the air was starting to feel thicker as they got closer.

“Nice place to die,” he murmured, half-joking.

Regulus didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“It’s a tourist town. Quiet, picturesque... until someone disappears.”

Sirius snorted.

“How do you know so much? Did you swallow a travel guide?”

Regulus pressed his lips together, ignoring the comment. He had learned to live with his brother’s sarcasm, but that didn’t mean it amused him.

The car descended a cobbled street into the heart of the village. The white houses with red tile roofs clustered together next to narrow alleys, and in the distance, the lake shimmered beneath a cloudy sky. There was something unsettling about its still surface, too still for a place with so much history.

“Are you sure these people are going to talk to us? I don’t think they’ll welcome two strangers asking about ghosts.” Sirius lit a cigarette and rolled down the window.

“We’re not talking to just anyone. I know someone,” said Regulus, as he parked in front of a modest but well-kept inn, with a white facade and green windows. “Well... I don’t know her. I was recommended her. They say she’s researched strange things around here. And she speaks English.”

Sirius turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Is she hot?”

Regulus gave him a disapproving look but didn’t answer. Instead, he got out of the car and grabbed his backpack from the back seat. Sirius smiled, satisfied. The silence was response enough.

The bell above the inn’s door rang as they entered. The lobby smelled of old wood and freshly brewed coffee. Behind the counter, you looked up from a notebook.

“Regulus Black?” you asked.

“Yes. Are you the girl they recommended to me?”

“That’s me.” You closed the notebook and gave them a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I work here, or something like that, family business in other things.”

Sirius stepped forward and extended his hand.

“Sirius Black. The charming brother.”

You shook it, and your lips barely curved.

“Charming or not, I hope you’ll be discreet. People around here don’t talk about La Llorona... not if they can avoid it. The town lives off visitors, not legends.”

Regulus handed you the cash. You took the bills, counted them without hurry, then handed them the metal key.

“If you hear something crying tonight... don’t go out. It’s none of your business.”

You walked away calmly, but Sirius didn’t stop watching you until you disappeared down the hallway. Then he turned to his brother.

“I like this town. It has... character.”

“And corpses,” Regulus replied, grabbing his backpack. “Don’t forget that.”

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

The next morning dawned wrapped in a persistent fog that seemed to float directly from the lake to the streets of the village. The air smelled of wet earth, burning wood, and something else… something hard to name. You were already awake when the brothers came downstairs.

“Did you sleep well?” you asked in a neutral tone as you poured coffee into a clay cup for each of them.

“If by ‘sleep well’ you mean ‘being woken up three times by distant wailing,’ then yes,” Sirius grunted, bringing the cup to his lips.

Regulus watched you more closely. His gaze was inquisitive, as if waiting for you to confirm or deny what they had heard.

“The sounds don’t come from the lake,” you said simply. Then you grabbed a jacket and hung the inn’s keys on a hook by the door. “Let’s go. I’ll show you the village. But don’t wander off.”

The center of the village was livelier than they had expected. Amid the fog that hadn’t quite dissipated, fruit stalls and freshly baked bread filled the square with warm, familiar smells.

“Sundays are always busier,” you said, walking with your hands in your pockets. “It’s as if people want to forget… or pretend they don’t hear.”

“What?” Sirius asked, watching as a little girl made a cross with her fingers from behind a flower stall.

“I said… people pretend not to hear. It’s easier that way.”

“Pretend not to hear what?”

“The ones who are no longer here.”

They passed by a bakery. A burly man with a white apron stained with flour came out to greet you.

“Buenos días, niña. ¿Son tus primos de la ciudad?” he asked with a friendly, though wary, smile.

“No don Daniel. Están ayudando con... un asunto familiar,” you answered with a half-smile.

“Ah. Ya. Pues diles que no anden solos en la noche. No con la lluvia como ha estado,” said the baker, lowering his voice slightly.

“What did he say?” Regulus asked quietly.

“He asked if you were my cousins. And then he said… don’t go out alone at night. Not with this rain.”

Sirius muttered something under his breath, but you kept walking. Regulus shot a quick look at Don Daniel before matching your pace.

“Does everyone know something’s going on?”

“Of course they do. They just don’t say it out loud. Around here, silence is also a kind of protection.”

They passed by the covered market. Inside, an older woman looked up when she saw you. Her eyes were small and sharp, and she walked toward you with a determination that made even Sirius straighten up a little.

“Tú deberías estar en casa, no trayendo forasteros a husmear donde no deben” she said in a low voice, almost like a growl.

“Ellos están buscando respuestas, tía Lina. Y no vienen con malas intenciones,” you answered, a little more tense.

The woman scrutinized them carefully, especially Regulus.

“A ti ya te soñé,” she said to him in a raspy voice. “Había agua por todas partes. Y tú gritabas, o al menos lo intentabas porque no salia ningún sonido de tu boca.”

Regulus looked at you, confused.

“She said she dreamt about you,” you explained, lowering your voice a little. “There was water everywhere, and you were screaming… but no sound came out.”

The woman placed a hand on her chest, right over her heart.

“No busquen a la Llorona como si fuera una cosa que se puede cazar. No es una bestia. Es dolor. Es pérdida. Y si no has procesado las tuyas, ella se mete dentro de tí. Y no sale nunca.”

“What did she say?” Sirius asked, frowning.

“She said… don’t look for La Llorona as if she’s something you can hunt. She’s not a beast. She’s in pain. She’s lost. And if you’re not careful, she’ll get inside you. And she never leaves.”

Then she walked away without waiting for a response.

“What the hell does that mean?” Sirius murmured.

“My aunt sees things. Sometimes she says them. Sometimes she draws them on the walls of her house. When she was a child, she drew her brother’s accident two days before it happened. She never spoke normally again. Only in whispers.”

“What did she mean by ‘I’ve dreamt of you already’?” Regulus murmured, his eyes fixed on the cobblestones, as if he expected to find the answer etched into the wet stones.

You walked a few more steps before answering, lowering your tone, as if the words themselves could attract something unwanted.

“When she dreams about someone, it’s almost always an omen. Not necessarily of death... but of something breaking. The balance, a bond, a life. Sometimes it’s not clear. It just... happens.”

“And she dreamed of him surrounded by water?” Sirius asked, now taking the comment more seriously.

You nodded with a tense expression.

“Yes. Water everywhere, she said. No sound. That can mean many things. But here, with what’s happening, I don’t think it’s just a metaphor.”

“Great,” murmured Regulus, closing the notebook he had been using to jot down details during the walk. “Caught in a prophetic dream with a possible drowning ending. I love being abroad.”

Sirius gave him a mocking pat on the back, but there was tension in his fingers.

They kept walking along the edge of the square, where the vendors were slowly packing up their stalls. You stopped in front of an improvised altar. Melted candles, dry marigold flowers, a photo of a curly-haired girl with big eyes, framed with a black ribbon.

“She was the last one,” you said. Your voice cracked slightly, but you recovered quickly. “Abril. She was six years old. Went out to look for her dog. They found the puppy wet and trembling by the lake’s shore. Not her.”

Sirius stared at the photo with a furrowed brow. Then at the altar.

“And no one saw anything?”

“No... but an old woman says she heard a woman singing from the water. A lullaby.”

“Not crying,” Regulus clarified.

“No. Singing. That’s new. That’s why I thought you two should come. Something’s changing. She’s changing.”

A sudden wind swept across the square. One of the flowers fell from the altar and rolled to a stop right in front of Regulus. He carefully picked it up, as if afraid it would break with just a touch.

“Do you have any idea what happened to her, to the spirit?” he asked quietly.

“The version they tell here… isn’t the one in the books. Not the one you see on TV shows. They say she didn’t drown. She was betrayed by someone she trusted. A man with sweet promises and quick hands. They accused her of being a witch when her son was killed in the lake. But it wasn’t her. It was him. And when she tried to tell the truth… they silenced her.”

Sirius watched you intently, as if trying to read between your words something more than just history.

“And the son?” he asked.

“He never appeared. Some believe the woman’s soul was split. Part of her is searching for the son… the other for revenge. But lately, she doesn’t seem to know which is which.”

Regulus twirled the flower between his fingers, as if that could help him piece together the puzzle. Then he looked up at you.

“And you? Why are you still here? If you know all this. If you know what she does.”

It took you a few seconds to respond.

“Because someone must stay. Someone has to remember that she wasn’t a monster. Not at first. And because... if I can ever speak to her, maybe I can help her find at least a part of what she lost.”

Sirius let out a sigh, crossing his arms uncomfortably.

“Assuming that's even possible... how do you start a conversation with a murderous ghost?”

You smiled without humor.

“With respect. And with something she recognizes as true. A song, a name, a place. But words alone aren’t enough. You have to be willing to offer something in exchange. She always asks for something.”

“And what could someone like us offer?” Regulus said, with a hint of irony. But he didn’t sound as skeptical anymore. He sounded worried.

“It depends. What are you willing to lose?”

A dense silence fell between you. Even the wind seemed to stop.

“There’s a place where it all started” you said then, as if time resumed its course with you.” The house where they killed her. We can go tonight if you really want answers.

Sirius snorted.

“What kind of question is that? We’ve come all the way here. And if this thing is changing shape or method, then it’s becoming more dangerous.”

Regulus closed his fingers around the flower.

“Tonight, then.”

“Tonight” you repeated.

The afternoon slowly descended over the village, turning the rooftops a muted orange. You decided to take the brothers to a small café with a terrace that overlooked the lake, still visible through the branches of the trees.

Sirius settled into the chair as if he were the owner of the place. Regulus was flipping through an old map of the village, too focused to notice that you were watching him from the corner of your eye.

“So do you do this often?” you asked as the waiter placed three black coffees on the table.

“Travel, sleep little, and hunt things that shouldn’t exist” Sirius replied with a crooked smile. “Yeah, it’s our favorite hobby.”

“And which one of you is the brain?”

“Obviously me” Sirius said before Regulus could look up.

You leaned over the table, pretending to study the plans in Regulus’s hands. Your arm brushed against his intentionally.

“And you? Aren’t you going to defend yourself?”

Regulus raised his gaze, his gray eyes meeting yours, brief seconds of tension before responding.

“I prefer when they underestimate my part.”

“Interesting strategy,” you said, letting the word “interesting” stretch with a slight smile. Sirius raised an eyebrow, as if he realized something was slipping past him. “Maybe that’s why they dream about you.”

Regulus averted his gaze, uncomfortable. Sirius laughed.

“Wow, you’ve got a type, huh? Quiet, cryptic, with a funeral face. What, my charm doesn’t apply here?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” you replied with a mischievous smile, leaning slightly toward Sirius this time. “But charming ones don’t last as long. I get bored of them faster.”

Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but only laughed, as if he was reevaluating you.

“I like you. Although I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

“Probably not,” you replied, raising your coffee cup in a silent toast.

While Sirius got lost in a conversation with the waiter about local mezcal, you turned slightly toward Regulus, lowering your voice.

“Not all outsiders understand what happens here. You do... even if you don’t want to admit it.”

He clenched his jaw just slightly.

“What I understand is that this isn’t just a ghost story. There’s a logic. A pattern.”

“Maybe” you said, with a slight shrug. “But there are also things that don’t follow logic. Dreams. Whispers. The things that live between unspoken words. Do you hear that too? Because I get the feeling you do.”

His eyes returned to yours. This time, he didn’t look away.

“I hear too many things I’d rather not hear.”

Your lips curved just slightly, not in mockery, but in recognition. As if his words had confirmed something you already knew. You lowered your gaze to your cup, but your fingers kept brushing the rim restlessly.

“Then you understand more than you admit” you murmured. “That could be dangerous, Regulus.”

He leaned his elbows on the table, his hands intertwined in front of him. There was a slight tremor on the surface of the coffee as a cold breeze crossed the terrace.

Sirius came back just then, carrying three small glasses of mezcal on a clay tray, looking as proud as if he had discovered fire.

“Alright, initiation ritual. The waiter says this one has a worm and everything” he announced, placing the glasses on the table. “Cheers.”

You took yours, letting your fingers brush Regulus’s as you passed him his. It was an intentional touch, almost imperceptible, but he felt it. His fingers tightened around the glass.

Sirius lifted his. “To the dead who don’t rest. And to the mysterious girls who know too much.”

The glasses clinked. The taste was strong, rough, like liquid fire going down your throat.

“How did you become an expert on vengeful spirits?” Sirius asked, already relaxed again.

You leaned back against the chair, the mezcal glass still warm in your hands. The air smelled of distant rain and old wood, and the lanterns were starting to light up one by one, bathing the café terrace in an amber glow.

“Because I grew up surrounded by them” you replied, with a sideways smile. “Not the vengeful ones, exactly… but the ones that didn’t know how to leave.”

Sirius tilted his head, interested.

“Voices? Shadows? Possessed people walking through the kitchen?”

“More like whispers between the walls, doors that closed by themselves, dreams that weren’t mine. The women in my family have always had that… bond. I don’t know if I should call it inheritance or curse. Witches, shamans, call us whatever you like. Since I was little, I learned not to look directly at windows at night.”

Regulus slowly set his glass down on the table. “And now?”

You turned toward him. His eyes were fixed on you, with that intensity that would unsettle anyone but you.

“Now I’ve learned to look. To recognize what’s real and what’s not. Sometimes… knowing what kind of dead person you have in front of you can save your life.”

“What...” Sirius said “...unsettling.”

“And you, Regulus?” you asked, not breaking eye contact with him. “Do you think you can smell tragedy before it happens?”

He held your gaze. He didn’t answer immediately. But then, in a low voice, he said: “I think there are people who walk too close to death. Who recognizes it, even if they don’t know why.”

You said it without thinking too much, as if it were natural “She’s got her eye on you.”

Sirius, who had been silent until that moment, toying with an unlit cigarette between his fingers, raised an eyebrow. “La Llorona? Or you?”

Your smile was slow and enigmatic.

“What do you think?”

Sirius leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with a touch of amusement and a hint that wasn’t quite jealousy, but definitely a warning.

“I’m not sure I like this town” he said. “Too many women looking at me like they know something I don’t.”

“That’s because we do” you replied, and this time you leaned in a bit toward him, as if sharing a secret. “And you, Sirius… you need to stop thinking every mystery can be solved with a smile and a salt-loaded gun.”

Sirius held your gaze, half amused, half intrigued. But it was Regulus who spoke again, his voice was firmer than before.

“Let’s go to the house. Tonight. The longer we wait, the more it feeds.”

“On fear?” you asked, finishing the last drop of coffee.

“On pain” he answered without hesitation.

You stood up then, leaving them behind for a moment as you called the waiter to settle the bill. From where they were sitting, the brothers watched you in silence.

“You know?” Sirius murmured. “I think I’m starting to get why she gives me a bad feeling.”

“Because you can’t read her” Regulus said without missing a beat.

Sirius let out a dry laugh. “Because you can. And that… never ends well.”

Regulus didn’t answer. He just stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and walking outside without another word.

Sirius walked ahead. You caught up and fell into step beside Regulus on the cobbled path, where the stones crunched under every step.

“What you said… about hearing things you’d rather not” you murmured. “If you ever want to share the noise… I’m a good listener.”

He didn’t respond. But for a second, his fingers brushed against yours.

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“This is it,” you said, pointing at the adobe structure with broken tiles. The windows were boarded up, and the wooden gate hung from a single hinge.

Sirius stopped in front of the door, spinning his silver knife between his fingers.

“Classic. Do we go in uninvited, or do we say, ‘Knock knock, murderous spirit’?”

“She doesn’t need a warning” you whispered, peering into the darkness inside. “She already knows we’re here.”

Sirius stood before the rusted gate and pushed it open with a metallic groan. The screech echoed through the forest.

“Well,” he said, grabbing his flashlight. “This looks like the coziest place we’ve seen in days.”

“People stopped coming here a long time ago” you said quieter. “The last family moved out when the youngest daughter started talking to someone who lived in the well.”

Regulus said nothing. He already had his gun drawn and his flashlight aimed at the entrance. His steps were silent, methodical. You followed close behind.

Inside, the air smelled of damp, old dust, and rotting leaves. Every step made the wooden floorboards creak. There were photos on the walls, those sepia-toned ones that looked like they were from the ’70s. A cracked mirror hung at the end of the hallway, warping the reflection.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Sirius asked in a low voice.

He scanned the staircase, lighting up the second floor. Regulus was focused on a crooked old photograph: a dark-haired woman with huge eyes, a little boy on her lap. Both smiling. But the mother’s smile seemed wrong, forced, as if tragedy had already begun brewing behind her eyes.

A soft sound—a sob—crept down the dark hallway.

“Did you hear that?” Sirius murmured, drawing his revolver.

Regulus nodded, jaw tight. You said nothing, just closed your eyes for a moment, as if tuning into something.

“It’s not her” you said. “Not entirely. It’s an echo.”

Footsteps creaked overhead. Then, again, the crying: a long, trembling wail that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“Don’t split up” Regulus ordered.

But it was already too late.

The flashlight beams began to flicker. Cold rushed in like a dense wave, and the weeping rose into a muffled scream. A figure materialized at the top of the stairs: the outline of a woman, a wet veil covering her face, droplets falling from her tattered dress onto the floor.

“Watch out!” you shouted, just as the spirit flew toward you.

Sirius fired. The bullet passed through her without effect. Regulus threw blessed salt, and the spirit shrieked, vanishing for a moment before reappearing in the opposite corner of the room.

“Not here!” you said, backing away. “The house doesn’t contain her! Her power is tied to water!”

“The lake?” Sirius asked, panting as he reloaded. “Tell me you’re not dragging us to that damn lake!”

Regulus was already out the front door.

“If we want to end this, it has to be there. That’s where her child died. Where it all began.”

“And how do you know that?” Sirius asked you.

“Because I dreamed of her too.”

The figure vanished completely, as if hearing her name in your voice.

You went after Regulus without looking back. Sirius cursed under his breath and followed.

Behind you, the echo of the crying still rang through the walls of the abandoned house, louder than before, as if the spirit sensed you were getting closer. As you left, the weeping twisted into something between rage and despair, and the windows shuddered with a supernatural roar.

The path back to the lake was a silent sprint, almost instinctive. No one spoke as you entered the trail. The trees seemed to close in, like the forest itself was breathing raggedly, stirred by the spiritual storm you’d just unleashed.

The lake shore greeted you in a thick fog. The waters were still—too still, like they were waiting.

Regulus was the first to approach. He had the gun in one hand and a pouch of talismans in the other, but even that felt insufficient.

“This is the place” you said softly. “This is where they found her son.”

Sirius walked behind, still panting, boots sinking into the mud.

“So now what? We sing her a lullaby?”

“Maybe” you whispered. “Maybe that’s exactly what she needs.”

The air shifted. A murmur rose from the lake, like someone breathing from deep underwater. Then came the song: a broken, ancient melody, steeped in sorrow. The figure appeared on the surface, walking as if the water held her. The veil fluttered in a wind no one else could feel.

“Don’t shoot!” you ordered sharply as Sirius raised the revolver.

The woman stopped a few meters from shore. She wasn’t crying. She was singing. A lullaby for a child who wasn’t there.

Regulus stepped forward, barely trembling.

“She’s looking at me,” he murmured.

“Because you look like him,” you said through clenched teeth. “Her son.”

The figure lifted her head. She had no face—only a liquid darkness, as if the lake lived inside her. She reached a hand towards Regulus.

“What does she want?” he asked, unmoving.

“She wants you to follow her. She wants you to finish what she couldn’t” you said, swallowing hard. “She wants to be heard.”

A whirlpool swirled in the water right in front of her. As if the lake was opening a door.

Sirius stepped in front.

“No way. You’re not going in there. This reek of a trap.”

“If he doesn’t, it won’t end” you said, your voice cracking. “She won’t go. And the deaths will continue. And he… he’s already bound. From the moment he arrived.”

Regulus took a deep breath. Stepped forward again.

“If I don’t come back…”

“You will,” you whispered, and this time you took his hand. You placed it in hers.

The figure touched him.

And they vanished.

Sirius shouted something, but it was too late. The lake swallowed Regulus without a single splash.

The singing stopped. And the shore fell silent again.

The silence that followed was worse than any scream. Sirius stood frozen, hand outstretched toward the water as if he could pull his brother back by sheer will.

“What… what the hell was that?” his voice came out lower than expected, hoarse, like his throat had dried up.

“It was a choice,” you answered, eyes still fixed on the water. “He made it. He knew, ever since my aunt’s told him about the dream.”

Sirius looked at you with barely restrained fury, chest heaving.

“And you let him?! Just like that? You handed him over to that thing like… like it was part of the deal?”

“I didn’t hand him over” you replied firmly. “I walked with him. The rest is on him. Only him.”

The lake remained still, as if nothing had happened.

But you both knew that wasn’t true.

Sirius walked a few steps, hands in his hair, cursing under his breath in at least three different languages. Then he stopped, turning to look at you.

"You knew. From the beginning. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because if I had, you wouldn't have come. And then someone else would’ve died. This... this is bigger than him, than you, than me. You don’t understand because you haven’t had to live it. Not like we have."

Sirius stared at you for a long time. Then his expression changed.

"What is this doing to you? What kind of things have you seen that you can watch someone sink and not scream?"

You stepped closer, not with fear, but with a kind of bitter pity.

"I have screamed before. No one listened. I learned silence is more useful when it comes to ghosts. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

Your words stopped him. For a moment, Sirius seemed less furious. Less weapon. More brother.

"I don't want to lose him," he said, barely audible.

"Then believe in him," you whispered. "If anyone can come back from something like this... it's him."

Sirius looked down, and for a second, he was just a boy in the rain, trembling with helplessness.

"And if he doesn’t come back?"

"Then I’ll do everything in my power to bring him back," you said, firm. "You’re not alone in this."

Sirius looked up at you, his eyes still red from rage. And from the fear he wouldn’t dare name.

"So what are we supposed to do now? Just sit here while that thing has him down there?" he snapped, though it wasn’t pure anger anymore—more a desperate attempt to hold onto something he could control.

"No," you replied, kneeling by the lake. "Waiting isn’t the same as giving up. We hold the anchor."

"The anchor?"

You nodded as you pulled a small cloth pouch from your jacket: tied with red thread, embroidered with symbols that seemed to move if you looked too long.

"He's in there, but he's not lost. Not yet. This charm... my grandmother sewed it. It’s for those who cross without a map. As long as one of us stays here with him, remembering him, speaking to him... he has a line to follow back."

Sirius knelt beside you, eyeing the pouch like he wasn’t sure something that small could have real power.

"And it works?"

"Not always. But when it does... it’s because someone didn’t let go. Because someone decided it was worth fighting to come back."

You turned to him. The rain was falling harder now, sliding down your cheeks like borrowed tears.

"Talk to him, Sirius. Even if he can’t answer. Let him know you're waiting. Let him remember he’s not alone."

He blinked, unsure how to begin. Then he licked his lips, swallowed, and leaned towards the water.

"Hey, idiot," he murmured, voice hoarse. "If you can hear me, you better crawl out of that watery hellhole or I swear I'll make a deal with anything with claws to go get you. I’m not losing you after everything we’ve survived."

His fingers brushed the surface of the water.

"Come back, Reg. Not because you're brave, or the logical one, or the guy who always has a plan. Come back because I’m the one who’s got your back. And I’m not ready for that to end."

Sirius lowered his head, shoulders tense. You placed the pouch at the shore and closed your eyes.

"Now it’s up to him," you whispered.

The water wrapped around him like a shroud, heavy and cold. But it didn’t drown him. Not fully.

Regulus didn’t sink; he was absorbed, silently pulled into darkness without weight or time. The outside world vanished in an instant, leaving only an echo: lost voices, stifled cries, songs that should no longer be sung.

There was no bottom. Only a constant sense of falling, of passing through more than water. Each heartbeat sounded muffled, as if it didn’t belong to him. And yet, he wasn’t afraid.

The figure was there. Not a specter. Not a monster. A broken woman, made of liquid fragments and shattered memories. She didn’t speak, but Regulus understood her.

I’m not your enemy, her gestures seemed to say, her eyeless gaze silent.

And then came the visions.

The child. Small, dark-haired like him, running among reeds near the shore. The mother laughing, but her laughter faded before reaching the trees. The man who came later, with promises of a future and lies beneath his tongue.

Regulus saw it all. Not as a witness, but as if the memory had been grafted into him, nested in his chest. The fear, the betrayal, the unjust death. He felt her throat close under the water. He felt the loss tear open a hole in her soul.

And then he understood: she wasn’t dragging him down. She was showing him. Everything. As if he could carry it with him. As if understanding might allow him to do something with it.

A forgotten truth.

A pain without justice.

A son who never returned.

“What do you want me to do?” he thought, though the words never left his lips.

She lifted the veil, and for the first time, Regulus saw her face. He didn’t feel fear. He felt compassion. Borrowed rage. A need for justice.

The figure offered him something. Not a thing. A name. One that should never have been forgotten.

And as Regulus accepted it, the entire lake shuddered. The darkness fractured into a thousand reflections. And his body began to rise.

Regulus burst from the water, like the lake itself was spitting him out. It hurled him toward the shore, where the mud caught him like an echo of life. He coughed, gasped, and for a moment didn’t know where he was. Only the weight on his chest, the borrowed memory, kept him anchored to the present.

Sirius reached him first. He dropped to his knees beside him, his face caught between rage and relief.

"You’re insane! Do you hear me, Reg?! What the hell was that?! I thought—" His voice broke before he could finish.

Regulus raised his trembling hand, clutching his brother’s arm.

"I’m... here," he managed, his voice torn by something deeper than water.

You arrived seconds later, eyes wide with terror and something that looked too much like faith. "What did you see?" you asked, kneeling beside him.

Regulus looked up at you. His eyes were no longer the same.

"I saw her truth," he whispered. "I saw her name. And we forgot about it. All of us. That was her punishment. Not death. Being erased. Turned into a fable. A monster."

You swallowed hard, recognizing the weight of his words. "And her name?"

Regulus closed his eyes for a second. He spoke it softly, like a secret that had to be protected even as it was spoken: "Inés."

The lake shivered. Not a storm. Not a threat. A response.

In the center of the water, a figure rose one last time. Serene. Whole. She looked at you. At him. And then, dissolved into light.

Sirius helped his brother to his feet, still soaked and trembling. But steady.

Sirius hugged him without warning, awkward and tight.

"Goddamn it, Regulus. I thought I’d lost you."

"So did I," he whispered, resting his forehead on his brother’s shoulder.

You stepped back, giving them space. But before you did, Regulus looked at you.

"Thank you," he murmured.

You nodded gently.

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Morning arrived with a timid sun, barely filtering through the low clouds. The lake, calm, reflected a pale gray sky.

At the inn, the breakfast table was set with sweet bread, hot coffee, and a different kind of silence: lighter, less tense. You were in the kitchen, collecting cups, pretending you weren’t glancing toward the door every five seconds.

Regulus came down first.

He wore the same coat soaked from the night before, but it no longer hung from his shoulders like it weighed a ton. His steps were steady, though something still lingered in his eyes—not a burden, but the memory of having carried one.

"Did you sleep at all?" you asked.

"A bit. Enough." He paused, then added, almost in a whisper, "I dreamed of her. But she wasn’t screaming anymore."

You nodded, saying nothing. You simply handed him the warm cup between your hands. He took it with a light touch of his fingers on yours. They weren’t trembling this time.

Sirius came down next, dragging his feet like the floor owed him an apology.

"I don’t know if I feel relieved or robbed. We're leaving again without a single shot fired."

"You said you had the best mezcal of your life," you reminded him with a tired smile.

"I stand by that. But I still think we should’ve set that house on fire, just on principle."

Regulus let out a quiet chuckle, and Sirius turned to look at him, like he still couldn’t quite believe he was there. Whole. Alive.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I will be," Regulus replied, then looked over at you. "But I think some things stay with you… and that’s alright."

The Jeep was already packed. Backpacks in the rear seat, maps folded on the dashboard. The rain had gone, but the ground remained damp and soft.

"And you?" Regulus asked. "Are you sure you’re not coming?"

"This is my home," you answered—no drama, no sorrow. "This place needs me. There are still things to care for. And other wounds to heal."

Sirius looked at you with a mix of respect and resignation. "This town has no idea how lucky it is."

"Luck comes at a price," you replied, not taking your eyes off Regulus.

There was a moment of silence. Not uncomfortable. Dense. As if everyone knew they weren’t just finishing breakfast—they were closing a chapter.

"Will you dream of her again?" he asked at last.

"Maybe. But not the same. Last night wasn’t an ending. It was the beginning of something else… something peaceful."

Regulus nodded slowly.

"If anything changes… if you ever need help again…"

"I’ll find you," you said. And you meant it.

At the door, the three of you paused. You handed him a small cloth pouch, identical to the previous charm, but embroidered with a different symbol.

"For when the world tries to swallow you again," you told Regulus.

He tucked it away without a word. But his gaze—intense and full of gratitude—said everything.

When you stepped out to see them off, the Jeep’s engine was already running. Sirius poked his head out the window, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

"You sure you’re not going to miss me?"

"Terribly," you said with a crooked smile. "That’s why I’m staying here."

"Heartless to the end," he joked, then winked. "Take care, witch."

You saluted with two fingers to your temple, and Regulus, from the passenger seat, held your gaze one last time.

You didn’t say goodbye. Around here, people don’t say goodbye. Around here, you just wait for the stories to return.

[funeral]

[T]he conceptual metaphor of spectrality is deeply embedded within the discourse of loss, mourning, and recovery that delineated the multidisciplinary project of trauma studies as it emerged . . . To be traumatized . . . is to be "possessed by an image or event" located in the past. To be "possessed"—gripped indefinitely by an anachronistic event—also describes the condition of being haunted . . . In other words, when we think of ghost stories . . . , it is the haunting of the present by the past that emerges as the most insistent narrative. The mode of expression that many scholars use to describe the spectral, then, is similar to, if not fully consonant with, the terms used to describe the affective qualities of trauma.

Introduction, The Spectrality Reader: Ghosts and Hauntings in Contemporary Cultural Theory

[girlactionfigure]

The @IsraelMOH will submit a report to the UN detailing the abuse endured by survivors of Hamas captivity. 

Read this thread. Share this thread. The world must know just how evil these Hamas psychopaths are.

1️⃣ Women, men & children who returned reported that they endured severe physical & sexual abuse such as beatings, isolation, deprivation of food and water, branding, hair-pulling & sexual assault.

Some reported that the captors sexually assaulted them or forced them to undress.

2️⃣ 

The hostages were denied medical treatment for injuries caused on and after October 7, and untreated chronic conditions. Fractures, shrapnel wounds, and burns were treated inadequately, leading to preventable complications which required additional surgeries.

3️⃣ 

The captors tortured those injured by performing painful procedures without anesthesia.

4️⃣ 

Many hostages suffered from untreated chronic conditions leading to severe medical deterioration, such as low blood pressure, bradycardia & hypothermia. 

1 hostage died from untreated complications. Several women required urgent treatment due to hypertension & hypothyroidism

5️⃣ 

Half the hostages were deliberately starved. Poor diets led to extreme hunger. They were kept in dark spaces, causing vitamin D deficiency. The average weight loss was 8-15 kg (10-17% of weight). Children lost an average of 10%. In one case a girl lost 18% of her body weight.

6️⃣ 

Poor nutrition may lead to Sarcopenia, delayed wound and fracture recovery, and a weakened immune system. Malnutrition also negatively impacted cognitive function and mental health, and as for children, it may hinder development and growth.

7️⃣ 

The captors attempted to improve some of the hostages' appearance and weight before their release exposing them to Refeeding Syndrome and electrolyte imbalances such as hypokalemia, hypomagnesemia, and hypophosphatemia, particularly among elderly hostages.

8️⃣ 

In cases with complex medical backgrounds, these electrolyte disorders can be life­threatening. Additionally, the hostages were denied essential medications and treatment for their injuries, leading to the risk of widespread metabolic disorders.

9️⃣ 

The poor quality of food & water and unsanitary conditions, led to increased morbidity among the hostages. Many suffered from diarrhea, abdominal pain, and sometimes constipation. They had limited access to showers and returned with skin infections, including Dermatitis.

1️⃣0️⃣ 

Infections were detected in hospital cultures (Clostridium, Salmonella, Vibrio, Shigella, Giardia, E. coli). 

2 hostages suffered from acute case of Q fever. Some women developed Deep Venous Thrombosis due to no access to medication & lack of mobility during captivity.

1️⃣1️⃣

The abduction of children, women, men, and the elderly from their homes is a traumatic event, often occurring after the murder of family members or close friends. In some cases, children were taken without their parents or after their parents' murder.

1️⃣2️⃣

Hostages witnessed their homes burned and looted as well as their community members raped. 

The captives were taken to Gaza in open vehicles alongside bodies of those murdered. They endured beatings, humiliation, and verbal, physical, and sexual violence.

1️⃣3️⃣

The captivity was designed to torture the hostages psychologically. During their time in captivity they endured family separation, immobilization, arbitrary, frequent transfers & exposure to further violence. Some witnessed the killing of other captives.

1️⃣4️⃣

In captivity, the hostages were often subjected to solitary confinement, poor sanitation, severe medical neglect, lack of sleep, starvation, sexual abuse, violence, threats, and brainwashing through media designed to break their spirit and make them submissive.

1️⃣5️⃣

Medical and psychosocial teams report sharp mood swings, with some showing signs of hypomania upon return, followed by extreme depression. Even those who appeared strong initially showed difficulties adjusting to reality, sometimes experiencing dissociative episodes.

1️⃣6️⃣

Some returned hostages had paranoid anxieties, fearing retaliation against their loved ones still in captivity if they spoke about their experiences. The inability to share their trauma with therapeutic factors, which made it harder to process their trauma.

1️⃣7️⃣

The returned hostages have been experiencing "survivor's guilt" feeling responsible for being rescued while their loved ones remain in Gaza. Some wish to return to captivity to help those left behind and cannot be rehabilitated as long as their loved ones are still there.

1️⃣8️⃣

Many experience fear, restlessness, emotional detachment & confusion. Some afraid to leave rooms, even in the hospital's protected areas. They couldn't let go of behaviors from captivity - not eating, neglecting hygiene, hoarding food out of fear they would not have enough.

1️⃣9️⃣

They reported severe nightmares & sleep deprivation. Some experienced derealization struggling to accept their presence in the Israeli hospital as real rather than a dream from captivity. Avoided anything that reminded them of traumatic experiences, including certain foods.

2️⃣0️⃣

Most had no home to return to and learned upon their return of the deaths of family and friends, the destruction of their homes, and the collapse of their communities. Many found themselves without the support they once had, which has significantly hindered their recovery.

2️⃣1️⃣

Two of the children that were held together during captivity reported that they were held bound and were beaten throughout their captivity. Signs of binding, scars, and marks consistent with trauma were found.

2️⃣2️⃣

2 young children had burn marks on their lower limbs. One child stated that the burns were the result of a deliberate branding with a heated object. Both the child and adults who were with him described the incident as a purposeful branding event, not an accident.

2️⃣3️⃣

One hostage described being sexually assaulted at gunpoint by a Hamas terrorist. Captors forced women of all ages to undress while others, including the captors, watched. The captors sexually assaulted them and were tied to beds while their captors stared at them.

2️⃣4️⃣

One woman, injured during the attack, was held in a dark isolation for 30 days, bound and unable to move. She had no contact with the outside world, received an inadequate amount of food and water, and did not receive treatment for her injury. 

2️⃣5️⃣

The men endured severe physical abuse, including continuous starvation, beatings, burns with galvanized iron (branding), hair-pulling, confinement in closed rooms with a limited amount of food and water, being held in isolation with hands and feet tied, and being denied access to the bathroom, which forced them to defecate on themselves.

2️⃣6️⃣

These are the testimonies of those who were captive for 2 months. There are still living hostages enduring this for 450 days. 

Please share and help Bring Them Home Now. 

Ministry of Health

@TheMossadIL

[dogtoling]

Biology of Inkfish - Splatting

“Splatting” is a severe state that all inklings can end up in due to major loss of ink. While inkfish in either of their forms can be splatted, this most often occurs in swim form or minutes within having been in swim form previously. During transformation into swim form, the skin lets more ink through, which makes the introduction of foreign liquids extremely non-ideal. During splatting, enough foreign liquid enters the system for the ink system to forcibly eject most, if not all, of the ink in the body as a response to unidentified ink. This happens when the ink hearts* all contract in unison to try to replace unfamiliar substances in the ink stream, or as an extreme response to a threat. Ink is sprayed out from all ink ducts in an explosive manner, which may deter an attacking predator and clear out the ink system, but which also leaves the inkfish stranded on the ground. 

*The ink hearts are minor organs situated at different points of the ink vein network, and are responsible for cycling and ejecting ink.

Inklings have extremely stretchy skin, as well as specialized muscle structures that keep their shape and strengthen when ink is coursed through them. Thus, when ink flow is redirected or reduced, these muscles shrink and flatten - when ink is removed from the muscles and the body, smaller inkfish can lose more than 50% of their total body weight. In inkfish, this adaptation is useful as the shape of the body and even the consistency can be greatly altered. However, it comes with the downside that an inkling that has lost most or all of its ink will struggle to move quickly and may be unable to escape from predators until enough ink is recovered, which may take minutes without outside help. To adapt, inkfish have also improvised a way to utilize their significantly lighter bodies and use the propulsion organ inside their heads to use the remaining bits of their ink to launch into the air and fill the organ with air to attempt to float to safety.

[A diagram of an inkling's basic ink layers. The major ink veins run across the body, pumping ink from the ink sac and splitting into hundreds of minor ink veins. Minor ink veins transport ink to the ink-holding tissue within muscles as well as the ink ducts, which bleed out ink through the skin. When these ink ducts are open, the flow of ink between the skin and the body is high.]

Splatting is a key element in some aspects of inkling culture, like Turf Wars and other extreme sports. In Turf Wars, enemy ink of another consistency will cause a rejection of all the circulating ink in an inkfish’s body in large amounts. A more controlled form of splatting can also occur as a defensive mechanism from extreme agitation, and is used in some attacks, such as the Kraken spin and especially Splashdown. These splatters are typically sustainable for users during Special states due to the high amount of ink that is being produced. Being in contact with other people's ink is known to boost ink production as a whole.

Splatting looks very violent to other species, but it is mostly harmless to inkfish with normal bodily functions. Inkfish in a safe environment will regenerate from splatting on their own given enough time to regain their ink, and splatting can be immediately treated if replacement ink is introduced. Splatted inkfish will absorb ink from their environment and replenish their bodies in a matter of seconds. The only common situation in which splatting is irrecoverable is in situations where the body is engulfed in water, in which case water being absorbed through the skin will flush the ink from the body and prevent recovery. This makes inkfish ill-fitted for being in the water, though they can use their air sacs to float on top of the surface, and attempt to swim or jet propel themselves onto land.

[An example showing the processes of the body when inkfish are splatted. The body rejects ink of the wrong color by forcefully ejecting all the ink in the ink sac and system, leaving the body in a low-ink "splatted" state. Inkfish are able to draw air into their mantles to utilize their reduced body weight and jet propulsion abilities to fly to an area where ink can be absorbed back into the body, which is a fast process.]

[cina-full-moon-xanadium]

Internet culture is so fascinating because usually if you've got this piece of art that through the years has been distorted or somehow lost, that's basically all you've got and there's no way of recovery -- a painting losing its ink over time, or an old tv show episode's only surviving copy being a rough capture with a cheap recording device.

But on the internet if there is an old meme or other well-known image that through various uploads through the old web has lost its original vibrancy and taken on a new visual identity through the filter of file loss, chances are the person who made that artwork or meme is still out there and might just have the original file and so you do in fact have the good chance of seeing it as it was originally made.

It's just so fascinating I think that the internet is both so new and so entrenched in advances constantly being made to perfect old technology that any original eroding is extremely recent and has a very good chance of being fixed

[wawawawawawawawawawawawawa]

the amount of times i Do This must be a joke at this point but here i am. doing it once more. izaya's highschool videogame SCREAMS "i just found out i have aspd and i am NOT taking it well." and i shall explain how

a preface: wrt "how did he know in high school, don't you have to be 18?" you do.... with the dsm guidelines. japan, iirc, uses a conbination of the dsm and icd to diagnose mental illnesses, and the age stipulation isn't in the icd. also, shinra could have told him, and lbr shinra wouldnt care about strictly adhering to the age thing

anyway i went thru and highlighted different parts of the videogame's text, so i can easier explain which part means what. i'll primarily be focusing on the chronic boredom associated with aspd- since izaya's game deals with patience, most musings in it will be related to that boredom. but the boredom, especially izaya's, IS important, as its the boredom that drives him to do what he does. to be what he is.

(shoutout to miyukiwinter for the scan)

so... the red bit. this relates to izaya's worldview of the need to keep evolving to escape the mundane, and it not mattering if you aim high or low. now at this point, izaya was solidly in some shady shit and clearly on the path of the low aim. but the thing is, about aspd... the boredom is all consuming. you'll do ANYTHING to not be bored. i've seen people say they developed substance abuse problems to escape the boredom, and i confess... i've done it too. it truly is THAT bad

i say all this because... izaya will never be able to stop going lower, and lower, and lower. he's fated to fall forever. maybe he wouldve been able to brush his behavior off as teenage craziness, but with a diagnosis like aspd it becomes increadingly obvious that there is no "oh, i'll mellow out once i reach my 20s." it's not going to happen, at least, not without great effort. and lets be real, nobody has any faith in aspd's recovery rates, less so in the early 2010s, so izaya upon diagnosis would see NO FUTURE for himself. no escape from the cycle. he's trapped.

the blue bits are a bit more vauge, but the undertainty turning to loss evokes the next stage after the initial shock of diagnosis: grief. and make no mistake, there IS a grieving process with mental health diagnoses. you go from being shocked and scared, to being depressed and numb.

but there's... another layer to this, with aspd. you see it with cluster b disorders in general, but aspd is HUGE in the pop culture zeitgeist

the layer is, the idea that People Like That don't feel emotions. that any emotional display is false and an explicit ploy to mainpulate someone

and when this inevitably ends up untrue, you might start to feel... odd... about feeling those emotions people say you can't feel. and one of the biggest emotions aspd gets that with, is fear and by extension, anxiety.

some aspd people genuinely do feel reduced fear! but it's far from being a diagnostic criteria, and aspd can actually be comorbid with anxiety disorders. but scientific facts and wider culture rarely match up, so the idea persists

so izaya might have started to think.... was he ever truly anxious? or worried? was he really more rotten than people thought; was he just mainpulating people the whole time? does he really not feel anxiety? was his nervousness over things like shinra leaving him or hell, this diagnosis, rendered null and void?

and then we reach the teal portion.... despair

(just a sidenote, tumblr has no teal color option so it'll just be blue)

in this sense, "the hole" refers to the endless downward spiral, and his diagnosis- but not just having it. no, "the hole" most likely refers to the moment izaya developed it in the first place.

who are you, if you thought you were in control your whole life, but you found out that the reason you do the things you do were because of foeces beyond your control? who are you now, having a label you know will cause everyone to see you as nothing but a stereotype?

why was he still alive, suffering like this? what point is it to be alive, controlled by something you can't fight, forced to make your life worse and worse and worse, until you die young?

so now what? who did this to him?

in the game, the hatred is towards "the player." and honestly this could have multiple different meanings when applied to izaya's own life

does he hate god? was he raised religious, his father being a christian, and was this what made him lose faith? what loving god would condemn someone to suffer like this?

does he hate his parents? after all, it was their genetics that passed this down, their upbringing that nurtured it, their neglect that made him the way he was. is it their fault?

or... does he hate himself, for being the way that he is? for having it in the first place, for not being able to overcome it, for having such a bad reaction to it?

for being too cowardly to kill himself?

which brings us to the final segment. awareness.

he says outright, the game is depicting the player's life. in the game itself, this ties into his mockery of players, but in a meta sense, it could be a hidden admission that it's depicting his life

especially the talk of meaningless games- fooling around with nakura creating small gangs, betting pools, and his eventual adult pastimes of messing with people. is his life enriched? no, it's merely occupied, and he knows it. he might have repressed it as an adult, but here, in high school, at this moment, he knows.

and if he can never truly alleviate his boredom, never truly be fufilled, then he can act like he's in control all he wants, but he's no better than a man falling in a hole.