#Echoes of Memoria

[waterdomemusic]

Ameli Paul: Echoes of Memoria – brilliant Album – 2022

Read our review for the new album "Echoes of Memoria" by Ameli Paul (brilliant electronic album)

Review zu Ameli Paul: Echoes of Memoria – brilliates Album – 2022 Facts Artist: Ameli PaulCountry of Origin: Germany, BerlinTitle: Echoes of MemoriaFormat: AlbumAvailability: Streaming, DownloadLabel: MeiosisRelease Date: Dec 02, 2022Genre: Experimental/Electronic12 Tracks | 50m 33s On Apple Music available in Hi-res24 Bits / 44.1 kHz – Stereo – Stream At Juno Download available in Lossless16…

[hardcoregamer]

10 Underrated JRPGs You Can Play On Steam Right Now

In 2024, there is still a cavalcade of incredible JRPG gems just waiting to be unearthed, meaning that if you've only played Persona 5 or Final Fantasy XVI and want to dive a little deeper into the JRPG well, there are plenty of options waiting for you. You just need a helpful dude like me to highlight them. So, let me do just that!

Check them out!

[swdefcult]

megan dietrich and echo memoria by eduardo risso

[warlordfelwinter]

"i didn't get to play your past like a vr game like fiver did but"

[eleyras]

About narratives: the story of Sarcean, Anharion and the Collar.

Ok soooooo I finished Dark Heir and I have THOUGHTS.

This could be my delusional mind speaking BUT I firmly believe that the whole thing about the Collar and the relationship between Sarcy and Anharion depicted in the story written and established by the winners (the Lady's faction) and Gauthier is far from the truth and a lot more complex and fascinating.

More ramblings under the cut!

Putting all the hints given in DH aside for the moment (I will discuss them later) for me the biggest red flag about these narratives is the way Anharion is depicted in both.

This is a little twisted but it’s something I’ve been thinking about since DR, so let me elaborate.

In DR, the Stewards DON’T know about the Collar. James himself admits that he found out about it from Sinclair, and so the Stewards are convinced that James/Anharion had willingly betrayed the Lady’s side, becoming willingly Sarcean’s lieutenant and his lover.

Gauthier instead reveals a more twisted version of the story.

It’s clear that the two narratives are in contradiction with each other: the one told by the Lady’s faction and echoed throughout the centuries among the Stewards doesn’t include the knowledge of the Collar, and it entirely blames Anharion for his deeds and his betrayal; Gauthier’s version instead, serving for the readers as an introduction to the existence of the Collar, specifies that Anharion didn’t have any agency.

So, which version is the true one? Neither of them, because both, as it often happens in history, took the truth, and twisted it to serve its own purpose.

Let’s start with the narrative ‘written’ by the Lady.

My biggest doubt about it is why the f*ck it seems that A LOT of people outside the Hall know about the Collar. Gauthier knows about it because his ancestor was the one who stole it, but Sinclair? Let’s hypothesize that he knew about it from Kettering. Kettering knows about it because he is a Returner, so someone who was THERE, in the Old World. It’s not a stretch then to theorize that the existence of the Collar and its power was somehow known in the past.

And in DH, the presence of the chain attached to the throne in the Sun Court, where EVERYONE could see it, hypothetically ( and I underline this because I don’t trust ANYTHING of what we saw in the Undahar for it was the Sun King’s court before Sarcean’s) linked to the Collar around Anharion’s neck, makes me think that the Collar and its power weren’t such a well-kept secret.

So, the whole “the Lady’s side didn’t absolutely know about the Collar” narrative is a bit sketchy at this point. I believe someone knew at some point, so why would they iterate this version of the story, instead of depicting Anharion as a victim and blaming Sarcean for it?

Well, the answer is simple: damnatio memoriae. The version of the story known at this point had been written by the Lady’s faction, so of course her enemies are painted in the worst light possible. Anharion’s memory is, in my opinion, even more tainted by this narrative than Sarcean’s one; we don’t even know his true name. It didn’t matter that he could have had reasons for his actions: he went against the "good side" and chose the dark, the end.

This narrative is not interested in reporting the truth. Its purpose is to celebrate the Lady as a Saint figure and vilify her opponents, disregarding their reasons, their feelings, their insight of the events entirely.

So, it’s not so difficult to believe that underneath all the twists and the lies, in this version of the story there is a grain of truth; that, in a way, Anharion did betray willingly the Lady. Maybe he understood that the so righteous Lady was, in fact, not that pure and good. Maybe, at the culmination of the fight, he somehow hesitated to kill Sarcean, because he was a human being, not just a cold hearted betrayer. All factors that would of course be excluded from this narrative, for they would expose the Lady’s true face.

At this point this is all but speculations, but one thing is certain, and this takes us to the second point: it’s canon that Anharion had feelings for Sarcy. Before the Collar.

I would not call it ‘undying love’ at this point of the story, but the affection is there. Palpable, visible, corporeal in glances and words. This is, like, a HUGE revelation.

Because this proves that the narrative told by Gauthier is not the truth either!

While I believe that the Collar has some kind of power (I’ll explain this too), in the Gauthier’s version of the story, it’s clear that the emphasis on the submitting part of this power comes from the desire to possess Anharion, from the (false) conviction passed on for generations that whoever put it around his neck would master him. I suspect it consumed not only Gauthier himself, but also every member of his family who owned the Collar before him.

In the end both narratives, pushing for their own agenda, give an insight on the relationship between Sarcean and Anharion not only false but also humiliating for Anharion, for he is depicted as a selfish, cold hearted betrayer where his own agency is totally dismissed (and not even mentioned) in one, and a plaything slave of the Collar in the other.

The truth is far more complex than this, of course, and the one million dollar question about it is then: how much influence did have the Collar on the true nature of their relationship?

In these days I have read a lot of theories about this. One of my favourites is the one depicting the Collar as a mere object of fashion without any power and Anharion not only conscious but also willing the whole time and the fact that this may be hinted in the text makes me feel unhinged (if this is true, you will hear me screaming about it for years)

In my opinion, and I will believe this until I read the third book, the Collar has some kind of power on James/Anharion but not in the way it has been described so far. This is but a mere speculation for the moment, but maybe this power leans more on binding Anharion’s magic to Sarcean’s than controlling his free will or feelings. (this bit in DH is soooo interesting!!!)

I’m convinced that the Collar cannot create something that is not there and that underneath its power, it’s clear that Anharion had conflicted feelings for Sarcean, he always had, because James REMEMBERS feeling this even with the Collar:

This means those conflicted feelings are still there and are not magically morphed by the Collar into pure and simple obedience and that whatever Anharion felt was real, whatever James feels is real, contradictions and all.

We still know so little about this two at this point, and since Pacat really loves plot twists, I believe that their real story will come out in the end and that Will and James will achieve what their past selves couldn’t had, unravelling the conflicts and the misunderstandings between them, and conquering the freedom they search in each other’s arms to be just Will and James.

I had fun writing this, please feel free to give me your opinion on this!

(PS. I think I needed to specify that this whole rambling is focused on Anharion’s feelings. What about Sarcy? I believe his feelings were a deadly cocktail of desire, affection, possessiveness, admiration and horny thoughts, like the disaster babygirl he was, thanks for your attention)

[caostalgia]

269 días sin ti.

Como pasa el tiempo, ¿no? Ayer estaba llorando después de colgar la llamada que me apagaría el corazón y hoy van casi 270 días sin ti. Faltan menos de 100 para que vaya un año.

Un año sin tu sonrisa o tus bufidos. Un año sin tus canciones en inglés y tu emoción por un nuevo capítulo de tu serie favorita. Un año sin tus chistes, que eran horribles, y tu risa. Un año sin todo lo que te conformaba, sin tus aristas, sin tu brillo.

Ha sido una tortura y sigue siéndolo. Todo este tiempo sin ti abrió un hueco en lo más hondo de mi corazón que ni mengua, que duele. No veas como duele no tenerte cerca, no escucharte, no sentirte. Es duro seguir intentándolo y que tú no veas los pequeños pasitos que estoy dando en esa dirección de la que tanto hablamos.

¿Sabes? La abuela te habría querido, sé que sí. Te habría querido por el simple hecho de que yo te quería, pero, además, te habría querido porque era fácil hacerlo. Porque quererte era una de esas cosas inevitables de la vida. Ojalá la hubieras conocido, pero no, porque ya van 269 días sin ti y a la abuela la vi hace poco.

¿Sabes? Me habría gustado enseñarte esos lugares que me vieron crecer; esos árboles especiales, esa cabaña derruida, ese taller lleno de estornudos y aprendizaje, ese parque, esa poza.

¿Sabes? Me habría gustado que conocieras a mi gigante invencible, al pilar de mi vida. A ese adolescente que hizo de padre cuando papá no lo hacía. A ese loco.

¿Sabes? Me habría gustado decirte, hace 269 días, que te quería. Pero no lo hice y sigo viviendo en el "y si...?" Sé que no estás orgulloso de eso, pero esta herida va lenta. Y no siquiera intento, no de verdad, conocer a alguien a fondo. Enamorarme. Porque me da miedo querer y que un día, como hoy, tenga que escribir algo así. Un título de "100 días sin ti". Porque me da miedo, como cuando te conocí, que mis defectos eclipsen lo bonito que sé que puedo ofrecer.

Y, sobretodo, me da miedo dejar de quererte algún día. Que desaparezcas de lo poco que queda de mí corazón. Que tu sonrisa deje de habitar en mi memoria. Que los sueños le pertenezcan a alguien más. O que, como contigo, nuestra historia sea difícil y lenta. Que esté llena de kilómetros y ganas. De sueños que no se cumplirán. No. Lo que me da miedo es querer y que mi corazón ya no lo soporte. Que se rompa y no haya arreglo.

Entonces, aquí me encuentro. En el día 269 sin ti, con ganas de llorar. Y con dudas y con miedos. Con inseguridades y poca esperanza. Creyendo cada vez menos en el amor y con mucho dolor todavía en mi pecho.

Entonces, te echo de menos. Como todos los días. Pero hoy quizá un poquito más. Y te quiero, como todos los días, pero quizá hoy un poquito menos. (y eso me duele).

Katastrophal

[kanade-howl]

Solo puedo decir que no hay dia en el que no te extrañe... pero también no hay dia en que pueda dejar de quererte... hoy se cumple un mes más desde que ya no estas aquí... y realmente te echo de menos... en este mes también, se cumplen 16 años desde el día en el que te conocí... realmente estoy feliz de averte conocido... porque gracias a ti conocí a los demás chicos de The Gazette, han sido una parte importante en mi vida todo este tiempo.

Te extraño mucho...

En memoria de Reita El Bajista Eterno 🤍❤️‍🩹

[alasdepaloma]

Te extraño, vida mía, te extraño en verdad. Me gusta viajar a esa memoria que guardo de tu mirada y extraviarme unos minutos ahí, entre la miel de tus ojos, en ese río profundo donde te alcanzo los labios con las yemas de mis dedos y me dejo besar todos los miedos. Te extraño, ángel mío, tus manos, tu piel, tu sonrisa… Tus enojos, tus caprichos, tus impulsos. Te extraño al cerrar la puerta y al instante, correr hacía mí, ávido de ganas de mí. Echo de menos la manera en como me veías antes de tomar mi rostro entre tus manos y morderme los labios anunciando tu llegada. ¡Cuánto te he anhelado palomar mío! He de callar, mi bien… He de guardar silencio como lo hace la noche… He de implorarle al viento que me siga hablando de ti y he de susurrarle a él solamente lo mucho que aún te quiero. Me gusta amarte así. ¿Sabes? Es mejor amarte así, aún cuando ya no puedo siquiera tocarte, cuando ya no es posible quitarme la sed al no poder beber de ti. Prefiero amarte así. He preservado mi amor por ti en lo prístino de estas hojas. Dulcemente he ido sanando los recuerdos, ya no duelen. Hoy sólo puedo aspirarte con mis ojos cerrados, evocando a la luna que siempre nos acompañó a los pueblos mágicos. Eras mágico, siempre lo fuiste… Tal vez por eso no logro olvidarme de ti.

—PalomaZerimar.

[exhaled-spirals]

« Por eso echo de menos conocer también el pasado, la vida de Pablo que yo no viví. Quiero saberlo todo sobre él. Si consiguiera saberlo todo, absolutamente todo, sería como si no hubiera fallecido. [...S]omos relicarios de nuestra gente querida. Los llevamos dentro, somos su memoria. Y no queremos olvidar. »

— Rosa Montero, La ridícula idea de no volver a verte

[salubriwrites-blog]

The Amnesia Game

A Mr. Reca/Black Swan romance.

I made the first chapter. This is shaping out to be a 2-3 chapter story, and it's my current palette cleanser, so I hope you enjoy!

I'll be putting this up on ao3 when its complete. Contains 2.6 spoilers, proceed with caution. CW: Manipulation (no matter how consensual)

You can find Part 2 here!

Part 1: Homecoming

Penacony was a beautiful planet, and returning to its orbit always warmed a forgotten part of his soul. One that lay dormant and was only stirred to life by almost familiar sights and sounds on the Planet of Festivities. Reca’s last visit home was at least a hundred Amber Eras ago, it had felt like returning to an empty childhood home. Even the memoria sounded and tasted different when he stepped into his room at the Reverie. What was that feeling called? He asked himself now as he stepped off the lift and into the claustrophobic halls of the habitation complex. To be homesick for a place to which you cannot return? 

“Hiraeth,” he exclaimed, echoing his Assistant Director. “It is hiraeth, a sharp memory.” Reca chuckled and as he juggled his keys in his hand a comforting, more familiar sensation greeted him. The apartment was usually empty, a shell of a home that Reca had to resuscitate every time he returned from traveling abroad. Not this time though, the apartment’s heartbeat was steady and solid as he hurried to its front door. Usually around this time all of the other studios and habitats were alive and breathing with conversation and dinner time aromas. At the welcome mat, the smell of a warm meal permeated under the door and weaved through his feet like a feline. It could only mean one thing, the Memokeeper thought as he patted his hair down.

“You’re here,” he declared musically, swinging the front door open to the sight within. Reca’s heart played monkey bars on his ribs and he felt like a child again, smiling like this for Black Swan. Leaning against his kitchen counters, turning only her head to face him, she was tasting the contents of a pot. Her purple hair was wound up tight into an elegant twist that accentuated her profile, neck adorned with jewelry befitting her rank as Memokeeper. Amber eyes glittered anew as Reca dropped his bag at the still open door and strode inward to her. 

“Of course, it wouldn’t be home without me here,” Black Swan laughed, throwing her head back as his lips reached for her bejeweled neck. Lifting her off the ground, Reca half spun her before setting her back on her two feet. Not that she had to fall far, Black Swan was taller than him by a foot, she held his face and tilted it upwards, admiring his face like she hadn’t been able to for months. Her lips were plump and glistened with gloss when they kissed, warming his shoulders and dragging him in. “Welcome home, Elias dear.” 

“Why thank you, darling.” Elias Reca pressed his nose into her neck. She smelled divine, brushing his lips at her nape before slumping to lean against the counters next to her. “You are absolutely right.” Tilting his head, the Memokeeper watched her pull his oven mitts on her hands and haul the pot from the stove. “You also didn’t have to do all of this.” 

“Nonsense, you are worth all this and more.” She mimicked him before stepping up to the stove. This was not her home, but you wouldn’t know that as the cutlery bent to her will, and the stove never complained of igniting at her touch. Maybe this would be the time she’d accept his invitation to move in with him. “Go shower, decompress, I’ll tell you when it's ready… without me!” She added with a melodic laugh, only half resisting as Reca pulled her out of the kitchen and towards the staircase. 

“I changed my mind,” he sang, snapping his fingers and illuminating the upstairs loft. With a creak the shower hummed to life as Ms. Swan allowed him to pull away her sweater. “I do want all of this.”

“Sounds like you had an eventful visit to Penacony,” Black Swan mused after dinner, readjusting her plush robe as she twisted her legs into his. They had been planning to eat at the table, but after that shower, replaying the sounds of water and soaking sounds bouncing off the tiles, they were left too satisfied. The candlelit dinner was meant to be part of the foreplay, but now that they were staggering back to eat in just their robes, the set table and flowers felt unnecessary. So they put one of Black Swan’s favorite movies on instead and collapsed into the large couch with the coffee table pulled close so that the wine was near.

“Eventful is certainly a word for that,” Elias groaned, rubbing her calves and enjoying how she felt under his hands. “I ended up having to resort to that silver haired Trailblazer to unlock the Galaxy Ranger’s memories after all.” 

“The Trailblazer’s fate is a uniquely entwined one… I wouldn’t let it bother you that that was what came to pass. Not to mention it was a Stellaron Hunter who warned you of this solution.” 

“Yes, but oh! To defy that damned Script and rub it in her smug face,” he sighed, clutching a fist dramatically to the air before letting his hand fall back down atop her thigh. In that reflective quiet, his gaze found hers, and they couldn’t stop themselves from laughing at the absurdity of his attempt to defy Stellaron Hunters and their unyielding mission. “I missed you, and I… needed this quite badly.” He gestured to the empty bowls, the bottle of wine, and the movie that quietly played in the background of his lush apartment. Behind them the auroras from the Garden cast Black Swan in fractured colors like she was a stained window come to life. “I owe you a night like this.” 

“Is there something you have in mind already, or maybe I can make a suggestion?” The Memokeeper asked, reaching to hold his legs as Reca pulled her in. Kissing and swooning, he exhaled the loneliness and inhaled Black Swan. She was right, home was wherever she went, and right now all he wanted was to unravel in each other’s arms and be at home.

“You are the professional on lovely evenings, I’ll hear you out.” 

“Would you,” she started, pushing her legs further into his lap, hugging his hips with her heels. “Like to fall in love with me?”

“Our Amnesia game?” Pursing his lips, Elias worked his hand underneath her robe to caress her legs. The Amnesia Game, as they uncreatively dubbed it, was one that he had come up with to keep their relationship satisfied. Being quasi immortal entities facing time, chance, and entropy’s cruel hands together meant that they were ever on the hunt for ways to stay in love. The last time they played the Amnesia game it had lasted months, almost spanning an Amber Era, and oh what fun it had been. The anticipation, the mystique their chemistry invoked, if he could get away with it he’d graft those moments into a movie to play at Penacony’s Golden Hour forever. However, as Reca ruminated on the idea his body was sinking further into the couch, happy to not be moving.

It had been many, long months in Penacony. The infiltration of his alma mater had been his strongest performance yet, and now that it was over all Reca wanted was to be quiet. Not have to breathe a word, just file paperwork, organize his films, and rest. It was hard to keep that boundary when he was welcomed home like this, brought inside like a hero and treated to wonderful sex and a home cooked meal. More than the quiet, more than the mundane aspects of Memokeeping, he missed Black Swan. How magnificent it was, to be adored and yearn for the charming woman, who was guiding his hand to part her bathrobe. Her energy left Reca feeling electrified and raring to do it all over again. To march back out that door and ruin another evil genius. Except he would miss her, if they played. He just wanted a few days at her side, resting against her while she stroked his shoulders and read her books. 

Still thoughtful, he watched Black Swan unhook her legs from each other and let one drop to the floor, pulling the robe even further apart. Maybe he would make that one of the rules, Reca smiled now as he watched Ms. Swan’s face twitched and tense to the rhythm of his teasing. “I only want to play for a month,” he mused aloud, leaning her to lie back against the couch. At first she sighed and relaxed, but when his shadow overtook her, Black Swan’s eyes snapped open with disbelief.

“Didn’t you say you were too tired?” She giggled, melting into a cooing sigh as his fingers reached for her lips beneath the robe.

“We don’t have to,” he teased, no longer sure if they were talking about playing the game, or his fingers playing over her body.

“Keep going,” the Memokeeper whispered, her face softening as he obeyed her demand. 

“I could be convinced for two months, but no more than that, and I want you to give me hints.” Elias carried on, leaning to sit back on his knees as he pulled her calve to rest on his shoulder. 

“Hints, hm?” Black Swan asked, her hands reaching out to wrap around his wrist, encouraging Reca as her spine tightened and her toes curled. With a wave of her hand the coffee table jutted across the room so that they could slip from the couch to the floor. He didn’t answer again until her sighs unfurled and she came apart like a thing that Reca could pick up and read for himself. Until they were left gasping and reaching for the wine, sharing a glass between them.

“Yes, I’ll reward you extra points if you can convince me up onto a rooftop for our first kiss,” he whispered to her, running half damp locks of purple through his fingers, leaving a trail of wet kisses over her neck. “Maybe this is the time I’ll conquer my vertigo.” Languishing in the quiet, he whispered sweet things into her ears, lips tickling her neck and the roots of her hair as Black Swan held him near. 

“Rooftop kisses and hints, I can work with that… where would you like us to meet?” 

Thinking, Elias snapped his fingers again and the screen mounted on the wall died, casting the pair in blue and green darkness. Together they lay, their fingers searching for the best places to hold one another, reacquainting themselves with how nice it was to be adored like this. “I have an interview at Pier Point about my project, I’ll be there for a week or two, what about then?” 

“Pier Point, look at you,” she teased, pushing her hair out of her face. “That makes things easier… What about starting? Maybe we can begin in a few days? I need some time to scheme,” Black Swan added, letting Reca help her off the floor as they drifted to the spiral staircase. 

Laughing at how they had to rely on the bannister and rails to climb the staircase, Reca crawled into bed beside her. 

“Give me a few more days of this,” he asked, letting her body eclipse him as she pressed herself against his back. Another wanting shudder played down his spine as Ms. Swan’s naked body pressed him, her hips contouring to fit his frame well. Alas, the flesh was in need of a deep slumber. “All of this is exactly what I needed.” 

Pushing his bangs from his face, Black Swan kissed his ears until his tiny snores reverberated against her chest. “I can’t wait for you to fall in love with me,” she whispered to him, knowing her voice would reach him deep in that dreamless place. “See you soon, dearest.” 

Morning always came too soon when Elias couldn’t fall asleep, he tossed to try and reach for a pillow to block out the cool, chiming ambiance that was his alarm clock. However he had tossed all of them to the floor in his restlessness. Rolling on his back, Reca squeezed his eyes tight before opening them to watch the morning light filter through his bedroom curtains. Pier Point was as contrasting to the Garden as a world of color being reduced to monochrome. Where Elias’ home was always lit up with gorgeous hues cast by the archive of memories, Pier Point was cold and corporate grays and blacks highlighted by industrial apathy. The night before Reca tossed and turned trying to fall asleep in this city of lights, longing for the quiet where he was lulled to sleep by only his breath. Though his bad nights sleep couldn’t be solely blamed on struggling to fall asleep in a new place.

“Good morning, Mira,” he groaned, pressing his palms to his face as around him the room came alive. The bedroom curtains opened slowly, and the alarm’s gentle chiming faded into a pair of talking heads yapping about an electrical storm in the Asdana system. It was harder than he thought, Elias’ head felt top heavy and was the last thing to become vertical as he forced himself up. “Kindly give me the briefing for today’s travel table, and start the coffee.” 

With a croak, the Assistant Director powered to life and sent a timetable to the screen in the shower for Elias to read as he began his morning. The IPC’s home planet was a cold place that only really cared for numbers and expansionism, but they knew how to make an exceptional hotel. Little tricks such as these were the ticket to keeping employees happy enough to work to death, and people like Mr. Reca unwilling to challenge their status quo. Stepping out onto the warmed floors of the bathroom, a cup of espresso waited for him as he stared at his naked reflection, where he transferred that data from the table. He felt as awful as he looked, the bags under his eyes were defined while his head and chest pounded as he reached for the bottle of pain relievers to quell this body ache. Squinting to himself as he gulped the pills down, Elias tried to remember if he’d done anything the night before to cause this. 

His heart fluttered in his chest with excitement for seemingly nothing, and his head moved between heavy and light as he checked the clock every few minutes. It was a feeling of nerves, that made sense in a way as he would be meeting galactical superstar Owlbert later that morning for his interview. That was something to be nervous about, but that wasn’t something that would make his stomach heavy with nerves and his fingers fidget as he gripped the gray sink. He hadn’t gone to bed drunk the night before, so he couldn’t chalk this feeling up to a hangover. It was like his body was counting down to a secret that was being kept from his mind.

He wanted to walk back into the shower and sit underneath the warm spray for a little while as he waited for relief to come. Fate wouldn’t have that, and Mira was calling for him from the bedroom. “Yes, yes, I won’t miss the train.” 

Painkillers did nothing to soothe Elias, who dressed incognito for the purpose of traveling to the IPC Studio. A black suit and pair of sunglasses to block the light from the trains and hide his telltale eyes from any possible fans. Mira hid in his breast pocket, peering over the lip of the fabric to take in the metropolitan surroundings before hiding again. He heard a few whispers as he clung to the overhead railing of the train, but they were easy to ignore. Of course, none of this was actually necessary. Mr. Reca could have requested a personal car be sent for him, and he could ride in style over the bustling tunnel ways and train system. He wanted to do it like this, though. It was good for his perspective to see and experience what every day people like these IPC drones went through. Even though he fumbled with payment to get into the station, and had to track down a station attendant to navigate the different lines, it was charming. Charming and engaging enough to help him forget about this heaviness in his body that was decidedly not the result of poor sleep. 

Unlike the rest of Pier Point, the studio had an art deco facade with abrasive bulbs that outlined the edges of the building. The marquis was backlit with bold, black font that read, Today Only! Owlbert’s Live Studio Interview featuring Special Guest Mr. Reca! Even this early in the morning, with still hours to go before his showtime, the line to get into the studio was trying to wrap around the building like an ouroboros. Keeping his head down, the whispers only got louder as he was ushered in the lobby of the recording studio. Inside it boasted plush rugs and comfortable arm chairs. Photographs of prolific idols hung around the front room, looking down on the director as he prepared himself to take a seat, looking for a chance to recline and soothe his discomfort. There was something more to this dull throb, and he wished he had the time to try and understand it. Honestly, it was best that Elias forced himself to ignore it for now, these kinds of things were bad for his nerves.

“You’re right,” he told Mira, dragging his finger affectionately across the frog’s head. “Interview first, we must put on our best performance.”

“Mr. Reca! Welcome to IPC’s Telecommunication Studio,” the receptionist at the front desk stood up to clap her hands together excitedly. “You’re early, would you like to wait in your dressing room?”

“That would be wonderful,” he supposed, dragging his fingers beneath his dark bags as he was taken away. Through the frosted, glass doors she ushered him through hallways that were similarly decorated. More faces and posters beamed down at him, and as Reca passed them he wondered hopefully if he’d be asked to sign his own portrait. 

A small flight of artists waited for Elias in his dressing room, where they helped him into colors and textures that were a little more familiar. That made the nerves flatten a bit, seeing himself in something that - compared to these corporate drones - burst with color and life. Most notably, the makeup artist worked wonders to save his complexion. A true talent, he thought admirably as he touched gingerly at the foundation. He would have to take care to not ruin it until he got home that night, Reca damn near felt alive now. Another cup of coffee and a few magazine articles later, a stage assistant knocked and appeared.

“Crew are ready to mic you up, sir.”

Walking through the back stage, Reca caught sight of the house. It was packed to the brim, not a single empty chair was facing Owlbert’s stage. 

“Go on, get the shot,” he lingered, pulling his assistant director from his pocket. With a lively croak, Mira leapt from Elias’ hand and she disappeared beneath the heavy curtains. He would enjoy rewatching this interview for himself later in the evening.

“Good morning, good afternoon, and goooooood evening!” A familiar, equally dramatic voice hooted from the stage as Mr. Reca held still, allowing the technician to snap his microphone to his coat collar. 

“Break a leg out there,” the crew told him as he fixed himself. 

“One of our guests today is a five time winner of the Galaxy Awards, just returned from the set of his latest and hottest production that will be up for consideration this year. Guests from afar, please put your hands together for-” Owlbert’s words were drowned out as the crowd had already begun to applaud and scream. 

Exuding confidence, but still thankful for the makeup that concealed his flustered skin tone, Mr. Reca bowed deeply to the audience and walked slowly across the stage. He even stepped off into the House and shook a few hands of the front row guests. It was controlled chaos as they screamed and bounced in their seats, but never rose from them to lay hands on Elias. After he had milked that attention from those rabid fans, he turned and held his arms out as if surprised to see Owlbert waiting before approaching a familiar sofa. 

Owlbert rose from his seat to shake the director’s hand before they both took their seats. Mr. Reca was also obviously a fan of the show, and knew just how to sit on the cushions that would make the light fall properly over his shoulders. Resting an arm out across the back of the couch, Reca angled himself to face the host before raising a hand in the air. Waving it and then dramatically closing his fist, like they were well trained performers who had been rehearsing together for months, the studio audience fell silent. 

“Very impressive, Mr. Reca,” the host laughed, applauding the director in turn as the man offered a small bow from his seat. “This is your first time on our stage, and yet you command like it was always yours.” 

 “You know, Owlbert,” Elias laughed, winking to the camera, where Mira was sitting in one of the aisles, completely unseen by the audience members. “Every stage I’m on becomes my stage. Though I thank you for sharing this beautiful space with me.” 

Yes it was true, this was his first time on a stage like this, but it was just another performance. Elias was dreading the pounding in his temple that would come from this. None of the pain relievers that he nor the studio offered him had kicked in yet. Knowing that relief would not come, Reca hoped that he could hold his head to nurse his headache in a way that wouldn’t raise questions or suggest disinterest. The crowd ate up his commentary, while Owlbert was impressed and breath taken by their on stage chemistry. Their easy banter made it difficult for the host to naturally pivot to the purpose of that day’s interview. 

“Now, Mr. Reca,” the host began, finally finding a pause to catch his breath and wrest control from the director. “I want to turn the scope onto your most recent work, which will be hitting theaters later this month, Cosmic Ninjutsu Inscriptions.” The crowd turned to stare at the director expectantly, a normal person may have buckled underneath the weight of all those eyes. Not he though, as Reca leaned back and shifted his anchorpoint, crossing one leg over the other.  “Your newest film follows a young apprentice who has forsaken the path of her master’s, seeking out a colorful - both literally and figuratively - new way of the ninja for herself. While striking out to blaze this trail of hers, old shadows rise up and she must use her new code of honor to defeat them. Tell us a bit about your decision to weave this tale.” 

Chuckling to himself, Elias winked into the crowd, where a handful of audience members swooned, believing that the sweet gesture was for them. “It’s quite simple, Owlbert. Why would I deprive anyone of my talent? By expanding into… nuanced genres such as the gritty fantasy of Cosmic Ninjutsu Inscriptions, I can share my talent with even more fans.” Oh, this was too easy, he thought confidently, watching as Mira zoomed in to capture the awe struck expressions of the audience.

“Of course, that’s a generous approach, no one should be denied a good story.” 

“Indeed - I recently paid a visit to the Planet of Festivities, Penacony. My alma mater - Paperfold University - was hosting their anniversary celebrations. As I’m sure we’re all aware, the Dreamscape is a frenetic and dynamic culture, ideas echo through the memoria and just a whisper,” he emphasized by leaning forward and dropping his voice, though the microphone captured him. There was a thrilling moment as the audience leaned in too. “Just a whisper of a new idea may ripple and expand into a tsunami, affecting the dreamscape. I witnessed one such ripple while touring as a guest lecturer for the college, ninjas! Wayward warriors who stride over galaxies and systems, an army of one in many cases, chasing the wayward gales of evil. I fell in love with my fellow student’s fascination and determination to forge their own mantra, and what better way to spread my alma mater’s motto, ‘color your dreams, free your ideals’?”

Both the audience and Owlbert ate up his response, and once again he cast his gaze out toward the crowd, where he saw Mira. She had taken a seat pressed up against one of the stairs, that way if a guest were to come down the aisle she wouldn’t be stepped on. Except she wasn’t looking at him, the assistant director was distracted by a member of the audience in an aisle seat. Her lens was zoomed in on the guest’s face, and perhaps most shockingly, the guest was looking back at Mira. Large eyes like an inverted sunset, yellow that drained to black, were staring dreamily down at the frog. Seemingly more interested in that than the once in a lifetime interview she must have paid thousands of credits to be here for. A wellspring of thick, lilac curls poured down her shoulders and back, one lock was being twisted around her finger. It was mind boggling to Reca that this strange woman was aware of Mira, and giving her the light of day that he was entitled to-

“Mr. Reca?” His thoughts burst as the director blinked and returned to the present, with Owlbert leaning against his desk with a cheeky smile. “Didn’t stump you, did I?” 

“I- apologies, I was a little star struck by this gorgeous audience,” Elias explained smoothly, and the crowd applauded at his recovery. Notably again, she did not applaud him, instead resting her chin in her hand  and smiling dreamily at him. Now why was that the panacea to his discomfort? The knot in his chest loosened at her gaze, but Elias could not allow himself to be taken by this strange occurrence, and forced himself to look back at Owlbert. “Could you repeat your question, dear Owlbert?” Stealing little glances into the crowd, the man couldn’t quite know what it was because he was forced to continue to engage in the interview. All he knew is whenever he had a moment to lay eyes on her, the pain in his body ebbed away. The hour dragged on with only little reprieves when he could look into the crowd and look for her. For his final applause, Reca stood from his seat in hopes to see her in the ovation, but his heart dropped to see her seat suddenly empty. How could she have slipped away? He wondered as his feet were carrying him off stage as music played him out. 

The applause continued on even after Reca was gone and his microphone had been taken from his coat. 

“Are you alright, Elias?” Owlbert appeared at the director’s elbow after the show, big eyes watching keenly as Reca attempted to swat away the concern. “You got a little spacey in the middle of those questions.”

“No no, everything is fine, you are a wonderful host, thank you once again for having me on,” Mr. Reca clasped their hands together as he bowed once more. “I think I’m still a little travel weary still, I only got into Pier Point yesterday evening.” 

“That’s okay, these are things that we can edit in post,” the show host laughed, and laughed even harder when Elias joined in. “You’re more than welcome to rest in the dressing room before your signing.” 

“My signing?” The director echoed, doing the mental gymnastics to try and remember if this was part of the invitation. “I… I can’t recall agreeing to that.”

“Oh, well let me find your contract for you,” Owlbert said easily, and like magic produced a tablet, handing it to Elias. “During one of the IPC’s charity events, we hosted a silent auction. You volunteered an additional hour of your time to participate in a meet and greet to the highest bidder. Your time is precious, Mr. Reca, and fetches quite a hefty price I might add.” 

“No surprises there,” he mumbled to himself, staring at his flowing signature written on the screen. Thankfully he didn’t doublebook and dispelled the tablet. “I think I will take you up on that offer.” First to find Mira, he thought to himself as he peeked back through the thick curtains to see the studio. It was empty, only the ghost light illuminated the room as the director stepped back onto the stage. His footsteps echoed on the lacquered wood finish, and his shadow was cast long and deathly over Owlbert’s desk. 

“Mira,” he called out, his voice carried into the dark. No answer, well, not the one he was looking for. A whisper of fabric and leather squeezing against each other, followed by a familiar croak rose up from the house. Wheeling around, Elias’ body froze and found a pair of exquisite eyes that accompanied beady ones sitting in the stands. With another croak the assistant director jumped down the steps and toward the stage. 

“Mira,” a cool voice echoed him, and the woman stayed in her seat. “A fitting name: to look, to see. Very romantic of you.” It was her, the woman who had distracted him during the interview, right where he had seen her. Sitting casually she crossed her leg one over the other, the stretch of her skin tight pants was magnified in the quiet expanse. That purple hair was tied back elegantly now, spilling behind her and down the chair like an avalanche. As if it was planned, the lonely illumination from the ghost light cast her shape in exquisite shadow. Neither of them spoke while Mira hopped to his feet, waiting for him to return her to his place by his heart.

“That’s her… model name.” He had enough of the wherewithal to scoop the assistant director off the ground and hold her in both of his hands as he took a cautious step toward the steps. “You are… I’m not sure if you’re supposed to be here.” Reca admitted, giving the studio another expectant sweep, wondering if anyone would come in here and kick her out for sneaking back onto the set. Wondering if he had enough sway to stop them, because he needed to know who she was.

“Don’t you worry about me, Mr. Reca, I’m exactly where I need to be.” The strange woman replied coolly. Reca crossed his arms to seem indignant or impressed, truly though he did it to conceal his shiver. Her voice ran a finger down his spine, making him stand a little straighter.

“Are you a critic?” He squinted at her, watching for her expression to shift. It was a stony one, she had an excellent poker face as she rose from her place in the empty audience to descend the staircase. Goodness was she tall, Reca thought with the clench of his fist against his body as she stepped down to meet him. 

“Of course not, Mr. Reca,” the woman assured him, and it took some godly strength for him to stand his ground as she got close. This woman didn’t intimidate him, not one bit, but as her perfume swam into focus and he had to tilt his head backward to stare up at her his legs trembled with adrenaline. Why the sudden fight, flight, or freeze response? “In fact, you could say I’m your biggest fan.” 

“I’m flattered, truly,” the director lied, holding a hand to his chest as Mira croaked again. “Then may I ask what my biggest fan’s name is?” 

Appearing to think, she pressed a sharply manicured finger to her chin, seemingly not bothered by their striking proximity. Elias liked to think that he was a respectful and mindful gentleman, but could not bring himself to back away from her, even though his neck ached from having to lean back and look up. Maybe it was because of his pride, not wanting to back down from this challenging stranger. Yes, that had to be it. She was audacious and unyielding, she didn’t fluster or flinch at his words or presence. Instead she seemed… amused by him, and that annoyed Reca. Made him want to find what would get on her nerves and tease frustration out of her. 

“You may know me as Black Swan,” she seemed to decide, smiling down at Reca as his eyes must have twisted with confusion. A stage name?

“A pleasure to know you, Black Swan,” he bowed, and before he realized it he was kissing the top of her hand. How did that get there? He didn’t remember his brain giving the command to the rest of his body. Still, the gesture went a long way as her illegible face shifted into a warm smile. “I’d love to stay and get to know you better, but I’m afraid I have an obligation that I need to rest for.” 

Her smile remained eerily as Elias let go of her, pulling himself away from her, half wondering if she would try to follow him. In his time as a director, Reca had no choice but to master evading his fan’s attention. He wondered what kind of slip he would have to give her. Did he even want to?

“Of course, we’ll be seeing each other again soon,” Black Swan promised, twiddling her fingers as he gave the mysterious lady one more glance before slipping backstage again. 

[00pr1nc3ss]

Desde que tengo memoria siempre he odiado mi cuerpo, más creciendo junto a mis primos que, oh sorpresa! Desde niños siempre han sido delgados, he ir creciendo siendo comparada con ellos, Además de estar gorda yo era la más alta, que puto asco, siempre siendo la niña gorda y fea, para nada delicada, escuchando burlas por parte de familiares y yo era solo una niña, recuerdo que nunca me veía al espejo con miedo de ver lo que realmente soy, con miedo de enterder el porqué de tantas burlas, conforme fui creciendo ni siquiera me tomaba fotos, las odiaba, las odio de echo, más las fotos grupales estas son un asco porque siempre soy la que se ve peor...

Un pequeño desahogo, besos 💓

[waterdomemusic]

Ameli Paul: Echoes of Memoria - brilliant Album - 2022

Lest unser Review zum Debüt Album von Ameli Paul (Brillante Electronic)

Review zu Ameli Paul: Echoes of Memoria – brilliates Album – 2022 Facts Artist: Ameli PaulCountry of Origin: Germany, BerlinTitel: Echoes of MedmoriaFormat: AlbumAvailabiltiy: Streaming, DownloadLabel: MeiosisRelease Date: Dec 02, 2022Genre: Experimental/Electronic12 Tracks | 50m 33s On Apple Music available in Hi-res24 Bits / 44.1 kHz – Stereo – Stream At Juno Download available in…

[moongirl-26]

Estoy agotada y quiero llorar como una niña perdida en el mundo. Me he forzado tantos años a ser fuerte, a sostener a otros, a ser refugio para otros. Durante años me he olvidado de mi, no me he permitido sentarme a llorar, no he podido superar una tormenta porque cuando menos lo espero llega otra. Estoy cansada de ser fuerte. Quisiera sentarme a llorar sin nada escuchar y siendo acompañada únicamente de mi soledad. No solucionará nada, eso lo sé, pero tengo la ingenua creencia de que se renovará mi fuerza si echo a la basura memorias que solo traen dolor.

[parolerandagie]

Se l'osservante e l'osservato esistono solo nella simmetria del reciproco validarsi, allora nessuno esiste davvero solo, se non in quella echo lontana della realtà, che chiamiamo memoria, che sia propria o di altri. Ma altrettanto chi non è più qui, ma è quotidianamente nei ricordi di chi lo ha amato, non ha smesso di esistere: ha solo smesso di osservare.

[dreamerwitches]

Now that Magia Record is shutdown what do we as the Puella Magia fandom know about the upcoming game Madoka Magica Magia Exedra?

I know it has Ihora and her sister Ui present in the game so there definitely Magia Record content on there. Will there be dopples? Will the Magia record story be on the game as well?

Hopefully they don’t use the anime version of Magia record for the game.

Well in simple terms:

There is a new character called Name that has no memories. (I'm guessing here that a) she's a magical girl and b) she'll be your player avatar)

The game is set in a Lighthouse and the player views memories of other magical girls (which kinda opens opportunities for any spin-off, timeline, etc.)

There is a green Kyubey called A-Q (role unknown)

There are 'portraits' that seem to be similar to magireco's memoria

The current playable characters(? those we've seen, so Im assuming they're playable) are Madoka, Homura (cool only), Mami, Sayaka, Kyoko, Iroha, Yachiyo, Kazumi, Oriko, Suzune and Tart.

The labyrinths we've seen are Gertrud's, Elly's, Albertine's, Zenobia's, Suleika's (could just be Ulla's), Charlotte's, Walpurgisnacht's and 10^43 (as before, could just be the Echo's). The only witches we've seen properly is Charlotte's second form and Walpurgisnacht. Box Wood's labyrinth is seen in Iroha's art.

I honestly doubt there will be doppels sadly but we'll see... I think they'll at least do a little of the magireco story though

[xcrissz-blog]

"Si vienes para quedarte, necesitas saber un par de cosas.

Tienes que saber, que no soy solo letras, poesía o solo verso entre líneas.

Si vienes para decidir hacer nido en este pecho, tienes que saber que padezco de insomnio los domingos a las seis y que amo ver las madrugadas con olor a tierra mojada, rocío y el cielo apenas en azul.

Tienes que saber también, que vengo de algunas batallas sin ganar, que he sido un aprendiz de la vida y que a estás alturas, tengo bastantes complejos que hoy día, no logro descifrar.

Que soy un tanto realista, otro tanto de pesimista, con un conato de demencia y otro de locura.

Que suelo ser conformista en ocasiones, que echo de menos las tardes en casa de la abuela con los primos y el pan de las seis de la tarde recién hecho con leche fría en casa de papá.

Que tengo el corazón hecho pedacitos y me refugio en el recuerdo, que muero de ganas por hacer una máquina del tiempo y volver unos años atrás para abrazar a quien tanto me hecho falta.

Que no pasa día en que no me termina de convencer lo que el espejo me da pero que también, muero de ganas por parar un día.

Por terminar en dónde nunca imaginé y despertar donde siempre quise.

Que no he perdido el sentido del humor, que uso diminutivos cuando veo brillo en un par de ojitos, que suelo grabarme cada reacción en la memoria, que soy bueno para las fechas, que hago de una canción dos historias y que sin duda, echo tanto de menos asentar mis sentimientos donde estén dispuestos a darme un tantito más de lo que yo doy.

Que no tengo miedo a un caos, que no saldré corriendo a la primera de cambios y que tengo los pensamientos más firmes que antes.

Que no he perdido el brillo en la mirada, ni la fe en el amor, que amo la poesía y la cerveza un domingo a las seis.

Si vienes para quedarte, tienes que saber que tengo más para dar que para perder, que para nada podría hacerte perder el tiempo pero sobre todo, que si tú quieres, nos podemos pasar una vida entera tomando café o reventarnos de amor bonito solo si vienes para quedarte"