#a familiar echo

[echoes-of-home]

my request is an unserbox using the text "this user has a fasciation facination" , using any image of that kind of mutation on preferable on flowers.

I really worded the original ask poorly , sorry ,it was my mistake.

Here you go! Hope you like them. :::)

Reblog and credit!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The girls are back (from the grave)

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[goldenwaves]

the blood moon rises once again...

it's been a little over a year playing in my curse of strahd campaign, so an updated character portrait was due!! a year later so i'll give a little lore: her name is jeanne du vergier, twilight cleric and little lycanthrope. never let the sane one in your group be 19 years old. barovia native and the last pack follower of the night mother. in a situationship with god and about to have a wonderful dinner party with the devil himself. here's to another year in barovia :3

[szfiction]

This parallel makes me insane actually (and there is something incredibly Lawlu about it to me)

[ixtaek]

I think it’s also absolutely insane that I’m introducing myself by the same name as the crown Princess of Hyrule, while looking like her, while wearing a circlet visible under my hood, while my name is plastered on every wall, TO THE OTHER GEOPOLITICAL LEADERS OF MY COUNTRY, and no one has come even close to putting two and two together.

[thetorturedlovergirl]

Au where in “The Woman Who Fell To Earth” instead of falling in Sheffield, 13 accidentally lands in front of an Echo of Clara.

[somestorythoughts]

Eldritch Echo

So. I haven't seen the Bad Batch and don't really intend to, but I have read some fics (please do not take that as me saying that's the same as understanding the story) and between that and my thoughts of eldritch stuff in Star Wars and a cool art piece I came across that I think was referencing something I don't have the context for, I started wondering what it'd look like if of the Bad Batch, Echo was the only eldritch/cryptid/vampire/otherwise not human one. NOT because of the Techno Union, but because of something that happened sooner OR he'd always been like that. And I might put a bit of that in my vampire clones thing but I was thinking eldritch and I ended up writing a thing. So. Enjoy:

***********

Crosshair’s willing to admit he doesn’t dislike Echo. He respects the guy’s resilience and his willingness to go with the flow, which is necessary for someone working with their team, even as he rolls his eyes at Echo’s tendency to twitch at the state of their ship and his reluctance to drop the “sir” when talking to Hunter. More than that Echo has zero qualms about sassing him if Crosshair picks a fight and it’s a lot of fun to rile him up.

That said. Echo is also really freaking weird.

Crosshair is very observant, between his eyesight, his role on the team, and his training he had to be and either something’s very off about Echo or he’s started hallucinating because he keeps seeing things that don’t make sense. Not for a reg and not for a cyborg.

He explains this the Hunter once, trying to see if he’s noticed anything, and Hunter frowns. “Can you give me an example?”

“His eyes for one.”

Hunter blinked. “What?”

“We all know what most trooper’s eyes look like. And we’ve seen some variations. But they don’t change color. I’ve seen his eyes go golden or violet, and it wasn’t the lighting.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes I’m sure what do you take me for?” Crosshair snapped. “Look. Next time we’re on a sunny planet. Take a look at his shadow. It doesn’t match him at all. I’ve seen it prowling around him like a tooka without him or a light source moving. It doesn’t look like him either. And remember that time we were sparring and he panicked and bit me? I asked Tech, the Techno Union didn’t do anything to his teeth, but I know what bitemarks look like and that was not it.”

Hunter sighed. “I’ll pay attention but-” He paused. “Huh.”

“What?”

“It might not be anything.” He replies and only knowing that he’s getting to the point keeps Crosshair from interrupting. “But remember how I told you guys that people smell like animals? They’re distinct from each other, and you know I can’t describe it cause I tried to describe you guys, but it’s not like they smell like flowers or old books or whatever people like to think they’d smell like unless they’re wearing a scent. Echo, he doesn’t smell like a trooper. I just never thought about it for some reason.”

“And what does he smell like?”

Hunter frowned as he tried to find the words. “Well. He does smell a bit like a trooper and a bit metallic. But he also smells like, what’s was the spice in that cake you liked so much? The one we found on that mission with the weird vultures?”

Crosshair hummed. That had been a really freaking good cake. “The lady said it was a cardamon cream cake. So he smells like cardamon?”

“Cardamon and lilies and wet dirt is the best way I can describe it and I know it’s not his soap cause he uses the same stuff as the rest of us. So yeah. I guess I’ll pay attention.”

Two days later Crosshair gets confirmation that something’s up in a way he did not expect.

Because walking around in the dark in the middle of the night is his job so it’s already odd to find Echo leaning against the cabinet in their ship’s tiny kitchen in the pitch dark. “You’re going to trip reg.” Crosshair says and leans over to get the lights when Echo looks up.

And twelve pairs of golden violet eyes meet Crosshair’s.

He staggers back, trips over something, falls. “Crosshair!” Echo grabs his hand, pulling him up, then scrambles for the lights as if he forgot they might be necessary and Crosshair yelps as the light hits his eyes.

He blames that and the shock for blurting out; “What the hell are you Echo?”

Echo blinks, looking hurt. “I’m a trooper. Like you all.”

“Troopers don’t have twenty-four freaking eyes.” Crosshair hissed. They aren’t there now, he’s got 2 brown eyes in the exact same shade of brown nearly every trooper has, but Crosshair knows what he saw. He knows what he’s been seeing.

Echo tilts his head. And he grins. It’s a smile Crosshair’s seen before, whenever Echo’s about to respond to his taunts with something cutting and clever, part “take that” and part inviting him to share the joke. There’s nothing off about that smile save for that it’s mirrored in Echo’s shadow, splayed against the cabinets behind him too dark for their lights.

“The Bad Batch.” Echo muses, like there’s a joke Crosshair hasn’t caught yet, and he’s never had a reason to call Echo dangerous even when he didn’t trust him, but he’s starting to feel cornered even though Echo hasn’t moved. “You think you’re the only strange ones. ‘Don’t worry Rex, we know how to handle a reg.’ Never mind that Torrent was always a little crazy, or it used to be. Never mind that I was an ARC and a damn good one, and we’re all more than competent. And I appreciate what you all did, in welcoming me into the squad, I appreciate it more than I can say, and I do really like you guys, but you are so freaking cocky. So certain you can handle anything. And to be fair you’re damn good at your job, but sometimes it’s annoying. So.” He grins that taunting grin again. “You want to know what the reg’s deal is? Figure it out.”

He leaves. His grinning shadow lingers a moment before following. Crosshair stares.

And then decides that a glass of water isn’t gonna cut it and goes for the stash of moonshine.

[dragonofthemountain]

I'm replaying through Subnautica again and going to put my thoughts here to share with the universe

It's only my second time playing, but already I'm struck by a few things

I keep forgetting how little oxygen I have. I've almost drowned like four times already

I'm shocked by how not scared I am. On a first playthrough there's a sense of confusion and dread, especially when seeing the first predators in the game. A sense of 'what on earth is that??' and 'is it going to eat me??' But even in the shallows I don't feel that fear. I know these creatures. I know which bellow belongs to the Gasopod's releasing their defenses and I know to stay to their front. I know what a Stalker sounds like when you've gotten a little too close to its territory and it doesn't like it. I know that instead of fleeing for my life, I can quickly turn around and pull out a fish and the stalker will just eat it and leave me alone. I know what's lurking in the bottoms of the kelp forest (nothing). I know where to be cautious and where to be footloose and fancy free. And I think that's sort of the whole point.

Crashfish are so fucking annoying and they're the worse creatures in the entire game

[bluebluebluewoods]

“S-sorry Archaeologist Smurf… I just wanted ta offer some help…”

“Clumsy… It’s okay, sweetheart… I can smurf them together again, ha…”

[thisfuckingdork]

Been thinking about how eerily similar Echo from Echo vn was to where I grew up and wanted to talk about without straight up doxxing myself so here's my attempt at that.

This game is either well researched or unfortunately autobiographic because damn, Echo hits HARD when you're fucking from there.

[miodiodavinci]

i saw that you used to hint at oc stuff on twitter (don't ask me why im digging im looking for zola stuff lmao) why don't you post more about them?

i am simply terrified that if i post oc things online someone will steal the concept and run with it faster and better than i ever could have and then i will be devastated forever and ever

more seriously i have very little to show for any of my oc things (adhd brain making life difficult as per usual awawawawawa) and every time i've shared oc things in the past i've ended up never following up on it and it makes me feel bad and guilty so i've just convinced myself i will Never talk about my ocs until i have something substantial i can put out there

[daydreaming-jessi]

Ok I have to talk abt this actually. Getting into kaijus is interesting because some of them are aliens, some are big mutated monsters, and so on, but there’s an origin category that I cannot stop thinking about, the kaijus that are fantasy dinosaurs from the past. And it really gets me, not because I’m really into dinos, but because I can’t stop considering how tragic it is. This is gonna be long so I’m gonna put a cut here

Imagine, you wake up one day and millions of years passed since you fell asleep. Once you knew the world, it was your home, you understood the rules of life, you recognized the living creatures surrounding you and you were content with your life but now… Continents have shifted and formed new land masses, mountains have fallen and risen, new ecosystems developed and every living thing you know is pretty much just GONE, all a forgotten memory except you. You see echoes, barely recognizable facsimiles in the new world, but it no longer recognizes you, you might as well be on an alien planet.

You’re lost and confused and it’s so much more dangerous now, and no matter what you do the world just doesn’t click back into the familiar, you can’t wrap your head around the rules of survival because you were not meant to be part of this cycle, but you can’t go back home because time went on without you, you left (against your will) and home grew up while you were gone and neither of you fits the other anymore and it’s not fair, you didn’t want to leave, you didn’t mean to be gone for so long, but there’s no one to blame, and no way to fix it. The world changed, but you didn’t. You do. not. fit this planet anymore.

You scream, you wail and gnash your teeth and batter against the change, you want it to go back to way things were, you rage against the the new life’s that’s taken over your home, but it’s pointless. They didn’t change the world, it changed on its own. Nothing is going to bring home back. Everything you loved is gone and only you remain to grieve it. You are the endling of your entire time period. You roam around, trying to find anything familiar, endlessly wandering, and yet you’re tethered to the same place because it’s where you woke up, that means no matter how unfamiliar it is, it was once where you came from, and so it has become the familiar.

And now you have become a stranger to yourself because the very act of living through this has changed you. You no longer recognize even yourself. You are a stranger living in a strange land. Is it possible to ever be content like you once were again? Do you even know what it feels like to be content anymore? Is this really life, or are you a ghost that death forgot? When does the inherent panic and fear of being in a territory you no longer recognize go away? Or has it already and you don’t realize?

Of course these are all very human thoughts for kaijus, and I haven’t seen a lot of kaiju stuff, Cannot stress this enough, I got most of my knowledge through internet osmosis, seen a few movies from different franchises MAYBE, and I definitely am doing a weird reading, but this is a thought that I keep getting caught up in, just.

The idea of the world growing up without you. You leave and when you come back it is now the alien planet. And to it, you are just as alien.

It’s tragic and probably not at ALL the point of these kaiju types, but it’s currently a fun thought toy for my brain to chew on

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[secretmellowblog]

My favorite bit of Valjean and Cosette's meeting is the way that Valjean gives Cosette the doll in the way that a child would. For a moment he "pretends the doll is alive," as if he's just introducing them to each other, and puts the doll's hand in Cosette's.

The stranger’s eyes seemed to be full of tears. He appeared to have reached that point of emotion where a man does not speak for fear lest he should weep. He nodded to Cosette, and placed the “lady’s” hand in her tiny hand.

He's also doing this to deliberately counter an insult Madame Thenardier levelled against Cosette. When justifying why Cosette should be beaten for taking Eponine's doll, she said:

“She touched it with her dirty hands!” pursued the Thénardier, “with her frightful hands!”

So by placing the doll's hand in Cosette's, Valjean is trying to reassure her that her hands aren't dirty or frightful, and that she deserves to touch nice things with them.

[qualitative-decay]

more adventures in schrödinger's perceived-or-not, on account of. coyn still has me by the throat a bit perhaps lmao

----

----

he feels numb. he can tell he has more reaction than that; can feel something hovering in the periphery, something repeatedly restricting his breathing and spreading tension over his temples, but—

here... isn't a good place for that.

now isn't a good time.

they stare resolutely at the seat in front of them. if they look out the window, the chance of them getting lost in the blur of lights and missing their stop entirely edges into dangerous territory, and they already feel like they're clinging to the present moment with both hands.

the bus is... quite full. he holds his backpack on his lap and tries very hard not to touch or be touched by the woman who claimed the seat next to him — a task made more difficult by her wild gesticulation as she converses with some passengers across the aisle.

he shrinks into his seat and ignores her as best he can. he wishes he could actually have anything playing over his headphones to better mitigate the "every single thing happening around him", but... he's still worried about missing his stop.

.....

.....

he doesn't quite blink and find himself on the doorstep of stan & the narrator's place — if he looks back, he can drag out the memories of more or less what happened in the intervening time — but it's vague enough and distant enough that he's grateful he did in fact end up where he meant to. or, some future him will be grateful. whenever his feelings come back online. ...probably.

they think they'd meant to knock on the door, but... they're sitting against the wall next to it instead, backpack again on their lap, curled to hide their face against it.

they'd been holding it together so well earlier, too. got stuff packed, made sure that their— that the room they'd been staying in was as orderly as they could manage. they didn't know what to do about things they had to leave behind; they felt a little bad for leaving it for b to deal with.

(if it feels like something in his chest is squeezing to think about him, if his next breath comes half-choked, it's just the worry. it's just the concern. he really should knock so he can go inside. he probably should tell someone something's going on.)

...is something going on? they're— this is— something is wrong, isn't it? they think they used to feel more certain, but... no matter that they know they can't trust it, with everything the parable said, and stanley's own behavior of late— they just— they aren't sure anymore. maybe there's no reason to be concerned. maybe stanley just... got tired of having them around.

maybe they just want this to be indicative of something being amiss, because the alternative literally, physically hurts to look at.

(...maybe they shouldn't have forgotten that it had always been meant to be temporary.)

he scrubs at his face with his sleeve. this isn't helping. he needs to go inside so he can actually feel— safe. not that he feels in danger out here, exactly, he just— it feels exposed.

.....

.....

he's sitting on the edge of the bed in the guest room, light spilling in from the hallway. part of him wants to close the door. part of him is viscerally recoiling from the thought of a closed door, no matter that he could open it again any time he wanted.

...he didn't really end up explaining anything. he couldn't figure out how to; got about as far as a very scripted he knows it's zero notice but would it be alright for him to spend the night, before the static fully crashed over him again and left him unable to get much anything else across. even through thought. too full of fog up there; nothing coherent for the narrator to read unless he wanted to dig for it.

stan and the narrator had exchanged a Look, the meaning of which would probably still have gone over their head if they had been more present, and the narrator had suggested they get some rest; they could talk more in the morning if they felt up to it. and, in all honesty, the idea of shutting themself off for a while sounded very appealing.

it... still does.

so, somewhat mechanically, they open their backpack and start to fish out sleep things.

it's a decently sized backpack, but not so large that a stuffed animal could really get lost inside. and yet... he can't find tether in there. he digs out more clothes in case it's just further down than expected, but the creeping suspicion that he somehow forgot it at stanley's flat is—

their train of thought is utterly derailed by the next thing they grab. they have... no recollection of packing this. (not true. they can picture it, can in the most abstract way recall it, but it's like something from a dream, or a story told by someone else. it doesn't feel like something that actually happened, even with the evidence under their fingertips.)

he clutches stanley's hoodie against his chest, curling around it. for the nth time in the day his throat closes against the emotion, his breath squeezing through painfully. it would probably rasp if he'd let it, but even though it makes him dizzy he forces himself to breathe slowly enough to not make a sound.

it feels very important, somehow, that he not make a sound.

once their breath comes more steadily & with less effort, they shove everything but b's hoodie somewhat haphazardly back into their backpack and drop it off the edge of the bed. they can brush their teeth and do any other hygeine maintenance in the morning. they flop back onto the mattress with more force than was really necessary and hide their face in the hoodie against the light from the door.

(sleep, fortunately, finds them before too long.)

[curiosity-killed]

this is not meant as a philosophical thing but it always catches me by surprise and feels a little funny when ppl make statements about What Makes Us Human/What Separates Us From Animals because like 99% of what humans do, at least some other animals also do or can do, and also like, why do u want to be separate so bad? do u not take comfort in knowing that ravens and elephants mourn their loved ones, too? that dogs and monkeys can learn to paint? that cats will seek you out for comfort when they’re scared? do u really want to live in a world where we’re alone at the ~top of the pyramid~? seems lonely. seems like shit