#i know its minor but its still there

[xstevex-world]

(Part 1 of the pop star Chrissy AU)

“So what you’re saying is that you are 100% positive that I’ve spent my day with, not only an actual, real life international pop sensation; but the same Chrissy Cunningham that you have been fangirling over since senior year of high school?”

Robin hears Steve groan on the other end of the line. She can't blame him though, she’s made him explain her exact situation to her 3 times over.

“Yes Robin, that’s definitely her,” he sighs.

Robin falls back down on her bed, she can’t believe this. If she had been honest with herself, that entire day felt like a fever dream, a fantasy she had conjued up from weeks of sheer boredom. It was hard to ignore, the feeling that her day shared with her was a one time thing, especially after Chrissy apologetically declined to meet up with her the next day, saying she had to do work stuff.

Thinking about it, in retrospect, the signs were there. She had absolutely talked about how she worked in music and had been travelling a lot with it recently - yeah, Robin thought she was probably in a small band or was a session musician by the way she talked so casually about it.

But this? Shit, this whole situation she's found herself in? it’s like something out of those stupid romance novels her mom and Steve like talk about.

She always had it in her head that pop stars were meant to be over the top and flashy, but Chris just seamed so…sweet. She was listened to robin ramble on and on about everything and nothing, laughed loudly at her terrible jokes before giving her perspective or talking all about her own experiences

And when she smiled? She radiated happiness and joy as if she was the personification of the sun. There would be an etching of that smile in her brain for the rest of Robin's life.

“Robin!”’ His voices takes her out of her trace, grounding her in reality. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” is all she mandages to say.

“So you have two options,” Steve explains, and gods, she wishes he was here so she could at least see his eyes roll at her obvious awkwardness.

“The first is you just ignore that this whole meeting ever happened,” which, yeah is she absolutely not doing. Even if she never got to meet Chrissy again, at least she would still have the memory of meetng that deity of a human being.

“Or?” She asks, hoping that even 3637 miles away, Steve would be able to bring her down from her wild panic.

“Or; you listen to me and go see her.”

Steve has always been rather blunt, it’s what Robin likes so much about him. He tells her exactly what he means, no in between meaning to his statements.

“She’s playing a concert tomorrow night in the city, it’s probably why she said she couldn’t hang out tomorrow, she has sound checks and rehearsals and stuff," he explained, as if he knew her entire schedule (what was she kidding, he probably did.) "I'm going to get you a ticket, so you go to see her tomorrow night, enjoy the show, take a photo and dm her telling her how good her performance was, ok?”

He makes it sound so simple.

“But what if I go and do all this and it turns out that-“

“She’s straight? Robs, she’s very open about being bisexual-“

“No, dingus!” She yells into the receiver, running her hand through her hair. “What if I read the entire thing wrong and she was just being nice? I’m famously not good at reading the room and, for all I know, she could have thought this was just all a friendly thing that we have going? Like, listen to me Steve, I’m me, and if she’s the same pop sensation that you’ve talked drones about for as long as I’ve known you then what could she gain with a romantic endeavour with me? She could have anyone and not the person who she met yesterday who’s…”

“Who’s what, robs?”

She can’t answer that, knows if she says what she wants to that Steve will deny it, but she knows who she is - she’s annoying, too much all the time and knows that logically she wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice in friend, let alone girlfriend.

Sometimes she thinks it’s a miracle that Steve has been her friend for as long as he has.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he interrupts her inner monologue, voice softer than she’s used to with him. “But you have to stop thinking that you’re not good enough. The only person who’s allowed to talk shit about my best friend is me…and probably Erica, but I think she thinks you’re too cool to actually insult you much.”

Robins audibly snorts, falling back onto her bed.

As hard as it was being away from her family and the rest of their little friend groupd, the thing she misses the most is Steve. She was so used to having her platonic soulmate with her at all times, ready to latch onto for whatever the reason may be.

And right now? She could really use a hug, pecifically one from Steve "The Hair" Harrington.

“Robs, just trust me, she wouldn’t have spend they day following you around Paris is she wasn’t completely gone for you - she would have been at Disneyland with Corroded Coffin getting pictures with Darth Vader and shouting about how it's a capitalist utopia while eating the churros…" he pauses momentarily, and robin knows exactly what he's going to ask next. "...actually, speaking of, did she-?"

“Talk about Eddie Munson? Well, considering that I didn’t know that it was the same Eddie that you’ve had a raging boner over for the past year despite the fact-"

“Robin!”

“It’s true!” She yells, face now beaming from her laughter. “I’ll make you a deal, Stevie, if you plan works then I’ll put in a good word with Chrissy for you, she’s bound to know what gonna bring you into Munson’s raider-"

“Robin, stop!”

"-because I have some stories, Steve, and you’re lucky I was listening because if I didn’t like Chrissy so much I know wouldn’t remember, which would suck for you because i now know a few rather scandalous stories about the guy-"

“ROBIN!” Steve shouts through the receiver, making robin jump. “Focus!”

She shuts up, smiling to herself.

“I wish you were here, dingus,” she admits, rolling onto her stomach. “At least you’d be able to help me out, maybe, if this works, make sure I don’t pass out in front of her.”

“Of course it’s going to work” he states with every syllable oozing that signature Harrington’s smugness. “But only if you wear those plaid pants you have, the ones that hug your thighs in all the right places-“

“Gross, dingus!”

But sure enough, she listens, but if Steve’s right about one thing it’s how to leave a lasting impression, especially in the “you look good” department.

So, the following evening, she dons blue, plaid pants with a plain black tank, slicks back her hair using whatever hair products Steve left during his last visit and makes up her face: brushing electric blue pigments onto her eyelids before smudging kohl against her waterline.

It takes her serval pep talks in the mirror to finally convince herself to actually leave the apartment, but she did it, managed to walk to the venue and wait, nursing her beer whilst leaning against the against the back wall.

Robin kind of regrets not tagging along to all the Chrissy Cunningham concerts that Steve invited her too in the past, maybe then she would know what to expect.

(Or, maybe then, she wouldn’t be in this exact situation, but who was she kidding, of course she would be, nothing straight forward ever happens to her).

The entire thing is overwhelming, the venue has been crowded since before she arrived, (since it was well after the opening act ended) which really isn’t her scene. She’s already nervous and her hands won't stop shaking and she's about to call it quits, text Steve that she'll pay him back for the tickets in actual money rather than their original plan and walk out the doors of the theater where she can crawl back into bed and scream into her pillow-

The lights dim, and everyone around starts screaming as the first notes of the synth play, Chrissy's voice carrying through the room.

Robin can't help but stare, she's so beautiful, stunningly gorgeous with the voice of an angel, she doesn't even notice the rest of the band join her one by one or the two dancers who have a hand on Chrissy's shoulder. She doesn't even realise the opening number has finished, can't pay attention to anything other than the cascading curls of chrissys hair, the way her body moves in one with the music, the same smile that struck her heart in the first place- the smile that shines brighter than any spotlight ever could.

She doesn't register much, barely hears anything other than Chrissy sing about new moons, staying when she shouldn't or sending her love to Wayne; songs she know she's probably heard before, probably from (just being in close proximity to steve Harrington), but none of that matters, shes memorised by her.

And when the final act is coming to a close, she almost misses it, but she can feel eyes on her even this far to the back of the crowd.

Robin only meets Eddie Munson’s eyes for a second, impossibly wide eyes staring her down in disbelief before seeing his cue to exit the stage. She almost drops her half-drank pint, a string of curses running through her head - but the whole interaction has her frozen. 

Her brain tells her to "RUN! GET OUT!" before it escalates any further, the churn of pure anxiety in her stomach reminding her that this was a stupid plan, she shouldn't have come. She cant do this, won't do this-

She leaves before lights go black.

⭐💘🎫🎤🎫💘⭐

So thank you all so much for the support on the first post, I was not expecting it to get traction buy you all loved it??? My heart is swelling omfg. Thank you for being patient with me with this part (I'm dyslexic and work full time, on top of just being very slow at producing, well, anything lol).

I'm hoping to have either 5 or 6 parts altogether if you guys keep enjoying it ((sorry not sorry to make you steddie fans sit through the Buckingham part first, Robin needs to get her girl!!!))

Shout out to my gf (who's not an st fan) for beta reading this with comments like "is Robin a useless lesbian?" Or "do they really say dingus in the show?" Or "wow, she really needs some loops!"

As a bonus treat, the concert playlist can be found here! Included are songs that represent or resemble the tracks on the set list of the gig that Robin goes too see (including the CCxCC material that would be played as the encore in the final three songs)

Taglist (if you wish to be added, I just ask you be polite about it x): @maya-custodios-dionach @papermachedragons @mildgendercrisis @vampiregirl1797 @lizard-dyk3 @hellomynameismoo @beckkthewreck @eboyawstenn @justmiiriam @gregre369 @korixae @victor-thee-corvid @yes-im-your-mom @bisexualdisastersworld @questionablequeeries

[afterthelambs]

In another (happier) world, I think Muhen would've been Akechi's Sojiro. Akechi would've lived above Jazz Jin just like how Joker lived above Leblanc. Muhen would've taught him how to make the drinks and close up at night. They would've bonded over music. And Akechi would finally have an adult looking after him. Because Muhen does care about him in-canon. He's the only character in the epilogue that mentions Akechi, he notices who Akechi spends time with, and he wishes to see him again.

It's so sad that Akechi assumes nobody cares about him or wants him around and yet this random jazz club owner does. Do you ever think about Muhen seeing Akechi at the Jazz Jin sometime in December, not knowing it would be the last time he ever would

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

Hello! I was just wondering in reference to the most recent chapter - what words do they use for “sun god”? Is it the same as what is used when describing “sun god nika”?

good question! it's not exactly the same, although it's close. nika is referred to as 太陽の神/taiyou no kami, 'the god of the sun.'

the 'sun god' we're introduced to in the most recent chapter is referred to with a title that uses the same kanji, but not identically. instead it's called 太陽神/taiyoushin, which is an established term to mean 'sun god/solar deity.' 神/shin is the kanji for 'god,' which can also be pronounced kami or gami. when the sun god is addressed respectfully by the inhabitants of the block world, they use the very respectful sama honorific as well, referring to it as taiyoushin-sama.

the fact that this new sun god's title is all one word both distinguishes it from nika and makes it more closely match the titles of the other 'gods' we're introduced to inside the block world, which are also given as single words- for example, the giant rabbit we're told about is 耳神/mimigami, the 'ear god.'

[rbtlvr]

fuck it [posts old doodles]

[bambiraptorx]

[writinganon1]

@cokoweee

Ya’ll ever have a dream so lifelike it feels aggressively real until one thing goes a little too wrong and then you start to realize that maybe you’re in a dream but it’s also too real to convince yourself it’s not real that you can’t wake yourself up? 

TW: panic attack, I say gun, uhhh blood ig? Bishop says a kinda weird thing but that's just him bein him

can I say blood? last time I did it marked me as mature...

-

Her heart thumped against her chest, lactic acid building in her legs as she ran. She tapped furiously at her phone, fingers slipping over the screen as she tried to deploy Sheldon. 

Donnie says “no no no” chimed a pixilated picture of Othello, his finger waving back and forth. 

“What the-” She slammed against a wall, her shoulder crunching against the brick. 

His stupid programming on the poor thing to keep Sheldon at his house. Maybe she could override it? 

No, not enough time. She was just going to have to run and hope for the best. 

Her shoulder screamed in protest as she climbed the ladder in the alley. Scrambling over the side of the building to catch her breath, she tapped at the screen again. 

There had to be something she could do to foil his programming. She wiped at her nose, the cold still not quite gone even after days of bed rest. Bullets flew over the edge of the building, seemingly locking on to her body heat. Throwing herself at the ledge at the last second to force the bullets to crash into the wall she coughed violently, phlegm coating her throat.

Stupid sickness. 

Stupid Othello leaving her with the stupid rabbit farmer.

She pushed herself off the ground, arms struggling under the weight of herself. It was as if every muscle in her body was on fire, each fiber screaming at her to stop. She gulped raising her head over the ledge. Agent Bishop was standing on the adjacent rooftop, his face curled into a sneer, eyes unblinking despite the sun in his eyes. 

He waved at her, fingers waggling in the air as he pulled a small gun from his pocket. Aiming it directly at her chest he grinned, his eyes flickering with something distinctly unhuman. 

She stumbled backward, her feet skidding over the concrete as he seemed to lock onto her. Loose rock dug into her knees as she clambered over the rooftop. 

Away.

All she needed to do was get away. 

She placed a hand over her stomach, feeling the raised bump of the scar, as she moved.

This was…

This was wrong? 

It didn’t happen this way. 

No. She didn’t need to get away, she needed to get out. 

The bullet ripped into her skin, tearing away at muscle, and shattering the bone in her rib.

She screamed, blood pouring from the gaping hole in her chest, as Bishop moved closer. He walked to her side, footsteps clanking against the concrete. 

Clawing at the ground she dragged her body along the roof, rocks digging under her nails. Bishop laughed, his foot trampling her hand, digging it into the ground. She gasped, breathing shallowly as she fought to get loose. 

He grabbed her hair, wrapping it between his fingers and tightening his grip as he pulled her from the floor. 

“Oh, this is wonderful.” He smiled, voice dripping with venom. “Such a pretty little thing I caught this evening. I’ve been dying to chat with you.” He pulled her hair up, forcing her to rise. “I wonder if she’ll do any tricks?” 

She spat in his face, her ears filled with an all-consuming ringing. 

Away. 

She needed to get away. 

It didn’t matter how. She needed to get away. 

He said something else, flaunting some sort of mechanism he had hidden in his shirt. She tried to focus on his words, but her breathing was too shallow, her limbs too shaky, the ringing too loud for her to hear a word. 

She clamped a hand over her chest, a sorry attempt to staunch the flow of blood from the gaping hole in her body. Cursing softly she watched as the red seeped into a slithering pink fleshy mass. 

She stifled a scream as the pink turned an orange maroon, her own blood fueling some sort of monster. 

“Shhhhhhh.” Bishop whispered against her ear, “It’ll be done soon. Just one quick slash and you’ll be out of my hair for good.” 

The mass jumped forward, faster than she could comprehend, her body spasming in pain as she scrambled back.

Was this the Krang she’d heard so much about after she’d left the jail? Weren’t they supposed to be mindless or something? 

It lunged forward again, tentacles lashing toward her face. Bishop shook her in front of him, like a toy for a dog. 

“Kendra?”  

She screamed as he tightened his grip on her, shaking her around like a bag of flour. The world around her turned hazy, her vision blurring in and out. 

She wasn’t going to go out without a fight. 

Throwing her head back she jammed her skull into his chin, breaking the grip he had on her hair. 

She clawed at the ground, a strange silky feeling coating her fingers. Pushing away the softness of what was sure to be Krang, she kicked at the mass as it wiggled unnaturally. 

“KENDRA!” A familiar voice shouted at her, a gentle three-fingered nubby touch against her arm. 

Her eyes flew open, arms flailing to the sides to swat at what was left of the Krang matter, as hands held her back. She gasped, her chest heaving as a sinking feeling hit her gut. Dread splashed over her head like a wave, drowning her, leaving nothing but fear.

Eyes widening she looked next to her for Tello, horrified as darkness encroached on her vision, leaving her staring through a pin hole. Nausea rolled through her stomach as she gasped for air, her chest shuddering to keep up with her breathing. 

It hurt. It hurt so bad. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” He whispered, hand placed against her back. “It’s ok you’re home. You’re with me.” 

She jerked backward. He was loud. So so loud. Even with the ringing in her ears, he was too loud. 

Breaths were punched from her lungs faster than she could finish taking them in. Tears streamed down her face as her eyes blew wide. Her chest tightened, lungs twisting as she shook. 

She’s dying. She has to be dying. There’s no other explanation. 

Dead in her room from a nightmare-induced heart attack,  

Her eyes flickered back and forth over the room, not focusing on anything, just wildly scanning for danger she knew wasn’t there. Willing her arm to move, she let out a chocked warble. 

The room seemed to melt around her. Things blurred together, a fuzzy abstract painting of almost-real-life. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she tightened her muscles. 

Her whole body shook as she tried to take steadying breaths. 

“Did you know softshell turtles only have half a plastron?” 

She was in the middle of dying. 

She most definitely did not need turtle facts right now. 

“Technically a full one, but it’s covered by skin, rendering it effectively useless for plastron purposes.” He shrugs. “Same deal as the shell.” 

She looked at him, confusion breaking through the panic. 

“Makes us really flexible though. Wanna see?” 

He got off the bed, walked to the middle of the room, and bent backward. He smiled upside down at her from the floor and smoothly brought himself back up. 

“Pretty neat huh?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Bet no other turtle you meet could do that.” 

Amusement rippled through her as she watched him demonstrate his stretches and various yoga poses.

“I’ve never met another turtle like you.” She breathed, some of the panic melting away. 

“Precisely! No one can do it like me!” He said, pointing his finger at her triumphantly before his face softened. “ We starting to feel a bit better?” 

She brought her thumb and pointer finger close together. A little 

He nodded. “Am I good to come back up or do you need some space?” 

She patted the bed next to her, inviting him closer. She waited until he was seated comfortably before slumping against his shoulder, exhausted. 

He shifted slightly, reaching for his phone with one hand, the other wrapped around her. He let them sit for a moment, reminding her to breathe every few seconds before Sheldon zipped into the room. 

He whispered something to Othello before zooming out of the room. She watched passively as it happened, her body still not quite connected to her soul. 

Sheldon returned moments later, a bag of ice, a bottle of water, a cookie, and tub of lavender lotion in his little propeller arms. 

Othello took them from him, patted his head, and shooed him away. Taking one of the ice cubes he flattened out her hand and placed it in her palm. 

She jerked slightly at the sensation of cold in her hand, surprised when he placed another in her palm. 

“Focus on the melting.” He said, voice low and gentle. 

The ice filled the lines of her hand and dripped over the sides and down her arm. She shivered as the water pooled in her hand. Othello grabbed the cookie from the pile he had created and broke off half to give to her. 

“Thanks?”

He watched her carefully. “What does it taste like?” 

“A cookie?” She said through a mouthful, her hands still full of TV static. 

“I need details.” He pressed. 

She paused, taking a moment to consider the flavors in her mouth. “Vanilla, chocolate chips.” She took another bite. “ Like I left it in the oven a minute or two too long and overcooked them just slightly.” 

She’d have to make another batch, this time keeping an eye on the time. 

He pressed an uncapped water bottle into her hand. “Drink.” 

She pressed the bottle to her lips, feeling the way the cold blossomed against her skin as she held it there. Quietly observing the way she could feel it go down her throat and into her stomach. 

“Are we feeling more alive?” 

She nodded, running her hand along her thigh to feel the fabric of her pajama pants as she pressed her head against his side. 

“Good.” He murmured, sleep creeping into his voice. “You had a panic attack I’m pretty sure.” 

“...Sorry it was for something stupid.” 

“I get worked up over stupid stuff too.” He mumbled, eyes half closed. 

“Your stuff isn’t stupid.” She countered. 

“Then neither is yours.” 

She stopped, lifting her head to look up at him.

He grabbed her hand, flexing the fingers for her. “You feel ok?” 

“I don’t know.” She answered honestly. 

He nodded and guided her to a lying position. “Tell me five of your favorite things.” 

She paused, looking around the room. “Hmmmmm. You.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Mhm. Uhhh, lavender. The color purple. Satin jackets. Baking. Messing around in the lab. Oh, I guess that’s more than five.” 

He tapped her shoulders rhythmically, “You can keep going if you need to.” 

She took in a deep breath. “I think I’m ok now.” 

“Positive?” 

Nodding she pulled the blankets over herself. What she really needed was rest. She was so exhausted from the whole ordeal that the idea of doing anything else felt impossible. 

He got off the bed again, searching beneath the bedframe for something before he pulled a large purple blanket from under the bed. She blinked in surprise as he placed it over her, a weight holding her down to the bed. 

“I should’ve mentioned it was weighted.” 

She pulled her hand out to give a quick thumbs up as he climbed back into bed. She shifted to hold out her arm for a hug. He smiled and pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist. 

“You smell like you’ve been using my soap.” She grumbled against his plastron. 

He shrugged. “ I like the way you smell.” 

Rolling her eyes she tugged the blanket higher over her shoulders smiling as soft chirping filled the room, the sound he always made right as he fell asleep. 

“Good night Tello.” She whispered.

His plastron vibrated as he churred back, gently running circles through her hair. 

She was home. And she was safe.

~

squad don't write stuff at four AM I'm pretty sure this only makes sense to me at this point. Anyway I was listening to my pretty princess playlist while writing this 💁‍♀️

the reason why this was written is in the tags btw

[meamiki]

vtuber loop !!!

[reverse entry au? the reverse isekai part of it? tangentially related to this post here, and also the last part of this post too]

[anydaynowany]

with how much emphasis they put on “tmagp is a separate thing, no previous knowledge of tma is required” i honestly didn’t expect there to be so many “the return of (…)” memes

[undefeatablesin]

Watch out ya'll, Sin's sketching Bloodborne comics again! 💀

[xxcherrycherixx]

That ending was kind of shit...

[spaciebabie]

yall who are not simps have GOT ta stop commenting on clearly simpy posts and acting like the people who are having fun are weirdos. i swear ta god its annoying and rude and im tired of going inta my notes and seeing those comments on my posts and on my mutuals posts. have some respect.

[trooly-ticklish]

Day four of Tickletober: Favorite tickle trope!

God, where do I begin with this trope... The feeling of excitement mixing with dread as you hide from your ler maybe? Or the way you have to hold your breath as they get closer...or to stop a giggle or whine as you hear them verbally tease you even as they can't see you. It's the anticipation, the adrenaline, the knowledge that when they do find you...you are going to get tickled. It's up to them for how long~

[tenshindon]

morning campers i think ill be mad about the goku black arc's ending until i die actually

[trashcreatyre]

I think the main thing that pisses me off about like 90% of mephiles ships is that people will be like "how old is he??" Look that fanwiki says that he's ten and they RUN with it. Like they don't read further. I'm so convinced that most people don't even know the plot of 06 bc the shit I've seen people draw and write with the characters is just mind boggling.

[freyjuseggr]

im so cranky today??

[tacogoats]

Thinking about a Durge who has rejected Bhaal, and whatever person they used to be, but still secretly longs for their lost memories. A Durge that, despite the answers the man could give them, would never re-ignite that strange passion they were shown they once had for Gortash. A Durge that has, for all purposes to the others in their party, moved on. A Durge that, six months after that day atop the Netherbrain, at a party celebrating their new life, receives a strange letter with an even stranger gadget hidden inside.

The meeting at the inauguration was a strange one. Despite Gortash's very obvious elation at seeing what he'd called his 'dearest friend', the man had no hesitation very proudly detailing the Dark Urge's grand scheme; their grand design for the world to be.

In front of all their friends and 'new' lover, of course.

They were furious, and rightly so. Gortash must have known what he was doing. To isolate them, to bring them back to him. The person who accepted them for all they were, all they are, and all they could be - together.

It wasn't enough to win the Dark Urge back to him, and although they'd tentatively teamed up in the end - he had died. Not by the Urge's hand, but in some ways, his own. The group had left Gortash's body within the Prism, and simply moved on. There were bigger problems, and no one really was sad to see him go. Right?

The Urge remembers a letter found in Moonrise Towers. Gortash liked gadgets, according to Ketheric. Evidence was abundant enough with the Steel Watchers, among other things. The item is strangely shaped, entirely too small, and with a simple touch, comes to life.

It reminds them of the strange picture they had seen at the Iron Throne. Gortash's visage shone through a glass, moving, talking - warning them to leave. Answering them, praising them for listening.

What a strange contraption, they'd thought all those months ago.

And then, now, there he was again. A picture, in their hand. A moving picture. Speaking with his voice, wearing his weary face - so, so weary - but not the same as before.

This had passed already. The voice did not answer them this time. It was simply impossible - the man was dead, but not quite gone in this moment.

He speaks of the inauguration like it had just happened. His joy at seeing his favourite 'assassin' again, which he says with a sad smile and a moment of silence. A heavy sigh follows, rubbing at his eyes - which they can see are so much darker than they last remember.

He is tired.

Gortash speaks of their time together, before Orin - and how Orin torments him day and night now that they had both confirmed the Urge's return. She appears with their face, taunting him some days. Other days she sends assassins that wear the same, and he simply cannot let his guard down anymore. But he knew it was them that day.

They can see the exhaustion that pulls down his features, makes his words heavier. This is not the Archduke speaking to him in this moment - it is a tired, broken down man that has just seen a ghost.

Yet they cling to every word anyway, because even though this is a broken down man who is terrified of the ghost - the man still hopes the ghost will remember him, too.

They don't. But he doesn't know that, not this little picture of him, anyway.

The picture says that if they are seeing this recording, it means he is already dead - and although he had planned to sway them back to his side, he may not have been given the chance, and refuses to allow the opportunity to share what the two of them once had slip away.

He would gift unto them the memories that he could, even beyond death. The bloody ones, the happy ones, the painful ones.

And he talks, he smiles, he even cries.

And so do they.