#not that its an abnormal occurrence in the real world

[seysei]

Tbf it is pretty common for kids to get crushes on people older than them(not saying I agree that Mikuni had a crush on her when he was a kid) theres nothing wrong with people saying that.

While that does happen, i don't believe that to be the case for mikuni, especially considering her involvement in all of the terrible things both he and his mother had to endure.

In my humble opinion, the only thing he did crush, was his fathers ego. No pun intended. lol.

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Ghost x City Girl Reader

You expected Ghost to leave you before the morning; he usually does. However, you're surprised to see him rush to your aid after being woken up by violent night terrors. A sweet and unexpected moment between you, that only ends as quickly as it began.

Tags: Romance, Drama, slight Hurt/Comfort, slight Angst, Intimacy, Fluff that turns sour, Mask-Kissing, Arguing, Swearing, Enemies to Lovers, FWB, Jealousy, Toxic Relationships, "Couples", Arguing, Swearing, A Little Melodramatic, I'm aiming for something more real though, Reader is somewhat bratty and immature, Ghost is bad at communicating his feelings, Damaged people not knowing how to talk to each other and let their walls down, reader has night terrors, I wanted representation!

WC: 4.5k~

Author's Note: I'm back from Vegas! I was on a drunken bender on Fremont St. partying with my brother for his birthday this week (I talked to a lot of interesting people too 😏). This chapter might be a little different, I don't know? I'm not gonna lie, after this chapter, the tone is about to take a shift. Please enjoy~

Also, thank you so much @argella1300 for helping me out when I asked. Your insight was greatly appreciated and it really meant a lot! 💞

Masterlist

It came in the dim shade of dusk, tucked in by shadows of your hall -- the abnormally tall silhouette of a man. Stalking you. Haunting you.

He looms at the brink of your hallway, expressionless, unmoving, and yet somehow inching forward all at once. With each step he closes between you and himself, an encroaching darkness fills the room behind him within the blink of an eye.

Who was he? It's a question you've had since adolescence. The answers never felt as true as his unsettling existence.

The world around you is silent, fogged as though you were being held underwater, your mind racing at an incoherent speed. The only sounds you hear are that of your own screaming. You knew what was happening; your body and mind had just been unable to control it.

Night terrors.

You've never told anyone about them before; you've never felt any need to. It's not exactly a hot topic of discussion, nor something you could even put forth any real value into if asked; you can't explain something you don't understand.

They haven't been anything beyond a waking three-minute inconvenience. An on-and-off occurrence throughout your life. But once it happens, there'd be no avoiding it.

They send your body into a mindless, cold panic, the only emotion coursing through your veins being the unknown fear that first woke you. Your arms thrash frantically as you scream, your body feeling as though it were being grabbed by a million hands...

Don't touch me, your mind cries out. Don't touch me. Don't touch me...

...Until you've felt the one, very real hand touch your shoulder, taking with it the darkness you'd thought had all but swallowed you whole and replacing it with the waking world around you.

The morning returns, as do the rest of its unpleasant realities.

"Hey." That deep and raspy Manchester voice is the first sound you finally register, and for once in your life, it couldn't have sounded any sweeter. "Hey," Ghost says again, placing both hands gently over your shoulders to wake you. "Everything's OK. You're in your living room."

Your chest heaves shallow breaths when sitting up on your couch, taking in your surroundings. That's right, you're still in your living room. You'd almost forgotten you'd passed out on your couch last night, now catching the breaking dawn which pooled through your windows.

It always takes you a moment to regather yourself after it happens, having to make sense of what had been real versus some strange in-between with you and your REM state. In those moments, everything felt real, and fake all at once.

Even the shattering and reforming of reality around you could not take your mind from Ghost's hand, which remained wrapped protectively over your arm, fingers trembling with the hesitancy of his own actions.

"Are you alright?" His dark eyes look your face up and down, taking in every twinge your lips made and how your eyes seemed to look in every direction but his own, still glossed over and dazed from sleep. "You just started screamin' out of nowhere."

Once his words run through your head a few more times, you realize that you'd made a scene right in front of the one person you hadn't wanted to know this about you, a new detail he no doubt did not expect from you at all.

Ghost has known you to be many things -- seductive, witty, cold, distant, and near every other synonym in between. He's heard your voice moan in pleasure more times enough to recognize it within a crowd; he's heard you hurl enough insults his way to send even the hardest of soldiers home crying and insecure.

Never has he heard you scream like this before, with such fear and strife. In fact, he can't think of a single time you've ever been so frightened around him. To see a glimpse of that had been more unsettling than he wished to let on.

He'd only woken up a few minutes shy of you, having slipped away to fix himself up and reset his balaclava. His lips had still felt stained by your kiss from last night, the skin on his face tingling off the memory of your touch alone.

Nearly two months he's spent with you in this odd, little fling and he's never actually kissed you like he had last night before. Never for so long. Never so deeply. He wouldn't allowed himself to. Kissing just for the sake of it always felt like a step beyond casual, as much as he often craved your lips on his most exhausting days.

Ghost must have stared at himself in the mirror longer than he should have, just chasing that feeling again, making himself sick with it. He debated on leaving before you woke, though he'd keep that to himself, having heard your screaming once he'd rounded the corner. In which case, Ghost ran to your aid without question.

His first thought had been that you were in danger; perhaps someone had broken in, or worse, you'd been hurt. You might get on the man's nerves, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't care about your well-being at least somewhat. He never wished any harm to you, and he damn sure wouldn't let anything happen to you if he can help it.

The archway between your hall and you had felt as foreign and distant as space itself, however. When Ghost found you on your couch, your arms writhing, and wide eyes locked on him with confusion and terror, he had frozen in place.

For a split second, he thought that fear had been caused by the sheer sight of him. And then, the strangest thing had happened -- it tore him to pieces being given a glimpse of a reality he didn't know he feared most of all. One where the sight of him brought you complete anguish.

Your screaming didn't stop when he approached you, nor had it stopped when he knelt beside you, saying your name and asking what was wrong, only falling on deaf ears.

Nothing had stopped your screaming, nor these emotions that ripped at him, until his hand had touched your shoulder, and you both felt the sensation of one another.

Your features calmed, your gaze softening at the sight of him, now having been pulled from that sudden trance. In a matter of seconds, you'd just barely managed to get your breathing to a more manageable pace, your heart not drumming so loudly in your ears. You played his words in your head, again and again, until you've slowly regained composure. Everything's fine. Everything's fine.

Had you noticed he had this effect on you? Ghost imagines you'll only carry on as though it were just another thing; the kindest of gestures are often the hardest to notice in the moment, and you never did like to dwell. It only took years' worth of tragedies for Ghost to be able to recognize them himself. Though every now and then, it isn't something he can catch either. He only wishes this hadn't been one of those times.

Embarrassment and shame flood within you like a crashing wave, though you mask it in an annoyed groan, turning your body away from Ghost in hopes he'd take the hint and give you some space. You always hated when this happened around others, most of all around the men you slept with. Slowly, you prepared yourself for your usual dose of reactions.

"I'm fine," you say. "I just... I'm fine." You rub your hands over your face in defeat, before sinking your head into them with a low groan.

There had been reasons you didn't sleep over or have others do the same often, this being one of them. You didn't need to have another guy slowly ghost you because you scared him awake at 2am in a frantic panic; the best way to avoid it would be to not put yourself in the situation at all, right?

But what happened last night hadn't been like any of your normal nights with Ghost. Last night had been something... not quite the same. There had to be some reason you haven't sent him home yet otherwise. You wondered if it had been the same reason why he hadn't gone home yet either.

"Fuckin' hell," Ghost sighs. "You might've woken the neighbors with that one."

"It's nothin' they're not used to," you say casually, though the second you do, you wish you hadn't been so cavalier about it. You hadn't meant to invite him into your world like this.

However, no one had been more understanding of these sorts of troubles than he; Ghost knew what a pain it could be feeling as though you needed to explain emotions you had no control over. So he wouldn't ask you what that was about, or why you think it may have happened. He didn't need to know anything beyond the fact that you were OK.

"Well," Ghost sits down beside you on the couch with a dramatic "oomph", huffing to himself with a certain contentment to it. "I've been there."

"I'm sure you have," you groan. You couldn't help being sly with him, even now. It came out of you impulsively, knowing he'd always reward you with some form of attention you both could get something out of. Something you both let sit at the back of your minds all day.

You stretch your arms over your head feline-like, your body now finally feeling as though you'd slept in your living room instead of your bed. Your shoulder ached dully, your back already popping at each stretch you made with your body. The wonderful joys of aging.

"That's one way to get the blood pumpin' in the mornin', yeah?" Ghost jokes, he always did feel a little humor could lighten any mood. "You never scream like that with me."

"Perhaps you should do a better job then," you tease.

"Don’t tempt me, love."

Love. He doesn't call you that often. Only in your most intimate of moments. You hadn't felt your face smiling, but you knew you were.

You looked so innocently up at him after without even thinking. "Tempt you, Manchester?" You give the man a rather tired but still lurid look, bumping his shoulder playfully with your own. "Perish the thought," you say. "As if it's that hard to do."

"Oh, fuck off." Ghost sighs, and you can practically feel the man smiling beneath his mask. A smile that felt as warm as a heater come after a snowstorm.

Wind chimes clung lightly outside your window, the finches gathered at your bird feeder chirping blissfully. You both laugh lightly to yourselves, your arms faintly brushing at every small exhale from your noses. And you both sat there even after the laughter, simply looking off ahead of yourselves, with eyes still heavy from waking.

It had felt suddenly a tremendous task to look over at Ghost. Once you've worked up the courage, you catch him gazing out your window aimlessly, peacefully, his body settled into your couch as though he'd been with you the day you bought the thing.

And then he looks down at you. Maybe he felt you staring, but you never noticed how brown his eyes are, or how deep they could look in a dimly lit room. Similarly, he's never noticed how animated your own eyes are, always moving and observing some small, unknown detail. It made his skin crawl delightfully. Ghost would have thought that feeling to be a bad thing, and yet it had been quite the opposite.

Why don't we ever do this? You asked him that last night, and though he'd answered you, it hadn't been the entire truth.

A sudden burst of energy springs from you, pulling you from your seat and inviting yourself onto Ghost's lap, who leans back and lets you do so without question. Your legs settle over his boulderous thighs, humming lightly as he rests his hands back against your hips, sighing pleasantly to himself and looking back up at you.

Ghost did his best not to squirm around too much with you on top of him. It hadn't been the worst thing you two have done together. However, it wasn't common for things to feel so... easy. He could stay like this all morning if you let him.

Something tells him you felt the same way; you don't usually take this long to start getting to the point of things physically.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I'm surprised you're still here."

You watch your comment bring him to a short pause and find yourself now at the edge of your seat, arms resting gently over his shoulders and not being used to this sudden anticipation towards his answer.

Ghost had thought about being completely honest with you, admitting that he'd been equally surprised. That's when he woke up and saw you still sleeping on the couch next to him, it had been the hardest thing to even excuse himself to the restroom.

Your arms had been entangled around him, cuddled against his large shoulder like a giant pillow. You slept soundly beside him, peacefully, having felt so at ease with letting your guard down, all things considered. An innocent sight too far and few between bitter exchanges.

He's never slept over after before, nor has he ever held you in his arms like this. Yet, it had felt like the most sensible thing to do now, something as natural as breathing or blinking.

He found himself just watching you sleep for a while, still. In the early morning light that crept through your living room window, he sees all these details to you he's never had the chance to; you are beautiful. Truly. And he hadn't meant it in ways that were superficial or lustful. Genuinely, he really did find you a stunning woman. He's always found you so, even behind the toxicity.

Seeing you next to him had made him happy, and all at once, it hurt him the same, knowing this time would always be finite. You'd bore of him soon enough, only to call him later as another passing thought. Maybe one of these days, he'll gather the strength to stop answering.

Even now, with you over him like this, it's odd. He doesn't want to get up, and yet he does. He wants to pull you in closer, and he wants to leave. He can feel himself breathing, yet the sight and touch of you made the air catch in his lungs each time he went to inhale.

Maybe he could just blame that on the smoking.

"Good thing I was 'ere, yeah?" he finally quips.

"Right," you lean forward, letting your nose brush the tip of his just faintly enough for him to long for its sensation beneath his mask. You watch the blond of his lashes flutter innocently, with eyes wrapped up in you even more than they had been last night. "My knight in shining armor. You won't hear me complaining."

"That's a first," he teases.

"Fuck you."

Your kiss is what truly wakes him that morning, your lips sculpting the shape of his mouth through his mask and gently planting slow, light pecks. His arms hug around you warmly, with strong fingers gently grazing their way up your back. He always did like these rare occasions where you'd treat him softly; he liked to think it had been a side of you that only he had seen. Even as he knew it wasn't true.

You continue to kiss him for a little while, the man's hands only remaining comfortably at your back to keep you over him. Ghost wasn't sure how much more he could take of you wiggling about on his lap before he gave you what you were clearly looking for. But it wasn't until you started reaching for his mask that he felt a sudden bolt of lightning strike him.

Both his hands shoot up to grab yours, large fingers hooping across your wrist like cuffs, keeping you just out of reach from the brim of his mask. His sudden hesitancy makes you smirk, and already does he know that you're about to push his buttons.

"Aw," you tease, purposefully rocking your hips into him. It makes you giggle when he huffs to himself. "Feeling shy?"

"Not shy," Ghost says. "Just..." Vulnerable. Anxious. Wary. Careful. "...You know how it is."

"Aww," you start to pout mockingly. "Is that honor only reserved for the special girls in your circle?" you ask. "Or just the ones you don't fuck?"

"For the ones actually interested in sticking around," he says. "Instead of just being some fling."

You can't help but scoff, and Ghost can't help but tense up afterward, already preparing himself for an outburst. You certainly were good for them, and Ghost hadn't wanted to kid himself here either; this would all end soon enough.

It wouldn't be long now... and he knows he should pull away before that day comes. He's lost enough people in his life to recognize not to get close to something that won't last long enough to really matter. So he won't hold back his words with you. You can't have your cake and eat it too, he thought.

But some small, sad part of himself wanted you to fight his words, however harsh that storm would be, just like you always do.

Your shoulders slouch and your eyes drift off somewhere into the room. You couldn't make it more obvious that what he said had stung, in ways you hadn't even known you'd been capable of feeling towards him.

A fling. A piece of meat. That's how you liked to present yourself -- it's how you've viewed others too -- most of the time. So you can't get mad if that's how he sees it.

Yet every time that truth is brought to attention, it can't help but make your gut twist up in knots. As if some delusional part of you felt you could continue to sleep with Ghost and see other men as well without him caring.

You've been in a losing battle with Ghost since you first slept together. You knew on that night that any real formalities between you two were forever gone; you'd already spoiled so many of the first joys of being with someone, and it often left this feeling of things being too late to change. What you have now will probably always be what it is. So why can't you enjoy it for that while you still can? Why must he complicate things?

"I just wanted to kiss you," you admit.

It's the honest truth. You dreamed about his lips; his kiss had felt that good. You never expected him to have left such an effect on you, yet you've woken up, and the want to taste him has not subsided.

Ghost takes his eyes from you, dark orbs lowering to your lips as though to telepathically share the same thoughts as you.

"I..."

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Your eyes turn to the thunderous rumbling of your cell phone against your hardwood coffee table. A phone call.

Ghost looked back at you, expecting you to sit up and answer it. You merely turn back to him, letting it buzz until the call finally drops. You could always call them back.

As you've opened your mouth to speak, however, the phone begins to buzz again. Another phone call. It's this time that you've decided to sit up and see who it is; you freeze once you read the caller ID. Shit!

"Who is it?" Ghost regrets asking the second his voice lets the words rumble out.

"It's uh..." You stumble on your words, purposefully being coy, knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"Your boyfriend?" Ghost answers for you, and your silence after speaks volumes.

Your boyfriend. Mr. Sweet and Super Understanding himself. This supposed "doomed" second relationship that has been nothing but highs since you've known him, if anything you told Ghost last night had been true. It figures he would call you so early this morning, you two had seemed close after all.

And like the strike of a match, his entire demeanor runs from cold to ticked off. Ghost can do nothing more than laugh to himself, shaking his head as though you'd just pulled the rug from underneath him and blown the ceiling off the roof of your prior delusions.

After all, you got exactly what you wanted here from him. He fixed your car, fucked you after, and now you get to send him on his merry way while you spend some real time with someone else.

Grumbling to himself, almost without him even knowing, he mutters, "I don't know what else I fucking expected-"

"He's not-" You struggle to find the right words to say, feeling as though every sentence spoken made a true difference between Ghost walking out of your life for good or not. The thought made you start to panic all of a sudden. "I'm not with him like that. You know this already."

You're right; he does know this. You haven't lied about a single thing since he drove over to jump your car. "Besides," you start to argue. "Why does it matter anyway? Why do you care? It's not like you want to be with me. You won't even let me look at you! You've said it yourself; I'm just some "slag" you sometimes like to fuck. Why the fuck do you care if I'm seeing someone who doesn't think that way about me?"

Because he hadn't felt that way about you. Not anymore. Not ever.

Never has he met a woman able to push his buttons so effectively, in ways all too familiar to his childhood. But at the same time, this woman, this human who unknowingly held so much power over him without even being aware, you equally found the littlest of ways to creep into his mind and bring him a bittersweet peace he had not felt since his youth.

But if he said that to you would you listen? Would you even understand? You've never been a woman to be tied down. He's known this. Who was he to think he'd be the difference when what you say is true. He has not been kind to you, not until it was too late, and now you've one foot out. How could he blame you for that?

And yet Ghost stands up, a bubble now having been burst. "As though you're so innocent," his voice raises, emotions finally starting to tip. He matches your hostile energy, his dark eyes glaring down at you, a mirror of wounded gazes. "How many times have I been here for you, only for you to cast me aside like an old toy you can just play with when you're bored? All I've ever been to you is an easy out; you've never cared what I've thought-"

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Ghost's eyes shoot down to your phone ringing in your hand, and you swear you've never seen him more upset.

A passing fear of him stepping over and snatching your phone from your hand passes over you, and your entire body language subliminally shifts in response. You instinctively take a step back from him, lightly turning your body to keep your phone from his reach. You'll be damned if he thinks he can try that.

He notices this small action, and a part of himself felt akin to his father, recognizing that fear in your eyes from his mother, even as you hide it behind a biting glare. That feeling alone could have done him in for good.

Though Ghost wanted nothing more than to answer that call and tell that other man to fuck off already, he had more self-composure and respect than that, along with his own moral obligations.

Still, it didn't take long for the conversation to take a turn, and from that point, it had been as though everything this morning had been but a slow build-up to an inevitable argument between you two. It always did come naturally.

It started out antagonistic from the jump. You questioned and belittled his sudden emotional flare-up, criticizing every one of his reactions and ignoring the obvious signs that you really needed to back off and just let him go. Or it would be better to say you didn't care for it.

To be frank, you didn't understand his frustrations. If other men had been such a problem, why does he keep coming back? What is it that he keeps seeking here?

Ghost hadn't been interested in spending his whole morning arguing with you, and physically feeling a grave be dug for the remains of your tarnished relationship. He moves around you and begins gathering his things, needing the air now more than ever.

"Hold up-" you approach him, throwing any caution or personal space out the window, as you've stopped a few steps shy of him. "Where are you going?"

"Back home." Ghost starts to put his boots on, the frustration he controlled in his voice being taken out by the aggression he used to tie his laces. "It's time I've made myself scarce."

"You're just gonna run off now? Just like that? I didn't take you for such a pussy, Manchester-"

"Don't push me, Spice," Ghost warns you. "I mean it."

"Or what? You'll leave?" you taunt. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want to."

"And that's the problem," Ghost says, standing up on his two feet and towering over you. "All you ever do is what you want. You never care how your actions affect others or what someone might think of them."

"What do you want from me, Simon?" You finally ask him, voice starting to rise, your chest puffing up aggressively. You'd curse him for getting you so emotionally riled up this morning.

What do you want from me? What do you want? A simple question that had been impossible to answer, because answering it would mean being honest with himself about what's happened with him here. It would mean being vulnerable.

"Stop calling me," Ghost says. "Stop seeing me. Stop being with me. We should never have done this in the first fucking place... This has to stop."

No longer did he wish to feel this way, to feel as though the worst parts of himself came at a constant full display with you. No longer did he want to feel himself slowly start to care for you, knowing that at any moment you could be gone. He's not sure he could handle something like that again.

Your mouth opens, and then it closes, and then you frown. Ghost thought you wouldn't say anything to him. He thought you might even cry. But no, you never were one to just leave things at that. You always had to say the last thing in an argument, and you never minced words.

"Then fucking go already," you say. "Get out. You won't have to worry about me calling you ever again."

Ghost didn't say anything after that, though he had looked at you for a little while longer. If you hadn't known him as well as you think you did, you'd say his brown eyes looked rather sad.

He moves away from you, making his way to your front door and unlocking it. He makes sure not to look back as you see him out. The man wouldn't be able to stomach the sight.

He remained on the other side of the door after you'd slammed it, feeling the wind hit his back and the sharp silence that it brought with it. Ghost then cocks his head back and closes his eyes, sighing in defeat. He felt the warm, morning air hit the little parts of his skin left bare for the air to kiss, and as though his mood couldn't drop any lower, he remembered he still had to go to work with you this morning.

Part Seven Coming Soon. Stay Tuned~

Since I'm trying to explore toxic relationships, I wanted to delve into the complexities a little (while not being so on the nose about it). They have their ups and they have their downs; they blend and happen all at once and take each other's places at every positive or negative interaction. You can have genuine moments of care and empathy with people you simultaneously butt heads and take issue with I feel; nothing is ever just black and white. I'm rambling and probably not making a lot of sense.

But, now that Ghost and the Reader are in the pits, they've gotta look within themselves and fix their shit if it's meant to be. I want to write them in a way where it's clear if they could just sit and figure out what it was they wanted from each other, then this could be something real if they let it. However, life waits for no one, and they're about to be in for a doozy. The mission i have planned for them is gonna be 👺👺👺

Taglist: @cabreezer0117, @homicidal-slvt, @deadbranch, @argella1300, @poohkie90, @glitterypirateduck , @sarraa-26, @quincessimus, @0-444-4444, @crazymela, @13thprogenitor, @joce2fine, @sapszilla, @dmitriene, @justherebecauseafarisucks, @zevrajalexxandra, @corvusmorte

[forlinx]

How Forlinx Embedded Board Handles Vibration

In practical applications, embedded boards are often subjected to various vibrations, which may come from device operation, vehicle movement, or external environmental disturbances. The impact of vibration on boards cannot be ignored, as it can cause loose connectors, damage to structural components, and even lead to functional instability and performance degradation.

Forlinx Embedded has three R&D labs: the Physical Environment Lab, the Electromagnetic Compatibility Lab, and the Stability Lab. These labs conduct 10 major test items, each designed to simulate extreme conditions that products might encounter in real-world applications, ensuring they can operate stably in complex environments.

To ensure the stability and reliability of embedded boards in vibrational environments, professional vibration testing becomes crucial. Forlinx's physical lab is equipped with an advanced vibration testing system that provides accurate test data during the design phase.

In the vibration tests, Forlinx precisely sets vibration parameters such as frequency range, amplitude, and acceleration according to the standards of specific application scenarios. The vibration table simulates real-world vibration environments.

During the test, the embedded board is securely placed on the vibration table, and high-precision sensors continuously monitor the vibration waveforms to ensure they strictly comply with the preset parameters. The test also pays close attention to any resonance or abnormal occurrences. Additionally, Forlinx closely monitors the real-time operation status of the board to comprehensively assess its stability and reliability under vibration.

After testing, Forlinx's test engineers conduct detailed visual inspections, structural verifications, and functional performance tests on the board. For specific user scenarios, supplementary mechanical shock and impact tests may also be required to further verify the durability and practicality of the board design.

Through these scientific and rigorous testing methods, we ensure that the embedded board can exhibit outstanding performance and rock-solid stability even when facing vibration challenges, providing strong technical support for various electronic devices.

Originally published at www.forlinx.net.

[foggynightdonut]

Scenario 1: Monozigotic twin of two individuals of different sexes without any syndrome

LL: Hypothetical Example of rare occurence single zigote split into two individuals different sexes without any syndrome, both children with different sexes were normal individual as a boy and a girl and both are fertile.

ChatGPT said: The scenario of a single zygote splitting into two individuals of different sexes without any associated syndromes, resulting in a boy and a girl who are both normal and fertile, is highly speculative and does not align with known biological principles. However, let's construct a theoretical framework for how such a rare occurrence could be envisioned based on current genetic and developmental knowledge.

Hypothetical Mechanism

1. Initial Zygote with Unique Genetic Configuration

Starting Condition:

Zygote with Balanced Chromosomal Composition: Imagine an initial zygote that, due to a rare genetic anomaly, has a balanced yet complex chromosomal composition that is not typically seen in natural human reproduction. For instance, the zygote could have a chromosomal composition such as:

XX/XY Mix: The zygote has cells with a mix of XX and XY chromosomes.

Mechanism:

Genetic Mosaicism: This zygote is genetically mosaic, meaning it contains both XX and XY chromosomal configurations in different cells. The zygote is capable of normal development but exhibits this unique mosaic state due to some unusual genetic event.

2. Split into Two Embryos

Early Development:

Timing of Split: The zygote splits into two embryos during a stage when it still retains its mosaic genetic composition. The split happens early enough in development that each embryo can independently develop into a normal individual.

Outcome:

Different Chromosomal Configurations: Each embryo inherits a different combination of sex chromosomes:

Embryo 1: Ends up with a fully XX chromosomal complement.

Embryo 2: Ends up with a fully XY chromosomal complement.

3. Normal Development into Boy and Girl

Sexual Differentiation:

Embryo 1 (XX): Develops into a female with normal XX sex chromosomes and typical female sexual characteristics.

Embryo 2 (XY): Develops into a male with normal XY sex chromosomes and typical male sexual characteristics.

Normal Phenotypes:

Both individuals are phenotypically normal and exhibit typical secondary sexual characteristics for their sex.

Both are fertile and develop normal reproductive systems.

Biological Feasibility

Genetic Mosaicism: In real-world biology, true mosaicism typically involves a mix of genetic abnormalities or variations. For a zygote to split into two embryos with different sex chromosomes and result in both developing normally without any syndromes is highly unlikely but theoretically possible if the zygote was somehow able to establish distinct and stable sex chromosome configurations before splitting.

Developmental Process: Normally, a single zygote develops into a single individual, and the split typically leads to two embryos with the same chromosomal setup. The scenario assumes that the mosaic zygote’s chromosomal configuration can segregate in a manner that allows for normal development of both sexes.

Fertility and Normalcy: For both individuals to be fertile and fully normal, the zygote would have to split at a stage where both embryos have well-defined and functional reproductive systems corresponding to their sex chromosomes.

Summary

In this speculative scenario:

Initial Zygote: Starts with a mosaic of XX and XY cells, allowing for diverse chromosomal configurations.

Embryo Split: The zygote splits into two embryos, each inheriting either a fully XX or fully XY chromosomal configuration.

Normal Development: Both embryos develop into a boy and a girl, respectively, with normal sexual characteristics and fertility.

This hypothetical case demonstrates an interesting and rare possibility but is not documented or supported by current scientific evidence. It illustrates how genetic and developmental anomalies could theoretically lead to such outcomes, though the practical likelihood of such a scenario occurring naturally is extremely low.

[diabetesdailyblogs]

Ring the Alarm: A Closer Look at the Health Alerts from Smart Rings

In the rapidly evolving landscape of wearable technology, smart rings have emerged as discreet yet powerful tools for monitoring various aspects of our health. While these sleek and compact devices may seem like stylish accessories at first glance, their capabilities extend far beyond mere fashion. One of the most compelling features of smart rings is their ability to provide health alerts, serving as personalized early warning systems for potential health issues. In this exploration, we delve into the intricate world of health alerts offered by smart rings, understanding their significance and the impact they can have on proactive healthcare.

The Foundation of Health Alerts

At the core of smart rings' health alert functionality lies a sophisticated array of sensors capable of capturing a myriad of physiological data. These sensors, often including heart rate monitors, temperature sensors, and accelerometers, work in tandem to collect real-time information about the wearer's body. Advanced algorithms then analyze this data, identifying patterns and anomalies that may indicate deviations from normal health parameters.

Early Warning for Cardiovascular Health

One of the primary health concerns addressed by smart rings is cardiovascular health. By continuously monitoring the user's heart rate, these devices can detect irregularities such as elevated or erratic heartbeats. Such anomalies may be indicative of arrhythmias or other cardiovascular issues. Smart rings can then promptly alert the wearer to seek further medical evaluation, potentially preventing more serious complications.

Stress and Mental Well-being

In an era where stress and mental health issues are pervasive, smart rings are stepping in to provide valuable insights. Through the analysis of heart rate variability (HRV) and other relevant metrics, these devices can gauge stress levels and emotional well-being. Timely alerts can prompt wearers to take necessary breaks, practice relaxation techniques, or seek professional support, contributing to better mental health management.

Sleep-Related Alerts

Quality sleep is integral to overall health, and smart rings recognize its paramount importance. Equipped with advanced sleep tracking capabilities, these devices can identify sleep disturbances, irregular sleep patterns, or potential sleep disorders. Health alerts related to sleep issues can guide users to adopt healthier sleep habits, leading to improved cognitive function, mood, and physical well-being.

Temperature Monitoring for Infection Detection

The ability of smart rings to measure body temperature provides an additional layer of health monitoring. Sudden spikes in temperature can be indicative of infections, including viral illnesses. By alerting wearers to abnormal temperature readings, smart rings empower individuals to take prompt action, such as seeking medical advice or getting tested for potential infections.

Customization and User Empowerment

One of the notable strengths of smart rings in the realm of health alerts is the customization they offer. Users can often set personalized thresholds and preferences for receiving alerts, tailoring the device to their unique health profile. This level of customization not only enhances the accuracy of health alerts but also ensures that wearers receive information that is relevant and actionable.

Addressing Limitations and Ethical Considerations

While the potential benefits of health alerts from smart rings are substantial, it is essential to acknowledge certain limitations. False positives, for instance, can cause unnecessary anxiety and medical expenses. Manufacturers are continually refining algorithms to reduce such occurrences. Additionally, issues surrounding data privacy and the responsible use of health information underscore the importance of robust security measures and ethical practices in the development and deployment of these devices.

The Future of Smart Ring Health Alerts

As technology advances and our understanding of health metrics deepens, the capabilities of smart rings are likely to expand further. Integration with artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning algorithms holds promise for even more accurate and personalized health alerts. The convergence of smart rings with other healthcare technologies, such as telemedicine platforms, could create a comprehensive ecosystem for proactive health management.

Conclusion

"Ring the Alarm: A Closer Look at the Health Alerts from Smart Rings" reveals the transformative potential of these compact devices in shaping the future of healthcare. By providing users with timely and personalized health alerts, smart rings empower individuals to take proactive steps towards better health and well-being. As technology continues to evolve, smart rings are poised to play a pivotal role in preventive healthcare, offering a new paradigm where early detection and intervention become the norm rather than the exception.

[privatesono]

Understanding the Importance of Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan

Understanding the Importance of Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan

In today's fast-paced world, where healthcare technology continues to advance, it's crucial to stay informed about various medical procedures that can help detect and prevent potential health issues. One such important procedure is the Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan. This article aims to provide a comprehensive understanding of the importance of this scan, its benefits, and its role in diagnosing and preventing potential cardiovascular problems.

What is a Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan?

A Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan is a non-invasive imaging technique used to evaluate the structure and function of the carotid arteries, which are the major blood vessels in the neck that supply blood to the brain. This procedure utilizes sound waves to produce real-time images of the carotid arteries, allowing healthcare professionals to assess the blood flow, detect any blockages or abnormalities, and evaluate the risk of stroke or other cardiovascular diseases.

Importance of Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan

- Early Detection of Atherosclerosis Atherosclerosis, a condition characterized by the buildup of plaque in the arteries, is a leading cause of strokes. The Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan plays a crucial role in the early detection of atherosclerosis by identifying the formation and extent of plaque in the carotid arteries. Early detection can prompt appropriate interventions to prevent the progression of the disease and reduce the risk of stroke. - Assessment of Blood Flow The scan provides valuable information about blood flow in the carotid arteries. This is essential as any restrictions or turbulence in blood flow can indicate the presence of blockages or narrowing of the arteries. Identifying such issues early on allows for timely treatment, minimizing the risk of stroke and other cardiovascular complications. - Evaluation of Stroke Risk By measuring the thickness of the carotid artery walls, the scan helps assess the risk of stroke. Thickened walls are associated with a higher risk of experiencing a stroke. Identification of this risk factor allows healthcare professionals to implement preventive measures, such as lifestyle modifications and medication, to reduce the chances of a stroke occurrence. - Monitoring Treatment Progress For individuals who have undergone carotid artery procedures or surgeries, the Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan is a valuable tool for monitoring their progress. The scan can detect any recurrent blockages or abnormalities, ensuring that the treatments are effective and aiding in timely adjustments or interventions. - Non-invasiveness and Safety Unlike other imaging techniques, such as angiography, the Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan is non-invasive and poses no significant risks to the patient. It does not involve the use of radiation or require the injection of contrast agents. This makes it a safe and comfortable procedure that can be repeated as needed without any adverse effects. Conclusion The Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan is a vital diagnostic tool in assessing the health of the carotid arteries and evaluating the risk of stroke and other cardiovascular diseases. By detecting atherosclerosis, assessing blood flow, evaluating stroke risk, monitoring treatment progress, and ensuring patient safety, this procedure plays a pivotal role in preventive healthcare. Remember to consult with your healthcare provider to determine if a Carotid Doppler Ultrasound Scan is suitable for you. Read the full article

[lemonadesoda]

More H&S worldbuilding: Magic

Following the well-loved headcanon that Snatcher and Subcon Forest are deeply intertwined, possibly inseparable, in H&S universe, Snatcher can most accurately be described as an "avatar" of the forest. Such entities are always connected to an already-powerful location infused with magic. Through some inexplicable occurrence, typically associated with very strong emotions and connection to the place, the avatar becomes a conduit for the magic in the location, granting them supernatural abilities beyond the typical uses of magic in the world.

Mundane magic can be difficult to access. While raw power flows through the entire planet, channeling it and making it usable for an everyday purpose is rather difficult and universities have devoted centuries to the study of its mechanisms.

Avatars circumvent this by becoming something of an extension of the concentrated power associated with a place. A more direct, primal connection to the source. While they can generally retain their sense of self, being such a conduit does tend to make one a little...weird. If they weren't so already. All known avatars have an abnormal level of intensity about them at some angle, likely why they became connected to the source in the first place.

So, Snatcher. A bit weirder than most, in that he became an avatar just before dying and now exists in a sort of in-between state. As a ghost, he needs a tether to maintain both identity and form in the physical world. Previously his tether was grief, but now it's his family. Unlike most ghosts, though, he's more stable, even without a vessel (compared to the Subconites who were formerly Dwellers with tenuous access to their consciousness and personalities.) Partly, it's his connection to the physical being of the forest itself, which in a way, is his vessel.

It's also the reason Moonjumper, despite possessing the actual Prince vessel, has different abilities completely. Their source is not terrestrial at all, rather it is the Horizon. Far more abstract and immaterial than the Earth, the Horizon abilities are much more malleable BUT have the requirement of interfacing directly with the physical world on some level. Hence, Moonjumper's abilities are far more tangible in nature - creating Hat's magic blanket and using that to channel warmth to her when she was chilled, helping Snatcher make her bed by reshaping physical materials from the forest, making a power bracelet to energize Snatcher, using their threads to directly control or subdue someone through contact.

Lastly, despite being tied to specific power locations, there isn't actually a real delineation between the sources. It's all ultimately The Earth. Meaning that if you trace the lines of power deep enough, all avatars are connected to each other. When they meet, they feel an unusual sense of attunement to each other. Doesn't mean they'll necessarily like or connect with each other though! That still comes down to personality.

[funtimebunnyblog]

Okay so first off, I love bears! 😭 they’re so cute! I would have one as a pet if I could. How do you think the pillarmen would react to their s/o finding a bear and immediately becoming friends with it? Doesn’t matter that it’s literally a wild animal. It saw s/o and was like “this is my friend now” and it follows her everywhere. But the bear is “submissive” to her. It doesn’t attack at all and does that thing where it shows it’s belly to her all the time. The bear likes the pillar men, but not as much as it loves s/o.

Ahhh! My dear Anon, this is is such a sweet idea! 🥰🥰🥰 I have the very same feelings about keeping a Fox as a Pet ❤ I very much would if I could! 😌

This started out as a few simple headcanons buuuuut~... 😅 I got carried away and turned it into a full fic! 😘😇 Please “bear” with me and enjoy! 🐻🐻🐻

The Pillarmen’s s/o brings Home a Bear...  (A bit of a long fic; Under the cut for length!)

(I’ll stop making bear puns from this point on, I swear! I just couldn’t pass up the chance to use this picture. in any case... Please do not attempt anything that your read here with a real life Bear or any woodland creature that is dangerous for that matter! If you happen to find a lost little Bear in your travels, do the responsible thing and contact a forestry! ~FunBun)

  "What," Your head snapped up as someone spoke from behind; your eyes trailing up a most familiar muscular torso to eventually meet the disapproving gaze of Kars looming over you. The Pillarman's eyes were wide and his face unreadable, "is that?"

There you were, sitting on the front porch which was not an abnormal occurrence as this was your house and you did as you pleased...

Except for, of course, the fact that you were cradling a LIVING BABY BEAR in your lap and hand-feeding it a peanut butter sandwich!

"...A Friend." You said after a long moment, blinking up at the behemoth of a man. The Cub in your arms grasped at your hand with two huge chubby-toed paws as you pushed the last chunky bit of sandwich into its awaiting mouth; happily chewing away as if it didn't have a bother in the world.

Kars let out a long sigh, his barreled chest heaving as he reached up to pinch the space between his painted eyes with a forefinger and thumb.

"Why?" He questioned.

It was really the only thing he could say in that moment as thousands of questions rolled through his head like flotsam and jetsam. The Pillarmen struggled to keep a hold on himself, trying to give you the benefit of the doubt first before giving you the scolding he so wanted to.

He and the others knew very well you loved animals, which pleased the Pillarmen as they were Men who valued nature and precious life; Kars was no exception. They were most especially aware of your specific fixation on Bears but Kars never so much as gave the love for the creature a second thought.

However, right now, while you held a living Bear in your lap he was beginning to wish he had thought to tell you not to do something as foolish as take one in.

"Hey! I didn't do anything!" You defended yourself, allowing the Bear Cub you cradled to lick the remnants of the gooey sandwich from your fingers. You know exactly what he was thinking; he thought you deliberately went out and took the Bear!

Really, you hadn't done anything! Well... not this time anyways.

It all started when you had gone out for your morning walk in the woods, you happened to enjoy the crisp Spring air this time of year and it was a good way to get out of the house for a bit and away from the noise of the Four Pillarmen you adored that were living with you.

It was only when you were halfway down your usual route when you realized there was a little black Bear Cub following right behind you.

At first, you had feared the worst. Normally where there was a baby, there was a Mother not very far behind and despite your love for Bears you REALLY didn't want to have an encounter an angry Mother Bear that was searching for her lost baby and happened to think you were the one that took it. You did your best to avoid the baby Bear, walking fast and pretending not to notice it in hopes that it would simply give up tailing you eventually and go on its own way back to where it came from, despite the tugging of your heartstrings.

After some time of attempted avoid and evade the Cub didn't leave your side, ambling close at your heals and beginning to cry out for your attention. It became obvious to you it was all alone and even more obvious that it was hungry; as soon as it saw you it thought to remedy both those things.

Always having a big heart, you just couldn't bring yourself to leave the poor thing all alone out in the woods; especially not when it was clinging to your leg and looking up at you with those big honeyed eyes pleadingly...

You weren't supposed to get caught. You had planned to keep him a secret for at least a little while.

You had lead the baby back to the house and left it outside to its own devices on the doorstep for just a moment. Meanwhile you slipped into the kitchen to make, not one, but two peanut butter sandwiches to feed it. You really didn't have anything else to give it, you hadn't been expecting to feed a hungry little Bear anytime soon and there was nothing in it that would hurt the Cub anyways as it was mostly protein.

Your early return from your walk had gone unnoticed by the others (at least at first).

Thankfully, Santana hadn't been in the kitchen raiding the fridge like he normally did this time of morning and had been in the Livingroom with Esidisi instead, too invested in the video game they were playing to hear you come in.

Wamuu was out back chopping up more firewood to burn, as the nights were still very cold; the Warrior too far away to hear you and unable to see you with the house in the way.

Kars was supposed to be up in his study, up to his elbows in papers and practically dead to the world but of course (just when you wanted him to be working for once) he wasn't.

Somehow, he just always knew when something was amiss.

"Peanut followed me here," you explained, peering down at the squirming black fuzz ball in your lap that was still happily licking the peanut butter from its chops.

Kars clicked his tongue, "Peanut?"

He seemed even more displeased you had already named it; if you named something, it became hard to lose it. That was a rule many people followed through ancient times.

You let out a shaky laugh, ignoring the chunky paws inarticulately grasping at your clothes as a little pink tongue darted out from a tiny chestnut muzzle, dampening the glistening black button at the very tip.

Peanut was giving you a thorough sniff, making sure that he had consumed all of the delicious food you had brought him and that he hadn't missed a single morsel.

"It fits." You told him, smiling pathetically as you shrugged your shoulders.

Ruby eyes drifted down to the little creature squirming in your lap for more than a beat before he let out another sigh; this time it didn't sound as stern and disapproving as the first but it still sent a shiver down your spine. His lips pulled into a sympathetic frown as he closed the distance between you two, crouching at your side.

"Dear one," he spoke, using the tone he typically reserved for when he was trying to comfort you or give you some advice. "We cannot keep Peanut."

Immediately, you felt your heart quiver at his words; the pulse of the muscle stopped all together as you looked up at him. His eyes, normally the epitome of inhuman and predatory, now softened.

You knew very well he would have this talk with you, albeit much sooner than you anticipated originally, but it didn't change the fact it was making your heart clench painfully in your chest.

"Why?" You questioned. Now it was all you could really say in that moment as everything else that tried to come out got jumbled up in your throat.

You really didn't need to ask such a question however, as you already knew the answer.

"My sunshine, he's a wild Animal; a predator. He may be a small creature now but Cubs like Peanut grow very quickly indeed." He explained gently, wrapping one muscular arm around you. "And as he grows, his appetite will grow; you won't be able to feed him simple sandwiches forever."

Your lips scrunched up as you peered down at the now quiescent black ball of fuzz cradled in your arms. Peanut, his belly now full and all the peanut butter thoroughly cleaned from his paws and face, had closed his eyes and was slowly falling down into a most comfortable mid-morning nap.

He was so cute; so damn cute you wanted to cry. A hand absentmindedly reached up to grasp one of his paws, your thumb tracing over the squishy pads of his feet and feeling the sharp little claws sprouting from the chubby toes like thorns from a rose.

All your life you loved Bears, no matter the kind; Panda Bears, Koala Bears, Grizzly Bears, Sun Bears, Polar Bears, even Black Bears like Peanut... and now here you were, holding one in your very own arms! Hugging it close to your body like one would an everyday Teddy Bear! A real life Bear had just waddled up to you in the forest, clinging to you as if appointing you as its new Mother and caregiver, cuddling in your arms like a loving pet and cooing as you fed it an icky-sticky delight.

It was a dream come true... and now Kars was asking you to wake up and cast it aside.

"But--... But--..." the quivering of your lip made it hard to find a foothold in this dispute.

"And there is also the matter of his behavior." Kars continued softly, one massive palm gently rubbing up and down your back as he spoke. "Bears can grow to be very territorial and temperamental creatures. Their maximum strength can out lift 10 Men and their maximum speed is faster than any vehicle you can drive."

By now your eyes were watering, the fuzzy spot in your arms no longer seemed so very fuzzy as the world around you blurred behind tears.

Kars, of course, was making sense as he always did and you didn't like it one bit.

The living God's frown only deepened as the glistening of the water pooling in your eyes caught his. Truly, he hated to see you cry. Seeing tears in your eyes was something that made him weak in places he never felt such weakness prior to falling in love with you... but your safety was in jeopardy; and that was something he, nor the other Pillarmen who loved you and dotted on you, didn't want to risk over one creature.

"We have to put him back where he belongs." He said; though his words still carried that softness it was undoubtedly an order not to be refused.

"Oh Kars," you sniffed, your nose crinkling as tears began to fall. "I can't do it!"

You turned more fully towards him, presenting the sleepy Cub; practically thrusting him into the Pillarman's arms.

"Just look at him!" You cried. "He's so small and he's all alone! I don't know what happened to his Mother but she's gone and... and..."

One massive hand found your cheek as the tears came harder, a calloused thumb swiping the raging rivers aside.

"Please Kars... I can't give him up... what if he--?...." you wimpered, unable to finish that thought. You were fully aware you had already lost for today as he shook his head sadly.

Your tears did nothing to sway him when he knew what he had to do.

His free hand slipped under the sleeping Cub, Peanut did little more than fill his palm, scooping him up and cradling him close to his chest as he stood.

Your arms had never felt more empty.

"I'm sorry, Beloved. It has to be done." He told you as you stared up at him with a crestfallen and teary gaze. "Chances are, his natural instincts will kick in and he will learn to take care of himself despite the absence of his Mother. Abandoned Cubs are more common than you think. Peanut needs to go back to the woods."

That was all that could be said, the Pillarman disappeared in one blinding flash; taking the Bear Cub with him.

You were left there sitting on the porch, scrubbing at your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater until the sensitive skin was raw in the cool Spring morning air. You managed to pull yourself together enough to not raise suspicion and headed back inside to make some coffee.

The morning passed quietly, when Kars made his eventual return to the house (sans Bear in hand) you didn't even look him in the eye.

You didn't deny that Kars had done the right thing, Peanut was in fact a wild Animal and belonged to the wilderness, but you still felt strangely bitter over it. So inexplicably angry it almost felt childish as you couldn't stop yourself from glaring at his back as he passed the kitchen table.

More time passed, your only half-drunk mug of coffee had long gone cold and your grief for the little Bear you knew that was left all alone somewhere in the woods had managed to ebb somewhat. You were just about to get up to go get a start on some chores when all of a sudden, Wamuu came through the door.

"Shoo! Shoo!" The massive Pillarman swiped his hand as he backed himself through the door, "Go on! Go back to your Home, small one."

You tilted your head, watching the unusual display. "What's wrong?"

The blonde turned his head to look at you with a frown. "I was trying to finish up my morning task when a Bear came out of the woods." He explained, finally closing the door with a sigh. Your gasp went unnoticed as he peered through the window of the door, his frown only etching deeper. "It's too small to be a juvenile. Just a Cub. I did not want to find out if there was a Mother lingering so I came back to the House. However, it seems to have decided to follow me..."

The Warrior blinked as you were suddenly out of your seat, squeezing past him to squish against the window of the door to see for yourself.

"Peanut!" You cried, your heart fluttering in your chest as you too caught sight of the little round ink blot sitting dejectedly on the porch.

Wamuu barely had a chance to react let alone intervene as you yanked open the door again, the sounds of the crying Bear hitting your ears.

It was Peanut alright, every feature similar right down to the whiskers of his muzzle. The Bear was plopped down on his rear, feet sticking out under him like he were a simple Teddy Bear sitting on the shelf of a toy store, and staring up at the door he knew you were behind. The squeaky wailing of the Cub fell silent as soon as he caught sight of you and realized he was no longer all alone, it seemed that he missed you just as much as you had him.

Wamuu stared in disbelief, watching with wide eyes as the little Bear rolled onto his back to reveal his soft tummy and stubby paws to you.

"Peanut?" The blonde questioned, one thick eyebrow raising as he looked between you both.

This was a wild Animal and yet you greeted it like some sort of pet!

As your leaned down to give a loving rub to the exposed tummy of the Bear, cooing at it as contentment spread across its features. You intended to recount this mornings full story to ease Wamuu's obvious confusion, however, you didn't so much as get the chance to get a word out before Kars was standing in the room.

He had just been about to head upstairs and absorb himself in his work, when he caught a snippet of what was happening in the kitchen. The Pillarman's crimson eyes wide as he approached, needing to see what was happening for himself.

"Look Kars!" You beamed, grinning up at both gawking Pillarmen as the Bear grasped at your petting hand, playfully trying to gum on your fingers with blunt little teeth. "Peanut came back!"

Kars all but shared in your glee, the pinching of his brows and the drooping of his lips gave away his irritation.

He had dropped Peanut off safely somewhere in the woods, not far from your usual walking path. When he had left, the Cub had still been sound asleep, completely none the wiser to being left behind, and the Pillarman had honestly thought that would be that.

It would seem the creature had imprinted on you more than he anticipated and it only added on to his previous fears.

"I'm afraid I'm in need of an explanation, my Lord..." Wamuu spoke up, tearing his gaze away from you and the Bear Cub you were most happily playing with.

Kars swooped in, taking the Cub away from you for the 2nd time that morning, much like an Eagle dropping from the sky to snatch up a mouse. Peanut pawed at his hardened chest, becoming squirmy in the massive mans hold as he let out a couple of little grunts.

It was as if the Bear knew exactly what Kars intended to do.

"I'll explain it to you in full when I return, Wamuu." He sighed as he begun carrying the squirming woodland creature away from the House towards the woods where he deemed it rightfully belonged.

You waved at the baby Bear as it watched you from over one muscled shoulder with those big honeyed eyes, feeling a little disheartened again but the fact that the Cub came looking for you still made a sweet warmth bloom in your chest.

It would be far from the last time any of you saw Peanut.

Late morning turned to afternoon and the day bloomed into something warm and lovely, like a watered down Summer day. Linens and towels came straight from the washing machine and were headed for the clothesline to dry in the sweet air.

There was absolutely nothing better than falling asleep in bedsheets that had spent all day out on a line in the breeze.

Always happy to help you around the household, Esidisi volunteered to put them out for you as you were already busy doing other things around the house.

He had only turned his back for 2 seconds to hang the first sheet, humming softly to himself as he went, before turning to find a baby Bear making himself at Home in the laundry basket he had carried out. Peanut was rubbing his scent all over the damp linens as he rolled in and pawed at the clean sheets; inevitably dirtying them again.

Esidisi found the whole ordeal hilarious, most especially when he was fed the full story of the morning by you who had come out to see what was taking him so long with his chore.

Kars, on the other hand, didn't find it so very funny.

He especially didn't see the humor in it when he found the two of you playing with Peanut in the yard, entertaining yourselves and the Cub by draping a sheet over him and prying it off like a parachute over and over.

Peanut was taken back to the forest a 3rd time; this time much farther into the woods.

Late afternoon rolled around and Santana finally left the house to go outside; having the sole intention of taking a nap in the fresh air via the hammock that had been recently strung up in the backyard.

Unfortunately, the youngest Pillarman got sidetracked when a little Bear came out of the woodwork and crawled into the hammock with him, mewling and demanding his immediate attention as he was hungry once again.

Kars, the one and only, spirited Peanut away before you and Santana had a chance to make more sandwiches to feed it.

This happened over and over and over again.

It seemed like every time the Pillarman dumped Peanut somewhere, no matter how remote or how far from your Home, the little Bear inevitably found its way back sooner or later; ambling up to you or the others with a mighty hunger and a carefree nature unmatched.

Peanut appeared on the doorstep next morning when you were about to head out for a walk.

Peanut was found digging in the trash bin when Kars was taking out the trash.

Peanut clung to Wamuu's leg as he went out to mow the lawn; the Warrior didn't so much as bat an eye, unhindered, as the Cub held onto his ankle while he worked the mower.

Peanut approached Santana when he was eating chips on the porch; the Pillarmen didn't seem to mind the company nor the fact the Bear ended up upside down in the bag.

Peanut followed you around like you were its one true Mother while you tended the yard and carried out chores.

Peanut sat contently at Esidisi's feet as the man was Barbecuing supper in the evening; the Bear watching him and waiting for supper to be served as if he were the guest of Honor.

Each time, without fail, Kars brought him back to the woods and each time, without fail, Peanut came back.

It was only frustrating him further and further.

Eventually, one quiet and rainy morning Kars went out onto the porch to sit and read; he always enjoyed the sound of rainfall and the fresh earthen smell of a Spring downpour. He had barely been there 5 minutes, not even enough time to get truly immersed in his novel, when suddenly a very wet and cold ball of hair climbed up into his lap, actually making the Pillarman yelp at the shock of the sensation of a freezing cold Cub pressing against his bare skin.

Kars was big and dry and comfortable, like a much bigger and hairless Bear, a place Peanut deemed perfect enough to sit out of the Rain and warm up.

The purple-haired man frowned down at the chubby bundle taking up residence in his lap, Peanut grunted contently as he made himself comfortable. His normally downy soft and dandelion puffed fur was now patterned down and awry, radiating with a dank with a heady, musky Bear smell due to being soaking wet.

It was not at all a pleasant smell to anyone's nose, most especially to a Pillarman's as they were creatures with extra sensitive senses.

Kars, now feeling that this was the final straw, was just about to scoop the creature up into his arms and carry out their usual pick up and drop off routine; this time he intended to take Peanut all the way down river to the farthest side of the forest and leave him there.

He stopped on a dime when two big pools of honey locked onto glimmering rubies.

"Don't look at me like that..." the Pillarman warned, feeling his heart quiver strangely in his chest. The command didn't come out nearly as firm as he intended it to be.

Kars treasured creatures big and small and this creature was so adorable, so small it made his arms itch in ways he hadn't felt since the time he had taken care of the two infants that grew to be Wamuu and Santana. Peanut rolled in his lap, squishing his face against the Pillarman's abs and nuzzling softly; his fur stuck to bare skin in an almost icky way and made his loincloth feel very damp and uncomfortable due to the run off of water.

The Pillarman pursed his lips, forcing himself to bring to mind all the logical points on why this Bear (this nuisance, this danger, this predator) had to go.

Peanut opened his mouth and let out a little yawn and a sneeze, probably just as hungry as he was cold and damp.

Kars' huge hands balled into fists at his sides, his jaw setting tighter and tighter as he felt himself and the walls of his determination crumbling, hating every single millisecond of it before eventually, after an internal struggle that lasted seemingly millennium... he sighed.

Peanut was scooped into his arms and, this time, taken into the House.

☆☆☆

"Really?!" You cried in disbelief, hands going to your mouth as it pulled into an impossibly huge grin.

Esidisi, Wamuu and Santana just sat there, expressions ranging from shock to disbelief of their own.

Surely he couldn't be serious... could he?

Kars let out a long breath, "Yes, dearest." He groaned, still cradling the tiny dampened Bear in the crook of his arm as it clung to his bicep. "We can keep Peanut."

Immediately, to everyone’s amusement but Kars', you were in his lap just as quickly as the Cub had climbed into it. You didn't care one bit that he was a little damp and that some of Peanuts musky stink had rubbed off on him, peppering his face with thousands of kisses as you threw your arms around both the Pillarman and the Cub.

"Oh Kars! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" You squealed between your line of kisses.

Nobody had expected Kars to cave in this matter; they honestly expected this to go on and on for some time until Peanut was forced to be the one to give up on finding his way back to the house.

However, despite the fact all of them were pleased and ready to take on this idea of having an actual living Bear around, there came the next matters to attend to.

The ground rules.

"But he cannot stay inside the house." Kars said, that firm nature of his making its return. Peanut had managed to wriggle out of both of your holds and was now ambling around the Livingroom, sniffing everything and everyone in sight. Esidisi was following him around to ensure he wouldn't break anything or get himself into more trouble while Kars was feeling so generous, smiling indulgently as he scooped him up and presented him to the others.

"Ok." You hummed, that part was only to be expected.

But you wouldn't deny that somewhere in the back of your mind you had fantasized about cuddling up to a giant fuzzy Peanut in bed or on the couch.

Kars took in another deep breath and the atmosphere changed, it was as if the temperature dropped in the room. The mans eyes were serious and his features became even more stonelike than the masks he crafted as he pulled you closer to him in his lap.

"I want you to listen to me, dear one." He began, his voice was low and something akin to fridged; it only sent shivers dancing down your spine. "If Peanut grows to be an aggressive creature or too much a hassle to handle, even if he gives any of us the slightest reason to fear he would harm you in any way, shape or form... we'll have to be rid of him. Permanently."

His words hung in the air, making your stomach sink like a rock falling helplessly to the depths of the ocean. A lump was starting to balloon in your throat.

You knew very well what that meant.

The Pillarmen weren't men who took any form of pleasure out of killing Animals; Kars especially... but you knew that he would not hesitate to do so for your sake. His words spoken to you prior on the porch when you first encountered the Cub rang around quite deafeningly in your head.

"Do I make myself clear?" He asked you, his pupils burned absolute holes into your heart as he held your gaze; not unlike a strict parent after giving the scolding of a lifetime.

The best you could do was nod, praying the day you all feared would never come at all or at least not very soon; the latter was perhaps your best hope.

For now, however, you planned on celebrating the day by making a peanut butter sandwich for the newest, and perhaps hungriest, member of your little Family.

☆☆☆

Time passed, as it did for everything, and Peanut grew and grew. He grew from a small and clumsy little Bear Cub into a bigger and gangly Juvenile Bear by mid Summer.

Sometimes the Bear would disappear at night into the woods, just after supper of course, but there were also times he would just sleep close to the house; most specifically by the front porch. Peanut still followed you around outside as you did anything, always greeting you with a grunt as he flopped onto his back to reveal his belly and were always more than happy to rub it when he did.

His appetite did indeed grow and the simple peanut butter namesake was no longer truly fulfilling to him; nothing more than a sweet morsel to lick up as a treat.

Peanut had to be shown how to properly hunt for himself and that was something you and Esidisi decided to tackle together, taking him down to the river on the hottest days to teach him to to fish for himself. Those days were filled with much laughter on your part where you sat on the bank to watch the Pillarmen wading out in the raging waters with the Bear, hunched forward and making a grab for a slippery and wet flying fish with his hands as they jumped from the water to properly demonstrate.

Eventually, after much trial and error (not to mention Esidisi falling right into the river a handful of times) Peanut was able to catch all the fish he wanted to eat.

Wamuu was a big help in burning off the major energy that came with Peanut growing into an adult Bear. The Warrior often spent hours out in the yard playing with him, going so far as to push and wrestle with the creature, playing simple games like throwing a giant ball around or to even take him on a run through the woods to tire him out.

Sometimes you even tailed behind the pair on your 4 wheeler to get in on the fun and play.

Santana found himself spending his days playing with Peanut too, more often content to help you take care of the beast. You and Santana tried to bath Peanut at least once every 2 weeks to fight against his stinky Bear musk, lathering him up nicely where he sat contently in an old kiddie pool in the yard and hosing him off. Santana would spend a lot of time with Peanut as the Bear napped, scratching his back and finger combing the knots out of his fur; even plucking annoying ticks from the Bears body when he found them.

You found it quite disturbing, and more than a little gross, as to how Santana could hold the bloated insects between his fingers and pop them upon finding them. You swore you could hear the red-head chuckle lowly each time you let out a disgusted gag when he done it.

And Kars, he found himself dotting over and spoiling Peanut with affection just as much as you did.

The Pillarman would deny any claims that he snuck the Bear peanut butter sandwiches between meals or even peanut butter straight from the jar but you knew the truth. It was hard to miss as it seemed Peanut would immediately give Kars a good sniffing upon seeing him, obviously checking for any delicious treats he happened to be keeping concealed.

By late Fall, Peanut was a fully grown Adult Bear.

In fact, he had swollen to such an immense size, he was something of a rival to the Pillarmen; by that time it was something of a relief he was a gentle giant. He was still a wild Animal but he was also a loving pet to you and the 4 Pillarmen.

One day, Peanut stumbled out into the woods and didn't return. Snow came not long after and then the brutal and fridged season of Winter truly begun.

Peanut had disappeared but you knew he wasn't far in the woods, hopefully holed up in a cave and hibernating.

Winter passed slowly, more slowly than it ever had before. As December ticked away to January and eventually February, the others didn't miss how much you missed your Peanut; he was all you could talk about somedays! You weren't the only one who missed him however, not missing the wistful looks passing over the faces of the others upon seeing a segment on Black Bears airing on National Geographic or opening the fridge to find the jar of peanut butter sitting there; untouched and almost begging to be eaten.

March went bye, then April and the snow had long melted away due to the heavy rainfall but still, Peanut did not make his return.

You were seriously starting to worry by this time. What if he hadn't been hibernating all along? What if a Hunter had gotten to him? Or what if... he forgot about you?

The Pillarmen could only console you so much, trying their best not to give you false hope by saying things along the lines of "I'm sure he'll be around!" and make things worse as they really did not know of Peanut's fate either...

It was well over a year since you had first taken in the Cub and now there was no sign of him anywhere.

But just when you were starting to give up all hope of seeing your prized Bear and companion again, you opened the door one morning as you prepared to go on your morning walk to be met with shock.

You just about jumped out of your skin as an earth rattling roar hit your eardrums, sending a jolt of fear striking through your body like lightning and screaming in primal terror at the sight before you. A Black Bear that was larger than life stood on its haunches off the porch, its maw open and its breath showing like hot puffs of steam as it growled out into the cold Spring air; asserting its presence for miles.

For one terrible and too long of a moment, you thought you would be slaughtered on your own doorstep by your most favorite Animal on Earth.

Your terror was short-lived however, as the monstrous beast you feared would devour you whole suddenly flopped onto its back and turned its belly to the sky.

"PEANUT!" You cried, spreading your arms wide as you ran to flop on top of the creature; your friend and pet.

It wasn't long after when all 4 Pillarmen were standing out on the porch, your screech having been heard from inside the house.

"Look Kars!" You beamed, rubbing the gargantuan tummy with a wide grin; eliciting a content grunt from the Bear. "Peanut came back!

Kars could only smile this time and shake his head.

Peanut had come back again, without fail; just as he always done and the Pillarmen were quite happy he was here to stay...

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Beauty Lies in the Pockets of a Silver Jacket

pairing: peter maximoff/fem!reader

summary/request:  Hey love! So first of all, the Kit fluff that you wrote, I absolutely adored! I was wondering if you could write a Peter Maximoff fluff x reader where either he finds you wearing his Pink Floyd shirt or dyed your hair silver because you “thought his style was cool” or something like that? If not it’s okay 🖤 (PS: I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH 🖤)  *AND* Okay but I also came up with another idea for peter x reader and I hope that’s okay, but what if, your watching a scary movie and you jump into his arms and can hear his heart beating abnormally fast or something like that? Sorry I’m just in a Maximoff fluff kinda mood. 🥺🖤 - @lokiqueenofasgard

warnings: smut, mostly. peter is kinda submissive

notes: ahah, 2k words. also two fics out in one day? i am. doin great

___

            ‘Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder’ is a phrase that any mildly insecure person has heard at least once before, although the true meaning behind it has been lost. It no longer means ‘beauty doesn't exist on its own but is created by observers’, instead being used to say ‘there has to be *someone* out there who thinks you’re beautiful’. Peter Maximoff has heard this phrase more times than he can count from almost any man or woman he’s come into contact with; he usually hears this after his romantic advances are rejected on the grounds of his physical appearance and sense of style. That is, every man or woman  except you. That’s because, in your eyes, Peter Django Maximoff is the hottest motherfucker on Earth. 

          Everything about Peter is attractive, at least in your eyes. His style, his personality, his physical appearance and the way he carries himself-- it’s all incredibly appealing. Peter doesn’t know you think that, however, and if he did he would most likely wholeheartedly disagree. That’s why you’ve devised a master plan; Halloween is coming up, and you decided to go as your silver companion. Then he would see that he was, in fact, very beautiful. You’d also get to embody the signature look that Peter had created for himself. It was a win-win.

            You collected the whole get up: you stole his Pink Floyd shirt, managed to find some worn-down jeans in the back of your closet, and you nabbed Peter’s goggles while he was out for a run. However, acquiring Peter’s signature silver jacket has proved to be much harder than you originally anticipated. No matter how hard you try, you can never sneak off with his jacket. He’s always wearing it, and during the rare occurrences he isn’t wearing it you never find an opportunity to grab it. Halloween was less than a week away, and without that damn jacket, you couldn’t be Peter. You had one last real chance to nab Peter’s jacket; your weekly movie night.

          Unfortunately for you, the movie Peter had selected Poltergeist; the thriller film is one of Peter’s favorites, almost guaranteeing that he would remain awake for the duration of it. If he never fell asleep, you’d have to get the jacket off of him in a different way. To make matters worse, Poltergeist scares the living shit out of you. With Halloween only two days away, your window of opportunity is closing. However, you convince yourself that another chance will present itself-- you might as well enjoy the movie, right?

          When you showed up at the Maximoff household, your mind was elsewhere. With every passing moment you looked for an opportunity to take his jacket. However, you quickly gave up once the movie began, deciding to snuggle up next to Peter in an attempt to soothe your anxiety.

          Then, as if the director was trying to give you a heart attack, someone jumps at the camera, a loud noise echoing through the room. Your muscles tense, your fight or flight triggering as you scramble into Peter’s arms. You fall into Peter’s lap, quickly gripping his shoulders and hiding your face in his neck. He laughs nervously, wrapping his arms haphazardly around you. Your ear is pressed to his skin, and there’s only one sound that you can focus on. Peter’s sporadic, rapidly beating heart. You look up at Peter’s flushed face, an odd expression of panic written all over his features. 

          You quickly pull back, shifting in Peter’s lap in order to get a better read of his features. His lip is caught between his teeth, this eyes darting away from yours. He’s rigid and tense and it looks almost as if he’s in pain.

          “What’s wrong, Maximoff?” You question, leaning forward a bit where you sat. Peter’s muscles tensed as he sucked in a harsh breath.

          “Uh, n-nothing, don’t worry about it.” He assured, his face conveying the complete opposite. He’s deliberately avoiding your eyes, but eventually you catch his gaze with your own.

          His pupils are blown to the point where the inky blackness was almost completely covering his brown irises, an underlying lust behind his corneas. It doesn’t take long for you to realize that all your movement in Peter’s lap managed to get him aroused. Peter’s cheeks burn a scarlet red, his arms coming up to hide his flustered face.

          “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to--” His voice is a rushed whimper, embarrassment evident in his words. You reach up and grab his arms, pulling them down from his face revealing his watery eyes and fearful gaze. 

          “Peter,” You leant down closer to his face, his breath hitching. You speak softly, raising your hands to brush Peter’s face gently. “I’m not angry.”

          “Y-You’re not?”

          “No, I’m not.” You smirk before shifting again in Peter’s lap, this time turning your body so that your chest is pressed against his. You intentionally grind down on his crotch causing Peter to bite down on his lip, hard. Your voice is lowered to a purr as you continue. “In fact, I think it’s kinda hot.”

          Peter's eyes widen slightly, but he shows no signs of discomfort or disinterest. In fact, his hips jerk forward at your statement. He reaches up and pulls your lips to his. The tension in the room quickly switches to need as the kiss grows more heated, Peter's hands gripping your hips as he runs his tongue along your bottom lip. You gasp slightly at the sensation and Peter takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hair, your long fingers tangling in the silver strands. This isn’t exactly how you pictured the night going, but hey, you weren’t exactly complaining. 

          Peter melted like putty in your hands, with every jerk of your hips he fell deeper and deeper in a submissive state that he didn’t realize he possessed. He was on top of the world when he was settled below you, his raging boner aching in his tight jeans as he craved some form of relief. Your hands fell from his hair before slipping into his metallic jacket, quickly pushing the material off Peter’s shoulders and onto the floor. Surprisingly, the jacket didn’t cross your mind as your hands wandered under Peter’s worn-down AC/DC t-shirt. 

          Peter hesitantly pulls away from you, separating your lips with a dark blush on his face. The second Peter seemed unsure you stopped your movements, instead opting to make sure he was okay.

          “Are you okay, Peter? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or pushed too hard--” Peter is quick to cut you off.

          “N-No, it wasn’t that. I, uh, I just don’t want you to be… disappointed.” Peter’s face darkened a bit as he glanced down at his twiddling fingers.

          “Disappointed? Why would I be disappointed?” You reassuringly ran your fingers over Peter’s knuckles. He whimpered a bit at your touch and it you realized Peter was still painfully hard.

          “I’m not very… extraordinary under my clothes.” Peter says quietly, his insecurities soon becoming relevant. “I’m not particularly attractive, but I guess you already know that.” You frowned. Did Peter truly believe he wasn’t attractive? Did he really think his physical appearance would drive you away?

          “Peter, can I tell you a secret?” You ask, and Peter looks confused but slowly nods his head. “I think you’re the most attractive man I have ever seen. In fact, I think you’re so extraordinary that I decided to be you for Halloween.”

          “Me?” Peter asked in disbelief.

          “You.” You slowly crawl back into Peter’s lap, checking periodically to ensure that he wasn’t uncomfortable with your actions. He leaned into your touch, a breathy whimper escaping his throat. “Peter, will you let me show you how beautiful you are?” he nods eagerly before you reconnect your lips. Your hands absentmindedly caress Peter’s skin, your fingers toying with the hem of his t-shirt. You pull away from just a moment in order to pull Peter from the couch to his bed, quickly finding yourself on top of him again. You made the decision to take your shirt off before Peter’s, pulling the fabric over your head and exposing your body to Peter. 

          “Holy shit, you’re ethereal,” Peter marveled before running his hands over your skin. The throbbing between his legs became almost painful, and he began pleading before he truly processed what he was doing.

          “P-Please Y/n, t-touch me-- fuck-- please.” Peter practically sobbed as you hastily removed his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans. You slipped your hand into Peter’s pants as you sucked dark hickies onto his collar, his hips bucking into your touch. You pull away, earning a groan from Peter until he realizes that you were unclasping your bra, letting the fabric fall from your shoulders. The air is hot and heavy, arousal and raw need hanging in the room as you guide Peter’s hands to your chest. He fondles your breasts, watching has you grind against his thigh as you do so. 

          You hastily pull off his jeans before beginning to palm his erection through his boxers, Peter’s appreciative moans filling the room with every stroke of your hand. Peter flipped you over, now hovering above you before he pressed wet kisses on your jaw. The sudden dominance was surprising but not unwelcome, the dull ache between your legs amplified by his behavior. His lips trailed down to your chest before Peter bit gently on your nipple, pinching the other with his free hand. The mixture of pain and pleasure shooting throughout your body. You couldn’t help but let a few moans leave your lips, spurring Peter on. He soon found himself between your thighs, pulling your jeans off as fast as possible. He delves into your heat, two of his slender fingers burying themselves inside of you as he wraps his lips around your clit.

          “Oh-- fuck, P-Peter, j-just like that,” You stuttered. He waited for a moment, listening to your whimpers and mewls before he began to vibrate his fingers and tongue, smirking as you released a borderline pornographic moan. You tangled your fingers in his hair, your thighs wrapped around his head as he licked repetitive stripes through your wetness. It wasn’t much longer before your grip on his hair tightened, finally reaching your climax and releasing onto Peter’s fingers. He lapped up your juices, the taste lingering on his tongue as he pulled away. 

          By the time Peter reconnected your lips you found yourself straddling his hips once again, tugging down his boxers. You were quick to line Peter up with your entrance, the reality of the situation setting in as you lowered yourself onto his dick. The two of you moaned in sync, the feeling of Peter’s throbbing cock buried inside of you making your eyes roll back in your head. You soon began to move, finding you rhythm as you ran your hands over Peter’s body.

          “Holy shit, Peter, you f-feel so good,” You sped up a bit, and Peter began thrusting his hips with the rhythm of your movements. Peter begins to hit spots so deep inside you, you didn’t know they existed; Peter’s tip hit your cervix repeatedly. You threw your head back, burying your nails into Peter’s chest. 

          “Fuck, you’re t-tight, so fuckin’ good,” Peter moaned as he pounded into you from below. The blissed-out man began to vibrate his dick inside of you, and you practically screamed as you came around him, hard. You clenched around him so tightly that he was almost forced out of you, your spasms milking him of his own orgasm as he coated your walls with ropes of his hot cum. You weakly pulled yourself off of him, collapsing beside Peter on his bed. 

          “Well, uh… I didn’t expect that.” You laugh weakly, your chest heaving. Peter smiles before wrapping his arms around your waist. He’s hot like a space heater, warmth radiating off of him like a bonfire. 

          “Unexpected doesn’t mean bad, right?” Peter asks, an underlying worry in his voice. You kissed him on the tip of his nose making his face scrunch up. Your pointer finger absentmindedly traced his features.

          “No, not bad at all.” Peter sighs in relief, settling his head in the crook of your neck. After a few minutes of quiet chatter, Peter’s eyes flutter shut and he pulls you close, drifting off to sleep. It’s not long before you drift off as well, the silver jacket you wanted so desperately lying forgotten on the floor.

[ephemerlskies]

emerald dreams: REDACTED | kth

⇢ pairing: taehyung x reader

⇢ genre: series, blackmirror!au, angst, fluff, artist!taehyung, strangers to lovers, set sometime in a dystopian era of technology, taehyung is s o f t

⇢ word count: 4.5k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, memory loss, mentions of death, themes of grief/depression

⇢ summary: in a technologically advanced utopia where a memory can be stored as a data file in a chip inserted in your head, it was entirely impossible to forget anything. when you met taehyung, a young at heart yet talented artist, he garnished an odd familiarity, raising suspicion that some of your memories had been lost in the digital cloud, or worse, erased from your memory chip.

♪ playlist: IDK you yet - alexander 23 • 4 o' clock - v & rm • jamais vu - bts • the story - brandi carlile •  moonlight - ariana grande ♪

╰ episode index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: if you don't watch black mirror then just imagine that everything is technology based, even the inner mechanisms of your thoughts/mind/memories and social culture has centered around the automation of the human body. also the government is sleazy and controls literally everyone in this au >:) also, i'm going to try and update this weekly!!

Scenario No. 2: Re-test

You didn’t expect to be spending your weekly visit at your favorite coffee shop gasping for air in the single occupancy commode. An unsettling familiarity had reached into your chest and compromised the body of your lungs, now savagely hyperventilating for air, and seized control on the reins of every sensory neuron in your body.

First, it was the sensation of sound. That voice, that unusually specific coffee order, the soft lilt of politeness riding through his etiquettes of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ struck right in your chest with a shockwave of deja vu, like you’ve heard that order before, a million times before perhaps. No part of you would let go of the fact that for some reason, this stranger was someone you knew very well.

And yet you had no idea who he was.

“Hi, how are you?” He smiled to ease the nerves of the overworked barista on this Sunday afternoon. Your ears picked up his husky, sweet tone through the scuttle of customers walking in and out of the shop and a commotion of side conversations that filled the room. It was quite noisy, enough so that it muffled any specific utterances, but the bass of his voice had met your ears with a strong posture of familiarity.

You looked over to the sweater draped over his frame that fit snugly against his broad shoulders. That was when your visual senses were overrun with the muted forest green of the knitted jumper. You’ve seen this color green. To be fair, green was always secured in your life abundantly through your own will. You had always loved this color and demonstrated this through small displays such as picking the green straw from a bundle of multicolored ones, or scanning over a set of shirts to find which one had the most green in it.

You surrounded yourself with a life full of green, but when this green sweater was paired with the voice there was a strange jolt of reminiscence.

It was not just a sweater, it was a sweater that you have touched, even worn before. And when he wore it, it wasn’t just any green. It was his green.

His figure drew closer to you as he waited at the side bar for his drink to be called, sending a waft of his scent to nullify those of fresh brewed coffee and pastries. Along with your eyes and ears, your nose now fell to the magnetism of this stranger.

He smelled of fresh evergreen with a bit of pinewood, mixing into an overwhelming oaky aroma. As the smells that resembled a tranquil forest ruminated through your lungs and your bloodstream, it weakened your body to a state of paralysis. Your motor skills were numbed to endow a series of mental backflips to figure out where this estranged attraction was coming from, and why it was him who provoked it.

Standing comatose in the middle of a populated coffee shop meant the clash of your body into another's was bound to occur. And of course, it was his body that bumped you out of the trance of obscured memories. It was his arms that held your shoulders steady so you wouldn’t topple over and spill your latte over yourself.

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t see you there. Are-” His eyes studied your aghast expression, “Hey, are you okay?”

This marked the compromise of your visual sensory. You looked right into his eyes, kind and concerned, and your surroundings had melted away into a whirl of unidentifiable colors. Your body was transported to a purgatory that rested between reality and a dream-like setting, which eventually molded itself into actuality before your eyes.

Redacted File No. 6

Suddenly you turned your head side to side and the territory that was once a café was no more, and had alchemized into a zone of unparalleled comfort. To your left, you were warmed by a wood-burning fireplace with stones crested along the frame of the pit. Your body was covered in a blurred canvas of forest green, and there were two hands holding your body gently and lovingly. It was a vision so incredibly clear and intricate it couldn’t be conjured through imagination or illusion, but a very real and vivid memory.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry… You’re okay right?” His jostling hands fainted the memory that swept you from the cafe. You blinked a few times before your eyes could refocus and land you to your present circumstances.

The man’s firm grip hadn’t abandoned your shoulders even though you regrounded your balance, which quickened the pace of your heart. They you earnestly, that even though you were certainly not going to fall over, he wouldn’t have let go. Without more than an array of unintelligible stutters to confirm you were okay, because you weren’t okay, you hobbled backward quite ungracefully to the privacy of the bathroom. After your rushed retreat, you tried to analyze the string of memories that pervaded your mind.

How do you know this man? Were these your memories? Or perhaps your memory chip glitched and downloaded files that didn’t belong to you?

The blunder of confusion racked your head with a slight tension headache. What was once a temporary occupancy of the restroom turned into a marathoned hideout until you could safely assume the stranger’s drink was made and he would leave the vicinity.

You checked your phone to count the duration of time spent. It had been about ten minutes since you pathetically holed yourself up, and it would be about five more minutes until you felt you could confidently emerge and escape.

You knew him, and for some reason it sent you into a fearful sequester.

Luckily, just last week you downloaded an upgraded storage plan which gave you access to all your past memories.

You activated the chip residing in your temple to trace every single unit in the archives, even the ones from as early as your birth, to see if anyone, including the likes of a passing stranger, a waiter that took your order three weeks ago, even a student from your high school class, resembled the man in the café. There were no records in your memory files of someone who echoed the same unsettling familiarity that this man had.

If the advanced technology that contained each capsule of every moment in time that you have ever experienced couldn’t give you the data on this man, then perhaps it was just an unusual coincidence.

One of those Twilight Zone-esque occurrences that isn’t deployed through factual evidence. Though you weren't entirely met with closure for this reasoning, it was enough to cope through the rest of your lengthened stay in the restroom.

What battered your precisely timed and nearly successful plan to avoid further interactions with this man was the light knock against the door. And it was the feeling of guilt that there must be other customers who planned on using the bathroom for its intended purpose that hoisted you up and had you reluctantly vacating the protected area.

Though, it was punishingly ironic that the one who had torn you from your sanctuary was the same person who put you there in the first place.

“Sorry,” He apologized about three times within the small window of time he’d been confronted by you and you already caught on to his habit of perpetual remorse, “Um, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I bumped into you and you kinda… freaked then ran and hid in the bathroom.”

If he weren’t so considerate to a stranger that was acting oddly evasive, this would have been easy. But he was considerate, and this was unbelievably difficult.

“Yeah um,” Your eyes sank down to rest on the comforting hue of his sweater, “I’m, uh, I'm okay. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat, dislodging the nervous laugh blocking his words.

“Okay well, I was just wondering if you were all good. You seemed a little shaken up back there.” Frankly, he still sensed something about him was off-putting to you, but he tried to deny it for the moment.

Your assurances fell gravely short of convincing since you couldn’t even bring your eyes to level with his. The soft-spoken gesture of kindness made you feel like a helpless animal that would surrender at the slightest sign of danger. It was a fair assessment for you acted as though his accidental collision into you through a crowded space was the end of the world.

“Yeah, sorry. Thank you!” You chirped to imitate a normal reaction despite this tremendously abnormal situation. “I was just um… It's just one of those days, ya know?”

Then, it was his smile that cluttered your sensation of touch. He was standing a respectable distance from you, however, his smile touched you. It cornered you into blurting out something even more peculiar than the overwhelming deja vu that had been commencing the moment you noticed him.

“Do I-” You paused to lower your voice that could have outsourced to the collection of ruckus in the café. Now in a whisper, you continued, “Do I know you?”

He didn’t offer a voiced response, but an equally bewildered expression. You couldn't quite read what this implied so you assumed he thought you were crazy, maybe even a bit creepy.

“Sorry! Fuck, that’s so creepy. I’m just gonna go.” Before you had the chance to push past him and the billowing clouds of regret, he obstructed your path to the doorway with his body.

“No! I think I know you too. Like, I’ve never seen you but I remember you. Like… Like a dream.” He scaled the length of your body with his eyes, which only manufactured his intuition into an undoubtable certainty. “I know you. How do I know you?”

“Hell if I know. I’m just as confused as you.” You felt your body slumping into itself under his gaze. He was attentive to every detail of you, from the length of your hair to the twitch of your fingertips, making you feel over exposed to this stranger that wasn’t a stranger.

“Well, do you wanna maybe sit? Have a coffee with me?” He propagated his interest like there was no reason to be afraid which only intimidated you further. There wasn’t a real threat in his invitation, however accepting it felt like you were walking on thin ice.

The government agent standing guard with a perfect earshot of every conversation wiring through the small café didn’t help ease your nerves either.

“I really should be heading home soon.” Guilt worked quickly to try and compensate for the discouraged expression on his face, “But… if you give me your number I’ll call you and maybe we can go out for lunch or something?”

He traded his grim with excitement while pulling a pen from his pocket and walking over to the condiments bar to write his number on a napkin. You had no clue as to why, but the fact that he had a pen on hand was strikingly nostalgic, much so as every other detail you had acquired from him.

Although entirely unheard of, you felt like this new knowledge of him was not adding to the collection, but rather dusting old artifacts that had simply been forgotten. You weren’t learning things about him, but instead remembering them; the more you stood watching him scribble his name and number on the napkin, the deeper you entrenched yourself in this theory.

Not to mention, you couldn’t recall the last time someone favored using a pen over a keyboard and a paper napkin over a digital contact entered on your phone.

What kind of person carries around a pen in the age of modern technology?

“Thank you. I’m ___, by the way.” Your hand wavered a bit before holding out to greet him, and when his hand made contact, you could have sworn on your own life that this wasn’t the first time it happened.

This was no introduction. It was a reunion.

The fix of his gaze had suggested he too felt reminiscent with the feeling of your hand.

A shared inability to let go held your hands together, trying to harness a bit of recognition or recall a social function where you two might have met in passing. Neither one of you had shown any intention to pull away, which dragged the formality of shaking hands into a gesture of mutual wonder; now you were not so much exchanging a handshake but rather holding each other. Holding tightly, as if you were rediscovering a mass of feelings that would give you an answer.

However, the answer was not generous enough to make itself available to either of you.

It could have been hours until you were able to unriddle this strange sensation, so you made the preventative move of pulling away before the warmth concocting between your hands would produce a light sweat on your palm.

He too seemed to retract upon regaining his sensibilities, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he would have held on for longer, maybe even forever if necessary. If it would regroup the unattainable and partially inexistent memories into cognizance.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Redacted File No. 12

You clung with desperate persistence onto the flaccid hand. Trailing up the arm was an indiscernible figure that had no features, no notable detailing, not even a vague outline of facial structure; just an ethereal glow that projected throughout the entire room. The nebulous haze terminated any identifiable aspect of the room except the hand you were holding, so you focused on the scant detail your eyes offered.

There was no specified context, no real evidence that you had to hold on, but something deep within you was urging for it. Some omnipotent instinct which prophesied that if you let go of the hand, you would in turn be letting go of the world.

You had to hold on.

However your hands wouldn’t obey you. Each time you tried to tighten your fingers, it felt as if the hand would continue slipping from your grasp. Or maybe, your hands weren't gripping at all.

They were numb, or paralyzed, and unable to execute your urgencies. The more force you exerted into your dire intentions, the easier it was for the hand to grow limp and melt through your fingers like liquid. It was frustrating, your willful attempts to hold on seemed to elicit the opposite effect as the hand, unowned by a certain being, resigned from yours.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.” You chanted through the tears, feeling as though that would somehow ignite a stronghold on the lifeless hand falling away.

But even so, it did fall away.

Perhaps the pain of it was that it wasn’t you who was letting go, but the hand that was being taken away from you. That you had been fighting a losing battle far beyond the prospects of your own decisions or control.

You begged for mercy, but were bestowed with your hands clean of what it was trying so desperately to hold onto. The hand slipped and when you peaked through the glaze of tears, your knuckles and fingers were gripping airy, cold emptiness.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.”

Soon you were captured in a perpetual aria of pleas to the ears of a God that would not listen. Unsettling despair had mutilated the illuminating glow of the room to bleak darkness. The world of colors had fallen absent akin to the cold hand vaporizing alongside the dispersal of light.

Then, everything was black.

Your eyes shot open with deep distraught.

The full moon flashed against your dampened face; half of the moisture sourced from a cold sweat and half from the heavy tears pouring from your eyes.

You knew the only explanation for this dream, which resonated more closely to a memory than a figment of sleepful imagination, was curated by the peculiar events that took place earlier today.

Soon, the dream drifted from your mind as consciousness took its place. Your tardy response to write the sparse remnants of it had left you with nothing but a distorted plot of what transpired during your slumber.

Widening your awakening through long sips of water had forced you into an obsessive rewinding of your memory files. It was a shame there wasn’t technology yet to store memories of your dream, or you’d have been replaying the one you just dreamt about a hundred times.

You scanned through a collection of moments in the afternoon when you first met Taehyung. The clear, digital picture of him glassed over your eyes, taking the place once inhabited by the moon, as you pressed the play button on the handlebar of functions.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

You rewound no later than a second after he introduced himself back to the beginning.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Rewind. 0.5 x speed.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” Said in a distorted voice from the ‘reduce speed’ function you equipped.

“Kim Taehyung.” You muttered to the empty room and the bright moon.

Sleeping was abstracted to an impossibility, and for the sake of your sanity, you walked over fish out the napkin in your coat pocket. It took you a while to move on from meticulously inspecting Taehyung’s handwriting.

The aimless effort to recall if it was the penmanship of some classmate had slackened to yet another unmet hope. Taehyung didn’t reside in your memories, but claimed quite an existence in your intuition. However, that wasn’t satisfying enough. You settled with the unsolved familiarity, though not before a lengthy wrestle between your eyes and the seven numbers scribbled into the napkin.

After dancing with the idea of it, you resolved some courage to finally dial. Each ping of the phone had you dreading for the automated message to inform you the recipient was not available at the moment, that you would have to hang up or wait for the tone to leave a message. Little by little your spirited nerve had depleted as you were now practicing what message you would leave Taehyung in his voicemail box, praying that it wasn’t full.

“Hello?” The sound of his voice interrupted the seventh or eighth ring, along with your rehearsal of the voicemail you assumed you’d have to leave being that the moon had been aging the sky into midnight.

“Oh! Oh, sorry I didn’t expect you to pick up.” After the chaotic pounding in your chest settled, you realized how nonsensical you sounded. Everything you methodically planned to say had been scattered by his unprecedented answer.

Instead of asking why you would call if you expected him not to pick up, he asked with a kind curiosity:

“Who is this?” He didn’t sound tired, in fact it sounded as if he had been hard at work preceding this call.

“Oh yeah! It’s ___, from the coffee shop. You remember me right?” Though you powered through, the worry was quite deafening. Taehyung seemed to pick up on it and diffused it with a gentle chuckle.

“Of course I remember.” On the other end of the line, he had been penciling a sketch on a blank page in his notebook.

The serenity of the stars and moon pinned on the navy blue sky never failed to spark inspiration. Taehyung was the type to refuse passing up a surge of an artistic muse, even if that meant he would shed a few hours of sleep from his routine. No matter the time or place, he always had a pen on hand to honor his heart’s unremitting passion.

He loved the moon and stars. He loved it so much as one would love a dear friend. He wished to be a part of the scenes of lights that hovered just out of reach, but could only settle on capturing a piece of the starry heavens on paper with his trusty pencil, sketchbook, and emerald-tinted muse.

“It’s late to be calling, but you’re lucky I was awake.” He said to hide how ecstatic he was you had actually called.

For someone you had just met, or at least you thought you just met, he threaded a flirtatious coyness in his response. It difficult to hush the winged eruption in your stomach because of that.

“Lucky, huh.” You repeated through a mumbled laugh, “I was just… I was thinking.”

“About what?” He had placed his phone on speaker mode and laid it next to his sketchbook.

There was a new inspiration that bore a louder siren than that of the moon and the stars. He sifted through the memory files throughout his day to the minute he first bumped into you, and though your face had been ingrained quite clearly behind his eyelids with each blink, he relied on the accuracy of a reference to perfect his drawing of you; not to mention he projected the image of your face to delight his undeniable attraction and to moderate the wildly romanticized version of you in his head.

Perhaps if he hadn't, he wouldn't be able to discern your face from the arena of glimmering stars scattered along the shaded skies.

“Just about how I think I was too quick to pass your offer.”

“Really?” That endearing lilt hope in his voice, the excitement expressed, acted as some puppeteer that manipulated the corner of your lips to lift into a smile.

No muscle in your body could ever be moved with the same conviction as it did when he was the reason for it. It bewildered you, almost to the point of frustration, as to why he had this power over you.

I just met him. I'm already getting this worked up? You thought how absurd it was you'd fallen this quickly, hoping it would ground you to the reality that he was still a stranger you hadn’t exchanged more than two conversations with.

Though, reality and memories and data files had all been obscured ever since you met Taehyung which was fascinating more than it was disorienting.

“Would you want to, maybe, grab coffee? Say next Thursday?” Your hand was subconsciously gripping the bed sheets, just like the way you gripped the disembodied hand in your dream, and awaited his response with full-blown suspense.

“I’ll see you next Thursday, ___.” Taehyung's confirmation put all your anxiety to rest, as well as your tightly clamped hand around the cotton fabric.

“I’ll see you.” You mimicked as if that would make the idea of seeing Taehyung again any less surreal. He laughed at this and brushed up a few finishing touches on his drawing.

“So just to clarify.” His pause gave entry for curiosity to wire through your head.

“Yes?”

“When you said you were thinking… you were thinking of me?” You wanted the upper hand to be reinstated with you, but your shy chuckle was no match to the smirk adopted on his lips that you couldn’t see, but you knew was there. You knew he was prideful when he swept the rug right out from under your feet, and you were right.

“Perhaps. And what if I was?” You framed your question to render your intimidation as flattery. Though, you had no idea how convincing this facade actually was and that it came off more suggestive than you had expected. There was a part of you that had fraternized with the romantic idea of Taehyung which might have registered your motive to reciprocate an undertone beyond platonic.

“Then that would be one thing we have in common.” He sounded responsive to your flirting and raised the bar significantly.

Your eyes and smile were directed towards the scenery displayed by your window, but they were not dedicated to the moonlit beauty of the diamond encrested sky. Though the midnight glades of stars were the ones to witness your smile, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, dedicated to Taehyung.

He was staring at the same moon, the same plot of stars, so perhaps you were looking into each other. When the moon twinkled, it looked awfully similar to a smile. Your smile.

For the moment, there was a radio silence that splintered through the two speakers of your and Taehyung’s phones. Even if the use of his hands weren’t engaged by his needful recreation of your face through his art, if his hands were left unused, he wouldn’t have mustered the discipline to end the call. Your unoccupied hands were trying to find any employment so you could have some excuse for not hanging up as well, not that there was anything else to be discussed.

Again, it felt familiar. The feeling of hesitance to be the first one to hang up despite the conversation’s recoil.

The cohesive idleness of you and Taehyung was unprovoked and ran out for about a minute. Neither of you had the intention to sever the virtual communion quite yet. The awkwardness of sitting in silence on the phone with a newly acquainted stranger was a delicacy compared to preemptively ending the call.

At one point, you were about to question if he had hung up; but the rhythmic and light breathing told you otherwise. And because of that mutual need to stay on the line, it seemed to be unreasonable to hang up, save for the yawn that eventually trimmed the call to an end.

“You’re tired.” He stated, now prompted with a yawn of his own upon hearing yours. “Goodnight, ___.”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” Saying his name out loud sent you into that same blend of reminiscence and nostalgia.

His name was not unexplored by your tongue, that much was certain, and the thought of putting your entire life on hold to discover why it felt that way was a tempting venture. Why when he said your name, it felt like sitting in front of a wood-burning fireplace under the security of a green sweater and wrapped in safe arms.

More than that, you wanted to know if he felt all these things too.

“I’ll see you?” You asked instead of saying that dreadful word 'goodbye'.

“I’ll see you.” He repeated before reluctantly hanging up.

“___.” He whispered your name, hoping the inky sky would design it in the stars for the world to remember forever.

Hoping that the next hours, which would surely be spent on multiple sketched renditions of your face, would amount in some revelation of the mystifying familiarity. He believed shedding a few graphite imitations onto the surface of his sketchbook, soaked by the glow of moonlight, would somehow make him remember everything hidden in the dark compartments of his heart.

However, if it didn’t, he would be okay with it. Because at least he knew he would see you again.

“Meeting place: Silver Lining Café.”

“Thank you, Agent Park. Heighten surveillance on the two subjects.”

[celestialmidnights]

Mania {Ch. 1}

Description: By a twist of fate, a young girl is swept up in the chaos of the Hargreeves family. Ophelia Cortez was never supposed to become close to any of them. She was just a neglected girl who's family pawned her off the moment things started to get abnormal. With new abilities cultivating, Ophelia is forced to face old wounds and new flames.

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves/OC

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

Word Count: 1,116

Series Masterlist

It couldn't get worse than this.

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The early training sessions had started when Ophelia arrived, making it nearly impossible for the girl to settle in. The practices became a regular occurrence after Reginald Hargreeves brought her back to the academy. The old man had made it his mission to "properly" train her himself, since he couldn't have the new recruit messing things up for The Umbrella Academy.

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Ophelia consistently worked on growing her abilities. Reginald's favorite way to ensure improvement was to use her gifts on living animals. The man would hook goats up to brain scanning machines, and project their brain waves onto the lab reports.

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On multiple occasions, Mr. Hargreeves asked Ophelia to practice her abilities on small goats. The animals were strapped onto metal tables, fighting to break loose. She didn't want to do it but was forced into it.

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"I don't want to hurt it. This isn't going to work." The young girl cried out to her caretaker.

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The man scoffed.  "Girl, you must continue. I will not have an incompetent child running amuck. If you do not do this I will lock you up and kill it slowly. Do you want it to die in pain? The man asked. "I will make it far worse. I am not making you kill the animal, but I will if that is what you want."

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"No, please don't... I-I'll do it." Ophelia cried out to the man.

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A stinging sensation arose in her brain as she projected an image into the animal's head. The goat was safe in her illusion, and it had absolutely no reason to be afraid. But fear began to invade the young girl's brain, reflecting in her illusion.

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Due to an overwhelming amount of stress in Ophelia's mind, the goat started to convulse on the table. Ophelia tried to reign in her emotions but was unable to do so. The girl's head was filled with an unexplainable sense of dread, causing her illusion to transform into a nightmare. The sounds from the machines were off the charts. She didn't mean for it to happen, but her mind seemed to twist her abilities into something dark.

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The once peaceful animal was now lying in its own pool of blood, its head blown off.

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Years after this incident, Reginald kept her isolated from the rest of the world. The girl wasn't able to conjure non-lethal illusions. He would need more time training her. Before introducing the girl to the other children, Ophelia needed to learn control. She was far too dangerous to have among other people.

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He couldn't have the girl blowing peoples' heads off. It would create too much bad publicity.

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It took years of training for Reginald Hargreeves to feel comfortable letting his pupil use her gifts. When she first arrived, Ophelia could barely create an illusion without an emotional trigger. In the last six years, she had grown the ability to manipulate reality at will.

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After the death of Ben Hargreeves, Ophelia was forced to become an improved number eight. She had been trained rigorously for years. Her life wasn't hers anymore. She belonged to a man who cared for no one but himself. Ophelia was a ploy in a game only Reginald Hargreeves knew how to play.

.

————————-

When Ophelia was first introduced to The Umbrella Academy, it was quite underwhelming. She had been expecting a better reaction then what she received. The only person who seemed to notice her at first was Diego, the boy she met in the warehouse a year ago.

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He had changed so much in three years. Diego had become taller and much more muscular since the last time she interacted with him, but this wasn't what drew her attention. It was the dark circles under his eyes and sunken face that Ophelia noticed first. She remembered their first encounter, recalling the exciting nature of the young boy's aura. This wasn't the same boy. It had to be the result of his brother's death.

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There was no life behind his eyes, he had succumbed to new darkness she hadn't experienced before. Having no real-life experience with kids her age, she didn't know how to react. They were both 16, and so much trauma had transpired in their lives since the last time they met.

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Lost in thought, Ophelia was luckily snapped out of her daydreaming when Reginald introduced her. Ophelia hadn't heard her name used in years. It was either eight or girl, never her actual name.

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"Listen here Umbrella Academy. Number eight is to be your new member. You shall be responsible for her shortcomings. She will be a new and improved number eight. So I suggest you all make sure she does not fail, as it would be your faults." The billionaire told the seven children.

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"Why do we need her now?" A girl with dark curly hair asked. 

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Sighing with discontent, Reginald snapped,  "Have I ever owed you an explanation number three? I think not. Now get on with your day."

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The older man walked away, leaving the young girls at the mercy of the seven children.

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"So your family's dead, right? I'm guessing because there's no way he would have waited this long to get you. A boy with dark eyeliner interjected. "She's here to replace Ben. He must have had her since we met in your dads factory. I heard she went crazy." He aimed towards the young girl.

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"KLAUS. You can't just say that." Number three punched his arm.

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Rubbing where his sister hit, "What? We were all thinking about it."

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"No, he's right. My parents died when I was born, and the adoption didn't really work out. Mr. Hargreeves took me in and said I was a new member. I heard what happened to Ben. Reginald is horrible, I'm sorry." Ophelia quietly murmured to the seven children.

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The curly-haired girl frowned, "Well thanks for the apology... I'm Allison. This is Klaus, Luther, Diego, and Vanya must be somewhere."

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Ophelia smiled at the girl and her siblings. This was her first time interacting with them, and she didn't want to mess anything up.

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"Ophelia." She offered. "Nice to meet you all."

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"It won't be for long. Do you think it was bad when he was training you? Now that you're a part of the team, it'll get worse for all of us. Dad will make sure of it like always. " Allison muttered.

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Klaus held a pained expression.

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"Bastard." The siblings all seemed to silently agree with his outburst, except for the more confident boy of the group.

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Luther, the oldest of the siblings, snapped at Klaus, "Don't say that about dad. He loves us. She's just a test run." He added, trying to deflect the pain his father had caused onto the newest member. "Let me make it clear. You're not one of us. You're not Ben. We have been here since the start. Don't make it seem like he didn't do you a favor. Pull your weight or we won't help you."

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Ophelia hadn't realized she had hit a sore subject for Luther. She was under the impression that they all knew what type of monster Reginald was. She couldn't fathom that anyone could possibly care for the abusive man. Especially, since Mr. Hargreeves contributed to Ben's death.

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"Stop Luther. We don't need you yelling today. She didn't kill Ben. Dad did." Diego interjected, making sure to place a hand on his shoulder.

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Aiming his words towards his brother Luther turned, "Diego, he didn't make it happen. You just can't get over the fact that you couldn't stop it. Don't blame dad."

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The two boys began to exchange heated words with one another as the rest of the siblings tried their best to calm them down. Ophelia had always thought about what meeting The Umbrella Academy would be like. This wasn't how she had imagined it.

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From this one small introduction, she could see how much Reginald Hargreeves didn't care about his children. They were all in competition with one another. None of them had dealt with the emotional trauma of losing their brother. Now she was expected to take his place, living with them was going to be interesting.

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After a few minutes of the constant bickering between siblings, the commotion settled down. Each of the children had walked out of the room except for Diego, leaving Ophelia and him alone.

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"Look all you have to do is lay low. We've been together since we were born and you haven't. You're not our sister. They'll ease up just give it time." Diego made sure to explain to Ophelia

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"Okay, thanks." She nervously replied.

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"Don't thank me. Just stay out the way and do what he says. You know how he is, so you need to adapt." Diego said turning to look at her face. "Training isn't the same as real life. You're not Ben so don't try to be.”

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His face remained void of any emotion.

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Ophelia could tell he was still mourning the loss of his brother. He couldn't meet her eyes, and his voice had become so cold. She had once thought they could become friends. Ophelia knew it was still possible, but it would take longer than she thought. It had become painfully obvious that the death of their brother had messed the Hargreeves children up badly.

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Luther was in denial.

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Allison was angry.

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Klaus was barely coping.

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Vanya was hiding

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Diego was burying his emotions.

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Ophelia was wishing she hadn't met them in these circumstances. Maybe they would have become closer sooner, but she wasn't a part of their family. It was a little too late for that.

[platinumbutthole]

Memories in Red

When a dream has gone on for too long, the thin membrane between reality and the clouded world of the mind may be broken, leaving the dreamer submerged in the dark void of their own subconscious. Another dream has come and went, even as it proves to be darker and more unpleasant than the last, I miss it dearly.

I awake to this padded room once again rattled, only to recollect that I am indeed crazy, spats of lucidity grace my presence as if pleading me to write out this memoir of sorts. This very well may be the only way I can gain a grip back into reality, or more likely, drive myself deeper into the thick fog that is consuming my mind. In this conscious state, I recollect only that of less importance unto myself; age, occupation, or even my damn name remains a mystery. But of what I know, I did have a life before my spiral into the abyss of insanity. A wife that dips into my memories only to taunt me with her mysterious beauty, a pocket watch that meant some special importance in my life, a dog, and a grotesque bastard child. You see, I was sent here of my own accord, I did not want to be locked up with the ingrates of the penal system, I felt better suited to be one with the shit eaters and comatose rotted vegetables that also live within the walls of this sanitarium. In here, bound up like mummified corpses, the fear isn’t of those around us, it is of what is inside yourself. I chose this route because of an urge that set upon me long ago, this urge is only one of the multiple memories that alludes me every time I find myself sitting on the edge of reality looking back into the grim horrors that clouds my true subconscious.

The bloody cuts across my hands and fingers are the only real source of entertainment here, it seems my writing has been going on for quite some time judging by the amount of scribble on the walls, red patches, and smears correlate into a jumbled mess of words directed only towards myself. These words scrolled out reveal portions of my life that I may have wanted to remember, or possibly forget. Judging by the writing on the walls, I must have been busy the past few days, so many words and phrases give way to more conclusive statements. “Children under god” and “remember” plastered in bright red imagery above the cell door, followed by multiple occurrences of the name “Virgil”.

In this place, time holds value higher than any currency, it is not easily retrieved, and the lack of a clock or workers doesn’t help the issue one bit. Thought my memories are few and far between, I don’t recall any staff member gracing me with their presence in a long time, I don’t know how long I have gone without human interaction, let alone food and water. Looking at my poor excuse for a body it seems like I haven’t indulged in sustenance in quite a long time, each rib visible as the last, a pale, bony chest leading to shoulders that have no fat left on them. My shadow being cast by the single white florescent bulb that hangs in the middle of my padded hovel looks like the creatures that haunt me late at night, I laugh, trying to convince myself that these nightly visits are all in my head, but the scars tell otherwise. I say this because being in a padded room meant for a mentally unhinged patient as myself, there is no tool for me to tear into my own flesh, no knife or piece of glass, gifting myself the sweet release of red ink that I so desperately crave. No, I get these wounds by another force, an unknown being in the shadows, the corners of my cell representing the shackles of my mind that won’t let me free. Sometimes it comes in the form of my wife, nameless and transparent she takes my arms, lifting them up and giving them the lightest kiss before slashing with her sharp claw-like nails, as I look up from the blood into her dark eyes, the calmness turns to fear as she opens her gaping mouth to reveal a black darkness that wants to swallow me whole. This vision of horror only to be set back by rapping on my padded door, no one is there, no one is ever there. I recall waking from a state of mental unsightliness to observe a black dog with bright yellow eyes peering at me from that damned corner of the room, growling and grimacing to show every razor-sharp fang only to leap onto me. I have heard the dreaded sound of tearing flesh too many times in my life, the beings that lurk in this room with me want me to write, they want to be heard. I am tired now, without the value of time at my disposal, the only thing telling me that night has come is when the power to the only light source in the room is shut off. It’s dark now and I must try to sleep.

As I am about to fall into a distant slumber, praying to not being visited by whatever horrible entity of my wretched mind has in store, I hear screaming. This is not an abnormal occurrence in this place, but these screams are different. It sounds as if a child had gotten loose and is running through the halls churning their sorrows into an inconceivable volume not meant for human consumption, and the sound is growing closer to my room. Most of the time the wailing of the mad are my lullaby, whisking me off to a gentle sleep, but not this, it’s been getting closer and closer by the minute, inch by inch the louder it gets. Screams forcing their way through my ear drums and into my very soul. I try to cup my ears with my bloody palms but it’s no use, my eyes feel like they are going to burst only for the screaming to pass my door and stop suddenly. I release my grasp on my head and slowly slide myself to the door, I can’t hear anything, but I feel breathing on the other side as if taunting me, anxiety then hits my chest and I can’t breathe, my heart throbs and the blood smeared writing on the walls beats at the same rate. I fall on my back, looking up at the dark red literature on the walls, only getting brighter with every beat of my waning heart. I can’t hear anything, but I feel something watching me, laughing at me so menacingly that it tears at my insides and would rip my intestines out if gotten the chance. As quickly as I was brought back into my lucid like state, I was taken back again. I find myself at the threshold of sound mind mostly at night, which makes me ironically yearn for more sleep because within this realm of what we know as real, I am brought back into the pit of despair that only those that have experienced true hell will understand.

It’s been a few days now, and I must give myself a hand for the mural now sitting upon the wall adjacent to the door. A painting depicting only what I can convey as a child, sitting on a tricycle peddling towards a grove which is overlooked by a structure deep in the distance. It is disturbing to say the least, not only for the gruesome open-mouthed scowl rippled across the child’s face along with hideously dead eyes, but for the mere fact that it was completely created by the glorious red ink, what a waste. I must have been out cold for a while due to blood loss from the magnitude of my work, but after a while of sitting and staring it seems to calm me, a haven to place my mind when it turns inward on itself once again. I have never been the artistic type, but seeing the absolute scale and detail baffles me, this would be an immense feat to accomplish with a brush let alone a bloody finger. I search my entire brittle body to find an entry point or wound that could have saturated this wall the way it appears, but I find no new scars, my body is the way I left it.

As I sit and marvel at my work of art, I start to hear a sound, the squeaking of wheels ever so gently moving down the corridor outside my cell. I know how ignorant I must be, but the sense of anxiety and dread fill my chest cavity and I can’t take another second. I cannot be taken back again so soon, I must sit and write and keep my sanity just this once, but the wheels keep turning, bringing themselves closer to my room, all I can do is pray to whatever being is still out there for them to pass. Every second feels as if I am staring at the blade of the guillotine waiting for the rope to be cut, but as it creeps closer, the sound suddenly vanishes. I am in silence now, my body aches but I am still, knowing that something is out there waiting, staring directly into the cell, its breath hitting the widow with such force I hear it across the room. I cannot bring myself to peer out of the small dusty window on the door, for hiding whatever alludes me is the only way I can still survive here.

My visitor has yet to show itself, just viewing my quarters through a tiny glass pane, mocking me for my cowardliness to not step up and peer into the eyes of the unknown. I have convinced myself time and time again that there is a good reason I am in here, for I have the tendencies of a mad man, and inside these walls is the only place I belong. But this entity standing at my door may be my last hope of salvation, an utterance of good in a place stricken with evil. I have convinced myself to stand up and show my face to the staring one, and as I stand, the lonely light in the room flashes and burns out. Darkness hits my skin and chills me to my core, I cannot be trapped in here again, alone, pleading for light, the salvation to my pain-stricken mind. This mustn’t stop me, I must see my viewing party firsthand or forever be confined within the madness of the unknown. Every step to the door of my padded cell takes longer than the last, heart beating faster and faster, red ink on the walls flashing to the beat once again, illuminating my short path. I step up to the door, feeling the buildup of anxiety piercing my internal organs, wincing at the pain I look up at the cold, dusty, window. I look through to see nothing, just the source of blackness that has poured into the confines of my cell. But still, the breathing continues at a more advanced pace, this time it is not hitting the door, the hairs on the back of my neck raise as the hot rush of air pours onto me.

I clench my jaw tight, close my eyes, and stand facing the door hoping for whatever is behind me to leave my presence, but it does not go away. Instead, I feel the grip of a bony hand onto my shoulder, long nails cutting into my skin, I glance down slowly to see the hand that is grasping me is a woman’s, I can see her wedding ring digging into the finger leaving barely any skin, only pure white bone. I have an instant of clarity, realizing I know that hand from so long ago, I turn back quickly to view my visitor only to be greeted by my mural, only it’s changed. Bright red ink glowing so bright in the pitch blackness, showing off the same detailed landscape, the grove with an overlooking structure, but the child is gone, what is left is the bloody trail of something dragged off the bottom of the painting. Before I could even look over the whole mural, the light in the middle of the room bursts on, presenting the painting in its entirety in which the pure sight of it all brought me to my knees, hands pressed tightly against the sides of my head I couldn’t scream, nothing was left in me. In the picture, the bloody marks where the child once sat and rode his tricycle, lead out of the painting onto the ground where I knelt, and at the end of the trail laid the red coated tricycle laying sideways, wheel still spinning, squeaking ever so softly. I start to shake erratically, as my eyes move past the toy, onto a small body lying face down near my feet, bloodied and battered, the ink to my mural.

I know now what I have done to be in this place, I deserve to be here, in this wretched cell, dipping meaninglessly into insanity only to be brought back to face the reality of my cruel ways. As I stare at the lifeless corpse laying at my feet, it begins to move, and twitch in horrible ways I cannot even try to describe, he lifts his head by a weak neck, dark dead eyes lead down to a hideous scowl wrapped around a twisted face. I squirm, the dreaded feeling tearing away at my guilt-stricken insides consumes my whole body, leaving me motionless, not a single breath left in my lungs. I know that face, as horrid and decrepit as it may seem, whatever lay before me was my son, but now just another entity meant to bring me exactly what I deserve. Now all I have left to do is stare into the precipice of my own despair, waiting for this entity to consume me in the most dreadful way possible. We can never truly block out the pain, it will always be there, waiting to torment us until our last breath

[bergmanns]

meet ezra  

( tw: suicide, depression, anxiety, bullying )

BASICS

Name: Ezra James Bergmann

Age: 18

Grade: Senior

House: Melleray

Cabin Room: Cabin 1, Room 2

How long have they been at Broadripple: Four Years

Where are they from originally: Stonnington, ME

Extra curricular: Jazz Band (bass), Broadripple Unsolved

TRAITS

Positive Personality Traits: Artistic, Inquisitive, Loyal

Neutral Personality Traits: Pensive, Wry, Sensitive, Observant, Speculative

Negative Personality Traits: Defensive, Spineless, Socially-Awkward, Loner, Envious

FACTS

The Bergmann family has always been odd, and Ezra is no exception. His family name had a reputation at Broadripple before he ever wandered its halls, well known for their staunch devotion to religion, fondness for quiet introspection, and dedication to the arts. This, however, was overshadowed by the suicide of Ezra’s older brother Emmanuel. 

Two years Ezra’s senior, Emmanuel was a dedicated member of the Sacristan Club and the unofficial Chastity club, but he had few close friends. In spite of this, his suicide during the summer before Ezra’s freshman year, and the rumors circulating the event (particularly, that Ezra was the one to discover his body) only adapted once school began.

Ezra has always had a complicated relationship with his parents. Their dogmatic approach to religion began to wear down on him as he grew older, beginning to challenge the beliefs he once held. The rift between them has widened since the death of his brother, but it’s more of a phantom void than a sharpened one. The family struggles to maintain closeness, but genuine connections are hard to reach. in spite of their differences, the family has a lot of love for each other, although they could most definitely benefit from family counseling ( before and after the loss of Emmanuel ).

Ezra always felt second best to Emmanuel in the eyes of his parents. he didn’t fall into religion with ease. he asked questions that came across as challenges, he bemoaned going to church and begrudgingly said grace before every meal. his perception of religion darkened as his brother became more volatile about the subject, causing several arguments between the two.

 Ezra was just as strange as the Bergmann’s of the past – moody, awkward, antisocial, and harboring a disconcerting interest in true crime and the occult. A frequent victim of bullying and foul rumors surrounding his ‘involvement’ in his brother’s suicide, Ezra learned the best way to survive Broadripple was to keep his head down, his headphones on, and bury his focus in creative pursuits, such as photography, art, music and his participation in the unofficial Broadripple Unsolved club. 

Other than this, he doesn’t have much direction for his future despite being a senior, and although he knows he should worry, he can’t manage to scrounge up the energy. In spite of his self-imposed isolation and wariness of others, Ezra covets companionship and belonging but is doubtful he will ever truly find it.

As a student, Ezra can find success with relative ease. He has a natural inclination towards the arts, but has been assigned to aid students in other areas of study in the past ( although in all honesty, he isn’t the best teacher )

A heavily active member of BAU, Ezra lives and breathes for the club, sometimes even becoming annoyed when he feels others aren’t taking their research and ‘responsibilities’ seriously. He’s been teasingly accused of being ‘obsessed’ with the case of Edith Lynch in the past, his drive to solve the case intensifying with the mounting abnormalities occurring at the Academy. Although he’d never say it out loud or acknowledge it to himself, Ezra has attached the Edith Lynch case to the suicide of his brother. Whether he knows it or not, his deep-set desire to solve the mystery arises from an unaddressed need for closure and healing within himself

HEADCANONS

he has a smoking habit that he picked up when he turned sixteen.

he seems perpetually incapable of wearing his uniform properly. His button up shirts are often wrinkled, his ties are crooked or improperly fastened, and he has a tendency to keep the top few buttons of his shirt undone ( as long as he can get away with it ). This is never intentional. Ezra has a bad habit staying up into the early hours of the morning, making him difficult to rise (and therefore perpetually late in the mornings)

due to his abysmal sleeping schedule, ezra often has dark circles under his eyes

his fingers are almost always stained by ink, paint, charcoal or oil pastels

it’s rare to see him without his headphones on

he painted the bottom of his skateboard himself. The design is faded and scuffed from wear and improper varnishing. what once was a skeleton with a blue, exposed, anatomical heart on a black background is mostly a scratched, splotched mess of color with a slightly more defined line work on the blue heart.

his hair is longer, typically messy and often hangs in his eyes

out of his uniform, Ezra usually dresses in the grunge style with layered t-shirts, black skinny jeans with tears, oversized tops etc. He also wears short sleeved button ups with t-shirts underneath.

Ezra enjoys photography. his work is typically in black and white and he uses a Canon camera that he received as a Christmas gift

social media handle: berg.mann

QUESTIONS ABOUT THE RETREAT

What do they think about The Retreat?

Ezra doesn’t like it and suspects there’s something else going on ( of course ). he has so many questions: why just the two dorm buildings? why cabins in the middle of a remote forest? why locusts of all things? without access to the internet, Ezra spends a lot of late nights staring into the darkness trying to puzzle it all out, fervently scrolling through bookmarked webpages the moment he has access to the internet. Ezra isn’t squeamish about bugs or nature. As an artist he’s enjoyed the change of scenery, however the inability to binge watch netflix and have immediate access to the resources of the World Wide Web have agitated him. Not to mention having several students to a room also has him on edge.

Do they have any previous experience with camping or other outdoors?

Ezra has experience with ‘glamping,’ or, spending a few weeks at his parent’s fancy cabin in the mountains with access to running water, air conditioning, cable tv and internet during the summers. The experience at hand is entirely new to him.

What does their cabin bunk look like? How will they decorate their space?l

The first thing ezra did when he got to his bunk was fasten a sheet that could be pinned up or down so as to conceal the inside of his bunk. Ever an introvert, Ezra needs time to feel completely isolated and alone, which despite being in the middle of the woods, seems much harder to come by now than ever. Ezra is a cluttered person, but not necessarily messy. The wall beside his bunk ( which he also has ‘secured’ with a movable sheet in order to keep his investigations as private as possible ) is littered with news articles, photographs, webpages etc. complete with different colored threads connecting different pieces of evidence. During the move, ezra was forced to organize some of his other cases in three plastic accordion file folders, which he keeps hidden under his bunk ( yes three ).

Do they believe in the supernatural? To what degree

Ezra definitely believes in the supernatural. ghosts, demons poltergeists and possessions etc. are often the primary subjects of his research. he possibly even believes in God and Angels despite having doubts about the bible and the morality associated in them, although they command little of his attention. at most, Ezra’s opinion on religion is, “if God exists he’s a dick.” He doesn’t really take big foot seriously, but he believes in aliens. There isn’t a doubt in Ezra’s mind that something supernatural is going on at Broadripple. Currently, he’s most suspicious of demonic possession ( Edith Lynch case ) and a possible poltergeist ( the cause of the locusts ).

Are they easily spooked?

ezra is more terrified of other people than he is of the possibility of facing down a demon. if he wasn’t so driven to solve the case, he may be more likely to run away from perceived supernatural threats, but at the moment his desire to know the truth tends to supersede self preservation. That being said, Ezra is also very likely to attribute any kind of ‘suspicious’ occurrence to The Supernatural.

AND FINALLY,

A very dumb but (hopefully) fun quiz made by your admins, please share what result you got:

“you’re the real danger.” 👀👀 ooooo vury vury spooopy.

[kingsleyuche]

4 Ways To Achieve Strength During Hard Times

Life Pain, the unannounced visitor, enemy of light and a silent killer. The entity that makes the world around seem worthless. The shame and disgrace of mankind. The inevitable and unexpected. It comes whether we invite it or not. It happens whether we need it or not. It's everywhere, like Mobile Telecommunication Network everywhere we go. The least we can do is to pray against it and let life have its course. I guess we are prisoners of life's pain.

I didn't write this piece of article to scare or remind anyone of the pain around them but to suggest ways on which one can be strong in the midst of unspeakable situations. Situations that make uncomfortable such as body pains, not having material needs, dreams seem unrealistic, not married yet, lost someone, loneliness, mistakes, no helper, external factors, sickness, etc. No doubt, these are abnormal occurrence which is real in the journey of life.

4 WAYS TO ACHIEVE STRENGTH IN HARD TIMES:

Though pain may rise, whether temporary or permanent. We should endeavor to make consistent conscious efforts to crush it or at least live happily above it.

1) Challenge It Daily:

It makes one unhappy, it's an enemy. So every day, rise like a soldier, make out time to fight it strategically and mercilessly. It's a duty that must be done to achieve our desired result.

2) Talk To Someone:

Do you know that silence is very bad and a lot happens when one keeps silent and suffering? Keeping silent further elevates the troubles. It's attacks one's psychology. It also breaks down one guild, giving room for insecurities. On the other hand, speaking up or talking to someone you trust (listening ear) is therapeutic and a half-way solution. It boasts morale to deal with the painful situation especially when the listener has better solutions or even just suggestions to give from experience.

3) Focus On Goals:

One of life's pain greatest weapons is to disarm and distract its victim. Whenever one succumb by putting more priority on the painful problem and ignoring what's important. It will give rise to further shame and disgrace. Struggle to keep the ball rolling like Ronaldo and make sure to score goals.

Consequently, it will make the pain look like nothing.

3) Keep To Hobbies:

Hobbies are essential to our overall wellbeing. It gives the brain energy needed to pace up. When one gives up its hubby(s) due to a long time bad situation, it has a frustrating loss on the person.

To live on during a sad circumstance, one needs to carry its hobbies along. Something for attention-redirecting is always a welcome development.

4) Try Google Solutions:

It's may seem unending, intimidating and unchanging but don't give up. You tried several known strategies but keep trying. Don't forget to google search it to find other practical solutions. It helps and it's a step further to a better solution.

Thanks.

Kingsley uche.

Mental Health & Fitness Writer

[hanamura-headcanons]

the edits have come and jiraiya froakie is here... its yosukes starter. wouldve edited a yosuke trainer but that would've been MUCH harder and i am lazy

also hi when editing this i thought abt a persona + pokemon thing... read below

basically personas are normal but they're like?? kinda like spirit animals but. spirit personas. 

they follow u everywhere ( kinda like eevee / pikachu in lets go ) and are your destined pokepartner. 

they're also like shinies and type variants in the fact they can be wildly different from the normal pokemon ( for example Jiraiya learns a lot of flying type attacks and he has very unusual but natural patterns and unusual accessories ). they also can never breed and are ( usually ) gender neutral. ( sometimes use gendered pronouns it depends on the trainer )

they aren't limited to canon persona users probably, and they are a rare abnormal occurrence which a professor is looking into in yasoinaba.

personamons usually cant get hit by attacks but they do have weaknesses, super effectives, etc that will affect their trainer instead

shadows are probably just??? kinda like totem battles ig that turn into your persona-mon. they also usually dont look like a pokemon but take a lot of features from the personamon. ( aka shadow yosuke totem / jiraiya totem would just be.. similar to shadow yosuke if he looked a little bit more like a greninja. also the typing on shadow totems usually have dark or ghost slapped at the end ).

normal shadows are just distorted creatures usually with the motif of one or multiple pokemon in the designs. like the weird tongue shadows at the start of the game probably look like glailie. ultra beasts are also usually considered what shadows would look like since UBs are very weird and honestly look like persona 4 shadows

if the tv world exists i’m not sure where it’d go?? to me i just kinda... like.. assume the killer in canon ( you know who ) steals pokemon ( usually people who already have personamon or just peoples favorite pokemon ) via the tv and carries one around. thing is if its still like this then the pokemon still die when exposed to the tv world which is the dark thing. 

the false killer ( well the second false killer - i guess not false but second red herring ) probably sees the midnight channel and sees trainers and throws their pokemon into the tv to protect them. or the trainer themselves which leads us into the other way

then theres the other way it could go which is basically same as the persona canon its just the personas are more or less replaced with personamon ( and as you know, wild cards get multiple personamon usually without conflict ) and people die in the tv as normal. shadows are extremely common in the tv world / tartarus / mementos and very rare in the actual world so often the protagonists of the game will be one of few to have them. theyre almost the same rarity as shiny pokemon in the real world

also the fang-things on jiraiya are detachable ( its a thing thats apparently in the arena artbook where i took the colors from ) and they use it as a boomerang. he is very prepared! he even has a compass. i think thats a compass on jiraiyas hand anyways. jiraiya would be a very useful pokemon.

[antonverloc]

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

The following quotes and phrases are taken from the stories in Thomas Ligotti’s anthology Songs of a Dead Dreamer. Some of these quotes were slightly tweaked for the sake of this meme. If you enjoy the imagery or writing in this meme, please support the author by purchasing his work. Content warnings for horror in general and brief mentions of blood, nihilism, unreality, mannequins, dolls, puppets, and some body horror.

Bold what applies to your muse.

TAGGED BY: stolen TAGGING: u

The Frolic

Absolute madness paired with a sharp cunning / an expression of sky-blue peacefulness / the indistinct happiness of the future / a piece of moon above the opulent leafage of spring trees / a broken-down kingdom of miracles and horrors / a Neverland where dizzy chaos is the norm / a cosmos of crooked houses and littered alleys / a slum among the stars / a jolly river of refuse / jagged heaps in shadows / a phantasmagoric mingling of heaven and hell / a moonlit corridor where mirrors scream and laugh / dreamy back-drops / ice cubes in an empty glass / shifting expressions on a lean face / vague suggestions and subtle jokes / an Aphrodite sculpture / the wind, cold and dead / a crumbled piece of paper / black-foaming gutters / the dank windowless gloom of some intergalactic cellar / starless cities of insanity / a bright freezing scream of laughter / a passing anecdote of some obscure hell

Les Fleurs

sorrowful flowers / lilting blossoms for a loved one’s memorial / a florist shop / flowers which open only at night / a hothouse warm smile / night-blooming cereuses / a sleek ocelot / well-preserved old places / plants resembling birds / white picket fences / flower-printed curtains / liqueur tasting of flowers from open fields / cool, clean offices / invisible wings whipping the warm air in darkness / the sounds of black orchids growing / the flower-bedded earth / a ripple of empathetic insight / a gorgeous kingdom of glittering colors / velvety jungle-shapes / contorted rainbows and twisted auroras / hyper-radiant hues / a marvelous arcana / tongue-like floral appendages / tongues flowering

Alice’s Last Adventure

Volatile years when anything might go wrong / the embodiment of topsy-turvydom / pools of rainwater / tarnished mirrors / moonlit windows / a thousand misshapen marvels / a universe handed over to new gods / stoic tolerance of a second-rate reality / two complete strangers gawking at each other / a shiny, pearl-grey casket / black orchids / a strange combination of relief and confusion / a delayed echo with oblique origins / a chain of occurrences with links as weak as smoke rings / a sunny autumn morning / a sense of duty, vanity, and other less comprehensible motives / the seas of the moon / costumed kids / the cries of bedlamites / the clamor of rambunctious kids / a half-cocked oration / jack-o’-lanterns glowing orange and yellow / masked children / a plastic cup of cider / shadows wavering against two-story facades / a lamp with a shade of Tiffany glass / a disciple of the bizarre / an autumn moon hanging in the blackness / demonic giggling / the moon / a clock / shadows in the window

Dream of a Manikin

A mostly tacit but somehow complete biography / a marvelous trick of the mind / jeweled lamps along the walls / lights shining on an intricately patterned carpet and various pieces of old furniture / star-clustered blackness / a starry abyss / an iciness drifting in from a starscape / a horrible truth / a legend written somewhere at the bottom of a dream / echoing voices bouncing here and there around the room / a motto printed on fortune cookie-like strips of paper and hidden in bureau drawers / a broken record repeating itself on an ancient Victrola / an alighting flock of birds / a field of dynamic tension / a dry sibilant voice / people dressed as dolls / shaking with tremors of the uncanny / a manikin dresser / astral ambience / occult studies and depth analysis / delving into speculative models of reality / cosmic static / harassments of the self / the boundaries of the self / a Bigger Self terrorizing its little splinter selves / cosmic ennui / a serendipitous discovery / this dream of flesh / guilty until proven otherwise / valerian and camphor baths / cryptic impudence / softly glowing display windows / the divine bonds of unreality / a medium-intensity shower / display-window dummies / rain-spotted glasses / a car with rain-blinded windows / a moment of self-terror / the mythical conspiracy of a treacherous universe / a galaxy of constellations / a vaporous glowing / a whitened hallway / dolls made up to look like people / eyes shining in the white darkness / a powerful psychic metaphor

The Chymist

Daydreaming in the key of Rosicrucianism / bubblegum and beer / a chalice in a church / a serum vial in a laboratory / the tartness of one’s smile / a very keen appreciation of diversity / decrepitude / the withering heart of the deceased / bastardized nostalgia / the putrescence of things past / arching mirrors / chrome chandeliers / second-hand fantasies and out-of-date distractions / one strange thing next to another / a genius of vulgarity / a lawless paradise / violence without violation / a smoke-gray sky / city-soiled clumps of snow / fluxing clouds that swirl above the chimneys and trees / alchemical transmutations / the glamour and sanity of former days / a new mask of rats and rot / a hopeless stroll along the path to hypothetically higher worlds / a body whose true outline remains unknown /  the whims of chemistry / the caprices of circumstance / the enigma of personal taste / a leather vessel with a void inside / the skeleton of a dream / lights outlining the different venues and avenues below / a bottle of powdered light / pulverized diamonds / the flesh and blood kaleidoscope of one’s imagination / a prodigious insurrection of entity / a tempest of transfiguration

Drink to Me Only with Labyrinthine Eyes

The full powers of a master hypnotist / a mesmeric wilderness / marked by fate’s stigmata / crystal twinkling under a chandelier’s kaleidoscopic blaze / power and prestige socializing / a pair of metronomes / a glossy black cabinet / two bluish gems in an alabaster setting / a tiny sequined outfit / mesmeric stunts / intact and unbloodied / routines in defiance of death and pain / a jaw-dropping finale / a blare of heavenly horns / a labyrinth of light / a gossamer veil / snow-white wings / the angelic luminary beneath the human beast / the eyes of the audience / mock-death and bogus-pain / sinking deep into a downy darkness / pillows stuffed with soft shadows / a sun at the center of a drab galaxy / vacant and full of grace / a business card with a cloud-gray pearl finish / riotous rococo / a chair of blinding brocade / flowery fabric / a shelf of delicate figurines / tall smoky mirrors / a bottomless pool /a sky wiped clean of clouds / dispassionate elegance / postures and poses like frozen roses / pajama-clad legs dangling / a shiny chrome-plated pen / a very soft but not condescending tone / a mazy wallflower / cartwheels of agony / somersaults through fires of doom / nosedives of vulnerable flesh into the meat grinder of life / serene constellations / sweet nullities / a spell-binding, snake-eyed charmer / high society vulgarians / eyes recessed in their sockets, sunken into a rotting profundity / labyrinthine depths / dancing clothes all clotted with putrescent goo

Eye of the Lynx

Missing girls in Gothic garb / amber going on red / a reddish haze / a crazy purpurean tapestry / a fair-haired girl / denim slacks and a leather jacket / bloody moonlight / a long sip from a can of iced tea / persecutions and imperilments as glamorous as those of any Gothic heroine / violet eyes / the machinations of an evil-hearted malefactor / haunting second-hand shops / a strip of dark velvet seized by a pearl brooch / a frail chain from which dangles a heart-shaped locket / a whirlpooling lock of golden hair / gloves, long and powdery pale / the shoulders of heavy capes lined in satin that shines like a black sun / enveloping hoods / capes with deep pockets and generous inner pouches for secreting precious souvenirs / capes with silk strings that tie about the neck / capes with weighted hems that nonetheless flutter weightlessly in midnight gusts / doll-size in a dark doll’s costume / quivering bones and feverish blood / fear’s funereal plume / carriage wheels rioting in a lavender mist or a pearly fog / nacreous fires twitching beyond the margins of country roads / cliffs and stars / a blur of crimson shadows / vast regions of sublime desolation / mountains hulking in hazy twilight / a rather large animal collar at the end of a chain leash / a light the color of fresh meat / a page in a depraved story book / a single candle glowing through red glass / little zippers and big zippers / a moth-eaten cloak / enthralling cruelties / spangled eyebrows / a brow of glittering silver / glistening with tiny flecks of starlight /  the velvet embrace of one’s favorite cape / the tall candles one lights on stormy nights / chains of raindrops whipping against one’s windows / places where raging storms and brutal subjugations never end / the hardships of traveling to strange faraway places / frail little dolls / wild-wind nights and sadistic villains / corridors of scarlet darkness / a captive of one’s heart and its infinite chambers

Notes on the Writing of Horror: A Story

Something magical / something timeless / something profound / a sooty basement / the putrid members of a man who is decomposing / a plain brown package marked Hope, Love, or Fortune Cookies and postmarked: the Edge of the Unknown / a helter-skelter universe where things are ever threatening to go abnormal and unreal / a normal, real love / impermanence and decay / evils sent out under various covers / sublime and terrifying conflict / fearsome, fantastical, and inhuman / moon-trimmed shadows / lunar landscapes of craggy peaks / skeletal wastelands of jagged ice / a brooding Gothic hero / an ethereal Gothic heroine / a castle-like skyscraper / an extra dose of obsessiveness / the Gothic tale / a militant romantic / waves of bombast / winds of ecstatic hysteria / a partially shattered window, its surface streaked with a blue film of dust / a sublime sense of desolation / the diluted glow of twilight / night’s enveloping cloak / grimy azure dimness / bluish semi-luminescence / tears of confusion / turquoise haze / blue shadows of silence / liquefying legs / an old storyteller / the voice of a tiny insect crying for help from inside a sealed coffin / a piercing, crystal shriek that lacerates the midnight blackness / a haunter of spectral marketplaces / Gothic glory / a horror writer / an ardent consumer of the abnormal and the unreal / a visitant of discount houses of unreality / subject only to the rule of demonic forces / puppet-shadows / a hell so excruciating it is bliss itself / bony wings rising out of one’s back / jaws that are a cavern of dripping silver / rivers of putrescent gold running through one’s veins

The Christmas Eves of Aunt Elsie

Diamond-paned windows / a thick December fog / a serene congregation of colors / holly, both fresh and artificial / a pale purple ribbon / a ritual forever reenacted without hope of escape / a large chair beside a fogged window / crackling logs / a foggy winter’s night / bright Christmas lights shining through the fog / always dead with darkness / always alive with lights

The Lost Art of Twilight

A streak of iodine red / a spattering of flat black / the early autumn sun / silver hair / a gray suit / a long envelope, neatly cesareaned / the charnel house creeps / a silver shield / crepuscular radiance / an offspring of the dead / the progeny of phantoms / the big green eye of an EEG monitor / De Plancy’s Dictionnaire infernal / a rainbow of insects / the science of superstition / the Provencal countryside / a pantheon of gargoyles amid the splendor of a medieval church / a holy soldier of the living / a monster of the dead / the astral banquet of Art / the rotting flesh of rainbows / the sonar screech of a bat / vampiric origins / the oncoming onyx of a storm / shadows and sunshine / glare and gloom / bright clouds and black / iron-red leaves / tentative drops of rain / blue bears and yellow rabbits / neither a blood-warm human nor a blood-drawing devil / oceans of blood / the ravenous life of the undead / an authoritative impatience / eternal life in an eternal death

The Troubles of Dr. Thoss

Pale gray pajamas / thick sheets of paper / a bottle of black ink / a shapely black pen with a silvery nib / strands of blond hair, almost white / a sudden salty breeze / silhouettes and shadows / unreflecting windows / metal hinges squeaking somewhere in the wind / a sleepless night / constellations beyond the window panes / star-filled hours / the pure whiteness of the page / a flung shoe leaning toe-up against a bedpost / nothingness unstained by inner conception / white snow in a white sky / dark lines and vacant spaces / vast expanses of frozen whiteness / a church in a foreign town / assorted devils and demons / ice-mad mountains / a spirit of malicious abandon / nightmarish anatomies / a sickle-shaped scar of moon / sea-licked shores / dark letters / feeding one’s troubles to the sea / brown-leafed trees / a forest of memorials / clumps of crosses / groves of gravestones / dark, cowl-shaped windows / unblemished by shadows / the sound of crashing waves /bending dawns into twilights / static from a broken radio / breaking waves / seaside air / a gleaming crescent moon / a bone-white cicatrix / chronic insomnia / a blade of moon / white night, white noise

Masquerade of a Dead Sword: A Tragedie

The confusions of carnival night / gyrations of squealing abandon / lines between pain and pleasure / a rainbow of rags / a startling length of blade / pale pages elegantly dappled by somber verses / a pair of strangely darkened spectacles / the toneless voice of one who is dead to all appeasement or mercy / mounds of snow that had been sown with ashes / eyes as dark and swirled with shadows as the raving night itself / a constellation of designs / mad games of flesh and steel / a forbidden madness / dense forests of tall pikes planted in the earth / shadows rolling in empty sockets / lacerated mouths / the darkness of dreams / to see the world drown in oceans of agony / visions of butchering the angels / a god of deceit or illusion / chaos at feast / black with scars of madness / darkly clouded glass / the brightest and highest of stars / shimmering halls / unnaturally colored wine / red-smeared forms / many-taloned claws / the velvet fingers of a tightly gloved hand / a pair of leviathan leeches / a lord of the sword made mad / the dark powers which we cannot understand but only hate / rhapsodic voices in the streets / a privileged doom / the face of the soul of the world / the cool marble of the floor / an onyx-black knight / a face flushed with crimson glory

Dr. Voke and Mr. Veech

A scribble of lightning engraved upon a black sky / a long, brightly colored coat / noisy jets of blue-green light flickering spasmodically / life-size dolls hanging suspended by wires / wetted strands of a spider web / shiny satin legs / a beautifully pale hand / pulverized stars / dismembered limbs of dolls and puppets / the repose of ruin / an oily red glare / a well-dressed dummy / a white high-collar shirt with silver cufflinks / a billowing cravat which displays a pattern of moons and stars / wood waking up / a sleep that should have never been broken / something too painful for tears / the false fire of the moon / two faces sharing a single head / faint, hollow screams from high above / a dummy’s silence / leftover tears of berserk laughter / bluish-green irradiance

Professor Nobody’s Little Lectures on Supernatural Horror

Mist on a lake / fog in thick woods / a golden light shining on wet stones / a little trickle of suspicion in the bloodstream / the solar brilliance of a summer day / supernatural horror / a corner alive with cool drafts and fragrant with centuries of must / a rancid world rife with things smelling of the crypt / a sower of vice / mad winds / wan moonlight / pasty specters / the vividness of pain / the lasting effects of fear / natural-born puppets whose lips are stained with their own blood / dead bodies that walk in the night / living bodies suddenly possessed by new owners and deadly aspirations / the sepulchral pomp of wasting tissue / compassion for human hurt / a humble sense of one’s impermanence / an absolute valuation of justice / a demented innocence in the face of gruesome facts / the horrific reprisals of affirmation / the Cosmic Macabre / the shudders of a thousand graveyards

Dr. Locrian’s Asylum

Gray walls pocked like sponges / nights of futile tears and screaming / an expression of almost paternal forgiveness / the supreme delirium of the planets / bright puppets dancing in the blackness / a golden speck of magic / the silent, staring universe / something as pathetic as a puppet and as exalted as the stars / something at once dead and never dying / autumn constellations in the black sky above / harshly brilliant eyes / the remote places where truth had been shut up and abandoned

The Sect of the Idiot

Extraordinary joy / extraordinary pain / the great hollow of dreams / an infinitely secluded place / a world that both menaces and surpasses this one / a holy madness / infinite stillness on foggy mornings / miracles of silence on indolent afternoons / the strangely flickering tableau of neverending nights / deceptive depths of shadow / heaps of clouds like dust balls / a fluorescent map of the cosmos / medieval autumns and mute winters /kaleidoscopic windows / a kind of cataclysm of empty space / an earthquake of the invisible / strikingly clear eyes / a dusty trunk of dreams / a maze of streets / an abyss of stars / a great reaching blackness / a stale gray dimness / an alien order of being / an icy blackness /starry blackness / a great round moon / deep aquatic blue / the voids of astronomy / a state of both paralyzed terror and spellbound curiosity / whispering figures / stagnant moonlight / withered, wilted claws / drooping tentacles / the spinning legs of spiders / the greedy rubbing of a fly’s spindly feelers / the darting tongues of snakes / the triumph of the grotesque / whispering effigies of chaos / putrid arcana / an ecstatic horror / horrific ecstasy / the demonic elements of which all creation is composed / corruption in disguise / a cache of unwonted offerings stored out of sight / currents of fear / dark tremors / splendid scenes broken with malign shadows / the lurid and the lovely forever lost in each other’s embrace / the arch of an old street / tunnel-like hallways / sickly light shining through unwashed, curtainless windows / atmospherics of infinite melancholy and unease / a decayed paradise / the everlasting residue of some cosmic misfortune / a solemn, mechanical intentness / a smooth and solid cube of black glass / a malignant puppet of madness / dazed in darkness / embarrassed throat-clearings / reproving looks / words which could only have meaning in a nightmare / a thing of strange degeneracy / a quintessence of hellish delirium / freakish, echoing laughter / the whispering of strangers / twitching tentacles / a horror which cannot be helped  

The Greater Festival of Masks

The old and new / the real and imaginary / truth and deception / shops of costumes and masks / an incautious curiosity / shredded rags that are easily disturbed by the wind / a poster stuck to a crumbling wall / strange pathways of caprice / the outsized moon / silvery windows / doors which are elaborately decorated yet will not budge in their frames / massive shutters covering blank walls behind them / faces of dreams / sardonically grinning / innocence and excuses / a reddish glow of fire / a wad of bubbling blackness / smooth and faceless faces / the speaker in the shadows / the soft creaking of new faces breaking through old flesh

The Music of the Moon

Breaking the quiet of a moonlit room / enchantments that nearly make amends for one’s stolen slumber / some unusual shape leaping across steep roofs / a bewildering agility / many nights of sleepless hell / a knife / rope / a poison vial / an exploit of uncommon decisiveness / blank nights of insomnia / a handbill / ashes mixed with grease / a door with a faint yellow aura leaking out at its edges / small, shadowlike things moving in corners and along the floor molding / a quartet of musicians / a voice which sounds both exhausted and malicious / pale, ragged clouds of hair / sonic abnormality / an empty shaft of blackness / spherical lamps caked with dust / the silence of a dark, lifeless world / black silhouettes of human heads visible only in the moonlight / slow music in the soft darkness / a single note wavering in a universe of darkness / a incalculable proliferation of slightly dissonant harmony / the light of a quiet gray dawn / completely helpless, and yet content to be so / thick layers of webs / gazing at nothing with bleeding sockets / the moon all fat and pale, glaring down from its gauzy webs of clouds

The Journal of J.P. Drapeau

Unstained by any habits of the human / the ideal of everything alien to living / some molding backwater of the earth / the city of Bruges itself / a corpse of the Middle Ages / bony bridges / the black veins of old canals / a lonely evolution in shadowed streets and beside sluggish canals / the music of graveyards / a resonant chorus that fills the air and sometimes drowns out the voices of those who still live / layers of cobwebs floating about the near ceiling / a burst of resistance / the pealing of church bells / the language of whimsy / the force of stars tugging away at various points / the dark waters of a canal / shiny black hair parted straight down the middle / a low table covered by a red velvet cloth / a world that applauds trumped-up illusions while denying or demeaning those that create the very lives they are living / a spectral thing full of strange suggestion / an untenanted room filled with the echoes of nothingness / the eyes of certain crudely fashioned dolls / a greenish glow from a mirror / placid meandering canals / enwrapped in mist / close crumbling houses / odd arching bridges / innumerable church towers / narrow twisting streets / queer little courtyards / everything gone forever / an empty mist / an eternal twilight

Vastarien

Candles in a cloistered cell / shapes beneath the shadows / tall buildings whose rooftops nod groundward / wide buildings whose facades follow the curve of a street / buildings whose windows and doorways tilt like badly hung paintings / stairways that wander off-course into useless places / caged elevators that urge unwanted stops on their passengers / a sequestered civilization of echoes flourishing among groaning walls / thin ladders ascending into a maze of shafts and conduits / the dark valves and arteries of a petrified and monstrous organism / a desolate serenity / silvery cinders / the mouths of great chimneys / shadow-puppets / cluttered gardens and crooked gates / the purling waters of black canals / faded masks concealing profound schemes / a place of supernatural clarity and stillness / the crystalline glare of a lantern / moonlight through a curtained window / darkened windows / souls who believe that the only value of this world lies in its power—at certain times— to suggest another / a scattering of stars and lights / a coveted paradise / the most gauzy phantom of another place / a shadowy mimic / the anatomy of a great dream / everlasting echoes / a rectangle of smudged glass within another rectangle of scuffed wood / crowded shelves / remnants of a luxuriant autumn / an obscene reality / to dwell among the ruins of reality / shadowed volumes / scripture that would begin with the portents of apocalypse and end with the wreck of all creation / to become the wind in the dead of winter / to howl the undoing of all that would abide in warmth and light / an enticing verse in a volume of esoterica / the dream of attaining some untainted good / a disastrous enlightenment / some hypothetical state of pure glory / the revelation that nothing ever known has ended in glory / some strictly demonic enterprise / something about one’s presence that makes one think of a crow / a scavenging creature in wait / a large, two-headed shadow / the sad frustration of the uninvited, the abandoned / the brilliant rectangle of a doorway / hopes and curiosities of an indeterminable kind / free-standing bookcases / pages and bindings of uncommon texture / abstract diagrams suggesting no orthodox ritual or occult system / a chronicle of strange dreams / an invocation of a world in waiting of genesis / days distilled into dreams and nights into nightmares / a deliverance by damnation / nightmare made normal / a horror uncompromised by any feeling of lost joy or a thwarted searching for the good / a nightmare transformed in spirit by the utter absence of refuge / a utopia of exhaustion, confusion, and debris / a dialogue of mystification, and possibly one of lies / the edge of a dreamless void / a dark and devouring bird / shadows and moonlight / an unbending web of heavy wire / unjust confinement / a slender syringe crowned with a silvery needle