#the psychological horror and joy of being known

[thebest-medicine]

eeeeeee I just met up with some cool ass tumblr peeps for lunch and a stroll!!! it was so fun 💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

@clayticklish @toadallytickles

@yourlittlettoy thanks for swinging by on your way through my town!!! we must gather again soon you’re all so wonderful!

[beemoon17]

Just want to write a bit about my experience with the whole starting testosterone process in PA. I have had a really great experience and I really hope this can help other trans people to feel more confident going into this process.

I’ve been out since I was in 4th grade and this year I started the process to go on t. I made an appointment with my regular doctor, just a “well checkup” and spoke to her about my desire to start testosterone. She was incredible, no invasive questions, she was respectful of my desires, spoke to me about some options she was aware of and recognized that she didn’t known enough. I went home, she did her research, and she made me a referral to a gender clinic near me within the week.

My mom called the gender clinic for me, they put me into their system and said I’d get a call within 2 weeks to schedule a therapy appointment. The therapist would be the one to give me a referral to the medical doctor at their clinic. They called us back within 2 days NOT weeks. And much to my joy and disbelief there wasn’t the wait list I expected. My appointment with the therapist was going to be the very next week.

Today I went to the therapist. She was the most queer informed cis het individual I have ever met. She was understanding of and knowledgable about not just the medical and psychological side of being trans and queer, but also of the culture and media. She didn’t make judgements of my competency based off of my past mental health experiences or my autism. It was the first time I ever felt understood by or seen by a therapist or health professional. She was non-invasive, her questions were respectful, her understanding of gender and transition as existing outside of just a “hatred” for one’s body and as a range of experiences in and outside the binary was beautiful. At the end of the appointment after speaking to me and my mom she had decided to give me the go ahead for the medical doctor in order to receive testosterone. Once again I was surprised: I had faced no ignorance from the therapist, there weren’t a million more appointments for me to attend, or months of begging for something I have clearly and consistently wanted for years of my life.

When I went to the front desk to make the appointment I once again expected some disappointment or an obstacle. Perhaps a months or even a year long wait to see the medical doctor, after all everything had gone so well so far, surely there would be an obstacle here. But no, my appointment was scheduled for the 4th of this upcoming month, 12 days from today. Not even 2 weeks. On that day I will more likely than not receive my prescription for my testosterone.

I am so full of joy and hope with this experience. For the first time in my life I feel like my future is real, like my life will be fully mine. I feel confident and full of anticipation for the future. And I’m so touched by the understanding and support from the medical professionals I’ve worked with to get to this point, who have worked so hard to be understanding and inclusive and kind. I understand my privilege here, I’ve read the horror stories, I know how so many people struggle, and I feel deeply in my heart for everyone in our community who has been met with barriers and ignorance and fear in their journeys to medically transition. But I hope that my story can spread some joy and hope for others, and maybe alleviate some fear for some. Sometimes, as rare as it is, we do get breaks, things do get to be easy and kind for us, and with the way things have gone in this country the last several years I’ve needed proof of that so much more than ever.

I’m looking forward to sharing more of my journey with medically transitioning! I’m happy to answer any questions about the process to getting there, what my therapy session looked like, and going forward about the physical and mental changes testosterone causes!

[lorelune]

hey fellas and folks i have been meaning to write something up about this but haven't known where to start or where i'll end up. but i DO feel like it deserves addressing.

(having my joker moment joker moment)

i really love this niche. i found a home in it during a very difficult time in my life, and have found many friends and lasting irl connections from the writings shared and conversations had. this place is so incredibly, INCREDIBLY dear to me. despite going through many horrors (tm) while in this community, i continue to stay because there is a lot about it that i love.

however, in the last... i don't know, year or so? there has been such an abundance of discourse, gossip and drama both publicly and privately that has exhausted me to no end. these things have always existed, they always will, but in the past year they have felt so draining and despairing that it has made finding the same comfort and joy in this community is hard. a lot of times, impossible!

one of the things that genuinely makes me SO sad is the tags. i made most of my lasting friendships in this niche but seeing a writing in the tags that i enjoyed and dming the author and shouting together. i have found so many great writers in the tags, and i still crawl around them today looking for fic!! HOWEVER. i find it difficult, not just because of the abundance of vague smut-related comphet posts with a slew of character names underneath from unrelated fandoms (to each there own but it isn't a posting style i enjoy!) but moreso because of the INSANE number of posts by antis that get thrown into the tags. main tags, character tags, x reader tags. it is so deeply disheartening to be looking for fic to enjoy and get jump scared by a posts saying horrible things about those who enjoy dark content. respectfully if you're above the age of eighteen and looking for writing on tumblr dot gov, i HIIIIGHLYY recommend using your literacy to first read ANY article or study summary about human psychology and sexuality and why fantasy does not equal what someone actual desires! signed a sex-repulsed ace spec mf who writes and enjoys smut. hate to use myself as example, but i hate even more to see folks in the tags be puritanical and pro-censorship under the guise of progressive ideology.

i want to say that there are parties within this niche that are CONSISTENTLY at the center of drama and conflict. no matter what fandom, no matter the url changes and lurking, they are there and its the same mfs. this is a complete vague, as i'm sure the parties in involved in the targeted harassment and ensuing drama do not know who i am, nor know that i know. but i DO <3, and so do plenty of other writers in our niche who have politely blocked and left you alone. do us all a fucking favor and do the same, instead of instigating harassment and being hateful cunts.

in this vein, in my closer circle, i know that these events (especially in the last six months) have caused folks to become conspiratorial and assume bad faith. i understand this is a protective measure because folks have gone through the wringer. however it makes me so sad to see what is often folks who likely do not know any context or horrors of the community, be painted so poorly in casual conversations when most of the time, communication is made to create a connection, not to start a fight.

i find myself reflecting on WHY i have come to not feel comfortable in this community. why i don't enjoy writing the same way, why i don't feel the same security i once felt, why i get so damn nervous to post a silly thought or thirst on main, and i find myself coming back to these experiences and the subsequent fear that follows. perhaps i am a weak-hearted coward, but i find it hard to find joy when i feel surrounded by constant negativity and genuine cruelty. it is hard to want to share any of myself when i am so deeply aware that whether it is strangers or people i have become close to, what i enjoy and what i choose to express and share can be so easily twisted into something it is not.

i know it would be easier if i had a thicker skin, or felt secure enough that this didn't bother me, but part of the core problem is that this community has made me insecure. it's a loop. it is one that makes me genuinely sad, as this place once felt so much like home. i know it still can be, but it certainly won't be sitting here, starting at blank documents and text posts wondering to myself 'why can't i just put words on paper' while i have the cortisol levels of a prey animal.

i'm not sure if other folks have felt similarly, or find themselves in the same point. however if you do, or you find yourself resonating, here's to feeling seen 🥂

- papa salami (lore) 🌙

[akronus-writes]

the embodiment of fear: slashers and movies

Antros' mother knew something was different with her child the day he was born, silent and already cheerful. At first, they thought it was a sign he was a blessing, a child that could bring joy to the world. but then it started, no matter how much they fed him, he always seemed malnourished, but whenever someone got scared of him starving, he looked perfectly healthy.

They had hoped it was just a strange coincidence, but as he got older things only got worse. almost every night his parents caught him cheerfully watching horror movies as soon as he was smart enough to operate the remote. then he started scaring his parents, and even the other kids at school.

not even birthday parties were safe, every time one of them happened, he'd somehow get his hands on the remote, and start playing Friday the 13th, or Halloween. eventually his parents kept him home, and as they got used to his scares, he started to degrade. without that fear to cause, it was almost like Antros was going through withdrawals. But if he even just managed to cause some fear, he was right as rain, like nothing had happened.

on his 13th birthday his parents finally caved, and he was given access to a library of classic and modern horror. supplied with all of this horror, he quickly watched every movie before the month had ended, and in that moment, truly began to reach an understanding of himself. not the genderfluid part, he's known this for a while.

to his knowledge he was an embodiment of fear, a being that quite literally subsists off of, and is empowered by, fear. from what he understood he seemed to embody slasher villains and movie horror, leading him to experiment with his powers.

at first it was simply summoning machetes or being able to take a punch, but as he learned to better harness the fear he embodied, the more powerful he got.

eventually his control had reached a point that he could casually make a "banshee scream" loud enough to stun a grown man, and had permanently altered his body to be much more durable, and all around physically superior.

along with a development power wise, Antros had also begun studying in school to both become involved in the horror films industry, and to better understand human psychology. which is when it happened.

while walking home from the screening of the recently released 'the strangers: first chapter' Antros was approached by a young woman, about his age (16), in a black three piece suit and tie, with long black hair that trailed down her back like blood.

at first, he was ready to fight the woman, or just walk past her, but she had other plans.

"so you're the one my associate told me about, I believe Antros was your name?" she questioned, a smile dancing at her lips.

"yes I am, what about it?" Antros responded, stepping back to keep his face hidden.

"well, I've hear of your particular... skills, and believe I may have a job offer for you" she stayed back, letting Antros have his secrecy.

Antros remained silent for a few seconds, before tilting his head, and speaking "what kind of job?"

"a contract of sorts, you use your... fear powers, for me and my business, and in return I pay you, in money" the women responded, as the cloud began to shift, revealing the blood that stained her shirt.

Antros weighed his options before he spoke, holding out his hand to the woman "deal"

"deal" the woman shook his hand, before swiftly turning around and walking off.

"fuck, I didn't get a way to contact he-," Antros' train of thought was cut off by the blood that dripped onto his shoes, looking to its source, he saw the bloody business card his new employer had left him.

on the walk home, he examined it closer. there were only two things on the card, an address, and what he assumed to be the woman's name, Aldira.

@good-wizard @f4y3w00d5 @monsterfucker-research-wizard @f4y3w00d5 @the-final-knight @fayewoods-2

[jo-harrington]

Hell - Vampire!Eddie Munson

Summary: Vecna, weak and wounded after the events of March 27th 1986, seeks to enact revenge on those who foiled his plans. And his key to such revenge? A boy left behind, barely clinging to life.

Warnings/Themes: Angst, Violence, Kas!Eddie/Vamp!Eddie, Vecna Lives, Body Horror, Blood, Physical and Psychological Torture, Manipulation, Brainwashing, Necromancy, Loss of Soul, Transformation, Major Character Death and Rebirth, Other Biblical and Literary References

Note: So…welcome to my take on Vampire/Kas!Eddie. This fic, entitled Hell, can be read as a stand-alone, but is essentially going to be one of three companion prequels to a Vamp!Eddie AU fic I have in the works. I want to finish FF and get a few more chapters of Store Manager Verse published before I really start working on this idea…but with tomorrow being the “anniversary” of Eddie Munson’s “death” in the Upside Down, it only seems poetic to explore this first.

That being said, this fic and the subsequent fics/chapters in the series will not be for the faint of heart. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find the As Above, So Below masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

"And I looked, and beheld a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."

—Revelation 6:8

In the beginning, there was pain.

Enough pain that it should have been The End.

Eddie believed the pain meant The End.

But he had never been so lucky to experience the end of any suffering before, so he should have known better.

He couldn't recall the moment Dustin's hands were wrenched away from his body, leaving him floating in the darkness. Or the way his body felt before the teeth ripped into him. Or the act of kindness that led him to this horrible punishment.

The road to Hell was paved with good intentions. It vaguely echoed in the back of his mind, taunting him.

And in some way, Eddie Munson always knew he was going to Hell.

Just not like this.

First it seized his body and paralyzed him, as acrid tendrils poisoned his veins and his heart and his mind; he briefly recalled reading about Komodo Dragons in 5th grade. The way they ripped into their prey and let the venom work slowly and painfully to overtake them before the feast could begin.

He would not be a feast for the creatures of this realm but for their Master. Repentance for their failed tasks. They would not feed again until he did, wouldn't taste power until his was regained.

And feed is exactly what Vecna did.

The tendrils carded through Eddie's memories and poisoned them: his hopes and fears, everything and everyone he loved and held dear. His joy and indifference and hatred.

They decimated everything good; ripped them up from the roots and salted the ground below them, only leaving unrecognizable scraps behind. Then they latched onto the bad with no intention of ever letting go. Suckled on his sorrow and his hatred gluttonously.

Vecna especially liked to graze on the pain though; those morsels were most succulent and came in abundance. It was never enough, though; in the howling silence, even more pain was willed into existence.

You are alone. They are at fault. They tricked you. Sacrificed you.

Eddie never had a reason to let the pain weigh on his heart before, but his tormentor would see that rectified. He would break him down...

They left you behind. Left you to this fate. Left you to me. To do with you what I please.

...Until he no longer felt anymore.

And do to you I shall...

After eternity had passed, Eddie's body was unceremoniously dragged across the barren, uneven earth of the Upside Down. He watched the chilling, sizzling, flashing of the unfamiliar sky as he was transported for miles and miles, ad infinitum.

Until a threshold was crossed, and he entered the next circle of unending torture.

His carcass was rent into unnatural shapes, bones cracked, the marrow scraped out. Skin was flayed, flesh split open, until his barely-beating heart was on display and blood splashed weakly onto the over-saturated ground.

His eyes though...remained.

For some reason, Vecna wanted him to see.

The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all.

So he let Eddie stare at the rest of his collection—an unfinished one, but an impressive one nonetheless. He let Eddie stare at the looming pillars; at the empty sockets and gaping maws. At twisted husks that would never truly be filled again.

Because he wanted Eddie to choose to lose his soul. Wanted him to sell it. To trade it for salvation, lest he end up like the others.

It was almost disappointing at how short a time it took...

It was only a day—a day of staring at Chrissy and Fred and Patrick—before he wailed so wildly and begged so loudly that his jaw unhinged and every part of him truly became broken.

And at that moment, everything Eddie Munson was or had been or could ever hope to be no longer belonged to him. He was ripped apart both literally and figuratively. Whatever damage the bats had instinct to cause, it was but a mere drop in the sea of carnage that their Master endeavored to create.

He could sense the creatures around him, sense their anticipation to frenzy. Whether that was to fight or to feed, only time would tell.

They had worked tirelessly to stitch him back together. Followed their Master's instructions. Some were sacrificed to the cause: their bodies freely given, because their minds would remain.

Part of the greater whole.

He would never be considered whole anymore, but he was possible more than whole; the extra pieces sustained what would have perished due to the crucial part of him that was missing.

"Rise," a groaning, creaking voice sounded and all went silent. As all the creatures of the Upside Down witnessed the completion of a wicked metamorphosis.

The product of their collective toil began to writhe and twitch as it was reborn.

Resurrected.

"Rise," Henry repeated, "and become what you were always meant to be."

And in a realm full of monsters, the thing that rose was truly monstrous.

Leathery wings. Rows of teeth, too many to fit so they left his jaw unnaturally wide. Talons that could rip. Eyes that could cut through any sort of darkness.

He wouldn't bow. His Master remade him so he would never bow. But he still knew his place.

This gift he was given could easily be taken away. He wouldn't squander it.

He made a vow. A promise.

He would serve.

But he made a promise before, he recalled.

A promise not to be a hero.

And as a consequence of breaking that promise, he could never be one again.

Eddie always knew he was going to Hell.

He simply never thought he would become the Prince of it.

“You are privy to a great Becoming and you recognize nothing. You are an ant in the after-birth. It is in your nature to do one thing correctly: before Me you rightly tremble. Fear is not what you owe Me[.] You owe Me awe.”

—Thomas Harris, Red Dragon (1980)

[luridon]

Heartrot

What's important is that you live.

♡characters: yandere!immortal x shipoftheseus!reader (Yep. I guess we're going with that desc)

♡warnings: MINORS DNI, obsession, body horror, implied murder, psychological horror, MINORS DNI

♡notes: I sure hope this one is searchable because the last one with a merman was not. Also. This is also less of a story and more of a horrible thought experiment. Go read Dear My Living Dead by Aidalro

♡w/c: 900+ | ♡masterlist♡

How terrible it is for an immortal to fall in love with a mortal. Whether the long-lived is a deity or merely someone very powerful, whether this invincibility is brought about by arcane magic or advanced sciences, it must be very lonely. For such an individual, falling in love with someone mortal has to simply be the worst thing possible.

Would it be worse to have a devoted love since the start of such a long, dreary life, or to have your world warmed and brightened after ages of cold lonesomeness only to lose that light?

Of course there would be joy. There would be true happiness and blissful comfort and affection- but only at first. There would always be dread, and as time crawls by and one's beloved simply can't be granted the accursed blessing that will stretch the immortal's lifespan misesrably, uncomprehendingly long after their dearest one's. . .creativity will be required.

Keeping you alive is paramount. That means you can't simply be put to sleep and preserved- that's a corpse, not a life, not a love.

The human body is merely a mass of moving parts. It is a machine that runs on blood and nutrients, its mechanisms formed of flesh all pumping and beating and shifting to the rhythm that is you.

If a part breaks, then replace it.

The world is full of people. It's no trouble to take their parts to fix yours. Whether with science so strange it seems like magic, or magic so complex and specific it is its own rigid discipline, such an act must be possible. Alchemy or art, research or ritual, it will be done. It must be done.

You will be soothed if it hurts. You'll be cared for until the aftermath settles down. You may disagree with the method, but all that matters is that you live beside them still. It would be best if you don't know the source of your extended life. A mortal mind can only handle so much. If the truth will trouble you so, it would be best if you know nothing at all.

Only know them as someone you love. Only know that you are loved. You can live blissfully, if ignorantly, by their side, and they will be able to live well too. If something is amiss, simply say so. If something hurts, it will be remedied at once. Whatever you need, whatever breaks, it can be fixed, and you won't have to remember that you were ever pained at all.

Still, you must think that something is wrong, sometimes. That your arms do not feel like your own, that your very skin is wrong. You'll see phantoms in the mirror somedays, and flinch at the sound of your own voice when you hear it in the quiet.

An immortal may be a wanderer. An immortal may just as well as have gained the means over the years to have a place grand enough to entertain and secluded enough to be safe. Some days, you'll need more rest. Some years, you may simply live in your home, and forget you had ever known the world beyond the building, just as you so easily forget that you do have a rooted home somewhere until you two return to the abode.

Your love would be glad either way, being within or beyond the walls secondary to your comfort, but sometimes you may indulge his worry and rest. And some days you will explore and remember all the trinkets and baubles. And some nights you may join your beloved a dance you have not done in years, or simply listen to him tell stories that have slipped from your terribly forgetful mind.

Sometimes, you will find your love looking at you, and you will wonder if there was always such a dreadful fear in them when you only stumbled a little or let a cup slip from your hands.

Sometimes, you will wake up, and be asked to move your leg, your arm, to breathe, to swallow, to do all matter of odd, simple things, and you no longer forget these strange dreams by dawn, after seeing them so much.

Sometimes, you will wander the halls, and feel even less like yourself. Your heart will ache as you traverse the corridors that seem darker, stranger, more abandoned, and you will find a room so terribly familiar.

And you will open the ancient door, and you will break.

Because within lies yourself.

Your hair, your eyes, your limbs, your body, your face- every inch of skin and hair and offal something that is undeniably yours in a way your body simply is not. You stare upon yourself in too many pieces to comprehend, and every part of you between that first vessel and the current is scattered just as dizzyingly.

Those times are always so unfortunate, but your love doesn't have the heart to lock up or throw away anything that's ever been yours. Every part is nothing but a remnant, an old ragged fragment that used to hold you, but they were you once. You are loved so dearly it would pain the soul to part with even these scraps, and so they are preserved. It's a horribly, bloody sight, such a cemetery of you, and it aches when you hear it is all out of love.

(It will ache because you still love too, and there isn't a lie in the horrible, loving words.)

You may very well fall there. You may run away. But you will break, sooner or later, and you will be found.

You will be fixed. All that troubles you will be stripped away and your form will be settled anew.

You will wake and know you are loved, and you will love as you always have, and always will, because no matter how much you are changed, your heart is the one thing that could never be replaced.

[nightmarefuele]

muse directory.

repression is a huge theme on this blog. smut happens (usually in body horror font), but don't expect it.

current primaries:

Qimir | The Stranger ; manny jacinto ; might feature a knight verse in addition to some canon Sofia Falcone ; cristin milioti ; i'm so in love with this crazy bitch

Dune, Star Wars, general gritty sci-fi;

na-Baron Feyd-Rautha ; austin butler ; draws 98% from the '24 film. Verosha Aniseya ; amandla stenberg Ren (of 'the' Ren) ; adam driver ; a heavily divergent/'oc-ified', post(usually)-snoke, visceral horror, gritty lean from star wars' kylo ren. Shin Hati ; ivanna sakhno ; ahsoka. Kylo Ren ; adam driver ; as close to kylo 'canon' as i'm capable of writing, but solely draws from tfa characterization. Mae-ho Aniseya ; amandla stenberg Paul-Muad'Dib Atreides ; timothee chalamet ; leans on the book(+ messiah) from time to time. Lady Margot Fenring ; léa seydoux. Officer KD6-3.7 ; ryan gosling ; blade runner 2049 . Ezra ; pedro pascal ; prospect (2018). Cee ; sophie thatcher ; prospect (2018).

Interview with the Vampire;

Armand ; assad zaman Santiago ; ben daniels

HotD;

Melisande Shahrizai ; oc-ified character lifted from the kushiel's series; testing ; some amalgamized version of saffron vadher with myriem boukadida's vogue covers Aegon II Targaryen ; tom glynn-carney Alicent Hightower ; olivia cooke Aemond Targaryen ; ewan mitchell Rhaena Targaryen ; phoebe campbell Mysaria ; sonoya mizuno Helaena Targaryen ; hunter schafer (slightly different interpretation), phia sabban Oscar Tully ; archie barnes

villains, antiheroes;

John Constantine ; keanu reeves Loki Laufeyson ; tom hiddleston ; fuck u i don't consider post-tdw canon. ciao Jonathan Crane ; cillian murphy ; selective muse, likely won't be writing him within gotham just for the sake of gotham. want to explore him thru different subjects and lenses.

bleak, flexible, modern;

Lisa Nova ; rosa salazar ; brand new cherry flavor.Code ; manny jacinto ; brand new cherry flavor. Elliot Alderson ; rami malek ; mr. robot. Phillip Price ; michael cristofer ; mr. robot. Leon ; joey bada$$ ; mr. robot. Lisbeth Salander ; rooney mara ; the girl with the dragon tattoo (2011) . Berry Rydell ; young josh hartnett ; freelance private security officer from william gibson's virtual light trilogy, based in retrofuturist nocal and socal. just a guy doing his own thing and getting caught up, routinely, somehow, in the national (but very top-secret) dickfight over some expensive glasses. + virtual reality, or whatever. Control (John Rodriguez) ; bob morley ; based on authority by jeff vandermeer, and annihilation, book and film, exploring hypnosis/mind control and consequent distrust, or outright paranoia. operates at the branch-end of a highly bureaucratic and mysterious organization. eventually ends up at Southern Reach, "...a secret agency that manages expeditions into a place known as Area X, an uninhabited and abandoned coastal area of an unnamed country which nature is gradually reclaiming." 'nature', in this context, being a cute/tame word. refers to his guns as 'gramps', 'grandpa', 'grandpap', etc. 6" tall, impassive. Tangerine ; aaron taylor-johnson ; bullet train . Kid ; dev patel ; monkey man. Benny Cross ; austin butler ; the bikeriders ; characters like these are cute. i basically get to make them ocs.

apocalypse;

Joel Miller ; pedro pascal Imperator Furiosa ; anya taylor-joy. (alyla browne.) Dr. Dementus ; chris hemsworth. Max Rockatansky ; tom hardy

aus are fun. hit me with em or forever hold your peace.

ocs, always subject to adapt and update on a thread-to-thread basis;

Oeznik Ambroicz ; cillian murphy ; loosely based on a character from an original script. flexible iterations. director of an institute/facility (sometimes agency, depending on setting and historical values) that focuses on exploring the residual elements that paranormal trauma leaves behind. these elements can be purely psychological, physical, combined, or, sometimes, paranormal themselves. in other iterations, to draw further on lovecraftian or cthulhu mythos elements, oeznik may lean more private investigator, or 'freelance', for his own mysterious and often unexplained purposes. focused and preoccupied when fixed securely inside his element; wary and suspicious when not. Nadya ; sara serraiocco, sara montpetit ; lab experiment turned a) runaway, b) interdimensional spy/assassin, c) something something time shenanigans. or simple modern ones. who the fuck knows. Dorian Yu ; christian yu ; tba. loosely based on christian yu's musical creations. relies either on psychological themes (wherein dorian is bipolar), for stories more grounded in realism, or the supernatural. heavily flexible, works into most (if not all) modern environments. can be taken a vaguely sci-fi or heavily cyberpunk route. (he's fun. smiley ball of energy and sunshine, or depressive and vaguely antagonistic shut-in.) prone to delusions, dissociation, and in severe instances, amnesia. Fifine ; anya taylor-joy ; random modern verse shenanigans. (the) Insomnium ; tbd. ; developed and hatched by a cult of space witches moreso than born. derived from an organically inorganic (or just inexplicable) substance. for tumblr purposes, blends the idea of dune's 'voice'. cult functions similarly on some levels to the b.g., but is entirely an unknown. stems from the same gritty, visceral horror environment and themes as the ren. (especially picky about where i throw this one.) space cultists tba.

[caradoulasupport]

Matrescence - becoming a mother, no ‘bouncing back’ required

Becoming a mother for the first time is a great transition in your life, a rite-of-passage. And not only the first time, but for each time that you become a mother you transition again into a new version of yourself. Each transition is just as significant as the one before. In Western cultures, the focus is largely on the baby that has been born, however the mother is also born each time she gives birth, and this "becoming a mother" piece has largely been left out of our culture entirely. In the same way that we nurture and care for a new baby, we would really do well to remember that the new mother also needs to be nurtured and cared for during this transition.

This critical transition period is Matrescence, and was first coined by an American anthropologist in 1973, Dana Raphael. And although this was first written about in the 1970’s the concept of matrescence has gone completely unacknowledged and unexplored in the medical community, until very recently. There is still so little known about the psychological and physiological effects of becoming a mother - how it affects the brain, the endocrine system, cognition, immunity, the psyche, the microbiome, the sense of self. At a time when a woman is going through a significant rite of passage and is going through massive changes in her physical state, her status within her wider group, her emotional life, her focus, her own identity and in her relationships with everyone around her, she is expected to transition through this stage with ease.

As the author of the recently published book "Matrescence", Lucy Jones, has alluded to - each time that I write the word "matrescence" a red squiggly line immediately appears below it as if to say - this is not real, it doesn't mean anything, it's made up! But it is very real, and the only way to make it even more real is to bring more and more awareness to it, to speak about it to everyone you know. Maybe people will use the argument that they don't want to scare new mothers with horror stories, or that everyone has to go through it for themselves. But there is a huge difference between scaremongering a new mother and presenting her with a term and an explanation for how she is very likely feeling anyway. And if women were to even grow up hearing about this normal transition that happens on entering motherhood, have evidence based information on how it affects your thoughts and emotions, your hormones, your relationships, your sense of self - how much better would they go on to cope with the reality of motherhood if it happens for them? Instead of getting completely side-swiped by a wave of unknowing, of being lost and totally adrift in what we have come to understand as modern motherhood.

The sense of social isolation that can stem from women being ashamed of what they are experiencing and not realising it is actually normal can even trigger feelings of postnatal depression. There are such complicated feelings that can co-exist - having a sense of worry, disappointment, guilt, competition, frustration, anger or even fear alongside the joy of new motherhood. And it is now thought, according to reproductive psychiatrist Alexandra Sacks, who has reintroduced the concept of matrescence in a New York Times article in 2017, that just even knowing that and being aware of what matrescence is can prevent women from getting ill. If you can watch the TED talk given by Alexandra Sacks in 2018 describing matrescence, it will astonish you.

Talking about matrescence and all the parts of motherhood- including the parts that may carry shame for us - is the only way to help mothers feel less stigmatised and more normal in all aspects of becoming a mother. Of course experiencing matrescence without a support network, and without understanding the complexity of what is happening in your brain as a new mother only adds to feelings of not being enough, not being a “good” mother and a sense of failure that can lead to a diagnosis of postnatal depression.

But the question is how much of maternal mental illness is biological and how much is an understandable response to the design of modern parenthood?

One way to claim back the rite-of-passage of motherhood is to surrender to it, embrace every part of it and honour the transition that you have gone through as a mother and as parents. Planning for this postpartum period and putting the framework in place that allows you to be nurtured as the mother is fundamental to the process of matrescence. It is time to honour this monumental transition and enter into motherhood empowered, nurtured and with the confidence that the changes that are happening are normal and expected.

[navarice]

A Box of Pictures in Ma's Attic

//@desi-lgbt-fest // Day 18 Fest Submission

Sometimes when I look back at my childhood photos I wonder how such a sweet little girl could ever become someone like me. It’s not a feeling that’s purely negative, though. It’s just a thought. I see the little me holding dolls and hugging her family and then I wonder just when did I stop feeling the joy of existing and start worrying about the space I occupy in this world. Every person stands at their own crossroads, yet mine feels like standing right in the middle of a roundabout of identities. A Muslim girl that isn’t particularly devout, a Bengali who’s lived in America more than her own homeland, the eldest daughter that disappoints her family more than makes them proud, a fraud in her educational institution and workplace, a fat girl (really that’s just the reality of it), just a general person who is easier to let go of then to hold on to. Most importantly, however, a person who doesn’t understand all these identities she grapples with. 

When I do ponder on this, I remember that little girl in the picture, so sweet and so innocent, somehow knew back then that something about her was different from what she has known her whole life so far. There was never a dawning horror or a sudden shift of the universe, but something more quiet and sure…almost as if it was just a truth born within her. Now, innate acceptance is different from the reality of seeing it. Truth be told, learning about the queer community at 11 years old was absolutely overwhelming. Queer culture in 2014 was far from the progressive as it is today, and the passing of the Marriage Equality Act began a sort of Rennaissance of new identities, definitions, and cultures. Yeah…quite overwhelming. 

Eleven-year-old me didn’t know what to do with all of it. Neopronouns? Nonbinary? Genderqueer? Asexual? All I know is that I like to kiss girls sometimes. Maybe I liked boys too, but the more I get to know boys my age the less I like them to be honest. The more I learned new things, the more questions I had, and the more I felt like a failure because I didn’t understand it right away. The quiet acceptance was gone, instead replaced with new verbiage and cultural politics. Absurdly, I wondered if I was even doing this gay thing right. Should I be thinking about defying societal norms and change my pronouns? Should I hate sex? Love it?  Should I discard my religion and Bengali identity because it is not as progressive and denies my existence? For the first time in my life, I began to question myself. 

The best thing about being gay in the early 2010s is that you can shove yourself back in the closet as many times as you want since being open about it was so new. And that’s exactly what I did. Up until my senior year of high school, I didn’t bother thinking about any of it (other than consuming an insane amount of gay content because hey a girl’s gotta have an outlet somewhere). Perhaps it was a blessing rather than a curse that the pandemic made us experts in introspection because the next round of reformation felt akin to psychological warfare on my younger self. 

I look at the younger photo of me and I look at the me right now and wonder how, after all that, I still come back to a full circle to the place I once was: quiet and innate acceptance. I am not out to my family (I tried with my mom but that was a complete disaster). It doesn’t really mix well with me being Muslim-Bengali. However, I am out to myself. In other words, I gave up caring about definitions and what should or should not be, instead focusing on the painful, joyful, simple existence I lead, making a difference when I can wherever I can. I am still on that roundabout of identities, continuously faced with unprecedented uncertainties, but now, I take that little girl’s hand, and we face the future forward together. 

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

4, 12, 13, 40 💞

💞💞💞

4) What is your favourite genre to write for?

I do really enjoy my psychological horror ala Cabin in the woods but I also enjoy writing family fluff and slice of life

12) Who is your favourite character to write for? Why?

Writing Paz is definitely my favourite. IRL I'm a 26 year old female and a fire sign so writing a feisty late twenties early thirties lady is just pretty easy for me and since she only appeared in like three panels of the comic with zero speaking lines she's pretty much a blank slate that I can do whatever I want with whereas when I'm writing Quaritch and Spider they have known personalities that I want to follow.

13) Who is your least favourite character to write for? Why?

So it's not that I don't enjoy writing Spider because I definitely do, he can just be kinda hard for me to write for sometimes. I always have to remind myself that I'm writing a sixteen year old so I'm not making him do things more in line with a 10-12 year old. This is definitely a big struggle for me when writing Mama's Boy because that's canon Spider, whereas I feel like I have a little more leeway writing Cabin in the Woods Spider because since he wasn't raised on an alien planet and because the circumstances I put him through in that fic are just so different to anything he goes through in canon, I feel like that changes him in ways that just wouldn't happen in canon.

40) Do people know you write fanfiction?

Yes but only two people, my roommate, who is also my best friend, being one of them. We saw Avatar three times in theaters together and while she's not as obsessed with it as I am, she is extremally supportive of my writing, loves to here me talk about it and is really happy to see me so excited about it.

This has actually been my first time ever writing fanfiction because in the past I've been too embarrassed to do so just because of the stigma surrounding fanfiction writers. I was watching so many other writers on here receive so much support and love and I was sending anonyms asks to other writers that actually started getting traction like this that I sent to @hyperfixatedfandomer months ago. Watching that concept grow was really big for me and I started building the confidence I needed to actually write my ideas but my roommate is the one that gave me that final push I needed to finally start writing and it's honestly been so good for me.

Not to get too personal or overemotional here but I've actually been going through a lot of really hard stuff this year. Like I actually just came out of a massive depressive episode where I didn't quite want to die but I did want to flip the table on my life so to speak and just runaway from it. Writing my fics and seeing peoples reactions to them was really the only thing that brought me joy during that time so from the bottom of my heart thank you all so much for your support. It has truly meant the world to me. 💙

That all got so much more emotional then I anticipated but that's on me for answering these at 2am lol.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Baby, the stars shine bright: Chapter 4 - Being Cazador's

(Trigger warnings (18+): angst, canon-typical violence, graphic description of assault, gore & violence, grooming, non-con/rape, psychological horror/terror, torture)

His master had lied. Astarion hadn't won his favour, not really. He was forced to stay inside again for months. Astarion couldn't tell how long it truly was. In the dungeon, chained to the wall, he had no way to track the time. Godey, the living skeleton, was his torturer. Astarion knew Godey didn't do all these atrocious things to him for fun but with professional steady hands because he was following orders. Somehow, knowing that Godey found no joy or satisfaction in torturing him and his siblings, made it more bearable. The thing that did rile Astarion up, was when Cazador came by for a visit to gloat at his spawn's pain.

"Ah, you know, Astarion, you're my favourite after all," his master spoke one day while wiping away some blood from Astarion's chest. "Your screams always are the sweetest."

I refuse to die in this fucking place, Astarion swore to himself. I'll survive, just to spite Cazador, and kill him with my own hands one day when he least expects it.

The first thing Astarion did, as soon as he was out of the dungeon and given a second chance to lure prey to his master, was to buy as much food and alcohol as he could. He carried it all down to the Chionthar, hiding under the bridge of Wyrm's Crossing, and tried to enjoy real food again. But Dalyria had been right; everything tasted like ash, and even the most expensive alcohol reminded him of vinegar and couldn't get him drunk anymore. Still, Astarion eat the food, desperate to taste different flavours, but it was futile. Additionally, his new vampire body wasn't happy with the unwanted nutrition. Astarion had to squat behind the bushes until his bowels were empty. That didn't stop him though and he kept eating until his body started rejecting the food immediately. After vomiting uncontrollably until his stomach was empty again, Astarion washed his face in the river even though the running water stung like acid. Afterwards, he sat at the riverbank with the last peach in his hand and cried.

All this time, he hadn't really realised how different his body was since being turned into a spawn. Now, after multiple failed attempts to keep real food down, reality hit him like a troll. Astarion cried as he held his favourite fruit in his hand that smelled so good, but could never be eaten again. He thought about Solaria who'd always bought peaches at the market for him if they were available. About how even little things that had made him happy, couldn't be enjoyed anymore. That night, Astarion dwelled at the riverbank, mourning his old life and old self, secretly wishing to combust in the morning sun. Unfortunately, Dalyria found him before dawn. Silently, she took in the scene. Then, she nodded understandingly and hauled Astarion back to Cazador's palace. This time, Astarion wasn't punished for disobeying his master's orders. His self-ascribable pain seemed to be punishment enough. Or so he'd thought...

A few nights later, Cazador took Astarion, Dalyria, and Petras for a stroll. Together, they walked through the streets, passing a couple of rowdy tavern goers, some beggars, and a few strongly-perfumed prostitutes. Astarion frowned as his master guided them along a well-known neighbourhood.

"Uhm, Master, what are we doing here?" Astarion asked tentatively.

"Where do you think we're going, pet?"

Astarion didn't answer. He should only speak if he had something nice or flattering to say, but all the words that lingered on the tip of his tongue were neither. But the dreading feeling grew the closer they walked to Astarion's house. Every fibre of his body screamed at him to distract Cazador, to lure him away from the place he called home. The place where Solaria was. It felt like a nightmare when his master stopped before his house and pushed the door open.

"After you, pet," he purred and Astarion felt sick.

With trembling limbs, he entered his own house. It still looked like he remembered it. Cazador put a hand onto his shoulder and pushed his spawn into the living room.

"Astarion!" Solaria exclaimed, jumping off the sofa she'd been sitting on. Milos, who stood next to it, tried to hold her back, but she escaped his grasp. She hurled herself around Astarion's neck with a sob.

"Where in the sweet hells were you? You were gone for two years!"

Astarion's eyes widened in shock.

"What? I - I didn't know, I - Gods, Solaria..."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She smelled delicious. Like rosemary, lavender, and bergamot, and her blood like the finest brandy. Astarion loved her so much and he was so happy to see her again, but something was wrong. Very wrong. His dread got worse when his master chuckled darkly.

"What a heartwarming reunion."

Astarion got distracted by Solaria's hands on his cheeks.

"What happened to you, little star? You're skin's all cold and your eyes are burning red."

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could do so, Cazador stepped in, pulling Solaria away from him.

"So, that's the little menace that keeps you attached to your old life? Hm..." Cazador mused. "We can change that."

Cold fear poured over Astarion.

"No... no! Cazador, no! I'll do anything, anything, you want, but please leave her alone!"

"Don't beg, Astarion!" Solaria snapped sharply. "You're a free elf, a proud member of the Ancunin family! You shine as bright as the stars you're named after!"

At that, Cazador laughed, an ugly, humourless thing.

"Ah, I see where my pet's fighting spirit's coming from. Even more reasons to get rid of you."

Solaria glared at him, spiting nails.

"How dare you walk into my house and act like a prick! You'll pay for hurting my love, you monster! Who do you think you are? A god?"

Smirking, Cazador answered: "I soon will be."

And with that, he bore his fangs into Solaria's throat.

"No!" Astarion yelled, trying to free himself from his siblings' grip. "Anything! I'll do anything you want, Master, but please let her go!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears as Cazador drained Solaria's body dry in seconds. Astarion had do watch helplessly how the love of his life died in his master's arms. A monster, Solaria had called him, and yes, that's what Cazador was. The man in question carelessly dropped the lifeless body onto the wooden floor and elegantly wiped the corner of his mouth. Astarion was blinded by tears. He'd never felt this much hate towards anyone before.

"That'll hopefully solve your deviance, pet," Cazador scolded, almost sounding bored. He turned towards Milos and stroke his cheek.

"Well done, pet. You deserve a reward."

"Thank you, Master," the vampire spawn smiled and kissed Cazador's hand.

Heat exploded in Astarion's body when realisation hit him.

"You!" he growled. "You were the one sniffing around in my past and finding my love? And for what? To please your master?"

Milos shrugged uncaringly.

"You know how it is. We all want to make Master happy, but you... you were distracted because your past was holding you back. Now, that this troubling part's gone, you can focus on the present."

Astarion saw red. Literally. With a ear-piercing scream, he freed himself from his siblings' grip, pounced on Milos, wrestled him to the floor, and ripped his throat out with his teeth. Screaming and panting, Astarion kept hacking his fingernails into his brother's flesh, lost in rage. Dalyria and Petras had frozen in fear and stood stock still.

"Astarion! Enough!"

Cazador's loud voice pulled him out of his bloodlust. Panting and with his exposed fangs on full display, Astarion turned around. His eyes were still feral and he was covered in Milos' blood.

"How dare you kill one of your siblings!" Cazador boomed. "I can't allow it!"

Astarion growled at him and snapped his teeth. Dalyria and Petras scrambled to the back of the room, utterly terrified. But Cazador just stared daggers at him, more annoyed about Milos' death than saddened.

"Look what you've done! You killed one of my perfectly-functioning spawns. You owe me a new one, pet. You'll find a suitable candidate for a replacement, understand?"

Astarion worked his jaw silently, but nodded after a while.

"Now, get up," Cazador demanded impatiently. "We must leave before we arouse suspicion."

Immediately, Dalyria and Petras followed his orders. Astarion, on the other hand, crawled to Solaria's corpse. His master sighed long-sufferingly.

"She's long dead. No need to cry over spoil milk."

The addressed hissed and growled, holding his dead lover close to his chest.

"If Milos' report was right, she has a family," Cazador added nonchalantly. "I'm sure they'd want to see their daughter's corpse and they'll take care of the funeral."

At that, Astarion stopped hissing, instead, he looked at Solaria. After a long pause, he bent down and kissed her already-cold lips. Then, he lay her onto the ground carefully before getting up slowly.

"Are you done with your temper tantrum, boy?" his master asked annoyed.

Astarion didn't answer but made his way towards the door. The vampires left the house quickly, leaving behind two dead bodies and a hell of a lot of blood.

Cazador punished him for his action.

Astarion was tied to his bed, spread eagle, with his face down, as Cazador spent hours carving a 'poem' into his back with a knife. His master hummed a happy melody while Astarion screamed himself hoarse.

"You're living, breathing art, pet," Cazador told him. "My poem makes you even more beautiful."

Astarion wanted to retch.

Afterwards, he spent an entire year chained to the dungeon's wall, being regularly wiped by Godey. After a while, it got easier to ignore the hunger. Apparently, sometimes, vampire spawns lost their minds due to starvation. Astarion didn't. He was denied blood, but he fed off his hatred towards Cazador instead. He remembered Solaria's last words to him: "You're a free elf, a proud member of the Ancunin family. You shine as bright as the stars you're named after."

He could survive this, all of it. Astarion lived on pure spite during his years under Cazador's thumb.

Finally, Astarion was allowed to leave the dungeon. He got fed and bathed.

"Astarion, your hair..." Dalyria breathed. "Your hair turned grey."

The addressed started laughing hysterically.

Cazador sent him into the streets. Before doing anything else, Astarion walked to the graveyard, looking for Solaria's grave. She was buried in the family's crypt. Astarion lay down a bundle of freshly-plucked daisies and a peach.

"I love you, sunshine," he whispered as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Please, forgive me."

Now, he had to find a suitable person to become Cazador's new spawn. Astarion picked his victim carefully. He was looking for someone who's conventionally pretty and seemed mentally strong enough to endure Cazador's torture. He saw just that in Yousen. The blonde gnome was fairly attractive, with a warm smile and clever hands. It was almost too easy to seduce him. Astarion led Yousen upstairs to a rented room and kissed him hungrily. The blood thrumming through the gnome's veins almost drove Astarion crazy, but he controlled his vampiric instinct to bite him. Instead, he sucked Yousen's dick and kissed him breathless. Afterwards, when the gnome had fallen asleep, Astarion carried him to the Szarr Palace. He wasn't a fan of hurting or scaring people, thus, he preferred this method. Cazador was pleased with him, cooing over Yousen's pointy ear (his master seemed to have some kind of fetish regarding pointed ears). As a reward for his good behaviour, Astarion was allowed to feed on three sewer rats.

Yousen was furious when he woke up as a vampire spawn and Astarion petted himself on the back for picking a strong-willed person instead of a scaredy-cat. After a couple of months, Yousen stopped shooting daggers at Astarion, and after a year, they sloppily made out in the attic while exchanging hand jobs. Good. Astarion was still happy about his choice. The gnome was a quick learner, luring a poor soul to Cazador every night, without becoming a brainless slave to their master. And Cazador was pleased with Milos' replacement. Astarion was in his good grace again, but was still kept on a short leash.

He hated hunting for prey. Astarion always tried to find ways to avoid it – even if that meant being tortured instead.

It was a wonderful winter evening, the snowflakes danced through the air and glittered in the light of the street lamps. Astarion sat in a warm tavern, carefully choosing his victim. There was a cute young man across the room who drank with his friends. When their eyes met, Astarion winked at him, and the boy blushed. The vampire spawn smirked and pretended to drink his wine. After a while, the young man made his way over to him, followed by the whistles of his friends.

"Uhm, hi," he said shyly. "I uhm... well, I saw you sitting here all alone and you're incredibly handsome and uhm..."

Astarion had mercy on the poor babbling man and spoke: "Well, you weren't the only one staring, darling. I, too, am guilty. I can't take my eyes of you."

The addressed blushed again and Astarion thought it's cute. He got up from his chair, flirtatiously playing with the hem of the man's shirt.

"We could go somewhere more quiet, darling. Somewhere, where we can bask in each other's beauty undisturbed."

"Alright," the young man breathed.

Astarion took his hand and led him onto the first upper floor's gallery. There, hidden behind the wooden beams, slightly illuminated by the soft light falling through the window, Astarion trapped the man between his lithe body and the wall.

"I uhm... I've never done this with another man before."

"That's alright, I teach you," purred Astarion and brushed their noses together.

The young man, almost still a boy, giggled and Astarion's heart ached. He kissed him tenderly and the boy sighed happily.

"You're so beautiful. I've never seen anyone with such eyes before - not even an elf."

"Well, I'm special, darling."

The boy giggled again.

"Yes, you are. What's your name? I'm -"

"I don't need to know your name, darling. We can still spend a night of passion together without lifting all the mysteries, can't we?"

Before the boy could answer, Astarion kissed him again and slightly pushed his groin into him. The boy moaned sweetly, panting into Astarion's mouth. The vampire spawn squeezed his eyes shut and fought against the wave of nausea. He couldn't bear the thought of bringing this darling boy to Cazador to be killed mercilessly.

"Oooh..." whimpered the boy as Astarion stuck his hand into his trousers and started to stroke him.

"Please, let me - ah!"

"Sh, sh, just enjoy it, darling," Astarion whispered. "I won't let anything happen to you."

He held the boy who shook apart in his arms. Astarion kissed him one more time before he fled the scene. He couldn't do it. Couldn't bring Cazador people to consume and kill. He stopped and gagged. He was panting even though there was no need for him to breathe. The snow fell gently around him, covering the world in a white blanket. He couldn't feel the cold. Astarion collapsed onto the ground, spreading out in the snow-covered field outside Baldur's Gate, and gazed at the pitch-black sky.

If I keep laying here, would I die eventually, he asked himself. He knew the answer.

"Hells!" cursed Astarion and closed his eyes.

He lay in the snow motionlessly until Cazador appeared behind him like a fury. Astarion let himself be handled like a ragdoll and dragged back to his master's palace. There, Cazador scolded him, re-drew the poem on Astarion's back, raped him again, and then, sealed him into a tomb in the city's many graveyards. Astarion cursed, screamed, and cried. He was left inside his claustrophobic prison. Again, he was starving. It was a year of silence, months of scratching his hands bloody, trying to carve his way out, more months of not moving at all. Months wishing only for death.

And Astarion's hatred towards Cazador only grew.

[yutamahidayati]

Night Has Come Episode 7 - 8 ENG SUB

Attention all drama enthusiasts! Brace yourselves as the much-anticipated Night Has Come Episode 7 - 8 with English subtitles has been unleashed into the streaming sphere. In here, we take pride in being the trailblazers, delivering the freshest episodes straight to your screens. This latest installment is ripe with intrigue, emotion, and unmissable plot twists. Make sure to bookmark our platform for instant access to all the newest episodes, and stay tuned via our Facebook page for real-time updates on your favorite dramas. Indulge in this engrossing episode and immerse yourself in the captivating world of drama. Don't miss out – it's time to delve into the magic of Night Has Come Episode 7 - 8!

Night Has Come Episode 7 - 8

Watch on Website : Watch Night Has Come Episode 7 - 8 Eng Sub Full Episode (Free) Watch on FB Groups : fb.com/groups/englishsubsasiandramaclub (Join) Watch on Telegram : @englishsubsasiandramaclub (Join)

Details Drama: Night Has Come Country: South Korea Episodes: 12 Aired: Dec 4, 2023 - Dec 18, 2023 Aired On: Monday Original Network: Viki Duration: 35 min. Content Rating: 18+ Restricted (violence & profanity) Night Has Come: Native Title: 밤이 되었습니다 Also Known As: Night Has Fallen , It's Night , Bami Doeeossseumnida Director: Im Dae Woong Genres: Thriller, Mystery, Horror, Youth Tags: Student Supporting Character, Student Female Lead, Student Male Lead, School Setting, Outsider Female Lead, Classmates' Relationship, Teenager Supporting Character, Teenager Female Lead, Teenager Male Lead, Multiple Mains Statistics: Score: 8.0 (scored by 445 users) Ranked: #2401 Popularity: #2156 Watchers: 6,280 Night Has Come Episode 7 - 8 Eng Sub (Full Episode) Night Has Come also know as Night Has Fallen , It's Night , Bami Doeeossseumnida, 밤이 되었습니다 the third installment of the renowned drama series, Night Has Come unfolds with an amalgamation of wit, humor, and emotional depth. As the story continues, viewers are drawn deeper into the lives of its vibrant characters, experiencing a roller-coaster of laughter and heartfelt moments. Set against the backdrop of A mystery teen drama that takes place when a class of second-year high school students is suddenly forced to play mafia games in real life during their retreat. The drama will draw out the intense psychological warfare between the students as they go into survival mode. Students in the 2nd grade 3 class at Yooil High School go on a field trip. There they are forced to participate in a mafia game of death, and they struggle to survive. Lee Yoon Seo has excellent observation and reasoning abilities, which she uses to try to escape. Kim Jun Hee is the class president with a strong sense of justice and responsibility. Oh Jung Won ranks first at school academically, but she is an outcast and a loner. To survive, she must work with the other students., Episode 7 - 8 brings to the forefront the complexities and bonds between the central characters. The episode weaves a narrative that effortlessly oscillates between comedic interludes and touching revelations. Episode 7 - 8 , the characters who are full of charm and uniqueness are each involved in unexpected situations. Funny conflicts and hilarious moments present a series of scenes that invite laughter while conveying touching messages. This episode not only displays fresh humor, but also displays interesting character development. From light scenes to emotional moments, every aspect of this story is designed to appeal to the audience. The actors in the Night Has Come series deliver extraordinary performances, making every scene full of warmth and undeniable quality. While inserting a deep moral message, this series succeeds in expressing joy, silliness and immersive emotional depth. With a smart and interesting point of view, Episode 7 - 8 of the Night Has Come drama series promises exciting entertainment for loyal fans and viewers who have just joined this exciting adventure. From the cuteness to the depth of the story, every moment in this episode encapsulates the essence of what makes the Night Has Come drama series so interesting. Certainly, every viewer will be carried away by the storyline which is full of joy and warmth, making this episode an unforgettable experience. The production values ​​are commendable, as evidenced by the smooth cinematography that is able to capture the essence of every scene produced by Viki and the cast Lee Jae In, Kim Woo Seok, Choi Ye Bin, Cha Woo Min, Ahn Ji Ho, Jung So Ri. Overall, Episode 7 - 8 of Night Has Come encapsulates the series' signature blend of humor and depth. It not only entertains but also resonates emotionally, leaving a lasting impact on the audience. As the narrative progresses, viewers eagerly anticipate the subsequent episodes to witness the further evolution of the storyline and characters.

[antiibow-a]

Sheva Alomar

Completion of Chapter 3-2

APPEARS IN:

Resident Evil 5

Location:

It will appear in the library upon the completing Chapter 3-2.

Transcript:

Listed within this file is a general background information overview of BSAA agent - Sheva Alomar - as pieced together from various sources. The information listed here is neither complete nor should it be used as a psychological analysis of the subject.

Sheva Alomar was born into an impoverished family situation in a small factory town situated in Africa. This particular town being home to Umbrella Plant 57.

As with most factory towns, the plant was the lifeblood of the town, bringing in much needed revenue and steady employment for its populous. Almost 80 percent of the town's adult population was employed at the factory in some facility, including Sheva's parents. While pay was low by most nation's standards, it provided a steady income for the townspeople and a happy childhood for Sheva.

This happiness was short-lived however.

While only eight years old, Sheva's peaceful life was brought to an abrupt end by the sound of sirens erupting from the factory.

As the sirens pierced the air, an ominous plume of black smoke poured out of the factory.

Even as a child, Sheva knew something was terribly wrong. With dread in her heart she ran toward the factory.

Arriving at the factory, she soon discovered the entrance blocked.

In place of the kind old man who used to stand guard at the entrance, strange adults in protective suits were everywhere. Their faces hidden by masks. Sheva could not understand what was happening.

"I realized years later that they were wearing anti- biohazard protective gear. They were part of Umbrella's Special forces."

She may have not understood the muffled voices emanating from beneath those masks at the time, but the assault rifles they leveled at her more than made their intentions understood. The country was not a very stable place to begin with, and near her town resided members of a large anti-government guerilla army. Although only a child, Sheva knew all too well the violence that often accompanied those with guns.

The adults in the village that remained were promptly executed by these gunmen.

Sheva was spared this same fate thanks to the vigilance of a neighbor who was able to get her back to her parent's home unnoticed.

Thus began the longest night of Sheva's life. Crippled by fear, she could only wait and pray for her parents' return. The night passed, and a new day dawned, but still, they did not return.

As night on another day fell she sensed a presence outside her home. Unable to contain her relief and joy, she ran to the door to greet her parents.

As she swung the door open, crying aloud with joy, she was soon met with disappointment and confusion.

For at the door, were not her parents rushing to embrace her, but her uncle, with a look of shock and horror painted upon his face. His words crushed any hope she had left…

"Your parents are dead. There was an accident at the factory."

Taking anything of value left in the house, her uncle then took Sheva to live with his family. Taking her away from the only home she had ever known.

Her life with her uncle would be brief.

Not only was her uncle's family extremely poor, but he also had seven children of his own to care for. Even thought Sheva was a blood relative, he probably never would have come for her if he hadn't thought he would receive financial compensation from the factory.

That compensation never came. Umbrella never gave out any payments. And soon, her aunt and uncle were unable to feed her.

Life was hell for Sheva, not only was she on the verge of starvation, she yearned to be with her parents again. In her grief, she became fixated on the notion that they were still alive.

As the days passed, this belief grew so strong to the point where she could think of nothing else. She knew she had to find them.

So one night as the moon bathed the savanna in silver, Sheva ran away from her uncle's house and headed back to her hometown and the life that was stolen from her.

The thought of her parents drove her on.

But the expansive savanna is a harsh environment for one so young and small. During her second night, she began to feel the effects of malnutrition. Unable to find food, Sheva soon collapsed.

A night in the savanna is not a quiet affair. The sounds of animals plodding along, beasts howling at the moon, insects chirping and buzzing about, and the dry wind soughing through the grass. Sheva considered them all with wonder. She had grown up in a town and was unaccustomed to her new surroundings.

Through the cacophony of strange noises, Sheva picked up a sound that was quite familiar to her. She heard the low rumbling of an engine and the sound of tires cracking over the dirt.

A truck pulled up next to Sheva and a stranger got out of the passenger side and spoke to her. If she replied to him or not, she couldn't recall, but the man picked her up and placed her in the bed of the truck.

The man that found Sheva was an anti-government guerrilla fighter. He provided her with food, shelter, and a place to call home. Unfortunately for Sheva, this good turn was accompanied by some bad news.

She was told that the incident at the Umbrella factory was not an accident. That the factory manufactured bioweapons and Umbrella was carrying out the final test on one of its newest weapons at the dilapidated factory.

The regular employees who worked there were unaware of what Umbrella was actually creating, and they paid for it with their lives, including Sheva's mother and father...

After concluding the test, Umbrella took measures to conceal the entire affair. With the assistance of the government's army they destroyed the factory along with the entire town, effectively wiping the town Sheva had called home off the map.

At this news Sheva was filled with rage. She hated Umbrella and blame them for her parent's deaths, and she hated the government for just rolling over at Umbrella's behest.

It was at this moment she decided to join the guerrillas in their fight against the government.

Sheva started out by doing laundry, cooking meals, and taking care of other chores. After only a few years with the guerrillas, she was given her first gun. She doesn't like to talk about her time with the guerrillas. Perhaps the memories are too painful, or maybe she's too ashamed of what she did there.

One of her main duties with the guerrillas was to go into town and purchase supplies for the group.

For seven long years Sheva stayed with the guerrillas.

By this time she was a teenager, and had spend most of her known life with the guerrillas. Perhaps due to her age, when she went into town, the townspeople never suspected her of being a guerrilla fighter. It could be for this very reason that she was the one they sent.

It was on one of these occasions while she was in town that a man approached her. He looked like a local, but spoke with a strange foreign accent. Handing her a piece of paper and speaking in a hurried voice, he stated:

"Read this. If you believe what it says, come to the church in the back alley in two hours."

After speaking these words he disappeared into the crowd as quickly as he appeared. Sheva turned the paper over in her hand, and her eyes were drawn to one word - Umbrella.

It was the same pharmaceutical company whose selfish aims took her parents from her. If that incident had never happened, perhaps her life would have been different.

The message on the paper said that the guerrillas were planning on using bioweapons to conduct a large- scale terrorist attack that would overthrow the government. Umbrella was going to make a deal with the guerrillas to provide them with the bioweapons. The man wanted Sheva's help in stopping the deal from going through.

At first Sheva thought it was a government trap, but deep down she knew the note spoke the truth. When asked how she knew, she had this to say:

"My country was strongly influenced by France, and many government officials spoke in French patois. But this man was different. I couldn't place his accent at the time, but somehow, I knew I could trust him."

Sheva followed her instincts.

She went to the church and met two men there.

One of them had given her the note earlier. The other wore a suit with no tie and said that we was from the U.S. government.

What the man in the suit wanted seemed straightforward enough - the apprehension of the representative from Umbrella. From what he said, this particular person held the key to causing an irreparable blow to Umbrella. But in order to arrest him, they needed Sheva's help. As long as they got their man, they wouldn't do anything to her or her fellow guerrillas.

Even if they did not succeed in arresting the man in question, they promised not to turn her or her companions over to the authorities.

The man in the suit's offer seemed credible. But could she betray those who had been like a family to her? The man seemed to understand Sheva's apprehension, so he asked her one simple question: "Don't you want to see Umbrella punished for what they've done?"

Sheva quickly nodded her head.

"That's why we selected you. But if you want to help us fight Umbrella, then you are going to have to leave your so-called friends."

"And then what? What's in it for me?"

"Look around! You know these guerrillas you are with aren't doing this for some greater good. They'll do anything to topple the government, including things you know are wrong. Help us, and you can finally do some good for the people of your country."

"And what makes you think a 15-year-old girl can help?"

"Some day you'll learn that age matters very little. A person's life is not defined by age, but by the choices they make. You have the chance to fight for something here that goes beyond just you, something that affects the entire world. Can you really walk away when so much is at stake?"

Sheva would never forget these words...

Three days later the special forces team arrived at the location where the deal was taking place. Sheva had left the door to the building unlocked, and she wore a wire so the team on standby could hear what was taking place.

The operation was a success. The target from Umbrella was quickly apprehended and taken away.

Sheva and the guerrillas were taken to the American Consulate, there to be release two days later with no charges pressed, just as promise. Recognizing Sheva's abilities, or perhaps moved by pity, the man in the suit offered Sheva the chance to start life anew in America.

With nothing left in Africa for her, Sheva decided to take him up on his offer.

Shortly after arriving in America, Sheva's high intelligence and drive quickly became apparent. She surpassed any and all expectations, even learning English to a native level in a mere six months. Within two years of arriving in the U.S. she enrolled at a university.

After graduating with high honors from her university, her legal guardian (the man in the suit) suggested that she join the newly formed BSAA to help others as she had been helped. Umbrella had already been dismantled many years prior, but Sheva had not let go of her hatred toward them and all others like them.

After completing basic training, she was assigned to the unit led by Josh Stone. There, she trained with his unit for eight months, learning everything she would need to know to survive in the field. After the completion of her training, she was hand-picked to become a BSAA agent. She is currently involved in operations throughout the world.

[issela-santina]

Crowley 🤝 Hereditary

unresolved, possibly unresolvable parental trauma because unfortunately for everyone, the now absent matriarch had always been that bad at being an actual loving mother

darkness always looms and wants to take you

spontaneous human combustion and guilt

lots and lots and lots of guilt, honestly

very expressive faces and voices (I laud you for this, Toni Collette and David Tennant, I really do)

intrusive thoughts?

basically both of these are about how to deal with the fact that you made absolutely stupid decisions in your life that put others' in danger

defying gravity (you're literally on the walls and ceiling)

the immense fear of seeing your best friend set on fire

possibly transgender demons

Aziraphale 🤝 Midsommar

light colors! and being welcomed home to the light in the most ominous way possible

love spells destroying the element of consent while breaking up a couple that kinda deserved to break up anyway

codependency

psychological horror

jumbled up foreign language

clinging to an estranged partner for security

an entire community dances while under some influence which messes up with their linguistic faculties a bit

lengthy northward drive

you get a cute little position of power at the expense of your relationship and literally the world

smiling at the end of a bitter breakup with a joy known only to the insane

@polysucks

Crowley is Hereditary and Aziraphale is Midsommar

if you make me elaborate on this, I will eventually but I fear for your brain cells

[husbandohunter]

Moments of Despair #2 [Genshin Impact/Albedo x Reader]

Synopsis: "The alchemist who relished in his gifts only to fall from grace."

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Diluc’s despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death and psychological horror (correct me if otherwise)

(A/n): I decided to take a slightly different approach this time. Regardless, it’s still killing my heart TwT.

---------------------------------------------------

Out of the many wonders of Teyvat, one thing Albedo loved most was how you were so different from him. 

Difference ties to the unknown, one that must be discovered. He was drawn to you the first time he had laid his eyes upon your form standing at the heights of Mondstadt's cathedral. The Sisters scolded you from below, but all you did was reply with a wink amidst their chaos before soaring into the skies and letting the wind carry your glider. Reckless they said. For him, your recklessness was intriguing. 

As the sun's light blinded his vision, everything he saw seemed like a glass barrier. For the ground was where he thrived and chalk was his core, it became the basis of Albedo's very existence. Even the geo Archon granted him a Vision of the same element to affirm his identity. The earth will forever be attached to his feet as he will keep on his stride until every last truth of Teyvat have all been realized. You, on the other hand, hailed from a place where he couldn't quite reach. What lies beyond this glass ceiling? Albedo found himself gradually holding onto a string of curiosities, a string he could touch but was not able to feel. 

'Interesting,' he thought quietly, while the breeze slip between the fingers of his outstretched hand. 

He was a character of logic, possessing sharp eyes that could pierce through the depths of the most complex formulas and a mind to predict their outcomes-  as long as alchemy was still related. All impossibilities thrown in his way only paved a path for him to become the well known genius he was now. Whether it was alchemy or  investigations with the Knights of Favonius, Albedo never failed to deliver the answers. But despite it all, he always found himself endlessly contemplating over things that were considered intangible. He wonders why you smile when there was nothing to laugh about. How could you tell between the complexities of the human heart? Albedo can't seem to put a finger on it. 

'Why? What drives you? What are you thinking?' 

The Chief Alchemist couldn't resist being fascinated by your unpredictability. It reels him in similar to a fish being baited out of the waters. However, unlike those creatures, Albedo only tightened his grip on the strings as if they were a lifeline, determined to find out what they truly felt like to the touch. 

"I can't really say it's much of an answer," you hummed, clasping both hands behind your back before declaring with a grin, "To put it simply, you just gotta follow your heart."

'Follow your heart...' What does it mean to follow your heart? 

"I'm afraid I still don't understand," he replied in a thoughtful manner. The statement never really resonated with him and it certainly weren't the words his Master taught when he was in the early stages of being created, "But it does suit you very much." 

"Really? But still bring your head with you," a playful laugh escapes and you add while pointing a finger, "At least, it's what everyone tells me these days." 

"Hm," Albedo then affirms with a nod, "I can definitely see why they would tell you that." 

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" 

The days go by and his repetitious march towards the truth remains the same. However, there was never a dull moment when you were at his side. Perhaps that was the reason why Albedo became so attracted to your aura. The way you'd follow around his experiments, eyes so full of enthusiasm at every step of the activity. Sometimes the events can get a little too out of hand in which he needs to step in and save you from getting stuck in slime condensates...constantly. Albedo grew fond of your childlike excitement even when you weren't entirely sure what was going on. He normally distanced himself from socializing as it never sparked his interest. Frankly, he was too much of a genius for mundane conversations. Your presence was rather refreshing in this case. You were an oddball, just like him, and for once the alchemist felt like he didn't need to place that glass barrier between the two worlds. 

"You seem to be in a very good mood today Mister Albedo." 

He was a man of subtle expressions yet anyone could notice the small gleam in his eyes whenever he saw you walking in the hallway. Sucrose often remarked with a giggle after she noticed her teacher holding his documents upside down. But who could blame him? Joy, fun, laughter. He was able to experience those emotions all because of you; his beloved. You were the colour to his canvas and the meaning to his flower. You were a force of nature. Like a warm breeze gracing upon the terrestrial lands, you move him. 

Thump- thump- thump- 

Strings around his world began to weave one whole picture while they also tugged inside his chest. God had finally blown the breath of life into mankind's body, it was only a matter of time before Albedo came to follow his heart too. 

-------- 

"Alright, just one more detail aaaaand done!" 

You gave a small tap using the tip of your pencil and leaned back to examine your artwork. 

Masterpiece! 

On days when Katheryne had no commissions assigned to the guild, Albedo would accompany you to the Whispering Woods and conduct his sketches there instead. He was aware of the discomfort Dragonspine brought as the temperature wasn't ideal for anyone except for him. You eventually learned that your lover was not only intelligently different from the rest but physically too. Albedo, aside from the Cavalry Captain, was mysterious in his own way. He was hard to read yet never came off as intimidating, no one knew of his origins nor they knew how he came to Mondstadt. You wondered why someone like him would have wanted to get involved with your shenanigans. Rosaria often gave warnings regarding the alchemist's 'hidden intentions' in which you'd roll your eyes in response. The Albedo you knew was far from that. He was a big brother to Klee, a man passionate about his work, he was the one golden star among the many silvers in your sky. He was your lover. 

My Albedo. 

Brushing a hand upon the drawing you made of him, you glided down the lines of his cheek before resting your finger on the mark by his neck. You gazed at it with fondness. Truly a masterpiece indeed. 

"You do realize I'm still here?" 

The paper nearly flies out of your grasp and you snatched it back to your chest, "HUH A-ALBEDO, WHEN DID YOU APPEAR???" 

"I was with you the whole time," he states. The corner of his lip tug upward ever so slightly, "You said you wanted to sketch me." 

"A-Ahahaha, so I did," you reply while scratching your head bashfully. 'I thought I was looking at a sculpture!!'  You rushed to cover your face with the sheet. It wasn't that you forgot he was there, rather, you forgot he was still a living and breathing specimen who just witnessed your little serenade. As Lisa had once said, Albedo was easy on the eyes. His graceful features made him seem almost like an oil painting that could only be found in  halls of the most prestigious households. You made sure to capture everything, every detail, every curve just like he had done with your portraits. Only now you noticed the sun already began its descent below the lakeside, dusting the landscape with hints of bright orange as it marked the day's end. If only time could slow down. But duty calls upon your next journey and there was no telling when you'd return. At the very least, a simple portrait would suffice to fill in the temporary gap of his absence. 

"Can I see it?" 

You glanced his direction while keeping the drawing close to your nose, "Are you sure about that? It might not be up to your expectations." 

"I'm sure," Albedo affirms with a straight countenance, "I can already tell you've put a great amount of effort, otherwise you wouldn't have taken this long." 

"Yeeaahh I kinda lost track of time. I guess it's only fair that you get to see the finished product," you say and shoved the drawing in front of him, "Tada! I present to you, my masterpiece!" 

Albedo takes it out of your grasp and you watched the way his eyes expanded upon sight. 

"Well? Whaddya think?" 

Words could not describe the mixture of emotions that erupted within him. Was it distinguishable or abstract? Albedo spent his time pondering between the two answers as he examined the drawing closely. Despite the lines being slightly jagged and the unevenness in the placement of his eyes, he managed to make the shape of the entire image you were trying to convey. Perhaps it was all thanks to his well trained artistic vision which gave him the ability to do so. Or maybe he was simply biased. But there wasn't a shred of doubt that this was indeed your craftsmanship. 

"You even added flowers in the background," he pointed out with amusement. 

"It's the thing you make when using your elemental burst, I couldn't fit your hand in the picture so I decided to put it somewhere empty," you informed, "Out of everything, that one took me the longest." 

"And the rabbits?" 

"They resemble Klee's bombs!" 

He lets out a chuckle, "I see." 

Albedo kept his attention downward until he was mindlessly staring at the paper in hand. This was a memory made to be carried as you moved on to your next journey and it saddens him that he could not accompany you. If only time slowed down. Albedo wanted to hold onto the memory forever, because he knew once he gave it back, he wouldn't be able to see you for an uncertain amount of time. 

"Do you really have to go?" 

His voice was barely above a whisper. Guilt crept into your heart and you gingerly layed your fingers on his gloved ones, bringing down the paper that blocked his face. A pair of teal orbs held a reflection of your image as the sun's rays casted from the side. You returned it with a reassuring grin, hoping to soothe his worries somehow, "I just need to pay a visit to my father since he's been very sick lately. I'll be fine, so don't worry too much okay?" 

Albedo turns over his palm and gave your hand a squeeze, "How long will it take?" 

"I'm not sure but it will be a while. Snezhnaya is pretty far so..." you trailed off, "But my time in Mondstadt, with Klee and with you, I will never forget! I won't even if I tried." 

When you were met with no answer, a breeze came in to fill the melancholic silence. He too will not forget and he would ensure that it was the same for you. Slowly, Albedo brought your hand up, past the center of his heart all the way to cupping his cheek. He allowed himself to indulge in your warmth, tangling the strands of his hair with your fingers while closing his eyes. Sweet flowers. You always carried the smell of sweet flowers. 

"Albedo?" You gawked, "What's the matter?" 

"...There are certain aspects where drawings can't imitate,"  he says, grip tightening ever so slightly, "How I feel against your skin, the shape of my jaw, your warmth radiating with my own. These are the things I want you to remember." 

Breath leaves your slightly parted mouth. It was unfair how straightforward Albedo could be when showing his affection. Doing as he pleases without anyone's approval to the point it would even catch you off guard since he often absorbed himself in the arts of alchemy. But during times when Albedo did choose to express his feelings, you knew they came from a place of pure genuinity. The thought made it hard for you to tear away from him, "Did you ever find out what the strings felt like then?" 

Albedo returns his gaze, long golden lashes hovering them as he smiles softly, "...I have." 

As he began to reveal his stories, the dusk sky continued to flare across the landscape with colours of passion. Red, it was the thread that had led him to you, the same string that weaved him together as a whole. Albedo lays a kiss atop of your pinky, there was a reason why Mondstadtians called him the Chalk Prince. You didn't know the intention behind his sudden affection but he knew. It was a promise, one to ensure that the thread would also have you return safely back into his arms. 

Oh how he hated the colour red. 

"Al...bedo..." 

With speed he never knew he had, Albedo scoops you into his embrace and held you close. How did everything happen so fast? He curses his mind as it proceeds to scan your injuries, drawing a conclusion where he wished to be wrong for once: 

You were beyond help. 

"Ah..haha..." you managed to laugh through bitter tears, "You don't have to say it. I know." 

His breath hitches, trying to make sense of the feeling that was slowly tearing him apart from the inside. It's not real. Of course it wasn't, it couldn't be. What other possible answer was there to explain the numbness stinging his fingers? The reason for his shaking? Everything felt so cold. Your body hardly registered to his to touch, you were losing so much blood. You were losing. He was going to lose you. 

"No," Albedo shakes his head, "We still have time. I'll go find help." 

Please, hold on. 

He forced himself to think. The ruin hunter ran off shortly after it had ambushed you, by now the Knights would eventually noticed and apprehended it on sight. They couldn't be too far. All he needed was to carry you back to safety and everyone can go home. Albedo darted his eyes all over the place, breaths becoming shallower with each passing second. Where? Where to go? Which route was best to not overexert your wounds? Think. Think. Think. Why couldn't he think? 

"A..." You watched him in your helpless state. Every part of you throbbed with pain but it pains you even more to see the renowned genius who stood atop the pedestal of elegance and grace so utterly, undoubtedly lost. This was not the goodbye you wanted, though death already had you tight in their grasps. Not yet. Using the last particle of your strength, you tried to stay alive as long as possible. Just a little bit more time. 

Albedo freezes when a trembling hand extends itself to cup around his cheek. Every single thought he had in mind vanished and was replaced by a loud ring resonating in his ears. Dreadfully, mechanically, he turns his attention to where you lay. 

"Don't cry," you whisper, "I love you, don't cry- okay?" 

Albedo grimaces, shutting his eyes closed as he allows the pent up sadness to flow out of him completely, "I can't," he said in a shaky voice, "Please. Stay." 

"I'm sorry," Your vision blurs and he hugs you even more. Drawing your final breath, you relay your most cherished words through a broken smile, "But no matter w-where I go...I won't for..ge.." 

The moment your hand fell, Albedo finally understood the difference between death and loss. 

It was...suffocating. Having the air trapped in his throat, begging to release yet it hurts to speak. The never ending stabs that pulsed within his veins rushed forth like the scraping  blizzard of Dragonspine until his whole body lost all its senses. The world was shattering. He could no longer feel your weight. He could no longer feel. 

(Y/n). 

Albedo glances at his blood stained fingers where the thread had been severed, wide eyes drowning in sorrow. What a horrible feeling. Was this a warning sent by the gods? For stepping into the boundaries of knowing too much? Ah the curse of knowledge man must bear when eating the temptatious fruit. It was the result of choosing to love you. With life, death is inevitable and with love, it will eventually bring pain. Everything had a price to pay and as an alchemist, Albedo knew that better than anyone. 

"...Meaningless..." 

But he refused to accept it. 

Cradling your corpse, he leans in and places a kiss on your forehead, lips quivering as they lingered for a second too long before gathering the strength to stand back on his feet. Nothing will stop the alchemist from reuniting with you. If the laws wished to take you away from him then he will use everything in his power to fight against those laws. 

"This is not goodbye..." Albedo said to the sleeping girl, "And it will never be." 

When the sun sinks below the plains and the stars lose their light, the sky had been replaced with a palette of darkness. It was time to go home. 

------ 

"Have you all heard about the rumours?" 

A group of knights gather in the corner as they whisper about. Sucrose stops on her tracks and hides behind a wall, clutching the book close to her chest in an attempt to stay hidden. 

"Another criminal disappeared from the dungeons? Crazy..." 

"More like creepy. I was told that place might be haunted by some dead prisoner's ghost. Even the Church is hopping onto this case." 

"Well I hope it doesn't get any worse. So many of us started going on night patrols..." 

Their voices faded out of range as the anemo user backtracks her steps carefully. Several months passed since the news of mysterious kidnappings have been announced to the public. Rumours of their whereabouts swirled around the city and much to her discomfort, Sucrose happened to catch every single one of them. There couldn't possibly be evil spirits lurking in the Favonious Headquarters right? She silently shrieks at the thought, shaking her head furiously to stop her mind from going too deep. No, I have to find him. Without wasting another minute, the anemo user sprinted towards the stairs all the way up to the second floor before stopping directly in front of her teacher's office. Despite the adrenaline that occured at the same time, she made sure to knock. 

No answer. 

"Strange, he told me he would be here today..." Sucrose muttered to herself. But suddenly she heard the sound of objects shifting from the otherside, signaling that there was indeed someone occupying the room. Without realizing, she held her breath out of anticipation. 

"Come in." 

The door creaks as she opens them, giving her enough space to slip between the gap, "Mister Albedo?" 

"You're early today," The Chief Alchemist noted from his desk, "Is there something the matter?" 

"Y-You mean you don't know? There was just another case about a person disappearing from the dungeons," Her tone became more frantic as she rambled to herself, "The kidnapper never leaves a trace and no one knows how they were able to get out. Even when we ask the guards what happened, they can't seem to remember as if...as if someone casted a spell on them!" 

"A spell?" He inquires, "I suppose that could be a possibility." 

"I think so too. I-It's the only explanation that makes sense! I mean...ghosts don't exist after all," Sucrose nervously looks down at her shoes while giving her book a squeeze, "But why? Who could be capable of such advanced techniques? No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to understand their intentions." 

"...Yes. It is a very strange occurrence indeed." 

Noticing her teacher's withdrawn attitude, Sucrose couldn't help but feel flustered at her own behaviour, "Ah my apologies Mister Albedo, I didn't mean to go off track. Have there been any progress on the investigations so far?" 

Albedo briefly glanced at the various documents splayed across his table. His reputation as an incredibly intelligent individual had reached far and wide through Mondstadt. This led to the authorities requesting his assistance regarding the recent matters, despite him specializing in the alchemical field, he was also the Captain of their Investigation Team. Although, Albedo detested partaking in things he deemed irrelevant to his research; 

"I'm afraid I would need more evidence to draw a conclusion." 

"Eh? You still need more?" 

He could not deny that the given authoritative position had provided much benefits to his own accord. 

"My expertise lies in the subject of alchemy," Albedo reasoned and proceeds to intertwine his fingers in front of his mouth, "Humans on the other hand, are very unpredictable in nature. Even the essence of their existence is hard to obtain." 

"Essence of their existence?" Sucrose repeated softly. She wanted to ask what he meant but the blank expression was evident  enough to signal his impatience. At least, that was what she thought, "Nevermind! I have something that might help," taking out a slip from her textbook, she handed it to him, "It's the report Captain Kaeya gave me. He said that the culprit might be a traitor coming from the Knights of Favonius." 

He narrows his eyes. 

"I-I think he might be right! Just think about it, we haven't found anything at all for the past few months but when we do, I sometimes feel like we're just running in circles...oh what if it's becau-" 

"Sucrose." 

"Y-Yes?!" 

Albedo calmly looks at the flustered girl, not realizing how sharp his tone was, "You're overthinking again. Perhaps it's best that you take this day off." 

"But I came here to help," she insisted, "I know it hurts to lose someone you love! Don't you understand that we're all worried about you? And Klee, she..." 

"..." 

"Please Mister Albedo, if there's anything I could do-" 

"No need," he cuts her off once again, "Your stress levels are too high. We can't go any further if you continue to act like this." 

"Oh," her ruby eyes casted to the side, "I understand..." 

"Good. Now, if you would excuse me," Albedo bid her farewell and watched as the door clicked behind her, observing every detail until he was sure that the absolute silence had returned. He picks up Kaeya's document. Such remarkable handwriting. But of course, appearances are only meant to be displayed on the surface for the Captain was a sly man, wearing a mask to shield what lies underneath. Just like his letter, they were full of innuendos and condensed meanings, orchestrated together until the truth spoke loudly to Albedo himself. 

"So, that's what he thinks." 

Perhaps the alchemist should have been a little more discreet. 

-------- 

There was a certain place in Dragonspine that no one dared to enter. But those who have, they never return. 

"Hm, no response. Now as for the next step..." 

And he was the reason why. 

Taking the sword out of the transmutation circle, Albedo turned to the snowy hill nearby and activated his alchemy. A small portion of it dissipates, revealing a trench that went so deep underground that even warmth couldn't outplay the sheer cold. It was the perfect hiding place for the evidence to lay out of sight and an environment where only he could handle. The alchemist tossed the leftover along with the others before exiting quietly, summoning back the ice to bury his victims once again. Another day, another experiment, another stain goes to his title. The path he walked upon was one littered with corpses and the sins he committed. But despite the bones crunching beneath his feet and the weight of the dead hanging on his shoulders, the alchemist was numb to it all. Like an entity floating in space with nothing to hold, he became unable to feel. 

"I'm back," When reaching the center of Starglow Cavern, Albedo puts his hand on the icicle and caressed it's hard cold surface, "Did you sleep well?" 

The girl did not respond. Her eyes were closed and her skin was as young as ever. She was frozen in time. 

"You must have." 

Albedo felt the sword beginning to shake in his grasp as it resonated with his energy. Dust particles emitted from the hilt and slowly made their climb to the side of his arm. Still, Albedo's attention did not waver, "To this day, I've been thinking about what you told me the first time we met." 

"..." 

"Follow your heart. I couldn't understand it at first but after being around your presence, I believe I can finally recognize what that term means." 

He closes his eyes as he envisioned your lively form running across the landscape. Albedo, Albedo! The sound of his name was mixed with your laughter while Klee came into the scene and caught the dandelions with you. A content smile formed on his countenance as he watched from afar, even if it was just a memory, "It's everything. The breakfast we ate together, to the nights spent camping outside, and the silly moments we shared, they bring all these colours that I never knew existed." 

"..." 

Albedo curls his fingers against the ice as he continues to lament, "Perhaps that's why I began noticing the strings around me. The closer I was to answer, the more I felt it was necessary to discover what they are. All this time, you were the answer I was searching for," Moist begins to build up in his eyes but they freeze up once reaching the corners. How cruel. Despite what he went through, he wasn't even granted the liberty to cry, "Because with you, I'm able to feel them." 

He wonders what you would think if you saw him right now. Albedo peers at his reflection casted on the crystalline surface, the frame of his face had been decorated with streaks of purple and red, spreading out like tree branches as they both fought for dominance. The teal coloured orbs you once adored were beginning to transform to a colour that reminded him of his darkest days. This was Albedo's true nature- a monster, a being that wasn't human, the essence in which you never had the chance to see. 

"I know I may not be the same as I was before," he added, "But if that is what it takes to follow your heart, will you let me feel the strings again?" 

Would you still love me the same? 

"..." 

"If so, then please understand my actions," Albedo takes a step back as he held out the sword in front of him. At last, the preparations have finally been completed. He plunges the blade to the ground with full force and the surrounding area begins to shake under the power accumulated through many, intentional sacrifices. To revive the dead was a forbidden art as it came with heavy consequences. If it weren't for Albedo's talent and quick wit, the process would have consumed him long before executing the last stage. He winces, the pain was excruciating. It was hard for him to ignore the sound of his skin cracking below his ears and all the way to his nose as they fall off in the shape of small rock-like chunks. Everything hurt so much that even death sounded like a sweet dream but Albedo couldn't afford to give up. He had already come this far, his hands completely washed with sin and his reputation already broken beyond repair, Albedo had nowhere else to go. This was his last destination. 

"Soon-" he pants between choked breaths. Soon your eyes will open. He could drown in your embrace, one that was warm and not cold. Soon he will be able revive those cherished memories from a frozen past. It was all he could think of right now. Your existence was the reason why a part of him felt whole and your death made him realize how painful it was to tear away those pieces. Albedo refused to let go of those pieces, they had already become a part of him. And if this path ended up tearing him even more, then so be it. 

"I should have stopped you the moment you were born." 

The intruder snapped him awake and he swung around to where they stood. But before Albedo could make out who it was, they lunged past him with incredible speed, kicking the sword off the ground while severing his two arms once and for all. They flew to the side, blood dyed purple trickling from the edges of his joint as he struggled to stay upright. 

"Dains...leif..." 

Dainsleif watched the alchemist fall onto his back as the light around him slowly faded away. He turned his gaze to where the objective was and noticed a girl encased within the ice. The man sighs out of relief when she shows no signs of life, he came just in time, "So this is how it ends." 

Albedo weakly stared at the blonde man. He attempted to say something but the blood caught in his mouth prevented him from that. 

"Save your breath, you won't be having any," Dainsleif remarks in a cold manner and glared at his bloodied form, "The renowned Chief Alchemist of Mondstadt and an important member of Ordo Favonious. Hmph, what an interesting turn of events. Out of everyone, I never thought you were the type to act so foolish." 

Foolish...what a foreign name to be called as. He never heard anyone tell him he was foolish. 

"Truly a pity," With a flick of a wrist, Dainsleif brought his sword to Albedo's neck. It was unbelievable how he had the endurance to go through all that pain while still breathing at this point but what is there to be expected from a monster? "Remember that all actions have consequences." 

The alchemist watched as his life flashed before him, the weight of his sins had finally caught up. He had always seen the world as a platform for his objectives and results were merely a natural cause after attempting many experiments. But death as a consequences was an unbearble realization upon his final moments. He abandoned his title, his pupil and his dearest sister. In the end, he was still unable to fulfill his duty. 

"I just..." Albedo mumbled, his words slurring together, "wanted..." 

As the ashes turn to ashes and dust becomes dust, chalk returns to the earth, forever yearning a place that can never be reached.

[shihalyfie]

@sage-striaton replied to your post:

Idk how people can say Frontier has characters that lack depth. Imo it’s a very psychological season. The whole adventure thing is aimed to making them grown in their behaviours and feelings, it’s a big metaphor of their development

I’m sorry for hijacking your response to my post to segue this into another rant of mine, but I want to emphasize that one of my goals with this blog (if I can be said to have any) is that I really, really, really want people to re-examine whether they actually believe in the rhetoric that’s been dominating this fanbase for two decades, or whether there’s more to it. This is especially in regards to the fact that we’re talking a series deliberately written in such a way that it’ll change meaning and nuance as you get older, so it can “grow up” with you in a sense, and yet it seems like -- especially in regards to Adventure through Frontier, due to their position as the oldest series that the majority of the fanbase was elementary or preteen age during -- people are still regurgitating the same rehashed twenty-year-old ideas like they’re undeniable law. It’s one thing if they’re saying it because the series didn’t sit well with them the first time and they don’t want to watch it again, but we’re reaching a recurring problem where it’s sort of “brainwashing” even people who don’t actually believe it but feel compelled to go along with it, or wouldn’t feel that way if it weren’t for peer pressure. Obviously, there are dissenting opinions, and ones that are even very loud about that, but that pressure remains.

The mainstream opinion in the fanbase is that Adventure is untouchable and impervious to any criticism, 02 is its inferior sequel with half-baked characters, Tamers is an auteur work that’s the “deepest” of the original tetralogy due to being dark, and Frontier is devoid of much substance at all. Even those who don’t really believe in this will still be pressured to go alongside it, those who like 02 or Frontier will be pressured to consider it a “guilty pleasure”, and it’s only very recently when certain events revealed that the idea of 02 actually having quite its own fervent and passionate fanbase that likes it on its own merits became properly recognized. (I have actually noticed a huge uptick in 02 fans, especially casual ones, being more shameless in talking about liking it in the last two years; you’re still going to get the obnoxious person “reminding” you how bad it apparently is if you bring it up, but it’s not nearly as prevalent as it used to be.) I’m not talking about whether something is a “good” or “bad” series -- that concept doesn’t really exist to me as much as whether it’s “to one’s tastes” or not, and I think one of the joys of this franchise is that it has things that cater to people with vastly different preferences -- as much as a lot of potential for analysis and intimate thought about these very fascinating series. Even if 02 and Frontier were as shallow or half-baked as they were accused of, I wouldn’t think it’d be shameful to like them for one’s own reasons anyway, but what frustrates me is that I just don’t think that’s true in the first place!!

Not helping is that there’s still a refusal among the fanbase to admit that there were substantial differences in American English dubbing (especially in regards to Adventure and 02), which I don’t mean as a bad thing in the sense that some people prefer to stick only with that dub and consider that version what they want to work with, but in the sense that the treatment of them as “the same thing” has been horribly detrimental when two people, one coming from that dub and one coming from the Japanese version (or a dub more closely based on it), will end up often having an argument doomed to go nowhere because they were never talking about the same thing to begin with. Recently, a friend admitted to me that although they’d switched to the Japanese version a long time ago, they still couldn’t get the image of Daisuke and Takeru having an inherently hostile relationship (they don’t) out of their head due to the influence of that dub, and although they consciously knew better -- at least enough to admit this to me -- it wasn’t helped by the fact that the fanbase itself continues to reinforce this image because of how normalized it is to treat the dub version and the Japanese version as “virtually the same” and for Western fanbase discourse to assume you should be projecting those takes into the Japanese version. If you’re hanging out in English-speaking circles but are working from the Japanese version or a dub directly based off of it, you do actually have to filter out a lot of takes you’re hearing because they won’t actually apply to the version you’re watching, but not a lot of people realize this.

All four of Adventure through Frontier share tons of key staff, especially Seki, known for her focus on wanting the kids in the audience to be able to empathize with and relate to the characters on screen. All four share some of the best character work I’ve seen not only in this franchise, but also in kids’ media in general, and I also stress that a lot of this has a ton of nuance that isn’t always apparent unless you read between the lines. I do understand that a lot of this probably went over our heads as kids, and I won’t say that the choice to execute it this way should be impervious to criticism, but nevertheless, I think it’s important to call attention to the fact it is there, and much of it becomes recognizable once you see it that way; for instance, so much of "it's contradictory character writing!" comes from the fact that the series tries to represent humans in their inconsistent, messy ways, and while it'll feel "messy" from a writing trope perspective, when you think about it as "since this person has this mentality, does it make sense to approach this with this mindset?", suddenly it becomes very consistent. The supposedly “shallow” 02 and Frontier characters will act in ways that match existing psychological profiles meant for actual humans to terrifying degrees, in ways that you might actually recognize even better once you’ve hit adulthood and start intimately understanding things like depression or anxiety in ways you might not have before. Shockingly, “having heart, important themes, and kindness towards the human condition” are completely valid reasons to uplift a creative work in ways distinct from technical writing or cerebrality or how many tropes they subvert or whatever.

On the flip side, people praise Adventure and Tamers for being the naturally “superior” works with better writing, but when it comes to talking about why the writing is supposedly better, a good chunk of the reasons stated don’t actually explain anything substantial, or go back to actually being passive-aggressive dunks on the other series in some form -- it’s because 02 and Frontier’s character writing sucks that badly, or because Adventure had the “best plot” (which may be true if by “best” you mean “easiest to understand”, but that doesn’t mean much to someone who might not be very happy about how its story progression is just a boss rush), or because Tamers is the “deepest” when by “deep” they actually mean “cerebral, dark, and unsubtle about it” without any further meaning (as if Adventure and 02 were idealistic series that never went into anything nuanced and not, say, the fact they went very viciously deep into societal issues between parents and children, psychological horror, and intimate takes on the human condition). I’m personally saying this as someone who does think Adventure and Tamers have a lot to praise in terms of their approaches to realism and the unique aspects each bring to the table, and I feel that people like this are doing them more of a disservice by not bothering to uplift them for any reason that isn’t actually just inherently condescending. I mean, even taking this outside of the original tetralogy for a bit, when I was plugging Appmon earlier, there’s a reason I focused more on its theme and character writing and the use of “dark” writing to convey its sheer range, rather than trying to boil it down to a shallow “it looks cheery but gets really messed up later!”, which is unfortunately an argument I’ve been seeing about it lately.

In the end, when I write my meta, I write it "making a case" for my point of view, and I welcome others to disagree, but if you disagree, I really hope it'll be because you personally disagree, and not because the entire fanbase has been saying otherwise for twenty years and I sound like a radical. I’m not saying that everyone’s consensus takes are completely unfounded, but frankly speaking, this fanbase has some really bad takes, and in the past few years I’ve found it freeing to not only “say what you feel without worrying what others think”, but actually go out of my way to outright try and purge all the preconceived notions and pick only the ones I agree with because I actually agree with them. I encourage you to do it too! And if you do, you might find things about something you like that you didn’t realize before.