#when i revisit the memory

[kiisuuumii]

i actually hate missing the sound of someone's voice because eventually with enough time i won't be able to remember what good morning sounded like coming from their lips or the way their laughter would echo between my ears i'll only be able to remember that it was a voice that i loved belonging to a person that i loved

[pseudophan]

im friends with like half the gilmore girls cast on facebook cause i was super annoying when i was 12 and so now this app just gives me the funniest notifications. sure man, me and the bestie

[daylighteclipsed]

Y’all ever think about if Sora falls to darkness that inside his heart will look like the Destiny Islands falling again

[scrapoddles]

Shitty little danganronpa favs. Miss this era sometimes

[lewmagoo]

“you visit often” why are you calling me out like that google 😭

[olegianote]

[risingsunresistance]

i dont think i've ever had such a drastic change from sketch to final

i also dont think an idea has ever taken me this long to execute JHDKFH

[icewindandboringhorror]

There's always a slight yearning in the back of my mind wishing I had been born in the right place, time, family situation, income level, etc. to have just lived in one single house for my entire life. Imagine being born in a place that still suits you, even through all of your personal evolutions and etc. The idea of deep familiarity with an area because you've lived and explored it for 40+ years, being encased in a web of memories and connections. Being able to clean out your old childhood bedroom and find personal artifacts, to dig in the yard and remember. I know those lives can still be plenty imperfect, but there's just something so seemingly solid and stable and Grounding about it that I sometimes wish I could have.. (At least from my outside perspective as someone who's moved around a bit geographically and even within the same area, never lives in the same house/ apartment /etc. for more than a few years usually.) Like... having a place that is printed upon, fully your own, rather than chronically a visitor, every thought of a space always tempered with the notion that one day soon you'll have to pack it all up again, etc. There's something peaceful about the permanence.

[sonknuxadow]

story wise im honestly not really expecting That much from shadows story in the generations remaster because generations already has nothing going for it in terms of story but also black doom being the main villain has me losing my shit because ive always thought shadow being part black arms was a really interesting concept and wished they did more with it and i also just really like shth and am happy to see them referencing it so openly instead of being ashamed of it and pretending it never happened because annoying youtubers and game reviewers decided it was bad. rips off shirt to reveal another shirt undernearth that says Number 1 Shadow the Hedgehog (2005) Defender

[thelastattempt]

Silver Tongues is the found family anthem. Silver Tongues is getting cocktails with the crew after a long week. Silver Tongues is leaning against the wood panelling in your mates upstairs flat and hanging out the window smoking, so the smell doesn’t get into the cushions, whilst you finish the wine nobody really likes and laugh too loud and the music is spilling out the window into the night. Silver Tongues is tripping over your own feet and waking up the next morning with a sore throat and aching arches and smiling.

Silver Tongues is ‘I don’t feel like going home’ because I never want to go home without you, I never want to go home at all actually, I never want to leave.

There’s no where else I’d rather be, but when I’m back in the molasses of reality, stood in front of the wrong door and on the wrong street, and it’s been weeks since we’ve talked and ages since I’ve breathed easily, I’ll remember all those stupid jokes, only we know

[mordentaxis]

I played through Signalis and fucking cried, Highly recommend to anyone who likes space lesbians

[odeandiewut]

more inazuma

[slutdge]

ill just be minding my business and then remember how fucked the experience i had with cps was and just how fucked cps is in general and actively harms the children its supposed to be there to help and get so mad i dig a hole into my skin with my nails so deep it starts drawing blood

[tyranitarkisser]

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[mariocki]

Shadows of Fear: Did You Lock Up? (1.1, Thames, 1970)

"And they didn't make much mess?"

"No, not really. They forced that door. Smashed the cabinet, slashed a sofa. And kicked a hole in the bedroom door."

"Ah. Big mistake."

"What is?"

"Never lock inside doors. Anything you can to keep them out - but when they're in, let 'em get on with it."

"I'll remember."

[phoebonicawrites]

Hey look I actually finished writing something. Apparently the key is being as self-indulgent as possible and just going for it.

So I've been rotating the entire cast of Drăculești around in my head since I played the demo, and the flower symbolism spawned this idea. This isn't actually compatible with any continuity in the demo. It's an AU don't worry about it.

Hanahaki disease is traditionally caused by unrequited love, but I like the variations where it's unspoken love better. And I'm a sucker for brainwashing/amnesia tropes where the suppressed thoughts and memories are just kind of... biding their time.

***

Tomorrow they leave for England.

Renfield finds his chest tightening at the thought, tries to force the feeling down, take slow, steady breaths. There's nothing to fear. It's disloyal of him, to even think there might be. It shows a lack of faith.

And he is nothing if not faithful.

And still his body turns traitor against him, cold sweat breaking out on his brow, his throat threatening to close up altogether, his insides churning - butterflies in his stomach, haha - his fragile mortal heart pounding so hard that he can almost hear it. He grips the bedsheets tighter, trembling.

There's nothing to fear. There is nothing to fear. He knows England, knows London, knows how to walk in sunlight as a free man and do all the work required of him. He won't be going back to the straps and the shocks and the stark white rooms that crawled with nightmares only he could see. His Master saved him from all of that, pulled him out of the darkness and gave him a home and a purpose and will never abandon him, not if he does his job well, not if he is obedient and faithful - he is nothing if not faithful -

A racking cough shakes apart his train of thought as he curls into himself, gasping for air, something scratching at the back of his throat - is one of the little lives he's allowed to feed on trying to make its way back up? Or is he coming down with some illness, some mundane weakness of his still too human flesh?

Please no. He can't be ill. He has too much work to do.

He closes his eyes. Deep breaths. In, out. One day he will be more than this. One day he will sit at his Master's right hand and eat at His table with the rest of the family. One day his body will be transformed, made new, made perfect, and he will have eternity to spend at his Master’s side, to be faithful, to be cherished, to be loved -

"Hhhk-!"

The next breath never comes.

Something rises in his throat, wedges itself into his airway. A thick mass, soft around the edges but unyielding, scraping at the walls of his throat as he spasms around it. Can't cough it up. Can't swallow. Can't scream.

He pushes himself to his knees, drives balled fists into his stomach. Once, twice, again. No good. Black stars wheel across his vision, he's going to pass out soon, no no please I can't, I can't die, no, He promised! He gave me a job to do! please I want to live I want to live I want to live -

Only one thing for it.

Fingers force their way into his throat. Gagging, lungs burning, he claws at the thing, tears away a few tiny useless fragments before finally, finally, he finds a firm grip and pulls. It won't move, and then it does move but with agonising slowness, tearing at him every inch of the way as he drags it out into the light.

He pulls the thing out of his mouth with a hideous wheezing gasp, retches, barely has the presence of mind to turn his head so that he vomits over the side of the bed and not onto the sheets. Collapses shuddering to the mattress as he gulps in air with broken sobs, staring at the puddle he's made on the stone floor, blood and bile and iridescent wings and...

...golden petals.

Slowly, he turns to look at the thing in his hand.

It's a sunflower head.

Renfield can't understand where it came from. Just as he can't understand why the next thing he does, before even trying to clean up the mess he's made, is to walk to the window, hold the flower out into the darkness, open his hand and watch as it falls past the edge of the cliff and out of sight.

He can't understand why the sight makes his eyes burn with fresh tears. A sunflower. What could that possibly mean to him?

He can't remember even having seen the sun before.