the MEMORY SHARE meme

[skateboard]

 the MEMORY SHARE meme



Before you is a small floating cube.  It calls to you, beckons you.  You have no choice but to touch it.  The moment your fingers connect with the cube you see a memory from your past.  And more then that anyone near you sees this memory as if they were experiencing it themselves as well.
 

How to:

○ Standard Name and series in the subject.

○ Do not leave your comment blank! Blank comments will be deleted.  Instead write out a memory of your character's past they see after touching the 'Memory Cube'.  It could be sad or happy, or completely irrelevant.  You could just post a line or two or do something more involved.  You could even link to a comic page or a YouTube video.  Just give other characters something they can respond to.

○ Tag out, react to other memories.

Comments

Moloch | Milton's Paradise Lost | OTA

[bloodysacrifice]

He's to curious to avoid touching it. Besides, what does he have to lose. It is probably that mindset that chooses the memory that surfaces.

The memory is of a presence that is nondescript but Moloch's heart is attached to it with awe and a desire to please it.

"Leave."

It's the only word he hears from the presence.

"You ruin the peace of heaven."

Moloch didn't understand, couldn't understand. "You made me to be part of heaven."

"No." The presence got large, looming. Moloch feared it, curling away. "You were created so others would know what it is to be worthless and without purpose. You were made for tears. You were made to be without kindness extended to you. I forbid it."

And the presence left, abandoned him in the cold of the emptiness and still mostly empty universe. Time seemed unending before another presence came, too bright to look at. Too vast to see.

"You will never be alone or unloved." The fire touched him and he slept, but is unable to recall who or what that brightness was.

[sohoangel]

From somewhere nearby, Aziraphale watches this memory unfold. His first instinct is to turn away. This is private, he doubts Moloch wants to be seen him like this, at his most lonely and vulnerable.

His second instinct is to spread his wings and somehow shield Moloch from this presence that dares to think of Itself as all-loving. Righteous fury fills his corporation, but only for a moment. This is a memory, nothing he can fight with a strongly-worded rebuke.

His third instinct is the one he knows best. He isn't all that bright or vast, but he can try his best to follow that second voice's directive.

"That wasn't right, what He did to you. But you're not alone, Moloch. Not if you don't want to be."

Aletayria/Susan | Man Who Fell To Earth OC | OTA

[sordiddetails]

Susan had seen things like this, siren songs in the universe. It didn't make her less susceptible to the draw, being an empath probably made it worse. Her yellow eyes stared at the floating stone for a long time, listening to the call. Her hand wavered without touching for so long before her fingers brush it.

A memory comes up, an old one. Thousands of years have passed since this memory was made. She was just a girl, small and learning the landscape of a world vastly different than when she was born 200 years earlier.

The landscape is barren, pale tan in every direction. The constant cool winds picking up dirt devils and sand as it slides across the flat space that had once been a forest. Her eyes can't see to the edges at the horizon but she remembers the forest and the animals that inhabited it. She's ambling without direction but something is drawing her toward a place far toward the north, far for her young legs anyway.

She walks on until something catches her eyes, a dry leaf tumbles by and then another. She runs in the direction they had come from. Even dead plant matter hadn't been seen in years. She's out of breath, long legs aching when she sees the dance of blue green and silver. The plant was small, leaves damaged by the constant winds. She has to save it.

Her knees scrape on the sandy desert basin soil as she starts scooping dirt away from the roots, to take it home. She dug, dirt sticking to her hands, cutting up her nailless, soft fingers. She finds a second beneath the surface and a third. She widens her circle and then bumps into something else.

A small face pops up, pointed nose and thick smooth skin. Animals! She almost forgets herself and scares them. Reaching out her mind she tells them she wants to take them some place safer. It takes time, her faces developing tiny scratches from the blowing sand though her clear lids protect her eyes from the onslaught. Eventually she convinces them, 6 adults and two litters of babies to crawl into her satchel. They're heavy. Aletayria struggles to stand with the full bag and the arm full of plants.

She turns her back to the wind, curling around the foliage to protect it from the wind storm coming. The sands are shifting but she can feel her people, far in the distances. She just starts trudging toward the feel of their minds. She won't stop, even as the bag strap digs into her suit and skin. This might be the last life on her home and she found it. The planet was going to have to relent to her desire to nurture its remaining life.

[eumenis]

The woman herself is strange to Furiosa's eyes, and the sense of age, the weight of experience within the memory is strong. It's lucky, because otherwise, she might even lose her own sense of self, observing this, because the landscape, the desperate hunger for life, the determination to save it--all of that is all too familiar.

We are going to the Green Place of Many Mothers.

She shivers and approaches the stranger, the fingers of her right hand spread wide as if to feel the wind or maybe to help shelter the plants that aren't there, but rather an echo of something that happened possibly centuries before Furiosa herself even existed.

"Did they make it?" she asks. She has to know.

Cricket Pate / Lawless

[alittlehinky]

He's walked these woods with uneven steps since he was six years old. He knows the hollows, the deer trails and the dense thickets, the mountain balds and the rocky clefts. He may walk slower than most--I may be a crippled boy, but--his frail legs know the ways they tread.

And he knows they're not going any closer to town, headed this way. Nor to the still. They're walking west toward Barren Spring, and don't nobody but poachers go that-a-way, not this time of year.

Rakes is right behind him, walking with a confident tread, but Cricket can hear his slick-bottom shoes slip in the leaves. If the man falls, he's off like a shot, he decides. Because there's nothing good that waits him up ahead. The man's gonna beat the shit out of him, he's pretty sure. Like he did Jack Bondurant. Beat him and leave him, or maybe drag him back and dump him on the Bondurants' doorstep. He's been in fights before, Cricket, but mostly just schoolboy brawls, or failed attempts at calming drunks in the waystation, but he usually had backup then. He's alone now.

Damn you, Jack. He thinks, but doesn't mean it. Not really. He watches the ground ahead of him, looking for a rock or a heavy branch to pick up, but everything's overgrown and when he slows, Rakes prods him in the back. Cricket exaggerates his limp, trying to slacken their pace further, and it works for a little while, but nothing he can fight with turns up.

Then they're standing in a dense copse; the shadows of trees and vines almost make it look like a house. Go in, says Rakes, and Cricket balks, adrenaline screaming in his ears. Whatever he's gonna do, it's gonna happen here.

He didn't expect to just be grabbed from behind. Man ain't even gonna shoot him?

Doesn't matter. They'll know who did this to him. The Bondurants will know.

That's his last thought before the lights go out.

[chiaro_oscuro]

Ben's felt scared before, including as a child. The time when he saw Luke Skywalker standing over him with an ignited lightsaber and he instinctively lashed out in betrayal and fear, with no idea of exactly what Luke had seen in his head. Now he has a fuller understanding of the situation, that both he and Luke were chess pieces in a larger game. He knows now Luke wouldn't have killed him, that it was a moment of weakness that ruined both of their lives.

But there's a a prick at the back of his neck as a man trails Cricket. This must be how Cricket died.

It's strange for a murderer to feel a sense of outrage on behalf of a murdered man. Hypocritical, maybe. But Ben knows Cricket well enough to know the boy isn't someone like him, used to giving and recieving violence. Cricket wouldn't hurt a fly. But he knows that the man stalking Cricket means the boy harm, and while he knows this isn't real and he can't interfere his instincts don't. Ben is a creature of impulse.

Still, he winces when he sees Cricket grabbed from behind. He's surprised that the man don't stab or shoot. He snarls, instinctively reaching for his saber to attack Cricket's killer before the memory fades. He turns to Cricket, the anger fading from his eyes as he slips back into his senses.

"So that's how you got here in the Nexus." They're two of a kind, maybe, two young men dead before their time. Ben wasn't murdered, but he also died in his youth and he didn't die a natural death. There's sympathy and softness in his voice. He considers Cricket a friend, and he feels bile rising up at the way in which he died.

"...it's a good thing you had people who cared about you enough to seek revenge on your behalf." Revenge isn't a Jedi thing - but Ben isn't a Jedi, and he has more tendencies towards anger and vindictiveness than a Jedi would. And as much as he has more respect for life than Kylo Ren did, he still believes there are people who deserve killing - and the kind of people who'd strangle a blameless young man to death are up there.

Furiosa / Mad Max: Fury Road ((CW: miscarriage, canon-typical violence))

[eumenis]

When she wakes up with blood in her bed again, Furiosa knows she's a dead woman. The first pregnancy lasted a few weeks, but the second one ended fast. This one...well, Immortan was chafing at the bit to throw her out even before it took. Three tries, then you're done.

As if it was some kind of honor to be his breeding stock. Maybe some of the women thought so, at least at first, but Furiosa would almost rather be dead.

She says nothing to Miss Giddy as she helps her up, shoos her to the bathing pool, cleans up the clothing and linens. Nothing to the other wives, who stare at her with huge, haunted eyes. They know what's coming. She drinks her water but refuses food. No point; she'll only throw it up.

(Maybe that would be worth it, to throw it up on him when he comes for her?)

She's floating outside her body by the time the door opens, watching her own slender figure stand before Immortan and his sons and the Organic Mechanic, twin brown braids hanging down her back, white dress tight around her chest and loose and gauzy around her hips and thighs. She watches from somewhere far away when they grab her; her body struggles and digs its heels into the packed-earth floor, and Please! It says.

She'll never forgive herself for that one pointless, useless word. For the next seven thousand days she'll tell herself it wasn't really her that said it. For the next seven thousand days, she'll swear to everything that's holy that it will never, ever pass her lips again.

[tr1ckortreat]

It was a hard thing to be witness to. Loki's Adam's Apple bobbed uncomfortably in his throat as he witnessed her painful memory. The blood in the bed and the bad feelings mixed around the trauma of losing one's child. How could someone live knowing that their life was constantly on the edge of a knife edge? Furiosa's existence seemed to be about survival in a rough, cruel world. No one should have to go through such pain and loss. Loki almost winced at the harsh fact of it all. It was as if he were feeling her pain, her sickness and everything that accompanied such harsh feelings.

"I am sorry you lost your child. Your pain, it must be a heavy burden to bear."

He offered her a sad look and realised that he had been witness to something rather personal. A deep memory buried beneath all the macho strength she seemed to give off. The pain and trauma she suffered by another's hands, it wasn't right at all. Was there no justice in her world?

Loki | mcu | ota

[tr1ckortreat]

The loneliness of his task and what he must do is obvious to him. He alone has been given this chance by the Chitauri to prove that he is worthy to them. The Tesseract is his. He must go to Earth and orchestrate the alien invasion and allow the hoards of insect-like Chitauri to take over Midgard. New York was the landing zone and pin-point location for the chasm to rip a whole in the sky.

He already had Barton and the others working for him yet somehow he never felt any joy in what he was doing. It was something he wanted to do just to spite his brother and his pathetic human friends. Those Avengers or whatever they were called. Fools.

Loki teleported into a nearby empty building inside the heart of Manhattan and could feel a slight pain niggling at the pit of his stomach. How many would die? Innocent men, women and children? He didn't care. They were mortal. They were ants to be crushed under his large boot. What mattered more was that he had to carry out his domination of Earth and become it's new god. It's leader. The rest be damned.

He gripped the sceptre which held the blue Tesseract stone, glowing a ghostly light against the piercing blackness outside. The city would soon crumble and the ants would be crushed. He stepped out into the street, his leather finery at it's best and his golden helmet catching the light from a nearby streetlamp. Looking up he saw the bright white neon light of where he had to go. Stark's Tower. An eyesore if he ever saw one. Part of him felt an ounce of pain for what he was going to do. He was going to defy his brother and kill many for a greater purpose. Would Odin or Frigga be proud of him? Probably not. Was he even doing the right thing?

Damn it. What was right in this world anymore? He had been denied so much and given so little. Everyone had to pay.

[vliste_staba]

She doesn't like this, what she sees. She doesn't like any of it, not the plans unwinding in his head, not the pallor and shadowed eyes, not the murderous bitterness that practically oozes from his pores. Loki has been friendly with her; she wasn't quite prepared for this side of him.

Except...it reminds her of something very close to her, something that twists and growls and bites at her brain, writhes in her veins and aches in her very bones. Loki doesn't have the excuse of the Darkening, but sometimes pain, infection, invasion--sometimes they drive you to be the worst person you can become. She remembers the Darkened nurloc lunging for her, and her own whisper: Let me help you.

She can't help Loki, not the same way. She might even be the one that needs help before too terribly long. But you don't have to condone someone's actions to sympathize with their suffering.

"You were in so much pain, weren't you?" She murmurs to him, and puts a tiny hand on his.

Lotor | Voltron: the Legendary Defender | (spoilers)

[neverseenhimbefore]

Lotor touches a cube, intrigued, perhaps never able to resist a call to seek some knowledge. Though he won't find any here.

And then, the memory comes.

He's a very small boy. He stands, next to his governess, Dayak, before the throne of his Father, the great and imposing Emperor Zarkon. Little Lotor had to listen for a long time, before that, from Dayak, how to behave, because she still thinks he doesn't know, apparently. He's not a baby. He knows the proper manners.

At his Father's side, as always, there's a witch, the High Priestess, Haggar.

He asks his esteemed Father a question he's long wished to ask. About his Mother.

His Father says she's dead.

Lotor wants to know more. Who was his Mother? What was she like??

"Please, Father. I must know who I come from."

"Enough", the Emperor replies, irritated.

And then he says only that she was a mistake. A shameful mistake. He'll never tell Lotor more.

The High Priestess simply watches the whole conversation impassively, as always.

Lotor can't ask his Father again. The boy's afraid he'll never find out about his Mother, never, ever. And he really, really, really wants to know. He'd give anything...! Why can't Father tell him?! He's always doing anything he can to please Father. But maybe it's not enough yet. Maybe he can do more. Maybe then, someday, Father'll tell him.

Lucifer Morningstar | Milton's Paradise Lost|OTA

[the_rebel_son]

Lucifer knew better than to touch something like this, knew and did it anyway. Fingers touching the smooth surface like a foolish toddler.

Fury flashes hot enough to set his wings ablaze in the real world. It rushes in so fast that he sways against it. He hates it. Loathes that God created after throwing him to ruin for creating, for doing what God had instructed him to do. There was little hate as pure as Lucifer's when he stepped into the Garden. He was searching for the man. Blood for blood. Son for a son. God had torn his to pieces and Lucifer was set on the single minded task to do the same to God's child, to Adam.

Still, he was an angel in a heaven built location. His beauty here shined, the light so dimmed inside by clouds of pain no one could help him with. His pain was from the first death, the only death that had happened in the cosmos. No one could help him through the sorrow. No one understood the tears. The extreme isolation of power and feeling drove his heart to evil.

He felt it, a human or rather that was the name God had granted them. He turned ready to strike down the son of God with his bear hands, seething desire to feel blood on his hands. What met his gaze disarmed him. She was innocent, beautiful in a way only angels should possess. He forgot himself, forgot everything when he looked into her eyes. And he stared unable to tear his eyes free. The pain went away. The sense of evil vengeance, wrath and madness subsided to nothing. There was supposed to be one human and this was not the one he was prepared for.. was this even a human?

"You have wings. Are you an angel?"

Her voice soothed away thought until nothing remained. He could barely remember what he was. The question lost on his ears as he took in her presence. Then he realized what it was, she made him feel whole again, and he had no idea what to do with it.

In the real world the fire subsides in his wings; white turning to the colors of sunrise and glowing hazily. Even the memories of her took away the weight on his heart. He's reluctant to pull his hand away. He misses her so much that the desire is there to stay lost in the memories and never come out again.

[forwhoislikehe]

"Geez," Michael says, and, after a moment, just looking at this strange Lucifer, not the one who's his Brother, adds a question, "did you fall in love or wha?? I don't get ya."

At all, sometimes.

Link | The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword

[skybound_knight]

[There was no sky with a stronger, blue hue than the one covering Lanayru Sand Sea.

When the world shifted around the knight, he felt confused for a moment, then his eyes landed on his surroundings and just a feeble 'oh' escaped his lips. Skipper's boat. The robot was there, controlling its ship, and a slightly younger version of the knight himself was resting by the boat's cannon.

Link rarely took time for himself during his journey to save Zelda, but the desert captivated him and convinced him to slow down. The expanse of water seemed endless, yet the magic of the Timeshift stone magically brought back life around them and while the barren wasteland was a depressing view... under them were water and life. The knight didn't really understand how the stones affected his surroundings, bringing back long lost worlds within their range once activated, but nothing hit him like getting to catch a glimpse of what the sea desert was: a beautiful, colorful world full of life.]

"Woah!"

[The knight saw the 'Link' from that memory jump back when a flying fish jumped out of water, he saw him reach forward to touch the water's surface... and then bring a bit of that liquid to his lips. Link immediately grimaced, remembering the saltiness of the sea, and chuckled when his old self started coughing and spitting it out. In a blink he realizes he is his old self as well and the knight reaches out for his canteen, desperately trying to wash his mouth from the horrible taste.]

"Are you BBZZzt- okay?"

[Link nodded in Skipper's direction, even if his mouth still felt like he licked a salt rock. Bleah. The young man shook his head, returning his attention to the little sea below. Despite everything, for him the world feels at peace for now.]

skekGra the Heretic | The Dark Crystal

[skeksisheretic]

Heretic.

The former Conqueror staggers to his feet, head in tremendous pain. They're all looking at him - Scroll-Master, Ambassador, Collector, General, Emperor. The Chamberlain whimpering at his Emperor's side. The Ritual-Master close by, sadist that he is, admiring his handiwork. The Scientist coldly analyzing and absorbing detail. The Mariner and Hunter are absent, their ties with the Court looser - but skekGra has his own path to follow, away from them.

skekMal would gladly kill him if the Emperor commanded him to, and while skekSa wouldn't hurt him she also wouldn't stick her neck out for an exile and risk her own hide.

skekGra musters up a snort. He would have called them friends once, but he understands that they are his friends no more. The Ambassador looks excited in his dull way. He lacks skekGra's mind for strategy, but with the majority of their conquests done his brute strength might be more useful to the Emperor. No doubt he knows he'll take skekGra's place as the head of the Skeksis military.

Mad, they called him. But skekGra knows that he's the only one of the Skeksis who understands what must be done. He's chosen his path. urGoh staggers over, affected by his counterpart's suffering. He gently strokes skekGra's head. For once the Conqueror has done something good in his life, and the irony is he's being punished for it.

He barely listens when the Emperor pronounces him banished, and while he's leaving the Court he feels pride, not the shame he's sure they wanted him to. He's a better Heretic than he ever was a Conqueror. urGoh believes in him, and the urRu's opinion means more to him than the squawking of every Skeksis in the Court.

"I'm sorry." urGoh was hurt on his behalf, on behalf of a Skeksis.

"Let's...go," says urGoh, so only skekGra can hear. He helps his Counterpart stay upright and helps him move, the first steps on the long road to the Circle of the Suns and a long exile. "We did...what we...could."

Hi yes, Dark Crystal was my childhood.

[crystalbetrayed]

[ ooc: When memory viewing is a canon power the ffxiv!protag has.]

She staggers when the Echo subsides, a hand over her face. The others' memory tugs at an old chord in her, a passage in a long forgotten tongue she only faintly remembers.

[ Once passionate yet civil debate turning into screaming matches, her chair falling backwards as she rises from it, not even bothering to stand it up as she walks away. Her final act of rebellion becoming the warning siren of things to come. ]

"You were brave, both of you. I can't imagine it was easy, but you seem happier this way."

Ziggy Stardust |The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust | OTA

[ziggyplayedguitar]

It's an odd sensation when Ziggy touches the cube. It isn't a memory so much as a dream. Flashes of images. The blue of the Earth. Burning trees. dry rivers. explosions ringing in his ear. angry humans. slaughter. murder. starvation. The images come so fast that he can barely make heads or tails of it.

They grind to a halt, replaced by a news man. "Scientific evidence has agreed that the Earth is on a course that will leave it to biodiversity collapse in five years. The expectation is for famine and resources will drive wars and diseases, especially in the tropics...."

The newsman goes on talking about the demise of Earth but another voice is fading in over it. The voice is Anthean, like his mother's but masculine. " Maybe it will be the second coming. Maybe it will be Jesus Christ himself, but I think it will be something even more than Christ. I imagine he'll remember what happened to him last time. I imagine humans will destroy the savior the same way they had before, though you have more, better ways to destroy it this time around."

Ziggy knows in his heart that he has to choose. His life, or the life of the planet where his father lives, the planet that could save his people. He had to choose. Ziggy woke in the memory, walking through the ship to find his mother. He had to go to Earth. it couldn't wait.

Man, when to place it in time? Let's say this is a few weeks after Hiroki's returned :D, so that

[somekindofspaceuncle]

"Ziggy?" Hiroki Shirogane asks, concerned.

"Is this...? Is this about that whole quiznaking prophecy bullshit?"

He hates that.

"The saviour, huh? I see. That sounds great, but..."

But terrible. With everything else said there.

Rondo dan Olorthava'as / OC (sci-fi/fantasy setting, details in journal)

[coffee_elf]

The Kanaffar province is at the fringe of most population centers on the planet, and the capital city, Hanamira, is the smallest in the Southern hemisphere. If it weren't for the rich mines that lie a few hundred miles outside the city limits, there would be no one here but nomads and smalltime traders. As it is, Rondo's father has an interest in acquiring one of the new mining sites.

Rondo couldn't care less about ore and minerals, but the Hanamira museum is without equal. He's there alone, despite being barely old enough to take public transportation from the hotel. He knew he'd have to escort himself there; any hard feelings he may have on account of being neglected by his father are swept away the moment he sets foot in the building. The air is cool, kept unnaturally dry to protect the artifacts, and not by the hand of technology, but with the regularly-maintained work of a dozen mages who study there.

It's not crowded. It rarely is. This is a scholar's museum, and he knows the security guards are watching him, because children are risky amongst ancient bones. But he knows what he wants to see and where to go see it.

At the end of a hall lit in soft yellow and orange is a vast fossil that takes up the entire wall of the chamber. The serpentine shape pressed into it was easily seventy feet long in life. The wingspan is hard to gauge; some of the bones are misaligned and cracked on the stone, but the plaque gives an estimate of over forty feet when fully extended.

There are other, better-preserved fossils of the winged snakes that once lived on their world, but this is the biggest. This is the Etha-stone, and Rondo feels like he's waited all his life to see it.

"I wish I knew what your name was," he whispers to it. For a moment, he thinks he hears the sound of wings, but...nah, that's only his imagination, or maybe one of the magical air-circulation routines starting up.

He'll sit by the fossil with his sketchbook, making drawings, for hours. They're terrible drawings and he knows it, but the peace of the room is worth the price of wasting time with ineffectual artwork.

[silverseamariner]

skekSa's attention is captured as much by the fossil as Rondo's memory. It must be an extinct creature of great age and power.

She knows there are plenty of extinct species on Thra - and a fair few had been wiped out by her own people. The Ornamentalist and the Gourmand alone devastated the planet's wildlife with their appetites. The Skeksis were not particularly kind masters of Thra. She's unaware of the Darkening, as of now, but she's aware that the Castle-dwellers do experiments on the Crystal that are not at all pleasant.

She may be a Skeksis, but she has her limits about gross abuse of Thra's environment. Her way of life and the Sifa clan's culture depends on the sea's resources - and a sick sea is bad for sailing and worse for fishing. It's in her interests that the Silver Sea and the Sifan coasts stay healthy, and learning that the other Skekisis were poisoning her home would genuinely anger her.

"What kind of creature is that, lad?" The Mariner wonders what the creature that skeleton belonged to. It's closer to Vassa's size - and she wonders if Vassa's kind are rare, too. She's certainly never seen another Leviathan in Thra for a very long time. As far as she knows, they aren't hunted, but there are other ways for a species to go extinct.

Midnight | BNHA

[love_the_smell]

[ Don't cry. Don't cry, Nemuri. Heroes never cry.

The rain was cold. It soaked through her trenchcoat and seeped into her boots. This was fine; she could say that her face was wet because of the downpour.

She watched as Shirakumo was taken away in a body bag. He was only seventeen. He couldn't even drive a car yet. Funny, wasn't it? They were allowed to fight criminals - murderers, rapists, terrorists - even before they could get their driver's licenses or go to bars. Even before they could live the rest of their lives.

She could vaguely hear Aizawa and Yamada speaking to her, but she couldn't face them. She'd start sobbing if she looked at them now, and the public would see. They needed their heroes to be strong. What would happen to society if they saw their heroes crumble under the weight of their reality?

Nemuri clenched her hands into fists. A kind policeman offered her an umbrella, and she accepted it with a word of thanks. She put on her shades. That should help. Slowly, she turned to her two friends, willing her voice to remain steady. ]

Aizawa. Yamada.

Let's get inside. C'mon.

We don't want you getting sick out here.

[ "Thanks... Kayama. But we're good.

The rain kinda fits our vibe right now..."

Nemuri nodded, but the two boys had already turned away. She swallowed the lump in her throat and walked away from where Shirakumo had died. The police needed her statement. ]



[ ooc; for the curious! ]

Kisuke Urahara - Bleach

[hatician]

[The seconds passed and after some time, Kisuke adjusted his hat then took it off, pretending to be picking frayed strings from the brim of it. He put it back on, knowing better than to pretend that, simply because he experienced something, that he fully understood it.

He couldn't say he was clueless, though. Few people could experience something like that and feel absolutely nothing.

All he could do was speculate and run through a line of dialogue he had repeated too many times in his long, long life. That scene of carnage looked somewhat brighter than others he had seen but he knew better than to draw a comparison. 'Tragedy' was a matter of perspective and he was looking over someone who had a front-row seat to that play.]

Those children are going to remember the ones who saved them for the rest of their lives. It looks like you'll do the same.

Iratus : Lord of the Dead

[necromanticised]

It's the memory Iratus least wishes to share. The memory of his defeat, a millennia ago.

The memory starts so well... The clattering hordes of the living dead behind him, the heat of flames as they pillage and destroy. The comfortable weight of his crown atop his head, and the inviting sight of another city on the horizon. It's almost enough to dampen the unquenchable fire of his anger. This moment of sadistic joy is filled with rage equal to the most infuriating second of most people's life.

And then they emerge. Four heroes. A wizard, a warrior, a cleric and a ranger. He laughs scornfully at the cliche, but as always any happiness Iratus has is consumed by anger as they prove to be his match. The battle rages, but his minions fall and even his supreme necromancy cannot prevent his fall. An arrow slips through his armour, a sword slides into his chest, a bolt of lightning pierces his heart, and an accursed miracle prevents him from shrugging it off.

On his knees and more furious than ever, Iratus has enough life left in him to say just one thing to his foes. Clutching the blade of the sword stuck in his torso, glowing red eyes staring his killer dead on. Hot blood bubbling from his mouth, it's pure spite that keeps him awake enough to speak.

"I am the master of death... It won't save you. Mine... or yours. One day you will serve me!"

Everything goes black, leaving Iratus with only his wrath, ready to ferment for as long as it takes.

Chikai Kuji | Sarazanmai | OTA

[measuringdistance]

The sunset is beautiful. Everything is cast in gold and red, from the bridge to the water below. Chikai's standing with his brother, but neither of them are here to enjoy the view. They're here for a reason. Chikai holds a paper bag in his hands, and takes one more quick glance at his little brother, before letting it drop into the water, where it sinks immediately.

"There," Chikai says, sounding and looking perfectly confident, "Now forget about the gun. Got it?"

The young boy next to him doesn't look reassured at all. He just holds onto his soccer ball, eyes fixed on the water below. In a small but steady voice, he says, "Mm. I'll catch up to you later."

"A'ight!" Chikai says, patting him on the shoulder and starting to hum as he walks away. There's still more to do, other things to arrange, but at least this much is done. This much, he fixed, and now Toi has nothing to worry about any more. Then he hears a splash from behind, and looks back to see his brother with his arms outstretch over the railing, the soccer ball no longer anywhere to be found.

"You gave up everything for me," the boy says quietly, before turning towards him and insisting with a surprisingly amount of vehemence for his age, "So I'll give up what's most important to me too!"

For a moment, Chikai just stares at him, like he's not sure what he's seeing. But if he wants to say anything, whether to refute or reassure, he doesn't. He closes his mouth, and silently turns to continue walking away. He doesn't look back again.

Legolas ; LOTR

[myrkvidr]

There are many moments like this nowadays.

Aragorn and Gimli wreathed in their pipe smoke, taking rest dutifully in their little declivity, though none of the Three Hunters can divest themselves of stale tension so easily. Troubled whisps of smoke from pipe and campfire sweep away on the Rohan breeze. The plains stretch dauntlessly to match their determination as they track the hobbits they would deliver from trouble.

Legolas is still curious about these far-flung westerly lands, foreign from the eaves of his Woodland home under which he has lived thus far: Greenwood, they used to praise it. Now Mirkwood, his beleaguered forest struggles onward -- still green, despite the shadow pressing down upon it like a blighted root. Still growing. Still here.

He meanders to the edge of their rough perimeters of safety, eyes keen in half-expectation of sighting Rohirrim or other beings. Grasses steeple their soft arms up prayerfully beneath his feet. A runnel limned by the orange evening sun beckons him; he kicks off his shoes blithely, hikes up his heather-grey trousers, and wades into the glacial water.

There are many things the lofty and arch Elves of Rivendell say of the Wood-Elves. Less wise, more dangerous. Lord Elrond might say, diplomatically, the Woodland Realm is insular -- others may forgo civility and call it crude.

Singing quietly to himself, Legolas watches the glare and sheen of water between his legs. He stills where he stands, staring at the light on the water as though he would fall into reverie admiring it, such an ancient bright not even the Elves were here to witness its arrival.

He sings down to the water, Silvan-accented. His hand drifts up, brushing past his hair and to his faithful long knife stowed away.

Then, sharp and clean, he pitches forward and plunges his knife into the water and it emerges with a middling trout pierced and thrashing on the blade until it stills.

"Thank you for your life," Legolas murmurs to the gleaming creature.

His hair lifts on the breeze. This land of Men is imbrued with long sadnesses, and apprehension of more strife. Yet it still thrums doggedly with life, awaiting the promise of spring. It will arrive again. It always does. Perhaps, he thinks, this land is not so different from Mirkwood.

Tommy Newton | The Man Who Fell to Earth | OTA (CW: Medical Torture and Sadism)

[iamjustvisiting]

Tommy considered the cube a long time, walking around it, contemplating. He was wary of things now and could barely see it now that he was partially blind. Tentatively, he felt for it because his depth perception was so shot.

His mind opened to the cube. He was laying on the table and didn't care. Whether it was learned helplessness or that they had given him nothing but gin to drink until thirst forced him to guzzle the anesthetic. He was compliant but they ratcheted the straps down as tight as they could anyway. They bit into his skin.

"Now, Mr. Newton."

They were scrubbing his bare chest with something red that burned like fire. He couldn't even wince. The human anesthetic they gave him flared a migraine that pressed his brows together. "No more, please. The stuff you give me. It makes it hurt more."

"Now, Mr. Newton. We know the anesthetics work. Just relax. Today's procedure will go quickly if you stay still."

"What are.. what are you going to do to me." He struggled against the hands holding his head to look at the tray. There were serious medical devices there, including what looked like a circular saw.

"Relax. The sedatives will keep you from feeling anything."

"Please! They don't work." He begged as the nurse tested the circular saw. It was handed across his body to the doctor. No one told him what was happening. No one ever told him.

"Alright." The doctor was speaking to the nurse. "Let's take a look inside."

Tommy's eyes went wide. The saw came down on his sternum, flesh and bone giving away like butter. The pain was so much he couldn't scream and the horror of his body opening too terrifying to look away from.

The doctor smiled down with satisfaction when the scream finally broke his lips. "There that's what I like to hear."

Tommy stared at the doctor, his hands watching them take samples of his organs. He was helpless and the humans in the room just looked on with eager smiles.

[eumenis]

Doctors. Furiosa hates doctors, which she knows is not entirely fair, from talking with people in the Nexus and from friendship with the Vuvalini midwives in her own world. But the man looming over Tommy reminds him of no one so much as the Organic Mechanic, filthy bastard that he was.

It took her far too long to catch on. The boys in her crew used to do anything to avoid going to Organic's ledges. She thought it was because they were afraid of dying soft, and she'd scold them for refusing to get fingers set or gashes stitched up. It was the Ace that had to tell her there are more to it.

She should have realized. Organic always liked to play with the Wives when he could get away with it. Nothing that would get Joe angry, but enough to make them flinch and fear him. How much more must he do to the men in his care, with no Immortan to claim possession over their bodies?

After she found out, she started paying him off to leave her crew alone. Only because she couldn't get away with killing him herself.

Watching this memory, she has no concept of the victim being anything but human, and it doesn't matter to her. She gives a full-body twitch as if she wants nothing more than to charge into the memory and throw the assailants across the room. Not my boys!

But Tommy isn't one of her boys, and this is a memory, not something she can interfere with. She's breathing rapidly when the images fade, struggling to calm herself.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," she says when she can speak.

Mithrax the Forsaken | Destiny 2

[houseoflight]

The memory is of a long, dark corridor. The walls seem to pulse and writhe like living things. Worms wiggle in the shadows and glowing orange runes decorate jagged, chitinous stalactites and stalagmites.

There are others ahead of Mithrax, a scouting party with a shank floating ahead while dregs escort it through the twisting, humid tunnels.

Something groans from the depths, loud enough to shake bits of chitin loose from the walls. They all stop. Mirthax rises up as tall as he can in the tight tunnel. He listens. There is a scratching in the distance. The vandals raise there wire rifles and the dregs their pistols.

They wait.

The thrall come screaming up the tunnel, their claws scraping against the ground as they move like one writhing mass of fury. Mithrax shouts and the scouting party opens fire. When one thrall falls three more scramble over its dead body and push forward. That is the strength of the Hive: their overwhelming numbers.

They can't hope to hold ground here. Mithrax calls for a retreat and the move together trying to leave the tunnels with minimal casualties. He shoves a wounded dreg behind him with his secondary arm, draws a sword with his main arm and cuts a screaming thrall in half with a single swing.

Another howls at him and he roars back.

[chiaro_oscuro]

If there's one thing Ben Solo knows, it's that things that are dead can come back to haunt you - sometimes for better, but more often for worse. These things in Mithrax's memory remind him of the Emperor. They're not dead but they look like they should be, seemingly frail and ancient but impossibly strong.

Ben is well-familiar with darkness and evil, and he has no doubt that's what the creatures that attacked Mithrax and his crew were. He recognizes them as humanoid, but they look wrong. Since it's a memory he can't get a read on their minds, if there are minds in those shambling bodies - and he's sure, even if he could, there would be nothing pleasant there to read.

If he wasn't aware it was only a memory, he'd have drawn his lightsaber and joined Mithrax and his team of Eliksni in engaging the twisted things - and had it been a real fight, he almost certainly would have died. He is one, however strong, and they are many. His hand instinctively jerks toward his side, where his blade is.

When the memory fades, he turns to Mithrax, shaken. "What were those things?"

Ganymede | Greek mythology

[eagleswept]

Ganymede touched the cube curiously and with no fear at all, though maybe that was something to regret when everything seemed to swoop and then fade around him for something else entirely. Something that was part of a tangle of memories he thought of only rarely.

"Apollo's already told you how Troy will be assured to be remembered," Zeus said into the still darkness, his face tipped up towards the stars spread out over the sky, "but you will be remembered as well, and through you, Troy again. The stars will carry you, and all who look up at the sky will know---"

"Zeus!" He would usually never interrupt Zeus. The number of times he'd done so could, including this one, be counted on one hand, but fear and a sick feeling of dread pulled the cry out of him. "I... I--!" Pale and trembling a little, Ganymede had to smother the urge to get up and run, as if that would let him escape what Zeus apparently intended to do. The stars? He might have been grieving and wishing not to have experienced anything of this, but this was not what he wanted!

"My lord---!"

"Peace, Ganymede." Zeus interrupted him finally, looking down, and Ganymede could only barely make himself move, but Zeus was quiet until he did look up. Zeus' sharp, regal face twisted into a small grimace and he raised a hand, finally touching Ganymede with the barest of brush of his fingertips over a cold, pale cheek. Warmth followed, and Ganymede might have sagged into Zeus if he still wasn't so distressed. "Don't look like that, my prince. You're not going anywhere."

"But..."

"I'm not literally putting you among the stars, beloved," Zeus said wryly, and for as reassuring as the words and endearment was, Ganymede was now thoroughly consternated. Which was maybe better than the fear of being turned into stardust and light, for as much as he would be able to escape his current grief by that being done. Zeus cupped his face and chuckled at his expression, scrunched up as it was. "I know what the stories humans tell say, but that's not how this works. Look."

Zeus turned, but the memory turned with it, fading out. Ganymede, his expression briefly scrunched, glanced sideways.

"Did you see that as well..?"

sakura matou | fate/kaleid liner prisma illya [ bunch of cws in the tl ]

[unchose]

As they won't fit in the subject line, this comes with - cw: coarse language, family abuse, sororicide, family death, and body horror.

[The memory opens up to the image of a young teenage man standing outside a rather large Japanese house. There's something about him that makes Sakura feel warm, even though there's something about his expression that seems almost sad, melancholic.

The name of that boy is Emiya Shirou, and while he's a broken man, that doesn't matter much to her.

And then the conversation starts, as Shirou speaks with apologetic words, standing right outside the front entrance of his lavish, Japanese styled home. He wears a smile, but it's a little sad as the snow falls.]

...Sorry. I probably can't come to school for a while. If Sakura is okay with it, you can visit my house again.

[Sakura wears a smile of her own, small as it is, but she obscures her expression with the umbrella she's holding, trying her best to hold in her tears. Her voice is soft as always and comes out rather easily, even if it's difficult to say.]

...Although I'm happy about the invitation, this is the last time.

[Awkwardly, Shirou rubs at the nape of his neck, unable to look at her properly as he tries to come up with something to say.]

You don't need to be shy. I mean... well... If Sakura is willing to come, it'd be more...

[She interrupts him in the middle of his sentence; this time, her voice more insistent.]

It's the last time. [Tears start to roll down the sides of her cheeks, but she hides it with the umbrella. She doesn't want him to see her cry, even though everything hurts so much.] I also... Actually... I really want to be with senpai more. Going to school, attending club activities, walking home together, saying "see you tomorrow"... I treasured those small things.

Sakura... you...

[The umbrella then drops by her feet as she reveals that sad expression on her face, a smile that could break, tears that she can't seem to stop in her eyes.]

But even that has to end. The Holy Grail War has begun.

[That smile of hers causes the young boy in front of her to still, his voice nearly cracking with unease, the uncertainty of this new information.]

What are you... talking about...? Sakura... Why do you... know that term...

The Holy Grail War, a bloody battle where cards are used to become Heroic Spirits. This is a ritual created by the magus families known as the founding three. [Her gaze drops slightly, looking downcast as she utters that admittance, a truth that she knew for so long but didn't want to say. Because if she said it, everything would be over.] The Matou are one of them.

[Shirou opens his mouth, clearly shocked as he calls out to her, saying only a single word:]

You...!

[There's so many questions that he could have asked, there, but he can't bear himself to say them as he looks into her eyes, tears still trickling from them. So instead of saying anything more, he's stilled into silence as he just finds himself gaping before he glances away from her, evidently in pain.]

...That's unfortunate. I thought you'd be more flustered.

[Even though her words sound like teasing, there's something sad about it. Shirou then looks at the sky above him, filled with light, falling snow before he answers her.]

... How should I put it? I think I've gotten used to losing everything.

A loss... [She laughs lightly, almost pitiful.] That's how you look at it, huh?

[Shirou then walks forward to grab the umbrella that's landed by Sakura's feet, carrying it in his hands before shielding her with it and asking,]

...hey, Sakura. [His eyes are cold, almost distant as he asks the serious question.] Are you here to finish me off with that card?

[Sakura beams at him with that same smile of hers, before answering him properly.]

I knew it... Senpai really is a bad person. [She then shows him the card more properly, explaining:] This is a Servant card. Principally, each card corresponds to a certain Heroic Spirit. This card's Heroic Spirit is...

[And she flips the card over, revealing the image.]

Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes. This is the strongest card without a doubt. This card... [She holds it with both of her hands close to herself, handing it out for him to take.]

This card... I'll let senpai have it.

[Those words alone cause Shirou's eyes to grow wide in shock, taken completely aback.]

...Huh?! Why...

If you want to rescue Miyu-chan, [she says with a grin, her eyes reflecting how much she's cried in the last few moments.] then win the Holy Grail War.

[Her hands begin to shake and tremble, making it more obvious that she's frightened; terrified, even.]

Although your chances are slim, it might be possible with this card. But... there's one thing, [Shirou's eyes widen even more at her words as she continues. The pain is evident in her shaky voice.] if it can be granted...

[And with complete disregard for the snow, for the umbrella covering her head, she throws herself into his arms, clutching at him closely, her head almost buried in his chest It's enough that the umbrella falls from Shirou's hands a second time.]

Please run away instead! Whether it's magic or Miyu-chan... forget all of that and run away from this town. Senpai. If senpai would do that... [The tears start again and this time, she can't stop them.] I would give up everything together with you...!

[She's trembling and he's almost about to reach out to her, hold her close as his fingers tremble, as nerves get to him but he stops himself, clenching his hand into a tight fist and instead grabbing her by the shoulders, pushing her slightly away.

It's this movement that causes her to let out a small noise of surprise, eyes wide in shock, cheeks red from crying.]

Sakura. Sakura, I'm sorry, I-

[But his words are interrupted when something stabs into Sakura's right side near her shoulder blade, a sharp object that causes her to be completely shocked in the moment as she's barely given the chance to react with,]

Ah...

Sakura...

[And the weapon subsequently pulls out of her, causing her to fall as blood hits the snow and Shirou finds himself latching onto her in turn.]

Sakura!

[Calling out is a young man their age who seems to be rather annoyed by this predicament.]

Slutty. You're too slutty.

[An alarm seems to ring loudly in Shirou's ears as he looks up at the person who had hurt Sakura.]

You... who are you!?

Man... oh man, oh man, oh man... You're such a slutty sister, Sakura... Let your brother co... co... coerce? Connect? Correct... you as necessary...

Nii... nii-san... [Sakura tries to manage that through the pain, grabbing at her injury.]

Brother...? You're Sakura's brother? Then why're you...

Yeah! [ Man, does this guy sound excited. He's even smiling. ] I'm the legitimate successor of the Matou family. My name is Matou... Matou...

[His expression drops.]

...what was it again?

[Shock finds itself on Shirou's face before Shinji sprints around his weapon like it's a toy.]

Forget it. If I kill these two, who knows? I might remember something.

Ah!

[The weapon comes at them, but Shirou's much quicker as he grabs the umbrella to shield the both of them, as he speaks the two words:]

Trace on!

[It's enough to deflect the Matou boy's weapon and protect both Shirou and Sakura, but it causes the umbrella to break as Shirou falls down from his stance.]

Ugh...

Senpai...! [Sakura calls out to him, worriedly.]

Huh? Hey, hey... what was that about...? [Someone isn't happy that the attack was blocked.] This is strange... why was it blocked... Ah... my attack...

[And suddenly, the card in his hand, the Assassin card appears as he installs the card - transforming him into what seems to be a monster, practically. The physical embodiment of the Hassan-i-Sabbah.]

Why was it blocked!?

This way, Sakura! [Shirou grabs onto Sakura's uninjured arm as he hurriedly rushes her into the house running as quickly as they possibly can.]

His appearance... it changed in an instant! Was that the transformation into a Heroic Spirit!?

Y-Yes, that's right... that was the Assassin card... [They eventually find a place to hide and to catch their breath, just for a second.]

Assassin?

Be... Be careful, senpai.... that Heroic Spirit is...

[However, she can't finish that thought as she groans in pain, clutching at her injury.]

Sakura! Your wound!

[Heaving heavy breaths, she tries to be reassuring, lifting her gaze to him so she can tell him this:] I-It's alright, senpai. More importantly...

Saku-

[But it's too late as the Matou boy attacks them, Shirou only barely in time as he wraps his arms around her protectively as they're thrown outside through the glass window.]

-ra!

I have no idea who you are.. but you keep getting in my way... I'll kill you after I'm done with her! Wait your turn!

Shit... [Shirou is bent over and Sakura finds herself looking at him worriedly.]

Senpai! You protected me...

Sakura, run away...!

[And those words of his shock her, eyes wide. He continues to speak even with that expression of his.]

I can't... throw away everything... Don't worry... about me... Escape by yourself...

[It hurts to hear this. To hear his words.]

And find happiness away from here...!

[The Archer card is near her feet. She bites her lower lip and reaches out to grab it, causing Shirou to be surprised.]

Saku...ra?

[She manages to get up onto her feet and dramatically tosses her scarf aside, wearing a confident look in her eyes despite the pain.]

I'll... defeat you, nii-san!

Heh? You grew a backbone, huh, Sakura!? On top of opposing your brother, you're going to "defeat" me!? Did that what's-his-name over there seduce you or something!? Or are you rebelling now that grandfather is dead!? What a horrible, horrible, horrible sister! So sad, so terrible, it makes me want to cry! With a sister like you, I guess I have no choice but to kill you...!!

D-Don't do it, Sakura! For siblings to kill each other...

It's okay. [Sakura interrupts, eerily calm.] My brother has been dead for a long time. Also...

[She looks back at him, smiling as tears still linger there. It's the happiest smile that she's had this whole time, but in a way, it's also melancholy.]

You didn't choose me, but I love you. So, I'll protect you.

Sakura...!!

Please watch, senpai. It'll be fine. Since I have this card, [she's in a dramatic pose, the card held out in front of her.] I'll win for sure! Install!

[It glows for a second before doing absolutely nothing. It's this that causes Sakura to be completely shocked and frozen in place.

Ah...]

...huh?

[Laughter soon fills the air, an evil sort of laugh befitting of a villain.]

Pft... hah... haha... Ahahahaha! What's wrong, Sakura!? Don't tell me you can't even install!?

It can't be... why!?

We knew you might betray us! Did you really think Julian-sama would give you the Gilgamesh card!? That card... it isn't connected to a Heroic Spirit. It's a genuine garbage card!

[Sakura voice shakes, and her fingers tremble slightly, holding the card that is stained with black.] Garbage... card...?

Oh boy... it seems your brother has to teach you how to use the cards.

[It's dangerous. The arm that isn't human is raring itself to go, reaching out towards Sakura's heart. Her eyes are wet with tears again as Shirou makes the attempt to get up and go to her.]

R-- Run away, Sakura...!

[Her eyes look back at him, uncertain, her body trembling in fear.] Sen... pai...

Zabaniya.

I'm... sorry...

[And as she apologizes, there's a hole that is torn right through her chest as she falls downthe card falling out and she's taken by a dark shadow that swallows her whole and the memory cuts there.]

Cal Kestis | Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order | ota *TW for death*

[unapprovedtrash]

He's young again. Younger. He's wearing robes he hasn't worn in five years. Not since well... This.

His hands are shaking. His whole body is shaking. He's clutching a broken lightsaber so tightly his knuckles are white, though the hilt is so wide he can scarcely get his fingers all the way around. It doesn't belong to him. It belongs to... belongs to...

His convulses with a wracking sob. His eyes are squeezed shut but he can't banish the sight of his Master's dead corpse less then a foot away from him. They fly open again when the shockwave hits his escape pod. His head whips in the direction of the porthole, at the sight of the ship that had been his home for the past year or so exploding as the reactors overloaded. He regretted it, the sight of it would haunt him.

Why... why...?! Why had the clones attacked them? They were friends, brothers almost. He had that dumb competition with Grip, and Deadeye was always sneaking him treats behind Master Tapal's back, Zone was always encouraging him when he felt like he wasn't making any progress training... He'd looked him dead on and uttered the words Shoot to kill.

It was like a... a switch had been flipped. Something that just erased everything they were. They killed Master Tapal seemingly without remorse... and they were dead now too.

He clutches his master's lightsaber like it's the only life line he has and just. Yells.

((ooc: if you want your character to see a memory of the entire event leading up to this scene here's a video! ))

[chiaro_oscuro]

Ben knows about Order 66. It was Palpatine's handiwork, and his grandfather's. His stomach churns when he remembers the way he'd admired Vader's memory. This was the kind of thing he'd been looking up to, and now it makes him sick, seeing what the Emperor and Vader had done.

The only reason he doesn't have as many Jedi deaths to his name as Vader is because there were practically none left. The other students were dead - Ben killed Hennix and Voe, and Ren killed Tai as a last push for Ben into the dark. He stepped willingly into the dark side, believing it was the only home that would take him, and became colder, harder, and darker there. He is a patricide, and killed Lor San Tekka, a man who'd once been one of his childhood guides and caretakers. That is horrible enough.

"...he was your master, wasn't he?" Ben's voice is quiet, soft. He remembers thinking that he'd killed Luke when he fled the burning temple, terrified and guilty. There was a time when he'd been close to Master Skywalker, when the idea of any harm coming to Luke would have terrified him. Now he doesn't like Luke, but he recognizes that the man meant well and both of them had been used. What's done was done. He means what he says next. "I'm sorry."

esther greenwood | the bell jar | ota (warning for suicide attempt, hospital mention)

[higginbottom]

She wanted to bury herself. That's all. That's why she took the pills.

When she comes to, Esther's irritated. It didn't work. All she wanted was to sleep forever and somebody had to come and wake her up. Damn it. She's groggy and sweaty and God, she's dirty, too. Figures. That's what you get for squirreling yourself away in a forgotten corner of the basement, she thinks. The pills didn't work and the hiding didn't work and now her head is spinning and there's a goddamn ambulance, why does there have to be one of those, it's going too fast, and it's very dark, and now it's very, very bright, too bright, and she wants to scream but can't.

She's gasping for air. She's alive.

And still, her throbbing head. And still. the too-bright glare of the hospital room. And still, the tragic mask of her mother's worried face stares at her. Esther wants her to go away. She wants everyone to go away, to flee from her, Esther Greenwood, the girl who couldn't get an internship. The girl who's been so good about writing, about getting published in magazines, the girl who has always just wanted to write, and now she's stuck inside a white-walled, too-clean room that makes her want to shout in rage and pull her hair out.

Her mother is still staring, her face contorted with sorrow and concern.

Great.

Eligre Kaivodulin || D&D/flexible/generic high fantasy || OTA

[lady_kaivodulin]

She knew immediately that she had a made a mistake as soon as she touched the peculiar little trinket. Don't I always? Was her last, sardonic thought before the artifact did its work. Perhaps that thought was was why it was this memory above all others she was abruptly forced to relive:

Wine-red drops of blood on blinding white snow. Tatters of black wool and silk like the scattered feathers of a wounded bird. Pieces of the sorceress left behind as she stumbled and crawled through the knee-deep snow. The icy wind raked claws across her back, bare where her fine garments had been torn apart by the unrestrained violence with which she had been flogged, tearing fabric and flesh alike to bloody ribbons.

She was struggling across a sea of white, knowing that somewhere-- probably a mile yet, maybe more-- there was a road, but not knowing if she would live to get there, or what she would do if she did.


She was followed by a massive gray warhorse ridden by an equally massive man looking down at her with an expression of disgust. A many-tailed whip was in his hand, dripping more of the sorcerer's blood into the snow. For now he moved at an unhurried but steady pace, intent and inexorable. She understood that he knew there was no need to chase her: she could barely move on her own, never mind run, never mind gain any distance at all that would allow her the quarter to attack, or even so much as defend herself.


"How could you do this to me, you wretched beast?!" Eligre shrieked, voice hoarse with crying. "You coward--! To choose your wife over me, the woman who loves you. Your match, your equal in spirit and ability. The woman who carries your heir." {continued here, briefly||tw: intimate partner violence}

Dabi | BNHA

[creamation]

It's a strange kind of memory, almost as if Dabi isn't quite there. Like he's looking in on another life, but the feelings are all very much there.

Two boys are sitting in the corner of a darkened room, huddled close together. There's a heavy, almost stifling quality to the air around them, but the younger, white haired one is smiling nevertheless.

"Can I see it again? Just one more time," he asks, tugging on his brother's sleeve.

The older red headed boy looks tired, dark circles under his eyes, bandages around one of his arms, but he holds his hand up in front of his little brother anyway. A moment later, there's a burst of brilliant blue flames emanating from the palm of his hand. It's not the biggest display of fire, unfortunately, but it's enough to make his little brother's eyes light up and squeal a little.

"So cool, Touya," he says, and the redhead gives him a small smile. It doesn't last for long though, a wince replacing it as he has to extinguish the flame.

"Sorry. Can't seem to hold on to it any longer than that just yet," he says quietly, disappointment in his tone and guilt welling up inside of him.

"It's okay, it's still really cool. You're gonna be the coolest hero."


Dabi yanks his hand away from the cube, and feels like he's going to throw up.

[wincon]

[ He doesn't know what he's looking at in the beginning. One moment, one of those Meta Liberation lackeys had been backing away and apologizing for the mess—said they'd been testing Quirks and would call someone to clean things up right away—and the next, Tomura sees two kids in front of him, one with snow-white hair and the other with a shock of red.

An illusion?

Maybe not. He can't move or turn, the scene in front of him playing out like a movie or a dream.

In his trapped consciousness, he complains. He doesn't know why he's stuck here, and he doesn't particularly care to be. This vision is none of his concern, but he's forced to watch as the smaller boy coaxes and pleads to see something again. The older one, the redhead, raises a hand and summons a fire.

The blue flame flickers hauntingly in his palm.

Ah.

That changes things. Tomura knows he's touched on something intensely private now, and—well—he's not generous enough to feel guilt, but he's aware this isn't something he should be seeing at all. Still, the vision, the Quirk, imprisons him. He'll learn, whether he wants to or not.

Touya.

After a moment, the flame goes out, and Tomura is captive audience to the children as "Touya" shrinks in disappointment and the other rushes to reassure, admiring and bright. Naive.

The image finally starts to slip away, and Tomura doesn't fight it. He blinks back into the second-floor lobby, finding himself holding his head like it hurts. It doesn't, so much as feel like he's climbing out of a long, deep sleep. Slowly, he drops his hand and searches out Dabi with his gaze. ]

What was that?

hektor | fate/grand order

[troias]

I saw your death. I saw Achilles kill you.

[In this memory, a man and a woman stand together before a set of large, imposing gates. The man's body is still, the set of his shoulders stiff with sympathy. Armor settles along his body; his cape snaps quietly in the light breeze blowing along the city streets. The grip of his hand tightens around the shaft of the gleaming spear resting against his shoulder.

The woman's arms shift around the weight of the child resting in her arms. Her eyes never leave the man's face, hidden from sight by the bronze, plumed helmet set upon his head. The tension in the air, the shadows cast over them by the great gate and walls, make it clear that war is here, has been here for a long time, settled in like an unfortunately familiar friend.

And still, the woman's voice is clear and plaintive, pleading with him:]

Hektor, please, don't go. If I were to lose you, I...

[Her words trail off, grief closing her throat tight. The man, Hektor's, stillness is broken, unable to ignore her emotion; he sets his spear aside to take hold of something far more precious. His hands cup her face, wiping away the tears beginning to trail down her cheeks with his thumbs.]

Beloved Andromache, the last thing I want is to make you cry. And no man relishes dying in war. But what kind of message would it send to our men, our city, if I were to hide myself away on the battlements? And more than that... the sound of your screams is the one thing I never want to hear. I'd rather be dead and buried before then.

[Hektor leans in, kissing her forehead. Tips her head up to press a kiss to her mouth, a soft, loving touch that lingers. When they part, his attention turns to the child in her arms, hands reaching to take him - only for the baby to recoil with a sudden shriek and burst into tears, frightened by his father's appearance, the helmet rendering him unfamiliar to young eyes.

The sounds shatters the somber atmosphere. It sets Hektor to laughing, and even Andromache, in her fear and sadness, can't resist joining him.]

Well, listen to that! We certainly have a healthy baby boy, don't we?

[Andromache finds it in herself to grace her husband with a bright smile. Hektor's hands rise to his helmet, pulling it from his head and setting it in the dust by his feet. This time, when Hektor lifts his son from Andronache's arms, the boy doesn't cower from Hektor's hold. He sniffles, staring at Hektor with wide, innocent eyes as his father lifts him high in the air. And Hektor beams up at him in return, eyes shining with paternal love and pride. When Hektor speaks next, it's not to his wife but to the sky. To the gods living above them, high on the peak of Olympus.]

O Gods, grant my son with courage and power like mine! May he rule over Troy with strength. And when the people look upon him, may they say "He is better than his father by far."

[As Hektor lowers his son back into Andromache's arms, the memory fades. The Hektor of reality sits in silence as it disappears, a lit cigarette hanging from his fingers and a small smile curling his lips. For one second, the expression on his face remains a complicated tangle of emotion, and then he sweeps it clean.]

Ah, curiosity always kills the cat. But of all the memories it could pull out of this old man's head, that's certainly on the better end.

[How he feels having someone else witness such a private, precious moment... That's another matter.]

serafina deveraux | oc, supernatural ( the tv series ) | ota

[halfhell]

The gentlest touch of the tips of her fingers to the cube brings it to life immediately, surrounds her with naught but darkness - a harbinger, she's sure, of what's to come next. Something she isn't meant to recall. Something she had been far too young to remember with clarity, less at all, yet here she was, reliving the event which had occurred all those years ago, the likes of which had set her down the path she's now damned to tread.

A chalice filled to the brim with blood ( Human? Animal? Sera can't say, Sera does not want to say ); occultist insignia drawn upon the floor by way of a similar shade of crimson; candles burning around a haphazardly-made altar in the basement of a family home; and before it, a man and a woman, dressed in the finest red velvets down to the soles of their feet, the woman holding in her arms a child.

A little girl, swaddled in a worn pink blanket.

"My dear," She murmurs to the infant, who coos absentmindedly and unaware in her mother's arms, "My dear, you stand to inherit all, and for so little a price that you will hardly miss what you stand to lose."

A hex of blood drawn onto the child's forehead -

"Yours will be power, unrestrained and whole."

A soul sacrificed to the demons of old.

"We offer this vessel in your name -"

Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop make it stop make it stop -

She's closed her eyes, covered her ears to the sound of Latin, of pleas made to some underworld creature to make her what she now was. She doesn't realize. She doesn't realize.

for the record i'd kill for a crowley or a sam / dean to write with, but overall ota : )

[halfhell]