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

Nathanos Blightcaller | World of Warcraft | OTA

[tappingthewarchief]

[The cube before him contains the memory of Sylvanas Windrunner calling to him, freeing him from the sway of the Lich King. In the memory, he is much more...decomposed than he is now. He was a mindless wandering Undead then, but when the Banshee called, it was like a veil was lifted from his eyes and he was himself again...well, as much as he could be.]

Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov | Starcraft 2 | OTA

[infestedadmiral]

[The silver cube in front of him looked so simple. He had no idea it would dredge up a memory and put it on display. Luckily it was not one of his more horrible memories. At least it is at least not humiliating. The memory in the sphere is his meeting with Kerrigan, (Video here: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=GKQiccY1w5w) ]

Uther the Lightbringer | World of Warcraft | OTA

[lightsavemysoul]

[The cube before him holds an old, dear memory. He was alive then, riding back from the Balnir Farmstead with a young Prince Arthas Menethil under his protection. He had protected the boy and got him home safe.]

Kylo Ren/Brianna Solo • r63!Star Wars • ota (slight preference for canon- or verse-mates)

[umbraeternam]

[ A lot of her memories are varying levels of unpleasant, so if you'd like to tag but prefer something lighter, let me know and I'll write up an alternative memory option (likely something from when she was a child, such as the butterfly adventure).

The nested starter is written in prose but feel free to use brackets if you prefer, I'm perfectly content with either. Canon and verse mates (movieverse or EU) are very welcome, AUs/OCs/cross canon welcome as well.

content warning for the below starter: contains mental/physical abuse, and allusions to grooming and similar/associated predatory behavior in the past. ]

from her early First Order days - cw: abuse / torture

[umbraeternam]

She was alone.

Or rather, alone in ways she wished she wasn't, yet not alone in the way she most wished to be.

The Force was always there, long before she recognized it for what it was. Had he been as well? She didn't know but she did know he had been there for far too long. Probably was there when she thought she actually was alone, had secured some minuscule amount of privacy with her thoughts. Rather like in that particular moment.

"You're doubting again..."

As increasingly was becoming the case the voice comes unbidden. Unwelcome. An intrusion like the emerald glow she swore she saw before her upon waking far too often. Just thinking about that made her tense even more than the voice.

"Simply thinking upon my path."

"You know your path, my child. You've known it before you rightfully came to me for guidance."

She frowned down at the polished floor. It was a poor lie and easily batted aside. They always were. Just not always so kindly.

Kindness? There was no kindness within the First Order. None to be found in those she now found around herself. Perhaps it had been false kindness in those she used to know but, wasn't that better? Maybe? Perhaps...

Brianna winced at the pain that lanced through her temple, sudden and sharp. Her mind was wandering again at the worst time. Sign of how loud the doubts were trying to become.

"Have we not gone over this enough? I've tried to have patience with you Kylo but my patience is not infinite, even for you."

The malice was more easily recognizable to her now. Irritation and disappointment where none used to be. A change worth noting, some part of her knew. The part that needed to be quieter, that kept getting her into trouble, kept causing problems. It was possible that, deep down, she knew what it meant but wasn't willing to accept it. What could she do about it? Really? Surely it was better to just... continue. Adapt.

"My apologies, master. I know how valuable your time is."

"Don't use that placating tone with me, child. I am not Skywalker. I am not so inclined to ignore your misgivings."

Neither of you see anything other than my power. she thought to herself reflexively, forgetting herself and where she was for a moment. And she remembered too late.

The laugh — more of a cackle, really — somehow sounded both mocking and menacing at the same time. She tensed, not at it but at what it signaled, eyes widening with a touch of fear as she hurriedly glanced around the training room. While she had been physically alone in the room, she knew there wasn't an iota of safety in that.

"Your power?" There was an incredulous tone to his voice but it couldn't hide the edge of anger she caught within. Anger at her 'talking' back. At still possessing a line of thought that bordered on defiance and taking agency. "Well, Kylo, why don't you show me this power you speak of."

Her eyes widened more in an instant at hearing his voice in the flesh and not simply inside her head, spinning on her heel to turn toward it but she might as well not have bothered. The shock, as always, knocked her off her feet and stole her breath, although it was weak enough that she managed to catch herself with her hands rather than smacking her head against the floor. Time wasn't given for her to brace for the next but she still tried, gritting her teeth against the pain.

"Get up. If you have such power then get up. Resist it."

That she was able to stay somewhat stable on all fours was progress in itself, compared to the first time. And it was the lingering thread of defiance, in a way, that allowed her to. The determination to not give in. To fight.

But her earlier doubting had drawn real anger and she wordlessly gasped as another bolt made her hands clench involuntarily against the ground and her muscles tensed painfully. "Go on, child, I'm waiting. Show me this power of yours. After all, you must clearly have the ability to make this stop." Two strikes in rapid succession had her nearly biting through her tongue as her jaw clenched and back bowed. She didn't even feel when her head hit the ground, a simple mild impact couldn't compare to the fire in her veins, stealing control away from her.

Part of her wanted to scream but somehow she held it back. Spite gave her that much control. The fury trying to build inside her but getting shorted out every time a powerful shock had her twitching uncontrollably. If he was still mocking her she couldn't hear it over the pounding of her blood in her ears. Consciousness was held on by a thread and it was impossible to know if it was her will or his or the Force's that kept her aware, or at least aware enough to feel the pain. A pain that lasted long after she was finally left alone with one last disparaging comment, laying in disarray on the floor trying to relearn how to breathe.

Ben Solo/Kylo Ren | Star Wars

[chiaro_oscuro]

Ben doesn't think touching the cube is a good idea. Most of his memories are not good ones, and even the good ones are bittersweet. There are some he especially does not want to be thrown back into. However, he has no choice, and reaches for the cube even as his mind screams at him not to.

It's one of the bittersweet ones, to his limited relief. He's watching himself with Han Solo, on board the Millennium Falcon with Chewbacca. Ben's only a boy here: no armor, no helmet, no murderous intent. He's watching his father pilot with curiosity. The darkness in the back of his mind is only a faint whisper - one that, he knows, will grow as time goes on. Grow into something terrible, that he'll only throw off when a lot of irreparable damage had been done.

He hears himself laugh and winces with revulsion.

As an adult, he watches the memory with visible grief and guilt, and avoids looking at his father. It's not real, but the feelings it evokes very much are. There are worse memories the cube could have thrown at him - the incident at the academy with Luke, his killing of Hennix and Voe, the murder of his father, his fights with Rey, the way Palpatine broke him on Exegol - but that doesn't make watching this one pleasant.

"I'm sorry," he mutters to himself, eyes closed and shaking his head, not really thinking if anyone else is present. It's as if he's in a trance. "I'm sorry, Dad."

[lightsavemysoul]

Ben was not alone.

Emerging from the darkness, a blue hued, winged man looked him over.

"You...feel regret...remorse...you grieve."

A soft smile eased onto the stranger's face.

"There is hope for you."

Re: Ben Solo/Kylo Ren | Star Wars

[infestedadmiral]

Stukov reached out to touch the cube and instantaneously was privy to its contents. He could not help but smile, an orange wave rippling across his glow. A child watching a parent pilot? It warmed his infested heart, reminded him of his own children when they were small. It also felt as if icy claws were digging into him as he remembered he would never see them again.

He sighed.

"Your father is a pilot? Space runs in your family, as it does in mine."

Kashuu Kiyomitsu | Touken Ranbu | OTA

[saigawa]

(OOC: Ikedaya Incident.)
[Kashuu have a very controlled expression on him, looking seemingly in control and unaffected by the memory. As if he's an outsider watching instead of an affected party.

But the cube's clear surface is showing a darken room (it's night time) inside a building. Bodies are littering the floor, and there's a swordsman in light blue haori fighting the enemies. No, it's more like he's tearing through them with his skill and power.

Until the cube turns red in hue with the faint sound of a the sword's tip being broken off. And then choked sounds of the man's coughing up blood, as he brings a hand to his mouth for a moment.]

Hmm... It's a bad idea to touch this cube.

Midnight | BNHA

[love_the_smell]

[ Oh, look! It was a young girl - probably about 8-years-old or so - rushing into her living room, wearing stilettos that were way too big for her and her own frilly pink swimsuit. She had a mask made from cardboard, which she'd covered in black glitter.

Anyone looking at her now would realize that they were looking at a very young Midnight, teetering on her feet before pointing at a stuffed bear on the couch. ]

Caught in the act of stealing from the bank! You're toast! Midnight Star Girl will stop you!

[ And she leapt at the bear - only to trip on her own shoes, falling face first into the coffee table.

The resulting bang! had two adults dashing into the room - obviously her parents, seeing the resemblance. ]

Nemuri!

[ They both rushed to her, and Nemuri sat up, sniffling. She had her hands clenched into fists to stop the big, fat tears from rolling down her cheeks. ]

I just wanted to stop the bank robbery...

[ Her parents shared a look, and they both sat beside her. ]

You've got to be wearing shoes that fit right for that kind of job, though, [ said her father, who was looking at the stilettos that his daughter had commandeered from his wife. ]

Can I really chase after a robber in heels?

[ Her mother laughed, giving her daughter a kiss. Her father laughed too, wrapping his arms around both of his girls and giving them a bear hug. ]

You can do anything you put your mind to, Nemuri! Even fight crime in heels, [ her mother said. ] We'll get Midnight Star Girl some boots tomorrow, what do you say?

[ She blinked her tears away and nodded eagerly. ] Mmm!

Hen; Warrior of Light | Final Fantasy XIV | OTA

[crystalbetrayed]

[ Blessed with the Echo, viewing memories isn't something new to Hen. What is new however, is seeing one of her own memories. The Waking Sands, before Livia's attack. She sees herself, looking much younger. Her hair is a frizzy mess of red, rather than the neat curls streaked with white the present Warrior has. Books surround the young woman, with a robed man next to her.

"T-The li-light of ah-aaah." her prior self sounds out, brows knit in intense concentration.

"Azeyma." the man, Urianger, offers. The younger Hen huffs, clearly irritated.

"Uri I can't do this." she slumps over the table, groaning. "Good chunk of Eorzea can't read anyway, why do I have to?"

"Written word is encountered more often than thou would expect. In the event thou art left without a Scion to help, it t'would be best for thee to read on thine own." a hand falls to her shoulder. "Thine task is only difficult due to thy timing. Had thou learned at a younger age, there would be no trouble." He smiles, gently pointing at the paper where she left off. "Thou hast made incredible progress so far. Shall we continue?"

Her younger self looks up at the book, sitting up properly this time.

"Yeah. Let's."

The Hen now sighs, a warm smile on her face.]

I didn't know how to read or write when I joined the Scions. He caught me holding a book upside down in an attempt to look natural, and resolved to teach me how. That's when I knew, they were my family.

Jessica "Jessie" Custer l AMC Preacher AU l OTA

[unholyandbroken]

[Night she escaped Angelville, write up can be given upon request.]

Astro | Astro Boy (2009 film)

[onward_and_upward]

The moment Astro's fingers touched the small metallic cube and the vision took over all of his senses; he knew immediately what it was he was witnessing. He was back in the living area of his Father's penthouse in Metro City, experiencing the moment when he found out he was merely a copy of Tenma's son. A robot that was programmed with his memories. Maybe deep down he had kind of known something was up since he had spent that day discovering that he could fly and burrow through solid rock.

But it was still the most painful experience he had in his relatively short existence. Even watching it second hand, the moment Tenma rejected him outright was like a physical blow. He could punch through mountains with ease and could be thrown through several buildings and get back up again, but he had no defense against this.

"No!" He cried out at the same time his memory self did. He tried to stop whatever this was or resist it, but there was honestly nothing he could do but allow the memory to play out. Even knowing the things he did now didn't help keep the raw emotion at bay.

The memory started to fade when his memory self fled and flew off into the night. Astro watched himself disappear until everything was dark and it was just him standing there with the mysterious cube. Still charged with so many emotions, he suddenly had the angry urge to lash out at it. He clenched his fists ready to strike, but in the end, the boy robot had a gentle heart and he didn't permit himself to do such a thing. What good would it do?

Instead, he lowered his head as he seemed to hunch into himself and unfurled his hands as he looked at them. Even his eyes burned with artificial tears. So realistic - but merely a facsimile.

[the_rebel_son]

Lucifer knew better than to touch these God awful things. Last time had taught him that lesson but still the power attracted him to this place whenever they appeared. He's looking over the field of cubes, all four of his wings pulled nervously against his back with the feathers raised. He didn't like this place.

The cry of a child drew his attention. Who brought a child here? As soon as he focused on the voice the cube relinquished the memory. He was making his way toward the child, feeling sympathetic kinship with the memory. He was a child rejected by his father too. He knew the pain and rage that came with it.

"It was only a memory." Lucifer tells the boy when he's close. Tall, thin and dressed in all black. He has a stark look with the white skin and hair against the dark clothes. Even so, the sympathy is there in his mismatched blue eyes. The look of someone who understands. As an angel he was harsh but the child here hit a much softer place in the devil, the part of him that had children. The part that had lost children.

'Takashi Shirogane' (Subject Y0XT39) / Hiroki (for Nexus_Crossings) | V:LD | OTA

[somekindofspaceuncle]

The young man tries not to touch some suspicious cubes, but he ends up touching one.

He sighs with relief when the memory he begins remembering is a good, light one, he's pretty sure, because he remembers back then, and his own one at that.

****
Maybe Coran did have a good idea. So they were going to be actors. Playing the roles of... themselves. Strange, but Shiro's seen stranger. This was fine. Why wouldn't it be? This was completely fine and he could support Coran's ideas.

This. Was fine.

Why, then, did the fact that he was Takashi Shirogane, playing the role of Takashi Shirogane... has put him just ever so slightly on edge?

But if it was going to make people happy, and net more soldiers for the Voltron Coalition, then, well, that was great, anyway.

Feelings? He's recently been learning to ignore his own feelings. They were weird sometimes, and didn't fit him. So he got rid of them, when they happened. Because soldiers got rid of unnecessary things.

He could be content. Everyone else was! Content and slightly pouty, some of them. He could be, too. Because he was. He was. He was. He was.

He was. Yeah.

It was after a play now. Allura who has been playing Keith started complaining freely now. She's really gotten into the role, huh?

"Hey, Shiro," Lance asked, marching right up to him and putting his hand on Shiro's shoulder. "You okay? You looked at the audience strangely."

"They were watching me," Shiro muttered.

"Well, yeah! You're the star!" Lance exclaimed joyously, grinning.

"They were watching me," Shiro repeated. "They were watching me. They were watching me."

They were watching him. They were watching him, and he couldn't get rid of the feeling. They were watching him, so he had to be perfect, unlike the others. Or else.

They were watching him.

They were watching him.

He took a deep breath, letting himself feel the warmth of Lance's hand, even through the both armours.

"Shiro?" Lance asked.

"Don't throw me out?" Shiro asked suddenly, not sure where it came from.

"Well, duh, Coran won't throw you out from the play! You're Shiro the Hero! You're utterly perfect!"

"Perfect... I... remember now... only way they... watching... won't get rid of you is. If you're perfect," Shiro muttered.

"The audience?" Lance asked.

Shiro blinked. Audience?

"The people who are watching? Audience?" Lance supplied helpfully.

"I'm afraid of the audience..." Shiro whispered. He was, though he knew not why. "The audience is terrifying. Dangerous."

"Oh, yeah, man, don't I know it!" Lance said happily, flashing a smile.

Shiro smiled softly, with difficulty, and said, not sure what was going on with his head, but determined to get rid of it, smiled and said, "You know it, Loverboy."

"Quiznaking hell yeah, Shiro the Hero. Yup! You were awesome, Shiro, back there, in my not humble opinion. You were born for the stage!"

"That's the feeling I get. I was born for it," Shiro muttered. "It's wrong. It's wrong."

"See, told you so, bro! And it's exactly right, not wrong," Lance said, grinning.

"If you say so."

"I do say so. What's with the long face? Let's go play Pidge's video game."

"With... no one watching...?"

"Yup, sorry."

Shiro sighed with relief. And then, stopped himself from sighing with sadness and Lance took his hand and all the warmth away from Shiro's shoulder. And Shiro felt cold again, as always, nowadays.

Another time.

At least today's Voltron Show play was over, so now, he could just be a Black Paladin, and not play the Black Paladin.

Whew.

With no one watching.

With no one watching.

"You used to always be too busy to play video games," Lance said. "Even though I could see you'd love to play. But now you're not too busy for them. I like you better that way, Shiro."

"I don't like myself better today."

"Ha, change can be scary!"

Change? yeah. Lance was surely right. Just. Some slight change. Growing up... even if Shiro was twenty six.

Oh, well.

Shigaraki Tomura | My Hero Academia (manga spoilers, cw child abuse, non-graphic gore)

[wincon]

[ The room falls away, crumbling into a serene, two-story home, a neatly kept front yard. A picture-perfect household, almost fake in its idyllic existence.

And then he feels himself dragged off his feet, his shirt collar digging into his neck, almost choking. Father's voice—deep and stern, but indistinct. It doesn't matter because Tenko knows what he's in trouble for, is well-practiced at shame, the kind of shame that knots his throat and wets his eyes. He reaches for Mother.

Hana is always there for him. She's his rock, so much more grown-up and wise to Father's ways. Nothing again has ever felt like the way his chest swelled with uncontainable joy when she passes him the photograph—a dark-haired woman and child, smiling without a care. Hana says she's on his side. He's so happy to have her.

Father hits him so hard his vision blurs. On the ground, he can't catch a breath to cry, his neck hurts, he doesn't think he can feel his cheek. Over the sounds of Mother's screaming, Hana's crying, Father raises his hand again.

They lock him out alone in the yard until night falls. It's hot and muggy, and he feels sticky with sweat and snot and tears as he cries into Mon's fur. With every sob that wracks his body he feels something being scooped out of him, until everything good has been laid to waste. Hate makes its home in his empty chest.

Mon becomes a pile of blood and viscera beneath his hands.

Feeling comes flooding back—too much at once. Confusion, terror, disgust pound into his brain like nails. Everything around him is breaking apart. Hana, whose support he craved. Mother, whose comfort he needed. Grandma and Grandpa, watching like always. Tenko doesn't understand, does he?

Whether or not he understands, there's nothing like clawing into Father's face as everything erupts around them.

The tarmac is hot and painful beneath his bare feet. There are so many strangers around him, each of them unique and distinct even when they start blending together. All of them look guilty, only for a split second before they turn away.

There's one person—

Only one person—

When he takes Sensei's hand, Tomura is jerked violently back into his body. He barely registers what's in front of him before he doubles over and is sick onto the floor. ]

I couldn't resist :c

[love_the_smell]

[ Each scene unfolded before her eyes like an old movie, distant and tinny. She watched with growing horror, powerless to do anything to stop the abuse, unable to reach out to embrace a helpless little boy in the streets.

No! she wanted to scream when she saw the man extend a hand to him. No, stop!

And then the memory was over, and she was crouched beside Tomura, rubbing a hand across his back as he vomited. ]

Claire Bennet ∞ NBC's Heroes ∞ OTA

[infinite1ups]

[ ooc: Content warning - things are gonna get creepy and violent and gross. Also I'm very sorry that this so long, I got a bit carried away. :3 ]

Claire is perplexed by the cube even as she's compelled to reach out and touch it. All at once, the space around her goes hazy and once her vision clears, she's unsure of what exactly she's looking at before recognition crashes against her like a wave.

It's the hallway of her old house in Costa Verde. The clock tells her it's mid-afternoon, but it's dark, the California sun shuttered away with the blinds closed.

A chill runs down her spine as she remembers why.

Sylar. This is the day he--

Why am I here?

That's all she can think at first, until she realizes she doesn't know if what's she's seeing is real or not. It could be an illusion, or she could very well have traveled through time.

Hearing footsteps at the end of the hall in the kitchen raises as many questions as it answers. And then the scream. Her scream. Had she been taken back to this moment, perhaps to stop it all from happening, or is she just a helpless bystander to her own trauma? One way to find out, she supposes, and she rushes toward the source of the commotion.

But when bursts in to find Sylar, a knife in his chest, using his telekinesis to slice open her skull, there's nothing she can do. When she tries to grab for one of the kitchen knives to stab him again, her hand passes through.

No, Claire isn't here to change the past, but to relive it.

She watches, powerless to act, as he finishes telekinetically slicing through the top of her head and carries her to the living room. Her memory usually blocks this part out when she recalls this day, so it's bizarre to see it play out before her.

But it does explain at least one thing, like why she'd found herself barefoot after the fact. Sylar had removed her shoes once he laid her down on the coffee table, before pulling the top of her skull off.

Had he really spent this long poking around inside her brain? In the moment, she knows it had felt like an eternity, but to remember it, it only seems like a few minutes. Claire wants nothing more than to close her eyes and pull herself away from this, but now she's well and truly frozen in place, unable to tear her gaze away.

"What are you doing to me?" she can hear herself asking.

"Looking for answers before I bleed to death."

"Funny. I'm looking for answers, too."

He didn't really have all the answers, she remembers that much. He only had more questions.

"Why is there evil? How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? How do we make love stay?" Sylar had asked, as she had squirmed and struggled to breathe.

"Are you gonna eat it?" Claire almost recites the question along with herself as she hears it asked.

"Eat your brain? Claire, that's disgusting."

And then Sylar finds what he's looking for. He pulls the knife from his chest and sighs triumphantly as the wound heals. She watches her body go still on the coffee table, eyes beginning to close as she exhales her last, until Sylar brings back the top half of her skull to reattach it.

Her regeneration kicks in, then, and she gasps. Claire watches herself sit up and stare at Sylar. She still feels the same confusion as she hears her voice asking, "Wait. What about me? Aren't you going to kill me?"

There's pity in his tone as his low voice cuts through the stifled air of the house, the sickly smell of dried blood, but he almost looks... impressed, in a way she hadn't noticed in the moment.

"Poor girl," he says, shaking his head. "There's so much about yourself you don't even understand. Your brain is not like the others. Claire, you are not like the others. You're different. You're special, and I couldn't kill you even if I wanted to. You can never die. And now, I guess, neither can I."

And then he's gone. All Claire sees is herself on the coffee table, and even now, with so many years between these two versions of herself she's not any closer to understanding exactly what Sylar had meant.

She's struck with the urge to follow Sylar outside, to chase him down and demand the answers, but she knows she can't. This is her memory, she isn't really here, and she can't go outside of where her mind can recall. Her attention turns instead to herself, still sitting on the coffee table, struggling to keep herself together.

In a little while, Claire remembers, she will discover that she no longer feels pain. Is it something Sylar had done? Nothing she had seen in reliving this memory could explain. He had told her while poking around in her head that there were no nerve receptors in the brain, but that doesn't explain why she no longer felt it once Sylar had put her back together.

"What is the point of this?" she asks, unheard in the midst of her memory. Her voice grows louder as she continues speaking, whirling around the room as if to demand the answers from some unseen presence. "Why am I seeing this if not to learn something from it? Tell me!"

And with that, she's jolted back to the present with enough force to send her staggering backwards. Her breathing is ragged, her face pale, and she takes another step away from the cube, slumping down to the floor as her back hits a wall.

"Why--" Claire's voice breaks halfway through that single syllable. She hugs her knees to her chest, refusing to look at the cube before she gets struck with the urge to touch it again.

Ganymede | Greek mythology

[eagleswept]

[Two options to choose from, here, take whichever might be felt like.]

He should know better. He does not. So Ganymede reaches out to touch the gleaming thing - it could just be something Hephaistos has lost, after all.

On the one hand, the memory isn't so terribly bad; there's a rocky meadow, sheep scattered all over it, a cool breeze to counteract the hot sunlight pouring down from the cloudless sky above. There's a dog laying at a distance, alert for the movement of the sheep, lazy as it is, and another at Ganymede's feet, which lifts his head as he sighs, loudly.

"I can't believe I'll have next year of this too... Wait." Frowning, he looks over the meadow, shakes his head. "Go round those would-be escapees for me, would you?"

Smiling down at the dog, Ganymede sends him off and returns to staring aimlessly at the sky and the circling raptor far above.

The sheep bleat as they're urged back towards the middle of the meadow, and Ganymede looks down to watch Lampourgos force them to move. The sheep bleat again, the whole little herd shifting.

There's a very large shadow cast on the grass.

"What the---!"

The memory fades just as the eagle descends, wings spread wide and its true size obvious as one of the dogs jump at the eagle while it scatters the sheep.

***

The memory isn't bad, just... not pleasant, though maybe not for the reason that might have been assumed.

"Take a breath, son of Tros," Zeus' voice thunders through Ganymede's body, distracting from the weight of multiple divine gazes on him, confused tension in his gut as he looks up, meeting soft gray eyes. "And let it out slowly. You may hold onto me."

How such a big voice could be so quiet, Ganymede doesn't know, but it is, which further distracts him enough he doesn't immediately obey. He rather draws breath for a recklessly confused question, but doesn't get there as all that air is punched out of him as fire tears through his veins. He doesn't even notice he's clutching Zeus' forearms, far more solid than a mortal's would be, nails digging in but doing no damage as he gasps, voiceless, breathless.

It hurts.

Like liquid lightning starting at the top of his head, from Zeus' palm, wrapping around his head and filling it up, it spills down along his spine, through his limbs.

It hollows him out and fills him up, sparing nothing. It's also over as quickly as it began, feeling like an eternity though it lasted three heartbeats only. Ganymede staggers in surprise as he gets his breath back, and there is no pain. He feels... light. It's like there'd been some sort of weight to the way his heart had beaten before, one which is now gone.

Oh.

Ganymede looks back up, wide-eyed, and Zeus' smile, no longer hidden, blooms out on his face with pleased warmth.

"As my new cupbearer could hardly enjoy his honour for long otherwise and we would be deprived too soon of his presence, he has been given immortality and eternal youth."

lucas | mother 3 | ota

[lovetheme]

(Going with two different memories here; feel free to choose one! The duality of Mother 3 is that things can go from being Very Silly to Very Sad in a heartbeat....)

[lovetheme]

[Muffled music filters down from someplace further up the dirt path climbing steeply uphill; standing off to one side of the path, Lucas sighs as he adjusts the striped baseball cap on his dog's head. Then he steps away, folding his arms and frowning as he peers at his work. Boney peers back, tail swishing uncertainly from side to side, as he stands there on his hind legs with his bright green t-shirt.]

Well...honestly, you're still pretty dog-like right now. But, um, if we play it cool I think this might work...? [Granted, Lucas doesn't sound terribly confident about it even as he speaks. After a pause, though, he's shaking his head to himself.] ...Gonna have to work. I can't just leave you outside. Besides, most dogs can't walk on their hind legs like that, so I think this could go a long way. I didn't know you practiced this so much, Boney...are you going to be okay standing like that for a little while?

Woof! [Says Boney, at least out loud, but the meaning parses naturally. (I can't run like this, but if we walk it's fine!)] Woof woof! [(I'll tell you when I get tired, so don't worry!)]

Alright, then. If you say so...let's try getting in again. [Lucas turns and starts up the path once more; he glances over his shoulder after a few steps, to make sure Boney's following. And he is! Albeit at a slower pace, being on his hind legs and all. Lucas smiles encouragingly at him.] I sure hope this works...

[--Thus the memory from the cube fades, and Lucas stares back at you from across the way. He blinks, in the awkward silence that falls, before he bends to carefully place the cube back on the floor where he'd found it. Solemnly:] ...I think he walked around that way for a bit over two hours, after that. It was really amazing.

Lambert || The Witcher 3 (cw: teen death, cyclops-related canon typical violence)

[pricklywolf]

You've just entered a cave, dark and musty with a foul stench coming from somewhere deep inside. Your eyes take a moment to adjust, but thanks to the Cat potion you took just before entering, you can see as if the sun was shining. There are a couple of other boys near your age, but only one is sticking close to your side. Voltehre has looked after you and you've looked after him for years.

Any time a group of boys took on the Final Trial, the old adage was murmured. "Old Speartip is one deep sleeper, wake him up and you'll sleep deeper." The old cyclops had lived in the caves as long as anyone could remember.

You and Voltehre had decided the best chance was to simply sneak through, leaving the cyclops in peace. The others undertaking this trial seemed to want to get it over with, however. They scrambled ahead, and you couldn't help but think that they must be eager not to reach their eighteenth year. One of them must've gotten frustrated, because before long, you hear the distinct sound of stone being blasted to bits. He used Aard to clear the way.

"Idiots," Voltehre mutters, and you suppress a chuckle. Now isn't the time to laugh. A loud, angry roar echoes through the cave. Old Speartip's awake. "Let's go, they'll need us." Voltehre is grabbing for his sword and coating it in ogroid oil. You do the same.

"We could just leave them. They'd deserve it," you suggest. Your friend's never been one to leave someone behind, though, and you'd always thought that made him too soft to be a witcher.

A shriek of pain rings out as the two of you reach the room where the cyclops is currently starting in on a skinny, freckle-faced boy. Uther, a Skelligan-born boy who'd hit nineteen years just this spring. The cyclops has him lifted above its massive head and is ripping one arm off, the shoulder popping free too easily. The arm goes flying, hitting another boy, Sion, in the head and knocking him unconscious. The third, a boy who'd been left as a baby at the gates and who the masters had called Jaromir, had taken the opportunity to run to the other side and escape.

Anger boiling, you make the sign for Igni and fling a bright burst of flames at the cyclops. It drops Uther's limp body as it staggers, but your fire only angers it more. It stomps towards you and you freeze. Voltehre pushes your shoulder and shouts at you to run, and you do.

You don't look back.

You hear a strangled scream, and you don't look back.

The scream is silenced abruptly, and you don't look back.

Your legs shake and you feel as if you're about to hurl, but you keep running, until the blinding light of the actual sun stings your eyes. You shut them tight, dropping your sword and falling onto your knees, hands clutching at the grass beneath you as your stomach empties itself of the meager breakfast you'd had.

Once your eyes adjust, you see Jaromir just ahead, staring in horror back at the cave. You slowly make your way to him, sword tip dragging along the ground. Master Vesemir's voice is already interrupting your thoughts, lecturing you about proper sword care before you've made it back. All their training, all the teachings about the various monsters you'd need to face on the Path, could never have prepared you for what the pair of you had just witnessed. You walk along in silence.

Beyond this, you only needed to make it past a rock troll, then you could activate your medallions and be recognized as full-fledged witchers. At sixteen, you would be the youngest.

It's a hollow victory.

[enanimant]

[ She had made it something of a pet project to organize the library.

Jaskier wasn't, obviously, much help in repairing the stone walls, or fixing the leaking roof, or even cleaning out any of the chimneys that had slowly become blocked over time. She wasn't strong enough for any manual labor, and she wasn't hardy enough to spend too much time outside, so apart from caring for the animals and chopping ingredients for meals — she's not much of a cook, either — there isn't a lot she can do to contribute to life in the Keep.

But while she doesn't have many practical skills, she does have a university education, and a deep love of reading. The instant she found the library, she had been hooked.

The cube had been tucked away, hidden in a box and shoved half-behind one of the towering stacks of shelves, out of her reach. Curious, she had found Lambert and asked him to fetch it for her, since he was much taller than her and also the most likely to indulge in her curious nature without telling her that if something was hidden it was probably best to leave it that way.

He doesn't need to tell her that anymore. She's telling herself now.

Grabbing the case the cube had been trapped in, she scoops it back up into its little wooden prison and slams the lid shut, tears streaming down her face all the while. ]

Lambert, I... I'm s-so sorry...

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

[lady_kaivodulin]

The smell of fresh blood on fresh snow. The white hot pain of torn flesh and the biting cold of winter's wind. Wool and fur and silk like the tattered feathers of a wounded bird in the snow.

She is running and a massive man on an equally massive gray warhorse follows her with the unhurried gait of a predator who knows the he's merely toying with a wounded animal.

"Run, she-elf witch." He calls across the snow, accent musical but his voice hard as ice. "If I catch sight or sign of you come morning, I will hunt you down myself, and I will gut you. And we will see if what you say is true, if you carry some half-breed bastard in your belly."

The taste of bile and dragon's venom. Fury and shame. And the bitter, bitter cold.

dick grayson | titans

[farcry]

[ The cube glows in front of him and Dick frowns, brows tugging as he reaches out. A memory immediately surfaces in his mind, one that tugs deep in his chest: the record trades with Jericho. Guilt floods him as he stumbles a few steps back, staring at the cube. ]

[nightwinged]

[ 'Record trade' is a poor description.

He reels back from the cube and the unexpected consequences, a hand on his head from the dizzying sensation of dreaming standing up. His gaze stays carefully on his other self.] Good taste, but what was that about?

1/???

[carryon_crow]

Out in the Outrealms, Henry was happy in nature, in the woods, when they got caught in a well of negative energy. Curious, Henry investigated, but the force was too friendly, engulfing them in a moment.

~

An unwanted child. Was it because they resisted every abortificant the mother tried? Were their eyes too brown in a family of purple? Perhaps every family needs a scapegoat.

Henry wants to go to the woods with their borrowed books and ragged clothes, but first they need to eat if they can. Their mother is in the kitchen, a sister and a brother helping. Henry isn't allowed to bother their parents but instead wait quietly to be noticed. Their siblings don't want to be bothered either, just pushing Henry down or tugging on their ear if any of them run across Henry.

"Runt's here"

Henry was four and talking before getting a name, but the birth name stuck. They didn't mind. There were ruder words. Their mother didn't look up from where she was at the stove.

"Henry, I don't have time for you right now."

Well. That happened fairly frequently too, so Henry was used to it. Today they'd go to the woods and ask Mama if she had any food, or the two could find some together. Of all the animals they were friends with, that wolf was as close as family. Closer, even.

~

"Runt's here"
"I don't have time for you"
"It's Runt"
"Not now"
"What are you doing here, Runt?"
"I'm busy!"
"No one wants you, Runt"
"Go away"
"Go away"
"Just go away"

Henry's stomach growled, but still they waited until they were noticed.

2/???

[carryon_crow]

At least Henry's stomach wasn't empty. One of the many swirling thoughts Henry had as they finally were allowed to go to the woods, their father having involved Henry in some of the household work, and thus couldn't be overlooked during the meal. Going out much, much later than usual. Too late.

Mama had come.

Cleaning up a house for guests, an aunt someone, needed all hands to be done quickly. It was well into the afternoon when Henry heard the commotion, a wolf having run into town. Henry froze.

"No, no, don't worry, it was shot. No harm done."

A clang of the ash shuttle and Henry was walking out, limbs stiff, face numb. They couldn't even run, slogging through throat-high horror, blinding them to all else but the path to the edge of town. People bumped into them, they bumped into people as others became onlookers, curious to the unusual circumstance.

Gray and brown and red

red


red



red

on the dirt, on the yellowed grass, on the gray and brown fur. Bolts sticking up like pins in a cushion, trimmed with fletching. The horror engulfed Henry, freezing them as they fell into a kneel, the murmur of others like an echoing crash of waves as Henry sank into their own yawning agony.

"Horrible, right?"
"What was it doing here?"
"Maybe hungry, poor thing"
"Poor nothing! Hungry for our cattle"
"How did it get this far?"
"Everyone is safe, don't worry, no harm done"
"No harm done"
"No harm done"
"No harm done"

The agony set solid and burning, melting the ice encasing Henry's numb limbs and swallowing them whole, igniting cold fire in their veins. All they had to do was push, and the screams started.

Blood for blood. No harm done.