bakerstreet | the MEMORY SHARE meme

[If he had known what the strange object he was approaching was, Meng Yao would have stayed far away from it. The last place he would ever deign to revisit was his own miserable past where he was spitting blood after taking a particularly nasty blow from an angry brothel patron he had been shielding his mother from. He was twelve, but he looked nine.

His expression softened slightly when the scene changed. His head was in his mother's lap after she had cleaned his faced and bandaged his eye. Just swelling. He would be fine she'd said. But, he must never do that again. He had to protect his clever features and handsome face. Such a kind, brave son she was blessed with. He needed to obey and stay downstairs next time, she'd said. Her precious Meng Yao need only worry about his studies and becoming the kind of cultivator that his father would be proud to recognize.

It was like a knife dipped in salt that twisted into his gut. He pulled a talisman from his robes, focused his qi, and flung it. The flames roared as it engulfed the cube. He breathed hard, rage and grief fueling his cultivation as his eyes burned. He did not want to remember any of this.]

Edited 2020-12-10 23:16 (UTC)

[Lindianne pauses, hand lingering a few millimeters from the cube. What harm could it do? It sounds impossible. She closes the gap. Fingers brush against one corner-]

[The sun is setting. Across the Hudson, lower Manhattan is lit up like it’s on fire. A few wispy clouds hang overhead. Her mouth tastes sour despite the military-grade filters and the airtight seal. Blood-red gas hangs at knee-level across the entire pier. She huddles behind a low wall with a death-grip on the stock of her rifle.]

[No sign of backup. The comforting buzz of her ISAC unit in her ear has gone dead. The HUD on her contact lenses stutters and chokes. The light on her smartwatch toggles between orange and red rapidly. She can hear Keener across the pier, his every word lathered in derision and ego.]

[The sound of boots on gravel behind her-]

[She breaks contact with the cube and recoils as if it tried to bite her fingers off.]

Edited 2020-12-10 23:03 (UTC)

[A mountain road lined by trees under a cloudy sky. A caravan surrounded by corpses of humans and hilichurls alike. Diluc himself is holding one of this corpses, an older man who looks like him, in his trembling arms. There are bloodstains on his face, his hands, his clothes; from the outside, he probably looks like a murderer.

That's what he is. It may have been for the best, given the circumstances, but killing his father out of pity so he wouldn't suffer isn't better than seeing him die in pain. Either way, Diluc has lost him because he lacks the strength to protect others. He's alone in a cruel world that will deny the truth if he speaks about it.

Clinging to the remains of his father, Diluc can't stop crying.]

Horror. Heart thumping, spine tingly, skin-crawling, hair raising horror. It's all-consuming as he sees the enormous army of witches and their familiars before him. He can't seem them too well with his head completely wrapped up, but his soul perception is sharper than anyones. He can see their inner selves, and their emotions, but it's an odd vision, like synesthesia. He can see the beat and flow of the sounds of their souls. There are thousands of them, all those women and their underlings. Some seem cocky, sure their numbers give an advantage. They even call out nasty things, like calling him Death's dog, or a mindless drone. Others have seen Asura before, or seen his father in action. Those are the ones sweating, but they're not even half as afraid as Asura. The Chinese city is already burning slightly, the first tastes of destruction, of chaos that threatens the world's order.

Their numbers, nor the chaos, nor the words are what has Asura so afraid.

If I don't kill them, Father will be upset with me, he thinks to himself as he claps his hands together as if in prayer. It's precisely one second after that the killing begins. He knows every kind of killing. Crushing, cutting, burning, strangling, exploding, impaling, beating. With his bare hands or strange powers he fights on and on. By the time he's done, everything for a hundred miles is a flat wasteland and every single witch in Asia is dead. He flops down, and sighs heavily. There's blood soaking into the earth, stuck to everything, under his fingernails. He peels the scarves from his face, and looks over the scene with his eyes for the first time.

"...Is this order? Or madness?" He says to him, fear welling up to an even higher peak as he imagines what would happen if his father heard. "...I can't tell the difference anymore."

((TW for violence, death))

Glint warned Crow not to touch the Cube. He said he picked up strange readings from it. Nothing good would come from touching it. Maybe they should tell Osiris and see if the old Warlock could make any sense of it-

But Crow wasn't listening to his Ghost. The little robot's warnings fell on deaf ears. He touched the cube because he had to. He couldn't do anything else.

...

It was a month after he'd be Risen from the dead by Glint, to become a new Guardian, a defender of the Light. He didn't have a name yet back then.
He had no idea who he was before. Most Guardians didn't know who they were in their past life and he was no exception. He... he knew he couldn't have been a good person though. The looks other Guardians gave him. Some were sad, others conflicted, many full of hate.

He learned how much pain a Guardian could dish out very quickly from these encounters. How many times had he already died and been revived after such encounters? Several. He'd taken to wearing a heavy helmet at all times now.

Today though? Today was a good day. His campsite was off the beaten trail and the sun was out. He wasn't wearing his helmet so he could feel the warmth of the sunlight on his face. It was a good day. It Was.

The Titan surprised him when she burst out of the bushes. He didn't know why she was so far out in the wilds. Some patrol she'd gotten seriously lost from. The look on her face when she saw him though. Such... anger, hate. He could feel the power of her Light roiling off of her like an inferno. Intense and hot enough it almost blistered skin.

His memory of what happened after the clear ring of metal sounded as she summoned a giant flaming hammer into her hands is... a blur. Of flame. Of pain. Of confusion. He doesn't know what his past self did to receive such hate. He wants to understand, but at the same time he never wants to know.

Usually when this happens, Glint waits until his attacker leaves before healing him, or reviving him from death again in the more extreme cases. If he's fixed up in front of them he's just as likely to get hurt and have the cycle start all over.

The Titan didn't leave though. She stayed. When her attack was over she didn't say anything. But she stayed, she watched the unnamed Lightbearer, broken and bleeding on the ground. Hours later he died of internal hemorrhaging. Only then did the Titan leave. Glint waited even longer after she left, just to make sure. He revived his Guardian then.

Neither of them spoke for hours after the ordeal. The Guardian didn't eat for three days he was so afraid to remove his helmet.

...

Crow gasps, makes a choked, strangled sort of sound. He has many memories of those who were not... kind to him in the year and a half since he became a Guardian. That one though... that was the worst. He still trembles just at the thought of her.

Nike gives her head a firm shake, breathing hard, reorienting like she's just been rezzed. Falchion's talking and she can't process the sound fast enough to catch it all.

"...some kind of energy release, they must have found someth-" The Ghost notices. "Nike?"

"I'm fine!" But she's darting back out of the side passage she slowed down to double check. Crow wasn't that far ahead, and though the telltale Taken readings are ugly, they hadn't run into any hostiles yet. She has no idea what he could have found, but a disturbing amount of an idea what she just saw.

It makes her sick. It makes her furious.

Nike catches up to Crow and Glint. They're not under attack, which is a relief at least.

"Crow. Hey. You okay?"

She finds herself putting her hand on his shoulder like she would a member of her fireteam. Like a friend. ...Except it's not even like a friend anymore. There will be consequences for this, but the Lightbearer who was once Uldren Sov is her friend.

And she's worried.

A cold, metal blade trails across an expanse of pale flesh, crimson blooming in its wake. There's a familiar sting as skin splits open and small amounts of him are spilled out. He starts over, digging in a little deeper, and wonders how much pressure it would take to inflict any significant damage. If he, himself, were capable of carving away flesh to expose the muscle underneath.

Shallow cuts are usually enough, but there are things he desperately wants to dig out. Thoughts he wants to cut out completely. He possesses a desire to expose everything is he, everything he's repeatedly been, so he can destroy it once and for all.

"I-I just can't do this anymore, Kenma. I thought I could. I wanted to. I wanted to be this for you — wanted to take care of you like I always have, but I can't. This just isn't me."

Precious memories are now tainted. The sweetest moments of his life, now nothing more than pity and some twisted sense of obligation. There isn't a single part of him that doesn't ache, including his soul. Shaky hands set the used blade aside, the wounded flesh of his thigh a mess as the puddle of blood beneath it grows. He's half worried that maybe this time he's gone too far, but the thought is fleeting.

He should bandage himself up, wash his stained fingers, and get himself to bed. Instead, he lays himself down on the cool tile of his bathroom floor. It sends a shiver down his spine. Has he always felt this cold? Golden eyes grow heavy as he stares at the ceiling above him and finally they flutter close.

Darkness is looming just within his reach, and he races forward to embrace it.

[ he pulls his hand away from the strange cube like he's been burned. he doesn't want to go back there, that desperate feeling of helplessness. loneliness. no, it had only been an accident, and it would never happen again. ]

((hi, i wasn't sure if u wanted to do this with kuroo or not, but if you'd like to, and dont mind my sloth-like pace, i'm here for it!))

(( slothes don't bother me !! go for it! ))

[ it's an odd thing, his consciousness suddenly shifting into something else completely.

he knows this bathroom- it's kenma's bathroom, and there he is, sitting on the floor. kuroo opens his mouth to speak to him, but it's like he suddenly can't talk, and all he can do is watch.

that's how it starts at first, but then he feels it. the cold metal blade, the blood that pours out, the intense loneliness- the ache and the disconnect. he's never felt this way before and he knows deep down it's because it's not him- it's Kenma.

When the memory ends, Kuroo stands there with wide eyes, searching until they settle on his friend. ]

Kenma?

[ his mouth opens and closes a few times, no sound escaping. his mind is frantically trying to find purchase, some kind of convincing explanation that would make this all better. an overwhelming shame shakes his core and brings the sting of tears to his eyes. there were things about his mental health that weren't exactly a secret, but this, no one was ever supposed to know about this. ]

i-, i didn't mean to. it was. . . just an accident. i wasn't trying to-

[ he can't make himself finish the sentence, but he's telling the truth. he never intended to take it that far, ever. it was like before he knew it, he kept digging deeper and deeper, intent on cutting out only a fraction of his feelings. but it just wasn't that easy, some consequences came with it. consequences in the form of a hospital visit he's never told anyone about and a scar. a scar that would always remind him that he had once been at his lowest. ]

[ Kuroo can feel wetness on his cheek, but it doesn't register that they're actually tears until he sees the look on Kenma's face, and that there are tears in his eyes too. He wipes at his eyes rather fiercely, not wanting this to be about himself at all, though. ]

Kenma! It's...

[It's shocking. He doesn't know what to think. He never imagined that Kenma would do anything like that, but... how stupid of him. Why wasn't he there? Why wasn't Kenma okay? Who hurt him like that?

What did Kenma need back then, or whenever this took place?]

It's okay. I mean... wait. Talk to me. Do you want to talk to me?

[ the tears on Kuroo's cheeks don't escape his notice, only adding to the painful twist of the metaphorical knife in his gut. he hates the pain his thoughtless actions have caused for others, and continue to cause even to this day it seems. his hand twitches with an innate desire to wipe away Kuroo's sadness, but he can't make his body move. his own tears spill over and he can't clean those away either. he's useless in this moment. ]

it's just- [ he has to swallow the lump in his throat before he can continue. ]

you were away, and i was lonely- fuck, it's not your fault. that's not what i'm saying, i just i felt lost and then i- i just wanted to figure myself out, maybe, but it didn't. . .

[ he's explaining it all wrong, he knows he is. but words are hard and they all seem so sharp, threatening to cut into their relationship in the same way his blade had cut into him last year. Kuroo wasn't his keeper and it wasn't up to him to keep Kenma sane. these are all things he had learned since then. along with trying to accept himself just a little bit more. ]

Kuroo, i'm- i'm gay.

[ the worst part about this is seeing the look on kenma's face now, even with all that pain he felt back then. that, and the reality of this being something kenma didn't choose to tell kuroo. it was practically forced from him.

kuroo knows he shouldn't have seen it, and yet somehow he did, and he can't even imagine just how upsetting that must feel to kenma.]

I was away? I don't... I don't remember.

[he wasn't away much when they were younger. they were always always together. and then there was university and getting a job, and kuroo traveled more and more... but he'd still always come back to kenma. how had he not known just how lonely kenma was? he knows kenma says it wasn't his fault and he knows it wasn't, but he still feels guilty.]

Kenma, I didn't know you were in that much pain, or... that you...

[his words are failing him too, he knows it. kenma had hurt himself in such an unimaginable way that kuroo doesn't quite understand, but he wants to at least try.

and then he just blinks for a moment when kenma tells him he's gay, and while normally that would be... a relief to hear? something he'd smile over? right now he doesn't know what to do. ]

That's... that's why you hurt yourself?

[ this was never how he intended this conversation to play out, but he's not sure it ever would've happened otherwise. the event itself was in the past, and no amount of talking it out would change what happened. he needs Kuroo to know he's okay now, but he can understand how jarring something like that could be if it was completely unexpected. and kenma had always been exceptionally good at hiding his feelings. only there was nothing for him to hide now. ]

i didn't want you to know. i didn't want anyone to know. it's not why i- it was a lot of things. a lot of things i was hiding. things i didn't want to talk about.

[ it had been his own fault, honestly. since his third year of high school he's been tending to the gilded cage he's carefully crafted around himself. there are still good days and bad days, but mostly he's gotten control of his more intrusive thoughts. his streaming has actually helped him a lot, just the small form of social interaction driving him forward. he still isn't all that comfortable with actual, physical socialization, but it's a small form of communication that keeps him from completely isolating himself. ]

but i'm okay now. for the most part. i- i don't want to hide anymore is the point i think i'm trying to make.

[ there's a heaviness that lifts from his chest, and finally his limbs seem to have a semblance of mobility return to them. it's a bit unsteady, but a hand lifts to wipe away the trails his tears left behind. the experience had been a push, but maybe it was a push he had been in need of. ]

[ it does bother kuroo that he never knew about this- that kenma didn't tell him- kenma didn't want him to know. it bothers him, but not as much as the lonely feeling kenma had, and that he resorted to hurting himself because of it. ]

But you-- you could've talked to me, Kenma. I would've listened. No matter where I was, I would've listened.

[kuroo's face is still very damp and he realizes he's still crying. he wipes at his face just like kenma does, but he feels this incredibly large knot in his throat as he looks down at kenma's leg, wondering just how big of a scar is there. it was after their locker room days so of course he hadn't seen it.

but it's already etched in his head, blood and all, and he quickly looks up at kenma's face again because he knows how uncomfortable it must be, let alone with him staring.]

Kenma, I'm... I'm sorry. I should have been there. Or... no, I- I wish I could have been there, but I wasn't and it breaks my heart that you were in so much pain, because I love you, and I don't want to see you hurt like that. I don't want you to hide either. I want you to be okay.

[ Spoilers for Episode 8, CW: self-harm/blood ]

[ This memory is a distant one, carried across multiple timelines. It took some effort for this one to get dredged up, as if Keiichi himself doesn't even remember it.

The musty smell is overpowering at first. This underground chamber is barely lit and appears to have been dug out. Keiichi is walking with a girl who's slightly shorter than him, her long, green hair tied up in a ponytail. He's dressed in his school uniform, while she's wearing a plain, white kimono. Her expression is grim and serious, and the sense of tension is palpable as they approach a pair of solid metal doors.

The girl explains that this is her uncle's saferoom, and as she opens the metal doors, it's easy to see why it would be called as such. A series of glowing screens above a console display various entrances of the Sonozaki estate. Next to them is a cell with a door similar to a prison cell, but the inside of it is far too nice to be designed for punishment. The girl goes on to explain to Keiichi that there's enough food to live comfortably for a month, as well as electricity and even a bathroom. In fact, she says, she wants him to live there... starting now.

He starts to protest, asking what they'll tell his parents, but before he can finish, she suddenly pushes him through the open door and closes it behind him, locking it with a key. There's no malice in her eyes whatsoever. He demands to know what she's planning on doing, insisting that she doesn't have to lock him up, but she insists that it's for his own safety.

The spirit of community in Hinamizawa has been poisoned. The Curse of Oyashiro-sama has been used by the Three Families of Hinamizawa to terrify and control the village of Hinamizawa for too long, she tells him. And as the next head of the Sonozaki family, it's her responsibility to put an end to it.

He pleads with her that whatever she's planning on doing, she doesn't need to do it alone. She doesn't need to lock him up in here... he wants to help her however he can. Then, her facial features soften, and she closes her eyes, lowering her head. ]

Kei-chan, remember the board game tournament? When you gave me that doll?

[ He makes a confused noise, remembering how she'd protested at first when he handed her the very expensive, girly doll that he'd won. He distinctly remembers her happy, blushing smile as she hugged it close after he finally convinced her to take it.

She opens her eyes and smiles bittersweetly at him. ]

You treated me like a girl... and that made me happy. [ Her smile fades away, regret setting in visibly to her face. ] I love you, Kei-chan. ...That's why I need to protect you! And the only way to protect you is to end this "tradition" once and for all!

[ He doesn't know what to say, his heart torn asunder by conflicting emotions. He opens his mouth, but the only sound that comes out is her name. ]

Mion...

[ Then, there's the sound of an alarm going off. Mion turns toward the console, and she sees something. So, she tells him, their enemies have sent a minion after them. She opens a drawer on the console, producing a large revolver, which she loads. He pleads with her not to go, but she insists that she needs to go greet their guests. If anything happens and she doesn't come back, she tells him, he should say that she imprisoned him there, and at least he'll be safe. Then, she leaves the room, locking the giant metal doors behind her despite his pleas for her not to go. His heart sinks as the doors seal, and he grips the bars, eyes wide in trepidation, saying her name to himself.

His grip on the bars tightens, and then, he lets out a loud, desperate yell. He takes a running start, then runs full-force into the barred cell door, slamming it with his shoulder. It hurts, but he does it again, putting everything he has into it. And again. The third time actually knocks the door right off of its hinges, and his momentum causes him to fall to the ground on top of it. He looks up at the monitors and in each and every one of them, he sees a bunch of uniformed men, some of them talking on walkie-talkies.

He lets out a curse, then pushes himself up to try to open the giant metal doors. As he fears, they're locked tight. He takes a few steps back, his shoulder hurting like hell. Then, with the same force as before, he takes a running start at the doors, but they stand firm as he hits them, the impact reverberating through the underground chamber. He tries again and again, ignoring the overwhelming pain, but each time, the doors stay open. It's then that he feels something warm and wet running down his head in multiple spots, and he realizes that he's hit his head against the door as well, causing him to bleed profusely.

And still, even though his head and his arm are in intense pain, he refuses to give up. He cries out her name one last time, then puts everything he has into one final charge at the door. ]

MIOOOOOON!

[ The door doesn't even budge, and his face slowly slides down the cold, metal surface. The world around him becomes very dark and unfocused, and as he slumps to the floor, everything goes black. ]

Edited 2020-12-11 04:19 (UTC)

(The memory isn't as detailed and feels more like bits and pieces but things had happened so fast on that cold, empty football field and in that silent stadium.

Her cell phone had died while she was calling her mother for a ride home, her mother likely forgotten and helped herself to another bottle of wine was likely asleep on the couch by this point. Her sister only managing to call and get through for a moment.

Someone had been standing across the street in a mask before chasing her.

Four classmates were dead - she thought about that when she saw them, but she had hoped it was the douchebag who liked scaring people until she realized this was a very tall, obviously grown man.

She had tried to scare them with the threat of her cop sister and that failed, she had needed to make a run for it afterward. And she had tried. She even tried to hide. But she had come out of her spot too soon.

She had been wearing a heavy, bulky mascot costume which reeked of the sports drink that had been tossed onto it by one of the jocks. It was hard to run in and eventually she had been pinned to the ground and stabbed with a knife, a dagger of some kind? She can't remember if it hurt, it must have. It was in the shoulder, at least.

Then someone, Char, yelling and shots fired.)

[This is how the memory cube gets broken:

The memory is sort of hazy, and skips around from time to time. For those that have been drunk to the point of fading in and out of consciousness, it's a similar sort of sensation, where things get sort of... fluid and slippery and hard to concentrate on.

It starts with Maria in a rainy, foggy village beneath towering cliffs, on the shore of a great sea. There are others with her; their faces come and go, and they'd be important if one stopped to look or question Maria, but the memory isn't interested in focusing on them.

They make their way into the village, finding it distrustful, even hostile, and filled with odd fish-like creatures that attempt to attack Maria and the others she is with. It soon after turns into a bloodbath.

The memory fades in and out many times, but many things are clear: The fish-people are losing, badly. Even the giant fishmen are no match for a group of heavily-armed Hunters, and Maria's cadre aren't just killing the fish people they're... purposefully hunting them down.

Yes, they slaughter every one that crosses their paths. No matter how they curse. No matter how they beg. The real damage fades in and out, but every image afterward is just death, destruction, prying open skulls to search the brains for "eyes". Screams. Curses. Even what must be women and children are not spared. The more killing Maria does, the hazier and more blacked-out the memory gets.

It moves from the village into a series of caves full of slug-like creatures, and women like snails that scream just as loud as the other villagers. To a beach, where a giant creature lies, with iridescent white scales. It's not clear if the creature was dead before, or was killed by the group.

It blacks out again, when one of the others says something about the creature being pregnant.

Finally, just finally, like waking up from a nightmare, like sobering after a horrific night of heavy drinking, the image fades in, clear as day. There's bodies everywhere - most headless. The rain has mixed with the blood and organs to create a grotesque slurry in the mud of the streets of the village. And Maria stands, looking over it all, as her group fades into the misty distance, horrified, covered in blood and viscera that's slowly being washed away by the pouring rain.

Though the village lies empty and desecrated, the very air feels charged and sinister. Distantly, the curses, and screams, and words come back, haunting, in the air:

"Curse the fiends, their children, too. And their children, forever, true."
"A bottomless curse, a bottomless sea..."
"Lay the curse of blood upon them, and their children, and their children's children, for evermore. Each wretched birth will plunge each child into a lifetime of misery. Mercy, for the poor, wizened child... Let the pungence of Kos cling, like a mother's devotion..."

That and more. Over and over again. Until it's maddening. And all Maria can do is mumble, softly to herself...] ... What did we do...-?

[ Ashe went looking for Maria, more than likely to drag her back downstairs to the living room to curl up with her and watch television. It was a lazy sort of day and she wanted to enjoy every minute of it.

No sooner does she spot her does the memory begin. The doorway to their bedroom vanishes and, instead, she's surrounded by the foggy image of a village she has never seen. She whips her head around, looking this way and that, visibly confused and feeling very much disoriented when it's so damn difficult to really focus on one thing. ]

Maria? Where-

[ What are those things? Where is Maria going? Who are those other people with her? She calls out to her and runs through toward the village and that's when it starts. She stops dead in her tracks, hearing something stomping around behind her.

Shooting a glance back behind her, she jumps out of the way of one of the larger fish people and moves to duck down behind one of the shacks. Heart pounding in her chest, she creeps around to see where Maria went, finally finding a space where she can watch the war that's taking place.

Well, less of a war and more of... a massacre. An all out massacre in between the images that fade just before swords strike one of the strange creatures. She moves in closer, never quite leaving the cover of the shacks, or whatever else she can find as that haze thickens.

By the time she can see clearly again, she spots Maria, and as those bitter words echo through the otherwise eerily quiet and empty village, she slowly gets up from where she'd been knelt down. ]

Maria!

[ Her voice feels too loud in the silence, but that's all she can manage when she's still a little too shocked to move. ]

[Honestly Maria - the real Maria, not the version of herself in the memory that is vividly living the worst day of her life - barely hears Ashe's voice because, hey, she's caught up in her own mind.

This is what having your worst experiences dragged back up and shoved in your face does.

It's strange, how quickly the massacre seemed to have gone by, but now that she's just standing there, shocked, sick, and giving herself a whole new set of problems that will persist in the form of flashbacks and nightmares and depressive episodes for the rest of her life... time has slowed to a crawl.

It fades out, eventually, with the stunned "What did we... do...?" mantra in the background, just above the curses and screams and other noises, leaving only the real Maria, holding that weird cube.

... And then she palms it in one hand, turns rather violently to the side, and throws it against the wall so hard it shatters (and dents the drywall). Then, she slumps against the wall, and slides slowly down to sitting, curled up and miserable, shaking slightly, and crying. Albeit rather softly.

She was doing so well, too. Alas.]

[ Once everything has faded away, back to their home in the mountains, back to their very ordinary bedroom; the stench of death and blood leaves along with it, as though carried away by an unseen breeze. The entire thing leaves her feeling cold and confused until she finally begins to put two and two together.

That was the Fishing Hamlet. The events that took place were from the past, and while Ashe has absolutely no idea how it even happened; while she wonders if she's dreaming, she still can't ignore the way Maria slumps to the floor after throwing something against the wall. The sound is enough to startle her and the wall is damaged, but hell. She's done worse when she was upset.

Slowly, she approaches her, her own shock finally wearing off. ]

Hey...

[ She calls out again, kneeling down in front of her. It'd been... ages since she'd seen her this broken and miserable looking. The spells hit, but nowhere near this bad.

She reaches for her, carefully touching her shoulder. Startling her after all of that doesn't sound like the greatest idea. ]

Maria... C'mon, darlin'. Look at me.

[What if she doesn't. What if she just keeps her arms folded over her legs, and her forehead resting on her knees, and just stares at the darkness?

Sounds like a much better plan.

So that's what she does. Not that she's totally ignoring Ashe, though. That voice has dragged her back from a few spells almost as bad as this one. She's also... ashamed. Because she's pretty sure...] ... I'm sorry. You saw that, didn't you?

[ Ashe moves directly in front of her and rakes her fingers through Maria's hair before resting her forehead against the top of hers with a heavy sigh. ]

I saw somethin'. Ain't sure how.

[ Lifting her head again, her hands move to her girlfriend's shoulders and she tries pushing her up and back away from her knees. ]

C'mon. Get up off the floor. Ain't no sense in sitting here.

[And Maria heaves a long, shaky sigh. Of all the things Ashe could've seen, it had to be the worst memory of Maria's. The worst thing she'd done. The whole root of the reason she couldn't really stand herself.

She doesn't really fight the pressure, even if she should. She really wants to stay curled up in a little ball, feeling miserable and sorry for herself.]

I disagree. When you feel like dirt, it makes sense to be on the ground. Just... give me a moment. Please.

[ Ashe sighs softly; she'd really like to get Maria over to the bed so that she could curl up there, but she will give her a moment. And maybe longer. She's shoved her own emotions regarding what she just saw aside for now; it was shocking, but nothing she hasn't been told before. She just never expected to actually see what happened.

She moves over to Maria's side and slips her arms around her shoulders, pulling her over against her own shoulder and chest. ]

C'mere...

[She may have fought Ashe about standing up, but she doesn't really fight against the pull over. She knows it's better if she doesn't, no matter how badly she just wants to curl up and... honestly, just sort of shut off.

Memories of the Fishing Hamlet bring no shortage of feelings of grief, and guilt, and even despair, and really all Maria wants to do is drown them in alcohol or some other escapism tactic, or at least shove them all in a neat little emotional box and never, ever deal with them. As usual, it never works.

Ashe's warmth, and scent, and presence help ground her from getting too into her own mind, but that doesn't mean she doesn't do her usual coping tactic: Wallowing. Not quite drowning in it, not in Ashe's presence, but certainly not able to do more than just barely breach the surface for air. She feels another tear or two leak out, even though fighting them as hard as she is feels miserable and tight and tense.

All par for the course, really. When did she ever decide she could be happy? This feels more like it.]

... How much of it did you see...?

[ Ashe holds her the best she kid from her current position, pressing a kiss to her temple and stroking her hair. She almost wishes she could've come up with a believable enough lie and spare Maria to knowledge that she'd seen anything at all. ]

It was hard to see much. [ She closes her eyes and presses another kiss to Maria's temple. ] How... was that even possible? What was that thing you threw against the wall? Where'd you get it?

I wasn't sure what it was. It caught my eye on a heist a while back. I could not get it to function for anything more than decoration until recently. I didn't even realize it had any other functionality.

... It wasn't worth it, clearly.

[Maria heaves a sigh, and leans more closely into Ashe, nuzzling in under her chin as well as she can with their height disparity.

The scent helps more than she'll admit, as does the simple... warmth of a familiar presence.]

[ Ashe sits up on her knees so that Maria isn't having to lean down so far. Again, she'd really like to move over to their bed so that she can hold her properly and curl up under the covers.

After a good year and a half of searching and finding someone willing enough to help in their... unique situation, she'd been able to get her hands on some different medications, consulting with a pharmacist and an old retired psychiatrist regarding dosages and usage. The perks of have multiple connections. Everything had been going well. So well and now? Well... This feels like a step backward and she hopes that Maria will recover.

But who could so easily after witnessing their own terrible memory displayed for others to see as well as themselves? ]

No. It wasn't.

[ She sighs heavily, tightening her hold on Maria. ]

Let's get you to bed. I'll give you a shot and you can sleep. We're gonna need to get ahead of this...

And do what? Dull my mind for days and hope when the haze lifts, everything has fixed?

[That was snide, and she knows it, but she sometimes does question the necessity of the heavy sedation. Gods know her Hunter side hates it. She feels too vulnerable, and some part of her still thinks it better if she just.... suffers. It's what she deserves.

But she can't really deny the efficacy of it afterwards. Especially when she knows this mood will only get worse before it gets better. That, and the part of her that wants the escapism gets exactly that.

She sighs, pulls back from Ashe, gets up entirely of her own power, and then sits on the bed so hard the springs crunch.]

Let us just do this.

[ That was very snide and when Ashe is already worried, it completely rubs her the wrong way. She lets go of Maria and gets up after she does, barely watching as she moves over to the bed.

Stepping over to the bathroom, she pulls open the cabinet door and plucks two syringes from a box and two vials of medication. She takes her time drawing the first one up, filling the syringe to a full milliliter and then doing the same with the other one. Using two different medication seemed to have a better effect than using a large dose of one. ]

You wanna ride that low without it? Never said you'd be fixed. I'd just like to keep you from reachin' a point that you hurt yourself. This is what the medication is for.

[ She moves over to the bed, taking a seat next to her. ]

We'll work through the rest when you wake up.

[It's... hard, not to say anything. To keep the argument going. Anger is about the only emotion other than despair that's popped up during the whole event. She doesn't clap back, even if she wants to, she just forces herself to fall back into apathy. She should probably grab onto whatever emotion she can feel before the depression robs that, but not at the cost of the fight it'll start.

So she stays silent. It's not complacency, it's reticence, and maybe it's worse than anything else, but it's just easier to stop caring than to keep fighting it.

Silently, she rolls up her sleeve, and just waits.]

[ Ugh. Yeah, the lack of reaction and silence is worse and it makes Ashe sigh with frustration. Honestly, this is all she knows to do in the place of Maria spiraling into a deep, dark depression. She figures it's only a matter of time before something truly serious happens because of it.

That's not to say that her memories should be written off and drowned out, but with her still growing knowledge of how to handle it, this is just... the best thing. The only thing she knows to do.

She doesn't stick the needles in her arm, yet. Instead, she puts them down on the bed next to her and runs her fingers through her hair. ]

What do you want to do, Maria? Tell me. And tell me I won't find you dead somewhere because it's finally gotten to you. What you just saw... what you just relived? Do you not wanna throw everything we can at it to even try to make it more manageable?

... I cannot deny the effects of the medication. Things have certainly changed since my youth, and it does make things more bearable, I just...

[She sighs, and sort of leans over a bit onto her own arm. Normally she'd lean into Ashe's fingers, but she doesn't really do that this time.]

... I don't know. Some part of me hates that the best way to mitigate the damage is to... sedate me like some kind of sick animal. And I am a sick animal, I just don't like feeling like one.

[She picks at a bit of the comforter.] I should not be forgiven for the things you saw me do. I shouldn't really have the right to a comfortable life. But even though I don't like the effects of the medication, that's exactly what it is designed to do. Perhaps what I'm doing is struggling against the fact that I never forgave myself, and that... I really shouldn't, either.

... If you wish to give the injection, just do as such. I'll not fight it, or you.

Yeah. Maybe you shouldn't, hell... I can't imagine that anyone would ever be able to truly forgive themselves after somethin' like that. But that was then and this is now. You've still gotta move on if you're gonna live, Maria. And that's what you've been doin'. You just need a little help every now n' then.

[ She tears open one of the single-use alcohol prep pads and swabs a spot on Maria's arm, measuring three fingers down from the tip of her shoulder like she was instructed. She gives her the first injection. ]

Maybe we'll find somethin' that works better in the future, but for now... let's just use what we've got.

[ And the second one. ]

I'll be here.

... Let us hope I don't wake up as disoriented as I usually do.

[She feels it spread from her arm and up her neck like a strange warmth; it's chemical, though, and almost nothing like the spreading, burning corruption of Vileblood. There's not going to be too terribly much time before the hazy, heavy press of sleep shoves down on her mind, until that's all there is, so she might as well make herself comfortable.

The pain and blood from the needles is already gone by the time she turns, and pulls the comforter and sheets down. She does stop to look over, and swipe the bead of quickly jellifying blood off her arm and... uh, well, she licks it off her finger.] I also just... don't like the feeling of it. I feel slow, stupid, and sluggish. I wake up and don't know what time it is half the time, or if it's been just some hours, or days or-

[A sigh.] And then it persists as grogginess and I...

[She flops down onto the bed, heavy, rolling slightly onto one side - almost notably away from Ashe. She's still being slightly reticent, and likely will be until she conks out entirely.] ... I hope we can find something else eventually. I hate the way it makes me feel. Let alone the vulnerability of being so deeply asleep I cannot... hear for threats.

[She says, after the medicine is already administered.]

I know, sugar...

[ Ahh. There's that feeling of complete and utterly helpless that always seems to rear it's annoying head every time Maria spirals. She sure hadn't missed it.

She sets the needles on the nightstand to dispose of later and moves to sit a little closer to Maria. She doesn't like the fact that she turned her back to her. She doesn't like the fact that she even had to use these damn drugs in the first place, but...

The idea that Maria will wind up dead terrifies her, even if... maybe it would be merciful. Or maybe it wouldn't happen at all when she's lived this long.

Not caring a bit that Maria turned away from her, she leans over her and kisses her cheek. ]

Like I said: I'll be here. I'll tell you what time it is, what day it is. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise.

It is not that I don't trust you. It is in my very nature to be hypervigilant, and aware, and observant.

[The medication is really sinking in fast. The dulling effect is so immediate and awful, but she also can't find the energy to care, either. It's so strange how it robs her of her ability to fight back. Strange, and disturbing, and uncomfortable.

She may not be a Hunter anymore, but she hasn't felt this weak in so long. And she hates that, too. Almost more than that, though...]

-- And it feels like I am losing time with... you.

[ Ugh. Yes. This totally needs to be so much harder than it already is. Ashe slowly settles herself down behind Maria and slips her arm around her, pressing herself against her back and nuzzling affectionately into her hair.

This is so not how she'd planned for their evening to go. She'd found a good movie to watch, they could've had dinner on the couch and then settled in there until they were ready for bed. Something always seemed to want to come up and ruin everything.

She presses a kiss to the back of her neck, giving her a tight squeeze. ]

We'll figure somethin' out. You just rest for now.

Mmm...

[She could probably give more a response than that, but she doesn't. It does need to be difficult, and Maria's still in a poor mood - not just because of being forced to relive her worst memories, but because of how much she clearly hates the sedative that comes after something like that.

She leans into the feeling of sleepiness rather than trying to lean away from it, and the world falls out from under her disturbingly quickly.

At least there's never any dreams.]

Ganymede touches the cube without thinking, really. Curious. It doesn't feel dangerous, and the result isn't even bad, honestly; a brief view of a city from above, a bird's-eye view that probably shouldn't be possible.

The next is a view of the city spread out below the hill the palace stands on, out towards its harbour, from up on the walls surrounding the palace.

It draws smaller, still; a courtyard surrounded by walls, a pouting seven year old with a cloud of curls about his head clutching a wooden training sword and staring up at his older brother.

"Now, you stop that," Assaracus says, and Ganymede somehow manages to turn his huffy sullenness into the fiercest pout anyone could ask for. Assaracus, seven years older, waves his own training sword and then drops it to the ground. "Oh, I see you're not going to listen to me! Well, maybe you will now..."

Assaracus lunges, and Ganymede's world turns upside down, and trying to reach his brother's stomach or thighs with the wooden sword gets him shaken until he drops it.

"Assaracus!" Ganymede yells, flailing, as he's swung around like that, upside down. Everything is a blur, but he feels like he's flying, and Ganymede's protests come out on laughter, then he just plain whoops. Behind them, somewhere, Ilus is laughing as well, not at all trying to rescue him, but Ganymede doesn't care. At least not until Assaracus starts to slow, staggering around with Ganymede still dangling from his hands.

"Hey, Ilus! Catch!"

"Assaracus!" Ganymede's high pitched yelp is joined by Ilus' protest, his deeper voice cracking up high in the middle. Assaracus doesn't listen though and his laugh turns into a hoot as he tosses Ganymede, who's so light-headed and dizzy all he can do is yell wordlessly, from excitement and protest both. Ilus catches him, of course, and there's a split second of their gazes meeting, and then Ilus grins.

Drops him down to grab him by the ankles and Ganymede's breathlessly laughing again as he's twirled, then once more tossed from one brother to the other.

When Ganymede's finally put on his feet again, the sky is wheeling above him and the ground is unsteady under his feet, but he's laughing enough to nearly make himself sick.

"That was fun!"

The view fades and Ganymede's breath catches, but his reflexive sort of half-grab that smacks his hand against the cube once again doesn't bring that moment back, or anything else for that matter.

( There's so much fear.

It echos off the Temple's walls and reverberates in his mind; so strong, he doesn't know if it comes from him, or from the other Padawan younglings. And then their lights go out like candles, one by one, the life force of his companions ripped away by the creatures encased in white.

There is fire, blazing and terrifying, and suddenly, his Master's light goes out, too. Violently and senselessly, and he can feel the loss of her spirit -

And Grogu -

Grogu hides in a hidden corner, watching this all unfold, trembling. Knowing he should help, but silenced and paralyzed by that fear. And so very alone. )

Edited 2020-12-12 18:01 (UTC)

Social connection, social obsession
Network humanity converging with MACHINERY
Pondering existence, something is missing
Questioning Our Gods With Everything We've Got

The audio screams out at him as soon as his fingertips touch the cube, the only thing he's seen and been able to interact with here in a very long time. He has no way of knowing what it is, or what it will do, but he can't tear his eyes away from the rapidly flickering image that, with very little effort, he recognizes as his own long hair being flung into his face. He's headbanging along with a single by his favorite band, and in the glimpses of the outside world between violent swings of his head, he sees the pale blob of a mask framed by blue hair that swings in time with his own.

It stops and the view swings wildly, and there's a burst of pain in his face that makes him reel. His eyes water as he falls back and lands on his ass, one hand over his nose as it pours blood.

"Shit, Larry! God, fuck, are you okay?!"

The cracking voice of the boy in the mask is close by, and the stars fade from his vision as his hand comes away, urged by the smaller, paler ones of his best friend. There's a snort, then a laugh when the view tips again and the vision clears. And in front of him is the somewhat ghastly-looking scars that pull at Sal Fisher's face, disfiguring half of it in a way that makes Sal intensely uncomfortable any time it's exposed to air.

But in the moment, the concern is all on him. A wide blue eye that scans over his face and presses his hand back against his nose as that face disappears and reappears just as quickly. A sensation of a wad of tissues being pushed against his face, muffling his laugh and interrupting it with a hissed "ow!"

He doesn't realize that he's staring until that blue eye starts to brim, and for the life of him, he can't figure out why. Did it really look that bad? Was his nose really more fucked up than he thought?

"Sal? Hey, hey it's ok, look, it's not broken," he assures the other boy, poking at the bridge of his nose that was definitely cut open, but nothing worse than that. But he feels awful when those tears keep falling, until the weight of the smaller body leans into his own, and his free arm wraps around narrower shoulders. He hushes Sal quietly and pats the back of his head. At the same time, he pans around, and picks up the mask that had smacked him in the first place. He hands it back as soon as he feels Sal moving, giving him a crooked, blood-streaked smile.

the MEMORY SHARE meme

Jin Guangyao (Meng Yao)| The Untamed|ota

Lindianne Parker/The Agent | Tom Clancy’s The Division

diluc ragnvindr | genshin impact | ota

Kishin Asura ΦΦΦ Soul Eater CW: Violence

Crow | Destiny 2

this is too painful to resist

kenma kozume | haikyuu. TW: SELF HARM.

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timeskip, btw.

sure thing! sorry i have no serious kuroo faces ;__:

icons are my downfall, it's fine.

your icons are so good tho, i love them!

ty! gonna be real, idk where this is going. very much winging it, lol. it's fine.

haha thats ok, i never know where my threads are going until the thick of it either xD

keiichi maebara | higurashi no naku koro ni (gou) | spoilers/cw: self-harm/blood

Millie Kesser l Freaky l OTA

Lady Maria | Bloodborne | OTA | CW: Murder, blood, gore

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Ganymede | Greek mythology

grogu / the mandalorian (cw: child death)

Larry Johnson | Sally Face