#fadcn

[rasskaz4ik]

Not me considering adding Sarah Breaker JUST to say shit about Alan and send him random asks like it's the police radio, and literally nothing else.

Alan: I'd like to unsubscribe to this channel

[monmuses]

                      〘Ͻ〙 I had another dream. There was an ocean of blood. A tree erupting from the center. Agony spreading through its limbs, tearing me apart, I am the tree, the blood is me I am an ocean it's my fault it's my fault it's my--

Everything hurts.

I don't like this dream. So I'll dream myself to a better place. Into an angel's arms, full of grace. Maybe this will be easier. Maybe I will belong.

We are the same, Simon.

I'm sorry. I am not a violent dog.

I don't know why I bite.

unprompted asks - always accepting!

    Laying on what was a comfortable and slim bed was what surprised Simon the most. Comfortability, warmth, and being fed. Filament Station could barely afford food nor the proper blankets to keep them warm. Their backs covered in clothes was what they got. Not before the stars had vanished without a trace. The deaths of many - nothing Eden wouldn't allow Simon to forget. Ever.

    He turned in his bed with aches of pain. The mutations on the right side of his body were being heavily monitored, Grace said. To keep an eye in case they became uncontrollable. The fangs he bore were like the fists he tightened against the bed. The pain had grown too much for him to bear. Flinching echoed the sharp stabs in his system as a sudden voice began to speak with some coolness in his voice. Honest, firm words as he retold a story he heard before.

    His name.

    He shot awake, the top half of his body moving forward with claws clutching the sides of the medical bed. The gasp of air grabbed at his chest with a tight pain. Garbled words from his voice like he was looking for somebody - calling to somebody. The panic grabbed Rocky's attention, humming a panicked tone as his taps ran over the floor, tapping his bed.

    His eyes burned with what tears could form, stained in red, " ... Grace? Grace, where are you?"

[antielevator]

@fadcn ( starter call ) // for tim.

For the last few weeks, Sebastian has been visiting places he's been to before-- perhaps not in reality, but in the hellscape that STEM had been. Krimson City buildings that had been crumbling and rotting in that shared consciousness now stand tall, devoid of traps and monsters. Rivers are clear instead of reeking of rot. Towns and villages, no matter how ancient-looking, have their own living populations, even if it isn't much of a life at all. And while the abandoned church really does have its bizarre catacombs, all the living experiments there died ages ago.

After all his backtracking, Sebastian ought to know now that STEM had been a dream: one that was based on elements of reality, certainly, but a dream all the same.

It's what has him convinced the only reason he's driving to the Victoriano Estate now is obsession.

The papers all said the mansion burned down years ago. He drives knowing he'll find nothing but rubble; he drives fully aware that the beautiful, haunting home he'd roamed in a dream will be nothing but ash and stone. As he drives off the asphalt and his vehicle trembles on the dirt road, he tells himself over and over that there aren't any benefits to this excursion whatsoever.

...still, Sebastian doesn't take the U-turn back the other way.

Once he pulls up to the estate, all that's left are the pathetic remnants of a place he could never afford in his lifetime. He can see the big outdoor walls, of course, and he can see what was once a beautiful garden turned into an overgrown disaster, but the imposing building of his memories is more or less gone. Sebastian walks through it, drying grass crunching beneath his shoes, and though his breaths quicken along the way, in the end it's all instinctive-- there's nothing dangerous here at all.

If he were in the dream, the picture of safety despite his rising adrenaline would have rung alarm bells in his head. He wouldn't have kept walking, nor would he have hummed as he considered the two steps left of the foyer staircase. But it's strange to see a place that haunted him so intensely end up so harmless, and in the end Sebastian's hand touches the railing. His feet go up one step, then two, and there's a

sudden

shift

onto a third.

The world tilts, and his step takes him a ninety degree angle on a forward trajectory. Sebastian's stomach lurches, caught by the change in gravity, and though his foot lands on some type of surface he stumbles forward anyway, landing on his hands and knees.

"What--?"

It's a dream, he tells himself, except it can't be-- not when he's been in reality all this time, not when he's been documenting it. And yet the oppressive feeling in his head, on his shoulders, and on the back of his neck are too familiar to ignore, reminding him of the nightmare he lived and has been reliving for almost two years now.

"No way," he breathes, looking around him: at the darkened sky, at the buildings that have seemed to rise out of nowhere, at how the whole world has shifted from the Victoriano Estate into somewhere else. "Not again. Not fucking--"

Sebastian gags, and it takes everything in him not to throw up. Focused as he is on trying to calm his stomach and steady his breathing, Sebastian fails to notice someone else in this bizarre world around him. He's no doubt caught their attention, but a man struggling not to puke is a pretty disgusting sight anyway.

[rasskaz4ik]

                      〘Ͻ〙 I had another dream. I was standing at the edge of a lake. It was summer, but it was cold. The water was like ink. There's a woman staring back at me from below. She's singing to me, holding out her hand.

She's alone. She wants me to come with her.

I step into the water, dropping down down down deep like a stone.

I'm standing at the edge of a lake. I'm looking up through the water. The sky is red. The woman is looking down at me, smiling. She's laughing at me. She walks away.

I'm alone.

For as long as he could remember, his dreams have been hostile. Terrible beasts, broken worlds, depravity on a scale unimaginable sprung from the recesses of his mind, chasing him through the night, powerful enough to spill over into the waking world.

Alan recognises this dream, but not the narrator. The voice echoes all around him, bouncing off the walls of his mind, not unlike how he hears his own voice when he holds a manuscript page in his hands, his reading mingling with an echo of a former self, creating a strange feedback loop.

But this, this is no dream at all—rather a memory, the catalyst for the hell he's been enduring for he-doesn't-even-know-how-long.

Just like that, Alan's falling, water as thick and black as tar filling his lungs.

—Drowning, I'm drowning, somebody please—

The days are gone. A figure passes him by. Everything's out of sequence, jumbled, but it shouldn't be, he's already done this, he got Alice out—

Alan looks up, the surface rippling, catching the silhouette of someone half-bent over. His feet are rooted to the ground; he couldn't swim for the surface even if he wanted to. HIs breath catches in his throat, solidifying, and for a moment, he's forgotten how to breathe.

It's a woman. It's the darkness, welcoming him home.

It's a man, one whose face Alan can't make out because the surface of the water won't still long enough to stop distorting his image. At first, his thoughts leapt to Zane, but the scene is all wrong, lacking his usual touch.

"Wait!" Alan shouts, his hand shooting out. "How do you know all this? How did you find me—who are you!? Don't go!"

[monmuses]

Me sending Hear Me Out as if I don't just throw shit at you whenever to see what sticks looool

Goes for all blogs of mine obviously but I like hearing your thoughts XD

"HEAR ME OUT" MULTIMUSE SHIPPING MEME - accepting!

hear me out. i add Miles and u get first dibs on him when i make a promo for his ballsy ass

also Henri Clement bc he deserves a spot on the list. cuz why not. i love my men haunted by the everlasting horrors

and lowkey Eris ........ cuz i could see her fucking w/ some of your muses

[rasskaz4ik]

To the desk of Acting Director Trench.

Can you tell the portrait in my office to stop looking at me like that. This is not a request, it's quite distracting. Attached is a polaroid photo of said issue.

Dr. Casper Darling, Head of the Research Division

To the desk of Dr Darling, Head of Research.

I understand the nature of your position involves a majority of your time being dedicated to the various paranatural phenomena in the Bureau's possession, however the portrait is an ordinary portrait and thus cannot be told to do anything.

As it is in your office, I leave it to you how to best decide to proceed. Whatever you choose will be acceptable.

Should this continue to have a negative effect on your ability to carry out your work, you are invited to come to my office to discuss alternative solutions.

⸻Zachariah Trench, Acting Director.

[rasskaz4ik]

Trench @ Darling

Looks I fear Trench cycles through often, sometimes multiple times a day depending

Darling: existing

Trench: yup, that one's mine. (but how he says it tells you everything you need to know.)

[leadxxr]

Nea just playfully shoves him over and uses him as a pillow.

@fadcn | Nea Karlsson

What was it about Dwight Fairfield that made for such an excellent human rag doll? The thought alone was comical as he begins to lose his balance, sliding clumsily onto the ground from the log by the fire with a small 'oof'. He grimaces at the sight of Nea: quiet yet forceful, speaking paragraphs without words & able to silently command the attention of any room she were to enter, Dwight was pretty sure. She turned heads with her edgier appearance and attitude, and Dwight didn't mind. The quiet was nice, sometimes.

"Er --" he starts, awkwardly. "Y'know, Ace always said I'd make a good body pillow. . . . . . . I honestly thought he was joking," he jokes nervously, though his tone is heavily laden with something less jovial that brews beneath the surface. It's clear he was stuck in his thoughts before her arrival, but the interruption was . . . actually welcomed. Feeling himself drifting back into the greedy clutches of his self sabotaging psyche, his hand moves to rest on her shoulder in the least awkward manner he could muster. Human touch kept him grounded in times like these, but he was never one to impose. Dwight Fairfield was more of the suffer in silence type, never one to make it anyone else's problem but his own.

He could honestly lay here in the dirt forever and stare up at the stars, but any solace found in the Fog was short lived and he knew that. The troubled leader could at least embrace it for now, with company . . .