#snap to

[giffingthingsss]

B'Elanna complaining about her strict teachers and then being the strictest engineer.

[sspacegodd]

⊚ Not everyone wants to have sex with me.

⊚ McDonalds stops serving breakfast at 10:30.

⊚ People exist even after they’re out of my sight.

⊚ Some people have never heard of a courtesy flush.

⊚ Eating a whole bag of Doritos and a tub of extra hot salsa right before going to bed is a bad idea.

⊚ Some people have no idea what I’m talking about.

⊚ It’s never ribbed for my pleasure.

[zhemyna]

A box arrives on the doorstep. Its wrapping is coated in drawings of mythical creatures and waterfalls, small intricate patterns adding pops of color to the otherwise black-and-white paper. Inside is another box filled with baked goods, most notably butter cookies and krumkake. Alongside this is a knitted headband and a beautifully patterned sweater. Under all of it is a note on which “God Jul! May your days be bright and joyous.” is written in that trademark sloppy handwriting.

It isn’t often Zhemyna actually gets things from other people for the wintering holidays, she’s usually the one giving them out. In fact, she’s preparing another box for Sigurd’s house full of stale spice cake for Troll when the squawk of the first floor Puuki issues from the foyer. She closes the box carefully before moving to see what has the hobgoblin in such a tizzy.

Almyra has taken the day off to do whatever it is she needs to do, leaving her Nation to her own devices, which includes doing some tasks normally reserved for the Head of House. Such as bringing in the box that has appeared on her porch. She wastes no time in bringing it inside, knowing who left it by the wrapping alone. She muses that maybe it was Troll who dropped it off, which would incite the Puuki to riot; unknown supernatural beasts on its property without invite tend to set it off. A perk of having the goblins around.

The box is unwrapped neatly after she brings it to the kitchen table, reveling in the smell of the sweets released from it on opening. Ah yes, Sig’s home baking always does fill her with warmth, as well as the sweaters he sends every year. It brings a pleasant smile creeping across her face to know he thinks of her.

A quick arrangement of the goods altogether is made before a picture is snapped with her phone and texted to him: Your package arrived safely. Diinkun, hope your Winterings are well and warm.

Of course, she doesn’t send him that she practically buries herself into the sweater and inhales. It still smells like him, amid the cookies and the cake. She will finish packing Troll’s box after a second longer.

[zhemyna]

💔

send me a 💔 for my muse to talk about one of their exes.

Silence is solemn in many cases. This is no different.

She clenches her left hand reflexively before reaching down to carefully pull the satin glove from it. Around her ring finger is a pretty gold band, inset with a small emerald centered between a pair of slivers for diamonds.

“…I have not taken it off since my husband died. I do not know why, but it feels very strange to not wear it. Almost like he is still here, holding my hand and telling me about the latest song he wrote. How happy he is, with his smiling eyes, how excited he gets to play it for me so I can hear it. It feels like it would be disloyal to him to remove it. At least for now. Maybe I should move on, it has been over a century now, but he brought me such happiness, it almost feels like I would forget him if I took it off…”

She pauses, her fingers rolling the band therapeutically around her finger.

“...My only regret is that I was unable to bear him children.”

[kriegisms]

W: after casting away my friend's appearance, who do you plan to model yourself after?

“Casting … away?”

The question itself seemed to confuse her, though the clue that he knew the Anchor from before. That rang that this wasn’t so much a question for her, but more or less a question for it.

One gloved finger was raised, the symbol for ‘Give me a moment’, and she sent the query ahead. Inside. Unheard by mortal ears was the sibilant return, a hiss that started low and grew in intensity. To her, a form of meditation, the individual mind what partially functioned away from the Parasite’s influence numbing at the sound of it reverberating around her head.

It was hard to tell where the Anchor ceased and the Parasite began. The shift was subtle at first, a blur of outlines, a faint pixelation of the air around it. When the color blanched and darkened was a hard boundary to find as well, even the silvery eyes turning white and starting to shift and warp, merging together into a single eye in the center of the head, colored such a saturated red, it almost burned the eyesight. Or what constituted as the head; while the shape was vaguely familiar, it still twisted and moved just beyond recognizable sight.

“S͏u̧ch ph͝ra͟sin͜ģs ̷ne̡e̸d͘ ̀cont̷a͢i̷nḿe̵nt. Ţhe A͡nch́o̴r̕ ҉śh̡oul͝d ̶not͏ b́e ͠a̶llo͞wed̶ ̵t͘o ͢hea̧r̡ o͞f i̸tsel̛f.́ Ìt̴ c͡rea͝te͝s̕ b̷i͞a̕s̨.”

The voice was encompassing. Or rather, voices. Too many to name, too many to place, all talking at once. Just outside peripheral vision writhed something simultaneously seen and unseen. A tendril? A finger? A talon? Hard to tell when not unable to see it straight on.

“Th͜e A͡nch́o̴r̕ ḑoès not̀ un̢d̀er͘s̨tan͏d the ̴intr̛icacies, a̶nd̢ ̷ca̶ńn͘o͞t͡ ex̕i̕st̡ w͢hi̛le bot҉h͟ ar̢e̡ w̨íthin͠ t͝h͟e͠ sam̶e r̀ea͟ļm͟ of́ ̧e͏xìsţe̸n͏c̸e̴.͡ Whil̕e ́we̕ ̸aŗe͠ ͝n͘o̷t b҉o͜u̴ńd by̕ ̕y͜o̢u̕r la͢ws̷ ͠of ręa̡li͏ty͘,͝ w̵e ͠w͡i̡ll̴ hu͞m͘o͠r y̕ou ͡a͡nyw̷ay.̴͠“W̕e̕ u̴nf̡o̧rtuna̸te͢lý do̡ n͞ot͝ k̛n҉ow̕ ҉the͞ ch͢ao̸s th͏at cho̕o҉sęs t͏hę next ̨Anćh͢or. We ̕ca͝n ҉r҉ea͠d o̸nly҉ s҉o ͏f̨aŗ i̸n͝t̛o o̡ur ̧o̴wn̡ ͠fut̴u͠re̷,̴ a̕n͠d͡ it h̕a҉s͘ ͢n͝o n͜e̵w̧ ̕A͡n͢c͟h̛or͏ as f͜a̢r ͘as̷ ̀w͢ę c̀ąn̛ ̀r̕ead. ҉We m̶a͘y̨ g̡ra̢n͏t ͞an͡ Anc̨h͝o͝r̀ th̨e̸ ͠a͏b̡ili̸t̨y̸ ͠t͘o͏ sh҉i̸f̛t̀ and͝ ̶c͞h͠a̵ńǵe, ̵but th͡e̛ g̕ene̡t̨ic̕ me͞m̧o͏ry̕ ̸ḱeep͠s͜ ͠t͏hem in ͏a ̧f̛a̴m͢il̷i͜a͠r ͝f̶orm ͟t͏h̕a͠t͞ wil͠l̀ no͡t̛ ̡cause thȩm ͏t҉o de̛s͜t͏abil̸iz̀e͝ at̶ i̵n̨op͘por̶tune ̕m̢o͢ḿe͝nts̕.“

Speaking of destabilizing……The fabric of reality began to collapse the longer the Parasite was in residence. Visible warps and ripples, tears that emitted a static before healing back over to reappear elsewhere nearby. It wouldn’t be long now before it left…