Imitative-magpie - Magpie

jules, i just gotta let you know that its always a Delight reading what you have to say. the way you talk is so captivating, please never change <33333

I appreciate, and reciprocate this sentiment. In our interactions thus far, you've been incredibly helpful, and in truth I've been having a bit of a rough time with this.. “not asking others about memories” thing. I guess some part of me is more dependent on the social interaction than I'd originally thought. So thank you for reaching out to me, it means a lot

Realized I have a naked rat and a small piano

Here's Harry banging out the tunes, April 13th 2023

You are probably from final destination 5

I actually have quite the memory to share about bridges specifically... But I need more time to explain myself articulately. Your suggestion certainly has not gone unnoticed though

🔪🫀🍳🔥🍔🍽️💁🏻‍♀️

(I'm sure you can figure out the story I told you in emoji format.)

Anyway, happy Ides of March, Julius

-Leyley 🩷🖤

As a lover of horror, I understand this was a sacrifice that had to be made

Also, at least throw a side dish in there you monster

peeks head in here

how's things going? haven't heard from you in a bit.

hope you're ok and making progress on your kin journey!

-the neon attic

Thank you for checking in on me, Neon Attic. I appreciate the message. In truth, I may have found myself a bit confused as of lately, and accidently made a kinfirmation announcement which may have turned out to be false.. Again. Now that it’s brought up however, I would like to make an invitation to any of the following fictionkin or fictives;

*Anyone from the source The Mandela Catalogue, especially the alternates

*Anyone from the Everyman HYBRID source

*Those who are from Marble Hornets

*Anyone from The Magnus Archives, but Especially any Jons or Elias’’

Some of my questions will pertain to dynamics and relationships in the sources, the more traumatic experiences within your source, and possible mental/phantom shifts you've experienced in relation to your identity. I feel I could probably gain a great deal of insight from these sources specifically at the moment, so if you are interested in reaching out, please answer this kincall. My dms are always open.

While I have the time to keep up on my blog maintenance, let's update this while we're at it;

*Boyfriend to Death (Completed)

*Everyman HYBRID (Completed and Revised, Possible Match) 

*Marble Hornets (Completed and Revised)

*Tribe Twelve (Completed and Revised, Possible Match)

*Identity V (Completed, Possible Match)

*The Coffin of Andy and Leyley (Completed, Mayyybee??)

*P.T (Completed and Revised)

*Madness Combat (Completed)

*Diabolik Lovers (Completed)

*Insidious (Completed and Revised, Possible Match)

*The Black Tapes

*Malevolent 

*Smile (Completed and Revised, Possible Match)

*Hazbin Hotel (Completed)

The Complete List Of Kinsidering Sources

Thanks to the help of so many of you both here on Tumblr, and on various discord servers, I was able to lay a lot of groundwork into discovering my identity. I would like to share a list of sources I have been given and am currently looking into in order to widen my sample size regarding memories as a whole. Here is where I currently am in this process;

*The Dream SMP (Completed)

*Mouth Washing (Even Though I Have Mostly Ruled That Out) ((Completed.. obviously))

*Homestuck (Not Really Completed But I Feel I've Seen Enough)

*A Song of Ice and Fire (Completed and Revised)

*Maximum Ride Series (Completed and Revised)

*Final Destination (Completed and Revised)

*Madoka Magica (Completed)

*Supernatural (Completed and Revised, Possible Match)

*Zero Escape Series (Completed)

*The Magnus Archives 

*SCP and Related Works (Completed and Revised, Possible Match)

*Death Note (Completed and Revised, Possible Match)

*Arcane (Completed and Revised)

*The Magicians 

*Ave Mujica

*The Mandela Catalogue (Completed, Possible Match)

*Devilman Crybaby 

*American Horror Story (Completed and Revised)

*The Omen (Completed and Revised, Possible Match)

If anyone from these sources would like to impart any insight or simply share any memories that have been weighing on them..

Well, you know I'll always be listening.

I think I understand what you mean, Jay. Or at the very least, the spirit of it. As alterhumans, we have found ourselves in such unlikely circumstances. Experiencing these memories that shake the very core of our realities, and then you’re expected to go on with life like everything is fine- because it is for everyone else around you.

You’re feeling the echoes of something a lifetime ago, and there is all this tension building up in your body, like you’re waiting for a punch that never comes.. And of course, when you try to explain this people will give their unwanted opinions of “seeking help”, or whatever else the anti otherkins say nowadays..

Sometimes when we’re sitting with that feeling of something being so terribly wrong in our heads, it’s only natural to want something to confirm what we’ve been feeling, if only to let go of the breath we’ve been holding for so long. I’m sure there’s something freeing in that, as you’d put it, because once you let go of that breath, it’s like you can finally let your life begin. You can actually experience things properly– presently, and in the moment rather than just feeling like you’re sitting on stand by for a beckon call. Life will come for us though, and it’ll pick us up off our feet. The adrenaline will be so overwhelming that we know for certain that’s why we’re here, and it’s what we’ve been searching for.

 I don’t think that’s unreasonable at all, Jay.

Sometimes, I almost wish I was in danger, if that makes sense. On the run, or being hunted by some entity, shit I wouldn't even mind an end of the world scenario. This boring circle of work, home, work, home with the occasional money spending to waste time can make me feel trapped, desperate for a crumb of adrenaline. Real adrenaline, the kind that sends you racing back out of the woods. I want to fight to protect a tight knit group, all scared but undoubtedly more alive than they've ever been. I want to sleep under the stars, be shocked by how vibrant the night sky is without all those lights. I want true freedom in a time where we're all chained to our desks, fucking explodes myself

If you've read my blog, why I reblogged this self explanatory

A Dream About A Moose

I would like preface before we begin with the details of exactly what I dreamt the other night, that I am uncertain if this is in fact a memory or if it was simply a stress dream brought on by my anticipation of finals, and the steady balance of the different aspects of my life that all come to a head around the holidays. This is going to be a fairly dark read. It taps into the very real horrors of the waking world and yet it was abstract, and so odd in the way these concepts presented themselves. So if you're easily disheartened by themes of body horror, hunting, and losing your sense of self, it's best you turn away from this particular post. Last of all–

I'm aware how bad this looks for me if it is a memory. I'm aware I may lose some friends I've made online, but after talking it over with someone who gave me a new perspective to look at it from, I've decided I'm going to share anyway.

 I remember it started off with me feeling dazed, like when you're lost in thought for a while and suddenly your focus is violently broken. The room was so dark that the shadows stretched and overlapped with each other, making ominous pulling figures that looked like they could snatch you at a moment’s notice. 

The ceiling fan is nothing more than a dark star, churning the heavy, high tension that's in the room, a tension I almost don't understand…almost, until I saw her. She looked to be in her thirties, a mousey little thing with beige brown hair in messy curls around her crown. Her gaze is locked on me, and she is terrified. I mean it makes sense that this dream person would be scared; a random person showed up in her room, but even stranger is that she doesn't make a single move to get up and confront me, make a run for it, or show any self preservation. She just lays there, head propped up by an almost absurd amount of silken pillows, her eyes wide and nearly unblinking– like she's afraid if she does, something awful will happen.

It's then that I realize with a start that she should be scared. I'm here for a reason, and I'm only delaying the natural progression of this dream. I read a study once that said you cannot create a new face in a dream. Every face that appears in a dream is one you once seen and retained in the subconscious parts of your mind. Yet she seemed so real, and so distant in my memories. So I move closer. I don't know why, but I'm waiting for some sort of revelation. Like she’ll suddenly remember me, or maybe she'll tell me how she found herself in such a predicament in the first place. Most of all, I'm holding on for her words. I need it, like a damn second wind. I feel it like an ache in the pit of my stomach, and only she can make it right, if she just tells me why I'm here. 

Why am I here, Cassandra? 

Why am I here? 

Instead, she just sucks in a sharp breath, in that way that makes the collarbone have more depth and prominence. I can see it in her eyes, she knows why I'm here. She stares up at me, her pupils trembling in the brown iris, the pallor of her face. I reach up my hand to her face- and really it's a wonder how I'm so calm during all this. I look at my hands.. I don't know if they're my hands. They look wrong. They don't look human, but of course I don't even have time to panic over such trivial things, when more important things are right in the room with me. So I gently wipe the stray tear that's running down her face, and then, I jam my finger right into the pupil of her eye, and watch my fingers melt down into the dark space, far off into fragmented realities we dare not revisit, for fear that history could repeat itself.

And then just like that, I'm in the woods. Have you ever heard of Golden hour? It's around the time when the sun is level with your eyes and everything is awash in yellow. It's actually one of the better times to hunt deer because deer often use the sun's position to their advantage. Deer will move into the setting/rising sun so any potential danger that could be dangerous ahead of them is silhouetted. I knew this because I was a deer hunter, and in fact I took so much pride in being a female hunter that I had several bumper stickers on my car referring to this fact.

..But that wasn't right… I am not a deer hunter, and I'm certainly not… but I look at my shaking slender hands, with chipped nude nail polish, and a wedding ring, and it's all true. More importantly, I am without my hunting rifle, and I'm running from something, farther and farther into unfamiliar territory. The woods are quiet, so deafeningly quiet, but somehow I was certain that I had not lost whatever was chasing me. My heart racing, I look around for somewhere to hide, and am only greeted by a vast sea of thin pines, with sparse branches. There is nowhere to hide. This is the last gasp of breath I give, while looking down the barrel of a shotgun. 

But I'm not- Cassandra’s not ready to die. She watched her husband die to that thing, that stalks the treeline, that may have once called itself a moose. She wasn't going to let it kill her too, not without a fight…but the hunting rifle was gone, and I was greatly outmatched in terms of strength. Have you ever seen a normal, average moose angry? Do you even know how much they weigh? I feel my breath hitch in the back of my throat in a sort of frenzied crescendo, when my eyes finally lock on a smattering of large, jagged rocks there hidden amongst the trees, on the incline of the mountain. Cassandra was definitely small enough to squeeze between the rocks. All she needed was to arm herself. So that's what she did, she frantically did a once over the forest floor before finally grabbing a sturdy enough fallen branch, and wedged herself in between the rocks, sitting low with her knees up, her back pressed against the rocks as she tried to control her breathing.

Somehow she knew the moose was watching her, she could feel its sour breath on her soul, hunting her, ready to take back from her what she had taken from the forest’s precious ecosystem. As dusk settled into a burning red in the last dying light, the malnourished outline of the moose took form. The moose was malnourished, yes. That much is true, but it was large, and it's limbs seem to bend in ways a moose’s legs should not be able to, the knees going back farther and farther as it drunkenly stumbled amongst the trees, eyes glowing in it's feverish search for Cassandra, who was now holding up her stick in a position to strike. 

The blood of her husband still stained the moose, the matted coat clotted in dark red and made a macabre crown around his head. The beast’s lips curled into a snarl revealing the sharp teeth of a carnivore, much like a big cat’s or even a bear. The moose began to circle the boulders, nose snuffling as it took in the bursting embers of Cassandra's mounting dead, and as the moose slipped out of her line of vision between the gap in the rocks, time seemed to stop. Every second seemed an eternity, as twilight slipped slowly into night like a forming bruise. I watch the sun set, as the eye of our tormenter eclipses our view, having finally found us-

And then Cassandra is screaming me awake, screaming as if she was right back in that moment of being prey to something bigger than she could ever dream of being. She knows screaming is her only chance of being rid of me, and she's apparently right because that's when I woke up from the dream, having felt like she was so very real. Maybe it was bit naive, but I actually had to sit up and look to make sure I was in my room and not that dream. There was this sour acid taste in the back of my mouth too- and I downed about three glasses of water right there at the kitchen sink that night. 

This dream has left me shaken and lost. That's not the right word though, lost. I know exactly where I am, but I'm so fragmented, so stretched thin that it can hardly count that I am here, right now. All I have is my words, and I hope that's enough for you.

"do you guys have a fear of being seen? 🥺"

*goes on to vividly describe an autistic meltdown* lmao I can't with you jules

I apologize– I really don't know what came over me last night, and rereading the sloppy tangent that I went on makes me feel sick. My mother would always say things like, ‘I'm too old to be pulling stunts like this’ and I guess somehow still, it's not enough to deter me from whatever this is. This blog should be a place for researching my possible sources and putting the questionnaire into use for those who reach out, in order to properly apologize to the victims that I keep having memories of, not whatever my emotional hang ups are. I promise that I will conduct myself in a more professional manner from here on out.