(x)

hello !!!! mod blue here from the noncanon kin blog :))) i know mod star is going to/already has sent an ask to you as well but i wanted to extend my support as well :)

im big into Horror Media in general so if you Are set on trying to find a source, ill gladly help you out if i can :)) oc kin is Also a very interesting and probable Answer, but i know it can be hard to come to terms with things such as that, especially if you dont Already know people who experience it. ive been identifying and navigating my personal fictionkin experience since i was around 14-16, im 21 now. i understand how confusing and frustrating it can be. i wish you the Best of luck, my friend :) if you’d like to reach out at all, you can message me over at @galactic-inhabitants

much love, my guy <3 i hope you can find some answers <3

You both have been so very kind to me, I don't know how to compensate you for your time but it means a lot. I may just have some questions to ask you, sometime in the near future so consider yourself warned

Holy shit- actually, those first 3 paragraphs plus that stray sentence that technically is it's own paragraph meaning the first 4 paragraphs in reality...

I no longer believe your my demon friend- I think you might be Lord Unknown. (Is only seen once in-game so far outside of the devlog and is from an optional path that gives more content)

And the group of people with only one surviving... That could've been a meeting with 6-Eyes (the cult) and the survivor could've been the cult leader.

Honestly- the fact that it's in a cabin could explain why there was a ritual set up in an abandoned cabin near my grandparents house when we were kids. (Devlog stuff, sorry just rambling)

Yeah, shit. I don't know about anything else for that dream but holy fuck, when I was reading about the first 4 paragraphs all I could think was "yup, sounds like Lord Unknown" and the cult leader

Anyway- uhhh... I'll leave you be now.

-Ashley Graves (the Coffin of Andy and Leyley)

PS: if it'll help at all, I have 2 screenshots of the only 2 times Lord Unknown actually makes an appearance, one in the devlog and the other in the game itself

The group that I saw in my dreams did hold an uncanny resemblance to a cult.. It was rather chilling to see them there, huddled in the shadows, whispering about such awful, wonderful things. Waiting for me. There is.. One small thing though. I’m not sure the men died, they simply vanished from my line of sight, all at once like the light being snuffed out of a candle. Like an illusion. Nevertheless, I feel a pull towards that name. If you could show me the screenshot, if you wouldn’t mind..

Final Conclusions;

I bludgeoned sobriety with a bat, and left it dead in the woods. It died an ugly death, kicking and screaming as I tore it limb from limb- because I am so hungry. I can’t help it, I don’t want to know what I am without someone here to latch onto the memories of. I can’t help it, this is who I’ll always be. So now that you know I’m trapped, let's get into our findings;

Within  the very beginnings of the experiment, I found that when I received notifications in my dms, I felt a nervous energy. It was almost an impulsive reflex, telling me to answer my dms. That I was breaking the rules of social interaction. According to my two observers that I unwittingly roped into the experiment, they had said that my urge to return back to these behaviors showed an overall consistency, or as Steph lovingly put it, “(...)You were crawling out of your skin since day one.”. 

That being said, I had noticed a steady increase of sporadic behavior from that point on, including thrill seeking urges that included a momentary fantasy about going bungee jumping or taking a detour into the woods on my way home from work to scream until my lungs give out. These urges were accompanied by dietary changes, cravings for starch based comfort foods that suggested that I was under stress.

 The idea that I was under stress is further backed up by the observations of my aforementioned participants of choice, one of which (Evan, the problem child) had brought to attention my discomfort multiple times throughout the experiment. 

At the end of the experiment, it had been brought to my attention by Steph that, “You’re trying to collect and address primarily qualitative data with quantitative methodologies and as a result are losing out on a lot of useful information, both in this experiment and general interview practices,” which was a great point, seeing as throughout the entirety of my blog, I've been trying to assign tangible and numerical findings to something as intimate as kin memories.

 Now that I'm back, I plan to remedy this, starting with openly sharing about what makes me experience mental/phantom shifts, and what has spoken to me so far throughout this search into what source I belong to. 

Ocean Eyes

There is an eye at the bottom of the ocean, belonging to an old god whose name has been forgotten, but still leaves echoes in the memory of man. It's there, under the rolling waves and aquatic life. In a constant staring contest with our sun that's dripping crimson with the blood of so many who have given into their fears, the eye gazes not just on that sun but through every life that has ever lived in this reality we've found ourselves in, and so many others.

 When it finally blinks, the world will end. This is a fact. The Earth will begin to swallow us whole, and nature will take back what we've stolen from it. Bridges collapsing and headlights careering into the star filled glinting sea, into doors that were never meant to be opened. Fear and panic in the air, do you feel it too?.. and when that eye blinks, our sun will too. I want to look down into those depths just so I can reassure myself it's fine. ‘It was just a dream, a terrible, terrible dream that you had because you went into cardiac arrest,’

But it's still wriggling in my brain, pulling in and out of my periphery like a tide. So I think..

I'm going to run a little experiment. I've mentioned my urges- 

My fixation with hearing others experiences and memories, my drive to feel that connection, and to pick at the more distressing details of said memories. I would like to stop completely, just to see how uncomfortable I'd get. I want to document how long it takes until my resolve cracks, just to get a sense of how trapped I really am in this cycle.

So, if I don't post for a while, my blog isn't dead! I'm simply trying not to fall into a pattern that I've been feeding into for the past 3 months. I will post the results when I feel I've gotten satisfying results.

What a coincidence, it seems we have some mutuals in common

@galactic-inhabitants @quinnlistspeaks @lionesscersei @bohemianrpdsy @anothershottotryagain @apocalypticautumn @beezabub @electromahougnetic @actualamadeus @birdiestbugbuddy @jellybean-sys @routetoroadkill @revekdoesstuff @volatilisdeviant @wildernezz

positivity train!

if you see this or are tagged in it, tag a couple of your favorite mutuals/blogs and let them know you appreciate seeing them on your dash!

@h0neysugarfree @blueberrylovv @bequiteanddriveeeeeee @cherri-bomb-bomb @eg0mechan1c @fatrexicisback

URGENT HELP SAVE THE LIFE OF MY CHILD

Dear humanity,

Please Help Me – My Son May Die at Any Moment.

I'm Amal, a mother of three children, living under the weight of the genocide taking place in Gaza. 🍉

Here’s my story, and I’m reaching out with a hopeful heart 💔✨, hoping someone will feel what my family and I are going through.

My son is suffering from a severe and life-threatening injury after being shot by Israeli drones. He urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.

Time is running out, and we are facing a critical situation. I am asking for your generosity to help us save him either through a donation or by sharing this urgent plea with others

I beg you, i kiss your feet, to help my son. My son may die at any moment

I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too 🥺 .

So I humbly ask you to donate even a little or at least reblog my post.

Please Donate now:👇👇 👇

Gofundme.com

paypal.com

Thank you for your compassion and kindness

7

-

Hello! I need medication for life to prevent my lungs from collapsing, this implies permanent treatment with steroids, oxygen therapy, control of oxygen in the blood and antibiotics to prevent the development of bacteria in the lungs.

I'm afraid I have to insist on this because it may be the only way to get my treatment.

I need medication for life to keep my lungs from collapsing, this costs around $700 per month.

Things are really tough on me,I can’t afford. Please donate🖤

Choppedreviewsong's dononation page on paypal is linked in their pinned post

Thank you so much for the tag, Nezz 

I'm tagging, @fallen--starlight @specter-solaire @kenopsia-ksp @is-this-camera-on , @bohemianrpdsy @apocalypticautumn @peculiareyezer and @quinnlistspeaks , but anyone else who visits my blog and sees this, feel free to join in 

picrew chain time!! make yourself a cheeky little icon using this picrew, reblog & tag ur pals!! to start us off: @lightyaoigami @lightyakami @deelavis @dreamfilleddonuts @catboymettaton @vorareromantic @queer-omens-in-the-archives

*Just read your cabin post*

Please for the love of god, check out The Magnus Archives, Magpie. You are so eye coded

I have gotten a lot of recommendations towards The Magnus Archives, that's probably apparent on my blog at this point. I mean, I have whittled down my list of sources to look into. Every time I get replies like this, it piques my curiosity; what was it about the post that resonated with you in that way? I guess there's only one way to find out--

Stained glass lamps

A Dream About A Kindled Flame

He’s rough, glaring at me with brown eyes that are tawny and sharp. The burns encompass his entire being, his nose crooked and scarred, his neck licked by intricate scarring as he lays there, waiting for me. I won’t bore you with the details- we all know how this goes. 

The story really begins in a bar. My name is Jim Navy, and I’m a wanted man. There’s just so many criminals in downtown Chicago, I never stood out, and so I was never caught for my heinous actions. So long as you keep your head down, you can live as a ghost during the day and a monster during the night. I remember when I was young and romanticised this lifestyle, how I thought that it would grant me respect and protection, but these people out here are nothing more but rabid dogs, willing to throw you under the bus for a moment's notice. I found no loyalty in Chicago, but I made sure I always came out on top. Whether it be a crook trying to con me, or a late night lover threatening to go to the cops, I got my last word in. There was nothing more to it than that.

‘Sometimes I still think about her face, after I cut her throat.’ This was the thought in his mind that allowed me to disconnect from him in the dream. As he remembered the woman he killed and mugged, I too could feel her face burning the backs of my eyes. ‘This man is a monster,’ and still he takes a long fluid swig off his beer. He’s haunted by the actions he took that night, is how he tries to ration it with himself, but it doesn’t stop him from sauntering over to the pretty redhead who's been staring him down across the bar since the moment he walked in and making the same mistakes he did that night. She’s so pretty though, you can’t hold him accountable for his actions when the woman looks like that, right? Is what he tells himself, and I find myself wanting to gag.

He is right though, she is beautiful. Long dark red hair that's impossibly straight, and wild amber eyes. She smirks as he takes a seat across from her at her table, and purrs out a simple, “Took you long enough,” and from there, he drunkenly stumbles into the same mistakes. Sharing too much, asking to take her back to his place, telling her all the things he expects will happen should she go home with him, and she’s all smiles in agreement, but since I’m not Jim, I can see the steady calculation in her eyes. This is a trap where the hunter will soon find out he’s prey. 

She pushes me against the wall in a passionate kiss, trapping my arms above my head in a pose that leaves all my vital organs open for attack. It’s passionate, and I can feel the heat sweltering around us in the back alley. There’s something chemical fueled in her perfume that’s making me dizzy. It permeates the cool night air along with the heat that exudes off our bodies. 

This girl is taking over.

I never got this sort of attention before, not really. It’s rare that attractive women pay me any mind, so my head is still floating when she roughly sinks her hand into the back pocket of Jim, and fishes out his wallet. It’s then that she abruptly pulls away, looking through the mementos of drivers licences he keeps, of all his victims. “What’re you doing, angel face?” He slurs, making a reach for hands. “If you’re smart, you’ll stay the hell back.” The charm has been forgone, and her voice is hot with venom. “How many people have you killed?”

“What the fuck?” His voice is slurred as sweat drips down his temple. The heat comes off of her in waves, like when you first open an oven on a cold winter night. You can see the steam, as she begins to ignite, flames fragmenting off her frame. 

“Wait!” She pauses when it’s my voice that comes through, and not Jim’s. This isn’t how the story goes, afterall. Curiously, the fire engulfed entity that now stands before me cocks her head to the side.. Imploring me to continue. “Does your abnormally high body temperature have any any affect on your neurological function? Because I read-” She cuts men off with a stunned cackle, and in the absurdity of the situation, I can’t help but timidly join her laughter. After all, it’s not every day that you find yourself about to be killed by the human torch. 

Set me ablaze, she did. It was horrific, the fire crackling and searing away layers of flesh. I desperately grabbed at her, only to find her body the consistency of half melted wax. A cruel and horrible death, but I found myself wishing I hadn’t wasted my question on something so stupid.. I was intrigued by her.