Yeah I Have A Suggestion For You

🎺🐟

fish band

Hello, problem child ( I say this lovingly)

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

hey nuhuh "overreacting" is valid as hell and you should do whatever you like on your blog. i love seein your stuff mate, i just hope you feel better soon :(

Thank you, I appreciate your concern. It means a lot to hear that even with my mood being so turbulent, that you'll still stay.

I'm not sure what this feeling is exactly, people have made some suggestions.. What I do know is that this process I've started with asking about others' memories, I've become dependent on it. Maybe it's just because I feel so discontent with my own life, with the fact that after all this time, I'm still not entirely sure where I'm from.

Nevertheless, I want to thank you as well as everyone who has taken the time to help me with this journey. It's remarkable the amount of sources I've been recommended and viewed in such a short time, and regardless of where I end up- I'll remember and hold all of your memories close to my heart.

Dear friends,

I am Ahmad, a father struggling to keep my family alive in Gaza under the relentless devastation of war. 💥💔 My children are facing hunger 🍞, thirst 💧, and the bitter cold ❄️ without a safe shelter 🏠. The situation is unbearable, and our lives now depend on your compassionate hearts.

This is not just a message; it’s a plea for survival. 🙏

We are in desperate need of your help to secure the basics: food 🥫, water 💧, and a place to call home 🏠. Your donation, no matter how small, can mean the difference between life and death for my family. ❤️

⏳ Don’t wait. Every second counts. ⏳

Please help us now or share our story with the world 🌍. You might be the reason my children survive this nightmare.

🙏 Don’t let my children face this darkness alone. Be the light 🌟 that brings hope back into our lives.

💖 Donate now and save us from this unimaginable suffering. 💖

Thank you to every kind soul extending a hand of mercy. ❤️‍🩹✨

You can donate to ahmedmoneersblog through their gofundme, linked in their pinned post

Realized I have a naked rat and a small piano

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

Two Sentence Horror Story:

You send an ask to a beloved mutual, only to look back at the google doc that you copied and pasted from. There's a grammatical error.

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.

Hey!! i stumbled across your blog (or you across mine lol) and i wanted to wish you luck on your fictionkin/otherhuman journey!

I’m fictionkin myself but i have a bit of a weird relationship with past memories or lives etc etc so i’m not sure i can help much on that front, but as for your unknown source, could it maybe be Supernatural? I’m a Dean Winchester kin and it sounds like your memories could be pretty parallel to SPN themes???

Thank you so much for reaching out to me. I have heard of the source material, and I won't deny there is a fair bit that lines up. Truth be told, the concept of horrors hiding amongst the mundane monotony of everyday life is something that speaks to my very soul, and the theme of trying to track down said horrors in the first place. I have and probably still will look deeper into it in order to find familiarity.