Hello Boss !! Im An Elias AND Jon Fictionkin And You Said You Wanted To Interact With Them (I Think .

your blog is so fascinating. i love reading what you have to say.

Thank you, I'm both glad and relieved that my blog has brought some of you enjoyment throughout my time online, and once I find the source I'm looking for, I would like to switch gears and have you all be the focus of my blog- whether that means I become a kincall blog or maybe regularly write questions for others to answer with their experiences? I feel deeply inspired by the memories so many of you have shared and I wish to make this your space as much as it is mine, so if anyone has suggestions of what they would like to see more of on this blog, feel free to let me know

So I've Been Seeing Some Fake Claiming Videos Pop Up On YouTube Dash Lately and I can't understand why..

Honestly, I don't think fake claiming for any reason can be in good faith. There's ways that you handle difficult topics, and being dismissive with what others are telling you they experience is not one of them. 

Whether it's about mental health, disabilities, alter humanity, or plurality- you are not qualified to decide whether or not someone is faking, especially online, and it stresses me out to see how cold some individuals have become to those who are often sharing vulnerable parts of themselves– 

because it often is coming from a place of vulnerability, not deceit. Even if they were not correct about what they have or what they are, doesn't the fact that they're saying anything at all point to them feeling a certain way, and needing guidance and compassion? Recording videos of strangers going about their life just because they're in public, mocking those who make posts about their day to day life is not compassion.. Don't you ever get sick of judging people, and just want to listen? 

At the heart of it, that's where the problem lies. No one wants to stop and listen anymore. The right to interrogate or harass someone because they don’t look disabled to you, has never been a right owned by anyone, and it sure won't be yours to wield, not with any justice anyways.

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.

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

the magnus archives?

Hello anomalous speaker from the void, I appreciate you reaching out to me as a guiding light. I actually have had this source recommended to me before by someone, so I will certainly take note of it, and look into the content at a later date. I have the time now, seeing as I'm not allowed back into work until I've recovered..

Your Earliest Experienced Memories As Alterhuman, Fictionkin, etc!

I have admittedly been bogged down to my work, so I apologize for the silence. I'm married to my job and academic courses first and foremost...

After having so many wonderful conversations with you all, I would like to open a conversation to any and all who see this post. Recall your earliest memory that you experienced. Was it when interacting with something that triggered your memories? Was it when viewing a television program, or reading a chapter from a book in a dark corner of the library? Perhaps it came to you in a dream. However it came to you, I would like to hear all the details that you are willing to provide because you all have such remarkable stories, some that have been left unsaid. You deserve it to yourselves to share your stories, to let yourselves be known.

also small side note... is the "is fear close relative or truth" thing a twenty one pilots reference?

-marcus keay (non-cannon tma)

Oh, you noticed that. I hadn't exactly phrased the lyrics the same way, but I guess I'm more obvious than I thought–

It's funny, when people ask about my favorite genre of music, I always say classical in subconscious hopes of looking mature. It's almost out of reflex now, but I do enjoy Twenty One Pilots. There's a few lyrics in that song that resonated with me;

‘I could take the high road, but I know that I'm going low,’

‘I created this world to feel some control, I could destroy it if I want, so I sing Sahlo Folina’

It's that feeling of staring into the abyss, or really crossing the line in order to take vengeance.  It's the feeling of hitting a point of no return, and being resigned to the fact I may need to let myself become dangerous just to survive. 

🔪🫀🍳🔥🍔🍽️💁🏻‍♀️

(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

Street lights by sir20

A Dream About A Maze

Tonight’s the night. It has to be–

I’ve been patient, biding my time, ignoring this urge in the name of an experiment but also because some part of me was hoping it’s all a lie I’ve convinced myself of. That I could break away.. I’ve always known what I am. At first it was easy, and I’d gotten hopeful. The dreams dulled to a myriad of eyes, a cacophony of screams. I got dms, offering to share memories and I politely held my resolve but then the ache began to grow steadily like a raw and aching wound in my chest. 

Now that ache has developed into everything I’ve feared the most. This parasocial relationship has become my religion and way of life. So here I am, in another bedroom. In the end it’s no big surprise, I crossed the line a lifetime ago in a reality far from this one. Torturing myself with guilt isn’t enough to hold me back anymore. I want to know the feeling of touching that high again, even if the heart palpitations kill me. I think she understands that when I look at her. 

Megan is watching me back, frightened, but I look through her all the same. Her eyes are dark, frantic and searching mine for any humanity. Yet she found none in any of them. This has become a methodical practice, and I was far too desperate to show any delay. I was beyond reasoning, and nothing more than a caged animal. The eyes are the gateway to her soul, and so my fingers stabbed down into the pupil of her eye, and again we meet in this same place that we always do. 

Megan Awbrey was lost. I could feel that much, the stirring of dread like dead leaves in the wind reverberated through my chest. I had been in the mall with friends, this was just supposed to be a girl’s outing, not only a week away from my birthday. How had I found myself.. Here? It’s a long stretching room, painted a shade that seemed to be red or orange. The loud and bright coloring was miles away from the crisp white of the mini mall that I had been in only moments ago. The only way out was a vivid lilac door. “Erica..? Dana? Where the fuck are you?!” my voice comes out as the sound of an agitated young woman, in her 20s- 22 to be exact, her life had only just begun. I try to shake off the building anxiety and make a move towards the blue door with a huff, only to find the gap between the door and I pull. I was sure I had moved and yet the door remained the same distance away. 

Something is terribly wrong here, I can feel it in the air. Something heavy that sends hot and cold flashes through my body, making my vision dip and swoon, my ears ringing- I am so terribly trapped. I zip open my purse, fishing out an old tube of chapstick. ‘If I really am going nowhere, this chapstick will stay in my line of sight as I’m making a dash for the door,’ I think to myself, dropping it down onto the old, thin carpeted floor and watching it roll slightly into the baseboard of the wall. Megan is congratulating herself for her forward thinking as she takes quick little steps down the ugly ashen hallway, she almost forgets the dire situation she has found herself in, until I look back and see that the chapstick is nowhere to be seen. More direly, I hear footsteps. Fast, quickly closing in footsteps, and so I- Megan, begins to run down the hallway, desperately trying to reach a door she cannot even remember the color of. 

She had not gotten this far through nursing school, to ultimately be backrooms-ed to death. She thinks this under a litany of other frantic and half aborted thoughts- because you barely even have time to think, when you’re running for your life in high heels, mind you-

It was about the time that the hallway went awash in a creamy off putting shade of yellow, that I remembered that I am not Megan Awbrey. This thing I’m running from, at the end of the hallway is just a part of my dreams, and therefore a part of me. I slow to a jog and eventually a halt, refusing to look back at what is probably rapidly advancing. I can hear it’s footsteps on the walls, the ceiling–

“May I ask you a few questions? I feel like you have something to tell me.”  And the voice is so terribly mine, that it catches me off guard. It is me, so suddenly that I feel off kilter, ripped from a dream. It’s quiet for a minute and then, “You can ask, but you’ll never find answers.”

..

What do you do, when you find yourself interrogating your own memories? Are you truly getting the answers you so desperately crave, or is my own subconscious feeding me my worst fears? Is it all an exercise in vanity? 

“I need to know what you are. Please, what is your nature?” I sound frantic to my own ears, and I realize I have disregarded the questionnaire in feverish hope of something making sense. I have no script to rely on now. “I am the gaps in your mind, the fear of chaos. You are living on something concrete, but I am the in between,” The anomaly before me grins wide, drinking in my reaction. I shudder; suddenly this hallway seems so far from the warmth of the sun. Chaos incarnate is one way to look at them, and yet somehow I felt as though they were playing with their answer. “Have you always been force of the impossible coming into reality?” My fingers twitch, the nails clicking against each other in anticipation. At this vague and cryptic question, they cock their head in curiosity. 

The question is at the tip of my tongue, ‘Were you always this, or was it something that was inflicted upon you?’ but I think better of it, instead choosing to ask, “Are there others like you?” 

“Many! More than you could hope to find in your dreams. So many of them were hapless victims that found themselves taken over by an entity outside of human comprehension. Have you ever watched someone get chewed up in the mouth of fear and swallowed down until there was nothing left of the person you knew before? That is what they are! Victims have been fed to the fears countless times, and it will happen again.”

“Why do they do it though? What do they want?” 

“Well, if you were a being that defined yourself off the fear of others for allll of your existence…what would you want, more than anything after being left in silence for as long as we have?”

“They want to be known.” I decided, because that had to be it, right? They wanted to be recognized and seen for the fearful creatures they once were- at least to inspire new fear just as they once had. Could it even be as simple as that? “Is that what you want? To be known?”

“Do I look like I do?” 

I suppose not in the traditional sense. This was a being of complete chaos and contradiction, that much was readily apparent to me, and yet I think this entity would not be entertaining my inquiries if they didn't want to at least be recognized for the disorder and breaking of boundaries that they represent. They are a creature of many branching facets that wishes to be studied by inquisitive eyes- maybe I was just the man to bring them that. 

“I think you have been left craving for a long time.” I finally settled on. “You would know about cravings, wouldn't you? How many memories have you strangled from people's subconscious?” There's a tone of teasing, light and airy and yet the bitter accusation underneath is digging into me deep. “This is my dream and you don't have power here,” I mutter, trying to focus on something so I could force myself awake. I desperately needed to ground myself.

“Oh don't be so coy, dear Jules. You haven't been perfecting your dream hunting because you want to help others.” 

“I'm going to count backwards from 3, and then I'll wake up. Three,”

“All this pride, all this fight… oh,  be honest with yourself. Yoouuu liked it~” 

When the impossibly long, slender fingers of the entity ran along my chest, I couldn't help but let out a breathless gasp, a tremor running up my spine. It then became apparent to me that no matter how otherworldly I felt and looked in these dreams, there was still a part of me that felt vulnerable and human… and most of all, afraid. They could smell it on me, and I was mad at myself for giving in so easily. 

“I'm nothing like you,”

“Oh no? You're not drinking in the fear? My, maybe he was wrong about you after all.” 

And suddenly, the fingers stabbed deep into my chest, causing me to leap awake, grabbing at myself. As I work on catching my breath, I know when Megan finally found herself free from that monster, she never found her friends again. A sickening part of me is more focused on the possibilities our conversation has presented, rather than the guilt I should be feeling though.

.. And isn’t that just terrifying?