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❄ april things [open]
Who: Crymaria & ???
When: Throughout April
Where: Aefenglom, dream hellscape mirrors
What: Mostly open event prompts! However, if you're full up on memory dives or find these unappealing, there's also cake baking! and pet wolf spoiling.
Warnings: human experimentation/torture is the big one. wartime violence. suicidal ideation may come up for prompts ii and iii especially.
((For all memory prompts, the events coming from Crymaria’s perspective means nearly everything will have an atmosphere of overwhelming anxiety just rumbling in the background. Think of water dripping in the other room but really irregularly, and you don’t know if the next drip is when the pipe is going to burst. Or your preferred metaphor for a brain running in neurotic mode. I did more summary than scene in most of them which hopefully creates room for people to jump in where they want 🙏 if you want anything specific or want to chat you can find me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
antiquating))
i. at the looking glass house;
[By far the worst part of these waking dreams is that she is alone in all of them; without Fenrir’s calming presence at her side, Crymaria is always drifting in and out of awareness, wandering these unfortunate landscapes like a specter and just about as useless.
If only the inviting glimmer of the mirrors meant that passing through one would bring her somewhere else. Not home, but a somewhere else she hasn’t discovered yet. But Crymaria knows better, after all.
The frame of her own mirror is carved to appear as though winter encrusts it all, though in the shapes of snow and ice a closer look would reveal smaller hidden details etched into their curves: crystalline flowers, a wolf howling, a single bolt of flame.
She’s just about to touch the surface when she hears someone approaching behind her, and she pulls away and back into herself, adapting as aloof a demeanor as she can immediately toward whoever happens to be here.]
Do whatever it is that you need. It’s not as if this place can make any more of a mockery of my life than it already has.
[Her voice is cold as she dismisses whatever’s behind the mirror, but her body language is nothing short of defensive. She keeps her arms crossed close to her chest; it’s not as if anything else is going to protect her.]
ii. the chosen and the unchosen;
[It’s warm here, perhaps unexpected given the icy symbols wrought into the mirror frame, but the pervasive, thrumming anxiety is everywhere. The people, the landscape, everything’s present enough but blurry and indistinct as if the memory is just fading in, as though what occurred before that point is hazy, stifled or drugged away into uncertainty. There’s some distant conversation, a never-quite reconciled “where am I?” and yet the people and the surroundings don’t fade into focus until -
”Selvaria?”
Selvaria Bles is two years younger and a hair shorter than Crymaria, but it’d be impossible to tell that from this memory alone. She seems impossibly tall, her voice confident and rich. She’s an icon more than she is a person, her commanding presence towering over the constant anxious hum. Beautiful and untouchable and yet so, so wrong. A mix of awe and spite highlight all of her positive features and yet make the entire day’s events feel as negative as possible; Crymaria’s memory twists every word from Selvaria’s mouth and condescending and dismissive.
Perhaps you, having come through the mirror to witness this, will see the battle that ensues?
Or perhaps the fight doesn’t happen for you. By the time Crymaria has worked herself into a frenzy, power coiling around her as she repeats herself in a violent rage—“I’ll show you! I’ll kill you!”—the landscape and the actors once again become fuzzy.
But do you think it really mattered who won, in the end?]
iii. until my final sunset; (CW medical experimentation, torture; threads might also include suicidal ideation)
[Time in this memory does not seem linear in the slightest; instead, whoever ventures into the mirror this time will encounter a tangle of events, difficult place in order but still so, so vivid. The laboratory in the frigid north is as cold inside as the snowy wilderness beyond its walls, and Crymaria is surrounded by other girls, but she is alone. Researchers fetch her from her quarters and bring her into other rooms. The Crymaria in the memory is grown and yet she looks and feels impossibly small, dwarfed by the other Valkyria girls who torment her for crying, by the apparatuses used in each examination.
The experiments vary depending on the day, but they are nearly all painful.
And it seems to go on forever, which may be the real pain of this memory, that it runs more like a slideshow than a shadow play and shows no signs of ending. For now, all the witnesses are trapped here, just like the version of Crymaria who lived through the memory. What is there to be done?]
iv. what a fool; (brief mentions of the cw from prompt iii)
[The uncomfortable atmosphere isn’t entirely lacking from this memory, but, unlike the others, there’s a warm quality to it. There are no surprises here; just Fenrir, and Crymaria, and a man. No explosions, no hidden torments; just conversation and someone foolishly trying to get too close to her, acting as if he cares. It’s annoying. Utterly annoying. But by the time Fenrir chases Walz across the snowy field, growling protectively, she’s smiling.
The real Crymaria, the one who finishes watching this memory, remains with that same, almost fond smile on her face even after everything has faded away.
Then it’s gone.]
After that, I was here. All that really did have to be a lie, in the end.
v. piece of;
[In the waking world, there's a little more peace. Though Crymaria still hasn't quite shaken her loner nature and generally keeps to herself, she’s also been doing some part-time work at Piece of Cake, responding to the call on a whim and a need for a financial cushion. She's a rare enough sight around town that working behind the scenes is much easier, besides.
She is not a baker by trade or by nature, and it shows in how she struggles with measuring things to an exact science, how messily the ingredients are strewn through her hair and on her clothes, but the routine procedures also seem to be somewhat calming for her. She’s very focused, even around other people who may have picked up the part time job, and surprisingly…approachable and willing to help, even as she crouches down to look closer at the level of her dry ingredients to see if they're integrated properly.
Alternatively, someone might even catch her sneaking out to deliver a wolf-approved treat or two to Fenrir, who’s staying out of the kitchen (for sanitation reasons, obviously) in a safe place, looking a little suspicious and sneaky about it, stealing a glance over her shoulder every so often.]
When: Throughout April
Where: Aefenglom, dream hellscape mirrors
What: Mostly open event prompts! However, if you're full up on memory dives or find these unappealing, there's also cake baking! and pet wolf spoiling.
Warnings: human experimentation/torture is the big one. wartime violence. suicidal ideation may come up for prompts ii and iii especially.
((For all memory prompts, the events coming from Crymaria’s perspective means nearly everything will have an atmosphere of overwhelming anxiety just rumbling in the background. Think of water dripping in the other room but really irregularly, and you don’t know if the next drip is when the pipe is going to burst. Or your preferred metaphor for a brain running in neurotic mode. I did more summary than scene in most of them which hopefully creates room for people to jump in where they want 🙏 if you want anything specific or want to chat you can find me at
i. at the looking glass house;
[By far the worst part of these waking dreams is that she is alone in all of them; without Fenrir’s calming presence at her side, Crymaria is always drifting in and out of awareness, wandering these unfortunate landscapes like a specter and just about as useless.
If only the inviting glimmer of the mirrors meant that passing through one would bring her somewhere else. Not home, but a somewhere else she hasn’t discovered yet. But Crymaria knows better, after all.
The frame of her own mirror is carved to appear as though winter encrusts it all, though in the shapes of snow and ice a closer look would reveal smaller hidden details etched into their curves: crystalline flowers, a wolf howling, a single bolt of flame.
She’s just about to touch the surface when she hears someone approaching behind her, and she pulls away and back into herself, adapting as aloof a demeanor as she can immediately toward whoever happens to be here.]
Do whatever it is that you need. It’s not as if this place can make any more of a mockery of my life than it already has.
[Her voice is cold as she dismisses whatever’s behind the mirror, but her body language is nothing short of defensive. She keeps her arms crossed close to her chest; it’s not as if anything else is going to protect her.]
ii. the chosen and the unchosen;
[It’s warm here, perhaps unexpected given the icy symbols wrought into the mirror frame, but the pervasive, thrumming anxiety is everywhere. The people, the landscape, everything’s present enough but blurry and indistinct as if the memory is just fading in, as though what occurred before that point is hazy, stifled or drugged away into uncertainty. There’s some distant conversation, a never-quite reconciled “where am I?” and yet the people and the surroundings don’t fade into focus until -
”Selvaria?”
Selvaria Bles is two years younger and a hair shorter than Crymaria, but it’d be impossible to tell that from this memory alone. She seems impossibly tall, her voice confident and rich. She’s an icon more than she is a person, her commanding presence towering over the constant anxious hum. Beautiful and untouchable and yet so, so wrong. A mix of awe and spite highlight all of her positive features and yet make the entire day’s events feel as negative as possible; Crymaria’s memory twists every word from Selvaria’s mouth and condescending and dismissive.
Perhaps you, having come through the mirror to witness this, will see the battle that ensues?
Or perhaps the fight doesn’t happen for you. By the time Crymaria has worked herself into a frenzy, power coiling around her as she repeats herself in a violent rage—“I’ll show you! I’ll kill you!”—the landscape and the actors once again become fuzzy.
But do you think it really mattered who won, in the end?]
iii. until my final sunset; (CW medical experimentation, torture; threads might also include suicidal ideation)
[Time in this memory does not seem linear in the slightest; instead, whoever ventures into the mirror this time will encounter a tangle of events, difficult place in order but still so, so vivid. The laboratory in the frigid north is as cold inside as the snowy wilderness beyond its walls, and Crymaria is surrounded by other girls, but she is alone. Researchers fetch her from her quarters and bring her into other rooms. The Crymaria in the memory is grown and yet she looks and feels impossibly small, dwarfed by the other Valkyria girls who torment her for crying, by the apparatuses used in each examination.
The experiments vary depending on the day, but they are nearly all painful.
And it seems to go on forever, which may be the real pain of this memory, that it runs more like a slideshow than a shadow play and shows no signs of ending. For now, all the witnesses are trapped here, just like the version of Crymaria who lived through the memory. What is there to be done?]
iv. what a fool; (brief mentions of the cw from prompt iii)
[The uncomfortable atmosphere isn’t entirely lacking from this memory, but, unlike the others, there’s a warm quality to it. There are no surprises here; just Fenrir, and Crymaria, and a man. No explosions, no hidden torments; just conversation and someone foolishly trying to get too close to her, acting as if he cares. It’s annoying. Utterly annoying. But by the time Fenrir chases Walz across the snowy field, growling protectively, she’s smiling.
The real Crymaria, the one who finishes watching this memory, remains with that same, almost fond smile on her face even after everything has faded away.
Then it’s gone.]
After that, I was here. All that really did have to be a lie, in the end.
v. piece of;
[In the waking world, there's a little more peace. Though Crymaria still hasn't quite shaken her loner nature and generally keeps to herself, she’s also been doing some part-time work at Piece of Cake, responding to the call on a whim and a need for a financial cushion. She's a rare enough sight around town that working behind the scenes is much easier, besides.
She is not a baker by trade or by nature, and it shows in how she struggles with measuring things to an exact science, how messily the ingredients are strewn through her hair and on her clothes, but the routine procedures also seem to be somewhat calming for her. She’s very focused, even around other people who may have picked up the part time job, and surprisingly…approachable and willing to help, even as she crouches down to look closer at the level of her dry ingredients to see if they're integrated properly.
Alternatively, someone might even catch her sneaking out to deliver a wolf-approved treat or two to Fenrir, who’s staying out of the kitchen (for sanitation reasons, obviously) in a safe place, looking a little suspicious and sneaky about it, stealing a glance over her shoulder every so often.]
iv!
he's almost grateful the frost of winter fades, but only because his scales object to the sensation and threatens to make him sluggish. sleepy, usually, but they're already asleep, no-? ]
It didn't look like a lie.
[ or sound like one, either. ]
no subject
The reality of their awkward mistletoe encounter seems to stick on her like a burr. Maybe that drives Crymaria's discomfort, especially viewing a memory that made her feel so vulnerable. She tilts her head to look up at the dragon standing next to her.]
Don't you think a memory like this should be private? How cruel.
[He should be used to it by now: The defensive wall that she tries to put up by jabbing out first.
There have been other memories behind the window that have hurt more to see. This one stung enough, knowing things would never be the same again, despite the lack of torture, the lack of physical pain.]
...Besides, would it really matter if it was? That man couldn't protect me from ending up here.
no subject
he had gotten flustered with the mistletoe, but so far the dragon manages to keep his composure. ]
You could go back to him.
[ he knew she’d nip at that possibility like the chill itself. ]
no subject
Dragons offer a specific warmth, one that she doesn't often experience from other people or the environment around her. When he raises his wing, perhaps surprisingly, she steps into the shelter it provides, her expression thoughtful.]
You can say that, but you know it's not that simple, don't you?
[Maybe not, considering the solutions he'd proposed for her when they met under the mistletoe. Maybe it's a fool's errand to try and get his understanding.]
no subject
[ everything was . . . such a risk, even when you knew the outcome. eren’s neck maintains close in a slight coil the way a snake would rest. closer to the only warm-blooded creature around here, despite harboring a fire in his ribs. ]
It could make the difference we need.
[ or, not. but he was prepared for that. ]
no subject
[She has no coat or blanket to drape over Eren to share some of that warm-blooded body heat, so she touches her palm to his neck briefly before a new shy urge causes her to pull it away again. Fenrir's never here with her in these dreams, and she misses his warmth. Crymaria would lean into him the same way Eren curls around her now, more eager for the comforting contact than needing the boost to her temperature.]
Tell me...what difference would it make? To who? Who's "we" supposed to be?
[Camaraderie is foreign to her; beyond rescuing the Mirrorbound who had been kidnapped by those horrible tormentors, she hasn't given much thought to their shared experiences being indicative of any long-term connection. They're all entrenched in this place, but they have to fend for themselves.
So her questions are genuine. What difference would it make, no matter what she chose? What would it do?]
no subject
he would not be above the pets even though he would not call them pets. ]
Who knows— it could be you and me. It could be the other Mirrorbound that want to go back. Or, [ the breath he sighs out is hot, and might even melt the snow at their feet into messy slush. ] even Geardagas.
[ the protectors of this world needed help they haven't been able to reach out for, long-forgotten into mystic legends and songs to sing to children. a reemergence was only possible after the eren stuck his snout into dusty holes. ]
Honestly— I don't know if helping the forces here will get everyone where they need to be. [ but just as his home . . . he sees something. he can't put a talon on what it is. ] I know for sure, though. I won't even know that if I don't do anything.