t-raith

[t-raith]

occasional posts from users

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New REBLOG Game

Just fucking lie about the previous poster

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Oh fuck off

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Sword, Korea, 17th-19th century

from The National Museum of Korea

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Hap borth

Thank

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Happy Birthday to me!

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there is not a single day i don't think about this quote in relation to tragedies

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What is your biggest regret?

"Hurting everyone I love."

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Are you still around? It doesn't seem like you've been active in awhile.

Well....no not really, sadly, as evidenced by the way I only finally answered this almost 5 months later, oops! I mostly just poke around on dash and stalk everyone from time to time, but have been extremely busy doing very important things like playing way too much VTM. (V20 not V5 obviously)

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In the spaces between the pain, Thomas dreams.

Shielding itself protectively, his mind conjures up a different world, cocooning itself in faces and memories and complex stories. The images are hard to grasp and harder still to hold on to, each slipping through his fingers again and again like sand the moment he pulls it into view.

Justine. The Justine that he remembers, the woman who had taken charge when she'd needed to, who had protected him just as much as he had always tried to protect her. Smiles and milkshakes, her friendship with Molly, her frustrated texts that had always made him laugh, the countless fond memories...

Tabitha. Tabby. She had shown up on his doorstep one day and had become a fixture in his life, had trusted him implicitly even when she shouldn't have. And her brother, Tobias, that asshole who had ultimately become one of the only people he could count on. Not that he'd ever tell Tobias that.

Mia and Kai, two who should have hated him after what he'd done to Mia. But they had been there for him, had drawn him into their adventures with catapults and raccoons and swords and angels. Not all at the same time, of course. Unfortunately.

Althea, the anachronism, the strange woman who had believed all of his white lies and had adopted a ridiculous assortment of slang that had always brought a smile to his face. And her zombie friend, Andiemme, with whom he'd ultimately developed a tentative friendship.

Lake, the wizard whose cake he'd ruined, a woman who hadn't even really needed an ounce of magic with all of her cleverness and street smarts.

Orchid, the outgoing seer he'd grown close to, a reliable friend who'd always been eager for some excitement and companionship.

Nate, the strange wizard with a knack for finding a way to combine magic with technology. Or to make technology work despite magic? Or... well, the principles had pretty much all been way over Thomas's head, but it had sure seemed impressive.

Nita, mysterious and enigmatic but one sharp reporter, remarkably down to earth for a half-angel.

Lash, the friendly human who'd received a second chance. Victoria, the shady necromancer who'd provided him with strange artifacts at a price. Jon, the sometimes overprotective frost mage who'd only wanted to keep the apprentices safe from him. And of course Skye, the sassy werewolf who had never really seemed to figure out whether to like him or hate him, but had been a fun friend all the same.

There were more of them, too. Many, many more. Faces and names, some farther in the past than others, but all with fond memories attached. Stories that Thomas focuses on, tries to bring to the forefront of his mind, to keep him company here where he's all alone.

How many of them were even real? Is this all the product of his own imagination, to protect him from what hurts too much to face?

He's afraid to wake up, to risk finding out that he's lost all of them, too. That he misses something that had never even existed at all.

He wants it to be real.

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To the best of my knowledge, my character has eaten people and I have not

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friend: “hey how’s that rp reply coming?”

me:

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*bottles up emotions* this coping shits easy

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Karrin: Why are Thomas and Justine sitting back to back?

Harry: They had a fight.

Karrin: Then why are they holding hands?

Harry: They get sad when they fight.

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