#✩ hors de paris (ooc)

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semi-hiatus

hi y'all! i will be on semi-hiatus from june 14th, 2024 (06/14/2024) until june 25th, 2024 (06/25/2024). during this period, i will be on a family vacation! i have set up a queue in the meanwhile. although i will be bringing my ipad along, i don't anticipate that i will have much time to write. i will be lurking as always, just don't anticipate a speedy reply!

xoxo, a

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beautiful boy

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this just in hei hei from moana F*CKS according to @spiriitum​

is that jonas’s nickname now ?? are we just referring to him as hei hei bc ??? i think that’s beautiful

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i’m alive, just getting my butt kicked by school! have my frankie costume as compensation

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next month is ten year anniversary of this blog, which leads me to believe that i am the final b.oss of the ne.wsies rp fandom

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happy munday, i make poor financial decisions

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As many of you know this is a blog for my OC based on New.sies, the 2012 musical and the 1992 movie. When I made this blog 10 years ago, the fandom was still pretty active. Nowadays, it seems I am the final boss of the News.ies rpc.

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WORMIFY YOUR MUSE

TAGGED BY: @historiavn (thank you!!)

TAGGING: @betterto-die-thanto-crawl @heircurse @taughtdefense @amantesmultorum @starseized @starsweepers BE GAY DO CRIME AND STEAL

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happy munday from your local space cadet

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happy munday, here’s a story in two parts

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According to Tumblr, today is the TENTH anniversary of this blog. The proof is a screenshot attached below in case you do not believe me. I wish I had something well thought out to commemorate this milestone, but I unfortunately do not. The following is a rambling stream of consciousness. I would not fault you if you stopped reading long ago. This blog and I have gone through so many changes: one url change, two fc changes, several icon changes, an a.utism diagnosis, and so much more. When I first joined, the N.ewsies fandom was perhaps in full swing and now I find myself being one of the few remaining blogs from that era. It is strange how I have become an elder relic of a bygone era when I have yet to reach my mid-twenties. Throughout the years, I have seen so many come and go. However, I am incredibly grateful the few people that have stayed or sporadically returned. Thank you for so many years of friendship and hopefully so many more to come. As for those of you who are newer, I also thank you. I am touched that all of you have found some sort of appeal to my oc and this blog. Will this blog reach five or ten more years? I do not know, but I am certain that this will be far from my last post.

Your not-so-beloved,

A

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CLASSICAL WRITER AESTHETICS

BOLD OR COLORIZE THE AESTHETICS THAT ALWAYS APPLY TO YOUR MUSE, ITALICIZE THE AESTHETICS THAT SOMETIMES APPLY TO YOUR MUSE, AND STRIKE THROUGH THE AESTHETICS THAT WILL NEVER APPLY TO YOUR MUSE.

JOHN KEATS. the lavender in sunsets, flowers in the rain, sunlight slipping through clouds, lazy summer afternoons, flickering candlelight reflecting off the gold titles of books, fireflies on a cool summer night, being wrapped in fresh bed sheets, the ache of wanting what you can never have, dripping sunlight like gold, loving someone so exquisite, soft lips and soft whispers, fingers through hair, names of lovers carved in trees, broken glass, the insistence of being perpetually dreamy.

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD. crisp winter skies with cold bright stars, mahogany wood, the solitude of an early autumn morning wrapped in fog, empty bottles on stacks and stacks of books haphazardly placed in a messy room, pale bruised arms reaching out into the darkness, cigarette smoke just barely hiding the scent of alcohol, a wall of books all poetry and old and weathered, a bad thunderstorm occurring at the end of a beautiful day, the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment, your favorite sweater, parties spilling into four a.m. with the stars above spinning and dancing, the contrast of blood against snow, a purple split lip oozing blood, black eyes fading to blue to pale skin, the butterflies of falling in love for the first time, the statues falling apart over time in cemeteries, the romanticization of self-destruction.

FRANZ KAFKA. the weight of dread that sits heavily in your stomach when thinking about the future, decrepit houses cloaked in mystery from children telling stories of people who died there, the way not even light can escape a black hole, the rich smell of old books, delicate veins in the wrist, ghosts filling lungs, shattered bones, raindrops on the tongue, rusting metal, nostalgia that aches, the way hope feels like a plastic bag over your head.

H.P. LOVECRAFT. the anxiety felt when staring into an unknown cave, pouring rain and mud, a child’s fear of the dark, thinking so many questions about your existence as you stare at the vast expanse of never-ending ocean, the silence of three a.m., danse macabre by camille saint-saens playing on a record in an empty house, the possibility of aliens and the weird feeling it gives you that you can’t explain, unexplainable phenomena, strange lights in the sky in the dead of night, ouija boards and urban legends.

JACK KEROUAC. the brisk pine air of being on a mountain, travels without a destination, those nights where you’re missing three hours of memory, screaming to a lifeless desert about how you’re so alive, coffee shops late at night, chocobo rides at night spent speeding and laughing in the dark, naps spent in the sun, novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins, the way uncertainty sits on the shoulders, ignoring flaws and loving life, wind through hair, depression as fog in the brain, impossible ideals, a quiet sunrise, walks alone, when you think about trying to discover all the secrets to the universe, dazzling people, open lands stretching out into infinity, falling in love with being alive.

EDGAR ALLAN POE. the ocean’s horizon inseparable from fog, hollow bones, a preserved heart held in hands, twinkling stars above an old graveyard, the way everything turns to dust, silent black birds with eyes full of wisdom, self-inflicted flames, perfection depicted as a rotting corpse, death as bricks in the heart, lips barely brushing against each other, glassy glazed eyes, biting into a lemon, heart-shaped bruises, rotting flowers on a grave, dried blood and spilled liquor, the hush of dusk when it begins raining, the intimacy of a secret.

`➠⠀:⠀⠀ ACQUIRED FROM :⠀⠀@prodijedi

TAGGING : @historiavn @thewalkingmouthdavey @amillixnvoices and anyone else BE GAY DO CRIME

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thought about new.sies and my migraine went away. coincidence?? I THINK NOT

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i swear that i'm alive y'all. it just so happens that it's time for final papers so i'm just trying to chug along! will try to be back soon <3

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hey y'all! i just wanted to let you know that i'm going back to school tomorrow (january 2) and going to play rehearsals starting on january 8. this means that my activity will drop again, but i will be reachable on here and elsewhere! i appreciate your patience and support <3

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happy munday, i know i haven’t been very active but here’s a recent pic of me from the play i was in

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we all be cramping rn, huh? love that for us folks <3 stay strong gang, i'm not