#not today!!! not today. for all struggles and strife there is still life and it continues. life goes on

[thatcritterthatskitter]

end walked!!!!

[multiplicity-positivity]

Here’s some positivity for systems who are made up entirely or almost entirely of fragments!

There are infinite ways to be plural and experience multiplicity. Lots of systems may find that they are mostly made up of fragments, and that’s okay! You’re still absolutely plural and you still belong in the plural community. So here’s to all the systems out there who are mostly or completely made up of fragments!

💐 Shoutout to polyfragmented systems with complex inner structures!

🌙 Shoutout to systems who are not polyfragmented, but are still made up mostly or entirely of fragments!

🌺 Shoutout to systems whose fragments hold onto memories, emotions, and single aspects of their system’s identity!

🪐 Shoutout to systems with fragments that often merge, blend, or combine temporarily to form a more well-rounded individual!

🌼 Shoutout to fragment-heavy systems who are survivors of RAMCOA and/or OEA!

☁️ Shoutout to systems whose fragments make up many subsystems, clusters, and groups!

🌷 Shoutout to systems made up mostly or entirely of fragments who have accepted and embraced the way their system functions and is organized!

⭐️ Shoutout to those who are questioning if their system is polyfragmented or made up mostly or entirely of fragments!

🌹 Shoutout to fragments who have difficulties with personal autonomy, agency, and forming a solid sense of self!

☀️ Shoutout to endogenic, mixed origins, and unknown origins systems who are made up mostly or entirely of fragments!

🪷 Shoutout to fragment-heavy systems who struggle with indecision, poor memory or communication, and internal conflict and strife!

Systems who are made up mostly or entirely of fragments are still plural and are cherished, beloved, and crucial members of the plural community! Our spaces simply would not be the same without you here, and we so appreciate the chance to get to know and interact with you! Whether your system has only a few, hundreds, thousands, or infinite fragments, know that your plurality is valid and you are special and loved just the way you are.

Please do your best to treat yourself and your system with kindness today! It’s okay if you don’t know who you are, if you’re struggling in life, if you feel lost and confused, or if you need some help. Know that we’re rooting for you and wishing you the very best in all that you do! Thanks so much for reading, and we hope you can have a wonderful day today!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for disclosing how much my partner makes to an acquaintance?

For context my partner makes a fair bit of money at their job as an engineer. I have never made much more than minimum wage, work in a difficult field and am still in grad school. Essentially I have a net worth deep in the negatives from student debt and while my parents have helped me out on small stuff they are retired/partially retired.

The disparity of wealth in my relationship with my partner HAS been a source of strife between us.

In a casual conversation today, with my mom and some of coworkers who I know fairly well (I work pretty regularly with them and fill for absent employees at my moms work), they were asking some questions about my partner and our relationship. I expressed some stress in our relationship regarding funds and the disparity between where I am in my career/life and where my partner is.

My mom’s coworker asked how much my partner made so I told her. She asked so I told her. I didn’t really think twice - I’m pretty open with my own friends and family about how much I make and they are with me (I feel like a lot of young people are more open then older generations when it comes to salary) and I was also trying to emphasize my own frustration with some of my partners habits in our relationship. my partner is fairly obsessive with saving money/reducing spending which is obviously a lot easier to do when you make as much money as they do and puts that pressure very heavily on me despite our very different financial realities.

Also for more context - I don’t share funds or live with my partner. At most my partner pays for dates bc of their more stable financial situation - but other than that they don’t help directly besides offering advice.

Later that day my mom told me I was an asshole for sharing that as that coworker is having financial troubles right now and her husband is laid off. And telling her how much someone half her age makes is rude, since it’s a lot more than she and her husband make right now.

After hearing that I feel like I am the ass hole for being so willing to share that number since it is high. But I was not trying to brag (honestly if anything I was more using number to drive home how out of touch my partner is with what it’s like to legitimately struggle to buy food, pay rent etc)

One final note - I probs made my relationship sound toxic af. Don’t worry it’s all good - I’m all good my partner is good we just get into boring adult arguments about things like 401ks and credit scores. (And I’m in weird grad school limbo which makes trying to get on with your life annoying)

What are these acronyms?

[burningvelvet]

on percy shelley & human connection & coping through art

to set the mood of this post i must say i'm writing it really quickly on my phone over a bowl of pasta with bread & broccoli & some orange flavored sparkling water & im still dressed in my outdoor wintery clothes (all black, knee boots, wool, silver chains & rings, although i mostly prefer gold jewelry).

so anyway today i've been kind of sad over ppl not replying to my texts & my usual reaction is to say "ok, guess i'll kms, wah wah, cry cry" but this sort of passively cynical joking schtick has gotten old & i would rather occupy myself some other way instead of moping about failed connections or the difficulty of initiating contact with anyone or the struggles of modern socialization as a whole.

instead, i will read the works of percy shelley tonight, and think about how he struggled with all of this over 200 yrs ago. of how hard he struggled to make leigh hunt and lord byron collaborate with him on their journal the liberal, and how he struggled all his life to build a positive community even in spite of years of bullying, ostracization, and family strife - he often felt like giving up, and like human connection was impossible, but he never gave in to apathy and instead he continuously curated his ideal life by seeking out other like-minded people, even when he occasionally embarrassed himself in public or when others were decidely averse to him or lukewarm in their reception. john keats didn't entirely take to him when they met and some of keats' friends straight-up disliked percy for being weird, but percy (though scarcely knowing him) loved keats as a brother-poet nonetheless, was generous to him, wrote one of his masterpieces in his favor, and died with a copy of his poems in his pocket.

percy always reached out to others and was a loyal friend even when others disrespected him or ignored him or just simply didnt love him as much as he did them. his letters to lord byron show how reverent he was to his friend, and how his affection was never returned in quite the same gusto, but, while still trying to keep his self-respect, percy quelled his frustrations and continued his correspondence with byron regardless. percy acted as the mediator between byron and claire even when his stress was so high it weighed heavily on his health. he actively tried to choose to be positive even when the people around him were negative or miserable. like most writers back then, he sent his writing to his idols, and sought mentorship from people he admired, like william godwin and leigh hunt, and he continued to respect them even when they took advantage of him financially (moreso in godwin's case).

anyway what i mean to say is that whenever im feeling lonely or rejected or alienated or socially stupid or am just second-guessing my role in society or whatever whatever whatever, i cling to creativity/art/literature/etc. even harder than i regularly do, because thats what it exists for.

i knew a therapist (not one i saw as a patient, but someone i knew through mutual interests in media/the arts) who said that a certain musical performance we both loved probably saved way more lives than any single therapist ever has. - the performance in question was david bowie's tokyo 1990 live recording of rock n roll suicide, an anti-suicide song (its available on youtube, go watch it lol, he performs it with so much conviction).

any way even though at the end of his life shelley sometimes felt like he was failing to achieve his dream of building a utopian art commune - he actually did succeed in introducing several people to each other in ways that changed peoples lives. his friends jane williams and thomas jefferson hogg got married only through his mutual friendship. whole literary societies have been started in his honor - to this day there are conferences & whatnot that meet annually - his life & writing continues to inspire people and bring them comfort - & he would be extremely proud of that - any artist would. the main goal of any famous dead writer is basically to become the imaginary friend of their future readers & he accomplished that - even though all the time he was wracked with doubt/depression/suicidality/illness/chronic pain, etc. - as a political/philosophical radical, he realized that having hope is one of the most influential & radical things one can do - & i'm glad that, even though this is a person who died over 200 yrs ago, there is at least one person who really resonates with me - even though we're from different centuries, different continents, different sexes, etc. - it's helpful to have positive influences to look up to, especially when they've also struggled in similar ways as you. and although shelley was pretty privileged (rich englishman) he really did struggle a lot mentally & physically - his life was a chaotic mess - and he wasn't perfect at all - but i think he's still inspirational for my previously mentioned reasons - his ceaseless hope. the last poem he was working on was titled the triumph of life, even though he wrote it during a deep depression. the last poem he published in his lifetime was hellas, which he hoped would raise money for the cause of greek war of independence. from the poem:

"Life may change, but it may fly not;

Hope may vanish, but can die not;

Truth be veiled, but still it burneth;

Love repulsed, — but it returneth!"

[rayven-interrupted]

if i'm to leave a legacy

i would bequeath it

to only You, and it would be

that somewhere

in the misanthropic chip

on my broad shoulders

is an atom of hope

pushing,

violently,

with a tremor of violin

in its wake

that You find

a path to happiness, someday

while i watch, dwindling star

in a forgotten sky

that strength of demons

i've gleaned from

black nights, softens

into monsoons

and rides wings of angels

into your despair

when you're struggling

to fit,

live, and just survive

making your war

gentler than death

just for a moment

that you see how

i've traded bruises

on my knuckles, and scars

unfurled my wrists

to hold a pen,

calluses,

on two fingers

i use to type

turning wildfire

into tiny puddles

of calligraphy,

and called it poetry

about you

that despite the

fanatic solitude

i wear on my sleeve

the sociopathic apathy

that is my first skin,

it is love

that found footholds

in cracks

climbed over my walls,

and said "hello"

god,

religion,

power,

art,

money,

meaning of life,

sermons of blah--

nothing means anything

except that, and

all the ugliness

nightmares

strife

filth

is the absence of You

if i'm to leave You a legacy

then let it be this,

that after i'm gone

my words fall

upon You

a multitude

of feathers and swords

a million twilights

on cataracts

of your time's wind.

-from the pen of Urban Nomad

I have more of your writing than I do of my own. That this piece found me today, of all days, is a testament.

I spend my days with you in my head.

I still fucking feel you.

Your presence so strong I rarely feel anything but you.

I’d follow you if you’d let me.

You won’t. You’re difficult like that.

Lord knows I’ve tried..

I miss you, and you can stop not..

[theyoungwclf]

bridgerton prompts / accepting / @winterreigned: “   Where have you been all night? ”

Robb knew he had a big day and still chose to go out, spend his time in a dimly lit building with a lad whose name he never quite learned just because in those moments when he felt another man's lips on his own and the thumping of his heart in his ears were more real than any show he put on as Lord Stark, eldest child, eldest brother, a young man whose entire life was a lie in favor of leading his family through the trials and strife of the social seasons.

Jon was the only one who knew, not by choice, but his half brother had always been able to read him, and luckily for him his brother didn't judge, not did he see what Robb was doing was wrong, and Robb returned home and washed his hands in a bucket until his skin was rubbed red. Not exactly a great way to greet Sansa when she walked into the room and immediately questioned him.

" Should you not be in bed, sister? Mother will be furious, you are to promenade in the park later today, don't ladies need rest? " As easily as it was to wash his hands, he washed himself of his internal struggles, an easygoing smile curving on his lips as he dries his hands. " Never you mind where I was. It is not for you to know. " He was afforded the luxury of waving the questions off, though he knew it'd anger Sansa more than anything. He couldn't tell her, a scandal. How would any of them react if they knew the head of the house's heart beat for men and men only? Disgust no doubt, better to keep it under lock and key. He still had plenty of years before he would need to marry, a charade of finding a wife would happen one day, but not today.

At least not when he had Sansa to keep all the eyes off himself. Finding a suitable husband for her was a far more pressing matter for their overly eager mother.

" Sansa, really. Why are you awake? Is something wrong? "

[goganworlds]

History of the Gogans: The Millennium War

Gogan history is fraught with strife and struggles, culminating in the seminal tragedy that shaped the many peoples of Gogan into what they are today: The Millennium War.

The conflict started as so many do: with dissatisfaction. Though the ruler of the Gogana, known as Astral Emperor Varlos Zadeer, was a capable ruler and had shepherded the nation through its many crisis - including the Kethsan Annexation, the Nagian Integration, and the Gogan-Infernal Purification War, there were those who were unsatisfied with his rule. Many found his style of governance stifling, particularly his emphasis on pre-destination in life and death.

Gogan tradition normally dictated that those unsatisfied with the Astral Emperor's rule could rebel in an organized manner. Many chose to do so, becoming autonomous from the Astral Empire for some time.

All of this changed with Emperor Varlos's second awakening. through unknown means, his psychic capabilities vastly deepened and he became an immortal being, one capable of phasing in and out of the Shroud at will. Having cemented his rule for all time, Varlos began to engage the breakaways and enforce his greater will upon his dominion.

Those unwilling chose to stand and fight, beginning a conflict that would effectively last for over a thousand years. Though none understood as they marched into war, the Millennium War became inextricably intertwined with the will of the Shroud which became instrumental in the war's perpetuation.

The rebels struggled at first, but they managed to win battle after battle and gain ground. It seemed the Shroud was more open-minded to the rebel's needs, its power more freely available. Even daemonic forces and the souls of those who came before could be convinced to fight for them.

But as the battle turned in favor of the rebels, who now called themselves the New Gogan Imperium, their fortunes seemed to wane and even turn in favor of their adversary. Thus the tide turned against the Imperium, up until the winds of fortune shifted again.

Thus did it seem like the conflict would be endless, and as war dragged on for years, then decades, and then centuries, nobody was sure if it would ever see its end. The conflict became a fact of life for people, in some cases almost ritualistically so. The conflict ebbed and rose many times over the years, as overtures of peace gave way to the same dissatisfaction that started the war in the first place.

No side could truly give in to the other. Varlos truly believed in his vision for the galaxy, claiming to have witnessed its unity in countless visions that still plague him. The rebels, meanwhile, wished to carve out their own path and their own futures, daunting though as it may be.

As the centuries turned to a millennium, something unexpected happened. A warrior for the rebels gained a new power, one detached from the Shroud, and began to fight independent of the rebels. His origin and name were unknown, but his capabilities were unquestionable. In a decisive battle against the Empire's forces, this warrior somehow defeated the Emperor and prevented his escape into the Shroud, forcing their body to be shattered into innumerable remnants. With the Astral Emperor's death, the Empire finally crumbled once and for all.

Tragically, the original core worlds of the Empire became enshrouded and vanished into the void, seemingly never to return, leaving behind only those fragments of Varlos's body. The great warrior who felled the Emperor was lost with them, and the victorious Gogan Imperium posthumously gave him the title of God-Shattering Star.

For many years, the Gogan people celebrated their final liberation from the Empire and from the tragedy that would be dubbed the Millennium War. Centuries of work and reform had shaped the new Imperial government into a work of bureaucratic art where anyone willing to put in the effort to become something they desire would have that chance, struggle as it might be.

And, for a time, there was peace.

[branthebastion]

I guess all I want is for someone to show me the same level of concern, patience and kindness like I show others..

I always feel so disconnected from everyone. Like I don't belong anywhere...Maybe it's a side effect of growing up isolated, being socially awkward and shy at times.. No matter how much I try to fit in, there's always this voice in my head saying "you'll never belong here, you think they give a damn about you? They're gonna leave like everyone else".. So maybe I self sabotage???

Leave it to childhood trauma to still affect you in your 30's. Then I feel everything intensely, it feels like "sensory overload" at times..Takes a while to process and focus on what I'm feeling...

It's funny... I've been able to calm others and actually help them but I can't help myself.. I've even prevented suicides and they're glad they're still here today.. The mind is a complex thing and it's difficult to navigate through the fog of all the trauma that was left my everyone and every situation you went through in life.

Why am I typing all this word vomit?.. Idk.. Maybe someone can relate. Maybe I'm not alone.. The only thing the drowns out the noise in my head sometimes is the music I listen to..So at least I have that. Which is why Trivium's Strife is my go to song on nights like these..

I've found that Strife won't make the bleeding stop, Nor will it take away the pain, I feel like this search is all in vain And I struggle to find my way. Trivium..

@celerystarz

[azure-steel]

❛ i know i ruined your life. i suffer for it every day. ❜

quotes that broke me - NO LONGER ACCEPTING @mezzomorendo

Cloud isn't certain of the context of this statement, though perhaps it could be attributed to their current dilemma; the fact that Strife was still struggling to navigate even the simplest of tasks.

The side effects of mako addiction were debilitating at best and some days were indeed worse than others, today being an especially terrible day where simply holding a spoon was next to impossible. In fact to the point where Zack was reduced to literally spoon feeding him himself.

Humiliating was putting it mildly, but when the body would quake and crave and his bones would rock against the shell of his flesh, it was all Cloud could do to just survive and 'go through the motions' as it were; to ride out the storm.

"No you didn't..." Cloud started then, his voice still a touch stuttered, his throat still dry and coarse. "... You ain't ruined anything. I owe you my life, yeah? I should be saying sorry to you for being such a dead weight..."

[literarycinematics]

so i`ve fallen back down the my immortal rabbit hole again (again), and i`ve been looking into the whole toby debacle and rose christo`s book and xXblo0dyxkissxX and ravenisaposer and all that jazz. and overall it just got me thinking about a lot of things.

of course there are obvious questions like whether it`s a troll or not and wtf was going on with the hackings, but i mostly just keep coming back to why the real tara and raven (if those are their real names) would keep hiding after all this time. are they too embarrassed? i mean, it`s been over 15 years, i doubt it would be held against them; they won`t get the same reaction today as they got back then. it has a cult following online and is pretty much unknown offline. do they not care enough to get involved? it`s so widely known, you`d think that even if they didn`t care they would still say something, especially with the amount of people who do care. are they just so far removed from this part of the internet that they don`t even know how big it`s gotten? i don`t buy that. even when they were still writing it, it was ridiculously popular by 2000s fanfiction standards. for this theory to be true, it would mean that one day in 2007 they just stopped interacting with any of their previous interests and forgot, never to even THINK about it again (not even enough to Google it or check out their old accounts!). this thing lasted 2 years and garnered massive amounts of both hate and support, so i find it unlikely that they just forgot about it.

as for theories that seem more likely to me, it`s very possible that the real author(s) confessed already, only to get drowned out by the noise of all the other sensationalized stories. there have been dozens of authorship claims that have been debunked or just straight-up waved away without any follow-up, so it`s not unlikely. it`s also completely possible that they just don`t want to relive bad memories associated with that era of their life/lives. that`s a valid decision. considering what the attitudes towards them were like at the time. the bullying they received was intense and disgusting, especially if they really were young teenagers, and/or were struggling with mental health problems. hell, maybe they just don`t want the media attention! we saw what happened with tara and raven, the acidbath princess of darkness, and how people doxxed and harrassed them to no end just for being teenagers having fun. it isn`t uncommon to want privacy.

assuming that it wasn`t a trollfic, there are also the sadder possibilities, situations wherein they are simply unable to tell anyone. they might not have the means or the freedom to come clean about it all (e.g. toxic relationships, imprisonment, extreme poverty), or perhaps simply can`t prioritize thinking about something so old and trivial (e.g. dealing with health or financial issues, familial strife). or, of course, the conclusion that i came to after my first foray into the my-immortal-verse: they`re dead. thousands of people have been looking for them for over a decade, and whether they want to be found or not, it seems...odd, that everything that`s come up has been a dead-end, that we don`t have any more idea now than we did then as to who wrote it. additionally, so much of my immortal included seriously heavy subjects, using sexual assault, pedophilia, self-harm, and suicide as plot devices to the point that it isn`t hard to imagine that if tara and raven truly were real people, telling at least partial truths about themselves, they were dealing with some serious suicidal ideation. a dark mental space of that kind would only have been magnified by the haters and hackings of their work, perhaps leading them to an irreversible decision, the permanent solution to any problem. held in tandem with the number of weird implications that raven died (yes, i know many of them were unrelated or complete lies, but that`s beside the point), it`s easy to come to the conclusion that one or both of the writers has passed away. and as much as i try to look at alternatives, that`s just what my mind keeps coming back to.

i believe that raven and tara were real people. fictionalized, yes, but they weren`t characters, and they weren`t writing a satire -- at least not fully. i think that they were teenage girls who were persecuted for having "weird" interests, who were considered overzealous or overpassionate, and who decided to vent their frustrations and express themselves through idealized versions of themselves on the internet. they used common alt names, or maybe took inspiration from teen titans, and started writing about the things they were into: vampires, gc, mcr, self-harm, satanism, etc. oh yeah, and harry potter. maybe they had fun with it, made it dramatic and dumb on purpose, but i think they had some degree of genuine intentions. the way they casually throw around topics like self-harm gives off the impression of kids just saying things they`ve heard online to express genuine emotions without a full understanding of what it really implies. not to mention, i know so, so many people who truly were outcasts in real life, who turned to writing bad mary-sue fanfiction on fanfiction.net (later wattpad and ao3) to help them cope with their loneliness. the author(s) of my immortal read the same way that a lot of people involved in 2000s emo internet subculture read, between the spellings and the slang and the interests, and i can totally imagine tara gilesbie being some misunderstood tween that got involved in it all. hence, i can totally imagine her getting hurt when her magnum opus started getting flamed.

and hey, if it was a troll, colour me impressed. they have my full respect for inventing such a weirdly believable and relatable "author", for giving us chronically online nerds a compelling mystery, for putting so much work into the interconnectedness and the meta-story of tara and raven`s accounts, and for writing quite literally the greatest piece of literature of all time. i can only hope that i can one day be as dedicated to something as that, because THAT is how you write a fucking parody. it`s just brilliant, what else can i say. i`ll even give all of the tara impersonators credit where credit is due; they gave us all one hell of a story. talk about committing to the bit. that said, the anti-climactic ending was distinctly un-troll-like though, so there`s that.

i sincerely hope that wherever tara and raven are nowadays, regardless of whether those were real identities or not, they`re living their best lives. if the intentions behind my immortal were genuine, i hope that tara is working as an alternative fashion designer and that raven is a professional book editor, both significantly healthier, happier, and more well-adjusted than they were when they wrote their masterpiece. if the whole thing was an elaborate joke, i hope that whoever made it is still taking pride in their insane creation, and that they appreciate the ridiculousness of just walking around, doing everyday things, while knowing in the back of their minds that they wrote my immortal. i hope beyond hope that none of my "sadder possibilities" for why they haven`t revealed themselves are true, and that there is a simpler, more mundane reason that they haven`t said anything. maybe they did just forget about it.

the thing, though, with my immortal is that it is almost impossible to come to a conclusion about anything because we know so damn little. without any real confirmed information, questions remain questions. have i made any good points throughout this whole thing? maybe. depends on what we assume to be true about the sincerity of...well, any of it. even within my own diatribe, i`ve contradicted my stance on raven and tara`s mental health struggles; were they broken down and spiralling, depicting dark scenarios that echoed their own problems with mental illness, or were they calling themselves "wrist-slitters" to sound edgy because that`s what they saw other people doing? i don`t know. i haven`t come to any concrete judgment and it`s possible that i never will. here`s hoping that sometime this decade we`ll finally find answers.

what happened with justin, if he existed? what happened between tara and raven? how authentic were the hackings? were the toby-tara emails real? was i secretly toby all along? if the fic was a troll, how many people were working on it? what was the inspiration behind it? troll or not, what`s dubya? why did it stop being written? how does the author feel about the false authorship claims, assuming they know about them? how do they feel about the mcr reunion tour? how old are they? and WHY THE FUCK DO WE STILL NOT KNOW WHO THEY ARE?

there`s not really a point to this whole rant, i just felt the need to express how i feel about this whole thing. i needed to get all of these thoughts out of my brain. there`ll be more in the future, i`m sure, because this is one thing that absolutely haunts me at night. i know i go on about november 5th and the way it broke tumblr but if we ever ACTUALLY learn who tara and raven are, with proof and everything, not a repeat of rose christo... that will be the day that we crash this goddamned hellsite.

[holly-fixation]

Ink Stained Cloud: Ch 1

Summary: Cloud Strife, after finally winning the war against Sephiroth, is torn back in time by the Calamity, damaging his brain and body permanently. Through tainted evolution, he becomes a squid like creature, constantly spewing the very disease he put his life on the line to prevent. The Calamity uses Cloud as a proxy to bring this world’s Sephiroth to her for the first time. Cloud fights with everything he has, trying to pull Sephiroth away in any way he can. Can he protect his fallen hero this time? Or will he fall to the clutches of the Calamity once again?

Inspired by this prompt by @im-totally-not-an-alien . A rewrite/remake of Ink Clouds. 

Trigger warning: Body Horror

Chapter 1: I Will Not End

Wind swept through the air, wisping grains of sand and the parched soil of the Midgar planes with it. Land devoid of life due to Midgar's reactors spread for miles beyond the city, only the bravest and most persistent plants taking root in the sediment. Not long ago, a cliff overlooking the city proudly held the blade that protected him all those years ago. 

A last stand. Dreams. Honor. Living legacy. 

Cloud never forgot. They moved the rusting Buster Sword to the church in Sector Five after the Geostigma eradication. Yes, it still hurt to see that sword or step inside that church, but they belonged together. Knowing they were in the Lifestream together as always turned a soft smile on his face. 

But today wasn’t a day of mourning or a day of joy. He stepped off his motorcycle and locked it in place, looking at the view of the city. He stepped closer to where the blade laid for the longest time, no indent remaining in the useless soil. This was a day of thanks. He kneeled down and placed a hand where his friend, his protector, took his final breath. Silently, he closed his eyes and ran every memory of his friend through his mind. The visions flooded his emotions, and he took a strangled breath against them before steeling himself. 

Thank you for saving me. 

Thank you for your sacrifice. 

Thank you for your aid.

I know you’d laugh at me for doing something this sappy, but…

All I can say is thank you.

He inhaled to regulate his breath before patting the soil down. Through all their pain, through all their suffering and experiments and otherworldly monsters, Cloud was happy. He was finally happy with the life he created. The life he was given. The life he would never throw away-

Suddenly bright blue orbs flashed through his sight, claiming his strength, and he fell to the ground instantly, hissing and scratching in his mind, his eyes squeezed with an invisible force. It clutched his heart, pulling him down by…

By a string.

No.

His sight kept shifting between the struggling city and the blue orbs rushing through some invisible liquid. Flashes of white and dark. Flashes of mako. Flashes of Lifestream. 

Flashes of a single pink glowing eye, glaring, searing, corroding his mind.

No!

High pitched scratching and ringing, like nails on a chalkboard but softer, soft enough to fake a promise of a dream that was not his clawed through his mind. He tried to force himself up, yet his body remained glued as if in the midst of a gravity spell. He tried to grab his phone, but his unstable and disoriented sight made it impossible to use. His useless ears were trapped in the realm of the ringing screeches, ruining the option completely.

Through the ringing came laughter. A cosmic, galactic, transient voice echoed in his mind, eternally growing and blooming until it drowned all else. His hearing, his sight, his touch and taste and smell all failed him to that singular being. That calamity. That plague. That monster. That parasite that spread its virus through this world enough times-

All at once, the ringing and laughter silenced. His senses returned just in time to find falling through the air, completely out of control as his body flipped and twisted against his will, whipping wind scratching past him. Light blue, dark blue, light blue, dark blue. The pattern repeated in a blur across his sight through his spinning body, before he crashed into a deep mass of water. The force of the impact broke his body, his legs and ribs snapping like he slammed onto concrete.

His lungs seared as his panicked breaths forced the liquid through them, unable to stop himself, to hold, to force his body to obey. He pushed the water with his arms and tried to break the surface, but his sandy sight was only getting darker as he sank further and further into the abyss. He was going to pass out if he didn’t make it out. If he was lucky, he'd survive at all. He needed to get out. He had to-

But no. He wasn’t going to pass out. He wasn’t going to die. He was going to suffer for what he did. For his betrayal. For halting their plans. He would suffer every moment through a cursed new existence.

The bones of his legs snapped into three perfectly split rods, shooting up from his feet through his hips, and he screamed with all the air his body retained through the bubbles trapping him below. Every crack and readjustment kept his mind perfectly lucid as he tried, gods he tried, to end it in any way he could, trying to claw his way to what remained of his own legs. Trying to stop this ungodly attack. But nothing attacked him. Every tear came from the inside, stretching, and ripping, and twisting what remained of his legs, coiling them like steel cables and he couldn’t break free. 

As the last of the air in his body was claimed by the unforgiving sea, the twisted pieces rolled over like dominos, crackling and flipping his skin to a smooth, purple rubber, before stretching. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he released what he thought was his last breath. But he was graced- cursed- by another through the same salty liquid, with absolutely no stinging pain to his lungs as it entered as smooth as silk. The odd chittering and shifting of what used to be his legs left him cringing and tensing before it, too, finally stopped at the very tip of the remaining limb. 

He dared open his eyes, ignoring the futility of the dark water that blocked his sight, but the darkness began to fade. Mako glowed from both his eyes and a faint dome in the distance, and soon he could see the crisp white floor of sand, the various swaying plants moving with the tide, and a dozen schools of fish. His instincts told him to look around, to search the area, but he forced his eyes to focus down, to see if his legs were….

His legs were gone, replaced by long purple tentacles anchored to a new wrapping of lavender around his waist. Six tentacles moved in perfect symmetry to keep him afloat, their circulating pattern suddenly calling memories of swirling pink clouds, a blue sky, and a heartless angel. 

That angel- that madman couldn’t do something like this. He was dead, destroyed and shoved back in the Lifestream multiple times, killed by him again and again. He didn’t have the strength to attack even if he wanted to. It was too soon since his last attempt at claiming the planet. But the calamity, his ‘mother’, the virus, the plague, the alien, was always vengeful, and would do anything for her son. He felt that now, felt it in every remaining bone in his body.

This Reunion was stronger than the one winged angel's, claws and vines rooted even deeper around his strangled heart. Cloud couldn’t help but scan the terrain for any semblance of help or even something he could use, anyone he could talk to or anything to break him free.

A silver school of interwoven fish swam past him in the beauty of the tide, shimmering and glistening in the mako light. His eyes followed as they swam away, a single thought claiming his mind. 

Pretty… 

Cloud suddenly snapped his gaze up. What was that? Why did that happen? How did that distract him? He needed to focus, to leave the waters and call for help. 

Soon red coral claimed his attention as he followed the unnaturally familiar shape it formed on its own: the body of a woman, curving and spreading with large angled masses, almost like wings. 

A warning. A mockery. A punishment. An attack. A symbol daring to remind him of It: that which nearly destroyed the planet. 

His train of thought vanished again as he analyzed the long stalks of seaweed all over the ground, wave like strands pulling memories of the Lifestream. He forced it back with every shred of his will. Calamity. Its son. The one winged angel. 

Loud rumbling from above pulled his mind away once more. His first instinct connected the sound to a possible monster, something primed to attack, and he had nowhere to run. Nowhere to call shelter. Terror claimed his heart, and dark, murky clouds began blooming around him. They entered his sight and he flinched away from them. But they followed, forming even larger, even faster as Cloud’s new breath rapidly increased, his fear, his anxiety flooding his thoughts. 

He needed to survive. He needed to run- swim. To escape. To leave. To live. His new tentacles pushed him away before his mind gave the command, moving him gracefully through the ever tainting liquid.

Little did he know that the more he moved in this accursed new body, the faster he spread the deadly virus he spent two years trying to cure. Little did he know that every moment in this world brought upon a new pandemic in the age before the Nibelheim Incident locked fate and the Lifestream on its battling course.

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Thanks for reading!

Author’s note: Ink Cloud’s was the first fanfiction I wrote, but I had so many ideas and so many simple things I wanted to expand and fix. The pacing was a mess before, but I really like the idea. I wanted to do it justice. That prompt stuck with me, but I was a little too excited back then trying to get this posted as quickly as possible. 

This rewrite will not be exactly the same. This is a test of my abilities, how far I’ve grown, and just what I could’ve done if I didn’t limit myself 1,500 words per chapter for absolutely no reason (I promise future chapters will be longer but this felt more like a prologue than connected to the coming chapter). Descriptions will change. Scenes will change. New things will happen. Conversations won’t suddenly cut off (because I wanted to go to sleep but I also wanted a chapter a day, which was far too unreasonable for my schedule). I stand by most of my plot based decisions from back then, but I feel I understand these characters better now, and I want to expand this to the fullest.

Happy one year anniversary to my first fic! I posted Ink Clouds on tumblr a few months before I got an ao3 so the dates are a little different. Thank you for reading! I hope you stick around!

[wartakes]

Some thoughts for today, May 25th, 2022 (OLD ESSAY)

This essay was originally posted on May 25th, 2022 (duh).

This was one of those ones I really struggled on a topic for, so I decided to reflect on the George Floyd uprisings and the state of things in the country through my personal and professional lens.

(Full essay below the cut)

Not gonna lie to you folks, I was really struggling with this one.

I truly had no idea what I was going to write about for this month’s essay – and I’ve been trying to think of a topic since the beginning of the month and been coming up short. Doesn’t help that I’ve been in a bit of a slump. As a warning up front: this may end up being one of my more emotional and wandering pieces, in addition to being less analytically rigorous than they usually are – but I still thought this one was worth writing and sharing with you all today.

I knew I wanted to write about something other than Ukraine. While that war is still very much active and very important, it’s entered a phase where the shift in the frontlines and fortunes of war are simultaneously relatively contained but constantly shifting day to day (I may do a check-in on where things are at in a future piece). I also knew I didn’t feel like doing a new entry in my “What Should it Look Like?” series right at this moment. In general, I’ve been in somewhat of a low ebb with my personal and creative endeavors the last few weeks, due to a variety of reasons – both in my personal life in events at the local, national, and international level. I’ve just felt drained and frustrated – as many of us have, I know.

It was when I was pacing the room trying to think of something that I really felt motivated to write about, it occurred to me that I was thinking about this all right around an important anniversary. If my timing works out, this essay should be released on May 25th: the day on which George Floyd – an unarmed black man – murdered by Minneapolis Police officers in 2020, kicking off a nation-wide uprising against police violence and impunity. Its also happening close to Memorial Day, and though the reflections I’m offering here aren’t exactly what Memorial Day was intended for, I think they still seem to fit the overall spirit of the idea.

Aside from the obvious reason why George Floyd’s murder and what followed matters to many people, it matters to me because that act and the response to it by so many people in the United States, and the response of the police and the state to them in turn, was what finally opened my eyes to what the country I lived in was really like. It made me come to terms with both that, and my true ideological tilt. It finally forced me to look at things in a new way after years of internal doubts about what I had thought I’d believed up until that point. It compelled me to question all my pre-existing beliefs, discard many, modify others, and double down on some. It was a personal watershed for me, much like it was a national one.

Two years after George Floyd’s death and the uprising that followed, we’ve experienced a LOT more history. The continuing COVID-19 pandemic (and our government’s – and other’s – failure to react to it), the 2020 election’s drama and the January 6th insurrection, systemic efforts to attack trans people, more and more mass shootings, consistently rising inflation and economic strife, and now the looming specter of Roe v. Wade being overturned and millions of women across the country losing their reproductive rights – and those are just all the events going on here in the United States. We’ve also witnessed America’s twenty-year war in Afghanistan end in failure, with the Afghan people themselves suffering immensely on top of all the other suffering they’ve already experienced. We saw Israel’s most recent major attempt to cull the Palestinian population in the Gaza Strip. Now, we see Russia’s blatant attempts at imperialism in Ukraine flounder – killing and maiming thousands even as its campaign falters.

Obviously, the aforementioned list of events is not all-inclusive – either nationally or internationally – but you get the idea and I don’t want to drown you in even more sorrow. We’ve all been through a great deal the last couple years. It was with that in mind as I sat here with that anniversary approaching, with May 2022 alone being packed with soul crushing news – let alone the rest of the past two years: how do I feel? Two years on from “coming out of the closet” with my ideological beliefs, how do I feel about those beliefs, about the state of my country, about the state of the world, about the future, and more? Do I feel better about everything? Worse? So-so?

This may seem like something of a cop out, but compared to two years ago, I feel simultaneously better and worse about the future. On one hand, I feel more apprehensive about the immediate future and the challenges and horrors it has in store. Yet, when it comes to looking at things in the long run, I still maintain hope. Admittedly, part of this hope is fueled just by wanting to spite doomers and doomerism in general because I absolutely despise that outlook, but I do have some genuine reasons to be hopeful in the long run and I will be sharing those momentarily.

To be brutally honest, in the short term: I’m worried and discouraged. I see forces of reaction continuing to amass power in the United States while the supposed official opposition seems content to wring their hands, clutch their pearls and cry about “the rules” while the right-wing death cult is more than happy to circumvent said rules or outright break them without a second though or suffering consequences. Overseas, I’m also pessimistic. For example: while Ukrainians hold the line in their own country, I feel that Russia’s actions there may create far-reaching shockwaves that will cause additional crisis and conflict in their wake. Even as Russia’s efforts falter, I worry Putin’s invasion of Ukraine may potentially only be the first of a new wave of revanchism and attempts at conquest in the years to come, with existing conflicts still raging on in the background as well.

This is part of why I was struggling to write an essay this month – and also struggling with some of my other creative endeavors as well. It’s simply been hard to imagine a better world, when we’re living in an era of constant crisis, crumbling, and collapse. I frame many of these essays from the perspective of a United States – combined with other allies and partners – that have a more positive, constructive ideological bent. In the past few weeks, between all the events happening here in the United States alone, it’s been very hard to envision a better country, let alone a better world. It’s been next to impossible to contemplate that possibility lately.

But, again, I haven’t given up. As much as I’ve felt my soul has been trodden on in the past weeks, months, and years, I’ve still seen things that give me hope. That despite that constant feeling that we’re being pulverized into dust, people continue to fight for their most basic rights. Workers continuing to fight for their labor rights against mega corporations like Amazon and Starbucks – and winning crucial victories. More Progressive and Leftist voices gaining ground against the moribund establishment. Overseas, we see people fighting for themselves and their neighbors both against fascist invaders in the case of Ukraine, but also against fascist forces that have usurped power in Burma. While it doesn’t mean we can sit on our laurels, seeing these pockets of resistance and hope give us a reason to keep fighting ourselves.

In some of my darker moments over the past few years, I’ve openly wished I still had political blinders on, or that I could put them back on. That I was still ensconced in a snug, warm social liberal cocoon, inside of which I would maintain my blind faith that the system as it was would eventually right itself and everything would go “back to normal” and we’d all live happily ever after. A world that works just like it does on the West Wing or in Marvel movies (oh God, that made me think of an Aaron Sorkin Marvel movie and that is truly a cursed thought. Jesus).

But that’s impossible. Even if I really truly wanted to go back to living a lie (and I don’t think I do), Pandora’s Box has been opened in my brain and the brain of many others. I’ve been cursed with knowledge and now I must live with it; there’s no putting it back where it came from. But more importantly, that wouldn’t solve or help anything. Reverting back to my previous stage of delusion and denial as fascists continue to consolidate power both at home and abroad would be about as useful as being a doomer and just accepting that everything is written in stone and there is nothing we can do to stop it. So, much like with doomerism, even if I could wipe my brain clean and go back to my previous ignorance, I refuse to do so if only on principal.

The drawback to the world not being set in stone as doomers try to convince it is, is that we can never really know where its headed or what may happen next. We can make educated guesses, and sometimes we may even be right (even when we’d rather be wrong), but the only thing we can be sure of is that nothing is sure. This reality comes with its benefits and drawbacks: it is liberating that history is not actually written in stone because it means we still have the means to influence it and try and make a better world for ourselves, but also terrifying in that this means things could get even worse than they might already be if it was written in stone.

Being stuck in this tenuous position is also an exhausting one, physically and mentally. We are constantly trying to maintain that hope for the future and take inspiration and solace from the victories we do achieve, all while remaining on guard for the next bullshit that may come our way. All of this, of course, occurs as we’ve being battered (sometimes quite literally) by whatever bullshit has been dumped on us this particular day. I’ve seen friends and loved ones struggle to keep their heads above the proverbial water while dealing with life under these circumstances. I’ve struggled myself. We all have to various degrees and we all will continue to.

But (to bring you up from that previous, dour note), even as we struggle, we’re still here. We are still here, and we are still fighting, and so are billions of others across the world. One major thing that gives me hope is despite being worn down, despite being tired, anxious, and depressed on many days, I still feel a fire in my belly. I still feel anger: anger that it has to be this way. Anger that so many people I care about, that so many people in general, have to struggle just to exist in this day and age. I still feel anger at the inaction the powers that be exhibit in dealing with these issues, or anger at them actively working to prevent any change for the better. Despite everything, I still feel a drive to do something. I still want things to be different. That hasn’t been crushed out of me yet, nor has it been crushed out of others, and that gives me hope. The fact that despite being given so many reasons to, we all haven’t given up, gives me renewed hope.

We’re only just approaching the half-way point in 2022 and I feel we’re going to have a lot more bullshit to deal with here and abroad. I don’t have any specific or particular advice to give you on how to deal with everything going on (I wish I did), but I do have some general advice that I hope does something. First, make sure you’re taking care of yourself and those you immediately depend on. Do what you have to in order to make sure you’re as safe and secure as possible in regards to your basic needs and safety. Obviously, you absolutely should help your broader community as you’re able to do so, but make sure that you take care of yourself and keep on existing. Do that because A.) your life matters and you matter to people; and B.) because you’re no good to others who depend on you otherwise. This includes taking occasional breaks to “unplug” from the news and current events (something I’m trying to be better at). Obviously, you shouldn’t completely disconnect and go into grillpilled mode, but know when you need to log off for a bit and just not think about the world for a while and do it when necessary.

Second piece of broad advice: just do what you can, with the understanding that it may not always be a lot but that it still contributes in some fashion. Whether its dealing with the threat of Roe v. Wade being overturned here at home, or its Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, it’s hard to imagine what we can do to affect these things. There are things we can do, however small they might be, to help in some way. Do what you can to help but try not to beat yourself up over not being able to do more. Take a realistic view of your role in current events. Don’t let yourself succumb to despair thinking that there’s nothing you can do. If anything, harness any feelings of impotent rage to motivate yourself to do the things are you able of, and when you feel frustrated that there’s not more you can do, remember that we’re all in this for the long haul and that another chance will come for you to act. This will be a long war with many battles.

Alright, I think I’ve rambled about enough. I promise for the next essay I’ll try to do something that’s closer to my usual bread and butter of analysis on IR and war, but this was just something I felt compelled to write and get off my chest (especially as I was struggling for motivation on any other ideas currently). I hope maybe these thoughts and reflections are of some use to anyone who reads them. The last few years have been rough, but in a lot of ways I’m also very proud of myself and others for how we’ve dealt with it and that too gives me hope for the future. With that, before I talk too much more and find a reason to be a downer, I will leave you for now. Stay safe and stay motivated. One day, someday, we will make things better. I haven’t given up on that dream yet and I really hope you haven’t either.

[multiplicity-positivity]

what the fuck am i meant to do if being a system is still completely miserable. i've tried so fucking hard to get anything out of this and i'm sick of it. i'm sick of seeing how so many years of effort has amounted to absolutely nothing no matter what approach i take when someone who has known for like a month is happier about this than i am. i'll probably be dead before i get anything positive out of this whatsoever

hey, thank you so much for reaching out to us. we’re sorry to hear that you’re struggling so much and system life has been difficult for you. we’re not sure what you’re looking for here, be it some advice, encouragement, or just a listening ear. we do have some words for you, but we’re putting them under a cut in case you don’t want to hear any advice/encouragement and were just looking to vent (which is always welcome here, by the way).

okay first, we’ll say that we know it’s difficult, but comparing yourself to other systems is only going to cause you more pain and strife in the long run. every system is different. every system’s personal journey is unique. and just because some systems are able to get along perfectly with excellent communication after only a couple months of trying… that doesn’t mean every system can or should function that way.

if it’s any consolation, our system also struggles a lot due to our plurality. we have parts who fight, communication can still be difficult to manage, balancing everyone’s interests and desires can be overwhelming, and dealing with dissociation and cptsd symptoms on top of everything else makes life often feel abysmal and hopeless. it took us years to achieve the level of communication and comfort with each other that we have today, and even then, we’re not exactly stable. we can assure you, you’re not alone in feeling like you’ve made no progress with your system. there are lots of folks out there who have been in your shoes, or are currently dealing with similar situations.

for many, many systems, especially those of us with dissociative disorders, life is very hard. learning to accept your plurality is hard. learning to cope with your trauma history is hard. learning to communicate and get along with your alters is hard. it’s all extremely difficult, and you are absolutely owed a bit of credit.

you’re here. you’re alive. that is a major accomplishment! and we’re very proud of you for making it this far.

also, you’ve been trying. you’ve spent years attempting to make progress. that also counts for something - your efforts deserve to be recognized, even if you feel like they have been fruitless so far.

recovery is a very long process. we’re not sure if you’re in therapy, but if you’re going at it alone, it can be a monumental task and often feel impossible. and when you’re in the thick of it, it can be quite difficult to see the progress you’ve made, or feel like anything has changed at all. we don’t know you personally, but it could be that you have made progress - it’s just hard for you to recognize or see it at this time.

if anything, know that we see you. we recognize your efforts and while we cannot understand the unique pain you’re going through, we sympathize and have seriously struggled ourselves. even if you really have made absolutely no progress, we have faith in you and we know that it won’t always be this way. please don’t give up. please keep trying. and look after your mind and body too, while you’re at it.

we believe in you. we’re wishing you and your whole system the very best with healing, building communication, and founding positive, happy, healthy relationships. and if you never get there, know that you are still deserving of love and acceptance just the way you are. we seriously hope that you can find that, friend.

[kuhatoarchive]

this was it — they stood at the precipice of the world's end. meteor swarmed overhead, sephiroth awaited them at the planets core, countless lives have been lost along the way... and yet, where one would expect trepidation and fear? cloud found peace. there was something so freeing about only having two possible outcomes. either they made it, or they didn't. but it was this that mattered, being able to stand face to face with the possible destruction of all and still having it in him to say no, to refuse to accept it, knowing that he would fight no matter what.

it took him too long to see it, to really get it... but cloud? he wanted to live. he wanted to protect those he cared so much for, to one day pay back all the love and sacrifices made for him that got him to where he was now.

he was cloud strife. he wasn't a great mercenary. he was never SOLDIER. he'd never been that great of a person, really, if you asked him. he'd always just been... himself.

and that was enough.

this time? he does not hesitate to hold her hand. long past was the time of his pride and shame holding him back - the eyes that look into tifa's? gratitude incarnate. maybe they never really knew each other before life threw them on these train tracks, strangers to both themselves and each other...

but cloud wouldn't change a thing now.

"thank you. for everything. for never giving up on me."

best read while listening to "together" by nine inch nails /jk

  unprompted.   ♡  * always accepting !  @vctlan.

   premonitions—vague hunches they were—had never denied her, even if she postponed their acknowledgement. but today, sitting here, the air shy from lukewarm and the night sky star-littered, she feels a stab of mortification like a thrill that courses old pathways within her: she can’t imagine the end, whichever outcome that may be, and from it stems a numbness she could have mistaken for peace in any other situation. 

   everything, even herself, feels up in the air, the same way the highwind looms over. placid. waiting.

   tifa wonders how she doesn’t gasp or retch or sob as her body struggles to contain the paradoxical truth. that, as it stands, they are as alive as they are dead. she holds the feeling against herself, keeping it there, beating; this is life. this is proof that she has come this far, that the memories were worth it, that the stars are watching how hard they have fought, and will still. it’s the most fear she has ever felt, and she’s glad she survived to be able to. 

   above all, she’s glad cloud is here. if some don’t return, if none of them do, she thinks she can bear anything having him beside, holding onto the hand that reaches for hers. she feels every bit of herself gather at the touch, half-afraid she is imagining it. no… gone is the time of mirages. his gratitude is true and his own and it holds her in place, thinking, there isn’t a world where he’s worth giving up on.

   his words set her free, somehow. their simplicity and earnestness. the steady hold of his gaze and the sureness of his grasp. it fits into the broad scheme of her consciousness like a tessellate, safekept to invoke before the final battle along the images of her family, nibelheim and its townsfolk, aerith, their crew, all the people she met in her time at sector 7 or her travels. a constellation.

   “...it’s because you never stopped fighting your way back.” to us. to me. it’s not hiding if she knows he gets her meaning by now. it’s tucked, too, in the creasing of her eyes, a smile forming. “after all that has happened… there’s still fight in you. it... makes me give it my all, too. i should thank you for that, leader.” another tifa might have figured her sigh would be a prelude to tears. instead, she chuckles, a small, brief sound to accompany her attempt at lightheartedness. 

   another hand rises to cup the one she holds, placing it atop his. her breathing is different now. quiet. her mind oscillates between reality and dream. hope, perhaps. “...we’ll be okay.” 

   against the beginning and end, in whatever order they may come.

[whoseafraidofliloleme]

I AM HERE FOR THE SECOND TIME TODAY AND I HAVE A LOT TO SAY!!! FIRST OFF I LOVED EVERYTHING ABT THIS STORY!!!!

the actual enemies (or at least very bitter rivals) to lovers, the drama, the chois showing up all of a sudden like what???? it was better than i could have expected

i think this yn is my fave yn so far. which is saying a lot but she felt so real!! her struggles with her self-esteem and learning that she's nore than what her family told her to be and that she deserves to be loved and cherishes both platonically and romantically <333

AND I HAD SMTH ELSE TO SAY ABT ONE CHAPTER IN PARTICULAR BUT I! CAN'T! REMEMBER!!!

anyways i think i said pretty much all i needed to say in the tags but i loved this smau sm <3 fave character obviously our dear ynwon shipper. or beomgyu. actually it's probs beomgyu i love him <33

a final question: why did you decide to add beomgyu, yeonjun and soobin? did you have it planned from the start, like them specifically? and who was YOUR favorite character??

i'll be reading your new(ish) ynwon au probably not tomorrow but the day after bc i'm gonna have a busy day (9h & a half of classes and then i'm going to a 2010 pop themed party! fun!!)

as always, have a good night and i hope you're doing ok <3 if you're ever not, you can always talk to me <33

ITS ME, HI IM THE PROBLEM ITS ME!! *ANTI HERO BEING MY ANTHEM SAYS A LOT ABOUT ME*

Moving on from that, I'm glad you loved the story so much. It's always wonderful to know that readers love what I write. Like yeah I mainly wrote for myself but the praise tho I feel it's unneeded (I'm always gonna be finding things I couldve done better 😂).

Honestly this story really took a life of its own. I say that with every smau tbh, I start with one idea and then by the end it's a different but still somehow similar idea that I started it 😂.

I'm so glad this YN is ur fave. She's struggling so much even if everything was okay cause her inner demons were always there, they didn't disappear and her learning to lean on those around her, accept that she is loved and cared for was very important to me.

I also was very cautious in that I didn't villainize YN for these very real feelings that everyone feels.

God knows I've been through moments of self hatred and I wanted to show that it's never as bad as you think. You might think your all alone but there is always someone there for you to talk to. I know that YN frustrated readers when she let her insecurities get in the way of her happiness but that is a reality that sometimes you get so in your head that you think what your doing is best when it isn't.

Sorry went on a whole tangent abt this YN 😂😅.

I loved your reactions in the tags, pls don't stop them, they were the best and I need them for every story now 😂😂.

Beomgyu was his chaotic self and I loved him for it 😂. @nyxtwixx being your fave character cracks me up honestly.

Oooh good question. I don't necessarily plan my smaus tbh. I just have the rough idea then it's chapter by chapter. Which if you've noticed is why chapter titles tend to change quite a bit cause I change my mind or this one idea doesn't work but this other idea for the next chapter works better.

I love txt and Soobin is my bias so I was always going to include him. Yeonjun and Beomgyu kinda just came along too. The idea to have them be triplets came and I ran with it. All three of them were gonna cause more chaos and strife with there being actual feelings still there with Sooyn but I decided against that after considering how much YN is dealing with low self esteem and self hatred. In the end I love the bond they have 🫶🏼🫶🏼.

If I can give another rec, I suggest reading Peace that's my other HP au but it's Jay this time and it's Gossip Girl meets Harry Potter. (I just wanna know your views on that 😂).

Take your time, the new Jungwon fic will be there just a word of warning, I'm sorry if Hyunjin is your bias... That's about all the spoiler I'll give you in regards to that smau.

Don't get burned out with so much school!! And have fun at that party sounds like it'll be a great time!!.

Same goes to you, if you ever want to vent or just chat, I'm here 🫶🏼🫰🏼.

[poemshubs]

A Poem A Day: A Psalm of Life Explanation

Welcome to Poem of the Day –  A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

“A Psalm of Life” is a well-known poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, first published in 1838. Written in a time of personal grief after the loss of his first wife, the poem serves as a motivational message about living life with purpose, optimism, and action. Through its reflective and inspirational tone, Longfellow encourages readers to make the most of their lives and leave a meaningful legacy.

Content

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,— act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

A Psalm of Life Poem Explanation

The poem begins with the speaker rejecting a pessimistic view of life, one that sees life as fleeting and ultimately meaningless. Instead, the speaker insists that life is real and has value. Longfellow emphasizes the importance of living fully, with purpose and energy. He urges readers not to dwell on the inevitability of death or the difficulties of life but to focus on achieving greatness through action and perseverance.

The speaker reminds the reader that the soul does not die and that life is more than a journey toward the grave. He calls for active living—“to act, that each tomorrow finds us farther than today”—and insists that even in the face of adversity, one should strive to live meaningfully. The poem closes by encouraging individuals to be brave and leave behind an inspiring example for others to follow.

Themes and Analysis

Life’s Purpose: A central theme in “A Psalm of Life” is the idea that life should be lived with purpose. The speaker rejects the idea that life is merely an empty preparation for death and instead calls for active engagement in life’s struggles and joys. Longfellow believes that individuals should focus on achieving progress and contributing positively to the world.

Action and Perseverance: Another key theme is the importance of action and perseverance. The poem promotes the idea that life is not to be spent passively waiting for death but actively striving to achieve greatness. Longfellow urges readers to work hard, endure hardship, and leave a lasting impact through their actions.

Optimism in the Face of Adversity: The poem takes a positive view of life, even in the face of challenges. It suggests that difficulties and setbacks are a part of life but that they can be overcome through determination and courage. The speaker’s message is one of hope, encouraging readers to remain optimistic and continue moving forward despite hardships.

The Impermanence of Life: While the poem rejects a nihilistic view of life, it acknowledges the inevitability of death. The speaker insists that death should not dominate one’s thoughts, but rather serve as a reminder to make the most of the present. Life is transient, but this very fact makes it more important to live fully and purposefully.

Legacy and Example: The final stanzas emphasize the idea of leaving a legacy. The speaker calls on individuals to live in such a way that they inspire others. He believes that one’s actions can provide hope and guidance to future generations, even after death.

Structure and Form

Form: “A Psalm of Life” is written in the form of a lyric poem, structured in nine quatrains (four-line stanzas). This traditional form allows Longfellow to convey his message in a rhythmic and organized way, reflecting the balance between emotion and thought in the poem.

Rhyme Scheme: The poem follows a consistent rhyme scheme of ABAB in each quatrain. This regular rhyme pattern gives the poem a musical quality, enhancing its motivational tone and making it easier for readers to follow and remember the key messages.

Meter: The poem is primarily written in trochaic tetrameter, a metrical pattern consisting of four feet per line, with each foot having a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed syllable. This metrical choice lends the poem a sense of urgency and movement, aligning with its theme of action and perseverance.

Tone: The tone of the poem is both reflective and inspirational. The speaker conveys a sense of hope and optimism, countering any inclination toward despair or passivity. Longfellow’s use of language is direct and straightforward, reinforcing the call to action.

Significance

“A Psalm of Life” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is an uplifting poem that urges readers to live with purpose, energy, and optimism. Through its clear message, structured form, and rhythmic style, the poem inspires individuals to embrace life, strive for progress, and leave behind a meaningful legacy. Longfellow’s reflection on the fleeting nature of life is balanced by his strong belief in the power of human action and perseverance, making the poem a timeless call to live life with passion and purpose.