#things I learnt I never outgrew:

[trashbatistrash]

,

[chickenskeleton]

Poem about an ex, parts 1 & 2

TW for self harm and suicide attempt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today I learned my voice still cracks when I say your name. It’s been 9 months.

I still wear the pants you gave me because you outgrew them. I didn’t know you would outgrow me too.

We had a secret handshake in kindergarten

A secret fucking handshake. I still remember how our hands interlocked during it. I still remember how our hands interlocked. I can’t remember being a kid without remembering what it was like to love you. Do you have the same problem? Sometimes I wonder. It doesn’t seem like you do, because I can’t imagine you being so cold if you remembered what it was like to love me.

I know I it’s easier to forget anyway.

Today I put on a necklace, a gift from our six months. I’ve worn it every day since November 11th. The day you left..

I still think of you when I wear those pants,

by the way.

I still think of you when I wear your old sweater.

I still think of you whenever I wear your hand me downs, goddamn your sense of style, I can’t justify getting rid of any of your shit.

I still think of you when the moon is particularly full

When something quirky catches my eye in a gift shop

And when someone repeats one of your phrases. (Often myself)

Did you know that every time I think of you I start to shake?

and I get this feeling in my chest. This hole. This void. Right in my heart. I try to curl up in a ball, as tight as possible, because collapsing inward is better than leaving that space exposed. But it does no good, the hole goes straight through my chest to my back, leaving it exposed regardless. The air always feels cold too, when I think about you. It seeps in through the void in my center and goes straight to my bones.

I remember my bones being this type of cold when I realized you were leaving. I wore a sweatshirt over a sweater with my wool jacket on top to meet you in your car.

I couldn’t shake the cold though.

I’d never felt cold like that.

Now I’m too familiar

and after-

the only thing that could get rid of it was the warmth of my own blood as it ran down my arms.

The heat that took over my body when I realized I might have gone too far

I wanted more of the warmth

It was easy to get, too easy.

All I had to do was go deeper

Deep enough and I’d be warm forever

I didn’t stop.

Well, until you picked up the phone.

I didn’t even tell you what I had done.

You still don’t know.

I just asked if you knew anyone that could drive me to the hospital because I was scared.

You asked if you could drive me yourself.

At first I said yes

But as I realized

I couldn’t hide it this time.

the implications of you seeing what I did

I hung up and called my mom

Somehow I stayed conscious for the 30 minutes it took her to get there

I don’t remember the ride

I remember being angry

But I don’t remember why or at who

But I remember the fucking heat

I’d never felt heat like that.

I hope I never do again.

And so we learn.

What have you learnt? I’m so curious.

We called one night.

A few months after you left.

You were back again.

You had been living in your car

Drinking too much

Apparently, as I learnt in that phone call,

You’d been drinking too much for a while.

Two months before you left

That’s when I started to feel you going.

That’s when you said the drinking started.

I’m not mad

I just don’t know why you wouldn’t tell me

I loved you

Unconditionally

We always said that

“I love you unconditionally”

You said it too.

The morning after our phone call I tried to text you.

You blocked me.

A few months after that I deleted your number for good.

Now I talk to you through the moon.

I sob at her as if my cries will reach you

I hope you’ll feel some pull in your heart

A pull that you know leads to me

You told me that night that you had faith

Faith that we would find our way to each other again if it was meant to be

Why the fuck would you say that?

I’ll be searching until we find each other again

Even if it’s in another life

I know you’ve eroded space in my soul

That only you can fit into.

I live for you still.

I would rather be freezing fucking cold than feel that heat again

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[cybernaght]

Baldur's Gate 3

Well hello, strangers on the internet, I am here with another wall of text that has nothing to do with the actual topic of this blog. And before you ask why on Earth do I not make a free-for-all blog: last thing I need is encouragement to write more walls of texts. 

The topic of today’s Wall of Text is - shock, surprise - Baldur’s Gate 3, because it came out, and half of the internet and I have lost our collective goddamn minds. 

So, today I’ll talk about why for me, as something who thinks she is a non-gamer, but who is also an aficionado of interactive storytelling - both collaborative and not - this game is a kind of a marvel that I have not seen since I was a child.

I’m doing so in three parts. The player introduces my personal perspective and relationship with video games. The interlude talks about what on earth is interactive storytelling exactly, and where RPGs fit into that term. The game mostly sings praises to Larian’s masterpiece. 

As ever, this is a think piece with the main source being “my brain.”

The player. 

The thing is, I’m not a gamer. 

I do love video games. I play plenty of video games. It’s one of my favourite pastimes, and one of my favourite types of media. That said, I don’t believe myself to be a gamer for two reasons:

One, there is a subculture around it, and I have never been part of it, nor have I ever strived to be. It’s not that I don’t like it - it’s more that I don’t think we have the same, or even similar, values when it comes to what we seek in our gaming experience. For one, I play solo. Even in server games, I play blissfully alone, always. More importantly, I don’t pride myself on my gaming skills, because I effectively have none of those, and I’m not overly interested in developing them. When I play anything, I seek something else entirely; we’ll talk about that momentarily. For now, suffice it to say, I’m not a gamer because I say I’m not.

Two, I didn’t grow up as one. I have played a lot of old nineties/early naughties games - RPGs predominantly, but also point and clicks, and dungeon crawlers — a kind of stuff that honestly, looking in hindsight, formed a core of my interests. By the time mid-two-thousands rolled around I stopped. There are several reasons for that, but the biggest one is simply that the games outgrew the hardware I had access to. Growing up, I have never had - was never allowed to have - a console; and I have not actually had one until only five or six years ago when I was ageing out of my twenties. This massive break between gaming will be relevant later.

And, because I’m merely a person who likes video games, I have two functions for them.

Function one: a digital fidget toy. My brain frequently refuses to shush, and my hands need to do something for it to do so. This is where my deck builders are handy (Slay the Spire is my time sink of choice, but Monster Train does just as well); as are my Diablos and all their infinite clones. Those are my “in the zone” games. I am pretty okay at those through exposure by now, but being good at them is not part of the appeal because the less they need my actual mental engagement, the better. Being challenging - or me perceiving them as challenging - goes directly against what they are for me.

Function two: a vehicle for a story. The genre is immaterial. Do I like RPGs still? Doubtlessly, provided those are narrative-focused (which not all of them are). But well-written adventure games do just as well, as do indie dialogue-tree ones. And, well, this year, was absolutely wild for those, across the board. 

Star Wars Jedi Survivor learnt every mistake from its predecessor and made me excited about Star Wars for the first time in literal years with the way it put you into that world and the story it’s telling. The world-building there is fantastic, and it made me want to slow down my race for the endgame payoff and savour the atmosphere much more than the first title did. I also really appreciate a game which is effectively a Dark Souls-alike allowing you to nope out of that particular style of play from the get-go.

Failbetter Games' Mask of the Rose is an absolutely sublime dialogue-tree game, incredibly well-written, intuitive, and so narratively rich that it warranted no less than a dozen play-throughs. It has its limitations - mostly through the sin/virtue of being very indie - but the core of it is absolutely breathtaking. If you like macabre horror-comedic Eldritch Victoriana, mystery solving and date-simming, I’d recommend giving this one a go. 

And then Baldur’s Gate 3 had its console release - finally - and the world tilted on its axis.

The Interlude: three steps to interactivity (and then one step further than that)

Let’s envision a path to interactivity in games as a ladder. 

Ground zero, absence of narrative focus.

I think it is useful to distinguish between narratives that support the act of playing and the act of playing that supports the narratives. Most games come with a story; Candy Crush Saga has a story if you squint. But, quite often, the story exists around the mechanics of playing: it’s present but not really what the title is about. Diablo games have narratives, but, let’s face it, none of us were buying Diablo IV to find out what happened in Sanctuary after the titular villain was finally properly vanquished. (If any of us are buying Diablo IV these days; although that’s a whole other can of worms.)

I see Bethesda games in this category. They have narratives, but they are not about those. They are about simulation of living in a type of reality, be it high fantasy, post-apocalypse, or space exploration.

Step one, linear narrative. 

For me, a vessel for narrative is a game in which narrative is the main event, and the reason the game exists, with the engine and/or series of mechanics facilitating the consumption of said narrative. The narrative can be absolutely linear. Jedi Fallen Order and its predecessors in the platformer genre are as linear as they go: you travel from area to area, helping the story play out by engaging in predetermined events, and no one is pretending otherwise. 

Step two, false-choice narrative. 

Then, there are false-choice narratives: think of it as getting from one point to the next and then to the next, where the journey has some cosmetic or flavour variation. You can get from point A to point B via two or three different routes (physical, or conversational), but none of them actually change what happens at point B.

For an obvious example, some (but not all) of the TellTale Games’ titles exist within this step. 

Step three, true-choice narrative.

Congratulations, we have reached interactivity! So, let’s look at that in slightly broader terms.

According to Wikipedia, interactive storytelling is “a form of digital entertainment in which the storyline is not predetermined”, which essentially means an element of choice and consumer agency. 

Personally, I don’t think there is a need to limit this to digital entertainment. There is plenty of literature that I believe falls under this category, starting from Mark Z. Danielewski’s work and travelling through time and space to our friends at the indie British online magazine Voidspace.

Another obvious place for non-digital interactivity is theatre: immersive theatre specifically. If you’re not in the UK, here’s a quick run-down of things one can find under that umbrella term on our little island. Secret Cinema’s work is, strictly speaking, linear, but the variety and tangibility there can be enough to conceal that fact, and the routes you get to the outcome can be rocky enough to still have an element of choice. Punchdrunk’s promenade productions present a technically linear selection of narratives, but with a choice of which of those to follow, and so for you, the audience, the events differ from night to night. Then, there is a whole subset of game-theatre, crisis management theatre, and interactive work, which, in most general terms, gives the audience agency of playing and deciding, often with multiple possible endings at play.

If we loop back to digital media forms, however, playable films (Bandersnatch being an obvious one) exist in this realm. Quantic Dream’s interactive adventure games live here. Decent RPGs feel comfortable here too: Dragon Age series, Mass Effect, Greedfall, and Outer Worlds, just to name a few. And those are all good, don’t get me wrong. 

And yet, we can still go one step further, and shoot for the sky. 

Step four, collaborative (or generative) narrative  

The sky, to me, is a well-run table-top RPG, which does not just engage players in a story by giving them a set of specific choices, but invites players to effectively write that story together. This process is not just interactive - it’s collaborative, with mechanics and rules existing to facilitate it. It’s not just about giving players agency in the story but taking on their active input and feeding it back to them.

What I find particularly interesting in the context of video games is that technically this was the starting point for the RPG genre: taking tabletop mechanics and digitizing them. Fallout is MSPE, but make it post-apocalyptic and computerized. Baldur’s Gate is ADnD - but make it computerized. Bloodlines is quite literally Vampire: the Masquerade. Computerized, of course. 

For me, the epitome of RPGs up until, oh, let’s say just over a month ago, was Troika Games’ Arcanum: of Steamworks and Magic Obscura. This was a game that defined the genre for me; it’s a game that defined interactivity in general for me. It’s a game in which you could do just about anything, but more than that, the world around you was defined by your actions. Some companions would just leave - or never join you at all - if your actions and place in the world didn’t align with their values. Some decisions you made paid off dozens of hours later by, say, making entire areas hostile to you because you broke a law there in big ways early in your play-through. And yes, you did affect the fate of the world, but the paths there felt unique to you and you alone.

Naturally, whatever is programmed on a computer cannot have the limitless creativity that fleshy humans have when they (we) play games. And yet, the illusion of boundlessness was there, in those early days.

I think you see where this is heading. 

The game

There are many things indeed that Baldur’s Gate 3 has going for itself. The fact that it’s been openly tested for close to three years (I was there, in the early days) meant that the final product, when it was released, was as immaculate as a game could be at this point: it is, in fact, complete. This sounds like a bare minimum requirement, but we all know this is rarely cleared. Delaying it slightly for the console was also an excellent move: I love the way it runs on PS5, and I genuinely prefer the controls here than I did on my (arguably, rickety) laptop. Again, you’d think optimising the controls for the console would be a bare minimum requirement, but I, too, played Cyberpunk upon release, so…

Larian already having a very decent top-down engine with turn-based combat also works in favour of this game. It’s certainly sleeker here, but it’s recognisable as the Divinity engine, and it’s clear to me that the resources went into fine-tuning it, which means that in the last three years, this became more and more intuitive to play. And this engine is stable, which surprised me in combat that spawned 20+ hostiles. I suppose my one qualm is that they haven’t fixed the path-making AI. While companions forgetting that they can jump is only mildly inconveniencing, NPC’s complete lack of special awareness and self-preservation can be downright infuriating. I have both re-loaded encounters because the character I tried to keep alive chose to run into an opportunity attack, and just condemned people to death deciding, at some point, that if they really truly want to Misty Step right into an explosion, so be it. 

But then again, those are the only issues. In a game of this size. Upon launch. 

Speaking of the engine, I found some of the encounters hard on my first play-through, even on the easiest difficulty. As I mentioned, I’m not actually good at this. That said, I loved that on none of the occasions, did my finding it difficult have anything to do with what I did and did not have: it was not about optimising, or grinding, or shopping for gear - it was about observing the failure and developing a response to the strategy the game was using against me. While you can try to select a perfect party for every situation, equally, I found that the game didn’t force you to do that, and so, as a player, I can approach party selection as an in-world process, gravitating to the companions I wanted to have around for the kind of people they were and the relationships they have with my Tavs rather than for what kind of weaponry they carry. Is the act two boss fight punishing with a mostly melee team? Definitely. But, again, once you have figured out how to get around your limitations, it is doable. To me, that’s an excellent balance. It actually makes trying to figure strategy for any given tough encounter fun; and I’m saying it as someone who rage-quit Hades because she could not stand constant failure. 

The voice acting, mocap and animation are wonderful: you genuinely get full-bodied, nuanced performances, which�� is just plain rare. The character writing, too, is spectacular, and the people you interact with feel real and unique, even if they only are here for a few scenes. Writing really shines when it comes to companions: they are humanly complex and multi-faceted, and all have a wonderful mix of love-able and hate-able in them. They are genuinely laugh-out-loud funny! They are also relatable, in that high fantasy way that takes commonplace anxiety and elevates it to proportions where it’s no longer real, and yet so very recognisable. 

Story writing made me actually scream, the first time around. I pride myself on being someone who is quite good at reading narrative clues, and yet, there were several subplots with twists that got me reeling. This only gets better on subsequent play-throughs, when you realise just how much of the meat surrounding the main “bones” of the story depends on your character, the paths you take and the options you select. The latter is particularly astounding in acts one and two, which have so much variety in them they feel limitless. 

The date-sim aspect of this game is… well, horny, in that hilarious way where every time you show a genuine interest in a character they immediately fall in love with you, provided your actions align with their worldview (which is not a given) — but role-playing always has an element of a wish-fulfilment, and I found something very joyous in thwarting (or leaning into) romantic and sexual advances of what felt like everyone in my path. Aside from that, the relationships I have seen have been well realised, each with a unique texture. 

And yet, none of the above is what makes this game such a unicorn.

Choices do. 

For me, true choices are defined not by the freedom to make them, but by the limitations they impose. When we open one door of possibility, other doors must close, and that is a risk we always take when we choose something. Taking an action - taking a leap of faith - should not feel safe. 

In this game, opening one door can lead to another one being permanently locked somewhere down the line. Chasing what you think is right might lead to death and devastation. Trying to satisfy someone with one point of view can alienate others who disagree. Quite often, it is not a game of picking the “optimal” choice, because, as in life, optimal choices are an illusion. 

This game allows you to make genuine decisions by asking yourself what difference you want to bring into the world and the lives of those fictional people you care about, and then it remembers those decisions, and pays them off. And fine, this does not happen all the time, I grant you that. I, too, feel somewhat let down by act 3 relative to early-game. The closer you get to the ending, the more you seem to be boxed into a few possible options where there would be multitude of those in act 1. But even then, the quality drop is from “so good it is actually unbelievable” to “incredibly decent”. To me, this is acceptable enough to not detract from the overall impression.

Having elements of randomness which dice-rolling introduces (and if you ask me, the very reason why dice exist in the first place in TTRPG) only enhanced this effect. Dice rolls can lock and unlock areas, they can make and unmake relationships, save and ruin scenarios. This creates a solid impression that at every step things can go awry - because they, effectively, can. Your choice here is how to approach this fate: whether to save every five minutes to try again or roll with the situation dice and your curiosity have created (pun fully intended). 

Baldur’s Gate 3 is incredible because it plucks you out of your world and does not just place you in another one - it populates that world with people for you to love and admire, and hate, and feel exasperated with, gives you situations that often don’t have a straightforward moral hardline, and then asks you “how would you like to do this?”

It does what tabletop games do. 

When I started DMing my first DnD campaign - which I decided, overachiever that I am, to home-brew from the ground up, - a friend of mine reminded me to fail upwards, always. In terms of storytelling, it’s a challenge. In terms of video games, it’s almost never done. You fail; or you succeed. Baldur’s Gate 3 lets you fail, and deal with the pieces you need to pick up.

And I know - of course I do - that it’s all programmed, so it cannot be truly generative, the way tabletop games can be. By virtue of having pathways, of course, a video game cannot do that. But it comes really damn close — it comes closer than anything I have seen since those early entries in the genre because those were made to directly emulate being in a campaign with live people. 

For a few years now I have been lamenting that they don’t do RP video games the way they used to any more. 

Well, my friends.

Turns out, Larian does.

It shoots right for the sky. 

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

Hey.

So, it’s been a while. I have a lot less energy than I used to and I’ve found that being online is extremely bad for my already struggling brain. I’ve really struggled to keep up any connections I used to have, even though I wanted to and I felt extremely guilty for struggling so much with just talking to people. I feel like I’ve become a completely different person in the past few years. I guess I kind of outgrew Tumblr and I felt like I was a fraud when I couldn’t reach the same levels of energy and enthusiasm to behave like I used to and I felt like I didn’t belong here any more and that I was a disappointment, but I still think about all of my friends on here a lot and I’m really sorry I faded out without any explanation, it was never a deliberate choice, time just did time things and all of a sudden it’s been years and I felt too guilty and ashamed to come back, like I was being kept prisoner by my own skull raisin. I still think about you all and I hope you’re living the wonderful happy lives you all deserve and that the world is being so, so kind and gentle to you. I hope you find new happiness and love every single day. I still love all of you with my whole heart and soul and I’m really, genuinely sorry for leaving like I did, I hope none of you were worried and I hope you didn’t miss me.

A life update is that I’m doing okay, even good. My partner Josh and I are still going strong, we’re planning on getting married in the next few years, and I’ve been flying over to see them regularly (I’ll never stop being grateful that I have this opportunity.) Their apartment is yellow and we adopted a very big plush Bulbasaur son together and we cuddle until we fall asleep every night and their smile and their mind make me reach a level of happiness I genuinely did not think I was capable of and they have helped me find who I really am. Loving them is the easiest and sweetest thing I’ve ever done. I’m planning on moving overseas to be with them after we’re married (paperwork + residency reasons.) Their friends have welcomed me incredibly kindly into their group and their city is a world I want to live in and I feel like I finally know where I belong. I have finally, finally found my home.

Other updates. My pets are getting older and we lost Maudie, I still miss her and I’m scared for the others but I can’t do anything but love them. With my partner’s help I realized that I’m most likely autistic and I’m hoping to get officially diagnosed once I’ve moved, but not before, because a diagnosis could get my residency denied. I have a steady job with very nice coworkers/friends and in general I’m a lot less scared of life and I’m actually excited for the future, even though I still have very hard days, weeks, months. I have a lot more confidence and love in myself. I own a shirt with rubber duckies on it and I adore it with my whole heart. I have two tattoos named Frank and Louisa and I’m hoping to get more soon. I make very good soup. I’ve learnt to draw, I still have a long way to go but it makes me happy and it’s therapeutic and also how does lighting and shading work oh my gOD-

If anyone wants to reach me at any time, for any reason, my Discord is awshucksalright#7140. It’s one of the few sites that I don’t have a mental block with so I’m usually active on there, but I am a different person now so I understand if you don’t have a drive to, there’s no expectation. I just wanted to make a post to give closure if it was needed because just dipping like I did was super shitty and I wish I could take it back but at this point it feels too late and I don’t know if I have the energy to come back again any way. I have been lurking like a weirdo on your blogs to make sure you’re okay, I should’ve just reached out, I don’t know why I didn’t other than my brain not letting me, it felt like a wall and it still does. It was nothing any of you did, it’s just my own brain being a dick and I hate it and I wish I could change it. I don’t want any of you to think that you weren’t/aren’t important to me because you always have been and always will be. Your kindness and friendship has meant the world to me.

I don’t want to say goodbye so I’m not going to, I don’t want to close that door because I love so many of the people through it. I just hope you’re all okay and that life is treating you with all the amazing-ness that you all deserve. I hope you all feel warmly and gently hugged.

I love you. 💖💖💖🐰🐰🐰💕💕💕

[wastemanjohn]

this is such a period of transition in my life. things that have been concrete for the last few years are all less so very suddenly and I don't really know what to do with it.

the obvious answers are go with the change the universe is clearly tugging me towards and... change. but where to start? in the past it's always been clear but right now I don't feel like i'm on a clear path at all. i know that my most adventurous days are behind me and now i crave some kind of stability. but it's hard to know what that looks like when everything feels so profoundly unstable. i feel enormously disconnected from a lot of people in my life at the moment and I don't know if it's them or me. i've never really felt loneliness before but I think this might be it. and it's not even about being alone physically. just feeling kind of isolated emotionally. misunderstood. like i'm letting life pass me by.

outgrowing people is part of life but it's painful. i outgrew my so very recent ex. to the point where my reflections the past couple of days have led me to wondering if i even want to be friends, where I was convinced before that I did. i think i did lose a lot of trust in him over the last few months and as someone who doesnt really trust anyone that has been a lot. apparently you learnt to trust by trusting but. lol. ugh. I'm feeling very sorry for myself tonight but it's going here as I do not know how to talk to people IRL at the moment.

for now though imma watch meredith duxbury videos and try to fall asleep

[littlesistersti]

Things from my high school I still think about

This is too long, but uh if you went to the same school as me, I’m sorry. If you’re someone in the list, I’m also sorry. Unless you stole my colour pencils.

a classmate received a mountain of spam musubi grams and has an “oh no, I can’t eat these. It’s Lent!” moment

a student got locked in the bathroom after hours

a non-Vietnamese classmate asked me if I’m eating flan even though I’m holding this hockey puck shaped, orange-brown colored, Vietnamese banh something in a ziploc bag in my hand like a sandwich

Do Latin/Hispanics eat flan in their hand like a sandwich or ??

How can anybody hold flan in their hand? It has the consistency of custard--

SINCE WHEN IS FLAN HOLDABLE

two tennis players fighting for my $1 donation

Me, a then senior looking at the freshmen: Why are there so many white people?

the white freshmen scare me

overheard a kid talking about a teacher noticing his Asian glow

two kids smack-talking this other kid I know, behind their back, based off of what they post on their social media

from what I overheard, all they post is marching band memes and transgender related posts

I think the bullies are invalidating the transgender identity?

most of these stuff happened before senior year so I hope these people outgrew these behaviours

my sister’s friend shouting “chao ban” with the same energy as someone who just learnt how to cuss in Russian five seconds prior

every year, the seniors get to cheat in the sled race (cardboard boxes in the gym) but I sure as hell never saw that come my senior year

that one year the freshmen tried super hard in spirit week and I didn’t have the heart to tell them “every year, the freshmen are always last and the seniors are always first, I think it’s rigged”

they decked out in white for assembly day, oh my gods I feel so bad

a student in Digital Media colored their logo pink and blue because the colors represent the two genders

it wasn’t my place to critique but oh my gods what the ever loving

of the kids who did chose the diaper logo, so many of them drew the diapers with safety pins and I guess that explains a lot of things

everyone in the quad clapping. For a good long minute. I don’t why, bandwagon effect but it’s kinda funny to think about it. I think someone did a nice thing and their group of friends clapped and then the next group of friends clapped and uh domino effect.

whenever I see comments of “and everyone clapped”, I think of this

someone snorted a crushed-up hot cheeto with a dollar bill

this one kid who sits across from me, I keep seeing his ID card in the “missing IDs” for months

I never got my “borrowed” color pencils back

it was my only lavender, how dare you

he also said “hey I turned you into a meme, you went viral overnight” but I know he’s bluffing for my reaction (different day)

everyone recognizing my Doctor Strange costume when I wore it the second time despite the fact everyone thought I was Superman/woman the first time

I let a friend tried on my sleeveless robe and he put it on reversed and I didn’t see it until later

why must the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen switch from glasses to contacts? you were so so so--

as you can see, I’m super gay for her but she’s one year below me but taller than me and I don’t know how to feel about

as you can see, I’m a coward

seniors told me a student asked out a teacher for prom back when I was still in 8th grade which is strange because he’s engaged (when I got the info)?? I hope that made sense

this is the same teacher who likes (insert historical figure I won’t name to not expose him but we’ve all been there) and I said “it’s normal to like a historical figure” or sommat like that

he replied back “oh no, she’s still alive”. The class exploded

“and divorced.” Someone from my table said “Mr. (name) you’re engaged”

hearing the sad news we won’t get senior night because it wasn’t successful for the past couple years

I could’ve gone to Disneyland or Universal Studios

Film club revived from the dead and the reboot team didn’t know

the agenda (or planner as some of you say) said there’s a Hunger Games club but there isn’t

vending machine taken down because it out-capitalized the student store

speaking of capitalism, small school dances canceled because tickets weren’t profiting

student seller looked at me and said “you look like a (flavour) kind of person”. I don’t remember what flavour ice cream I got

What the hell is Sadie’s Dance? Girls ask out the boys? Don’t they already do that for any normal dance?

the Mexican kids dancing when a mariachi band performed for their holiday and the kids had a “who’s going first?” moment

I want to show a gif of Panchito Pistoles dancing the dance but why is there no gif? D:<

some boys wearing the woman ao dai unbuttoned because they’re too big

a dog walked into a classroom, one of my sister’s science

polar bear type of dog

leftovers from a seniors party handed out to lowerclassmen

table neighbor looks at student teacher, “oh s--, he’s pretty cute”

a substitute teacher told us our school’s known for excelling at academics but not at socializing

really said we’re a bunch of introverted nerds/scholars huh?

different day but civics teacher shared when he was went to this school, it was known for gangs

my friend pulled out a fan for an ao dai contest

dressed as BEN Drowned with fake blood for Halloween and a friend called me demon then threw a napkin at me

I came to school as Link, died during first period, and left as BEN

walked into my parents’ work and heard the classic “your kids are getting big”

that one kid on underarm/axillary crutches can goooooo! Faster than anybody walking at normal pace

Back when we had the “300 buildings”, there was a rule of no eating in the hallways. A friend and his friend found a loophole

a pair of jeans just sitting there on this pole thingy (what are they called? It’s roundabout 3 ft / 91.44 cm and I reckon made of cement but I can’t tell if it’s covered in paint)

back when we used to have halls, freshman me ran as fast as I can because I forgot something and zipped by someone shouting “you should join track”

yeah we lost the halls and big pine trees and the turtle terrariums (don’t worry, there weren’t any turtles) and the ASB lockers 

we always have games during assemblies and my senior class cheered this one guy I’ll dub Tommy. He’s up against a freshman. I couldn’t hear what happened but from that day forth, a great deal of seniors hated that freshman because he introduced himself with attitude or something. I just knew him as eccentric, and that’s just me witnessing his behaviour from afar

someone dressed as Homework graded F for Halloween

one teacher disappeared and the last I saw, they were on a gurney

don’t know what happened

different teacher, different year, walked around with a neck cast and a cane... he had no right to look elegant like that... turns out I got him for Viet 2 and understood why he’s elegant by default

accidently mistook a teacher for his brother and I didn’t know

someone hijacked my locker but all they did was rearranged one item and said “cleaned up your locker” with a smiley

happened again and I got a packet of M&Ms, actually which one happened first? don’t remember

different year, cried over my locker could not open because the lock was broken and jammed and I was afraid I could never get it open

panic is not fun kids, please get yourself checked

assuming a big cart or whatever those janitors drive bumped into my locker, I don’t know the paint scuff matched, it’s the biggest vehicle in the school I know 

the lock was damaged bad and cut my thumb

hummingbird with broken beak on the ground, tiny and a few kids almost didn’t see it, one student brought it to the front office

Frederick Douglas shrine in my sister’s physics class and the teacher hated it ... so many pennies

this same teacher got demoted from 11th grade physics to 9th-10th grade maths because the physics department got rearranged

students say he looked like he went through an existential crisis because he went from long pants and nice shirts and shoes to shorts and Hawaiian shirts and sandals

everybody flips out over Viet 2 teacher’s fancy display case of superheroes action figures (they’re big and collectibles) and fancy shmancy teacher desk and TA desk and yeah

Wonder Woman came out and guess what my Viet 2 teacher got

I had this thing called the “backpack train” as a kid where you sit on a rolling backpack and someone pulls. My school got a big quad with lots of empty space. Someone saw my sister fell. 

[angeli-marco-writes]

Harrison Osterfield - A Happy Day (& A Puppy)

A/N & WC - I don't know Haz, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.2k

Warnings - Mentions of a dog rescue centre and poorly dogs, slight anxiety, copious amounts of fluff.

Summary - Today is the day you and Haz get a puppy. It's the next big step in your relationship, and despite your anxieties, you know it's a happy day.

YOUR HEART FILLS WITH GLEE at the prospect of the day. You and your boyfriend, Harrison, have been together for a long time now, by ‘young people’ standards, and have recently taken the giant step of moving in together. Only, after you lived in a flat with various different people for a long time, and after he spent so long in a house with three other blokes (where you also spent a substantial share of your time earlier in the relationship, much to your dismay,) it’s quiet with just the two of you. And not the good quiet, though sometimes it’s nice and peaceful. You’re just both so accustomed to the constant bustle of people. And the only comprisable solution you could come up with, save for moving back in with Haz’s old housemates? Get a dog.

Obviously you want to, you love dogs, but it’s also a bridge to your future.

“Are you ready to go sweetheart?” Haz shouts from the doorway, rustling with his coat, while you’re still in the bedroom.

“Do we have to?” you beg.

“Yeah we do. You want this dog, don’t you?”

“Of course I do... it’s the rest I’m anxious about.”

See, you’ve been conversing with a shelter home for some weeks now, ever since they got an influx of puppies. A big litter of little blighters, separated from their mother and left to die on the side of the road in a damp cardboard box. Thankfully, and by some kind of God-given miracle, they all survived, and many have already been adopted, but your little treasure? You were the only takers. Not that you’re complaining, obviously.

Haz appears in the doorway, his own pea coat fitted to his form perfectly, tailored and tan to suit his complexion. He holds yours out to you and edges closer to your shared bed, made and done up by him.

“I know, baby, but it’s gonna be okay, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You loose a sigh. “Is there any way we can go in the back way?”

Your own puppy eyes convince him and he kisses you. “I’ll see what I can do. If not, just close your eyes and I’ll lead the way.”

Shelters upset you immensely. How anyone could hurt a dog or abandon it is beyond you, they’re the most precious things ever and need to be protected and adored at all costs. You knew you wanted a rescue dog from the get go, but you’d never be able to bring yourself to actually scour shelters to look for a dog. You just hope this one likes you, or else Haz is gonna have to do it all himself. You can’t face the pleading faces and the imploring eyes and the sadness around the whole place. If you could, you’d buy them all, give them a good, loving home, but you can’t, and that harsh reality leaves a pit in your stomach and a hole in your heart.

“Don’t cry darling.” he coos, kissing your tears away with tender brushes of his lips.

You hadn’t even realised you were crying. How emotional can you be? Today is supposed to be happy, but you’re breaking at the first hurdle. To make the pressures worse, you know that, if you don’t take this little bean, it’ll be put down.

“Come on, it’s a happy day,” he prompts once he realises you’re no longer crying. He stands, shrugs your coat onto you, and pulls you to standing, wrapping his arms around your torso as he sways. “We’re getting a puppy!”

His sheer excitement in his voice brings joy to you too, any doubt being left behind as you sway with hum, holding him close. You’re getting a puppy.

A little more pep is in your step once you stand up, ensuring your hands are adjoined the whole time. Concealing your nerves with excitement is a solid step, so you paint on a happier face than before and clutch him close as you tug him to the front door.

“We’re really doing it, we’re getting a puppy,” you say.

He nods, keying the door open, “That we are. Think we’re ready?”

You almost howl laughing. In many ways, yes. You’re mature people in a committed relationship, you’re both incredibly responsible in all the ways that matter, and know when you need to take the next step or hold back. Getting a puppy is a huge leap, though. But you’ve thought about it, planned for it, prayed for it to work, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t be ready, but it feels like a giant step. In the right direction. That’s all that matters; that, and the fact you’ll love this puppy endlessly.

“Y’know what? Yes. We’ve worked for this.”

“That we have, darling.”

Reaching the car, he places a kiss to the crown of your head. “Conserve your energy, honey. How about I drive?”

“Okay,” you answer, pecking Haz on the lips after he opens your door for you and hovers at your height until you answer him. “That means I can cuddle it on the way home.”

“It’s not an ���it’, remember?” he chides, but the excitement is evident in his tone and the sparkle in his eyes, “we gave it a name.”

“Bixby, and he’s a boy, I know. How long is the drive?”

You fasten your seatbelt, smiling at him as he limbers into the drivers side. He’s attuned to your subtle mood shifts now, and realises that you’re slipping more from anxiety into anticipation, and he needs to work to keep you there, soothe you so that you don’t cry at the shelter. He’s a gem is Harrison, and you know he’ll be a brilliant dog-dad. It’s a huge part of why you’ve lasted so long together. The second you saw him with Monty, you knew he was a keeper.

After strapping his own seatbelt and manoeuvring the car into gear, he reaches over and curls his fingers around your thigh, pulling on that invisible connection between you, tugging you to look at him.

When you do, he spies that your current happiness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but is in part a façade. Haz loves you, but you’re the damn most sensitive soul he’s ever come across, especially when it comes to animals. The main reason the two of you got your own place was because living with people you weren’t close to took a real toll on you, as it did him—no matter how reluctant he is to admit it, the forced intimacy of it all, so this puppy is a big step to comfort you both and help you settle down to this new walk of life.

Of course the delight is there, of course you’re happy, but your slight snags and worries are visible to him too. “Love you, baby,” he whispers, leaning over to lock your lips together, applying a certain pressure, sucking on your lower lip gently as his hold on your thigh increases.

Once he pulls away, he sees the true you, calm gracing all of your beautiful features so nicely, happiness in your eyes and a wry smile on your lips, no overt anticipation of any kind.

“You can choose the music, yeah?” is all he says, offering you the twitch of a smirk before he’s locking the key into the ignition and you’re off.

You nod, whether he sees it or not, and plug your phone into the radio, allowing yours and Haz’s playlist to stream through the speakers, the melodies wrapping you in their embrace the whole journey.

One thing Haz has learnt through his time with you is that his touch grounds you. No matter what it is, as long as he’s touching you, you’re okay, your breathing regulated, your nervous habits quieted. And though you’ve never outwardly confessed it, his comfort has helped you more times than you’d ever care to admit aloud. He knows this, but no one else needs to.

Once you park up, Harrison leans over to kiss you again, more gently this time. “I’m gonna ask if there’s a way we can get you around the back, okay? Don’t want you getting upset on such a happy day.”

“Thanks babe.”

You peck his lips, but tug away almost instantly, afraid if you don’t, you’ll be here a while. He smiles, and shuts the door behind him, tapping on your window and pulling a silly face as he passes your side of the car. You wait patiently, scribbling down a list off the top of your head of things to buy for the pup. Basket, bowls, toys, mat, brush, collar, lead… you’ve already got a lot of Monty’s old things, puppy baskets he outgrew, his old crate and such like, but you’re adamant that Bixby needs a basket in every room of your place… just in case.

“Hey dreamer,” Haz’s voice snaps you from your reverie, that cute nickname he uses when you drift off into your own little world easing a smile onto your face. “He’s waiting for us, you can come in now.”

You draw your lip between your teeth, and peek over your shoulder to the little puppy holder in the back one last time, filled with a blanket and a cuddly toy. Completely unnecessary, since you plan on holding him, but Haz thought it’d be a good idea nonetheless.

He holds your hand as you tread out of the car, and the whole way into the building, and you’re glad to find a member of staff waiting to greet you with a warm handshake by the back door, happily guiding you inside to the office, more than likely. And there he is, with his big floppy ears and his droopy eyes, sitting on the chair inquisitively, looking like the prince of the palace.

“Oh my God, he’s gorgeous!” you cry, and with little reluctance, you tug away from Haz, bounding over to the puppy.

You know how startled they can get, so you ensure to stop at a safe distance, tentatively holding out your hand for the pupper to let his black nose sniffle at you, before his long pink tongue laps out and licks your hand heartily, a doggy smile breaking across his face as he pants.

“He likes me. Haz, look, he likes me!”

He chuckles, “I can see that, sweetheart.”

You firstly pat at the chestnut-dappled white fur between his ears, stroking his silken fur, before moving down his body, scruffing a little at the rolls of fat there, completely natural for a basset hound-mix. His paws are huge, though, for such a tiny dog, especially considering his stumpy legs.

“Okay, should we settle down and talk about paperwork?” says the kind lady, a completely rhetorical question.

“Come on baby, if we want Bixby to come home with us, we need to fill these forms in, yeah?”

“Yeah babe.” you nod, and glance at the only remaining available chair. “Well, Bixby, it looks like I’ll just have to pick you up. How about that?” you coo.

His tiny tail wags enthusiastically, and he slobbers another kiss to your hand, so you cautiously scoop him up and settle him on your lap once you’ve sat down.

“First of all, we need to remind you that Bixby is the... runt of the litter, and has more significant health issues than other puppies of his breed, requiring more care, including a limp and slight hearing loss in one ear, and he is small for his breed.”

“We know,” you and Harrison answer simultaneously, his one hand occupied with stroking Bixby also.

He’s dealt with business thus far, bringing Bixby blankets from the house to get him used to your scent, meeting him and meeting with the managers, filling out your application forms, making visits to the shelter. It was actually quite a miracle that you were allowed to get a puppy from here, since you both work, but due to Harrison’s schedule as an actor with press and such, he works from and near home a lot, and whenever he’s working away, despite your own job requirements, you’re able to work from home to hold the fort down. So it worked out okay. And with the compromise, they said you met the necessary guidelines to qualify for adoption with one of you almost always at home.

“And he costs £250, but he’s already been vaccinated and microchipped.” she says. You both nod; you’ve already discussed donating a hearty amount to the shelter to keep it afloat, and because Bixby should be worth a damn lot more.

For the rest of the meeting, you zone out rather a lot, only paying attention when you have to sign papers or a cheque, the rest of the time tickling and fussing your new bundle of joy, already so relaxed within your lap. The time seems to whizz by, as before you know it, you’re clambering back into the car, a towel sat over your lap, and Bixby licking happily at your cheeks.

“You know, I showed him a picture of you,” Haz says, smiling wistfully, “the first time I came to visit him. I told him you were my wife and his mum—” he trails off, and darts his eyes to yours, realising what he just blurted out with a dry mouth and knitted brows. “Baby, I didn’t mean—”

“You want to marry me?” you ask, your voice barely more than a broken whisper.

“Of course I do, sweetheart. One day you’re gonna be my wife, and Bixby can be the ring bearer, and everything will work out the way it should, and you won’t be sad anymore.”

“What makes you think I’m sad, babe?”

He raises his thumb to your cheek, capturing a tear before it falls. Again. He’s been stuck doing this a lot.

“Point taken, but for once these are happy tears. I’m just overly sensitive with… everything, but I promise I’m not sad.” Never with Haz, you think. You look down at the puppy, now half asleep, contentedly wagging his tail at a leisurely pace atop your thighs. “This is a happy day, isn’t it?”

“So happy, y/n. I love you, you know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I love you too, so much.”

He smiles, and slowly pulls out of the parking spot, ensuring to drive extra carefully, avoiding even the smallest of potholes on your journey. You keep one eye firmly on Bixby the whole time, but let the other roam your gorgeous boyfriend; the breadth of his shoulders, the veins in his hands, the intricate details in his blue orbs…

“Stop staring,” he whispers, “I can’t focus when you’re looking so pretty.”

You feel yourself flush, and turn your attention back to Bixby wholly, listening to your music as you quietly say, “I’m sorry.”

He says nothing more, but holds your hand over the gear stick the rest of the way.

*

You get a lot of attention in the pet store, carrying around a half asleep puppy with floppy ears the size of your entire face, meaning that your supposedly swift visit is elongated, but you survive, and are packed into the car shortly with everything you needed and more. A few people wanted to take a picture of Bixby, actually, having never seen a puppy basset hound in real life. You let them, leisurely trailing after Harrison as he got everything on your list, only purchasing if it passed Bixby’s sniff test.

Arriving home for the first time as a three is what makes everything seem so real, your heart overflowing with joy as you get out of the car, and walk to your door, and unlock it…

The first patter of paws on your wooden floor lets you know that this is home now, for all of you, as a family. That much is intrinsic.

“We did it. We got a puppy,” you say to Harrison, placing your hand over his chest where his heart steadily beats at a slightly faster pace.

“And we’re going to love him with everything we have.” he responds, kissing you softly, meaningfully, letting only love fill your embrace.

The skitter of Bixby’s claws coming towards you soon brings you back, though, and you begin to introduce him around the house, never once letting go of Haz’s hand. You show him the living room, where a blanket is already laid out on a sofa cushion for him to join you, and then the kitchen where his food bowls and water are, as well as his exit to the garden, and then to your bedroom, where the fluffiest basket you’ve ever seen sits in the corner, covered with swathes of blankets and scattered with toys. Treats already cover the floor all over your home, puppy training pads laid out just in case, and a hook by the front door with a blue lead dangling off it, as well as a tiny coat. Only…

“I didn’t buy this.” you say, spinning to face Haz, Bixby gnawing at his socks, rolling around at your feet.

You point towards the sturdy hook, embellished, engraved with two words. ‘Bixby Osterfield.’

“No, I did. I thought it was a nice surprise for you.”

He answers you as though it’s the most blatant thing in the universe. And really, it is something relatively small, but so thoughtful at the same time, so you open your arms wide, and nuzzle into him.

“Thank you, Haz. For everything. For this, for today, for loving me, for buying me Chinese takeout tonight.”

A laugh rips from him, his face breaking out into a wide smile, raising one hand to clutch at his chest while the other still securely encircles your waist.

“You’re more than welcome, babe. I’ll always love you. But I'm knackered.”

“Oh my God, same,” you breathe, slumping a little into him as you tickle the dog with your toes. “Who knew playing with a puppy would be so tiring?”

A low chuckle resonates from him, but he just holds you tighter, bending down to pick Bixby up as you trail over to the sofa, Haz’s footsteps silent on the glossy parquet floor of your home.

*

It doesn’t take long for you to get settled down, contentment filling you both, alongside ample Chinese food servings, and a fair amount of exhaustion too. Bixby has been with you the whole time, and while Haz sat down first, tugging you into his lap, legs spread wide as he lounged against the cushions a moment later, he ensured to position himself accurately on the ‘L’ shape of your sofa, so you could both reach the tiny snoozing puppy who curled into your side without a second thought.

“I’m glad we got a puppy,” you whisper into the darkness.

Night has come, the day having slipped away, and the movie you had playing is close to rolling its credits. You didn’t close your curtains but instead decided to watch the sun set and the star sparkle in the onyx sky, a stark contrast of beautiful silver, the light mirroring that that Bixby has brought into your lives.

“I am too, babe,” he replies, his nose burying into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, gently kissing your exposed skin, “how about we just settle here tonight?”

“Hmm, good plan,” is all you can muster, already feeling the tug of sleep, one hand on Bixby’s soft silken fur, the other holding Haz’s hand.

This is it, you think to yourself as you drift off, this is your family. Haz and Bixby, both of them snuggling into you, keeping you tethered, bringing you sheer joy. A happy day. All because you got a puppy.

[mywritingonlyfans]

*coughs*

okay. thomas angst.

was hit with the idea of thomas having mild ptsd from a previous friendship he had which was really toxic. so, thomas, 19 years old, fresh out of the toxic friendship, stuck at home because of quarantine. thats the topic

so first things first. italy in 2020. wasnt the brightest year, with the country shutting down barely surviving the first wave of the pandemic. its overwhelming, and the inability to go anywhere gets to thomas' head. he cant see his friends, he cant go out for a walk to calm down, hell, he cant even go outside to smoke without someone yelling at him for it.

few weeks before the lockdown, thomas with the help of the band finally managed to escape a toxic friendship. it had been hard, and the realization had barely settled in thomas' head before things got scary. the person had outgrew the initial and seemingly inherent kindess and twisted it into a maladaptive and manipulative behaviour which brought thomas a lot of problems. from an outsiders view, someone easily saw the miriad of back and forth thomas had to do to account for them.

i hc thomas as a person with a lot of empathy. hes empathetic towarss others, and people feel empathy towards him. so, it was no surprise that the friend he had been super close during the time he had left in school, had picked up on those behaviours. the subtlest "im kinda out of it today" had thomas demanding they take some time to hang with him, or to have to themselves to relax, to de stress. it also seemed, no matter the time of day, thomas was available for it. as a person who has grown in a circle of friends that shared every thought, and made sure to validate and comfort the bad ones, he had quickly learnt to prioritize the wellbeing of a friend over his.

not everyone is like this, but they were. and they saw fragile, empathetic and confident thomas, a rising star in the music industry undoubtly, and they wanted to take advantage of his kind nature. The times they went out with thomas on the exuse of uneasyness, the times thomas went over to their house to give them all kinds of objects, from food to literal money thomas had been saving up for one reason or another. every time he went to complain, the answer was "but you prioritise me over it, right? im your friend after all,,". long gone were the dreams of him getting this new guitar he saw with the money he made for himself out of il ballo della vita, or the nights he would have rather spent with the rest of the band at damianos place than going out to a ridiculously small and cramped club because they wanted to go with him

thomas never saw through the harm they caused. he devoted countless of hours, money and love into them. being seriously worried when they text him "im having a bad day" or being super fast to shower them with compliments on their life and achievements, when all he ever got was a dry "thats cool". and it was, for a while, just that.

until somepoint during the summer before covid. somehow, thomas had been finding himself being with them at all times. no breaks at all almost, and when he did have to do other things, the threats dropped faster than a stream of water. thomas picked up their worsening mental state and didnt ever say anything back. all the threats of them being harmful to themselves, to others, to thomas himself. all the insults that flew his way, names that got engraved into his mind and he assumed they were just facts. all those flew over his head. he felt the need to take care of them. they made him feel responsible for their wellbeing, and thomas was slowly neglecting his own. he wasnt sleeping at all, he never got to hang out with the band, or even his own family. his self confidence was dropping, the prideful young rockstar suddenly reduced to few insulting words and barely enough time to even shower.

he felt more demotivated than ever. the burden of carrying someone elses troubles, the consequences of their actions, and assuring them they werent actually a burden and thomas still liked their company- cause otherwise he got sent some very unfortunate pictures that made him sick after some point, captioned "this is your fault. you werent here to stop me. god im so pathetic, you should leave me to die. i must be so annoying, you should leave like everyone else has" all were things thomas had to put up with daily, having to be there in person and make them believe they werent pathetic or stupid, and that thomas saw the good in them and that its a matter of time, youll get better, blah blah blah.

waking up, showering, eating, playing the guitar, meeting friends all the things he did normally, some that he loved were such a chore. always a nagging fear that his friend will do something, and thomas wont be there to stop it. he dreaded every meetup, but hated the consequences of not meeting at all. the insults that would be hurled at him, the pictures, the threats. all things that drove thomas insane.

vic noticed before the others. thomas hasnt had a good riff idea in weeks. he seems to get tired almost instantly. the whole time he is on his phone, or checking it. he seemed so miserable and she knew something was up. he tried to confront thomas. tell him, show him that he hasnt been himself. he keeps hiding behind exuses.

she told ethan. now thomas was intimidated by ethan. not to a worrying degree, but if anyone was to put thomas in his place, it was ethan. she tells him, and he seems just as if not more worried. they try again. and thomas hides again. avoids their gaze, their questions. he tears up all too quickly and ethan doesnt want to pressure him. theres something that didnt work when two subtle forces met an infurianigly stubborn, equally subtle and quiet one. thomas listens, vic knows he listens to ethan, she can see him nod and reply. and the way he seems to leave his phone more often makes relief flutter in her chest.

until, thomas is back from outside, with a friend, close to collapsing from exhaustion. damiano isnt home, and vic thanks whatever god is out there for that. ethan helps thomas shower, and vic makes him food. the younger cant hold himself behind the exuses anymore, it hurt to at this rate. he tells them about the friend. how they acted, how they have been acting. how thomas felt responsible for them, when they started being low. how he was tired, he was scared. he looked like a kicked puppy when vic brought him the food and ethan murmured to her all thomas had managed to say. the bruises around thomas' wrist made more sense when he tells them the friend would almost dislocate his arm at the force with which they kept him there. he talks about the threats, the ones they made on their life, the ones they made on thomas' one. the insults, the constant harrassment. the amounts of money hes spent, the amounts of text he got, each message more unsettling than the ither

vic and ethan are shocked, and even more so when they hear damiano cracking a wooden spoon while he stood at the doorway. he was mad, undoubtly so, but he didnt say anything. he didnt cuss as victoria expected him to. he didnt yell, he didnt react. only silent anger simmering behind his eyes as he helped thomas up, into an engulfing hug that had the youngest crying and heaving into damianos shirt.

they help thomas establish boundaries. he seemed to hold the friend to a high standard, and the band didnt want ti ruin it. maybe it was just the worsening mental state that made the friend into such an ass. thomas sets down firm walls, and vic dami and ethan are right behind him, building it higher. he demands less messages, more free time. he demands they see a professional for help, he promises to leave if they do something else. and as hard as it was, for thomas to abandon the friendship, when the panic attacks late at night started again after a while, when damiano caught him in one, and vic threatened to call the police while ethan stroked up and down his bad for comfort, he had to make it out. and the band helped him, and they were able to go back to their lives. they had a whole album to work on, release and promote.

quarantine hit thomas like a truck. nothing to do, at all ever. he wasnt able to go anywhere. the first week, it was tiring. exhausting. he had done everything to distract himself. the tv was constantly on, even if news played every 10 minutes. he had managed to break, replace, and break the strings on his guitar 2 times already, and he felt odd. this whole thing, this distraction. it reminded him too much of the friend. the constant surrounding of familiar walls and everything in there was something that the friend had used. the way he acted seemed familiar. it awoke painful memories, and he didnt know what to do. his hands itched to unblock their number, text them, apologise. god he had been stupid, and he let them slip out of his life over minor inconveniences.

then his hands stopped shaking. because vic was calling. she talked thomas out of it, told him to work on something not on his phone. to cook, to read, to play. thomas might have taken it too literally. he did just that. all the time. sure, he learnt to make amazing bread, but his hands were spent. sure, he came up with three riffs and was able to help with the album in a week, but his fingers were bleeding all throughout. sure, he had read almost half the bookes in his apartment, but he was tired. he didnt take breaks. the mindset was simple.

wake up. do stuff. eat. sleep.

repeat.

and yet, it took a tired damiano and a fully concerned giorgia to understand why thomas wasnt replying to texts, or ever talk. or why his selfies were shakier than usual, why his fingers had bandaids on them.

and they realise, thomas doesnt know better. he never had the time to grieve his frienship, to recover, to understand why the friendship was hurting him. he was 19, fresh out of a toxic relationship, stuck at home alone, nit knowing what to do to satiate the ever growing itch in his head, the one that checked the blocked messages to make sure nothing new was there. he needed assurance, guidance, giorgia had yelled, and they assured, they guided. they found an escape.route from these unhealthy, around past six months of his life

and there were weird nights, fun mornings. the album was making slow progress and italys cases dropped. the sky seemed to clear for thomas, almost after a year of no sunlight

noooo, i'm picturing him being quiet in the middle of the band, picking at his fingers and shacking legs without talking because he's not feeling good and i wanna cry, he's a 19 yo in pain, why i love it??? i wanna huge him, pat his hair, kiss the tip of his nose and close him forever inside a box ♥️ and i love how we all think ethan is sir dad material!! that's good prompt 🥺 and i wanna kill who's making him feel like that with my 1,59 cm

[insolitus-academy]

I. Face Claim ; Full name Face Claim: hwang hyunjin Group/Band/Occupation: stray kids Nationality: korean Faceclaim age: 22 years old

II. Character ; Basic information Quote: “If you can’t join them, burn them.”

Full name character: harvey caldwell Nickname: harvs, ivy Realm of birth (if earth, nationality): realm of darkness Age: 122 (appears 22) Date of Birth: 19th of april, 1900 Gender: non-binary Preferred Pronouns: he/they Race: demon Sexual Orientation: unlabelled, leaning towards men

What languages does your character speak?: english (fluent/native, british accent), french (advanced), korean (level II), german (intermediate), latin (possibly native, but he rarely uses his skills)

What is the level of Korean and how did they learn to speak it (For non-Korean characters from other realms & other earth-countries): he lived in a korean-speaking community for a while and learnt to speak it, however he is still struggling and learning

III. Character ; Appearance Skin colour: mostly pale with a pink-red undertone Eye colour: forest green (they get brighter when he is angry) Scars: n/a Piercings: ears (7; 4 in his right and 3 in his left), septum (does not always wear it), double-navel, tongue Tattoos: a small fire silhouette behind his left ear (he plans to get more tattoos) Hair colour: blonde (at the moment and most of the times) Abnormalities: n/a Horns/ wings/ etc.: he has ram-like, black horns Transformed form: his demonic form is not very different from his normal form, he only grows horns and dark red runes/symbols start appearing on his body (they look like tattoos)

IV. Character ; Personality Six personality traits: arrogant, irritable, artful, playful, passionate, noncommittal Likes: art, warm weather, sweets, the starry sky, spring Dislikes: winter (and snow), the taste of celery, silence, religion/religious talks, extremely happy people Manias: getting revenge, no matter what (he is extreme) Phobias: dying, being alone Animal: feline (probably a tiger) Religion: he believes in the religion of sin Favourite song: arsonist’s lullaby by hozier (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCMpHbYz9BE) Vice: pride Virtue: diligence

Personality description: harvey is certainly someone who enjoys ruining expectations. he outgrew his quiet, teenage phase and turned into a rather talkative, social and playful person. he is driven, he enjoys getting exactly what he wants (even when he is unsure of what he wants). he has a rather short temper and can be a nightmare to deal with when he is under a lot of stress. he enjoys acting, and usually does so to his advantage. he is likeable and charming, but to humans he can be a bit much; they tend to either dislike him strongly, fall for his promises or feel uncomfortable around his presence. he is rather selfish, and even if he ends up caring for someone, he will never die for a noble cause. he especially attracts people with his confidence and his ability to show control (even if it is just a front).

harvey is highly artistic, and he is rather peaceful during his creation process. he has the tendency to overcomplicate things (he enjoys asking a lot of questions and thinking about philosophy), thus he rarely if ever fully trusts people. because he spent so much time with humans, he learnt some of their habits and can potentially read them and their intentions (however, he never ceases to be surprised). his relationship with other magical beings is rather ambiguous – since he has only recently ‘opened himself up’ to the magical world, he is still exploring. harvey can be unforgiving if someone steps on his toes, and he is not someone to forget and forgive. he is vengeful when he has a real reason to be (and he will not stop), thus he should not become an enemy. he can be arrogant and ignorant, he has a hard time controlling his feelings and reacts rather impulsively. he is prideful to a fault, and could potentially burst up in flames if his ego is threatened.

V.  Character ; Powers Magical Powers: pyrokinesis, psyche-pyrokinesis, demonic powers

Non-magical Powers: skilled at arts and archery, social butterfly

Weaknesses: religious (blessed) places and objects. like all demons, harvey is affected by blessed objects; he would never willingly step inside of a church. these objects weaken him and make him extremely violent, aggressive, and unpredictable. he feels uncomfortable around religious people, but they do not affect him that much unless they are wearing blessed objects or are praying.

psychological damage. because of his lack of control over his abilities, he could easily burn his own psyche. he could accidentally burn his memories, the knowledge he acquired or put himself through immense mental pain. because of this, he rarely uses his psyche-pyrokinesis powers unless he must. his resistance to fire does not extend to his mind.

ice or extremely cold weather. he is weakened by ice and by the cold weather, since he has fire-based abilities. people who possess abilities related to ice/snow are generally immune to his psyche-pyrokinesis (at least the ones he has encountered thus far).

lack of control. fire is one of the hardest elements to control and is highly influenced by emotion. harvey has a hard time controlling his emotional outbursts and thus falls short when it comes to controlling his fire-based abilities. he could potentially start a fire he will not be able to stop (both mentally and physically).

VI. Character ; The Student Study Style: he is a messy, disorganised student but he is quite diligent with his work

Favourite class: theatre/drama

Least favourite class: korean

classes (5-8): o drawing & painting o theatre/drama o modern dance o psychology o manipulation o french o korean II o archery VII.  Character ; The Past Date of Birth: 19th april, 1900 Date of Death: n/a Crime Record: he got into trouble for starting fires in the human realm Has your character attended Insolitus Academy in the past?: no

Background: tw ; mentions of arson, hinting at sexual assault he sprung from the realms of darkness unknowingly, blind, and orphaned. whoever (or whatever) created him did not stick around long enough to teach him how to walk, how to talk, or how to love. he crawled his way out of the earth in spring to join the humans, those mindless fools who fed him their horrors. he was adopted by a human english family, who believed he was god-sent. they found him in the middle of the road while driving up to their holiday home. the mother took a liking to the small, fragile child whom she wanted to raise as her own. but his features were foreign, and even if the couple adopted him, he remained their dirty little secret. he showed incredible artistic abilities ever since he was a child (he used to paint out in the garden, make sketches, make small toys to play with and so on). he had the best tutors, the best education money at the time could buy, yet he was never seen. the few exceptions were the people who came in and out of the house – but never has he been the centre of attention at one of their gatherings. in the public’s eye, the couple was unfortunate because they were childless.

harvey refused to talk until he was sixteen. the parents believed he was mute (yet another reason why he had to be kept quiet). they have seen every medicine man they could find, but none of them had a solution to the ‘problem’. at the peak of their desperation (when their feelings towards their beloved child grew darker), they decided to see a priest. he was automatically (and almost unavoidably) diagnosed with demonic possession, as he started displaying a rather violent behaviour when shown a cross. finally, everything harvey did until that point had a name. the hours he spent looking at the walls, painting them red occasionally, the random alphabet he wrote on said walls, the ideas he gave his parents with a simple touch, the way he looked at fire – it made sense. harvey was not a guardian angel, he was something far darker. but the parents have been blinded by his innocent act and by his rather beautiful green eyes.

the priest they chose for the task was not strong enough – a mere boy of eighteen, who has never met a demon before. he fell for the quiet boy, whose actions he never questioned. he used to watch over him when he painted, used to ask questions out of curiosity (how is hell like? how can we avoid it? etc.). but harvey never granted him the burning touch he wanted, never spoke to him, or looked at him as if he were anything special. on the contrary, the man who was supposed to be calm and pure turned to acts harvey would rather not remember. out of jealousy, frustration, darkness: if monsters are real, they are human – and for the longest time, harvey believed that. he burnt the priest alive. and with him, his parents’ house (minus their treasures, which he kept for himself). he did not blink when he did it, as if it was in his nature to destroy. he started his mission of self-discovery after he recovered his beloved paints from the ashes. he never looked back, and since he was kept a secret, nobody knew who he was.

.

years went by, but he stopped aging at twenty-two. he looked as young as ever, even after he passed his thirtieth year of life. he started talking at eighteen, his first words were fuck off (offered to someone wearing a cross). he started to understand himself throughout his early adulthood; he knew in his darkened soul that he did not belong on earth, that he was of a different place. but he never went looking for his real home. earth will do, for a while. and earth was filled with prey he never knew he needed. he managed to get through life by deceiving honest and dishonest people, charming his way into the richest pocket and burning off those who annoyed him. he learnt that his best chance at surviving was playing dirty – and he mastered the art of staying alive.

despite living for so long, he never had the chance to truly discover himself. his powers have always been highly unstable and uncontrollable, and he could not begin to understand where he belonged without proper research. after burning his way through europe, he ended up in south korea when things were starting to look bad for europe (the wars were a fuel he needed, but one that pushed him to the edge). he lived in south korea for years before deciding to try europe again as a mature 70-year old. he lived the dream, drained the alcohol, enjoyed the sex, and particularly enjoyed messing with humans. he grew into himself and into his true nature, yet his problem with control was getting worse.

after getting into conflict with authorities for starting fires everywhere, he moved back to korea. it was when he decided to join insolitus academy to learn more about the world (he felt in his heart that this was the safest place for him). and he did not do it for the sake of humanity (not that he cared if they all burnt), but because he wanted to unlock his ultimate power by learning discipline. he secretly hopes that the academy can provide him with some information about his creator(s), but his hopes are not high. however, he feels closer to home surrounded by others who are just as different as he is. and who knew that being a student can be this fun.

VIII. Roleplayer Time zone: GMT+2/+3

OOC! Triggers: explicit sexual assault/rape, self-harm and depression, suicide

Themes/genres you like writing the most?: I usually gravitate towards darker genres (with a focus on character psychology), I like action, thriller, horror; but I also enjoy writing lighter genres! pretty much anything goes as long as it is interesting. my limits here are: (1) I do not write explicit smut (only implied, and only if it makes sense for the characters; otherwise it will be grazed over; I like the art of it not the penetration process); (2) I will never do forced romance or fluff, they have to come naturally.

[celticcrossanon]

CC! It is so good to see you back *hugs*.

What is it with Harry and his sulky, childish energy everyone seems to get when they’re reading about him? You’d think at his age he will know better but, sighs. And he wonders why people treat him as the “spare” or the “second”.

Hi G! it is good to be back. *returns hug*

To me, Harry's energy is that of someone who has been spoilt and indulged and sheltered all their life, and therefore they have never really grown up.

Most of us learn early on that pouting and sulking and throwing tantrums does not achieve the desired result, and so we redirect those impulses into what does get us what we want - usually something along the lines of accepting 'No' gracefully and either trying other ways to get what we want, or accepting that it is out of our reach. It takes some of us longer to learn this lesson than others, but most of us get there eventually.

I think that for whatever reason(s), Harry has never learnt this lesson (it may have been taught, but he never learnt it), so now when he is told 'No' he acts on those same childish impulses that most of us outgrew years ago. Harry can still learn this lesson and mature, but it will take time and people holding firm when they say 'No' to him - and not trying to make up for the 'No' by giving him other things. If that happens, as it appears to be happening, then it is Harry's choice as to whether he matures out of this behaviour or not. No-one likes a sulker, but I don't think Harry had got that message yet.

[alicentflorent]

do you think sansa called arya horseface? originally it only mentions Jayne using it and we never hear it from sansa directly but later on arya states that sans used horseface.

I can only make guesses based on the information we have, george wasn't very consistent in his writing of the horseface situation and honestly I doubt he gave it much thought and he probably didn't think it was a detail fans would think and talk about as much as they do.

I personally think Sansa probably used the name when they were younger, not all the time like Jeyne did just to hurt Arya, Sansa did love her sister, I think it is unlikely that she deliberately wanted to hurt or humiliate her and I do not believe she made her life in winterfell a living hell (the unfairly harsh post trident treatment of arya was not a reflection of their life and relationship in winterfell) because we would have been told about that in the multiple stark POVs we have. Sansa probably used it when they argued or she was mad or even jealous at arya for something which is not okay but it fits with what we know.

 I think when Sansa got older and started behaving more like proper lady preparing for her future she stopped the name calling, along with any other behaviours she considered to be childish, because she would have thought it to be childish and immature or maybe she even started realise how hurtful it was and decided to stop. She called Jon half brother over bastard when she learnt what it meant and likely found out it was derogatory term so she chose a more considerate term when referring to him, I know people will look at that and think it was unfair that she didn't just call him brother but I think Sansa was generally trying to be a more considerate person while sticking to society ways like she had been taught. in AGOT she mostly keeps her negative thoughts, biases and opinions about people to herself aside from when she blew up at Arya in kingslanding. Sansa is usually keeping herself composed and trying to be the perfect lady, daugther and fiancee like she is expected to.

Arya herself thinks Sansa is too much of a lady to smile or laugh at her getting into trouble which makes me think at that point sansa is too much of a lady to call arya horseface, She doesn't use the name when she's angry at arya post trident incident, if she used horseface on a regular basis back in winterfelli think it isn remarkable how she never once used it during their fights when she said all those hurtful things to Arya. She calls Arya ugly in a fit of rage which is absolutely not okay but she doesn't use the mean nickname that she apparently calls her sister which is why I think that Sansa outgrew it.

[growup-gloup]

How do I find myself I feel like I adapt my personality to a lot of people I’m around weather it be friends family or lovers but when I’m all alone I’m not sure who I am or what I actually like or do I like it because of other people or I do this because of me idk how to break from that and find me if that make sense

How do I develop interest I feel boring like I like music and anime but I’m not heavily into them how do I develop my interests more If that makes sense

I’m going to put these questions together. 

You should start by looking at what you do and how you act when you’re with others. You’ll notice you act a certain way around certain friends or family members as opposed to others. Out of all the things you say and do during that, including activities you might partake in around others, how much of that do you like and how much of it are you doing just because everyone else wants to do it?

For example, I’ve noticed that whenever friends get together at someone’s house and turn on a movie, most of the people, regardless of what group I’m with, seem to want to watch horror.  I watch it with them because that’s what most of the people want. But I’ve learnt that I hate horror and I’d never willingly put it on. Alternatively, when your friend recommends you a certain song from a certain genre, do you like it more than what you hear on the radio?

Beyond that, you can study yourself when you’re alone by considering the following points:

If you’re planning on watching Netflix by yourself, what movies/shows are you more likely to pick? There’s the mainstream stuff that everyone seems to watch, like Stranger Things, but there’s also the random stuff that appeals to you, but you haven’t heard a lot about. 

What are you likely to search up on YouTube? Do you tend towards lifestyle and influencer videos? Do you prefer to watch game-plays, or conspiracy theories, or informational videos? That content can help you understand what you like and what you’d like to do. 

This same practice can be done with books. If you don’t read much, I suggest you start. If focusing on words is challenging, try audio-books. If you can’t afford to buy new books or visit a public library, there’s options such as Overdrive and Z-Library. The books you will prefer to read will help you understand yourself more. In fact, there’s tons of books on this particular topic that you could check out. 

Suppose social media and streaming sites all shut down for the week, and you can’t meet anyone, but you have access to any resources you might want. What are you likely to spend your time doing? Would you go for a walk or hiking? Would you try something new like cooking/gardening/sewing? Would you teach yourself more about cars/fashion/animals, etc?

Keep trying new things. You’d probably heard the saying “don’t knock it till you try it”. As long as it’s safe to a degree, step out of your comfort zone every now and then and try something new. Many times you’ll hate it, but every now and then, you’ll find a new hobby or interest you’d never even thought about a week ago. 

If you’re not sure where to start, like what music to listen to or what to watch or read, or what hobby or skill to practice, ask a friend or family. Compile a list of everyone’s favorite media and what they enjoy doing, and go through the list. Hold onto what sticks.

Also, an important thing to remember is that people are dynamic and always changing. That’s why they have “phases”. Phases are fine. They help you understand one part of yourself better and even if you do the things temporarily, it helps you out in the long run. I’ve grown out of most of the phases I’ve had, but there’s a little residual vibe from each phase, even the toxic ones. For example, when I went through my internal misogynistic “I’m not like other girls” phase back in 2013-2014, I also learnt a lot of other things, like discovering other types of music while I was avoiding hip hop and r&b like the plague. I still listen to some of those songs today along with hip hop. I outgrew the toxic mindset and embraced femininity, but I didn’t give up on the music or the games I played then, though I opened myself to trying new things. What you like to today may not be what you like tomorrow, and vice versa. And that’s okay! Finding yourself is an ongoing journey that will continue on for as long as you’re alive.

💋

[catsafarithewriter]

"I like you for who you are now. You don't have to change for anyone but yourself." Gimme that good good angst

Some good good angst coming right up! Also, I apologise for the length of this ficlet - the idea was simple, but the execution required a more complex result. (Like, uh, 3.5K-length complex. Enjoy!)

x

“I didn’t give him the ability to love, you know,” the artisan said. He sat by Haru’s sickbed, a cane in hand that mirrored so closely that of his Creation’s. “To care, sure. To empathise with others, now that’s an important part of any hero. But to love?” He shrugged. “That development was not of my doing.”

Haru pushed herself up, ignoring the aches and pains of the last case. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” she said, her voice still hoarse from several days of disuse. 

The artisan shrugged. “Truth be told, it’s quite flattering that one’s own Creation can outgrow its artisan’s intent. That he has come to love not just one, but three individuals shows it to be more than an anomaly.”

There was a pause. 

Haru watched the man who had declared himself to be Baron’s artisan, tired and old and yet not so old as he should be. His eyes still shimmered with a gleam comparable to the gemlike irises of his Creation. Eternal eyes in a haggard face. 

Haru inhaled shakily. Her lungs still hurt from the bruised ribs. “So why do I feel like I’m being singled out?” she asked. “Why talk to me alone? Why not Muta and Toto as well?”

He waved her protests away airily. “The crow is of Baron’s kind, a Creation, and the cat is more magic than mortal after a lifetime in the Creation world, but you…” He inclined his head to her. “You are the mortal link.” 

Haru said nothing. 

The artisan’s gaze moved along the bandage that dominated the entirety of Haru’s right arm. Just one of many scars from the previous case alone. “You had a close call there.”

“But I survived.”

“You won’t always. Even if you - miraculously - somehow avoid an untimely demise through the Bureau’s recklessness, death will one day come for you.”

Haru smiled uneasily. “That’s kinda how life works.”

“Not for an immortal. Not for my Creation, or the crow, or possibly even the cat for a very long time yet. You are the only one for whom death is an inevitably.”

Her smile waned, only lingering because the other option was fear. She leant forward and clung onto the tight-lipped humour as she patted the artisan’s hand. “Thanks, but whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying. I’m quite happy being human; I’ve found I’ve rather got used to it.” She braced herself against the sides of her sickbed and began to shift her weight. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure the rest of the Bureau are quite worried about me–”

The artisan laughed. Haru froze. 

“Oh, how arrogant you are,” he scorned. “Do you really think this is about you?”

Haru slowly lowered herself back down. 

Curiosity killed the cat, her mind warned.

“Well, I did,” she said slowly, “until you laughed just then and said that. And now I’m thinking there’s some seriously crossed wires going on here.”

“Conceited fool, you’re only important because you matter to him.”

She swallowed nervously. “I have an ego that would argue otherwise.” 

The artisan continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “For whatever reason fate has decided, he has latched onto you as someone to love. Even though he knows it can only end in one way - in heartbreak and sorrow.”

Haru’s smile slipped away entirely. “Okay, I can’t even pretend to find this conversation funny anymore. What do you want.”

“What I want is to ensure that never happens.”

“And how will you do that? Like you said, I am mortal, I will die. Maybe not for years, maybe tomorrow, but I will die. I know that. Baron knows that. You can’t just change that–”

“Says who?”

Haru faltered. “What?”

He leant forward, those telltale eyes glittering. “Immortality is difficult, but not impossible to obtain.”

Haru tilted her head away, as if she could make his words make sense with a simple change of angle. “You’re talking crazy. Even if that was true, even if you did have a way, I’m not looking for immortality, like I said, I’m quite happy being human–”

“But is he?”

“Of course he is–”

“He must endure an eternity while you wither and pass and he is left alone. Why, in all the worlds, would he be happy with that, if he loves you as you know to be true?”

Haru’s mouth snapped shut. It opened and closed a few more times before she found words. “You can’t escape grief,” she eventually croaked. “You can’t protect him from that forever. Sooner or later he will lose someone he cares about, and it may be me, but it may be Muta or Toto, or even someone we haven’t met yet. Death is a fact of life, even for Creations, and he has to learn to live with that.”

“Does he?”

“What other choice does he have?”

“He was not made to love. That was not something I built into him, but something he learnt. As such, he was never made to bear the burden of a broken heart. To love is one thing, to grieve is another. Such an experience outside the scope of his creation could be enough to break him.” His hand curled around Haru’s wrist. “Are you willing to take that risk?”

Haru’s breathing shallowed. One part of her wanted to laugh at the idea, that Baron, her Baron, would simply shatter from the loss of her - not because she doubted he loved her, but because she knew he loved Muta and Toto also. He was not alone. And he loved his job. He loved the Sanctuary, and the adventure, and he loved people. He had more to live for than just her, and she loved him for it. 

And yet. 

And yet another part of her knew how uneasily he wore his immortality. How her own fragility haunted him in a way it did not haunt her. He never said as much, but she saw it in the way he worried for her, watched her, as if she might vanish in a heartbeat. As if he was trying to sear their precious moments together into his mind forever. 

He had never grieved. 

She would probably be his first. 

She exhaled, and realised she’d been holding her breath. “What do you have in mind?”

The artisan procured an apple from his bag, a simple, ruby-red apple, and Haru couldn’t help thinking of fairytale warnings and other unsettling allegories. “Fruit grown in the fae world,” he said. “One bite, and you will become immortal. Stronger. Hardier. A fitting companion for a Creation such as mine.” 

She eyed the fruit, and something inside her twisted. She shook her head, sharply. “No. No, I don’t want it.”

“Don’t make the mistake of forgetting this isn’t about you,” he snarled. “I will not allow the Creation I poured my heart and soul into to be destroyed by someone like you. If that requires a little immortality, then so be it.” 

“It’s about me the moment my life became involved,” she retorted. “And Baron outgrew your expectations once; he’ll do it again. He’s stronger than you give him credit for.”

The artisan didn’t move, and Haru could feel him weighing up her conviction. Then the hostility faded, and he straightened. He placed the apple on Haru’s bedside table. “Keep it,” he said. “You will come to realise I’m right eventually.”

“And if I don’t?”

Those eyes glimmered. “Then you have to ask yourself one thing. Do you really love him?”

x

The Bureau was quiet after the chaos of the last case. Muta and Toto had been banished from the Sanctuary for bickering, Baron citing the doctors’ prescription of rest and respite for Haru. Haru hadn’t really minded. At least it had been entertaining.

Curled up across the sofa with book in hand, she dropped her head back to watch Baron, his back to her while he washed up the tea cups. 

“So,” she said eventually, “that was your artisan.”

Baron gave a humourless chuckle. “What did you think of him?”

“I don’t like him.”

Another chuckle. “That’s blunt, Miss Haru, even for you.”

“You don’t really like him either, do you?”

Baron paused at his task, his back still to Haru, but there was surprise in the way he held himself. “Is it that easy to tell?”

“Only because I know you so well.” Haru pulled herself up, crossing her legs atop the sofa cushions and straightening. “Does he know?”

Baron’s stance shifted as he went back to washing up. “Probably. But I don’t think it matters to him.”

“Why not? He created you.”

“What does that change?”

“After putting his heart and soul into making you, there must be… something.” Haru thought back to her own fraught conversation with the artisan, and added, “You’re not nothing to him.”

“Maybe not,” Baron conceded, “but pride doesn’t correlate with care. One would not want a prized art piece to break, but that still doesn’t make it anything more than a possession.”

Haru’s mouth twitched into a scowl. “You’re not a possession.”

He still didn’t turn to her, but there was the tinge of amusement in his voice. “I know that, Miss Haru, and you know that, and that’s all that matters.” He faltered as Haru circled her arms around him, her head resting against his shoulder blades. “Miss Haru, I believe the doctors prescribed minimal movement while you recover.”

“Hugs don’t count,” she mumbled into his back. She held onto him, breathing in his scent of tea and mint, and wondered if he was thinking how fleeting the moments were also. If he felt like time was slipping away from them, even now. She inhaled again. “He offered me immortality.”

Baron stilled, and suddenly he was more figurine than figure. “Why?”

“He said he was worried about you having a mortal companion,” she muttered.

“What kind of immortality?” 

“Fruit from the fae world.”

She felt him exhale, and although the tension loosened, there was still a hoarseness to his voice. “You didn’t take it,” he said. 

“How can you be so sure?”

He lowered the tea cup he had still been holding, and finally half-turned to face Haru. “I would be able to tell,” he answered. “That kind of immortality… it comes with a cost. It’s true that you would never die, but neither would you truly live. You’d become like one of the fae. Temporal. Restless. One part of you would always be in their world.” He tilted his head, eyes so alike to his artisan’s and yet so different in every way that mattered, meeting hers. “You would no longer be the Haru I know.”

Haru’s smile was wan. “Just as well I didn’t eat then, isn’t it?”

“Were you tempted?”

“To be immortal?” She scoffed, and hoped it didn’t sound as hollow as it felt. “No thanks. I’m quite happy the way I am.”

I was never tempted for myself…

Baron nodded. “Good. Immortality never comes without a price. Even if you can’t see it at first.” He looked at her a moment longer, that same look as if he was trying to burn the memory of here and now - of her and him - into an eternal memory. “And, just for the record, I like you for who you are now. You don’t have to change for anyone but yourself.”

“I know,” she murmured. She sighed and dropped her head against his shoulder, and for a moment the world was quiet and calm and simple. “I know.”

Then you have to ask yourself one thing. 

Do you really love him?

x

“Shit, shit, shit, move, move, move!” Haru bundled the survivors towards the crackling portal, its fizzling surface spluttering as the connection between the two worlds faltered. They had thirty, maybe forty seconds, before it gave way entirely. The portal flared orange. Twenty. 

Haru caught Baron by the elbow. “Baron, it’s about to collapse!” she roared over the chaos. “You need to get over there and help Toto stabilise it!”

“I’m not going without you!”

She gestured to the people she was still herding. “One of us needs to get everyone through, and I don’t have any magic to help Toto.” Red. The portal was red. “Baron, now!”

He gave her one last look, and then nodded and disappeared into the fire-red depths. Haru motioned for the survivors to wait, aware that Baron could endure the journey, but she couldn’t be so sure about mortals. Red. Orange. And back to crackling yellow. Not ideal, but a damn sight better than before. 

She started people back through the portal just as colour began to leech from the world. The portal had thirty seconds. The world probably had twenty.

Only a dozen people left to go, and the world was greyscale now. 

Five. Everything was black and white. 

The last person stepped through and the ground gave way beneath Haru’s feet. The portal was orange, but without a world to anchor it, it sputtered and flared and an explosion of magic and colour ripped into Haru. She was thrown across the expanse of nothingness that the collapsing world had become. 

x

After what may have been seconds, or hours, or days, she opened her eyes. 

The world was quiet now. 

She was the only source of colour in the featureless void. She would have called her surroundings white, except that would have implied colour, instead of the true absence of anything it was. She floated there, a lone anomaly of existence in the void the world had left behind, wondering what her options were now. 

She probably couldn’t rely on a rescue. They’d had a hard enough time connecting to a world that didn’t want to be found, let alone one that no longer existed anymore. So that ruled out waiting. 

And she didn’t have any magic, so magicking her way back wasn’t even an option. 

Usually, in these kinds of situations, now would be a good time to take stock of the resources at hand and what they knew. Well, she was alone surrounded by quite literally nothing, and even the Bureau’s understanding of how the void between worlds worked was highly theoretical at best. So… a no-go on that too. 

She floated for a while, aware that she should be terrified - she was facing almost certain death - but found the emotion not forthcoming. Probably something to do with being nowhere. It scrambled all the usual survival instincts. So, on the plus side, at least it didn’t look like she was about to go into mental meltdown mode. Yet. There was still plenty of time. 

She floated for a bit longer, except she wasn’t sure for quite how long, since time didn’t seem to work properly outside a designated world. Her gaze travelled down her arms - it wasn’t as if there was much else to look at - and that’s when she noticed the splatter of colour adorning her sleeves. 

Except, no, it couldn’t be just colour, that would be ridiculous, even for here. She brushed a finger against the blob smearing her elbow and it peeled easily off, at first like dried glue, but as it drifted upwards (downwards? There wasn’t exactly gravity to gauge off) it expanded out into 3D, pulling itself into a bubble and aimlessly floated by her side. A tingle of loose energy buzzed along her skin and she realised it wasn’t colour - not just colour, anyway - but magic. 

The exploding portal…

Her mind was already racing, throwing off the cobwebs of the void. What she was seeing didn’t make sense in the context of any world she’d ever been in, but out here, in the void, the rules were different. Out here, magic wasn’t limited by the usual demands of reality. Out here, it seemed, magic could take on entirely other forms. 

She rolled the blob - it was purple - between her fingers, marvelling at the fact she was touching pure magic. She was probably the first person ever - or, late least, the first person to get home to tell anyone about it. And she was going home. She had a plan now. 

She began to peel more colour-magic stains from her clothes. 

For there wasn’t a lot known about the void between worlds, other than it was a bad place to get stranded, and Haru was well aware of that now, but one of the things most heavily theorised was the concept of potential. 

Worlds were born and created and made space for themselves in this void; the logic was that in order to do that, the void had to be flexible enough to allow all the conflicting worlds to coexist within it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to get worlds with completely different passages of time, or rules of magic that outright contradicted each other, or even the concept of souls operating differently (externally, in one particularly memorable world). the void had the potential for any of these worlds to exist and so, the logic went, since it was responsive to that, one would potentially be able to influence rules in the void simply on will alone. 

Of course, that was a lot of theorising, because no one had actually ever tried. Or, at least, tried and lived to tell the tale. Which, as far as reassuring thoughts went, was pretty far down on the scale. 

Still. One plan was better than none. 

She amassed more magic remains, and now it was beginning to sizzle as her intent poured into it. The void was susceptible to belief and, right now, Haru was a whole mess of belief and intent and everything else the potential responded to. She pictured the portal it had shattered from; she remembered the way the magic would crackle over her skin as she passed through it, and the way home, and the people she needed to get back to. 

Suddenly it expanded out and the swirling eddy of magic became a portal. Before it could slip away or she could lose control, she gripped her hands into, through the portal, and heaved herself through. Pressure shifted. She felt like all the air had been kicked out of her, and then she was drowning in air, and then she fell through into a world that was all too real and solid and bright. 

Her knees hit the cobbled street of the Sanctuary, and she had to bite her tongue to catch the curse before it slipped. The gasp gave way to laughter. Real, loud, almost tangible laughter that bounced off the miniature houses and echoed back to her. 

She was home. 

“Haru?”

Her entrance had been rather dramatic. Someone was bound to notice. She picked her head up and grinned at the form of Baron in the Bureau doorway. He was holding his hat and cane, like he had mistaken her arrival for a client and was preparing for some dramatics of his own. 

As he saw her, the cane clattered to the ground.

“You’re alive?”

Her grin froze. “What?”

The hat followed after the cane and he approached her, stopping just shy of within arm’s length. There was a shadow in his eyes, like he was afraid to be relieved. He started to reach out, and then haltered. “How…?”

“Improvisation. A lot of luck. And a little bending of reality’s rules.” She couldn’t let the smile fade entirely, for panic would take its place. “How long have I been gone?”

“A month.”

“Did you think I was…?”

“After the portal collapsed, we couldn’t get it up again,” Baron said, his voice hoarse. He still looked like he was meeting a ghost. Which she was, she supposed. His gaze couldn’t quite meet hers. “We thought the world had collapsed. And people don’t come back from the void between worlds.” 

“Well, here I am,” she said, weakly attempting humour. “Ta-da. Back.” 

“So I can see.” 

A heartbeat passed. Neither moved. 

Gently, Haru said, “It really is me.” She reached out, bridging the gap that Baron couldn’t bring himself to cross, a hand tentatively curling around his. “I’m here. I’m alive.” 

At the contact, something seemed to break. A wall. Or something. He abruptly stepped up to her and Haru barely registered before she was pulled into a sudden, uncharacteristic embrace. She could feel his breath rattling through him, shuddering through his lungs in heaving gasps that spoke of unshed tears, and the knowledge that her loss had broken something vital in him. 

She hesitantly returned the embrace, drawing him closer and letting her sure heartbeat calm his. 

“I’m here,” she echoed. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

x

“He must endure an eternity while you wither and pass and he is left alone.”

x

Haru stared at the apple atop her desk. It still looked as fresh and ripe as the day Baron’s artisan had given it to her. Immortal fruit for an immortal life, she supposed.

How fitting.

x

“Why, in all the worlds, would he be happy with that, if he loves you as you know to be true?”

x

She picked up the apple. 

“Sorry, Baron.”

x

Then you have to ask yourself one thing.

Do you really love him?

[klarolinedrabbles]

Yeah, you love about Henry VIII in detail in Primary School (Elementary) mainly because of his 6 wives - you learn the Henry VIII song. Divorce, beheaded, died; divorce beheaded, survive. But also because he couldn't divorce, he made his own church causing this religious uprest throughout history with protestant vs Catholicism. You learn about the Tudors from Henry VIII to Elizabeth I. Queen Victoria, I remember learning about her in Secondary School (Middle/High) and it was not the (1/3)

detail of the Tudors. I remember briefly learning about the Victorians in Primary School, because we did a school trip in Victorian outfits and at a museum and had a Victorian School lesson in which I was branded a Satan worshipper because I’m a lefty. But in terms of what Victoria actually did, we didn’t really learn. Just the industrialisation of her era. We also learn the Black Plague in great detail and of course WWII, also WWI but to a lesser extent. (2/3)

We also use to have the Horrible Histories book that were released when we were kids and so we learnt stuff from that. I never got round to watching the sketch show based on the books because by then I outgrew it. But speaking now, I’m getting nostalgic for the books. I’m trying to remember what else was learnt in histories. The War of the Roses was another, but again not in detail. Same for the American Civil War. I learnt more from the ACW on my own than school. (3/3)

But yeah, in School you kind of learn the superficial stuff about history. Whereas one of the things that appeals me with history - especially in terms of royals is the relationships and dynamics. But in some cases I do wish we learnt more about the political stuff, like with Victoria I had no idea about her Whig vs Conservative thing was so problematic and how rough the start of her reign was.

Hmmm, interesting! Thank you so much for expanding! Satan high five as a fellow lefty, yo! Also yaas, I was just about to ask about how much our civil war was touched upon in your studies. I learned of it briefly in middle school, but didn’t get into detail till I took U.S History as a junior in high school. 

[gryffindheir]

i have done other things in before, all without intending it or without knowledge, but after being approached four times, it’s about time i learnt. it’s about time i took responsibility.

i wrote neville as white. i then fancast him as a black man, with little to no thought. then, when remaking this blog, i reverted him back to white, thinking that that would ‘fix’ the problem i had caused by so thoughtlessly fancast him the first time (when i was first approached). as much as i tried to convince myself otherwise, and as much as i thought i was doing the ‘right thing’, i had no regard for people’s feelings. this was an act of antiblackness. being faced with this was confronting, and i tried to deny it. i was hypocritical, confrontational/reactionary, and most importantly: what i did was wrong.

the way i conducted myself in the replies was also wrong, and whilst in my own mind i thought i was speaking bluntly, the way i usually respond, i underestimated just how my tone would come across. it was appalling, and i’m sorry to rome and corrine. i know you don’t want to hear apologies and i acknowledge that. you were expressing to me again about something that made you uncomfortable, something you’ve seen in the rp community time and time again, and my actions were a complete disregard of that. 

i know that white people like myself have a way of explaining things in posts like this that sounds fake, and i am genuinely apologetic. i need to stop dodging the bullet: i’m 18 soon, and i’m going to be an adult. not just an adult existing as i am now, but (hopefully) an adult attending university, an adult who needs to get their functioning life together. i need to be mature, and as an adult, be accountable for my actions, and conduct myself in a decent and moral way. i don’t want this following me for the rest of my writing career --- not because of my ‘reputation’, but because i want to responsible, and because i want to begin making amends, so that when i leave the rpc, i can remember my experience, and others can remember their (later) experiences with me as positive. i don’t want to continue being another negative force on this platform. 

in saying that, i will endeavour to ensure that the blatant disregard for others, the mistakes made will never happen again. the fact of the matter is: i didn't think. i don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable, and i want to reiterate that i am not asking to be forgiven. not at all. this is the only safe space i have outside of offline life: and i know that is the case for many others too. i no longer want to be a cause of mass discomfort to people, and going into adulthood it’s time i outgrew such harmful and childish behaviour. thank you for taking the time to read this, and once again, i am so very sorry. 

thank you. 

[neo-somaliana]

I wore niqaab for 8 years. I started when I was 16 going on 17 and I remember it with such fondness. I'm no longer aligned with it in that way, but I absolutely love it and I will always protect niqabis especially those in the west. People spew such ignorant hatred, especially Muslims who feel inferior. And they always try to find some psychological loophole as to what possesses a woman to wear niqaab.

I'll tell you that I never intended to wear it and no one around me wore it. In fact a few months prior I was averse to it. I had started practicing 6 months prior to this but I found myself quickly fading out of the honeymoon phase of the initial emaan rush and I didn't like it. I saw myself backsliding and I knew it wouldn't bode well if I didn't do something. So one night, August 2006, I woke up for tahajjud at around 4 am. I made a nonspecific ducaa that Allaah guides me from the abyss I felt I was hurtling towards and that was that. Prayed fajr, went back to sleep. It was a Saturday I believe. On Saturday evening I went to a neighbour's where a woman wearing niqab was present. I had never been drawn to it but it was as if there was a magnetic pull that saw me ask her if I could try it on and it was like love at first tie lol. It clicked. I don't know what it was. It wasn't a conscious decision. It wasn't anything like that. It was just a click. Or you know when you have a backache and you stretch and it cracks? It was like that. I didn't know what I would do, how long I would wear it, if I would wear it to school etc. I was just winging it. All I knew was the feeling of bliss.

I was put through the wringers almost immediately. I was ridiculed by relatives, I was discouraged. I was doubted, I was met with disgust. And yet, it only increased me in resolve and faith. I don't know where it came from. I mean, of course, it was divine grace, but cognitively, it wasn't some thoughts that process i was employing to protect myself. I went to school where I was essentially black balled and people started rumours that I wore it because I got married. At 16. Lol. I remember I was cornered once in the girls restroom where they said why are you trying to make them turn against us (them being the non-Muslims), we already have a difficulty wearing the hijaab as it is.

I was hounded and given an ultimatum by the school administration to either drop the clothes or walk. On pure principality, I said deuces. I wasn't about to be made anyone's bitch.

Anyway, the niqaab served as an exo skeleton while I was going through my awakening and self-discovery. It was a protective barrier and that was such a godsend as a highly sensitive empath. It shielded me from people's vibes and intrusions. That's one thing I miss about it, the protection.

I wasn't necessarily wearing it out of a religious obligation. It was like a secret pact I had with Allaah. I grew really strong and brave because every single day when I'd leave the house I'd brace myself for glares, mockery, people moving away, people avoiding to sit next to me on the bus, kids crying, people calling me a terrorist. I learnt to show up in a world where it was fair play to abuse me - Muslims and non-Muslims alike. Somalis would frown at me and ask why I was dressed as a thief. They'd ask if I was a part of al shabaab. I learnt the art of being grounded and not reacting. I learnt to show up on my terms and not accept the projections of others.

For 8 years I never removed it once. I'd wear it even indoors if men came around. Even if I had non-mahram relatives who'd stay over (the torture!). In many ways, it was like martial arts and it was my sensei.

I stopped wearing it as organically as I had started. I simply outgrew it and I felt it as clear as I had felt that initial click. I was thankful for it. It taught me a lot about humanity and how people treat each other. It taught me how far good manners and empathy goes. It taught me to not judge or project on others. It taught me to stay grounded in my truth regardless of how others view me. It taught me to never bow down to anyone but Allaah. It taught me that if I do something sincerely, Allaah will aid me. It taught me that I only needed Allaah.