#tldr FASHION BRAIN FULL!!!!! FASHION BRAIN FULL!!!

[anemo-hypostasis]

The Idiot | Alhaitham/Reader

Pairing: Alhaitham/F!Reader

Summary: Three gifts have been given to Alhaitham. Each is regretted. None can be taken back. By the docks of Port Ormos, the recipient himself comes knocking. TLDR: you and Alhaitham grow up together. 

“I am a fool with a heart but no brains, and you are a fool with brains but no heart; and we’re both unhappy, and we both suffer.” - Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

Forewarnings: slight nsfw, angst, hurt no comfort, childhood friends. 18+ only.

Note: This is the most convoluted and choppy piece I have ever written, so advanced apologies and sincerest regrets! 

WC: 5.3K

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In this world, giving and receiving are referred to as a couplet. Like the concluding lines in a Shakespearian sonnet, fresh cream and cut peaches, or the blazing sun and the gentle moon. Many items, ideas, and actions are destined to pair in the same way giving and receiving are. It is a shame that you have given everything, yet received nothing. Like death harvesting life, an endless bonfire gobbling up surrounding air, or soldiers losing lives to fight soldiers losing lives. Sometimes, it is hard to define it as an equilibrium, because it never evens out. It is Newton’s cradle, never existing in the same state yet existing together. Like Kepler’s elliptical orbits. Like an oil spill in the harbor.

The anchorage of Port Ormos brings sound to a once-silent ocean. Merchants advertise Inazuman lacquerware, the newest Sumeru City fashion fads, and bottled fragrances. Rose custard is sold instead of padisarah pudding. Intricate rugs of cobalt blue and sanded beige are sold on the street corner. I remember you. The smell of adhigama leaves. I remember everything about you. 

“I didn’t expect you to be one for seafaring.” He smells like Port Ormos, even though he’s a city boy. He’s been here for too long, and the stench has clung to him. 

“It’s nice to escape for a little bit. Sumeru City is suffocating sometimes. I’m sure you know how it is,” He doesn’t respond or settle down. Just does what he always does - looms. The wind tussles his cloak as you continue, “I heard you got a promotion.”

“Not for long, I hope. Being the Grand Sage doesn’t have any appeal to me. I much prefer the mediocrity and flexibility of my last position.” He never has been one for material gains or a boost in reputation. He told me as much. Did he change his hairstyle? I wish you would’ve just lied.

Perhaps that is why you have always given. The man who is uncaring about how he is perceived disregards the people around him. How delusional were you?

First, you gave him your word. It was five years short of a score ago, by the banks of the Sumeru River. People always scold children not to play in it because of the spinocrocodiles and its pollution, but at the time, it appeared magical. The ghost of the moon floated on the rushing current, and the two of you sat on a purple beach towel in hopes of seeing the soon-to-come eclipse. It had taken days of begging, but at the end of it all, you had gained both permission and a basket of packaged baklava.

“Did you know that one pistachio tree consumes forty gallons of water?” Plucking a stray pistachio in his mouth, the boy began devouring the preserved dessert. Honey and oil coated both of your hands, catching in your hair and smudging your face.

“Then how come they’re dry?” You responded, still chewing. 

“Ew, don’t talk with your mouth full. But, that’s a foolish question. The tree is not the same as the nut.” The boy’s eyes, cut in ornate lozenges, are blocked by sun visors handed out by the Rtawahist Darshan; his focus is transfixed on the moon’s iron-blood hue as if looking away could scare the celestial bodies back to normalcy and dissipate the scene. There is an identifiable tenacity in that gaze. It’s something you know, but that you never speak into existence. Like basic arithmetic. Like the burn of a red stove. Like adult secrets.

“It’s nice that you just, like, know everything. I wish I were like that… my governess always yells at me ‘cause I never remember anything.” The words are laced with the naivety of a child, but the boy, never adhering to the norm, musters a sardonic scoff. 

“That’s why I don’t have a governess or attend school. It’s much better for self-study, and there’s no one to hold you back in the name of collectivism,” There is a slight humor in the way the boy, no older than twelve, conducts his speech. It is an ironic contrast, the sweet tone of a child pronouncing diction used in seminar recounts, research essays, and upperclassman-level textbooks. He adds, “But I understand this is a situation unique to me. Most individuals my age are not as advanced in intellect, so this method may not benefit them. People think me odd or uneducated because of it.” 

“I’d never think that of you. I mean, so many boys are so cruel and mean, but you’re so smart and never act like that on purpose. Like how you knew about everything the Rtawahist presenter was sharing. I don’t like everyone else.” The moon augments into a shade reminiscent of curdled blood as you dote, and the boy does not stray from its view. He sighs.

“It will be hard for you to make other friends that way. Isolated friendships are unhealthy. Time should be evenly distributed across numerous interests.” How cold. Chilled gales connect themselves to pale strands of hair. Like dew on a frosted morning. Like streams of snowmelt.

“But you don’t hang out with other people, and you’re fine.” You refute.

“I’m different from other people. Even though you might not realize it yet, you’re not like me. Limiting yourself to me is rash and will cause you suffering.” The cicadas descend from a choir to a solo. The moon, basking in Tevyat’s figure, converts to full crimson. The Sumeru River is alight with God’s plague as if you and the boy had struck a staff into its icy peaks and converted it to blood yourselves.

“I’ll always be with you,” Like faith and doubt. Like bread and wine. Like iron and coal. He stills, and you continue, “I won’t ever hate you, so let’s stay together, Haitham.”

The Port is privy to action at hours subsequent to midnight. Legality is blind in the encompassing darkness of dusk, and the harbor reveals its covert treasures: women, contraband, and manpower. The Sab Al Bahr, your method of transport, had docked for the customary enterprises of nightlife in Port Ormos. Three women from Liyue - Lihua, Qingyi, and Tao - had made for excellent yet bittersweet company among the crew. By now, they will have been escorted to their new residence among the harrowing back alleys of Ormos, confined to a destitute bed in a room of a dozen similar women. The aura of liveliness comes at a cost of livelihood. Giving and receiving. Ebb and flow.

“It’s been years, hasn’t it? Since we’ve talked.” Unfamiliar awkwardness permeates the air. The estrangement of the familiar always leaves unease of a horrendous nature. I remember when I knew you. I remember when you knew me.

“I’d estimate around four. Our correspondence leaves much to be desired,” He sits on the garden curb behind you. There is disfavor in his voice as he asks, “Did you come from Sab Al Bahr?” 

“It was convenient from Liyue to Magador to Ormos. They’re not so bad.” Shame crawls up your cheeks, invisible to the naked eye but prominent to your senses. 

“Liyue… Prostitutes and finery, I presume? I can’t say I judged you as the type. The lifestyle of a pirate is quite different from that of a scholar. Even living amongst them must be quite the culture shock.” 

“I never was quite the scholar. Not like you. The passion left after I had my thesis rejected four times in a row, I think.” There is humor in your tone, poking fun at the detriment that appeared so intense once upon a time. The scuffle of decal boots approaching the dock’s ledge made you look back. The man sat down, a grimace tugging at groomed eyebrows and thin lips.

“Naeem Farhat was your chosen advisor. That was your first mistake - he was known for nitpicking any details that he found tedious or against his personal bias. It takes a student with a near-identical mindset to succeed under his tutelage. Personally, I thought Kifaya Hakim was the best choice for you; she provides critical yet honest feedback and focuses on celestial movement patterns in conjunction with various geological points.” There it is. That all-knowing attitude, removed from pleasantries and ample in diluted self-righteousness. I loved all of you. Some people never change. I admired every part of you.

“Had you told me that, I would have chosen her, but you were gone for research in Devantaka. I went with my instinct.” It is a bit bitter, now that the statement has been dispersed into the salty air. Like the white flesh of pomegranates mixed with red seeds. Like raw and unaged pu-erh. 

“Sometimes,” he pauses, “It is important to make choices without outside influence.”

The second coffer offered to him was a pearl to a clam; it was your heart, faithful and unadulterated. It shined with iridescence in his monochromatic grasp, esteemed and coveted. To this day, it is your penultimate regret. Gifting love to the wrong individual is a most punishing mistake.

The boy, now eighteen, sits in his grandmother’s abundant library when you give him your gift. He has never pursued public education, but the flurry of excitement in the neighborhood as families convene to photograph daughters and sons in graduation gowns is a contagion; unavoidable. The pleated mint fabric is embroidered with the braids and twists of vines, as homage to Greater Lord Rukkhadevata. One cord with twists of navy and beige rests on your shoulders, akin to ancient Roman laurels of olive and blossom.

“Do you think you’ll come to the ceremony?” You ask, watching as he flips to the next page of Metaphysics. He doesn’t meet your eyes, opting to scribble a note in the margins of the aged paper.

“I had planned to finish reading this, but… I suppose I could attend. Just for your section. Since your class is around two-hundred people, I’ll come about twenty-five minutes in. Is that agreeable?” Part of you wonders if he is writing a reminder to himself. Nodding, your lips turn up and you ruffle the boy’s silken hair.

“Thanks! I would’ve been very upset. God, this gown is so frumpy… Oh, by the way, I had, uh, something to ask. It’s kind of important, so would you mind looking at me?” Eyes like cut jade diced with topaz flicker up, and he closes the book with slowness. He raises an eyebrow as if to say, what’s so important? Hands, nimble and uncalloused, motion for you to speak.

“So, we’ve been friends for a while, and I enjoy being friends with you, so I want to preface this by saying that no matter what, you are a friend first and foremost..” you gulp, hesitant, before sighing, “I really like you, Haitham. Romantically. Even though it’s selfish of me, I can’t help but hope you feel the same way. If you don’t, that’s fine - I would never hold it against you.” Distant cheers erupt from the parallel side of the library’s window, emphasizing the blankness of noise collapsing in on you. The boy sighs.

“I had my suspicions,” He stands from the algae-toned couch, extending with, “But I didn’t think you’d confess before graduation. Isn’t that a bit risky? Standing between fine lines seems to be a hobby of yours.” It’s zaytun peach season in Sumeru City. Bushes grow plump with heavy bodices of sugared flesh and skin, and the city becomes alight with scent. The delicate fragrance tangos around your nostrils, and you use it as a distraction. Later, when this humiliation is foregone, you’ll sink your canines into the flesh of a fresh peach, and the affliction of rejection will slide down your throat as if it had never been birthed.

“That being said, I thought it was obvious enough that I shared your sentiment. Have you really been worrying over such a trivial detail as to whether I share your affections? Relationships are of little importance to me. People in this world often cause their own problems and make life harder for themselves; pleasure seekers land themselves in debt, self-important authorities expose themselves to dangers, and lovesick partners spend their lives attempting to appease another. Having a relationship is just another engagement filled with more trifles than necessary. Do you understand?” Ice purges itself down your spine. His gaze is hot and immovable as if delving into the mush of the human psyche in an attempt to draw an answer. Like a hook caught in the flank. Like the milliseconds before an earthquake. Like a judge at the podium.

“I won’t pressure you, but I want you to know that I would accommodate you. Love is not a one-size fits all. Haven’t we known each other since toddlerhood? I think if there are any two people that are capable of adjusting to the other’s needs, it’s us. So please, don’t say yes, but don’t say no, either.” Desperation bleeds from a trifecta of the human body - tone, expression, pose - and scurries to the ground. It curdles and coalesces by the boy’s feet, a single evolutionary leap short of being able to climb up his legs, chest, and mouth. It is almost able to devour him, but not quite. He runs pale hands through sleek hair, a sparse yet meaningful action that communicates a genuine dilemma. 

“Okay. I’ll consider it. But if your expectations remain unsatisfied, and a chasm develops between us, don’t be surprised,” the boy caresses the spine of Metaphysics and excuses it to the daystand, saying, “Don’t let me ruin a good day. Graduation is meant to be celebratory. Come on, let’s go together. It’ll be faster.” 

By the windowsill, the boy’s grandmother has set out a lustreware bowl filled with zaytun peaches. Their skin is exquisite, glinting in the light as if waxed, and a pink-to-magenta gradient paints them in the image of a summer Sumerian sky. The boy grabs one as he leaves the archway. 

He grabs your hand in the same archway two weeks later, warning you of all its hazards and rough edges. But the young are naive, concerned with the future, and dismissive of the present, and two hands come to reciprocate his. 

Djafar Tavern hosts a diverse audience. Ayn Al-Ahmar Eremites sit in isolated pluckings. Street dancers weave themselves into the edges of sidewalks and patios, hoping to glean gold and mercy from tavern patrons. Researchers admit fatigue and failure in research and seek comfort in the dulling buzz of oncoming pints. The man sits across from you, one ankle crossed at the knee and knuckles flush against his cheek. Copper liquid sits idle in his mug.

“I happen to remember a certain scribe getting so wasted, he wretched into the bushes for ten minutes straight.” The tendrils of alcohol have tickled your cheeks. Each word comes out more vivacious than planned, and the man across from you observes in amusement.

“Is that so? If my memory serves me, I happen to recall a young academic begging the aforementioned scribe to cook her a full-sized portion of biryani after a rough night out in Ormos.” Merriment is an exclusive color on the man, and it oozes from each syllable. Teasing, when done right, can be a rambunctious affair. Sweat beads on the wrinkles of his forehead and at the rear of your neck as a product of Sumeru heat and the excitement of reunion. The flax of alcohol seeps down and down, until the past and future evade your thought, leaving the remains of a sweltering fuzz.

“It’s so odd. I’ve been upset with you for so long, but now, I can’t even remember why. Tell me, Alhaitham, what did you do? I can’t recall the details, but I’m sure you’ve done something…” Hiccups bubble up and out between strung-out utterances. The man, sober as he seems, is overrun by prominent reds and pinks on the apple of his cheeks. The tab for tonight is bound to be hefty - it requires an absurd amount of alcohol to inebriate him with low-quality beer. Sitting back, the trinkets on his belt create a quiet symphony of noise.

“I think we’ve both had too much to drink. This is sure to be a headache in the morning. It’s best I get you home now.” The sky is pigmented in hues of navy and onyx. It stands out amongst the depraved prostitutes, screeching merchants, and tainted light. Like an abyss beneath the sand. Like dancers in the rain. Like a whale beneath the ship. It is so unfaltering, unknown, and expansive. Droplets dew in the corners of your eyes. Stationed in the middle of the street, eyes never blinking, you watch the sky.

“Come now. There will always be another sky to watch. I need to get you home.” He needs to get me home. The cosmos moves in synchronization. Since when have you wanted me home? The stars, gaseous and alight, provide entertainment as two strangers walk the boulevard. Since when have we been strangers?

Like the Three Wise Men, you adorn the boy with gold, frankincense, and myrrh of your own. Gold appeals to all, but its merit does not hold up to true testaments of need; it is fragile, and the teeth of the mouth can damage its delicateness with ease. Frankincense is a traditional offering to God himself, representing love and devotion. It designates its recipient as divine and deserving of worship. Myrrh anoints the corpses of the bygone, and its role as a gift symbolizes the sacrifice of death. It is giving without receiving. For the offering of myrrh, you relinquish flesh.

Rtawahist textbooks cast a shadow over the blank canvas of an assigned paper labeled “On the Relation Between Starshrooms and Celestial Objects.” Dozens of researchers and undergraduates sit in identical positions, hunched above a pile of papers adjacent to an impressive tower of established sources. Studies on the Biological Evolution of Starshrooms. Phases of Constellations and Celestial Movement. Changes in Biodiversity in Relation to Month. It sent rivulets of vexation down your limbs, increasing in intensity the longer the pen in your hand remained motionless.

“I just don’t get it. People have submitted far less appealing work to him, and he accepts it with no issue! I mean, one person was missing an entire body paragraph, and he took it!” The skin of your palms grants reprieve to the ache of your pupils, rubbing up and down in hopes of relieving a fraction of the tension flitting across your expression. 

“Currying favor is a common practice in smaller classes. If your work isn’t revolutionary and the professor has a bad impression, bias can play an important factor in whether or not you pass.” The man, now twenty-two, is enchanted by the booklet in his grasp. Homological Mirror Symmetry. Even so, he spares a glance at the disappointing lack of substance positioned on the opposite side of the adhigama desk. One blue and white lampshade illuminates the space, creating an intimate and closed-off aura.

“Do you think I haven’t tried that? I have. I gave him baklava, zaytun peaches from the Bazaar, and a coupon to Puspa. I think he’s biased against women - did I ever tell you how there are no other women in my class? Tell me that’s not the craziest coincidence!” In your petulance, the disengagement of the man across from you remains unseen. So, when he proposes a heinous question in the public ambiance of the House of Daena, it comes out rash.

“Do you dislike that we haven’t had sex?” He does not coat bitter apples in sugar or insist on that which is roundabout. It aids in the directness of communication within the relationship, but in moments such as these, it can be overwhelming. Spit sputters from your throat as you regain composure.

“I’m-I’m sorry? Haitham, you can’t just say those things in public! Jeez, imagine if someone heard you… can’t we talk about it later?” Each affricate is squeezed between teeth, hissing and aggravated. The man is unphased, eyes locked onto yours.

“It’s just a simple question. People our age engage in hook-up culture and sex, and our bodies are biologically the most receptive to desire at this life stage. Despite this, we’ve only gone as far as kissing. I want to know if this upsets you, or if it seems like I’ve neglected your needs.” It is hard not to desire the man he has transformed into. Cultivated abs peek up from beneath his augmented uniform, his hair is lush and coated in grains of moondust, and there is a unique charm to his extensive intelligence. That being said, Sumeru City has a centuries-old culture of sexual shame and repression. It is to be consumed with caution, and in appropriate amounts, so as to avoid the dissipation of rationale and pragmatism. In some ways, his ability to overlook social norms in favor of reasonable logic is alluring. In others, it is humiliating. Like crime and punishment. Like a kiss upon the altar. Like a veil raised in love and lowered in grief.

“I mean, I’m not upset! I know physical affection doesn’t appeal to you, and I would never want to force you into something you don’t enjoy. That would upset me more than not… y’know…” Galesh heels hitting stark tile reverberate in the House of Daena - the environment is anything but private.

“Having sex? I see. In that case, let’s discuss this further at my apartment after lectures.” He heralds the book under his arm and marches off, as indifferent as a rock amidst a gouging river. Meanwhile, embarrassment has yet to settle into the bottom sediment of your nerves. Praying to Lesser Lord Kusanali that no Rtwahist peers overheard the conversation, you return back to “On the Relation Between Starshrooms and Celestial Objects” with novel zeal. 

The evening of Sumeru City is lit to the firmament, artistic street lamps lining the pavement home. The man’s apartment is a short walk from the Rtwahist offices, and it has become an unofficial meeting spot between the both of you. The light emanating from inside is dim - it could be no more than a few candles lit - and a gnawing sensation comes to violate your senses. The pleasantry of knocking has long since been disposed of, and you step in.

The man sits on the ornate sofa in the center of the living room. On the coffee table sits a new book to conquer. Vita Sexualis. The corner of a navy bookmark peeks from its battered pages. It must have been too difficult to find a new copy; he preferred to have well-kept covers, if possible, so a cracked and yellowing title was a sign of uncharacteristic “settling.” 

“Do you make a habit of reading state-banned erotica?” You joke, placing your rucksack on the floorboards and taking a seat next to him. He shrugs.

“If something is banned, doesn’t that make it all the more intriguing? Looking at what society deems ‘beyond the pale’ can say more about cultural norms than an entire course at the Akademiya,” Like clockwork, he repositions himself to face you. The physical closeness is off-putting after four years of sparse affection. The man continues, “Sexuality, in all forms, is looked down upon by the youth and elders alike. However, it is hardly something worth devoting fear to. Do you agree?” 

“Sure, but that was never- I just didn’t think you’d want that from me.” His palms lift your chin. It is awkward. He has resented romance and insisted on the idiocy of its frivolities since childhood, but he knows the logistics of what is appealing and what is not. He knows you like it, and so he does it. Like covering ears and reading lips. Like fruit on the cutting board. Like an antidote to poison.

“I will admit that sex, alongside other typical gestures, is not a focus or concern of mine. That being said, I am far from opposed to it. I would like to experiment with it if you are consenting.” Silver tickles your cheek and he leans over. Excitement pulses through your bloodstream, sending tremors down your hands. 

“I think I’d like that too, Haitham.” Lips meet lips in a delicate kiss as the skin of your hand merges with his neck. Those eyes, emboldened, roll down in sync with his palms. They caress the fullness of your cheek, the tips of your fingers, the curve of your waistline, the ridges of your trachea, the divots of your collarbones. Fire perches itself as a phantom of touch, burning into the skin. The musculature of his back flexes beneath your left hand as he covers your body. Leaning back on his heels, thighs flexing on the sides of your legs, he pulls the hem of his shirt up.

You savor him. Skin glows like moonlight under the approaching moon, and your fingers slide along the expanse of his stomach. Pushing yourself up, you catch his lips another time, and another, hands roaming across his pectorals and neck.

“Can I take your shirt off?” He asks between kisses, arms supporting the circumflex of your back. His wish is granted, and as he departs from your face, he pinches the Liyuean silk between his thumb, index, and middle fingers, pulling it up to reveal your chest. There is a technique behind each audacious caress; the subtle liberation of your bra, his built arms pressing you chest-to-chest, the chaste trail he paints down your abdomen. He pauses.

“Is something wrong?” You mutter, splayed out on the couch cushions. The nakedness is frightening, and now that the action has stopped, a shiver begins to tease your skin.

“I think we’ve reached the part where we strip. I don’t want to alarm you, so I’ll ask: is it alright if I fully undress you and myself?” His constant confirmation is reassuring, but a small section of your consciousness dwindles on the robotic nature of it all. Each action reeks of formulation and plagiarism - like a schoolboy gleaning answers from a neighbor, or an essay using sections of Akasha terminal outputs. I don’t care. I don’t care at all.

“Be my guest.” Then, you are bare against his chest. Everything is warm, and the man dons a charming flush across his cheeks and chest. His fingers are akin to a honey wand in a pot, covered in the fruits of his labor as he clenches your fingers with his free hand. Small groans and intakes of breath permeate the room, creating a sickly sweet humidity. When he unbuckles his slacks, you turn to the side, shock and shame intermingling into one. Noticing, his thumb catches your cheek.

“I promise to be gentle. Tell me everything that comes to your mind. Your input is important to me.” The moonlight has enveloped the entire room. Few corners are hidden under its judgment, and the man above you is a beauty. Like sparkles at sea. Like pearls clutched between strings. Like a golden girdle lost on the battlefield. 

“I love you, Alhaitham.”

Port Ormos has one notable inn. The remaining options are either on the outskirts of town or surrounded by the “undesirables” of society. It is Najjar Palace, a one-star inn, that has the misfortune of hosting you. Outside of the dim entrance, Alhaitham holds your robes as you vomit into the bushes. It has been a few hours, and after an extended walk and a pitcher of ice water, soberness begins to creep in. Tears dot your face, and smudges of kohl mark your under eye. 

“I’m sorry. Our first meeting in years, and I get shitfaced.” Regret blossoms in your countenance. He shrugs, handing the fine robes back to you.

“I can’t act holier than thou after becoming inebriated myself. Do you feel well enough to carry on?” The moon is a picturesque reflection of Lesser Lord Kusanali tonight. Its pale expanse is large and smooth, dust catching in its earth-bound light. Sitting down, you gaze at its fullness. How is it that the moon is always there for your more humbling moments?

“I feel good now.” He nods, then connects your focus to the brightness in the sky. He stares at it, too. Sighing, you state, “It's always here when we’re together. The moon.”

“It was a full moon that night as well, wasn’t it?” Alhaitham adds, cape draped against the cement floor. 

“I didn’t even realize. I was so upset,” a breeze disrupts the branches above and you laugh, “I think there’s a journal somewhere where I compared you to about thirty different things. Some good, some bad, but the pages were filled with edgy similes. Like Kepler’s orbits, like Newton’s cradle…” You recount, snorting.

“I’m sorry,” Alhaitham says, a softness lining the clouds of his words. He stiffens, “I broke things off in a way that ignored your feelings. That was unusually inefficient of me.” 

“...I tried to forget your name. It’s been so long since I’ve said it without scolding myself afterward. I tried very hard to forget you, Alhaitham.” One leaf falls onto your scalp, and you pluck it off and throw it to the brush. The atmosphere is refreshing. Genuine, yet understood. 

“It is unbecoming to my personal morals to stay in a relationship forever tainted by inequality. For everything I gave, you gave much more. It never evened out, and it didn’t sit well with me.” He reveals, crossing his ankle over his knee yet again. You remember feeling that way - like he didn’t care. Just like he predicted. You remembered the betrayal when you found his belongings moved out and his contact changed. You remember when he left you, and you were forced to leave him. You remember thinking about him for the next year, jotting down notes in the leatherbound journal he had gifted you on your twelfth birthday.

Like the concluding lines in a Shakespearian sonnet, fresh cream and cut peaches, or the blazing sun and the gentle moon. Like death harvesting life, an endless bonfire gobbling up surrounding air, or soldiers losing lives to fight soldiers losing lives. Like Kepler’s elliptical orbits. Like an oil spill in the harbor. Like basic arithmetic. Like the burn of a red stove. Like adult secrets. Like dew on a frosted morning. Like streams of snowmelt.  Like faith and doubt. Like bread and wine. Like iron and coal.  Like the white flesh of pomegranates mixed with red seeds. Like raw and unaged pu-erh.  Like a hook caught in the flank. Like the milliseconds before an earthquake. Like a judge at the podium.Like an abyss beneath the sand. Like dancers in the rain. Like a whale beneath the ship. Like crime and punishment. Like a kiss upon the altar. Like a veil raised in love and lowered in grief.  Like covering ears and reading lips. Like fruit on the cutting board. Like an antidote to poison. Like sparkles at sea. Like pearls clutched between strings. Like a golden girdle lost on the battlefield. 

You were everything that has ever been to me, you want to say. It beats true in your heart and veins, knocking at the bars like an aggravated prisoner, but nothing spews from your lips. Nothing but this. 

“It’s late. Thank you for taking care of me, Alhaitham. Goodnight.” You don’t turn around to see his wave or nod or whatever nonchalant gesture he’s resorted to. The inn is 10,000 per night. You hand the receptionist 50,000. You unlock the room, rampant with musk and stains. You sit down on the sheets. Your eyes close.

In the morning, Alhaitham is nowhere to be seen. Everything feels a bit clearer. I think I am okay with remembering you now, you think. I am okay with forgetting, too. Remembrance and forgetfulness. Giving and receiving. What an idiot. 

[whiskeyswifty]

In your opinion what do you think is the closest she’s ever come to serving hahaha (for the record I find her serve allergy quite charming)

LMAOOOOOOOO i mean i do have a weird encyclopedic brain for some taylor things, but it doesn't have a search bar function like that unfortunately. more of an input/output photo recognition type thing which is utterly useless 99% of the time. I think a "serve" by my own definition is like a particular kind of sharp, relevant, statement making look and that's not really how she utilizes clothes historically (i tried looking for a long ask i answered a long time ago about this but i couldn't find it lol but i tried! tldr: she uses clothes to come off accessible). so i think it's both that fashion in the progressive and bold sense is just not a skill of hers innately but also intentionally she avoids it to maintain that character of relatable friend to the masses. she's shed it slowly over the years, and a bit more recently so i think i have a few here for you that i think are either a serve or in the ballpark of a serve! on base even! (my sports metaphor can only go so far)

little off the shoulder pleated pants situation. simple, sleek, sexy, cuts an interesting figure for her especially with the draping of the pants. tight and dark on top with the shirt and jewelry and flowing and kinetic on the bottom, balance and contrast, very purposeful. the heel is not quite on point, could have used the shoe for a bolder statement or something geometric to ground it all but i love it still!! a serve!

2. this incredible moment which is a serve in HER style language if that makes sense. preppy and polished and prim, but with an exaggerated form using the oversized rugby dress and logo on her chest. dark and high contrast to the rich warmth of the leather boots and the bag and her softer lip. leaving the legs bare for a bit of a cunty/slutty effect, and the shirt unbuttoned all the way down. GREAT way to play with scale and provocation and still stay within your comfort zone, unbelievably hot. servington 10000.

3. rare coconut head w but my god what a suit. nothing says serve like all white/cream down to the shoe and the bag. minimal makeup, peachy lip, relaxed power suit like. very bold for her. a full serving of all your daily fruits and vegetables AND grains!!

4. and whatever the fuck this was i mean why are there no more photos of this. she looked AMAZING!!!!!! from what we can see anyway. there are chains on it too and she's got the big hoop earring like what a bold look for her!! even the shoulders have a bit of padding on top of the crop which really exaggerates the form in a fun way. we were ROBBED of a full body serve!!!

[fizzarollitm]

.thinking about a proper loose fizzy timeline now that I've played him more and developed him Note: This is like 50% character study and build for me to better understand Fizz and how I want to interpret him. Everything is adaptable for the sake of threads or hc's!

tw; stalking

1-3: Born in Greed, he has very little memories of his bio-parents. Thinks they were low level in some mob but hard to know for sure. Never reached out (and likely don't even know/recognize Fizzy is their child once he gets famous) in his life.

3: A circus worker found him abandoned by the popcorn stand. While at first people thought it was a case of some couple losing their kid (not the first time nor the last) as announcements became more "Come get your fucking child", it got obvious no one was going to claim him. Cash saw money signs in adding another child (sweet, sweet unpaid labor) to the roster, and that was that. Cash got the name Fizzy from a random clown prop/sign (I just love the idea Fizzarolli is like HHverse of naming your kid Krusty)

5: First glimpse of Mammon; it was one of those blink and you miss it life altering moments: An ad on a TV in a shop window, a millisecond of Mammon performing at some mall before getting shoved out by security, him passing by on a float of money. He saw him and his whole brain flared to life and he saw his future ahead of him. He will be the greatest clown ever!

General childhood notes; Grew up in step with Barbie and Blitz following everything they ever do. He did any stunt they did because they didn't seem scared so why should he. He loved performing for them and making them laugh and that love spilled over into Clowning very easily. If you had asked him what his dream was at this age it was the three of them forming a traveling trio and TAKING OVER THE WORLD

13-15: Light teen fuckery like shoplifting makeup they can't afford and fabric to make costumes. He gets handy with a sewing machine and makes everything for the three of them usually basing it off of whatever Clown Fashion magazine he swiped. He also starts to experiment with his gender around here and comes out as nonbinary in his early teens!

15; Seeing Mammon was the greatest night of life. He still thinks about it as an adult and the whole night gets swept up in this haze that destroys every blemish, in his mind it was the perfect show. Blitz's (right) negative comments bleeding the jealousy filter that comes later. He will be Mammon's protege even if it means leaving the Circus. This was also when the "light" stalking he experienced hit a new high and when Blitzo became his unofficial bodyguard. Cash told him to ignore it and " Take it as a good sign of how popular you are!"

16th [Explosion]: This will be a full hc post by itself one day but tldr he spent most of the after unconscious. Later, he got told the "hero" Cash pulled him from the wreckage before the remains of the tent finished what the fire didn't. He is shocked and hurt made worse by Cash's claims it was Blitz who did it, years of jealousy turning unfortunately deadly. Barbie is in not much better shape and they are alone in the wreckage wracked with betrayal, pain, and medical debt.

16-21: Recovery time. He got fitted with prosthetics and started physical therapy pretty quickly. He focused on his goals and put his head down while also learning ASL for when 1) His voice is too weak to speak from smoke damage 2) Hearing loss in his right ear. Soon he was able to rejoin the Circus (Albeit in a much more stripped down form) and eventually after Barbie's use made her unable to perform, took on most of the performance rolls. He mostly stayed out of guilt with Cash being his "savior".

21: Things hit a boiling point. After Barbie left it was a lot on him as the face of the Circus and he started making demands as such. Cash pushed back again and again until finally he snapped and ended their professional relationship. Out of impulse, he left the Circus for Mammon's stage entering the competition in a thrown together costume and a prayer. And. He. Fucking. Won. After signing on he realized the debt he had with Mammon but shrugged it off as a reality of fame. He moved into greed and took up a small apartment and lived out the year as any other winner. This includes an AI scan to create a robot for LooLooLand.

Nebulous pre-canon I have no set date for:

Mammon announced his wish to start selling robots in his likeness. He felt a little weird about it but went along with it using a more advanced AI based off the LooLoo Land model.

Asmodeus was commissioned to work on them (Fizzbot was made by Mammon hence its...quality) and him and Fizzy gradually grew closer over the project.

Sex robots come shortly after and he just keeps saying yes because its Mammon! His Idol! ...wooh. Also the echo of Crash's words about the stalking not helping much either.

As Mammon shifted focus to the Fizzy Bots, the stage became less a focus and he started working in Ozzies. Moving to Lust as his work moved out of Greed just made sense.

[narrators-journal]

Hey, I'm trying to make a Yandere Persona 3 fanfic (Which is being posted on AO3). Can you give me some advice as to how to write it as I'm having a writer's block?

(Note: The Yandere ship being Yandere SEES x Fuuka Yamagishi, though, Ken and Koromaru are Platonic Yanderes, with the rest of SEES being Romantic Yanderes.)

Okay! So, I’ll preface this with, this isn’t some step-by-step guide on how to write your story, it’s just some general advice I could think of. I’m a good writer, but my methods might not work for you, and I do not claim to know what the fuck I’m actually doing. So, keep that in mind while you read this, okay? I’m sorry if none of this advice works for you, and if you have any questions after this, or want some more clarity on these points, feel free to send in another ask, comment, anything like that and I’ll be happy to answer them!

Now, let’s get the big part of this done first. If you want to know how I personally write and manage to craft all the stories like months of tolerance, Winter is a lovely season for weddings and funerals, or any of the smut you might like to read, I...can’t really help. The best I’ve got for that is just, I tend to write what I like to think about, and that enjoyment usually leads me to filling in the details and putting in the extra effort to try and make the writing, story, and implied world around the scenarios as good as I can get them. So, if you just want a walk through on how to gain that skill, all I can offer is to simply enjoy what you write, and write what would make you happy for the story.

Alright! With that out of the way, onto how I tackle my fics! Starting with my first step, making an outline.

OUTLINING

And, trust me, I recognize that some writers hate to outline their stories, it’s boring, it can seem to take all the fun and spontenaity out of writing. But, for a full fanfiction, with something that requires plot, and consistency, an outline is very good. Especially if you’re writing anything with a large cast of characters, like you’re planning to, because an outline lets you keep track of how frequently someone appears, talks, who’s getting too much spotlight vs who isn’t getting enough, and lets you keep track of events.

Plus, it can be a good baby step to work out of a writer’s block because it’s not very taxing on the brain. You’re just taking your ideas, and trying to at least vaguely organize them. So, in that sense, an outline also can work as a pre-rough draft! Because, you’re writing down all of your big ideas and noting down ideas to flesh those bigger points out in a format that’s a lot easier to get out, edit and adjust than a full blown chapter, y’know? So, take advantage of that, and take the time to outline your entire fic before hand. It doesn’t have to be super detailed, you don’t need to fill an outline with polished prose, you just need to get down your ideas in a semi-organized fashion so that you can map out how your plot will go. For example, something like this is how I would outline a fic:

end

Maya and co. finally convince Tatsuya to join their group, booting Nanjo to the curb.

Katsuya and Tatsuya bond after an encounter with Katsuya’s shadow

S!Katsuya: Admit it! You hate your baby brother! He ruined your life!

Katsuya: No! No, I could never hate him!

Tatsuya punches Nyarlethotep in the face

As you can see, it isn’t super detailed or in-depth, it just covers the big points of how they reach the desired end, with some dialogue I thought up as I was writing. And, that leads into my next point of advice for outlines specifically: Start with the ending. If you figure out the ending first, you’ll know what to foreshadow and build in the earlier portions, so I always suggest you start by writing down your ending point.

So, tldr: Try outlining your fic before you get stuck into writing. It’ll help you catch plot holes, recall and keep track of cool dialogue you thought up, and make sure each of your cast has time to shine and some sort of impact within the plot. Especially when it comes to large groups of characters you’ll have to keep track of.

CHARACTERIZATION AND DIFFERENTIATION

This next part is another big thing I keep track of when I write my fics or scenarios, and is especially noteworthy for a group of Yanderes. My personal characterization, and how that differentiates that specific character from the others.

This is the time you work in your headcanons for character personalities or backstory, and I can’t offer any help on that front. Your takes are your takes, the only advice I can offer is to make sure to note those personalities down if you don’t feel confident innately writing that character with them yet. Like some form of cheat sheet on Junpei, or Mitsuru, or whoever you don’t feel you can portray consistently off the cuff. That way, as you write them, you can have something to refer back to for their actions. For example, if I was to write for a yandere Junpei, I’d probably write down:

Keep golden retriever energy

Possibly stand-offish to darling at first. In some circumstances

Probably doesn’t bother to hide stalker behavior.

Likely to gaslight to hide that shit instead

to try and keep him consistent.

Which, is another example of how characterization is very important for specifically yandere fics. After all, not every yandere should behave the same, and for a group those small differences are hard to keep track of in your mind alone. Like, Shinjiro is terrified of hurting those he cares about, so he’s not going to be as kidnap happy as Akihiko. Who is more likely to deem the outside world dangerous and unpredictable, so the safest place for Darling is with him at all times. Yukari has an awful track record of those important to her leaving in some fashion, so she’s going to be far more aggressive when Darling escapes than, say, Minato is. Since Minato’s lower energy, and is convinced he’s ‘normal’, and doesn’t care about anybody, so violence isn’t something he’s keen on. That’s a lot to keep straight if you’re just relying on your own memory for those good character ideas.

So, all of these things are aspects I usually note down for the yanderes I write. It lends them some variety, personality, and opens a lot more potential for Darling to have conflict and a chance. So, I suggest you think a bit about each character you want, and write down how they personally would behave as a yandere. Which, leads into what should be our second to last, major point of advice.

LET THE DARLING BE SMART

As a writer, I can tell you, favoritism is something that happens, lol. Not only in characters, but focus. Sometimes you just prefer to focus on the fun interactions, or the kidnap portion of a yandere story, and that’s fine. But, for a good, filling story, you should always make sure that you are trying to make your Darling/mc at least believably dumb, lol.

Which, transcends the strict vibes of the situation. After all, no matter if it’s overt yandere behavior, or subtle, if your Darling is obliviously a-okay with everything around her, and goes to grab a spoon to defend themself against a psycho killer covered in the bestie’s blood, it can take a reader out of your story. If done wrong, at least.

Plus, a story is better with conflict, and making sure your character is believably smart, can heighten the tension, stakes, and simply provide that friction. It lets your reader have hope that a plan will work, and feel more tense and invested when shit begins to go awry. So always try to make sure your darling has some awareness fitting your plot.

And, finally!

WRITE FOR YOURSELF

Aka, don’t get so hung up on writing the perfect, most polished, tense, believable fic that you end up killing your own joy for it. All of this advice is stuff that I, personally, use to write my full length fics. I like to think of all of the little details and make a thoroughly thought out story, but if you just want to write a lighter, less dark yandere story that’s nothing but pure self-indulgence, go for it!

Hell, I’ve done it, my Ryomina fic, Winter is a lovely season for romance and funerals, is built brick by brick off of my own enjoyment of the idea of Minato being sacrificed to Ryoji. The story was grown around that, and it probably shows lol. So, make sure that you don’t get too caught up in the planning, the consistency of the characters, or how well put together your story is. Just enjoy yourself, and you will usually find an audience who can appreciate the simple fun of your fic. Just be aware of your motivations, and try not to take your fic too seriously.

Annnnnnd that’s all I’ve got for coherent advice! I hope this is helpful, I hope it is clear, and I appreciate that you thought so highly of my writing, that you asked my advice! Again, if anything here is confusing, or you’d like advice on a specific thing I didn’t cover here, feel free to comment, send another ask, whatever! That goes for everybody who decides to read this btw, not just the asker.

[chanceofwhat]

Ok so maybe I invented a gravity falls au.

Long story short, my brain said “Dipple and Maber” instead of the niblings and, while I’m not going to name them that because that’s stupid, I started wondering what would happen if I shuffled things around. Also, I don’t know what to do with Fiddleford so if anyone has ideas, let me hear them please.

This is swap!gravity falls. Including my art, which is mid (except dipper that’s a good dipper)

TLDR main swaps are Dipper/Mabel, Ford/Stan, and Wendy/Soos

M’sorry if the formatting is weird I did this in my notes app~

Dipper = sweater vests, braces, fashion, confidence, unicorns

Mabel = collared jacket, hat, nerves, brains, science

Soos = lesbian badass with a motorcycle and lots of knives. She’s just here cause it’s a decent job, and she only steps in when needed, but she is very protective of the kids.

Wendell = Dedicated & loyal teen who always does his best but he’s a little stupid. Also he has daddy issues. Crush-crazy bi dipper falls in love with Wendell. Wendell’s teen group is the outcasts, but in a very nerdy losery way. This includes Robin the band geek, Timmy the programmer, Kate and Bee the chess players, and Tabitha who could probably be cool and popular if she wanted.

Candy & Grenda = swapped, so little skinny candy does martial arts and big loud Grenda is a gaming streamer with glasses.

Ford got kicked out of home for being a freak, Stan dropped out of college, Ford fought his way through college with loans and scholarships and has a couple PHDs. Ford came to Stan’s tourist trap 30 years ago (which Bill helped build) to talk to him, Stan let him set up a lab in the basement, went down there after being manipulated by Bill and freaked at how big it was, fight, Stan turned on the portal and ended up falling in, now Ford has to run the shack and try to stabilize the portal so it can open a double-sided gateway for Stan to come back, also he convinced everyone that wym ‘Stanley’ it was always ‘Stanford’ and actually now he’d rather go by his full name or just ‘Ford’ thanks.

Ford = Grunkle 1, loves them kids, enthusiastic, uses mystery shack for money, curious, bullheaded, feels super fuckin bad about what happened, tries not to cuss in front of the kids but isn’t a very aware guy

Stan = Grunkle 2, immediately falls in love with the kids, very creative, fighter, a bit scared of being emasculated tbh, nemesis with Bill, total sailor’s mouth

Bill = what if Bill’s the same except he’s a fucking square? You fucking square.

Waddles is a cute lil round goat that Dipper fell in love with and stole, and there’s also a big silly pig named Gompers around

The kids have a lot more fun toys from the start because Grunkle Ford isn’t gonna tell them about the portal, but if his kids want magnet guns, they’re gonna get magnet guns.

Stanley wrote the journals, they’re just accounts of the weird shit he’s run into over time in Gravity Falls. Ford is using #3 to try to derive scientific information about the anomalous nature of the place, but Stan is so Not A Scientist ™ that it’s hard. Mabel finds journal #1 and it’s full of hastily drawn pictures and warnings like, instead of a scientific name and approximate diagrams, it’s “what the fuck is this??” and “fuckin huge!” And Mabel is adding more scientific/helpful labels, Like the gnomes (all girls) are in there as “annoying little shits” “punt them” “if there’s too many to punt, hide.” To which Mabel adds “LEAF BLOWER - VERY EFFECTIVE” and “CAN STACK TO BECOME LARGE CREATURE”

Ford is too chaotic for a journal so he just has stacks of binders full of BS. And again, he doesn’t tell the kids about the lab downstairs or the portal or anything, but he’s 100% willing to give them stuff, and he’s become a chronic liar over time in order to run the mystery shack, signing legal papers and taxes as Stanley but having people call him Stanford.

Anyways, the portal incident happens as normal, and when Stan comes out of the portal he absolutely punches his brother, but the response is “Okay, I might deserve that, but so do you” “Fair enough.” And a reciprocal punch. “So does anyone else know about your secret lab situation?” “Oh, just… the entire US government?” “WHAT?!” And suddenly Stan is the doer and Ford takes a backseat like they did as kids, when Stan would make all the friends for them and beat up the bullies and Ford would do his homework.

The “Billpocalypse,” as Stan so aptly named it, occurs when Mabel starts getting a lot of attention from both Grunkles for being smart and creative and Dipper gets upset and runs off, then gets tricked on promise of being “smarter.” Stan, as always, stands up to Bill and has problems for it, and when the bubble around the town gets discovered, claims that he knows what’s causing it and how to destroy it, not wanting real-scientist Ford to get captured or anything. Dipland is full of candy and unicorns and everyone is equally smart, and Mabel breaks him out by explaining that her intelligence would be useless without his creativity, confidence, and enthusiasm, and the world needs him to save it. The Bill solution is the same, Stan has a metal plate implanted in his head and can’t let Bill in cause he’d discover that Stan was lying, so they swap and Ford gets his mind erased… for like a week, then he’s fine. Show ends with the grunkles going on the road trip of their dreams together in an RV they tricked out.

Thoughts? Feelings? Opinions? Fiddleford ideas? And ofc I welcome anyone else to draw/write for this, I’d love to see more.

[nambaeksan]

hellooooo again again friends, just me! (lis, she/her) bringing yet another child who has lived in my brain for lord knows how long, bae. below the cut is some quick stuff about bae and some random connections i could come up with but you can find his stats here and his full bio here! just throw a like at this and i'll come attack your im's or discord for plots (:

about. - the shortest tldr; bae runs an online vintage shop, where he searching through local consignment shops for cool pieces he could take home and bring back to life, even reforming some that are too far gone; though his ultimate goal is to be a fashion designer, creating pieces of his own. he was born and raised in seoul, having lived with his aunt since the age of four after his mother passed away. currently he still lives with her in his childhood home and has a little office space he rents that he uses for his shop.

personality. bae is a ball of energy. period. he is always on the go, always finding a new thrift store to explore or fabric store to raid. in his mind bae will rest when he is dead and he takes that to HEART. the type of person who lights up a room and commands attention, even without realizing it. bae is friends with all walks of life, loving have people around him but if you do even one thing to break his trust? you’re out of his life without even a second thought.

★·.·´¯`·.·★

possible connections. - a muse. someone bae feels inspired to create pieces for. could have some sort of crush component to it or not! - someone in the entertainment industry (trainee, idol, producer, anybody) that bae has been able to get wearing his original pieces or something he's reformed. this friendship may have taken off because bae saw them as someone he could use to get his name out there but maybe they become friends? or there's some drama from it? - old school friends! bae was born and raised in seoul and has never left so it's likely he crossed paths with people before. - also literally anything else! this is just what my sleepy brain was able to come up with <3

[sugar-petals]

So Caro how do you like "butter"?? 😳🤔

i’ll be cranking out my media major, let's review butter stylistically. ✍️ in four aspects — sonically, visually, lyrically, and concept-wise.

sonically: 9/10. here’s an interesting comparison i found, this can be calculated by looking at the stats of a musical piece. if you want to do harmonic mixing with another bts song, seesaw (!) is the most similar to it. with the exception that it’s written in f minor but other than that, the bpm/energy/danceability is uncanny. mindboggling. in other words, two bts songs can have the same anatomy and be entirely different worlds. that’s seriously hard to pull off. talking genre, recalling that namjoon said it's a "super retro disco pop new age acoustic ballad", that description is right on 😂it gets very daft punk after 1:38, groovy, the production is quite proper. especially in the second half, it’s a firework and all transitions VERY well. what i liked less, the voices are quite meddled with and as last time, the pitch gets higher and higher so the baritones need more pressure on the voice to be heard (i salute taehyung, my mezzo would be breaking apart). it’s a miracle that rapline can handle these songs. they put a heavier bassline under yoongi’s and rm’s bars, and separated hoseok toward the end since his tone is higher so, i hear you, someone knows what they’re doing. as for the tenors, looking forward to the live rendition of the mixed register bits and the vocal runs. bts are stable like that and jk’s timbre carries the song effortlessly (as is everyone’s great english pronunciation, these guys work so hard) so they wouldn't need autotune, figure it's been added for artistic effect, the retro vibes. a bonus on the other hand, jin getting his lines, hell yes, the spotlight for him. and the arrangement of their parts in general is quite ingeniously done, that looks like the workings of namjoon’s giant brain.

visually: 9/10. the dancebreak being the highlight — this is the sexiest thing i've ever seen — we get to see some really fancy moves from everybody and the hairstyles are quite a feast. jimin and jk have been much-talked-about so i'll emphasize the extravagance of hobi's 2013 MAMA g-dragonesque neon yellow here. he’s the smooth like butter guy they’re talking about indeed, butter hair, butter attitude, butter on his plat! 😂it’s seriously good thinking to have one member embody the concept with a color so, pretty clever. making him stand out as the ending fairy and then blending in the butter logo is equally smart. they wanted to catch our eye, they achieved it. the couture: yep, fashion youtube will have a good time going through all the outfits. from tae's chanel earrings, jin’s skirt, to white suits to jackets over the shoulder. very stylish. someone put a lot of thought into it, and i'm a sucker for some gnc undertones so very cool stuff. the only (very trivial) minus i noticed, a lot of the tailoring does not exactl fit the boys’ bodies to a t, see jungkook’s or jin’s sleeves, though you can’t expect bts to have a tailor come in and fix so many outfits with so many comebacks at once. the dance, it's a compilation of many classic bts moves. i feel like it could be tiny bit more distinguished with a whopping new complex signature formation that bts is famous for in creating, then again the full dance practice isn't out and the head nodding part is quite a visual anchor. also: i noticed they put yoongi in front row a lot. someone’s shoulder is finally better again, we can prepare for some good stuff.

lyrically: 4/10. the song fulfills its function, it creates the mood, but i’m hard to please in that regard as mentioned before. why: time and again i realize that yoongi, rm, and pdogg spoil us with comforting or on-fire lyrics that hit home and are on brand. same idea as in dynamite here, we're hit with a lotta english catchphrases that we usually wouldn't hear from bangtan. it's party mode, it's the summer hit kinda writing, so yeah it does what it’s supposed to do anyway and anybody can sing along. it’s catchy and solid for sure. the 'smooth criminal/superstar/heartbreaker' idea is carried through as a red string so thematically, it's coherent at least. a lot of lines are downright hilarious with random analogies and i don't know if the writers are serious or not. they could go all the way to make it clearer that humor and braggadocio is the concept here, exaggerate it even more. you can’t always tell if it’s a parody of a ‘yeah i’m the man you all fall for me’ sentiment or if it’s 100% business. in some parts of the song it works, in others it makes less sense. where i’ve seen bts execute this well with their own writing is converse high, that’s the bar. it’s also a personal lesson for me since i write crack often, butter tells you where to put the punchlines and where to keep it neutral. a lot of it is all over the place. on the other hand, it fits right on the beat. and perfectly executed pop so i'm a bit torn. i like the ‘got that heat’ part they gave jimin. 'side step right left to my beat' is a good chorus entry as well. making light of it, every lyric works as a witty gif or tweet tagline and we'll be circulating these phrases to eternity. every line works as a good comeback in any situation of life. yoongi's verse legit made me giggle. TLDR: the lyrics are partially confusing but they blend with the music well. 

conceptually: 8/10. hit the bell for that black and white intro, that was a good idea, same with the latest teaser. and: range, darling. only in a bts video could a cotton candy jimin go from a mugshot to being the president to a basket ball court hero to going full saturday night fever to flexing his legs in less than three minutes. jokes aside: it all fits in the universe of boy with luv and dynamite so points for consistency. bts's directors have outlined a new style for sure. the worldbuilding could go even deeper, but lumpens did a good job giving us many different eye candy serves and an innovative theme that hasn’t been tackled before, k-pop and pancakes why not! there are less actual film sets (and the difference shows, e.g. in Fire or Daechwita it really gave it some oomph), but it's not really needed. butter has no requirement for an agust d-ish plotline with historical buildings and the members' looks are in the center of attention. then again, i like those details of hoseok sitting in a retro apartment at the end — cozy, i love — with a radio. once again, they could exaggerate the vintage even more, it wouldn’t take away from the idea and visuals. i wish they would’ve expanded even more on the melting butter aesthetic shots as well, although it’s neatly tied into the song so it makes sense. the lyrics really have been blended with the choreograpy theme (the side step as a central move) so i’m thinking the art direction and choreographer had quite an in-depth discussion how to create a bigger picture. as for my weakness: cuteness melts me like butter, extra points for jungkook and yoongi being adorable in their seats.

[katsidhe]

Hello as a long time silent lurker with post notifications on, and someone who has been very into the minecraft roleplay for about 9 months, I am oh so incredibly intrigued on your thoughts! I hope you don't mind if I ramble a little. Sam (both minecraft and spn, but in this context the minecraft one) is one of my favourite characters because he's so incredibly complex. The prison story has sparked so much discussion and conflict in this fandom, so I would love to hear your thoughts if you want to share!

oh noooooooooooo don’t enable me. (Jk <3)

I’m putting this under a read more for those of you who don’t want to be inflicted with my minecraft roleplay brain worms. I would apologize but I think we’re well past that.

So, like, full disclosure that I am pretty new to dsmp and am surely missing out on big ol swathes of Essential Character Content, etc etc. But I do know the basics, and I’ve (naturally) watched all the Torture Box Content, because I mean come on, that’s my brand.

k so First of all, THE most essential part of any media: x-coded y girl. Dream is a textbook Cas-coded Sam girl. Sam (Minecraft) is a Cas-coded Dean girl. Quackity is a Dean-coded Sam girl. I’d say Tommy is Dean-Dean. Techno is, hmm, Cas-Cas. Okay, important part done.

Minecraft Sam is very fun! I find it absolutely delightful that he clings to moral high ground while torturing and starving a prisoner. And at least from what I’ve seen, there’s a lot of room for interpretation as to the level of guilt and involvement he actually feels about what’s being done to Dream. He goes back and forth between justifying the treatment as something Dream categorically deserves, and justifying it as a means to an end. Whether that end is the book itself, or whether it’s Quackity’s cooperation/satisfaction, or whether it’s some twisted and bloody sense of justice and duty, seems to vary wildly. On top of that, of course, is the irony that Dream was the one to give him this commission and this job in the first place: in every respect, it’s a duty to Dream (to punish him; to secure him; to uphold his rules) that Sam’s fulfilling. Dream isn’t the only one to suffer from Sam’s inflexibility surrounding the entire concept of Dream: Tommy and Ponk do too.

And yet it’s not the inflexibility that ends up hurting Dream the worst: it’s the gaps in that rigidity. If Sam had kept the prison operating as apparently originally commissioned, it would be inhumane but just about bearable: hardly the level of absurd, over-the-top war crime that it’s reached by now. His choice to begin starving Dream in earnest seems to have been mostly an emotional reaction, after Tommy’s death. (Ironic, too, that Tommy also suffered the result of this choice.) And this is fine, because it’s not active: it’s passive, something that’s happening by inaction. Same with giving Quackity specially made weapons and total carte blanche.

The level of trust that Dream has in Sam’s sense of duty is also fascinating. Even as late as the most recent stream, after the guy’s been permitting him to be tortured for months, Dream appeals to Sam’s need to keep Dream static, in one place as his prisoner, in order to save his life. Incidentally, I do think that convincing Sam to keep Quackity from straight-up murdering him is the only concession Dream was actually hoping to win with that conversation. because like, food and a courtyard visit? after a jail break? Like hell is Sam going to grant that, even before the stunt he and Techno pulled, and Dream knows it. I think that the rest of that conversation was just to deflect, and keep Sam from questioning Dream more sharply about whatever he and Techno have planned. Bringing up Tommy and letting Sam go off on his predictable diatribe about morality and just desserts seemed similarly strategic: Dream knows what Sam thinks about what kind of treatment he deserves. He’s had months to figure it out, and it wasn’t exactly rocket science to begin with.

Anyway, that trust is the same reason Dream appealed (unsuccessfully) to Sam when Quackity first showed up: it devastated him to realize that he’d miscalculated the degree of Sam’s willingness to set aside his duty in this one particular way. Quackity in general represents a HUGE blind spot in Sam’s otherwise completely rigid inflexibility: so huge it’s almost baffling, given what Sam was ready to do to Tommy and Ponk and Ghostbur. But Quackity represents a loophole Sam badly wants. He badly, badly wants some good old-fashioned vengeance, without dressing it up with any pretensions of procedure or justice, but he can’t allow himself to actively act on those impulses—or else he would be Bad, and he can’t have that. He has to believe himself to be Good, and he wants to indulge himself with Dream’s suffering anyway. So he explains that, actually, Dream’s treatment is Dream’s own fault. It’s hilariously deluded.

Which brings me to Quackity, because what makes Quackity fun is that he’s actually NOT hilariously deluded—not about this, at least. Unlike Sam, he’s not laboring under the insane mental acrobatics necessary to convince himself that torture is Good Actually. He knows that what he’s doing is terrible, but he owns it: he’s fine admitting that he enjoys it, that he’s doing this for personal gain and personal vengeance and not for reasons of high-minded civic duty. He’s justifying the torture with brutal simplicity: Dream has hurt him and Dream has something he needs, done and done. He seems to be a firm believer in vengeful and disproportionate retribution, just as with his whole Butcher Army thing. To which I say, neat and fun! I also really really enjoy the power dynamic between him and Dream. Dream is someone who commands respect and fear and power, who could murder Quackity with one hand tied behind his back if they were on equal footing, and who probably barely spared him a thought as a threat. Quackity lives in terror of the thought of Dream escaping and wreaking his vengeance. And Quackity is trying his very best to wrestle that power away from him.

He seems to be pretty unpracticed and ineffective at torture, too—like, yeah, I get this is Minecraft and props are limited, but torturing someone long-term with an ax and a sword is going to be more than a bit unwieldy. and did he even bring in health potions his first day? It’s pretty telling and hilarious that Sam is the one who offers the shears, a far more practical choice of tool. Not to mention that the entire premise of his interrogation gives Dream massive, massive incentive to never give Quackity anything. Quackity straight up admits to Dream that the information he wants is the only reason he’s letting Dream live, which is utterly counterproductive if he wants the book sometime this year. Functionally, he needs to torture Dream not merely into admission, but into suicide. And as the days and weeks and months pass, he’s still got nothing to show for it but growing vindictiveness, paranoia, and frustration. By the time of the latest stream, he’s completely lost the plot—his threats don’t even make sense, his violence is ineffective and unhinged and indiscriminate. He’s lost all leverage and he’s needlessly (re)made a powerful enemy in Technoblade.

So, like, characters like Lucifer are fun because they’re good at torture. Characters like Quackity are fun because they’re bad at torture. But that doesn’t much matter. He doesn’t need to be particularly talented, or strong, or skilled to make Dream’s existence hell: the bare facts of the situation are more than enough for that. What does he learn, over the course of these visits—what skills does he hone, what kinds of violence does he discover that he can stomach? What depths of ruthlessness and creativity and hatred does he discover within himself? What threats does he make that he finds himself following through on before he’s even thought through the implications? It’s a learning curve, for him and Dream both. They’re learning each other, they’re learning the corners of this little hell together. Dream wasn’t expecting him to be capable of this degree of hostility or violence. Quackity is sick of being underestimated.

Which brings me finally to Dream. My general and hastily-gleaned impression of the fandom gives me the distinct impression that there is somehow a school of thought convinced Dream’s earned this treatment? Which baffles me. not only in how its absurd extremity (daily torture in a tiny box for literal months, jesus fucking christ) isn’t something even the most terrible villain could earn, but also in how Dream himself strikes me more as a morally gray fallen/falling antihero type than anything else. I was honestly completely prepared to find him to be a straightforward Bad Guy pre-prison, but that’s not at all my impression. He’s clearly got people and things he cares about and wants to protect, and big picture goals he’ll ruthlessly sacrifice anything to advance (ahem Cas-coded Sam girl). Really, it’s more that roleplays don’t tend to lend themselves easily to those types of narrative classification: nearly every character is a POV character; consuming the content from every perspective is nearly impossible. There aren’t super neat ways to sort antagonists and protagonists in essential terms, only in their relationships to one another. In terms of manipulation, war crimes, power-grabbing, and general destruction, practically everyone on the server is guilty to some degree or another. Dream’s treated Tommy pretty damn terribly, but that hardly makes him unique. What does make Dream unique is that he’s been singled out for near-universally-agreed-upon confinement (which oh so conveniently aligns with him being held as a tool, for information). And that’s neat!

…Look, tldr I just like it when people are in torture boxes. more media should have torture boxes, they are good and fun. 

[yunmiyh]

━  ❖ (jeon heejin, cis female, she/her) hey thank you for coming to town hall to update your information shim yunmi! you’re a citizen correct? good to know! are you enjoying yourself around yunhwa? you’ve been staying here for 18 years? i’m glad! remind me, are you born on 07/01/2000? we’re so lucky to have someone so passionate around as a stall owner (mimi's mini modiste) at bimikil market square even if sometimes you can be insecure. hope to see you around house #3021, hwesakgu!  

                                                                ╰ ⟢ ╮

hi everyone! yinyi here! i’ve been so excited for the rp to open and have been just sitting here with bated breath. and now that the day has come i don’t even know where to start. i guess i can start by introducing my daughter. this is yunmi, the oldest twin in the shim house, born a mere 11 minutes and 38 seconds before her sister, but she’ll always say it was a day because well... it technically was a day. anyways! she’s a nervous wreck of a child and doesn’t really know what she wants in life besides doing something in fashion. she owns a stall in the bimikil market square where she sells custom made clothing and accessories.

if you’d liked to know more click on the “read more” and if you heart this post, i’m assuming you want to plot and i’ll be coming to you!

                                            profile - background - plots

                                                                 ╰ ⟢ ╮

tldr;

she was born on january 7th, 2000 at 11:55pm in yunhwa, south korea. her mother is a tailor at madam micha’s, only because she was good at it and made decent money. her other hated her job with a passion and held a grudge against her own mother for making her learn. her father is a security guard at the town hall.

yunmi and yunhee grew up in the care of their grandparents as their parents worked long hours and didn’t have time themselves to worry about the two girls at home. yunmi learned the craft from her grandmother and would spend all day inside sewing, knitting, and crocheting. growing up, she pricked herself more times than she can count, but she enjoyed it anyways.

her parents always had different plans for her, and so when they saw that she was deviating from their plans they weren’t happy. they tried their hardest to convince her to do something else, anything besides fashion and sewing. but her grandma was supportive of her. she slipped all the money she had saved up and told her to apply to a school in paris.

and so yunmi found herself on a plane to paris the next summer, spending two wonderful years in the beautiful country of france and learning all the techniques and designing tidbits that one could only learn from professionals. her dream almost felt reachable until news came from korea that her grandmother had passed away. the one person who cared about her, gone.

yunmi immediately dropped everything and flew back to korea. in a sheer panicked moment. but now that she was back, she didn’t know what to do with herself. her home no longer felt like home without the presence of her grandmother. she didn’t feel like she had the heart to back to school anymore when she lost the one thing that mattered to her.

using what was left of the money her grandmother gave her, yunmi desperately grabbed at anything that could possibly make her feel like herself again. she bought a stall in the market in hopes that by practicing her craft and having some roots, she would be able to find herself. somehow she would try to make a home for herself in the little town she grew up in. or maybe she’ll realize her wings were made to be spread and she would take flight instead. but for now, the stall was her everything. mimi’s mini modiste was all she needed.

wanted connections

childhood friends - yunmi grew up in town all her life. although her closest friend is her sister with whom she did everything, it would be nice for her to have other friends as well. classmates, childhood playdates, people she used to be close to but rarely ever talk anymore, bestfriends from birth, that type of thing

crushes-that-pretend-to-be-just friends - i just think that it would be cute to have mutual pining, but they both think neither one likes the other, so they’re “just friends.” nothing has to come from this, btw.

used-to-be-friends - people she used to be super close with, but then due to circumstances and misunderstandings, or because one or the other moved away they’re not as close anymore. depending on the situation, they could even be full on enemies.

mutual friends - people she met through other people, or even her sister.

casual friends - growing up in a small town, you pretty much know everyone. maybe they’re not close, but they’re on good terms and will even hang out sometimes when there’s no one else

yumni is very trusting, almost to a fault, so she wouldn’t even realize it if someone was using her for their means. she’s a people-pleaser upon that as well. so having someone pretend to be her friend just to get free stuff or to get her to do things for them is always wanted.

family. it’s a small town, there’s bound to be cousins and half-cousins, and cousins twice removed, and cousins not by blood but by bonds, around here somewhere. 

people who frequent her stall looking for cute accessories and to browse her catalogue of completed clothing pieces. she makes homemade brooches, bows, and head bands. for the guys she also has handmade ties, neck ties, and pocket squares. 

anything and everything. my brain is tofu right now, i’ll add more later.

[averylostsoul]

name: avery weaver

nicknames: avee, weaver

age: twenty-nine

gender identity: cis-female.

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: demisexual

birthday: february 19, 1992

star sign: pisces 

occupation: unemployed, past manager at animal shelter & assistant manager at nursey/flower shop

place of birth: peggy’s cove, nova scotia 

height: 5′9″

+nurturing, personable, honest

-naive, insecure, anxious

tldr;

Avery was visiting Cornith Bay as a solo backpacker when she fell victim to a bite and run!! She has a very sweet and empathetic soul, so the idea of feeding is quite monstrous to her. She’s been wondering through the city on her good days, and hiding away in the country side on her bad days, leaving a tiny trail of victims of her own...She would love to get back home but she’s terrified of spending hours in a giant flying metal tube surrounded by hundreds of snack paks. 

She’s been pretty distant and has tried not to talk to too many strangers but as time goes on, she’s more curious about finding the vampire who turned her. And also finding someone to help her control her cravings. Above all, she’s just terrified of hurting more people. Who would have thought her Eat Pray Love Mama Mia fantasy would turn out like this? 

History (tw: blood, mild graphic violence)

Avery was usually the loudest person in the room, although surprisingly no always the most obnoxious. She had a way of attracting attention with her bright smile and overly positive personality. She was the loyal support group to many of her friends and often went out of her way to please those she cared about. She grew up in a small town in Nova Scotia; often the caretaker of her friends, plastering band-aids on scraped knees or mixing hangover concoctions. She always seemed to be surrounded by a bubble of cheerfulness and pure luck. Avery was a hard worker but there had to be something else in play. Every project, job, or measly goal she worked towards ended in happy success. Sometimes even her friends doubted the reality of it all. How can one person expel so much glee and succeed at everything they did? Avery chalked it up to the belief that if you put positivity into the universe, it gives it back. 

Or the universe was just waiting to tip the scales back in its favor, and she was none the wiser. 

Avery was an emotional child. She always felt too much. Ear shattering sobbing over a simple  scraped knee or hyperactive wandering out of her mothers sight, leading to quite an ear tugging lecture. But, she was coddled, she was allowed to feel anything and everything. She was never shushed in a forbidding tone, always loved and quite frankly spoiled. 

In Avery’s reality, her family was a fairytale but as with most tiny imaginative brains, she was missing the full picture. She was seven when she last saw her father, and didn’t quite understand why she, her mother, and her brother needed to move  into a tiny studio apartment. Nothing but a dirty old mattress on the floor,  taken off the street for the three of them. Of course she didn't complain, after all, now there was no way monsters could hide under her bed and she got to sleep next to her mother every night. Every meal was Easy Mac or Chef Boyardee and Avery thrived. It was only after a few years that she was old enough to notice the tension between her mother and brother. After all, it was her brother who watched her as their mother worked doubles and night shifts. He didn’t get to play with other children the way she did. Does the eldest of a single mother ever really get a childhood? Avery was always quick to step out of the way when the two began arguing. Oblivious to her role in their relationship, and far too much the golden child to dare get involved. So aloof to the ordeal, she didn’t quite understand why her brother left their home on his eighteenth birthday and she never heard from him again.

By the time  she turned fourteen, her mother had a better financial footing and inherited a small animal rescue from her long time boss. The poor woman was a saint and 92 years old at the time of her passing. As somewhat of a surrogate grandmother for Avery, she taught her the fundamentals of empathy. Caring for the souls of those who could no longer care for themselves, and nursing animals back to a healthy and happy state. She had volunteered at the shelter for many years, but under her mother, began taking on greater responsibilities. By the time she was eighteen, she had become a manager and ran the shelter on a daily basis. She was saving for college, but not entirely sure what she would focus on. Veterinary school seemed the obvious choice, but she didn’t cope well with the tougher calls inside the shelter. 

While her friends partied in university, Avery began feeling a bit left out but she had an attachment to her current routine that couldn’t be severed. Instead, frequent weekend gatherings were planned and she filled her free time with hobbies. One of which quickly became gardening which may have been slightly influenced by the owner of a quaint little nursery shop in town. She began working there part-time as a second income to save for her eventual attempt at university. 

She was, however, quite stubborn financially and very wrapped into her routines. Why change a perfectly good thing? She wanted to save every last penny she made, refusing to take out loans or attend university until she had the entirety of tuition in her accounts. Someone a bit more perceptive could have guessed that in reality, Avery was simply very much afraid of change and discomfort. 

As Avery grew older the pressures of a societal expectation of an appropriate timeline for a woman her age began weighing on her. Her friend’s graduations and careers, and even engagements began to make her feel menial. She was stagnant while everyone else moved forward. The sudden engagement of the aforementioned nursery owner and closure of their shop was the last push Avery needed. In quite a frantic fashion, she decided on a solo backpacking venture through Europe. 

Corinth Bay was the second destination on her list, but she had a full week to spend lazily by the water. She never doubted her safety, at least not in that moment. Her naivety, the catalyst. She found the maze of cobblestone streets and sun setting behind olde world houses beautiful at dusk. So mesmerized she barely felt the hand around her waist and lips on her throat before the pain of tearing flesh seared throughout her nerves. Barely a scream before she laid on those cobblestones gasping  for the smallest breath. Her vision blurred, fueled with fear of what would come next as whatever it was pressed against her lips, the metallic taste of blood coating her throat. Was it her own? Or someone else’s? 

She didn’t dream, at least not that she could remember, but light fluttered through closed eyelids. Street lamps, warm windows. For a moment, she thought she was back home. Tucked under her covers as the sun peaked through sheer curtains. The cold, hard stone beneath her body tethered her back to reality. The slick, wet, sludge, slimy under her hands confirming the tingling on her throat was not a phantom pain. It was the sharp cramp in the pit of her stomach that sent her sitting up. It felt hollow, and suddenly the metal left on her tongue tasted like honey. Sweet and an aching craving only demanded more. She lapped at her fingers, covered by the crime, but it tasted sour and rotted. She knew immediately it was to be fresh.

Feral, like the strays her mother took in, she moved without thinking. It felt parasitic, the way her brain commanded her body to attain sustenance. The first soul she crossed, she’d never forget how her screams faded as life drained from her veins. It was only then that she could feign some form of control. The realization of her monstrous actions, and fear of that fleeting moment of happiness when the blood slid down her throat. She once was a girl who sobbed when her father killed so much as a simple fly, now she held the corpse of a woman in her arms. Resisting the urge to lick the blood from her skin. 

A nightmare in its truest form. She escaped the inner city, towards the countryside, hiding away from the need to satisfy  her craving. Avery learned quickly that she could not drink from animals. The sickness only exacerbated her need for human blood. She dared not to enter the sun, stories of myths and legends were cautionary. As the hollowness in her stomach grew, so did her madness. The further she tried to stay away, the easier it was for her to lose control. The slaughters she left in her wake haunted her dreams. An innocent turned into a monstrosity.

[hczcls]

hello hello hello !! it’s been a minute since i was in a group setting so forgive me for any mishaps, i am but a lost soul. anywho under the cut is a bit about my child lottie, she’s a mess and a thousand but love her anyways! hmu if you would like to plot or have any wanted connections you can see this child fitting in!

tw:  alcoholism, drug addiction, death, grief, overdose, child neglect, child abuse, underage sex, porn.

APP.

( dove cameron, cisfemale ) - Have you seen CHARLOTTE HALE? LOTTIE is in HER JUNIOR YEAR OF STUDY year. The JOURNALISM MAJOR is/are 23 years old & is a SCORPIO . People say SHE is/are CHARISMATIC, INDEPENDENT, AGGRESSIVE and CRUEL. Rumors say they’re a member of CALLOWAY. I heard from the gossip blog that HAS A ONLYFANS.  (mon. 25. est. she/her.)

AESTHETICS.

the last breath during a chilly night out, champagne flutes and forgotten cigarettes on bar counters. melodic laughter of a child unhinged,  fur coats and ripped fishnet stockings, warm hands on cold bodies, spinning until your ears ring and your stomach curdles, the 3 AM headache from a long night out. the screeching sound of the electric guitar, broken glass scattered across an unkempt home, the hollowness of loneliness, blasting music echoing through empty halls, sandy hallways and discarded clothes, screened phone calls and short voicemails, stacks of medical bills and scattered chips of redemption.

- here’s her board!!

SYNOPSIS.

In short, Lottie Haze fits into the clich�� realm of a spoiled rich socialite. Growing up the daughter of a famous rockstar did nothing for her humbleness, being the heiress of a family fortune made before her father in the fashion of famous Las Vegas casinos, Lottie was doomed to a life of narcissism and selfishness from the start. Her life is a blur before coming to Yates, she doesn’t delve much into her past and doesn’t stand for the curios pokes and prods from her fellow peers after they watch all the documentaries about her past. Drug abuse, life on the road, the death of her mother, her own overdose at such a young age before being plucked out of her father’s arms. Lottie doesn’t think about it, doesn’t speak about it, but it’s all there, edited from time to time on Wikipedia. Famous for being nothing but the child of the rich, Lottie’s a lot more than meets the eye, but at paper-thin, she’ll allow most to think she’s the typical Instagram influencer, rich, pretty girl plagued with basicness and ignorance.

HISTORY.

Charlotte Haze’s parents weren’t good for each other. It wasn’t a healthy relationship; it wasn’t made from start dust and fairytales. It was a match made in hell, two selfish souls uniting in a mix of tequila and heroin in the back of the Stillborns’ tour bus. Ricky Danger was her father, a name coined from the mind of a self-indulging teenager with too much time on his hand and brain clouded with too many pills. When Jeanette Haze, daughter of a multibillionaire hotel and casino owner, told him the news of their child he was excited, not thinking of the dangers and responsibilities that came along with a child born of wedlock and on the road. Charlotte couldn’t remember a time in her childhood when things were normal, nothing was the cookie-cutter dream house that most children fantasize about, they had no real home, she had no real toys, no friends her age, everything was clouded with smoke and glamour, money and gifts sent to her by her grandparents who couldn’t gain control of their wild daughter and her idiot of a boyfriend  who was too busy dragging their toddler all over the world with them.

Her mother died of heart failure when she was eight, something that happened so fast that she barely had time to register what it was. There were two funerals, the respectable one full of family members she’d never met who touched her blonde curls, cradled her chubby cheeks, told her how much she looked like her mother and the one thrown by her father. Where men all spoke highly of her departed mother, where alcohol was passed around, stories were told, and the friends she grew up with made her smile and laugh, instead of feeling lost and alone. Lottie was too young to know what was going on behind closed doors, too sheltered from her grandparents to know that they were doing everything in their power to take her away from her father, who simply brushed the death of her mother off his shoulders, and carried on in life, numbed by booze and drugs. This lifestyle wasn’t something a child should grow up in, an idiot knew that, but Ricky didn’t see a problem with it, he didn’t see how damaging it was, he didn’t care, and once he thought Lottie was old enough, he shared it with her.

Charlotte was 11 the first time she got drunk, 12 the first the time she smoked weed, 13 the first time she had sex, and fourteen when she first got addicted to cocaine. The list grew as she did, the perfect little star on the road, the daughter of the world’s ‘best’ guitarist, the lead singer of The Stillborns. He was so proud of his girl, he loved her more than anything, and she lived to make him proud. She could remember the concerned looks from tutors on the road, her father hiring them to make sure he could keep Lottie at his side, having her learn from the strangers when she could, paying them off not to speak about the things his daughter was involved in, and everyone turned their head, said nothing. Charlotte didn’t know any better, the life she lived was all she knew, all she loved. Sex, drugs, and rock & roll, just like her mother, she was truly the perfect girl, just like her father had wanted her to be.

That all changed when she was seventeen. when one night her father must have misjudged the dose he helped her shoot into her veins. Ricky had had his fair share of overdoses, his own, his buddies, even the one that put his wife into cardiac arrest and took her from him. Though when his daughter started to convulse, he couldn’t bring himself to do much of anything but push her onto her side and dial 911. He left her in the dutiful hands of his band manager and a family friend before he left her alone to wake up in the hospital with no clue what had happened, no idea where her he was, and an onslaught of CPS agents, police, and paparazzi.

It was all that was needed for her grandparents to finally get custody of Charlotte, proof of her father’s neglect, proof of his horrible influence of the young girl. Lottie waited for him, waited for him to show up at the hospital, show up at court, show up to fight for her, but he never did. He never called, he never wrote, and when Charlotte was moving in with her grandparents in their little ranch in Las Vegas after spending months in a rehabilitation center, she still heard nothing from her father. The tides changed then, Charlotte realized she couldn’t go on living the way she had, the way her mother had, so rather than wait until the day she was eighteen to go back to her old life, she made a new one, or at least she tried to. It was a twisted Cinderella story, at least that’s how the news showed it. The once tragic life of a child of rock & roll turned into the sugary sweet life of a beautiful Instagram star, Charlotte Haze coined a new life for herself, with the watchful and worried eye of her grandmother.

PRESENT.

College seemed like something that would be good. A set routine, a new chance at life, a way to start over…  sure she didn’t do the best at school on the road but was that her fault or the environments. It would be something normal, a true school environment she never got to experience.  Vermont was far, but with some tears and lots of convincing, she was able to get them to agree to let her leave. , and they made sure to give her everything she needed to get on well, with a few standards she had to meet at least. Music would always be apart of Charlotte’s life, even if her father wasn’t, so she figured journalism would be good for her, getting to explore the lives of all the musicians and artists but while also keeping a safe distance from the true lives some lived on the road, not wanting to break her vow to herself, to avoid any and all triggers to her past.

She’s been sober for a while, though the bumps of life have given her a few setbacks, relapsing is part of the process, after all, at least that’s what she told herself each time she embarrassingly returned to her NA meetings or faced the disappointed look of her grandmother who controlled her allowances, basing how much money she fed to the spoiled girl by how stable her life seemed to be at the time. Lottie was going to live her life for herself, she did what she wanted, how she wanted it, though she put on her best appearances for her grandmother, after all, it wasn’t like she was actually going to get a job to support herself, not when she had all the money she could ever ask for in her namesake alone.

SECRET.

Lottie is used to having things handed to her, she’s used to being able to spend her money frivolously, with no care or worry of consequence. But when her grandparents cut her off and the cash flow stops coming in, there’s not much for her to do to keep her materialistic life up. Sure she could get a job on campus, work at a book store, the coffee shop, the record store… but Lottie doesn’t like to work… and she has little patience for tedious things… and so her genius idea was to make money off doing the one thing she never got bored of, sex. Lottie has a secret camgirl/porn account that she earns extra cash from, it’s not something she’s ashamed of at all, but she doesn’t want it getting out on account of her old money grandparents and her widely known father, the last thing she wants to be is a cliche, even if she’s happily living as one.

TLDR.

So basically, Lottie’s got a tricky background, she’s rich af, spoiled af, bitchy af, and kind of just does what she wants whenever she wants. She’s up and down with her sobriety, views everything pretty cockeyed, considering she doesn’t want to trigger herself into using again, but will down a bottle of Grey Goose with little consideration of the consequences. She’s got a lot to hide still, gets her inheritance from her grandparents and that can be easily toyed with, considering they view her life with a magnifying glass. Connection wise she’s open to anything, hookups, passed hookups, ex’s, FWBs, frenemies, best friends, she’s bi and ready to cry so please, love her.

[luiscivious]

— && guests may mistake me as ( hugh dancy ), but really i am ( luis cholmondeley + male + he/him ) and my DOB is ( 01/31/1979 ). i am a ( fashion designer ) and would like to stay in suite ( #313 ). i won’t be much of a bother because i am ( + polished, meticulous, and incisive ), but i can also be ( - undemonstrative, rancorous, and fatalistic ) at times. personally, i like to ( read, listen to music alone, and solve puzzles ) when i have the time to relax, and my favorite snack is ( candied citrus peels ) to have in my suite. thank you for checking in!

i suddenly had an insatiable need to make a new muse for the rp. i hope you guys like him!! he’s a weird fusion between a very old muse of mine and a ton of new ideas! there’s also a tl;dr if you don’t wanna sit through all of it lol tw: cancer, tw: death mention

BACKSTORY AND SUMMARY 

Luis was born in New Haven, Connecticut and is the third out of five children, as well as being the first of two sons in the family. His father was an American high profile defense attorney who has worked to absolve power-players in the government of any foul play before retirement. His mother is a British heiress to one of the largest cattle breeders in the world whose only work experience is managing hedge funds. 

Needless to say, Luis and his siblings grew up without ever wanting for anything. Despite all being born in the US, the Cholmondeley family spent most of their time in Europe. Luis went to private schools in London, Paris, and Rolle, where he graduated from Institut Le Rosey at the top of his class in 1995.

After graduating, instead of taking a gap year as many his age did, Luis set out his applications and was accepted into several ivy leagues, but settled on Harvard as it was his parents’ desire to have their children aim for the stars. Luis and his closest sister in age above him were to study law and become president. At least, that was the plan. Academic rivals and all that. His sister went to Yale.

Luis thrived in university even better than he did in high school, but wound up finding more enjoyment out of medicine than he did his law classes. Considering how impossible it would be to go both pre-law and pre-med while balancing a myriad of extracurricular activities, he decided to forego his medical dreams for his undergraduate study and graduated summa cum laude with a major in Political Science and a minor in Biology, a fact that his mother was impressed with, even if his father found useless.

His father’s disappointment only grew when Luis decided to enroll in Harvard Medical School rather than the law school. At this point, Luis had solidified himself as an individual. If the family wanted a president, his sister was more than willing to play the part.

Medical school was, of course, no different academically than his previous years of schooling. He graduated and immediately performed his residency at the John Hopkins Hospital, specializing in general medicine and shadowing underneath the general surgeon. While studying there, he took an interest in making his own clothes. It had started out as a hobby, but soon became a serious point of interest for the man. He ended getting so good at it, he would make articles of clothes for the other doctors. In the coming years, this would play a large part in his ultimate decision to part ways with John Hopkins.

This decision was also the last straw for Luis’ father. He was effectively ostracized, treated like a failure for pursuing a passion instead of doing something practical. To his father, it wasn’t enough to be rich. Power and influence meant so much more. Luis was left to fend for himself, though being the child of wealth didn’t mean much overall. He was able to use his family name and several connections to work with high end designers and wound up making a name for himself on his own. The first big jumping point in his career was when his pieces were featured on the bodies of Vogue cover models. He had finally done it, broken through.

Life hit hard immediately after. Luis was always prone to intrusive thoughts, but they were getting worse suddenly. His vision suffered, his morale and balance took a huge drop, and he didn’t need the doctor’s appointment to tell him something was wrong in his brain. They discovered that he had a cancerous tumor, Anaplastic astrocytoma, in his brain that would most likely kill him in less than five years if it wasn’t removed. They were unsure of how long he’d have if it were removed, however, as the cells could have spread elsewhere or could be incredibly aggressive.

Luis felt that the walls of his world were caving in, but he did what he knew best: compartmentalized it. Money handled the rest. He kept his treatments and eventual surgeries to himself, touting his shaved head as a fashion statement rather than anything serious. He hid it from the world as the world began to finally look at him as a celebrity stylist at the top of his game. 

He never reconnected with his family during these dark times, choosing to face it all alone and hope to never drag anyone down with him. He had never been the brightest star in the sky, but he smiled less as time went on. He felt less too.

As of now, Luis has been in remission for several years. He doesn’t believe he’s beaten cancer forever, but that’s more pessimism that he masquerades as realism. 

TLDR;

Luis is a famous fashion designer who came from wealth and is now at the Malnati. He’s a cancer survivor and a perpetual grump.

HEADCANONS

Luis’s accent is contentious. There are times where he sounds almost Mid-Atlantic and others where it’s so posh, it’s akin to the Queen’s English. He argues that his accent is a perfect blend of his parents, but he certainly leans more toward his mother’s accent.

Aside from English, Luis speaks German, French, and Italian fluently. He is conversational in Spanish, Portuguese, and Mandarin Chinese but don’t claim any as proficiencies.

He has a strong eidetic memory and a near photographic memory that is disturbingly accurate. This has helped him study in school, but has come in handy even more as an adult in expanding his visual bank for design options.

Luis isn’t very tall. Hugh Dancy is about 5′10″ ish, but Luis stands at 5′4″ in shoes. Flatfoot, would be almost a full inch or so shorter.

He suffers from a diagnosed anxiety disorder and that extends socially. This makes him a rather quiet person around others. However, if he’s put in a position where his rehearsed words aren’t easily applicable, Luis will get flustered very easily, which can cause him to stumble when speaking. He’s also been known to infodump if he’s particularly close to someone.

[finsterhund]

In today’s episode of “Finsterhund is a complete dumbass”

So you all know that my friend gave me a USB charging cable for my Nexus 5 (he thought it was high quality because it was metallicy braided and looked nice. It wasn’t him deliberately sabotaging me. That thing was expensive) Right?

And after two months of use the dang thing MELTED and charred black and warped the case of my phone and the usb charging port. Rendering it “really bad at charging properly,” right?

And it liked to melt charging cables until I wiped all the burnt charging cable out of it with rubbing alcohol, but even after you had to bend the cables around behind so that the pins connected, right?

And then we ordered a replacement for the charging port (a small ribbon board cable) off Amazon Prime (yuck. But bear with me) Right?

But the one that came was not like the photo (of the official part) and instead was a cheap (and on top of that secondhand) knockoff that I thought bricked my phone for two hours, right?

And my friend said he would send it back to get it replaced, right?

But he put it off because it wasn’t important because you can put that off for three months except it was my phone that I needed to use so it actually was important, right?

So anyways, today when we were going back from the doctor appointment we passed a phone repair shop and I begged to go because I’m sick of needing to tape the charging cord taut to the back of the phone just to get a charge.

So in there this guy is all “okay I can replace this part or you can just buy an entire Nexus 5 for thirty extra dollars”

And since I am full of pride (and embarrassment at needing to go to a place to fix it for me because I know exactly how to do it myself. I mean no disrespect to this guy. He’s working the EXACT JOB I’d be most suited for if I actually got a job if not for my inability to do things by myself and talk to people. I respect the hustle. I just feel a lot of shame for needing to be on the other side of things) and didn’t want to pay someone the service fee for something that at the time (because he didn’t know that part was removable) I thought I knew more about than he did, and because I was mad that the replacement part costed a fraction of the service price but I didn’t have it because my friend put that off, and because I was desperate, and because I stupidly thought that “thirty dollars isn’t that much money” Andy, that is three meals at McDonalds it MOST DEFINITELY IS a lot of money, I ended up buying the full Nexus 5. So now I have two Nexus 5s. My old one, and the “new” one. The logic was that $30 isn’t a lot (it is) and that my old phone had a messed up GPS and the mic didn’t work. (which is true)

The new one is white, and for some reason the designers of the Nexus 5 decided that because the phone was white it needed to have a white speaker in its BLACK screen. And it’s dirty. There was also damage to the screen, case, etc and it looks dirtier because: white. TLDR I loved my old phone better. Which makes sense because I bonded with it.

So I’m sitting here, cleaning the new phone, grossed out by the level of grime in the headphone jack, I use like 20 q-tips wiping it down with rubbing alcohol, and thinking “damn it why was I such a little baby and unable to swallow my pride and then have three McDonalds meals Andy you absolute dumbass.”

So I decided to just switch it out.

And... the mic worked...

on both of them...

Oh... oh no...

So that was a thing.

So now my black Nexus 5 (with the white Nexus 5 charging port) seems to be charging perfectly fine, and the mic is working.

And the white Nexus 5 (with the black Nexus 5 charging port) seems to be... charging a little bit better... (but I suspect it’s my brain playing tricks on me) and the mic is ALSO working.

So full disclosure that I am using a borrowed charging cable for my original Nexus 5 (now with the new charging port) and am using the same bent charging cable for the new Nexus 5 (with the old charging port) The new charging port charges normally, no messing with the cable. The old charging port requires the good old fashioned “bend it backwards painfully in order to connect the pins” trick.

So I feel like a complete idiot.

And now have three dated smartphones with issues. All of them released in Fall of 2013. A weird coincidence.

For reference the other is an iPhone 5 that I ran into the ground. Physically, its body is perfect. Screen? FLAWLESS. This was the first smartphone I ever had as a lower class brat who was always the last to get new tech. This was the most expensive thing I owned for a very long time and that shows. I also had to go through hell to get it. The only issue is that Apple intentionally bricks their old phones so now the little guy can’t hold a charge for the life of him. You ruined a perfectly good phone that I took good care of Apple! You nerfed my boy! I’ll never buy Apple products again!

So around the time when it became obvious that Apple had nerfed the older iPhones, my friend who got a Google Pixel gave me his old Nexus 5. And I IMMEDIATELY fell in love with it. It was bigger, I found it easier to transfer files, and I just liked it. Android felt cozier. I’m truly sorry. I took to it fairly quickly considering how hard it is for me to make the technology jump when it comes to operating systems and similar. My love and familiarity with Windows XP has been enough to prevent me from making the jump to Linux despite how much I resent Windows 10 and how it bricked a laptop of mine, but I went from iOS to Android in a matter of months.

The point being is I have a beloved old iPhone that can’t hold a charge anymore, a Nexus 5 that has been owned by at least two other people (my friend got it secondhand) and then it stopped working correctly because a charging cable melted it.

My friend told me to just get a new phone, but I told him I didn’t want to spend $500 on a Google Pixel when I was perfectly happy with my Nexus 5.

He then let me know that a Google Pixel is actually $900 which pretty much confirmed that I would never get one.

In the end, this second Nexus 5 was under $100. Which is a far cry from $900, and the likely almost as high cost of other new phones. I feel stupid for just not getting the replacement part, but at least I have a second in case anything happens to it.

*shrugs sadly*

I’m not hurting for money this month so it just means no spending hundreds on commissions. I’m sad that I will put off commissions again, as I did promise artists at the convention two months ago, but money is tight and everyone should understand that.

I feel better that my phone has been secured, but anxious that when I buy a new cord it’s just going to melt the charging port again. Apparently cheap USB cables will do that to a Nexus 5? I’ve been through like three before that and it’s never happened so I guess it was just THIS one. The evil cord from 7 Eleven. (why would you betray me 7 Eleven!!?? WHY!?) so I’ll be buying branded cables in the future.

[xellawritesx-blog]

Victuuri Witchcraft fic

TLDR; Victuuri Witch Fic where Viktor is a witch and Yuuri is just a regular human and they are an adorable couple. They own a little perfume shop called Agape & Eros where they sell charmed scents. Not only do their scents smell amazing, they’re blessed with a little magic. For those who need some magic assistance and are willing to pay a extra, you can have Viktor make a special perfume potion or aphrodisiac for you (and of course, the creators totally test all their sexytime perfumes on each other). It’s my brain dump of the perfume and witchcraft fic absolutely no one asked for. 

There was something strange about the perfume shop on Third.

If you knew the neighborhood, you knew the tiny storefront sandwiched between the bakery and a shoe shop was once upon a time a barbershop until the mid-century when it was converted into a bookstore. Decades later, it was a coffee house. It was a shame when the coffee house went, because the drinks were good and there was always plenty to watch as the uptown crowd filtered in and out of the boutiques that lined the street. The space sat for a good while empty, and there was a flood a while back that left the floorboards rotted and the walls chewed with mildew. So, it was a surprise that anyone would see something in it - especially a guy like him, with his fashionably cut silvery-blonde hair and expensive leather shoes. He walked right in, took one look at the cobwebs and rot, and turned to his dog. The poodle was feverishly sniffing every nook and cranny. “What do you think, Makkachin?”

The dog’s tail wagged. He took that as approval, because he turned to the landlord next and said, “It’s a real mess. And it smells like a dead animal. But I’ll take it. At my price, of course - but I’ll take it.”

His price was low. But it was better than anyone could expect to get for a flood-damaged shack of a space - so the landlord easily took the money and ran, glad to have dumped it on some other sad sack who had big dreams and a big budget to waste.

But within a month, there was an Open sign hanging in the glass-paneled front door, and the floor was replaced with marble and the interior brick painted fresh-white. Inside, alabaster shelves lined with hundreds of jars and vials decorated the walls. The shop sign read: Agape & Eros. Third Street’s first perfumery.

But this perfumery, despite being wildly popular, was strange. The hours were wacky and unpredictable. Randomly closed on the odd business day, open on holidays, occasionally taking customers past nine p.m. Occasionally, there’d be a piece of paper, ripped out violently from a notebook and taped to the front door. In someone’s handwriting it read in cyrillic: Time to eat! Be back sometime.

It was difficult to get an appointment if you wanted a custom order. And that was the very thing everyone recommended. People all over the city insisted thirty minutes with Viktor Nikiforov was well worth the wait.  

So, like everyone else, you put your name on the list and you waited.

And on that day, when you managed to find an hour when they were open, and someone was actually there, and there wasn’t too many customers causing a line out the door, and it was long past lunch hour, you’d be able to take your appointment. The first thing that hit you was scent. Spices. Flowers. Delightful and clearly curated depending on the day and mood, and god it was delicious. Better than a pastry shop.

The next thing that greeted you was a whirlwind dog. She was a large, teddy bear of a poodle and eager to make sure she took in every scent you brought along with you. Nuzzling her snout into your hands, bag, unmentionables, until the young man with dark hair and glasses sitting at the counter looked up from his book at scolded, “Makkachin!”

The dog, all the sudden deflated, would mosey back to its bed.

“Sorry,” he said. He was nondescript and quiet, and greeted you in shaky Russian, then in English before turning back to his book.

The shop was bright with natural light, chic white with fresh flowers in the window sills. Hundreds of glass vials reflected the sunlight, filled with liquids and dried flowers and spices - like an apothecary or science lab - but delicate as a dream. For a moment you’d think your friends were shitting you with all this talk of voodoo and hocus-pocus. Clearly it wasn’t happening in this place. It was chic as a fashion showroom with a guy manning the counter that was as regular as regular could get, wearing jeans and a polo shirt. Hiding behind his glasses.

He didn’t say anything at all, letting you curiously peek at the contents of the jars and vials - cardamom, musk, lavender, sea salt - until he all the sudden he piped up. “Premade scents are over here.” He’d get up and show you. “There are some for spring and summer. The mood and inspiration is written on the bottle. You’re welcome to test any of them.”

But, if you heard the rumors, you knew you weren’t looking for pre-made scents. Everyone knew you’d have to let him know you had a custom order. When you did, his expression would shift ever so slightly and you couldn’t decide if you had asked the wrong question or not. He nodded. Then, he’d gesture for you to follow him into the back.

It was a small room and there was a couple chairs and a table. It was still just as plain and regular as the front - no witch’s lair hiding back here. He’d sit you down and offer you tea. “Viktor will be down in just a moment,” he said, turning to leave. “If you need anything in the meanwhile, I’m right out here. My name is Yuuri, by the way.”

The owner, Viktor Nikiforov, was very handsome. This was just as widely whispered about as the shop’s mystical reputation. So, when he came in the room fifteen minutes or so later, you knew exactly who was standing in the doorway.

He was gorgeous in the way that supermodels and film stars are gorgeous - and clearly he knew it made people nervous around him. And he didn’t like it. Because of this, he was quick to bring himself to your level. Bright as sunshine, looking into your eyes as he said, “Welcome!” He’d take your hand to shake and put on this affectionate smile, like all his life he’d been eagerly waiting your arrival. “So pleased to meet you. Come. Sit. Let’s talk.”

You’d chat and it’d be so easy to talk to him. He’d ask a million questions and indulge you with the little details of his own life. That he was working on new perfumes, and reading Faust, and he had forgotten to do the laundry after his boyfriend (the guy at the front of the shop nonetheless) had asked him to a million times.  He had a sweet, self-amused little laugh that made you laugh too.

Before long, without you even realizing it, the consultation began.

He always knew what you were looking for before you did. Love? Good luck? Confidence? Without a word, he just knew. It was surprising, when he’d suddenly ask a question like: What is their name?

Whose name?

Their name of course. The one you desire.

He was intuitive in that way. Read you like a deck of cards. And that’s when you’d realize, those blue eyes were calculating and that his dizzy way of conversation was well-choreographed waltz. The questions eventually got more pointed. 

Are you in love with this person? Or do you just want to sleep with them? Is there anything in the way of this happening?  How long do you want the spell to last?

Of course, this was more than perfume.

Finally, he’d say: “I know exactly what you need.”

He came with a pad of paper, and jotted down a list of things you needed to bring to him. 

A lock of your lover’s hair. Soil from the neighbor’s yard. An eyelash. A sparrow’s feather.

Depending on the weight of your request, he’d ask for more peculiar things. 

Dried leaves. Salt. An enemy’s spit. Blood.

“When you’ve gathered this list of items, bring them back in a single package, individually wrapped. You can use jars, sandwich bags, whatever you’ve got around the house. Leave them in the mail slot at the back door. Makkachin won’t bother them I promise.” Once you supplied the items, he told you to return in two weeks and provide whoever was working at the time with your name to receive your package.

When you did return, (on a day when they were open, and not out to lunch or walking the dog, and it wasn’t too busy to breathe) the dark haired man was there to take your name. He handed over a small box wrapped in foil-paper, pretty as a Christmas gift. With a card on top. It read:

Designed for uniquely for you. In a full moon, apply the perfume the pulse points and let it warm on the skin of whoever you’d like the spell to take effect upon. Within 7 hours of application, recite these words…

Underneath, he’d written what appeared to be a spell. First in Latin. Then, in cyrillic.

Two nights and your spell will take effect.

Blessed by,

Agape & Eros.

[hecallsmehischild]

Krav Maga and the Downswing

Okay so I have to set this down before I forget in typical Child-fashion.

TLDR; Tonight was my second Krav Maga class, and it flipped my downswing on its head.

Early part of today was pretty good. I got almost two pages of my next chapter written and I was enjoying chilling in Starbucks. Toward the end of my writing stream, I started to feel some melancholy and ended the stream. Within an hour I’d progressed from melancholy to something dark and heavy that squeezed my lungs flat and made it hard to breathe. I was hurting so bad emotionally, that my fore-arms were aching. This probably sounds ridiculous to most people, but when I’m in a full blast downswing, for some reason my fore-arms always ache in an echo of what I’m feeling in my chest.

My fiance came to pick me up and drive us to class. At that point I wasn’t even sure if I could do it. The entire car ride I was fighting with myself about whether or not I could go through with the class when I could barely find the inner strength to move.

We got to the facility, and I entered. We were 15 minutes early, and every 5 minutes I had to refight the battle to stay all over again. Finally, we walked into the classroom and began.

And let me tell you. I’d already experienced the whole “I just can’t think about anything during this class!” two days ago in my first lesson, but this was a whole other level. I was so involved in what I was doing and the elbows I was throwing and the swings I was practicing, that the first time I even got to think, “I’m not in a downswing anymore,” was at the end of class, when it had been gone since probably five minutes in.

Granted, because I’m very out of shape and untrained, I was shaky and limp as a noodle afterward. In spite of that, my emotions were not only stable, but lifted. The intensity of the class completely reversed a full blown downswing.

It’s always been noted that exercise is great for mental health, but I’d add in that for people like me who have serious trouble reining in their thoughts and emotional states, it’s probably important that we exercise in a way that gives us very little time to think our own thoughts. Time to think is not always our friend, and I’ve always found things like exercise bikes and treadmills to be pointless (to me, personally) because you’re not moving toward a practical goal and also it gives your brain WAY too much free rein.

Krav Maga (and I would bet other types of martial arts) engage just about all you’ve got, body and brain, for a full session with the practical end goal of being able to defend yourself. It’s hard work. I leave shaking and dripping sweat. But by two classes, I’m sold on its worth. Whether or not I’m actually able to fend someone off in a few months, it is benefitting my body and my mental health in the here and now.

[theday]

tagged by @ikyh and @younghyuuns ill be doing both sets !! :D thank you both for tagging me!! this got long so yall dont hav 2 read <3

ru?? rushee’s set!! me: wow ru does not sound like rushee at all ? djsjdhhjd im dumb but i realize now

i. do u believe in astrology? whats ur sign and do u line up with the features usually attributed to it?

fucc... i guess i do ;-0...... and yeah i think?????? like they say capricorns are cold bitches and funny nd im like ya thats me... but they also say we’re hard workers and im like uh.. dont know abt that karen !

ii. what’s ur favorite pair of socks?

bbbbbbb..... socks huh...... i guess my ankle ones? there are also socks that have actual designs on them and those r usually thicker.. keep my feets safe! most of them have pkmn designs bc.. yeah... love the poke mans

iii. what’s a food that reminds you of a specific moment/memory?

i could think of anythiing and get reminded of one situation if that makes sense.. but i thought of pineapple..pizza... anyway the memory isnt anythngn special its just me staring at my delicious hawaiian pizza..... at my favourite pizza place.... love that shit

iv. what’s the longest you’ve gone without sleeping?

i dont have the actual hours but the latest ive stayed up.. like willingly would be until 2am

v. how has ur taste in music changed throughout ur life?

went from 1d to 5so/s + other bands to utaite.... they cover vocaloid songs ig i never kno how2 explain what utaites r then 2 kpop.. but i still listen 2 bands + kpop and utaites.... so nothing much has changed ive just gone broader.. wider... expanded my tastes... 

vi. who’s ur fashion icon?

oh definitely kim wonpil

vii. what’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done without realizing?

i breathe dumbass particles.. i cant think of one bc my brain probably blocked off all access to my horrifying past but ive been thinking abt how i used 2 send the boy i used 2 like 1d songs....................... 12 y/o old me rly thought. he’d listen.... 12 y/o me thought spamming him was a good idea glad ive learnt from that! 

viii. what’s something you want to brag about?

my grades but it didnt get me into psychology so nvm ! its still good though i didnt expect to get an A1 (hghest grade) for combined humanities since ive had a B my whole life without it i wouldnt be able to move on education wise lmao so thank god for that thanks cambridge thanks bell curve sunbaenim 

ix. when you imagine urself being happy in the future, where exactly are you (like the location!)?

oh definitely an apartment somewhere where its always windy and the curtains are always Moving and the sun just Shines in the room but its not that hot either its just full of warmth and yeah thats the dream maybe also walks in the park without having 2 worry abt sweating my pits out u kno! tldr anywhere but here

x. what’s something you’ve always wanted to own?

let me Think.... i dont need a lot/?? but id love hm.............. i want stability but realistically i want all the hh pcs from the code albums. 

xi. how’ve you been lately?

good good! i finished my *** fic and its. im proud of it though i know its not that good nd i can do better but its done ! and hm i could be going to see mx but asking my mum is stressing me out speaking of her she wont stop Coughing and she refuses to see the doctor ;-/ love those sleepless nights ! other than that i just want 2 get out and feel the sun ???/ wanna get out of this house yea but i need to be.. shady with my money i cant get a job because school is starting in a month and im going overseas again sometime next month so ! no ones gonna hire someone who can only work for 2 weeks at most dhzjhhs shouldve worked when i had the time dumbasses only

ok now falen

1. what’s been on your mind??

hm redacted feeling towards my mum but i cant say them bc itd be insensitive 

2. what are you looking forward to? 

mx? possibly but also finishing my enrolment papers

3. story time!: how and when did you get into day6!!!!!

fuck...... listen up LADS. 

ive told the same story like 10 times but im never gonna get tired of saying this shit bc i love miss boxy so much nd she deserves the appreciation anywy she introduced me 2 day6 after i saw this one (1) picture of brian in minion glasses and instantly i knew in that Fucking moment thatd id die for him. so i asked for the name of my murderer and was introduced to day6 whom frankly id never heard of b4 bdjhjh she sent me all their mvs and i still remember the night . i remember walking out of this japanese restaurant, twitter open, chat wiht boxy there and i was like.. interesting ill go listen when im home so i Did! and my mind was blown away bitch? i honest 2 god expected them to be a boy group,,, dancing and shit yknow? i didnt know k bands existed ! so as a previous 5/sos stan i was like wow. this??? this shit is 10/10 a fucking BANGER thats what i felt listening 2 i smile and just going :O over the fucking instruments so idk if how can i say was the last or second song but Damn. .. it made me scream thanks mister j** he rly dragged me by the collar of my shirt and threw me face first into Heaven so i watched everything i asked my friend for video recommendations and after boxy sent me a page with their face and names i was like this jae kid is 182 cm? wow gotta stan now im stupid and stupid for glasses and tall people so ! it happened bithc,, ugh i lov eday6 so much i remember binge watchng all their vlives after the july after party live (that being the first vlive i watched Ever in my entire life and i laghed so hard despite not understanding a damn thing) please id giv my heart and soul2 day6 im so happy with the way ive progressed as a myday :^( 

bonus when i first started stanning it was 26th june and shortly after i made a stan acc teasers were being dropped but i didnt kno why ppl were freaking out i remmeber seeing jae’s teaser nd going ? ok? its just a pic damn ;-/ and then eveeryone was like: dowoon! choker! me: wdhs? what

4. ????do you have any allergies????

did u think of jae and no i used to be allergic 2 dairy products but thats disappeared

5. a fond memory???

bowling with friends and im just a disaster of a friend im always so loud with them and i thank god everyday that they handle my energy ? i would cheer for them even if they got a gutter or whatever and when they got a strike id go clap like crazy i love my friends i also went i have the power of god and anime on my side before flinging the ball and theyd laugh despite not knowing what vine that was from i love my friends... psg if ur out there yall are the best x i miss hanigng out with them as a trio.. three of us :( 

6. do you paint your nails?? if so, what are your fave colors to use?? if not, why??  

thats so.. tiresome.......... dont u have 2 wait for it 2 dry and shit ? my mums always worried abt ruining the colour or some sht nd im like !!! okY!!!!!!! tldr its a pain in the ass

7. what are your favorite colors?? what are your fave colors to wear??

i like hte colour of the sky... all the colours........ yeah love that bithc and lately ive been wearing a lot of black shirts finally went out of my embarrassing colourful phase ! 

8. what languages would you like to learn?? for what reason(s)??

japanese nd korean jp because i listen to a lot of things in japanese and korean for the same reason but my priority would be jp even tho id love to communicate with my faves i just... yeah although im not exactly making an effort 2 learn bc im lazy but if i Could.... itd be those two

9. when you get stickers, do you use them or do you keep them??

DHDGFHDHDGDSJHJSJAKSSJHFHS THIS FEELS LIKE A CALL OUT???? i keep them......... 

10. are there any groups that you might get into/want to get into?

hm... well theres knk ive learnt their names and im finally able to put name 2 face so thats nice svt too if htey didnt have such large numbers... thats all for now i think?? i love evry girl group though i love gIRLS... 

11. how are you???

idk im constantly just fine?? not the im sad but im fine kind of fine im literally just neutral half the time wjhddshs wild 

both of your questions were really unique and i loved answering them thank you so much for tagging me and if youve read until the end thank you i hope you have a good day!