#remember this!!!

[threephantomrey]

things to do:

✅get a clue

✅be cool

✅guess who

✅learn what’s new

✅know where are you

[thatsmutlock]

RIGHT NOW

John and Sherlock are raising a baby together! Right now! Right now. RIGHT NOW!

[prohivemind]

bailey is now the perfect amount of not boney and things are looking good with her training and i pet her and give her kisses soooo much

[lightmimic]

sunset skies / babbling fountain / spiked blond bangs.  chiming bell.  a dark building.  a white dress.

Her hands shake.  He touches her shoulder and her trembling fingers press to her face, eyes visible through the gaps in her digits.  Where is she.  Where is she?  Who is she ——

sunset skies / babbling fountain / spiked blond bangs.  bright red blood.  a book in the darkness.  a girl whispering, ‘sorry.’

Who is he —— ??

“Are you okay?”  His voice comes from far away.  Does she know that voice?  Does he know that voice?  Yes to both.  She looks up through her fingers / through blond bangs / through orange bangs / eyes wide and swimming with unreality.  Who is she?

sunset skies / babbling fountain / fingers curled around a blade like claws.  trembling hands, too small.  a stained white dress.  a voice that isn’t hers but comes from her mouth saying ‘did i do this?’

“You seem a little shaken,” he — Terra — says.  She looks up at him.  Up at him.  Where is she?  Who is she?  Is she real?  Is she ——

“Why did I do that?” she whispers, voice cavernous and gaping.  a voice that isn’t hers but comes from her mouth.  a girl trying to die in the sun.  he would like to die in the sun.  die?  who wants to die?  “Why did I do that?”

“Xion?” Terra asks, careful, voice unsure.  Xion?  Who is Xion?  She is ——

she is ————-

She isn’t.

a girl in white and his blade and the white isn’t white anymore.

“Xion,” she repeats, eyes widening.  Some of the strange not - quite - there fades from her electric eyes, but not all.

“Yes.  You’re Xion.  What’s going on?”  His grip goes a little tighter.  Her hands fall from her face and she stares at the hand on her shoulder like she doesn’t understand it.  Foreign.  But not.  white hair, curly, gloved hand on her / his shoulder.  Foreign.

“Why did I do that?” she asks again.  Her voice is edged with panic.  Her eyes are wide and flat.  Lightless.  “Terra, why did I hurt her?”

the heartless don’t bleed.  why is missing ache covered in blood?  why is there blood on my blade?  why is there blood on my hands?  what did i do?

“Xion,” he says, again, voice low, perhaps sensing that she needs the sound of her voice in another’s mouth.  The sound is solid and real and she tries to grasp it and can’t manage it.  Fingers won’t curl.  Doesn’t want to be holding a weapon.  “You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I made her bleed.”

“Who, Xion?”

what was her name?  who’s name?  what did i do?  why is missing ache covered in blood?

“I don’t —— know ———-”  Hands rise again, twisting this time into her hair and tugging.  Head ducks.  She blinks.  Black bangs.  She blinks.  Blond bangs.  “Who ——-”  Her head snaps up, panicked and bright.  Tears are abrupt in the track down her cheeks.  “Terra, I — I can’t —— I can’t breathe.  I’m not me. I’m not me!”  She can’t breathe.  This feels like dying twice. “I’m ——- !!”

Before she can say the name that would break the both of them / before she can realize the name that would break three of them / he’s pulling her into an embrace.  Her eyes widen, staring past his shoulder.  Her hands fall limp into her lap.  Her holds her safe, solid, she can feel his heartbeat.  She can feel his heartbeat / his heartbeat / she can’t feel her own heartbeat.  Does she have her own heartbeat?

“You’re you,” he whispers, gentle but insistent.  “You’re you, Xion.  Nobody else.  Just you.  Just you.  I promise, okay?”

Blond bangs.  She blinks.

“You never have to be anyone else ever again.”

Black bangs.  She blinks.  They stay black.  sunset skies / a babbling fountain.  What was that?  heartless don’t bleed.  What was that?  a white dress.  The memories trickle from her quick as they came, falling through her fingers, the misplaced rememberings that were her own / not her own fading like sand through a sieve.  She is Xion.  She is Xion.  Who else could she be — ??

orange hair and a girl whispering, ‘sorry.’

“I’m — me.”  Her trembling hands rise and grasp him around the back.  She blinks.  Blond bangs.  “I’m me.”

and a girl whispering, ‘sorry.’

[starmachine2000]

even though it may not feel like it there is always love left in the world

[suicidle]

My crush is an incoming college sophomore. He's unbelievably intelligent. He's a scholar and ranked second in the entrance examinations for our country's most prestigious university. He doesn't study at all, but he still manages to get high grades! He's so out of my league. He's two years older than me. He's also pretty cool, with a nice taste in music and fashion. If people were rain, I'd be a drizzle and he'd be a hurricane.

Drizzle you say...

Something I’ve come to learn is that although two years, or even one year, may not seem like a long time (and really, in most cases it isn’t), it doesn’t change the fact that at our age, people change so rapidly. I wouldn’t even recognize the me from a year ago now. 

I’m guessing that if he’s a rising senior, you’re about 13/14? Trust me when I say that when he was your age, he probably also saw someone who was older and looked at them in wonder, thinking about how sure they are of themselves, and how composed and balanced and beautiful they are in their way of living. 

You are at a very tender age, where everything is just beginning to grow and life is becoming less of a game and more of a struggle. So seeing how he deals with what’s supposed to be a struggle, with style and grace and whatnot, you feel like you’ll never reach his level. And maybe that’s true - maybe he’ll always be two years older, with two more years of knowledge behind his back. But maybe you’ll go on a different path. 

I’d say, you are not a drizzle, and he is not a hurricane.

You are both universes. 

And because you see all of his stars and power, you think that you are nothing in comparison, but reality is that if you exist, if you are alive and breathing, you have your own stars and stories and power. You need those to keep you going. And those stars are growing brighter and larger, and every day more of them appear. 

Maybe, sometimes, he sees your stars too. And maybe they amaze him just as much.

(On another note - his studying thing? You really don’t need to glorify that. If there’s anything I’ve learned, rather than to be born with a certain knowledge, it’s better to be born with a willingness to learn. He has knowledge now, but what will he do when he can no longer use that knowledge? Make it your own goal to become a learner - learn from people, learn their good traits, learn their patterns. Become a master of what is around you, rather than what is inside you. Then, what’s inside you will simply follow.)

[jiubilee]

Confirming that you are, in fact, perf would be an appropriate response. It is, in fact, the only appropriate response.

Aww shucks, you really are making my day (week, even), darling xoxo

I will admit that while I don’t think I’m actually perfect, I do love myself quite a lot and I am quite happy with the kind of person that I am, so I guess you could say that I am close to my own personal kind of perfect. 

ask me stuff! (anonymously or not)