3am Thoughts - Blog Posts

I am scared .

I am a young queer girl.

I don’t have much of a community, only two people who are also LGBT+ and three or four more who are even slightly liberal. Only the former know I actually am panromantic.

I long to be in the sun, to know in the future I could have a girlfriend, or even just be open, but that longing makes me cautious.

I feel I must temper my argumentative side, make myself likable, and yet still try to hold all those around me accountable and challenge their preconceived notions. I want, when they think back on me, them not to feel revilement or fear I may have been deceiving them. I try to compliment all the other girls in my grade but I fear if I truly say how aesthetically beautiful I feel they all are, they will look back and see me as perverse or fear I had a crush on them and not understand I see them as beautiful in the same way I see the mountains and the trees. Rather than understanding I had hoped for them to see themselves as an innately beautiful part of the beautiful universe or even just to slightly improve their abysmal self esteem, they might look back and see “corruption” in my words.

I don’t know why I even fear it.

I fear how I see those around me not understand the necessity of queer rights and one of my own best friends wrinkling her nose in disgust every time a queer character even appears.

I feel helpless to explain how the eradication of trans rights in not only a sign of the tragic repeating of history to come but isolated from that simply a slap in the face, more harmful to my community and to feminism than I can properly articulate.

I feel like I’m drowning when I check the comments on a video of an explaination of the difference between WGM and GM in chess. Dread haunts like the reaper as I see the large number of replies, each with people claiming the very existence of the WGM title is either unnecessary or proves how women are inherently inferior at chess, lacking any nuance on history.

I dispare as the community online I am forced to view from afar, sipping and skimming, attempts to repeat the same patterns that threaten to or try to rip our spaces in half.

I am wrecked with terror at the prospect of not being able to escape for college to another country. Gnashing at my heels as I run from the disintegration of my country is the fear that every place I look to is headed in the same direction, that no progress will ever truly be made as some proudly stuff cotton into their ears and put megaphones to their uninformed words.

I am young but I do not feel young. I fear I will never feel old and I fear what will become of me and my friends if I do reach past 55.

I am afraid

But even as the storms now wash away the footprints I follow, laborious, repeated efforts will carve a path into the dirt.

Me, anytime I hear a Sound™ in the middle of the night: either that's just a lightning strike/firework/whatever, or I'm about to die. dam.

False Guilt

It’s easier to think,

That you are a monster born broken,

Rather than a human made flawed.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ purelily angst

SYNOPSIS: Pure vanilla cookie is having trouble getting over his past— a person from his past in particular. Oh and he also bothers his friend about it while drunk (me core 🥀)

AUTHORS NOTE: HIIIIII so oml this lowkey sucks but purelily is so peak imma purelily shipper till I DIE 🥀🥀!! It doesn’t really have a story tbh, and I can do much better— but enjoy lolol. Also I don’t pay attention in ELA so my grammar is so ahh..

—————————☁︎TW☁︎—————————

Alcohol mentions, angst — not an 18+ fic :))

Its REALLY short 😔😔 mb gng— also unedited so yeah not my best work 💪

I took MAD inspo off sm1 from ao3 so yeah

this fic is a little weird bc theres no real plot, just me angst freestyling 😎

PURELILY REMINDS ME OF MY OLD CRUSH (who im still in love with) 🥀🥀

——————. ╰┈➤words: 1.1k ——————

It had been countless agonizing years since White Lilys tragic fate. He couldn’t quite grasp the fact that she was— gone.. technically. She’d toyed with magic he knew she shouldn’t have.. meddled with forces too dangerous for her to understand. The thought of her just slipping between his fingers brought on a weight he never would be able to carry, a burden he would never lift. He knew he would never move on. He knew it. Although it wasn’t very favorable, he thought of the white haired woman more than he’d like to admit to anyone. The golden light spilled from the blinds, illuminating his cream colored face. Everything reminded him of it— of her. Of the sweet melodies they would dance to in the sheer moonlight, the way she gently tended for her lilys, touch softer than silk in comparison to his firm, creamy graze. The times she was intelligent and strong, and the contrasting times when she was vulnerable. The times they’d dance or simply looked into each other’s eyes, deep, perplexing emotions that could never be committed to paper in mere words.

Pure Vanillas grip on the bottle loosened. The fizz of the substance inside swirled around, bringing out a certain emptiness that lingered in his heart. Would White Lily want this hopeless, weary life for him? Knowing her felt like having magic at the tips of his dull fingers. His somber gaze shifts up, up to a glass of lilies he had kept after all these years. A sign of death and a sign of rebirth, and most prominently a reminder of his old lover. They were slightly wilting, the petals tilted downwards and the color a bit dull; but nowhere near dead. His gaze softened a bit, the flowers reminded him of his lover. His lover he was grieving. Grieving an alive woman. A corrupted woman.

A few dozen minutes subsequently, he stands in front of his dear friend Hollyberrys door. He awkwardly knocked, the substance in his body making his movements rather— sluggish and lazy. It was almost an anachronism to visit his companion in this befuddled state, but she was rather tender and responsible and didn’t mind if her inebriated friend came to talk. He made out the sound of footsteps approaching, and the door expeditiously opened. Her face remained unsurprised when she saw him, as he’d been there in his state times before.

“Pure vanilla! How are you? Have you eaten today?” She spoke, a happy facade masking her true worry for him. He was becoming rather bibulous and he’d been visiting intoxicated more and more lately, and his booze intake was terrible for his health (quite ironic for hollyberry cookie but anyways). He analyzed her question and looked down at his emaciated frame. He in fact hadn’t eaten that day, nor much the previous days; but gave his friend a warm smile and a clumsy thumbs up.

“Yeaaah, Holly. I ate.” The words rolled roughly off of his tongue, and he hated how he was fibbing through his teeth. She looked heavily skeptical of his words, but had no intent to fight. She signaled for him to come in, and he stumbled in lazily. He seated himself down at her kitchen table, while she sat across from him. She poured him a glass of tea, in hopes to settle his unwell stomach after all of the intoxicant in his system.

“I miss her. I miss my lily..” he says somberly. She looks at him with gentle, pitiful eyes. He resisted the tempting urge to pule right infront of her, not wanting to show vulnerability to anyone, not even someone he could trust. His dear friend hesitated, not exactly knowing how to comfort the man so she just stared at him; waiting for him to continue speaking.

“I can’t.. put it into..” he hiccups briefly. “Words.. the apologies I had prepared.. in the shower.. in the mirror.. in bed...” He paused for a moment, unsure if he should spill the embarrassing truth to her. “I still write her letters, you know. Letters that are stained with meaningless tears— About how I’m sorry..” his voice gets a bit shaky. “H..how.. I didn’t stop her.. how I didn’t notice how she was being tormented.” his head falls into his hands and he sits in a melancholic silence, the air rich with pensive sadness. “All of the ‘what if’s’ won’t go away. So I force them out with..” an awkward silence seems to flood the small kitchen. “..with alcohol.” He rests his head fully down on the table, feeling the cool surface on his dough (heh.. see what I did there?). He couldn’t bring himself to meet eyes with his friend. His friend who was one of the bravest people he knew, watching him act like a crestfallen fool over a past lover. “I’m sorry you have to hear about this.. Holly.. It must be tiresome to listen to someone like me get so sad after a couple drinks.”

Hollyberry gives him a caring smile. “Hey.. Pick your head up, Pure Vanilla. You can always talk to me, and I’m always happy to listen.” She picks up his cup and pours him some more tea, before giving his shoulder a weak, comforting punch. He grins a bit, trying to make himself feel some form of artificial bliss— “Look at you, Hollyberry cookie. Always looking out for everyone.” Despite the caring words, his smile soon fades, his lips morphing into a thin line.“Sometimes.. I’m kept up at night.. and I guess.. I mumble hopeless whispers at the ceiling, yearning for her to come back.” He cringes at his own words. “Sometimes I wish she would answer my pleas..” His voice trailed off as he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. “Hey.. it’s gonna be okay..” he heard hollyberrys voice, in a soothing tone. It angered him and he brushes the hand off. “Okay..? Okay?!” The anger wore off within brief seconds. “It’s just.. I don’t know. I should go home and rest..” he forced a grin as he drunkenly stumbled for the door. “Thank you for having me, Holly.” She frowns, not thinking that their chat fully relived the burdens he carried against himself. She feels dissatisfied, but knew she couldn’t do anything about his sadness. Nothing like what White lily could’ve done. “Same time next week?” She half- bantered, as it was most likely going to become the unfortunate reality. Her remark made him let out a slight chuckle, and open the door. “You know it.” He said, somberly as he also knew that he would tipsily stop by in the near future. The door clicks behind him, leaving him alone in the cold night with his thoughts.

AYY LETS GO IM FINALLY DONE (at 3:35 am and too lazy to edit it)!! Anyways I need fic reqs so PLS give some guys 💔

Why does it feel like the air is colder some days. Like, let's say, for instance, the first few all-nighters. That morning air when you greet your family is freezing, and there is this weird knot in your stomach. Or maybe after something big happening, like your parents fighting first thing in the morning? Wtf is that feeling called, because honestly it feels like "plot-air". "Oh? A new arc? Alr send in the air."

Honestly, when I feel the "plot-air," my anxiety is always abnormally spiked, but in a way, I can contain it? It feels like there is a lump in my stomach, and I have the highest quality of air. Sometimes I really miss it, but during the moment everything feels so wrong? I feel like I committed a crime or smth.

Sos it's 3:44 am and I just rewatched inanimate insanity and finished episode 2 of hello Charlotte. 💀

I already have the ref but still no name ideas OUGHHHH

3 am thoughts huh?

There are days were i want to take my brother and run into my mothers arms like i did once but now i cant even pick him up and no longer feel like i can run to my mother like i once did

-Me at 15

can people drown on land

like in snow i know theres other ways but snow is also water so it would be considered drowning right??? (if they had like an air pocket or something so no suffocate)

like if the snow consumes them like the water does

or like if they breathe too much snow

googles not helping so heres a quick drawing for cavemen

ive had this in my drafts and i still am thinkin bout it so here u go tumblr XD

Note #2 ‘something I wrote’

"Drawn without a pause, craving you like a passion with no bounds."

———————

Don't you know

How I'm drawn to you

so much, too much

In your eyes, I am lost

The way they shine , whites dancing in the light

Is the only thing that really feels right 

The warmth In your embrace,

I shall find refuge in

To all in with you,

My heart it feels at ease and rest, At peace if one could say best

I wish you saw just how much I have the interest

The craziness I hide within me,

To know that each breath you take

My heart, it beats for the unsaid feeling 

My soul aches to feel your presence

My heart thirsts for you

Like a parched desert for rain.

Your touch is like a cool breeze,

Your voice is like a soothing refrain.

Your words shall be like the rising sun

Brings light to my heart's darkest nights

In the unbearable tormenting hour, you are my spark of hope

With all my might I might say

I long to be yours

Night and day

body and soul

And that won’t ever change to all With you

—what could have been