purplebirdsees - Tumblr blog

[purplebirdsees]

“So, director, what do you think?”

Izumi, who was reading through Tsuzuru’s final draft of his project, nodded, her smiling eyes now trained on Tsuzuru.

“Really good! You’ll receive perfect grades, no doubt!”

Tsuzuru let out a sigh of relief. He slumped down further in his chair, as all the tension of silence as he waited for the Director to review his manuscript lifted off of his body. Thoughts of not having to bring dinner in his room, and actually eating it with everyone, plus he can finally sleep early…

“There is one thing, though… Hey, don’t sleep yet! We’re at the balcony, you’re gonna freeze to death.” Izumi said, as she pushed Tsuzuru’s laptop toward him with a small frown. “So, anyways… you talk about a lot of how your mom kept on telling you stories, but we don’t really see much of her actually doing the story telling.”

Tsuzuru nodded, as he closed his laptop with a small thmp. “… That is true, yeah. I did try to write her stories into a chapter, but…”

There was a faraway look on Tsuzuru’s eyes, as his gaze shifted to the night sky. He recounted the story books his mom would read to him when he was a kid, the dark, blank sky serving as a canvas for a kingdom full of luminescent plants, flying carpets, huge, pointed castles hosting myriads of elves, wild creatures and their king and queen.

“I couldn’t. My words won’t give her imagination and way of storytelling justice. It’s the kind of thing you have to witness for yourself.”

Izumi hummed, as she looked at Tsuzuru, following his gaze towards the sky.

“Maybe one day. Hopefully.”

(Dandelion Fluff)

[purplebirdsees]

Warm-up: Whatever - Part 3

part 1 / part 2

… Wait. Where was the folders section again?

The main isle was a little less crowded compared to the other isles which gave me a second to breathe, but didn’t help much from my ever growing heartbeat. Remember what mom said? If you’re lost, look at the big card boards with numbers. I started to walk, head looking up at the numbers. Four: Markers, pen—five: another pen isle… seven, eight, nine…

My walks started to turn to jogs. Ten: scrapbook, stickers; eleven: glue, tape, fasteners; twelve: notebooks… I gritted my teeth; screw this, at this point I should just go on every isle. I went inside the twelfth isle, looking for something, anything, that resembles my dad. Brown hair, kinda tall… what was he wearing again? Was it green? No, that’s me… White, right? My eyes hopped back and forth with the slightest bit of brown hair. No, too long; too short… that’s a kid…

I went to the next isle. Empty. Next. One girl. Nex—it was that kid again.

I slowed down my walking, careful not to make my face show too much emotion. He glanced at me, looked at me with such a deep frown he looked almost cross-eyed, then rolled his eyes.7

What was that kid’s problem?!

Whatever, I thought, as I grabbed the nearest thing I could find, which was a hard bound notebook cover the part where I could see his face, and went back to the main hallway for the seventh, eighth time. He was probably… having a bad day, right? At least, that’s what my mom would always tell me.

'Unless they punch you or harm your body, just don't mind them, okay, Tsuzuru?' Was what she said, countless of times, which at first felt as if she was trying to dismiss the problem. At the end, though, she'll somehow catch them doing something, like make a face or say an insult. If they're lucky, she'll just give you a nasty glare, which usually resolves most cases, resulting with said kid instantly cowering towards their parents, unable to answer the question why they're upset.

If only she was here…

Then, my stomach suddenly dropped as the worst idea came into mind. What if… what if dad went home already? Maybe he forgot me, or had to go do something… or maybe there was an emergency?

I remember the drive from here to our house was quite far, I even took quite a long nap on the way here. Maybe I can ask for some help, but I barely had any money, which meant I probably had to—

‘… Yeah, I’ll be there tonight, don’t worry. No, it’s fine, you don’t have to take the job, I’ll do it… Promotion? Haha, yeah; we both know how our boss is, come on.’

… Dad?

‘Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. But… thanks for covering for me today… Why do you sound like I’m gonna die soon, you bastard. Okay, okay, I’ll see you later, don’t do anything stupid while I’m out… Yeah, sure, go tell yourself that. Okay, bye.’

Dad…!

I ran towards his voice, bumping on a few people along the way, but I didn’t care. He was here, he didn’t leave me. I don’t have to walk home… he’s… he didn’t…

'Tsu—oofgh.'

I clung tightly onto his shirt, the pit on my stomach now going up to my throat as relief washed over me. I could feel burning on my face, my eyes, my throat.

Dad gave me a soft pat on the head. I heard a small chuckle, then he gently pushed my shoulder so that he could have me face him.

'Are you okay?'

I let out a small uhn.

For a second, he looked at me, carefully studying my face. 'Okay, let’s go.'

Dad didn’t ask me to go find the rest of the materials, and instead asked for the list. He asked if I wanted to stay in the car instead, to which I said no. Then, without much of a few words spoken, we picked out the items on the list.

Without my mom’s stories, though, I couldn’t drown out the sound of my ever growing heartbeat. Every time I saw a hint of movement at the corner of my eye, my instinct was to hide, whether it be behind a bookshelf, behind my dad, or simply covering my face.

After a while, though, as we checked out the list to see if we missed anything, the kid was nowhere in sight. Maybe they went home, I thought, as I looked around the area with little movement from my head as I can, just in case he is still here, and he finds me searching for him, god forbid. It seemed clear, I thought, as I sighed,

'Tsuzuru.' Dad beckoned, as we walked towards the cashier, nodding his head towards the notebooks and pens. “Is there something you want?”

On reflex, I shook my head.

Dad then pointed at my hands with a raised eyebrow. 'How about that one?'

Confused, I looked at my hands, then realized I was still holding the notebook I used to hide my face with. I didn’t really think much of it, not with all my anxiety making me focus solely on making myself hidden. Its cover was made out of dark green leather, with a pen attached. My heart hitched in my chest as I saw how pretty it was, and even considered his offer of buying it. I never had anything like this before, I bet it would be so nice to write on it. When I flipped it on its back to look at the price, however, my eyes widened in shock, and instantly placed it on the nearest shelf.

I shook my head again, lowering my gaze to the ground.

Shehehehehmmm…

I looked up, and instantly felt the blood in my face drain.

The person who was before us on the cashier was the same snooty8 kid. He had the same weirdly big grin, his silver braces glaring back at me as menacing as his eyes. He then turned to his companion, who seemed to not care much about what was happening, as their whole focus was poured onto a conversation that they were having on the phone. The kid rolled his eyes, then looked back at me again with a squint and a smirk.

I looked away instantly, my relief gone. I could feel my resting heart’s steady pace spike up, every beat inching upwards my throat. I covered my mouth, afraid that it might spill out, as I felt something hot and searing rise up from my throat. I clutched my free hand onto whatever I could, which was dad’s coat.

'Hmm?' My dad asks, as he looks at me. 'Is something wrong?'

'Ahahaha, I really like this notebook brand! It’s super expensive, but mother said I can buy anything I want! Ha, ha, ha! I love my mother!'

I replied to dad with a shake of my head.

'Hmmm… I guess, I can do the rest from here.' He then patted my head twice. The snotty kid rolled his eyes. 'Do you want to stay inside the car?'

I nodded. He gave me the car keys, along with a reminder to close it once I’m inside. With one last nod, I started to head out of the store. This was a good thing, I thought at first, because then I wouldn’t need to deal with that kid again. That is, if I survive going through him first, because he was in the middle of the way towards the exit.

To avoid eye contact at all costs, I kept my eyes trained on the ground, pretending to fiddle with dad’s car keys. Every step I took, the more my ears filled with the sound of blood nervously pumping through. As I was two steps away from him, he slid himself off the way.

Was that… a peace offering? I took one, two steps, but as I was about to take my third, my foot seemed to get caught onto something. Good thing I instantly caught myself, but in the process, I had to hold onto the counter of the cashier with a loud bmp! I looked back, only to be greeted with the kid and his muffled ‘ahahahaaaaammmff’, his left foot slightly sticking out.

I stood up and ran.

Out of that place. Out of that stupid kid, and his stupid demeanor, and his stupid way of laughing, with his stupid, stupid big smirk and his stupid leg. Looking back, I wished I tripped harder on his feet, maybe even leave a big, ugly bruise, or stain his shoe. I wanted to yell at him, but all I did was ran. As I arrived near the car, panting, I gave out a frustrated, high-pitched yell, slamming my fist on the car door. The pain shot through my fist to my whole arm in an instant, as I seethed and sat down on the driveway, cradling my ever reddening knuckles.

I couldn’t bare to stand, or even look at the car. I just sat there, helplessly, blowing short breathes onto my knuckles, hoping the throbbing pain goes away. Just like mom would do it.

Pain, pain, go away! She’d say, her gentle breath warm and ticklish on raw, angry skin. As much as he would breathe on it, however, it felt like the searing hot pain got worse and worse, until his vision inevitably got blurry from tears. In a hurry, I raised my head up, willing the tears to go back to my eyes.

But after a few minutes, there was a voice that called my name. The voice got louder and louder the more they called, and as I heard footsteps grew louder, closer, I felt something big and warm wrap around my shoulder. They called out again. I let out a shaky breath. Then, I felt a thumb slowly flick the back of my earlobe.

'Come on, lets go.' The voice urged. A stubborn tear slipped past with a small sniffle, and I felt the hand go from my shoulder to my throbbing, red hand, slowly prying it open to get the keys. They then unlocked the car door, grabbed me by my armpits, lifted me up, and placed me on the seat, strapping a seat belt along with a few pats on the head.

And the tears never stopped. Big, fat droplets trickled down my red face, as the feel of dread and shame and frustration burst in my chest, like an uncontrollable and unstable bomb. Yet, tears were the only way the emotion bomb could seep its remains out, as it dripped from my face, then down, pooling on my closed fists. Well, at least the coolness of the salt water kind of helped sooth my bruising fist.

When the car stopped, dad didn’t say anything. He didn’t move either, as he stared at the driveway, his brows knitted as if he was pondering on what to do.

'… Are you okay now?' He asks, his head tilted slightly towards me with a slightly raised brow.

The question only made my eyes pool with more tears.

He sighed, the kind where it’s low and long, with a pronounced ‘haah’ as he exhaled. 'Come on, let it all out, while you’re still in the car.'

I wiped my eyes, attempting to stop it from tearing up further, but it seemed that every time I wiped the tears grew more and more consistent in quantity.

'Tsuzuru,' He started, as he rested his elbow on my car seat. 'You did the right thing not to be provoked.'

… Huh?

'I saw that kid was trying to provoke you. You didn’t try anything, to—that, you know… you didn’t do anything… aggressive.

I nodded, not really understanding the words provoke and aggressive. Those were… good things, right?

Dad then shifted in his seat, his knitted brows deepening, as if he was struggling in finding the right words. 'But… Next time, just tell me, okay? And stop crying over it.

… I-I’m sorry.

'Hmm?'

I did… I don’t like that kid.

He let out a small, amused breath, patting my shoulder. 'Don’t worry. Just promise me, once you’re old enough, you’re going to work hard to prove to that kid you’re not weak, okay?'

I nodded, wiping the last of my tears and snot with my hand.

'Now, come on, clean yourself up. Don’t show your brothers you cried okay? You’re their older brother after all; if you come back and show them that you cried over some dumb kid’s words, they’re gonna think their older brother’s weak. Here, some tissue.'

I wiped my eyes and nose, blowing onto it loudly. When I finished, dad held out a small parcel wrapped in paper.

'… You wanted this, right? Here.' I thanked him as I received it. I tore off the paper and saw that it was the same dark green leather notebook I used to hide my face with. My head snapped back at my father, who had a small smile. He patted my shoulder again, then flicked my earlobe, as I shook my head, knowing how expensive the notebook was.

'It’s not everyday I get to treat you, right?' He said. 'Just… remember what I told you, alright? We’re a family; we help each other out. Just work hard, and help your mom with taking care of everyone else. If you do that… then that notebook was worth the investment, alright?'

Mine. I beamed at the notebook, then hugged it tightly to my chest.

Mine...

---

7 BRO KICK THAT GUY. FUCKING KICK HIS ASS WTF ATTITUDE???

8 [tsz]… who added this.

NOTES:

too tangent-y for some reason I kept getting off topic

its ok I guess but I don’t know how to add this in with the rest of the project

too long. i think.

[purplebirdsees]

Engaging with fiction in good faith allows you to build empathy by experiencing things through the eyes of other people

and refusing to engage with certain fiction because of a hard line moral stance against The Wrong Kind Of Fiction just makes you a less empathetic person over all.

The thing is, I engage with a lot of fiction that I would object to in real life. Sometimes I also run into fiction that I'm not particularly happy or comfortable with, but because the story is compelling, engaging, genuine and earnest and presented in a vulnerable, earnest, human way, my surface level distaste is overridden by my connection with a stranger who I've been given the opportunity to know.

I just read a comic by a gay man that has heavy drug use, written in a way that has an intimate knowledge of the kind of life and culture a lot of gay men run into, full of casual sex and hard drugs and sudden death and violence. The protagonist isn't a bad person, but he's also not the best person, but you root for him all the way through. And then he has a really bad trip and dies.

I don't feel particularly comfortable with any of that, but I was engaged all the way through. And by simplistic metrics many people might not consider it "good gay rep" or whatever because it involves a gay man doing all the hard drugs, being promiscuous and then dying, but it was written authentically, by a gay man who clearly has had experience with these things, and encourages you the reader to seek help and provides resources if you've experienced something similar.

I do not accept the idea that you should always have a moral stance on the fiction you consume. You don't have to make excuses, or have caveats, to justify the "problematic fiction" you've engaged with, maybe even enjoyed. Because a lot of fiction, particularly indie fiction, is a conversation between a creator revealing something honest and vulnerable, and a reader learning about the lives of others and experiences they will never have.

And it is a silly exercise to try to give that sort of conversation a (very ironically named) Common Sense Media review because it's got violence and drugs and kinky sex or whatever.

It is easy to stick to fiction you're comfortable with. I've done it, I do it. But in my experience, allowing yourself to engage with other people's stories, comfortable or not, is healthy for you as a human being in learning empathy and compassion for other human beings. Try reading some books in the local library, or do what I did and buy a bunch of indie comics and books from a convention full of indie creators (easy) and actually read them (Dark Souls Hard Mode).

And who knows, maybe you'll find something that'll change your life, or help you grow as a person. Or maybe you'll find a cool new thing you like.

[purplebirdsees]

Warm-up: Whatever - Part 2

part 1 / part 3

Mom was usually the one to do the groceries, mostly because she was always at home, while I’d be tagging along to help her carry the bags because I was the eldest who was also always at home. She told me once in a run that dad was the one who would always accompany her, that he’d be just like me, quiet, yet attentive to her every word. Back then I was a baby, and mom was still in her old job as a secretary of a government agency, the one she keeps on cursing on and on for firing her for having ‘conflicting schedules’ because she was constantly pregnant. I can’t help but notice her eyes be filled with a passion, that it would look significantly bigger and brighter as she’d recall the people she talked to, the people she helped, and the people she befriended. As she’d look back at her grocery list, however, she’d squint with a dull look, as if thinking about it too much would hurt. 4

As fun as my mother’s grocery run stories were, sometimes, it just feels nice to be able to focus solely on the ‘grocery’ part.

Dad handed me the shopping basket and the list of supplies, then placed his hand on my shoulder. My shoulders involuntary tensed up, as he flicked the back earlobe with his thumb. He does this all the time, said that it’s a habit at this point because back when I was a baby, I was a really messy eater and would get milk all over my head, which included the back of my ears. He said whenever he’d clean that spot, I’d always laugh. Up until now he’d always do it, and sure, if I was still three years old and was in a bad temper, maybe I’d let out a little giggle. At that time, it kinda just made me want to cringe, not just because of the story, but because my ears are sensitive. I don’t want to tell him that, though; besides, he’d just laugh at me, saying something along the lines of ‘it’s never failed me once, so why should I bother?’

My first stop was the pen isle. The multitude of colored pens and markers were hard to not look at, and although I knew exactly what to buy, which were the cheap, black ones that were always sold 15 pieces a box, it wouldn’t hurt to try out a few others, right?

The first thing that I grabbed was the pens that everyone in my class seems to have.5 I’ve tried it before in school; a classmate told me to write their notes because they broke their index and middle finger, and insisted I use their pen. It had a needle-like nib, which was extremely prone to bending. It wasn’t really useless if it did bend, but it was annoying to change your wrist’s position just to be able to write anything. That was one of the reason why mom didn’t want me to buy one, not to mention the price of one was enough to buy each for all my brothers the one, cheap pen brand that she preferred.

I wrote my name on the test writing paper. The pen glided on the paper smoothly, just like how I remembered it. They were unlike the bulky, cheap pens that always felt a little too slippery when I wrote, and most of the time I write fast, which would result to sloppy handrwiting. This made my handwriting feel like I was mature, without the wobbliness the cheap pens did. I could also write smaller because of the nib, which would help a lot in saving up notebook space. Overall, this pen made my usual handwriting look good, impressive even in my eyes. I want one, I really want it, but… 6

‘Not today Tsuzuru, okay?’ I could almost feel her hand wrap around mine that was clutching the pen. ‘One day, I promise. One day.’

I placed back the pen on the rack. I took a deep breath, then released it, hoping that the heavy feeling in my chest would let go of me. Today wasn’t that day, unfortunately... unsurprisingly...

At the corner of my eye, I was a figure enter the isle. I placed back the pen then moved to the other side, which had a whole section of the ones I was supposed to be buying; unsurprisingly, they were on sale too. Well, there goes the fun, I thought, as I tried to casually pick up the black cardboard box and inspected if it had dents, pretending I was here all this time. I bet that guy was going to buy that pen, like everyone else is. Everyone else… but me.

Each second I spent looking for dents, the more the weight of my feelings in my chest slowly felt lighter... This one looks fine enough. Four more boxes and I can go find—

Pffft.

I stopped, mid-way returning a box that had a dent in one of the corners, then turned my head around to where the noise was. I think, and I’m pretty sure it came from the person who just arrived, which surprisingly was a kid, probably younger than me based from their height. Was he… I checked the back of my shirt and pants if there was a weird looking stain or had something stuck to it. It was clean, as much as I looked. Maybe it was something their companion, or guardian by the looks of it, said? I shook it off, placing back the box.

… Somehow, though, it didn’t feel like that was the case. I blinked hard, as my heartbeat slowly rose from a steady rhythm to an abnormal pace. What was I doing again? I looked at my had. Box, right. Uhm… dents. Dents. Dents… it looks okay, I think. I grabbed one and oh god, why did that have to fall—grab, quick. Look for dents… okay… none… I think…?

Pshhhhh, hahahaha.

One, two, three… six. Okay, okay. I bent my head down as I headed out the isle. I could feel the kid’s eyes on me, and I didn’t want to look because I knew what kind of face he was making. That is, if he was looking at me, and… just don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, don’t—

Hmpfffffffhfhfhfhfh…!

Out of pure reflex, my neck involuntarily turned my head to the side, my eyes going straight to where the kid’s face was. Which was, in fact his eyes that were staring straight into mine. The tips of his mouth looked like they were touching his ears, and inside was a full display shiny, silver braces. For one mere second I felt my heartbeat at my ears as a very sharp jab of pain jolted my chest. Look away, I thought, but at that second I couldn’t, not with his eyes glaring right at me, as if his gaze held enough power with whatever emotion was in his wide eyes that they were almost telekinetic.

A soft ding came from the store’s speakers, like a snap of a finger finally breaking me free from hypnosis. I turned my head, let out a cough, and ran as quickly as I can out of that isle—that, that kid—and ran as quickly to the folders section.

---

4 [tsz] irrelevant info; if possible remove/revise maybe focus more on the grocery part and less on anything else

5 fuck I remember those pens tsuzuru I have a few spare u can have some if u want bud dw they give us those pens for free trust

6 [tsz] 50/50 abt this desc its not good but not bad

part 1 part 3

[purplebirdsees]

FINALS

[purplebirdsees]

Warm-up 1: Whatever - Part 1

Hello! I am Citron! Yes, again!

Remember my notes? If yes, good job! If no, why?

Thanks!

(citronslation: basically, this is kind of an excerpt of this piece of fiction, written by my boy tsuzuru. you don’t need to read it to understand this one but pls do bc quality of life u get me yeah. ok. thanks.)

(footnotes were not made by tsuzuru, unless stated otherwise) (theyre mostly itaru)

Children, without exaggeration, are horrible beings.1

It’s always those kids you just stumble on, maybe in a convenience store, or in an absurdly long line from the cash register, or even during church, especially during Sunday Church (my parents aren’t Catholic, but my grandparents father’s side is). As soon as I step foot on the Church’s white and gold tiled floor, my immediate response is to look around on every single pew for someone who may look like my age. I’d feel relief if they were sitting out of sight, but if they weren’t.… Well, usually, I’d try to avoid eye contact as much as I can, but whenever I accidentally glance at them, they’d always have that smug look, with the straightest posture, and the loudest, most obnoxious singing. Sometimes, when they’re near enough for me to hear, I’d catch a few words they’d whisper loudly to their parent. Usually, it would be along the lines of, ‘We’re going to (insert fast food chain name here) after this, right?’ like it added to this nonexistent leader board on who is the best kid in Church.2

I could go on and on about my horrible Church experiences, but somehow, none of those were the ones that struck a nerve more than that one time in a bookstore.

It was a week before classes started, and as much as my parents wanted to scrounge as much of last year’s school materials, the pens and notebooks either had only a sliver left of its use or was completely depleted. Mom had to double check it though, as she gathered all we had in a cardboard box. After her third inspection, she said she could debone the frayed used notebooks to separate as much of the blank papers to make new notebooks. Which was the reason why she decided that dad was the one who should do the shopping instead, which in the end he did do, but we had to try to convince her that the old and used were completely unusable and should be left to retire. After a few prying and pleading, we were able to sell the whole box to the waste courier.

I was appointed to go with dad to the bookstore; the others had to help mom with the kitchen… and to make sure she won’t chase the waste courier and end up blending up all the notebooks into a pulp to make new paper.

She did this before, but her faux notebooks were extremely unusable because the paper was too thick, and for some reason, felt a little wet and made the ink bleed into the pages. During the first week of classes, my school bag smelled of wet dog, and every time I had to take down notes, I wish I didn’t. The moldy smell would make my seatmates turn their heads away from my direction. Even the resident class clown once remarked how ugly the cover of my notebook was, saying it looked like his grandmother’s post-chicken pox skin, puss and all. One afternoon, just as I was about to arrive home after school, I remember passing by Tadoru and Meguru sitting by the riverside, their backs hiding their guilt ridden yet determined faces. At that point I knew, and the absence of the wet, moldy dog fur smell was enough evidence.

Like an unspoken vow, we made sure we never, under any circumstance, let mom DIY anything. 3

-----

1 Understatement. They’re dickheads, actual hellspawn. I have never met a kid who was genuinely kind, they ALWAYS have an agenda at the back of their pea-sized brains. I’m qualified to say this because I’ve been a tutor example? Sure, but im tired so no (actuallly I don’t have to prove myself you literally juST READ A PRIME EXAMPLE WHY)

2 When they say yes, ding-ding-ding! Wow! His parents ACTUALLY love him enough to buy him food! As if that isn’t the lowest bar, bare minimum a parent should do f[word redacted due to profanity] mot[word redacted due to profanity] why don’t I f[words redacted due to vulgar language] mom then once im your step dad ill kick[words redacted due to vulgar language] space until yo[words redacted due to vulgar language]eath

3 [tsz] wording feels awkward/weird

part 2

[purplebirdsees]

god i just love it when a story treats a completely platonic relationship with the same level of narrative importance as if it were a romantic relationship

LIKE YES!!! YES!!! YES!!! Platonic bonds are just as if not even more important than romantic bonds!!! LIKE YES A FRIENDSHIP CAN BE LOVE STORY AND THAT CAN NOT BE CONTRADICTORY STATEMENT TO SAY!!!

[purplebirdsees]

... oh? hi. i think you stumbled on the wrong account. wrong click, it happens to anyone. here's the door out. be careful, theres a chip on the floor that has cause a lot of broken ankles.

... you're still here? you want a look around? but the place is barren as heck, i barely do things in here. you don't mind? a'ight, but don't blame me, i warned you.

the name's little by the way. yeah, as in little... a joke. that's the first thing you think of? not even your name? jeez... well, it's nice to meet you too, 'funny child'.

if you really want something interesting, i guess you can go to this door, where i kinda just do things in. sub par things, mind, since i'm still kinda learning to master it. sub par things? musings, mostly. i like to write about... well... characters? but i try make them as real as i can, and that means adding a little bit of myself disguised as experiences or character development. u can comment about it, tell me if im doing a good or bad job. at this point, ill gladly accept any type of criticism, just for the sake of making my work better. also, oxytocin.

this door? oh that's not a door. that's a painting of a door. well, i guess it is a door, if you think about it. why do i have one? i mean, who doesn't? of course you need one, how else can i fool the people who don't have a painting of a door in their wall to walk in and think that this is a door? its also very effective against robbers... also, don't bother to read the etchings there, people just really like to write dumb crap on it. i would have had it erased, honest to god its a cesspool of stinky poopy opinions, but y'know, i need it for the robbers.

anyways, here's some cookies and some milk i conveniently have in my breastpocket. of course they're warm, they're from my breast pocket. don't forget to close the door on your way out. if you have any questions, you can knock on the door painting, or just write it on the piece of paper. where's the pen... ah. its... in the milk. you can just wash it--ahm, you just... licked it clean, yep. of course. hoookay.

anyways. bye, i guess? enjoy your stay. hope we can be friends. hm? oh, haha, nothing. dont worry bout it lol

[purplebirdsees]

I like how secret this acc is kinda cozy tbh

[purplebirdsees]

the thing with writing save me servant is that im having a really hard time capturing mammon and the brothers' personalities. i constantly have this small doubt bubble at the back of my head, saying that 'uggh this is too shallow' but the thing is, theyre technically not human beings. Theyre immortal (?) beings and are the epitome of their respective sins, and its so hard to grasp that concept. im just a lowly human being who probably only has like an inch compared to the infinite meters of life and experience they have