Dark Guardian Blazerine

 I think I’ve seen different timelines… One where I marry a rich guy—at first I thought it was Andrew, but it’s not him. Another where I get murdered. Then there's one where I'm about to be murdered, but someone saves me just in time. And then there's the strangest one—I'm pregnant, holding a baby in my arms, while a toddler clutches my other hand. I think the most recent thing I saw is I'm with a blonde-haired guy, but I'm high asf and I'm still shaking from being scared to go on an airplane...?  - Andrew breaks up with his gf and tries to contact me.  - Somebody shows up at my house... - Randomly keep seeing more things...

There will be a global conflict centered around religion—a spiritual war unlike anything we've seen. Before it all unfolds, an antichrist will emerge, trying to deceive people into believing he’s the true savior. But the real return of Jesus will happen later, somewhere in the Middle East, connected to the turmoil in Israel. As for me… I don’t know why I’m supposed to matter in all of this. I was told I’m meant to be a teacher or a leader, and that my children—and their children—will carry that same calling. But I can’t have kids. So I’m left wondering what that really means, and how I fit into a story that feels so much bigger than me.

The ghost is the boy from the blue house. He doesn’t want me to dwell on the past. He told me the universe isn’t a classroom, and he was far too young to understand the choices he made. Apparently, he’s been with me all along—quiet, unseen, waiting. I just never noticed. He says he’s in love with me. That he’ll wait for me on the other side. He told me I killed him with kindness. That I’m too good for this world. He keeps comparing me to Moses, to angels—like I’m something sacred. And yet, he’s gently nudging me toward J.P., as if he knows that’s where my heart might find peace. He just wants what’s best for me, even if it’s not him. (Okay... he says as a celebrity now. Lol. Not sure what he means by this. I'm his celebrity.)  He said if I ever need him, I only have to signal—and he’ll come find me. https://youtu.be/vzhTpIIQR5I?si=SBaX-XdAcFAVk4uQ I'll post some of the references he has given me.  Fujii Kaze - Nan-Nan (Official Video) https://youtu.be/Kvceyq9o0rY?si=NNAGgWduYJ...

I've been thinking about how music on platforms like TikTok might be influencing people in subtle ways. Some of the audio—especially those with binary beats or rhythmic patterns—can feel incredibly immersive, almost hypnotic. When you're under the influence of something like edibles, the effect seems amplified. Time feels distorted, and the music seems to exert a stronger psychological grip. I’ve only recently tried edibles to help with headaches, but even with limited experience, I’ve noticed how certain sounds or visuals can feel more intense. It makes me wonder if people with existing mental health challenges might be more susceptible to these effects. I was... My concept of time was lost. I'm starting to wonder if I had been locked up way longer than I thought in unscripted. Now that I think about it. I can't really remember a lot of it. My head just starts to feel like a dull ache whenever I try to.  This is the only thing I could find on it being used as torture. ...

I suddenly lost the ability to move, and tears began to fall before I could even understand why. My entire body seized up - muscles rigid, frozen in place. My fingers curled halfway and refused to straighten as ig they'd forgotten how. I felt trapped inside myself, unable to escape the tension that gripped me.  Feet feel like pins and needles during 405 not high. Around the center. Cool sensation on sides of head.  Remember almost passing out to the song that kept saying lean on me while high. Catch me if I fall song gave me extreme pain while high.  My days and nights keep blending in together. My concept of time is getting worse.

Squall was the first person who ever introduced me to Final Fantasy. That moment changed everything. It’s also how I ended up with my alias in Charmander’s 31 Pokémon Chatroom—he gave me the name Rinoa Heartilly. I didn’t know who she was, what she looked like, or how she acted. But I was thirteen, and I accepted the role without question. It was the beginning of something—an identity, a connection, maybe even a kind of escape. However, it seems I was actually Squall all along.  Hall of Fame Found some old stuff from it. Back then, I was living in a Section 8 apartment complex. Most of my days were spent indoors, glued to the computer. My mom and stepdad had me watch the house while they took my little brother to Chuck E. Cheese’s—one of the few places he could run around and just be a kid without danger. Outside our home, the world felt like a warzone. School was the only other safe zone for him, and even that was pushing it.  Our home and the schools we bounced between had b...

 I didn’t know I’d been living in the dark until today. It crept in quietly, became familiar—my normal, my reality. I didn’t notice when my world stopped turning, when my clock froze at thirteen. Everything inside me paused… but the world outside kept spinning, indifferent. I didn’t know how to grieve what I couldn’t name. I didn’t know how to feel about what I couldn’t face. So I did the only thing I could—I kept moving, even when I wasn’t ever really going anywhere. Someone saw me. And in that fleeting moment, I remembered how to breathe.

These are notes that I made for Daniel's apartment as Chii.  She keeps a wall up, instinctively retreating the moment someone steps too close. It's not hostility—it’s preservation. Her warmth runs deep, but getting close means risking exposure, and she’s learned to treat vulnerability like a wound that never quite healed. When others reach out, her reflex is distance, not because she doesn’t care—but because she cares too much and doesn't trust the tenderness won't be turned against her. The patient’s greatest asset is her likability—an effortless magnetism that draws others in like moths to moonlight. She reads a room with precision, disarms tension, and makes people feel deeply seen. It’s power, pure and simple. And yet, it’s also her most dangerous vulnerability. The ease with which people adore her becomes a kind of trap: they project onto her, confide in her, expect her to be endlessly agreeable, endlessly available. She’s constantly negotiating boundaries while we...

I didn’t think it was love Told myself it wasn’t  Split my soul in two  But my heart kept whisperin’ your name One step closer, then I push away  Still, you bloom inside me every day Guess I’m loving you this much  Even when I say I’m not All these heartaches I’ve laid them down to rest Traded the pain for a brand new sound  Of chances, of maybe’s, of what could be Maybe it’s okay  For a fool like me  To dream a little longer

 

I originally left notes in the asylum for the patient's five-story line. I am unsure if they have ever been found. I don't remember how much of what I wrote made it on the two pages because there was a cut-off limit.  Tea Sweet was known not by name but by silence. While others clanged through corridors like broken bells, Tea drifted like steam, soft, barely seen, never heard. She wasn’t forgotten exactly. The staff said she was “temperamentally silent,” a label pinned like a moth to her file. But the silence was her sanctuary.  Words had betrayed her before—they were too sharp, too loud, too often rearranged without permission. Tea lived in the attic wing, in a room with cracked porcelain tiles and one window glazed with ivy. She brewed invisible cups of comfort from scraps: a shard of lavender soap, rainwater from the gutter, warmth stolen from forgotten laundry. The ritual was sacred: stir once for memory, twice for mercy, and sip slowly so the ghosts wouldn’t jolt.  T...

Velvet desperately wants to be seen as mysterious and powerful, but her emotional vulnerability keeps leaking through the cracks. Think Lydia Deetz meets Tumblr-era dashboard confessional fan. She quotes Edgar Allan Poe but cries to My Chemical Romance. Claims she communes with ghosts, but mostly just talks to her cat Binx. She discovered goth culture through a misinterpreted vampire forum and decided to reinvent herself. Her transformation was dramatic—black lace, Victorian chokers, and a curated disdain for sunlight. But her emo roots run deep: she still listens to sad acoustic covers and doodles broken hearts in her sketchbook. She spends all day in the graveyard trying to summon a spirit to prove her goth credentials. 

I was building a character inspired in part by anime—someone with a simple, almost childlike way of reacting to the world around her. She was a medical bot working in a hospital, quietly observant and emotionally unassuming. I wanted her to be a non-self-insert: a distinct personality, separate from me. But the reality of roleplay made that difficult. The moment you try to create a character who isn't a self-insert, you're constantly fighting uphill. Others tend to powergame you, whether through dice rolls or over-the-top /me's, forcing you into dynamics you never asked for. And because I chose to be a robot, suddenly I became everyone's fantasy android. I can't tell you how many times someone said, "Make me your primary user," even though nothing in my setup leaned in that direction. It's frustrating how easily unique ideas get flattened by popular trends. A streamer tries something flashy, and suddenly everyone treats it like the new default. Creati...

Most characters slapped a giant skip button on Sweet Tea, but with Ash? They didn’t—and it was refreshing. I think the voice impression threw people off. They didn’t know it was me, and that anonymity gave me space to connect with cops who usually would never show interest in me to begin with.  I spent hours wandering through patches of tall grass, random places, no markers—just to see who’d notice. A few stopped. They didn’t say a word. They just watched. Sometimes for minutes. Like they were trying to decide if I was a glitch—some local NPC caught in a lag loop. Every now and then, if someone lingered too long, I’d trigger an emote that made me throw wild punches into the air—just for laughs. My ID said I was seventy. I was leaning into the old coma theory people used to toss around—Ash lost in some dream state. I wanted to spin it differently, though: what if he knows he’s in a Y7 cartoon? What if the rules are baked into his bones—no words, no actions, no thoughts tha...

Unfortunately, I never saved them all in a Word doc—lesson learned. But there’s someone on the server who still has the full collection. So… does that make him the keeper of a treasure chest? 😄 There are actually two Diaries floating around, though most of my writing lives in the first one. I even had a whole arc planned involving the cops, but after a while I realized the opportunity would never come. One of my favorite little details: I left my safe password as an Easter egg, tucked into Lifeinvader. Subtle, hidden, and now—just a quiet whisper in the code. I guess that’s what it all became—little secrets scattered like confetti. Easter eggs for anyone curious enough to dig. Diary Entry Ten Why does it feel like every woman in the city hates me? Only three have ever shown me any real kindness—and James noticed it too. So did a few others. It’s not like I’m holding a grudge against all of them... though, I won’t lie—there’s one I do hate. The red-headed cop. She’s the cruelest of the...

I was going to sell books in-game. I only had two pages done before I perma. Was going to be an edgey Twilight version of events happening. Jari was going to be a grey white bear... I had plans for putting everybody's characters in it.  New town, same girl, same story—like a glitch in the universe refusing to update its programming. Banner High loomed ahead, all brick and bravado. My first day. Same nerves. Same practiced smile. I stepped through the front doors like I was walking into someone else’s story, but I knew better—this one was mine. Whether they liked it or not. I wore my favorite shoes, even though the soles were thinning and the canvas was frayed from years of silent miles. Nothing flashy—just a pair of scuffed-up sneakers my dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday last summer. The summer everything cracked open. When Mom disappeared—not underground, not into the afterlife, but into something colder. Quieter. She was done. Done with Dad’s late-night poker losses and whis...

 What I have outside of my cellphone since I can no longer access the server. I should have remembered to save them. Oh well. Here's what I got left. 

Border Crossing -   Smugglers could attempt to take drugs across the border.   Police patrolling.  The Community Pulse: Your go-to source for timely updates and local stories. Hourly Arrest Log: Stay informed with real-time updates on recent arrests—updated every hour. Weekly Highlights: A curated calendar of upcoming local events, performances, town meetings, and more. Feature Stories & Classifieds: From breaking news to human interest—submit articles or purchase ad space to be featured in print or online. Morgue Services & Storefront Concept Core Functions: Funeral Ceremonies –  Cemetery Grounds – Resting places ranging from neglected plots to pristine memorial gardens. Autopsy Suites – Fully equipped for forensic examinations and medical roleplay; available to certified RP doctors and curious med school dropouts. Retail & Remembrance Store: Urns & Coffins – Custom designs, including surreal, humorous, or traditional styles. Memorials – He...