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Just had a dream where my friend left our school to date the son of the guy that made The Emoji Movie.

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It's not that I obsess so hard that I can't put together a sentence. I do, I know exactly how to articulate my love for Mister Fictional Character.

It's that when I talk about them, it's the verbal equivalent of writing a two thousand word paragraph with no punctuation.

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Fun Little Writing Idea:

The world is in peril, so much so that the God that governs it must intervene if it is to remain intact for much longer. So, they create a champion, modeled after the very first race that they created, and given all knowledge of the realm to aid them on their quest.

But unbeknownst to the god, times have changed, and so have the people of the world. The young hero is molded by how the deity remembers the race and the realm, and not how they are now.

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Hey other Tumblr fiends, I gotta ask: Do you ever just need to do anything, and you do that thing by way of The Animation, or is that just me?

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Nvm about that last post. Just learned that 90% of my followers are bots :(

Not sure if that makes it even more sad or negates some of the sadness.

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I put on the mask of a more brilliant performer, and in turn I attract a few of those who find them interesting.

I take off the mask and continue with my theatrics, but while I still retain the admirers I first charmed, they do not seemed all too invested in what I have in store.

And thus, I must ask the grim question: Do they truly enjoy me for me? Or do they only care about the man I once pretended to be?

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Hey, fyi, if y'all are following entirely because of that one reblog I made, don't get your hopes up. I only reblogged that because it was extra relatable to dramatic me. We believe in originality in this temple.

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If it pleases the court, I'm only slightly upset.

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How do I tell my favorite character I love them?

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Part 2 of me being dramatic because I am very easily emotionally touched:

"Patience is a fickle thing. It rises and falls like the tides of the sea, except unlike its comparison, it is far less… consistent. It often changes who and what it is kind to, and for how long it chooses to grant its mercy. For one, it can provide a comforting guidance, staying with one for their entire journey - which for some, can take years, perhaps even decades to complete - and never once rushing them onward or abandoning them. But for another, it shan't even look one in the eyes when one effectively begs it for just a sliver of assistance. Instead, it casts one off, alone and unaided, to brave whatever one's journey holds for God knows how long. Yes, it is possible to convince patience to listen, to be more willing to help one in times of need, when one knows the journey will be long and arduous. But this is a process that often takes months, if not years to fulfill. Months of persuasion, bargaining, and, well… patience, just to make any progress. And when all is said and done, its loyalty is dubious at best. One who has spent years to convince patience to listen to one's pleas is still often inferior to one who had its attention since birth. One may attain its virtue through rigorous trial and tribulation, but the very moment its commitment is put to the test, the very moment one cannot reasonably turn back from one's travels, the very moment when one thinks they are safe to look to it for solace… it leaves. It may disappear suddenly, so much so that one cannot help but wonder if one ever had its favor in the first place. Or, perhaps it's more akin to a wheel losing momentum, straggling behind more and more until it is no longer in sight. It prefers to depart in a different fashion for every individual, but the matter of fact is that patience will never stick around forever. If one is not born with its respect, one will never be on the same level as those who were, no matter how long or hard one tries to appeal to it."

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Yeah...

I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.

Daphne Du Maurier, from Rebecca

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What I like to do when reading, playing a video game, or whatever is, unless explicitly disproven by a characters actions, pretend that the protagonist is illiterate.

And when I say explicitly, I mean like actively writing something down, or reading a note written by someone else aloud.

And while it doesn't necessarily impact the plot, I don't think protagonist illiteracy is something we're concerned about enough.

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God, I need to get that fanart done.

hhhh but y'all are gonna think I'm cringe because I'm still kinda bad at anatomy.

Yeah, but I wanna express my love for the fandom and the media the art is based on.

But I'm gonna look so lame compared to everyone else.

It'd be like a log of my own skill development if I show it off. Besides, it's Tumblr; It's the one place where you're guaranteed at least some positive attention.

...Yeah, but-

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Stop giving me ideas.

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Honestly, the only reason I don't like Tumblr is because, unlike me, they actually know what I want to see. And I can't stand it when someone knows more than me - it hurts my pride :(

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Part 1 of me being dramatic because I am very easily emotionally touched:

"...If I were to use a metaphor for playing the game for the first time, it would be that the game was a piece of flint, crashing against the steel that is my mind. Sparks of imagination flew, and from those sparks a fire of passion was born. Fueled by gameplay, that fire grew and grew, burning higher and higher, providing my thoughts an inspiring warmth that kept them running..."

"...The heart is a very... naïve thing. Naïve and fragile. It can soar higher than the clouds, or it can sink into the deepest depths of the sea. It can provide a soft, healing glow, or it can shatter all over your being, bringing you an almost unbearable pain.

I was born without a heart, you see. And from what I heard about others' experience with one, I never thought I'd get one. I'd rather live a life of reliable apathy than one being puppeteered by it's strings. The strife simply didn't seem worth it."

"But when I first saw that world, while I didn't know it at the time, the game had given me a heart. Its beat was strong, brisk, and rhythmic. God, it felt like it wanted to jump out of my chest and touch the sky, taking me with it.

It was exhilarating. It was romantic. I... loved it."

"But while I was running with my new heart and watching the flames and their shadows shudder and dance, I subtly forgot how little fuel I really had.

As quickly as it was given, the game stole the still beating heart from my chest. I didn't even know it gave me a heart at the time - I just thought I was following my train of thought!"

"I thought I was smarter than that - that I would know when a game was trying to give me a heart, and that I would be able to reject it. But when I found myself kneeling, unable to stand, with my hands on my aching chest, surrounded by falling ash and dying embers, I realized three things.

One, that I wasn't as smart as I thought I was.

Two, that despite the pain I was in, I didn't regret having a heart.

Three, that I couldn't go back to not having one. No, not without trying to get it back."

"And so, I scoured. Sure, I still had the piece of flint from the first time, and I'm sure that if I struck it again, it would reignite everything. But merely looking at the piece of flint made the hole in my chest ache. And I knew that the fire would never burn as high, as hot, or as bright as the first time. And when the flint was struck so many times that it wore down into nothing, then what? No, I have to think about the future. I have to find a new piece of flint, one that can stoke a fire just as great, or even better, than the first one."

"I look for a new heart. One that's different from the first, in strength, rhythm, and speed. One that's similar enough that I could fool myself into thinking it never changed. One that can easily replace what I lost. But some of them beat too slowly, or maybe they beat too quickly. Some might have a pulse that's too soft, and others might have one that's too violent. But whatever the reason, none of them cut it. None of them fit.

I look for a new flint, but I always just keep finding the same ones. A few I'm sure could stoke a beautiful flame. But for most, I'm... skeptical, as to what they can do. Some I believe to be far too short to start anything meaningful, while others I fear to be unreliable. Hell, some of them I doubt they even have a piece of flint at all! And while I could try something with just a heart, I'd... rather not experience what that could be like."

"I don't want to stoke a lesser flame, or to run with a slower heart, for I fear that if I do, it will smother the embers and cauterize the former home of their respective predecessors. But I also fear that my caution and hesitance has led me to forgo something that could be greater than anything I've seen yet, all because of my paranoia of the former.

I know that my patience, instead of allowing me time to find something new, had led to the death of many embers, and for the wounds of where my heart was to heal somewhat. And I know that because of these progressions, it will be much harder to replace either, let alone both of them. But what else could I do? Try in vain to find something that meets or exceeds their predecessors' standards? Or allow the embers to die and the ache in my chest to fade, only to repeat it all again?"

"...Though perhaps... that last thought isn't such a bad idea; To let the mind forget and the aching to heal, just to feel it all again, stolen heart and all. To feel those highs in their former glory, even if it meant reliving the lows just the same. Oh, perhaps it's my forgetting mind and the twinge in my chest fading that's allowing me to consider the idea, but if I humor the thought, even for a moment... it doesn't seem so bad."