#cant draw anything else because im still mourning them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

juni-ravenhall · 6 months

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the problem with loving a real person is that im not the type of artist who thinks "i have to try my best to capture this persons beauty in a painting" ive already concluded that there is no way i could ever make a painting of her satisfying enough that it would motivate me to paint it in the first place. i do paint or draw her sometimes, but only for other reasons than emotional or aesthetic satisfaction, only for fun, for a silly, for a message, for passing the time. not for satisfaction. only the presence of the real person is satisfying and my emotional world almost entirely revolves around returning to that presence.

when i loved fictional characters drawing them was connecting with them. capturing them is like capturing a real person in a photo. a fictional character only smiles at you if you let them live in your head, and you can only capture that smile in the fictional camera that is your hand. and its satisfying to capture it because of that. its satisfying to try to find different ways to capture them, to see ways that other people have captured them. you'll browse fanart and fanfic and see captures that dont feel like the same character to you, because each person's version is unique. you'll have those magic moments where someone else's captures align with the character that lives in your head. that's satisfying too.

so on and off i miss the time before i loved real people, not the time before her or him, i dont miss my childhood, but the time inside my body before the internal change. im crushed by the horrors when im away from her, i can barely function, i cant even explain how much she means to me. im not a person who can be happy alone away from the one i love. but thats probably part of why i was so attached to fictional characters in the first place, because the world hated me, and i needed someone, but the only people who would be there for me were made up. a large part of why i even drew anything in the first place was the satisfaction that came from the love for fictional characters, the satisfaction of feeling loved by someone at all even if they were made up, and i just dont love fictional characters in that way anymore, i cant feel their love for me, and that makes the act of drawing itself feel less satisfying. other people might feel equally satisfied painting other things, but im really not. i can feel mildly satisfied expressing my feelings about other things in art, but that feeling of passion to express my love for a person (character) - and their love for me - in a drawing is largely gone. ive been mourning that for a decade. and i still try, i try to look at fanart for my favourite character from a game, and its nice but just not the same, i try to draw something about them, but it feels only a small percentage of what it used to feel. going through the motions without really feeling more than the emotional version of a sensible chuckle.

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vexatiousbby · 4 years

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Grief advice I wish I could’ve gotten, but now I’ll give:

1. Eat. I know it’s the last thing you want to do, but people are already worried. It’s easier to just eat something small rather than get questioned by people and forced to eat.

2. Do normal things. They arent watching.

3. Take lots of pictures and videos of anything you do during this time. Chances are you’ll forget most of the things you do for the next two months. Your brain will make you forget traumatic experiences.

4. On top of number 3, get pictures and VIDEOS of them. Especially if anyone has videos of them talking. Their voice might not be easiest to remember when you want to remember it the most. Again, your brain will block it out. You can think as hard as you want about their features and still draw a blank.

5. There are stages to mourning. I interpret them this way, but everyone has a slightly different view I’m sure.

•Numb(week or so for me)— you’ll feel a lot of things for days. So much so that you’ll go numb. You’ll zone out a lot. You’ll probably shake sometimes, and break down throughout the day. You won’t want to move too fast or do things you know you should do. I didn’t laugh for 5 days straight, which I never realized how much I laughed until I didn’t anymore. You’ll be in denial, and convince yourself it’s not real. You might have extremely realistic dreams about them. I did for a week and a half, and convinced myself a couple times he was alive somewhere and I just needed to find him. It’s normal, acceptance will come later. Try your best to convince yourself the truth. After the dreams I had multiple panic attacks and some during the day. There is nothing to stop the pain. Stay around people, you’ll get through it, I promise.

•Sad—(a month for me) you’ll want to cry, a lot. But you’ll get tired of crying. Try and hangout with people. Social interaction helps even if you don’t want it. I drank a lot during this time (which I DO NOT recommend) and cant remember much of what I did or felt. I cried every other day.

•Anger—(a month until about a year and a half tbh, but since it was self inflicted I feel it went on longer than other circumstances would) After you finally accept they’re gone, you’ll be angry. At the world, at them, at things they are missing out on, that you can’t remember little things about them, at yourself for whatever reason. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to feel things. You will also have bad days. You may just wake up and cry over them. I got them about 3-6 times a month. It’s been 2 years and they’re down to about 1-2 a month. It’s hard to accomplish things. It’s hard to realize you have to go your whole life without seeing them again. It’s hard to listen to new music without wanting them to hear it too. Try your best to ignore the “what-ifs”. Things happen daily and we cannot predict them. People will always do what they want to do in the end regardless of what it costs other people. Be there for YOURSELF. I was there for everyone else and didn’t feel through it like I should have. You may always have problems tbh. I have trust issues, I can’t trust anyone that says “I’ll be ok.” I had to say I love you before anyone leaves or before I do. My phone is turned on and up every night (I NEVER forget) in case someone needs me.

After about a year and a half I got less and less angry. I’m thankful for the time I had while I had it. I feel lucky to have even been born in the same lifetime as him. Im lucky to have met him and loved him. I can talk to some people about him. I can look at pictures without breaking down. Haven’t tried videos even though it’s been 2 years. Some things take longer I think. I’m not ready yet, and I may never be. I no longer base all of my decisions off of what he wanted. He isn’t here and I have to do things for ME because I’m here and I’m the one living this life. You have to do the same. Things don’t really get better, they just get easier to deal with. But eventually you will be happy with where you are. It took me two years to be genuinely happy without him around, and I’m worried there will always be a hole in my heart but it’s a spot no one else can fill and I’m okay with that.

To sum it all up: eat. Sleep even if the nightmares ruin you. The days go by faster if you do. Take lots of pictures and videos. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you should move on any faster than you are. Hangout with people. Be thankful instead of regretting things. Don’t take anyone for granted. Things get easier to deal with. You will get through it and do the things that would make them the proudest of you. Things like this happen and we cannot predict or stop them from happening. Take care of yourself. Even if it’s the absolute last thing you want to do—it’s a must.

Lastly, call me if you need anything. I cried to a couple of my friends on the phone some nights because things just got a little too hard. They didn’t know him or understand, but it’s nice to hear someone’s voice and have someone listen. You can text me multiple times and I’ll wake up, or you can call me and I’ll be there. This isn’t something you deal with alone. But IT DOES get easier, I promise. I wish someone would’ve told me it gets easier so I would’ve been more hopeful. But I’m glad I’m here to tell others.

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oflgtfol · 5 years

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I LOVE other worlds than these so much i’m... putting this under the read more its very long. im rambling a lot its probably a mess im just spouting words about how i think and feel regarding this song

the instrumentals are. phenomenal. starting with the beginning of the song. i don’t understand why so many people are like “oh no the first few seconds scared me” but LIKE it sounds so good what is wrong with you. and the beat, and the guitars, GOD

and dustin’s singing it’s just. oh my godddddd i love how during the verses, the volume/intensity on the first few words of a line, like “TEN FEET TALL behind your wall / telling yourself that you’re not small / ROLL YOURSELF into a tight ball / you cant be lost if you’ve gone awol” its just. SUCH a nice rhythm going on, like some sort of seesaw, very cool, very nice, and very fun to sing along to

and also like, the rhythm for each line is just so good especially like, with the.. alliteration? or whatever? like it just flows so nicely, like “into a tight ball” the t sound is just, so good, idk it’s just very satisfying. it’s also in the line “feed it fiction and lies” and “reaping from the cell you sow.” i mean like i guess it might not even be intentional and can be in tons of other songs on accident ( like its only two words for each sound LOL) but for some reason i just notice it a lot here and its, Very Good

AND THE WAY HE DELIVERS THE LINE “ARE WE FLASHES IN A RUT GOING IN AND OUT OF LUCK” LIKE JUST THE WAY HE DELIVERS IT GUTS ME BRO . IT GUTS ME. IM EMO. IT FLOWS SO NICELY AND THE MELODY AND THE EMOTION IM...

what REALLY steals the show for me though are the LYRICS like they’re . so poignant and powerful and beautiful and i’m just the epitome of that lady gaga gif. starset always has such fantastic lyrics but this song GETS me so badly. like “pull the wool out from your eyes / it won’t shade your frail belief” IS SO METAL ITS SUCH A GOOD LINE. and “bury your head so you won’t see / the truth you hide is the truth you seek” LIKE HELLO... and the allusions to other songs from transmissions and vessels like MONSTER AND MY DEMONS it makes me so emo..... im so emo

AND THE BRIDGE. the bridge is a masterpiece. i remember hearing/reading somewhere that bridges are dustin’s favorite part of a song to work on and like, it really shows here. god he blew it out of the park with this song. the lyrics go so fucking hard.. “is it all an oddity? / are we flakes of empty dust spinning on a ball of rust? maybe / but the light is ours to see / you had eyes but sewed them shut / but that feeling in your gut won’t fade” and then my FAVORITE part is the second half of the bridge: “is it all a tragedy? / are we flashes in a rut going in and out of luck? maybe / but the answers will not change / even when they’re covered up, all these questions in your gut won’t fade” LIKE THOSE LYRICS ARE PHENOMENAL

AND THE WAY THE SECOND HALF GETS SO MUCH MORE INTENSE ITS JUST.. EUFHAUAHGUH. it gets me so badly

i’ve thought about this song so much.. there’s so many different ways to interpret it and like. im a sucker for space and drawing meaning from how insignificant we are in the universe. my college essay was basically just carl sagan’s pale blue dot speech but on a word count and written by a barely 17 year old. so like, thinking about this is one of my favorite things, and it really gets me. so my favorite interpretation of this song has to be probably the one that’s most on the nose, which is that like. there are other worlds than these, we’re just one small world in this universe, but nobody fucking realizes it, and this whole song is just the frustration that comes with knowing and recognizing our place in the universe, but nobody else ever really thinks about it or wants to think about it. it’s the frustration of thinking about the universe and dreaming about traveling across space but then realizing we’re still stuck on earth, and there’s so many fucking problems here because everybody’s mindset is stuck here as well. nobody thinks about the big picture. there’s so many petty wars and violence and hatred and literally none of this MATTERS i just want to grab people’s shoulders and fucking shake them like WHY are you DOING THIS? literally what is the point?

like we’re so insignificant in the universe and while some people may take that negatively, we can still derive meaning from it! nothing we do matters on a grand scale, so why don’t we take what little impact we have and make something of it? i feel like that’s what the entire bridge encapsulates and that’s why it gets me so badly like YES we’re flakes of empty dust on this tiny little rock, but we can still make something of it, “the light is ours to see.” and when it talks about that feeling in your gut its like UJYMHGNFDSFTGH it just makes me think of that like, absolute awe i feel when thinking about the universe, and just the, frustration and indignation i feel when it’s like, we can DO something, we can improve this planet, but nobody else wants to!!! or at least, nobody who has the ability wants to!!!

IDK this whole song just feels like my fucking frustration with world leaders who can make a difference in the world but just stew in their bigotry and violence, so caught up in petty political matters that they dont think about anything else. theyre the epitome of people who purposefully hide the truth from themselves and others, theyre the ones hiding behind walls and wearing blindfolds and sewing their eyes shut because they don’t want to face the truth, because they’d rather dole out the same centuries-old bigotry and prejudice rather than improving the world and making something meaningful of our meager existence. our lives are a blink of an eye on the scale of the universe, but we can still be optimists about this and spend that blink of an eye in the best way possible... but no. instead, there’s meaningless wars and greed and just, what’s the point??

a similar song with a similar meaning (vastly different genres though) is stairs to the attic by the antlers. it’s got the whole, wow the universe is so much bigger than me, vibe going on, but it takes a different approach. instead it’s about awe and wonder, and appreciation and celebration. it’s like the individual realization of our place in the universe. but other worlds than these is like, what that means on a larger societal scale, it’s the inevitable frustration and anger you feel when you realize nobody else recognizes this, and that this lack of recognition and humility is what causes these widespread societal problems and systemic violence. these two songs are like, two sides of the same coin representing different emotions centering around the same idea, and they’re equally valuable to me for that

AND BECAUSE owtt is more like, anger and frustration, it’s SO evident in the overall sound of the song. the driving guitars, the intense vocals, just how loud everything is. the lyrics are already cutthroat enough but then the way dustin delivers them its like WOW you can hear how indignant and disgusted he is. im especially looking at “no one really knows the truth / no, not you” like, lyrically and musically you can just hear how much this is meant to look down on whoever this is aimed at. these lyrics are so condescending but not in the like, arrogant way, just in the Wow Im Pissed Off kind of way and i love it so much

ALSO the only time the song lets up on intensity and volume is during the bridge, which is very interesting especially in the meaning. like the whole song is about the anger and frustration i Described Above, but then the bridge is instead elaborating more, actually explaining the whole We’re Small kind of idea, so the anger lets up and instead makes way for a bit of the uhm, awe, like in stairs to the attic. but it doesnt go too soft because ultimately he’s still mad, it’s just quietly restrained, and then the quiet part ends and THE SECOND HALF GETS SO INTENSE, LIKE THAT LITTLE REPRIEVE IS DONE HE IS BACK TO BEING PISSED OFF especially with the line “IS IT ALL A TRAGEDY” LIKE YJHTGRFED

and then this song’s placement on the album, the second to last song, it just. the whole tone has a very, Conclusive feel to it. idk if yall can understand that. it’s just certain songs Sound like a concluding song of some narrative, in some way. either they Sound like they end the album or they sound like some song that plays during the credits of a movie or something. theres just a very Conclusive feel to it, so its placement as the second to last song just makes all of this so meaningful to me. of course diving bell follows it but its so much more subdued and, instead of angry, it’s like...... depression. which i find, very interesting. this song is like the climax of the album, it’s all fire and intensity and anger, and then the album concludes with all that sputtering out into some sad farewell song. of course diving bell does get its intense ending, but overall the whole song just, does not have the energy of owtt. diving bell is entirely about some farewell, and then its lyrics are so sad and it sounds so mournful and subdued......... other worlds than these is the last Hurrah of the album. the moments of intensity for diving bell just sound like a desperate attempt to get back up again, but it just, flops, and ends (i dont mean this as a bad thing i mean this in terms of like, the Meaning of the songs/album, in fact it actually makes it hit so much harder for me lol. especially with how abruptly diving bell ends, its like the energy it tried to get back from previous songs, it just cant hold on anymore and just. gives up. and the song ends)

also i love the symbol on the official video ;_;

hehe other worlds... the circles represent Other Worlds.. hehe :D it’s so simple but it looks so cool. very nice

#NONE of this is coherent im just typing words #and i feel like ive made 20 posts exactly like this before LOL #brot posts #music #EDIT: THIS IS ALMOST 2K WORDS IM. THATS LONGER THAN MY COLLEGE PAPERS WHATS WRONG WITH ME

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bonbonswirl-blog · 6 years

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Safe (a little sequel to "impressive"?)

NONE OF THE CHARACTERS BELONG TO ME THEY ALL BELONG TO @BRUEKLYNN ONLY I OWN NOTHING.

U dont really have to read "impressive", but you may get really confused about what are the characters talking about here and wat happend bc the idea is like lil sequel to that fanfic. Something before we get to some action fanfic guys! also sorry bc one of the characters is a little OOC here (or maybe even both!) enjoy if you can lol.

Its been two hours since rob was searching for jim to ask him for his opinion about the new script he wrote for the new jokey episode. The proplem is, he cant find the stuttery storyboarder anywhere in sight! He looked in many rooms, He asked a lot of people if they saw him, with only samuel replying to him that jim was running away strangely like he was in a hurry, before telling rob to leave his office. Rob didnt really understand why would jim run that quickly like this in the studio, he was always so cautious about every little action he takes, espicially with the 'dangerous' things to him, running in the studio is an example, he knows that jim would tell him that doing this have many bad outlooks. like, he may fall and break his bones! Or have a few scars on his face! Or maybe fall hardly to the point that the ground break down under him and fall to the second floor beneath! Thinking like that was a little funny to rob, he never met someone before with the same thinking method. But presently he was tring to give jim some excuses for running like he did, what if he maybe had a meeting that he was late for? or he forgot to do something important in his job? or he was alerted about something and wanted to tell everyone? Rob wont know the exact reason, but he hopes that jim had done whatever he needed to do and right know, Rob needs to find him to finish this script review before the night come, he was already too tired of searching for jim. It may be weird to think that someone would hide all day in one of the studio room until the night, but everyone told rob that jim was noticed to be absent from the view since hours. With no sign that he went out of the place, the only option left is that jim locked himself in one of the studio rooms, which is the last option Rob wanted to consider since the studio is reeaally big and have many many rooms there....

Rob was already exusted greetly, his legs in pain, He looked in every studio room out there, expect for five ones, and good thing for him those are the last five. Whats even better? they are all in the same hall. Finally! Jim must be in one of those five, and all what he have to do is open and close the doors. those rooms seem to be some kind of store rooms in the studio, with each one having random things stored inside it.

Rob walked to the first room in the right and opened it, wishing jim is already there. But he saw nothing but some music instruments, he closed the door and went to the second room in the left, opening the door, finding just a bunch of papers everywhere, closing the door in dissapointment again, this is really boring and he is tired and want to end this work now. He went to the third room in the right, he was about to open it but....suddenly before he do...he heard a voice...a very low and odd voice.....but the hall he is in was so quiet that the odd voice was the only thing that could be heard, other than rob own footsteps. It was a very unclear and inditinct sound...it looked like it was coming from behind him, which was the forth door in the left, that is right behind him. It must be for jim right? Who else could it be for? Jim is the only one who must have locked himself in that room. When rob moved softly near to where the audio is coming from, the voice started to become a little more clear, but when rob drew his head near that door he tried to figure about what this voice is saying or who is he talking with. but he couldnt understand a word, perhaps those are not words and this is..........is this sobbing?....no.....he hoped that this is not what he is thinking about right now........he was really very worried about what is happening inside.........he even forgot about his whole purpose when he was searching for jim and just wanted to check if he is alright there.....he slowly moved the door handle and moved it down to open that door only to be greeted by..........

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"AHHHHHH!!!!!"

Jim screamed in fear and jumped so high when rob opened the door, breathing so heavily and hardly! on the other hand, rob screamed when jim did out of that sudden move, he just jumped a few steps to the back, he did it! he found jim! But before he utter any word he saw jim and..........he was highly startled by what he saw........jim face........all of it was......so ruddy......even his freckles were very hard to be noted under all of this redness..... his eyes...so puffy....so dark.... so swollen.....so dry......dry because all of the tears inside were used....the traits of the endless river of those salty drops that streamed down his tight face were etched on it as if he had been crying since forever....even some drops were still falling from his chin....his face was wet, on every inch of it......his shirt and hands even drenched....

".........Jim!............." " r-r-rob!.....I-I-I!..........I-I.....I....." jim whole body was trembling....he couldnt bring himself to say something.....how can he explain now? he looked like if he is trying to hold himself up strong...but he just..... gave up....collapsing on his knees, looking at the ground woefully. Rob was dolorous to the scene in front of him...he never thought that one day he will see something like that happen to one of the dearest people to him...... he tried with tender steps to approach his quivering friend, when he did.....he sat on his knees too, very placidly putting his hands on jim fallen face to make him look at him....but looking at jim crying face only made his heart sink....sink deep to places he never knew where there...it seemes that rob had a spot for his friend. That was a horrid thing that rob didnt want to witness again, Or jim...That cordial gloss that favoured jim eyes was no longer there... The look in them were so lonesome. The glint they had that revealed a world of darkness, his eyes revealed it all. The dark, colourless eyes that mourned his despair....rob gloomily moved his hand gently up and down his soulmate wet cheek, as if telling him that he will be ok, everything is alright now, he gave him one last sad look before starting to talk.

" ...What happend?..... " jim eyes went to the ground, the muscles of his chin tremble like a small child, despite the consolation feelings from his friend warm soft hands on his tensed face, he couldnt bring himself to speak of what happened, what if this ilwas a stupid reason to cry or to be afraid of? Rob waited for an answer, but it never came, he could sense that jim still have some doubt and terror inside him. Rob closed his eyes with a sigh, pressing his hands on jim face to make him focus on his once more "....jim....you are a very dear friend to me....my best friend...my soulmate....I really feel so worried about you...know that whatever happend...im here with you...I will always support and be next to you in whatever goes....I cant be fine when I see you like this...you can tell me anything you want to..I promise that I wont tell anyone...and will help you in whatever you need...please let me be a shoulder to you..and let me understand whatever bother you...." jim was....moved by what he just heard...that reminded him of how much lucky he is to have someone in his life like Rob, oh how much he loved being with him. He forced his desperate neck to look in the eyes of his understanding soulmate, he wanted so bad to be able to start narrating the story.

" R-Rob...can I tell you s-something?...." " ofcourse! You can tell me anything! " ".....I....sometimes rob....I....really w-wish that...I had a...n-normal childhood like all t-the other people...." he paused for a few seconds because that was something he wasnt certain he should talk about, rob looked at him with a confused face. " you s-see.....I-I just wished t-to run around in an o-o-open feild after butterflies like everyone...p-play in those small playgrounds in the b-backyards...d-draw with those colorful watercolor p-paints without being s-so scared to touch them...I-I-I just w-wish I was given t-the opportunity to try new things l-like all the others, without my freedom b-being held back by 'them'....if I j-just had a better people that could h-help me grow u-up...Insted Of Having A M-M-Man That Always Make Me Scream In Fright E-Every Moment He Comes home! A-And Cry Myself To S-Sleep!..." jim didnt know if he felt better or not after admitting everything...rob listened to him with every detail...he understands it all now... ".......jim.....I....Im sorry.....I-I understand you had a troubled family...but its alright...you are away from them now...you are here with us...that 'man' was all just a bad memory from the past..." ".......no.......worse......he wasnt j-just a memory... h-he was here.....h-here in the studio....h-he was trying to get me....a-again...pull me back to h-his drakness...He a-almost catched me...but t-thanks the gods samuel w-was there to save me..." rob got confused again, he thought jim was talking about his bad childhood, but it was more. He stopped. He gets what really happened now. Linking together what jim and samuel told him, he connected all the puzzle pieces together now. Jim father was here in the studio hours ago, jim saw him and fled away quickly, with samuel saving him in the last moment before being captured. Jim looked at rob, looking broken " r-r-rob!....I-I-I cant let him s-see me again...I-If he had me in his hands one more time....h-he.....h-h-h-h-h-h-h-he......" that last part was choppy as if jim tongue got tangled, his body shivering again, looking down in sorrow

" Jim "

The shy storyboarder, shakingly looked up hearing his name being called, his eyes started having a tenuous layer of water over them. Rob didnt speak a word. Insted, He opened his arms, as if telling his friend to come over here, rest his head on his shoulders, lay on him, and let it all out....jim understood it, he was taken aback by rob sudden genial offer, but he accepted it, crawling to him, then wrapping his shuddered lanky arms around his friend, resting his lumbering head on his best friend strong chest, feeling his mild heartbeats. Hearing it reminded jim of the nice and tenderness waves he feels when he is with rob. Who just closed his eyes and toke him in a sympathetic embrace.

Without hisetance, The tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down his face, unceasingly, hands clutching at his holder back, who held him in silence. Perhaps these tears will help wash the blood out. He pressed his head against his friend chest, hoping that those heartbeats will soothe him down just like the patting in his back do. There is a static in his head once more, the side effect of this constant fear, constant stress he lives with. He hears his own sounds, like a distressed child, raw from the inside. It takes something out of him he didnt know he had left to give. That's the way it is when people are hard. It's like a theft of the spirit, an injury no other person can see. Rob held him in silence, rocking him slowly as the tears soaked his chest, a tiny lapse let jim pull away, blinking lashes heavy with tears, before he collapse again, his howls of misery worsening. The pain must have come in waves, minutes of sobbing broken apart by short pauses for recovering breaths, before hurling him back into the outstretched arms of his grief.

" Shhhhhhhh.....Shhhhhh.....its alright jim.....you are here with me....in my arms you will be safe.....you are safe now.....you are safe...."

Just a few more minutes and jim was done, he now really feels better, he feela.....safe....a feeling he didnt encounter for such a long time ago, in Rob arms all his troubles have been washed away, how much can he be thankful to have him here with him? He lift his head after that break down to look at the script writer in gratitude, trying to find the right words to say, But before he do rob placed his hands on jim shoulders, making jim back stright, rob stared for momebt into his eyes.

" Now I want you to take a breathe and, inhale.....exhale....inhale....exhale" jim was taking deep breathes after rob. feeling the remaining weigh of stress go away.

" Now I want you to repeat after me..... My name is jim gooder. " " M-My name is j-jim gooder....." " I am a talented storyboarder. " "I-I am a t-talented storyboarder......" " and I have many friends who are by my side." " a-and I have m-many friends who are by m-my side....." jim stopped for a moment, he felt that he was a new person now, like he was reborn again. While rob gave him a friendly smile, feeling so happy for his dear soulmate recovery.

#brueklynn #jim gooder #rob searchman

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doctor-desi · 6 years

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Alrighty, for the Angst Questions: 3, 6, 15, 19, 25 and 30; and the Quesiton About Creating Your OCs: 1, 3, 8, 9,12, 13, 19. (Sorry if they're too many, answer as many as you want!!)

HAHAHAHA! I ANSWERED THEM ALL! PREPARE YOURSELF FOR ALL THE BLAINE KNOWLEDGE YOU COULD EVER WANT (jk there is probably more but this is still a lot... so be prepared)

Angst Questions:

3 Have they ever lost a loved one? What happened to them, and are they the same as they were before they lost them?

I have never actually thought about this question for them before, because at least a few generations of their family have lived in Saker Keep. I imagine at some point she has lost a grandparent, but same with her parents I feel she isn’t super close to her older family members. She’d still mourn, be there for her family members that were closer to them, and respect them for who they were in life. But in terms of her changing because she lost them, I just don’t really think she would change at all. If it was the first death she experienced she might come to respect the ideals in rituals for those passing on. Like learn to make peace with the death of others. But it wouldn’t really be life-altering for her. (However I can’t say the same if she were ever to lose Ms. A, her siblings or any of the gang. If one of them all died, then she might break down and become kind of numb for a bit. She just has no real idea how to deal with a super impactful death since she isn’t super close to the majority of her family.

6 Have they ever committed a crime, or something they felt was wrong? What was it?

Oof, okay another thinker. Hmm, well here is the thing. I came up with this idea that her parents own the general store type shop in the area (cause I need it for when we go there for reasons). So as a kid, I can imagine her being there a lot, and maybe one time she accidentally takes something. Someone not from town catches her and drags her to her parents saying she stole, and her parents just shake their heads, explain she is their kid and berate her. She has a pretty good moral compass besides that, so unless she does something on accident, or something she wasn’t taught bad, then she would not purposely commit a crime or do something she felt was wrong. She just doesn’t like going against what she knows as right, so she would never do something bad on purpose.

15 What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

Well from the campaign, she is defiantly scared of dogs and heights. Id almost say that she is also kind of scared of water now, or maybe the unknown of what is under the water more? Cause of what happened when they are on the ship. I think her BIGGEST fear though would be like her insecurities and messing those up… which I’ll talk about in your next one actually! And how she acts.. well that depends. If it is something like someone dying where she couldn’t do anything, then she’d like break down and become almost a shell of who she was, really numb to the outside. If its something else, like something she could change in the moment, she would take action to remove herself from the situation or remove the thing that is causing her fear. Either way, whatever it is would likely stay in her mind a long time, she tends to overthink things in general, and this would be no different.

19 What is your character insecure about?

Okay, so there are a few of these I believe. First and foremost, she is insecure about her abilities and has the fears of disappointing those around her. She grew up in a small town and although she doesn’t doubt Ms. A’s teaching abilities, she is worried she will not be enough in times of danger. That kinda leads to another insecurity that she will not be able to protect those she’s grown to care for. She is scared that those around her will die and she will not be able to do anything to prevent it. Another insecurity she has is about herself and her past. Since her family history is partly a mystery to her, she is kind of almost unsure of who she is as a person. Like she knows who she wants to be as a person, but she doesn’t know who she is through who her family were if that makes sense… Yeah, she might have more too, she kind of really hides her insecurities and doesn’t let people know about them much. OH! Another one is she is insecure about who and how she trusts. After the mask incident she kind of doubts her ability to read people and situations as to whether they are real and should be trusted. Okay… I think I got most of them.

25 Do they find that they care what others think of them? Or do they not really mind how others view them?

Oh yeah. She doesn’t show it at all but she super does (kinda mentioned above). She feels like she is not enough a lot of the time, so she does like approval from others. Knowing what others think (especially if it is good) makes her feel more secure like she knows what she is doing is right or wrong.

30 What makes them feel safe or secure? What makes them feel insecure or unsafe?

Honestly what makes her feel safe and secure is being home. Being out of her little town makes her feel unprepared and a little scared, but also really excited which is why she set out in the first place. Knowing what is going on in a situation makes her feel safe, having a weapon, basically having control or a strong understanding makes her secure. What makes her insecure or unsafe is the unknown, though like I said before she also gets excited (idk its king of like how some people get watching horror movies). Um… having to face her fears and stuff, I don’t know really, she just likes to know things so not knowing kinda makes her uncomfortable.

Questions About Creating Your OCs:

1 What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.)?

Ooookay… honestly I have no idea. I want to say that I wanted to play a dragon born first? But it also could have been that I wanted to play a sorcerer. It was one of those though I believe. I think maybe the latter cause I wanted to play a magical character, so I looked through the different types and settled on a sorcerer cause they were KINDA both fighting and magic.

3 How did you choose their name?

Yeah… this one I don’t have a super fancy long answer. The name popped in my head and would not go away so I was like “Okay, Blaine it is then.” … yeahhhhh thats pretty much it.

8 What (if anything) do you relate to within their character/story?

For what I relate to in their character I’ll answer in the next one (spoilers its pretty much everything). However for the story I can say nothing really. I’m an only child while Blaine has two siblings. I have a pretty good relationship with my parents while Blaine had an okay one but didn’t interact with them much. I guess I kind of had a traumatic experience when I was younger? But its not like it unlocked any magic abilities… I wish. I didn’t have one specific mentor though I had some pretty good teachers growing up…. Yeah nothing in the story really is related to me, character though is a completely different story.

9 Are they based off of you, in some way?

Yes, completely yes. I mean, I’m not a dragon born sorcerer, but in terms of personality (besides Blaine being a little more extroverted) we are pretty much the same. I base a lot of how she acts and reacts and stuff like that based on how I would, so as a person, Blaine is pretty much me aside from a few details.

12 What have you found to be most difficult about creating art for your OC (any form of art: writing, drawing, edits, etc.)?

Hahahaha… the fact that I made her a dragon born and I CANNOT DRAW DRAGONS TO SAVE MY LIFE. LIKE IDK HOW AT ALL SO I CANT EVEN DRAW HER IF I WANTED TO. So, yeah drawing has become frustrated where when I even try I get so sick of it I can’t do it anymore. Writing though is great! Ive began writing a lot more short stories and I love it! Im actually in the middle of writing a couple of things with her and the gang and I’m really excited to post them :)

13 How far past the canon events that take place in their world have you extended their story, if at all?

Um… well Im not entirely sure how far canon will go really so… not entirely sure. At one point I did have her death planned, but that even has changed and I don’t even have a concrete idea for it. I suppose I kind of planned a little farther in her future when she is older, but not much besides she keeps helping people as long as she is physically able.

19 What is your favorite fact about your OC?

Mm, okay I have two really and they are both super stupid silly things, but you asked. One is that Blaine is the Door Killer™. She has and will destroy all the doors with a single blow. And the other is that she always will have a multitude of daggers on her. Even as a kid she found/had daggers so much that her siblings stopped trying to take them from her and instead just taught her how to handle them safely.

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cherrysnax · 7 years

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Sometimes, it occurs to me that I need to get Better...

And then it's gone.

Then, after a surge of determination that'll wash away with the blood in my sink, it occurs to me, that I actually dont want to get better

It's hard, and so incredibly frustrating how numbly complacent i am with the inevitability of everything

A few weeks go by and perhaps a little panic strikes, stabbing me in the heart and twisting itself up my spine, feeding its information into my brain, paralyzing and settling there for about ten minutes, just enough time for me to cry.

And then it's gone.

Like it didnt happen. I'm numb again, and I'm left with nothing, nothing but a dull thum in my chest that reminds I'm still here, but for how long? would i rather the heart in my chest be replaced a never ending memory, looped images of myself smiling, crying, laughing, hurting. would i rather die happy or live like this?

what does that mean for me? what does that mean for those in my life who will not disappear as soon as im not convenient anymore?

how long will they call before they realize i will not, shall not, cannot answer. those who knew, will the shrivel up with the relevation, will they mourn me, should they mourn me? should they cry for me or simply nod, they had time to prepare, they said goodbye a long time ago.

would they even care? what good is someone if they have use to you. what good is a dead body if you cant get anything out of it.

but i digress.

perhaps my world works like everybody elses, we are all staving off the inevitiable, i just chose to rebel. And yet, i do not scream

I do not cry. I'm capable of doing so, this i know because I did it in reaction to something I read. I don't remember it. No one was watching, so why did I cry?

Who am I trying to appeal to, writing this down, is this a suicide letter? Or is it a death sentence. It's neither, because even after today, no matyer what type of day it is, here I'll stand. Here I'll stay.

Perhaps, miraculously, I'll wake up in twenty years, and think of this morning. I'll laugh loudly to myself, so loud I'll wake the neighbours.

"What," laughter will steal the words out of my mouth, and tears will stream down my face uncontrollably. "What was I thinking? Who hurt me?" I'll ask, and my partner will smile sweetly and usher me back to sleep. I will abide them, resting with a smile on my face.

The next day, I will hang myself.

Or perhaps not, maybe I'll live a nice life. I'll graduate high school in a few months, I'll go to whatever school accepts me, and for the next year and a half, I'll be complacent. And then it'll get hard to walk. No one will take me seriously, so I forget to tell anyone. I live.

I thrive. And then maybe one day, I start coughing, and coughing, and coughing, and coughing. It's a bother, and so damn annoying, but I'm fine! I wash down the metallic taste with a bottle of water, I take a shower, and I spend the rest of the day scrolling through tumblr while working on a drawing.

And then I'll fall asleep.

And then someone will find me, a few days, a week, a month later. Someone will cry. Maybe my father?

They'll get over it.

There'll be debates, did I kill myself? Was it due to a sickness? But those in my life who knew will wave those theories off. I don't knoe what they'll say, perhaps the truth? Or the little half truths they feed me whenever I beg to know what's truly wrong with me? Or maybe they'll avoid the question. They won't lie though.

I won't let them.

Or perhaps, I'll live a long life. Maybe I live to 90, 95, 100?

I would hate that.

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caredogstips · 7 years

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Leaving heart and dwelling: when your mansion of memories becomes someone else’s | Paul Daley

Its nearly time to go now from this cocoon thats been ours for almost two decades: an archive of elation and observance, of weep and disappointment

My father was never much paid attention to feeling , nostalgia, spiritualism or superstition.

He was practical and banal in belief and taste. In his last years he continued to attend faith principally because he had always had said and done and, I believe, to have done otherwise wouldve compelled an explanation to my excessively churchy mother.

Im not sure he believed in saints or even the Holy spirit. He allows one to scoff at what he regarded the oddness of nuns, especially at the traffic lights if they were behind the wheel of the next car. He certainly never believed in ghosts.

Which is why I was flummoxed when he told me hed once checked his mother wandering around his old category residence. It might have been on the working day she died or, perhaps, where reference is locked up the age-old neighbourhood for the last time upon selling it years later. I cant quite remember. And its too late to ask him now.

Grief will do strange things to ones envisages, for certain. Perhaps hed simply fantasy his mother. I dont know. But I do know that I dream of my parents often. I know they are dead. But in my dreams they are always alive and inside or around my house. My subconscious wants to keep them here, in my home.

Its virtually time to go now from the members of this house thats been my cocoon for almost two decades. An archive of lightnes and gala, of anguish and disappointment, extremely, its the place where Ive written six volumes and a million other words, many of them cruel but all of them from the very heart of home.

Its where we produced our newborns. And its where we still, at certain times of the year, mourn one who never reached it.

Our dead mothers are here, very, and in more than only our dreamings. Yes, their personas are on the walls, just as they will be wherever we go next. But their day lived in this house, the working day and weeks and months when they marvelled at “their childrens” primarily just for their plateau ordinariness( everyone, especially on Facebook, boasts that their teenagers are extraordinary, right ?) is simply remain here.

In some directions its my mother-in-law whose proximity I still feel and miss most acutely around this plaza. She ever managed to crowd the seam, such was her capacity to simultaneously solve any maths difficulty, recite the words to an obscure hymn, administer piano rehearsal, sew a button, iron a shirt, change a nappy and feed the dogs, all while nuking my favourite Le Creuset, before settling in at the kitchen bench while we talked about anything and drank wine-colored as I cooked for the both adults and chiselled the charcoal-gray from the pot.

The dead parents are fixed in my recognitions, in my experiences, merely here, within these walls. Those who live here next, perhaps having abandoned their own souls, wont know any of that of course.

And, so, I think: “whats happening in” all of that life lived, ours and that of the departed, all of that human era expended here, when we move?

One of my Indigenous mates anticipates you should have a meagre smoking formality when you leave a house and another at the other goal when you settle into a new plaza. That draws sense to me: a smoking rite( by which I signify some smouldering gum needles and jasmine in a recipe, with no deliberate breath) to signal to ancestors that youre leaving and to please follow, and another in the new lieu to assure incumbent tones you make no harm.

We havent moved yet. But already I feel like Im chiselling with all of this eyeing off of pretty residences by the water where I might mash my( by necessary brand-new, smaller) writing desk, pack our books and hang our prowes, where the dogs( and kids; not quite a secondary circumstance) might cavort merrily. A plaza in which to live brand-new know-hows, accrue more remembrances, promote people and bird-dogs, change veggies and blooms and books.

Theres so much material we cant take.

Like the majestic golden ash out the back, the possum ladder to our roof, whose buds clog our troughs each autumn.

We carved our initials, the three of us, in the stem when we moved in back in 1997: our older daughter, EM , and us adults leaner, darker-haired, little battered by lifes vagaries and chagrins: PD 4 LT .

Soon originated the JD of the son , now nearly 18. We didnt couldnt engrave the initials of the babe who didnt make it, into the golden ash. It was, perhaps, a year later when we observed the boy had taken it upon himself to write of our loss by engraving heartbreak into the stem for all of us: 4 JD 4 ED …. Years subsequently another living little girl, lastly, at last, became the tree: … 4 CJ .

When our son was born we started on what we called the 21 -year project. The theory was that, like Michael Apteds Up series, we would chronicle on cinema, through interviews and footage, his life to age 21. Life constant pas, juggling same, though often uncomplementary, occupations, corroborating ailing parents and other children went in accordance with the rules. We gave up when he was about three. But we did observe his proliferation with ways of pen and appointments on the side of a bookcase that is fixed to one of the walls. Over the years all sorts of random tourists sidekicks, rellos, tradies were recognized off on the side of that bookcase.

It was our visitors notebook. It has to stay, I suppose.

Im not at all handy. But I wonder if a mallet and chisel would do the trick.

Im not much of a gardener, either. Our front is often the unruliest in what is, even by Canberras criteria, a preferably ruly street. But our magnolia, which briefly buds in a prosper of aubergine and white yearly, is the most magnificent in the neighbourhood. Every year the teenagers from when they first sounded as bulges in their fathers belly have been photographed beneath that blooming tree with their mum.

For years Ive waged crusade on the possums who sit in the tree from late wintertime and heckle the dogs while fattening on my magnolia buds. Theyre protected, so you cant kill them, but theyre startled of bright sun. By photo time in early September, only about half the tree blooms. But its enough for the annual photograph.

And as fate or life or occasion or something would have it, the woman from the Australian Bureau of Statistics whos been leaving little memoranda for me for weeks, pushing me to complete the ill-fated census, only knocked on the door again to ask if Id done it hitherto. No. Sorry. Not yet.

I love your home, she said.

I always reckon it seems so messy from wall street, I replied.

No. It gazes interesting and loved.

Its photo time No 18 this weekend. God, it comes around rapidly. It will be our last-place here. Soon well leave.

And our house, our vessel of occasion, of remembrances and beings, will be coming someone elses.