#also imagine painting and lining something without any major issues and then fucking up writing 3 whole words ha ha couldnt be me

[merverelli]

havin fun with gouache paint while thinking about her (baklava) 🐝

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

a message.

This whole post is full of things I’ve wanted to say for a very long time. So yes, this is going to be very long.

Before I begin, I just wanted to say I’m sorry to the innocent people who had nothing to do with this. I’ve never ever been involved with online/fandom drama before, I hate being in this position so fucking much with all my heart and soul, and I never thought in my whole life that I’d be in this position, either.

Secondly, this is about the DEF LEPPARD FANDOM ON TUMBLR. If you’re not part of this fandom, kindly fuck off :^) This is not about you.

This post explains why I feel this way. And to those innocent people who aren’t involved with this, I’m sincerely sorry if any of this has changed your opinions of me.

I’m in a mood and a half, so I’ll do my best to effectively tell everything from my perspective. Read if you want, but this is just what I’m thinking.

I’ve been running this blog for almost three years now. When I first joined this fandom on tumblr at the beginning of 2018, there wasn’t really a ‘fandom’ per se; all the main blogs were dead, no one ever really posted, and there wasn’t much content. I decided to start a DL blog of my own to vent my love into it and not spam my main account. 

Within a month, I could quickly see that some sort of renaissance was happening in this fandom; more blogs were popping up, more people were posting, and more people were just participating in general. There were memes now, there were conversations now- it was great! There was a real community; it was all about sharing information, spewing our love, getting creative, and interacting! 

There was integrity, and there was respect for the band as well as one another.

I, as part of this community, wanted to do everything in my physical power to contribute in any way I could. I was insanely active and hyper-productive and could not be stopped. I still haven’t stopped, but I certainly have slowed down significantly (due to lack of new activity from the band and increased mental health issues I won’t get into). I don’t want to be self-centered and say that I was “running” this branch of the fandom for the past 2.7 years, but I was certainly a big player in it, and I feel everyone agreed (and some still agree) with that as well.

There were some times where disagreements happened. There were times where many of us knew that someone else was crossing a line in a post. We knew what qualified as “not okay” in terms of being perverted and such. We’d solve this by not blaming, not hounding, not sending anon hate, not calling out, but by presenting facts, talking maturely, and trying to right the wrongs as maturely as we could.

Yes, it was possible. Was.

I don’t think you guys realize just how much content I’ve contributed to this fandom. I have spent basically every single day of the past 3-ish years trying to spread information/content/photos/videos/links/etc. to everyone who follows me (and everyone who doesn’t). This fandom was (and I cannot stress this enough), literally my entire life for the past 3 odd years, and I really wanted to spend the rest of my life contributing to it the way I’ve been.

I don't think anyone on here realizes everything that I have done for this community. Because of me:

this fandom has access to Animal Instinct for free

this fandom has access to the rare picture disc interview

this fandom has numerous scans of photos that may have not ended up online otherwise (I also paid $70 to have access to some of these. You're welcome.)

we have Fabulist Icons content

we have a decent amount of fanfiction that doesn't only focus on the boys banging each other/sex in general (seriously, this simply didn’t exist on here before I started posting my shit)

we have a little more fan art

we have content from Phil's and Ross's books

we have hundreds (yes, literally, HUNDREDS) of edits/moodboards/memes/etc. that I made myself

we have gifsets of things that no one else would have made

we have achieved justice a lot of the time when content was stolen because I have defended everyone without question/rallied up armies the second I heard it happened

some of you have gotten updates on news/facts/history/details/etc. that you’ve never even heard of

probably a shit ton more things, but that’s all I can think of for now. You get the point.

But that’s only half the story. This band and fandom has given me so much to cherish over the past few years.

Because of this fandom and the people (that were once) in it, I have:

met Rick in person

met, quite honestly, my two best friends ever, @ballistic-lipstick-dream-machine (my true Terror Twin) and @paper-sxn (adopted little sister/cousin)

became in contact with Phil's guitar tech from the mid-80s (Mike)

gained creative ambition to play guitar, create art, write stories, make edits/gifs, travel, and basically just better myself

began a record collection that is now in the hundreds and gained a lot of knowledge from it

discovered a whole new genre of music

found a community/culture where, for the very very first time in my life, I felt like I BELONGED.

fallen in love with something and someone for the first time

felt like I actually mattered to people, like I was actually important (because people would always come to me for information or help if they needed it)

basically impacted every corner of my life

just about a million other things, too, but I will be here all night if I try to list them all.

To put it delicately: Def Leppard and this fandom on tumblr absolutely changed my life, and was the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.

I have spread so much information around, you newer people wouldn't imagine. I have gathered and seen so much information, you wouldn't believe how much I know and how much I've learned. I have bounced back and forth between formats time after time again that I feel like I’m stuck in a time warp. I have edited so many things on non-professional programs that I am an MS paint expert. I have been here so long, that I’ve seen 98% of the people in this branch of the fandom rotate in and out at least two or three times. 

That being said, all of the toxic people in this fandom will most likely be gone within the next 6 months. 

Def Leppard has taught me so much, but a big thing was love and loyalty. It's clear that the majority of people in this fandom (read my lips- I am N O T saying anyone’s names. I mean that.) do not know the meanings of either of these words. I've been practically running this fandom on Tumblr for nearly three years now, you’ve seen all that I’ve done for you, and what have I gotten in return?

Slander, cyberbullying, disrespect, consistently stolen content, etc. That’s what I’ve gotten. I’ve never attacked anyone on here, and that is still something I won’t do.

Yes, I am against slash fic, and I can’t believe that THAT’S the only reason why I’m being torn down like this. Something so dumb and immature as that has torn my beloved community in half. I have never attacked ANYONE for writing slash fic, yet I’ve been getting attacked since August (it is November now) for simply believing it is wrong to openly admit you want the boys to fuck each other.

(I’d also like to point out that someone from the KISS fandom ((god knows why)) had the balls to call me “homophobic” for hating slashfic. I can’t even begin to explain how much I laughed at that.)

I just wanna say that these are REAL people you’re writing about, you know. Don’t you think THEY would be against it? I know I cannot stop anyone from writing slash (I’ve said that before, but no one seems to remember it). I don’t think any of you realize that there is a certain line you shouldn’t cross when it comes to the internet, and being perverted in such an explicit and disrespectful way is one of them. We always had integrity in this fandom, and slash was never part of something we stood for. We knew when to stop, and we kept the slash on rockfic.com (where it belongs imo. That’s like their element).

I was very confused when more slash fics started appearing on tumblr this year. Now, it seems like that’s all there is, and I’m disgusted.

Whenever something close to that happened in 2018, everyone would be totally against it, and we’d talk it out and explain. While we all had our fair share of horny (and maybe then some) in this fandom, but we always knew where to draw the line. That was the line. That line doesn’t exist anymore, apparently, and nobody knows how to be mature and respectful to the band, to each other, and just for fuck’s sake. Now, I’m being slammed that being perverted for them fucking their best friends is “just fandom, bitch” and “the norm” and that it’s done “out of respect”, which I will never understand. You can’t use “slash” and “respectful” in the same sentence, and you can’t change my mind, but I know I can’t change yours, either. 

Slash is not, nor will it ever be, respectful. This fandom has become toxic.

Fanfiction is an outlet for creativity to be used for fun, not to be used as an excuse to project your sexually perverted sexuality headcannons/fetishes onto innocent, REAL, LIVE people. If all you write/read is them having sex with each other, then it really makes you wonder if it’s about “respect” anymore, doesn’t it?

In my opinion it’s fucked up that it’s “normal” and “just part of fandom” to create sexualities for- again- REAL, LIVE PEOPLE, and it’s everyone’s first instinct to argue that it’s fine, apparently? If you “respect” your idols so much like you claim you do, then why don’t you maybe respect their actual orientations instead of creating masturbation material for random 12 year olds and boomers, perhaps?

I don’t know what I did that was so fucking wrong in your eyes, as I’ve always tried to keep integrity in this area of tumblr. 

I'm very deeply hurt, more than I've ever been by this. It physically hurts me to admit that this fandom has become as toxic as it currently is. I don’t feel welcome here anymore at all, despite practically running things on here for so long.

I don’t know how I could ever live without this fandom, but now it looks like I’m going to have to try, or at least try and rebuild it on my own (again). I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop posting about Def Leppard, and after all, I only started posting about them for myself to begin with.

We were supposed to be the good fandom, the happy fandom, the fandom with no drama. I am ashamed to be associated with you now. I tried to stop it as best as I could, and hoped people would back me up, but I’ve received nothing but hate for simply trying to preserve some dignity.

You guys have been immature to say the least, and I find it very hard to believe that some of you are legal adults (but let’s be honest; most of you toxic people are probably too young to even be behind a computer, anyway). 

I’ve had to block some people that I really didn’t want to, but the deed is done. Keep your slash to yourself, tag it, do a read more, post it somewhere else, even- that’s how you co-exist. Just don’t come after me because I think it’s wrong. I never came after anyone specifically like that.

This isn’t goodbye, but I certainly am leaving for a while. I hope I got my point, my history, and my perspective across.

And I hope you’re fucking happy, because you’ve destroyed something I loved.

-Rachel

[in-tua-deep]

What are your thoughts on Vanya’s book? I’m torn between knowing it was an empowering thing for her and being like damn girl, you were all abused, not cool putting that out there without their consent. The lines I’ve seen from it were about how Vanya’s siblings treated her but I don’t see how she can talk about their childhood without the abuse coming up. Do you think Vanya would have to apologize for the book as part of improving the siblings relationships?

I think that Vanya’s book was very important for her to write - for herself. I don’t think she should have published it without the consent of her siblings, because Vanya does not exist in a vacuum. If you think Allison was not absolutely grilled over the contents of that book in interviews and it didn’t continuously pop up in her world you’re wrong. And anyone who both knew the other siblings and read the book might make comments or ask questions or make assumptions. Vanya wrote an entire book about how terribly she was treated and then pointed the finger at her siblings.

Because the issue is this: Vanya was abused. Horrifically and terribly abused and neglected. She was drugged for the majority of her life against her consent, frequently emotionally abused and belittled, and isolated from the rest of her siblings. She has a right to be angry. BUT. That does not erase the fact that her siblings were all also abused and victims. And Vanya was so wrapped up in her own pain she couldn’t really see that. 

Of course, the reverse is also true. The others were all wrapped up in their own trauma to the extent that they never considered Vanya’s point of view or the ways that Vanya was being abused.

But imagine for a moment that you father raises you as a child soldier. You and all your siblings except one. While you’re running drills and learning to fight and gathering bruises and the only time you’re allowed to yourself is half an hour during the weekend - the life of the one sibling who is allowed to pursue her own passions (violin) and is generally ignored by your drill sergeant father seems to have it pretty darn good wouldn’t you think? You’d give your left leg to be invisible or not be forced to do the training. You’d give your left leg to have her freedom.

And then she publishes an entire book painting you the bad guy because, what, you didn’t include her in your half an hour of freetime? You had better things to do trying to survive your father’s regime than take a few to play happy family with her? You look at this book and ignore all the emotional abuse and gaslighting that she’s highlighting because you think she had it easy, and she’s saying in here that she was jealous of the attention your father gave you. Jealous. As if gaining your dad’s attention was ever a good thing. 

She spills a whole bunch of family secrets. Discusses your brother’s death, something you find very private (maybe you even witnessed it and she didn’t), with the entire world. She drags up all the shitty things you did as a child. A child raised in an emotionally and honestly probably physically abusive household from which your only adult human role model was your asshole father. He built you a robotic mother who obeys his orders and parrots his words. The only other person is a chimpanzee who also only ever seems to regurgitate Reginald’s ideas and always defended him even though he was hurting you. Abusing you.

Vanya deserved to write down those thoughts and discuss them. With a therapist. Or friends. Or anonymously!  Maybe a blog and give everyone pseudonyms and work through it that way. Because like it or not, her siblings did hurt her. They probably gaslit her about how bad things were, blowing her off because clearly her life wasn’t that bad. And they’d probably roll their eyes and call her lucky that she wasn’t included in training anyway. And Vanya would have to grit her teeth and smile and agree because it’s six against one.

Vanya was abused. But that doesn’t mean her siblings weren’t equally abused. Honestly I bet if Vanya had called up Diego and was like “hey I’m writing a whole book about how much growing up with old Reggie fucking sucked, thinking about publishing, wanna help?” Diego would be the first one on board like “HELL YEAH let’s ruin dad’s whole career I have like, seven stories about child endangerment off the top of my head let’s go”

the book we deserved to have was a collab by the whole family offering different points of views and discussing the trauma their siblings didn’t get to see - like private training. 

So what I’m saying is that Vanya does write a sequel to her book. Except this time it’s with everyone sharing. That’s the apology. The opportunity to set the record straight with what they’re comfortable sharing with the world. 

Luther can talk about never feeling good enough, can talk about his isolation at the top of the pyramid and his relationship with Allison who was also there. He can talk about impossible standards and his father never using his name. Strained muscles and terrible testing. The nonconsensual body modification and the isolation on the moon. The realization that four years of his life had been wasted because his dad never even bothered to read the reports - he didn’t even care enough to try. He can talk about the fact that he was so raised up as a child that he feels like a failure at everything he does now. 

Allison can talk about her father forcing her to rumor her sister when they were both four years old. She can talk about the training, having to rumor her siblings and then later the random people Reginald would bring to her. Delivery men and door to door salesmen and girlscouts who were always rumored to forget after. (And then the homeless people, the people no one would miss. The ones who weren’t rumored to forget after because they didn’t go home. She doesn’t write about them though). She can talk about rumoring her way through life and never learning how to get anything without forcing people to give it to her. Constantly on the offensive. The way that’s impacted her career, her relationships.

Diego can talk about never being good enough. His stutter that Reginald had no patience with. The training, being forced to throw knives at the one person in the world he really truly cares about as she smiles at him with her plastic smile. Trying desperately to keep Klaus from drowning under the weight of Reginald’s expectations when he was barely treading water himself after Ben’s death. Leaving the first chance he did and never looking back. The way he still tried to prove himself by joining the police academy, and when he failed at that by becoming a vigilante. 

Klaus can talk about his father throwing him in a fucking mausoleum. Being scared of the dark and claustrophobic. The ghosts he sees screaming behind his eyelids and sometimes even when his eyes are open. The one escape that he found being looked down on by everyone around him when he was only doing his very best to survive because the sad truth is that he could not live that way. Not how it was. He can talk about Ben showing up after his death, and nobody believing him. Being homeless. Living on the streets with no one but a ghostly follower for company. Every moment of sobriety in that house was one of fear - and Klaus is just so very tired of being afraid. (Maybe he can bring himself to talk about Dave, the one person that made him feel safe and protected and loved and how he lost him. Maybe he can’t.)

Ben can talk through Klaus about his own life. He was forced to kill people against his will with a power he couldn’t really control and that he was afraid of. He ended missions covered in blood that he never wanted to shed. Then his death which was reportedly very bad. Then showing up again and only being able to talk to Klaus. Not being able to hug him or stop him or intervene - forced to become a spectator to his brother overdosing over and over again. Loving him but being so angry that he’s squandering the chances Ben wishes he could once again have. 

Five can talk about growing up pushing the boundaries and the way the others only seemed to notice when Reginald praised him and never when he was punished. And he was punished. Reginald tried over and over again to get Number Five to come to heel and never quite succeeded. Every point Five gained in his own personal score was gained through blood and bruises and willpower. There’s all that to talk about, and then there’s the time travel and forty years of isolation and Dolores and becoming an assassin and his plethora of issues regarding that he doesn’t even need to get into to make a whole book of his own. Coming back and seeing that cold portrait sitting on the mantle and knowing that Reginald used his presumed death in order to further control his siblings. 

And they write it together, sitting in the living room and contradicting each other’s memories of events (”No, Dad caught us because you tripped on the table!” “Nuh uh! It was because Klaus was whispering too loudly!” “Actually guys looking back I’m pretty sure Dad just checked the cameras and noticed us leaving.”) and maybe they don’t publish it! They don’t have to! Or maybe they do, taking out all the bits about, you know, murder and all of that sorry Ben they could probably just downgrade the language to ‘hurting a lot of people’ though I mean. He’s dead it’s not like they can charge him with excessive use of force at this point. 

And it’s a bonding experience. And they all come out of it better understanding that they were all traumatized and abused and groomed and gaslighted and neglected and just overall their childhoods were shit. Five will defend Vanya’s book with his fucking life and probably is instrumental in making the others see that just because her abuse looked different doesn’t make it less valid. And he’s also instrumental in making Vanya see that just because the others abuse looked different doesn’t make it any less valid, either. 

Do yeah, have enough material for a sequel? There’s enough material for a fucking series. 

Honestly though genuinely do you know what I think would have been a way better and more empowering move on Vanya’s part? Writing a fiction novel about an ordinary child in a world of magic and superpowers who saves the world. Writing about her own life through the lens of fiction. Basing her characters on real people, yeah, but not writing a tell all book about people whose lives it would very much still affect. Plus, I bet the others would actually read the book at least and recognize it. 

I mean, if they read an entire book about a character who was excluded and belittled and ignored and told she wasn’t worth anything because she wasn’t special in the context of this fictional world, I think they would sympathize. And then if Vanya told them hey, actually this is me projecting and I really did feel this way a lot then it might go over a sight better than hey I’m writing about our childhoods and all your friends are going to read about it

and honestly?? I think that’s a story that needs to be told to other little girls as well. Maybe they aren’t literally being told they’re ordinary because they don’t have superpowers, but there’s a lot of girls who are told they aren’t special and can’t do things and having an ordinary character save the world is an important and inspiring narrative. And it might help Vanya get some closure, because she gets to come up with an end to the story. Wish fulfillment. She gets to write about an ordinary little girl who saved the world. Or maybe she didn’t save the world. Maybe she saved her piece of the world and left the rest up to the people with powers. Small acts of kindness that change everything, for some people.

(and it would reach more people than whoever reads autobiographies and memoirs)

I have a lot of feelings about the book as you can probably tell lmao

I just think the book could have been handled better on Vanya’s part. But I also think she had a right to write it because she had a LOT of stuff to work through. Honestly I think the book originally began from an exercise her therapist gave her and took on a life of its own until it reached the publisher. But like I said, she doesn’t exist in a vacuum and her actions have effects on other people - specifically her family. 

Granted, it’s not like I’ve read the book in its entirety and can’t judge it because of that. But the others had a right to their privacy and I don’t blame them for feeling angry and betrayed because of that invasion of privacy I mean damn. And I doubt Vanya put any of the good stuff in there really, mostly bad. Because that’s how she was feeling.

(If I wrote a book about my childhood with my brother - I could talk about how he sold our joint runescape account without consultation despite all the hours I put in. I could talk about him chasing me through the house or eating my chocolate that I was saving. I could talk about some of his shitty views and his self-isolation, how he would call me stupid and never let me play with him. When he purposefully ditched me in Mini-Amsterdam when I was six and I had to find someone to call my mum for me. Maybe the time he left me on the school bus when I fell asleep next to him. When he pushed me into a bank of nettles, ouch. Or I could talk about how when my balloon popped when I was seven, he gave me his balloon. Or the time he won me a toy starfish on a crane machine. Or when he took me to school after my surgery so I could pick up my homework and when I went back before I was ready he was the one to pick me up again. Or the time when my sister and her friend were being horrible and he let me hang out with him and his friend in their secret base even though he usually didn’t give me the time of day.)

At the end of the day, you can frame people any way you want, and Vanya was going for the bad stuff. Because she was hurting. And she hurt them. And she needs to acknowledge that, so yeah I do think she needs to apologize for writing the book without asking or consulting in order to improve their relationship. I think the others need to apologize to her as well for what little shits they were as kids, because their own abuse is a reason but it doesn’t excuse what they did, either. Vanya was abused and they hurt her and they need to apologize for that. But that didn’t give Vanya the right to hurt them back, so she has to apologize as well if that makes sense??

I dunno this ended up longer than I thought it would oof but I hope it answers your question!!

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Confessions of a Coffee-Eater | 01

Genre: Smut, College/University AU

Pairing: Student!/Poet!Namjoon xStudent!/Poet!

Warnings: Public male masturbation, sub!Namjoon, allusion to smoking and poverty, swearing/cussing

Summary: It is in hard times beautiful things can occur and the addiction of primal instincts be suppressed in their proximity. However, when two souls from different social worlds meet in a poetry class, any former urges gain a new direction.

Some of which are sensual in emotion.

And may not be reciprocated.

Masterlist

Next part

Not everything starts off smoothly, time occupying more of the mind than the designated task or destination. Students tend to deal with this occurrence more often than it would like to be admitted, especially on the first day of the new academic year when everyone has the silent resolution to begin with a clean slate. Withal, there remain some who, nevertheless, manage to sneak into the classroom as the introductions have almost come to an end and thus go from being an absent first to a present last. 

Hence is why regardless of the few remaining students introducing themselves all eyes in the vast yet bare space shift to the tall man entering the room in a wake of smoke and cologne. It is not unlikely to think they are as intimidated by the painted canvas on well-defined arms as the girl sitting right next to them after furiously wishing to be left alone, the desire denied as it is the sole empty chair left.

Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact.

Nevertheless, the thought does not mean a glance at the artwork covering alluring honey-toned skin cannot be stolen. And the gained treasure is the sight of an intricate tribal design flowing over from bright turquoise into sleek black on the left arm and a Victorian clockwork overlapping with a nautical map and a compass, the former element stopping at the wrist after peeking out underneath a feather. That is all that can be picked up on from the side.

But almond eyes immediately sneakily take revenge by also looking at a source of interest for it is the natural thing for an individual to estimate the nearest person when being in an alien environment without a point of support consisting of friends. Unfortunately, each of them from private personal circles has chosen a different direction within the study, none of them daring to take on or simply interested in poetry. 

‘And who might you be?’ The round of rapid-fire introductions ends at the newcomer, who flinches as if waking up from a dream with the heavily blushing cheeks of a crumpled composure.

Which are mirrored in the flustered expression of an embarrassed heart futilely trying to cover up the chest area more by means of pulling up the slightly see-through white loose top thinly striped with lines of black. Regardless of the attempt, the pastel pink push-up bra decorated with a beautiful flower pattern in onyx remains visible very much so from above and a tad less from the front. Thus, when realizing the uselessness of the endeavour, the worry of coming across as an indecent person increases as now not only the professor is taken into account but the still nameless newcomer as well.

‘Oh, ehm, I’m- I’m Namjoon, an exchange student from Dongguk University.’ Eyebrows rise at the baritone voice trying to speak in a composed manner, miraculously managing to do so to a fair degree though fiddling fingers give away the surprise of suddenly being called to attention. Oddly, a thought pops up which almost encourages hands into action to calm tanned nervous ones but just in time can they be lowered into the lap while watching the speaker politely. ‘As for poetry, I believe it’s an expression of a person’s mind. However, this also means they are puzzles to be solved because a thought is chaotic and can have a double meaning.’

‘Very well. It’s funny you should mention poems being like puzzles. My son is currently in high school, also studying poetry and he and I had a conversation about it recently. He could not for the life of him figure out what any poem meant and was astounded I do this for a living. But, as any fifteen-years-old with a literature professor for a father, he wants to become a game designer.’ Chuckling arises in the classroom at the enthusiastically told analogy and all tenseness disappears thanks to the dry humour of the resident Manchester man. At the same time, eyes which swiftly avoided each other find one another again only to repeat the rapid break of contact, those of the too-exposed girl wavering instantly after strangely wanting to make sure Namjoon is more at ease like the others. Why the deep-voiced man looks back with the intention - if there is any intention at all - to lock gazes instead of, fortunately, accidentally letting focus wander lower to bared skin, shall remain a mystery.

For blushing cheeks to never unravel.

Get yourself together, Y/N. I don’t know him and he’s clearly more interested in my chest than myself. Although... just now he looked at me. And he’s kinda adorable. And handsome. No, no, no! Jesus, what am I thinking?

Professor Brown happily continues, pacing the room. ‘But if we think about encoding and poetry, they are similar on the grounds they are both, indeed, essentially the same in the manner they are carefully composed in order to work.’ Steps halt in the middle of the space, academic sight switching from one face to the next as hands fold behind the back clad in a neat black jacket. ‘There is something I would like to ask you. Does any of you write poetry?’

The majority of the students' palms rise in response, including one of which the arm is decorated as if by a traveller of old and one which finds purpose after being mentally prevented from ridiculously serving as a means of soothing. This risen pair does not go unnoticed by the minds which control them, the air in the narrow space between bodies filled with silent curiosity pertaining to the written work. The possible style, the possible words, the possible message.

The possibility to hear it being spoken.

The possibility to connect.

But neither says anything, focusing intently on the empty pages of the notebooks lying on the elongated table and clumsily fiddling with pens between fingers. Notwithstanding, every move is carefully composed to not make a wrong impression, both parties trying to prove a point which is supposed to be interpreted without any double meanings. Certainly so when rejoining each other’s company at the end of a swift ten-minute-break to allow room for breathing something else other than poetry in four hours dedicated to it.

Nevertheless, it cannot be helped but let shoulders relax when smelling nicotine mixed with sharp cologne and sensing two intricate paintings in contrasting styles settle on the empty chair again. It can even be admitted the presence is liked, certainly when from peripheral vision perceived americano irises follow the movements of the pen noting down a random lyrical thought.

And thighs have to clench together in slight awkwardness when unconsciously sensing them looking away swiftly after likely having been distracted anew by the revelation of the shirt that does not want to stay in place. However, the emotion changes when remarking upon an almost anticipating shiver disturbing the fairly intimidating man’s aura as knees accidentally touch.

Panic.

But something undefinable and incomprehensible forms its undertone.

‘I’m sorry.’ Clenching the jaw, the contact is immediately made undone by crossing legs and focusing on the penning down each poem, any poem that comes to mind. 

But nothing appears at hearing the shy stumbling over words, picturing all too well how Namjoon’s face is adorably flushed with timidity. ‘Ah, i- it’s- doesn’t matter.’

Which only worsens the uncomfortableness of a consciousness slowly turning corrupted as the long hours of the seminar pass, wondering what lies at the heart of the cause to behave so jittery and rush out of the door to smoke. Wondering is the wrong choice of words for it are more sensual ungrounded fantasies which rise one by one while listening to the flustered ocean deep voice answering a question here and there.

Fancying how it would sound when being completely controlled by the girl keeping up an innocent façade.

Me.

God-fucking-dammit, focus on class and not your own perverted imaginations. You’re here to learn, not to lose control like this.

This warning spins around a chaotic mind at least every quarter of an hour, swirling among the perversion and bringing common sense back for perhaps a good ten minutes before either Namjoon’s voice is heard or a glance is thrown in the man’s direction. Then the whole circus starts anew without hope of redemption.

Henceforth, it comes as a relief when the class is over at last and everyone packs their things to rush to the nearest bus station to make it home.

The first to disappear are arms made of ink and smoke.

Restraint is one of humankind’s most difficult issues to face on a daily basis, seeking refuge in what brings tranquility to a tempted consciousness. Withal, the nicotine purchased with the little money put aside from working the night shift at a nearby gas station did not help erase the vivid memory of pastel pink embroidered by lace as black as night. If anything, it was all in vain as the confrontation with it happened as soon as walking back into the room to which all of us are confined for four hours once a week.

Igniting a type of hunger which has not been felt towards any other girl in Korea, too busy working the same job as now to help make ends meet and send the little brother with big aspirations to high school because the sibling deserves a proper educational basis as well. Hence is why there was no room for letting attention stray towards anything but the means necessary to help pay for the rent.

  Three people could barely manage to bring it up each month. But out here on foreign soil and alone, being kicked out of the rented place nearby the university is not so much a surprise. Fortunately, the boss does not come in until seven in the morning which allows for two hours of sleep before packing up the makeshift bed consisting of a jacket for a mattress and rucksack for a pillow. It is difficult, but hardship is inevitable for those who are seen as pariahs, the people who do not fit the norm in one way or another.

Yet, strangely, Y/N - the name glanced from the improvised name tags the professor asked to be made to make it easier for everyone - was not as tense as the rest of the students. In fact, intrigued is perhaps the best description to give the overall attitude of the girl caught occasionally glancing sideways.

I did fuck up great time, though. Why did I stare at her boobs?

The painful twitch below that had to be awkwardly shielded against all the eyes of the room, certainly the pair of newly met ones on the adjacent chair for they are the cause, makes the memory of flesh resurface as a rapid turn is made towards the abandoned unisex restroom. Swiftly, the lock to the tiny space is turned.

Alone.

God, I really blew my chances with her. I should apologize.

The phantom of touching knees makes lashes flutter shut and teeth bite down on the bottom lip as a hand brushes over tight grey denim.

Obsidian with a pearl undertone.

A cute black bow from which a small diamond dangles between breasts.

‘She’s so pretty.’ A squeeze sends the mind reeling further away from sanity, recalling the warm scent reminiscent of the autumn which hangs in the air. Wild berries, dark plum and bergamot.

Her.

‘I could be so good to you. For you.’ Tanned fingers barely possessing a sliver of logic undo the zipper concealing heated hurt, firmly enveloping the source for distraction when slipping past the rim of plain grey boxers. To suppress any sound, their counterparts fold over the mouth on the brink of falling into whimpering submission, trembling like during the seminar in the sudden craving to be touched.

By Y/N.

If only I’d push my thigh a bit more to the side, she’d have caught on. What am I thinking? You’d never do that.

After all, what does have a poor man from Ilsan to offer to a foreign woman who is better off without an outcast glued to her? Moreover, there are financial priorities that have to be taken care of and it is highly improbable there is a willingness to help a wretched soul out of the gutter with money.

She does not know me. 

I do not know her.

We are strangers.

But lovers in this fantasized instance, having pretty small hands replace clumsy desperate ones as ears naturally attune to the echo of what little has been heard from a charming voice. Howbeit, it is speaking in a sweetened tone furiously wished to ever be heard truly in private. ‘Namjoonie, why didn’t you tell me you were so needy?’

‘I- I didn’t want t- to- we’ve just met and- and- fuck~’ The curse comes out on a breathless whimper as the chin is flicked up to gain access to the neck, glossy lips kissing the warm skin at random as the thumb circles the heavily leaking part of corrupted fancy.

‘If I’d known you’d be submissive like this, I’d done this to you sooner. You wanted to grab my hand earlier, didn’t you? Place it in your lap to rut against during the rest of the seminar?’ A cheeky grin chisels itself onto the coy mistress’s delighted expression at the unashamed nodding confirming the intention dismissed in the last second after the second smoking break. ‘Make sure I know what I do to you? Who would have thought that such a big buff tattooed boy,’ a whine falls into an appreciative growl when the stimulating palm tightens its hold significantly, the reaction eliciting a chastising click of the tongue, ‘would be such a mess. So cute, all submissive.’

‘O- only for you.’ Hips snap in time with the movements below, aching for release from the building tightening in the lower stomach. Breath comes at a greater difficulty as speech becomes harder to manage as well, feeling too heated to think properly and dwindling further and further into the urge to please the one who ignites a sense of safety. ‘Wan- Wanna be goo- ngh, ah, ehm, b- be good for you.’

‘As you should be as my baby boy.’ Y/N stands on the tippy toes of obsidian and alabaster Puma sneakers, arms suggestively snaking around the back of the neck and nails digging wonderfully into skin when whispering. ‘If you actually do grab my hand next time in class to rut against, I’ll jerk you off under the table but make you cry in overstimulation for being impatient. Am I understood?’

‘Y- Yes, M- Miss.’

‘That’s what I like to hear.’

‘C- Can I- Need to- shit!’ All attention of action shifts wholly to the most sensitive part, erasing every last sliver of sense while barely refraining from coming undone without permission. ‘Plea- Please, ah, ah, Miss, m- may I!’

However, the request remains unfinished as the stimulation becomes too much to handle and the world is sucked away into pleasant nothingness, taking fantasy along and leaving a poor man from Ilsan alone in perverted satisfied warmth.

Together in an imaginary self-made world. 

Alone in a bathroom in reality.

Stained in more ways than with solely thick ivory. 

Yet having to say sorry.

[game-meak]

A Proper Postmortem

Maybe?!  Heck if I know how to actually format a good post but let’s try.  As game development went on for almost four years, this is probably gonna be long... and also give away basically the whole game oops!  Read on with caution.

Sometime around July 2014, a month after the initial release of my first game, my room was being remodeled and I was stuck with nothing for free time but a garbage laptop I could do anything on, an old flip phone, my sketchbook, and my 3DS.  So beyond playing an obscene amount of Animal Crossing and Tomodachi Life, I at some point went “hey, what if I made a second game starring the kids.”  So I started trying to plan it out!  And it went

absolutely nowhere that I intended it to go!!!

For instance, this is the very first page of sketches.  This squirrel was supposed to be really important.  It’s not.  I don’t even KNOW what’s up with that duck.

A thing I like to think about before I set off making any of the story, assets, or scripts for my games tend to be themes and motifs.  And I kept circling back to a very important, very personal “theme.”  Without using the internet at large as my therapy couch, I was emotionally abused and taken advantage of multiple times in my life and it greatly impacts how I interact with people to this very day, as you’d expect events of such a degree would.  Particularly, I kept thinking that the RPG Maker fan crowd tends to skew young and be in the teenage range and at ages 14-16, I could’ve used something to help.

Of course, my entire thought process isn’t necessarily one of charity and selflessness.  It was also a way of me expressing what I’d dealt with in ways I’ve only ever communicated with my friends who were also victims of the same circumstances, the closest I would let myself come to personal stories and retellings with a cover of plastic children and wild adventures.  It was also in some ways a way of me verifying to myself that something ongoing was, in fact, bananas and should not have been happening, but that might be another story for another time.

As you can probably guess, Haze and Seal came into the picture since I needed to make two characters who would have this struggle.  A lot of decisions came about because of my personal experience.  They’re 15/16 because I was at the time of the incidents that primarily inspired me to make this game.  They’re both nonbinary because I am.  They love anime because I did (and do...?!)  One of their friends is even directly modeled off how one of my friends looked in high school.  To that degree, I guess someone, somewhere can call them self inserts.  But they’re also not, since I didn’t want to just do a personal retelling with fictional characters.  I’d just write a memoir or something at that point.

Haze’s design came first, and then Seal’s was sort of made as a foil to them.  Haze’s “colors” are pink, black, grey, and red.  Seal’s are teal and light purple... and also black.  Haze had a rabbit motif (which got toned down as I went on), Seal had an owl motif (which is now just a single mention in their list of likes...), etc.

Though in the beginning, the story was entirely different.  Initially, everything took place in the neon-ish areas with black sky and reflective, celestial water (that I, very eloquently, call “spacewater”).  The idea was that Haze and Seal were beings from another dimension and that their “fighting” was causing a rip in the universe that the kids stumbled into and therefore got wrapped up in this mess.  I had an entire script written and started making assets and when I went to sum up the game’s plot in a neat paragraph, I realized... I hated it!!!

So I chucked all I had done by that point writing-wise and started again.

In fact, I rewrote a lot.  After the first it was mostly small tweaks and adjustments, but the biggest ones (and the ones that still present a challenge to me!) usually involved trying to make Seal feel like a believable character.  I had shown an early draft to someone who said that Seal felt too much like trying to get back at someone, so I scrapped a ton of their lines and tried again.  I still worry whether or not they come across too Strawman-y, but I’ve done the best I can and whatever criticism people have can apply to my next writing attempts.  It’s very hard to separate yourself from subject matter you feel really personally attached to.  I don’t want to write them in a way that you immediately hate them, or hate me for writing such a blatant “villain” character, but in a way that you can formulate your own thoughts.  That said, though, I am violently allergic to people who call Seal a “tsundere,” even in jest.  So I guess I want people to have their own thoughts as long as it’s not that specific one...! (;;;;)

You may be thinking “heck, this is a lot of paragraphs in and you haven’t even brought up gameplay thoughts” and yes... that’s very true.  Shamefully, for a game where I thought “I should definitely, absolutely focus more on making it a Fun Game than a walking visual novel” I might’ve actually dropped the ball in that area.  I’d like to think I was more adventurous than I had been with my first game.  Some parts do kind of fall into the “walk to the next cutscene, find a key to unlock the next cutscene” pit, but I did put effort into figuring out what I could do with RMXP.  My obligatory “please don’t use this engine here, people thinking of using RPG Maker” statements here.  In the final product, though they’re very simple, I’m most proud of the chalkboard puzzle and the paint sorting puzzle.

Even if, y’know... I somehow neglected to include the letter “k”

Speaking of, I’m not sure if this is a general RPG Maker thing, a “man I hate RMXP” thing, or a “meaka cannot gamemake” thing, but I had several event/puzzles just up and quit on me a few times.  Like they would work fine for months and months, but one day I’d go to them and just nope, suddenly they’re not working, sorry.  Copy+pasting the event to a new map wouldn’t work, so I’d have to manually redo the event.  One of them was the chalkboard puzzle.  The other was the sliding puzzle when Tony is by herself.  Which I’m also aware slows the game down a ton, but I have legitimately no idea how to fix that... I tried and I could never get to to not lag like crazy.

Like I said, I started in July 2014.  I’d shipped the game off to my beta testers in March 2018.  A vast majority of that time was spent creating the visual assets since everything you see in the game is custom.  All the sprites, all the tilesets, every little pixel of it.  All me!  Needless to say... it was very exhausting and very time consuming. I grossly underestimated how much time I thought it’d take.  I never accounted for the very real possibility of burnout, which is incredibly silly considering I was making something entirely by myself that was also an occasionally difficult subject matter...!  There were quite a few weeks where I touched nothing because I couldn’t bring myself to and even a few times where I just considered deleting everything and cancelling the project.  I knew I’d be mad at myself if I quit, especially as I got later into production, so I just tried my best to make sure I didn’t turn it into a huge chore.  Obviously, there were parts that were more tedious than others, but this game really is a very large labor of love that I put a lot of my heart into.

Part of that time is also a little bit of indecision.  Did you know I went through 3 possible title screens?  I sure did!  I’ve also publicly posted about redoing both Haze and Seal’s bust sprites before.  I almost redid all of the kids’, too, but I didn’t wanna get caught in the loop of remaking everything, so I opted to just leave them as they are.  Most of them don’t bug me as much.  M...most of them!

I’m hopping back on the Story train since obviously that was my main focus, but the decision to have Seal sort of “reveal” their true nature (or at least have a jealousy-related anger burst) to Octavio as an animated cutscene was one I’d decided pretty early.  Which is also why, unsurprisingly, I was debating getting voice actors for a hot minute.  But I wouldn’t have used it anywhere else in the game, so I opted not to.  I also wanted to keep the file size low, but that wound up not happening so much, h-haha...   For someone who uses the only engine without native support for videos, I sure do like making animated cutscenes, huh.

Anyway.  This scene originally bridged Octavio’s section of the game to Pablo’s, which would’ve been (for some reason) in an abandoned hospital.  But that didn’t pan out because it didn’t fit what I wanted the game to be and also by switching the order of the two, it builds up more tension(?) on the kind of character you expect Seal to be.  I hope their very first “fuck off, maybe” took someone out there by surprise!

This also was the point when I decided I wanted to commission an original soundtrack, since nothing quite got across what I wanted at the time.  Which is when I put out my silly ad post and somehow managed to get the amazing ProjectTrinity to compose for me...!  I’m still amazed by the sheer quality of music he made for my little RPGMaker game.

Having the teen characters curse was also something I waffled on for a bit.  Clearly, I dwell on the important things as a writer.  I wanted it to contrast the cutesy, kidlike way the siblings talk and also the sort of squeaky-clean image the witches (particularly Seal) present to the kids by contrasting how they talk to each other, most importantly how Seal talks to Haze and their other friends.  I did have the same issue with the Mother in my first game, but I opted to not have her curse at all either since she’s childish in her own way, too.  But that’s not for THIS game’s postmortem, get otta here!!!

I also very much was set on a “battle” with words being the final event of the game.  Though I had a hard time imagining what that would be initially, but eventually arrived at a sort of fake battle system that was introduced in the mine.  The setting for this battle changed with time (everywhere from the park to the academy and in between) was considered...!  The dirty secret is that while I did like the decision to make it take place in the voids between worlds, I also sort of did not want to draw the staircase in the witch academy.  Originally, the kids would’ve also helped Haze “reach” Seal (who was putting actual obstacles in the way), but I guess in my own way, I wanted to give Haze the ability to confront Seal on their own, one-on-one.  Or something like that...!  I also didn’t want to add too much needless backtracking.

I’m... unsure what other point I really want to make, so I guess I’ll end this here unless anyone has anything in particular that interests them they’d want me to answer!

All in all, this game means a lot to me and took a chunk of my life to make and I really hope it’s able to reach at least one person who might need it, even if it’s only a little. 

To all of you who gave it a try, thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.

A shameless link to the game:  [itch.io] & [RMN]

[serlymurly]

A RANT ABOUT CHARACTERS, CREATION, AND THE PROCESS OF BEING INSANE

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Let’s have a rant. A good, old fashioned rant about something that’s been nagging at my mind. First, paint the scene;

It’s 6 in the morning. The sun is rising outside. The love of my life is asleep in bed, our cat is in a box lined with a fuzzy blanket that I could have draped around my shoulders because frankly, it’s a bit cold. We have no creamer, and I think coffee wouldn’t help this headache that’s pounding away at my skull - and I have four people talking in my head.

Did I lose you yet? Probably not. It’s pretty straight forward. First - the puppy nailed to the wall. Four people talking in my head, what? Well - technically, I think they’re all me. But on a different level, only two of them are me. Got it?

One of me is going on about how this is all, in fact, a terrible idea and that to post any of this is to admit to a certain kind of insanity that I really shouldn’t be admitting to. This isn’t normal, on any level; I’ve never heard people talk about it, and the only person that I’m aware is actually on point with how I do things in writing is asleep.

The other part of me really wants banana bread, and frankly, I can’t fault that. Can you? Of course you fucking can’t, unless you’re allergic to bananas. Fuck yeah, banana bread.

Then, there’s the other two. One is a face that people who follow me are familiar with; James Oaklen. Don’t know who he is? Probably not! I’ll talk about him later. And he’s having a lovely conversation with this newest creation, this newest part of my intracranial house - Aeslen. But I won’t talk about her. Not yet.

So, yes. Four people. All adamantly talking their points, all actively going on and doing their own thing; existing in some level on a scene that I’ve always had in my head. Let’s explain that bit, shall we? Sorry this is disjointed - again, no coffee.

Flash back I don’t know how many years, and I was a young, young boy. I barely had any understanding of how to type; I’d never played a game outside of Banjo-Kazooie and Super Mario 64, games that required a controller.

I will spare the dirty details, but life at home was not perfect. There was yelling; there was hitting, there was strife, and a family that was slowly tearing itself apart. I could see the writing on the wall when I was 7, that’s how bad it was. So - my mom decides it’s a good idea to introduce me to this game she plays.

A game called Ultima Online.

And holy crap, that was amazing! I spent hours doing nothing of any importance on her computer, on our shitty internet in that crappy home in Ohio, just exploring this world with a character that I had created with my own two hands in a whole other world. This was a concept that I had never experienced; this was a new and exciting frontier for me. I named him Krill because that’s a COOL name and it sounds COOL. I gave him flaming red hair, I made him a paladin, and I spent hours just trying to kill skeletons in a really easy area at the start of the game because I kept forgetting how to fight things.

And then, one day, everything changed. UO, it turns out, maybe just the server I was on - had a very active community of this thing called ‘Role Players’. Weird, right? People who actively played out their characters as real, living things - in this world. Personalities, histories, everything. I stumbled on them by accident when I got lost in the big castle in the main town of the game.

There, at the time, was a bunch of high-end guilds. One was the Orcs (it was just people with orc masks on, but they pretended to be orcs and they rocked at it). There was the Highlanders (they wore kilts and I REALLY WANTED TO BE ONE). There was a merchant guild, and - all these other guilds I feel bad not remembering. And I was just this little seven-year old kid with a character named Krill with flaming red hair that walks into the middle of this big, IC meeting they were having. Imagine them responding to me with actual respect?

Imagine them actually… explaining what they were doing? With respect? I was so awestruck, I asked if I could play. They made me door guard. Boy, LET ME TELL YOU, I took that job so seriously. I stood just outside the meeting and I could see all their little talk, all while making sure nobody entered without permission. I was so hyped.

That, that stuck with me. Okay? Remember that. The idea - the concept that they had presented to me, this way that you could live another life through a digital form. That stuck with me.

But - well, things change. People. Lives. I never really got into the RP scene on that game; I wandered around and pretended to be part of things, but it was mostly them politely recognising me and letting me watch them do stuff. I only had an hour each day online, so it just - wasn’t enough. Eventually, my mom stopped paying for her UO account due to issues. So - back to the nintendo and other things.

Flash forward. Divorce imminent between the two parents. The world is collapsing around us children. My sisters are massive assholes, my brother and I feel like we’re alone together in a sea. So… in a desperate attempt to keep his spirits up, I introduce him to the concept. “Let’s pretend to be Link and go slay invisible monsters!”

Stupid, right? So we pick up sticks and start staying as far away from our house as we could. We’d talk about all the things we were fighting, we’d hit each other with ‘swords’, we’d drag our local friends into it! We just - disassociated. I think for him, it was mostly the swinging the sticks that was interesting; always fighting, always smacking things. But for me? I was using my mind to, you know. Envision such grandiose and wondrous things for us to be fighting! I was imagining landscapes, unspeakable monsters, and the type of person that I would be!

That evolved. Stuff happened again. We moved from where we’d been living to a new environment; Michigan. I like Michigan, don’t get me wrong; fucking love it there. But, well - we were young. I didn’t know anyone, and it was 5th grade. And then - more stuff happened.

I won’t go into nitty details, but one of my sister’s had a major incident occur. This lead to the family being put under more strain, which eventually finally snapped the cord. Grandparents died. One suddenly, one from cancer shortly after. A nasty, nasty divorce that left me feeling horrible. I was convinced that I could have stopped it - all of it. I was convinced that I should have; since I wanted to be that big hero, remember? Since I wanted to shoulder all the burdens.

I took it upon myself to never show any problems outwardly, after that point. I just smiled and acted silly and nobody really paid me much mind. “Oh, he’s always fine!” It’s about this time I got into (GASP) UO again. Freeservers, this time; technically, I think that was illegal, but who cares. I got deep into it; I made my first *real* RP character, who was of course a massive dork. Leone, a grey elf ranger that ate lemons - because I’d convinced *myself* that if you ate enough lemons, you could spit caustic spit? I don’t know, I was weird.

Leone would be my staple character for a long time. So long, in fact, that I began to wonder - as maybe we all do - where he stopped and I began. Sure, he was an elf with magic and grey skin - but personality wise, I felt he was a lot like me!

Then I learned that was a cardinal sin of roleplay. Apparently, you should never - EVER - make a character like yourself. You become too attached - which I did. You become too personally involved - which I did.

Games change, years move on. I went to SWG, I played a new character - Stodosmo Oci (horrible name I know). He was a security officer at a hospital! It was great. I loved it. It was a long, boring time of just sitting and watching doctors RP it out with patients in Mos Entha. And then.. I don’t know. Things. Again.

Went from there to WoW. Technically, I’d been in WoW since Vanilla - but the lore had never struck me as interesting enough to roleplay in seriously until just before BC released. I had a series of characters there, all sharing the same last name; Rodetan. Eventually, as Wrath came to a close, I decided to consolidate them into one large family tree.

WoW’s timeline sucks. That’s all you need to know about that.

Who remembers the early days of WRA? Alliance-side, there was a guild called ‘Stormwind’s Army’. Yes, it was just another military RP guild. Yes, we did a lot of patrolling and policing. It was fun, though; my character rose from an unwashed bum to chief recruitment officer. And then - drama happened. The guild split. I followed the ‘rebels’, and we formed the Vanguard of the Alliance (VotA). That was also fun.

Anyways, I’m sparing you all the nitty-gritty details - but this is where the story, once more, becomes interesting. After so long, VotA eventually fell apart. We all went our separate ways, and eventually three of the officers let me know that they’re still RPing in-game with this new group - Blood of Arathor, I think it was called. I’m asked if I want to join them. I say - sure, but not on the character I’d been using.

At the time, I was - kind of embarrassed of that character. I still am. He’s my best success story, yes, but he felt - I don’t know. Too close to me, in some ways that I won’t get into. So I thought - why not make a NEW character?!

OH BOY.

But there was a problem. And this is what most of this rant was building up to.

I had to build a new character.

From scratch.

Alright, that doesn’t sound so bad, does it? - Except somewhere along the line of creating him - he came alive. In designing him, in creating his personality - I suddenly found that I was physically talking to myself - and in my mind, this quiet man was responding. James Oaklen, Knight of Stromgarde, was telling me about himself.

His goals. His life. His loves. His interests. All about himself; his world. How he felt about certain foods, how he felt about everything.

At the time - I had very, very acute problems in the real world. I was taking drugs, drinking heavily, I was obnoxiously depressed to the point of being borderline suicidal - and… well, this happened. What did it mean?

Don’t answer that. It’s not a real question, because it doesn’t matter.

I accepted that he was who he was - and he’s become one of my favorite recurring personalities in my characters. And he’s not the only one, anymore. At some point, this - new way of creation, this way to create characters that exist in my own mind - just, settled in.

So.. I wanted to document how it works. Sort of. Maybe you at home can replicate it?

I start by closing my eyes. I think about what races there are to choose from, what classes or skillsets; and then I just… start to see a person. Whoa, weird, huh? Just an outline. A faint outline.

So, we reach out with our mind, and we call to them; and they slowly come forward. We get an imprint, a basic idea for what they look like, in our minds. So - we go to the creator and we try to do that. As close as possible.

Then we look at the character. Scars; how did they get them? Each scar is a story in itself, and as you look - they begin to tell you about each one. As if just explaining casually. James has a scar along his neck, which he earned when he almost died defending his Lady - something that he constantly thinks about as a time that he failed.

Or, other big features? James - again, using him as an example - has a large, bushy black moustache. It’s his family’s staple, a sign of their masculinity and proof that an Oaklen has come of age.

And so on. Then, by the time we get to the point where we have to name them, they’ve already told us the most important things. We don’t just have a vague outline in our little mind shack; now, we have a PERSON. And the name? Well… That’s a limitation of the system, baby. Pick something as close to what resembles the name they called themselves, and stick to it.

I could go into more depth. I could go into the process of creating a video where I create a character, but - well, why? It’s just this vague idea that I want to get across right now. I really doubt anyone will read this five-to-seven page long spiel all the way through. But it’s just - interesting, to me. It constantly is there, this - process, these characters, these people. And not just them; worlds come just as easily. Is that the product of an over-active imagination from a man that was desperately seeking to avoid reality and paint a better fiction for himself to sit in? Probably.

But… I don’t know. When it boils down to it, I just let it happen. I get ideas in my head all the time for wondrous worlds, characters and things - but the most agonizing problem is that they can never seem to translate into text or print. I can’t paint worth a damn, I can barely draw - and the one medium I have for escape, Roleplay, is something that I barely do anymore.

So - how do I make it stop? Do I want to make it stop? Should I? How do I harness this? How do I focus it into something specific?

If you made it this far, congratulations. I don’t know how to end it, so I’m just tagging all the mmo’s I’ve ever played or remember playing for giggles. Kudos if you get all of them!