#i literally never post art on shitter but i did this time

[chillykitty]

saw a pony name generator from some activity book on twitter yesterday and got possessed

tweet ver

[heartbrake-hotel]

for the first question of the elvis ask game bc i am incapable of Shutting Up;

"When and what was your first exposure to Elvis Presley?"

like literally i could Not in good conscience let this extend my original answer post ohhhh my god 😅😅 but also i quite like the story and want it recorded for selfish purposes so if you are for Some Reason interested...... here she is

my mom really loves elvis (some of you might know this already). she's from alabama, and growing up her dad (who died p young) really liked him (though my gramma still insists "he always did a little too much of that... jigglin' for my taste"). she remembers her father let her stay home from school on august 17th, 1977, because she was so distraught after hearing about elvis the afternoon before. that day after was a wednesday and she was 10 years old. she says it was practically a public day of mourning in the south.

on the other hand my mom is also deeply catholic and experienced a great moral terror surrounding media consumption upon having me, her oldest, bc she was afraid that if my first word had been "margaritaville" she would have had to answer to god for the depravation of my immortal soul :/ and no that's not a joke she literally thought that about jimmy buffet. so we didn't, uh. have music in my house as a kid. my mom had one (1) bruce springsteen cd i wasn't allowed to listen to, and my dad had one (1) johnny cash cassette that i WAS. other than that the only music we had around was the soundtracks in movies and a lot of gregorian chant. and the one copy of the high school musical deluxe edition soundtrack that i got for christmas in 2006 and my sister and i literally wore the ribbon out of bc we were so starved for Tunes dfghs so i actually. had no idea my mom liked elvis she never listened to his music around me or brought him up.

aaaand then in.. 2009 or 2010 (i had to look up the release date of justin bieber's baby to verify this Holy Shit), i went away to sleepaway camp for the first time. it was an art, science, and technology camp at my dad's alma mater (and eventually mine❤) in my parent's hometown, a couple hours away. i stayed with my dad's parents instead of on campus, but it was still A Big Deal growing-up-wise. and my mom sent me a care package while i was there, with a postcard to read for every day of the week i was gone.

they were all pictures of elvis and i had No Idea Why.

i thought maybe she was just being, like. fun and kitschy.?? idk i was a weird kid who had a weird mom, it was easy to rationalize. and she didn't address it at all until the third postcard, when she said she had thought about finding stationary i would like to write these on but instead she decided to give me something precious to her, these elvis postcards she'd had lying around since she was a girl. because of how, you know, she loved elvis so much.

WELL, NO. NO MOM, I DID NOT "KNOW."

up until this point the only defining knowledge i had of elvis could be summarized by the epic rap battle of history vs michael jackson, which contains such lyrical marvels as "here's a tip - don't swallow a bucket of drugs so you won't die on the toilet dropping hunks of burning love," and "well, i may have died on the shitter but i don't give a crap, you ain't got half the badass battle raps that i have." yes i Did type those out from memory. i'm sure i'd heard elvis' music before (i had seen lilo and stitch at least once, after all) but if you had asked me to name even one of his songs at that time i don't think i could've done it. i simply hadn't conceptualized him beyond the vague image of a white jumpsuit and the words "thank ya, thank ya very much." but my mother expressing ANY sort of interest in a celebrity or pop culture at large was Absolutely Shocking, and i was determined to take advantage of this moment by seeing what the hype was all about.

so i went downstairs to my grandparent's basement pc and typed "elvis" into the google search bar. that was it. just "elvis." not "elvis presley," not "elvis songs," not "who the hell was elvis and does an interest in him make my mother lame or cool?" just "elvis." :)

and the first video that came up was the rapid city unchained melody performance. i watched the video, and i almost immediately had this absolutely overwhelming outpouring of love for this man on the screen. he slurred out "unchained melody. from an album called unchained melody. makes a lot of sense. ok" and i remember thinking that that "ok" had sounded so SMALL. he sounded like a lost little boy. and then that maternal instinct immediately fled my 12-year-old body and i scoffed like a tweenybopping little bitch and thought from how tiny he sounded he couldn't possibly have had a voice worth listening to.

and then he opened his mouth and heaven started pouring out.

i had never heard the song before (though i was immediately struck by its.. well, melody). i didn't know he was struggling with a drug habit, and i didn't know it had been filmed shortly before his death and would eventually come to be seen as the crowning final jewel in the midst of years of muddy decline. all i knew was that this man looked like he should've been in a hospital instead of on a stage, pouring sweat, minutes away from toppling backwards off the piano bench, and despite all of that... he was making the most devastatingly beautiful music i had ever heard. his voice was so strong, so clear, and i was once again baffled that a voice like that could be coming out of his visibly ailing body. i thought about how beautiful it was that he was giving so much of himself to perform this song when he looked like he didn't even have it in him to make it another couple of days. and i thought he was the most beautiful man i had ever seen in my life for doing it. it was like i had the word "beautiful" running on loop in my head. the only thought i had was "beautiful, beautiful, beautiful," over and over again until the song finished.

i didn't even realize i was crying until my gramma (who was just about deaf and had been two floors above me and on the other side of the house) came down to check on me. i remember her coming to stand at the foot of the basement steps and looking at me really carefully, asking if i was ok. and i had never heard her sound worried before ever so i took my headphones off and opened my mouth to ask her what she meant, and i realized i couldn't talk because i was so violently sobbing. apparently i had been shaking, hugging myself, and rocking back and forth for the duration of the video and was so insularly focused on elvis i hadn't even known it. dramatic ass bitch

eventually i calmed down enough to tell my gramma i didn't know who elvis was but i was having a breakdown about him anyway, and it felt really weird because a man i wasn't even invested in had just changed my life maybe bc that's about how big what i was feeling was. she just said "ok. do you want to feel that more or less?" so she sat there with me and i watched the video three or four more times and thought he was just angelic. not in the cheesy "did it hurt when you fell from heaven" way but like there was literally something of the divine about him. and i sat there at the computer desk and cried myself out and eventually about forty minutes later said "ok now i would like to feel less" so she told me on the news that morning had been a performance by a boy about my age and did i know who justin bieber was. this was probably a leading question because it was statistically likely i was wearing a my world 2.0 t-shirt at this time, but it gave me an opportunity to show a 70-year-old the baby music video and also to explain what a youtuber was and my emotional range normalized again.

and then that depth of emotion was so uncomfortably strong and i was so unequipped to deal with it as a kid that i shoved it down and learned hound dog and blue suede shoes and can't help falling in love and then totally disavowed myself of Anything elvis for a decade. or at least that's what i thought i was doing but also i loved dion and the belmonts on one end of the relevant temporal spectrum and frankie valli and the four seasons on the other and my favorite movie was bye bye birdie (the 1995 tv one with jason alexander tho not the '63 version sorry ammo) and i spent a Lot of time reading about buddy holly's life story so uh. MAYHAPS I WAS ALWAYS PRIMED FOR THIS.

and then baz luhrmann bashed me on the head with a sledgehammer and it hit my reset button and now here i am✨

[magalidragon]

fire on ice | a crackish Jonerys drabble

Soooo... @moggett reblogged this post and well I felt compelled to write a drabble for one of those prompts so I give you this crack fic-- a funeral home meet cute!

I give you....FIRE ON ICE!  And this is also partially @youwerenevermine‘s fault, lol, because we literally had same idea for one of the prompts.

“Thank you so much Mr. Snow.”

Jon nodded politely, solemnly, his gray eyes the perfect amount of sympathetic, sad, and he hoped the right amount of ‘normal’— lest people think him a total fucking creep—while he shook the hand of the Greatjon Umber, whose son Smalljon Umber had unfortunately encountered the wrong side of a chainsaw while out trimming trees.  

Greatjon began to go into a tale about his son—who by all accounts had been a horrible person—speaking like he was the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror for all his ‘talents’ and ‘successes.’  “Hmm,” he murmured, walking him slowly to the door.  “He sounds like quite a man your son, thank you Mr. Umber, we will speak later regarding tomorrow.”

“Of course, thank you again Mr. Snow.”

The door shut loudly behind him, Jon slumping against it, relieved.  He glanced at his cousin, who had emerged from the basement, shaking her chopped bob out of its messy little knot atop her head.  “He gone?” she demanded.

“Aye.”

“I had half a mind to sew his arm on backwards.”

Jon closed the doors to the viewing room where Smalljon rested in repose until tomorrow when he’d be taken to the Karstark’s castle for the final funeral and ultimate burial in the crypts, as was custom for the Northerners.  He clicked his tongue.  “Arya, be nice.”

“Remember when his wife died, and he squeezed my arse?”

“Aye, I remember.”

“Thought so.”  Arya checked her phone.  “Your beloved texted me.  We have another on the way.  This one fell from the Wall.  Ygritte said he’s a fucking mess.”

He made a face; he hated that she referred to his ex-girlfriend as his ‘beloved.’  “Will you stop calling her that?”

“She works for the morgue Jon, what were you thinking?”

“It’s hard to find women in this line of work.”  He heard the bell ringing on the other side of the old stone house that served as their place of business and home—the five-floor monstrosity he knew people in town referred to as ‘Castle Black.’  He did wear a lot of black.  Came with the territory.  He waved off Arya.  “Just make sure you finish up with Mr. Lannister before the end of the evening.”

“The rich dude who died on the shitter?  Yeah, no thanks, that’s all yours.”

“Do you want to take this one?  Where the fuck is Robb anyway?”  Robb was the master of this shit, not him.  He was better with the dead.

Arya walked away before he even could try to play ‘Dragon, Wolf, Lion’ with her or answer as to where her eldest brother happened to have gone off.  Guess it was all him.  He caught his reflection in one of the mirrors in the hallway, adjusting his black tie at his neck and raking fingers through his curls.  It did nothing to tamp them down. He schooled his expression, solemn, and pushed through the dark wooden doors from the funeral home side of the floor to the entry way.  He let them swing back and folded his hands in front of him.  

“Welcome to Three Wolves Funeral Home, may I help you?” he asked, voice gentle; you never knew who might be waiting to speak with you on this side of the building.  He’d been accused too often in Robb’s post-services discussions of being too cold.

The woman standing in a dark red dress with long black overcoat was not someone who appeared to be in mourning, but then you never really knew, some people were good at masking emotions.  Her silver hair was in an elegant, braided knot at the back of her head and she had large black sunglasses folded in her hands, gazing at the table with various brochures for caskets.  

She turned, blinking wide violet eyes at him, her lips crimson, face pale.  “Good afternoon,” she greeted him, eyebrow arching.  “I’m inquiring as to your crematory services.”

“For yourself?” he blurted, before he realized how it sounded.

She smirked, while he flushed, thrown off by her stunning beauty.  He tried to school his expression again; she could very well have been there for her husband, boyfriend, or other, he did not need to stumbling through this.  He wished Robb was there.  “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?  Well, I can assure you I’m not here to burn myself alive, but you know…” She inspected her hand, a couple rings on them glittering gold.  She grinned up at him.  “I have heard stories my ancestors were immune to flame.”

His throat constricted.  “Apologies.  Can I help you?”

“Your crematory services?” she wondered again, walking by him and into the showroom, running a finger over an ebony casket.  

“Ah…I am afraid Three Wolves does not offer such services.  We can, however, assist with selecting one, urns, and preparing a memorial service.”  He wondered what she was doing; she was now leaning down to look underneath a massive white casket.  No one really cared what the underside looked like.  He gestured towards the office.  “We can speak in private, if you wish?”  

The woman shook her head.  “No I’m fine, thank you.  Just doing a little bit of research.”

“For a relative?”  

“Something like that.”  She wore very high heels, which clicked loudly on the hardwood.  She glanced sideways; eyes shrewd.  “Are you one of the Three Wolves on your sign out front?”

“Yes, Jon Snow, I’m the mortician.”  It sounded so creepy like that, but it was the truth.  Robb handled the hand shaking, the business side.  Arya was their resident makeup artist—she could do wonders with faces practically taking them on and off—but he was the one who handled everything else.  

“Hmm, yes I heard of you.”  The woman offered her hand.  “Dany.”

“Jon,” he repeated, like an idiot.  He was put off by her beauty, rather disarming.  He swallowed hard again.  “Nice to meet you.  Is there…”

“This was enlightening Mr. Snow.  I’ll be back.”  Dany wiggled her fingers, waving, striding out decisively.  “See you later.”

What the seven hells was that about? He spun on his heel, about to ask her what else he could help her with, when the front door slammed shut, bell ringing on her exit.  He heard the door from the services wing open, Robb walking in.  He scowled.  “Where were you?”

“Talking with the Umbers, heard it went well, did we have a customer?” Robb adjusted his tie, eagerly seeing dollar signs.  “Where are they?”

“They left.”  

“Damnit Jon!”

He rolled his eyes, storming by.  “I’ll be downstairs.”

“With Tywin Lannister?  Better make him look good, the Lannisters are paying through the nose for this.”

“Aye,” he said idly, heading downstairs and to his ‘lair’ as Robb referred to it.  He shook his head, preparing in the locker room, putting on scrubs and his protective gear.  When he tugged on gloves, walking over to the block of freezer drawers, he rolled his eyes again, making another face.  He was better with dead people anyway.

-----

A couple of weeks later, Jon saw the beautiful silver-haired woman again, this time from the front step of the funeral home, while Arya sat on the railing, Robb in shocked horror as the sign went up across the street.  

Dracarys Funeral Home and Crematory Services

“How did this happen?  We had the run of things here!” Robb exclaimed.

Arya cracked her gum.  “Want me to get info?”

The silver haired Dany waved from the front step of her home.  “Hello Starks!”

Jon shook his head, appalled.  “I thought she was just asking because someone died…like they all do.”

“You didn’t think that she was scoping the competition?” Robb shouted.

“I told you I’m better with the dead than I am the living!”

“Oh leave him alone,” Arya chided.  She rubbed Ghost’s ears—his great white wolf—gazing across the street again, shrugging.  “Maybe we can make this work.  Jon, you were the one who met her, maybe you can get some more info.  They do crematory, we don’t.  Maybe we can make a deal or something.”

Robb nodded, poking his shoulder.  “Go over there, find out more.”

Jon sighed.  He really didn’t want to do this. “I have that Wall guy to deal with.”

“Jarl will keep, go find out more.”

He slid away from the column, clicking his tongue for Ghost to follow him, the two of them crossing the street and up to Dracarys.  He entered into the front room, seeing that everything was a shade of black and red.  He glanced at Ghost, who was scanning the space with his bright ruby eyes, white fluffy tail wagging slowly.  “What do you think?” he mumbled.

The walnut wood stairs creaked in the back, drawing him towards the door leading away from the showroom and sitting area.  He peeked into another part of the old house, just like how their business was set up, with a viewing room and seating area.  He moved to another door, which was open, leading down a set of stairs.  

A massive black cat yowled from a sunbeam near the door, hissing at Ghost and running off.  Ghost didn’t bark but took off after the cat.  He sighed, calling out.  “Please don’t kill her cat!”  

He went down the stairs and pushed open a set of swinging double doors, pausing at the sight.  It was state-of-the art and he scowled at some of the fancy equipment he’d been trying to convince Robb to upgrade to for the last year.  He ran his tongue over his teeth, arching a dark brow at the woman who had been wearing head-to-toe designer when he’d met her and now was in black scrubs and protective gear, leaning over a dead man, a kit of makeup and brushes next to her.  

“Jon Snow,” she called.

“Daenerys Targaryen.”  He used her full name.  The proprietress of the competition, he would not refer to her as Dany.  “You could have told me you were moving in across the street.”

“And you would have shown me around?  I think not.”  

He stepped closer, curious at what she was working on.  His eyebrows flew to his forehead.  “Greyscale, huh?”

“Hmm,” Dany murmured.  “Yes.”  She looked up, grinning.  “I saw you coming over, decided not to stop you from finding me.  You’re not squeamish.”

“No I’m not.”

“They call you the King of the Dead.”

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d been called.  “And you are?” he retorted.

“The Dragon Queen, I suppose you could call me.  Or at least, that’s what they called me at mortician school.”  She selected another brush, grinning.  “I’m offering a service that your busines does not Jon Snow, that’s all.”

“The North doesn’t burn their dead.”

“I know, but many in the South do.  There’s plenty of them moving up here.”  Dany stood and pushed the gurney with the greyscale man into the freezer, closing the door.  She removed her gloves and gear, walking by him, and began to wash up.  She tossed a serene smile over her shoulder.  “I think we can make this work Jon Snow.  Don’t worry about it.”

“Robb isn’t used to competition.”

“And you?”

He shrugged.  “I work better with the dead.”

“So do I.”  When she finished, she studied him for a few seconds, which unnerved him.  He tore his eyes from her, wondering what she was doing.  She approached him, hands on her hips.  “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

He frowned, nose wrinkling, surprised.  “Coffee?”

“A hot beverage, sometimes served with milk and sugar?  Other times with various accoutrements like cinnamon or chocolate?” Dany’s smile softened.  He saw then how gentle she actually was, how soft.  It was comforting and he wasn’t even grieving.  She must be very good at her job, he thought.  He was numb, unsure how best to reply.  She patted his arm, stepping by him.  “Come on, I’ve got a lovely blend from Braavos.”

In the kitchen on the third floor of her house, where he assumed, she lived, she prepared the coffee.  He wondered where Ghost had gone.  “This how you get all the competition?” he managed to get out.  “Ply them with coffee?”

“Just you.”  Dany sat down across from him at a small bistro table in a large bay window, with a beautiful view of the mountains in the distance.  She passed him the mug of coffee and used a small ceramic pitcher to pour milk into her coffee.  Lifting it to her lips, she smiled again, warm and eyes dancing.  “You intrigue me.”

He sipped his coffee—it was very good—a small smile on his lips.  “You are an interesting one, Dany…if that is your real name.”

“Only my friends can call me Dany,” she mouthed.  

“And we’re friends?”

“Well I hope we’re not enemies.”

Jon figured he’d have to wait it out and see for certain, but he didn’t think enemies was the best word for it.  He was not good at this sort of thing, so he chose to continue drinking his coffee.  He set the mug down on the table, sighing and cocking his head, a slight furrow to his brow.  “I’m not good at this.”

“I know,” Dany shrugged.  “But I am.”

Well that was that then, he figured, smiling at her.  

-----

“So where did you two meet?”

Jon wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, as one of Sansa’s friends from King’s Landing had cornered him, trying to get info on Robb.  “Where did I meet…?” he echoed, playing dumb.

Margaery Tyrell frowned.  “Where did you meet Daenerys?  Sansa didn’t tell me.  In fact, she’s being really weird about things.  Won’t even tell me what Robb does for a living.”  Her eyes lit up.  “I like a challenge.”

“Um, well…”

His wife of the last two hours emerged at his side, looping her arm through his.  “We met at a funeral home,” she said, smiling at Margaery’s wide-eyed, horrified expression.  Dany gazed up at him, love shining from her beatific face.  “In fact, we contemplated holding the reception there, but figured everyone might think that a little weird.”  She smiled even wider.  “Also in the future, please keep the Fire on Ice Funereal Services in your thoughts for any funereal needs!”

Jon stifled a snort, glad to be rid of the odd questions.  He smiled down at his beloved.  “We didn’t actually consider the reception there or…did you?”

“No of course not, I don’t want to mix business and pleasure.”

“Isn’t that exactly what we did?”

“Nah, I came to scope out the competition and this really cute guy who couldn’t look me in the eye without blushing wandered in.”  Dany rose on her toes, pecking his cheek.  She patted her hand against his chest.  She beamed again.  “Best decision I ever made.  I could have sent Viserys.”

At the mention of her annoying older brother, Jon shivered.  He squeezed her close.  “Very well then.  Let’s at least try to figure out a better story, you’re scaring people.”

“Well it is the truth.”  

Jon shook his head, but smiled anyway, his arm around her and hers around him, both of them walking off into the crowd of guests.  He even thought that he overheard someone say the King of the Dead had found his queen.  He kissed her temple, sighing.  He certainly did.

THE END

[chainsawb0y]

hi sorry for not really doing much lately ive been kinda super out of it but when am i not anymore 

more venty stuff under the readmore tldr: shit sucks and im decorating my house and i hate myself the usual affairs if you read it all the way through i commend you for your dedication for wanting to know why im bummed out rn. this is basically like a long rambling thing that i kept adding shit to in random places

tw: dysphoria

i keep thinking about things and just feeling generally kinda bad about lots of shit and like it swings a lot from me feeling like happy and then just being totally fucking miserable at random all the time. i dont know what it is but its annoying the shit out of me. i feel like im ok like 10% of the time and then the other 60% is me feeling like shit and 30% trying to recover from feeling like shit 

ive been decorating my house too and thats been shit tbh my housemate gets stressed out and then takes it out on me but i cant afford to go anywhere else and id rather be dead than live with my mother and i just dont want to live in the city where my dad is

i want to do more stuff creatively this year but every time i pick up the pen i just think of my long term ambitions and realise this website isnt exactly the best for it anymore, but theres nowhere else i feel comfortable posting it anymore. i keep doubting myself and my work and when i draw certain characters i get anxious im going to be accused of ripping other people off. i know it wont happen, but i just have horrible anxiety when it comes to these things. i want to work but i feel like nobody takes me seriously as an artist or a comedian. i know where a lot of my self doubt/anxiety comes from but its just upsetting because i have so much stuff in my head that i cant even bring myself to do because i just dont see the point of it. i know it’ll get no attention at all whatsoever apart from roughly 2 likes, 3 reblogs and then at least 5 self reblogs from me desperately trying to get someone to see something i spent so long on. i dont do art for myself, i do it for other people to see the cool stuff i made up to entertain people and i like to make people happy and i just get upset constantly feeling like nobody is seeing anything because this hellsite is going down the shitter and people are jumping off like old people from a sinking ship. slow and fucking painfully because of the fucking bots everywhere

im like, constantly bitching about gender and sexuality shit but like.......... i always feel like im never gonna have anyone really love me. . like. people like me. people know who i am. nobody knows me. nobody gets me. i know thats bullshit lone wolf talk but like im not even kidding tbh.  im so massively fucking lonely it hurts it just fucking hurts so much i just fucking miss feeling like someone actually cares about me . i feel like i have no friends sometimes. like, i have online friends who i love with all my heart but i just dont feel like i have people in real life i can really talk to about deep personal shit. i dont feel close to people irl anymore and i cant understand why. i feel like this is cause of some bad shit thats happened in the past and its just made my brain turn off the “trust people” switch. my brains gone from “everyone is friend” to “everyone is person and people scare and upset me so i cant engage properly because i dont know what they will do. must keep some kind of distance, put on some kind of persona or something and be nice” i dont know what that persona is but im sure as fuck not able to look into it without being some kind of horrible mess. i dont know if im nice or not. i dont know who the fuck i am and it freaks me out because im sure i have some kind of horrible thing deep inside me that i have to cover up by being overly nice and sweet and an actual doormat .. most of the times the conversations i have with real people always have some kind of sex talk in them at one point and i dont have the heart to tell people it makes me uncomfy. i want to talk to people again and i want to go out more, but i just dont know how to get myself outside with people without feeling massively anxious or just feeling like nobody wants me around. like i feel like nobody ever really thinks about me in the least selfish sense. i know it sounds weird and narcissistic but i never get messages off people. i try to interact with people. i want to be friends with people but i just dont feel like i fit in anywhere and i really wish i did. i wish i felt like i could anyway. every time i go out i just feel like i dont belong anywhere with anyone and i thought i did for a little while but then i just couldn’t afford to go out anymore and it just went away immediately. i dont know why but sometimes i get really overloaded by people really quickly but when im outside i find it really easy. i just wish it was easier to talk to people about things. its like whenever i talk to anyone i immediately worry that im being weird or dumb talking about specific aniamtion things or stuff i can actually contribute to but everyone else is always talking about politics or sex so like.... i cant contribute ever cause most of the time its sex stuff or devolves into sex stuff and i just ?????? cant

also dysphorias back whee i hate having a chest it makes me so mad that i cant wear nice things because im constantly paranoid people will see my chest and assume im a girl. i hate people see my face and assume im a girl. i would rather see myself slowly rot away than take female hormones to solve my hormone issues because i dont want to lose what little i had that makes me look a little bit masculine and i know it sounds fucking idiotic but oh my god im so sick of looking and sounding like a girl!!!!!!!! i hate being called miss !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hate that my mother wont even call me ash !!!!!!!!!! 2/3 of my family members refuse to think im not a girl and i want to die bc of it !!!!!!!!!!!

im just fuckin trying to deal with all this stupid fucking shit and i keep getting appointments for help cancelled and pushed back and i need help but i never get it !! : ))) the only help i managed to get just ended up talking about fucking specifically sex shit and it made me so uncomfortable i never went back !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! even tho its literally the only place i can go for trans/ace specific help !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[invokingbees]

Dark Souls Revisited (final)

Day 12

Oolacile Township (part 2), Chasm of the Abyss, Manus, Kiln of the First Flame

The rest of the township went easily enough, bloatheads aren't too bad. That one unique enemy with the...head post and flail, whatever it was, that was awkward. Neither my Gold Tracer or Velka's Rapier could touch it, but my Balder worked. Pretty much defaulted to that for the rest of the area.

Chasm is small, short, thankfully. I forgot you couldn't block the humanity sprites. Not much to say here, I saved Sif and got a shield I can't use.

Manus was a trial. There was literally no way I could beat him alone with how weak I am and how strong against magic he seemed to be (and I'm at 40int). I summoned the same person a good few times (Hana, Simon, thank you) and Sif when I thought of it. Holy hell, lads, Manus was the real last nail in the coffin for me with Dark Souls gameplay, I actually don't think I can deal with it. Demon's Souls wasn't blisteringly fast, but it was faster than Dark Souls. Dark Souls 3 and Bloodborne are roughly as fast as each other, and coming off all that? My brain is trying to react faster than it needs to, timing is just borked to shit for this game. Am I to play this game again, I can assure you, it will be a shitter-tier poise tank no rolling fuck you BOULDER man. THE MOUNTAIN.

Took me longer to actually get to Gwyn than to fight him. I brought Solaire along since I went to the trouble to save him. Died to the black knights and some stellar geographical fuckery. Then I got invaded by some try hard, nice way to sour the end of the game. But, I got Solaire back and Gwyn went down hilariously quickly. Then I linked the fire, and that was the end.

So, that was my little Bandai Namco's: FromSoftware's: Dark Souls: Remastered: Revisited journal. I don't know if I'll do a write up, but suffice it to say, I don't think many of my feelings on the game have changed. I certainly adore its aesthetic and art style, the good fashion, good story and very interesting world and storytelling method, but I just really think the gameplay is a massive hindrance. I'm coming at this from a very weird angle, I know, having played the series just totally ass backwards, having played improvements and changes over the original thing so I can never actually get that sense of wonder everyone did back in the day. But, I'm also intimately familiar with this game's predecessor, which I can now confidently say I think is just generally better than Dark Souls.

It's not the best feeling, but I'm glad I played this again, just to know. Thanks to anyone who read this and got something out of it (or got nothing but read anyway). Dunno who this was for but ME, if you wanna discuss the game or any weird viewpoints I brought up, feel free to message me! I’d love to talk about this game.

[shadottie]

Hey my dudes, take care of yourself. Talk to someone, write in a journal, vent on the internet, just do something for yourself. 

Anxiety and Depression(tm) are shitters, don’t let them stop you from reaching help or some clarity.

I find myself wanting to vent a lot, and in hand, I want to find a way to battle what warrants that venting-- for not myself, but to help others. For the hundreds of people are following me, if it would mean something to read a post that another is struggling and there is a way out-- that there is a way to help yourself.

There is.  There always is.

There’s that part of me that’s like, “I don’t want to be a bother” “My problems are valid compared to someone else’s” “I don’t deserve to have these feelings compared to what others go through”

It’s a difficult thing to deal with. You want to convince yourself that you’re worth it, that you can depend on somebody, but at the same time, you don’t want to worry them unnecessarily. Going to another might look like you’re betraying the trust of another. Venting to the vast space of the internet than any one person in particular may look negligent too. Sometimes? Sometimes you just want to scream into the abyss. If someone reaches back, great.

I’m kind of there right now. I’m going to do it than let guilt deter me. 

I’m stressed out.  I know I am. I had such a stupid panic attack today, yesterday, the day before that. It’s been consistent sensations like I’m on the verge of like blanking out, when I can feel that flight or fight response kicking in. It’s a little similar to when I get too emotional over situations, and a sudden flip of the switch has me apathetic. Those weird sensations are always tied to stress or an anxiousness. I’m otherwise fine when I get up and do something else like clean or take a walk. There’s nothing wrong with me. 

What could it possibly be? Who knows. Anxiety tells me it’s gotta be something. I should check the internet right? Consult for the millions of possibilities of how I might be dying right now in this very moment, when I’ve “”””Survived”””” a couple of other instances that aren’t at all consistent besides when I’m stressing out. I don’t do that webmd shit anymore. 

My brain just does this dumb shit where I have a lot going on for me, instead of stressing about that, something starts hurting on my body. I start to feel dizzy. I suddenly lose focus and blank sometimes, or can’t finish my thoughts. Clearly, I’m fucking dying in this very moment. Like, no? No. 

I haven’t been taking care of myself either. No wonder I feel like shit. dumbfuck, I’m. eating for the first time at 3:30 in the afternoon and have had like... coffee and a couple cups of water. You’ve been up since 9. Coffee is dehydrating but also pumps your heart rate. Like??? no shit.

Today, I was panicking so hard for the sensation I was feeling, I left the apartment to go for a walk and that fatigue came back instead of rationalize myself and talk it out with Cory. This was before I ate something, mind you, and not drinking as much as I should for water. Like. Duh. But no, Anxiety’s like ‘see, something���s wrong. You can’t run from it. You have something in your brain that’s killing you’

And you know what? Technically, I do. It’s this anxiety and depression bullshit that I’m going to kick the ever living shit out of so I can have a normal life, so I can lead a healthier and happy life with Cory too. 

Why do I do this? Why does my brain do this? Why can’t I just apply that stress and anxiety to worrying about a deadline, or if I’m going to get this done by a certain day? Or... ya know, whatever’s bothering me that has nothing to do with my body’s malfunctions. I’ve survived this shit plenty. It started at a tender age of like...preteens, give or take.

Despite everything, my little 4-H club elected me to be their leader. I’ve always been a follower. I’ve never had anyone depend on me. Then this, this happened. Something I was scared to do, being such a wallflower at the time (and I still am, letsberealBUT...). It’s.. silly to think back on now, to think how far I’ve come as a person since then.  At the time, I thought my heart was going to stop while I slept. There were nights I convinced myself that my kidney was going to explode, or an organ was giving out. I’d keep a hand to my pulse as if a 12-year-old would have any way to discern a weird heartbeat. My parents would sit with me until I was on the verge of passing out.  We’d talk from time to time. I started listening to soundtracks to help put me to sleep. They’d help me think up stories for what was going on depending on a track. They took me to the hospital once when I had an especially bad attack. The doctor asked me if I wanted to take medicine. I wanted to try to fix it myself. (And, honestly, the thought of taking medicine for this scared me and I thought I’d be weaker for it at the time. That’s not the case.  Everyone’s different, and as long as that medicine is used how it should be, to help and heal, so you can be your own person again on your own one day.)  

I kept listening to tunes.  I kept thinking up stories to help me forget, to help me sleep at night. I kept falling asleep midway through a journal entry about how hard I crushed on a boy, or some event at school, or writing my own silly Zelda fanfics, or whatever.  It worked. I got over it in time.

This won’t be any different. What I wouldn’t give if those were the feelings I was having now instead. I know that song and dance.  I could handle it. But, I’m growing. The body gets older, things are changing all the time.  There isn’t any possibility of me actually being hurt, I just need to take care of myself. I’m fixing my sleep schedule, eating healthier when I do eat.  I need to eat more. I am getting into better habits about water, drinking it with Miyo or whatever if I’m bored with just drinking water.

I’m stressed. 

 I’m scared. 

I hit lows where I don’t care about eating. I don’t care about ...well, taking care of myself.  I’d lie like a lump on the floor all day if my burning will to kick ass didn’t have me obsessing with work after a couple minutes of lying there.  It’s... so ridiculously stupid, and I hate that I do that to myself. I’m trying to be better. 

I’m building momentum with my career. Things are going well. Something’s going to go wrong, isn’t it? i’m going to be punished for spending that occasional $10 for a book of Nichijou for Cory; or buying lunch out, aren’t I?

What a fucking stupid mindset. I’m just going to keep going forward anyway. 

There has been good.  Streaming and doing more with Cory-- watching shows like Nichijou and Jojo with him too. Finding inspiration again.  A lot. 

I have something I’m so excited to share with you guys in December. On another note, I get to work with someone I looked up to and made a friend with, in the FFXIV community. I braved talking to another  because I had something to share, who responded rather nicely to me! I’m apart of a weekly static now for FFXIV too, playing PLD, and it’s stressful but I’m trying to have fun. I need to work on a better layout though. Artist hands get crampy with the buttonpressing during stressful moments. 

Despite a rather abysmal 2017 con season for us,  we made the most with what we had, and actually did much better than our 2016 run through those specific cons. I’ve been doing well off with my work load that I can treat myself and I can treat Cory more.  I’m so grateful for the opportunities I’ve had with Patreon and Twitch Affiliate status. Those along with work are helping with bills, living expenses, and making a sane cushion for ourselves again.  We’re not living paycheck to paycheck really anymore. Next year will be a great year for conventions, getting out more, getting out of this little apartment more. I hate that winter’s already here. I miss green. 

I’ve had a lot of horribly raw feelings lately. Upset about this, super duper depressed about that, and just a whole mix of chemicals that I normally don’t exercise in feelings. I feel like a rotten human being with how aloof I can be. I need to work on having a relationship with the love of my life, balancing that with work and personal time. 

I worry if I’m annoying when people don’t respond to me and I keep poking despite that worry to show care. Anxiety whispers that I’m just being a pest. D&D has been fun, but I’ve been worrying a lot about that too. Something happens one way or another where I can’t always be focused, or I’m a depressed mess before hand, and-- I stress out too much that my quiet or involvement is annoying in some way or another. I’m trying harder to jump into things. I always have fun anyway when things kick off.

I’m scared for a friend making a visit to meet some people over this weekend.  He’s supposed to be home today, I haven’t heard from him. I’m trying not to worry still. 

I think about my parents a lot and my brother.  I reflect on my life and where I’ve gone, and how it’s already been 10 years since I graduated high school, five since I walked away with a Bachelor’s.  I think about how certain people aren’t here anymore, and that isn’t going to change. Life is precious, and honesty is a gift. I’ve been more headstrong about expressing my thoughts and feelings. More often than not, I just see assumptions causing a mess. I’ve caused a mess and many that way.

I have a lot on my mind than I realize, and when these anxiety attacks hit, I don’t know what to hold onto for what’s causing the problem.  All of it’s there, and now most of it’s here in a post. There may be more.  I’m honestly going to probably try to be a little more active as a person in tandem with being an entertainer. Honestly, I have days where I stress out about not posting art, and feel guilty about that too.

I was doing so well there, and now I’m literally running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I’ll get over it. I always do. There’s far more important things to focus on, to enjoy, to experience, than this fear. 

if you made it this far, thanks. it really means a lot. I hit a point where I don’t know what else to wordpuke, but that gross feeling of mine is gone and I have clarity again. 

Have a good night.