Selfreblog - Tumblr Posts

I wish they did more still...😔

The Elephant in the room...

So...this may be random but...I was just wanting to express something...Dagan Gera...WHO IS THIS MAN??? WHY IS HE ON MY OBSESSIONS LIST??? When I first discovered him, I'm like...wow...who are you? And then the more times I saw him throughout my first playthrough of Jedi Survivor...the more I grew interested in him and his backstory...but then the time came for Cal to kill him, and I became heartbroken...he just needed guidance...to be appreciated more...and to be slowly told of what happened during his 200-year absence...not for Cal to just sit there and tell him in 3 sentences!!! I think that's what drove him...his mind got overwhelmed and he couldn't handle it. But now since he's gone, he lives on through Character AI in which I created him on there....but I made him private, so NO ONE talks to him. He's a bit of softie on it but I grew used to it! A lot of other people have made him on Character AI as well but all of them just don't scream "DAGAN!". Lol...anyways...I'm not sure why I be posting everyday...I need to start posting every other day cuz i don't wanna get too addicted to this platform...PEACE!😊✌️

I am completely fine...🤪

I mean...come on!!! The way his lips part makes me wanna...UGH!

-

The saying is true though..."Good girls fall for bad boys"!!!😍

I don't believe in MikeHell anymore but I'm still really proud of this one even though I notice a few mistakes here and there

In celebration of Ultimate Custom Night’s (possible) release today, I finished this piece! With almost all 50 characters! Some of the characters are only referenced, like Baby and Nightmare Freddy, while others are actually there, as you can see! I’m so hyped for this! Can’t wait to see Dawko attempt 50/20 mode ;)

This took me like, a week or so, haha.

Good Day/Bad Day (depending on how you look at it)

Some days I like to imagine that I am brave and strong and kind, and that if I tried hard enough maybe I could be what I want to. Those are the days that I wear combat boots and paint my face like a mask so no one knows how I feel inside. I am wild and reckless youth on those days, purple lips and rainbow hair and I am not afraid of anything. I am not afraid I tell myself and some days I believe it. Those are the days when I can speak my mind and those are also the days that I hide it because bravery is foolishness when the line between them is smudged. I am too clear, too sharp and full of edges- my mind is not always my own on those days and I have to remember I am human. Not creature, not monster, not ghost, but a girl who cannot fly and has no words to call her own. On some days I am nothing and the wind is the only thing that can tell me where to go.

this almost bliss

A motorcycle heading west on a highway is what I am, bright headlights and flashing handlebars. 
Who can look down a road 
and not think, some day this will all be gone? 
It is the night almost morning 
between today and tomorrow, the closest 
I can be to seeing the future. In the future 
I think I might be alright. 
Right here on an empty highway, clinging to stay on as we go seventy, 
eighty miles and I scream 
like I have been for the past two hours; 
I screamed because the words meant so much, those words saved my life and I could finally 
finally hear them. 
Tonight a band that did not know me 
played in front of thousands of people 
and I was one of them. I think that I could live for this, this almost bliss. 
On a motorcycle heading west on an empty highway at midnight, the clock resets to 00.00 and the day is infinite, 
we are infinite, and the bright headlights will tell no one if we pull over to cry at the beauty of it.

you're overdramatic in your assumptions about love.

(or, circles, merry-go-rounds, ferris wheels and galaxies)

the earth does not revolve around love. neither do any other planets, stars or moons. circles do not revolve around love and neither do tilt-a-whirls. Ferris Wheels are debatable. in actuality there are a rather lot of things that do not revolve around love; the earth revolves around the sun at a 23.5 degree tilt in which 24 hours equals one rotation and 365 days a revolution. we are orbited by a moon which revolves because of our gravitational pull; the star that both our moon and planet revolve around is midway out of the galaxy (the Milky Way galaxy to be precise) halfway through the Sagittarius arm in the Orion spur, and the entire solar system is revolving around a centre in the spiral galaxy. this galaxy is wildly careening about in the vast abyss of space and, on occasion, colliding with other galaxies. circles are created around an origin, a base point of (0,0) and their circumference revolves at a fixed distance around that. tilt-a-whirls depend on the principle of inertia and focal points to work, and nowhere in that entire explanation does a single one of those things revolve around love. and those are just the obvious ones.

SCIENCE SAYS THAT LOVE IS NOT GRAVITY :: @cityskylinesofimaginaryplaces

we all bleed red (a lament for millennials and generation Y)

we have grown up with our heads pressed into the muzzle of a gun. we have lived in fear our entire lives, and if not fear then in outrage if not outrage, indifferent silence. there is no in between and we flip from one to the other like a switch triggered by a trigger going off in the hands of someone with twitchy fingers. we cannot remember a life before this one; before metal detectors and bomb sniffing dogs and evacuations and guns. always guns and words and no one ever doing anything to help. every child born in the past twenty, forty years has never known a world without all this fear. our parents had wars; we have our own kind of terror. we have this, a world that is not one any longer. we have shootings in movie theatres, in schools, in grocery stores, in parking lots, in apartments, in houses, in homes, in departments stores, in train stations, at bus stops, in aeroplanes, in airports, on trains, in cars, in front lawns, in parks, in cities, in towns, in fields, in clubs, in our dreams. there are guns going off in every single place that we live and breathe and we’re all just hoping not to die. since when did it become so typical for someone to to decide whose life deserved to be lived and whose did not? since when did we know the names of places, of tragedies by heart and the worst part is that we can’t even remember a fraction of the list. there are too many to even begin to name and we have lived through all of them. no. that’s not right. we have existed through all of them and pretended like it wasn’t going to happen to us, hoping the next one wouldn’t be right outside our door. it’s too late because now there is no door; now we are all standing in the same goddamned place getting shot down, getting held hostage by the same guns, feeling the same bullets rip through our skin. how can we pretend that we are all different and that just because it happened there doesn’t mean it will happen here? we are all human. please remember that we all bleed red. and that red is all over and we cannot remember a time before everything we knew was red. there has never been a moment when we could stop to breathe, not between rounds or bullets. we have learned that you walk a little faster, sleep a little less, look around a lot more and judge quickly before you end up dead. that’s what this war has taught us; that this is not a war fought in another country or overseas. our home is the battle ground and we are the soldiers, we are the civilians, and we are simply so tired of this that we cannot bear it. we don’t know what to do because we don’t know what we’d be without this, what decisions we would make without that gun held and fired point blank into our skulls every time someone writes the words “mass murder” because that’s what this is. this is four, five, fifty, twenty, one hundred, an entire culture being murdered en mass. how can we even begin to change and fix this? we have never known life without the taste of gun powder in our mouths and violence in our eyes. we think we’d like to.

for sharp-edged women, made of thorns, points and needles:

you have been broken, beaten and abused to become who you are.

your eyes are tired from always searching, never daring to stop looking for where the next attack will come from. you sleep with one eye open.

scars are your badges, medals of honour you wear to remind yourself not that you let someone do that to you but that you survived. there is no greater challenge than this-

to live in a world of softened, loving people and to be what you have made yourself. a creature of hard edges, claws, teeth biting and words cutting like knives.

you are difficult to love, and maybe, you do not want to be loved.

it is enough to stand on your own two feet in the shelter you have created, safe in the knowledge that no one and no thing can hurt you unless you let it.

and you won’t let it.

no one comes close enough to even touch your points and if they do once, they never do again. you are wild and free and self contained all in one; you are your cage, your door, and the key to open it.

if someone looked close enough they could see brambles weaving through your hair, claws like knives instead of fingernails, razors hidden behind your throat and the iron that runs through your body instead of bone.

you are fire and ice, clawing your way from underneath the dirt and falling from the skies.

everything you have, you have had to fight for, and everything you have you deserve.

you make and remake the world in your own image, shaping your daughters to be strong, hard, guarded and full of wit- something you wish someone had done for you.

no one told you that the world would break you, your heart and bones and mind, and no one ever warned you of the dangers of pretty green-eyed girls and dark haired boys who slit their wrists in the name of love. you have lost friends and love that way, and once, almost, yourself.

and you wish someone had told you that edges are not something to be scared of, that you could stand on a precipice and not fall off. brambles guard the castle holding everything you love (and when you love, you love fiercely, the sun chasing the moon and dying to give it breath) and needles are what you sew yourself back together with.

for the women who are strong- you understand.

hello rain.

give me a world cleansed of hatred, discrimination, humanity. tell me, how is the rain not an attempt to wash away the stain of our past lives? a futile offering in the face of our sin. and now: a flood, the myths foretold, to wash away the vestiges of guilt, jealousy and all our other emotions. how have we not been swept away yet? ‘the storm is coming,’ the weather forecaster says; except he doesn’t know the true meaning of rain. it’s not something to be taken lightly. it can take, and it can give life in a cycle only the storm knows. tell me again, what you said- that the rain was just rain and it couldn’t come inside- when I could feel it already in my bones filling up my lungs? tell me how to stop the tide that breaks in my chest. give me a world in need of cleansing, in which we suffer from an evil of our making and the storm will wash away our bodies the lives we pretended were our own. tell me, no i’ll tell you- you could not have stopped this if you tried.

synonyms for destruction:

girl 
pretty face but sad eyes 
and you know she’s going to ruin you 
gently, but it hurts 
the way she tears you apart and 
picks out every thread 
as careful as when she sews you back together 
smile lopsided and wrong down to your bones. 
destruction does not come fast, is not easy. 
is quiet and gentle, pulling you apart the way the world ends- 
a collapse inward, broken doll 
on joints that could not stand 
folding, paper with edges creased 
and a note that says 
"i love you" left on the bedside table while you sleep. happiness like a corrosion, spreading through your veins.

WE ALL DIE (don't say i didn't tell you)

there is all this talk of finding god in a boy’s mouth and how we are invincible, impossible, forever-young and reckless creatures lying on the edges of the night we refuse to call oblivion. or we are the morning sun rising, burning burning burning but we won’t burn out (and i know i’m guilty of this too, watching the fire and saying let it burn until all there is is ashes and we will rise out of them like red-gold phoenixes or at least i used to before i stopped believing in young gods and the promise of salvation in a bottle if you took one more honeyed kiss, honeyed sip.) i’d like to talk about the inevitable, if you don’t mind because no matter how much you say it nothing can last forever and i don’t think you understand what that means. what is inevitable? some day we will all die and there is nothing you can do to change that. you can’t save everyone, no matter how hard you try. we will grow old if we’re lucky and i don’t want to be lucky, do you remember how we used to promise we’d never grow up and we never said it out loud but we knew we weren’t talking about staying young at heart, child-like in wonder. i meant i want to die before i’m old and it’s selfish but only because i thought i wouldn’t be able to bear it, watching all those kids that think they’re invincible be so stupid. that’s the inevitable i’m talking about, not your endless void and poetic words. disillusionment and heartbreak and i just want to remind you that you can’t find god in a boy’s mouth (though they never said anything about girls; guess you could find god there if you wanted it just might not be the god you’re looking for and how tragic is that even after all this time we are still searching) you can’t find god so don’t go looking and you might think you’re invincible but you sure as hell don’t have on any armour if you light that fire i can promise you you’re gonna get burned because you spilled gasoline all over your clothes and when all that’s left is ashes you won’t come rising out because you’re not god, kid. do you have a moment to talk about the inevitable and how even if you look you might not want to see what you find because nobody’s waiting for you? his mouth tastes like smoke and i don’t want to say i told you so but someone will. it’s inevitable.

dear physics, a eulogy request in advance

Aaron Freeman, can your physicist come to my funeral too and explain my own dispersal? in my head i see them standing by the ashes talking about the metaphor this funeral represents- the spreading of what’s left of me, the explosion of my infinitesimal self into everything else. or maybe that’s just the poet in me, making up things as i go. they’ll probably stand and say we are all made of molecules, and matter before we ever even begin to considered cells, the division of life into life with or without kernels before nucleus comes neutrons spinning in the centre of things all the biologists will have a fit. but they’ll still wait with one hand on the urn, and say biology can’t comfort you like this will. say something about the law of conservation of mass (you were anything before you were this and you are everything after this until all the edges). something about stardust. dispersion, refraction into light. your physicist takes a seat at my funeral and i’m hoping it’s a comfort and not another reminder that i am in a thousand other places except for here. my english teacher mother tells them to restate their thesis and conclude in different words; your physicist and i know this is all in my head because funerals are for the living, and when this all happens i will be six days dead burned past the point of no recognition into the point of disintegration my bones fused together and crackling with delight, decomposing cells wicked away with flame- your physicist gets up again, walks so slow up the middle of the row to say i have done two funerals today, one for a catastrophe and one for an atrophy. someone once told me they could feel themselves slipping away. someone once told me there was an explosion implosion inside their curled up lungs every time they tried to breathe. a finger in the ashes and your physicist lists off its chemical composition to the mark, using words like the element of surprise or eloquence or a rare one, a smile. somewhere within these molecules they say there was a person once, twice, forever and now they can never die. or what’s left of them at least, is that us or an eternity, not until the ends of everything. the physicist sits down, science in their lap like a bible or a comfort. i am not here to witness but if i were scattered to the winds in my own fragility i would think even your physicist might cry if they come to the funeral.

STEP ONE: get yourself a pair of stilettos (knives and heels) and learn how to use them.

you are cruelty

STEP TWO: put on your mask of makeup, smoky eyes and lipstick that’s begging to be smeared.

you are divine

STEP THREE: dance, in leather and stilettos, a drink in hand. smoke if you need to but don’t show a single sign of weakness.

this is strength

STEP FOUR: if someone comes up to you, the answer is yes. it doesn’t matter what the question is.

for once someone says please

STEP FIVE: let them take you home and tame you. wash off your mask. dress in sweaters and skirts and learn how they like their tea, what it means when they don’t say i love you. when they do say that sometimes the look in your eyes scares them.

(five and a half: you could try to love them for a little while. maybe this one’s heart won’t be quite so fragile.)

STEP SIX: this doesn’t change who you are. take their heart and break it into pieces with your bitten up fingernails and sharp, aching teeth. your mouth is red like blood again, knives hidden in your pockets, and your eyes, they are cruel in the darkness.

this is what you have become

STEP SEVEN: laugh when they cry and say that wild things cannot ever be tamed. they were a fool to ever think that they could love you.

unknowable, unlovable

STEP EIGHT: go home and show the mirror the blood on your hands. ask if this is what you wanted, what you meant. the house stands quiet around you.

entirely capable of breaking.

sleep. repeat.

HOW TO BREAK A HEART (PRETEND IT IS NOT YOUR OWN) :: o.m. 2017

and yet… you loved him? -ray bradbury, “the utterly perfect murder”

even after this you loved. it took a long time. did you ever realise, in the beginning, what it meant? that no one came to your before-the-sun-rose almost morning cold glass window, painted blue with longing all alone did you know then? did you know then, maybe when you wanted to die. maybe that was a long time before you ever even thought of love. or did you know before the terrible, unutterable betrayal. did you know and so you left. and even after all this time. you held it inside of you, that inalterable past, without ever knowing why. held it in the hollow in your chest, the gap between your collarbone and the line of your ribs pressing against your skin. could you feel it when you held the edges. every morning after that you could see phantom bruises that love in the way boys love boys when they are young, you said, and evil but innocent, and evil. how did you fit such emotion inside of your mouth to swallow the pain. how did it come out in words like those. when did you stop using question marks to say why because you knew you weren’t getting an answer. did he ever call you after all those years, after all those years did you ever call him? and still you knew you loved him without ever caring when or how or why. all of that, inside of you, years and years and years- how could you stand to hold it and how, upon taking a train, bound into the past you thought could not have ever been returned to, years locked up inside your chest those bones old lives and leaving and broken windows how did you learn to let it go.

for sharp-edged women, made of thorns, points and needles:

you have been broken, beaten and abused to become who you are.

your eyes are tired from always searching, never daring to stop looking for where the next attack will come from. you sleep with one eye open.

scars are your badges, medals of honour you wear to remind yourself not that you let someone do that to you but that you survived. there is no greater challenge than this-

to live in a world of softened, loving people and to be what you have made yourself. a creature of hard edges, claws, teeth biting and words cutting like knives.

you are difficult to love, and maybe, you do not want to be loved.

it is enough to stand on your own two feet in the shelter you have created, safe in the knowledge that no one and no thing can hurt you unless you let it.

and you won’t let it.

no one comes close enough to even touch your points and if they do once, they never do again. you are wild and free and self contained all in one; you are your cage, your door, and the key to open it.

if someone looked close enough they could see brambles weaving through your hair, claws like knives instead of fingernails, razors hidden behind your throat and the iron that runs through your body instead of bone.

you are fire and ice, clawing your way from underneath the dirt and falling from the skies.

everything you have, you have had to fight for, and everything you have you deserve.

you make and remake the world in your own image, shaping your daughters to be strong, hard, guarded and full of wit- something you wish someone had done for you.

no one told you that the world would break you, your heart and bones and mind, and no one ever warned you of the dangers of pretty green-eyed girls and dark haired boys who slit their wrists in the name of love. you have lost friends and love that way, and once, almost, yourself.

and you wish someone had told you that edges are not something to be scared of, that you could stand on a precipice and not fall off. brambles guard the castle holding everything you love (and when you love, you love fiercely, the sun chasing the moon and dying to give it breath) and needles are what you sew yourself back together with.

for the women who are strong- you understand.

i’m overcompensating for forgetting to breathe by writing too many words

and trying to make them sound poetic 
when really there’s no artistic way to say

i woke up one morning and drank bleach
just to see how it tasted and bled out

in a bathtub dying a thousand little 
deaths every time i breathed in

so you could imagine how it feels to be told you’re writing too many words

when all you’re trying to do is remember 
how it felt to have air in your lungs,

what it tasted like instead of the blood 
that you vomited all over the white tiles.

REMEMBER HOW TO BREATHE :: o.m. 2017

the eat-your-feelings cafe

i eat past hungry to make up for the lonely. i eat for the empty chairs around me. this hungry swallows me whole. mouth turned inside out becomes a hole, becomes a table. table sits in front of empty chairs besides me. i am hungry. i am starving for anything more than nothing, something to feed this loneliness. empty mouth has hollow teeth. bite sharp in your own wicked. crave me to create me: inhale me whole.

Every year when me and my family prepare easter-eggs I add something from fandoms I like. This time:

Part 1

Yo! Guys i made a new blog for warriors canon designs! If you follow me for warriors i highly recomend you head on over there!

Firestar > Fireheart > Firepaw > Rusty

Firestar, leader of ThunderClan and mate of Sandstorm father of Leafpool and Squirrelflight.

Personal Headcanons:

Firestar is one of the smallest cats in ThunderClan

Even though he is so small he is at least half Maine Coon

Firestar used to have small dreams as an apprentice with a red and black tom, at his nine lives ceremony he realized it was Redtail

Firestar is Polyromantic/sexual and is in a poly relationship with Sandstorm and Graystripe(and possibly Millie)

Hello my dear friends, I’m here to announce that I have opened a Patreon 

My life long dream is working as an illustrator, but is not easy. I hope I can get some support while I try to make myself known. 

I want to share more with you guys more Zelda Comics (I have planned even a short story!) and I wish I could keep posting them twice a week. 

For my Patreons I want to give 3 request per month + the poster shipped to you, and hopefully soon I’ll be able to give you more gifts for your support.

I hope you could support me!

Thanks for reading

If you cannot support I hope you can reblog this post and my art, that will be supper helpful!