i can't control my fingers, i can't control my toes
Um.
Today I am going to post some writing from a roleplay because I am sort of kind of pleased with it. 3: Sorry. I will actually probably delete it later.
And more art. Lawl.
And uhh. I am depressed and I wish I hated everything and didn't care about anyone.
And. I think I am just gonna keep using Samus in Brawl instead of a new character. After I get Zero Suit Samus, I pause a whole lot just to oggle how fucking hot she is.
Anddd uhhhh. Fuck. :C I am just in one of those moods where I wish I didn't exist. I dunno. I thought my antidepressants were working like hella well but I guess not. I've been taking them every day without forgetting, but some things are just bringing me down so much. Namely drugs. And other things, I guess.
Lolllll this band cheers me up a lot.
ALMOST AS MUCH AS MY MONEY BUNNY CHEERS ME UP. ;3; ILUBEBE.
DRAWN IN OPENCANVAS WITH MONEYYYY. AWW AWWWWW LOOK AT HOW LOVELY THEY ARE. MONEY IS SO GOOD AT SHADING AND ANATOMY AND FACIAL EXPRESSIONS AND EVERYTHING EVER, EVEN HER WORD BUBBLE IS RAD. ;3; ILHER
LOL MORE AURELIANO. HE IS UHHH. A HUEMAL TYPE OF FAUN I THINK.
The old house was large and usually quiet, at least during the day. It was surrounded by a tall, wrought iron fence, which was lined the entire way around with thorny bushes. The woman who owned it, Edith Vaughan, kept to herself and her butler, Mr. Busbee, for the most part, although she paid the occasional attention to her son and daughters. The daughters, Amanita and Entoloma, actually lived in the basement, and were seen around town from rare time to time wearing ridiculously old-fashioned garments and tittering to each other quietly, always standing very close together. If spoken to, they would smile coyly and walk off quickly.
The son, Paavo, was almost never seen at all, and if he was, it was in the company of his sisters or Mr. Busbee. However, this only happened maybe a few times a year, and it was usually already evening by the time they would leave the house. Paavo would occasionally explore the jungle of a garden in the backyard, but he never strayed past the gate, and he was never seen. Sometimes, he would pick flowers and put them in vases in his room, vases he'd gathered from the rest of the house. It was fortunate that his mother never entered his room, or he would surely have gotten a beating the moment she caught sight of them. He would make snares to catch animals sometimes, and then sit for a while, watching them wriggle and panic. Luckily for them, he rarely let the torture go any farther. If Mr. Busbee found him injuring or killing anything, he was usually punished severely. Paavo had mixed feelings about the man. On the one hand, he'd saved him a number of times from awful things at the hands of his mother, but on the other hand, his brand of discipline was not one Paavo considered pleasant. It did not occur to him that it wasn't supposed to be.
Paavo was not really lonely, or at least, he didn't particularly long for friends, although he did feel vaguely empty. He liked his sisters in that they were not mean to him, but he disliked them because he was rarely ever included in whatever they did. There was Mr. Busbee, who taught his lessons and cooked his food and occasionally took him outside of the gate or kept him company if Paavo was upset, but other than that, the man seemed to avoid him. Mr. Busbee was nice enough, just...cold. And then...there was mother. Edith. Her company was in no way desired by the youngest Vaughan child; it was desired by none, really, except Mr. Busbee, who was also the only one who could control her. She was violent and unpredictable and simply terrifying, and Paavo tried very hard to never be in the same room with her.
Whenever Paavo felt especially empty, he would watch out of his window sometimes, watch people down on the street. He both loved and hated them, and he was never quite sure why. Somehow, it wasn't worth figuring out. They would point at the house at times, or play games nearby, or just simply keep walking. A few at night would even approach the gate, but none ever entered. It was locked, of course, so they couldn't. Unless they bothered to go around to the back, where there was a small gate connecting to the garden, mostly hidden by short trees and tall bushes. It had a very old lock that didn't close anymore, so if one didn't mind braving some sharp branches and thorns, it was actually easy enough to get in. Paavo had considered many times using it to escape, but he'd never quite had the nerve. He had a strong suspicion that no matter where he went, Mr. Busbee and his mother would find him.
It was late afternoon, nearly evening, when something unusual happened. Paavo was in the kitchen, making a sandwich for himself, his fingers twitching madly in hungry anticipation whenever they were not holding a knife to spread mayonnaise or a piece of sandwich ingredient. This was not unusual. The bizarre object sailing through the glass of the window with a horrifyingly loud shatter was. Setting the piece of meat he'd been holding delicately down onto the rest of the sandwich, he walked over and crouched next to the alien thing. Twitching, clawing fingers reached out to nudge it, and it rolled back and forth a tiny bit before settling again. Seemed harmless enough, which made Paavo awfully suspicious. Standing, he stood on his toes to look through the hole in the window, although he lost his balance quickly, his feet landing entirely on the floor once more. There were people outside. Ah. Ahhh. This thing, this was one of those things that they tossed around to each other. Interesting. Something fluttered in Paavo's chest, something like happiness. Bending over, careful of the broken glass, eager hands picked the object up and turned it over, running across the surface, exploring it. This was very, very pleasing indeed. A treasure from the people outside, a gift. The flutter turned warm, and a corner of his mouth just barely raised in a smile, just for a few seconds. Feeling both delighted and terrified, for he knew that it would not be too long before either his mother or Mr. Busbee came down to see what the commotion was, he headed for the kitchen door with the intention of running outside into the backyard and burying his prize. Something as precious as this, it was not safe to hide it in his room right away. He'd go back outside for it later that evening and retrieve it while the rest of the house was distracted with either sleep or whatever it was that Mr. Busbee and Edith did in her bedroom.
Today I am going to post some writing from a roleplay because I am sort of kind of pleased with it. 3: Sorry. I will actually probably delete it later.
And more art. Lawl.
And uhh. I am depressed and I wish I hated everything and didn't care about anyone.
And. I think I am just gonna keep using Samus in Brawl instead of a new character. After I get Zero Suit Samus, I pause a whole lot just to oggle how fucking hot she is.
Anddd uhhhh. Fuck. :C I am just in one of those moods where I wish I didn't exist. I dunno. I thought my antidepressants were working like hella well but I guess not. I've been taking them every day without forgetting, but some things are just bringing me down so much. Namely drugs. And other things, I guess.
Lolllll this band cheers me up a lot.
ALMOST AS MUCH AS MY MONEY BUNNY CHEERS ME UP. ;3; ILUBEBE.
DRAWN IN OPENCANVAS WITH MONEYYYY. AWW AWWWWW LOOK AT HOW LOVELY THEY ARE. MONEY IS SO GOOD AT SHADING AND ANATOMY AND FACIAL EXPRESSIONS AND EVERYTHING EVER, EVEN HER WORD BUBBLE IS RAD. ;3; ILHER
LOL MORE AURELIANO. HE IS UHHH. A HUEMAL TYPE OF FAUN I THINK.
The old house was large and usually quiet, at least during the day. It was surrounded by a tall, wrought iron fence, which was lined the entire way around with thorny bushes. The woman who owned it, Edith Vaughan, kept to herself and her butler, Mr. Busbee, for the most part, although she paid the occasional attention to her son and daughters. The daughters, Amanita and Entoloma, actually lived in the basement, and were seen around town from rare time to time wearing ridiculously old-fashioned garments and tittering to each other quietly, always standing very close together. If spoken to, they would smile coyly and walk off quickly.
The son, Paavo, was almost never seen at all, and if he was, it was in the company of his sisters or Mr. Busbee. However, this only happened maybe a few times a year, and it was usually already evening by the time they would leave the house. Paavo would occasionally explore the jungle of a garden in the backyard, but he never strayed past the gate, and he was never seen. Sometimes, he would pick flowers and put them in vases in his room, vases he'd gathered from the rest of the house. It was fortunate that his mother never entered his room, or he would surely have gotten a beating the moment she caught sight of them. He would make snares to catch animals sometimes, and then sit for a while, watching them wriggle and panic. Luckily for them, he rarely let the torture go any farther. If Mr. Busbee found him injuring or killing anything, he was usually punished severely. Paavo had mixed feelings about the man. On the one hand, he'd saved him a number of times from awful things at the hands of his mother, but on the other hand, his brand of discipline was not one Paavo considered pleasant. It did not occur to him that it wasn't supposed to be.
Paavo was not really lonely, or at least, he didn't particularly long for friends, although he did feel vaguely empty. He liked his sisters in that they were not mean to him, but he disliked them because he was rarely ever included in whatever they did. There was Mr. Busbee, who taught his lessons and cooked his food and occasionally took him outside of the gate or kept him company if Paavo was upset, but other than that, the man seemed to avoid him. Mr. Busbee was nice enough, just...cold. And then...there was mother. Edith. Her company was in no way desired by the youngest Vaughan child; it was desired by none, really, except Mr. Busbee, who was also the only one who could control her. She was violent and unpredictable and simply terrifying, and Paavo tried very hard to never be in the same room with her.
Whenever Paavo felt especially empty, he would watch out of his window sometimes, watch people down on the street. He both loved and hated them, and he was never quite sure why. Somehow, it wasn't worth figuring out. They would point at the house at times, or play games nearby, or just simply keep walking. A few at night would even approach the gate, but none ever entered. It was locked, of course, so they couldn't. Unless they bothered to go around to the back, where there was a small gate connecting to the garden, mostly hidden by short trees and tall bushes. It had a very old lock that didn't close anymore, so if one didn't mind braving some sharp branches and thorns, it was actually easy enough to get in. Paavo had considered many times using it to escape, but he'd never quite had the nerve. He had a strong suspicion that no matter where he went, Mr. Busbee and his mother would find him.
It was late afternoon, nearly evening, when something unusual happened. Paavo was in the kitchen, making a sandwich for himself, his fingers twitching madly in hungry anticipation whenever they were not holding a knife to spread mayonnaise or a piece of sandwich ingredient. This was not unusual. The bizarre object sailing through the glass of the window with a horrifyingly loud shatter was. Setting the piece of meat he'd been holding delicately down onto the rest of the sandwich, he walked over and crouched next to the alien thing. Twitching, clawing fingers reached out to nudge it, and it rolled back and forth a tiny bit before settling again. Seemed harmless enough, which made Paavo awfully suspicious. Standing, he stood on his toes to look through the hole in the window, although he lost his balance quickly, his feet landing entirely on the floor once more. There were people outside. Ah. Ahhh. This thing, this was one of those things that they tossed around to each other. Interesting. Something fluttered in Paavo's chest, something like happiness. Bending over, careful of the broken glass, eager hands picked the object up and turned it over, running across the surface, exploring it. This was very, very pleasing indeed. A treasure from the people outside, a gift. The flutter turned warm, and a corner of his mouth just barely raised in a smile, just for a few seconds. Feeling both delighted and terrified, for he knew that it would not be too long before either his mother or Mr. Busbee came down to see what the commotion was, he headed for the kitchen door with the intention of running outside into the backyard and burying his prize. Something as precious as this, it was not safe to hide it in his room right away. He'd go back outside for it later that evening and retrieve it while the rest of the house was distracted with either sleep or whatever it was that Mr. Busbee and Edith did in her bedroom.