Long story short, I’ve been so down and frustrated lately, and things escalated to the point where I was ready to nuke all my blogs, stick my notebooks back on a shelf where they can gather up dust again and just put myself back on mothballs, writing - wise. It’s been a month now that I have been stuck, haven’t managed to write anything original. It’s weighing on me kinda heavily and that shitty voice that gets in your head and whispers that you’re a fraud and a hack can get awfully loud when everything else is so quiet. But when it got to the point where I was ready to just pull the plug and bail out, you wonderful bunch of basket cases started appearing out of the ether, liking and reblogging things from all over this past year. I don’t understand why now, if it’s random or if one of you organized this somehow, but every time I was low enough to want to call quits, there would be another couple likes or reblogs and I’d think, “huh, seems a shame to do it right now.” And sometimes it would be for something I really enjoyed writing, and I would read it and remember why I love doing this so much.
In the end I finally got through my funk without hitting the big red button, and realized now how much other negative shit was building up in my life that was really the problem - frustration with writing was a manifestation, but not the cause. So I still can’t put a damn thing on paper, and I reserve the right to go full-on Agent Washington melodramatic over it, but I have a better sense of perspective. Thank you to all of you that came from God only knows where and liked, reblogged or started following my shit over the last few days. With no exaggeration, you saved this blog.
So hugs around to friends, strangers and whomever - thanks guys. Not sure how you got here or why you chose to do it now, but I am very grateful.
People are still reblogging those Clone Wars and Rebels character summary things…..ny'all those r…..ancient by internet standards………..I think those r what made me start getting somewhat popular…….fukc……
1. Have you ever hated on your art? 2. Ever been on a date? If so, how many? 3. Cats or Dogs? 4. Sexuality/Sexual Orientation? 5. What is your opinion on haters? 6. Name an important piece of advice you’d give someone who’s just started out art. 7. Ever animated things before? Were they good? 8. How old are you? 9. Would you specify yourself as a female, male or other? 10. How many friends do you have? 11. What does your work space look like right now? 12. What were you doing before answering this? 13. What’s your name/nickname? 14. Have you ever stolen something? 15. What’s your favourite movie? 16. What is your eye colour? 17. Do you have any phobias/fears? 18. Name 10 things you like. 19. Name 10 things you hate. 20. If you were the President of the USA, what would you do first? 21. Favourite singer? 22. Do you like Mundays? 23. What’s the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened for you? 24. Would you rather have penises for fingers or vagina for hands? 25. What would you do if you could do anything you wanted? 26. Before you die, recite your last words… 27. Describe your life in 5 words or less. 28. Have any pets? 29. What country do you live in? 30. Have you ever killed an animal before? 31. Favourite ice cream flavour? 32. Ever masturbated? 33. What are your kinks? 34. Virgin? 35. Do you have any siblings? 36. Are your parents a married couple? Or divorced? 37. What fandoms are you in? 38. What’s your favourite show/anime/etc. 39. What inspired you to do what you’re doing now? 40. Tell us a weird secret! 41. Yaoi, Yuri or Het ftw? 42. What are your pet’s names? 43. Do your teachers like you? 44. Have you ever roleplayed before? 45. Are you a feminist? 46. How big is your house? 47. Are you an emotional person? 48. When was the last time you showered? 49. What did you eat for breakfast? 50. Can we be friends?
Carl tip toes into her
room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. He eyes his dad, slumped over
the edge of her bed, his head resting on her lap. Carl walks up beside his
father, taking note of his fingers intertwined with hers tightly. Carl wants to
be angry with him. He wants to scream at him and tell him how much of a fuck up
he is. He wants to ask him why every time things get good, he has to figure out
a way to ruin them. But that isn’t fair this time. He tried. Carl knows that he
actually tried this time. So instead of waking up his battle worn father, he
runs his hand over his damp hair softly; lovingly. Like his father has done to
him so many times in the past.
Carl takes a seat next
to him and turns his attention to the closest thing he’s had to a mother in
over a year. Her face is puffy and bruised, no doubt from pointless beatings at
the hands of Negan’s heathens. But he knew she fought tooth and nail. Refusing
to stay down; getting back up each and every time they knocked her off her feet.
She wouldn’t have it any other way. His father lost his mind at her appearance
when they dragged her from the van after taking her nearly a week before.
“You fucking prick!”
Rick screamed loudly when his eyes landed on her, struggling against the hold
that Arat and Bob had on him, “Goddamnit! I did everything you fucking wanted!
Everything! You fucking-”
Carl glances down at
his plaid shirt, her now dried blood staining the material. Enid begged him to
take it off, to change, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It would serve as a
reminder to him now and always as to why that mother fucker has to die. Daryl,
Rick, Gabriel, Carl, and Rosita watched in horror as Negan stabbed her with the
same hunting knife he used on Spencer. She crumpled to the ground and within an
instant, the war was ignited. Bullets whizzing through the air, fists flying,
Carl reaches out and
places his hands on her forearm, a little surprised at her warmth. That’s a
good sign at least. He strokes her skin gently, smiling softly for really no
reason at all, which surprises him more, “I never thought this situation would
be reversed. It’s usually you huddled over my bedside.” He says quietly, “I
know I’ve never told you this, well, I kinda have, in my own dumb way.” He
pauses, glancing to his left as his dad shifts but doesn’t wake. His breaths
deep and rhythmed. He turns back toward her, his mind racing with the words he
wants to say. Carl was always like his mother, never finding a time where he
was lost for words. Now is no different, “That night, on the porch, after
Deanna. When I told you that I would do it for you. What I meant to say was
that I love you. My sister loves you.”
He drops his head a
little, his voice growing softer and softer by the minute, “My dad loves you. I
don’t know if he’s said it, probably hasn’t, but I know he does. He’s not a
talker, he won’t say it out loud but I hope you can feel it. I hope you know
it. I’ll, I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him that sometimes people just need to
hear it, for no reason. I’ll make sure that you hear it. From him, from me,
from Daryl, from everyone. Because we love you Michonne. We love you and we
He nods a little,
growing more and more confident as he speaks, knowing that his words will come
true, “Daryl and Jesus are working on a plan right now. And when you’re strong
and you can fight, we’ll take that piece of shit down. Together. We’ll hang his
head on the gates of Alexandria as a sign to any future fucks that wanna mess
with us. We don’t die easy. But they will.”
His hair falls in his
face as he looks up and gazes out of the small window. His hand grazes down her
arm and rests on top of his fathers’. He laces his fingers as best he can with both of
theirs just as the clock strikes one am.