I possess a deep and strange obsession over a fictional character I’m Qrow trash
I live under a sky without stars.
The night feels unhinged, dislocated. The air is too warm for comfort. Mosquitoes abound, but I’m not afraid of being bitten or getting sick because they would sooner die from my caffeinated blood and nicotine lungs.
I try to make sense of the past few days, not realizing that it is already Thursday. I’ve been living inside a story for almost two weeks, hibernating again within the cave of my own imaginings. A good friend asks me where I’ve been, why she hasn’t heard from me. I could only offer the flimsiest of excuses knowing that the truth would make no sense.
G fishes me out from time to time, but he is more courageous than he knows: he sits with me inside the cave, and tries to grasp the illusion that has consumed the hours. He sends me recordings for inspiration, for good luck. He sends them to remind me that I’m not alone in my madness.
The story is coming along but I’ve hit a snag, and it is absolutely frustrating. Perhaps I’m merely delaying the inevitable. Still though, I can’t wait to wake up when it’s done.
So I did a thing because I love Qrow and Winter (and also because I’m delaying the inevitable fact that I have an Arkos piece just sitting in my folder that needs to be completed–which I would have if @guiltyeleven hadn’t distracted me with a bombardment of Snowbird fanart).
03.14.2017
Did a little experimenting with Sai and whatnot. Even in visual art we must find our own voice, and I figured that there’s no use in me trying to shape mine to imitate someone else’s.
For the past few days, I’ve been trying to finish a piece that isn’t working out, only because I was trying to make it using a style that, if I were to be completely honest with myself, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. It’s a beautiful style, one I wish I could at least have half the talent to do. I became very frustrated at the fact that I couldn’t do it properly (or how I imagined “properly” to look like) and ended up erasing and redrawing and erasing some more, until I realized I was spinning in the same self-destructive, downward cycle that caused many of my stories to fall as aborted files inside a cobwebbed laboratory of imaginings. I became upset, but unlike when I was younger, I didn’t give up just yet. A couple of birthdays didn’t just add to my age–it added to the layers upon layers of stubbornness and grit.
So I sat down once more on my bed that needed a bit of dusting off, and thought about the clothes I had to wash, the plates that have been piling up next to my desk, the things that I have to fulfill as a responsible adult who, in all honesty, never wants to grow up. Sitting there, in the silence and solitude, I shut up all the voices in my head for once in my paranoid, obsessive-compulsive existence, and just… drew.
It’s not a masterpiece or anything. But it gave me a little bit of hope.
~Blue Popsicle~
03.08.2017
Sketches from Shayne’s Notebook
My good friend Shayne once gave me a small notebook around November last year. I would let it sit beside my bed, among a clutter of books and other journals, for the next few months, until recently when I felt it was the perfect time to open it. If it wasn’t for her, I would have forgotten how art has always been my medicine, my cure. So I dedicate these handful of sketches to our loony, ludicrous, lovable friendship.
~The White One~ // Sylas Frostmoon
~Ember Eyes~ // Avell Lunarswift
~Agent of Armageddon~ // Ellie Hollowcliffe
~The Armoured Destroyer~ // Kleinn Helstrom
~Swordmaiden of Vengeance~ // Sylvia Luceus
~Silver Dragon~ // Gennai Onaga
All characters are from WildStar, created by me and @guiltyeleven
I know you’re never going to believe any of this.
I’ve known you long enough to be certain that somehow, as you are reading this, a part of you could not help but laugh, not out of malice, but because that’s simply how things are between us: The years have been filled with laughter, sugar-high drinks, and words.
So on the day you stopped laughing for a while, I wondered where you had gone. Who took the laughter away from the only person whose rainbows and unicorns I had allowed to enter the great and dark fortress of my heart. For a moment, I vowed to cripple that person who had taken the laughter from your eyes and replaced it with something sad, something alien and strange and totally unlike the woman I have come to know. I had thought about hurting this person until he begged for the end to come, for the apocalypse to dawn on his very soul, and I would be there, watching and laughing as the torment continued, for he took something so precious to me that not even his screams of agony could pay for that which he stole.
And then you started to talk, under the mellow lights of a quiet coffee shop, in a city you have never been in but braved anyway, about how you believed he was still a kind person, not a bad person at all. Just someone lost, full of himself, someone young and unsure and insecure, and he wasn’t that terrible at all. At that moment, as you talked about the story of your broken heart, I must have imagined you glowing, for in my eyes you seemed to be more colourful than all the other planets scattered in the universe. Brighter than all the stars and the shades that emerge from a fractured prism. I could not explain how someone who has had their heart broken could look at life still with so much hope and understanding. How someone who had been abandoned without any proper explanation could still find it in herself to look at this deserter with such unending compassion. And I knew then, as I watched the night fall, that perhaps destiny led us to meet because someone had to let me see beyond the darkness of my own soul.
I don’t know if you will believe me when I say that you are more beautiful than you would ever think. That your heart is bigger than the galaxies I’ve dreamed of in my insufferable solitude. I don’t know if you’d believe me when I say you deserve to be loved by someone who is just as colourful, as grandiose in spirit, and that you’d find him in this life one way or another.
But I do.







