This place is Dead.I've notice over the several months that this site hasn't been getting its flow of folks, as it was back in the good ol' days of 2008-2011.This place is Dead. by Jinyuu
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I understand Deviantart is trying to be professional, but with their new methods. Moving the DD to another page never having it at the bottom any more nor having the front page of the first 8hrs-24hrs and basically just wiping any way for aspiring artists to get noticed.
Here I am on my old rants again.
But as someone who's been on this site since 2008, I can see why most folks are moving to Tumblr because it is a lot easier to get notice on there even if you believe you're not a good as a drawer because of your contents. You tend to get notice.
I enjoyed the old days where deviantart was full of otaku's and everyone was just all over the place and there would be sonic tickle porn on the front page and there was icons galore of people using PLZ accounts of their pairings.
And I guess I really miss that nostalgia f
Grounding.DEAR FRIEND WITH THE ANXIETY ATTACK....Grounding. by MikkiMarie
What do you feel? No, not emotionally. Let's subtract that from the situation. what is the texture underneath your fingers? Your toes? Behind your ears?
Now. look to your left. What do you see? Find your favorite color. Can't? Look to your right. Look ahead. Look around everywhere. Walk around if you must.
Inhale. What do you smell? Take another deep breath. What is that smell!? Identify it. Don't worry if you can't.
What do you taste? This is a perfect time to chew some gum, eat some candy. Anything you like. Treat yourself, my love.
What do you hear? Clicking, clacking? A whistling air conditioner? A humming fan?
And finally, look in the mirror, or look at your hands. Are you here? Are you safe?
If you're having a flashback of a trauma... dear, you are not in the situation! Repeat the above techniques until you're calm.
This is called grounding. Please stay strong. Please. I love you all so much <3
• Creator: Unknown, just a random lycan passing through the area.
• Height | Weight: 6’1”| 188lbs
• Likes: Swimming, fishing, the taste of fish and red meat (specifically beef), baths, children, singing
• Dislikes: Getting lost, being alone for too long, being around people for too long, malicious people (specifically men), his actual first name (Brody is his middle name).
• Occupation: Fisherman
Brody is the kind of person who is rather tight-lipped and gruff and over the course of the day will usually make a wide array of expressions that range between confusion, thoughtfulness, being unimpressed, bored, some version of What The Hell, and looking generally pissed. However, despite his generally obvious dislike of people, he doesn’t care to be alone all the time. Brody is loyal to those who have found a way into his heart and he doesn’t lie even to strangers, however this does not necessarily mean he will tell the truth either. Brody is often dedicated to whatever he views as his duty and he can sometimes be convinced into taking up jobs however it often requires Brody being guaranteed an above average reward in return for the task. He does not take well to people who are intentionally malicious for no reason, even moreso when the malicious one is male. He does have moments of subtle kindness and, surprisingly, he is rather fond of children. One of the biggest flaws in Brody’s personality though is that he is very determined in his beliefs and he could be told seven ways to Sunday reality of a situation with all the evidence and logic behind it and he still wouldn’t change his thoughts on it. His flaw in this is that he is very determined in his belief that he is not a werewolf but rather a dobhar chu.
Brody’s life was early to take its turn towards the mysterious and monstrous. Near the loches of Ireland, Brody, born as Ronan Brody Lynch, the young lad was the son of a fisherman and his beloved bride. Rumors of dangers in the waters were always constant and his parents always warned him to be careful around the loch waters, playfully telling him that the dobhar chu, much like other parents might tell of the boggie man, might get him if he wasn’t careful. He saw otters large and small enough times in the loches to believe that tale well enough. At the youthful age of 6 though, when his father was dragging in the day’s catch and his mother was cooking dinner, Brody went out playing by the waters of the loch. He wasn’t aware that he wasn’t alone and when his father heard his pained screams, Brody had been attacked by a fearsome beast that leapt from the waters at him. The wound wasn’t fatal but it was certainly bad and for weeks, Brody was bedridden while the injury healed, his left shoulder damaged.
His first transformation suffered a great fear and when the full moon ended, Brody’s parents didn’t know what to do. They kept it quiet though, and for many months, Brody lived with every full moon locked inside a sturdy trunk while his father determinedly attempted searching for a cure. Feeling in his stomach that his father wouldn’t find any, Brody told his father at the young age of 7 that he would try to control this on his own. His father told him that the beast that attacked him might have been a werewolf, something he had only heard of a few short times, but Brody refused. He believed he was attacked by a dobhar chu and therefore was a dobhar chu, not some dog thing he had never heard of nor seen before. Accepting his son’s determination, his father helped Brody learn more about dobhar chu and in turn, Brody turned to the waters that he had known all his life. Brody swam, and he fished, and he learned himself through this curse in the waters, and he refused to believe he was any different. He was no werewolf but the monster water hound he had heard tales of all his youth.
It was when Brody was 12 that his mother committed suicide from the stress and anxiety of what had happened and what her son suffered through, and when he was 15 his father began to slowly fade away, ultimately dying of fever shortly before Brody’s 17th birthday. Brody worked hard, taking his father’s place as a fisherman, an even better fisherman than his father ever had been, and he gradually moved to the coast of Ireland at 20 and at 25, he decided to leave Ireland which held so many memories for him, taking to a far off land where the coast smelled green and salty rather than the murky scent of the Irish loches. And there he remains, keeping mostly to himself and spending his days between swimming and fishing and making a quiet living for himself.
7 / 10
4 / 10 (on land) 6 / 10 (in water)
5 / 10 (on land) 6 / 10 (in water)
7 / 10
7 / 10
5 / 10
4 / 10
• Strengths: Capable of holding his breath underwater for up to 15 minutes, a great swimmer and diver, fairly good murky water sight, he’s more likely to attack someone via kicking than any other way (just personal preference).
• Weaknesses: Slower and less agile on land than in water, noticeably smells like seaweed and ocean salt so it’s easy to identify him (even by humans), often hides the remains of his kills at the bottom of water-beds, restrained range of motion in the left shoulder (full range of movement however slow and slightly painful).
• Notes: Brody has a noticeable underbite and his lower canine teeth are longer and sharper than the top ones causing them to jut up from his lower lip, causing him to slightly resemble a bulldog in some ways. Or a constant pouter. Despises shoes, won’t wear them unless it’s mandatory.
• Quotes: “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”
“Last I heard, wolves don’t care for swimming. I live in the water. Not a werewolf.”
• RP Example:
Leaning over to turn the skewers of his fish on the griddle, he hummed to himself an old Irish tune. He curled his bare toes, feet and legs muddy from the day of wading in above-knee deep water with a fishing rod, a pole-net, and a massive net that stretched from one bank to the other of the river. The bottoms of his pants, rolled up as high as he could get them, were still cold and wet, but what ran through his veins still from all those years ago kept him warm. Prodding the flesh of one of the skewers, he licked his lips and picked up the skewer, taking off part of the head in a single bite and he chewed thoughtfully in the light of the evening fire. The squish of internals, the poke of bones, the crisp of skin and scales, it was all the same to him. And as the grease of his meal dirtied his mouth and the front of his clothes, he looked up to the crescent moon above and Brody shook his head. Those who howled at the moon were not the same as him. He was one who howled for the loches of home.