Hey everyone,

Recently my roommate and photographer  drgnkpx had told me that FA undercuts photo quality when you first upload photos. To get them to full resolution, I was advised to use the "Change Submission File" option on already uploaded photos. I went ahead and changed all photos thus far. So, now you all can get that sweet argonian zoom quality!

A lot of people, including myself, share the same sentiment that April's been kind of a shit month. These days I hardly exist here, as is apparent with my journal and submission count. However, most others at least share the same "favorite only" lifestyle, and that's okay and valid. For myself there's a shroud hovering over my being, one that's extra persistent whenever I'm not being distracted by anything else. One that's pleading me to do something, anything more than what I was being distracted by just moments before. I'm hoping to soon navigate and actually solve this internal issue soon, and it was thanks to the month of April that this issue revealed itself to be ever prevalent within my daily life.
But first I'd rather talk about the couple of good things that have happened. At least in my opinion, of course. Besides the monumental amount of time I've devoted to self reflection during this month, I've also rekindled a couple of friendships with some local furs. I think that deserves a paragraph or two of its own, however, since it ties in with the whole self reflection thing. "BEN Drowned" is apparently being revived, which hits me not only on a nostalgic note, but also a writing one. Especially considering the things the author is pumping out (though some ideas presented seem rather on the nose), it's really refreshing to see the author's writing style come out and shine again. I was rather sheltered from anything horror related as a kid up until highschool, and as cringy as the representation of creepypasta gets, like it or not, it was one of those engaging pieces of easily readable writing. Mostly thanks to its references, but even so, if you ever need an example of how to write a good twist, or how to write the beginning on an ARG, I don't think any aspiring writer needs to look anywhere else. While it's nice however, the ARG currently is very much for an adult, group oriented audience. So, I guess I should've been less annoyed as a sophomore in highschool when, after getting mindlessly obsessed with it, I found out that it was discontinued indefinitely.
As for the month, I guess things started out fine. Even with the pandemic invading each aspect of our lives, my roommate and i were still able to find the usual groceries. Sometimes it meant going to local shops, but nevertheless things were never dire. At the same time I developed a dry cough and chest pain, and so while I was the doctor for something unrelated I meantioned it. I had no fever, so I wasn't exactly worried. Still, my doctor gave me a two week self quarentine note and instructed I tell my work of the issue. Also got my first ever prescribed medication as an adult, so that was something I guess. Remember how I said vaguely in the beginning that, unless distracted by work or something mind numbing at home, that I can get thoughts regarding my total dissatisfaction when it comes to my life? Well, let me explain in more detail.
It's probably common for some of you, especially over the past month, through a sudden influx of free time, that you begin to ask yourself, "am I okay with where I am in life?" It's very apparent with myself, and lately (as in from late last year to this past month) I've had short enough spits of free time that this question wasn't thought about. Even when I did get free time in the form of weekends, I just evaded the question with social interaction, alcohol, or both at the same time. And, as you may guess already, I avoid it because the answer to it is, "No, but right now there isn't a whole lot I can do about it. So, let's not think about it."
But, there I was suddenly, with two weeks of free time on my hands. And, it wasn't vacation free time where I could further distract myself with fur cons and the like. It was just at home, where in most cases I just distract myself with YouTube or play smash until I'm tired enough to go to bed.
My social life, even online, is tied together with a few close friends and nothing more. Which is fine in most cases, but being stuck at home for awhile can get kind of grating. Most people I enjoy talking with were still working during this time, or otherwise lead busy lives general. This isn't a petty stab at those wonderful people that I'm thankful to get to talk to, even if it's not as often as I hope. This was more the catalyst, along with something else I'll get to in the next paragraph, that forced me to do some much needed introspection.
Before having this sudden free time my life was very structured. I moved in with one roommate in August/September, but even before then I still had the same job despite the transportation issues, and before that job I was just living somewhere else but doing the same thing (with no transportation issues back then). Which, I suppose is great for most people, including myself for over a year and a half now. The structure was basically work until a free day(s), then drink and be social on those free days. Either at people's houses or downtown, didn't matter all that much. And those moments were fun, but I feel like the first thing I can say with a fact was that those constant weekends muddled down my emotions and made me desensitized. Couple this with my generation already being so desensitized with everything going on in the world, and you get the act of pushing down your emotions so much that the way you process them is a hollow rendition of how you used to. And that's what I felt during those two weeks over something that I really shouldn't have. I know that's vague to say, but the point isn't what made me feel that way, it's that I felt that way.
I want to simply cast a wide net into a sea that has everything to do with my emotional issues, and pull in the giant word alcohol as if to blame everything on it.
But, that's kind of silly to think of it that way. I've been dealing with being overly emotional for so long that I'm kind of taken aback now that I feel like I don't show enough emotion towards anything.
So anyway, I felt pretty meh for those two weeks, but then I got to go back to work and mostly forget about things. Sadly my work cut everyone's hours to 30 and so even though I had potentially six hours of distraction, I really only had around 3 or so since things were, and continue to be, slow. So, back aboard the introspection train I went. At least, when I wasn't trying to distract myself with memes and whatnot. And, I guess by introspection I mean more chastising myself for not writing and less actual thought into why I'm feeling the way I do. Each day I kept trying to push myself to write, and some days it worked and those days I was at least not upset at my inability to enjoy any hobbies. However, most days I would get home and feel completely unmotivated, and just end up distracting myself until I could move on to the next day.
The past few weekends I've been trying to drink less. This is mostly because I felt that the chest pain and dry cough was the constant weekend drinking getting to me. And what do you know? It's been kind of helping. Unfortunately, this past weekend I only had three drinks, all of which were had 3 or so hours in-between. Despite not feeling all that intoxicated during the night, I still woke up with the same symptoms as stated before. So, guess were giving that up almost entirely. Which, in retrospect, probably needed to happen earlier than this. And, even during that weekend, I had the epiphany that I was already starting to drink earlier and earlier on the weekends just to make time go by faster. That's a spiral I really don't wanna see myself going down, so that's that.
It also sucks that tea, when I drink about five or so cups within 11 or so hours, I'll get stomach pain now. That might have to do with eating habits, and it's not like y'all are my doctor. So, I'll go ahead and stop with the health talk.
I did mention before that I did rekindle my friendship with some local friends. It honestly left me mad at myself and the way I selfishly perceive others and their online presence comparatively to their real life one. These couple people and myself have had a history in the past, and what it basically boiled down to was because they didn't text me I thought that they didn't care to talk to me. So, what's the point in pursuing a friendship when you're the only one holding it all together, right? Except I don't feel that way anymore. The same situation was played out to me recently (not entirely however, talking was going fine. It just stopped suddenly) and yet I don't find myself selfishly wanting to wholeheartedly devote myself to abandoning people I do care, or want to eventually want to care, about. Moreover, it always turns out that I'm honestly just an asshole that needs to learn that there's people who exist in this world with a small social battery. People who probably post memes that state, "Sorry I haven't texted back, I saw your message too late and now I don't feel like I can respond properly since I think you're mad at how long I'm already taking." Some people are better in person, and that's it. (I also might not be the greatest to talk to sometimes, but that's self deprecating and I have no way to really prove that unless someone tells me directly, which people have yet to do). The point here is basically, like most things, it's more like a spectrum and less black and white than what I had thought about when I first started talking with people online. I'm happy to at least realize that I've grown past that old mentality, but not entirely. I still kind of beat myself up unnecessarily the last time it happened.
That's mostly the month of April though. I'm still sad a lot, but I'm rediscovering my emotional outlets and allowing myself to indulge in them. I've taken to being more open with friends emotionally, and it's rather nice so far. I'm hoping to start at least writing things, no matter how dumb, and posting them here. Honestly it's probably the safest place to do so. The only way I know (afaik) if anyone sees it is if there's a comment. So, it'll stifle me using this as a means for instant gratification, which is something I also feel like I need. I thought about making a venting Twitter account, but the character limit would cripple me easily. So, here it is.
If you made it this far that means a lot. I apologise if there was barely any cohesion to any of this. I've been writing this on my phone, and I'll just be reading through it once before posting. I'm a relatively open book if there's any questions regarding any of this, but I'd much rather be sent a message on telegram ( bangaadragoon ) rather than discussing things here.

Here's to a better May everyone.

(Also forgot to mention that despite that sweet government money, my car somehow knew I had a savings and is now getting maintenance after it's check engine light turned on. This happened today, the last day of April.)

I went ahead and deleted my other account (TheRealBangaaDragoon) and watched everyone I was watching there! Also, I decided to keep the Adume name for the bangaa. I'm thinking of making the frog more of an alt (he has the same color scheme after-all) and keeping the bangaa as the main dood. I apologize for the outstanding confusion I've provided to anyone who watches me here. It's like I have an identity crisis or something...
But anyway, Adume (the bangaa) will be having a new ref soon. Also, if I ever get around to it, I got a CTF story to finish and upload. So, if any of y'all are into that niche thing like I am. There's that to look forward to!

This is just a little journal to let everyone know that I've made a Trello describing my writing ideas, what I'm currently writing, and other stuff. If you're curious go check it out here

Hey everyone,

Just wanted to let everyone know i'm about to proofread the next installment of the CYOA thing before uploading it here. I know it's been like a month since the first one, and that I said i'd upload things once a week or so... Sorry about that. To be fair i was in Australia for vacation these past two weeks, but that doesn't excuse all the time I've had to potentially write. I'm hoping to get into the swing of things and have a better commitment when it comes to writing. After all, I'd love to do more than just the CYOA (mostly TF related stuff). Anyway, thanks y'all for your patience and support. Oh, and 50 watchers yay!

Another thing I've constantly wanted to do, but have never really managed to do because of life I guess, is to start a journal series that has some meaning to me. So, here is that thing. "Thoughts" to me is a series of GoogleDocs that i started about a year ago. Any time I felt the gushing need to write, I could always boot up Google Drive, write all my feelings down, save and close it. I rarely showed it to anyone, but that's what makes it a perfect fit for here. If any furs are like me on here, I rarely read people's journals. So, it's not like I'll have a lot of judgement fall on me for posting these. However, those that do will be (hopefully) pleased by the emotions I attempt to capture into words. Again, these are personal, so maybe a context head note is needed, haha.

Context: This is the first "Thoughts" document I ever made, and the only real context I need to clarify is that my boyfriend who I'm talking about here is no longer my boyfriend. We broke up on good terms, and remain good friends. He's helped me manage life quite graciously during our relationship, and after. Anyway, here goes nothing I suppose.




There are times when I look at a blank piece of paper, much like this one, and I go to town writing. Other times, it’s a lot like closing my eyes in a quiet room. A real quiet room, no computers whirring with life, no people talking, no cars on the outside. Silence with no vision, my mind gazing into a void. I’m not afraid, I’m just unsure where to go in that kind of world.
I’m tired, I need sleep, I need help, I need someone, I need to not be doing this, but it helps. My dad, my sister, they both think I have my life put together. Like, I get up everyday and know what I do then will matter in decades time, but nobody knows what life will be like then. I think about that a lot, although i shouldn’t. At least, that’s what others say. That I worry too much. However, when you grow up with each night being kicked off by your local news, and that local news tells only tales of sorrow, famine, death, you begin to wonder when is it gonna be your name in those bold letters.
I like to think that I don’t care what people think of me, but emotions are hard to cover up. I like to think i do have it all figured out, but you just can’t have it all figured out at any point in time. Fake it till you make it, as they say.
My mind… always, does it have these grand ideas of what to write down, of what to awe audiences, or my own conscious. It’s then i look into the white void of this paper, and my mind mimics the page. My emotions bellow out and gush like a fresh wound… are you even good enough, the wound speaks. Am I? Can I accomplish what i want to do in this world? Will all perish before I’m finished taking my first steps? That Disturbed song still rings true, “Still, we ravage the world that we love.” Meaning, we complain, but our actions speak louder than our words. The pen is mightier than the sword is an old saying, but I don’t believe it to be true. It should be that the sword and the pen are equal because they are tools for the mind to use, and it is how the mind uses them that they gain power.
One day I hope I’ll have the time to write something I can be proud of. It won’t be famous, it won’t be preached, but I’ll be happy knowing that I wrote something to be proud of. I want it to be filled with screams, of both joy and terror.
I wish i could play the piano, write my own cords on a synth, but now there are essays to write and bills to pay. I sometimes poke at a piano just to hear the sound. I sometimes sit down and see if i can play Zelda’s Lullaby, or Sarah’s song. The simple melodies reassure me that hope isn’t all lost. But, after sometime, I have to get up, I have to move on, I have to leave it behind for something else.
There’s a lot of times when I wonder… why don’t I speak anything and everything to the one I love. These thoughts that are so easy to type seem so hard to speak. I’m afraid to speak because I’m afraid of imminent judgement, but what’s left for him to judge? I shouldn’t feel like there’s a strong vice around my neck whenever I have a thought that i could just blurt out. But I do, and here I am typing this instead of tiredly weeping into his shoulder. I’m confused at my own mind, and this constructed the way I am. Nothing that goes on in there has never been clear, and maybe I’m afraid that if it isn’t clear in my mind, that it won’t be in his either, but I know him, he won’t care, so why do I choose to say nothing? He must think it a game by now, the way the cycle repeats (as explosions broke in the sky).
I still don’t know how to feel about us. My younger self would be so ashamed of how I go out to explore my sexuality while in a relationship. But it's allowed, it's okay, but is it okay with me? Should i feel ashamed while in my comp class, sipping tea from a tumbler, still half asleep, and all I can think of is how hot it’d be to have a couple of feet paws be shoved against my face. My next thought, that’s disgusting, you need to pay attention, but it isn’t that i’m most ashamed of. It’s that I don’t think of him during any of these moments. It isn’t normal to love someone, but find it so difficult to daydream about them in a sexual manner. It isn’t normal for the fantasies to be so inhuman, such filth, smut, heresy in all its glory packed inside a human mind. I reassure myself, but what is normal anyway? Certainly not me, or the professor whose speaking of culture, language, the finer things in life. The people next to me, are they better off? Why can’t i change myself, not be in this mindset any longer. This is the only time these thoughts bother me, when me not having the right mental state triggers a downward spiral of self-hate, self-pity, self-condemnation. I wish I could know why I’m this way, why it can’t be helped, why it feels like I’m cursed with a plethora of others who walk the earth, searching for answers. Alone in a world, with millions of souls, walking in circles my mind sings. He may understand, may say it's okay for this to happen, but I can’t read his mind either. What is he really thinking? I ask myself when he sees me, when he says he likes me, he loves me. What am I worth to him because I’m like this, does he like the challenge, does he question like I do? Does he feel ashamed that we don’t have sex as much as we used to? Is it my fault? Questions, why do they so often come with no answers, only tears? I know, nothing in life is never easy, the good things aren’t free, life has a lot of bad, and not a whole lot of good. It’d be nice if it were easy, but that comes with the price of ignorance. Which I am not, and I don’t want to be.

But now he came home, and I got myself cleaned up. Shame is something I know like an intimate partner, an old friend, one that grips me, holds me down, and makes me stare into its eyes as it controls me. I had to make sure I didn’t look like I had just gotten depressed. I don’t want to make him sad by being sad myself. I cringe, I need to show my emotions more, but alas it’s too late by the time I hear him come in and out again.
Leaving this, the lovely piano tones, the eerie quiet of everything else, it made me forget why I was sad. I guess that’s the point of it all, of everything I’m doing with myself. Forgetting is nice, even if only for a short time.

**REUPLOAD**

Summer is coming to a close in the northern hemisphere, and that means I'm back in college with less time on my hands. Although going forward it might be difficult, I wanted to start doing some daily practices of writing, and what better way than in a journal for fans of my character(s). I know I probably won't get a big response with these, but they're mostly for my benefit so I can start doing something that I enjoy, but lack the motivation to actually do (honestly, this is a category that's quite extensive in my life).
Format: Relatively simple, the title shows the number and where the prompt has come from. I'm hoping to at least do a minimum of 700 words for each of these. Will they be furry related? Some yes, some no. I do like me some abstract writing, so we'll see. This is also why i found it better if i did these in a journal, rather than full submissions. So, without a further ado..

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"Such a dark night it was, and I'm not talking of the rain." His breath stifled as he spoke, his eyes glistening in the dim glow of the quiet inn. The only sound was the quiet mutterings of fellow travelers, and the soft whistle of the wind coming into the inn from an unpatched hole. “I only escaped my own campsite from the skin of my teeth.” He stammered quietly, some of the patrons turning back to their drink, “My wife… my kids… the only things that mattered to me… they were all taken just a few nights ago.” His voice was that of a true sage. He was someone who looked like he’d fall down and die at any minute, and maybe that’s why everyone wanted to listen to his to his tall tale.
I don’t remember much that the old man spoke sadly. I’m not exactly one of those heavy drunkards who has an iron liver; and so, after a few drinks I passed out. The following morning, as I made my way out of town, I felt the drip of something foreign upon my forehead. Looking up, I saw the same old man, laying on his stomach upon a branch at least 15 men high. His eyes and skin were as white as the snow that started falling. His throat had been gashed, as well as other regions on his torso, as if one of the big cats got him while the rest of us were sleeping off the alcohol. The world is so cruel, I thought. It took so much from this man, and gave nothing in return.
But alas, my travels had to continue, and after weeks of wandering from town to town, I begin to feel as though taking a pilgrimage this far up north may have been a bad idea. I never felt right living in the swamps of the south, though everyone else didn’t seem to mind. Each day in that wretched place was a curse given unto me by the gods, and so I seeked knowledge as to why they’d do such a thing. So, there I was in the north, freezing myself to death to talk to the various deities who i figured wanted me dead. Soon enough, I found myself camping with some fellow adventurers. I was merely there for alchemical purposes on their journey since they couldn’t afford a proper healer. Gotta get paid somehow, I supposed. The night they were supposed to raid some bandit camp, it poured rain. They knew their chance would come the next night, as they figured the light from the moon would help them not get lost, and so they decided to take the thugs after another night’s rest. The soft patter of rain made them drift to sleep rather quickly. However, that night plagued me with nightmares. In it, sounds of distant screams filled my head. To any onlookers within the dream, they seemed more like sounds of cheering and laughter. But, I knew better, for I was the one causing them. I kept hearing their cries for the gods as the rain penetrated into my dream. The rain was sent directly from the gods themselves unto me. They wanted me to feel sorry for what I had done, for the lives I ended within the dream. Weren’t the tortured screams enough? I pleaded in my mind. After all, it was I who would soon sit in silence, my hands uncontrollably shaking and dripping with blood. My eyes cleared as nature's tears mixed with life's essence, making a diluted concoction of consciousness. I did not ask to open my eyes on this night, and see that I was awake the whole time. The pilgrimage was a success, but left more questions than answers. Truly, I was enslaved by nature itself, left to wander in the woods as the nightmare I thought I was dreaming myself to be. As my consciousness returned to me, and I saw those adventures bodies contorted in such an unnatural way, I further understood that this world can be cruel, I thought. When it does give, it does so in punishment.
The moon above was still gleaming as if it was smirking snidely at my existence. "It's all you" echoes through my head. This was my fault, my decisions that lead to this moment. Another scream, another gasp, a gash upon her throat, her last breath almost serene. Outside this abandoned building, i hear the wolves express their own sorrows, joys, afflictions to the mistress of the earth. It's almost a mechanical sound now, monotonous in structure, length, pitch, and tune. Can they not feel the anger i feel? The pain? The rain continues, drones on, more screams and more silence awaits.