#blueprintofsin

[wouldyoukindlybekind]

blueprintofsin deserves a shout out. They're so dedicated to Brigid and I hope they get the respect they deserve soon.

[cubism-as-medicine-blog]

blueprintofsin replied to your post: ;Passover

-pretends that she knows non-soviet versions of the songs-

-seats you in-between me and Ryan so you can sing/recite in both Russian AND German and have someone understand you at both elbows-

[sisterlutece]

¿

Send me a ¿ for a question my muse has always wanted to ask yours

"If I may be so bold, what drew you to genetics, Dr. Tenenbaum?"

[subjectwyk-archive-blog]

♠ ◊

♠ :What is the hardest thing about playing this muse?

Trying to find a balance between his possibilities. I love the idea that he can grow up to be either the Good Ending or the Bad Ending Jack but I really have trouble getting this innocent child to feel like he could end up a slug-eater.

◊ :What's your favourite thing about your muse?

How open and honest he is. It's that childish innocence and honesty despite what is happening to him and what we all know will happen to him. It makes him a lot more endearing to me.

[notaliberator-archive]

✎

this got sloppy toward the end but i hope it doesn't look terrible

[manxrslave-archive-blog]

☮ ✖

☮:How they keep calm.

He doesn’t? His mind is always racing with thoughts, most totally disconnected to anything. He paces and shakes a lot, attempting to keep up with them. The only time he’s calm is right after he gets a hit. 

✖:A trait they despise in people.

Naivity. He sees to much of himself in it. 

[manxrslave-archive-blog]

•3•

blueprintofsin

We might kiss when we are aloneThis is my lifeWe took a walk that night but it wasn't the samePut on your war paintIs that seat taken?

[dr-lamb]

❥

❥ - a childhood memory

Sofia was five, trotting alongside her father like a bobber, attached to him by the line of her hand. Her fingers barely reached up to close around his, she was so small, but she wanted to walk on her own. She always was an independent child. They got to the edge of the water, the sun barely risen. The sky was glowing, but it was dark, and the silhouettes of trees seemed like giants to the little girl. Her father set up his tack, throwing out two long lines and stabbing the poles into the earth to hold steady. Sofia played by the water, with a little boat her father had made her.  She doesn’t remember exactly what happened, but she does blame herself for what happened next. The little boat got swept away from her tiny hands, fluttering out into the great expanse of water before her. Sofia jumped in, trying to rescue the little craft, but she was too young and hadn’t yet learned how to swim. Her father, being nearby, was able to save her, but it was a scary experience for them both.Once he got her calmed down enough to form mildly coherent sentences, she told him about the boat and cried all over again. Her father soothed her, saying that, “some other child, who probably doesn’t have any toys, will find it and they will be so happy.”And suddenly she was fine. Because she had discovered the joy of helping others. Even if it was by accident.