#but i am also melancholic

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A new challenger approaches (slowly)

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[masteraqua]

before we realized

[citrlet]

i'm sorry i'm being annoying about my trip but look at the view from my room in d.c.

[pawbeanies]

back in the day if a man as pathetic as me felt even a fraction of the deep yearning for human connection and affection i feel he would write so many poems and be considered an icon centuries down the line. but now in this present moment i am relegated to making funny posts about being a dog

[crimsonstrayer]

crimsonstrayer you have to stop.. your klc too tender.. your art too melancholic .. you tug at my heartstrings so easily... we don't deserve you...

in all seriousness I just wanted to let you know that after all these years I am still in love with your work. you've truly captured their essence and drawn them in such a way that makes me feel like I was stabbed to death by this very weapon. it's truly moving. and I hope that when you read this message that you're doing wonderful and thriving and I will only wish the best for you always.

your art is so integral to my development as a person and as an artist I fear. that sense of tenderness and melancholy is something that I see in your klc art so frequently and it brings me immense comfort . you're so swag

spent a whole month avoiding answering this bc wow. thank you so much for seeing and connecting with my art...... all i could ever truly want for it

i recognize so keenly that emotion of finding an artist that makes you go❗️you get it❗️. i have my own fanartists i feel that way about, and being on the other side of it is wild. but it also means my work is doing what i want it to, i think

thank you again for taking the time to send me this message. ever glad to be part of this ecosystem of expression and storytelling within fandom. and don't fear! embrace inspiration and influence wholeheartedly when you find it and filter it straight through your own bones. isn't that what fandom is

[noxonoxious]

“I am dramatic”

I am dramatic. I stare wistfully at the setting sun and gaze upon the twilight sky. Pretending to be a character from an old book whose name I can’t quite remember the name of. I listen to the wind rustling the leaves in a peaceful evening and think I like this life, maybe I like being alive. 

I am dramatic. I get sad for no reason and make it obvious so that when people ask me what’s wrong, I can smile sadly and say “I don’t know”.  I schedule my time to cry to a random evening to watch the day shift to night from the comfort of my bed. I get addicted to my spiralling staircase of descending thoughts because they offer respite from my normal and comfortable life that I’m lucky to live, with my parents that I’m lucky to have. Wallowing in self-pity has always felt so damning and free. 

I am dramatic. I call myself a paradox because I have always been there for me through thick and thin and protected me all the same. Yet no one has ever inflicted the amount of violence on me as I have. I confess, one of me once mutilated myself in my dreams, made my exposed vocal cords into a violin (I can’t even play) and made my corpse into a garden with dainty white flowers that smelled divine. Picture perfect and artistic like a kill from NBC’s Hannibal. Of course this was when the weight scale said I weighed too much to be pretty but not enough to be truly depressed about. But how dare someone else raise their voice at me and someone else says that I’m not enough. 

I am dramatic. I say I have better things to think about than what I would wear at the altar and whom I would tie my life together with. I don’t need a man (nor a woman nor anyone), they are like accessories on an outfit—makes it better but they aren’t necessary. In the same breath, I sometimes let out that I want love, very quietly because I don’t want anyone to hear. In the silence of the night, I yearn for someone to hold me like I’m something precious and make love to me like I’m something fierce. My partners have always been faceless figures or people who I barely know or put on a distant pedestal. Sometimes they have only ever existed behind a screen or in ink and paper. 

I am dramatic. I like love but I don’t want to love love or even like like-like feelings. I hate how it's accompanied by constant anxiety about the way l look, talk or behave, and the general uncomfortableness I feel, being in my own skin. Though I have to laugh, I’ve often been uncomfortable in my own skin so I guess this just makes me more uncomfortable? I don’t like love, yet I dedicate a second verse to it in this brain vomit poem. I have the capacity for romance, I know I do, my best friend says I do too. Things have happened that make me think I do. But I’m terrified of yearning for a person like that. Of them knowing me. So I push opportunities away and act like casual fun is better for me (not situationships though, I do have enough self-respect to avoid those). Yet I fantasise and daydream about a person loving me the way I would love them. Enough for their world to stop for a minute at my smile, for their breath to seize in their chest when I look at them. Enough for them to write poems or love letters or at the very least, try to create something out of their love for me. I have never yet fallen in love but I wish somebody I would like, would fall in love with me.  I wish that when it happens, I wouldn’t think that the universe or the person is playing some sort of cruel joke.  

I am dramatic. I pour my heart and soul into words and pictures. Every piece I create is embedded with a piece of myself. I get peace and tranquillity from turning myself into something tangible. Yet, if a person were to find them, they would think that those pieces are cringe. For I, sometimes also think they are cringe. My unsaid emotions and deepest vulnerabilities as something imperfectly visible and physical? How every cringe indeed. I’m scared of anyone ever gazing upon my work, but I envision they would line up to meet me, its creator because something resonated with them. There is always someone better at it than me, a better writer, a better artist. But I’m also better than someone at it. A better writer, a better artist. A better person. I honestly believe that I’m a better person than some, but I’m also a worse person because my ego sometimes enlarges my head. I ruminate about all the things I may have done wrong and verbalise them to my best friend so she can say that “a bad person wouldn’t feel bad for doing bad things”. But do I truly feel bad, or do I just want the dopamine from hearing that I’m good? I create worlds upon worlds to slip into during my daydreams. Worlds with a perfect me, one for every potential I could be. One where I would be loved and admired unconditionally and one where I would be scorned and feared relentlessly. One where I have reasons to act out and rage and scream, and one where I have the confidence for my presence to take up the whole room and for my elegance to have everyone hanging on to my words. One where everyone I ever admired felt comfortable in my presence—so much so that they fell in love with me. Maybe little by little. There goes my ego again. 

“I am dramatic,” I say, to the vast void of millions of people. To anyone who would listen. I love contradictions, juxtapositions, and contrast. Anything that isn’t what it seems to appear. I love the theatrics in its most quiet form. And monologues. God, I love monologues. Do my previous verses have a purpose? Or were they just to be loud and flaunt and jest? 

Regardless I take my dramatic bow. For I, am dramatic.

[leijonzzz]

I LOVE SUIKODEN SOOOO FUCKING MUCH

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ari im your biggest fan but.. volume 26 cover.. i cant support your opinion im SORRY

THE HOLLOW PURPLE FAN COVER DESERVES TO BE REAL 😭😭😭😭 we were ROBBED ari.. frojo is unescapable and the truth will catch up to you…

/ j all of this is a joke but personally im a hater 😞

🤨🤨🤨 well clearly you’re NOT my biggest fan bc if you were you would be supporting me on this Extremely important matter… a real shame bc if you just opened your eyes to the truth i would cradle you in my arms and feed you strawberries and we could have a slumber party and talk about our favorite blorbos but ig that’s not happening 😔😔 sigh. how sad. tragic.

….. jokes aside we can agree to disagree 🫂🫂 sorry but i’ll NEVER change my stance on it i truly think he looks gorgeous gojo has always had a bit of an amphibian vibe abt him and that’s one of his charm points. he’s the most beautiful man to have ever been created by human hands. if you don’t love him like this then maybe just maybe …… you don’t love him at all . 😞😞😞😞

[myname-isnia]

What's that one quote that goes like "I had a dream of my mother with the love of her life and no children. It was the happiest I've ever seen her", because... yeah

[todaviia]

.

[evvlogetarian]

Work today was kinda awful ? Not bc of the family or anything but it's so stressful trying to one man a 100+ person service...I also have to wake up early tomorrow for con & getting ready but I think I've accepted I won't get a lot of sleep because I still need to eat and get prepped for tomorrow so eh... qwq

[celestial-sapphicss]

why do i cause myself pain by rewatching MSP ep.10 2/4?

[fragmentedblade]

There's something very unsettling and kind of creepy going on with Ruan Mei (appreciative)

[hopecomesbacktolife]

I just finished reading @dianeduane’s Rihannsu series and it was absolutely incredible, so good, I absolutely loved spending some more time with old favorites (hello Mr. Naraht, and K’s’t’lk, my beloved!) as well as the love for Spirk banter and Bones sass too. And omg, Uhura’s consistent improvements to the slang translation systems was an ongoing joy! The plot was also so good, I was on the edge of my seat for pretty much the whole series, it was amazing 💖💖

but in particular, I am literally screaming about the tonal bookendings with which the final scenes of My Enemy, My Ally and The Empty Chair complement one another, like oh my god. what an emotionally beautiful and intimately quiet way to wrap everything up, and yet not at all sad (“sad? No!”) yet tinged with such emotion and, solemnity? alive-ness? it absolutely made me cry w/ the sheer beauty of it. 100/10 as always ♡🖖🏻♡ luv luv luv these books!!

[plantbutter]

Today I am mourning the parts of my life that were interrupted and I’ll never get the chance to start over again

[chicago-geniza]

Taking four naproxens and a Benadryl and texting everyone on my contacts list "Ernst Haeckel's Die Welträthsel was assigned reading for natural sciences students at the Humboldt Institute in Berlin in the 1900s-possibly 1910s" as though this will be meaningful information to anyone except my friend who studies German literature and my friend who studies artists from the fin-de-siecle Habsburg empire