#i’ll ramble about these at some point but all these artists were so kind and they really love art and creating and AHH it is v inspiring 😭

[batbabydamian]

Damian Wayne NYCC 2023 Remarks & Commissions!

Patrick Gleason

Jorge Jimenez

Dan Mora

Jorge Corona

Simone Di Meo

Dike Ruan

[feelbokkie]

Ephemeral Love | Chapter 10

pairing: Seungmin x fem reader

genre: smau, crack, angst, fluff, non!idol au, university au, right person wrong time, minor character death

pov: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

warnings: swearing, fluff, gets slightly heated towards the end but it is pg 13

summary: Does love last forever, or is it fleeting? For university juniors Kim Seungmin and Seo Y/n, it's love at first sight but sometimes you meet your soulmate at the wrong time.

word count: 2,167 (unedited)

screenshot count: 22

a/n: halfway point which means things are about to start getting serious... also, i think i got carried away with this chapter, sorry

previous | masterlist | next

©feelbokkie (2023) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

You lay peacefully on Seungmin, resting. Your torso slotted between his legs, your head flat on his chest, his hand drawing small shapes on your back. You can hear his heartbeat swiftly. Still, it’s calmer than when you first laid on him earlier, it sounded like he had a jack hammer in his chest.

You finished your paper within the first hour of you being at Seungmin's apartment. The melona he gave you being an excellent motivator to get you to finish. Afterwords, you helped Seungmin cook dinner, which he insisted on doing instead of ordering in like he suggested earlier. And by help, he had you cut vegetables and then read his textbook to him as you sat on the counter top and he finished cooking. You two ate while watching the show you were in the middle of the last time you were over. Afterwords, the two of you retreated to the couch where you took a nap on Seungmin's chest as he finished his reading.

"Min?" You ask when you woke up. You weren't sure if he is still awake. His hand is still moving on your back but he's been still.

"Oh, you're awake?" He asks softly.

"Yeah, I was just thinking."

"While you were sleeping?"

"I guess,"

"What were you thinking about?" He hums. You feel it in his chest. It's almost like feeling 2 cats purring.

"Why do you want to become a lawyer."

"You were thinking about why I'm studying law?" He chuckles.

"No, I-- just answer the question." You softly hit his chest.

"It's always fascinated me. One time when I was little, my dad took me to work with him and I thought it was amazing that he was getting paid to argue with people. Seemed fun." You can hear the fondness in his voice as he talks about his father.

"But you're doing it because you want to?"

"I don't do things I don't like or don't want to." He says simply.

“Noted,”

“Why’d you ask about why I wanted to become a lawyer?”

“Something my brother said to me earlier. He thinks I want to become a doctor to stay in our dad’s good graces.”

“Are you?”

“Yes and no,” Seungmin taps your back, signaling for you to sit up. You quickly get up and bring your knees to your chest, resting your head on top of them, facing Seungmin.

“What do you mean by yes and no?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a doctor. I saw some show that I’ll never know the name of because I never checked but it made medicine look interesting so, I decided to become a doctor. I just didn’t know what I wanted to specialize in until my dad had his first heart attack. It was not too long after Changbin told our dad he wasn’t going to go to university and that he was moving to Seoul to become a tattoo artist. I’m not saying my brother gave our dad a heart attack, that man eats so much red meat and smokes habitually—I’m surprised he lasted that long before that moment. But it was a minor attack and so were the other 3 he’s had since. I figured that if I went into cardiothoracic surgery, and my dad could wait that long, I could help him prolong his life long enough for him and Bin to make amends and for our family to be whole again.” You sigh. You didn’t mean to ramble, but something about being with Seungmin made you feel safe enough to do that.

“You’re trying to literally mend broken hearts.” Seungmin says in awe.

“I guess. I know my dad is devastated about how things with Changbin went, even though he’ll never admit it. That’s his only son and even though they’ve been at odds my whole life, I know those stubborn idiots care for each other. Our dad told us not to tell Changbin about the heart attacks. Saying that 'if he cared he would have never left in the first place.' But I know it’s because he worries about him.” You've never told anyone about any of this, not even your sister.

You haven't even told her that your dad has sent you extra money for your monthly allowance and once you did the math you realized that he was sending money for Changbin too knowing that you would figure it out. You've been pulling it out and sneaking it into his wallet or random jean pockets for years now knowing that he wouldn't take if if he knew it was from your dad.

“Is that why you’re at JYPU?”

“It’s the closest university to where my brother lives. I had to lie to my dad and tell him I got rejected from all the top universities so he would let me go. Convincing him to let me live with Changbin was easy after that. I just want everything to go back to normal.” You squeeze your knees tighter to your chest.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?” You hum.

“I’m in awe of you,”

"I--What? So suddenly?" You laugh.

"No, I've thought it for a while. You're smart, like really smart, and when In asked me to tutor you I thought you were going to be a pain in my ass. But you're like the opposite?"

"I'm a relief in your ass?" You giggle.

"Nevermind, I take it back." His face quickly gets red at the realization of what he said.

"I'm sorry, go back to what you were saying."

"I'm good,"

"Seungmin," You whine.

"It's nothing, I was just going to say you aren't how I thought you were going to be. And the fact that you could be at any university you want and you gave that up to try to fix your family. I don't think that many people would do that."

"I'm a certified genius. It wouldn't have mattered much where I went to school for my undergraduate degree anyway, all people mostly care about is what medical school you go to. So, I have only this year and next year to fix everything." You say the last part to yourself. In retrospect, it's not a lot of time to fix years of fighting, but you're stubborn like your brother and father.

The two of you sit silently for a moment, staring at each other. Seungmin rests his head in his hand as he stares at you. He has a soft smile and a twinkle in his eyes. You've seen that look on him before. He had it once when he was watching a baseball game. Only for the first half ot the game though, his team started losing after that.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You giggle, sitting up straight and stretching out your legs.

"I'm thinking," He says sheepishly.

"About?" You quirk your eyebrow at him.

"It's not really appropriate, i think."

"Kim Seungmin, are you having pervy thoughts?" You tease.

"No! No, quite the opposite actually." His ears turn bright red.

"Oh?" You turn your body towards him, fully intrigued about what could be going on in his head.

"I was...thinking about kissing you." He says innocently. Your eyes glance at his lips quickly. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you haven't thought about the same thing for week now. Your heart leaps at the idea of him thinking the same thing.

"Then do it," Your boldness surprises you. You've never been so direct or commanding about anything and if anyone checked your heart rate right now, they'd think your heart was about to give out with how hard it's pounding.

"I'm afraid," He whispers, sitting up straighter.

Ba-dum

"Of what?"

Ba-dum

"That once I start, I might not be able to stop."

Ba-dum

"Would that be so bad?" You throw back his words from earlier at him.

Ba-dum

Seungmin slowly closes the small gap between the two of you. You squeeze your hands tight, scared that if you move he'll back off. You're not sure why the idea of kissing him is making you so nervous. You've been sleeping next to him for a while now and you were just laying on top of him not that long ago. You swallow the lump in your throat as Seungmin's eyes flick down to your lips. He places his index finger under your chin and tilts you head up slightly towards him.

He gently places his lips on yours, almost like he's afraid you'd disappear if he presses his lips deeper into yours. Your eyes flutter close, letting out a breathe you weren't aware you were holding. It's a simple kiss, he doesn't part his mouth or swipe your bottom lip with his tongue trying go further. It's so simple and yet, it still sends shock waves through your body. You can't help but melt into the kiss, your hand finding it's way onto Seungmin's chest and slightly gripping his shirt. After a few seconds he pulls away, looking at your lips before slowly looking into his eyes. He has a look you've never seens in his eyes before, almost like desperation.

Before you could say anything, Seungmin is gently laying your back on the couch. His hands are on either sides of your head, caging you in as he leans in again. His lips find yours again, this time desperately. Like he knows what he wants and he's afraid you're going to disappear. You're not sure if it's the combination of his velvety soft lips on yours, his cologne, and his body heat overwhelming you, but you're starting to feel light headed. You slightly part your lips to breathe and Seungmin takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. Your left hand hands Seungmin's chest again, griping his shirt tighter than before.

Seungmin separates from you again, and rests his forehead on yours. You're sure that kissing Seungmin cut off all oxygen from going to your brain. For the first time in your life, you don't have a single thought going through your head.

"Y/n," He says breathlessly. The kiss seems to have done damage to him too.

"Hm," You hum.

"I'm not trying to sleep with you right now." He whispers.

"Oh?" Your brain still hasn't recovered, you can't even think of a proper sentence right now.

"I just really, really like you. Fuck, I might even be in love with you. I just...I just need you." His right hand lands on your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

"You need me?" You question. His words aren't entirely making sense, but you're blaming that on him kissing you and making you dizy.

"Not like that. Okay, maybe a little like that but more than that too. I like going to sleep next to you and waking up next to you and just doing mundane shit with you like brushing our teeth. And studying. And I go to sleep really early but I like staying late to talk to you. And your voice is like music to my ears, even that weird giggle you do. And I'm glad you're fighting with your roommate because that means I get to see you more often, and I know that sounds selfish, and that's entirely your fault. You make me do stupid shit like running to the store and buying one of every box of melona. And if I keep doing all of that as a friend without having all of you, I think I might actually die. Especially after kissing you because I don't think I can back to how we were now that I know how your lips feel against yours--"

"Seungmin--"

"I'm literally using every fiber in my being to stop myself from kissing you again because I don't want you to get the wrong idea. But I want you to be my girlfriend, actually I need you to be my girlfriend but if I keep kissing you I feel like you're going to think I'm just trying to sleep with you--"

"Okay,"

"--and...Okay?"

"Okay, I'll be your girlfriend."

"You will?"

"Yes. I really, really, really like you too and if you've noticed, I didn't exactly push you away either of the times that you kissed me. Actually, I told you to do it. Which is so unlike me. You make me do dumb shit too. I hope you're happy, you've reduced me to an idiot. And I hope you know that I haven't been coming here just because my roommate is an ass. I also don't do things I don't want to or don't like."

"I...so...you... Sorry, I think my brain is short circuiting."

"Kissing me might help that." You suggests.

"Is that right?" He laughs, his breathe tickling your face.

"Trust me, I'm a pre-med student."

"Well, shit, who am I to go against my doctor-girlfriend's orders."

"Hurry up, the situation is quite dire, I fear." You grip Seungmin's shirt again and pull him down closer to you.

—

Buy me a coffee?

[palfriendpatine66]

I saw on somebody else’s reblog you wanted asks! I hope that’s still true ahahaha 😅

I came upon somebody watching a deepfake Obi-Wan “interview” something something. What’s your opinion on that kind of AI? AND OR What would you ask Obi-wan if you had three questions?

Hi there! Attention whore reporting for duty - I always want asks! And thank you, because this is a good one that really got me thinking!

To make a long story short(ish): I’m really not down with AI in general. Like, I get that this experience was probably really fun for the person. I remember chatting with bots on AOL Instant Messenger back in the day. It was fun to trick them and see what you could them to say whatever whatever. I get it. But what’s fun isn’t always A Good Thing. There are so many dangerous applications of AI that are not some kind of far fetched conspiracy theory but are very real, and already happening And then there is how much AI takes away from artists. It’s fun to imagine interviewing Obi-Wan, absolutely. So why not do it?

Case in point: this has got me thinking and now the gears are turning for a new fic 🤣 I’ll add it to my long list of ideas but for now here are the questions I would ask him if I only got 3, and also what I think his answers might be like.

1: what is the very best part of being a Jedi?

(Said in his best politician voice, probably for wartime propaganda) “Many people feel satisfaction and a sense of purpose from their work, and the same could be said for the Jedi. It is satisfying and humbling to be a part of something bigger than oneself and to know that collectively we are making a difference, leaving the galaxy better than we found it.”

2: what was your favorite mission?

“I’ve had so many experiences it’s difficult to pick just one.” He strokes his beard thoughtfully. “However,” he pauses and his eyes become distant, watching a memory play out like a holo that only he can see.

“There was this one mission to Mandalore, in my youth. I learned a lot that year. About my self…about what it means to be a Jedi…” he drifts off, lost in thought. A moment passes and he shakes his head wistfully as his eyes refocus as his thoughts return to the present. “My apologies. The sentimental ramblings of an old man. What other questions did you have for me?”

3: if you could give someone the ability to be Force sensitive, would you?

If I knew that they would have the guidance to understand what they were feeling and to control the powers they may find themselves with, yes. But it is not something I would want someone to experience alone; it would be overwhelming and, frankly, dangerous.

One of the best parts of being a Jedi is the sense of community. The Order is a large extended family, in a sense. It is comforting to be a part of it, to have such an extensive support network, all members ready and willing to be there for you. And if I could give someone that, along with the ability to feel the wondrous connection that is the Force, I would.”

[blueelectricroom]

Coming up on a quarter of a century ago I had the great joy of interviewing Burt Bacharach for Black & White. This was on the tail end of his 1999 South American tour and a couple of weeks before the Birmingham show.

Still can't believe how generous he was with his time, and it cracks me up that, while I have most of his music in my very DNA, I can't hear any of those iconic tunes without thinking of what Bacharach's kitchen prep sounded like. Here's the chat from November of 1999.

What’s New, Bacharach?

It’s 11:30 a.m. in Los Angeles at Burt Bacharach’s house, and judging from sounds picked up by the speaker phone, he’s rambling around trying to put some kind of breakfast or brunch together. He arrived last night from a tour in Argentina, and in his own words, he’s “kind of whacked.” Nonetheless, his conversational tone is as bright and pleasant as…well, a Bacharach tune, with a kind of stop-start inflection that keeps one guessing if more words are to follow.

“Hold on a second, don’t go anywhere”, he says before going after what sounds like more ice. A full minute later, “Are you there? Okay, good.”

Black & White: Let’s talk about your youth, specifically that time when music first began making a deep impression on you.

Burt Bacharach: 52nd Street. The jazz club scene, without question. In the late ’40s, when I’m a teenager seeing Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, those guys. I was hooked. I got caught up in what they were doing in terms of, first of all, the excitement and stirring quality of the music, but technically speaking those artists were inventing possibilities. Not merely new songs, but new sounds.

B&W: Considering the tremendous transitions in popular music from 1946 to 1966, your music seems to fall somewhere between the American songbook, Tin Pan Alley tradition, and the less mainstream realm of sophisticated time signatures, chord shifts, and other elements of the jazz sound that impressed you so much.

Bacharach:  Elements. That’s a good point. Yes, I’m sure my influences, in terms of composition, come from that, but I was also profoundly impressed, in my music studies, with Ravel and Debussy. I was intrigued very early by that music. If you want to say my songs are sophisticated, I have to credit those influences. I see what you mean by tremendous range, that’s one of the best aspects of late popular music, but you really don’t have to cover a span of 20 years. Just start with Harry James and move to Charlie Parker and you have a tremendous shift in music.

B&W: It seems that the odds would be against a songwriter, such as yourself, using complicated elements to make popular music or hit songs.

Bacharach: [laughing] Are my songs complicated?

B&W: I’ll put it in terms of a paradox: keeping time with “This Boy’s In Love,” or “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again” is a challenge. They are tricky songs, you must admit. Yet for those of us growing up in the ’60s and ’70s, your music was ubiquitous, a new song every 3 or 4 months, each with a melody that is now instantly recognized and adored.

Bacharach: Well, I certainly don’t try to make things difficult for the listener. [laughing] Sorry about that. You’ll have to admit, on the other hand, that I’m not writing anything now nearly as—let’s say complex—as “Promises, Promises.” But all along I was just trying to stay with what pleased me, what I thought sounded good. More importantly, I have always written what I was comfortable with, which meant staying with certain musical values; I wasn’t deliberately trying to be “sophisticated.” But you don’t want to write cheap, you know? It’s like being involved with a person really, when you create a song. You want to get up the next day or the next week and feel good about yourself. If a certain phrasing or 7/8 chord sounds good, I think you have to stay with it. You don’t try to anticipate what the public will like. You stay with the values.

B&W: There is another paradox in many of your songs: those infectious, upbeat melodies are accompanied by lyrics that convey poignancy or even melancholy. These songs are mindful of the pitfalls of romance, the tension involved.

Bacharach: Well, I think when you can get something like that going, that contrast, and you can put a meaningful story there, that’s what you’re after. Hal [Hal David, longtime Bacharach collaborator] is great lyric writer. He has a terrific way of taking care of certain notes, matching the right vowel with a high note, you know what I mean? A love song deals with the heart, and so with that passion everything is heightened, “I’m gonna live forever”; “each day I’m falling more in love,” that sort of feeling. We have a lot of songs like that,  I think “Anyone Who Had a Heart” gets those ideas across.

B&W: Have you ever been surprised by a particular interpretation?

Bacharach: [laughing] There have been all kind of surprises. One record that I love, really love, that’s kind of different from the way I wrote it, is Aretha Franklin doing “Say a Little Prayer.” Oh, it’s brilliant. And a surprise, certainly.

B&W: What kind of music are you most likely to listen to today?

Bacharach: Brazilian music. We just finished a South American tour; that may be why. But really it’s a kind of music from which I’ve always derived a lot of pleasure. When I worked with Sergio Mendes, and he’s great, Sergio’s wonderful; I enjoyed Brazil so much.

B&W: You are also enjoying  a new generation of fans right now. Elvis Costello, Michael Myers, and the electronica and lounge-core crowds seem universally to admire your music.

Bacharach:  I think it’s great; you can’t plan that. It’s gratifying. These kids weren’t even born when this music was first recorded. It’s not a revival, they’re hearing it for the first time. I was just so pleased that Michael Myers wanted me to be a part of the Austin Powers movies. Great guy. He’s brilliant and hilarious. Very quick. In those two scenes in those pictures, I was just laughing and smiling through the entire shot. I wasn’t acting; I found it all just too much.

B&W: Has there been a moment at which you thought to yourself, “Wow, I’ve written the soundtrack to a good portion of the 20th century?”

Bacharach: Actually, no, I’ve never said that to myself. I don’t think I will. I’m approached sometimes with compliments like that, people who talk in terms of my contribution to popular music, and it is certainly flattering. I’m very uneasy with that kind of idea, though. I’m extremely happy to do what I do for so long, with so much success, but I just can’t look at it in those terms. Having a show go well, I mean, giving a good performance is much more appealing to me.

B&W: From where you’re standing, do you know the way to San Jose?

Bacharach: Ha! Oh gosh. Well, you know I have found my own way there a couple of times. I worked with the symphony and it’s a really nice town. For specific directions, I think you’d have to ask Hal David.

[forest-babeys]

howly fuck that took long, uh

Hello! It is the mun!! After like.. way too fuckin’ long, they have returned! Your king has not abandoned you! Mun has found their password again- okay let’s just drop the mun 3rd person talk, this is serious.

So, where to begin.

I thought I lost this account for good after so many horrible things started happening at once. Breakups, familial death, mentally draining and abusive relationships, grooming, the WORKS, practically everything bad to happen to a young teen happened, but i kept on the down low so the blog could thrive. And it worked, I guess but I had a breaking point. And thus, 7 months ago the blog was left to collect dust without explanation. After a while, I wanted to come back, but..

yeah, i forgot my password.

In the end though, I suppose it was worth it, not having the choice to come back early. Without Tumblr I was able to focus on me for once. Improve, branch out, all the jazz normal artists do without the creepy creeps breathing down my neck 24/7 about what I should draw and how I should draw it. (You can’t really escape those anywhere, but holy HELL they were BOUNTIFUL in my time on tumblr) It was nice being away from some of the less than pleasant acquaintances I made and just.. starting fresh again. Off this damn app. Off social media period.

I guess you could say it was what I needed, to be away for a while. Maybe i should have stayed gone. But- in the end, I felt bad leaving everything behind. All of you askers, mostly. It was probably the right thing to do to get away from the app in general at the time, but..

Kitsune, Astronaut, Ghost, Screamer, and let us not forget the man, the myth, the anon, SkateBoard Anon, the thought of you all brought me back one last time. I couldn’t just rightfully leave you in the dark on my status. I mean, some of you thought I died, how could I just let you think that?? Anyways,

You guys built me up to be someone I could’ve never imagined being. I felt like I was someone when I came on this app, which is something I hadn’t felt in years. And even if my stories were bad, and I didn’t really have any clear end in sight, and there were several blogs before this one that I dragged you all through, i had fun with this. My silly little time on this app. I had an absolute blast doing it all with you guys by my side. This was my first taste of internet fame, and it was the best kind of fame a dummy like me could’ve asked for. A small app fame where the community i had felt like friends and family rather than strangers on the internet.

I want to thank you all for sticking through the ramblings and doodles of a sad, young teen and turn it into something a slightly less sad, older teen can look back on fondly. And if you’re still here after all of this, you are absolutely nutty, and thank you for caring so much about the artist.

Unfortunately, I don’t think I will be continuing the ask blog. It was fun while it lasted, but I think I wrecked this train the second i kept going after Millennial Tree Cookie was saved that one time. Slice of life should’ve stayed slice of life, really.

I’ll leave any other socials I own below in case you still want to follow the works of this ol geezer. I have to warn you, I haven’t gotten much better at the social media thing. And if not, then this is farewell.

This is the end of the Forest Babeys blog. I’m sorry it had to crash and burn before whatever “grand finale” I could make up was made, but I just.. can’t look at this blog the same way I used to anymore. I’ll still leave it up as always, new readers can come and go whenever they please and see the journeys we had, maybe come up with their own, better interpretations of what we made here. I leave that to you.

——

mun’s instagram (currently active) @konjkitkat

[ducktracy]

I think I sent you an ask like this forever ago but I honestly can't remember if I did or not..? I've been following ur art stuff for a while and been in a server where you were there.. we barely talked but I remember you made me a specific Looney tunes Google doc full of all the episodes bc I said I wanted to watch some. I still have that doc too but idk if the links work or not anymore? Idk but you always seemed super cool and I thought ur passion for animation and art in general was like..so swag. I used to be big into animation and wanting to make that into a career but found I'm happier doing freelance stuff. And I'm all over the place with what medium I'm using and what kind of art I make. I tend to ramble but I just wanted to say that I see your stuff on my dash occasionally and I'm like OMG IVE LIKE..SPOKEN TO THAT PERSON A FEW TIMES.. your artwork is legendary okay that is all 🥺✌️

Also I'm very aware you get a lot of asks and my ask was long so I'm not worried about a response really just wanted to let u know my appreciation for ur stuff! You're one of those artists I've followed for a while (I'd say maybe a few years at this point) and I can say that I've seen improvement like majorly and that legit inspires me so much to continue drawing and improving my work.

OH MY GOODNESS HI WADE!!! THIS IS SO SO SO SWEET i don’t recall getting an ask from you before BUT THAT COULD BE FAULTY MEMORY ON MY PART… I DO REMEMBER MAKING THAT DOC i think i still have it myself!! when i get a chance i’ll go back and update the links to the highest quality copies that i have and let you know! that is so kind of you :’)

THIS IS SO SWEEEEEEEEET I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN!! ENJOY THE FREEDOM OF FREELANCE! i love working in animation, but it shouldn’t be the end all/be all!! i’ve done some freelance stuff myself unrelated to animation that has been just as rewarding :) you don’t have to confine yourself to one medium either!! HONESTLY the more areas you work in, the more experience you’ll have and the more it’ll help in the long run… i love experimenting with everything and try to change up which style or medium i draw in! EXPERIMENT DO IT ALL JUST HAVE FUN!!

DON’T WORRY I AM A CHRONIC RAMBLER MYSELF HAHAHAHA THIS IS SO SWEET THOUGH i seriously wish i could articulate myself better!! but i swear i read every word this is SO KIND and i’m so glad you think that!! :’) this is so so so so so very sweet and the fact that you took time out of your day to send this is very much appreciated!! i am SO happy to hear i can inspire you!! that’s definitely one of my biggest goals in life no matter what form that inspiration takes place in, so to hear this REALLY means a lot!! I BELIEVE IN YOU AND KNOW YOU ARE GONNA CREATE GREAT THINGS!! let’s both keep improving and kicking art’s ass together!! THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS!!

[witch-hazels-musings]

Hello Hazel! Your last post broke my heart and I’ve been thinking about it and if it was ok for me to reply. I’ve been following you for a while and tho most of the time I’m very silent because I get anxious and feel annoying I appreciate the time you take to answer to people in here. I just wanted to say that it sucks that you feel like having to be positive about this situation, and I know saying that doesn’t help but it really makes me very sad to see the creators I like feel discouraged to keep writing because of the lack of engagement in replies and reblogs. I’m not a writer but I am an artist and I know how frustrating it can be to get little to practically no recognition in your work. I don’t think it is ungrateful wanting your work, especially if is something people have asked for, go unnoticed, and seeing how you still try to not let it affect you makes me want to cry. You and your blog feel like a safe space, and every time I see you in my dash I get very happy. I feel very comfortable when I read your works, and even tho we don’t know each other, your overall existence here feels like a hug from a really good friend.

I feel hopeless because saying all of this isn’t actually helping to the situation, but I really want you to know that you are very appreciated (I even made a side blog some months ago to rb all the works I like from the writers I like yours included, obviously).

I kept rambling and I’m not sure where I was going, but I hope you can have a more positive experience from now on. I really want to give you and all the other authors in the same situation some encouragement and I wish I could do something to help, but as a small blog I don’t get many interactions.

You were one of the first blogs I followed and kinda introduced me to this kind of works, and to be completely honest it helped me more than once to feel less alone (hope that doesn’t sound silly). I know I repeat myself a lot, I guess I’m not very good at expressing my thoughts, but it really feels cozy and comforting to read them.

-a heartbroken zuzu anon not the writer

Ps. I saw there’s an author here that also goes by Zuzu, and it kinda made me feel bad for not noticing before since the few asks I sent were signed off as zuzu. I’m sorry if that ever caused any confusion. If there’s a way to make it less confusing or you prefer for me to change my nickname I’ll gladly do it.

hiiii -- I know you mentioned in here you weren’t sure if your message was clear but honestly this hit home so well. it’s hard to convey my real thoughts sometimes and I worry I’m being so rude when I share things like this, so to read your message and be able to soak in what I really want to say because you could see through my words and hit right to the point -- so even though you were uncertain, i saw you just as much as you saw me, so thank you. 

I’m so excited to hear about your side blog to share and encourage writers and to keep a selection of works you really enjoy! even if you don’t have a lot of followers, it means so much and let me tell you, I remember the people who reblog my works often -- it’s like having someone walk by my shelve of stories and take a copy - it’s such a cool feeling! 

thank you for this message, you didn’t have to take the time to send something in, but you really did make me smile (and cry a little) with your words -- and I hope you can start to feel the love with your artwork! I’d love to see it sometime :)

(oh, and I usually know if it’s the author zuzu whose messaging me but now I know a little more about you, Zuzu! thank you for sharing more with me and allowing me the opportunity to get to know you <3) 

[eldritchazure]

i have a surak-era oc who i’m gonna ramble about here from time to time.

he’s from t’paal because i’m Fascinated by that region for some reason. i really wish there was more info on it but alas. i’ll have to make shit up as i go. he was born in one of the enclaves but i’m thinking he was raised in a temple of akraana there.

(people don’t know what the goddess akraana presided over, only that she was the wife(?) of the war god khosarr, so i’m gonna make things up. i’m thinking she was some kind of goddess of magic, prophecy, and art because it’s convenient and also cool. also since one of the enclaves where her disciples lived is now an artists’ enclave so it works. her worshippers were kinda like a mystery cult, similar to the cult of despoina, hence why people don’t know what her deal was today. sorry for the info dump, i find this kind of thing REALLY interesting so i think about it A Lot.)

so this guy was a disciple of akraana and raised in one of her temples. the reason why he was sent there as a child was because he had these “visions” of the past and the future. the actual reason for the “visions” was that his mind was frequently temporally displaced. not permanently or constantly like spock’s was in disco, but it kind of came and went? like he’d be going about his day and then all of a sudden BAM there’s gonna be a horrible famine here At Some Point in the Near Future. or BAM someone was murdered horrifically at this spot A Very Long Time Ago. or someone was born at this spot and a lot of people were full of joy about it A Very Long Time Ago. he couldn’t tell when exactly things happened/would happen, only vague impressions. this is why he was dropped off at the temple by his parents. they didn’t know how to deal with the visions and figured the temple people might. is this logical or at all responsible parenting? definitely not. but i’m thinking the visions put great mental strain on him and by extension his parents through the familial bonds so maybe sending him to live with the people who specialized in that kind of thing would be able to take care of him better. whether or not that’s true remains to be seen.

i have no idea how the temporal displacement happened, or why it isn’t like how spock’s was. at this point it’s plot convenience. idk maybe it’s some weirdo space entity?? idk idk. anywho he mistook the weirdo space entity for akraana (or maybe it was akraana. who knows. ANYWAY.)

so yeah he gets these visions. maybe they slowly drive him a little mad? i don’t know!! i’ll figure it out, or maybe i won’t. but yeah he gets visions and then writes them down in a bunch of notebooks over his life. he doesn’t know what most modern things are so they’re written through a kind of fantastical/mythological lens. he predicts different wars with aliens but he doesn’t know they’re aliens so he calls them like, demons or spirits or whatever. even technology that could be found at that time he probably didn’t know about, because i’m imagining that the temple/area he was raised in was one of the ones that was generally against technology. so if he were to predict the radiation from the nuclear weapons being used at the time, people wouldn’t know what he meant until it was happening.

eventually the notebooks are found and now they’re in a museum somewhere displaying the history of the region. most historians dismiss his prophecies as the ramblings of a madman but those who look closely enough do admit it is somewhat eerie how they seem to mirror a lot of big historical events.

for example, a ship full of vengeful demons wearing the faces of vulcans emerging from a portal, who will consume t’khasi from the inside out.

anywho. at the moment his name is tova. this is subject to change. his story is pretty barebones at the moment and is little more than a concept that i’ve written out here in a very long winded post. i’ll probably flesh it out some more, add some much needed Drama and probably a healthy serving of Angst, as you do.

[villanevehaus]

( coffee emoji but im on my computer and cant use emojis and also this doesnt really match the prompt but whatever ) if you could come up with your own original lesbian love story for a book or movie what would it be? like in a hypothetical world where they actually greenlit lesbian movies that were good more frequently than once a decade - letterboxdanon

jwhdjwje letterboxdanon this does not fit the prompt at ALL ?? but i will still answer bc 1. ily and 2. what an opportunity !!! also very flattered by the implication that my hypothetical greenlit story/movie would be good, tyvm

i actually do have an original story in the works, but its veeerryy on the backburner atm and was also kind of just, given to me?? for some reason i have the ability to lucid dream while adjusting just how lucid said dream is, so this dream (where i got this story from) was happening and i was able to sit back and see where it was going, decided i didnt like where it was going, backed it up to a previous point, and let it continue again, etc. im also often able to kind of. inhabit? some of the characters either directly (controlling them as Me) or indirectly (assuming Their pov) while it unfolds.

i feel like the story itself is quite basic, tbh: semi medieval setting, rich lavish powerful castle guy is holding a business/political event, inviting other lords/families. the wife of one of the attendants was married to her husband as a publicity move bc he needed a wife in order to do Business stuff so she doesnt fit in with the aristocrat-y, royal types. the daughter of the powerful castle guy doesnt want to inherit the responsibility of being The Main Family. they find comfort in one another over this weeklong event thing bc first woman doesnt have to navigate politics she doesnt understand/care about or put on a Happy Wife act, and the daughter woman is able to be herself without catering an appearance to someone who might just want to use her for political gain. theres a fucked up violent thing that has to happen in order for said daughter to inherit the house, other woman is horrified to learn what will happen to the woman she's grown to love, tries to intervene, shit hits the fan, etc. plot-wise it was actually quite dense but a happy ending ofc. ive thought about doing it as a graphic novel actually bc the visuals were very striking (surprise i am also a visual artist- art school and everything).

for other hypotheticals tho i dont have any particular Stories, moreso things id like to see more of (or less of) in lesbian media: id KILL to see more butches. more realistic lesbian sex. no more cheating plot points oh my god why are those everywhere. also this might sound jaded but less coming of age stories, more happy and settled older people stories. let people see what happens once all the scary newness goes away and you settle into your life. also more stories that arent About being gay, but are just gay? if that makes sense. there isnt plot stuff about the sexuality (crisis, denial, realization, whatever) its just like. a story that's gay.

this is very self indulgent and also something i am literally only now just thinking about so its not exactly put together but i would love a story about the lesbian experience of exclusion from womanhood. i see stories about how it alienates you from your family or your belief system or how your female friends are with men, but i want to see something that depicts the loneliness, and then goes on to depict the community and acceptance of the self. not so much "ive found other people who love me yay" but the really hard kind of self love that ive found ive personally had to do thats like. making peace with the fact that in order for you to be happy and truly yourself, you Have to leave some sort of "social currency/acceptability" behind. coming into the self. unlearning societal conditioning??? i am rambling now and am cutting myself off

send me ☕️ + [topic] and i’ll tell you my opinion on it!

[lawain-dimensional-heroes]

Okay, I’ve been thinking about how to say this after already voicing my opinion of Sonic Frontier’s “vandalize” by ONE OK ROCK and I think I’ll go into a little bit of a deeper detail.

Now before I go on a rant I do want to say that I got into Sonic at an early age-- back when Sonic X and by that the Sonic Adventures series were made, the series where Crush 40 first started to make music for the Sonic series as far as I can remember and I honestly love their music when I was a kid-- and I still do. And with how long the Sonic series have kept a similar kind of energy/vibe in their music, I kinda have a feeling that the Sonic series in terms of their music are mostly filled with that kind of energy.

So with that in mind...Let me ramble about this song.

So the song Vandalize...I don’t hate it-- actually, out of context, it’s one hell of a great banger-- but then again, it’s ONE OK ROCK-- they consistently make great songs and honestly they’re a band where their music I take inspirations from when making characters.

But in context of it being used in a Sonic game-- where the franchise-- especially in the current modern era and the Dreamcast era where Crush 40 was like SEGA’s go-to for making Sonic themes and where the themes are mostly fast, feeling with energy that encapsulates the overall vibe that Sonic has, this song feels a tad bit off to me, cause Vandalize feels like a song used in anime. And the lyrics though, it feels far different from the usual Sonic songs.

Yeah, this may be their first time doing a collaboration with SEGA-- or the Sega Team in that case (I really am not sure which one is correct), but I feel like it kinda is kind of more chill when it comes to overall energy of it and to be honest, when I first heard the song I felt like someone made a AMV with a ONE OK ROCK song on it-- which that was a few minutes before I realized it was a legit Sonic song.

I’m aware that Sonic Frontier is an Open World game so maybe that’s why the vibe seems less energetic. But I’m still torn about it, cause the band is no stranger to making more energetic songs and I can easily see them making a banger song that fits the whole vibe the Sonic series mostly has during and after the Dreamcast era.

I’m also aware that the Sonic series isn’t always about high energy-- hell, His World is one of those things-- and Sonic had a way different vibe when it comes to it’s songs and music before the Dreamcast era.

And I’m also aware that the Sonic Adventure was released 23 years-- almost 24 years ago, so I won’t be surprised if the series starts to collaborate with some of the other artist and maybe their vibe is starting to change a bit to reflect the series’ growth. To be honest, with the fact that SEGA helped make the Project Diva series I was surprised that there’s no real collab yet with Sonic when it comes to music-- unless there’s one already, but that’s beside the point.

But yeah, so far I’m torn-- cause in one hand I love ONE OK ROCK and the songs they make-- even this one. And on the other hand the fact that it’s a Sonic song makes me feel like it’s kinda a diversion from the series’ usual kind of music.

And if it’s going to be the new vibe of music the series will go in the future then I’ll need some time to get used to it I’ll be honest about that. But I think the whole vibe will grow on me.

All and all, as a standalone song: great song, highly recommend you listen to it. As a Sonic Song: a diversion from the standard high energy music, but it’s not the first song that diverged from the usual vibe the series has.

[doitwrite]

"Prompt #159: The portrait of Van Gogh stared at me wherever I sat down in the room."

Painted

The first time I noticed it was my first night on the job. My supervisor, Rusty, was explaining to me how the CCTV system worked, but I was only half-listening because I recognized the security system—it was the same one that the Stern Museum used, where I’d been transferred from. Same console, same slightly grainy footage that always seemed watered down.

“Anyway, you can change the direction of the cameras like this.” She reached over and moved the camera pointed down the Contemporary Artist exhibit. I rolled my eyes internally. Honestly, even though I’d worked as an art museum security guard for over a decade now, I still thought that modern art was pointless. Half the time they just splash some shit on a canvas and call it “art,” and the worst part is that rich assholes are just raring to buy that stuff for millions of dollars. I’d considered becoming a “modern artist” myself because the money seemed so easy, but my dignity wouldn’t let me. Besides, I enjoyed being a security guard. I love how the museum grows still and silent after closing, as the night seeps in through the huge windows. I love how my occasional rounds make me feel like the entire place is just for me, a private exhibition all to myself. I squinted at the screen as Rusty rambled on. There was a recreation of that self-portrait that Van Gogh made, only it was deep red and brown. You know how his style is all swirls and shit, and the brushstrokes make the pieces feel kind of dreamlike? This one was not like that. For one, it was massive, taking up almost the entire wall on the east side of the room, a behemoth compared to the rest of the pieces in there, none of which could have been much longer or wider than two feet. It looked like he was guarding the rest of the room, but something about the way the eyes were almost too large gave me the impression that Van Gogh wasn’t so much protecting the place as he was making sure nothing escaped. Rusty noticed the monitor I was staring at.

“Yeah, they’re still moving all the stuff in there, so just don’t go in there for now. We’ve got tighter security on that room- motion detectors, alarms, that sort of thing. Just make sure you keep an eye on it when you make your rounds, huh? I’ll be on the third floor if you need anything, just for tonight.”

***

It was 4am. I took another sip of the now-lukewarm coffee and rubbed my tired eyes. Time for another round. The swivel chair squeaked as I stood, groaning as I stretched, when I noticed it. I would have missed it if my eyes hadn't happened to pass over the screen. I rubbed my eyes, then stared hard. It was unmistakable. Van Gogh was gone. Sudden confusion and alarm woke me up better than the cold coffee could have as I seized my flashlight and keys, then snatched the walkie up. I pressed the button. A burst of static.

“Hey, uh. It’s Tim.”

I waited for a response. Nothing.

“Rusty?”

Silence.

It was almost like something out of a horror movie, only I never believed in any of that shit. I grabbed my phone, dialing Rusty’s number as I rewound the footage for the camera. The ring played faintly as I waited. Beep. Beep. None of the alarms had been tripped, that at least I was sure of. I squinted. The sped-up footage looked like it was a still picture, the only part of the screen that changed at all was the rapidly decreasing timestamp in the upper right hand corner. Still no Van Gogh. Then suddenly, he was back on the wall. I stopped the footage, the back of my neck prickling. I couldn’t believe it. One second he was on the wall, the next he wasn’t. Like the portrait had teleported. I checked the time stamp over and over—it must have glitched or something, but the numbers showed that there was no gap in the time that the painting was on the wall to the time that it suddenly wasn’t.

“Hello?” I jumped so badly that I nearly knocked the thermos over. I shoved the phone against my ear.

“Hey, uh. So you know that painting of Van Gogh in the new gallery?”

“Yeah, that big scary red thing. Kinda creepy, isn’t it?”

“Yes, well. It’s not there anymore.”

“I’m sorry, what? You mean someone came in and took it?”

“No, it’s just.” I hesitated, knowing I was about to sound crazy. “It’s just gone. I rewound the footage, and it doesn't show anyone coming in or anything. No alarms went off. It’s just not there anymore.”

“Huh. That’s pretty fuckin’ weird. You’re not messing with me, are you?”

I bristled. “Hell no. Come and look at it, I’ve got the footage right here.”

“Okay, I’m coming down there. You better not be messing with me.”

“I swear. But I’m staying right here, I don’t wanna go out there alone. I’m kinda freaking out here.” I chewed my thumbnail nervously.

A few minutes later, Rusty was rewinding through the footage herself, frowning.

“There! See?” She rewound the place where the painting disappeared, just as I did.

“You’re right. That’s…well, more than weird. We should go down there to check.”

I shivered. I didn’t want to seem like a coward, but this shit was getting way too weird for me. Plus, that portrait of Van Gogh was scary as hell.

“Well…okay. As long as we don’t have to split up.”

“What are you, a baby?”

“Are you kidding? Did you not see that picture just disappear?”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“I don’t know, maybe the camera’s malfunctioning or something. But we’ll never know if we stay here yapping.”

I shook my head in disbelief, but Rusty just rolled her eyes.

We stepped out of the surveillance booth, and Rusty locked the door. I kept a hand on my baton, but I wasn’t even sure what I would be fighting with it. A ghost? I shook my head. There’s no such thing, dammit. But my heart was thrumming in my throat anyway.

The new art gallery was on the first floor, so we took the elevator down. The doors dinged open, revealing the doors at the end of the hall. The art gallery lay just beyond, waiting. I gulped nervously, but Rusty seemed completely fine, marching briskly toward the doors. I hung back a little.

“Aren’t you at least a little nervous?”

“No one’s going to be causing trouble in my museum, not on my watch. If it’s some people playing a joke, they’re gonna be real sorry.”

She shoved the doors open, unceremoniously. We stared at the east wall. Van Gogh was back, and in person it was twice as awful as on the monitor. The huge red eyes, the nightmarish background of violent reds and ragged streaks of black. What made it worse was its immensity: it was at least twice as tall as me and four times as wide, and I’m a big guy.

“Huh. Well, that’s odd, isn’t it?” She walked right next to the painting, where she’d be in frame of the surveillance camera. Rusty peered up at the security cam as I looked around behind us. I couldn’t hear or see anything odd, though. She waved her arms.

“Hey, check the camera.”

I pulled out the surveillance tablet. Sure enough, Rusty and the painting were both in frame, looking perfectly normal. Well, as normal as a terrifying painting can be, anyway. I shook my head in disbelief.

“Well, you’re both there.” I started to rewind the footage as I spoke. When did the painting get replaced? Just like when it disappeared, the footage seemed to show the painting suddenly reappearing. A few seconds later, Rusty came into frame.

“Hey, I-” I looked up. I was alone. Rusty and Van Gogh were both gone. Cold fear sank its teeth into the back of my neck. No fucking way. I considered, then immediately dismissed the idea that she was somehow playing a prank on me. That painting was gigantic, even I’d have a hard time lifting it, and Rusty was about twice as small as me. I was suddenly very aware of how alone I was. I snapped my head around, looking for movement, straining my ears for sound. The rest of the exhibit lay quiet and unassuming, the only thing audible was the sound of my nervous breaths. Okay. I took a shaky breath in. There were only three exits to this room. The one we came in from, and one to the left and right of the Van Gogh painting. I would have noticed Rusty is she’d ducked around me, so I ruled out the door behind me. I whipped around nervously again. I couldn’t see anything, but I hated the unpleasant feeling of not being able to see behind me. I sprinted over to the wall and turned, so my back was to it. There. Now nothing should be able to sneak up on me. I looked down at the surveillance screen in my slightly shaking hands. I was hesitant to rewind the footage…I didn’t know what I would see.

And then the lights went out.

My stomach plummeted as the suffocating darkness suddenly enveloped me, the only source of light the soft glow of the surveillance footage as Rusty speed-walked backward. My hand, already in motion, pressed the play button. I swallowed, staring at the screen as if transfixed. Rusty walked into frame again, then turned to face me.

And suddenly, that awful, bloody painting filled the frame, leering up into the camera. I screamed and dropped the tablet, and it clattered onto the ground. My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, and I couldn’t see anything except for the faint glow of the screen on the ground. Fear was prickling its way all over my screen. What the hell was going on? I made a wild grab for the tablet, but it skittered away, out of my reach. Like someone had kicked it, only I didn’t see anything. I gasped and pulled back, cowering against the wall. It was suddenly suffocatingly cold, like someone pressing ice into my nose, my eyes—

***

The portrait of the security guard stared at me whenever I sat down in the room. Interesting choice for a painting, I guess, but whatever. I squinted at the grainy screen of the surveillance camera in the modern art gallery. It was pretty scary, I’ll give it that. The person in the portrait looked absolutely terrified, mouth stretched open in a scream.

They say that the last guard and supervisor disappeared, which is why I’ve got such a good paycheck coming in: no one wanted the job after that. I snorted.

I’d be more scared if I believed in that kinda shit, which I don’t.

[fridirikkikichitumbrrr]

I: yes please

P: Thank you. Oh, this question is especially for Glenn. I Think its obvious that her work is has a critical humorous satirical component that is critiquing our institutions critiquing the art world and particular how we sell our value all oof those things. And it’s sometimes very true and very funny and uhm powerful but my question is how much of this could simply be in an article? Do we need this kind of real estate space devoted? And this applies to other show that MoMa has done recently too, that seems to take a lot of space to make very witty essentially verbal point and political points that are very true but it’s a lot of space devoted too it.

I: well I’ll let Roxanna answer part oof that question but certainly from my point of view Louise’s work isn’t only about an institutional critique or even an institutional investigation or an assertion of a set of feminist value I think it’s also highly visual in other words I find her ability to navigate between the almost microscopic and the monumental visually exciting and I think that for me the revelation about Louise was that here’s an artist who looks very carefully whose images are extraordinarily concise you this they are really beautifully constructed. And often from me appreciated at a kind oof conventional scale even if that scale, you know, is larger than an eight by ten but still very much a conventional scale and they’re very satisfying because when you look at her work you inevitably discover something even about your own institution you weren’t aware of. How a label is not perfectly aligned. How our fetish for lighting can in fact distort the way a work is actually seen or just how a beautifully how casual a work of art can be laid on the ground as if it were a pillow and then suddenly becomes something priceless when its location is altered and its hung on the wall all these things she makes us acutely aware oof that I think are fascinating but what I discovered n the show was how powerful her work is when she scales I differently way and I mean it gong in booth direction her ability to condense and concentrate our liking by going to the almost microscopic and her ability to exhilarate us by suddenly taking something we thought we understood and making it utterly unfamiliar so of it takes a certain amount oof real estate to explore both her work in all of its visual dimensions as well as all of its intellectual dimensions I’m grateful that we have the space to that and i think one oof our goals one of our commitments is to try too and be the kind of institution that can be generous with artist to give them the space they need to work at the scale they want whether it’s as large as Louise or as a small as somebody else might choose. You Know I don’t think this Is only about some kind oof political statement on her part. That’s a rambling answer to a good question.

[emmareviewsstuff]

Alex pt. 1

The second song on Taylors album is titled Maroon.

I know what you’re thinking – didn’t we have an entire album about this, already? Or at least a synonym close to it?

But, after giving it a few days, Maroon grew on me.

There are a million ways to interpret a single song, and any artist can tell you this. While they may have written it for a distinct purpose, a stadium full of people will sing it back for thousands of different reasons, some of them completely unfathomable to the original writer.

This isn’t to say that my interpretation and association of Maroon couldn’t be exactly as Dr. Swift has intended it to be, but it is to say that I will never know.

And isn’t there beauty in not knowing?

“The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was The mark you saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones The lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon”

As soon as I heard the chorus of this song – or rather, once I sat and listened to it a few hundred times, it started to grow on me. At first, I thought the lyrics were a bit…lacking in their intensity, but I will always be an Evermore/Folklore woman at heart, so it’s understandable that my intolerance for baseline rhyme-schemes and predictable sentence structure would reach such high heights. I mean, you can’t set the bar so high and then give us the lyric “Karma is a cat sitting on my lap”, right?

Right????

But this isn’t the point, here.

The chorus of this song started to grow on me, when I started to think of it from my perspective, and not Taylor’s. A hard thing to do in an album marketed as twelve of her hardest midnights to get through, but I’m nothing if not narcissistic, so I pulled through.

I know, I know. Woe is me.

So, I guess this is a good a time as any for me to come out of the closet.

Who had that on their bingo card? Go on, I’ll give you a second to cross it off.

I mean, come on. “The Lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon”. How can I not talk about a girl, here? The door is wide open.

((While I won't tell you everything here, I will introduce you. Take the metaphorical first step-- get comfortable in these new shoes of 'honesty' I'm wearing with you all. You'll have to mind the abrupt endings, as I navigate this foreign territory. Some things we're used to doing, and not writing about. But the only way to be used to writing about them, is TO write about them...right? I'm rambling.))

Anyways. Let's meet Alex.

There isn’t much for me to say about Alex (a lie), other than she was a shot in the dark, and we both knew going into it that nothing would work out. Those kinds of relationships can do two things to you: turn you into a hopeless romantic or make you completely reckless. If you’re lucky, it will do both.

Ironically, we met in a bar in New York, in which this song takes place (New York, not a bar, though with Dr. Swifts history it could very well have been a bar, we will never know) and we spent a week together barely sleeping and causing havoc up and down the coast. All the way from New York to Maine, it was a beautiful and crazy ride.

I still remember having pale red lipstick marks on my arms, my neck, my cheeks every single morning – I always woke up after her, and she would think it was the funniest thing in the world to watch me try and get bright red lipstick off my pale ass face.

“What if we moved to New York and bought an apartment in SoHo?”

“That would be very ‘eccentric hippie aunt’ of us.”

“We aren’t aunts, though?”

“I guess we’re going to have to find some kids to take in so they can be influenced by our awesome ways, then.”

Conversations like this happened often between Alex and I – A week in New York travelling turned into two weeks in DC, but winter is never kind, especially to new lovers. But this is new, still, and exciting, and maybe I want to draw it out between more than one sad Taylor Swift song.

Maybe I think we deserve to know a little bit more about Alex. We’re just dipping our toes in here – pulling a Dr. Swift and introducing the new main character in the briefest of ways, just to see what their affect might be.

While Maroon signaled reluctant endings, hopeless love, and deep passion to me – something that Alex and I shared in droves, I think I’d like to continue telling you about Alex with the iconic (can a new song be iconic?) Snow on The Beach…

[adaycalledx]

horrendously long ramble coming ahead

or: a letter to myself after 10 years of being on the 'net.

October 14th, 2022 will mark 10 years of being an active member of online communities. I can remember it like it was yesterday, really. I was 11 years old, had just started middle school, and I was super into watching the new episode of Lego Ninjago every Wednesday night with my little brother.

It was a Sunday, and like nearly always, I was on the family computer in the living room of my dad’s apartment, scrolling through the forums of fanfiction.net (which I had only recently discovered looking for Harry Potter stories) when I found a roleplay forum. At the time, I didn’t really know what it meant, but it sparked my interest. There were people – just like me – who liked the same things I did, who wanted to live in that fantasy world. You could even create your own character.

So I made mine.

It was a thinly, thinly veiled self-insert. Horrible characterization, gross misunderstanding of Japanese culture, and realistically one of the more annoying things the people there would have seen. They accepted me, though.

The people there became my first “internet friends”, a term that I didn’t even really get. We’d had enough internet safety classes in school for me to know that I shouldn’t use my real name, and I didn’t for the longest time. I definitely made up a lot of things about myself too. I guess I wanted to be interesting or something.

I stopped talking to most of them around 2013, and by early 2014, I had migrated to DeviantArt, then to Tumblr. I met so many wonderful people there, too. I was allowed to be myself – the weird, geeky, annoying middle schooler that I was made fun of for in real life.

I had friends.

I had fallouts.

I deleted my first blog in 2017 after a nasty argument with a former friend.

I have a lot of regrets.

Most of my friendships fizzled out. I don’t have anybody I talk to from before 2018, save a few I occasionally check in on.

Their ghosts linger, though.

Sometimes I stumble across some of my old art on abandoned blogs. Sometimes I’ll scroll back through old Discord messages. I’ve brute-forced old passwords into old accounts, just to see what I left there.

I occasionally cross paths with old friends. Someone who was a follower of mine in 2013 ended up being an artist I started looking up to again in 2019, and I didn’t even realize it until recently.

I reach out sometimes. More often than not, I don’t get a response. That’s fair, I suppose. For those who are inactive, it makes sense, and for those that are still online, most want to bury that phase in the ground. Nostalgia isn’t for everyone.

I think back, though, back to that October day in 2012.

Who knew what kind of snowball it led to?

It was before so many things went wrong in my personal life. It was before I had any real responsibilities or worries. I was happy then. I was “cringe” maybe, still into Warriors and Skrillex and quoting asdfmovie in an attempt to make people like me. I was free, though.

I often fantasize about going back to then with what I know now. Academically I’d do great, of course, and I’d logically grow into a much better artist with an extra ten years of practice under my belt. I’d have a much better grip on what I wanted to do with my life and how to achieve it. I’d be able to brace for what was to come in my family.

Socially though? Fuck.

I’d know who to avoid. I’d know who I needed to be more careful around. I’d know who to become friends with a lot quicker. Who to keep in touch with longer.

I could hold onto those memories again.

The Skype calls, the rabb.it rooms, the stupid GoAnimate memes I would make with my group of best friends. The art trades. The memes quickly made in MSPaint to upload to imgur. The hours upon hours of chatting and roleplaying.

It’s not really productive to fantasize like this, but who doesn’t want a do-over?

I’m not really sure what the point of this extended ramble is. Maybe it’s a cry for help, or a love letter to all the friends who will never read it, or maybe it’s a treatise to my preteen self.

Maybe I don’t want to be her.

If anything, I’d like to give her a hug. Maybe a few warnings. Tell her that ultimately, everything is going to be okay. We’ll make it out alive, even if it kills us.

I would have liked that, back then.

If you read this, thanks, I suppose, for putting up with this shambolic mess. I’ve always been into memories and keeping the person I once was alive. It’s not healthy, I know.

To all my old friends - Vin, Larry, Ned, Inky, Kat, Dez, all of you that won’t see this – thanks for shaping pieces of me. I can only hope I did the same for you.

To my enemies – the old friends – I’m sorry.

To my child self – take care of yourself. Get your homework done, study for your science test, draw something for Duck (you don’t know who they are yet… or, well, you do, but that’s a different story for a different day), don’t worry about how people look at you. They don’t matter nearly as much as you think they do.

This is nearly a thousand words, fuck.

Guess I’ll sign this off, then, with a old few usernames for old times sake.

Love,

pxachfxzz, santropezpeach, twosidesofkeithmoon, exactly-who, squeeging, magicdoughnuts, blahblee7.

Love,

Me.

[miekasa]

love talk

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: it’s not important that eren is a tattoo artist i just wanted to share bc i gave him tattoos here :’), fluff i think, smut/nsfw content, if you see a hint of eremin then no you don’t </2

+ word count: almost 2k, sickening innit luv

+ notes: yeah, still thinking about eren speaking german during sex bc he’s losing his mind hehe. i suppose this is the… softer version. might post another one later, who knows. and yes, i did almost name this pussy talk. 

Unbeknownst to him, Eren Jaeger speaks three languages.

The first two are obvious, but English is his preferred language; the one you’ll find him speaking most often. It only makes sense, seeing as it’s what the overwhelming majority of people, media, and signs spew at him.

The second is more reserved; something you might assume given his name, but not know for sure unless you asked, or stuck around long enough to catch him rambling excitedly to Armin in German, with broken slang phrases of English interspersed. It’s fascinating—cute, moreover—the way he stumbles back and forth between both tongues; and the difference in tone between them. You’re not sure if your own bias is peeking through, but you’re certain Eren and Armin both sound a little… meaner in German; more sarcastic, at the very least—and you wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were talking shit the whole time.

Though, there is a special, reserved intonation to his mother tongue that shows itself when Eren’s around you. It doesn’t seem to be by choice—gone beyond comprehension that he’s forced to revert to grunted expressions and curses in a language foreign to his surroundings. You assume them to be curses; you never can confirm, and Eren seems to not even be aware of his switching in the heat of the moment, can never quite recall what he was saying to you.

There are times when he’s reduced to mere sounds, no comprehensible words between the hundreds of thousands he knows—only guttural moans, and breathy sighs, and he seems to not even be able to understand himself. You have to admit, it’s a bit of an ego boost to be able to fuck your boyfriend stupid in two languages.

And at first glance, Eren doesn’t seem like the type of guy to know about anything outside of himself. He doesn’t seem like the full-sleeve, three ear piercing, tattoo artist kinda kid; but Eren Jaeger speaks the language of pictures, of symbols, of images, that he is able to decipher and give meaning to upon creation. He’s got a penchant for art, and a vision bigger than himself, so it’s only right that he takes his knowledge and applies it in its most permanent form. The tattoos are more than a hobby for him—they’re an extension of himself, his art, his language; and his body is the only canvas fit enough to capture them.

So, here, with Eren laying on his back, chest exposed, arms bent for his hands to rest against your waist, you get to see the culmination of all the words and all the pictures, from all the languages he’s deemed important enough to find a place on his skin.

“Do all of your tattoos have a meaning?” you question, reaching your hand up to trace over the delicate waves that ride along his right collarbone.

“No,” Eren winces when you move—just enough of him to feel an ounce of friction inside of you, but not enough to give him what he wants. He wiggles himself a bit, desperate for something, “Not at all.”

It makes you chuckle, with a sort of disbelief, at both his words and his actions, “You get things tattooed on your body that don’t mean anything to you?”

Eren lets out a shaky breath, followed with a boyish smile. He blinks at you slowly, lids fluttering and hands gripping tightly at your body, “Learned that not everything has to have a deep meaning to want to keep it around,” he tells you, right palm moving to venture over your tummy, and up your sides, “Somethings you just love.”

You don’t miss the lilt in his voice on the word ‘love,’ but you play it off, rolling your eyes at his deliberately sweet affections, and then, gently, your hips, “Pretty poetic for something with no meaning.”

“Yeah, well, Armin taught me that,” Eren grits, hands fastening themselves at your hips again.

“You talk about Armin a lot when we’re in bed you know,” you taunt him, moving your fingers to trace over more of the tattoos that litter his right shoulder, “Something I should know about?”

Eren shivers at the feeling—of your fingertips on his skin, and what he swears was an intentional clench around him, “You don’t seem to mind.”

You smile at him, enjoying the contortions of his face when you run your hands down his chest, palms pressed lightly against his pelvic bone. Eren bends a knee, but does he best to remain still, and you can’t help but to chuckle. He looks pretty when he’s trying his best.

“I’m greedy,” you tell him, raising your hips, and pausing in your words as you slowly lower yourself back on to him.

“Trust me,” Eren scoffs, a façade to cover up his reddening cheeks and shaky thighs, “I know.”

He tries to move his hips up, desperate for something more; for you to fucking move, but, you keep your hips perfectly still. Instead, you reach your arms behind you, and onto Eren’s thighs, cementing them to the bed. He groans, his hands sliding down to your own thighs, fingertips digging into your flesh.

“And you called me greedy,” you huff, amused, as Eren rolls his eyes beneath you. When you’re sure he’s not going to move, you bring your arms back around, palms splayed on his stomach, “Relax. This is what you asked for, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, in an ideal world, this would be happening when I was playing COD, not when I was already impossibly hard with morning wood. And with a lot less teasing on your part.”

You have to laugh—genuinely giggle—at Eren’s blunt honesty. He’s unintentionally charming; another linguistic skill he seems unaware that he’s proficient in. You can tell he doesn’t understand the source of your amusement, but the look in his eyes, the twinkle in his irises lets you know he’s too far gone to even care.

“Call it a lesson in self-control,” you say, moving your hands to his sides in time with a shallow grind of your hips, “Besides, I’m admiring you.”

Eren keeps his hands anchored on your thighs, shivering at sensitivity of his dick coupled with your hands stroking over his pecs, “Lesson fucking learning—babe, fuck, please—”

“Shh—not yet,” you coo, and reach to pull his arms off of you, leaving you with room to admire his sleeve. You take pity on him, holding his right wrist with both of your hands, before slowly beginning to bounce on him.

Eren squirms, his free hand reaching to grab at the flesh of your ass, eyes blinking open to watch his cock be buried inside of you. The relief is instant—for the both of you—immediate groans and shallow profanities slipping past your lips as you build a steady pace to ride him.

“Tell—tell me what this one means,” you question slowly, keeping your right hand around his wrist, but using your left to point to the tattoo; a stylized line art of crossed wings.

“Some shit about freedom,” Eren grunts, fingers twitching, “Fuck, babe—more, please, I’ll—”

Eren cuts himself off with a whine, and you hiss yourself, lifting your body all the way to the tip, before lowering yourself again at an agonizingly slow pace. At this rate, you can feel everything; every vein on his shaft, every twitch of his cock. You feel Eren deep inside of you, even see where the bulge outlines your tummy.

You still yourself for just a second, catching your breath, anchoring yourself on Eren. You’re pretty far gone yourself, but you want more; for yourself, and for him. You do your best to stay coherent, slowly grinding atop of him, questioning him about another tattoo on his arm, ignoring the way his palm grips at your bicep. It’s a small one, with detailed Japanese characters that you can’t understand, but appreciate anyway; it’s one of your favorites, and you ask Eren about its meaning, clenching yourself around him as punctuation to your question.  

Eren sucks air between his teeth, left hand pulling back to run his fingers through his hair, a grunted word in German falling from his lips. You smirk, but let him try to answer you.

“I don’t fucken’ know,” Eren grumbles, head thrashing from side to side, “It’s really fucken’ hard to remember anything—shit—like this. S’fucking torture.”

“Hm,” you hum, not satisfied; eager for more of Eren’s love language, “Tell me something in German, instead, then.”

But Eren can only babble beneath you; sounds incoherent in either language—reduced to desperate whines and grabby hands at your thighs, waist, boobs—anything. You lean forward, letting go of Eren’s tattooed wrist, and reaching to ghost your fingers over his lips.

“Come on, Eren, you’re usually so good at it when we do this,” you taunt him, words coated in sweetness that distract you from keeping up your pace, “Just want you to talk pretty to me. Tell me something, baby.”

Eren’s eyes travel from your fingertips, up your arm, neck, and to your face. When he meets your gaze something shifts; eyes heavy with want, and bitter with dissatisfaction.

So, he reaches for your extended hand, laces your fingers together, “Something like what?”

You wrap your fingers around his, then do the same with your left hand, “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a smile, finally satisfied.

Eren grunts, bending his right knee for leverage before he flips you over, hands still intertwined, but now pinned over your head, harshly pressed into the pillows below. He buries his head into the crook of your neck; licking a stripe along your collarbone, where you’d teased him minutes before. Then up, up, up, your neck to the shell of your ear, retreating downwards to suck on the skin just beneath your ear, nipping with pointed teeth.

Eren keeps his weight on you, the length of his cock sliding over your slick folds while he bites angry, red blotches into your skin—a kind of impermanent tattoo of his own making on your body. The friction is good, but not enough, and you wonder if Eren intends on teasing you as long as you’d done to him; but, he breathes heavy breaths up your neck again, before mumbling a series of foreign syllables into your ear.

He hovers over your face, satisfied by the daze in your eyes; the slight openness of your mouth. It’s you who looks dumbstruck now, a foreigner to his ministrations; and for once, he’s in control with his second tongue.

“What—what does that mean?” you finally ask, squeezing your eyes briefly when Eren teases the tip just past your entrance.

Eren chuckles, airy, gritty, and cocky all at once. He pushes his cock inside of you, balls deep, only to pull out almost all the way, before leaning forward just slightly, so that his bottom lip grazes over yours.

“It means I love you,” he whispers, hips bucking forward, “Try to remember that, ‘cause I swear I’m gonna fuck you stupid, baby.”

[sixeyesgojo]

kiss it better

Summary: You had a shitty day at the store. Gojo is here to comfort you <3

Characters: Gojo x Reader

Word count: 1100

A/N: The past few weeks have been super rough - personal matters and on top of that, natural disasters + "I could lose my closest friends thanks to this" type of rough - so I wrote this pretty self-indulgently because I seriously need to be comforted lol. But that doesn't mean you can't imagine yourself in it!! The fanart is fem reader but I don't think I indicated any gender in the fic. Shoutout to the folks who work with customers, you guys are doing an amazing job! Thank you.

This entire fic was inspired by the art by the amazing @yuusagi-chii that I commissioned; check out her blog and leave a reblog on her artworks!! ♥ - posted with permission from the artist

There had been nothing to do. The whole time, Satoru was just lazing on the couch, legs stretched out on the entire thing, and waiting for you to come home as the television showed nothing but garbage.

As soon as they perceived the sound of your dangling keys in front of the door, Satoru’s ears perked up. He had been so bored all day, not knowing what to do on his free day; he was used to being busy all day, every day, around the clock. The lethargy got to the extent where he cleaned every nook and cranny in your shared home, did all the laundry for the week, reorganized the cupboard where his treasures were stored and even took a nap. Originally, he had planned to kidnap you to go on a date with him but unfortunately, your workplace said otherwise, wrecking his not-so-planned-out plan. Admittedly, it did piss him off a little but there was nothing to be done. Satoru just missed you incredibly much since he was usually gone for most days.

Your heavy footsteps that came from the entrance hall, the way your keys seemed to make louder noise than usual and the soft sigh he could hear all indicated that you had a shitty day so far. It really wasn’t rocket science for Satoru to notice little things about you. Probably entitled customers again, he thought. Satoru was well aware that working in a customer-oriented branch had to be unrewarding, draining even. Still, he wanted to tantalize you a bit, to lighten the mood and ease his boredom a little – he would do that on normal days.

However, ‘normal’ was quickly discarded when he saw your face: a hefty scowl and… were those teary eyes? His previous demeanor immediately dropped and a serious one took over. This was definitely not okay.

Satoru had noticed the last few weeks had been a little rough on you. On normal days, teasing you was his favorite thing to do and quite frankly, it was enjoyable to you as well as it lifted your mood after a stressful shift… but today must have been the tipping point and he knew better than to tease you in times like these. The last thing he wanted to be was the cause of your tears.

“Had a rough day?” Satoru asked as he met you in the hallway, wasting no time to slip his arms around your body. Crushing into his chest, you simply nodded without looking at him. You feared that if you did, tears would fall and you would no longer be in control of your emotions. The entire time you spent at work had been filled with some particularly grumpy customers you had to tend to. You had to deal with utterly disrespectful behavior towards you. Yet, you had to stay friendly and polite when, throughout the day, there had been several instances that made you want to quit your job right then and there.

Today had been terrible, so being in the amenity of your home felt uncommonly relieving. In addition to that, being in the comforting space of Satoru’s gentle hug washed off your exhaustion. It was fine to bask in the solace of his embrace for a moment, wasn’t it? Was it okay for you to give in a little and enjoy the moment for all its worth?

“Do you want to talk about it?” “Just the usual trouble but way worse for some reason,” you mumbled into his chest, just loud enough for him to hear. “Tell me about it, baby. It’s better if you get it off of your chest as soon as possible.”

You breathed out, the emotional dam you’ve built today finally breaking, “It’s just… people suck… They s-snap at me for the smallest things… and I know some of those incidents are just part of the job – I really get it a-and I try so hard to stay polite but… it’s just… very hard.”

Throughout your ramblings – how a customer had yelled at you for a minor mistake, how another one treated you like something lesser because of something that was not your mistake, how people would insist on being right and more – he listened intently to each and every word… All the while, Satoru had gently stroked your back with his palm to calm you down. “Say, Toru…there must be something wrong with me for them… to treat me like this, isn’t there?” you finally asked. “No, honey. You are perfectly fine,” he said, suppressing how pissed he actually was at the people who dared treating you badly. “Their attitude just sucks and they don’t deserve being served by someone beautiful like you. Maybe I should give them a piece of my mind some day…” “I just— I don’t even know. People are so mean… and for w-what? Is kindness in this world really that hard to find?” you lamented, choking back a sob as you buried your face deeper into him.

“Can I help you feel better in any way? Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” Satoru asked sweetly but the frown on his face made his worry very evident. He didn’t like it at all whenever you came back emotionally drained like this. All Satoru wanted to do was to go and ‘teach them a well-deserved lesson’ but he knew well that it would be against your wishes, so he had no choice but to sit back and be there for you when you needed him the most.

“Let me pamper and spoil my angel for today, hm?” he whispered affectionately, pressing kisses to the top of your head. Finally, you raised your head to look at him. The teary stains on your cheeks and sad expression broke his heart and he swore you could hear it cracking in his ribcage. “I just want you to hold me right now, wanna feel you close to me and nothing more,” you admitted and slung your arms around him tightly.

Promptly taking the chance, Satoru placed a sweet and loving kiss on your forehead. The sensation of his lips on your skin eased a big part of your discomfort away, making you sigh in comfort for the first time in what felt like decades. The effect this man had on you was inexplicable; the way he had the power to make you feel better by simply being there was truly magical. It made your heart flutter in a thousand ways and more.

“Then I’ll have no choice but to kiss it better.”

Taglist (open): @satosuguslut @assbuttbaek @melonnbar @delammi @silversatoru @princesatoru